The Feeling

You know that feeling? That I just swallowed and think I possibly might feel a slight sore throat, but I’m not quite sure feeling? The I had some night sweats last night, but I know I’ll be okay feeling? The Everyone else in physical therapy is sick or getting over being sick, but I’m still a-okay feeling?

Yeah – that feeling.

Yesterday, it hit me.

Hard.

After completing a swim, where I nailed my send-off times (isn’t that a great feeling), even though the last five were, in my own opinion, a bit of a stretch given my condition, I quickly packed up my gear, grabbed oatmeal and coffee, and set out to Fort Walton Beach, FL to meet up with Terri Grier.

I met Terri through my blog. So, officially I hadn’t met her yet. She and her St. Louis friends, The Guru Gals (because the 3 of them all ride Guru bikes), were steady readers of ELF’s blog, but started reading mine after my accident. Terri even sent Jen a contribution towards my care package. THANK YOU!

So when I received an email a while back from Terri, mentioning that she would be vacationing in Destin, FL with her family the first week in June, I jumped at the opportunity to meet her. And give her a hug. Because let’s face it: anyone who turns to triathlon at the age of 50 during her self-proclaimed “mid-life-crises” gets an A++ in my book. And now, 5 years later, Terri is still going strong.

After driving around nearly all of Fort Walton Beach, Valparaiso, Niceville, and the surrounding countryside, we finally decided on the tried-and-true Eglin AFB trail on Range Road. The same road where I raced the Timberlake Half Marathon last year (one of the most painful half marathons of my entire life. A week out from Clearwater, I watched my hr quickly jump above 178 and creep into the 180s for the entire race. After that, I quickly decided that I wasn’t interested in knowing my heart rate for races shorter than an IM distance. Good stuff. Let’s face it, seeing your heart rate spike above 180 at mile 2 of a 13.1 mile race doesn’t bode well now, does it? Thought so).

The road was lightly traveled and took us deep into the heart of Eglin Air Force Base. We chatted as we rode along, side by side, commenting on the heat (92 degrees) and steady SE wind (10 mph gusting up to 20, if not more). Conditions worthy of Kona, in my opinion. Except I’m sure that Kona is hotter and windier. But I wouldn’t know. I’m just guessing.

After hitting the turn around 14 miles up the road, we made our way back, enjoying the headwind, shouting between breaths, and watching military jets from the local base fly over head. Being at Eglin AFB, I figured the jets would be F-15s. But upon inspection of the tail fins, which were sticking out sideways (the F-15s stick straight up and down), I thought the jets may be F-18s. But they kept dipping below our tree line reference points, and I never got a clear view.

On one occasion, I nearly ran myself off the road, craning my neck trying to get a better view.

And then I realized how silly that was.

Imagine re-breaking my sacrum on my second ride outside because I was trying to identify military jets.

Nathaniel would kill me.

But he would have to get behind Jen.

Who would be racing my scary-California-neurosurgeon. Who of course, would ask me, “What did you learn?”

Uh? Not to identify military jets while riding my bike at 15 mph into a 20 mph headwind?

Not so bright.

So with my eyes affixed to the road ahead, and with Terri by my side, we steadily pedaled back to our cars. I kept passing points on the half marathon course, and had flashbacks of the race. Mostly about how high my heart rate was, and how awful my quads felt. Even though I set a pr (at the time) on the course, I never knew my body could retain a heart rate of that speed.

Some things you would rather just not know. Or feel.

What a relief when last February I ran the Pensacola half marathon, and Jen informed me that I would NOT be using a heart rate monitor. Yeah, much better. No more freaking out about seeing a heart rate that I usually see when sprinting up a really big hill or during a 5K run test.

1:40 later, Terri and I were back at the air conditioned cars, deciding where to go for lunch. We were both hungry and wanted some sort of sandwich.

Not living in the FWB area, I really didn’t know where the “hot spot” restaurants were. However, I DID remember McGuire’s Irish Pub – a local jewel in Pensacola – had a second Irish Pub on the other side of Destin Pass.

