I am not a writer. I dabble in parenting, sport and making fun of myself. I'm good at coffee. I love where I live and the things I get to do.
Author: Christine Cogger
I am not a writer. I like my kids, coffee, running around and reading about you. I live in the most incredible part of the world and am lucky enough to live some pretty great adventures.
“Have you ever had/done/seen/read/tasted/tried it before?”
“No.”
I don’t know about you fellow parents out there, but this is the basic chorus in this house. They seem to be genetically programmed to want to stay home and inside their wee comfort zones. I suppose, on the one hand, that that’s fine. On the other, dudes, it’s a great big world out there and there’s lots to see!
To that end, I’m trying to make 2016 the Year of Yes.
Some days, it goes swimmingly: we are all on board and totally keen to tackle something new. For example: Will joined the basketball team at school. Rory tried ski jumping. Anja agreed to have her hair tied back every day (see, it doesn’t need to be anything major… just, something new and different).
Other days, like today, it’s hard for me to drive this little project forward because I’m feeling overwhelmed by work and life, it’s raining and it just feels easier to stay home and do our same old, same old. And that’s ok, too.
Regardless, I love that we have a challenge that everyone in the house can participate in. That said… it’s still January. Maybe I should revisit this post in June and see where we are at?
Or is it 13? Or 11? Who can tell, these days. School’s out, I take some time off work and then all of a sudden I have no concept of what day of the week it is. It’s kind of neat.
It’s a white Christmas here and what a difference snow makes. Everything’s just that much brighter. The kids are easily convinced to go outside. And running in the snow? Waaaay more fun that running in the rain.
Needless to say, the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of wrapping things up (literally and figuratively), getting into the swing of winter and thinking about the end of 2015 by starting to make plans and hatch ideas for 2016.
Since my brain also seems to be on Christmas holiday, I’ll leave you with a photo wrap of the last few weeks.
It’s a rainy Sunday… the day has passed with staggering slowness. Another rain fall warning means even though we go outside, no one really loves it (not even the dog), and the lingering luxury of shooing everyone outside in bathing suits after a week in the sun is still on everyone’s mind.
I hate homework more than all of them combined.
Case in point: the eldest went to join his siblings outside… in bare feet. It took reminding him that we aren’t on holiday anymore to get his brain re-engaged.
—
“Mama, the air is all liquidy here…”
Those were the first words out of Anja’s mouth as we deplaned for our holiday together. It was late and it had been a long flight with lots of fidgeting (from me, too). I’d sort of mentally blocked the fact that even though I/We were on a lovely tropical holiday, I still had to parent.
Well, that’s novel.
And let’s be honest. There were days where the level of parenting was low. Like, take care of yourself and go ahead and ignore me, low. Nonetheless, we had a great time and each kid reacted a little differently to their time away.
Anja couldn’t get enough of sitting in the surf, filling her bikini with sand and… sleeping (that’s my GIRL!)
Rory spent hours diving under waves, wandering the beach seemingly aimlessly but always with an underlying purpose.
Will tested his limits (which is very much unlike him) and built things out of sand.
And me? I read books. And it was glorious.
—
This is a very random fact: I’ve always hated my feet. I don’t like their shape, they are usually missing one or several toenails and always, always have blisters or remnants thereof.
One evening, we were walking on the beach back from the now infamous (in our house anyway) ice cream dinner. I looked down at my foot prints in the sand and I didn’t see my own feet. I saw my mum’s. I stared for a few minutes, and realized that I can no longer hate my feet, because of who I so clearly inherited them from.
—
It’s a few weeks out from Ironman Arizona… I thought the feeling of scouring race calendars and making mental plans would dissipate. Well, what do you know. It’s still there and it’s rather strong.
Let the planning begin! (or, you know, continue… as it were).
Every triathlon I’ve done starts exactly the same way.
