Maybe it's time to grow up a little?

So, I did this the other day...

It's not an awesome road burn from crashing on my bike.  I've actually been surprisingly fall-free this cycling season (only one "almost" fall last week where I unclipped just in time).

It's not an extremely precise and localized sunburn (don't worry mom and dad, I've been wearing my sunscreen every day).

It's not another paddle boarding injury.

It's not some sort of weird disease I picked up in Green Lake.

It's an oven burn.  From making toast.  In the oven.  Temperature set to high broil.  Because I don't have a toaster.

On Sunday, I was making this super delicious homemade brunch and had to toast my market-fresh baguette little pieces of toast.

It's was delicious despite the fact that I almost overcooked
the eggs while holding my singed arm under cold running
water.

While I was flipping one of those little pieces of bread over to toast the opposite side (because, you know, the broiler only toasts one side at a time), it slid right through the rack and dropped to the bottom.  Without thinking, I reached to catch it and my arm made full contact with the inside of the oven door.

Ouch.

And this isn't the first time.  A few months ago, I hit the top of the oven with the base of my thumb as I was making my pre-long run almond butter toast, leaving about a 1 inch burn.  Not nearly as bad as this forearm length doozy I've acquired, but still ridiculous nonetheless.

I've been staring at this burn for a couple days now and have come to a general conclusion: I need to grow up and buy a toaster.

Seriously, I need to just go to Fred Meyer or Target or some other cheap toaster-selling store and buy myself a $20 toaster that will keep my hands and forearms safe from overheated oven surfaces (don't worry, I'm not a baker).  But here's the thing: I probably won't.  At least probably not until I burn myself a third time.

And the point of all this rambling is this: while, generally, I consider myself to be an adequately mature and adult-like 29 year old, there are still some areas of my life where that early 20-something attitude has failed to mature.  In fact, I think there may be areas where I've regressed.  And seeing as the big three-zero is just six short months away, maybe it's time I take a closer look at these areas.

Because 30 is a big number, and as much as I'd like to tell myself that I won't be one of those people that freaks out about that nice round number, there's a small part of me that is one of those people.  Just a small part.

Watch out, here comes a list.

Lucy is sooooo excited.

Areas Where Tessa Could Stand For a Little Growing Up

1)  The toaster.  We discussed this.  Perhaps I will buy one by January 16th.  Perhaps not.  Either way, if I end up with 30 toasters as birthday presents come January, someone is going to wind up with a broken nose (haha, as if I'm capable of that).

2)  Taking the garbage out.  Or the recycling.  Or the compost.  Or even cleaning out the fridge.  Ugh, hate it.  I will try my best not to create garbage just because I don't want to take it out.  Let's call it my little way of helping with environmental conservation.  Or just laziness.

3)  Talking about "feelings."  I realize this doesn't quite make sense considering I write this blog expressing my feelings to the world.  But it's different.  You are sitting at your computer somewhere far far away, and the next time I see you (if I see you), I won't know if you've read this or not unless you mention it to me.  And if you mention it to me, I'll already have forgotten what I wrote about.  It is very easy to remove myself from the "fear of sharing feelings" thing when there's a computer screen between us.  And let's be honest...in this little blog you only get to see a small part of me when it comes to "feelings."  What I write here is a filtered snippet of my life, made entertaining enough for you to want to read.  You don't get all of me here.  Sorry.

4)  I ate Ramen noodles for dinner.  Actually, this one is kind of a fake though.  I bought Ramen noodles on a whim at the grocery store a couple weeks ago for the first time in years.  I've been doing quite well with my summer cooking goals so far.  But I thought it was funny that here I am writing a blog about immaturity, and I'm eating Ramen noodles.  The broke college student meal of champions.

5)  FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).  According to greatist.com, FOMO is now a research-based affliction brought on by social networks (ahem...Facebook) and affecting a large majority of 20-somethings.  Side affects include anxiety and depression.  I had big problems with FOMO even before the days of Facebook (picture a college summer, 2 unemployed roomies drinking all day and wandering the streets of NYC while I worked endless boring hours as a lifeguard).  While my anxiety due to this sad affliction has greatly diminished throughout the years, it still exists at some level.

6)  Waiting.  I am a child when it comes to waiting.  I hate waiting in line.  Waiting for someone to show up.  Waiting for something to happen.  I need things to happen right now according to my schedule and desires.  Selfish and immature?  Perhaps.  That's why we're talking about it.

7)  Lazy couch days.  As physically active as I am, I love myself a lazy couch day just as much as any teenager.  I may feel guilt pangs as I do it, but I will sit all day on the couch at least once every couple weeks.  Lazy Sundays are my favorite.

Lucy loves a good lazy couch day too.  As long as she
gets a walk at some point in the day.  Which cuts into
my lazy couch day, but I try not to get too upset.

8)  Saturdays "out."  Back in college, we'd go out just because it was Saturday.  Or Friday.  Or Thursday.  Or sometimes Tuesday.  No big events, it was just time to go out.  While I limit it now to just a night a week, I still enjoy a good night out at the bars with my friends.  I've been told I'm supposed to outgrow this.  I suppose when I have reason to, I will.

Actually, looking back on this little list, I'd say I'm not so bad.  I know lots of 30 plussers that hold tight to many of these.  And I think I have a lot going for me in the maturity department.

So screw it.  I'm not buying a toaster.

I'm fine just the way I am.

Ragnar Relay Northwest Passage Recap: How to fall in love with running again (Part 2)

Superstars Van 2, bright eyed and bushy tailed on Friday afternoon.

When we left off yesterday, I was just taking off on my 2nd leg at 2am.  If you haven't read Part 1 yet, I advise doing so before you move on.

Second Run: Leg #19, 8.7 miles

Going on an hour or so of disjointed sleep on a hard floor, I was full of nerves going into this run.  It was my longest, hardest, and hilliest run of the three.  Just look as this elevation chart:

According to Garmin, an elevation gain of 749 ft, with a loss of 712 ft.
Up and down, up and down.

This run was the biggest unknown for me, for so many reasons:

1)  The temperature: I had no idea what the temperature would feel like in the middle of the night.  I packed a short sleeve, some arm sleeves, and a long sleeve for this run just in case.  I brought my pair of long capris.  In the final moments, I decided to go with the long sleeved shirt because I had been freezing by the time Erica finished up her first run just before 10pm.  I figured it had only gotten colder.  

2)  The getting lost thing.  If I made a wrong turn or missed a turn, I'd be lost in the dark in the middle of nowhere somewhere in the Swinomish Indian Reservation (didn't know at the time that's what it was, researched later).

