I’m guilty of this myself, “Not living in the moment.”  Why do we do it?  Why does it matter? There is a saying, “The reward lies in the journey”.  That means losing the weight or crossing the finish line is not what it’s only about. Maybe it’s more about the experience, the love, happiness and excitement you get, and share with those you love, by challenging yourself to be healthy or run marathons.

Alison is working on the worthiest of goals, “Living in the moment”. Elusive, but worth the effort.

Alison:

Last week at the gym, I heard an interesting conversation between two women that I know, Shawn and Mindi. Mindi is about 20 years older than I am, Shawn is about 15 years younger. But these two women who are 35 years apart from each other were sharing a conversation with an equal level of enthusiasm and understanding. They were discussing the New York Marathon, the same one that I had run in early November.

Their races were very different from each other. Mindi finished the marathon in about 5 hours and 20 minutes (yes, the 62 year old woman beat me by about 8 minutes), Shawn finished in a breath over 4. This was Mindi’s seventh New York Marathon and Shawn’s first. As they talked and compared their war stories discussing the crowds in Brooklyn, the damned Queensboro bridge (and I admit I smiled when I heard that other people agree that bridge is pure evil), I heard something else as well: euphoria, fatigue, fear, self-accomplishment. Immediately I got irritated with both of these women whose conversation I had been shamelessly easvesdropping on and stormed out of the locker room to do my workout.

What got me so annoyed with Shawn and Mindi’s conversation? That Shawn was an hour and a half faster than me? No (though I do realize it’s possible that she had finished, gone home and showered, had dinner, and watched about a third of her favorite movie before I even entered Central Park). Was it that they weren’t including me in it? No; I don’t think they even knew I was in the locker room while they were talking. I was annoyed because I could hear how they felt about the marathon, and what they experienced.

When people ask me about the marathon, they have a look of awe and amazement in their eyes. And I answer their questions and don’t understand why they are looking at me like that. Recently, though, I’ve come to understand my own confusion. I didn’t “experience” the marathon. Yes, I was there, and ran the whole damned thing. Yes, I was sore and in pain before I even got to Manhattan. I heard the crowds, read the signs, even ate a lollipop that a little kid handed to me at about mile 14 (and kid, if you’re reading this, thanks again!). But I didn’t live in the moment or truly experience what it felt like to accomplish a feat that only 1% of the population has done.

I’ve known this for a while, and it’s been gnawing at me for the last few weeks. On one run in Central Park last week, I looked down and saw that the blue paint lines that mark the course of the marathon are still there. Although I never really noticed them during the race (those lines are really more for the leaders. I just followed the tens of thousands of people in front of me, and pretty easily figured out where I had to go), I did on this run. As I saw them, I momentarily felt the exhilaration I should have felt when I was at the same spot several weeks ago. But then I battled that feeling down, just like I always do. Feeling something and truly being in the moment was just too scary.

Last week my running partner, Karen read my blog and asked me to please stop referring to myself as “Fat Girl”. I get her point. I’ve lost my weight, kept it off (except for these last few weeks, but I’m more than halfway back to where I need to be), finished a freakin’ marathon. Why is “Fat Girl” still getting face time in my blogs? Well, because “Fat Girl” is the one who keeps me emotionally numb, unable to live in the moment or feel the elation of any of my accomplishments that are helping so many of my readers to face and conquer their own fears and reach their own goals.

A few days later, Peter K and I were having a conversation. I explained my epiphany about not living in the moment. I told him that I was scared that doing it would take me to all the emotional places that turned me into “Fat Girl” so many years ago. Peter’s answer was simple: accept that it’s OK to live in the moment, and understand that feeling proud of an accomplishment is not a path to self-sabotage. Huh, that just might work.

Saturday morning, I knew what I had to do. I woke up early enough that even my cats didn’t get up with me and ask for their breakfast. I went into my basement and did 4 sets of resistance bands. With each tug of my band, I felt my muscles working, my breath getting heavier. I’ve been doing resistance band training for over 3 years, and this was the first workout in a long time that I actually felt.

When I was done with my bands, I donned several layers of clothes (it was about 30 degrees outside), and went for a 10 mile run. My run was in my town in Westchester (fine: my town is so small and my run so long that it was actually in three towns), nowhere near the marathon course in the City. But during Saturday’s run, I finally let myself feel all the stuff that I should have felt back in early November. Well, OK. I didn’t feel the intense pain that crept in about mile 17 and hung on for about a week, but I felt everything else. I felt my legs moving, the wind and sun on my face. I climbed the back to back hills that I’ve dubbed “That [expletive] hill” and “That other [expletive] hill”, and felt the accomplishment when I reached the top of the second one and could just keep going. I loved ticking off the miles in my head, knowing that just a few years ago I didn’t drive to stores that were this far away. When I got back to my house, I even pictured crossing the finish line in my mind, though I admit this time I was a lot less tired and the sun wasn’t about to set.

I’m already qualified for next year’s marathon, and I’ve registered for the New Jersey marathon in May of 2012. I can’t wait to experience them and this time, actually do just that. And tomorrow when I go to the gym, I hope to run into either Mindi or Shawn. I’d love to chat with them a bit about what it felt like to run a marathon.

Most people are afraid of trying something new, especially when it bucks against traditional holiday foods. They usually set themselves up to deprive themselves, then overeat, feel guilty, and possibly ruin a wonderful family holiday.  Read how Alison won’t let that happen this Thanksgiving.

Alison:

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. The day before it I would race home from school and start doing prep work: chopping up veggies, peeling potatoes. I got everything ready for when my mom got home from work and the real cooking could begin.

I grew up in an apartment in Manhattan, so if you ever watched “The Real Housewives of New York City” and saw their sprawling homes – well, you’d have no clue what my apartment looked like. It was an actual Manhattan apartment. The dining area (because there was no true dining room) sat 6 comfortably, and the kitchen fit two people as long as they were both inhaling at the same time and never moved. But Mom and I would make a dinner for at least 14 people, moving through that kitchen with the coordination of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. We made turkey, enough stuffing to fill an elephant, sweet potatoes, even home baked bread whose aroma wafted into the hallway of our building and greeted our guests as they got off the elevator.

This year, I am hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in my “I don’t live at home anymore” life. I have a house, not the tiny apartment where Mom practically had to have people sit on laps in order to fit everyone at the table. My mom is coming over, along with 4 very dear family friends. That plus my own family makes 9 people, smaller than any Thanksgiving I ever prepared with my mom in her postage-stamp sized kitchen in Manhattan. This should be a cinch, but I am completely terrified.