We quickly agreed and I led our little caravan of 2 to McGuires.

It was great! The conversation, the Pub, the Reuben that I chomped down, and the home made potato fries were fantastic. And I had a great time with Terri, hearing about her race schedule, her local tri club, the group of 3 Gals who all ride Gurus, and sharing stores about life, love and triathlon.

After we bid farewell – she headed back to her vacation house in Destin where her family awaited, and I back to Pensacola to Nathaniel and The House Monster – I found myself soon bumping along 85 North heading towards I-10.

It was then that I swallowed and had that feeling.

The sore throat feeling.

The oh-my-gosh-I-CAN’T-be-getting-sick-because-I’m-just-finally-getting-back-into-training feeling.

I swallowed again, just to be sure.

I thought I could feel something, but it was just a whisper of a sore throat. If I didn’t keep swallowing, I surely wouldn’t have noticed it. It was slightly worse on my right side, but I couldn’t be sure.

After another five swallows, I was convinced that it was indeed something. But I couldn’t be sure.

But if it’s anything that I’ve learned through this entire ordeal, it’s that I need to listen to my body. If something isn’t right, if something feels off – it probably is.

I’ve been so terrified of re-injuring my back, that I’ve almost developed a hyper-sensitive awareness of it and how its feeling. As though my back is a separate side of myself, and has its own needs. In a way, it is and it does.

A slight twinge, or soreness and I know to back off. After my PT session on Wednesday, J-Flo asked me if it ever felt like I had back surgery.

“Well – I KNOW that I had surgery, so I suppose yes. But if I feel as though I broke my back? No. Except for the occasional twinge or ache that I feel right here.”

And then I pointed.

J-Flo quickly pulled open my shorts and inspected my scar. I am not kidding: there I was, in the middle of the PT studio, with fellow PT patients and therapists all around, and J-Flo had the back of my shorts pulled wide open and was examining my scar.

Great.

It would have been fine, except I was wearing running shorts.

The kind that have the underwear built in.

I felt myself blush as he examined my scar and backside, and then I flashed back to the amount of persons who - in the past 3 months - had looked unabashedly at my backside. It started with Elizabeth's Chris pulling out my shorts after the crash to look at my road rash. And then every other person at the San Deigo Camp.

I remember laying on the floor after we returned from our ride, unable to really move or protest, and Chris pulling down my shorts to reveal my butt to everyone in the room. Then Sherpa Thomas made a big back of ice and put it on my back and told me not to move.

I was happy to oblige.

So the larger question: who hasn't seen my lower back or rear?

I know I should be used to this, but a small bit of dignity prevents me from accepting this full stop.

But he assured me that everything was looking great, the scar was really flat and healing well, and then mentioned that I could do anything that I wanted “as tolerated”.

Meaning if I wanted to run for 1:15, and my body could handle it, I could.

Again, I floated out of the office, dignity mostly in tact.

My back has healed the way that it has – I’m convinced – because I’ve really listened to my body; to the signals that it has given me. If something didn’t feel right, I stopped. A dull ache, or the need to take more medication and I knew that what I had done earlier in the day was not well tolerated.

And so now, when faced with the whisper of a sore throat, I knew what I needed to do.

Rather than finishing my ride on the trainer, I reluctantly pulled off my cycling shorts, sports bra, and HR monitor, and instead put on comfy pajamas and warm slippers. I grabbed the pack of Cold-EZE, a bowl of cherries, and a water bottle, and threw in “French Kiss”.

After Nathaniel arrived home, he saw me laying in bed, empty Cold-EZE wrappers by my side, cherry pits in the bowl, and could tell I was less-than-stellar.

We discussed my whisper of a sore throat, and he confirmed I was doing the right thing. One or two days off right now would be much better than the alternative: a week or more down with a serious cold or sinus infection (which I’m prone to).

Exactly last year at this time, I developed one of the worst sinus infections of my entire adult life, after completing a 3 hour brick while visiting my parents and sister. I had awoken with a sore throat and instead, pressed on with the workout. Silly me.

