The Information Superhighway is Experiencing Delays

This will be stream of consciousness. I apologize in advance.

In an effort to find out more information about hyperthyroidism and thyroid disease, I have been scouring the Internet for reliable sources that will educate me enough to fight work with my doctor regarding my care. I have also joined 2 Facebook groups in the hopes of connecting with others who are experiencing some of the same issues as I am. I am now thinking that this was not such a great idea, though. All it has done has scared the ever-living hell out of me. From reading about cardiac arrest to heart failure to thyroid storm to bulging eyes to leaky guts to hearts pounding in throats all the live long day, I feel this strange combination of over-informed, misinformed, and uninformed.

I'm beginning to think that life was better when I didn't know what was going on and I was just feeling crappy all the time. Ignorance is bliss, or at least less disturbing than the "knowledge" that I have now.

And I still have a week before I go in for more thorough testing. I reckon this is so that the doctor can see if my thyroid levels have stabilized, changed, or gotten worse over time. And now that I know what the issue is, I am finding that all of the weird things that I thought were because of anemia or asthma or pre-menopause are just more obvious and amplified. This is making me edgier and more anxious to get the tests done. I am still in a gray area, but it's more like a big gray loop that I just keep going around and around.

I don't want to have something wrong with me. I don't want to always think and talk and write about hyperthyroidism of Graves Disease or autoimmune disfunction. I want to go back to the way it used to be, when I complained about how much I hate running, how slow I am on a road bike, and how freaked out I am about an upcoming race. Not knowing if I can do the things that I thought I hated, but now realize were a gift and a privilege, is frankly pissing me off. I don't want to be told that I CAN'T run or exert myself, I don't want that decision made for me.

As long as I am upright, I will keep moving, though. Even if it is mere walking, or yoga. This isn't the worst thing in the world, it is just an adjustment. There are others far worse off than me, by a long shot, and I need to put this into perspective.

On a side note, I have completed 23 days of my May Runstreak. I am plowing through, I have 8 days left! For June, I plan on swimming 20 total miles for the month as my fitness goal. Having a goal is a great thing.

On becoming the Master of my domain

Last evening, my husband and I tried a new Masters swim group that is being offered through our kids' swim club.  It is a near-perfect situation: the class is immediately after our daughter's practice, it is coached by our son's coach, and therefore the comfort level is way up there.

Now, I have not been coached in many, MANY years.  I was 17 when I last took instruction from my high school swim coach, Coach Lavallee, and I am now 40 (ugh).  You do the math, it might give me an aneurism to do a subtraction problem that large.  What I remember of Coach L was that he was very kind, never raised his voice, always demonstrated the breaststroke on-deck with the left side of his body, and repeatedly told us to "undulate" our hips during butterfly.  What I remember of myself during those days is that I hated kick drills, especially freestyle because I just about went backwards (I was so slow) and would cheat with frog kicks when Coach wasn't watching, and that I loved being guided toward doing something that I truly loved better.

I have been throwing around the idea of joining Masters swimming for a while now, not because I want to be super fast (lie) or swim in meets (another lie) or even win races (yep, that's a lie, too), but because in the last few years of training for triathlons, I have rediscovered just how much I love being in the water (that's the truth).  It's like I was born to be there.

I don't have the benefit of a childhood filled with hours of swim practices, dry lands, and swim meets to quell my idealized and romantic notions of the sport of swimming.  I came late to the party, and only enjoyed the briefest time as part of an organized club and team.  And even after being a swim mom for the past few years, and spending pretty much half of every single weekday driving one kid to one pool then the other kid to another pool and then BACK to the first pool to pick the first kid up, and also sitting through the hell that is a weekend swim meet, not to mention practically mortgaging my house for practice fees, meet entries, fundraising, kick boards, goggles, paddles, buoys, caps, swimsuits, drag suits, gear bags, fins, team t-shirts, team sweatshirts, and hotel rooms for travel meets, I am still not disillusioned by swimming.  But, I digress.

Back to last night's Masters trial.  My husband and I surrendered ourselves to our wide-eyed coach (Well, I did. More on husbands reticence in a bit), and as he outlined the workout he would have us do, I realized how ignorant I was to all of the drill and interval terms - base, drill, descend, build - that are part of my own kids' vernacular.  After getting clarification and then MORE clarification, we were sent off to drill, build, kick, and descend for the next hour.  I have to say, that even though I found myself worried the entire time that the coach was shaking his head, face palming, and even wondering why he was wasting his time trying to teach this old dog any kind of new trick, I had a fantastic time.

I realized that, despite my personality, which tends to be headstrong, stubborn, and pretty omniscient (don't I sound like great fun to live with?), I actually respond really well to coaching and critiquing.  I guess it is because I have an openness to getting better, to knowing more about the strokes and how to get faster, that it doesn't bother me to be told not to bring my knees up during breaststroke and that I don't roll enough when I swim the crawl.  And I think I was even like that back in my pissy teenaged days, too.

My husband, however, is a completely different story.  Though he was perfectly willing to succumb to the expertise of a coach (and one that is LITERALLY half our age at that), once the down and dirty instruction started happening, he clammed up and acted really reluctant to heed any advice or instruction.  This surprised me somewhat, because I've always thought of my husband as a pretty open guy.  But when the coach gave him some tips on keeping his legs together when kicking and to use his feet in a less, um, spastic, manner well, he wasn't having any of that.  Head shaking, eye rolling, and downright ignoring followed, and I began to wonder why he was being so closed off to the idea of getting an outsider's viewpoint.  He's the one who always says he wishes someone could watch him swim and tell him what he's doing wrong (MY opinion on that does not count, because I have offered it more than a few times).

After we finished the workout, my husband acted totally annoyed. "I got NO feedback." "That was NOT what I expected." Yes, he did get feedback, but you can't receive something that you are not open to.  And it wasn't what he had expected because it was something new, and again, he was not open to it.

I suppose some people can be coached, and some people try to rebel against it.  Is it an ego thing?  Possibly.  In my situation, I think there really was a reversal of roles where I, the one who usually thinks she knows it all, welcomed the coaching with open arms and where my husband, the more "agreeable" of the pair, shut his mind off to any feedback and criticism completely.

When it comes to being coached, where does your ego land? Are you coachable or not?

Looking Ahead

It has been a month since my big race, the glow has faded somewhat, and reality has set in.  The grind of daily life has ramped up, and I have found myself struggling to figure out how I was able to fit 9-10 hours of training in each week for 4 months amid all of the chaos swirling around me.  From my current vantage point, it seems impossible to undertake such an ambitious goal as I did, and it makes me feel tremendous mommy guilt.  A natural feeling, I suppose.

The best thing I can do for my family and myself is to keep pushing forward.  In the three years since I began running and racing, I have changed in such a fundamental way and it has been all for the better.  Sure, I have lost weight from my thighs, my arms, my tummy.  Even more important, though, has been the weight that has been lifted from the places that nobody can see.  I am physically and mentally stronger than I have ever been in my life, and I see no options other than to keep moving forward and to keep getting stronger.

