Ironman 1, Jeanne 0

The day after the Ironman is an interesting day. Well, the day after you are not an Ironman is an interesting day. I have had November 2011 written on my mirror for three years. The day I signed up for my first marathon, I wrote the words “Ironman 2011” in dry erase marker, under “Rock ‘N Roll, Jan 18, 2009” under my mirror. It was August 2008. It was the date I signed up for my first marathon. My deadline was November 2011 to finish my first Ironman, before I turned 31. 167 weeks to my first 140.6 mile race. The Ironman would snap me out of my funk. The Ironman would save me. I would look at that date every day I was home for 167 weeks.

Here I am 167 weeks and one day later. Where am I? Am I any better off than I was then? I’m almost drunk and I’m crying. I ignore the “what happened?” messages today instead of the “what’s wrong?” messages of 2008. Is that really the best thing to say? That’s almost as bad as the “I’m still proud of you.” Or the “you’re still my Iron*person.*” Or the “you are a winner once you cross the start line.” To be honest, no one who has prepared for yesterday for 167 weeks wants to hear any of that. Really, it’s thoughtful and I’m sure in a few hours to a few weeks, I’ll be ok able to talk about the situation without crying. But, it’s sort of like the, ‘It’s not you, it’s him’ breakup conversation.

My favorite question yesterday might have been “well, why COULDN’T you do it? It’s just 2.4 miles?” Interesting . . . my first thought: “Why the fuck are you standing here drinking the beer I bought for my friends asking me this question?” You are not my friend. Later this guy tells me, “I didn’t know the water temperature was 61 degrees.” Does that even matter? Hell no. Sure the water is cold. The water temperature had nothing to do with my inability to make the swim cut off. Sure it would have been nice to train in that sort of water or it would have been nice if race day water was 75 degrees. I also rode my bike in 115 degree weather. There are some things I can’t control. Unfortunately for me, weather/temperature/my body’s reaction to such is one of them.

It’s not like yesterday was the first time I tried to swim the distance either. From the beginning, my training plan hit the distance every single week. I was physically able to do the distance. The very day before I had a practice swim in the 61 degree water and felt great! I was mentally able to do the distance. I even thought about updating my facebook status with the words of a fun song from the 80’s, “. . . baby I was afraid before. . . I’m not afraid anymore!” (Heaven is a Place on Earth. . . Bueller. . Bueller. . .)

As hard as I have tried, I can’t predict how my body is going to react to different forces. Sure, my Saturday swim in Tempe Town Lake was great. I felt like it was a normal swim day in the heated, chlorinated pool. My breathing was easy and rhythmic; my stroke was smooth and long. I was happy to make friends with Tempe Town Lake. Frankly, there were more people around me in the practice swim than the swim start of the race.

I did not have that same experience yesterday. Most days, I put my wetsuit on and it turns into a magic cloak. I feel like I float along the water’s top. I don’t struggle, I loved being in the water (such was my experience during the practice swim on Saturday). Sunday, it felt like I wasn’t even wearing a wetsuit. I felt a drag and almost like someone was pulling my magic, graceful cloak back. With each breath I took in, I inhaled an ounce of water. I could not find a rhythm and I could not catch my breath. With each attempt, I thought I would find my stroke. I never did.

This is the perfect time in the race to work on the mental games I practiced throughout the training season. I wrote the words, “YOU WILL DO THIS” on my thumb knuckles so I could see the message on the bike ride. I didn’t realize at the time that I would see it every time I grasped onto the kayak to catch my breath. I had rough days in the pool while training. I used these days as growth opportunities. “You never know what the race day will bring Jeanne. Push though it” I’d tell myself. So I did. It was hard and there were days I didn’t think I’d get through the swim workout plan, but I did it. I knew the swim was going to be the hardest part for me. I made it through the star fish level of swim lessons back in the day. Basically, I could float in a pool at age 4 if I needed to. This does not mean I am an efficient swimmer at age 30. But I worked and I worked hard every week. I was able to swim the distance before the race.

The nice fellow who said his name was Mike was my rescue kayaker. I surely would have been in worse shape if he had not been right beside me the whole time. I won’t say that I would have drowned, as I was wearing a wetsuit and that provides a certain level of buoyancy. However, he provided the additional words of encouragement as I grabbed the nose of his kayak every 25-50 meters in the race.

It was really a bizarre experience. I would swim along, Mike would tell me how awesome my stroke looked, very long and clean. My lungs would not agree. They gasped for air. My body could not get enough oxygen to continue for more than 25-50 meters. I maybe made it 100 meters without stopping at the most at one time. Mike asked what my number was. I knew why he wanted to know. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make the turn around. Sure, this was the half way mark; I could still make it within the cutoff. The other kayak was telling us the current would help sweep me back. Mike and the other kayak kept telling me there was plenty of time.

Bullshit. I was exhausted by that time. There is something about not being able to breathe that sucks the life out of you. I didn’t give up. I kept swimming. I would hold on to Mike’s kayak until I caught my breath and then I would swim until I could swim no more. At one point he turned me over to another kayak because he needed to ‘go to the shore for a quick moment.’ I knew he was giving the folks at the shore my number to prepare the rest of the race officials for the non-finishers. I did not give up. I would once again swim until I couldn’t swim further. I grabbed the other kayak and gasped for air. Each time I started to swim again the family of five at the shore line would ring their cowbells and cheer in joy and excitement for me. I felt like it was the first time I tried to swim. I couldn’t swim for 25 meters without gasping for air. I had come so far. I had overcome my worst fears. Why couldn’t I just swim? Why wouldn’t my lungs work? I tried to swim again. And I continued to try to swim. My arms ached. My legs cramped. My lungs burned. I didn’t have time to cry.

What are the thoughts that enter your mind at this point? The biggest day of your life? The day that has been written on your mirror for 167 weeks? The day that your work colleagues say they know you by? Is it the words of the friends who mentioned, “you’ve got this” or “you’re an inspiration for me to do something today,” or even “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” No, it’s the ones who say, “just getting to the start line is a win,” or “you’re crazy” or “you don’t need to prove anything,” or “why? It’s not a big deal.” Who the fuck are you? Do you even think of the impact of your “words of encouragement?” How is it that a complete stranger who just happened to be the closest volunteer near me is more encouraging to me than you? As I look around, the only people around me are the swimmers who are floating on their backs gasping for breath and the clean up crews in the jet skis and the motor boats. (This doesn’t help either by the way.) All I can think about is the words from those who “mean well.”

I keep telling myself, just keep swimming. The adrenalin will kick in and I’ll find my rhythm. I still have X minutes. Mike is still encouraging but a little more forceful. “You’ve got to get going if you want to make the cutoff.” So I do. And my calf cramps. I’ve been in the 60 degree water for about 1:55 now. Of course my leg is cramping. If I had been in the pool (I would have been finished with the fucking swim by now) but I surely could have finished the remaining 750 meters or so until the finish line. So I tried. I continued to swim. I couldn’t extend my left foot because the cramping was so bad. I knew there were people who completed the swim without a leg or two, so I continued to kick. Damn, my other leg cramps.

At 9:28, Mike told me I had to stop. The guys with the motorboat who had followed us for the last 45 minutes had to take me to shore. I pulled myself onto the boat because I knew I would pull the guy into the water if he tried to help me. The last bit of energy I had I used to pull myself into that boat. (That’s all I’d need, to be known as the girl who pulled the rescue guy into the water. . .) I knew it would end like this . . .45 minutes into the swim I knew. Today was not my day. Once you’ve trained for an event like this, you know your body. Mine was not able to complete the challenge today. I wouldn’t give up though. I couldn’t. What if I was wrong?

Although I could not hear the announcer, I knew what he already said. I heard it last year. I tried not to think of it every day since I signed up one year ago. It was my worst nightmare coming true. It was the reason I would not go out with my friends. It was the reason I resisted eating fast food. It was the reason I worked so hard every day yet I couldn’t bear to hear the words.

The announcer said, in front of my family and friends that day, I would not be an Ironman.

And on that day, 11/20/2011, number 224’s heart, MY heart broke.

It's in the stars

-"Tremendous internal changes, intense effort, relentless determination, compulsive and irrational drives, and strong assertion of your will are the key issues during this time period. "

-"Balance your aggression so that you don't take your frustration out on others. Focus it on your goals."

Horoscopes make me laugh. I don’t “believe” in them, but I enjoy reading them. These particular two in the past week have made me chuckle.

I especially love the “compulsive and irrational drives” part of the first one. Ha. Indeed. All of my compulsive behaviors are pretty irrational anyway. I sure do love to organize things (even more excited when I can organize by color!) and I need things to be clean and orderly or I have a hard time functioning and focusing. Checklists and I are good friends.

Intense effort and relentless determiniation. Yup, all folks training for the IM have these too. Every time I hope in the pool I think about my own effort. I didn’t swim until January, now I’m about to tackle 2.4 miles. Determination to drag my behind out of bed at 4 am so I can train before the temps hit 110. I’m not sure what I did to piss off Mother Nature so much. Temps soar toward 100 through the end of October and then the first weekend of November, temperatures are in the 40s when I wake up to train? Not ok!

I’m the first one to admit I have a hot temper. Focus my aggression on my goals? The 6-7 hour bike rides have helped with that. It’s a lot easier to push those pedals up the hill if I’m thinking about the bazillion of things that piss me off. ;)

What do the stars have in store for tomorrow? Oh geeze. . .

-"You might focus on romance today, but it's possible that you're having problems figuring out a way to express your feelings. There's power influencing the scene, and certainly no shortage of passion. You might find that there's a bit of superficiality to the situation that makes it hard to commit with all of your energy."

Well there is certainly no time for this silliness! Back to my color-coded checklist to organize my gear and day-of necessities.

This time, in two weeks. . .

This time, in two weeks, I hope to be nearing the finish line. THE FINISH LINE.

I can’t believe the Ironman is less than two weeks away. HOLY COW.

