Making It Onto The Hottest Women Of All Time List

As most of my friends and family were dreaming of Candy Land and boxes full of kittens, I lay staring up at my ceiling thinking of the leg underneath my cast, throbbing so hard that I swore the cast would soon break off from the force of the swelling. I needed to take my mind off of the pain, so I decided to give into social media and get a Twitter account.*https://twitter.com/ashtrisharder

I don't like clutter, so I was picky when choosing who to follow. After settling on my sister, a few friends and a slew of triathletes I admire, I decided I would also follow a few health and exercise sites, since that is my profession. Soon after deciding to follow Men's Health, they posted an article titled: 100 Hottest Women of All Time (http://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/hottest-women-all-time). I began to wonder to myself, "What do men consider to be beautiful?" I expected to see women like Heidi Klum and Natalie Portman, but was also surprised by many names on the list. Some women were classic beauties, other names I had never heard of. As I scrolled through the photos, it came to my attention that none of these women could fit into one definition of the word beauty. Each was so uniquely beautiful in her own way. Cameron Diaz and her legs. Shakira and her hips. Audrey Hepburn and her poise. Jennifer Aniston and her hair. Kim Novak and her mystery.

So often, women are told they must look a certain way or wear a certain product to be considered beautiful. When single, often women assume it's because men don't find them physically attractive, so they get makeovers or work extra hard to curl their hair just right. Mamma and Pappa will always find their daughter to be beautiful, but will anyone else?  Are some women just blessed in other ways so they miss out on the Barbie figure and clear complexion?

In my final year of college, I was sick and tired of my butt. My entire life, I had dragged this ghetto booty around on a white girl's body. It was a thorn in my side and I was embarrassed by it. I would try to draw attention away from it and would always wear board shorts to the beach or swimming pool. For 22 years, I despised my bottom half. Once after a hard day of classes, I walked up the stairs to my dorm room and noticed some flowers outside of my door with a letter pinned to them. It was from my boyfriend Jonah.

Jonah adored me and he reminded me daily of how beautiful I was. Every time he would shower me with a compliment, I would take out a huge rifle and shoot it down. "You have an amazing body, Ash," or "I love your smile," were some of the compliments he would pay me.

"No, my butt is huge," or "But I have this crooked tooth," I would say back.

He was sick of hearing me complain about my "imperfections" and we got in a big fight about it, after which, he drove away angry and I was left in my bed crying. I was not surprised to see the flowers when I returned home the next evening. Jonah always went above and beyond to make me feel special after an argument. I opened the envelope and read the card. He was pleading me to recognize my stunning beauty and be confidant in who I was. He claimed it hurt him when I would not accept compliments and thought I was too fat or not good enough.

Inside the card was taped an ad from an airline magazine. Two shots of the same woman in tight jeans stood on each half of the torn out paper. On the left, the woman had a flat butt, however on the right, she had inserted a butt implant which had lifted and shaped her gluteal region. It was undeniable that the woman looked much better after the implant than she did before. Underneath, Jonah had scrawled, "See? Women pay hundreds of dollars to have a butt like you already have."

I cannot say that was a defining moment for me, where I realized my own beauty and never was ashamed of my badonkadonk again; however, I can say that I posted the magazine ad on my chalkboard and gradually began to appreciate the roundness of my behind.

We were beautifully and wonderfully knit together in our mother's womb. We are all exceptionally gorgeous individuals. Maybe we don't have Cameron's legs, Shakira's hips, Audrey's poise, Jennifer's smile or Kim's mystery, but we have our own legs, hips, poise, smile and mystery. Even though you may not look like Grace Kelly and may never catch the eye of Adam Levine, you have your own individual charm and will attract the perfect man's eye at the right time.

Not everyone will think you are beautiful; I have had men and women tell me I do not match their definition of beauty. There is one actress who several men have dubbed their perfect woman who I do not find attractive in the slightest. Do not be discouraged when someone tries to push you down for being too skinny or having bug eyes. One day, someone is going to love you for that exact characteristic. Be proud of the woman who you are, respect your body and hold yourself with confidence and poise. I promise you, at this very moment, someone is sitting dreaming of how beautiful you are.

A Breathtakingly Sensational Life

They call it a beautiful life. Ha! This is not a beautiful life.

School shootings, bombings at marathons, children killing children. Go listen to Black Eyed Peas' Where is the Love. The world is falling apart. We are man and we are sinful creatures. There is a Gollum in each of us. We are ugly, despicable creatures.