I am ready to race again, but I know that my body needs a break.  I've been swimming and running (still not ready to hop back on the bike), working out about 4 times a week.  Core training and yoga are creeping their way back in to my routine, and all I can say about that is YOWCH! Take my advice, don't stop working on your core for 11 months. 

I have outlined very specific fitness and racing goals for 2014, and none of them involve a Half or a Full Ironman race.  Those days will come again in the not-too-distant future, I just need to have the time and energy to devote to those huge physical and mental undertakings. But, for now, I am looking to get faster, to improve and even perfect to a degree my short distance racing because, as slow as my time was at IM 70.3 Augusta, I really feel like my body and temperament are more cut out for long distance racing.  So, my challenge for 2014 is to conquer the short distances, and to feel fast.  And maybe see a podium finish here and there.


2014 Fitness Goals

1. To run a 25 minute 5k. That's an 8:02 min/mile pace, folks. Not exactly Usain Bolt territory, but lightning fast in my mind.

2. To run a 53 minute 10k. An 8:31 pace.  For me, that's equivalent to breaking the sound barrier.

3. A sub-3 hour Olympic triathlon. I'm planning on racing at St. Anthony's next April, which is where I did my first Olympic distance. It didn't turn out so well for me, I died on the run. Training for the race might have helped.  This time around, I plan on training long and hard. 2:59:59 is fine with me.

4. A podium finish in a Sprint triathlon. I won my age group once at a sprint triathlon.  It was beginner's luck, and all of the fast people were obviously racing elsewhere that day.  This time, I want to RACE and I want to EARN that podium spot honestly.

5. To get stronger on the bike. This is a bit ambiguous, but being that I am consistently at the bottom of the list in the bike department, I have nowhere to go but UP!  Strength training and long rides will be on the agenda in the coming year.

6. To join a Master's swim team. This is a big one. I have the opportunity, I have the means, now I just have to work up the courage to submit myself to a coach for the first time in a really long time.  I just hope she goes easy on me.  Well, not too easy.  Otherwise, what's the point?

I would love to hear some of your fitness goals!  None are too small and all are big!

Race Report: Ironman 70.3 Augusta, 9/29/13

Where to begin, where to begin...

In the days leading up to this race, I went from terror to doubt to resignation.  I figured I had done the best I could in terms of training, and the only way to see that was to just get out there and do it.  Being my first long distance triathlon, I know that my fear stemmed from the uncertainties: what would my body do, what would my mind do, would I drown, wreck, or cramp up?

Driving to Augusta, I was a ball of nerves.  My heart raced, my stomach fluttered, but it was all in a very good way.  I was excited to get there and I was finally excited to race.  As we drove through town toward the convention center (am I the only one that thinks that Augusta just might be the Detroit of the South?  I mean, there were dozens of abandoned buildings and store fronts!), I practically wanted to jump out of the car and run toward the expo.  The closer we got, the more bikes and Ironman bumper stickers I saw, and I wanted to sing, “I am actually doing this!”, but I kept my composure, lest I look like some kind of triathlon dork.  It was, after all, a race expo, not Comic Con.

I went to athlete check-in (it still makes me giggle to think that I am an ATHLETE), signed my life away to WTC, and got my beautiful blue wristband.  Talk about a badge of honor!  It was like being let into some very exclusive club, and I was giddy like I had just been handed a free puppy.  Then, on to collect my swag bag which, in my humble opinion was sort of pitiful.  The bag that our “swag” came in is beautiful and great and all, but where were the Gu samples, the Clif bars, even coupons for a free beer at the local pub after the race?  But, I digress.  I didn’t come for the free samples of Biofreeze, I had come to do an Ironman race!

Getting the wristband, no turning back now!

I dragged my husband and kids through the expo, including the Ironman store, where I emptied our bank account on a Finisher t-shirt, a water bottle, an Ironman visor, and cowbells for my kids/cheering section.  I also got to see some old triathlon friends from home, which helped to ease my nerves just a bit.

As the hours ticked away, and after I made the pilgrimage to transition to check my bike in (which involved a 1.2 mile hike from the swim start with my son...ant bites and sliding down hillsides were featured prominently, along with some good memories made with my favorite teenaged boy in the world) and we got checked in at the hotel, we went to dinner, and I began feeling oddly at peace with everything that was happening.  I was relaxed, feeling good, and had arrived at the point of just wanting to be in the race.

I slept like a baby, and at 4:15, the alarm sounded, and it was time to get it done.  I ate - half a peanut butter sandwich, a cup of Greek yogurt, and half a cup of coffee, along with a bottle of water and banana in the car on the way to transition - got myself dressed, and got my bleary-eyed children out of bed and to the car.  My husband dropped me off at transition so that I could unload my gear by my bike, and then I took the shuttle (actually a school bus) back to the swim start, where I met up with my family.  All before 6 a.m.  You gotta love living on triathlete time!

Then came the wait.  My swim wave was #14, and it left at 8:24.  The first wave - the pro men - left at 7:30.  We watched the pros leave from a bridge overlooking the Savannah River, and I tell you, watching those pros swim is impressive (and pretty intimidating).  After that, I had time to use the bathroom one last time, wriggle into my wet suit, eat a Huma Gel, and take a few photos with the family.  By that point, it was only a few minutes before shove-off.  Thankfully, I had run into a friend who was in my swim wave, and we were able to chat as they queued us up to pile on to the dock before the race start.  It really eased my nerves to have someone to talk to in those last moments!

Do I look like a triathlete to you?

It was finally time for our wave to approach the start line (the dock)!  We were not allowed to dive in, so rather than standing and taking a feet-first plunge, I decided to sit on the edge of the dock so that I could get my feet used to the water.  The water was 69 degrees, a little chilly, but not that bad at all.  Suddenly, our gun went off, and it was go time!

Wave 14 swim start

I hadn’t had any real warm-up time, so I decided to start slow and let my shoulders loosen up a bit.  I knew the swim would be faster than in other races, because we were swimming with the notoriously strong current of the Savannah River.  Within about 200-300 meters, I felt good enough to dial it up, and I was able to swim a good, strong stroke.  We all had a good amount of room to swim, and I only bumped into a few people along the way.  It was much less chaotic than any other race I have ever done.

My husband says I'm in there somewhere!

As I swam, I tried to sight the buoys to my left.  When I hit buoy number 8, I knew that I was almost done, and I felt like I had only just gotten in the water!  As I made the slight right turn toward the final buoy at the boat ramp, I realized that I felt really darned good.  I made my way up the boat ramp, and began the long jog to transition.  The transition area at this race was kind of labyrinthian, in that you had to snake up one side, then enter the area, then find your row, then find your bike.  I am happy to say that I did not get lost in transition once during the day!

