Mozambique - The Beginning

Many of you have read the story about me hearing clearly from God that I needed to GO somewhere. Most of you don’t know the story about how Africa works into this equation. In 2021, I renewed my passport and listed Honduras as my Intended destination. Clear Creek was not going on mission trips at the time due to Covid, but I saw lots of trips in and out of Honduras and thought I could sledgehammer my way into a trip.

I remember asking Aaron in the hall one day after church, “When we were going to GO somewhere?” He shared with me the concerns that Church had about “getting stuck“ somewhere. What if we went to a country that went into Covid lockdown and we couldn’t get home? What if one of our members turned up with Covid and had to quarantine in that country? Would we leave them? Would the whole party stay? What were the testing and vaccine requirements? What if they changed? There were just too many unknowns to risk a trip during such uncertain times.

As sad as I was, I understood. I began to pursue other avenues outside of Clear Creek. I met with a gentleman who runs Impact Junkie. We spoke about my heart for missions, and what I wanted to do when I went somewhere. I listened to all the podcasts and learned as much as I could about their mission. As intrigued as I was by his organization, I just couldn’t seem to get plugged in.

Then I went to lunch with Nick and Ali after I finished their book (shameless plug for What Comes Next?). We talked through a lot of things. Nick suggested that we just make our own mission trip. I was 100% on board with that, but it never came to fruition. Shortly thereafter, I attended a hackathon with Nick, Ali, and KSBJ. I met a few people there and put out some feelers. More dead ends. It felt like one closed door after another.

I won’t say that I gave up, but I got frustrated and I backed off. My small group gently reminded me that God has a very different timetable than we do. They encouraged me to be patient. As hard as it was, I tried. It really did feel like I was being taunted. It seemed like every sermon had to do with GOING. It seemed like every story that Story Team published had to do with missions. I just couldn’t understand why I couldn’t seem to GO.

I was sitting in a sermon in January 2023. I’d have to go back and listen to it again. I don’t really remember what the sermon was about. I know we were in the middle of a study on Awakening, and I know that Aaron mentioned our will aligning with God’s will. He said something to the effect of, “God won’t ask you to go to Africa, unless he has laid it on your heart to go to Africa.“ How funny, I thought. Africa! Who even goes to Africa anymore? I was still very much waiting on my opportunity to go somewhere, but the Caribbean just really seemed like the only place to go.

Fast forward just a beat to February. Two full years after the ice apocalypse. I scheduled a meeting with Aaron about something completely unrelated to missions. As I sat in his office and we talked through my role at the church, he asked me what else was on my mind. I brought up to him my frustrations and the following conversation took place.

A: So what else is on your mind?

Me: I want to GO somewhere.

A: What do you mean?

Me: I’ve been trying to go on a mission trip for two years and I just can’t seem to make it happen.

A: Well you’re not being blacklisted. Where do you want to go?

Me: ANYWHERE. Literally anywhere Clear Creek goes, I’ll go.

A: Spain?

Me: Yeah I’ll go to Spain.

A: Mozambique?

Me: (in my head… where the heehaw is Mozambique? That’s in Africa, yeah?)
Out loud: yeah I’ll go to Mozambique.

He threw a few others out there, but I couldn’t tell you what they were now because I literally heard nothing else. I was instantly bought in to this country that I knew nothing about. I went home, thinking that I would need to learn to speak Swahili. I went to the library and checked out every book on Mozambique I could find. Fiction, non-fiction. It didn’t matter. I learned all about Gorongosa National Park and the restoration attempts made over the last 20 years. I learned about the Portuguese colonization of Mozambique. I learned that I would need to learn to speak Portuguese, not Swahili. I learned about their civil war and the treatment of the Mozambican people. I threw myself heart and soul into learning everything I could about Mozambique and their history, culture, art, food – you name it. I could not get this place out of my head.

A week or two later, Greg Poore spoke at East 96 all about his adventures in Mozambique. There was a podcast about his adventures with Richard Sarpong. I listened intently to every word. One day, I opened the Apple news app to learn all about a devastating storm that was headed to Mozambique. I learned all about how they have lost all their crops in a storm the year before and how they were so worried about losing another year of enterprise. I was praying for their safety. I was praying for provision. Everywhere I looked, there it was. Mozambique. I still could not get these people out of my head. Or my heart.

A week or so later, I ran into Greg and Karl Garcia at red river BBQ. Let me insert here that I am not a fan of barbecue. Please don’t hate me for hating BBQ. My point is that the odds of me sitting down in a barbecue restaurant are pretty slim. The odds of me sitting down in a barbecue restaurant and running into Greg a week after a sermon he preached on Mozambique? Long shot. Super long shot. Greg walked past my table and I stopped him. I told him that I was completely wrecked. I told him that I had a heart for Mozambique and its people. I told him that I couldn’t get it out of my head. I told him that if the opportunity presented itself to go back, I wanted in on that mission trip.

I finished my lunch with my friends and got up to leave. When I stood up, Greg and Karl stood up. I went over to say goodbye and Greg said, “We’ve just been talking here while we eat our lunch. We want you to go on our next trip to Mozambique.” Tears sprung to my eyes. I wanted to believe it, but I was hesitant. Africa. If I somehow couldn’t manage to get to the Caribbean, how could I get to Africa?

And THAT is how I came to put my name on the list to GO to Mozambique.

To be continued…

IMLC70.3

My day started when the alarm went off just before 5. I quickly dressed in the dark, grabbed a banana, and headed out the door. This early in the day, I immediately noted that my stress level was practically non-existent. On a normal race day, my hands are shaking, I am sweating, and I am wondering why in the world I signed up for this thing. Yesterday was very different. I was still wondering what on earth I was doing, but I wasn’t the least bit nervous about it. I felt no pressure, no stress, no anxiety - there were literally zero expectations tied to this day. I knew that if things went according to plan, I would be finished around 1 PM. Otherwise, I literally had zero expectations for the day. Only 7 people knew what I was doing, so nobody else had any expectations either. 

I drove to the fitness Center and arrived just after they opened. When I got down to the pool, I had the place to myself. It was a little chilly, so I didn’t waste much time getting in the water. As I pushed off the wall, I sang the national anthem in my head. While there was no canon to mark the beginning of my day, race day was officially underway. I prayed a significant portion of the swim and just generally enjoyed the 47 minutes alone with my thoughts. I hauled myself out of the pool, hustled to the locker room, and began my preparation for the bike portion of my day. 

Swim time - 47:37

Transition 1 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant 

I had tossed around the idea of doing 56 miles on the Texas City Dike. Race day conditions would’ve been perfect for it as there was virtually no wind. After several conversations with Doug about my plans for the day, we both decided that riding alone on the Dike and subsequently packing up and driving home afterwards was not the safest idea. There are about 10 million details about these conversations that I could get into, but I’ll save you the verbal tennis match. We decided the best course of action would be to put my bike on the trainer and maintain a steady pace at 16 miles an hour for 3 1/2 hours. When I got home from the pool, my bike and nutrition were already set up from the night before. I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, jumped on my bike, and started pedaling. At this point in the day, my children were just waking up and the morning routine began around me. I conducted my part of their activities from the saddle and helped Doug remember all the things. We usually divide and conquer in the mornings, so he’s not that familiar with the part I play. Miraculously, they walked out the door exactly on time for school. I got a quick kiss and a sweaty side hug from both of my kids and kept right on pedaling.

