The Triathlon Diaries - Volume Three

Asbury Park 2010 | Episode Three

The Road to the Asbury Park Triathlon, July 2010

Prologue

Sometime during the late, cold months of 2009, musician and decided non-runner Don DiLego, perhaps slightly inebriated, hears amongst the caucaphony of music and conversation in Barramundi in the Lower Eat Side, a couple buddies discuss their plans to compete in a "triathlon man, yes!" in the summer of 2010. Not surprisingly, Don spins to insert himself not only into the conversation, but into the race itself, the 2010 Asbury Park Mini-Triathlon (found out about the "mini" part afterwards). Awkwardly, Tim "Santa's Helper" McManus and JJ "The Deuce" O'Connor agree to share information on said race. In fact encouraging if not daring our hero to enter.

These are the chronicles of Don's path to glory, infamy, and perhaps the infirmary.

Episode Three - Jan 27

When we last visited Don (that's me) in his quest for summer glory, speedos, and manly man stuff, he had suffered a minor yet significant setback on his road to the Asbury Park Triathlon tis July. Though previously thought to be a conquerable "mini" style triathlon, he been incorrect. The reality of the "full-manly length" competition had brought upon what they call in the biz, an "exercise malaise." Not entirely rare, this affliction has visited no less than many other heroic AND historic luminaries such as, the guy who first went to the moon and other guys who wanted to go to the moon. Plus, others.

So as you can clearly and plainly see, Don found himself in, though unenviable, a major AND historically chronicled funk.

Not unlike many of our fabled superheroes of the past and future, Don began to veer away from actually exercising, and began focusing on thinking about it really really hard. With one wowee of a twist...he started thinking about not exercising while in the Caribbean. Genius? You betcha.

And with all this time to focus on not-exercising, he started to formulate keywords for his training going forward. Words that would represent his dedication to his own body. The commitment to being the manliest man in the race. Chiseled out of steel. Emotionless as a rock. Problem was, nothing came to him. Blank. Extra blank. What follows is the actual original list, found in the trash at The Beach Bar in St. John, that Don had begun working on to inspire himself to train hard...

Obviously, there were a few flaws on his list. Another setback. However, after drinking his 4th Painkiller at the bar, Don would have what they call, again- "in the biz", a "eureka moment." The list came flooding out to him. The words that would define his triathlon training henceforth! They were and ARE, in one word...totally so very magnificent and manly awesome. A new day. A rebirth. Training on...but big time.

What follows below, are Don's new keywords that will define his training for the 2010 Asbury Park Triathlon this July. Enjoy.

(Any resemblance to the plot keywords from the 1989 Sylvester Stallone and Kurt Russell vehicle, "Tango & Cash" , which can be found on the IMDB database, are completely and utterly coincidental. Crazy and zany coincidence. These are totally Don's Triathlon keywords. Manly training keywords.)

Plot keywords for
Tango & Cash (1989) Don's Triathlon Training (2010)

• Prison
• Escape
• Framed
• Torture
• Locker Room
• Lasersight
• Shot In The Forehead
• Gatling Gun
• Cross Dresser
• Bare Butt
• Strip Club
• Buddy Cop
• Explosion
• Hand Grenade
• Timebomb
• Shower
• Car Bomb
• Crime Boss
• Organized Crime
• Gender Disguise
• Exploding Building
• Bare Breasts
• Undressing
• Aquarium
• Police
• Cop In Prison
• Machine Gun
• Female Nudity
• Straight Razor
• Male Nudity
• Brother Sister Relationship
• Electrocution

See you at the finish line, suckas! I'm gonna triathlon your face.

d.lego

The Triathlon Diaries - Volume Two

Asbury Park 2010

The Road to the Asbury Park Triathlon, July 2010

Prologue

Sometime during the late, cold months of 2009, musician and decided non-runner Don DiLego, perhaps slightly inebriated, hears amongst the caucaphony of music and conversation in Barramundi in the Lower Eat Side, a couple buddies discuss their plans to compete in a "triathlon man, yes!" in the summer of 2010. Not surprisingly, Don spins to insert himself not only into the conversation, but into the race itself, the 2010 Asbury Park Mini-Triathlon (found out about the "mini" part afterwards). Awkwardly, Tim "Santa's Helper" McManus and JJ "The Deuce" O'Connor agree to share information on said race. In fact encouraging if not daring our hero to enter.

