My dear and faithful readers,

I have a request.  Tonight I seek your prayers, positive vibes, good wishes, whatever you are willing to send, for my friend, Katherine, and her family.

Before I tell you the details, I want you to know Katherine.  I’ve mentioned Katherine several times before, and she is a loyal reader of this blog.  She often makes encouraging comments when I post.

From the night I met Katherine, at Teri’s house for my first attendance of the Fit and Fab ladies, she has been one of my biggest cheerleaders.  I was training for my first 70.3 and I didn’t have a clue what I was doing amongst a group of women who could boast numerous Ironman’s to their credentials.  Other than Teri, I think I knew 3 people there.  But somehow I was introduced to Katherine, and before long, we were chatting like old friends.  And within no time at all, she had me believing that I truly was capable of anything I wanted to do.

As we talked, I had absolutely no idea what a complete BADASS this girl is.  She runs marathons, she does triathlons.  Ok, so do I.  But unlike me, she is looming at a sub 3 hour marathon.  She PR’ed in Boston the day of the bombing, and I’m pretty sure she has kicked that PR’s butt a couple times since.  Last year, at Ironman Coeur D’Alene she was hoping to qualify for the world championships in Kona.  After dropping her chain TWICE and losing all of her nutrition and hydration on the bike, she still managed to earn a spot in Kona.  It’s not uncommon for her to place at major events or even win local triathlons.  The girl is, I would wager to say, the best all-around athlete that I know.  She’s amazing.

And yet, you would never know it to talk to her.  She listens intently as you talk about your accomplishments and she encourages vigorously as you talk about your goals. She talks about her love of our sport.  But she’s so humble, she would never tell you how spectacular she is at it.  She would probably be more likely to describe herself as a nerd or a music lover.  She is brilliant too.  A “board-certified Psychiatrist” offering a second opinion, as she posted in a comment on one of my recent Facebook statuses to a friend who was jokingly saying she disagreed with her shrink.  Always light-hearted.

Katherine has 2 beautiful little girls, about the same ages as my boys.  She brags on them often.  She’s a proud mama.  She is also quick to build up her husband Jacob, her brother, her family and friends.  I don’t think there is a single one of us who doesn’t feel Katherine’s encouragement push us to be better at our passions.

Almost exactly 2 years ago, just before I went to Vancouver to run the marathon on May 5, I was in the middle of a fitting with a customer at the Chesterfield store.  I was sitting on the floor and I saw Katherine come in.  We were super busy, but I smiled and she came over to deliver a gift wrapped in tissue paper.  Later, when I opened it, I found socks with the words Bad Ass, and an arrow pointing upward.  I’m sure I still have the card she hand wrote, though I don’t know exactly where it is at present.  But I can tell you what it said, she was encouraging.  What she wrote made me believe that I am capable of achieving everything I dream of.  And more. Katherine knew I was going after Boston that day.  It wasn’t my day, we had record heat in Canada.  But Katherine has not, and will not, allow me to let go of that dream.  She is the reason I know I will get there someday.

I guarantee I am not the only one with a Katherine story like that.  She has a knack for bringing newbies in and making them feel right at home.

Yesterday Katherine was involved in a severe bicycle crash and was found unconscious by the side of the road.  We don’t believe that a car was involved, but rather that her tire blew causing her to crash.  She was flown to Barnes hospital after a passing motorist saw her and stopped to help.  She is currently in a medically induced coma to allow for a decrease of brain swelling.  If what I’ve heard is correct, she also has facial fractures and some internal bleeding.  There is a reason I am terrified of road riding by myself, and this is it. But Katherine is superwoman.  I don’t think she is afraid of anything, pain least of all.

If there is any one person in the world that I believe is strong enough to fight her way through this, it’s Katherine.  We even received an uplifting report this evening that she was responding to stimulus today.

In addition to my plea for your prayers for Katherine and her family, I have an additional request.  When Katherine was found, she was wearing her RoadID with her emergency contact information.  The paramedics were able to quickly determine who she was and contact her family.

My confession:  I have been terrible about wearing my RoadID lately.  Maybe in part because it still has my old last name on it.  But what happened to Katherine was the kick in the booty I needed to order a new one with the gift card I’ve had sitting on my desk since Christmas.

RoadID’s come in a variety of styles and colors.  And may I suggest they make great gifts for your active friends and family members.  If your mom is anything like mine, remember that Mother’s Day is right around the corner.  Sorry, Mom, I guess that secret is out.

Whatever your sport of choice, I ask you please, Lovely people, go forth and be safe!

I will post an update about Katherine’s progress when we have one, but in the meantime, please keep my cheerleader, my teammate and my friend lifted up high in your prayers.

Much love to you and yours,

Rambling Runner Girl

There was a time that I used to say, “I just don’t know how single parents do it.”  Now I know the answer to that.

You know the saying “When it rains, it pours”?  Well, I’ve been living that this month.  And I’m not just talking about the extreme Spring weather we’ve been having for the past week, which is typical in the Midwest this time of year.  We’ve had tornado warnings, golf ball sized hail dumped in massive amounts, thunder that shakes the house like an earthquake and severe flash flooding.  There is even a video going around of my friend Jay’s brand new truck that literally floated away.  Insane.

And yet, when I saw Jay yesterday, he was his usual smiley self.  He even had us take a selfie to give a shout out to our friend Mike who ran an impressive marathon time at the GO! St. Louis marathon yesterday.  His first ever brand new car, only 3 weeks old, totaled.  Ugh.  And yet, he is a perfect example of strength and grace under pressure.  Peace.

In addition to the literal rain, I’ve had a metaphorical downpour happening for the past week, as well.  The kids are with me full time this month since their dad is litigating a trial in…somewhere, Wisconsin, maybe.  That started last week, so while most people were saying “TGIF!” I was bracing for the weekend.  Let me give you a rundown of what the past 72+ hours looked like around here.

