I haven't written a "who inspires me" post in a while... But, for the past few weeks I've been itching to put one together. So, here it is, lol.
In the past few months, two friends in particular have actually caused me to hop in excitement and glee. As you may know, I am more likely to be found hopping in anger at my exhusband, so this is huge.
I've actually written about the first, Gary, previously in the context of role models for our family (his two daughters swam for me back in the day). Perhaps because his daughters' competitive swimming careers have ended leaving time and intensity to redirect, or perhaps because Gary is simply a gifted athlete who put his own athletic endeavors on the back burner while focusing on his girls' (wait, that is saying basically the same thing!), Gary has become an amazing inspiration.
A baseball player in his high school and college days, Gary's genes must have mutated to produce swimmers (rumor has it Gary sinks). I noticed Gary beginning to run regularly during his girls' swim practices, and he began to turn up in some local 5ks. I watched his times drop from at least the mid 20s down to close to mine (at the time I ran consistent mid 21s). I was resigned to his beating me at the Gator Bowl 5k some five or so years ago, when an accident at the starting line sent Gary to the ER (a herd of young kids had lined up at the front and one of them cut Gary off, tripping him and causing him to fall face first to the pavement. I went down to avoid stepping on his head, and we were both bleeding and pissed. He hit his head hard.)
That race fiasco seemed to portend a coming medical battle for Gary that left him without a functioning thyroid after what seemed like a long, winding path of diagnosis, assessment, and treatment. Gary's running became disrupted and, as we all contend with as we age, he also dealt with other injuries and life interruptions that prevented him from truly focusing on running. He still did some races, and ran the Gate as well, but it seemed like more for fun than anything, to me.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving 2010, and join Matthew and I in biking the Outback half marathon course, grinning madly and heckling Gary as he ran his first ever half marathon. Gary had signed up for a training class, battled achilles pain, and followed the preparation plan to a T, often putting to shame my own feeble run training efforts.
And he went a 1:48.19 and swore he would never, EVER do anything that crazy again. "Two miles too long" he said. Uh huh.
Three weeks later, he turned 53, and ran the Jacksonville Bank Half Marathon in a 1:43.16.
And all I could think of to do was run up to him and hug him and, yes, hop up and down.
To watch a friend set a goal to challenge himself, make a plan, follow the plan, and achieve his goal is a wonderful thing to me. I can only hope he picks a marathon to tackle that is on a date when we are in town to see it, because there is no doubt in my mind he will achieve that goal as well. Given that Gary tackled a new distance and then came back and OWNED the new distance three weeks later, and that he is doing that while he is, well, OLDER than me, is amazing and inspiring to me. I can't express how fun and impressive it has been to watch him do this...
but wait, there's more!
The same races provided double the inspiration, because my second victim, er, inspirational person, ran the half at the Outback and the full marathon at the Jax Bank.
Mark was not a runner, or really an athlete, when I first met him several years ago. A self-described "master of 12oz curls", Mark decided to try running one day when he and his wife were driving down the road and he saw some runners and noted that "you never see fat runners!"
At first Mark tackled 5ks and his times, which started in the 28 range, if I remember correctly, slowly came down towards the lower 20s. He decided to try the Gate and, over time, became much more confident in his running. Out of the blue one day, at least to us, he announced that he wanted to try a marathon, and Matthew agreed to sign up for last January's Disney race with him. (M ended up breaking and not running).
Mark went to Disney with high hopes but very limited experience in distance running, and came home disappointed with his time (which we thought was an admirable first effort, but which was not what he hoped to achieve). Battling some knee pain, he signed up for, and completed, the Donna marathon a few weeks later, but, again, was not happy with his performance.
At that point, M and I were unsure where he would go from there, as we've seen any number of people who are too stubborn to re-assess training approaches or goals, and end up drifting away from athletics in frustration OR battling chronic injury instead.
When Mark told us he had signed up for at least three marathons between December and May 2011, we knew we would find out shortly, lol. And find out we did. Mark transformed into a runner right before our eyes. He set and followed a smart and serious training plan. He listened to his body. He worked. And worked. And worked some more. He raced a variety of distances and his times started dropping. He stayed healthy, and focused, and realistic.
And when I saw him at the Outback bowl, I grinned from ear to ear, because he was flying and he looked comfortable, fit, and fast. And sure enough, he cranked out a 1:35.33, which, as he noted gleefully, beat my time from last year. And when we talked not long after that, I became convinced that he had the mind-set that would allow him to build off of that fantastic run by continuing to follow his plan both training and race-wise for the coming full marathon.
After I drove around the course of the Jax Bank tracking Gary, and did my first silly hopping fit at the finish with him, Matthew and the girls arrived and we loaded into the truck and zoomed down San Jose a few miles to meet Mark's wife and wait. From text message updates she had sent we knew Mark had a great race going... 1:45 at the half and cruising. When we saw him with a few miles left to go, he looked amazing. And I hopped some more, and we loaded into the truck and flew back to Bolles to catch him at the turn off of San Jose (I'd done the same with Gary, and it was a great place, because from there we could dash to the track, cheer some more, and dash across the track to cheer at the finish).
At that point it became clear that, not only would Mark break 3:30, he would break it easily -- which he did, with a 3:28.07. Yes, he negative split his marathon - and THAT is why I strongly believe that he has not tapped out his progression of times yet. As a 36 year old who just recently started running, I think he will continue to get faster if he can stay injury free. (I think the same thing of Gary, as he is only now starting to explore his ability to push himself at that distance and in training volume. For n Ohio State guy, he is one tough older-than-me-dude!)
When we met Mark at the finish, I hugged him (seriously, I am not a particularly huggy person and neither are Gary or Mark, so you know I was fired up) and, yes, hopped around. I grinned all day long thinking of those two and their personal achievements.
THAT'S what being an athlete is all about -- accepting a personal challenge and doing everything you can to conquer that challenge. The journey we take between those two points IS the point, and is greatly gratifying and rewarding if you have the right attitude. Think of how many people or teams have a goal they work for yet never fully achieve -- most, if not all, at one time or another. The success is in the striving, regardless of the outcome. The achievement is in the effort and dedication. Personal triumph comes from the growth during the journey.
But when you see someone you care about actually set a goal AND achieve it... THAT is magical and energizing. It gives you hope in your own journey.
It makes you hop in joy and inspires you to keep aiming for your own goals.
Thanks, guys ;-)
...that's my why, what's yours?
30 December 2010
All that should matter is WHAT, not WHO you play, lol...
An interesting topic arose in recent weeks with the girls - a topic we have discussed in the past but never quite to this extent. It arose this most recent time because the loser abusive husband of my aforementioned friend (the mirror, mirror post) told her that, in his venerable opinion, I am a lesbian.
I am athletic, and muscular, and have short hair, and, in his esteemed view, nothing could be a bigger club to discredit me with than saying I must be gay.
As an aside, the response I wanted to give to that was "if I were married to you, asshole, I probably WOULD prefer women." But instead I just chuckled.
The topic came up later with the girls because apparently Lim's classmates think one of their female members is a lesbian, although no one seems quite sure why they think that. I shared with them loser-boy's assessment, and they wanted to know if I was mad at him for saying that. Sadly, the answer was "yes, some"...
We talked about how being called gay shouldn't be a big deal, but unfortunately it still IS an effective weapon and one that immediately puts the recipient of the accusation on the defensive. We joked that maybe the gay community picks on each other by calling them straight...? Lim asked what she should say if someone says that to her. I suggested she laugh and say "if it makes you happy to think that, go ahead" or "would you LIKE me to be?" and then move on.
I find it sad, and depressing, that we still have to deal with these things. I have written some about this topic before, because it is one that always seems to come up when you are an athletic female, even now. I don't think it is an accusation used with quite the same frequency against males.... But I suspect there are VERY few female athletes who have not had to hear it made against them.
Perhaps because more people are open about their sexuality, even in high school and college, there is a kind of "guilt by association" factor. If several soccer players are openly gay, the rest of the team is thereby accused of being gay as well. (and again, I submit, who the heck CARES about the sexual orientation of the people around you - shouldn't their values, personality, and code of conduct matter, not the gender of their love interests?! The only thing Lim pointed out was, if you have to shower with a lesbian teammate, isn't that like showering with a guy, because even if the guy doesn't "like" you he will still assuredly check you out, lol. I thought that was an interesting point.)
I hope that Matthew's and my attitude about this topic helps the girls down the road, and helps them diffuse the effectiveness of the accusation. They know that we don't care what their sexual preference is (or the color, gender, or religion of their future partners), we only care what kind of PERSON they (and their partners) are and how they interact with the world around them. They know we don't believe that homosexuality is a choice, or something to be ashamed of or ostracized because of... And they also know that it is only a weapon when the person being attacked allows it to be- if it is clear you don't care what the accuser thinks or says, the fun of attacking you wears thin and the weapon loses it's usefulness.
But, it still pisses me off that, after all this time, that accusation is still being made simply because a woman is athletic or strong or wears her hair a certain way or only dresses up when she WANTS to or needs to... Fine, if you like (or want to be) the dressed-to-the-nines type or the hoochie mama type or the perfectly coiffed-won't-risk-breaking-a-nail type or the suit-wearing-boardroom type or the martha-stewarty type, good for you! But there are plenty of people who like, or like being, athletic women, and that shouldn't threaten you, scare you, or inspire you to question orientation.
IMO.
:-)
...that's my why, what's yours?
I am athletic, and muscular, and have short hair, and, in his esteemed view, nothing could be a bigger club to discredit me with than saying I must be gay.
As an aside, the response I wanted to give to that was "if I were married to you, asshole, I probably WOULD prefer women." But instead I just chuckled.
The topic came up later with the girls because apparently Lim's classmates think one of their female members is a lesbian, although no one seems quite sure why they think that. I shared with them loser-boy's assessment, and they wanted to know if I was mad at him for saying that. Sadly, the answer was "yes, some"...
We talked about how being called gay shouldn't be a big deal, but unfortunately it still IS an effective weapon and one that immediately puts the recipient of the accusation on the defensive. We joked that maybe the gay community picks on each other by calling them straight...? Lim asked what she should say if someone says that to her. I suggested she laugh and say "if it makes you happy to think that, go ahead" or "would you LIKE me to be?" and then move on.
I find it sad, and depressing, that we still have to deal with these things. I have written some about this topic before, because it is one that always seems to come up when you are an athletic female, even now. I don't think it is an accusation used with quite the same frequency against males.... But I suspect there are VERY few female athletes who have not had to hear it made against them.
Perhaps because more people are open about their sexuality, even in high school and college, there is a kind of "guilt by association" factor. If several soccer players are openly gay, the rest of the team is thereby accused of being gay as well. (and again, I submit, who the heck CARES about the sexual orientation of the people around you - shouldn't their values, personality, and code of conduct matter, not the gender of their love interests?! The only thing Lim pointed out was, if you have to shower with a lesbian teammate, isn't that like showering with a guy, because even if the guy doesn't "like" you he will still assuredly check you out, lol. I thought that was an interesting point.)
I hope that Matthew's and my attitude about this topic helps the girls down the road, and helps them diffuse the effectiveness of the accusation. They know that we don't care what their sexual preference is (or the color, gender, or religion of their future partners), we only care what kind of PERSON they (and their partners) are and how they interact with the world around them. They know we don't believe that homosexuality is a choice, or something to be ashamed of or ostracized because of... And they also know that it is only a weapon when the person being attacked allows it to be- if it is clear you don't care what the accuser thinks or says, the fun of attacking you wears thin and the weapon loses it's usefulness.
But, it still pisses me off that, after all this time, that accusation is still being made simply because a woman is athletic or strong or wears her hair a certain way or only dresses up when she WANTS to or needs to... Fine, if you like (or want to be) the dressed-to-the-nines type or the hoochie mama type or the perfectly coiffed-won't-risk-breaking-a-nail type or the suit-wearing-boardroom type or the martha-stewarty type, good for you! But there are plenty of people who like, or like being, athletic women, and that shouldn't threaten you, scare you, or inspire you to question orientation.
IMO.
:-)
...that's my why, what's yours?
25 December 2010
By training, you mean bras, right?
Thank goodness this is the triathlon off-season, because I'm not sure a sprint would be all that easy right now. In fact, I am starting to worry that Lim might successfully knock off M or me at the next 5k or sprint we actually do, lol.
Now, the GIRLS, on the other hand, are clicking along nicely. A great week or more of swimming for both of them, AND Lim started running with some of the older distance runners on EHS' track and cross country team. She thinks she is going to run the cross country 5k tomorrow with Matthew, and then out kick him at the end. Let's just say, Matthew is a little concerned she might be right.
Lim wants to swim M, W, and F mornings from 5:30-7a (with the SENIOR group, none the less) once school comes back. That way she can attend soccer practice and then track practice after school without getting wildly out of swimming shape.
Bim is actually considering doing some morning practices as well. I doubt that one will last past the first 5a wake up, but... it's a major accomplishment that she is even THINKING about it, lol.
Our calendar looks like we have 8 kids. Soccer games, flag football games, swim meets, track meets, triathlons, swim camp... and those are just the girls' events. Don't forget the practices too. Cross reference those with the weekends they are supposed to go to the biofather's and counseling once a week, plus standard issue orthodontist and doctor's appointments. Sprinkle with a couple of road races and triathlons that Matthew and I are signed up for, and the poor calendar is already begging for help. And we're not even IN next year yet, lol.
Next week we have swim practice twice a day, football practice Monday and Wednesday in between swimming, a one day soccer camp for Lim in Gainesville, hair cuts for everyone except me, friends coming for dinner one night, and some surprise the fam won't tell me about on Tuesday. And informal runs with the distance runners each morning before swim. And that's just M-Thursday.
It's hard to believe these are the same kids who were not allowed to participate in organized stuff before two years or so ago, huh.
So, in honor of the off-season, and out of respect for my dearly departed legs, I think I might take next week off of working out. I think Santa is bringing a TRX, and I plan to swim and core train a bit, and run a couple of 5k races, but otherwise, NOTHING. No "training" per se. Just a lot of driving and refilling of water bottles.
Really, Matthew and I are becoming sherpafied domestiques, lol. Meanwhile, we both need to work on our poker faces for the first time Lim thumps us head to head in a race, because it's coming. Bim and Matthew have a match race scheduled in the pool, too... he thinks he can hold her off in a 50 free if she gives him a 5 second head start. He would be the only one surveyed who thinks that, lol. Stay tuned...
...that's my why, what's yours?
Now, the GIRLS, on the other hand, are clicking along nicely. A great week or more of swimming for both of them, AND Lim started running with some of the older distance runners on EHS' track and cross country team. She thinks she is going to run the cross country 5k tomorrow with Matthew, and then out kick him at the end. Let's just say, Matthew is a little concerned she might be right.
Lim wants to swim M, W, and F mornings from 5:30-7a (with the SENIOR group, none the less) once school comes back. That way she can attend soccer practice and then track practice after school without getting wildly out of swimming shape.
Bim is actually considering doing some morning practices as well. I doubt that one will last past the first 5a wake up, but... it's a major accomplishment that she is even THINKING about it, lol.
Our calendar looks like we have 8 kids. Soccer games, flag football games, swim meets, track meets, triathlons, swim camp... and those are just the girls' events. Don't forget the practices too. Cross reference those with the weekends they are supposed to go to the biofather's and counseling once a week, plus standard issue orthodontist and doctor's appointments. Sprinkle with a couple of road races and triathlons that Matthew and I are signed up for, and the poor calendar is already begging for help. And we're not even IN next year yet, lol.
Next week we have swim practice twice a day, football practice Monday and Wednesday in between swimming, a one day soccer camp for Lim in Gainesville, hair cuts for everyone except me, friends coming for dinner one night, and some surprise the fam won't tell me about on Tuesday. And informal runs with the distance runners each morning before swim. And that's just M-Thursday.
It's hard to believe these are the same kids who were not allowed to participate in organized stuff before two years or so ago, huh.
So, in honor of the off-season, and out of respect for my dearly departed legs, I think I might take next week off of working out. I think Santa is bringing a TRX, and I plan to swim and core train a bit, and run a couple of 5k races, but otherwise, NOTHING. No "training" per se. Just a lot of driving and refilling of water bottles.
Really, Matthew and I are becoming sherpafied domestiques, lol. Meanwhile, we both need to work on our poker faces for the first time Lim thumps us head to head in a race, because it's coming. Bim and Matthew have a match race scheduled in the pool, too... he thinks he can hold her off in a 50 free if she gives him a 5 second head start. He would be the only one surveyed who thinks that, lol. Stay tuned...
...that's my why, what's yours?
18 December 2010
3rd and dropping quickly
So, the girls and I went to the Y to swim today (the price they paid for sleeping in this morning and not going to practice after we got back late last night from Disney). I gave them a workout and they swam together in the lane next to me.
And they kicked my ass. Well, ok, the big one kicked my ass. The little one I could hang with if I worked at it.
That's pathetic.
I am now most likely the 3rd fastest swimmer in my own family. I think Bim would certainly beat me in a head to head swim at a sprint like the BFAST (not sure she could beat me, yet, in an Oly or half or full swim, but...) and I suspect Lim will be close to beating me as well. My advantage over her is size and experience, but my guess is she will follow me like a ramora until the last buoy and blow by me at that point. They're both like cold hearted assassins, so I know it is coming.
At least I know I will pass the big one as she leisurely walks from the water to transition (she might consider running if a pack of rabid dogs was chasing her, but not for something like a silly triathlon) and I should still be able to smoke the little one on the bike, for now anyway.
Two or three years from now...? Sigh. The little one has her sights set firmly on a) beating me in a mile run; b) beating me out of the water in a swim; c) beating me in a sprint; and d) beating JC. I think she has a five year plan for all four steps. JC, I'm counting on you, 'cause the first three are gonna tumble like dominoes, lol.
So, there we are in the pool, and the girls finish swimming and are playing around a bit and asking me to work on some stroke and turn stuff with them, which is always fun. Then Bim decides to stand next to me, which is kind of like having an out of body experience and seeing yourself standing next to yourself. Except one version is much younger, with bigger bluer eyes, better hair, a tiny little waist, big broad shoulders, and better skin. Sigh.
So, of course, we argue over who is taller (her), who has broader shoulders (still me), and whose arm muscles are bigger when we flex (her, but mine are more defined). We determine our arms are the same length, and her head is bigger. I could afford to buy boobs, so I won there. Her hands and feet are bigger. My butt is bigger (woohoo). Her wrist is bigger. My legs are still bigger, but more defined. We weigh within a pound or two of each other.
Yikes.
As a reminder, she just turned 13 in September. I am almost 30 years older than her. We also realized she is only 4 years younger than I was when I first met her biofather. Double yikes.
I've heard about mother-daughter jealousy, and I can see how that could happen. As proud as I am when I look at her as a person is as bittersweet as I feel as well. I still remember those years, and those dreams, and the wide open future in front of me. And I look back at choices and decisions I made, relationships I had, and time I wasted, and I get a cold knot in my stomach. That time is long gone for me, and now my own daughters are there, only better. They are happier, healthier, more confident, smarter, more grounded, and more talented than I ever was... they aren't perfect, by any means, but they are in a much better position to realize their dreams and fulfill their potential.
That makes me happy. But it also makes me sad for the old me, and a bit melancholy for the current me. Yes, I have plenty of athletic life ahead of me, and life in general too (hopefully, right... you never know) but the minis are entering that special time when anything is possible -- when you can blare silly music out the window and sing and giggle and get fired up about something as simple as a surprise trip to disney, and you can wear the stylin' clothing and look great and admire yourself in the windows as you walk by... where 30 year old guys look good for an old guy (lol) and what classes you might take next year present a dilemma to deliberate over carefully. They are entering the "it" period of their lives, when they have "it" and know it.
I'm in the "yeah, she's in great shape FOR HER AGE" or "she looks great FOR HER AGE (but did you see her daughter?!)" or "she is fast, FOR HER AGE" period. Which is still better than the "I can't believe she is still doing triathlons AT HER AGE" stage, which is next, lol.
