Because I am JUST. THAT. COOL.

There's a little race coming up in our (general) neighborhood soon.

Something to do with an Mdot. And talk of iron, or half thereof.

And I'm going to be there. Booyah.

Got word today that I'm going to be a volunteer in body marking that morning and a finish line catcher from 10 until noon.

NO FREAKING JOKE!!

I've never been more excited about volunteering in my life!

Plus, I hear they let you have a really, REALLY big sharpie.

Love it.

So...butt crack of dawn on June 8th, I'm so there. If you're racing, come find me in the pit and I'll gladly mark you up and sooth your nerves with my rendition of "You are my sunshine."

Who could ask for more?

Ironman Wisconsin -- Before the Dawn

I had imagined that dawn would be like this. Almost exactly like this. But, of course, no matter how vivid your imagination is, it forever pales in comparison to the real thing.

And this was the real thing.

And it was stunning.

I could hardly take my eyes off of the water – with sparkles of early sunshine bouncing off of its surface. It seemed to dance. I felt like dancing. My cheeks hurt from the broad grin adhered to my face. And as hard as I tried, I could barely soak up all of the activity around me. I felt – oddly – at peace. And happy. Deeply happy.

I had worked so very hard for this moment. So many early morning swim sessions and dragging myself out on the bike rather than enjoying leisurely mornings dawdling over cooling coffee. And I had imagined what it would feel like to don my wetsuit and look out over the water in anticipation of my first Ironman. My imagination had come close.

* * * *

Have you ever felt as if your heart is tethered to a fleet of birds, ready to launch right out of your chest? Where your skin feels everything there is – the heat, the air, brushing strangers, the tug of neoprene? When your smile creeps up on you unannounced and takes up permanent residence on your face?

That was me on race day, corralled with the other Ironman athletes getting ready for the water. Getting ready for the start of our day long journey, getting ready to touch a dream.

The day before had been little of what I had expected, by comparison to this morning. Mighty M had made it to Wisconsin the evening before and quietly tucked in bed next to me. I miss him when he’s not by my side, and it was good to have him there. I rolled out of bed early on Saturday for the Gatorade swim. Grabbed my Ironman backpack, stuffed with my wetsuit and goggles, and headed for the car.

I was nervous and apprehensive for the day. I had no idea what to expect, although I knew there was much to do. The swim this morning was so very important. Check in on Friday has scared the willies out of me. The registration line, on the ground floor of the conference center, snakes across the long window facing the water. And standing there, quietly taking stock of the course and waiting for my weigh in, I had begun to panic about my swimming skills. The bobbing buoys seemed to extend far into the distance, much more so than for my half iron swim back in West Virginia. How could that be possible? Could I even make it through the swim? I knew that I needed to simply get in the water and swim…it was the only solution.

So, I rolled my way over to the Gatorade swim on Saturday with coffee gripped in my left hand and my bursting bag in the right. It was like the first day of school – I was equally excited and apprehensive. Everyone was so buff and athletic looking, joking personally with each other and in various states of undress. I only hoped I could manage to get into my wetsuit without falling over in a mud puddle or garnering any questionable glances. I found a picnic table off to the side and started the process.

But I did get into the suit, thankfully without any scarring emotional embarrassments. And, looking around for a helping hand to zip me up, I found Mishele and Greyhound on the edge of the water. Seeing familiar faces and gabbing about triathlons, law and life was exactly what I needed to funnel my nervous energy into true, honest excitement. What a gift it was to feel, for that moment, less alone and scared.

Zipped and ready, I waded down the steep and slippery launch and into the water. And it was right. You know those moments where things click into place and you feel – for that brief second – that all elements were where they should be and things were just…right? That would not be the last time I felt this way on my Ironman weekend, but it was the first. A welcomed first.

I stroked my way out a few buoys and felt natural in the water. My perspective altered out there, and I was able to see the far markers as achievable. Doable. Right. I knew coming out of the water from the practice swim that I was ready to start my first Ironman. And I was finally feeling truly excited. I could barely wait to share this with Mighty M, so I headed back to the hotel full of excitement and energy.

* * * *

My Saturday held so much more for me that I had originally planned on and, looking back, I would have done much of it differently. I am a caretaker and a planner, and a stubborn one at that. If things need to be handled or managed, I’m your gal. And, in my naivete, I had not protected myself from…myself. When all the activities of the day began to turn and swirl into a whirlwind of activity, I didn’t let go. I remained the person in charge and greatly to my detriment. I should have let go. I know that now.

Instead, I fell victim to the tumult. There were phone calls, meeting here or there, balancing our one car – all of the elements of preparing for a weekend race in a far flung location, which Wisconsin was for my entire cheering squad. My bag drop off and bike check in were squeezed between the swim and a brunch with my best friend from college, who had traveled in from the Twin Cities to spend rare time together catching up. We noshed at a local German restaurant on sandwiches and walked along the shore together with her children playing at the edge of the lake. It was wonderful to see her and her family, but I regret I was almost wholly distracted by my thoughts of Sunday.

Mighty M was tasked with gathering my arriving family at the airport, which turned out to be much more complicated than anticipated. Bad directions, a turned off cell phone, and an early arrival twisted our smooth plans into knots. And likewise, me into knots. My anxiety began to increase, and I knew I needed to focus, but was having a hard time finding space in which to do so.

And as the afternoon progressed – or rather sped by – I grew more and more worried about the race and how to find solace on the edges of these arrivals, problems with the hotel, and the long drives to and from the race site. Time seemed to rapidly slip away and before I realized it, it was 8:30 that night. I was fed. My family was safe and ready for the race. And my plans with those coming in for lunch were realized.

But I was a wreck. I had cried a number of times during the day out of frustration. I was twisted and emotional and panicked. I tried to put on a game face, but Mighty M and I knew…I was not in a good place.

Was this normal? Was this to be expected? I thought back to impressions I had from discussions with other racers and worried that I was not in the right place, mentally, for this. And that, of course, added to my worry. I hadn’t planned right – left enough time for driving the course the whole way (we only had time for about a ½ of the loop), time to spend quietly and alone, time to get the bags triple checked.

I simply hadn’t left enough time to find peace, and I suspected I would need it.

Lessons learned. Hard lessons learned.