Friday, we were up at the usual time and I dropped the kids at school by a couple minutes after 8.  I ran by the bank, filled up the car with gas, stopped by home to pay a couple bills and grab my bag.  Then I was off to school for Orientation.  When Orientation was done, I headed straight to work and got there just as the clock struck 1.  I did a quick costume change and settled in for the afternoon.  I was starving, so I shoved a chicken salad sandwich in my face as fast as I could.  The afternoon passed into evening and the last customer left the store just minutes before 8.  I got everything closed down and then did a quick change into the warmest items I had with me.  The temperature had dropped with the sun and I still wasn’t done for the day.

While I was at work, the kids had been picked up from school by their grandparents.  Papa had taken Ethan to the Chesterfield ball fields for his first game on the season, starting at 8:00.  Again, I was starving, so I swung through the McD’s drivethru on my way to the game.  Don’t judge me, it was desperation.  I got to the field, just as Ethan walked up to the plate for his first at bat of the season.  Ethan’s team, the Blaze, won the game 7-5 and it was finally over by 10 pm.  I was really glad I’d had a blanket in the back of the car.  As we rolled back through the drivethru to get Ethan a smoothie, I promised the guy in the window that I wouldn’t be back again, 2 visits that night was all I was planning to make.  He chuckled and Ethan asked, “You were already here?”

I dropped Ethan back off at the Grandparents’ house with his brother, sister and cousins since they were doing a group sleepover.  I was thrilled at the prospect of a “night off”.  I said a quick hi to Ally since Silas was already asleep.  Then I jumped in the car and drove home where I finally unloaded my new books from school, threw in a load of laundry, unloaded the dishwasher and sank onto the couch at 11pm.  Some exciting Friday night, huh?  After a 16 hour day, I was exhausted.  But I pulled out my Biology book to get a jump start, until I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

Saturday morning…sleep in?  No.  The alarm went off at 7am and I was back at it.  Since I opted to hit snooze a time or 3, I only had enough time for a short run.  I went out for a sluggish 3 miles, but at least it was something.  I jumped in the shower, packed up a lunch, made a quick stop at Walgreens and made my way over to the O’Fallon store for another full day of selling shoes.  As we neared the 5:00 hour, Sarah was highly concerned about getting me out of the store before my stress level went off the chart, so a few minutes before we closed, I took off to grab Ethan for his second baseball game of the season.  I arrived at the Grandparents’ house, again, and got hugs from all my kiddos.  Ethan was ready to go, but the other 2 had persuaded Mimi to let them stay rather than sitting out at the ball field.  I got Ethan to the batting cages for a warmup and then found a spot on the bleachers with the other moms.  Ethan’s first at bat, he walked on 4 straight balls, then scored on a long fly to center by Oliver.  His second at bat, he was facing the pitcher who was wearing #24 Jacobs, which I found very weird since my brother used to wear #24 and our last name happens to be the same.  The first pitch was outside, but Ethan swung anyway, and missed.  Second pitch was pretty much the same.  I wondered why he was swinging at those, but I didn’t want to be the mom who yells criticism from the stands, so I just yelled an encouraging, “Let’s go E!”  The next pitch was a ball and Ethan let it go by.  The count was 1-2.  Jacobs wound up and threw the ball toward the plate.  Ethan swung and made contact.  It was a shot right out to center and it bounced right past the fielder.  Ethan stepped on first and headed toward second.  He kept going.  As he rounded third, the throw was coming in from the outfield.  Ethan slid into home just as the ball reached the catcher’s mitt and he dropped the ball.  Safe!  Homerun Ethan!

I can’t think of too many sports moments in history that have gotten me that excited.  (And that’s saying something since my Spartans just made it to the Final 4 as a 7 seed last month.  Again!)  My heart was racing and I was beaming.  I couldn’t have been more proud.  And the look on Ethan’s face when he stood up and smiled at me as he jogged back to his teammates in the dugout was priceless.  I tucked that moment right into my heart for safe keeping.

At 8:00 as the team wrapped up, I got a funnel cake from the concession stand for Ethan and I to share, since I hadn’t eaten anything since chicken salad 2.0 at 1pm.  As we walked back to the car, we talked about his homer.  The Blaze won 14-2.

We got back to the Grandparents’ and picked up the other two, along with backpacks and gear.  We got home and I sent Ethan to the shower.  I started another load of laundry and began the process of emptying lunchboxes and going through Friday folders from the day before.

By 9pm, the boys were in bed, both sound asleep.  I sat on the couch with Ally, her watching TV, me with my nose in a Bio book.  2 days down, 1 more to go before the weekend was over.

Sunday…again up a little after 7.  When I came downstairs at 8:15, still with wet hair, the boys were still in pajamas watching tv with Brian.  I hadn’t even heard him come in, but it was nice to see him after a few days apart.  We had coffee and I sent the boys to get dressed for church.  We drove separately since we both had things to do afterward.  Pastor Greg talked about “Shalom”.  Peace.  It made me think of a card that reads, “Peace.  It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.  It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

After church, I dropped the kids back off with their Grandparents, did a quick grocery store run, home to put stuff in the refridge, and a quick change for work.  Then I was back at the store with Hannah.

At 5:00 when we closed, the race was on again.  Somewhere in the past couple days, I got a text from Silas’ teacher that he was going to help do introductions at the Grandparent’s Day event at school on Monday.  He was supposed to dress as a Grandpa.  So I thought it would be hilarious to send him as Carl, from the movie Up.  Balloons and all.  I had preordered a bunch of balloons from Party City, so I swung by to grab them on my way to pick up the kids.  After retrieving the crew, we went home and my beau got the grill fired up for dinner.  I was so happy the weekend was OVER!!!

