The one about my RedMan triathlon (including the bike wreck!)

I took a relaxing bath today while the boys napped.  It looked like someone had pushed me in and went sprawling down into the tub, landing with my limbs flung in all directions.  My bike wreck during Sunday’s race has left me with injuries that I’d rather not submerge in water.  I had to keep my left palm out on one side, my right shoulder is skinned, my right ankle has a gash that should have taken 5 stitches, but I didn’t have it looked at until over 48 hours later.  My right hand ate a little gravel, but it’s main issue is my sprained wrist.  Because both of my hands are totaled, I can’t wash my hair which turns out to be a bit of a silver lining because then Mike has to do it.

Mike washing my hair is something I would trade the skin on my palms for.  His hands are big and strong and cradle my whole skull while each of his fingers push the tension out of my scalp.  I don’t really care what my hair looks or smells like- the quality of the wash job isn’t really my concern.  Now the only problem is, finding time for us to “wash my hair” with two kiddos in the house.  Inevitably, one will interrupt us when it’s the least convenient. We even waited till the boys were both down for the night and of course, Reed showed up at the shower door with his teddy bear under his arm.

The race was awesome, save for the small hiccup at mile 10 on the bike.  The morning was going great, Mike’s race started at 7:30 that morning and he finished his sprint triathlon with enough time to make sure I was all set and ready to race my Olympic distance tri at 9.  I’d asked Cassie to come just in case there was some overlap- so she was there to play with the boys and me during Mike’s race.  One big difference between the RedMan and my last triathlon at Arcadia lake is that Hefner lake in September is usually wetsuit legal.  Oh how I love my wetsuit! And what  difference the buoyancy makes.  No longer did I have to worry about sinking, all I had to do was move my arms and legs and I was swimming.  The length was 3x the distance as my last triathlon, so my 1500 meter swim was expected to take me about 45 minutes.  The water felt amazing, the sky was crayon-blue with cartoonish puffy white clouds.  My new goggles didn’t fog in the slightest and I did the whole swim without turning onto my back.  My goal for the run was to not have to walk, which funny enough, was also my goal for the swim.  The lake was so shallow that about 75% of it was walkable for the athletes. And walk it they did!  It looked so ridiculous, that I vowed to myself that I’d swim every bit of it.  The goal is to swim/bike/run. Not swim or run, whichever is faster or easier.  So I head out on the bike and I’m feeling great, no problems in transition with my gear, no issues getting onto my bike and accelerating out onto the course and no concerns about energy or anything else. I was feeling great! 

The bike course was 4 loops, and I had my first loop done. I was thinking about where I could really push, where I could make up the most time and where I could get some active recovery in.  Almost halfway through my second lap, I noticed a guy pass me for the second time and I started thinking about going faster and strategizing.  The bike is supposed to be my sport and yet someone can pass me twice already? I call myself a cyclist? Was I even moving forward? I got so caught up in my thoughts and I was so inside my head that when I was jerked violently back to reality I suddenly realized I was at an intersection and it was time to turn NOW.  Not soon, but NOW.  I had to decide what to do.  I was in my drops on my road bike, so I already had poor handling and reaching my brakes was going to make me even more unsteady.  Do I focus on the handling and try to make the turn at that speed? Or do I brake and try to get my speed down enough to turn at a more comfortable pace? I braked with my right hand, and when I realized I wasn’t going to make the turn anyway, and I was headed through the cones of the lane reserved for the event and into traffic, I flung my left hand out and behind me with my palm facing the approaching car in a very “STOP” kind of signal.  This was before I lost all control and slammed down into the pavement, sliding, skinning and jamming.  I lay there for a couple of beats, pausing at the reality of it all and letting what just happened sink in.  I’m thinking, “Son of a…!!” and I slam my hands down onto the road in anger and frustration and immediately cringe from the pain I just stupidly caused myself with that action.  The car was stopped a few feet away from where I landed in the road with my bike and I jumped up and drug my bike to the side of the road so he could be on his way.  I felt embarrassed and tried to wave him on but he stayed put, a face of shock looking at me through the windshield. All the while athletes are passing and shouting out concerns, “Are you okay? Are you sure?” and the officer stationed at that intersection had made his way over to check on me as well.  I was already pulling tape off the frame of my bike to wrap around my palm, frantically trying to figure out a way to make it possible to get on my bike and finish the race.  The officer asked if I was okay and I looked at him and said, “Seriously, I need you to tell me.  Do you see anything??” I didn’t see any bones sticking out, but I wasn’t sure if I was just missing something completely serious.  All I could really feel was my hand and my ankle.  He confirmed that those looked the most serious and offered to get more tape from his car, but I was anxious to be on my way because, of course, now I had to make up even more time!

I said, “Okay, I think I’m going to go.” 

And he said, “Okay, but you’re a bad ass.”