Sigh. Being a mother of two daughters is like looking into a strange time machine looking-glass-y type thing. It's amazing and depressing at the same time. So, yeah, I probably am really annoying when I write about my kids, but it is an expression of... awe... amazement... fascination... at the development of two creatures I gave life to and who have evolved right in front of me from completely dependent, diaper wearing blob like infants to actual human females, with their own personalities, moods, strengths and weaknesses, style, and opinions (which we are ALL welcome to, thank you very much). I find their accomplishments AND foibles fascinating.
Third. Wow. How the hell did that happen so fast?!
...that's my why, what's yours?
And they kicked my ass. Well, ok, the big one kicked my ass. The little one I could hang with if I worked at it.
That's pathetic.
I am now most likely the 3rd fastest swimmer in my own family. I think Bim would certainly beat me in a head to head swim at a sprint like the BFAST (not sure she could beat me, yet, in an Oly or half or full swim, but...) and I suspect Lim will be close to beating me as well. My advantage over her is size and experience, but my guess is she will follow me like a ramora until the last buoy and blow by me at that point. They're both like cold hearted assassins, so I know it is coming.
At least I know I will pass the big one as she leisurely walks from the water to transition (she might consider running if a pack of rabid dogs was chasing her, but not for something like a silly triathlon) and I should still be able to smoke the little one on the bike, for now anyway.
Two or three years from now...? Sigh. The little one has her sights set firmly on a) beating me in a mile run; b) beating me out of the water in a swim; c) beating me in a sprint; and d) beating JC. I think she has a five year plan for all four steps. JC, I'm counting on you, 'cause the first three are gonna tumble like dominoes, lol.
So, there we are in the pool, and the girls finish swimming and are playing around a bit and asking me to work on some stroke and turn stuff with them, which is always fun. Then Bim decides to stand next to me, which is kind of like having an out of body experience and seeing yourself standing next to yourself. Except one version is much younger, with bigger bluer eyes, better hair, a tiny little waist, big broad shoulders, and better skin. Sigh.
So, of course, we argue over who is taller (her), who has broader shoulders (still me), and whose arm muscles are bigger when we flex (her, but mine are more defined). We determine our arms are the same length, and her head is bigger. I could afford to buy boobs, so I won there. Her hands and feet are bigger. My butt is bigger (woohoo). Her wrist is bigger. My legs are still bigger, but more defined. We weigh within a pound or two of each other.
Yikes.
As a reminder, she just turned 13 in September. I am almost 30 years older than her. We also realized she is only 4 years younger than I was when I first met her biofather. Double yikes.
I've heard about mother-daughter jealousy, and I can see how that could happen. As proud as I am when I look at her as a person is as bittersweet as I feel as well. I still remember those years, and those dreams, and the wide open future in front of me. And I look back at choices and decisions I made, relationships I had, and time I wasted, and I get a cold knot in my stomach. That time is long gone for me, and now my own daughters are there, only better. They are happier, healthier, more confident, smarter, more grounded, and more talented than I ever was... they aren't perfect, by any means, but they are in a much better position to realize their dreams and fulfill their potential.
That makes me happy. But it also makes me sad for the old me, and a bit melancholy for the current me. Yes, I have plenty of athletic life ahead of me, and life in general too (hopefully, right... you never know) but the minis are entering that special time when anything is possible -- when you can blare silly music out the window and sing and giggle and get fired up about something as simple as a surprise trip to disney, and you can wear the stylin' clothing and look great and admire yourself in the windows as you walk by... where 30 year old guys look good for an old guy (lol) and what classes you might take next year present a dilemma to deliberate over carefully. They are entering the "it" period of their lives, when they have "it" and know it.
I'm in the "yeah, she's in great shape FOR HER AGE" or "she looks great FOR HER AGE (but did you see her daughter?!)" or "she is fast, FOR HER AGE" period. Which is still better than the "I can't believe she is still doing triathlons AT HER AGE" stage, which is next, lol.
Sigh. Being a mother of two daughters is like looking into a strange time machine looking-glass-y type thing. It's amazing and depressing at the same time. So, yeah, I probably am really annoying when I write about my kids, but it is an expression of... awe... amazement... fascination... at the development of two creatures I gave life to and who have evolved right in front of me from completely dependent, diaper wearing blob like infants to actual human females, with their own personalities, moods, strengths and weaknesses, style, and opinions (which we are ALL welcome to, thank you very much). I find their accomplishments AND foibles fascinating.
Third. Wow. How the hell did that happen so fast?!
...that's my why, what's yours?
15 December 2010
Life takes effort!
Now that the girls are safely submerged in a toasty warm pool, I am going to try and put into words the last thought I mentioned in my previous blog. Warning: this is an extremely opinionated blog that talks in generalizations and makes some sweeping statements. It is my opinion and it is not written with any one or ones in mind. You, as a reader, will have your own opinions and your own choices to make as a human and parent, and you are free to blog about them and your reasoning as well :-)
So today's topic, in short, is: when did we become such a LAZY society?
What do I mean...? Simply put, when did so many people decide it was too much trouble to give a damn about some important things?
In no particular order, and nowhere near a complete list:
1. Personal appearance/fitness - (obviously many of you reading this don't fall into this category).
When did it become ok, or even flauntable, to be rippling with fat?
When did we decide as a society that the effort required to eat healthfully (at a minimum) was too much? We are "too busy" or "too tired" to cook a family meal, so we run through a fast food take out lane or grab the fastest (often least healthful) alternative. Note we are not too busy or tired to facebook or watch our reality shows, just to have a decently planned meal or a reasonably balanced diet of sufficient, not excessive, calories.
When did we decide that the effort to maintain a healthy, or even semi-unhealthy, weight and level of fitness was too much to ask? It's not genetic, it's not lack of time (for most people), it's not lack of access or information - plain and simple, people cannot be bothered to make an effort anymore. No longer do I look around a pool deck full of kids aged 10-18 and notice the out of place overweight kid. Now we look around and marvel at the handful of athletically built kids who don't sport cellulite at 12. How is that possible? I've been at water parks and spent hours searching in vain for the sligtest hint of a fellow athlete, or even a handful of people who give a damn enough to at least TRY.
There is no excuse. There is no explanation beyond laziness. We don't care enough to make the effort to care enough, never-mind making the effort to do something about it. We are too lazy to exert self-discipline or self-control over what and how much we eat and how we spend our time. And more and more, the people who do care and make an effort stand out like circus freaks - look honey, it's one of them tryathelite guys, you know them people thats exerciszin and eatin them weird foods and wearin spandex... Gee honey, why don't you get you one of them pairs of stretchy shorts too?! now git me another beer!
Ick.
2. Parenting - I've written a fair amount about this one. Lazy parents don't want to upset the kids, because then it takes effort and willpower to stand strong in the face of a 2, 10, 22 yo's temper tantrum. Lazy parents say yes because it is easier, they think, than saying no. They treat toddlers like pre-teens and pre-teens like adults and all of them like friends rather than wards. They are too busy or self-absorbed to pay a kid attention, right up until something goes wrong, and then they swoop in yelling and threatening and throwing their weight around to get things fixed. They don't want to have to waste their time and energy enforcing standards so they set none. They can't wait till the kids are old enough to leave home alone, or old enough to drive, or old enough to get a job to pay for gas... Because it is too tiring or boring or much to ask of a parent to be tied to a child or have to drive him to his activities. They buy tvs and computers and small fridges for the kids' rooms because it is easier to stash them somewhere out of the way and let them decide what to eat and drink and do than it is to monitor and teach and guide and limit. They plop them in front of mindless tv shows and computer games from as early an age as possible because, let's face it, it is a lot less work to anesthetize a kid than it is to interact. And, besides, playing dolls or cards or building things with blocks is
B. O. R. I. N. G. compared to all the great websites and tv shows and phone conversations we could be spending our important time on, right?
Being a parent is exhausting physically, draining emotionally, and demanding financially. It has been thus since the invention of infants. It should not come as a surprise to new parents. It is the single most important contribution most of us will ever make to society. Your influence as a parent on your child expands far past the child himself, for everyone your chilc interacts with is then touched by the results of your original influence. Every choice we make in life has an endless ripple effect in the world. All we can control is our individual input into that ripple. How we raise our children causes gigantic ripples. One would think the gravity of that would instill a serious sense of responsibility and honor to a parent. Instead, so many see it as a burden... A weight to be shouldered as infrequently as we can get away with...a responsibility many don't seem to want once they have and many seem to spend their lives trying to minimize.
Society today seems to be wonderful at providing "lip service" to being responsible, involved, consistent parents... But beneath all the talk lies a gaping hole where the actual effort used to be. So many kids seem to recognize this about their parents... And if your own parent doesn't care, why should you? If it is too much trouble for your own parent to hold you up to certain standards of behavior, dress, language, performance, morals, etc, then why on earth should YOU, as the kid, make the effort?
3. Professionally - An anecdotal example: the girls and I were stopped at a light, and an older gentleman was sweeping the ground near the gas pumps at a gas station. The girls asked why he was doing that, and I commented that I had seen him out doing that several times, and that he was very friendly when I stopped for gas one day. I said that it was nice to see someone take pride in their job and place of employment. The girls couldn't understand why someone would care about the general appearance of a gas station, and, wasn't it just going to get cluttered and dirty again anyway?! That spawned a conversation about pride in performance and that, regardless of your position in life, the key to success is to take pride in your world and work. Otherwise, at what point does anything start to matter, and where do you find your sense of purpose? So much of so many peoples' life is spent working - how sad is it to spend that time but take no pride in what you are doing? Yet, for so many people, it just isn't worth the effort.
On a personal note, I know there are things about me that, while very important to others, are not important enough to me to put much effort into - so in their mind, I am lazy too. I don't put much effort into dressing myself, unless there is a damn good reason to do so. I prefer sweatshirts and jeans to anything approaching style. Lazy me. I also don't find much reason to invest energy in having a stylish, tricked out house or decorating style, fancy furniture, trinkets etc. Very lazy me.
Ultimately, I guess we all have to pick what we put our energy into and what is important, and decide how that works out for us. In the meantime, I feel much better having blown off steam writing this instead of swimming. See? Lazy!
...that's my why, what's yours?
So today's topic, in short, is: when did we become such a LAZY society?
What do I mean...? Simply put, when did so many people decide it was too much trouble to give a damn about some important things?
In no particular order, and nowhere near a complete list:
1. Personal appearance/fitness - (obviously many of you reading this don't fall into this category).
When did it become ok, or even flauntable, to be rippling with fat?
When did we decide as a society that the effort required to eat healthfully (at a minimum) was too much? We are "too busy" or "too tired" to cook a family meal, so we run through a fast food take out lane or grab the fastest (often least healthful) alternative. Note we are not too busy or tired to facebook or watch our reality shows, just to have a decently planned meal or a reasonably balanced diet of sufficient, not excessive, calories.
When did we decide that the effort to maintain a healthy, or even semi-unhealthy, weight and level of fitness was too much to ask? It's not genetic, it's not lack of time (for most people), it's not lack of access or information - plain and simple, people cannot be bothered to make an effort anymore. No longer do I look around a pool deck full of kids aged 10-18 and notice the out of place overweight kid. Now we look around and marvel at the handful of athletically built kids who don't sport cellulite at 12. How is that possible? I've been at water parks and spent hours searching in vain for the sligtest hint of a fellow athlete, or even a handful of people who give a damn enough to at least TRY.
There is no excuse. There is no explanation beyond laziness. We don't care enough to make the effort to care enough, never-mind making the effort to do something about it. We are too lazy to exert self-discipline or self-control over what and how much we eat and how we spend our time. And more and more, the people who do care and make an effort stand out like circus freaks - look honey, it's one of them tryathelite guys, you know them people thats exerciszin and eatin them weird foods and wearin spandex... Gee honey, why don't you get you one of them pairs of stretchy shorts too?! now git me another beer!
Ick.
2. Parenting - I've written a fair amount about this one. Lazy parents don't want to upset the kids, because then it takes effort and willpower to stand strong in the face of a 2, 10, 22 yo's temper tantrum. Lazy parents say yes because it is easier, they think, than saying no. They treat toddlers like pre-teens and pre-teens like adults and all of them like friends rather than wards. They are too busy or self-absorbed to pay a kid attention, right up until something goes wrong, and then they swoop in yelling and threatening and throwing their weight around to get things fixed. They don't want to have to waste their time and energy enforcing standards so they set none. They can't wait till the kids are old enough to leave home alone, or old enough to drive, or old enough to get a job to pay for gas... Because it is too tiring or boring or much to ask of a parent to be tied to a child or have to drive him to his activities. They buy tvs and computers and small fridges for the kids' rooms because it is easier to stash them somewhere out of the way and let them decide what to eat and drink and do than it is to monitor and teach and guide and limit. They plop them in front of mindless tv shows and computer games from as early an age as possible because, let's face it, it is a lot less work to anesthetize a kid than it is to interact. And, besides, playing dolls or cards or building things with blocks is
B. O. R. I. N. G. compared to all the great websites and tv shows and phone conversations we could be spending our important time on, right?
Being a parent is exhausting physically, draining emotionally, and demanding financially. It has been thus since the invention of infants. It should not come as a surprise to new parents. It is the single most important contribution most of us will ever make to society. Your influence as a parent on your child expands far past the child himself, for everyone your chilc interacts with is then touched by the results of your original influence. Every choice we make in life has an endless ripple effect in the world. All we can control is our individual input into that ripple. How we raise our children causes gigantic ripples. One would think the gravity of that would instill a serious sense of responsibility and honor to a parent. Instead, so many see it as a burden... A weight to be shouldered as infrequently as we can get away with...a responsibility many don't seem to want once they have and many seem to spend their lives trying to minimize.
Society today seems to be wonderful at providing "lip service" to being responsible, involved, consistent parents... But beneath all the talk lies a gaping hole where the actual effort used to be. So many kids seem to recognize this about their parents... And if your own parent doesn't care, why should you? If it is too much trouble for your own parent to hold you up to certain standards of behavior, dress, language, performance, morals, etc, then why on earth should YOU, as the kid, make the effort?
3. Professionally - An anecdotal example: the girls and I were stopped at a light, and an older gentleman was sweeping the ground near the gas pumps at a gas station. The girls asked why he was doing that, and I commented that I had seen him out doing that several times, and that he was very friendly when I stopped for gas one day. I said that it was nice to see someone take pride in their job and place of employment. The girls couldn't understand why someone would care about the general appearance of a gas station, and, wasn't it just going to get cluttered and dirty again anyway?! That spawned a conversation about pride in performance and that, regardless of your position in life, the key to success is to take pride in your world and work. Otherwise, at what point does anything start to matter, and where do you find your sense of purpose? So much of so many peoples' life is spent working - how sad is it to spend that time but take no pride in what you are doing? Yet, for so many people, it just isn't worth the effort.
On a personal note, I know there are things about me that, while very important to others, are not important enough to me to put much effort into - so in their mind, I am lazy too. I don't put much effort into dressing myself, unless there is a damn good reason to do so. I prefer sweatshirts and jeans to anything approaching style. Lazy me. I also don't find much reason to invest energy in having a stylish, tricked out house or decorating style, fancy furniture, trinkets etc. Very lazy me.
Ultimately, I guess we all have to pick what we put our energy into and what is important, and decide how that works out for us. In the meantime, I feel much better having blown off steam writing this instead of swimming. See? Lazy!
...that's my why, what's yours?
it's not brain surgery, it's parenting...
"Mommy, why don't more parents care about what their kids do?"
How's THAT for an interesting question from a standard issue 11 year old?
She followed that up with "if it's this bad now, imagine what it will be like when I have kids."
(By the way, this is, to me, empirical evidence that kids really DO listen, and absorb, what their parents say to them IF they follow up the words with actions.)
What spurred this particular conversation? Lim's experience at a recent sleep-over party with some school friends.
Now, we've hosted some massive sleep overs and some mini sleep-overs, so the main role model the girls have for sleep-over protocol comes from our house. Right, wrong, or indifferent, we maintain a hands-on approach to having guests. There is not a free flow of junk food, and we vet TV and movie consumption. And, the computer is off-limits.
We don't really go to bed until things quiet down, and (thanks to all the german shepherd ears and instincts in the house, mine included) it would be difficult for much to go on without waking at least 3 members of the household up, immediately. It is a close call to say who growls with more authority at 3a, Mia or me.
We try to make sure, without hovering, that all kids are involved and included, and that everyone has what they need (within reason) to have a good, comfortable time. If there is the slightest question about a tv show or movie as to appropriateness or whether anyone's parent would not want them watching, we default to "no". This is not difficult stuff -- when the 13yo contingent discussed watching The Breakfast Club but someone wasn't sure if it would be ok, they were told to pick another one, and I think they picked a cartoon movie. Deep down, these kids are still kids.
Anyway...it was with reluctance I let Lim go to this particular sleepover as I had gotten a very weird feeling from speaking with the hostess' mother (the first time I EVER spoke to her she babbled for almost an hour, and only exposure to it would explain it, as the girls didn't really "get it" until they met her...but they do now, lol). But, enough girls were going that I figured it would be ok.
In some ways Lim had a lot of fun. However, sleeping alone on a couch because the disagreement over who was sleeping where that ensued at 2a (4 hours after the adults had retired to bed in another wing of the house) went unresolved by any adult intervention, and, the next morning, having to choose to remove herself from the room and wait, alone, downstairs because the kids put on (with the host mother's permission) a movie Lim knows she may not watch were two of the several things that gave Lim (and me) pause.
To L's immense credit, she chose to leave the room and call me rather than stay and lie to me (via omission or commission) about the movie (Vampire's Suck... PG13 and chock full of raunchy sexual humor and situations). I was proud of her for that, but completely astounded that a parent would either be so oblivious or so... uncaring... as to allow that situation to continue. The mother knew Lim was downstairs, alone, as did the daughter, but downstairs alone she remained until I picked her up.
It was the ensuing conversation between Lim and me that resulted in her insightful quotes. I asked her if it bothered her that I had rules like that, and she said "no, I think it's stupid other moms don't" (I replied, "good, because even if it did bother you the rules would still be there" lol). She told me how the girl whose party it was was bragging about watching rated R movies and such (which of course may or may not be true, as I pointed out to Lim... but Lim amazingly brags about how she is NOT allowed to watch them... I've truly raised strange kids) and it seemed to bother her that the other kids felt that their mothers would tell them it was ok and their fathers wouldn't care anyway.
Am I the only one who finds that not only sad but deeply worrisome? Have we become such a...lazy? scared? spineless? society that we basically are afraid to discipline or place limits on our children? YES it takes effort, and resolve, and thick skin at times. YES it means your kids may not like you for a few minutes, or even a few hours. YES it means you have to stop what you are doing and PAY ATTENTION to what is going on around you. Yes, it means giving up sleep sometimes. It means putting yourself second, or third, or last. It means filling your life with what can feel like menial or tedious concerns (woohoo, art projects, making lunches, and folding laundry! That law degree is sure paying off now!) instead of just doing what you want to do, when you want to do it. It means not returning that phone call or text message right away because your child is speaking to you and needs you to listen.
Being a parent is not supposed to be a popularity contest. The basic 11 year old is going to say someone is mean if that someone doesn't allow them to have 6 donuts for breakfast (btw, breakfast at the sleepover: donuts, muffins, and bacon). In other words, consider the source, lol. When did parents decide they would do anything, be anything, ALLOW anything just to placate their kids? When did parents stop paying attention?
Is facebook, or a tv show, or a hair appointment, or tennis league, or the gossip from a friend, or a job, or shopping, or sleeping, or ANYTHING really so much more important that adults feel justified in abdicating the very important role of parent? How did we get to the point where parents will do ANYTHING to keep their little darling from experiencing frustration, disappointment, or delayed gratification?
Yes, we all have different ideas of how to raise our kids, and what is appropriate at what age etc. (It really does vary with each child, too. Christi can handle death and violence; Lexi cries when penguins die on March of the Penguins.) I am not going to pass judgment (well, publicly anyway, lol) on what other parents choose to allow their kids to do and watch. BUT, I do think it is basic courtesy to be paying enough attention to the world around you, and what your kids are doing - to recognize that not everyone is the same and to endeavor to respect that.