But what if we did not have to be that way?

My favorite time of the day is between 4:30-6AM. It is the time of the day when everything is quiet. Everyone is still asleep or cozied up in their homes or running through the chill of the morning air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the city streets. The sound of feet pitter pattering down the hallway of the house, stockings pulled up to the knees. This is the time of day when you don't have to rush. You can be whoever you want to be. It is the happiest, most serene and mellow time of the day.
 

Think of the human you are at 4:30AM, after your coffee, of course. Even if you are still soundly sleeping in your bed, you are content, right? Most people don't wake up before 9AM to write down the ways in which they plan to ruin someone's life (hopefully you never do that, but we all have our days).

My ideal morning would be to wake up naturally at 4:30AM, pet Scofield and turn on some Local Natives. I would dance around my room in short shorts and an oversized T-shirt, hair thrown up in an unkempt fashion on top of my head. I would have my favorite striped knee socks on and, if it was cold, a flannel to cover my body. As my coffee brewed, I would throw a couple of egg whites on the stove and dance around with Scofield in my arms. Her ears would pull back, tightening the skin around her eyes, but I would hear her purr and know she was truly enjoying herself. After eating my eggs, I would hop on my bike to ride to the gym and teach a cycle class. When I finished, I would work on a painting before getting ready to go outside and run.

Fortunately for me, this is my life, or at least it was before I was hit by a car. And guess what? I was happy. Ecstatic.

We can live a beautiful life, but we can also live a life better than that. The wonderful thing about creation is we are all created with different passions. I may love teaching cycle while my roommate loves solving mathematical problems. My friend Emery could be passionate about creating foam designs on top of someone's latte while Jackie would rather teach children how to read and write. There is no reason to work a job you hate because, even though you hate it, someone else would love it.

Stop wasting your life. Stop living in unhappiness. Unhappiness is what causes people to hurt others. You wake up late, your hair is not cooperating, the beet juice you poured spilled all over the kitchen floor and you forgot your business report at the top of the staircase. Well shoot. Don't take it out on the person who cut you off in traffic. There is no reason to flip them the bird. Instead, take a deep breath, think of the person you want to be and be that person. Live a life you are proud of. Be an awesome father, an incredible athlete, an amazing scientist. You can be anything you want to be, it just takes time, planning, patience and practice.

Do it today. Write down your ten simple pleasures. Flannel and stripes make me incredibly happy, so what do you think you will find when you look in my closet? Write down the places you would like to visit in your lifetime. Create goals: Start small and end big. Find ways in which you can accomplish those goals and tell others about them. Ask those people to keep you accountable. I want to go to New Zealand. I also would like to complete an Ironman. I am currently setting money aside to compete at IMNZ with friends. What was it Eleanor Roosevelt said? "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams". So believe. Without dreamers, we would not have organizations like Invisible Children or shows like How I Met Your Mother. Be a dreamer. Be a planner. Pursue. Conquer. Be a success story. Be a role model for your children, your friends, your parents, your spouse. Live a breathtakingly sensational life then sit back and watch others follow your lead.

The Man in the Suit and Tie

I distinctly remember the first time I met him. He was standing tall next to his car, cell phone up to his ear, sunglasses on like he owned the parking lot. His tie accented his suit and his shoes were polished. The driver's door and backdoor were both open and music was blaring from the speakers; as he spoke on the phone, he propped his body up with his elbow on the top of his driver's door and nodded me over. His cockiness was strangely attractive, yet incredibly annoying.

"My car is such a mess," was one of the first things he said to me. I climbed in anyway and we made our way over to BevMo to look for his family-owned whiskey company: Templeton Rye. "First impressions mean everything. If you don't look good all of the time, you won't make a good first impression and that's the only thing that really matters," he informed me.

I began to rethink my wardrobe choice: Lucky jeans, black fitted tank top from Banana Republic, Patagonia insulated jacket and TKees flipflops with a white watch to top it all off. I had been wearing glasses that day, which left a noticeable mark on the bridge of my nose. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't care what this man or anyone else thought, so I shrugged it off.

As time has passed though, I have come to really appreciate Blake. I won't downplay him; he is definitely an arrogant man. Something about his pompousness inspires me though. Blake knows what he wants and what he deserves and he does not stop until he gets it. The man is a sport fanatic and claims that he would be a terrific coach, but doesn't want to wait to make the big bucks. He would rather be wealthy now, so he watches every sporting event he can when he's not selling dental supplies. Determination, arrogance, passion... all of these qualities help Blake achieve anything he sets his mind to. He tells it how it is and he never settles for anything less than the best. With Blake, you had better give 110% or you are cut from the team. As Vanilla Ice wisely put it, "Anything less than the best is a felony."

