Reset

As noted in the previous post, I decided to make a list of resolutions.

Oh I know – you are probably saying, “I NEVER make resolutions. They’re so silly!”

Well, true - and honestly I have never been one to make them, either.

But like I said in a previous post, I like the idea of a “Reset” button.

See, my list is comprised of things that I already do, I just want to do BETTER.

And frankly, I need goals.

So with that said, here they are – my life but BETTER.

My Resolutions:

1. Tell it like it is.
Fuck it. I am so sick of sugar-coating people’s self-denials and excuses. I am no longer supporting their delusions. Have a long history of not ever following through on ANYTHING, but rather digging in your bag of excuses to soften the blow of your failure? Don’t come see me, because I will call you out like a nun in Catholic school. It’s not a complete erasing of my empathy, but rather this new behavioral change will be reserved for those among us who are chronic bullshitters. I mean, someone has to say it, and I suspect the rest of the people in your life aren’t, or we wouldn’t be in the position, now would we?


2. Train better.
Speaking of being called out on denials – I’m calling myself out on this one. Yeah, I work out regularly. But I need to concentrate on doing more than just lollygagging for an hour on the bike in front of my tv. If there’s no sweat, it never happened.

Towards that end, I have become quite a fan of hill interverals on the treadmill and will start speed intervals as well. I figure since I am not doing a ton of distance stuff this season (and by distance stuff I mean full Ironman), I might as well try to quicken myself up and perhaps lose a pound or two in the process.

And like I mentioned, fear IS my greatest motivation. Sure, there’s fear of having a shitty race season or never getting better/faster/stronger – watching your race results stagnant while all your peers fly by with their Kona-bound dreams. But more importantly, there’s fear of looking like John Goodman’s more attractive-yet-just-as-fat-twin in my race photos. If I have to look at another picture of myself in my tri-suit looking like something processed in the Oscar Meyer factory, or glimpse my ass in a three-way mirror looking like I was beat with a bag of nickels, I will scream.

No mas, mi amigos. No mas.

It’s a new day.


3. Eat Better.
This anti-denial thing is becoming a theme, isn’t it?

This resolution should really read: eat less candy and cupcakes, you fatass. See, turns out that I actually eat pretty well – veggies, lean meats, fruits by the truckload.

But my reality is that these are usually sandwiched between peanut MnM’s, Spice Gum Drops, and brownies. And this has GOT to change.

I mean, there is no point working my ass off at the gym, then turning around and mowing a box of Mike n Ikes, right? What a waste. So I try to ask myself as I go for another cookie: “How many miles is this going to cost you?” Sometimes it helps, and sometimes the licorice bits win out. But sometimes is better than no times, right? And me being a lazy person, I don’t want to run any more miles than necessary, you know?

So my goal here is this – set aside crap-food craving until Sunday. If I want to still rot my face out with a super-size box of Dots, then I can have at it. But my hope is that I won’t, or that I will get to Sunday, and only be able to eat a few.

Mmmmm…Dots……


4. Be a Better Person
Okay, let me explain this. If left to myself, I would sit in my house all day, get my work done, and then just read, read, read. It’s the hermit-tendencies in me, I admit. And I think my mom would tell you that I have always been that way – I like to be by myself.

But it doesn’t work really well when you have family, friends, and a husband all demanding attention.

So rather than give in to my own self desires of solitary confinement (I love you Andy Dufraine), I will make a better effort at getting out, participating in life, and sharing my time with others. You know - get busy living (there you are again, Andy!)

And like it.

That said, under this resolution is the promise to give back – Cheese and I have talked about this a bit already. See, in high school, I was all about community service – perhaps it was Jesuit upbringing – but I did just about everything, including a out-of-state trip to rural Kentucky to build houses.

But as an adult, like a lot of stuff, community service just fell by the wayside – what with my busy schedule of Facebook stalking, Biggest Loser-watching, movie attending, and general life observing/bitching.

Now granted, I give a lot of money (“a lot” being relative to my income and the Joe Biden) to various causes and charities. But I have been a bit more selfish with my time, and that’s not cool.

So in becoming a better person, I will actively give back my time to a valuable cause. It’s about darn time.


5. Be a more patient person.
Wow, did this little flaw bubble to the surface this year. Now, to be fair, most people say that they don’t see this side of me, but I know it’s there and it bothers me. See, I always sort of border on the fence between “good psychologist” and “bat-shit-rip-your-head-off-type-crazy” on any given day. But I really noticed I has taken a sharp dive to the latter side of the yard this year, particularly as work started to pile up. The more cases we got, the more cases I began to take on, and the more families I had to see face-to-face.

And let me tell you – nothing boils my blood more than a selfish, dysfunctional parent who justifies child abuse by their own hands, or exposing their child to daily domestic violence because they don’t think the kids actually sees it.

Some days, it’s all I can do not to haul off and punch these people in their smug-ass faces. I know - not good for a psychologist to say. But it’s one thing to neutrally assess, analyze and treat this dysfunction (which I do very well, thankyouverymuch), and a whole ‘nother to be a human being with feelings and empathy for the kids.

So my vow is to really try to improve this patience thing by any means possible. I have no plan, and might just have to wing it.

I know – good luck, right?

So that about sums up my personal goals for this year. Basic, and nothing to obscenely hard, like climb Mt. Everest – which, BTW, I would NEVER do because I effing hate this cold weather.

And “try new things” didn’t make the list this year anyways.

But perhaps, if reminded, I will do a mid-year check to see my progress.

Here’s to hoping there is some.

Bracing for Steelhead 70.3

(devin sent this to me yesterday - taken on the 4th of july, in case people forgot what I looked like, what with my shameful lack of posting)

So the day of reckoning has arrived.

It’s my first (and only) tri of the season.

Steelhead 70.3.

I know - crazy right? I can't even remember if I have mentioned once that I was racing this season.

Yeah, that should suffice as the foreshadowing on what is to come.

To say that I feel grossly undertrained would be way too obvious.

I mean, I guess when you are standing on front of your mirror the night before you leave, trying to find some fit-approriate race clothes because nothing you have fits after having not raced in a year, you should probably re-evaluate your (lack of) race strategy.

As in, re-evaluate and shut it down.

But no, true gluttons for punishment would NEVER be so impulsive.

No - what we do instead is make a last-minute run to the tri-store for a wet bra, say a small prayer to the Love-Handle Gods in the hopes they make nice with your (possibly too tight) tri shorts, and get to packin’.

Oh yeah, lest I forget to mention that I also received my "lady friend" last night, complete with vomit-inducing cramps, bloat, and back pain.

Seriously - EVERY.SINGLE.RACE. for the last 18 months (including last year's Ironman, and all the 1/2 marathons this year) have started with this mess.

So again, my perpetual question to the Injustices of the World: Why do you have to make being a lady SUCK ASS? And can't you just let me have a race without worrying baout my uterus dropping out in T1?

