Steve's Idea of a Cheap BOSU Ball :)

In case you're wondering what a BOSU (BOth Sides Utilized) ball is, I've included a picture above. It's a stability ball that's been cut in half and it takes "core" workouts to an entirely new level of challenge. My coach has given me an entire list of "moves" on the ball, designed of course to make me into the Six Million Dollar Woman ("...better, stronger, faster...")

The following is a conversation I had with Steve today about using one:

Catherine: “I’m going to the gym tomorrow for BOSU ball training…”

Steve: “What’s a BOSU ball?”

Catherine: “Looks like a giant breast lying flat...ya feelin’ me B?” :)

Steve “Oh yeah, I get it NOW…bouncy bouncy…”

Catherine: “So I’m going to the gym…to buy one is more expensive than I thought.”

Steve: “I could make one for you.”

Catherine (getting taken for 1 second): “Really? How?”

Steve: “We could buy a stability ball and I could cut it in half and – “

Catherine (regretting this conversation by the second): “Stop!”

Steve: “Hee hee, I think it would work…besides you look HOT in tri shorts.”

Needless to say I'll be hee-hee-ing myself to death while groaning on said ball tomorrow :)

Grateful For Commas

I lost my job last week. No way, you say. Unfortunately, yes way. Simply put, our company went through an acquisition and the new organization doesn’t have room for everyone. To be fair, I was offered to stay on for the remainder of the year and as well as an equitable severance package.

I will miss my friends, which includes both my colleagues and clients. I’m in the telecommunications field, and there are no two carriers alike which in turn has made my job challenging and interesting both from a technical and business perspective. The variety of people I’ve met has taught me valuable lessons in working with different personalities and abilities. I’ve had to become more patient, knowing when to push and when to back off, as not everything happens in the way or timeframe I always want them to.

The telecom industry has been and continues to be a male-dominated field. I say that strictly from a gender perspective. Early on in my career I took an advanced training class in a specific area of technology, and I was the lone female. More recently I spoke to a group of clients at one of our user group meetings, and I was once again the only woman. Countless times I’ve been in meetings or spoken to larger audiences, the percentage of women has rarely risen above 1%.

Though the ratios continue to give the Equal Employment folks nightmares, I’ve never been treated any differently than my male counterparts – including career advancement as well as compensation. In fact when I left a previous position, I was fairly certain I was the highest compensated engineer, male or female, out of more than 300 engineers in our organization. I’ve worked as hard as my male counterparts to earn high marks among my peers and have what I’ve affectionately termed “good coin” - credibility - with all my clients. Clearly it’s been a fun and rewarding ride.

The equity ownership I had in my company is now defunct, a logical outcome of being acquired in the current economic climate. Last week I was joking with my stepmom that all 262,000 shares I owned would be worth more now as 262,000 squares of toilet paper :). We lightly commiserated about our investments and I noted that while my chances of accumulating some wealth through company ownership have been put on hold, at least our investments, though down, still have decimal points and more importantly commas behind them.

Sitting at dinner that night another thought bubbled up in my mind. If a person’s life is seen as a sentence, it would seem that each chapter or major change in life could be considered a comma, marked by the inevitable period or death at the end. In a sense, I consider losing my job to be a comma - a pause or break in the sentence of my life, not at all The End.

I didn’t always feel this way. I’ve lost a job before and at the time it indeed felt like a death. After the initial shock and subsequent sobbing was over with, I fell into a state of apathy as if nothing else mattered but the roots I had put down in my job that had been suddenly and involuntarily pulled up. I had lived a conservative lifestyle, well within my means, so it was not a money thing. Rather, I had to admit that nearly my entire identity was wrapped up in my job and to lose it so abruptly meant I lost who I was as well. No comma for me back then; though my body continued to live, it clearly felt like a period that signaled the end of my sentence or value as a person.

These days I’ve come to understand that one must live for a cause greater than oneself. Though I gain great joy from cultivating and using the wonderful gifts and talents I’ve been given, they are no longer the foundation of who I am. My view has shifted considerably from “playing Gameboy sittin’ in the middle of the Grand Canyon” (as Steven Curtis Chapman so cleverly sings :)) to deriving my identity from the One who made the Grand Canyon.

If I get wrapped up in the penalties of losing my job, I think about God who gave up His rightful position in heaven and pierced our world in the form of Jesus Christ - a man who lived a perfect and sinless life, and in the end was abandoned by his friends, unjustly accused, and finally died a humiliating and excruciating death – all to pay a debt I could not pay on my own. No job loss compares to that kind of love - “…that a man would lay down his life for his friends…” (John 15:13)

Believing this in my heart stretches my perspective on life well beyond the 80-something years I may spend in this body. The implications are huge. It turns not only a job loss but my entire life into a comma. Though the body I Iive in today will someday perish, my life is far from over – eternity stretches out before me, wildly more beautiful than I could possibly imagine, so that even bodily death becomes not a period but just another comma.

In all our job losses, rollercoaster investments, and even squares of toilet paper, I’m grateful for commas :).

The Perfect Storm - STL Half Marathon Race Report

With an exuberant finish at Sunday’s St. Louis Half-Marathon, my 2008 racing season has officially come to a close. To be honest I have mixed feelings about it. What athlete doesn’t? On the one hand I am GLAD to be able to sleep past 5am, worry less about finding a pool when I travel, take a hiatus from the two-a-day workout schedules, and revel in being able to stay awake past 8:30pm (even on weekends). The most trying (and possibly amusing for family and friends to watch) was the constant need to eat and subsequent feeling of not being satisfied. (A friend at church has a t-shirt that says “Always Hungry” and at one point I was breaking the 10th Commandment – I was seriously coveting the shirt! :)). I could (and did sometimes) go all day grazing from the fridge or my briefcase, depending on what city I happened to be in that week. One night at home I was so tired of having dinner and a dessert (always chocolate-something) and not feeling “full” that I took an entire box of miniature peanut butter cups and simply sat on the couch watching CSI, eating them slowly, pausing for a few minutes to take it in, then resuming – just to see how many I could eat before it was too much.

30 cups later I was done - like a turkey in the oven - but at least I found the end of the rope :).

All joking aside, to do all of the above for 10 months straight is not only physically draining but takes its toll mentally as well. Coach Jen has repeatedly explained to me the mark of a class-act athlete is recognizing downtime to recharge is equally important, if not more so, as the all-out laser focus demands of training and racing.

On the other hand, a small part of me is already thinking about 2009 and the fun out there waiting like a good friend of many years. There are endless races to choose from, and 2 of the 3 A-races on my calendar will be new venues for me, places I’ve never raced. I can hardly wait…really…

This past Sunday was what I call The Perfect Storm. I’m fit from racing all season, leaner than I’ve ever been in my life (this year I took off 9 lbs from my 135lb frame and now weigh what I did in my 20s, except I have wads more tone thanks to swimming 10-12K yards/week), the weather was an outstanding 50F and sunny, I knew the course, and Daylight Savings was ending Saturday night giving me a rare extra hour of sleep the night before the race. It didn’t get any better than that.

We woke up early and drove a whopping 15 minutes to the race site, where I picked up my number and walked back to the car to get ready. I warmed up 2 miles, listened to my Fave Five tunes, prayed earnestly out of gratitude and for a safe and strong race, visualized my finish repeatedly, and finally walked to the Start.

The gun went off and I executed on my plan to run conservatively the first 3 miles. The entire course was hilly, some of them lonnnnnngg. I didn’t care about everyone around me, how fast/slow they were running. I just saw the ground and upcoming mile markers and stayed focused on the plan to leave it all out there, like a fuel gauge slowing running down to Empty. Because it was the last race of the season, the goal was to finish feeling like I couldn’t take another step. Immediately following the Finish is an entire week of NOTHING – no swimming, biking, running, bricks, track workouts, intervals, Masters, NOTHING. Just REST and possibly another week of NOTHING after that :).

I felt great until Mile 7 when fatigue in my legs, ankles really, began to set in. It was hard to keep going but the visualization of finishing, my mantra of being “fireproof” (not blowing up), and knowing it would be terribly difficult but gutting it out anyway – all of that is woven into the fabric of who I am -- and the entire challenge spurred me on.

The last 2.5 miles had some small plateaus but were mostly uphill. I remembered walking this portion of the course when I ran this same race 8 years ago at the age of 36.

Not today. Although very challenging, I dug deep and ran on legs that felt like stilts to the Finish where from 100 feet away I could see Steve waving. I forgot all about the pain and fatigue, and sprinted to the Finish where I promptly lifted the wrong leg for the volunteer to remove my timing chip :).

It was all I had left but I finished in exactly the same time as the spring race and on a more difficult course. I was thrilled.

Time to hang up the shoes, the swimsuit, and the bike for a couple weeks and REST.

It was a fantastic year, and I learned a TON. I’m amazed I’m still getting fitter and faster at 44 years old. I know this won’t be the case forever, but for now…

…I’ll take it :).