Last week, Blake asked me what my opinion on dieting was. He wanted to lose an inch or so off of his already-chiseled midsection. I'll be honest, people ask me questions like this on a daily basis. Usually though, the people who ask have no intention of sticking to the workout plan I create for them or the meal plan I customize. With Blake, I know he will not falter. I saw his request of designing him a workout program and suggesting a meal plan as an open invitation. Since I will be sitting in bed inactive for 15 or more weeks, the last thing I want to do is pack on a pound or more per week. Although I cannot participate in the workout plans I will be daily sending his way, I can participate in the food portion of the plan: Cut out any processed food and stick only to vegetables, nuts, fruits and meats. Yes, friends, that means no veganism for me.

So raise your glass (of water, of course) and let's toast: To Blake, for being an inspiration and a source of motivation and accountability. Glad you're in my life, friend!

Tbe day we played the ugly face game. Obviously, he won.

Rub-a-Dub-Dub

The story of a girl and her bathtub is a very private matter... except when other people are forced to get involved.

When my friend texted and asked if he could drop by, I took one look in the mirror and responded with an uncertain, "Hmmm... I don't know about that." Hair that looked like it had just come out from under a waterfall, a shirt that wreaked of two days of laying still in bed on one body, armpit hair that could have hosted a zoo full of tiny insects... all these things you never wanted to imagine on any woman... or man, for that matter. So, despite the pain that has been plaguing me night and day, I wiggled my shirt off, put a swimsuit top on then looked at the journey my shorts were about to take down my leg; that cast was not going to be an easy obstacle.

Using the left leg, I dug my heal into my mattress and lifted my butt off the bed. With one swoop of my hands, my shorts were halfway down my legs. Now came the challenge. I stretched the leg of the shorts wide and gently directed it past the cast. Success! My left leg is still clad by a compression sleeve, which is hooked into a machine (the Darth Vador machine), which is plugged into the wall. Due to this contraption, when my shorts came off my left leg, they were still attached to my set-up. Hmmm... I had to chuckle at my predicament. How was I going to untangle this mess? Finally, I decided to just take the darn compression sleeve off of my leg. After that, getting my bikini bottoms on seemed like a breeze.

Mom came into the room and helped me onto my crutches. The muscles of my right quad engaged to lift the white plaster high enough off the ground so I wouldn't knock my heel on the rug. Mom tried to make me feel better about myself by making a comment about my "slamming" bikini-clad body. I hobbled on my one-of-a-kind Mobilegs to the bathroom then, with the help of my mother, pivoted my body and slowly bent my left leg to lower myself on the ledge of the bathtub, right leg propped up on a ottoman.

"How are we going to do this? Do you want me to wash your body first or your hair," my mother asked.

I appreciated her offer, but was not about to let my mother bathe me. If I could do anything on my own, I was going to take every advantage of it.

"Here," I said as I shuffled my butt down into the tub, leg still propped up on the ottoman.

She laughed, but nervously asked, "How do you plan to get out?"

"I'll just use my arms," I replied. "I'm not incapable of using my upper body."

After wrapping my leg in a trash bag, just in case, she looked at me with hesitancy, seeking out any sort of task she could do to help before leaving.

"I'm okay, Mom," I reassured her.

Nervously, she left the room, closing the door behind her so she could go change my sheets and make my bed. That woman has a servant's heart like no other human I know.

I used the shower head to wet my hair and clean myself off. When I was finished, my arms gripped to the bath ledge behind me as I dug my left heal down and lifted my glutes off of the fiberglass tub. When I sat upright, I looked around for a nearby towel; when I realized there was nothing, I was forced to call for help. Mom came to the rescue and wrapped a towel around my shoulders then left the room. My eyes scanned the room again. My hairbrush, my toothbrush... everything that could have been useful at this moment was just out of reach. The feeling of being helpless rose up inside of me; tasks that used to be so easy, such as walking across the room to put paste on my toothbrush, were now seemingly impossible.

Dizziness overwhelmed my body as I waited for my mother's return. A familiar voice broke through the silence. Cory was here to check up on me. Me, sitting half-dressed on the edge of a fiberglass bathtub, hair wet and dripping. Well shoot. Everyone loves an awkward situation. 

