So damn lucky

As usual when it’s been a while since I’ve written, I’ve got a great blog rolling around in my head about taking my son to a flash mob last weekend (I guess I’ll post once the official video is up, it’s awesome) but something has come up that I have to get out or I might actually explode.

Like most everyone, I think I take my health for granted. Yes, I’m a big girl, but I’m pretty damn healthy. My son can be a PITA (pain in the…) but he’s healthy. My husband, my dog, my (6’8”) “baby” brother, my 66 year old dad. At times PITA, PITA, PITA, PITA, but healthy, healthy, healthy, all things considered (like 55+ years of smoking and severe arthritis in his back) healthy.

Even when it comes to my mom’s colon cancer, yes, she had it for a while, and it was bad, and the side effects are still bad. She still has trouble walking, typing, writing, all of those things we take for granted with healthy hands and feet. But the cancer is gone. There’s a good chance she WILL see my son graduate from MIT, or wherever his crazy little science brain takes him, even though he’s only in second grade now.

Tricia in Hawaii

I’m pretty sure the 1^st time I introduced you to my friend Tricia Moen, I was explaining what motivates me. And I swore to carpe every damn diem. I not only meant to at the time, but I think I’ve done an OK job. I did the 13.1 miles that weren’t even on my bucket list. I joined one of the world’s largest flash mobs and danced as if no one was watching. I’ve hugged and kissed my loved ones, and I tell my son that I love him every single day.

But walking all the way around the island where Paul Allen grew up doesn’t make cancer go away. And fleece scarves may be a comfort, but they don’t strangle out tumors. And where my mom’s cancer was able to be cut out in one surgery, Tricia has not been as lucky. She’s been undergoing a clinical trial, but it’s not working. And whereas mom’s life is still hopefully measured in decades, just this weekend she learned that her doctors are giving her months.

Even thinking about this is like a punch to the gut. She’s not even 40. Just last week she was nominated for a local news Emmy, and there’s a chance she won’t feel well enough for the ceremony in June. In general, I try not to be maudlin, but today I just can’t help it. It’s just not f-ing fair. I want to scream and shout and cry. I can only imagine what her family, or our friends who get to see her every day are going through.

I still don’t know who reads my dumb blog, but I just need to scream, even if it’s just into the internet ether.

I know life isn’t fair. I try to explain it to my son almost every day. I have another friend who just spent a week at Children’s with her son. He’s finally home, back at school, and he’ll be fine. Much like my mom's cancer, I can’t think differently than that. But for Tricia, I’m having to let my belief that you can always move forward, you can always do something to be the change you wish to see in the world… I have to let that go.

A few min ago I had to stop writing and just hug my boy, and I was sobbing so hard, he thought I was bouncing him on my lap and laughing. And once he started laughing, I couldn’t help it, I was too.

I’ve never been really into religion. I’m pretty sure that if there is a God, he cares more about how you live your life than where you hang out on Sundays. But if he’s out there, I really need to thank him.

I’ve got my health, and that of my family. I’ve got a job that pays the bills and keeps a roof over our heads. I’ve got a little boy who can turn a sob into a laugh without even knowing that I’m crying. And I’ve had a chance to know some of the best people in the whole world ever. I always said that when my Grandpa Dyer died, the world was a lesser place. It simply lost one of its best people.

That will also be true of Tricia. She’s not a martyr, sure, she screams and cries and gets pissed. But never that most people would see. Instead, she holds on to the hope and love of her family and friends. And we all love her for it. And once I get out my rage and tears, I’ll make sure I’m back in the place that focuses on giving her every bit of love and support for as long as she wants it from me.  If love could cure cancer, I know Tricia's would be long gone.

So yes, I’m lucky for my friends and family and health, but that I can have friends like Tricia who teach me to appreciate those things. That’s what makes me truly, so damn lucky.

Fleece scarves, Drippy sleeves, and the Inability to be in two places at once

As I said back in October when I came out of my Pill-Bug mode the first time, I’ve never really had any big desire to run 13.1… or even walk it.  But considering I managed the Breast Cancer 3 day 10 years ago, I wanted to do something similarly significant for colon cancer, for Tricia and my mom.  So I put together a training plan, started to recruit a team, and got on with it. Or at least that was the plan.

