This is my mother, in whom I am well pleased.

My mother died. If she were only my mother one might say there is hope for me to someday have joy again, after all, mothers are not forever. However, she was more than a mother. Nan was an only child, so there are no aunts or uncles or first cousins for me. I have a sister but I was virtually raised as an only child. I don’t have children. She was a single mother. Because of these factors, my mother and I were exceptionally close. We experienced everything together. She put all her eggs in one basket–me! Me. She often said, “You are my world. I love you more than life itself.”  That was a lot of pressure but I tried desperately to rise to the occasion and the journey continues. My mother bragged about me with unadulterated abandon. She exaggerated everything but for her, it wasn’t an exaggeration!  Every race was a marathon, every triathlon an Ironman.  And if I was God to her, my husband was Jesus Christ (they have same initials–John Christian!). He is her greatest contribution to my life. She would not accept anyone else. “John is The One.”

I knew my time with her was getting short. I could no longer visualize our future. She was dropping big hints, “You’re going to have to start getting all these lessons Mama has been teaching you.” I called her for advice on cooking beans and crock pot stuff, etc. just to engage with her on topics other than cancer, leukemia, white counts, transfusion, MD Anderson, property, titles, the Will, goodbye…  I stopped being critical of her diet, pushing her to lose weight, and ignored her drinking as best I could.

I was an awesome daughter to my mother. What I was able to do for her in the last two weeks of her life is fairly astounding. She knew this about me but I am still surprised.  It’s one thing to say you love someone but when you’re called on at crunch time to prove it, that’s something all together different. Mothers get that opportunity every day, daughters maybe not as often. I facilitated, along with my husband, my mother’s transition to the other side.  It was no easy task. It hurt like hell but I rose to the occasion, thanks to the prayers of many, and advocated for her on every level. The infection that eventually spread all over her body, I saw it before the ICU staff and doctors. I was attentive and dedicated. I watched her sleep. I escorted her unconscious self. I sang to her and played her favorite music. I held her hand. I kissed her face, massaged her legs, read her scriptures and did all I could.  I looked into her eyes when they opened ever so slightly. I did not turn away. I did not run away. I said to her, “It’s okay to let go.” I counted her final breaths. John and I, on either side of her, held her hands tightly as she breathed in and out, one last time. And so it is. My mother is gone.

I am running again but I am running on fumes. I am all muscle memory. I am an echo–a reverberation. I feel very ghosty. I am going through the motions. Ideally, I would simply turn to salt, my husband would remarry–someone in her 20s–and go on with his life. However, I still have things to do for my mother, which include being a good wife and fulfilling every dream I’ve ever dreamed. My mother wanted me to have it all and because I trust that she knows best, I have to go for it. She knows how much I want to complete a full Ironman and race in Kona. And because I still love her so much, I have to crawl out from under this thing, no matter how difficult, and get to work.  Ironman is not going to wait for me to feel better. For those of you who know, you know I am right.

My mother died. I wish it were not so. SMH. She was that person who would take a bullet for me without hesitation. “I’ll take that! Gimme that bullet!” She adored me. So much of what I did was so I could call her later and say, “Ma, I ran a half marathon!” She never hung up her cell phone properly, so I would hear it when she said, “Yeah, that was Kinaya. She just ran another marathon. That girl is amazing. I don’t know how she does it…” There was so much pride in her voice because she knew exactly where I got it. I got it from my Mama.

I want to keep making her proud. I feel her presence and I want to keep making her proud.

Let's keep it 100 for 100 days!

We have hit the ground running, literally, with this 100 day challenge.  I started yesterday but will start again with everyone else today (tonight)!  You are welcome to jump on board at any time.  Personally, I am very regimented when it comes to my own challenges but this is for everyone and you have to do what’s best for you. I’m not going to freak out and get all rules-y. Here’s what I will suggest:

Do a minimum of 10 minutes of physical activity to count it. Adjust this according to your own fitness level. I strongly suggest you choose a MINIMUM because the day will come when you won’t want to do anything. Knowing your minimum will help you do something.  I’ve chosen a 5K (3.1 miles) as my daily minimum. Currently, I don’t have a maximum. If you think you need one, set it.

Get your workout done before midnight.

100 consecutive days is the goal because we are building consistency but do what you can!  Be as consistent as humanly possible within our 100 days.

Share your workouts at the First Ladies of Fitness facebook page or on your own wall. The encouragement from others is a boost. I’m a member of dailymile. If you’re more private, that’s cool but confession/posting keeps you honest!

Talk to your doctor if you think you have any issues.  Pain is inevitable. Know the difference between appropriate and inappropriate pain. It’s different for everyone.  Generally, if your entire session is painful, if it never lets up, you need to get that checked.  I have run as much as 3 miles in discomfort that eventually dissipated.

Get started!  Time is passing whether you get it done or not. You may as well do it.

Finally, take it ONE DAY AT A TIME.

The body was made to move. Not only are we fully capable of exercising each day for 100 days, we are capable of exercising each and every day of our lives.  Moving makes us stronger. There’s a lot a hype about overuse, running being bad for the knees, etc. The evidence overwhelmingly shows that the majority of people are not moving enough!  If you get an overuse injury, consider yourself lucky! You have crossed over into a whole new category!  I’ve done a lot of stuff and have never had an overuse injury.  I have had an “I’m so clumsy!” injury but not overuse.  That being said, don’t start out with 5 or 6 miles a day for 100 days if you’ve never run a mile.  Be smart.

What do you want to do?  Where do you want to go?  What’s the plan?  Those are big questions you may not be able to answer today but I’ll guarantee having a strong, healthy fit body will be an asset.  Also, exercise is not just about the physical benefits, it’s also about the mental and spiritual rewards. See how far you can go! I know it’s farther and further than you can imagine. Move it.

I have always played in the deep waters–with a life jacket–despite my lack of swimming skills and fear of sea creatures. I grew up going to the beach in Southern California and hanging out in Galveston with my best girlfriends. I actually loved the water very much, despite what you may hear from the Tough Cookies who witnessed my first triathlon season. I was one of those people who thought she could swim.  And because my husband was so natural in the water, I always felt safe, invincible even, when he was around.

On this one beautiful day, we had the beach virtually to ourselves. It was a bit windy, there was some chop in the water. Ok, a few red flags were out. But we played around in choppy water before and besides, I could see the shore. It was right there and I had no intention of letting it out of my sight!  We were playing and frolicking in the water, without life jackets, having a wonderful time. I made sure not to go too far out, I never intended to get too far from shore.  I knew my limitations.  Did I respect the water?  Yes.  Did I respect it enough?  Impossible.