The next 210 minutes passed mostly uneventful with one exception. About 30 minutes before I was finished, I got a call from the school nurse. I would like to point out the last three races I have done, I have gotten a call from somebody about one of my children either at the athlete briefing (IMTX17 when Lia sprained her arm), driving to IM Waco 18 (when Daniel’s teachers needed to talk to me about his inability to pass off a specific lesson in Dreambox - don’t ask), and now for my make-believe race (where Lia tripped over a tree root, fell, and hurt her leg “so badly” that the PE coach had to put her in a wheelchair - please note that she went to school today without a wheelchair, crutches, a brace, or a bruise…). At any rate - my parents were in the area and picked her up for us. 

By the time they arrived at home, I had 3 minutes left on my bike. Doug helped Lia hop on one foot to the couch, my dad got her an ice pack, and my mom got her a blanket and The Princess Bride. I climbed off my bike and got ready to run. I was actually feeling really great at this point, perhaps because I religiously consumed Honey Stinger Waffles, had NOT been fighting the winds of Galveston or the hills of Waco or Montgomery, or because I had nothing to focus on aside from moving my legs in circles. No traffic, no potholes, no other racers shouting out, “on your left!“. Whatever it was, I was grateful for it.

Bike time - 3:30:01

Transition 2 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant

Thus began the grueling part of my day, but not as grueling as I had anticipated. Running 13 miles is hard. Running 13 miles by yourself is harder. Running 13 miles by yourself after riding your bike for 3 1/2 hours and swimming 1.21 miles is the hardest. Me and my water bottle and my shot blocks got to work. My amazing parents showed up to be my mobile aid station. They met me around the 2 mile mark with cold oranges, bottled water, and Gatorade. Aid station volunteers are among the most amazing humans on earth. When it is your own mom and dad, it is truly next level. They opened my bottles, took my trash, and gave me encouragement. My next aid station was my own house. I was able to go to the bathroom (not in a porta potty!) and restock my nutrition. I also snuck in a quick kiss on Lia‘s head, which definitely made it feel like Ironman. My kids have been there for almost every race and I was actually pretty sad that they wouldn’t be there for this one. What a nice surprise tripping over a tree route turned out to be.

With 4.5 miles on my watch, I started doing race math. For anyone who has ever raced, you know what I’m talking about. With the flexibility to run whatever course I chose, race math was (again) next level. My route was to be three figure eights around the lakes in my neighborhood. On this lap, I got creative and added some mileage. My thought process went something like this… If I can manage to get 10 miles in before I get back home, I will just have a 5K left to do when I get home. I had already far exceeded my expectations on the run. I was certain if I could keep up this pace, I would really have the best race ever. 

I remember meeting with Heather last May when I began strength training. She asked me about my goals for this race. Truthfully, all I wanted was to have a good day. I have never had a race where I didn’t cramp up, throw up, or want to give up. My initial plan had been a five-to-one run walk ratio. At this point, I had been maintaining a 1 mile/1 minute run walk ratio. If I could continue that strategy, I would be finished in record time. I just had to somehow manage not to cramp up or throw up. 

My strategy almost worked and by the time I arrived back at home, I had 3.6 miles left to go. Unfortunately, my Apple Watch was not in it to win it. I exchanged my watch for my Garmin, refueled once more, and set out for the final leg of my journey. I told my family to expect me back in about 40 to 45 minutes. This was by far the hardest part of my day. My legs felt like lead and I was running out of things to think about. I was still in good spirits and miraculously never found myself at the entrance to the pain cave. I was able to spend most of my time thinking or talking to God, but by now, I was running out of things to say to Him. I convinced Doug to go with me for this last portion. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to say to him, either. Ironman has strict rules against non-racers joining you on the course, so this was a new and different experience for me. By mile 67 of a 70-mile race, all I ever want is to stop moving and to be with my family. Having 50% of my needs met was pretty amazing and I relished the companionable quiet. After a few minutes of nothing but footfalls and breathing, Doug turned back and I continued on the last little bit. 

My strategy on this last portion was simple - run 1.8 miles, turn around, and come back. That 1.8 went on and on and on and on. When I  finally got to the turnaround, I was home free. The last 20 minutes flew by and before I knew it, I was turning the corner to the literal homestretch. I saw something I 100% did not expect - an actual finish line complete with handmade signs my kids had made for me. I have never gotten choked up at a finish line until that moment. I guess seeing your parents at the finish line means a whole lot more when they’re the only ones there. No pomp. No crowd. No finisher’s medal. Just the two people who have supported you through everything you’ve ever done in your entire life. The two people who gave you life, gave you opportunity, and gave you encouragement beyond your wildest expectations. My throat closed up and my chest got tight as I ran those last few meters into my driveway. The enormity of what I had just completed (mostly) by myself really just hit me. I had to fight back tears, but not for long. 

By the time I got to my crepe paper finish line and my mom and dad’s hugs, I was all smiles. It was over. My 70-mile journey complete. I caught my breath, took a few pictures, and said goodbye. When I pushed the door open, Doug said, “how much longer do you have?” 

“I’m finished,” I said. “It’s over.” 

“What?? I thought I had like 10 minutes left! I missed the finish?”

“Yup - but mom and dad made me a finish line. I’m done.”

A previous version of myself would’ve been disappointed. This version of myself was just grateful. Grateful for the mile Doug ran with me. Grateful for quick kisses from Lia between laps. Grateful for cold oranges and encouragement from my parents at every turn. When I said I wanted to have a good day, I couldn’t have possibly dreamed up a day *this* good. No cramps. No wall. No pain cave. And to top it all of? A 20-minute PR. 

I grabbed my crepe paper finish line and claimed my personal victory. When I said, “I’m done,” I meant it in a lot of ways. My 10-year run of racing and triathlon has been amazing, but it’s time for Ironman to take a seat in my life. I thought I would be sad, but I feel so good about the day that I had and the closure that came with it that I don’t even feel a hint of sadness. I’m happy to call it quits this time and in this way and when April 3 rolls around, I’ll be sitting poolside, cheering my guts out for my baby girl, and not feeling the slightest hint of regret. 

Goodbye, Ironman. It’s been real. 

What had happened was...

So I was really committed to this race (70.3 Galveston…). Like for real. I’ve been hitting all of my workouts. 3+ hours on the trainer. 8 miles in the parking lot of the natatorium between Lia’s water polo games. Swimming 2000 meters in 33-degree weather. I’ve been a beast (pats self on the back).

Lia’s big water polo tournament was scheduled for April 2-3 in Pearland, the same weekend as my race (for those not familiar with Houston, Pearland is literally two towns over from League City). The plan was to be at the nat all day Saturday cheering her on. Sunday was race day and I recruited friends and family to cheer her on so I could go chase finish lines all over Galveston Island. I was hoping to be finished with the race by the finals and be back in Pearland to watch her compete. Then…

The tournament got moved to San Antonio. The minute I saw that, my mind was made up. There’s no way I’m going to be in Galveston while my baby is in San Antonio playing her heart out at the tournament. It’s not in my DNA. I’m not wired this way. I think back to 1995. My dad had triple bypass surgery just a few days after I turned 16. In fact, the first place I drove myself was to the hospital to see him in the ICU. I had a softball tournament a few days later and I will never forget my dad walking down the sidewalk to watch me play, wearing compression socks and carrying his teddy bear he was supposed to hold when he coughed. If triple bypass surgery didn’t keep my parents from being there for me, how on earth can I let a race keep me from being there for my baby?

