My First Duathlon, Part 3: Surviving in a Desert

**If you're just joining this story or missed either of the first two pieces, you can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

Most of us have seen movies of people in the desert, lacking energy and wandering in search of life with nothing and no one else around. That's the best analogy I can think of in an attempt to describe these moments I was experiencing. There were people all around me, but the only thing I could see was a scene of hot, dusty, dirt and gravel all around. My only motivation for continuing to move forward was water. There was definitely water up ahead and I had to keep moving to get to it.

I'm pretty sure people passed me. I recall making nonsense comments as they ran by. If you asked me details about it though, I have no recollection of any meaningful banter or conversation.

Water. Water was my only goal.

Certain that I'd been walking for hours (though actually not), finally the aid station was visible in the distance. Like a mirage, the tent wavered in the heat of the day. I may have been talking out loud to myself at this point, but I was determined to get to the water.

A reasonable person may be asking him/herself why one would set water as the goal, knowing that there would be no motivation for the return trip of the this final leg of the race. Well, when one is in the state of mind I was those sorts of thoughts don't enter the picture -- at least until in the midst of it.

I had finally reached the water. Precious, hydrating, life giving water. That paper cup of cold water was the best thing that had happened in my life to date. It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, but it's how I felt in that moment. I requested another and another, and yet a fourth.

The volunteers were looking at me strangely, but dammit, I was thirsty and I was going to drink until I was content. I savored the moment. I walked to the opposite side of the path and took more water from volunteers there. I wanted to bathe in the water, but I suddenly realized that I now had to make the return trip to the finish line.

Shaking my fist at the sky I proclaimed, "Why do you mock me?!"

Truly, I think delusion was setting in now. I was picturing myself in an epic movie, except that it was real life (or what behaved as real life) and this is where I was going to lay down and end existence on this earth. It was so far back to the finish line. There was no way I was going to make it back. No way.    No.   Way.

I let out a huge sigh. I took two more cups of water. I started to cry.

My body hurt so badly. The pain I was experiencing was setting in now that I'd found the water I had needed.

"Suck it up," I sobbed to myself, "You can't just stand here forever." And with that, I headed back to the finish. Very, very slowly.

It was a bit ridiculous. Though I hadn't had months of training for the event, I was trained to some extent. True, I wasn't accustomed to completing the distance while experiencing the pain I was in presently, but I did not want to quit. I was not going to quit because I could still move.

Shortly after leaving the aid station, I was thirsty again. How could I have consumed so much water and still be thirsty?! I thought about going back for more, but backtracking would not have been wise. Despite my thirst, my stomach was sloshing with water, which was creating quite an uncomfortable feeling on top of everything else.

My steps were getting shorter and shorter. Soon I was shuffling along like a 90-year old who's had hip and knee issues her entire life. This is what I have to look forward to, I thought. The great thing about this thought was that it actually focused on life beyond this race which meant that I stood a chance of finishing the mission.

I wanted to run. Really. My brain was telling me to do so, but every time I would attempt it, my body declined the invitation. It was one of the most frustrating instances of my life. I kept trying to coax my body into cooperation. The faster you go, the quicker this will be over. I'd pick up my leg and attempt to run, but my attempts were met only with failure. It was no use. My body was doing all that it could.

After wandering this desert for weeks (or maybe what only felt like weeks), I spotted Sam off to my right side. He was walking very slowly, about 20 feet away, in the same direction I was headed. Why was he walking so slow? I wondered. Then, I suddenly understood that it was because I was walking that slow and he was attempting to stay with me to show support.

Suddenly, whatever little hope had been keeping me moving collapsed inside. "I can't do this," I cried. "I don't want to do this anymore." I don't know if it was the comfort of seeing Sam and knowing that he wouldn't make me finish, or the reality that my body truly felt as though it couldn't go on, but I had to let it out, to share with someone who would understand that my body couldn't take any more.

"You are almost to the finish," Sam responded. "Just a little bit more to go." He moved in closer to me, likely realizing I wouldn't bite his head off as I had during the riding portion. I just wanted the torture to end.

"I can't see the finish. Where is it?" I asked.

"It's there. I promise," he smiled as he pointed off to some random point ahead. "Do you see all those people up there?"

"Yeah," I sobbed like a dejected, pouting child, head hanging low and shuffling my feet even slower.

"That's where you're going. You're almost there."

The dirt and gravel path had become a paved road again, so at least there was that. I wouldn't be tripping on real or invisible rocks anymore.

My bitterness about other people actually being able to run was taking hold by the last part of this race.

"But, I don't want to do this anymore," I whined again. Somehow stating it a second time, I thought, was making a more emphatic proclamation despite the annoying whining that accompanied the statement. I was convinced Sam would pull me from the race course and save me from complete destruction.

"You can do it," Sam replied.

Not what I was looking for, I thought to myself. I actually can't do this - my body has made that quite clear. As I was thinking these very words, Sam began distracting me with tales of happenings he had witnessed during the event.

I have no idea what the specifics were for these stories, but it must've worked because before I knew it, there I was, a few hundred feet from the end.

"I'll see you on the other side," Sam said and disappeared off into a crowd of people and tents.

I had made it -- somehow -- to the end. It was right there in front of me.

I have to run through the finish line, I told myself. It's a short distance and it will all be over. My body was broken and I was still in need of water, but, inexplicably I want to know that I had run through the finish line if there was any possible way to get my body to make it happen.

Picking up my feet, I attempted to run. I'm not certain what I was doing was actually running, but my brain told me that I was and that was all that mattered in the moment.

My broken and battered self trying to run across the finish. On another note, with all the backside shots taken of me over the years, I am pretty convinced I could stand in as a body double for my father's mother. It's amazing how genetics are just inescapable - both the physical characteristics and athletic aptitude (or lack thereof, as in my case).

Smiles greeted me all around as I passed over the finish. Participant medals were given out and a nice, cold bottle of water was forced into my hands.

Ahhhh. Relief. It was over. The rescue plane had landed and saved me from my desert death. I drank that bottle of water faster than any water I'd consumed. It was the best water I had ever tasted.

It was a bit of an anti-climactic finish, despite the internal drama and physical pain throughout the race. Together, Sam and I walked back to the parking lot in an attempt to find our car. I thought about my initial plan to ride to the start line as we walked. I would've really loved to have done so, but it wasn't in the stars for this particular race. The 25-30 extra miles on the bike that day may have actually been my doom, so it was a wise decision to choose a less physically taxing form of transportation.

After the race, I was asked by a relative if I would do another duathlon. It was a little too soon after the event and the answer was a vehement "No!" With some time and distance in between though, I realize it did exactly what it was supposed to do: Provide extra motivation to keep me pushing through the season. Plus, the memory of the pain is starting to fade, so, on this side of things and with some perspective, I've modified that answer to "Maybe," which almost always turns somehow into an "I've-signed-myself-up-for-an-event," within a very short amount of time.

In truth, had I given myself more time to train, I likely would've done better, even with the particular physical limitations of the day. I think it would be nice if I could find a duathlon that was a bike-run-bike instead of run-bike-run (though I'm not sure these exist), but what I appreciated about the duathlon is that it pushed me outside of my comfort zone and forced me to do something I am not as comfortable completing. I'd still rather do an epic bike ride than this sort of event, but it was an interesting change-up that allowed me to rework the way my brain (and body) are used to working.

Ultimately, even though time was pretty much thrown out the window, I complained a LOT during the final leg of the race, and wanted to quit more times than I can count, I did cross the finish line under my own power and within the time constraints. That was truly the only goal... and the one that mattered most of all to me.