I’ve always admired my husband’s ease and comfort in the water.  He doesn’t do the American crawl/freestyle swimming but he is one of the most natural swimmers ever. He can hold his breath forever and will natural dive down to the bottom to check out some bizarre creature and then come up and blow the water out the top of the snorkel if he’s using one!  Every time I try that, it’s a near drowning. I don’t bother anymore.  He’d tried to teach to me relax and float on my back. “Fill your lungs with air, relax and ease back. Stick your arms out at your sides if you have to.”  I’d puff my cheeks out like Dizzy Gillespie. “Ok, your cheeks are puffed but your lungs are empty.”  This was our routine. We’d laugh hysterically.

I think we were somewhere in the middle of floating on our backs, being lulled and caressed right out of our lives, when I started to sink, as usual. I could only float for so long, unlike my husband. However, when I tried to stand, the bottom wasn’t there. No biggie.  I started to swim toward the shore but with every stroke not only was I not going toward the shore,  I was being pulled further out. I started to panic and must have called John’s name.  I was getting pulled further and further out and so was John.  We were caught in the undertow!

I looked toward the resort, no one was around and there was no one on the beach. All of sudden, I saw how crazy the flags were blowing.  Wait. Is that a black flag?!  What the hell?  I was panicked and tired and started to sink. I could barely tread water on a good day and had no defense, mental or physical, against this mighty ocean. I thought we were friends, Dear Ocean! I thought we were having fun!  How could you do this to me?  I thought I was your Caribbean Queen.  I joke now but I was terrified.  I remember John grabbing me and my fighting him. I looked into his eyes and he into mine.  In that split second, he wasn’t John, my husband anymore. He was my friend, the kid I grew up with, my Prince Charming who rode his ten-speed to my house, despite my step-father’s clear and direct admonitions against such goings-on. In that split second, I saw my friend, who I loved sharing this journey with. He looked so young!  Wow.  We are pretty darn young.  We looked directly in each other’s eyes. I knew I would drown and it looked like he wasn’t going to let me go. What a waste.

I thought of how tragic this all was. I was strangely calm about leaving existence but still terrified of the process and very ticked that I could be so stupid. I thought of my mother. How could I do this to her. I know what I mean to her. It’s been just us for so long.  Who’s going to love her when I’m not here?  Damn!  How could you be so stupid, Kinaya?  You’re going to drown?!  You shouldn’t even be in the water! Are there any other black people fooling around in the damn water?!  You and your best friend are going to get sucked out to oblivion.  Poor John. He doesn’t deserve this.  He’s top quality but it looks like he’s ready to sink with me.  What a effing waste.

It was an odd feeling. I felt small and stupid.  I felt human and frail.  This is my story.  My time is up.  I’m not special after all.  I thought I was going to do something some day.  Maybe help someone, write a book, have kids, adopt kids, move to NYC, tell some jokes, make my mark!  I couldn’t believe how fragile the whole thing was…  ”Stop fighting!”  ”Calm down! Stop it!”  John’s tone interrupted my panic.  My husband doesn’t yell.  My husband does not raise his voice. I have never heard my husband raise his voice in anger. And, up until this day, I did not listen to my husband when he told me what to do.  However, in this moment, his  words hit me right where he aimed. I stopped fighting. He told me to relax and hold on to him. I could hear the urgency and it scared me to death.  Oh, God!  I thought we would just drown quickly and be done. I didn’t expect him to fight for me.  Don’t tease me, Jesus.  I don’t want to prolong the inevitable.  ”Don’t fight!  Stop it!”  I figured I owed it to him to cooperate. He could swim.  He didn’t have to hang out here in the ocean and die!  He could have left me a long time ago,  gone for help and hoped for the best.  I listened.  I let him do his Aqua man/Man from Atlantis thing and  he swam us back to shore.  I don’t know how he did it but he didn’t let go of me until I was rolling around in sand, unequivocally safe.  Needless to say, it was a quiet and thoughtful walk back to the resort.  We were stunned.  I don’t think we went back in the water.

Our families never knew how close we’d come to tragedy.  We don’t really like to think about it.  I told him that I was I going to share this and his response was, “Really?”  I believe we both understood our humanity in new ways after this “incident”. I will never forget the way we looked at one another. In a strange way, it’s a priceless experience but it is also heart-breaking.  It is not forever.  We are here for only a time.  I know. We don’t want to think about it but I’m sharing this story for a few reasons.  Learn to swim.  Don’t fear the water but respect it.  And go ahead and  love more deeply.  You must!  Life is so short, it’s so fragile, so love deeply.  You can never be in too deep.

Ribs, sausage, mac & cheese! Oh, my!

I’m just like any other red-blooded, American woman! I prefer ribs, sausage, steak, bacon, potato chips, neck bones, macaroni & cheese, Popeye’s, banana pudding, shrimp, crawfish and all other artery-clogging, heart stopping, cholesterol-raising foods, over fruits and veggies any old day!  The pig is not only my intellectual equal, she is my Spirit Animal–which is probably why eating her wreaks havoc on my body.

I am sad today. I just had a disastrous appointment with my doctor.  Now, honestly, I simply don’t believe that it can be as bad as she says.  But she also told me that I am in denial.  Among other things, my cholesterol is still too high. Obviously, I am doing all that is necessary exercise-wise.  But I get a big, fat red F on my diet.  She and I have been having this back and forth for over year.  I insist I can lower my cholesterol the necessary points through better nutrition.  She says it’s absolutely possible but not likely.  And so far she’s been right. I will be on Lipitor by September if  nothing changes.

This doctor’s appointment was pretty disastrous for a seemingly healthy person like me.  My goal in life is to inspire others to live the fit lifestyle and the fact that I can’t control my eating makes me a big hypocrite. I don’t want to be a hypocrite but the fact is I struggle with eating properly. It’s much easier for me to exercise and train than eat good foods.  And I believe it’s particularly difficult for me because of my family history, my culture! We’re Texans (Southeast) and Louisianans (Southwest).  Fresh vegetables were rarely on the menu.  Sometimes I feel like I would die without shellfish!  But that’s silly because obviously  my body doesn’t metabolize shellfish well and I must cut back. Uh, I mean I must stop eating shellfish completely.

Over the past few months, I’ve been eating shrimp, barbecue, steak, tres leches, bacon, eggs, and a few other of my favorites. I’m not sure why and neither is my mother. We’re not quite clear on why I would be on this self-destructive path. She’s a counselor and calls it “suicidal”.  Quite frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if I am trying to sabotage myself!  Am I trying to hurt myself?!  It simply doesn’t make a damn bit of sense!  I feel like I love myself very much but why else would someone participate in behavior that is clearly unhealthy for her?

