The Anatomy of Prince Charming

I'm floating on top of the water, smooth, effortless...

I look forward just enough to see my down-turned thumb lead my arm into the water. I catch with my pinky, doing a semi-circular sweep of the rim of large bowl that ends at my belly button. Then I push that water out from my belly button to my upper thigh, exiting the water as though taking my hand out of my back pocket. Then relaxed, relaxed, relaxed on the recovery 'til my thumb enters the water again. Repeat, breathe, glide...

Prevents crossover = I look forward just enough to see my down-turned thumb lead my arm into the water.

Keeps my elbow high = I catch with my pinky, doing a semi-circular sweep of the rim of large bowl that ends at my belly button.

Thrusts me forward = Then I push that water out from my belly button to my upper thigh.

Keeps me straight in the water, elbow out first = Exit the water as though taking my hand out of my back pocket.

Get the most glide out of my effort and conserve energy for the underwater effort = Relaxed, relaxed, relaxed on the recovery.

Sigh.

Swimming Infatuation

Once upon a time, there lived a runner. That runner did 5Ks and 10Ks, 2 milers and 26.2 milers. Then she started doing triathlons. Now this runner was very pleased with her performance in the biking and the running portion of her triathlons, but found that her rank in swimming sucked. Her fairy godmother waved her magic wand and the Triathlete lived happily ever after.

Oh, were it so!

Now for the true story. The above is all true - up 'til the wand part. I have been working on my swimming for the last 3 years. And - sacrilege - sometimes I love it almost as much as running. It offers a unique set of triathlete temptations.

#1. If done right, provides a runner's high. I never thought I could get that from any other sport, but now I do. Intervals are the key. My recent discovery of 8x100 on 1:45 (or 1:40 if I'm with my ballsy partner) have put me into a whole new realm. I'm addicted. It is a high. I have the same feeling as I do with running intervals. Nervous dread/excited anticipation before I go, chest-pain effort during, and blood-pumping, gelatinous body exhilaration when we're done.

#2 Braininess of it all - technique is so important and you have. to. think. Some sort of crafstman in me likes it that form matters in swimming. Much more than in biking or running. I like concentrating on the different aspects of my stroke and perfecting them.

#3 It's the one of the 3 elements that I consistently do socially - it gives a whole new aspect to this individual sport that I pursue. I've hit it off with a group of people who love what I love and we've clicked pace-wise. Our coach is a successful, inspirational triathlete. Never hurts.

So right now Swimming is my Prince Charming. I'm looking for a fairy tale finish next season.

Thankful - At Last

I'm back. Don't know how. Just the hazy veil lifted. I think it's chemical, not my fault (the result of too much sugar and other bad living) as I had earlier concluded.

But I'm willing to forgive my brain & its playful chemistry because that same brain allows me to:

1) Read Shakespeare and reflect on the nature of Kate the Shrew, unable to play until Petruccio calls her to it. That's the interpretation proposed by the lecturer I'm listening to. I want that to be Shakespeare's intent else Katherine's last speech is too terrible to bear after her earlier beautiful show of wit and will.

And the story resonates with me at a personal level. Am I, with my irascibility, a Kate? And is Chris my Petruccio? Refusing to engage with my anger and sulks but rather biding his time until they pass. Then we can laugh at my tirades and point out how ridiculous they are - and play as Kate and Petruccio do. (I'm glad he doesn't steal Petruccio's methods wholesale. Being out-shrewed and hoisted around would wear thin pretty quickly.)

2) Enjoy the nature of being human - as felt by me and as I observe it lived in those around me. That's why blogging has come to mean so much to me; it's another lens into how others view their world and their training. And I find us interesting. Athletes have a frame for their worldview unlike other bloggers. I have become aware of the frames we share: the pattern of diurnal training-thinking, our general "granola" nature/love of outdoors/ environmental awareness, our goodness, our drive, and our need to share this with like-minded people.

Yet even within that frame, there is infinite variety (have to steal from Darwin while I'm robbing Shakespeare) among us. That is harder to name, but I think it comes down to brain chemistry and our resultant personality, of which gregariousness is a part. Some of us are very sociable, while others of us are introverts.

Even how we write, some with unsurpassed eloquence, and others with less eloquence and more need to just put the words on the screen, is revealing. Some write deeply, giving us a "window to their soul," while others write the numbers - a training log. And there is everything in between.

