|Everyone looked like this.|
Fit Friend: We need to go to the packet pick-up this weekend.
Me: Okay. What's that?
Fit Friend: It's where you pick up your number and your free T-shirt and such.
Me: I get a number? AND a shirt? Awesome!
Fit Friend: Look, I'll do the talking there, okay?
So I walked around all day Friday, seizing on any chance to say, "Oh, I have to go to the PACKET PICK-UP tomorrow" and reveling in how athletic that sounded. As it turned out, I was suffering from heat exhaustion after the morning training ride (20 MILES, people) that Fit Friend inflicted on me; so I couldn't really formulate any complete sentences by the time we did pick up our numbers. They were handing out water bottles instead of T-shirts, but I played it pretty cool.
Training ride - I like how that sounds, too.
There were all these cyclists there, fresh back from a different (meaning, more difficult) training ride sponsored by the bike shop that was hosting the PACKET PICK-UP; they were milling around in their spandex and their funny shoes as I willed my heat-exhausted fingers to hold a pen firmly enough to sign a 2-page waiver form. "Do I need to read it?" I asked Fit Friend.
"Essentially, by signing, we're saying it's okay if we drop dead on the ride," she told me.
That didn't sound quite as good to me as packet pick-up and training ride, but I really wanted that water bottle, so I signed anyway. Then they gave us numbers for our helmets AND our backs AND our bicycles -- I guess so they can identify the bodies more easily at the end. And that was that - I am now officially a person who does bike-a-thons and does training rides and goes to packet pick-ups. Who knows? I may even end up wearing one of those spandex shirts with the pockets on the back. Peer pressure, you know...