Wednesday, July 07, 2010

You can find me here now....

Hi all my blog peeps- you can find me here now

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Grandma's Attic

My Grandma was a second generation immigrant of German heritage. She arrived in the first quarter of the last century, being born into a large catholic family. Five days a week she arose at 4am to feed her family and pack them off to work and school before herself commuting to her job at the factory. She stuffed widgets 8 hours a day, returned home, cleaned, laundered, cooked, slept and arose to do it all over again. I seriously doubt she slept more then 5-6 hours a night in her entire life. Even when she had gone on to retire and just be Grandma. Right about 1968, having saved their pennies and milk money, my grandparents were able to invest in a lake place up in Small Town, MN. They would venture up on weekends to build during the day and fish in the evening and in short time they had a lovely second home affectionately referred to as "Nord" in deference to the lakeshore it was nestled upon.

Right about this time, I came into the world but would know little of Nord for years to come. Transplanted by a corporate transfer, the hustle, smog and bustle of Southern California is a world away from the pristine shores of Nord. Fortunately, the corporation was headquartered in Minneapolis which afforded at least one annual trek up north. We travelled by train, plane and automobile over the years and covered the two thousand odd miles multiple times. There was nothing quite like the news to my little ears that we were traveling to Grandma's house. I loved my grandma and my grandma loved me. Which was not a luxury shared by all family members. A phenomena difficult to quantify, my grandma seemed to hold favorites when it came to her clan. Speculation ran wild, from the ghastly to the inert, but in the end, it might just be possible that she preferred those who wanted nothing from her. It was rumored that Grandma had wealth and treasure in abundance; in reality, Grandma worked hard, saved with frugality and loved generously. In a family system which defined affection by "what can you give me?" some wanted her money and other's her love. I fell into the later category. I was a constant shadow to grandma. Baking, snapping peas, working the garden, traveling to town to "wash and set" the nursing home ladies hair, Pink Ladies, Catholic Mass, Ladies Auxiliary, trips to the bakery and quietly stolen games of gin were all woven into the fabric of life with Grandma; a rich tapestry indeed. It wasn't until later in my adult life that I learned I really wasn't all that great at gin, and all of those quarter payouts for losses were Grandma's way of giving me some spending money without ruffling the feathers of the body politic.

There were two classes of citizen at the Nord compound; those allowed in the kitchen and those shooed away with insult and indignation. The kitchen was Grandma's domain. While it was an elite class that held an all access pass, the true "piece d triumph" was an invitation to venture up into Grandma's attic. No one was allowed in Grandma's attic. A dictate which only served to heighten the speculation that great riches and treasure were cached in the crevices and corners of the domicile. In the fertile mind of my imagination the attic was a treasure trove. Boxes of costume jewelry, old straw hats, piles of crusty old paperbacks, and mounds of partially finished boutique crafts, a pair of broken snowshoes, some old pottery and white gloves! Right about the time I hit the age of teen girl romance, I discovered the white gloves. No fantastical point in a drama is better punctuated then by smarmy removal of white gloves, one- finger- at -a -time. I being my grandma's shadow, packratted my straw hat and white gloves away, stored right next to the little pile of coins I won in a fishing contest with my grandpa. (first fish in the boat, most fish and biggest fish netted 79 cents. The fact that it was the only fish we landed that night due in large part to the squeals and commotion my sister and I caused in the boat through most of the evening, notwithstanding)

Truly, the only thing of genuine worth in that entire attic was a mink stole. Not to be confused with Mink Stole of John Water's fame. No, this was the real deal, soft, strokable and infinitely valuable in the venue of theatrical drama. I had no mind for high society, but if I could have any one thing from my grandma, this swath of fur would be it. And Grandma knew this, and we discussed it often enough. She amused by my infatuation, me finding this the perfect complement to add to the drama that played out in my life.

