The Beginning

I think I have to start with the assumption that no one will read what I write - otherwise I suspect that I would not write anything at all and that would sort of defeat the purpose. It's like many things - thinking about them in the wider sense and in too much detail would be pretty life limiting. Giving birth, for example. From all the horror stories you hear, it amazes me anyone goes through with it at all. You just need to strap yourself into the roller coaster and even if you are filled with the greatest fear in the world, once you are locked in you can't get out. Of course you end up loving it and going round and round again (maybe this explains why women persist with going through child birth) but that initial umph to get in the queue and get on the ride requires (for me at least) that I don't think about it too much.

Putting yourself out there on any level requires a degree of balls. I am nervous sitting here typing this (even though I know no one will read it) because you think what if? So that is the first link to the pretty random title of this blog (well, probably only random if you don't know me) - I have a lot of respect for my traithlon loving Other Half because he totally and utterly puts himself out there every time he does a race. I could not (would not?) do it on many levels. Firstly and obviously: physically - I'm a bit of a wuss. I struggled with a 5k race for life about 3 years ago and could not contemplate running to catch a bus now, let alone running 10k 'just because'. I also don't really fancy the idea of getting some water bourne bacteria lodged in any of my orifices when swimming in some outdoors pond. And I gave up Spinning classes at the gym because I really felt like the seat was beginning to do me some damage (and wanting to have kids at some point, how could anyone object to me giving up these particular classes?)

So, more detail on the title of this blog. Many moons ago a certain rowing coach of my considerably younger Other Half called me the 'Rowing Widow'. I actually didn't believe this to be true until discussing it just yesterday with Other Half and university friends. To be fair, he had a point. Every night after school I would trudge down to the river, let myself into Other Half's car and wait and watch as he paddled up and down the river until 5.30 when we would pootle off home to do homework and chat on the phone and then begin it all again the next day.

When aforementioned university friends commented on the aptness of this label, and how funny (totally hilarious) it was that the title now fitted so neatly with Other Half's obsession with triathlon - it got me thinking about if I was the only one. Are there other Triathlon Widows out there? I assume it can't just be me who has to sit and look at "bike porn" on YouTube (the man who has filmed his brand new Cervelo P3 for 2 minutes to a back drop of Hard Core house is a particular favourite of ours). Am I the only one who finds it distressing that 'Muck Off' is pink but smells like very putrid lemons (Heston eat your heart out)? Is it just me who gets up at absurd o'clock on summer Saturday mornings to watch Other Half swim with stop-clock in hand making sure that he doesn't drown? (What I would actually do if he were to start drowning I do not know but I feel it's safer with me there nonetheless).

I'm guessing (praying?) it's not just me.