3)  The dark.  I was both excited and nervous to be running in the dark.  I'd read bloggers who had run other Ragnars before who claimed that they simply loved their night run.  It was the absolute best.  I was looking forward to learning the joys of running in the dark, alone, in the middle of the night.  But I was also going to be in the dark, alone, in the middle of the night.  Nightmares commence.

4)  The potential for injury or abduction (see reference to nightmares above).  I didn't know what kind of light I'd have on the roads I would be on, so the odds of stepping in a pothole or turning an ankle on the side of the road were greatly increased.  Also, the whole darkness and lack of other people thing only contributes to fears of the sexual predator who must be hiding in the ditch up around the next curve (note to anyone who takes these fears seriously: you are never really alone--there are other runners around you and teams of vans constantly driving by, in addition to the volunteers placed strategically on corners).

5)  The hills and the distance. While I can say that I had 749 ft of hills to climb, I can't really envision it.  As much as I climb hills and pay attention to elevation, all I know is that 749 ft of climbing is a lot.  I also was worried about going too fast or pushing too hard, because my third leg was another 8.4 miles and I needed energy in reserve for it.

6)  The tummy.  I had eaten randomly, sporadically, and not according to any diet I was used to most of the day and into the night.  There are no port-a-potties between exchanges.  8.7 miles is a long way.  Enough said.

There was a lot to be worried about.

The run started by weaving me through La Conner, across the Swinomish Channel, and into the Indian Reservation.  All fears of getting lost were immediately forgotten as I remember that the directional Ragnar signs had very bright red LED lights blinking at the top of them that you could see from a mile away.  They were literally impossible to miss.  Also, I felt like the route was marked much more frequently and there were more volunteers guiding you through tricky turns.  I'm assuming Ragnar does this on purpose for legs that most people will run at night.  You'd think these Ragnar people had done this before or something...

As soon as I entered the Indian Reservation, I found myself on a tree-lined road with no street lights and nothing around.  I passed a runner or two and a runner or two passed me.  Usually I could see the blinking taillights of someone up ahead or turn back and see the headlamp of someone behind.  But we were spaced far enough apart that generally I felt alone.  In a really good way.

It only took me about 2 miles to realize that running in the pitch black quiet of night was exactly how all those other bloggers described it.  AMAZING.  Life-affirming.  Quiet.  Calm.  Peaceful.  The essence and complete existence of the void.

I decided at that point that hills didn't matter, time didn't matter, and pace didn't matter.  I decided to stop looking at my Garmin and run solely based on feel.  If it felt good, I'd keep going.  If it didn't, I'd slow down.  Whatever my body wanted to do, I would listen.  It was in charge.

I slowly began to realize one of the greatest benefits of running in pitch black.  With your headlamp on, you can only see about 10 feet in front of you.  Which means that you can't see the hills coming.  And when you feel the grade of the road begin to rise under your feet, you have no idea how high that hill is or how much further you have to go.  You just run.  Without the worry or fear or mental battle that comes along with staring a hill in the face.  You can't stare that hill in the face, because you can't see it.  All you can do is go with it.

When I hit the hills, I climbed them with ease.  And when the downhills came, I felt like I could fly.  Because I didn't know how long those downhills would be either.  So I enjoyed them with every little bit of myself that I could.

At one point, I took a glimpse at my watch, just to check how far I was into the run and it told me I'd gone 6.4 miles.  I literally couldn't believe it.  No way I had gone that far already.  I thought my Garmin had malfunctioned in the dark and was suddenly lying to me.  But it wasn't.  I had just soared my way through the most amazing 6 miles of running that I'd had in a very long time.

And the temperature...perfect.  I haven't had a nice cool run in over a month.  It felt great to be running in mid-50 temps again.

When I hit a long, slow downhill, I tried my best to hold myself back.  I had one more run to think about.  But it was hard.  I saw the "one mile to go" sign (Ragnar doesn't mark every mile on the legs, they just tell you when you have 1 mile left), and I smiled.  Literally.  Like the biggest smile ever.  I almost didn't want it to end.  It felt like every runner's high I'd ever experienced paled in comparison to this one.  It doesn't get better than that.

And then, out of the darkness I rounded a corner and saw the next exchange.  I uncurled the slap bracelet, attempted to wipe it down a bit on my shirt, and then passed it on to Jessie for her next leg.

Then it was over.  And I was on a high like I couldn't believe.  I floated back down to Earth and checked my splits.

A bit all over the place, but that comes with "running by feel" on hills.

Then I smiled again.  I honestly didn't think I was maintaining any sort of "fast" pace because I felt so great.  But an 8:23 average for a 8.7 mile run?  I'll take that with a smile.

The In-Between: from leg 19 to 31

After getting Jessie going on her next leg, we hopped along a ways on her leg to check on her before she went into a long stretch of miles without van support.  I was awake for that.  I stayed awake for her hand-off to Ana.  And then I started nodding off in the back of the van.  Over the next several exchanges, I slept off and on, waking up fully or slightly every time the van stopped.  I overheard conversations as if I was in a bubble, and even participated in a few sleepy-eyed conversations between wake-ups.

Finally, Erica was off on her 8.9 mile leg to finish out our second round of legs.  I peeled myself out of the van at the major exchange and saw the sympathetic expressions of the girls from van 1 as I approached, sleepy-eyed and disheveled.

After Van 1 took off, we drove straight to the next major exchange at Coupeville High School (again no idea where that is).  Kevin, our very amazing driver, went straight to the gym to pass out for the full 3 hours we had of down time.  The rest of us cleaned up in the locker room and headed to the cafeteria for an eggs, bacon (not for me), and pancake breakfast.  And coffee, which served two great purposes.  One was to wake me up a bit.  You can guess at the other.

After eating we moved back to the gym to attempt some sleep, but Erica and I had both nodded off in the van for quite a while and were a little too amped up to get any sleep.  We sat on top of our sleeping bags, chatting, deliriously laughing, and trying to stretch out our cramped legs.

Over-exhausted runners trying to get sleep on a way
too well lit hard gym floor.

The gym started emptying slowly and time started to dwindle.  Before long, Erica and I gave up on trying to get any sort of rest and made our way back out to the van so I could prep for my last run.

*Side note on the amazingness of runners and good people in general: It was here that Erica realized she had left her bag, filled with Garmin, credit card, ID, and lots of other essentials in the cafeteria.  After failing to find it, Erica found Ana (who was listed as an emergency contact on her RoadID, which was in the bag) and Ana had received a call from a guy who had found the bag.  He had moved on already, but he turned it in to lost and found at the finish line and Van 1 reclaimed it for us at the end of the race.  A potential disaster avoided thanks to a really nice guy who we never met.

I refilled my water belt, packed my GU, and Bodyglided up (yes, in a parking lot where others could see...we were all delirious runners and I'm pretty sure no one cared when they saw me stick my hand down my pants).  Van 1 came rolling in and we all met for the final major exchange.

