Fitness Goals

I'm not sure why I chose November 30th to start. Would have made more sense on the 1st of December. Or a Monday. Or probably literally any other day. But I've never been one to do things that necessarily "make sense." So here goes...

Starting Weight:
160. Yep, gained a few. 3 weeks off + indulging + Thanksgiving = eek! It's ok. It's fine. Everything is fine. (I'm trying to reassure myself here....).

Goal Weight:
140. Yep, that seems drastic, I know. But I've got a plan and it's going to be a lot more about body composition rather than body weight. It's going to be tough, but leaner = faster (to a certain extent), and faster gets me to Kona.

Another interesting development in this journey: food sensitivities! I took a blood test and as luck would have it, I'm highly sensitive to 10 different substances that I eat almost every day. All of them. It's heart crushing because I love these foods. But it explains a TON about all my lingering GI issues, and my complete abdominal breakdown at IMFL. The elimination diet will begin after my food is consumed, because of course I just went grocery shopping, and hopefully that will also help me on this fitness journey!

Relentlessly. Moving. Forward.

So it continues...

Two weeks. It's only been two weeks. It feels like an eternity! Somehow, it is still sometimes very surreal. Does that feeling ever go away? It's been a truly remarkable two weeks. The indulging in foods and drinks (mostly booze....) that I had been depriving myself of, the recovery massage, the no-alarm setting except for work (0345, I do not miss you!), and the general feeling of bliss that comes from not having sore muscles and feeling fatigued has been simply delightful. I know my body has needed this recovery. I put it through a lot. More than I ever thought possible. It's still amazing!

Officially branded. And I love it.

And through all of this, I am restless. I've never been one to just be. I don't like not having plans or a schedule or a goal. Downtime for me equals lazy (I know that's not rational!). I feel squishy and a little bit lost. Who am I if I'm not training? As it turns out, I'm still me. I need to take this time to figure out what I can do now that I don't have to ride for 4-6 hours on Saturdays. You mean I can have a life? I can sleep in? I can stay up later? Madness! But I also know myself. I know I am going to take this time to regroup, settle in on new goals, and achieve them. Nice and easy trainer rides. Suuuuper easy runs (I hope to not go over 6 miles for the next month!). No swimming (new ink says no). So this time is for me. To focus on muscle imbalances (I would really love to not have knee pain anymore because of weak core and glutes), to focus on nutrition, to focus on really getting lean. But more importantly, to focus on myself mentally. I suffered a lot during training, and only about 40% of it was physical. Perhaps this means going back to therapy. Perhaps this means finding some sort of daily meditation to do. I don't know exactly what this means, but I am going to use this off-season and I am going to become not only physically stronger, but more importantly, mentally stronger. If I can do all I've done while not being 100%, the world will be mine when I am.

Relentlessly. Moving. Forward.

Ironman Florida

November 4th, 2017.

The alarm was set for 0400. Despite having not been able to fall asleep well after 2200, I awoke abruptly at 0330. Awesome. 30 minutes less sleep. Who needs sleep before an ironman? Luckily, my cousin was also awake and the race morning preparations began. Oatmeal with blueberries and peanut butter plus a big ol' cup of coffee. It's what I eat every morning, without fail (thus far anyway...more on that to come...), and race day is not the time to deviate from literally anything. I could barely choke it down, I was so nervous. But I knew I needed the nutrients. I was about to be very calorie deficient, very quickly. With breakfast completed, it was time to change. I had decided to simply wear my swimsuit under my wetsuit and then change into my tri kit for the bike and run. I determined that a dry kit for the majority of the race was more important than the few extra minutes that I may or may not have saved in transition. And, per tradition, I donned my Star Wars onesie. It's just so comfy! Not necessarily the most convenient for race morning, but I've been doing it since Racine, and it works for me. Don't deviate!

We headed down to the beach. Both bike and run special needs bags needed to be dropped off, in addition to double checking bike and run gear bags. Finally, all water bottles and nutrition were triple checked. With all of this preparation, I still managed to miss a few things. Almonds were supposed to go onto my bike, and my mind forgot these completely (this would come to bite me in the ass). This is why you make lists (which I did) and then bring those lists with you (which I didn't). You live and learn!

Time to go to swim start. Trying to meet my parents on the beach turned into a nightmare, because of course it did, and we didn't end up meeting up until right before the national anthem. Which was 2 minutes before the PC/XC wave started, 7 minutes before I was set to start. It was plenty of time, but my irrational mind did not enjoy it. I need more time than that. My anxiety was out of control, but finally seeing them helped. And then, before I knew it, time for goodbyes and good lucks. My cousin and I embraced and immediately both started crying. What was this--there's no crying in triathlon! Oh wait, yes there is. All the time. I couldn't believe that after six months of intense, brutal, and sometimes horribly depressing training, it was finally time. It was time to start Ironman Florida!

The swim. A two-lap ocean swim totaling 2.4 miles. And it was beautiful! Next to no breakers or waves, and just about 70 degrees, which also meant it was wetsuit legal. Hooray for added buoyancy! It was a self-seeded rolling start, meaning you lined up based on how long you estimated it would take you to finish the swim. I decided that 1 hour to 1:10 was most accurate. I was attempting deep breaths, making all sorts of weird sounds, and I feared the other athletes could hear my heart. And they were so supportive. They saw my "first timers" bracelet and embraced me openly, welcoming me to one of the best races on the circuit, encouraging me with the kindest and most inspiring words, and reminding me that I had done the work, that this was the celebration. All of a sudden, the calm returned. And then I entered the water. I was surprised at how relaxed I was able to start. There wasn't the thrashing "washing machine" action that I had previously experienced in open water swimming. I was immediately able to fall into my normal stroke pattern and just went. And went. And went. Dori was right. It seemed to take years to make that first loop and I just kept thinking "oh man, why isn't this a half--I'd be done!!" I exited the water, glanced at my watch and saw 28:28. I had just done 1.2 miles in 28 minutes?! Wow. Ok, grab a cup of water, gargle and spit, and go in for round two. This lap was trickier. Not only did I get stung by a jellyfish (only a small tentacle, quick sharp pinch on the lip and just kept going), but I began lapping the less-strong swimmers who were on their first lap. It made for an interesting lap, but I distinctly recall thinking "Be nice. They've just started their day." (I wish that I wasn't so competitive sometimes--that killer instinct takes way too much control sometimes). Finally, I could see the beach as I finished my second lap. Ten percent of my day was done! Official time ended up being 1:00.21. So close to under an hour! But I did end up 3rd in my age group out of the water, so that was pretty awesome.

I've never discussed transition in this blog, mostly because it's not so exciting, but for a full, there's nothing else like it. You run through transition, a volunteer calls out your number to a different group of volunteers, who then find your gear bag, hand it to you, and point you in the direction of the changing area. Where you get naked. Yes. I ripped of my swimsuit (my wetsuit having already been removed by our strippers) as my volunteer opened my gear bag and began sorting through everything. She opened my Clif bar, she opened my bottle of water, she sprayed me down with sunscreen, she helped me get my shoes on. It was magical! I could never thank her enough. I gave her a huge, sweaty and nasty hug, my bike shoes and helmet donned, and made my way to my bike. Which was also grabbed for me by a volunteer. It was out of transition, to the mount line, and off on the next leg...