I put one shaking foot onto my pedal and swung the other leg over to get back on track to finish the race.  I’d trained all summer and here I was race day- my first Olympic distance race and I was doing it, I was in the middle of it.  I had nothing stopping me from finishing.  My bike wasn’t broken, my bones weren’t broken, either way I’d still be sitting here today with one hand bandaged and the other in a brace, but with no finisher medal.  I needed to do it. I pedaled the remaining 18 miles and worried about my ankle swelling.  Wondering if I was going to be able to run six miles on it. Hoping my hands would steer my bike and work my shifters and brakes.  After a few miles the pain subsided and the numbness set in, and I thought, “oh this is convenient! I wonder if I could get two hours of this numbness to carry me through to the finish line!”  The rest of the bike was uneventful in comparison, Mike and the boys were there cheering me on and my coworker Mark was there which means so much to me.  The first half of the run was okay, I was averaging my expected 10 minute mile pace but on the second half, something happened and my hips started to get stiff. My bones in my pelvis felt jammed so that each step felt like I was just pounding my bones into the concrete sidewalk.  I walked a lot of that last 3 miles despite my constant self-bargaining and goals to run the rest of it without walking. 

I made it through the finish and an acquaintance pointed me towards the medical tent where they effectively began to torture me.  They poured peroxide on my exposed flesh and asked me questions that seemed trivial and insignificant, “Date of birth? Pre-race weight? Any allergies?” I wanted to say, “You’re killing me! If you’re going to put me through this much pain, just cut it off! Amputate the hand, I don’t want it anymore!”

I wish I had photos from my race.  Mike and I were both so preoccupied by the event itself that we did a really poor job of capturing it on our cameras.  I’m hoping the race photographer got something worth buying! It was memorable, even if slightly tainted by my little dance with the asphalt.  I’m proud of myself and happy about beating my goal time by eleven minutes! I thought it was a pretty aggressive goal, but after my finish and my visit to the medical tent, I was met with a 2 year old who enthusiastically wanted to tell me, “Mommy is a sand-bagger!”

It’s better to under-promise and over-perform, I say!
 

A few stats

My goal time: 3:45, (or at least under 4 hours!)

My finish time 3:34

My division place 16 out of 17 (Women 30-34) (I was 65 out of 85 total women)

My average bike speed for the 28 miles - 17.1

My 10k run 1:09, pace of 11:17 

Mike's division place 1 out of 27 (age group 30-34)

Mike's overall male place 9 out of 164

Mike's avg bike speed 21.7

Mike's avg run pace 7:05

I love to brag on my husband (someone has to!) but he wasn't really happy with his performance that morning. He felt like he could have been much faster, but he was focused on my event and preoccupied with the task of spending the day out at the lake with the boys.  I still think he did an amazing job and wish I could be anywhere near the natural-athlete he is!

The one about reverse engineering.

There is a theory I learned at a conference I went to a few months ago.  The conference was called “Project Mom, Be a Better You”

One of the things I heard that day was about reverse engineering your children.  The theory goes- you envision the person you want your child to be and then you work backwards to now and from this point forward put in place the things that your child needs in order to become that person.  I’m not necessarily saying it’s occupationally related, I want my boys to choose that for themselves, but there are qualities that I want my boys to have as men. 

When I picture them 20 and 30 years from now I see respectable and dignified men who live fulfilling and happy lives. They are gentlemen who are charitable and compassionate. They know how to be a good friend.  They know how to make people laugh and they know how to capture the attention of a room full of people.  I want them to know and love success.  I want them to be humble and charming.   They will love trying new things and being adventurous.  They will take care of themselves and their families.  They will choose to do the right thing.  They will be there for each other always.

I could go on, but this is overwhelming already.  I mean, look at this list! The pressure! The stress! The expectations! The potential for failure! I’m thinking, this is a lot of pressure to put on myself! Maybe I should pare it down to my top three and work on those, that way there is less room to be disappointed and more opportunity to be pleasantly surprised.  I already have a big job just being their mommy and trying to get them through each week alive.  But we all know how important goals are and you’ll never accomplish anything if you don’t have them.  Also, we have all heard the rules about making goals.  SMART goals.  Specific, measureable, attainable, realistic and time-bound.  So here is my goal in writing: my SMART goal.  I will guide and mold my children to be gentlemen who have most or all of the qualities listed above.  I will test them and challenge them daily to provide the opportunity for them to make the right decisions and I will be patient and listen to them.  I will demonstrate how to be a good person, how to give from my heart, how to challenge myself and accept the reward.  I will laugh at their jokes and encourage humor. I will give them space to explore on their own but be available when they need me to catch them.  I will provide boundaries and rules for them to live by with dependable consequences. I will affirm their actions and tell them consistently how well they’re doing.

When they are adults I will be proud to check-off my list. 

It’s funny how, within moments of birth, parents experience that extreme amount of pride. They don’t even have to do anything- you’re just proud of them for existing!! If you don’t believe me, take a look at a brand new daddy and get some before and after measurements of his chest.

