Opinion: Half-Ironman in Effingham
Commentary by Danielle Wilson
Well it’s been quite a week here at chez Wilson, and as I finally take a chance to reflect, I think I can make a column out of it. Here ya go.
On Sunday I participated in my first-ever half Ironman event, fittingly in a town called Effingham. It was effing hot, around 91 degrees; I effing peed myself twice, inspiring a sheriff to come check on me; and I effing ended up walk-running the last effing six miles with an effing pound of ice tucked down my suit. But I finished without stroking out and met a New Year’s resolution. Eff yah!
On Monday, feeling much like I’d been hit by a MAC truck, I proceeded to fall down some steps at Clay Terrace. It was just a slight slip in my sandal, but with incredibly sore legs I couldn’t stabilize myself. So down I went, bruising nothing more than a toe and my ego, as my daughter watched in both horror and amusement. Admittedly, my slow motion crumble was pretty funny, but the public display of clumsiness certainly did not improve my mood.
Then on Tuesday, still recovering from my athletic ordeal, our basement flooded, ironically about an hour after I’d posted the last check to the restoration company for the toilet debacle from last fall. I spent three hours going up and down stairs, emptying the storage room of wet boxes, pictures, Barbie cars and, of course, all the furniture that we’d still not brought back up after our kitchen/main floor remodel. Jeeze Louise! Can’t a girl just lie down and binge-watch House of Cards?
And that brings me to today, Thursday, sitting patiently in the office of a GI group while Doo enjoys a colonoscopy. I’m surrounded by geriatrics in a sea of appropriately-colored brown décor, and in a few minutes I’ll be asked to collect my spouse, high on anesthesia and hosting his own poop-joke comedy special. Good times. At least my body is almost back to normal
So there you have it, a typical week in a Wilson summer. Peace out.