Got An Extra High-Five For That One

I remembered no one being on that track other than myself. I remembered that breath I took when it happened. I remembered my face catching the sun as I looked up and smiled.

You know, I know I didn’t need the validation. In fact I knew I had done more … a lot more. I had reached the milestone way before the ticker clocked it in. But for some reason recording it made it more official … made the moment feel more like a-haaaaaaaaaaaaa!

 

 

And the thing is I wasn’t even planning it, the 100 just sort of snuck up on me.

I knew I had already run 100 miles in my lifetime, probably multiple times before discovering the app, but the fact that I had done it and done it in such a short amount of time felt empowering. And the weird thing was that I always hated running but as I’ve gotten older I appreciate the quiet moments on the track and feeling like I’m in my own Gatorade-Nike commercial.

I enjoy the pool even more, I know my knees do, but the weather hasn’t been conducive to a dip in the pool, plus I don’t have one. So there’s that too. Driving out to the non-heated pool in the early hours wasn’t something my body was looking forward to, but putting on sweatpants (I think I may be the only one on Earth to still own a pair of those as everyone else has those yoga pants or tight pants, it’s a tight pants nation) sweatshirt, a beanie, and hitting the track, that seemed doable. And free.

Starting off slow saying to myself I’ll just walk, I’m not in the mood really. I’m tired. My mind is tired. My body is tired, the kind of tired that all parents know very well. But as  I walk the loop on the track, I hear the crunching sound my shoes  make as the gravel meets the treads.

I like that gravely sound. It makes me walk faster and then I rethink the whole walking thing. I think maybe I’ll just run a mile and then it turns into two, sometimes three.

And at the end of the run as I’m pumping my arms, out of breath, racing to the imaginary finish line I feel good. I catch a second wind and feel invigorated when I stop. It isn’t about the calories burned it’s the way I feel at the end. It’s the gravely sound I hear, the peace that comes over me as my breath slows down, the quiet that I needed in my heart to start the day right.

It’s an awesome feeling. The bottle-me up kind. And the fact that I clocked in 100 miles during this process … just makes it even better. Felt like I accomplished a little bit more. I gave myself an extra high-five for that one.

 

Advertisement

Not All Accidents Suck … Four Months Later, I Have Orange Gloves

There are a lot of things I would never call happy accidents. Accidents by definition usually suck. However sometimes there are exceptions …

I forgot my daughter’s water bottle in the car. That’s where it all started.

So after returning to the car to get it, going back into the classroom to give it to her and then heading back to my car I ran into this mom. She tells me about this thing called Muay Thai and I was like what?

I’m not of the Jean-Claude Van Damme fitness level, nor do I want to get punched in the face. She assured me it wasn’t that type of class. Intense and driven, but not at the Bloodsport level.

My other excuse was the fact that I was wearing my Big 5 Sweatpants with the hole in the right pocket that was expanding to the outer layers of my sweatpants. The kind of pants usually reserved for household cleaning when no one sees you, or running on the secluded track at the park where distance and a long t-shirt hides the hole. I wasn’t in the mood to be judged by people who wore matching stretchy outfits at a gym

She again assured me it wasn’t like that.

Just try it.

First class for free.

Well I had nothing to lose then.

Little did I know that four months later I’d be excited about Tuesdays and Thursday mornings. Muay Thai Mom Madness had slowly crept up and made it’s way into my inner circle. And that mom? I think she’s lost over 18 pounds and another mom lost like 36 pounds. Me? I gained two.

Funny.

It’s all good. I didn’t really join this Muay Thai Madness for weight loss, because I feel good in my skin. I joined for a different reason. One familiar to a lot of people in sports. So when the coach recently asked a few of us for references, I was more than happy to oblige. I was able to let others know about my reasons and hopefully convince them to pick up a set of gloves and have my coach introduce them to Thailand.

Here’s what I wrote …

 

I’m not in the picture, but it’s still a great shot of the class.

 

Dear Future Muay Thai Warrior,

I loooooooove my kids but there are some days when you wake up and motherhood beat you down by 9 a.m. You get lost and forget yourself. You forget you used to be badass. That’s where Coach Patrick comes in … I go in like Clark Kent and come out like Superman … Superman in Orange Venum Muay Thai gloves.