Good night everyone!

Cross Country Surprise - MattoonMan Race Report

Though the title may sound more like a Chinese meal than a race, it’s still official: in addition to being a triathlete, I’m now a cross-country runner too. Saturday’s MattoonMan Duathlon brought with it spectacular weather and also the bombshell of the run course being changed from pavement to GRASS. I must’ve been smokin’ some to think I could blaze these trails in the same fashion as the road.

Steve and I had gotten up bright ‘n’ early Saturday morning at 4:00am to make the 2 ½ hour drive to Mattoon, IL where the last multisport race of this season was to take place at 9:00am sharp.

The race distances were admirable, even a bit sneaky -- as in play it wrong and I could end up a hurtin’ puppy – a 4 mile run, a 40 mile bike, followed by another 4 mile run.

We arrived with time to spare and on the way I had fueled aplenty with my traditional meal of coffee, water, oatmeal and yogurt. Packet pickup was straightforward and uncomplicated, and I even received a USAT windbreaker in my goodie bag – nice!

I setup my transition area and went off for a warmup.

Pavement, sweeeet…grass, gahh!!! It was an act of step-bobble-rebalance-step-bobble, repeat as necessary.

Well this was going to be fun. I could hardly wait to get onto my bike. At least that portion of the race was on paved roads.

I warmed up for about 25 minutes and headed back to my transition stall for one last check. Shortly thereafter we all gathered for some last minute race details; then the gun fired and we were off.

It was hard from the beginning. I was thinking am I just tired from racing all season or is this NOTICEABLY harder? I looked down at my heart rate monitor – 178 after one mile – eeek! I was planning on running the first segment conservatively – more like 170-ish – just on the edge of being uncomfortable. I was already in the zone reserved for the later half of the second run.

Nevertheless I made it through the first run with worthy mile splits, grabbed my helmet, ran my bike up the hill out of transition (with one hand on the saddle, mind you, a trick I’ve mastered this season that allows me to keep running w/o being hobbled by holding onto my aerobars…besides it looks way cool too, ha ha), and nearly threw myself onto the saddle to get going and get busy.

The road was pristine – smooth with beautiful rolling hills. Absent was the corn harvest dust from last year’s Ironman that had me sneezing and blowing snot rockets every five minutes.

Absent also was the WIND, no small miracle in the cornfields of Illinois. I had warmed up on the bike course so I knew what was coming in terms of grade and terrain.

I was cruising at over 20mph and I was in heaven. The sun, the warmth, the lack of wind, and the smooth roads all made for one sweet ride and it was a joy to reap the benefits of late-season race fitness. My heart rate stayed nicely in Zone 3 and it felt like I could go all day.

The bike course was 2 loops of 20 miles each and Steve practically leapt out of the car when I showed up nearly 15 minutes ahead of my estimated time on the first loop to make the turnaround. We grinned stupidly at each other, the way a couple of 18 yr olds might on a first date, dontcha know :).

I was determined to hold the pace and finish the 2nd bike loop in either the same time or a bit faster if the wind didn’t show up.

As the sun rose higher and the temps warmed, some headwinds did appear but they weren’t bad and I could hold a decent speed.

Around Mile 25 my hamstrings began to tighten up and hurt, right below my butt, and it occurred to me that I had not really stood up to pedal for most of the race. Standing up helped me stretch out and felt much better; I had been down in the aero position for a long time.

I finished the second loop just a couple minutes off from the first, happy as a clam, and then dreaded racking my bike for the second run. It was only 4 miles, but man, on grass 4 miles felt like another 40 :).

In addition, the temps were now in the low 80s, and it was hot. I slogged through 4 miles and sprinted to the Finish where Tony the Race Director said “I think you got one more [loop] to do…”

“BITE ME”, I said, and we all had a good laugh.

Then Steve said Look they have pizza, and it was all I could do to NOT hurl :). I left it all out on the course, determined to surrender everything. Last race of the season, I had nothing to lose.

Oh, and by the way, I won my Age Group too :).

Running With Ike

This was taken by the International Space Station and is credited to NASA.

We knew it was coming. For days I’d been watching the weather forecast and it wasn’t getting any better - one day of precipitation sandwiched in between 10 days of mild temperatures and “abundant sunshine”. That one day’s weather prediction went from “showers” to “rain” to “HEAVY wind, rain”. Hurricane Ike was about to slam the Texas coast and then head straight for Missouri.

Was I still game to run the Lewis & Clark Half Marathon? You bet! With the magic word “lightning” missing from the weather forecast I was in the hunt and undeterred. I’d been through similar conditions at the Evergreen Triathlon in July where the rain came down so hard I couldn’t look straight ahead while on the bike segment of the race. I remember my “transition towel” consisted of a little plastic grocery bag that acted as a mud-shield for my shoes, race belt, and ball cap. Why bother with anything else? I was soaked within seconds of getting on the bike.

Sunday morning we woke up at 4:15am and I looked online at the National Weather Service’s radar. After plowing through Galveston Island in Texas, Hurricane Ike had overnight roared up the Mississippi Valley and was blanketing the entire state of Missouri. It was actually smaller than it had been when making landfall on the Texas coast, but still unbelievable. I had trouble imagining a storm system over 250 miles wide; when it reached Texas, Ike was estimated to be anywhere from 600-900 miles across!

We arrived at the race site at 5:45am, a full hour before the Start, and cars were already backed up to both main entrances in the parking lot. The rain was coming down in torrents and after parking we just sat in the car and stared straight ahead - me longing for (more) coffee and Steve possibly wondering what he was smoking when he agreed (enthusiastically) to accompany us to the Start before heading off to church later that morning. The good news was that we had prepared with the right gear both before and after the race – Gore-Tex rules :).

Finally we got out of the car and within seconds were drenched and sloshing through standing water. He wore a poncho, and I had on Gore-Tex pants and jacket, and also brought a post-race change of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag. We met Patrick and Kristin at the bag drop tent and just stood there under the umbrella…waiting. I thought (for about 2 seconds) about warming up but laughed it off – sheets of rain were blowing sideways and winds were gusting at 50mph. There would be no Personal Records set today, but at least we would all have a great “Running With Ike” story :).

6:45 neared and Steve headed home while the three of us sloshed our way to the Start. There were pace corrals (flags with per-mile-pace times) to help us get organized according to running speed. Patrick and I stood in the 9:00 corral and Kristin moved up to the Supersonic corral :). It was a sea of plastic – all of us wearing trashbags with holes punched in them to conserve body heat while standing around.

They delayed the Start nearly 30 minutes and we were all shivering and grumbling, wondering if the officials were debating canceling the event altogether. We would later find out the reason for the delay was that the police were not in place yet on the course because they were still dealing with numerous traffic accidents due to the weather.

The gun finally fired and we were off. All things being equal I felt pretty good. Patrick and I had agreed to run together and not talk – during a race the heart rate is so jacked up, one needs every bit of oxygen shuttled to working muscles and talking interferes with that process.

The first 6 miles were insane, but I was surprised how quickly the mile markers came. My mind was busy dealing with extremely adversarial circumstances but they were external and it made it easier to deal with fatigue and discomfort. A pathway opened in my head and I could clearly focus on running steady, holding back just a little in the first half so I could build and pour it on in the last 5K.

It worked for 8 miles and then Patrick said “hey, we were supposed to turn right here, but we turned left…” Sure enough, the course was shortened to 10 miles for everyone, including the marathoners – a disappointment for all. The south side of the course was flooded and entire trees had fallen onto the street. I applauded the wisdom of the officials to hold a challenging event but still take safety very seriously.

I crossed the Finish line still quite strong despite the weather and was very pleased. We were bussed back to the parking lot where modesty was momentarily ancient history and hundreds of athletes were changing into dry clothes.

Patrick drove me home where I promptly discovered we had no power. I let myself in the front door and realized it was Decision Time. I was already late for church but not too late. Would I give the same importance to serving God and others as I did to my fitness pursuits that morning when I woke up at 4:15am to slog my way through a 10-mile road race?

I showered in the near-dark, drank a tall glass of chocolate milk and stashed some more vittles, manually raised the garage door, and carefully backed the Jeep out. 5 minutes later I arrived at church to discover they had no power either! 300 congregants were in the lobby area of the auditorium we use – Steve and his team had scrambled to find chairs anywhere they could and it was still Standing Room Only. Turns out we had a lot of visitors from other churches who canceled services due to power outages.

I was so glad – glad to have run in the driving rain and finished strong anyway, to have made the effort to see our friends and help other folks on their spiritual journey (our church is called The Journey for that reason), glad to see Steve’s face as I came in the door.

By 1:00pm Ike was outta here, and we spent a relaxing afternoon reading and playing – how old are we again? :)

Kristin and I before the Start - check out our fashionista bags and Patrick's umbrella!!