My training started out alright, but as always seems to happen life gets in the way. Homework for the little man, holidays, work, weather… life.  But I was still at least staying somewhat active until the first week of Jan. I had a sharp, stabbing pain in my abdomen, which at first I did my best to ignore. But after 2 days where I couldn’t sit up straight without meds, I went to see my doc. Instead I got a PA who decided that since I was “Fat, Female and Forty” it was gall stones, and I quote, “Not urgent,” and I was to get an ultrasound, but it wasn’t a hurry. It’s silly, but I was most offended by being called “forty-ish.” For the love of God, my birthday is in December, I’d only turned 37 two weeks before.

Anyhow to make a long story short, when I got an ultrasound a week after the pain started, they said, “No Gallstones, you should get your appendix checked.” By now, I was still in a fair amount of pain, but was walking around, so did a couple more tests, and after the CT Scan the next day they told me not to leave the radiologists office.  Next conversation was with someone from my Dr’s office asking if I needed an ambulance, since I had a ruptured Appendix, and needed to go directly to the ER. Do not wait for my husband to drive me, go now. Which seemed dumb, since I’d now been in pain for 8 days.  Went to ER, got appendix out, and had to spend a fair amount of time on REALLY STRONG antibiotics since from what they could tell, I’d been walking around with a ruptured appendix for 6 days. My mom & husband, etc. kept telling me, “You could have died!” I scoffed at this until at my follow up appointment I mentioned to the surgeon who said, “yes, definitely you could have died.”  We agreed to keep that from my mom… so I guess I hope she skips reading this post. I hate “I told you so;” unless I’m the one saying it.

So two long paragraphs to get to an actual legitimate reason that I hadn’t spent much time training.

By the week before the event, I was getting to the gym and spending 90 min at a time on the elliptical, but that’s nowhere near enough time to prepare for the Mercer Island Half, which I planned to walk on March 20. Beyond having issues training, I was having problems with the website for the team I set up as well. So even the day before the event, I didn’t know who was on team TJ Booty (short for “Tricia, Judy, and their fabulous Bootys”) So with no way to organize the team, I decided to make fleece scarves. Not only are they one size fits all (and fairly inexpensive for me to make since with no contact info, it’s not like I could ask people for money) but sensitivity to cold is a common side effect to colon cancer chemo, so if no one else liked them, I was pretty sure that my mom and Tricia would still appreciate it, which is all that really matters to me.

The morning of the walk dawned and I tried to put aside the concerns that had been plaguing me all week. Could I really do this? Would I rather do the 5k with my mom? Had I really gone too far this time?  By the time I picked up my friend Suzanne to carpool to the event, I was ready to go. Still a little scared, but not enough to consider giving up.  We got to the park, found my friend Judy (not my MOM Judy, who is a colon cancer survivor) who wanted to run it, but decided to walk with us, and waited for the 4^th of our group. We’d agreed to meet at 7:30a, which was the walker start time, but other than Elise, we were all a little early.  By 7:45p we were getting a little anxious, so Suzanne sent Judy and I ahead and said she and Elise would catch up.

Despite being the first day of Spring in the Pacific Northwest, we could not have asked for better weather. The morning was chilly, but when you’re walking your ass off, that’s not a bad thing, and dang it, I made scarves! Despite the chill, it was clear and dry. If you’ve never just taken a walk on tree lined streets in the Seattle area, you’re missing out.  Judy and I were walking away and chatting as we walked briskly, I’d guess a 17-18 min pace. It was kind of fun to hit the water stops, we got a lot of personal attention, since the initial wave of walkers had long since passed by.

After a couple of miles, my bad ankle (the one I broke a few years ago) started to ache a little. Not enough to stop, or even really limp, just to remind me that it was there.  We kept going. A guy out walking his dog took our picture with the sign for mile 5. Still feeling pretty good.  I remembered that I’d put my workout play list on my husband’s iPod touch so I could play it out loud and fired up some tunes.

We were into mile 6 when we heard the police escort. The first runners were coming. Judy & I cheered them on…  the first several were SO serious. Didn’t even crack a smile when we were cheering them on. Skinny little dude after skinny little dude, too intent on finishing their 13.1 to acknowledge our cheers. But when the first female runner came by us, she heard us cheer and gave us a little thumbs up. 