**Thanks to Sam for documenting the day's journey in photos as best he could. Without him, I'd have no photos to share with this retelling of the race. I have to also again thank him for dealing with me during the race. I am eternally grateful that he is always there, even when the crazy sets in.

My First Duathlon, Part 2: Is Finishing Possible?

(Part 1 of this post can be found by clicking here.)

I agonized over what to do about the race. I don't like spending money on activities I can do without cost at any point and on any day, but once I sign myself up I always feel as though it's a commitment to show up and complete it unless something truly catastrophic happens.

This was bordering on disastrous with my inability to run, but as the night prior to the duathlon wore on, I could feel my brain talking my body into at least trying. I am not a quitter. I may occasionally throw child-like tantrums in the middle of difficult challenges and have to talk myself through it, but I don't like giving up.

By bed time I had decided I was going to the race and while I knew I would be fortunate if I was able to walk the running portion, I was also aware I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try.

Surprisingly, I slept pretty great that night (an unusual occurrence for me pre-race). I woke up on my own before the alarm and everything went pretty smoothly. The pain from my pelvis being out of place was still there, and I seemed to have developed other pains in my calves and ankles over night, but I was ready to go and give it whatever I could on this particular day.

Sam was taking me to the start line and had his bike with him. His plan was to cut through portions of the ride on dirt trails to attempt to see me come by on the roads at various points. He was concerned about being fast enough to get to certain intersections, but I'd told him not to worry as this would definitely not be fast on my end.

When we arrived, I went to set up my bike in the corral for the second part of the race. One of the officials was at the entry and marked my arms and leg with my bib number and age. Looking around, there were a lot of people participating in this event. There was barely room to squeeze my bike into its spot, but we were able to get it set up and then had time to wait.

We watched the rounds of swimmers take off for the triathlon race before it was time to start the duathlon.

This particular event also has a triathlon taking place at the same time and had started a bit earlier than our arrival. We walked over to the swim area to see some of the happenings there and as time closed in for my start time, we meandered over to the line.

I could feel my stomach flopping inside. I was already regretting showing up, but I was talking myself through my plan. It was quite simple... You are just going to walk. Put one foot in front of the other until you get back here. Then, you get on your bike and pedal.

It seemed simple enough, but there are time cut-offs. If I didn't make it back in time, the officials wouldn't allow me to get on the bike. As I stood at the back of the pack, allowing everyone to get in front of me (I didn't want to slow anyone down because of my issues), I tried to put the thought of not getting back out of my mind.

The starting gun was fired and we were off.

There were some truly fast people. We started off on a bit of an incline and by the time I actually crossed the start, there were some at the front I could no longer see. I had to put that out of my mind though. You are doing your own race, not theirs. You are injured. Just put one foot in front of the other and walk until you can't anymore.

It's easier said than done though. I walked and I walked alone. Every single racer was in front of me. Normally, this would motivate me to work harder, but in the physical state I was in, I knew I had to just do what I could and not worry about where anyone else was in the race.

The funny thing with races is that we truly don't know what is going on for another person. We can't know what sort of injuries they're fighting through, what kinds of daily struggles they deal with, nor how much or little s/he has trained for the event. In my experience, I find that people pre-judge me (as humans sometimes do -- we just can't help ourselves) based purely on what I look like. Yes, I am larger than the other people racing, but sometimes the "atta-girl" responses I get from people tend to piss me off. It's as though they think I sit on the couch all day eating and it's the first athletic endeavor I've ever attempted.

On the flip side of this, not every comment comes off as condescending and it is nice to have people who are racing together sharing encouragement. The high-five's while passing (it was an out-and-back running course), the "good job" comments, all of the little things that many participants are willing to do to help keep others going is fantastic. When those up at the front of the pack are willing to offer words of encouragement, I find it extra special. They actually stand a chance of winning and to make the effort to say something or give a thumbs up is truly what sportsmanship is about, in my opinion.

A few weeks prior to this duathlon, I had picked up a new toy. Last Christmas, I had bought Sam a smart watch and I had thought it might be a good thing for me during my training. I had time to test it out before the event and never had any trouble with it, but about 10 minutes in to this first leg of the race, the watch had decided my heart rate was of utmost importance and wouldn't show me anything other than that screen. It was infuriating when I was trying to keep track of time, particularly as this hadn't happened at all during training.

At this point, I was worried that I would need to speed things up so I decided to try running a bit. I wasn't sure I could physically run, but I wanted to give it a try. Up ahead walking was a couple decently in front of me but close enough that it was possible to catch them. I decided I would try to run until I caught up to them and then go back to walking. The first few steps of running were very painful. Very. But, I think I've become pretty good at knowing the pains I can push through and those that require me to be more delicate. As I caught and passed the duo, I thought maybe I could do a bit of running periodically.

Because my watch was being uncooperative, I set visual points and would walk to those and then begin running until the next fixed point I selected. It was working fairly well and before I was even aware of it, I was back to pick up my bicycle and head out pedaling.

I had truly been looking forward to this portion because I believed it was where I'd be able to make up some lost time. Changing shoes, adding a helmet and downing some GU were the only things on my mind. I tried not to be overly concerned with going fast in the transition and, for the most part, this seemed to work well.

I have ridden the bicycle course many times over the years, but I had not ridden it at all this year or even last. My memory had told me that the first 4-5 miles would be climbing and then it would primarily be a downhill sprint back to the third leg of this race. I pictured passing people as gravity took over and arriving back to start the second run with ease. However, as I soon discovered, my memory seems to make up whatever it wants to believe as the course was almost nothing like I'd recalled.

The first few miles were in fact climbing, but the climbing seemed to continue much longer than I'd believed. Oh well, I thought to myself, it is what it is and I know there will be some downhill portions coming.

Less than half way through the biking portion, I could see lights flashing in the road ahead. Motorized traffic seemed to be coming to a complete stop, but I was still free to ride as I pleased in the shoulder area of the road. As I approached the lights, I could see that officers were blocking the road entirely and forcing vehicles to turn around. Off to the left I could see a road bike that looked completely mangled and a group of riders heading in the opposite direction gathered around each other. To this day, I still don't know exactly what transpired, but I could only hope that everyone was okay.

Just as I approached the officer who was directing motorized traffic back in the direction we'd just come, a behemoth of an SUV suddenly started to swerve into me. The officer had been trying to direct both the cars on the road and the cyclists coming through and he was informing me that I should continue on behind him on the shoulder; however, the motorist mistakenly took this as a message for him to swerve into the shoulder and dirt on the side of the road and attempt to go around.  It was at slow speed and I could feel it coming so I was actually yelling at the driver, "NOT YOU! NOT YOU!!!"

I had my arm pressed against the side of his vehicle as I was pushed on my bike into the dirt off the shoulder. I decided at this point my best course of action was to simply stop riding, so I hit the brakes and dismounted. At this point, the motorist finally realized what was going on (I'm sure the look of terror on the officers face was a big indicator) and the driver rolled down his window and profusely apologized. While I appreciated the sentiment, it wouldn't have done a whole lot of good if I'd been injured or worse. Still, I didn't have time to be angry about it because I was in the middle of a race for goodness sake.

Waving him off, I continued down the road. Finally! I was getting some downhill time. "Ahhhh... This is where I shine!" I actually said it aloud. I couldn't help myself. Sadly, the relief lasted only a brief time before climbing started yet again. Hmm, I thought, I don't recall this having so much climbing.