In T1, I took time to dry my feet well, throw my wetsuit, goggles, and cap in a bag, and then I was off!  My family was waiting for me at the bike start to cheer for me, and it was beyond amazing to see my kids’ smiling faces. 

**I purposely did not try to rush through either T1 or T2, because I wanted to do everything to guarantee my comfort and nutrition.  My T-times were ok, around 6 and 8 minutes respectively, but I definitely know where I could trim seconds in the future.

Now came what I knew would be my ultimate test of the day: the bike ride.  I really don’t enjoy sitting on a bike from more than about an hour, so this was not only going to test my fitness, but it was also going to test my mental and emotional strength.  And it proved to be so much more than I had ever anticipated.  Weatherwise, it felt great.  Except for the requisite headwind that seemed to be present for about 70% of the ride.  Then there were the hills.  The damn hills.  What seemed like dozens of them, spread out over 56 long and arduous miles.  Long, slow inclines that never seemed to end.  Rapid descents that were actually fun and relieving.  And sharp points that felt like actual mountains rather than hills.  My top speed of the day was 37 miles per hour, which I hit briefly on a descent.  My slowest speed? An embarrassing 5.2 mph on this one short but brutal hill toward the end of the bike course.  We had just come down a good descent, took a corner, and this hill smacked us in the face.  Nobody that I was riding around saw it coming.  One poor woman and her bike tipped over because she couldn’t spin her pedals fast enough to keep climbing.

Pretty much the only time you would catch me smiling on the entire bike ride!

With each passing hill, from about 20 miles into the ride, I could feel my back getting a little worse.  Then my left hip.  Then my left IT band, which NEVER bothers me.  There was a point on one particularly long incline that I actually considered dismounting and walking my bike up the hill.  Of course, I realized how silly that was, and just soldiered on.  As much as I was hating the bike ride, I never EVER wanted to quit.  I wanted to be done, and I even told myself that it was the LAST time I would ever ride a bike, but I never even thought of throwing in the towel.

Aside from the hills, there were the bumps in the road to contend with.  I thought the roads here in Florida were in pitiful condition, but they are nothing compared to the roads in South Carolina.  It was bad enough having to dodge other racers’ litter - water bottles, bento boxes, power bars, gels, etc. - but the bumps were just awful.  I know that is what contributed to my back pain during the race.  I would say that about 30-35 miles of the roads were so bad that I thought for sure that I was about to blow a tire at any moment.  Thankfully, I didn’t, but I saw plenty of people who did.  And there were plenty of sections, especially close to Augusta, that had had recent road repairs, so at least there was something to be thankful for.  Rapport among the athletes on the bike course was ok.  I briefly chatted with several nice folks, mostly commiserating about the hills and bumps.  I got passed A LOT, and I knew I would.  Most everyone did the right thing, announcing “on your left” as they approached.  But there were a few occasions when I nearly got run down by some meathead who couldn’t be bothered to have manners.  On the rare occasion that I passed another cyclist, I looked over my shoulder 2 or 3 times before passing, and almost always there was a cluster of bikes coming up behind me.  The course was crowded in a few spots, especially at the aid stations, so you really had to be alert the entire time.  There was no room in my plan for a bike wreck.

One thing that I was successful with during the bike ride was my nutrition.  Two bottles of electrolyte drink in my aerobottle, and a strawberry Huma Gel every hour helped keep me going.  Though, I did begin to feel actual hunger toward the end of the bike ride, which scared me a bit for the run.  I was ok, though, and made sure to take the Coke that was offered at the last few aid stations of the run course.  You wanna know what tastes better than just about anything on this planet?  Warm, flat Coke after having been working out for 6+ hours.  Don't believe me?  Try it.

As the bike ride blessedly came to an end, I knew from my bike computer that I had gone about 3 hours, 40 minutes, which is about what I had expected.  Slower than I should be, but considering I’d never biked any of the course, it was ok with me.  The most important thing was that it was OVER, and it was time to run a half marathon.

I racked my bike, changed my socks, put on my running shoes, race belt, and visor, and headed off to the maze toward the run start.  I stopped at the sunscreen tent and let them lube me up, which likely contributed to my longer T2 time, but I was glad I did.  The run course had lots of shade, but it also had lots of spots in the open sun, and I tell you, it was one gorgeous day out.  

I did my 60 second walk out of transition, like I had trained for, before beginning to run.  I went slow, which was ok with me.  In order to finish in 7 hours, I knew I had to run between a 2:45 and 3:00 half marathon.  This killed me, because my slowest half to date was Iron Girl back in April, and I did that in 2:23 while suffering from debilitating calf cramps.  But, I was more focused on finishing this race than setting any sort of land speed record.

I felt pretty good as the run began.  I was 2/3 done with the race, and most importantly, I had survived the bike ride!  I walked through the first water station, drank some electrolytes and some water, and moved along.  About 2 1/2 miles into the run, we were into downtown Augusta, and the crowds picked up.  The course support all day long was incredible, from the volunteers to the local folks who had come out, sporting funny hats and hilarious signs to keep the athletes moving, motivated, and smiling.  It was at this point that I looked up, and standing on one corner were my kids, screaming and smiling for me, shaking their cowbells at me.  In that moment, I was so overcome with emotion, and I could feel the tears welling up, and I wanted to just break down right there.  I knew right then and there that I was going to finish the race!  The emotions were powerful, powerful beyond words.  For my kids to see me pushing through the pain and exhaustion to reach a goal was humbling.  There was no way I wouldn’t cross that finish line.

Are we having fun yet?

I felt great for about 7 miles of the run.  Then fatigue really began to set in.  I started walking more and for longer periods of time.  I never wanted to quit AT ALL, I just wanted to be finished.  As I made the second loop downtown, I had noticed the crowds were a lot smaller than they had been, so the encouragement began to come from us athletes.  We were in the final stages of this journey together, and we lifted each other up.  We talked about how much food we were going to eat, how we couldn’t wait to have a beer, whether this was our first Ironman 70.3.  I congratulated a fellow 40-year-old woman, who promptly answered back with, “you go girl!”.  I watched as runners began to lose hope, and their physical strength, but never their spirits.  I was inspired by those around me, some much younger and some much older, who were out there doing it for their own personal reasons, reasons as important and huge as mine or anyone else's.  To be surrounded by that kind of  emotion makes you feel super human.  In the midst of the pain and the exhaustion (and the extreme hunger!), I had never felt more alive in my entire life.

Turning the corner at 11 miles, I could hear the finish line commotion, and I knew that it was inevitable.  I was going to finish the race, wow!  As I turned the final corner, a lady standing there shouted, “one more corner and you can SEE the finish line!” I picked it up.  All of the aches and twinges I was feeling were suddenly gone!  I rounded that last corner, and there it was: the finish chute!  Lined with people, and the gray Ironman carpet, it was a sight to behold.  I tore down the chute, and as I crossed the line I pumped my fists in victory.  It was an unbelievable feeling.