Rub-a-dub-dub. First trip to the tub.

Girl, You Be Looking Fine In Them Momo Drawers

"Do you have a pen and paper handy," the woman on the other end of the line asked me. She was calling from the surgical center informing me of the things to do and not to do for my upcoming surgery. "Do not wear jewelery. No lotion. Please brush your teeth. You may wear underwear and a sports bra under your hospital gown."

Shoot. Underwear. When I threw a few precious belongings in my Dakine before heading north, I had grabbed maybe 4 pairs of cute, lacy thongs to wear in Oregon. I figured I would be the only one seeing my underwear, so I might as well feel good about myself in what I was wearing; there seemed to be no need to cover my ghetto booty up with some boy shorts or cheeky underwear.

It was time to do some shopping and who better to go shopping with than my dear friend Monica.

After filling our bellies to the brim with delicious Thai food, we walked over to the store.

"These are cute," she said, lifting up some polka dot underwear. "And look! Rachel Zoe wears them!"

They were very cute, but when it comes to lingerie, I am severely picky. I am the girl who collects Italian lingerie from stores like Intimissimi in Europe; this girl does not settle for Victoria's Secret. Obviously, I was not going to find my style here, so I might as well have fun while looking.

"You could get grannie panties," Monica suggested.

As soon as the diaper-looking article crossed my vision, I pounced over the racks to the fine white panties and held them up to me. "What do you think," I asked.
 

I spent about 10 minutes trying on different types of Momo Drawers over my pants. Quail Man could take some fashion advice from me when it comes to wearing underwear over your jeans.

Looking "Cheeky" from the back!

Momo Drawers at their finest

In the end, I could not justify spending $15 on lace Momo Drawers, so I settled with a pair I MIGHT wear again and walked confidently over to the checkout stand.

Don't worry, Momo Drawers; I'll be back for you in 50 years...

Diapers

Diapers. My dad had the audacity to suggest buying me diapers to wear for the next three days. Usually, I would laugh at this because he would be saying it as a joke. Even with my father's VERY dry sense of humor, I can tell when he is joking and he was definitely not joking. I think I would rather kill myself before having to wear diapers. Can you even imagine sitting in your own urine all day? How do babies and old people do it?

Diapers. I guess that really is what set me off. My whole optimistic outlook went down the drain when I realized that the possibility of needing to wear a diaper for the next few days was very real. If my condition was serious enough to need help getting to a bathroom, what else would be limited? What other simple ADLs would I now find impossible without the aid of a parent or friend? So far, I've learned getting food, taking your shorts off and getting a pen to write in your journal are all very difficult things to do without help.

Diapers. I wish I had had one to dry the tears that were leaking from my tear ducts. Sitting in the back of the car wishing I was alone yet longing to be held. It's wonderful to have my parents here taking care of me and their selflessness and patience and understanding never ceases to amaze me, but it's different knowing you are going home to your parents' house and not to the arms of a lover, someone who will hold you and kiss your forehead and reassure you that everything will be alright. That must be a great feeling. Hence the reason I texted the one person I wish would have been waiting for me at home.

I really have the best parents

Love my mom, even if I have a hard time showing it at times.

It is probably a good thing I am alone though. Only a true Star Wars nerd would appreciate the Darth Vador breathing noise my compression machine makes. Heeeeeeeee-EEEEEE-whoooooooooo-pshhhhhhh..... heeeeeeee-whooooooo.... wheeeeeerrrrrrr... heeeeeee-EEEEEEE-whooooooo...PSHHHHHH And so it goes. Oh hey, Darth Vador... wanna snuggle?

The love everyone has sent me has been amazing though. Thank you so much for all of you who have been sending me e-mails filled with thoughts of encouragement and prayer. Handwritten letters are piled up at my hip from family members and people who have witnessed me blossom from a young, high-heeled girl into the woman in running shoes and Lulu pants. Care packages from Mer, Nani, Emily and Josh all sit by my side, filled with exciting reading material, funky straws and good smelling lotions. My tri coach has been so incredible throughout this process, always checking in on me and sending me motivating notes. This man I barely even know has been sending me inspiring notes of encouragement, helping me through this difficult time and always checking in on me.

