Don't Ask for Whom the Cow Bell Rings...

First, sorry about the zero for March on this whole posting thing. I wish I could say it was because I gave up snarkiness for Lent, but we all know that's not true.

Last fall, I was dumb enough to tell D-Doll that I intended to be a certain weight by my 40th birthday at the end of May. (I still might make it... if I eat only helium for the next 2 months.) I've also said that I could either be fat or bald, but both, and I'm not living up to that one either.

Maybe it's because she wants to keep me around for awhile, but D-Doll has not had the common decency to forget all my loose talk of healthful intentions... so long-story-short, I've commited to doing a triathlon in early August.

WTF! Half mile swim, followed by a 20 mile bike ride (with hills! My arse!) Then topped off with a 3.8 mile stagger.

I know that D-Doll did her tri last year, and that was great and all, but all I had to do was find parking, hold on to the Boy and ring the cow bell. Something tells me that this one might be a bit more labor intensive.