Geesh.

Oh, and have I mentioned that the water is about as cold as it was last year, when I pulled out the STELLAR performance at Racine?

Ahh, let’s re-live that awesome weekend, shall we?

*folds hands under chin and looks longingly in the distance*

Oh, wait. That’s right.

I DNF’d.

And this would be my first tri since that time.

So given my ill-preparation, my ugly outfit (‘cause it’s all about looking cute, no?), mensus (what an awesome word), and my recent history of pussing out in the cold water, I would say that I am a wee bit (read: pants-crapping) nervous.

So nervous that I started binge eating JuJu Bees and have commenced nervous-stomach diarrhea.

(Dear Clyde, who will be housing me tonight – Don’t worry. It should clear up by the time I drive up later. I think. I hope. Ah hell, just get the plastic mattress pad ready just in case.)

So in just a bit, I will be off – heading up to pick up the packet, check in the bike (which, up until my birthday, was held together with duct tape – looks like it’s not just my ass width that I've let slide a bit...) and try to hunker down with all my positive thoughts to get me through the swim.

See you all on the other side!

(p.s. – on a total random side note, did you know that July is National Ice Cream Month? I sure didn’t, and I sure as hell have some celebrating to make up - Why do I find these things out on the 31st?!?!?!?!? What are the odds that August is National Brownie Month?)

A Nice Kinda Day

So I am going to hold my initial rant about Madonna and the DNC back (partly because I am sure everyone is still really riled up about the whole fiesta) but mostly because I want to give love to the man whom I am about to share a bank account and parking space.

It's our anniversary today.


From our first date to the Cubs game...

As he made his slow transition to Chicago living...There's a lot of "in between," but by now I am sure you've seen all the pictures. And for all our ups and downs with this long distance thing, I still can't believe he stuck around long enough to see that I'm not crazy 100% of the time.

So here's to our pending cohabitation, and many more years of blissful domesticity.

But uh, Cheese? I thought we talked about the toenail thing.

You're sweeping the floor from here on out.

Love ya.


And Some More Love
Today, I understood why people want to have children, and I discovered it with a visit to my sister’s house to see her and my 19-month-old nephew.

Now, given his recent brush with “Livin’ the High Life,” I half expected to see him sitting on the porch on his rocking horse, stogie in one hand and a bourbon in the other.

And he was there, rocking on the horse in the front window. When he saw me, he shouted, “Hi!” Well, sort of - it was like is garbled baby-speak.

Nonetheless, I was touched to think that, even with my disappearance the last few weeks, he still recognized me and even seemed excited to see me. But then I realized he was eyeing the little orange and white box I was carrying.

Seems Grammy has taken him ten-too-many-times to the Dunkin Donuts, so he could spot a Munchkin from a mile away.

Within minutes he was covered in powered sugar, all smiles and giggles and love.

We bounced on the bed (but stopped when he almost fell off, 'cause babies with broken necks aren’t fun), played tickle, and went for a short walk – but then it was off to work for me.

We parted with air kisses and a “Wube oo” from his sweet little face.

And for the first time in weeks, I actually felt calm.

Moving on Up

Before I launch into my big “what does it all mean?” post, two things:

First, I just wanted to take a second and tell my sister, Ellen, that I am thinking about her and her family. Despite my profession, I don’t always have the right things to say, and maybe sometimes and some situations don’t always require any bits of wisdom. But Ellie – you are on my mind, and I know that, like many other things in your life, you will persevere through this – you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re a great mommy.

Second, thanks so much for all the food suggestions. Not only did I have to actually make a grocery that consisted of things other than Smart Ones microwave meals (for one), peaches, frozen spinach and canned tuna, but it also reminded how effing lazy I have become when it comes to my eating. Not just lazy in my preparing it, but lazy in my shopping for it, thinking about it, etc. The most time I usually spend thinking about my food is the ten minutes it takes for my instant brown rice to cook.

And that ten minutes is usually spent inhaling a bag of pretzels and wondering what the hell is taking so long.

So thanks for bringing me back to honest.

As for the rest of this post – I figured it was about time to start talking about this.

Phew.

Here goes.

(Neck crack, knuckle crack)

So in exactly one month, the Cheese and I will start cohabitating.

There it is. I said it.

My room for one will become an apartment for two.

Mostly, I am bubbling with excitement. See, Cheese and I have dated for the last 11 months (12 months by the time he relocates). He’s from Kansas, but spends 3-4 weeks of the month on the road for his job. His 4-5 day breaks between deployments are usually spent here in Chicago, so it made sense for him to move here.

But for these first 11 months of our relationship, we have mostly been apart, trying to build us up from these intermittent visits, and mostly phone conversations. And since most of our time is spent on the phone, I think it goes without saying that, when you try to build a relationship this way, it’s like a breeding ground for issues – all those things that new couples sweep under the rug those first blissful months were smacking us in the face right out of the gate.

So we’ve had some ups and downs. My insecurities RAGED (I mean, how would you deal if you knew your boyfriend was spending weeks in hotels with other girls? Me? Not so well). And for him, I think there was an adjustment period for him, too (I won't embarress him by laying them out here).

And the emotional stuff aside – we both have grown accustomed to being single – to having our own space, our own time, our own lives. I live alone, come and go as a I please, I eat what I want and certainly don’t cook (Cheese, in fact, was the first one to use my stove, even though I lived here for months before meeting him), shower three times a day, and sleep diagonal across my bed. My bed partner is often a stack of magazines and unread books, I stockpile tampons, I ride my bike on the trainer without worrying someone is sleeping, I fart and no one cares, and I have a tendency to leave my clean clothes unfolded in the basket until I need them. I have no concerns about the fridge housing only bottled water and ketchup, I own two plates and a pot I stole from my sister, and I tend to leave wet towels on the bed – basically, I am about single as it gets.

And decision-making – before, the only person I consulted about everything was ME. Wanna do an Ironman? Self says okay. Wanna go buy a new sundress? Self agrees, and suggests you throw in some shoes. Now these things will all require consultation.

It's sort of weird giving up my single girl status - not in the sense that I want to still date (I don't) but I have been the last (wo)man standing for so long that I guess I sort of got used to that identity.

Is that weird?

And then there are the implications of what this all means. Here again I should stress that I love this man – I loved him before I ever laid eyes on him, and every day I am amazed that even more love can get squeezed into the little openings in my heart. And though we can argue like champs, we love each other with a passion that refuses to let us quit. He constantly strives to be a better man to me, and I for him.

So it's natural to think ahead– I mean, he wouldn’t be moving here if we weren’t planning to move forward. It’s weird too, because we both came into this with a “no marriage” stance. And now that has changed. And for as much I want this all, it’s still scary, no?

Can he live with and survive my crazy? Can I live with and survive his?

I mean, I am not so naive to think that "all you need is love" to make things work. So do we have what it takes to make this work?

