An Ironman, a Ring, and My Future Knight

Despite the warm, tropical air, little goose bumps pop up all over my arms as I step into the clear, blue waves. While not nearly as rough as the past two days, I’m still nervous. Kermit gives me one last kiss before heading out into deeper water. I stay near the back, with my feet still on the ground, next to my appointed “swim buddy” (a fellow athlete who trains with my coach). If I get scared or freak out, all I have to do is reach out and tickle his pink KT tape-covered feet to let him know I’m in trouble.

We start inching out a bit, and before I know it, the horn sounds the start of the race. Mustering all my courage, remembering how I swam in waves much worse than this, and smiling at my buddy’s constant comments of, “this is awesome” and “this is so cool!”, I put my face in the water and go.

We swim out towards the first buoy. Despite the mass of people, I don’t feel crushed like I have in other races. We hang a left, dodging some rope that normally blocks off the area for the hotel guests. Race officials changed the course last night because of the nasty current and weather conditions… score! Now we’re swimming with the current the entire way.

I try to keep count of buoys, knowing they are 100 meters apart, but lose track after about 7. We’re swimming closer to shore than to the buoys, so it’s harder to see them. Suddenly, a bright yellow and black striped fish skitters out from behind a rock right below me! The splash of color on an otherwise blue monotone ocean floor is beautiful! A few minutes later, we stop to look at some kind of ship wreck to our right. There are some really beautiful things to look at, and the current is pushing us, making the time go by fast. About half way through, I realize I didn’t wash the baby soap out of my goggles sufficiently, and my eyes are burning. Not much I can do about it right then, so I keep swimming.

Before I know it, we are almost to the swim exit. I can see it! Oh, and there’s a diver over there taking pictures of us! That’s something you don’t see every day while swimming. The salt water is getting to me – my piece of mint gum having lost its flavor - and my eyes are killing me, but I’m so excited to see that dock. I’m doing an Ironman! I am swimming in an actual full Ironman race! This is awesome!

Right after I get to the top of the steps, I hear someone calling my name behind me. It’s Kermit. I finished the swim right before him and he was ahead of me at the start. An hour and seven minutes isn’t bad for a 2.1 mile swim, according to my Garmin. Kermit and I run towards our bike bags, grab them off the hooks, and head to the changing tents.

It’s a bit unnerving to change in front of a bunch of strangers, but I want dry clothes for the  bike. It doesn’t really matter though because I can’t dry off well enough to make a difference. My eyes are really painful, but I decide to forego changing my contacts. I feel like I spent too much time as it is wrestling my sports bra on to take more time.

Heading out on the bike, I feel great. Some friends cheer for me as I hop on and head out. I am biking in an Ironman race! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I actually got here after a whole year of training. And I feel awesome! After about 6 miles, when I’m almost to the windy side of the island, it starts to rain. And then it pours. But I love it! It feels awesome. And I’m doing an Ironman! I can do this! I’m going to hear them call my name at the finish line!

A couple miles later, it’s still raining and I’m still loving it… wait, what’s that? Ah! There is a little snake slithering across the road right in front of me. Awww… how cute! I’m in Cozumel Mexico doing an Ironman! Woo Hoo!

As I get to the windy section, I think, okay, this is manageable. I can do this. Just think of all those tough long

intervals my coach had me do. Just remember there are three tough intervals, just like in training, so I push through this one, I’m already a third of the way done. Push through the second, I’m more than half way and only have one more to go. Stay focused Mandy, you can do this.

As I continue, the wind picks up, whipping against my face. At least the rain stopped. Still feeling pretty good, I inch past a few people, although I’m only going about 13 mph. I pass the special needs bags and think, I might just wait until my last loop to grab that, I’m feeling really good.

I turn left to head back toward town. Yea! Out of the wind for a while. I can so do this! Then I hit mile 30… and feel like someone made me guzzle a whole bottle of ipecac. Remembering what Kermit always tells me, I try to eat a honey stinger, hoping that will make the awful sick feeling go away. I’m getting to the crowds now and start praying with all my might, “please don’t hurl on all these people as I ride past, please don’t throw up!”

I keep pushing, knowing I’ve experienced this to a lesser extent before. Feeling so sick, I try some other nutrition since the stinger made me feel worse. But, the blocks and chomps just aren’t working their usual magic. I pass my dad, enjoying the fact that he is there to cheer for me. Continuing, I don’t see anyone else I know in the spectators as I head out of town again for my second loop. Still feeling really sick, I know I need calories, so I just keep chugging Gatorade and water.  I stop at almost every aid station to refill my bottles.

Still drenched, squishing in my shoes, burning eyes, and upset tummy, I start to wonder how I’m going to make it through two more windy sections as I get to that side of the island again. I stop and have a banana. That tastes pretty good. But I’m still feeling sick and have no energy. I think back to everything I’ve heard during my Ironman training. You always hit a point where you want to quit, but keep going, it’ll pass. Go to your happy place. Think of your Mandy Minion- the curvy GI Jane tough girl. Embrace the pain and sickness. I try to break it down into smaller chunks and not think about how far I still have to go.

