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Numero Uno

“Get it girl. You’re seeded #1 to start the swim off on Sunday!” My friend Lendy’s text caught me quite by surprise. For a moment – a very brief moment – it went to my head and I had visions of me and all my awesomeness being seeded #1 at the triathlon I was to be competing in that weekend. That is until I had a very painful, but necessary crash back down to reality where I realized there ain’t no way. Ain’t. No. Way. After checking with the race officials, I discovered how I ended up in the number one spot where I most definitely did not belong. See, what had happened was… when I signed up for the triathlon, I accidentally and unknowingly entered my swim time for 50 meters and not for 100. Ruh-roh. At this point, I feel necessary to remind you that I am a college graduate.  I can read and also perform basic math skills. I apparently just choose not to.

Nelly’s rap song, “I am Number One” was on repeat in my head the whole day of the triathlon (thanks to Lendy putting it there). Regardless of what my true swim time was, I had proof that I was number one. It was found in the gigantic permanent-marker-written 1 on both of my arms and both of my thighs as well as the #1 for my bike, my helmet, and to pin on my shirt. It seemed I wasn’t going to get to get to live out my mistake anonymously.

Too bad I wasn’t number one. More like number one hundred.

Lendy being entertained by my status as #1.

Lendy being entertained by my status as #1.

I can’t explain to you how unfortunate it was when people greeted me with, “Wow, number one huh? You must be fast.” Nope. Not fast. Just a wee bit slow…in the head.

Awkward. Moment.

As I explained to their unsuspecting souls what happened, I watched myself fall from hero to zero in their eyes quicker than Paula Dean can unwrap a stick of butter. From woah you’re awesome to wow you’re kind of dumb. But that was only the people I had to explain my unfortunate moment of stupidity to. The rest really believed I was number one. And I let them. Add this to my mandolin-in-the-airport incident and I am quickly collecting a lifetime of situations where I trick people into believing I am way more talented than I truly am.

Despite my tragic mistake made while registering, the rest of the triathlon went off without much of a hitch. I didn’t drown in the pool, I didn’t fall of my bike, and I didn’t die while running. At one point on the bike ride, one of the volunteers even informed me that I was riding clean as I rode past him. What does that even mean? Is it the opposite of “Ridin’ Dirty”? It seems I’ve got a whole slew of inappropriate hip hop songs in my head today. Is that what happens when you skip church to do a triathlon? My dad seems to think so. He tried to condemn me for worshipping the god of exercise on a Sunday morning instead of attending church. I didn’t fall for it.

I. Am. Number. One.

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