I'd like to think so. I'd like to believe that all the ups and downs have left us with greater respect and certainty that this is right - we are right.

I don’t know if I am even articulating this all very well – I am still sorting it all out.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am standing on the edge of some really big changes.

Good changes, but big nonetheless.

Little Meggie is growing up.

And she’s bringing Cheese with her.

Hope he likes to Swiffer.

DNF

Stunned?

Yeah, me too.

And during my 90-minute-but-felt-like-90-hour drive home, I beat myself up good and plenty, but I had some time to think about what happened.

And honestly, I really don't know what to say.

I have never quit a race before. In fact, I don't quit ever (well, except for the random workout here and there during IM training when my body was just exhausted, and a recent run because I did it at noon when it was Africa hot - but again, those were physical and I made those workouts later).

I mean, fuck, I broke my back training for IM once, and turned around and did trained again. So right now, I am stunned. Stunned and disappointed.

So here's the thing- there is no question that physically, I was prepared. As much as I talked shit about it, I got my workouts in.

I toed shore of Lake Michigan today physically ready.

But mentally, I never showed up.

The warnings about the water temperature psyched me out, and the first time I stepped into the water to test it out, I let quitting enter my mind.

And it was pretty much over from there.

I made it about 200-300 yards, stopped, started, stopped again, started again. But I panicked – I literally couldn’t breath.

The cold literally took my breath away, and never gave it back.

Erin pulled up to me about 100 yards in, and told me that we would do this, we would swim together.

And Erin, if your reading this – I am so very grateful for that.

I just couldn’t do it.

I swam the 100 yards back to shore, and the second my foot hit the sand, the regret, second-guessing and sobs started. I made a mistake.

I could have swam on my back, doggy paddled – anything – just to regulate myself, but in that moment in that frigid water, I didn’t think of any other those things.

The only thing I thought was, “I can’t breath – I can’t do this.”

As I started back into shore, a guy on a surf board asked me if I needed help.

The tears welled up and I said, “I’m an Ironman – I should be able to do this – so no, I don’t need help.”

But who fucking cares about an Ironman three months ago? Seriously – who really gives a shit? Today was a new race, a new challenge. Ironman was the past, and this was the present.

The walk back to transition along the shore, I sobbed – I pussed out, and had no legitimate excuse. It’s not like I broke a leg, or crashed on the bike. I quit in my mind. I was, and am, so horribly ashamed.

I stood in transition and waited until everyone cleared out. I saw Ali and Chris, and Larry all come in, turned in my chip and left.

And as I walked my bike out of transition, there was this lady who screamed, “Yay 462!!! Way to go 462! You can do it!”

I smiled and turned to her and choked out, “No, I can’t. I just quit. I’m going home.”

In my whole life, nothing felt so humiliating as walking my bike up that hill, having hundreds of strangers stare at you and know you quit.

That said – let me say this – this is my first and last post about a DNF.

Why?

Because DNF will never happen again. No pain in the water would have ever compared to the shame I feel right now. And having felt it, I never want to feel it again.

So I will file this away in my mind-box of experiences, and the next time I want to puss out, I am going to pull up the image of me walking the mile back to transition. And then I will put my face back in that water and finish.

I don’t want to end this post in a shitty way, despite how I feel. So before I sign off, I wanted to say that yesterday I had the amazing experience of meeting and having dinner with Erin and Ali and xt4, and then hanging out with Clyde after my bike check. These are four of the nicest, fucking hysterical and most genuine people. This morning, I also met Jen of Madison Duo, who introduced herself as I stood in line waiting to take a poop (that never came). Man, did she provide some comic relief!

I can’t tell you what a privilege it was to meet and hang with all of them – for 20 minutes at a porta-potty, 30 minutes in the Kids Cove, or two hours at the Olive Garden. Both Jen and Clyde are doing Madison, and I can’t wait to scream my off for them in September. Ali will be completing Steelhead in two weeks, as well, so make sure to check out their blogs as they head into the final weeks and give them lots of good thoughts!

Thanks to all you guys for making the trip worth it.

And thanks to everyone that left supportive words in the last few days. This blogging community is something else, and it's an honest-to-god honor to be part of it.

Alright - time to wrap up this pity party and get some work done.

And by work, I mean nap.

Musings on a Summer Day in Chicago

“I’m from a city in the Midwest/Best city in the whole wide wide world” – Lupe Fiasco

Today was the kind of day that makes living through our 10 months of winter so worth it.

From the moment I opened my eyes, the day it was 75, sunny and just waiting to be gobbled up.

I started the day on Roscoe Village, having brunch with a high school friend I hadn’t seen in literally years (one of the redeeming factors of Facebook).

As I stood waiting for her, I looked up at the sky through the trees, and wished I had a camera to record and show you all just how stunning that moment was in my city.

My city.

The scene was almost straight out of a movie.

After my friend arrived, we sat outside, under the trees on Roscoe Street at Damen, watching all the runners, Avon Cancer walkers, husbands pushing strollers, frat boys heading to the Cubs game, and girlfriends soaking up the beauty of the morning.

We were surrounded by the sounds of music, car honking and people cheering for the walkers, laugher of families, and squeals of children.

When it was over and I got back into the car, I opened all the windows, instead of turning the heat on “Furnace.”

I then stopped at my sister’s, hung with my nephew, (who apparently was in a Junior Mint sugar coma thanks to my brother-in-law, who could only think of feeding him 25 candies to soothe a boo-boo), then headed home to workout.

After my five-mile run, I met my other sister for an early dinner and a beer. Yes, I had a beer.

It was that kind of day. A day that called for a cold beer after a good run, on an outside patio of a bar with my sister.

I had some plans for tonight, but honestly, I am kinda worn out at this point, that I think I may just chill, shower, and regroup for tomorrow’s brick.

Oh, and how can I forget that the weekend was kicked off by a girl’s night, complete with dinner, Cosmos and the Sex in the City movie.

Sigh.

Perfect.

Well, not so much the movie, but the company. And the experience.

Time to shower.

Hope you all had an equally fantastic weekend.

The Best Day

So here are my final thoughts about Ironman Arizona.

I am 31 years old. I have never been married. I have no kids. Perhaps in the future this may happen, and if they do, I am sure they will be great.

But right now, as I sit in bed, three days removed from the event, I can say that Sunday was undoubtedly the best day of my life.

I had my family, my friends, the blogger community - so many people screaming for me, helping me, pouring salt in my hands, giving me gatorade snow cones – my sister Devin even ran to the nearest health food store to buy electrolytes tablets to keep me going, and my other sister Ellen ran in flip flops next to me for almost a mile, giving me encouraging words all the way. I thrived off that energy – I literally lived for the next friendly face in the crowd, or the next stranger to stick a cup of chicken broth in my sweaty hands.