With an alarm. At a very miserable hour. It’s always still dark outside. And I always have the exact same thought shoot through my brain as I roll over under the warm blankets:
“Man alive, this is such a stupid sport.”
Ironman Arizona? Absolutely no different!
(Good: I got up and and left the hotel room. Evil: It was oh-dark-thirty).
—
The lead up the this race was pretty great. My training had been consistent (which is pretty much a first – I have traditionally been the queen of just “going with it” and not following schedules and plans too closely). My body held up, with the help of regular physio and massage. I caught a cold in the week before the race, but I gagged down lots of oil of oregano (officially the most disgusting substance on earth), and I found that I was pretty excited to hit that start line in the hot Arizona sun (foreshadowing!)
We flew into Pheonix on Thursday and settled into the hotel and got on with the usual logistical stuff that goes along with these races. Packing, organizing, last minute workouts, eating and resting. All things I am pretty good at and yet I really dislike the day prior to the race. Nerves are rampant, there’s too much to think about and I just want to get on with it already. I did get to meet my Team TRS teammates, so that was cool (and not as awkward as I’d expect, this merging of social media and real life).
Not like Pemberton!
Brain explosion.
Team TRS at IMAZ!
I met some guy who was 6’9′” on the course. I bet his bike touched the ground.
#EatAllTheThings
4h layover in LA? No problem.
Tucked myself into bed with one last swig of oil of oregano, and I drifted to sleep by trying to daydream about anything non-triathlon related.
(Good: I am ready! Evil: I have a cold, and I have an alarm set for 4-something).
—
The alarm rang at 4:23AM and I dragged myself into the shower and mumbled to Liz to make the coffee. It was going to be a long day.
We got packed up and Christine picked us up (how in the world does this woman look so pulled together at this hour?) My stomach was feeling a little off, and I was hoping it was just nerves. We got to the venue much earlier than I normally do, so I had lots of time to sit and contemplate just how crappy I was feeling. By then, my stomach hurt like hell and I alternated between trying to curl into a ball and just die with trying to stretch, walk around and snap myself out of it. I was questioning whether I’d be able to keep down food, let alone exercise in circles all day.
Ready to crush an IM? You betcha. Photo: coach Liz.
Eventually, I sucked it up, squeezed into my wetsuit, bid the girls goodbye and followed the masses to the start line. Arizona has a rolling start, meaning that they expect everyone to self-seed, then gradually move into the water based on their estimated swim times. I staked my claim at the back of the 1:10 corral. I had lots of room to swing my arms about (which would have to do as a warm up) and since I’d been swimming well in training, I was confident that this was where I was meant to be. I looked up, it was still kind of dark and I saw clouds. Huh, guess I won’t need to worry about the sun burning my eyeballs on the swim (foreshadowing!)
That’s me. Bottom left. This looks A LOT lighter than it actually was.
The gun went off and so too did the herd of athletes headed to the stairs that led down to the “lake” (I use this term loosely. It’s more like a murky, brown, stagnant canal. What fun!) I jumped into the very cold water and started to swim. And then… bam! I experienced a very unpleasant and very full-blown panic attack. What. The. Hell?! My head popped up, I was cold and having trouble breathing. For some reason, I was imagining a wall of humanity bearing down on me and I couldn’t get any perspective. I was far enough away from the boards and kayaks that I knew I had to figure this out on my own, and I knew that that meant just keep moving forward. So I did. Likely in terrible form because I was stiff and cold and grumpy. I couldn’t wait to get out of the water and I bargained with myself the entire way around.
Finally out of the swim, I was hauled up the stairs by amazing volunteers, stripped of my wetsuit and sent on my way to the change tents. I was fairly certain, during transition and during the entire time that I was getting dressed to ride, that I was not going to get onto my bike. Oddly enough, I did. Huh. Mind over matter, I suppose.
Almost… (sorry for the language, Dad!)I came around. Eventually.