And when I walk in all I want to hear is … Esooooooooooo!

If Coach  says that, I smile because I know I’ve done a good job. I know my left hook made an impact. I know the right power punch found the sweet spot on the pad. I know he’s proud of his student.

Some people like to go to class as part of a training regimen for their next fight, others are looking for a new exercise routine to help them stay in shape. But what I look for is how it makes me feeeeeeeel and how it’s become part of my active lifestyle. I love triathlons and obstacle racing, but have also embraced Muay Thai as a way to turn the corner when I lose my balance in life. With his welcoming nature and powerful kicks, Coach infuses the class with technique, style, encouragement, and awareness. His contagious passion for Muay Thai creates an inspiring environment that helps students reach their personal goals.

But not only do you walk away from the class with great combinations, knowledge of Muay Thai, and the ability to knock out an unassuming attacker, you also walk away feeling empowered. That’s something I always look for in whatever I do. So whatever drama, or disaster, life, motherhood, or work awaits, I have this bring-it-on attitude, because I just walked out of Coach Patrick’s Muay Thai class, and I got this. Esoooooooo!

Feeling inspired?

Try something out. You never know. Not all accidents suck.

 

 

I Have Umph …

 

They made my commercial 🙂

 

 

 

My Gatorade-Commercial-Worthy Moment … 63 Stories

I saw the orange lightning bolt.

I saw my legs climbing up the steps. The beads of sweat forming in slow motion. I heard the sound of my heart pounding. And I saw it … the orange lightning bolt.

Is it in you?

Duuuuuuuuuuuuude.

Yessssssssssssssss.

It was a Gatorade-commercial-worthy moment.

That was me …

 

 

I belong in that Gatorade commercial.

My calves demand it.

They ran, they stomped, they climbed, they pumped, and then literally danced their way to the top with the power of Los Tucanes de Tijuana’s La Chona and Vintage Trouble’s Strike Your Light. The rooftop crowd was impressed with my Zapateado, Quebradita and James Brown dance moves and the fact that I still had enough energy and strength in my legs to pull those off as I reached the finish line.

My lungs felt a surge of air, I saw sunlight. I raised my hands up like Rocky Balboa. I had made it.

But it wasn’t easy.

It was the same building. The same amount  of steps. The same claustrophobic staircases. The same heavy air restricting the oxygen levels being sent to my muscles. The same insanity. I knew what was coming. My mind knew it. My knees knew it. My quads knew it. The four-dollar coupon for Advil from the CVS knew it. My calves did not. Apparently they didn’t get the memo. I thought I was prepared, but my calves flipped me the bird by the thirty-second floor and I couldn’t believe it. In truth they were pissed off by the fifth floor. I felt them weakening and cramping up just as the air circulation ended.

I heard them saying … Pinche Guat!

But I didn’t understand it, I stretched out.

Apparently air is important when exercising. It oxygenates my muscles. However by the fifth floor there was no gentle breeze or ventilation from the open door at the starting line. Thus the hostility of my calves.

I was on lock down with close to 1,000 other climbers making their way to the rooftop and no Febreeze in sight. Granted we were in waves, but the lack of cellular respiration was the same … apparently I was choking my calves and they were responding by cursing me out.

But I hung in there. I had that orange lightning bolt in my sights. I had a cause, and I had my Dad.  With friends and family I helped raise over $500, contributing to the $195,000 raised collectively by all the climbers. I was part of something bigger, trying to make someone’s life better and that felt good.

So even though my calves were ready to strangle me from all that I was putting them through … It was on. The Fight For Air Climb was on.

63 stories.

Close 1,400 steps.

My Dad … He’s worth it.

 

The challenge waiting for me… I thought I got this.

 

But upon closer inspection … Dude. Duuuuuuuuuuuuude!

 

Once I arrived I made my way to registration to get the magic number and my shirt.

 

Although there were some people with pretty awesome shirts and badass mentalities. This chic just finished a marathon at the crack of dawn and was ready to take on the 63-story challenge.