Silly, but it really meant a lot.

Around mile 7, my feet were numb. My hands were all sausage-y, and I was thinking, this is how my mom still feels every day. Her feet are still numb from the IV chemo she stopped in November. Her hands are still numb, even though her last day of oral chemo was Jan 31. She’s afraid to drive to my house (around 100 miles) because she can’t always feel the pedals in the car. She’s had to tell her co-workers more than she wanted to tell them, because she’s afraid that people will think she’s drunk, since the neuropathy means she can’t always balance, or write clearly. She has had to ask strangers to open her gas cap for her so that she can fill her tank. Right now, her hands don’t have the strength.

About 7.5 miles in, after we’d been passed by a significant amount of the running pack, I finally convinced Judy that it was OK for her to run.  We’d been stalling a little bit, hoping for Suzanne and Elise to catch up from their 20+ min lag behind us, but I could tell, she really wanted to go.  Since of the four of us I’m 99% sure she’d done BY FAR the most training, I wanted her to feel free to run.

The next three miles were the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time.  I looked at my watch, and realized that my mom was well into her 5k. More than anything, I wished that I was with her. She was afraid to do the 5k with just my 7 year old son holding her hand, afraid that she’d trip and take him down.  I called my husband, who was running the 5k, to check on their progress, and he told me mom was almost done, and she didn’t lean on anyone, just held her grandson’s little hand. The day before she finished oral chemo was her 60^th birthday, and on the first day of spring, she did her very first 5k, despite the chill in the air, and the numbness in her hands and feet.  At the end of the walk, my son told her, “You inspire me, Grandma.” I was so proud of them both I could burst, but I ached to be with them, not across the island on a solitary journey.

Shortly after that, I noticed the sleeves of my jacket were dripping wet. Like I’d washed my hands and gotten water all over the cuffs. I puzzled over that for a while before I realized it was my own sweat running down my sleeves. I’d taken off one jacket layer, now I was feeling a little clammy and cold, but took of my scarf & tied it to my backpack that I brought with water and snacks, so I had a lovely blue fleece tail.

I slowed even more to try to “wait” for the rest of my team, but was afraid if I stopped, I’d never get going again.  I tried to keep my heart rate around 70%, and tried not to turn and look for them too often.  Just before Mile 8 was a Cliff Shot station.  I took the “gel” which I use regularly when I tri- but for some reason, it upset my stomach.  I of course realized this about ¼ mile after I passed the port-a-pottys. 

The next couple of miles were spent scanning the horizon ahead for the next darn potty spot while I scanned the horizon behind me for Suzanne and Elise. I was feeling alone, and starting to feel a little sorry for myself in my aloneness. What was I thinking that I could so this?  Look at all of these skinny people jogging by me with their friends!  Why didn’t I just do the 5k with my mom?  Would someone come get me if I decided I just couldn’t make it anymore?  Tunes kept me moving, but why the heck didn’t I bring headphones so I didn’t have to feel like the weird fat chick with music AND a blue fleece tail? 

Finally, I saw the stupid port-a-potty. Things were looking up.  I made the quick pit stop and when I came out, up the hill came Suzanne and Elise. Even better!  We only had a couple of miles left, and I was no longer alone with my thoughts.  I pointed out my drippyness to Suzanne, who pointed out if I had on the wicking layer instead of my warmer jacket, it would help me stay warm without holding the clammy sweat against me. So I tied my drippy sleeves around my waist (the good part about having long arms is that I have longer sleeves to fit around me ;) and we were off. I felt bad for wanting to get back to a somewhat normal pace, since they’d been playing catch up for the whole journey, and Elise was moving in a cute little trot/jog that made me feel bad for having legs that are something like 4-6 inches longer than hers and strolling along.

The rest of the walk itself was fairly uneventful.  We told folks at the water stations as we passed that there were at least two people behind us.  The very last one apparently had run out of water, because what they gave us tasted like it came out of a garden hose. With about ½ mile left, we started to see some people walking the other direction. Most of them were likely headed to their cars, but at least one was awfully familiar, my husband was walking the course to finish with me.

