You Might Remember Me.

You might remember me.

I used to run, and swim, and ride, and do a lot of research. 

And then I moved out on my own, and started grad school, and started a new job, and - well - it's been hard to blog about life because life's been too busy happening.

But I still live.
And run.
And swim.
And ride. (Confession: I don't ride so much during marathon season.)
And also study my face off.

With 2 months left in the year, I have beat 2011's swim distance by over 20,000 yards; I am within 40 miles of 2011's run mileage (which is about 2 week's worth of runs); and I'm within 200 miles of last year's bike mileages (which is only 4-5 rides).

SO - if I only run one more week, ride 5 more times, and didn't swim at ALL until December 31, I already kicked 2011's ass.

Add this to the Ass-Kickery: I just ran a 15k in September. My old PR was 1:58. My new PR was 1:40. I laughed my ass off all the way thanks to a good friend. I then ran a 5-miler in October, not as a race, but to support a buddy who'd never run a 5 miler. (That's all the Race Report I have time for).

On the Left: 5-mile buddies. On the Right: 15k buddy having Food Truck food a few weeks later!

My goal for El Cinco - the Rocket City Marathon - is sub 5 (hours) for 5 (marathons) in 5 (states).  That's why I'm calling it El Cinco.  My goal for the half marathon in 2 weeks is the Two-Teens. But, I am a little overwhelmed with grad school, due for all my quarterly doctor appointments, feeling exhausted because they probably need to adjust my thyroid meds or supplements again, and nursing a small injury. So, if you want to know the truth, I'm just feeling extremely grateful to keep moving.

Sure, I'll be momentarily aggravated if all the training was for nothing - but, when it all comes down to it,  I just wanna have fun finishing.  (See above.)

I swim.
I run.
I ride.
I study my face off.
I have great friends.
IMOF starts next tomorrow. 

My life? Is kinda perfect.

2012 totals
Bike:	92h 32m 50s - 1618.9 Mi
Run:	84h 29m 56s - 437.74 Mi
Swim:	52h 33m 49s - 125397.1 Yd
Strength:	12h 15m
Massage:	2h 50m
Stair Running:	05m
Walking:	6h 00m
Yoga:	8h 50m

2011 totals
Bike:	117h 28m 47s - 1889.05 Mi
Run:	103h 18m 28s - 475.65 Mi
Swim:	46h 00m 31s - 101363.7 Yd
Strength:	15h 35m
Stretching:	10m 20s
Walking:	3h 20m
Yoga:	1h 35m 20s

Doubt may be powerful, but hope will win every time

It's time for a long discussion about the lovers and the haters.

I feel like almost everyone avoids the negative topics concerning our great sport(s).  A lot of people don't want to talk about DNF's and DQ's and injuries and overtraining and illnesses and - let's not forget - straight-up jackasses and haters. 

Jackasses are easy to spot.  They're the people who don't say "on your left," and almost crash someone just to finish behind (or 2 seconds in front of) the person they almost crash.  They rack their $5,000 carbon triathlon machine on top of your poor little bargain road bike in transition despite there being 100 spaces open after the ride.   And sometimes they just act like jerks because they have more money.

And then there are what I call haters. Haters are more subtle.  They try to undermine everything you do.  Sometimes they'll tell you how great and awesome you are while they plot on how to show you up at the next race.  They question your choice of clothing, your training plan, your shoes, your race goals, and sometimes try to sabotage you mentally because they're afraid you might finish a few minutes ahead of them and they just can't stand to finish behind someone who doesn't look as fit as they are, or who doesn't follow their rules.  All you can do is your best to avoid them. 

The reality is this: triathlon and marathon are very competitive.  And some people take that SUPER seriously.  The haters, like the jackasses, are unavoidable. 

And that's ok.  Without a little competition, many of us would never push ourselves to be better.

But it's also ok for a completely different reason.

LET'S TRAVEL BACK IN TIME

In 2006, when I did my first 5k, I had no idea what was ahead of me.  I was talked into doing it by my best friend, and really encouraged toward it by my original triathlon mentor, who helped found the Lakeland Landsharks Tri Club.  At the beginning of the race, Karime, who does not harbor a single ounce of malice or ego about such things, told me something I will never forget.

You're faster than me, so you go ahead and I'll see you at the end.

The thing is, she really meant it.  She wasn't telling me go ahead and thinking or pretending she wasn't thinking I'm still going to beat you or we both know I'm really faster.  No, she seriously, truly, honestly, wanted me to kick ass.

still kind of back in time here

When I started typing this, I started to think about her.  And something else someone told me - someone I still don't know to this day - came to mind. 