Still, I persevered, waiting for the downhill that I was convinced was coming.

My hands had been going numb (a story for a different time, but it had to do with the bike I was riding) for several miles now. I kept shaking them trying to get feeling back. It was a no-go on that front, but up in the distance Sam was approaching. At least that would be a nice distraction.

The course shared the road with motorized traffic. This was part of the mild downhill section that brought me great happiness for a brief time.

"I thought I missed you," Sam exclaimed as he about-faced and came back to ride with me.

"You can't ride with me," I responded quickly. I know it sounded harsh and I didn't mean for that to be the first thing out of my mouth, but the rules are very clear in that no one can have aid or assistance on the course, nor can another rider be within several feet of another. This was made abundantly clear on several occasions and I didn't want to get disqualified because Sam was trying to check on me.

Sam backed off, but I knew I had to stop for a minute because I could barely feel my hands.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just going to eat a GU pack and then I'll be on my way again." I needed the relief of a few seconds off the bike to pull myself together. Sam continued to ride on.

Shaking out my hands, I consumed the GU and got back on the bike. Up the road, Sam was waiting again. I knew he was trying to be helpful and supportive, but I could feel the agitation welling up inside. What didn't he understand about the fact that I couldn't have him on the course riding with me? My response, unfortunately, came out in a distressed, snapping manner.

"Please!" I said again, "You can't ride with me! They will disqualify me if anyone sees you riding with me." In retrospect, I don't know why I was so worried about it. It's not as though I was at the front of the pack, Sam was riding behind me not in front so there was no advantage, I certainly wasn't winning the race, and I hadn't seen a course official since the start line, but I was still overly concerned with the rules for some incomprehensible reason. Maybe it was just the reality of knowing I wasn't in any condition to be doing this race at all, but now I just wanted to finish and didn't want any reason to be unable to complete the goal. Honestly, I didn't have any intention of hurting Sam's feelings, but I was just in pain and wanted to be through the race.

Sam seemed unfazed and told me that he would see me at the transition. Turning around, he headed back to the transition spot. I felt bad as I rode on. I didn't understand why I'd snapped at him in that moment, but I couldn't focus too much energy on it. Later, the reality of my harshness would set in to a greater degree.

After what felt like an eternity of low-level climbing, I returned to the transition area. I can honestly say for the first time in my life I was actually wanting to be on foot instead of on a bicycle. The lack of feeling in my hands had become too much and I was highly uncomfortable on the bike. While the machine itself had been fine, the two of us together had been a very poor combination that day.

Gearing up for the run (or walk, in my case) once again, my head was filled with doubt. I was so thirsty! All of my water was empty and there was no one at the transition area to provide a refill. I knew there was water at the halfway point of the run, but that seemed so far away when I was presently in need. It was also incredibly hot. What had started out as a lovely day had become something unbearable (one of the consequences of being slow during a summer race, unfortunately).

The good news was that I was making or very close to making my personal time goals - somehow. I'd been a smidge slower on the first "run", and slower on the bike than I wanted (my watch had started miraculously working again), but maybe I could make it up during the final run. Or, at least I was telling myself that in the moment.

As I crossed back through the running shoot, a spectator at the start yelled out, "Run! You can walk later."

Oh, how I wanted to punch her. Genuinely, if I'd had any sort of extra energy to expend, I may have done so.  I say that now, but even with my extreme disdain for this woman in that moment, I don't think I really would ever strike another human in this type of situation. I think she thought she was being encouraging, but when a racer is injured, dehydrated, and generally just not in a good place, it's probably not the comment to make.

Didn't she think that I wanted to run? If I had any ability to do so, I would have. But my body was broken. My spirit was broken. Now, I just wanted to cry. I desperately wanted, nay, needed water. My back was killing me and the thought of having to complete another run, no matter the distance, seemed impossible. Frankly, I wasn't sure I could even walk for any length at this point. Why had I wanted to be on foot again so desperately?

Still I continued down the path. I was barely moving. Sam would later tell me that I had a nice waddle going on... thanks, Sam. Though, I knew precisely what he meant. I was hurting and I truly didn't know if I could make it to the end.

*The 3rd and final part of this post will be up soon! Thanks for reading along and for your patience as I finish up the post.

Part 3 is up now and can be found here.

My First Duathlon, Part 1: Training for a Duathlon While Recovering from Injury

Earlier this past summer, I wrote about why I participate in races occasionally, but in August, I participated in a summer race for which I had little time to train.

To provide a brief background, I had been searching for something that would motivate me to work a bit harder as we worked nearer to the end of summer than I might if I had nothing to aim toward and a duathlon presented itself. I have never in my life competed in a duathlon, but this event, while a challenge for me, seemed like a doable distance and course to complete, so a bit on a whim, I signed myself up just a few weeks prior to the race.

*Image found here

Almost immediately, I had buyer's remorse (participant remorse?). I wasn't entirely sure this was my smartest move. I've had a lot of issues that have kept me from running much at all this year, but I also knew when I signed up that walking portions was a possibility. I'm also far more comfortable with other types of physical movement. If someone told me there was a competition in a few weeks involving strength, I believe it would be less intimidating to me. Still, I didn't want to walk the running portions of the race and the internal nagging persisted as I continued to ask myself why on earth I'd have signed up for a run-bike-run race?

Obviously, the two tasks I need to undertake for this race are running and biking. Fortunately, I'm on a bicycle at some point just about every day, but I knew that my distances were going to have to advance and I'd need to have some focus on speeding up my usually casual-leaning pace. Riding a bicycle doesn't terrify me the way running (twice) does. Riding a bike is easy. It can be challenging on different terrain/inclines, but for the most part I get on a bike and go, down shift or up shift as needed, and pedal.

Running doesn't come as easily. True, it's still just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, but my body tends to fight me much more when it comes to this form of movement. As anyone who's read here can tell you, the injuries my body has dealt with over the last several years have brought a challenge to even riding as far as I'd like. My injuries span from feet all the way to shoulders and have varying levels of intensity and need of coddling. For instance, my pelvis comes out of place at least once per week. Running or even walking when it's out (as one might imagine) isn't the easiest thing to do. I also deal with genetic issues that truly will always keep me at a slow pace when it comes to running.

Still, I can train as long as I don't try to push too hard when I'm experiencing immense pain, and as long as I take care to listen to what my body is telling me.

My regular workout usually takes place at the gym. I vary exercises but usually find myself on a treadmill, lifting weights and mixing in my own random sets of cardio exercises that I've taken from various sources over the years. I also try to include stretching at some point, but it's one of those areas that I really should include more regularly.

When starting to train for the duathlon, I figured it would probably be a good idea to actually practice the way things would go for the event. So, I started running, biking and then running again.

My first try at it, I figured I'd take it easy, starting with 1/3 the running distance, most of the biking distance and then 1/3 the running distance again. I had decided to train only on the treadmill, even knowing that running outside is a different sort of beast, but also accepting that it would do less harm to the parts of my body that I needed to keep safe.

On the first run, I ended up completing 1/2 the running distance because I felt I didn't need to back as far down as I'd initially thought, but I will say that the most challenging part for my brain (and body) was returning for the second round of running.

As stated earlier, I'm used to riding to the gym to work out and then riding home, but there was something about that extra run before the return trip home that threw my mind in to chaos. I could feel my brain telling my body that we were done and to stop moving, so it was a bit of a mental struggle to refocus and tell my legs to keep moving. Of course, practicing helps with muscle memory so this fight wouldn't be such a struggle going forward.