The bike. A one loop of 112 miles around Panama City Beach and its surrounding areas. In theory, Florida is flat. In actuality, Florida isn't actually that flat. Plenty of rollers to keep me on my toes. And the headwinds! Living in Chicago, I know wind. But damn, this wind. Starting off, I felt super strong. Utterly crushing it. And I was still being passed. A litany of men passing me. One of the downfalls of being a super strong swimmer is that all the less-strong swimmers (i.e. men) who are beasts on the bike start overtaking you. I looked at my watch and my pace was solid, so physically I was doing fine, but the mental struggle of being continuously passed was almost unbearable. I kept repeating "ride your own race," but it was more than slightly difficult to do that. I don't like being passed, and I really don't like being passed by men. So I just kept cranking away. Mile after mile after mile ticked away, and yet, I still had so much to go. 112 miles is a long way! I was sticking with my training nutrition plan, I was drinking enough, and I felt good. In fact, I was so hydrated that I needed a rest stop, and soon! That had never happened during a race before. Luckily, special needs was quickly approaching. I didn't think I needed anything from my bag, therefore I didn't grab it, but I did need that port-o-potty, and while it might be TMI, it was great. I hopped back in the saddle and shot off. Halfway! Only another 56 miles to go. Piece of cake. Except the cake is fire. And you're on fire. Because you're in Hell. The winds seemed to change directions and be a perpetual headwind. My saddle, previously so comfortable, was now simply the worst. And to top it all off, my salt tabs went flying out of my jersey pocket just after special needs. So not only did I not stop and have some Pringles (yes, Pringles were in my special needs bag), but I lost out on more salt. F#$K!!!!!! I was very upset with myself. But, there was nothing I could do about it. I knew I had Fritos waiting for me in transition, so I just had to make it back there. And luckily, I did have other sources of salt on my bike, but still, needed that salt! Maybe it would be ok. Hopefully it would be ok...Mile 100 ended up being halfway up a killer hill. Well, not actually that bad of a hill, but at mile 100, anything is a bad hill. Twelve miles to go! The longest twelve miles of my life. My bike and I were hardcore fighting. And by that, I mean I was yelling things like "I hate you. Why do you hurt me like this? I thought we were friends! I never want to see you again!" And quickly, I apologized and reassured him that I loved him and begged him and my legs to just get me back to transition. Finally, finally I could see it! I was done with the bike! 5:45.54. Holy shit I went under 6 hours in my first full?! BEASTMODE!

Another transition. Another wonderful volunteer who opened my bag, laid everything out, put my bib on me, opened my Fritos (SALT!!!!), opened water, covered me in vasoline (well, helped me cover myself in vasoline--chaffing is bad), and did so much more for me. She too got a sweaty and disgusting hug and I was off. With jelly legs. As soon as I started running, I knew I was in trouble. Oh look! Another port-o-potty! Unfortunately, it wasn't #1 this time. Oh no. Not this. Anything but GI issues....Ok, done. Keep moving. Gotta get out of transition and go!

The run. 26.2 miles. A two-loop run around the neighborhoods of Panama City Beach. I had only ever done 1 stand alone and my longest run in training was 14 miles. I was slightly concerned. But my legs felt surprisingly great for just having dropped the hammer on the bike. It probably wasn't pretty, but one foot was moving in front of another and my first half mile was right on target. Even a little too fast. "Ok, great. Pull back a little bit, and just keep going. You got this." And then it all went wrong. The abdominal cramps, worse than I had ever experienced before in my life, took hold. I could barely walk, much less run. All I wanted to do was double over, and the proceed to curl up on the ground in the fetal position. I couldn't stand up straight. Agony. All I kept thinking was "NO! You've come too far to let this stop you. NO!" I kept fighting, one excruciating step after another, stopping when I had to. I ran as much as I could, walked a lot more than I wanted to, and could barely take in any nutrition at aid stations. "You are not going to make it if you can't take in calories!" My mind knew this, was screaming it at me, but my body was in full on rebellion mode. Miles ticked away at a snail's pace. I was pulling 10+ minute miles. Physically, difficult. Mentally, debilitating. To have been able to run so far and so fast in training and be falling apart like this in the race was almost killing me. I almost broke down more times than I care to admit, and this was only the first lap! How was I ever going to make it?! But I didn't come this far to give up. My pace was terrible, by my standards, but I HAD to finish this. I made it to 13.1 and there was run special needs. In my bag, I knew I had a fresh pair of socks (which didn't end up helping the already formed blisters, but I thought it might help mentally), Pringles, and a picture of my aunt who passed away in 2008. All of a sudden, I could fly! I shot out of there like I had just started the run. And then I saw one of my long lost sisters!

I seriously love this picture too.

Ok, less than 13.1 miles to go. In training, that would have been about 2 hours. I knew it was going to be a lot longer than that. A LOT. But I also knew that I was so close I could taste it. I decided I should start drinking in the Pepsi, in the hopes that the carbonation would help ease the continuing stomach cramps. As it turned out, it did! The cramps were slowly easing up, with the Pepsi and a few more stops, and I was able to run a little bit more in between my walking. Unfortunately, as the cramps started easing, the blisters and leg cramping began. Everything hurt. Literally everything. I could feel the blisters being ripped wide open, chaffing was starting in new places that I had never experienced during training, and while I welcomed the setting sun, I knew that time was slipping away from me. In my mind, I wanted to be under 12 hours. As I ran less and walked more, that goal was seemingly disappearing. I hit mile 20 and I hit the wall. The cramps came back in my abdomen, the blisters were painful, my legs were done, but I only had a 10K left. That was it! I started running again and hit an aid station where the captain had taken special requests. She had Take 5 bars waiting for me! Renewed energy! Go, girl! I heard it from everywhere. Other athletes, spectators, even in my own head. Go, girl! And then my knee injury came back with a renew vengeance. Great. Just what I needed. My form to break down even more. I got into one last, dark place mentally, and was just over it. And then an angel appeared in the form a of woman named Mirinda (not Rinny, that would have been spectacular!). She was on her first lap, at mile 11. I was on my second at mile 24. Short of physically carrying me, she got me to mile 26. Kept talking to me, encouraging me, building me up, telling me how great that finisher's shoot was going to be. I had to stop running again, and she kept going, but I'll never be able to thank her enough for her words.

Wait, mile 26. I had 0.2 miles to go. Wait, seriously? I had done it? Oh my gosh! Words truly cannot express the emotions that I was feeling. I had never, nor will I ever, experience anything like that again. I was so deliriously happy that I couldn't actually see anything. There were bright lights, and I could hear people screaming my name, but I couldn't tell you who they were or which side they were on, or if I even knew them. And the tears were streaming, simply pouring, down my face. I had done it. I reached the finish line and heard it. "Heather Hermann, a nurse from Chicago. You. Are. An. Ironman!"

I crossed the line and dropped. Not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from emotion. After all that hard work, the countless hours spent alone in pain and torment, restricting my diet so as to fuel properly, abstaining from alcohol to attempt to achieve racing weight, and I had done it! I had completed 140.6 miles of swimming, biking, and running. My marathon time was 4:56.14. Total time ended up being 11:57.55. Under 12 hours for my first Ironman. AND! 13th in my age group. After walking most of the marathon, I had almost broken top ten! I can do anything!

Post shower and post beer with finisher's shirt, hat, and MEDAL!

My cousin was still on the course, so after donning my new gear (yes, I wore all the finisher's gear back to the finish line, including the medal, duh!), it was back to the finish line to wait for him. And to experience more of the spectacle. There was nothing like it. I was high fiving strangers, screaming that they were my heroes, and tearing up watching all of them accomplish their dreams. And then, there he was! He had done it! After all of his setbacks, illnesses, and injuries, he was going to be an Ironman! 

Words can't describe how proud I am of him. Of me. Of all the blood, sweat, and tears. Yes, that's cliche, but cliches exist for a reason. It's true. So much went into this training and race and it was all worth it. I will have bragging rights for the rest of my life. No one, nothing, can ever take this accomplishment away from me. All my demons, those bastards who said I wasn't good enough. All those doubters in my life who said I was crazy and wouldn't be able to do it. All of them were shut up that night. It's two days later and the feelings are still surreal. It seems like it was ages ago. As if an eternity has passed. I know I will need at least 2 weeks off to let my body heal, and I'm going to indulge in my previously "forbidden" foods and beverages (pizza and beer, for the win!), but I am already itching to take what mistakes I've made, learn from them, and keep moving forward. Instead, however, I will enjoy my pizza and beer, my naps, my massage, my not setting an alarm, my muscles finally ceasing to be in pain, and I will relish this time with the knowledge and I. Am. An. Ironman.

Badass cousins!

The Build Up

Tuesday of race week. I flew out on Halloween. It seemed fitting. I'm not sure why, it just did. While everyone else was partying it up, disguising who they were, I was on my way to get myself beat up to the Nth degree and see just who I truly was. The "irony" was not lost on me. The flights, from O'Hare to Atlanta and then Atlanta to Panama City Beach, were uneventful and delightful. I wore a mask, because sickness paranoia!, and no one spoke to me. Perfection! My cousin finally arrived and off to our condo we went. We didn't end up arriving until well after dark, but the next morning, we awoke to a stunning view:

*drools*

It was great to wake up, open our door, and listen to the waves. There was something utterly magical and therapeutic about it. It was as good as we could get to therapy to soothe the pre-race jitters. And the best part? We were a 5 minute walk to Ironman Village and the start line! We could not have found a better condo if we had tried. So far, race week was off to a wonderful start. 

