Sunday 11 November 2012

Pink Poodles in Paris

Have you ever put your daughter's hair in a bun? Not just any bun...a rhythmic gymnastics bun. There is, in fact, a class to be attended by every parent in the fall to ensure such a bun is done correctly. It must be high on the head, directly above the ears. If your child should fail to have long, beautifully behaving hair that creates a luscious snug bun, you must resort to accessories. It is ingeniously called a "bun maker". You can buy them online, and there are multiple websites to demonstrate it's implementation. Having been gently scolded in front of the other mothers for my sloppy buns that would explode after the first summersault, I was grateful for this aid, and can now drop off my daughter for her class with my head held high, proud of her snug and plump bun.

Rhythmic gymnastics is the last sport I'd have thought my daughter would be doing. When the Olympics arrive every four years, I pause to briefly admire the freakish flexibility of these primarily Eastern european beauties, before switching channels to watch a 'real' sport. These strange and beautiful creatures were not an inspiration to me in sport as they seem other worldly, disconnected from mortal women achieving a level of excellence in a sport. But it's Vernon and it's winter. It's dark at four o'clock, and either wet or icy for months. I was looking for an indoor activity, where my daughter isn't standing in line waiting for her turn to move. This activity was meeting my criteria to make sure that Madeline was constantly moving, learning new skills, having fun, and best of all, she got to 'get her girl on' with a leotard and ribbons. Who knew that I would spawn a girly girl? I've got to admit, I was attracted to the fact that her session is 75 minutes long; long enough to get in a real run!

A few weeks after the season started, I was informed that the girls would be participating in the production of Anastasia. It began with requests to raise funds and raise awareness to sell tickets. I was then supplied with three schedules to collate on my calendar; one for extra practices, one for volunteer hours, and one for the performance schedule. Hold on now....I paid good money for this program. There is no way I would solicit my neighbours to financially support my six year old newly initiated into this elaborate world of rhythmic gymnastics. The mothers were meant to gather on a series of Saturday mornings for a sewing bee and whip together some costumes. Once again my glaring lack of all domestic skills was exposed for all to witness. As the expectations for this production escalated I finally cracked when I saw the performance times. My six year old was meant to prance on stage at nine o'clock in the evening, after five performances in two days, with a 5 hour dress rehearsal to kick it all off. This was beyond ridiculous! I wrote a letter to the coaches questioning this, and was informed that year after year the young children rise to the challenge, and perform beautifully. Reaaaaalllly...alright then, let the games begin.

As this process unfolded, and I complained bitterly to my husband as I set off for the sewing bee on a rainy Saturday morning, something strange happened. I came into the room with Camille Martens, former Olympian and the dreamer and producer behind Anastasia, sharing with the mothers her vision for the costumes. She had found incredible materials to combine and make royalty, servants, minions, gypsies, and prancing pink poodles come to life. I was sucked in by her enthusiasm, and found myself cutting and creating in a room buzzing with interesting women, coming together for their children and the concept of creating something special. Returning home, I maintained my air of altruism and didn't admit to any enjoyment to my husband.

As the production neared, I received an email. Along with four other mothers, I was selected for the honour of guiding fourteen Pink Poodles in Paris, aged four to eight, backstage throughout the weekend. As I attempted to rustle up a plethora of other commitments I drew a blank. My husband would be out of town for five days, I didn't have work commitments, I hadn't been called for jury duty, and I didn't have a terminal illness. This resulted in a fourteen hour commitment to keeping these little pink poodles occupied, clean, fed, and happy, all for their six minutes of glory.