Even as I sit here now, I can say with 100% certainty that I loved every minute of that day. Even the pain of the run seems minimal to my overall euphoria of the day – so many times on the bike I said out loud to myself (of course, after looking over my shoulder to make sure no one could hear me), “I can’t believe I am here, I can’t believe I am doing Ironman, I can’t believe this is happening.” The smiles on my face in my pictures were there all day, even under the grimaces of pain on the run.

As I have mentioned, I was blessed to have no major medical problems. At one point, I told my sister Devin, as she walked next to me at Mile Am-I-the-Hell-Done-Yet?, that things felt like they were shutting down – I needed salt, my muscles were spasming, my belly ached from bloat, my head throbbed from the heat, and the blister on the back of my heel made it difficult to run uphill.

But in hindsight, I wasn’t shutting down. I was whole -albeit hurting - but I was fine.

I could not have asked for anything else out of the day.

I just watched a recap video of that day, and the tears started flowing again – there was so much I remember, yet so much I overlooked. There was just SO MUCH to take in, to absorb. Weird how the longest day of my life was also the shortest and fastest.

I guess what kept me sane was that I had no expectation for the day. I wanted to finish, and that was all. Sure, I had some idea of what times I should be completing each discipline in, but I refused to look at my watch, refused to let me mind get in the way of just loving the day and being grateful for the moment.

I approached each day leading up the race with awe – I allowed myself to be overwhelmed with anticipation, but refused to get anxious, nervous, worried. I was just excited. I mean, I teared up when I got my bracelet and my numbers, but I was just so overwhelmed with excitement.

The ease at which I approached those few days was a stark contrast to my anxiety over the last few months. At times, I didn’t even feel like the same person. I didn’t let anything annoy me, I didn’t get irritable, I didn’t bitch and moan about anything (oh, except for that whole US Triathlon membership nonsense – that pissed me off ). Even when the weather reports poured in about the heat, or the bike pump guy told me I had slow leaks in my tired 30 minutes before the race started (I didn’t), I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Oh well, what can I do about it now?”

Who was this girl?!?!

And how can I get her to stick around?

If I worried at all, it was about my family being in the sun all day, about them not getting enough to eat, or getting burned or overheated, or even bored. When I saw them at one of the intersection on the bike, I rode as fast as I could to see them again, and then kept riding as fast so I could to finish the bike leg and let them go back to town and get out of the oppressive sun. Worrying about them kept me from worrying about myself, and oddly, that seemed to help.

Since this was my first, I definitely learned some lessons – the salt issue being one of them (boy was I unprepared for that – hydration is one thing I did well, but that salt was not) and the blister being the other. I got it at about 1.5 mile on the run, and should have stopped to care for it, but I kept going, and it got worse. It definitely slowed me down on the hills, making it excruciating to run up them.

The only other thing I would have done differently is slowed down at the finish to take in those final moments. But that last mile, I was very aware of who was around me, because I was intent on crossing that line alone – I didn’t want to get in the way of another racer breaking their tape, and I didn’t want anyone sprinting in front of me and ruining my moment either. But there was a guy right behind me (you can even see him in the finish picture), dead set on making this happen, so I sprinted that last stretch. I was going so fast I didn’t hear my name, but I was able to see my family almost falling over the barricades screaming, and then see my sister Devin (who snuck into the finish chute) taking my pictures and giving me my first hug as an Ironman.

Even as I write this, I still cry when I think about those seconds – Devin with tears streaming down her face, me leaping into the air and screaming at the top of my exhausted lungs, both of us leaning into each other in relieved hysteria. Ellen and my mom with ear-to-ear smiles and tears in their eyes, the bear hug and whispers of “I Love You” from Cheese, the obvious pride of Nolan in his Forest Gump outfit, the look of awe from my friend Adrienne.

I did that - I made them proud.

The days since the event, things have been up and down. Working for something so intensely for two years, and the completing it left me with a deafening silence, compounded by my family leaving the next day. Going from the highest highs to the normal life was like a massive slap in the face. The PIBs (Post Ironman Blues) crept up faster than I anticipated, and it left me in sobs for most of Monday.

I arrived back in Chicago yesterday to the realization that my life is still the same. Maybe not as structured and organized around daily workouts, but mostly my life is the same. I came home to the same job, the same stress, the same bills, and sadly, the same studio apartment.

I, however, am not the same.

I don’t feel like that insecure girl that has posted about her weight, or her looks, or her abilities. I don’t feel the self-doubt that I felt just a few weeks back.

Instead, I feel strong. I feel happy. I feel confident. I feel like I showed up to the race with all I had, and that was “good enough.” I was finally good enough. I feel like all that mental muscle I developed over the last two years finally emerged to say, “Hey, you are better than what you have given yourself credit for, you are better than the pettiness of the conflicts around you, you are better than accepting the mediocre.” The fact that quitting never entered my mind throughout the entire 14-plus hours alone was the greatest testament to some internal change.

People have said that once you do Ironman, you can do anything.

Yeah, I feel like that.

I still haven’t managed to take off my IM identification bracelet – I feel like when I do, it will finally be over, and I am not yet ready for that to happen.

And while I feel like I have a million more words and tears still left in me about this experience, for right now, this is all I will say about Ironman.

Until the next one.

14:47 in Pictures

" Always know in your heart that you are far bigger than anything that can happen to you." Arizona 4.13.08

Day before the race at bike/bag drop off - Ellie and Cheese

Lost in the sea of machines - but note to self- even though those bikes may cost thousands, they still have to be pedalled. No intimidation....

Last chance to get everything packed

My Iron Crew - Ellie, Dev, me, Cheese, Mom, and Adrienne

And the morning starts with Nolan - AKA Scuba Steve

"When you get hurt and all your sacrifice adds up to nothing...are you willing to put it all on the line again?" - Conrad Stoltz

Absolutely. - Megan

The Crew again (click to enlarge) - and some random guys that apparently didn't feel the need to step out of the picture.

Me in the middle

Me in the middle again - tight squeeze

The look on my face says it all (click to enlarge).

Happy as can be, on the way out to Loop #2.

Still having fun....

Wait - you say I have one more loop? Huh. Well, there goes my Kona qualifying time. Geesh.

Off again.

And finally back home. All smiles after 7.5 hours on the bike.

"One more mile" - IM Able

"Success is my only mother f-- option/Failure's not/So here I go is my shot/Feet fail me not/This may be the only opportunity that I got." - Eminem

"And the people they were singing, I could hear 'em from the street/And my feelings they were stinging/I was submerged in my deffeat/But I smiled for a second, and for that second, I felt fine/PAIN IS A WALL I MUST CLIMB." -Michael McDermott

Euphoria. So much so that I didn't even hear the words I waited two years for: "Megan, YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!" They literally had to pry that banner from my hands (click to enlarge - the look on my face is priceless).

"I win." - Megan

This post was long enough.

My final brief thoughts on this whole crazy ride tomorrow.