I was so sick, I missed Karyna's graudation from Lawrence University. I was so sick that I spent my entire 2 week trip home to Minnesota, inside and miserable. I was so sick, that I went to the doctor and begged for medication. I was so sick that I wanted to leave early and fly back to Pensacola, just because here in Florida we have air conditioning, and my parents don't (during my illness, the temperature held steady above 90+ degrees for 10 days in a row. A new record. And without air conditioning, my sinuses felt as though a hot, soggy towel was being pressed against my face the entire time.)

It was awful. Trust me.

But now, I'm a year older. And a year wiser (so it seems). So I'm listening to my body and taking the day off. Or two. We'll wait and see and then re-evaluate.

So that’s the latest and greatest.

It’s Friday morning, and I’ve missed my run. I was supposed to run for 45 minutes, easy. Instead, here I sit in my pajamas, with the laptop on my lap, my rear parked on the couch. I have absolutely nothing on my schedule, a far cry from how busy I’ve been these past 6 days. Between the early mornings, the PT sessions, my meetings and doctor appointments aboard NAS Whiting Field, and my own training, racing (yea!), traveling, and trying my best to keep things together, I’ve been at my wits end.

It’s been so hectic, that I’ve 1) failed to update training peaks and 2) have read no more than 10 pages of Ken Follet’s “At World’s End”. Things have already changed.

Training Peaks has been updated, and my book awaits. Along with the House Monster who has felt more than a bit neglected this week. She just jumped up on the couch, parked herself half on me, half on the couch, and has one paw firmly placed on the keyboard. I’m sure that at any moment, I’ll have my thumb bitten or scratched. But that’s how life goes.

My sore throat feeling is gone, no longer present when I awoke. But I’m not fooled. I know that a cold or sinus infection is just around the corner, waiting to catch me the moment I head out for my run or swim. And I refuse to fall into that trap.

I’ve learned enough about myself to know that these “little” feelings, when ignored, can turn into bigger and bigger problems.

Besides, I’ve earned a day off and I’m looking forward to curling up on the couch with cat and book in hand, a box of Cold-EZE at my side, and hot tea at the ready.

And this time, I have a good feeling.

Good LUCK to everyone racing this weekend. I know it’s a biggie: Vancouver and Eagleman, and many many others. Swift Winds and Flowing Seas, my friends!

"Huntin'" in Florida

I've never been a big fan of hunting. There's just something so wrong about stalking a cute little animal, taking aim, and then, well, you-know-what (whipered).

I don't even like to think about where chicken breasts or pork chops come from. They're pre-packaged, right? Thought so.

For Tabbitha, our "Good Little Hunter", its more about the stalking. We don't let her "catch" what she wants, unless - of course - you would include toy mice, small plastic balls, and pink square erasers.

However, because I want The House Monster to experience what most kitties-in-the-wild get a chance to experience (minuse the feathers, blood, guts, and entrails), we feed a number of different animals from our second floor deck. Although the neighbors below don't like the birdseed, the creatures that frequent the feeders are happy.

And so is Tabbithias Rex, Our House Monster. Although she may be a bit, er, frustrated at times. Perhaps that's why she attacks Nathaniel...

Dove Hunting...

Squirrel Hunting...

Box Hunting...

Couch (or sleep) Hunting...

Ugly Green Recliner Hunting...

Sometimes the life of a House Monster seems pretty great. Then again - she sees the birds and can never get them. But that doesen't mean she doesn't try... on more than one occasion we've heard the pitter-patter of 4 legs romping along on 18.2 pounds of cat. And then THUNK into the glass.

But she keeps trying, and that counts for a lot in my book.

And in the end, she always seems to nab the Ugly Green Recliner.

(For Lelia...)

Aqualung Race Report

The plethora of emotions associated with this race are too great to even begin to write about. It was my first race since my crash, and as such, I was very excited. To even be able to compete, to be allowed to swim, to race in the open water was special beyond words. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care about my place or time – certainly I wanted to do well, to have a “fast” time.

But for the first time in a long while, that wasn’t the main focus, or what was driving me.

