The Breast Cancer Ninja- updated

Since this is a blog about workouts and weight loss, and my world is narrowing to talk about a much more focused experience… losing my boobs, I’ve decided to launch a new blog that will center on that experience.

Introducing: http://breastcancerninja.com/ I've registered this as my own, so shorter link!

So why the Breast Cancer Ninja, you may ask?  Last week while I was going thru all of the fun outlined in my posts, my mom, who is new to her Windows Phone, asked me how to find the smiley face that I sent her. I remembered a post from one of the Microsoft blogs that showed a bunch of the new emoticons, and there is was.  In Windows Phone, (J) = NINJA!  As the mother of a 9 year old boy, ninjas are big. And if you’re going to kick some cancer out of your body, why not be a ninja?

I may or may not return here when I kick the cancer’s ass, since from this point on, I will always be a survivor. We’ll see.  A couple weeks ago when I logged back in, Blogger told me it no longer supported my browser.  Internet Explorer 9.  I do PR for the same team that supports IE, and it’s still widely used, so I think that sucks.

When "positive" does not mean good

I’ve decided that the medical community needs to change their terminology. 

When I got the call Thursday afternoon, “Both sites sampled came back positive for invasive ductal carcinoma,” the only real positive is that I have an answer.  Not necessarily the one I wanted, but the one I expected… and still better than endless waiting.

The radiologist actually corrected himself and said that the “in situ” (which means if it’s just in the duct, or it’s invasive and has spread to other breast tissue) had not yet been determined, they were still finishing the pathology, but I have a feeling that again, he was going off of what he’s seeing. He may not be able to diagnose cancer based on looking, but he’s seen thousands of lumps, and knows what cancer looks like.

So really, at this point that’s all I know. 

I will schedule an MRI at some point in the coming days, since I go to Portland for work and then the Oregon Coast for a mini vacation with my boys starting next Thursday. I have an appointment with Seattle Cancer Care Alliance’s Breast Cancer clinic on Tuesday, 7/31 when I will have a 60 min upper body exam (not sure how that takes 60 min… do they use a microscope?) and then I meet my Medical Oncologist, Radiation Oncologist and Surgical Oncologist.  At that point we’ll know next steps, and how we’ll treat it.

The flip side of positive is where I’ve decided to live.  Of course I’m scared. As I said several years ago, still my favorite Gray’s Anatomy line of all time, "Well, we're all scared! I mean, if you're not scared you're not paying attention!"  

But I refuse to live my life in a scared place.  I’m going to kick this thing’s ass. If my mom can beat the less-commonly survived colon cancer at 59, I have NO EXCUSE not to beat breast cancer at 38.  I’m young (in cancer terms J), other than weight and my heart thing, I’m healthy… and I have a LOT to live for. I have amazing friends, family & co-workers who will all be cheering me on.

I plan to be a 50 year breast cancer survivor, with an option to reassess at year 45.  I figure by 83 I’ll have a better idea if I want to live past 88.  But for now, that seems like a solid goal, 88 years old.

So I’ve been working through my friends, and creating a comms plan, because in case I haven’t mentioned it before, my favorite favorite thing to do in PR is crisis communications.  I’ve been working through people who see me on a regular basis, mainly colleagues who this will tangentially effect. I’ll hit a few more of those people as well as those who I feel need to hear from me personally vs. through the grape vine in the next week, and then will start to go more broadly once I know more on the 31^st.

I’m even putting together a reactive QA, that covers many of the questions in my own head, as well as the responses to the awkward conversations I’ve now had over and over…

Me: Found a lump, blah, blah, blah, I have breast cancer.

Them: Oh, no! I’m so sorry.

Me: Thanks, me too.

Them: What can I do?  (See, the problem with being a proactive person like me, is you tend to collect those kinds of friends… who all need to DO something)
Me: Honestly, there is really nothing TO do right now.  I guess try not to smack me too hard upside the head when I seem distracted? Or be there for my mom & boys.  Hubby and mom are at the top of the freaking out list.  I think I’m actually at the bottom.  There is no choice here. I’m planning to kick its ass. I’m going to ninja the breast cancer right out of my breast. 