These are the chronicles of Don's path to glory, infamy, and perhaps the infirmary.

Chronicle Two - Jan 12

I was dealt a crushing blow to my training today. Perhaps more of a mental than physical setback. Though I have recovered from the initial pain of my first "training session", what mainly has driven me in my glorious quest for additional manhood, was the inner knowledge that I would kill in a mini-triathlon, whatever one of those might really be. It just seemed...well...doable. And despite my friend Jake's assertion that it is in fact he with the Kevin McHale running style that would hobble to the finish line in last place, a dead last loser, it is I who is now overcome with the fear that last place may be welcoming me and my Billy Joel waddle at the end of the race.

You see race fans, Santa's Helper informed me that I was mistaken on the distance of this race, and in a voraciously crushing way. Simply put, he replaced the word "mini" with "olympic." This is quite a leap. In fact, is there a bigger competitive leap?? So now where does this leave me?

Six months, i.e half a YEAR, seemed quite long enough to put myself into a decent enough condition to run 3 miles, bike 10, and swim 500 meters. Now...ugh...it's like, run Rhode Island, bike Pennsylvania, and then swim the Mississippi Delta. And, unless this is pure rumor, I think there are giant eels in all three legs!

When I was a nerdly (hard to believe I know) young tyke in all of second grade, my Uncle Francis took me to my first professional baseball game. Fenway Park. It felt like the trip from the remote reaches of the Berkshires to the city life of Boston was an eternity. In fact, I couldn't believe at the time that we didn't need to fly there. I couldn't possibly have been more excited. Just as we left, my dad slipped my uncle some money so that I could grab a souvenir at the park. Needless to say, the experience was mesmerizing. It's been said many times in movie lore. but crossing that threshold from the bowels of a ballpark into the grand lights of the stadium is like that scene, always like that scene, in "Close Encounters" when the ufos finally land and open up their ship's bay doors to the silent gaffaws of the skinny 70's humans. I still silently gaffaw. No kidding.

Anyway, after the game, I nearly peed my pants running to the souvenir shop. Which, incidentally, would have helped me in the long run, because....

I of course NEEDED to buy not a Red Sox ball cap, a Red Sox jersey, a Red Sox jacket, some Red Sox baseball pants, but but BUT...all of them together. Yes, the full uniform. And hey, what would make me more popular at school the next day than if I arrived at the playground in the morning dressed it the whole rig. Not only a true Red Sox fan, but a true player! I imagined a slow Rudy clap begin as I proudly strutted onto the school grounds. A knowing look from my teacher Mrs. Filiaut that I, Donald DiLego Jr was so. very. awesome. Even though awesome was probably never a word yet. And also even though I didn't invent the word awesome. But I could have. And she would know it then and there.

We always played a pickup game of whiffle ball that time of year in the morning before school. God, I was gonna make the coolest impression. Almost there...rounding the corner...I can see Mack Head now...there's Paul...hey guys, "check it out!!!"

How do you spell "whah whahh whahhhhhhh..."?

I'm sure it couldn't have been the case, but I don't have the memory of anyone on that playground not laughing at me. It was 100% the true opposite of what I had expected. Completely miscalculated on every level. Couldn't have backfired any worse. I was immediately ridiculed. And though at the time I would have argued differently, I don't think my "transitions" glasses helped the scene any.

It was an unmitigated disaster. Driven from my first period class with a hunk of shame, I retreated to the boy's room, and disrobed as much as I could. I was left with sneakers, no socks, the Red Sox pants, a dirty white t-shirt, and a chubby gut. Man, what a scene. I cannot believe I didn't punch me. In fact, I don't think I ever really got this incident expunged from my permanent record. Seems some old friend or another manages to drudge this one up every so often. So here's what I'm saying. God forbid I show up to the triathlon in my undersized, fully outfiitted Red Sox uniform.

