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.
16 September 2010
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.
The build up...
Saturday was a blur. I think we woke up, wandered down to Panera for breakfast, and meandered back to the expo to do some shopping for the Gerdemans to say thank you (for giving up their football tickets to their beloved Ohio State Buckeyes and scheduling their trip north to coincide with the race) and for their daughter and maybe someday son-in-law for treating us to a wonderful dinner when we arrived Thursday.
A trip to the local CVS revealed that Floridians' hoarding of water when under hurricane warning has nothing on triathletes' hoarding prior to a big race - the shelves were almost barren where the water and gatorade type drinks had lived.
I spent a while getting together the gear bags and checking over the Bee, and as noon arrived and passed and the stream of athletes walking to bike check in began, we got in line to wait for the elevators, many of which looked like clown cars as a freakish number of athletes and bikes would emerge from each car as it reached the ground floor.
As a side note, by the time the weekend ended the elevators had this bizarre funky smell to them -- sweat, sunscreen, and anxiety all mixed together to create eau de triathlete (Peau de triathlete?).
Unlike IMFL, where you are pretty much on your own for check in, IMKY sent a volunteer with each athlete to walk us to our bike rack, and then through the changing tents and to the gear bag area. They explained the transition areas and routes and answered any questions, which was cool. As I walked out from bag drop to re-find my bike (since we had to unrack our own bikes, which meant it behooved me to actually pay attention to where my bike actually WAS, lol) I overheard another volunteer say to an athlete "since this is your first Ironman, and your first triathlon..." which caused me to squeak audibly and the volunteer to laugh and say "you didn't just hear that".
We walked back to the hotel and I painted my nails in 'bee war paint and stretched out to rest. Matthew grabbed a workout and we met Heather for dinner (grilled chicken and rice) before I set my alarm for 3:45a and crashed, hard.
I actually slept reasonably well.... Right up until the bachelorette party came back bellowing in a drunken stupor at 2:30a and waking everyone on the hall up. By the time I fell back to sleep it seemed like the alarm went off 5 minutes later and I woke up feeling noodly and woozy.
Matthew got ready and began the long walk to swim start to get in line for me while I choked down a cold bagel and chocolate milk and got my water bottles ready. When Matthew texted that swim start was a LONG way from transition, I moved up my target departure time, gathered my special needs bag and swim stuff, listened one last time to 'Till I Collapse, and got in line for the elevator.
A quick spin through transition to check on the Bee and chat with my rack mates, and a quick pass by the gear bags to toss in an extra uncrustable, and I joined the long line of shuffling triathletes and families walking to swim start. And walking. And walking. And walking. We joked that, not ony did it kind of suck to have to walk that far, now we had to SWIM back... And that it should be the Ironman Louisville 142.6 rather than 140.6 because of the walk.
When I finally made it to the swim start area, it was a madhouse of athletes and families and had the atmosphere of a camp-out line waiting for tickets to a concert or sporting events. People had lawn chairs, air mattresses, cards, sleeping bags etc and the line stretched on and on. Oddly enough, the swim line intersected with the porta potty lines, causing an interesting tap dance for the people stuck there. Shortly after I arrived, the announcement came out for all nonathletes to leave the line, resulting in the immediate formation of a parallel line as all friends and family took two steps to the left and stopped, thus forming a line of family mirroring the line of athletes.
Some later arriving athletes apparently missed the many mentions of the swim line in chat forums and the athlete guide, and appeared quite shocked to discover a)the line existed and b)a line of almost 3000 people gets rather long.
I decide at 6 to wait in the portalet line. By 635 I was still 8 people from actually getting to pee, and the pro lady behind me was panicking as she was 5 minutes from being called into the water to line up. Being the shy person I am, I grabbed her arm and marched her to the front and asked the guys if they minded her jumping line since she was a pro and had to go, literally and figuratively. Of course no one could say no to that, and in she went. Of course the second the pros went in the water they moved our line as well, causing me to ditch my spot in line and dash, trying to find Matthew and my place in line.
At that point I ran, literally, into the Gerdemans, told them to follow me while I looked for M (I'd run right by him, somehow missing his safety yellow dayglo shirt). Finally M appeared and I hopped in line, gave him a quick kiss, waved to the G's and down the ramp we went. Somehow my spot around 200 people back had turned into being more like 400-500 back, but it was better than being a mile away like some people. Even as we stood on the ramps, people just meandered down and jumped line, knowing no one would stop them.
A hard to hear trumpeteer from Churchill downs played the post-time call, and the cannon sent the pros on their way. The trumpet player delivered the national anthem and My Old Kentucky Home, and we watched the clock tick inexorably towards 7a. Apparently, this was actually going to happen, lol...
A trip to the local CVS revealed that Floridians' hoarding of water when under hurricane warning has nothing on triathletes' hoarding prior to a big race - the shelves were almost barren where the water and gatorade type drinks had lived.
I spent a while getting together the gear bags and checking over the Bee, and as noon arrived and passed and the stream of athletes walking to bike check in began, we got in line to wait for the elevators, many of which looked like clown cars as a freakish number of athletes and bikes would emerge from each car as it reached the ground floor.
As a side note, by the time the weekend ended the elevators had this bizarre funky smell to them -- sweat, sunscreen, and anxiety all mixed together to create eau de triathlete (Peau de triathlete?).
Unlike IMFL, where you are pretty much on your own for check in, IMKY sent a volunteer with each athlete to walk us to our bike rack, and then through the changing tents and to the gear bag area. They explained the transition areas and routes and answered any questions, which was cool. As I walked out from bag drop to re-find my bike (since we had to unrack our own bikes, which meant it behooved me to actually pay attention to where my bike actually WAS, lol) I overheard another volunteer say to an athlete "since this is your first Ironman, and your first triathlon..." which caused me to squeak audibly and the volunteer to laugh and say "you didn't just hear that".
We walked back to the hotel and I painted my nails in 'bee war paint and stretched out to rest. Matthew grabbed a workout and we met Heather for dinner (grilled chicken and rice) before I set my alarm for 3:45a and crashed, hard.
I actually slept reasonably well.... Right up until the bachelorette party came back bellowing in a drunken stupor at 2:30a and waking everyone on the hall up. By the time I fell back to sleep it seemed like the alarm went off 5 minutes later and I woke up feeling noodly and woozy.
Matthew got ready and began the long walk to swim start to get in line for me while I choked down a cold bagel and chocolate milk and got my water bottles ready. When Matthew texted that swim start was a LONG way from transition, I moved up my target departure time, gathered my special needs bag and swim stuff, listened one last time to 'Till I Collapse, and got in line for the elevator.
A quick spin through transition to check on the Bee and chat with my rack mates, and a quick pass by the gear bags to toss in an extra uncrustable, and I joined the long line of shuffling triathletes and families walking to swim start. And walking. And walking. And walking. We joked that, not ony did it kind of suck to have to walk that far, now we had to SWIM back... And that it should be the Ironman Louisville 142.6 rather than 140.6 because of the walk.
When I finally made it to the swim start area, it was a madhouse of athletes and families and had the atmosphere of a camp-out line waiting for tickets to a concert or sporting events. People had lawn chairs, air mattresses, cards, sleeping bags etc and the line stretched on and on. Oddly enough, the swim line intersected with the porta potty lines, causing an interesting tap dance for the people stuck there. Shortly after I arrived, the announcement came out for all nonathletes to leave the line, resulting in the immediate formation of a parallel line as all friends and family took two steps to the left and stopped, thus forming a line of family mirroring the line of athletes.
Some later arriving athletes apparently missed the many mentions of the swim line in chat forums and the athlete guide, and appeared quite shocked to discover a)the line existed and b)a line of almost 3000 people gets rather long.
I decide at 6 to wait in the portalet line. By 635 I was still 8 people from actually getting to pee, and the pro lady behind me was panicking as she was 5 minutes from being called into the water to line up. Being the shy person I am, I grabbed her arm and marched her to the front and asked the guys if they minded her jumping line since she was a pro and had to go, literally and figuratively. Of course no one could say no to that, and in she went. Of course the second the pros went in the water they moved our line as well, causing me to ditch my spot in line and dash, trying to find Matthew and my place in line.