But on the up side, I’d always planned to get breast reduction surgery… this way insurance CAN’T turn me down, right?

For the moment I’m sticking with the eating part at least of my 20/20 program.  I feel like I was JUST taking control of my body, and now it’s being taken away… but I can control what I put in my mouth. So that’s something.

On July 8, when I’d found the lump, but hadn’t yet talked to doctors, I did a workout that involves me walking up and down a REALLY steep hill by my house. It’s on a semi-secluded road, and I composed a little bit of a blog while I was trudging up and dancing down the hill, but with my mind centered on my boob, I didn’t bother to ever write it. 

The gist is that the “Jimmy Eat World,” song, “The Middle,” came on, and felt like a perfect analogy for the being in the middle of changing my body, but since my diagnosis the chorus keeps running through my head, and has become a small addition to what I sing when my son needs a little extra help getting to sleep:

It just takes some time,

Little girl you’re in the middle of the ride,

Everything, everything will be just fine,

Everything, everything will be all right, all right.

Because that, my friends, is the plan. Everything will be all right.  I absolutely refuse to believe anything else.

I found a lump

And honestly, although the diet has been going well, it’s about all I’ve been able to think about since.

Since most people who I pretend are reading this care in my head about the workout & weight loss stuff, I’ll tell you that the first week on 20/20, I lost 8.2 lbs.  And I weigh in again this afternoon think I’ll continue doing well, although I’ve done less working out on my own because I’m in a weird head place. The diet piece has been relatively easy, I just drink a lot of shakes, and can’t eat a lot of stuff. I’ve found things that I like for the other foods and keep eating the same thing because I don’t have the mental energy to be creative about it yet.  But although I WANTED popcorn when I went to the movies the other day, I didn’t eat it. And that was fine.

But today, I feel like my entire existence is centered on my left breast.  I guess it was two weeks ago now, I was showering, and I usually lift each one to wash, but didn’t.  And with the weight down, I noticed a spot that didn’t feel right.  So I felt it again, tried the other side, and felt again.  There it is, a largish (approx. 2 cm) smooth oval.  I didn’t tell hubby, since I was afraid he’d go into panic mode, and I wouldn’t get to go to work, and I had meetings I wanted to get to… but I did a little research online.  What I felt sounded like a cyst. OK, cyst. I can totally deal with that.

Told the hubby that night, made him feel my boob.  First time ever I’ve had to push for THAT! He felt it too.  After the thing that happened with my appendix last year, I didn’t want to see anyone else at my Dr’s practice, so I waiting until I knew she was back from vacation, and e-mailed.  I already have a physical scheduled for next Monday, but wanted to know if she was OK waiting that long.  She said no.  I saw her last Saturday.

On physical exam, she also thought that it felt cyst-like, but wanted to get a full exam.  Mammogram time.

Yesterday, I had the mammogram.  This was actually my second one, I went in 6 years ago at age 32 because I had some milky discharge from my left breast quite some time after I’d quit breast feeding.  It came up clear, but there are a couple of things that I wish I’d remembered.

1)      Wear flats.  I think I’ve mentioned this, but I’m a relatively tall woman at 5’8” and I like to wear heels. Yesterday I had on some really cute Tom’s wedges… which made me approx. 5’11”.   This is not helpful to the techs who must manipulate my massive boob in their machine. Plus, you have to stand there for a while, so flats just would have been smarter. The annoying thing was that I had flip flops in the car & just didn’t change.

2)      Wear pants.  Since it was a warm day for Seattle, I wore a lovely pink dress because I wanted to feel pretty & confident.  Which worked until I got there & they told me to take everything off from the waist up & I realized that all I had was underwear from the waist down.  Not a big deal, the gown was long enough, but still, I would have loved the yoga pants that were also in my workout bag in the car.

My appointment was scheduled at 2:40p, so I figured I’d have plenty of time to make it to my trainer at 6p, even with a 45 min drive.  Not so much.

First, they needed additional mammograms in more specific areas.  On both breasts. Twice.  This started to make me nervous.  By all means, let’s be thorough, but really, mammograms do NOT feel good… WTF?  More than an hour later, it was time to go into ultrasound, and there I saw a radiologist.  They needed the additional pictures because what they saw on the initial mammogram made them suspicious. There was not only the lump I could feel, which is right at the skin, but another in my left breast.  And on more spot that looked different from 6 years ago on my right breast. 

