We were at a birthday party this weekend and I had the opportunity to chat with an IronMate (Amy) about her husband's experience at IMLOU a couple of years ago (we'll call him Mike). I asked Amy to chat with Doug about her experience as a Sherpa/IronMate. "Maybe you could chat with my husband about what he's in for during the next 20 months. . . ?" I suggested. She smiled and patted my arm. "It's probably best he doesn't know," she said. Yikes. Just yikes.***
I laughed and asked about his race. She told me an incredible story. It went like this:
Mike really had a hard time at Lou. He had trained hard and knew what to be prepared for, but he wasn't really prepared for the hills. He knew what pace he needed to keep on the walk in order to make the cutoff, but the hills. He just wasn't prepared for them.
He was behind a guy on the bike who bonked. Of course he had no way of knowing the guy was bonking, but boom. There he was, lying in the road. He had fallen off of his bike right in front of Mike. Mike didn't have a chance. He barreled into the guy, flew over his handlebars, and wound up in the ditch. He sat there in the ditch, stunned. "Well, there goes my Ironman," Mike thought. "This is just something I can't help. I did my best and apparently, today wasn't my day." As Mike stood up, he realized nothing hurt. He wiggled his fingers and his toes, stretched out his back, and said a prayer of thanks. He was uninjured. No bumps. No bruises. No pain of any kind. "Wow. If I'm in this good of shape, my bike must be totaled." Nope. Bike was fine. Fine. 100% fine. "Well. I guess I'll climb back on this bike and see what happens."
Mike tooled on down the road and was making decent progress, but he was worried about making the cutoff. The hills were really taking their toll and the unexpected stop had eaten into his time. He was getting a little discouraged when a pair of tri angels happened upon him. "You look like you're struggling there, friend." Mike admitted that he was and he was worried about making it in. "You stick with us. We've been training on these hills and we'll pull you through. Stick with us. We'll get you there." These tri angels never left him and got him through the last of those 112 miles, well under the cutoff.
Mike began the "walk," as Amy called it. He did the math and knew he needed to maintain a 15-minute mile to beat the 17 hour cutoff. As he caught and passed people who were struggling, he would repeat the same phrase the tri angels had said to him. "You look like you're struggling there, friend." Competitor after competitor confided in him that they were done. They were tired. They had stopped too many times. They weren't going to make it. Mike repeated the same mantra, over and over. "You stick with me. I've been training at this pace and I'll pull you through. Stick with me. I'll get you there."
Mile after mile, Mike encountered more people just like him. People who had encountered the unexpected and were giving up on their dreams. Mile after mile, he kept on encouraging. Kept on pulling. Kept on moving forward. As the clock neared midnight, Mike and his new friends approached the finisher chute. Thirty new friends. They began to peel off, one at a time, and give it their all to finish their race. Mike had pulled THIRTY people through the deep, dark night of Ironman and brought them home. Because two tri angels had given him support and encouragement when he needed it most, Mike was able to do the same for thirty people who were moments from giving up on their dreams.
Isn't that incredible? Isn't that what this whole sport is all about? Individual achievement through community? Stories like this resonate with me. Stories like this stick with me. And when I'm in the deep, dark hours of my Ironman, I hope I remember this story and plug forward, making new friends and achieving my dreams. Maybe even thirty new friends.
***Amy does have six children (whom she homeschools) and her husband travels. Not exactly apples to apples, here.***
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Monday, August 3, 2015
IronKids
Last week, we went to the beach with our friend Jenny. Jenny is an early elementary school teacher and really gets my kids. She's genuine and honest and so very pretty and kind and my children just love her. Our ride to the beach was dominated by my children vying for Jenny's attention. "Miss Jenny! Do you know what a capacitor is?" Miss Jenny did not. "Miss Jenny! Do you like my kitty?" Miss Jenny did. "Miss Jenny! Do you know what a transistor is?" Miss Jenny had a good guess, but Daniel had a great time explaining this one anyway. "Miss Jenny! Have you tried a PLUM-o-granite?" Miss Jenny had not. It was an eventful ride.
Our time at the beach was spent burying mom in the sand, chasing birds, watching people get their SUVs stuck in the sand, swimming, jumping, running, snacking, leaping, whirling, and generally wearing ourselves out. It was perfect.
Mike was calling in Kona one year (don't ask me what year). He had a friend who was racing who had gone through a down spell just before the race. Let's call him Joe Schmoe. He confided in Mike that he didn't think he had what it took to be an Ironman. Mike gave him a pep talk, talked him through the day, and wished him well. Days passed, Joe went through all of the pre-race stuff that we all go through (I'm too old/young/fat/slow/new at this/blonde/brunette/smart/stupid to do this. I am going to OWN this! What was I thinking? It's just 140 miles - the hay is in the barn! It's going to be too hard. It won't be too bad. I can't ride my bike 112 miles. This is going to be the best day ever! What was I thinking???), and Joe ultimately showed up at the starting line. Mike was doing his thing, calling people in and dancing and celebrating with people who were seeing the realization of a months/years/decades-long dream. I have no idea what time it was or how many people had come in, but Mike saw Joe coming down the chute. He got emotional and was so excited for his friend! He sees him coming and says something like this, "And Joe Schmoe, from Encinitas, California - YOU.ARE.AN.IRONMAN!!!!" Joe covers his face and then thrusts his fists to the heavens, tears streaming as he crosses the finish line. . . and the crowd goes absolutely wild. And Mike sees Jane Doe coming down the chute and he says, "Jane Doe! YOU are an IRONMAN!" And the crowd goes wild. Mike see John Doe coming down the chute and says, "John Doe! YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" And the crowd loses their minds (again). And here comes Amanda Hugginkiss and Mike says, "Congratulations, Amanda! You did it!" And the crowd is aghast! How could he NOT say "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!"?? They boo and whine and chant for him to say it again. So he does. Again. And again. And again. And BOOM. Just like that - a tradition is born.
Our time at the beach was spent burying mom in the sand, chasing birds, watching people get their SUVs stuck in the sand, swimming, jumping, running, snacking, leaping, whirling, and generally wearing ourselves out. It was perfect.
By the time we headed home, my kids were whipped and miraculously enough, my kids were quiet. This gave Miss Jenny and I a chance to chat about what we wanted to chat about, a rare and precious gift. She asked me about Ironman, my goals, and why I was doing what I'm doing. I really can't put into words all of the why behind what I'm doing, but I have a few good reasons of why I want to complete 140.6 before the sun sets on my life as a triathlete. One, the tattoo. Yup. I said it. I want it. A big, ol' red brand on the back of my calf. Fan girl? Maybe. Do I care? Not even a little. Two, Mike Reilly and those precious four words. Jenny had never heard of Mike Reilly and I regaled the tale of how "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!" came to be. It goes like this:
Mike was calling in Kona one year (don't ask me what year). He had a friend who was racing who had gone through a down spell just before the race. Let's call him Joe Schmoe. He confided in Mike that he didn't think he had what it took to be an Ironman. Mike gave him a pep talk, talked him through the day, and wished him well. Days passed, Joe went through all of the pre-race stuff that we all go through (I'm too old/young/fat/slow/new at this/blonde/brunette/smart/stupid to do this. I am going to OWN this! What was I thinking? It's just 140 miles - the hay is in the barn! It's going to be too hard. It won't be too bad. I can't ride my bike 112 miles. This is going to be the best day ever! What was I thinking???), and Joe ultimately showed up at the starting line. Mike was doing his thing, calling people in and dancing and celebrating with people who were seeing the realization of a months/years/decades-long dream. I have no idea what time it was or how many people had come in, but Mike saw Joe coming down the chute. He got emotional and was so excited for his friend! He sees him coming and says something like this, "And Joe Schmoe, from Encinitas, California - YOU.ARE.AN.IRONMAN!!!!" Joe covers his face and then thrusts his fists to the heavens, tears streaming as he crosses the finish line. . . and the crowd goes absolutely wild. And Mike sees Jane Doe coming down the chute and he says, "Jane Doe! YOU are an IRONMAN!" And the crowd goes wild. Mike see John Doe coming down the chute and says, "John Doe! YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" And the crowd loses their minds (again). And here comes Amanda Hugginkiss and Mike says, "Congratulations, Amanda! You did it!" And the crowd is aghast! How could he NOT say "YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!!"?? They boo and whine and chant for him to say it again. So he does. Again. And again. And again. And BOOM. Just like that - a tradition is born.
People all over everywhere train and dream and fantasize about THE voice of Ironman calling them home. They don't remember hearing the words, but someone - father, wife, child - captured it on video and it's immortalized. This moment, this pinnacle of success, these four words that tell us what we all want to hear - that we did it. That we are worth it. That we are strong. That we persevered and we didn't give up and we fought hard for what we wanted. That we knew the road would be long and dark and lonely, but we kept moving forward and we earned that tattoo, that finisher jacket, that bumper sticker or key chain or medal or hat or whatever it is we wanted. That feeling of success that can never be taken away. The right to call ourselves an Ironman. The privilege to know that our obituary will include phrases like, "dedicated mother, devoted wife, and Ironman finisher."
Ok. I get it. I just went all sappy and weird and crazy. But this is what I think about and this is what I told Jenny.
The next morning at breakfast, we were talking about our plans for the day. Gym, library, lunch, whatever. Daniel asked what I planned to do at the gym and I told him I was going to spin class. Lia asked why. I said, "To make my legs stronger so that I can one day be an Ironman." A few minutes later, Lia said, "Is there a little kid race? One like Ironman?" I said that there was - Ironkids - and that she could sign up for it in April when I race at Galveston again. She said, "I want to do it, mama. And I want Mister Mike to call my name. Will he say, 'Lia Carey - you are an IronKid!!"? I have no idea whether Mike shows up to the IronKids races, but someone will be there to call my baby home.