They know their mom is one tough old lady now!

All of the training.  All of the pain.  All of the time.  It had all led to that moment.  And it was so worth it.

I was ready all along.  

Ironman 70.3 Augusta 

Swim: 29:48

Bike: 3:40:32

Run: 2:31:44

Finish Time: 6:57:48

**My race wasn’t perfect.  I beat my goal time of 7 hours, but I know I could have done better, especially on the run, and probably shaved off at least 10 minutes.  But I hadn’t felt that kind of jubilation in a race since my very first triathlon two years ago.  So, after all of that talk about “one and done”, I think I want to go again.  

What's so wrong about being afraid?

Wow.  I've been gone a while.  All 2 of my readers have undoubtedly abandoned me, so I guess I am left to blog at a blank wall.  It has been a long couple of months, but here I am, a mere 10 days (10 DAYS!) out from the race that I have put my life on hold to do.  Ironman 70.3 Augusta is almost here, and I have to be at the starting line on September 29, ready or not.  Am I ready?  That remains to be seen.

I have been training.  Hard.  Hard for me, anyway.  Bike ride after bike ride, and run after run, and swim after swim have left me mentally and physically drained.  I've discovered new limits for myself, and I just hope that I will have the capacity to bust through them on race day.

I've made no secret to friends and family about just how scared I am to do this race.  And I have taken a bit of crap for expressing this feeling.  Among my favorite (note sarcasm here) comments are:

• What are you so scared for?  It's easy! I doubt you'll find a long course triathlete ANYWHERE that would say that what they do can be described as easy.
• Noone is making you do this.  NO shit.  I entered into this willingly.  I also entered into childbirth willingly, and I was scared to death of that the first time, too.
• It is supposed to be fun.  It is fun.  Otherwise, I would have taken up knitting (which would likely NOT be fun and end with me shoving the needles in my eyes from boredom) or raising chickens or puppies or something else.  But I like to race, and I love the finish line!  
• Don't give in to the fear monster.  New age crap like that really annoys me.

First off, let me begin by saying that it warms me when anyone cares enough about me to make an attempt to help me assuage my neuroses.  With that being said, it is obvious that you don't know me.

I am not a quitter.  I have not suffered through months of injury, given up weekends with my kids, and awakened at 3:30 in the morning for workouts in order to run in the opposite direction of this race.  I am not a fall-down-and-die kind of gal when things seem tough or frightening.

But, if you are afraid of something, it is OK to say it, write it, and feel it.  Boys and girls, fear doesn't define you if it resides in you.  Fear is just renting space until you kick it to the curb by showing it the door.

The fear that I feel is very palpable, and it is sitting squarely on my bicycle.  About halfway through my training, I began to experience terrible back pain during even short bike rides.  Soon, I was rendered pretty much immobile.  I couldn't bend over, reach, lift anything at all, or sit upright for even a few minutes.  Icing, heating, stretching, NOTHING helped.  Except for training.  Training - running, mostly - made the pain go away temporarily, but it would return a few hours after my workouts.  After having to take a week off from my training when the pain got unbearable - missing a few key long rides - I went to an Orthopedist, who x-rayed my back.  As it turns out, I have a stress fracture in one of my lumbar vertebrae, which I have probably had for years and years.  When the volume of my training jacked up, it irritated the fracture, and caused me the intense back pain along with severe sciatica.  I powered through workouts (medicated, mind you), despite the pain, and eventually the pain subsided.  I got my bike adjusted, too, which has helped tremendously.

Because my long rides have been so extremely painful, thanks to the achy breaky back, I am seriously dreading sitting in the saddle for 3 1/2 + hours on race day.  I worry that I will be in that same terrible pain, with no strength to do the most mundane things after I cross the finish line.  And it makes me wonder if all of this has been worth it.  So, you see, I'm not just a scaredy cat because it is new and unknown - that fear is there, of course - but I am afraid that I won't be able to do it again if I choose to.  I am afraid that my body is going to fail. 

But I will not quit the race.

What is so wrong with being scared of something?  Better yet, what is so terrible about acknowledging it aloud?  Fear is a powerful force, motivating even.  It's true, some people would avoid, run, and hide from fear.  But that's not me.  But I am also not going to ignore the "fear monster" that is lurking inside my head.  Ignoring it doesn't make it go away.  Acknowledging it means that I am ready to put up a fight.  Without the gloves.  So FEAR better be ready to rumble come September 29.

Race Report: Twilight Triathlon Crystal River, FL 7/28/13

This was only my second triathlon of 2013.  I know, I'm way behind.  But I've been training hard for the big boy - IM Augusta 70.3 - so it's not like I've been just hanging out.  It was a shorter sprint distance race - 400 meter swim, 10 mile bike ride, 3 mile run.

This race was a little bit different.  Like the name implies, the start was around dusk - 7:30 p.m.  The race organizers touted that almost everyone would cross the finish line at sunset. What a romantic sentiment.  They obviously hadn't given much thought to the likes of this mediocre triathlete. 

I wasn't really nervous at all for the race, I was very much looking forward to it, actually.  I have been putting in a lot of time in the pool, and I was anxious to see if my swim had improved.  I never have great swims in the open water, but I was determined to get over that and PR on the 400 meter swim.

At the race start, all of us women lined up on the shore in our pink caps.  Following my husband's advice, I planted my toes in the sand right up front.  I am usually in the back, so as to avoid getting kicked, punched, puled, etc.  As the siren sounded for the start, I took off, dove in, and went for it.  The water was bathtub warm, pretty swirly, and really cloudy - this swim is not the best representation of the normally clear and beautiful Gulf of Mexico.  I felt great as I swam, I managed to not get punched, and only had minor collisions. Until about 150 meters in, that is.  As I brought my right arm up mid-stroke, I realized that I had something in my hand.  It was a swim cap.  I had somehow yanked a cap off a fellow athlete.  I immediately looked up and saw her behind me.  All I could do was toss the cap at her, apologize profusely, and keep going.  That was definitely one of the weirder things that's happened to me in a tri!

I stayed the course on the swim, I saw myself passing a lot of swimmers, even some men that had left in a wave 3 minutes before mine.  I was elated, thinking I was going to do it!  I was going to beat the hell out of this swim.

I made it to the swim exit, ran up the beach - which I hate, by the way.  The soft Gulf sand KILLS my feet, even for only a teeny tiny run, and slows me down.  I got to T1, and managed to get my bike gear on, including socks, in what felt like record time (my transition times are normally glacially slow).

It was a hot and humid evening, and even though the water had been really warm, it felt great heading out on the bike wet from the swim.  There was quite a stiff breeze, so it really cooled me off.  It was a short bike ride - 10 miles - to help with getting people in close to sunset.  5 miles out was flat and fast, and there was a good tailwind that pushed me along.  I stayed over 20 mph before the turnaround.  For me, that's like breaking the sound barrier! Then came the turnaround and the inevitable headwind.  No hills, but enough of a sock to the face to slow me down to about a 16 mph average.  Bummer. 

