A Chip off Dad's [Starting] Block

Today was a great day. I woke up at 1:30 am to the sound of pouring rain- again. This is the third morning in a row. Saturday, it was a novelty to have a cooling, yet tropical rain douse us for 15 miles. Sunday was a little less novel as carpel tunnel set in squeezing the brakes as much as I did down the hills on our ride. I tried to pretend I was impressing my riding partner with her view of my triceps as I clenched those brakes. Today, I awoke to the sound of falling rain, looked at the clock, and was relieved to think I had 2 more hours of sleep before getting up. I was hopeful the waterworks would end by the 4 am run. No such luck.

I called my running partner at 3:20 am. "Are we really running in this?" My voice was cranky and, really, just mad.
"Well, I'm running in it. If you are not, I will get on the treadmill in my garage..." was her equally cranky response.
The guilt was enough for me. "I'm walking out the door right now."

Begrudgingly, I got in the car and drove to our meeting spot. Usually a happy commute for me, this morning it seemed counterproductive somehow when I was so bitter about a little rain. Sometimes the dichotomy in my brain is enough to make me unstable. I hate that I love to exercise so much that I am willing to sacrifice sleep and warmth to turn up in the downpour. It turned out that our just shy of 11 mile run was quite beautiful. I love how the rain looks as it falls in front of the streetlamps...it almost looks like snow. Now there is a thought...snow in July in San Diego. It was so delicate and romantic almost. It felt like a photography in black and white in the darkness. It was a great run and I am so glad I dragged my sorry tukis out of bed. My running partner, however, decided she was too tired after the run to swim, so I had to drag myself into the facility alone. It felt like I was walking the plank. I swam 1400 long course and by then it was almost the true time for me to get out. I needed coffee in a bad way.

The highlight of the day, however, was attending our 5 year old's swim team beach banquet and award ceremony. I was not aware of the awards, but I knew enough to bring food for the potluck. After a rainy morning, it turned out to be a hot and beautiful day. The kids played in the surf forever with friends, riding boogey boards and building sandcastles. This is what San Diego dreams are made of. The food was great and then everyone gathered for awards. They actually started with some announcements and then the little kids on pre team, which is our girl. When the coaches announced that our team is number 2 in all of San Diego (second only to a team that has a much nicer pool and 504 more swimmers than we do), it did my heart such good. When my daughter won "Most Improved Swimmer" on that team, my heart was swelling with pride. The awards were so far and few between that I was honestly impressed. When coach Patty began talking about a little girl who started and could barely swim the length of the pool but never gave up, I found myself chanting in my head, "Oh please, God, please God..." I hoped desperately it was my little one, knowing it would be the push of encouragement she would need. Her strokes are so darn pretty, but it breaks my heart when she says, "Mom, I'm always the last one [to the wall]." It just had to be her name they called....and they did. It was actually kind of emotional to know how hard she works and to think she is on her way. She was recognized for having the "heart of a lion". She hugged her coaches and after some cake, we packed up to get ready to leave.
"Good job, " coach Michael said to her. She saw him, dropped her boogey board, and leapt into his arms to hug him. It was a scene from some romantic or heart wrenching movie, where the people are estranged from each other for some period of time, only to have a heart-felt reunion. She was elated.

It is so easy to get lost in the day in and day out of things. We run through our days, follow our schedules, make our plans, check off our lists. Sometimes we just cannot see the forest for the trees. Today, I saw the tree right in front of me. The little one, reaching for the sun, growing in invisible ways to new heights each day. There she was, holding her trophy with her little chest puffed out. All I could think was she is just like her daddy, with his numerous trophies from swimming past. She clutched that plaque and asked me, "Mom, is this real gold??" Some milestones are so obvious. Others are less tangible and cause us to examine a little closer. The joy of being an athlete is never-ending. The joy of being a mom is indescribable. The joy of raising an athlete is ethereal. Her self-esteem just went up about 100 points. I'll swim to that.

Yep, he did it again

He did it again. My hubby won the Aquathlon down at La Jolla Shores. I guess some would argue that this is a small feat, a little race, but I think it is pretty cool. I mean, the Tri Club has thousands of members, though only a few hundred who participate in these races. Probably about 200 competed in this one. It does my heart such good to see my super fit, super cute hubby, racing his heart out. I love when he is motivated and doing something he is good at and enjoys (most of the time).

