Parting words

This past weekend, friends lined up for a fabulous race out in Madison, WI. For me, it marked the second anniversary of my writing here.

My first year was about training for my first Ironman distance. It was fun. And hard. And full of lots of self discovery and insight.

Then I didn't finish the IM. And I sulked for a while. And picked up the pieces and put together a new race year. And then I continued to swim, bike, and run.

And life was good. Very, very good.

And here we are, two years later. And I'm realizing that I have changed a great deal. And my relationship to the sport has changed, as well. When I started, I sought a good deal of redemption from triathlon. I wanted -- and needed -- to find a core for myself that included discipline and follow through. I needed to prove to myself that I could, even when it was tough.

And I fell in love with the process and it found a place in my world. A permanent place. And, coincidentally, my life opened up in other ways. I fell in love with a boy. And he found a place in my world. A permanent place.

It has been two very good years.

And recently I have found that my writing has trickled down to less inspirational pieces about training and racing because, frankly, the process has become less about redemption and realization and more about just plain living.

And as much as I want to write more here, I'm finding I resist it. I don't want all of my writing to be about sport. I have much more complexity in my noggin to share. I have relationships and a professional life. I have hopes for a family and dreams of a new home. I have personal journeys that are no longer tied intimately with training and racing.

I need a new home and need a more personal, reflective voice. I'd like to write about it all, not just the triathlon journey. I need to write again, not just report.

So my words will migrate elsewhere. I'll let you know when it's time. I hope that many of you will come with me, and continue to listen to what you find interesting. I have every intention of trying outlandish new adventures and falling down in stupendous ways. I expect to have every pitfall and bad decision on paper, as well as each success. I have a marriage to build and a family to start and a career to jumpstart and an Ironman to conquer.

The next few years will not be dull. That, I promise.

So, thank you to the hundreds of friends who visit each day and the 50,000 who have spent this past couple of years together with me. I appreciate you more than I can describe. And soon I hope to share much more with you than just my splits. Soon I'll share my life. Yes, there will be training. But there will be more. I hope you enjoy it as much as I suspect I will.

Waiting Game

It's been quite a week. In fact, I'm in awe that it's Monday again.

In the past seven days I got my hopes up and then had them dashed about a professional "opportunity." I forked out hundreds of dollars for a car I loved, only to find out that I would have to trade her in within days for a car I'm "eh" about, to avoid about $3,000 worth of additional repairs. I've changed my mind about the wedding dress...again. I realized how very, very long it takes to get to all those dreams and how much patience it takes to get there.

And now I'm walking around with a heavy heart. Managing disappointment isn't fun. I don't pitch a fit or scream for different answers, but I do get sad. Not angry or irrational or despondent.

Just sad. Plain ol' sad.

I'm sad right now. I was hoping for some things to work out. I've placed my emotions on the table for important, valuable things. I've been patient.

And it seems I need to remain patient.

And even for a card carrying grownup, it still can make me sad.

As a drinker, I could manage this right quick. Make it through the day, pull up at the dinner table with a balloon in which to drown your tears, and put some aspirin on the nightstand. It was easier that way. In a sense.

Now, I just get to sit here, knocking this emotion around like a pebble in my shoe. Wishing it turned out differently, seeing the positive side, digesting the result, and moving on.

It's easier this way, of course.

In a sense.

Life *is* good

A family beach house, full of good people and good times,

A two-year old with limitless energy, a bottomless tummy, and a love of Uncle Mighty M that might rival mine,

A four-year old with a genetic love of all things beach, a willingness to be everyone's best friend forever, and the thoughtfulness to make sure we always had a "plan,"

Ice cream, and lots of it,

Sisters, both of them,

Salt and pepper shrimp on sticks and marinated flank steak, cut thin,

Buckets of coffee,

Leaving my car parked untouched for days,

Running the boards with my beebie,

Fireworks watched from beach blankets,

Seeing sparklers for the first time,

Playland,

Digging in the sand with buckets,

Heeeeyyyy,

Wine and friends on the porch,

Grown up naps,

60 year olds on bumper cars,

Christmas shopping in July,

Children's laughter in our home,

The use of the subjunctive,

Early morning thundershowers,

Sand toy bags,

and family.

Me, We, Three

I’m going to make light of this, because it’s the only way I can come to terms with it. I’m disappointed. Very disappointed.

So, last year I decided that it was about time I buckled down and got serious about this sport. A new bike, a new coach, a new attitude, and a lot of great races on the horizon. Soon I added a nutritionist and an ART therapist, piles of gear, and lots of traveling.

And it was a good. I was happy and wise. But somehow not so wealthy.

Seems that when you spend all of your free money on training and racing, there’s no money fairy that replaces it in your wedding savings fund or the ‘I’ve gotta move out of this dang neighborhood’ bank account.