The clock soon showed after 9:30 and I knew that an attempt at sleep was important. I could accept a fitful night of sleep, as Friday’s was enjoyable and restful, but I needed to lie down and try to find an element of peace in the dark of the hotel room. And as Mighty M snored next to me and the light of a muted tv flickered around, I slowly started to find my center. I went through my tasks for the next day. Imagined, in my mind’s eye, what it would feel like to do the swim well. Imagined my strong legs powering up hills. Imagined my persistence pushing me forward on the run. And the finish line. I imagined what that would feel like, too.

And as the mental movie of the next day worked its magic, I slowly relaxed and fell asleep. All the bags were filled and placed. My bike was ready and waiting. My training was done. All that was left was the execution. The doing.

* * * *

It was pitch dark in the room, as I bumped around picking up the carefully selected items placed out the night before. It was 4:30 AM and I was wide awake. Race day. My race day. My Ironman day.

My first order of business was a shower. Not typical to my routine (I usually do this the night before), but there was no time on Saturday. It was, however, a welcomed start to a long day. Afterwards I started the eating routine. The plan included two peanut butter sandwiches, made with my favorite raisin cinnamon bread brought from home. One Accelerade now, one before the swim. I dressed in my pre-race clothes, woke Mighty M and we headed toward the race site.

When we made it to the site, I wasn’t sure where the bag drop off was. But, as I was lingering by the open door of the running car wondering which way to try first, Jay (TriDummy) emerged by my side with not only the answer, but warm encouragement and a smile. “It’s right up that street…you can’t miss it.” I was so glad to have seen him and was grateful for now knowing in which direction to head off.

I kissed Mighty M goodbye and was sad to see him slowly creep away in the car, heading back to the hotel to collect my family. But the buzz of activity of other racers heading to transition from the special needs drop off quickly replaced that void and snapped me back to the moment.

I hurried up to the drop off and then back to transition. Huge floodlights cast surreal beams through the crowd, a square of bright daylight in the enveloping darkness. My stomach was already twisting around in anticipation. The first sandwich had barely gone down and I was struggling with my second. While the Accelerade was helping, it was like eating sawdust. I carried the half eaten sandwich with me – gripped it, actually – throughout transition. It did little good in my fist and never made it to my gullet. This was, in retrospect, the beginning of my stomach issues for the day.

I walked to my bike, which was in a prime spot next to the pro’s all the way at the end of the transition area. She was there, quietly waiting for her turn. I placed the nutrition I needed for the bike segment in her bento – power bars, double baggies of clif bloks, my salt tabs. I check her gearing for the tenth time, making sure the initial ramp down the Helix would be safe. I touched the seat and remembered those training miles over the winter and squeezed the newly wrapped aerobars, which helped me learn to trust my riding skills in the most recent months. What a relationship she and I had developed.

Heading back along the long middle lane of the transition area, I was a little scared, but mainly excited. Had you seen my face, you would have seen the joy coming from my eyes. I felt like I belonged. Belonged with this exceptional group of athletes. Belonged with this amazing group of people who believed, as I had learned, that living is about grabbing hold as hard as you can and never letting go. I was a part of this and, oddly, it was more powerful than any other moment in my life.

I felt like I had finally arrived.

* * * *

Body marking was a quick and fun process, and the sky was turning mauve and purple in anticipation of dawn. I looked around for my family and Mighty M, but couldn’t find them among the sleepy looking spectators. Around 6:00 I decided to begin to head towards the water and suit up. I soon found myself in a corral of other racers, for the first time segregated from everyone else.

Me. Little ole’ me. Doing an Ironman today. I could barely wrap my mind around it.

Finding an open spot along the water side of the corral, I plunked down my bag and began the process of getting the wetsuit on. I asked a stranger next to me to help with the zipper. This, as I came to find out, was almost my undoing…literally. But at the time, I felt confident, suited up and ready to rock and roll. After dropping my bag off with the volunteers, it was all about me, my caffeine GU and my Accelerade. I tried to find my family in the crowd again, but later learned they were still looking for parking at that point. Following the announcer’s encouragement, it was time to walk to the water. I was calm and ready.

And apparently coming undone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler (Jetpack) hugging a friend and taking a last minute picture. I was excited to see him and wish him the best. We paused our conversation long enough for him to take a picture and me to reach back and check my zipper. Good thing I had, because it was zipped completely wrong. But for the kindness of strangers... . Thankfully, Tyler was able to unzip it and get it back on track – otherwise, I would have had the shortest Ironman race in history. Soon we were almost to the water and TriBoomer joined us in the pre-race well wishing. It wasn't until later that I remembered that he was carrying my Mother's name with him, and would for the remainder of his Ironman day. I wish that I had thanked him there for his willingness to remember her in that way.

In no time at all, we were in the water and finding our own places in the starting area. I placed myself in the middle, but rather far back. Until now, I had had excellent luck with my swim and wanted to stay as unencumbered by other swimmers as I could. I spent some time just bobbing around in my wetsuit, watching the amazing number of other racers pour into the water and the excited spectators lining the shore and throughout the helix.

It’s hard to find the words to describe what it was like to be out in the water, watching the shore full of fans and knowing that in mere moments you would be embarking on an amazing journey. I felt it all at once -- every emotion that brought me to this place. Every nugget of hope and every wave of confidence. I was doing it. I had followed through. I had finished what I had started, by simply starting. Bobbing like a cork there, with the sun peaking over the horizon and the day spread out at my feet, I realized that I was a success.

And for the first moment as an adult, I believed it.

The sunrise, courtesy of IronWil

I had arrived. And I finally belonged.

Avoiding the Avoidance

For years, I was the master of avoidance. I was, for so long, mired in depression and isolation and built a wall around my psyche. A wall to protect me from the inevitable fear that I would feel when approached with conflict, decisions or dissonance. I avoided everything. Social engagements, classes, bills, phone messages, people. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself from managing emotional and personal situations that would threaten my little sliver of solace I had built in my various apartments, where I would stow away from life and hide, silent, amongst the needlepoint projects, television and a phone I would rarely answer.

Avoidance became my spoon to China. Intellectually, I always knew that I would never make it there with this maladjusted approach – the problems would never be solved, the issues never resolved. But I really knew no other way. This was all I carried around in my emotional tool box, so the approach became battered and scuffed with many uses, as well as trusty and reliable.

