Prepare yourself because this is a long one. (My word count says there's 3529 words.)
I shared this picture along with some brief dialogue here on my blog after completing the Portland Triathlon back in August...
And Kelli (a past student of mine who I adore for being extremely funny and witty and for being one of those people who just calls it like she sees it) was both encouraging and observent enough to leave this comment:
Wow! Good for you! What an accomplishment. Not to rain on your parade, but that finish line looks lonely, where is everyone?
Truth be told, the awards ceremony had already gotten underway by the time I crossed the finish line, but let me go back to the beginning...
Battling weight is something I've dealt with all of my life (though much of the battle has just been in my head), but regardless of my weight, I've always felt strong.
I could out arm-wrestle all the boys in school until I was in the seventh grade and could do more pull-ups than most of them too and was lucky enough to still have that kind of strength well into my early thirties. (Minus the whole pull-up thing.)
At 34 though, I started noticing that I was getting a whole lot weaker, but just resigned myself to the notion that apparently, 33 had been my peak and that I'd simply begun the downhill decent into atrophied muscles, a semi-sedentary lifestyle and an inconcealable muffin top.
And then one day I listened to a girl in Bible study talking about a triathlon she had recently completed and noticed that my heart was racing just listening to her. A few weeks later, I set out to run one mile down at a nearby elementary school. (More about all that here.)
Turns out I couldn't run a mile, but after accepting that humiliating fact, I remembered my secret weapon...
I have a philosophy that someone shared with me when I was a single, 19 year-old girl with a newborn son, trying to decide whether or not I should go to college even though I had no financial means of doing so and this is what they said:
Time is inevitably going to pass and one year from today, you can find yourself in the exact same spot you're in now, you can find yourself further away from your goal or you can find yourself closer to your goal - so where do you want to be a year from now?
I wish I could remember who shared that with me because I'd sure like to thank them.
And yes, a year did indeed pass after that unsuccessful run, but thankfully, I found myself much closer to my goal. In fact, it was just a few weeks after that year had passed, when I met up with my sister and our best friend from college, Dawn, to do the Portland Triathlon.
The three of us meet up for a girls weekend every summer in Portland, Oregon that usually involves lots of good food, a bit of shopping, more good food, a facial, a massage, a few drinks, maybe a bit of dancing and then even more good food. But at Girls Weekend 2010, we made a pact that the next annual Girls Weekend would involve a triathlon. (None of us had ever done one before.)
So on Friday of Girls Weekend 2011, we met up once again in Portland...but for a triathlon this time.
We checked into our hotel (which always reminds me of Alice in Wonderland on a bad acid-trip - but the price, the location and the cleanliness makes up for it's obnoxious decor) and then we hung out for a bit.
I asked my sister to move that purple thing that was merging with her head.
And that's what she did with it instead. (Thanks for your cooperation Leigh Ann.)
And then we went to get pedicures (because cute toes help you run faster.)
And then we went out for dinner and drinks.
The funny thing is that I kept telling Dawn and my sister to 'look natural.'
Yep...that's the kind of 'natural' I was looking for Dawn.
And then on Saturday morning, we did something that had never taken place on any Girls Weekend past (or any other time we'd ever gotten together for that matter.)
The three of us went running together.
Right after I took a few pictures (with my beloved self-timer.)
We read that it was a good idea to do a short run the day before a triathlon, so that's exactly what we did - 1.5 miles along the waterfront.
And then we went back to the hotel to grab a shower and once were were all prettied-up, we took a few more pictures before going out to breakfast.
And then we took even more pictures while we waited for a table at Besaus. (It's the best breakfast place in Portland.)
My sister is only willing to smile for a shot or two - and then she starts doing that.
I had the Eggs Benedict (Florentine) and it was ridiculously good.
And then we walked (proudly) to a local sports shop to pick up our first-ever triathlon packets. After that, we admired our new Portland Triathlon coffee mugs and our new Portland Triathlon key chains and stopped for tea.