It wasn't long before Hans came barreling into the exchange (he only had a 2.4 mile leg and was booking it).

Just look at him flying past me.  He did manage to successfully get the
slap bracelet on my wrist though.  Then I stepped back to get out of his way.

And then I was off on my last leg.

Third Run: Leg 31, 8.4 miles

Again, this run was a mental worry at the beginning.  I was running the most mileage of any of the other 12 runners, and this was the leg where it showed.  While most everyone else had somewhere between 3 and 6 miles to run, I had another 8+ miler to face.  With more hills.

Two big guys with some nice flats in between.

It was about 11am when I took off.  It had been foggy and cool all morning, and luckily the cloud cover was holding strong.  I started off feeling stiff and tired, so I reminded myself to slow down and to try my best to enjoy this one at least a fraction as much as I enjoyed the last one.  

This leg was beautiful.  I started by running on some flats through some farmlands (cows, sheep, the lovely smell of manure).  I gradually made my way downhill towards the water and got a beautiful view for a little while along the beach.

Then I climbed a hill.  A really steep hill.  See that one up there just past mile 2?  It may look small on that little elevation chart, but it sucked.  As I climbed it, I reminded myself of the Nike Women's Marathon back in October.  It had some tough hills.  I climbed them.  Then I recovered on the downhills and went on to PR.  I intended to follow the same sort of pattern here.

As I climbed, I passed a girl that seemed to be really struggling.  I tried to give her encouraging words, and despite the fact that she shrugged them off without a word (I don't blame her, I get very grumpy on hills too), it helped push me up the hill just a little harder.

Once I got to the top, I ran along through a state park and tried to get fully recovered.  I fully enjoyed my long downhill, which dropped me off onto a "Scenic Parkway" (I was with it enough to actually read the sign).  Suddenly I was surrounded by water on both sides with nothing but flat ahead of me for a couple miles.  I tried my best to absorb the scenery, enjoy the view, and love the run.  I didn't love it as much as my night run, but I was still happy to be there doing exactly what I was doing.

This is not to say that I wasn't struggling.  My legs were tired.  My body was tired.  I was thirsty and drank a lot of what I had in my water belt.  I was completely encouraged by all the vans that drove by me cheering, whether they were my team or not.

As I came around a turn at mile 7, my team was there waiting for me and seeing them was just what I needed to make it up the final hill.  Because, yes, it was a mile-long uphill finish.  And I had very little left in me.

As I ran, I had to stare that hill in the face for a while.  No dark of night disguised this one.  I was tired.  I was done.  I only had a mile to go.  And I had the taste of the disappointment of the RNR Marathon in my mouth.  I would not give up on this hill.  I would not lose my fight here.

So as I hit the base of the hill with exhausted legs, mind, and body, I easily found my mantra. "Fight."  All the way up the hill, I chanted with every breath, "fight, fight, fight, fight."  There was a girl in a pink shirt about a quarter mile ahead of me.  I wanted so badly to catch her.  I gave everything I had to catch her.  I couldn't do it though.  But I realized in the act of trying that I had given everything I had to give.  I couldn't catch her, because I didn't have anything left to give.  I had fought with every ounce of energy I had left.  It felt amazing.

I didn't stop on the hill.  I ran the whole way.  I gave it everything I had.  I fought to the finish.  I passed that slap bracelet.  And then I was done.  20.7 miles.  Done.

And then, after a minor celebration in my head, it was back in the van and on to finish off the last 5 legs of the race.

Leg 3 splits.  I went out fast (oops), tried to enjoy it all through the middle,
and pushed as hard as I could up the final hill.

The Finish: Leg 31 to the end!

I crammed my tired, sore legs back into the van after about a minute of stretching and cheered on the rest of the crew as they finished off their legs.  It's great to see the looks on faces as they finish and realize they're done.  One by one, we all finished.

Erica had the last leg.  We raced the van to the finish line, scrambled to gather the rest of our team and met Erica just as she was about to cross.  The whole team ran through the finish together (a great tradition at Ragnar, everyone finishes together).  We finished somewhere around 28 hours, but official times aren't posted yet.  However, with scientific mathematical calculations, that puts us at about an 8:30 average overall for the team.  I think that should put us fairly up there in the rankings.

Team Superstars (plus a couple photobombers in the back) DONE!  It hurt
a lot to do the Superstar lunge here, but we did it anyways.  And yes, I'm
wearing compression sock and flip flops.  I dare you to judge.

At the finish, we celebrated, had some pizza (yep, I was hungry enough to eat a piece), drank a beer, admired our medals, shared some stories, and then made our way home.

Erica, me, and Ana.  First time Ragnar finishers.  And the
medal doubles as a bottle opener.  Kind of awesome.

In Conclusion:

This race took a lot of organization, a lot of planning (our team met 3 times over the few months before the race), a lot of energy, and a lot of time.

Would I do it again?

DEFINITELY.

See you next year.

Ragnar Relay Northwest Passage Recap: How to fall in love with running again (Part 1)

Team Superstars: Van 2!

Me and running haven't been on the best of terms since the Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon.  I've had a few mediocre runs and one or two pretty good runs, but in general haven't really been doing a ton of running in the past month.  My focus has been diverted to swimming and cycling as I prep for my first half-Iron distance triathlon.

And Seattle heat (lots of days near or above 80) hasn't really helped.  I'm a baby when it comes to running in the heat and hate how slow it makes me feel.

But this weekend, at Ragnar Relay Northwest Passage, I fell in love with running again.  I ran in late afternoon heat, middle of the night coolness, and late morning cloud cover.  I ran on a trail through Bellingham, tree-lined roads of an Indian Reservation, and along a beautiful stretch of coast in Fort Casey somewhere north of Langley on Whidbey Island.  I ran uphills, downhills, and flats.  And I found my fight again in the last couple miles.

I spent 28 hours in a large suburban with 5 other runners and an awesome driver.  I slept very little, ate in fits and starts, and learned how to expertly climb in and out of the back row of a suburban.

And I loved every minute of it.

It doesn't just look like I'm flying.  It felt that way too.

*For those of you who don't know what Ragnar Relay is, here's a quick synopsis that will clear things up.

Pre-race preparations:

It's not easy to pack for Ragnar.  You need 3 complete running outfits, clothes for staying warm in the van, toiletry neccessities, snacks that will give you sustenance but not kill your tummy for the next run, sleeping supplies, safety gear, running fuel, and countless other little items.  You have to remember to pack everything, but not overpack because you are going to be crammed into a van with 5 other runners and all their gear too.

Luckily, before starting to pack, my blogger self searched the internet and found this awesome packing list by a blogger I've never read, but totally appreciated.  Packing each outfit in a separate gallon sized ziploc proved to be extremely useful and the baby wipes were absolutely necessary between runs.  Everything on this list was necessary and nothing was left out.  Huge relief when it came time to pack.

