The 1/2 Iron(wo)man; Saga of a Blind Athlete Episode #1

The following video is what happens when 13 yo creativity meets stubborn blind runner training.  We're hoping to have a 5min video every week.

Terese, my daughter, is going to document my half ironman training for the next 19 weeks.  Race day is July 8 2012, Race location? Peterborough Ontario! Training starts tomorrow, Monday Feb. 27.  Today we celebrated our upcoming adventure by having our entire family out to the Peterborough half marathon.  Terese volunteered the entire afternoon, Xavier(10) ran the 5km race (35mins). Izaack ran most of his 1km race. Rick came in first in his age group in the 5km  race (21:40mins) and I picked my hometown to run my very first and only solo 1/2 marathon race (2;29;33). 

This will always be a kid friendly video clip :) Thanks for the help and contributions all!

The volume control is something we are working on... but considering we know nothing... we did pretty good!  Turn up your speakers and enjoy :)

Some days...

Some days you just have to write.  Some days the words need to free themselves and you are nothing more than an instrument of action.  Some days are filled with potential, ringing true with hope and ... whats this? Pride?  Or possibility the potential of pride?  Who knows...   Some days you feel like the run needs to move you, free you from what was your past and move you into the future of the you you long to be... If you know what I mean...

Some days tears need to fall, memories need confronting and the concern of future good byes might silence the now temporarily.  Some days all the butterflies wings freeze in time and all there is, or all there seems to be is the movement of the steam from my coffee.  Some days I love you more than I thought I could.  Some days I realise it's me that needs to claim that love and to be okay with this moment in time.  Because in truth this moment is the only moment.

Some days the swim is the best part, because no one can tell you are crying in the water.  Stroke, stroke stroke breathe... Or gasp and sputter.  Either way it gets the air in.  And with each release of the negative... the hope that even if cancer has imprinted on that distant figure I have called my father for a life time... That I am still here in this moment... moving this arm over my head.  propelling me forward. This moment is all there is.  Movement and change are the only truths. 

For so many reasons I challenge myself everyday.  For so many reasons I give up a little piece of the me that I thought I was and move constantly into that space of unknown... to find out who I can be. 

Weekly (or weakly?) I scream into the abyss "who I am?" .... The only answer I've gotten so far is....
"... In which moment?"

Peace to you in running... Peace to you in general. 

Day 410 poems to share

Ok so it's not really a poem... technically it's no where near a poem... but I had an audience and couldn't help myself.

First some intro thoughts... I'm in this place in training where all I've been doing is training for the training that's coming.  Technically my offical half ironman training does not actually start until Feb 27th.... But here is what I've come up with so far.  Also remember, my tandem bike is a fixed gear back pedal brake bike... which changes training dynamics. 

As read at WORD UP in Peterborough Ontario at The Spill Feb 15 2012

What they don't tell you about ironman training...

Things I've learned in four weeks of training...

People line up to use the YMCA at 5:25am thereby proving I'm not the only insane person alive.

The pool water tastes like other peoples body cream.

Occasionally you'll turn your head to breathe in the water and inhale someone else hair.

Bikini line Razor burn at 5:30am in chlorinated water is a form of mid-evil torture.

Bathing caps are NOT sexy whether they are blue, yellow or purple.

Goggle face lasts four hours at it's worst.

There ain't nothing you can do to hide how cold you feel during the walk from the pool to your towel.

Runs are not the same when you're biking and swimming as well.

Your random leg complaints can't be placed into the blame of just a run. Even if it's day 410. They blend with was that the hills I biked? The lane rope I kicked? The squats and lunges with my 4yo on my back?

Runners and triathletes are very different groups. Runners I think shy away from having to communicate to each other in speedos. Where as triathletes like to compare tan lines.

Changing into long johns and polar fleece from a bath suit seems great until you're hair turns to ice and gives your ears frost bite on the run home from the pool.

Biking is no fun in the winter.

Watching old classic action films while on the bike trainer passes the time but reduces your IQ considerably.

Someone should have taught the blind girl how to shift gears.

No one tells you that the front tire of your bike will be propped up on a milk crate to accustom your tush to the angle of ascent of the hills on your course.

The stubbing of your toes on said milk crate at stupid o'clock will prove more painful than the actual biking with it there.

Bike seats are unforgiving. We're not talking the grade five school yard you stole my soccer ball unforgiving... But the Clint Eastwood coming to shoot your ass kind of unforgiving.

You will remember last Saturdays 90min ride next Tuesday in your calves.

Everyone around you laughs at the way you walk.

Most people think your body will decrease size as you train but in truth you can't seem to fit your new found butt muscles in any of your pants.

They also look funny in all your old lingerie.

The best bike rides end in that moment when your leg refuses to lift over the bike and you start channelling your inner dog to help raise it.

Sex, for the love of god, can wait until after the damn race.... Even if thats eight months away.

You eat, sleep, and poo thoughts of that finish line.

Sometime in the middle of a training run you wonder, if I'm literally tied to a guide for 7+ hours.... What happens if I have to fart?