Knowing that I spoke passionately about my passions and that kindled a little flame in my baby's heart is beyond priceless to me. I often wonder if I'm inspiring my children or if this dream I chase is just something they'll resent later. I know there's a strong possibility that they won't give a rip in the world about Ironman or triathlon or any of the things I find important. I know there's a chance they'll hate it - that this is just something that takes me away on Saturday mornings and Thursday nights. I know there's a chance that they'll wind up on a couch one day, talking about how I used to ignore them while I spun my legs out on the trainer (which is absolutely untrue - we do homework, spelling words, piano practice, and all kinds of things while I'm on the trainer). But. . . knowing that there's a slight possibility that I'm leading them down a path that they will come to love and cherish - a path to a healthy lifestyle where fitness and nutrition is important to them - is enough to keep me moving in this direction. With any luck at all, my babies will be IronKids before mama is an Ironman.
I really don't have any profound way to wrap this up other than to remind you that they are always watching and they are always listening. Fill their eyes and their ears with hope.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Fuel
I had a dream. Not an MLK, change the world, move you to your knees dream, but a profound dream that may have well changed my life.
There's a man. I can't see his face, but he's holding a large block of paraffin wax (bear with me). He has a super fancy sports car. Red. Cherry. Possibly classic. Like maybe a Mustang or Camaro. I don't know. Unimportant. He looks at me and he says, "I'm gonna use this wax to fuel my car." My mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding??" I say. Clearly shocked. "That isn't FUEL." He turns the block over in his hands, examining it from every possible angle. "It's close. It's oily. Oil makes gas. Gas makes cars go. I'm gonna try it." I'm dumbfounded. He has to know you can't use wax to fuel a high-performance sports car. Idiot. "You can't do that to your car. You'll ruin it!"
He turns away from me and goes over to an oven, heating the block in a stockpot. After it's fully melted, he uses a funnel to pour it into the gas tank. I'm aghast, but this crazy man has made up his mind. All I can do is stand there and watch. He climbs into the front seat, turns the engine over, and gives me a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. He's proud of himself. He's impressed with himself. Hell, maybe he's even figured out a way to use cheap, over-processed wax to fuel cars. Could be the next big thing! I'm still standing there, watching and waiting for . . . I don't know. Something terrible to happen.
He drops her into gear, eases off the brakes, and idles to the edge of the driveway. Still all smiles, he signals and turns onto the road. I can see him smirking at me in the rear view, as if to say, "Told ya so." Half a mile down the road, the car sputters and dies, utterly ruined. He gets out, furious. "But it LOOKED like fuel! It even ACTED like fuel! It should have worked!"
He drops her into gear, eases off the brakes, and idles to the edge of the driveway. Still all smiles, he signals and turns onto the road. I can see him smirking at me in the rear view, as if to say, "Told ya so." Half a mile down the road, the car sputters and dies, utterly ruined. He gets out, furious. "But it LOOKED like fuel! It even ACTED like fuel! It should have worked!"
And it hit me - full in the face. This is what I do with food. Now my mouth is agape and I really am aghast. I was so worried about his precious sports car, his high-performance machine. What if he ruined it?? What if it killed the motor? Doesn't he know you can't put wax in a gas tank??? But how am I any different? It looks like food. It seems like food. It should work, right? It's close. I should try it! Why am I not worried about my own engine? My own high-performance machine? What if I ruin it?? What if I kill the motor???
In an instant, I got it. I'm not 100% sure what to do with this sudden realization, but man. What an eye-opener! I'm suddenly motivated to monitor every little thing that goes in my "tank" and my family's tanks. I've been motivated to eat cleaner lately, but this takes it to a whole new level. What am I doing - what have I done - to my body? What have I asked it to run on? How can I possibly expect to reach physical and athletic goals if I'm feeding myself wax of all things? What am I doing to my children. . . ? What am I setting them up for? Time to clean out the pantry, restock the fridge, and fuel with purpose. If I can get that fired up about a car in a dream, I should most certainly get that fired up about my own body and my family's bodies. We only get one. Let's not burn up the engine.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Weekend woes
This weekend was a TON of fun. Swimming, deer, fireworks, telescope views of Saturn and the moon, family, fun, and more fun. I missed my Saturday morning run due to a mishap with a rogue electric blanket that robbed me of my sleep. I opted for a few laps in my father-in-law's pool. My kids were up and in the water by 7:30, so I was able to knock out a few hundred yards before the rest of the house awoke. Better than nothing, yes?
Sunday I was up with the sun and quickly laced up my running shoes for a planned 7 miles. Ha. Yeah right. Half a mile down the road, I encountered 3 farm dogs who were none too pleased about my presence in their little slice of Heaven (aka, the Texas Hill Country). All three of them barreled their way under the gate and came after me. I used my water bottle to keep them at bay and quickly retraced my footsteps back to the house. After refilling my water bottle, I set out in the opposite direction.
This part of my run was spectacular. The sunrise to my right, a nice downhill in front of me, and a family of deer off to the left. After battling 90% humidity at home, the 45% humidity and 77-degree morning felt like fall. My run was, again, cut short when the road ended. I picked my way down a dirt road, hopping over small boulders and tiptoeing around potholes until I discovered that the road really did end, seemingly on someone's private property. Sigh. I turned around and picked my way back along the dirt road, hoping to avoid trespassing and the boulder/pothole combo. As I neared the end of the dirt road, I noticed another couple of farm dogs, nervously stalking me along their property line. The road I was on would take me within 20 feet of them, so I crossed over to the golf course and picked my way across someone's pasture.
At this point, I decided that Sunday was not my day for 7 miles and decided to call it. A cool 5k later, I was back at the house and in the water with my kids (again). It definitely wasn't a good training weekend, but there are other things in life that are more important - like seeing your kids with their PopPop and Granny, cannonball contests, star gazing, and stuffed jalapenos.
While I'm bummed my training took a step back, my tank has been refueled with happy memories and country air. After seeing the Iron Cowboy complete his 50th iron distance race in as many days and seeing Meredith Atwood cross the finish line at IMLP this weekend, I'm re-motivated (again) to continue along my Iron journey. As I was stalking the Swim Bike Mom last night, I was reviewing 140.6 training plans, family commitments, and talking to Doug about my hopes and dreams. I've scheduled my first hill ride - August 8 - and made some commitments to myself about diet and training goals. It seems like every time I turn around, something else motivates me along this path. So far, I have managed to STAY on the path and haven't had any reason to "get back on the wagon." I just keep drinking more and more of the Koolaid and recommitting myself to this goal. If I can continue this passion, I'll be IronFit in a few short weeks and I'll be ready to tackle my next 70.3. Until then, onward and upward! The finish line awaits!
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Architecture
When you start to build a dream, it begins with an idea; a nebulous thought with an end in your mind’s eye. The edges are blurred and the
details aren’t visible, but you can clearly see the end. Vibrant. Colorful.
Joyful. Everything you could possibly hope for.
For you? It’s a house. A screened-in porch. A cup of coffee
in a glade, overlooking a bubbling creek. You can’t see the floor beneath your
feet and you can’t identify which birds you hear chirping, but you know you’re
happy. And maybe you can even smell that Kona roast, drifting from your steaming
mug. For you? It’s a job. A corner office, overlooking downtown. A
title, emblazoned across your name plate on the mahogany desk. You can’t see
the company’s name or identify the skyline in the background, but you know the
way you feel when you stand at the window and look out into the city.
Accomplished. Fulfilled.
For me? It’s a finish line. Red and black. Dusky sky.
Cheering crowds. I can’t see the clock, but I can see a few faces in the crowd.
My husband is there, smiling and proud. My children are there, exhausted but so
very excited after waiting so many hours to see mama. My parents are there. My
mom is crying, joyful, proud tears rolling down her cheeks. My daddy is there,
arms crossed, trying to hide a smile, but I know he’s proud. My friends – who are
much faster than I am – are waiting with their medals around their necks,
sun-kissed and sweaty and exhausted, but cheering the loudest. They know the
road I have traveled. They have just gone before me. Maybe we’ve clapped hands
along the run course or stopped for a hug and an encouraging word. Maybe we’ve
even been blessed enough to run a few miles together along the way. Maybe this
is the first time we’ve seen each other since the cannon boomed, so many hours
ago.
I can feel the excitement surge through me when I think of
this scene. I can hear Mike Reilly’s voice, booming through the air. I can see
the red and the black. I can taste and smell the finish line (and we won’t talk
about that too much. . . ). I can clearly see the details of the goal, but the
details of the journey aren’t yet clear.
Where do you begin? With a piggy bank full of coins? A mind-chart? Perhaps with a list of short-term goals and a strategy to get there?
Last night, I took the first step of making this dream come
true. Melissa and I went to swim together for the first time since we dared to
speak this dream into existence. She has gone before me. Redman, 2011. She
knows the road and has traveled it alone. This time, we’ll travel it side by
side, Melissa, Nicole, and me. Words cannot express how grateful I am for these
ladies. These friends. These training partners. These prayer partners. I know
that we’ll be there for each other, holding each other accountable, challenging
each other, supporting each other, cheering each other along.
It somehow feels real now. Before, it was just a dream – a clear picture of a goal with no idea how to get there. This morning? It feels
like we have some architecture and a timeline of how to get through the next 20
months. It feels like we have a plan, albeit a loose one at this juncture. It
feels like we’ve stopped talking about the journey and have taken the first
steps of this journey.
Waxing poetic, am I? Perhaps. But If I can’t be sappy and
dreamy about my goals, they shouldn’t be goals at all. Here’s to the next 20
months. Here’s to building this dream into a reality, one day at a time. Here’s
to stepping off this weepy soapbox, getting on my feet, and making it happen.
Finish line? I’m coming for you.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Sometimes. . .
Sometimes, you really question everything. The world around you. The decisions you make in your own home. The words you choose to say to your children. Sometimes, you question whether you're a good enough wife. Or a good enough mom. Or a good enough daughter. Sometimes, you wonder. Did I do that right? Am I doing this right? What have I gotten myself into? Sometimes you think to yourself, "When did I agree to be an adult and carry these burdens and think these thoughts and live this life?" Sometimes.
And sometimes, you lace your shoes up and you go for a run. You have no plan, no goal, no distance, no route. You leave the Garmin at home and don't bother starting RunKeeper. Sometimes, you don't even bother looking at your watch when you start. Sometimes, you put one foot in front of the other and you give it all to God. You leave every ounce of doubt or judgement or uncertainty out there on the pavement. Sometimes, every step makes life a little clearer. Sometimes, in the rhythmic pounding of your feet and the cadence of your breath, you hear from God. Sometimes, He tells you it's alright. Sometimes, He just runs with you. And sometimes? He tells you, "You're doing it all right. You're ok and you're mine and your children and your husband and the world loves you, just the way you are." But only sometimes.
