Preschool Graduation

*Sigh*

Today is Alexandria's last day of preschool.  Well, she had her last day on Thursday, but today's the graduation.  I'm mixed up with my emotions.  Today is one of those days that embodies the essence of my experience in parenthood.

She's growing.  And fast.  She began reading about a week and a half ago.  She's aware of her shoe sizes and her clothing sizes and has strong opinions about her unique sense of fashion.  Her generosity and sensitivity humble me daily.  The concept of right vs. wrong is beginning to make sense, and she needs less explanation for why some choices are better than others.  She's grown an inch and a half and a shoe size.

She says things like, "That's adorable" and "Oh my gosh!  I can't believe it!"

She pours her own water, rinses her own plate, makes her own snacks, packs her own overnight bag, and (usually) says "Thank you" for her meal.

Two days ago, she willingly participated in cleaning up her toys.  I daresay, she executed the task enthusiastically!  After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I lavished praise and joined in the Wonderpets "Teamwork" song.

She just woke up (without waking her brother) and wrangled Dave into some cozy morning time.  They're discussing the meaning of her preschool graduation.

I know I'm going to lose my mind and cry tears and make the ugly face.  As much joy as I take in my growing children, I mourn the real loss of the quirkiness, silliness, and sheer smallness of their little beings.  Watching their mental, physical, and spiritual development satisfies my soul, and I work hard to stay in the moment of their lives.  However, these acute moments in their lives punctuate the passage of time in my own.  They remind me that I'm growing older too, and that all these good things reach their inevitable end.  I see my own mortality in their developing muscles and growing bones.  My children's growing list of accomplishments prevent me from living in a bubble of denial.  I can't remain forever youthful and stagnant when I am inundated daily with reminders of our collective growth and maturity.  This moment is one to celebrate!  I feel washed in both loss and gratitude for bearing witness to these lives, including my own.

*Breathe*

So today Dave and I, along with our parents, will watch Alexandria graduate from preschool.  We're a decade older than when we first met, dazed by silliness and irresponsibility.  Here we are together, enmeshed in the daily responsibilities of adulthood and parenthood.  We're celebrating these lives we've brought forth, reflecting simple graces we encounter daily.

I'm going to cry.  But I can't say I'm sad for the passage of time.  What is, is.  I accept that.  I think I'm moved less by the loss of an age, and more by the privilege of being alive to see it pass.

*Crying*

The Only Thing Better Would Have Been A Glass Of Wine While Walking

Tonight I watched the BFFs kids at dinnertime.  My house was in total pandamonium.  Two four year-olds and two two year-olds yelling, screaming, playing the piano, telling stories, asking questions, and refusing dinner.  I loved it.

After they left, I got my kids in their jammies, brushed their teeth, read stories, sang two songs, said a prayer, and kissed them goodnight.  When I closed the door to their room, I looked out the window.  Light.  At 8:10 pm, the sun was down but the sky was blue.  I looked at Dave and said, "I'm heading out for a walk.  Just a quick one."

For the next 20 minutes, I processed work and home and packaged those problems into neat bundles.  They're stored away in tidy boxes on the shelves of my brain until tomorrow, or the next time I have to deal with them.

As I turned on the loop and began heading for home, I realized that when I was done putting the kids down, I'd been faced with a choice.  I could have sat down and enjoyed a glass of wine, which would have likely turned into two.  I would have awoken tomorrow retaining water and feeling generally sluggish.  Since Alexandria's been born, that's the usual pick.  But I opted instead for a walk in fresh air, under blue skies and green trees.

While walking, I recalled an interview for Big Brothers Big Sisters.  I was asked, "What do you do to relieve stress?"
"I go for a run."
"What do you do if you have a really bad day at work?"
"I go for a run."
"What do you do if you are experiencing tension with your partner?"
"I go for a run."

I was like a robot in that conversation, but it was the truth.  The way I stayed sane was by running.  It put the world back in order for me.  I could think quietly for about 45 minutes and by the time I got home, all my problems were scattered behind me on the pavement.

