Me.

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

I run for team Oiselle Volée and Skratch Labs.

I Shouldn’t Tell You This

I Shouldn’t Tell You This

I don’t want to tell you that I was scared about my first 70.3.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, this type of triathlon can be labeled as a 70.3 (# of miles during event), a half Ironman (branded race), or a half distance triathlon. Sometimes it can be called fucking crazy, too. This event consists of a 1.2 mile swim, a 56 mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run.

So, yes, I don’t want to tell you that I was scared about this race. But a post like that would suck, wouldn’t it?

I was scared about:

  • the distance and the duration of overall effort in the cold and rain (yes, a lovely forecast for my event)

  • swimming in nuclear waste (the location was in Lenoir City, a former spot for the Manhattan Project - what’s that? Google it)

  • the bike course was open to traffic

  • embarking on a 13.1 mile run on a two loop, hilly course AFTER biking 56 miles

I was feeling strong and bad-ass leading up to my travel to Tennessee, but the days before I was feeling small. I don’t want to tell you that. From a race cancelation in the intended venue to a nasty stomach bug that I denied, everything tried to get in my way. I had to press on, no matter what.

For those of you interested in the finite details of the race, I’ll connect with you through another forum. I do want to tell you that this race was something special. I want to tell you that the support I had leading up to this event from friends and my King Sherpa was more than I expected; more than I needed, and what I needed at all the right times.

I abandoned all of my trust issues, even if temporarily, and for once (maybe ever) believed in my training and myself. Never once did the weather, terrain, or loneliness on the course chip away my confidence; I handled it.

I don’t want to tell you that although I felt so real and raw on that course (for 7:12:04, to be exact),I felt no pain. I don’t want to tell you that I met Jesus, but in a kinder way, as I repeated my daughters’ bedtime prayer. I shed no tears.

I don’t want to tell you why I will continue to train like this, why I will continue to extend the intensity and even the distance. Maybe one day, I’ll spill it all. For now, on to the next race.

Who knows what lies beneath?

Who knows what lies beneath?

Broken Jar of Honey

Broken Jar of Honey

Red Line

Red Line