It struck me this morning as I lay on my bedroom floor, stuffing and tucking and pushing and pulling and pinching my Athena flesh into a wetsuit, that pregnancy is not the only experience to produce stretch marks in the female body.
Nor is birth the only kind of labor. Plenty of groaning and growling and measured breathing are required to pull one of those blasted things off.
To all of you entering triathlon season: May the road rise to meet your running shoes. May the wind always be at your back on the bike. May the sun shine warm upon the lake and rise the water temp above 70 degrees. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.