And sometimes, you lace your shoes up and you go for a run. You have no plan, no goal, no distance, no route. You leave the Garmin at home and don't bother starting RunKeeper. Sometimes, you don't even bother looking at your watch when you start. Sometimes, you put one foot in front of the other and you give it all to God. You leave every ounce of doubt or judgement or uncertainty out there on the pavement. Sometimes, every step makes life a little clearer. Sometimes, in the rhythmic pounding of your feet and the cadence of your breath, you hear from God. Sometimes, He tells you it's alright. Sometimes, He just runs with you. And sometimes? He tells you, "You're doing it all right. You're ok and you're mine and your children and your husband and the world loves you, just the way you are." But only sometimes.
Monday, June 29, 2015
#whatsnext
I've been quiet the last two months. HIMTX was an incredible experience that left me completely fulfilled but struggling to answer the question, "What's next?" I knew the minute I crossed the finish line that I was not ready to make the leap to IMTX. I'm just not ready. Having begun my tri journey one short year ago, I know that I'd be rushing it. And hey. What'd I just say? Journey. Not destination. What's the rush? I want to enjoy this, not suffer through it. So after two months of lollygagging and debating, here's what's next:
October 3 - Mammoth Lake Oly
November 1 - Oilman 70.3
January 17 - Houston 26.2
April 10 - HIMTX
I have a plan to get a ton stronger between now and next April. After I finish HIMTX 2016, I'm planning to go for the gusto and sign up for IMTX 2017. I have two incredible friends who have committed to race with me (and more importantly, train with me). I have a third friend I'm holding out hope for. These ladies - all three of them - are "my people." We have prayed together, trained together, had beers together, solved the world's problems together, and now we'll have the opportunity to share this incredible journey together to form bonds of iron that will never, ever be broken.
Cheers to another two years of the Iron Journey!
October 3 - Mammoth Lake Oly
November 1 - Oilman 70.3
January 17 - Houston 26.2
April 10 - HIMTX
I have a plan to get a ton stronger between now and next April. After I finish HIMTX 2016, I'm planning to go for the gusto and sign up for IMTX 2017. I have two incredible friends who have committed to race with me (and more importantly, train with me). I have a third friend I'm holding out hope for. These ladies - all three of them - are "my people." We have prayed together, trained together, had beers together, solved the world's problems together, and now we'll have the opportunity to share this incredible journey together to form bonds of iron that will never, ever be broken.
Cheers to another two years of the Iron Journey!
Friday, May 1, 2015
Race report! #im703tx #himtx
Here is my long-anticipated (by exactly nobody!) race report! It will be long and it will be detailed, but guess what? It's for me. If you happen to enjoy it, yay. But I really expect exactly zero other people to read this. This is my account of the Galveston Ironman 70.3.
My race report begins Friday. I rode down to Galveston with my parents and my kids to get my race packet and check in. My sweet girl wore her Aurora dress and Tinkerbell shoes and it was epic. I zipped right through check-in as there were approximately 12 people there checking in. The first guy I happened upon asked if I was on the All World Athlete list and I almost died laughing. Taylor got me my wrist band, bib, and packet o' stickers and wished me well. Some super tall blonde dude got me a shirt and assured me I'd be fine, especially since I'm from the area and I'd been training in the humidity. At this point, I meandered over to the Mandatory Athlete Briefing and listened to all the details, including the fact that the water temperature was 75.5 (for those who don't know, anything above 76.1 is no longer wetsuit legal). This was in my head, but only a little. I know Texas weather and I was holding out hope that the water temp would stay down over the next 36 hours. After check-in, we tooled around the island and headed over to La King's for some candy and ice cream, which was pretty much torture. I somehow managed to resist temptation and diligently drank my water and Vitalyte.
Our amazing friends - the Longos - invited us over for spaghetti dinner and early carb loading that evening. Oddly enough, they had just picked up a kid off the side of the road who is 7 weeks into a journey from Tampa to San Diego on his bicycle. He's here from Holland and is just an amazing conversation piece. We swapped stories about cycling and I came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike was no big deal (he simultaneously came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike is insane). Anywho, Mr. Matt prayed for my race and Tys's journey, we ate a metric ton of spaghetti, we laughed until we hurt, and that was that.
Saturday afternoon, my SBMAT teammate - the amazing Sarah Kelley - picked me and Bruce the Bike up and we headed to Galveston. The athlete check-in line was nearly 3 hours long. Holy. Moley. I was so grateful we had made the extra trip to the island on Friday to save me from that madness! We racked our bikes, checked out the swim start, and headed home. After my traditional dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo and roasted broccoli, I was off to bed to toss and turn and turn and toss and toss and turn. I think I finally drifted off around midnight and was up by 4. I kissed my husband goodbye, snuck a quick kiss from my sleeping girl (Daniel was sleeping over with my folks), and headed out to face the day.
Heather picked me up. I warned her the night before that nerves either make me shut down completely or chat incessantly. Chatty Sheri showed up and I gabbed all the way to the race. I think I managed to choke down 6 bites of oatmeal and almond butter. The rest of my oatmeal is still in the back of Heather's truck. Barf. We parked, hiked the half mile to transition, and parted ways for the moment.
Transition set-up was quick and easy. I had taken a picture of my transition practice and knew exactly where I wanted everything. I got it situated, aired up the tires, and found a portapotty. I found Heather, Randi, Adam, and the Katy TriCrew outside of transition and hung around for a while. After the cannon went off for the first swim start, I started nervously edging toward the dock. Everyone who had done this race in the past assured me it would be wetsuit legal. "That's the coldest water I've ever jumped in." "This race has ALWAYS been wetsuit legal." "Why on earth would it NOT be wetsuit legal?" Well guess what? Race morning water temp = 77 degrees = .9 degrees too warm for a wetsuit. I had nearly 2 hours to make peace with that and by the time I headed to the dock among many panicked athletes, I was confident enough in my abilities to knock out the 1.2 miles wetsuit-free.
The swim start was in my top three favorite moments of the entire day. I gathered with my fellow pink caps and we all stood around smiling and trying not to puke on ourselves. I met so many amazing women standing on that dock, but only one name stuck in my head - Bonnie. I had people compliment my kit and ask me how many races I'd done. I had people assure me it was going to be amazing. I had people ask me where I was from and how long I'd been training and what my goal was. But as we left dry land and walked onto that dock, Bonnie and her friend were holding hands and walking in solidarity down that dock to face the day. Fears, dreams, doubts - I don't know what they were facing, but they were doing it together. I smiled at them and said I wished I had somebody to hold my hand. Without hesitating, they let go of each other and each reached for my hands. And here I was, walking hand in hand with two strangers to the water's edge to tackle the most incredible challenge I'd ever laid before myself. In that moment, all of my fears and apprehension and anxiety and doubt washed away and I knew it was going to be ok.
After I'd had this moment of clarity, the speakers began blasting All the Single Ladies and that dock erupted in a wild, joyous dance of silliness. The 35-39 women were here to play! We were all shimmying and snapping and skipping down the dock like we were at some wild dance party and MAN it was fun. A bunch of kindred spirits getting ready to do what we love and love what we do and that music was perfect to begin our journey. After I cavorted to the edge of the dock, I yelled, "CANNONBALLLLLLL!" and splashed into the water like a maniac. Everyone made their way to the starting line and the announcer asked how many women were here for their first 70.3. I kid you not, half of us hooted or hollered or waved our hands. And the other half? They cheered and hooted and hollered and wished us all the best on our adventure. I couldn't help myself. I shouted out 10 seconds before the horn, "I LOVE THIS SPORT!" Everyone cheered and laughed and agreed with me and off we went.
I had been so worried about the swim. It's my weakest link, I said. I'm not a strong swimmer, I said. Once that horn went off, none of that mattered. I started swimming and before I knew it, the first buoy was coming up. I had counted the buoys on the map, but I was so busy keeping myself distracted, I forgot to count them when they were right there in front of me. The map showed 6/10/4 (I think), but in reality, it was more like 3/6/2. By the time I rounded the first turn, I had caught up to the wave in front of me, which was utterly shocking to me. Of course by this point, the wave behind me had caught up to me, but whatever, man. I was DOING it and doing it well enough to catch somebody! My friend Melissa had called me on Thursday to give me an amazing pep talk. She mentioned that the side with 10 buoys will feel like "you've been swimming it your whooooooole life and it will never end." I'm not sure if it was the decreased number of buoys or the fact that my amazing Ironman friend said it would be so long (or maybe both), but it seemed like no time at all that I was upon the red turn buoy and I could see the swim exit. Just as I rounded the turn buoy, somebody ran his arm down the length of my right leg and BOOM. Leg cramp. I could see the exit and hear the announcer and NO. WAY. was I letting this stop me! I kicked like a crazy person and the cramp worked itself out. I put my head down and picked up my pace and came out of the water with a HUGE smile on my face. I peeled off my cap and goggles and ran up the carpet with my fists in the air shouting, "I didn't drown!!!!!!"
I felt like my bike transition was quick, but my official time says otherwise. Some 5 minutes later, I was off!
The beginning of the bike course was just a few turns around Moody Gardens and out to the seawall/3004. The first 5 miles flew by and I was feeling confident in my abilities to finish before the cutoff. Sadly, the cadence monitor on my computer wasn't working, and I just had to wing it. It seemed like no time at all when we saw the pros coming back in on the other side of the road. Those dudes were bookin'! I prayed for a lot of friends during this portion of the race. They were mostly fleeting thoughts that jumped from friend to friend to friend, but it helped pass the time. About an hour into the ride, it started raining (I heard other people talking about sleet, but I never saw or felt it). It really was perfect on the way out. The rain kept us cool and the wind was just a slight tailwind.