Instead, the fact that I COULD race, that I had this tremendous opportunity, this wonderful SECOND CHANCE left me emotionally charged.

Race morning: the alarm chirped at 3 am. Early, early early. Luckily, the night before Nathaniel had ground coffee beans and made me scrambled eggs. So all I had to do was flip the coffee switch and make my oatmeal.

Donna arrived at 3:15 am, made a bowl of oatmeal for herself, grabbed a thermos of coffee and we were soon bumping along the road, heading West on I-10 towards Bush, LA (have you found it yet?)

After a quick 3 hour drive, we arrived around 6:30, registered, found the race director, and promptly signed ourselves up to be chaperones for the 800 meter youth swim.

I don’t know which I was more excited about: assisting out with the kids swim OR my own race. Tough call, but as the day was a celebration of my return to racing, it didn’t matter. It was wonderful to simply BE there in the first place.

The first event of the day was the Aquathon – an 800 meter swim followed by a 5k run. It was neat standing on the shoreline, watching the racers take off. For the first time since my accident, I didn’t feel bad OR sad while watching another race. I knew that my time would be within an hour or so.

Next up: the youth race.

After slathering on the SPF 45 and unwrapping my new goggles (Speedo Women’s Vanquisher!), Donna and I headed down towards the water’s edge.

The water was still calm, the 400 meter course a simple out and back straight line. The starting line was between 25-50 meters from shore and in deep water. Treading water would be necessary!

For the Youth Swim, we would be completing one loop. The Master’s 1600 meter would be a two loop course.

In addition to chaperoning the Youth, I figured the first 800 would serve as a great warm-up.

After dawning the pink chaperone cap, I entered the water, situated myself at the back of the pack (with Donna and a few other kids), and kicked out when the starting horn went off.

Even though it wasn’t MY race, I couldn’t help but smile. Here I was, swimming away, voluntarily, assisting with an open water swim.

The kids took off, and eventually spread out. Donna and I remained at the very back of the pack, assisting a young girl. Later I discovered her name was Karis, and she hadn’t been able to practice as much as she wanted. She had a difficult time sighting, but I was so impressed with her steadfast determination. Even though she was in last place, she refused to give up, refused to swim breast stroke or stop. She simply put her head down and swam.

The most challenging part was holding a straight line – and Donna and I did the best that we could without interfering with her race. Donna remained on one side of Karis, and I on the other. If she drifted too far in one direction, she would “bump” into one of us. And we would do our best to set her straight.

However by the end, it wouldn’t surprise me if she ended up swimming 1,000 meters or even 1200 meters. Boy – sighting is very important!

Next up: The Master’s Aqualung 1600 meter Swim!

After splashing out of the lake, tearing off the pink cap, grabbing the blue cap and replacing my new set of Vanquishers, I ran (because I could) back into the lake as quickly as possible. I noticed that many of my fellow competitors remained close to shore or even (gasp!) on dry land.

And there I was: treading water right at the start, watching Donna make her way towards me. I put my head back, let my legs and arms drift upwards, and just watched the beautiful blue sky overhead. I thought about how excited, how lucky I was even to be here. 11 weeks ago, I never would have imagined that I would be at this point. This race was more about the celebration of life, a celebration of recovery than racing. The ability to race itself was just icing on the cake.

Soon, the race director used the bull horn to coax the rest of the 40 or so swimmers into the water. I just treaded away, ready and waiting for the start to finally begin.

As I lined up (towards the front, but not anywhere close to where I could be potentially swum over), I let one big-looking guy with Swedish Goggles go ahead of me. The last thing that I wanted to do was to re-injure myself with an errant kick or push by a fellow competitor.

The countdown began. I could hardly contain my excitement. I looked straight ahead, thought about my kick, remembered my technique, and reminded myself that this race was a great opportunity to work on open water swimming, sighting, and drafting techniques.

And then the start!

Quickly, I take off, feeling my legs kick hard out from under me – just like Jen has had me do in the pool. In a surprisingly short amount of time, I find myself swimming fast through the water, feeling the flow of the water over my head, arms, back, and legs.