I’m not worried about burning the turkey or spilling the cranberry sauce all over my cream colored table cloth. What’s got my knickers in a twist is the actual menu. Thanksgivings produced by my mom and me always consisted of thick gravy, butter laden potatoes, and 8 kinds of starches. We had one dessert choice for every two guests, meaning that dinner for 20 consisted of TEN different desserts. As I started to plan my menu for Thanksgiving, the only foods I had in my arsenal were ones where each dish had more fat than I now eat in a week. Add to that the fact that I haven’t quite recalculated my running to food ratio since the marathon ended and I’m not doing 18 mile runs any more, and I can already feel the buttons on my shirt about to pop and the seam in my pants beginning to split open. Thanksgiving is beginning to slip away as my favorite holiday.

But then I think about two tricks Peter K taught me: 1) have a plan, and 2) actually stick to it. So, I think about my menu. I can replace mom’s buttery potatoes with a sweet potato recipe with cranberries and walnuts I found on Runner’s World (in other words, it’s healthy). Instead of creamed corn or spinach, how about some steamed cauliflower and green beans, and maybe a salad that each person can dress themselves (with only low fat choices on the table)? I learn about a whole wheat stuffing that I’m ready to try, and for hors d’oeuvres I decide on a raw veggie plate with salsa and hummus for dipping.

Now that I have my dinner more under control, I am pumped up to figure out desserts. My kids and I make the world’s greatest chocolate chip cookies (it’s true, just ask the world. I’m pretty sure everyone has tried them by now), that we’ve made healthier by using whole wheat flour and dark chocolate chips (please note I said, “healthiER”. They’re still cookies, for God’s sake). I’m making a pumpkin pie whose recipe I got from Weight Watchers and is ridiculously delicious. I’ve served it several times, and as I’ve had guests tell me how great my pie is, I’ve often replied with “Fooled you all! It was Weight Watchers!” And instead of apple pie or a berry crumble, which is just a fancy way of turning fruit into crap, I’m going to serve – fruit. That’s right. Just fruit. A fruit salad with a million different kinds of fruit all cut up and put into a bowl, ready to speak for itself. Wow, what a concept!

Now for my plan. I’m going to measure my portions, and the only second servings I’m allowed is on the vegetables. For dessert I’m sharing a slice of pumpkin pie with anyone at the table who’s willing to split with me, and here’s how I’m doing it – I get the first bite and the last bite, and my partner gets all the bites in between. No cookies for me (baking cookies with the kids is a hundred times more fun than actually eating them), and I might even have a small bowl of fruit. This plan will be easy to stick to, because I’m really getting everything I want, and I’ve made it so all the foods I have to choose from are healthy.

Thanksgiving is only a few days away now. As a grown up hosting it for the first time, I can’t wait. I bet it’s still going to be my favorite holiday.

The fact that someone can say they have a favorite part of a marathon is amazing in itself.  Alison shares hers below.  A while back we talked about goals in one of our coaching session.  Specifically,  ”Where are you going?”  ”How will you get there?”  Read to learn why answering those questions will change your life.

Alison:

Everyone has been asking me my favorite parts of the New York Marathon that I ran last week. Was it the crowds? The medal? The signs I read along the way? The amazing feeling of accomplishment? No, it was none of those (though I still giggle to myself every time I think of my favorite sign I saw: “It’s 26.2 miles, because 26.3 is just crazy!”). My favorite part was that there was an actual course to follow.

Let me explain. When I was lined up with over 50,000 of my closest friends in Staten Island, I knew exactly where I had to go: over the bridge into Brooklyn, then Queens, Manhattan, the Bronx and back to Manhattan. Just follow the crowd until you get to the finish line. Piece of cake.

Well, I did it. Granted, it wasn’t a piece of cake, but I followed the crowds and got the job done. I couldn’t walk down the stairs of my own house like a grown up for days, and every time I had to get out of a chair and stand up I think I died a little bit inside, but I did it. My problem, though, has been since the race.

I trained for that race for months. Starting in July, I meticulously followed a training plan, even running in 114 degree temperatures in Arizona in August to make sure I stayed on track. I ran in a pool when my foot was injured and I couldn’t run on land, I carried my asthma inhaler with me when I contracted bronchitis in the week before the marathon. I didn’t let anything get in my way, including having a tree fall on my house and having my foot in a cast for a week. Peter K always says that to accomplish your goal you need to know where you’re going, and what your plans are to get there. But now, I feel like a woman without a map or a compass.

The marathon is over. My training plan is done. I’m even done recovering (read: I can get up from chairs pain free, and I’ve stopped feeling the need to eat everything that isn’t moving). So, now what? Where do I go from here?

I do have a few ideas. One is to run all 7 of the half marathons that NY Road Runners offers each year. The problem with that goal is that the first one is in mid-January. I don’t mind running 13.1 miles in about 13.1 degree temperature. My problem is waiting around for that race to start for what will feel like 13.1 hours in the freezing cold. My second idea is to run another marathon – really. I’ve been looking at both the New Jersey marathon or the Long Island marathon. Both are in early May, actually on the same day. This makes my husband quite happy, as it means that then I will definitely only do one of them. My third idea is the NY marathon in November of 2012. And my fourth idea is – all of the above. Yes, I really am contemplating running 7 half marathons and 2 full marathons in 2012 – along with about 4 or 5 triathlons in the summer. If I do them all, I’ll need to write out more training plans and schedule everything – just the way I like it.

Ah, I think I just found my compass.

Well, she did it.  There was never any question in my mind wether she would.  I’ll let her tell you about it. One word- riveting!

Alison:

This. Is. It.

I’m standing in my corral at the base of the Verranzano-Narrows bridge, waiting for the cannon to blast that starts the third and final wave of the 2011 New York Marathon. Usually when I line up for a race, I think “forward”, meaning that I plan my strategy and picture myself crossing the finish line. This time, though, I think back: months of long runs, years of sticking to my goal weight, thousands of negative thoughts that Peter K has taught me to replace with positive ones. I think about how much stuff I’ve worked through to get myself to this very spot, while squashed up against thousands of other people waiting for our race to start. And the only new thought in my head is “I got this.”