Or more importantly, I may have learned enough from that incident to be in a position to properly reassess my current situation. On the one hand, I don't want to bite off more than I can chew (not the full Red Sox uniform). But on the other hand, I want to prove my manly worth at the big race (full Red Sox uniform). They say you learn from your mistakes, and I friends, am no exception to this time-tested truth. I will not pull another full Red Sox uniform debacle once the triathlon roles around, for this time I will play it smarter. This time, I intend to march to the starting line not only with the proverbial full Red Sox baseball uniform, but also with an official Red Sox bat, ball, and game program. For THAT is what I must have been missing that wondrous spring day in 1978. The bat!

Watch out Santa's Helper and The Deuce and friend who runs like Kevin McHale. For I am wearing a full on, blown out 1978 Boston Red Sox kids-sized baseball uniform with official Carl Yazstremski signed bat and a pair of"transitions" sun shade glasses to the triathlon and I will toast you and your matching aqua friction-reducing speedos.

Hi Mrs. Filiaut!

The Triathlon Diaries - Volume One

Asbury Park 2010

The Road to the Asbury Park Triathlon, July 2010

Prologue

Sometime during the late, cold months of 2009, musician and decided non-runner Don DiLego, perhaps slightly inebriated, hears amongst the caucaphony of music and conversation in Barramundi in the Lower Eat Side, a couple buddies discuss their plans to compete in a "triathlon man, yes!" in the summer of 2010. Not surprisingly, Don spins to insert himself not only into the conversation, but into the race itself, the 2010 Asbury Park Mini-Triathlon (found out about the "mini" part afterwards). Awkwardly, Tim "Santa's Helper" McManus and JJ "The Deuce" O'Connor agree to share information on said race. In fact encouraging if not daring our hero to enter.

These are the chronicles of Don's path to glory, infamy, and perhaps the infirmary.

Chronicle One

Jan 4 (aka "Day One") - Training has begun, and I am ready to attack. I give myself a mental deuce and head off the gym in the hotel I'm staying at in San Francisco.

6:47pm - I insert my key card which gains me entry into the quite plush hotel gym here at the Palace. Confidently, I step through the gym portal and into the exercise

room replete with state-of-the-art treadmills, bicycles, and Stepmasters. The wicked witch of the west stares menacingly down at me from her perch at CNN inside the

50" plasma screen. She calls herself "Nancy Grace" , perhaps to keep me off-balance. It doesn't work. I step up to what appears to be a new treadmill and launch myself into a 3 m.p.h. warmup, oh, and at a slight incline...beeeyatch!

6:52pm - Though I haven't exactly "jogged" as they say in the "exercise world" for some...errrr....two time/years or so, I seem to feel no worries about my first day goal of 3 miles. For the record, I am wearing wrestling shoes.

6:54pm - Dolly Parton has really really big breasts and I don't know when she got 'em, but they don't look to be there early on in this Dolly bio I'm watching on Biography. She's awesome. What a set of tonsils.

6:55pm - Time to rev it up to 5.5 m.p.h., take me down to 1.5 on the gradient meter. No problem. Already at .68 miles. I got this.

6:59pm - I am exhausted. The commercial breaks during the Dolly bio are excruciatingly long long. Has anyone seen this infommercial for the "Shake Weight." What the???

7:03pm - Ok ok. Settling in now. 1.15 miles. I feel I can do this, but wish the miles went by faster. Let's bump it up to 6 m.p.h.. Flat slope. These shoes seem fine! I don't what all the fuss is about "proper running shoes." Isn't there a barefoot movement now or something?

7:07pm - I may have failed to mention that the treadmill is directly facing the large, cool, empty swimming pool. Mmmmmm....water.

7:14pm - Possibly blacked out for a minute or two, cause I seem to have missed the return to "Dolly" from the commercial break. And now, no lie, a 3-minute commercial on some miracle

women's support strap that goes over the bra and keeps women's breasts just under their chin. Where they anatomically belong? The women in the commercial look happy AND scared. Who's behind this product anyway? A million dollars says it rhymes with a "schman".

7:14:35pm - Oh look at me! Crossing over 2 miles. I got this. However, I can't. feel. feet.