It’s also a hard habit to reject. I’ve become worlds better at identifying when I begin to feel overwhelmed and fearful. I’ve learned to “identify” that feeling and cognitively determine my response. It's almost amusing to watch the process, here the little conversations I have. "Well, I'm feeling a bit ___ about this. But instead of doing ____, I think I'm going to bite the bullet and ... ." The amusing part is I can be caught doing it out loud. Often on runs and bike rides. And it works -- it has served me so much better than my blunt little spoon, but sometimes I forget and fall into old habits. Which I have now done.

We traveled this weekend, Mighty M and me. Almost 13 hours in the car in under two days will certainly give you time to think and reflect. And in between the NPR programs we could find through Baltimore and DC, and the two football games we listened to on AM radio on the way home, there was ample time for reflection on my part.

It seems, in my estimation, that I’m being avoidant. Of my race report. I know…it sounds silly, and perhaps it is. But this blog is the place where my silly resides. And for all of the time that has passed – and even taking into account those things that pull my attention elsewhere – I should have easily written about Wisconsin.

But I haven’t.

And it practically gives me hives each time I think about it.

I’ve been avoidant. Again. I have managed to remember vividly the worst parts of that day, while allowing the wonderful moments to linger, forgotten, in the larger shadows. And in doing so, I've managed to create this hurdle where there was none before. Here I am digging to China with a spoon again – knowing that writing about the race and turning the details over in the sunlight is the answer and, instead, distracting myself. The mind is a complicated thing. A fascinating thing. A frustrating thing.

One thing that I do know, is that I am no longer that same person who wants to tuck away from the world because of my fear of what will happen if I ventured forth – felt the emotions, faced the conflict, worked through the challenge. So enough with the indulgence… it’s time to write the race report. Remember in detail all the great and awful parts of that day, so I am free to be excited about next year.

...

Love, Lil'Sis

Below is a guest blog from my sister. She was there every step of my day on Sunday, as well as every step of my journey to get to Wisconsin. She asked that I share this note with everyone and I must oblige since she knows where I live. I only hope that everyone has someone in their own lives who is this special to them. And if you do, please squeeze them extra tight tonight or surprise them with a call. It is so very, very important.

Enjoy... .

________________

It is true that we never see ourselves the way that others do so I thought it was important for me to pen a small “guest column” to give everyone a different side of Jayme’s story. Over the past year or so I have been coming to this website to drink in the thoughts and feelings of my sister as she sets out on a journey that many people never meet. Some would say the journey began a few months ago with the first swim, others might say it all started the day she signed up for the race, and still others might say that it started with the first whisper of the idea that this could be a possibility. But it started well before that- well before all of that. I can say with complete certainly that us Murray girls have never been easy to understand -- easy to look at -- but never easy to understand. :) We have a heart that beats just like everyone else but what drives those beats are unique to us. Our emotional journeys and family tragedies have require a level of self-reflection and introspection that most people go a whole lifetime without.

As a family of academics and intellectuals most of our “milestones” has been educational in nature…so you can imagine our surprise when Jayme announced that she was going to train for an IronMan. I will be honest -- I was not sure what she was talking about so in my academic way I went to the computer to do research on what exactly the IronMan is…and then I saw this: 2.4 Swim, 112 Bike, 26.2 Run. Ummmm -- what? I was shocked -- why would anyone want to do this thing! I just could not wrap my head around it -- didn’t Jayme know that she didn’t need to kill herself to prove that she was strong. For the past few years Jayme has been proving that she is a strong woman with a will of iron every day. I am not sure how much Jayme has said about the events that lead up to her starting this blog but perhaps a little background would help. My sister was/is an alcoholic -- trust me this is nothing new in a family that wears it tolerance like a badge of honor. I never really thought of my sister this way but looking back I see that Jayme had the same tendencies of most alcoholics -- BUT there is one thing that distinguishes her, at least in my mind, from others with this disease -- it was the manner in which she got help. Like everything in her life -- my sister chose to do things on her terms. She stood up and was honest not only with herself but with all of those around her about her illness. Think about this for a second. How often are we really truly honest with ourselves and others about our demons? If you say you always are…well then you are probably not being honest with yourself right there. It was Jayme who said she had a problem, Jayme who decided when and where to seek help, Jayme who set the terms while the rest of us fumbled around trying to think of something helpful to say. Jayme stood up one day decided to come out of the shadows and into the light on her own two feet and by her own volition.

I wanted to tell everyone how proud I was of what she had done. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that I had the strongest sister alive. But the nature of alcoholism does not lend itself to that. Had my sister beat cancer I would be able to join a race/walk and put a pink ribbon on my car that said survivor. But there are no walks for recovering alcoholics, no ribbons, no tee-shirts, or signature colors. I was never really sure whether my sister was aware that what she had done was truly amazing. As I sat in family group at the recovery center I heard the tales of other families who had begged, screamed, dragged their love one out of the darkness and were fighting to keep them in the light. Everyone but me -- my sister came willing. I don’t think Jayme knew then that her accomplishment was rare. In one of my sister’s first posting she wrote the following: “But it’s also part of the continuum of a larger picture – of a flawed adult with stubborn good intentions, much she feels she needs to repair and honor…” I never thought of my sister as a “flawed adult” any more so then the rest of us. In some way I think that it was her feeling that she had been weak or let us down with her illness in a way she needed to repair -- but she had not -- far from it -- she had proven that her strength and ironclad will were no match for something that rips families apart and destroys lives. I have always, and will always, focus on her amazing recovery and her bravery. I stand in awe of her -- beyond that of a big sister -- but as a person, a woman, and a friend.

I guess I should not have been surprised when Jayme decided to top off her recovery with the hardest physical race a person could enter. Most people would think that the struggle with sobriety would be enough -- but Jayme is not one of those people. She trained and trained and trained -- when it was cold outside and her bed was warm -- she went to the YMCA and swam. When her body first past a point it had never reached before -- she kept going. When her legs cramped and her knees bled and her lungs screamed -- she kept training. With each day and each step she left behind a life that was killing her and slowly but surely a belief in herself was reborn. We have all commented on this site that the IronMan is more about the journey then the destination and in her heart I know that Jayme knows this to be true.

