Went to see my trainer and he spent two hours going over my crap and putting me through a lil workout. All for free! Love him! So nice. He is a magical little unicorn and always knows how to tweak any exercise just a teensy bit so it stops hurting. He told me to stop running. NO! He would not be a fan of my Easy-Tones, that's for sure. He argues that if I keep running now, I won't be able to do anything when I'm 60.
1) Who cares? I'll play bingo and wear funny pants.
2) If I stop running now, I might not be able to even move when I'm 60.
But I spent so much time with the trainer that I missed an epic, unbelieveable, head-high perfection session with three of my surfing BFFs. Had to opt for a quick forty minutes before it got dark. Felt like California: Freezing offshores, nice sunset, stupid fullsuit. Had a little spot all to myself and a rogue wave (love that term) came in with about 5 dolphins surfing it. They jumped completely out of the water and landed about 10 feet away from me. So that made everything better! And then I was looking for them and fell and lost my board. I was hoping a dolphin would swing by and give me ride on his dorsal fin! Didn't happen.
While swimming to my board, I started thinking about sharks. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I watched a BBC special about a triathlete getting chomped in Australia as he was swimming out to his friends. The program instructed you to avoid any strokes other than breast stroke, because it is the stroke that sends the least amount of fish-in-distress-come-devour-me signals to Whitey. But breast stroking (yeah, okay) takes foreeeeever! And I reason that the longer it takes to get to your board, the more likely you are to be targeted. I compromised and went with a weird sidestroke type deal. It scared the dolphins away. Boo.
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