When Pansy's Whip Sings...

.....the Smart People Learn the Chorus Real Fast-Like. This is the tale of How Pansy whipped that silly attorney for a dozen years and he still hasn’t learned: Never Look Back!

It all began long, long ago:

I had been in a toe-to-knee cast for 120 days. It was 42 days before my favorite triathlon, The Great Race (TGR). A partner in the law firm where I had just begun working (I barely knew his name then) was receptive to my rantings about TGR and accepted my challenge: we would go mano-a-womano ironpersons. I loaned him one of my kayaks, offered him as many lessons as he wanted, gave him a complete outline of how to do the run/bike/kayak course and set him up to utterly defeat me. He is a good runner and every year he always left me in the dust during the run. I invariably called out to his disappearing ass what would become my enduring battle cry: Don’t Look Back, You Fucking Bastard!

YEAR ONE: I came across his carcass on the bike course. He was cramped up and stopped. I told him how to get going again. Beat him across the finish line by 15+ minutes. Oh, did I mention I am doing this race after being up since 3am doing paper routes to pay for Pansy Children Braces?

YEAR TWO: This time I caught him a bit closer to the bike/kayak transition. He was cramped up again and that was all she wrote. Beat him by 12+ minutes. After the 3am paper routes, of course.

YEAR THREE: Now he and his wife are doing the race, each in their own Ironman/woman category. She, too, is quite the runner yet I caught up to her 3 times during the run as she puked on the side of the path. She and I took off on our bikes at the same time and I never saw her again. I caught him at the shore of the kayak put-in. I beat them by 10+ minutes each. Yep, the 3am paper routes were still happening.

YEAR FOUR: 8 days before TGR I wrecked my knee on a slippery river rock while kayaking. I had to paddle 4 miles, deliver the kayak home and then go the ER. On race day I finally completed the run a godawful 66 minutes after I started (5.82 miles) and wifey was there at the run/bike transition spot as crew for Attorney. She informed me he was 14 minutes ahead of me. I next saw him gasping in disbelief at the kayak put-in where I had caught him after obviously doing the bike split of my life. I smoked down river in my kayak, mangled knee and all, and beat him by 2minutes; 56seconds. That was a close call. Again with the fucking 3am paper routes.

YEAR FIVE: Same old, same old. I catch him on shore, leave him behind. Get clotheslined in the rapids by rescue ropes meant for others, upside down I go, swim to the shore, have to empty the kayak, portage a dozen rocky yards and get back in the kayak/river. Meanwhile, he smoothly rips through the rapid laughing at me as I am portaging. Almost caught him but he beat me by 19 fucking ass seconds. Stupid, fucking 3am paper routes were starting to catch up with me, I guess.

YEAR SIX: Again with the usual catch him at the bike/kayak transition and totally beat his nasty ass on the river. He did buy his own sissy-la-la sit on top kayak with a rudder to thwart me. That day the last I saw him he was going backwards at the put in with the rudder all askew. Newbie rudder rookie! All together now: 3am, paper routes, fuck. But it was the last year of paper routes. Thank god. And then those ungrateful little bitches did NOT wear their retainers. But I'm not bitter.

The years thereafter have been team trials and his team has never beaten my team. He was a great sport about the public humiliation I subjected him to at the law firm. Lots of tacky loser’s prizes for him; a torso-only mannequin that I dressed up each year in the ridiculous outfits I wore while defeating him and displayed in the reception area; broke into his office in Year 4 to soil his desk with my body posing all over it in victory photos. Especially considering I had a ruined knee that particular year and still whipped him makes my Year 4 victory the sweetest. The outfits I wear are always ridiculous getups because I live and breathe by this credo: Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did....in high heels and a dress, backwards. Eat my ruffly panties, dudes!

Oh, did I mention he is 10 years younger than me and an extremely, insanely competitive Type A personality? Shocking for an Attorney, I know. We happen to share the same primary physician and Doc dropped his jaw when I told him I had beaten Attorney Boy. The doctor actually said "You beat him? But he is so competitive." To which I snark "Evidently he is not competitive ENOUGH." hahahahahhahahahha! Every year Doc likes to hear the race report and makes "notes" in Attorney Boy’s chart! It is mere coincidence that I am no longer employed at that firm.