On Sunday I went to the IronMan store and I purchased a t-shirt that says “IronFan” and I plan to wear it with pride…not because it symbolizes a race that many enter and only a very few ever complete -- but because of the journey it has taken to get there…a journey that was much longer and much harder than 140.6 miles. In the way of the Wizard of Oz -- through all of the thousand of miles that Jayme has biked, the laps and laps of water she has swum, and all of the road that she has tread beneath her feet -- we went all the way to Wisconsin to find something I already knew…my sister is truly an IronMan.

I can’t thank Jayme’s blogging family and the people who check this site regularly enough for all of their support of my sister. Thank you.

Broccoli first

Ever since I was a kid, I've eaten my dinners in reverse order.  Least favorite to most loved.  Thus, broccoli was always a first course for me.

And, as I'm sorting through my thoughts on my first Ironman experience, I keep finding myself getting caught up on the bad bits.  You know, things like barfing in the water and grinding up Old Sauk Pass on a couple of Clif Bloks and a prayer.  It's all emphatically disappointing and, frankly, it's getting in the way.  The bad bits, that is.  And you know what?  This weekend I toed the line to an Ironman with good people and family watching and had a BLAST, despite all the tribulations.

So, in an effort to clear the air, I have to purge a little post about what happened, so I can get on to the long list of good things that warrant much more of my thought and attention.

Broccoli first, please.

Bad Bit #1: Not finishing the race.  Yeah...that's a pretty big bit.  I have HUGE amounts of disappointment flowing through my body about how my Sunday ended and how far afield that ending was from what I planned and trained for.  But I have to trust my decisions and my own instincts and know that the story still remains valuable, even with a different ending.  I can tell you how progressively worse it has been to awake each morning since and remember this reality anew.  But life will go on, even without melodrama, and I will have excellent memories to share and hold.

Bad Bit #2: My propensity for barfing.  I'm going to use the word barfing, because there just isn't a graceful way to talk about this.  It's gross.  And indelicate.  But it was my reality for much of the day and the major reason for me pulling out of the race after 57 miles on the bike.  Yup, 57 miles.  But more on that later.  Let's just say simply that my stomach had a very different plan for the day and it didn't involve any of the nutrition that I had carefully scoped out, tested, retested, and trusted for these past months.  Am I bitter?  Absolutely.  Do I feel better now? Yup.  And oddly, feeling better now only makes it worse.  I want THIS healthy body back on THAT course.  I want a do-over in the most pronounced way.  I want to drive the 20 hours back to Madison this very moment and start where we left off.  But such is not life.

Bad Bit #3: What does this mean?  I have a list of possibilities, but it bows heavily on the negative and somewhat destructive side.  I've had five states worth of conversations with Mighty M about what this means and how it reflects on me, what I could have done to prevent it and what I can do to avoid it in the future, and how I will use this experience.  Will I focus on the "failure" to cross the finish line?  Will I use it as a learning experience?  An indication of a limit?  How will I describe how I feel about it?  How, in fact, will I feel about it?  Right now I'm a little numb and tired, emotionally.  I'm slowly pulling out the bits and pieces of my feelings and looking at them closely.  I tend towards brutal honesty and harsh criticism, but this is tempered by M's soft touch and forgiving perspective.  Somewhere in the middle I will find the right words.  For now, though, I am still figuring out what this will mean to me, now and in the future.

So there they are, my bits...my broccoli.  

I didn't finish my first Ironman.  I got wickedly sick and I couldn't make up the difference on sheer will.  And now I'm unsure what this means.

Thank you!

Well, Mighty M and I just (literally) walked into the front door, a little worse for wear but with many stories to share about the weekend.

First, though, a million thank you's to Adam, who did an amazing job keeping everyone up to date on my progress during the day. While I wish I could have stayed out there for longer, it was just fantastic to know that Adam was keeping everyone up to date as to the festivities of the day.  Adam, you're the greatest.  Seriously!

And a million other thanks are in order -- to my incredible family who had a blast all weekend, to my fantastic inlaws who supported me in abstentia with phone calls and words of support, and the astounding blogger community who I had the opportunity to meet and share stories with before the big day.  

So many thank you's.

And then there is a race report to compose, as well as myself to pull together.  I'm resolved that I made the right decision on Sunday, but I'm still wading through disappointment.  It's hard to want something so very much and find it so close at hand, but know it just wasn't meant to be.  There are many emotions to process and a story to tell, which I will very soon.  For now, we must go retrieve the second car at the airport and come home to hot soup, a rainy afternoon, and hopefully some rest.

But until I can share the details, please know that I had the most amazing time of my life this weekend and wouldn't have traded it for the world.

More soon.  For now, you have my love.

On the flip side

Well, the car is packed.  The bike is locked to the top, along with it's front wheel.  I have a cooler of fruit, nuts, water and crackers in the back seat and about 40 hours of books on disk in the front.  My triptix is highlighted and the tank is full.

Time to point Fancy due West and head for Wisconsin.

Time to SUIT UP and represent.  Enjoy a little fruit of the labor, as it were.  Time to test the resolve and push the limits.  Time to make my Mom proud.

Thanks to all of the raceAthlete volunteers who will travel to Wisconsin this Sunday to support those of us racing.  I already know you'll make the route more fun and feel worlds shorter.

Thanks to my family for catching awkward flights and watching the longest swim meet ever in the history of swim meets.  I couldn't toe the line without you.

Thanks to Mighty M's family for blogging for me while I'm "busy" and making sure I don't forget that I'm loved.  You're a source of constant strength and encouragement I rely on daily.

Thanks to the blogging community who have left funny, inspirational and downright loving comments on my ramblings for a year now.  I've come to find a rare and fantastic community with you that I value greatly.

Thanks to those who have donated their personal finances to Canine Partners for Life.  We exceed our fundraising goal and helped ensure that those who want more out of life can grab hold.

Thanks to Mighty M for everything, always.  You are my rock and I miss you already.  

____

I don't really know where all of this will end, but I remember where it started and that's enough.  See you in Wisconsin!  

Want to see what I'm doing on the 9th? Here's how...

So.

It's Sunday afternoon -- maybe morning -- and your attention has strayed from you household chores and you're looking for something to distract you from the inevitable task of mowing the lawn/running/biking/napping/training the pet pigeons.