After several powerful strokes, I look up only to see my Swedish Goggle friend in my way. I try to pass him on the left, but he moves left. I go right, and to my annoyance, I see his bubbles coming from my right side. I put on a quick burst of speed and pass Swedish Goggle Guy, and see a few brightly colored caps right ahead. But to my surprise (and delight), there aren’t that many.

In a few minutes, I pass another swimmer and correct my line. After a few strokes, I feel a bit of tapping on my feet, and I know that someone is enjoying my wake. I sight some more and a few minutes later I see that I’m quickly approaching the 400 meter turn around. A purple capped swimmer makes the turn ahead of me, and I decide that I’m going to play Liz’s favorite game of “bridge the gap” and catch them within the next 200 meters.

I am at the buoy, and instinctively I remember the drills that Jen has me do in the pool. Without missing a beat, I swim aggressively around the orange ball, kick hard, and pull with all my strength. Before I know it, my stroke smoothens out and I am on the backstretch, past the buoy. This is the first time in my entire life that I’ve rounded a buoy without doing the breast stroke.

I still feel the tapping on my feet, so I know that the person behind me also knows how to round buoys. Or else they were able to catch up quickly.

My line is straight, and I use the purple caps in front of me to pull me along. About half way back to the Start Buoy, I take the inside line on the purple caps, and pass two people. I grinned in spite of myself: here I was, doing an open water swimming race – and I had JUST passed two swimmers in the middle of the race.

I looked ahead and saw one yellow cap in the distance. They were far ahead, but I had confidence in my endurance, knew that my body could handle what I was demanding of it. A few more taps on my toes, and I knew that I was still pulling someone along. Apparently they were enjoying my line just as much as I was.

After another great rounding of the 800 meter buoy, I found myself starting the second lap. My lats and triceps were beginning to feel the strain, but I focused on keeping my pull strong, getting a solid grip on the water, keeping my hips up and rotating, and ensuring that my heels were at or near the surface with every kick.

Very quickly, I noticed a swimmer at my side and then pulling ahead of me. Flustered, I sped up in attempt to keep them for passing me. For 200 meters the two of us played this game: and as I didn’t feel any more tapping on my feet, I figured this was the swimmer I had been pulling along.

Then it dawned on me: I should get in HIS draft, and he could pull me along. It felt as though we were working together! As soon as I thought this, I dropped back on got on his feet. For the first time in the race, I was drafting off another swimmer. He pulled strongly for the next 200 meters, although I didn’t like the course he took. On several sighting attempts, I noticed that we weren’t taking a straight line. But I was unsure of weather or not I would be faster swimming my own race – at least this way I was IN someone’s draft, even if they weren’t going on the right course. I was conserving energy. If I was on my own, I may not be swimming any faster and I would be using up more energy.

We quickly rounded the 1200 meter buoy, and that’s when my new drafting buddy lost his line. He veered way left, swimming far off course. For a brief moment, I was torn. Do I go with him or stay on my own?

I decided that I could hold a better line than he, and went back on course, on my own.

And then I felt the work of the 1200 meters already covered. My lats were screaming at me, my triceps ready to give way. The rush of water over my ears and the sensation of water on my skin was unlike any other. I was all by myself in the middle of a lake, swimming my heart on in the last 400 meters of my first race back.

After sighting twice, I corrected my course and ensured that my hips were up and heels at the surface. I could feel the fatigue hit my body, so I used every means possible to ensure that my swim technique wasn’t falling apart.

The final 200 meters were exhilarating, hard, but incredible at the same time. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my former draft buddy cut a sharp right and veer in front of me. I did my best to find his feet, and managed to feel a small bit of draft, but after rounding the final buoy he took off. It was all I could do to keep him in my sights.

As I neared the shore, I noticed not one, but two yellow caps directly in front of me. I was unaware that there was another swimmer so close: during the 400-800 backstretch, the only swimmers I had seen were the purple capped ones, so I’m assuming that I was gaining? But I can’t really be sure.