It was at this point in the race that I remembered exactly why I dislike this particular course.  I had raced this course once before, and really didn't enjoy it.  It's an open course, meaning the roads are open to traffic, and athletes - cyclists and runners - are sharing the road.  This venue is at a park that only has one way in and out, and has several boat ramps and next to no parking.  Many large trucks with trailers are parked along the road, are pulling in and out during the race, and generally being pretty inconsiderate to us annoying triathletes.  In races past on this course, I have heard of cyclists getting knocked off their bikes by the trailers attached to trucks that couldn't be bothered to slow down just a tiny bit.

I was finishing up the ride as the sun was setting, and even though I don't love the course, it is really visually striking in some spots - save for the giant nuclear power plant in the background.  The sky was gorgeous, a palette of oranges and bluish grays, just stunning.

I biked into T2, parked my stuff, and headed out for the run, again in a much quicker fashion that normal for me.

During the ride, I made sure to drink A LOT, to avoid dehydration.  I've gotten sick because of that in other races, and it was so humid that I knew if I didn't drink a lot, I would likely puke.  As I started my run, I began to feel really queasy anyway, like I had eaten too much too soon before the race, which wasn't the case.  It was the humidity, which has a really negative affect on me.  I've been dealing with it all summer, and my runs have suffered.  But, I soldiered on, at a snail's pace.

I walked through the water stations at miles 1 and 2.  At the mile 2 water station, I made the huge mistake of pouring a cup of water down my front.  Not only was the water super warm, making it feel as if I was peeing myself, but the water quickly traveled down my legs, into my socks, and into the bottoms of my running shoes.  Immediately, my feet were soaked and I could feel the chafing begin.  ***I always learn something in every race.  Sometimes it is an unpleasant lesson.

Sure enough, over the course of the last mile, I could feel a hot spot on my big toe.  Bummer again.

As it began to grow dark, traffic picked up.  Boaters were leaving the park, and while most of the drivers were cautious of the runners and cyclists, there were a few jerks.  At about the 2 1/2 mile mark, I had picked up my pace considerably, and as I rounded a last corner, a ridiculously overcompensatingly large white dually truck pulls out into a 3-point turn in the middle of the road, in front of me, another runner, and a cyclist just finishing up.  We had to stop to avoid getting hit, and as I screamed obscenities at the idiot, he just looked up with a great big douchebag grin.  He had done it on purpose, because we were in his precious way. People are amazing in a really bad way sometimes.

I got past the truck, and could see the finish line.  I could also see a woman creeping up on my left.  Even though I hadn't really been racing during the entire run, it was then that I was all like, "Oh HELL no" and turned on the boosters to put some distance between us.  I crossed the finish line, and promptly felt the urgent need to puke.  Though I didn't, I realized that this is becoming an issue, and I need to figure out what is causing it, because there will come a time when I won't be able to stifle it, and someone in front of me will get an unwelcome shower.

Before the race, I had set a goal time of 1:20:00 for myself.  I ended up coming in at 1:16:19.  I was thrilled.  Of course, all of my friends that had been racing, my husband included, blew me away, but I'm the one who held back on the run.  No podium finish for me, but it was a victory nonetheless.

I was elated with my performance, until I saw the split times.  Thinking I had killed it in the water, I was upset when I saw my swim split was a lousy 9:10.  Even though I felt the best I ever had in a race during that swim, it was my slowest swim ever in a triathlon (at that distance).  I'd like to think I lost time hobbling up the beach - why do they make you run so damn far up the beach into the transition area? - or maybe I conserved my legs too much and didn't kick enough.  Or maybe I swam off course a bit and added distance.  Or maybe I'm just a crappy swimmer.

At the end of the day, I did better than I had expected to, I had a good bike ride, and I did really feel great during the swim.  My run can always improve, it is by far my least favorite thing to do - in a triathlon and in life.  Every race is a learning experience.  I learn about each discipline in the race, I learn how to make faster transitions, and I learn about myself and how hard I am able and willing to push.  Win or lose, if I get stronger, that is what counts the most.

Triathlon Checklist, A Guide for Newbies

When I was training for my first triathlon, I did all kinds of research on what to take to the race.  My biggest fear was forgetting something and finding myself either unable to race or too freaked out to enjoy the experience.  Overwhelmingly, everything I read boiled down to one important piece of advice:

Make a list!

A triathlon, especially your first, is frightening and vomit-inducing enough.  But realizing you have forgotten something 30 minutes before the race starts, something like your running shoes or your bike helmet, can send you into full cardiac arrest.  Make it as stress-free as humanly possible by having a list of the gear, equipment, and anything else you will need for race day, following that list as you pack, checking off the list as you pack, and referring to the list as you unpack and prepare your transition area.  If you are like me, and just about every other triathlete out there, making lists is second nature to you.  What might not be so easy, though, is knowing what to put on that list.

This is a basic list for newbie triathletes, ideal for a sprint distance race.  Long course triathlons require an ungodly amount of extra gear, nutrition, clothing, etc., so much so that you might as well pack a sherpa.  I've broken the list down by race leg - swim, bike, run - as well as pre- and post-race items that are good to have.

Triathlon Packing List - A Newbie's Guide

Pre-race (transition area setup)

Bucket filled with water or a large bottle of water - this is for your first transition from the swim to the bike (T1).  Depending on the race venue and the swim type, you might have grit  or sand on your feet and in between your toes.  Dip your feet in the water or pour water on your feet before you put your shoes on, or you will be hating life during the run.  Some races offer a foot wash, but I find that it doesn't do much good, and I always have water at my transition area anyway.

Towels - Have a dry towel for your feet, have an extra towel for wiping your face.  

Nutrition - A sprint triathlon does not require you to lay out a buffet at your transition area like the long distance races.  But have water or your favorite hydrating liquid (save the beer for AFTER the race) ready on your bike, and have extra easily reachable in your transition area.  Have a gel or something you can tolerate, that won't make you puke, and that YOU HAVE TRIED BEFORE available if you need it.  **Cardinal Rule of racing: NEVER try something new on race day or during the race.  Bad things, unspeakable things can - and likely will - happen.

Sunscreen - Never neglect your skin!  Lather yourself up good before the race, and reapply between the bike and run.

A gear/transition bag - You need something to lug all of your crap in.  You can buy triathlon gear bags - they vary in price from moderately pricey to is it going to race for me? expensive.  They have way more pockets, pouches, niches, and zippers than they need, but they are fun to carry, in a burden animal sort of way.  Use a backpack, a duffel bag, any bag that helps you contain, organize, and tote your triathlon stuff to your transition area and out again.  It also gives you a place to safely conceal your car keys, phone, id, and money.