Tonight marked the first time since having kids that I revisited the habit of exercising to relieve stress, anxiety, tension, or just get some quiet.

Twenty minutes later I walked through my door.  I'd worked out work problems, decided my legs are looking good, marvelled at the bright red streaks of cloud across the sky, and contemplated the end of Alexandria's preschool.

Slowly but surely, old parts of me are emerging like grass blades popping through the snow.  The kids are a little older, and perhaps I'm less winded by the responsibilities of the day.  I don't have as much clean up or prep work to do at night.  I guess tonight was the first night in a long time where when the kids went down, I was done.  I didn't have to be drill sargeant general harpee mom.  She sucks.  I could be Natalie again.  I like her.

No real moral to the story.  Just a little sharing time.

Burnout

I'm not going to mince words here.  I'm beat.  And it's the Big Tired.
There are two kinds of tired in my world.  There's the Little Tired, where you haven't gotten enough sleep for a few nights, or you had two really rough days at work but heck, the weekend's coming and you'll get a little down time.

Then there's the Big Tired.  This means that you haven't gotten enough rest and sleep in longer than you can remember.  You haven't a day where somebody hasn't demanded every need from you.  You've gone to bed thinking of all the things that still need to be done, yet when you wake up fresh the next day, you have no energy to do them.  A weekend won't cure it.  An afternoon away from home won't make it better.  The only solution is solitude and a cook.

That's where I am.  I wake up between 5:30 and 6:30 every morning.  I get my cup of coffee and I write.  I write until small people begin needing me, about an hour later.  Then, I don't write anymore.  I don't think anymore.  I don't really get to complete thoughts until they go to bed, but by then, my brain is fried from the day and I'm lucky if I can construct a sentence.

I still have all of my Cinderella duties between their bedtime and mine, too.  There's the dishes and the laundry and the picking up and the sweeping.  It's mind numbing and hateful work.  That's very un-Jesus-like, I know, but it's where I am and I comfortable with my feelings.  I just can't muster the energy to do all of it when it's going to get undone 3 1/2 seconds after they wake up in the morning.

My house doesn't look like a house on Hoarders or anything.  I'm quite tidy.  But the small bothersome things are small enough that I don't feel a pressing need to confront them.  Yet I see them and they bother me.  But if I started one, I'd keep going and wouldn't stop until it was all done and I'd never get any sleep and I'd be worse off than I am now oh lord run on sentence.

The obvious solution is to use my time in the morning.  Forget writing for a while and do the things that will help regain my sanity.  Well, here's the deal.  I feel really anxious when I don't write.  More anxious than the small things make me.  Writing is like draining a bucket set beneath a leaky roof.  Every morning, rain has filled it, and in order for the bucket to catch more rain, it must be emptied.  That's how my brain is.  I want the ideas to flow through me because they keep me alive!  They keep my mind young and fresh and energetic.  It's the only time in my day where I'm not serving others, and to dismiss that time as ill-used is not correct.  That time is pure and unviolated.

So, the moral of the story is this: mountains of laundry, unvacuumed carpet, a handprint on the window, and a drink ring on the bathroom counter are too much for me right now.  I don't have the energy to care.  Two demanding kids fill every time and thought slot.

And, summer's coming.

Maybe I can check in at one of those resorts where everybody takes a vow of silence...silence...silence.

The Luxury of Goodbye

I've been saying for years that I want to live to 100.  I want to get there.  In case you didn't know already, I'm really competitve.

A few weeks ago, my mom told me that my grandpa was sick and would be going into hospice.  He'd reached 90 and his body was failing him.  His giant heart was trying to call it quits, but his difibrillator wouldn't let him.

My sister and I each went out independently to see him, to offer love, to say, "Goodbye Grandpa.  I love you."  We all went out to breakfast.  All the waitresses joked with him.  While I was there, I helped my mom change sheets, do laundry, clean the house, and keep my grandmother, who suffers from dementia, occupied.  We played Rumikub, a family favorite.