At that point I ran, literally, into the Gerdemans, told them to follow me while I looked for M (I'd run right by him, somehow missing his safety yellow dayglo shirt). Finally M appeared and I hopped in line, gave him a quick kiss, waved to the G's and down the ramp we went. Somehow my spot around 200 people back had turned into being more like 400-500 back, but it was better than being a mile away like some people. Even as we stood on the ramps, people just meandered down and jumped line, knowing no one would stop them.
A hard to hear trumpeteer from Churchill downs played the post-time call, and the cannon sent the pros on their way. The trumpet player delivered the national anthem and My Old Kentucky Home, and we watched the clock tick inexorably towards 7a. Apparently, this was actually going to happen, lol...
27 August 2010
An Eminem kinda mood.
In the eternal search for inspiration and mental peace, lol...
I saw an Ironman video set to an Eminem song a few months ago, and it really stuck:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnqpYKx8Fvk
It's set to the song "Till I collapse" by Eminem. (warning, he is foul mouthed but, imo, quite talented).
'Cause sometimes you feel tired,
feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
and just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up
and not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse.
and
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
I saw an Ironman video set to an Eminem song a few months ago, and it really stuck:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnqpYKx8Fvk
It's set to the song "Till I collapse" by Eminem. (warning, he is foul mouthed but, imo, quite talented).
'Cause sometimes you feel tired,
feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
and just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up
and not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse.
and
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
The wa ai ting is the hardest part....
Wednesday morning we loaded up and headed out for the long drive to Louisville. We hit the road a good 90 minutes later than planned due to unforeseen circumstances and a generally slow moving approach to the day, lol.
We'd decided to head up via a route that took us through Asheville, NC, aka our happy place. Although it supposedly would be slightly longer, we thought it would be worth it for the enjoyment of the beauty of the ride. And, it was. We stopped for the night just north of Knoxville (and took the Gator magnet off the truck to be safe, lol), found a good local restaurant, and crashed. The drive through Asheville and on to Knoxville was filled with stunning scenery and very relaxing. I did most of the driving since Matthew's torn meniscus does not like driving very much these days, and between that and his broken wrist he is a little, well, broken. Thanks to my new Zoot Compression pants I felt pretty good.
When we stopped in Columbia SC for gas we ran into a local athlete named Mark who was heading up Friday with some friends for the race, and enjoyed a chat with him about the conditions and course. Small world, random encounter.
Thursday we slept until almost 8:45 (!) which is like three full nights' sleep for me, grabbed some breakfast, slowly loaded up and meandered off for the final 3.5 hours of driving. The drive from TN to KY was absolutely beautiful, but we could definitely tell when we entered KY. I'm not sure what it is, but everything seems more... run down. The roads are not as well kept, the per capita immediately appeared lower, and the number of teeth in each smile flashed definitely dropped too. We stopped for gas and a smoothie and Matthew could not stop giggling at the guys in the car at the gas station -- a beat up, broken down old chevy with two shirtless guys dressed in baggy jean shorts, both of whom looked like they'd swallowed a fully inflated beach ball.
We finished up the drive and, as we exited the interstate to our hotel, I looked down and saw the transition area, all set up and waiting for the bikes and every hair on my arm stood straight up and screamed.
Our room in the hotel is on the 16th floor. Actually, our first AND second rooms have been on the 16th floor, as at 6 this morning I wandered down to the desk and wheedled my way into a different room. Apparently there was a Veterans association gathering here last weekend, and membership requires a blazing smoking habit, which some of them chose to feed by smoking in their (smoke free) rooms. I woke up with puffy eyes, stuffed up nose, and a tight chest and decided I did not want to try and race breathing that crap for four days. So, after the desk clerk helpfully took me up to perform a sniff test on the second room (not kidding) I got the keys and, after I worked out, we loaded our stuff and moved down the hall.
I don't know how other athletes like to spend their days leading up to this sort of race, but I prefer to NOT be around other athletes. It's one big muscular meat market in terms of everyone checking everyone else (and their bikes) out. It's bad enough we all have to weigh in on a scale (sigh. 125lbs, aka 5lbs less than IMFL) that supposedly can determine your hydration level (53%, right in the middle of the range for women) and your body fat percentage (22?! Seriously?!) but then you walk around feeling like EVERYONE else is fitter, leaner, and probably faster than you are, even the fat balding guy helping with the luggage.
I also don't like to have to watch the zillion people heading out on their bikes or for a run, or listen to the chattering about the course etc. It's the same reason I did not do lamaze class before the girls were born -- the dang baby is coming out one way or another, and I really don't want to hear horror stories or do mental gymnastics planning for things I cannot predict or control. Just surprise me, and I'll deal with it when it happens.
So, I grabbed an early elliptical "run" and Matthew and I went to the local Y and swam, then stopped at University of Louisville bookstore to see if they had any Louisville swimming shirts (denied).
After we got back I immediately called the front desk and had a conversation that went something like this:
Me: What is that GAWD AWFUL noise?
Desk: Weyahl Maam, that noise is the (some stupid name of some stupid ship docked right next to the hotel).
Me: Will the awful noise end soon?
Desk: yes maaaaam, it will end at noon.
Me: AND, does the awful noise start again?
Desk: yes maaaaam, the same time tomorrow (11a)
For the record, the awful noise was some sort of horn ensemble, or bell, or cacophony of out of tune, tone death music blaring at a decibel level I can only describe as painful.
Later, Matthew met our friend Heather (her bike, Minnow, rode up with the 'bee and she needed to retrieve him) while I went to an Ironman focus group thingee. Twelve female racers answering questions about performance enhancing services (VO2 testing, lactate threshold testing etc). Not my thing, exactly, but I wanted the $50 gift certificate to the Ironman store, lol.
The focus group was interesting in that it revealed that 3/4 of the attendees have triathlon coaches, and most of THEM have nutrition plans and training plans and plans of plans etc. I and another fairly vocal (and younger) gal eschew the coaching thing completely, and I am somewhere between proud and embarrassed to admit that, not only have I never been VO2 tested, I don't even know what a lactate threshold is and I use neither a heart rate monitor OR a power meter. Sacrilege!
We shared some good laughs in the focus group -- primarily at the testosterone driven preening going on amongst most of the males. When walking around this hotel you would SWEAR by the demeanor, posturing, impatience, and general overall attitude of the men that at LEAST 95% of them are plausibly gunning for a Kona spot. The women, on the other hand, generally seem to carry themselves a bit differently (no comparing of body fat percentage going on in OUR focus group, lol, although a consensus agreeing that the numbers were WRONG) and you really can't tell who is a Kona-slot possibility and who isn't (strangely enough, body type is no predictor for women). The men are all running around in their bike shorts and race shirts with "get outta my f***ing way I'm important and you are not" looks on their faces. These are many of the same guys who will come SPRINTING out of the transition area after the swim and leap onto their bikes and barrel along for the first twenty miles, only to blow up their legs and flounder on the run. But, I digress.
After the focus group we spent the gift certificate, found a restaurant to get some dinner (grilled chicken, green beans, and a few red potatoes), and are back at the hotel relaxing for the night.
One more day of waiting (bike check in, maybe a mani-pedi to get my bumblebee colors on, and nothing much else) and it's. finally. almost. over.
And I can start training for Clearwater, lol.
We'd decided to head up via a route that took us through Asheville, NC, aka our happy place. Although it supposedly would be slightly longer, we thought it would be worth it for the enjoyment of the beauty of the ride. And, it was. We stopped for the night just north of Knoxville (and took the Gator magnet off the truck to be safe, lol), found a good local restaurant, and crashed. The drive through Asheville and on to Knoxville was filled with stunning scenery and very relaxing. I did most of the driving since Matthew's torn meniscus does not like driving very much these days, and between that and his broken wrist he is a little, well, broken. Thanks to my new Zoot Compression pants I felt pretty good.
When we stopped in Columbia SC for gas we ran into a local athlete named Mark who was heading up Friday with some friends for the race, and enjoyed a chat with him about the conditions and course. Small world, random encounter.