And then decided to drive the bike route to see what we were up against.
I wish I could find an elevation map to show you what it looked like. It's an 8-mile course that my sister and Dawn would have to complete twice (because they signed up for a Sprint Triathlon) and that I would have to complete three times (because I signed up for an Olympic Triathlon) and the first 3.5 miles of it were straight uphill.
Don't quote me on this, but I think I read somewhere that it was a 1700 ft. elevation climb. (Like I said though, don't quote me on that.)
Suffice to say that my sister spent 20 minutes cussing about the route and then promptly drove to the closest bike shop where she spent another 40 minutes trying to convince her frugal-self out of buying a lighter, faster bike to replace her 50 pound (Again, don't quote me.) mountain bike.
Also suffice to say that Dawn's body immediately started working overtime to produce a giant cold-sore in response to seeing the bike route.
All the while, I spouted positive affirmations to share/annoy everyone with with.
And then we carbed-up at an Italian restaurant for dinner and went back to the hotel room to get ready for the big day ahead. (Truth be told, we carb-up every time we're together - a triathlon just gave us a valid excuse for doing so.)
New shoe laces.
And that's my sister checking out the bike route one last time before turning out the lights.
The next morning, we were up at 4:45 a.m. packing up the car with bikes and gear and then we headed down to Waterfront Park where we got our racing numbers and ages written on our bodies. (I had one of those moments where I couldn't remember if I was 38 or 39 so I just told the guy with the pen that I was born in 1973 and let him do the math.)
I'd never seen the Willamette river at 5:30 a.m., but it sure looked pretty (despite the fact that it ranks in the top 50 most polluted rivers in the U.S. - and that we'd be swimming in it later that morning.)
Not too shabby for an iPhone shot.
And then we got our stuff set up at the transition station.
Having never done a triathlon, there were a lot of unknowns so I spent a bit of time looking over everyone's shoulder in hopes of figuring out how to best do things. When I saw the guy next to me lick his Shot Blocks and stick them on his bike, I did the same. (Shot Blocks are little electrolyte squares that kind of taste like Gummie Bears.) When I saw someone unlatch the strap of their biking helmet and stick their biking gloves and their goggles inside of it, I did the same. And when I saw someone crinkle up their racing number, I followed suit. (Actually, I asked them why they crinkled it and then I decided to crinkle mine too because they convinced me it would ride against my body better while I was running and I was feeling desperate enough to try just about anything.)
And then we waited. (Josh Downs got me that necklace that says 'Triathlon' on it since he couldn't be there.) And then we ate bananas and almonds and took pills that were supposed to prevent lactic acid build-up in our legs.
And I used the Porta-Potty at least 3-4 times because nervous energy makes me have to pee.
And then my sister and Dawn helped me get my wet-suit on since my heat went out before theirs.
My heat was the third heat to go out (female Olympic participants, ages 35-39) and when I looked around at the other nine woman in my age bracket, it was clear that I didn't fit the mold of the typical woman who does an Olympic Triathlon. They were all lean and fit and a few of them were even talking about the Ironman Triathlons they had done. (Uhmmm...that's 140 miles.) It was like one of those 'Which of these doesn't match?' worksheets that Annie brings home from kindergarten, only it was me (the slighty-chubby girl with the sausage legs) that didn't match up with the other nine stick-figures surrounding me.
Surprisingly though, when I got in the water and looked out towards the half-mile buoy, I felt oddly optimistic. That optimism only lasted for about a minute though - right up until I began to feel panicky and short of breath. (So panicky and short of breath that I couldn't even swim with my face in the water.)
A few minutes later, swimmers from the fourth heat began to pass me. A few minutes after that, swimmers from the fifth heat started to pass me as well and it went on just like that for the entire swim while I transitioned from breast-stroking (because I was so panicky and out of breath that I couldn't put my face in the water) to back-stroking (so I could catch my breath, converse with God and regain my composure.)