Swim

Swimsuit - You will be swimming in the same outfit that you will be biking and running in.  The sprint distance doesn't allow time for a wardrobe change.  And honestly, nobody likes a naked triathlete in the transition area.

Wetsuit - if the race is wetsuit legal, and you are wearing one, you will want to remember to pack it.  Don't be a polar bear if you don't have to be.

Goggles - Race in goggles that you have swum with before (Cardinal Rule).  But bring an extra pair!  Goggles snap, break, and grow legs and walk away from time to time.

Bike

Bike - This should go without saying, but you really should bring your bike.  People have been known to forget their bikes.

Shoes - If you have clipless pedals, you must remember your cycling shoes!  These are not necessary, of course, and many folks have regular pedals and ride in their running shoes.  If you wish, you can put your socks on during T1 and both bike and run in them.

Sunglasses - Proper cycling/running sunglasses will help cut down on glare.  Not necessary, but a nice thing to have.

Helmet - You MUST have a properly fitting bike helmet.  I can't think of a race that will let you leave the transition area without your helmet on and strapped at the chin.  It's the rules.

Run

Running shoes - These are pretty important.  Again, people do forget them!  So, don't.  This should go without saying, but please PLEASE do not wear a brand new pair of shiny running shoes.  Ahem, Cardinal Rule...

Socks - Bring 2 pair, and don't wear a pair that you haven't run in before.  Again, remember the Cardinal Rule...

Hat/visor - Not a necessity, but nice for keeping the sun off your face, and sweat out of your eyes.

Race belt - This is for attaching your bib to for the run.  It is pretty necessary, and they are inexpensive to buy.  Have your bib attached to it before the race, and have it set out on top of your running shoes.  Also, go for a run wearing it before the race, so you can have it adjusted to your comfort level.  Again, CARDINAL RULE!

Post-race

Change of clothes - Depending on how much you sweat, and how comfortable you want to be during the post-race festivities, you might either want to bring a full change of clothes, or simply bring a t-shirt to wear over your wet and sweaty triathlon ensemble.

Money/i.d. - Bring these for food and drink after the race.  You will also have to show your identification when you check in before the race.


This is my starter list for a triathlon newbie.  As you gain more race experience, you might find that you need more or less in order to have your perfect race experience.  If I've left something off, please don't hesitate to call me out on it...leave your suggestion in the comments!

Make your list, train hard, race harder, and enjoy yourself!

Ironman Augusta 70.3 Training Log, Week #6

I am deeply entrenched into the training program, and it has successfully overtaken just about every aspect of my life.  Midway into the sixth week, I am starting to experience the telltale signs of training stress: the tweaks, the aches, the fatigue.  I am trying to stay focused, and keep my eyes on the prize.  The prize being that feeling of crossing the finish line and knowing that I have pushed my body and spent all of its resources without taking it all for granted.

Last week's training was tough, I'm not going to lie.  As much as I would love to sit here and say that I am coasting through each training session, I just can't.  Even the swims are tough, and those usually feel like a rest day for me.  The fourth training week was a recovery week, meaning the workouts were shorter and less strenuous than the week before, and I was successful at completing each and every minute of them.  Last week, the fifth week, not only put me back on the track, but it thrust me into the fast lane.  While I completed every minute of every scheduled workout of the week, I paid for it in pain and exhaustion.  The training plan seems to ignore the 10% rule, and my mileage was jacked up a lot more than that, particularly in the running department, arguably my weakest link in the triathlon chain.  

A rough 75-minute run on Sunday on a really hilly course has left me spent.  I worked through it during Monday's 60-minute swim, successfully completing five 500-yard sets intermingled with some 100-yard backstroke recovery sets, for a total of 3100 yards.  Yesterday brought a 60-minute bike ride, and my legs wanted nothing to do with it.  I got through it, at a glacial 14-15 mph average pace.

My hamstring is giving me fits again, and I am just so fearful of being injured.  I do not want to be the one who limps through a race for 9 hours.  I want to be the one who triumphantly completes the race, feeling spent but strong.  

This morning, the plan was to do a 60-minute interval run.  My husband and I were up and out the door before 5 a.m., and it became quickly apparent that there would be no intervals, and that 60 minutes was a laughable suggestion.  I came to the conclusion that I still have 10 weeks of training and that little Half Ironman triathlon to get through, and I'd like to do it injury-free, so we hobbled through a mere 30-minute run, choosing to listen to our bodies rather than pound through the pain.  Sometimes it is smarter to back off in order to be able to keep playing until the end of the game.

If it sounds difficult, it is.  If I sound beaten down, I'm not quite there.  The workouts are tough, but the gratitude I feel toward my body at the end of the day makes it worth it.  With as little time that we are given in our bodies, I think it is a shame to waste that time not seeing what they are capable of.  

Overall, I am enjoying the training.  Most days after a workout, I feel strong and pleased with my progress, even if I feel weakened and sore.  The aches and the tweaks are to be expected, I have done this enough at this point to know that.  What I need to continue to work on is my recovery and my nutrition, both of which are lacking.  It's difficult to take the time to stretch, roll, and rest when I've already taken so much time away from my family to do the workouts.  I suppose that I can swim, bike, and run through some of the fatigue and pain, but I will never be able to outpace that damned guilt.

Onward and upward!

Just Keep Swimming

I've been doing my swim workouts for the past few weeks alongside my kids' swim team.  Now, when I say alongside, I mean that I am swimming in the lanes next to them, not working out with them.  Because that would look ridiculous.  Their warm ups are faster than my all-out sprints.  This depressing reality has given me something to think about as I have been pounding lap after lap.  Why in the world did I stop swimming?

I was by no means whatsoever an elite, or great, or even good swimmer when I was younger.  My father taught me the strokes, he had me swim laps in our neighborhood pool in the early mornings before anyone else was there, he, for lack of a better word, coached me.  I loved swimming, I loved swimmers, but it was only a faint fog of a dream for me to ever compete on any level.

My brother was a great swimmer.  He did the age group thing, he was an All-American, he was supposed to swim on scholarship in college before a devastating motorcycle wreck threw him off course for many years.  And while I never knew him growing up - he and my father had parted ways before I was even born - I knew of him and what a great swimmer he was.  My brother was a mythical figure to me, an idol that I worshipped from afar.  He was someone I thought of as I swam those laps in the tiny little pool, someone I wanted to know one day, someone I wanted to show my own abilities to. My dream coach, my ultimate cheerleader.

So the closest I ever came to realizing any dreams of competitive swimming was on my high school team.  When I decided to join the team, my father tried to talk me out of it.  He pointedly told me that I was no good, that all the other swimmers would beat me, and that I would want to quit because I would lose.  I never could figure out if that was his version of pushing me and supporting me, or if he was really that afraid that I would fail.  It didn't matter, because nobody tells me that I can't do something, especially him.  I joined the team anyway.  I loved everything about it.  I loved practice, I loved my teammates, I loved the meets.  Even though I wasn't a "winner" I certainly wasn't a loser, either, and I was living that faded little dream that I'd had, the one that sometimes included my brother showing up to cheer me on at a race.