Wednesday of race week. An open water swim was on the agenda to start the day. Yes! My favorite! The water was warm, for what I'm used to, but the salt water is not something you get used to coming from Lake Michigan. Water isn't normally dehydrating, so it's always a fun experience when you exit the water and have salt all over your lips. Another interesting development? I could see the bottom! And I did not enjoy it. Seeing the manta rays swimming beneath me got my anxiety jacked and my heart racing. Definitely not good for prepping for a 2.4 mile swim. But I managed to get it under control and did just about a half mile. Arms felt strong and I decided I wanted to test the legs with a quick transition run. I flew! 8:25/mile pace! What?! I never run that fast. And the best part was that I didn't even feel out of breathe. My confidence was skyrocketing! Then it was time to check in.

Easily one of my favorite pictures. Ever.

It was a truly great experience. All of it was so surreal (it still is as I type, days later). The volunteers were so helpful and patient with me as my adrenaline, nerves, and overall extroverted nature made me overly loud and obnoxious. They laughed and smiled and encouraged me all the way through check-in and into the Ironman Store. Don't worry, I spent way too much money. And I did later too. (People are joking that the part of them that hurts most is the wallet and it's not, not true...). The evening was spent with a new, long lost sister who graciously hosted us for dinner to distract my cousin and I. And I was able to meet yet another long, lost sister! 2 new sisters in 1 day! Just what I needed!

Thursday of race week. We had our bikes back! Oh my beautiful baby, Aragorn. He was back! I'm pretty sure the TriBike Transport gents thought I was crazy to be so excited to see him again, but I don't even care. I had missed him. Actually had gotten them the previous day, so we were able to get up and go for a nice easy spin. Just under an hour, just over 17 miles. Awesome. I wanted to do another run, so I went for it. 8:25/mile pace again! Confidence, somehow, got even higher! My new sister came and joined us, again, for another round of distractions and drinks. Seriously, she's the greatest. 

Friday of race week. It was time. Bike and gear bag drop off. There was no going back now. It was actually very nice to have tasks to occupy the mind. Previously, it had just been me and my thoughts. My thoughts are not very nice to me. Lots of doubts and demons creeping up, testing me, making me question everything I was doing. But with organizing 5 bags worth of gear, last minute prep of bike, walking around trying to visualize the process on race day, my mind had focus and purpose. I love when I have purpose. I was surprisingly calm during the day. And very, very happy to be there.

Race Ready!

My parents were due to arrive around 1630, so there were a few hours to kill. To the beach! Finally, we had some down time to go play in the sand and sun. The cooler water temps were delightful on the legs and just as with listening to the waves, laying in them and feeling them washing over me had a therapeutic effect. I was calm. I was at peace. And I was ready. Pre-race dinner with my cousin and parents was just what I needed. More people equals more distractions. All of the distractions! But alas, bed was waiting. Eventually, we would have to go our separate ways and I would have to attempt sleep. Ironman Florida was calling and I was ready to answer that call.

Race Week

Six.

My swims in the past weeks have been awesome. I got in a few extra open water swims related to a random heat wave that led to 90 degree days. I managed a 4000 meter open water swim and chewed me up and spit me out, but I did it. Did multiple 4000+ yard swims in the pool. Did my sprints, did my endurance sets, times just kept dropping. Arms are ready.

My bike, my beautiful Aragorn, is already on his way down, having been dropped off on the 27th. There's a certain sense of anxiety related to that in that I have no control over what happens between now and when I am reunited in Florida. Hopefully he's fine? We shall see. He got me through a lot of dark places, 3 106-mile rides by myself, one crash, multiple almost crashes, and more than a few gross and rainy rides. My other baby, Earendil, has been faithfully mounted on the trainer this year for all of the 0345 rides before work and the 2000 rides after work. In addition to when it was too cold or dangerous to ride outside. I don't love my trainer, in fact I despise it, but time in the saddle is time in the saddle. My bike legs are ready.

My runs have just gotten faster and faster. I threw down a sub 2 hour half marathon as part of the brick workout. I threw down an even faster one after working back to back 12 hour shifts. I had done my tempo runs, I had done my base runs. I had managed to transition to new shoes in the last weeks of training so they would be broken in for the race. My run legs are ready.

As I type, I do so with the knowledge that I have one more run tomorrow morning, two days until I fly to Panama City Beach, three (or four depending on when we decided to go to Ironman Village) days until I officially check in, five days until I check in my bike, and just six short days until race day. Until that wonderful day when I tackle a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run and hear those tear-jerking words "You are an Ironman."

Chicago, Round 5

August 27th, 2017. Fifth time's a charm? I needed that redemption for this race. Last year was not my year. I hadn't tapered. I was over-trained. I was tired. Not this year. This year I had tapered properly. I wasn't running nearly as much as I had the previous year, despite Ironman training, which meant my run legs felt super fresh. And I was biking a ton more because of Ironman training, which meant my bike legs were bananas strong. And my swim had been feeling stellar. This race was also about to be my bitch.

Fierce.

The swim. Oh dear God the swim. I am usually so pumped for the swim because I know I'm going to crush it. It's my discipline. Swimmer kid to the max. And then the weather had other ideas. The last 400 meters were constant, thrashing waves. I was being tossed around like a ragdoll. I was getting motion sick, it was so choppy. I had never, in all my years of open water swimming, wanted to get out of a body of water so badly. It was awful. And to top it all off, a giant man almost fell on top of my as I was getting out of the water! I had to push his ass up the steps as I'm trying not to fall back into the water on top of the men behind me. But it was finally done. 24.34. 0.05 seconds faster than 2016. Oh boy.

The bike. Yes. I'll always be a swimmer kid. It will always be my favorite part of the triathlon, despite it being only 10% of race day. But the bike, which is half of the race, was very quickly approaching the swim in regards of love in my heart. My new bike plus Lower Wacker plus the most amazing competitor who played leap frog with me the whole course (she went on to win our age group and I am in awe of her and her power), all the while exchanging encouraging words with me, led to a killer bike leg. 1:09.33. Down 7 minutes from 2016. Ok, now we were making some progress.

The run. The weather, despite being horrendous for the swim, was spectacular for the run. Overcast, light wind off the lake, and not too humid at all. A complete 180 from 2016. I rocketed out of transition, attempting to keep up with the woman from the bike (yeah, I thought I was a rocket--what's faster than a rocket? A missile? She was a missile!), but settled into my own pace. And what a pace it was. My watch buzzes every half mile, and I don't usually look at it during the race, but glanced a few times. I was pulling 4:22 half miles for the first 5K of the race. Um, what? Ok then, let's drop this hammer. And so I did. Final run time was 53.07. 13 minutes!

I wanted to do under 2:45. I felt like that was reasonable after what I had done this season. Overall time was 2:36.42. I crossed the line 4th in my age group. And with that, I had also done this:

I had told myself that 2017 was going to be an epic year. And it was shaping up to be more than I could have ever imagined.

Ohio 70.3

July 30th, 2017. Ohio 70.3. Advertised as flat and fast. Worked perfectly as a lady living and training in Chicago where hills are nonexistent. It was the 2nd year of this race. A two transition race, which was not something I was super familiar with. But it seemed as if they had all the kinks worked out, I had only heard good things about all the logistics, and I was oh so ready. My swims, bikes, and runs in training had been getting faster and faster, I was as lean as I had ever been, I had a great pre-race meal the night before with my folks, slept like a boss, and this was my race.

The morning started interestingly enough. I had planned on getting up super early, catching the first shuttle out to the swim start (at a lake, very far away, blah blah blah). My parents were going to take a later shuttle, hang out with me for a bit before I had to enter my wave, and then I would be off. Little did they realize that the roads would start closing rather early and the shuttle buses would get backed up. I think they ended up arriving 5 minutes before my wave started. I was already on the beach. Which also meant that as I was waiting for them, I didn't have time to do my normal pre-race rituals. I was thrown off from the very start. My stomach sank. And then was full again. And not the good kind. Things didn't feel right, but there was no going back. I couldn't miss my wave. My GI issues would hopefully just wait....