Like, seriously....where is the freaking fairy?

Two nights ago, Mighty M and I had a heart to heart. He’s a man of few words, and being that man of few words, I know that when he says something in one of our “grown-up” conversations, I should listen.

We talked about our wedding. And our mortgage. My student loans and his outstanding obligations. We talked about needing to move before making babies (thankyouverymuch) and how much house we could afford. And when we could afford that.

And it was scary and a reality check for me. You see, all Mighty M needs for entertainment is an Xbox and zombie movies. Seriously. I wouldn’t joke about this.

Me? I’ve picked up a habit that’s a wee bit more pricey. And it’s not totally fair, you know.

And every husband or wife out there reading this probably remembers the moment the “me” became the “we.”

Well, we just had a moment.

So, I decided to pare down. EVERYTHING. And it was hard. Being responsible sucks monkey balls.

Of course, the Elf understood when I explained it all to her, and was more gracious than anyone I know. A consummate pro, in more ways than one. And you’ll see my race schedule has DRASTICALLY changed on the sidebar. I’ve pared it down to just some local races that I want to keep so I stay motivated and in shape, but won’t break the bank. I’m going to skip the rest of the halves this year and, instead, continue to build my own fitness with lots of cross training.

And maybe I’ll start needlepointing again.

Cause I have no idea what I’m going to do with all of this free time.

….

So.

I’m sad, but I know it’s the right decision. I’m part of something bigger than just my own wants and needs, now. And for that, I’m very lucky. So it’s time for a little sabbatical from my favorite hobby so, one day, Mighty M can carry me across the threshold of our brand new house and we can start making the “we” the “three.”

And that is worth it.

Trusting Words

Sometimes I love you is no longer enough.

You want to say more. Those tiny words, repeated at the end of phone conversations and in morning partings before work, begin to feel pedestrian, limp. "I love you." A phrase you could barely wait to use when you met, the only approximation you could come up with to describe the pounding in your chest you felt when you rounded the corner and pulled up to his house. A phrase that was so genuine and heartfelt that you passed it over, as if carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a bow. Precious and rare. It articulated your heart beats and anticipation of simply being near him. It invited more, it allowed for 'just the same.' Accepting and caring, accurate and adequate.

But now the house is your house, too. And pulling around the corner is coming home, rather than coming over. And as weeks turned into months, and months to years, the unfamiliar became close and the new became reliable. And somewhere in between, there was a day when the words failed. There was too much more to say. Those same tiny words no longer conveyed how large your heart had grown, nor how your feelings had evolved. They were inadequate to describe what you felt when you watched him sleep, when you touched his cool head on the pillow and whispered goodnight. It bore no witness to how you trust his decisions, his judgments, his thoughts. These three words could barely contain a hint of the future you see in his eyes and how you warm inside when he laughs out loud.

And what do you do then? Do you find more words? Do you search your vocabulary for other ways to put it together and offer it up? What words would work -- are they many or are they few? Complicated and full of meaning, or simple and short?

Or do you trust? Trust that he sees it in your eyes, when you smile back from the casual glance across the table at a crowded dinner. Trust that he already knew, by the way you touch his head right before he falls asleep at night and walk arm and arm with him at the mall. Your needless calls just to hear his voice or the way you settle down around him, happily. Do you trust that he knows just how important he is from the simple gesture, when mere words begin to fail?

The words 'I love you' no longer reach the edges of what I feel for you, M. I hope that you know how very, very important you are to me. And while I cannot seem to find the words, I promise you a lifetime of little gestures to express my heart.

Happy birthday, beebie.

.j.

Resolution

My father always said that when I was younger, all I ever wanted to do was to grow up. Be older. Move on to the next step.

And it was true. As a teenager, I longed for the freedom and release of my college years. When flexing that independence throughout college, I saw my young twenties as a time when the world would take me seriously and I would gain respect from those I respected. But my twenties became easily distracted and I was frustrated by its lack of predictability and reliability, something I was convinced would be found later...possibly in my thirties and plausibly through higher education and marriage.

My Dad was right -- much of my life has been spent looking forward to the changes of the future, with the unavoidable implication that I was unhappy with my present. And often I was. I was awkward in high school and desperate in college. My fabulous partying self of my twenties took a toll on my self esteem and rolled my growing addiction up into a tight ball in the center of my psyche. And as I transitioned to my 30s, I was growing uneasy with how disparate my actual life was in comparison to my expected life.

I longed and sought to replace. I looked forward instead of sat still. I was unhappy for many reasons, but sometimes it was simply my inability to be happy that circularly argued for my own conclusion of ineptitude.