At this point, I’m pretty sure my blood sugar was low.  Hit the last hill, and my son came running down to hug me. Me: “Hi buddy, Mommy can’t walk you hang on to me.” Boy: “You’re doing great, Mom!” Me: “Thanks baby, don’t hold my hand, Mommy really just needs to finish this now.”

And so, in an awkward moment where I felt like I was pushing friends and family away, I did.  13.1 miles, in just over 4:35.  Awesome time? Uh, no.  But as my lovely new headband from One More Mile says: You don’t have to go fast, You just have to GO!

Mom, Me, Hubby and our little man at the finish line.

Things I learned from 13.1:

·         I can do it

·         Layers are good, both to take off and to put back on if needed

·         Pay attention to nutrition. Even if you’re eating stuff you’ve had before, if it’s been a long time, your system may rebel

·         Aleve is my friend. For several days after, and all day of the event

·         Training is a good idea, I need to do more of that

·         OMG- I can do it

·         But more than figuring out if I can, I need to weigh the opportunity cost- SHOULD I do it, or should I be there to hold my mother’s hand?

·         13.1 miles = 4:35 = 3716 calories

·         OMG, HOLY COW… I CAN DO IT!

Other updates in the last couple of months: Mom’s post chemo PET scan came back cancer free. Not totally out of the woods, but a good sign.  I promptly chopped off 6 inches of the hair I’d been growing out.  Tricia has not been as lucky, but she’s still fighting and has a broad group of friends who would take the tumor down for her if we could.   I’ve turned 37, and my race age is now 38. With a late Dec birthday, this still pisses me off.

Next update: this year’s event (I REFUSE to call them races) calendar, and an exciting shirt development. Stay tuned!

Is ignorance REALLY bliss? Intolerance is not!

I know, I’m going to start freaking people out with this once-a-week business, but this really ticked me off, and I’ve set up such a nice pretty soap box for myself...

I actually started this blog almost a week ago, when the whole brouhaha hit. Since then, I’ve simmered down a touch, but I still think I’ve got a valid rant.  Star of the show, Billy Gardell gives a pretty classy speech on that new CBS AM show, and if it were just about Mike & Molly, I’d let it go, but obviously I didn’t.  J

A friend posted the story about the Marie Claire blog about Mike & Molly on Facebook, and there were a LOT of things about it that make me angry. 

1. This woman wrote the rant with out ever having even seen the show.  People who pontificate on things which they know nothing about piss me off.  We have a rule at my house. Take 3 bites of dinner before you say you hate it. If you still don’t want it, we’ll talk, but I don’t take, “It’s gross!” for things my son has never tried
2. This woman says she has struggled with an eating disorder, so yeah, I get that she’s got effed up ideas about people’s bodies. But shouldn’t she be MORE understanding, not less?
3. When did it become OK to pick on ANYONE?

This is my biggest rant of the moment.  I am 100% on board with the “It Gets Better” project, and really am proud to be straight, not narrow.  But since when is it only hard to be a teenager when you’re gay?  There was a story about a local teen who comitted suicide last week, which is awful, but next came the stories that he may have been bullied. And the questions if he was gay. 

OMFG people! WHO CARES IF THE KID WAS GAY? (Am I the only one who immediately has the “Heathers” football players’ funeral running through their head here?)

No child, NO ONE, should ever feel like ending their life is the only option.  My son is seven, and I know it’s early, but we’ve had a conversation about what’s happened on the news.  Kids were picking on another kid, so he decided he didn’t want to live any more.  And that there is NEVER EVER EVER any reason in the WORLD that it’s worth ending his life. His dad and I will love him no matter what.

But it’s hard to be a kid.  He’s shortish. He’s smallish. He’s wicked smart (no ish).  There are so many things kids get picked on for, even if they aren’t gay.  God forbid he decides to quit running club (which he loves) and becomes- dun dun DUN- FAT!

I know that I can be snotty to stupid people. And if you show up for work dressed from head to toe in orange as an actual outfit, I will likely say something snarky about pumpkins behind your back.  But there’s a BIG difference between that and bullying. And if it’s done in person, online, or even in and attempt at “journalism,” it’s just plain wrong wrong wrong.

