Never say never

Just a bit under three years ago, preparing for my first triathlon, I started running. I did Couch to 5K because that's what all my runner friends said I should do.

I did my first 5K in March 2009, two months before my first tri. When I crossed the line that day in March, it was as "just" a practice for my bigger goal of swim-bike-run. I was satisfied to have done it, but thought that was the end of my 5K days.

Turns out, I was wrong.

Fitness events have become a bit of a sickness to me. First a 5K, then a tri. Then a couple more tris. Maybe a few more 5Ks - each time trying to run just a little faster than the last time (and not always succeeding).

Last fall, on a whim, I signed up for a 10K. I didn't think I'd ever be able to run 6.2 miles. That was an impossible goal - a goal for much better runners - much more fit people - than myself. But I finished that race (no speed records, but I finished). As I ran across the line - exhausted - I distinctly remember thinking, "This is less than half way in a half marathon. No WAY will I ever be able to do that. This is it for me. My max distance."

Then the sickness took over and sometime last winter I found myself entering my credit card and hitting "submit" on registration for the Long Branch Half Marathon on May 1. I immediately had buyer's regret.

"What the hell was I THINKING? I remember asking myself. "I must have rocks in my head. No, not rocks. BOULDERS."

So I started training in January in the bitter cold and ran throughout the spring through knee problems and foot problems and colds. The early runs were hard. I hadn't run all fall or winter and could barely do 3 miles. But slowly, I started building and eventually was up to 6, 7, even 8.7 miles. Still . . .a half marathon (13.1 miles) is nearly four additional miles on top of that. Eeek, I thought.

Last Sunday, I completed the race. Again, no land-speed records, but I did it. My goal was to finish in two-and-a-half hours or less. I did not hit that goal - finishing instead in exactly 2:37. However, I had to stop three separate times in the first four miles to deal with "hot spots" on my feet - blisters in the making - each time pulling off one or both shoes and either bandaging or "lubing" the spots with Body Glide.

I felt *great* from miles five to eight - it was nearly effortless. Passing the halfway mark was pure ELATION! It was fantastic.

I had planned all along to walk through the water stops, so I did, but other than that (and the stops to do triage on my feet) I didn't walk at all. I ran the whole thing. 13.1 miles! I never in a million years would have thought it possible, but it was. I did it, and it was even (a bit) easier than I thought it would be. So I'm pleased. Really pleased.

When I ran across the finish line, I thought, "This is only HALFWAY in a marathon. If I were doing a marathon I'd have to run this entire course again. And that is IMPOSSIBLE."

Less than a week later, quads still a little sore, blisters not quite healed, I find myself seriously contemplating signing up for the Marine Corps Marathon in October. Because, as I've learned, nothing is impossible with hard work and determination.



Me, just after finishing the Long Branch Half Marathon on May 1, 2011

Run, Kimberly! Run!

Back in early September, I signed up for my first 10K (6.2 mile) run. I was SO excited! I feel that's inching toward a respectable distance. I printed out training plans spanning about 8 weeks and got ready to roll.

Then, on September 17, I was diagnosed with Epstein Barr Virus and spent two weeks in bed resting - the only cure. I returned to work on October 4 and immediately jumped into a project that had me working more than 10 hours a day until October 27. And I was still technically recovering - spending weekends curled up in bed desperately trying to "catch up" on rest. My training plan sat forgotten below an ever-growing pile of school papers, notices and get-well cards.

The race is tomorrow. I've run exactly 4 times since October 4 - no more than 3 miles at a time. It would be easy to skip tomorrow's race claiming I'm unprepared. But I paid for it and it's going to be a beautiful day. So I will go. I will do my best. If I run the whole thing - great. If walk part of it - fine. Like a lot of things in life, showing up is half the battle, so tomorrow I'll show up and give it my best.

And one thing I can say for sure: my next 10K will undoubtedly be better. Wish me luck!

Tri number six in the bag

Last Sunday, I completed the Revolutionary Sprint Triathlon. Mucky water, crazy hills on the bike course, uneven, rocky trail run . . . but five minutes from my house. So how can I resist?

I actually slept really well for the night before a race. I went to bed early and woke to the alarm at 5:50. I washed, drank some water, ate a banana and walked out the door around 6:15.

When I arrived, transition was still fairly empty, except for my bike rack, which was completely full. Figures. I squeezed in and started setting up.

My stomach was a little off, but I managed to eat most of a bagel with peanut butter and drank quite a bit of water. Two women from town were doing the race as well, so I found them and we chatted for a while.

Transition closed at 7:30 a.m. so I left and slipped into the water for a warm up. This is, as you may recall, a nasty, mucky swim. Last year, I swam through a piece of floating seaweed as big as my freakin’ car. It was a little less mucky this year thankfully, but still kind of gross.

Pretty soon, it was time to start. My friend T. was in the same wave, so I wished her luck and off we went.

Swim

The swim was a quarter mile “M” shaped course. It was relatively uneventful. T. and I finished at almost the exact same time – she ran out of the water right in front of me. Mark says I was in the first half of my wave.

That said, my swim time was quite a bit slower this year. All week I’ve been trying to figure out why, because I’m definitely a better swimmer than last year. Two factors could have been at work:
1. It was a bigger wave this year, and a couple of times I got stuck behind slower swimmers and could not get around them, whereas last year I felt like I just cruised right through the pack.
2. The swim time didn’t end on the beach like last year. Instead, the sensor was back at the entrance to transition, so the run back up the beach and up a hill was counted in the swim time.

Whatever the reason, it was slower and I’m cranky about that.

Last year’s swim time: 10:36
This year: 13:19
I know. WTF?

T1
This was pretty straightforward. I did make a point to drink a big sip of water since I have trouble drinking on the bike, but overall, an OK T1.

Last year’s T1: 4:32
This year: 2:00

Bike
Oh boy.

This is not a long course—only 10 miles—but it is super hilly. You climb a long hill straight out of transition, and another super steep one less than a mile later. Then there are no less than 8 other climbs. I kid you not.

My goal this year, was to keep it over 10mph and finish in less than an hour, which I know to a true cyclist sounds like a wimpy goal, but that’s what I wanted. And . . .

Last year’s bike: 1:02:50
This year: 56:35

So I’m still slow. Quite slow. But significantly faster than last year. Next year’s goal is to do it sub-50. Fingers crossed!

T2
Nothing eventful here. Changed shoes, drank water, popped on my hat and ran out.

Last year’s T2: 2:02
This year: 1:56

Run

The run is a 5K on a trail. The trail is uneven, narrow and loaded with tree roots and rocks. Last year, I took a nasty fall, scraping a good amount of skin off my arm and knee. So this year, I gave myself permission to WALK the worst parts of the trail.

I know, I know. But seriously people, I was on vacation last week. I just wasn’t looking to spend it with a twisted ankle or with my arm all bandaged up. It’s just not worth it to me, especially after passing several runners coming out of the woods with bloody knees.