The ride home after that first attempt, even though I live only a couple of miles from the gym, was not easy. Although the distances had not been great, the three hours I'd spent moving meant that my body was looking for some sort of nutrition. It's as though I'd forgotten that there is a difference between a workout and training for an event, but my body was definitely reminding me.

With the second try, I incorporated some GU into the riding portion of training, which helped tremendously. My brain felt clearer as I started the second run, I didn't feel as though I was going to collapse, and even the bike ride home was a little easier. I still hadn't quite got the nutrition part correct, but it had gone much better than the first round.

Unfortunately, injuries still plagued me into the third week and I was starting to wonder if I'd be able to compete in this event at all. Having difficulty walking, let alone trying to run was causing mental distress. I pondered deferring my participation until 2018, but I really wasn't ready to give up quite yet.

Still, as I did not have much time between sign up and the actual race day, I tried to determine the best ways to utilize what was available to me. Running a lot would be good for this type of event; however, my body doesn't tolerate it well, so instead I spent some time walking uphill and doing other cross training activities such as jumps and short, faster sprints in order to try to build up what would be needed for this duathlon.

Surprisingly, my body was doing pretty well and I was beginning to think that I might actually perform decently at the duathlon. My back was holding up, my knees weren't hurting, and even my pelvis had been staying where it needed to most of the time.

By the first part of the week of the duathlon, I was feeling great! In the back of my mind I had minor moments of doubt, but I was pretty sure that my body was as ready as it could be given the short amount of training time, and I was experiencing only minimal pain which was already a win for me. I even made a comment to Sam that I was feeling good and thought I could do well at the race.

The debate about what to wear for the event had been plaguing me too. I had tried a few combinations during my practice duathlons, but nothing seemed to be to my liking. If it worked well for running, I was uncomfortable on the bike and vice versa. The last thing I want to be doing during a race is tugging on clothing. Ultimately, I had decided on my triathlon knickers because they are easy to run in and still have a small amount of padding for the bike.

The top portion was where I was struggling though. After trying several bike jerseys I own, I wasn't happy with the way they behaved while running. When it came down to it, I didn't need the pockets on the jersey because I had a bag for the ride and could keep GU in the pocket of my pants while running, so I decided to wear a work out tank and hope that it would be sufficient.

My workout plan was in place for the week leading up to the race too. I continued to exercise but took things a bit slower than usual to ensure that my body would stay well.

Unfortunately, the day before the event, my pelvis decided that it was time to pop out of place. I had been having some neck issues and could not turn my head so I had made a trip to the chiropractor the day prior, insisting that he only adjust the upper part of my back/neck as all had been so great with the lower portion of my body.

After the adjustment, my neck started to feel better, but I was then dealing with lower body issues that were making it difficult to walk at all. I was kicking myself for going in for an adjustment, but knew that I really needed to be able to turn my neck during the race. Still, had I just left things alone I was fairly certain none of this would be happening.

The night before the race, I was convinced that I shouldn't show up to the duathlon at all. The majority of the race was running, not biking, so I didn't think I'd be able to fake it to the finish line. I was mad at myself for spending money on a race that I'd known would be a challenge even in a good state, and now I was experiencing so much pain just putting one foot in front of the other to walk through the house that I was pretty sure this just wasn't going to happen.

"What do I do?" I asked of Sam, as I held my hand up to my aching hip. "Do I go anyway and try, and if I can't finish, at least I gave it a shot? Do I just forget it and not bother. I really don't think I can run at all, and I'm honestly not sure I can even walk very well."

Unfortunately, Sam didn't have any wise words for me. I completely understood. It's not really possible to tell someone else what their body is capable of doing, but he definitely sympathized with my plight and was aware that I was not in a good state. I knew he wouldn't blame me for dropping out entirely before I even got to the start line, but I was still (as much as it perplexed even me) trying to figure out how I could complete what was in front of me the following morning.

*Part 2 is in the finishing stages and will be available soon.
**Part 2 can now be found by clicking here.

Why I Participate in Races, Even Though I Stand No Chance of Being Competitive or Winning

Mother's sometimes have a way of saying things that no one else can get away with expressing to another individual. Mine happens to have no filter when it comes to people she knows and strangers alike, so the questions she asks at times shouldn't really surprise me (though they sometimes leave me apologizing to strangers). Now in her 70s, that filter seems to be nearly non-existent, so if I thought her verbal spouts were difficult to deal with at a younger age, I am learning that the verbalization of whatever enters her mind is becoming more frequent as she gets older.

Recently though, mother dear posed a question that I thought was rather interesting (even if I was slightly offended at the asking). We were chatting about recent happenings and I mentioned that Sam and I had participated in a running race. Her response was, "You? You were in a race? Running?"

It was a mostly legitimate question as my body has taken some blows over the last couple of years that have resulted in both my hesitancy to want to participate in group activities and that often keep me from being able to run. Not to mention that I am, of course, overweight. The combination hardly makes for a good recipe for success in a race of any sort.

My response was that, yes, I participated in a race but for the most part, I didn't run because I wasn't capable when I arrived to race on the day in question. It's not as though it was the first race she thought I'd completed, so her question seemed a little out of place to me, but it still had me thinking.

The thing is, I had entered the race knowing that there was a strong possibility I wouldn't be capable of running on race day, and also well aware that I stood no chance of being competitive regardless of whether I was running or walking.

I have joked with others that I participate in races to make everyone else feel better about themselves. I say it really in half-jest because I am conscious of the reality that I stand no chance of winning any foot or wheel race, or even placing in my age division or any other category. It's just my reality. I have never been fast at anything and regardless of my training regimen, I will never be faster than the slowest individuals.

So, why participate in races at all?

I have pondered this over the years, but never really put it down on paper (or computer in this instance), so I thought I would share thoughts for anyone else who may believe him/herself to be slow or who may be hesitant for whatever reason to participate in races. My reasons may be different than others, but perhaps sharing them will be of benefit to someone who is thinking about entering a race of his/her own.

Personally, I tend to be a go-big-or-go home sort of person. My very first race ever (other than being forced into events in physical ed in school) was a marathon. Yep. My first race as an adult was running 26.1 miles. I did not run the whole event, but I did ultimately complete it. Most people start with a 5k or 10k, but not me. Nope, I headed straight for the big show. Honestly though, I did this because I was afraid that if I entered a shorter race and didn't do well or it didn't go well for me physically, it might keep me from doing the marathon, and I was determined to complete a marathon.

It was both one of the best and worst experiences of my life. I was not properly trained for the event, I didn't understand the need for fueling during an endurance race, and I had a number of obstacles to endure throughout the race including heading off in the wrong direction half way through, only to find myself about a mile off course before someone informed me that I was going the wrong way.

But there were amazing things that I will never forget about this race like having my very own unknown-to-me cheering section that followed me from mile 8 to about mile 11, and actually completing the race, which was something I wasn't sure would happen by the time I hit about mile 16.

Surprisingly, I was not the last person to finish, which I was certain was my fate. I had been very slow and added about two miles to the course, so as I watched others pass over the finish, I admired the fact that not one of them had given up... and believe me, we had plenty of opportunities.

When I reached mile 14, the race barriers, cones and water stations were all being removed. Vans for the event started to circle and ask individuals if they wanted a ride to the finish line. It was very demotivating, I must say, particularly as they seemed to come around every 5 minutes. By mile 17, I realized most participants were likely done and I felt very alone on the course. I was also in a lot of pain. My back had started to seize up, and I had no water or food with me.