Double Deux Deux

I turn 44 today (Sept 15th) :). The title for this post was inspired by a friend and coworker who sent me the Italian version of “Double 2 2” which I simply translated into French as “Double Deux Deux”. The fact it sounds like the familiar euphemism “do-do” (at least in American English) isn’t lost on me either, hee hee :).

Like the popular phrase “It seems just like yesterday I…” shared by so many, I must admit I am not immune to this sentiment either. It does seem very recent that I officially became “middle-aged”, though I’ve also heard the phrase 40 is the new 30, and I can’t say I disagree.

That being said, I’ve spent some time in personal reflection and have come to understand there are dueling forces at work in my mind. On one side of the fence is the acceptance of the process of aging (death and taxes, right? :)) and the inevitable consequences that come along with it. The other is the realization I’ve been given the beautiful gift of health and my unmitigated fitness pursuits have yet to reach their peak. All that to say I may be getting older but I’m still getting faster :).

So I’ve compiled two lists (Steve would be proud – he’s the Uber Master of Lists) that represent each side of the aforementioned fence. Here they are.

List 1: Inevitable Signs of Aging I’ve Noticed in the Last Year:

1. I have more gray hair, way more than last year, way more than Steve and he’s pushing 50! At first I noticed only one, but I’ve given up trying to count.

2. The ability to read anything in smaller than 8pt print is gone. I officially need magnifying glasses to read smaller stuff. In addition, I need more light to clearly see print of any size. It’s not that I can’t read in reduced lighting, I have just noticed the print seems to come to life when I apply more illumination.

3. One night I realized I couldn’t clearly see my bowl of chocolate ice cream I was cradling in my hands while watching CSI. Yikes!! If I held the bowl about a foot away all was crystal clear (but who wants heavenly elixir moving in the opposite direction?? :)). I’m still nearsighted but anything in close range (within a foot) is blurry and now needs magnification.

4. I need more time to recover from hard training days. Dara Torres (41 year old Olympic swimmer) expressed the same sentiment during this summer’s events. She may be as fast as the young studs, but as the body ages it needs more time to recover from hard efforts. I’m not supersonic by any stretch, but I’ve come to realize I can’t bounce back unaffected like I could in my 20s.

5. I have a greater sense of urgency (and not when going to the bathroom :)) for my family, friends, and everyone who comes into my path to receive meaningful and accurate information about God and who He really is in a sensitive, compassionate, and real way, when/if the timing is right.

6. I have a deep peace that I don’t need to financially plan for 70+ years any longer; 40-50 will do it!

7. I have more hair on my face! The first subtle yet visible sign of shifting hormone levels has left its imprint in the form of fine peach fuzz above my lip and along my jaw line. I’m still “safe” though – Steve can grow a full beard in about an hour! :)

8. I’m a “cheap date” when it comes to alcohol – one beer and it’s over!

9. I’ve started opting in for more sleep in the mornings and at times delaying workouts to midday or late afternoons. It’s harder to get going at 5:00am, though I still enjoy a long swim in the pre-dawn hours :).

List 2: Aging’s Alter Ego (aka “I’ll Go Down Fighting! :))

1. One year ago exactly today, on my 43rd birthday, I trained for and completed my first (but not last) Ironman triathlon. I wrote a story about my race experience and it became the catalyst for this blog :). To this day I still hear from folks who have been touched or inspired by that first post now over a year ago. Awesome!

2. I got my first (quite possibly my last – man it hurt BAD) tattoo – the red M-Dot Ironman symbol is permanently etched above my right ankle, not so much as a public symbol of my achievement but more as a reminder to me that I actually finished the race.

3. My desire to love God with all my heart and to know Him more than ever is off the charts this year. Along with it has come a deeper longing for heaven and a certainty that this is not my permanent home. Don’t get me wrong; I LOVE my life and everything about it, good and bad. However, it would be a terrible gamble to think this is all there is – and be wrong about it in the end. The very idea of God is worth investigating; He promises those who seek Him with all their heart (as in an open heart) will find Him.

4. Steve and I are celebrating our 10th anniversary tomorrow. This year more than ever I have been deeply grateful for every day we have together. He is my best friend, the buddy I never had as a kid, and there is nothing we don’t share. We are completely open and vulnerable to each other, and I treasure being known by another, warts and all.

5. I play more, as in kid kinda play. I ran a race last Sunday and in the goodie bag along with my race number was a mini Frisbee – cool! Tonight after dinner I picked up the Frisbee and said to Steve Hey, it’s my birthday – I wanna PLAY :). So we threw the Frisbee around – inside the house – around corners – in slippers – on hardwood floors! What a blast. Thank goodness we’re empty-nesters; we are a terrible example for kids at times :).

6. I have trouble comprehending that I was already in college when many of the folks we interact with in everyday living were born. It’s not that I think of 20-somethings as being “so young”; it’s that I have trouble believing I am “that old” :).

7. My fire for living life to its fullest hasn’t waned at all. In fact it’s only grown and I’m constantly thinking of how I can make the best use of the most valuable commodity I have – TIME. How can I invest whatever precious hours I have left in this lifetime and use the gifts I have been given to better the lives of those around me?

8. I boldly take on more risks and challenges – I have absolutely nothing to lose except the later regret for passing on the opportunity :). A recent survey taken of senior citizens produced the following answer to the question “If you had a chance to change something in your life, what would it be?” Answer: I would’ve taken more risks. I want nothing left when I pass from this life. I want to meet God someday completely emptied out, having given it all away – my time, talents, finances, possessions, even my body.

Quotable Quotes

I was out running the other day (what else!) and one of the following quotes (can’t remember which!) came to mind…another followed, and then another. I decided to compile and share a list of some of my favorites. Some are profoundly thought provoking, others are downright funny – especially the ones by Steve :).

Enjoy!


“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard everyone would do it. That’s what makes it great.” – Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own

“You run like a GIRL!” – Steve Aubrecht

“You can’t coach desire.” – Jennifer Harrison

“A church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” – Abigail Van Buren

“Prayer is what you would’ve asked for had you seen everything God sees.” – Tim Keller

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” – Steve Prefontaine

“You can’t fake the distance.” – Jerome Harrison

“You don’t see no hearses with luggage racks.” – Don Henley

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” – Chris Farley in Tommy Boy

“The Prime Minister of Sweden visited Washington today and my tiny little nipples went to France…I do da cha-cha like a sissy girl…” – Steve Carrell in Bruce Almighty

“We buy things we don’t need with money we don’t have to impress people we don’t even like.” – Anonymous

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son…” – God

“Shut your pie-hole woman!” – Steve Aubrecht

“Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.” – Vince Lombardi

“Everyone has the desire to win, but only champions have the desire to prepare.” – Anonymous

“HTFU!!” – Jennifer Harrison

“Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

“Self-righteousness is the last idol that is rooted from the heart” before becoming a Christian. – George Whitfield

“In a week, I train the same or less than the average person spends watching TV.” – Catherine Button

“I know God created me for a purpose, but He also made me fast; and when I run I feel His pleasure.” – Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire

The Sovereignty of the Track

I finished my last A-race of the season two Sundays ago, the Timberman 70.3 Ironman, and it was truly a blast. The course was not easy (they never are). Jen’s adorable hubby Jerome summed it up best when he said “You can’t fake the distance.” He is so right. The half-Iron distance of a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and 13.1 mile run will cut you wide open and reveal the stuff inside; everyone is susceptible – age-grouper, elite, or pro.

I may be finished with triathlons for the remainder of 2008, but the season is far from over. I’m registered for a ½ marathon in a couple weeks and in the hunt for a new Personal Record. I’m in the best shape of my near-44 years, including the time I played fast-pitch softball for 12 years in school. Though playing ball taught me nothing about elementary skills in each of the three triathlon disciplines such as balance in the water, proper pedaling skills on the bike, or the “falling-forward” motion needed in running to maximize momentum (all of which are second nature now), it did teach me incredible hand-eye coordination (some girls could hit the ball really hard and line drives would fly at 100+mph to me at shortstop – either I learned to react or I would lose an eye) and a willingness to take on challenges. This last trait has been key to moving forward in this awesome sport of triathlon that I’ve grown to love (or it’s a bad addiction and I’m up that Egyptian river called Da Nile…:)).

So now it’s back to core work with weights and the track. I did my first strength session this past Monday and my legs were still “talking” to me 3 days later. Thursday I also had a track workout with five 1-mile intervals, bracketed by 2 miles each warm-up and cooldown – a total of 9 miles of running -- with legs that are 11 days post-Timberman, still pissed off from Monday’s strength session, and even more furious from Tuesday’s visit to Babler Park where I climbed 15 lungbusting hills with Kristin in the early pre-dawn hours.

It was 70F and 90% humidity when I headed to the track at 5:45am. My legs were saying What the…??? Are you insane?? Have you forgotten how you’re hobbling down the stairs to your office?? :)

But my mind was into it…maybe I am insane…

I had just enough in the tank for the workout and it wasn’t easy, but I got ‘er done and trotted home.