The cannon finally blasts and we start our run. The first mile is slow, very slow. And no, it’s not because I’m pacing myself well and holding back for the final miles. It’s because it is so darned crowded that I can’t even run. Tons of people are already walking, and though I tell myself that it’s their race, too, and they should do it anyway they want, I am seriously annoyed that they are in my way. Finally, though, I see this tiny woman (shorter than me, and I’m 5’0” when I round up), with a sign that says “Greta From Ireland” on the back of her shirt. Clearly an NFL player in her former life, this woman is practically slicing the crowd and finding seams to wiggle through that I didn’t even see. I get on her tail and stick with her for the first two miles. During that time, I pass my friend, Karen. Karen and I trained a bit together and hung out before the race started. She was in the corral in front of me, so we parted company when it was time to line up. As I pass her I tap her shoulder and say, “Tag, you’re it!”

By mile 3 we’re somewhere in Brooklyn, and the street is wide enough that I don’t need Greta From Ireland to clear a path for me anymore, so I decide to stop running two steps behind her and instead start to chart my own course. I try to soak in every minute, every band playing, every person cheering. But, to be honest, I’ve kind of fallen into a good groove and I’m really not focusing on anything except myself.

The first 6 miles are an absolute breeze. I mentally pat myself on the back for having trained so well, even with an injured foot, injured neck, bronchitis, and all the other stuff that life has decided to throw at me for the last few months. The weather is perfect, and my feet are doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing.

By mile 10, I’m not feeling as confident anymore. My knee is SCREAMING in pain, and I do Peter K’s old “pull over and stretch” trick. I kind of jump into the crowds of Brooklyn so that I can hold onto a street sign while I stretch. When I’m done, I step back onto the course, and hear a spectator saying “Good job, Alison, keep going!!!” I had forgotten I had my name on my shirt, enabling total strangers to cheer for me, and I am now absolutely thrilled that I did that. I really needed that pick me up.

At mile 11, I get nervous. This mile is always my own personal Achilles heel. But, I had planned ahead. My brother and his wife and kids are waiting for me at about mile 11.5, and I start looking for them. I run a bit faster to get to the street where they are supposed to be – and there they are. My brother’s kids made a sign for me that’s bright pink with red letters that says, “We love you, Aunt Ali! You rock!” Let me tell you, a bright pink sign written in crooked kid writing was just the best thing I read all day. Seeing my brother and his family with a sign made just for me totally put the wind back in my sails. My sister-in-law even ran with me for a block or two, telling me how proud they all were of me. Forget energy gels and sports drinks; that was the perfect boost.

At mile 13 we FINALLY leave Brooklyn (nothing against any Brooklynites reading this, just half the damned marathon is in one borough!). On the Pulaski bridge heading into Queens, the organizers put up a sign that says, “13.1. Half way!” Let me tell you, this sign had none of the powers that my pink “We love you Aunt Ali” sign had. All this one did was make me think, “If I was running a half marathon, I’d be done now.” Not a helpful thought when I had 13.1 miles to go. But, I decide to turn a negative thought into a positive one, so once again, I think “I’ve got this.”

For two miles, we run through a very industrial part of Queens, winding our way around streets and lining up to run over the Queensborough bridge. Now, for a lot of my training runs I ran along the FDR drive, which takes a person UNDER the bridge. And on most of my runs I’ve looked up at the bridge and thought, “Wow, that bridge looks like it will be really hard to run,” and then I’ve just kind of dismissed that thought. Well, I should have thought about it a bit more. The short version of running over that bridge is that it completely sucked out my will to live. Seriously, I really think that I dropped my desire to live long and prosper somewhere on that bridge.

The bridge has about a 1/3 of a mile incline that I run up, but then I notice that I am the ONLY person I could see who is actually running it. Everyone else is walking, having clearly also been beaten up by the most hellish part of the course. After that, we run about a ½ mile on the flat part, but by then it was too late. I had already mentally given up. The next fan I was going to see was my husband’s sister on 83rd and 1st. She lives on 83rd and 2nd, so my plan was to just make it to her, ask her to take me to her apartment, and call Wil and ask him to pick me up and take me home.

The organizers had a sign on this bridge, too. This time, the sign said, “If you’re idea of ‘easy’ is 10 miles to go, then welcome to easy”. I think the sign was supposed to make us laugh, but all it did was beat me up even more. I can’t run 10 more miles. Forget it.

But, then I hear my name. There are no spectators on the Queensborough Bridge, so I can’t understand who is calling me. I turn my head and see my friend Karen, the same friend who I had tagged on the Verranzano-Narrows bridge as we left Staten Island. What a sight for sore eyes. She comes running up to me with a big grin on her face and says something like “We’re doing this. We’re amazing!” I think about it. She’s right. We are doing it, and we are amazing. I ditch my plan of dropping out on 83rd street and keep going. We make it down the very steep (read: exceptionally painful) downhill end of the bridge and spill out onto First Avenue in Manhattan.

Ah, Manhattan. My home. I was born here. I was raised here. And for a brief moment I think I’m going to die here on this very spot. But Karen is keeping me going, talking to me about how great we’re both doing. Karen has a system where she runs for a few minutes, then walks for one, then runs again, etc. This ends up working perfectly, because when she runs she’s faster than me. So, we run together and she pushes me to go just a bit faster, then she takes her walk break and I continue shuffling along.

At about 67th Street we see Karen’s husband, Joe, and her two daughters. Joe gives us each a hug and tells both of how great we’re doing. At 83rd Street we see my sister-in-law Tracy and her daughter. Tracy hands me a granola bar that I practically eat out of her hand. We keep going, and at 91st Street, my mom is standing there with my kids, Ben and Olivia. They are jumping up and down and screaming for Karen and me. I hug each kid, and my mom fiddles with her camera to take my picture as my legs start to cramp up from crouching down to be the same height as Ben and Olivia. I want to linger with my family, but Olivia brings me back to reality when she shouts, “Go, Mom. Go!” So, I take off again.

At 125th Street and First Avenue, my husband, Wil is waiting for me. He gives me a hug and a kiss, and doesn’t even complain about how gross and sweaty I am at that point. He asks, “How are you doing?” and I reply, “Better, now.” He pumps me up with a few quick words, gives Karen a hug and sends us both off to the Bronx and the dreaded mile 20.

The Willis Avenue bridge will take us to the Bronx, but this time I think “Nope, not again.” Everyone gets a medal for finishing, but they don’t give you anything extra for running up the incline of every bridge and letting it completely kick your ass. So, I tell Karen I’m walking up the bridge, and she happily slows to a walk herself.