(Good: I did not abandon the swim. Evil: I sure as hell wanted to. And I had a personal worst).
Once onto the bike course, it took forever for me to shake the negative feelings from that swim and focus on what I was doing then, which was riding my bike around in circles for many hours while eating. Doesn’t that sound like a riveting way to spend a Sunday morning? The ride actually went by fairly quickly — likely because I was passing a ton of people, wondering why everyone was going so slowly (this sounds mean and arrogant and yet, it’s the truth!) The course was pretty boring, windy and 3 loops. I got to see friends out there and I was wearing a suit that made me feel pretty sleek. So that was neat. And then… the rain! And not just drizzle. RAIN. It didn’t bother me much but based on how quickly everyone around me slowed down, it was pretty much like the sky was falling.
Still thinking about the swim
Pretty much as wet as the swim
The “Are We There Yet” posture
It took me most of the last loop to do some race math and realize that if I didn’t let up, I’d set a personal best for the bike. And so I went for it and beat myself by 10 minutes.
(Good: My brain finally stopped dwelling on the swim and I remembered I was meant to be biking. Evil: I biked in many circles for many hours).
Into transition, I quickly changed shoes and socks and was off again. I felt totally fine and my legs didn’t hurt (whoa). It was absolutely bucketing down rain and I was kind of laughing at the conditions. I am in the DESERT, might I remind you! Where is the sunburn I came for?
There isn’t much to report about the run: it was 2, not particularly scenic loops. The first loop was uneventful. I ate. I ran. I ate some more. I saw Liz and we joked around a bit – that was refreshing. The 2nd loop was a sea of space-blanket wearing humanity and I was now in that frame of mind where everyone needed to move it, you are in my way! I may or may not have growled more than once. People were oblivious to those around them and it was driving me batty.
The wheels started to rattle loose around the 23 mile mark. I was tired. I was bored. My left leg hurt and I felt a blister pop on my right foot (gross!) I looked down and my tummy was bloated, making me feel a lot less sleek than on the bike, that’s for damn sure. Liz, waiting at the finish line, said to Chrissy that I needed to get moving if I was going to make it under 11 hours. I must have sensed that because I basically said “F#*$ this, I am done!” and busted it (relative to the shuffle I was executing at the time) to the line.
I wish I’d known how crooked my visor was.
Blinded. Literally.
I feel kinda bad for this person. I tried to give him space, but then they just stopped.
Per usual, the last mile is interminable and I eventually made the turn to the chute and the finish arch. Erin caught me as I stumbled a bit and was pretty blinded by the lights — I’ve never finished in the dark before, so that was quite a different experience. I didn’t bother to look at the clock, I was just thrilled to stop moving for a bit. A quick trip through medical and I was done, done and DONE. I’ll leave our rather poorly executed post-game plan (read: none!) for another post.
(Good: I held pace, I did what I came to do. Evil: circles are boring and space blanket capes did not amuse me. I get that I am Canadian and hardy and all that, but was it really that cold?)
—
Maybe the best part of the weekend was recovery Monday: coffee. Big breakfast. Nap. More food. More coffee. Hot tub. Another nap. Beer. Sunset from the top of a wee mountain. Big dinner. More beer. More sleeping.
Recovery day sunset from the “A” on the hill
Wonder who I get to meet?
Fixed that.
And now, I’m home and I’m ready to take a break for a bit. I’ve learned that I have to stop saying “ohmygodnevereveragain” when I cross finish lines. I didn’t do that this time because I know that soon enough, I’ll groan at the sound of a way-too-early alarm clock and head out for another start line.
(Good: All of the food. Evil: Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness).
—
Just the facts: 10:56, 9th AG, personal best!
—
Epilogue:
Anja comes downstairs this morning and asks if I won my AG. I said no. She asks if I came second, I say: “No, I came 9th”.
