Happy Anniversary, Coach Monster

Dear Coach Monster,

Happy Anniversary!  Oh?  You didn’t know?  One year anniversary of me springing into your email inbox, and begging for a coach.  

When this journey started, back in August 2010, you were there. You had started me along my journey, without even knowing it. I had been struggling for three years after moving to Atlanta, and having two children plus a commute and a job to boot.  I sent you an email, thanking you for your spin class – the thing that changed my life. The first day I walked in and experienced it, I cried.  When I thought I had given up on being fit again, I attended your class. And I believed again.

Fast forward a few months, October 2010, and I did a sprint tri.  


Then, I brazenly hoped to get to an Olympic distance race.  So I emailed you in January 2011 and asked you to take me on as an athlete.  You agreed, and I had no idea what I was in for.  (I have a feeling you had no idea either).

I prayed to run more than 4 miles without an ambulance being summoned.  An Oly distance triathlon felt formidable, unattainable. Slowly, you showed me it was possible.

Workout by workout, over the course of four months, you changed my beliefs, my fears, my fear of spandex, and the mirror I looked into.

I will never forget:  having a breakfast meeting with you four days before St. Anthony’s.  You told me about transitions and nutrition and things about the race. I had completed the workouts.  I had suffered through the distances.  I was scared of my race, but you made me feel secure and kinda ready.

At the end of the meeting, you gave me a generic coach go-get-em squeeze, said “good luck” and you said, “This is not the end. This is just the beginning. You’ll be doing a half-Iron before you know it. “

I must have nodded funny, because you asked me, “What? What’s the look for?”

I shrugged.

You said, “Wait a minute. What do you want to do next?”

I couldn’t really say it out loud.  For I hadn’t proven myself at all.  I hadn’t even done St. Anthony’s yet.  My first sprint tri was crazy.  

But you asked, so I told you.  ”I already signed up for a half-Ironman.”

To my surprise, you never smirked, laughed or paused. You simply said, “When were you going to tell me??”

Two weeks later, I finished St. Anthony’s.
Six months later, I put the 70.3 sticker on my car.
And three months from now, I hope to do 70.3 again.

Love is a strong word, and not one to use for a coach.  So I will say hate.   Well, no… I can’t. Not after all we’ve been through.

And I say “we,” because I know my first open water swim panic attack aged you 10 years.  (Can’t tell by looking at you, but whatever.)  You have spent countless hours coaching me down from the ledge:  ”No, Grasshopper.  The sky is not falling.” You’ve kicked my butt with each workout, and challenged me more than I thought possible.  I would have never thought I could run 9 miles before work.  Yet today… well… I’m still amazing at how far… “how far I’ve come” really is.

So.  I guess I will say:  I love, hate, like, respect and appreciate you, my dear Coach. I am humbled by your kindness, compassion and ability to call crap on me when you see it.  I am thankful.

Mostly thankful. So, thank you.