At one point in time, a lifeguard on a paddle-board pulled up alongside to tell me that I could hold on to her board for up to 15 minutes without being disqualified. (Apparently, she had noticed my struggle and was rightly concerned.)
I told her thank you, but it was something I had to do on my own - and that's precisely when I started crying for the first time during the Portland Triathlon.
So I just kept on transitioning from breast-stroking (Remember, I was so panicky and out of breath that I couldn't put my face in the water?) to back-stroking (Remember, so I could catch my breath, converse with God and regain my composure?) while people on the bridge above sympathy-clapped for me.
Once reaching the dock began to look like a real possibility, I started in with positive affirmations about how the swimming portion of the race was my weakness and how I'd make up some time on the biking and running legs since those were my strengths.
As I got out of the water and started to run towards the transition station though, I realized that I had made my first major triathlon mistake:
Triathlon Mistake #1: You're not supposed to use your legs during the swim portion of the event because you're supposed to save your legs for the biking and swimming portion of the race.
Apparently, I had become so focused on not drowning, that I had forgotten to save my legs and noticed that they felt like Jello as I began running to transition.
And then the tears (and the snot) started flowing again, followed by a strange tightening in my chest, which I hadn't felt since I was 28.
A panic attack.
I immediately started back in with the positive affirmations and a bit of prayer for good measure and noticed the tightness start to subside just as I reached the transition station.
Then I realized I had to go pee - but no 38 year old woman who has given birth to three children and who is trapped in a wetsuit has a chance in hell of making it to the Porta-Potty on time.
So I did what I had to do...I peed in my wetsuit. (And no, I'm not counting that as Triathlon mistake #2 because it wasn't my fault...it's Ross's fault, and Cole's fault and Annie's fault and no amount of Kegals can undo it.)
And when I unzipped my bag to grab my dry clothes, I spotted my cell phone and immediately started dialing Josh Downs. He was in El Paso and was leaving for Afghanistan the next morning and answered the phone by saying, "What are you doing calling during the middle of the triathlon?" And that's when I started crying for the third time during the Portland Triathlon. (In my defense, I had been dealing with some pretty bad insomnia since Josh left and it didn't take much to get the old tear ducts flowing.)
I told him that I didn't think I could do it - that I was already so far behind everyone else (Most people had finished the swim in 20-30 minutes, but it had taken me almost 47 minutes.) and that I was humiliated. He just told me I had nothing to be ashamed over and that not finishing was not an option.
So I told him I loved him at least ten times and then I hung up the phone, stripped out of my urine-filled wetsuit and threw a tank top and a pair of running pants over the top of my soaked sports bra and compression shorts. Then I grabbed my helmet and started out on my ride.
Let's go ahead and count that as Triathlon Mistake #2: Don't talk on your cell phone during a triathlon.
At the steepest part of the climb, I couldn't pedal any faster than 4 miles an hour (Seriously, I could have gotten off my bike and pushed it faster than that.) and even though I was getting passed by people on much faster bikes and with much faster legs who were now on their second or third lap of the 8-mile loop, I felt good.
At one point in time, I was even feeling good enough to say to the gal next to me (who was also being passed by people on much faster bikes and with much faster legs) "Let's make a pact to show up with better bikes next year!"
It wasn't until my third, 8-mile loop when I realized I had only seen four other people in the last three miles that I started to feel discouraged again.
People on the side of the road were even sympathy-clapping for me.
I cheered myself up though with positive affirmations about the fact that I would make up time on the run because running was my strength.
When I got off my bike at the transition station, it was like a ghost-town. I didn't call Josh Downs this time though, I just threw on my running shoes and took off.
I felt pretty good for the first mile, but then the 85-degree weather started getting to me and I realized I had made two additional triathlon mistakes:
Triathlon Mistake #3: Always train in temperatures that will be similar to event day, even if you are a weenie who thinks they are going to melt anytime it gets above 68 degrees.
