Happy. Healthy. Heathen.

Sunshine, warm, delicious, sunny sunshine.

Today’s ride (remember the wind today??) was a scoot-about on the Greenway.  With the new extended section, it takes nearly an hour to do the entire length:  the old 4.5 mile section, the 2 mile loop around the Battlefield, the new stretch at the Medical Center water feature, and the long piece out toward Barfield Park.  Fave iPod shuffle today?  Ray Charles, I Gotta Woman

Today was a beautiful day to ride, except for all the sex.  The pollen in the air was visible and tangible.  Redbuds were having sex ALL OVER THE PLACE.  I’m not kidding when I say that; I could actually feel the clouds of pollen break against my face as I was riding.

Here’s a picture of my screen porch table – I do the wiping ritual every morning.

I was delighted to be out in the sunshine, but paid for it afterwards with the itchy eyes, runny nose, slight headache, and thin pollen film covering my face, arms, and legs.  The winds were really high today – the water feature at the new hospital was spraying sideways!

One more picture.  This sign appeared in my gym in the women’s locker room.  I’m afraid it may have something to do with me, but seriously?

Okay, I’ll let you chime in.

Thanks for reading.

OK.

35,000 feet.

Somewhere over the Pacific.

I’ll Command C then Command V this right into the blog when I’m online again, but here’s when I’m feeling it.  When writing is your therapy, your catharsis, as it is for me, you let the moment take you when it will, and this is my moment.

I’ve had a couple of days to reflect on the whole thing.  I’ve gone rafting with hubby, son and son’s lovely girl in one of the most beautiful places on earth; all of which worked on my psyche to help me get things into perspective.  Here’s what I’ve come up with:

1. I am so very fortunate.  I have the most unbelievable family and friends.  The outpouring of support I received when I told my Ironman story has touched me to the core of my very soul (and if you know me at all, you know I don’t use expressions like that lightly).  Someone very dear to me suggested that I had all of my loved ones swimming with me that day in the lake, and it was no wonder that I struggled, but if that is the case, then I’ll happily never complete Ironman, because that weight is a privilege, a pleasure, and an honor.  I cannot begin to express my humility and gratitude for your words of support and encouragement and affirmation.

2.  I have enthusiastically capitulated to my grief.  I have cried (when my husband bought me the dress in the Sydney airport we picked out in November on our trip here and labelled it my Ironman dress).  I have laughed (when my son said he would never again wait at the water for me to exit from a race – and then at our good-bye hug said that nothing could keep him from it).  I have gotten drunk (keep those first- class vodka and cranberry juices coming).  I have planned (for we high-achievers, nothing assuages grief like a plan:  sprint Tri in June, Olympic in July, Half in August, Iron in September).

3.  I am ready to be home.  I’m ready, after a month, to see my dogs, my room, my farm, my horses, cows, donkeys, my work, friends, coworkers.  I have been dreading it, not because you are disappointed IN me, but because you are disappointed FOR me, and I don’t want to cause you pain.  I am OK.  I tried a mighty thing and didn’t get the result I wanted.  I’m going to try again.  And again.  How incredible to be healthy enough to make that statement.

4.  I have come away from this experience knowing that I am more than Ironman.  My focus will be different, my plan will be different.  You each have shown me, through your lovely words, that my value lies in who I am, not what I do.  My blog will reflect that.  I am ready to write about other things:  the remarkable people I know, books I’ve read, things I’ve done, places I’ve seen, experiences I’ve had, things I’ve learned.  I did not realize my focus had become so narrow, and I am grateful for the growing experience of this event to help me see that I had become only an Ironman-in-training, and not the multi-faceted person I really am, and love to be.

5.  Back to #1:  I am so lucky.  I don’t know how I’ve come up with the most supportive network of friends and family in the world, but I have.  How many people don’t know the joy of the hug of a friend, the whisper of encouragement, the kiss of good luck, the prayer of health, the intention of love, and I have known them all.

