I convinced two other women to do the triathlon with me. They each have two kids, too. The times we’ve gone running, it’s as if we’re sailors on shore leave. An hour away from the kids, the messy house, the neverending chores! We sail through the woods, bounding and laughing, giddy with freedom. None of us has any idea how we’re going to fit in biking and swimming, but I don’t think anyone cares. The point is really just to try.

When I went out to get the paper this morning, one of my co-conspirators was talking to a neighbor, a woman with three kids. “Hey, I’m gonna do it!” she yelled across to me. Yeeha! We need a cool name or something, we triathloning mamas!

We stopped by the new house yesterday to say hi to the owners, who were having a garage sale. The kind woman wanted to give us a purple glass ornament. “Don’t give it to the little girl,” her husband said. “It might shatter in her hands.” We thanked them and walked away. I held my breath as the kid contemplated this.

“I am not little,” she began. “The man said I was little.” “You are clearly not little,” I replied, hedging, “He only thought you were little because he, compared to you, is enormous.” “I am enormous,” she said. “No, you are not enormous. You are a big girl, but to grownups you look small.” “I AM enormous! Look at my body!” cried the 38-inch-tall, 32-pound kid.

It’s a Miracle I Have Teeth

I have been a dedicated drinker of Coca-Cola for years, ever since I was a freshman in high school. Come to think of it, that was the last year I ever grew. HM.

I have never given much thought to what was in that little red can. Caffeine, caramel coloring, bubbles, it’s pretty simple, right? Oh yeah, and some sugar. “Some.”

Do you know how much sugar there is in a can of Coke? 39 grams. It says so right there on the side of the can. Have you ever MEASURED 39 grams of sugar? It’s more than a THIRD OF A CUP. IN ONE CAN. I, who regularly halve the amount of sugar that’s called for in the baked goods I lovingly prepare for my child, have been hypocritically consuming this super-saturated sugar solution in front of her very nose!

When it comes right down to it, I must say that I enjoy my teeth, and would like to keep them. So I’m going to give it up. Yep, no more liquid candy. No more mid-morning carbonated lift. No more sweet “ka-shwack” of the opening can. Farewell, sweet friend, farewell.

TRIATHLBLOG

If you were the mom of two young children, one of whom requires your physical presence in order to fall asleep three times each day, you would decide to DO A TRIATHLON, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s not like training to swim half a mile, bike 14 miles, and run three miles in under two hours would require an extensive time commitment or anything. It’s not like my flimsy joints are still recovering from the rigors of pregnancy. It’s not like my chief support person is trying to work, finish school and start a company, giving him zero extra time to provide childcare. No, I think this is a wise decision.

I have done a triathlon before. Of course, during the swim portion, I was moving so slowly and haphazardly that the rescue crew asked if I needed a lift into one of their canoes. I was actually doggy-paddling. Once I got out of the water I did ok, though, and crossing that finish line was one of the defining moments of my life. I had completed something difficult, reached a goal. That sense of accomplishment is something one rarely feels as a parent. Sure, you are constantly working to raise your kids to the best of your ability, but you never finish anything. There is no point in time when you sit, pat yourself on the back, and say, “great job.” (While you did that, your preschooler would surely strip down and paint her body green.) And that is one of the most frustrating aspects of parenthood for me, a former goal-setting, checklist queen. I just want to finish a task. Hence, the triathlon.