S(h)ocked

December 21, 2007

I wouldn’t necessarily call my self suspicious, but it’s probably safe to say we all have our race-day rituals and habits.  These are often ridiculous borderline-superstitious behaviors that have absolutely no bearing on our actual performance except that they make us feel better.  (Which could arguably make us perform better). 

I didn’t used to wear socks when racing.  It saved time during transition and it looked cooler.  But last year I revised my transition dance to include the putting on of socks in T2 based on the fact that time lost in transition would be gained by not getting painful blisters on the run.  I don’t remember exactly the process by which they were promoted, but I somehow appointed one pair of socks to be my good luck socks.  I raced every race of the season in them, and to be fair, they performed well.  There’s nothing particularly special about them except that they’re thin enough to fit into my racing flats without wrinkling and they have blue trim (which is my favorite color).  Aside from that, to look at them you would say “those are just ordinary socks”.  But they were my good luck socks nonetheless and I managed to set a fairly significant PR in them at the end of the year, thus promoting them further up the sock ladder to Racing Only socks so I don’t wear them out training in them.

Yesterday however, in a laundry bind, I grabbed them and stuffed them in my gym bag to wear at the gym.  Imagine my surprise when I pulled them on to discover this….!socks.jpg

Naturally, because I have the best behaved dog in the world, I blamed mites.  And then mice.  And pretty much every other creature that could possibly have eaten my socks and is not a dog.  I’ll admit that Finn has eaten his fair share of socks, but I made the argument that he usually starts at the other end, so this was clearly not his work – and besides, he has grown out of the puppy phase…right??  And he’s my triathlon training buddy, so he would know better than to eat the racing socks, right?

Well, I brought it up to GB that mites are eating our clothing and we have a serious problem.  Fumigation may be necessary.  GB laughed and assured me that the damage was caused by my dog.  My  response: “you think it’s too much sock for mites to have eaten?”.  More laughter.  I am in denial.  My dog is a traitor.  He ate my good luck racing sock.

But I needed a good laugh this week and I got it when I put my socks on – so perhaps Finn had my best interest at heart afterall…

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