I was having a nice little chat with myself about why I do this. I know why I like triathlon (it's fun and I like the challenge and I love the people), but I was really trying to hone in on why 70.3. I was about 30 miles in and climbing a tiny little bridge that crossed over the gulf. There was nothing on my left but the gulf and nothing on my right but the bay. There really weren't too many people aruond me either. For the most part, I was alone. I responsible for no one and nothing except for myself and for climbing that little bridge and turning the pedals over. I have never been more sure of who I am. I had never felt so free and so alive and so confident about being a mom, wife, daughter, neighbor, friend. I learned a lot about myself that day, but this moment of clarity was by far the most valuable lesson.
I also learned that you (I) ought not put all of my calories in my drink bottle. Because it was overcast, raining, and windy, I didn't want to drink. I knew that if I didn't, I'd risk bonking on the run with little to no fuel in my belly. I forced myself to drink, which later proved to be a mistake. Nothing I couldn't overcome, but I won't do that again. By around mile 40, the wind really started to pick up. I never wanted to quit and never thought I couldn't do it, but MAN ALIVE I was ready to be off that bike! I remember looking down at my computer and seeing 10.4 mph and thinking, "These last 10 miles will never end!" Right about then, a lady named Karen pulled up next to me and we had a nice chat about her business (she owns a restaurant: http://oxhearthouston.com/) and about my kids and before I knew it, we were turning off the seawall and heading back into transition. Look at my face. I had never been so happy to see a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets in my life. Ok. So maybe I've never even seen a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets pointing the way back into transition, but you get it.
Transition was nondescript with a quick stop at the potties, some sunscreen, and new shoes. No sooner had I run out of transition than I saw Heather and Randi. They had some words of wisdom - don't wait until you're hungry to eat, drink lots of water, and stay cool - and they ran along side me for a few yards. I settled into a decent pace and BOOM! There was the first aid station. Stopped for ice, water, and Gatorade, and really started to notice a sloshy feeling in my belly. I knew I shouldn't have forced the liquids on the bike, but I am terrified of overheating. Been there. Done that. No thanks. (See this post.) I settled into a rhythm again and BOOM! THERE WAS MY DADDY AND MY KIDS! I got a HUGE surge of energy seeing my babies and hearing their voices. I still had a cheesy grin smeared all over my face coming around the next bend and BOOM! There was my hubs!!! He high-fived me and off I went. I settled into a rhythm and BOOM! There were Randi and Heather - AGAIN! Are you noticing a pattern here? This run course was the most supportive thing I've ever seen. Heather assured me that my family was at the parking garage, and that was just around the corner. THERE THEY WERE!!! MY PERSONAL CHEERING SQUAD! With signs and cowbells and bubble guns and my lips were about to split in half I was smiling so big. Everyone in this picture was there for ME. Friends. Family. Neighbors. And see that guy in the blue ragland shirt? He's Dutch. Here from Amsterdam to ride his bicycle from Tampa to San Diego. And my neighbors convinced him to come cheer for me. I had wings. This race was mine.
I simply could not have done this without my family and friends. For every friend who showed up on race day, there were 10 at home who wished me well, asked about my training, and sent me encouraging text messages. I can't say enough positive things about my husband, my kids, my parents, my friends, my extended family. You guys gave me wings. I absolutely cannot wait to do it again.
***I raced this race in honor of my cousin Cameron, who was taken from us too soon. He only lived 6 short days, but his life has touched our entire family deeply. He would have been 19 on Sunday. I carried his memory and his family's hope with me on this race as they held me in their prayers. I know that we pulled each other through that day.***
My race report begins Friday. I rode down to Galveston with my parents and my kids to get my race packet and check in. My sweet girl wore her Aurora dress and Tinkerbell shoes and it was epic. I zipped right through check-in as there were approximately 12 people there checking in. The first guy I happened upon asked if I was on the All World Athlete list and I almost died laughing. Taylor got me my wrist band, bib, and packet o' stickers and wished me well. Some super tall blonde dude got me a shirt and assured me I'd be fine, especially since I'm from the area and I'd been training in the humidity. At this point, I meandered over to the Mandatory Athlete Briefing and listened to all the details, including the fact that the water temperature was 75.5 (for those who don't know, anything above 76.1 is no longer wetsuit legal). This was in my head, but only a little. I know Texas weather and I was holding out hope that the water temp would stay down over the next 36 hours. After check-in, we tooled around the island and headed over to La King's for some candy and ice cream, which was pretty much torture. I somehow managed to resist temptation and diligently drank my water and Vitalyte.
Our amazing friends - the Longos - invited us over for spaghetti dinner and early carb loading that evening. Oddly enough, they had just picked up a kid off the side of the road who is 7 weeks into a journey from Tampa to San Diego on his bicycle. He's here from Holland and is just an amazing conversation piece. We swapped stories about cycling and I came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike was no big deal (he simultaneously came to the conclusion that 56 miles on a tri bike is insane). Anywho, Mr. Matt prayed for my race and Tys's journey, we ate a metric ton of spaghetti, we laughed until we hurt, and that was that.
Saturday afternoon, my SBMAT teammate - the amazing Sarah Kelley - picked me and Bruce the Bike up and we headed to Galveston. The athlete check-in line was nearly 3 hours long. Holy. Moley. I was so grateful we had made the extra trip to the island on Friday to save me from that madness! We racked our bikes, checked out the swim start, and headed home. After my traditional dinner of Fettuccine Alfredo and roasted broccoli, I was off to bed to toss and turn and turn and toss and toss and turn. I think I finally drifted off around midnight and was up by 4. I kissed my husband goodbye, snuck a quick kiss from my sleeping girl (Daniel was sleeping over with my folks), and headed out to face the day.
Heather picked me up. I warned her the night before that nerves either make me shut down completely or chat incessantly. Chatty Sheri showed up and I gabbed all the way to the race. I think I managed to choke down 6 bites of oatmeal and almond butter. The rest of my oatmeal is still in the back of Heather's truck. Barf. We parked, hiked the half mile to transition, and parted ways for the moment.
Transition set-up was quick and easy. I had taken a picture of my transition practice and knew exactly where I wanted everything. I got it situated, aired up the tires, and found a portapotty. I found Heather, Randi, Adam, and the Katy TriCrew outside of transition and hung around for a while. After the cannon went off for the first swim start, I started nervously edging toward the dock. Everyone who had done this race in the past assured me it would be wetsuit legal. "That's the coldest water I've ever jumped in." "This race has ALWAYS been wetsuit legal." "Why on earth would it NOT be wetsuit legal?" Well guess what? Race morning water temp = 77 degrees = .9 degrees too warm for a wetsuit. I had nearly 2 hours to make peace with that and by the time I headed to the dock among many panicked athletes, I was confident enough in my abilities to knock out the 1.2 miles wetsuit-free.
The swim start was in my top three favorite moments of the entire day. I gathered with my fellow pink caps and we all stood around smiling and trying not to puke on ourselves. I met so many amazing women standing on that dock, but only one name stuck in my head - Bonnie. I had people compliment my kit and ask me how many races I'd done. I had people assure me it was going to be amazing. I had people ask me where I was from and how long I'd been training and what my goal was. But as we left dry land and walked onto that dock, Bonnie and her friend were holding hands and walking in solidarity down that dock to face the day. Fears, dreams, doubts - I don't know what they were facing, but they were doing it together. I smiled at them and said I wished I had somebody to hold my hand. Without hesitating, they let go of each other and each reached for my hands. And here I was, walking hand in hand with two strangers to the water's edge to tackle the most incredible challenge I'd ever laid before myself. In that moment, all of my fears and apprehension and anxiety and doubt washed away and I knew it was going to be ok.
After I'd had this moment of clarity, the speakers began blasting All the Single Ladies and that dock erupted in a wild, joyous dance of silliness. The 35-39 women were here to play! We were all shimmying and snapping and skipping down the dock like we were at some wild dance party and MAN it was fun. A bunch of kindred spirits getting ready to do what we love and love what we do and that music was perfect to begin our journey. After I cavorted to the edge of the dock, I yelled, "CANNONBALLLLLLL!" and splashed into the water like a maniac. Everyone made their way to the starting line and the announcer asked how many women were here for their first 70.3. I kid you not, half of us hooted or hollered or waved our hands. And the other half? They cheered and hooted and hollered and wished us all the best on our adventure. I couldn't help myself. I shouted out 10 seconds before the horn, "I LOVE THIS SPORT!" Everyone cheered and laughed and agreed with me and off we went.
I had been so worried about the swim. It's my weakest link, I said. I'm not a strong swimmer, I said. Once that horn went off, none of that mattered. I started swimming and before I knew it, the first buoy was coming up. I had counted the buoys on the map, but I was so busy keeping myself distracted, I forgot to count them when they were right there in front of me. The map showed 6/10/4 (I think), but in reality, it was more like 3/6/2. By the time I rounded the first turn, I had caught up to the wave in front of me, which was utterly shocking to me. Of course by this point, the wave behind me had caught up to me, but whatever, man. I was DOING it and doing it well enough to catch somebody! My friend Melissa had called me on Thursday to give me an amazing pep talk. She mentioned that the side with 10 buoys will feel like "you've been swimming it your whooooooole life and it will never end." I'm not sure if it was the decreased number of buoys or the fact that my amazing Ironman friend said it would be so long (or maybe both), but it seemed like no time at all that I was upon the red turn buoy and I could see the swim exit. Just as I rounded the turn buoy, somebody ran his arm down the length of my right leg and BOOM. Leg cramp. I could see the exit and hear the announcer and NO. WAY. was I letting this stop me! I kicked like a crazy person and the cramp worked itself out. I put my head down and picked up my pace and came out of the water with a HUGE smile on my face. I peeled off my cap and goggles and ran up the carpet with my fists in the air shouting, "I didn't drown!!!!!!"
Swim time: 50:01
I felt like my bike transition was quick, but my official time says otherwise. Some 5 minutes later, I was off!
The beginning of the bike course was just a few turns around Moody Gardens and out to the seawall/3004. The first 5 miles flew by and I was feeling confident in my abilities to finish before the cutoff. Sadly, the cadence monitor on my computer wasn't working, and I just had to wing it. It seemed like no time at all when we saw the pros coming back in on the other side of the road. Those dudes were bookin'! I prayed for a lot of friends during this portion of the race. They were mostly fleeting thoughts that jumped from friend to friend to friend, but it helped pass the time. About an hour into the ride, it started raining (I heard other people talking about sleet, but I never saw or felt it). It really was perfect on the way out. The rain kept us cool and the wind was just a slight tailwind.