His swim was great...top 3 or 4 out of the water, I think. He wears not a wetsuit and doesn't bother to don shoes for the 3 mile beach run, so his transition is seconds through the little neon green cones. He was off and running. He caught the first two guys and maintained a healthy lead. When he came around the first loop and turnaround, my heart skipped a beat when I realized Jameson was closer than I think he anticipated and Jameson was on a mission. I knew my boy was running scared, but seemingly so comfortable (easy for me to say on the sidelines, I realize). Hubs cranked the final loop, brought it home and spanked a couple of friends on their tukises for good measure, both who he lapped. It must be nice to be an ultra performance athlete. I must say I miss doing the Aquathlon series this year, but anything I would do is so middle of the pack and unmentionable. It is kind of nice to relax on the sidelines and have a celebrity for a spouse. Our 5 year old expects it now. She runs to the finish and simply asks, "Did you win, daddy?" I think she would be disgusted if he didn't turn up a metal these days. But, really, how could he not?

As for me, I have been sticking to the one workout I really have to coax myself into doing: swimming the La Jolla Cove every Friday. Week in and week out, I dread going, but as soon as I am in the water, I feel so good. Not just refreshed from the heat we are melting in, but good that I can be out in a beautiful place and almost even luxuriate in the water when I get over the initial fear. I am losing my swim partner for the next 2 weeks as he is leaving to get married in Mexico. His wedding plans are really not that convenient for my training schedule, so I am trying to nail down some other girlfriend options for the next 2 Fridays. I actually got on the bike today, too, which is a first in weeks. How is it that I decided this was the weekend-no matter what-that I would ride and it rained on us the whole way? Yesterday we were soaked for our 15 mile run, as well. I will never figure out this weather. It keeps me guessing everyday. I am hoping for a dry 11 mile run tomorrow at 4 am. Let's see about that.

Goals for this week: get on the bike twice during the week (spin or ride) and one weekend ride another ocean swim in addition to my regular workouts in the pool and increase some running mileage.

Courage

Courage (noun): The quality of mind that enables one to face danger with confidence, resolution, and firm control of oneself; bravery. -American Heritage Dictionary

What do we consider a couragous act? Why do we value courage? What exactly is courage and how do we get to the essence of it anyway? How do we define courage within ourselves? I have never viewed myself as a courageous person. I have endured pain and disappointments. I have lost loved ones and moved to new cities alone. I have embraced challenges socially and pushed myself academically beyond what I thought I was capable of. But I have never climbed mountains or scaled steep rocks. I have never been sky diving or deep sea diving. I never enjoyed my dad taking me out in his latest sporty convertible, standing on the gas pedal until the wind blew all the tears from my eyes. I like rollercoasters, but I am always convinced I take my life in my hands when I get on one. No, I am not courageous.

But this sport of triathlon has caused me to consider a deeper definition of the word. Maybe courage doesn't always involve "danger", but rather doubt? I am always full of self doubt entering a race. That is why I continue to go back to the starting line. Time and time again, I find myself at a race start questioning my motive for being there. Saturday was a meager little CLub race at Glorietta Bay. There I stood on the shore of that disgusting water wondering why I had gotten out of bed at 4:45 am to tortue myself with the nagging questions. "Why am I here? I love to workout, why do I feel like I need to race? What if I drown? Or, worse, what if they have to pull me into the kayak and drag me back to shore? What if I get some disgusting communicable disease from this sess pit? What if I crash on the bike?" The list goes on and on.

The race was only a 1500 swim, 40 K bike and 10 K run. 6:30 start was pushed a little late and I was worried about the heat that would ensue in the hours following. The women went 2 minutes behind the men. I met some woman on the shore and we chatted about how much she loved this new-found sport. When I told her I hated the swim and was so terrible in the water, she said she was surprised because I "look like a swimmer". Not sure what that means exactly, but she eased my mood a little bit and then we were off. There was a lot of clawing and kicking for so few of us, maybe 30, at most. I started easy, wanting to conserve some energy and trying to find some air that seemed to be lost among my hyperventelation. The water wasn't cold, it just took my breath away when I realized I was really moving forward with this after all. I found the words to a kids' song in my mind and it clamed me for half a minute. Then the words to an old worship song were echoing in my brain, "Over all the earth, You reign on high, every mountain stream, every sunset sky. But my one request, Lord my only aim, is that You reign in me again...." It sounds corny, but it helped emmensely to know that there is Something bigger than I am....Someone greater than this crazy event who cares for me and loves me. So, I continued on with the lyrics, all the while being pulled at and kicked in the face. I decided I need to pick up the pace and get away from the floundering, splashing pack. And then I was all alone. Far behind the men (though I passed a few), behind the lead women, but strangely out in front of some other women. It was kind of peaceful in an erie way. Normally I am panicked to be all alone, but somehow I was comforted by the beauty of the sunrise on the water (smelly as it was) and the fact that I had mustered up some self-confidence to know that I could go solo and be okay.