I ran with no iPod, which is a habit I’ve begun in the last couple months. I am amazed at how much material my mind has during a workout, not the least of which is to FOCUS on the purpose of the session and how I’m doing.

Other thoughts came to me as well, and I realized that while I’m in an extremely uncomfortable state when training like this, it’s not the first time I’ve felt this way and lived to tell about it. It occurred to me suddenly that the track and God have a LOT in common, such as the following:

• The track never lies – neither does God. It’s one thing He’s incapable of.


• You don’t want to go to the track, but you know you must if you want to improve. Having a relationship with God is the best (and only) way to live as a professing Christian.


• Going to the track sometimes involves pain. Going before the Almighty in honest and open prayer is sometimes painful.
  


• There is no end to the track itself – it’s a perfect oval. There is no end (or beginning) to God. He has been around since before the beginning of time as we know it.
  


• The track requires preparation before stepping on its hallowed (and rubberized) surface. It’s a good idea to prepare your heart prior to going before the majesty of the Almighty’s throne. Whatever you believe about the authenticity of the Bible, none of the people who personally encountered God in history came away unchanged.
  


• The track doesn’t care about your accomplishments, your looks, your job, your possessions, or the latest trends. Neither does God; what he cares about deeply is your heart.
  


• The track reveals who you really are. Going before God produces the same result. He knows everything about us (he made us remember?); there is no “faking it” with Him. Could this be why we run from Him sometimes?
  


• Believe it or not, the track is there for our good (did I just say that? :)). Though it seems a blatant incongruity, God’s heart toward His children is for their good – always. I don’t write this flippantly. Right now members of our family as well as several close friends are in terrible pain, and God’s goodness is hard to see through the curtain of grief. Steve and I have experienced a fair share of anguish in our own lives, and we have also experienced the healing hand of God leading us through dark valleys of sorrow. We pray for God's comfort and strength to bear them up during these hurting times.
  


• There is a definite end to the track workout. There is a definite end to our lives (though not to us) and it is at this end we meet our Maker.
  


• Coming away from the track can leave you drained but gratified and joyful with your accomplishment. Coming away from the presence of God can (and does) leave you with joyful gratitude about your life and what your purpose really is :).
  

The Three D's: Dig Double Deep - Timberman 70.3 Race Report

Kristin (left) and I minutes before Timberman Start - I'm licking off the remnants of the Clif Bar that would later give me fits during the race :).

“No, we don’t have anything like that here,” said the lady in response to my query of whether the town of Laconia, NH boasted an IHOP or Denny’s. “But there are three Dunkin’ Donuts nearby…”

No way!!

Way!!

Nice. I knew Dunkin’ Donuts had at least expanded their menu to bagels and they have AWESOME coffee. Where there are bagels, there is usually peanut butter, and I had plenty of Clif bars to fill in the gaps if necessary for a pre-race meal Sunday morning.

As it turned out my rabbit food wouldn’t need to pinch hit that day. Dunkin’ Donuts is making a serious effort to introduce “healthier” choices – funny for a sweets-mainstay of a company with “donuts” in their name isn’t it? – and they mean business. Sure enough, at 4:00am their doors were open, lights were on, clerks were friendly and efficient. Steve and I walked away with coffee, juice, grain bagels, peanut butter, and a delightful flatbread sandwich of egg whites, a sprinkling of turkey sausage, and some skim mozzarella. This was no greasy McDonald’s egg and cheese sandwich. It was “dry” and just the right size and combination of the right nutrients for a pre-race meal.

I downed the triangle at 4:50am sitting in the parking lot at the race site. Though the dawn was coming, it was still dark and the transition area was not very well lit in my corner, so I relaxed for a few minutes in the car with Steve and sipped my coffee. Still more than 2 hours til Start and I had already racked my bike the night before and tested the water (with my new wetsuit – woohoo!).

I had done my homework and prepared well for this race – well almost (more later). Steve, my supersonic-triathlete-friend Kristin, and I had driven the bike course the day before, and of course it looked tough. I’ve come to accept that none of these races are “easy.” But at least we knew what to expect and where.

I mixed my special potion of Carbo Pro with water and Gatorade. Carbo Pro is a white powder that contains complex carbs to help maintain calorie intake on the bike and/or run without having to eat solid foods that could upset the stomach. It also strongly resembles cocaine in its appearance and I find that rather funny. Since I don’t pay extravagant amounts of attention to self-image and, hence, like to mess with those who do, I’ve often thought about (very visibly) dipping my pinkie finger into my baggie of “white powder” before a race and rubbing it on my gums, maybe “accidentally” get some above my lip – just to see what people around me would do.

But, alas, not today. Like Dunkin’ Donuts new healthy menu, today’s race was serious business and I needed to focus.

I went to find Kristin, and we blasted out on our bikes for a quick warmup on the run course. Good thing we did so I could see where the early porta-potties were – more on that too.

After we got back, we got into our wetsuits and Steve took some pictures. It was time to walk to the swim start so the three of us hiked along the sandy beach along with a couple thousand other lemmings, I mean people, to the Start :).

There was a Clif tent on the beach and the rep was giving out free Shots and Shot Bloks. Kristin and I looked at the flavors. Hmmm…espresso…2x caffeine…one of my favorite GU (competitor brand) flavors and one I reacted to very well. I was thinking Clif might taste the same, maybe? I grabbed one, tore it open, and took some.

I wasn’t hungry at all (the sandwich filled me nicely) and instantly I remembered why I’ve never connected with Clif’s flavors. It tasted terrible but by then it was too late – I’d eaten it all. There was no water to wash it down either.

Beeg Meestake Number 1 – Never ever EVER eat within 30 minutes of the swim start. I did this at Memphis – one would think I learned my lesson.

I regretted it 20 minutes into the swim. The same lump rose in my throat as it did at Memphis and it would be a constant struggle the rest of the race.

My swim wave was crowded and I often ran into the feet of someone ahead of me. This is something new this year. Usually it’s been the opposite: someone runs into (sometimes over) me from behind.

This time a person’s leg bumped the side of my face and knocked my goggles clean off. It didn’t hurt and I reacted quickly, raising my head above the water and adjusting them back onto my face.

I made the final turn, rolled to breathe, and promptly gulped in a mouthful of water – the water was rough and it was impossible to breathe on my right side. I very briefly rolled onto my back to clear my nose and another’s swimmer’s hand came across my face and clipped me right under the nose. Gahhh!!!

Finish this swim and get out there on your steed! I thought to myself. I clawed my way to the shore and tore into transition, the pain in my throat already showing its bad ugly self. Why did I eat that Clif Shot? What was I thinking?? I scolded myself for being so casual about deviating from what I knew to be right.

Right out of the park the bike course turned into a long climb but surprisingly I wasn’t too bothered by it. I knew it was coming and I alternated between standing and staying seated, which uses different muscle groups and spreads out the load. I learned this from riding with Kristin, and it has had a significant impact on my mental approach to hills overall. Thanks Kristin! :)

By Mile 30 the painful reflux in my throat was becoming more persistent. Drinking or eating anything was nearly out of the question and I had to force myself to do it. Instead, pulling over to force myself to hurl was looking pretty good. Anything to move whatever was sitting in there.

The course was hilly but it didn’t seem as bad as Ironman Kansas. Maybe it was all the people, the support and traffic control on the road, the road conditions themselves – all of it was wonderful and it helped me deal with the challenges at every turn.

At one point we were screaming down one of many hills, and I actually peeked at my bike computer – 45 mph. I nearly soiled myself. A crash at this speed wouldn’t leave much of me to clean up. But halfway down I pushed away any doubts and screamed YEEEHAAWWWW!!! with childish glee (or utter terror?)…I don’t remember. I just tucked my knees into my frame, got down into my aerobars and flew past people who were tapping their brakes. I could see all the way down to the bottom and it was clear sailing the whole way. No brake-tapping for me…

After Mile 40 I looked at my watch and realized if I held on for just a bit longer I would actually come in under my goal time. And I did! I could’ve lain down on the grass – I was happy with just my bike time. Amazing what the mind can drive the body to do despite being sicker than a dog.

Once on the run I had delayed puking til I saw the first porta-potty. Kristin and I had warmed up on the run course, so I knew exactly where it was.

It’s one thing to sit down in a porta-potty to do business. It’s another thing entirely to bend over and vomit into one. I had seen Kristin on the run course as she was starting her second loop. I told her I was sick, and she said what I needed to hear “Do what you gotta do to finish.” Her words came back to me as I stood inside the porta-potty. Just close your eyes and do what you gotta do…you don’t want to WALK the whole run course do you????