Everyone says that mile 20 is where you “hit the wall”. I have to be honest; I’m not quite sure what that means. Allegedly, that’s where you slow down and think you can’t take another step. So, umm, didn’t that happen at the Queensboro bitch – er, bridge? Can you “hit the wall” at mile 16? We get over the incline of the bridge, and I start “running” again, and by that I mean that I’m shuffling like a 90 year old man recovering from a stroke.

We make it into the Bronx and run around a few different streets to get over to the Madison Avenue bridge to get back into Manhattan. This bridge doesn’t have such a sharp incline, so I “run” up and over it. I am elated to be back in Manhattan and at mile 21.

At 125th Street and Fifth Avenue, I see Wil again. Karen and I hug him again, and this time I know I hold on for an extra second or two. I really don’t think I can finish. Wil has known me for 16 years. He knows when I’m about to quit. He also knows my favorite mantra, so he bends down and whispers to me, “Honey, you got this.” I smile and know there is no way he’ll let me step off the race course, so I keep going.

At about 120th Street, Karen sees her husband on the left, and I see my friend, Stephanie, on the right, so we split up for the first time in 7 miles. Stephanie jumps into the street and starts running with me. She’s cheering, laughing, making me laugh. Her husband Alex is taking pictures of us while we run, and I remark to Stephanie that I’m going so slowly that Alex is walking and taking pictures and is easily keeping up with us. Stephanie ends up running almost an entire mile with me, which wouldn’t be such a big deal – except that she’s almost 7 months pregnant. I think to myself that if she can run almost a mile while pregnant and just in street clothes, then I can finish this up. Stephanie gets me to mile 24, gives me a fist pound and leaves me to finish on my own.

I look for Karen and actually see her ahead of me, but I have no energy to sprint and catch her. I decide I need to do this on my own, so I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. At 90th Street we turn into Central Park, and for this first time since that damned bridge at mile 16 I think that I’m actually going to make it.

In the park, the fans are screaming. Everyone is calling me by name, and I try to give a thumbs up as I pass them, but I can’t remember how to activate my own thumbs at that point. At one point we hit a big downhill and it just hurts too much so I slow to a walk. Then a total stranger with a think British accent calls out: “Hey, Alison! You’re almost done! Don’t give up now!” I turn to him and do manage to smile and pump my fist (what can I say; I’ve always been a sucker for a British accent), and actually pick up my pace a bit.

At 59th Street we leave the park and run west along Central Park South. At one point I hear my name and turn to see Susan, Peter K’s other guest blogger, calling and cheering me on. I smile and wave, and pick up the pace some more.

At the beginning of the day I told myself I wanted to finish in under 5 hours, 15 minutes. I had been on pace for that until the Queensboro bridge tried to kill me. Now I’m well past mile 25, but I’m at 5 hours and 22 minutes. “OK,” I think. “5:30 is good, too.” As I turn back into the park at Columbus Circle, for the first time in hours, I think “I’ve got this.” Now signs that the race folks put up are far more helpful: “400 yards to go,”, “300 yards to go,” etc. Finally, I see what is currently my favorite word in the English language: “Finish”. I throw my arms up in the air, and almost start to cry. I did it, with an official time of 5:28:11.

After the race I’m wrapped in my mylar blanket (which if you’re curious, keeps you warm for about 42 seconds), handed a bag of “recovery” food which I barely have the strength to carry, and am herded along with other finishers towards the baggage pickup. As I shuffle along and listen to all of my leg muscles tell me what they thought about me running 26.2 miles, and how they will not allow me to walk in a straight line for the next couple of days, all I can think is: “The 2011 New York City Marathon. Been there, ran that.” ☺

All of Alison’s hard work will pay off this weekend as she competes in the NYC Marathon.  We are so proud and happy for her. We knew she could do not and she has inspired many along the way!  Read about her prep before the race.  It’s been an incredible journey.

Alison:

Outfit picked and tested out? Check.

Pre-race nutrition figured out? Check.

Train schedule to the City memorized? Check.

Nerves in check? Aaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

OK, anyone who knows me knows that I make plans and backup plans. I practice race courses, look up parking regulations near my races, pack my bag at least the night before if not earlier. I organize, plan, research, test. I do all of this to calm myself down. I don’t like surprises, and I do everything in my power to avoid them.

For my marathon in 8 days (and Holy – poop, by the way), I have been following weather patterns, memorizing the course, pouring over maps of the starting villages. I’ve tracked the iPhone tracker, learned 3 different routes to get to the Expo where I have to pick up my bib, even found the quickest way to escape Central Park when it’s over. And has all of this calmed me down? Not in the least. To put it mildly, I am a wreck.

I’m nervous for so many reasons. There’s the obvious one of “I can’t believe I’m intentionally going to subject my body to running 26.2 miles,” but I have other concerns as well: is this going to be exceptionally painful? Will I finish? Out of 45,000 runners, am I going to be last? Do I even belong here?

I think it’s the last question that is nagging at me the most. “Fat Girl” can’t do this. “Fat Girl” could never finish anything except an entire mushroom and pepperoni pizza or a Big Mac with large fries and a Coke. Simply put, “Fat Girl” doesn’t belong in a starting corral at the New York City marathon.

This thought accompanied me on my run this morning. Today was my last “long” run before the marathon. Since I’m now tapering, the run was relatively short, just 8 miles. I kind of miss the longer runs, but today I don’t quite mind just 8 miles. There is a freakish October snow storm coming (that later in the day ended up taking down my neighbor’s tree – into my house – but let’s save that for another blog) and I want to get my run in before the snow starts (and I spend the day on the phone with insurance companies, but during my run I’m enjoying the ignorant bliss of not being able to see into the future).

Lately, my runs have been horrible. My foot still hurts, and my runs have gotten slow, so slow that I’m using a little creative license by calling them “runs” instead of “jogs” or even “brisk strolls”. I’ve somehow gone from running about a 9 minute mile to an 11:30 one. Multiply that out by 26.2 and that adds 78 minutes and 36 seconds onto my time (you can pull out a calculator, but trust me, The math is dead on balls accurate).

I’ve been stressing about my sudden slowness a lot. At one point I decide that “Fit Girl” is the one who can run a 9 minute mile, but “Fat Girl” is the one training for the marathon, which means that I’m just going to fail. But this morning all I think when I leave for my run is “beat the storm”. So, I take off. Normally I wear my music with the volume low enough so that I can hear cars and other people. Not today. I crank the volume way up, so music is the only thing I focus on. The song has a fast beat, and I stick with it. At the one mile mark I look at my watch. I’m just under 11 minutes. Ok, that’s a little better, but not great. I go faster.

