When the protege outperforms the mentor

The flooding is not as bad as I expected at my house, and I think the planks will dry up with no major damage. I don't anticipate any warping or rotting at this time. I really empathize with the people who have to completely replace of some of their flooring, but the rain has backed off and the wind died down, so I hope it helps all of us. This was the worst storm I've been through yet - I'd hate to see the result if Fay had been a full-on hurricane.

The gimpy bully and I went for a short walk today, too. Hilarious little manipulator, that Kona - when we're around home he lies on his favorite chair, or limps over to collect his string-bone and curls up in mine, or snuggles next to my feet, quieter and calmer than he's ever been in his short little life, favoring me from time to time with long-suffering gazes and heartbreakingly sad, droopy ears and eyes (see right). Yet, the second I clip on his leash and allow him to head past the perimeter of the yard, he starts to use his back leg and pulls me down the street with the force of 10 men.

But the real "story of the day" was my run this morning /afternoon with Wubsy. Wubsy has, over the past few months, returned to his pre-marriage status of good friend.

And it all started because of triathlon.

One day, a few months ago, he texted me for some nutritional advice. That turned into a long thank-you for all the healthy habits and motivational speeches I used to give, day in and day out, during the almost 5 years we were together. When we were married, I went from the weight I am now, which is a weight I've only tipotoed around twice in my life -pre-marriage and post-pregnancy. I did it all by following my natural hunger instincts, watching what I ate like I almost always do, running, golf, yoga and -eventually - triathlon. While we were married, I could not convince Al to do any kind of excercise except golf, and even that took me a while to talk him into. His favorite snacks were full-calorie sodas and chips, and he loved giant slices of cheese pizza or that frozen cheesy garlic bread for or with dinner. I had the damndest time getting him to buy extra-extra-lean beef - he always came home with 80-something percent lean instead of 93 or better. I also bought him his first pair of real athletic shoes, but only under duress and after an incident during which he skinned his toe open bicycling with me.

The advice continued over a period of several months, and, under some minor guidance from me, Wubsy now spins 4-7 times a week, lifts weights, runs and occasionally golfs. He also eats way better (and less) than I do (which is the only thing that worries me - I think he needs to eat a little more and/or spin a little less. He is on the verge of spinorexic.) (But he says they have hot spinning instructors, so maybe that explains some of it.)

So, apparently, as a coach?

I.
Fucking.
ROCK.

Imagine my shock when he showed up, 27 pounds lighter and looking (in my opinion) vaguely like a bobble-head. Then he stepped onto a treadmill next to me, rocking a 10-minute mile for 3 full miles - after an hour-long spin class - while I showed no evidence, interval-running next to him, of being a superior or better-trained athlete. Well, besides my running form, but that's only because of Hector coaching me on my form. Where Wubsy was once the clumsier of us two klutzes, I was the one who stumbled 3 - count 'em, THREE - times walking in between sprints. Imagine my further shock when he began regurgitating all of my positive, motivational sports psychobabble - things like "if I can do it, anyone can" and "just take little steps and build from there, and you'll get there before you know it." (By the way, the "old" me - positive and motivational - was really annoying.)

It was almost like we've completely changed places.

I don't know if this is Karma or a Higher Power's intention - to make us both see what it was like to live in the other's shoes - but I'm not so sure I like it. My eye exam isn't till 1:00pm tomorrow and my yoga class isn't until 4:30. I anticipate a swim somewhere in there - if I can't make ti to the Y to reinstate my membership, I'll go for a bike ride. But as for now, after housecleaning and recovering from my 15-minute ride and 35-minute run (I followed ye olde treade up with 1600m on the indoor track), I'm torn. I'm unable to even express the number of emotions that have possessed me for the past several hours. Things like:
  1. Envy. That should be me.
  2. Injustice. It's not fair that I am going through such hard times after our marriage, when I worried so much about whether we should end it and worked so hard to save it and he wouldn't even go to counseling with me. Now I still have to pay a mortgage and all my own bills, which leaves me less for fitness pursuits and also stresses me into eating more/worse, and he's living rent-free, taking piano lessons and spin classes and making friends at work and causing me to look positively lame. It's also not fair that I, a lifelong athlete, have worked for years to be as shitty an athlete as I am and this guy, who used to have two left feet, has gotten there in less than 6 months.
  3. Competitiveness. Dammit, I cannot let him be better than me.
  4. Pride. Like I said, as a trainer, I fucking rock!!!!
  5. Disbelief. I can't believe I was capable of this much positive impact on another human being's life.
  6. Angry. Why the hell couldn't he make this much effort when we were married?
  7. Uncertain. Maybe I shouldn't be friends with him, because maybe with everything that's transpired between us, it's destined to upset me.
  8. Sad.
  9. Sad.
  10. Sad.

I'm not even sure if this post should be included under the "top 10 reasons triathlon has helped me" category, because I don't know if this is helping me or making me additionally depressed and discontent with both my depression and utter lack of progress in my physical, mental, emotional and financial life.

Gah. I'm gonna need more wine.

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