This is the guy who stole my sandwich. I know it’s him.
Labor Day Weekend. It is the sunset of summer. And it’s so completely stupid.
Seriously, what’s so wrong with year ’round summer? Sure, we’d get sick of the heat and humidity. Many of us would miss things like Eagles games and backyard fire pits. Maybe we would all kill our kids without school. But just think about it. No hats and mittens, no static cling, no chapped lips, no slush puddles. Sunshine and long days and sandy feet. You wear a bathing suit as your uniform. You ride a beach cruiser to get an ice cream cone. I need to stop this. I’ll either lose it or buy a one-way ticket to San Diego.
I was fortunate to be a part of three wonderful events this weekend. They served as the cherry on top of my Summer Sundae.
1. Saturday morning, I joined a 2.5 mile swim from Poverty Beach to the Cove in Cape May. Joey Grapes was kind enough to organize this fast and fun swim. A swift current took 16 of us 2.5 miles in well under an hour from the north end of Cape May to the south, where donuts and mimosas awaited. This Cape May bunch is classy. I was grateful for the invite.
We used the lighthouse to sight. Not too shabby.
Here I am, sharing my Britton’s apple something-or-other with the Smith sisters. Sharing is hard.
2. Saturday night was the Tim Kerr Charities Kids’ Splash and Dash. I just recently aged out of this event (maximum age 15) which stinks because I could have totally won the whole thing. I was tasked with body marking the athletes with a Sharpie. This turned into drawing happy faces and kitty cats onto eager youngsters. I offered to draw handlebar mustaches on anyone willing. I almost had one 8 year-old boy, until his stupid mom showed up.
Once everyone was sufficiently graffiti-ed, I was responsible for corralling the 5 through 8 year-olds until their wave entered the water. One boy asked me how deep the water would be. I said, “Up to your belly button.” After I turned away, I heard his buddy say, “Up to your penis.” His friends all laughed, and then one boy said, “Don’t say penis. There’s girls around.” And then they repeatedly said penis until the race started. They had an excuse to say it over and over. Just like I have an excuse to type it over and over. Penis. Penis. Penis.
Splash pics. I apologize in advance for the cuteness overload:
3. Sunday morning was the 26th Annual Tim Kerr 7 Miler and 5K. I completed the 5K with my teenager. Snarky G. also ran the 5K, while the Rev, Mrs. Donovan, and the Race Director ran “the seven”. That’s what everyone calls it in Avalon, “the seven”. It’s a Labor Day weekend tradition. Commonly heard this weekend: “Are you doing the seven?” and “I might do the seven” and “No way I’m doing the seven.” (That last one is usually me.)
Just before the cannon went off (and scared the ever-living crap out of me), I managed to photo bomb the elusive Harry Dunne creature. He was spotted talking to an actual reporter from the Seven Mile Times.
At least that’s what I heard. That she’s a real reporter. I mean, where’s her microphone/hairbrush? And her OFFICIAL PRESS PASS? I’m just saying. Anyway, Harry Dunne ran the 5K in polyester on a hot and humid day. Mrs. Dunne made him walk behind the car on the way home.
A great wrap up to a wonderful summer.
Thanks to all of you for reading my blog. Writing it has been such a wonderful experience. I enjoy writing for you, hopefully making you laugh a little bit and take life (meaning triathlon) a little less seriously. I’ll keep writing over the winter if you’ll keep reading. There are plenty of topics left to discuss, such as:
- V02 Max: Training Method or Hair Styling Product?
- Top Ten Movies To Watch On The Trainer
- To Flip Turn or Not To Flip Turn? One Triathlete’s Story
- Oversized Finishers Medals And Their Household Uses
Plus, I still have to review my ReVerb Wireless Headphones. And, expect a guest post from my childhood friend and newly forged Ironman Steve Hamilton, with his top spots for ice cream in Philly. (He did some serious research.)