By 9pm, everyone except Ally was in bed.  I followed shortly afterward, snuggled up with my Bio book.  And when the alarm went off at 6:15, it was go time.  I finished making lunches, gathering props for Silas, packing my bag and I shuffled everyone into the car at 7:20.  I only made one accidental wrong turn on our way to drop the kids at our friends, the Thompson’s, house.  It was force of habit, I was already heading to my school.  I delivered the kids, and the balloons, and all the stuff.  And then I went off to school for my first day of class.  I am hoping to pop over to the school and see Silas in costume before I have to get to work.  I still haven’t heard back from my sitter yet, so I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen with the kids later.  I have mouths to feed.  I have homework to oversee.  I have my own homework to do.  I have little people depending on me. I have…chaos.  I have noise and trouble and hard work.  But I’ll get through it.

Because the thing is…even being in the midst of all that I have peace.  I have laughter.  I have homeruns!  I have so much joy.

So, if you’re still wondering what the answer is to the question, “How do single parents do it?” The answer is…it’s not so much about “how”, we just do.

Do you ever have one of those moments where something triggers a memory and it just stops you in your tracks for a second? You stand there sort of frozen and think, “Oh…huh.”  Well, I had one of those this morning.  My friend Phebe is celebrating her 4^th wedding anniversary today.  When I saw her post on Facebook, I had to stop and think for a second about why I couldn’t remember her celebration.  The reason is because I wasn’t actually there.  I was supposed to be.  I had RSVP’ed.  I had bought a great dress to wear for the occasion.

But the day that her fairy tale started was the same day that mine was officially over.  Worse, it was the day that I would have liked nothing more than to slip away into an abyss because I was already living in a black hole of hopelessness and despair.  It was the day I was faced with a false reality that I had two choices: Stay trapped or lose everything.  I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that if I stayed in that place of turmoil, it would continue to eat away at my core and slowly kill me.  It had already killed my spirit.  Or so I thought.

Let’s fast forward to a happier time for a moment, shall we?  The last month has been outrageously busy.  In a good way.  I took my kids on an amazing vacation to Florida for Spring Break, including a few days at Disney World.  Just before that, I made the decision to go back to school.  I lined up my financial aid and have everything ready to go to start classes in just over a week.  I will be a certified medical assistant by the end of 2015 and to say I am excited would be a massive understatement.  I said I wanted to make this year big, and I’m making it happen.

Recently, I’ve come face to face with the amazing strength of some incredible women in my life.  My Grandma turned 90 last week.  I was ecstatic to get the kids over to Quincy to see her on her birthday and celebrate all that she is to me.  Last fall, Grandma Norma had major heart surgery and she came through like a champ.  We’ve seen her slow down from the energetic go getter she was, but she is still the same witty, hospitable, feisty, and accepting, tell it like it is lady that I have tried to model myself after.  She makes me proud to be a Jacobs.

Last Friday I received an email from Teri.  You remember Teri, the one who completed the Ironman World Championship in Kona while undergoing chemo for Stage IV colon cancer?  Yeah, THAT Teri.  She had pulled some strings and arranged for us to throw Inga a surprise 40^th birthday party unlike any other.  Myself and a couple girlfriends were supposed to take Inga to lunch that day, but unfortunately, her chemo had to be rescheduled for that very day.  So, in typical Inga fashion, she got her kids on the bus, then drove herself to the hospital for an all-day chemo session.  I’m not kidding, it was All Day.  She was the first one in and the last one out.  But she got a surprise mid-day.  A group of us formed in the waiting room and then paraded through the infusion center with all the makings of a 40^th birthday party.  Flowers, balloons, cupcakes, ice cream, we had it all! I couldn’t contain my joy as it overflowed out of my eyes while I watched Teri present Inga with a Powered by Hope medal, two incredible women that I had brought together.  Two incredible women, with incredible stories of strength and incredible faith.  Oh to have the courage of these ladies!

So, for the past couple weeks I’ve been pondering, what is it that makes a person strong?  What is the definition of strength?

Webster’s definition of strength is: the quality or state of being strong.  Uh, gee thanks, Webster, that’s super helpful.

So, I went to the definition of strong: having the power to move heavy weights or perform other physically demanding tasks.  That’s not exactly what I was looking for either.  My Grandma is 90.  She sits in her recliner most days, the only thing she is capable of moving is herself, but she is no less strong that anyone else I know.

Webster’s second definition of strong: able to withstand great force or pressure.  Ok, now we’re getting somewhere…

Inga has been fighting cancer for 7 years.  Monday was her 82^nd round of chemo.  But Ironwoman Teri said it best when she told Inga, “you inspire people around you without even saying a word”.

All of these words kept tumbling around in my brain.  What does strength mean to me?  The other day when I was running, I was searching for an answer to that.  I was thinking about a conversation I had with my Aunt Nancy while I was at my Grandma’s.  We were talking about how everyone has a different reality, but we all have hard stuff in our lives.  Every single one of us.  It’s how we respond to those circumstances that shows who we really are.  And finally the definition that came to me was this: being strong means to have a resilient spirit.  No matter how many times we get knocked down, or fall down, we continue to get back up and keep on going.

After I left work today, I went to Babler for a run.  I haven’t been there in ages.  I used to go there all the time, especially on the really hard days because the hills are intense and I’ve always said that there’s nothing like running hills to remind me that I’m a fighter.

Today when I got to Babler, it was raining.  But I didn’t care.  I got out of my car and started to run.  Almost immediately it occurred to me, it was just a few weeks before Phebe’s wedding that tornados had ripped through Babler and leveled part of the park.  The park had been closed for a few days for the cleanup crew to make it safe again.  But the first day it was open, I was back there.  That particular day, for no special reason, I ran the loop the opposite direction from the way I always do.  Maybe I knew deep down, that I was about to set my life on a totally different course, I don’t know.  As I neared the end of that run, I came to the section of the park that had the most devastation.  There was a news crew there filming.  I even ended up on the news that night.