All the essentials.

Race Day: Getting There

From what I could tell (based on bib numbers), there were close for 400 teams of runners that completed Ragnar NWP.  Multiply 400 teams by 2 vans each and 12 runners, and that equals...a lot of people and vans (I only do first grade math).  Smartly, Ragnar staggers team starts over half a day on Friday, with the earliest start time at 6:30am and the latest at 2:30pm.  Start times are determined by the overall pace of your team, with the faster teams starting later in the day and what I assume would be the general goal of getting every team across the finish line within a reasonable number of hours on Saturday.

Our team had a fairly late start time at noon.  Van 1 started off the team (obviously), which put van 2 at an estimated start time of 5pm.  Because of such a late start, the runners in Van 2 decided to meet at a park and ride in Everett to head up to Bellingham around 1pm.  I have mixed feelings about this.  It was weird to hang around all morning, just waiting to get going.  I felt as if the whole day was spent just waiting to start.  I can't even imagine what it must have felt like for Erica as runner #12 not having her first run until about 9pm.

By the time we jigsaw puzzled ourselves and all of our gear into the van and got on the road, we made it up to the first major exchange in Bellingham somewhere between 3 and 3:30.  Once we were there, we took some time to decorate the van.

One of the best parts of the race is seeing all the other decorated vans and
fun team names.  Some teams keep a tally of "road kills" on the side of the van,
adding up all the people they passed along the way.  Some teams even go
around "tagging" other vans (we had about 5 or 6 extra tags by the end).

After decorating, we headed over to our 10 minute safety briefing.  Ragnar is very strict when it comes to safety procedures (thankfully--I could see bad things happening if they weren't).  For instance, EVERY runner/driver outside the van during night hours (9pm-6:30am) must be in a reflective vest.  If you are running at night, you must have on a reflective vest, headlamp, and taillight.  They provide every team with orange flags for crossing the street and are specific about only letting vans pull over in safe areas.  They work on a "3 strikes you're out" system, except when it comes to things like night-time gear.  Your team can be immediately disqualified for neglecting to wear what's required.

After the safety briefing and registration for our van, we did a little more waiting and I started prepping for my first run.  Being runner #7, I was the first one out for our van.  With all the waiting, I actually started to get a little nervous.  My first leg was nothing big, but for some reason the nerves of the encroaching unknown started kicking in.  Would I make a wrong turn?  Get lost?  Get hurt?  Get over-heated?  It's different from a normal race start because you're out there pretty much on your own, occasionally passing or being passed by another runner.  However, I was happy about the nerves.  Nerves are a good thing for me.  Nerves make me run fast and fight harder.

Finally, right around 3:45 van 1 pulled in saying runner #6 was on his way.  I was more than ready to go.

Ready and waiting.  Fake Ragnar tattoo and everything.

First Run: Leg #7, 3.7 miles

My first leg was a short one, but it was hot.  In Seattle and the Pacific Northwest, the real heat of the day seems to hit right around 4 or 5 o'clock.  My starting time.  I could feel the heat just waiting at the start line. But when I saw runner #6 come barreling in, I had to get going, whether it was hot or not.

The first hand-off.  Hans and I had never met before, so we had to rely on
our teammates to recognize that we were on the same team.

To "hand off" to another team, Ragnar uses a slap bracelet (remember those, from the 80's?).  You take it off and slap it onto the next runner to make the exchange.  I'd been warned that the bracelets get pretty disgusting, but as sweaty Hans came running up and slapped the bracelet onto my wrist, it actually splashed.  I tried not to cringe and took off for my first leg.

It started by weaving from the exchange at Bellingham High School through the streets of what I think was downtown Bellingham (pretty cute, kind of reminded me of downtown Buffalo in a way) towards Bellingham Bay.

Corners and turns are marked by waist-high Ragnar markers that tell you to stay straight or turn, and also indicate which side of the road you should be on (most of the time heading into traffic).  There were a couple of intersections right there at the beginning where I didn't see any signs and got a little nervous but just stayed straight if I didn't see anything.  Also somewhat disconcerting while running through the city was stoplights.  I actually had to stop and wait at crosswalks, which felt kind of weird while "racing."  I only got stopped by one or two though and wasn't stopped for long.

As I came up onto Bellingham Bay, I was directed onto a trail that ran along the water and was actually quite pretty.  I stayed on this trail for the majority of the run, before heading back onto the streets in the last half mile for the exchange and a slightly uphill finish.

It took me a while to get my legs going on this run.  They felt stiff and it didn't help that I was hot and drenched in sweat within the first half mile.  Thankfully, I had decided to carry one of the bottles from my water belt on the run.  I drank almost the entire bottle of Gatorade and was grateful to have it.  For the middle half of the run, I started feeling that awful knot in my stomach that plagued me during the second half of the RNR Marathon.  It panicked me for a moment, but I tried my best to ignore it and eventually it went away.  I crossed my fingers that it didn't return on my other two runs.

I saw just 3 other runners on the entire run, and all 3 of them were passing me.  Not exactly an ego-boost either.

I tried my best to keep my power going up the final hill and finished off the run feeling only half-hearted about it.  It didn't feel great, but I was excited to have gotten through the first run without any major catastrophes.  I slapped the bracelet onto Jessie, runner #8, and smiled.

Expert exchange #1.  Also, there's a sample of the
little blue signs that kept me from getting lost the
entire race.

Then came the hardest part of Ragnar.  After you've run your leg, given it your all, and are nice and sweaty, there's no down time.  It's back in the van and on to support the next runner or to the next exchange.  No time for stretching, cooling down, or generally decompressing.  Back in the cramped van you go, sweat and all (this is where a towel came in handy, spread out on the seat underneath you).

Once I was back in the van, I got a chance to look at my watch and check my splits.  As soon as I did this, all doubts about the run vanished.

Turns out, I was running pretty fast. 8:17 overall pace even with the slow-
down on the final hill is something I'm proud of.

All of a sudden I started hoping I wouldn't regret that burst of speed in the next 2 legs, and the nerves reappeared once again.

The In-Between: from leg 7 to 19

After I was back in the van, I got to experience the excitement of getting to the next location in time.  In some instances, this meant a stop for van support along the leg (pulled over on the side of the road or into a parking lot) and other times it meant just going straight on to the next exchange.  We had an amazing driver (Jessie's husband Kevin) who got us where we needed to go in time without any hiccups throughout the entire race.  Most of the time Jessie was next to him in the front seat navigating as he steered around a large suburban packed from top to bottom and filled with nervous, adrenaline-filled runners.  On any given leg, we climbed in and out of the car anywhere from 1-4 times.  Anytime we passed one of our runners on the road, windows were down and we were cheering.

