Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy New Year!
Reflect
2008
Traveled
Had lots of sex
Bought a house
Fed and clothed my children
Trained for and finished 4 Triathlons
Tried to be the best person I could be
-----------------------------------------------------
No regrets
Dream
2009
Buy a new triathlon bike
Travel more
Feed and clothe my children
Get married(perhaps...IF HE EVER ASKS ME!)
Keep being the best I can be
Train for and finish 8 Triathlons
Keep having lots of sex
-----------------------------------
No regrets
Welcome to today.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Hard Choices
Yesterday I finally got back on the bike. I didn't get permission from the Doctor but I don't see him for another week and I needed to do something. First I walked for half an hour and then I got on the bike for another half hour. It felt so good!
I wanted to run yesterday but when I tried things jiggled in places I hadn't felt before and I decided not to push it. I'm feeling really good and the incisions are healing nicely. No need to push it too far as I really want to get back training sooner rather than later.
I've been reading about Triathlon while I've had this time off from training.(If I can't train my body I may as well train my mind.) I've also been eating because it's the Season, but I will curb that in short order. I'm learning that Nutrition is the fourth sport in Triathlon. It's something that can haunt you on race day but it's very important during training(or lack there of)as well.
I'm ready to get back at the training and I want to start right now. However, I'm grateful that I can't because it's forcing me to take a hard look at my life and how I want to balance it. Training can take over your life. Especially when training for the longer distances and I am hoping to complete to half Ironman's this summer. I am also hoping this training will help me with my larger goal of finishing a Ironman in 2010.
I have three young children, a job, a partner and lots of friends. I am very blessed. However, I need to train and not sacrifice my relationships and the more I read the more I realise I have to work at balance.
BALANCE.
Balance is not something that comes easy to me. Perhaps it's my ADD or some other flaw in my personality but I'm not good at it.
However, I realise that my children are my priority. I want to model a healthy lifestyle for them. But I want to be sure that I'm not modeling a fit lifestyle and rarely around. I struggle with being a single parent and still finding time for everything. I do have support with my training, but my kids are my responsibility when they are in my care.
I have read about many athletes who get up at 5 am, 6 days a week to train before the kids are awake. [sigh...I'm tired just thinking about it ]
The thought of me waking up at 5 am everyday exhausts me. I don't think I can do it. But, I want to do an Ironman. It's NOT easy. And training for the sport isn't always easy either. It means making hard choices and adapting to obstacles. If I can't get up at 5am for 16 weeks, how am I going to ever finish an Ironman?
The simple, yet demanding act of getting up earlier each day adds more balance to my life. It's a fact. I can't fight it.
If I get up at 5 and do most of my workouts in the morning, I will have more free time to be with the kids in the evening. Besides, every other week I can take more time for training when they are at their Dad's.
I'm not looking forward to it, but that's what this sport is all about. Hard choices and consistent training.
So I say, "Bring it on!".
I wanted to run yesterday but when I tried things jiggled in places I hadn't felt before and I decided not to push it. I'm feeling really good and the incisions are healing nicely. No need to push it too far as I really want to get back training sooner rather than later.
I've been reading about Triathlon while I've had this time off from training.(If I can't train my body I may as well train my mind.) I've also been eating because it's the Season, but I will curb that in short order. I'm learning that Nutrition is the fourth sport in Triathlon. It's something that can haunt you on race day but it's very important during training(or lack there of)as well.
I'm ready to get back at the training and I want to start right now. However, I'm grateful that I can't because it's forcing me to take a hard look at my life and how I want to balance it. Training can take over your life. Especially when training for the longer distances and I am hoping to complete to half Ironman's this summer. I am also hoping this training will help me with my larger goal of finishing a Ironman in 2010.
I have three young children, a job, a partner and lots of friends. I am very blessed. However, I need to train and not sacrifice my relationships and the more I read the more I realise I have to work at balance.
BALANCE.
Balance is not something that comes easy to me. Perhaps it's my ADD or some other flaw in my personality but I'm not good at it.
However, I realise that my children are my priority. I want to model a healthy lifestyle for them. But I want to be sure that I'm not modeling a fit lifestyle and rarely around. I struggle with being a single parent and still finding time for everything. I do have support with my training, but my kids are my responsibility when they are in my care.
I have read about many athletes who get up at 5 am, 6 days a week to train before the kids are awake. [sigh...I'm tired just thinking about it ]
The thought of me waking up at 5 am everyday exhausts me. I don't think I can do it. But, I want to do an Ironman. It's NOT easy. And training for the sport isn't always easy either. It means making hard choices and adapting to obstacles. If I can't get up at 5am for 16 weeks, how am I going to ever finish an Ironman?
The simple, yet demanding act of getting up earlier each day adds more balance to my life. It's a fact. I can't fight it.
If I get up at 5 and do most of my workouts in the morning, I will have more free time to be with the kids in the evening. Besides, every other week I can take more time for training when they are at their Dad's.
I'm not looking forward to it, but that's what this sport is all about. Hard choices and consistent training.
So I say, "Bring it on!".
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Merry Christmas!
It's Christmas day and the house is quiet as the kids are over at their Dad's for the day. I'm enjoying the peace and quiet. It's been a crazy two weeks.
First I must tell you that I am healing well and wish that the Doctor would let me do more than just walk on a Treadmill. Alas, it's only been 15 days post surgery and perhaps I am pushing it a little! However I must say, it's Christmas and there is LOTS of good food everywhere. On Monday I will walk on the Treadmill for about 30 minutes and then get on the stationary bike for another 30 minutes. Good eating and lack of exercise for me equals a very unhealthy life style and contradictory to my purpose for having the surgery in the first place! So it will feel good to be doing something even if I would rather be running or swimming!
I'm adjusting to my new body as it heals. Every day the incisions heal more and I'm able to explore this new terrain. While the transformation is subtle with clothes on, without clothes I'm a different woman even with the new scars. I'm still pleased that I had the surgery and in many ways I wish that I would have done this sooner. (but I wasn't sure I was done having babies!)
My partner has been great. He's been with me every step of the way and is now helping me with the massaging of the scars.(Which I might add, is less than fun.) I think he's enjoying the transformation as well![wink]
I feel like the surgery is just the first step towards reaching my goals. There is still much work to be done. But I must admit, getting new boobs and a flat tummy is a GREAT Christmas present!
Merry Christmas!
First I must tell you that I am healing well and wish that the Doctor would let me do more than just walk on a Treadmill. Alas, it's only been 15 days post surgery and perhaps I am pushing it a little! However I must say, it's Christmas and there is LOTS of good food everywhere. On Monday I will walk on the Treadmill for about 30 minutes and then get on the stationary bike for another 30 minutes. Good eating and lack of exercise for me equals a very unhealthy life style and contradictory to my purpose for having the surgery in the first place! So it will feel good to be doing something even if I would rather be running or swimming!
I'm adjusting to my new body as it heals. Every day the incisions heal more and I'm able to explore this new terrain. While the transformation is subtle with clothes on, without clothes I'm a different woman even with the new scars. I'm still pleased that I had the surgery and in many ways I wish that I would have done this sooner. (but I wasn't sure I was done having babies!)
My partner has been great. He's been with me every step of the way and is now helping me with the massaging of the scars.(Which I might add, is less than fun.) I think he's enjoying the transformation as well![wink]
I feel like the surgery is just the first step towards reaching my goals. There is still much work to be done. But I must admit, getting new boobs and a flat tummy is a GREAT Christmas present!
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Good News
I'm heading back to work tomorrow and I'm really looking forward to it. I don't like sitting at home feeling like I'm doing nothing and this experience has confirmed it for me. As I sit resting and healing(great and good things)I see all the stuff that has to be done, like laundry and cleaning and it just about kills me that I can't do anything about it.
The unfinished projects call to me as I sit on a chair doing nothing. Well...OK. Not 'nothing' but it feels like 'nothing'. The laundry piles up and I am helpless to do much if anything about it. It's VERY frustrating! [What can I say? I like laundry. So?]
Good news is the stitches are mostly gone and there is very little bruising and swelling. I feel pretty good and I'm anxiously awaiting approval to get back on the bike and swimming. I feel like NOW the hard work begins. I feel like I need to do right by the surgery so that it's not in vain. I feel like I have to work harder than I ever have to get to where I'm going...
I want to complete an Ironman but I also want to be in the best shape of my life. Perhaps that will be my New Years resolution. To commit to a healthy lifestyle, that allows me to complete an Ironman and be the best that I can be. Sounds good to me.
The unfinished projects call to me as I sit on a chair doing nothing. Well...OK. Not 'nothing' but it feels like 'nothing'. The laundry piles up and I am helpless to do much if anything about it. It's VERY frustrating! [What can I say? I like laundry. So?]
Good news is the stitches are mostly gone and there is very little bruising and swelling. I feel pretty good and I'm anxiously awaiting approval to get back on the bike and swimming. I feel like NOW the hard work begins. I feel like I need to do right by the surgery so that it's not in vain. I feel like I have to work harder than I ever have to get to where I'm going...
I want to complete an Ironman but I also want to be in the best shape of my life. Perhaps that will be my New Years resolution. To commit to a healthy lifestyle, that allows me to complete an Ironman and be the best that I can be. Sounds good to me.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Fours Days Post Operation
It's four days post surgery and I'm starting to feel more like myself. I'm still really tired and spend most of my day sleeping in my chair but today I've been walking more and even eating!
I'm starting to hate the chair I'm sitting in. I didn't know I would be exclusively in a chair for recovery. I sat in this chair when I got home on Thursday and I haven't left since. I even sleep here. It's a Lay-z-boy recliner, and I must sleep sitting up. If anyone would have told me that I would suffer more from back pain than surgical pain I would never have believed them. But my back hurts! Thank goodness I'm getting stronger every day and I'm able to get up and walk around and change positions for a little while.
My other challenge has been my stomach. Again not in from the surgery but my appetite, or lack there of. It appears that my stomach is extremely sensitive and I haven't been able to eat much in the last four days and I've been fighting nausea hourly. Today has been the first day that I've been able to eat real food and avoid feeling sick to my stomach. I'm so relieved.