The swim. Water was just barely wetsuit legal. I could have easily just swam in my tri kit, which would have ultimately saved time in transition, but I hadn't practiced that in training. Not even once. And race day is not the time to experiment with new techniques! So wetsuit it was. I knew I was going to be warm by the time I exited, but I felt that the risk versus reward benefit still favored the reward of wearing it. Because of my AWA status, I was able to wear a beautiful blue cap instead of the hunting orange cap the rest of my wave was forced to wear. Blue is obviously a far superior color (I guess?). My parents tell me they watched me rocket to the front of my wave before I was out of their sight. Turns out, I really did. I was 2nd out of the water in my age group with a time of 31.03. Over a minute dropped from Arizona. Awesome.

The bike. Did I mention I had received a new bike?

My newest baby, Aragorn

Used. But all mine. 2006 Trek TT bike. And damn was he fast! Well, I suppose I was fast on him, but I've gotta give credit where credit is due! Anyway, because he was so light and I was so aero, I knew that on this almost exclusively flat course, I was going to be able to drop the hammer. I knew I shouldn't, there was still a half marathon after, but I just couldn't help myself! I threw down. And the best part was that I got to the end of the bike and knew I had more in me. I hadn't left it all out there. I had kept up with these ripped and lean gents, even dropping some of them, and my legs weren't shot! Rolled in with a time of 2:40.08. Almost a 21mph average over 56 miles. BEAST MODE!

The run. Due to all my running in the winter, and having done the Solider Field 10 Miler back in May (where I ran the whole damn thing!), I didn't dread this nearly as much as previous years. In fact, I was feeling amazing! Amendment. My legs felt amazing. Those GI issues? Oh shit...from the moment the run started, my abdomen was cramping. It was going to be a long run. I could have easily stopped for a quick bathroom break, but I knew it wouldn't actually be quick. And I didn't really want to eat anything on the run, but I knew that I really was going to blow up if I didn't. So I ate in small quantities. Every aid station had something that sounded good at the time, so small amounts were ingested. And all the water. I was hoping the water was going to help calm things down. And red bull. Which I knew was going to have the opposite effect, but gave me wiiiings! I was planning on running to every aid station, walking through the station, and then running to the next one. I reached the first one and ran through. I reached the second one and ran through. This continued. I'd grab my food and hydration of choice, slam it down, and just keep going. Who was this person who had taken over my body? Was this really me? The entire first loop of the run, I saw 2 other women. I reached the 2nd loop and finally found my ladies! The only odd part? They were just starting their 1st loops. Wait, that couldn't have been right. There's no way I passed that many people on the swim and bike to keep an hour lead over the rest of my age group. Was there? Yes. There was. I crossed with a run time of 2:06.04 for an overall time of 5:25.17. I had shattered my previous half marathon time by 20 minutes. I had destroyed my previous 70.3 time by 38 minutes! The best part?

I stayed for awards and Ironman 70.3 World Championship slot allocation. Missed going to South Africa by 2 places. But considering I didn't even realize that this was something I should be aiming for, I didn't even care. Heading into this race, my mantra was "I'm going to make this race my bitch!" And. I. Did.

The best sherpas a girl could ask for!

Offseason

Ironman Florida is on November 4th, 2017. I had registered in November 2016. A year. I had a year to get my ass in even better shape than I already was. That being said, full on training for a year is far too long. It's too much mentally, too much physically, just too much. I knew that this was going to push back my entire season by a few months. I didn't want to register for any early races with the knowledge that it would extend things even further. The training plan I had discovered had me starting IMFL training in May. That meant I wanted to do a 70.3 about halfway through, putting it right around the end of the July. I found Ohio 70.3. Perfect. I had already registered for the Chicago Triathlon again (because home turf!) which was at the end of August. Perfect. My season was set. Three tris, multiple stand alone runs, and a plan to revamp my nutrition. I was ready to get leaner, get stronger, get faster, and enter full on beast mode.

Nutrition was always a struggle. It continues to be. I am sure if I went to more therapy, specifically focusing on my jacked up relationship with food, I would be able to resolve a lot of my issues. Or, I could continue to eat whatever I want and just exercise more. Because that's a completely normal response to food....I found books by Matt Fitzgerald called "Racing Weight" and "Racing Weight Quick Start Guide." They're all about shifting focus from losing weight to lose weight to getting lean to perform better. I am not being paid by him, nor am I being sponsored, nor do I have any sort of personal gain from them, but I 7000% recommend them. I have not yet reached what I believe in my racing weight, in that I still am not at what I think it my optimum body fat percentage to maximize performance, but I am closer than I have ever been. I lost fat, gained muscle, and felt so much better than I have ever felt before. There was something to this science. It was while following this program that I reached my lightest that I have ever been in my adult life. Down 102 pounds in 7 years. So many ups and downs, some one step forwards and two steps back, but overall, only forward.

My offseason training had also changed drastically. I was utterly thrilled with my Arizona 70.3 performance, but because of my competitive nature, I continually thought "what if I could just run? What if I didn't have to run/walk? Would my knees hold out? Would I reinjure myself? Would I finally conquer this fear that is holding me back?!"

I had joined the Chicago Triathlon Club. Every Sunday morning, all winter, they held "muffin runs." the group would meet at 9, run for an hour, then go eat all the brunch. Any time food was involved, I was there! The first one just happened to be the week after Arizona. Sure, I had just done a 70.3. I only needed a week off, right? I went for it. Ran for a full hour, over 6 miles, no knee problems. Not one. Wait, what? Did that just happen? I hadn't been able to run that long for over a year. Just like that, everything was fine? Sure. Sounds great! This continued all winter. I was able to run more, and more, and more. I still treated my foam roller like my best friend, my IT bands and vastus lateralis muscle were inflamed and angry almost constantly, but I was running! Really running! 2017 was going to be my year.

A New Year, a New Me

2016 couldn't have ended any better for me. I still wasn't pleased with Chicago results, but they were quickly overshadowed by Arizona 70.3. It was such a fun race! I had come to the conclusion that it was time. It was time to tackle the full. I had run a stand alone marathon, and while it sucked, I knew what it felt like. I had ridden 56 miles three times, which was more than 112, so obviously I could do that. And the swim was never something that worried me (that isn't meant to be taken in any sort of snobby way!). I could do it. I know I could.

Election day. Also happened to have a first date that night. Neither of which went to plan. While the first date wasn't terrible, it left much to be desired, mostly any sort of desire. And the election? Well, to this day I'm still hoping it's some sort of horrible nightmare from which we will all soon wake. I distinctly remember leaving the bar from my date, having seen some of the election coverage while there, biking home thinking "this can't be happening, right? There's no way this is real life." I got home, continued to watch coverage, and the date was the furthest thing from my mind as I was plunged into devastation. I was texting my cousin at the time, tears in my eyes, anxiety and dread in my heart, and decided I needed some good kind of crazy as opposed to the terrifying crazy that I was witnessing on the TV. So then this happened:

I had done it. It was all very surreal. I was reeling from the election and I was reeling from my impulsiveness. And it was ridiculous.

Something else that was ridiculous?

My not so stellar performances at Racine 70.3 and Chicago Triathlon, in addition to my baller performance at Arizona 70.3 had put me in the top 10% of my age group. In the world! Say what? Me, the former fat kid who used to dread PE because she was so nonathletic? Me, the mediocre swimmer growing up who had always been overshadowed by her far more naturally gifted older brother? Me, the woman who doubted almost every race decision she had ever made? I was ranked in the world. A spark was ignited in my soul. 2017? It was going to be my year. I was ready. *drops mic*

Arizona 70.3

October 16th, 2016. Redemption. I needed it. I was still distraught over the Chicago Triathlon results. But that distress made for some really solid training from the end of August to the middle of October. I was trained. I was actually tapered. And I was ready!

The swim. Technically open-water in that it wasn't in a pool. But! It was a man-made lake. No real wake, no real waves, almost smooth as glass. I could not have asked for a better swim! Minus the sun rising just as I started the swim and was blinded the entire time. Seeing in a race is so overrated. But it was smooth and it was fast. Exit time was 32.24. Getting faster and faster!