I had a bright spot though. There were a group of ladies, who had finished the half marathon operating in tandem with the marathon, driving around offering water to those who were still on the course trying to finish. About every mile or so, they'd come around again asking if I needed anything. These few ladies were seriously one of the big factors allowing me to get to the finish line because by mile 20, I was seriously considering conceding and taking a ride to the finish line.

I imagine for any competitive runner there are always pains too, and that running 26+ miles isn't easy for 99% of the population, but when a person is slow it is that much more time that s/he is on their feet which creates additional aches and pains. Imagine walking or running for 4 hours versus 8 hours - it's a huge difference to any body.

The miles between 20 and 23 were some of the most painful in my life. I had to stop several times to issue out some positive self-talk and remind myself why I was doing this race.

Why was I doing the race? Completing a marathon was a bucket list item for me. It seemed so ludicrous to be able to finish that I wanted a big challenge to see if I could get it done. When I had moments of doubt, I told myself, "You never have to do this again. Just get to the finish line." Remarkably, it seemed to help. Nearing the end of the race, my legs were barely moving, and I had absolutely no idea where I was in the race because all of the markers had been removed.

At this point, there was a police officer in the road still assisting those who needed to cross a busy spot during the race. As I crossed I asked of him, "Do you happen to know what mile this is?" He responded telling me I was at mile 23, and suddenly I had a renewed pep in my step. "Really?" I couldn't help but gleefully respond. That meant I only had about 3 miles left to go. I could do three miles, I thought, even if I had to crawl over the finish line. It was also a very obvious reminder to me that our minds have so much control over our bodies.

Happily, I did not crawl at any point during the race, and Sam, who had finished hours before me, came out to meet me with about two tenths of a mile to go. It was perfect timing as I needed that push to get through that last little bit.

*Image here

After the marathon, I pretty much swore off races. If I wasn't going to do another marathon, what could ever compete with that type of distance? But, as it turned out, it would not be my last race.

Which brings me to the real point of this post. The reasons or the motivation that keep me entering races both on foot and bicycle.

Really, there can be one to several reasons I choose to enter a race. I've participated in races simply to help out a friend who was starting a new race and needed participants to sign up, or because I wanted to support a charitable organization. I've participated because the course just sounded fun, challenging, or both. I've done some races simply because I needed a kick in the rear and to have a goal to work towards. But most often, it's just the need to challenge myself and improve on the past.

The reality is most people who enter races know they aren't going to win. If the goal was simply winning, there would be only a handful of individuals who would participate in any race. For the vast majority of participants, I would say the purpose or goal is something found within themselves. Maybe they want to beat a prior time on the same course or they want to better a time from a similar distance on another course. Perhaps they just enjoy running or cycling and being in a group headed toward the same goal is helpful. It may stand to reason that a person simply wants to visit a city and participating in a race is an easy "excuse" to have a mini-vacation. It's not for me to say what, where or who motivates another person to race, but I do think that everyone finds their individual reason(s).

My point is, just because I'm not fast doesn't mean I should shy away from a race. In fact, during a race recently, I was at the very back of the pack to start. I had told Sam before we began that my only goal was not to finish last, so when I realized where I was I knew I wasn't off to the best start. However, it turned out to be the perfect spot for me. It takes me awhile to warm up and I could see where everyone was in front of me. A few had started out too fast and it became a mental game to try and overtake as many individuals as I could. As soon as I'd passed one person, I'd set my sights on the next and tell myself internally that I would not allow the person I'd just passed to get in front of me. Not only did it make the distance seem much shorter, but it was great motivation as well.

If I were to offer thoughts or tips to anyone who is considering a race and who hasn't raced previously, I don't know that I'd advise him or her to start with a marathon run or a century ride, but I suppose it would depend on the individual. For me, I thrive on the possibility that I may not finish at all (it's a bit of a twisted thought process, I do understand), but I also participate in short distances which can be just as much if not more challenging and/or fun.

Ultimately, there are some things I wish someone had told me before the first time I raced. Here are a few, in no particular order:
1. Understand that endurance races require fueling. You will "bonk" without taking in some sort of nutrition. I used to think because I'm bigger I didn't need fuel. Unfortunately, the body doesn't work that way. For me, if the race is longer than 2.5 hours, I know I need to start fueling every 30-45 minutes from the start. If it's less than 2.5 hours, usually water is sufficient. Your mileage may vary though, of course.
2. Test your food/gu/energy product prior to race day to know if your body will tolerate it or not. I've had some quite unpleasant reactions trying to test energy products on race day.
3. Invest in proper, comfortable equipment/clothing.
4. Don't test new shoes, clothing, saddle, handlebars, bike, etc for the first time on race day.
5. Take care of injuries and rest when needed; trying to push through training when injured only delays healing or intensifies the injury.
6. Recognize the difference between true injury and excuse-making to miss a training day.
7. People have always been kind to me during races, encouraging me when I needed it or offering support, and I try to return that favor whenever possible.
8. Many races have cutoff times, but if you're concerned you won't make it in the allotted time frame, look for another race that allows everyone to finish (walker-friendly events are great resources for runners who are slow), or contact the organizers to see if they'll allow finishers after the listed cutoff.
9. Don't shy away from something that seems scary simply because you don't know if you can finish. If you don't train and try, you will never know.
10. Slowing down or going slow doesn't mean you're a failure or that you should give up. We all start and end somewhere and finishing always feels better than quitting, regardless of the finish time.
11. Race/action photos are some of the worst photos I have ever seen of myself. If it's going to make you crazy to see a bad picture, just don't look at the photos at all (or have someone you trust preview them and tell you if it's safe to look).

*Image here

The saying goes, slow and steady wins the race, but that definitely hasn't been my experience. I suppose it depends on ones definition of "slow" though, and the definition of "win" as well. There are lots of moments that take place during a race, whether a person has the best overall finishing time or not, that can feel like victories. I sometimes wonder where I'd be today if I'd never tried a race at all, but I don't truly want to know what that world is like. Every race teaches me something about myself - whether I want to learn a lesson or not - and, the great thing about being slow is that there is always room for improvement.

Racing isn't everything to me, and my world doesn't come to an end if I don't participate in an event, but it's a nice, occasional practice to remind myself that there is competitiveness within me, even if it doesn't show by finish times or to anyone else who's racing. Plus, it's always fun to see if I can improve, even a small amount, from one race to the next.

Any other slow racers out there? On foot, on a bike, or any other sport? If you have words of wisdom or your own race stories to share, please do!

The Fire Within

*Note: This started as a personal journal entry, but I decided to go ahead and share it here because even though I've come to no real conclusions, I don't think I'm alone in my feelings and thoughts (or at least some may go through their own version). Additionally, I have some friends testing for black belts in kickboxing this weekend, and a friend running a marathon, and I wanted them to know that no matter what they may be feeling, they have support around them and that we all go through moments of being unable to believe in ourselves - regardless of what we are attempting in life. The post has little to do with bicycles (though, interestingly enough, bicycles were part of the original conversations), so I just want to give a heads up to those looking specifically for bike-relevant topics.
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"I think I'm going to see if I can run up to Estes Park in a couple of weeks." This was the statement that caught me off guard as I was in the middle of a tear-filled, multi-dimensional, crazy meltdown. In the moment, however, it was enough to pique my interest to not only temporarily stop the crying, but also to ask for clarification. "What do you mean, you're going to 'run to Estes Park?'" I volleyed back. "As in, physically - from our front door, to the mountain in Estes Park? You're going to run there? That has to be like..." Sam finished my sentence, "Thirty-two miles. It'll be like an ultra-marathon," he smiled. "I don't know if I can actually do it, but I want to try."