Naturally, I hatched a plan. I’ll be competing against a field of one tomorrow. By myself, I will tackle 70.3 miles. Alone. No SAG. No aid stations. No cute kids with signs. No cowbells. No finish lines. I NEED to close this chapter of my story and move on with my life. I need to call this done and I don’t think that calling it quits this close to race day is going to do it for me. So HIMLC will take place tomorrow. 1931 meters at The Fitness Center, 56 miles either on my trainer or on the Texas City Dike, and 13.1 miles around my neighborhood.

Listen. This is for me, not you. If you don’t think it counts because my bike is on a trainer or my swim is in a pool or my transitions require car rides, hear me when I say, “I don’t care.” I’m not claiming a medal. There will be no roll-down slots awarded to the World Championship. On April 4, Ironman will have me listed among the DNSs and that’s ok. This is for me to be at peace with myself and my decision to put my child and her endeavors above my own. My family has tirelessly supported me over the last 10 years while I’ve raced all over Texas. I recognize (a half beat too late) that my kids have reached the age in their individual pursuits where I’m going to need to put my own things on the shelf and spend my time supporting them all over Texas (and beyond). This is me, carefully packing away my things and choosing to be present with my kids.

One last thought – I know tomorrow is going to be grueling, far more difficult than racing fully supported. I’m mentally prepared for that and who knows if I’m physically prepared. That’s what we’re going to find out tomorrow. My whole point in writing this down today is to remember how I felt in “the before.” Stay tuned for my thoughts and how I faced down my demons (or not) tomorrow on the HIMLC course. Let’s get down to brass tacks.

Post Script - I have told virtually no one about this beyond immediate family and those who are helping out on race day. If you're not on the VERY short list of people I told, it bears repeating - this is for me, not you. I don't want to be cajoled. I don't want to be talked out of it. I don't want to be berated for making a "weird" decision or told that you wouldn't do it that way. I don't want to hear all the reasons why I shouldn't do this and I certainly don't want to hear that it "doesn't count." I really don't care. Once more - this is for me, not you. If that sounds harsh, I'm sorry. Very close friends of mine reacted poorly when I deferred last year and I have been junked up about it ever since. I'm keeping this one close to my chest until I cross my own invisible finish line. Here's to hoping my body and my mind hold up tomorrow and carry me to the end of this chapter.

2022 - The Welcome Wagon

About this time last year, I decided I was going to write weekly. I had an excellent blog post about slowing down and following the pace of Jesus and reordering my life and focusing on the things that were important and then… crickets. Shockingly, I’ve somehow found myself RIGHT where I left off – frenzied, hurried, harried, and not following through on my commitment to SLOW DOWN and get my priorities right. I reread that blog post this morning, listened to the podcast that helped me take my first steps on that path, and felt some serious conviction in my soul to get back to that place (again…).

So here I am – one year later – deciding to write more often, to say no more often, and to spend more of my time focusing on the big rocks in my life. On this 13^th day of January 2022, I am declaring some goals, taking some steps, and recommitting myself to reordering my priorities and my heart. As John Ortberg put it, “Hurry is not just a disordered schedule. Hurry is a disordered heart.” It’s time to reorder my heart.

Faith – I commit to read the Bible in its entirety with my small group in 2022. I commit to spending more time in prayer by scheduling quiet times each day to establish habits and rhythms in my life that feel more like breathing than holding my breath.

Fitness – I commit to race 70.3 miles on April 3. I will commit to at least 9 workouts a week for the next 12 weeks. Once I cross the finish line, I commit to NOT signing up for any more races in 2022 so that I can take more time to focus on strength and addressing imbalances in my body.

Travel – I have already scheduled and booked flights to Key West to explore a new place with my husband. I commit to at least one trip to Maryland to be with Courtney and Billy for the biggest day of their careers. I commit to getting my family to New Mexico at least once this year to breathe the mountain air and to reconnect with the land.

Now that I’ve “said them out loud,” I’m committed. These goals and ideas aren’t just hidden in the quiet places of my soul. They’re not out there for my friends and family to see and to hold me accountable. Whether you will or you won’t is completely irrelevant – I will and that’s what matters. No longer do I accept 2020, a pandemic, or the weirdness that is the 20s as an excuse for putting my goals on a backburner. It’s time to get down to brass tacks and to make my dreams a reality.

As I conclude this first entry of 2022, I am setting daily alarms on my phone for quiet times, I am writing down my workouts for the next 2 weeks, and I am blocking out weekly times to spend in front of my laptop, banging my thoughts out on the keyboard. I will also take just a moment to remind myself who I’m writing for –for Sheri in 6 months, for Sheri in 2023, for Sheri in 6 years. These are simple bookmarks in my life to help me remember the things I once held dear and the thoughts that rattled around in my head until I wrote them out and captured them for the future. Today those thoughts just happen to be about getting myself on track to focus on the things that fill my cup. With any amount of luck, the next entries will have the same focus.

Hello again

 Before I post this, I want to acknowledge that I have not written in almost 4 years. That's completely crazy to me, but alas, here we are. That having been said, hello again.

As most of us have been, I’ve the last 13 days looking back at the last year and remembering examining wondering what the heck just happened contemplating the weirdness that was 2020. So much of what’s in my head has been said by all the people in all the ways in all the places. I won’t put my own spin on all of “that,” but I have noticed some incredible timing that I want to rehash here.

In November of 2019, Doug and I went to Arkansas to celebrate our 15^th anniversary. I had a mild meltdown/breakthrough/come-to-Jesus with myself out there in the woods. I have done this to myself every year for the last bazillion years and once more, I found myself in a place where I had far too many balls in the air, far too many hats on my head, and far too few moments of peace sprinkled throughout. When we got away from the noise of everyday life, it was so incredibly quiet that I felt overwhelmed by the silence. I can remember sitting on the couch at our little AirBnB drinking my coffee and just looking at the lake and the fall leaves. I remember thinking to myself, “I should be DOING something! But I just don’t want to…” When we came home, I posted a long tirade on Facebook about how tired I was of doing all the things for all the people and I just. Wanted. To. Slow. Down. Many of my friends and family reached out and shared that they felt the same way but none of us knew what the heck to do about it.

Later that week, I was up at Lia’s school serving Thanksgiving lunch (another hat I really didn’t want or need to be wearing) when I had a conversation with my friend Lindsey, and she shared with me that she had been feeling much the same way and how refreshing it was to know she wasn’t alone. Then she shared with me that she’d been listening to a podcast called Fight Hustle, End Hurry by two preachers who had recently written two books about slowing down and culling the extra things in your life. I logged on as soon as I left the school and started listening. I was hooked. The show had just launched in October and was set to be an 11-week series about fighting hustle and ending hurry. Show topics included Hurry, Hustle, Silence, Sabbath, Simplicity, and Slowing Down – all things that I was in desperate need of. I couldn’t wait to hear the next episode. I couldn’t wait to hear these “radical” ideas about leaving your phone at home while you go to the grocery store, how to implement a Sabbath with your family, how to have a media detox (I recognize that none of these things are rocket science, but in this day and age, these ideas ARE radical).

As soon as I finished devouring the podcast, I bought both authors’ books and devoured those as well. Some of their ideas were so exciting that I couldn’t wait to get started. Some of these ideas were so “out there” that I was scared to give it a go (Sabbath and technology detox, for example – but more on that later). I decided it was time and we tried to make some changes. I talked to my family about how I was feeling and what I wanted to do about it, and we started making changes.