A fitting complement it was. As I mentioned above, the politics of the family would not allow for Grandma to give me something that wasn't equally and exponentially distributed to all family members, but she would find a way to leave little blessings here or there. A bag of quarters tucked among the other treasures hidden beneath my bed; a Vegas jackpot that kept me supplied with grape slushies at the local pool for the entire summer. Or, a parcel of her most treasured "See's Candies" tucked into the pocket of my letter jacket, only to be discovered while standing in the dark cold of late fall, me starving and waiting for the after school activity bus to take me home. See's Candies were imported from the west coast and ferreted away from the hoardes that would consume them with no appreciation whatsoever, until the hoardes left and Grandma could repose to her chair for much needed rest. Her See's and a Harlequin as reward for those weeks of service. Those four candies melted in my mouth and warmed my soul that dark night.

The years passed and I married and a difficult estrangement ensued, which for me included the most grievous loss of my grandma in my life. While circumstances prevented me from visiting her in person, the imprint of her on my life was indelible. Last winter I received word that Grandma was dying. It was time to go see her again. Ironically, she spent her last days in the same nursing home we would visit to hand out water, deliver mail and work in the beauty salon. Now she was dying. There was so much to discuss and talk about, but in the end little was said as Grandma had suffered multiple strokes which left her speech disabled. Her ability to communicate was not completely thwarted and after all, I had brought her a pan of fudge, so we enjoyed our afternoon together. She desperately wanted to return to her home on the lake, but this was not to be. When she learned her medical complications would keep her in the nursing home until she passed, Grandma decided she was through with her time here and passed away three weeks ago yesterday.

It is a strange thing to grieve 18 years or so of your life that occurred two decades prior and my heart seemed short circuited by the convolution of the not so pleasant memories of those years. That was until last week when we packed up The Tribe and ventured to the Great Western Playground of the Greyhounds for a week of high altitude fun. As part of this week I dragged my reasonably enthusiastic family back along the memory lane of my youth, visiting every house, park and school of my young Colorado years. I regaled them with stories and vignettes of my life, all the while a fierce electrical stormed snapped and sparked all around us. Everything seemed so much more compact, smaller then what I remembered, yet exactly the same. And it thrilled me. We ventured on to Parker and dined with my sister, brother in law and nephews, an encounter made briefly awkward by the introduction, "hello, here are the cousins you have never met, and oh, hi brother-in-law whom I haven't seen in 16 years" But the more things change the more they stay the same, and family remains infinitely valuable, so in no time the kids were playing and the adults were enjoying beverages and the electrical storm raged on. As we lingered on the deck following dinner, I began to realize something happening deep in my soul. A sense of restoration was occurring. A new memory was forming, and all of the good things were coming back to me. For years I have contended with the dark, nightmare images of my youth; the places and things serving only as a backdrop to this drama. But now, returning with The Tribe, a representation of all of the good in my life, I was given the gift of seeing the whole picture again. The happy memories returned. I was able to see fully the gift of God's mercies that sustained me through all of the hell, bringing me to this point in history. Awe inspiring mountain ranges, land to roam and lose myself in, friendships to experience and above all, a Grandma that loved me dearly.

As we closed our dinner conversation, my sister bound from the table intent on showing me some little trinkets and costume jewelry she had been given by our uncle who is now the proprietor of Grandma's estate. Sitting with my back to the door I didn't notice her return until she had draped something warm and wonderful around my shoulders. It was Grandma's stole. In awe, I was speechless as I felt my grandma wrap her arms around me from an eternity away.

And now, the tears flow, and I end this story of Grandma's Attic

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Mom, what was your favorite part of puberty?