I arrived at the theatre with a large box. It was full of paper, crayons, scissors, wool, pipe cleaners, stickers. We would make pom poms, crowns, masks, forts, do word searches, play telephone...I was armed and ready for these rabid poodles. There were nearly a hundred performers backstage. The vocalist was warming her voice, the cellist was tuning her instrument, the gymnasts were stretching on mats, the russian dancers were doing deep knee bends, the poodles' faces were transformed by the makeup artist. All one hundred performers were then called on stage with Camille and her coaches for warm up. Every performer silenced in her presence. They listened to every word as she went through a list of specific details to make things run smoothly. The warm up then built like a wave, as their movement and voices rose with building energy. Music then filled the auditorium and erupted in a dance party with parents and backstage hands joining in. I was sucked in! I was part of it!! Let's get this show rolling!!! LET'S NAIL IT!!!!!!



From there the show just rolled. Performers swept on and off the stage, the music played in the halls so we could listen for the musical cues of when our group was needed on stage. We primped and primed the poodles. We got them fed, we rushed more than one to the bathroom, we kept them quiet with crafts, and had them lined up right on time for their few moments on stage. The little poodles vibrated in the hall excited for their moment on stage. When we ushered them back off the stage, they glowed with satisfaction and pride. Mission accomplished! The only problem was that I had absolutely no idea of what was really happening on stage. I had not seen a single scene from the performance. My ticket to enjoy the performance from the audience was for Friday night.

 I sat in the third row of a packed house, with nothing obscuring my view of the stage. The lights went down and the story of Anastasia began. I had read the synopsis, knew the general plot, but was not terribly interested as I thought is was more the opportunity to show the skill of the rhythmic gymnasts. I was somewhat surprised by the fact that Camille had named her only daughter Anastasia, thus was likely more invested in the story.  Over the next 100 minutes I was transported to another place. Set pieces that looked like wood and paint back stage, looked like marble and gold under the lights. The costumes that were sewn by amateurs looked authentic. The children turned into royalty, soldiers, orphans, gypsies, statues, french painters, and of course poodles. I was absolutely shocked that a production consisting primarily of children could move me. I felt the resentment of the poor residents of Moscow in contrast to the royal extravagance. The little faces of the orphans moved a mother's heart. I felt his cry of pain as a father watched his beautiful gypsy girls leave for Paris. Fortunately my mascara didn't run as Camille made us roar with laughter as the orphans toyed with their guardian, the gypsy mother sported a moustache and hairy legs, and the Pink Poodles in Paris were ridiculously cute. At the crescendo of the finale, the curtain dropped, and the past weeks came back to me. It comes down to this. It is a privilege to be a part of something bigger than oneself. Led by a woman with vision and a drop of genius, more than a hundred people created something quite remarkable...all here in small town Vernon. Thank you for including me and my little pink poodle.












Tuesday 18 September 2012

Ironman Wisconsin Done

The internal dialogue was so loud my head hurt. It was time to get on a plane to Madison Wisconsin for Ironman, and I still didn't have a solid plan. I had projected that the knee discomfort would subside enough to make it around the course at a light cruise, with the opportunity to cheer on my husband and other participants from within the race itself. I was beginning to doubt that plan, and felt that it was setting myself up for disappointment to take a bike, just to join in the swim. Would I really be happy to swim hard, then bow out of the race? Was it sensible to take my beautiful bike across the country in a box, risking damage, all for a 3.8km swim with 2700 competitors? At some point a decision had to be made. I left my time trial bike at home, and packed up my gorgeous Specialized Amira road bike with some clip-on aero bars. With bike boxes packed, that was one less decision to make, and I could focus on all the small details to make sure things ran smoothly in our absence. Madeline was all packed up to have a few days with her Nana, and the house was ready for the pass-off to Granny and Grampa mid-week. We had a meal together, played a family game, and said goodbye to our little one for a whole week. My heart caught in my throat as she drove away, waving wildly, all excited for her own adventures.