Grandpa's legs swelled with edema.  I joked that they looked like tree trunks, and that made him laugh.  I noted the blurry blue tatoos, scars of his service in the Pacific Theater during World War II.  He said simply, "I'm in bad shape."  We all knew it.  I gave him a foot bath and rubbed lotion on his chapped, fluid filled limbs.  He winced if I pressed too hard.  He was miserable.

When we left, I gave him a hug and kiss and said, "I love you Grandpa."  He smiled and continued eating his lunch.  I felt so lucky.

I cried on the way back.  I knew that was my last time seeing him.  It's not quite how I wanted to remember him.  I wanted the energetic, feisty, political guy I've known for 34 years.  I decided that getting to 100 isn't nearly as glamorous as I'd envisioned.  But this is what the end of it is like sometimes.  Slowly, one by one, the organs slow down.  Time and love won't heal them again.

Today, they stopped.  My grandfather passed away this afternoon in his home, and he'd been surrounded by his children only a week before.  Living life was painful, and it's not anymore.  My grandpa, my funny, charming, smart, witty, war-hero, patriotic, loving grandpa, is not of this earth anymore.

He lived a life full of love.

Oh, Wildflower.

You know, even as I sit looking at the blinking cursor I don’t really know what to write. My feelings about last weekend are conflicted and confusing. I’ve asked deep, uncomfortable questions like, “What is success?” “Am I too hard on myself?” and “Do I see myself the way others see me?”

The "transition" area, where triathletes change from swimming
to cycling, or from cycling to running.

Triathlon is incredible. On any given Sunday, you can watch pros and waitresses suffer equally and accomplish an incredible feat. Nobody would deny that completing a triathlon is something amazing.

I just finished a triathlon. So why don’t I feel amazing?

The weekend began with a tickle in the back of my throat that I chose to disregard in the hopes it would disappear. I felt calm and confident. I’d trained really hard. I was stronger than I’d ever been. My singular goal was to beat my time from 2005, hopefully by a lot. In my mind, it was a foregone conclusion. I’d trained right and my mind was tougher. I’d worked through more distractions with more focus. The race was mine.

Published!

We arrived at Lake San Antonio and set up our camp, which I lovingly dubbed Camp Rock ‘n’ Thorn. Very rocky. Very thorny. After setting up and getting settled, we realized that our air mattress had a hole and we didn’t have a patch. Dave made a valiant attempt to shore it up with a bike patch, but it just didn’t hold. That night would be spent on the ground. The highlight of the day was finding my short story of returning to Wildflower published in the official program. It had to be a good omen.

That night, as the evening turned into early morning, the temperature dropped into the mid-30s. I lay awake in our tent with a freezing face unable to drift back into slumber. I woke up exhausted but confident we’d have a mattress solution the next night. Of course we would. The weekend was preordained to go perfectly.

On Saturday morning, Alexandria and I headed up the little dirt road to cheer for the Half-Ironman triathletes as they embarked on their 56 mile bike ride. We helped riders who lost water bottles and food, and cheered loudly! We spent all day at the Wildflower Festival talking with athletes, watching the long race, eating lunch, and enjoying the day.

Pro Triathlete Jesse Thomas was so
excited to get a picture with me!  Actually,
it was the other way around.

We met Jesse Thomas, the “mystery man” pro who won the Long Course! Turns out, he and Dave worked together over a summer! He gave me advice, “Race within yourself. You’re not racing anyone else. Just race within yourself.”

I ate a great dinner. I felt relaxed. But we couldn’t fix the mattress, and the low temp that night was supposed to be 33. Yikes!

Race morning. I’d woken up in the middle of the night with a freezing face and a stuffy nose. I didn’t get more than 4 hours of continuous sleep. My body would pull through, though. I just knew it.