The wind feels much stronger this time around – or maybe I’m just tired. I stop at the special needs bags feeling like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. I try to eat something but my stomach churns threateningly. I feel envious of the tall, lean Mexican guy a few feet away enjoying a Subway sandwich. How am I going to do this?

I get back on Oscar and start peddling. One foot at a time, stay efficient, keep drinking, I repeat over and over to myself. I think about Kermit, about is amazing ability to keep going during a race. I think about the Iron Cowboy, who did 30 of these things in one year last year. I think of my kids, who are probably tracking me online. I think of all my friends back home who are praying and cheering for me. I think of my Dad, and how he came all this way to see me finish this race. And I think of how Kermit joked that he wouldn’t marry me unless I finished an Ironman (he was totally teasing, though). So I keep going, and start praying like crazy. Please Father, please give me the strength to keep going. I can’t give up. I’ve come this far. I’ve trained so hard. I’ve had to overcome so many things this past year to even be here competing. Please help me to not give up.

When I see my dad again in town, I stop for a minute. I tell him I don’t know if I can finish the third loop. The wind so is bad and I’m so sick. I just don’t know if I can do it. I don’t want to quit, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough. He says, “Well, I’m proud of you either way. Don’t push yourself too hard so that you’ll have major problems.” I say, “Okay, but I’ve got plenty of time before the cut off, so I’m going to try it.” So I get back on, and start again.

I decide to use a strategy I also used in the Ogden marathon. Just make it to the next aid station, then you can decide. So I do. I stop and refill my water bottle, but then keep going. I notice my thoughts are getting more negative. I wish someone was here on the course to knock me out of this funk, to get in my face and tell me they believe in me and believe I can do this. I’m having a harder time convincing myself to keep going. I have to keep stopping every 5 minutes or so to stretch and rest. And when I’m riding, I’m barely going 11-13 miles per hour, and I haven’t even reached the windy section yet. This isn’t going to happen, I finally think. I’m just not strong enough. I’m going to have to drop out at the next aid station. My Garmin gets messed up, so my muddled brain is trying to figure out how much further to the next aid station, and it seems to take forever. I estimate I’m at about mile 90 (when I looked back at my watch, I went about 93 miles – I only had 19 left).

I almost start crying when I see the aid station. I stop at the first person I reach and tell him I’m done. Not knowing if he understands me, since he keeps speaking Spanish, he directs me to the ambulance. As they take my bike from me, I start swaying, and they rush to my side to help me into the ambulance. Soon after I’m settled, I start shivering like crazy. I can’t understand all they are saying, since it’s in Spanish, but I pick out a few words. The teenage boy keeps mentioning my eyes. They hurt so bad and I can barely keep them open. Everything is blurry too. They cover me with a blanket and start giving me oxygen. It takes forever to get back to town. I start crying, knowing I did the right thing, but sad that I couldn’t finish. All that hard work, money… all for nothing. I kept thinking, when it came down to it, no matter how hard I tried, or how much I sacrificed to stick with my training plan, it just wasn’t good enough.

By the time we get to the first aid and recovery area, I’m feeling better but have to pee soooo bad. The English-speaking doctor they deliver me to says, “Well, that’s a good sign if you need to use the bathroom.” So a lady directs me to the nearest porta-potty. I notice how sunny and warm it is and think about how cold it is back home. I feel much better after using the bathroom, so they discharge me to the recovery area. I am then surrounded by Ironman finishers- those that were strong enough to keep going. Well, I’m not one of those. I feel very awkward and embarrassed to be there. I get up to leave, but it starts pouring rain again. So I stay for a bit, watching everyone come in with their medals on. I feel horrible. I failed.

My bladder is about to explode again, so I skitter through the rain to the porta-potty again. There goes all that Gatorade. At least I didn’t let myself get dehydrated. I keep thinking I need to find my dad, so I try to find my bearings to head out to the crowds. I walk in the direction I think I should and find myself at T2. A kind lady offers to let me in to get some dry clothes out of one of my bags, but I figure what’s the point if it’s still pouring rain. So I take off my bike shoes, jam on my running shoes and head out to the crowd.

At another bathroom stop, I finally get to a mirror. I am horrified! My eyes are yellow and goopy, the whites are almost completely red, and they are so swollen. Oh how I wish I would have changed my contacts!

I wander around a while but can’t find dad. Moisture keeps stinging my tear ducts, but I don’t let it fall because of the pain. As I make my way back along the run course, watching all the athletes who were tougher than me, I spot a few friends and head over to them. I tell them what happened and they wrap their arms around me and hold me for a bit. I’m overwhelmed with disappointment in myself, but grateful I have friends here. They keep telling me, “look at all you did though”, and “you kept pushing for quite a while even when you felt sick”. “I’m so proud of you!” It doesn’t help right then, I just need time to process everything.