I take great pleasure in dressing up for all things sports related because I actually could and did produce results. What amazes me the most is that my getups and attitude ANNOY the more testosterone-poisoned of the species. Okay, some women don't like it either but they are more quick to see through my facade than the boys are. One year I was the ironwoman pace setter the week before TGR to establish the time ironwomen had to beat in order to get a restaurant meal coupon prize. I show up all adrenaliney and spouting off. Then off we go: the ironman pace setter, the team pace setter (Runner) and me. I doodle along with the ironman and finally tell him I am sorry but I gotta go at my own pace. And leave him in the dust. I actually catch up to the team rider and draft off him for as long as I can hang on but he is fast. Into my kayak I go and through the rapids where I embarrassingly dump my new-to-me racing boat. I climb back in and paddle on down to the finish line. We are all yukking it up and eating after it's all over. I am teasing the ironman asking where had he been? That I had even waited in the rapids for him for awhile. Oh, yeh, the ironman finally showed about 12 minutes after I had crossed the finish line so for THAT year the ironwomen had to be faster than the ironmen to get their restaurant coupon prize. Sorry about that, ladies (talking to the ironmen there). hahahaahhahaha. Before we all leave a Big Cahuna of TGR (not Eppie, he already knew and loved me) comes lumbering over to me and says:

Him: I owe you an apology.
Me: What on earth for?
Him: Well, you showed up and were acting all stupid. And..well...you are so WHITE there was no way in my mind I could believe you ever work out or do anything athletic. And I was getting on people's cases about WHO had called you in to set the pace.
Me: Well, I am this white because all my workouts are for 2-3 hours before 7:30am since I have young children I have to be home for and take care of the rest of the time.
Him: falls over in a dead faint that this FUCKING FOXY BABE with abs that could crush nuts (ballstothewallnuts are a special favorite) not only whipped the pace setter ironman's ass, she is a Proven Brood Mare as well. Woo hoo!

During another race year I am running across the bridge toward the kayaks and this stupid yahoo ("a Young Male" for the Stupid Impaired reading this story) who had practically wrecked a bunch of us on the bike portion and sucked wheel but couldn't pull us worth shit is directly in front of me. He throws (literally) his bike at the volunteers and starts running yelling "Heads Up! Coming Through! Heads Up!" and is actually shoving people anywhere near him. I am incensed. So I run right behind him yelling as loudly (which is Very Loud...look it up in the dictionary. Right there by the word "very loud" is my picture.) as I can possibly bellow "Heads Up! Asshole Coming Through! Heads Up! Asshole Coming Through!" I was very disappointed that he seemed to not hear what I was saying. I was ready for him to turn on me and just try to pound me. Like that could ever happen. I had that whole fucking crowd on my side, believe you me. He woulda gone down. Even Better....here he is in his 20s and yet I, the Oldest And Still Most Manned Up Woman on Earth (don't you ever forget that) am right fucking behind him!? Puhleeeze.

Then there was the year I won my ironwoman division. In a red bikini and knee-length white lace tights and the usual 4-5 pounds of jewelry and hair ornamentations. I am standing at the time boards where the official finish times are being posted. There are 5 men in front of me all yakking about their finish times and they are looking for their friend's finish time. She was evidently also an ironwoman. One man says "Hey, did you see that stupid clown in the bikini and tights?" Another says "Yeh, what a jerk." Two others are laughing along but the FIFTH man has turned to look around and sees me standing close enough we can practically smell each other's breath. He pales but then smiles because I am smiling and turns to his friends "Well, before you say anything more you might want to know she is standing directly behind you. Right now." The other 4 all laugh him off and say "Sure." But cannot resist looking anyway. And there I am, in my clown outfit, wearing my number which IS the number on the board as the winner ironwoman. I have never heard so much back pedaling, stammering, apologizing, etc. I rip them a buncha new ones for awhile but in my Best Pansy Manner and so of course we end up friends. I then challenged them for the next year. I beat them all except one who DNF. You know how it is with competitive men. They would rather drop out with a "cramp" than ever admit defeat to some clown in a goofsuit. Especially when that clown is The Most Manned Up Woman Ever. hahhahahahahhaa. 2008 will be my 22nd consecutive year in TGR.