What I wanted to do most was to stop doing so many things, but that was thing that was hardest for me. All of the things we do as a family are GOOD THINGS. Scouts is good for character development, leadership, and social interaction. Chess is an intellectual pursuit that engages your mind in such a unique way and teaches sportsmanship, strategy, and decorum. Water polo is incredible stress relief for my ADHD, anxious child (as well as for my kiddo who doesn’t struggle with either of those things but benefits from water polo in many other ways) that teaches teamwork, critical life-saving skills (like treading water and just generally being comfortable in the water), and how to work hard for a common goal. Jeff Bethke and his wife go through a process annually where they write down all the things on index cards and put them down on the table. They have to make a conscientious choice to pick those things back up and keep them for the coming year. I was so not there. I couldn’t’ even write the things on index cards, much less ask my kids to give up anything. So we didn’t, but I slowly started taking off some of my hats – PTA for the junior high. Ok fine. I took off one hat, but then I got a second job, so that just shifted where my time was invested.

In February, I continued to pray in earnest for God to show me where we could cull, what things we could cut, how we could pare down our lives to slow down and enjoy life. I was really feeling convicted by the things that John Mark and Jeff were saying about the “pace of Jesus” and the “way of Jesus.” He came to this earth to show us how to live. Was he ever in a hurry? No. When Lazarus died? No. When Jairus’s daughter was sick? No. When giving the sermon on the mount? No – he literally stopped what he was saying to look at the birds of the air (Matthew 6:26) and to tell the people to do the same. Granted this illustration was exactly what he needed, but he goes on to consider the flowers (Matthew 6:28). In the middle of the most well-known sermon ever preached, Jesus is stopping to smell the flowers. He was SO not in a hurry. Add this to the list of things I need to learn from Jesus… As John Ortberg put it, “I cannot rest in God with a hurried soul.” Once again, convicted.

Even with all this knowledge and all this conviction, I still didn’t know what to DO about it. I couldn’t bring myself to cut our activities, but I did take a 14-day break from Facebook (more on that later). Following that, I left my phone at home to go to HEB (which was oddly liberating – I spoke to people in the aisles and took my time picking out my produce, which was SO 2019… we don’t even GO to the store anymore…). The scariest but most fruitful step of all, we practiced our very first Sabbath.

Here’s what that looked like: One Friday afternoon in late January, we all came home from school and work, finished all of our things for the week (emails, homework, reports, etc.), and we *turned off our phones.* We collected tablets from the kids and stored everything in the closet so we wouldn’t be tempted to check the weather or see who that text was from or check out Pinterest for a recipe. I had learned from Comer that Sabbath should be almost like a mini-Christmas where you celebrate, rest, enjoy your favorite meal, spend time together, pray, and just BE in the presence of each other and the Lord. I remember talking to my parents beforehand to let them know not to worry if they couldn’t reach us and my dad thought we’d gone a little nuts (you’re probably thinking the same thing). I had spent the day cleaning so that nobody would need to spend the weekend doing any chores (which my kids were 100% on board with). I went to the grocery store to get everything we needed for a delicious meal so we wouldn’t even need to leave the house.

Here’s what happened next: We prepared a meal together that was a mashup of everybody’s favorite things. We actually lit candles. I got out cloth napkins and the nice glasses and set the table. We locked the dogs out of the kitchen. We sat down at the table together and we prayed for God to bless our time of rest. We weren’t in a hurry to finish our meal because we had nowhere to go and nothing to get back to. We had a wonderful conversation (I had some “scripted” questions I had prepared so that we wouldn’t go down some rabbit hole of Minecraft or Magic the Gathering or of whatever YouTube video we were obsessed with at the time). We talked about what we were looking forward to during this weekend of rest and what we were nervous about – I was worried my parents would need help and wouldn’t be able to get in touch, but thankfully, that didn’t happen. We finished our meal, cleaned up together, and sat down to play our favorite game. We may have stayed up a little later than usual with plans to sleep in the next day. Saturday was a lowkey day, so lowkey I don’t remember what we did or what we ate. I do know we slept in, read, and went for a walk. Sounds lovely, yes? Our Sabbath ended Sunday after church, so not quite 48 hours. We all agreed it was something we wanted to do again, so we scheduled one for February (which looked remarkably like the January Sabbath – kind of like Christmas, we have traditions we want to repeat over and over again… no need to recreate the wheel every time we do this!).

Enter March… remember what I was saying about being too scared to put all of our index cards on the kitchen table? Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Every index card we’d ever thought we “needed” was casually ripped out of our hands and tossed in a pile on the kitchen table. No warning. No gradual reordering of priorities. Everything ceased to exist except for the things that actually matter most. When I had my mini meltdown in the foothills of the Ozarks in November, I could have in no way imagined the steps that I would take in the coming 4 months that would lead me to a place of perfect peace and acceptance of the crazy that was the pandemic of 2020. Let me be clear – this is NOT what I prayed for when I asked God to help me slow down but it sure did do the trick. While all the index cards were on the table, a natural reordering took place. Chess club stopped. Scouts stopped. Water polo stopped. Running club stopped. Small group moved to a virtual format and Daniel was able to participate in Bible study for the first time in almost a year. Guess what moved to the top of our priority list for 2020? Church, family time at home, and lots and lots of reading. Guess what we weren’t doing anymore? Everything else. Guess what happened? We all learned to breathe again.

When things started to gradually open, we saw no need to reengage in many of them. I am no longer married to a schedule. In fact, I haven’t even put February in my bullet journal yet. We learned to sleep in a little. We learned to walk more places. We learned to slow down, which was my initial desperate plea with God and the universe. Who knew it would take a pandemic to help me reorder my life? While I’m not grateful for the pandemic, I am grateful for some of the changes it has forced into our lives. Here’s an example…

Last weekend, we took a trip to San Antonio to spend some time together (our work schedules didn’t align – I worked Thanksgiving and Christmas; Doug worked New Years). We hopped in the car on New Years Day and drove to San Antonio. It took us over 6 hours make a ~3ish hour drive with an unscheduled stop in Schulenberg for black-eyed peas and cabbage at Schobel’s. Pre-pandemic Sheri would have been in the race of her life to beat Google Maps’ ETA to our hotel with a detailed agenda of where we were eating when we got there, what activities we would do while we were there, and a minute-by-minute plan with maps, links, and apps to help us along the way. Post-pandemic (or mid-pandemic…?) Sheri just got in the car and started driving west. We had no itinerary, no apps, no maps, no links, and no problems. Prior to covid, we would have flown through the Bucee’s and eaten trail mix and beef jerky so we could make better time. In 2021, that’s not the pace I’m living, and I am SO grateful. Those peas at Schobel’s were top-notch and we enjoyed our conversation at the table rather than shoving food in our faces as we drove, watched movies, and played games in our own little worlds. On Saturday, we woke up, Googled “breakfast in San Antonio,” and walked to the oldest restaurant in SA. We enjoyed our breakfast (so much so that we went back on Sunday…) and started walking. Eleven miles later, we had seen 3 of the missions along the mission trails and decided we were ready to eat lunch. The original plan was to hike all 5 missions and Uber back to the room. Pre-pandemic Sheri would have accepted nothing less. Post-pandemic Sheri called an Uber at mission #3 and took us to lunch and called it a day. While I won’t say it was a perfect day (kids are still whiny and ungrateful, even when on vacation with a more chilled out version of their mom than they’ve seen in a while), I can see indicators everywhere that I’ve made some positive changes that are affecting our overall lives in a Gospel way.