Over

Wow. What do you say after that?

I won't go into a full race recap (because it's boring) but I will say this: it was HOT (about 95 degrees) and WINDY and TOUGH. I played it smart, drank and ate, ignored my watch and the time, and just got through. My times, in the end, were a little longer than I expected - but after seeing nearly 337 people DNF, I consider myself lucky.

The swim was worse than all the horror stories you here - there is nothing in the world that could have prepared me. I got punched (PUNCHED!) in the face and ear, and kicked in the chest so hard I thought I would drown. At around 1000 yards, both calves seized up with cramps - so I swam with "dead legs" for most of the way. The guys were the worst - they would literally clobber you. And the whole swim was like that.

Got out of the water, totally disoriented - there are pictures of me just standing in wetsuit transition, just standing there with my hands in my mouth. Staring. At nothing. Eventually I saw Andy, and he helped me out.

The first bike loop SUCKED - but it prepared me for the second and third, during which I just tucked in, rode areo, took the inclines, used my legs as pistons to cut through the wind. The bike was the best part of the day - I felt super strong and positive.

My little brother dressed up for each leg - here he is in his Lance suit. He stuffed.

Here he is as Forest Gump. It was hysterical. For the swim, he wore his trunks, flippers and a snorkle.

That's me back there in the black bra and skirt, goofing off. I was so happy to be on the run, just loving the moment.

Oh finished - me and Nolan - the biggest issue of the day was salt - my legs started to seize at mile 2 of the marathon, and as you can see by my bra - the salt just poured out of me. I drank a million cups of broth, and then Momo literally poured table salt into my hand at mile 9 and I ate it from it my palm.

Me and Cheese. My belly is all bloated from the water and gatorade and my lips were so burned they are like cardboard this morning. But I am happy - so happy. Oh, that white thing, by the way, was my dad's old hankerchief - my sister gave it to me for extra support, so I kept it tied to my shirt and/or bra through the whole race - talked to it when I got lonely. I also sang a lot of Bruce Springsteen:

"Screen door slammed, Mary your dress swayed/Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio played/Roy Orbinson singing for the lonely/Hey that's me and I want you only/Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone..again."

We have many more pics that my sister took, so when I have a chance when I get home, I will post those - they are pretty amazing.

And finally - I have said it a million time in the last few days but I will never be able to say it enough:

THANK YOU!!!

Thank you to all those who cheered from AZ, or from their computers, or their homes, or their phones. Thank you so all your mantras, and words of support, and positive thoughts. It was because of everyone out there that I never consider quitting - NOT EVER - despite how bad I felt. As Eminem says, "Success is my only M-F option, failure's not."

AZ Here I Come

Yeah, so the back thing is still there - the doctor helped considerably today, and he even offered to see me again this afternoon for a second session, but I thought that might be overkill, plus I was already taking an "extended lunch" to take care of other things.

He did some manipulations, and then found the place on my back that might be the cause of it. He pushed on that muscle to try to cut off the oxygen flow to the spasming muscles (or something like that) the massaged it out until the knot began to go away.

He told me to have someone do that to me tonight, and for the next few days.

I figured Cheese owed me something for the amount of fart stink he's leaving in my sheets, so he won today's compitition of "Who Gets To Rub Megan Out?"

And it has helped.

In other news, taper hasn't killed me yet, but it has done a number on my girlish figure.

Just kidding.

But I have gained...ahem...some weight....I know, I know....it's all for the reserve.....

But yuck.

And because of the back, there was no workout today, and likely minimal over the next few days, except some swimming.

Bring on the belly!

So in about five hours, we start making our way down to Midway to meet my mom and head out.

Posting the next few days might be sporadic given the Internet situation. Cheese offered to update during the race, to post on my site about my progress, but that seems sort of...I don't know...self-absorbed. Overkill. But I said I would think about it.

And before I sign off for tonight, I would be as ass if I didn't take a second to say with the fullest heart, THANK YOU. And I don't know if anything I write at this moment will fully express what is fulling through my head.

I started this blog in November 2006, and the friendships I have made through it have been unimaginable. The comments, the emails, the humor, the support, the mantras - it is an understatement to say that your words get me to that pool when I don't wanna, or when I celebrate the long bricks and runs when I need a pat on the back.

To me at this point, I am honest-to-god stunned that people even take a second of their day to click on "The Project," to check it out, to care about what might be happening to me or what I have to say. No matter what they might have going on, people still take that moment to check in, read, and leave a comment. It's nothing short of an honor for me to know that people do this - that people care, and people come back, everyday. With each comment or site click, people keep supporting this girl from Chicago that they have never even met.

That concept to me is crazy.

But it is also amazing and incredible, and as weird as it sounds, it feels like this big warm hug.

I made it through some really crappy months recently, athletically and personally, with your help.

My gratitude is undefinable.

Week From Today

I will be rounding the bouys for the second half of the swim, getting ready to emerge from that water and get on that bike.

I just checked the weather, and it looks to be about 92 degrees, mostly sunny, low winds, UV Index of 9 (very high) with a sunrise just before six am, and sunset just before 7pm.

Excitement is bubbling right now - I dropped off my bike yesterday to be shipped out, and following it with a high-fat White Palace Grill breakfast with Cheese (as in the person, not the food). He's here for a few days before we head out to AZ.

I am also getting in my last few but short workouts.

I hate taper.

Everything you hear about it is true - the itch to workout longer, the mind-fuck, the weight gain, the shoveling of food into the endless pit of my stomach, the need for tons of sleep - seriously, I am going out of my mind.

Other than that, I am actually okay. Not nervous at all (well, maybe expect for the swim - my swims lately have been sort of hard, mostly due to my own fatigue and worry about wetsuit chafing).

As I mentioned in one of the last posts, I have been very emotional. Coming home from a lakefront run yesterday, Cheese and I were talking the "heart" that some athletes have - like the kid that shows up for basketball practice every single day knowing that his feet may never see the court on game day. And I intially said, "I wish I was one of the those people who could just keep coming back, day after day, just for the love of the game."

But then I stopped myself. I said, "Actually, we are like that - we go out and train, and train, and run, and we know that we will never win these things, never qualify for the big time, but we still do it - that's gotta count for heart somewhere."

And then Cheese said something about "Well, you still know that you are going to race though - If someone told you that you can train and train for a year, but you may not ever get to race, would you still do it?"

And my answer to that is, "I just did."

Because the thing is: Ironman is never a given. You sign up at least a year in advance, in the hopes that you will toe that start line -and some do and some don't. But you train, and train, and train with that hope. That's all you have, really. Just like the kid that hopes to play in a game.

And while you hope all those months out from the race, it helps keep the race in the distance. It's hard to wrap you mind around the enormity of it when you are just mechanically going through the workouts.