And you think... "Hey, self. I wonder what Able is up to... ."

Which of course you will do, since you think of me every day. Right? RIGHT?

That's right. Good reader. Gooooood reader.

Well, never fear. I've gotcha all covered. With a guest blogger.

Booyah!

Meet Adam. Adam, meet the blogosphere.

See...wasn't that nice?

No, assuming Adam hasn't already decided to kill me for posting this picture online (*), he's volunteered to update the site as long as his sleep-deprived father-of-two-rambunctious- little-nuggets mind can stay awake on Sunday night.

Adam, incidentally, can feel the flavor of the tringles. I managed to talk him into the Philly Marathon this year and he actually said YES on the first try! And he's been reading the blog for long enough to know that poop is an entirely acceptable topic, cussing like a truck driver does not earn you demerits, and keeping it real is the only way to roll.

So.

Back to Sunday.

You can go here to look up my progress in real time by searching on my bib number (which is 53) after linking to "Track an Athlete."  And if you're awake and interested, I'm hoping to be crossing the finish line sometime between 10:30 and 11:59, Central Time, and you can see that LIVE here.

Otherwise, Adam is going to keep y'all updated with news from Mighty M, my Dad and Lil'Sis throughout the day until either he falls over with exhaustion or, well, I do.  Whichever comes first... ;)

Okay, guys and gals.  Soon, I'll be signing off.  But I'm looking forward to sharing all of the details with you as soon as I can, but in the mean time, you are in EXCELLENT hands!!  Thanks Adam!!

(*) Adam - you can blame Mighty M for this picture!  I was going to change it, but he said something about it being "just perfect" and snickering on his way out of the room.  So, just remember, this is All. His. Fault.

Wow, and other grunts of appreciation

Oh my.

It certainly is time, isn’t it.

I’m in a state of perpetual single-mindedness, while at the same time imminently distractible. I can barely stop thinking about IT, even with one of the most stressful work weeks of my job and a major mano a mano throw down with a member of our board of directors. Oh, and not to mention the three grants and one grant report that I have to get out the door today and the 1000 piece mailing that was dropped late last night.

I don’t have a glamorous life (perhaps why nobody has offered the Ableiscious moniker to me), but I certainly have a busy one.

Oh, and there’s the packing, which has changed course now that the temps in Wisconsin seem a little lower than I expected. (I guess it is Wisconsin after all!) (Although, btw, what’s up that the humidity up there? Is it the lakes? Cause you guys have an inordinate amount of moisture in the air. I thought that was all saved up for Texas.)

And there are the thank you notes and expressions of gratitude to send. I often can’t find the right words. I know. Me. IM Able….at a loss for words. Pah-shaw.

But, seriously, how do I thank everyone? The strangers who I never knew who helped me pay for the initial entrance fee, with the help of the Kahuna himself. My family who were adamant at my ability to do this even before they knew what IT really was. My future in-laws who always met me at the front door at every gathering with questions about training progress and who called after every big race. And what about the donors to CPL, who plunked their hard earned cash down for the future mobility and happiness of someone they have never met and will likely never know. And the bloggers. You guys, who I would always look for ideas and inspiration over coffee in the morning. And, Mighty M…there just isn’t any way to find the right words.

Perfect example.

Last week, Mighty M’s mother gave me the most precious gift, leaving us both in tears in the Wilmington Bertucci’s. She and I – criers. Anyway, it is a delicate charm bracelet, with tiny silver ovals scattered around its circumference. Each one says “I Am” on one side and various adjectives on the other…strong, loved, blessed, courageous, woman, joyful, etc. And there is one special charm set apart from the others that simply says…"I Am Able."

How do I thank her for that? Where are the words to describe how it feels to know someone supports you and your crazy inspirations with such resolve and kindness?

(By the way, I’m wearing it on the run. I can’t risk losing it on the swim or bike, but by golly I’m wearing it on the run. So, amid the cowbells and cheering, if you hear someone sound like wind chime tinkling away on the course…yeah, that’s me. You never know…I may need the reminder out there in the darkness.)

I’m in awe of this journey. I’m in awe of how much the small efforts you lend to the world come back to you having grown exponentially on their trip. And with all of the excitement and anticipation, all I can seem to come up with are single syllable grunts of affection and appreciation and words like “wow.”

“Wow” just doesn’t cover it. I’ll come up with the right word soon – maybe even out on the course – but for now, wow will have to suffice.

9 Days
Remaining

Route for Me

Wow.

A bib number.

So, I'm really doing this.

Holy geeze.

Meet Up!

I call you guys my "Imaginary Internet Friends" - a great little turn of phrase I stole from one of my favorite non-triathlon blogs (gasp...I *KNOW*...the horrors!).

I slip into saying things like, "Hey, M. Guess what? My friend...you know, the one in Australia/Chicago/Timbuktu? Yeah, her. Well, she said the funniest thing today...".

Mighty M laughs and plays along with my little "game." Imaginary internet friends. Ha!

So, it's time to actually prove to M that you guys DO exist and that NO, I'm not living out the social life of a gamer who lives at his Mom's house, wears lots of black, and cracks the code to the iPhone while jacked on sugary drinks.

(Not that that's necessarily bad, dude. Fight the power! But you may want to get out into the sun soon... . Just sayin'.)

So, according to Stu and the raceAthlete powers that be, there are three meet up times and one place for us to make the most of the weekend together. Check out the details here and grab a printout of the map Siren posted.

I'm shooting for Friday 11:00 AM, but that all depends on how horrid the ChiTown traffic is that morning. If not, I'll be at the afternoon one.



And DON'T LOSE THE DIRECTIONS. And DON'T GET DISTRACTED and go to buy more stuff at the expo. And DON'T WANDER AWAY until I have confirmation that you exist.

Cause, you know...me just standing on the corner would be way sad, people. WAY SAD.

And, frankly, I'd never hear the end of it from Mighty M on the 18 hour drive home to Philly.

PS - If you really want to catch up with me, I'm happy to send my digits on the DL (I mean, sersly, could I get any cooler?). But I don't put out on the first date (not even for you, Bold) and I tend to eat...a lot. Just sayin.

You looking for a sign?

And then, there was this.

Left to me by my dessert tonight.

Or karma.

Or something.

But these things do not just happen by mistake.