We watched and cheered on exchange after exchange (Jessie to Ana, Ana to Trevor, Trevor to Julie, and Julie to Erica) as I sat and stewed in my sweaty, salt-stained clothes snacking all the way.

Finally, Erica closed out leg #12 at the next major exchange as she passed the slap bracelet back to our first runner in Van 1 and the whole cycle started again.

While Van 1 was out running, Van 2 had some down time.  I was feeling the desire to eat real food as soon as possible because I would have to be running again in a few hours and wanted as much time to digest as possible.  It was about 10 o'clock at night in the middle of Burlington, WA (do you know where that is?  I don't), and most of the restaurants we wanted to eat at were shut down.  So we ended up at Red Robin.  I ate a chicken burger, and Erica, Ana, and I decided some beers would be just what we needed to unwind and hopefully put us to sleep for a couple hours.

Tasty, pretty beers.

We ate as fast as we could then piled back into the van to head to the next major exchange where Van 1 would eventually meet us around 2am.  Each major exchange (major exchange=exchanges between vans) was housed at high schools.  The high schools were opened, gym locker rooms available for changing/showering, cafeterias serving food (wish we had realized this before Red Robin, but that's ok), and large expanses of floor available for sleeping.

This exchange was at a high school in La Conner, WA that happened to have carpeted hallways, which was kind of nice.  After changing into fresh clothes (my next set of running clothes) and wiping down with some baby wipes, we spread out our sleeping bags on the floor, hoping to catch a couple hours of sleep.

I managed some off and on, not-so-great-quality sleep.  I asked Jessie, who was in contact with the other van, to wake me up about a half hour before I had to start running.  She didn't need to though.  As I slept, I kept getting this dreadful feeling that I was sleeping through my exchange, or I was late for the start and Van 1 was all standing there waiting for me questioningly.  And I was nervous about running in the dark.  I'm not sure I ever truly fell asleep.

At one point, Jessie saw me tossing and turning and told me I had about 45 minutes.  So as everyone else attempted a little more sleep, I got up, packed up, put my contacts back in, night-geared up, and filled water belt bottles back at the van.  I wanted to be ready.  Everyone else poured out of the school about 15 minutes before the exchange.  Van 2 came rolling into the parking lot and we all headed to the actual exchange.

And then, all of a sudden, Hans was there slapping the slap bracelet my long-sleeve-covered wrist (so no cringing) and I was off on my next leg.

Which happened to be far and above the most amazing run I've had in my near memory.

You may not be able to see me or Hans, but you can certainly
see than reflective safety gear!

I'll tell you all about it next time.

Looking for the void

If you have any (even one) runner friend on any sort of social website, you probably saw this amazing cartoon by The Oatmeal posted at some point today.  If you didn't, read it now.  Read all 6 parts.

I'll wait.

Done?  Ok, welcome back.

Here's my favorite part:

"I run because I seek that clarity.  Maybe it's superficial.  Maybe it's just adrenaline and endorphins and serotonin flooding my brain.  But I don't care.  I run very fast because I desperately want to stand very still.  I run to seek a void.  The world around me is so very, very loud.  It begs me to slow down, to sit down, to lie down.  And the buzzing roar of the world is nothing compared to the noise inside my head.  I'm an introspective person, and sometimes I think too much, about my job and my life.  I feed an army of pointless, bantering demons.  But when I run, the world goes quiet."

Seriously, if you haven't read it yet go do it.  The cartoons are just as important as the words.

If anyone ever again asks me why I run (or why I run so much), I will silently text them the link to that cartoon and then walk away without speaking.  Said person may initially think I am weird, anti-social, and rude.  But they'll get it eventually.

Here's the one thing he left out though: sometimes, on some days, no matter how far or fast you run, it doesn't happen.  You don't hit the void and you don't feel the quiet.  This happened when I ran a marathon 3 weeks ago, for example.

But, the one thing I've learned about running (and stated here many a time) is that some days just aren't your day.  I've been a runner for long enough and run enough races to know that the next day, I'll get there.  And if not, then the next day.  Eventually, it will all be worth it.

I trust running.  As unreliable as it may be on a day to day basis, it has always been 100% reliable for me over time.

Me, loving running.  At least I think so, it's a very old
picture and I don't remember how I was feeling on this
particular day.  But I look happy.

Triathlon training is different.  Now that my "I'm training for a triathlon!!" high has worn off a little, I'm realizing it's kind of hard.

I don't know how anybody trains for a triathlon while working a full time job.  I feel like my job is training right now.  If I ever decide to swallow the largest crazy pill and train for an Ironman, I will have to choose one that is perfectly timed for me to do peak training during the summer when I'm on vacation.

I don't trust cycling and swimming the way I trust running.  I trust swimming a little more than cycling, but I haven't been doing it enough in the past couple years to really trust it.  Me and swimming and cycling, we're all trying to figure out how we work together cohesively.

I realized after reading that super-amazing cartoon today, that the problem I'm currently having with swimming and cycling is that I haven't gotten to the point where I hit the void.  When I'm cycling, I'm constantly worried about how fast I'm going, what gear I'm in, how much my butt hurts, or whether the car turning up ahead is going to cut out in front of me and send me tumbling.  When I'm swimming, I'm worried about the lake monster that is going to appear slowly from the depths of Green Lake and silently take me under.  And more legitimately, I'm constantly trying to determine if I'm swimming in the right direction and wondering if I'm swimming too far out--will I be too tired on the way back in?

That water may look serene and pristine, but in reality it's green and brackish
and hiding a family of lake monsters covered in warts that are no where near
as friendly as I imagine Nessie the Loch Ness Monster to be.

I wish I had started this blog 5 years ago when I started running, so I had a record of my thoughts the way I do now.  Did I love running right away (doubt it)?  Did I get really discouraged on the bad days?  Just how elated was I on the good days?  Did I experience the same extreme ups and downs of daily exercise?  How clueless did I really feel?  When did I realize that the benefits of running far outweighed all the tough stuff?  Or that the tough stuff is exactly what makes running so amazing?  When did I learn that taking pride in the fight was the best part?

Because right now, I just feel tired.