Our world just seems filled with oblivious people -- and being oblivious to those around you is a form of selfish laziness. And maybe that is a great topic for another post -- the pervasive, destructive lazy factor that has seeped into every aspect of so many lives: personal, professional, parenting. Alas, that post will have to wait, as Lim has finally emerged from her cocoon and a hug and breakfast beckons.
...that's my why, what's yours?
How's THAT for an interesting question from a standard issue 11 year old?
She followed that up with "if it's this bad now, imagine what it will be like when I have kids."
(By the way, this is, to me, empirical evidence that kids really DO listen, and absorb, what their parents say to them IF they follow up the words with actions.)
What spurred this particular conversation? Lim's experience at a recent sleep-over party with some school friends.
Now, we've hosted some massive sleep overs and some mini sleep-overs, so the main role model the girls have for sleep-over protocol comes from our house. Right, wrong, or indifferent, we maintain a hands-on approach to having guests. There is not a free flow of junk food, and we vet TV and movie consumption. And, the computer is off-limits.
We don't really go to bed until things quiet down, and (thanks to all the german shepherd ears and instincts in the house, mine included) it would be difficult for much to go on without waking at least 3 members of the household up, immediately. It is a close call to say who growls with more authority at 3a, Mia or me.
We try to make sure, without hovering, that all kids are involved and included, and that everyone has what they need (within reason) to have a good, comfortable time. If there is the slightest question about a tv show or movie as to appropriateness or whether anyone's parent would not want them watching, we default to "no". This is not difficult stuff -- when the 13yo contingent discussed watching The Breakfast Club but someone wasn't sure if it would be ok, they were told to pick another one, and I think they picked a cartoon movie. Deep down, these kids are still kids.
Anyway...it was with reluctance I let Lim go to this particular sleepover as I had gotten a very weird feeling from speaking with the hostess' mother (the first time I EVER spoke to her she babbled for almost an hour, and only exposure to it would explain it, as the girls didn't really "get it" until they met her...but they do now, lol). But, enough girls were going that I figured it would be ok.
In some ways Lim had a lot of fun. However, sleeping alone on a couch because the disagreement over who was sleeping where that ensued at 2a (4 hours after the adults had retired to bed in another wing of the house) went unresolved by any adult intervention, and, the next morning, having to choose to remove herself from the room and wait, alone, downstairs because the kids put on (with the host mother's permission) a movie Lim knows she may not watch were two of the several things that gave Lim (and me) pause.
To L's immense credit, she chose to leave the room and call me rather than stay and lie to me (via omission or commission) about the movie (Vampire's Suck... PG13 and chock full of raunchy sexual humor and situations). I was proud of her for that, but completely astounded that a parent would either be so oblivious or so... uncaring... as to allow that situation to continue. The mother knew Lim was downstairs, alone, as did the daughter, but downstairs alone she remained until I picked her up.
It was the ensuing conversation between Lim and me that resulted in her insightful quotes. I asked her if it bothered her that I had rules like that, and she said "no, I think it's stupid other moms don't" (I replied, "good, because even if it did bother you the rules would still be there" lol). She told me how the girl whose party it was was bragging about watching rated R movies and such (which of course may or may not be true, as I pointed out to Lim... but Lim amazingly brags about how she is NOT allowed to watch them... I've truly raised strange kids) and it seemed to bother her that the other kids felt that their mothers would tell them it was ok and their fathers wouldn't care anyway.
Am I the only one who finds that not only sad but deeply worrisome? Have we become such a...lazy? scared? spineless? society that we basically are afraid to discipline or place limits on our children? YES it takes effort, and resolve, and thick skin at times. YES it means your kids may not like you for a few minutes, or even a few hours. YES it means you have to stop what you are doing and PAY ATTENTION to what is going on around you. Yes, it means giving up sleep sometimes. It means putting yourself second, or third, or last. It means filling your life with what can feel like menial or tedious concerns (woohoo, art projects, making lunches, and folding laundry! That law degree is sure paying off now!) instead of just doing what you want to do, when you want to do it. It means not returning that phone call or text message right away because your child is speaking to you and needs you to listen.
Being a parent is not supposed to be a popularity contest. The basic 11 year old is going to say someone is mean if that someone doesn't allow them to have 6 donuts for breakfast (btw, breakfast at the sleepover: donuts, muffins, and bacon). In other words, consider the source, lol. When did parents decide they would do anything, be anything, ALLOW anything just to placate their kids? When did parents stop paying attention?
Is facebook, or a tv show, or a hair appointment, or tennis league, or the gossip from a friend, or a job, or shopping, or sleeping, or ANYTHING really so much more important that adults feel justified in abdicating the very important role of parent? How did we get to the point where parents will do ANYTHING to keep their little darling from experiencing frustration, disappointment, or delayed gratification?
Yes, we all have different ideas of how to raise our kids, and what is appropriate at what age etc. (It really does vary with each child, too. Christi can handle death and violence; Lexi cries when penguins die on March of the Penguins.) I am not going to pass judgment (well, publicly anyway, lol) on what other parents choose to allow their kids to do and watch. BUT, I do think it is basic courtesy to be paying enough attention to the world around you, and what your kids are doing - to recognize that not everyone is the same and to endeavor to respect that.
Our world just seems filled with oblivious people -- and being oblivious to those around you is a form of selfish laziness. And maybe that is a great topic for another post -- the pervasive, destructive lazy factor that has seeped into every aspect of so many lives: personal, professional, parenting. Alas, that post will have to wait, as Lim has finally emerged from her cocoon and a hug and breakfast beckons.
...that's my why, what's yours?
08 December 2010
The "off" season
I think they call it the off season because the engine powering my motivation is turned off. My mental strength is off. My sense of purpose is off. My "why", while not exactly "off", has apparently taken a leave of absence. (Leaving it, well, OFF).
I had great intentions for this month. I wanted to keep up my swim base, add back in weight and core work, and do some middle distance speed work running (for me that equates to 6-8 miles). There have even been some short stretches where I've accomplished a day or two or those goals, but life and cold temperatures and the "vacancy" sign hanging where my discipline used to be are conspiring against me.
And maybe that is not such a bad thing. Maybe backing off the intensity and regimented world of triathlon training will benefit me long term. It's hard for me to accept that mentally, but it does seem to be physically true.
I cannot just not work out. BUT, giving myself permission to do what feels right, and to be flexible, is a big step for me. Even after all this time I still feel, at times, like a good shove will push me off the "healthy" cliff and back into the gaping canyon of unhealthy eating habits and body image that is the purview of most serious adult female athletes. So, it is ironic and annoying that the triathlon off-season just HAPPENS to fall over the extended buffet table that is the holiday season.
It seems like a good sign that I am starting to periodically and sporadically chomp at the proverbial bit to get back into a training routine and start working towards my season goals. In theory, I'd like to go after IMKY again, to make up for what I am slowly admitting was a disappointing performance this year. Let's face it, a top run training distance of 10 miles, and not many of those, is just not going to cut it for a decent run in that heat. I feel like my focus was off and, even though much of that was not my doing, it pisses me off. I know a better race is there.
BUT...the reality needs to be different than the theoretical this year. I've decided to work on what little speed I have and focus on Olympic distance this year. Changing up the training will help me mentally and physically. Plus, I just don't trust that the issues that diverted my focus last year won't rise up again, even worse. I don't think it would be smart to go for another IM until I am fairly confident the situation with the girls and their biofather is stable. Even then, the timing of the race will need to be well planned out given their increasing involvement in athletic endeavors of their own.
In some ways, downgrading the distance and changing the training will present a huge challenge, because I know I can race a decent Oly right now, at 5:40p on December 8th, without any additional thought or training. The motivating factors of fear of not finishing or fear of walking an entire marathon just are not there. I suspect it will be easier to talk myself into letting a workout slide or dropping intensity on a tired day. Terror, the prime motivator in IM training, will be lacking.
Then there is the thought, lurking in the back of my mind, that now (and for the next 6 years) the focus should be squarely on the girls and their goals, and that mine should be shelved for the duration. If I cannot find a combination of flexibility and meaningful yet adjustable goals, shelving it is exactly what will happen. Right now I am not super good at setting a goal and then accepting that outside factors might force me to adjust that goal (ie morphing gracefully from aiming for a certain finish place or time to being content to simply participate), and I need to reach that place soon. The decision to not race Worlds was made easier, such as it was, by the fact that I seriously doubted whether I could have a good race at that point anyway, and I was not finding satisfaction or enjoyment in the concept of just being there.
Since our schedule is now both more complicated AND less settled than the past two years, it is hard to predict much past May1st (the only event I have registered for so far for next season).
This wasn't a very profound posting, lol. More an idle musing while I contemplate life, relationships, and the right course to follow for my girls (and M and me, of course).
Oh, Matthew thinks I need some witty tag line to sign off with after each post, so...
...that's my why, what's yours?
I had great intentions for this month. I wanted to keep up my swim base, add back in weight and core work, and do some middle distance speed work running (for me that equates to 6-8 miles). There have even been some short stretches where I've accomplished a day or two or those goals, but life and cold temperatures and the "vacancy" sign hanging where my discipline used to be are conspiring against me.
And maybe that is not such a bad thing. Maybe backing off the intensity and regimented world of triathlon training will benefit me long term. It's hard for me to accept that mentally, but it does seem to be physically true.
I cannot just not work out. BUT, giving myself permission to do what feels right, and to be flexible, is a big step for me. Even after all this time I still feel, at times, like a good shove will push me off the "healthy" cliff and back into the gaping canyon of unhealthy eating habits and body image that is the purview of most serious adult female athletes. So, it is ironic and annoying that the triathlon off-season just HAPPENS to fall over the extended buffet table that is the holiday season.
It seems like a good sign that I am starting to periodically and sporadically chomp at the proverbial bit to get back into a training routine and start working towards my season goals. In theory, I'd like to go after IMKY again, to make up for what I am slowly admitting was a disappointing performance this year. Let's face it, a top run training distance of 10 miles, and not many of those, is just not going to cut it for a decent run in that heat. I feel like my focus was off and, even though much of that was not my doing, it pisses me off. I know a better race is there.
BUT...the reality needs to be different than the theoretical this year. I've decided to work on what little speed I have and focus on Olympic distance this year. Changing up the training will help me mentally and physically. Plus, I just don't trust that the issues that diverted my focus last year won't rise up again, even worse. I don't think it would be smart to go for another IM until I am fairly confident the situation with the girls and their biofather is stable. Even then, the timing of the race will need to be well planned out given their increasing involvement in athletic endeavors of their own.
In some ways, downgrading the distance and changing the training will present a huge challenge, because I know I can race a decent Oly right now, at 5:40p on December 8th, without any additional thought or training. The motivating factors of fear of not finishing or fear of walking an entire marathon just are not there. I suspect it will be easier to talk myself into letting a workout slide or dropping intensity on a tired day. Terror, the prime motivator in IM training, will be lacking.
Then there is the thought, lurking in the back of my mind, that now (and for the next 6 years) the focus should be squarely on the girls and their goals, and that mine should be shelved for the duration. If I cannot find a combination of flexibility and meaningful yet adjustable goals, shelving it is exactly what will happen. Right now I am not super good at setting a goal and then accepting that outside factors might force me to adjust that goal (ie morphing gracefully from aiming for a certain finish place or time to being content to simply participate), and I need to reach that place soon. The decision to not race Worlds was made easier, such as it was, by the fact that I seriously doubted whether I could have a good race at that point anyway, and I was not finding satisfaction or enjoyment in the concept of just being there.
Since our schedule is now both more complicated AND less settled than the past two years, it is hard to predict much past May1st (the only event I have registered for so far for next season).
This wasn't a very profound posting, lol. More an idle musing while I contemplate life, relationships, and the right course to follow for my girls (and M and me, of course).
Oh, Matthew thinks I need some witty tag line to sign off with after each post, so...
...that's my why, what's yours?
07 December 2010
Mirror, mirror
Well, it certainly has been a while... Almost a month, actually. There's a lot I'd love to write about, and a lot I CAN'T write about on here, unfortunately.
I've been thinking about what other people see when looking in the mirror, and how closely that image reflects reality, or at least the reality of what those who know them actually see.
That (what others see) can be very misleading, incomplete, or even inaccurate, of course... So I guess the "reality" of our identity really changes with the eye of the beholder, and the tenor of that reality changes with the motivations and attitude of said beholder.
That gives other people a LOT of power over us if we do not have a clear sense of who we are, why we are, and where we are going.
Interact with the wrong person - one inclined to negatively spin things, either overtly or covertly in a manipulative fashion - and our grasp of our own persona changes perceptibly. Pick the wrong mirror and you see failure rather than achievement, age rather than strength, disappointment rather than accomplishment. Everything about who you are will darken and shrivel.
Find the right mirror, and you and your world brighten, and the wrinkles become character, the point becomes the journey rather than the result, and you become much less critical of that reflection you see each day.
Having experienced emotional abuse of varying degrees at different times in my life, and now, finally, living in a world where my main mirror seems to focus on my good features while reflecting my bad back with acceptance rather than judgment, I am VERY sensitive to the topic.
I think of emotional abuse as living in a world full of funhouse mirrors - the kind that distort from every angle, unexectedly and inaccurately, and always with the intention of keeping you from truly seeing yourself. Funhouse mirrors take your best feature and turn it grotesque. They reflect you in ways that become disorienting. They take an element of your true reflection and twist it, leaving it barely recognizeable. They give me a headache and make me uncomfortable and self-conscious.
So too the emotional abuser.
A friend of mine is so firmly entrenched in that funhouse that I am at wits end as to how to reach her. No reasoning or logic or pointing out of her husband's insane behavior registers with her. She defaults to blaming herself and worrying about doing anything to make the situation worse by upsetting him further. Without getting into gory details, the whole thing sickens me - in part because I cannot get through to her, in part because it is so awful and crazy that I can't believe she won't take control of her life, and in part because, for a brief time four years or so ago, I WAS her. How she has lived like this for 20+ years is beyond me. Twelve months, to the day, of that hell about did me in - but it also made me stronger once I recognized it and fought back.
And there-in lies the key. Too many of us choose, and accept, the reflections that mirror our own fears. For some reason, many of us allow ourselves to be susceptible to people whose motives are destructive rather than constructive or supportive. So many people in this world seem to mask their own unhappiness or lack of fulfillment by undermining the people around them. We all know the person who is adept at taking the wind out of sails... Who uses passive-aggressive (or outright aggressive) words and actions to influence or control or slant the reflection you see. We all know someone who, rather than take pride in their own accomplishments or world, seems to take pride in diminishing yours.
I can tell when I've spent too much time looking into the wrong mirrors. The person I think I am becomes less confident, less comfortable in her own skin and world. I see all the signs of aging, feel unfit no matter how hard the workout, hate my hair and clothing, cringe at my times and performances in races, feel pointless and deeply flawed as a person... I see a failure, in many ways, and waves of discontent wash over me. All my fears and insecurities shine in that mirror.
When I am blessed enough to find a positive reflection, the cloud of doubt dissipates and the image I see looking back at me seems softer and less flawed somehow. Same exact person- completely different paradigm.
Who we grant the power to paint our image says a lot about ourselves and perceptibly affects our present and future. How many goals and dreams have gone by the wayside because we got lost in the funhouse, or even in a place where just one cracked mirror held sway over our world? What paths might we have followed and experiences might we have enjoyed had we picked the right reflection to believe? How much time have we wasted trying to disprove an image that isn't really ours anyway?
The image I saw looking back took on so many more colors and such greater depth when I finally found the right mirror to look into regularly. The path my life (and the girls' as well) travels now and who we think we are as people improved and broadened when we met Matthew. I don't always like who I see reflected back at me, but I always know that I can trust that reflection (if anything, it errs on the nicer side, lol) and the motivation behind it. Seeing myself through Matthew's eyes has given me the confidence and peace that life in a funhouse completely destroys. I'd like to think the clarity he provides will forever insulate me from any lasting effects of brushes with the distorted images some people insist on giving to those around them.
I wish my friend would get out of the funhouse, but I suppose some people become so disoriented that they cannot fathom the chaotic images are not reality. I hope my girls, and the people I care about, learn and live the fact that a steady, unwavering, clear reflection that encourages self-awareness, introspection, and acceptance far outweighs the adrenaline and fear fueled rollercoaster of the funhouse.
I've been thinking about what other people see when looking in the mirror, and how closely that image reflects reality, or at least the reality of what those who know them actually see.
That (what others see) can be very misleading, incomplete, or even inaccurate, of course... So I guess the "reality" of our identity really changes with the eye of the beholder, and the tenor of that reality changes with the motivations and attitude of said beholder.
That gives other people a LOT of power over us if we do not have a clear sense of who we are, why we are, and where we are going.
Interact with the wrong person - one inclined to negatively spin things, either overtly or covertly in a manipulative fashion - and our grasp of our own persona changes perceptibly. Pick the wrong mirror and you see failure rather than achievement, age rather than strength, disappointment rather than accomplishment. Everything about who you are will darken and shrivel.
Find the right mirror, and you and your world brighten, and the wrinkles become character, the point becomes the journey rather than the result, and you become much less critical of that reflection you see each day.
Having experienced emotional abuse of varying degrees at different times in my life, and now, finally, living in a world where my main mirror seems to focus on my good features while reflecting my bad back with acceptance rather than judgment, I am VERY sensitive to the topic.
I think of emotional abuse as living in a world full of funhouse mirrors - the kind that distort from every angle, unexectedly and inaccurately, and always with the intention of keeping you from truly seeing yourself. Funhouse mirrors take your best feature and turn it grotesque. They reflect you in ways that become disorienting. They take an element of your true reflection and twist it, leaving it barely recognizeable. They give me a headache and make me uncomfortable and self-conscious.
So too the emotional abuser.
A friend of mine is so firmly entrenched in that funhouse that I am at wits end as to how to reach her. No reasoning or logic or pointing out of her husband's insane behavior registers with her. She defaults to blaming herself and worrying about doing anything to make the situation worse by upsetting him further. Without getting into gory details, the whole thing sickens me - in part because I cannot get through to her, in part because it is so awful and crazy that I can't believe she won't take control of her life, and in part because, for a brief time four years or so ago, I WAS her. How she has lived like this for 20+ years is beyond me. Twelve months, to the day, of that hell about did me in - but it also made me stronger once I recognized it and fought back.
And there-in lies the key. Too many of us choose, and accept, the reflections that mirror our own fears. For some reason, many of us allow ourselves to be susceptible to people whose motives are destructive rather than constructive or supportive. So many people in this world seem to mask their own unhappiness or lack of fulfillment by undermining the people around them. We all know the person who is adept at taking the wind out of sails... Who uses passive-aggressive (or outright aggressive) words and actions to influence or control or slant the reflection you see. We all know someone who, rather than take pride in their own accomplishments or world, seems to take pride in diminishing yours.
I can tell when I've spent too much time looking into the wrong mirrors. The person I think I am becomes less confident, less comfortable in her own skin and world. I see all the signs of aging, feel unfit no matter how hard the workout, hate my hair and clothing, cringe at my times and performances in races, feel pointless and deeply flawed as a person... I see a failure, in many ways, and waves of discontent wash over me. All my fears and insecurities shine in that mirror.
When I am blessed enough to find a positive reflection, the cloud of doubt dissipates and the image I see looking back at me seems softer and less flawed somehow. Same exact person- completely different paradigm.
Who we grant the power to paint our image says a lot about ourselves and perceptibly affects our present and future. How many goals and dreams have gone by the wayside because we got lost in the funhouse, or even in a place where just one cracked mirror held sway over our world? What paths might we have followed and experiences might we have enjoyed had we picked the right reflection to believe? How much time have we wasted trying to disprove an image that isn't really ours anyway?