So many times I catch myself thinking, "People have been through much worse than this; I should not feel sorry for myself." An example is the Olympic-qualifying Jill Kinmont who skied off of a cliff and was left permanently disabled, with no use of her legs or arms, who then lost not only her love of being able to ski, but also both of the loves of her life. Her fiance left her because he realized she would never walk again then she fell in love with another man who died in a plane accident a week after proposing to her. Obviously, my life is not that bad. In fact, since I've been injured, I've heard the stories of so many people who have been through much worse than I am going through, but Kaley and Sophia recently told me something that really changed my view on things: "It is easy to think that since you are more fortunate than others that you shouldn't feel bad about certain situations, but you're allowed to feel what you feel because you are human and you should never feel guilty about it".

So, today is my "I feel crummy. Let me be sad for myself" day. Tomorrow, get ready for the Tale of the Granny Panties. Stay tuned! I promise not to disappoint!!!

My Saucony Scofield, who has not left my side since I got home from the hospital

The view from home... definitely can't complain about that

Disclaimer: I will not be wearing diapers, thank goodness.

A Wise Fish Once Told Me

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming.

It was a sad day for America, but every day has its pluses. Shall I start with the good news or the bad news?

Good news it will be.

This was taken at 9:30AM... It snowed for another 7 hours after this

After a long day of dental work and coffee drinking while watching the snow fall, I decided it was time to get back into the water. Since it had been snowing all day long, I threw on my new bikini and covered up with booty shorts and a thick sweatshirt then wiggled into my Birkenstocks. Okay... so I may not have packed for Oregon well. I pulled up to the club and tried to keep the cold white fluff away from my toes as I shuffled my feet to the front door. Unlike my pool in California, the gym here heats the pool room. I shed my clothing and looked down to find I still had some definition to my abdominal region. I did a joyful dance as I thought to myself, "I've still got it", then I stood at the end of the middle lane and asked if the gentleman would mind splitting.

Scofield keeping me company next to the fireplace

With a pull buoy in between my legs, I did a 600-yard warm-up then followed it with a 1150-yard workout and 250-yard cool down. My balance was so off and it felt strange not to kick. I tried to add the kick at one point, but with a flexed foot, I felt like a flounder flopping about on a pool deck. Typically, I hate swimming, but I was so excited to be doing something with my body, that I forgot about the dullness of the activity and savored the moment.

Now, onto other news... This morning, my friend Dan texted me to let me know he had finished Boston in 2:50. Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting at a restaurant and the news popped on displaying the bombings at the marathon. Frantically, I checked in with all of my friends who were there competing; everyone I knew was safe. A few people were not so lucky today. I cannot even imagine being in Boston today. There are no words to describe the chaos, sadness and turbulence that is happening due to these bombings. One thing to keep in mind though, it takes a catastrophe to bring people together, but as soon as we start blaming others, we fall apart.

I Pity the Fool

My arms felt chilled in the cool hospital room. Daddy sat in one corner, playing around on his cell phone as usual. He had his cute English driving cap on and I couldn't help but grin when I thought about how adorable he was. I think men go through cute phases: When they are little boys, there is no denying the severity of their charm. Teenagers and young adults have absolutely no cuteness to them. It's as if the switch has been turned off. Then they have their own children and a glimmer of cuteness sparks in their eye, but it is soon lost. The good news is it returns. After retirement, men start to shuffle their feet a little more. They don't care about whether their shirt matches their socks. They put on a driving cap and voila! Cuteness is here.
 

Back to the doctor's office.

"Why did you bring your iPad with you," I asked him.

"To watch a movie," came his response.

"What do you have on there?"

He pulled up the screen. Great movies met my eyes: Jurassic Park, The Incredibles, Gidget... and there it was. The moment I saw it, I knew that was what we would watch. Rocket Power. The show that encouraged my passion for boarding.

Halfway through the cartoon, the door opened and in walked the doctor. Once a football player, he stood tall with fantastic posture and sophisticated greying hair. He seemed to know nothing about my reason for visiting. Dad and I filled him in on the details and he took a thorough look at the mobility of my right foot. He then explained to me that the surgery should have been done immediately after my accident. Since my doctor in California missed the ruptured tendon originally and a month had passed since my accident, my mobility would never be the same.

I had woken up that morning ready for action. The evening before, I had cleaned and prepared. Books lined the second half of my bed in order of importance, as if they were my snuggle buddy. Anything and everything I could possibly need while on bedrest was set into place. I did what I thought would be my last Pilates workout that morning and cleaned my car out. I was ready for this surgery.

"Since it has already been so long," the doctor started. "There is no need to rush the surgery since your leg will never be 100% again. Your chances of being able to run and compete again are very slim. What is your best event?"