We arrived in Madison after a painless trip, and head out for our first date of what will be remembered as our second honeymoon. It's a bizarre experience to have multiple days, with no agenda but rest and get ready for a race. We fell in love with the city. It is nestled between two lakes, with historical State Capital buildings, a glorious university campus, and a plethora of pubs and restaurants, bookshops, pop-culture shops, and coffee houses. Our only pre-race prep included a morning swim, and Andrew went out for a tour of the course and a pre-ride for a short section. We otherwise read books, and did a comparative review of the many contemporary restaurants. What a life!
State Capital in the centre of town.

Our favourite breakfast spot.

Posing for photos....a second honeymoon needs photos right?

Lake Monona was stunning morning and evening.

Finding our cruiser bikes for when this nonsense is finished.

Farmer's Market on main street.

Look like a good pre-race meal?

Eventually it was time to rack the bikes and get in the game. I went through the motions of packing transition bags, preparing fuel bottles, and numbering bike and helmet. While Andrew paced out the transitions to ensure efficiency, I poured over the route maps looking for short cuts home to ease out when required. One part of me was dedicated to self-preservation and prepared an exit plan. One part of me was beginning to bubble with excitement, with the possibility to that this could all go very well, and my body would magically overcome discomfort and fly over the course. I went to sleep with no race nerves. Even the lightning and torrential rain overnight didn't give me qualms. In the morning we ate our rice cereal, and my main goal was to keep the energy up for Andrew's sake. I reminded him not to worry about me. I would only do what was safe and fun. The lake was choppy, and it was chilly to bare our skin for body marking. We squeezed through the crowd and popped into Lake Menona with the plan of waiting on a little duck dock not far from the start. We sat side by side on the dock with the music swelling, as the sun rose over the lake, and watched the thousands of wetsuit clad swimmers begin to cluster along the deep water start. After a quick kiss and good luck wish, Andrew swam ahead and was gobbled up by the crowd. All of a sudden I felt very small among this group and felt fear creeping in. I forced myself to smile, cheer, and manhandle my fear into excitement. I waited for the canon to fire.

The swim was pretty similar to most IM swims. Most of the time was spent fighting for some space, getting knocked and pushed, but generally coming out unscathed. All that time in the lake spent developing a smooth efficient swim stroke seemed a little futile, however those regular lake swims gave me the advantage of confidence in the choppy water.  Prior to the swim it seemed insignificant that I was mistakenly given a green hat at registration. Mid-swim I desperately wanted a pink cap. It would identify me as a woman, and perhaps I wouldn't get pounded on as hard. At one point I got squeezed between two massive men. They pounded on my back and head, until I could drop out behind them. I swam to the left of them. A minute later as we approached a large vinyl buoy marker, I wished I was on their outside. I got pushed completely under the buoy and felt my panic rise. I swam deep under the buoy, popped up safe and sound and sprinted away from these two, fuelled by adrenaline. The most exciting thing for me during this swim was catching my first intentional draft from a better swimmer. Andrew and I had practiced this numerous times, with him swimming up past me, and me working to stay on his feet. In the past I would drop off quickly, not confident of keeping up the faster pace. This time I figured that I had nothing to lose, and it worked! I came out of the water feeling really good about my effort, and so glad that I got the opportunity to join in.
Swim: 1:13

Transition in Wisconsin includes running up a helix ramp to go up four floors to the top of the Monona Terrace conference centre. Even through the wall of noise created from hundreds of cheering people, I was keenly aware that nothing hurt...not knees, not anything. Game on. I wizzed through transition, got on my bike and flew down the highway on a high. Heading out towards the beautiful farm land, I felt invincible. Hills came and went, and my light road bike seemed like a great choice. I didn't over-think the fact that my body felt good...I just switched gears mentally, stayed focussed on nutrition and pacing....until about 40miles. That initial euphoria was wearing off. My legs were beginning to get grumpy on the hills. I was most comfortable standing but couldn't  sustain that for every hill. I had about 10 minutes to make an important decision...would I do the second lap? I could hear my Dad's voice in my head, and my response "Yes Dad, I think I have the maturity to stop if I'm getting hurt". Things were getting blurry at this point. The discomfort of the effort, managing nutrition, and knee discomfort were flowing into one another. At the junction to the second lap I felt my bike turning the corner with nothing concluded. I just kept spinning and ignored the question. It seemed easier that way.