Ok, enough! I had to get this off my chest but I don’t have to wallow and I don’t have to bore you to death.  This is an experiment.  Over the next four months, I will try to change my ways.  I will attempt to lower my cholesterol the necessary points through exercise and diet.  If I don’t, it will not be because I did not try!  And I have decided that no matter the results, I am NOT taking cholesterol medicine!

Thanks for listening.  I am very hopeful.  Yes, we can!

My finisher's medal.

Guess what the world’s best triathletes have in common. You got it!  Besides being extraordinarily disciplined, they can run like the friggin’ wind! They are strong and merciless runners. Mer-ci-less. It’s awe-inspiring!  Chris McCormack, winner of last year’s Ironman World Championship, ran 26.2 miles in 2:43:31.  Yes, after swimming 2.4 miles and cycling for 112 miles, there was only 40 minutes between him and the guy who won this year’s Boston Marathon!  But Chris McCormack was not the first person out of the water, I saw the first person out of the water, Andy Potts.  Andy Potts finished in 21st place.  Macca (Chris McCormack) wasn’t the fastest on the bike either, that was Chris Lieto, who finished in 11th place.  But Macca’s run was brutal and the 2nd fastest. Yes, there was someone faster on the run, Craig Alexander, last year’s Ironman winner. But Craig Alexander’s deficit on the bike was too much to make up and he finished in 4th place overall.

The same is even more true for the women!  Mirinda Carfrae was not first out of the water, nor did she have the fastest bike ride, but she killed the run in 2:53:32!  If I’m not mistaken, Julie Diebens had the fastest swim and bike but her run was 3:16:12. Julie came in 3rd place, because, once again, the 2nd place winner, Caroline Steffen, had a much stronger run in 3:05:47.  Therefore, while most people fear and loathe the swim, it’s the run that will make you a believer! Barring any weird mishaps, like Craig Alexander’s “slow” bike ride, the strongest runners are going to finish at the top!

Honestly, after the bike ride, my Ironman 70.3 was in the bag!  I was elated and overjoyed and maybe overconfident.  I thought of all the scenarios which could stop me–a twisted ankle, cramping, bonking, etc.  I decided that those things would not be enough to stop me. I was prepared to do whatever it took to finish.  Only nuclear war or Armageddon stood in the way of my finishing this race.  I racked my bike, tossed my helmet, switched to my sneakers, put on my visor, grabbed my timer and headed out.  My legs were heavy and trotting out was difficult.  I really wanted to fall down on the ground and cry about my mentally brutal bike ride but it was over. You can’t carry the swim to the bike or the bike to the run! You have to handle what’s right in front of you.  And I had 13.1 hot miles to go!

I came to this race with the best running legs of my life!  Hopefully, you understand what I’m saying. I’m still chasing the elusive 10 minute mile in a 5K race, so I’m no speed demon but I am very pleased with my progress and I knew this run would be less daunting than many of my previous races–even the sprint distances!  Let me tell you, if you haven’t trained properly and it’s a hot day, even a 5K can take you out, not to mention the 10K of an olympic distance race.  But this time I was much more prepared and would use the run/walk method as opposed to the walk/crawl method.

I want to make this an exciting read but the run was fairly uneventful. I managed to keep a decent pace. I saw a lot of Tough Cookies out there and got some much needed energy from them. John was absolutely the best.  Once I saw him at the start of the three mile loop and gave him a big hug, I felt like I had crossed the finish line (or so I thought!). I think I wanted to finish the race for him the most. It meant the most to him. Poor thing. He had been so worried while I was out there on the bike.  Now he could relax. I told him to go take a break and I’d see him in about another 40 minutes or so.

Within in the first 5 minutes of my run, I saw the woman who’d said to me, “Come on, girl! Come go with me, girlfriend”.  I didn’t say anything when I passed her. It felt strange not to acknowledge her because that’s not how I was raised!  But honey child, it’s a new world!  You can’t please everybody. Yep, I passed her slowly but surely.  I took some satisfaction in it for sure but stayed focus. It was sunny out but there was nice breeze as we ran through the Moody Gardens grounds. It was kind of pretty.  Also, there was plenty of cold water, orange slices, Gatorade, everything. I wondered how Ironman could make a profit with all the support they provided. If I had one complaint, it would be the port-0-potties. There didn’t seem to be enough. And because I was at the back, back, back of the pack, I knew better than to go into any of them! I just held it.  Yep, 70.3 miles of holding it!

Nutrition was my secret weapon for this race. I lived off of engineered food and it had served me well but by the time I got to the run, 1 vanilla Hammer gel was all I could manage, so I didn’t take anymore for the rest of the run.  I ran 13.1 miles on 1 single Hammer gel which explains my lack of energy and near delirium toward the end.  Fortunately, good hydration saved me, otherwise I would have truly bonked.  I simply could not eat another piece of engineered food.  I felt like Robocop.

What I remember most about the run is the finish, passing “Come go with me, girlfriend!” twice (???), seeing all the Tough Cookies running strong, a lot of overweight African-American spectators and volunteers, great music, cold beverages, and all the spouses/boyfriend cheering me on.  I think everyone knew I was the one with the biggest challenge and I appreciated their enthusiasm. Honestly, it’s what inspired me to trot an average 13 minute mile as opposed to totally walking a 15 minute mile.

By the time I reached my final 3 mile loop, I had made a few friends! I thanked the volunteers who cheered me on and told them, “You can do this too! You can start with a smaller race and work your way up….”  They looked at me like I was crazy, “Yeah, baby. Whatever! God bless you, sugar!”  I smiled and felt very emotional.  I vowed to keep trying hard to encourage others to get in the race.  I was finally able to answer, “Yes!”, to the question, “Is this your last lap?”  What an annoying question but I tried to stay positive. However, I almost lost it when a volunteer yelled out to me, “Stop being lazy and run!  You’re just being lazy!!!”  She was sitting in a huge fold-up chair with a cool beverage in her cup holder and I’d been racing for almost 8 hours!  She was my elder. I hope I smiled at her. I know I cursed her under my breath but realize, in retrospect, that she was right.  I could have run more. I was being kind of lazy.

As you might imagine, one can get a bad attitude after almost 8 hours of moving by one’s own power. I am no exception. I know this about myself. I don’t like it when someone run’s up to me at the end of the race to push me.  I have to work hard to keep my horns from coming out of my forehead, however, I have also come to understand why they do it.  They do it because you’ve got more in you.  You can finish faster. You have to leave it all out there. Why not?!  And at the last half mile of my run, of my Ironman 70.3 Galveston, two of the fastest Tough Cookies we’ve got were waiting for me.  Oh, God.  ”Help me, Jesus. I don’t want these women to think I’m always this evil. This is simply exhaustion evil.”  These Tough Cookies don’t walk. They run, run, run.  They don’t stop running. I knew it was going to suck but what would suck more is my going ballistic.