I remember most of the New Year's celebrations during these years. The ones I spent in Hamilton with my college and townie friends. The ones that brought me to wonderful parties in New York apartments and smokey cabarets. The ones as the hostess with the best hors d'oeuvres and biggest glass of wine. And even the ones with broken heels and expectations, stuck in cabs at the witching hour with casual friends and empty kisses.

And, like many, I thought throughout those nights of my hopes for the next year. For sudden slimness and acquired control over my own prosperity. I, too, longed for the heart exploding joy that rings your ears with a solid note and leaves your life indelibly changed. I would fashion my daydreams of my life together in a woven fabric that defined what my personal success would look like for those 12 months.

Such an exercise. Such an exhausting exercise.

It is exhausting to forever be looking for the next goal and the next definition of want and need. It's tiring to be always a little unhappy or a tiny bit ill at ease. To never feel like here is enough. Like right now still needs work before I'm okay with it being right now.

Because that moment always passes well before you can craft it perfectly and it is never to be attained again. In your eagerness to be prepared and ambitious and right, you manage to let the here and now slip away.

And much of this, for me, had to do with being well. Many of these years I simply wasn't. I didn't have the tools to cope with the tragedies at home. I was ill equipped to recognize my own deconstruction until I was in pieces. I needed help and I got it, but until I was able to I was in no place to do anything but hope for something else.

But now is different.

I don't need the New Year. Go ahead and take it. I don't need to cleans or evaluate or re-evaluate, for that matter. I no longer have that urge to wonder what it will be like and how do I get there and why can't I have that (blank) right now.

Because I'm there. I have a full heart. I have a peace about my own life. I have the here and now, so my urge to plan and prepare for the future has ebbed. I still manage the details, but no longer at the expense of my own experience.

My future still holds more for me. It holds a marriage and children. It holds new homes and new jobs. It will likely hold loss and illness, too. But I'm not captivated by those eventualities. I look forward to my future, but I no longer spend my present looking. I spend my present living. Here and now. With my love, my work, my family.

So enjoy your New Year's resolutions. Find empowerment in them. Find an articulation of your own wants and needs. Resolve for connection and achievement, purpose and motivation. Plan, if necessary. Plan in detail and bright colors if you can.

And maybe, just maybe...resolve to not resolve. Plan to not plan. Make your immediate future about your own immediate. Allow the next thing to be new to you. Allow the now to become familiar before time steals it away. Slow down and breathe.

Define your "one day." And then just let go. Because your one day will come in its own due time.

And you will never see it at its clearest when it is still on the horizon.

Communicable

I seem to have contracted something.

I may have picked it up at the pool. Or somewhere on my handlebars of the bike. Could it have been in my stinky Asics?

Or maybe, just maybe, in that pile of athletic gear in the bottom of that special hamper in the guest room.

But I definitely caught something.

I'll tell you how I know. Just now I was typing away on the computer in a nice little email to the Elf, trying to convince her to let me double up on sessions this week to make up for a sick day yesterday. Who does that?

Me, apparently.

You see, I've been jonezing for this week.

9 and 1/2 hours of training.

BIG swim sessions, labeled as sets that "real" swimmers do. Intervals on my runs for the first time using my new zones. Efficiency drills on the bike and -- dare I say it -- a big solid brick to cap it off on Sunday.

I've been waiting for this week to start the moment it was posted up on my Training Peaks account. And yesterday I was stuck at home sick. In bed. For hours upon hours. Bored by 9:30 and brain dead from television by noon.

And tonight I was in the pool and -- even though I asked before I touched the water where I could swim uninterrupted and I was careful to check the schedule ahead of time [I'm just saying!] -- I was unceremoniously bounced by the obnoxious coach of the tiny tots learning backstroke.

And now I'm itching. I'm feeling PHYSICALLY ANXIOUS that I can't go get back in the pool tonight to finish the set. How's that for all caps! And I'm already packed and ready for tomorrow's adventures. And I've already cleared the schedule for the rest of the week's needs, moving holiday shopping out of the way of running blocks and making sure tree trimming doesn't conflict with the brick.

For all of the training I have done in the last three years, it wasn't until now that I have contracted it.

The itch. The itch. The one that renews your vigor every day and let's you dream of strong strides across the finish line. The one that lets you appreciate feeling like you can go forever even after an hour in the pool. The one that just sits there under your skin so you never need any reminder why you love to train.

You just do. Because.

Just because.

And I have it, under my skin and it itches. In such an amazing way.

Hope and Inspiration

I have lead a lucky life, but I have seen many hard things. I have seen disease waste away my family, member after member, stealing generations from each other. I have seen poverty rob hope from my clients, one bill and hospital visit at a time. I have watched the remnants of familial abuse leave scars across the psyches of those I love. I have had my own life turned inside out with substance abuse and despair. I have seen my own mother's face slowly taken away, cancerous piece by cancerous piece. I have watched friends and family battle anxiety and depression, finding their own thoughts to be enemies.