When we got home, I decided it was time to listen to the Fight Hustle, End Hurry podcast again. I argued that I didn’t get a fair shot at implementing their ideas because COVID did it for me. After one episode, I have decided to take another Facebook sabbatical. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone or if I’ll even be able to return. Last time I did this, I only took 2 weeks off and I had a hard time returning. The pace of life in the real world was incongruent with the pace of life in social media and I felt like I had woken up in a different time than the one I had left 2 weeks prior. Given today’s social climate, I’m fearful (hopeful?) that a break will see such drastic changes in the social media world that I will feel like  Brendan Fraser in Encino Man and I won’t understand the world around me. I’ll wake up thinking I can drink directly from slurpie machines and then Lord only know what might happen next (if you didn’t get that one, it’s ok).

For now, I plan to write weekly, post photos via Instagram for our far and away families, and try to enjoy a slower, less outraged pace of life. I hope you’ll keep in touch in other ways besides social media. While I so enjoy getting to see what everyone is up to, I enjoy my sanity and a relaxed pace of life even more than that. Send me a text. Invite me to coffee. Take a walk with me. I hope to hear from you soon.

LEGEND Ambassador!

I'm super excited to announce that I'll be a part of the LEGEND Compression Wear Ambassador Team this year! Stay tuned for what that means, how you can benefit, too, and lots more! Check out their website at http://legendcompressionwear.com/

#beaLEGEND #LEGENDLifestyle #rightnottight

Ironman Texas - The race report

As they say, sometimes the best place to begin is at the beginning. Last May, Nicole, Melissa, and I volunteered at the finish line of Ironman Texas. We had the honor and the privilege of bringing across six of our best friends. We knew long before then that Ironman was in the cards for us. Being a part of our friends’ finish only solidified our desire to have the same experience for ourselves. The next morning, we went to Ironman village and put our names in the hat. The journey truly began.

The next 11 months would be spent swimming, biking, and running. We grew so much across the course of the last year. Not only physically, but spiritually, mentally, and our friendship deepened in a way that I did not know was possible. We have shared laughter, tears, joy, doubt, and everything in between. It wasn't long before the Iron8 took shape. The eight of us would share such incredible experiences on our journey to the Ironman finish line. If you had told me then that I could love these people the way that I love them now, I could not have imagined how.

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I woke up Thursday morning dry heaving in cold sweats. This was NOT the way I intended for my Ironman weekend to begin. I canceled my spin class, went back to bed, and begged God to let me get to race day. At this point, I wasn’t even asking for a good race. I just wanted to make it to the starting line. This seed of doubt in the back of my mind had the potential to wreck everything. The 20 weeks of intense training (not to mention the 3-year base I had been building) threatened to unravel mere moments from the beginning of the end of my journey. Through the grace of God, I woke up a few hours later and felt “normal.”

Melissa, Nicole, and I packed the van and headed north to the Woodlands. After getting through athlete check-in, lunch, and relaxing in the hotel for a few, we headed to the athlete briefing. We learned all about the penalty tent, the course, aid stations, and everything else you need to know to tackle the day. Unfortunately, my phone rang part way through. It was the school nurse, telling me that Lia had fallen in music class and I needed to come pick her up. Whomp whomp whomp. I called my parents to step in for me and they gladly retrieved my kids from school. After several hours of icing, elevating, and ice cream, they decided she needed to be x-rayed. I have no idea what that set us back, but it turned out to be a sprain.

   

Later that evening, we headed to the welcome banquet. Wow. What an experience! It was at this point that I made a complete fool out of myself in front of Mike Reilly, THE voice of Ironman. We were standing in the lobby and almost walked into him. Without thinking, I shouted, “HEY!” He laughed and said, “My name’s not HEY.” I said, “I KNOW! YOU’RE MIKE REILLY!” At this point, I am pretty positive that Nicole and Melissa wanted to crawl into a hole and die. We exchanged a few words with Mike, and I decided to step in for our buddy, Nick Skytland. I told Mike that he had called Nick home several times and that he was saying his name wrong. I told him Nick would think I was a hero if Mike said his name right for his lucky #7. We talked a little more, said goodbye, and told Mike we would see him at the finish line. After a couple of hours of food, fellowship, and inspiration, the three of us headed out to a friend of a friend’s house for steaks and sweet potatoes. 

We had a great time talking with fellow athletes and learning a little bit of game day strategy from a couple of the coaches who were there. An hour or so more of food, fellowship, and prayer, we headed back to the hotel for some sleep.

Friday morning started off with another embarrassing moment. The three of us piled into a very full, very quiet elevator to head down to breakfast. I guess my nerves got the best of my mouth and I said (pretty loudly), “Why is it so quiet in here? Did somebody fart?” Melissa kindly pointed out to me that there was a guy in the corner… on. the. phone. We all died. I swear the person on the other end heard me. Everyone in that elevator had to work not to burst into laughter. After breakfast, we went to the practice swim. Sadly, we ran into one of the guys from the elevator who recognized me. You can’t outrun your own embarrassment!

The practice swim was uneventful. There was LOTS of talk of wetsuit versus no wetsuit. The water temperature had risen from 74.5 to 78 in just 2 days. I had decided days ago that unless it was 83 degrees, I was wearing my wetsuit. I suited up, hopped in the water, and swam a cool 700 yards. I felt good and decided that my original plan was a good one.

After we left the lake, Nick took us on a bike ride to give us a preview of the run course. We wove our way around the Woodlands and made mental notes of twists, turns, dips, and aid stations. After our tour, we checked our bikes and bags into transition and decided to catch a movie. Going to see The Case for Christ the day before Ironman may have been genius or idiocy. I tend to lean toward genius, but what do I know? It was a great way to put life into perspective and it gave us all a legitimate reason to cry a little bit (not that 140.6 miles isn’t a good reason to cry). That night, we met up with spouses, parents, and kids and enjoyed another steak and sweet potato dinner at Saltgrass. We had had a great two days and the real fun was just about to begin.

Doug and I went back to the hotel for a quiet, thoughtful evening and some last-minute review. I went over my packing lists one more time, visualized my transitions, and spent some time in prayer. By 9:00, I was crawling into bed and trying to get some sleep. Sleep came and went in waves. I would drift off and then snap to, thinking about the swim start or the bike turnaround or about my nutrition. As prepared as I felt, there was still so much doubt. So much fear. My nerves never really did show their ugly faces, but my God. I don’t care who you are, 140 miles under your own power is a monumental task. It’s just SUCH a long day and SUCH a long race and SO MANY THINGS can go wrong. I tried not to think about it too much and I would guess I managed about 4–5 hours of sleep. Fortunately, my coach had me focus on trying to take 6 naps that week (I think I managed 4), so I had banked quite a bit of sleep.

At 4:30, the alarm went off and the day began. I got dressed, ate my breakfast, and we headed down to the lobby to meet up with Melissa, Nicole, and our Sherpas. Davin left us off at the entrance to transition and we made our way to our bikes. I saw Audrey and Susan and John. I saw lots of stoic, nervous people and lots of anxious spouses, parents, and friends. I found my bike, aired up my tires, and realized I had forgotten my aero bottle. Blessedly, one of my amazing friends was at the transition entrance and she ran to retrieve my bottle from the van. After filling up tires, filling up bottles, and dropping last-minute items, it was time to walk to the swim start.