7:17pm - Listen. exercise is definitely a good thing, but man, I am b-o-r-e-d. Dolly keeps me going though. Resolution 2010. Dolly Parton concert. This is non-negotiable.

7:19pm - Ok. I'm done. Almost 2.5 miles, a good start. However, the sweat on my body and exhaustion on my face has "10k" written all over it.

7:20pm - To the pool!

7:20:02pm - Oh wait. There's a sauna? Probably best for everyone if I test that out first. Looks dangerous. I got this.

7:38pm - 65% chance I may have passed out again, cause there's NO WAY I've been in here for over 15 minutes. Back to the exercise room.

7:40pm - Time to work on the six-pack. I place an exercise matt on the ground and just as I get started, the door creeks open. (ok, it's a new door so it didn't creek. Actually, I don't think it made any noise. Can we get a foley guy in here?) In walks who we will call, "exerciser #2.", or #2 for short. Now, I don't mind sharing the place with anyone else, that's not exactly the problem. But I JUST STARTED my sit-ups, and she's witnessed me "just start." Now I'm screwed cause I'll have to do a ton of these things to look like a "real" exerciser to #2. Damn public exercising!

7:42pm - Thirteen. Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen. Twenty-Five. Thirty. Thirty-Two. And........a hundred.

7:44pm - Ill-fated decision #2. The dumbbells. I've likely already been in here too long for my first triathlon training session, but my masculinity suggested I do some bench presses to work on the arms a bit. Bad call.

7:47pm - Ok. Enough of that. To the pool!

7:47:14pm - Whoa, slow down partner. Let's drink some aqua. Ahhhhhh.... ok, to. the. pool...

7:48 pm - I enter the pool area. A couple young tikes are frolicking in the low end with their wussy inflatable arm bands and wimpy "parental supervision." I'm totally gonna toast these guys! Woooooo!!! mini-triathlon 2010!!!

7:49pm - Water looks cold. Me to kids: "Looks cold." Kids eyes to me: "You're old."

7:50pm - Jump right in. These kids can't intimidate me. Pool is pretty large. Not olympic size, but not the backyard in-ground christmas-bonus size either. I've always been a pretty good swimmer, have I mentioned this yet?

7:51pm - Note to self. No bench pressing, running, or sauna visiting of any kind prior to swimming. My arms hurt. I begin to sink.

(insert squiggly/wavy lines on screen going back and forth...back and forth)

7:53pm - Apparently, I have passed out again, as I am coming to with one of the 5 year-olds helping me up saying something to the effect of, "hey, wake up. You're gonna be ok. Just breathe. Breathe mister. Good thing I was here, if it weren't for the oxygen from my inflatable arm band, you would've been dead. Dead!" In the background, the other kid and father are laughing at me. The younger brother appears to be wearing a t-shirt that reads "First Place - 2007 Asbury Park Mini-Triathlon." Or something like that.

(re-insert squiggly/wavy lines on screen going back and forth...back and forth)

7:51pm - Realized I had a flash-forward there. I'm still swimming under my own power, though truth be told, the lap and a half have taken their toll. I push it to four. Though I manage to complete this, I should of asked the kids' father to spot me just in case.

7:55pm - All toweled up, heading back to room. Feeling pretty good actually. I mean, not physically, but mentally I'm on fire. Give myself another mental deuce as I get back to my room, exhausted but full of confidence. I'm gonna mini-triathlon the crap out of 2010!!

Epilogue:

6:55 am - Not. feeling. Good.

My feet are throbbing and my shoulders feel like the scarecrow's from the Wizard of Oz. Ok, maybe I don't know what that means either, but you're with me. You got this.

6:57am - As my eyes begin to adjust themselves to being back awake, I focus on the cushionless soles of my wrestling sneaks. Which harkens me back to Ill-fated decision #1. It goes like this:

"Do not wear wrestling sneakers on a treadmill while running for the first time in ages in an ego-driven attempt to prove your manhood during "training" for a mini-triathlon a half a year away." Or something like that.

7:15am - Coffee is kicking in. Coming to my senses a bit. Resolve to "dial it down a notch or two" during next workout. I got this.