The image I saw looking back took on so many more colors and such greater depth when I finally found the right mirror to look into regularly. The path my life (and the girls' as well) travels now and who we think we are as people improved and broadened when we met Matthew. I don't always like who I see reflected back at me, but I always know that I can trust that reflection (if anything, it errs on the nicer side, lol) and the motivation behind it. Seeing myself through Matthew's eyes has given me the confidence and peace that life in a funhouse completely destroys. I'd like to think the clarity he provides will forever insulate me from any lasting effects of brushes with the distorted images some people insist on giving to those around them.
I wish my friend would get out of the funhouse, but I suppose some people become so disoriented that they cannot fathom the chaotic images are not reality. I hope my girls, and the people I care about, learn and live the fact that a steady, unwavering, clear reflection that encourages self-awareness, introspection, and acceptance far outweighs the adrenaline and fear fueled rollercoaster of the funhouse.
05 October 2010
Ironkids Nationals - psychological warfare at 11?!
THIS was not your basic local youth triathlon race. The tension in the air was palpable, but I swear the majority of it was adult-driven (more on that later)...except for the bizarre but interesting psychological games eminating from Limine's friend and fellow 11 year old racer, S.
Limine first met S three summers ago at a race in GA, where they finished scant seconds apart. They bonded instantly after the race and kept in touch sporadically, and hung out for several days when both Matthew and S's father raced IMFL 2008, but had fallen out of touch since then as we hadn't made it to GA for any more youth triathlons.
When we decided to do Ironkids Alpharetta to try and qualify for nationals, I looked up the results for last year and saw that S had competed, and won their age group. I told Limine she would probably run into her at the race, which we did... and they hung out the entire time.
Now that everyone is 3 years older, they both have cell phones, and continued texting off and on in the weeks between Alpharetta and Nationals. The first hint of weird aura came one day when S texted Limine and asked how much she'd been training for Nationals. L answered "nothing, really, just swim practice" and S immediately responded "you're just saying that so I won't train and you can beat me."
That pretty much stopped L and me in mid-sentence, and L wanted to know how to respond. I suggested she say something about not being a game player and add a smiley face, and let it go at that.
We talked after that about being competitive with your friends, and what is good competitive and what is bad... and the fact that worrying about beating a specific person is the ticket to a bad race.
Fast forward to the days before Nationals. We had a swim meet Thursday, swim practice and a football game Saturday, and no particular need or interest in getting down to Clearwater at any given time. I had confirmed repeatedly that athlete check in would be both Saturday and Sunday, and bike check was not until Sunday, so why rush?
The text messages from S on Saturday were a strange mixture of wanting to get together with L when we got down and seeming attempts to undermind L's confidence and get in her head. Now, I have NEVER been that kind of athlete, so it is very foreign to me and actually makes me kind of uncomfortable. And a bit angry to see it directed at my kids.
S spent considerable time trying to convince L that she was a) late getting down, b) missing the only opportunity for athlete check in, and c) missing out on the important things like riding and running the course, which S and her brother were doing.
She then informed L that the course was easy so she, S, would be able to hammer L on the bike. (S races road bikes, along with her father and brother).
So, I spent some time discussing with L why some people feel compelled to ride the course before a race, and some people do not, and that there is no right or wrong.
Later, S asked L where L had eaten dinner, and when L told her Outback, responded "OH now THAT's a great pre-race meal" so... tapping into my inner snark and knowing S had eaten at Carrabas, I suggested L write back "I don't like to weigh myself down with a lot of carbs the night before a race."
(Sorry, couldn't resist).
The next day, at check in, L mentioned that she'd be riding a new bike next season, and S informed her "Good, then I can tell you your bike sucks."
At that point, I decided it was time for L to get away from S for a while before the race, and we had a nice conversation about how some people can be nice to have as friends but might not be capable of being a good friend with someone they are in direct competition with... at all. L, like me, is simply not like that, and would rather chew off her arm than, for example, criticize someone's bike.
In addition to the weird psych job going on with S, we encountered some absolutely over-wired, borderline psychotic parents while setting up transition. This race, unlike the qualifiers, had assigned bike spots (THANK GOD)... and each rack had probably half the number of bikes on a normal adult rack. I think they spaced them about handle bar width apart, knowing a lot of kids rack by hooking their brake handles over the bar since most of the bikes are too small to rack by the seat.
As we came to L's spot, a father and mother were helpfully spreading out a blanket -- a 3' x 3' blanket -- next to the bike next to L's rack spot. I tried to gently say "I'm sorry, but her bike has to go here, so you will probably want to move that over under his down wheel" and they were actually fairly receptive. BUT, the hyper-quasi-hysterical mother two bikes down from L's on the other side (who also had her stuff spread across a 3' wide swath with several bikes slated to be next to hers on both sides) was in full throated bitch, which caused the following exchange:
Bitchy psycho mom: "How on earth do they expect us to put your stuff here, there just isn't enough room!"
Me: "Actually, if you hook her bike like this and put her stuff under her down wheel, it'll be fine"
BPM (pushing other people's bikes around): "No it will NOT. They're crazy. There's not enough room here."
Me: "There's half the number of bikes on the rack as at an adult race!"
BPM (snarling): "Oh right, like you know everything. This is ridiculous!"
Me (laughing audibly): Alllllriiiighty then...!"
Wow. Mr. Race Director, can I get a valium on rack 22?!
Then there was the rugby scrum at the results posting area. There was nary a kid who actually raced to be seen within a 5 yard radius -- just desperately pushing and shoving parents, taking pictures of the results and analyzing splits etc. One "gentleman" walked up and, within :30 of waiting, bellowed "alright people, move along so other people can see" (which of course caused me to grow roots and analyze the relative bike speed of the average 6 year old vs the average 12 yo, as well as determining the median and mode of each age group's T2 times).
Then you had the parents loudly excusing or explaining their child's off-podium finish (in fact, the mother who I listened to ad nauseum in alpharetta was there, excusing her child's 11th place finish as if it was something to be ashamed of...) and citing everything from too much homework to too flat a course to too much heat. It really was funny, in a depressing way.
I actually saw parents shaking while reading the results and watching the awards. I saw kids crying, and kids getting berated by their fat, sweating parents for presumably not bringing sufficient glory unto the family name. I heard and saw people acting as if their child had just won an Olympic Gold medal because they podiumed. All in all, it was quite the people watching experience. I am assuming some or even most people managed to cling at least tenuously to their perspective, but they weren't the ones making a spectacle of themselves.
After the race, as L was standing in the shade trying to breath, S's older brother came over to congratulate her and we wandered over to where she was plopped on the grass next to her mom, visibly upset (she finished 14th). To S's credit, she pulled herself together and congratulated L and the two hung out for the next couple of hours until S's family gathered up to leave before awards. I do believe the girls truly like each other, and that S is in general a nice young lady, but that her hyper-competitiveness creates some disconnects at times. S mentioned feeling a lot of pressure, which I think is completely foreign to L, thank goodness... so who knows what she deals with and how that affects her when it comes to competitions.
All in all, the race itself was exciting to watch (even the little juniors) and I was very proud of L for how she handled herself with S and for how hard she raced... I admire her determination and will power at her young age. I just hope we can do a good job of (sing along here) helping her keep things in perspective -- success requires three things (as I rambled on about in my previous post) -- talent, effort/work ethic, and luck. Doing well in races like that at the age of 11 does not guarantee future success -- and it doesn't mean you are a failure if you DON'T keep placing or moving on to bigger stages as you get older. It just means that, on that day, in that race, you were one of the best on the course. It's something to be proud of, but not something to define you or your life in the future. May Lexi truly understand that, and may those other parents fill the valium prescriptions WTC needs to start putting in the swag bags.
Limine first met S three summers ago at a race in GA, where they finished scant seconds apart. They bonded instantly after the race and kept in touch sporadically, and hung out for several days when both Matthew and S's father raced IMFL 2008, but had fallen out of touch since then as we hadn't made it to GA for any more youth triathlons.
When we decided to do Ironkids Alpharetta to try and qualify for nationals, I looked up the results for last year and saw that S had competed, and won their age group. I told Limine she would probably run into her at the race, which we did... and they hung out the entire time.
Now that everyone is 3 years older, they both have cell phones, and continued texting off and on in the weeks between Alpharetta and Nationals. The first hint of weird aura came one day when S texted Limine and asked how much she'd been training for Nationals. L answered "nothing, really, just swim practice" and S immediately responded "you're just saying that so I won't train and you can beat me."
That pretty much stopped L and me in mid-sentence, and L wanted to know how to respond. I suggested she say something about not being a game player and add a smiley face, and let it go at that.
We talked after that about being competitive with your friends, and what is good competitive and what is bad... and the fact that worrying about beating a specific person is the ticket to a bad race.
Fast forward to the days before Nationals. We had a swim meet Thursday, swim practice and a football game Saturday, and no particular need or interest in getting down to Clearwater at any given time. I had confirmed repeatedly that athlete check in would be both Saturday and Sunday, and bike check was not until Sunday, so why rush?
The text messages from S on Saturday were a strange mixture of wanting to get together with L when we got down and seeming attempts to undermind L's confidence and get in her head. Now, I have NEVER been that kind of athlete, so it is very foreign to me and actually makes me kind of uncomfortable. And a bit angry to see it directed at my kids.
S spent considerable time trying to convince L that she was a) late getting down, b) missing the only opportunity for athlete check in, and c) missing out on the important things like riding and running the course, which S and her brother were doing.
She then informed L that the course was easy so she, S, would be able to hammer L on the bike. (S races road bikes, along with her father and brother).
So, I spent some time discussing with L why some people feel compelled to ride the course before a race, and some people do not, and that there is no right or wrong.
Later, S asked L where L had eaten dinner, and when L told her Outback, responded "OH now THAT's a great pre-race meal" so... tapping into my inner snark and knowing S had eaten at Carrabas, I suggested L write back "I don't like to weigh myself down with a lot of carbs the night before a race."
(Sorry, couldn't resist).
The next day, at check in, L mentioned that she'd be riding a new bike next season, and S informed her "Good, then I can tell you your bike sucks."
At that point, I decided it was time for L to get away from S for a while before the race, and we had a nice conversation about how some people can be nice to have as friends but might not be capable of being a good friend with someone they are in direct competition with... at all. L, like me, is simply not like that, and would rather chew off her arm than, for example, criticize someone's bike.
In addition to the weird psych job going on with S, we encountered some absolutely over-wired, borderline psychotic parents while setting up transition. This race, unlike the qualifiers, had assigned bike spots (THANK GOD)... and each rack had probably half the number of bikes on a normal adult rack. I think they spaced them about handle bar width apart, knowing a lot of kids rack by hooking their brake handles over the bar since most of the bikes are too small to rack by the seat.
As we came to L's spot, a father and mother were helpfully spreading out a blanket -- a 3' x 3' blanket -- next to the bike next to L's rack spot. I tried to gently say "I'm sorry, but her bike has to go here, so you will probably want to move that over under his down wheel" and they were actually fairly receptive. BUT, the hyper-quasi-hysterical mother two bikes down from L's on the other side (who also had her stuff spread across a 3' wide swath with several bikes slated to be next to hers on both sides) was in full throated bitch, which caused the following exchange:
Bitchy psycho mom: "How on earth do they expect us to put your stuff here, there just isn't enough room!"
Me: "Actually, if you hook her bike like this and put her stuff under her down wheel, it'll be fine"
BPM (pushing other people's bikes around): "No it will NOT. They're crazy. There's not enough room here."
Me: "There's half the number of bikes on the rack as at an adult race!"
BPM (snarling): "Oh right, like you know everything. This is ridiculous!"
Me (laughing audibly): Alllllriiiighty then...!"
Wow. Mr. Race Director, can I get a valium on rack 22?!
Then there was the rugby scrum at the results posting area. There was nary a kid who actually raced to be seen within a 5 yard radius -- just desperately pushing and shoving parents, taking pictures of the results and analyzing splits etc. One "gentleman" walked up and, within :30 of waiting, bellowed "alright people, move along so other people can see" (which of course caused me to grow roots and analyze the relative bike speed of the average 6 year old vs the average 12 yo, as well as determining the median and mode of each age group's T2 times).
Then you had the parents loudly excusing or explaining their child's off-podium finish (in fact, the mother who I listened to ad nauseum in alpharetta was there, excusing her child's 11th place finish as if it was something to be ashamed of...) and citing everything from too much homework to too flat a course to too much heat. It really was funny, in a depressing way.
I actually saw parents shaking while reading the results and watching the awards. I saw kids crying, and kids getting berated by their fat, sweating parents for presumably not bringing sufficient glory unto the family name. I heard and saw people acting as if their child had just won an Olympic Gold medal because they podiumed. All in all, it was quite the people watching experience. I am assuming some or even most people managed to cling at least tenuously to their perspective, but they weren't the ones making a spectacle of themselves.
After the race, as L was standing in the shade trying to breath, S's older brother came over to congratulate her and we wandered over to where she was plopped on the grass next to her mom, visibly upset (she finished 14th). To S's credit, she pulled herself together and congratulated L and the two hung out for the next couple of hours until S's family gathered up to leave before awards. I do believe the girls truly like each other, and that S is in general a nice young lady, but that her hyper-competitiveness creates some disconnects at times. S mentioned feeling a lot of pressure, which I think is completely foreign to L, thank goodness... so who knows what she deals with and how that affects her when it comes to competitions.
All in all, the race itself was exciting to watch (even the little juniors) and I was very proud of L for how she handled herself with S and for how hard she raced... I admire her determination and will power at her young age. I just hope we can do a good job of (sing along here) helping her keep things in perspective -- success requires three things (as I rambled on about in my previous post) -- talent, effort/work ethic, and luck. Doing well in races like that at the age of 11 does not guarantee future success -- and it doesn't mean you are a failure if you DON'T keep placing or moving on to bigger stages as you get older. It just means that, on that day, in that race, you were one of the best on the course. It's something to be proud of, but not something to define you or your life in the future. May Lexi truly understand that, and may those other parents fill the valium prescriptions WTC needs to start putting in the swag bags.
04 October 2010
The reality of dreams....
On the way down to the triathlon in Clearwater this weekend, the girls and I enjoyed a number of entertaining conversations. (Matthew was planning to come down Sunday morning so he could get some yard work done and we didn't have to pay for a dog sitter or boarding.) The one that stopped me in my tracks though began with a simple question from Bimini:
"Mommy, do you think I can make the Olympic Trials?"
Now, this didn't come out of the blue -- we'd been talking about a swimmer who has been practicing at EHS in hopes of getting back in shape and making the trials next year, and in discussing her I mentioned some of the Bolles girls I know who have made trial cuts in HS.
Now, this may not seem like a landmine filled question to answer to some, but to me it certainly is, because I'd always dreamed, as a young swimmer (and later as a water polo player), of making the Olympics but, as a swimmer, I had no idea the reality of the progression needed to actually get there and, as a polo player, the sport was admitted to the Olympics a few short years too late for me. I consider it landmine filled because I want to walk that fine line of emphasizing reality while at the same time encouraging dreams, and that sure isn't an easy line to walk.
"Um, no, not for the 2012 Olympics."
"MUH THER I don't mean next year, I mean SOMEDAY"
"Oh. Well then..."
And, I told Bimini that, in my experience, three things go into setting and achieving goals in athletics: ability, work ethic, and luck. (Interestingly enough, two days later when Matthew and I finally had a chance to catch up, he, without knowing how I had answered, said exactly the same thing).
I explained that, I believe she has an amazing amount of natural talent in swimming -- more than her biofather and I ever had -- and that I really did not know what the outer limits of that ability might be, BUT that those outer limits could only be reached through a LOT of hard work and dedicated training.
I told her that I, for example, worked my a** off from the age of 10 through college, but that no amount of hard work could take me farther in my swimming than I went, because I was limited by my ability (and luck, which was mostly bad). I'm a decent swimmer, but there was no training plan or effort increase that was ever going to land me at a big time DI school, no matter what.
Does she have that sort of ability? Only time and effort will tell, and all she can do is keep moving along the path by setting goals and laying the ground work now, at 13 and 14, for the effort required later to reach the more remote goals.
BUT, I also explained, the element of luck plays a big role in an athlete's ultimate "success" or attainment of certain goals - that even hard work mixed with ability does not guarantee you will meet your goal. You could get injured, or sick, or the year you swim a certain event it could be loaded (full of unexpected entrants), or your coach could leave, or any of a zillion other limiters-by-bad-luck could occur. We all know MANY athletes in a variety of sports who never quite achieved the potential they showed because of injury, or miss-steps, bad decisions, etc. Sometimes, it just isn't meant to be, unfortunately.
We talked about whether it would be better to, for example, qualify for the trials in HS but then flame out after a year or two, or less, of college swimming (like so many swimmers from a certain local program seem to do), or to come along a little slower and more deliberately and enjoy a four year college swimming experience. We agreed the latter is far preferable, in our opinions.
"But what if I made it next year, would you let me go?"
"yes, if you made it next year, you would go."
"Well then, what are the qualifying times"
"(telling her roughly the times)"
"Oh. That's fast."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm going to do that someday, but I'm not going to go crazy practicing all the time until 11th grade."
"O...kay...lol"
The conversation wound its way into discussing how the point really needs to be the journey itself -- that no matter what level of athletics they end up participating in, or what path they follow to get there, the important thing is that they learn about themselves and become stronger, more resilient people along the way -- and that meant understanding that not achieving a goal is not a personal failure if they use the journey properly. Without "misses" we can never truly appreciate the successes when they do happen, and sometimes all the effort, ability, and luck in the world is STILL not enough. And that is OK!
Hopefully some of that chat will resonate with the girls as they get older and the path gets more complicated and requires more time, effort, and sacrifice. I hope they both decide to set their sights on a challenging goal and GO for it... I hope *I* can handle the bad luck and obstacles that will surely cross their paths from time to time (they ARE my kids, therefore they are doomed in that respect, alas) and guide them in handling disappointment and rechanneling goals and energy to constructive places when it does happen.
And for now I'll keep trying to walk that path of perspective and provide encouragement and opportunity without getting caught in the minutiae or vortex of "must do" or "must be" along the path, because ultimately it is their journey, and all I can do is try to find the sweet spot of guidance without pressure and reality with just a touch of dream.
"Mommy, do you think I can make the Olympic Trials?"
Now, this didn't come out of the blue -- we'd been talking about a swimmer who has been practicing at EHS in hopes of getting back in shape and making the trials next year, and in discussing her I mentioned some of the Bolles girls I know who have made trial cuts in HS.
Now, this may not seem like a landmine filled question to answer to some, but to me it certainly is, because I'd always dreamed, as a young swimmer (and later as a water polo player), of making the Olympics but, as a swimmer, I had no idea the reality of the progression needed to actually get there and, as a polo player, the sport was admitted to the Olympics a few short years too late for me. I consider it landmine filled because I want to walk that fine line of emphasizing reality while at the same time encouraging dreams, and that sure isn't an easy line to walk.
"Um, no, not for the 2012 Olympics."
"MUH THER I don't mean next year, I mean SOMEDAY"
"Oh. Well then..."
And, I told Bimini that, in my experience, three things go into setting and achieving goals in athletics: ability, work ethic, and luck. (Interestingly enough, two days later when Matthew and I finally had a chance to catch up, he, without knowing how I had answered, said exactly the same thing).
I explained that, I believe she has an amazing amount of natural talent in swimming -- more than her biofather and I ever had -- and that I really did not know what the outer limits of that ability might be, BUT that those outer limits could only be reached through a LOT of hard work and dedicated training.
I told her that I, for example, worked my a** off from the age of 10 through college, but that no amount of hard work could take me farther in my swimming than I went, because I was limited by my ability (and luck, which was mostly bad). I'm a decent swimmer, but there was no training plan or effort increase that was ever going to land me at a big time DI school, no matter what.
Does she have that sort of ability? Only time and effort will tell, and all she can do is keep moving along the path by setting goals and laying the ground work now, at 13 and 14, for the effort required later to reach the more remote goals.