The swim went totally smoothly. If one were to trace my route, I think I hugged the bouies perfectly all the way around, a victory in and of itself, considering the fact I swam an extra 200 yards, give or take, last time I did this course. This time I didn't follow anyone else's feet and I made it right around where I needed to be. The bike was harder in the wind and heat. The first loop felt okay, though I was passed by all the men I had passed in the water and then a few women, too. I still cannot drink or eat while riding, so I had to stop any time I wanted water and Gu, 4 times, I think. This is pathetic and I need to practice this, obviously. I was grateful to get off the bike and find my running legs, though by now, the sun was searing through me. I literally got into the transition area, ate a few electrolyte Jelly Bellies (I forgot to take thermolytes) and was off and running.

Those first steps were murder. The sun was so hot and my legs were so tight, I may have stopped if hubby and little people were not there cheering for me. All I could think was, "I don't need this. Why do I care? I don't have to finish this...this sucks. I hate this sport..."but there was the fam and I thought quitting would hurt more than anything that could happen in the next 6. 2 miles. I decided to try to keep the guy in the white hat several paces ahead of me in my sight. I knew I would not be able to catch him, but if I could see him, I would know I was maintaining the pace. I couldn't shake the negativity, however. The thought that continued to plague me was the fact that I would be out running for a minimum of 45 minutes. 45 minutes! That seemed like an eternity. I decided instead to think about the course ahead. I had just run the 15 K down here on the Fourth of July, I knew the course well. It seemed like a long way until the turnaround where the water station was. I was dreaming of the water. "Lord reign in me, reign in Your power, over all my dreams in my darkest hour. You are the Lord, over all I am, so won't you reign in me again."

I made it to the turnaround and saw my friend Tom coming back already. I felt like death. I stopped to pour 3 cups of water over my head and instantly felt better. It cooled me to the core and it was like heaven. I picked up my sorry pace, not even sure what it was, but I knew I was slow. I began to pick people off. The woman in front of me had just taken a Gu and I half expected her to take off like a light, but I could see she was suffering. I offered her an encouraging word as I went by her. Then I passed the man she had been running with on the way out. I passed another man who said, "Hey, slow down..." I smiled and told him to jump on the pace. Then I saw white hat guy with 2 miles to go. I was closing in on him and then I actually passed him. He was as surprised as I was and said, " Hey, where did you come from?" I said, "I've been chasing you this whole time." He shouted after me, "Now it's my turn.." and he picked up the pace. I could hear his breath and feel his pounding feet behind me. I picked it up again, just to mess with him a little bit. He gave up almost immediately and I was off toward home. The thought of the finish was not working for me. It was trying to retrieve the words from the song I knew so long ago that kept my mind busy..."Over every thought, over every word, may my life reflect, the beauty of my Lord, cause you mean more to me, than any earthly thing, won't you reign in me again..."

Then, there were my little people, playing in the fountain in front of the Coronado Community Center. The sun was baking my brain, I felt a little delirious. My boy came running out after me, right in the line of fire, but was snatched up by hubs. I ran by and crossed the finish line and all I wanted was to get back in that nasty water. I am not sure of the times or splits or any of the details. I didn't even wear a watch. I didn't care. I had another "race" I completed. Courage? I have a little. I faced my demons with resolve and self-control. It may not have been dangerous, but it was doubtful for sure. I wanted to quit the whole way, but a little something in me just would not let me. I would like to think it was a teeny spark of courage. I may never throw myself off a cliff, but I found a little something in me that I never knew was there.

