Jodi and the Tempe Firemen on a boat.

Today was a practice swim. The Ironman race is on Sunday, and any and all participants have a few slots of time on the days leading up to it, where they can practice swimming in crystal clear waters (aka Tempe town lake). Now don't get all excited and think i overcame my wet suit fears, that is just not the case. What is the case is that as a member (not a dues paying but a member none-the-less) of the Sun Devil Kayak Club, I am encouraged to help volunteer in my boat during the race and practice sessions.

For some reason today, i decided it would be a good idea to wear shoes, tennis shoes if you will, in my kayak. Now that felt fine for the first 3 minutes, when i was paddling out to the middle of lake. But soon my ankles, and tops of feet an shins began to burn, then throb, then ache, and then they really started to hurt. You see just like my 2 sizes too small wet suit gave my body clostraphobia, my kayak squished my size 11 tenny-clad feet into a tightly confined space. I tried things to relieve the pressure in my legs. First, I focused on paddling with focus, then speed, and then precision. The pain did not leave me, it was steadfast. Next, I chatted with anything that passed me. Fellow boaters and swimmers all got an overly friendly impression of the gal in the blue boat. Ouch still hurting, but I smile and try to not show my agony. I tried stretching exercises, hoping to find a bit more space for my feet. The pain did not subside, it simply grew with intensity. Enough was enough. My body must be free, and that included my feet and freakishly long toes.

I glanced around... where is relief, where is solace for my aches, my burns, my throbs. I see a dock where freedom lies. I have thought about the doc before. And yet, abandoning my post, seems wussy-like. Weighing my options, I decide it is time to paddle as fast as I can to the doc, then I will quickly remove my shoes, and get back in the boat, returning quickly to my post.

I paddle, I paddle, I paddle. I pass a boat full of attractive and middle aged mildly attractive fire men. They ask me if i want to come ashore. I smile awkwardly. Strangely I feel like when you are on a road trip and you have to go to the bathroom, and you see the sign for the rest stop is 40 miles away, and you can contain your bowels. And yet, as the signs get closer, you have to go a bit more. Once the rest stop is in your view, you feel like you are holding back Niagra Falls. This is how the pain is. I know I am so close to the doc, and yet as I get closer the pain increases. I share with the fire men my plight. They ask me if I would like to get on their boat, and are willing to balance me in the water while I step out of my kayak... and into their boat. I am no dummy this will never work. I am far too unstable when it comes to dismounting out of the boat. I bid farewells, they tell me I can bring my shoes back and they can watch them for me.

I paddle, paddle, paddle. All the while my ankles are buring, my calves are throbbing, and my shins are stretched to their maximum. I reach the shore. I ease out of my boat. My feet are practically cemented into their position. Finally they are dislodged and I can remove my shoes. I paddle over and drop off my New Balances to the firemen's boat. They have graciously agreed to keep watch over them, while I finish helping out. It takes the rest of the practice for my feets and attachments to feel semi-normal. All the while I am stretching, wiggling, flexing, circling and spelling the alphabet (all tricks learned from 30 years on this earth) with my feet.

All because I have a crush on the President of the Kayak Club. Well I didn't wear shoes for that reason, but he keeps me volenteering at all these triathlons.