Sparing the details of pre-race eating and the girls all talking about that girl who was going to *gasp* swim without a wetsuit and “I just don’t know how she expects that she’s going to have a good swim because it’s cold” and “HELLO! I’m standing right here and can hear you!”, I walked down to the start line and felt good. I felt good. I caught sight of Dave and Alexandria standing high on the wall of the boat ramp and felt more proud and excited than I thought I could. Seeing my child, my real inspiration for doing this, cheering for me was like a tonic. It was short-lived.

We lined up. The buzzer went. We plunged into the cold water.

I started out getting kicked in the face a few times and sucking down some water. I suddenly didn’t feel right. My stomach felt queasy and I thought I was going to throw up. The water was cold, but I’ve been in colder water and felt fine. I didn’t feel fine. Mere minutes into my race, I could feel my brain failing, refusing to let my body be as tough as I’d trained it to be.

I rolled over and did a few back strokes. I took deep breaths. I prayed. I marveled that the rays of bright sun didn’t make the water any warmer! I turned back over. I tried again. I couldn’t find a rhythm. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe. And that would be it. I couldn’t do any more without taking in big mouthfuls of lake water. Heinous. I know.

I thought about swimming over to one of the race attendants and giving up. My chest felt tight with phlegm and my throat constricted with a possible onslaught of tears. “Jesus, please help me I just want to give up!” I thought. “This wasn’t the race I was supposed to have!” I watched the pack of 30-34 year olds get further and further away from me. I began to suspect that my race goals were finished. The race attendant was tantalizingly close.

Then I thought of Alexandria. I thought about her needing to see her mom finish a hard-won challenge. I pressed on.

About ¾ of the way through, still struggling, I rolled over on my back again. I felt completely alone in the water. Nobody was really around me. I let the sun warm my body and I prayed again. “Please help me through this. Just please help me finish this.” I took a few deep breaths, and turned over. I found a rhythm for a few strokes, and again had stop and catch my breath. Then I bore down and found that rhythm again. Again, I stopped and took a breath.

When I finally touched the boat ramp, my swim was 8 minutes longer than I’d expected. I walked a few steps, and then jogged up the ramp to get ready for my 25 mile bike ride through rolling hills.

Leaving camp for the starting line.

I never fully recovered. I pushed my exhausted body for the next three hours and 27 minutes. The brutality of the rolling hills of Wildflower further broke me. I got off my bike three times to walk up the hills, and once to retrieve a dropped water bottle. Halfway through my ride, I began to think, “I don’t care anymore. I’m not going to win or even beat my old time. But I must finish. I just really don’t care anymore.” The only hill I felt good on was the last one, the steepest one. A fellow rider explained as she rode by, “This one’s the hardest.” In pure fury at myself, and her for telling me that as I obviously struggled with my machine, I pushed up hard and ignored the lactic acid sizzling through my legs. I channeled the chant my kids scream at me during the tough parts of my rides, “Go Mommy Go!” I reached the top and felt scant satisfaction.

During my run, I walked up every hill. I’ve never done that. I thought I was going to have an asthma attack. When I could, I ran with a group of ladies and at one point explained, “I’m struggling.” A woman replied, “We all are.”

In the end, I finished my race half an hour slower than I did in 2005. I crossed the line terribly unhappy. I felt no pride in what I’d just done. In the hours that followed, I questioned whether the sacrifices of time and money to which I’d subjected myself and my family were worth my valiant-but-fruitless effort. Dave told me I was crazy. I couldn’t help it. My body failed me. My mind failed me. I wasn’t tough enough to pull through my struggle.

Though my friends congratulated me and used the words “rocked” and “proud to know you,” I couldn’t help but think, “They just don’t know what a good time is.” I knew what I could do, and I didn’t do it. Nobody seemed to acknowledge that. I began to feel like my frustration and disappointment were wholly unjustified.

The past week has provided insight that I’ve never before needed. I realized that I’ve never had a bad race. Sure, I’ve had races where I probably missed my goal by a minute or something, but when I told that group of ladies “I’m struggling,” it was out of pure confusion. “Struggling” had never happened to me before. I didn’t know what “struggling” in sports really was.

