If you’ve read my brief bio you know that I hate working out. That has not changed, but what I failed to mention about myself is that I love competition. Even if I’ve never tried something, I will talk smack about winning at it. Bake off, board games, sports of all kinds? Sure, I’ll play, and I’ll win (at least that’s what I’ll tell you, but I rarely ever actually win anything.) I’ve even been known to make up fake competitions and then tell people that I won. I once convinced a friend of mine that a church pot luck dinner was actually a chili cook-off. We both brought our chili, then, after the activity, I told her that I had been pronounced then winner. She believed me until, upon expressing her disappointment to others, she was informed that there had been no such contest. This sparked an ongoing feud involving a lot of back and forth pranks that we still like to laugh about.

So, a few weeks ago my chili cook-off nemesis invited me to train for a sprint triathlon that takes place in Gulf Shores in September. Of course my competitive nature prevented me from saying anything but “Heck Yeah!” Since then a ton of friends have been recruited to participate, which has added gallons of fuel to my competitive fire. So, I’ve been training for 3 weeks. But guess what. It sucks. I’ve been biking, running and/or swimming 5 to 6 days a week and I feel like I’m getting nowhere. My running pace isn’t improving, every time I swim I feel like I am going to drown, and clipping my feet into my bike feels like a death sentence. But I’m sticking with it.

In preparation for my triathlon, I ran a 5K race Saturday morning, only the 3rd one I’ve ever done. It was hosted by Chick-fil-a, which is a place I love, so I was excited about getting some generous giveaways. I dressed up in cow garb and a tutu to try and win the Costume Spirit Award, because, though I was hopeful that I could win my age division for speed, in all honesty speed isn’t my thing…yet.

So, I woke up before the sun on a Saturday and got ready to go. With my face painted, my tutu snug around my waist, my cow hat on and my family by my side, we drove up to the event. We immediately noticed that NO ONE else was dressed up for the race. This was my first rodeo, but I had been told that everyone went all out for these things, but the rest of the runners on Saturday must not have gotten the memo. That was fine by me, though. I have no problem dressing up and acting the fool if there is a prize involved. So, I registered myself at the Spirit Costume Contest tent. Then I smiled at every race employee I saw, hoping one of them was the judge.