They tell me Kermit should be around at the end of his first loop in about 45 minutes or so. So I decide to wait and hope I can find my dad later. I stuff my disappointment deep down so I can cheer for my other friends in the race. It starts raining hard again, and I’m shivering, but barely notice it. Two friends come stand next to me and wrap me in a blanket to get me warm. It helps a little and I’m grateful they are there.

After quite a few cheers, laughs and tears, at last I see Kermit. My first thought is hoping he’s not disappointed in me. I tried to take all his advice. I really tried. But I failed. But when I see the look on his face, one of those that will forever be etched in my memory, I know he isn’t disappointed in me. He is relieved to see me. And I see love and compassion in his eyes. I see that he knows exactly how I feel since he didn’t finish his first two Ironman attempts. He really knows how I’m feeling. We embrace and he holds me tight and we start walking together. I finally see dad (he was only a couple hundred meters away from me this entire time) and tell him I’ll be back. I tell Kermit what happened and he says he is still proud of me. He asks me to walk/run with him the last lap, but I don’t want to get him in trouble or disqualified since technically I’m not supposed to be on the course since I dropped out. But he says it will be okay.

So after a few minutes, I turn around to go find my dad. He helps me rescue my bags, and waits while I change into my tri suit and try to clear my eyes of more yellow goop. Bathrooms in Mexico aren’t always fully stocked like ones in the USA. We get some chicken noodle soup at a restaurant along the course and eat near my friends. Thank goodness it stopped raining and was starting to warm back up. I keep wiping my eyes every few minutes but it hurts to touch them. I try to make myself cry to wash out the soap, but my tear ducts just burn. I am miserable.

Time passes quickly while we cheer on our other friends when they pass by. Before I know it, Kermit is heading towards us again and we head out together on his third and final loop. Other than my eyes, I am feeling pretty good. I keep replaying my race in my head. I want to support Kermit and not be a downer so I keep my feelings to myself. But I am feeling so much better physically, maybe I could’ve kept pushing and finished the bike. If only I could have dug a little deeper and reminded myself that the worst would soon be over, and then I could have moved on to my favorite part – the run. I wished I could go back and change it. But I couldn’t. So I walk with Kermit, hand in hand.

Suddenly, a race official comes up to us on his scooter. He said, “Ah, is everything okay?” Oh crap, I think. I just got caught and now Kermit is going to be disqualified. But Kermit says, “Yep, everything’s fine.” The official says “Okay”, and takes off on the scooter. “Whew!” I exclaim. “We really dodged a bullet there! I thought we were toast.” Kermit just chuckles. During the 9 mile walk/jog, we see that guy two more times. I think, “What is going on? Is he waiting until we get to the finish line to kick us out?” I am really nervous.

I really want to run, but Kermit says I’m going too fast. Then later, he speeds up. “Huh”, I think, “I’ll just go along with what his body is okay with.” He has some major blisters from all the rain getting in his shoes. Finally, we near the finish line. I hear the cheers and this overwhelming sadness drenches me, just like the rain on the bike this morning. Yes, I’ll go up to the finish line, but can I really cross it? I didn’t finish the race. I just wasn’t strong enough. I quit. I tell Kermit this is going to be hard for me and he just kinda shrugs it off. He seems preoccupied. We jog near the announcer and Kermit starts gesturing to him, but I can’t tell why. Then we are suddenly heading towards the finish line, and I notice Kermit has a microphone. What the…

 Then he starts talking into it. What is he doing? Is this the proposal he’s been joking about for a year? Is he really going to do this even though I didn’t finish? Am I really good enough to be with him? Is he sure he wants to be with me? Focus Mandy (good thing I can go back and watch the video)! Kermit is saying that even though I didn’t finish the race, that was okay, because I have an Ironheart. And as we’ve been doing this over the past year, we’ve had good times and bad. And that finish line right there can be our starting line. Kermit drops to one knee… oh my gosh, I can’t believe he’s doing this! He says, “Mandy, will you be my partner in this race of life?” and he holds out the ring. I hold out my hand and try to say yes loud enough, but the crowd is cheering, so the race director (the guy on the scooter I was worried would kick us off the course, but was actually in on the proposal the whole time) runs over with another microphone and I say in my clearest voice, “Yes!” Woo hoo I think. I couldn’t be more excited. A happy ending to my long and trying day. Kermit slides the ring on my finger, still a perfect fit, hugs me, and we walk hand in hand across the finish line – together.

The Real Victories

With Ironman Cozumel a mere 18 days away, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the past year and a half – since my very first 5k race. I’ve been trying to collect a boat load of information, tips, positive thoughts, quotes, etc. to take with me and repeat to myself during that long 140.6 miles. I’ve watched inspirational videos, read inspirational stories, and posted tons of inspirational quotes on my Facebook page. I’ve asked friends who have completed full Ironmans what are the top rookie mistakes and what they would have taken with them for their first race. I feel like I’ve done everything I can to prepare for this race, even with my limited experience and time constraints.

