I work out with a fairly big group of people, and the vast majority of the women have such an unreal wardrobe of workout apparel that it’s giving me quite the complex. Half of these girls look like fitness models, rocking out in cute, bright colored tops and pants. I, on the other hand, am not so blessed… Case in point: On Tuesday I show up at track wearing my Seafair pirate finisher’s shirt (arrrrrrghhh!) and a sad pair of shorts that make my stump legs look even shorter than usual. I also have some decidedly unattractive bags under my eyes and a sloppy ponytail. When doing my warmup, I notice two of my teammates running side by side looking like the Doublemint twins in matching lime green tops and cute little shorts. They’re all bright-eyed and hardly breaking a sweat, and their ponytails are bouncing like they’re in some uber-chic shampoo commercial where the models shake out their hair in slow motion. The fashion doesn’t end with those two though. I think most of my teammates with two X chromosomes are sponsored by Lulu Lemon. No joke, freaking every female athlete I know has virtually their entire spring collection. One time I ducked into the store so I could emulate the cool kids, and not only could I not fit my massive stump quad into a pair of shorts (the sizing there is suicide-inducing), the clothes are so expensive that I suspect my female teammates are operating a secret meth lab in order to afford this lavish wardrobe. Admittedly, my workout clothes collection is pretty sad. It mostly consists of a too-big finisher’s shirt from a previous race and a cheapo pair of shorts. Every once in a while I’ll even bust out a couple of sad cotton tank tops I bought at Target about five years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have cute plaid and pink and pastel tops that wick sweat and auto-spray perfume on me to counteract any funky odor my body is unleashing, but I can’t a) afford said wondrous clothing, or b) wear any of these tops without sporting a massive sausage roll around my midsection. It seems that a lot of stars need to align before I can improve the gear; namely, continuing Operation De-Chunkify and possibly winning the lottery. Until then, look for the tired girl in the ill-fitting Rock ‘n Roll Marathon finisher’s shirt and bunched up shorts and tell her she looks good....

March has been a busy week for me and Jas, so getting all our workouts in has been a bit tough. In the span of a week, we were in Leavenworth, Portland, and Denver. When I got home from the latest trip, I knew I had to kick things into high gear to get back on track with my workouts and to pick up where Operation De-Chunkify left off. Teresa must have felt the same way, because she scheduled me almost 14 hours’ worth of workouts. *shakes fist* The week’s not even over yet, and my quads feel like a shredded beef burrito with less delicioso and more pain-o (yes, I minored in Spanish). On Tuesday I ran 5 miles at our track workout, busting out stupid 400s and unsuccessfully stifling nasty fish burps (another food that’s come back to haunt me). With my legs a bit stiff from track, this morning I went to the dry land swim workout. Since there were only three of us in attendance today, Teresa decided to bring the pain moreso than usual and forced me to do an unholy amount of squats and lunges. (I got the last laugh though, sweating all over every square foot of the workout area. Have fun mopping up my Asian funk, Teresa!) What did T-Pain schedule after dry land? A 90 minute bike ride that included 5 three minute hill repeats. I dejectedly did my warmup on the trainer, then busted the bike free and rode to a hill that’s a mile from our house (the first ride of the season — had to dust off the cobwebs a bit) and proceeded to turn my quads into this: (The shape of the legs is pretty accurate — I’ve been cursed with SALS, or Stumpy Asian Leg Syndrome. Thanks, Mom.) With a run and a swim tomorrow, a stair workout and swim class Saturday, and a 3 1/2 hour ride + brick run Sunday, I think by Monday my leg muscles should make for a pretty tasty pulled pork sandwich. Mmmm,...