But here I am, a week away, after being so disappointed last year in those final weeks - and toeing that start line of IM is now a "given" to me. It's now a reality, not just a hope. Now, that's not to say that catastrophe can't happen in the race 'cause finishing itself is never a given, not even at this point. But showing up a week from today is.

I made it this year.

I showed up all those weeks for practice, I stuck it out without knowing if I might get hurt again andhave to live through another no-show in April. I did it because I needed to at least try again.

So right now I am happy. Excited and happy. Maybe a little fat from taper, but happy nonetheless.

My reality is here, and I never took it for granted.

Because until this week, it was never a given.

A Softer Side

I was running on the treadmill today and watching the early moments of the Cubs home/season opener on t.v.

Yeah, I know. It killed a little bit of me, too.

At least the Sox opener is just a few short days away.

Anyway, Ernie Banks was the honoree and they dedicated this statue thing to him. Now, I know next to nothing about historic baseball figures, but I will say this: it brought a tear to my eye watching the whole ceramony, mostly because Mr. Banks looked so happy and excited and he was just hamming it up and loving the whole thing. It really was spectacular to see.

And I got a little emotional.

Then, as the run continued, I realized how good I was feeling, and began imagining myself finishing this race in less then two weeks, running to that line with the deafening screams of everyone I love pulsating from the sidelines.

And I got emotional again.

The whole hour really made me take pause and reflect on the rotteness I tend to spew on my blog.

See, I am not completely bitter and cold-hearted as I come across sometimes. I don't feed off of my internal rage, and I am not always the impatient lady sighing loudly in the grocery line when the elderly pull out their 3400 coupons and all I want to do is get my grilled chicken and high tail it home in time for the Biggest Loser.

Uh..okay, so maybe I am that lady but hold on, hear me out.

Yeah, I am impatient, and people that are slow/dumb/ignorant/self-absorbed really get on my nerves. And I am fully aware tha tI need to just back off every now and then and let people do their thing, because the world does not, in fact, revolve around Megan and her training/work schedules.

I know, it surprised me too, this realization.

And sometimes, I am better with accepting this, and being patient. Other times, not so much.

But it's a work in progress.

What I felt worst about today was my ranting on the elderly and little kids lately. Mostly the kids part. Because here's the thing - I really do like kids, it's bad parenting I can't stand. I am a child psychologist, for crying out loud. So while I may make fun of them, or talk about how annoyed I get when they throw tantrums and their parents look the other way, I actually kinda like kids.

In fact, I just spent the whole weekend with Cheese's family, which included two kids, a boy (5) and a girl (8). And they were great - I never got annoyed, never got irritated, and really had a great time with them. In fact, I can't wait for them to come to Chicago to visit me.

Yeah, I totally did just say that.

And speaking of this weekend, Cheese ran a half-marthon in Kansas. He did well, but had been having some foot and leg pain up to the race which took him a little off his goal time. But he finished, despite the monster winds and the crazy hills.

I ran with him for the last three miles.

At the end of the race!

He even inspired his family to do the 5K, which was the first race EVER for his mom, sister and brother-in-law. It was really very fun to watch them get their packets, and put their bibs on, and get all anxious for the race - could they do it? Would it hurt? If they get tired, could they walk? And then to finish the race, and be so excited and wanting to talk about it. It was so new and fresh for them - I was so happy to be there and be part of it.

So I kinda want to apologize for being so negative about people that aren't, well, me. I really hope I didn't offend anyone. And I would never make mean faces to your children behind your back. Well, at least not if I knew you.

That's just for stangers.

Drunk

Thoughts on a slow day:

As you know, I went to my brother wedding about a week ago. I posted a bunch of pictures, mostly of me and family nice and happy and smiling. But I did have one sort-of issue with that weekend.

My issue involves drunk people. See, I don’t really drink (but I did have a beer and a half both nights – whoohoo!) and I don’t really care if other people do. Honestly, I don’t – I know that Cheese thinks I judge people that drink, but I really don’t – I just chose not to do it myself, mostly because I hate the hangover that I will inevitably get. And just like I don’t expect everyone in the world to love triathlon or adhere to my lifestyle, I don’t really do the whole drinking thing. Just like I also don’t eat red meat. No condemnation – just a choice.

So here’s the thing about drunk people. They can be all kinds of fun when they are being silly. Frankly, some of the funniest shit happened around my obliterated friends, who are funny sober, but brutally hysterical when drunk. Like, for example, my friend Bridget that weekend. Hysterical, fun to be around, pretty much just laughed and joked and had a good time.

But then, there are the others:

1. They can’t just stay silly (like the fine young lady that pulled her bridesmaid dress up to her waist, exposed her undies, and rubbed on herself to Def Leopard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Seriously folks, how is that NOT silly?) At some point, they get really serious, and try to have a “meaningful” conversation with you (that they will NEVER remember). And then they get all kids of pseudo-philosophical, and inevitably tell you how wonderful you are of a person and they “can just tell” how good you are inside (which you can bet is soley based on the fact that you are the only person left standing in a room that can actually maintain eye contact with them). And all you want to do is give them a stick of gum and join your sisters on the dance floor to “My Humps.”

I lost about an hour of my life that I will NEVER get back the night of the rehearsal dinner. I won’t go into detail, but apparently because I am a psychologist, I should want to talk to/associate with any other person in the room that has anything to do with the field of psychology, even if they just cut the grass. Here’s a hint – I don’t. Frankly, the last thing I want to do at a bar while socializing with all my friends and family is get caught in a conversation where a stranger who happens to be a “therapist,” while he reads me his dissertation. Chapter by chapter. And not only will he NEVER remember that conversation, but he spent most of telling me how everyone he knows tells him he is such a great therapist because he "can really reach people like no one else can/I just get people, you know?/ People just listen to me.”

(Here’s another hint – if you are really a good therapist, you don’t need to brag about it. Frankly, if you were good at all, you would have spent more time trying to get to know me, instead of flapping your jaws UNBROKEN for an hours, telling me how you can really touch adolescents even though you are 35 “cause I just get ‘em, you know? I mean, I was them once, right?” Yeah, cause that’s all it takes. Good luck with that pal. Oh, and buddy? When I asked you about the dissertation “defense,” I was referring to the one in front of the committee, and not to actually strike up a debate with me.)

2. And the stories that drunk people tell are so FUCKING long. There’s no cutting to the chase with drunk people. They could initially be telling you what they ate for breakfast that morning, but 45 minutes later, they’re still stuck on how they boiled the eggs.

3. They spit all over you. And I have learned that there is no easy way to slyly wipe someone’s roast beef off your party gown.

4. Everything is a good idea to drunk people. Dry humping the dance floor? Alright! Riding on the roofs of SUVS doing donuts in the parking lot? Where do I get on! Spending $300 to by an entire bar of strangers shots? Just gimme the credit card receipt! Needless to say, drunk people lack judgment.