Before I head down that road of reminiscing about "the good old days" and it begins to seem as if I peaked in high school, let me just stop right there.  As I said before, I was never a great, or even a marginally good, swimmer.  But I loved it.  And now that I am rapidly approaching 40, and since the day around two years ago that I jumped into a pool and began swimming those laps again, I am realizing that there are ghosts that surround me when I am in the water.  And I think they are ghosts of regret.  

The regret that I feel is that I got out of the water for so many years.  Not because I think I could have won races or set records.  But because swimming has brought me back to my roots.  It has taken me back to those summer mornings when my dad taught me how to do a flip turn, when he schooled me on the proper entry dive, when he taught me how to roll my shoulders when I do backstroke.  Swimming makes me closer to him, even though the memories aren't always so great, but they are at least a piece of my history with him, and there is a certain comfort in that.  Swimming makes me feel connected to my brother, who lives so far away from me both geographically and emotionally, and with whom I've just never been able to establish the relationship with him that I have so desperately craved all my life.  At least we have the pool.

I stopped swimming for a long time.  Babies, jobs, life got in the way.  But as I have made room in my world for training and racing, I have made my way back into the water.  And as I watch my kids do the age group thing, I see them struggle with their love/hate relationship with swimming.  I see them hate to practice, but I also see them joyfully talk about what they loved about practice, what they want to swim in the next meet, who they want to beat on their team.  And so the connection that I have to the pool deepens.  My body might have left, but my heart never did.

I feel like if you truly love something, if it is part of your being, then it never really leaves you.  We always come back to what we love.  Even my brother, who left the pool for different reasons and for so many years.  He's a coach with his own swim club now.  My dream coach, my ultimate cheerleader has his own deep connections to the pool.

Ironman Augusta 70.3 Training Log, Week #1

I made it through the first week of honest-to-goodness training for Ironman Augusta 70.3.  It was a tough week, emotionally and physically, and there were moments that I wondered why I am putting my body through this.  If you've ever trained for a triathlon or any big race, then you probably realize that thinking that way in the first week of a training program is not really a good thing.

The workouts weren't difficult.  They were tiring, and I realized that I have some work to do so that I do not go splat on the race course in September.

Monday - I was supposed to swim 45 minutes, but given the fact that our dog passed away, I took a rest day.  By that, I mean I lay on my couch and cried all day long and into the wee hours of the night.

Tuesday - I decided to make up for missing Monday's swim by doubling up.  I did a road ride for the schedules 60 minutes in the morning - a little over 16 miles - and swam in the early evening as my kids were practicing with their swim team.  Doubles usually don't bother me, especially if there is no running involved, but this workout day left me drained.

Wednesday - A 45-minute run, which ended up being 4.65 miles and included a longer-than-should-have-been walk break.  I have talked about my absolute LOVE of running before, and today it enveloped me like a big sweaty grizzly bear and choked the hell out of me.  I felt clunky and uncoordinated, and SLOW.  The humidity in Florida in the summer cannot adequately be described, it must be experienced.  Even at 4:45 a.m., it is a mean and mocking little SOB.  In the cool months of winter, I almost get to the point where I like running.  But in June, I want to humiliate it in front of its friends.

Thursday - I swam again while the kiddos practiced, and got in 2000 yards in 42 minutes.  The plan called for 45 minutes, but I doubt the 3 minutes lost is going to make a bit of difference in the end.  I worked on my backstroke, and 600 yards of the workout was kicking drills because I have no kick and, for their size, extremely weak legs.  This affects me not only in the pool, but also on the bike.  So, despite the fact that I practically move backwards in the pool when I do it, I did kick drills.  And I also observed that 9-15 year-olds swim a lot faster than I do.

Friday - A rest day, amen and hallelujah!  When training for any type of race, you grow to relish rest days, even if you have a twinge of guilt over not training on those days.  Especially when you see someone working out.  Then you feel lazy.  Somehow, though, I manage to get over it as I sip my cold drink while lying by my pool.

Saturday - Weekend workouts are the long workouts, and both my husband and I moan and groan about them while in training.  Today, we were working out with some people from our tri club, a swim-bike brick workout.  I had a decent swim, I felt a little tired but was still able to get in 1900 yards of mostly freestyle and a little backstroke, plus I more than made up for the 3 minutes I skipped out on during Thursday's swim.  That was followed by the bike ride from hell, a hilly and painful 22 mile ride on county roads. My favorite part was having a panic attack when we went over Interstate 75.  Bridges scare the hell out of me, and I wasn't expecting to have to deal with an overpass, whose bike lane was a little too narrow and close to the edge for me.  Oh, and the tractor truck that blew by me at the precise moment that I looked down at the road below when I really do know better than to do that was just the cherry on the cake.  And I realized that I need a new bike saddle.  In fact, I am reminded - even at this moment - every time I sit down.

Sunday - Long run day, my favorite day!  Not really.  We were thankful for an overcast morning and there was a breeze, so the humidity behaved itself somewhat.  Both husband and I were really tired, our legs were tired, our arms were tired, our brains were close to flatlining.  So we did a run/walk/run thing.  We ran a mile and walked one minute, for 6.2 miles.  It was actually quite pleasant, we could talk to each other during the workout, and the walking only slowed us down a little bit.  The run/walk thing is difficult for a lot of runners, because you don't feel like it's really a run if you do any walking whatsoever.  To that, I say get over yourself.  It took me a while to get there, but I am realizing that my legs feel less tired for the rest of the day when I give them a little bit of a break during some workouts.

Total training time logged: 6 hours, 24 minutes


I realize now that my fatigue is likely the result of two doubles during the week.  I feel good that I was able to get in all of my scheduled workouts, and didn't have the urge to blow off even one of them.  It's like being able to check every item off a to-do list, and if you are like me, then you are all like, Yes!  I got it ALL done!  I am Super-multitasker! And then you make your next to-do list.  

On to week #2!