The bike. This particular route is notorious for lots and lots of U-turns. A 3-loop course that you see the same U-turns again and again and again. This is a complaint for many cyclists as they can't get into a rhythm. And I have to say I agree. However, I kinda liked all the turns. Because apparently I'm crazy? I really like the slingshot effect. Slow down, loop around, shoot out of the turn like a rocket! Crank the gears, push the quads, and accelerate out of that turn like a bat out of Hell! So, so fun! Anyway, lots of turns, lots of happy Heather. I had also figured out that I should accept some of the water bottles from aid stations and dump them over me to cool off. This was amazing! I had the bike handling skills to actually pull this off, too, which was a new and different experience for me. The sun was hot, but it was dry, so the water was able to evaporate. It kept me cooler, helped me feel stronger and hydrated, and I hammered my way to a 2:57.54 ride. Under three hours! Holy s@#tballs!!

The run. Oh bloody Hell. Apparently the run gets me so upset I speak in British English! I was given the advice to just keep putting ice down my tri top. Magical! Simply magical. Just like on the bike, it kept me delightfully cool. Well, it kept me manage-ably cool. Despite the sun and absolutely zero shade, I was able to just keep going. It was a run walk, still, but I was able to keep up the seven to one ratio! Through the entire 13.1 miles! No knee pain! Amazing! But wait, you can't have a perfect race. No, no no. Mile 11, my calf cramped so bad I couldn't walk. I almost thought I had ruptured my Achilles. It hurt that bad. People were so, so nice. One person even stopped and walked with me. He was fine. He could have kept going, but he saw me suffering and stayed with me until I could run again. It's people like that--the ones who support the ones struggling--they're what makes this sport so magical. I was finally able to run again, I made it to the last aid station at mile 12.2 (or something super random like that), and I knew I had less than a mile. I could run that whole thing. I would run that whole thing! And I ran my way to a 2:26.14 half marathon for an overall time of 6:03.47. So close to under 6 hours!! But I had dropped 40 minutes. 40 minutes!

I found my redemption. I had trained my ass off, almost literally, and I could not have been more proud of myself. I had finished 13th in my age group. Almost broke the top 10! As it turns out, my swim was 5th, and my bike was 8th. Hot damn! I was getting pretty freaking good at this stuff!!

Pre-Race with my cousin

Post-Race with my cousin and one of his friends in Tempe

Chicago, Round 4

August 28th, 2016. Chicago Triathlon. Again. There's something about being able to sleep in your own bed that keeps me coming back. I know the route, I know what to expect, and it's my home turf. What more could a girl want? I was ready. I was trained. I was strong. Let's do this!

The swim. By this point, I knew exactly what to expect. I also knew that I was slowly starting to max out on my swim gains. Unless I started getting even leaner, which I was slowly doing, but it had been rough going. Always rough going. The fat girl inside just always wants more food! But I digress. The swim. It was a great morning. I felt strong again. Came out of the water 8th in my age group. Wowsa! 24.39. Getting faster, apparently!

The bike. I was ready to throw down. I knew the route, I knew I got to be Batman again, and I had the clip in pedals to really drop the hammer. And I did. 1:16.33. Another 4 minutes off! I was 4 minutes off of last year! Awesome!

The run. As soon as I started, I knew it wasn't meant to be. It was so hot. I hadn't hydrated enough. My legs didn't have it. The run walk that had gotten me this far was starting to let me down. And by that, I mean I started to let me down. I didn't know it at the time, but I was over-trained. I didn't taper enough with the thought that I was going to "train through" this race in preparation for Arizona 70.3. Mentally, I had that though process, but subconsciously, it was devastating. My final run time was 1:06.32. 3 minutes slower?! Unacceptable. Overall time was 2:59.47. Still a PR. I should have been proud of myself. But I knew I could do better. I knew I hadn't left it all out there. I didn't fail, not to any external force, but to myself? To my standards? I had failed. And that failure fueled me better than any success could.

At least I looked fierce!

Racine 70.3

July 17th, 2016. Another half Ironman. I knew what to expect this time. I had my wetsuit. I had my baby. Also, I had finally received a proper bike fit! And bike shoes! With clip in pedals and everything! It was almost as if I was becoming a real triathlete. What was this madness!

I was with a group and we arrived the Saturday before the race to get checked in. The weather was idyllic. Sunny, only a light breeze off the lake, and all was right with the world. Not too warm, not too cool, and we were pumped! The weather kept predicting storms, but what was this? There clearly weren't going to be storms. The weather was perfect!

Oh over-confidence in things we can't control--how nice to see you again! The storms rolled in. And did they ever roll in! The swim was scheduled to start at 0700. Just as the front reached Racine. Thunder, lightening, winds, clouds, hail. No!!! At first, the race director just postponed the swim start. And then it was cancelled all together. Then we were still going to do just the bike and run. Then it got later and later and later. So the bike got shortened. By the time the weather cleared, the decision had been made to do a 30 mile bike ride followed by the half marathon. Even more no! Not only did they take away my strongest leg, but then they shortened by second strongest leg! The worst had happened! The group I was with couldn't decide what to do. Should we stay and use it as a brick? Should we go and then still need to train later that day? Ultimately, we decided that we had paid the money, we had traveled all that way, and we needed the training, regardless. They were all training for Ironman Wisconsin and I had the Chicago Triathlon and Arizona 70.3 later on my agenda. So we saddled up.

It was a rolling start from transition. Each rack of bikes ran to the edge and transition, mounted, and then tried to rocket up a hill. More than slightly dangerous. And nerve-wracking, considering this was my first race with clip ins. But I didn't fall! Miracle of miracles! Two of my friends had started well before me, and I knew I was the strongest cyclist among us, so I threw down the hammer. Caught them in a matter of minutes. The competitive nature is real. I bumped (super bumpy course!) my way back to transition in 1:35.50. I guess that was good? It wasn't the full 56, and it wasn't an Olympic distance race, so I just kinda went with it. This was just a training brick anyway.

The run. I had already done a full marathon this year. A half? That was nothing! Except that it was almost 1130 by the time I started the run and the sun, which was ridiculously absent in the morning, made it presence known. It was so hot, and it was so humid. And I was over it. The day had already not gone to plan and I was just not feeling it. But I knew I needed to finish it. I knew I wanted to beat my previous half marathon times. Still doing the run walk training, still just one foot in front of the other. But the knee pain? Almost entirely gone. For the whole run. The legs weren't thrilled, but they weren't furious with me either. Sprinted my way across the finish line with a time of 2:28.10. Over 15 minutes dropped! It's like this training thing really works!! I was ready for Chicago, and I was more than ready for Arizona.

Star Wars onsie for the win!

Running, always Running

In my mind, I knew I wanted to do a full Ironman. The 140.6 I was never going to get to Kona without it. But I also knew that I would have to be able to do a marathon. And that thought? Rage. Anxiety. Just, NO! I wasn't a runner. I didn't want to be a runner. My knees didn't want me to run. So what did I do? Register for a marathon.

I bleed green and gold. The Green Bay Packers are the greatest football team. Ever. Naturally, I needed to do the Green Bay Marathon! Not only did it start and end and Lambeau Field, but the route also lead you around the stadium where the Acme Packers played, and around Lambeau Field itself. Through the players' tunnel! I had to.

I found a training plan, I mostly followed it, all while doing the run/walk. I still didn't trust my stupid knee. I wasn't nearly as diligent as I should have been with my PT exercises, but it wasn't terrible. But the fear! The fear of going backwards, of re-injuring it, of not completing, was so real. So seven minutes run, one minute walk. Over and over and over again. My training plan called for 3 20-mile runs. Because I was also training for another 2 70.3's and the Chicago Triathlon again, I had to make minor adjustments and only ended up doing 2. The first was utterly horrendous. My now ex had kept me up all night because he was the worst, I wasn't able to fuel properly, and my knee gave out at mile 16. But I had to make it home. It was almost a 4 hour run. S#@T!!!!! That wasn't going to work at all...the second 20 miler was SO much better. My best friend ran the last 3 miles with me, kept me going, and then bought me a ton of food to recover. I had much more confidence. I could do this!

My ex dumped me a month before the race. So that was super awesome (did I mention he was the worst?). But my parents and my aunt and uncle decided they needed to be there for me. And it was awesome. They took me out to dinner the night before. They got up with me super early the morning of. They followed me around the course, cheering for me whenever they could. "Pizza and beer" became my mantra, as that was going to be my post-race treat. Other spectators even started yelling it! It was great. Until my wall. The wall is usually around mile 20. That's the longest you've usually done in training, so your body thinks "oh good, I'm done!" Just kidding. There's still a 10K to go. I hit mile 20 and felt good. As good as running 20 miles can feel. Hooray! No wall for me! Again, just kidding.