Today’s run was a couple minutes slower than that girl a few years ago.  Ok, if I’m being honest, it was several minutes slower.  When I ran that day years ago, I was training on pace to qualify for Boston.  And I am significantly slower now. I was physically stronger then, but at what cost?  My mind and heart were a mess. Today was different.  I wasn’t running to prove anything to myself or anyone else. It didn’t matter how fast I climbed the hills, it just mattered that I kept going and I reached the top.  I enjoyed the rain on my face, the atmosphere, the sun on my shoulders, the reminder that I am who I am now is because the storms ripped me apart, but my resilient spirit kept going.

Today I was reminded of where I was 4 years ago, and I was taken aback.  I honestly can’t believe that was the same person I am today.  I look at how far I’ve come.  I’ve made a life for myself.  I’m going back to school.  I’m an Ironman.  I have done a lot of hard work and I really like the person that I am today.  I am proud of the Lindsey that I’ve become. I know my purpose, which is simply, to love and be loved.

It was raining when I started, but after a mile the rain had subsided.  The only water on my face was from sweat, and tears.  After another mile, the clouds were moving and the sun was trying to shine. And by the time I finished, the sky was blue.  It was temporary.  The thunderstorms rolled in again shortly after. But that’s usually the way it goes.  So I’ve learned to enjoy the sun when it shines.

Today, as I stood in the road looking at that clearing, I was amazed at how much growth had occurred, the flowers were blooming everywhere. The very thought made me laugh out loud at the symbolism. It was the blooms in the broken wreckage, the old and the new all mashed together, it’s resilient spirit, which made it so beautiful.

Ever since about 15 minutes after I crossed the finish line in Arizona people have been asking me, “So what’s next?”  I have responded to that question with a resounding and emphatic, “Nothing!”  The past few months of my so-called retirement have been blissful.  I haven’t been in the water or on my bike at all since Ironman.  And I am completely ok with that.  I would say I’ve averaged about 6 miles a week in my running shoes since then.  Maybe.  Ok, so I’ve been on the elliptical and I’ve gone to boxing, too.  But mostly I tell people I am now training to be a couch potato.  And loving every lazy minute of it.

I went through a bit of a post Ironman, post holidays, January funk when I felt the pull to sign up for a race.  But if there is one thing I have learned over the past years of self-destruction and trying to “fill the void”, it’s that no matter how many races I sign up for, no matter how many race tee’s I acquire and no matter how many medals I earn to add to my wall of bling, none of that will ever feel like enough.

Ironman was sufficient for longer than most races.  But even still, the eventual longing set in and I started to wonder, “Hmmm, now what?”

So, I’m pleased to announce to my audience of faithful readers that there is a “what’s next” for Rambling Runner Girl.  Though, I think you will be surprised by what I have chosen for my next event.

I turn 40 in October, so like I mentioned earlier this year, I want to do big things!  In the world of triathlon, it doesn’t get much bigger than 140.6. So I am focusing my efforts elsewhere.  Any guesses?

I’ll give you a hint.  It involves water, but not swimming.  There is transportation involved over hundreds of miles, but no bike.  I will probably take my running shoes, but more than likely it will be a pair that have already put in the miles and aren’t used for running anymore.  Are you confused yet?

Well, a few weeks ago, while I was sitting at Tae Kwon Do with Silas, I started talking to a pastor from my church whose boys also take Tae Kwon Do at the Boxing Gym.  I said, “I’m looking into short term missions.  Does the Crossing have any trips?  Or do you have any info that would help me get started?”  Randall directed me to an organization that I have become familiar with during my time at the Crossing.  Living Water International drills fresh water wells in impoverished places around the world.

Over the next couple weeks, I looked at the scheduled trips, found one that could work with my schedule, sent off an email inquiry, authorized a back ground check, and emailed pictures of my passport to the trip organizer and Voila!  I’m in.  That was the easy part.

I still have many months to go.  My trip isn’t until the end of November.  Part of the reason I picked the dates I did is because December 2^nd is typically a day of the year that I don’t look forward to.  I dread it.  It’s a sad day, the anniversary of saying good-bye to a father I loved, and still love, dearly.  But this year, on December 2^nd, I will be in Nicaragua. I’ll be on an adventure in a country I’ve never been to.  I’ll be helping people gain access to fresh water, as a means of health and safety.  I’ll be loving people I’ve never met.  I don’t know a soul going on this trip.  I have no idea who will be put on this journey with me.  But I know this is going to be good for my heart.  It’s going to be big!  Bigger than I can even imagine right now.  I can’t think of a better way to honor the legacy of my dad than this.

It’s easy to get wrapped up in shiny sparkly things like new bikes and all the latest techy running gear.  But there is more to life than triathlons.  (Tri friends, take a deep breath.  I promise it will be ok that I just said that.) This doesn’t mean I’m hanging up my running shoes entirely.  In fact, I just ordered my new Louis Garneau tri kit for the Swim Bike Run tri club.  So I’m definitely going to be signing up for some races along the way.  This just means that my main event of 2015 takes me off the race course.  WAY off the race course.  And will place me in a village in Central America, to once again do something that I never EVER expected.

PS-I am already signed up for my next race.  But this time I’ll attribute running the Berryman Marathon part of my training for drilling a well in Nicaragua.

*To help sponsor my trip or to learn more about Living Water International, please visit my donation page at: https://www.water.cc/lindseyjacobs

This race report is long overdue.  6 weeks overdue to be exact.  And with the midnight hour looming before me, I feel that this is the last piece of 2014 that needs to fall into place.

I’m not really sure how to put into words one of the best experiences of my entire life, but bear with me while I try.

On a Wednesday morning in November, after dropping my boys at school, Ally, Brian, Dan and I loaded into the Santa Fe and set out for warmer weather.  However, it was a solid 24 hours before we actually saw any sign of that.  When we stopped for dinner at Cracker Barrel just outside of Amarillo, it was snowing.  When we stopped near Albuquerque, I was wrapped in a blanket to fill up the gas tank since the temperature hovered in single digits.  I took the drive in the wee hours and then Dan took over, putting the pedal to the medal, and we rolled into the Grand Canyon just in time to see the sunrise.   We watched elk sparing and took in the glorious expanse of God’s creation, while Ally and I huddled together for warmth.  Watching that with my little girl was enough to make the trip worth it, but there was more to come.