It went on from there, and I ended up having a core biopsy as well as having two little “clips” put in that would be markers for a surgeon. Me: “But my doctor said if it’s a benign cyst, we’d likely just leave it alone.” Dr: “We are doing the biopsy to be sure, but what we are seeing indicates it is most likely malignant and you will need surgery.”

Oh.

So now I get to wait.  I probably have breast cancer. I will know in the next 12-48 hours. I have an aunt who is a 15 year survivor (so far). As I told my mom, if I have cancer, I will just have to be a 50-80 year survivor.  If I still want to be alive when I’m 118. 

But I can’t help wonder if this Saturday will be the last time I’ll have a birthday party for my son.  And even not, how I will function when the view from the top is no longer my cartoon-like K-cup boobs. And all I can really do is wait. 

I’m not really a very patient person… but stay tuned.  Perhaps this big girl will be trying to beat cancer. Sigh.

DNS, Chubby Chasers, and Wall-E

I always start these things apologizing for not writing in a while, but honestly, people who read them either know me and know what I’ve been up to… or don’t know me and likely aren’t waiting with baited breath for the next installment of my life, so either way it’s a little silly. 

The update since my last post is that I wimped out on both of my 13.1 that I’d signed up for.  I’ve said it before dead last > did not finish > did not start.  There are few things more embarrassing to me than committing to something and not even stepping over the starting line. There are several reasons for my DNS including sore ankles (sometimes I which I had cankles, then I might not roll them quite so easily) the cold from hell settling in my chest so that a deep breath = a coughing fit, but it really all comes down to excuses.  And since this is the one place where I don’t let myself get away with that, we’ll settle for truth. I pulled another pill-bug, and in my self-pity/depression spiral, didn’t got off my butt to train. As discussed before, I can do ANYTHING that I train for.  And when I don’t train I just don’t get as much done.  My husband actually asked me not to do the races, because he was worried that I would collapse along the way.  I don’t believe that I would have, but my self-esteem has been low enough that instead of pushing back I caved.

I’ve decided on a brand new tactic on getting rid of the excuses as well as my butt, and my current plan is to blog it here, since I find it therapeutic, but thought I’d explain how some of the decision came together before getting to what the decision is.  And just so you know, if I don’t share as much as I’d like, it’s not because I haven’t written at least a blog a day in my head… it’s because I have a lot of work ahead of me to get fit, so I’m hoping to have less PC time.

A couple of weeks ago for work, I had to travel to Miami.  I could go into how my job has changed and why I was there and blah blah, but it doesn’t really relate to my story. I was hosting my spokesperson and a reporter, as well as meeting with spokespeople from our customer company, so a total of 6 of us spent around 5 hours together touring the customer’s facility and checking out their technology, and one of the guys from the other company winked at me a few times.  That night at dinner I made a comment to my exec that he was a winker… and she said he didn’t wink at HER at all, so he was probably hitting on me. I always assume that the reason it doesn’t occur to me that someone could be hitting on me is the fact that I’ve spent the last 20 years with the same guy, but my next thought confirmed for me that it goes a little deeper.  When I realized that there was a moment when his hand lingered on my arm, so he could have been hitting on me, my first thought was, “Gee, he didn’t seem like he’d be a chubby chaser.”

I can’t imagine another reflexive thought that would better encapsulate my total lack of self-esteem right now than the idea that a successful, attractive man might find ME attractive, than to deny that he would be a chubby chaser. WTF?! 

Flash to last week, doing movie night with my son, he picked Pixar’s Wall-E.  And all I could think was, if I don’t get off my ass, I’m going to turn into those people on the ship- with no bones or muscles, just fat. 

I’d already decided to try a new tactic, the 20/20 Lifestyles program.  It’s run through one of the local health clubs, and combines physician supervision with a dietician once a week, trainer 3x/week and even a “lifestyle counselor” aka therapist every other week to get to total weight loss. Depending on how much you have to lose, it can range from crazy expensive to obscenely expensive (hint, I fall in the most $$$ range) and is only covered by insurance for ONE local company who I happen to work for as a vendor… so not a part of their benefits program. But I have had clients who have been successful, and after doing a bunch of research online where I wasn’t able to find any negative reviews, I decided to go for it.