I am thankful for all. And for the ability to one day appreciate the training log type and get out the door and run; and the next find my inspiration/salvation in the deeper soul blogs that get my brain out the door for a run.

I am thankful to be back to this spot where I can be grateful, where life feels good. I think I'm even ready for more hugs and stories from my fifth graders. :) Maybe I just needed a break, and this 4-day vacation came at the opportune time. I told Chris that I felt I needed to get outside of myself. But now I think I was too outside of myself: too into school and my projects there, too worried about keeping my chin up and presenting the person everyone expects me to be. (It's a paradoxical kind of self-absorption and exaggerated sense of self-importance, isn't it?)

These last 4 days, I have been able to go within myself: I've found Shakespeare (again), played piano, run a 10K (50:43 for the numbers-folks), and written. Maybe that was the remedy for my depression. Or maybe it was just the changing chemistry of my ever-playful brain.

Whatever it was, I am thankful - at last - today.

Adrift

In the pink dusky light of last night's hike, I realized what I had been reaching for all day. And that it was a metaphor for how I've been living. Clawing to push aside the cobwebs that cloak me. All day, I had been longing to take pictures of the hike, but the light just wasn't right.

All this week, I have been longing to feel good, pushing myself to keep acting the part, grasping for thankfulness, gratitude, warmth. Cursing my perversity when they wouldn't come.

Then, finally, after a full day of hiking, the pink light began and I captured it. It is patience, it is biding, the opposite of straining and surging. Some things need to come of their own volition. Some things need to be endured, lived through, and then the appreciation of the pink light is all the keener.

I am a shallow pool, like my mother. I look so inviting on the outside. You can dive into this smiley, friendly teacher. My fond 5th graders hug me and tell me their stories and cling to me. And I hug back and comment and encourage. But, as I now understand my mother, the hugs become cloying, the comments and encouragement grow stale and rehearsed. I feel a need to cleanse myself in the cool, deep pool and I swim until I am free. As I wished for my mother when I was a girl, I wish for me now; I wish I were deeper.

I am irascible like my father, I am SAD like my Sweet Sister. I am obdurate like my Strong Sister.

Yet I love all these people. Can I love myself?

New Age Group

I have officially passed into the next age group: 35-39 year olds. I debated on taking this step, but when my parents drove 3 hours to surprise me on Wednesday night bearing Mom's homemade Heath Bar cake (my very favorite birthday cake since I was a wee girl), I pledged my commitment to the 35 year-olds of the world and joined their ranks.

Other birthday perks? Chris told me that this year he was really going to do a good job on my birthday. So, did he force me to work out after Parent-Teacher conferences like I told him to do? Nope, he cooked me up a triple-fatty meal and got me drunk on expensive red wine. Which may be good for endurance athletes. Maybe there's hope for this guy yet. :)

Can You Die from Cramps?

On yesterday morning's run I was convinced I could. The Spanish say, "Me duelen los riñones," (literally: my kidneys hurt me) and it became my refrain as I slogged on - up the hill, around the curve. Me duelen los riñones.

I remembered Ironman and how I conversed with and convinced myself, "No one dies from the cold." And I didn't.

I slogged on, thinking of the night before IM, eating with my family. My parents asked Chris what he thought of all this. I had already coached him, "Under no circumstances are you to let me quit this race! I don't care how tired, or hurt or sad or defeated I am, tell me I've worked too hard for it and have to keep going."

He told my parents that, as a dutiful husband, he was honor-bound to leave me at the side of the road should I be lying there.

You see, I had fought these demons already - the fatigue, the boredom, the pain, the nausea and even injury. You don't do 2 hour swims and 6 hour bike rides without learning. My family received strict instructions too: they were to leave me at the side of the road.

They all had a good laugh at that imagery. But they knew that I - at least - meant it.

Me duelen los riñones.

I have had Chris bail me out in the past. There was a marathon I was walking with his mom and sisters - early in my marathon career - and at mile 21, I hopped into the car with him and didn't look back.

I have wanted Chris to bail me out at other times. My 2003 BQ attempt. I knew I wasn't going to make it when I bonked at mile 16 and had everything I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I told him to meet me at the finish line. He snuck back and took pictures of me from the bushes, but he didn't let me quit. At the end - and only there - I felt I had finally earned the right to say, "Take me home."