I’ve thought of the great athletes who famously struggled and finished. Greta Waitz ran the 1984 Olympic marathon with the flu, and crossed the line crooked, limping, and delirious. There was that Ironman guy on the Gatorade commercial who limped across the finish line. Floyd Landis practically collapsed on Stage 15 of the Tour in 2006 (just forget the scandal that followed). Eric Harr, champion Ironman triathlete (and author of my training book), tells of a personal account of a race that boiled down to the following words, “At this point, it’s not about winning. It’s about finishing.”

Well, as a reluctant middle-of-the-packer, I take comfort in knowing I stand in the company of greats. My brain knows I didn’t fail. I actually succeeded. I finished. And for what it took to get to the finish line, I should be, and am, proud. I trained with two little kids and a husband who travels. I didn’t get to run very much because I have a hard time focusing when two small people perpetually need snacks, waters, throw things out of the stroller, and are generally antsy. I learned to enjoy riding my bike in the company of children. I learned to go faster when the kids chanted, “Go Mommy Go!” I learned not to dilly-dally at the gym, and that I can get a 45 minute swim workout in when the Kidz Club is only open for another 50 minutes. I learned to change my clothes fast.

Oddly, emotional closure came after talking with my sister. I explained all that I’d felt through the week. She understood. My brother in law, an incredible athlete, had a similar experience a few years ago. She told me that on race day, he’d looked up my time and upon seeing my finish, he said to her, “Your sister had a rough day today. But she finished.”

Somehow, the simple acknowledgement that someone knew my body didn’t do what it could have done, and didn’t try to sugar coat it as some sort of amazing accomplishment, felt good. He legitimized my disappointment.

I did not rock the course, although I loved reading that. I didn’t glide or fly. I was in a lot of pain. I suffered, and I get that now. I know what that is.

The amazing accomplishment of Sunday’s race was not that I did it. The amazing thing is that, through that race, I finished it. I didn’t give up.

A fuel more powerful than carbohydrates - my kids!

Week 9: Feeling Better, Sort Of

I felt really strong this week!  My muscles worked really well, I had more energy, and I felt more "in the game" mentally.  However, I'm having lingering stomach issues that I'm convinced is not the flu.  It's more irritating than anything!  I think it's probably sapping my energy, so for that reason alone, I need to get better.  To the doctor I go!

The kids left on Thursday so I had some time alone.  I headed out during a break in the rain to do some hill repeats and, happily, I felt pretty good.  Stomach issues nonwithstanding, I had a great run.  My legs felt strong and I maintained controlled breathing.  I really loved running alone, too.  It's always been a challenge for me to have a satisfying run while pushing the running stroller.  I've always been a solitary runner, and accomodating for "company" always feels like a mighty sacrifice.  I enjoyed being on my own again.

I opted out of my long Saturday workout.  I had great workouts with the ladies at Stroller Fitness.  I've especially enjoyed leading the plyometrics portion of the class.  I can feel my abdominals, back, and arms getting stronger.

So that's it.  I did more of the same and built up more of my base.  I'm going to try to get in the pool twice a week for the rest of my training.  I'm also finding that getting time on the bike is a challenge.  But, I'll figure it out.

What Sapped My Motivation:

• My stupid stomach issues
• Having a tough week parenting

What Kept Me Going:

• Having great workouts despite my lame stomach
• Working out alone
• Seeing subtle changes in my upper back, arms, and core muscles
• Feeling strong despite occasional stomach pain

Week 10: The Lingering Flu

Well, my whole family got the flu and it was awful.  Everybody was sick and just needed rest.  So, we did, and now we're back on the mend.

I woke up feeling perfectly normal on Tuesday.  With the rain, I cancelled Stroller Fitness and headed to the gym where I had a great workout on the bike.  It was a little tough to start because my body was still a little fatigued from all that non-movement, but I took Eric Harr's advice and made assessments every 5 minutes.  I said, "I'm going to continue for another 5 minutes to see how I feel then."  By about the 3rd time I did that, I felt much better.  In fact, I felt strong enough to do a good upper body workout, as well.  I felt normal again.