So I walked the really treacherous sections and ran when I felt it was safe. My run time isn’t great, but even given the walking, I still beat last year’s time.

Last year’s run: 34:59
This year: 33:58

My neighbor (who finished this race 30 minutes faster than me without doing any special tri training whatsoever <--not fair!) suggested getting a pair of shoes specifically designed for trail running, which seems like a good idea. My thick-soled stability shoes are especially hazardous on uneven terrain, so I’ll look into those for next year.

Overall time
Last year: 1:54:59
This year: 1:47:38

So better, definitely better, especially given how undertrained I am at the moment. I imagine if I’d been training this year the way I was last year, I’d have made an even bigger dent in that time.

But that is the best I can do at the moment, and I’m satisfied.

Now, to try to find a September race in order to meet my goal of four tris in 2010.

She swims, she rides, she runs . . . SheRox!

On July 25, nearly three weeks ago, I did my fifth triathlon—SheRox New England.

I was really excited to do this race for a few reasons:
1. It was all women, and I love the dynamic of an all-women race (and the Revolutionary Tri is co-ed race this year –BOO!)
2. I was doing the race with Beckie and Julie, two of my good friends (and sorority sisters) from college.
3. SheROX has a reputation for putting on a great race.

While SheROX does have a race in New Jersey, it is an ocean swim, and despite doing well in last year’s Mainiac, I still have fears about ocean swimming (especially given that NJ shore has more robust breakers than the spot in Maine where we swam last year).

So, New England it was!

The race was Sunday, but you had to pick up your race packet (chip, numbers, swim cap) on Saturday, so I left Saturday morning to make the three-and-a-half hour drive to Webster, Mass.

I met Beckie and Julie and three of Beckie’s friends from New Hampshire. We drove the bike and run courses and then had dinner in a local restaurant. We then drove about 15-minutes to the B&B in Connecticut (just a lovely little place) and checked in. We all retired early, but none of us slept. I was super nervous about the swim start. This was a BIG race - over 2,000 women, and my wave had over 80 women in it. I had visions of getting run over and pushed underwater at the swim start. I literally don't think I slept more than an hour or two - and not all at once - all night long. Ugh!

I was wide awake at 4:38 a.m. when the alarm went off. We quickly dressed and left for the race site. We were among the first to arrive and secured a good spot on the outermost bike rack. I had the nice volunteers pump up my tires, got body marked and set up my transition area.



Transition area at the race site. HUGE.

I was trying desperately to eat something, but could barely choke down a single Cliff bar. I knew that was not a great thing, but my stomach was rolling and food was making it worse.

Around 6:30 a.m. we went down to the water and I slipped in for a warm up swim. I have found these to be invaluable in calming my nerves. I was amazed to find the water was crystal clear. I could see the every rock and plant on the bottom perfectly – it was the most beautiful open water swim I’ve ever experienced.

Start and swim

At 7 p.m. on the nose, the first wave went off – the pros/elites. Man, they are amazing to watch! The first woman out finished the swim in under 8 minutes. Awesome.

I was in wave 4 (waves went off 3 minutes apart) so I hugged Beckie and headed to the water’s edge. The women in my wave were standing at the water’s edge in five, long rows – by far the biggest start I’ve ever taken part in. I got in the second row way to the right hoping to stay out of the way of the type-As, while at the same time avoid getting bottle necked behind the newbies and slower swimmers. I think it was a successful strategy.

The gun went off and so did I – no hesitation. I railed forward and dived in. This was by far my best open water swim to date. I felt completely at ease, I sighted really well, I immediately went into a strong crawl with bilateral breathing and kept it up for the whole swim.

The course was supposed to be a half mile, but I don’t think it was actually that long because my time was 14:02 (in the pool my best half mile time has been about 17 minutes). But anyway, I’ll take it!



I can't say it, but I can swim it! Longest place name in the U.S. Also known as "Lake Webster"

T1

After the swim, it was a loooong way back to transition and my bike was on the farthest rack. I jogged back pulling my wetsuit, goggles and cap off as I went. By the time I got back, I just stepped out of the suit and yanked it off my legs.

Slipped on my bike shoes and helmet, slogged a bit of water and off I went. Not a bad T1, but could be a bit better. Time: 3:24

Bike

I quickly realized that I had not done a good job rinsing my feet. I had little pebbles in my bike shoes rubbing the tops of my toes – owie. I wiggled them to get the stones off with only moderate success.

The bike course was 12 miles, with one good, mile-long climb about 3.5 miles in. I’m glad I’ve been working on hills so much. I still slowed WAY down on the hill, but I got all the way up (parts were pretty steep) passing tons of women walking their bikes up it. Felt great.

The rest of the course was rolling hills to flat and I pushed really hard on the bike, working aggressively to keep my speed over 16 mph. I was relatively successful and finished the course in 51:15 (ave. speed 14.0). Had it not been for the hill, this would have been my best bike yet.

T2
OK, here is where I made a very freshman mistake.

I dismounted, ran over to my row and . . . stuff? Stuff? WHERE IS MY EFFING STUFF?

I could not find my spot on the rack, and hence, my running shoes. I ran up and down the rack several times before FINALLY spotting my towel. URGH!

Hence, my T2 was 2:19. This was my lowest place/rank in the whole race. Just UGH!

Once I found my stuff, it was very straightforward – changed shoes, slugged water, ran out.

Run
The run was tough. Really tough. I felt nauseous and lightheaded. My legs were wobbly. I was dehydrated, undernourished and hot. I felt like I was barely moving. I wanted to stop and walk SO BADLY.

However, I was determined to run it all, even if it was slow. The course was 2.9 miles and I was really hoping for a sub 30-minute time. I came in at 30:12. GRRRRR! I missed it by 12 freakin’ seconds. My pace was pretty average for me – 10:25 – but I’m just pissed at myself for not pushing just a BIT harder.

Plus, right at the end, Beckie caught up and passed me. I was happy to finish, and really happy to finish with her, but still totally irritated at myself for not being able (or willing? I often wonder how much of this stuff really is mental and if digging deeper and pushing harder is more about brain vs. brawn) to get moving faster. Anyway, it is what it is and I’m mostly over it. Mostly. But not totally.

Total time: 1:41:12

Wrap up
I was super happy to finish and it was fun to stand on the other side and cheer for the rest of our group as each woman crossed the line. I really liked this race overall and would definitely do it again next year.

Next up: the Revolutionary Tri in New Jersey on Sunday! Stay tuned . . .


Julie, me and Beckie pre-race

And the 2010 tri season is off . . .

If you use your phone as an alarm clock, it stands to reason that sooner or later you will be woken up in the middle of the night by someone calling you. If you are me, that will inevitably happen the night before a triathlon. At 1:50 a.m. And you will not be able to get back to sleep.