Here's the past few days' training recap:
Thursday: 40 minute Boot Camp (lots of push ups, squats, lunges, etc.) followed by an easy 3 mile run.  Then a half mile Green Lake swim.  By the end of the day I was sore and exhausted.
Friday: 60 mile bike ride from my apartment out to Marymoor (to eat the most amazing bagels in the world) and back.  It was mostly flat, but I started off with really sore legs from Boot Camp and I was fully spent by the end.
Saturday: guilt-free rest day
Sunday:  5 mile run.  Again, I felt slow and I was dragging.  I felt like it was all I could do to keep my pace even close to a 9 min/mile (this could also partially be attributed to the extreme Seattle heat at 2pm and the fact that I was kind of dehydrated and hurting from the previous evening's festivites).
Today: 38 mile hilly bike ride out to Mercer Island, around it, and back.  This included 3,000+ feet of elevation gain.  While I enjoyed speeding around the rolling hills on Mercer Island, I was still really tired.  And I was riding with Ironman Jason and Ironman Annemarie (why do I have so many friends who are Ironmen?), both of whom are currently training for another Ironman, and both of whom are much faster than me on the bike.  So not only did I feel tired, but I felt like I was their lead foot.

And then when I got back from the ride, instead of having that awesome, accomplished, post-ride afterglow, I just felt tired and run down.  Is there such a thing as a biker's high?  If there is, I don't think I've ever experienced it.

I'm trying to keep in mind that prior to Friday's 60 miler and today's (rounding up) 40 miler, I had only been on the bike a total of 5 times this summer with my longest ride being just 30 miles.  I'm trying to remind myself that that would be like running 5 times after a few months off, then doing a half marathon and being disappointed in myself for feeling tired.  That's just silly.

The hardest part I've found about actually training for a triathlon is following the training plan.  I'm amazing at following training plans for running.  Because for running, all I need at the bare minimum is me and my shoes.  I know what I need to do, and I know when I'm pushing it too hard.  I know exactly how fast I want to/should be going and I know how to rest my body when it needs it.  I know how to listen to my body when I'm running, interpret its signals, and give it what it needs.

But for swimming and cycling, I feel clueless.  How far is too far?  How fast should I be going?  Am I just tired or am I bonking?  When and how do I fuel adequately?  How many times a week should I be swimming?  Am I exhausted because I'm doing too much, or am I exhausted because I had a good workout?

I'm also still in the mode where I really want training partners.  I don't want to do a 3 hour bike ride by myself.  I want a fellow swimmer in Green Lake with me so that someone knows I'm missing when the monster family snatches me.  But that also leaves me at the mercy of coordinating schedules with my summertime training buddies.  Most of the time, this works out great, but sometimes I want to swim when they can't.  Or I don't really want to bike that far, but I will because they are.

And there's the fact that I'm not really following a training schedule at all closely.  I have an outline for one, but I haven't looked at it more than 2 or 3 times.  I don't even know what week I'm supposed to be on.  I'm just keeping 3 swims, 3 runs, and 3 bikes a week on my mind.  I'm increasing my own intensity and length, but not according to any particular schedule.

Basically, I'm a horrible example of how to train for a triathlon.

When it comes down to it, I know that I can swim 1.2 miles.  I know that I can bike 56 miles (I did more than that on Friday).  And I certainly know that I can run a half marathon.  I am also fairly confident that I can do all 3 on the same day.  The big unknown for me is how much it is going to hurt.  How hard is it actually going to be?  People I know who have done half-Irons tell me that they're easier than running a marathon, but that's not really the best comparison for me.  Because running a marathon is really, incredibly hard.  There are a lot of things that are "easier" than running a marathon, but still monstrously difficult.

How am I going to deal with the mental battle of the race?  How much mental training do I need to do and how hard am I going to have to fight?  That's the scariest unknown.

I think I need to buckle down, reset, and refocus.  I need to actually look at the training plan, reassure myself that I'm doing ok, and relax.  This is my first major triathlon, and I want to have fun with it.  In my last marathon, I forgot to have fun and I think that's a big part of what did me in.  For this, I want to enjoy it.  I have no time goals or restrictions.  I just want to get out there and do it and feel it and have fun with it.  And then pat myself on the back and smile.

Because at the end of it all, "Demons are forgotten.  Krakens are slain.  And blerches are silenced."  What could be so difficult about that?

Relationship status: It's complicated

Remember when that was an option for relationship status on Facebook?  Maybe it still is, I don't know.  Even me, someone who chooses to tell her life story for the World Wide Web ("www"--that actually meant something once too), wouldn't ever choose to set my relationship status to "it's complicated."

Unless it was a joke, which I think is how most people used it when we were back in our undergrad days at the beginning of Facebook.

Anyways, today I'd like to address a complicated relationship I'm having.

With food.

Beautiful food.  We used to get along so well.

I love food.  I really do.  Like...LOVE food.  But right now, we seem to be having a difficult time.

Me and food have always gotten along really well.  I mean, I've at least never had a bad relationship with food.  Although, that's from my perspective.  I'm not the one being eaten.

As a child, I was one of those "weird" kids that actually liked to eat healthy.  When we went to the grocery store to pick out snacks, I went straight for the baby carrots and ranch dressing.  And cherry tomatoes.  I could (and still can) eat an entire box of cherry tomatoes in one quick sitting.  I was picky when it came to candy--I would only eat Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and I think that was because they have peanut butter in them (although I don't really believe it's actually made from peanuts).  You couldn't get me near an M&M or Snickers bar or really anything that had much chocolate in it--unless there was peanut butter too (see above).

I didn't like ice cream.  I'd eat two spoonfuls and then pass the rest off to the nearest sibling or parent.  This may have been a lactose issue that I've recently acknowledged, but we'll discuss that in a bit.

I didn't like pizza.  I still don't really like pizza, even though I'll eat it sometimes now.  I don't like the mass of cheese that slips and slides around in a sheet on top of the tomato sauce.  If there's no sauce and only a minimal amount of melted and recongealed cheese, then I'm game.  Don't get me wrong, LOVE cheese, just not melted cheese that has resolidified into an uncheeselike form.  We'll discuss cheese in a bit too.

(Spell check hates the above paragraph.)

As a kid, I refused to order anything but "chicken" sandwiches at fast food restaurants.  No hamburgers for me.  And that was before I quit beef.  At McDonald's, the only two things I would order were fries and "apple" pies.

I stopped eating hot dogs at an early age.  In fact, that happened years before my 12-year-old decision to give up red meat and pork (haven't knowingly ingested either type of meat since 1996).

This is all starting to make me sound really picky.  I'm not.  Put any fruit or vegetable in front of me, cooked with any sort of meat substitute or seafood (and sometimes chicken) with any sort of spice (except dill--unless it's a dill pickle) and I will try it.

My latest adventurous cooking experiment: honey balsamic glazed carrots
and green beans with garlic over rice.  It was quite tasty.

So in general, I've never had a problem eating healthy.  This doesn't mean I don't have my weaknesses.  Put a bag of Lays potato chips in front of me and I cannot eat just one.  I will eat the entire bag.  The big bag.  Salt is my favorite.  I will choose a bag of BBQ chips over a chocolate chip cookie any day.

