With so little time left before my birthday to behave as though I am not yet my current age, I’ve had a lot of dancing to do recently. It’s okay to pretend not to be a grown-up sometimes, because by day I’m a surgeon (cardiothoracic–also pretend). To paraphrase my eight-year-old, it is a complete coincidence that I was beyond-four-cups-of-coffee exhausted when I woke up at 4:30 this morning to go watch his first triathlon, but someone else was pretty whiny too because he had been forced to eat breakfast, and there was simply no time for a Belgian waffle with powdered sugar, maple syrup, and a Maraschino cherry. Brad, at least, was not whiny, but I think he would have missed about a third of the stoplights if I hadn’t been there with my 37% caffeinated pretend surgeon’s brain.

A triathlete is something maybe even a little too crazy to pretend to be. I can’t figure out why it doesn’t appeal to me more, since when I break it down into its basic parts—standing around a little underdressed for the weather, jumping into cold water, and then working out for a few hours—it’s all kind of what I end up doing a lot of weekends anyway. So maybe the turn-off for me is having to put it all together in a prescribed order, and having to remember so many more components than your running watch and your Trader Joe’s Gummy Penguins–or Gu, which is probably what I should have mentioned if I’m ever going to get sponsored. I think I did have Gu during the New York Marathon, which was very successful in some ways. So if you’re reading this, whoever makes Gu, I’ll take a coupon, although I don’t think I’ve ever used a coupon. Also, I’m not much of a swimmer, or a biker, which I learned today counts for something like two-thirds of your score.