Hmm, when it ended? Spring is the season of crocuses pushing up through the soil, the green haze of buds on winter dormant trees and sex; or at least Family Education at the kids school. The second daughter inconceivably gave birth to a 10 pound bag of sugar (although, if it could be accomplished, this would be the kid to do so) which she named "Frank" and which she fed, diapered and cared for during 72 hours of "Family Life". SD received an "A" and we got a 10 pound bag of sugar that is just a little creepy to consume. The second daughter is now growing hair in strange places and so it's time for "car talk" to begin. Turns out that in a small house with 12 ears, the most conducive venue for "talk" is the car. Car talk generally begins with "mom I've got a question" and ends with us circumnavigating the neighborhood. I believe the record is 25 rotations which ended with a sigh of relief and "whew, we finally had the sex talk". You mean there is more to the most wonderful gift on earth then just making babies? Happily, gratefully, yes. Which brings us back to the puberty question. My answer to which was the sense of female bonding. There was just something about walking through that time with girl friends, reading "Are you there God, it's me Margaret" and then someone inadvertently got hold of a bootlegged copy of "Forever". That was still the age, at least in my family, where we learned about sex from novels and copies of "The Joy of Sex" at sleepovers. I traversed puberty at a snails pace and joined the wistful ranks of those in the locker room hiding behind a locker door. In actuality, it took pregnancy to bestow me with hips and mammary glands. (they really didn't become breasts again until the ten constant years of pregnancy or nursing concluded) Tac and I recently listened to an audio study of the Song of Solomon and came away with an entirely new vocabulary for the human body and the ways of a man and his bride. A new language comes in handy with two offspring in the "car talk" camp and the "spelling things out" code long since exhausted. They tend to shy away from reading the Song of Songs so we are safe for now.

We are, as ever, a busy household with Soccer/Rugby, Soccer, Fencing and Soccer. And golf! I joined a golf league and will play for the first time in about 12 years. I went to the shed yesterday to retrieve my garage sale clubs I picked up a couple of decades ago, only to discover rust pocked and peeling shafts and heads. I see great liability with those on the driving range with those, so off to Craig's list I go. I took golf in college, being ever so executive minded at the time, and to this day I don't regret it a moment. At one of Tac's swank cocktail parties I was invited to join an executive women's golf league; an invitation I may indulge once I regain my swing. I also took fencing in college, which came in handy when the parents were summoned to the floor to help fill out the ranks in Oldest Sons first fencing class. The rust knocked off quick enough, as we learned to parlay and joust, albeit my opponent was perhaps five years old. Fencing is an amazing sport of strategy, precision and absolutely butt kicking aerobic conditioning.

Since this is a triathlon blog, it seems right to update: One sprint (two weeks hence) Grandma's Marathon (a PR on the radar) and possibly a trip to the Big Pig Gig in August with someone who is training for a little thing we call Kona. I secretly am hoping to get the ok to go Iron myself this year, but I have a hunch that will have to yield to the "only one crazy parent training at a time" rule.

So, there it is, a long overdue post made possible by the fervent request of the two most likely to want to peek inside the Trimama brain and the two most likely to wash an extra pile of dishes to make it possible.


Saturday, February 07, 2009

Hey mom, do I have hot lunch today?


Oh, man I could have slept in.

Exactly how long does it take to pack a sack lunch? It apparently takes substantial "sleep- in" time. How wonderful to have the perception of time of an 8 year-old.

I confess my boys are perplexing to me at times. Gumball machines were on the must have list for Christmas this year and Grandma came through handily; not just with the glistening orb of childhood delight, but an extra canister of refills. Which most likely explains the behavior of the ten year old. There was simply more gum then he could chew, although he gave it a noble effort. His pragmatic mind was not to be undone with the logistical nightmare of disposing of dozens of pieces of gum exhausted of it’s flavor and high fructose corn syrupy goodness, no of course not! What else are pockets for, if not to serve as a bio-waste repository? Which is precisely why I tend to let the washing machine clean the pockets out. Cell phones and ipods take heed. In this way I can be assured that whatever the pockets yield is by all accounts bleached, scrubbed, softened, dried and most important, dead. Rest in peace oh 17 pieces of chewing gum. You will have a proper burial permanently enshrined in denim.