Quiet Conclusions

It occurred to me how little I have shared about this journey with everyone. While there are hundreds of posts that I’ve made – some more personal than others – I am left with this haunting feeling that too much has been left unsaid. So many thoughts left out on the road. So many impressions and conclusions that were experienced and appreciated, but never articulated. So many moments. So many tiny moments of happiness and glimmering hope for my own life.

So many.

I am starting to feel the comfort of conclusion. With the actual race still three weeks and 900 miles away, I am already going through the natural process of tying up loose ends. I think this is part of my growing understanding that the journey is the destination and I have had a very enjoyable journey. I have learned so very much about myself, regardless of the cliché. I have struck the right balance and I’m happy with my work. I would change a little, but not a lot. So, as the big day approaches I have this counter intuitive feeling of conclusion. It’s odd, but it makes sense.

My taper is somewhat agreeing with me, if you can look past the weird fits of sleeplessness, the unidentifiable aches and twinges, and the moments of spontaneous crying. But, generally, I feel a large dose of relief. Relief in a job well done and the knowledge that I can balance a challenging lifestyle that would befuddle many, and that I can do it as a part of recovery. I can say for sure that there was not one moment this past year where old coping mechanisms made sense and my natural proclivities became more of an interesting oddity than unabiding compulsion.

I have come a long way from my first day in rehab, on June 4, 2005. And regardless of where my chip will fall in Wisconsin, I am sated by that knowledge. I have become all of those things I sought out to become – reliable, mature and a person rooted on her own integrity. The steps to this were made of daily choices and small decisions. But their cumulative result has been a year well lived. My year well lived.

And I have fallen in love. Deeply in love. And for the first time in my life, I plan for the future with hope rather than fear. I know that I can be there for my partner and I know that I can be a good parent. I know that my future is full of hope and I see that clearly when I watch Mighty M quietly sleep at night. I touch the halo of this joy when I hear his voice and we laugh together. The two of us. Not against the world, but diving into the future. Hand in hand.

So, in a way, I guess I have come to see the Ironman as a coming out party for myself. I have aged and grown through these miles on the road and laps in the pool. I have developed strength beyond my muscles and an endurance that applies as fittingly to my relationships as it does to my centuries. I have begun to trust my instincts and my wisdom, as well as my physical abilities and limitations. I have rebuilt my life, all the while building my body. It has been an amazing trip.

I have said before that in order to begin the Ironman, I have to be content with not finishing the Ironman. I think I have come to that point now. Last night, Mighty M relayed a conversation he had with a friend, highlighting that he feels the courage to start the race far outshines the fact of finishing. I believe that now. I believe that what I have done goes well beyond simply swimming, biking and running. I believe that what I have done is prove that no matter where you find yourself in life, no matter what circumstances are pressing on your future and what influences are forcing your hand, you can change everything for the better. It takes courage. It takes a huge amount of humility. And it takes the kindness and compassion of others. But it can happen.

I am no longer who I was. I am the person I always wanted to be. And for this, I am thankful.

Everyday Hero

Just a reminder to the Ironman Wisconsin racing/volunteering/spectating group... Don't forget to nominate someone you think would be a good fit for this year's "Everyday Hero" award at the Wisconsin race. I know who I think is the perfect fit, so I'm going to write Helen with my nomination.

Have you been inspired by someone's journey? Have they shown the qualities of a true hero, in a world of sporting that leaves so much to be desired and opportunities wasted? If so, take a few minutes over lunch or whenever to nominate that person for the Everyday Hero award.

In a world with so few, we need to shine the spotlight on those how truly make a difference in the world. Shine away!

__________________

Ford recognizes special Athletes with the
“Everyday Hero” Award

The next individual to be recognized as a Ford “Everyday Hero” Award will be at the Ford Ironman Wisconsin on September 9, 2007. This program has been created by Ford to recognize the efforts of special individuals who have had a positive impact in their respective communities.
The winner of the “Everyday Hero” Award will receive an entry slot into any North America Sports Race in the next year; including those already full to general entry, in addition to a $1,000 donation to a local charity of their choice as well as other prizes. The recipient will also receive local exposure in the form of video coverage at the Ford Ironman Welcome Dinner where they will be seated with the Ford corporate representatives.

Ford presents an Everyday Hero award at every full-distance Ironman event on the North America Sports race calendar. The Everyday Hero Award is geared toward athletes who have contributed to a person, charity or organization in a significant way and who have done so while undertaking the rigorous training for an Ironman event. The recognition tied to the award will give the Ironman community a first-hand account of the contributions and sacrifices this person has made.

We know there are many stories of athletes who have used their Ironman journey to improve the lives of people and organizations in their community. Please help us to recognize these special individuals and their causes. Send in your submission for a Ford Everyday Hero to North America Sports, via e-mail at helen@nasports.com.

Because lists are F.U.N.

This is because lists are fun and you guys have GREAT suggestions! Keep 'em coming!

Nutrition Plan

Breakfast (~4:00 AM)

Raisin bread and Peanut Butter 350
Dannon Fruision Drink 260
Banana 100
Coffee w/Cream and sugar 100
Total Calories 810

Pre-Race (~6:00 AM)

Dannon Fruision Drink 260
Gel w/caffeine 90
Total Calories 350

Bike

The Basics

Fluids
Accelerade (180)
Gatorade (100)

Food Units
½ Power Bar (115)
½ Clif Bloks bag (100)
1 Gels (90)
1 Newton (100)

Plan

Fluid
1 – 20 oz Bottle/hour

Food
Each 0:30, 1 food unit
H1 – no solid
H7 – no solid
Electrolytes 2-3 tabs/hour (depending on weather)

Plan in Action

H 1:
1 Bottle Accelerade 180 ON BIKE
Blocks 200
Subtotal (380)

H 2:
1 Bottle Accelerade 180 ON BIKE
Bloks 200
Subtotal (380)

H 3:
1 Bottle Gatorade 100 STATION
Bar 230
Subtotal (330)

H 4:
1 Bottle Gatorade 100 STATION
Bar 230
Subtotal (330)

(pick up special needs bag)

H 5:
1 Bottle Accelerade 180 SPECIAL NEEDS BAG
Newtons 200
Subtotal (380)

H 6:
1 Bottle Accelerade 180 SPECIAL NEEDS BAG
Bar 230
Subtotal (410)

H 7:
1 Bottle Gatorade 100 STATION
Bloks 200
Subtotal (300)

TOTAL CALORIES 2510 calories

Special treat: Blue shark gummies in special needs bag!