We headed back to the car for the last few hours south toward Tempe.  Finally the temperature started to rise.  As we rolled into town we ditched our hoodies and exchanged shoes for flip flops.  We unloaded bikes and gear and bags into the townhouse we shared with several other members of my crew.  Adrienne arrived shortly after we did and because we are triathletes, we set our priorities straight and made our first stop a trip to the grocery store.  Then we made our way to Ironman Village in the heart of downtown Tempe for our athlete meeting and check in.  It started getting real.

But with the race a couple days away, and with so many things to do before the big day, the nerves were held at bay.  The next couple days were filled with eating lunch outside, practice workouts, putting gear bags together and dropping things off.  I got to meet the newest member of my family, Quincy Allen Jacobs, my brother and sister in law’s little boy who was born earlier this year.  I had lunch with my friend Casey from high school.  The anticipation and excitement mounted.  I went to bed Saturday night, and somehow, I slept.

At 4-something it was time to get moving.  The house was quiet.  Until Dan, in an attempt to tiptoe in the dark, fell down the stairs on his way to his volunteer shift, making sure everyone was up and breaking 4 toes in the process.

Adrienne and I were fairly untalkative that morning as we ate our breakfast and gathered our water bottles.  Brian dropped us off near the transition area, with our special needs bags, and we stuck together.  We delivered our gear and stood in line for the port-a-potties.  Ron came by and said hello.  He was nervous.  I said I was avoiding the word “nervous”, focusing more on “anxious”.  I knew I would be ok once things got underway.  Just enjoy the day.  While we waited, I turned to my friend and co-rookie, Adrienne and said, “I’m glad we’re doing this together”.  I couldn’t imagine being in all that chaos by myself.  Finally we began the process of putting on wetsuits.  It was still dark out. It was low 60’s, but pure adrenaline kept us from noticing the cool air as we removed sweatpants and hoodies.  During wetsuit robing I caught sight of Brian up on the hill and blew him a kiss.  Then I waved as Adrienne and I left our bikes and made our way to line up for getting in the water.  It felt surreal.

We found Melissa and Tracy near the Swim Bike Run crowd and they filtered into the line with us.  We put on swim caps and goggles.  The thoughts of “I don’t want to do this” and “I don’t want to get in that water” started to run on repeat in my head.  And then I looked up and saw a large neon sign with my name on it.  I’m pretty sure I started tearing up at the sight of it.  Slowly the line edged forward and then I waved catching my brother’s eye.  I don’t know how he recognized me among all of those other athletes in wetsuits and pink or green swim caps, but he did.  When we got close enough, I stole a quick hug from my mom and AJ, and then it was go time.  I was on the platform, I was carefully making my way down the stairs to the water, there were people everywhere, no time to think, can’t stop now, just jump.  The cold water was a shock but given the number of people who were about to jump on top of me, I got out of the way as quick as I could.

Adrienne and I kept sight of each other as we swam the quarter mile up to the start line.  We didn’t want to tread water for too long, but we also didn’t want to be sprinting for the start wasting any of our 2 hours and 20 minutes that was allowed for the 2.4 mile swim.

As we bobbed in the water with the sun starting to come up, Adrienne said a quick prayer for us.  About a minute later we heard the cannon go off and we were on our way.  It wasn’t swimming so much as it was water boxing.  There were bodies everywhere, all fighting their way toward one buoy after another.  I knew almost immediately it was going to be a challenging swim, not because of all the people so much as my goggles.  They were fine the previous day at the practice swim, but now they were leaking fast and furious.  I kept stopping to readjust.  Not what you want to do in the midst of a bunch of people seemingly trying to drown you.  About 100 meters in, I suddenly felt a sharp pain right to my face.  I don’t know if it was an elbow or a foot, but I got knocked hard.  I popped my face up out of the water, disoriented.  My nose was bleeding and my lip was huge.  I wondered for a second what I should do.  I looked around for a volunteer in a kayak, there were none anywhere close to me.  I decided there wasn’t much I could do but just keep swimming.  So I did.  I was lamenting the fact that I would have a huge, swollen lip in all of my pictures of the day.  But as I swam, I realized that the cold water was just as useful as icing my lip.  The swelling was going down.  I kept swimming.  And kept emptying leaky goggles.  And throwing elbows to get other swimmers off me.

At one point when it seemed like someone was trying to pull my wetsuit off me, I wanted to scream, “Get off me!”  But I couldn’t scream with my face in the water and I didn’t want to waste time.  So, I kept swimming.

The sun was getting higher. Now I was dealing with leaky goggles and the glare of the sun.  I wanted to get this part over with.  As I reached the turn around point and started back toward the stairs, I stole a quick peak at my watch.  I had swam 1.2 miles in about 46 minutes.  For me, that was a record.  And I was convinced that I would get through the swim before the cut off.

Just as my confidence started to rise, so did the wind.  And the waves.  I wasn’t sure what was going on but it seemed like boats were racing past us creating a giant wake.  Nope, it was just the head wind that we had to contend with.  But I kept swimming.  I started wondering if I was making any progress at all.  Just get to the next buoy.  And the next one.  And the next one.

Finally we went back under the bridge and then I made the turn for the stairs.  My body did not want to swim anymore.  One last final push and then I carefully eased my wobbly body up onto the steps and out of the water.  My legs were shaky, I was dizzy, but again I looked at my watch.  1:40something…42? 46? 48?  I don’t remember.  But I know it took me almost an hour to do the second half of the swim.  Whatever, it didn’t matter, because I did it!  I was through the first part, my hardest part, of an Ironman.  And I made it with time to spare.  I could do this.

