I finished my second triathlon sprint. I finished 20 minutes faster than I did last year, but it should’ve been 30 minutes. After I’d swam 1000 yards, biked 12 miles and ran 1 mile, I got a migraine.
I started with denial. I figured the aura in my eyes was from the brisk swimming pool water. (The boiler had broken the night before and the water was only 75 degrees. You usually swim in 78 degrees. 3 can be a very large number.)
Then I decided maybe my shoes were too tight and I loosened my shoe laces.
Then I started counting my breaths, thinking it would ease any stress in my head if I breathed in 4 counts and breathed out 5.
Then my eyesight really went crazy and I got slightly lost on the the run. Then I found the path again and had to walk, while concentrating on florescent red markers.
As I walked across the finish line, I completely lost it and broke down as a friend led me to my car.
Now some would read this and think how strong I was to continue, although I didn’t have much of a choice because I was kind of in the middle of nowhere without much sight so the only way to get to Kevin was to follow the path.
But I don’t feel strong.
All I’m focusing on, for some odd reason, is how bummed I was I couldn’t celebrate all I’d accomplished. I had really been looking forward to that burger and ice cream. I had the flavor picked out and I was going to eat fries. All without guilt.
There were tons of people there I knew. It was going to be awesome. I’m pretty sure someone would’ve lit fireworks.
Instead, I came home and took meds and closed the blinds and climbed into bed. I stayed there for the next 24 hours. I tried getting up Sunday and ended up back in bed. My husband marveled at how much I slept.
So there ya have it. I followed my own training advice: I kept going until they told me to stop. And then I fell down.
LUCKILY, I’m the type to buy myself a reward for almost anything of significance I do and so I already had these babies:
The perfect reward!
I’m trying very hard to see what I accomplished and wear my bacon and egg earrings with pride and I honestly do. But for some reason, without the celebration, it just doesn’t feel complete. Sometimes things just need an end and this one didn’t have one and I have to learn to be OK with it.
(This does NOT mean I feel the need to do it again.)
I’m about to do my 2nd spring triathlon. Due to my experience, I was given the status of triathlon master by parenting experts who don’t actually have children.
There is a lot of advice out there:
-focus on your hamstrings on your bike to save your quads for running.
-only drink while on your bike and only at the beginning for bathroom and cramping reasons.
-eat what you would normally eat so you don’t get sick
-eat carbs the night before
-eat carbs the morning of
-eat carbs so that you can be happy
-don’t eat carbs
I thought I would add my own two cents. This is what I do for a race:
I keep going until the finish.
I hope you find this helpful. If you do not, talk to the parenting experts.
My other tip: wear matching shoes.
How to Develop Humility:
1. Learn to swim at 39.
2. Take lessons from a 20 year old.
3. Go swimming 2-3 times a week until you feel semi-secure.
4. Have your coach move you up a lane so you are no longer with the guy learning to swim and the woman who is retired.
5. Get lapped every 100 yards.
6. Do all of this in a swimming suit.
(This is the final installment in my trifecta of swimsuit posts. You may now go back to eating ice cream.)
Occasionally I’ve been known to eat sugar when stressed. This generally occurs after 3:15pm. I’m sure this is random and does not coincide with school being let out at this time. I’m doing everything I can to believe grapes can give me the same fake, highly processed high. The unripe bitter ones seem to help; mostly by making me nauseous.
And mostly I’m succeeding. (It isn’t my fault it’s Girl Scout Season.) (Nor is it my fault that my daughter is a Brownie and I drive her to troop meetings twice a month and helped her reach her “cookie goal.”)
But Spring Break is in 1.5 weeks. Many of you may be expecting me to say that I’m heading to Daytona Beach, due to my completely carefree, spontaneous, and uplifting take on life. But it was booked. So I’m taking my 3 kids to Salt Lake City; which is pretty much the same thing, if you think about it.
And while I’m there, I’m going swimming suit shopping. I am determined to buy a swimming suit that isn’t black nor will it have “wonder” in the title. So for the next 10 days, sugar will be down to a minimum.
And 10 minutes after I buy a swimming suit, I’ll be at In and Out Burger.
I’m working with a personal trainer because parts of me just are not right.
(Leaving that open is my gift to you today.)
My right hip turns in so I always lead with it. When I’m 85 and 4 months this may actually cause me problems, but right now I don’t notice it. Unless I’m running. And swimming.
When I’m running, after a while, my feet or calves or hips start to hurt and not in the “I’m burning through the pain” hurt. It’s more of a “I think I’m 85 and 4 months right now” kind of pain. And it sometimes stays after I stop running.
