Not a Lot, But a Little

So it has been pointed out to me that I have been somewhat sporadic in my postings as of late, and when I do, I seem to focus on my "life" rather than triathlon.

Ummm... well, I guess the focus on family and life is because that's really all I have been doing lately, and in my injury-induced time-off, I learned, believe it or not, that triathlon is not, in fact, life. Quite the opposite - it very much enhances my life, but I now know I can live without it. I cannot, however, live without my family or my life.

And on that note, part of my absence is because, frankly, I haven't really been in the best place lately. The lack of working out and weight gain, and watching the weather turn and the runners and bikers workout - it was all just too much for me. So I wallowed.

But then it began to happen. Slowly at first, a few days here and there, and eventually bloomed into a handful of days and then a week. Yes, my back appears to be getting better. Sure, the 1600mg of Ibuprofen daily help, but the tell-tale sign, my horrid leg pain, appears to be dissipating, which means the little disks are sliding back into place.

So this makes for a happy Megan.

As a result, I have been able to get back to the gym for 30-minute sweat sessions on the Elliptical (greaaattttt) and some weights and resistance training. My coach even reappeared and gave me some 45-minute pool workouts. So I slowly move forward.

Since I have gotten hurt, I have questioned the reason - like, there has to be this big purpose for the pain, the disappointment, the cottage cheese ass - But alas, what was it?

These last few weeks I have noticed myself doing something that I always preach but oddly never do myself. I started noticing my life. I started noticing the smell of the air as the trees almost overnight grew canopies of green, the smell of lilacs (I never even knew their name!) permeates through the open windows, the wild screams of the kids in the park next door, the touch of sun on my cheek and the patch of pink it left. I am 30 years old, and I have spent the majority of my life moving, going, running, searching, focusing, chasing, and achieving all these THINGS.

Ironman was one of these things, and in the process, I forgot how to appreciate my body, the simple ability to move, the intricate relationship between the each muscle fiber and pin-thin nerve. But interestingly, my body's breakdown coincided with the birth and growth of a new healthy one in my nephew, and the attention to recovery has coincided with my family's ongoing recovery of broken relationships.

When I stopped - just stopped - it was amazing how content I have become. I know a lot of other things have contributed to this place as well, but I like to believe that the purpose of my injury is to make me just stop and be grateful. And with every ounce of honestly in my being, not a day has gone by that I have not stopped to say, often out loud, that I am grateful for my life. And I know that I will not always be this content, so I work to take snapshots in my mind of this place, of my surroundings, so that well life takes a turn, I can remember that things do, eventually, get better.

So as my back slowly begins to returns to its regular self, so shall I.

Thanks for hanging in there with me!