Thursday we slept until almost 8:45 (!) which is like three full nights' sleep for me, grabbed some breakfast, slowly loaded up and meandered off for the final 3.5 hours of driving. The drive from TN to KY was absolutely beautiful, but we could definitely tell when we entered KY. I'm not sure what it is, but everything seems more... run down. The roads are not as well kept, the per capita immediately appeared lower, and the number of teeth in each smile flashed definitely dropped too. We stopped for gas and a smoothie and Matthew could not stop giggling at the guys in the car at the gas station -- a beat up, broken down old chevy with two shirtless guys dressed in baggy jean shorts, both of whom looked like they'd swallowed a fully inflated beach ball.
We finished up the drive and, as we exited the interstate to our hotel, I looked down and saw the transition area, all set up and waiting for the bikes and every hair on my arm stood straight up and screamed.
Our room in the hotel is on the 16th floor. Actually, our first AND second rooms have been on the 16th floor, as at 6 this morning I wandered down to the desk and wheedled my way into a different room. Apparently there was a Veterans association gathering here last weekend, and membership requires a blazing smoking habit, which some of them chose to feed by smoking in their (smoke free) rooms. I woke up with puffy eyes, stuffed up nose, and a tight chest and decided I did not want to try and race breathing that crap for four days. So, after the desk clerk helpfully took me up to perform a sniff test on the second room (not kidding) I got the keys and, after I worked out, we loaded our stuff and moved down the hall.
I don't know how other athletes like to spend their days leading up to this sort of race, but I prefer to NOT be around other athletes. It's one big muscular meat market in terms of everyone checking everyone else (and their bikes) out. It's bad enough we all have to weigh in on a scale (sigh. 125lbs, aka 5lbs less than IMFL) that supposedly can determine your hydration level (53%, right in the middle of the range for women) and your body fat percentage (22?! Seriously?!) but then you walk around feeling like EVERYONE else is fitter, leaner, and probably faster than you are, even the fat balding guy helping with the luggage.
I also don't like to have to watch the zillion people heading out on their bikes or for a run, or listen to the chattering about the course etc. It's the same reason I did not do lamaze class before the girls were born -- the dang baby is coming out one way or another, and I really don't want to hear horror stories or do mental gymnastics planning for things I cannot predict or control. Just surprise me, and I'll deal with it when it happens.
So, I grabbed an early elliptical "run" and Matthew and I went to the local Y and swam, then stopped at University of Louisville bookstore to see if they had any Louisville swimming shirts (denied).
After we got back I immediately called the front desk and had a conversation that went something like this:
Me: What is that GAWD AWFUL noise?
Desk: Weyahl Maam, that noise is the (some stupid name of some stupid ship docked right next to the hotel).
Me: Will the awful noise end soon?
Desk: yes maaaaam, it will end at noon.
Me: AND, does the awful noise start again?
Desk: yes maaaaam, the same time tomorrow (11a)
For the record, the awful noise was some sort of horn ensemble, or bell, or cacophony of out of tune, tone death music blaring at a decibel level I can only describe as painful.
Later, Matthew met our friend Heather (her bike, Minnow, rode up with the 'bee and she needed to retrieve him) while I went to an Ironman focus group thingee. Twelve female racers answering questions about performance enhancing services (VO2 testing, lactate threshold testing etc). Not my thing, exactly, but I wanted the $50 gift certificate to the Ironman store, lol.
The focus group was interesting in that it revealed that 3/4 of the attendees have triathlon coaches, and most of THEM have nutrition plans and training plans and plans of plans etc. I and another fairly vocal (and younger) gal eschew the coaching thing completely, and I am somewhere between proud and embarrassed to admit that, not only have I never been VO2 tested, I don't even know what a lactate threshold is and I use neither a heart rate monitor OR a power meter. Sacrilege!
We shared some good laughs in the focus group -- primarily at the testosterone driven preening going on amongst most of the males. When walking around this hotel you would SWEAR by the demeanor, posturing, impatience, and general overall attitude of the men that at LEAST 95% of them are plausibly gunning for a Kona spot. The women, on the other hand, generally seem to carry themselves a bit differently (no comparing of body fat percentage going on in OUR focus group, lol, although a consensus agreeing that the numbers were WRONG) and you really can't tell who is a Kona-slot possibility and who isn't (strangely enough, body type is no predictor for women). The men are all running around in their bike shorts and race shirts with "get outta my f***ing way I'm important and you are not" looks on their faces. These are many of the same guys who will come SPRINTING out of the transition area after the swim and leap onto their bikes and barrel along for the first twenty miles, only to blow up their legs and flounder on the run. But, I digress.
After the focus group we spent the gift certificate, found a restaurant to get some dinner (grilled chicken, green beans, and a few red potatoes), and are back at the hotel relaxing for the night.
One more day of waiting (bike check in, maybe a mani-pedi to get my bumblebee colors on, and nothing much else) and it's. finally. almost. over.
And I can start training for Clearwater, lol.
23 August 2010
Making a choice...
Since I can't write specifically about some of the situations that are on my mind, I'm going to write in generalities, so this post may or may not mean much to anyone else, lol.
Writing about my friends Kelly/Kellie and thinking about the situations of friends and family, and how they've chosen to handle them, brought me to the question of "why are some people survivors/thrivers and other people victims"?
There are the people who COULD get away with feeling sorry for themselves - life has handed them a plate load plus seconds to handle - yet, while open and honest about the obstacles in their lives, they come across as in control (sometimes teeteringly, lol, but in control) and grounded. And, even when reeling and overwhelmed, as they have every right to be, they never come across a a victim - just as a dusty, worn out survivor.
Then there are the victims. I mean, really, if you think about it, we all know a person, or people, who spend life feeling sorry for themselves and expecting everyone else to as well. The people who almost seem to look for reasons to feel sorry for themselves. The ones who take everyday events and occurences and personalize them. The ones who pick arguments just to show how mean someone is being to them. The ones who take a trauma or tragedy from someone else's life and make it their own. The ones you hesitate to share things with because they will assuredly find some way to turn it around and make it all about them, and their pain. They are the ones you can (and will) have the same exact conversation with, over and over and over again, as they talk about how terrible things are at any given moment, seek advice, resolve to take steps to change things, and then go right back to the way things are, either unwilling or unable to make an effort to change their attitude or behavior. And two weeks or two months later you find yourself following the same script of "woe is me" all over again. And again. And again.
The culture of victimhood is a particular "nails on the chalkboard" issue for me. I've been burned a fair number of times by "victims" and had my battery drained nearly dry by them as well. I've found that victims will turn their wrath upon you faster than a rattler strikes if you cross them -- and by cross I mean "fail to pay appropriate attention or homage to their many problems, needs, and issues." (I can name several people who, if they happened to read this blog would assume immediately I am writing specifically about THEM, which I'm not, and take great offense, thus immediately proving my point, lol). So, in dealing with people like this I've spent time trying to determine how to ensure my children don't end UP like people like that.
The LM had an interesting encounter with a bonafide "victim" last week in her first week of school. The girl, "E" apparently wouldn't leave her mother the first day, so missed that day, and then was sporadically at, and away from, school for the next few days. The 3rd day at lunch, LM saw E standing off to the side, alone, as the kids got their lunches, and LM asked her if she was ok. E responded that she had no friends and didn't want to be there (note that E had made no effort to make friends and had, in fact, effectively ostracized herself by willfully missing school). LM invited E over to sit with her and her friends at their lunch table, and after some persuading, E joined them. LM reported that E eventually loosened up at lunch, but then disappeared shortly after the kids all went outside to run around for the last few minutes of the period.
When LM and her friends got back to class after lunch, the teacher called LM aside and asked who had sat with E at lunch, and LM got the distinct impression they'd been accused of being mean to the girl somehow. Later that afternoon, E came back and proceeded to be passive-aggressive towards LM and another girl during a class exercise, and did it in a way that really irked LM -- to the point she referred to E as a "bitch" during the tale telling.
E didn't show for class Thursday or Friday, and by Sunday was out of the school online directory. Reading between the lines, this girl clearly viewed herself, and encouraged her mother to view her, as a hapless victim. Reality, though, suggests that the girl sought out failure, and created her own drama and issues - and without even really knowing her, we are relieved she is gone given the brief interactions she had with LM last week.