 

But some climbers were carrying 60 pounds of extra weight on their back … that seemed more badass.

 

… However I thought my outfit was better.

 

This shirt was pretty badass. It got my emotional juices up and ready to go.

 

After I warmed up I passed up all the memory markers on the way to the starting line.

 

But once I got there I needed to wait for the big guys to go first.

 

Waiting for the 3-2-1 Go … but looking down you would think after a whole year I would have bought new sneakers. But it was all good … These sneakers have experience and a little wear and tear, just like their owner. They’ve got character and they got me to the top.

 

Climbing 63 stories with an awesome playlist, and angry calves, earns you a Guatacular view 🙂

 

After celebrating my Rocky Balboa moment I waited for one of the perks of the post-climb festivities.

 

Once the muscle relaxation and thorough oxygenation of my muscles was complete, I checked out the results … 63 stories, 1,400 steps. I clocked in at 17 minutes and 47 seconds. Faster than last year. 🙂 I high-fived myself and called  Gatorade Inc … I’m ready to film my commercial.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up For Round II

You were able to fight, jump, and claw your way through it. It was a total Gatorade-commercial-worthy moment. You held your arms up like Rocky Balboa, out of breath but doing the boxer shuffle and feeling pretty badass.

But … Do you really think you’d do it again?

Dude. Yeah. I would.

I’d buy a lifetime supply of Ben Gay, Advil, and CVS ice packs just to show how much I love him.

Yup.

I’d need all those medicine cabinet supplies for my weary bionic leg, because climbing 1,400 steps in honor of my Dad is a mission.

A crazy one, but one worthy of all my efforts.

 

Image via FightForAirClimb.Org

Yup. I did it. I’ve signed up for the American Lung Association’s Fight For Air Climb Adventure … again.

Yup … 63 stories of grueling adventure await me.

I wouldn’t do that for just anybody, but for my pops I’d do it twice.

 

My Dad … talking about dreams … me trying to listen.

 

He was a Rooter of the Underdog, A Laugh-Until-You-Crack-Me-Up Enthusiast, My HBO-Watching Buddy, The Remote-Control Master, The I’m-Broke-Right-Now-Can-You-Help-Me-Out-Financier, The Bucket List Adventurer, The Random-Acts-of-Kindness Missionary, The Häagen-Dazs Hogger, and The Wingman to My Dreams.

My Dad … the fierce adventurer who couldn’t swim very well but often jumped into the deep end of my uncle’s pool with, no floaties, just to prove that anything is possible if you’ve got heart and guts lived an unfinished life. He died of Interstitial Lung Disease about three years ago at the age of 62. But I carry his spirit on my shoulders in everything I do and with every adventure I jump into … he’s there.

He never said I couldn’t do anything even when others constantly believed it. He was the Rocky Theme Song to my life, and now I carry that soundtrack with me as I travel through life’s journey without him. And it is in honor of his life, and of his spirit, that I choose to scale the second tallest building in the city and race my way to the top with my best Chapulin Colorado efforts in hopes of raising money to further research and find a cure.

The countdown is on … stay tuned.

 

I Wasn’t About to Be Defeated This Morning

All I wanted to do was go running. And I hate running. It’s bad for my knees, my joints, and just all around bad for my Icy-Hot loving body.

But I do it because it’s the only high-impact crazy aerobic exercise I can do in half an hour where I can feel my muscles working their ass off, and apparently I need my body to be working properly for at least another twenty-thirty years. Dying is not something I look forward to, I would hate to die and leave my kids motherless at such a young age. It’d be heartbreaking, and sure I imagine some people would try to step up to the plate and help raise them, but in truth … there’s no one like me and no one that loves my kids the way I do. I feel I bring out the best in them or at least I try to.

I’m pretty sure every parent feels that way. So in an effort to live longer I do a little running during the week. Apparently exercise prolongs your life so I’m all for that. But it also helps keep me in shape for my triathlon experiences, and it’s the only exercise I can do with my toddler. She sits in the stroller eating her Cheerios, checking out the scene, and reading books. If I had a pool I’d totally be swimming in it no doubt. If I had one of those kiddie ride along seats for my bike, we’d be cruising away. But I don’t. I’m broke-ass. So I do the poor-man’s exercise and run … surrounded by nature. It’s free.

