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70.3 Baggage

So I’m sitting on the couch, sandwiched in between my two baby monkeys (James, 4 and Stella, almost 3) watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (come inside, it’s fun inside).

The car is packed and ready to head out to Miami, promising what appears to be an 11-12 hour drive depending on traffic and my hydration levels.  All we’re waiting for:  the sun to come up and traffic to die down.  (And no, we aren’t taking the monkeys this time).

I remember packing the car for St. Anthony’s six months ago.  I was so freaked out by the idea of traveling to a race.  Oh, and freaked out about actually racing, but that’s besides the point.  [Oh, and the term “racing” of course is used quite loosely throughout my blog.] 

St. Anthony’s was a huge deal for me and the Expert.  Huge.  (Not to mention, we were huge-er, too).  I tipped over and injured myself before the race.  I was scared.  But it was an amazing experience.
I have found that in creating new, larger-than-life goals the tendency to “forget” how far I’ve come creeps in. And I’ve found that’s a common theme with triathletes in general.   

Something as simple as:  “I never could run a half-mile, and now I can, and pretty darn fast…and without death or destruction to others”  should be memorized, held close to heart and repeated daily.
As I packed my “race” bag last night, I was amazed at how I didn’t have to think twice about the gear I needed for the race.  I’ve put in some much time and work and put down 1,000,000 gels in my belly… I just packed my bag and it was done.  I looked over my race plan from Coach Monster to confirm, but all the right stuff was there, by instinct.  
Weird. Wetsuit. Trislide. Goggles. Extra Goggles. Extra Goggles.  Extra Goggles. Sunscreen. Gels. Bottles. Bloks. Trisuit. Backup Trisuit. Salt Tabs. G2. Bike. Helmet. Bike Shoes. Socks (2 pairs). Running Shoes. Visor. Glasses. Race Belt. Fuel Belt. Nuun. Tire Tubes. Tire Levers. C02. Plastic Bag. Post-Race Clothes. T-Mat. Deodorant. Hair Bands. Backpack. Camera. Lip balm. Inhaler. Towel. Peanut Butter. Done.
My favorite part of the packing story, of course, involved the Expert, and went something like this:
Me:       Do you think we can fit both wetsuits in this bag?
Expert:  Yes, we do it all the time.
Me:       All the time?   
Expert:  Yes. 
Me:       All the time?  You mean, like the one time we took the wetsuits on a trip?
Expert:  Yes.
(Proof: the one other time a wetsuit was packed, April 29, 2011).
He loves me, he really does.
I am amazed at the sheer goodness of moving forward.  Just moving forward, a little, every day… steadily, honestly and with accountability…. and I’m finding myself heading out for a half-Ironman with the Expert.  The two of us. Half-Ironman. This is insanity.

I love this quote below (as you guys know). I post it about every three minutes.

No matter what happens in Miami, I am proud to be a part of the craziness. This craziness I have “created for myself.” 
(I’m sure I’ll vomit a little when I pick up my race packet.  But as long as my race number isn’t “666” I think I’ll be okay.)

One Comment

  • Dawn

    October 27, 2011 at 6:14 pm

    Love this. I am contemplating clicking the submit button for my 70.3. Good on you…and good luck!!!! Can't wait to hear how the race and all the other things along with it…go!
    Race on!!!!


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