I sat down and a wetsuit stripper struggled to help me remove my buoyancy device.  As he handed it to me and sent me on my way, someone else wrapped a mylar blanket around my shoulders.  The low 60’s felt even colder now that I was wet.  I saw Brian, but I can’t for the life of me remember what I said in that exchange.  I think I smiled…?  But my brain was frozen, or I was in overdrive, or both.  I could barely feel my feet as I made the long trek into the transition area, grabbed my bag and headed into the women’s change tent.  I tried to remove my swimsuit and get geared up for the bike.  The volunteers were amazing.  Someone helped put my sports bra and cycling shorts  on me, someone else poured water on my feet to get the grass off before I put on my socks and cycling shoes.  Someone sprayed me with sunscreen as I shoved Huma gels into the pockets of my bike jersey; the one Sally gave me so I could represent Fleet Feet and Swim Bike Run.  I fastened my helmet, put on my new rimless Tifosi sunglasses and exited the tent into a sea of bikes.  I was surprised at how many bikes were still on the racks, I fully expected mine to be the last one there.  I yelled out my number and someone brought my bike to me as I clomped along toward the inflatable arch marked “Bike Out”.

I mounted my bike and began a long day of covering 112 miles in the desert.  I remembered Chip’s words of advice that no matter what anyone told me, the Arizona course is not flat.  He was correct.  And with 30 mile per hour headwinds that day, the hills felt even worse.  The course was 3 times out to the turn around and back.

I tried to remember where Ken said he would be at one of the bike aid stations.  I scanned the face of every volunteer I saw, I never saw him.  But it helped to keep looking for him.  The first time out to the turn around was tough.  I kept thinking that I had to be close, nope.  And this wind will surely settle down, nope.  And this has to be the toughest part of the hill, nope.  At one point I felt like I was going to fall over on the bike because I was going so slow into the wind up that hill.  This cannot really be happening.  And I don’t really have to do this again.  Twice!

I was so happy to make it to the turn around and head back down.  I stopped for a couple minutes to hit the port-a-potties and give my body a short break from the bike.  I was only about 17 miles in and it was brutal so far.  I got back on the bike and glided down the hill with the wind at my back.  But I thought about what Chip said, the course isn’t flat, keep using your legs on the way back down.  So I did.

It was helpful to know where Renee, Allison, Brian, Greg and the other SBR folk would be.  It was good to see my little cheering section before heading back out for round 2 on the bike.  My motto on that loop became “Embrace the suck”.  That second loop was rough, knowing that I had to go conquer it again and I still wasn’t done.  The wind got worse, the hill felt steeper, the pain increased.  “Just keep going, just keep going, just keep going” over and over and over in my head.  I knew I wouldn’t quit.  I never doubted that I would get through it.  But wow, when it’s that hard and you just wish the hard would stop.  I kept scanning faces.  No Ken.  I scanned for other cyclists.  Adrienne was easy to spot with the bright pink tape on her knees.  Passing, getting passed, pedaling for dear life, only going 10 miles per hour, ugh.  Finally, the turn around, again.  Again I made a quick pit stop. I ate a handful of pretzels.  I sprayed on more sunscreen. I shoved some Vaseline down my pants.  Yes, in that order.  I apologized to anyone who had to witness that.  And then I got back on the bike.  Away I went down the hill.  Remember what Chip said, keep pedaling.  I stopped to get my Chapstick out of my special needs bag.  It was the best thing ever in my life.  The sun and wind and sand had done a number on my face.  I got back on the bike and continued flying down the hill. I watched a girl hit a mile marker sign and take a massive wipeout.  I had to swerve wide to avoid the debris that flew off her bike.  I knew there was a policeman who was there to help her, so I kept going.  But I immediately said a prayer for all my friends on the course.  Lord, keep them safe…

Again back by the SBR gang and back up the hill one more time.  Let’s get this done.  On the third loop, while my motto was still “Embrace the suck”, I found it helped me to encourage others.  I yelled “Good job, Girl” or “Keep it up” or whatever I could think of to anyone I passed.  At one point I needed to hear music so bad that I actually started singing to myself.  I reminded myself that once I got to that turn around, the hard part was done.  It seemed so close, but so far away.  I stopped to get something out of the little zipper part of my bento box.  As a volunteer helped steady me and my bike, I heard a familiar voice.  I looked over to the port-a-potty line and saw Judy.  “Judy!!!” I yelled.  “Who is that?” she asked squinting in my direction.  “It’s Lindsey!” “Oh my gosh, Lindsey!”  The cool part about this is that Judy and I met in 2011 at the Dallas Whiterock Marathon.  We started talking on the shuttle back from the expo and we were instant friends.  She said to me that day, “Someday you’ll do an Ironman.”  And my response was “No Way!”  How appropriate to run into her in the middle of 140.6.

I jumped back on my bike and fought the last of that hill and wind.  I was so happy when it came into view.  Again, confirmation that I was going to do this.

And on the way back down, the timing question came back into play.  The cyclists were fewer and farther between.  And then I saw it.  The dreaded course sweeper was going up the hill.  The truck that closes down the course.  What?!  Was I really going that slow?  Was it that close to me?  Probably not, but at that point I was too tired to do the math.  I pedaled my heart out down that hill.  Just get to the transition and start the run and you’ll be fine.  I said a prayer that Judy would make it.  She was at Ironman Arizona two years ago and had a DNF.  I didn’t want that to happen for her this time.  It couldn’t.  Could it?

I hit the 100 mile mark.  12 miles to go.  And then a marathon.  Keep pedaling.  I ticked off the miles one at a time.  I thought of Teri.  I wouldn’t even be here doing this if not for her inspiration and encouragement.  Almost there.  And then I came into the corral.  I heard a loud, “HEY!” and saw my brother standing taller than the rest of the crowd.  “HEY!” I yelled back.  It was a typical sibling greeting.  He didn’t need to say anything else.  And I didn’t have the ability to come up with any other words.

