Man Space

I am the only one at this dog pound with a y chomosome. Wife, daughter, cat, two dogs . . . all female. All from the double x gender. There is no Monday Night Football (not that I could stay awake that late). There is no John Wayne. It is 24/7 HGTV. Although his mancard has been suspended more than once, at least Taconite Boy was able to bring his half of the tribe numerically even (if still undermanned) with the advent of Urp and Chopper. I am completely and utterly outnumbered.

So, while injured, I have spent some time this off-season getting in touch with my guy-ness and renewing my man card. Bolder has his "man couch," but even us domesticated married fellas need a little space to call our own. So I have started making my multisport paradise in our garage.

It is . . . . . the "Man Space."

Note the bike box, the road bike on trainer, the tri-bike hanging from the ceiling, the rubberized flooring for core workouts, the equipment rack for helmets, shoes, wetsuits, goggles, the workbench for repair projects, and the large locker filled with nutrition, equipment and clothing for swim, bike and run. Ooooooooooooh. Pretty. Let's take a closer look.

Look at the size of that locker. In triathlon, size does matter.

Inside the locker are shelves and baskets for swim bike and run apparel, towels, bike maintenance accessories, TYR transition bag, etc. Note the official U of H track jacket given to me by Coach T. Even I look fast in those threads.

Then there's the equipment rack with the running shoes, cycling shoes, wetsuit, all the helmets . . .

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey, wait a minute. Where did all those pink helmets comer from?

And a verticle bike rack to hold the . . . . hang on. Those are girly mountain bikes.

Ah, the triathlete stud's garage in still life: pedal wrench, hammer, binder's twine, short wave radio, copy of "Going Long," Triathlete mag, Amino Vital, bottle of fine scotch, all held up with .308 machine gun ammunition. No Kelly Clarkson in here. Brings a tear to my eye. I'm all verklempt. **sniff** It's a beautiful thing.

And of course, NO GIRLS ALLOWED, . . . except the pack leader, . . . . and superpounce, . . . and

Gumbo the dog, . . . . and Cocoa the dog, . . . and Alyssa the Cat . . .

But other than that. NO GIRLS ALLOWED. Except if you pass the Bolder Rule of Biker Chick Hawtedness.

Oh look! There's one now!!

I wonder. Was this all just a ploy by the pack leader to get the garage cleaned and to get all my triathlon gear out of the closet?????

I've been snookered.