Me duelen los riñones.

Chris's words to me later that Ironman Eve, "You tell me you're hurting 3 times tomorrow, though, and that's it. I'm scooping you up. Ironman or no Ironman. I'm taking you home."

But I didn't. I didn't even say it once. I didn't hurt, I was ready for it. I wanted it and I did it.

No me duelen los riñones.

I had pushed, slogged - lived through it. The cramps had subsided. I felt my beautiful, beautiful legs take over and the surge felt like what I live for. We rounded the corner into a stiff head wind.

"Piper, did we beat the cramps just to let a little cold wind push us around?!? NO! Let's go..."

This is what I will remember next year when every breath hurts, when my quads are screaming at me to slow down, when my piriformis snaps at me. Trying to qualify for nationals will hurt, setting a HIM PR will hurt - shit - my interval workouts are going to hurt! But I know I can do it because I have faced these demons and...

I didn't die from the cramps.

To tenderfoot snow dog.

Top 10 Reasons to Hate your Spouse

(Don't worry, Honey; it's the sugar talking)

#1 Leaves me a pan of Chicken Alfredo in the fridge that I take out to find that there's all Alfredo and no chicken.

#2 Teases the cat, the dog, and me mercilessly, but when I tease the puppy just a little bit "doesn't even want to look" at me. Aargh, I'm gritting my teeth.

#3 Insult upon injury of starvation: I open the microwave to find its walls spackled with exploded bits of chicken and Alfredo sauce. He does this all the time -repeatedly sullies the microwave because he puts his food on top of the microwave cover. The effort it would take to lift up that little piece of plastic and place it over his food... Sheesh, we can put a man on the moon, but think we could teach him to cover his food pre-microwaving??

#4 OK, losing steam... at least I got the big 3 though.

Sections

Section 1: New Name Needed
So what should happen last night, but into master's swim class walks the woman whom I affectionately call Hell-on-Wheels-Coach -- and she did something nice. I'm feeling awfully shame-faced as I write this cuz I've taken her name in vain more than once.

Well, she sauntered in - woops, walked in like a normal person - and sat in the hot tub. The rest of us plebeians started the workout and were about 10 minutes into it when She came over to stand at the end of my lane. She asked if I had a minute.

Oh bother, what's wrong with my stroke now??

I ordered my face muscles into neutral-at-all-costs position and said, sure I had a minute, and told my swimming partners to go ahead without me.

"Would you like to travel to races together next season?"

Wait, troops! Neutral position! Neutral position!

I nearly guffawed. Shock does that to me sometimes. Elicits really inappropriate responses.

So the outcome?... I said yes.

But now I've been in a dither all day. She (who needs a new name now that we're friends) wants to qualify for nationals. She tried 3 years ago, got injured, but now thinks she's back on track. But what about me?

Section 2A: What Does a Woman Want?
I'm not sure I'm cut out for nationals level competition for many reasons...

#1 Obvious - I'm not sure that I'm fast enough.
#2 I'm not sure that I'm mean enough, and, according to my GENTLE swim coach who's done Nationals, Worlds, Kona, you name it, you have to be kick-'em-while-they're-drowning driven and competitive.
#3 In a word, I'm sorta lazy. I don't know if I want to work that hard. Yeah sure, stabbing-breathing pains are OK once in a while, but I'd be signing myself up for a whole season of that. And I currently love this sport. Would I love it after that?
#4 I currently do this sport on a pretty meager budget. Most of my budget is spent on tri toys/gear. I would have to add travel expenses to the roster. And I'm not sure I can reconcile myself with that. This is a hobby. I love it, but it's a hobby.

In a nutshell? What's the cost/benefit analysis for this?

Prior to this, my plan was to do local races and set a HIM PR next year. Maybe throw in a marathon to mix things up. So laid back and easy... I get uptight just thinking about nationals. Do I want stress in my hobby too??

Section 2B: On the Other Hand
Yet last year's IM caused me a lot of stress and I truly thrived on it. Now that it's gone, I appreciate the focus it gave me - not to mention the guaranteed adrenaline rush and happy endorphins every single day. I was a nicer person. Without it this fall, I've reverted back to my old rhythm of happy-for-5-days/depressed-for-5-days routine.