I was so grateful for Doug’s calm presence during this walk. He walked next to me, not saying much, just being my anchor and a cool head when my anxiety could have gotten the best of me. He carried my bag and listened to Heather and I chat about the upcoming day. Once we arrived at the swim start, we had about 10 minutes until the pros went off. We were standing in line for the portapotties (again) when the cannon boomed and their day began. The 5 of us who were together circled up for one last prayer. We bowed our heads and Nick lead us in a prayer of gratitude, of humility, and of perseverance. It was here that I almost lost my mind. Being able to stand at the water's edge - at the precipice of something that's so big and so scary and so daunting that you literally cannot fathom the enormity of it until you're doing it - and to join in prayer with true friends is a gift that I will cherish forever. To know that you're doing something that many consider to be impossible with the blessing of your Savior, the support of your loved ones, and the camaraderie of your peers is just an indescribable feeling. 

I got one last kiss from Doug and off we went. I entered the water at 6:52 flanked by Nicole and Nick with Joe just ahead. I knew that was likely the last time we would see each other until the finish, and that was ok. I dove in head first and started swimming along with 2600 of my closest friends. I had heard horror stories of the swim start and I was prepared for the worst. Fortunately, I never got kicked, scratched, punched, or pulled. Before I knew it, I was coming up on the first buoy marked with a nice little "1." In my preparation for the day, I had divided the course into chunks, even beyond swim/bike/run. I knew that the swim could be taken in thirds and I was prepared for 13 buoys before the first turn. Imagine my delight and my surprise when I hit the first turn buoy after just 8 buoys! I had checked off the first chunk of the first chunk and I felt great! Somewhere along the way, I passed my coach (WHAT???) and said hi. That was a cool feeling.

After the turnaround, the second chunk seemed much quicker and long before I expected it, we were turning into the canal. This is where things got interesting. The water quality took a plunge and what had been 12-18-inch visibility was suddenly 4-6-inch visibility. Not only that, but the water smelled and tasted like stagnant mud. I started to feel a little queasy and I wasn't sure if it was from the smell or from the churning water in the canal. Because I was feeling a little off, I was taking quick breaks about every 100 yards by doing one-armed drills and pulling my wet suit open to allow the cooler water in. I don't know if it really helped or not, but it sure seemed to. I saw my coach pass me again and realized I was coming up on the Grogan's Mill Bridge, the last landmark before the exit. Aside from the disgusting water, the swim was really uneventful, quick, and a nice little warm-up before the bike. My time and distance on the swim was 2.64 miles and 1:31:00. My goal was between 1:30-1:40, so I was very, very pleased coming out of the water.

As I headed into the changing tent, I sat down in the first chair I came to. I started digging through my bag looking for individual items. After about 30 seconds of that, I decided that was crazy. I said, "Screw it!" and dumped the bag on the ground. About that time a teenage girl said, "Does anyone need help?" I said, "I do! And there's a Starbucks gift card over here for you!" She came running and helped me in a way that was so selfless and kind. She unfolded my socks, got out my sunscreen, helped me with my wetsuit, and did everything but dress me. At that point, I saw Nicole and Audrey come in through the door. I was so grateful to see friends hot on my trail! I was in and out of transition in just under 10 minutes. I had planned for 10 minutes for each transition, so I was right on schedule at this point and feeling great about it.

 As I ran out of the tent, I saw Doug ! He was hanging over the fence near my bike cheering me all the way. I think I said something like, "hey baby!" I grabbed my bike and motored over to the mount line. I was so grateful to be on with the second leg of my journey! It was still a beautiful day. We had some cloud cover and a slight breeze. It was shaping up to be a great morning.

As I wove my way through the Woodlands, I focused on finding my legs and thinking about getting to the Hardy Toll Road. This was the first chunk of the second chunk. As I neared the turnaround, Melissa shouted out at me and I had a surge of adrenaline. I was so grateful to see how strong she looked. It gave me motivation to keep spinning my legs and looking for the next checkpoint.

Somewhere around the turn off, I heard sirens. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it couldn't be good. There were firetrucks, ambulances, and I could hear life flight on the way. I prayed it was not serious and continued on my way. I would later learn that a man had died during the swim. I have been just consumed with this over the last few days, but I learned yesterday that he was a great man who loved Jesus and I am confident that he died doing what he loved and has reached his own finish line in Heaven.

I thanked every police officer and volunteer I passed. It gave me something to think about that wasn't myself. As I neared the Hardy Toll Road, I was ever so grateful I had spoken to everyone along the way. Once we reached Hardy, other humans who were not on bicycles were few and far between. At this point of the race, the wind was very shifty. I couldn't tell what it was doing or where it was coming from, but I knew it was doing something that I didn't like. I fought my way south for the first 20 miles half expecting a tailwind on the way back. Imagine my dismay when I made the U-turn and there was no such tailwind. "That's OK," I thought. "You've trained in the wind. 20 miles will end soon enough." I put my head down and concentrated on getting up each and every overpass. Me and Jesus had a lot to talk about on that 20-mile stretch of road. I was mentally prepared for the overpasses, but I was not prepared to climb over passes into a 15MPH headwind. On many occasions, I ran out of gears. I just focused on counting. I would get out of the saddle for eight counts and then sit down for eight counts. Once I finally reached the top of each overpass, I would sit down and cruise for a little while. I tried really hard not to think about the second loop. I tried to be grateful for the cloud cover. I told God that we had discussed this wind. My children, husband, and I had been praying relentlessly for no wind for months. This was not part of the plan, but God knows better than I do. I tried to make peace with it and focused on each pedal stroke. I prayed for myself. I prayed for others. I prayed for the wind to stop, although I knew it was in vain.

By the time I reached the turnaround, it was like a party. That tailwind hit me and I knew I had to make up for lost time. Bruce, my bike, effortlessly carried me the next 20 miles. I don't think I ever got out of my big ring, even on the mountainous overpass that was 1960. I knew heading down that overpass with such a stiff tailwind it was going to be interesting. I began chanting out loud, "the glory of the Lord will be my rear guard." I said it all the way up the overpass and all the way down. I didn't know this until yesterday, but my highest speed on that overpass was 32 miles an hour. It was terrifying. I didn't know if anyone was behind me and I was afraid to touch my brakes. As I repeated my scripture the last time, my voice came out in a sob and I nearly choked. The fear was palpable, but I had made it to the bottom and it was time to focus on the next overpass.  I got my emotions in check and continued to turn my legs over, one pedal stroke at a time. I kept an eye out for familiar faces on the other side of the course. I saw Melissa and several Tri4Him guys. I called out to each of them as they passed. I also tried to encourage the others who were on their first loop that the tailwind was coming. "Hang in there! Don't give up! The tailwind is coming!"

Once I reached the final turn around, my race was entirely between my ears. I tried to focus on what John had said about the last 10k of the run. I knew that if I blew my legs up now, I would never make it through a marathon. Nicole passed me just after the turn around. We exchanged a few words, and she was gone. Again, I drew confidence and motivation from seeing her on the course. Knowing she was out there killing it helped me focus on my own race. I remember at mile 80 saying out loud, "I never have to do this again. No one can ever make me do this again." There was no way in the world I was ever giving up, but I knew once I finished, it would be over and I would never have to do this again. Period. If I didn't want to. 