My surgical pain is relatively non-existent. I'm occasionally taking extra strength Tylenol but other than feeling tender, I feel really good.
I've learned a few things about myself during the last for days. I don't have a lot of patience and I don't do well sitting at home alone. So, I'm trying to embrace my challenges and use them to grow more. It's good for me to sit still and heal and the more patient I am with myself the faster my recovery will go.
I'm looking forward to getting the drainage tubes taken out on Tuesday and talking to the doctor to see how my healing is progressing.
I'm starting to hate the chair I'm sitting in. I didn't know I would be exclusively in a chair for recovery. I sat in this chair when I got home on Thursday and I haven't left since. I even sleep here. It's a Lay-z-boy recliner, and I must sleep sitting up. If anyone would have told me that I would suffer more from back pain than surgical pain I would never have believed them. But my back hurts! Thank goodness I'm getting stronger every day and I'm able to get up and walk around and change positions for a little while.
My other challenge has been my stomach. Again not in from the surgery but my appetite, or lack there of. It appears that my stomach is extremely sensitive and I haven't been able to eat much in the last four days and I've been fighting nausea hourly. Today has been the first day that I've been able to eat real food and avoid feeling sick to my stomach. I'm so relieved.
My surgical pain is relatively non-existent. I'm occasionally taking extra strength Tylenol but other than feeling tender, I feel really good.
I've learned a few things about myself during the last for days. I don't have a lot of patience and I don't do well sitting at home alone. So, I'm trying to embrace my challenges and use them to grow more. It's good for me to sit still and heal and the more patient I am with myself the faster my recovery will go.
I'm looking forward to getting the drainage tubes taken out on Tuesday and talking to the doctor to see how my healing is progressing.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Ice chips!
I like hospitals. I REALLY like them. I'm fascinated by all the action and the people who are there. Everyone has a story. Everyone.
I also like hospitals because they have ice chips.
Ice chips are the greatest invention. I've forgotten how much I LOVE them. When I had my babies I learned to LOVE ice chips. When you are nursing you get REALLY thirsty and they gave me ice chips and I soon discovered that there is nothing like ice chips to quench your thirst! I was sad to leave because I didn't have a fridge that made Ice chips...
I spent the majority of the day chewing on ice chips. Mmmmm...ice chips[in a Homer Simpson way]
To say I was nervous was an understatement. But it took most of the morning to get registered and ready for surgery so that helped keep me occupied.(Less time to think or worry)
Finally at noon the Doctor came to mark me.
That was a crazy experience. I had to stand naked from the waste up while he measured and marked my body to prepare for the surgery. As he was doing this I wondered if his marker was a "special" type of marker used only for this occasion? Is it antibacterial? I also wondered how many other people he used that marker on? What I remember most from that experience, besides standing naked and feeling embarrassed, was how much the marker hurt when he marked across my nipple.
Once he was done marking he said, "That is where your nipple is going to go.", and he pointed to a spot where a number of lines intersected and he had traced a rather large circle. It was pretty cool.
I like hospitals. I'm a freak I guess, but I love how they work. I'm fascinated that complete strangers show up and know who you are and where you are going. I think the system is sort of magical because it's so complex. Even when I was at admitting in the morning, I wondered how my paper work got there. How does it all happen? At a hospital you see many people walking here there and everywhere but they are all going somewhere. It's all a well oiled machine.(usually) There are people everywhere and you can't tell whose a doctor, or a nurse or a patient sometimes. I like to play a game where I guess what the person is doing there. Sometimes I try to imagine what type of procedure they are having done or I try to guess if they work there or not? It's interesting because I'm usually wrong.
I know hospitals are not always happy places. Trust me I've been there. But even when I've been at the hospital for sad occasions I am amazed and awed by it's magical abilities. Nurses appear, out of no where and doctors were suddenly present before we knew we needed them. Sure there were times when we had to wait because of an emergency but we did that without complaint because the next time WE could be the emergency.
I'm smiling. I'm breathing deep and I'm very happy that I faced my fear and had the surgery. I can't see the results yet because I'm in bandages from my waist to my neck. But I already feel lighter and happier. My self esteem has risen.
For now, I'm focused on allowing my body to heal and do what it needs to do. I'm trying to sit and breath and heal. That's my focus for the next few days and I'm feeling great so far. I spend most of the days sleeping.
And the support from my family and friends has been amazing. My partner has been so good, waiting on me hand and foot. I'm so grateful for him!
Yesterday I got some beautiful flowers from my co-workers and the card that came with it made me laugh. It said, "In loving Memory. Bye bye boobies Ha Ha...".
I also like hospitals because they have ice chips.
Ice chips are the greatest invention. I've forgotten how much I LOVE them. When I had my babies I learned to LOVE ice chips. When you are nursing you get REALLY thirsty and they gave me ice chips and I soon discovered that there is nothing like ice chips to quench your thirst! I was sad to leave because I didn't have a fridge that made Ice chips...
I spent the majority of the day chewing on ice chips. Mmmmm...ice chips[in a Homer Simpson way]
To say I was nervous was an understatement. But it took most of the morning to get registered and ready for surgery so that helped keep me occupied.(Less time to think or worry)
Finally at noon the Doctor came to mark me.
That was a crazy experience. I had to stand naked from the waste up while he measured and marked my body to prepare for the surgery. As he was doing this I wondered if his marker was a "special" type of marker used only for this occasion? Is it antibacterial? I also wondered how many other people he used that marker on? What I remember most from that experience, besides standing naked and feeling embarrassed, was how much the marker hurt when he marked across my nipple.
Once he was done marking he said, "That is where your nipple is going to go.", and he pointed to a spot where a number of lines intersected and he had traced a rather large circle. It was pretty cool.
I like hospitals. I'm a freak I guess, but I love how they work. I'm fascinated that complete strangers show up and know who you are and where you are going. I think the system is sort of magical because it's so complex. Even when I was at admitting in the morning, I wondered how my paper work got there. How does it all happen? At a hospital you see many people walking here there and everywhere but they are all going somewhere. It's all a well oiled machine.(usually) There are people everywhere and you can't tell whose a doctor, or a nurse or a patient sometimes. I like to play a game where I guess what the person is doing there. Sometimes I try to imagine what type of procedure they are having done or I try to guess if they work there or not? It's interesting because I'm usually wrong.
I know hospitals are not always happy places. Trust me I've been there. But even when I've been at the hospital for sad occasions I am amazed and awed by it's magical abilities. Nurses appear, out of no where and doctors were suddenly present before we knew we needed them. Sure there were times when we had to wait because of an emergency but we did that without complaint because the next time WE could be the emergency.
I'm smiling. I'm breathing deep and I'm very happy that I faced my fear and had the surgery. I can't see the results yet because I'm in bandages from my waist to my neck. But I already feel lighter and happier. My self esteem has risen.
For now, I'm focused on allowing my body to heal and do what it needs to do. I'm trying to sit and breath and heal. That's my focus for the next few days and I'm feeling great so far. I spend most of the days sleeping.
And the support from my family and friends has been amazing. My partner has been so good, waiting on me hand and foot. I'm so grateful for him!
Yesterday I got some beautiful flowers from my co-workers and the card that came with it made me laugh. It said, "In loving Memory. Bye bye boobies Ha Ha...".
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Facing My Fears
Tomorrow I'm having surgery.
I'm really having this surgery for myself and that's not easy to admit. I don't like to think of myself as selfish.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. But this entire experience has been about facing my fears. I'm doing something outside my comfort zone. I'm doing something very powerful for me. I'm taking controll and I'm taking a risk.
I see the surgery as another step towards Ironman, as well as building self esteem and at this point in my life I'm not sure which I value more. My self esteem is always with me but I live, sleep, and breath Ironman. It's in every area of my life. Most of my friends don't realise how much it dominates me. My boyfriend does and he's very patient and kind about it, even if he doesn't understand my desire for the race.
Aside from Ironman, I feel this surgery will help me feel comfortable in my own skin again.(And ease some back pain)
Tomorrow I will face my fear and take a risk. I'm proud of myself.
I'm really having this surgery for myself and that's not easy to admit. I don't like to think of myself as selfish.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. But this entire experience has been about facing my fears. I'm doing something outside my comfort zone. I'm doing something very powerful for me. I'm taking controll and I'm taking a risk.
I see the surgery as another step towards Ironman, as well as building self esteem and at this point in my life I'm not sure which I value more. My self esteem is always with me but I live, sleep, and breath Ironman. It's in every area of my life. Most of my friends don't realise how much it dominates me. My boyfriend does and he's very patient and kind about it, even if he doesn't understand my desire for the race.
Aside from Ironman, I feel this surgery will help me feel comfortable in my own skin again.(And ease some back pain)
Tomorrow I will face my fear and take a risk. I'm proud of myself.
Monday, December 8, 2008
List
I'm making a list.
Nope. Not a Christmas list.(although I should be)I don't have any Christmas shopping done yet and I'm not sure how much I'm going to get done after Wednesday?!
I'm making a list of things I will need the help recover from surgery.
Patience is at the top of the list! And I will need books, and pillows and compression socks and...so much more!(I'll spare you the details!)
There is so much to do!
I am teaching my last exercise class this morning. I enjoyed teaching but it takes up so much of my personal time away from class that I can't help but feel relieved that it's ending...
Two more days. ACK!
Nope. Not a Christmas list.(although I should be)I don't have any Christmas shopping done yet and I'm not sure how much I'm going to get done after Wednesday?!
I'm making a list of things I will need the help recover from surgery.
Patience is at the top of the list! And I will need books, and pillows and compression socks and...so much more!(I'll spare you the details!)
There is so much to do!
I am teaching my last exercise class this morning. I enjoyed teaching but it takes up so much of my personal time away from class that I can't help but feel relieved that it's ending...
Two more days. ACK!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Planning
My life has been a mad rush since I received the phone call on Friday morning and discovered that I would be having surgery on Wednesday. It's usually 2 weeks notice but not when there is a cancellation.