As soon as I felt my hands scrape the ground, I stood up. I could hear the cheers from the spectators, but felt the slippery mud between my toes. The last thing I wanted to do was to loose my balance and 1) re-break my back or 2) embarrass myself beyond measure. So I took a quick peek behind me, noted that there was no one else within sight, and half galloped, half walked, and half ran (I know, mathematically doesn’t make sense – but trust me, it looked funny) out of the water.

I ended up either 4th or 5th overall, 1st female. My time was right around 25:11 or so – but I’m not sure as I haven’t seen the results AND I heard this time as I was trying to get the water out of my ears.

The swim was 1600 meters, in addition to the length to shore. So perhaps 1700 meters total? I’m not sure.

All I knew was that when I walked out of the water, I had completed my first race since the Crash. The sense of overwhelming emotions was too much, and it was all I could do to not start crying. A volunteer handed me a red Popsicle stick with the numbers 1 and 1600 on it, and I was instructed to hand give it to another volunteer.

On my way back, I saw Donna emerge from the water, a huge grin on her face. She mentioned that she had just finished, and came across in 2nd! In the end, she had re-passed the gal who sat on her feet for the first 1200 meters and then made her move over the final 400. I was so impressed with Donna for hanging on and for out sprinting this girl out of the water!

Hooray!

Overall, it was a great day. I’m not sure what I had more fun with: the Youth Swim or my fist Open Water swim race. It was so odd, not packing the assortment of gear that you normally would for a triathlon. I came out of the water half expecting to see my bike or running shoes – but I resisted the urge to run, and instead handed in my popsicle stick.

After chatting with other participants, cheering people on at the award’s ceremony, Donna and I drove to New Orleans, had a great afternoon, and made it back to Pensacola before 5:30 pm. Great day for a race, for a road trip, and for making a return to the sports that I love.

Forget to Remember?

Forget: 1) (transitive verb) to lose the remembrance of : be unable to think of or recall. 2) (intransitive verb) to cease remembering or noticing. (Merriam-Webster Dictionary definition)

Today something very new and exciting happened. And lately, I’ve been having a lot of those moments.

(Drum roll please…)

For the first time I forgot to remember the Crash at exactly 9:30 or 11:30 am.

You see, every Monday since my Crash, I’ve observed the exact time – both Central Standard and Pacific Coast Time (hence the 9:30 and 11:30… because the Crash happened at 9:30 CA time, so it was really 11:30 Pensacola time… and it just gets tricky from there… )up until today, I’ve noted both times of the accident.

Complicated?

Undoubtedly so.

For some strange reason, every Monday since the Crash, I’ve forced myself to remember the accident, think about what happened, remember my experience. And it hasn’t been all negative, necessarily. Quite the opposite: I’ve recalled racing (with a walker) around the 4th Floor Spinal Ward, the wonderful nurses, seeing Elizabeth after surgery, hugging my Dad and Nathaniel as soon as they made it out, and eating sushi the Friday after the accident... Among other things - and believe me, there were many.

And yes, there have been more than a few negative memories as well. Thoughts of “what if” and “why” and “how could I have prevented this” flicker through my mind, uncontrollable at times. There are times when I’ll replay the accident over, but for the past 11 weeks every Monday morning, I’ve made an effort to re-live it.

That is, until today.

For some reason, I simply forgot.

Perhaps it was the Open Water swim race yesterday? The feeling of racing again has surely affected my mood. And my body, as I swear that I’m still floating. When J-Flo, my wonderful physical therapist, made me do pushups with my feet on the bosu ball and hands balancing on two different medicine balls, I didn’t even protest. I was that happy.

(FYI: I don't really protest in PT. I look at the things that they make me do as a game. I GET to balance on the ball. I GET to throw a medicine ball againstt a trampoline while balancing on the inverted bosu. I GET to do crazy amount of lunges and I GET to do handstand pushups. Even though I only did 2. And I nearly killed the neighbor-lady on the bike in the process. Suffice to say, I haven't been assigned Wall Pushups since last week. Oh well...)