So, yeah, I'm a little f'd up, but I'm willing to look at it honestly - or at least practically. Isn't it a lot cheaper and better for all concerned for me to be chasing a triathlon goal than to be swinging from the trees? As my brother-in-law put it, "Ironman is a lot cheaper than therapy."

Section 3: Unresolved, but I think the end of this post
Whew! I needed to get all this off of my chest. I've been wanting to blog all week, but never found the time, so here it spews. Any and all input is welcome, and if you've made it this far, why not put your 2 cents in? (Make my decision for me, please!)

2006 Turkey Trotter Triumphs

How did my legs learn to do that? I didn't do speedwork or hills in preparation for Ironman. Where did they learn this??

Scuttle, scuttle, scuttle up the steep hill I went, quick-stepping it just like I was running up steps. And then, click, at the top - I opened up to let those self-same legs carry me loping down the other side, passing people. Me, passing people, and feeling good.

I had an excellent race today. It almost wasn't. I slept for 11 hours last night only to wake with thoughts - not of racing - but of cleaning the house, doing some lesson planning, walking Piper. And then I remembered that, oh, yes, I had signed up for a race today. Hmm... should I go? Yeah, I'll go.

Hmm... what should I wear? (SO different from Ironman - remember the lists made months in advance and tweaked daily until the hour before the race started? How far I've come.)

When the time came, I hopped in my car, drove an hour, and checked in to the race. I hadn't read any of the literature closely because I'd done this race before (2 years ago) and thought I'd remember all the basics. I didn't.

Thinking that the 5K & 5 Mile races started consecutively, I lined up with the 5k-ers. I even started to run, but overheard a conversation that lead me to conclude that my race, the 5 miler, actually started an hour later (11:00). I stopped my watch - and as inconspicuously as possible - slunk off the course.

So I waited around for an hour, watched the 5k-ers finish. At 10:50 I headed to the starting line. And had my second, "it sorta feels funny" sensation. No one else was at the starting line.

Being that my stellar memory hadn't served well so far, I decided to follow my hunch and look for a different location for the starting line. I had an ah-ha moment when I saw it - about a quarter of a mile away on the other side of the registration building and over a bridge.

After verifying this with approximately five people, I queued up to the starting line and checked out the other runners. Fit, young, yet more seasoned than the really young-looking college kids that had populated the 5k. Then the gun sounded, and I started my watch for the second time today, and was off. Right from the start, I knew that my earlier worries about having lost my competitive streak were in error. I wanted to go fast and hang as far toward the front as I could. And it felt good. To be breathing hard, to be pumping strong.

I swore I was working so hard that my first mile would be a sub-8, but it was 8:06. OK, I thought, 8-minute miles might be a stretch today, but goddammit, I told blogosphere that I'd be close to that, so I will be!

Mile 2 was slower; my split was 16:25. Then I went up that hill. The steep one that allowed me to pass people going up and coming down the other side. And I felt my legs take over. They drove my breathing and instructed my eyes to pick the shortest distance through the curvy forested path. I cut to the inside of those curves whenever possible and lauded myself on my intelligence, all the while also registering how hard I was working. Tightness in my chest, throat and between my shoulder blades. Also I felt my piriformis (AKA butt muscle).

I am working hard and it feels good. Be it resolved that I will leave nothing on this course today.

3 miles: Trisaratops is somewhere doing her 5K today. I wonder how she's doing. She's almost done now.

And I thought - 2 miles to go. I can do this. I decided that I'd hit my watch at the 4-mile mark and open myself up for a final push at a sub-8 split. I passed many people in this mile and found myself marveling at how even my breathing was - theirs sounded so ragged.

4 miles. I began the push. Up a hill, down a grassy knoll, up one side of a creek, down the other end and into the curvy woods for the final time. I had passed everyone easily-passable and was alone. The next people were all in a pack about 50 yards in front of me. I knew I couldn't catch them, and felt myself wanting to slow down, to alleviate the pressure in my chest and throat, to slow my now ragged breathing.

Don't you dare let up! Letting up is not an option. You have this distance in you. You should have another 22 miles in you! Don't you dare let up!

I didn't. I rounded the corner out of the woods and saw the finish chute ahead of me. 39:52 and counting.

I need 40:00. Go!!!