It's truly crazy how many areas of my life the surgery affects. Most importantly my work, my kids and my workout schedule. (I wish I would have waited to buy that swimming pass!)
I've been reading online about recovery time and it might be more than I expected. Reduction surgery is extensive and I need to remember that while it's important to keep moving, I also can't over do it, which is my tendency. But I have to remember I'm also getting a tummy tuck too so that will slow me down as well.
I had visions of biking(slowly)by the following Friday. Who knows? No weights or pushing anything for a few weeks so that eliminates the swimming until January or longer as well! (Shucks!)And no more heavy workouts for a month or so...
Truthfully I don't want to miss the swimming. I was getting a momentum going and now I'm going to be that much further behind! (Or perhaps that much further ahead without having all the drag in the water now!)
I guess I can't plan anything. I just have to wait and see how it feels and make decisions accordingly. The research shows that everyone heals at different rates. I just don't want to loose what I've worked so hard for already.
So now I start counting down the days. Not counting today it's 2 days away!
HOLY CRAP!
It's truly crazy how many areas of my life the surgery affects. Most importantly my work, my kids and my workout schedule. (I wish I would have waited to buy that swimming pass!)
I've been reading online about recovery time and it might be more than I expected. Reduction surgery is extensive and I need to remember that while it's important to keep moving, I also can't over do it, which is my tendency. But I have to remember I'm also getting a tummy tuck too so that will slow me down as well.
I had visions of biking(slowly)by the following Friday. Who knows? No weights or pushing anything for a few weeks so that eliminates the swimming until January or longer as well! (Shucks!)And no more heavy workouts for a month or so...
Truthfully I don't want to miss the swimming. I was getting a momentum going and now I'm going to be that much further behind! (Or perhaps that much further ahead without having all the drag in the water now!)
I guess I can't plan anything. I just have to wait and see how it feels and make decisions accordingly. The research shows that everyone heals at different rates. I just don't want to loose what I've worked so hard for already.
So now I start counting down the days. Not counting today it's 2 days away!
HOLY CRAP!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Date
I can't believe it!
The hospital called this morning and they had a cancellation.
My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday December 10, 2008.
FIVE DAYS! FIVE! Holy crap.
I'm nervous and excited and I can't believe it's happening so soon!
I have five more days to get used to the idea that I am going to have surgery. I think I'm OK with the actual operation. I understand what the Doctor is going to and how the operation takes place. I'm just not looking forward to going under anesthetic. Even thinking about it now gets my heart racing!
I've thought long and hard about this surgery and what it means to me and I'm ready.
Here's to a speedy recovery!
The hospital called this morning and they had a cancellation.
My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday December 10, 2008.
FIVE DAYS! FIVE! Holy crap.
I'm nervous and excited and I can't believe it's happening so soon!
I have five more days to get used to the idea that I am going to have surgery. I think I'm OK with the actual operation. I understand what the Doctor is going to and how the operation takes place. I'm just not looking forward to going under anesthetic. Even thinking about it now gets my heart racing!
I've thought long and hard about this surgery and what it means to me and I'm ready.
Here's to a speedy recovery!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Naked Truth
I stand naked in front of the mirror only looking at my eyes. Bracing myself, steadying myself for the journey I'm about to embark upon.
Slowly - painfully slow, I allow my eyes to fall downward. The irony of this movement is not lost on me and for a very brief moment I waiver and wonder if I should do this?
Taking a deep breath I reserve my strength and begin the descent again. My eyes slide down the sides of my neck and pause to rest on my shoulders. I am trying to reserve judgement and merely explore the shapes and horizons before me. Sadly, I realise this has become the best of me. I rest for a while, enjoying the view. This is nice. But what waits for me? Will it be worse than I imagined?
I brush the questions aside. I tell myself, no matter what I find I will be OK. Funny how I've become an explorer on familiar terrain. I never expected the landscape to change so drastically. In the past I've brushed over the landscape in order to get to where I was going. In other words, I've never really looked before. Avoidance.
Shocked by the nooks and valleys, I look more closely. I must do this for myself. Not only to see but to accept and become familiar again...
This time I allow myself to travel the rocky terrain of my breasts. These breasts are the part of my body I've always wished to re landscape. Some people get black eyes while jumping with a horse because the horse throws it's head back. I've always said I get black eyes from simply running across the room. Time and age has taken it's toll...
The landscape starts where they once had jutted perkily outward saying " I am woman hear me roar" or rather, 'want some?" Alright, they were never 'perky', but they were always present. I know this because men often have a difficult time keeping their eyes on me if I put them out there and dress them up.
For some reason my chest is this wonderful present that men always fancied unwrapping. I've always thought that it's all about the presentation. I dressed it up and somehow made it more appealing because you can't see everything.
Will unwrapping the present matter more than what's within? I've been with men who are far more interested in the actual undressing - apparently it's a turn on. Truth be told - it bores me. I want to feel, to be touched, to be delved into. I want to be worshipped by another body. But is this body worth worshipping. So far? Not so good.
Marked like balloons blown much too large, they sit upon my chest, looking as deflated as I feel. I'm starting to judge quality rather than really seeing what is in front of me. The human body. The breasts that fed my children and encouraged their lives. These saggy, baggy "fun bags" that help to define me as female and gave life. And now I'm left with two empty sacks looking very tired and humble as they worship the floor. No sunflowers here gazing towards the sun. Their work is done and they are pointing me onward. Downward. I try to encourage their previous beauty by lifting them up towards the light. I try to imagine what it might feel like if I were my lover using them for pleasure. If I close my eyes - they feel like breasts only they move about 5 inches further than most women's do. I allow myself to think back to puberty...
I shouldn't have done that. It's one thing to be changed and quite another to remember the difference.
I remember standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, with the lights on at night thrashing my arms around, joyously singing, "I must! I must! I MUST increase my bust!". Only to realise in dismay that my profile was directly in front of my window and everyone in the neighbourhood could see me! I smile knowing that in those days someone would have really enjoyed the show.
Alright. They are big, saggy, defeated breasts that are attached to me. I have decided they are not that bad. A good bra can hide my secret and who needs the light on during intimate moments anyway? I'm proud of every wrinkle and stretch mark. They have fed the hungry(in more ways than one). And while I don't particularly enjoy them, with a little imagination and deprivation they might just do the job in a pinch! Besides, I could always impress a man by spinning them in different directions. Who needs tassels when you have breasts that rotate!
Now that I'm less frightened by what I see, I continue my journey downward. The stomach. Jelly belly. I decide that I could give Santa a run for his money because I truly have a belly that looks and acts a lot like jelly.
I'm embarrassed. Not only is it jiggling flesh, it's also marked by bright red stretchmarks. There are also a few scars left over from gallbladder surgery. I run my fingers gently over my not-so-smooth and not-so-flat stomach. Once, I was tiny enough to have abs showing, now I have ripples caused by flesh stretched beyond it's capacity. No judgement, just a fact. My belly is no longer sexy! But more importantly do I care?
I've decided I can have all these things fixed by surgery. In fact, it could be a matter of weeks as I'm waiting to hear back from the hospital for a surgery date. I made the decision that I want the outside of my body to match the inside of me.
No amount of exercise will change the bagginess, the sags, stretchmarks or the jiggling. In fact, the more fit I become the worse the problems get. I need help. I just want to feel as beautiful on the outside as I do on the inside.
Ultimately, I'm proud of my body, despite it's imperfections. It's wonderful and strong and very capable.
Slowly - painfully slow, I allow my eyes to fall downward. The irony of this movement is not lost on me and for a very brief moment I waiver and wonder if I should do this?
Taking a deep breath I reserve my strength and begin the descent again. My eyes slide down the sides of my neck and pause to rest on my shoulders. I am trying to reserve judgement and merely explore the shapes and horizons before me. Sadly, I realise this has become the best of me. I rest for a while, enjoying the view. This is nice. But what waits for me? Will it be worse than I imagined?
I brush the questions aside. I tell myself, no matter what I find I will be OK. Funny how I've become an explorer on familiar terrain. I never expected the landscape to change so drastically. In the past I've brushed over the landscape in order to get to where I was going. In other words, I've never really looked before. Avoidance.
Shocked by the nooks and valleys, I look more closely. I must do this for myself. Not only to see but to accept and become familiar again...
This time I allow myself to travel the rocky terrain of my breasts. These breasts are the part of my body I've always wished to re landscape. Some people get black eyes while jumping with a horse because the horse throws it's head back. I've always said I get black eyes from simply running across the room. Time and age has taken it's toll...
The landscape starts where they once had jutted perkily outward saying " I am woman hear me roar" or rather, 'want some?" Alright, they were never 'perky', but they were always present. I know this because men often have a difficult time keeping their eyes on me if I put them out there and dress them up.
For some reason my chest is this wonderful present that men always fancied unwrapping. I've always thought that it's all about the presentation. I dressed it up and somehow made it more appealing because you can't see everything.
Will unwrapping the present matter more than what's within? I've been with men who are far more interested in the actual undressing - apparently it's a turn on. Truth be told - it bores me. I want to feel, to be touched, to be delved into. I want to be worshipped by another body. But is this body worth worshipping. So far? Not so good.
Marked like balloons blown much too large, they sit upon my chest, looking as deflated as I feel. I'm starting to judge quality rather than really seeing what is in front of me. The human body. The breasts that fed my children and encouraged their lives. These saggy, baggy "fun bags" that help to define me as female and gave life. And now I'm left with two empty sacks looking very tired and humble as they worship the floor. No sunflowers here gazing towards the sun. Their work is done and they are pointing me onward. Downward. I try to encourage their previous beauty by lifting them up towards the light. I try to imagine what it might feel like if I were my lover using them for pleasure. If I close my eyes - they feel like breasts only they move about 5 inches further than most women's do. I allow myself to think back to puberty...
I shouldn't have done that. It's one thing to be changed and quite another to remember the difference.