This is not what I usually look like, but I imagine I would look this cool.

But I really don’t look forward to it. Crazy enough I’d probably enjoy it more if it was attached to a triathlon. I’d be running toward something, not just running for running’s sake. I’m not a fan of that, but you do what you gotta do.

However this morning … it appeared that the odds were against me.

As a mom you try to be on schedule. Everything is on a schedule. If something goes awry in the schedule it creates a ripple effect for all the events the rest of the day. So your job as a mom is to try to keep to the schedule, try to avoid meltdowns, try to keep the dominoes in line. The schedule is your friend and when you betray your friend in any way it comes back to you. So in an effort to stay on schedule I had a small window available for my you-need-to-exercise activity. But like anything with schedules you need to go with the flow, otherwise your crazy will just get the best of you.

9 a.m. to 10 a.m.

That’s the window.

9 a.m. Changed my kid’s diaper before leaving

9:05 a.m. Packing the Cheerios for our outing.

9:06 a.m.  My kid apparently needing the Cheerios immediately and can’t wait ’till we’re outside in the stroller.

9:07 a.m. Cheerios all over the floor.

9:15 a.m. Cleaned up and finished re-packing Cheerios.

9:17 a.m. Found iPod, missing headphones.

9:25 a.m. Still missing headphones, but found a mini-speaker.

9:30 a.m. Phone rings. I don’t want to get it. I know I can’t get it. The schedule. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.

9:31 a.m. I get a message saying my mom needs me to look something up on the computer.

Dude.

9:32  a.m. I decide it can wait twenty minutes.

9:33 a.m. Grab my keys, turn to look for my kid, ready to go … unexpected potty situation that went beyond wipes. It called for soap and water.

9:40 a.m. Put my newly diapered kid in the stroller, wiggled the stroller over a couple of rocks, and then Bam! The handle bar broke.

It just broke off. Plastic screwed in by metal shouldn’t break off this easily, especially if it’s a Chicco Stroller. Not a fancy jogging stroller, just a regular one the kind you need at places like the mall. But considering I’ve had it since my first kid, I figure it had a little wear and tear that might have contributed to it’s demise.

So I stood there with the handle bar in my hand debating what to do next. My window of opportunity was closing, the universe seemed to be against the whole running outdoors idea. I wondered whether or not I could steer the stroller without it. Could I just hold it from the cup holder/key area? Did I have any duct tape?

No.

Could I still do this somehow?

I don’t know. Maybe.

9:41 a.m. Determined to go for a run, I popped the handlebar back in on one side. It was still clinging for life on the other side, desperately wanting me to put it out of its misery. However I ignored its pleas and tied it with some rope and forged ahead, holding onto the cup holder area the best I could, because apparently I suck at tying knots.

It was sad sight, but necessary. I made up my mind that I was going running and even though I don’t like running I wasn’t about to be defeated this morning. Not by anything. I’m stubborn that way.

It Was a Team Effort

This race wasn’t about making it to the finish line. It was one of my slowest times ever, but I didn’t care. This one was about the people running and walking alongside of me and the reason why we were there.

This one was for my Dad.

Most of the time my competitive edge gets me and I nearly kill myself trying to keep up with the AARP Triathlon chick zooming passed me. But this time I was all right hanging back. In fact I actually walked some of it and for the first time walking didn’t seem to be an athletic failure in my jock-minded head. In fact, walking was supposed to be part of the race. It was in the title. But regardless of whether we were walking or running, I was glad to have shared this with my kids. I was glad they knew what we were doing and why. I was glad they took part in raising money for the American Lung Association.  I was glad they were doing it for my dad and for other people who were in my father’s shoes.

 

I wanted to hang back at the end, but The Little Guats decided to move to the front and join the warm-up party.

 

Then apparently some stretching.

 

We said a little something about why we were doing it.

 

And then we were off … after checking out the crowd I was happy that The Little Guats decided to move to the front of the line.

 

A few participants needed a quick little break.

 

As the race progressed my son developed a competitive edge. He saw a few boys ahead of us and decided to quicken the pace. 

