So I just put my bike in a bag. It's a bike bag. But if you think about it for one second (which I hadn't), bikes aren't really meant to go in bags. Nor is any bag really meant to go on a bike.

Somehow I bought the bag that holds your bike with the back wheel on and only after half an hour of contortion got the thing zipped with the back wheel off. Maybe it's made for midget Taiwan bikes? Seriously, I'm not that tall! And it turns out a bike in a bag is really heavy.

Sweat was just dripping off me. Like, literally making a little puddle. I'd given up beer on the theory that beer isn't that good for you, and I should be healthy for the triathlon, and also I don't want to be bloated in my unflattering triathlon clothes. But the first thing I did when I got into my apartment was leave and go buy a beer. Yum.

OK, you will read one more blog about triathlons (the after-triathlon-report), and then it's back to the cultural insights you've come to love. Coming soon: why do crazy people always talk to me? The mystery of dried pork. And the Asian Squat.