My wall came at mile 22. And I slammed into it. My knee was done. My hips were done. My quads were done. My arms were even done! My wall lasted two miles. Two. Agonizing. Miles. I think I walked that entire time. I was in a dark place. I knew I was so close, yet so far! Mile 24 was supposed to have margaritas. I was just trying to get to that. I knew there would be salt there and oh how desperately I needed salt. I got to mile 24. No margaritas. They just weren't there. No one was there. Nothing. The rage! That rage sparked something. A fire was burning deep inside and it led me to fly!

Mile 25.5. Or something like that. I had made it back to Lambeau Field! I got to run through the players' tunnel. The same tunnel where my future husband, Aaron Rodgers (in my dreams, I know) had run through for all home games! It was surreal. And then I was out and around the field. And there was my family! There they were to cheer me on! That adrenaline had caused me to kick a bit too soon. I had to start walking again, just after I left the field. Back in the tunnel. I decided to tell myself that it was to savor the moment. Sure, sounds good. But, it worked out because it gave my family the time to head over to the finish line. Wait, the finish line?! I was that close! There it was! Go!

First marathon, completed! 4:40.16. I didn't have a goal time for this race. Because I truly didn't know if I was going to finish it. But I did! I had joined the 1% (it has to be more than that, right?) of the population that has completed a marathon! The joy, the elation, the pride! I knew, right then and there, that I could do anything.

Superfrog 70.3

The Frogmen. Navy Seals. Easily the toughest members of the United States Military. Up until very recently, only men were allowed. BUDs is hailed as the most intensive, brutal, and unforgiving training there is. There is a triathlon that is loosely (SUPER LOOSELY!) designed around this training. Superfrog. And I was going to tackle it as a my first half Ironman distance. Go big, or go home.

Training had been going well. I destroyed Chicago. I had done a 9 mile run during training, utilizing the run/walk plan, and while the pain in my knee had returned, it wasn't unmanageable. I was terrified though. Utterly terrified. Everything I had read about this race--the frigid water temperatures, fighting the Pacific breakers twice, the horrendous crosswinds for the entire 56 mile ride, the unrelenting sun, the 3 loops of the run on the Navy Seal base--everything filled me with anxiety and made me a bundle of nerves. Everything! But I had been scared in life before. I knew I just had to take it one baby stroke, pedal, and step at a time. It was only more than double of the Olympic distances I had done. That wasn't going to be awful, right? Anybody? Bueller?

September 27th, 2015. A year and a day since my knee surgeries. Race morning. Started too early. I think our alarms were set for 0330? Or 0300? Who can even say? It was before the Sun had even gotten it's coffee and it was too damn early. But I was ready. I had managed to pass out, hard, the night before the race (which never happens), and felt amazing. Truly amazing. Ready to face this race and conquer it.

The swim. A two loop course with a brief run on the beach in between each loop. Fighting the Pacific breakers twice. Awesome. Who doesn't want to do that? The ocean was uncharacteristically calm that morning. Until 2 minutes before the race. As the National Anthem was played, the winds picked up and the ocean started churning. Even better! I was in wave 5, the last wave. Small race. Perfect. All ladies. Even better. Yes, once the race starts, us ladies are brutal. Probably rougher to each other than our male counterparts. But on that beach? These women were amazing. I was more than intimidated. They were all so strong, sleek, and shocked that I was attempting this as my first 70.3. But I was ready to show them. Entered the water. Oh yeah, this is the ocean. There is salt. Way to go, brain. Started passing men on the first lap, because those were really the only ones in front of us to pass. I could tell by the cap colors which wave these gents were in. 4th wave, passed. 3rd wave, passed. End of first loop. Started passing some of the second wave on the beach run. Dive back in. Guess what? Still salt water! More of the 2nd wave, passed. Oh look! Men from the first wave. Who started 12 minutes ahead of me. Passed. It pays, for just that briefest time, to be a swimmer kid. Came out of the water in the top 10. What?! Time was 34.57. Pretty legit for a 1.2 mile swim!

The bike. I had my same road bike, with my aerobars. Still no bike fit, still just in cages. I didn't know what I was doing. But it was fun! 4 loops to make 56 miles. Up and down the coast on the base. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Physically tough. Mentally excruciating. Same people cheering, which was awesome! But the same. And same scenery, which was awesome! But the same. So tedious. I had only done a 40 mile ride during training. I didn't think 16 more miles would be that big of a jump. Yeah, it was. I should, absolutely, have done a 50 mile ride. Would have been such a good idea. Hooray for hindsight. But I powered through. My cousin passed me on the 3rd loop (took him WAY longer to catch me than he thought it would--which made me so, so happy), and we were able to give each other some words of encouragement. He knew what this agony felt like--I was in uncharted territory! Leading back into transition, naturally, there was a hill. And on this hill, there was the greatest group of volunteers. Ever. Ridiculous, probably college age, boys. And they were magnificent! Our bibs had our names on them. So I heard "Get it, Heather!! Make this hill your bitch! You got this!!!" And it gave me the fire to climb that tiny hill and get my ass back to transition. It was just what I needed. Bike time was 3:13.02. Awesome.

My legs were shot. Just utterly destroyed. And I now had to go run a half marathon! Goodie. And I paid for this! I'm so smart! By this point, the sun was oh so high overhead. I was not prepared for this. At all. Not physically, not mentally, not any other adverb you'd like to use. I could feel my skin frying as I made every staggering step. This was a three loop route all around the base. Over half of it, by the time all was said and done, was on the beach. I was able to run on the packed sand so as to attempt to maintain a relatively normal cadence and stride. What they neglected to tell us that part of the run was around "The Grinder" and was on pebbles. That was awful! And borderline cruel and unusual punishment, in my opinion. But I had come this far. I wasn't going to let a few little pebbles stop me! Even if those pebbles invaded my shoes and caused the most intense blisters I had ever received. Mile after mile, I trudged along. I was able to keep up my run seven minutes, walk one minute up until mile 9. And then disaster! And by disaster, I mean my stupid right knee began acting up. Same pain that I had before surgery, the limping began, and so did more walking. But I was at mile 9! Only 4.1 more! That was nothing. So I tried running again. Made it a minute. Ok. Run one minute, walk one minute. If that's what I had to do, so be it. Powered through doing that until mile 12. Then I got my 2nd, or 3rd, or 4th, or 5th, wind and the pain vanished. Knee felt fine. Um, ok? I knew I wasn't going to be able to run the whole 1.1, but I was going to run as much as I could. Made it 4 minutes before my lungs started giving out. I was so hot, I was so tired, and I was so done. I made the final turn up the beach. I could hear the finish line. I could see the carpet in front of me. I could see the finish line. And I sprinted! I ran as hard as I could for as tired as I was. I heard my name. I crossed that line. And I collapsed.

Two very lovely men carried me over to medical while 2 other volunteers put a medal around my neck and a finisher's hat on my head. They sat me down, the gave me salt, and they dumped ice all over me. And it was amazing. I was on fire. And I was dead. I had left it all out there. I couldn't have gone any harder. My run time was 2:45.11. Just a minute off my stand alone half marathon PR. I was back, baby. Overall time was 6:43.34. My unspoken goal was under 7 hours. Dammit, I really was back!

I was a Superfrog!

Chicago, Round 3

I had missed 2014 and it devastated me. Truly. Watching my cousin do a 70.3 while I was recovering from surgery was painful, knowing that I should have been doing it either with or instead of him. And I know that sounds petty and childish, but it's how I felt. I was the better athlete! Why had this happened to me?! But I had a year to dwell on these feelings, to embrace the pain and let it drive me. And dammit, I did!

August 30th, 2015. This was my year. I knew it. I had a plan. I had the "right" equipment. I was going to do this. I didn't tell anyone, because I usually don't share my goals, but in my heart of hearts, even with the run/walk, I knew I could break three hours. And when I set a goal, world, you better watch out!

The swim. I finally bought my own wetsuit! I knew I was going to need it for Superfrog, and I knew I was going to keep doing triathlon, so it seemed like a solid investment. And it was! I slid through that water like I was a dolphin or seal or something. Sleek and kicked ass. 2013 time= 30.18. 2015 time= 25.02. Holy bananas Batman!