One after another my friends and family members ask if I’m ready. I DON”T KNOW! My answer is yes. Yes, I am ready. I have no choice but to be ready.

Sure, if I had more time I could be more ready. If I had more time, I would spend it swimming around in the chilled open water (with and without a wetsuit). If I had more time, I would make better nutrition decisions and be 20 pounds lighter. If I had more time, I would run faster and longer. If I had more time, I would sleep more. If I had more time, I would continue to find something else I could do to be more ready.

But, I don't have more time. I have to be ok with what I have done to this point and what I can do to finish out the training. I can't think about a few of the crappy workouts or the poor food choices. I can't think about how the lake was closed AGAIN and I have yet to swim in Tempe Town Lake wearing a wetsuit.

What can I do in the next two weeks to make sure I am as ready as possible? I’ll finish out my training plan of course. I am going to make more nutritious food choices (it’s written here, I must do it!). I am going to print out my check lists and get all of my gear in order. I will let people help me (this might be the hardest one of all!).

Random thoughts after happy hour. . .

Time and time again people (I know. . .) ask why I am doing what I’m doing. (Really? Read entry number two.) Sometimes I also wonder why. When the alarm clock rings at 4 am. When I really want to watch the new episode of How I Met Your Mother (but I’m at the gym instead.). When I’m not kicking balls/going to girls’ night/calling you back because I have to train or sleep.

I’ve learned there are other sacrifices too. There are the “friends” who don’t get “it.” (I’m sorry I can’t go to you party that starts at 9 pm. I’m a weenie and need to wake up to train at 4 am. And I need a full 8 hours of sleep in order to do this.) There are the guys who are intimidated by “it.” (Sorry, I’m pretty hard core, if you can’t accept that, you’re not worth it. I don’t NEED you to be hard core. Just accept that I AM hard core and support it.)

Yes, when my pool closes for a “who knows how long” amount of time (less than a month before the IM), I’m going to stress out. Yes, when my knee hurts, I’m going to stress out. Yes, when it is still 95 degrees at the end of October, I am going to stress out. Let me stress out. Listen to me stress out.

Accept that I am crabby. Do you know what I am about to put my body and my mind through? No? Then shut the fuck up. Listen. I have an idea of what I’m going to go through, but in all reality, I have no idea. I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m terrified in fact. Unless you’ve been there, done that, shut up. Even if you have been there/done that, I don’t want to hear your bullshit. Give me information I can use.

Not one of you will know how I feel, what I’ve overcome to be here today. What I’ve gone through to get to the finish line in three weeks. That’s ok. I don’t expect you to. I ask that you empathize with what I go through. The sacrifices I’ve made. I’m sorry I can’t keep in touch as much or talk on the phone as long. I have to sleep. I have to train. If you can’t understand that, I’m sorry.

My eyes swell up with tears each and every time I visualize the finish line experience (and I’m a cold heartless bitch, this is a huge deal!). It starts as I make the final turn into the home stretch. I pause. I draw a deep breath. My eyes swell. I move toward the finish line. I find my family and friends (ideally, they’ll be on the same side . . . toward the bottom of the grandstands .hint. hint. hint.) I high five folks as I pass by. I cross the finish line (with a pose that is yet to be determined, but super awesome and by far my best finish line photo yet/ever.).

This is definitely one of the most important moments of my life. It’s interesting to visualize that moment and to think about who will be there. (Also, who won’t be there.)Who actually can’t be there vs. which folks just don’t ‘get it.’

Adventures in Swimming: Part III

I will start by saying that I would never be able to swim in the open water without wearing a wetsuit. I’m not a huge fan of the ‘open water.’ Family vacations back in the day included trips to the lake where we’d boat, jet ski, tube, water ski, etc. Once, we jumped into the lake from the boat. It was horrible. My heart immediately started pounding and I couldn’t catch my breath. I don’t like going into the ocean past my knee (Hawaiian coast not included). I’m not a fan of swimming around with plants and creatures and crawlies and grossness (I realize some of these exist in the pool too, but I usually can’t see it. Grossest thing I see in the pool-hair. Shiver. I hate wet hair. Gross.).

Tempe Town Lake (where Ironman AZ swims) is not open to ‘open swimming.’ You can only swim in the lake if it is a part of a race. This is quite unfortunate. I have spent some time getting used to the open water in one of the other local lakes. It is gross and disgusting. The first time I swam there, I maybe used one freestyle stroke before I freaked out and switched to breast stroke. It was rough. I was scared. I couldn’t see anything; I didn’t know what was around me. Thank goodness my lifeguard Kristin was around (and Becky and Karen at other times)!

I now have a wetsuit (last time I buy a used wetsuit on eBay. . .) which helps tremendously. It seriously has changed my life in the swim. I float with the wetsuit on. The anxiety of sinking to the bottom of the lake goes away. It’s too bad that there is so much debris and weeds and other creepies in the lake that freak me out. I’m able to swim pretty well while wearing the wetsuit. I just focus on my breathing and my form. Visibility in this lake is roughly twelve inches. I can’t see my hand the water is so murky. Swim swim swim in the little swimming hole swim swim swim. Until I notice I’m in a giant pile of weeds! Panic panic panic in the little swimming hole panic panic panic.

I raced in my first open water triathlon a couple of weeks ago in Tempe Town Lake. I was ready for the grossness. I have been running there for quite a few years. It smells, there is a film on the water sometimes. It’s gross. (One of the dams popped last year so the water is now relatively ‘fresh’ which is awesome. And I’ve now seen the bottom.) It was the end (according to the calendar) of a record-breaking-heat summer so the water was a comfortable 81 degrees. This meant the water was not cold enough for me to wear my wetsuit. I was nervous! My first open water swim race, without the comfort of my wetsuit! AHH.

My group bobbed in the water waiting for our turn to go. There was a smidge of chaos for the first minute or so. I was prepared for this (I’ve been trying to mentally prepare for the group start of the IM. AHH). I started to swim. One, two, three breathe. One, two, three breathe. This wasn’t so bad; until I found myself in the shadow of the Mill Avenue bridge. I could not see a thing in the shadow. I started to panic. Where are the people in the handy dandy kayaks for my panic attack? No where near me (or the start), that’s where! But, I was ready, I expected to panic. I started my panic plan: breaststroke until I catch my breath then freestyle again. I never caught my breath. The attack got worse. There were no kayaks that were close! I felt each one I moved toward started to move away from me. I made the first turn around the buoy. I thought I’d free style after I turned the second buoy. Nope.

I make it back at the dreaded Mill Avenue bridge. I decide I will freestyle the rest of the race (roughly 300 meters or so). I suck it up and I try. I panic worse than I thought I physically could. My heart was about to pound out of my chest. I had to flip over to my back to try and catch my breath. So I treaded water and flailed my arms to move in a forward motion until I reached the end.

I reached the end (1500 meters), completely exhausted. I could barely pull my leg high enough to step out of the lake. It was ridiculous. But I did it.

I learned a few important lessons about open water swimming:
-Tempe Town Lake’s water is not near as gross as the other lake. There was a slight smell at one point, but had I been swimming normally, I’m sure I would not have noticed.
-Getting kicked around and dodging other swimmers is a nice distraction from the murkiness of the lake.
-Don’t rely on the people in the kayaks to help or be close at all when you need them.
-Praise and thank God for wetsuits.

Bike Fun

I don’t actually remember when I learned to ride a bike. I’m sure I was around four or so, whatever the ‘normal’ age is. I totally remember my first bike though. It was pink and purple and it had a matching bag that velcroed to the handlebars. I put some of those plastic dealies (the proper term, I’m sure) on the spokes so they’d click as I pedaled away. Unless I pedaled too fast and then the centrifugal force held the dealies to the rim (I think centrifugal force, it has been roughly 10 years since I’ve thought of physics, much less the correct vocabulary). I loved that bike!

One year, my sister and I both received shinny new 10-speed mountain bikes from Santa. It was awesome! The weather that day was perfect and we were able to give them a spin around the block on Christmas Day. I couldn’t believe how fast I could go on that bike. My friend Bryan and I would ride our bikes everywhere. What freedom we had. We had this really fun game (looking back now . . . really fun=ridiculously stupid) where we’d ride down the block as fast as we could. Once we got to my house we’d zip up the driveway into the yard between my house and the next door neighbor’s. We’d throw ourselves off of our bikes to see how far they’d go without us on them. I’d often find myself rolling into the brick house. It’s not like we wore helmets for this little activity. It’s a miracle we never broke anything! I do believe these dismount exercises will serve a good purpose if I ever need to ‘tuck and roll’ during a bike workout.

I remember how ‘cool’ I felt to ride my bike to school. I had this pretty awesome lock with the different number dials to turn that secured it on the bike racks. Eventually, riding a bike wasn’t as fun anymore. The bike was replaced with a car. Even when I went to college, I chose roller blades over a bike as my mode of transportation around campus. Once I lived off campus though, I purchased another bike. This served me well through my last few years of college. I would probably still ride it if someone hadn’t jumped my fence and stolen it out of my back “yard.”

Then I purchased my cheapo $75 bike from Target. I definitely got what I paid for! Others would ride it and wonder how I could get by. Each pedal stroke was a challenge. After over a year of commuting to work on that bike, it pooped out. I am lucky to have a friend sell me his really nice road bike. I have shaved my commute time from 17 minutes to 7 (if I hit the lights right). It’s crazy! It’s also scary that I can go so fast on that bike. I now wear my helmet every day. Helmet hair at work is definitely worth it!

I am also lucky enough to have a generous colleague who is loaning me her tri bike for the Ironman. In the nine or so months I’ve been riding it, I’ve become a much better tire changer and pedal clip in and outer. The aero bars also took some getting used to, but each ride I feel more comfortable and more in control. It happens to be pink, which is fantastic!