I've been to eleven Ironman events. The spectators in Madison are second to none. Highlights included fun signs "Does this bike make my butt look fast?",  having college boys sprint up the hill in gold banana hammocks printed with "Go hard or go home!" I didn't mean to look...really. I loved the 8 year old girls with the synchronized back walk-overs. I loved the old people lined up along the road side in wheelchairs ringing bells, and the old man who peered through his cataracts wishing me "Godspeed".  As each hill pitched up, the crowd squeezed in around the riders and willed them up. At one point I felt tears well up, as I thought I may have to walk the hill. My desperation must have been obvious as two young men sought me out and banged their drums with each pedal stroke. Their look of satisfaction when I reached the crest of the hill made me smile.

Back in my own company on a quiet stretch of road I reassessed my situation. High emotion means only one thing for me...time to eat. I dropped the intensity to a crawl and got in a banana, two gels and a whole bottle of water. Fifteen minutes later I felt like I had super powers. The return trip back to Madison was zippy and fun, and the helix back up to transition was over in a flash. Back in the conference room, I put on my runners and hat and head back out for the marathon. A big unknown.
Bike: 5:56

My goal was to be honest with myself throughout. I honestly felt no knee pain for 5miles. My intensity level felt low. I was breathing every 4 steps to control the pace, but kept clocking off 8minute miles. I slowed down to 8:30min/miles thought it was too good to be true. I saw Andrew coming back into town after his first lap and was so happy to see him running so well. We had discussed what it meant if I saw him at different points. He was on track for a rock solid race. He was more worried about me though, and look pretty surprised when I told him that I felt great! I passed 5 women in my category in the first 6 miles. Reality set in after a climb up over the Observatory. Running up was no problem. Coming off the hill, the familiar knee pain came back. At first I thought I could just walk every descent and carry on. But once the knee was irritated there was no going back. The length of time that I could jog began to shorten at each attempt. It came down to 2-3 minute sections of shuffle, then back to a walk. On my way back to town I heard my Dad's voice again, and realized that it was time to bow out. The turn-around is steps from the finish line, and my hotel was in sight. The problem was that I couldn't find a gap in the barricades. I just kept walking back along the route to find a gap. The gap didn't come for about a half mile. As I made my way off the course, I had the sudden realization that it wasn't hurting to walk. I just lost my excuse to quit. Being slow was not an excuse to quit. It was time to complete a second lap in whatever manner that I could. I've got to admit, my competitive side didn't really enjoy being passed by young and old, lean and chubby. I did love watching other people reach the depth of their souls to keep moving. Some people looked to the spectators to give them energy, while others were tucked away deep in their own world of hurt looking at no one. I got to see Andrew one more time on his final stretch to the finish. He was clearly hanging by a thread, and I wanted to give him my extra unused energy. I made sure he knew that I was safe and happy, and with a shift of a smile he finished his own battle.

My own finish came nearly an hour and a half after his. I have never walked the final mile to the finish chute. People were so warm and so happy for me. One sign read "I'm a stranger, but I'm so proud of you." Fighting the tears, I had a laugh reading the next ones "Smile if you peed your pants today" and "WTF, where you been?" Their congratulations and pride in a stranger finishing the task reinforced my decision to complete. Building on the emotions of the day, I thought of my dear mother who was not so different than me. She needed exercise and adventure as much as me, and slowly lost that ability as she battled Parkinson's disease. She would have given anything to have such a moment. I said out loud to myself "Because I can"...the motto of the day.

Run: 4:41
Race: 12:03

Tuesday 28 August 2012

"You're back."