I'm no fool. I know that I am lucky, still. For my own reasons. But I know what it means to feel lonely and vulnerable, out of control and a prone subject to disease and circumstance. It's hard to manage that. It's a challenge to acknowledge and accept, on faith, that there may be relief buried deep in your relinquishment of control. That you may, at a point, regain command of your future in some meaningful way. Letting go to find control. The oxymoronic caveat to our emotional lives.

It is rare to experience a moment in one's own life when you realize that balance. Rare and powerful. And when you can see that happen for someone you care about, it resists description. When you see someone relinquish pain and heartache on faith that their instincts about life are right, that they will bear fruit once planted. That, my friends is beauty.

I count Bold as a friend of mine. We've met in person only briefly, but I feel connected to him as a friend. Perhaps that's the commonality of loss, who knows. And when I saw his writing this morning, I found a moment of beauty. This is what life is truly about. This is beautiful and I will be a part of it for the long list of reasons disease has force upon me and my family. I will be a part of it because it gives me hope and purpose.

Please read it. I dare you to not be inspired.

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.

...

Declaration of Intent, 2008

BECAUSE,

I am no longer afraid of distance.

I am no longer afraid of hard work.

I am no longer concerned with self sabotage.

I am no longer hiding my weight and size.

I am no longer worried that my body can't or shouldn't.

BECAUSE,

I want to find joy or challenge in every day, preferably both.

I want to tap my greatest physical and emotional potential.

I want to always be proud of my personal endeavors.

I want to embrace and honor my abilities.

I want to illustrate my status as an athlete in a world of smaller athletes.

I WILL,

Compete in the '08 triathlon season,
as well as participate.

Challenge myself with new races at old distances.

Set specific performance goals throughout the year
and work towards them daily.

Race as an Athena and win as an Athena.

Encourage my friends, family and community to join me.

Allow myself dimension through the pursuit of other, non-athletic, goals.

Share the journey through open and honest writing.

Null

It's always a bad sign when I start a post and don't know the title.

It usually means I don't know where this train is going. And I don't.

I have to admit, that I've been in a bit of a bummer space recently. I blame it on Ironman, but it also could be because of other things going on in my life, too. But Ironblame seems more convenient. And less messy, since the other objects of my analysis are living and breathing and tend to dislike being part of the, well, analysis.

Here's the thing.

Ever since I came back from Wisconsin, I've been -- well, to be honest -- depressed. Not in a clinical, should-we-be-concerned, kind of way. But I have most certainly been less fun to be around and have been a grump for days on end. At first, I figured it was disappointment for the sickness in the race and having to pull. But it continued on, and started to infect how I was thinking about other things in my life. I've lost my sense of humor and joyfullness. Everything is a serious conversation with serious emotional implications. And the typically generous and supportive Mighty M has no more patience left for it. Home is tense. I am tense. Life feels tense.

And I'm not usually like this. I'm typically a silver lining, booming laughter kind of gal. Bright side of everything. Not so much nowadays.

I'm trying to whittle it down to what is "really" going on (what is that about us? that we too often prefer the convenient explanation? even when it solves little?) and two straight days of time in bed nursing a head cold have helped.

Or not.

Sometimes you can spend too much time in your own head.

But I think that this may be one of the few down sides to my Ironman experience. For so long, I've been planning for something that has dictated my time and resources, so much so that I am now left wondering what to do with myself. Not in a practical, time-management kind of way, but in a more important way.

Where do I find my hope?

So much about endeavoring to try something new like an Ironman, and the activities around it, was about finding something inspirational to look forward to, something that I could always turn my attention to and find some element of the unknown and exciting. It defined me, as well as my time and energies. I absorbed elements of the process, and felt the hope. I lived the hope. I looked forward with anticipation, I planned with glee, and I always felt a sense of the next exciting step.

And now, I find, it is hard to recreate that in normal life.

And, my inability to recreate that feeling has come to distort my normal life.

I have a great job, but one that has its bad points and can wear on the less resilient if you're not careful. I have a great relationship, but one that falls victim to my need for the "next step" in a disarming and sometimes dangerous way. I have a healthy and happy lifestyle, but I am dreading my 34th birthday next month in a startlingly stereotypical way.

I have so very much that I love, yet I've been recently bogged down with what seems to be missing. My attention and my energies have been held captive by this negative space.

And I think what I lack in the process is my next big thing. Something to hang a hat of hope on. Something to look forward to, even on days when I'm reminded of the negatives. Perhaps especially on those days.

I need some inspiration. I'm not sure yet where I will find it, but I clearly need some. Because my perspective is distorted right now and, as much as I can intellectually make the distinction, I need something to navigate my emotional life towards the future. Positively. With hope.