"The run," I choked out.

His lips curled into a twisted expression. "I was hoping you would say the swim. It is very unlikely that you will be able to compete at the same level again. You may lose your ability to run. Depending on how far the tendon has separated, I may have to take some of another tendon in order to reattach the anterior tibialis."

I smiled and shook it off, but inside my heart was ripping with every word he spoke. It felt like my one true love was being wretched out of my finger tips. As if I had given birth to this amazing, precious talent and that beautiful thing was jerked out of my hands, dangled in front of me just out of reach then thrown on the ground and demolished.

Looking back, I am proud at the way I held myself together during the appointment. Once I walked into the waiting room though, I pulled out my phone and Facebooked Josh: "I need you here". I thought about all of the people I would have to tell the news to. My entire being wanted to crawl up in the hospital corner behind the coffee cart and cry and cuss. For some reason, saying the F word seemed like it might fix something. The corner was not available to me though and my mom soon pulled up in her car. I got in and lost it... slowly the tears came. My parents had errands to run and breakfast plans. I had a date with my pillow; pillows don't mind when you soak them with tears. Instead of allowing myself to wallow in self-pity, I went along with my parents for an organic meal and a cup of coffee. Coffee makes everything better, this I know to be true. It wasn't even a good cup of coffee, but as the liquid began to disappear, so did my tears.

I will get through this. No one has ever been able to tell me no. I know I can do this and get back to my life stronger than I was before. Drive and determination and dedication: These traits are all important to me. Watch out, Ironman New Zealand, Western States 100 and Nationals... I'm coming for you all... just not as soon as I had intended.

Thank you for all of the kind words of encouragement, the prayers and the compliments you have all been showering upon me. I appreciate you all. And thank you to my lovely Nani for my first care package. 

Thank you, Nani!

Ticking Bomb

Honestly, I think I was supposed to get hit by the car. I've been replaying the incidences that led up to that day over and over in my head. The loss of Sweet Baby Sam, having no car to get around in and using my bike as my main form of transportation, taking two yoga classes instead of one that day, declining an offer for a ride to work from Sarah, deciding to eat lunch before my ride instead of after because the friend I was supposed to ride with couldn't go, forgetting my helmet (which I NEVER do)... all of these things and more led up to the big crash. There is no way that this crash was coincidental. No, I believe there is more to the crash than just an older man forgetting to look left before turning.

Things that could possibly happen because of this crash:

1. I could get a gnarly upper body like Arnold Schwarzenegger's from doing so much upper body work.
 

2. I will become known around the world for my gnarly scar. They will call me Scar Leg.

3. I will gain 200 pounds and not be able to get in and out of my front door. They will install sliding glass doors for me to enter and leave by, but soon even those won't do. When I die, they will have to take me off the couch using a forklift.

Yes... I see a bright future.

But on a serious note, I think I have a lot to learn from this crash and I'm excited to figure out what it is. I have tons of books I will be digging my nose into (not literally... that's just weird) and so many people have offered to come visit me, which is beyond wonderful of them.

So, let's all raise our morning cup of coffee and say cheers! Cheers to health, happiness, the ability to use our legs and the sun shining on a beautiful new day!

Asking a Triathlete on a Date

Man: Hey, want to get dinner tomorrow night?

Me: Sure, that sounds great!

Man: I'll pick you up at 6?

Me: I work until 7, then I need to train.

Man: Oh, when will you be done training?

Me: Well... I need to swim 2400 meters, bike 50 miles and run a half marathon... I'm in my base phase, so it's a shorter workout.

Man: So when do you think you'll be done?

Me: Uhmm... tomorrow morning might be better. We could grab coffee between my swim and my bike.

Man: What time would that be?

Me: I will have like thirty minutes available between 7:00AM and 7:30AM. 

Man: That's early...

Me: That is when I finish my swim.

Man: Maybe this weekend? Saturday? We could go on a hike.

Me: Sure, do you mind if we run the trail?

Man: How fast?

Me: Well, my coach wants me to hold a 7:00 pace.

Man: For how long?

Me: Three hours.

Man: Maybe you can call me when you finish that and we can get dinner? I'll take you to that new woodfire pizza restaurant.

Me: Oh, I don't eat pizza. I only eat vegetables and lean protein. I'm trying to reach racing weight.

Man: (Silence) See ya never!

Image courtesy of Banksy. LOOOOOVE