My skin was tingling and my heart was singing, climbing out of the cool lake with my family. After a long overnighter at work, Andrew had come home empty, wanting more than anything to lie on the couch and wake up tomorrow. Knowing the lake would clear his mind, Maddy was the one to ask her Dad to join us....yes, like most Dads...he's wrapped around his little girl's finger. We just swam to the four-poster dock, our 'minimum' swim. In that short distance, Maddy had already scrambled on and off her paddle board about four times, played tag, raced to the buoys, chased birds...as six year olds do. The sound of a little girl giggling is the best way to erase the stress of the day.

Not having seen each other for a few days, I noticed Andrew staring at me in the kitchen as I danced around making dinner and laughing with Maddy. A slow smile spread across his face. "You're back." I knew what he meant. I just realized it myself. I wasn't moving around the kitchen like an old lady anymore. The pit in my stomach was gone, and I was genuinely laughing out loud, instead of trying to look happy for Maddy's sake. I just smiled back.

It's amazing what some sleep and some mobility can do for one's mood. Here's the part where I share way too much information. I got a rash about 10 days ago. This was a sneaky rash that looked totally innocuous in the cool morning air, then ramped up throughout the day as the temperature rose, and by nighttime it was a raging mess of raised hives. Initially I thought some Benadryl would do the trick. My doctor then gave me a steroid cream, thinking I had 'lake itch'. A week later, down in Penticton watching Ironman, my dear friend and nurse marched me into a drop-in clinic where I was prescribed Prednisone. I take this high-powered drug with respect, and for the first time in a week have slept like a baby. Back to normal sleep.....CHECK!

I know darn well that it is pitiful to mope about a tiny little injury while people are struggling with real physical challenges, illness, and massive injury. As I've mentioned before, I'm embarrassed about my mood, as my rational brain scoffs this small physical trial. At this point, I haven't got the tool set to alter my mood when my activity level is limited. Over the years, movement and physical effort have become integral to my way in the world. I'm getting the picture that my tool set needs expanding, as these may not always be available to me. As I dance around the kitchen, jump up and down cheering at Ironman, mobility is back....CHECK!

Watching Ironman this year was moving. It always is, and I've never spectated without my heart in my throat as the start canon explodes, jumping for joy as the riders race out of town, and tears of admiration as they make their way back to the finish line. As I watched more than 2000 people, of all different sizes, ages and backgrounds, undertake this massive task, I just felt awe and respect for each of them. I watched most people finish ecstatic with their performance and completion of the event. I spoke with a few people after the race, however, who were devastated with their performance being off their goal times. I've been there, and have felt that disappointment. From my perspective on the weekend, I felt so sad that these people could not see how brave they were to tackle the day and all the unexpected challenges that came their way. They could not see their race as a success to have confronted such challenges and persevered. I think my own perspective on racing will be altered.

So, on that note, I have a plan! I am registered for Ironman Wisconsin, where my own start canon will blast in two weeks time. Andrew is fit and ready to rock this race. I'm not, but I have a plan. I plan to participate. I will put on the athlete wrist band. I will swim my heart out. I will ride my road bike upright, as it's more comfortable on the knee. I will walk the whole darn marathon. And I will finish before the 17 hour cut-off. The bike and run courses are looped, so I'll bow out and take off my race number if need be. Otherwise, I will just take it all in, and enjoy an awesome day of participating in a phenomenal event surrounded by people demonstrating guts and determination. Sound like fun?! Let's hope so.

Here are some photos of things that make me happy...kids being pirates...girlfriends...deer that eat my garden...sweating on a trainer...even for 30 minutes...family swims.







Thursday 23 August 2012

Stream of consciousness

Well here I am....16 days out from IM Wisconsin. Here is some stream of consciousness from the past few weeks.

Week One:
"OK Self, use your brain. It's still 6 weeks until your event. Carefully plan your rehab, and it will all fall in place. Andrew is going to tease you when you are standing on the start line raring to go...All that fuss for nothing."