I was having a nice little chat with myself about why I do this. I know why I like triathlon (it's fun and I like the challenge and I love the people), but I was really trying to hone in on why 70.3. I was about 30 miles in and climbing a tiny little bridge that crossed over the gulf. There was nothing on my left but the gulf and nothing on my right but the bay. There really weren't too many people aruond me either. For the most part, I was alone. I responsible for no one and nothing except for myself and for climbing that little bridge and turning the pedals over. I have never been more sure of who I am. I had never felt so free and so alive and so confident about being a mom, wife, daughter, neighbor, friend. I learned a lot about myself that day, but this moment of clarity was by far the most valuable lesson.
I also learned that you (I) ought not put all of my calories in my drink bottle. Because it was overcast, raining, and windy, I didn't want to drink. I knew that if I didn't, I'd risk bonking on the run with little to no fuel in my belly. I forced myself to drink, which later proved to be a mistake. Nothing I couldn't overcome, but I won't do that again. By around mile 40, the wind really started to pick up. I never wanted to quit and never thought I couldn't do it, but MAN ALIVE I was ready to be off that bike! I remember looking down at my computer and seeing 10.4 mph and thinking, "These last 10 miles will never end!" Right about then, a lady named Karen pulled up next to me and we had a nice chat about her business (she owns a restaurant: http://oxhearthouston.com/) and about my kids and before I knew it, we were turning off the seawall and heading back into transition. Look at my face. I had never been so happy to see a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets in my life. Ok. So maybe I've never even seen a pile of crushed concrete and busted pallets pointing the way back into transition, but you get it.
Official bike time: 3:37:17
Transition was nondescript with a quick stop at the potties, some sunscreen, and new shoes. No sooner had I run out of transition than I saw Heather and Randi. They had some words of wisdom - don't wait until you're hungry to eat, drink lots of water, and stay cool - and they ran along side me for a few yards. I settled into a decent pace and BOOM! There was the first aid station. Stopped for ice, water, and Gatorade, and really started to notice a sloshy feeling in my belly. I knew I shouldn't have forced the liquids on the bike, but I am terrified of overheating. Been there. Done that. No thanks. (See this post.) I settled into a rhythm again and BOOM! THERE WAS MY DADDY AND MY KIDS! I got a HUGE surge of energy seeing my babies and hearing their voices. I still had a cheesy grin smeared all over my face coming around the next bend and BOOM! There was my hubs!!! He high-fived me and off I went. I settled into a rhythm and BOOM! There were Randi and Heather - AGAIN! Are you noticing a pattern here? This run course was the most supportive thing I've ever seen. Heather assured me that my family was at the parking garage, and that was just around the corner. THERE THEY WERE!!! MY PERSONAL CHEERING SQUAD! With signs and cowbells and bubble guns and my lips were about to split in half I was smiling so big. Everyone in this picture was there for ME. Friends. Family. Neighbors. And see that guy in the blue ragland shirt? He's Dutch. Here from Amsterdam to ride his bicycle from Tampa to San Diego. And my neighbors convinced him to come cheer for me. I had wings. This race was mine.
The run continued like this. Rhythm, friends, rhythm, family, rhythm, aid station, rhythm, dentist. Wait. What? Yes. Dentist. I ran into my dentist around mile 9. I had seen him that morning at the swim start, but I figured we wouldn't bump into each other again. Well, we hooked up at an aid station and leap frogged for a while. When he realized I had a plan (run:walk ratio), he decided to stick with me. I had in my head that I was going beg someone - anyone - to meet me at the finish. By the time we got back around to my cheering squad, they were ALL making their way to the finish. I could've cried. Dr. Moore and I chatted about racing and kids and not teeth and before I knew it, we were coming up on the finish chute. I could hear the announcer and the crowd coming around the corner and I was like a kid at Christmas. I was all but dancing at this point. Dr. Moore and I parted ways at this point so we could finish solo. I don't know what I thought I'd do at the finish, but I held my "rock on!" sign up over my head and I was howling like a banshee across that finish line. I did it. There was my husband. My kids. My daddy. My inlaws. My friends. It was amazing. just amazing.
Official finish time: 7:41:00
I simply could not have done this without my family and friends. For every friend who showed up on race day, there were 10 at home who wished me well, asked about my training, and sent me encouraging text messages. I can't say enough positive things about my husband, my kids, my parents, my friends, my extended family. You guys gave me wings. I absolutely cannot wait to do it again.
***I raced this race in honor of my cousin Cameron, who was taken from us too soon. He only lived 6 short days, but his life has touched our entire family deeply. He would have been 19 on Sunday. I carried his memory and his family's hope with me on this race as they held me in their prayers. I know that we pulled each other through that day.***
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
5daystoglory
Well here we are! Five days to glory. I've been hashtagging the snot out of all of my stuff. and this one seems to have stuck (counting down from about 12). I'm feeling SO super excited right now. I've practiced changing tires, grabbing water on the go, nutrition, and transitions. I've made my packing list and compared it to my training runs and my transition practices. My friends and family have their poster boards and their cowbells and their directions on when to stand where and all of that good stuff. I'm obsessively checking the weather and the water temps, but other than than, I AM READY!
I may wake up tomorrow scared out of my mind, but my self-talk today has been super positive. "It will be choppy, but you have your wetsuit and kayaks and buoys and you.will.be.fine. It will be windy, but you have trained hard in the wind and you know what to expect and you.will.be.fine. It will be hot, but you will have cooling sleeves, cold sponges, ice, and your family is armed with water guns and you.will.be.fine."
Yesterday was a bit of a mess - kids had swim practice 4-5, soccer 6-7, and scouts 6:30-7:30. Somehow, Coach Sheri managed to run out the door with no ball bag and no whistle, but thanks to an enormous mouth and a killer set of lungs God gave me, we made it through. I'm thankful I was able to get my swim in early and focus on being mom (read - being two places at the same thing). Taper week seems to have hit at just the right time. Doug started a new job last week and we're all kind of discombobulated, but at least my training dropped from ~10 hours a week to ~3. I feel everything falling into place and today? I'm not scared. Today I am trusting in my training and in myself.
In other news, I've decided to race in honor of Cameron Clanton. My cousin and her husband lost thier little boy almost exactly 19 years ago. Their family has been on my heart a lot lately and as fate would have it, his birthday is race day. When I get scared or tired or something starts to hurt, I will lift his family up in prayer. I will remember how scared and tired and painful this experience was for our entire family and I will push through - not just for the sake of finishing the race, but for the sake of bringing glory to an otherwise sad day for our family. To bring honor to his memory and to my dedication. My dear friend and training buddy says I should have picked a happier memory to carry with me on race day, but this one is near and dear to me and the timing is right somehow.
So. #5daystoglory. Five days to #HIMTX #IM703TX #brasstacks. Five days until I skip, crawl, stumble across that finish line and embrace the reward that I've trained so hard for over these last 7 months. Five days until my race report.
I may wake up tomorrow scared out of my mind, but my self-talk today has been super positive. "It will be choppy, but you have your wetsuit and kayaks and buoys and you.will.be.fine. It will be windy, but you have trained hard in the wind and you know what to expect and you.will.be.fine. It will be hot, but you will have cooling sleeves, cold sponges, ice, and your family is armed with water guns and you.will.be.fine."
Yesterday was a bit of a mess - kids had swim practice 4-5, soccer 6-7, and scouts 6:30-7:30. Somehow, Coach Sheri managed to run out the door with no ball bag and no whistle, but thanks to an enormous mouth and a killer set of lungs God gave me, we made it through. I'm thankful I was able to get my swim in early and focus on being mom (read - being two places at the same thing). Taper week seems to have hit at just the right time. Doug started a new job last week and we're all kind of discombobulated, but at least my training dropped from ~10 hours a week to ~3. I feel everything falling into place and today? I'm not scared. Today I am trusting in my training and in myself.
In other news, I've decided to race in honor of Cameron Clanton. My cousin and her husband lost thier little boy almost exactly 19 years ago. Their family has been on my heart a lot lately and as fate would have it, his birthday is race day. When I get scared or tired or something starts to hurt, I will lift his family up in prayer. I will remember how scared and tired and painful this experience was for our entire family and I will push through - not just for the sake of finishing the race, but for the sake of bringing glory to an otherwise sad day for our family. To bring honor to his memory and to my dedication. My dear friend and training buddy says I should have picked a happier memory to carry with me on race day, but this one is near and dear to me and the timing is right somehow.
So. #5daystoglory. Five days to #HIMTX #IM703TX #brasstacks. Five days until I skip, crawl, stumble across that finish line and embrace the reward that I've trained so hard for over these last 7 months. Five days until my race report.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Expectations
This is part of an email I sent to a family member today to outline what I expect race day to look like. Notice how many times I use the word expect. I see 5 here, not to mention the times I used expect that's from the part of the email I'm not sharing.
My swim wave starts at 7:48 on 4/26. I expect to be in the water for 45-55 minutes. I do not expect anyone to be there that early. That's madness. :)
I'll be out on the bike for 3-3.5 hours (expecting to be back in transition around noon/12:30). Doug and the kids are hoping to catch me out on the road somewhere down towards Pirate's Beach. I'll get him to get in touch with y'all about that as the day approaches. Or even the day of.
For the run... There's no telling. If all goes well, I'll be headed out no later than 12:45. My typical half marathon time is 2:20-2:40. I have NO idea what to expect that to look like after 57.2 miles of extreme exertion.
My real goal is to finish before they close the course (which is 4:45). My stretch goal is to finish in 7 hours (which will be around 3ish).
When I finish, I expect to be in the finisher area for a bit (30 minutes or so) for medals, photos, massage, etc. after that, I intend to eat at least 6 pounds of protein and collapse into a heap. :) I would love for y'all to join us for that celebratory meal.