So at the moment, I’ve just met with my doctor, and am waiting to meet with my dietician for the first time.  I had my measurements taken last week, and 53.6% of my body is fat.  I’m not sure how that happened, and how I got here, but if I ever want to catch up with my kid when he’s running 5k, I have to do something.  If I want to hold his babies (I know, he’s not even 9 until this weekend so that’s WAY far away, but I like to plan ahead) then I have to do SOMETHING.  And if I refuse to ever, ever have another DNS, I have to do something. 

Being here today is my start.

The View from the Top

I started this post weeks ago, but first one thing came up, and then another… and then I looked at the pics and didn’t want any parallels with a certain picture taking member of congress, but I think I have a better point.

Body image is an amazing thing. I always thought of myself as SO fat growing up, to the point where I flirted with a couple of eating disorders, but I look back now, and I was pretty normal.

I’ve recently realized, that I think it has a lot with how I LITERALY look at myself.



My view, mainly my top



I’ve never loved having my picture taken, but in the last several years as I’ve packed on the pounds, I actively avoid it. I don’t love pictures of my chubby face, but am more likely to allow that than something that shows my curves. I don’t even really hang out in front of mirrors. I stand there long enough to “put my face on” as my mom would say, but I’ve got a 5 min makeup routine down to a science.

So most of the time I look at myself, all I is my ridiculous chest. If I stand up straight, I haven’t been able to see my toes since entering high school… and other than pregnancy, my belly has never stuck out past my chest. I’m sitting here, to try and share the view, but from here, does this really look like someone who is obese?

But the fact is, I’ve got 100 lbs to lose.

So I’m going to open up just a tiny bit more, and try to bring this blog back to the training blog it was always meant to be, and track my progress.

A few weeks ago I went to check out Positive Changes, hypnosis for weight loss. After they told me how much ($2600 for the recommended 9 month program) I balked, and figured I could do more in race fees for that… and bought a $9.99 download on iTunes. Leave comments or message me if you want specifics, but I think it’s kind of working. Five pounds down, 95 to go.

I’m not sure if I’ll post again before the See Jane Run, but I do promise to train, at least some.

And although I’m not planning to take any cell phone pics in a mirror and share, I’m going to try and take a good hard look more often. Hopefully as the summer goes along I’ll be happier about what I see.

She believed she could so she did

As always, I’d intended to write sooner, and I’ve even started another post, but this weekend I lost a friend, and although I know she appreciated my snarkiness when I’m… let’s just say overly honest, that’s not what I think is appropriate this week.

Last time I wrote I was sobbing, and evidently I made Tricia cry too. But a week ago Monday she let her friends know that she was not allowed visitors anymore, and she wasn’t going to answer our e-mail anymore for a little while because the pain had gotten so bad. By Saturday AM, she was gone.

Her friends knew she was watching Facebook, so we’d been posting notes of love & encouragement, songs of love and inspiration… but one of her favorite quotes (which she was the first to call cheesy) was from Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life,” and it embodied the last two years for Tricia.  The line is simple: “I just want to live while I’m alive.”

So many of us just go through the motions, and I know I’m as guilty of that as the next person.  I’m not going to say something silly like I’m going to go live my life for Tricia, and do things she didn’t get to so, because that’s not what I think she would want. Beyond my personal "random act of kindness," of leaving my full punch card to pay for coffee in the car behind me, I think she would want me to live MY life, and work on MY bucket list.

Today my husband gave me a belated Mother’s Day gift (because it just arrived in the mail, not because he forgot) that I found on etsy.com. As a fellow etsy addict, I know she’d appreciate this necklace.

Ten years ago, I first heard of this thing called the Breast Cancer 3 Day. It was a walk, not a race, 60 miles over three days. I thought to myself, “Huh, I can do that.”

I tried to find someone to do it with me, but all anyone would tell me is that they couldn’t do it. That I couldn’t do it. So of course, I did.