Week Two:
"Geez, maybe I'm just trying too hard and giving too much stimulus to the area. I have spent hundreds of dollars of physiotherapy and massage. I'm grateful for the expertise I'm getting...but maybe I should just buy a T.V. and chill out!"

Week Three:
"OK, Powers that Be, I realize that I've been greedy. I'll trade my IM experience for comfort while sleeping, driving, and playing with Maddy...oh, and maybe paddle boarding too...or is that too greedy?"

Week Four:
"Ok ok subconscious. Pipe down. Don't get excited. I know it's getting a little better. Yes, you're right...it didn't even hurt walking with Maddy to the park. Oh stop it, that wasn't really a run...but you're right, it felt pretty darn good. Remember, I haven't even tried the bike yet. OK YES, I'm excited, it's WAY better!!! But that doesn't mean I'm racing...so calm down."

What a wild few weeks. As I mentioned in my first blog entry, I NEED to exercise. I could feel my sanity slipping as the days went by with a low heart rate. At one point I did SpiroTiger (a device to train your respiratory system) for an hour, just to breathe really hard and see if it would lift my spirits. It actually worked a little, as I loved feeling of at least one part of me being tired for a moment.

With all this extra time, I attempted to get a few things done...some accounting, homework for a course I'm taking, a start on my long term business plan etc. I was about as successful as a crack addict with ADHD.

The real highlight of these weeks has been the support from my beautiful family. Imagine coming home from a long stint of work with a few night shifts thrown in, with a long commute in 35 degree heat, in the height of your own Ironman training, barely getting enough rest and sleep, and arriving home to a CRAZY person. Somehow my remarkable husband was able to love me when I was unloveable, and subtly coax me in the right direction for recovery. My sweet daughter is wise beyond her 6 years, and the essence of joy. She has taken on my return to fitness as a mission, and gone paddling with me while I swam, and biked with me while I walked. Most importantly, I was reminded every moment where my priorities lie.





Sunday 19 August 2012

The Lioness

I saw this short clip of Lauren Fleshman following her success of getting to the finals in the U.S. Olympic Trials in the 5000m. She is over the moon with reaching the finals. She had been injured for months with ITB syndrome. As you'll see in her interview, she trained almost exclusively with swimming and elliptical. As the months ticked off, she was not much closer to being ready for the olympic trials. She could sprint but not run. Prior to the event, she had run no more than 2 miles consecutively. She got to the start line on 10 miles of running a week. With an opportunity to run at the Olympics, at 30 years old, she would attempt the impossible. She had to step up to the line in a high-profile event, and believe it was possible to outrun her highly trained compatriots to earn a berth at the Olympic games.


Lauren Fleshman-US Olympic trials 5000m

At the very end of the interview (this is the short version), she mentions the lion. She visualizes the face of a beautiful healthy lion to represent courage. In the final 200m sprint to the line, every cell in her body is screaming for her to stop. Her mind has to override the instinctual safety mechanisms that make us slow down. She needs a powerful mental force to continue to push the pace and run even harder. The visualization allows her to replace the inner voices reminding her that she has trained a fraction of what the other women have done, she has not run more than 2 miles in a stretch, she hasn't raced since the year prior. She sees the lion. She is the lion. She has the courage of a lion. She reaches the line to make the final for the 5000m Olympic trials. The lion will be summoned again at the final, to earn her Olympic berth.

OK...so I'm not going to the Olympics. I race as an age-group athlete, admiring the professional triathletes from afar. But whether you are first or last, your body and mind still try and convince you to stop the discomfort, stop running, stop moving, have a beer!