Perhaps it was my long brick today, the first since the crash? Yes, although I was supposed to ride outside today (I’ve been cleared – hooray!), I was unable to drive out to Milton as one of our cars was in the shop. And the alternative of waking up at 4 am to drive Nathaniel (45 minutes one way) to complete his two helicopter simulations of the day, really didn’t seem all that “fun”.

Especially as the previous day, my wake up time was 3 am.

Not cool.

Back to the brick!

Yes – I had a brick workout!

Nothing fancy: just a long ride followed by a 30 minute run.

Because the ride was just at the 3 hour mark, and was being done on the trainer, I decided (actually, a long ago), that such ride would deserve a new DVD. Anything OVER 3 hours deserves something nice, right?

After setting up the bike, fuel, water, gels, salt, TV, DVD, fans, towels, and anything else I could think of (The House Monster watched from the futon), I grabbed my car keys to make a quick Target run. I figured the store would be empty at 8:30 am, and with any luck, I could be charging away by 9.

And then it hit me: no car.

So instead, it was “Pirates of the Caribbean”

1 and half of 2.

Excellent!

I had hoped to pick up numero 3, but will save it for my next 3+ hour trainer ride. Hopefully I'll have no reason to make my purchase, as I would much rather prefer to bike outside. As it was intended to be done.

Funny thing, though: when you’re doing something, focusing on a task at hand, moving forward to accomplish your goals, and making thins happen – you sort of forget to remember the past.

And no, not that I’ll ever forget my Crash. However, today was a monumental milestone in my recovery.

I simply forgot about the crash.

I had several clocks, a watch, and a cell phone by my side to remind me of the time. And when the 9:30 mark rolled around, I was spinning at 100 rpms, watching Captain Jack Sparrow sail into Portsmouth (or whatever the name of the city is).

11:30 – more of the same. Instead, I was pedaling steady at 95 rpms, big ring, holding a strong zone 2 heart rate. Captain Sparrow, Ms Swan, and Will Turner were fighting against Captain Barbosa and 5 of his men in the Isle de Muerta.

It didn’t hit me – my forgetful moment – until 12:45 when I started my T-run. After wrapping the fuel belt around my hips to provide SI Joint support and (to quote Bree) “firing up the tready”, I looked at my reflection and with a jolt, realized that I did NOT remember the Monday anniversary.

Until that point, I had forgotten to remember that I crashed.

Woa.

Stop the music!

I spent the rest of the run not watching the tv, not focused on my day ahead, the feeling of the bike, and not thinking about the girl staring abck at me from the mirror, but instead I simply pondered my memory lapse. It was pretty neat, actually.

I feel that with what I’ve been able to do as of late – open water swim race, freedom to bike “as tolerated” and my newfound ability to run, I’m continually looking ahead.

Yes, my crash remains a poignant blip on the radar screen.

But the point is, is that it is no longer the entire radar screen.

I guess that being forgetful is good – at times. Selected forgetfulness, perhaps? Could I “forget” to do the dishes on occasion, or “forget” to fold the laundry? That would be nice, but not really realistic.

Oops – forgot to pick up dinner… Oh well – we’re going out for sushi!

My crash is a bit different. I suppose that I’ll never forget, but instead (as in today’s case) I’ll overlook the time and eventually the date. I’ll neglect to remember the crash every Monday; rather it will become a fleeting though that drifts occasionally into and out of my mind.

I’m still thinking this one through. I guess only time will tell in the end. Until then, I’ll have days where I remember, and days when I forget. But as I continue to look towards the future and my recovery, I know that the days where I forget will far outnumber the days where I remember. And for now, at the 11-week mark, that sounds pretty darned good.

Where in the World is Bush, LA?

Happy June 1!

Can you believe that we’ve hit the month of June?? Wow, how time flies.

What did YOU do today???

Guess what I did???

(You probably already know…but I’ll fill in a few of the blanks anyway)

I RACED MY VERY FIRST OPEN WATER SWIM!!!! HOORAY!