Just as I hit the turn around at mile 4, it starts to drizzle. I really want to beat this storm, so I just go faster. I remind myself that even if “Fat Girl” has been sabotaging my runs, “Fit Girl” is still in there, and she likes to go fast. I remind myself of what I’ve accomplished, and that after losing 70 pounds, keeping my weight off for over 2 years, and finishing 6 half marathons and 7 triathlons that outrunning a storm should be no big deal. As Peter K always reminds me, I can do this.

At mile 5, I hit a nice sized down hill (that at mile 3 was a horrific uphill), and I go even faster. At the bottom, instead of slowing I keep that momentum for at least a mile. I am finally letting “Fit Girl” do a run, and she is loving the exercise.

When I turn the last corner before my house, I take off at a sprint. I get to my stoop and stop my stopwatch: 1:26:07. Later I figure out that that is a 10:37 mile, but right now all I know is that I have finally gotten myself to go faster. And, the big storm hasn’t started yet. Mission accomplished.

As I climb the steps to my house, I think about this last long run. When I wasn’t focusing so much on the marathon, I was able to get myself out of my comfort zone and push myself again. My time is still slower than before I got injured, but it’s better than it has been in weeks. I realize that my nerves are more settled now. Time to update my marathon checklist.

This is the type of boot that Alison has had to wear this past week.  Today she found out if she can run the NYC marathon.  Read about it below.

Alison:  I’ve given birth to two children, taken a million final exams, and gotten caught smoking by my mom (oh, don’t judge me. It was over 20 years ago, and besides, it wasn’t really me smoking. It was “Fat Girl”). But, this has to be one of the scariest days I’ve had in a long time.

No, I’m not trying to walk through the Times Square of the 1970s without getting mugged. I’m on my way to my orthopedist’s office. Today I find out what is wrong with my neck, and more importantly, my foot.

I go down into the subway at Grand Central, and of course, the express train – which would have gotten me to Union Square in one stop – isn’t running, so I have to wait for the local, and then take a much longer ride to my fate. As I wait on the platform, a person trips over my “boot”. Last week my orthopedist was concerned I might have a stress fracture. He asked if I’d follow his orders and not run for an entire week. I replied, “Umm, yeah…”, which I guess wasn’t very convincing, so he gave me a boot to wear. A boot is basically a cast that you can take off for things like showering and sleeping, and keeps your foot from bending in case there’s a broken bone in there. It’s also great for getting loads of sympathy from your husband (my favorite this week was when I called to Wil who was in the next room and shouted: “Honey!! I can’t reach the remote!”). But, I’ve learned most New Yorkers never look down, so people have been stepping on my boot (and consequently, my sore foot) all week long.

The train comes, and I lug my gimpy leg onto the train (and to any medical professional reading this, please explain to me why they make boots as heavy as a small car). I have to stand, and as I reach up to hold the pole, I wince at the shot of pain that runs from my neck, through my shoulder and into my arm that has been with me for almost 3 weeks now. And I wish that whoever has a voodoo doll of me, that for just one day they’d move the pin into my other shoulder.

As I stand on the train and wait for that shot of pain to lower its volume to an achy grip in my shoulder, I think about the past week or two. I haven’t run in over 10 days. I’ve been in the pool so much that two silver rings I wear are completely tarnished. Peter K has been helping me keep up my marathon level fitness without running, so he’s taught me to replace my runs with non-weight bearing activities that take as long as each run would: deep water running, swimming, elliptical, stationary bike. On Saturday I was supposed to do a 20 mile run, which on a good day would take me 4 hours. So, instead I did TWO hours of deep water running, one hour of recumbent bike, and one hour of elliptical. I worked out for so long that I missed lunch. And the only thing I can say about a two hour deep water run is that it is 120 minutes of my life I will never get back.

I’ve been trying to keep myself thinking positively all week. Every time someone asks me about my foot (which is mostly done by complete strangers), I smile and say, “I might have a stress fracture!”, as if I’m the luckiest runner in the world. I brought a real shoe with me to the appointment in case I can take the damned boot off so that I don’t have to go back to work semi-barefooted. I keep telling myself that life is all about perspective, and that at the same moment that my doctor is going to tell me that my marathon for this year is over, another mom is going to learn that her child has cancer, and maybe a broken foot just isn’t that bad. I’ve been reminding myself of my old “Fat Girl” habits, and that it’s not OK to drown my sorrows in an entire cheesecake, or if it’s good news to celebrate – with the same entire cheesecake. I remind myself that I’ve had Peter K, my coach and mentor, helping me every hobbled step of the way, and that even if I can’t run the marathon I have worked too hard and come too far to ruin it all over a Wendy’s Triple Classic and Biggie fries (though that image isn’t my fault; that’s what the guy on the train next to me was eating, lucky jerk).

I finally get to my stop, and hobble up the steps of the subway (and if you ever want to truly appreciate how many stairs there are in Manhattan, walk around with your foot in a cast for a week). I get to my doctor’s office, and get taken in right away. I sit in the exam room for what feels like the longest five minutes of my life (not true. The longest five minutes is any five minutes during that TWO hour deep water run, but this is a close second). Finally my doctor comes in.

The news is good and bad. The good – no GREAT – news is that my foot isn’t broken. My doctor says, “You have a good flare up of tendonitis. You can run the marathon, but it’s going to hurt.” I reply, “Isn’t running 26 miles going to hurt anyway?”

The bad news is my neck. The injury that hurts much more but has me far less concerned is actually a pretty big problem. The doctor talks about severely pinched nerves losing normal function, neurologists, shots in my neck, lots of physical therapy, and possible surgery in the next year. I admit to the doctor that I’m barely listening to him. He’s a runner himself. He’s done the New York Marathon. He understands.

I put on my extra shoe that I carried for what ends up being a good reason, and heft up my heavy boot into my arms to take back up to my office in Midtown. And I do celebrate – with brown rice sushi instead of a cheesecake. Hey, what can I say? I have to carb load for my run tomorrow ☺.