But what it all comes down to, and the underlying theme for most of my posts this past year, is the mental preparation. My friends who are doing this race without much training at least have the knowledge they’ve finished an Ironman before. I don’t have that. I’ve never done anything like this before. All I have is the little victories I’ve amassed over the past year. These victories aren’t the ones you can see. Sure, I can walk downstairs and admire the 26 medals hanging on the wall. I see my own personal leaning tower of Pisa of race shirts in my closet every day. I completed my first 5k, 10k, half marathon, full marathon, sprint triathlon, Olympic triathlon, and half Ironman races all in a year and 3 months. I did my first triathlon a mere 2 months after deciding to learn how to swim. I not only completed a triathlon 9 days after heart surgery, but placed first in my age group. And one year after my first full sprint triathlon, I’ll complete a full Ironman.

Those are all incredible accomplishments. Especially for someone who has always been afraid of the water and who never thought of herself as an athlete, and who never had the self-confidence to even try some of these things five years ago. But honestly, those aren’t the big wins for me. So below is my list of real accomplishments over this past year – those small moments that have meant more to me than any amount of race shirts or finisher’s medals. I’ve also linked to some of the blog posts that go into more detail about those races.

As you read through these, I want you to think over the past year and a half. What have those moments been for you? Can’t think of any? Then it’s high time to get out of your comfort zone and try something you never thought you could. The rewards of overcoming fear, pain, disappointment, exhaustion, and trials will mean more to you than anything tangible.

Mandy’s list of Yee Haw! Moments – May 2012- Nov 2013

May 2012 – my first 5k. I never imagined I could go 3.1 miles in a running race. As I looked at the half marathoners finishing, I thought, I could never do that. I was just excited to have finished my first 5k!

October2012 – I completed my first half marathon. My ankle had started hurting really badly about 7 miles in – it felt like it cracked. Not knowing any better, and quitting never entering my mind, I kept going. And I realized, contrary to my thoughts 5 months before, I can do a half marathon.

Nov 2012 – my first almost triathlon (It snowed so we didn’t do the bike portion). Although I had to stop every 50 meters to catch my breath, and I had to back stroke a lot (the swim was last), I did 350 meters (in 17 minutes). I wanted to jump out of the pool halfway through and say I was done. But I kept going, surely the slowest swimmer there. And I finished!

Dec 2012- My first official sprint triathlon in Palm Springs, CA. The weather was gorgeous, the water wasn’t too cold. My first open water swim ever. I was scared to death. During the swim, I had to back stroke a lot, but I just kept going. One of the last ones out of the water, and running like a drunken sailor, I was filled with excitement and accomplishment! That feeling carried over into the bike and run and I passed quite a few people. It was such an amazing feeling! I never in a million years would have thought I could actually swim in a race!

Feb 2013 – Ragnar Del Sol. During my third and final leg, I got lost. By the time I finally got back on the course, I was trying desperately to not let tears fall. I had never experienced such pain shooting up and down my leg (from my IT band). Even if I wanted to quit, I couldn’t because there was no one from my van around to help. My six mile run turned into 8.5. Around six miles, when I kept thinking, I should be finishing by now, it hit me that I was on my own. There would be no help, no rescuing. I had to man up and keep going until I got to the exchange. So I willed myself to not stop. But at the same time, I felt so alone, I had feelings of desperation and I was worried about my IT band. But somehow, I kept going because I knew that was the only way. When I rounded the last corner and saw my teammate, relief flooded over me. And when I collapsed in Kermit’s arms, I couldn’t believe I’d done it. The relief I felt at being safe, and done, was incredible.

April 2013 – Three weeks before this, I’d done a splash triathlon and my SVT heart condition kicked in on the run. It was so hard. I was in pain and exhausted, but I kept going. I kept thinking, I don’t ever want to do another race where my heart messes up again. Then on April 13^th, nine days after heart surgery, I took a total leap of faith to complete another splash triathlon. I expected to be the last one in to the finish line. I wasn’t sure what to expect so close post-surgery. But then I started running and felt so amazing. No racing heart, no pain, no exhaustion. Then when I saw the standings after the race and saw I placed first in my age group, I couldn’t believe it! The surgery worked!

May 2013 – Ogden Marathon. Wet. Cold. Long. That’s about all I have to say about that. Knowing I could finish this race despite the weather conditions was a huge boost.

June 29,2013 – Rock Cliff Triathlon. Three weeks before, I’d had to drop out of the swim at the Boise Half Ironman. My self-esteem took a huge hit and I’d been beating myself up ever since. As soon as the swim at Rock Cliff started, which was also my first Olympic distance triathlon, I panicked. It was a 2-lap swim and one of the guys on a surfboard stayed close by for most of my first lap. I had to hold on 2-3 times to the board to try and calm down. I was planning on quitting after the first lap. But then all of a sudden, something clicked in my head, and at the start of my second lap, I just put my face in the water and swam – and kept swimming. I experienced an even stronger feeling of accomplishment when I finally got out of the water. Success after a huge failure is so much sweeter!