I sprinted, watching the clock and the precious seconds tick away... beeeep, I crossed the mat.

Time? 40:01!

But, I'll give myself that second. I worked hard! Last mile? 7:44. This was not an easy race and/but it felt so good. I'm back. My running is back. This is the new baseline from which I'm starting. It can only go up (well, down time-wise) from here. I'm a racer. That is what I learned today. My body, no - more specifically - my beautiful, beautiful legs love to run. They've been running for so long that the muscle memory just takes over and carries the rest of me right along.

I was prepared to be happy with that time and the euphoria of racing, but then at the end of the chute, I got hardware too. A volunteer pressed a medal into my hand - 1st place female, age 30-39. I got lucky to place with that time, but I'll take it.

Signing off: Triteacher who is a runner again!

Here Comes the Sun

More vacation pictures - do you detect a common thread? Things that bring sunlight:

• Swim Repeats: In my masters swim class, we did 8 x 100 on 1:50, then on 1:45 the next time, and at Sunday lap swim, just one other woman and I threw our all into it and did 4 x 100 on 1:40. She's usually in a faster lane than me, but we decided that I have more stamina so I'm defecting to her lane starting tonight. Yahoo!
• I'm running!!! Monday's run felt good - no ankle issues. I think I'm all healed up. I may do a 5-mile race this weekend. My Strong Sister won the women's race 2 years ago. I wouldn't be in the running for that, but shit, I'll take even 8-minute miles after the no-running I've been doing.
• Halloween parties planned by 5th grade students.

Speaking of which, have a good one, everyone! I am personally avoiding candy; my pants are not quite fitting... perhaps due to the Ben & Jerry's ice cream covered with cooked chocolate pudding that I consumed last week. And that was only one night... I'm very thorough in all that I do. :)

I'm Back

Hello! I'm fresh back from vacation. Thought I'd get a chance to blog before we left, but that never materialized. We had a great trip to the Porcupine Mountains in Michigan. Beauty abounded. Pix explained:

Left: Chris and Piper by one of three waterfalls we saw on the Presque Isle River before it emptied into Lake Superior.

Right: My husband, the artist inspired by nature artist Andy Goldsworthy. It's really funny this new hobby of his. I walk on the trails that we tend to frequent and find little traces of Chris... my favorite one was a picnic-table sized serpent he made by sticking hundreds of burdocks together. I've always played detective with him (does anyone else do this??) by looking at the dishes in the sink when I get home or checking the fridge - hmm... what did he eat while I was gone?

Now I find evidence of him outside... leaves twined together into a cornucopia, sticks placed in a meaningful way, mossy rocks chipped into a boat shape and set on edge.

Then I think about our relationship. What's in a marriage? Sometimes I feel like our fire has fizzled - or more aptly put - like he's gone in one direction and I have gone another. I am sort of crazy about triathlons and he, to put it gently, isn't. And there are a million other examples of this drift, and quite frankly - lack of support on his part.

Yet, I'm still into him. For many reasons. Looking at these pictures, I know at least one of them - I love the artist in him that feeds the detective in me. I wasn't going to write about this, my marriage, yet it is a compelling subject that has absorbed me of late. In other words, it's one of the boxes I need to unpack. So bear with me, there's probably more to come on this topic.

Let It Snow!

Visions of snowflakes dance in my head...

Anticipation... Forecast of one inch of accumulation tonight and perhaps more tomorrow. I'm waxing my skis today!


So it might not look like this photo of my nephew and me last winter, but I'll be ready when it does.

Please Let This Be PMS

6:45 AM Not going to blog today. Way too depressed. Nobody wants to read that.

6:55 AM OK, maybe I will post. Just this.
Sinking.
Into.
Depression.

Causes:
Unsure of my husband.
Unsure of myself.
That about does it.

7:00 AM Gnashing of teeth. Battle plan: Silent treatment. Let him come to me for once. I'm always the one who has to tap my reservoir of happiness and buoy us both. NOT TODAY. And if that's the beginning of the end, so be it.

7:40 AM Happiness and smiles and yes, even some words.

Default position: Wish I could just crawl out of my skin for awhile. Put myself out there free-floating. Tried medicating with cookies and TV last night. (Cuz that has always worked so well in the past. Snort.)