That is what happened to me Sunday morning. I went to bed early and was sound asleep. Suddenly, or so it seemed, the “alarm” went off. I sprang out of bed and raced to the other side of the room (nearest outlet) to turn it off.

I remember being in a fog and thinking, “wow this came fast,” and “boy the room is awfully dark.”

I looked at the phone – still half asleep – and saw the “answer” and “decline” buttons. I pushed the decline button since it’s red, the same color as the “dismiss” button on the alarm app. But, then the alarm app came back on and I saw that it was only 1:50.

It took me a minute to put it altogether. The call was from Florida – a number not in my directory.

I crawled back into bed, hopeful I'd get back to sleep. Then, weirdly, not 10 minutes later, I heard a little “ting ting” letting me know I'd receieved a text. I wondered if it was related to the call.

It wasn’t. It was from some moron on Long Island, again, someone I don’t know.

The pre-tri sleep gods were clearly out to make me insane.

Now I was wide awake and I did little more than doze for a few minutes here and there until finally dragging myself out of bed at 5:30 when the real alarm did go off.

I ate, dressed, grabbed my bag, kissed my kids and husband and got in the car. I was tired, but felt pretty good otherwise. After all, I know the JerseyMan course from last year. So I felt pretty relaxed.

It was drizzling on and off, but nothing too bad. I arrived, parked, picked up my packet, got body marked and made my way to transition. I was early enough to get an end spot, gaining a little more room for my stuff.

About 15 minutes after arriving, the skies opened up. It was pouring. The spot under my bike filled up like a lake. My towel was soaked. My shoes and socks were in plastic bags, but everything else was drenched.

Terrific.

Eventually it let up and by the time they called us down to the beach for the warm-up swim and pre-race meeting, it was only lightly raining. I slipped into the water (70 degrees) for a warm up. And? Immediatley felt panicky. Oy. Will I ever feel comfortable in open water? Ever?!?

I stood in chest deep water and took several deep breaths, then started swimming again, and it was better. The announcer called us out of the water and the first two waves took off. Soon, it was my turn. I stood off to the right and off we went.

I surged forward with the crowd and started swimming when the water was about up to my waist. Again? Panic. Just for a few strokes, but still? What is my hang up here? I’ve done this now quite a bit. Grrrr!

But soon, I started feeling pretty good. I was actually bilateral breathing, the way I do in the pool and sighting pretty well. I swam around a bunch of women and rounded both buoys easily. Soon enough I felt my fingers scrape sand so I stood up and ran out of the water.

Last year’s time: 25:43.
This year: 22:24.

And what’s more, this year, the timer didn’t click you out of the swim until you ran back to the entry to transition area, so my actual swim time is probably about a minute less than this. Not bad!

Transition was easy. I slipped off the wetsuit easily and got ready for the bike. I sipped a bit of water, grabbed the bike and ran out.

Last year’s T1: 4:56
This year: 2:40 (which is probably actually 3:40 due to the above, but still--faster than last year!)

The bike (20 miles) was tough. It’s a hilly course and I couldn’t seem to get into a rhythm. Anyone I overtook in the swim passed me here. I was so frustrated. While I do OK on flat roads, I slow down drastically on hills. On an up note, the rain held off, the 20 miles passed without any drama and before I knew it, I was turning back into the park.

Last year’s bike: 1:46:48 (keep in mind, I was nauseous and crampy for the last 10 miles)
This year: 1:36:14.

So? Eh. Better, sure, but not great. At least I know what I have to practice.

This was the first time I had to change into running shoes at T2, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Despite that, I was still faster than last year. Go figure?

Last year’s T2: 2:14
This year: 1:58

I was dreading the run. I knew I didn’t do enough bike-run bricks in training and I was expecting it to be really hard.

I decided at the last minute on Saturday night, to wear my dad’s old baseball hat for the run. So I pulled it on and every time my legs felt tired, every time I felt a cramp, every time I thought about stopping to walk, I thought of my dad and how he couldn’t take a single step for 40 years and how this run was for him. And I kept running.

Even if I was only running 12-minute miles, I was determined to run every step of the 3.1 miles. About a half way through, my legs loosened up and I picked up the pace a bit. It felt, quite honestly, great. One of the best runs I’ve had. Before I knew it, I was turning toward the finish line. I could hear the announcer. I thought of my dad and nearly burst into tears, but I held it in and ran faster.

Crossing the finish was an amazing feeling. I was so happy!

Last year’s run: 41:48
This year: 32:02 (yay!)

For this race, I had one goal. Improve on my time from last year. And I did that in every aspect of the race.

Last year’s time: 3:01
This year: 2:35

This is a tough course – the swim and bike are on the long side for a sprint-distance race, and the bike is pretty hilly, so it feels good to tackle it so early in the season. I’m really looking forward to the next one, which will be SheRox New England in July (unless I register for a local one sooner).




For Michael Gorman

Third tri's a charm

On Saturday, I completed my third sprint triathlon, but this time with a few twists:
- I was joined by two friends
- It was the Mainiac Tri all the way up in Maine
- The swim was in a 62-degree OCEAN

Now, before I go any further, I need to explain to what the ocean means to me. Its vastness and unpredictability, its swift currents and crashing waves, its odd and menacing marine life, represents a cornucopia of phobias.

It the mother of all phobias, because it is so many things wrapped into one: open water, drowning, sharks and jellyfish. Undertows, riptides that pull you out to sea and waves that knock you off your feet and crash over you with terrible force.

I have not been in the ocean past my upper thighs since I was about 10-years-old, flanked by my mom on one side and my step-father on the other, both gripping my hands and lifting me up and over each swell. Back then, the ocean was fun, but sometime after that, the joy of the ocean left and in seeped fear. It has never left.

I signed up for this tri under the promise that the waters of Biddeford Pool in Maine were fairly smooth and calm, but even so, the thought of swimming in the open ocean filled me with anxiety. For weeks, I dreamed of being swept out to sea and lost forever. I dreamed of swimming so dreadfully off course that I could no longer see land. I dreamed of waves of water pounding down on me, choking and suffocating me until I woke in my bed gripped in fear and unable to get back to sleep for hours.

So the most eventful part of this tri - for me - was the anxiety that I felt from the moment I woke up in my bed at 2:30 a.m. on Saturday until I rose from that water having completed the swim sometime after 11 a.m.

When I arrived on site with my friends Beckie and Michelle that morning, I could hear the breakers, but could not see them. My body seized and I felt instantly nauseous. Now, in reality, they were fairly mild, but still . . . breakers. There were not supposed to be breakers. The website said "calm and flat" waters. Breakers are neither calm nor flat.

I visited the water's edge several times before the race (we arrived onsite around 8:15, which was just Too. Much. Time. To. Think. And look).