How does an E happen? From personal experience, I can say it takes a concerted effort, over time, to allow and eventually encourage (even unwittingly) a negative, yet extremely self-centered viewpoint of the world. A victim must learn to view everything as a personal affront or attack or criticism -- to see the world as the enemy, and to look through a paradigm of oppression and opposition, even where none exists. A victim learns to take the most innocuous action or word and turn it into an issue, and to use that issue to seek sympathy, or assistance, or whatever form of negative attention possible. Ultimately, a victim uses a paradigm that guarantees perpetuation of his victimhood, and nothing anyone else can say will change that status OR that paradigm.
As I've written before, so much in life boils down to how we think about things, and how mentally resilient we are in our day to day lives. I suppose the part of psychology that made the most sense to me back in college was the study of the relationship between cognitions (thoughts) and behaviors. I believe that certain thoughts trigger certain emotions (chemicals, really) which then trigger certain behaviors -- so the key to changing an unwanted or unproductive behavior lies in understanding the origins -- the thoughts. And, the key to understanding the thoughts is to understand the framework of experiences those thoughts travel through.
So, to change a behavior, you have to reformulate the thoughts that preceed it. In E's case, rather than feeling sorry for herself because she had no friends or because LM and her table of buddies knew each other a bit better than E did, E (with her mother's help) could have been taught to look at the positive of other kids including her, and to look at the fact that being absent for a few days meant she didn't know everyone as well - YET. She could have seized on the reaching out of the kids and used that to build a different experience upon. But, she didn't.
Unfortunately, it takes a whole lot longer to unravel the path to victim hood than it does to travel down it, which is why we see so many kids turn into teens turn into adults waving the victim banner. And as adults, coming to terms with our own weaknesses, changing cognitions, and riding herd on emotions we are used to giving into and wallowing in requires far more effort and energy and resolve than most people possess. Being a victim rather than a survivor is easy, and alluring in a way. Why take personal responsibility for our actions or words when we can blame someone else? Why look at our own weaknesses or personal shortcomings (because we ALL have them) when we can blame someone else for the problems we cause ourselves? Why give up all that negative attention and run the risk that no one will notice us if we aren't victims?
As a parent I can attest that it can be difficult not to reward the negative attention seeking behavior -- not to give in to a child feeling sorry for herself. It's tough to point out cold reality to an upset daughter or help a child look at what role she played in the situation. It's even harder to do that in a way that allows the child to feel empathized with but not in a way that excuses her own role -- in a way that gives the child ownership and control without blame and belittlement. And, given the rising tide of helicopter-parent-itis, where parents do not want their children to have to deal with ANY negative experiences and so swoop in to fight their fights, defend them, or demand different treatment (regardless of the cause), it is even MORE difficult because your kids see permissive, hovering, mindlessly comforting parents all around them and, on first glance, you can look pretty hard ass in comparison.
But, I have to think the effort will be worth it, if we succeed in steering the kids even a few degrees away from the direction of pure victimology. I laugh at the phrase "teachable moments" but... we really do need to seize those opportunities when they present themselves, and plant the seeds that will, hopefully, be cultivated into a strong core of personal responsibility and resiliency down the road.
Parenthood really does feel like one gigantic experiment with no control group sometimes... but I've realized that, when "they" say "be consistent", it doesn't just mean on a short term basis - it means long term. If you don't lay the groundwork consistently and repeatedly from pretty much the time they hatch, you can't build upon that groundwork as they grow up and the issues become more complicated. It's a lot easier to do it from the start than to suddenly try and do it when they are cruising into teenagerhood. Raising kids is kind of like teaching math -- if you haven't taught them the basics of addition and subtraction, good luck getting them through algebra and calculus.
End of Ramble.
Writing about my friends Kelly/Kellie and thinking about the situations of friends and family, and how they've chosen to handle them, brought me to the question of "why are some people survivors/thrivers and other people victims"?
There are the people who COULD get away with feeling sorry for themselves - life has handed them a plate load plus seconds to handle - yet, while open and honest about the obstacles in their lives, they come across as in control (sometimes teeteringly, lol, but in control) and grounded. And, even when reeling and overwhelmed, as they have every right to be, they never come across a a victim - just as a dusty, worn out survivor.
Then there are the victims. I mean, really, if you think about it, we all know a person, or people, who spend life feeling sorry for themselves and expecting everyone else to as well. The people who almost seem to look for reasons to feel sorry for themselves. The ones who take everyday events and occurences and personalize them. The ones who pick arguments just to show how mean someone is being to them. The ones who take a trauma or tragedy from someone else's life and make it their own. The ones you hesitate to share things with because they will assuredly find some way to turn it around and make it all about them, and their pain. They are the ones you can (and will) have the same exact conversation with, over and over and over again, as they talk about how terrible things are at any given moment, seek advice, resolve to take steps to change things, and then go right back to the way things are, either unwilling or unable to make an effort to change their attitude or behavior. And two weeks or two months later you find yourself following the same script of "woe is me" all over again. And again. And again.
The culture of victimhood is a particular "nails on the chalkboard" issue for me. I've been burned a fair number of times by "victims" and had my battery drained nearly dry by them as well. I've found that victims will turn their wrath upon you faster than a rattler strikes if you cross them -- and by cross I mean "fail to pay appropriate attention or homage to their many problems, needs, and issues." (I can name several people who, if they happened to read this blog would assume immediately I am writing specifically about THEM, which I'm not, and take great offense, thus immediately proving my point, lol). So, in dealing with people like this I've spent time trying to determine how to ensure my children don't end UP like people like that.
The LM had an interesting encounter with a bonafide "victim" last week in her first week of school. The girl, "E" apparently wouldn't leave her mother the first day, so missed that day, and then was sporadically at, and away from, school for the next few days. The 3rd day at lunch, LM saw E standing off to the side, alone, as the kids got their lunches, and LM asked her if she was ok. E responded that she had no friends and didn't want to be there (note that E had made no effort to make friends and had, in fact, effectively ostracized herself by willfully missing school). LM invited E over to sit with her and her friends at their lunch table, and after some persuading, E joined them. LM reported that E eventually loosened up at lunch, but then disappeared shortly after the kids all went outside to run around for the last few minutes of the period.
When LM and her friends got back to class after lunch, the teacher called LM aside and asked who had sat with E at lunch, and LM got the distinct impression they'd been accused of being mean to the girl somehow. Later that afternoon, E came back and proceeded to be passive-aggressive towards LM and another girl during a class exercise, and did it in a way that really irked LM -- to the point she referred to E as a "bitch" during the tale telling.
E didn't show for class Thursday or Friday, and by Sunday was out of the school online directory. Reading between the lines, this girl clearly viewed herself, and encouraged her mother to view her, as a hapless victim. Reality, though, suggests that the girl sought out failure, and created her own drama and issues - and without even really knowing her, we are relieved she is gone given the brief interactions she had with LM last week.
How does an E happen? From personal experience, I can say it takes a concerted effort, over time, to allow and eventually encourage (even unwittingly) a negative, yet extremely self-centered viewpoint of the world. A victim must learn to view everything as a personal affront or attack or criticism -- to see the world as the enemy, and to look through a paradigm of oppression and opposition, even where none exists. A victim learns to take the most innocuous action or word and turn it into an issue, and to use that issue to seek sympathy, or assistance, or whatever form of negative attention possible. Ultimately, a victim uses a paradigm that guarantees perpetuation of his victimhood, and nothing anyone else can say will change that status OR that paradigm.
As I've written before, so much in life boils down to how we think about things, and how mentally resilient we are in our day to day lives. I suppose the part of psychology that made the most sense to me back in college was the study of the relationship between cognitions (thoughts) and behaviors. I believe that certain thoughts trigger certain emotions (chemicals, really) which then trigger certain behaviors -- so the key to changing an unwanted or unproductive behavior lies in understanding the origins -- the thoughts. And, the key to understanding the thoughts is to understand the framework of experiences those thoughts travel through.
So, to change a behavior, you have to reformulate the thoughts that preceed it. In E's case, rather than feeling sorry for herself because she had no friends or because LM and her table of buddies knew each other a bit better than E did, E (with her mother's help) could have been taught to look at the positive of other kids including her, and to look at the fact that being absent for a few days meant she didn't know everyone as well - YET. She could have seized on the reaching out of the kids and used that to build a different experience upon. But, she didn't.