Three years ago I decided to get “doing a triathlon” off my bucket list. That summer I ended up doing three. And here, I encouraged others to join in.

Two months ago I walked my first Half Marathon. In July, I’ll do my second, and by the Portland Rock n Roll Half next May, I’m planning to at least run a little. My goal is four hours for the See Jane Run event this year, and next year, at least 3:30.

My point is, the best way I can honor the memory of one of the bravest people I’ve ever known, I’m going to keep doing things, just because I believe that I can.  The only lame thing about the 3 day, is that I did it all by myself, so now, I’m recruiting. 

Any lady out there who is up for a little walk that ends with some Chocolate and Champagne… let me know.  I believe that you can, and then you will!

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.

Oh Ruuu-uby!

Don’t take your love to town! (Yep- totally dated myself right there, but when you’ve already admitted your age, whatever!)

Realized when I was on my ride Monday that I told the world when I fell in love with Ruby, and on Twitter have talked about the latest, but since I’m back on the blog, I haven’t shared pics of my new BFF, Ruby.

Isn’t she PRETTY! We first met at the IronGirl 5k last September, and I was trying to save enough to buy her, or feel like I’ve done enough to deserve. Only did 3 tris last year, and NO working out since Sept., but I’ve worked my rear end off at work, so the hubby agreed that I earned it, and I went to my big local bike shop, Gregg’s- and got fitted. Twice.

After much deliberation, we decided that I didn’t want to settle for anything less then what I REALLY wanted. A 57cm Ruby Elite, in the Komen color scheme. We ordered the 2010, only to learn that they only have it available in the white with blue. White seat, white handle bars, white frame. I live outside Seattle. Even when it’s dry, it gets muddy. I do triathlons. I have NO desire to put my fat, wet butt on a white seat. I was just about ready to give up, when I decided to call around to see if ANYONE still it in stock.

Finally, I found one place that had the 2009 Ruby Elite 57cm in Komen about an hour away. The bike I first rode and fell in love with. I asked them to hold it until the next day. I got to the bike shop about an hour and a half later.

I’m totally in love, but when you start to read the fine print, (which I tend to do) then I see a couple of concerns.

1. Reading the manual for the bike, and if I weigh more than 150 lbs, I’m supposed to get different brake pads. Really? Yeah, I’m 5’8.” That’s below my goal weight. Why would they do that? Wouldn’t small people want the stronger brake pads too? I’ve got a Women’s XL bike, because, at 5’8,” I have a 34” inseam. I’m all leg. Anyhow, wouldn’t they already expect me to be a larger person, since I’m, you know, larger?


2. THEN I found the warning:

“Not every bicycle and component is made for every conceivable use. A road bike, for example, is not suitable for off-road riding. Also, some bicycles and components are built to be lightweight, which means they may not be appropriate for riders who are approaching 250 pounds in weight (over 240 pounds, for example). Riders approaching 250 pounds in weight should not ride any bicycle equipped with Specialized-branded composite seat posts, handlebar stems, or handlebars. Failure to follow this warning may result in catastrophic failure of the component or bicycle, which may lead to serious personal injury or death.”

Specialized, I love my new bike, but SERIOUSLY? So chunky chicks can’t go fast or stop fast? I want less vibration, and therefore to be less tired. Is that so much to ask?

Now I have a few more decisions to make. Do I trust clipless pedals? They scare me anyway, but what if I stand up on them? Will they hold my unsuitable weight? What happens if I spend so too much time on my bike? I LOVE to ride it, but will it fail, leading to “serious personal injury or death?”

And then it has made me nervous about getting a trainer. Wrong time of year, but my husband has to be out late coaching golf some nights... so I may be getting back on the Trek when I train, at least until I slim a little. It’s good to train on something harder to ride, right??

New Season, New Dedication

I admit it. I not only took the last 6 months off from my blog. I took the time off from working out. Part of that had to do with changes and stress at work. Part of it was the winter. And a BIG part of it was that I ONLY LOST SIX GOD DAMNED POUNDS WHILE TRAINING FOR THREE TRIS AND A 5K LAST YEAR.

Yes, I was a little pissed.