Heroism

Last week two things transpired to make me feel like a hero. The first was completing a WHOLE track workout of 16 x 400 @ 1:28 pace. I always feel like giving out autographs when I finish a huge block of a workout like that. The day was so much sweeter knowing I did not quit when I wanted to at 12. I had told my training partners to tell me when we got to 12 since I had lost count, thinking that would be plenty for my first speed workout back. Somehow, 12 turned into 13 and then I felt like I could not quit at an odd number. When I got to 14, I thought, how could I possibly skip out with simply 2 left? Then it was over and I felt like a celebrity (for myself, of course, no one else cared).
The second heroic act I accomplished for myself was swimming the La Jolla Cove. I really hate the ocean swim, especially with a little swell bumping around out there. I was grateful for my husband who pushed me to do it, considering the fact that I was completely in denial about really going. We had talked about the possibility of it at the week's start and I really had no intention of following through. He is so good like that to challenge my fears and push me further than I want to go. I was also hugely grateful to bump into a much faster swimmer friend who graciously offered to swim next to me when he realized my deep-seated fear of open water. We made it to the first bouy, at which point the swell was tossing us around a little more than I preferred. All of a sudden, I felt so exposed out there....all the swimmers we were near missing on the way out were already back and the Cove's cliffs which so comfortingly shelter one from the abiss were suddenly so far away. There we were, no other swimmers or kayakers, far from the shore, and the sky threatening darkness. It was a little more than I wanted for the Friday night, so I begged to come in. Whew! A whole huge swim out to the quarter mile bouy and back. Am I a hero, or what?
Of course, after I am back on dry land, it always feels like a holiday. I convince myself the sting rays and many creatures are not as bad as they seemed and I talk myself into going back again. Let's see if I can pull it off again. God, please do not let me have a panic attack and drown out there.

Tradition

What exactly is a tradition? In our family, it is the Coronado race on the Fourth of July. This year was the first year my hubby didn't run the 15K pushing 2 kids in the jogger (and still beating my time). He ran the 5 K along side our 5 year old, while pushing our 3 year old. It was a beautiful sight to behold. My little toehead, skinny legs that go on forever, trotting along side her dad, with brother asleep in tow.

Of course, I didn't really see the whole race. I was out running the other direction for a few extra miles. The 15K is my favorite race. I normally detest the out and back course, but for some reason, this race is extraordinary. Maybe it is the Star Spangled Banner that is sung at race start (it always brings tears to my eyes), or maybe it is the hundreds of patriotic people in their funny striped shorts sprecked with stars (you people who wore your Union Jacks are totally rude). Maybe it is the smell of BBQ along the course (and tons of smoke, of course) or the people lined up all along the way cheering. I love running on the Base with all the military guys yelling for us. I feel American the whole run.

All I wanted was to better my time of 1:09 last year. I have run this race every year I have been in San Diego, with the exception of one year, I think. I even ran it 8 weeks post partum off a C section against my doctor's advice. I practically planned the birth of my children based on the ability to participate in this event. Why? I am not sure. I just love the tradition of it. It is like a running streak I do not want to break. ridiculous, I know.

This year was fabulous because, in addition to my little people in the race, I had lots of friends running, as well. I love the turn around on the base when one can see her friends on the way back. It is so cool. We even see people we only see once a year at this race. It is special in that way.

I think I went out too slow, despite the first mile being too fast. I had settled into a pace that was a little too comfortable and noodled my way along the course. When I got to mile 5, I knew I needed to pick it up. I did and felt great until about 8 1/2 at which point I started to fade a little. Then, some guys who were introduced to me that day passed me (I had passed them at mile 5) and I tried to hold on. I picked it up, only to finish one second behind them, 1:09:46, or 7:30 pace. So, I a little disappointed I cannot say I bettered my time, but at least it was not worse. I am a little sad I didn't run harder in the beginning, but I enjoyed the view from hanging on to Theresa's shoulder (she finished just behind me). My girl did great. The sweetest part was I got to see her coming in to the finish, since the 5K starts after the 15K. She was a trooper and we are so proud. She even swam for hours after the race and parade, so I am thinking she sandbagged a little?

What can I take away from this experience? That every race day is so different. I felt so prepared for the marathon, only to crumble. This race I was not all in knots about and I went into it with little rest or sleep the days leading up to it, and it was okay. Not fabulous, but I am beginning to wonder if I will ever be totally pleased with any race I do.

I think about my kids, always wanting to climb trees at the park. They are always asking me to hoist them into the pines, scaling the branches, uncertain of their ability, but always wanting to go higher, nonetheless. They are often a little shakey, but they continue to climb, even higher than I can comfortably spot them. Is that how we all are? We want more than we are certain we can achieve. We are reaching for the next highest branch, wanting to spread our wings and explore, terrified of the fall. I think that is how I am, anyway. Wanting the next highest branch, desperate to clutch it in my hands, fearful of what happens if I miss it. The marathon was a miss, entirely. The 15K was a rung back up the tree, hopefully closer to the view at the top.