I made myself wretch and felt a bit better as I came out. I jogged a few miles and the pain began to make its way back after Mile 5. Man, 8 more miles to go…the letters DNF (Did Not Finish) danced in front of me like a dark-chocolate sundae with dark hot fudge sauce…seriously tempting. It wasn’t that I couldn’t finish, I simply didn’t want to resort to walking the course.

At Mile 9 an aid station had banana slices and I took some. The pain actually abated a bit, and I could lightly jog. I upped my cadence and opened my stride a bit more. So far so good.

When I reached Mile 11 I was hurting again, but there was music playing up ahead. It was U2’s In the Name of Love and it was loud and the best thing I had heard all day. I began weeping (of all things) and said to myself Puke or not, you’re GOING!!

I ran the rest of the way to the Finish and this was a BIG race with hundreds of people on the sidelines. Our names were printed on our bibs so people could shout your name as they cheered you on. Total strangers yelled Go Catherine! as I sailed by.

I ran while weeping and forgot about the pain, the hurling, hot spots on my feet, my body nearly emptied out of physical and emotional strength – and just poured out whatever I had left.

I crossed the Finish crying my eyes out and there were Steve and Kristin. I hugged them both, so glad I had dug DEEP to FINISH and didn’t give in to DNF.

There will definitely be other days adversity comes to take me down. Not today. I dug deep alright, and just when the demons thought I would give in, I buried them instead :).

I Was Blind

It was what I affectionately call The Geriatric Express. I was on my connecting flight from Chicago to Manchester, NH -- for a business trip and to race the Timberman 70.3 Ironman -- and I was by far the youngest passenger in the first 10 rows of the plane.

I had scored an aisle seat near the front which was no small feat in itself, as the flight was completely sold out and I boarded after 70 or so passengers had already gotten on. Southwest Airlines’ policy is open seating once you board, so having a decent aisle seat near the front was really beyond my expectations.

However, things are not always as they seem. As I got seated, I came to realize the aisle seat was more like half an aisle seat, the middle being taken up by a an older gentleman who was rather tall and lanky in build. This is ordinarily not a problem for me since I’m average size, and there is some liberty with space in the aisle. It was also not a long flight, maybe an hour and 40 minutes, so I was willing to deal.

The gentleman’s travel companion was an equally senior woman, presumably his wife. I couldn’t help but overhear snippets of their conversation, and it sounded on several occasions like she was speaking to him in somewhat childlike tones. His manner of responding to her was similar, so naturally I assumed he had dementia, the beginnings of Alzheimer’s, or was simply mentally slow.

When the flight service started, he began to move around in earnest for his belongings. Several times his left arm and entire shoulder came right across my face, into my line of sight. The left side of his body would overtake the space in my aisle seat. When not moving around at random, his arm fully occupied the armrest between us – no “sharing space” or even a word about it.

A bit later the flight attendant came around to collect used cups and cans, and he didn’t make a move to hand anything back to her. He simply waited for her to take it from his tray.

I chalked it up to lack of experience in flying very much, or the sense of “entitlement-behavior” that seniors sometimes sadly exhibit. I can only imagine the trials many older people experience in the sunset years of their lives: chronic pains, weaker hearts, digestion ailments, slowness of memory as well as gait, family who don’t call or visit – in short, the world rushing by without so much as giving them a second, much less, respectful, glance.

I wish I could say my heart poured patience and compassion for my seatmates, but unfortunately that was not exactly the case. I was under more stress than usual, or I should say I wasn’t handling elevated stress as well as I could. I packed for 1) a business trip; 2) an endurance race that required air travel; and 3) some R&R with my awesome stepmom after the race. In addition, I was also traveling with my race bike for the first time. It was in the cargo hold as checked luggage, zipped up tight in a high-tech ballistic nylon bag with screws and padding in all the right places (sounds like some “enhancements” I’ll need in my 60s, but I digress…). All told, about $5,000 worth of gear was in that bag, with the bike, all its carbon fiber parts, and deep dish race wheels. I was a bit anxious to say the least – please be gentle with my baby! :)

In addition I was immensely tired. I had gotten up before 5am to ride and run, so I could get it in before heading to the airport. Then I packed the bike, race gear and clothes, ran an errand, ate breakfast, and waited for the cab driver to take me to the airport. Now the fatigue was catching up to me and my eyelids felt like lead shades over a window.

To be blunt, none of this was an excuse to be anything less than gracious to my seatmates. However, to be honest it was a struggle to not be annoyed with them. After falling asleep and jerking awake for the 10th time, I finally got up from my seat and went to the restroom. Upon returning I settled myself back in for a good read from my book, and…

…on the floor, sitting at the feet of my senior seatmates, in perfect peaceful repose, …was a beautiful young Golden retriever, his loving brown eyes inquisitively moving back and forth at his owners’ feet, as if to say Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?

I was astonished to say the least. I’ve flown literally millions of miles around the world - several times over. I’ve seen service dogs at airports, but never actually in the cabin with passengers. Usually they’re crated and placed into checked luggage.

Not this time. I leaned over and asked the woman:

What is your dog’s name?

Woman (with a distinct Southern accent): He’s mah husband’s dowg…

I turn to the older gentleman sitting next to me, and…

Where one would expect to see two eyes looking out, instead there were empty and squinting sockets.

The man was blind.

Waves of understanding poured over me – the slow talk, the lack of awareness of “personal space”, not handing his cup to the flight attendant…it all made sense now...and my heart suddenly ached with pity, compassion,...and guilt.

Somehow I had the presence of mind to ask What is your dog’s name?

Man (quite amiably): His name is Gyro, but I call him Killer because he kills and dismembers Teddy Bears :).

He’s precious! How old is he?

Man: He’s 3 ½ years old and he’s the best. He’s helped me through so many struggles in life.

I murmured a polite affirmation and turned back to my book. It was a struggle to keep the tears back. Even writing this now tugs at my heartstrings.

I was the one who didn’t see. I was the one who was blind and it was worse than any physical handicap my neighbor had. I was annoyed and didn’t bother talking to them for an array of minor infractions - until I saw their dog - and even then I didn’t fully see.

I wondered Is this how I appear to God sometimes? Am I blundering about in life, blind to what He has for me, annoyed at the “inconveniences” of life, really because sometimes things don’t go the way I would like? How EASY it is to be a Christian when everything is “right” – people are nice, job is good, family relationships are strong.

I’ve viewed firsthand the jaw-dropping majesty of some of the most spectacular places on earth. I marvel at the Hand that created such beauty…and I’m ashamed that I would have the nerve to be annoyed with Him when things don’t go my way. I really can’t see what He sees – I am limited in my vision in endless ways, an ant crawling on a Rembrandt painting.

I’m grateful that, among His other magnificent traits, God is long on patience and loving kindness. That He is rich in unmerited favor, or grace, and doesn’t kill me on the spot for feeling this way. Sure, I'm "ok" compared to my human counterparts. But in God's standard, I'm well into the red. God could hit the Smite Button and be perfectly justified - I've wronged him endless times.

Instead He enriches my life with other people who help me see where my blind spots are. I pray for the humility to see these lessons no matter where they come from.

“I once was blind, but now I see…”

God’s grace is truly amazing.

A TwoFer Weekend - Ultramax Race Report

This was taken this past Saturday at the Ultramax Triathlon Series. My friend Kristin Moore is in the middle (she won Overall Female in the Quartermax - supersonic girl!!) and Shelby Sullivan, President of the Big Shark Michelob Ultra Racing Club, is on the left.

My knee hurt. A lot. Though the spill happened when Steve’s front wheel bumped into my back wheel at a stoplight last Tuesday, it wasn’t his fault at all. We both wear small rearview mirrors on our shades, so I could clearly see he had fallen, and I was so concerned with his well being that I completely forgot to clip out of my shoes.

I wavered for a moment like a squirrel on a wire, and down I went…hard. My right knee took the brunt of the fall, and in seconds I was a turtle stuck on its back – with my right leg pinned under the bike and my left at an odd side angle, I couldn’t clip out of my shoes, and I simply wriggled helplessly on my side. At least one curse escaped from my mouth, and the tears were nearly spilling down my face, as I was equally angry and hurting badly. Steve came and helped me right my bike. Though he had fallen also, he had mostly scrapes and was largely ok.

I had landed right on the front edge of my patella, and the pain was so intense I limped over to the side of the road where I promptly bent over and nearly puked my intestines out. Several really nice folks kindly asked if they could call someone and Steve smiled, said thanks, and politely declined. If I had actually sliced my leg off, then he would be calling for help; anything else was fixable :).

We rode home slowly where we both downed 800mg of ibuprofen and donned icepacks for our knees.

I couldn’t believe it – 3 days before Innsbrook Ultramax, and only 2 ½ weeks before my second A-race of the season – the Timberman Half-Ironman. Every challenge is an opportunity right? Right.