It was at Florida 70.3  I had just been DQ'd for missing the time cutoff on the run. My nutrition, which I'd trained with for 2 years, had sent me attempting to poop or puke down the run course for 13.1 miles and subsequently had me shut down with only 4.3 miles left.  I was crying.  I'd trained for 2 years and thought 2 years was more than enough experience to finish a HIM. An older, wiser, more experienced athlete gave me this advice:

Don't ever let anyone rent negative space in your head.  (He mostly meant ME renting negative space in my OWN head, but it pretty much applies to anyone.)

WELCOME BACK TO 2011


I realize that if I spend too much time talking or thinking about the haters, I am letting them rent negative space in my head.

So instead I'm gonna tell you about the lovers.

Last night, I meet Karime for dinner and to watch some baseball and have a beer and just catch up.  Since that first 5k, I have done dozens of races.  Karime is still cool with doing a 5k every now and then but has no desire to be a crazy triathlete.  Nonetheless, she is completely supportive of my athletic insanity.  She's asking about the century, and I tell her that I really know now how little I want to do Ironman.  The conversation goes like this.

Karime: "Sure."

Me: "What?  I'm serious.  Don't want to.  At all."

"No, you're going to do one."

"No, I really don't want to."

She looks at me for a second, puts her hand up and says, "Listen, bitch.  I know you.  You did a 5k and said you'd never do a marathon.  Now you've done how many marathons?  How many triathlons?"

"Yeah, but Ironman is different."

"I didn't say you're going to do one now, I just said you're going to do one.  Maybe in 5 years.  But eventually you'll get so well-trained you'll do it just like everything else,  just because you can."

I stop for a second, speechless.  Here is someone who believes in me so strongly that she does not doubt I can do anything just because I decide I can/want to. 

And then she says this: "Just make sure it's the one in Hawaii.  Because I really want to go to Hawaii."

Well, now she's just delusional.

"Do you have any idea how fast you have to be to get to Kona?" I sputter.  "You have to be like a 12-hour Ironman finisher.  Elite.  Super fast."  I point at myself.  "Not this gal."

She shakes her head and tells me, "You'll get there.  I know you.  Eventually you'll just get to the point that you can."

I look at her like she has six heads, and she adds, "Let me tell you how this conversation is going to go.  'Ring ring .  .  . hello?  Oh hi Meggan.'  'Oh, hi.  So I was wondering . . . do you want to go to Hawaii?' "


The point here is not that I want to do Ironman or think I can qualify for Kona, ever (because, for the record, I do NOT.)  The point is that this person believes in me enough to truly think that, if I really, really, really wanted to make it happen, I would do it.

That single conversation instantly crushed the memory of the 50 more I have had with haters.


Triathlon aside . . .

What would life be like if we all believed that?  If we all did not doubt we can do anything just as long as we decide we can?

I have been trying to surround myself with more and more lovers.  And I know there are sometimes going to be more haters than lovers.  But that's ok.  Doubt may be powerful, but hope will win every time.

Riding 4 Ronald

Here it is!  The t-shirt we get for participating in the 2011 Ride 4 Ronald!

I am so excited I can hardly stand myself!  I am doing both my first bike tuneup and my first century ride this weekend!  I feel like a “real” cyclist! 

As of this moment, I am also the #4 fundraiser out of 50 for the ride.  I earned a commemorative jersey that I can’t wait to receive and wear. 

I wanted to take a quick minute and express how truly grateful I am to everyone who has brought me to this point.  Some of you gave me training or nutrition or bike maintenance advice; some of you helped me HTFU on long rides; some of you donated to the RMHCC; some of you have listened to me whine about saddle sores or scream about how excited I am. 

For all of these things, I am eternally grateful!

No matter what happens, I have already come way farther than I ever imagined: a 60- to 80-mile ride every weekend for more than 8 weeks, at a pace I used to maintain only for short rides - I even made some good friends and a some money for a very good cause.

It is a happy coincidence that my 3 “Iron” events are in the order of a triathlon: swim (done), bike (Sunday), run (November).

Here’s to the “IronMAJ” event being almost complete, to the David’s World/Seminole Cyclist Team and to the Ronald McDonald House!

Onward + Upward

It's remarkable how much I get to blog about (and live) my Everday Life when I'm neither training nor Facebooking.  It's also spring break on all 3 college campuses where I work, which leaves me with more free time than I usually enjoy.