When ran together. When the beeper went off, I walked and “Shannon” walked. I could tell that “Trina” was unfamiliar with walking. We did that for a while then “Shannon” ran off saying, “I’m going to tell the others that you’re coming! They’re all waiting for you at the finish!”  Huh?!  I couldn’t believe it.  I watched her bounce away and wondered how in the world she could be so springy all the damned time!  I was also proud to have her as a friend.  But she left me alone with “Trina”.  ”Trina” does not mess around. She’s Boston Marathon material and there would never be another scenario where the two of us would be running together. I was ready to walk because my beeper went off.  ”No, keep running”, she said.  ”The beeper means walk”, I responded. I could feel the hairs on my neck raising.  She said, “The finish line is close, you can do it! Just keep running.  That’s what I do. I just keep running. I don’t stop.”  And that, my friends, is all she wrote.  I put my attitude aside. Despite my fatigue, I started to appreciate what it took for her to come out here, not race herself, and run beside me, encourage me, push me, and ignore my dirty looks.  ”You’re right! I’m going to keep running. I won’t stop.”

When I made it to the chute, a couple of young, male “fans” where there to get high-fives! There was a 70 year old woman in front of me, my goal wasn’t to pass her or not, I simply kept my pace, and ended up passing her. I didn’t sprint past her!  I crossed in sheer jubilation! I did a spin, grabbed my medal and was greeted by Tough Cookies on crack! It was awesome!!!  John filmed the whole thing! Oh, glorious, glorious victory.  The high is high! I don’t know if I’ll ever celebrate like that again. I don’t even know if a full Ironman can match the magic of this finish.  Epic!  Epic.

You made it. There’s my race as best I could tell it.  I’ll write an aftermath and pointers to end the saga!  Thank you for stopping by.

Who's that girl?

I still have the sheets of paper where my husband calculated how fast I needed to ride and where I needed be at a certain time.  We used the entire Moody Gardens Hotel Spa & Convention Center Galveston Island notepad to build our strategy.  I remembered my Tough Cookie coach having a handy-dandy little TriCalc app on her phone and downloaded it to check my husband’s work. He was very proud of the results.  Initially, he was against the app, now he likes it.  We knew I had to be at mile 48 by 1:18 pm and T2 (bike to run transition) by 1:51 pm because it was listed in the Athletes Guide. We also knew that I lost 19 minutes because of these new numbers. John gave me the cold hard truth: Maintain 14.2 mph for 56 miles. No stopping.  No water breaks. No potty breaks. No flats. No problem. ***Sigh***

Unfortunately, I was desperately trying to maintain 11.99 mph! I bargained with myself not to drop below the average speed displayed on my speedometer. That was the best I could do. For the life of me, I couldn’t do any better.  I look like someone who should be able to ride faster. My quads have their own zip code for goodness sakes. My hammies are like…well, hams!  Listen, I don’t expect to be any faster in the water, well, maybe a little bit and quite frankly, I’ve made a great deal of progress with my running and don’t expect to get much faster. However, not being able to maintain 14 mph, headwind or not, was beyond disappointing.  I watched tiny people pass me and thought, “I’d be faster if I were smaller!”  I watched bigger people pass me and thought, “I’d be faster if I had bigger thighs!” “I’d be faster if I were younger!”  ”I’d be faster if I’d been riding since I was in my 20s like that grandma!”  But I knew the truth, “I’d be faster if I had trained longer!”

I was in a desperate way for a very long time.  I saw my Tough Cookie team members headed back to T2 and they waved or acknowledged me in some way. I tried to stay positive but I wasn’t feeling good at all.  I knew my ride would be a lonely one and that I’d have to battle some demons.  Most of the field was already headed back. I was bringing up the rear with the stragglers.  No one cared that I started in the last wave or that I had only done a hand full of training rides! I was at the back of the pack and had to make the best of it.

I tried not to look down at my speedometer.  It was way too early to start counting miles. I focused on my average miles per hour and was shocked at the effort it took to raise the number!  The longer I pedaled, it’s true, the faster I got, but I  knew it wasn’t enough to make up the deficit. I thought about everyone.  I knew John would be devastated when he saw my numbers on Athlete Tracker.  I thought about how rotten all the Tough Cookies would feel when I didn’t make it. I thought about ways to add levity to the situation on facebook.  I thought about my mother and how she’d applaud and praise me no matter what.  I asked myself what the hell I was doing out on this road by myself in the first place.  Then, someone would pass me! “Hang in there!”  ”You can do it!”  I couldn’t believe it.  I wondered what could have happened on their swim that they were just passing me.  I was a little ticked off they’d gotten all day to finish the swim.  Yes, shame on me.  I sang, prayed, wondered, and repeated, “Hammer, hammer, hammer, hammer…”  A Tough Cookie told me to hammer it on my ride. I tried.

I prayed not to get a flat.  I begged all forces of the Universe to cut me some generous slack. I simply could not afford to flat and I saw people all over the place dealing with flats! I passed a few on the way out and could see them across the highway, headed back in, changing them!  Some people on really expensive bikes were sidelined by flat tires. I felt bad for them but counted my lucky stars…so far. “God, please don’t let that be my fate!”  I practiced tire changing in the weeks leading up to the race but it didn’t work out. I never successfully changed it. Even my attempt to use the CO2 cartridges failed miserably. I needed my bike to be perfect.  I needed perfection.

I remember cycling over the bridge. It was a bumpy mess! Oh, Lord. I held my breath.  The seagulls were flying really low and I thought they would attack me! They barely moved out of the way when I passed.  It was a mess and the entire bridge was strewn with CO2 cartridges and I even saw a few tubes. It was some kind of cycling wasteland.  I prayed and cycled.  Then the road became smooth like glass. But don’t say glass! Don’t even think glass. I was finally able to maintain 14 mph and sometimes more but the wind was still slowing me down.  I held 14 mph and watched my average miles per hour creep up.

In my heart, I didn’t believe they would stop me if I didn’t make it to mile 48 by 1:18 pm but my mind, my logical brain, told me otherwise. So, all I could do was keep trying. My speedometer clearly showed me not making it on time but how could I give up?! It went on this way for over two hours.  I chomped on my Hammer bars, tried to eat my stale pretzels, sucked down Ironman PowerBar electrolyte water, grabbed water on the go (Thank you, volunteers!) and ignored my full bladder.  AND…tried to ignore my new tri shorts cutting into me like nobody’s business.  They were excruciating. I had to stop tugging because my miles per hour dropped each time I pulled at them.  I had to go faster.  Suddenly, a couple of cyclists yelled out, “You’re almost there!”  They were talking about the turnaround. I wouldn’t allow myself to get excited. Would heading back be any different?  Would I be able to go any faster?  Someone yelled out, “You’ll have the wind at your back!”  Don’t lie to me.  Don’t tease me!

