There is one Donohue tradition that beats out Saturday morning couch time and watching Kirk Cameron’s little sister painfully go through puberty 22 minutes at a time: the race to the Cape.
Many of our summer Saturday mornings are spent trying to squeeze over a rickety, 75 year old bridge with half of New England and New York and all keep our collective sanity.
It starts early. We pack the night before. Speed is key. Talking is minimal. If we are feeling generous, we let the kids go the bathroom, otherwise we roll them out of bed at dawn and into the car.
Fingers crossed, here we go. It’s summer, welcome to the Cape.
I now have a sworn enemy for this race. His name is Sam Burgess and he’s 12 years old and for the last two years he has humbled me and taken me down at this race. I can’t out run Sam. I can’t out run youth. But I can hate them both a little bit. Even though Sam beat everyone else at the race, too, and running a sub-19 minute 5k as a 12 year old is sort of impressive. It definitely is to my 12 year old self.
Back to full strength this week. No vestiges of the cold remain. So no more excuses. Weather is getting warmer and time is getting short. This was a very solid week of training and if I’d managed to get in the pool one more time, I might have called it an ideal mix. Almost 4 hours on the bike, 2.5 on my own two feet and 30 minutes in the pool.
I did take the bike into the local shop for a tune-up. Really tried to fix it up myself, but something was off with the front derailleur and it felt like I was making it worse. The poor thing hadn’t had a proper tune up in a couple years, so I brought her in. Better now than the week of the race. Hoping to get out and ride the course soon.
Only three weeks until the Ashland Olympic triathlon….some notes on the rest of the week.
For the second weekend in a row, the canned laughter of an eighties sitcom audience was not the soundtrack of our Saturday morning. Do I miss it? No, but I will say it added a certain timing to our day. First commercial break, coffee is done. Second commercial, girls start squirming for breakfast. By Joey’s third terrible joke, they start bickering over the blanket.
Instead, Cecilia, inexplicably (she’s eight, she’s rather self-involved at the moment) decided she was going to make breakfast for all of us. Even her sister. And, then she actually followed through and did it. The whole thing was more surprising then a well-executed Gibbler sub-plot.
I’m trying to break a bad habit. With Addison’s chronic fatigue is a symptom, especially in the afternoons as the stored cortisol levels from the morning dose are waning. I try to take a short nap or rest to combat the fatigue, but that really doesn’t help the low blood sugar, which itself is a response to low cortisol.
Waking up from these naps has become a trigger to stuff my face with the first available thing I can find in the kitchen. It doesn’t end well. For a man who looks routine and plans, I have terrible impulse control with snack food.