So here we were 4 days later early Saturday morning driving to Innsbrook, MO for the Ultramax Triathlon Series. It was a lonnnnnnng drive – an entire 45 minutes!! :) A nice change from other venues, and the knee was feeling well enough to weather a challenging bike and run in hotter-than-hell temperatures even at 8am.

This time I was laser focused as I racked my bike and setup my transition area. I turned on my MP3 player with what I call The Inner Circle tunes – a select group of 10 songs that kick my brain and body into gear, no matter how bad I feel.

Mentally I did a “walkthrough” of my transitions, going through the motions, making a note of exactly where my bike was from the run and swim entry points, checked all bolts, tires, gears, fluids, and felt splendid during my warmup, the knee pain nearly forgotten. It's not that I haven't done these things in the past. This time, though, I was very intentional.

When the cannon went off for the swim, I ran and dove dolphin-style into the water and began my reach in earnest for the first buoy. This is funny because last year at this very same event, I was nearly weeping with tension before the start. Along with everyone else I was nervous about the swim. With every race this season however, that tension has been pushed farther back into my mind, replaced with cool confidence in my abilities and viewing myself as an experienced triathlete who, on the edge of turning 44, is STILL coming up the curve of her potential.

I came out of the water 35 seconds ahead of my goal time – nice! – and bounded up the hill to grab my bike. As I tore into transition, I happened to glance down at my watch and saw 177bpm – wow! As I reached my bike, a wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere (man, NOT AGAIN…!), and I bent over (AGAIN :)) for a few seconds until it passed.

I hopped onto my bike and pedaled like mad to get momentum going. The hills came immediately and relentlessly. These were not the long gutbusters of Ironman Kansas, but they were steep and I was out of my saddle halfway up most of them. My heart rate reached 178bpm on a couple, which made me grin and push even harder as I crested the top. The bike was only 17 miles and I could suffer for an hour on my steed :). Mental fortitude – ain’t it great :).

I finished the bike within 1 minute of my goal time and headed out on the run. Last year I had looked at the hill facing me and thought “You gotta be kidding me!” This time I had done a 2-mile warmup on the run course and knew exactly what to expect, and it made a huge difference mentally both on the way out as well as on the return.

Once more I finished within 1 minute of my goal time – amazing considering the weather and the course.

Knee? What knee? :)

I actually placed 3rd in my Age Group and looking at the other (younger) AG’s, I would’ve been in the top 4 of them too.

We drove home happy but quickly because Steve had an Olympic Duathlon he was racing Sunday, and he needed to rest up.

Fast forward to the next post entitled Steve Speaks! :)…

Steve Speaks!!

So, let me say first off that the only part of this blog that Catherine contributed to was the title…she thought it was funny since I haven’t blogged as of yet. So here I am, the other half of a wonderful whole. I have to say she is the most beautiful and wonderful woman and person I have ever known. She is my best friend and now she is also my evil coach.

In January of this year I made one of those New Year’s resolutions that usually last a few months for some people. Now, I am a goals driven person. I can’t seem to function well without making a list of things that I need to do. In fact, I have lists for everything. Writing this blog entry is somewhere on a list. I used to judge how my day went by the number of items that I checked off. I slowly got over that but still use my lists because I have that mental disease called CRS…Can’t Remember Squat. But I digress from the resolution issue. After three years of watching my wife compete in triathlons culminating in her Ironman last year, I started having delusions that I might be able to follow her into competing. This was totally out of character for me since I am not normally a competitive person. I am not a couch potato by any means. I spent seven years in the Marine Corps and learned how to keep myself in a somewhat state of physical fitness. At almost 50 years old I can still pass a Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test (PFT)…for a 17 year old. Still, competitiveness is not one of my traits. Catherine on the other hand has enough competitiveness for both of us…plus the rest of the neighborhood. I’m digressing again…

So, I decided I wanted to do something different with my fitness routine. I was already running, although most of my running had been on the treadmill where I could watch my favorite history stories. I thought that I could take this one notch up and start riding a bike. Hummm, let’s see…running and biking. Isn’t that a duathlon? Could I possibly train for one of these races and hope to finish? Naturally I put it on a list for an item to accomplish this year. OK, now I need to train for this duathlon. Who do I know that can help me? Catherine!!!! She knows all about training. I’ve watched and heard her talk about training ad nauseum for 3 years now. So at the beginning of the year as a New Year’s resolution I put on a list the goal of completing a duathlon. And I asked my wife if she would coach me. When I asked her I thought I had said something terribly wrong by the look on her face. It was a cross between shock, crying, disbelief and devilish mischief. She looked out the window and said “I think I see a pig with wings”. Actually the devilish mischief look was to come later. She looked at me for a long time to see if I was joking… I can’t hold a straight face at all (terrible poker player). When I didn’t start laughing she asked me “Are you SURE you want to do this? This takes time and lots of work.” The rubbing of her hands and cackling in the back ground reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I was suddenly very afraid of what I was asking for.

I could say that my attitude about training has been 100 percent positive for the past eight months but that would be a stinking lie. In fact, I’m right now even griping about writing this blog because it takes so much time away from my history stories. But I have reluctantly listened to my coach for her training wisdom, persevered through her training regiment for me, and actually have seen a lot of improvement. Thank you honey! I can now ride a bike without feeling like I’ve gone numb in the lower half of my body. I have run faster then I ever have in my life. And I feel accomplishment after a sweaty workout. I am in better shape now than I was 31 years ago when I was in the Marine Corps. In fact, I was in the middle of boot camp 31 years ago. I weighed 113 pounds when I went in and 125 when I came out. Now at 160 pounds I can run a mile under 8 minutes. I never did that before.

So… I made a training goals sheet that had my races on them starting in March. I ran the St. Patrick’s Day 5-mile race downtown in St. Louis. Then April was my first DU in Columbia, MO. It was a 2.5 mile run, a 15 mile bike ride, and a 2.5 mile run. Next was May 10 and the Neoga DU of 2 mile run, 14.75 mile bike and a 3.1 mile run. Then Hillsboro, IL biathlon - a 5 mile run and a 20 mile bike. Last has been the August 3 MattoonMan DU of 3.1 mile run, 24.8 mile bike and 6.2 mile run.

Here is what I have learned so far:

1) Read about the sport if you are really serious
2) Wear proper clothing (cotton is rotten)
3) If you don’t use Glide you’ll ruin your shirt (think number “11”)
4) There are worse hills than St. Louis
5) Double knot your shoelaces
6) If you use toe cages on your bike, tuck your shoelaces in (chain rings love to eat them)
7) Rain in a blowing wind feels good. Cold blowing rain while doing 20mph into it hurts
8) It still feels good to finish near last, because you finished
9) Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate
10) A coach (even your wife) still wants to you to do your best
11) A loud ping is not a rock hitting your wheel, it’s a spoke breaking

I could go on with more things I’ve learned but it’s late and my coach tells me I have a 45 minute run in the morning before work. So I must wrap this up and head off to bed. I have already accomplished my goal of completing a DU and surviving. I actually have the desire to keep going and improve myself and my times. One step, one pedal, and one kick at a time. I may get into the pool eventually and turn this into a true TRI but that will be another story. The last time I was seriously swimming was many years ago with fatigues, a full field kit, and my rifle.

So off to bed I go to dream of my evil coach making me do evil things that really hurt…well, some of the time… :)

I Had No Idea

It’s not unusual to see a 20-, 25-, or even 30-year high school reunion. But a 30-year grade school reunion?? Perhaps uncommon for most…but not for us members of the St. Stephen Protomartyr Class of 1978. I know, you haven’t gotten to the 1978 part – you’re still wondering what in the world does protomartyr mean???

Time to pull out the ole Latin dictionary. As you probably know, a martyr is a person who dies for his/her religious beliefs. Actually in the original Greek the word “martyr” was first used to indicate a witness in a forensic, or legal, sense. The meaning we use now came about in the early Christian church when believers defended their faith to the point of suffering death, though not deliberately setting out with this intention. This is an important distinction from our modern day understanding of martyr.

St. Stephen was certainly both of those – a witness and someone willing to die for his beliefs. He was the first (hence the “proto”) martyr for the Christian faith, dying at the hands of an angry mob who stoned him for speaking out against the Mosaic Law and Jewish elders.

Thankfully nothing like that happened Saturday night, the eve of our reunion :). When Steve and I got to the hall, I recognized Donna right away and others who I haven’t seen in 10 or more years. Hugs were aplenty and it was amazing to see I had no trouble recognizing anyone. I mean, c’mon…30 years brings a multitude of changes to a person, but it quickly became clear to me that good or bad, the bonds we had forged as kids would stand the test of time, no matter how long.

The evening flew by and though food was bountiful, time was not; I looked at my watch once and nearly 3 hours had passed. Another look in what seemed like just a few minutes showed yet another hour had slipped away. Is this what happens with time when you’re older? When we were kids, it seemed exactly the opposite – we had our whole lives ahead of us! Who thought about time??