I had decent workouts throughout the week, in part because I took advantage of going to the gym with the rain.  However, I felt fatigued earlier in the evening than normal and fought stomach cramps most of the week.

I headed to my chiropractor on Friday and while getting my adjustment, I confessed that I was having a difficult time getting rid of the flu.  He recommended drinking a LOT of water.  I started drinking and realized that I was slightly dehydrated.  Fighting sickness uses a lot of resources, and water aids in transporting nutrients to different areas of your body.  Dehydration impedes your body's ability to effectively heal.

After my adjustment, I was pretty amped for my long Saturday workout, but instead, I still felt really lethargic when I woke up.  I motivated, ate a really good breakfast, and made it about 1/3 of the way through my swim before I was kaputt.  I had a small snack and a lot of water in the locker room and tried out the treadmill.  I walked briskly for about 20 minutes and felt good, not great.  The flu just seemed to be lingering.

I drank no other beverages except water on Sunday.  The second my water bottle was empty, I refilled it.  No surprise, I woke up on Monday morning feeling great, and as of this writing, I'm still feeling great.  I think it's gone.
What Sapped My Motivation:

• Rainy and cold and no time to play outside
• Residual tummy and fatigue issues from my lingering flu

What Kept Me Going:

• Dana at my gym.  I saw her getting on the treadmill with wet hair and post-goggle eyes.  Generally, triathletes are the only ones nutty enough to finish a swim and only be halfway done with the workout.  I asked if she did triathlons.  She did.  We had an amazing conversation and she's doing Wildflower (1/2 Ironman) too!  She does one Ironman a year!  It was great to talk to somebody else working for similar goals and not be all gushy about it.  It felt good.
• Dr. Ito's quiet confidence that water and rest were the answer.  I love when following doctor's orders works.
• I worked through fatigue and sapped motivation to keep blood flowing and muscles moving.  I fought the flu with a lot of water and a heavy dose of positive thinking.  Each time I come across a potential setback, I know that my brain makes or breaks my success.

Well, it's 9 weeks away!

The Perils of Parenting

This week started out great!  I felt strong and motivated, and was prepared for a busy schedule.  I'd even resolved to going easy on training mid-week so that I could have an awesome workout on Saturday.

Well, the schedule started to fall apart on Tuesday afternoon when Marcus woke up sick.  Later that night, Alexandria woke up feeling nauseous.  She woke up every hour between 11:45 pm and 3:45 am, then again at 5:45 when she decided she wanted to get up (she was tired of being sick at night).  I took it easy and kind of went into survival mode.  I did the bare minimum to keep her on the mend and me from getting sick.

I headed out to Stroller Fitness on Thursday morning and had an amazing workout.  Two laps of power walking around the track plus plyometrics left my body feeling strong!  However, by one o'clock, I was running a fever and conked out for almost two hours.  My fever broke around 2 am, and I felt great on Friday morning.  I met a nice group of ladies on the Promenade for SF, and really enjoyed myself.  I planned a big, fun day for Saturday.

Until... I woke up today completely wasted.  My body is beat.  Clearly, I went through the ringer this week, and my body is telling me what to do.  REST!

So, today I skipped my workout and like Eric Harr recommends, I did it with gusto and without guilt.  I spent the morning clipping pictures from magazines, helping Alexandria decorate her new jewelry box from Grandma, and relaxing.

I don't have any major inspiring workouts.  Nor did I have any great accomplishments that will make me a stronger triathlete.  This week served to remind me of my first task, which is that of a mother.  My kids take precedence over all.  I do not apologize.  The world stops for them.

What Sapped My Motivation:

• Not practicing any of the skills I'll need in competition
• Sick kids
• Sick me
• Busy week

What Kept Me Going:

• "One week makes not a season"
• I ate well, slept well (when I slept), and stretched
• I had a great week at work

Shameless Plug

No, I'm not peddling products.  I'm offering you the chance to do something amazing this second.  My friend Anastasia has walked over 420 miles in the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 3-Day walks to support her mom.  She's incredible and motivated.  She's heading out to Atlanta to walk miles 421-480, and she needs some love.  Please consider donating!  If you or anyone you know has ever suffered from this terrible disease, please join in the fight.  Anything and everything helps.