I am prostrated before this beast. Bare naked, yet cringing and covering my face, wanting to preserve some dignity. Yes, I've done the Ironman, but I still have myself. Didn't outswim, outbike or outrun me. Yet, am I better than I used to be? Used to take days for this. To be able to laugh at myself and see the gross hyperbole.

Box, please.

Fat and Happy

I feel as though I'm committing sacrilege here, but I'll feel better if I get this confession off my chest...

I'm happy to be in recovery season.

There, it's out. This little discovery dawned on me (literally) last Friday when I woke up at 5:30 AM and went for a fun run with Piper. Usually, that time would have been unacceptable for a workout. (Too late to do a long workout and get to school on time, and I never work out in the morning.) And, more critically, when I was training for IM, there was no room for variance from the schedule. Every workout was carefully spliced into my day, and walls caved in if I strayed from the plan. Last Friday morning though, I woke up, felt like running, and went for a run. Bing, bang, done.

That's not to say that I'm such a perfect person that I've caught myself feeling like working out at odd times every day. In fact... I didn't feel like working out last weekend, and I didn't. (Gasp.) I ate Combos and cookies and apple bars and felt only slightly guilty. :) I like this. It feels like I'm being easy on myself, and also like I'm trusting myself.

Hmmm... trusting myself. That's a new one. Usually, I worry to death that I'll start this spiral of sweet treats and no workouts and be 200 pounds before I can turn around. (Sorry to any 200 pounders out there; I'm not indicting you. It's just that 200 pounds is not a healthy weight for me.) Now, I just know that I won't do that. I just know that generally, my body feels better making healthier choices even without my big, compulsive brain getting involved. By god, I think I'm at peace!!!

Ha. Better savor this moment, cuz knowing me, how long can it last?

Forgiven

I have now officially forgiven myself for not qualifying for Boston at the 2003 Mad City Marathon. Thank you, September 10th, 2006.

It took not bonking in that IM marathon to make me appreciate that I just wasn't mature enough to run that marathon back in 2003.

I didn't know the first thing about nutrition. I drank water sparingly. I had not met GU or Clif. Even Gatorade & I didn't have a meaningful relationship.

I overtrained for it. I was anxious to get started and so started the 18-week program 27 weeks out. How did I do this? I did the first 9 weeks and then re-started the whole thing all over again. This had the unhappy result of a peak in late April/early May - which I was way too high to recognize.

Then race day came and I screwed up again. I wanted it so bad. I was sure I was going to have it too. I counted on it. I went out fast. I ran a lifetime best half-marathon and then bonked at mile 16.

This race report is being written 3 years after the fact, but it isn't late. This is the first time I can really see that event. My confidence as an athlete was shaken. I finished that race, but crossing that finish line, I felt as horrible as I've ever felt in my life. I was 12 minutes too late. And it was my fault.

I coached myself to be stoic, to take it in stride, to learn from it. Read: I boxed it up. I never allowed myself to admit that I was angry and hurt and downright defeated. But I was.

That 2003 ghost haunted me as I ran during Ironman. I kept waiting for the hammer to fall, for me to feel like shit and hate the day I'd signed up for this thing. For it to cost too much to just finish. But it never came. I got stronger instead of weaker.

I don't know what ever gave me the chutzpah to sign up for Ironman, but I'm so glad I did. Cuz it has given me yet another gift.

I did an Ironman. In Madison. And I didn't bonk during the marathon.

I am forgiven.

Pandora's Boxes

I like boxes. I like to organize things and put them in them so that they're all neat and tidy and tucked away. Only thing is, sometimes a little piece will sneak out of the box and tug at my sleeve, singing, "You're not done with me yet!" Here are a few of the sneaky little petes:

1) Eating Disorder: Re-reading my own blog made me realize that I still have issues. I thought I'd packed away my eating disorder and the associated mess about 13 years ago. But I wonder sometimes. Why is weighing myself still a taboo? Why do I criticize pictures of myself? My ideal me would not do that. And, perhaps even sicker, I chastise myself when I do think a positive thought about my appearance. Like, "Wow, I can sorta see my abs" has to be balanced with, "But look at what's around them..."

2) This post-traumatic stress disorder we're all going through called Ironman withdrawal. Again, I've boxed it up and patched my new goals over the top of it.

