Sore Muscles and Green Thumbs

To paraphrase the great American poet Kanye West, that which doesn't kill me can only make me stronger. That was the motivation behind me competing in my first triathlon earlier this month. (Or maybe it was Kanye's other lyrical observation from the same song: people will do anything for a Klondike . . . .)

I did the sprint distance Wildflower Avia Triathlon on May 1, which included a quarter mile swim, a 10 mile mountain bike ride and a two mile run. Keep in mind that the word "sprint" is relative. To the finely tuned athletes who roll out of bed in the morning and then swim a mile or two before cycling 50 miles and then setting off on a 12 mile run, all before breakfast, the distance of the race I did probably is a sprint. To me, it was my own personal Ironman. If you imagine someone jogging the 100-yard dash because he wants to "pace himself," you'll get the idea.

"I made it!"

A group of friends convinced me to train for and compete in the race, and it was a lot of fun. From January to the end of April I swam, biked or ran most mornings as I tried to remind my body what physical exercise felt like and that it could actually feel good. I really got to look forward to my morning swims -- I can't say that I ever looked forward to the running.

We Are The Champions!

The open water lake swim was certainly different (read: colder) than swimming in the heated lap pool where I'd trained, and the jostling and bumping from other swimmers was something I'd heard about but hadn't experienced until the race. I made my way to the outside where it was less crowded and found my rhythm, and my goggles fogged up a few times. The biking course was considerably hillier than the areas where I'd trained -- it seemed like the whole thing was an uphill climb. By the time I hit the run section, I was spent. But as I came around the last turn and entered the straightaway section leading up to the finish line, and saw some of my friends cheering me on, a final burst of energy propelled me across the finish.

The Home Stretch

Unfortunately for my pride, that same burst of energy pushed a friend's 10-year-old son past me at the last second. To his credit, he kept the trash talking to a minimum.

Enjoying the post-race high with my fellow triathletes

The race was a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to beating my time next year.

We've started trying to grow vegetables again in our back yard. Because of our mediocre results last year in our clay soil, this year I built an above-ground planter box and used some bagged planting mix that Jaime's dad got for us, mixed with commercially purchased garden soil.

My Saturday project

I planted tomatoes (three heirloom varieties and cherry tomatoes), peppers (red bell, banana peppers and jalapenos), basil, bush beans, scallions, zucchini and yellow squash. I'm trying the modified "square-foot" method, sans actual grid dividers to mark off the one-foot square sections.

After building the planter box and tomato support trellis, adding the soil mixture, purchasing the plants (twice, as the first set of tomatoes and peppers dried out before we got them planted), and planting the plants and seeds, I realized the source of the term "green thumb." I'm convinced that it was coined by a weekend gardener like me who repeatedly found himself peeling green bills from his billfold, watching the cost of supplies add up. My family better enjoy each pepper, tomato and squash we get from this garden, as each will probably have cost us around $17.

Hopefully the neighbors like zucchini

Bush beans starting to sprout on Day 7

We tried some vegetables in the raised flowerbed again this year, but only the strawberries, leaf lettuce and snap peas look like they're going to make it.

Snap peas climbing the arbor

There's no way that we break even financially on our garden investment this year, but hopefully by 2013 we'll be in the black (assuming Fresh & Easy doesn't keep lowering their produce prices).

But I can't wait for the first caprese salad of the summer, made with fresh heirloom tomatoes and basil from the garden. It may cost us more than dinner for two at the finest restaurant in town (that's a low standard, admittedly), but it will all be worth it.