The turnaround was like meeting The Wizard of Oz.  There weren’t much too it. It was a tight turn with about 3 orange cones and two people instructing me to TURN HERE.  That’s it?  I’ve gone through hell and high water and that’s it?!  No courage, no heart, no brain for me?  I desperately needed all three!  And how will I get home?  I made the turn and started to pedal–without courage, without heart, and out of my mind.

The thought of pedaling nearly thirty more miles would have cracked a lesser woman, it simply made me delirious and scarred me for life.  But I had a spiritual awakening on the final half of the bike. I made a lot of promises that’ll take a lifetime to keep and was visited by my Guardian Angel.  In short, my prayer was: If you guys (and gals) help me, I’ll be a Change Agent of the highest order.  It worked. I pedaled nonstop at 14, 15, 15.5, 16, 17, 17.5 and even 18 mph!  Now, let’s be clear, anything above 16 mph is really too fast for me, so those higher speeds were short lived but it happened.  I settled in around 15.5 to 16 mph. I watched my average miles per hour steadily increase. I was so overjoyed and grateful. I passed several people and wanted to say, “Come with me!” but not to be a smart ass but because I knew that if they were too far behind me, they wouldn’t make the cut off time!  When I passed mile 48 before 1:18 pm, I knew I had bagged myself a half Ironman.  I didn’t celebrate because a flat could still ruin my day. I was cautiously optimistic.

I can’t describe the elation I felt riding those final miles.  I was a new woman.  I was a new person. I had tapped into some new mojo. I set a huge goal and I was going to achieve it.  Sure, I still had a half marathon to complete but we (well, he) calculated that I’d have to run 15 minute miles and I knew I would do that.  Thankfully, John was there right before I entered the transition area.  He was elated and relieved. “You did it, baby!  You did it!” (Don’t tell him I told you he said that. He’s pretty cool.)  I’ve never seen him so happy.  Later, he told me just how concerned he’d been.  He sent a text to family preparing them for disappointment. He said when he looked at Athlete Tracker and saw that my pace was way off–he was broken-hearted for me. Yep, he told me that over shrimp po’ boys!  But there would be no disappointment. Nope. Not for this girl, not for her husband, her family, or her friends. Not today.

This was a difficult post to write!  I knew I couldn’t convey it properly.  What happened to me on this 56 mile bike ride was/is so personal. I have only been able to share it with my mother and not quite fully with her. It feels like something I should only speak of in French, if my French were that good, or another sacred language. It feels like something that should be whispered in a candlelit room with giant goblets of deeply red wine.  Sacred. Secret. Holy. I don’t have the writing chops to bring you where I want but some day!  In short, I fell in love with triathlon on this terrible ride.

Yes, it feels like it’s over but I’ve got a run and final thoughts. Please come back! We’re almost done.

This is my transition area. I had to really squeeeeeze in. It's important to arrive early. I needed a little more space!

By now, I consider myself an advanced beginner triathlete.  I can still count the number of races I’ve done. My first was Skeese Greets, a super sprint, in 2008.  In total, I’ve completed 3 super sprints, 4 sprints, 3 olympics, and 1 Ironman 70.3.  That’s only eleven races but I think the half Ironman pushed me from intermediate beginner to advanced beginner.  Unfortunately, one of the barriers to my moving up in skill level is being able to change my own friggin’ flats in a reasonable amount of time. Dang it! It’s always something! Right?

In all the races mentioned above, except the half Ironman, I felt only intense elation once I was out of the water. It’s always been about getting the swim done.  As I mentioned before, I’m pretty comfortable in the water, however, I don’t like to press my luck and am always glad to get it over with, kinda (I’m really starting to enjoy the water).  Furthermore, the bike and run distances for the sprint and olympic races have never intimidated me. Sure, I got my butt kicked by Cap Tex tri and Austin tri last year, both olympic distance, but I had absolutely no doubt that I would finish those races–barring some bizarre freak accident.  I never “go all out”, my goal has been to finish.  But although I was thrilled I made the swim cut off in Galveston and gave John a huge smile as I trotted to T1 (swim to bike transition), I was full of anxiety.  For the first time ever, the bike had Center Stage and not just because it was in the middle.

A woman on the pier, whom I’ll never forget, said to me, right before the start of our wave, “They’ve got teenage volunteers stripping of the wetsuits.  Make sure you go to the biggest boy you see. Those teenage girls have a little trouble getting the suits off.”  I wanted to grab her and hug her but thanked her profusely instead. I love a generous triathlete!  She took her benevolence in stride but it made all the difference for me. When I exited the water, I went directly to a giant, Samoan-like boy, and he ripped my suit the rest of the way off in seconds!  Whoosh!  ”Thanks, kid!” I knew every second counted and was glad that kid was there. He seemed proud too.

I took my coach’s advice and counted while in transition, “One, one-thousand, two, one-thousand…” My area was a mess because the ladies on either side of me beat me out of the water and their stuff was on my stuff and my stuff was wet and I don’t like getting other people’s stuff wet, so I moved my wetsuit twice… Then I snapped! “You can either stay here and play Susie Homemaker, squandering your time and have a really neat transition area or you can get your ass in gear (no pun intended) and face the music!”  I was procrastinating. I had be tough on myself or continue to waste time.

I sucked down a Hammer gel with 25 grams of caffeine and started on my way.  I bypassed the folk rubbing sunscreen on exiting cyclists. I knew I’d be fine but my shoulders are peeling today almost two weeks laster!  I hopped on the bike and was finally pedaling.  It was the bumpiest, pot-holiest, gravel-filled road ever. I don’t wear bike gloves and don’t know whether they would have helped with all the vibration but I vowed to buy some.  I didn’t expect to start out so slowly! I needed to maintain 14 mph immediately and throughout the ride.  I started to panic when I saw 9 mph on my speedometer.  9mph?!!!  It was the best I could do! The road was a mess, the wind was strong, it was slightly uphill and I had just gotten out of the water. Finally, I crested the hill, the road smoothed out a lot but I discovered the test ride I’d taken earlier was not the actual race route.  Duh!  I was headed into new territory.