5. One of the reasons bananas are great? Because you never have to actually touch the fruit part – just peel and enjoy. Don’t have to wash it, or your hands. Genius.

Okay, so I threw that last one in there, but seriously, bananas are great.

So that’s what I have on this fine Saturday. At some point, I may get out of bed to go do a swim and short run, but there is no telling when that might happen. For now, I am just enjoying some needed down time in the comfort of my pillows.

Brown Hair

“I had no idea you were that old.”

I heard this twice this past weekend, both by 24 year old guys. The first time, these actual words were spoken, and the second time, it was paraphrased.

Granted, both times it was followed up by a softer comment about “not looking my age,” but I think it was only after my stunned silence and wide-eyed stare at such bluntness.

And it still made me feel sort of like shit.

But I brushed it off, put on my cute party dress and didn’t really think much about this until today, when the bad feelings about it crept up.

The issue of my appearance has always been a sore spot.

I look more like my dad, who, by definition, was a man. Hence, I have more masculine features than feminine. I have never been considered cute, not really ever in my life. In fact, when I was a junior in high school, and my sister was a freshman at my same school, all the boys in my grade wanted to date her, and still had no idea who I was. When I was a senior, my boyfriend’s high school baseball coach called me ugly.

So needless to say, I have never really felt all that pretty.

In my family, we were assigned roles – of the three girls, I was the bookworm studious one who liked to eat too many donuts on Saturday mornings. I was always a little overweight, had unmanageable hair, combination skin, and hips before any of the other girls knew what they were. My friends were always popular and beautiful, and though I was part of this group, I was never considered to be in the same league. And when you are in 8th grade, or high school, being pretty and liked by boys is a big effing deal. In fact, it’s kinda like the WHOLE deal.

I guess at some point, I decided to make up for my lack of beauty by doing things – I earned straight A’s, I went to graduate school and earned a doctorate, I am training for Ironman, etc. If I can’t be pretty, well, at least I can set myself apart through doing things.

When I got into my mid and late 20s, this appearance thing never really subsided, but I think I sort of grew into my looks a little more. My body seemed to even out (thanks to my newfound love of running), and my face didn’t seem, well, so big or manly. I never LOVED my body, despite what Oprah told me, but I stopped hating it and trying to destroy it like I did throughout most of my teen years and early twenties.

But today, for some reason, this reached a head. And I know why – I was scrolling through the pictures that I posted at the wedding, and realized – I still look really masculine. And then I came across a completely separate picture of a 20-something girl (not from the wedding), all cute and perky and blond and perfect with just-as-perfect girly features, white teeth and huge smile – and it hit me.

I will never be “cute.” I will never be the pretty chick with straight blond hair (good for flipping when flirting) cherub cheeks (good for blushing when flirting) and a button nose (good for wrinkling when flirting). I will never have smooth, milky skin or bright blue eyes. I will never have the petite, taut body with smooth thighs, firm round ass, or perky boobs. I will never be the girl in the bar that smiles and laughs at all the right things, like she’s carefree, silly and knows she’s got the attention of every guy in the room.

I will always have dark skin and dark curly hair. I will always have hips and an ass and the occasional break out (thanks mom). I will always have a longish, pointy nose and a huge forehead (thanks dad). I will always rock the saddle bags, and love handles. I am watching as my once-full boobs slowly start to fall. And I will probably always wear a furried brow or scowl more than a carefree smile, which will always cause wrinkles on my forehead.

Most of the time, I don’t give a shit about this. Most of the time, I am aware of my own insecurities, but I can deal, and tell myself I am more than just a face. Most of the time, I can look in the mirror and not loathe the body or face staring back.

Today was not one of those days.

And I hate that. I hate that I still care, I hate that it still bothers me that I am not that cute blond, I hate that I am jealous and insecure about that blond. I hate it all.

And I hate it because, cognitively, I know I have so much going for me that makes me good, maybe even better, than this blond. I know that I would murder her in intellectual conversation or witty one-liners, or if comparing lists of life accomplishments. And I know that I will never need to chase a man to validate my self worth, and that I have already established myself as independent and successful.

Then why do I want to be her?

Forward, Together Forward

It was the small things.

As I drove down the main road leading to the NIU campus, it wasn’t immediately noticeable that something had changed.

But if you looked closely, you could see it in the small things.

The light post banners that read “Forward, Together Forward.”

The signs at the La Tan, liquor store, Subway, or Pizza Hut, all proclaiming their thoughts and prayers for the NIU family.

The red and black balloons that flew from fence posts and mailboxes.

The multitude of students in their red and black attire, from the girls working at Starbucks with red headbands, to the group of four athletes walking across campus in their matching read and black gym suits. I don’t remember seeing a single student in a different color, or without the NIU logo.

On my first day there yesterday, I pulled into campus and parked in my usual Visitor’s parking lot. I walked over to the check-in point for therapists, but got a bit turned around, and ended up face-to-face with five white crosses covered in flowers and signs, representing the five students that were killed. Next to this, four huge billboard-type posters were set up, all covered with words of hope, loss, support and grief by the NIU community. And just beyond that, the yellow police tape marking off the building in which the shooting took place, flapped in the light breeze of the afternoon.

And it was silent.

This shocked me. There were people – students, parents, faculty - milling around, but it was silent.

I found my building, went to orientation, got my assignment for the following day and had dinner.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that I was really able to put my finger on what I was experiencing. And I pinpointed two very distinct feelings on that first day.

The first is discomfort, and the sense of being intrusive.

I feel almost like a voyeur, watching as this unfolds in front of me, like an outsider. This is their community, their grief, and it is towards each other that they will turn for support.

As grief counselors, we are assigned to a classroom or an academic department, and are supposed to act as a supportive presence to the student and staff, if they need to talk or needs information regarding further counseling. We were told to “watch” for individuals that may look like they are struggling, and offer assistance if needed. But tonight, during the Memorial Service, it more like being the Emotion Police, like I was monitoring and surveying the situation for potential problems.

But what I saw was a community supporting itself with its own strength and resilience.

As we were shuttled to dinner, I watched parents drop their kids off at the curbs, as if it were the first day of school all over again. But this time, both the parents and students looked apprehensive, scared. They hugged just a little bit longer on those curbs, and the parents lingered just a little bit longer as their children disappeared into those buildings.

I watched students embracing each other in the light of day, girls with their faces buried in the hooded sweatshirts of their boyfriends. Students standing in front of those white crosses, holding hands, silent. Signs in almost every window of every dorm room, reading “God Bless NIU. We Are The Huskies.”

I thought, “I shouldn’t be seeing this. This is not my grief. This is theirs. They should have their privacy.” I was embarrassed, as if my presence was as unwanted as the plethora of reporters, who literally chase down the kids, asking, “Are you a student here? How are you feeling? What’s it like to be back on campus?”

The second feeling was profound sadness, but not about what I thought. It occurred towards the end of the memorial service, during a slide show of pictures of students from other universities.

