Try-athletes.

Today I got up before Maude’s own sunrise to go with my in-betweenie sister (K) and her roommate for their female-only triathlon.  Let me note that I decided to wear my “I am Kate Harding” t-shirt (hoping I’d see a fellow Shapeling, or at least get questions that led people to FA), and then freaked out because I didn’t shower this morning and my hair was a mess and in essence I was not a cute fattie and…wait a second, hello, was that a point I just missed?  :headsmack:  Okay, so I went to this event and, heh, slept in the car for the first two and a half hours.  I woke up at about 8:45 and, since K said she expected to be across the finish line at around 9:30, I had the opportunity to go grab a cup of coffee at the only coffee place open in this faux Italian village shopping center resort place thingy:  Starbucks.

I’m noticing at this point that my writing is becoming loose and flowy, but please try to bear with me while I work out this brain problem.  I have been such a phenomenal space cadet lately, it hurts.

Anyway, so this resort is really, REALLY pricey and anyone who’s been to Vegas knows that the beautiful people come here to be seen and get drunk.  When I ordered a latte with whole milk, the cashier—an older woman whose nametag told me she was from Montana—didn’t bat an eyelash, but the young pretty thing behind the espresso machine croaked out, “WHOLE?  Is that what you meant?” to the cashier.  The cashier smiled (I had love for this woman, lemme tell ya) and said to her, “That’s what I wrote, right?”  To which the barista said, “Well, I just NEVER see it, so I wanted to be sure.”  And I cracked up in my cold little heart to think that I blew someone’s mind for my preferences today.  All before 9 am.

I mosied over to the finish line and watched the women as they crossed.  This is where I get all mooshy and emotional, because I was in tears thinking of so many things about these amazing athletes:  how much work it takes to get your body to do something like this, how many of them might be doing it because they hate their bodies and want to punish them(selves), how many of them are mothers inspiring their daughters to either work hard to achieve this dream or to punish themselves, and how ALL of them, every last one, was BEAUTIFUL in a way I can’t describe.  The woman who very clearly at some point in her life had been horrifically burned.  The woman who ran on a prosthesis.  The numerous women with stretch marks, thigh jiggle, wrinkles, knee braces, easy stride, stiff stride, cancer in their pasts, all of them.  It was inspiring to see women of all sizes and shapes and ages and colors and motivations to get through that final stretch, and it brought tears to my eyes.  When K finally came across, I was proud to bursting that she does this, regardless of the fact that she thinks she needs it so she can lose more weight.  I saw power, power that runs in my family and in all women and in all people.

We are limitless, y’all.  Don’t ever tell yourselves otherwise.