Gratitude

This is not an easy post for me to write.  After months of training and anticipation, the final result of my first triathlon was not what I had hoped.  Please don’t misunderstand – I am proud of completing the course and thoroughly enjoyed (most of) the race, which should be all that matters.  But I did not come close to the time goal I had set for myself and I’m having a terrible time letting it go.

So I have decided to focus on the overwhelming gratitude I have for my family’s cheers and support and for my close friend Fronzie who was by my side throughout the entire race.  And I am tremendously grateful for the journey.  There were many lessons learned from the day I decided to register to the moment I crossed the finish line, and I will take them with me into the next one.  After I relax.  For a few weeks at least…

Waiting to dive in. Fronzie is next to me in the white swim cap.

Toward the end of the swim. By far the most difficult leg of the race.

My little sister and my son looking concerned.

My daughter and husband walking the shoreline.

My niece Lily.

Seriously one of the top five happiest moments of my life was exiting the water.

Transitioning to the bikes. I lost a full three minutes trying to maneuver my wetsuit over the time chip on my ankle. It was almost comical. Except it wasn’t.

The bike was hands down my favorite part of the race. It was a gorgeous and hilly 25 mile ride through the countryside. Please note the aforementioned time chip on my ankle – it’s so big you’d think I was under house arrest!

Taking off on our 6.2 mile run. The fact that we are smiling clearly shows we cannot feel our legs yet.

Heading to the trail. Also very hilly.

Getting ready to cross the finish line. My father, stepmother and sisters are on the left cheering while my daughter slips under the fence to join us.

I didn’t cry until I hugged my mom.

The end of the chapter. Not the end of the story.

running in style (or not)

This morning I went on what will probably be the last run before my triathlon.  The alarm woke me at five a.m. so I could meet my friend and running partner by six in order to beat the oppressive heat hanging over Chicago.  Bleary eyed, I reached into my drawer and slipped on the first thing I laid my hands on – an old pair of black Nike running shorts and my requisite white tank.  A few sips of coffee, a splash of cold water on my face, a quick braid and I was out the door.

I returned, sweaty and exhausted, to find my daughter sitting in the kitchen eating her breakfast, regarding me with a puzzled expression on her face.

Hannah: Where did you get those shorts?

Me: I have no idea, I’ve had them forever.

Hannah: Why is the waist band so high?

Me: Not sure, they were made a long time ago.

Hannah: You should at least roll the waist band down so they don’t look…like that.

Me: I’ll remember that next time.

Hannah: Who were you with?

Me: Mrs. Roemer.

Hannah: Where did you run?

Me: Mrs. Roemer’s neighborhood.

Hannah: So it’s POSSIBLE that somebody saw you.

Me: Alright, in the goodwill pile they go.

I should have known this day would come.  Being embarrassed by your parent in some way or another is a rite of passage, isn’t it?  I remember once begging my mother to please not stand on the front porch in her fuzzy pink bathrobe and wave to me as I boarded the bus.  For some reason, I just didn’t see today’s pink bathrobe moment coming.  Shopping, anyone?

The Finish Line

Some days everything feels tangled in difficulty and discomfort.  Steps heavy, tasks arduous, thoughts exhausting.

My cure is to run it out.  But one day last week even that felt horrible.  I desperately wanted to head home and wait for day to become night so it could hurry up and bring me tomorrow.  I chose a straight path over a circuitous one to prevent myself from looping around and quitting, believing it would eventually feel good.  It never felt good.  The only way I could get through the run was by focusing on a nearby object and willing myself there.  The next stop sign, the next light post, the next tree.  Stop sign, light post, tree.  Over and over until, finally, it was stop sign, light post, tree, home and I sprinted across my driveway finish line.

Climbing into bed that night, I realized that this stop sign/light post/tree theory could be applied elsewhere in life.  When the road feels painfully long and the home stretch dips elusively below the horizon line, it can carry us where we need to go.

image via http://hannahlaw.com.au