Run

The Basics

Fluids
Gatorade (100 - ??)
Water

Food
GU gels (100)
GU/pills/Inhaler in pocket attachment


Plan

Fluids
Gatorade and water, as needed (calories in Nathan bottle, water at stops)

Food
Each 0:30, 1 GU
Solid food as tolerable from stations
Electrolytes 2-3 tabs/hr (based on weather)

Special treat: Blue sharks gummies and cherry gummies in special needs bag!

Items of Great Necessity

[oops! sorry for the double post! who knew that Ctl-P = publish in blogger! not me!]

...that's the name of my packing list.

I am SO neurotic when it comes to making lists and, you know, it's a neurosis I'm pleased to hang onto. The one about hospital corners on the bed is one I could lose. But this one: Good.

Here is my planning list for my race day and race day prep. Since I love to look at the lists others make, I thought someone may get a kick out of mine. Enjoy!

Items of Great Necessity
Race Day & Prep Checklist
* in transition/special needs bags

Swim

Prep
Antifog Drops
Body Glide (#1)

Race Day
Wetsuit
One-piece bathing suit
TYR bra
Goggles
Ankle Strap
Chip (provided by IM)
HRM strap
Cap (provided by IM)

Bike

Prep
Chain lube
Cleaning shammy
Multi-tool
Small/med screwdrivers
Scissors (small)
Tire pump (floor)
Electrical tape

Race Day
Asics low-cut socks *
Cycling shoes *
Goody cycling shorts *
Goody cycling top *
Gloves *
Helmet *
Sun glasses *
Inhaler (# 1)(on bike)
Bike number (provided by IM)(on bike)
2 x 28 oz bottles (on bike)
Electrolyte pills (on bike)
700 tube (# 1)(on bike)
CO2 repair kit (on bike)
Nutrition for first half (on bike) [still refining details on this]
Spare contact lenses (on bike)
Lube, travel size (on bike)
Garmin (on bike, cleared and off)

Alternative clothing for weather
Goody Rain jacket
LL Bean Vest
Arm warmers
Long sleeved blue jersey

OUTSTANDING:
(1) Mounting the Garmin properly on new bars or wear on wrist?
(2) Small or large saddle bag?

NEED TO BUY:
four Jamis 28-oz bottles, travel size lube bottle, extra inhaler

RUN

Prep
none

Race Day
Asics *
Asics low-cut socks *
UA compression shorts *
Running top w/back pocket *
Visor/hat *
Reflective tape *
Iroman lap watch *
Race belt w/number *
Nathan QuickDraw bottle *
Body glide (# 2) *
3 x GU Lemon Sublime *
3 x GU TriBerry *
Inhaler (# 2) *

Alternative clothing for weather
Long sleeved green top
3/4 length tights
LL Bean vest

OUTSTANDING:
(1) Adding pocket attachment to race belt -- instead of Nathan?

NEED TO BUY
Extra running socks, Running top with pocket, reflective tape, small Body Glide

Clicking and Planning

Things are starting to click, my friends.

Finally, they are starting to click.

The couple of weeks following the HIM in West Virginia were tough ones for me -- lots of doubt about ability and serious concerns about making it through the cutoff times at Wisconsin. Every training ride and run after that was steeped in those memories and I kept hitting a cycling wall -- convinced that I lacked the training necessary to do what I set out to do. And there was much disappointment. I was disappointed that I couldn't make a strong showing that day, after such hard work for months and months prior. And it took a couple of weeks and some mental gymnastics (wrestling) to come to terms with that emotion, knock it around for a while, and then toss it over my left shoulder and move forward without glancing back to see if it bounced.

Now, the last two weeks, in comparison, have been much better. Lots and lots of clicking. Some great swim sets that have really built my confidence that I won't need rescue in Monona. I've been having some really strong runs, too, that I just haven't posted about. Long ones are still hard on my joints (knees and, now, my right ankle), but I'm getting them done and staving off the discomfort until later and later in each session. And my century last weekend was another moment where I was able to feel in some way what the 9th will feel like.

All of these are just attempts at approximation, but they're so helpful for me, the newbie who got a little hopped up on caffeine and luck last September and signed up for this Ironman thingie. Approximation is really helpful. I know that a 4000+ straight set won't make major differences in my swimming ability, but it will make me enter that water with more confidence. And sometimes ballsy bravado can get you through some tough sit'cheations. I'm assuming Ironman qualifies as one of those... .

So, now I'm starting to feel the excitement around this, rather than the fear. I'm starting to plan -- with lists and more lists. I got all giddy last Friday (yup, I'm a dork) when I took Mighty M over to Kmart to get just the right sized plastic bins to transport my gear in the car. (One large for racing clothing and shoes, One medium for wetsuit, three small for tools for the bike, nutrition, and electronics.) I have -- I kid you not -- a SEVEN PAGE LIST of things like my nutrition plan and what goes in what special needs bag.

Oh, and don't forget my wardrobe. Must not forget wardrobe. There are lists for that, too.

It's so weird, though, to see the timer count down to these last two weeks of high volume training and then the taper period. It's so weird to know that I only have two long runs left. It's weird to know that I only have one long (100+) and one medium (75 mile) ride left. It's weird to be talking to my LBS about my last tune up.

Weird in a good way. Not in a fearful way. Weird in a very good way.

Ever Mindful

Waffling Wavering Irresolute Uncertain Dithering...

of two minds.

That is what I am. Of two minds.

My days recently have been split when it comes to thoughts of September. And, frankly, that's all I think about. I think about it in the shower and before I fall asleep and when I just wake up and while I'm going to the potty and when...well, you get the point.

All. The. Freaking. Time.

Normal, I suppose.

But my thoughts -- and emotions -- are all over the place. Sometimes, when the sun is out and I'm having a strong ride and my legs feel like they can go forever -- I feel like a million bucks. Like Ironman is absolutely attainable. That it's well within my grasp and can't we get there now, like right now, like immediately??? I'll go pack and you get the car started. Let's GO!