The bike. I made another solid life investment during the past 2 years--aerobars! I didn't have a proper bike fit, and as it turns out, my bike may even be the wrong size (meh--he's my baby!), but damn did those aerobars feels awesome. And! They had changed the course! We now got to loop down onto Lower Wacker and actually be Batman. Holy bananas Batman!! So, so much fun. I got into aero and FLEW! No idea how fast I was actually going, because no fancy watches or bike computers yet, but it felt like I was the fastest cyclist on earth. Obviously I was. Obviously. 2013 time= 1:25.50. 2015 time= 1:20.34. Woo!

The run. Oh mother trucker not this again. This nemesis of mine. This relentless battle with which I continually needed to engage. I didn't. I didn't have to do triathlon. But I actually did. So the run. I had made it up to seven minutes running, one minute walking. I also walked through the aid stations. Because food. It was tiring and I didn't enjoy it, but I had trained to do it this way and I did. It was remarkable. 2013 time= 1:14.08. 2015 time= 1:03.19! I had almost broke an hour! WHAT?!

2013 time= 3:20.28
2015 time= 2:59.56

I DID IT!!! It might have been by only 0.04 seconds, but I broke three hours. Nothing could stop me now!

Slowly but surely

Swimming hurt. Biking hurt. Running really hurt. But I was determined. PT continued. Swimming hurt less. Biking hurt less. Running was still kicking my ass. But I was determined. My legs and arms got stronger. I was losing weight again. Running still hurt. But I was determined.

It got nicer outside, as it tends to do after winter is over, and I was finally able to train outside again. Running, I knew, was going to be my even weaker discipline. The swimming? I was getting back into racing shape. The biking? I was getting into better racing shape than pre-surgery. The running? Pathetic. I had always done a run/walk situation in races, and now I had to train this way. I started at run a minute, walk a minute. Then it became run two, walk one. This gradually increased, as did distance. My speed was getting better. Very, very slowly. But I was consistent. There were a few setbacks, pain returning, extra days off, not being able to go as far or as long as I wanted. But I was determined. Chicago was imminent, and Superfrog was not long after that. There was no way I wasn't going to be finish these. I. Was. Determined.

...the Rise

Winter is a terrible time to try and start running again. And after theoretically injuring myself in the winter, I was more than slightly terrified to run outside in the ice and snow. So lots of dreadmill running for this girl. But PT was working, I was able to run again, if not for short periods of time, and I was back on track. I registered not only for the Chicago Triathlon, but also Superfrog 70.3! My first half Ironman distance. It was going to be EPIC! My cousin had started doing triathlons by this point, had already completed a 70.3, and we decided to become partners in crime and tackle this awesome course together. San Diego, watch out!

...the Fall...

3 days post F3. Fun run with my ladies at one of my running clubs. Nice and easy 3 miles planned. Could only complete 1. The agony in my knee, my right knee, my good knee, the one that had started during the F3, came back with a vengeance! I stopped running and tried to walk back to the running shop from which we had started. Limping and in constant pain the entire way. Took me almost 30 minutes to walk a mile. It was terrible. I knew, in that instant, that there was something horribly wrong. I had done more damage than I had realized. At the same time, my left knee had started developing an odd "click" when I went into full extension. It wasn't particularly painful, but it didn't feel great either. I had already been through physical therapy for the clicking, to no avail, so I figured more PT was on the agenda.

MRI and PT, MRI and PT, MRI and PT. I'm not really sure how many times I repeated this process. 2? 3? Who can even say? The insurance companies, but man screw those guys. Regardless, nothing was helping and at this point, I was a surgical nurse specializing in orthopedics. I knew I needed something more. Finally saw a surgeon who agreed to do bilateral knee arthroscopes to diagnose and treat any problems. I had already missed an entire season of training. No 2014 Chicago Triathlon. No 2014 Big 10K. No biking or running at all. And even swimming kind of bothered my stupid, stupid knees. Enough.

September 26th, 2014. The day of reckoning. Or surgery. Either one of those things. I knew was ACL reconstruction felt like and I was anxious. Luckily, this was so much easier. SO much easier. I was up and walking out of the hospital without crutches. Magical! Turns out, I had a large osteophyte on the posterior surface of my patella on my left knee. Possibly a condition called heterotopic ossification (where bone forms in soft tissue), but probably not. It's pretty rare in autografts in ACL reconstructions. So I'm just a freak! In the right knee, literally nothing wrong. Couldn't find anything, so they "irrigated copiously." Sure, sounds great docs.

I had been on the road to recovery once before, and completed some pretty badass things. I was ready to tackle this one in the same way. A half Ironman distance had been on my radar before the injury, and as long as I could start running again, I was going to complete one!

A Turn...

By this point, I knew I needed to step up my running game. I had done some 10K's, and had even completed my first half marathon (2:29.46--under two and a half hours, baby!). But I felt like I should be doing even more. Running all the time! Just keep running, just keep running. Like Finding Nemo, but infinitely worse. As I still despised running. It's just awful. Your knees and hips hurt, breathing hurts, your feet hurt. Ok, maybe that's all just me, but still! Everything hurts! Why do this?! Because triathlon. I only kept up with all this running because I wanted to continue to be a better triathlete. I was making progress, I was slowly getting better, and I was slowly getting more lean. It felt amazing! Why would I stop that?!

There is this half marathon in Chicago in January called F3. Because running a half marathon isn't hard enough--let's do it in the dead of winter! My best friend and I decided to do it. The week leading up to the race was fairly mild. Not warm, but not the normal bitter January we were used to or expecting. Low and behold, the night before the race, the storm of the winter descended upon us. We woke up early, and it was awful. Freezing, windy, snow and ice everywhere. We debated back and forth on whether or not to do even do the damn thing! We were sooooo close to just going back to bed. But our frugal mentalities got the better of us and come Hell or high water (or ice and snow and wind or cold), we weren't going to waste that money!

I regret this decision. With every fiber of my being. Well, I don't because without it, I wouldn't be where I am today, but I still kind of do. Worst run ever. Started terribly and only got worse. They didn't clean off the route at all. They didn't even mark the route! You had to run past the finish line and loop back around, which is mentally just exhausting and horrible. I knew I was going slowly, and I knew everything hurt even more than usual, but something just wasn't right. The more I ran, the worse this pain in my knee got. Dammit, I was going to finish this F@#*ing race, but it was agony. I finally crossed the line at 2:44.20. Gross. Frozen. and limping something fierce. Figured I had just pulled a muscle running oddly from trying not to fall on the ice. Little did I know that it was the beginning of a journey that I'm still recovering from...

Chicago, Round 2

August 23rd, 2013. I had a goal time to beat. I had been living in Chicago longer, had been training on my "home turf," and I was ready. Ready to rock!

The swim. Holy bananas I rented a wetsuit! I was maybe kinda sorta becoming this thing called a triathlete! What was this madness?! The start was still organized chaos, but at least this time I was mentally and physically prepared for it. Swim time was 30.18. Two minute drop from the previous year! Amazing!

The bike. Because I had the opportunity to train so much more, I loved my bike even more. These powerful tree trunk thighs were getting stronger and stronger and it really showed on the bike. As I recall, it was still an out and back scenario (they changed the course at some point and I think it was the year I took off--but I'm getting ahead of myself). So mentally, just utterly ridiculous, but physically, wait, also just utterly ridiculous. Change of scenery and sitting position is always welcome on the bike, even if it is a shorter distance! Came back into transition at 1:25.50. Another 5  minutes dropped!

The run. Still the worst. Just. The. Worst. And damn was it hot. At least that's what it appears based on the photos that I could find online (and I can't get them to download, nor did I appear to take any that day, but if you reeeeeally need to see them, I'm sure you can find a way....). I know I did a walk/run scenario again. Because a 10K to me was a long way to go, my legs were tired, and running is still super dumb. However, I did it again. I finished! 1:14.08. Another 3 minutes gone!!! Overall time was 3:20.28. I broke 3:30! And that was absolutely the goal. Ecstatic! Maybe there's something to this wetsuit thing. Maybe there's something to this training thing. Maybe I should learn to run better!