The picture above demonstrates how Alison has to complete her marathon training runs because of  her injuries.  Deep water running for 10, even 20 minutes might be bearable, but try 90 minutes. That’s just what she willed herself to do recently .  Read on as Alison continues to overcome obstacle after obstacle. I’ve heard from many of you and the answer is yes, she is a remarkable person. No matter the outcome, she is a winner and nothing will stop her.

Alison:

“63198. 63198.”

No, those aren’t the numbers from the show “Lost”, and I haven’t started repeating numbers at random just for fun (though to a data analyst, that does sound intriguing). 63198 is going to be my bib number for the New York Marathon in November – if I can still run it.

Those following my blog know that I’ve been injured. The small but more painful problem is that I’ve had a pinched nerve in my neck for over a week now (the best way to describe the pain is to tell you to take a relatively sharp kitchen knife, drive it into your dominant shoulder making sure that the pain radiates both up to your neck and down to your elbow; then, leave the knife in that exact position for 10 days). The bigger problem is that I have either tendonitis or a stress fracture in my left foot, which has stopped me from running a single step on land for the past week.

Peter K, my coach and mentor, has helped me tremendously this past week. He has checked in on me daily, giving me tips like how to stretch out my foot. He also helped me adjust my workouts to things my pained and broken body could handle like deep water running and using an elliptical machine. Most importantly, he has kept me focused. Peter has reminded me that this is just one week, and that I’ve been working like a dog for years. One week without running is not going to ruin everything.

Today’s workout was supposed to be a 15 mile land run. In order to keep up my fitness without hurting my foot, I had to do a non-impact workout that would take the same amount of time as the run would have taken – about 2 and a half hours. I decided to do an hour and a half deep water run, and 1 hour on the elliptical. I broke the workout up into two parts for a few reasons: 1) my gym’s pool is too popular for me to swim for 2 ½ hours without getting kicked out because too many people are waiting, and 2) deep water running has got to be the most boring workout ever invented, and I think before I finished I’d probably drown the person swimming next to me just to bring some excitement into the day.

This entire workout was going to annoy me. On the weekends I run at home, so once I walk out of my front door I am where I need to be. To do this workout I had to take the train into Manhattan, which was just inconvenient. When I got to the gym, I begrudgingly got into the cold pool and started my deep water run.

For those who have no clue what deep water running is, picture a person on a unicycle. Then just remove the unicycle, submerge the person up to her neck in a cold pool and strap a flotation belt around her while she pedals back and forth in the pool. And back. And forth. For 90 minutes. Even writing about it is boring me.

I will admit that I started my workout kind of angry. Tens of thousands of other people were doing their long runs, enjoying looking at the colors of the leaves turning, hearing traffic, knowing that they are setting themselves up for a great race in November. And I couldn’t do that. I had to do this annoying workout in the hopes that it would keep up my fitness just in case I can still run the marathon. And if I can’t, I’m doing it for nothing.

The first 10 minutes dragged on. Actually, the first 50 minutes dragged on. But, as my workout progressed, I cheered myself up a little. I thought about everyone who has been helping me. My old college roommate, Leslie, is my virtual training partner, doing the same workouts as me on the same day in Vancouver, Canada. My husband, Wil, has been helping more around the house since my shoulder hurts so much (ever lift a 3 year old out of the tub when you have a pinched nerve? Picture taking that same knife from before and twisting it about 45 degrees clockwise while you dig it into your shoulder just a little bit deeper). My 6 year old daughter, Olivia, has been helping make dinners and carrying packages from the car, though she’s told me, “I like to help you, Mommy, but I draw the line and bathing my little brother.” Peter K has answered my endless texts and emails on how to adjust each workout and exactly what I should say to the doctors to get them to help me.

As much as this workout is painful and boring (and painfully boring), I think I needed it. I needed the time to myself to remember how many people are supporting me, how hard I’ve worked for years, and for the last several months in particular. I know that when I finish my workout I should eat a piece of fruit, and not drown my sorrows in a big ice cream sundae. So, I continue in the pool, back and forth, back and forth, and put one thought in my mind: “63198. 63198.” I will wear that number on November 6th, lined up on the Staten Island side of the Verranzano-Narrows bridge.

No one wants to be in pain but if we can find a reason to endure it, it makes us stronger.  Alison has a pinched nerve in her neck and an unidentified foot injury. She’s living through hell as she progresses toward her dream of running the NYC marathon.  She is a fighter!

Alison:

To anyone reading this, I have a favor to ask of you. Please read this week’s blog slowly, since it took me a hell of a long time to type it out.

Let me explain. One day last week I woke up with a horrible pain in my right shoulder that radiates both up my neck and down my arm every time I move. Now, picture how many times in a day you move your arm, and then imagine a horrible shot of pain each time. That illustrates half of what’s hurting me.

The other problem started during my 15 mile run a few weeks ago when the top of my left foot started bothering me. The pain stopped when I stopped running, but came back in my 18 mile run and again in a short little 6 miler I did last week.

Both Peter K and an orthopedist diagnosed my shoulder problem actually as a pinched nerve in my neck. The orthopedist took x-rays, and when she looked at them with me, the first words out of her mouth were “Wow! No wonder why you’re in pain,” which although it helped me to feel like I wasn’t exaggerating, they weren’t exactly the words I needed to hear.

The same orthopedist also checked out my foot and thinks I have the onset of a stress fracture which is a technical term for “if I’m right, then you’re not running in the marathon this year.” The doctor told me no running for a week, and if it still hurts to come back for an MRI and a definite diagnosis.

I got my diagnoses the day before my last triathlon of the season, and to give you an idea how much pain I’m in, when both the orthopedist and Peter K told me not to do the triathlon, I didn’t even argue.

Peter always tells me that things happen for a reason, and after two days of doing a whole lot of nothing, I agree. By being unable to move without pain shooting down my arm, I’ve sat pretty idle which seems to be helping my foot out a lot.

I know what you’re thinking: “Alison has actually gone two days without exercising???” Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve done several laps of walking from my couch to the kitchen and back again. Apparently the saying goes, “Starve a cold, feed a pinched nerve and injured foot.” When able-bodied, I eat roughly 9 meals per day. Before you keel over in shock, please know that a “meal” might consist of an apple, or 7 almonds. So, I don’t EAT every two hours; I eat every two hours. Big difference. The problem is that my workouts are so big that I use up those calories pretty easily. But since I’ve barely burned a single calorie in two days, I don’t need all this food.