So back to the show- I watched Mike & Molly again tonight, because it was fun and cute, and in part because I really hope their ratings go through the roof. It's not about a couple who is fat, it's about a couple who each aren't secure in who they are... I've been with the same guy since I was 18, so maybe it was just me at that age, but I can't remember EVER being secure in who I was when I started dating someone.

I'm guessing it was not just me, OR just that I was 18.

Next blog I’ll get back to the ½ marathon training progress (what little there is) and other thinks that involve forward motion, but for now, here are some interesting, and frightening stats that I think  A LOT of people reading this blog can relate to!

The facts on body image
• 81% of 10 year olds are afraid of being fat.

• 51% of 9- and 10-year-old girls feel better about themselves if they are on a diet.

• 35% of “normal dieters” progress to pathological dieting.

• Of those, 20–25% progress to partial or full-syndrome eating disorders.

Source: National Eating Disorder Association

Stretching out, or, what motivates me?

I’m honestly not sure why this ocurred to me as I was driving to work the other day, but since I love to beat a dead analogy, I can take the potato bug one step further. While the lowly potato bug is curled up in a little ball, it’s legs are all inside. It can’t move forward.

So the entire time I’ve been curling up in a little ball, sometimes almost literaly, I’ve been stuck.  So now I have to figure it out- what will make me move forward?

I’ve become VERY good at finding things that aren’t enough to make me break out of my protective shell. (Which I could think of my fat suit as that, but then we’re really mixing those metaphors!)

• Fear of being the “fat mom” hasn’t worked, I’m kinda there.
• Training for a total of now five triathlons, three 5ks and a 150 mile bike ride? Nope, evidently I can do these things with the bare min.
• Wanting to make my husband happy, or my son proud? Well, the dog loves me no matter what, right?
• Wanting to look, better, live longer, be more active? Still obviously not hitting my trigger.

After my last, much more positive post, where did Debbie Downer come from? Well, in my defense, I did start this blog before that one... and self-depreciation is a well learned and deeply ingrained habit, but I’ve also been finding some great excuses NOT to work out. I got a tetanus shot at my doctor’s appt, so my arm hurts.  It was almost sleeting on the way home, so I don’t want to drive back to the gym.  I’m making cookies and washing the dog. I’m making more cookies. It’s cold. I’m tired. The half marathon is still five months away... see, I’m REALLY good at it.

But Wednesday I had lunch with my friend, Tricia Moen.  She is half of the reason I’m planning to organize a team for the Mercer Island Half. And was the reason I washed the dog last night, as well as made one of the sets of cookies.  She has been fighting colon cancer for almost two years now. She was only 37 when she was diagnosed. And in a recent visit to her doctor, was told that she should plan on chemo of some sort for the rest of her life.

This blog started, before today, as, maybe I should buy myself something that I don’t actually GET until I log a certain number of miles. Or some other way to compete with myself, or maybe even someone else, to help get back to getting my butt in gear. 

But last week, when my arm hurt from my one little shot, I couldn’t complain to my mom.  She was missing her 9^th of 12 chemo sessions because she had to get two shots every day for three days. One shot to raise her platelet count, the other to raise her white cell count. The first 8 sessions of chemo have worked so well, they have killed too many of the good cells. She tells the doctors that she’s fine, but she’s afraid to eat because she doesn’t want to be sick to her stomach. And with chemo every two weeks, she no longer has those days where she feels like the old normal again. There are no longer truly good weeks and bad weeks. Just bad, and not quite as bad.

I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s where I learned some of my potato bug tendencies.  She doesn’t want any help. She doesn’t want us to see her at her worst. So she internalizes and powers through.  But every couple of weeks, I bring her the best reason I’ve found, other than her own sheer strength of will and refusal to any kind of victim, to keep fighting.  A second-grader who is planning to be a scientist and cure cancer when he grows up, and still likes to sit in his grandma’s lap.

I keep telling Mom that if she wants to see him graduate from MIT, she’s got to hang around for at least another 12 years or so, since we aren’t letting him skip grades. So I know that she’s got at least one reason to fight.

Now I just have to convince myself that I need to be fighting, and gathering my community of friends, not hiding from it. Seeing Trish is one of the first steps for me in getting myself moving forward.

Seeing Trish reminded me that I need to carpe every damn diem. Because you never, ever know what tomorrow may bring.  And I’ll never find out if I stay curled up in a little ball.  But if I stretch out and take more steps forward, I just might find something amazing.

