Why Oh Why

Back in August of 2010, I decided to become a Triathlete. What is funny about this?

Well, for starters, at that point, I had only completed two 5K events in my entire life; zero cycling events (and my bike was gathering cobwebs in the garage). Oh, and zero swimming laps since about age eight.

So that was the first funny thing.
 
The next funny thing is that I was about 100 pounds overweight. Okay. So 50 pounds, but still. Probably 65 pounds. Regardless. Overweight. Chubby. Chunky. Fat Albert. Hey hey hey.
 

And even funnier, I had two kids under three. And a husband. And I worked a full-time job as a litigation attorney. And I thought I had time for triathlon.

So I decided to become a Triathlete.
 
Now, in deciding this, I wasn’t a complete idiot. I used to be an athlete. I played basketball, volleyball and softball. I was a lousy softball player, because I could not hit the ball on purpose. But if I hit it by accident, it would go pretty far. I did swimming and gymnastics as a kid, but I was too chubby to really be any good at gymnastics and too young and stupid to recognize that I was a good swimmer. Plus, I am (and always have been) a massive chicken, so gymnastics was terrifying.

Then there was my real sport – Olympic weightlifting.

By “real”, I mean the one that stuck the longest and the most intensely. I won the Junior National Championships back in the day, went to Junior Worlds in South Africa (placed fifth in one lift, and seventh overall, and missed the next world team by a hair), did a few stints at the squad camps at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs, etc. etc.
 
Weightlifting was a good sport for me, because while there was a huge risk of injury (e.g., dropping 200+ pounds upon my head, busting apart my knees, spontaneous breaking elbows), it felt safe for me.
 
Triathlon. Is. Not. Safe. For. Me.
 
Triathlon. Scares. The. Hell. Out. Of. Me.
 
So where did this idea for triathlon come from? Well, after I had my youngest child two years ago, I was a puffy, sluggish and tired mess. I joined the athletic club and found my way to spinning class. I ran (a little). I did NOT get into a bathing suit.
 
I continued to spin off and on for almost a year. And then it hit me. I had been in this crazy rut for so long. And I liked to blame the rut on my commute or my kids, but really, it had been eleven years since I walked out of weightlifting. Eleven years since I left a sport.
 
I needed a new “for me” purpose. One that was separate from work and family. Something that was me. And for some crazy reason, I thought triathlon could be me.So I gave triathlon a shot. I hired a coach, who I have lovingly dubbed “Coach Monster” on this blog.  Not because he is a tough as nails Ironman monster or because he’s caring and sweet like a Sesame Street monster…but mostly because he loves REM.  He calls me “Grasshopper.” Better than Shamu, I suppose.

 
Along the way, I met McBlessings and Giggles: the former is the founder of the fabulous Getting2Tri Organization, and the latter is an amputee athlete who inspires the heck out me.  I am so proud to know both of them.
My athletic hero, Mountain Goat, is a fellow attorney and general running badass.  She and I have been scheming on how to get out of law and make money by just riding bikes and running…. when we figure it out, we’ll do a post.

Last but certainly not least, my husband, the Expert, is my best good friend (us being from Savannah and like peas & carrots, clearly). We’ve been married for ten years.  I pulled him into triathlon by my greedy little infectious nature, and he competed with me at St. Anthony’s, and most recently in his first sprint tri.

Yes, he did an Oly distance before a sprint.  He’s the Expert. That’s how he rolls.

Since October 2010, I have competed in my first Sprint Distance tri, a second sprint tri, several 5ks, a 10k, and my first Olympic distance race in May 2011 at St. Anthony’s.  In addition, I have had endless adventures in wetsuits, several low-speed tip-overs, and one massive open water swim panic attack.

But guess what?  I’ve survived it all, and I keep going back for more. This blog is an account of my journey from Couch Potato Mom to Half-Iron Mother… and Beyond. My half-iron finish was October 30, 2011.  One year after the start of this journey.  That’s all it took – to go from “can’t run a mile” to a half-Ironman. The message? You. Can. Go. Go forward. Move.  If you move, no matter how slowly,  you are passing all the people who aren’t moving.  Go take your dreams.  They’re yours for the snagging.

Love. Hugs. Triathlon.  See you soon!

*  *  *  *  *
 
“The reason that I can be 32 and have two kids and NOT wear a bikini is because I eat my [expletive] ass off. It’s not an accident. I train 12-15 hours a week, work full-time and have two kids, but I can’t seem to wear a bikini because I eat everything that I burn.  It’s not because of lack of heart or discipline.  It’s because I can’t stop feeding my hungry, fat face.  And I finally acknowledge and accept this.  Still… I train hard.  And every victory, and every finish is not luck, it’s not fairy dust, it’s not good genes. It’s killing myself for sometimes two or three hours a day, six days a week (not to mention the long days… 5-7 hour workouts).  While I think eventually triathlon is going to get every last ounce of fat off my body — fat and food isn’t the end game.  Triathlon is deeper than a flat stomach and thin legs.  It’s precisely about that hard work - the pride in the actual work, the process and the perseverance - not always the end results or finish time. Life really is about the journey [but hopefully the destination ends up somewhere tropical…and with an umbrella in it.”