August 24, 2013 – Utah Half Ironman – I was so tired on the bike during this race. I couldn’t imagine running a half marathon after biking 56 miles. As I neared transition, I thought about dropping out because I was just so tired. But somehow, as I left transition, I felt energized again and ran the first mile and a half. The rest was pretty slow, but learning I could keep going even when I was so tired was an amazing feeling.

October2013 – two races this month taught me a lot. St. George marathon was a lesson that things don’t usually go according to plan, but even when in a lot of pain, I can keep pushing through and finish. The Provo Halloween Half marathon taught me that again, I can not only suffer through pain, but I can keep running through pain. And, there will always be someone to catch me at the end.

November 2013 – The moment I lapped someone in Master’s swim class, I wanted to stop and start jumping up and down in the water. I thought back to all my struggles with swimming – the first few races swimming mostly on my back, all the times I was one of the last ones out of the water, and not finishing Boise, and was amazed at how far I’ve come. And super excited to know I’m not the slowest swimmer anymore.

These moments mean more to me than anything else during my journey over the past year and a half. I’m sure I’ll have quite a few of those moments in Cozumel. But, I’ve learned I can keep going in bad weather, overcome panic in the water, keep going even when I’m tired or don’t follow my nutrition plan very well, and that I can keep going even when I’m in pain, when I feel alone, and when I feel discouraged. And I will be an Ironman!

So, what are your little victories?

Marathon #2 – Naiveté debunked

I went into my first marathon totally clueless and unconvinced that I could really go that far on my two little legs. I had a completely different attitude about the St. George marathon. I developed a plan – a conservative plan. I’d been training for a full Ironman. I’d been practicing my nutrition. And more importantly, I was running for the Dove Center, raising money for women who have been to hell and back and are fighting to rise above the negativity living in their head, much as I’ve been doing for years.

I felt confident. I felt good. I knew I could do it.

It didn’t go as I expected.

The pain started on top of my right foot, extending from my big toe back towards my leg. Then my hips started hurting. Next was my inner ankle on my left foot. I took my time heading up the dreaded Veyo hill – downing a honey stinger and walking at a very brisk pace. At mile 10, still only feeling minor pain, I made my first stop to use the potty. Still feeling good and strong, I took off.

I was averaging 10:30 minute miles (30 seconds faster than my plan), but this was still conservative (I could do 8:30 on shorter distances), so I was confident I could keep going at this pace, or slow it down if I needed to. Then at mile 11, I started having GI issues and had to stop three more times over the next 6 miles. At mile 13, I was in a lot of pain. From that point, I stopped at almost every aid station to get Icy Hot spread over my foot and hips (Heavenly!). I kept pushing on, having plenty of energy still and knowing I could fight through pain. I could do hard things.

At around 15 miles, I started getting a slight twinge on the side of my left knee. Then at 17.5 miles, terrible pain shot through my knee and up and down my leg. I stopped running, and the pain subsided. After walking a few steps, I tried running again. Immediately, the pain started on the side of that knee. It felt like someone was taking two rough rocks and rubbing them together. Thinking about my upcoming Ironman, I decided it was best to not push it. I didn’t want to seriously damage my knee and be out of that race.  

I started out walking as quickly as possible and kept about a 14 min pace. As long as I walked, my knee didn’t hurt. But the further I went, the more painful it got, and the slower I went. By the last miserable 2 miles, I was barely hobbling at a 19 min pace. Over those 8 grueling miles, I had tons of thoughts go through my head. I wondered if I should pull out altogether to save my knee. I wondered if I needed to get myself to an instacare as soon as I finished. I wondered if I could really walk for 8 miles. I had tons of energy, and every time someone passed me, I wanted to just take off. I knew I could run fast and finish strong… except for my knee. I tried a couple more times to just jog, but each time, the pain was just too much.

So I decided to try and make the best of it. Since I was moving so slowly, I took time to look at the scenery. Southern Utah really is gorgeous, and a lot more varied than I had expected. Red rock, white rock, black rock – there was a little bit of everything. I loved seeing the hang gliders zooming over us at one section. The sun was shining. I kept reminding myself that at least it wasn’t raining like in Ogden.

As the 5 hour and then the 5:30 pacing group passed me, I felt discouraged that I wouldn’t reach my goal of finishing in 5 hours or less. I was so frustrated that I felt good enough to run fast, but my knee just wasn’t having it. I became angry at myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this race. Maybe I should just quit. But then I thought of the Boise Half Ironman back in June. That is the only race I’ve DNF’d (did not finish) and it took me a good month to pull out of my funk and regain some semblance of self-confidence after I couldn’t finish the swim. I knew if I pulled out of this race, it would affect my mental capacity to prepare of Cozumel. I couldn’t risk that.

Then I thought about life in general. Sometimes we make a plan. It’s a good, solid plan – backed by research, preparation, and confidence. We can’t imagine there being any flaws to the plan. But then, just like my knee, something comes out of the blue and halts our plan. We didn’t see it coming, didn’t plan for it, and might feel frustrated, disappointed, and discouraged that we can’t continue with our plan. We need to make a new plan.