I am T... I am a T-R... I am a T-R-I

D-E-L-T-A!  (If you don't actually know me, you might not have seen that one coming huh?)

I've got another blog with my usual self-deprecating tone started, but I had already been thinking that I should be nicer to myself during my sorority's international "Fat Talk Free Week," which is an amazing initiative, and a somewhat brave one for a sorority (where many would think body image is torn down, although that was totally NOT my experience as a Tri Delta!) so it only seems fair for me to stay on board.  Put my uh, mouth where my mouth is?

Anyhow, when I saw this post over on Oh She Glows, and decided that it's better for me to talk about the good stuff.

She gives 16 reasons why she loves her body, so here are a few of mine:

1) I can get away without training, because if I tell my body to keep going I know it will. Even when the spirit is weak, my body is possibly slow, but still willing. (Hey- no one said I had to be SLOW talk free! Heh.)

2) My body grew a person, quite possibly the most amazing person I've ever met. No matter how frustrated I get with my body (or with my little man), the baby growing process is pretty damn cool!

3) My body, including my face, really don't lie. I have ZERO poker face, and that's not a bad thing.  I'm emotional, expressive, and project it all from pretty much every bit of me.

4) It's taken a long time, but I like my smile, dimples and all. (Much easier to appreciate when you see mirrored in the guy mentioned in #2)

5) My health may not be PERFECT, but I am healthy.

6) I can dance, jump and move. I am a triathlete. My body can swim, bike & wun, all in a row. As my son likes to point out, neither he nor his dad swim (and the dog can't ride a bike) so I'm the only one at my house who can do that! :)

As I mentioned above, the other part of this post is give a little shout out to my sisters of Delta Delta Delta.  Our open motto is "Let us steadfastly love one another" but that's awfully hard to do if you don't start by loving yourself.  Sometime I might go into my high school & college flirtations with eating disorders (anorexia and bulimia respectively) but suffice it to say that in the world of photoshopped supermodels, I think this is a VERY important and for college girls everywhere, timely, message.

Check them out at http://www.endfattalk.org/

Pulling a potato bug

I know, it’s been a while... like 6 months while. So where have I been?

Two days after my last blog posted I got a call from my little brother. Mom had been sick, anemic to the point where she had to have a blood transfusion and spend the night in the hospital. She was back in action, but when he called they’d just finished her colonoscopy, and found “a mass that’s bleeding, and too large to remove during the colonoscopy.” They didn’t say the c-word, but we knew what that meant. Mom had cancer.

The following months passed in a blur. Doctor’s appointments- as the former journalist, I was the self-appointed asker-of-questions-no-one-wants-to-ask and note-taker, and the family information officer. And there was a lot of information to give. Stage 4 colon cancer, after surgery, fully resected. At least 12 sessions of chemo starting July 1, 4 hours in a chair and 48 hours wearing a pump every other week. And my mom, my strong, loving mom, who is a victim advocate in the special victim team of prosecutor’s office and holds the hand of people, especially children, who have been through the worst things you can imagine. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, and doesn’t eat red meat. Now she’s poisoning herself twice a month.

She would not be happy about me talking about her here, but the fact is, I know I’ve built a wall. Much like the pill bug, or as I knew them growing up, potato bug, I’ve tried to concentrate on what I can, and spend a lot of time in an emotional and mental fetal position.

So I completed my race season, my first Danskin, rode for my friend and team captain in the MS 150, did my second Trek Women’s tri, but all the while, my heart has not been in it.

Danskin was my worst tri ever. There were too many people, it was too hot, and the water was choppy, meaning I struggled through the swim. I was so tired after the swim and thrown off my game, I unclipped and walked in clipless road bike shoes to get up the hills. Almost all of the hills. Got a little good karma for the day by stopping to help a woman whose chain dropped (it was my 1^st time I’d ever done it & it worked!) and while watching my heart monitor, never got above a walk on the 5k. Did I mention it was in the 90s by the time I finished? At 11am?