When I tell you I was defeated from the onset of my ride, it’s not an exaggeration.  I knew within a few miles that the wind, coupled with my super slow start, was going to be a huge barrier to my success.  No matter how I tried, I could not maintain 14 mph.  And I could not afford to burn myself out in the first 10 miles because I had 46 more to go and that half marathon.  I started to unravel.  ”Oh, God! This cannot be happening! I may as well stop right now. I can’t finish this race averaging less than 14 mph and right now I’m averaging less than 12! I’m done. It’s over.” I was in complete, utter, and full despair.  I decided to quit. “I have to quit.  Why prolong the inevitable?”  But I couldn’t figure out the logistics of quitting.  ”Should I stop right here and wait for a sag wagon?” I kept pedaling.  ”Will they put me in the back of the truck or make me turn around and ride back?” I kept pedaling.  ”How do I explain this to John?” Pedal.   “Do Tough Cookies quit?  I don’t want to be the first Tough Cookie to quit.”  I kept pedaling away from the start and toward the finish.  ”What a rotten legacy. How do I explain this to my nephew, Cole?”  ”Aunt Kinaya gave up, Coley.”   “I can’t tell my friends that quit!  They’ve put so much energy into this race!”  ”Ok, there are only two ways you can return home. One way is with a finisher’s medal and the other way is…”  Yep, I thought it. I did not want to get smashed by anything, absolutely not, but I knew I couldn’t not finish the race. I’d fight those race officials if they tried to pull me off the bike route, just like my hubby told me to do.  I was losing it and had to pull myself together. I bargained. “Don’t struggle so much now. This is only the beginning and Tzatzil said not to get the burn in my quads. Stay calm and maintain no less than 12 mph until you can do better.”  I was truly on the verge of tears but had no energy for self-pity. Honestly. I pedaled into the wind and started a long conversation with my understanding of God.

I’m not sure how long I’d been pedaling when the Wicked Witch of the North sidled up next to me on a Nimbus 3000 she borrowed from someone from the House of Slytherin, “Come on now, you can do it”, she hisssssed.  I have seen this lady for about 3 years at various races and she’s always avoided my gaze, my smile, my efforts to reach out.  I was introduced to her just this morning and she barely managed a hello. I know half-ass when I see it.  I was taken aback by her sudden “encouragement”.  ”Come on and go with me, girlfriend.”  Girlfriend?!  Seriously?  We’re girlfriends now that you’re about to pass me on the bike?   “No”, I said, “You’re gonna have to go on without me.  This is all I got.” Ugh!  I swear I heard a snicker as she pedaled off.  Admittedly, I wondered how she fit everything on that tiny bike seat.  I accepted temporary defeat but visualized myself catching her on the run.  That’s a sign! I could actually see myself passing her on the run!  But I still had a long, long way to go.

The next entry will be mile 10 – 56! We’re almost to the finish line. You’ve been with me this long, don’t give up now! Please come back. Sincerely, Kinaya

Add vegetables to your daily diet! You don't have to give up ANYTHING, just add the veggies!

It’s time! The time is now!  Our first challenge of the year is a NUTRITION CHALLENGE!  I think we did pretty well last year. Personally, the Nutrition Challenge was a real eye-opener for me. I was made keenly aware of the lack of vegetables in my daily diet and that’s no good.  Vegetables are our medicine.  A plant-based diet is your first defense against disease, obesity and an inactive lifestyle.  As always, there are no guarantees but it’s been proven over and over again–everything begins with good nutrition! So, since there will never be an ideal time to start eating better, you may as well start right now!

This Nutrition Challenge is not about removing anything from your diet, it’s about adding the good stuff in.  Don’t deprive yourself!  As much as you want to do it, don’t make this too much about weight loss. I know it’s difficult not focus on weight loss but just remember that diets are temporary but good nutrition is forever.  Begin this challenge with the idea of adding more vegetables to your diet.  Begin with the idea of moving toward a more plant-based diet.  When you start including more nutritious foods (veggies!) in your daily plan, you will lose excess weight!

Before we begin, here are a few things that I think you should consider…

“I have never pursued health hoping for immortality. Good health is about being able to fully enjoy the time we do have. It is about being as functional as possible throughout our entire lives and avoiding crippling, painful and lengthy battles with disease. There are many better ways to die, and to live.” – T. Colin Campbell PhD

The facts are in, the majority of Americans live sedentary lives and are overweight.  According to the Centers for Disease Control, 80% of African-American women are overweight, 70% of Latinas, and 60% of Anglo women.  Yes, it’s bad news but it’s not the WHOLE story because you are in control of your own destiny.  You can reach your fitness goals if you can accept that:

Fitness is a lifestyle. It’s not something that you pick up and put down during bikini season, the New Year, or your class reunion.  It never stops.  It simply becomes who you are.  You’re fit, you’re in shape, you are health conscious.

80% of weight loss/fitness comes from proper nutrition. It’s difficult to accept this fact but it’s the truth.  You can exercise from sun up to sun down but if you don’t get your nutrition in check, you’ll be fighting the battle of the bulge and bad health for a long, long time.  “Sexy begins in the kitchen!”  And quite frankly, good health begins in the kitchen too!

You must choose FITNESS over weight loss. You can lose a bunch of weight and still be weak, unhealthy and out of shape.  Fitness is having a strong body that does what you want in an efficient manner.  You must build muscle and increase your cardiovascular power, otherwise, you’re just thin and weak.

You must have a plan and work the plan. Getting that fit, lean, strong body is the most difficult and wonderful thing you’ll ever do for YOURSELF and you MUST have a plan.  Don’t just think it, ink it!

This 6-week challenge represents the minimum that we must do for ourselves to achieve a healthy & fit lifestyle; it’s a great reality check!  The focus is on NUTRITION  and an OPTIONAL STRENGTH component.  Whatever your goals, to live a long healthy life, to fit into that sexy bikini, to “Wow!” them at your class reunion, or to make him/her regret letting you go, 80% of the formula is NUTRITION!  Also, lifting weights builds muscle and strong bones which are critical to aging gracefully and strongly!  So, let’s get started!

NUTRITION Challenge! Eat this each day, every day of the week.

Please eat your veggies and fruit in their most natural state.  Do your best!

HIGH FIBER cereal for breakfast.  You can add fruit!

2 servings of leafy green vegetables

2 additional servings of vegetables

2 servings of fruit

Replace one cup of coffee with the GREEN TEA of your choice.

BONUS: Don’t drink ANY sodas or other HIGH CALORIE beverages.

***STOP STOP STOP EATING BY 8:00 PM***

OPTIONAL STRENGTH Challenge! Do this 3x each week.

Warm up: 5 mins. of gentle cardio such as a brisk walk/run on the treadmill.