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.

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.

Rundreaming

I would imagine that this is part of the process.

I, of course, have no idea, since this is the first time I'm attempting this absolutely insane journey.

But, I would imagine this is part of it.

Last night I was on a run through town and, oddly, my legs started feeling a little tight. With problems earlier that night changing gears on the bike (Banana's derailleur needs adjustment after having a rusty hanger sucked up into it's mechanism last week), I had worked them a little harder than I had liked because only the big ring was working. So, tight legs it is.

But for this run, I started daydreaming. Now knowing how mental this sport can be, at the most unlikely of times, I have promised myself to not ignore that side of the process. So, as my feet crunched the rocks on the side of Rt. 30, I didn't think about getting the bike into the shop or the groceries I needed to pick up afterwards. Instead, I thought about how it would feel to be at mile 10 in the marathon portion of IMmoo.

Strangely, this was the first time I had really done any visualization. And it was fun.

It hearkened back to summer dreaming with my best friend, Nicole, while walking back from playing tennis in the sun and hunting down spare balls outside the courts. It reminded me of dreaming of things like eighth grade dances and posing in my new black velvet (I know!!) dress in my bedroom mirror, with Joe Cocker in the background on my stereo. Daydreams of college and law school graduations, first kisses and championship games.

Collective mental snapshots of perfect moments and happy endings.

My Rundreaming last night was ever so slightly different than a middle school dance, but it was just as satisfying. I dreamed about just the right foot strike and nice strong cadences. I dreamed about keeping my shoulders back and looking around at scenery and spectators. I dreamed about feeling stronger than I likely will and running faster than I should expect. I thought about what I would think about out there. I thought about how I may feel. I imagined what those last six miles would feel like, as my body slows and grows tired. I practiced evoking memories -- of successful runs and surprising finishes. I practiced managing disappointment. I reminded myself to remind myself that wanting to quit will help me not quit.

Visualization is a good thing. It got me that awkward but thrilling slow dance with the exchange student from Peru in 8th grade. Hopefully it will get me through the marathon in September.

Unexpected Graces

Last weekend I participated in the Baltimore Girls on the Run event that, if you had a chance to catch this post you know it was a wonderful experience for me. I received a lovely note from Molly Barker, the founder of GOTR, soon after my blog post. Her story reminds me of the type of person I hope to be -- confident, driven and passionate about her work. A woman with vision...my kind of lady.

So, lo and behold, today Active.com posted a great article by Molly herself on the GOTR program. It's a great read -- you should check it out. What is so touching is the letter she includes in the article, shamelessly pulled from here for your reading pleasure, from a hesitant participant. The letter goes like this...

Before I started Girls on the Run, I could hardly run five laps around the school's field. I had never been a runner like some kids were. I would see kids run around the track, and I would say, I wish I could do that.

One day when I was at my friend's house, she started talking about Girls on the Run. I listened eagerly...but I hesitated to sign up because, well, maybe this just wasn't the right time. Sometime in the third quarter of the school year, I got a letter saying that there were still more spaces left in Girls on the Run, and that I could sign up. So I did.

It turns out that Girls on the Run was fun. I saw some kids from my grade, and we got to run together, with our coaches encouraging us every step of the way.

On my first day, I ran six laps! Now, for some people that might sound like the easiest thing in the world, but for ME it wasn't! Soon enough, I was running a mile. (Eight laps around our field is a mile.) My farthest yet has been 12 laps, which is a mile and a half. I'm so proud of myself for having run this far. Before Girls on the Run, never, in my wildest dreams, would I have been able to run more than a mile.

I'm kind of upset that I didn't sign up earlier. I'm going to keep running and trying to go farther. My goal this year is to be able to run at least half of the Girls on the Run 5k, and walk the other half. Next year I plan to run the 4k and walk one.

Girls on the Run has taught me many lessons, but the most important thing it has taught me is to have confidence in myself and to never give up.

(signed, Grace)

"To have confidence in myself and to never give up."

That bears repeating, no?

And sounds familiar -- at least to me. What feels like eons ago I could barely run a few blocks without walking or bike more than 5 miles without crying uncle. And I had never heard of the Ironman.

Funny how life goes.

Recently, I've been doing a lot of introspection on my long rides. I never wear headphones (and I don't buy the theory that wearing just one earbud is safe!), so my rides have become my time to roll things around in my head. Plans for the future, grocery lists and emotional inventories. And I've been thinking an awful lot about hope, and where we find it and how it is so easily lost. And I've been planning on posting some of these reflections here, in a way a follow up to my more melencholic piece on shame. Another window, so to speak.

But I think that can wait for a little while. I think that Grace may have said enough on the topic in her own way. From the mouthes of babes, yes?

This weekend, hundreds of girls across the country are participating in large and small events, many of whom are doing their first running event in their lives.