I think, therefore I am neurotic

I am in a funk.  I haven't done a race since last month, and even though I have one on my calendar for September, and a plan to do a few more before then, I feel a little lost today.  My training program for Augusta begins a week from Monday, so this funk will come undone as soon as I have my first big girl double workout day.  Then I will be longing for a funk.  But the in-between time that happens from the end of a race to the beginning of the grind of training for another one just kinda stinks.

~~~

Tomorrow I am racing in my first biathlon.  The city in which I live puts on this great Dash and Splash series each summer, consisting of a 5k run followed by an 800m pool swim.  For some reason, this informal little neighborhood race gave me bad dreams last night.  I dreamt that I showed up at the wrong pool.  I dreamt that I wore my running shoes during the swim.  I couldn't figure out why I am so nerve-wracked about this race.  Then, a little while ago, it dawned on me.

I haven't raced in a pool since I was 17 years old.

Now, this isn't like a swim meet.  I don't think I will be starting on a block, and there aren't any starting guns or horns.  But, I haven't raced side by side with another human being - unless you count the pregnant lady swimming in the lane next to me at the pool last week, I could NOT let her beat me to the wall - in over 2 decades.

I have been putting in a ton of pool time, 16 miles in the month of May, to be exact.  For an old lady, that's a bunch.  I've been trying to get faster, pushing myself in drills and sprints, and I just haven't been dropping any significant time.  

I'm afraid that I will look slow and amateurish tomorrow, I guess.

Both my kids swim, and my daughter is always bugging me to race her in the pool.  She's 10, and she is so much faster than I am now, and faster than I was even when I was young and spry.  One of two things will happen tomorrow as she watches me finish my race:

• I will swim fast enough for her to ramp up her pestering me into racing her at HER swim practice in front of HER coaches and teammates, or
• I will swim so slow that it will prompt her to ask me if I was telling the truth when I told her that not only did I swim when I was younger, but that I was part of a relay team that set a school record.

Guess which scenario I am rooting for?

~~~

On another note, I hate running.  And it hates me.  We get to this place every summer.  Heat and humidity make it feel as if I am running with a loaded-down camel on my back - one who won't share any water from his hump with me, and I feel like I am fighting for each and every breath.  In another 5 months, me and running will be good again.  

Training for Augusta is going to be a long and sweaty road, I foresee.

**I apologize for the stream of consciousness.  This is what happens when I think.  And I thought that pool time took care of all that noise in my head...

It's what you do with it.

My oldest child, my baby, my boy, my nearly 14-year-old, is a typical teen.  He's messy, he smells, he gets embarrassed about girls, he forgets to do his homework, he walks around in droopy underpants asking what's for dinner.  He's also highly intelligent, keenly observant, terribly witty, and one of the cutest nearly 14-year-old boys walking the planet today.

He's also small for his age.

Not a week goes by when some adult - some non-thinking, probably perfectly decent person - whose perception of "normal" or "strong" or "worthy of living" has been skewed by society or by their parents or by a t.v. show says to me either:

"He looks like a 3rd grader" - usually with a snicker or
"Oh, he's so small for his age" or
"Have you taken him to a doctor?"

To the first remark, how the hell should I respond to that?  My inclination is to take out a sledge hammer and pound the person into the ground until he or she is inside the earth.  Usually I make no indication whatsoever that his/her comment has affected me, because it really isn't worth the air that it would take to respond to it.  But I always wonder...would this person, this grown adult who is supposed to be teaching his/her children to accept people for what they are and not how they look (or maybe I'm wrong, and that isn't a current trend in parenting?), say that to my son's face?

To the second, I usually say "Yeah, he is."  In my mind, though, I am saying, "Yeah, he is, and he is obviously not worthy of sharing air with the likes of you, you obviously superior being who has obviously raised superior images of yourself.  So, let's just take him out and shoot him dead."  Do people - GROWN PEOPLE - think that I, that he, doesn't know that he is smaller than his friends?  That he isn't as physically strong or acceptable to the world at large?  For Pete's sake, I don't need anyone's self-proclaimed expert opinion on the matter.

To the third question, I say, "Yep.  Doc says he is short."  That's it.  The doctor says that he is short.  Because of me.  I was a late bloomer, and so is he.  So the F what?  

I know I seem touchy and hypersensitive about the issue.  But you have to understand that there are a whole bunch of ignorant people in the world, and I think just about every one of them has uttered one of those statements to me (and probably behind our backs).  And, like a mama bear, I won't let anyone hurt my baby.  But at the same time, I also won't acknowledge blatant ignorance and insensitivity, which is why I generally ignore comments - despite the fact that it goes against my very core, which requires a great deal of tongue-biting on my part.

I don't bring this up to call out the mean people in the world, or to make an example of my kid.  I wanted to provide some backstory.

Both of my kids are swimmers.  My daughter has some real natural prowess at it.  She's younger than he is, and she started swimming competitively before he did, and she does well in meets.  My son has been doing it a little over a year.  He, too, has some natural prowess.  He busts his butt in practice, he doesn't complain to the coach, he never gives up.  He has his size working totally against him right now, and he is stuck in a practice group with his 10 year old sister and a group of other kids that age.  He watches his friends from school practice in more advanced groups, and he sometimes gets down about it.  He has to swim against kids his own age in meets, kids that are bigger than he is, kids that practice with other kids their own ages, despite never getting to practice against his own age group.  And he generally finishes last in his events. 

And he gets back in the pool every time.  Smiling.

This weekend, my son was presented a challenge.  He was entered to swim the 800 meter freestyle in a meet.  If you don't swim, that is 16 lengths of the pool and you are either thinking (mistakenly) how hard could that be? or you are thinking (correctly) Yikes!  If you do swim, you know how difficult that is for someone that is big and strong.  That is a little more than 1/2 mile.  Most people don't even bother to get off their couches to walk that far in a day, much less swim the distance.  And he had to go as fast as he could, faster even.  He was petrified, but he wasn't about to back out.

Swim meets are stressful for my son and for his parents.  He never performs to his own satisfaction, he beats himself up, leaving his dad and me to attempt to keep him pepped up and positive in hopes that he won't give up.  So, I am ashamed to admit that we were dreading this race a bit, only because we both know from experience how hard that distance can be, and how intimidating it can be if you've never done it before.

He took to the starting block looking as if we were sending him to the gas chamber.  All I could do was think about the things I needed to say to him after the race to cheer him up.  The starting horn went off, and we watched him swim length after length, smoothly and evenly, and diligently.  His coaches cheered for him, his teammates cheered for him, his sister cheered for him, his dad cheered for him.  I yelled for him.  His last 50 meters, he dropped 10 seconds off his split, telling us that he not only could do it, he would do it faster next time!  But there was still that chance that he had disappointed himself.

But when he emerged from the pool, his smile was bright enough to block out the sun.  His coach, his dad, his teammates congratulated him.  I wanted to scoop him up and jump with him and kiss his head.  Instead, I gave him a high five.  You know, to protect his rep.

He was happy with his swim, he was satisfied!  He faced the challenge, and despite the people that are always giving him - and us - those pity-filled looks and making those ill-informed remarks, he was on top of the world.  It didn't matter what his time was, it didn't matter where he placed.  

My son is so many things.  He is not big in size, but he is huge in determination and spirit and the only kind of strength that really matters.  I am in awe of the sheer hugeness of the person that he is.

When I train and I get discouraged, or when I am in a race and I feel exhaustion and pain setting in, my son is what I will turn to for inspiration.

Because it isn't the size of the body that you are given that matters, it is what you do with it that means the most.