So this is happening. I am blogging. I need to get over it. I mean do I really have that much to say? Probably not. I'll end up babbling about something irrelevant to running anyway. So, if I go in a different direction, bare with me. Running forces me to put one foot in front of the other and I eventually get somewhere. Get my drift? I'll eventually get to my point. Just may take you to the crazy parts first. Onward with this here bloggety blog.
To give you a bit of history, I was never in any sports growing up. Unless you count walking door to door asking people if they wanted firewood. During winter. In the snow. For miles. Without shoes, or water. Or food. Honestly, that last part is my dad's story. I've heard it so many times, it's now part of the story I tell. That's it. Well, obviously not ALL of it. But I did say 'bit' of history. Not my life history. Sheesh. Moving on.
Back in the day people referred to running as jogging. And by people, I mean my dad. He still refers to it as 'jogging'. Yeah. Dad. I'm a jogger. And now a blogger. Go me! I once caught him saying that he went for a 'run'. My smart ass reply, 'you mean you went for a jog?' Bam! He has never questioned my status again. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether you run or jog. I believe they're one in the same. Period. You are moving your feet. Point is, if you feel you're a runner, than you ARE a runner. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
My husband runs. On occasion. He used to be an avid runner before he met me. Marriage changes everything. I changed him into an occasional runner. Go me :( Basketball became his thing for while. Even baseball. He broke fingers, sprained ankles and jammed thumbs. But you can't keep a great man down. The man is a beast. And my inspiration. When he came home and said that he wanted to do a triathlon, I'm like what the eff is that?? After he explained it, I said 'Why?' Great support, right?! Ya. I thought he had lost his friggin mind. Swim, bike AND run? And they're charging you to do this??!!! Out of your mind I tell you.
For the next several months I sat and watched in horror as he trained. Running, biking, laps at the local pool. Pure torture. Why would anyone do this?? So I did what any person would do, I googled the hell out of that shit. I learned WAY more than I wanted. Chafing, chamois, wet suit, tri suit, gel, lube. You name it. I went from wife to full time coach. I still sat in horror, but I understood the horror now. Go me! Through my binoculars and while holding my breath, I watched as he swam among the other crazies. That was the only time I got to see him in action. The bike and run course were through the rugged terrain and no spectators allowed. So I basked in the sun listening to others ramble. Just as I am doing here. The sun must have fried my brain after some time or maybe the lack of oxygen from holding my breath earlier because I almost forgot where I was. And suddenly there he was. Ta da! I wanted to cry, but I was dehydrated. So, I dry cried. No. Not fake cried. Nothing fake about it. Dry cry. Leave it at that. Okie dokie.
Maybe the lack of oxygen combined with severe dehydration caused temporary insanity, but I wanted to drink the crazy koolaid! In 2009 I signed up for my very first sprint triathlon. Unlike hubby, my training consisted of a few miles on the bike trainer, a few walks around the block and some wading in a pool. My bad. Thought I could 'get by' with the doggie paddle and back stroke. But what it probably looked like was the dead mans float. No joke. I was completely exhausted from the effort of NOT drowning that the second leg of the triathlon was excruciating. Six miles into the bike part, I shouted to hubby 'I did NOT sign up for this!!' I was dying. He shouted back 'Ummm, yes you did' Duh! Hubby, aka coach, aka cheerleader and now motivational speaker was pointing out the obvious. Awesome! And just when I thought I had nothing left in the tank, I thought right. Slipping through the finish in just 2 hours I had so many emotions. I wanted to cry, but laughed. Wanted to scream, but laughed. Wanted to punch someone, but laughed. What else is there to do after that? Laugh. It's good medicine after all. After I laughed, I cried. Not from joy, but from my chafed arse. Then I sat across the table from hubby and we had a beer. And a great big cheeseburger. And then we laughed some more and called it a day. An epic day.
There you have it folks, my first ever blog. Were you bored? I was. Hope you come around for the rest of my crazy adventures.
Next up: Only half (crazy) marathon
