Holy Crapola

31 days. Just 31 days to master that daunting swim. I have been consumed by work in the last few weeks and have no choice but to cancel my life to get ready for this race in the next few remaining. I survive the swim - the rest is cake. Now, Chuck will tell me, "not really cake Kevin, you see there's the sand ladder and the hills on the bike", to which I reply, "yes Chuck, but I can stop and rest. Not so much in the water". So it's really that part of this endeavor that has me... respectfully cautious.

My new bike is working like a charm and I've decided to leave it completely stock as I will have a rental in SF that is probably completely stock and with the hills and all, I won't have any use for aero bars. Thus, I'll bring my pedals and seat bottle rack.

I have yet to get my Borat suit, but have no doubt Tasha will be able to provide me with the names of 20 places I can find one. There is little chance she'll let me back out of this deal. And so I must warn everyone that on that fateful morning when Tasha and I decide to take pictures, as agreed, that the backside to this suit is a thong, and, well... let's just say I'm not known for sporting a hot ass. Fair warning.

And it may just be me, but the once playful banter that existed here just months ago is replaced by the quiet sounds of some sort of impending doom. Much like the pencil necked geek in class awiting his 3 o'clock daily beating, it's about 2:45 and we're starting to break out in a nervous sweat, with no place left to run.

This should be fun.