Like everyone else, I have a lot of childhood memories and many of mine are not happy. I was a gawky kid who spoke Hungarian to her immigrant mom and grandmother, I had wild curly hair (in a time when everyone else wanted Farrah Fawcett’s famous “feathered” look), my poor teeth desperately needed braces, and I was terribly shy. At the time it seemed everything I said came out wrong, so I mainly kept my mouth shut and my nose in my books. If someone told me in 1978 that I would later become a pubic speaker in the field of high technology, I would’ve laughed myself into a rubber room :).

But the unexpected happened Saturday night. My friend Mary said over dinner “Oh Cathy, you had the best sleepovers…you were like my whole childhood.”

I had no idea.

Later on someone else said the same thing, even saying that I was the only one who actually invited her to my house for a sleepover. Truth be told, being an only child with parents who were also “onlys” made for a rather lonely existence. Having friends over relieved much of the silence and tension in our house and made life more bearable.

I had no idea my classmates remembered me this way. Several of the guys hugged me and said “Wow, you look great!” I could see the sincerity in their eyes and was grateful for their kind words. I didn’t hear them from anyone when growing up.

Another friend hugged me and actually asked my forgiveness for all the “mean things she had said or done to me.” I was astonished and incredibly moved by her gesture. She was entirely serious and all I could think was how much I’ve been forgiven by the God of the Universe and reply “It’s all in the past, water under the bridge; it’s over. It actually helped me become who I am today.”

Others I spoke with told me of their own struggles and doubts during those same years. I had no idea. Of course at the time it seemed like I was the only one who stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

No doubt I’m not the only one with wounds in her past. The way I see it you can go one of two ways. You can become embittered and resentful, holding a grudge for decades over matters that vanish with the passage of time. Or you can take the experiences life hands you and use it as a catalyst to change your very character and improve yourself, perhaps learn to serve others with what you’ve been given – good or bad. Every job application looks for “experience”. Life is the same way – you are in the BEST position to help someone else when you’ve had experience in the same area. Never take a bad encounter and throw it to the floor in bitterness; it is NEVER a waste.

I would like to meet my Maker someday with empty pockets, saying Lord everything you gave me – I gave it all away so others could learn more about you.

It’s not like there are any hearses with luggage racks :).

Voodoo Doll: Evergreen Lake Race Report

First things first!! I haven’t posted in several weeks, and for that I sincerely apologize. Sure, things have been busy, but I simply haven’t made the time to write. To all who have emailed asking what’s up, I’m grateful you look forward to reading about our adventures.

Evergreen Lake is an Olympic distance race – a 1500 meter swim, 40K bike, and 10K run. We drove up Friday night to Bloomington, IL and met Jen and Sharon (a fellow triathlete and client of Jen’s) for dinner at an Italian restaurant for some pasta and chicken. Steve was along for the trip and I can only imagine his pleasure in being surrounded by not just one but three hot female athletes :). He didn’t appear to mind in the least and seemed perfectly comfortable…NO DOUBT :).

After dinner we all went to the race site where we checked in and I racked my bike – a nice option that makes one less thing to worry about race morning.

It rained overnight. It was drizzling when we left the next morning. It was POURING when we got to the race site.

Actually I didn’t mind at all. It just made things more interesting and brought another new challenge to meet up close and in person.

Friday the water temp had been 80F, and Saturday morning it was announced water temp was 77F which meant wetsuits were allowed. Dang. I didn’t bring my wetsuit so I would swim “sans skin”…”sassafrassarassa!…” oh well, lesson learned. No matter what they say about water temp, ALWAYS pack the suit :).

Us 40+ yr olds were the last wave for the Olympic distance and off we went. I got into a rhythm and sighted perfectly on swim caps and buoys. In fact I was so focused and so comfortable I didn’t notice it had started pouring again until I rolled to breathe and noticed the safety folks in kayaks were getting soaked. I could see just fine and didn’t feel a thing.

I would relish that thought more than once as I came within a minute of my goal swim time and ran to T1 to hop on my bike.

I was vaguely aware my bike shoes were soaked but everything was wet and there was no way around it. For the first 15 minutes I felt slow as molasses, as if my legs were submerged in mud. It was drizzling and the wind was steady in my face. The course was out and back, and it was also a false flat.

The rain changed from drizzling to abating to pouring and blowing sideways. At one point, it was coming in so hard I couldn’t even look straight ahead over my handlebars. I had to turn my head and steer by looking out the corner of my eye when it wasn’t filling with rainwater. I felt like a voodoo doll being hit with a million needles that were actually raindrops. It was nearly comical and I actually started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

At the turnaround point, the wind was largely at my back and I stood up on the pedals and turned them over like a hamster on his wheel. I was determined to exploit every advantage. The rain came hard – again – and my bike lurched with the force of the accompanying sideways wind. I said out loud to every demon lurking in my head:

“You’ll never take me in the fire;
You’ll never take my own desire
I know my heart and I just can’t deny it – I AM FIREPROOF….”

A line from the song Fireproof by the Christian rock group Pillar. For the whole song, click on the link below. A GREAT tune for anyone in the middle of the battle, single-mindedly pursuing a goal :).

http://youtube.com/watch?v=oXBP7YN_2z4

I came in only a couple minutes off my goal bike time, amazing considering the driving rain. Steve was standing on the sidelines and I grinned at him as I put on my rain soaked shoes and headed out for the run.

My legs felt surprisingly good. I was determined to NOT stop unless I needed to throw up.

10 minutes into the run I took in some GU and knew I would not need another one the rest of the race.

I slowed a bit only to grab water or Gatorade alternately at each aid station, and even then I took only a sip. This time I squeezed the mouth of the cup even further than in previous events so it would only trickle into my mouth and not end up on my face or up my nose. New mechanics to learn when not shuffling or walking through an aid station :).

I was running high Zone 3 (170s) the first 5K but as soon as I passed Mile 4 I shifted up to Zone 4, which meant going into upper 170s/low 180s – headlong into the “seriously uncomfortable but got one more gear” range, enough to get to Mile 5.

At Mile 5 I let ‘er rip and went straight for Zone 5 – upper 180s/low 190s – the kind where hurling becomes a reality if kept up for too long. I was determined to smartly parcel out the energy and never thought once about stopping.

I finished within just a few minutes of my goal time, despite the weather. It didn’t occur to me until much later that I actually PR’d my Olympic triathlon time :).

The demons were silenced that day, despite their best efforts to pin me like a voodoo doll :)

"You Can't Coach Desire"

I must dish on my husband – yes, AGAIN :) - and also because this post is about him. Steve has the gift of prolonged youth – I mean, does that guy in the picture above look like he’s pushing 50??

The gift has spilled over into other aspects of his life too. Maybe it’s his wild wife that gives him the fire, but he persistently views life as an adventure and age as only a number. I wish more people thought this way. I see so many people in a frightful hurry – in traffic, at airports, in the grocery store - and for what? To cram more activities into an already-full life? Or to cram more activities into a relatively empty life, hoping to stumble upon some purpose or meaning?

Steve is nearly never in a hurry, and truth be told, sometimes it’s a bit annoying, but in reality it’s me who needs to slow down at those times. Sure there are occasions when being in a hurry is appropriate, like when crossing a busy intersection or when you’ve waited too long to go to the bathroom, but by and large being in a hurry is addictive and a slippery slope to becoming an elegant excuse for being “busy” – the (misguided) siren call of having purpose and meaning in our lives. (More on that in a different post).

So in true non-hurried character, Steve came to me with his training goals yesterday – after weeks of having the outline on his desk. He put a lot of thought into them and it showed. He was also highly organized, using paper like this, which makes anything easy to read. Sure impressed me!

He has a LOT of natural ability, especially in running speed. I’m certain if a coach had encouraged him in high school, he would’ve been a track star, possibly All-American – he’s that good.

There’s a rub, though. While I have to claw my way to every gain in speed and ability, I have LOADS of drive and enthusiasm, and it’s enough for both of us, more like the entire neighborhood. In fact at times I think it’s over the top for Steve, kind of like an overenthusiastic preacher who’s sounding the altar call for everyone to come forward to REPENT AND BE SAVED!! (Well-intentioned but a bad idea…) Steve is very patient though, and given that it’s impossible to not answer THE call from the Creator of the Universe (in the Bible every encounter a human had with God was off the charts to say the least), my relentless fitness pursuits over the years have ignited a flame he can call his own.

He is willing to push the envelope. It’s no accident he looks as young as he does. He’s a former Marine and has made a lifelong investment into taking care of his health, eating sensibly and exercising regularly. But he’s willing to draw a line – actually several – and push past where he is now into the Unknown. There were items on his Goal Sheet that I previously thought would NEVER come about unless pigs sprouted wings.