I’ve had a few adventures on the bike (details to come). I like to cycle the actual IM course, which is covered with debris and traffic flies by at high speeds. Dogs have chased me. I’ve had flat tires, tingly toes and numb girly bits. I’ve completed the bulk of my cycle miles in temperatures of 90 and up. So far, I haven’t had to use my tuck and roll moves. I hope I don’t have to!

Adventures in Swimming: Part II

As time has gone by and I’ve spent more time in the pool . . . I’m not as terrible a swimmer as I used to be. This is good news. While I don’t gasp for breath after a mere 25 m anymore, I still shake my head at some of the weird, weird people who I encounter.

The two middle aged men are still around. They still stare. There are more people in the pool these days, so I don’t feel as creeped out as I used to by them.

There’s a young fellow, maybe 30, maybe 35, maybe 20, I really have no idea. I’m quite sure he is a compulsive exerciser (or a triathlete). ((I say compulsive exerciser only because I hardly ever see men do this much cardio in the gym. Sure I see them spend hours and hours lifting weights, but not hit all of the different cardio machines in one day!)) No matter what time I get to the gym in the mornings, this kid is working out. He is on some sort of cardio equipment (usually the treadmill). I honestly didn’t know the treadmill could go as fast as this kid runs on it. He’s ‘that’ guy who makes all sorts of racket with his heavy breathing and elephant-heavy stomping. But he’s fast. Eventually he heads to the pool. His swimming style is not too different than the treadmill. He slaps and pounds at the water. Not graceful at all, but he’s fast. Sometimes I race him, just for funzies. I can usually just beat him, or keep up with him for the 25 meter length of the pool. He then flips around and keeps going, I gasp for air. I’m not sure how many laps he does. I’m sure it is at least twice what I do and he beats me out of the pool too.

There are three swim lanes at my LA Fitness. The two lanes on the end are pretty wide could easily be divided into two additional lanes. I don’t mind sharing a lane, especially one of the large ones. I do, however, get annoyed when I’m in the middle, narrow lane and end up sharing a lane because the dipshits in the wide lanes are too bullheaded to volunteer and share their lanes. I feel bad if I swim 50 or 100 meters and the other folks don’t ask the poor person lurking about if s/he’d like to share a lane. There is a certain etiquette when it comes to sharing pool lanes and ideally, you would share with someone who swims at about the same rate as you do. I am not fast, so slow swimmers are my ideal lane sharers.

There is one lady I absolutely will not share a lane with (not that anyone else wants to either or can for that matter). I will call her “lady who should learn how to swim.” I totally understand the people who need to do workouts in the pool. . . the water is easier on their joints. .. rehab . . . blah blah blah. There’s a whole other group of people (lady who should learn how to swim) who just make up their own little swim stroke and call it a workout. Boy is this an annoying workout! If she can’t get into a lane right away (she won’t share with people) she grunts and talks loudly to the folks in the hot tub about how annoyed she is about having to wait for a lane. Once she does get her own lane (she prefers the double-wide lanes) she doggy paddles a few times down and back as a warm up. A part of the stroke she uses for her ‘workout’ I’m sure does actually exist. . . for the two year old swim class where the kiddos are just learning how to float on their backs. She uses the frog kick of the breaststroke. Her arms then start in with some sort of chopping motion while her mid-section gyrates up and down. When I first saw it, I thought she was drowning. Not so lucky. She does this regularly. I thought it must be a good workout, otherwise, why would she do it? So, I tried it (in my own little pool, no one around. . .). It was awkward and not at all a good workout. Why wouldn’t one just learn how to swim properly? And above all, don’t bitch and moan because your ridiculous acrobatic trick in the pool does not allow you to share a lane with other people. You can wait your turn for such ridiculousness.

Recently, there has been this other guy at the pool. If I had to guess, I’d say grad student in the school of engineering. He saw that I had my workout written down and asked what I was doing. I told him I was training for a triathlon. He then proceeds to tell me that he has never swum before. Ever. This was his first time in the pool. He runs but he’s looking to do triathlons too. Good for him. He then proceeds to tell me what is wrong with my swim stroke. My hand enters without slapping the water (hmm) and I’m not kicking. A of all. . . did you not just tell me you have never swum before? B of all, I’m doing a drill where I don’t kick. I thanked him for the feedback. Explained I’m doing a drill where I’m not supposed to kick to help build arm strength, etc. He goes on to critique my form, as he takes his swim cap out of its original packaging.

There is an older woman the following week who I am sharing a lane with. She came in talking to her friend about how much fun she had with a triathlon she finished in New Mexico over the weekend. She also had feedback for my swim stroke. She started by asking if I am a total immersion swimmer. I said I don’t have any of the books or videos about it, no. She said the same thing about the way my hand enters as the other guy and that it follows the total immersion style of swimming perfectly. Hmm. Interesting. She then pointed to the water slapper next to us and compared the styles. Thank you lady for the productive feedback on my ‘more efficient’ swim stroke.  She also gave me some additional technique pointers.

Every day is a new lesson in the pool. I sure hope I’m doing enough. I hope I’m fast enough. My swim continues to be the source of the most race anxiety. I’ve been working on some open water swims with the wetsuit. So far they’ve been ok. I still get freaked out by the random gross things in the lake. I really wish I could give it a whirl in Tempe Town Lake where the race will be. I am racing the Nathan Tri at the end of the month. I doubt the water temperature will be low enough for wetsuits. How on earth will I survive the open water swim without a wetsuit?! AHHH! I’m trying not to think of that too much. AHHH!

Well shit

Warning: Entry might not be appropriate for people who don’t like to talk/read about poop.

What is the most common response when I would mention I’m training for a marathon (has not changed when I say Ironman instead of marathon)? “Oh, hey, great job!” “That’s quite the commitment.” “How do you find the time?” “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.” Hmm. None of these.

“You’re going to shit your pants.”

I’d rather have, “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.”

A little background: I’m not a runner. I’ve never been a runner. I’ve always been the big girl. I play defense. I shoot the ball. I don’t like to run. I don’t run. Long distance used to mean a quarter mile lap around the track to me.

Until I decided to attempt the Ironman. All of a sudden, I needed to be a runner.

When I decided I’d start this little adventure, I was roughly 40 pounds overweight and miserable. I joined Weight Watchers. I signed up for my first marathon (three years ago this week). All of a sudden, I needed to run. I needed to run regularly. When I get “in to something,” I really get into it. So I focused heavily on eating within my points and making sure I did not skip a workout.

There’s something about eating reasonable, healthy portions of food and increasing the amount you run. It really does a number on your digestive tract. All of a sudden I had these amazing poops. (My system had been a little “off” since I tried the yogurt with the ‘probiotics.’ Nothing really worked as consistently as it once had.) But man when I’d run, it’d get things going again. Sure exercise is supposed to help with those things anyway, but this was great. I knew once I returned home, I’d have a nice healthy shit. The running must have jiggled things loose or something.

Never while I trained for my first marathon did I have digestive tract issues. I take that back. Mile 23-ish: I saw the porta potty. I thought, “I kind of have to go, I should stop.” I didn’t’ stop. I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t get going again. So I kept running. The sensation passed. I knew the “you’re going to shit your pants” people were full of, well, shit. I made it through marathon #1 with no pooping of the pants issues.

There’s a different feeling when you poop because of running (or at least what I’ll blame on running) versus when you just have to go. It’s not an “it’s that time of day, I should go to the restroom” kind of feeling. It’s a sensation that starts in your side. It’s not really like diarrhea . . .where you can feel the pain scoot down your intestine, and you know how fast you should get to the restroom based on how fast the scoot is down your intestine. It’s not a “sit on the pot hoping something comes out” type of feeling. This is more of a sudden jolt in your side and you need to go now kind of feeling. Well, mine is anyway. My other “I’m not a runner” friends and I have discussed the running shits often (who else can you talk to about this?). The running shits are not always urgent. At the time, mine tended to be pretty urgent. Mine were pretty painful. I would cripple over in pain it was so bad.

I started training for my second marathon in August, 2009. I was going to run the Rock & Roll Vegas marathon in December. Training was going well. I felt strong, felt fast (for me). Then shit happened. My job cut back hours (and pay), more shit happened (yes, he’s an asshole). By the end of October, with no job duties on Friday, I was drinking a few too many shots of whiskey after Thursday night kickball. I told myself it worked out perfectly. My house was the exact distance to the bar (where my car was parked) as my Friday morning training runs were. Serendipity, right?

I didn’t really eat those few months prior to the Vegas marathon, I just drank. Heavily. There’s a different feeling when you poop because your liver is bleeding versus when you just have to go. All of a sudden, the “you’re going to shit your pants” line sounded like something that could happen.

The Vegas marathon was a horrible experience for me. The short story: it was too soon. I ran from porta potty to porta potty. I thought for sure I was going to shit my pants. It’s not like running produces a nice solid log coming out either. No, this is the runny, melted milkshake squirting out my ass.

I am pleased to say, I made it through the Vegas marathon without shitting my pants. I thought on at least three occasions that I would have to, but by the grace of God, I made it to the next porta potty each time.

Eventually I laid off the whiskey and my liver stopped bleeding. I worked full time again (with the full time pay, always a bonus). I still had cramping and pain when running, but it was manageable. The area I frequent to run my workouts is nice: I know exactly where the restrooms are and how long it takes me to get there.

A year later, my third marathon experience sucked for a completely different reason. But it seems that my intestinal distress while running has subsided. I now very rarely have intestinal issues. This morning I had the same pain, but nothing urgent. I know right now it has to do with the heat and my body working to keep cool enough.

I’ve always said that I’m not in these races to cross the finish line before anyone; it’s a competition against me. I will make time to stop at the porta potty if I need to. I’m not going to lose any money or anything if I do stop for a bathroom break. I’m not going to win the race, or win my age group because I shit my pants instead of stopping at the porta potty. Shitting my pants is not winning.