BUT, I also explained, the element of luck plays a big role in an athlete's ultimate "success" or attainment of certain goals - that even hard work mixed with ability does not guarantee you will meet your goal. You could get injured, or sick, or the year you swim a certain event it could be loaded (full of unexpected entrants), or your coach could leave, or any of a zillion other limiters-by-bad-luck could occur. We all know MANY athletes in a variety of sports who never quite achieved the potential they showed because of injury, or miss-steps, bad decisions, etc. Sometimes, it just isn't meant to be, unfortunately.
We talked about whether it would be better to, for example, qualify for the trials in HS but then flame out after a year or two, or less, of college swimming (like so many swimmers from a certain local program seem to do), or to come along a little slower and more deliberately and enjoy a four year college swimming experience. We agreed the latter is far preferable, in our opinions.
"But what if I made it next year, would you let me go?"
"yes, if you made it next year, you would go."
"Well then, what are the qualifying times"
"(telling her roughly the times)"
"Oh. That's fast."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm going to do that someday, but I'm not going to go crazy practicing all the time until 11th grade."
"O...kay...lol"
The conversation wound its way into discussing how the point really needs to be the journey itself -- that no matter what level of athletics they end up participating in, or what path they follow to get there, the important thing is that they learn about themselves and become stronger, more resilient people along the way -- and that meant understanding that not achieving a goal is not a personal failure if they use the journey properly. Without "misses" we can never truly appreciate the successes when they do happen, and sometimes all the effort, ability, and luck in the world is STILL not enough. And that is OK!
Hopefully some of that chat will resonate with the girls as they get older and the path gets more complicated and requires more time, effort, and sacrifice. I hope they both decide to set their sights on a challenging goal and GO for it... I hope *I* can handle the bad luck and obstacles that will surely cross their paths from time to time (they ARE my kids, therefore they are doomed in that respect, alas) and guide them in handling disappointment and rechanneling goals and energy to constructive places when it does happen.
And for now I'll keep trying to walk that path of perspective and provide encouragement and opportunity without getting caught in the minutiae or vortex of "must do" or "must be" along the path, because ultimately it is their journey, and all I can do is try to find the sweet spot of guidance without pressure and reality with just a touch of dream.
28 September 2010
Someone sold us snakeoil...
I'm not sure this will make any sense to anyone but me, but I felt the need to express it, so here it is... lol.
Someone, sometime, in the past forty years, successfully sold the female population snake-oil disguised as equality and freedom of choice. Drinking that snake oil has led to a generation or more of women who think we can and SHOULD be able to do it all -- equally to men, without additional obstacles or issues to handle.
They lied.
From the second women hit puberty we come to repeated forks in the road. One fork tends to be "the road less traveled" (thank you, Mr. Frost) and one tends to be the road most accepted by conventional wisdom and our peers. Although less prevalent than when I was beginning my teen years, the pressure on girls to follow social norms and fit in with accepted behaviors begins to grow. This pressure often takes the form of resistance to dedicated pursuit of athletics or any other time consuming interest (the arts, musical instruments etc). Instead, the subtle and not so subtle message is that focus on an activity will detract from your social life, inhibit your ability to get a job (de rigeur now for teen agers), and probably make you less attractive to the opposite gender (unless, of course, you are a cheerleader). It might even get you tagged as a lesbian, depending on your sport and your dedication to it.
As girls get older the pressure still remains to find a guy and put his interests and job choices ahead of your own. Rare indeed does it seem to be the female in a serious relationship who continues to pursue, at a high level, a sport past college. The pressure to choose a career, settle down, and enjoy a social life remains constant as women graduate and move into the "real" world.
As our 20s and early 30s pass, the choices move to kids or career, or husband's career vs own career, etc. If she is blessed enough to still be a competitive age group or elite level athlete, the choice becomes if or when to start or add to a family. Once you have a family, the split in the road carries you towards your own goals OR towards your childrens' -- and sometimes the roads overlap, or are close enough together you can drive back and forth between two points on them on the same day (lol), but a lot of time they seem to just meander off on their own, far out of sight, and reach, of each other.
I've been thinking about this topic a fair amount lately -- both in the context of my own world AND that of some of the wonderfully talented ladies I am blessed to know and compete with here in Jacksonville.
In my own world, as we juggle this falls' events as a family (swim meets, triathlons, etc) and I think ahead to coming seasons (both my triathlon and the girls' swim seasons.... plus any other sports Limine picks up along the way, plus kids' triathlons as well...) the split in the road becomes readily apparent.
Events like IMFL probably come off the board for the next 6 years, as IMFL falls on one of the three days high school region meets can be scheduled, and IMFL requires registration LONG before the dates of the meets are actually announced (and $550 is too much money to play russian roulette with in hopes of getting lucky). Events like IM70.3 Worlds also become very iffy -- not just from a qualifying perspective, but because WC are the same weekend as High School States, and it is only through luck that I can compete in them this year (the girls' classification swims Thurs this year, and it is in orlando, so I can make the drive back and forth between prelims and finals to check in... but in future years the location AND the day they swim will change, so...).
Training and competing in IMKY this year taught me that the window during the year to do an IM is much narrower than I originally thought, and if I want to compete in one again I need to fit it in between March and late May, or not at all, because juggling kids' events and training and school and traveling about put me over the edge this time around, and it will only get worse as they progress through HS.... and even if I wanted to, or ever COULD, qualify for Kona, the event falls right. in. the. middle. of. high. school. swim. season. SIGH.
So, for me, picking goal races is getting a little harder for the next few years. Any races requiring traveling have to be vetted according to swim schedule (and perhaps soccer/track as well), school schedule, custody schedule, and any other events the girls want to participate in (ie kids' triathlons). Any races that qualify for other races have to occur when I have enough schedule knowledge to commit if I am lucky enough to qualify, or I have to be willing to pass up a slot... and this will be so for probably the next 6 years, and perhaps beyond that if anyone ends up competing in college.
I don't HAVE to make that choice, of course. That's the point of the fork in the road -- you get to choose your direction. I'd venture to say that most women agonize over the choices, and some end up regretting whichever choice they pick... and I bet we ALL wonder "what if" or "if only"... But, ultimately, WE are in control of our own choices and how we react to them.
And then, of course, there are the people who don't understand your choice(s) and feel free to verbalize that to you without your expressed desire for their opinion. Everyone knows exactly how he or she would handle something "if I were you" etc. It's easy when you don't have to deal with the nuances, the emotions, the frustrations, or the expectations. It's a lot less easy when you are actually wearing the shoes that have to walk the path.
I haven't discussed this particular topic with some of the younger ladies who are so gifted in the triathlon world, but I suspect they feel, or think they should feel, the pressure that comes with being so talented AND a female. This is a pressure wholly different than any similarly situated male will ever feel. Imagine being close to the top of your sport, and still drawn by the challenge of seeing how far you can go -- yet having others point out your "ticking clock"... Imagine having to decide when to walk away, at least temporarily, from something you love -- with no idea of whether you will get it back all the way, or even WANT to if you have a child. Training to be a serious athlete is a very selfish existence, in a lot of ways... being a mother is, by definition, not - or, at best, it's a desperate juggling process of selfish and selfless, as you assume responsibility for another life while still clinging to the shreds of your own, lol... (although some people never seem to get that memo and have no business being a parent, but that's another blog).
When you are young, making the choice to stay focused on a goal involves some forms of sacrifice -- maybe missing the big party, or hanging out with friends less, or doing a race-destination vacation instead of a big Las Vegas blow out weekend, just to save money. As you get older, the stakes get higher, and the decisions more personal, and the helpful input from everyone around you more according to their own agendas and experiences... and it can be a lonely path to walk. Making a choice for the wrong reasons, or because of external pressure, can cause everything to sour -- resentment to bloom and a half-assed effort to be had all the way around. Making a choice and giving into the natural urge to second guess it will have the same effect.
I love men, but I don't think men have to go through the same agonizing choices that face certain women (whether gifted athletes or gifted career-women)... and yes, men have their own issues and struggles to deal with... but, since my experience is strictly female, lol, I'm writing about our gender's travails.
I think the key to chosing the path at each fork is allowing yourself to be ok with who you are -- not falling prey to the expectations, or social mores, or "conventional wisdom" of the people around you. It's to weigh which choice feels better, or which pain of loss hurts least, or which path gives you the chance to have as much of both worlds as you can possibly scrabble together... and then deciding if that is enough for you. It really does boil down to setting your priorities and being comfortable with what you have set -- and being aware of what you may be giving up or risking... and being ok with the worst case scenario, because you cannot assume it will all come together in the end -- sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but at that point it is usually too late so you'd better be ready to accept it either way.
So many women hit their 30s and 40s feeling a vague emptiness... and I think that is because we were sold a false sense of reality -- the snake oil I wrote about above. We cannot do it all. We cannot have it all. There is no way to be 100% committed to a career AND a family AND a sport. Something has to give somewhere, and someone's picture of how things are supposed to be will be shattered. We can't be Holly-homemaker AND Chrissie Wellington AND the CEO of a fortune 500 company and do all three to our fullest potential -- we can make our own comfort level in whatever combination we decide to mesh those worlds, but to be happy we have to accept that there are limits, and then do our best to accept those limits.
Now, if anyone knows how to do that, feel free to send me a guest blog, because I'm 42 and have not come close to figuring it out... I just blunder along picking the path that feels correct based on my own priorities and expectations.... and sometimes I wonder what that path would look like if I'd been wearing my Garmin the entire time, lol.
Someone, sometime, in the past forty years, successfully sold the female population snake-oil disguised as equality and freedom of choice. Drinking that snake oil has led to a generation or more of women who think we can and SHOULD be able to do it all -- equally to men, without additional obstacles or issues to handle.
They lied.
From the second women hit puberty we come to repeated forks in the road. One fork tends to be "the road less traveled" (thank you, Mr. Frost) and one tends to be the road most accepted by conventional wisdom and our peers. Although less prevalent than when I was beginning my teen years, the pressure on girls to follow social norms and fit in with accepted behaviors begins to grow. This pressure often takes the form of resistance to dedicated pursuit of athletics or any other time consuming interest (the arts, musical instruments etc). Instead, the subtle and not so subtle message is that focus on an activity will detract from your social life, inhibit your ability to get a job (de rigeur now for teen agers), and probably make you less attractive to the opposite gender (unless, of course, you are a cheerleader). It might even get you tagged as a lesbian, depending on your sport and your dedication to it.
As girls get older the pressure still remains to find a guy and put his interests and job choices ahead of your own. Rare indeed does it seem to be the female in a serious relationship who continues to pursue, at a high level, a sport past college. The pressure to choose a career, settle down, and enjoy a social life remains constant as women graduate and move into the "real" world.
As our 20s and early 30s pass, the choices move to kids or career, or husband's career vs own career, etc. If she is blessed enough to still be a competitive age group or elite level athlete, the choice becomes if or when to start or add to a family. Once you have a family, the split in the road carries you towards your own goals OR towards your childrens' -- and sometimes the roads overlap, or are close enough together you can drive back and forth between two points on them on the same day (lol), but a lot of time they seem to just meander off on their own, far out of sight, and reach, of each other.
I've been thinking about this topic a fair amount lately -- both in the context of my own world AND that of some of the wonderfully talented ladies I am blessed to know and compete with here in Jacksonville.
In my own world, as we juggle this falls' events as a family (swim meets, triathlons, etc) and I think ahead to coming seasons (both my triathlon and the girls' swim seasons.... plus any other sports Limine picks up along the way, plus kids' triathlons as well...) the split in the road becomes readily apparent.
Events like IMFL probably come off the board for the next 6 years, as IMFL falls on one of the three days high school region meets can be scheduled, and IMFL requires registration LONG before the dates of the meets are actually announced (and $550 is too much money to play russian roulette with in hopes of getting lucky). Events like IM70.3 Worlds also become very iffy -- not just from a qualifying perspective, but because WC are the same weekend as High School States, and it is only through luck that I can compete in them this year (the girls' classification swims Thurs this year, and it is in orlando, so I can make the drive back and forth between prelims and finals to check in... but in future years the location AND the day they swim will change, so...).
Training and competing in IMKY this year taught me that the window during the year to do an IM is much narrower than I originally thought, and if I want to compete in one again I need to fit it in between March and late May, or not at all, because juggling kids' events and training and school and traveling about put me over the edge this time around, and it will only get worse as they progress through HS.... and even if I wanted to, or ever COULD, qualify for Kona, the event falls right. in. the. middle. of. high. school. swim. season. SIGH.
So, for me, picking goal races is getting a little harder for the next few years. Any races requiring traveling have to be vetted according to swim schedule (and perhaps soccer/track as well), school schedule, custody schedule, and any other events the girls want to participate in (ie kids' triathlons). Any races that qualify for other races have to occur when I have enough schedule knowledge to commit if I am lucky enough to qualify, or I have to be willing to pass up a slot... and this will be so for probably the next 6 years, and perhaps beyond that if anyone ends up competing in college.
I don't HAVE to make that choice, of course. That's the point of the fork in the road -- you get to choose your direction. I'd venture to say that most women agonize over the choices, and some end up regretting whichever choice they pick... and I bet we ALL wonder "what if" or "if only"... But, ultimately, WE are in control of our own choices and how we react to them.
And then, of course, there are the people who don't understand your choice(s) and feel free to verbalize that to you without your expressed desire for their opinion. Everyone knows exactly how he or she would handle something "if I were you" etc. It's easy when you don't have to deal with the nuances, the emotions, the frustrations, or the expectations. It's a lot less easy when you are actually wearing the shoes that have to walk the path.
I haven't discussed this particular topic with some of the younger ladies who are so gifted in the triathlon world, but I suspect they feel, or think they should feel, the pressure that comes with being so talented AND a female. This is a pressure wholly different than any similarly situated male will ever feel. Imagine being close to the top of your sport, and still drawn by the challenge of seeing how far you can go -- yet having others point out your "ticking clock"... Imagine having to decide when to walk away, at least temporarily, from something you love -- with no idea of whether you will get it back all the way, or even WANT to if you have a child. Training to be a serious athlete is a very selfish existence, in a lot of ways... being a mother is, by definition, not - or, at best, it's a desperate juggling process of selfish and selfless, as you assume responsibility for another life while still clinging to the shreds of your own, lol... (although some people never seem to get that memo and have no business being a parent, but that's another blog).
When you are young, making the choice to stay focused on a goal involves some forms of sacrifice -- maybe missing the big party, or hanging out with friends less, or doing a race-destination vacation instead of a big Las Vegas blow out weekend, just to save money. As you get older, the stakes get higher, and the decisions more personal, and the helpful input from everyone around you more according to their own agendas and experiences... and it can be a lonely path to walk. Making a choice for the wrong reasons, or because of external pressure, can cause everything to sour -- resentment to bloom and a half-assed effort to be had all the way around. Making a choice and giving into the natural urge to second guess it will have the same effect.
I love men, but I don't think men have to go through the same agonizing choices that face certain women (whether gifted athletes or gifted career-women)... and yes, men have their own issues and struggles to deal with... but, since my experience is strictly female, lol, I'm writing about our gender's travails.
I think the key to chosing the path at each fork is allowing yourself to be ok with who you are -- not falling prey to the expectations, or social mores, or "conventional wisdom" of the people around you. It's to weigh which choice feels better, or which pain of loss hurts least, or which path gives you the chance to have as much of both worlds as you can possibly scrabble together... and then deciding if that is enough for you. It really does boil down to setting your priorities and being comfortable with what you have set -- and being aware of what you may be giving up or risking... and being ok with the worst case scenario, because you cannot assume it will all come together in the end -- sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but at that point it is usually too late so you'd better be ready to accept it either way.
So many women hit their 30s and 40s feeling a vague emptiness... and I think that is because we were sold a false sense of reality -- the snake oil I wrote about above. We cannot do it all. We cannot have it all. There is no way to be 100% committed to a career AND a family AND a sport. Something has to give somewhere, and someone's picture of how things are supposed to be will be shattered. We can't be Holly-homemaker AND Chrissie Wellington AND the CEO of a fortune 500 company and do all three to our fullest potential -- we can make our own comfort level in whatever combination we decide to mesh those worlds, but to be happy we have to accept that there are limits, and then do our best to accept those limits.
Now, if anyone knows how to do that, feel free to send me a guest blog, because I'm 42 and have not come close to figuring it out... I just blunder along picking the path that feels correct based on my own priorities and expectations.... and sometimes I wonder what that path would look like if I'd been wearing my Garmin the entire time, lol.
16 September 2010
On parenting and perspective...
We traveled to Alpharetta, GA, last weekend (after a swim meet Saturday morning) for a Youth triathlon. We did this because LM has wanted to participate in an Ironkids event and try to qualify for IK nationals, and they were not with us the day of the IK event held in Orlando in May... leaving Alpharetta as the only viable option.
Now, this is not our first rodeo as far as Youth triathlon is concerned. The girls competed in their first ever triathlon in May, 2008, at the Meek and Mighty race (also the weekend I competed in MY first Olympic distance triathlon and the dawn of Team DiPaolo in the triathlon world) and have competed in 3 or 4 each summer since.
In the 3 summers since our first exposure to the sport, I've noticed a distinct trend appearing -- the pushy parent with the stressed out kids. Amusingly enough, we've anecdotally noted that a LARGE (pun intended) percentage of these pushy parents appear to be overweight mothers (similar to the one's you might see on those kiddy beauty competitor shows, lol).
LM has enjoyed some success in triathlon. That success can be attributed to one thing - she is a tough as nails competitor. However, I've found myself questioned on a fairly regular basis as to her "training" schedule (competitors seem to be evenly divided between the ones who make no attempt to hide that they train and borrow their parent's aero gear, lol, and those whose parents tell everyone they have "not trained at all" yet the kid is on a road bike team, a swim team, and school track team, lol), and I get the distinct impression that many parents do NOT believe me when I say "she doesn't have one".
Before the start of the IKAlpharetta race I spent some time standing next to, and hence both talking to and listening to, the mother of a girl who turned out to be in LM's division. This lady, who fit the description above, went on and on... and on... and ON... about how triathlon is her daughter's passion and all the training and her goals and how good she is and her swimming prowess and how focused she is and how she wishes the daughter had done ALL the events in a tampa youth series because she'd be highly ranked etc etc... followed by many questions about LM's training, preparation, dedication to the sport etc. THEN she was on the phone with her husband crowing, loudly, about how her daughter planned to follow the bike marshals to know the way on the bike course (because she'd be so far ahead of everyone).
Let me carefully articulate the two thoughts I had: First "THESE KIDS ARE ELEVEN FOR GOD'S SAKE!" and, second, "I bet LM can kick her ass." (Sorry, I thought it, I'll admit it... and for the record, I smiled to myself when I ran by the Mother as the girls headed out on the run and heard the Mother on the phone lamenting that her daughter was not racing well enough to win...)
I suppose some people probably think, based on my running at top speed to various locations on the course, that I am a pushy parent. (In that case, I am also a pushy wife and friend, as I ran and drove all over the IMFL course when Matthew raced it, and will do the same this year for H and K... and when I coached swimming I ended every swim meet soaked in sweat and SORE from being a VERY active coach on the deck... it's who I am when I can't be the one racing, lol.) I also surmise that people think, based on how hard I push myself, that I push the girls hard as well...
So, knowing that, I am always checking myself to see if that is true. Do I push too hard? Do I lose perspective? Do the girls feel pressure they don't need to feel?
I am pretty certain the answer is "NO" -- I do not push them too hard etc. But that's not what I am here to write about, lol.
The most important element of those questions is: perspective. Do I, as a parent, keep it, and do I, as a parent, help the girls find it? (Matthew is, of course, the most grounded and unflappable human I know, and never has problems with perspective. I on the other hand...) More and more I am coming to believe that a BIG key to parenting is the concept of perspective, and that losing that element sets your children up for a battle against over-reaction, anxiety, and "end of the world-itis" that can be truly debilitating. Finding that fine line where you encourage passion and caring and setting goals that matter (and pursuing them) yet you still accept that, well, sh*t happens sometimes, and sometimes it becomes more about how you deal with that sh*t than anything else... finding that line is a challenge, but one worth striving for, in my opinion.
