Swimming, or something like that

Swimming is not my thing, and by "not my thing" I mean REALLY not my thing.  Neither of my parents know/knew how to swim so as a child I endured round after round of swim lessons because they felt it was of the utmost importance that I at least knew the basics in case I ever really needed it.  I somehow managed to pass most of the swim classes, even if I am still traumatized by the thought of diving, and even managed to pass the required swim portion of 9th grade Gym.   I was always the kid who seemed to "forget" my swim suit at friend's pool parties and was happy spending my day under an umbrella reading when we went to the beach.  Friends who see me coming out of the pool, even now, immediately ask "Why are you swimming? Are you injured?"

When my husband suggested that I should do the Xterra sprint-length triathlon two years ago, I thought he was kidding and I may even have laughed out loud at him.  "Come on, it's only 250 yards.  Anyone can swim 250 yards." he said.  Um yeah, whatever.  250 yards is 2 1/2 football fields!  Did he have any idea how far that really was?  Meanwhile he was preparing for his 1 mile swim, the whole time making it look as easy as sitting on the couch watching TV.

I did eventually take on the challenge and managed to swim that 250 yards, in open (cold) water.  I spent most of the swim on my back with my dear friend Amy grabbing my arm to pull me in the right direction every time I headed off course, but I completed the swim and wasn't even the last one out of the water.

It's been two years since he first made that suggestion and while I still don't like to swim, I've managed to subdue my fear of being in the water, and have even managed to find a comfort zone--at least when the water's shallow enough that I can touch.  It is not pretty, it does not feel good,  and most swims include at least a half dozen brief moments when I feel like I'm suffocating, but I've somehow managed to transform from the runner who could almost make it one length of the pool (20 yards) to just someone who can swim over a mile (with my face in the water) in less than an hour.  I've got a long way to go from swimming laps in the YMCA pool to an open water swim of 1.2 miles, but considering what I've already overcome the rest (hopefully with some actual swimming lessons) should be a piece of cake.

And if not, there's always the rescue volunteers, right?!

26 weeks and counting

Tomorrow I officially start my journey toward the 70.3.  A 26 week training plan (that's six months, ack!), that starts with an easy 45 minutes spin and a 45 minute swim.  As long as I only think about each workout as an individual workout and I don't look at the whole week at a time, it looks pretty manageable.  It's only when I think about the fact that I have to get up at 4:30 a.m. or earlier 4 days each week and that I have to pull two-a-days at least twice each week that I start to feel a little panicky about what I've signed on for.  And I haven't even started thinking how freaked out I should be about completing the actual race.  I just have to put the work in every day and I should be fine, right?

I just need to remember that I'm doing this for Chad and that I am one determined, and tough, chick.  I got this. I GOT THIS!  Have i got this??

In an instant

Somehow almost a year has passed.  A year since I've even considered having anything to say, interesting or otherwise.  It's easy to blame it on "the busyness of life", but the reality is that life is so overwhelmingly busy because I've let it be that way.  I've brought it upon myself, trying to be a good wife, good mom, good employee, good friend, good daughter (and in-law) all while training and pretending that all that busyness was the way it's supposed to be.


And then one day two weeks before Christmas I received a phone call, well two phone calls actually (one from each spouse, at the same time, which made me dread hearing what they had to say).  The voice on the other end very calmly said "Chad had an accident on his bike.  He's broken one or both legs and you need to come out to the ambulance and then go to the hospital.  Bring the kids, we'll take them for as long as you need."  While I'm incredibly thankful that voice was calm, and coming from a friend--people I would trust my kids with under any circumstances, it was really the last thing I wanted to hear at that point.  What do you mean he was in a bad accident?  Christmas is 2 weeks away and I have a lot to do!  I have a ton of things to take care of at work before the end of the year!
What does all this mean for everything we've worked so hard for over the last 12 years together? Will he be okay?  Oh God, please just let him be okay...


It's amazing how quickly life can change, in an matter of seconds.  Instead of the stress of Christmas, year-end and the never-ending but overwhelming to-do list, suddenly all I really cared about was whether Chad would be okay.  Suddenly, it was so clear that none of that other stuff mattered at all. Who cared if Christmas wasn't "perfect" or if the clients' work didn't get done.  Not me. Doesn't matter.  Please, just let Chad be okay.





Over the next week Chad endured two surgeries and a 7-night stay in the hospital, bedridden and in pain.  Five broken bones, three limbs, leaving only his right arm useable.  No weight on either leg for 8-12 weeks.  Hospital bed, slide board, wheelchair, commode, cleaning pin points, daily shots, endless logistical planning just to get him to the doctor's office for follow up appointments--these things have become daily life.  And surgeries, the fourth (and final) completed today.  The worry that he will never walk comfortably again, and that he might not ever run again.  The likelihood of arthritis on the left ankle is 100% and the possibility of having to have the ankle replaced at some point (a year, 10, 30?) is very high.


And through it all, what I feel most is gratitude.





He does not have a head, neck or back injury.  It's only broken bones and he will heal.  He may never again be a distance runner or an Ironman, like he's dreamed about, but for purposes of our life with him he will essentially be okay.  And for that we are both so incredibly thankful, and fully understand that it is only so because God blessed him with a landing on his feet and not on his head, neck or back.  To add to the feeling of gratitude, our friends, acquaintances, church family, bike community, parents of our kids' friends, etc., etc., etc. have showered us with an incredible amount of support, love, food, help and anything you would possibly imagine.  It's been overwhelming at times, and again we are so very, very grateful.


Which leads me to the point of this post.  In the midst of it all, while Chad was grieving his potential long term injuries, I decided to sign up for a 1/2 Ironman distance triathlon.  Door County, July 19, 2015.  I've been thinking about doing this for awhile now (notice I don't say "I was thinking about trying this"?) but was thinking 2017, after Chad's 1/2 Ironman this year and his full Ironman next year.  But he can't do his dream race this year, may never be able to do it at all, in fact.  Yet he wants to go watch anyways, so I thought that maybe I could do it for him--give him a reason to cheer and make him proud.  Maybe I can give him a little bit of the excitement to tide him over until he can get back to doing something competitive again.  Training starts in 2 weeks and I'll admit that I'm scared.  Well, terrified actually, at least of the swim... and the hilly course.  But hey, scared never stopped me before and this one is important for so many reasons.  And really, you never know how much time you have to follow your dreams so I've realized you have to take advantage of the opportunity when it's presented or you might not get the opportunity again.  So, here goes ...