Back in my "heavier" days of college (my freshman 15 was more like a freshman 20 by the end of it all), my problem wasn't what I was eating.  It was how much I was eating (and perhaps drinking too...).  My portion sizes were atrocious.  It wasn't until I learned to cut the portion sizes and then start running that I shed those few extra pounds.

After that, food and I got along pretty well.  As long as I didn't eat too much of it and ran a few times a week, our relationship was happy and steady.  I was enjoying cooking almost every night.  I learned how to cook with improvisation--a little of this, a little of that--and actually have it come out tasting good.  I liked trying new veggies and new combinations of flavors.  I ate a salad before dinner every night so I wouldn't eat too much actual dinner.  Me and food were at the height of happiness.

Quinoa (or maybe rice, it's hard to tell...it's an old picture) with what appears
to be chunks of tofu and roasted delicata squash.  And a salad!
Actually, that might be couscous.  I just don't know.

For a few years, that happiness lasted.  And then me and food hit our true high point.  I started running marathons.  And the most amazing thing that I learned about running marathons is that all of a sudden you have a wonderfully relevant and legitimate reason to eat a lot of food.  You get to eat all the food.  Because you just burned all the calories.  And if you don't eat the food, you will waste away to nothing.

Obviously there are some exceptions to this little realization (like, you can't eat ALL the chips, maybe keep it to half a bag in one sitting), but being a person who really likes to eat healthy food, and a lot of it, this new need to eat was amazing.

One of my staples: pasta with sauteed garlic, shallots, and
broccoli in balsamic vinegar.  In this particular instance
topped with fresh basil, diced tomatoes, and an entire
cup of parmesan cheese.
And bread.  OMG I. Love. Bread.

*Side note: I would never ever be successful on a gluten-free diet.  There is just too much bread in the world that needs to be eaten.  By me.

During my past 3 years of marathoning, me and food found true love eternal.  My portion sizes got to increase again without body-weight repercussions.  I learned the art of snacking appropriately so that I wouldn't eat the universe at every meal.  My classroom started looking like the habitat of a squirrel before winter with little hoards of food scattered throughout the room.  A jar of peanut butter strategically hidden in a cupboard (peanut butter is a no-no in schools these days).  A bag of pretzels by my computer.  A sack of almonds on my bookshelf.  A box of granola bars on the desk.  Some yogurt in the fridge in the staff lounge.

Every little moment I had in the room without the kids (planning time, lunch, recess), I was snacking as I prepped for the next lesson.

And if there was a birthday party in the classroom, yes I did eat that cupcake (unless it was chocolate with chocolate icing...blech).  I don't even really like cupcakes.  Just give me all the vanilla icing.

At home I started experimenting with more varieties of food in my cooking.

Sauteed crimini mushrooms and kale in a red wine sauce over pan fried
polenta cakes.  And The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.  And red wine.
Best dinner ever.

Butternut squash soup.  There had to have been some bread nearby too.

Roasted acorn squash with brown sugar and butter and sauteed
brussels sprouts.  A salad with more toppings than actual lettuce.

Everything was going great.  We had one minor hiccup last October as I weighed the difficulties of eating healthy, eating local, and eating "in season."  I never figured out what to do with that stupid persimmon.  I even bought a second one and finally just cut it up and ate it in apple-like slices.

Not too long after that, I decided to forgo dairy.  This was a long time coming.  I never liked milk as a kid and I already referenced the ice cream situation above.  I realized that eating cereal with milk and adding half and half to my coffee left me with an uncomfortable stomach for a good hour every morning.  I switched to soy milk and then eventually settled on almond milk for cereal.  I stick to soy lattes when I treat myself at Starbucks (no more half hour post-latte tummy ache!) and I don't eat yogurt anymore.  Cheese is the only issue.  Cannot and will not ever give up cheese.  But, when I bought 2 delicious blocks of cheese (brie and a nice smelly blue) at Trader Joe's this week and almost ate them all at once, I paid for it the next day.

After giving up dairy, I felt great for a while.  Food was still the comfort I loved.

But in the last 6 months, something has changed with me and food.  It's gotten complicated.  As I trained for marathon number 5, I started to notice something strange happening.

I wasn't hungry.

Gasp! How could that be??

My name is Tessa and I'm a vegetable (and salt) addict, but all of a sudden I wasn't hungry.  At first, I thought that it was just the low mileage in the early training days.  But then, as mileage increased and I started hitting the peak portion of the season, my ravenous hunger still failed to appear.  After Saturday morning long runs with Team, when we all go out to breakfast together, I'd normally devour every bite of my eggs, hash browns, and toast.  But this past season, I could barely eat my way through half of everything.

I left bread sitting uneaten on the table.  On more than one occasion.  

Sacrilegious.

I tried to ignore this weird phenomenon for a couple months, thinking maybe it was just a fluke.  Maybe my body just had gotten used to all this training season after season, and suddenly found a point where it said, "ok, we're going to survive this...you don't have to eat like the world will end tomorrow."  I thought maybe it had found an equalization point where massive amounts of food were no longer necessary for normal marathon training.

Then I ran the marathon.  And I didn't really eat much that day (compared to the normal marathon-running human).  Or the next day.  Or the day after that.  According to Garmin, I burned 3,286 calories while running the Rock N Roll Seattle Marathon.  That's 2+ days worth of calories.  And I never felt the bottomless pit, eat-everything-that-exists feeling I usually get the week after marathons.

It has now been exactly 2 and a half weeks since the marathon (weird, feels a lot longer than that) and my relationship with food has all but deteriorated.  I'm eating random food at random times of day (mainly because it's summer vacation and I have lost any semblance of a regular schedule) when I "feel like" I should eat something, because I probably just burned a lot of calories.  I haven't really been getting hungry all that often.  Food just doesn't sound all that great.  And my motivation to cook has almost completely disappeared.  And when I do eat, I will suddenly get to a point where I feel as though no more food will go in the belly.

I used to eat food because it was in front of me.  To the point of discomfort.  There's this weird stopping point now.  Like a stop sign that suddenly appears at an intersection you've crossed through every day without having to stop.

It's not like I've stopped being active since the marathon either.  Let's look at the mileage I've accumulated in the last 5 days:

Saturday: 9.3 running miles

Sunday: ~30 biking miles

Monday: 26 ridiculously hilly biking miles + .5 swimming miles

Tuesday: 5.2 running miles (combo of tempo/hill rep workout) + a 2.5 hour walk around the zoo to see lots of baby animals

Today: 5?ish hiking miles

Tomorrow I've got a swim and a track workout scheduled and for Friday there's in 60 mile bike ride in the works.  Yet food still doesn't seem like something I'm dying for.  I made dinner, and I ate it.  But I didn't love it.

I'm still trying my best to eat all the calories I should be (before, during, and after exercise), including good proteins and carbs.  But I feel like it should be easier than this.