It’s days like these that moms just need to grab a snow shovel and attack the icy world. The snow veritably melting away peavance, when the neighbor kid happened along.

“You know, the best way to get rid of ice, and you can really only do it out in the country, but the best way is about 7 sticks of dynamite.”

The utter desecration of my driveway would certainly ensure no future shoveling

There will be a scent of spring in the air this weekend as the mercury tops 40 for the first time since last November. I am so going out for a run- a really long run. I have been nursing several injuries including a constantly swelling/gummy knee and tendonitis in my elbow-all right side injuries. My friend who is an energy healer asked me if I am holding on to any anger. Hmmm, yes! But isn’t that fairly common. I’m going on a quest to understand what angers me and let it go. In my mind there are good things to get angry about and pretty pointless things to just hold on to and stew over. Stewing just make you mushy and when it goes on too long it pretty much cooks you to death. I did come to the realization that I’m rehabbing a second injury. I guess I was just going forward taking care of things as I had with bike crash #1, not really thinking about the difference in dynamics caused by bike crash #2. #2 has it’s own challenges. I’m so glad you can’t crash a Lemond Spin bike. BTW I love teaching spin class! Love it! People, my music and bending crank arms, whooot!

I’m going to focus my season on running, perhaps a string of half marathons, but I’m hoping to cross train my way to a pr. That’s the plan for this week anyhow. I’ll throw in a tri if the summer permits, and I seriously hope it does, and we will see.

Off to basketball, housecleaning, laundry and …..

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Monday, November 24, 2008

Ironman;it's supposed to be fun

And it was! I'm standing in the town home hot tub re warming myself after icing my legs in the pool, realizing I'm returning home to the Tribe in full Holiday mode. There won't be time for posting, so while it's still vacation, here goes.

First off, a huge, huge thanks to Tac and The Tribe, and my family and friends. You don't do Ironman alone, and I have the best group around me anyone could ask for, I love you guys and thought of each of you many times throughout the day. Thanks especially to Commodore, Suplinds, Big J, Shane and Krista, Fe Lady, my local tri buddies (Steve, Helen, KY, Tim and Karen) for hanging out and helping Tac through the day-you guys were awesome support!

On to the race. As I had mentioned last week, I've been fighting a chest cold that just didn't want to go away and settled deeper into my chest as the week progressed. I was hoping I had turned the corner by race day but it was not to be. I woke up in a heavy sweat about 2 race morning with a fit of coughing spasms-blah. Overall, I felt strong and pretty well rested, so I couldn't see any reason to not start the day, and this is Ironman. How many shots do you get at this in a lifetime?

Everything about the day just felt right, I felt light, not too anxious, not scared, just ready to take on the day. I dressed, tattoo'd my arms with Tribe tat's (courtesy of the local Tribe Multisport-how handy was that. If you are ever in Scottsdale and need something or just want to hang out and talk racing, go there, they are awesome!) Breakfast went down a little hard as it always does on a big race morning and we were off in the beautiful pre dawn of Tempe.

The race was phenomenally staffed and it was pretty quick work checking in with body marking, bag drop etc. I had picked up a small speaker system for my bike (the size of a roll of quarters) that plugged into my shuffle so I quick taped my set up in place. No headphones in ears=perfectly course legal- learned that at Florida. I had tuneage on the bike-so awesome. Off to the porta potties, the coffee was talking and I knew it was going to be a good race day! whew. Into the wetsuit, one last bear hug from Tac and it was time to go to the water.