The final countdown (do do do doooo do do do do dooo ) Part I

Tomorrow I start the “Ironman-Specific Base” of training. AHH. Week 13. Half way through the training program. AHH. I’m totally not ready. The swim workouts are still a challenge. I am just not fast. What if I’m not fast enough to make the cutoff? AHH!

I’ll start doubling and tripling up on workouts in this phase. Some of them are optional, so we’ll see how I feel. AHH. I don’t want to overtrain, but at the same time, I don’t want to get to the start line grossly undertrained either. AHHH.

I signed up for a local Olympic distance that takes place at the end of September. According to the race website, race day weather tends to have lows in the mid 60s and highs in the 90s. I can’t even imagine what this feels like right now. I run in the mornings, starting before the sun rises, and it is 92 degrees outside. Is it really going to cool down 25 degrees in a month? I sure hope so. I don’t know how much more of this training in the heat crap I can take!

I know what you're thinking. . . "Why don’t you run on a treadmill?" Treadmills are all well and good for people who run 30 minutes at a time and/or don’t sweat. I need to run longer and I need a giant fan to blow on me or I sweat worse than I do outside. The treadmills at the gym I go to have fans in them, sort of. The fans don’t adjust up, so my boobs get a nice gentle puff of air.

As long as I hit the pavement before the sun is too intense, I’ll run outside. There is hope for a gentle breeze and at least I’m going somewhere. I don’t hear the thump thump thump of my body bouncing around on the belt. I don’t worry about my neighbors hearing me gasp for breath. Running outside allows me to just run with no auto shut off after 30 minutes.

I feel like I’ve been struggling with the workouts lately. Yay, the excessive heat warning has been extended another day. I’m quite sure I suffered some minor heat stroke on Saturday after my run. I get disappointed when I don’t run as fast as I normally do (I know I shouldn’t expect to in the heat, but I still want to!) and can’t make it as far.

The bike ride isn’t as bad, since I create my own “wind.” This morning was particularly nice. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, so I wasn’t as scared for my life as I normally am. There weren’t too many cyclists out either. Seemed like just me out there. Me and the random coyote crossing the highway, and the rabbits who thought it was fun to run along the shoulder next to me, and the other stray dogs I carefully passed as I biked through the Res. Good times dodging all of my furry friends. The view was awesome though. There was a slight haze right after sunrise. It cast a nice view in the early morning desert this morning. The haze burned away by the time I turned around to come back. I was nice and drippy by the time I got home. All of this sweat is cleansing in some way, right?

Anyway, I have three weeks of the Iron-Specific Base (which seems to mean longer & harder weekday workouts) then I move into Race Prep (which means super long rides & runs). AHHH. Then three weeks of taper. I can’t believe we’re only 12 weeks away from race day. AHHH. And by race day, I’m sure I’ll be complaining about how it’s too cold to work out outside.

Cold Heartless Bitch

I am a CHB: Cold Heatless Bitch. For many reasons, but mostly because I don’t have many emotions. Annoyed and really effin pissed off are the two that seem to show up the most often (and this is why I run long distances).

Needless to say, I don’t cry often. I try not to let the random shit that happens in my life have any sort of crying affect on me. There was a brief time I would shed a tear or two when drunk (or not drunk enough), but that time has passed. I really only cry if someone close to me has passed away. (Most recently, my Uncle Don in April.) I do empathize (on occasion) with people who have feelings. I just don’t let their situations get to me.

Until today . . . today I cry. Now I know what it feels like to have my heart break in complete disbelief and disappointment.

I was told today, “don’t count on us coming out in November.”

"What?"

“Well Dad doesn’t think he can switch vacation around.”

"Well, you can still fly out."

“Well, I don’t know what my physical therapy schedule will look like.”

"I think you can miss one day of physical therapy to come support me in something I’ve been working three years toward. People from all over the country are coming out, but not my own parents? Really?!"

Rob Thomas said it best, “This is how a heart breaks.” Indeed, this is how a cold and nonexistent heart breaks.

Double Digits & Hitting the Wall

Less than 100 days away. AHHHH!

This past week I did zero training. I had grandiose plans of working out after work (new student orientation=early early mornings). Yeah, didn’t happen. Now I feel behind. Really behind in my training.

I had a great long run on Saturday morning. It’s amazing what cloud cover can do for your morale. I still did not run fast, but I did run for a solid 105 minutes. It felt great. I had zero pain (except the burning from the sweat dripping in my eyes). The clouds did provide some protection from the sun’s direct rays beating down upon me, but they also provided me with some thick humidity. I felt like I was running in a steam room. It was gross, yet cleansing. Every outdoor workout I have I think “there’s no way I could sweat more than I am right now.” Hmm, until the next workout. It’s freakin gross. There was not a single dry spot on my entire body. My hair was wet like I just jumped in the pool. I could squeeze sweat from my little wristband that I use to wipe the sweat from my face. Disgusting! I also need to run on Sundays. The run really zaps my energy for anything I need to do the rest of the weekend.

Biking in the heat isn’t as bad for me. I create my own “wind” on the bike, so I don’t feel drops of sweat pouring out of every pore on my body. It’s not until I stop at a light or have to change a flat or something before I realize how hot I am. I do need to wear a different color shorts. My ass is on fire when traveling west back toward my house at the end of the ride. Speaking of ass on fire . . . how the hell am I supposed to sit on that bike seat for hours on end anyway? Good grief! The little tiny pad in the tri shorts does nothing. It’s like sitting on a Kleenex. Why bother really? My friend Colin has told me about some special cream that the ladies in his tri club use. I need to try that stuff out! I guess the pain is a distraction from the cars whizzing by going 80 mph. The only thing that separates us is the white line painted on the road. Is it really necessary to cut it that close? Three feet folks, give the cyclists three feet. PLEASE.

It is going to be a miracle I even make it to race day. I have my first official injury today. I wasn’t even doing anything related to training either. Frustration! For some weird reason, when the lock in the back door of my car is flipped to “lock,” it locks all of the doors. Is this safe? What if some baby in a carseat locked the door accidentally (or grown adult)? Anyway, I somehow locked the door while vacuuming at the carwash. Inside is my purse, my phone and of course and my keys. Uhg. Do I know a single phone number? (No, especially not in a time of panic.) So, I had to go home and hop the fence in my backyard. I’m sooo glad I had my HOA add that extra foot. Yay. The stucco is especially fun to climb over as well, in 106 degree temps and zero shade (totally could have been hotter today though, lucky it wasn’t). It would have been much easier had I been wearing tennis shoes, but NOOO, I’m in some rinky dinky flip flops. Yay. I’m glad my neighbors were in the pool. They were able to give me the broken plastic chair to prop myself up with as I tried to hoist my body over the fence. My neighbor didn’t find it amusing when I asked if I could borrow his kid to crawl through my doggy door and let me in my house. “Well you have that barbed wire on top.” (Insert hick accent while dragging on a cigarette.) A. I do not have barbed wire around my fence, it is wrought iron. B. I was clearly joking, as your five year old is larger than I am and my dog is a dachshund.

And now the chair is broken in two places and my right side has a few gashes and bruises. Skin grows back right? Right. Now, I’m in decent shape. I mean, we’re 98 days from the Ironman. I do need to work on two things. Upper body strength and stretching. Had my hammies not been so stinking tight, I could have bent my leg up that high a little faster and I would have made it on attempt number one before the hot stucco burned my skin and the chair gave way. Had I been wearing appropriate shoes, I could have taken a running start and hoisted myself (although, also risk impaling myself on the “barbed wire”). Or, if my upper body strength was half of what my leg strength is, I could have held on to the “barbed wire” and pulled myself up. After a few more tries, I was able to get over my fence. (As my neighbor and his kids watched by the way. Could they maybe offer a step stool or anything to help me over? No. Assholes. I always knew they were, but this just confirms my own stereotyped opinions of them. My back yard faces the pool. They watched the whole time. It was awesome.) I retrieved my secret key from my secret hiding spot (that has since been moved so you can’t rob me) and hopped back over.

The bleeding has now stopped and the bruising is looking pretty cool. One bruise runs all the way down my forearm. My wrist hurts a lot. I hope it doesn’t affect my swimming. It happens to be in the perfect spot for rubbing the wrong way on the aerobars on the bike. Yay. At least my feet & legs are ok. I have a big gash on my toe and another near my knee (darn you stucco!) but, ‘tis just a flesh wound (with some deep bruises).

I guess this injury makes for a better story than “I’m over-trained” or “I was hit by a car” or “I drowned.” I hope this is my only injury too . . . when I literally hit a wall. It should be relatively quick healing (hopefully, my luck with bruises. . .) A bonus too. . . it’s not an overuse injury, so I have no excuses to skip out on training this week. Back to the grind! It’s safer out on the roads anyway. I wear protective gear and there’s no broken attack chairs lurking about.

" . . . because I will be an Ironman."

Welcome to my life:

A whole lotta random!

Holy cow, I can't believe it's August!

Actually, July, 31. But close enough. Holy cow! Can time slow down just a smidge please?!

I have completed eight weeks of my “Start to Finish: 24 Weeks to an Endurance Triathlon” training plan. I feel like it’s going pretty well. I work hard during my workouts. I complete them: at ridiculous hours of the day where no one should be awake, much less working out. But, I drag my butt out of bed and hit the pool/pavement/weights and get my workouts in. I am still doing the weights at home. I will overcome my gym weight room anxiety by the end of week 10! Yes I will!

Actually, I very rarely feel like I’m dragging anything out of bed to work out. M-F, the TV in my bedroom clicks on at 4:40, at this time I know I have five minutes to lay in bed and think about how lucky I am to be able to train for this event. 4:45 comes along and my phone alarm goes off. I mosey out of bed, brush my teeth, toss on my workout gear, feed & medicate the dog, eat a little snack and I’m out the door anywhere from 5 to 5:15, depending on what I feed myself and if I’ve prepared my workout beverages the night before.