I remember standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, with the lights on at night thrashing my arms around, joyously singing, "I must! I must! I MUST increase my bust!". Only to realise in dismay that my profile was directly in front of my window and everyone in the neighbourhood could see me! I smile knowing that in those days someone would have really enjoyed the show.
Alright. They are big, saggy, defeated breasts that are attached to me. I have decided they are not that bad. A good bra can hide my secret and who needs the light on during intimate moments anyway? I'm proud of every wrinkle and stretch mark. They have fed the hungry(in more ways than one). And while I don't particularly enjoy them, with a little imagination and deprivation they might just do the job in a pinch! Besides, I could always impress a man by spinning them in different directions. Who needs tassels when you have breasts that rotate!
Now that I'm less frightened by what I see, I continue my journey downward. The stomach. Jelly belly. I decide that I could give Santa a run for his money because I truly have a belly that looks and acts a lot like jelly.
I'm embarrassed. Not only is it jiggling flesh, it's also marked by bright red stretchmarks. There are also a few scars left over from gallbladder surgery. I run my fingers gently over my not-so-smooth and not-so-flat stomach. Once, I was tiny enough to have abs showing, now I have ripples caused by flesh stretched beyond it's capacity. No judgement, just a fact. My belly is no longer sexy! But more importantly do I care?
I've decided I can have all these things fixed by surgery. In fact, it could be a matter of weeks as I'm waiting to hear back from the hospital for a surgery date. I made the decision that I want the outside of my body to match the inside of me.
No amount of exercise will change the bagginess, the sags, stretchmarks or the jiggling. In fact, the more fit I become the worse the problems get. I need help. I just want to feel as beautiful on the outside as I do on the inside.
Ultimately, I'm proud of my body, despite it's imperfections. It's wonderful and strong and very capable.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Plan
So. I haven't been to the pool yet this week. Apparently it's winter, which means it's cold and it's also snowing outside. Who wants to go to the pool when it's freezing outside? And the roads? They are covered with snow... Never mind. I'm heading to the pool tomorrow to buy a pass. It will be my heroic deed for the week.
ONCE. I will swim once this week.(I don't want to peak too soon) If I swim once this week, next week I can go twice and my coach will think I'm a superstar.(seriously)
On a positive note. I've been to the gym twice this week and I'm heading there tonight. Yes, I am in fact, travelling through the same snow that's stops me from going to the pool. Sheesh!
At least I'm sticking to a plan. No need to get picky!
ONCE. I will swim once this week.(I don't want to peak too soon) If I swim once this week, next week I can go twice and my coach will think I'm a superstar.(seriously)
On a positive note. I've been to the gym twice this week and I'm heading there tonight. Yes, I am in fact, travelling through the same snow that's stops me from going to the pool. Sheesh!
At least I'm sticking to a plan. No need to get picky!
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Swim
OK. It's official. I hate swimming!
Which is a problem because I am working towards an IRONMAN![said in a manner like Phoebe from friends]
Yesterday, well, last night really, I got in my car and drove to the pool. Did you get that? I DROVE TO THE POOL!(That's a big deal people!) Alright, never mind how I got there. The point is I went. And on my Birthday. Yes it's true. I went SWIMMING on my birthday. (This is my ego talking. Someone please give me a little SOMETHING?) I'm a hero. Right?
So, I'm beginning to think that this training is not as glamorous as I had once thought.(sigh)
I'm reading Lance Armstrong's books about his life, which is also about his MILLIONS of hours of training for the Tour De France(which he won 7 times! SEVEN!)and they inspire me and leave me feeling like I can do anything. But swimming...
You see, the problem here is that I'm really not good at swimming. OK, so that's an exaggeration. I can swim, just not very far. Which again, is a problem when training for an Ironman where you are required to swim 3.8 kilometers!
At the age of four I got on a bike(without training wheels)and I just started to ride. I'll never forget the look on my Dad's face when I took off. The weeks before he took the training wheels off I begged, and begged and then BEGGED some more until he finally gave in and agreed to take them off. The training wheels were taken off in the basement of our house. My Dad figured I was too young, wouldn't be able to bike without them and he'd be putting them right back on again. WRONG. I took off doing figure 8's all around the basement. As a kid I rode my bike everywhere and to this day, biking is just something I can do and do relatively well.
When I was about 9 months old I found my legs and I started running(so I'm told)and I haven't stopped since. Yes, there is specific technique that can help you run faster but basically you put one foot in front of the other at a fast speed and away you go. I ran everywhere. Sprinted. At one time I was even on the provincial track team as a sprinter. I'm learning to run long distance now and it's going well. I enjoy running in a slower gear.
My mother expected me to take swimming lessons because she nearly drowned as a young teen. After that experience, any confidence she had as a swimmer was completely gone and to this day she loves the water but rarely goes into it. My swimming lessons started at such an early age that I can hardly remember it. But I LOVED the water as a kid and still do. I loved being IN the water, ON the water and BY the water.
So you see the real problem here is that I can't swim.[laughter] OK. The REAL problem is that I don't find swimming easy like biking and running. Apparently, I only want to work on things that come easy to me.
I have problem with breathing during swimming, which of course confuses and frustrates me. I'm a singer and I've spent years learning how to breath you would think it could come in handy while swimming. Nope. Not so lucky.
I can swim about 200 meters and suddenly I'm gasping for breath. It's really ugly. I think about breathing and then suddenly I think I can't breath and then finally I'm not breathing and I have to stop. STOP.
So last night I asked the coach why do I feel like I can't breath? She evaluated my stroke and my breathing technique and the conclusion is simple. PRACTICE! I've only been in the water 3 times this year. THREE.(perhaps I'm expecting a little much) Breathing while swimming and breathing while running or biking is very different. Endurance on land means being able to breath whenever you want. In the water you breath every third stroke. It's all about conditioning.
I should be swimming three times a week. Not once for and hour and a half.
FYI.
I felt really good towards the end of the swim last night. I actually felt like I was making progress and not just floundering around.
I guess I don't HATE swimming. Hate is a strong word. Perhaps I should say I DISLIKE swimming. I dislike getting wet, being in a bathing suit, (especially around other athletes with rock hard bodies) and having to figure out my breathing while swimming. Simply, I don't like doing something I'm not good at.(Who does?)
So here's hoping I can progress towards swimming three times this week and maybe I will even enjoy myself.
Which is a problem because I am working towards an IRONMAN![said in a manner like Phoebe from friends]
Yesterday, well, last night really, I got in my car and drove to the pool. Did you get that? I DROVE TO THE POOL!(That's a big deal people!) Alright, never mind how I got there. The point is I went. And on my Birthday. Yes it's true. I went SWIMMING on my birthday. (This is my ego talking. Someone please give me a little SOMETHING?) I'm a hero. Right?
So, I'm beginning to think that this training is not as glamorous as I had once thought.(sigh)
I'm reading Lance Armstrong's books about his life, which is also about his MILLIONS of hours of training for the Tour De France(which he won 7 times! SEVEN!)and they inspire me and leave me feeling like I can do anything. But swimming...
You see, the problem here is that I'm really not good at swimming. OK, so that's an exaggeration. I can swim, just not very far. Which again, is a problem when training for an Ironman where you are required to swim 3.8 kilometers!
At the age of four I got on a bike(without training wheels)and I just started to ride. I'll never forget the look on my Dad's face when I took off. The weeks before he took the training wheels off I begged, and begged and then BEGGED some more until he finally gave in and agreed to take them off. The training wheels were taken off in the basement of our house. My Dad figured I was too young, wouldn't be able to bike without them and he'd be putting them right back on again. WRONG. I took off doing figure 8's all around the basement. As a kid I rode my bike everywhere and to this day, biking is just something I can do and do relatively well.
When I was about 9 months old I found my legs and I started running(so I'm told)and I haven't stopped since. Yes, there is specific technique that can help you run faster but basically you put one foot in front of the other at a fast speed and away you go. I ran everywhere. Sprinted. At one time I was even on the provincial track team as a sprinter. I'm learning to run long distance now and it's going well. I enjoy running in a slower gear.
My mother expected me to take swimming lessons because she nearly drowned as a young teen. After that experience, any confidence she had as a swimmer was completely gone and to this day she loves the water but rarely goes into it. My swimming lessons started at such an early age that I can hardly remember it. But I LOVED the water as a kid and still do. I loved being IN the water, ON the water and BY the water.
So you see the real problem here is that I can't swim.[laughter] OK. The REAL problem is that I don't find swimming easy like biking and running. Apparently, I only want to work on things that come easy to me.
I have problem with breathing during swimming, which of course confuses and frustrates me. I'm a singer and I've spent years learning how to breath you would think it could come in handy while swimming. Nope. Not so lucky.
I can swim about 200 meters and suddenly I'm gasping for breath. It's really ugly. I think about breathing and then suddenly I think I can't breath and then finally I'm not breathing and I have to stop. STOP.
So last night I asked the coach why do I feel like I can't breath? She evaluated my stroke and my breathing technique and the conclusion is simple. PRACTICE! I've only been in the water 3 times this year. THREE.(perhaps I'm expecting a little much) Breathing while swimming and breathing while running or biking is very different. Endurance on land means being able to breath whenever you want. In the water you breath every third stroke. It's all about conditioning.
I should be swimming three times a week. Not once for and hour and a half.
FYI.
I felt really good towards the end of the swim last night. I actually felt like I was making progress and not just floundering around.
I guess I don't HATE swimming. Hate is a strong word. Perhaps I should say I DISLIKE swimming. I dislike getting wet, being in a bathing suit, (especially around other athletes with rock hard bodies) and having to figure out my breathing while swimming. Simply, I don't like doing something I'm not good at.(Who does?)
So here's hoping I can progress towards swimming three times this week and maybe I will even enjoy myself.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Happy Birthday to ME!
My life has been a surprising, and rewarding journey. Likely my experiences are nothing out of the ordinary. But this morning, as I lay in bed, I tried to remember my earliest memory and I realise I've survived and lived through a lot of life.