I was surprised by how many athletes were standing on the dock just staring at the water waiting to get in. It was 6:55 and we had a 200 yd swim to the start line. Having seen a large group of athletes stranded on the shore at Madison when the canon sounded I had no intention of not being at the start when the canon sounded. C'mon people, you have to swim 2.4 in this, what's an extra 5 minutes? Of course I'm a hardy minnesotoan and I thought the water was balmy. I was really warm race morning, shedding clothes like a hard luck poker player. I arrived at the start just to hear the final notes of our countries anthem and a huge cheer go up from the crowd. AZ is a fantastic spectator venue and the bridge above us was thick with people cheering. My strategy was to swim to the left side of the very large swim lane and make my way to the right at the end of the first 2000 yds. Clockwork. I couldn't believe how fast those first 1000 ticked off, building, building, stadium, bridge. I was moving easy through the water and barely encountered other athletes. A few pulls, one dunk that ticked me off because the guy had brushed my feet 3 or 4 times and knew I was there, but nothing major. I swam a little off course here and there, but overall, once I found my line I held it to the bridge and beyond. I did notice my arm turnover was not quite as strong, and I could feel my chest tight. Just not quite enough oxygen making it's way through those lungs. Go past the bridge, turn and head back home. about halfway back my right calf began to tighten and I knew I had to keep moving quick as it was definitely going to cramp. And it did with about 200 yards to go. I couldn't flex my foot it was so frozen in place. I paused and willed it to bend and ouch it did. I just wanted to get to the ramp. A lot of people were converging on that ramp at the same time and it was a little like a polo match during that last 100 yards. Bring it on, this is Ironman. I had to swim with one foot flexed to keep it from cramping, nothing like a little drag. haha.Great volunteers hauled you out of the water and I ran-yes ran- to the wet suit stripping area where Tac and Fe Lady were ready to go. Bear hug, down! Down! they had me stripped and I was on my way. Why was I running? I have no idea. The clock said 1:26- matching my Florida time and at that point it was time to reassess my goals. One lovely note, all of the athletes departed the water with a crazy mustache/beard thing- hmm sediment is good for you. I'm good for minerals for about 6 months.

I wanted to hit a 13:15 finish time, but could just feel that I had to move that off the table, because while I felt solid, I didn't feel as though I would have the air capacity to kick in my speed work.

The AZ bike is a 3 loop deal where you weave through town and then head up into the foothills. When we biked our practice bike it had been windy which made the climb slow and the return wickedly fast. 40 up, 20 down kind of thing. I held off on my music so I could just take in the day. The morning was clean and fantastic, the mountains breathtaking(in more ways then one) My plan was to go 75 percent on loop 1, 80 on loop 2 and 85 on loop 3. My plan was working like clockwork. I felt confident and strong returning to town, fueled up at The Big J rest stop, with my goldfish I'd brought along, and headed out for loop 2. About 5 miles in mental fatigue began to hit so on with the tunes and down with the bag of mini M&M's I brought. Great brain food for a race course. MMMM, and crunch happiness for the mouth that is getting sick of just drinking. I rolled up the hill a little faster the second lap and was making good time on the return. Stop at special needs, scarf the ham sandwhich, pick up the uber expensive spare tube I didn't want to lose and shove it in my back pocket, pop in another cough drop and roll on down the hill. I was rolling at a good clip, feeling pretty strong for the mileage. About 2 miles out from the turnaround I rolled through an aid station and pulled to the right for water. I had slowed to about 12 mph and was filling my aero bottle when all of a sudden I heard a "S*%#!" and then a crunch and in slow motion I thought, "hey there's the ground- I don't think I'm supposed to be flying over my handle bars headed for the ground" Then smack on my head, my bad hip and worse on my bum knee. Crack went the knee. I'd felt that same crack about 14 months before, same searing pain and I thought, damn! my race just ended. My left foot had unclipped but the the right was was twisted around still attached. "ok, is anything broke?" Please don't say broke. The uber intense Age Group Kona wanna be who had swiped me, had landed hard and was up and swearing. Hm, excuse me, you ran into me, and there was more then enough room to go around clean. But how are you, are you ok. He didn't pause to answer, swore at the aid workers who tried to help him out and rolled off. Alrighty then, I'm fine thanks for asking. But the aid workers were fantastic. My water spilled and for some reason that seemed relevant at the time. I think my brain was still catching up. I could feel something seeping through my bike shorts on my hip but decided it would be worse to look then to not know. I stood up, my head hurt, but my legs seemed to be working. They did a quick once over of my bike, and it was good, so I mounted and rolled on. Hmm. Ok 14 months of rehab and now I may or may not be able to use this leg for running. It seemed like a pretty good time to have a good freak out cry, so I did-going about 95 mph on adrenaline alone. I rolled into the turn around and the gang was all there cheering. Tac was at the end taking pictures and I was trying to hold it together. I was shaking pretty bad though. Tac lifted my bike short up to reveal a lovely oozing raspberry. I think I need more M&M's. I told him I have no idea if I will be able to run. "Hey, we've got all night, you can walk it if you need to." Apparently my brain did not hear him when he yelled, just dial it back a little, because I was moving. Back to the hill, up the hill, and look here, the wind had shifted. We were blown up the hill, so up and back the speeds were much closer. 30 decent on the first loop, 22 on the 3rd. I was pretty much done with the bike by mile 100, so I was glad those last 12 went so fast. I have one quirk with Ironman. My odometer on my bike read 122 miles when I was finished. This odometer is always spot on when I ride at home on pre measured distances. According to my Avs, I had knocked out an 18- but of course the bike clock stops when I do, so I ended up with a 16 ish. I was a little bummed, and yet, in the back of my mind, I'm going to keep that faster pace as a trophy- just because somewhere between what was and is lies the truth. :-)