I have oft compared Ironman to pregnancy, labor, and delivery. Increased levels of discomfort, increased appetite toward the end, counting down the days, obsessing over every item you put in your mouth, obsessing over every tiny detail. This summary of what I expect is kind of like a birth plan. I have it all figured out in my head, but race day will likely bring a million unexpected variables I haven't planned for. I am (just in this moment) considering racing blind. Ditching the watch. Pulling the computer from my bike. Refusing to ask, "What time is it?" I know that's madness, but I have to wonder if it'd be better for my psyche to let go of all the expectations and just enjoy the day. I am confident I can hit all the cutoffs. Keeping up with the time will only serve to frustrate me (or will it...?).
That's my job over the next 18 days. Finish the training plan strong, let go of expectations, eat clean, stay away from wine, and hydrate like it's the most important thing I've ever done.
****I can't wait to revisit this after the big day.****
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Three weeks out
While I had hoped to keep up with this on a weekly basis, that clearly has not happened. I'll be back logging some of my bigger training accomplishments during taper week (like my first 50+ mile bike ride - whoop whoop!) and some of the mind games I have played with myself over the past several weeks.
Today, I'm less than three weeks out from the big day. The hay? It's in the barn. Peak week was last week and I made it. I did a dumb, dumb thing and tried to push my rest day out 4 days to accommodate Easter Sunday, but that was a huge, miserable mistake that resulted in me falling asleep in the shower. No foolin'. I wound up taking an extra rest day to make up for the punishment I had already put my body through in an effort to avoid resting. Go figure...
Peak week also brought my first flat (and my second) in the span of a mile. Nice. I'm not sure what I ran over, but I was pedaling and pushing and grinding and switching gears and I was still. . . slowing. . . down. . . "Hey Heather?" I hollered over my shoulder. "Is something wrong with my back tire?" I had a problem with my back brakes rubbing a few weeks back and we were able to stop, make a quick adjustment, and get back on the road. "Shit. You got a flat..." Heather has been cycling for 10 years, so she knew what to do. Thank God. After we got the tube switched out, we hopped back on and had to stop less than a minute later. I don't know what we did wrong, but we tried again and this one seemed to do the trick.
Peak week also brought the realization that I am NOT ready for a full anytime soon. Peak week ended with 145 miles and 11.5 hours of training. From what I understand, a full demands nearly that much every week and a lot more as you build. If that causes me to fall asleep standing up? I'm not so sure I'll ever be ready to repeat that on a weekly basis.
It's 80 degrees here in Houston today, so I went out for a nice little jog. I was shooting for 10 and realized around 4ish that I was NOT prepared to handle 10 in this heat with no support and only one water fountain along the way. I hoofed it home and ended with 5 and some change. Another hour of hay in the barn.
That's it for my random ramblings for the day. I'm sure I'll be spewing all of my thoughts on paper the closer we get to race day. 19 days and counting!
Today, I'm less than three weeks out from the big day. The hay? It's in the barn. Peak week was last week and I made it. I did a dumb, dumb thing and tried to push my rest day out 4 days to accommodate Easter Sunday, but that was a huge, miserable mistake that resulted in me falling asleep in the shower. No foolin'. I wound up taking an extra rest day to make up for the punishment I had already put my body through in an effort to avoid resting. Go figure...
Peak week also brought my first flat (and my second) in the span of a mile. Nice. I'm not sure what I ran over, but I was pedaling and pushing and grinding and switching gears and I was still. . . slowing. . . down. . . "Hey Heather?" I hollered over my shoulder. "Is something wrong with my back tire?" I had a problem with my back brakes rubbing a few weeks back and we were able to stop, make a quick adjustment, and get back on the road. "Shit. You got a flat..." Heather has been cycling for 10 years, so she knew what to do. Thank God. After we got the tube switched out, we hopped back on and had to stop less than a minute later. I don't know what we did wrong, but we tried again and this one seemed to do the trick.
Peak week also brought the realization that I am NOT ready for a full anytime soon. Peak week ended with 145 miles and 11.5 hours of training. From what I understand, a full demands nearly that much every week and a lot more as you build. If that causes me to fall asleep standing up? I'm not so sure I'll ever be ready to repeat that on a weekly basis.
It's 80 degrees here in Houston today, so I went out for a nice little jog. I was shooting for 10 and realized around 4ish that I was NOT prepared to handle 10 in this heat with no support and only one water fountain along the way. I hoofed it home and ended with 5 and some change. Another hour of hay in the barn.
That's it for my random ramblings for the day. I'm sure I'll be spewing all of my thoughts on paper the closer we get to race day. 19 days and counting!
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Recovery Week
So this is my first recovery week, my first one since. . . April. I'm lost. And found. And trying to make peace with it all.
On one hand, my body is screaming at me to "DO SOMETHING!!!" On the other hand, it's super nice to hang out in my pjs with asecond third cup of coffee in my hands while playing Ariel and Flounder with my little girl.
On one hand, it's really nice to get caught up on my laundry and my blogging and on work and on changing burned out light bulbs and on finishing taxes and. . . on the other hand, I'm obsessively checking the weather to see if it will hold for a non-existent long ride/run this weekend.
On one hand, I'm glad to stay at home in my nice, warm house rather than trek out into the 36-degree rain to the pool. On the other hand, I'm counting miles and comparing weeks and wondering "What happened this week???" before I realize that it's re-cov-er-y weeeeeeek. Say it slowly.
One of my favorite people in the whole world wrote this little diddy awhile back. I didn't get it (yet) because I hadn't been doing this long enough to understand where she was coming from. Swim Bike Mom had written this piece about the Sucky Rotation Schedule where something has to fall below the "suck line" in order to keep all the balls in the air. You know the balls. Marriage, kids, work, training, groceries and cooking, laundry, vet visits, visiting old people, cleaning, homework, mowing the grass, sleeping. Those balls. It occurred to me today that Recovery Week is the time that it's OK to let "training" fall below the suck line. All of the other balls that have fallen below the suck line are finally getting some attention this week and that's good. My life is not all about this race I'm working toward. This race is just one of many balls I have in the air.
So on one hand, my body and my brain are all confused about what we're doing. But on the other hand, this is giving me a chance to put the whole rest of my life back together so that each of the balls can take its turn below the suck line in a week or two.
I'm glad we had this chat. Carry on.
On one hand, my body is screaming at me to "DO SOMETHING!!!" On the other hand, it's super nice to hang out in my pjs with a
On one hand, it's really nice to get caught up on my laundry and my blogging and on work and on changing burned out light bulbs and on finishing taxes and. . . on the other hand, I'm obsessively checking the weather to see if it will hold for a non-existent long ride/run this weekend.
On one hand, I'm glad to stay at home in my nice, warm house rather than trek out into the 36-degree rain to the pool. On the other hand, I'm counting miles and comparing weeks and wondering "What happened this week???" before I realize that it's re-cov-er-y weeeeeeek. Say it slowly.
One of my favorite people in the whole world wrote this little diddy awhile back. I didn't get it (yet) because I hadn't been doing this long enough to understand where she was coming from. Swim Bike Mom had written this piece about the Sucky Rotation Schedule where something has to fall below the "suck line" in order to keep all the balls in the air. You know the balls. Marriage, kids, work, training, groceries and cooking, laundry, vet visits, visiting old people, cleaning, homework, mowing the grass, sleeping. Those balls. It occurred to me today that Recovery Week is the time that it's OK to let "training" fall below the suck line. All of the other balls that have fallen below the suck line are finally getting some attention this week and that's good. My life is not all about this race I'm working toward. This race is just one of many balls I have in the air.
So on one hand, my body and my brain are all confused about what we're doing. But on the other hand, this is giving me a chance to put the whole rest of my life back together so that each of the balls can take its turn below the suck line in a week or two.
I'm glad we had this chat. Carry on.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Near Miss
Every day I get on my bike, I say to myself, "Today is the day I will fall off of my bike." I've said it since my first ride with #brucethebike. It's just something I started in an effort to remind myself to never get cocky and to always remember to unclip. Every time I say it, I envision a slow-speed tipover at a stop sign.
This morning, I took this picture of myself. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook and said, "Feeling fancy and legit today. This is the day I will fall off my bike."
This morning we had a 40% chance of showers we were trying to outrun. The roads were a little damp, but not wet enough to keep us inside. My group usually rides 40+. I haven't had a chance to ride with them since I actually broke 30, so this was new territory. We took a different route that I was unfamiliar with. Seeing all the variables here?
Anyway, we were almost back to my car and we were coming up on a green and it was a major intersection. I thought I heard our lead guy say "GOING!" so I cranked it only to hear him yell "STOPPING!" The pavement was wet by now as more showers had come through the area and I fishtailed pretty bad. My front tire was shaking and I was damn near out in the intersection (like, access road to the interstate intersection). The whole 2 seconds, I kept repeating to myself, "Get your foot out... get your foot out..." but I wasn't stable enough to get enough torque to get out. At the LAST second, I pulled out and managed to save myself. That, friends. That was terrifying. I'm glad it happened, though, to give me an idea of what to expect and how I would react. I'm glad it didn't happen on race day and I'm glad it happened with good friends but I never care to repeat that.
That was the last day that I'll ever say something to tempt fate when I'm getting on #brucethebike. Lesson learned.
This morning, I took this picture of myself. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook and said, "Feeling fancy and legit today. This is the day I will fall off my bike."
This morning we had a 40% chance of showers we were trying to outrun. The roads were a little damp, but not wet enough to keep us inside. My group usually rides 40+. I haven't had a chance to ride with them since I actually broke 30, so this was new territory. We took a different route that I was unfamiliar with. Seeing all the variables here?
Anyway, we were almost back to my car and we were coming up on a green and it was a major intersection. I thought I heard our lead guy say "GOING!" so I cranked it only to hear him yell "STOPPING!" The pavement was wet by now as more showers had come through the area and I fishtailed pretty bad. My front tire was shaking and I was damn near out in the intersection (like, access road to the interstate intersection). The whole 2 seconds, I kept repeating to myself, "Get your foot out... get your foot out..." but I wasn't stable enough to get enough torque to get out. At the LAST second, I pulled out and managed to save myself. That, friends. That was terrifying. I'm glad it happened, though, to give me an idea of what to expect and how I would react. I'm glad it didn't happen on race day and I'm glad it happened with good friends but I never care to repeat that.