 

In the end, my kids were happy to see the volunteers’ signs and receive their high-fives on a job well-done.

 

 

 

Plan B, Miss 166, My Non-Water Resistant Camera, and My Cartwheel-Worthy Moment

Did it turn out the way I planned?

No. It almost never does.

Plan B was in full effect Sunday, along with the 100+ degree heat. But as with any Guatacular adventure, Plan B is always in effect, always making an appearance. It’s just the nature of the beast.

Sometimes Plan B ends up being even better than the original.

Yeah … this wasn’t one of those times.

In truth it wasn’t all bad. It provided me with some stressful situations that turned into comedic moments, which turned into great stories. I think that’s what Plan B is about … providing writing material. And it all starts with your plans … your goals.

Just finish.

Don’t fall and crack your head open, ambulances are expensive.

Don’t get a cramp and drown, it sounds like a painful way of dying.

Don’t let the Cha-Cha girl wearing make-up beat you.

Keep up with the 60-year old IronMan lady during the run.

Don’t use all the IcyHot on your quads the first night, your butt muscles could probably use some from all that bike riding.

Hanging out at the starting line trying to get into my Zen-like pre-triathlon frame of mind.

All pretty high-achieving goals. I know. And this year an added bonus: Conquer Devil’s Canyon. As you might recall last year this bitch got the best of me and my back. It kicked my ass. This year however I swore I’d make it to the top without stopping and I had more than my pride and two months of yoga pushing me. This time I had extra motivation. I had to make it to my son’s race before it started.

So it was on.

The running went as expected. All the cover models wearing the right clothes, fancy triathlon watches and other expensive gear hauled ass at the sound of the starter’s pistol. By mile two, me and my Costco t-shirt and shorts made our way passed them.

I was doing well. I thought I got this! I made it to the bike transition, no worries. And then about five minutes into the ride, it happened. Plan B provided me with good writing material.

I mean how could I not write about how I almost fell off the bike and ate it because my dude actually did something nice for me. How does something nice go bad? When it’s too nice. He washed the bike the day before, but washed it so well that all the oil practically came off the chain, which then caused the chain to get jammed as I tried to shift gears. It was in a serious state of adhesion. I mean if I went up or down Devil’s Canyon like that, it would have been IT for me. Call the ambulance.

Yeah…this is where it happened. You notice how there is no one around … that’s because they all passed me. But no time for pictures with Angie as we were both in a hurry to get on with the race.

Luckily it happened early on. And I guess if it wasn’t for Plan B I wouldn’t have been reminded of random acts of kindness.

I didn’t even know her, but there she was … my savior wearing aqua blue nylon running shorts, a white breathable cotton tank top, shades,  and sporting the 166 ink on her triceps.

Angie. Oh Angie. My savior. Miss 166.

Since everyone was zooming passed me without giving me a second glance I thought I would jog with my bike to the water station and hopefully one of the sheriffs or volunteers would help fix the chain. You know, help me get back on track, because my grease stained hands were making no progress. But on my way there, I ran across Angie, who opened up her MacGyver tool belt to help me. I’m not mechanically inclined, so I had no idea how to unstick a jammed bicycle chain. But apparently  the “right way” was easier than the 15-minute method I tried.

But nevertheless Angie and I persevered. I gave her a Woo-Hoo high-five and promised to buy her a cold one once the race was done.

Devil’s Canyon … The Beginning

This 15-minute pit stop allowed for a lot of people to pass me, including some Cha-Cha girls in pink. It felt like last place had my name on it. However, this little setback inspired  a comeback. But I was a little worried because I hadn’t even encountered my nemesis yet: Devil’s Canyon.

However, setbacks have a way of pushing you so that you make it to the top, even without your Gatorade, which happened to spill everywhere during your pit stop. This setback pushed me to race up Devil’s Canyon in all gears — no stopping this time. And as I passed all the bikers walking up the crazy hill all I could think was … Yoga, you rock! My back made it.

As I reached the top I was so happy to see Harold The Rotary Club volunteer handing out water. I think everyone was happy when they saw Harold and not just because of the water. Harold meant the end of Devil’s Canyon.