What made me so sad was watching these pictures of students from other campuses, especially Virginia Tech, hold prayer vigils, or send their own words of support NIU, proclaiming, “Today, we are all Huskies.” This should not be their reality. Death should not be the common thread that connects them.

I went to college in downtown Chicago, close to the infamous West Side. It was dangerous, to say the least. But 10 years ago, my biggest worry was how to get an A in a class after ditching too many sessions, or making the deadline for my story in the newspaper. I never hesitated to walk into my classroom, never thought twice about where to sit in lecture hall, and never looked over my shoulder as I walked between buildings.

But these students now do. Every time the door to the lecture hall opens, they’ll jump. When a book drops off the desk, their hearts will leap in fear. College is a time for exploring one’s identity, but will they always give a second glance to the kid that looks just a little different, a little unusual, a little outside the norm?

How is that normal? How has it come to this? One of the speakers at the memorial last night said, “Today, we are a little bit older than yesterday…we have lost a little of our youth.” And later on the shuttle with other counselors, I overheard someone quoting another speaker and stating, “Parents send their kids to school to learn, not to die.”

That these words ever had to be spoken is so very wrong.

Today, I was assigned to an academic department in the building that is directly next to Cole Hall. In fact, the office I was in was the one place students ran to when the shootings happened, given that the doors of each building are literally steps away from each other.

I had the honor of talking with students and professors, as well as office workers and grad students, all of whom were there and touched by the events of that day. Some witnessed the students being carried out, some were the actual students that were carried out. The emotions ranged from hope to despair, from sadness to guilt, from resilience to fear. The greatest concern appeared to be safety, both from the students and the professors. Although the gunman took his own life that day, there have been two separate incidents in which hate messages were scrawled on the campus, neither of which were connected to the shootings, but both of which remain unsolved.

So the question in the minds of almost all students remains: Can this happen again?

I can’t say a ton more about what was discussed, but I will say this: If I walked away with anything today, it is that I had the honor of being present with these individuals. The solidarity and strength of the bond that the entire campus now has was astounding. You see it on the news or read it in the paper, but to feel it across campus, across social groups, across ages and races – this community came together in a way I have never seen. It was truly an honor to be welcomed into it, to be accepted into their circle of grief and hope, and to be able to just listen to their stories, their experiences of that day and the subsequent days.

NIU gave me more today than I could have given them.

Last week, Laura said to me, “Life is short.”

And today NIU said, "It goes on."

Strokes

Tonight, I took down my Wall of Shame.

It might take me but a minute to get to the point of why I did it, so hang in there with me.

See, the Wall of Shame consisted mostly of missed swims. I will ride my bike 'til next Tuesday, or put my running shoes on any time of day and jump on the treamill or hit the path. But I hate swimming. Hate it, hate it.

I hate it because I am not good at it. I hate it because everytime I get in that freezing water, I worry that I am not fast enough, or my stroke is not effecient enough, or that my butt is not toned enough and it makes my bathing suit creep up the crack.

I hate it because it shows me all my imperfections.

And I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect.

I dreaded today's swim. It's freezing here, I didn't want to get back in my car, the gym would be packed...all the reasons I usually use to talk myself out of it. But at some point, I sucked it up, grabbed my bag and my little swim workout index card and went.

When I got there, all lanes were taken. And we all know how much I hate sharing a lane. I almost turned around and went back to the locker room, but a nice woman invited me into hers, so I took it.

As I kicked off my flip flops, I looked at my card, trying to remember all the different drills. But then, standing on the pool side, something clicked. Maybe it was my coach's voice that told me yesterday that missing a workout is not the end of the world, or maybe it was just my own voice, telling me that, hey, making it here today is a victory in itself.

Whatever it was, I slipped the card back into my swim bag. And I just jumped in. No lollygagging on the edge, flopping my legs in the water, fighting with myself about "Oh, it's too cold" or "Oh, I don't want to be here." I just jumped in.

And I swam.

I didn't count the laps, and I didn't look at the clock. Somewhere in the span of about one minute, I decided that I was going to swim how I felt, and that I had to just "be okay" with it.

So I did. I just swam.

There were some lengths that were hard, when I truly felt like I was sinking. This time though, instead of berating myself with "You've been doing this for HOW long and you still suck?!" I just tucked my head down and kept trying. As I swam, I would think about my stroke, and instead of trying to make it perfect, I just tried to do better.

And then there were the laps that were easy, and I glided. My elbows were high, my hips rotated, my catch was smooth. And I didn't take those laps for granted, or expect that the next ones should be as easy. I took each lap for itself - maybe it would be good, and maybe it would not.

But I stopped trying to be perfect. I started trying to be better.

Better to my body by not pushing through a long swim when I knew I was still weak, and better to my mind for even having the strength to show up.

And then I stopped when I felt like it. I stopped when I didn't want to swim anymore.

I am sure I didn't make the total yardage that was on my schedule, but I actually didn't care. I didn't care because I didn't see my "imperfect" swim as a sign of weakness. I actually saw it as taking care of myself.

Crazy - when I got out of the pool, time didn't stop, the world didn't crumble, I didn't collapse.

The world did not, in fact, end because the swim, and I, were less-than-perfect.

Who knew?

I know I am tough at this point. I know that I have mentally and physically battled through some really grueling workouts, and that I am not a quitter. I have run for 90 minutes with blisters bleeding through my shoes. I have run in sub zero weather and pouring rain. I have pedaled through trainer rides for hours on end and saddle sores of unimaginable proportions. I have done mind numbing treadmill runs. I have woken up at 430am to go to the pool or run or ride.

I just saw this shortened workout as a sign that I know when to say when, for my health and my sanity.

And I started to accept that not being the best swimmer is okay. That for today, for right now, just plain swimming is good enough.

So I took down the Wall of Shame because there is no shame in missing a workout. There's no shame in shortening it when you just need a break. There's no shame in being human, and sometimes letting life get in the way. And there is no shame in not being perfect.

Ironman training sure is teaching me a lot about myself.

House

Sometimes in life, we make mistakes.

We buy a piece of property and build a house. We fill this house with all the things we love – all the things that make us feel good, and warm, and secure. We feel comforted and safe by the containment of the four walls. We bask in the laughter and the love of the people we allow inside these walls.

However, we discover later, that house was built on sand. And when the house starts to sink and takes everything we know and love with it, we panic. We feel helpless to stop the destruction.

And then when you least expect it, neighbors come rushing with stilts and cement. They do not shake their heads in disdain, and they do not say “I told you so.”

No, they help you solidify that foundation. They help you save that house. And you are amazed, because you never even knew you had neighbors.

My lesson learned today is that you never know who these neighbors are or how much strength they will give you if you don’t ask. And that maybe that house will still sink, but at least it gave you a chance to meet them.

And then maybe they will stick around to help you build a new one.

Thanks neighbors.