Just for visual purposes... all of that "green part" would be mountains, in case anyone was wondering.

For those unfamiliar with the area, the altitude difference is over 2,500 feet (starting at almost 5,000 feet and climbing to over 7,500 feet), but you can imagine what it would be like to not only cover 32 miles running, but to also include this massive amount of climbing for over half of the run. It's a highway though, with motorized traffic, and no real protection from said motorized traffic. However, people bike it throughout the summer, so I suppose if someone wanted to run it, why not?

I was dazzled by this idea. It's not the first time Sam's presented something that seemed "superman-ish" to me, but even for him, this seemed kind of out there in terms of possibility of completion. I know he is capable of doing just about anything he sets his mind to do, but 32 miles... up hills (or mountains).... running... and soon?

The beautiful Rocky Mountains

"I could drop you in Lyons. Then you'd only have to run up the mountain (only), which is probably still about 20 miles," I offered as a compromise. "I mean, I will be your SAG or whatever you need for whichever you choose; but, wow, that seems like a really incredible thing to do!" Sam responded by stating that it was just something he'd only do once, but it seemed like something he wanted to attempt. He then said something that would send me into a kind of whirling dervish of thoughts. "You know, you're the one who started all of this. People think I'm the one who's crazy, but you started it all."

Sam went on to explain his reasoning. He talked about my initial foray into athletics with wanting to run a marathon several years ago. I drug him into it because I didn't want to do it alone (even though I did it alone because he's much faster than I am). Then, the start with kickboxing and soon bringing him along, and my attempts with attending every class offered for months, just to see if it could be done. I wanted to ride a century, just to see if I could do it and set about completing it on a random day without telling anyone, and then two weeks later, did it again, dragging him through the toughest portion. He talked about my plotting a means of completing a half Ironman at some point (which, as a side note, still seems crazy to me - for many reasons - but I can't help but think it's possible).

I had to stop and think. Am I the crazy one in all of this? The thought seemed preposterous. I am not the athletic one, or the person who wants to try "crazy" new feats of endurance, strength, and so on. I am simply the one who gets drug along (happily) with the true athlete to cheer him on. Sam then said, "Really, you're the inspiration for all of these things." Which just sent me back into my crying state - though for completely different reasons.

Over the last few years, I have been fortunate to be surrounded by people who are so encouraging of each other. They will cheer for you when you think you have nothing left to give, they offer a hand when you don't think you can stand up, and they won't allow you to think that anything is impossible. It's difficult not to be motivated when around these sorts of people. During this time with these folks, the term "inspirational" has been used to describe me. I share this not because I think I'm something special, nor because I agree with them, but rather because I feel the need to explain what that word has actually meant in my warped brain.

*Image here

Often times, I believe this word is over-used. There are many cases in which it is an apt term, but when it is said so frequently, and in so many different situations, and definitely when in reference to me and my endeavors, it starts to have less impact and true meaning in my mind. To make matters worse, when I hear this word associated with me, the thoughts that come are typically one of these...

1) They are using this word because they feel sorry for the fat woman who thinks she can do what everyone else can do.
AND/OR
2) They are using this word because there isn't anything nice to say about what I'm doing.
AND/OR
3) Wow! These people really don't see very impressive things in life, do they? (or other similar thoughts)

For someone who has always struggled to keep up with others athletically, "inspirational" doesn't seem the correct term in my mind. It feels more like a pitying term. "Trying," or "Attempting," seems more appropriate, but "inspirational" just seems like a word invented to make me think I'm not riding on the short bus when it comes to athletics, when in reality, the short bus picks me up very quickly on the athletic road. For the record, I know this is not the intention of anyone in my life; however, I can't help but think these thoughts in regard to myself. Again, I am not an athlete, I am not special (at least not in any good way), and I don't do anything to justify this sort of label.

Before our conversation had mozied down this path, the topic Sam and I'd been discussing revolved around my lack of motivation and feeling depressed in regard to so many aspects of life. I kept saying that I just can't get myself out of this funk and everything I do seems wrong. I had expressed that I realized I am really not good at anything and that I stupidly attempt so many things, hoping that I will be decent at one of them, only to find myself failing either due to lack of effort or because I am genuinely not any good at it. Sam always tries to help by saying that I am good at a lot of things, but deep down, I know that isn't the truth. I go back to my self-hating talk because it's what I know and it feels more comfortable to believe that I am incapable. If I tell myself I'm a failure, that I'm no good at my attempts, when someone else says or thinks it (or implies it with their "inspirational" tag), I can agree - because it's the truth as far as I'm concerned.

But, here we were (Sam and I), in the depths of a conversation that was supposed to be about Sam and his potentially amazing feat, and I was crying because I realized that of all the people in my life, there is no way he chose that specific phrasing because he had no others. He is generally a man of few words and prefers action over chatter, so when voicing his opinion, I know it is intentional and purposeful (or sometimes snarky/humorous - but even that is purposeful). These words were deliberate and meant to sink in and settle, and fester just a bit. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Apparently, my tears falling weren't quite enough for Sam, so he added, "I just want to see you back in that state of mind. You know, as the woman who says 'to hell with all of them' and takes off on her own path. The one who motivates me to do what I do. The one who races to beat the guy on the bike who just passed her because he seems impossible to catch. The one who does the Burpees even though they injure her simply because she can do them. The one who makes her own challenges and then surpasses her own expectations."

I was now in full-waterworks mode... and I remained there for several hours. I had a lot to think about and sometimes tears are the most cleansing and therapeutic for me.

I read a book recently about people with similar personalities to mine and one of the ideas shared was that while we (as a group) are completely at ease hearing criticism about things we know to be true of ourselves and will acknowledge and let go of these statements, we are scarred by things said by others regarding us that are false. These statements stick with us for long stretches of time. We think about it and wonder if we've over looked something, searching and pondering why these statements were made. Ultimately, we come out fighting, and present vehement opposition to those making the accusations. We may even argue like someone who is guilty of these acts or qualities, even though the exact opposite is true. Perhaps this is partially why I am uncomfortable, sometimes even to the point of fighting over the notion that anything I do is at all inspirational: I simply cannot accept this as truth about myself.

It's easy to feel adrift in a sea of people who are better, who do more, who have that "special skill" I just never seemed to acquire, who are more "blessed," who are more athletically inclined, who are far more artistically gifted, and I find myself believing that everything I do is not good enough. Instead of allowing myself to seriously ponder the notion that I am an inspiration to someone, I immediately head it off with self-destructive thoughts.  But, why? There are so many who inspire me for various reasons, so why isn't it plausible that inspiration could be found in me?

It's unsettling to come to the realization that this word I've very purposefully avoided is being thrown in my face... and not in a bad way, but in a manner that is intended to cause me to stop and think and maybe even come to the realization that it's okay not to feel "inspirational" myself, but to also understand I may just have to make peace with the reality that perhaps others feel it is an appropriate term to use - and once in awhile in reference to me, even if I don't like it.