My routine's typically about efficiency and intellectualism, but during this seemingly ephemeral break, I pursue matters both torpid and erudite.  This morning was spent in pajamas vacillating between indolence and ambition (study and work out or sit on my ass and do nothing?)  And I spent last night planning grad school milestones and studying vocabulary for the GRE. 

It's also times like these that the volume increases on my internal mutterings, and my own feelings (muffled for days or months by the cacophony of my daily comings and goings) transform from pellucid to opaque.
During different conversations the past few weeks, it occurred to me that storing a 1-bedroom apartment's worth of things is both emotionally and literally imprudent.  After all, I could (literally) sell it and not have to pay for such a large storage unit, and (emotionally) I need to move on. 

This idea appeared in inchoate form as one of my pre-hiatus Facebook updates: onward + upward.

I think many of us cling to the past because we are afraid of the unknown, and the past, while usually unsafe, is familiar.  I've often considered myself somewhat impetuous; I am usually the first among friends to spring into decisive action.  But I've been uncharacteristically resistant to change lately; in fact, it wasn't my furniture I was hoping to preserve, but my sense of order and independence.

When I first married - and again when I purchased my home - an enigmatic but benevolent world opened before me, and I stepped eagerly ahead.  Change had long been my friend; I had no reason to believe that life wouldn't increasingly improve as I embraced it.  Merely years after both began, however, my marriage and home ownership were terminated, rendering that world disorganized and unfamiliar. Now even seemingly simple decisions seemed ambiguous and onerous - after all, the wrong step may yield the same disastrous results.

I've made a lot of crucial changes the past few weeks, and further change is inevtiable (even welcome) as my PhD application and the B's job situation loom over us.  Nonetheless, I admit that I've been semiconsciously resisting moving forward into my "new life."  Despite already giving up parts of up my home, furniture, and personal space when I started moving in with the B last year, seeing my empty home and making the trips to storage made it suddenly REAL. 

A few sententious pals have suggested that I'd been living in the past, but it was only this week that it really hit home how much I've been living this part of my lilfe - INCLUDING my relationship - with one hand on the door . . . . . just in case.

That's just no way to live.  Either you're in (to whatever deep shit you're into), or you're out.

It's not comfortable to find oneself in unknown surroundings.  It's frightening and unsettling.  I may take these steps forward and fall; I may find greater success than ever before.  There is absolutely no way to know. 

But I have to trust that, just as I have in the past, I will recognize soon enough if and when my new direction needs adjustment.
Besides, life's going to move on, whether I do or not - and there's a much, MUCH greater chance that I WILL succeed if I move along with it.

For a smart person, I can be really stupid

This entry could also be titled: People over 6 Should Not Partake in the Use of Slip-and-Slides. Or, Someone Please Tell MAJ She's Not Superhuman.


I've been suffering from a new round of dizzy spells the past week or so. It's confounding, but it quickly became debilitating. I missed a day and a half of work, and the reduction or exclusion of alcohol and caffeine provided no relief. Also, mysteriously, my weight was up 5 pounds. (Which means, even though I'm eating healthier again, my portions and frequency of eating have increased (to battle the nausea accompanying the dizziness - this always happens)).


I know this routine, but it didn't stop me from pitching no less than 3 hysterical hissies. Before you dismiss this as eminnetly sissy-like, let me describe to you how it feels.


You rise from bed at 7am. You've already let yourself oversleep by 30-120 minutes, and, despite your anxiously racing pulse, you are virtually unable to move your limbs because of sheer exhaustion. You have not only a film of sleep over your eyes, but also a general feeling of disorientation. Coffee, a shower, makeup, eyeglasses and clothing reduce this feeling from a roaring haze to a milky cloud.


To no avail. Arriving at work by 8:30, you're finding yourself so off balance that you're driving 5-10 miles under the speed limit. Not only do you feel like you are going to pass out and/or fall asleep, you're possessed with the sense that not only is your head slightly spinning, but your neck, skull and eyeballs are slightly "vibrating." At about 8:45, you're so sick to your stomach and eyes that you can barely keep your eyelids open. Every movement of your head or body is grossly exaggerated.


By 10am, you fall asleep so hard that you can't be awakened for an hour or more - and, even when you do wake, you're unable to gather your wits for at least an hour. Within an hour of rising and becoming alert (which takes 45 minutes or so), the process begins all over.

The prospect of living like this for ANOTHER few years sent me into the worst panic attack I've ever had. Thank God a trip to my GP unearthed an ear infection, a reoccurence of my vertigo (both treatable, quickly, by medication), and a possible concussion.

WHAT?? A possible CONCUSSION???