The next 20 miles was spent much the same as the first time around. Lots of prayer. Lots of pleading. Lots of spinning my legs and trying not to give up. I ran out of gears on almost every overpass. I saw people giving up left and right. Near the end of that final loop, I saw a lady walking her bike. I asked her if she was OK and she shook her head no. Fortunately, I saw SAG about 100 yards down the road. I called out to him and told him that the lady behind me needed his help.  Not long after that, a bigger guy on a Cervelo came up next to me. We chatted for a while. He told me that he felt like Fuji and Cervelo owed us money for the wind tunnel test we were conducting for their bikes. We both laughed and discussed why in the world we ever wanted to do this crazy thing called Ironman. We soon parted ways and continued struggling into the wind. Did I mention the wind was 15 miles an hour? Sustained? With up to 30 mile an hour gusts? K. Just making sure I mentioned that.

Again, once I hit that final turn around, it was a party. I knew I was home free. I had 12 miles left until I could get off of my bike and put on my running shoes. I wound on my way through the Woodlands, again, and focused on getting to that dismount line.  My thoughts had gotten a little dark at this point. I was thinking to myself that I had never wanted to do anything less in my entire life than I wanted to run a marathon. I just wanted to sit down. I knew that 26.2 miles lay ahead of me and I was not looking forward to them.

 As I got closer to town, there were people all over the place. I again thanked every police officer and every volunteer, grateful to be able to speak to another human again. There were people, dogs, kids, cowbells, signs, and everything in between. I felt like I was at a race again! I said to myself, "Sheri? You better get yourself together. If you continue to have an attitude like this, you will never finish this race. You better be grateful. You better find something to be grateful for." I had a 180° turn in my thoughts. I started to look forward to getting off of my bike. I was looking forward to putting my running shoes on. I was looking forward to seeing friends and family cheering me on. I was looking forward to the waterway. The final leg of the second chunk was upon me. My official bike time was nearly an hour longer than I had hoped at 7:27:15.

Somewhere close to transition, I saw Heather again. She shouted out to me and again, I found myself full of gratitude for a friendly face and a cheerful smile. One of the volunteers told me that transition was half a mile ahead. I had never been so grateful in my life! As I dismounted, I heard someone shouting my name. I looked up and lo and behold, I saw my old boss. I had no idea she would be there and seeing her face and hearing her cheer me on gave me such a boost. I ran out of my way to give her a hug over the fence. At this point, I saw Davin, Bobby, and Bryan. They were cheering me on and told me Nicole was just ahead of me in transition. About two seconds after that, I saw Tiff, Karissa, Julie, and Liane. They were waiting for me in transition! They were encouraging me, making me laugh, and running alongside me into the change tent. I had no idea that a welcome wagon would be waiting for me when I got off my bike. What a welcome surprise!

As I walked into the changing tent, I saw a Swim Bike Mom compatriot. Amie Quin was a tri angel sent straight from above. She went through my bag one item at a time in and helped me prepare for the next 26 miles. She slathered sunscreen on my shoulders and filled my water bottle with ice. She spoke some encouraging words to me and sent me on my way. As I came out of the change tent, I looked down at my watch. Another 10 minute transition.

I saw an old friend from high school cheering me on. I remember saying something about not dying and headed out for the next 26 miles. The run course is absolutely phenomenal. There are spectators everywhere along the Waterway. Tri clubs know where the dark parts of the course are in they are there to help you through them. Shortly after mile one, I saw Nova, the chiropractor from the fitness center. She ran alongside me for about half a mile and assured me that I was going to be an Ironman. Her enthusiasm and the big smile on her face gave me a pep in my step and helped me through the next several miles. Then I saw Randi and Adam and Randi ran with me for a good .25 miles. She gave me the same encouragement Nova did and sent me on my way.

After I turned left on Panther Creek, the crowds disappeared. There was no music. There were no signs. There were no cowbells. Just a shady path, the smell of honeysuckle, and my own thoughts. I tried to find someone running my pace to keep me company, but they were few and far between. As I drew closer to the Waterway, I started getting excited about seeing my family. Surely they were just ahead. Before long, I was in Hippie Hollow. I could have never imagined what sort of lift that would give my spirits. You don't know what it's like to run being chased by a man dressed in a red speedo and suspenders beating a trashcan with drumsticks until you've done it. If it sounds totally insane, it is! There were signs everywhere saying there's no walking in hippie Hollow. No kidding! You couldn't walk even if you wanted to. The crowds and their enthusiasm is infectious. There is loud music, Crazy signs, and even crazier costumes. My pace picked up significantly, especially as I thought about seeing my family in the next mile or two.

I saw Heather again and asked her, "Where is my family???" I thought I would definitely have seen them by now! She told me she didn't know, but she would find out. As I rounded the bend and passed my old office, my cousin and her sweet girls were up on the hillside. I was so excited to see my family! I flashed them an I love you, asked, "Where on earth are my parents???" and continued on my way. They didn't know either as they had just arrived. I snaked along the waterway and once again, I found my thoughts turning dark. I had run almost 8 miles now and there was no sign of my family. I began to wonder if I could run another 8 miles without their hugs and encouragement. I was just starting to get really discouraged when I heard my name from up on a bridge. There they were! My parents, my cousins, my neighbors - waving their arms and screaming like maniacs. I had never been so happy to see them in my entire life! Because they were backlit, I had no idea that Doug and the kids weren't with them. I could hear my mommy and my daddy above all the other noise. I guess all of those years at the softball field came back to me and I could hear my parents shouting their love and encouragement from the rooftops. About 10 yards farther down the waterway, there were my babies! I got sweet kisses from Lia, a huge hug from Daniel, and an atta girl and a kiss from Doug. My mother-in-law was there too, smiling and encouraging me every step of the way. That was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it. As I began the second loop, I knew what to expect. I had been here and done this. One down, two to go.

Around mile 13 or 14, I started falling apart. My GI system had had enough. I was on the bridge near South Shore Park and started gagging. I wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, I felt like if I could just be sick and get it over with, I would feel better. On the other hand, I was afraid that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. I slowed to a walk and kept my eye on my heart rate. I was sipping water and jogging about half a mile at a time. As I approached the Waterway for the second time, I ran into a teammate, Ross. He's been training with my coach for a long time. I figured if I couldn't talk to John, Ross was a close second. I told him about my GI issues and asked him what he would do. He suggested that I stop taking in anything at the aid stations and focus on sipping water. Thankfully, that worked! Around mile 15 or 16, my gut settled down and I was able to run some more.

Again, as I flew through Hippie Hollow, I started to get excited about seeing my family again. Before long, I saw my small group!! I had no idea they would be there waiting on me. They gave me big cheers, told me I looked great, and I kept moving. My family was on the same bridge as before. I looked up and saw them standing there and had the biggest smile on my face. I wish they were down below for a hug, but seeing them and hearing them cheer for me was a close second. I loped along the waterway and made my way back around for the final loop. For the first time since Hardy, I saw Melissa. She was taking home her third lap and I stopped her for a hug. I had NO idea how proud of her I would feel, but knowing she was about to get her daylight finish really choked me up. I sent her on her way and kept moving. 

Blessedly, my family had found a way down onto the Waterway and they were all there for hugs and high fives. I remember stopping to hug them all and I told my mom, "This is so hard, mommy. This is so, so hard." My cousins and everyone else assured me that I looked so strong and reminded me how much time I had left to run 10 more miles. At this point, 10 miles seemed insurmountable. Shortly after that, I saw Doug and Daniel again. Daniel ran out into the Waterway and gave me the biggest hug I've ever gotten in my entire life. All of the spectators in the area ooohed and aaahed over my son's love for me. He hugged me so, so good. Again, it was exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it. 

