So, Scott dropped in on Saturday, and, while we were talking about racing next year (and, yes, we all are. I’m planning on a triumphant return to Camp Pendleton, where I’ll rip through that course like a ferret on crank [note to self: don’t forget crank-flavored gels]), he brought up our little pact from last year: that he and I would race Ironman New Zealand in 2007.
Now, while we could still get in, the chances of us surviving the course without permanently damaging ourselves are slim to Oh-Sweet-Mother-Of-God-That-Hurts, so we pushed it to 2008. So, I declare now in front of all the Intar-Tubes: I am going to enter Ironman New Zealand 2008, and I will finish it without throwing up. However, I reserve the right to weep copious tears around mile twenty-one of the marathon.