The tide was going out and we were assured the waves would flatten out by the time the race started, but the buoys weren't up and it was hard to picture how far OUT we'd have to swim. How far in those waves? With a current or against it?

I stressed for hours, stomach tumbling, unable to eat. But oddly, when I slipped on my wetsuit, I felt a bit calmer. The buoys went up and most of the swim was parallel to the beach, which made me feel better for some reason. The waves did flatten out and watching each wave take off was a thrill. Beckie went in wave 3 and Michelle and I were in wave 4.

We hugged Beckie and off she went. Just minutes later it was our turn. I hugged Michelle and wished her luck and someone yelled, "GO!" and I went.



The water was freezing, but I was so focused on just getting past the (admittedly very small breakers) I didn't even notice at first. I waded out, walking as far as I could and bobbing over the swells the way I did when I was 10.

When the water was around my ribcage, I started swimming a slow easy breaststroke, just trying to acclimate to the temp. I hyperventilated a bit from the cold, but only for a minute or two. Just before the first buoy, I started freestyle swimming - the correct way. Face in water, though I did breathe every two strokes for most of the course instead of my usual three. I sighted the way I'm supposed to. The portion parallel to the beach seemed long, and I kept getting logjammed behind groups of slower swimmers, but I did pass quite a few people and soon enough I was rounding the final buoy and heading back to the beach. I kept thinking the incoming waves would work in my favor and push me toward shore faster, but if they did I didn't notice.

However, suddenly, I could see the ocean floor (OCEAN FLOOR!) and the next time I looked ahead people were standing up, so I put in two more good strokes and stood myself and ran out of the ocean (OCEAN!), cold and very winded, but also ELATED to have done something that scared me so much!



That's me in the front. You can't see my face, but I must have an ear-to-ear smile because I am just so happy in this picture.

Swim time: 11:37

NOTE: This is actually quite a bit slower than my 9:36 time from the quarter mile swim in August, but I'll take it. I swam in the OCEAN! That is bragging rights enough for me for now.

I had a really long T1. My feet were covered in sand ankle to toe and I struggled to pull my long-sleeved tech shirt on over my soaked arms and hands. This is definitely an area I need to improve.

T1: 4:32

The 14.85 bike was fairly uneventful. It was an almost entirely flat course, which is good and bad (good, because hills suck, but bad because you have to pedal constantly). I was passed a few times, but also passed several people, including a couple from the previous wave.



Start of the bike leg.

Two things of note:
1. The scenery was amazing. I found myself wishing it wasn't a race so I could stop and enjoy it more.
2. This was my fastest race pace to date - I averaged 14.07 mph - which I know isn't fast, but I am happy to see my speed improving.

Bike: 1:03:20

This was a decent T2, but there's still lots of room to improve here. I basically ran in, racked the bike, dropped my helmet, hydrated, pulled off the tech shirt, grabbed an energy gel and ran out.

T2: 1:21

The first mile of the run was sheer torture. My legs were wobbly, my sore knee was acting up and there was a hill. Plus, there was a slew of runners on the other side of the road returning from the run and I found that pretty demoralizing. When I hit the first mile marker, I felt like I'd been running for-EVER and literally shouted out, "Are you freakin' kidding me?!"

Yet, I kept running. This is the first run leg that I actually RAN the whole time. I passed three people of the male persuasion, which made me happy because all the men took off two waves ahead of me.

Again, the course was beautiful. Parts of it ran right along the ocean and that was a nice diversion. Finally, I reached a volunteer who said there was a half mile left, so I tried to pick it up a little, though admittedly, I was drained. Regardless, I set a PR (personal record) for this run, and for that, I am extremely proud and happy.



Run: 32:20

So that is that - the last tri of the season for me (though I have to admit, today I found myself looking to see if there are any tris or duathlons (run-bike-run) in NJ in October, and there are, but really, I think I'm done for this season). I feel like that was a good race to end on - I conquered a fear, set a couple of PRs on pace and got to do it with two friends.

And I have a whole set of new training goals. Only seven months until next season!

The second tri around

Today I finished my second triathlon and one thing I learned is that triathlons are a lot like having babies:
• With the first one, you plan and prepare and make lists and pack and repack all your carefully selected gear about 100 times waiting for the big day. With the second, you throw your stuff in a bag the night before and hope you didn’t forget anything.
• With the first one, you are a nervous wreck. You question every decision. You fret about every little detail. You worry obsessively about what to wear. With the second? You just show up and with a “whatever will be, will be attitude.”
• With the first one, you take a lot of pictures. With the second, you forget your camera so you snap a couple of gratuitous pictures at home when it’s over (see below).

But another thing, second tris are a LOT MORE FUN!

This one was nice because it was literally five minutes from our house. It was also all women, which was a very different experience.

We left here at about 6:36 a.m., and arrived at the park a few minutes later, parked, unloaded and walked about ½ mile down the hill (one I’d bike back up soon enough) to the transition area.

There were about 450 women in today’s race and it seemed like 447 of them were already there. It was PACKED.

Somehow, there was still space on the bar for my bike, so I racked it, did a bit of set up (literally less than five minutes – I think I set and reset my area 10 times for the first one) and then went down to the beach to get body marked, which I still think is the coolest thing ever.

Then I found the bathroom and went back up to transition to grab my stuff for the swim and I JUST made it. They were closing transition in two minutes. Can you imagine? No goggles, wetsuit or swim cap? I would have been screwed. Next time I won’t cut it so close.

I went down to the beach for the pre-race meeting where they reviewed the course and all the safety regulations. I also took the opportunity to slip into the water for a practice swim, which was a really good idea since it helped work out some of the jitters. Half the lake was still in the shade and the water was – I do not exaggerate – pitch black. It was a little freaky, so I’m glad I took that practice swim.

It was also VERY mucky. The bottom had about 5 inches of sludge on it and when I climbed out, I had tons of seaweed wrapped around me and sticking to my arms. Say it with me people: EWWW!

Swim

This was a very small lake – little more than a pond, really. The course was shaped like an “M” just to eek out a measly quarter mile.

A photo I took of the lake a couple of weeks ago on one of my training runs. It was especially muddy this day due to a huge thunderstorm the day before, but it was still pretty icky.



A few minutes later, the first wave took off. Wow, were they fast. The first woman was out of the water in just over 5 minutes. Impressive.

I was in wave 3 so 10 minutes later, I was off. I waded in toward the back of the pack and breaststroked for the first few strokes for better visibility of the women around me, but I switched to the crawl fairly quickly and – LO AND BEHOLD - I started passing people. I probably passed about 10 women on the first long side of the “M”. Around the first buoy, I passed a few more.

(I also have to say that at this point I swam through a GIGNORMOUS octopus of floating seaweed that tangled around my face and arms and legs as I passed through it. So. Gross.)

On the other side of the M, I started passing women from the previous wave! I was shocked.