And likely most of my readers are also out doing these very same races. (I know for a fact that many will be toeing the line with fellow triathletes and runners at the Bolder Boulder run on Monday!) If you see a pink tee-shirt and a budding GOTR athlete, take a moment to say hello. Tell them how proud you are of their efforts. Give them a big high-five and maybe sign their shirt.

Remind them of what many of us already know -- that we can often do amazing things if we simply trust ourselves and try.

"F" -- In and Around this trip to Ironman

Warning: This is a rant. A self-rant, but still a rant. It includes bad language. Bad, bad language. I will likely offend the G's in my life -- Mrs. G, Mr. G and G-Love and Special Sauce. Actually, I don't really know G-Love, but it worked well in the sentence. So...if you may, in some way, shape or form, be related to Mighty M and you would like to keep a high opinion of me, please stop reading. I don't rant often, but when I do I swing for the fences, if you know what I mean... .

_______

One of the coolest things about a blog is that it's both a diary and a taskmaster. I can write down all my inner thoughts and (for unknown reason that I'm still sorting out) people will stop by and read them. But also like a taskmaster because all it takes is one backlink to promises made or (gasp!) excuses thought up and SMACK!, my readership can catch me getting out of line. Full disclosure. Total transparency. Fun stuff.

Well, here's today's disclosure. I've been slacking. Not horribly slacking, but I've been letting my training and road to Ironman curl a little at the edges like some fancy french crepe. And while fancy french crepes can be tasty with apples and cinnamon, they don't work well as metaphors for training for the most grueling one-day event in the world.

Like I was saying...some certain things have been falling aside and I just don't like it. Makes me feel funny on the inside to let things slide. Things that bear importance on how painful this trip will be -- or could be. Things like weight training. And letting sessions from early in the week gather until later, and then feigning surprise when there's no time for them. Oh...and my ab and lower back exercises.

You know. Things like that.

It's not horrible -- I'm still getting in solid sessions and making progress on the swim and bike (although my run feels a bit stunted right now). But it's B-level work. Maybe B+. I don't want to be a B-student...I know I can do better. I just know it. How? Because I'm ridiculously determined and talented in other things in life -- like folding laundry and RPGs -- that there should be no reason why I can't do this like a champ. I want straight A's.

First, a look at what has been done. Here are the totals so far...

March
Swim 20,650 meters
Bike 252 miles
Run 20.4 miles
Brick 1 (!)
Race 1 (10K personal best time)

2007 totals
Swim 47,900 meters
Bike 584 miles
Run 95 miles
Brick 3+
Race 2 (1 trail, 1 road run)

So, that's nearly 100 hours of training so far, about 80-85% of my scheduled work. But I don't kid myself. Okay -- maybe I have been kidding myself, but no longer.

It really, truly dawned on me today that I can't play lightly with this. Okay, actually...I probably could. I probably could limp my way through the three sections and finish with this level of training. But I would not enjoy September 9th. I want every second of it tucked away in my spirit. I don't want it to be memories of pain or worry. I want memories of glory. If I mess around now, I would likely cause serious damage to my knees. I would risk an awful DNF and disappointing my friends and family. And I wouldn't look as good in a bathing suit. (Okay, that last one is my vanity talking...again.)

So...earlier today, after I was adequately soaked in coffee grinds and ever so slightly twitching with caffeine, I wrote this email to Mighty M. Here's where the naughty language starts.

Dear Beebie,

I’ve made a decision and I need to share it with you because if I don’t then I have nobody to hold me accountable and say, hey, remember when you made that decision? And you get the prize of being that person. YOU. Congratulations.

I’m done f#$%ing around. I’m done putting off workouts and sleeping in. I’m done eating cupcakes when I crave cake and bowls of carbs before bed. I’m done skipping my core workouts every week and failing to pick up even one weight. I’m done thinking that buying triathlon gear or reading magazines will make me a better triathlete. I’m done making the excuse that I’m “balancing” my life when I’m really putting off my training. I won’t drive myself to drink or self-destruction, but I also won’t drive myself to Acme for cake or shark gummies just because. I will stop using my laziness as a way of subtly beating up on myself.

I will meet my plans each week. I will wake up early every week day and sometimes on weekends. I will reduce my carbs late in the day and pull back on my butter consumption. I will reward hard work with things that don’t hurt me. I will eat more vegetables. I will stop talking about the Ironman every second of the day and slowly drive you mad. I will plan my training so it doesn’t conflict with my time with you. I will take this s&$t seriously and stop f#$%ing around. And maybe work on my language, too.

Okay. Now it’s said. Thanks, beebie.

love/me

__________

So, time to stop messing around. And cursing. Time to get on schedule and make the most of this training. Boo-yah.