My brain is completely intact, so I keep telling myself that I’m not hungry, I don’t need to eat. But unfortunately “Fat Girl” is my nursemaid and keeps moving me towards the fridge and the pantry. The two positives are that: 1) I’m in too much pain to cook which only leaves me with ready to eat stuff, and 2) That I’ve been eating healthy for so long that the only junk food in my kitchen is some candy up in Percy, my family’s plastic Halloween pumpkin (which my daughter named Percy. Just do what we do – don’t ask, just accept it), that is on a shelf so high up that my 6’4” husband needs to stand on tiptoe to reach. Since I’m only 5’0”, I can barely see Percy let alone reach him, keeping the candy well out of my reach (and for those of you trying to picture my husband and me together, it looks as comical as you are imagining).

A long time ago Peter K taught me to always make the best food choices possible. So, I’ve spent the last two days trying to only grab fruits for snacks, or drink a glass of water before I eat to make sure that I’m truly hungry and not just thirsty. Reflecting back on my last two days of not moving, I think I’ve done pretty well. I may have snacked a little more than I needed to, but all my snacks were healthy: apples, grapefruits, carrots. I’m also not going to beat myself up for overeating. I’m injured, in pain, and possibly giving up my dream to run in the 2011 New York Marathon. My point is, I’m human. This weekend I’ve done the best that I can; it’s not perfect, but it’s pretty good.

Here’s hoping that next week’s blog is typed with both hands, after I’ve run 15 miles or scaled a building or something like that. My plan is take it one day at a time, listen to my body, and make good food choices. Eventually my body will heal, and when it does, I want it as ready as it can be to pick up my workouts where I left off.

Alison asked me to coach her for her upcoming 17 mile run as she prepares for her 1st marathon this November.  I love to remind her how far she’s come since we first met.  A dozen or so 1/2 marathons and triathlons later, she continues to step out of her comfort zone and succeed. I hope you are stepping out of your comfort zone and realizing you have something special to accomplish and share, like Alison.   Read on…

Alison:  My favorite length run is 8 miles. It usually takes me about an hour and 20 minutes, which to me feels like the perfect length workout; it’s long enough that it’s worth getting sweaty, but short enough that I don’t feel like I died.

As I start my run this morning, I think about the 8 miles, but instead of feeling energized, I’m almost paralyzed with fear. The problem with my 8 miles today is that it’s not even HALF of my long run that I’m about to do.

That’s right. Today’s run is 17 miles. SEVENTEEN. This is the run that makes me realize that I am definitely training for the New York Marathon – or that I’m completely insane and am just running 17 miles for the sheer pleasure of it. And trust me – there is no pleasure in running 17 miles.

As I start my run, I am very nervous. My workouts the last couple of weeks have been an absolute mess. First, my daughter has been home from camp and school, so I haven’t been able to go to the gym for spin classes or swims. On top of that, my two day trip to Tucson, Arizona last week turned into four when Hurricane Irene blew into the Northeast and canceled my flights home. Fortunately for me, I was trapped in Tucson with Peter K, which meant that I have never eaten so well for so many consecutive meals in my life (and Peter even sacrificed himself for me and ate almost an entire slice of mango coconut pie just so that I could have one bite ☺). And although I worked out every day in Tucson – again, Peter K was RIGHT there – I had to shorten both of my runs that I had to do out there due to the heat (and before you judge and tell me that it’s a “dry heat”, go turn on your oven, stick your head in it, and tell me how long you’d be able to run in there). Then, once I finally got home from Arizona, I turned right back around and took my family on a vacation to Hershey Park, Pennsylvania. That meant another three days of shortened workouts, and since this time I didn’t have Peter K – my mentor and number one accountability person – with me, I did not eat half as well as I did in Arizona (lesson learned: on every trip always pack your resistance bands, extra workout clothes – and your health coach ☺).

So, I was about to do my longest run ever on a semi-wrecked diet, very few and short lead in runs and the kind of sleep you get when you’ve spent one night in 8 in your own bed. As I started off, I thought, “I have to do this, so I might as well get going,” and off I went. I enjoyed the MUCH cooler temperatures of New York compared to Arizona, and was happy to be running on my home turf.

As I’ve been training for this marathon, I’ve realized that the opening 4 – 5 miles of my long runs are a breeze, almost like a warm up. Not today, though. By the end of 5 miles, I was already feeling sore and tired. I thought back to a conversation Peter and I had in Arizona. I knew I was going to have to do this run today without proper preparation, and I had told him about it. Peter coached me through it, saying to me that it would likely be difficult, but that I was strong, fit, and had been working out steadily for years now. He reminded me that my most difficult obstacle was going to be my own mind. I thought about this now, said to myself “you can do this. Just keep going.” And I did.

As my run continued, I grew more weary, so I just started breaking it up into pieces, saying to myself, “Just think about the next two miles. Now just think about that one mile loop with the pretty houses.” Instead of thinking of one SEVENTEEN mile run, or even two favorite 8 mile runs strung together with a one mile bonus between them, I thought about 1, 2 and 3 mile runs. I reminded myself that Peter has spent 3 years pulling back on the reins of the wild stallion he has created in me when I bite off more than I can chew, so if he told me that I can finish this run, then I can.

Today’s run was by far the toughest I’ve ever done. My knee hurt, my whole body was tired. At times I had to walk, and at other times I merely shuffled because that’s as much as I was capable of. The first 8 miles came and went without fanfare, and I tackled the second 8 with the little energy I had left. But, I did it. I finished my 17 mile run in over 3 and ½ hours.

Next week, my life returns to normal. My daughter’s school starts again, and there are no forces of nature on the horizon to contend with. I even have a “step back” week in my training schedule, which means that my runs are shorter in order to give my body a chance to recover. After that, though, comes an 18 mile run and a couple of 20 milers. But if I can do 17 miles after the crazy schedule that I’ve had lately, then I can do anything. And the best part is that I actually believe that.

Keep in mind as you read this, Alison started with 5 minutes of exercise in her bedroom. Now, there’s no limit in sight.

Alison:

“50 yards. All you have to do is swim 50 yards.”

This is the only thought going through my head. No, I haven’t started doing short little sprint races that take about a minute and half. In fact, I’m on the beach at Lake Sebago in Harriman State Park, lined up for my longest race to date. It’s an Olympic distance triathlon, consisting of a 1 mile swim, a 28 mile bike ride and a 6.2 mile run. But all I’m thinking about is swimming 50 yards.