Visibility when swimming toward the beach was really tough –the sun was shining directly at us and I couldn’t see that well, but could see the swim caps of other racers in front of me. Swimming back toward shore on the final leg, I thought I passed the last buoy and thought, “No, way, too soon,” but within two strokes my hand hit sand at the bottom. I WAS DONE!

I looked back and there were still an awful lot of light blue swim caps (my wave) in the water. I was so surprised!

SWIM TIME: 10:36

T1
I ran up the beach and then up a steep cement path to transition, pulled off the wetsuit, chugged some Gatorade, pulled on shoes and my helmet and left.

T1 TIME: 4:32

Bike

This was the part I was dreading. It was only 10 miles, half the distance of my first race, but I cannot emphasize enough how hilly this course was. I heard three tri veterans saying it was the most difficult sprint course they’d ever ridden.

Start of the hill coming out of transition. It keeps going, and gets steeper.



The same hill farther up. Still not the worst of it. And there are four other challenging hills after this one.



The course was two loops through a park, so you got to do some of the tougher hills not just once, but twice. YAY. (Not.) I was very glad to have had the advantage of practicing it a few times. It didn’t necessarily make it easier, but I knew what to expect. I knew where the hills were – and most importantly – how long they were. I also knew I COULD do them.

There were a lot of women walking their bikes up the hills, but I never got off the bike. I pedaled slow but steady. Even if I was only going three mph, I was determined to ride every hill. And I did!

I also rocked the downhills – leaving my fear behind and just letting loose. I passed so many people on the downs. The two loops went by quickly and before I knew it, I was making the turn back to transition.

BIKE TIME: 1:02:50

T2

Mark and the girls came running up and he asked me how I was feeling and I said, “I feel great!” And I did. My legs were a bit wobbly from the hills, but overall, I genuinely felt great. Another surprise.

I pulled off my bike gear and chugged some more Gatorade. Because it was going to be so hot, I had packed a Ziploc bag full of ice in a small cool pack and dumped a handful down the front and back of my shirt. AH! It definitely helped.

I turned and ran off.

T2 TIME: 2:02

Run

OK, so I’ve decided the run is my new nemesis. I’ve gotten passably OK at the swim; running is where I’m still challenged.

And the run course was also not easy. It was a wooded trail run. It was in the shade, which was a blessing since the temps were near 90, but the trail was loaded – and I mean LOADED – with roots and rocks. There were large swaths of the run where I never felt my foot land squarely on solid ground.

I rolled my right ankle about 5 minutes into it and had to walk for a bit to shake it off. My arches, calves and ankles were killing me (as I sit here writing this several hours later – they still hurt. Aleve is my friend today.)

But I kept going, running as much and as fast I could on the terrain. The first half had a slight uphill grade. Nothing too bad, but it made navigation of the rocks and roots all the more challenging.

On the flip side, the second half had a nice downhill grade. Again, nothing too steep, but I had a really good groove going. I passed a ton of women –many walking, but some running too.

As I passed two women, one yelled out, “YOU GO GIRL, YOU ARE FLYING.”

I turned back – just slightly to yell back, “THANK YOU!” and taking my eye off the trail for just that fraction of a second was a big mistake because the next thing I knew, I was flying through the air. I landed on my stomach and skid across rough rocks and gravel for a few inches tearing a hole in the palm of my hand and scraping a goodly amount of skin off my elbow and knee.

This is what I get for being polite. Thank you, my ass. Next time: NO THANK YOUS!

The women behind me gasped and came running over, but I was already up. “I’m alright, I’m alright,” I assured and took off running again. The lens to my sunglasses popped out and I didn’t dare look at them to fix it, so I just carried them – frames in one hand, broken lens in the other.

I came out of the woods and there was a nice crowd of cheering people, but most of them just looked horrified by the blood dripping down my arm. I still had a lap around the lake. My arm and leg were aching, but I did my best and tried to give it a little more gusto.

I rounded the last turn – saw the finish and booked it – passing someone one final time in the ropes.

RUN TIME: 34:59

One of my boo-boos, as the girls call it



I feel pretty darn good about it. The bike could have been faster (I was passed so many, many times on the bike), but given the difficulty of the course, I am pleased overall.

Medal



I loved the all-women race too. The other competitors were friendly, helpful and encouraging. Not that these women weren’t competitive. There were some amazingly buff, lean-and-mean, giving it everything they had types. The winner finished in 1:11:02. It just had a different feel from the co-ed race I did in May.

So next up? The weekend of September 26, either here in NJ or up in Maine with a college friend. Looking forward to it already!

Wordless Wednesday: Triathlon - the next generation

Click here to see more great Wordless Wednesday posts.

What I learned in my first triathlon

Today I finished my first triathlon. It was not easy. At times, it was downright difficult, but I did it. Scratch that one off the Bucket List. Here’s the short version of what happened:

- I had a lot of trouble on the swim and actually swam way off course three times, but finished it (and NOT LAST!)

- I was plagued with stomach cramps for half the bike and half the run, but pushed through it and finished the run really strong and felt fantastic about it.

Want to hear all the gory details or see some pictures? Just keep reading:

Pre-race
I woke up at 3 a.m. this morning and couldn’t get to sleep. I could actually feel the nerves and adrenaline buzzing through my body. I couldn’t stop thinking about the day ahead – what would it be like? Would I get hurt? How cold WOULD that water feel? (For the record, 62-degrees feels pretty cold at first, but you get used to it quickly.) Most of all, would I finish?

Around 6 a.m., my alarm went off and I went to the kitchen. I had carefully planned my breakfast: oatmeal, a bit of yogurt and lots of water. But I could barely finish the oatmeal. My stomach was in knots and I had no appetite. I did my best and got most of it down, but I couldn’t even fathom the idea of the yogurt so I skipped it.

I dressed, got the girls fed and dressed and then we all (my mom too) piled in the car and drove off. The ride was 40 minutes and my stomach was flopping with anxiety the whole time.

We arrived, used the port-a-johns and found the transition area.



I got body marked (Coolest.Thing. Ever. This made me feel totally badass.) and I set up my area. It was teeny. My stuff was squished in right against the women on either side of me.

Waiting to get body marked.


They put your age on the back of your leg. For the race, your age is how old you'll be at the end of the year. So? Today, I unofficially turned 40.


Marked and ready to go


Around this time, I must have started feeling better, because I got hungry. I ate a Power Bar and had some more water then pulled on my wetsuit and headed down to the beach for the pre-race meeting.

At this point, we watched the first two waves for my race take off. It was so cool. Some of those men were so fast – they were out of the water before they even it got wet it seemed.

My mother-in-law arrived at this point and before I knew it, it was time for my wave to start. Hugs and kisses to all, and I walked down to get in line.

Look! It's Batgirl!


Hugs all around


Swim

The half-mile swim took place in a lake. It was a beach start. I was in the third and final wave, which included women and first-timers.