I am not a fast swimmer, so I swim as much of the workout as I can in the 90 or so minutes I’m at the gym. I usually come within 500 m of the entire workout and according to the coaches, I *should* be able to add or subtract 1000 m of the workout and be ok in the pool for 60-90 minutes at a time for now. *Should.*

Side note: Who the hell can add 1000 m to the workout? And finish it in 90 minutes?! Holy hell! That’s almost a 5000 m workout right now! Good grief. Clearly someone who has been swimming a lot longer than I have!

Anyhow, I finish the bike workouts and run workouts. I moved the bike to the gym this past week. Frankly, it’s easier to complete the mid-week bike workouts on the spin bikes at the gym than it is on the trainer at home or outside. The runs are not bad. I now have a heart rate monitor so I can gauge my level of exertion (and calories burned) more accurately. It’s pretty much amazing. I do need to try and position it in a bit of a different spot, as my left boob gets a lil more action than it should from it. At least, I assume it’s the HRM rubbing a hole in it. . .

Each marathon I have trained for, I run laps around Tempe Town Lake and I start running these laps in August. How much worse can it be running laps around Tempe Town Lake in June & July? I really need to stop asking questions like this. It is absolutely ridiculous in June in July. I may have one drop of moisture left in my body by the time I get home. I wake up and it is 89 degrees. At 4:40 in the morning! My Thursday runs are only around 70 minutes. I wake up at 4 on the weekends to try and squeeze as much time before the sun rises as I can. I sweat like no person should ever have to sweat. I don’t sweat as much sitting in a sauna as I do on these runs. Thank you monsoon season for bringing humidity which equals early morning clouds; even though it is harder to breathe in the thick ‘humid’ air of the desert.

I choose to run outside. I could run on the treadmill at the gym. I find it incredibly frustrating though. The max is 30 minutes at a time and it is not fun to restart the workout twice. I also sweat just as much inside. At least there is no one else around (who else is crazy enough to run outside this time of year?) to see my “cleanse” when I run outside, plus I can work on my tan. . .

Occasionally I have a fast run. (Fast for me is not fast for a runner, by the way. Fast for me is less than a 10 min mile.) Two weeks ago I was almost giddy when I clocked an 8:55 pace for the T-run off the bike (sure it was only 3 miles, but still!). That same week I ran a 9:45 for my average pace on the Thursday 70 min run. I was stoked! I was then super sad this last week when my fastest time was 10:40. WTF?! So I’m pissed off at this point.

Well shit. Now that I type this out, I realize how important what I put in my mouth is to my training.

About five of the eight weeks, I’ve been super focused about what I eat. Week 1, and weeks 4-7 I wrote down everything that went in my mouth. I tracked calories, protein, carbs and fat (well, my handy dandy app tracked it.). I wanted to make sure I was eating the right foods to fuel my workouts. Imagine my frustration when I bust my ass working out and eating right and see zero budge in the scale. Ahh, take that back. I see an upward swing in the scale. Holy cow I was pissed.

So, entering week 8, I’m pissed. Screw you food. And I do what I do when I’m pissed: I eat all sorts of emotions and don’t care about what I’m putting in my mouth. I wrote nothing down. I ate whatever I wanted, not paying attention to the quality of food I’m swallowing. (Still no fast food though!)

Sigh. Back to nutrient-dense foods I go. Maybe I secretly knew this earlier today when I bought my groceries for the week. The most “exciting” item I purchased was a package of English Muffins. My cart was full of fresh fruits and veggies and lean protein. I suppose this should be my ‘exciting’ when it comes to food anyway.

I think I will always be frustrated by food and my weight. I have been able to lose over ten pounds in one week (and keep it off). I’ve also been known to gain ten pounds in a week. I wish I could find that balance that would help me reach and maintain a healthy weight. Each time I get down where I want to be I think, “I’m going to keep this up, I feel awesome.” It usually doesn’t last long. I try not to live by the scale, but it is sooooo hard! Uhg. I want to be the girl who just wants to fit into a size yadda yadda and it doesn’t matter what I weight. But it does. I’ll always qualify as a heavyweight in races. I’ve accepted that. I just don’t want to be the one crossing the finish line and folks say, “well, I don’t know how she trained for this and still looks like THAT.”

Well, this is my super random post of the journey (drink!) of my training and weight struggles/frustrations. I’m off to bed. The pool and I have a date in the morning.

Adventures in Swimming: Part I

I may have mentioned a time or two that I am not what you can consider a strong swimmer. I’m not so comfortable in the pool for many reasons: swimming is hard; I don’t like wearing a swim suit; people are idiots.

Swimming is getting a little easier for me. Yay. I finally do not feel like I’m flailing about all the time in the pool. Every once in a while I find myself in a rhythm and I feel like I can go forever. . .or at least 2.4 miles. . .in a 3.5’ deep pool with a line on the bottom and no people near me.

I tend to work out first thing in the morning. I usually don’t have an excuse to miss an early workout. By the time I’m finished with work, I do not want to head to the gym. There is a different type of person who works out after work than before. It may just be the particular gym I go to, but it seems to me the folks who go to the gym after work are the ones looking for a date more than a good workout (sweeping generalization, I know.). There are people socializing and talking to each other while they work out. The folks who are around at 5, 5:30 in the morning are there to get down to business. They don’t really make eye contact with anyone; you don’t see women backcombing their hair and touching up their lipstick before hopping on the treadmill at 5:30 am.

I like to hit the pool by 5:30. Any time before 6 is great as I am usually the first one in the pool. By 6:15 people start to shuffle in to swim or to hop in the hot tub. There are these two older middle-aged men who get in the hot tub for at least 30 if not 45 minutes. It was weird to me. My very first swim workout, one guy left the hot tub and headed to the locker room. His friend hopped into the lane next to me. He waited for me to stop (which, to be honest was not long, again, not a strong swimmer). He then decided he needed to talk to me. Seriously? I’m in the pool. Do not talk to me. I am gasping for breath. “You just started working out here?” (Gag.) “Uhm, no. I’ve just started swimming here though.” “Oh, I like to swim. (Gag.) What’s your name?” (Gag.) “Jeanne.” “My name’s yadda yadda. Nice to meet you.” (Gag.) I clearly need to swim. “Well, I’m going to continue my workout now.” I continued with my workout. This guy barely doggy paddles half way down, turns around and goes back. “Well, I’ll see you next time. If you have any questions about the gym, just ask me.” Seriously? I felt like this guy and his friend watched me from then on. They still creep me out.

That same day another guy gets in the pool. I’m still gasping for breath at the end of each 25 m swim. “You sure are a good swimmer, can you coach me?” (Gag) “I am not a good swimmer. I took lessons from Tempe Parks and Rec. You should check them out.” He continues to tell me how he has to swim because he’s a runner and he has an injury and blah blah blah. Who are these people!? It’s not like the lap pool is the place to strike up a conversation. This isn’t some pool party where we all have cocktails and we’re lounging around the pool. I am trying to workout! The pool is not like the treadmill or the bikes at the gym where you can easily have a conversation and still do something. In the pool, you’re either swimming or you’re not. I try to be friendly. I don’t want to be perceived as the bitchy girl at the pool. But geeze! I go to the gym at the crack of dawn and I really don’t want to talk to anyone (Unless I’m asking, “would you like to share my lane.” More on that later.).

I am now a better swimmer. Thank goodness! I no longer have to stop every 25 m (unless I’m doing sprints) to catch my breath. Those of us who are regular swimmers in the pool don’t need to talk to each other and we rarely do. It is fabulous.

Nutrition

I’ve entered the part of training where I am hungry all of the time. It may not even be the training. I am trying to choose nutrient filled foods to fuel my workout. This is different than my normal eating where I choose foods to satisfy some other sort of “hunger” (I’m bored, I’m stressed, I’m happy, I’m sad).

I am trying hard to eat when my body is physically hungry and needs food. I am trying really hard to choose snacks and meals that are nutrient-dense to make sure I have the energy and power to get through my work day in addition to my workouts.

So far, I’ve been successful.

It’s been three days.

I’m starting to worry about the ‘fourth’ aspect of the Ironman triathlon: nutrition. There is a delicate balance of energy my body needs to complete this thing. Believe me; I have PLENTY of “energy stores” packed away in my body. It’s really unfortunate that they aren’t as readily available to burn off as I’d like. Where is the button to push to get immediate access to that “energy.” “Oh, I’ve been running for four hours, I could use an energy boost. How about this inch I can pinch here? Yes, done!”

That would be so nice. Instead, I munch on a serving of almonds.

My normal pre-marathon breakfast is something like this: 1 c oatmeal, 1 banana, 1 c coffee, 1 GU packet. This is after a full night’s sleep. This is not the best option for my pre-marathon meal during the Ironman. The logistics behind having hot, fresh oatmeal on the bike are tricky in itself. I need to replenish my depleted energy plus get a little excess fuel to survive.

I guess I will be drinking a lot of “stuff” on the bike. I need to find something that I can enjoy at mile 25 as well as mile 105. It needs to be enough to refuel and store but not too much to cause GI problems (another blog about my experience with this soon, aren’t you excited?!). I have started experimenting with what to consume on the course. I was not at all impressed with my recent product at first. By the end of the two hours on the bike it wasn’t so bad. I suppose it is better that it got better as the ride went on instead of getting worse?

Choosing the right foods includes getting the appropriate carb/protein/fluids balance from my food. Carbs to replenish my glycogen stores, protein to build & repair muscle, fluids to hydrate. I’ve been doing a little research to see what this should look like for me. In my three days of serious focus, I can tell I need some work in the protein department.

I will burn upwards of 10,000 calories on race day. I need to make sure my glycogen stores are fully loaded. I’ll carbo load for a few days prior to the race. According to some basic math from one source, I should eat 832 g of carbs to carbo load (in one carbo loading day). This equals about 3,330 calories from just carbs. (YES! How many carbs are in Kraft’s Deluxe Mac & Cheese? Oh wait. . .back to that nutrient dense thing. . .)

This time, in five months. . .