That was the last day that I'll ever say something to tempt fate when I'm getting on #brucethebike. Lesson learned.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Rhythm and Blues
This weekend was the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon. I decided to do this race just a few weeks ago when my favorite local race was canceled. I've been training pretty diligently and figured I had plenty of time to up my mileage before the race. Turns out, I was right!
We went through our usual prerace routine of fettuccine alfredo dinner and were fortunate enough to pass the kids off to my folks for a sleepover. Doug and I headed home, laid out our gear (which is SO TINY after triathlon!), and tucked ourselves in early. This was the first race I wasn't nervous about. I knew I could manage the distance and when all else fails, walk a while. It took me a long time to get to this point (over two years and five half marathons), but now that I've arrived, it makes race day so much more pleasant.
After parking downtown (I'm, again, reminded of why I don't do downtown races), we made our way to the unofficial official starting line of ALL races - the portapotties. We managed to find 5 of our running friends before the start and found our way to the real starting line. I didn't even hear the start, but the mob started moving and so did I. We quickly lost our buddies, but we're all different paces so whatevs. Doug and two friends were doing the 1/4 marathon and the rest of us were tackling the 1/2, so our routes were even slightly different.
I never did see mile marker 1 or 2, so when I came up on 3 at 31:00, I was shocked. That would have been a PR 5K for me, so I was a little nervous. My fastest race to date was 2:34:02. My goal today was 2:30. I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I maintained this pace, I'd finish in 2:22. THAT'S lofty - a 12-minute PR. I talked myself into trying to maintain and went about my way.
For a February race, it was HOT. Like water on my head at every aid station HOT. I had my hydration belt split half water and half Gatorade with a few Humas on my belt. I allowed myself a ShotBlock or a Huma every 45 minutes. Every aid station was 2 Gatorades and a water on my head. In February! What the heck??
Any-ol'-who, my "dark miles" are usually around 8-10. Once I pass 10, that's "just" a 5k and my brain leaves me alone. Around mile 8, I saw a friend on the opposite side of the course who told me that his fiance was just ahead of me. WHAT? Randi is fast. She's a 2-time Ironman, multiple-time marathoner, and countless-time half marathoner. And she's fast. And I was right behind her?? "Catch her!" he said. So I did. I set out to catch her and finally caught up at 12.5. Guess what? My dark miles were over and I didn't even notice.
Randi was the perfect rabbit. When I finally caught her, she was walking. When I said hey to her, she decided to run with me. Just before mile marker 13, she started picking it up and I lagged behind. "I'm not slowing down," she said. "Go on with your bad self," I retorted. "Nope. You're gonna have to catch me." Well hell's bells. Here we go again. So off I went to catch my rabbit. Even though she finished 10 seconds ahead of me, my chip time was actually a full minute faster than hers. And guess what? It was 2:21:57. I maintained and I finished in my projected time.
I am so very proud of this race. I had fun, I hydrated well, my nutrition was spot-on, and I destroyed my PR. This race was great for my mental game and I feel very ready to tackle Galveston in a short 9 weeks. These "little" milestones along the way are amazing for my training, confidence, and mental game. Not that I wasn't looking forward to Galveston before, but this race has renewed my vigor for the finish line. NINE WEEKS! Nine weeks and I'll be writing the race report I've been dreaming of for months.
We went through our usual prerace routine of fettuccine alfredo dinner and were fortunate enough to pass the kids off to my folks for a sleepover. Doug and I headed home, laid out our gear (which is SO TINY after triathlon!), and tucked ourselves in early. This was the first race I wasn't nervous about. I knew I could manage the distance and when all else fails, walk a while. It took me a long time to get to this point (over two years and five half marathons), but now that I've arrived, it makes race day so much more pleasant.
After parking downtown (I'm, again, reminded of why I don't do downtown races), we made our way to the unofficial official starting line of ALL races - the portapotties. We managed to find 5 of our running friends before the start and found our way to the real starting line. I didn't even hear the start, but the mob started moving and so did I. We quickly lost our buddies, but we're all different paces so whatevs. Doug and two friends were doing the 1/4 marathon and the rest of us were tackling the 1/2, so our routes were even slightly different.
I never did see mile marker 1 or 2, so when I came up on 3 at 31:00, I was shocked. That would have been a PR 5K for me, so I was a little nervous. My fastest race to date was 2:34:02. My goal today was 2:30. I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I maintained this pace, I'd finish in 2:22. THAT'S lofty - a 12-minute PR. I talked myself into trying to maintain and went about my way.
For a February race, it was HOT. Like water on my head at every aid station HOT. I had my hydration belt split half water and half Gatorade with a few Humas on my belt. I allowed myself a ShotBlock or a Huma every 45 minutes. Every aid station was 2 Gatorades and a water on my head. In February! What the heck??
Any-ol'-who, my "dark miles" are usually around 8-10. Once I pass 10, that's "just" a 5k and my brain leaves me alone. Around mile 8, I saw a friend on the opposite side of the course who told me that his fiance was just ahead of me. WHAT? Randi is fast. She's a 2-time Ironman, multiple-time marathoner, and countless-time half marathoner. And she's fast. And I was right behind her?? "Catch her!" he said. So I did. I set out to catch her and finally caught up at 12.5. Guess what? My dark miles were over and I didn't even notice.
Randi was the perfect rabbit. When I finally caught her, she was walking. When I said hey to her, she decided to run with me. Just before mile marker 13, she started picking it up and I lagged behind. "I'm not slowing down," she said. "Go on with your bad self," I retorted. "Nope. You're gonna have to catch me." Well hell's bells. Here we go again. So off I went to catch my rabbit. Even though she finished 10 seconds ahead of me, my chip time was actually a full minute faster than hers. And guess what? It was 2:21:57. I maintained and I finished in my projected time.
I am so very proud of this race. I had fun, I hydrated well, my nutrition was spot-on, and I destroyed my PR. This race was great for my mental game and I feel very ready to tackle Galveston in a short 9 weeks. These "little" milestones along the way are amazing for my training, confidence, and mental game. Not that I wasn't looking forward to Galveston before, but this race has renewed my vigor for the finish line. NINE WEEKS! Nine weeks and I'll be writing the race report I've been dreaming of for months.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Dreadmill Beast
This weekend we're headed to Giddings to see PopPop and Granny (aka, Doug's dad and stepmom). I try *really* hard not to drive other people crazy with my training schedule. For those who "get it," I make no exceptions. For those who don't, I really try hard. I knew that we'd have a big weekend of model rockets, catfish feeding, and country things, so I decided to head to the gym for my last "long" run before the half. I convinced myself to run a 10k on the treadmill. I see these northern folks do it all the time. No sweat, right?
I dropped Lia off at Kids Club, found myself a treadmill, and staked my claim. I laced up my shoes, refilled my water bottle, got my towel all situated and couldn't.find.my.earbuds. At this point, I had no choice but to run. Child at kid care, missed window of opportunity to run elsewhere... I was screwed. Here we go with that mental toughness thing again...
So there I was, Great Day Houston on one TV and Fox and Friends on the TV off to my left. What I really wanted to watch was Fox and Friends and their discussions about the prayer breakfast, but it was at this wonky angle and it was making me off-kilter. Great Day Houston was talking about the Grammys. You know how many craps I give about the Grammys. Less than zero. Less than zero craps about Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith or whoever these dudes were. We listen to Christian music, The Beatles, and The Wheels on the Bus. Popular music is lost on me.
This, my friends. THIS is mental toughness. Paula Abdul on the gym radio (it's the way that you love me.. ooooooooooh, it's the way that you love me), random dudes I care nothing about on the TV, and 6.2 miles on a treadmill. I'm generally trying to drown myself out and telling the voice of doubt to shut up, but today? I would have given ANYTHING to get lost in my own head.
Fortunately, a friend showed up about 20 minutes before I finished. She mercifully left her earbuds in her bag and chatted it up with me while I finished my run. That's what friends are for. Even though the first 40+ minutes were TORTURE, I'm so glad I got this run in before heading out of town for the weekend. Now if I can survive 3 hours in the car in 5:00 Friday afternoon traffic with 2 little people, I'll have earned my mental toughness badge for the day. Carry on, friends!
I dropped Lia off at Kids Club, found myself a treadmill, and staked my claim. I laced up my shoes, refilled my water bottle, got my towel all situated and couldn't.find.my.earbuds. At this point, I had no choice but to run. Child at kid care, missed window of opportunity to run elsewhere... I was screwed. Here we go with that mental toughness thing again...
So there I was, Great Day Houston on one TV and Fox and Friends on the TV off to my left. What I really wanted to watch was Fox and Friends and their discussions about the prayer breakfast, but it was at this wonky angle and it was making me off-kilter. Great Day Houston was talking about the Grammys. You know how many craps I give about the Grammys. Less than zero. Less than zero craps about Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith or whoever these dudes were. We listen to Christian music, The Beatles, and The Wheels on the Bus. Popular music is lost on me.
This, my friends. THIS is mental toughness. Paula Abdul on the gym radio (it's the way that you love me.. ooooooooooh, it's the way that you love me), random dudes I care nothing about on the TV, and 6.2 miles on a treadmill. I'm generally trying to drown myself out and telling the voice of doubt to shut up, but today? I would have given ANYTHING to get lost in my own head.
Fortunately, a friend showed up about 20 minutes before I finished. She mercifully left her earbuds in her bag and chatted it up with me while I finished my run. That's what friends are for. Even though the first 40+ minutes were TORTURE, I'm so glad I got this run in before heading out of town for the weekend. Now if I can survive 3 hours in the car in 5:00 Friday afternoon traffic with 2 little people, I'll have earned my mental toughness badge for the day. Carry on, friends!
Saturday, January 31, 2015
10-miler Me
So this morning, I tackled my last long run before my next race. I parked on "my" side of the Kemah Bridge, ran over the bridge, ran another 8 miles, and ran over the bridge again. See said bridge.
The plan was to meet up with my buddy Heather at around mile 3, run 6 with her, and tackle my bridge again. Sadly, Heather snoozed her alarm (thanks, buddy...) and I drudged through all 10 miles alone. It was foggy, oppressively damp, and just plain barf outside (yes, barf is now an adjective). This was a real head game for me, knowing that once I ran 9 miles I had to visit my friend the bridge again. When I never bumped into Heather, my mind wandered significantly. I generally don't run with music (anymore), but MAN. I wished I had some music today! I was counting rabbits and praying for friends and family and counting steps and playing all kinds of head games. It. Didn't. Work.