Unfortunately, it takes a whole lot longer to unravel the path to victim hood than it does to travel down it, which is why we see so many kids turn into teens turn into adults waving the victim banner. And as adults, coming to terms with our own weaknesses, changing cognitions, and riding herd on emotions we are used to giving into and wallowing in requires far more effort and energy and resolve than most people possess. Being a victim rather than a survivor is easy, and alluring in a way. Why take personal responsibility for our actions or words when we can blame someone else? Why look at our own weaknesses or personal shortcomings (because we ALL have them) when we can blame someone else for the problems we cause ourselves? Why give up all that negative attention and run the risk that no one will notice us if we aren't victims?
As a parent I can attest that it can be difficult not to reward the negative attention seeking behavior -- not to give in to a child feeling sorry for herself. It's tough to point out cold reality to an upset daughter or help a child look at what role she played in the situation. It's even harder to do that in a way that allows the child to feel empathized with but not in a way that excuses her own role -- in a way that gives the child ownership and control without blame and belittlement. And, given the rising tide of helicopter-parent-itis, where parents do not want their children to have to deal with ANY negative experiences and so swoop in to fight their fights, defend them, or demand different treatment (regardless of the cause), it is even MORE difficult because your kids see permissive, hovering, mindlessly comforting parents all around them and, on first glance, you can look pretty hard ass in comparison.
But, I have to think the effort will be worth it, if we succeed in steering the kids even a few degrees away from the direction of pure victimology. I laugh at the phrase "teachable moments" but... we really do need to seize those opportunities when they present themselves, and plant the seeds that will, hopefully, be cultivated into a strong core of personal responsibility and resiliency down the road.
Parenthood really does feel like one gigantic experiment with no control group sometimes... but I've realized that, when "they" say "be consistent", it doesn't just mean on a short term basis - it means long term. If you don't lay the groundwork consistently and repeatedly from pretty much the time they hatch, you can't build upon that groundwork as they grow up and the issues become more complicated. It's a lot easier to do it from the start than to suddenly try and do it when they are cruising into teenagerhood. Raising kids is kind of like teaching math -- if you haven't taught them the basics of addition and subtraction, good luck getting them through algebra and calculus.
End of Ramble.
21 August 2010
Things I think I think...
I think that only someone tapering for an Ironman really knows what its like to feel fat and out of shape after "only" doing a two hour ride.
I think that it was with wildly mixed emotions I watched the LM walk off to her 1st day of 6th grade at EHS.
I think I only need to think of the obstacles faced by my friends Justine (severely autistic son and parents with dementia), Julie (quad husband after a skiing accident), and Heather/Kevin (cancer, parents with dementia) to be reminded of how blessed I truly am in my life.
I think I could learn a lot from Justine, Julie and Heather/Kevin on how to handle adversity and unexpected demands with grace, selflessness, and humor.
I think Mia, the guard Shepherd, looks really silly with her droopy ear.
I think that I can never repay Heather and the Gerdemans for their friendship and support in making the trek to Louisville for the race next weekend.
I think the ability to be brutally, honestly introspective is the key to personal development and happiness.
I think it really takes very little effort to do or say something nice to someone.
I think that people who spend their lives wishing that things were different or resenting how they got to where they are instead of figuring out where to go from here make me sad, and sometimes angry.
I think my husband is the best thing that has happened to my children and me, and that LM choosing "meeting Matthew" as the event that changed her life (for a school assignment) says it all.
I think that the pre-race stress I feel before an IM is mostly self-inflicted, and that the hardest part of the weeks before the race is keeping life in perspective.
I think I wish I could sleep in like my husband and children.
I think we spent way too much time at Mayo last week, but that we are blessed with great health insurance.
I think I wish the BiM didn't need physical therapy, but that her seeing Libby is one of the best things that could happen thanks to Libby's great attitude and shared experiences.
I think that one of the biggest challenges as a parent is standing your ground when one child resorts to "she NEVER gets in trouble" or "you ALWAYS take her side".
I think that Matthew continuing to play ultimate frisbee on a torn miniscus and with a broken wrist shows just how tough, and stubborn, he really is.
I think that it is sad that my exhusband spends all his time blaming me instead of fixing the problems he has with the minis.
I think that false pride causes a lot of the problems in the world.
I think that the opportunities the minis have now are mind boggling, and that I smile every time I drive onto the EHS campus.
I think that this will be my last Ironman until the uncertainty with the minis' relationship with the biofather is worked out.
I think I strained a muscle in my back last Sunday racking bikes at the kids' triathlon and now it hurts to breath, which at least is taking my mind off of my knees.
I think that Sabre, the big black Shepherd, has the right attitude about life - even when his sister beats him up, he has forgotten about it :30 later and is back to chasing squirrels and squeaking his (terminally annoying) squeaky ball, all with a big grin on his face.
I think that some relationships, even with blood relatives, offer far too many negatives to warrant being pursued.
I think the little mini cracked me up the other day when, after seeing two lizards attempting to make baby lizards, she quipped "you'd think they'd at least go find a romantic tree or something instead of the sidewalk."
I think life is way too short to get sucked into drama all the time, and the people who thrive off of drama drain too much energy.
I think I didn't know what to say when they BiM decided the past tense of "wink" must be "wunk" because of things like "sink/sunk" and "think/thunk."
I think, as a parent, sometimes we have to take a deep breath and step back to get perspective, and that what's important is that we teach our kids to handle adversity with grace and an eye towards the long term goals.
I think that my family has a curse on left wrists.
I think that the crazy crows in the backyard get a little mouthy when we are too slow filling up the squirrel feeder with peanuts.
I think i find the greatest peace watching creatures in nature (including my children) go about their stuff unaware of being observed. Birds in a bird bath and minis walking with their friends at school being two prime examples.
I think adults who are afraid to discipline kids firmly but unwaveringly are not doing anyone any favors.
I think facebook creates waaaaaay to many opportunities for added drama for teens.
I think that the person on IAmTri who posted that she keeps the IM race in perspective by thinking about how lucky she is to have the time, equipment, health and support in her life to allow her to try such an adventure is a needed voice of equilibrium.
I think that people who post or blog negative things about their spouse should step back and consider how s/he would feel if the situation were reversed.
I think anyone who jokes about divorce when they have kids is a moron.
I think that a hug from my girls or Matthew makes everything good again.
I think that's it for now.
I think that it was with wildly mixed emotions I watched the LM walk off to her 1st day of 6th grade at EHS.
I think I only need to think of the obstacles faced by my friends Justine (severely autistic son and parents with dementia), Julie (quad husband after a skiing accident), and Heather/Kevin (cancer, parents with dementia) to be reminded of how blessed I truly am in my life.
I think I could learn a lot from Justine, Julie and Heather/Kevin on how to handle adversity and unexpected demands with grace, selflessness, and humor.
I think Mia, the guard Shepherd, looks really silly with her droopy ear.
I think that I can never repay Heather and the Gerdemans for their friendship and support in making the trek to Louisville for the race next weekend.
I think the ability to be brutally, honestly introspective is the key to personal development and happiness.
I think it really takes very little effort to do or say something nice to someone.
I think that people who spend their lives wishing that things were different or resenting how they got to where they are instead of figuring out where to go from here make me sad, and sometimes angry.
I think my husband is the best thing that has happened to my children and me, and that LM choosing "meeting Matthew" as the event that changed her life (for a school assignment) says it all.
I think that the pre-race stress I feel before an IM is mostly self-inflicted, and that the hardest part of the weeks before the race is keeping life in perspective.
I think I wish I could sleep in like my husband and children.
I think we spent way too much time at Mayo last week, but that we are blessed with great health insurance.
I think I wish the BiM didn't need physical therapy, but that her seeing Libby is one of the best things that could happen thanks to Libby's great attitude and shared experiences.
I think that one of the biggest challenges as a parent is standing your ground when one child resorts to "she NEVER gets in trouble" or "you ALWAYS take her side".
I think that Matthew continuing to play ultimate frisbee on a torn miniscus and with a broken wrist shows just how tough, and stubborn, he really is.
I think that it is sad that my exhusband spends all his time blaming me instead of fixing the problems he has with the minis.
I think that false pride causes a lot of the problems in the world.
