Since off season is a rather slow time in blog world I decided I would take this time to share with you some of the odd and plain old hilarious stories that I can’t help but laugh hysterically at, about living with a triathlete. Remember, it’s just good old fun from me, Brent’s better half, so enjoy these probably relevant stories and share them with your loved ones.
Meal Time
I was living here less than one week when I decided I would be nice and prepare a dinner for Brent while he was out training late one night. We had prepared many dinners together in the past; even when I was the one preparing the bulk of the meal, Brent was always hovering around the kitchen. This time I thought I would surprise him and prepare dinner all by myself.
After work I hustled to the grocery store and picked up the necessities. I decided I was going to make a family recipe that we like to call “tomato, chicken and brown rice.” Brent arrived home to see me taking the casserole dish filled with veggies and chicken in a tomato watery soup out of the oven. I was proud with my finished masterpiece displaying it for Brent to see. At first he looked surprised yet uneasy, and then he turned into the food police. I thought I had committed some unlawful offense; my first instinct was to scan the kitchen, nothing was on fire and it was clean, so I thought well I’m in the clear on this one. Turns out I had to answer about 150 questions about the food preparation. He asked me everything from “did you grease the pans while you were browning the meat?” to “did you use a measuring cup to measure the rice” and even, “where’s the organic can of crushed tomatoes that you used?” I answered all the questions truthfully stating I didn’t use anything to grease the pan, I measured exactly ½ cup of brown rice and I already recycled the can of organic tomatoes. After this question and answered period and a taste test I passed and Brent enjoyed the meal.
Lesson learned: Athletes need to know everything they are consuming especially before a big race. In hindsight, Brent hovering in the kitchen was not to keep me company like I thought it was, but rather it was to spy on my cooking skills. In the future I understand to keep the cans for Brent to analyze and display a recipe with the exact composition of my masterpieces.
Condo Hall Sprints
One more story that I thought was just hilarious therefore have to share. I have to admit I played a big part in this as I am also a competitive person just like Brent; however Brent was by far the instigator. Our condo is the last in a carpeted 50 meter hallway. I’m not even sure how the sequential events took place but one night after taking the garbage down the hall I found myself in my pajamas sprinting bare foot against Brent down the condo hall.
Here’s how I think this happened. I ran the garbage down and when I came back I was slightly huffing and puffing and immediately Brent’s “training instincts” kicked in. In his head here’s what I picture “She just burned some calories and I didn’t that’s it I have to get even”. So there we were two grown people laughing hysterically while sprinting down the hallway. And of course Brent takes it a step further. We ended up racing a number of times because both of us declared illegal actions on the other person, finally Brent pulled out a stop watch and we timed each other and crowned a winner. After recording Brent’s time he of course wanted to know the distance so attempted to use his Garmin GPS. At the end I remember Brent telling me about speed work and increasing metabolism, but to me it was plain old fun.
To sum up these two hilarious adventures I leave you with this common “You know you’re living with a triathlete when:”
-your kitchen contains more measuring cups than plates
-you get grilled over the composition of every meal before consuming it
-even taking the garbage down the hall amounts to a workout and a fierce competition
I hope to be posting quite frequently throughout this off season as the stories keep rolling in and they are quite amusing. Please stay tuned for more Diaries from the Domestique.
Live Laughing,
Carley J