*Image here

Despite the fact that I can find many reasons to believe I am about as opposite as inspirational comes, I do know that I don't give up. There is a fire within me and even if it starts to die down during stretches of time, it's always there smoldering, waiting to reignite and burn brightly once again - it may just need some fuel to get restarted. Maybe I don't view myself as an inspiration, but perhaps there is something there of value - something to build on - and perhaps one day I'll be able to hear that "I" word without internally cringing. In the meantime, I'm happy to have others who offer up their own incredible and fascinating feats of athleticism, as I attempt to figure out where the bus is dropping me off. I can only hope it's on the road to figuring all of these quirks of mine out.

The Post I Never Wanted to Write {AKA: One Year's Proof I Don't Lose Weight}

*Apologies in advance for the many fuzzy photos in the post, but they are what I have to share at this time. Thanks for understanding. 

Officially, it has been one year since I've lost any weight. There have been a couple of e-mails recently from readers who have been following my journey, wondering when I would update my weight loss page. The harsh reality is that it is updated, despite the fact that there hasn't been a log in many, many months. At the beginning of October 2012, I had lost 60 pounds and it remains at that point today. I know what many are likely thinking... What does any of this have to do with bikes? Frankly, nothing... and yet, everything. On a personal note it obviously affects me, but the reality is that there are others going through similar situations too. The fact remains that if I were carrying less weight, it would simply be easier to pedal a bike making me more efficient, and some would argue (though I could debate this) faster. Because I started this journey with a blog post, it only makes sense that I would update regarding how things have been going, even if that update isn't what I'd hoped it would be at this point.

This is roughly where I started...Sam and I had rode with a group to Boulder before this lifestyle shift. I remember how mad I was that someone was taking a photo while I was eating, which just perpetuated (in my mind) the myth that fat people never stop eating. In truth, I hardly ate on this afternoon, but the image of the plate full of food in front of me, fork headed to mouth, still haunts me.

As I was saying, one year ago I was making plans to lose another 10 pounds by the end of 2012. Little did I know at the time that my body had other plans (If you aren't aware of my personal struggle, you can read back through posts during summer of last year - starting with the first check in - and see that I had set goals to lose weight). Things were moving along so I had no reason to think my weight loss would stop. It hadn't been particularly speedy, and I was proceeding in a manner that I saw as maintainable for life (as I will continue to do), but over the course of not only those next couple of months, but the last year, it has been proven that my body seems to be some oddity of nature.

Some face shots of the pre-lifestyle change.

To all those who choose to bash, shame, joke about, make a mockery of, and so on, let me be an example of those who try so hard and yet still see little to no results. I can illustrate that in fact it is possible to spend a good chunk of time working out, eating properly, and still not see the results in the form of pounds lost on the scale. I stated above that I am an "oddity of nature," but let me say this, I know I am not alone in my current reality. I know others, of all shapes and sizes, who work out and yet don't see any losses on the scale.

Some face shots after losing 60 lbs.

A typical workout week for me includes between 12 (on a bad week) to 20+ (on a better week) hours of hard work (and this doesn't include any errand or other joy rides on the bike). The weeks' workouts consist of several hours of cycling and kickboxing, running, and some strength training to wrap things up. Occasionally, something else is thrown in. For example, last week I attended a couple of CrossFit sessions (my GOD, those people are insane, but awesome!), or I'll throw in some circuit workouts to keep things interesting. For anyone who's ever worked out with me, you know I put my all into it. I'm not one to just show up because I said I'd be there. If I'm there, you're getting everything I have. If I'm not sweating profusely, I'm disappointed and think that it just wasn't challenging enough. Seriously, I have issues. So many issues in fact that working out for me at one point started to become my job. I kept thinking that if I just added another hour (or 2, or 4) a day that I'd see the changes. Unfortunately, it just became obsessive and no weight loss actually occurred. I had to get myself in check and remind myself that I wanted to do only things that I could maintain for life.

On a long road ride pre-2012 (sadly, not at my largest)...I ride, regardless of size or weight because I love it and it makes me happy.

Recently, I read an article in which the author claimed that anyone who works out 20 hours a week couldn't be fat or overweight. Hmm... I beg to differ. I'm not linking to the article because he doesn't deserve the attention, nor are any of his claims based on scientific (or any kind of) fact, but I think this is at the core of the American (and perhaps other nations as well) belief system about the overweight. "If you're working THAT hard, there's no way you wouldn't lose," or "Maybe you just need to eat less" are extremely common phrases that sometimes well-meaning, but often-counter-productive people say. The reality is, it's not as simple as calories-in vs calories-out, as so many would like to believe. Again, I am living proof of this reality.

May 2012 vs August 2012

As far as eating goes, I have good and bad days like any other human being, but the reality is that I eat pretty well most of the time and I always know how many calories I've consumed. I eat a balanced and varied diet, full of greens, fruits, beans, grains and so on. I have tried playing with calories for long stretches of time (both eating less and eating more) and my weight remains the same. There's a well-respected calculator here that tells me I'm not eating enough. Basically, it wants me to eat between 4-6,000 calories a day (and that's to lose weight!), but how much should a person eat if s/he isn't actually hungry? Still, there are many who think restrictive eating isn't the way to go, and while I agree that restrictions only lead to over-indulgences in the long run, I have not given up anything that I didn't want to. In fact, I've never said that I "can't" have anything. I do choose more often than not to forego certain foods because they simply don't make me feel good. I have a strange love of spinach and kale now that I never thought possible, but it doesn't mean that I don't indulge on occasion.

I ride, regardless of size or weight - because I enjoy it

I've read so much that it's overwhelming. It's almost as though there is a conspiracy to keep people overweight (and why wouldn't there be... diet sales - books, products, pills - is a multi-billion dollar industry because people are looking for quick fixes). There are the hardcore enthusiasts of eliminating certain food groups entirely, and there are others who encourage people to eat whatever they want in extremely small portions, but at the core of all of these ideas seems to be that in order to lose weight, one must restrict calories down to almost nothing. I can speak from personal experience and state that eliminating all but a small amount of food each day will not create long term, successful weight loss. I've gone this route far too many times in life and it always ends with gaining weight (usually more than what was lost to begin with).

The great news is that I haven't gained weight over the last year, but because I still have a lot to lose, naturally most people in my life expect that all of the working out, bike riding, running, and so on will result in more pounds lost. I couldn't agree more. It only makes sense that consistency and hard work will have positive results. But, perhaps that is the exact problem... that I'm expecting the results I want to see and not what my body actually wants or perhaps needs at this moment in life. My body has transformed, certainly, and I have so much muscle that my darling Sam has joked that I'm becoming The Hulk or Juggernaut.  I like being strong, don't get my wrong, but it would be nice to see the muscle instead of the overlying fat on the surface.

First belt testing in kickboxing, early 2012 vs several tests later

I've been told in the past by medical professionals that I have a body that would survive famine, and while I'm grateful that when the apocalypse comes, I will be one of the hardy folks who can live through it with little sustenance, we aren't there right now and it would be nice to not have to carry around so much excess. I recently read a blog post in which the author states that slow and steady is the way to go. I think he's right on, but is it really steady if losses have stopped completely, and for so long?

May 2012 (a couple of months in to the new lifestyle) vs January 2013

Let's think about this for a moment and really ponder it. One year... Three hundred and sixty-five days of doing everything "right" and yet staying exactly the same. Burning (through exercise alone) 2-6,000 calories a day, 4-6 days a week (and truthfully, sometimes 7 days a week), and seeing nothing lost on the scale. How demotivating! And yet, I can't imagine giving up my workout time. Something has changed for me over the last year and a half, and even if it isn't my physical weight, I know I am a better person - mentally and physically.