It’s 5:30 in the morning. It’s dark and cold, I’m sitting here drinking coffee and reading dumb tweets and rolling my eyes at the general state of the universe. Why am I up, anyway? Oh yeah. Because I’m tired, tired, tired yet simultaneously keyed up and unable to sleep.
Oh, Ironman training. You’re a fickle friend, aren’t you?
When I crossed the line at Ironman Coeur d’Alene, almost immediately I said “never again”. But within minutes, I knew I was kidding myself. That race was hotter than hot and didn’t go as expected , but I learned a lot and knew that even though I was proud to have finished in such unpleasant conditions, I didn’t want my last IM to be one that I merely survived.
I took a few weeks to settle down, think about it and then begin plotting another race. And here we are… one month out from Ironman Arizona. My body’s holding up (with the help of regular physio and eating my body weight in… everything).
Yes, he ate the whole thing. We love to eat.
Maybe I’ll have this after Sober October?
I *heart* my physio.
Coach… leading by example.
Should I be proud or horrified that I was able to fuel a workout entirely with leftover event food?
Arizona seemed like a good one to tackle. There wouldn’t be a crazy work schedule leading into for me, I’ve never been to scenic Tempe and I have a holiday planned immediately afterwards. It’s challenging for me in that it’s a flat course, so it doesn’t play to my strengths. What I hadn’t counted on was the fact that everyone pretty hangs it up after labour day so training has been a solo effort with a LOT of time spent inside my own head.
Holy smokes, do I ever bore me.
I have mad bike handling skills: I didn’t squish any of these!
#motivation
Man, I love good company.
Anyway, you know that expression that refers too insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Well, it was time for a change — particularly if I wanted a different time on that finish clock!
In no particular order, some of the changes:
I bought a fancy new bike. Behold, Carlos the Felt:
Repeat after me: That ride FELT good.
That’s right. I named my bike. Because saying things like “I rode Carlos” makes me giggle. Did I *need* a new bike? Of course not. Did I *want* a new bike? Obviously. This bike goes nice and fast in a straight line, and the fine friends at Comor helped me get him going.
Next? I am taking swimming lessons. That’s right, swimming lessons.
Not as fun as it looks.
When I first met Mike the Swim Coach, here’s generally how the conversation went:
Mike: “So tell me about your swimming.”
Me: “You know when swimmers talk about feeling the water? Well, I don’t get it, I am in a pool. I feel water everywhere.”
Mike: “Ok, hop in, and let’s see you swim.”
I swim for about 200m under Mike’s watchful eye. And a camera. And a mirror *shudder*.
Mike: “Ok, so you have zero feel for the water.”
Needless to say, it’s rather humbling to swim staring at yourself. But! Gains are being made! Mike is some kind of weird voodoo miracle worker. Go see him.
Let’s see, what else. I have a coach! The key, I believe, to a good coach is finding someone that knows you better than you know yourself. I have that person. Plus, we crack each other up. What more can you ask for? She’s pretty hard on me.
We may or may not have over-consumed the night prior to this exchange.What it looks like when coach drops your hungover self 100km from your destination.
With a few weeks left till I get to go south, I am supremely sick of spending time with myself and I know pretty much every crack and pothole on the roads around here. Guess I just need to keep reminding myself of rule #5.
“Erica, it’s time to let go, and tell your family that you love them. No more fighting.”
Delivered by her long time doctor, those words started a conversation I will never forget. Mum’s condition had deteriorated rapidly in the few weeks prior and we’d all flown in from our respective parts of the world to be with her and Dad. We were all sitting on her bed, her doctor looking us each in the eye, patiently and truthfully answering our questions.
Looking back on that day, a sunny September afternoon, what stays with me is how brave Mum was in the face of this definitive statement. She looked at all of us, tears in her eyes and a little smile on her face. She didn’t say anything. I don’t think she could. I certainly couldn’t. We sat quietly for a few minutes, absorbing our new reality until Mum said she needed to rest and shooed us away.