It was here I developed my new motto: I can do anything I set my mind to, as long as I prepare. (Note: for this event, I had NOT prepared)

Just a couple of short weeks later, it was time for the MS 150. I already knew with as much time as I’d spent driving to Oly (and as little time as I’d spent on my bike) there was no way I was going to make 150 miles, even over two days. So we set out on Saturday morning, Sept 11, and my only goal was to make sure I rode up a couple of hills, and maybe get to ride over Deception Pass (which meant the 56 mile loop). 12 miles in, I was feeling great. I’d ridden up all of the hills so far. Did a couple of Facebook posts so my son could see how I was doing along the way, and had been riding up the hills. Although I had the refrain to The Fray’s “Over my Head” stuck in my head, it seems I’d finally figured out how to work those gear deal-y thingers. I may do a fuller recap later, but the gist is: downhill (MOUNT ERIE- REALLY?) was as bad if not worse than uphill because my carpel tunnel kicked in; took the shuttle a couple of times, one time on a big downhill, the other my brakes were locked up; and I ended the day sore, but feeling good. I need to get better about staying hydrated, but there’s a chance I can try to do more on that ride in the future. Once I get out of the mental fetal position.

The weekend after the MS ride was the Trek. It was not my best TIME ever, and the weather was constantly threatening to be crappy, but I ended up feeling great. I cut almost 30 min off my total time with NO additional training. I only dismounted to go up the suicide hill that goes onto I-90, so my gear shifting lessons from the week before were worthwhile. And I would have cut off even more time if I wasn’t trying to post pics to Facebook since I again, told my boys that they didn’t have to come.

So since I’ve been curled up in a little ball with the occasional event to drag me out of the house, why am I back & blogging?

In large part, this blog has been all about me, and for the last few months, I’ve been trying my best to focus on NOT me. My mom’s cancer affects me, but it’s not about me. And my training has been almost non-existent. But the training part is going to change.

March 20^th is the Mercer Island ½ Marathon. This one’s for Colon Cancer, so of all of the events that I’ve done, it’s the first that I’ve taken so personally at the time I’m doing it. I’m planning to put together a team, just trying to find out if some of the teammates can do the 5k or 10k if others are doing the 13.1. Because thats what I'M doing. 13.1 miles. In case you’ve missed it in my earlier blogs, I HATE HATE HATE RUNNING. Seriously, just not a fan. But I’m working once a week with a personal trainer, I’ve read Marathoning for Mortals and built out a Walk/Run training plan that starts now, but is based on the mortal wisdom of the Penguin.

But I’m doing it. And again, to keep myself honest, I’m inviting you, my anonymous friends in the cloud, along for the ride. Because at 35, I did my first triathlon, something I’ve always wanted to do. And at 37, I’ll be doing my first half-marathon, something I’ve NEVER had ANY desire to do. But when you’re doing something to raise awareness and funds for research that could save your mom’s life, it’s worth pushing outside yourself.

And since I’m still a Big Girl who can Tri... if I can do this you can too. I’ll see you along the way.

Ain't That a Kick in the Pants?

It's been 3 weeks since I got my indoor bike trainer, and I've ridden it a total of once.

I've had what seemed like good reasons- was in a super minor car accident, but since I had my foot on the brake, knee was jammed & sore. Then my dad was in Seattle for back surgery. And then I've been feeling too tired/busy/fat/lazy and it just hasn't happened.

But last night I met my friend at a "Beginning Cycling for Women" class at REI. I signed up thinking it would be a good way to get motivated and kick myself in the butt. But I don't think it was what I needed... it was the hug from my friend, and our tentative plans to ride this weekend.

So this is my lesson (for myself) for today. Buying a new bike is not enough. Signing up for a 5k next month that I have done no training for, or two Sprint Tris, or even the MS 150 which I officially signed up for today, none of that is enough.

What you really need is a friend, someone who will hold you accountable. I may be flexible, but it's much easier for someone else to kick me in the butt, than for me to do it myself.

So be it signing up for group rides for an event like Cycle the WAVE (which I can't do because it's the same weekend as the Trek Tri) or group training with the Luna Chix, or with an awesome trainer like Coach Beth at Running Evolution, you've got to make a date.

So, I'm doing some looking into training again. Not sure if I'll do a group or 1:1. But I know I'll be making a lot of dates. Because they may be with other people, but it's always for me.

Ain't that a kick in the head? Evidently it's the one that I need.