Another year, another piece of Niall Madden left on that damn road! 0 for 2 now. Only this time was worse. Perhaps I was foolhardy; emboldened by a reasonable performance in my rookie year where I kept the bionic-legged Heather Dohm in my sights until just before the rock and only emptied my stomach at the top of the Eliminator (without putting a foot down). This time I puked before halfway, the taste of fruit snacks and lemonade tinged with the acidity of failure. My choice not to eat lunch (for this very reason!) was proving to be another oversight. With the ensuing dizziness and shaky-leg syndrome that comes after a good round of gut-heaving I was sure I would be chalking up my first DNF next to my second DQ for puking.
After 5 minutes of contemplating the ostracism I could face from the Dohm family (ridiculous over-achievers if you ask me) I gingerly resumed my ascent. My time of contemplation on that mountain was a scary one. As Erin passed, and then Jon, to leave me at the back of the field alone standing in a pool of my own sweat and bile I felt I could become a statistic that day. The flies buzzed louder in my ears, the sun beat down on me so hard I felt I was being flattened by it, birds of prey were circling overhead.
[Spolier alert - I made it, though I left any dignity I brought to CA on the road half-way up the mountain.]
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| Happy campers at the summit - all but one |
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| Caveat Emptor Marry into this family at your peril Humiliation guaranteed |
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| Back during happier times - before the climb |
A 1000+ veteran of the climb, Jon Dohm is always forthcoming with advice {you're starting out too fast, playing tennis beforehand is not a good idea - respect the mountain!, fruit snacks are not appropriate pre-climb nutrition, water!!!}. You'd think I'd listen.
My only consolation is now I have another member of the extended Dohm family to share in the misery with. Mark, too, got smoked by his wife. A rookie Gibraltar-climber himself, Mr. Stephen was my saviour that day. I met him at the rock contemplating his own demise and we lamented our situation together. We hadn't even started the Eliminator yet, and if it weren't for Mark I wouldn't have done it. What kept us going when every turn seemed to present another endless ascent (it didn't help that I had forgotten where the top was)?! The thought of drinking every single Coors Light that Jon had in the house that night while occupying his hot-tub! How dare he so ruthlessly dispatch with 2 men less than half his age in such an athletic endeavour?! And then how dare he bare 2 offspring (GIRLS, no less!) that even more ruthlessly dispatched with us! And finally, having the last laugh, marry them off to us for a lifetime of similar humiliation! Well played, Mr. Dohm.
I don't know who has it worse, Mark or me. He married the cycling machine. I, at least, stand a chance against my wife! But Heather doesn't have a competitive bone in her body and is loathe to elevate any feat of hers above her husband. The diametrical opposition of this is embodied in her sister Erin. When I lose I know about it. Score-keeping is a tenet in our marriage. Andy, for the sake of your sanity and your marriage keep that wife of yours off a bike, surf-board, tennis court, and anything she has the potential to compete with you at.
I intend to tell you all about our whole CA trip soon. Of course, our main reason for us being there was marriage of our sister and Mark. We were so very excited for that event. But until that post I'll leave you with this worrying sign of the second coming....
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| Mrs Dohm engrossed in the theory of wormholes and time travel |
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