Then I thought of all those women who the Dove Center helps. I’m sure they didn’t plan on marrying or being with a man who hurt them. I’m sure some of them had plans to be doctors, scientists, or maybe even a ballerina or two. And now they’re fighting to not give up and not give in. I couldn’t give up either.

Then today I was thinking about how God has a plan for us. He sees the big picture. He knows that sometimes, we need a bum knee to help us stop and slow down – and learn something important. I didn’t plan on getting divorced. I didn’t plan on being a single mom of two kids for six years. Heck, I wanted to be a high school marching band director and play my sax in a jazz group. I wanted five kids. I wanted to travel the world. I wanted to become a published poet.

But today I noticed my computer’s photo slide show and I realized just how many awesome things I’ve done with my life. I’ve been to some amazing places, met some inspiring people. I’ve learned some tough lessons that made me stronger. I’ve taken vacations with my kids, interned in the Pentagon, finished my Master’s degree, had research and articles published, worked at a great employer, dated some guys who have all taught me valuable lessons - most especially how to see the good in myself. I’ve overcome fears. I’ve loved others. And I’ve soaked up love from so many people.

See, God has a plan for me too. It certainly wasn’t my plan. But my plan wouldn’t have included all the adventures I’ve been on. It wouldn’t have included all the pain and heart break – because who wants to go through all that? But He knew that was the only way for me to grow stronger.

When I was a couple hundred yards from the finish line, I grit my teeth and started jogging. No one lining the shoot knew what I’d been through, or how much pain I was in right then. No one knew I’d had heart surgery earlier this year. No one knew I didn’t finish the Boise Half Ironman. But they were all cheering for me. And when I crossed the finish line, I almost fell because of my knee, but two volunteers rushed up and caught me. Holding each arm, while I finally let my pent up emotion go in a rush of tears, they slowly walked me towards the water and finisher’s medal. After that, I heard Kermit cheering me from the other side of the fence. I hobbled over, still crying, and he hugged me and said how proud he was of me.

And that’s what will happen when we finish this life. I can picture it now – all our friends and family who have passed away will line the shoot, cheering for us and telling us how much they love us as we pass to the spirit world. And then, once we’ve crossed the finish line, our Father in Heaven will reach out and catch us as we collapse into his loving arms. He’ll tell us He knows what we had to go through, and how hard it was. He’ll tell us how proud He is of us, and how much He loves us. Best. Finisher’s. Medal. Ever.

So, I think it’s still a good idea to have a plan. It’s a good idea to prepare, to stay positive mentally. But I think it’s also essential to accept that there will be something unexpected. And if we’re okay with that, we can roll with the waves better and keep pressing forward. Even if it takes a little longer, includes a detour, or we finish the race bruised and broken. It’s not easy, but yes, it’s worth it.

Now on to Cozumel!! 48 days to go! I know that will hurt. I know something unexpected will happen. I’m planning on it. But I’m also planning on not giving up.

Racing to kick abuse in the butt!

I collapsed onto my side of the cold, uninviting bed. “Made it,” I thought. I’d already passed out once, trying to make my way from the bathroom into the bedroom, and almost didn’t make it the rest of the way to the bed. I’d spent most of the night in the bathroom, experiencing the long painful labor process. But I didn’t feel any of the normal euphoric feelings that come with welcoming a new baby into the world. Instead, I felt hollow, empty, and confused. This baby wasn’t going to make it.

When I passed out, my husband asked, “What was that?” As I regained consciousness, I told him I’d passed out. He grunted and rolled over. I tried to stifle my tears. We’d been out of work for a while, and he’d just barely started a new job. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold back the mountain of emotion I was feeling. Quiet sobs racked my body over the loss of this, what would have been our second child (we also had a 15-month-old son). He asked me why I was crying. I told him I was scared (my aunt had almost died having a miscarriage), in pain, sad, and didn’t understand why this was happening. He said, “Well, if you don’t stop crying, I can’t sleep, and I have to be at work early.” Feeling guilty that I was keeping him awake, I tried harder to be quiet, but then I felt worse out of guilt, and cried harder. He huffed, grabbed his pillow and blanket, and headed downstairs to sleep. That was the longest night of my life.

Over the years, I learned to hide my tears better. Any time I got caught crying, he’d say things like, “Why are you crying? What’s wrong with you? Nothing good comes from feelings.” My favorite was, “If you had more faith, you wouldn’t get upset.” The day he moved out, my then-7-year-old son said, “Hey mom, now we can cry whenever we want to without having to worry about dad getting mad at us.” I cried a lot that day.

It took me four years and five relationships before I was able to cry in front of a man – and I was still afraid to do so. Remember when Lord Voldermort in Harry Potter was described as being not quite dead but not quite alive either? He was a ghost, a shadow of who he used to be – shriveled up from everything that had happened to him, and that he had done.