I have been training for and stressing over this triathlon pretty much since I signed up for it back in March. Back then I kept thinking about my “big triathlon” in August, without fully realizing that time was going to continue per usual and August and my “big triathlon” would eventually happen. And here it is.

By yesterday I had the triathlon built up to be so large in my own head that there was no way that any human being would be able to finish it. I admit that I wanted to walk away from it and go out for pizza – and ice cream – and nachos – and, etc. But, “Fit Girl” has been training for months, and she was determined to do this triathlon. So, I decided to use one of my favorite Peter K tricks: break up big tasks into small manageable pieces, and then only think about and tackle one piece at a time. This is what got me to the water’s edge this morning, thinking “All you have to do is swim 50 yards.”

This triathlon is small, maybe 80 people or so, so we all go off together for the swim. I immediately let most people go first. I sized up my competition in the transition area before the race, and quickly realized that I was the wrong size. The field is mostly men, and they are all look they came straight out of the Firefighters’ Calendar: totally cut, muscular, not a pound of fat between all of them. They are going to smoke me in this race, so why start off by getting trampled by them.

The swim course is pure evil. It was set up to be a ½ mile triangle – that they explained just before the start that we had to do two loops of. I start swimming and just focus on that first buoy about 50 yards away. I get there pretty easily, look up, focus on the next buoy and then that’s all that I think of as I swim there. When I’m done with the first loop I am momentarily elated – until I remember that I have to do the darned thing all over again. But I keep my head down, my strokes steady. I know this is going to be a long race, by far the longest workout I have ever done. I need to stay calm, focused.

I finally finish the second loop and exit the lake. I hear one random person clapping for me and realize that pretty much everyone else is done with the swim and all the spectators have left the beach. I run up to the transition area and it’s a cinch to find my bike: it’s one of only two that are still there. I think to myself, “At least I’m not last”, clip my helmet on and take off. I look down at my watch: 44 minutes.

This bike course is even more evil than the swim. It’s also two loops, each 14 miles long, but it has that torturous hill I’ve written about in previous blogs: 2 miles straight down, hair pin turn, 2 miles right back up. And that’s only one of about 4 MAJOR hills on this course. And I have to do them twice.

Breaking up the swim into parts worked great, so I approach the bike portion the same way. First I think that all I need to do is get to the hill. Then I just need to get down it. Then, I need to get back up, etc. Of course, that racer who was behind me on the swim sailed past me on the downhill. Part of it was that I was terrified and living on my brake. But, I also started thinking back to high school physics, and trying to remember if he flew past me because of force, gravity, or energy. Then I tried to remember the equation for density, and other bizarre thoughts that might run through a tired person’s head while climbing a grueling hill about 2 miles per hour over an hour into a very difficult race.

I eventually get up the hill (and stop contemplating high school physics), and complete the rest of the loop. In that time, I get lapped by the leaders, and even the “not-leaders-but-think-they’re-very-competitive-and-spent-a-ton-of-money-on-high-end-triathlon-gear-that-they-don’t-really-need-because-they’ll-never-win” racers. I again feel true elation after the first loop that comes crashing down when a race organizer sees me head towards the second loop and yells out to me, “Oh! You’ve only done one loop so far?” Yeah. And thanks for that.

By now I am ridiculously behind the rest of the racers. I’m a little upset about it, but then I think to myself that 3 years ago I wouldn’t have even driven on these hills, and now I’m conquering them with my own pedal power on one of the world’s smallest adult road bikes. I’m going to finish last (by a lot), but I decide that finishing dead last is a whole lot better than not even trying.

As I climb the BIG hill for the second time, something amazing happens. I see a racer in front of me. I talk to my legs, and see if they are as interested in passing this guy as I am. They are, so we go. I pump, push, maybe even cry a little (or sweat a lot. I’m still not sure). But I pass him, and can’t help but smile at this minor accomplishment.

As the rest of the bike course continues, it dawns on me that I am still going to need to run. Far. Again I think to myself that I can’t do it, and again I think of Peter’s strategy to break the task up into pieces. When I pull my bike into transition (that is now about 1/3 empty since people have not only finished but have packed up and gone home), I look at my watch again: 3 hours, 30 minutes, and the only thing I think is “[Expletive]. That was a long ride.”

I start to run, and at one point have to look down, convinced that I somehow left my legs in the transition area. Nope, they’re attached, but they’re totally dead. My legs and brain have another quick conversation:

Brain: “Come on, legs. Move!”

Legs: “Look, you wanted to catch the guy on the bike. You didn’t say anything about running a 10K afterwards.”

Brain: “But, aren’t you training for a marathon?”

Legs: “Fine. But boy are we going to be sore later and make your life miserable.”

Brain: “It’s a deal. Just go!”

As I run, I tell myself to just think about 1 mile at a time. This works for a bit, until it dawns on me that I’m shuffling like a 90 year old lady on her first venture out of her wheelchair in about 4 years. But, then I see another racer in front of me. He’s walking. All I think is “I got this,” and pass him. He yells out, “Nice job”, though he’s probably swearing at me in his head.

All I think is “one mile at a time. Stay in front of him.” And I do. I turn around at 3.1 miles, and it’s a good 10 minutes before I see that guy coming towards me. I yell out, “almost at the turn”, and his smile back tells me that he’s swearing at me in his brain again.

Finally, I hit the 6 mile mark. Just 0.2 to go. My legs must also know how to read, because suddenly they are running with energy that I don’t have on my rest days. I think to myself, “I started with 50 yards. I’m finishing with 0.2 miles,” and off I go.

As I approach the finish line, I laugh a little. They are packing up. The crowds are gone, the music is off. A race worker sees me and yells, “Runner coming in!”, and they all line up at the finish line to greet me like I was the winner. It was super cheesy, but I loved every second of it.

I cross the finish line and look at my watch for the last time: 4 hours, 43 minutes, 48 seconds, almost twice as long as any other workout I’ve ever done. And I wasn’t even dead last like I was convinced I would be.

I pack up my stuff (again, easy to find with only mine and the guy I passed on the run’s stuff left in the transition area) and walk gingerly to my car (hey, you work out for almost 5 hours straight and see how well you walk). As I summon every ounce of strength I have left (which is about an ounce) to put my bike on my car, I think about my day. 3 years ago I spent my life in my comfort zone, afraid to test my limits, mostly because I was convinced I would fail. Today I spent the entire morning testing my limits only to find out that I don’t have any ☺. And I did it all by knocking out an almost 5 hour triathlon one small piece at a time.