I honestly wish I could remember back to my birth. I would like to remember that moment when the air hit my lungs and I sucked in the oxygen around me and then pushed it back out again to signify my first breath. How great would it be to remember the first moment alive outside the warmth of the womb?!
I imagine if I had cognitive thought at that time it would be one of confusion. First I'm being squished, next I'm in loud, bright surroundings. It would be traumatic until they handed you to your mother that is...I've seen it with my own children. Their births were simple and straight forward with no complications, other than the fact that I could not stop throwing up during labour. (as if 9 months of puking wasn't enough!) After each child was born they were placed on my belly while the umbilical cord was cut. There was always a sense of calm but excitement when we found out the sex of the baby. (side note. there is nothing more exciting for me than the words, 'it's a girl, or it's a boy'. What a thrill!) Then the baby cried, screamed really, was cleaned, swaddled, and eventually given back to me. At each stage the baby gradual became more calm, but the moment the baby was given back there was a sense of peace that I'm not sure how to describe.
Not all of us are lucky to have that kind of start in life. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in my mother's birth room. Of course, having no memory of the event I'm left to hearing her version of it. Time can alter memory and how we experience it. However, her version of our story starts with being 17 and pregnant.
My mother ended up in a home for unwed mothers(I guess that's what they did back then)and she was barely 7 months pregnant, or so she thought because she didn't know when exactly she had gotten pregnant. She had decided she wanted to give me up for adoption because she wanted me to have a mother and a father. She went into labour sometime around the 7 month mark, and after lots of complications she gave birth to me;a girl. I was 4lbs 11oz and a little fighter. Apparently I screamed my head off, and when she asked to see me the Doctor brought me over to her and said, "take a good look because you will never see this baby again!". And she didn't see me again until I was in my 20's.
I wasn't adopted until I was 9 months old, and most of those nine months were spent in the hospital. Now that I have children of my own I can't believe I had 9 months with no mother or father. During those 9 months lots of growth happens and they are huge formative stages...it's got to have had some effect on a person.
My birthday has always been clouded by mystery and angst. Especially during the teen years when I was trying desperately to figure out who I 'really' was. My parents adopted me and loved me thoroughly but I always felt different and not understood.(A typical teenage dilemma) However, I grew up with a back door. I always knew I was adopted. In fact I can't remember a time NOT knowing. Therefore, when life didn't go my way, I could always think, "My real mother wouldn't have treated me that way". SO NOT TRUE.
I honestly wish I could remember back to my birth. I would like to remember that moment when the air hit my lungs and I sucked in the oxygen around me and then pushed it back out again to signify my first breath. How great would it be to remember the first moment alive outside the warmth of the womb?!
I imagine if I had cognitive thought at that time it would be one of confusion. First I'm being squished, next I'm in loud, bright surroundings. It would be traumatic until they handed you to your mother that is...I've seen it with my own children. Their births were simple and straight forward with no complications, other than the fact that I could not stop throwing up during labour. (as if 9 months of puking wasn't enough!) After each child was born they were placed on my belly while the umbilical cord was cut. There was always a sense of calm but excitement when we found out the sex of the baby. (side note. there is nothing more exciting for me than the words, 'it's a girl, or it's a boy'. What a thrill!) Then the baby cried, screamed really, was cleaned, swaddled, and eventually given back to me. At each stage the baby gradual became more calm, but the moment the baby was given back there was a sense of peace that I'm not sure how to describe.
Not all of us are lucky to have that kind of start in life. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in my mother's birth room. Of course, having no memory of the event I'm left to hearing her version of it. Time can alter memory and how we experience it. However, her version of our story starts with being 17 and pregnant.
My mother ended up in a home for unwed mothers(I guess that's what they did back then)and she was barely 7 months pregnant, or so she thought because she didn't know when exactly she had gotten pregnant. She had decided she wanted to give me up for adoption because she wanted me to have a mother and a father. She went into labour sometime around the 7 month mark, and after lots of complications she gave birth to me;a girl. I was 4lbs 11oz and a little fighter. Apparently I screamed my head off, and when she asked to see me the Doctor brought me over to her and said, "take a good look because you will never see this baby again!". And she didn't see me again until I was in my 20's.
I wasn't adopted until I was 9 months old, and most of those nine months were spent in the hospital. Now that I have children of my own I can't believe I had 9 months with no mother or father. During those 9 months lots of growth happens and they are huge formative stages...it's got to have had some effect on a person.
My birthday has always been clouded by mystery and angst. Especially during the teen years when I was trying desperately to figure out who I 'really' was. My parents adopted me and loved me thoroughly but I always felt different and not understood.(A typical teenage dilemma) However, I grew up with a back door. I always knew I was adopted. In fact I can't remember a time NOT knowing. Therefore, when life didn't go my way, I could always think, "My real mother wouldn't have treated me that way". SO NOT TRUE.
In my mind I was reconciling that someone out there didn't want me. I've polled hundreds of adoptees and each one of them had to reconcile the same issue(if it was a closed adoption). You know you are wanted by the parents you live with but if you have no information about the people that gave you up, in your deepest, darkest thoughts you wonder why they didn't want you? There is a kernel of truth in the thought that someone didn't want you, but until you have all the information you can't know what the truth is. Is it that they couldn't provide for you, or love you, or...? It can drive a person crazy. Eventually, finally, each adoptee makes a decision to be OK with that fact or not. You learn to live with the not knowing and make the most of the people who do love you and gave you a life to live.
For me, finding my birth mother allowed me to adopt my parents. Meaning. My family adopted me but I never got the chance to adopt them. Growing up in a Mennonite household everything around you is about "Freunschoft" or family history. Mennonites are believers of community. You go to church together, you live and work together and you are steeped in family on all levels. It's a small, tight knit circle surrounded by faith and a common belief. Mennonites are a rather amazing group(but we'll save that topic for another time)in their pursuit of all things good.
I share my great grandfather's birthday. This was brought to my attention on numerous occasions and while I was proud of that fact I was also uncomfortable with it because he really was no one to me. I never knew him although I heard many stories of his life. He was a man who lived before I was born. I didn't have any of his physical characteristics or traits so why did I care?
It wasn't until I met my birth family and was shown many family pictures that I realised, yes, I have some physical traits and characteristics in common with the people in the pictures but I don't have any relationship with them either. They were just a bunch of people in photographs that lived before I did. So I came to this conclusion. I couldn't be alive without the people in my birth family because genetically I am their descendant. But I also, wouldn't have a life to live with out the people in my adopted family because they created my parents. When I came to that conclusion, I adopted my family and made peace with who I am. In other words, my birth family gave me life and my adopted family gave me the life to live. It was up to me to fill in the rest. No more back door.
Today is my birthday. Another year older. Another year to reflect upon where I've been and where I'm going. My life is great and I'm really happy. I'm grateful for everything that has brought me to this point or I wouldn't be the person I am today.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Training
I'm feeling uninspired these days. Both with the blog and with the training. I guess that's part of life, hitting a plateau. I'm not comfortable with any kind of stand still because I operate in 1st gear(or fast forward). I like my life to be full and busy, going from one thing to the next. So this period of 'blah'(for lack of a better word)that I'm experiencing is not so fun.
I love going to my work outs but it's takes at least 20 to 30 minutes before I get 'into' the work out and by then it's half over...wah, wah, wah! STOP I can't believe how much I'm complaining right now!
I just finished reading, 'It's Not About the Bike', by Lance Armstrong and I'm now onto 'Every Second Counts', again by Lance (and his writer helper, who's name I can't think of right now). Regardless of what you think about Lance and his ego or his personal life, he's a remarkable athlete and man. To overcome, first his young ego, then endure gruelling chemo therapy and finally the trials and tribulations of the Tour de France and win(eventually 7 times)is remarkable. Lance is honest and true about his strengths and weaknesses and his story is inspirational for anyone.
I've seen cancer up close and I've watched what chemo can do to a human body and it's not pretty. Chemo therapy is very similar to any type of endurance racing. The body is much stronger than we give it credit for, but the mind is what makes us resilient. How we attack each stage and deal with the adversity set before us is what makes us stand apart from the rest. How we deal with the affects of chemo can make all the difference.
While I was watching my father undergo his treatments I remember feeling like the chemo was trying to take is soul while the cancer was owning his body. He fought with dignity and courage but unfortunately he wasn't one of he lucky ones. He faced death and was not afraid. I admire him for that and I am grateful I could share that experience with him. It was a real gift and one that gives me strength and hope.
So, when I hear myself complaining(whining really)about a plateau or lack of energy, I can put it all into perspective and be grateful that I'm alive to experience life's imperfections. I hope to get stronger physically but mentally too. While I will never be in the Tour de France, I do have my own races coming up and I need to keep working and getting strong. I'm learning lots along the way.
The ultimate lesson for me is that it's all about focus and hard work. Of course one needs to have some natural ability, but I'm not out to win these races.(well not all of them[wink]) It's about having fun, loving what you do and shutting up and doing, even when you don't feel like it.
See it's working now. I didn't think I had anything to write about today.
I love going to my work outs but it's takes at least 20 to 30 minutes before I get 'into' the work out and by then it's half over...wah, wah, wah! STOP I can't believe how much I'm complaining right now!
I just finished reading, 'It's Not About the Bike', by Lance Armstrong and I'm now onto 'Every Second Counts', again by Lance (and his writer helper, who's name I can't think of right now). Regardless of what you think about Lance and his ego or his personal life, he's a remarkable athlete and man. To overcome, first his young ego, then endure gruelling chemo therapy and finally the trials and tribulations of the Tour de France and win(eventually 7 times)is remarkable. Lance is honest and true about his strengths and weaknesses and his story is inspirational for anyone.
I've seen cancer up close and I've watched what chemo can do to a human body and it's not pretty. Chemo therapy is very similar to any type of endurance racing. The body is much stronger than we give it credit for, but the mind is what makes us resilient. How we attack each stage and deal with the adversity set before us is what makes us stand apart from the rest. How we deal with the affects of chemo can make all the difference.
