Dear Sara,
You had the chance to live the American dream on Sunday: to bring diversity and unity to the sport of triathlon where there is none (scroll all the way down); to ride on the front, not the back, of the proverbial tandem bicycle; to sit at the proverbial lunch counter while TriDelts serve you; to to stand at the proverbial Brandenburg Gate and say, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this giant blue inflatable arch!"
But instead, you painted your face so as to hide amongst the fairer-skinned masses, indistinguishable from the other WASPs only by the fact that you weren't wearing The Emperor's New Compression Clothes (from 2XU, as seen in the spring/summer '10 catalog) and pushing around a bike that cost your kid's first semester of prep school tuition when you were struggling to put broccoli on the table but told your family you were just saving extra money for the family vacation to Cabo.
A wise author once wrote that the best-laid plans of rice and (ra)men go oft awry. Well, at least they had a plan. This could have been you. But you blew it.
Love,
Drew
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