Here's what I'm going to blame it on right now:

1)  I've been training for high endurance races for almost 3 years straight, so my body can do it all more efficiently without as much food.

2)  My highly routinized schedule is all sorts of messed up until school begins again in September.

3)  It's really hot outside and has been for weeks.  Who wants to cook and/or eat a lot when it's that hot?

I predict that come September when my schedule is back to normal, temperatures have dropped, and I'm tapering to get ready for a half Ironman, me and food will be on good terms again.

I sure hope so.  Because deep down, I still really do love food.

Let's be happy again soon please.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

I've always loved that quote.  It made perfect sense to me at a very young age and still does.

Then Kelly Clarkson put it in a song, which I consider to be the anthem of my life:

And then the amazing staff and children at Seattle Children's Hospital put this together, which added a whole new element to it:

I bring this up because lately, I've been feeling pretty strong.  Both physically and emotionally.

I'm not trying to brag here.  There are certainly days when I don't feel strong.  In fact, sometimes there are days where all I want to do is curl up with Lucy and drink lots of wine.

Yes, I did take a selfie of me and Lucy snuggling.  I am not ashamed.

There are way fewer of the not-so-strong days for me now though than there have been in years past.  And when they happen, I let myself feel them.  Because no one can or should be expected to be strong all the time.

There are a couple of reasons why I've felt particularly strong lately.  Here comes a list:

1)  I ran a crappy marathon.  And I didn't let it bring me down.  Yes, there were a few moments during and after the marathon where I felt like I failed just a little.  But I didn't let them last long and I got past them quick.  I could have wallowed in the sorrow of an un-achieved goal, but I chose not to.  I saw it as pointless.  That day just wasn't my day.  Another day will be.

I tried to put my right hand over my heart as I crossed the
finish in honor of those injured in Boston.  You may
notice that's my left hand.  Marathon brain.
It's the thought that counts.  

2)  I got a new job.  It's not the act of getting the new job that makes me feel strong (although it's quite ego-boosting to get the job that you want).  It's the fact that I made the choice to get a new job that makes me feel strong.  I'm a girl who loves to feel comfortable, and I chose to leave my happy comfort behind to give myself a better quality of life.  Driving 30 miles (one way) to work each day did not make me happy, no matter how much I loved that school and that job.  As I slowly pack up my classroom this summer, I get scared thinking about the changes I will face come September.  But I feel strong enough to face those fears.  Because I chose to.

3)  I have my fight back.  After this past marathon, my biggest fear was that I had lost my fight.  This still worries me, but lately my legs have been feeling so strong that the worry is dwindling little by little.  I avoided running after the marathon, sticking to cycling, swimming, paddle boarding--basically anything active I could do that didn't involve running.  I ran with Erica 5 days after the marathon and felt my usual out of breath post-marathon self.  Two days after that, I did a 5 mile solo run and felt a little better but still not great.  But then, 3 days after that, I went for a hilly 6 mile run through Ballard and logged these splits:

It definitely didn't feel like I was going that fast.

The run felt amazing and my legs felt stronger than they have in a long time.  The hills felt like nothing.  However, despite how awesome I felt after the run, I felt like I didn't have to do that much fighting.  It felt too easy.  So then, this past Saturday, I tagged along with Fall Team practice (even though I'm not on that particular Team, I missed them!).  We did close to 10 miles, which included the Stone Ave hill from the bottom of Fremont back up to Green Lake at the tail end (a 200 ft steady climb over a mile and a quarter).  As we were running through the flat section on the Burke in the middle, I felt kind of tired and was worried about the impending hill.  But as soon as I hit the hill at the end, I chose to fight it.  I powered up it and my legs didn't let me down.  Instead of feeling heavier and heavier with each step, they seemed to feel lighter.  By the time I got to the top, I was certainly out of breath but I was surprised it was already over.  I had finally found my fight again.  I crossed my fingers that it wasn't a fluke reappearance.

4)  I'm feeling strong on the bike.  Last year, when I started cycling in early spring, I hadn't really ridden a bike much since I was a kid.  And the kind of cycling I was doing (training for the Seattle to Portland bike ride) was nothing like my enjoyable summertime childhood riding.  Those first couple months of cycling last spring were not my favorite.  I didn't feel strong on the bike, I dreaded hills, and my unmentionables hurt constantly (TMI? Oh well, it's a reality of cycling).  I eventually hit a point where I decided I liked cycling, but it took quite a while.  This summer has been very different.  It took me a little while to get settled in on my first ride, but I quickly got back into things.  I did another ride with Ironman Jason this past Monday and felt the way I felt after months of riding last summer.  Then today, Erica and I embarked upon a 30 miler down to Seward Park and back (at least it was pretty close to 30 miles I think--I failed to use my watch properly a couple times, skewing the mileage.  Oops, I'll get the hang of it).  On today's ride, I felt strong.  I felt fast.  I powered up the near 1,500 ft of elevation we climbed throughout the ride.  I chose to fight the hills.  And I won.  I killed those hills.

Lady bikers.  Watch out.

5)  Swimming...oh swimming.  I've seriously adjusted to open water swimming in Green Lake since last year's first dip in its green waters.  And the thing I really love about swimming is that it always comes back to me so quickly.  It usually only takes 1 or 2 swims to help my weak little arms readjust themselves to the demands of pulling my body through the water.  And then, suddenly, it starts to feel like I never took a break.  I've been on a total of 4 swims in the past 2 weeks and each one has felt better and faster than the last.  On the last one, I chose to push faster and further than any of the others and wound up swimming a mile in just over 30 minutes.  And I proved that it is the GPS, not me, that makes my swims look so sadly askew.

I did not start in the middle of the lake, and I did not get out of the lake
mid-swim. Or do that little turn around and go backwards thing at the end.

Strength can be found in many things, and these are the things that are making me feel strong right now.  And the one theme I've noticed in them all is the element of choice.  Strength comes from the choice to be strong.  I chose not to be brought down by an unfortunate race.  I chose to find a new job.  I chose to fight again, whether it comes to running, cycling, or swimming.  My strength comes from the choice to be and stay strong.   Because it always seems to happen that when I choose to be strong, it turns out that I in fact, am strong.

And I only found that out because I made the choice.

Every morning for the past 5 years at my school, my principal reads an inspirational, life-guiding statement for the day to the kids during morning announcements.  And she always concludes by saying, "Make it a great day or not, the choice is yours."  The context of this is obviously different for elementary school kids, but I've always found it to be relevant to us all.

When you wake up in the morning, you have a choice.  It can be a great day or not.  You can let the tough stuff bring you down, or you can choose to use it to make yourself stronger.

Today, I choose to be strong.  I hope you do too.