Build your foundation! (Repeat 2x)

The Bicycle (40) Push ups (12) The Plank (45 secs)

For Our First Lady, Michelle Obama, “You have the right to bare arms!”

Chest Press (2 sets/12 reps) Shoulder Press (2 sets/12 reps)

Biceps Curls (2 sets/12 reps) Triceps Kickback (2 sets/12 reps)

Cool down: 7 to 10 minutes of light stretching.

REMINDER!

Wayne Dyer says, “Never overestimate your ability to change someone else, and never underestimate your ability to change yourself.”  This challenge is about YOU!!!  Yes, I advocate GROUP training but if no one wants to join you, you must keep on truckin’!

We start on the Monday after Easter Sunday! Do the best you can. Don’t give up! Si se puede.

I'm out there somewhere!

For most first time and new triathletes, it’s all about the swim.  I am no different.  By now, the local watering holes where the races take place–Decker Lake, Town Lake, Mansfield Dam and Lake Pflugerville, are fairly familiar to me but no matter how often I encounter them, there is still that feeling of forboding and regret.  The Red Licorice Open Water Swim was at Mansfield Dam, where I train during tri season, but the water was almost a total stranger to me.  The reception was quite chilly–even for this Barton Springs girl! Oh, the dread I felt when I saw all that water stretched out before me.  It was as if I’d never done an open water swim. But at least Red Licorice was a wade in start, where you start from shore and walk or run into the water. Oftentimes, the swim starts in the water, in deep waters, where you have to jump in, very quickly, from a pier. We don’t love this!

It was 8:40 am and time for my wave, the final wave, to make it’s way to the edge of the pier.  I remember hearing Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” blaring from the shore.  I had a weird feeling about that.  I wondered if John made it to the spectator area. Although we couldn’t see one another, I knew he was thinking about me.  Tzatzil, my Tough Cookie coach, also in the 40 – 44 group, was still giving me instructions and trying to reassure me. I was amazed how she was able to focus on my race when hers was about to start in, “30 seconds, ladies!”, the announcer shouted with sadistic enthusiasm.  I followed Tzatzil and Kara, another Tough Cookie in our age group, out to the edge of the pier.  This was it.  Some jumped in right away, others, like me, looked for the best possible place to get in. Once we found the best, most non-scary entry, a guy from the swim support crew said, “No, ladies, you must get in over here.”  Ok, ok, ok. It’s time to get your mind right, Kinaya! There’s no way to finish the race if you don’t start the doggone race!  I looked for an open spot, hoped for the best and stepped off the pier.  Simply stepping off was enough to send me shooting straight down, despite my wetsuit. I extended my arms to my sides to stop my decent and prayed that no one jumped on top of me. I opened my eyes (wearing goggles) and could see no more than a few feet in front of me. Creepy!  The salty water of Offats Bayou was the color of champagne and coffee.  Anytime you see “bayou”, you can pretty much count on the murky water. The water was chilly but nothing compared to Barton Springs or the Red Licorice swim.  I swam over to the start which was designated by two gigantic orange buoys.  My coach was still giving me instructions up to 20 seconds before the start, “Kinaya, this is going to be great! You don’t even have to kick in this salt water! This is going to be an easy swim for you!”  I tried to match her energy and managed a, “Yes, ok…sure!”  The whistle, gun, whatever, went off, we said goodbye and I knew I wouldn’t see her again for a good long while.

I felt buyoant, literally, when I started to swim.  I knew quite well I could swim 1.2 miles within an hour and ten minutes but hoped to go faster to have extra time on the bike. I knew the swim was just an appetizer.  The swim was nothing compared to my first ever, 4 hour, nonstop bike ride, followed by a half marathon.  There was no reason or time to panic.  Just swim, just swim, swim.  Right then, after a few minutes of “just swimming” in place, my goggles began to fill with Offats Bayou.  Dread swept over me. I knew these damned goggles leaked.  They leaked throughout training and they leaked at Red Licorice, so why in God’s name would I wear them on the most important swim of my life?  I don’t know. I couldn’t ignore the water. I had to stop, empty them and readjust.  This was an enormous waste of time because the salt water and my wetsuit worked together to keep me horizontal; I had to fight to get vertical.  After precious seconds, I was ready to get going again.  My goal was to make it to the red buoy.  I had to hang a left there and it was where I’d be on the main straightaway. That’s generally where I get in the zone, not having to worry about the next turn for at least 40 minutes.  Just keep heading for the red buoy.  But once again, the goggles started to leak.  I had to remain calm. If I panicked, my day would end right here at the swim.  I struggled to get vertical. This time I tightened them even more.  I was on my way again but it was short lived.  It became painfully clear to me that my goggles were not going to cooperate.  This was a moment of reckoning. Is this how it’s going to be?  My day is going to end in the first 10 minutes of an 8 and a half hour race? Swim support came over to me on a paddle board.  He knew that I needed to hurry it up and start making forward progress or I wouldn’t make the cut off.  “Are your goggles fogging up?”, he asked.  ”No! They keep leaking!” I could hear the terror in my own voice and did not like it. It sounded like defeat, like quitting, like giving up.  I quick searched him with my eyes to see if he had any goggles. Nothing. Useless! I needed a solution and fast. “Sometimes your eyebrows get in the way and water seeps in”, he offered. Useful! I don’t know whether the eyebrows had anything to do with the leaky goggles but I made sure to avoid them this third time. I also said to myself and God/The Universe/Poseidon, “Ok, this cannot happen.  I need these goggles to stop leaking. I did not come this far to lose right here. If I have to swim this thing with burning salt water in my eyes, I will.  I don’t want to do it that way but I will, damn it!”  And that’s how it went. My goggles leaked just enough to annoy me but not enough for me to stop to empty them a fourth time.

I was so wrapped up in my goggles leaking, I didn’t have any energy to focus on the incessant scratching on the back right side of my neck. Good God! My wetsuit began to scratch at my neck something fierce. Why?!!!  I had already wasted so much time. There was no way I could afford the luxury of tugging at my wetsuit collar. But it continued to get worse and worse.  With every stroke, I felt the scratch and visualized the rough side of the velcro flap ripping my skin.  I thought about reaching back and unzipping it but there’s no telling where that would lead. I imagined the enormous drag that might occur from having an open wetsuit. I had to endure the scratching and burning.  I told myself to ignore.  When I couldn’t ignore it any longer, I had to embrace it.  And when the other side started  to scratch, I actually chuckled.