I know my boys will continue to make me proud! 

The one about Reed's birthday & growing up

As a female, I was blessed with certain powers.  Women know that there are ways of getting what we want.  There are two gifts we were given to wield as weapons.  Number one: boobs.  Number two: crying.  Naturally we will try reasoning, planning, or any other variety of ways to get things to go our way, but when it comes down to it and we have to resort to our powers, we will use them because… well because we can. 

Well, I found myself in a grave state a couple of weeks ago.  Things have not been going my way and no amount of cleavage or tears is going to undo what is being done.  I cried, but it didn’t seem to help.  I can’t stop my children from growing up.  Reed is a genius child- the memory of an elephant and some serious deductive reasoning skills.  The rate at which he learns is mind-spinning. Decker is supposed to be the baby but he’s getting so close to Reed’s size that he can almost fit into Reed’s clothes and I’m not even joking.  Last month when Mike’s parents were here Decker kept ending up wearing Reed’s clothes and by all natural laws of physics they should have looked ridiculous on him, but they didn’t!

I told Decker, “We had a baby because we wanted a baby. What is with this growing game you’re playing with me? It’s not funny.”  He replies, “Ah-da! Aah-daa!”  I take that to mean “all done”. I think he got the message.

Reed turned two on August 28^th and we had his party the Saturday before, while my mom was still here visiting.  I wanted to have a perfect party of course. I wanted it to be cute and creative and most importantly a blast of all in attendance.  Mike didn’t want me to stress myself out by doing all the little creative things that I was brainstorming about.  The thing is, all those little details that take time, most of which people don’t really appreciate anyway, are really my creative outlet.  I don’t do it to stress myself out and I don’t do it because it’s expected of a two-year-old’s birthday party.  I do it because I want to and because I love to use my God-given creative talents. It’s truly a waste not to, right?

Well, I shopped all over this city to put together a matching theme of choo-choo trains. My mom can attest to my efforts.  There was no convenient package deal at Party Galaxy so I found things to compile for my theme.  I bought a pack of foam sheets and cut out train shapes to string across the window on the patio.  After the party, I hung them over Reed’s closet. Scrapbook paper with little trains was cut and pasted to blue and yellow cups.  Blue and yellow bins held the matching napkins, plates and utensils.  A blue platter presented fresh pineapple and grapes next to rows of individually bagged fresh popped popcorn.  I cut the pineapple, I air popped the popcorn and filled the bags and I sliced lemons and oranges to float in the icy water.  I ran out to pick up yellow and blue balloons, a 12 pack of Stella for the men and ice to chill the ale and juice boxes.  My day was busy! It wouldn’t have been possible without my mom watching over the boys while I chugged on. I borrowed a toddler size inflatable bouncer from a coworker and set that up in the backyard and baked cupcakes, too. Reed chose the flavor- triple chocolate fudge (with buttercream icing and a chocolate marshmallow on top).  His personal cake was surrounded by chocolate marshmallows on the sides and iced with an outline of a steam engine.

The kids enjoyed bouncing and the adults enjoyed popcorn and beer.  I also had an activity prepared for the littles.  Pails of foam bookmarks and a selection of foam sticker shapes and letters for decorating. Everyone was able to create a party favor to take home.  Reed received so many great gifts!  My favorite of course is the one that I created myself.  I came up with the idea a while ago and the purpose was to have a train track without having another piece of furniture to find a place for- and also to avoid having train track pieces scattered and lost all around the house.  So it’s designed to hang on the wall- like art!  I wanted it to look cool and match his room so I painted the board with the matching colors and had Danny cut and stain the wood for the frame with a dark stain to match our house.  After I stained the tracks and glued them down the masterpiece was finished.  I’ve been complimented on not only the finished product, but the idea itself (it looks great on the wall!) I’m happy to do a few more for some friends- for a price of course!  It was a fun project and Reed begs to play with it- daily.  So the plan to ‘hang it on the wall when he’s not playing with it’ requires him to not be playing with it.  Anyway, if you love it and want one, let me know. Like I said, I’m happy to build more!

So my big boy is two and that means Mike and I have been parents for two years.  Mike argues the fact and says it’s questionable if he was a parent the whole two years *wink*  I say, if you count the nights of baby duty it should really add up to more than two years! 

I know it gains momentum and goes faster and faster as the years pass.  I've been warned about the blinking and them suddenly being old enough to drive.  Trust me, I'm doing my best to live my moments to the fullest and enjoy the time I have with Reed and Decker as babies.  

***allow me to make a note here about why I had to do everything for Reed's party before anyone judges my wonderful husband.  We decided to schedule his baby-making-prevention surgery while my mom was here to help.  It turns out, having the surgery the day before Reed's birthday and Mike keeping himself iced- with his feet up, was more challenging than I had expected!  I love him for taking that bullet for me, tho.