Triathlon Mistake #3: Always wear cool, lightweight clothing when racing in high temperatures. (I was wearing long thick, black running pants to hide my sausage legs.)
So I told myself it didn't matter how slow I ran, as long as I didn't stop running.
A mile later, I stopped running (after committing to not stopping running) to take a quick break at a water station and found myself crying for the fourth time during the Portland Triathlon.
That's when a really nice woman who was manning the water station came over to see if I was ok. I told her that I was probably going to be the last person to cross the finish line if I even finished at all and that I felt stupid for crying during a triathlon, but I had been having sleeping problems ever since my husband left and how I had the best husband in the world and I didn't know how I was going to be able to be without him for six months...
That's when she hugged me and I just continued to cry with my face resting in her rather large boosom as she told me about the time when she did a two-day relay race and ended up with her picture in the newspaper - right in front of a 80 year old man who later passed her.
It was her way of making me feel better and I have to say that it worked.
Then I pulled my face out of her boosom, wiped my tears, sucked down the rest of my water and started running once again.
Just as I was about to finish my first, 3-mile loop, I saw Dawn (who had already finished the Sprint Triathlon) cheering me on, saying "You're almost to the finish line."
And that was the fifth time I cried during the Portland Triathlon.
I told her that I still had another three-mile loop to go and because she's a good friend, she offered to run the last three miles with me. I knew she was tired and I knew it was something I had to do on my own, so I told her I was ok and that I'd see her at the finish line.
And then I began my last three-mile loop.
As I got onto the bridge, I could see my sister and a few other onlookers sympathy-cheering for me from below.
I think I only saw three other runners on that last loop and truth be told, I walked a mile of it. About a half of a mile before the finish line though, my sister and Dawn came alongside me to run me in and just a few yards before the finish line, I heard Dawn say, "It's all you now Karen!" as they moved to the sideline so I could cross the finish line on my own.
And that's when I cried for the sixth and final time during the Portland Triathlon.
Which brings us right back to where we started...
Actually, where I finished.
And one last shot after the race. (Right before we had pizza delivered to our hotel room followed by a three hour nap.)
436 people finished the Portland Triathlon that day. 253 people completed the Sprint version (a 1/2 mile run, 16 mile bike and a 3 mile run) and 183 people completed the Olympic version (a 1 mile swim, 24 mile bike and a 6 mile run.) Of the 183 that completed the Olympic, I came in 180th. It took me 4 hours and 15 minutes.
It took me a long time to feel like I was ready to write all of this. In fact, it was just this morning that I finally felt ready.
I guess I just felt defeated.
And I know that sounds silly, because know matter where I finished in the triathlon, I still finished a triathlon (and at the age of 39 nonetheless) but it took a long time for me to get all that into perspective.
The fact that I haven't worked out consistently since then (along with the fact that I gained 7 pounds from my lack of working out) hasn't helped matters either.
I was just telling my sister the other day though, that there was this 3-4 month window of time when I was getting ready for the triathlon when I felt physically and mentally stronger than I had ever felt in my entire life. I was working out regularly and every time I worked out, I listened to a sermon. (Usually something from Andy Stanley because he's funny enough to keep me entertained.)
It was like I was working out my body and my spirit at the same time and despite some really hard stuff that was going on in my life, I felt good.
There have been times in my life when I was thinner and times in my life when my circumstances were better, but never a time in my life when I felt so good, despite my circumstance and appearance.
And I want to feel that way again.
So I guess that means it's time to pull out my secret weapon one more time...
Time is inevitably going to pass and one year from today, you can find yourself in the exact same spot you're in now, you can find yourself further away from your goal or you can find yourself closer to your goal - so where do you want to be a year from now?
And if you're reading this Josh Downs...Thanks for being that one person I can always call when the chips are down.