I think that the opportunities the minis have now are mind boggling, and that I smile every time I drive onto the EHS campus.
I think that this will be my last Ironman until the uncertainty with the minis' relationship with the biofather is worked out.
I think I strained a muscle in my back last Sunday racking bikes at the kids' triathlon and now it hurts to breath, which at least is taking my mind off of my knees.
I think that Sabre, the big black Shepherd, has the right attitude about life - even when his sister beats him up, he has forgotten about it :30 later and is back to chasing squirrels and squeaking his (terminally annoying) squeaky ball, all with a big grin on his face.
I think that some relationships, even with blood relatives, offer far too many negatives to warrant being pursued.
I think the little mini cracked me up the other day when, after seeing two lizards attempting to make baby lizards, she quipped "you'd think they'd at least go find a romantic tree or something instead of the sidewalk."
I think life is way too short to get sucked into drama all the time, and the people who thrive off of drama drain too much energy.
I think I didn't know what to say when they BiM decided the past tense of "wink" must be "wunk" because of things like "sink/sunk" and "think/thunk."
I think, as a parent, sometimes we have to take a deep breath and step back to get perspective, and that what's important is that we teach our kids to handle adversity with grace and an eye towards the long term goals.
I think that my family has a curse on left wrists.
I think that the crazy crows in the backyard get a little mouthy when we are too slow filling up the squirrel feeder with peanuts.
I think i find the greatest peace watching creatures in nature (including my children) go about their stuff unaware of being observed. Birds in a bird bath and minis walking with their friends at school being two prime examples.
I think adults who are afraid to discipline kids firmly but unwaveringly are not doing anyone any favors.
I think facebook creates waaaaaay to many opportunities for added drama for teens.
I think that the person on IAmTri who posted that she keeps the IM race in perspective by thinking about how lucky she is to have the time, equipment, health and support in her life to allow her to try such an adventure is a needed voice of equilibrium.
I think that people who post or blog negative things about their spouse should step back and consider how s/he would feel if the situation were reversed.
I think anyone who jokes about divorce when they have kids is a moron.
I think that a hug from my girls or Matthew makes everything good again.
I think that's it for now.
08 August 2010
A new chapter begins...
What was the old saying.... "Stop the world I want to get off"?
Little Mini goes to high school in one week. Yes, she will be in 6th grade, but she will be at Episcopal HIGH SCHOOL. She will wear the EHS uniform and can choose from a number of sports to try out for each season. (Editor's note: in Florida, when your child attends a private school, once that child reaches the "Upper School" s/he is eligible to compete at the HS level. In LMs case, as she is entering Upper School in 6th grade, she will have a whopping SEVEN years of eligibility to compete at the HS level. I know some football players who would appreciate having seven years for 9-12, lol...). She is currently planning on going out for swimming (fall), soccer (winter) and track (spring).
This is a very disconcerting thing to me. LM is 11. She is not, how shall I say it, vertically gifted -- unlike her amazon-like sister... yes, these two are 19 months apart--
and she will be going to school with 18 year olds. Somehow, this does not seem possible, to me. To LM it is the neatest thing since, well, she got braces.
LM cannot stop talking, excitedly, about starting at her new school. She's grilled BiM numerous times about everything from locker etiquette to lunch room food. She's dreamed the usual dreams of not being able to find a classroom and not remembering locker combos. She's planned her first day of school outfit (thank GOD for uniforms with that one, who stresses over whether her earrings match her pants and would surely be immobilized in indecisive terror if she had to pick out an outfit every day of her life). In short, this kid is pumped.
I, on the other hand, am feeling the passing of time, acutely. When your kids are in their first years of school, you don't think of the dwindling numbers of Christmases at home, or summer vacation time. You take for granted that there will be time to do things as a family. Even though I am much more cognizant of the limited time we have with our kids as parents thanks to being a divorced parent for essentially ALL of my kids' lives, I hadn't felt the shadow of limited time nearly as much as I feel it these days. BiM enters 8th grade this year. That means 4 more summers together before she graduates High School. 5 Christmas breaks before she goes off to college -- divided in half, of course, as the girls split their time between two houses. LM tacks two more of everything onto the list, but our time as a family unit, with fairly predictable schedules, is rapidly counting down.
Married families don't have as big a blank canvas in their future when it comes to family time. For those of us who share our children, the question of "how will it work" after the kids turn 18, and can make decisions for themselves without someone howling about "Agreements" and "Custody Schedules" (as if the kids are possessions with no opinions or preferences of their own, and no rights whatsoever), looms large. Where will they spend their free time and holidays? Only time will tell. (ME ME , Pick ME...)
Whereas most parents have a hazy idea of how life might go once their kids turn 18, I have the blinking question mark instead. Let me tell you how comforting THAT is to know.
So sending the LM off to EHS will be a very interesting experience. I can't wait to see what sports she plays, and activities she gets involved with, and friends she makes. But, I dread it too, in a way, because every step they take towards adulthood is one *I* take towards senility.
I, like (I assume) a lot of parents, hold my breath sometimes, struggling to reign in the excitement and anticipation for what I see as a glowing future full of academic and athletic opportunities. I'm almost impatient for time to pass to see if the girls' realize their potential in so many areas. The girls seem just as impatient, and I try to remind us all that, each year older THEY get , so do *I*... and while it will be all good and fun for them to be 20, that means I will be 50+, which is considerably less good and fun.
So many people have told me that, once your kid reaches middle school, your job is essentially finished and your influence over your child wanes rapidly. So far, I have not found that to be the case. In fact, quite the opposite -- the girls seem to talk more openly, and intelligently, about more and more issues as they get older. And the issues keep getting more complex and adult-like. I treasure that relationship, and fervently hope to maintain it... but the clock ticks, even there.
One drawback to always seeming to be in "countdown mode" for a big race is, time seems to go by even faster. I know I am something like 90 some days away from IM70.3 Worlds... well, by the time that gets here, we fly into Thanksgiving, Christmas, and 2011 (and another tri season, with new countdowns). It's like living life as a rubber band -- start out stretched out, and then gather speed as you rapidly move towards the goal point, only to fly by it and repeat the whole deal. I suppose eventually all the stretchiness will be gone from each of our rubber bands and life will be, well, over. Or the rubber band will break and life will end before we expect it. Or someone will alter our aim and we'll slingshot into a wall, lol. Enough of that silly analogy, you get the point ;-)
Anyway, this time next week I will be trying to settle two pumped up, nervous, growing-up-too-fast young ladies... and none of us will get a lot of sleep that night, for profoundly different reasons.
Little Mini goes to high school in one week. Yes, she will be in 6th grade, but she will be at Episcopal HIGH SCHOOL. She will wear the EHS uniform and can choose from a number of sports to try out for each season. (Editor's note: in Florida, when your child attends a private school, once that child reaches the "Upper School" s/he is eligible to compete at the HS level. In LMs case, as she is entering Upper School in 6th grade, she will have a whopping SEVEN years of eligibility to compete at the HS level. I know some football players who would appreciate having seven years for 9-12, lol...). She is currently planning on going out for swimming (fall), soccer (winter) and track (spring).
This is a very disconcerting thing to me. LM is 11. She is not, how shall I say it, vertically gifted -- unlike her amazon-like sister... yes, these two are 19 months apart--
and she will be going to school with 18 year olds. Somehow, this does not seem possible, to me. To LM it is the neatest thing since, well, she got braces.
LM cannot stop talking, excitedly, about starting at her new school. She's grilled BiM numerous times about everything from locker etiquette to lunch room food. She's dreamed the usual dreams of not being able to find a classroom and not remembering locker combos. She's planned her first day of school outfit (thank GOD for uniforms with that one, who stresses over whether her earrings match her pants and would surely be immobilized in indecisive terror if she had to pick out an outfit every day of her life). In short, this kid is pumped.
I, on the other hand, am feeling the passing of time, acutely. When your kids are in their first years of school, you don't think of the dwindling numbers of Christmases at home, or summer vacation time. You take for granted that there will be time to do things as a family. Even though I am much more cognizant of the limited time we have with our kids as parents thanks to being a divorced parent for essentially ALL of my kids' lives, I hadn't felt the shadow of limited time nearly as much as I feel it these days. BiM enters 8th grade this year. That means 4 more summers together before she graduates High School. 5 Christmas breaks before she goes off to college -- divided in half, of course, as the girls split their time between two houses. LM tacks two more of everything onto the list, but our time as a family unit, with fairly predictable schedules, is rapidly counting down.