Yeah. It turns out going on slip-and-slides when you're over the age of 6 is a recipe for disaster. Dr. Kim tells me she treats hundreds of adult s-&-s injuries.

So, I'm kind of set back right now and I'll have to fill you in later, but my goals are changing slightly.

:)

Postcards from the Road, Day 1&2

The date is Saturday, May 23, 2009.

I'm feelin' the itch.

It's time for another getaway.

Although I'd really like to go somewhere luxurious and/or tropical, my wallet disagrees with me. I mean, I haven't even figured out if I can afford to do any races until my Half Iron in November (more on that later.) So I managed to track down disgustingly cheap tickets to Mom and Dad's for 6 or 7 days, so now that work is slowing down a bit, I took the chance.

I spent all day Friday cleaning the house and running errands. One of those errands, as you can see from the bag that Girlie decided to hide herself in, was to get hair product at Ulta. Another involved the bridesmaid dress for my Soul Sister (Heather)'s wedding. (See previous posts re: Year of the HAM.)

Problem was, I got out into the rainy day, already bogged down with errands and housecleaning (I haven't been home in 6 or 7 days to clean; and besides, who wants to come home to a dirty house?) So I wasn't too happy when I got to the bridal shop to find out they didn't have my size anywhere in my city.

Where they did have it, however, was in Chattanooga, TN. Which just happens to be where I'm flying to see Mom and Dad the very next morning.

So, I packed my bags, ate the biggest breakfast sandwich known to man (how was I supposed to know they meant "loaf of bread" when they asked me what bread I wanted?) and landed in Chattanooga a few hours later.

Sweet home Alabama. Where the skies are not so blue . . .

You're Not My Friend.

I posted this elsewhere, but I just feel so strongly about it that I'm posting it here, too.

The biggest thing I've learned from this year, especially with my parents being out of state now, is how important all my real friends are. If I hadn't had my friends by my side, there's no way I could have made it through all of the trauma I've experienced and seem to keep experiencing.

Now, some people seem to misunderstand what it means to be a friend, so let me just clarify: a friend is not neccesarily someone you live next door to or speak with every day. They are, however, someone who'll stand right next to you and still speak to you regardless of what you're going through or what decisions you're forced to make. They're someone who accepts your praise and compliments as genuine and loving because they know that you, too, truly care.

The past year, I've had friends get married and I was overjoyed for them. I've had friends separate and I was devastated for them. I've had friends get pregnant and I was ecsatic for them. I've had friends make amazing PRs at races and I was victorious with them. Some of my friends call me when things are going wrong and we go out dancing and dish about how much we hate men/women/etc.

Not all of these people feel the same, however.

I just want to lay it out there again: I'm showing up for work, friends, family, life, hell even training whenever I'm not too sick to move - AND SOME TIMES WHEN I AM.

And whoever is not showing up in my life, I'm showing out.

So.

If we go out and drink or train every now and then, but you don't talk to me unless I'm buying rounds or making you look good - or you ignore me the minute someone better IS? You're not my friend.

If you claim you're my friend and then you believe someone (like an ex-boss perhaps?) who tells you I'm "a mess and addicted to my prescription medications" (which I'm no longer even taking?!??!?) - you're not my friend.

If something weird happens, and you decide you really don't want to talk to me anymore - unless you're bored? You're not my friend. (Come to think of it, if you only talk to me when you're bored, you're not my friend, either.)

If you ignore my congratulations for your job(s) well done and refuse to be happy for my major accomplishments because you're maaaybe just a litttttle miffed that some day I could be almost as good as you? You're not my friend.

For that matter, if you get upset when I'm proud of myself because it's not about YOU? You're not my friend.

If you're only my friend as long as other people approve of me? You're not my friend.

If you claim you're on my side during a difficult period with someone who's treating me poorly, but then amend that statement with, "BUT I'm really upset that you're making this decision," and then continue to stand up for the person who's fucking me over? You're not my friend.

Oh, and by the way - if you stop talking to me because I made a decision YOU wouldn't have made? You're not my friend, either.

If you smile at me and tell me you love me, but then go home and tell your roommate everything I just told you in confidence? You're not my friend.

If you stop talking to me because "I'm going through too much and you just can't handle it"? You're not my friend.

If you judge me, slander me, condescend to me, talk shit about me, fuck me over in general, and still pretend to be my friend? I've got news for you: you're NOT my friend.

All of you who really are true friends and continue to be true friends through all of this know exactly what I mean, and you all know I'm there for you, no matter what, PUNTO.

The rest of you? Well, you know where you can go.