Here we go:  what a ride!  I can’t wait to see what happens next.  Come with me; take this journey, however it manifests for you, and tell me about it.  Thank you for your absolute generosity in giving to me – I just can’t find a way to express my gratitude.  I can’t wait to hear what your next adventure is – I draw strength from reading and hearing about what you do.

Life is so very, very good…

Thanks for reading.

“Mrs. Jordan is  a 49-year-old female who appears in excellent health.  She was removed from the swim course at 9:04am and brought to the medical center.  She suffered what appears to be an acute asthma attack, triggered most likely by the excitement and anxiety of the event.  Race medics removed her from the course with protestations from Mrs. Jordan at buoy #18 (of 24) because of the severity of the symptoms.”

Then more medical speak about blood gasses, oxygen administration, and so forth.

And just that quick the race was over.

My version of it would include lots more drama, but this is good enough to give you a picture of what happened.  I’ve never had anything like this happen before, but it gives me new respect for those who suffer from asthma.  Even this morning my lungs, throat, and chest are still burning with the inflammation.

Disappointed.  Frustrated.  Pissed off.  Was that your next question?  And you know I’m never a person of just a few words, so here’s the expanded version of that.

Yesterday, I was devastated.  Today and this month, I’m disappointed.  Next month, and for longer term, I know that life is made up of what you make happen, and what you make of what happens.  And here’s what I’m making of this experience.

Ironman and I are not over.  Not by a wide shot.  I have decided that I will give myself 3 chances to accomplish this (3 strikes, 3 wishes, 3 guesses, so  3 chances seems good).  It won’t surprise anyone who reads this blog that I spent a lot of time last night on the internet looking for races.  China.  Brazil.  Utah.  France.  I’d like to tag on to this series of training, but these events are so highly structured, registration usually closes several months out.  I’d like to give it a second go before the end of this year (meaning my third go may even bring me back here next March).

Everything about this (with the tiny exception of the race itself) has been a wonderful experience.  Even the grueling days of training, even in the cold, has been challenging and satisfying, which for me is a good thing.  This trip to NZ has been fabulous, and it’s not over yet.  The people I have met along the way, the things I have learned about myself, the changes I’ve made in my body, these are all growth events that make up what I think life is all about.  So I will not call this Epic Fail, I’ll call this Epic Attempt.

Your kind words of encouragement here and Facebook have touched me profoundly; so much that I’m going to assemble them in some fashion of a hard copy and incorporate them into a training aid of some sort.  Thank you for your faith in me, your well-wishes, your patience as friends and clients, your generosity of time and effort to keep track of all my progress.

Pictures to come of our multi-day raft trip with Sam and Laura.  We’ll be out of touch a few days before heading back home.

Thank you for reading, and all that it implies – your interest, your participation, your involvement, your support.

Sorry for that abrupt break…campground is spectacular, but internet lacks.

The logistics of all the paraphernalia is astounding – bike, helmet, wetsuit, biking gear, nutrition, hydration, running gear, special needs gear, bike transition, run transition – I’ve had my list going since November.

Sam did my tire-changing drills this morning – he didn’t actually time me, but he made me do it right.  I have changed a flat tire or two, but when your kid is a bike mechanic and your husband is a fix-it-up chappie, you don’t get the practice you need.  Anyway, I’m going the route of the CO2 cartridge instead of the pump, so there may be a story there…

I’m still struggling with downloading the pictures, and I want to get the blog wrapped up before a) my block of internet runs out, b) my computer battery dies, and c)10:00 which is when I’m going to pretend to go to sleep.

Time is too short here for me to reflect on the whole experience; I’ve been doing that a bit with a Word document I can transfer to the blog if I choose.  For now allow me to close by saying thank you thank you thank you for all your kind words of support.  I’ll express my gratitude more fully in the days to come.  I really mean it when I say I memorize your sweet words to replay in my mind when I struggle on the course.

The fam will try to update my FB status as the day goes on – and then sometime Sunday I’ll try to at least do a short entry here.

I’m ready.

Thanks for reading.