Today is 6/20. This time in five months, I will Ironmaning away. Every time the 20th of the month rolls around I think of this. Each Sunday, I think of how many Sundays away it is until I compete. Then I panic. Only five months away. Only 22 Sundays away. Deep breaths.

I’m sure after the Ironman I will think, “this time last week/month, I was swimming/biking/running/hobbling/hallucinating.”

Some days I’m super excited. Some days, I’m super scared. Today I’m terrified. I’m doubtful. I’m wondering what the hell I was ever thinking to sign up for the Ironman. I struggled just putting air in my bike tire today! For crying out loud!

I didn’t drown in the pool this morning. That’s always a good thing. It was actually one of the best swim workouts I’ve had in a long time. Each workout makes me stronger (or something like that). I learn valuable lessons even if I have a “bad” one. I am confident tomorrow will be better. I will at least workout the anxiety, frustration and stress of today on the bike. That’ll be fun.

And when my alarm rings at 4:55 tomorrow morning, I can think, “this time in five months, I will be sleeping in!” (Hopefully not at the hospital!)

You've got to want it

I celebrated my 30th birthday by drinking all day. I had a great time celebrating with friends. My friend Staci celebrated her birthday by running the Rock & Roll Marathon in San Diego. A bit of a different type of birthday party than what most people have. I traveled to San Diego to cheer her, celebrate her big day and spend some time with my friends who now live in Chicago.

There is an excitement buzzing around the hotel. Staci’s younger brother and his girlfriend were running their first 13.1 mile race. Michelle and Staci are race pros and offer nuggets of advice to the newbies. The runners ate breakfasts of oatmeal and yogurt while hoarding bananas. I feasted on way too many pancakes, bacon strips and slices of French toast. (Working on my energy stores for the Ironman. T-Minus 24 weeks)

It is hard for me to just watch. I wanted to hop in the corral and run the race with everyone. Even though the Rock & Roll events stress me out, it is fun to see 30,000 people embark on such a test of endurance and dedication.

All of the half marathoners in our group finished and we waited at the finish line for Staci to finish. Roughly four a half hours in to the race, the half marathon was coming to an end. The last participants were coming down the final stretch. If you have never watched the final group of people come in at the half marathon, I highly recommend you try. It is one of the most motivational and heart warming scenes. There was the older lady, probably around 85 years old, walking toward the finish line with her two adult sons holding her hands. There were groups of people who need to lose at least 100 pounds to be in a healthy weight range crossing the finish line, making those steps toward a healthier lifestyle. I saw one gentleman who was probably not much older than me come down the home stretch with a walker. His legs were in braces and his knees did not bend. There was a war vet with two prosthetic arms and one prosthetic leg carrying a flag across the finish line.

Not everyone needs to run a half or full marathon. Don’t ever say you can’t do it though. Yes you can. There is a huge difference between “can’t” and “don’t want to.” If you need just a little motivation to try it out, go watch some of the last finishers of a race. Those folks are a true inspiration.

I Got Some New Shoes On . . .

I wear a size 11.5 in women’s shoes. It sucks. I have skis for feet. I wore a size 10 in the fifth grade. I have never purchased a pair of shoes from Lady Foot Locker. When I played ball growing up, I would always have to wear a men’s basketball shoe. No fun girly colors for me! I could (and would) share track shoes with some of the guys on the team (they were the ones who would forget their shoes, not me of course). I very rarely find cute dress shoes that fit. I’m a fan of the peep toe, as I can occasionally squeeze my foot into the last size 10 of that style that is left at the store. As luck has it, the last 11.5s usually have 4 inch heels. I’m fine pushing 6’3” on special occasions, but for an everyday dress shoe, I’d rather keep it a little lower.

Over the years, companies have realized that some women need a shoe that is larger than an 8. There are many many more styles available in larger sizes. I’m quite sure they only make one pair of each style because it seems that most attractive shoes are “available” in larger sizes but not actually in the store. Imagine my surprise after Christmas when I found a pair of New Balance running shoes at Kohls in my size (ok, they were an 11, but they fit great!)! They were perfect: just enough space in the toe, good colors, comfortable.

I have battled with athletic shoes since I can remember. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, the years of shin splints I battled while playing basketball were caused (most likely) by the shoes I wore. Training and running a couple of marathons have proved the importance of a well-fitting shoe. The specialty running stores have suggested shoes that should work best with my gait and alignment (I happen to think it is a waste of time, no shoe these people end up recommending has ever been comfortable or pain free. Ahh, I take that back. One shoe, the style I used while running my first marathon was awesome. Of course the ‘new version’ was not just a new color. Something was tweaked and the pain came back.). I usually end up throwing in some arch supports or sucking it up through the pain. The beauties I bought at Kohls resulted in no pain. It was awesome.

A few weeks ago, I finally had to buy some new running shoes. With each step, needles shot through the balls of my feet. I really really loved those shoes, so it is hard to buy a new pair. I went back to Kohls. They did not have the shoe. I tried other stores and online. Turns out, this shoe has been discontinued. Really?! What luck! Good grief. Anndd as my luck continues, that particular size of New Balance does not even fit anymore. It is *gasp* too small! I almost cried by the time I hit the fourth store. I tried on several other styles too. Nothing really fit. My toes squished to the end and that was not ok. My feet must expand with the heat or something. I wanted to find an 11.5 in a shoe, but none could be found (not even a 12). I tried the men’s sizes and they were completely out of all shoes in my size (are you kidding me?!).I refused to try yet another store so I ended up going up half a size. I figured a shoe a smidge too big was better than a smidge too small.

My first run in the new kicks was a twelve mile trek through South Mountain. It felt great. I had a blister by the end, but I blamed the pedicure that I had the day before more than the new shoes (What part of “no” did the guy not understand when he held the pumice stone up? I’ve worked hard for that extra skin and I need it! I should have kicked him in the face.). It was a great run and I was happy with the pair. . .

. . . until my third run. The muscles along the outside of my shin bones ached. I thought it was just a bad run. I have had this pain every single time I have run since. Boo. I tried the old New Balance once more just to see how they felt, maybe my shins would hurt and something else is wrong. Nope, there is zero shin pain. It’s a sad day. The needles poking through the balls of my feet are not as bad of a pain as my shins. I will throw the arch supports in my new shoes to see if that helps. Here’s hoping! Otherwise, I might just chop off my toes so I can find a better selection of shoes in my size. It would also minimize the need for pedicures?

Seven

At this time in seven months (6:15 pm, 11/20/11), I will hit the 10ish mile mark (hopefully by around this time) in the marathon portion of the Ironman. I can’t believe it is a mere seven months away! Ahhhh!


Seven. I’ve never seen the movie (I had this boycott Brad Pitt movies thing for a while), but I did enjoy reading Dante’s Inferno back in the day. I’ve broken down my training experiences/thoughts/emotions down by the seven deadly sins and the corresponding seven virtues. Is training “bad” or “good” for me?

Lust: Excessive love of others over God. Hmm, I do skip church some weeks to get my long workout in. I wouldn’t consider this the excessive love of others. Instead, the excessive desire to not die during the race. I don’t feel I am guilty of lust-check.
Chastity: Clean in thoughts words and actions. Well, I didn’t knock the kid into the lake in the race last week and I didn’t tell him exactly what I thought of him. Check.

Gluttony: Over-indulgence and over-consumption to the point of waste. I would not need to loose ten pounds in the next month if I was not guilty of gluttony. Epic fail. . . especially after today’s potluck at work. . . Still full. I am guilty of all forms of gluttony (according to Aquinas: eating too soon, too expensively, too much, too eagerly, too wildly, too daintily. Ok, those last are iffy, but the others. . check, check, check, check.) The worst part about this sin is that I use training as an excuse to indulge. Bigger epic fail!
Temperance: Moderation in action; restraint. Since the ½ (and not including today), I have been pretty strict on my food choices. I eat when I’m hungry, I stop when I’m satisfied. I need to continue this if I want to loose my ten pounds by next month. Focus. This one is in process. . I’ll give myself a half-check.

Greed: Excessive desire of wealth, status, power. Well, what is the point of the Ironman if you are unaware of the status behind it? No one does this because it’s “fun.” No, we do it so we can call ourselves something that does not apply to everyone. Fail.
Charity: Love (love of God and love of man). Each and every workout or race provides me with some sort of “moment.” And as cheesy as it sounds, it is the moment of complete peace and just ahhhh; God’s grace. Unless I’m swimming. Then I am thrown into (and feel every bit of) Dante’s fifth circle of hell. 1/3-check.

Wrath: rage; uncontrolled feelings of hatred or anger. I have a very short temper. I get frustrated and when things don’t go my way; get out of my way. Training has provided me with an outlet to let go of this rage though. Most of the time. Very few things control my temper as well as a long hard run. Check.
Patience: Endurance under difficult circumstances. I finish what I start: even if that means a five hour marathon time when my training runs predicted 4:20. Check.

Sloth: Failure to use ones talents and gifts. One of my gifts (good most of the time) is stubbornness. I’ll work at something until I do it right. Another definition of sloth is laziness. I will not be a lazy Ironman. My worst fear (besides not finishing) is hearing, as I cross the finish line, “well, if shhheee can do it, I can.” The emphasis on she=thoughts that she’s too fat, untrained, etc. to finish. I want to come across the finish line looking like I’ve been busting my butt for the last year. Check.
Diligence: steadfast, discipline. Stick to the training plan. Get out of bed before the crack of dawn to work out. Come home after work and work out again. Check.

Envy: Resentment toward another and you wish that person depravation of what you want. I totally envy the people who are naturally more gifted than me in this triathlon thing. I do not necessarily want to deprive them of that gift however: gives me something to strive for. Check.
Kindness: concern for others. If I have the occasion to pass someone on the bike, I’ll tell them. (Yes, this might be a USAT rule, but not everyone does this. . . ) I tell people when they pass me that they’re looking strong, etc. Check.