A couple of months after I started this new life (in blue) and October 2013 (in orange). It may not seem as though much changed, but life has warped dramatically, regardless of what shows on the outside.

I don't like putting pictures of myself up on the blog... well, I don't like seeing them anywhere, truth be told. I don't like to be reminded of the body I deal with on a daily basis in picture form. But the reality is that my body has changed - a lot. The changes may not be as visible as I'd prefer, and maybe they never will be, but I am thankful for what I've been given - scratch that, earned [and look forward to being a leader when zombies take over, or when pests wipe out crops :O)]. I may not look like the American ideal of a fit person, but I am capable of more than many others. Speed may not be my forte, but endurance certainly is.

I hope to God that one day I wake up and this never-ending plateau reaches its end, but for now, all I can do is accept the body I'm working with, love it for what it is, and know that I am giving it the ability to perform to the best of its ability. I may not be what the public perceives as an image of health, but I know the truth. I work hard, I am strong, and I am healthy. In fact, I'm testing for my black belt in kickboxing this weekend, so if anyone wants to argue that fact, we'll have a little chat about just how strong I am - or better yet, you can meet me on the studio floor and we'll hash it out. Ultimately, health is what is most important for anyone... scale be damned.

Leaving the World of Mediocrity

As some readers already know, several years ago, I decided that I wanted to run a marathon. Mind you, I was extremely overweight (as I still am) and had never been a runner. In junior high school when we had to run the 1-mile each Friday morning, I always came in last. I generally walked at least half of it, and even when I really pushed myself to run the entire mile, I would come in somewhere around 15 minutes. Yes, I'm aware people walk a mile faster than that time, but as I said, I've never been a runner, and I'm still not. But, as I started off sharing, I reached a point in life at which I wanted to run a marathon. Call it a bucket list item, or temporary insanity, but I was trying to lose weight and I thought running might be a great way to exercise; and having a goal in mind - something that was huge to complete at the end of it - seemed like a great idea.

The first time I went out to run I couldn't make it from one street lamp post to the next without stopping to gasp for air. I remember crying right there and thinking that I was an absolute lunatic to think I would ever run a marathon. After all, 26.2 miles is a far cry from one lamp post to the next. I started doing research and found a program that helped me start at my very, very sad starting stage, and even though it took awhile, before too long, I could run an entire mile without stopping. I recall the first time I ran a mile without stopping to walk. I remember starting to choke on tears before I actually even hit the one-mile mark, but I made it to the end without stopping. For runners, this seems sad, I'm sure. Why would running one mile seem like such a victory? Well, look where I started. For me, from what and where I began the journey, it seemed miraculous that I could run one single mile without stopping.

From that first mile, I built stamina to go longer and farther. Ultimately, I did complete the marathon (though I struggled more than anyone should doing such an event, and, I should point out, couldn't actually run the entire distance on race day), but I have never been so proud to have completed a goal. Despite the pride I felt for attaining the goal, I still beat myself up. I knew I could've trained better, ate better, and probably completed the run much faster than I did. After it was over, I didn't know what to do with myself. I'd done what I set out to do (though perhaps I could've done it better), so now what? Within a few months of the race, I had stopped running, and in fact, stopped exercising for the most part. I rode my bike as transportation, but I had no real desire to push myself, so even that didn't feel like true exercise. I convinced myself, however, that I was still exercising because my 8-10 mph bike rides to the store must count for something, right? Plus, I'd hit the gym on occasion (the "occasion" being 1-2 visits a week at most) and walk or do the elliptical for 30 minutes. I hadn't entirely given up... or had I?

Of course, I started putting on weight I had lost, and before I knew it I was larger than when I had started out my marathon training. I had stopped weighing myself because I didn't want to know what the "cruel" scale would tell me. It didn't happen overnight, but it did happen. Pound by pound it all crept on until I was larger than I had ever been in my life. Then, early last year I decided I needed to change and set about a new course of action. I decided I had to take my life back and not blame anyone for my state of being. The first kickboxing class I went to I was still recovering from bronchitis and pneumonia. Five minutes into class, I felt like I might pass out. Everyone seemed so strong around me and able to complete moves so quickly. I had a hard time just picking my legs up. Sure, it could've partially been that my lungs were recovering from illness, but deep down, I knew there was much more than that going on. That memory of trying to run from one lamp post to the next came rushing back to me. I had a choice to either keep going and get through the pain, or never come back again. I chose the former option. A year and a half(ish) later, I'm probably still the slowest person in class, but I'm also stronger than I was the day I started. I don't feel like I'm going to pass out after doing a few jumping jacks or the warm-up jog, and I can make it through class without believing I might actually drop dead right there on the spot.

A few months ago, I decided I wanted to try running again. Not because I thought I needed more exercise, but because I just wanted to see what it would be like to attempt it again after so many years of not. I presumed that I would have to go back to the running program I'd done years prior and would practice a jog/walk combination for a mile or so. To my surprise, I got on the treadmill and ran for 30 minutes without stopping. Huh? Confusion set in quickly. It wasn't fast, and I didn't actually cover much ground mileage-wise (I think it was about 2 miles), but I was confused about how this was possible. I've never been a fast runner (my body is not designed for that particular activity, for sure), and I will never win a running race, but it was a starting point. Unlike my years earlier attempt at running, my lungs weren't burning, and had I not been dealing with a persisting heel issue, I honestly probably could've went even longer.

I've kept up the running somewhat consistently over the last couple of months, choosing to do so 1-2 times a week. Not because I have to, but because I just want to see what I can do. Last week as I was running at our local gym, I noticed a tall, lean woman on the treadmill in front of me, craning her neck to look behind her every few minutes. I didn't think much about it at first, but then I realized that she was looking to see if I was still running. She was trying to motivate herself based on what I was doing! Determined not to let her "beat" me, I remained on the treadmill running and actually outlasted her run. I was both amused by the situation and shocked that I had it in me to keep going. Then, just a couple of days ago, not having the motivation of competition, I completed my longest run since my return to running. I realized just how much I undercut or undervalue myself. It's not even a conscious thing, but I allow myself to stop when I know I could do more, or I go slower when I know I could be faster. I won't be "fast" by most people's standards, but for my own typical pace, I could do more. What am I afraid of? If I can't finish because I've left everything on the table, is that a failure? Not in my book... and if I do complete the task, what an incredible feat!


I started thinking about my upcoming century ride(s) and how it seems so impossible. But, maybe it only seems impossible because that is what I choose to believe. I thought about the many things in life that have seemed unattainable, and yet they happened - not because I sat back and waited to see what would take place, but because I took action - because I chose to work, to put it all out there. Has mediocrity become the new standard of acceptance? Is just getting by or "being number 2" (as in the video clip above) completely okay with myself and much of humanity? I understand that we are not all star athletes, nor will we necessarily be able to do what someone else can do, but shouldn't I always be giving my best? I know that I (and most of us) are able to do so much more than we allow ourselves to believe we are capable of doing. What is it that stops us from giving our all at every task we undertake? Why do we conserve instead of leaving it all on the sidewalk, treadmill, bike, bag, or wherever we choose to work our bodies and our minds?

I am fully aware that I, personally, will never be a superstar athlete, nor will I win records in races of any sort, but I can be the best me. I can leave my workout knowing that I left it all there and had nothing else to give. I can give full effort every time - whether that is better than the day prior or a bit slower than it was the preceding workout. I can stop living in the world of the mediocre, and instead choose to build a strong and capable world for me. I can. I will.