Married families don't have as big a blank canvas in their future when it comes to family time. For those of us who share our children, the question of "how will it work" after the kids turn 18, and can make decisions for themselves without someone howling about "Agreements" and "Custody Schedules" (as if the kids are possessions with no opinions or preferences of their own, and no rights whatsoever), looms large. Where will they spend their free time and holidays? Only time will tell. (ME ME , Pick ME...)
Whereas most parents have a hazy idea of how life might go once their kids turn 18, I have the blinking question mark instead. Let me tell you how comforting THAT is to know.
So sending the LM off to EHS will be a very interesting experience. I can't wait to see what sports she plays, and activities she gets involved with, and friends she makes. But, I dread it too, in a way, because every step they take towards adulthood is one *I* take towards senility.
I, like (I assume) a lot of parents, hold my breath sometimes, struggling to reign in the excitement and anticipation for what I see as a glowing future full of academic and athletic opportunities. I'm almost impatient for time to pass to see if the girls' realize their potential in so many areas. The girls seem just as impatient, and I try to remind us all that, each year older THEY get , so do *I*... and while it will be all good and fun for them to be 20, that means I will be 50+, which is considerably less good and fun.
So many people have told me that, once your kid reaches middle school, your job is essentially finished and your influence over your child wanes rapidly. So far, I have not found that to be the case. In fact, quite the opposite -- the girls seem to talk more openly, and intelligently, about more and more issues as they get older. And the issues keep getting more complex and adult-like. I treasure that relationship, and fervently hope to maintain it... but the clock ticks, even there.
One drawback to always seeming to be in "countdown mode" for a big race is, time seems to go by even faster. I know I am something like 90 some days away from IM70.3 Worlds... well, by the time that gets here, we fly into Thanksgiving, Christmas, and 2011 (and another tri season, with new countdowns). It's like living life as a rubber band -- start out stretched out, and then gather speed as you rapidly move towards the goal point, only to fly by it and repeat the whole deal. I suppose eventually all the stretchiness will be gone from each of our rubber bands and life will be, well, over. Or the rubber band will break and life will end before we expect it. Or someone will alter our aim and we'll slingshot into a wall, lol. Enough of that silly analogy, you get the point ;-)
Anyway, this time next week I will be trying to settle two pumped up, nervous, growing-up-too-fast young ladies... and none of us will get a lot of sleep that night, for profoundly different reasons.
06 August 2010
A tale of two Kellies...
Earlier this week I was slogging through a long (for me) run and struggling with the new Florida requirement that runners be able to extract oxygen from liquid while slow roasting over the coals. (It's so damn humid that it's like breathing water while running through waves of brutal heat eminating from the ground... get it?!)
At the same time, pretty much an entire continent or so away, my friend Kellie was entering the final 10 miles of her Ultraman run. For the uninitiated, Ultraman Canada consisted of a 6.2 mile swim and 90 mile bike (Day 1), a 170 mile bike (Day 2), and a 52.4 mile run (Day 3). Yes, it's insane. No, I would never even consider doing it, or anything like it. Yes, I consider Kellie to be superwoman. I knew she was entering those final ten miles or so thanks to the wonderful updates provided on her facebook page by her sisters.
I entertained myself, and inspired myself, by thinking about Kellie, and doing my best to send her mental support and the sense of my running along with her from thousands of miles away.
And I smiled.
At the same time, I thought of another Kelly -- my best friend in high school, who I had kept in touch with until sometime after college before falling out of touch in the past decade or so. I'd often wondered, through the years, how Kelly was doing. Our friendship in high school was based on a number of things, not the least of which was our abject unhappiness. Kelly lived with her single, grossly overweight mother, and had zero contact with her biofather. Kelly, like me, suffered greatly from a sense of alienation from our families and peers, and a sense of never quite fitting in... or wanting to, really. Kelly played softball, and field hockey, and her beloved volleyball -- and would continue to coach and play those sports into adulthood. We were inseparable -- joined together by everything ranging from our quasi-depression to our acne to our athletics.
Somewhere along the way, Kelly embraced her inner victim. I don't say that to be demeaning, or hurtful -- I say it because I think it represents a distinct fork in the road that many many people come to at one or more points in life. In addition to having a very rough upbringing, Kelly struggled with health issues, and with aspects of her personal life and preferences that, ultimately, she chose to use as a wedge between us.
When I heard that Kelly had died recently at the age of 43, I had a sinking feeling. I spent some time looking up her obituary, and reading other things a google search uncovered -- she'd been a revered and loved HS teacher and coach, for example. The unsaid AND "said in passing" things I read added up to a strong suspicion about her cause of death -- so I emailed the contact posted in the paper, who was organizing the "Celebration of Life" for Kelly at her high school, shared with her my history with Kelly, and asked if she would share with me the cause of death.
Several days later, shortly before my "run in spirit" with Kellie at the end of her Ultraman, I received the email that confirmed my suspicions -- my best friend from long ago had taken her own life. She finished the process that had begun over 25 years ago and embraced the shadow that had hung over her life for the entire time I had known her.
And I cried.
I cried tears of sadness... and strange tears of loss -- loss of half the owner of many many memories from back in HS days, loss of the chance to rekindle that friendship, and Kelly's loss of hope. And I cried tears of anger -- anger at Kelly for taking what I consider to be the cowards way out, anger at myself for not being a better friend, anger at the unfairness of so much getting handed to one person to handle in a life -- but especially anger at Kelly, for selling out the many students who looked to her to tell them that being different was "ok" and that life could be good no matter how many obstacles you faced.
So I ran. And I thought about the juxtaposition of Kellie and Kelly. I thought of how many obstacles Kellie overcame to even reach the starting line at Ultraman... and I am sure there are MANY more that I know nothing about -- obstacles faced down and beaten through the years by an indomitable will and iron resolve possessed by a petite gal with energy to spare and enthusiasm to envy. Then I thought of how Kelly's obstacles had worn her down -- eroded her confidence, and her energy, and her will to move forward, until she simply chose to cease to exist.
I wish I could say I had some sudden epiphany on my run -- some gleaming insight into what it is that makes a person chose one of the two paths when they come to those forks in the road. Is it chemical? Cognitive? Genetic? Some strength or weakness of character? Some personality trait? Some combination of all of them? I truly do not know, and probably won't ever really know.
BUT, what I do know is, Kelly scares me in some undefined way -- perhaps because I don't really understand the process or circumstances or combination of factors that leads to someone voluntarily ending their own existence.
AND, I also know that Kellie gives me great hope, and inspires me to believe -- to have a secular kind of "faith" -- in people's resilience and strength. Kellie proves to me, again, that so much of our lives are mental -- we have the capacity within ourselves to make ourselves grimly miserable or wildly positive, depending on how we frame our views.
As I pondered the Tale of Two Kellies and worked through my run, my mile splits descended, my heart rate leveled out slightly below "coronary-alert," and I found myself running resolutely with Kellie, as far away from Kelly as I could possibly get.
At the same time, pretty much an entire continent or so away, my friend Kellie was entering the final 10 miles of her Ultraman run. For the uninitiated, Ultraman Canada consisted of a 6.2 mile swim and 90 mile bike (Day 1), a 170 mile bike (Day 2), and a 52.4 mile run (Day 3). Yes, it's insane. No, I would never even consider doing it, or anything like it. Yes, I consider Kellie to be superwoman. I knew she was entering those final ten miles or so thanks to the wonderful updates provided on her facebook page by her sisters.
I entertained myself, and inspired myself, by thinking about Kellie, and doing my best to send her mental support and the sense of my running along with her from thousands of miles away.
And I smiled.
At the same time, I thought of another Kelly -- my best friend in high school, who I had kept in touch with until sometime after college before falling out of touch in the past decade or so. I'd often wondered, through the years, how Kelly was doing. Our friendship in high school was based on a number of things, not the least of which was our abject unhappiness. Kelly lived with her single, grossly overweight mother, and had zero contact with her biofather. Kelly, like me, suffered greatly from a sense of alienation from our families and peers, and a sense of never quite fitting in... or wanting to, really. Kelly played softball, and field hockey, and her beloved volleyball -- and would continue to coach and play those sports into adulthood. We were inseparable -- joined together by everything ranging from our quasi-depression to our acne to our athletics.