While I was watching my father undergo his treatments I remember feeling like the chemo was trying to take is soul while the cancer was owning his body. He fought with dignity and courage but unfortunately he wasn't one of he lucky ones. He faced death and was not afraid. I admire him for that and I am grateful I could share that experience with him. It was a real gift and one that gives me strength and hope.
So, when I hear myself complaining(whining really)about a plateau or lack of energy, I can put it all into perspective and be grateful that I'm alive to experience life's imperfections. I hope to get stronger physically but mentally too. While I will never be in the Tour de France, I do have my own races coming up and I need to keep working and getting strong. I'm learning lots along the way.
The ultimate lesson for me is that it's all about focus and hard work. Of course one needs to have some natural ability, but I'm not out to win these races.(well not all of them[wink]) It's about having fun, loving what you do and shutting up and doing, even when you don't feel like it.
See it's working now. I didn't think I had anything to write about today.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
One
Within the trees of my soul a lost man wanders...lost but not afraid. Despite the bumps, bruises and broken bones I am enjoying the scenery. The wanderlust has slowed down and the time has come to rest. A need for peace...
I long to find contentment - to be fulfilled and happy. To no longer bear the wound of living but bear the joy of being alive. The gift of life.
What a gift life is. To be able to drink in the sweet nectar of love and drown in the warm sunshine of life. To be able to give and receive. I am so tired of giving. I'm so tired of treading the deep waters of life.
I now want to be set upon the water. To set sail or fly or better yet, to gallop in the openness and run with a song on my heart.
I must find joy and peace. I must find it within me and live within it and become one.
I long to find contentment - to be fulfilled and happy. To no longer bear the wound of living but bear the joy of being alive. The gift of life.
What a gift life is. To be able to drink in the sweet nectar of love and drown in the warm sunshine of life. To be able to give and receive. I am so tired of giving. I'm so tired of treading the deep waters of life.
I now want to be set upon the water. To set sail or fly or better yet, to gallop in the openness and run with a song on my heart.
I must find joy and peace. I must find it within me and live within it and become one.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Hope
Sometimes it is just too painful to breath...to think...to feel...to make sound...
In silence there is refuge.
Stillness.
A place of rest.
Silence is sound. It echos loudly within us all. Silence is deafening. Silence is a place to dwell within but we fear it will crush us.
Tonight I live in silence surrounded by grief.
Grief...a place where I have come to know death by a first name...
Grief. An empty barren place filled with so much space, one can hardly breath. A place where you go to find comfort and you are truly alone in time, yet enfolded in death's embrace. In this place you are coloured by memories of pain and emptiness - filled with loud silence.
Grief. I hate grief. Leave me alone. Please let me live in the land of hope and dreams...
Hope and dreams. Hope is a beautiful world painted with meaning and joy. Filled with the warmth of sunshine...
May I grieve in silence? May I mourn in peace? May I dance in the sunshine? Do I have to use my voice?
My voice is tired. I'm tired of grieving. I'm tired of trimming my soul of dead debris, lost hopes and faded warn out dreams.
I will stop fearing you grief. I will embrace you like the martyr I am and I will welcome you into my soul. I will no longer fight the pain but ride it into the silent, dark, space that will change my life. I will sob and cry out like the tree that falls in the forest. Do you hear me? !
I will yell and scream my lungs out and beat my chest until the blood pours from my body and washes away my pain - my loss.
I will grieve and sob, and sob, and sob some more. But you will NOT stop me from loving and living. I will feel pain and be forced to cry out, but I will continue to believe, live, love, laugh and dream.
It's mine in silence.
It's mine.
In silence there is refuge.
Stillness.
A place of rest.
Silence is sound. It echos loudly within us all. Silence is deafening. Silence is a place to dwell within but we fear it will crush us.
Tonight I live in silence surrounded by grief.
Grief...a place where I have come to know death by a first name...
Grief. An empty barren place filled with so much space, one can hardly breath. A place where you go to find comfort and you are truly alone in time, yet enfolded in death's embrace. In this place you are coloured by memories of pain and emptiness - filled with loud silence.
Grief. I hate grief. Leave me alone. Please let me live in the land of hope and dreams...
Hope and dreams. Hope is a beautiful world painted with meaning and joy. Filled with the warmth of sunshine...
May I grieve in silence? May I mourn in peace? May I dance in the sunshine? Do I have to use my voice?
My voice is tired. I'm tired of grieving. I'm tired of trimming my soul of dead debris, lost hopes and faded warn out dreams.
I will stop fearing you grief. I will embrace you like the martyr I am and I will welcome you into my soul. I will no longer fight the pain but ride it into the silent, dark, space that will change my life. I will sob and cry out like the tree that falls in the forest. Do you hear me? !
I will yell and scream my lungs out and beat my chest until the blood pours from my body and washes away my pain - my loss.
I will grieve and sob, and sob, and sob some more. But you will NOT stop me from loving and living. I will feel pain and be forced to cry out, but I will continue to believe, live, love, laugh and dream.
It's mine in silence.
It's mine.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
She
She is alone.
She watched her father die.
She stood there waiting. Watching and holding vigil with all those who loved him. Why? Why did she need to see this? Why did she have to live this? No more mellow drama. No more romantic notions. No more hope. This was real life and it was unfolding before her eyes. There was so much love in the room. So much pain, and sorrow drifting from each soul that stood in fellowship with the man she called father. He laboured through death as she had laboured through birth only a few weeks before his disease brought him here. A few weeks ago she was holding a new life in her hands. Feeding it, tending it and loving every minute of it. Yet, here she stood now - in solidarity with each person, watching her father labour into a different world. She stood there watching and waiting with her family, wanting to be there when he took his last and final breath. She wanted to bridge the gap between living and the dying but she knew the truth. The others, loved him too and didn't want him to be alone, but she knew that love could not break through the barrier of being alone. Her father's death was his to bear, his alone, just has hers will be. She was in a hospital not so long ago - lying on a bed demanding her body to open and share life with the world, while everyone else watched. Those that watched her had legs and could walk away. Her legs wanted to move but could not. She wanted to be the one watching but she realised this was her life to give. While she journeyed toward new life she paused to look into the eyes of the people in the room with her and saw grief. She saw worry, but she also saw excitement, joy and love...she saw her father.
She understood his secret just as he understood hers. She and her father watched each other in desperation as the weeks leading up to this day united them and separated them forever. Life was growing steadily and pleasantly within her body, while life was draining viciously and ferociously from his. They were united in weight and in empathy and compassion. They shared vomiting and ill feelings. They sat in wonderment of the human body and were challenged by what they each had to go through, yet they remained completely alienated from one another by the fork in the road. Hers was the path of life and his was the path of death. Each path waiting for them in solitude and patience. Each path calling them to start the drama they were named to play. They had no choice. It was theirs to bear and bear alone.
So she stood at the end of the bed - a similar bed that he stood at a few weeks prior as he held his newborn granddaughter and gazed at her in awe and wonderment. In her moment she wept tears of sadness and fear. In his moment he wept tears of joy and excitement and, even possibly, hope. And while she stood there thinking about the past and future she realised that she loved him more than she had ever loved another. She marveled at his courage and strength just as he had marvelled at hers. She watched him labour into his death and beyond and the love she felt hurt in indescribable pain. Love does not span the abyss of alone. Love does not comfort on a journey like this. Love stands beyond us all - like a bubble of peace - hovering, waiting, and hoping to take your joy, pain, or sorrow and unite the emotions. But the truth is, it could pop at anytime. Love can never conquer alone.
They each relaxed into peace as both father and daughter resigned the mind to let their bodies do what nature called them to. Both were united in hope and they gave each other gifts. She gave him life and he gave her death. Hope would allow each of them to live and die. No more fear. No more unknown. No more wondering what it will feel like. The scene had begun and she and her father were the stars of the show.
She could taste the end long before her mind could fathom the possibility. She could taste the bittersweet joy of knowing him and loving him and she could hear it slip silently and slowly away. The smell of the sweet memories on warm summer nights, staring at the dark starlit sky tormented her. She could feel the overwhelming warmth of the roaring winter fire pleasantly licking the wood as her family relaxed warm and safe indoors. His large comforting hands that rocked her, and soothed her to sleep as a child taunted her knowing it would soon be gone. Her childhood - her life - moved from the dark recesses of her mind to the front of her vision illuminated by the deepest love and grief she had never known. This was real. The quiet soft spoken nurse attending to his every need, sometimes even before he voiced it was from another world. Only her father remained real. His body that remained warm and feeling in her hands as she shaved his face and rubbed his feet. It was not a dream. Her father was going to die.
And finally the body released the tortured and anguished soul and it flew away. The soul flew away, free, boundless, finally soaring high and at rest. Free of this life and born into a different one.
Her father was on his journey and she was on hers. And she was alone.
She is alone.
She watched her father die.
She stood there waiting. Watching and holding vigil with all those who loved him. Why? Why did she need to see this? Why did she have to live this? No more mellow drama. No more romantic notions. No more hope. This was real life and it was unfolding before her eyes. There was so much love in the room. So much pain, and sorrow drifting from each soul that stood in fellowship with the man she called father. He laboured through death as she had laboured through birth only a few weeks before his disease brought him here. A few weeks ago she was holding a new life in her hands. Feeding it, tending it and loving every minute of it. Yet, here she stood now - in solidarity with each person, watching her father labour into a different world. She stood there watching and waiting with her family, wanting to be there when he took his last and final breath. She wanted to bridge the gap between living and the dying but she knew the truth. The others, loved him too and didn't want him to be alone, but she knew that love could not break through the barrier of being alone. Her father's death was his to bear, his alone, just has hers will be. She was in a hospital not so long ago - lying on a bed demanding her body to open and share life with the world, while everyone else watched. Those that watched her had legs and could walk away. Her legs wanted to move but could not. She wanted to be the one watching but she realised this was her life to give. While she journeyed toward new life she paused to look into the eyes of the people in the room with her and saw grief. She saw worry, but she also saw excitement, joy and love...she saw her father.