As I dismounted my bike and handed it off to a volunteer, Ken was waiting for me.  He hugged me and I nervously asked how I was doing on time.  I was somewhat delusional thinking they would tell me I was too late to start the run.  He said I was fine and told me I was doing awesome.  I asked a volunteer if I could take my cycling shoes off, she said yes.  I couldn’t have been happier.  I wanted to throw them in the lake.  I said, “If I never put these on again, I’ll be ok with that.”  (I still haven’t put them on again.)

I grabbed my run gear bag and went back into the tent.  I changed into running clothes, shoved Gu into my pockets and laced up my shoes.  I have never been so happy to put on a pair of Mizuno Riders.  I went through the “Run Out” arch and I was on the run course.  I went past the special needs bags, I didn’t need anything yet.  But then I worried if I would still have access to it on the next loop.  I was running, a nice easy pace, but I was running.  And I was amazed at how many people I passed.  There were so many people walking.  They were also the ones saying they would rather swim twice than run at all.  Ummm, no, thanks.  I felt pretty happy about getting to finish with my favorite.  The sun was going down and the temperature was perfect.  I had been going for 10 hours.  The bike had taken slightly longer than I planned, and had taken more out of me than I expected, but I was still doing fine.  I had almost 7 hours to get this done.

I stopped at aid stations and made my selections carefully based on Ray’s advice that real food in a washing machine is never a good idea.  Ray did Ironman Wisconsin just a couple months before and his advice was invaluable.  I ate my Gu Chomps and chased them with water.  And I ran.

Near the transition area the crowd was huge.  I heard yelling and looked up on the bridge to see my family with all their signs and loudness.  Yes, I come by it honestly.  I saw Allison and said, “I am so happy to be running!!!”  I thought I was hilarious since she hates running. With my name on my race bib, random strangers kept yelling “Go Lindsey” and I smiled.  I beamed.  I was having the time of my life.  It hurt, but it was awesome.

As I approached the bridge to the other side of the lake, I scratched my face and I felt gritty.  I needed salt and I needed it now.  I knew that was the thing I hadn’t done as well as I should have on the bike, but I kept going.  A guy gave me a tube of Baseline electrolyte salt.  And I kept running.

I passed the aid station where I had volunteered last year.  And I kept going.  Ken found me and started running with me.  We aren’t allowed to have “pacers”, but since Ken was a course volunteer he was allowed to “encourage the athletes”.  He kept telling me how great I was doing, I felt good.  And then I saw 2 braids flapping up ahead of me.  And pink compression socks.  “Oh no, I hope that’s not who I think it is,” I said as I saw Ryan’s face taking a picture of Lindsey.  Linds was on her second loop of the run, to my first, but I was hoping she would be done already.  She was struggling.  I hugged her.  She said she didn’t feel good.  We walked together for a bit.  She asked how I was doing.  I said I was feeling good and I was so happy.  Linds looked at me and told me how proud she was of me.  And that moment right there, was my best moment in 2014.  Lindsey saw me the day I filed for divorce in 2011, she knew how terrified I was of divorce, of being a single parent, of swimming and she has watched me kick all of those fears in the face.  Lindsey was the one who planted the seed for me to be there.  Having a moment with Lindsey during that race was exactly what I needed to be reminded of how far I’ve come.  We started running, just the 2 Lindseys out for a run, doing what we do.  After a mile or so, I stopped to take a gel and I told her to keep going.  And that was the last I saw of her.  I slowed down, she sped up, or whatever, but we’d had our moment.

I found Ken again, he helped me through the dark part of the course.  Literally and figuratively.  And then I went back around to the other side.  I could hear the finish line.  I could hear Mike Reilly announcing that whoever had just crossed was an Ironman, but I made the turn and went back out for another loop.  I saw my mom, who tried to tell me that I already was, but I told her not yet, don’t jinx it!  I ran through the crowd of strangers, I saw some of my people.  I stopped at my special needs bag to get my arm warmers and some pain meds.  I yelled my number so the volunteers could locate my bag.  And then Jess yelled my name.  She tackled me in a hug.  A needed hug.  I was still happy, but I was tired.  I kept saying I felt good, which was true.  Sort of.

And then I kept running.  I was annoyed with the people who had posted that a head lamp wasn’t a necessary item.  Maybe if I had finished before dark.  Ugh.

I ran back through the crowd, one last time until I got to the finish.  Brian jumped in and ran with me for a minute.  I noticed he had bought a sweatshirt.  The cool evening air had gotten to him.  He told me my bike and gear were already back at the townhouse.  That was the best thing he could have told me.  It was total relief that when this was over, I didn’t have to worry about any of it.  He asked how I was feeling.  I said, “I’m telling myself I feel ok.  I’ll tell you later how I really feel.”  He sent me on my way with just a half marathon to go.  I could do this.  Back out to the bridge, and over it, and past my volunteer station from last year.

I scanned faces of runners for people I knew.  I saw Melissa.  Barb. Julie.  I walked with some random guys for a bit.  I was tired.  I put my hands on my waist…Ouch!  I hurt.  Everything hurt.  There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t feeling  the pain of every step.

I got to the very dark part of the course.  Ken was waiting.  He used his iphone to light the way for me.  We had to get up the only real hill on the course.  We walked.  And then we ran.  He sent me into the aid station and said he would see me at the finish.  Only a 5k to go…

That was the slowest, most difficult 5k of my entire existence.  Every step was painful.  My brain hurt from convincing my body to keep going.  But if I walked my heart hurt because I was so close that I just wanted to be there.

With just over a mile to go, there were so many people walking on the course, wrapped in mylar blankets, shivering, just trying to make it to the end.  I made a decision then, no more walking.  It didn’t matter how slow I ran, jogged, slogged (Teri’s word for slow jog), I was not going to be the person who walked until they saw the finish.  So I ran that last mile.  And I got closer, my smile got bigger.  Everyone who saw me said, “Wow, look at that smile!”  Which just made me smile more.  Even in the pain, I smiled.  And I ran.

