Meet Simone

Simone is my nemesis. I lay on my couch in my fat girl sweats watching the tv with a plate of cookies at my side while she changes into her workout gear, grabs her helmet and heads out my front door with her bike. I lay in bed, marveling at how impossibly warm my bed feels (considering I sleep nude) while Simone is at the edge lacing up her running shoes about to hammer out ten miles in the pre dawn cold. I fumble through my papers looking for the number to pizza delivery and she expertly slices tomatoes for a salad.

I fucking hate her. There is no peace with this bitch in my life.

So, why did I invent her?

I have no idea. She made her grand entrance into my life when I was training for a triathlon this past summer. I was biking on a trail, I was exhausted, my quads were lead and I wanted to quit. The great thing about going out on a trail is that you have to work to get back. It's not like riding laps where you can just stop when you get tired and you're close to home or your car. I had seven miles in front of me whether I biked, walked or crawled. I could have taken a break - stopped at the benches, had some water. But, I didn't want to stop. All I wanted to do was go home. I thought of getting off my bike and walking. It would give my quads a break - stretch out my muscles. LOSER. Suddenly, a different voice. STOP BEING A PUSSY AND PUSH. YOU WANNA GO HOME? FUCKING EARN IT. Simone was born.

I scratched my cornea in the summer, unable to wear contacts, I couldn't swim and had to miss my triathlon. Simone took off.
I didn't know if she would come back. But, she showed up last Thursday at 4am - started talking about running. At 7am, I gave in.

Truth is, I kind of missed her.