The swim became a struggle. The current kept pulling me way off course! It was incredible.  I had to make dramatic, costly course corrections several times.  I did so much course correcting that I was tempted to look at my watch but I really couldn’t waste the time.  My Red Licorice swim gave me confidence, however, I adjusted my goggles at least twice and swam way off course a lot but still made it in 56 minutes.  Maybe I’d finish this one on time.  Also, when I turned to breathe on my right side, the slight chop in the water caused me to take in burning salt water. I couldn’t believe it.

I never got into a real groove. I could feel my bad strokes–an S-type motion on the right and a weak, virtually nonexistent stroke on the left. I knew I could be better.  I vowed, once again, to focus on my swimming this season. Also, when a swimmer in my path yelled for help, of course, I had to look up.  Swim support came over but stopped right in front of me on his paddle board to chat withe her!  I thought, “So, you’re going to save her by sacrificing me? Not too bright!”  I was forced to swim around the entire scene which didn’t look like an emergency to me!  Eventually and miraculously, I was making progress again, still going off course but somehow forward.  I passed a few people.  I didn’t feel triumph as many do when they pass others, I felt compassion for them.  “What kind of day are you having if I’m passing you?”  Heck, I felt badly for them and sent over some positive energy which I could barely spare.

Finally, I saw the second red buoy, which meant I was turning toward the finish!  The finish is always deceptively far, I wasn’t going to fall for that trick but at least I knew it was there.  I could hear and see the shore and put my head down and kept going.  I swam off course for the 20th time and had to correct again. Oh, God. Would it ever end?!  I swam and swam and swam and sighted and swam.  Then I swam and swam and swam.  Finally, I swam up the ramp and there was no more swimming to do.  It was over. I felt like a ton of bricks but I made it.  I didn’t look at my watch.  I stopped it but don’t remember looking at it. It didn’t matter–or so I thought.

Thank you for stopping by! I’ve got a bike, a run, and an Ironman 70.3 wrap-up. I hope you check them out!

I wanted to hide in the jungle until after the race.

I’m going to tell you something that you’re not going to believe or understand–maybe.  The time limit for the Ironman 70.3 is 8 and a half hours. Here is exactly how it was written in my race packet which was emailed to me on March 17th: “The following cut-off times apply for each segment of the race. Swim: 1 hour and 10 minutes after the final wave start. Bike: 5 hours and 30 minutes after final wave start start. Run: 8 hours and 30 minutes after final wave start.” We read it over and over again to make sure we weren’t crazy.  Because it seemed to John and me that those poor suckers starting in the final wave would be the only ones truly adhering to the cut-off times.  You can imagine how I felt when I learned that my age group, women 40-44, would be starting in the final wave!  So, everyone starting before my wave would have additional time! Those closer one started to the final wave, the worse off they were!  For example, men 40-44, started the swim at 8:00 am and had “ Swim: 1 hour and 10 minutes after the final wave start”, to finish their swim.  Which means they had 40 more minutes than my wave to finish the swim!  I know. You don’t understand it and you don’t believe it.  Note: Many athletes are not concerned with these times because they complete each portion in plenty of time.  This is a concern to the slower athletes.

We went everywhere for an explanation but not only was the truth of our beliefs confirmed, the cut-off times were adjusted and I lost 19 minutes on a very sketchy 56 mile bike!  The race director informed us at the mandatory meeting that “You must complete your swim by 9:50 am.” Ok, I’m in the final wave, so nothing has changed for me, I still must be done with my swim in an hour and ten minutes but I can’t believe that someone starting the race before me will have more time.  Men, 30-35, start the swim at 7:40 am. They will have 2 hours and 10 minutes to complete the swim.  No matter how much I disbelieved it, it was true.  ”You must be at mile 48 of the bike by 1:18 pm.” Once again, it’s folks like me, slow, in the final wave and counting on every second who need to be concerned.  Personally, it seemed as if I was the only person interested in this new information.  “You must reach T2 (bike to run transition) by 1:51 pm.  Mile 10 of the run by 4:31 pm and finish the race by 5:20 pm.” Naturally, I was mortified and had to borrow the race director’s pen and get him to repeat everything so I could report it back to my husband.  I was too crazy to do the math myself.

John ran the numbers. Nothing changed on my swim and they actually gave me more time to finish the run but I lost precious minutes on the bike portion where I needed the time the most. It was like some bad Ironman horror movie!  How in the world could they change the numbers?  How could they only strictly apply to the last wave?  How could I be starting in the last wave?  My husband simply would not accept other groups having more time to finish than me. “How are they going to start the little old ladies in the final wave and make them work that hard?!”  Normally, that would earn him two chops to the throat but at the time, I was like, “Yeah! How?!”

We spoke with the race director. When my husband asked, “It looks as if everyone starting in the waves before the final wave has more time than them.”  The director responded, “I wish you wouldn’t look at it that way.”  I chimed in, “Well, if I’m on the bike and I miss the time I need you to cut me some slack. I should be easy to recognize.”  Race director, “Oh, you’ll be fine.”  Huh?!  Finally, my husband asked the big question, “What if she starts in an earlier wave, so she can have as much time as those particular athletes?”  ”She will be disqualified if she starts in an earlier wave.”  My husband doesn’t understand illogic, if you will.  I do.  ”Let’s go, Johnny.”

There’s was nothing left. This race was simply going to be the race from hell, most likely ending in failure. I was defeated, tired, and everything else. We returned to the room and ran the numbers. I would simply have to pedal harder. Oh, my poor husband! He felt so sorry for me. I needed to have a good swim and get some surplus time from that to use on my bike. The better my swim, the more time for my bike.  I needed to average 14.2 miles per hour to make the bike cut-off.  I only had to maintain a 15 minute mile to complete the run but in my heart, I couldn’t see myself necessarily making it to that point.  I tried to visualize but it wouldn’t come to me.

I zombied through our group dinner.  I had gained weight from my carbo-loading aka nervous eating.  I tried to be cheerful and hopeful. All I could do was my best. Maybe the 14 mph winds would die down to 10 mph? Please, Jesus?!  I won’t ask for anything else.  We went back to the room after dinner. I set out all my gear and supplies and set the clocks for 5:00 am.  John called for lights out at 10:00 pm.  I read the scripture Psalms 136.  I prayed for a Word and that’s were the Bible fell open.  ”Endureth” appeared so many times that I thought it was a sign from God!!!  It seems like he fell asleep immediately.  I lay awake until 3 am.  I got up and covered up all light sources and waited for 5:00 am.  Even if I didn’t sleep, I vowed not to get out of bed until 5:00 am.  By 5:40 am, John and I talked about a plan to try and see one another but that would all be on him. I kissed him goodbye and went downstairs to meet the other Tough Cookies.  God help us.

Thank you! I promise I’m getting to the good part! Please, please come back!