Somewhere along the way, Kelly embraced her inner victim. I don't say that to be demeaning, or hurtful -- I say it because I think it represents a distinct fork in the road that many many people come to at one or more points in life. In addition to having a very rough upbringing, Kelly struggled with health issues, and with aspects of her personal life and preferences that, ultimately, she chose to use as a wedge between us.
When I heard that Kelly had died recently at the age of 43, I had a sinking feeling. I spent some time looking up her obituary, and reading other things a google search uncovered -- she'd been a revered and loved HS teacher and coach, for example. The unsaid AND "said in passing" things I read added up to a strong suspicion about her cause of death -- so I emailed the contact posted in the paper, who was organizing the "Celebration of Life" for Kelly at her high school, shared with her my history with Kelly, and asked if she would share with me the cause of death.
Several days later, shortly before my "run in spirit" with Kellie at the end of her Ultraman, I received the email that confirmed my suspicions -- my best friend from long ago had taken her own life. She finished the process that had begun over 25 years ago and embraced the shadow that had hung over her life for the entire time I had known her.
And I cried.
I cried tears of sadness... and strange tears of loss -- loss of half the owner of many many memories from back in HS days, loss of the chance to rekindle that friendship, and Kelly's loss of hope. And I cried tears of anger -- anger at Kelly for taking what I consider to be the cowards way out, anger at myself for not being a better friend, anger at the unfairness of so much getting handed to one person to handle in a life -- but especially anger at Kelly, for selling out the many students who looked to her to tell them that being different was "ok" and that life could be good no matter how many obstacles you faced.
So I ran. And I thought about the juxtaposition of Kellie and Kelly. I thought of how many obstacles Kellie overcame to even reach the starting line at Ultraman... and I am sure there are MANY more that I know nothing about -- obstacles faced down and beaten through the years by an indomitable will and iron resolve possessed by a petite gal with energy to spare and enthusiasm to envy. Then I thought of how Kelly's obstacles had worn her down -- eroded her confidence, and her energy, and her will to move forward, until she simply chose to cease to exist.
I wish I could say I had some sudden epiphany on my run -- some gleaming insight into what it is that makes a person chose one of the two paths when they come to those forks in the road. Is it chemical? Cognitive? Genetic? Some strength or weakness of character? Some personality trait? Some combination of all of them? I truly do not know, and probably won't ever really know.
BUT, what I do know is, Kelly scares me in some undefined way -- perhaps because I don't really understand the process or circumstances or combination of factors that leads to someone voluntarily ending their own existence.
AND, I also know that Kellie gives me great hope, and inspires me to believe -- to have a secular kind of "faith" -- in people's resilience and strength. Kellie proves to me, again, that so much of our lives are mental -- we have the capacity within ourselves to make ourselves grimly miserable or wildly positive, depending on how we frame our views.
As I pondered the Tale of Two Kellies and worked through my run, my mile splits descended, my heart rate leveled out slightly below "coronary-alert," and I found myself running resolutely with Kellie, as far away from Kelly as I could possibly get.
North Carolina...
Yes, it's been awhile since I had a chance to write. We took the whole famdamily to Leicester, NC, for a family vacation - my truck loaded with kids, books, and "stuff" (and of course my bike and trainer) and a rental car loaded with,well, stinky dogs. And M. If you've never traveled with 300lbs of brainless, spastic, situationally deaf dogs, I can assure you it is a sight to behold. Picture a midsize car with the windows down, and a block-headed chocolate lab with ears and gums flapping sticking out the front passenger window,
a gigantic black shepherd with ears pointing in opposite directions in the wind and an oversized tongue flapping slobber sticking out one back window,
and a very intense looking classic shepherd with ears firmly planted in aero position glaring intimidatingly at passing vehicles sticking out the other.
Then imagine trying to stop for gas and bathroom breaks... The second the female human pack members in vehicle two are spotted, the canine pack members go cuckoo, throwing themselves around the car in a panic trying to reach the errant females. After a brief wrestling match, the dogs' leashes are on and the doors opened, and the three tumble out of the car in a tangle of legs, tails, and leashes. Then the next ten minutes are spent fruitlessly trying to get the shepherds to stop sniffing other dogs' poop and pee. Trust me, it's a blast.
So, the moving zoo ultimately reached our happy place in NC,complete with private pond and loads of acres to run. And no neighbors to bark at or try and eat, which is a key ingredient in vacation success. And, for the first time since last year when we went to the cabin, relaxation was achieved. More or less, lol, as there is only a certain degree of relaxation any human can achieve with three dogs and two kids.
A return trip to the Biltmore, surprisingly loved by the minis too, a zip line adventure, horseback riding, an afternoon wandering around Asheville, and lots of time throwing frisbees and footballs for the dogs and minis filled our week. And, of course, s'mores and evenings by the fire pit, and loads of reading time for everyone - no tv time, at all! Baby deer wandered through the yard, I spent some quality time watching the sunrise on my trainer on the huge porch looking out at the pond and mountains, and the girls caught fish off the dock by hand and squealed in happiness when the huge catfish brushed their legs in the water.
It was great family time, as we have no cell or Internet at the cabin. While I came back no more rested physically than had been, it did give me some mental respite of sorts, and I finally remembered why I'm doing IMKY - to enjoy the experience. While my race at IMFL established some degree of expectations, at least in my mind and maybe in others' as well, I came back determined to cling to the goal I set when I signed up - to experience the journey and get as much out of it as possible, and not to sweat the times and small details. Here I am 22 days out and still clinging precariously to that intention, lol.
As usual we came back vowing to return AND to buy property at the first opportunity, as the party line holds that we are outta Jacksonville the second the door hits the little mini on her way to college, or as soon as practicable afterwards, lol.
And back to reality we came.
a gigantic black shepherd with ears pointing in opposite directions in the wind and an oversized tongue flapping slobber sticking out one back window,
and a very intense looking classic shepherd with ears firmly planted in aero position glaring intimidatingly at passing vehicles sticking out the other.
Then imagine trying to stop for gas and bathroom breaks... The second the female human pack members in vehicle two are spotted, the canine pack members go cuckoo, throwing themselves around the car in a panic trying to reach the errant females. After a brief wrestling match, the dogs' leashes are on and the doors opened, and the three tumble out of the car in a tangle of legs, tails, and leashes. Then the next ten minutes are spent fruitlessly trying to get the shepherds to stop sniffing other dogs' poop and pee. Trust me, it's a blast.
So, the moving zoo ultimately reached our happy place in NC,complete with private pond and loads of acres to run. And no neighbors to bark at or try and eat, which is a key ingredient in vacation success. And, for the first time since last year when we went to the cabin, relaxation was achieved. More or less, lol, as there is only a certain degree of relaxation any human can achieve with three dogs and two kids.
A return trip to the Biltmore, surprisingly loved by the minis too, a zip line adventure, horseback riding, an afternoon wandering around Asheville, and lots of time throwing frisbees and footballs for the dogs and minis filled our week. And, of course, s'mores and evenings by the fire pit, and loads of reading time for everyone - no tv time, at all! Baby deer wandered through the yard, I spent some quality time watching the sunrise on my trainer on the huge porch looking out at the pond and mountains, and the girls caught fish off the dock by hand and squealed in happiness when the huge catfish brushed their legs in the water.
It was great family time, as we have no cell or Internet at the cabin. While I came back no more rested physically than had been, it did give me some mental respite of sorts, and I finally remembered why I'm doing IMKY - to enjoy the experience. While my race at IMFL established some degree of expectations, at least in my mind and maybe in others' as well, I came back determined to cling to the goal I set when I signed up - to experience the journey and get as much out of it as possible, and not to sweat the times and small details. Here I am 22 days out and still clinging precariously to that intention, lol.
As usual we came back vowing to return AND to buy property at the first opportunity, as the party line holds that we are outta Jacksonville the second the door hits the little mini on her way to college, or as soon as practicable afterwards, lol.
And back to reality we came.
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