She understood his secret just as he understood hers. She and her father watched each other in desperation as the weeks leading up to this day united them and separated them forever. Life was growing steadily and pleasantly within her body, while life was draining viciously and ferociously from his. They were united in weight and in empathy and compassion. They shared vomiting and ill feelings. They sat in wonderment of the human body and were challenged by what they each had to go through, yet they remained completely alienated from one another by the fork in the road. Hers was the path of life and his was the path of death. Each path waiting for them in solitude and patience. Each path calling them to start the drama they were named to play. They had no choice. It was theirs to bear and bear alone.
So she stood at the end of the bed - a similar bed that he stood at a few weeks prior as he held his newborn granddaughter and gazed at her in awe and wonderment. In her moment she wept tears of sadness and fear. In his moment he wept tears of joy and excitement and, even possibly, hope. And while she stood there thinking about the past and future she realised that she loved him more than she had ever loved another. She marveled at his courage and strength just as he had marvelled at hers. She watched him labour into his death and beyond and the love she felt hurt in indescribable pain. Love does not span the abyss of alone. Love does not comfort on a journey like this. Love stands beyond us all - like a bubble of peace - hovering, waiting, and hoping to take your joy, pain, or sorrow and unite the emotions. But the truth is, it could pop at anytime. Love can never conquer alone.
They each relaxed into peace as both father and daughter resigned the mind to let their bodies do what nature called them to. Both were united in hope and they gave each other gifts. She gave him life and he gave her death. Hope would allow each of them to live and die. No more fear. No more unknown. No more wondering what it will feel like. The scene had begun and she and her father were the stars of the show.
She could taste the end long before her mind could fathom the possibility. She could taste the bittersweet joy of knowing him and loving him and she could hear it slip silently and slowly away. The smell of the sweet memories on warm summer nights, staring at the dark starlit sky tormented her. She could feel the overwhelming warmth of the roaring winter fire pleasantly licking the wood as her family relaxed warm and safe indoors. His large comforting hands that rocked her, and soothed her to sleep as a child taunted her knowing it would soon be gone. Her childhood - her life - moved from the dark recesses of her mind to the front of her vision illuminated by the deepest love and grief she had never known. This was real. The quiet soft spoken nurse attending to his every need, sometimes even before he voiced it was from another world. Only her father remained real. His body that remained warm and feeling in her hands as she shaved his face and rubbed his feet. It was not a dream. Her father was going to die.
And finally the body released the tortured and anguished soul and it flew away. The soul flew away, free, boundless, finally soaring high and at rest. Free of this life and born into a different one.
Her father was on his journey and she was on hers. And she was alone.
She is alone.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Top 40
In my pursuit of all things good I'm including my list of the top 40 things I want to do before I'm 40.(inspired by Saviabella's 32 things to accomplish before she's 33)
Saphira's 40 things to accomplish before turning 40.
1. Complete Ironman Canada
2. Get engaged and then..
3. Get married
4. Drink water
5. Travel (to Hawaii, or anywhere)
6. Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
7. Tickle the kids
8. Smile
9. Challenge myself
10. Spend time with friends
11. Blog
12. Train
13. Swim
14. Read to the kids
15. Dance
16. Bike
17. Run
18. Teach the kids about what really matters in life(perhaps figure that out myelf)
19. Flirt
20. Host parties
21. Eat meat
22. Drink red wine
23. Visit my family
24. Travel to the mountains
25. Watch less t.v.
26. Play games with the kids
27. Paint
28. Draw
29. Hold hands with the kids/my partner
30. Believe in myself
31. Sing
32. Love (in all the many ways that one can love[wink])
33. Go back to school
34. Grow my hair long
35. Rest
36. Cry
37. Breath(inspire)
39. Live in the moment
40. Kiss
Saphira's 40 things to accomplish before turning 40.
1. Complete Ironman Canada
2. Get engaged and then..
3. Get married
4. Drink water
5. Travel (to Hawaii, or anywhere)
6. Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
7. Tickle the kids
8. Smile
9. Challenge myself
10. Spend time with friends
11. Blog
12. Train
13. Swim
14. Read to the kids
15. Dance
16. Bike
17. Run
18. Teach the kids about what really matters in life(perhaps figure that out myelf)
19. Flirt
20. Host parties
21. Eat meat
22. Drink red wine
23. Visit my family
24. Travel to the mountains
25. Watch less t.v.
26. Play games with the kids
27. Paint
28. Draw
29. Hold hands with the kids/my partner
30. Believe in myself
31. Sing
32. Love (in all the many ways that one can love[wink])
33. Go back to school
34. Grow my hair long
35. Rest
36. Cry
37. Breath(inspire)
39. Live in the moment
40. Kiss
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Life Is Very Precious...
Yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon the door bell rang. (Someone at the door is always exciting, especially without any warning. As long as it's not someone trying to sell something.) Heading cautiously to the door I peer out the window and see a car in the driveway. Relief. At least they had to drive to get here so that must mean something. As I open the door I see a charming young man holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Immediately I scan my brain wondering WHO could be sending me flowers and for what reason? My partner is instantly off the list because flowers are frivolous and not money well spent. (Note to self. It didn't stop me from hoping)As I run down the list I soon realise it doesn't matter who they are from because anyone else is simply less exciting.
Pause
Why is it that women are conditioned to think flowers are more beautiful, meaningful and wonderful if only from the person you love and loves you most? I ask myself this question and I do not know the answer. I love flowers and I enjoy looking at them each and every day. But I digress. Back to the mysterious flowers.
Play
After signing for the flowers I quickly rip the plastic wrapping in order to find the card which says, "Life is very precious and thanks for saving Hazel's life. Your service was greatly appreciated!" I shake my head and sigh...
Rewind
About 4 weeks ago. Friday morning, 9:30am, during Jazzercise(which I teach) a student collapses. One of the other students yell for 'help' and I turn to see Hazel laying on the ground. It takes a moment for me to realise what exactly I'm seeing. (And in my mind the following events feel like they are happening under water, everything seems to take SO long however I have been told while recounting this story that what felt like minutes was mere moments.) I see Hazel lying on the floor and having what I think is a seizure. Immediately I stopped the class and run to where she's fallen and quickly ask someone to call 911. ( I know that if she is having a seizure there is little we can do for her other than to make her comfortable but I think it is better be safe than sorry.) Carefuly, I make sure she is lying on her side and while I am doing this I soon realise she is not breathing. From somewhere beside me I hear someone say she was chewing gum and I try to sweep her mouth to get the gum out. Frantically, I sweep and find no gum. I roll her on the her back, check her pulse and holler, "call 911 and this time tell them she's not breathing and we don't have a pulse."
Pause
At this point my mind is working in overdrive and I am amazed at how the human mind is wired. Fight or flight? I wanted to Fight but I also wanted to flee. I did not want to be responsible for what was about to happen. And let's face it. I had no clue what would happen. I kept thinking this was all my fault. I will never teach again. I thought of other students who had injured themselves and couldn't come to class anymore...I thought about ALL of this while I was trying to help Hazel. I also told Hazel she was NOT allowed to die. (Yep. Just like they do on T.V.)
Play
I swept Hazel's mouth one more time and in complete desperation and fear, I stuck my finger in as far as I could and found the gum! I managed, albeit, rather awkwardly, to get the gum out of her mouth. In that moment, all I was thinking was that I do not want her to choke on the gum. After the gum was out I soon realised the gum was the least of our concern. By this time the other students had gathered to stand helplessly around us. One of the students, who was in shock picked up Hazel's hand and started to massage it lovingly in hopes to encourage her back to the land of the conscious. And upon my disbelief at not having a pulse for Hazel she started checking too. We both kept checking and we came to the same conclusion. NO PULSE. We had to begin CPR and it was at that moment that I started to beg and plead with Hazel NOT to die. Not here. Not now. And most definitely NOT while I was in charge. It felt like an eternity for EMS to arrive. In actual time it was only about 10 minutes, but it was the longest 10 minutes of our lives. Everyone in the gym was pleading with Hazel and encouraging me. We all felt helpless together yet did everything that we knew how to do. The girls ran to move cars, made phone calls, and ran out to greet the EMS and Fire trucks so they knew where they were. They prayed for Hazel and they rubbed her legs and arms and talked as soothingly to her. They called 911 and reminded me that I was doing the compressions properly and we all waited together with great impatience for the medical team to arrive to take over so we wouldn't be responsible anymore.
Once the EMS got there they took over immediately(huge sigh of relief). In the end they used defibrillator 4 times and performed CPR on and off through a 30 minute period. They finally got her stable enough to go the hospital, and then I had to make the most dreaded phone call. Call Hazel's husband. So. I made it as brief as I could and simply said that Hazel had collapsed during class and the ambulance was taking her the to hospital and he should meet us there.
Hazel's story has only begun. Upon arrival the hospital they performed a multitude of tests, only to discover that she hadn't had a stroke or a heart attack. However, the following Tuesday, in the early hours of the morning she suffered a massive stroke and the cat scan revealed that she had other bleeding in the brain and the concluded she must have suffered a stroke during Jazzercise.
Hazel is still recovering and her road ahead is long. Currently she has pneumonia but is conscious and able to communicate with her family.
Fast Forward
...and I look at these flowers sent to me by the person who loves Hazel the most. Her husband. He truly believes that I saved her life. Semantics I know, but I don't feel like I saved her life. It was the combined effort of everyone that day that helped to keep Hazel alive until the medical professionals got there. Hazel's will power, our effort and the medical doctors knowledge is what saved her life and continues to keep her alive.
Presently
I have in my possession, a bouquet of flowers with a thank you card for saving Hazel's life. I will try to enjoy them. It is a reminder of who I am and what I helped to do. I am not a hero. I did what anyone would have done. Life is very precious indeed.
Pause
Why is it that women are conditioned to think flowers are more beautiful, meaningful and wonderful if only from the person you love and loves you most? I ask myself this question and I do not know the answer. I love flowers and I enjoy looking at them each and every day. But I digress. Back to the mysterious flowers.