After this sweet victory I could tell I was on empty and in desperate need of a banana or orange. So I zoomed down because I knew something would be waiting for me when I hit the transition area. As I approached I noticed the wall clock … I had ten minutes before my son’s race. And so when I dove into the pool it hadn’t even occurred to me to remove my trusty non-waterproof, non-water resistant Canon Powershot.

No it hadn’t occurred to me. All I was thinking about was my son’s starting line.

So after 25 meters in the pool it was done for, in truth after one meter it was done for, resting in peace. All I could do was take it out of my pocket, put it on the pool deck, and just keep swimming. The lifeguard assured me that it happened often, however I didn’t see any other water-soaked cameras dripping dry.

But regardless of my camera’s demise the swimming happened to be the best part that day. I wasn’t Michael Phelps, but I made it through without having to stop. The backstroke rocks. I know normal people enjoy freestyle, but as you all know backwards is the way to go for me.

However the best part … the best part of the whole day was not conquering Devil’s Canyon or crossing the finish line. I know I had made it and it felt good. But no that wasn’t it. The highlight of the day was watching my son cross the starting line. It was cheering him on as I ran alongside him. It was helping him during the bike transition and having him tell me “I got this mom,” as he pedaled away. It was helping him be the best Aquaman he could be in the pool. It was seeing his smile as he sprinted across the finish line. It was the hug and the high-five that I gave him as he got his medal.

Yeah … these were definitely cart-wheel worthy kind of moments that lasted all day.

 

The Tiny Tots take off and I was so glad my son was able to avoid the 7-child pile up that happened right at the starting line. After a fall like that a few of the kids decided not to continue.

 

In deep waters he decides to have a pit stop. The wall a perfect place.

 

Running towards the finish line.

 

The Little Champion … crossed off another item from his Sandbox List Adventures.

 

Finish Line Baby, Finish Line

I’m hoping the yoga worked, because The Countdown is on!

I’m already writing my thank you note to the creators of IcyHot.

I’ve got five days. In five days I tackle my yearly challenge: The TinMan Triathlon, not to be confused with the IronMan, but pretty badass nonetheless. I still get black ink finely printed on my awesome calf muscle and tricep. Once I see it, I’m transformed. No longer the mother of two: diaper changer extraordinaire, referee of superhero cape battles, Lego mastermind builder, and Nickelodeon remote control screener. I’m no longer the struggling writer who gets the it’s-not-you-it’s-me rejection letter. No longer a wife or daughter just trying to stay above water. It’s just me … the Guat … TinMan candidate.

Image via Durtbagz.com

I’m looking forward to that feeling. I’m looking forward to the starting line and enjoying my New Balance hit the pavement, my feet staying on the pedals, and my toes splashing in the water. And even though I’ll be sweating, and huffing and puffing, I’ll probably be enjoying every minute of it. Maybe not the Mission Impossible uphill battle of Devil’s Canyon. But once I reach the top, and hopefully not fall and break a valuable appendage while speeding my way down, it’ll be all good.

But this won’t be the best part.

As I mentioned before, the best part will be watching my son run his first triathlon: The Tiny Tots Tricycle Triathlon. I look forward to watching him smile as he crosses the finish line. I look forward to the thumbs up he’s going to give me. I look forward to taking our picture together with our matching medals. It’s cheesy, but it’s been on my Bucket List-Life-to-do list and his Sandbox Adventure List. He wants to be like Wreck It Ralph and get a medal and he’s been training well.

The biking and swimming sessions seem to be going well for him. The running? Well let’s just say he takes after me … he doesn’t thoroughly enjoy it unless he’s chasing a baseball, football or soccer ball. He sort of just trots his way around the track, but if he sees someone else running in front of him he feels the urge to speed up and pass them. So I’m sure when it comes to the race, he’ll be all right.

Me? My training?

It’s going slower than usual and time hasn’t really been on my side. So I had to do some things that I normally would never do.

Never.

But I’ve done what I had to do — whatever it takes to make sure I finish the race before my son starts his. So I’ve sacrificed. Sacrificed something valuable.

Sleep.