Wrong

Next time you're thinking about stopping early or never showing up, remind yourself of every time you were wrong.

Every time you were wrong about what you could do.

Every time you were wrong about how far you could go or how long you would last.

Every time you convinced yourself that you were never cut out for that lifestyle, you were too disorganized or unmotivated or unreliable.

Think about every time you sold yourself short and left the party early because you were too shy or too nervous or too worried to stay.

Remind yourself about every time you thought you were too old or fat or out of shape to get off the couch.

And think about how very, very wrong you were. About every single distrusting moment.

Because no matter what has happened in the past, if you trust this moment -- this one moment -- and the decision you make now -- right now -- then you have conquered your own past.

You have wiped away each of those moments and replaced them with something entirely more powerful.

You have redefined your own limitations.

You have redefined your self.

Here fishy, fishy, fishy...

When I first hopped into the pool at the Y, it was with great apprehension.

Great.

I remember the cold mornings of my childhood when my sister and I would be hauled down to Rosslyn Swim Club for swim practice and it's not a good memory. The air was always foggy coming off the small local pool and each kid was sleepy eyed and dragging. But for most of my peers, all they needed was the first dunk into the ice cold waters to come alive and turn into fishys. Back and forth, back and forth -- no need to count, it was just a constant refrain of flip turns and whistle blows.

I would steal glances at the older swimmers -- the girls sleek and muscular and completely at ease with their movements. The boys were strong and commanding, and buckled impressively like Olympians when diving in for the umteenth 400 for the day.

And as accomplished as I was as a ballerina and no matter how confident I moved with my tomboy approach, the pool always brought me to my gawky, fumbling and gasping knees.

I simply wasn't a good swimmer.

I tried and tried and tried, but swim practices turned into summer morning activities to be dreaded. If it weren't for the swim meets -- that were full of laughing and card playing and cheering -- I surely would have begun an all out complaint assault to my patient parents about going.

So, with that as a background, my first attempt at swimming at the Y last year was an anxious moment. But, that's the kicker of triathlon -- you must be able to swim. At least a little. So I would manage 20 minutes at a time, and usually 500 yard total per session, even at the end of my season.

I just never really worked on my swimming. I did the ladders and example workouts like I would read about in the magazines and I would follow some form of progression, but I really didn't work on my swimming. I just swam. And that was cool -- it got me safely through my sprint and oly distances last year without incident and I'm pleased for that. Because if anything would scare me away from the sport it would be the swim.

And I remember even more clearly the sickening pit in my stomach as I stood -- penned -- at my first triathlon waiting for our wave to be called. I looked like I was going to puke. I very well could have. I nearly panicked when I couldn't find Mighty M in the crowd. It was very, very nerve wracking for me. Kinda like morning swim practices.

Fast forward to yesterday. There was nothing spectacular on the schedule, just a long swim that is part of my plan for the week. But in a way it felt like a milestone. I felt so strong swimming the laps. I felt so confident in the way I was rolling my position and my catch and hand positions were so consistent. And I maintained really consistent pacing throughout the session.

Oh, and it was 2350 meters.

Two months ago I couldn't have swum that distance without some serious effort and likely some underwater cursing. And a month ago I could only swim a portion of it at a considerably slower pace. But as I push a tad bit further each time I go out for a swim or a run or a bike, I'm finding these small increments sneak up on me and surprise me occasionally with a milestone.

Last year's typical session was a loosey goosey 500 meters. This year's typical session (or at least so far) is well over 2000 meters in structured sets.

Last month's average 100 meters took me 2 minutes and 23 seconds. This month, I'm easily swimming the same in 2 minutes and 6 seconds.

Next month my sets will bump up by over 1000 meters again and I can only imagine the impact of that regular and steady increase.

Each time I get on the bike or in the pool or slip my Asics on, I'm going out for a reason. It's part of a larger picture of my training and I'm now really starting to realize the benefits to it.

Getting a regular training plan and really learning about each type of session and why you're asked to include it is an absolute must. Sticking to it pays huge dividends in the process. If I'm realizing these gains already, I can only imagine what is in store for me when I take my bike off the indoor trainer and hit some of my Lancaster county rides, or start to increase my mileage and add speed work into my run.

Sometimes, it takes us a long time to move beyond certain unpleasantness of childhood. Yesterday, I swam right past one, at a 2:06 clip. Right now, it's time for a run...

Pushing Time

There is so little that compares to pushing your limits and trying something that seems completely outlandish, just to see how hard it will really be.

At least, that's how I'm looking at my ride last night.

I remember about two months ago I read a post by TriShannon (who has been really rocking her training -- you should definitely stop by and see her progress) about her 3 hour trainer ride. And it blew me away that she would have the fitness, gumption and patience to finish a THREE HOUR ride on a stationary bike. Seriously, that's what I call tedious. And, frankly, hard. (If you do it right, of course.)

