Me.

Mom. Triathlete. Yogi. Foodie. Writer. Boss. Coffee lover. Side hustler.

I run for team Oiselle Volée and Skratch Labs.

History Repeats: Not Always A Bad Thing

History Repeats: Not Always A Bad Thing

I'm finding my fitness grove again.  Finally.  

This year, the Universe has made a valiant attempt to bring me down.  I kicked off my January with acute chest pain that landed me in the ER for 8 hours and helped me meet my deductible. Off the heals of that (pun intended), I went to a podiatrist to take care of my ingrown toe nail; I believe I got back to running too early which enabled me to compensate for my sore toe, that I developed a nice case of runner's knee.  I had to lighten up on my training - spending more time in the pool and on the bike.  Just as I was getting back to business (only managing some occasional soreness, not pain in the knee), I got kicked the fuck down the with flu.  And by flu, I mean the legit over 1 week illness that presents with high fevers and sweats, extreme fatigue, pounding headaches, and outstanding joint pain.  Over a month out, I just finally shook the lingering cough.  I seriously got my ass kicked.  

Here I am - it's almost April and I'm coming back from the dead.  Again.  Gosh this is getting exhausting.  

I haven't signed up for a triathlon, but this is my year.  I think the open water swim will be fine; I'm most worried about the bike.  I don't ride on the road and, quite frankly, I'm scared to fall before I can clip out.  I'm too old to fall.  Won't I break a hip or something?  Coach knows my plans. Maybe that's why he tried to kill me this weekend.  But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

Friday proved to be a challenging day that started with a 2200 yard swim.  Thankfully, the work day wasn't packed with a lot of meetings, so I didn't have to spend a lot of time carrying my invisible suitcases to and from.  Before my head even hit the pillow that night, I passed out hard.  I woke early enough to slip downstairs for my brick workout: 12 miles on the bike; 4 miles on the treadmill.  I tried my best to be stealth, so as not to wake the dragons (I mean children).  About 10 minutes into my run, my mini-me walked into my pain cave.  She greeted me with a 'hi, mom!' and proceeded to play on my yoga mat, building towers with my yoga blocks.

After a few minutes, I settled into my groove, as my heart got pulled back in time.  

The basement looked much different: unfinished, with a bit of a musty smell.  A bit of humidity hung in the air, holding onto the loud rock music that was blasting from Dad's boom box. Occasionally the clank of the plates on the concrete floor startled me.  He just kept on jamming.  

I glanced back at Alli; she looked on, and up.  Like my Dad helped shape me, I was doing just the same for my own.  

 

My 4 AM

My 4 AM

When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly