Tri Stuff Out

Right now I have a chocolate zucchini bread puffing up in the crockpot. I’ve never made bread in a crockpot, so we’ll see how it turns out. I even used cocoa powder and pureed the zucchini. It should be ready in another couple of hours. If it’s good, I’ll take it to class in the morning. If it’s not, I’ll leave it for the roommates. Hee.

Last night at the pool, the lifeguard was coaching some teenage girls on their technique. When I finished my workout, I asked the lifeguard if he charges for coaching. He said no, he just likes to help out. Then he asked if I was going to do a triathlon, because I was donning the outfit. I told him I was. He then gave me few pointers on triathlons, from looking out for other swimmers to sighting the finish line to making the transitions between sports. I thanked him when his students looked like they were done with their laps, and he wished me luck.

The open water where we’ll be swimming is actually a “heated” lake, which means that body of water gets to cool a nearby power plant. I’m hoping that’s only electricity. Maybe my friends and I will be glowing Saturday night on our drive home. Like those neon lights they use to pimp up the underside of cars and trucks. Maybe we’ll set off a bunch of Geiger counters. Maybe we’ll attract aliens, and then maybe we’ll melt them with our radiation.

It’s time to focus.

Bumpass, VA – Warning: Heavily Implied Profanity Ahead; Rated PG

So, I went to a Stake Institute FHE on Monday in the Union Square building basement.
A lot of people showed up. We mingled.
I saw one of my friends who is also doing the triathlon on Saturday.
She was standing with another good friend.
We got to talking about training.
And the town where the race is.
And we started making jokes about the town’s name.
And getting trucker hats as souvenirs.
“Bumpass! We’re going to Bumpass, yay!”
“Bum. Pass.”  “Bump. ***.”
Harmless enough. I’ve typed that before, without asterisks.
Then all of a sudden I blurted,
“We’re going to BUMP some ***!” (Those asterisks are capitalized, by the way.)
That turned out to be a LOT louder than I expected.
The friend who was standing with us started to giggle.
And blush. I covered my mouth and laughed.
I tried to pretend not one of the hundred-or-so surrounding people AT CHURCH heard me.
She pointed out that she was blushing, and I was blushing.
So we must really be 10-year old boys.
Which I’ve already admitted to.
Embarrassing. And hilarious.
I’ll be taking pictures on Saturday.
I don’t know about a trucker hat, though.
That’s just obscene.