3) I am not the lone "box"er: A colleague whose father-in-law died last week was back at school the day after the funeral. My heart broke looking at her puffed-up eyes and listening to her tell us, without a quaver, the brave version of events. One look at her was enough to know that the box wasn't containing all of her grief yet.

Sometimes I wonder if we're all in too much of a hurry to get on through the painful things in life by boxing them up. Would we be better off going the way of Zen and just feeling them/living through them? I have never been patient enough for this; I always jolly myself out of it... Am I an incurable optimist?

Maybe I should just box up this whole post and label it "The Quest for Perfectionism; So Last Year."

Off-Season To Do List

• Plan 2007 Race Season: includes researching times, places and training plan
• Decide whether or not to hire a coach (leaning towards yes)
• Decide whether or not to buy a tri bike ($$$)
• Find a biking partner who can push me; ideally they'll live within 30 miles
• Give up soda (I've been drinking a ridiculous amount - 3 cans of Diet Pepsi a day!)
• Research triathlete nutrition even more thoroughly and plan healthier meals/find healthier recipes.
• Finesse my blog - add pictures (I meant to add IMWI ones but honestly, that fat lip is UGLY plus I have hips and thighs! Someday I promise I will get over this 7th grade girl mentality.) Add other bloggers' links, PR list, maybe build a personal template. (Help!)
• Training for now = focus, Focus, FOCUS on swim stroke and weight training.
• In the next month or so, formulate a more specific off-season training plan that will build my base for next season.
• Write thank you notes for IM. Guilty wince. Especially when I picture TriSaraTops with her sore wrists -- and she was doing these how many weeks ago??

Note: I still haven't been able to run. My ankle swelled up the day after Ironman and is still achey. I want to run but am also not in a rush. I know that this is the perfect part of the year to give my body a full recovery. So I will.

Go Jump in a Lake

I did just that last night. And the water was... not exactly warm, but then, I did not expect it to be. Yet it was exhilarating. I was so proud of myself for just getting out there. You know you're "crazy" when a complete stranger pulls off the highway to ask what you're up to. You have to admit - the whole "crazy triathlete" thing does have its appeal. And that was just in the parking lot when I was putting on my wetsuit, swim socks and skull cap. Cute.

Then I dove into the water. I'm guessing that the temp was around 62 degrees. My face and hands recoiled a bit, but the rest of my body stayed toasty warm. Wetsuits are amazing. I'm so glad I went with a full suit; I knew that I'd be wanting to maximize my time in the lakes.

I have a long history of this; I remember swimming in May one year. I was a kid and those were my pre-wetsuit days. It has long been a point of pride in my family about who takes the first swim in my family's "lake" - really a glorified pond. And remember, the setting is Wisconsin: home of the icicle. Now, with my wetsuit... look out siblings. We're re-writing the records book.

Last night there was a fine chop going on. Kind of reminded me of... oh where was that??... Oh yeah, Lake Monona on September 10th. EXCEPT I was alone so I had that water all to myself to swallow. Which I did. I also was alone to soak up the autumn sun - truly a precious commodity.

I settled into that swimming rhythm, thoughts of school alternating with thoughts of my technique and Ironman memories, Chris's birthday coming up... and lasted a very comfortable 45 minutes. As I exited the water, a couple on the beach stopped necking long enough to stare at me, then give a little wave in response to mine. Isn't joy that way? You just can't keep it bottled up inside. It leaks out of me all the time!

Now you have some of it too.

Mirror, Mirror

Healthy Numbers: Heart rate, workout times & distances, workout rate numbers, e.g. MPH, minutes per mile

Evil Numbers: Weight, pants/swimsuit... clothing sizes - shoe size OK with me (not OK with my mother-in-law though.)

Healthy mind games: Umm. I don't know - Name that Tune??

Unhealthy mind games: The "Perfect" Game - requires only one player, one mirror, and one twisted mind.

Someday I am going to give myself permission to have hips and breasts - and maybe even thighs if I'm feeling really generous. Until then, my ground rules are: 1) stick to the healthy numbers and, 2) watch only my form when lifting weights in front of the mirror.

Today's HEALTHY numbers
21 minutes on Elliptical - Av HR 139
21 minutes lifting weights - core & upper body

Hey Tri-Men, do you have body image issues??
I know other Tri-Women have 'fessed up. (What's with us??)