But that was on the schedule for last night and all day I was both eagerly awaiting the challenge and equally dreading it. And it was hard, and surprising. There were points where I absolutely wanted off that damnable bike and straight into a hot shower. And there were other points where it felt like second nature, like muscle memory took over and I could let my mind wander to other thoughts.

And that last half hour was hard for me. To keep pushing hard, even being tired and feeling the backs of my knees aching. But I kept thinking about what my Friday nights used to look like and that pushed me further. And I thought about how proud my Mom would be to see me doing this instead, and that helped keep me going. And I thought about how incredibly lucky I am to have the choice -- the ability -- to actually do something like this. So, I kept on pedaling and watched the slooooow minutes tick away. Which, of course, they did.

And, you know, I made it through fine. Just fine. And I was happy about it in the end, regardless of all the anxiety and anticipation. And 42 miles were deposited into the Bank of Me.

In there is one of the most important lessons I've learned through triathlon -- the quality of perserverence. If you just push a little farther than you thought you could, you will go much farther than you thought you were able to. We spend so much of our time mired in doubt and thinking about the "what if's" and how to avoid and minimize effort. And so much of that time is really lost -- absolutely wasted. If we simply accept the fact that at one point we determined that this is valuable, so you just keep going. Trust that it will pay off in the end. Trust your own instincts about the world. And it will work out. The miles will drip away while you're watching scenery pass. The hours will pass by if you concentrate on the hum of your tires and beat of your heart. And in the end you will wonder why it seemed so very important to minimize that effort -- that was well within you reach -- or opt out of something that feels so good.

If you choose to live life in a way that only seeks to find level ground, to find the least resistance possible and the reduce effort and risk to the barest -- there is little point. I used to need that solice, as a salve. A sticky protectant from the abrasive world. But I was coccooned in my own avoidance. Allowing my life to tick away, second by second.

And each moment does tick away regardless. Each hour will pass without your consent or direction. It is what you choose to do in that time that matters. Pay attention to your choices. Pay attention to how you spend your time. Make it as valuable as you can.

Circuit Breaker

Bawling.

Maybe not bawling…that really is loud and hysterical crying. Maybe more like quietly sobbing. Yes, sobbing.

That’s how I found myself on Friday night, in a darkened bedroom with poor Mighty M downstairs confused as to what in the world happened.

It wasn’t a meltdown of grand proportions. There was no screaming or crying or outlandish dribble about wants and needs coming out of my mouth. I just simply hit a point where my tolerance audibly clicked off. My emotional breaker switched over to off mode and I excused myself, turned on my heel and retreated to an empty and dark room. And sobbed.

Nothing memorable or important precipitated the switch, but that’s typically the case. You’re electric switch off? Usually it’s not because of the large taxes you’ve been placing on it – like the laundry machine and dishwasher – rather, it’s the smaller, unimportant pressure that juuuust pushes it past capacity. Nudges it a little too far.

This time it my Friday brick that pushed me over. A moderate hour on the bike with a quick switch to a moderate 20 minute run. Cake. No problem.

But it was disappointing. Again. I was feeling “off” – my legs were tired and it was all I could do to keep above 90. I’ve been messing around with switching my saddles, and everything feels wrong as a result. And I was tired. And a little irritable. And just plain disappointed and discouraged. Throw in a last minute change in the post-workout plans and a painting project and – snap! – emotional dissolution.

As breakdowns go, this was short and sweet, without drama or argument. I just had enough. Each day, the load has been increasing with training and managing a busy life in the fringes. Home improvements, financials, taxes, training, websites, correspondence, and scheduling – all rather boring until they all pile up day after day, without reprieve in sight. We all deal with demands, perhaps triathletes a little more than some. And, I would imagine, we all have our moments of weakness. This was mine.

So, chalk that one up, guys. Scratch a hash mark in the column for “breakdowns.” Ch-eeeeek!

Thankfully, Mighty M is the compassionate person he is. He swaddled me up in comfy clothing and soothing words. He explained that I didn't have to be everything to everyone and that sometimes it's okay to just do what is right, and let the rest shake itself out. He still loves me, no matter what. So, I soon pulled out of the funk and moved forward.

He's right, you know. It's not about how much and how far, it's about the how -- the crafting and balance and care you apply to the things you care about. No wonder love cannot be measured in miles or laps. We're forced to accept the love of a person or experience or thing as a process, rather than a unit. It is, of course, better that way.

I don't imagine that this will be the last time things start feeling overwhelming. And I may, just may, find myself taking an emotional reality check more and more frequently as Wisconsin approaches. But I'm prepared. It's okay to be perfectly human and it's certainly more fun once you come to that conclusion.