Waiting to start


A year ago, when I started this adventure, swimming was the part of the tri I feared the most. I could only dog paddle. But I took a stroke clinic, practiced like crazy, and have come to the point where I feel pretty confident and can easily swim a mile in the pool.

Did you get that? Because there is a very key, three-word phrase there: In. The. Pool.

Prior to today, I had never done an open water swim. And despite cautionary advice from two experienced triathletes that open water swimming was very different, I had no real idea what I was in for.

I will get back to that, but first let me describe the course. As I said, it was a half-mile. You swam straight out to one big floating cone, made a left, swam to the next big floating cone, made another left, then swam back to the beach. Think of it like three sides to a rectangle.

Standing on the beach waiting for the air horn, it looked far, but not that far. I kept trying to calculate how many lengths of pool each leg would be and decided it was probably something in the neighborhood of 14 or 15 for each of the long sides and maybe 8-11 for the short side. Piece of cake, I rationalized.

So the air horn blasted and the water became a churning mass of humans. Legs and arms flying everywhere. I waded out to about my waist and then dove in.

And she's off!


And guess what?

Open water swimming is on a WHOLE OTHER PLANE than pool swimming.

I couldn’t see anything but murky brown water in my field of vision. I couldn’t see the buoys or the big floating cones or even the other people around me. I got kicked in the arm by a foot I could not see at all.

I could feel the terror welling up inside me. I was taking a breath every second stroke instead of the every third or even fourth I do in the pool and it still wasn’t enough. I flipped over and back stroked, breathing furiously.

Do you see that head on the left sticking up? That head is mine. Does this look like good swim form? Because IT IS NOT!


I dog-paddled. I sidestroked. I tried to breaststroke, but it was like I forgot – completely – how to do it.

I thought I was not going to finish.

I thought I was going to have to be pulled out the water within the first five minutes.

I thought about all the hard work and training that went into this day.

Then, I thought about all the people I’d have to explain this failure to: my husband and the two amazing women who traveled extensive distances to cheer me on. My daughters. Other relatives who were pulling for me from afar. All the people who emailed me well wishes and wrote on my Facebook page over the last few days. The mothers and teachers at the girls’ school. My coworkers.

And my brain said: Unacceptable. You will finish this swim if you dog paddle the whole way.

So I kept going. But I was so focused on making forward motion, I forgot one very important thing: Forward motion is only good when you are going in the right direction.

At some point, after swimming a mix of strokes for a while, I looked up and could not see the big red cone anywhere. I looked around and there it was – way, way off to my left. I had been swimming at an angle away from the cone.

I will not even tell you the long litany of curse words that ran through my head at this point, but I turned and swam like mad for the cone and somehow I made it and rounded it.

Except? I did the same thing again – not quite as badly, but still – AGAIN - on the short side.

And, just because the third time’s a charm, I did it AGAIN on the return to the beach. Finally, I remembered how to breast stroke and I came straight up out of the water and bee-lined for the beach, never letting it leave my sight.

Obviously, I need to work on sighting and open water swimming.

But somehow I made it out of the water - and there were still at least a half dozen swimmers in the water. If I had managed to stay on the course, I probably would have come in more in the middle of the pack.

But I finished it and that’s what counts. I was never – NEVER – so happy to plant my feet on solid ground.

So happy to be done!


Swim time: 25:43. I probably could have shaved 4-5 minutes off that if I'd stayed on the course and done the crawl the whole way. At least I have a goal for next time.

T-1

I ran up the beach to the transition area pulling off my swim cap and goggles and unzipping my wetsuit on the way. My stomach was cramping a bit, which I blamed on nerves or maybe bad lake water.

I gulped some sports drink, washed and dried my feet, pulled on my socks and shoes, fastened my helmet, grabbed the bike and went. I also took a shot of GU, which made my already upset stomach clinch. I seriously thought I was going to puke, but didn’t. At the end of the transition area, I hopped on and pedaled off.

Bike

Here I go - off on the bike


The bike portion was a 19.5-mile loop of rolling countryside. The first 10 miles went fine. I was making decent time and even passed a few people, which is always a good confidence builder (in fairness, I was the passee much more often than the passer, but even 3-4 times was nice).

Sometime after mile 10, my stomach decided to stage a revolt. I started feeling really crampy and nauseous. I thought for sure I was going to have to stop to throw up. But it never got to that point, so I just kept pedaling, though admittedly the second half took longer than the first.

Then I saw the park entrance ahead, pedaled in, dismounted and got ready for the run.

Returning from the bike leg


Bike time: 1:40. Two words: Speed Drills

T-2
As soon as I hopped off the bike, my stomach seized. I felt awful. I racked the bike and sipped some water. At that point, I wasn’t sure what was the greater evil:
Option 1: Drink nothing and risk getting dehydrated or
Option 2: Drink something and risk making the stomach cramps worse.

Feeling really bad at this point.


I went with Option 3: Sip slowly and hope to find a middle ground.

After a moment, I slipped on my visor and turned to run off. Only which direction do I go? Fortunately, a whole lot of people yelled, “Left! Left!” So I turned and ran back toward the beach.

Run

I can typically run a 5K (3.1 miles) in about 33-35 minutes. I am no speed demon for sure. I don’t really like running and have bad knees, so I tend to be conservative.

Today, if I had knee pain, I didn’t even notice it because I was so focused on the stomach cramps, which were worsening. The first 2 miles of the run were HELL. I honestly thought I was going to either throw up violently or (worse) have diarrhea in my pants (I know, too much information, but one thing I learned: tri's aren't pretty).

Fortunately, I didn’t do either. At mile 2 there was a port-a-john.

I have never been so happy to see a port-a-john in all my life. Unfortunately, there were three runners already in line. But I felt my options were either wait or risk a seriously embarrassing incident, so I waited. I waited for close to five minutes.

When it was finally my turn, that port-a-john and I spent some quality time together. In fact, I’d like to write that port-a-john a thank you letter, because afterwards I felt MUCH BETTER. I was actually able to run at decent clip. When I saw the park entrance, I was elated.

When I saw the turn to the finish line, I literally shouted out, “THANK GOD!”

And when I saw the actual finish line looming ahead, I gave it everything I had. I sprinted the final 2/10ths of a mile.

The announcer calling out the name and hometown of each finisher (which was an AWESOME touch, by the way) even said, “Look at the pace on her!”

Giving it everything I have


God, that felt great. After the less than auspicious swim, bike and 2/3 of the run, I finally felt something resembling pride.

I came across the finish line with my arms in the air and a huge smile on my face and was instantly hugged and handed flowers by my two beautiful daughters, amazing husband (who has been so incredibly and fabulously supportive these last few months) and two gorgeous and inspiring women: my mom and mother-in-law.

At the finish. SO. FREAKING. HAPPY.