This is huge for my husband. It’s the key that turns the lock for him – desire. My coach coined the phrase I used for the title of this article, and it is absolutely true – you can’t coach desire. While God gave me the gift of enduring health, He was far more generous on the desire front, and I’ve longed to see Steve’s aspirations come alongside his exceptional abilities. He doesn’t view exercise with the same enthusiasm as I do, more as a necessary evil (like a yearly physical complete with the requisite probing), but there are goals that he wants to achieve – badly, mind you – and he’s willing to move the line and go to the next level. YEAH BABY!!

So we had The Talk yesterday – about goals, both short-term and long-term, how badly we want to achieve them, and the price we are each willing to pay to get there.

I heartily applaud my husband’s desire to improve. Life itself is often not an easy journey, and there have been and will be days when the last thing he wants to do is get up early to train. But I know from personal experience that often those are the days when the opportunity for growth is the greatest. I cannot remember either feeling personally or hearing another athlete regretting they got out to do what was necessary to move closer to their goals. When we were babies, it was fine to mostly do what we wanted. As adults, we must realize there is a price to pay for anything, and our willingness to pay is driven by our desire to achieve the goal.

I have an awesome coach and am regularly humbled by her relentless pursuit of her goals. She gets the job done under the most daunting circumstances and is undeterred. My grandmother had this trait and it resonates with me as well. We don’t know how to say quit in anything.

I can’t wait to see what the next 12 months unfolds for Steve. It’s been said (and not kindly I might add) that behind every good man is a great woman. I am “behind” Steve 1000%, but I much prefer to walk alongside him as his wife and buddy, and rejoice with him in all the hard-won and God-honoring victories that are headed his way :).

Not Alone…A Saab Story…and Ironman Kansas Race Report

I love traveling with Steve. In fact, I love doing everything with him. As our blog profile says, he is my lifelong best friend, the childhood buddy I never had. Don’t get me wrong – I had (and have) great friends from school and we still stay in touch. But there is nothing like knowing and being known by another person who appreciates and loves you for who you REALLY are – warts and all. Someone who cries with you when you’re hurt and celebrates every victory, no matter how small. The fact this person is my husband is icing on the cake.

So I was doubly excited as we got up at o’dark-thirty Saturday morning to make the drive to Lawrence, KS, site of the inaugural Ironman Kansas 70.3. I was fired up for the race as well as being in the car with my partner-in-comedy for the next 5 hours. Steve is a great navigator and I love to drive, so we never have trouble deciding who’ll do what on a roadtrip. About the only rule we have is that there must be fair warning given if someone passes gas :).

The trip was fun and uneventful. (The “eventful” had yet to come about). We arrived in downtown Lawrence, picked up my packet, found another awesome pair of 2XU tri-shorts, ate a leisurely lunch, and drove out to the race site. It was 90F and I was making mental notes about how race day would look and feel Sunday.

The hills were ginormous. Whoever said “Kansas” and “flat” (maybe me?) in the same sentence is smoking something :). Clinton Lake is near what the locals call The Iron Cross – 4 roads that intersect with long lungbusting hills beckoning on each segment.

We were able to check in our bikes that afternoon. This was great – one less thing to worry about race morning, and I could focus instead on a short swim, and driving the bike course to mentally prepare for the next day.

That evening we checked into our hotel and headed to Walmart to stock up on Gatorade. When we got back out to the parking lot, the car started up fine, ran for 2 seconds, and then died. I cranked it again – nothing. One more time - no joy. We decided to let it sit for a bit and walk to a nearby restaurant for dinner; maybe something overheated and just shut down the fuel system?

45 minutes later we were back at the car and still nothing, so we headed back into Walmart to the automotive department where a really nice saleslady gave us access to her department phone and phonebook. After calling several car rental companies, I was ready to go by cab to the Kansas City airport 90 miles away to pick up a rental and deal with our sick car after the race. We walked back out to the parking lot and gave the car one more try. She started right up. I was flummoxed (really like that word, just had to use it :)), and thought maybe the fuel pump is a bit weak and we just needed to fill up the gas tank.

8 hours later at 4:30AM Sunday she started right up again. We headed to the race site undeterred, the car not starting a distant memory amid the excitement of race day.

At the race site, hundreds of athletes were already pulling into the park and we got there just in time. I setup the rest of my transition area and enjoyed the music coming from the giant speakers. Before we knew it, it was TIME, and we made our way down to the swim start.

The gun went off and so did we – age groupers in our own wave. I ended up near the back of the pack – not where I wanted – but wove my way around several swimmers. Finally the crowd broke up a bit and I could get into a groove. Clad in my wetsuit, I mainly let my legs “rest” behind me. I had seen the bike course and soon enough my limbs would be called on to make steep and sustained climbing efforts – I needed to conserve every ounce of energy possible.

Once again I was acutely aware many of my fears and discomforts of being in open water were MIA, and I could really focus on racing and not just enduring. It was liberating to just sight on the next buoy and “grab” as much water as possible with my forearms.

The swim course was triangle-shaped, and when I saw the first pylon near the beach exit I actually thought (for the first time ever) already??? I almost laughed into the water – what a hoot! The last leg of the swim was rough water, and I simply threw my arm a bit higher and farther out, and rolled a bit more to breathe.

I ran out onto the beach and saw Steve who was snapping a picture as I slowed just long enough to triumphantly pump my arm and give him a big smile.

Onto the bike! I already knew this would be a tough ride, but I’m not sure any of us gave proper homage to just how challenging it would be, or how relentless. The western part of St. Louis has such hills and I’ve ridden them and nearly hurled at the top of some. The first hill was a mindbending descent and my speed reached 40mph before the bottom. I pedaled until I could only coast, and then just tucked my knees and rested on my aerobars…and prayed. At the bottom of the hill, someone had dropped a PB&J sandwich in a baggie – a wreck waiting to happen.

What goes down must go up, and shortly thereafter the same hill we were screaming down earlier now became a gut wrenching climb. I was out of my saddle halfway up and actually shifted to a harder gear so I could simultaneously push-pull on the pedals without “bouncing” up and down on them and burning my quads.

The hills came ruthlessly, along with strong headwinds – often reaching 30mph – a challenging combination in a race. At one point, the wind was screeching in my ears so loudly I couldn’t even hear myself cursing in my head :). I turned at one part of the course, and the silence of the wind now being at my back was almost deafening. Gratefully I coasted down the mountain I had just climbed only to see athletes suffering their way up. One girl had pulled over and simply put her head down on her forearm, either crying or dealing with nausea or both.

I was not alone.

Coming into T2, I got out of my shoes, leaving them clipped into the pedals, and rode on just one side of the bike to the dismount line. Steve was right there and I would later find out that he saw athletes (even guys) dismounting their bikes, barely able to walk and some of them CRYING.

Again, I was overcome with the feeling of not being alone out there.

My adductors were screaming at me as I ran in sock feet to rack my bike and slip on my running shoes. I ran past an athlete flat on his back in the middle of the transition aisle, getting treated for dehydration or who knew what.

Amazingly my leg pain passed as I got into a groove and began picking off the miles. It was NOT easy, and it took EVERY ounce of mental energy I had left to FOCUS on putting one foot in front of the other. My stomach was not reacting well to the Clif bar I’d had on the bike, and my mind was warring between knowing the need for gels/fluids and recoiling away from any of it. I took in the nutrition anyway, knowing I would be veritably crawling to the Finish if I didn’t. Mental note: No more Clif bars on the bike…Hurl Factor too high :).

Halfway through the run, I could see the darkening sky in the distance – an approaching thunderstorm as only the Great Plains could dish up. The winds picked up and instant air conditioning suddenly swirled around me – the temps dropped 15 degrees in a matter of minutes. It started raining a bit, and I was actually COLD. Lightning flashed, and I was relatively certain if it continued they would close the course.

Close the course they did, and just as I victoriously crossed the Finish, all hell broke loose. The rain and winds were coming in sideways, and EVERYONE was suddenly racing – away from the site! Steve had just enough time to snap that lovely picture at the top – check out the tent and flag behind me.

We grabbed my stuff and by the time we got to the car, incredibly, it was SUNNY. I do understand the need for safety on the course, so I didn’t begrudge the officials for their decision to cut the race short. Hundreds of athletes didn’t get a chance to finish, but like everything else, there are things you can and cannot control and weather will deliver whatever it likes no matter what day it is.

It’s how an athlete copes with what is handed to him/her come Race Day that contains the biggest lessons for each of us on how we handle adversity – do we roll over and wet ourselves in anxiety or do we dig in and push through nonetheless, knowing we emerge stronger on the other side?

Epilogue: Halfway back to the hotel from the race, the fuel pump finally gave it up and the Saab indeed died. We got towed to a repair shop (incredible there’s an excellent foreign car shop in Topeka, KS!), and drove home Monday in a rental. This Friday we have the great privilege of making the 10-hour roundtrip to pickup our car, fork over $600 for the repair, return the rental, and drive back home – all in one day.

Didn’t I say I LOVE traveling with Steve – this will be FUN :).