I wake up at the crack of dawn to work out. I hate dawn. I’m more of a dusk kind of person. Dawn is for sleeping, especially when you’re a night person and go to bed at midnight or 1 a.m. I tried the go-to-bed-earlier routine, but my internal clock doesn’t let that happen. I’m used to decompressing and enjoying the awesome quiet of the night. Meditating. And I’ve realized that I really need my Namaste moments, otherwise I’d probably throw someone off a cliff.

So I sacrifice sleep. I flop out of bed to ride a bike, run, and yes even swim. And I’ve got to say out of all the early-bird routines, the swimming seems to be the most relaxing. Surprisingly I flop out of bed with less hostility when I know I’m hitting the pool. Still cranky though, but not as bad.

However, all of it for a good cause. Finish line. Need to make the finish line so that I can see my son cross his starting line. That’s what I keep telling myself when the alarm rings at 5:30 a.m. That’s what I tell myself again after I hit the snooze button. Finish line baby, finish line.

 

 

The Rematch Update 2: Getting To The Starting Line And I Think Yoga Is Going to Help Me

I don’t know why it seemed easier last year, but for some reason my body seems to agree with me. It was easier. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the fact that I’m one year closer to the big 4-0. It may be, a lot can happen to your muscles and bones in a year. But I don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that I’m checking a new age-range box on applications. I think it has to do with the fact that my one year old is going on two.

Have you heard of twos? They’re terrible.

You would think the sleep deprivation would have stopped after a year. But no … no. This kid is just psyching me out, waiting until I got a little comfortable and then BAM! the middle of the night drama happened again. Just randomly. Sometimes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Sometimes just Saturday nights. Just to mess with my head.

Image via Durtbagz.com

It’s this power struggle that probably effected my ability to function properly during the day. It’s this power struggle that probably has me looking for anti-aging cream at the CVS. It’s this power struggle that probably has me using the adjective “weary” to describe myself now. It’s this power struggle that has probably effected my training. My brains and bones are just not the same. No matter how many vitamins I’ve been acquiring, it seems to take me a lot longer to jump-start my battery. This is when I start to wonder about osteoporosis, arthritis, and sciatica. Is it possible to have all three before you hit 40?

Maybe.

But I do have to say … the yoga has been helping my back. Thanks to 13-letter word yoga poses ending in  “sana” I seem to be chugging along. The whole yoga stretching appears to be helping the training process. After doing them, I seem to have enough umph left to help train my son for his Tiny Tots Tricycle Triathlon. He’s doing really well in the biking part, and I’m happy that he’ll be taking swimming classes this month to help prepare him for his big dive in the pool. In fact I think he’ll probably do better than me in the water. In truth I’m more excited about his race than I am mine. It’ll be our first race together and I’m feeling all “parenty” about it. I’ll probably be high-fiving him all day. And it’s the anticipation of these high-fives and his smiles that really keep me going.

Making sure that I’m there at the starting line to see him take off is inspiration enough to kick my own ass. My race starts at 7 a.m. his at 9 a.m. I’m gonna be there, camera in hand. So watch out Devil’s Canyon, I’m getting ready for you.

One of my goals this year is to conquer Devil’s Canyon without stopping or passing out. Now I don’t have a fast and light racing bike, which would probably help my time, but my Bianchi hybrid will have to do. Maybe I can add rocket boosters or something, you know for that final climb. But maybe I can do a few extra squats so that my quads won’t be burning up when I’m climbing all those hills. And maybe I’ll increase my bike rides through the park, so that I can go passed the stop sign and reach the heliport. And maybe I’ll increase my downward-facing-dog, cat-cow yoga involvement so that my back isn’t killing me while I’m going up the mountain. I’ve decided … I’m gonna make it to my son’s starting line on time, even if I fall off the bike and have to crawl there, which I hope doesn’t happen. But either way, I’m getting to the starting line and I think yoga is gonna help me power through … well I know it’ll help my back. And that body part seems to be very important. It connected to all the vital parts I need for the race.

Related articles

• The Rematch … It’s On Devil’s Canyon … It’s So On. I’ve Got Backup This Time (thewishfactor.wordpress.com)