Not only am I trying NEW things, but I completed and competed in my very first race since the crash. And that’s reason enough to celebrate (as I stood in our local grocery store examining sheet cakes, I though about ELF… Briefly, I considered calling her and asking her opinion on Chocolate with Chocolate frosting or Chocolate with White frosting. And then – as people were giving me weird looks as I had 7 different pieces of individual sheet cake of varying flavors and frosting combinations, arranged on a table with my new camera phone ready to take pictures, I realized how utterly ridiculous I looked. The crazy lady with 3 trays of sushi, 2 grapefruits, taking pictures of sheet cake. Yeah. You would steer your cart clear – trust me.)

But celebrate I did – by calling Nathaniel.

He advised on the Chocolate with White frosting. And then asked that I pick one up for him as well.

So I did!

Brief summary: Donna and I left Pensacola at the ungodly hour of 3:38 am. Which meant that I woke up around 3, and poor Donna (as she was driving) was awake – chipper and raring to go – at 2:30.

Arg.

So please forgive me if this is short. A real race report will be posted shortly. I am very tired – 6 hours in the car…and around 2 miles of swimming. How odd that sounds – I spent 360 minutes of driving for less than 60 minutes of swimming. Somewhere there’s a lesson in that, but I’m too tired to figure out the math. You do it – while you’re looking up Bush, LA)

So race report to come soon.

(Can you BELIEVE that I get to write that? A REAL Race Report! I got to do a race today!!!!)

After a record breaking drive to Bush, La (good luck finding it – if you dare!), we arrived at the race site in plenty of time. After registration, watching the aquathon (800 m swim + 5K run), assisting with the Youth 800 meter race (we were two of 5 “chaperones”, who swam the race with the kids, prepared to assist or help if any of them ran/swam into trouble. By the look of some of these kids, I was worried that I wouldn’t keep up. Thankfully – I remained at the back, freestyling, breaststroking, kicking, joking with the guys on the paddle board, and drilling my way down the course. It was so wonderful just to be in the water!)

And no, I didn’t rip out my 800 meter butterfly. This surely wouldn’t have been appropriate. (I didn’t even swim 1 single stroke of fly. As in doing so, I look like some weird bucking bronco marooned in 18 inches of water. Do you have the image? Good)

Moving on…

And then, after a quick change of swim caps – PINK for the chaperone swim and BLUE for the 1600 meter Master’s swim – I was back into the water, ready and waiting for everyone else to hop in.

After finally getting instructions and assembling all the racers at the swim start, we were quickly on our way.

It was all I could do to keep from grinning during the first 400 meters.

I won’t go into the details – because 1) I’ll be up too late and 2) It’ll be in the race report.

But honestly, it was weird – I went into the race with different emotions. I wanted to do well, YES. But this was much more about the celebration – the JOY of being ABLE to race in the first place.

Hence: the chocolate cake (thanks for the inspiration Liz!)

Overall, after a solid effort, I came out of the water 4th or 5th, and won the overall women’s event. Before you get too excited – remember this is Bush, La… Have you found it on the map yet? Good luck – keep trying.

But really – the race was beautiful, the lake was fantastic, the other athletes SO INSPIRATIONAL, and the entire day was one big celebration.

After awards (Donna finished 2nd! Yea!!!) and much talking with participants, we made a quick stop off in New Orleans, discovered the good-part and not-so-good part of the French Quarter (SO NEAT – a place that I intend to return to with Nathaniel and spend a long weekend together. There is SO MUCH history, interesting architecture, beauty, really nice people – and a great time).

And finally, after Shrimp Gumbo, Pecan Pralines, Johnny Eggs with seasoning and ripe tomatoes, biscuits, and strong coffee (no booze, for all you inquisitive persons out there…), Donna and I were flew (not literally, but we made great time. No potty stops for these well-hydrated athletes!) home.

So here I am!

Alive, well, happy, filled with sushi and sheet cake, and exuberant about my wonderful opportunity and race today – I sit here, unable to fully dictate onto the pages feelings that are filtering through my mind. This will take some time.

Until then, I strongly recommend that you grab yourself some sheet cake, visit Bush, LA (have you found it yet??), and try something new for the first time. Because you may just surprise yourself.