As I began the third loop, I saw my neighbor from high school. She encouraged me as only an Ironmate can. Her husband did Texas last year, so she has been here and done this. She told me to just keep moving forward, one step at a time. As I began the third loop, things started to get really, really dark. Thankfully, I had presence of mind enough to give Doug my long sleeve T-shirt before the day started. I had picked it up from him on the second loop. As the sun went down in North Shore Park approached, my pace slow dramatically. There were no more tents, no more crowds, no more tri clubs. They had all packed up to head to the finish line. It was dark, lonely, quiet, and hard. Everything was dark. My thoughts, the sky, the race. I never questioned whether I would make it, but I was beginning to wonder if I would be a midnight finisher. My goal all along had been to finish and not need the med tent. Being a midnight finisher was fine with me, but I was beginning to worry about my family. The temperatures had dropped significantly and they had been out there a long time. My kids were getting tired and I knew they would be worried about me.

When I saw mile 21, I picked it up. I knew I only had 5 miles left. It seemed like just a few minutes ago that I had 10 left. Five seemed much more manageable than 10! When I saw mile 22, I hit the wall. I had stepped it up a little too soon. At this point, my walk was not much slower than my run. Everything between my ears told me to walk it in. I knew that I had almost 3 hours to walk 4 miles. It was a real struggle to get my legs moving again. I buddied up with two guys who had given up on running. They had decided to walk it in. While I had not resigned myself to such a feat, I hung with them for a while. Mile 22 to 23 was terrible. I think I was walking about an 18-minute mile. I was so tired. My body was so done. I knew I was going to make it, but my golly. My thoughts were just so, so dark. At some point, I realized how blessed I truly am. The pain that I felt was absolutely nothing compared to what some others are going through in their lives. Here I was, living my dream, and all I could think about was how tired my legs were. What a wuss. 

When I saw mile 23, it occurred to me that I had a 5K left. A 5K! How many 5Ks have I run in my life? At that point, I absolutely knew I was going to make it. I found the motivation to start running again. As I neared Hippie Hollow for the final time, the crowds had thinned. There were a few crazy people still out there, but not many. I saw Heather again. Our conversation went something like this:
H: How you doing?
M: I'm tired.
H: You don't look too good.
M: Thanks...
H: You know you have a whole herd of people waiting for you? Julie and Bobby and Karissa and Tiff are all waiting for you at the finish line. Your family is all there. 
M: I'm NOT quitting.
H: I know you're not quitting. I'm just telling you there's a whole party waiting for you at the finish line.
M: So you're telling me to get my ass in gear?
H: No. I'm just telling you you're almost there and there's a bunch of people and you're making great time. Just hang in there.
M: So get my ass in gear. Ok. Got it. I'm going.

The next 3 miles went quickly. I started to envision the finish line and my legs really started moving. Once again, my small group surprised me. I would have never imagined that they would have waited for me THIS LONG! I got high fives from all of them, except I somehow missed Bella and Ava. Funny Bella said, " I didn't get a high five!" I made sure to get her the high five she had been waiting for and I got moving again. In no time, I was nearing the finisher's chute. I saw Nick and got HUGE encouragement from him. I saw Heather one more time and she cheered me home. 

As I entered the chute, I saw Melissa and Nicole - they had finished almost 2 hours before, but my God they had waited for me. I got high fives from them and then I saw my cousins in the bleachers and flashed them an "I love you" sign. By now, my emotions were off the rails. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry or both. I saw Nova and Matt along one side and my GOD she was screaming her lungs out. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE AN IRONMAN!!!!!" I felt like a pinball running up that chute. Family here, friends there, strangers screaming their guts out for me. I saw my cousins again and my feet touched the red carpet. Doug and Daniel were on the opposite side shouting to the rooftops. Jason and Landen were there, smiling and cheering and bringing me home. My parents and Lia were in the VIP area. I couldn't see through my emotions. It was all so fast and it was all such a blur. I tried to slow down but I didn't know how. Then I heard the words - the words I've been dreaming about for so long. I heard Mike Reilly's voice calling my name - MY NAME! He said the exact words I wanted to hear. "SHERI CAREY FROM LEAGUE CITY TEXAS.... YOU! ARE! AN! IRONMAN!" I spread my arms wide and looked to the heavens. I was home. Home. I could stop moving and I was an Ironman. 

Just across the finish line, Julie and Bobby were waiting for me. Tiff and Karissa were videoing and taking pictures and I was home. Liane was there - even though she had been sick, she waited. Julie and Bobby hugged me. They all hugged me. God I was so gross, but my people had brought me home and we all just hugged and laughed and smiled so big I thought my face would split in two. I was home. 15 hours, 12 minutes, and 52 seconds later, I was home.

The next few minutes were so fast and so full of emotion. I found Melissa and Nicole. More stinky, disgusting hugs from people who love me. I closed my eyes and breathed it all in. The emotion. My God the emotion. So raw and so many emotions. Relief. Joy. Excitement. Exhaustion. Pain. Euphoria. I had no idea how deep it would feel to be an Ironman. I soon linked up with my family and I could breathe again. We made our way to the car. I hugged my babies. I kissed my husband. I hugged my parents so, so tightly. I was home. I made Doug look at me in that moment and I said, "I never want to do this again." I think he knew that was a lie, but he said ok and helped me get into the car. He went to get my bike from transition and my parents got me back to the hotel. 

The next two hours were awful. I was sick. Lord was I sick. All of the gels I had taken in from the day came back to greet me. I was shivering uncontrollably. Daniel snuggled with me in the bed to try to help warm me up, but this chill was deep. After an hour or so of shaking and being sick, everything started to even out. My body slowly began to forgive me, but my mind was changed forever. After all of the training and the sweat and the tears and the uncertainty, I had reached my goal. I am an Ironman.

Sleep came in waves again that night. I had leg cramps a few times, cold sweats a few times, and woke up for no good reason a few times. Daniel woke me up around 7 and we went through the motions of breakfast and decided to go spend some money at Ironman Village. When I got down to the truck, Doug had cued Black Sabbath at about 250 decibels. My face split into a grin and I said, with great authority, "I am Ironman!!!" 

Even now, 4 days later, I can hardly believe it. It was such an amazing journey. Such emotions. Such gratitude. They say that you aren't the same person at the end of the day, and now I know that to be true. It may sound hokey and ridiculous, but things just seem different now. The things that should be more important are somehow. The things that don't really matter just don't really matter. I've never been lost, per say, but out there on that race course, I redefined who I am - who I want to be. I know now more than ever that I need Jesus and that He makes me who I am. I know now more than ever how I'm supposed to love my kids, how I'm supposed to love and serve my husband, how I'm supposed to appreciate my parents.

For every one of you who helped make this dream a reality, I encourage you to make your own dream a reality. Set a goal. Make the time. Recruit your family. Invest in your friends. At the end of it all, make sure you know - really know - who you are and how you fit into your own world. To every one of you who helped make this dream a reality, thank you from the absolute bottom of my heart. Because of you, I have a new heart. One that loves bigger, dreams bolder, and cares more deeply. For that, I can never repay you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying.

As I have said so many times throughout this journey, that is all. Carry on.