Pride: Desire to be more important or attractive than others; failing to acknowledge the good works of others; excessive love of self. This is considered the most serious of the deadly sins. When I cross that finish line, heck yea I will be guilty, guilty, guilty of this one! Epic fail. Ahhh, more like 2/3 fail. I will definitely think I’m more important than the average person that day and I will looovvveee myself for completing such an adventure. I will NOT let the good works of the folks around me go unnoticed. I know what makes a totally awesome person awesome. She needs to surround herself with a support system that explodes with awesomeness.
Humility: modest opinion of one’s own importance. The entire experience of Ironman so far (and I’m sure it continues through training and once I cross the finish line) has been nothing if not humiliating. People’s stories of experiences and passion are nothing compared to mine. Every day is another check on the humility chart. I am not good at any of these three sports. Every day I struggle and I have a reality check of what my own boundaries are. My humility is a nice balance to my pride. Check.

Final tally: Training checks=9 5/6
Training fails= 4 2/3 (counted Epic Fails as 2, Bigger epic fails as 3)

It looks like training is worth it for me. A more important question. . . .Who will play me in the movie of this little illustration? Hmm.

Livin' on a Prayer

This time last week, I was getting ready for bed. I had a pain in my body that was nice. It was a sign that I worked hard that day. My knees ached. My upper back was sore. I moved up the stairs in my house a little slower. And it was awesome.

Earlier that day; I ran/biked/ran a total of 72.2 miles in 6 hours, 16 minutes, 53 seconds. I burned approximately 5500 calories. And it was awesome.

It was my first attempt at the “1/2 Iron” distance triathlon. Unfortunate events in weather the day before meant it was not the true ½ Iron, but a 72.2 mile duathlon consisting of a 3.1 mile run, a 56 mile bike and a 13.1 mile run. The true ½ Iron distance tri is a 70.3 mile race: 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run. I had trained for that race for the last 18 weeks or so. My parents came to visit to see me attempt the great race and see what this thing was that was taking up so much of my time and energy. I had sponsors, friends, family, coworkers, random strangers I would talk to supporting me. And it was awesome.

My training plan was interesting. I’m not a swimmer. I bike to work on a $60 Target bike. I wouldn’t consider myself a cyclist by any means. I’ve been running the past couple of years, but only because I know I have to if I want to be an Ironman. I do not consider myself a runner. Seriously, look at my body. I am not built for any of these sports. I am built to be a train. Some sort of contact sport where people would run up against me and fall over. When I do run, I prefer to run in the mornings. This whole multisport thing makes me (Ok, I prefer to order it this way) swim in the mornings, run in the afternoons and bike on the other days. My body does not like to run in the afternoon. I’m tired after a day’s work. I want to sit on the couch and watch TV for hours. So I change clothes and I run after work. And it sucks and it’s hard.

Swimming is worse. During the 18 week training period, I swam 3 times per week. 54 times I hopped in that pool for a swim workout. I can count on one hand the number of times I did not feel like I was going to drown in the pool. Not the best confidence building activity for me. Yes, I am glad I have put in some hours on the bike and the run, as I will clearly drown in the first activity and not ever have a chance to get to the bike & run. And it sucks and it’s hard.

I ride a $60 bike to work everyday. I bought some $5 cycling shoes off of EBay and go to spin class 2 times per week. I’m clearly ready to ride a road bike for 56 miles. Shit. And it sucks, and it’s hard.

Besides my anxiety around the physical ability to complete 70.3 miles in an 8 hour time period, I do not have the appropriate equipment. I thought I’d get a tax return that would support my goals, but no. I am a very fortunate and lucky girl. I have awesome friends who loan me swim tools and bikes that will travel hundreds of miles and ‘sponsor’ me so I can enter races. And they are awesome.

Race day was perfect. A crisp 45 degrees in the morning before the first run. I was happy I was not going to hop in the water in that temperature. After setting up my transition area, I headed to the start line. After months of worry about the swim, I casually walked to the start line. No swim today. I run 3.1 miles in my sleep. No worries with this. As all of us wait for the start to kick off, the power goes out. The inflatable start line balloon thingy deflates. We all shake our heads in disbelief that something else is going array. The power comes back ten or so minutes later. The announcer tells us about the delay in the race start now because of a car accident on the road we would venture to with our bikes. Four lanes of traffic=closed. We’re delayed to make sure the debris is cleared in time. Finally we start. I am in corral 5. The folks who are in front of me include the professional triathletes, all of the men and the relays. The only group behind me is the women age 45 & up. I can see which ones will pass me within the first mile. Finally we start. The ladies around me were chatting about how if all things went as planned, we would be peeing in our wetsuits right now. I was happy to be wearing my pants and long sleeved shirt and not peeing in anything. After the first mile, the really hard core women in the last corral flew past me and the three others I was trying to keep up with. I passed a few people as well. And it was awesome.

During the transition to the bike, I stopped to pee. My sunglasses became foggy and I removed them to put on my bike helmet. Before I knew it, I was jogging my bike out of transition. (Sans sunglasses, which I realized shortly after finally getting on my bike.) I decided not to turn around with the advice of the race person at the corner. It turned out ok, as there were no bugs on the course and my helmet has a visor attachment that I have attached to it. Phew. My shoe on the other hand was a different story. I had a hard time clipping in to my pedals. I haven’t practiced a whole lot but I thought I’d be better than this. It wasn’t until I finally clipped my right shoe in that I realized what had happened. The day before, after checking my bike in to the transition area, I decided to tinker with my cleats. The right one had a weird clicking noise. I found out the issue, fixed it and screwed the cleat back on. For some stupid reason, I decided to be proactive and do the same thing to the other cleat. I did not get the cleat back in the right spot (and frankly, I didn’t even think about it throwing things off THAT much). Once I finally clipped in, my shoe hit the pedal holder (I’m quite sure that’s the technical term) on each rotation. My toe hit, my heel hit. And it sucked, and it was hard.

I thought about stopping at the first Landis Cyclery aid station dealy, but after 14 or so miles, I couldn’t feel my foot and riding with my right foot turned out was not as bad as it was the first 4 miles. I sucked it up. It wasn’t that bad in the whole scheme of things. I pushed through, eating my GU gels, drinking water and Gatorade. I spent a good portion of my time on the bike singing White Christmas songs. I spent a lot of time thinking about how my Mom, sister and I would sing those songs during the Christmas season while watching the film. Then I would think about that Christmas when my sister wasn’t home for some reason and my Dad had to work. It was just my Mom, my Uncle Don and me. We watched ASU play in the Honolulu Bowl and laughed for hours about how ‘my dogs were barking.’ (It was funny at the time.) Man were my dogs barking at that time, well, my right dog anyway from turning it out during the ride. I thought about my Uncle and hoped that my participation in these races was something that made him proud. And I was sad and I was hopeful.

I finally came in the home stretch of the bike. I saw my parents at the corner of Rio Salado and Ash. I waved as my Dad took a picture. I was a smidge worried about those first steps off the bike. Could I even unclip? I did dismount ok. I had an issue getting my leg over the bike, but I made it. The Gloria family greeted me. Jen was there with Grayson and Garrett. Garrett held up a sign he made. I almost cried. He is so cute. I wish I had a moment to give him a big sweaty, I’ve been riding my bike for 3. 5 hours hug. But I went along to the transition, pulled off my cycling shoes, ate three bites of a peanut butter sandwich, stuffed another GU in my pocket, spotted my sunglasses and laughed. I thought about stopping at the portapotty again, but didn’t. They were going to be on the course every mile or two, I’d be ok. There is something about those first few steps after riding a bike 56 miles. It feels weird. It feels like you are trying to learn how to walk while your family and friends look on. And not in that cute, “ahh look, her first steps” kind of way. No, it’s more like a. . . “I’m quite sure she’s drunk and going to fall over at any moment” kind of way. And it was awesome.

It took me about a mile and a half to get my legs going normally. I settled into a good rhythm and felt unexpectedly awesome during the run. I thought it would take me at least 3 hours to finish the 13.1 run. 2:17 later I was finished: my second fastest half marathon time. I couldn’t believe it. The run felt amazing: a little slow at some points, but not far off my 10 minute mile pace that I normally run. It was hot and sunny. And I was sad I forgot to spray that suntan lotion I spent $7 on in the part in my hair. I was not passed by many people yet I passed quite a few. These were not the old men who were walking that I passed during the first run (afterall, how good could I feel about passing the 70 year old man?). These seemed to be the regular folks I was passing. It was hot. I was used to it-- running around that lake in the record-breaking heat the weeks before prepared me for this moment. And it was awesome.

I tried to make conversation with one guy I passed (the Ragnar dipshit of ot-10 taught me a good lesson) asking ‘where’s the beer?’ He mentioned they had some PBR at the last aid station. He reminded me of it as we crossed paths one last time a mile or so from the station with the beer. I decided at the aid station before I could make it through until the end without stopping at the station (previously, I had grabbed water/Gatorade/Pepsi at the stations). The little kid passing beverages out at that station thought otherwise: he literally stood in the middle of the path pointing me to the beer. Seriously?! It is hot and you are 0.5 miles from the fucking finish line, get the fuck out of my way. His Mom even said, “You should get out of the way” as I dodged him. Yeah, kid didn’t move. I should have pushed his ass into the E. coli infested lake. Jerk. I have been moving for over 71 miles (and about 6 hours and 10 minutes). Please do not stand between me and the finish line. My agility ability is not so quick at this point in the race. This kid was as bad as the jerks who decide they need to fish across the sidewalk into the lake so the runners (Meaning me. I will call myself a runner for this illustration) get tangled up in their fishing line. And that kid sucks and he’s and asshole. And so are his parents for not getting him the fuck out of the way of the racers who paid $210 to run along that path.

