MIA

So who knows where I've been for the past 5 months...? Training, life-ing, DisneyWorlding, Oilmaning, camping... Just being generally busy. I still have two race reports to write - the Mammoth Lake Olympic (which I will not return to) and Oilman 70.3 (which I will definitely return to, just not in 2016). Our family spent a weekend at Brazos Bend State Park with our Cub Scout Pack in November enjoying our first family campout (which will also be repeated; early and often). We also spent Thanksgiving at Disney World and Universal Studios (which left us broke and tired, after 46 miles of walking in 5 days).

I did a scary, scary thing this weekend. I took a pic of myself in not much at all to track my progress between now and IMTX. I haven't decided if I'm going to publish this post or keep it private. Maybe I'll publish it without the images, just to keep myself honest without embarrassing myself and my family. The plan is to take the same two pics every Sunday from now until IMTX to document how my body changes and responds to the intense training schedule that is Ironman.

Some day soon, I'll get around to the race reports and camping tales and Disney fun and all of that. Kids are going back to school tomorrow after Christmas break and marathon training will come to an end on January 17 when I toe the line at the Houston Chevron Marathon. (shaking in my New Balance....)

I don't make NY resolutions any more - I set yearly goals. This year, the goals are as follows:

- Run the Houston Marathon
- Conquer the sub-7 half iron
- Learn to cook rice
- Register for IMTX17

I have two weeks left until the Houston Marathon and 14 weeks until HIMTX. I made my first pot of rice this morning. It wasn't half bad. I'll volunteer at IMTX in May and sign up for IMTX17 the following morning. I'm well on my way to achieving those goals and it's just the fourth day of 2016.

With a whole lot of prayer and some dedication, I'll completely transform my body through the next 15 months, 17 days, 14 hours, and 60 minutes.

How's that for a catch-up post??

Iron Angels

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.***

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.

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.

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!"

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.

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! 

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.

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.