Mixing it Up
Friday’s ride was an easy day consisting of a bike ride to the pool, a short swim, and a bike ride home. At my husband’s urging, I left home around dinnertime just after putting our dinner- kale lasagna- in the oven despite my worries about leaving the oven unattended. I think this blog post is really an excuse to talk about the kale lasagna. The one thing I have managed to successfully grow this summer is kale. Nutritionally, it’s a superfood and after consuming almost 4 lbs this week, I expect to feel like superwoman at my next race.
Since I was carrying a backpack and going to swim anyway, I decided not to even wear a jersey. None of my jerseys make me look like a real cyclist, so the only benefit is the pockets. But, with a pack, I didn’t need the pockets. I spent 20 minutes of the 25 minute commute worrying that the husband would not make it home in time to grab the lasagna out of the oven and that a fire would ensue. I had left a door open as an escape route for the dog and so I could only hope for the best.
I felt like a triathlete changing over into my swimsuit. I haven’t done a triathlon since 2008 and I’ve only been swimming a handful of times over the past couple of years. What I lack in technique, ability, and general swimming skill, I try to make up for by looking fit and looking like I know what I’m doing. The facade comes tumbling down as soon as I take off on my first lap. Since it’s Friday evening, there isn’t anyone else swimming laps and I don’t feel too self-conscious. The legs enjoy the rest from cycling as they kick through the water. My lungs are confused as I’m left panting after my first set of 100 meters. Only once during my 1000 meter swim do I think about the potential of burnt lasagna and burnt kitchen.
It turns out that I forgot to bring a towel. I can now confidently say that putting on bike clothes while wet is not fun, but easier than getting into a wet wetsuit. I spin back home, slightly chilled and wet, and am delighted to see my dog coming down the driveway to greet me. If nothing else, the escape route was a success. The husband greets me from the front porch. As he remarks about how funny I look with my wet hair in pigtails smashed down from my helmet, I roll my eyes and head inside to sample my (perfectly cooked) delicious kale lasagna.