I raced at the Desert Half Ironman in July this year, just after watching this clip. I had thought of the lion a great deal, but the concept needed just a little tweaking for me. In my visualization, I had a lioness leading my way. The lioness is the mother and the hunter. She is smart, savvy, self-controlled, and powerful beyond measure. The lioness was with me much of that race. In my mind she would pad ahead of me at a trot, and look back over her shoulder straight into my eyes. There are so many choices to make during a long race. I would make a decision about fuelling or pace, and she would simply support me in my decision. Her encouragement came in the form of a strong a confident nudge, "good. move on." She didn't allow me to dwell on things too long. She allowed me to enjoy the race without self-doubt and distracting thoughts. At one point she moved from her trot to a flat out run, and she was amazing. I love that she can be calm and calculating, but also fierce and powerful.

The lioness has been with me briefly a few more times in hard training sessions. She had me laughing out loud on one occasion. I was swimming with my friend Kara in the lake, and the wind kicked up. I was having trouble getting a breath as the waves curled over my head. I felt a tad scared, but knew deep down that I was not in trouble. I tried to summon the lioness to support me. She appeared in a haze, and I couldn't quite see her eyes like I usually do. Her message was something along the lines of "Um no....you don't need me." She was chastising me for summoning her for something trivial, that didn't require her immense power. Apparently I'm not to waste her time.



Wednesday 15 August 2012

The brain and the heart...a disconnect.

I've been writing a blog in my head for years. I write it while I'm on the bike trainer, spinning away in the garage. I write it when I'm trotting through the trails at Elison Park, enjoying the sounds and smells of nature. I write it when I'm mid-race, and I want to share it all with someone. The only glitch is that the words have never gone digital. It's all tucked away in my neat little brain. I'm not sure if anyone will ever read my words, but my brain is running out of room, so I'll begin to bleed the lines a little...

It just turns out that I'm very sad these days. I'm embarrassed to be sad because my life is brilliant. I have all the opportunities in the world for fulfillment. I'm well loved. I have superb friends. I live in luxury. I have constant adventures. I'm pretty much spoilt rotten. But these days I've got a pit in my stomach as I negotiate my way through the day, and I'm on the brink of tears much of the time. The problem is that I won't be competing at Ironman Wisconsin with my husband in 3 1/2 weeks. I've got an inflamed bursa and patellar tendonitis, and it's a show stopper. I'm devastated about it.

I've had to analyze why I'm so gutted. I think I would be less upset if something happened last minute, like stomach flu, or a bike mechanical. I might be wrong, but I feel most upset about missing a month of adventures with Andrew. He took some time off work, and we arranged daycare on certain days and had hours of shared training and adventures planned together. We had a taste of it two weeks ago, and it was the best day of my summer.

Last week the BPR crew had training days together, and stopped at our place to refuel mid-ride. I was so incredibly jealous of their need to pound the fluids and carbohydrates. Yes, I was even jealous when Emma smeared a peanut butter gel on her toast! Ok...not really...but you get the point. I crave that feeling after miles on the bike, skin thick with salt, when the body and mind has only one goal...to recover from the awesome effort.


Another reason I'm on the brink of tears all the time is that I NEED exercise. Really...I NEED it. Just ask my poor husband. I'm not even likeable without exercise. It's makes me wonder what I'll be like when I'm ninety, and perhaps not up for Ironman training. Oooohhh...I'll be a real treat.

I've given it a good shot with acupuncture, IMS, massage, stretching, rolling, positional changes on the bike, praying, begging, tantrumming, but alas...no change yet. I guess it's time to pick up my pom poms, and be the best support Andrew could have in Wisconsin. I expect that he will dig deeper than he's known, as I've impressed on him how fortunate he is to just get to the start line.

Rationally, I know that my feelings do not match the nature of the issue. Rationally I know that I should be disappointed and frustrated, annoyed perhaps, but not grieving. My brain just has to communicate better with my heart. Therapy is on it's way. Tomorrow I've got the girls coming for a swim and coffee. With this crew I can count on laughter therapy and caffeine, both of which make me just a little bit more tolerable to be around.