When I swim, I can’t tell too much until I do drills. When I’m kicking on my right side, I can’t swim straight. I automatically angle to the left. It’s very embarrassing.
So I am working on strengthening my left hip so that it doesn’t let my right hip take over and usurp it’s power. I do little movements that kill. And it isn’t the “I’m powerlifting so I will yell making everyone in the gym look at my muscles” pain. It’s fatigued muscle pain. My left side is complaining because it enjoyed taking a back seat. I can’t really blame it. Sitting back and watching the action can be a lot of fun.
But unfortunately those times are over.
So I sidestep across the room with a band tied around my ankles. This isn’t a difficult exercise; until my trainer makes me do it correctly. Then I start to sweat and my body screams.
I’m hoping it makes me a better Mom.
(So far, though, it’s just made me reference really old Huey Lewis songs.)
It’s really hard to believe anything could be wrong here.
I’ve been stepping out of my comfort zone lately. For example, I’ve been wearing a bathing suit 4 hours a week by choice and not because my kids want to go play at the pool. (The trick to this for me, being uncomfortable in a swimming suit, is believing that if I don’t look at anyone, they can’t see me. I learned this from my four year old.)
And once again, on Saturday, I stepped out of my comfort zone and went… drum roll… furniture shopping. Oh the horror.
Now I’ve bought furniture before. Right now, I’m sitting on a chair I actually own. But I’ve been buying furniture at IKEA and Shopko. It’s been dying lately so I thought I’d try a furniture store with the words “Furniture Store” in the title and where you can’t also get a lovely Swedish lunch or oil change.
My friend Lynette told me exactly what I needed. She told me the size and the color. I had color samples and a drawing in my hand. It was as dumbed down as one could make it. I think I needed it one more level down.
Furniture is so permanent. I took a friend with me and had a friend on speed dial. Both of them tried to convince me that furniture is not permanent and I could handle the challenge and throw pillows will change my life. I’m pretty sure Andrea wanted to slap me the 15th time I asked her if she liked the combination. She kept grabbing the backs of chairs and her knuckles would get white as she told me once again Expresso is a sofa color and not what the sofa smells like. (There are no scratch and sniff sofas by the way. But with leather names like Expresso and Carmel and Mocha, I’m thinking there should be.)
But I did it. I bought furniture, like an adult. And the furniture will come PRE-MADE, not in a flat box with assembly instructions.
I didn’t know they made it like that.
I bought this. And it will actually come like this. It won't come with an Allen Wrench. I'll admit: I'm a little skeptical
I have a running joke with my two friends in tri training that the swim instructor is my new BFF because I’m at the pool M-F. He just doesn’t know this.
I find this to be a minor point.
I like imaginary relationships. They take the pressure off of ever finding time to do anything together. You can drive by their house, and just hang out in your car on the street. It doesn’t even matter if they’re there. (But if they are there, I recommend you hunch down a little.)
You can tell people they think you are wonderful without any basis whatsoever. Just make sure they don’t hear you.
Because THAT would be embarrassing.
(Dear Swim Instructor, This is strictly hypothetical. I’ve never done a drive by of your house. But I have a strong feeling I would love your curtains. Sincerely, the redheaded girl in swim class you nod your head to when you see)
I’m at my parents for Thanksgiving. My kids like visiting because it’s their grandparents and because there is so much to do in Utah. 5 minutes from the house is an indoor waterslide community pool we go to every other day while here. I try and do laps part of the time until I realize that I don’t really know how to swim and get embarrassed.
I like visiting because my mom takes complete control. I don’t cook or do laundry. On the last day there, I clean the sheets and the bathroom, but the rest of the time, I can do nothing. (I even go home with all the clothes clean.) It used to bother me because I was the youngest and I thought this treatment meant I didn’t know how to do anything. Now, I don’t care if that’s what this treatment means because I don’t have to DO anything.
However, Thanksgiving comes and I can get some flack (from siblings who do not know how to milk the system) for not contributing to the meal. Nevermind that I drove 8 hours to attend, but everyone else brings something and if I don’t, comments are made. Alas, I’m staying at my mom’s. So I could buy all the ingredients for the green bean casserole, but by the time I awoke on Thanksgiving, it would be made. I could buy rhodes rolls and put them out to rise but mom would put them in the oven.
So tomorrow I’m buying some rolls some other people made and I think I’ll make a pie. But my mom will probably bake it.