Shortly after I signed up for Ironman Canada, I started doing strength training once a week with a personal trainer. My goals are pretty straightforward: I want to get stronger, slim down, and be able to do some pull-ups without flailing and looking like a sad little weakling. I have managed to get stronger over the past few months and the pull-ups are getting less tragic-looking. As for the weight, well… My strength trainer is a big nutrition buff. Shortly after I first started working with him, he urged me to write down everything I ate for about a week. I obliged and appalled him with my food log (I believe he referred to me as a “carboholic”). He made several recommendations (eat every three hours, don’t eat carbs until after my workouts, cut out fake sugars and stick with more natural foods) and told me to check back in a while. I was all gung-ho until the holidays hit, at which point I gained back what I had lost and chubbed up to my fattest weight ever. It was pretty depressing – I wouldn’t call myself “fat,” but I was definitely at my flabbiest. I checked back in with my strength trainer, who agreed that I looked a bit “chunkier” (sigh) and told me to start writing down my food again. He also bullied me into sharing my weight every week, so instead of my vague “I’m down a pound,” I’d have to start giving actual numbers. Crap. This week I turned in my food log and was told I had made a marked improvement in the slop I was shoving down my gullet. I’ve so far lost about 6 lbs but have a ways to go to hit my goal weight. I’m basically going for “skinniest I’ve been since I got my tonsils removed when I was sixteen” weight, only with more muscle mass and fewer popsicles. (It was the “subsist off popsicles and tea” diet, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t poop for a week. Damn was I skinny though!) The one thing that threw me for a loop was when I got my body composition tested. To me the fat percentage seemed inaccurate – it was about 4% higher than I expected and placed me in the “poor” category. Normally I wouldn’t think much of it, but I don’t look that fat, for crying out loud, and I do stay pretty active even if I do tend to eat utter garbage. Also, bear with me here as I introduce an example derived from VH1 of all places. I caught part of an episode of Celebrity Fit Club on TV this week, and one of the “celebrities” getting weighed in looked considerably chunkier than me but apparently had 2% less body fat. Granted, she was about 3 inches shorter than I am, but still. She was told that if she lost 20 lbs, her body fat would drop about 4% (I forget the exact number), yet my strength trainer told me that if I lost 20 lbs to hit my goal weight, I’d drop 10% of my body fat. That seems like a pretty big difference for two people with apparently similar body compositions and weight goals. This whole body composition nonsense kind of confuses me. Either way, I know what I want my goal weight and my body fat percentage to be, so I guess it doesn’t matter too much what the test says I’m currently at. All I know is that racing should be a bit easier when I’m hauling 20-25 fewer pounds through the water, on the bike and while I’m running. I’d...

This coming Sunday I’m running a dinky little marathon in Goodyear, Arizona. It’s the IMS Marathon, and this is only the second year of the race (last year they scheduled it the same day as the Phoenix Rock ‘n Roll, so turnout was ridiculously low). I can think of no better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day than to drag my stubby legs 26.2 miles in the arid southwestern heat.

For the third year in a row, I’m taking Teresa’s swim conditioning class. The first couple years I took the class, Teresa ran it solo. Class size varies from a few athletes total to about three per lane. When the class gets crowded, you could sometimes get away with less than perfect swim form if Teresa was on the other side of the pool analyzing your classmates. However, this year things have changed, making swim class much, much more difficult. Apparently, TN Multisports has gained in popularity enough to add another coach and two specialists to the team. Normally I’d applaud the growth and success of my favorite triathlete’s coaching business; however, these rock star coaches have taken it upon themselves to come to swim class and poke their noses in my mediocre swimming business. Before, I could maybe sneak in a crooked leg kick or the occasional windmill arm and Teresa was none the wiser if she was busy inspecting the far lane. Now there are 2-3 coaches on-hand at any given moment, peering down at you like eagles scanning the plains for a field mouse to eat. A crappily swimming field mouse. Last weekend, I swam a length and brought my head up when I got to the end of the pool. The first thing I saw was a pair of feet. I looked up and Rusty was peering down at me, instructing me to widen my left arm entry. I nodded and took off to swim to the other end of the pool. 20 yards later, I pop my head up and see…another pair of feet. I sigh and look up, and Bridget is staring down at me. What does she say? “Widen your left arm.” Gahhhhhh, I already heard that at the other end of the pool. Boo, hiss. So now I can’t slack when I think the coach isn’t looking because the coach is always looking…all three or four of them. Group workouts just got a whole lot harder…damn those knowledgeable coaches. They really should mind their own business and let me make little to no progress in the water....

Though the term is kind of douchy, I’d call myself an equal-opportunity “foodie.” Okay, more of a food lover, really. The word “foodie” has a pretentious air about it, while I’m content to eat just about anywhere so long as my meal is good. I love sketchy burrito joints just as much as $400 meals at Fleur de Lys, and street food is just as delicious as [insert fancy dish with truffles]. Every year I even make a pilgrimage to Taco Bell, stuff my face full of grade-E meat and experience instant regret and self loathing. It’s been a tradition of mine for years.