I had good energy and felt mentally ready to run. Unlike Florida, where I ran one mile at a time and added up, this race I decided to count down. I have no idea why, except that I liked the idea of the miles melting away. AZ is a crazy weird run where you go out and back and up and down and round and round. Someone said it is like a butterfly, I was thinking more drunk Irishman. Most awesome thing, they had a massage tent at the second aid station. My calves were so tight I was having trouble running, so I pulled over. 5 quick minutes later and wow, I could move my feet again. I wasn't feeling any pain from the crash, and things were holding up well, so I ran. Here though is where the stupid cold kicked in, I think all the dusty air of the bike showed up, so if my heart went over 150 I started wheezing and couldn't breathe. I generally run at at 160-5 HR, so I needed to moderate it quite a bit. I ran until I started to wheez and then I would walk. By mile 6 I had figured out a good pace and that is when things really started to move. I ran with Tac across the bridge going into the final loop and was amazed at how trained and how good I felt. One loop to go and I was a happy camper. Most awesome of awesome, I was rapidly passing all of those bikers who had out gunned me. He who laughs last boys. I chatted with a lot of runners, joked with the volunteers and kicked off the miles. I thought about Commodore who had never had the chance to run this run, and Kahuna who was down with bad feet. I thought about how awesome it was as a Minnesotoan how wonderful it was to run in late October in shorts, I thought about the Tribe. When times got anywhere near funky, I thought about all the kids and folks who never get a chance to do what I am doing, and I smiled and said a prayer for them. Last fall after my crash, I strung a "Miracles Happen" pendant around my neck. It was a souvenir from the MIracles of Mitch Kid's Triathlon. It hasn't left my neck, and on this night I was proof to that statement. I negative split the second loop and was running strong when I met up with Tac at the 20 mile bridge. I had a lot of energy and a 10 K to do. I thought a sub 14 would be a great finish, but it was going to be close. One most awesome moment on the run, it must have been after about my 15th shot of Coke, I was flying and I cruised by a couple of guys walking- "Geez" was all I heard. Can you still be running at mile 20 of an Ironman? Oh, yea baby. One more negative split and I was rounding the shoot to the finish line. About a quarter mile out I realized I wasn't going to break the 14 mark, so I slowed up and savored. This was it! The end of long year, and I wanted to soak up every sight, smell and flavor. Ok, not flavor- I was a sweaty mess.