As I approached the finish line and passed two other runners (so what if one was hobbling to the finish line), I filed the stupid kid memory to the back and tried to keep my footing in the deep gravel obstacle course to the finish. I was happy to see Charles as I approached. I was so worried the Wong family (my sponsor) was not going to make it in time. My watch read 6:16 and I originally expected to finish in 7 hours at the earliest. I kicked it in high gear as I passed the grandstands full of 5-6 people and approached the finish line. And it was awesome.

And as I crossed the finish line, the song in my head was no longer a White Christmas song. Instead, I couldn’t help but sing.. . . ahhhhhh we’re half way theeeerrree. Ahhhhhhh! Livin on a prayer. And it was awesome.

Hello, my name is Jeanne and I am a binge eater

I sure do love food. Some of my favorites include macaroni and cheese, Hamburger Helper, cheesy broccoli rice casserole dishes, chips, pizza, cheeseburger snacks. Yummmy!

Boy can I eat a lot of food. Finish off a whole box of cheeseburger macaroni Hamburger Helper? Yes, please! I’ve never been one of those people who just stops eating when I’m satisfied, or even full. I eat until there is no food left. I can put down an entire bag of Doritos and not think anything of it. It’s not just junk food either. Right now I am struggling because there is a bowl of apples not far away. I could easily eat three of them. Am I hungry? No. I had a satisfying dinner of tilapia, butternut squash and roasted potatoes. I just want to eat. All. The. Time. It’s all I think about. What am I going to eat? When will I eat? What will I eat after that?

Sometimes it’s mindless munching. Sometimes I’m eating my emotions. Sometimes I just like the way it tastes so much I eat a few granola bars. I love a good binge.

During my ‘formative years’ (high school) I could eat just about anything I wanted. I played basketball and threw track so I burned the calories in the two peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and pile of chips off pretty easily. My ‘portion control’ revolved around my active lifestyle. I never really adjusted my portions but I did my activity level. Through college and after I slowly gained too much weight (the accident did not help). Now I struggle. I have given Weight Watchers a whirl and that has helped. Now if I could stick with those reasonable portion sizes on a regular basis, maybe I could maintain a weight loss. Sigh.

I find it especially hard to control my weight, and even loose some pounds while training. I am working out at a level that I have not experienced in a long time (if ever) and I am hungry all the time. This is not a good situation for a binge eater. I don’t need an excuse to eat and now throw actual hunger on top of it? Are you kidding!?

I struggle with this every day. I need to eat enough calories to fuel my workout. I need to eat the right kind of calories to fuel my workout. I need to make sure I hit all of the important nutrients. I need to reach a racing weight that will allow me to optimally perform for the big race (and look super cute in a bridesmaid dress a week before!). I need to stay away from the Easter candy aisle at the grocery store.

Dear Motivation,

Where did you go? Just two weeks ago you were here. As few as ten days ago even. Do you know I will not survive if you are not here?

I need you. The alarm clock rings whether you are here or not yet I can’t seem to get out of bed without you around to kick me out.

I know I had to change things up last week so I could rest and make sure I was ready for the Ragnar Relay. I need you back. No more excuses. I have to go to the gym in the mornings. I need your help to get there.

Well, I don't know if you care now or if you've lost feelings for me... I don't know how you feel. My feelings for you are still the same and the memories of those awesome workouts don't erase.

Now I realize that it's true; you really don't ever know what you've got until it is gone. I lost you and if there was any way I could be with you again I would, but you seem to have forgotten about me and you'll probably never read this, but this how I feel and I miss you.

Love always,
Jeanne

Just Keep Swimming. . . Just Keep Swimming. . . Just Keep Swimming

When I was four(ish), my family vacationed to Sesame Place-an amusement park of sorts based on Sesame Street. What more could a four year old want?! My recollection goes something like this: there is a giant room full of kids playing in a sea of plastic balls. There are cargo nets and slides above (so you would fall off of the nets into the soft set of plastic balls below, etc.). I remember my Mom carrying me out of this particular attraction kicking, screaming and crying (me, not my Mom). She remembers it slightly differently. I guess I was too petrified to go down one of the tunnel slides and some random lady had to grab and pull me down the slide. I clearly knew I was headed to my death in the sea of plastic balls and kicked her and screamed the whole way down the slide.

This is how I feel every single time I get in the pool to swim laps. I feel out of control--kicking and screaming (not out loud, for now. . .). I am terrified and I implode with anxiety. I hate swimming. It is not something I enjoy because I SUCK at it.

I’ve taken lessons and had friends watch my stroke. “Looks great,” they’ll say. It doesn’t feel great. Swimming is nothing that is natural for me. I can’t breathe, my heart pounds, my muscles burn, I can’t find a comfortable rhythm, and I can’t relax. This is not the ‘what a great workout’ kind of feeling. No, this is the, “I am clearly going to die” kind of angst. I want to cry it is so hard for me. Workout after workout after workout I feel like I make zero progress.

I don’t mean to brag, but I am pretty awesome at most things I do. There are very few activities I participate in on a regular basis that I am not ‘good’ at and enjoy doing. Otherwise, why else would I do it? It is really quite unfortunate for me that swimming is one of the activities in the triathlon.

So what can I do? Hide some flotation devices and an airtank in my wetsuit for the race? I suppose I have to just keep swimming. (Thank you Dory for the awesome mantra.) As much as I do not enjoy doing things I’m not good at, I am trryyyiinng to see this as an opportunity for growth (both physically and mentally). Hopefully one day (soon) I can feel more at ease in the pool. I am sure not going to let it get me down.

How Far I've Come

Since first hearing Matchbox Twenty, I’ve been a huuuggge fan. I pretty much stop whatever I’m doing when I hear the first few notes of a song to listen and relish in my MB20 bliss.

After the big decision that I was going to be an Ironman, my first goal was to finish a marathon. If I couldn’t finish a marathon, I couldn’t finish the Ironman. September, 2008 I started my training for the 2009 P. F. Changs Rock ‘N Roll marathon in Phoenix.

Matchbox Twenty’s How Far We’ve Come track quickly became my theme song. I listened to it first thing on my early morning runs to get me motivated. As I started the last mile of the PF Chang’s I put the song on repeat so it would get me through those last few brutal minutes. The beat of the song is fun and energizing and a few of the lines really keep me moving.

Every time I hear the line, “Let’s see how far we’ve come. . . Let’s see how far we’ve come,” I think back to when I couldn’t even run half of a mile. I’ve now completed three marathons. I am thankful every time I can tie up my shoelaces and hit the pavement and I do not take it for granted. I’m not always happy or excited about it, but I do it. I think about how running really has changed my life and how I have been able to experience so much more because of it. You may even catch me smiling every once in a while.

Why?

“Why the Ironman?” some people have asked. It has always been a dream of yours? You have always been a swimmer/biker/runner so it is a natural fit? Ha. None of the above.

My first Ironman experience was April 2005, the inaugural Ironman Arizona race. My friend Lauren volunteered as a swim spotter that morning and I went with her to the finish line to see the last finishers come in between 10 pm and midnight. What an inspiration! People of all ages, sizes, athletic abilities were finishing this great feat.

Fast forward to the end of August, 2007. It was one of the hottest days that summer. My employer had an annual golf outing at a local country club. I was driving the secretary at my office back to the 18th hole to take pictures. While meandering along the cart path, she screams, I swerve (golf ball flying toward us) and run the golf cart up on the curb next to a bush. I take a step off of the golf cart and realize the bush was actually a tree. I fall roughly 20 feet straight down to the bottom of a ravine. Luckily, a large rock at the bottom broke my fall. The secretary asked if I was ok. I said no. I crawled on my hands and knees out of the ravine.

Adrenaline was flowing. I could not feel my rear. My leg and stomach were both bleeding. I was worried about the golf cart that was stuck on the curb. I hobble back to the pro shop to tell them what had happened. They couldn’t believe I was still walking.

I went about my business at the golf outing. Making sure the clients picked up their pictures, presenting the prizes for longest drive, etc. etc. At one point my boss asked what had actually happened. He was concerned because a part of the tree was in my hair.

I drive home. It was horrible. It was the first time I had sat down. When I got home, I was able to check out the damage for the first time. My right buttock had ballooned into a gross, bruised orb of swollen skin. I could not sleep. The pressure of laying on my back was too painful. If I laid on my stomach or side, the open flesh wounds would send sharp pains through my body.

The next day I go to work and suffer through the morning routine. Eventually, I break down and head to the doctor. I am able to get in on short notice to see the physicians’ assistant. Her initial examination focuses on my ankle. I hadn’t actually realized how swollen and bruised my ankle was. The pain in my buttock was too intense. When I finally dropped my pants so she could see, she dropped her clipboard. She then raced to get my doctor. Neither of them had seen anything like my ass. Awesome.

The PA sent me to get X-Rays. Surely my pelvis was broken. Surely my ankle was broken. As it turns out, I have pretty strong bones and neither was broken. It was nice to hear the X-Ray tech mention “wow, she looks like she’s in pain.” (Because most healthy people get X-Rays just for the heck of it.)

I then went to get my first ultrasound. I needed an ultrasound so the surgeon could know where to drain the fluid from my buttock (it was swollen to the size of a softball). The ultrasonographer marked the choice spots with big Xs with a magic marker.

The surgeon decided the pockets of pus and fluid were not centralized enough to drain. I guess the particular area was also prone to infection and she didn’t want to risk it. I had to wait for my body to absorb the fluid for the swelling to go down.

Enter my life in stretch pants and compression shorts. It took about nine months before I could walk without a limp. I fell into a horrible depression. I ate all the time. I couldn’t really move, so I gained weight. Pretty much hated life.

I don’t remember what the trigger was. Maybe the Ironman World Championships were airing on TV. Maybe I had a dream. For some reason, as I wallowed in the depths of despair, I decided I would be an Ironman. I remembered the finishers of the great race I watched in 2005. If they could do it, surely I could.

And here I am. I still have some scar tissue on that right side. It’s about the size of a golf ball actually. It does send a sharp, shooting pain every once in a while to remind me of where I’ve been, where I’ll go.