Chicago, Round 1

August 26th, 2012. My first Olympic distance triathlon. I had a new bike. I had new running shoes. I had a new swim suit (because I still didn't understand wetsuits). But I had actually trained. So that was something, right?

The swim was in Lake Michigan. It was in a harbor, so somewhat protected by the waves that can develop. All I remember is the madness of the start. Limbs flying, we're producing our own waves, people swimming over other people. These chicks were for real! But I'm a strong swimmer, so I took off  with them. And made it. Finished that swim in 32.28. Not terrible, I didn't think, for my first time.

Then my nemesis. The bike. But wait! I had a beautiful new bike! No longer my nemesis! And he wasn't. He did great. I did great. I rode Earendil (yes, I phrase it that way intentionally), to a time of 1:30.35. It was such a boring out and back, out and back, loop on Lake Shore Drive (LSD). They have since changed it, but that first time? Oh my how awful. You go all the way up north, you turn around, you come back down south, you can hear the transition area! And then you have to go back out and do it again. Mentally fatiguing! And Chicago, while flat, does have some unexpected inclines and LSD! I wasn't prepared for those. My tree-trunk thighs handled them admirably though. Like they still do.

So now it was time for my true nemesis. The run. And I say this because it is. I am not, evolutionarily, built to be a runner. I'm just not. I build bulk muscle instead of lean muscle, I've got ridiculously wide hips (the actual pelvis, not just the giggly stuff encasing it), and I discovered a genetic condition which makes me uniquely prone to soft tissue injuries (more on that in later posts!). All in all, running = bad. But, if I want to be a triathlete, and I was gonna finish this race, I need to run. So I did. And by that, I mean, I mostly walked again. All 6.2 miles. But I did it! Run time was 1:17.04. But damn there was nothing like crossing that finish line at 3:29.36. Only some 45 minutes behind my sprint time of approximately half the distance! I am amazing! I cried. Ugly cried. Oh it was so ugly. Sobbed into my mom's arms. I think other racers were actively worried about me. Did I care? Hell, no! I did it! I finished! I had new goals! And I was ready for all that came next.

2012--no idea weight, but less than 250!

New bike, new life

I had been bitten by the triathlon bug. I knew I wanted to do more of these. Lots more. And I also knew that my basic bike was not going to cut it. So graduation money saw me buying my first road bike. A beautiful 2011 1.1C, size 54cm. He's a gorgeous blue and black beast and he's named Earendil (after a mariner from the JRR Tolkien universe--nerd alert!!!). And yes, he's a he and I named him. I name all my bikes. Don't worry about it. 6 years later and I still have him.

I didn't think I wanted to do another sprint triathlon. I was pretty sure, by this point, with a new bike, having lost a ton more weight, and being in much better shape, I wanted to bump it up to an Olympic distance. This is a 1.5K (just under a mile) swim, 40K (just under 25 miles) bike, and 10K (6.2 mile) run. I could do all of these stand alone, so combining them couldn't be that bad, right?

At this point, additionally, I had graduated college, moved back in with my parents, floundered for a while, and finally figured out that I wanted to be a nurse. I was living in Chicago, attending nursing school at DePaul University. So what better triathlon to do than the Chicago Triathlon? Chicago 2012, I was coming!

First Triathlon

By now, it's senior year. I'm losing weight by running and swimming again. My knee feels awesome. I'm starting to be happy again. I decided I wanted to really push myself. I had heard rumors of this evil event in which you swim, bike, and run--all in one day! A triathlon. I wanted to become a triathlete! See also, one who doesn't understand that sucking at one sport is hard enough. I was slowly running, I already had the swimming background, and really, how hard could biking be? Done. I registered for my first triathlon! Quad Cities Triathlon. Sprint Distance. 600 yard swim, 15 mile bike, 3.1 mile run. Seemed completely doable. 

I started training. And by training, I mean I'd sort of go for a run. Or I'd sort of go for a ride. The riding part was particularly laughable. I was in college. There were few places to bike. My bike sucked. I had all of the excuses. But in my head, I still knew I could do it. No problem. Or so I thought. 

The morning arrived. Unfortunately, because I'm writing this 7 years after the fact, I have no idea the date. I know it was June, 2010. And I also have to pictures, despite the internet holding on to everything. Wtf internet?! Where are my terrible pictures?!?! Moving on. My parents came down for the race. They were worried. I could tell. But I wasn't. I could do this. I had "trained." 

The swim was great. If you like being in a murky, freezing quarry where you can't see anything. Simply delightful. I swam in just a one piece suit. What did I know about wetsuits? What's a wetsuit? Don't you use that for scuba diving?! But for how ill-prepared I was, I did fairly well. Felt good coming out of the water. I had this in the bag. 

And then came the bike. I had an ancient, rusted out mountain bike that had to have weighed 800 pounds. I mean, obviously not, but it certainly seemed like it! I was virtually moving backwards. Hindsight being what it is, I really killed the swim because just about everyone passed me on the bike. Everyone. A 70 year old, legally blind woman passed me. True story. 

And then came the run. My least favorite part. I was still worried about my knee, it was freaking the surface of the sun by that point, and I was so dead. Legs felt like jelly. I don't remember how much I walked, but I know it was most of it. I vividly remember passing a group of firemen at one point. I must have looked utterly horrendous because they all begged me to stop for a bit. To stop the race. I didn't feel that bad, so I replied "no, I'll see you at the finish. Wait for me." (I probably didn't say anything nearly that smooth, but I know I kept going--this is my story, right?). Finally, I hit the 3 mile mark. Just 0.1 to go! I started sprinting. Well, my version of it. But I sprinted right across that finish line, through a tent that was there, and into the firemans' arms because my momentum was that powerful. I did it! I was a triathlete! Time was 2:46.48 (that information I could find...). I came in second to last overall. And I loved every minute of it! 

The beginning

This story begins at my birth, but there was a lot of nonsense for 20 years, literally, of me always being a fat kid. That's really all you need know. From 1988 to 2008, fat kid. I swam competitively for 10 of those years. Still a fat kid. I got slightly skinnier, but fat kid. And I'm ok with this. Really. It's part of who I am, and it's part of what has made me stronger and healthier today. I wouldn't be who I am without all the struggles that led of to it. Anyway, let's fast forward those 20 years to October of 2008.

It was homecoming week in undergrad. I was a junior. Naturally, I was going to participate in all ridiculous manner of activities. (Fun fact--completely sober for all events. I promise). One such activity was the Tug-of-War. Now, as a former swimmer, I did have residual muscles. Yes, they were buried under layer after layer of freshman 15 and sophomore spread, (there has to be a fun alliteration for junior year, but I have yet to hear it), but the muscles still existed. Swimmers' shoulders and thighs the size of tree trunks! So of course, armed with hubris and my team, I knew we were going to crush our competition. And we did! And something else that happened? I tore my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). Yep. In a non-contact, hardly mobile event, I blew out my knee. I also happened to dislocate my patella (knee cap), slightly strain my medial collateral ligament (MCL), and build up a shit-ton of effusion (fluid in the joint). I'm so talented!

Fast forward again to January of 2009. Surgery! Exclamation point to emphasize the horribleness of it, not my excitement or joy. It was truly awful. Pain unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The actual injury hurt less than immediately post-op. I woke up crying, they gave me more pain meds. I woke up crying again, I was maxed out on pain meds. So I just laid there, crying, waiting to see my parents. Super fun times. And then the real work began! I had to learn how to use my entire leg all over again. In just 3 short weeks of true immobility, my muscles in the left leg atrophied an insane amount. I only had one thigh the size of a tree trunk! What is a girl to do?! Work at it. Very hard. Physical therapy was 6 months. I started out on crutches, non-weight bearing. Even got a handicapped parking decal! It was winter. My dr didn't want me falling. Eventually transitioned to weight bearing with crutches. Then crutch. Then just me hobbling around like an old lady, sans handicapped decal. Finally, I could walk normally!!

By this point, the already overweight junior in college was getting ready to become an even more overweight senior in college. I finished up PT right around the end of the school year. We had slowly gotten me back into running. Very slowly. I was lucking if I could run a mile in 14 minutes. But I was running! That year started and, in addition to completely losing my way as far as what to do after graduation, I also started to lose weight! My heaviest, me in the front in green, I was 250 pounds. Brutal. But a switch flipped. I was unhappy, unhealthy, and had already had one knee surgery. Something needed to change. And it did.