Today, Rebecca Kelley, a 30-year old mediocre athlete who has somehow managed to complete two Ironman-distance races despite her unwillingness to get out of her warm bed and train most of the time, announced that she will be turning pro in the one discipline she excels at the most: very nearly doing her swim workouts but never actually completing them.

On October 12, after nine supremely awesome years of dating, the BFG surprised me with an epic marriage proposal in New York City that involved the eager participation of a former American Gladiator. No, I’m not kidding.

I’m currently sitting on a flight from Seattle to New York (well, Newark) feeling fidgety and uncomfortable. No, it’s not because of your standard “sardines packed into a tin” dread of being crammed into a metal bird with a couple hundred of your closest germ-riddled stranger-neighbors. My constant shifting and pained expressions have to do with something horribly awful and appropriately Mediocre.

Grand Theft Auto V debuted this Tuesday, which was also Jason’s birthday, so to be a good girlfriend, I pre-ordered it for him so he could play this week. In addition to being able to fondle strippers at the club and visit a medical marijuana dispensary in-game, apparently you can also race in a triathlon.

This morning, Jas egged me on to sign up for my first 50k, the Orcas Island race on February 1, 2014. I plunked down the money to register and forgot about it somewhat until it dawned on me that I should check out the actual course description and terrain for this race. So I did.

A friend and teammate of mine just posted on Facebook that she signed up for her first Ironman-distance triathlon. She warned another teammate of ours that she better not let her down because our teammate was planning to sign up for Coeur d’Alene, too. This, my friends, is the classic Ironman Suicide Pact.