But I didn't buy a stupid sausage-casing wetsuit and save up for a brand new road bike just to quit. So despite the fact that I've been out for like one wun, been in the pool twice, and been on my new bike once, I've signed up for my race calendar for this year, and am looking at doing something potentially crazier than tris.

So far, my summer looks like this:
- May 22- Girls on the Run 5k
- August 15- Danskin Women's Tri
- Sept 12- registered for IronGirl 5k
- Sept 19- Trek Women's Tri

(Looking at this, I realize I'm going to have to find something in June or July. Damn. Maybe I will do something w/ Livestrong... hmm.)

I'm actually registered for all four events, the reason that I hedge on IronGirl (other than I HATE wunning, so why would I make myself do that more often than needed) is that I may sign up for a bigger event event that weekend & can't do both.

I think I've mentioned her before, but I have a friend who I met thru my tri group last year who has MS. She is AMAZING. When I did Lk. Samm (the one where I came in abso-frickin'-loutely last) she had been having a flare up. She was stiff & in pain. She still kicked my ass.

So the day after I signed up for the IronGirl, she told me she is considering heading up a team for the MS 150 on Sept 11 & 12. That's 150 miles on a bike over two days.

On one hand, that's crazy talk. That's almost the STP (Seattle to Portland) ride. That's a LOT of time in the saddle.

On the other hand, crazy has never stopped me before. When I tried to talk someone into doing 60 miles in 3 days for the 3 day, I kept hearing that I was crazy. When I decided to start training for triathlons last year, I heard I was crazy. When I kept showing up for work on the Assignment Desk for a decade... hell, maybe I am crazy.

Technically I still have a couple of months to decide, but I'm 99% decided that I will be spending a lot of time in the saddle training this year. My 2009 Specialized Ruby Elite- Komen edition- will be getting quite a workout. And if I'm going to DO it, I'm likely to go for clipless pedals, and therefore have to conquer my fear of falling. And conquer my fear of taking time for myself.

So 2010 is looking like quite a ride. I'll let you know how it goes.

Three, it's the magic number!

So Sunday was it. The TREK Women's Triathlon. The tri I've been training for since MAY, and my third and final race of the season.

It was the biggest, the longest, and by far the best run of my events. The big national sponsor probably helps with that, but it also had a terrific atmosphere. And the fact that I got to do it with so many of my ladies didn't hurt either.

So race day started bright and freaking early. Race started at 7:15a, and I had to park, rack my bike, get body marked (grosses me out to do the day before), get set up, get into my wetsuit, and oh yeah, I live 30 min away.

I got no sleep the night before (can't sleep, won't wake up, can't sleep, need to sleep, so I don't bonk, can't sleep, need to sleep too much- kind of night) so I was a little cranky when I got up. Thank GOODNESS I had everything packed & ready to go.

I get into Seattle, and know that I'm blocks away from the park when I see people walking their bikes... uh, oh. I follow a stream of traffic to park in a field a block and a half away from the MASSIVE Genesse Park. The good thing I see- roads are closed until 1pm. I KNOW I can finish 5 hours...

Fast forward, transition set up, event zero (the wetsuit wiggle) complete. I find some of my amazing tri friends, and we go get into the water to wait for our wave. I meet even more of my friends, and a few more who are not friends yet. I don't really swim as much as get acclimated, and ready for the water. I'm in wave 8, so I've got some time to relax.

Out and back into the water for our pep talk from Sally Edwards. If we see another woman in trouble the way to give her energy, "You Go Girlfriend!" And the word for today, terrific! We are terrific swimmers, terrific cyclists, terrific runners, terrific triathletes.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... All I can think- DAMN that second buoy looks FAR away. 5... 4... 3... 2... Holy crap, whose idea was this again? 1... and we're off.

This is the first race I've been in where we've got so much water support. I'm keeping it slow and steady. Around the first buoy, still no panic attacks, no flipping on my back. Snow and steady. It's OK to rest a little. Don't need help, just breathe a little, and stroke, stroke, slow & steady. Random musing while I swim along- I wonder- how much time I will cut down when I lose all of the weight I want to and get the breast reduction down from ridiculous to just big? Seems like my K cups would cause a lot of drag.