Play
After signing for the flowers I quickly rip the plastic wrapping in order to find the card which says, "Life is very precious and thanks for saving Hazel's life. Your service was greatly appreciated!" I shake my head and sigh...
Rewind
About 4 weeks ago. Friday morning, 9:30am, during Jazzercise(which I teach) a student collapses. One of the other students yell for 'help' and I turn to see Hazel laying on the ground. It takes a moment for me to realise what exactly I'm seeing. (And in my mind the following events feel like they are happening under water, everything seems to take SO long however I have been told while recounting this story that what felt like minutes was mere moments.) I see Hazel lying on the floor and having what I think is a seizure. Immediately I stopped the class and run to where she's fallen and quickly ask someone to call 911. ( I know that if she is having a seizure there is little we can do for her other than to make her comfortable but I think it is better be safe than sorry.) Carefuly, I make sure she is lying on her side and while I am doing this I soon realise she is not breathing. From somewhere beside me I hear someone say she was chewing gum and I try to sweep her mouth to get the gum out. Frantically, I sweep and find no gum. I roll her on the her back, check her pulse and holler, "call 911 and this time tell them she's not breathing and we don't have a pulse."
Pause
At this point my mind is working in overdrive and I am amazed at how the human mind is wired. Fight or flight? I wanted to Fight but I also wanted to flee. I did not want to be responsible for what was about to happen. And let's face it. I had no clue what would happen. I kept thinking this was all my fault. I will never teach again. I thought of other students who had injured themselves and couldn't come to class anymore...I thought about ALL of this while I was trying to help Hazel. I also told Hazel she was NOT allowed to die. (Yep. Just like they do on T.V.)
Play
I swept Hazel's mouth one more time and in complete desperation and fear, I stuck my finger in as far as I could and found the gum! I managed, albeit, rather awkwardly, to get the gum out of her mouth. In that moment, all I was thinking was that I do not want her to choke on the gum. After the gum was out I soon realised the gum was the least of our concern. By this time the other students had gathered to stand helplessly around us. One of the students, who was in shock picked up Hazel's hand and started to massage it lovingly in hopes to encourage her back to the land of the conscious. And upon my disbelief at not having a pulse for Hazel she started checking too. We both kept checking and we came to the same conclusion. NO PULSE. We had to begin CPR and it was at that moment that I started to beg and plead with Hazel NOT to die. Not here. Not now. And most definitely NOT while I was in charge. It felt like an eternity for EMS to arrive. In actual time it was only about 10 minutes, but it was the longest 10 minutes of our lives. Everyone in the gym was pleading with Hazel and encouraging me. We all felt helpless together yet did everything that we knew how to do. The girls ran to move cars, made phone calls, and ran out to greet the EMS and Fire trucks so they knew where they were. They prayed for Hazel and they rubbed her legs and arms and talked as soothingly to her. They called 911 and reminded me that I was doing the compressions properly and we all waited together with great impatience for the medical team to arrive to take over so we wouldn't be responsible anymore.
Once the EMS got there they took over immediately(huge sigh of relief). In the end they used defibrillator 4 times and performed CPR on and off through a 30 minute period. They finally got her stable enough to go the hospital, and then I had to make the most dreaded phone call. Call Hazel's husband. So. I made it as brief as I could and simply said that Hazel had collapsed during class and the ambulance was taking her the to hospital and he should meet us there.
Hazel's story has only begun. Upon arrival the hospital they performed a multitude of tests, only to discover that she hadn't had a stroke or a heart attack. However, the following Tuesday, in the early hours of the morning she suffered a massive stroke and the cat scan revealed that she had other bleeding in the brain and the concluded she must have suffered a stroke during Jazzercise.
Hazel is still recovering and her road ahead is long. Currently she has pneumonia but is conscious and able to communicate with her family.
Fast Forward
...and I look at these flowers sent to me by the person who loves Hazel the most. Her husband. He truly believes that I saved her life. Semantics I know, but I don't feel like I saved her life. It was the combined effort of everyone that day that helped to keep Hazel alive until the medical professionals got there. Hazel's will power, our effort and the medical doctors knowledge is what saved her life and continues to keep her alive.
Presently
I have in my possession, a bouquet of flowers with a thank you card for saving Hazel's life. I will try to enjoy them. It is a reminder of who I am and what I helped to do. I am not a hero. I did what anyone would have done. Life is very precious indeed.
Monday, November 17, 2008
A Virgin In So Many Ways!
Alright. Here I am. At the computer doing something I've NEVER done before. I've always wanted to try blogging yet the fear of doing it wrong has always stopped me. But today I'm jumping in!
So where do I begin?
The purpose of this 'waxing' is to learn, grow and challenge, myself and perhaps(if I'm lucky)others. I set before myself some goals(which will remain secret for the time being). How far I have to go to reach them is yet to be seen, but perhaps along the way I could become a better story teller, learn some patience, and document my steps for posterity!
Currently I am training for Ironman. I have a three year plan and I have completed 1.5 years of my training. With the passion of a new lover I have completed three Tri-a-Tri's, three Sprint and one Olympic triathlon and I am currently working on getting ready for 9 races which include a couple of Half Ironman in the summer of 2009. What I lack in talent I make up with enthusiasm.[insert blush here] The final goal is to complete Ironman Canada in 2010 in under 13 hours. My love for this sport is boundless and it started with the first triathlon in 2007. I loved every grueling minute and marveled at the fact that my body(which was terribly out of shape)managed to complete the three legs of the race. It was the first thing I had done for myself in years. Triathlon was not about my children, or my job or even my lover. Triathlon was completely about me and the challenge laid out for my mind and body and they both rose to the occasion. The swim was awful, the bike was completely exhausting, and the run utterly pathetic but I was hooked and I have pursued triathlon with a single minded focus ever since.(Much to the dismay of those around me as I'm certain they are tired of my 'tri talk'.) I guess here is my safe place to plan, and dream and think without any eye rolling or yawning! Just stop reading if I'm talking too much.
Last night was the first night in the pool since the racing this summer. I noticed great improvement as well as a lack of endurance. I have a long road ahead of me. Swimming is fun, but I find it very difficult to know how to pace myself in the water. Happily, every time I swim I seem to improve and I notice I can swim for longer periods without feeling completely winded. "Baby steps". That's what I remind myself. Everyday is a step closer to being able to swim efficiently.
The bike is my favourite part of the race. My next obstacle is the purchase of the bike. Until now, I've been borrowing bikes from friends. After research and talking among other triathletes I've developed a love relationship with the Cervelo P3. My desire to own this bike is consuming. I've waffled between the P4 and the P3 for weeks but I think for my money and experience the P3 is the best choice. I'm still open to suggestions however, so the purchase isn't final. I will, however, include the Durace package. How does that sound for confidence!
Running. Ah yes, the run. Where the race is won or lost. I have a love hate relationship with running. Most of my life I have literally run everywhere. However, since having knee surgery it's not the easiest sport on my body. I was a sprinter and a hurdler in my younger days so the long distance running is new to me. But I'm learning to operate in third gear rather than first. Which brings it full circle back to the swim which is the same dilemma that I have with running. Learning to swim with a slow and sustained pace.
Finally, I confess my consuming obsession with this crazy sport called Triathlon. I share it with anyone who cares to read my musings. It's all I can think about. Here's hoping I can grow and challenge myself both during training and on my down time.
So where do I begin?
The purpose of this 'waxing' is to learn, grow and challenge, myself and perhaps(if I'm lucky)others. I set before myself some goals(which will remain secret for the time being). How far I have to go to reach them is yet to be seen, but perhaps along the way I could become a better story teller, learn some patience, and document my steps for posterity!
Currently I am training for Ironman. I have a three year plan and I have completed 1.5 years of my training. With the passion of a new lover I have completed three Tri-a-Tri's, three Sprint and one Olympic triathlon and I am currently working on getting ready for 9 races which include a couple of Half Ironman in the summer of 2009. What I lack in talent I make up with enthusiasm.[insert blush here] The final goal is to complete Ironman Canada in 2010 in under 13 hours. My love for this sport is boundless and it started with the first triathlon in 2007. I loved every grueling minute and marveled at the fact that my body(which was terribly out of shape)managed to complete the three legs of the race. It was the first thing I had done for myself in years. Triathlon was not about my children, or my job or even my lover. Triathlon was completely about me and the challenge laid out for my mind and body and they both rose to the occasion. The swim was awful, the bike was completely exhausting, and the run utterly pathetic but I was hooked and I have pursued triathlon with a single minded focus ever since.(Much to the dismay of those around me as I'm certain they are tired of my 'tri talk'.) I guess here is my safe place to plan, and dream and think without any eye rolling or yawning! Just stop reading if I'm talking too much.
Last night was the first night in the pool since the racing this summer. I noticed great improvement as well as a lack of endurance. I have a long road ahead of me. Swimming is fun, but I find it very difficult to know how to pace myself in the water. Happily, every time I swim I seem to improve and I notice I can swim for longer periods without feeling completely winded. "Baby steps". That's what I remind myself. Everyday is a step closer to being able to swim efficiently.
The bike is my favourite part of the race. My next obstacle is the purchase of the bike. Until now, I've been borrowing bikes from friends. After research and talking among other triathletes I've developed a love relationship with the Cervelo P3. My desire to own this bike is consuming. I've waffled between the P4 and the P3 for weeks but I think for my money and experience the P3 is the best choice. I'm still open to suggestions however, so the purchase isn't final. I will, however, include the Durace package. How does that sound for confidence!
Running. Ah yes, the run. Where the race is won or lost. I have a love hate relationship with running. Most of my life I have literally run everywhere. However, since having knee surgery it's not the easiest sport on my body. I was a sprinter and a hurdler in my younger days so the long distance running is new to me. But I'm learning to operate in third gear rather than first. Which brings it full circle back to the swim which is the same dilemma that I have with running. Learning to swim with a slow and sustained pace.
Finally, I confess my consuming obsession with this crazy sport called Triathlon. I share it with anyone who cares to read my musings. It's all I can think about. Here's hoping I can grow and challenge myself both during training and on my down time.
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