Run time: 40:48. OK. This is a totally sucky time, BUT, if I hadn't lost that five minutes waiting in line for the bathroom, I would not have been too far off my usual time. That makes me feel better about it.

My time was not good AT ALL. But I have to remember that I had one goal for this race: FINISH. And I did. And that alone is an accomplishment.

I also learned a lot, and have a new set of goals to work on for the next time (yes, there will be a next time!) and above all, I actually think I had fun. Go figure?

Exploring the ruins

They were young. Not like, 18 young, but definitely early 30s young.

“How have you been?” exclaimed Girl A, embracing Girl B as she emerged from the ladies room stall.

I was at an informal college reunion at a bar in New York City. I stood at the sink washing my hands and reapplying lipstick, watching them both out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m great! I’m married,” Girl B exclaimed, extending her left hand for inspection.

“Me too!” said Girl A, repeating the gesture.

“Do you have kids?” asked Girl A.

“Noooo!” affirmed Girl B with a tone that implied Girl A had just asked her if she had herpes or some other equally nasty venereal disease.

“Me neither,” said Girl A assuredly. “They’re just too much work.”

“Yes. And besides,” added Girl B, “they ruin your body.”

At the time, I gave little thought to the remark. In fact, I probably even glanced at their lithe frames accented by Scarlett O’Hara-sized waists and silently agreed. In fact, I could even empathize with them on a certain level. After all, I was one of them not all that long ago.

But since that night, I’ve turned the conversation over in my head and I realize now that it really irritates me.

These last few months and weeks I have put my body through the paces. I learned to swim and have spent hours and hours in the pool. I have run with blisters on my feet and aching knees. I have cycled up never ending hills and in freezing cold rain and wind.

Yes, my body has flaws. A thicker waist. Certain parts aren’t as perky as they once were. I have wrinkles and crinkles and creases where there once was smooth skin. But in 11 days, I will complete my first sprint triathlon.

My “ruined” body—probably stronger than it’s ever been—will be tested and pushed. And it will cross the finish line.

It is not the thinnest it’s ever been. It is not perfect (but was it ever? No.), but it grew two babies—gave life to two little miracles—and continues to perform in ways I didn’t think possible when I was in my early 30s.

If that is what ruined means, I'm OK with that.

Surprise! She can be taught after all

I’m 39 years old.

Not to paint myself as an alcoholic or anything, but I’ve done my fair share of drinking over the years, though not too often to excess. The first time I was ever hung over was the day in May of my senior year in high school when my mom drove me and my friend Kim out to central New York to tour Utica College.

The night before, there was an incident involving a party, me and a two-liter bottle of raspberry wine coolers. I woke up still drunk, which simply put, is a really terrible way to start the day. Things went down hill from there. Let me assure you – wine coolers are not nearly as sweet or as pretty coming back up as they are going down.

TRUST ME.

But, being all of 17 at the time, I somehow rallied and the trip went fine, the tour was fun and I actually ended up going to Utica College that fall.

Utica, while touted by all the officials as being a “dry campus,” was actually anything but – something I learned within hours of orientation when two fraternity brothers came roaming the halls trying to persuade all the freshman girls to come to a party in another dorm later that night.

My new friends and I went (of course), but I was too terrified on that first night to do much more than sip at my cup of skunky keg beer. My first real drunken college night didn’t come until over a month later – right before a fall break when my friends and I finally screwed up the courage to attend a “bar night” at a notorious dive called Spilka’s. We were assured that we’d all get in with even the most rudimentary fake IDs, and with fraternity brothers at the door, we did.

Fuzzy navels were two for a dollar and I drank my fill. The night ended with me and my friends taking rides in the giant dryers at the all-night laundromat next door, a 2 a.m. visit to “psycho Burger King,” and unprecendented intestinal distress. That was 22 years ago, and I have not touched anything with Peach Schnapps since.

Fortunately, those really bad nights – the ones that resulted in day-long hangovers, popping of fistfuls of aspirin or Tums and late afternoon “breakfasts” of greasy fast food – were far and few between, but there’ve been enough that I really just should know better.

I’m fairly petite and it never took much to push my body from “happily tipsy” to “oh-my-God-what-have-I-done?!” Now? It takes a whole lot less. And I know my new limit. I know it because I’ve flown right over it a few times in recent years.

There was my sister-in-law’s wedding in 2007 when I not only crossed the limit – I punted myself over it like the star kicker attempting to make the final winning field goal in the Superbowl. I spent the entire day after wishing for death. Instead I got to board a plane for a five-hour cross-country flight. Good times. Good times.

But still, I don’t learn.

Two Saturdays ago, we went to a bar in New York for a college reunion of sorts. It was four hours of open bar.

Four. Hours.

Open. Bar.

Someone also bought me a shot, which tasted like death in a glass. I still have no idea what was in it, but given the impact it had on me, I'm guessing grain alcohol.

I should know better by now, right?

I spent the better part of Sunday in the fourth level of hell. Stomach roiling, head pounding. I drank four gallons of water before 11 a.m. and still couldn't bring my dehydrated body to pee.

What was different this time, is that Monday I didn’t feel much better. Part of it was exhaustion (I slept a grand total of 3 hours Saturday night), but it was more than that. My stomach was still shaky. I felt nauseous most of the day.

I hate to say it, but I think I’m just getting way too old for those types of escapades. My body doesn’t bounce back the way it did when I was 17, or 21, or even 35 for that matter.

I’ve also noticed it takes less and less to send me over the edge.

So I’m off alcohol for a while. It’s not worth it to me anymore, especially because it has such a negative effect on my training.

Friday night, I met a group of high school friends for a “Class of 1987 Turns 40” party. And I had two beers.

Just two.

Seems you can teach an old girl new tricks after all.

Dusting off the old blog

I know.

I know.

I have royally sucked on the updates lately, but I'm pledging to be better starting this week.

In the meantime, go here to read about the panic attack I had in the pool this morning, and how I pulled myself out of it.

Back with more soon!

Stopping to breathe in the great marathon of life

We sit on the bed, a pillow stuffed behind my back to prevent the headboard from cutting into my back. Peanut sits on my left. My arm is wrapped around her, pulling her snugly against me. Loaf sits in my lap. My right arm surrounds her.

We huddle there, forming a circle. For the moment, we have no beginning and no end. We are one entity – interlocked puzzle pieces.

I read rhythmically from a book. They listen attentively, sitting motionless and silently. The only other sound is that of their breathing.

We lounge languorously against each other – their bodies lean against mine, my arms rest gently on them.

When the story ends, our trilogy is abruptly broken. Loaf leaps from my lap and lands gently on the floor. Peanut pulls quickly away, reaching for the cat lounging at the foot of the bed. I stand and walk into the kitchen to check the time.

Five minutes until my conference call.

My life these days seems to be—more so than ever before because of my training—ruled by the clock.