In my own distant childhood, perspective was greatly lacking. A missed swim practice, a bad swim, "failing" to make the A team, injuries etc -- all end of the world stuff. Yes, getting back to swim practice shortly after breaking ribs at age 11 is a sign of toughness -- but it was also a sign that I truly thought my swimming career would never recover from missing a month of swimming. That lack of perspective became ingrained in me throughout my athletic career. If I missed a day of working out, I'd get fat. If I missed a day of training, I'd get slow. If I had an injury (like tendonitis in my shoulder) taking time off to let it heal would be the death knell of my swimming career.
It's taken me a LONG time and plenty of reality checking, as well as coaching experience of my own, to realize that none of the above was true.... but I still fight that panic sometimes (in my own athletic career as well as watching my daughters). One of the biggest influences I credit with giving me a modicum of perspective is one of the families I coached and became close to while coaching HS swimming. Their daughters, both gifted swimmers, did not swim year round. They battled through injuries/illness that required time off, surgery, and even a missed semester of college. They did NOT follow the path everyone says has to be followed for athletic success -- yet they both swam, very successfully, in college and they both continued to improve until the day they hung up their goggles and graduated.
There are other examples I've noted, but the G family is the best example and the one I think of the most as I pick my way through the minefield of parenting two talented children.
BiM is the wildly gifted swimmer -- already, at the age of 12, swimming faster than I EVER SWAM IN MY LIFE, even after 15 years of year-round swimming. And, she's doing that on very, VERY little practice. Of course, that very little practice is because of a continuous stream of illness and injury, lol, and, early on, a reluctance to work very hard or very consistently. Initially, when she started swimming a year ago, I felt the tug of the past -- and every missed swim practice stressed me out. Conversations with the G's about the kind of practice and yardage their daughters swam at that age helped, and seeing the BiM miss months of practice due to her wrist injury and then swim for two weeks and immediately throw a 25 in the 50 free pretty much extinguished the spark of the "no perspective" monster.
LM is an athlete. She is a strong swimmer and a gifted runner, but more importantly she has drive and desire and an indescribably competitive streak. She loves swimming and she loves triathlon and she is the kid who, absent a parentally mandated governor on her motor, would be barreling down the path I see some of the other gifted Youth triathletes heading -- dedication to training for the sport, trips to Elite camps, tryouts and races around the country for Elite and Junior National type teams, etc. (One mom talked happily about her 12 year old daughter running her first marathon. MARATHON. Sheesh.)
Just as with the BiM and swimming, it is easy to start thinking BIG and plotting how to get from here (talented 11 and almost 13 yo) to there (college swimming scholarships and elite or pro level triathlete). It is easy to slip into the "end of the world" mindset -- the one dominated by the pressure to push them to train and to successfully navigate down some ill-defined path that "everyone" who is going anywhere is following. It is easy to look around and see what "everyone" is doing -- the Bolles swimmers who are dominating JOs or Seniors or HS states... the triathletes with Team USA gear and their names on their singlets.
But then I think of my own experiences... and look at the path followed successfully by the G's and some of the other swimmers I had the good fortune to coach. And I think to myself, "self... if the girls ramp up their training now... start doubling in swimming (as if, lol... Christi can't go 4 weeks of singles without getting sick, lol), lifting weights and doing serious dryland... start training with the road racers, and running mileage each week... where do they go from there?"
I think of some of the stud swimmers, and even my own experiences -- where they hit the top at 12 or 14... and every tenth of second improvement after that has to be scrapped for and appears months or even years apart... I think of what you need to do when you are ALREADY taxing your body to its max -- do you add hours of training? Increase intensity? Both? When you are already red-lining at 14, where do you go from there? There's a reason why the UF swimmers ring up 15 and 20k of yardage a day in search of those tiny improvements - because there IS nowhere else to go now.
And, when your world and that of your children narrows down to a tiny point of focus, and your identity and sense of self becomes enmeshed with that pursuit at the age of 12 or 15, what happens when life interferes? What happens when you tear a labrum in your shoulder, or get mono and miss a semester of swimming/school, or you stop seeing the improvements you want to see, or someone younger and studlier comes along and your flash in the pan is replaced by another, flashier one... how do you get, and keep, perspective on what your value is and what truly matters in life?
So, see, I take the parenting part of this pretty seriously. I want my girls to have goals and pursue them. I want things to matter to them. But I ALSO want them to realize that, sometimes, the journey IS the point, and not every goal is meant to be achieved. The glory is in the effort and the personal challenges you set and meet as you strive for that goal.
So, as I sit on the couch writing this next to a hacking 12yo who has missed 3.5 days of school and four (FOUR!!!!!!!! sound the alarm!!!!) days of practice, and who will do the completely unthinkable and NOT swim in a HS swim meet today (seriously, it would have been the end of the world back in my day), I find some small sense of satisfaction in knowing that, not only does BiM know this is not the end of the world, but so do I. Is she frustrated by the interruption in her training? Very. Does that frustration make me happy? Very, because it means it matters to her. Do I think she is going to have her season ruined by missing a few days? Nope. Does SHE? Nope. I think it is what it is, and her progression as a swimmer is going to follow the path it follows... and stressing out or stressing HER out about things we cannot control is utterly pointless.
Of course I want the best for my girls... I want them to enjoy the most success they can achieve and realize as much of their potential as they possibly can... but I want them to keep that journey -- which will be full of ups, downs, side trips, segues, road blocks, power outages, successes and unfulfilled hopes-- in the perspective it belongs. In the end, all you can do is the best you can do at that moment and all you can control is your own attitude and reaction and effort level, and if you can keep that perspective you WILL be successful, no matter what.
Now, this is not our first rodeo as far as Youth triathlon is concerned. The girls competed in their first ever triathlon in May, 2008, at the Meek and Mighty race (also the weekend I competed in MY first Olympic distance triathlon and the dawn of Team DiPaolo in the triathlon world) and have competed in 3 or 4 each summer since.
In the 3 summers since our first exposure to the sport, I've noticed a distinct trend appearing -- the pushy parent with the stressed out kids. Amusingly enough, we've anecdotally noted that a LARGE (pun intended) percentage of these pushy parents appear to be overweight mothers (similar to the one's you might see on those kiddy beauty competitor shows, lol).
LM has enjoyed some success in triathlon. That success can be attributed to one thing - she is a tough as nails competitor. However, I've found myself questioned on a fairly regular basis as to her "training" schedule (competitors seem to be evenly divided between the ones who make no attempt to hide that they train and borrow their parent's aero gear, lol, and those whose parents tell everyone they have "not trained at all" yet the kid is on a road bike team, a swim team, and school track team, lol), and I get the distinct impression that many parents do NOT believe me when I say "she doesn't have one".
Before the start of the IKAlpharetta race I spent some time standing next to, and hence both talking to and listening to, the mother of a girl who turned out to be in LM's division. This lady, who fit the description above, went on and on... and on... and ON... about how triathlon is her daughter's passion and all the training and her goals and how good she is and her swimming prowess and how focused she is and how she wishes the daughter had done ALL the events in a tampa youth series because she'd be highly ranked etc etc... followed by many questions about LM's training, preparation, dedication to the sport etc. THEN she was on the phone with her husband crowing, loudly, about how her daughter planned to follow the bike marshals to know the way on the bike course (because she'd be so far ahead of everyone).
Let me carefully articulate the two thoughts I had: First "THESE KIDS ARE ELEVEN FOR GOD'S SAKE!" and, second, "I bet LM can kick her ass." (Sorry, I thought it, I'll admit it... and for the record, I smiled to myself when I ran by the Mother as the girls headed out on the run and heard the Mother on the phone lamenting that her daughter was not racing well enough to win...)
I suppose some people probably think, based on my running at top speed to various locations on the course, that I am a pushy parent. (In that case, I am also a pushy wife and friend, as I ran and drove all over the IMFL course when Matthew raced it, and will do the same this year for H and K... and when I coached swimming I ended every swim meet soaked in sweat and SORE from being a VERY active coach on the deck... it's who I am when I can't be the one racing, lol.) I also surmise that people think, based on how hard I push myself, that I push the girls hard as well...
So, knowing that, I am always checking myself to see if that is true. Do I push too hard? Do I lose perspective? Do the girls feel pressure they don't need to feel?
I am pretty certain the answer is "NO" -- I do not push them too hard etc. But that's not what I am here to write about, lol.
The most important element of those questions is: perspective. Do I, as a parent, keep it, and do I, as a parent, help the girls find it? (Matthew is, of course, the most grounded and unflappable human I know, and never has problems with perspective. I on the other hand...) More and more I am coming to believe that a BIG key to parenting is the concept of perspective, and that losing that element sets your children up for a battle against over-reaction, anxiety, and "end of the world-itis" that can be truly debilitating. Finding that fine line where you encourage passion and caring and setting goals that matter (and pursuing them) yet you still accept that, well, sh*t happens sometimes, and sometimes it becomes more about how you deal with that sh*t than anything else... finding that line is a challenge, but one worth striving for, in my opinion.
In my own distant childhood, perspective was greatly lacking. A missed swim practice, a bad swim, "failing" to make the A team, injuries etc -- all end of the world stuff. Yes, getting back to swim practice shortly after breaking ribs at age 11 is a sign of toughness -- but it was also a sign that I truly thought my swimming career would never recover from missing a month of swimming. That lack of perspective became ingrained in me throughout my athletic career. If I missed a day of working out, I'd get fat. If I missed a day of training, I'd get slow. If I had an injury (like tendonitis in my shoulder) taking time off to let it heal would be the death knell of my swimming career.
It's taken me a LONG time and plenty of reality checking, as well as coaching experience of my own, to realize that none of the above was true.... but I still fight that panic sometimes (in my own athletic career as well as watching my daughters). One of the biggest influences I credit with giving me a modicum of perspective is one of the families I coached and became close to while coaching HS swimming. Their daughters, both gifted swimmers, did not swim year round. They battled through injuries/illness that required time off, surgery, and even a missed semester of college. They did NOT follow the path everyone says has to be followed for athletic success -- yet they both swam, very successfully, in college and they both continued to improve until the day they hung up their goggles and graduated.
There are other examples I've noted, but the G family is the best example and the one I think of the most as I pick my way through the minefield of parenting two talented children.
BiM is the wildly gifted swimmer -- already, at the age of 12, swimming faster than I EVER SWAM IN MY LIFE, even after 15 years of year-round swimming. And, she's doing that on very, VERY little practice. Of course, that very little practice is because of a continuous stream of illness and injury, lol, and, early on, a reluctance to work very hard or very consistently. Initially, when she started swimming a year ago, I felt the tug of the past -- and every missed swim practice stressed me out. Conversations with the G's about the kind of practice and yardage their daughters swam at that age helped, and seeing the BiM miss months of practice due to her wrist injury and then swim for two weeks and immediately throw a 25 in the 50 free pretty much extinguished the spark of the "no perspective" monster.
LM is an athlete. She is a strong swimmer and a gifted runner, but more importantly she has drive and desire and an indescribably competitive streak. She loves swimming and she loves triathlon and she is the kid who, absent a parentally mandated governor on her motor, would be barreling down the path I see some of the other gifted Youth triathletes heading -- dedication to training for the sport, trips to Elite camps, tryouts and races around the country for Elite and Junior National type teams, etc. (One mom talked happily about her 12 year old daughter running her first marathon. MARATHON. Sheesh.)
Just as with the BiM and swimming, it is easy to start thinking BIG and plotting how to get from here (talented 11 and almost 13 yo) to there (college swimming scholarships and elite or pro level triathlete). It is easy to slip into the "end of the world" mindset -- the one dominated by the pressure to push them to train and to successfully navigate down some ill-defined path that "everyone" who is going anywhere is following. It is easy to look around and see what "everyone" is doing -- the Bolles swimmers who are dominating JOs or Seniors or HS states... the triathletes with Team USA gear and their names on their singlets.
But then I think of my own experiences... and look at the path followed successfully by the G's and some of the other swimmers I had the good fortune to coach. And I think to myself, "self... if the girls ramp up their training now... start doubling in swimming (as if, lol... Christi can't go 4 weeks of singles without getting sick, lol), lifting weights and doing serious dryland... start training with the road racers, and running mileage each week... where do they go from there?"
I think of some of the stud swimmers, and even my own experiences -- where they hit the top at 12 or 14... and every tenth of second improvement after that has to be scrapped for and appears months or even years apart... I think of what you need to do when you are ALREADY taxing your body to its max -- do you add hours of training? Increase intensity? Both? When you are already red-lining at 14, where do you go from there? There's a reason why the UF swimmers ring up 15 and 20k of yardage a day in search of those tiny improvements - because there IS nowhere else to go now.
And, when your world and that of your children narrows down to a tiny point of focus, and your identity and sense of self becomes enmeshed with that pursuit at the age of 12 or 15, what happens when life interferes? What happens when you tear a labrum in your shoulder, or get mono and miss a semester of swimming/school, or you stop seeing the improvements you want to see, or someone younger and studlier comes along and your flash in the pan is replaced by another, flashier one... how do you get, and keep, perspective on what your value is and what truly matters in life?
So, see, I take the parenting part of this pretty seriously. I want my girls to have goals and pursue them. I want things to matter to them. But I ALSO want them to realize that, sometimes, the journey IS the point, and not every goal is meant to be achieved. The glory is in the effort and the personal challenges you set and meet as you strive for that goal.
So, as I sit on the couch writing this next to a hacking 12yo who has missed 3.5 days of school and four (FOUR!!!!!!!! sound the alarm!!!!) days of practice, and who will do the completely unthinkable and NOT swim in a HS swim meet today (seriously, it would have been the end of the world back in my day), I find some small sense of satisfaction in knowing that, not only does BiM know this is not the end of the world, but so do I. Is she frustrated by the interruption in her training? Very. Does that frustration make me happy? Very, because it means it matters to her. Do I think she is going to have her season ruined by missing a few days? Nope. Does SHE? Nope. I think it is what it is, and her progression as a swimmer is going to follow the path it follows... and stressing out or stressing HER out about things we cannot control is utterly pointless.
Of course I want the best for my girls... I want them to enjoy the most success they can achieve and realize as much of their potential as they possibly can... but I want them to keep that journey -- which will be full of ups, downs, side trips, segues, road blocks, power outages, successes and unfulfilled hopes-- in the perspective it belongs. In the end, all you can do is the best you can do at that moment and all you can control is your own attitude and reaction and effort level, and if you can keep that perspective you WILL be successful, no matter what.
07 September 2010
Post-IM lull? Where do I get one of those?
So we rolled back into Jacksonville around 10p the night after the race. I'm guessing Matthew and I split the drive 50-50 thanks to his sore knee and my sore everything. We got home to a fairly organized house, thanks to our dog sitter, but still had the insanely happy 300lbs of canines bouncing around and the entire truck to unload... and boy did my gear STINK. Wow. YUCK.
By the time we got everything unloaded, laundry started, dogs to quit levitating, and clean sheets on the bed it was pushing midnight, and thanks to my still revved up brain and aching body I was awake at 5a (and typing my race report, lol).
Matthew headed off to Mayo at 7a for his wrist xray (to make sure the bone has not moved and that he continues to avoid surgery) and follow up with Dr. Montero, who promptly escorted him to an imprompru meeting with the knee surgeon. I, still at home doing laundry and other exciting chores, was not expecting the phone call from Matthew that went something like:
"Hi. They have an opening for surgery on Friday, will that be ok?"
"THIS Friday? As in, in three days?"
"Yes"
Alrighty then. So, the pre-op scramble began (luckily shortened dramatically by the recent blood work and physical Matthew had already done) and I continued to gingerly do my chores. No, I did NOT swim or work out Tuesday, lol.
We got the girls back Tuesday night, which is akin to drinking from a firehose while juggling knives and driving a car. Homework, projects, swim practice, swim meets, sore shoulders, physical therapy, siblingus argumentativenessus... all spewing in a steady stream. Did I mention that somehow we got conned into planning and hosting a murder-mystery birthday party/sleepover in two weeks for the BiM's 13th birthday? 17 squealing pre-teen/teenage girls.... (pause)... Yeah. That's what I thought too when I realized what we had agreed to...
So, Wednesday I got back in the morning rodeo routine AND the pool. Thursday the girls had their first swim meet of the season -- vs. Bolles. LM, a 6th grader, lined up next to defending state champions and seemed completely unphazed by it.
Both girls swam quite well, but the best part of the whole meet was when they came running up to me afterwards and informed me that "Benji (their coach) wants to know if we can stay for the Bolles Invitational next weekend because he is missing a bunch of swimmers who are taking SATs."
Sigh. We had been planning for months to leave Saturday morning to drive to Alpharetta, GA for the Ironkids triathlon race the next day. That's about a 6 hour drive, give or take. We are driving to Alpharetta so the girls can take a shot at qualifying for the Ironkids National Championship to be held in Florida Oct 3rd. The girls were, ahem, "unable to attend" the Ironkids qualifier race held in Orlando in May, so driving to Ga was our only practicable option if we wanted to give them a shot, which we did and do. Swimming a LONG meet before leaving for GA was NOT on the agenda.
Needless to say, we are staying for the meet, and will leave for the hotel as soon as the last swim for the girls ends and I can toss them, sopping wet, into the truck.
So, Friday morning dawned bright and early, and I drove a very nervous Matthew to Mayo (he'd never been under anesthesia before and was fairly convinced he would die on the operating table as punishment for being happy) and dropped him off at 6a.... then zoomed home to wake up the girls and take them to school before heading back over to Mayo to wait for Matthew to come out of surgery.
I wish I'd had a video camera to catch Matthew in the recovery room. Goofy and doped up is an understatement. He was so cute, in a vvvveeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyy sllllllllllooooooooowwwww moving way. When we were finally allowed to leave (he was NOT pleased to have to ride out in the wheel chair, but...) we stopped by Starbucks to get him some caffeine and headed home, where I set him up on the couch with a blockade to keep the sheps from "helping".
The rest of that day is a blur. Lot's of help for Matthew, picked the girls up at practice, grabbed some barbecue for M for dinner (he might be dopey, but his appetite remained intact, lol), endured a class A temper tantrum/meltdown/hissy fit from the BiM, and finally got the minis to bed and M and I set up for the night on the couches downstairs.
A long night of either be awoken by curious dogs (Mom?! MOM?! Whatcha doing Mom?) and Matthew needing help to pee or get pain meds etc bled into the morning, and the weekend flew by with a mishmosh of planning birthday parties, cleaning the house, helping Matthew hobble, and other administrivial goo, including the construction of a popsicle catapult for Christi's science class.
The girls returned to the other place Sunday night, and Matthew and I spent Monday catching up on yard work and errands (he's moving amazingly well).
Matthew's birthday looms large on Thursday, lol, and Friday sees swim practice, hair cuts for the girls, a birthday dinner for BiM's friend, packing for the swim meet and Ga, and hopefully some amount of rest. Saturday we swim at Bolles starting at 730a and leave from there for Ga... Sunday the BiM races at 7 and the LM at 830, followed by the return drive home and lots of homework in the truck. Next week features several follow up doctor's appointments, open house on Tuesday, a swim meet on Thursday, LM's first football game on Saturday, and the invasion of the screeching giggling locust-like teenagers on Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I spent the end of last week and the weekend swimming and easy stationary biking/elliptical-ing. Today I did my first real trainer video and "run" brick, and the rest of this week will see some more ramping up for time and intensity. Just over 8 weeks until Ironman 70.3 Worlds, which means 6 weeks of training. And the next 8 weeks only get busier than this past week has been...
Wheeeeeeeee... ;-)
By the time we got everything unloaded, laundry started, dogs to quit levitating, and clean sheets on the bed it was pushing midnight, and thanks to my still revved up brain and aching body I was awake at 5a (and typing my race report, lol).
Matthew headed off to Mayo at 7a for his wrist xray (to make sure the bone has not moved and that he continues to avoid surgery) and follow up with Dr. Montero, who promptly escorted him to an imprompru meeting with the knee surgeon. I, still at home doing laundry and other exciting chores, was not expecting the phone call from Matthew that went something like:
"Hi. They have an opening for surgery on Friday, will that be ok?"