Did I mention she's awesome?  Because if I didn't, I'll say it right now. 

Anastasia is awesome. <---link

Thank you!

Week 12: Getting To Know You (Again)

Monday:  I started out the week on my bike.  Not my road bike, but my transportation bike.  I haven't been on my bike for a long time, and it felt really good to ride again.  I forgot the pleasure of air pulsing in my ears and the road rushing beneath me.  I smiled wide the first time I rang my bike bell ("On your left!" Rrrrrring!).

I hooked the trailer up and hauled the kids down to the beach for a 9 mile ride.  Our bike trail is awesome because you're either going uphill with the wind or downhill against the wind.  While the ride proved a little challenging for me, the kids had a blast!  I suspect most of my bike training will come by pulling the kids behind me (collective weight: 80 lbs.).  When I finally hit my road bike, with any luck, I'll fly!

Friday:  Midweek was pretty mellow, so I lit the fire today.  I did a 45 minute tempo ride on the stationary bike at the gym and followed it with a challenging abs workout.  I even did a set of  explosive push-ups where I clapped when I came up!  I felt great throughout the whole workout.  I'm going to have a great dinner tonight to prep for my long workout tomorrow. 

Saturday:  Wrestled with stomach cramps last night.  Not so fun.  Woke up early today and felt good, but the tummy pains came and went.  I was going to work out in the morning, but by the time we got ready to leave, I realized I would only have about 10 minutes in the pool before the AquaRobics ladies took over.  Not worth it.  I opted for the afternoon (which is a gamble because I might talk myself into being tired).  I followed through on my committment and had an amazing swim!  I practiced my open water swimming stroke after an encouraging chat with Lexi.  I felt really strong.  I swam about 3/4 mile.  Then, I went out and ran for an hour.  Now, the cramps were en force, but I was messaged by God to persevere.  First, this lady in the locker room had a dope tatoo that read "Discipline Through Pain," and then, when I was running and contemplating whether to turn around and go home or keep at it, I saw a guy wearing a shirt that said, "Pain is temporary.  Pride is forever."  Hell yeah!  I ticked it up a notch, found my rhythm, and had a great run!

Each time I work out now, I imagine I'm racing.  If I'm swimming, I imagine I'm in the lake, swimming as strong as I feel.  If I'm on the bike, I imagine climbing one of the 5 hills of the ride.  If I'm running, I imagine that every step takes me closer to the finish line.  While training, I imagine myself undaunted, indeed strengthened, by the psychological challenges presented on the course.

One of the most important challenges of my training is that I want to include the kids, especially Alexandria. I want them on this adventure as much as possible.  I think it's important for kids to watch their parents achieve goals.  I especially want my girl to see her mom do this.  I want my kids to not just believe, but know, everything is possible with hard work.

What Sapped My Motivation:

• Tummy ache on Friday night from aforementioned huge dinner.  Totally worth it, but still, I didn't feel so great when running on Saturday.
• No chance to have good workouts on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday.
• Spending a lot of energy cleaning the house on Saturday before re-motivating to leave for the gym.  I could have easily ditched.

What Kept Me Going:

• Lady in the locker room with the bad-A tatoo that read "Discipline Through Pain."  Seriously.
• While trying to stay motivated through my crampy tummy on Saturday's run, the guy wearing a shirt that said, "Pain is temporary.  Pride is forever."  With that, I decided I'd continue.
• When discussing the challenges of training within the confines of our schedules, Dave asked, "What do you need from me?"  Amazing support.  He's so proud!
• My awesome friend Lexi giving me encouragement and great advice for open-water swimming.
• People I've never met in person cheering me on!
• Talking with Alexandria about camping on race weekend.
• The excitement of doing this.

So concludes Week 12.  Eleven weeks left.