Those times are good. Frenetic good. I come home and regale Mighty M with all my fresh plans for what to bring and how I'm going to manage my nutrition and he smiles, nods at all the right places and patiently waits until I wander out of the room, injected with this new sense of power and urgency.

Good times.

Then others, I wake in a state of fear and panic. I think about average speeds and run pacing. I think about cut-offs and DNFing. When I drive in my car, I calculate in my head how hard that hill we just went over would be at mile 20 in good weather and mile 100 in the rain. I'm constantly calculating my limitations and comparing them to a race I've never started in a region I've never visited.

Those times I'm convinced I'll miss the bike cutoff. Or that I'll make the bike cutoff, but not leave myself enough time for running/walking the marathon. I have images of having my chip pulled from my leg, a lonely transport back to the starting line and crying into the corner of M's neck.

Not. Good. Times.

I am of two minds.

In the background of all of this, I'm coming to the conclusion that my state of schizoid indecision is a process more than anything. And it all has to do with what I talked about with a co-worker the other day (hi, Margie!).

I HAVE TO BE OKAY WITH NOT FINISHING
BEFORE I START.

There...I said it outloud. I have to be alright with the possibility that I won't finish this race before I cross the Wisconsin state line. I have to be 110% clear about my own reasons for starting this, so I don't get lost in my head out there. And, those reasons have to allow for pulling myself or being pulled from the course.

One thing I'm sure of is that 140 miles is more than enough time to get lost in your head. And 140 miles is more than enough time to struggle with hills and IT bands and nutrition and hydration.

So much can happen out there. So much I cannot control now.

And I think all this waffling and wavering is part of the process. A roundabout, completely inefficient and likely impractical way of getting to that answer...but I never claimed to good at this, peeps. I'm a newbie with a date for the dance in Wisconsin. I dream big.

So, I will continue my training as planned and take full advantage of the high points and my moments of mojo, and try to come up with an answer to the question:

Am I willing to risk falling short so that I can go at all?

Because I've become convinced that being willing to not finish is my key to being able to finish at all.

Meet Me in Madison

Okay, maybe not just me, but what about a whole buncha bloggers?

It's only 50 days now, kids. And my hyperplanning, list-making, Type A personality is working on the itinerary already. There are airport maps and lists of confirmations numbers, estimated arrival times and notes about how to get across Chicago without hitting the mother of all morning traffic jams.

It'll be quite a document in the end. I'll take a picture of it for kicks and giggles. I luvs me some lists.

Anyway. Back to what I was saying. Meeting up.


How much of a shame would it be to spend all year getting to know each other over the internet and then get to Madison and completely biff on actually MEETING?? Like in person!

Tisk, tisk...it'd be a shame.

I recently posted this out on the raceAthlete forum, but I want to put it out there for everyone.

"IMWI is only (gasp) 50 days away.

(blink...blink...)

So, thoughts have again turned to planning. I'm wondering if there is any interest out there for bloggers to have a central place to post up their plans for connecting while in Madison. E.g., who is staying at the same hotel, those who are planning on doing the Gatorade swim together, ride sharing to/from airport. You get the idea.

I'd be willing to administer a team blog for that purpose if there's interest out there. Thoughts?"

So...would this be helpful? A waste of time? Indifferent?

Also, Siren made a good point that volunteers get the shaft when it comes to fun things to do during the pre-race buildup. No fun wetsuit fittings (um...wait, is that fun??) and Gatorade swims. So this could be a place for volunteers for the race to hook up, as well as racers and friends and family of racers.

{Update: According to The Bold himself, some of this is already in action behind the scenes with Simply Stu and Iron Wil. I'll keep everyone updated who is interested when I know more details. Can't wait to meet the extended family!!}

This Sometime

Sometimes I feel like a Nike commercial, with a blood pushing soundtrack in the background and profiled in soft lights. Sometimes I feel like I stand at a precipice, ready for what comes and what is entailed. The icon, the ediface, the athletic form. Sometimes I feel like I am uniquely qualified, by some grace of past decisions and stubborn motivation. And sometimes I feel like I may have the power to inspire myself and make me so much more than I was before.

This, is that sometime.

I chose late last year to try something entirely out of my comfort zone, and entirely gratuitous. I don't need to do an Ironman distance. Being a triathlete and healthy alone would be fine. But there has always been that persistent voice inside my thoughts that wants me to push even further. I want to know whether or not I can do something exceptional. To push just a little more. Could it be self-defeating? Could I be setting myself up for a simple confirmation of mediocrity? Perhaps. When I was younger, I would certainly have seen that road as the least painful and followed it, laden with guilt. I would have craftily explained away my averageness and carried it as a stone in my shoe, a hidden hair shirt under a well-dressed facade.

That is not me anymore. And I know that with certainty. I know that with the same certainty that I know I love Mighty M. I know that with the certainty that I know I will never sabotage my life again with distrust and fatalism.

I just know it. Clearly and with inherent resolve. It's just there, as a reality.

So I signed up for the race, and then basked in the glow of "You're doing an Ironman?" "No way! How cool!" I did the planning and found the training schedule right for me. And when the time came, I started training. And I've had the bumps in the road and moments of checking my own motivations and behaviors. Falls and injuries and set-backs and successes.

And I have simply loved every second.

The snarky lady in the pool. The personal best runs and the personal vendettas against cycling drills. Those wonderful moments where new habits surprised me with power and control. And those truly excellent moments of clarity.

And now, I'm there again. Cue the Nike background music. Cue lights, camera, and ACTION.

It's 20 weeks out from Ironman Wisconsin.

20 weeks.

If you're an endurance athlete, you know the power of 20 weeks. In 20 weeks, you can prepare for a marathon. In 20 weeks, you can sculpt an ultra-distance out of a lump of base building runs. In 20 weeks, you can craft an Ironman. And that, of course, is exactly what I'm going to do.

Twenty weeks is a check point in training that may seem arbitrary, but it's not. It provides just the right amount of time to build a better you. Just enough time to take your skills and traits and strengths and craft something exceptional.

I've put in my base, I'm building as we speak, and I'm feeling quietly prepared for the volume and effort. And yes, sometimes I feel incredibly scared. Shaking in my boots scared. Of limitations and sheer distance and limiters.

But, this is a different sometime. Right now I just feel ready.