I adjusted my hat and arm warmers for the finish photo and cruised the finish shoot. I high fived both sides of the corral and whooped! (One note for spectators, you really need to flex that arm on a high five-one guy stiff armed me and I almost went down, but I regained composure- quick bow to the crowd, more high fives and "Trimama, you are an Ironman!" Break that tape and hang that metal around my neck. How cool it's a cactus-yea!

I felt amazing! I felt light. I felt like me. No tears at this finish, no burden to unload, just triumph. Wow! I met up with Duane and he gave me the biggest bear hug! Love it. Then Tac was there and it was all good.

The rest of the story is just pizza and sprite and beer and Taco Bell and a call home to let them know I was done. Oh, and then about 10 minutes of spasmodic coughing that threatened to send my pizza into the outer stratosphere. But it was all ok, because we had reached the end..........

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Ironman one week out

With a chest cold keeping me home for the morning (Coach Taconite insisted) I thought I'd catch all two of you still reading the travails of "Trimama's blog" up to date on life with The Tribe. I am one of those of the persuasion that we make time for the things that are important to us, so I can't really say that my reluctance to blog is strictly time related. No, I'd attribute it more to a long season of keeping life closer to the vest, or chest as it might be. I believe now there are seasons for healing and growth which are precious and tender and private in contrast to those that are meant to be lived out loud and with more public support and input. I've enjoyed this season, focused on friends close at hand, virtually and proximally. It's been a long but fruitful struggle from broken body to restored faith, and someday I might share more of it out loud, but for now I am content to prepare myself for this punctuation mark of a race. In terms of grammar and racing, I would love an exclamation point, but feel as though I am more poised for a period; merely the end of one chapter and the start of another. I sort of prefer periods to exclamation points, they are easier on the soul. It does seem as though there should be something in between. I suppose that is why they invented fonts. Life lived in Arial is so much preferred to Times New Roman. It would be fun to be all Chalkboard all the time, but enough of that, although it is curious that Blogger defaults to Lucinda Grande. Blogger, the Grande ultimate in narcissism. Of course saying that tongue in cheek as Blogger has been a fantastic means of finding wonderful friends and soulmates.

Tac and I met up with Ironmom Jenny, Laura, Nick and many others at our annual Tri Night Banquet. Very fun and good to see friends in clothing that is not spandex. With the exception of Jenny who was modeling some of the greatest race wear I have yet to see. Hopefully I’ll be able to sport some on the AZ race course ☺. Tac actually told me that I need to spend a few minutes in transition fixing my hair and looking nice for the run. He’s that worried I am going to best his time- I saw him packing lipstick in with my transition gear. I’m not sure a race photo would be complete without my hair spazzing out of my braides from every side, but I’ll see what I can do. I am planning to wear my sexy socks on the run- they made a huge difference at Whistlestop, I love em! And that is explanation point worthy.

We returned home to find Chopper asleep in our bed. He is insisting that he only sleeps well in our bed, and needs to repose right between Tac and I. I have taken great pains to explain to him that though he is small he really doesn’t fit. He wants another mattress, I think we will comply soon. He gave me a long hug on his way up to bed and it occurred to me that it will be a miserable week when my little boy no longer wants a hug from mom. He is my snuggly one and life will be very empty without that. One more plus to fostering and adoption.

That is what I am liking about this race, it is a period. It is the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Florida was a much needed exclamation point. It was the closing of something greater, a relief, a celebration of how far I’d come. There is something to be said when you don’t have to travel quite so far to go 140.6. There is something very tranquil in a period. Something wonderful when there is room in your mind to do something you love, and still have space for exclamation points. How blessed am I?

We arrive in Arizona on Thursday, looking forward to seeing Commodore et al, Momo, Fe Lady (perhaps) and many others. Shoot us an email so we know who to look for and contact with dinner plans etc. We have a pool and plan to use it accordingly-especially Monday after the race.

Until then....(how wonderful, a string of periods that says precisely what I mean)