A victim of emotional abuse feels exactly like that inside. Every day. Their spirit is reduced to a shadow of what it once was. The light and life that once emanated from the depths of their heart slowly dwindles to a minimal flicker, barely alive, but not dead either. One-liners such as, “If I were only prettier, sexier, more patient with my husband and kids he’d be nicer to me”, “What’s wrong with me, why can’t I do anything right?”, and “I have to try harder to be a good wife” often cycle through their heads day after day. They originate from the abuser, but over time, the victim believes all of those negative things are true – and starts beating themselves up on a regular basis. The true way to tell if it really is abuse and not just someone who is oversensitive, is if the victim feels this way – like nothing more than a dung heap – day after day, year after year.

Verbal and emotional abuse follows the typical abuse cycle. Verbal abusers are often master manipulators. They often use projection – they accuse others of having weaknesses and issues they themselves have – and they blame the victim for causing them to act that way. I’ve heard many people say, “Why can’t the victim see what the abuser is doing? Can’t they see how obviously ridiculous the accusations and hurtful words are, and that they don’t describe this amazing person at all?”

The simple answer is, no. The abused believes all the crap, mostly because in their mind, they know they aren’t perfect and think the abuser’s words make sense, are logical, and are true. All of these thoughts get tangled in a swirling mass of words – “Am I really to blame for their actions? If I could only be smarter, funnier, keep the house cleaner, have larger breasts, be better at sex, they’d love me. But no one else says I’m this way, so am I really the one? Yes, I must be the one – because they (the abuser) should love me more than anyone else, they know me better than anyone else and they wouldn’t lie to me”. But the truth is – the hurtful words are nothing but lies.

While most verbal abuse stats are included with generic domestic violence reports, Shalva conducted internal research on their clients and found that of those surveyed, 86% reported being victims of verbal abuse. Consider it is estimated that one in four women will experience domestic violence in their lives, and most incidents don’t even get reported – that is a lot of pain. A lot of Lord Voldemorts walking around – unheard, unseen, and slowly dying inside.

I found the following quote: “When you finally realize you didn’t matter at all to someone, you begin to wonder if you matter to anyone.” I also liked the following: “When you stand alone the chances of withstanding challenges and overcoming are low. But when there’s unity, victory is certain and overcoming challenges is possible. Two heads are always better than one.”

Why am I pouring my heart out about the need to help these victims? Because I am one, and I know what it feels like, and I know how hard it is to get over. I’m still trying, and it’s been almost six years. This past weekend, when my kids came back from a long summer visit at their dad’s, my now-13-year-old and I got into a big argument. His stance, facial expressions, even his tone of voice and syntax were a mirror image of his dad. I reverted back to 10 years ago and started crumbling inside. All the intense feelings of inadequacy, rejection, and self-loathing came rushing back to me. On the outside, I tried to not react, to not let him bully me around like his dad used to. But the insults and insinuations cut deeply.

A couple of things hit me that night. 1. I honestly don’t know how I survived. I really don’t know why I’m still alive today. After eight years of feeling such a horrible, crippling deadness inside that I can’t really even put to words, I am amazed I didn’t commit suicide or mentally shut down completely. 2. I realized that maybe I am a lot stronger than I thought I was. But still, five days later, I’m struggling to regain a mental homeostasis. I’ve been falling back into old patterns of low self-esteem and feeling worthless and like a total failure at everything I do. Will this ever end?

So, my next running race isn’t just about me. It’s about all the women out there who walk around in a dark abyss day after day, wondering why God put them here on the earth when they are worthless – trying to not hope for anything better because they believe they’re not good enough for anything better.

I’m running in the St. George marathon this October to prove that you can overcome and move past the constant barrage of negative thoughts and feelings that cripple your soul. I’ll be running in support of The Dove Center, a place for solace, education, and support for women who are victims of domestic violence and rape. Please help me help these women find their old strong, confident, passionate selves. Beneath every abuse victim is a woman who is capable of amazing things – look at the strength they have to just endure the pain and emptiness they feel – every single day. They can do hard things… but like the quotes above, they need to know they matter, and they need that from all of us. It doesn’t just take an army to raise a child, it takes an army to help someone overcome years of verbal and emotional abuse.

My goal is to raise $500 for The Dove Center to help educate and heal women of abuse. If each of my 477 Facebook friends donated a dollar, I’d almost be there. The race is October 5^th, and I’d love to raise the money long before then. You can donate via Paypal on The Dove Center’s website. Just go here, click on “donate” next to my name, and help a woman say goodbye to a painful past – and hello to a future filled with strength, peace, and maybe even a marathon.

Thank you!

Limited by our own limits

I was playing solitaire this morning waiting for my daughter at the dentist. I almost started laughing at myself because out of 10 games, I only beat the computer on 1 of them. But I just kept playing. I knew there was no danger if I didn’t win – the Queen of hearts was not going to jump out of my computer screen and shout “Off with her head!” followed by a hundred spear wielding playing cards chasing after me. But what do we do when we’re faced with something that could have a potentially dangerous outcome?