"THIS Friday? As in, in three days?"
"Yes"
Alrighty then. So, the pre-op scramble began (luckily shortened dramatically by the recent blood work and physical Matthew had already done) and I continued to gingerly do my chores. No, I did NOT swim or work out Tuesday, lol.
We got the girls back Tuesday night, which is akin to drinking from a firehose while juggling knives and driving a car. Homework, projects, swim practice, swim meets, sore shoulders, physical therapy, siblingus argumentativenessus... all spewing in a steady stream. Did I mention that somehow we got conned into planning and hosting a murder-mystery birthday party/sleepover in two weeks for the BiM's 13th birthday? 17 squealing pre-teen/teenage girls.... (pause)... Yeah. That's what I thought too when I realized what we had agreed to...
So, Wednesday I got back in the morning rodeo routine AND the pool. Thursday the girls had their first swim meet of the season -- vs. Bolles. LM, a 6th grader, lined up next to defending state champions and seemed completely unphazed by it.
Both girls swam quite well, but the best part of the whole meet was when they came running up to me afterwards and informed me that "Benji (their coach) wants to know if we can stay for the Bolles Invitational next weekend because he is missing a bunch of swimmers who are taking SATs."
Sigh. We had been planning for months to leave Saturday morning to drive to Alpharetta, GA for the Ironkids triathlon race the next day. That's about a 6 hour drive, give or take. We are driving to Alpharetta so the girls can take a shot at qualifying for the Ironkids National Championship to be held in Florida Oct 3rd. The girls were, ahem, "unable to attend" the Ironkids qualifier race held in Orlando in May, so driving to Ga was our only practicable option if we wanted to give them a shot, which we did and do. Swimming a LONG meet before leaving for GA was NOT on the agenda.
Needless to say, we are staying for the meet, and will leave for the hotel as soon as the last swim for the girls ends and I can toss them, sopping wet, into the truck.
So, Friday morning dawned bright and early, and I drove a very nervous Matthew to Mayo (he'd never been under anesthesia before and was fairly convinced he would die on the operating table as punishment for being happy) and dropped him off at 6a.... then zoomed home to wake up the girls and take them to school before heading back over to Mayo to wait for Matthew to come out of surgery.
I wish I'd had a video camera to catch Matthew in the recovery room. Goofy and doped up is an understatement. He was so cute, in a vvvveeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyy sllllllllllooooooooowwwww moving way. When we were finally allowed to leave (he was NOT pleased to have to ride out in the wheel chair, but...) we stopped by Starbucks to get him some caffeine and headed home, where I set him up on the couch with a blockade to keep the sheps from "helping".
The rest of that day is a blur. Lot's of help for Matthew, picked the girls up at practice, grabbed some barbecue for M for dinner (he might be dopey, but his appetite remained intact, lol), endured a class A temper tantrum/meltdown/hissy fit from the BiM, and finally got the minis to bed and M and I set up for the night on the couches downstairs.
A long night of either be awoken by curious dogs (Mom?! MOM?! Whatcha doing Mom?) and Matthew needing help to pee or get pain meds etc bled into the morning, and the weekend flew by with a mishmosh of planning birthday parties, cleaning the house, helping Matthew hobble, and other administrivial goo, including the construction of a popsicle catapult for Christi's science class.
The girls returned to the other place Sunday night, and Matthew and I spent Monday catching up on yard work and errands (he's moving amazingly well).
Matthew's birthday looms large on Thursday, lol, and Friday sees swim practice, hair cuts for the girls, a birthday dinner for BiM's friend, packing for the swim meet and Ga, and hopefully some amount of rest. Saturday we swim at Bolles starting at 730a and leave from there for Ga... Sunday the BiM races at 7 and the LM at 830, followed by the return drive home and lots of homework in the truck. Next week features several follow up doctor's appointments, open house on Tuesday, a swim meet on Thursday, LM's first football game on Saturday, and the invasion of the screeching giggling locust-like teenagers on Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I spent the end of last week and the weekend swimming and easy stationary biking/elliptical-ing. Today I did my first real trainer video and "run" brick, and the rest of this week will see some more ramping up for time and intensity. Just over 8 weeks until Ironman 70.3 Worlds, which means 6 weeks of training. And the next 8 weeks only get busier than this past week has been...
Wheeeeeeeee... ;-)
31 August 2010
This one I had to earn...
At 7a the first swimmers hit the water, entering off two docks, four swimmers at a time. From our vantage point up one ramp level, we watched the scrum And chaos and waited nervously for the line to begin moving.
By the time we got down to water level, the people in front of us were jogging, so I carefully juggled jogging over a dock with scanning the crowd fruitlessly for Matthew etc. Before I knew it, I was on the dock and leaping into a tiny opening in the water amongst the mass of flailing arms and legs. Almost immediately I regretted being too chicken to start up front, as I swam over, around, and through people all the way to the turn around past the island, upstream.
Finally on the way back for the longer swim downstream I got some clean water (well, as clean as the Ohio gets, lol)... Right up until some older guy kept shouldering into me as I tried to pass him. After the third time he hit me, he reached out and grabbed my right shoulder and yanked me back, then resolutely continued his purposeful swim - almost exactly perpendicular to the direction we were actually swimming in, lol. I have to admit, I got a good laugh when I saw him stop, confused why a kayaker was in front of him and everyone else was heading at a 90' angle away from him.
I felt very strong on the entire swim, although my shoulder hurt a tad after the yanking incident. It was fun catching people and actually gave me something to do and think about besides how long a day it was going to be. I did not particularly enjoy the taste of the river, and my non-water absorbing speed suit apparently DOES absorb silt, as evidenced by the tub load of brown muck that emerged when I finally washed it out. But, I digress, lol.
Matthew got a great picture of the overall swim winner:
Yes, that is a beaver, although what most people don't know is, he actually was a WHITE beaver until he spent an hour in the Ohio, at which point he became the color of a chocolate labrador.
When I hit the exit stairs the volunteers hauled me out and I trotted up the (always) uphill path to T1. For those non-triathletes among you, let me just say that climbing a set of wet stairs after an hour of swimming is not conducive to grace or speed. Nor is running up a long chute through screaming, cowbell ringing people as you fumble for the back zip strap of your speed suit, chuckle to yourself at how funky your hair must look after you rip off your cap, vaguely try not to beef it on the uneven ground, and hope the snot flowing freely from your nostrils isn't too noticeable, lol.
The gear bag volunteers found my bag and handed it off to me as I trotted through on the way to the almost empty changing tent. The volunteers helped me into my bike jersey (I swam in a sports bra and suit bottom and speed suit) and I struggled into my bike shorts and socks, while the volunteer sprayed me with sunscreen (apparently we did a better job with the bodyglide since the sting of sunscreen hitting rub marks on my neck didn't make me squeal as loudly as IMFL). I stuffed my uncrustable and extra bag of fig newtons and salt tablets into my jersey and "ran" out the door. A quick stop to pee and I grabbed the Bee and walk/jogged/wobbled my way down the chute to the bike mount area, and off I went.
About a minute later I saw a sight that caused me do a double take and almost crash my bike- Heather decked out in a crazy bumble bee outfit.
If anyone has any ideas for a Minnow outfit for IMFL so I can return the favor and test Heather's bike handling skills, let me know. At that point, I changed my "spectator recognition" paradigm from looking for M's safety yellow shirt to looking for the crazy nut in a bumblebee costume running around the race course. Needless to say, I found them easily each time I passed them, lol.
I waved to Matthew and the G's and settled onto the aero bsrs for the next 6 hours of fun.
The cautionary words of many, especially Matthew, echoed in my foggy brain as I set out on the course -- do NOT give in to the adrenaline and take it out too fast. So, I resorted to my IMFL tactic of just spinning -- basically using my body weight to turn the pedals and not exerting a lot of power. The first 15 miles were relatively smooth and flat, as I'd been warned they would be. A fair number of testosterone fueled "sure Kona slot" guys went ZOOMING by, their disc wheels making that disc wheel whir and sweat already dripping off of them. I figured, rightly so, that I'd probably see a fair number of them again on the run, and was correct. In fact, I saw a surprising number of them again on the bike as they lay sprawled in what little shade they could find, blown up from their early efforts and melting in the 97' heat.
I felt reasonably strong, and tried to stay on top of my water and food intake - a fig newton or two every 30 minutes or so, and a salt tablet or two to go with it. I don't know if the latter actually do any good, but they didn't hurt so I figured I'd use them. We triathletes will try almost anything if someone tells us it might help (witness the increasingly required sporting of compression socks/tights, which I will freely admit I have lived in for almost a week now).
And then... I made the right hand turn onto the dog leg that, thank God, we only had to do once. It started out with a lovely downhill. Of course, as our side of the course whizzed along at almost 40mph, the leaders of the race coming back the OTHER side were climbing that same hill. Slowly. (including the legendary Nina Kraft, who, at my age is still a wildly successful pro and one of the favorites to win the race -- she DNFd, quitting after the bike!) I tried not to think about the fact that going down equals climbing up, but...
The downhill led to, shockingly, a decent uphill and 40 turned into 10 and the Bee got to use ALL of his gears on the two rings. Maybe I should have put on a third, but I seldom stood on any of the hills and when I did it was usually to stretch, and I don't know that I would have done anything differently anyway. The Bee did not care for the easiest gear, making some whining, grinding noise every time I used it. Guess I should have shifted through ALL the gears a few weeks ago to make sure he was running smoothly.
After the 1st real uphil I knew that it was going to be a LONG day. My right quad was already starting to twinge and my legs felt pretty heavy. I think I actually peaked LAST week, as I had several days of training where I actually did NOT feel like each leg weighed 75lbs. Oh well.
The uphill became a downhill, and somewhere in there we turned around and came back and undid the pattern. At one point some impatient redneck almost took out a biker coming down the hill. I think I heard my first ambulance siren on that segment as well, which seemed awfully early on for that to start.
The allegedly rolling hills continued on the way to the first loop going through La Grange. In the first 40 miles I drained three water bottles full of Gu2O and took two plain water bottles at each aid station (on the fly, without killing anyone, yay!) to stick in my jersey and mix with my super-charged Gu2O mix in my last water bottle (carried so that, when you drain your other bottles, you can add water to the aero bar bottle and then squirt in a few squirts from the super charged bottle, thus making your mix without slowing down or stopping). I also started squirting myself liberally, thus beginning a long day of sodden, dripping clothing and soaked socks and shoes.
We entered La Grange for the first time -a TINY little town in the middle of no-where that, rather than fight the traffic snarl and inconvenience of having 3000 people ride through your town, twice, over the course of 8 hours, decided to throw a party. They run shuttle buses for spectators from near the swim finish out to the town, and back, all day long, and M and company had hopped one immediately after I passed them coming out of T1 on the bike.
La Grange may be small, but they sure know how to make an athlete grin. Fans and towns people lined the streets, the smell of bbq wafted over us (BLEAH, but cool for everyone else) and it seemed like thousands of people were packed in a town of maybe 1000 residents. The noise was defeaning, and as I spotted the crazed 4' tall bee (ok, she's more like 5', but still) and M and the G's, it gave me such a great boost... and I immediately started looking forward to the second trip through town, 30 miles or so ahead.
And then the race got hard. The heat picked up, the hills (sorry, "rollers") never stopped "rolling"... did I mention the heat? Everyone was struggling to stay hydrated, with a frenzy of bottle grabbing occurring at each aid station. It would have been helpful if there were some signs indicating how far to the next aid station etc., but...
I finally had to pee around mile 50. Now, I had already passed one guy peeing himself on the bike and been splashed by another (how DO they do that), but I am not able, or willing, to pee myself... so I hit a portalet at mile 56 or so (almost literally, as the legs were not sure exactly what I expected from them, as first I swim then I wobble to T1, then I bike and then I expect them to WALK?) and, after briefly contemplating the sad fact that I was only halfway through the bike, remounted and set off again.
That part of the ride seemed interminable, and I was getting VERY concerned about the run. I was really starting to feel the effects of the heat -- jumping vision, head ache, small signs of cramping in the quads and MAJOR cramping in the shoulders and biceps. More ambulances starting whizzing along the course, and I started to see some of the studs who had blown by early on -- some were slowing down a LOT and some were collapsed on the side of the road, head in hands.
We finally reached the beginning of the second loop and began merging with 1st loopers. That created complete chaos at the water stations, as the 1st loopers tended to slow down or stop completely while the 2nd loopers, on a somewhat different time schedule, tended to drop speed only as much as necessary not to blow out a shoulder grabbing bottles. I almost died once when someone dropped a perform bottle right in front of me and I narrowly missed it with my front wheel -- the first of several near death experiences that I somehow avoided through luck, not skill. At that point in the race it was all I could do to coordinate drinking and pedaling, lol... and the drunken weave that marked the 2nd loopers climbing up the hills was beginning too.
I started to feel hungry and wolfed down my uncrustable (eternal thanks to Freddy for turning me on to those!) and, of course, immediately started burping up a lovely burning mixture of Gu20 and peanut butter. A couple of peppermint lifesavers later and I felt a bit better, lol.
At some point a flying creature flew into my chip band and stung me. I vaguely noticed then, but the welt and sting hurt now, lol. It wasn't a bee, so I killed it.
The second trip through La Grange was equally amazing, and seeing the Bee costume and the Gs there with M gave me such a boost. I don't know if spectators realize how important their role is -- whether we know them or not, the cheers and words of encouragement keep us going, and knowing people you care about are waiting for you somewhere is a powerful motivator... Ironman is such an amazing, intense journey, and I truly believe it is meant to be shared with your family and loved ones. Having them there helped take the sting out of the girls' absence... and it meant the world to me, as did all the support from my triathlete friends and normal friends as well.
And then... around mile 70, the heat really hit. And the death march began. When you start to feel woozy and nauseated, and you've been sitting in that damn saddle for 4 hours, and the heat is hitting you in waves from the ground, and every bump rattles through your entire body... and you still have 40+ miles to go (never mind the marathon)... things can feel pretty bleak. That's when you break, or chose not to break. There were a lot of broken people. I did NOT want to be one of them. When you have three people travel 13 hours to see your race, you REALLY REALLY don't want to DNF voluntarily, lol.
The fact that I ran out of water, completely, and was actually sucking the final dregs of 97' muck out of the water bottles I'd finished 3 hours before, did not help. There was a HUGE gap between the last two aid stations, with the last one being maybe 5 miles from T2. Apparently those two stations ran out of water later in the day, which doesn't surprise me. I don't know how a race committee could anticipate the sheer amount of consumption -- I've never seen anything like it, even at the FL 70.3, which was hotter than hell (but not hotter than IMKY).
The last 20 miles are a blur of cramping and a grim resolve to get off the damn bike. I tried not to think about how on earth I was ever going to walk, never mind run, a marathon. And, in the back of my mind, I also knew that I was probably in the top few of my age group, which meant a decent run could bring a Kona slot, which, while not a goal necessarily sure would be pretty cool.
One of the few packs of drafting boys I saw all day came by me in the last ten miles, which of course was into a headwind. I realized I'd stopped taking in calories and forced myself to choke down a couple of fig newtons. My feet must have swollen because I had to loosen my shoes, and I had a very close brush with what would have been an ugly crash when my front tire narrowly missed getting caught in one of the MANY ruts on the road back into town.
I am pretty sure I saw the cheering section on the way into bike dismount. A gal right in front of me and I chuckled when the guy just in front of her did a running dismount and barreled into T2 at full speed. We, on the other hand, gingerly put first one foot, then the other, down on the ground, summonsed up the last ounce of balance and kicked a leg over the bar, and then began what must have been a hilarious to see wobble walk with the bikes to the helpers, who took my only means of balance away to put it on a rack -- leaving me to find my own, almost incoherent way to T2.
For the first time EVER in a race I had two volunteers ask me if I was ok. I felt coldish hottish and my eyes could not focus. It was fairly entertaining trying to get out of my absolutely disgusting biking gear (at least I hadn't peed on it!) and into running gear. A change of socks and into my sneakers and off I went, stopping to get sun screen slapped on my shoulders and neck and to pee.
And, as I jogged gingerly through the LONG chute out of T2 onto the road, I realized that there was probably a 50-50 chance of me passing out and/or not finishing this race. I could tell I was dehydrated and way overheated. My body felt tingly and numb and the heat was... oppressive. Painful. Hard to breath in. Demoralizing.
I passed by the crew and, from later reports, did not look very good. The course helpfully took us right up a small bridge IMMEDIATELY, which was not how I intended to try and warm up my legs and slow down my heart rate. So, several hundred yards into the run, I walked. Along with 95% of the runners around me. And I felt fear. 26 more miles. Uh huh.
So, I thought back to the ONE run where I'd felt like I actually handled the heat -- several months ago on an 11 mile run (the longest training run I did, sigh) when I had been smart enough to back off in the first few miles and acclimate, and ended up descending the mile times nicely the rest of the way. And I decided that, if necessary, I would swim in every bucket of ice water sponges at every rest stop in order to get my core temp under 150'... and I'd hit the flat coke immediately.
At the top of the bridge was the aid station, and I drank water and perform AND coke, and took sponges and stuffed them everywhere. And I made a deal with myself to run through the next aid station. So, down the bridge and past the crew I came, and off out of the city I went. Mile 1. Woohoo. Let's see. 26-1 = 25. Oh yeah, we're cruising now.
The heat was... impressive. If you stopped to walk it was almost worse, because you didn't cool down, and you were actually IN the heat longer between aid stations. The 3 mile stretch right out of town (and then returning TO town... so we went through it four times) seemed to be the worst. Runners were zig zagging along from tiny spot of shade to tiny spot of shade. MOST of the runners were actually walking.
The ambulances became more numerous, as did the carnage along the road. Mostly men, incidentally, thanks not only to their much higher numbers in the race but also to their stubborn insistence on "racing" rather than being smart.
I walked EVERY foot of EVERY aid station. I stopped at the 3rd one and took two puffs from the inhaler I was carrying, which seemed to lessen the leaden chest feeling slightly. I drank water and either flat coke or perform (the Gawd Awful mango flavor, but at that point it could have been sludge and I would have chugged it) and took sponges at the beginning of the aid stations and swapped them out for fresh ones at the end of each aid station. Then I'd count to three and start the Ironman shuffle... a slow forward motion vaguely resembling running that eventually loosens up, if you're lucky, into a running stride of sorts.
My right quad was now painful to the touch, but only 22 more miles to go, lol. I started mentally calculating how long it would take to walk most of it. I debated whether I could legally get a bag of fluid while on the course and continue. I kept reminding myself that, the farther I ran, the less time I had to spend walking and the sooner I'd get done. And, slowly, the aid stations ticked by. I knew I'd probably lost my shot at a podium spot (which I never seriously thought would be possible anyway, but...) and was hoping I could hold onto a top ten finish. I saw pros walking, which made me feel disconnectedly better in a way (including the one I took to the front of the potty line so many long hours before).
I never did see Churchill Downs, although the course insists we ran by it twice. I thought about beating up the cop who was smoking, but decided it would take too much energy. I winced every time I passed a body or heard an ambulance (especially the guy who must have passed out in mid stride and was lying in a heap on the course with blood all over the road). I heard people throwing up as they were running. I thought about throwing up as well. I took a bite of sugar cookie and tossed the rest, and tried a grape or two and almost hurled. I couldn't swallow any more salt pills either, so it was liquid or nothing.
I was on the run course for 4:35 and drank cups of liquid at every rest stop, but neither peed not felt any need to pee until 2 hrs after the race ended.
As we came back into town for the turn-around at mile 14, the energy from the crowds was simply amazing. People lined the blocks and horns and cowbells rang -- the din was incredible and echoed off the buildings downtown. When the course turned the corner to put us on the road that would later lead to the finish line, I knew I was going to finish. It might take a LONG time, but I was going to finish that race -- and I was VERY proud of myself for making that decision. I kept looking for the crew and finally spotted them where the turn for the 2nd loop veered off to the right, one tiny block short of that finish line.
