I am a total triathlon addict. No matter how frustrated I get during peak training season, no matter how much my body or legs hurt, once I get a taste of race day I cannot wait to do it again. Lake Placid was tough, and I still become short of breath while walking up a steep flight of steps, but it does not matter--I need to do it again...soon. Of course there are a few road bumps I am going to encounter…

I have my sights set on a few upcoming races, but realistically the next one is probably not until the end of September…which is perfect since I no longer have a bike. I was driving home from Lake Placid, and after nearly 6 hours I was finally within 2 miles of my house. I could taste the salt in the air. I was still feeling high from the Ironman 72 hours prior.  Nothing could ruin my day. I had a great trip, a fantastic race, and had fabulous plans for the evening when I returned home. I was day dreaming my entire ride home.  Even the traffic I encountered on the Garden State Parkway could not piss me off.

Then it happened. Whack! I was stopped at a traffic light crossing the bridge to my house when I was rear-ended. Typically this would not phase me, as I view my car more as a mobile locker room than a vehicle.  On any given day you can find a wardrobe full of athletic apparel, at least 2 pairs of sneakers, and a few book bags with swimming equipment. On this day however, as soon as I was hit I had one thought “F***!!!!” My bike was on the back of my car.

I quickly hopped out of my car, ignoring the old bleeding guy who hit me; I ran to the back of my car to assess the damage. What I found was horrifying.  Definitely a buzz kill. My beautiful tri bike was wedge neatly between my car and the old bleeding guy’s car. My back wheel, front cassette, and frame totally destroyed. Epic fail. Trying to keep my temper in check, I approached the old bleeding guy, made sure he was not dying (which he wasn’t), and calmly and rationally tried to explain to him what he had done.  He did not get it.

After pictures, police reports, and exchanging of phone numbers I pulled away mildly to moderately pissed off. I had wrapped the old guy’s bleeding arm and asked him three times if he was ok, and he never asked about my bike. “Really rude” was all that was going through my head. With that thought the light bulb finally went off in my head and the sky opened up—wrecked tri bike=NEW TRI BIKE!

I am totally ready for my next race--cannot wait. It will be even better after I drop an astronomical amount of money that I do not have on a shiny new, light, and fast tri bike. Lance Armstrong says “It's not about the bike."  Come on...it is totally about the bike.  What does he know?