25 minutes on the treadmill

35 minutes on the bike

45 minutes in the pool

Alarm at 5:45 a.m.

Leave the house at 7:20 a.m. and don’t arrive home until after 9 p.m.

Drop the girls off at 9 a.m.

Pick Loaf up at 11:30 a.m.

Pick Peanut up at 1 p.m.

Lunch, laundry, e-mail, work, read.

Conference call at 4 p.m.

Dinner at 6 p.m.

Yesterday, I worked more than 12 hours.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m enjoying the challenge of training and given the choice (especially in this economy) I’d rather be busy at work than not.

But it’s starting to feel like a treadmill never stops. My 25-minute run is just the warm up that feeds an all-day marathon. At the end of the day I am both physically and mentally exhausted. I collapse into bed with aching muscles and a head spinning with all the unfinished tasks on my “to do” list.

I have a package that needs to be mailed sitting in my bedroom for over two weeks. I have phone calls to friends that go unreturned. E-mails that go unanswered.

I haven’t written a “real” blog post since this one. I haven’t read anyone else’s blog in well over a week. I used to post on Twitter daily, now I’m lucky if I swing by even once.

I know my life is not all that different from many of yours, and I don’t mean to whine. But I feel at times a little like George Jetson at the start of The Jetson’s screaming, “Jane! Stop this crazy thing!”

So today, sitting in a quiet room with my daughters folded against me felt like a supreme luxury.

In the grand scheme of life, it was an unremarkable moment—one that could have easily passed by with no one noticing. But in the whirlwind of late, I soaked it up. Drank it in. Let the calm wash over me and the moment drag out.

The treadmill cranked back up again five minutes later, but at least for a few minutes, we were still.

That's what cousins are for

So I've been having a tough time training for the triathlon I've pledged to do next year. As I mentioned, I'm not a very good swimmer.

I taught myself to swim, and not very well. My entire life I've been swimming with my face sticking out of the water and sort of moving my arms around in a part dog-paddle, part freestyle type of thing. It's not very effective or efficient.

Knowing my swimming wasn't up to snuff for a swim of any serious length, I signed up for a 20-week adult stroke clinic at the YMCA. It took exactly three lessons for panic to set in. Not only don't I have nearly the endurance I need, but my lack of form was actually alarming. During that lesson, I realized I don't really like putting my face in the water. Trying to will myself to keep my head in the water, I swallowed it or sucked it in through my nose several times and had to stop and grab the edge of the pool while I sputtered and coughed. My instructor criticized me for being too tense and hurried. Really? Ya think?

This is bad, I thought. Very, very bad. What the hell was I thinking agreeing to this?

And then the doubt: I can't do this. I'm going to need to get pulled from the water. I won't be able to finish.

I left that lesson in a state of depression and angst. I slept that night with the taste of chlorine still in my mouth and dreamed of being unable to breathe; of sinking slowly into deep, dark water.

Lesson four did not go much better. I started posting my weekly anxiety on my Facebook page, where my cousin Laryssa, who works for a sportswear company, saw it. She sent me a link and a blog post from Linsey Corbin. Linsey is a professional triathlete. She recently set a new personal record and finished fifth - the fastest American - in the Ironman World Championships in Hawaii. She is, in a word, awesome.

She has become my new hero. My inspiration. My muse. I've read her blog and looked at her photos and, while I have no desire to compete at the level she does, reading about her has given me a much-needed boost.

With renewed gusto, I decided to focus solely on swimming for a while. In the last two weeks, I've gone to the pool seven times. And you know what? It's getting easier. I still have a ton of work to do, but I actually feel like I'm going to be able to do it. It won't be easy. But I can do it. I will do it.

Despite that, I had kind of a bad swim today. I'm fighting a cold and I have a stiff neck (I know, I know. Bitch whine, bitch). I had to rest a lot and I found myself once again struggling to maintain my rhythm with the breathing. I left there feeling sort of meh.

Then the mail came. And there was a big envelope from my cousin. So I opened it. And this is what was inside:



How AWESOME is that?

Rys -thank you, thank you. I don't think I can even tell you how much this means to me. This picture is going in a very prominent place in my bedroom so I can see it everyday. I will treasure it and when I cross that finish line sometime next year, I will have you and Linsey to thank for it.

See Kim. See Kim run (and bike, and swim).

I have this friend. I met her my very first day of college. She lived down the hall from me in my dorm. She’s a little kooky, in a good way. She's not just a spark, but the firecracker that results. A light of color and personality that makes everyone around her ooh and ahh. She lives in Maryland. She knows who she is.

In college, she was a source of constant entertainment. During finals, she was always the first to crack (in a good way). She’d dress up in some wacky outfit and dance around the dorm, sometimes with a broom or stuffed animal. I have pictures. I’d scan and post them, but I value my life too much.

In 2002, months before I conceived Peanut, we met at the Jersey shore for a weekend getaway. We were looking forward to two days lounging on the beach and one wild, crazy, ridiculously drunken night out. Days before the meeting, the forecast promised to rain on our parade – literally.

“If it rains, we’re getting tattoos,” she told me.

It poured.

I drove north on Sunday with fresh ink on my back. She drove off in the opposite direction with the same on hers.

In June, I came home to a message she left on my machine.

“I’ve had an epiphany,” she began. “Next year for our 40th birthdays we should go to Vegas.” There was a long pause. “After we do a triathlon.”

I literally laughed out loud. A triathlon! Plu-leaze. Who did she think I was? As I’ve written before, I’m no athlete.

But not long after her message I happened to read an article about Dara Torres, the 41-year-old swimmer who was about to compete in her fifth Olympic games, faster than ever. I thought about it.

I’m no Dara Torres, but if she could make the Olympics at 41, why couldn’t I do a triathlon next year? Not one of those crazy Ironmans with 2.5 mile swims, 112 miles bikes and a full marathon (26.2 miles) at the end. No, not one of those. But maybe a shorter one?

A little digging around revealed that Sprint Triathlons are fairly common.

So sometime next spring, my kooky, long-time friend and I will attempt to complete our first triathlon. (Notice I say first as if there may be others? Hope springs eternal.)

The exact distances are TBD, but it will be something in the range of a half- to one-mile open-water swim, 15- to 20-mile bike ride, and three to four miles of running. Yikes!

While I’ve worked out regularly for the last two-and-a-half years, taking strength training and step aerobics and kick boxing, I was doing none of the activities required to finish a triathlon with some semblance of grace and ease.

That has since changed. I’m running and biking a few times a week. Last week, I even started taking adult stroke lessons at the local Y because the doggie paddle I taught myself to do at the Fish Pond in North Adams, Massachusetts sometime in middle school probably isn’t going to cut it for a half mile (or more) in open water. I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid. Like I said, I value my life.

So those are my big goals for 2009: Finish a triathlon. Don’t die.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get another tattoo as well. If my kooky friend agrees to get one too.