"You are not alone," kind of cheesy Michael Jackson song, but keeps me on tempo. Around that second buoy, it's not so far away. And now I can see the end of the swim. Stroke, stroke, slow & steady. Still no panic attacks, and no flipping over. At the end, over the icky milfoil. Stroke until I touch 3 times, people to help us stand, and I'm headed up the hill for transition. 29:37 for my first ever 1/2 mile swim.

My spot was the far side of the transition area. The major advantage to being slow, it's much easier to find my bike with so many others from my rack already gone. Headed out, big crowd to cheer us on, and I'm feeling good. Out flat on our way to I-90, but then we climb to get to the Express Lanes. Getting passed, which is OK, but the actual trail to get onto the bridge is a walking trail, split for bikes going both ways. With an "s" curve. Straight uphill. Lost momentum, and for the first time in a tri, I'm off my bike and walking. Seemed safer than a crash.

The bridge was chilly, but not too windy. Steep high rise to get up onto Mercer Island, and into the tunnel. Lots of shouting for encouragement, cool echo. I get to turn around soon right? Nope. Never noticed there are hills in the Express Lanes on Mercer Island before. WTF? Going, going, and at the bottom of a hill, the turn around. Losing all of my lovely downhill momentum. Crap.

The way back is easier, because I know I'm more than half way. Push, push, hips starting to hurt. Hands falling asleep. Up the Seattle side high rise, and then it's almost all down hill. Second Chocolate gel- drink some water- CRAP- don't crash into that wall. Blow a kiss to the photographer, and back into transition. 1:00:08. (Yes, this is almost 20 min faster than Lk Samm)

Second transition is my fastest ever. Drop the bike crap, grab one more drink, my visor, and for once my heart rate monitor (HRM) to keep my honest, and in just over 2 min, I was off again.

Started out walking (my heart rate monitor said I could- but if I got under 140, it was time to run a little) but walking fast. I felt like the biggest mistake I made in the 5k was to start out running too fast. It's easier to set your own pace after the swim start in a tri- there's no crowd mentality. Saw a walker up ahead and jogged a bit to catch up and walk with her for a while. She was in a relay, but it turns out that she also did the Breast Cancer 3 day in 2001. We chatted about the importance of training, and drinking things like Gatorade even if they taste nasty, and then I checked my handy dandy HRM and was off & running.

My couch to 5k coach wrote a blog several weeks ago about races she likes, and says that she thinks out & back races are boring. I respectfully disagree. I like seeing others and shouting words of encouragement on the bike course. I couldn't tell you how many people I high-fived on the wun. We're all in it together, and it helps to see more people IMHO.

Anyhow, I was fairly true to my HRM, and picked up when I could/needed to. I already knew when to slow down. :)

Big hill, walked, no big deal. I met up with some ladies who were in my tri coach's new group. We wan together a mile or so. It was nice, although I think I let myself off of the running hook a little too much. We lost one person slightly, with a little run downhill. More and more down hill, and then we were in the park. Robin says to me- "I'm running at the orange."

So I was planning to run, as well, and I did. But then I saw my son, hubby & mom. And my son says, "You finished mom, I'm so proud of you!" in his shrieky little 6 year old voice, and I ran a little harder. Next thing I knew, I was sprinting. Like, OMG-someone-is-going-to-grab-my-child sprinting. And grinning. They called my name and said, "Wow, look at her go!"

And then it was over. I was hugging my boys, and my mom was crying. It was the best I've ever felt at the end of an athletic thing. I know how people get hooked.

My original purpose for this blog was just to share my training journey, and hope that by showing other people what I have gone through, they would believe that they could do it too. I still contend, if I can do a triathlon, ANYONE can. And as I've done this, I've made at least three people I know of decide they could, and not only sign up, but complete triathlons. I know of a couple more who are still in the planning stages, and at least one who went through with plans when it would have been easier to give up. I think that makes every single one of us a success.

My time for the wun was 50:40, my best for a tri, and only 3 min slower when I did just a 5k the weekend before. My total time? 2:28:15. Two min better than my stretch goal. I told a friend yesterday that my time may not have been a great time in GENERAL, but it was a great time for ME. And I'm the only one of me who was in it, right?