I recently read the book Jonathon Livingston Seagull. The main idea is that really, the only limitations in our lives are the ones we place on ourselves. If a seagull believes it can do speedy, break-neck dives and gracefully come out of it, it can after a lot of practice and trial and error. Even though I read that a little over a week ago, it didn’t really hit me until this morning. If I believe I can finish an Ironman, I can.

Ever since the Ogden marathon, something switched off in me. I haven’t known how to fix it. I only know I’ve been incredibly down on myself about everything. After the marathon, I had no desire to run, and then I had no desire to bike or swim either. Then I fell apart during the swim at the Half Ironman in Boise and didn’t finish. That was a huge blow to me mentally. After that, I had a really hard time getting back into open water. This weekend I did my first Olympic triathlon and during the first lap of the swim, I barely put my face in the water because I kept panicking and thinking I couldn’t do it. It was miserable and I almost quit in the first 300 meters.

Then as Kermit describes it, I had a break through before starting my second lap. Something clicked and I just put my face in the water and swam. Maybe the key was that I stopped thinking about failing and just did it. My second lap was about 6-8 minutes faster than my first. It felt good to finish it, but it didn’t get me the confidence boost I had hoped for. Instead, I found myself focusing on how I was last coming out of the swim for the Olympic distance, last coming into T2 because of a flat tire, and finishing near the end of the race. Then I was so tired and down on myself, I did horribly on the 50 mile bike we did for the MS 150 the next day.

Kermit kept telling me it was all in my head and while I knew that was part of it, I just wasn’t listening. Then I realized this morning how I was so defeated all weekend. But in thinking about it, I further realized I’ve been feeling defeated ever since the marathon.

Part of it is that I haven’t made the time to train properly. Part of it is that I’m having a hard time juggling everything in my life and not letting things overwhelm me. It doesn’t help that I’ve been focusing on all the bad things rather than celebrating the little accomplishments. Sure the marathon was hard and I was cold and wet, but I didn’t give up and finished. Sure I finished near the end at this weekend’s tri, but I didn’t stop and I finished it. That was a huge breakthrough to not let my fears get the better of me during the swim. I wanted to quit so bad and I was terrified – not just of drowning, but that I couldn’t do it - failure. But some miracle happened in my head, and I kept going.

When I was speaking to a friend about my recent race experiences they said “stop having limits”. That reminded me of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. The Seagull had no concept of limits on himself. He believes he can do amazing things – and he just keeps trying until he does it. He believes, with child-like faith that I’ve lost along the way, that he is capable of anything.

There are so many pieces to this idea. I picture myself in a box – a box I made for myself based on failures and inaccurate judgments of myself. The box is obsidian colored glass with funny mirrors all around the outside of the box. I’ve been looking at myself with a dark, negative, distorted view. I only see my perceived limits – failures, weakness, mostly things I don’t like about myself. And after so many years of focusing on that, that’s all I can see. It’s hard to believe in myself and that I can accomplish super hard things and change the things I don’t like.

The second part of this is that it’s a glass box. On the one hand, if I just worked hard enough, I could shatter the glass. I could be done with the limitations I’ve set on myself and then conquer the world (or least fly to the moon like Superman – my ultimate dream). But I’m afraid. Afraid of getting cut by all the slivers of glass. I’m afraid that once I break free, I’ll see I wasn’t distorting the truth and I really can’t do the hard things I’ve set out to do. I know achieving great things doesn’t come without struggles, getting hurt, and having to start over a few times. But I’m still afraid that after all that – the struggle, hope, pain and tears – that after all that, I’ll still fail.

Perhaps because that’s how I felt, and still feel, about my marriage. I went through so much over the years to make things work. I wasn’t perfect, and there are things I do much better now than when I was married. But I really felt like I gave it my all – but for what? Failure. At least that’s how I see it. It was hard, and I hurt many times, I still hurt sometimes. I got cut, I was broken, but I kept having hope and faith, and still failed. So maybe the issue goes back much further and deeper than just 26.2 miles in the cold rain.

So now the question is, what do I do about it? How do I take a leap of faith, break through the glass, stop placing limits on myself, and in Kermit’s words, “just do”? Via the Strengths Finder 2.0 book, I know my biggest strength is problem solving. I thrive most and nothing satisfies me more than having a problem, researching, finding a solution and then doing it – and fixing it. So this is the most decadent of all chocolate desserts for me.

I understand the why. I know what the results will be if I can demolish the glass box – a great race in Cozumel in December, and the pure joy of knowing I overcame something I’ve been struggling with for a while – a lack of mental strength. And I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that I have no limits. Kermit inspires me with how much he has accomplished with his races after everything he’s been through and the physical limitations his body has. He just keeps going and doesn’t give up. So how do I get to that point? And even more so, how do I have a positive attitude about it?

This will be one tough cookie to crack (hopefully its chocolate chip since that’s my favorite). But I know this is the key to finishing a full Ironman for me. If you’ve had experiences with this, and learned something about it, please share! I’m in the research phase and would love to hear your experiences.