How do you carry on with your day when someone tells you that the matriarch of your family is dying and that you only have days left together? I don’t know… you just do. I remember that we all retreated into ourselves for a few hours. I think I went for a run and cried my way through it. I may have punched a tree and howled. I was terribly sad. And furious. And also a little bit relieved that finally, Mum wouldn’t have to suffer anymore and that our lives would no longer be dictated by cancer markers, medications and the fear of not knowing. That may seem selfish and yet it’s true. Anyone who has been through this will know just how honest that is.
The next few days were a blur. Preparations were underway to move her and time both sped and dragged. In her typical fashion, my stubborn mother declared that she wanted to go to hospice care RIGHT NOW. Not in a few days, or even a few hours. NOW. We did what we could for her and each other. I slept next to her every night. She was in pain and I learned how to administer her morphine so as to take the load off her nurses. I remember asking Dr. Barakett “What if I give her too much?” He said something like: “And? So what. Go for it”. I guess at that point, it didn’t make much of a difference. She was so fragile by then that she broke her shoulder by rolling over in bed.
Situations like this brought on a certain kind of dark humour and morbidity that some would think crass… unless you’ve lived it. We had to tell her that she’d have to wait a few days before being transferred. We all then joked that the hospice “has a high rate of turnover”… It’s a terrible thing to say… but in the moment it was the perfect thing to say.
What a weird dichotomy her hospice was… I couldn’t reconcile this setting. My brothers and I sat in beautiful, lush country gardens, watching sunrises and sunsets. We had beers and talked. We cried and we laughed. Inside, the most gentle and caring volunteers and nurses took care of Mum with a kindness that cannot be measured.
I will forever be thankful for these days we spent together. It’s an odd thing to say, being thankful for being with someone as they die. But it’s the truth. We didn’t exchange many words, as Mum slipped into a coma the day after her birthday. We sat with her. Held her hand. I spent a lot of time just watching her. I know in my heart of hearts that she knew we were with her. And I think that is what made it ok for her to finally let go, to stop fighting after almost 10 years of constant battle.
3 years has gone by so quickly… and sometimes time drags. Not a day goes by that a thought of Mum doesn’t cross my mind. I’m sometimes caught off guard by a powerful longing or a need to reach out to her, even if she is no longer there. The further we get away from her passing, the memories of her illness fade a little bit and my memories of her when we were all younger seem to prevail a little bit more. I don’t know why. But I like it and I’m grateful for those thoughts.
I miss you, Mum. When I grow up, I want to be as brave as you were.
A few weeks ago, Will asked me if I was a “helicopter parent”. That basically stopped me dead in my tracks. Oh my god… is this what he thinks of me? Maybe he thinks because I made Anja wear all the armour over her onesie for her first foray into the bike park that I’m over protective??
To be fair, she didn’t have to wear a full face helmet.
I asked him if he even knew what that meant. Sure, he said. It’s a parent who doesn’t let you do anything fun.
Right, then.
I followed this up by asking him if he thought this was the kind of parent I was (which would be odd, because generally I only some kind of vague idea of where the kids are at any given moment. They’re playing outside? Super! I hope they remembered sunscreen.)
No, no, he assured me. You’re pretty ok.
If that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.
Fast forward to tonight. I tell the kids to go blow off some steam so I can tidy up and get ready to end the day. It’s pretty loud outside… but not tears or screams of terror so essentially, all good. I wander out onto the deck to spy on them, and… behold:
It’s true. There are things that scare me. One of which consists in sleeping on the ground surrounded by a millimetre of nylon, with 3 children. I’m a creature of comfort, so forgive me if I prefer to parent my children in the comforts of my home, knowing that I get to collapse into my cozy bed at the end of the day.
When friends planned a camping/biking trip a few months back, I thought little of saying YES. In fact, I kind of forgot about it until the week before — when I realized I’d have to borrow a LOT of gear and then started checking the weather like some crazy person (or like a triathlete with a race coming up).