I slapped high fives with all five of them and wobbled on my way, back into the furnace of those 3 miles out of town. It helped to know the second loop was shorter. At that point, both quads were in full cramp, and it hurt just as much to stop running as it did to run. I could no longer run downhill without risking falling on my face, and I didn't even bother trying the few gentle uphills. I admit, I broke a few times in between rest stops and walked a hundred yards or so, before commencing the awkward motion that is an Ironman competitor trying to change motions or speeds on the run course. All I knew was, I was going to keep moving forward, even if I had to roll.
As I started to catch and pass some 1st lappers, I struck up conversations with a bunch of people. Later I want to write about the comraderie on the course, but suffice it to say that the support of the competitors you see on the course can carry you a long way, and vice versa. My favorite gal was a 48 year old who was an absolute dead ringer for my friend Kellie, right down to the braids and the rippling muscles on petitely statured body ;-) She was fighting cramping and a stomach issue (causing her to visit every portalet on the run course) and we kept passing each other depending on who could actually run at the moment. I could tell she was probably a Kona-level racer and felt terrible that she was having such a tough time. BUT, she was enthusiastic and positive the entire time and when I saw her later after the race she was STILL happy, even though her marathon time was 30 minutes slower than usual (I felt her pain, believe me) and she'd finished 4th.
Somehow I got through miles 20-25, and at the last rest stop before entering the area full of spectators on the way to the finish, the gal next to me said that we were on course to break 12 hours. That was the first time since 7a I had ANY idea what time it was, lol.
The finish was everything everyone says it is... so much better, imo, than IMFL was last year. IMFL had a weird turn around right before the very short finish chute, thus giving you very little time to soak in the atmosphere or accomplishment. Not IMKY -- it had to be at least a half mile run through streets lined with cheering people and clanging cowbells. I stayed as far to the left (2nd looper! me!) as I could, and, as I approached the spot where the finishers stay straight I waved up the crowd to ramp up the cheering, which they did... off to the right I saw the crew and gave them a grin and a fist pump or two, and then I ran down the chute high fiving everyone who stuck a hand out. This finish I will remember. "Sara DiPaolo, from Jacksonville, FL, YOU are an Ironman" Final time: 11:51 and 7th age group (damn there are a bunch of fast old ladies), 44th women age grouper overall and 344th overall finisher. This one made me earn it.
By the time we got down to water level, the people in front of us were jogging, so I carefully juggled jogging over a dock with scanning the crowd fruitlessly for Matthew etc. Before I knew it, I was on the dock and leaping into a tiny opening in the water amongst the mass of flailing arms and legs. Almost immediately I regretted being too chicken to start up front, as I swam over, around, and through people all the way to the turn around past the island, upstream.
Finally on the way back for the longer swim downstream I got some clean water (well, as clean as the Ohio gets, lol)... Right up until some older guy kept shouldering into me as I tried to pass him. After the third time he hit me, he reached out and grabbed my right shoulder and yanked me back, then resolutely continued his purposeful swim - almost exactly perpendicular to the direction we were actually swimming in, lol. I have to admit, I got a good laugh when I saw him stop, confused why a kayaker was in front of him and everyone else was heading at a 90' angle away from him.
I felt very strong on the entire swim, although my shoulder hurt a tad after the yanking incident. It was fun catching people and actually gave me something to do and think about besides how long a day it was going to be. I did not particularly enjoy the taste of the river, and my non-water absorbing speed suit apparently DOES absorb silt, as evidenced by the tub load of brown muck that emerged when I finally washed it out. But, I digress, lol.
Matthew got a great picture of the overall swim winner:
Yes, that is a beaver, although what most people don't know is, he actually was a WHITE beaver until he spent an hour in the Ohio, at which point he became the color of a chocolate labrador.
When I hit the exit stairs the volunteers hauled me out and I trotted up the (always) uphill path to T1. For those non-triathletes among you, let me just say that climbing a set of wet stairs after an hour of swimming is not conducive to grace or speed. Nor is running up a long chute through screaming, cowbell ringing people as you fumble for the back zip strap of your speed suit, chuckle to yourself at how funky your hair must look after you rip off your cap, vaguely try not to beef it on the uneven ground, and hope the snot flowing freely from your nostrils isn't too noticeable, lol.
The gear bag volunteers found my bag and handed it off to me as I trotted through on the way to the almost empty changing tent. The volunteers helped me into my bike jersey (I swam in a sports bra and suit bottom and speed suit) and I struggled into my bike shorts and socks, while the volunteer sprayed me with sunscreen (apparently we did a better job with the bodyglide since the sting of sunscreen hitting rub marks on my neck didn't make me squeal as loudly as IMFL). I stuffed my uncrustable and extra bag of fig newtons and salt tablets into my jersey and "ran" out the door. A quick stop to pee and I grabbed the Bee and walk/jogged/wobbled my way down the chute to the bike mount area, and off I went.
About a minute later I saw a sight that caused me do a double take and almost crash my bike- Heather decked out in a crazy bumble bee outfit.
If anyone has any ideas for a Minnow outfit for IMFL so I can return the favor and test Heather's bike handling skills, let me know. At that point, I changed my "spectator recognition" paradigm from looking for M's safety yellow shirt to looking for the crazy nut in a bumblebee costume running around the race course. Needless to say, I found them easily each time I passed them, lol.
I waved to Matthew and the G's and settled onto the aero bsrs for the next 6 hours of fun.
The cautionary words of many, especially Matthew, echoed in my foggy brain as I set out on the course -- do NOT give in to the adrenaline and take it out too fast. So, I resorted to my IMFL tactic of just spinning -- basically using my body weight to turn the pedals and not exerting a lot of power. The first 15 miles were relatively smooth and flat, as I'd been warned they would be. A fair number of testosterone fueled "sure Kona slot" guys went ZOOMING by, their disc wheels making that disc wheel whir and sweat already dripping off of them. I figured, rightly so, that I'd probably see a fair number of them again on the run, and was correct. In fact, I saw a surprising number of them again on the bike as they lay sprawled in what little shade they could find, blown up from their early efforts and melting in the 97' heat.
I felt reasonably strong, and tried to stay on top of my water and food intake - a fig newton or two every 30 minutes or so, and a salt tablet or two to go with it. I don't know if the latter actually do any good, but they didn't hurt so I figured I'd use them. We triathletes will try almost anything if someone tells us it might help (witness the increasingly required sporting of compression socks/tights, which I will freely admit I have lived in for almost a week now).
And then... I made the right hand turn onto the dog leg that, thank God, we only had to do once. It started out with a lovely downhill. Of course, as our side of the course whizzed along at almost 40mph, the leaders of the race coming back the OTHER side were climbing that same hill. Slowly. (including the legendary Nina Kraft, who, at my age is still a wildly successful pro and one of the favorites to win the race -- she DNFd, quitting after the bike!) I tried not to think about the fact that going down equals climbing up, but...
The downhill led to, shockingly, a decent uphill and 40 turned into 10 and the Bee got to use ALL of his gears on the two rings. Maybe I should have put on a third, but I seldom stood on any of the hills and when I did it was usually to stretch, and I don't know that I would have done anything differently anyway. The Bee did not care for the easiest gear, making some whining, grinding noise every time I used it. Guess I should have shifted through ALL the gears a few weeks ago to make sure he was running smoothly.
After the 1st real uphil I knew that it was going to be a LONG day. My right quad was already starting to twinge and my legs felt pretty heavy. I think I actually peaked LAST week, as I had several days of training where I actually did NOT feel like each leg weighed 75lbs. Oh well.
The uphill became a downhill, and somewhere in there we turned around and came back and undid the pattern. At one point some impatient redneck almost took out a biker coming down the hill. I think I heard my first ambulance siren on that segment as well, which seemed awfully early on for that to start.
The allegedly rolling hills continued on the way to the first loop going through La Grange. In the first 40 miles I drained three water bottles full of Gu2O and took two plain water bottles at each aid station (on the fly, without killing anyone, yay!) to stick in my jersey and mix with my super-charged Gu2O mix in my last water bottle (carried so that, when you drain your other bottles, you can add water to the aero bar bottle and then squirt in a few squirts from the super charged bottle, thus making your mix without slowing down or stopping). I also started squirting myself liberally, thus beginning a long day of sodden, dripping clothing and soaked socks and shoes.
We entered La Grange for the first time -a TINY little town in the middle of no-where that, rather than fight the traffic snarl and inconvenience of having 3000 people ride through your town, twice, over the course of 8 hours, decided to throw a party. They run shuttle buses for spectators from near the swim finish out to the town, and back, all day long, and M and company had hopped one immediately after I passed them coming out of T1 on the bike.
La Grange may be small, but they sure know how to make an athlete grin. Fans and towns people lined the streets, the smell of bbq wafted over us (BLEAH, but cool for everyone else) and it seemed like thousands of people were packed in a town of maybe 1000 residents. The noise was defeaning, and as I spotted the crazed 4' tall bee (ok, she's more like 5', but still) and M and the G's, it gave me such a great boost... and I immediately started looking forward to the second trip through town, 30 miles or so ahead.
And then the race got hard. The heat picked up, the hills (sorry, "rollers") never stopped "rolling"... did I mention the heat? Everyone was struggling to stay hydrated, with a frenzy of bottle grabbing occurring at each aid station. It would have been helpful if there were some signs indicating how far to the next aid station etc., but...
I finally had to pee around mile 50. Now, I had already passed one guy peeing himself on the bike and been splashed by another (how DO they do that), but I am not able, or willing, to pee myself... so I hit a portalet at mile 56 or so (almost literally, as the legs were not sure exactly what I expected from them, as first I swim then I wobble to T1, then I bike and then I expect them to WALK?) and, after briefly contemplating the sad fact that I was only halfway through the bike, remounted and set off again.
That part of the ride seemed interminable, and I was getting VERY concerned about the run. I was really starting to feel the effects of the heat -- jumping vision, head ache, small signs of cramping in the quads and MAJOR cramping in the shoulders and biceps. More ambulances starting whizzing along the course, and I started to see some of the studs who had blown by early on -- some were slowing down a LOT and some were collapsed on the side of the road, head in hands.
We finally reached the beginning of the second loop and began merging with 1st loopers. That created complete chaos at the water stations, as the 1st loopers tended to slow down or stop completely while the 2nd loopers, on a somewhat different time schedule, tended to drop speed only as much as necessary not to blow out a shoulder grabbing bottles. I almost died once when someone dropped a perform bottle right in front of me and I narrowly missed it with my front wheel -- the first of several near death experiences that I somehow avoided through luck, not skill. At that point in the race it was all I could do to coordinate drinking and pedaling, lol... and the drunken weave that marked the 2nd loopers climbing up the hills was beginning too.
I started to feel hungry and wolfed down my uncrustable (eternal thanks to Freddy for turning me on to those!) and, of course, immediately started burping up a lovely burning mixture of Gu20 and peanut butter. A couple of peppermint lifesavers later and I felt a bit better, lol.
At some point a flying creature flew into my chip band and stung me. I vaguely noticed then, but the welt and sting hurt now, lol. It wasn't a bee, so I killed it.
The second trip through La Grange was equally amazing, and seeing the Bee costume and the Gs there with M gave me such a boost. I don't know if spectators realize how important their role is -- whether we know them or not, the cheers and words of encouragement keep us going, and knowing people you care about are waiting for you somewhere is a powerful motivator... Ironman is such an amazing, intense journey, and I truly believe it is meant to be shared with your family and loved ones. Having them there helped take the sting out of the girls' absence... and it meant the world to me, as did all the support from my triathlete friends and normal friends as well.
And then... around mile 70, the heat really hit. And the death march began. When you start to feel woozy and nauseated, and you've been sitting in that damn saddle for 4 hours, and the heat is hitting you in waves from the ground, and every bump rattles through your entire body... and you still have 40+ miles to go (never mind the marathon)... things can feel pretty bleak. That's when you break, or chose not to break. There were a lot of broken people. I did NOT want to be one of them. When you have three people travel 13 hours to see your race, you REALLY REALLY don't want to DNF voluntarily, lol.
The fact that I ran out of water, completely, and was actually sucking the final dregs of 97' muck out of the water bottles I'd finished 3 hours before, did not help. There was a HUGE gap between the last two aid stations, with the last one being maybe 5 miles from T2. Apparently those two stations ran out of water later in the day, which doesn't surprise me. I don't know how a race committee could anticipate the sheer amount of consumption -- I've never seen anything like it, even at the FL 70.3, which was hotter than hell (but not hotter than IMKY).
The last 20 miles are a blur of cramping and a grim resolve to get off the damn bike. I tried not to think about how on earth I was ever going to walk, never mind run, a marathon. And, in the back of my mind, I also knew that I was probably in the top few of my age group, which meant a decent run could bring a Kona slot, which, while not a goal necessarily sure would be pretty cool.
One of the few packs of drafting boys I saw all day came by me in the last ten miles, which of course was into a headwind. I realized I'd stopped taking in calories and forced myself to choke down a couple of fig newtons. My feet must have swollen because I had to loosen my shoes, and I had a very close brush with what would have been an ugly crash when my front tire narrowly missed getting caught in one of the MANY ruts on the road back into town.
I am pretty sure I saw the cheering section on the way into bike dismount. A gal right in front of me and I chuckled when the guy just in front of her did a running dismount and barreled into T2 at full speed. We, on the other hand, gingerly put first one foot, then the other, down on the ground, summonsed up the last ounce of balance and kicked a leg over the bar, and then began what must have been a hilarious to see wobble walk with the bikes to the helpers, who took my only means of balance away to put it on a rack -- leaving me to find my own, almost incoherent way to T2.
For the first time EVER in a race I had two volunteers ask me if I was ok. I felt coldish hottish and my eyes could not focus. It was fairly entertaining trying to get out of my absolutely disgusting biking gear (at least I hadn't peed on it!) and into running gear. A change of socks and into my sneakers and off I went, stopping to get sun screen slapped on my shoulders and neck and to pee.
And, as I jogged gingerly through the LONG chute out of T2 onto the road, I realized that there was probably a 50-50 chance of me passing out and/or not finishing this race. I could tell I was dehydrated and way overheated. My body felt tingly and numb and the heat was... oppressive. Painful. Hard to breath in. Demoralizing.
I passed by the crew and, from later reports, did not look very good. The course helpfully took us right up a small bridge IMMEDIATELY, which was not how I intended to try and warm up my legs and slow down my heart rate. So, several hundred yards into the run, I walked. Along with 95% of the runners around me. And I felt fear. 26 more miles. Uh huh.
So, I thought back to the ONE run where I'd felt like I actually handled the heat -- several months ago on an 11 mile run (the longest training run I did, sigh) when I had been smart enough to back off in the first few miles and acclimate, and ended up descending the mile times nicely the rest of the way. And I decided that, if necessary, I would swim in every bucket of ice water sponges at every rest stop in order to get my core temp under 150'... and I'd hit the flat coke immediately.
At the top of the bridge was the aid station, and I drank water and perform AND coke, and took sponges and stuffed them everywhere. And I made a deal with myself to run through the next aid station. So, down the bridge and past the crew I came, and off out of the city I went. Mile 1. Woohoo. Let's see. 26-1 = 25. Oh yeah, we're cruising now.
The heat was... impressive. If you stopped to walk it was almost worse, because you didn't cool down, and you were actually IN the heat longer between aid stations. The 3 mile stretch right out of town (and then returning TO town... so we went through it four times) seemed to be the worst. Runners were zig zagging along from tiny spot of shade to tiny spot of shade. MOST of the runners were actually walking.
The ambulances became more numerous, as did the carnage along the road. Mostly men, incidentally, thanks not only to their much higher numbers in the race but also to their stubborn insistence on "racing" rather than being smart.
I walked EVERY foot of EVERY aid station. I stopped at the 3rd one and took two puffs from the inhaler I was carrying, which seemed to lessen the leaden chest feeling slightly. I drank water and either flat coke or perform (the Gawd Awful mango flavor, but at that point it could have been sludge and I would have chugged it) and took sponges at the beginning of the aid stations and swapped them out for fresh ones at the end of each aid station. Then I'd count to three and start the Ironman shuffle... a slow forward motion vaguely resembling running that eventually loosens up, if you're lucky, into a running stride of sorts.
My right quad was now painful to the touch, but only 22 more miles to go, lol. I started mentally calculating how long it would take to walk most of it. I debated whether I could legally get a bag of fluid while on the course and continue. I kept reminding myself that, the farther I ran, the less time I had to spend walking and the sooner I'd get done. And, slowly, the aid stations ticked by. I knew I'd probably lost my shot at a podium spot (which I never seriously thought would be possible anyway, but...) and was hoping I could hold onto a top ten finish. I saw pros walking, which made me feel disconnectedly better in a way (including the one I took to the front of the potty line so many long hours before).
I never did see Churchill Downs, although the course insists we ran by it twice. I thought about beating up the cop who was smoking, but decided it would take too much energy. I winced every time I passed a body or heard an ambulance (especially the guy who must have passed out in mid stride and was lying in a heap on the course with blood all over the road). I heard people throwing up as they were running. I thought about throwing up as well. I took a bite of sugar cookie and tossed the rest, and tried a grape or two and almost hurled. I couldn't swallow any more salt pills either, so it was liquid or nothing.
I was on the run course for 4:35 and drank cups of liquid at every rest stop, but neither peed not felt any need to pee until 2 hrs after the race ended.
As we came back into town for the turn-around at mile 14, the energy from the crowds was simply amazing. People lined the blocks and horns and cowbells rang -- the din was incredible and echoed off the buildings downtown. When the course turned the corner to put us on the road that would later lead to the finish line, I knew I was going to finish. It might take a LONG time, but I was going to finish that race -- and I was VERY proud of myself for making that decision. I kept looking for the crew and finally spotted them where the turn for the 2nd loop veered off to the right, one tiny block short of that finish line.
I slapped high fives with all five of them and wobbled on my way, back into the furnace of those 3 miles out of town. It helped to know the second loop was shorter. At that point, both quads were in full cramp, and it hurt just as much to stop running as it did to run. I could no longer run downhill without risking falling on my face, and I didn't even bother trying the few gentle uphills. I admit, I broke a few times in between rest stops and walked a hundred yards or so, before commencing the awkward motion that is an Ironman competitor trying to change motions or speeds on the run course. All I knew was, I was going to keep moving forward, even if I had to roll.
As I started to catch and pass some 1st lappers, I struck up conversations with a bunch of people. Later I want to write about the comraderie on the course, but suffice it to say that the support of the competitors you see on the course can carry you a long way, and vice versa. My favorite gal was a 48 year old who was an absolute dead ringer for my friend Kellie, right down to the braids and the rippling muscles on petitely statured body ;-) She was fighting cramping and a stomach issue (causing her to visit every portalet on the run course) and we kept passing each other depending on who could actually run at the moment. I could tell she was probably a Kona-level racer and felt terrible that she was having such a tough time. BUT, she was enthusiastic and positive the entire time and when I saw her later after the race she was STILL happy, even though her marathon time was 30 minutes slower than usual (I felt her pain, believe me) and she'd finished 4th.
Somehow I got through miles 20-25, and at the last rest stop before entering the area full of spectators on the way to the finish, the gal next to me said that we were on course to break 12 hours. That was the first time since 7a I had ANY idea what time it was, lol.
The finish was everything everyone says it is... so much better, imo, than IMFL was last year. IMFL had a weird turn around right before the very short finish chute, thus giving you very little time to soak in the atmosphere or accomplishment. Not IMKY -- it had to be at least a half mile run through streets lined with cheering people and clanging cowbells. I stayed as far to the left (2nd looper! me!) as I could, and, as I approached the spot where the finishers stay straight I waved up the crowd to ramp up the cheering, which they did... off to the right I saw the crew and gave them a grin and a fist pump or two, and then I ran down the chute high fiving everyone who stuck a hand out. This finish I will remember. "Sara DiPaolo, from Jacksonville, FL, YOU are an Ironman" Final time: 11:51 and 7th age group (damn there are a bunch of fast old ladies), 44th women age grouper overall and 344th overall finisher. This one made me earn it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)