You spend calculated amounts of money turning your heat up to mimic 30C plus humidity while biking.

A post workout beer never tasted so damn
good.

No matter how intense your workout, how crazy your effort was, nothing hurts quite as much as getting yourself lowered onto the toilet seat.

And nothing is quite as embarrassing as having to call for help to get up.

On your lazy days you use your 4yo as a weight during a workout.

You randomly challenge your 10yo to a plank competition and lose after 7 one minute planks.

You bribe your 13yo to rub your back, feet, shoulders.

The thing you are most thankful for every morning is that your husband makes coffee.

You didn't ever think you could do this... You just wanted to prove someone wrong who thought you couldn't.

Nothing matters if you don't believe in yourself.

Somewhere along the way, you will have to forgive your imperfections and embrace such cosmic chaos as to reverse the spin of the earth.

Somewhere along the way you will need more from yourself than you've ever given, more than you even know is there.

Somewhere in the middle... You'll find a bit of yourself. A little piece of the everything you are worth.

Life doesn't stop for training.

Life doesn't stop while you struggle to place hope.

Life keeps on living and challenges you to live a hundred lifetimes in a day.



Peace to you in running!  And beyond!

One month in

I feel like doing the hokey pokey... Put your left foot in....

That's how I train when there's no goal... or the goal is too simple, too attainable, or too far away...

January was an oddity in that my training only really started to focus two weeks ago...

So as we flip the calendar page and I get a brief encounter with my months endeavours, I gain the opportunity to see my lazy days, my less than prefect days... and my tried really frigging hard days... I get the chance to know how much better I can be in February.  I can this grand fantastic chance to do something about change.  To try again. 

It seems if only we can have that in our lives, have the chance to try again... and maybe the resources to embrace that opportunity instead of resenting it.... Then we are okay.  Life is truly about this moment and my breath in it.

So a months worth of reflection? Well, first some January stats....

Running totals; 34 runs... 97.74km covered between the road and treadmill.  Run streak maintained.

Swim totals: 3 swims.... 2.55km covered ... all indoors (brrrr)

Bike totals: 7 bikes.... 100.6km covered... between trainer and a spin bike... my poor poor tush...

Weight totals: 9 total workouts... (ok I'm working on it..)

Yoga stats: 0 accomplished... Now I did stretch on several occasions but we all know this is not the same thing!

Books read: 4 total... 

My general opinions of winter running are : it doesn't have to suck... but there are days I just wanna die and crawl up in a fetal position and pretend I'm not an athlete. Dress for less than you think, Don't be afraid to carry a bag (not a water bag but a full backpack) for your stuff... (like a swim suit or work lunch...) and I've kept my ipod off this entire month for fear of road running.

There is this other thought, this nagging impression that perhaps moves me to think, to ponder the possibilities... When I get the gym, I get in the way.  I'm a blind swimmer invading your lane, bumping into the ropes, tripping in the change room, looking just slightly awkward.  There's the odd time I am aware that I'm not the only one thinking that... that the other gym attendants are a little less patient with my time taking movements....  I can understand, I can empathize...

The kicker is that on race day, the same faces will cheer, will say good for you for accomplishing this feat. 

I wonder if they'd rather I train in the quiet, when no one is out, when my actions wouldn't interrupt...  I wonder.

Zen breathing and calm hearts... I am just as ignorant of a sighted life....

February brings all things groundhog furry and unearthing my seemingly hibernating fury to train harder.  February brings me to this... less days, more to do, .... February trusts me to see it through... When trust is given it should never be abused or wasted.  It is such a gift.  And if an entire calendar page believes I can fill it up with life, love and training... who am I to deny effort? who am I to stop trying?

Peace to you in running!

Run streak day 397 here :)

Forward Movement - Day eight of training

Every once in a while there is moment of greatness near... You can catch a glimpse of it if you turn your head too quick for karma to shuffle it out of the way.  You can catch a sniff of that aroma hidden deep under the smell of sweet sleep at 4am.  Quietly at midnight when you turn from back to side you might feel that tingle of belief.  Maybe it's not your own.  Maybe you are not quite there yet to that place where you know, where you just can let go and trust that all your hard work will pay off.  But it's someone's belief.  It's someone's belief in you.  It's the most intimidating heart rate raising realization when you drop the barriers long enough to soak in the idea that someone is putting their faith in you.

It's day 8 of training.  Half ironman training for July... First ultramarathon training for Sept... I have no idea what I've gotten myself into.  I have no idea who pushed that glowing indigo start button in the dark.  I have no clues as to what drives an insane hope in the desperately stubborn soul. 

I just know I'm here. 

I wake up and find myself here.  I stir my coffee and feel myself here.  I hold my children and know I'm meant to be here.  I may not be good at any of this running, biking, swimming stuff.... But underneath the chaos there is a hidden driven purpose I have yet to understand. 