I had mentally decided to pull the plug on the whole adventure until the morning we left… the weather looked bad, we were all tired and at each others throats. So that was when I pulled on my big girl pants, packed the truck and… followed friends up the Forest Service Road to our destination because I was sure that 1) I was bound to get lost 2) I’d get a flat in the middle of nowhere and 3) I’d get eaten by bears which fixing the flat.
And we’re off.
Last chance food stop
Hurley
The end of night #1 was a deal maker.
What do you know – none of those things happened and we had a fantastic weekend. I even – dare I say – enjoyed the sleeping on the ground wrapped in nylon.
The riding was spectacular and hard and fun and I’m pining to go back. The kids were happy, dirty, tired and ate meals with their helmets on their heads between bike laps. My friends bent over backwards to help me manage the team and give me the chance to ride.
We’re off.
South Chilcotins
Moonscape
Oh, the things we see
And at the end of it all, I was brave enough to do the drive home down the service road all alone. We only got lost once.
If you’re a tri-nerd of any variety, you’ll know by now that Ironman Coeur d’Alene was one of the hottest on record. Now, I’m the first to tell you that I love the heat and that I really enjoy racing in it; mainly because I know that I’m small enough to shrug it off and also because I’m smart enough to know that I can’t control it, so why fret? Simply have a cold beer, eat all of the things and plot your preparations.
I had no help eating these things.
So! Off we went, south to the inferno that was Idaho. Liz made it her mission in the days leading up to find the hottest forecast she could. 44C! Good times. We love a good road trip that’s fuelled by caffeine and chip-like things.
It was a bit hot.
We cruised into Coeur d’Alene, moved into our lovely home with the other girls and then it was all the pre-race prep that I loathe. This is the part that gives me anxiety and makes me nervous (not the actual racing part). That said, I know I’m ready to race when I reach the “yeah, I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to sleep in my pint-size bed all day, thanks” phase. That rolled around at about 2pm before race day.
I HATE this part.
Triathlon things exploded in my room.
My room for the week. Rules must be followed.
Pre-race included fun activities like lying around, naps, eating, swimming and meeting new friend Erin. So fun for us to finally meet in real life! Plus, we kept bumping into each other all week – including on the race course. So great and she rocked it.
Yeah, I stole this from Erin’s IG.
A little BRITE photo shoot?
Pre-riding that super shady run course.
Rumours were FLYING in the days leading up. Will they cancel? Shorten? Start earlier or later? Reverse the order? (I’m kidding. But not really. Someone legitimately suggested this). I asked around the day before and pretty much confirmed we were going full. Yay! And also, ugh.
Race morning. 5:45AM start! Isn’t that silly? I flat out refused to set my alarm for anything with a 3 on it, so 4AM it was. Choke down breakfast and off we went to the start. Chrissy dropped Liz and I off to make our way to transition.
Now, here’s where I say I was both heartbroken for and super proud of Lizzie. She’d been sick in the days leading up to the race and made the very smart decision not to do the whole thing. It’s a tough call to make when you’re getting caught up in the buzz and have put in all those hours. So once again, she proved to me that she’s a smarty pants. Plus, now she’s just going to crush IMC and I get to turn the tables and cheer!
Here’s a riveting account of how my day went down:
Swim: Terrible. F. What on earth was I doing out there? Oh right, simply confirming my suspicions that I hadn’t been swimming enough. I was way too relaxed when the gun went off. I had a good first lap but then I day dreamed my way through the 2nd lap. I think my first indication that things weren’t going to be record breaking when my arms weren’t tired. Maybe I was wishing for an imaginary current. Whoopsie Daisy.