So this COULD be my last blog, but I think that this is just the beginning. I'm seriously looking at at least 5 races next year, starting with one where I learned to swim in Corvallis, OR in May. I'm hoping to lose some weight this winter to make all of this less work. Still thinking about more 5ks, so I can improve my wun time. Maybe some spinning classes to help me in the bike. And I'm still working on that $2200 in the couch cushions.

Hi. My name is Ange. I'm a triathlete. Come tri with me, the best is yet to come!

We're all scared

I've been meaning to write (you know how that is) but the problem I have when I go TOO long without writing is that I have too many things rattling around in my head to say, and I have a hard time picking one out.

My hubby is sick, and when I came home from riding the bike at the gym (I really would rather be outside, but it's dark by the time my kid is asleep now and I want to spend time w/ him more than I want to ride outside) and DH was FINALLY watching the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

There was this scene, this line, that just struck me, and reminded me why I've saved that show for like 4 months to make sure he watched it. Dr Bailey is talking about HER husband giving her an ultimatum & the chief says her husband is scared. Her response is such a GREAT line (I LOVE great writing):

"Well, we're all scared! I mean, if you're not scared you're not paying attention!"

When I started writing this blog, it was to share what I'm doing with my friends all at once, and I had a stretch goal, to see if I could get someone to try something new- maybe a triathlon, maybe something else.

I'm not sure if it's ALL about the blog, but as of this weekend, I have convinced at least 3 people that they could do tris, and have talked a couple of others in to 5ks. Pretty damn exciting.

People keep telling me that I'm inspiring, but I would say that each of those people is inspiring in their own right. My new friends who learn to swim so they can do triathlons. Ladies who have all sorts of obstacles like illnesses, family issues, whatever, but still get up in the morning and get on with their day.

Nothing in this life is easy. We all make a myriad of decisions every day that can be right, wrong, or even right now. But the fact is, we are all doing the best that we can.

OK- so on that cheesy note, my 5k race report. Did the Iron Girl 5k. If I do no other 5k, I think I will likely do this one again. It was well run, we got cool medals & had a nice breakfast, but the coolest part was the "Mommy/Daughter" aspect of the event. There were a BUNCH of little girls, many my son's age and younger, running with their mom. It was amazing to see so many little girls running.

When I was that age, I was a book worm. Hell, let's face it, I still am a book worm. But it was the 1970s, and girls were not always expected to be athletic. I was smart, and that was good enough. It's neat for me to see that girls are so much more empowered to be active now.

The wun part went well. I started out at a pretty good jog, but went to a walk after about 1/2 mile. I wore my heart rate monitor, and made sure that I wasn't pushing too hard, but also that I wasn't letting myself off the hook too much either.

My 5k for my two tris have been 55 & 53 min each. So my goals were 1) finish w/out stopping, 2) finish in 50 min, and my STRETCH goal, was to finish in 45 min.

My finish time, :47:05. But you know what, I'll take it! I know that 30 min is the typical goal, but I stuck with what was right for me. I made a joke to someone who I kept catching up with, sometimes passing, and then falling back behind when we got lapped by the 10k ladies, that when I'm feeling mean, I want to strap an extra 100 lbs to then and see how they do.

The final thing I did Saturday was likely the dumbest. There was a Specialized rep there with their Women Specific Design bikes to try, and I took out a Ruby Elite. It's a $2200 bike, and when I rode it, it was like the heavens opened up and angels sang. I wanted to hug it and never let it go... sorry 1994 TREK MountianTrack. You've been replaced in my heart.

So if anyone has $2200 lying around that they want to donate to a nice lady who wants a new bike let me know!

Next race report: after this weekend's TREK Women's Sprint Tri. EEP!

The things I'm trying to remember: 1) Run my own race. It's me against the me, not anyone upon whom I would like to strap my extra 100 lbs. 2) Slow down in the water, and take long strokes. I'm a good swimmer, and with all of the stuff around me and wearing my wetsuit, I will not drown. 3) None of this means I can be lazy. If I want to do MY best, I can't just walk. I have to TRY.

I'll let you know how that goes.