After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally hit mile 9. I took a quick walk break to gather my strength to climb and BOOM. Here came the rain. So much for my walk break... I rolled my eyes, figuratively stuck my tongue out at God, and bucked up. Once I start up a hill or a bridge, I make it a policy to NEVER stop. I refuse to "waste" a walk on a climb, because you don't truly get to rest and I refuse to walk on the way down because gravity.
Anyway, I finally made it back to the car, exactly 2 hours later. I'm pretty annoyed with myself over this pace, but hey. No friends, no music, no pretty day - it's a wonder I made it through at all. I'll taper off over the next couple of weeks and get ready to run my next 13.1 on February 15. That's one more 10-miler in the books and another bazillion steps toward my goal!
The plan was to meet up with my buddy Heather at around mile 3, run 6 with her, and tackle my bridge again. Sadly, Heather snoozed her alarm (thanks, buddy...) and I drudged through all 10 miles alone. It was foggy, oppressively damp, and just plain barf outside (yes, barf is now an adjective). This was a real head game for me, knowing that once I ran 9 miles I had to visit my friend the bridge again. When I never bumped into Heather, my mind wandered significantly. I generally don't run with music (anymore), but MAN. I wished I had some music today! I was counting rabbits and praying for friends and family and counting steps and playing all kinds of head games. It. Didn't. Work.
After what seemed like a lifetime, I finally hit mile 9. I took a quick walk break to gather my strength to climb and BOOM. Here came the rain. So much for my walk break... I rolled my eyes, figuratively stuck my tongue out at God, and bucked up. Once I start up a hill or a bridge, I make it a policy to NEVER stop. I refuse to "waste" a walk on a climb, because you don't truly get to rest and I refuse to walk on the way down because gravity.
Anyway, I finally made it back to the car, exactly 2 hours later. I'm pretty annoyed with myself over this pace, but hey. No friends, no music, no pretty day - it's a wonder I made it through at all. I'll taper off over the next couple of weeks and get ready to run my next 13.1 on February 15. That's one more 10-miler in the books and another bazillion steps toward my goal!
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
WABAC Wednesday
After a visit to the chiropractor and some trigger point therapy, I'm on the mend. I won't be racing my kids home from the park anymore! Lesson learned.
A friend invited us to ride mountain bikes today. Although we missed our date, I drug out the trailer, aired up a bunch of tires, and took my baby to the park. Meet Sally.
I got Sally on craigslist for $40 when I was teaching Daniel to ride his bike. I somehow thought it would be easier to let him tag along behind me than it would be to chase him on foot. We made it exactly 6 houses before I decided that was the worst idea ever.
When I signed up for my first tri, Sally was in the garage, ready and waiting. No. I'm not kidding. Sally and I suffered through 8 looooong miles together at the TriGirl Mother's Day super sprint last year. I heard "on your left!" sixteen bajillion times (it's a number; trust me). I even heard a dozen elementary school girls chime in with an "on your left!" Sally and I were SO slow that my dad went to check with course officials to make sure there was no way I could've been injured or gotten lost without someone noticing. Nope. She's just THAT slow. Come to think of it, taking Sally to a tri may have been the worst idea ever. . .
When I was approaching the dismount line, I did a perfect flying dismount, threw Sally back up into transition, and ran away as quickly as I could. We haven't spoken since. Well, until today. Although Lia had the time of her life ("weeeeeee!" "Faster, mommy!" "Best! DAY! EVAH!!!" "We're going SO FAST!!!"), I remembered why I walked away from Sally all those months ago. She's probably suited to a teenager at best; a 5th grader at worst. My knees were in my chin and my back was hunched worse than Quasimodo.
Now that I have a tri season under my belt, it occurred to me just how ridiculous I must have looked at my first race. For anyone who was at the TriGirl race - THANK YOU for not laughing at me. Or if you did laugh, THANK YOU for doing so discreetly. I'll be there this year with #BrucetheBike and I may even get to say "on your left!" a time or two.
And to my dear, sweet Sally (riiiiiide, Sally, ride!): Thank you for carrying me through those 8 miles. Without you, I may have never been bitten by this beastly bug.
A friend invited us to ride mountain bikes today. Although we missed our date, I drug out the trailer, aired up a bunch of tires, and took my baby to the park. Meet Sally.
I got Sally on craigslist for $40 when I was teaching Daniel to ride his bike. I somehow thought it would be easier to let him tag along behind me than it would be to chase him on foot. We made it exactly 6 houses before I decided that was the worst idea ever.
When I signed up for my first tri, Sally was in the garage, ready and waiting. No. I'm not kidding. Sally and I suffered through 8 looooong miles together at the TriGirl Mother's Day super sprint last year. I heard "on your left!" sixteen bajillion times (it's a number; trust me). I even heard a dozen elementary school girls chime in with an "on your left!" Sally and I were SO slow that my dad went to check with course officials to make sure there was no way I could've been injured or gotten lost without someone noticing. Nope. She's just THAT slow. Come to think of it, taking Sally to a tri may have been the worst idea ever. . .
When I was approaching the dismount line, I did a perfect flying dismount, threw Sally back up into transition, and ran away as quickly as I could. We haven't spoken since. Well, until today. Although Lia had the time of her life ("weeeeeee!" "Faster, mommy!" "Best! DAY! EVAH!!!" "We're going SO FAST!!!"), I remembered why I walked away from Sally all those months ago. She's probably suited to a teenager at best; a 5th grader at worst. My knees were in my chin and my back was hunched worse than Quasimodo.
Now that I have a tri season under my belt, it occurred to me just how ridiculous I must have looked at my first race. For anyone who was at the TriGirl race - THANK YOU for not laughing at me. Or if you did laugh, THANK YOU for doing so discreetly. I'll be there this year with #BrucetheBike and I may even get to say "on your left!" a time or two.
And to my dear, sweet Sally (riiiiiide, Sally, ride!): Thank you for carrying me through those 8 miles. Without you, I may have never been bitten by this beastly bug.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Dumb, dumb, dumb
This weekend, I knocked out a cool 8 miles for myself and for #megsmiles. It was a great morning for a long run and I enjoyed every step. I killed a HUGE Back Bay Waffle at the Seabrook Waffle Company. A delicious, yummy pile of waffle, warm apple butter, and crumbled bacon. NOMS. I felt amazing, even having thrown in a pass over my friend, the Kemah Bridge.
Sunday was technically rest day, but Daniel asked if we could jog to the park. What mom in her right mind turns that down?
We jogged to the park, played a while, and then headed home. On the way home, Daniel challenged me to a race. I reclaimed the leash, handed Lia off to daddy, and away we went. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I hadn't stretched. I hadn't warmed up. I hadn't thought two seconds about what I was doing. I gave him a head start, started legging it out, and caught up just before we hit the house. Daniel got really upset when I made my move to pass him, so I backed off and let him pull ahead at the very end (softy, I know). I didn't think anything of it, but as the day wore on, my QLs got tighter and tighter and tighter. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I guess I'm not as young as I once was.
I paid a visit to Dr. Ray at Redding Chiropractic this morning. He worked me out, but how ridiculous did I feel having to explain that it wasn't the 8 miles, my friend the Bridge, or any other triathlon-related thing I did to land me in this state? Nah. I was racing my 6-year-old. Lame. And I didn't even win.
With a few stretching sessions, a quick adjustment, some ART, and a day off, I think I'm going to stay on track with my training. But still. Dumb, dumb, dumb. . .
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Movin' on up
I've committed to run the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon on February 15. My training buddy and some of her Ironman pals are running as well and I thought I'd join in on the fun. Doug agreed to run the quarter with me, so $200 later, we're all set.
Last week, I ran my first 6-miler since October (when I ran two 10ks, a 10-miler, and my birthday oly). I usually get in three 5-milers each week, so 6 is not a stretch. This weekend, I'm looking for 8 at the Kemah Bridge. Somebody pray for me (and my sanity!). She's a beast, that bridge. Living on the Texas gulf coast, this IS our hill. We get one, and we had to make it.
Last week, I ran my first 6-miler since October (when I ran two 10ks, a 10-miler, and my birthday oly). I usually get in three 5-milers each week, so 6 is not a stretch. This weekend, I'm looking for 8 at the Kemah Bridge. Somebody pray for me (and my sanity!). She's a beast, that bridge. Living on the Texas gulf coast, this IS our hill. We get one, and we had to make it.
This is the before and after of the day I lost my
ever-loving mind and ran this dude for the first time.
Look for many mileage updates over the next several weeks as I'll be upping my distance rapidly to prepare for the race. My training plan calls for 8 or more miles 9 of the next 12 weeks, so watch out. Mileage is coming!
Thursday, January 1, 2015
New Year New Who?
When I make a New Year's resolution, I'm serious. I gave up sodas when I was 17. I have not had a soda since (with a very, very rare Sprite for a stomach ache. . . and, ahem, a very, very, very rare Southern Comfort and Coke - don't judge). I don't always make a resolution, but when I do, I stick to it like glue. The last few years, I've replaced the resolution with tangible goals. In 2013, my goal was to learn something new. I learned how to sew and how to make cake balls. Boom. Last year, my goals were to run the Galveston bridge and complete 2 more half marathons, which I checked off by April. With eight months remaining in the year, I had to set more goals or risk going insane. I chose triathlon (or rather, it chose me).
2015 is the year of the half iron. I also aim to live more intentionally (that's a post for another day) and to nurture my family's faith through more church involvement (again, a post for another day). With my goals set, my giant calendar plastered on the bathroom door, and the training plan downloaded from triradar.com, the only thing that can stop me is myself.
There. I said it out loud. Time to make hay.
2015 is the year of the half iron. I also aim to live more intentionally (that's a post for another day) and to nurture my family's faith through more church involvement (again, a post for another day). With my goals set, my giant calendar plastered on the bathroom door, and the training plan downloaded from triradar.com, the only thing that can stop me is myself.
There. I said it out loud. Time to make hay.
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