Bike: It took me a long time to settle in and get my ass in gear. Once I did, I felt a-ok. I passed a whole lot of people out there, and forced myself to eat every 15 minutes. Do you know how un-fun force-feeding yourself every 15 minutes during exercise at 40C is? Yeah, it’s pretty un-fun. But I got it done. I had one of those nifty sun shirts to protect my skin and keep me cool and I swear that thing made my day. I kept myself as cool as I could as I rode by people whom I swear I could see sunburning/melting before my very eyes.
I felt like an idiot because I couldn’t remember the distance of an Ironman bike leg in miles. I’m here to tell you that you get a lot of weird looks when you ask other competitors how far we have to go.
As I was making one of the last descents into town – by this time, 100% ready to get the hell off my bike – I watched as people were walking up hills, sitting in ditches and, in one case, falling off their bike… uphill. Ok, so maybe it was a bit hotter for those folks. Yikes!
Run: I was really looking forward to getting off the bike and back on my feet… until I was actually on said feet. Right. Running. I came off ok, tossed my disgusting sticky bike to a volunteer and trotted into the tent.
I don’t know why, but I had the best time in transition snatching my bags off the ground before the volunteers could get to it, like some kind of racing purse snatcher. Anyway.
In the transition tent, I dumped my stuff out and looked for my body glide. Opened it up and liquid goo spilled onto the grass. Lovely! Undeterred, I smeared my hands in the grass then onto myself. I’m a classy broad that way.
This photo highlights my weird run gait and imaginary gigantic shoulders.
The first mile was horrid. As in, I saw Liz and Laurel and said “how am I supposed to do this?!” horrid. Well, I did it. Kind of. The marathon just became a mile-by-mile thing, aid station-to-aid station mission. Each aid station was the same: stuff ice into every piece of clothing, eat/drink something, high 5 the INCREDIBLE volunteers, and go. On and on it went.
I didn’t even bother to look at my watch. I wasn’t setting records by any stretch, I’d missed my time goals by country miles and at that point, I didn’t care anyway. I wanted to finish safely, that was all. The weird thing was that my legs didn’t really hurt once I got going, but I knew better than to crank my heart rate lest my body shut down in the heat. So I just did what I needed to do to get to the end of the race.
It’s funny that the run is such a blur because I talked to so many people and thanked so many volunteers (new goal for the day). It takes a special kind of person to give up their day in that kind of weather to help others achieve their goals. So, to the pregnant lady to whom I told to go indoors and to the guy who held my hand when I had 3 miles to go and didn’t want to anymore and just said “you got this”, THANK YOU.
That last mile was the longest one on the planet. A guy got right up in my face and yelled “Do you know how many blocks you have left??!” I said something along the lines of “No F#$%ing clue!” and he held up 8 fingers. I think he thought he was doing me a favour but my brain almost melted at the thought of running 8 more blocks.
Finish: the last few races I’ve done, for some reason I feel the need to blast to the line. Not this time. It was weird. There was no one on the boulevard save one guy quite a ways ahead of me. People were cheering and I was smiling — mostly out of glee that it was finally done. The guy ahead of me pulled over in the chute and waved me ahead of him. I’m still not sure why but that was very gracious. I slowed to a walk and crossed the line.
After a few wobbly steps and a few minutes with medical, I was handed off to my girls and it was so great to see them. And here, ladies and gentlemen, was pretty much the first thing out of my mouth (worth the watch, if you ask me):
I guess, in retrospect, there must have been some fun parts, because I said that with a huge grin on my face.
Taking it in.More AMAZING volunteers.I took a few wobbly steps, but these fine folks helped me.Post-race beer on the street? OK!
So now what?
I missed my goal by a lot, but I knew that would happen in those temps so I re-evaluated to get it done. I’m proud of the fact that I did. I said to Liz that I was done with Ironman for a while… but now… now I don’t know. I feel like I have all this fitness stored up and I should put it to good use. So…
Suggestions welcome!
ps. Ironman aftermath. Those things may or may not have stayed there for a few days…
The SMO's stories 