Day 8 of training... and my muscles are in shock.  My body is in place that feels like complete revolt.  As if all the powers of heaven are manifesting in my every muscle spindle sending signals of spasm from head to toe.  I pushed so hard, perhaps in efforts to prove someone, maybe me?, wrong... I ache so badly that I woke myself up from slumber in the night crying. 

Every fibre of determination fires on autopilot.... Must do... Will do... Can do...

Belief is a powerful thing.  It moves your sadness to a smile.  It wipes a tear to the side.  It brings a spring to your step when all other reasons have been removed.  Belief always gives a gracious gift along..... Hope.

My tandem is collecting dust in my basement.  I hear my Doris when I'm on my trainer upstairs calling me... Let me out she calls.  Blind runner bib still pinned to her fender, Tassles tangled against the growing pile of boxes leaning against her.  Each knot a tale of triumph, each sparkle a twinkle in my eye.  Soon... soon... soon.

My head is full of the music of my dreams.  Carrying me out to sea... winding my sails... abandoning my fear amongst the passing seaweed...

....".... This is gotta be the good life....."

Peace to you in training. May belief carry you through, beyond your fears and into possibility.

Day 391 of running....

Pausing past reflection

Saturdays creep up on me... they seep through the chaos and force their way between the edges of the bricks that control my concrete sidewalk.  They fray the seams I've cross-stitched together.  The moments of I can and the glue of I wish all come out in the wash on a Saturday.  Over folding towels and hanging linens and mismatched socks I linger... Over the delicate pattern of wear I notice on my face in the mirror... the one I likely imagine more than see... I ponder.... breathing in the steam from the tea I was allowed to sip.... I smile....

Saturdays always creep up on me. 

Today the paper airplanes flew, the lego battles were won, the snowforts constructed and crumbled.  Today the movie was watched snuggled together, today there were no naps, no quiet times, no play dates... Today there was teenage drama, there was four year old contemplative understandings of the interworkings of the dishwasher, the clogged drain, the superhero demeanor.  Today there was the offical writing of a training plan into the planner so that every day I would know....

Saturdays creep up and seem to slip away just as fast.  Teasing me with their brief moments of calm.  Taunting me with temporary sibling cooperation.  Today my son did planks with me.  Today he ran with me.  Today he told me that in english they had to pick someone to write about that they thought of as a role model and he chose me.... Thankfully we were running ... thankfully he didn't see my tears... thankfully he didn't hear my snort when I asked him why and he responded..."because I didn't know anyone else".....

Saturdays slide out of my reality faster than I can force a focus on them.  They dissipate quietly into Sunday catch up and are seemingly lost forever amongst the Mons, Tues, Weds, Thurs, Fri....

Then just as unpredictably ... Saturdays seem to forever creep up on me again.

At the very beginnings of this half ironman training... I want to embrace that creep... I wish I had seen it coming.  I wish I had prepared for quiet moments of God given happiness so evident in my life...

Run streak day 386... Peace to you in running from this humble blind runner :)

Day 383 Poetry....

As shared at the Spill during Word Up :)

(pardon the typos)

Introductions of this me....

I could speak of the me which you might know, the me I let carefully allow to show.

I could grace myself with that her that moves in time, that her that swings the weapons of passive aggressive directions into a land mine.

I could tangle you several sticky webs of the lives I have lead, I could build you a boat and send you out to a barren sea with dread.

I could utter memories of cold dark nights left alone with regret, I could sing to you of the exceeded expectations I bled to have met.

I could place you on the snowmobile that rammed the tree when I was eight, the one that wasn't steered by the drunken father given to me by fate.

I could bring you to an isolating guilt inspired by my dinner, perhaps entrap you briefly in how an apple might make me feel a sinner.

I could share a brief moment of chaos after laundry, dishes, children, work, and more, I could whisper “mommy” to wake you once you've been exhausted to the core.

I could weave you in the scrap yarn used to knit scarves when none else could be bought, I might cook you in the stew made from nothing but the hand me down pot.

I could coax you, persuade you through three natural labours, I could don on your shoulder a baby sling to carry your favours.

I could hush you a lullaby to sing you to sleep, I might stir you a cup of tea to force a quicker steep.

I could place you at the end of such an accomplishment as to fill you with elation, I could leave you in moments of abandon which would overfill your desperation.

I could describe the things I cannot see, or perhaps you might describe them to me?

I could grant you an honours degree, a college diploma and allow you to feel wise, then remind you half the jobs you seek will force you to put your disability in disguise.

I could move your feet to rhythm and show you how much your soul loves to dance, ever so slowly edging away the furniture you're bound to bump as you carelessly prance.

I could attempt to shout “you can't” in your face a zillion times to watch your frustration, daring you endlessly to transform it into a tempting motivation.

I could stop and stare, I could assume you wouldn't care.

I could assign you an unreachable task, just to test the 'ability' you might mask.

I could ..... introduce you to this me, but it's not the one I usually would let you see.

After all, who am I to say who it is that I am? I haven't lived all my days as yet. The me I'd like to introduce is one neither of us has met.