And finally, I made the turn, I could see the chute.  Elaine called out to me, and gave me a high five.  I couldn’t have smiled bigger if I wanted to.  I entered the chute.  I saw that very same sign with my name on it that I had seen 15 hours earlier.  I saw my family.  I high-fived them and smacked my sign.  I was steps from the finish line.  And then I was there.  I passed under it.  As I heard those famous words, “Lindsey Jacobs, you are an Ironman”, I blew a kiss to my dad.  15 hours and 1 minute. I did it.  We did it.

Oh, you might be wondering what happened to Judy.  She suffered from extreme back spasms during the run, so she was sideways when she crossed the finish line but she did finish Ironman Arizona 2014.  She was the last official finisher of the day with a time of 16:59 and change.  She was helped across the finish line by winner Meredith Kessler and announcer Mike Reilly.  I am so proud of my friend.

I am so proud of all my friends that were there on the course with me.  Adrienne, Kelly, Ron, Barb, Karen, Tracy, Melissa, Holly, Marc, all finished their first Ironman.  (I hope I didn’t forget anyone) Swim Bike Run of St. Louis Tri Club had a great showing of veteran triathletes too…Sharon, Julie, Brigitte, Doug, Tara.  Ken is signed up to do his first Ironman in Tempe next November.   Lindsey didn’t meet her goal of qualifying for Kona, but she did have a PR and then she was taken to the hospital for dehydration.  There is no doubt in my mind that she’ll get to Kona.

Since I have been home from Arizona, I have been basking in the glow of being an Ironman.  I haven’t been working out much.  My body and my brain both need a break.  Immediately upon finishing, I went hands to knees, and Allison, who was volunteering as a “catcher” at the finish through her arms around me in a hug.  In shock, I said, “I did it.”  It’s still a little surreal.

A week after the race, as I was driving to work, I remembered the feeling of coming down the finisher’s chute and I started to cry.  It was amazing.  It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.  It hurt, but it was so awesome.  And the best part…My daughter was there at the finish line.  If I do nothing else in my life, I have taught my little girl to believe that anything is possible.

For the first time in my life, I’m not waiting for the “what’s next?”  I’m just living each day.  Some days I run, some days I don’t.  I don’t feel a need to sign up for anything.  I don’t feel a need to prove anything to anyone.  I feel like I have finally arrived.

I learned the most important lessons of my life on November 16, 2014…No matter what happens, just keep going. Learn to embrace the suck.  And whatever you do, keep smiling all the way to the finish.

(This post is dedicated to John Hibbard, a beloved and quirky member of the Hot Mess, who was taken from us much too soon on December 15.  Wolfpack, you learned all of those lessons and you lived them well.  You were one in a million.  Thanks for the memories.)

This post begins with a public apology to my family and friends for being completely MIA for the month of October. The month kicked off with my birthday and it didn’t slow down.  At all.  I think I talked to my mom for a total of 5 minutes in 31 days.  I’m pretty sure I traded a few voicemails with Britta before she finally gave up on me.  I got a text from her the other day that said, “I’m hoping to talk to you in 2015…” I know there were more than a few folks whose texts of “Hey, are you still alive?” that probably went unanswered.  For all of this, I am truly sorry.  Please know that none of you were forgotten.  October was just a month of eating, sleeping and breathing all things Ironman.

And now that I’m into the taper, I am mostly just about eating, sleeping and breathing in general. Seriously, if I’m awake, I’m stuffing food in my face.  Even as I sit here at my desk I am surrounded by coffee, water, banana, granola bars, etc.

Wow, I’m not even really sure where to begin with everything that has happened in the past month. After celebrating the 39^th anniversary of my birth, I completed a 70.3 in some pretty rough conditions.  It was a character building day, that’s for sure.  The water temperature was rumored to be 54 degrees.  At least the temperature distracted all of us from thinking about the “yuck factor” of the water we were swimming in.  And the fact that it was so murky we couldn’t see our own hands in the pitch blackness of the water.  Some of my friends are still fighting infections of various kinds.  And several of us had vertigo from the cold water.  So of course it made sense to get on a bike.  In the transition I couldn’t even feel my fingers to put on socks, or gloves, or fasten my bike helmet.  But I persevered.  It was a windy ride out through the flats of Newtown.  Highlights included seeing various friends along the course, the lack of promised Port-o-Pottys at Mile 29 and riding past Lindsey Farrell’s grandparent’s house where we had taken wedding photos a year prior. Oh and my friend Pam’s fiancé flying past me around Mile 50.  “Hi Lindsey, it’s Zach” he yelled as he zoomed past.  Why in the world is he passing me now, I wondered.  Turns out he was determined to beat me for the world’s longest transition.  I had spent almost 12 minutes in T1, but Zach had spent 45 minutes sitting in an ambulance to warm up after completing the swim not wearing a wetsuit.  Even I wore a wetsuit this time, so that’s saying something.

When I finally made it over the bridge into Alton where T2 was located, I was never so happy to see a row of port-o-pottys in all my life! After swapping out my bike stuff for run stuff, I made a pit stop.  My bladder was grateful.  The run was somewhat uninteresting as the course goes, but it was warmer, and I was glad to have company from Justin and Jen.  Seeing so many familiar faces along the way made it a party.  Crossing the finish line with Jen was probably the best part of the day.  We had started on the beach together that morning and we saw it through to the end.

Another highlight of the day: As we made our way through that brutally cold and murky swim, with carp trying to jump onto the kayaks (yes, seriously, I actually saw this happen) I overheard a couple swimming next to me. He was talking to her in a very calming voice, saying things like, “It’s a beautiful day for a triathlon”, “Just side stroke it out, it’s alright” and “We’re just going for a nice easy swim, the water is beautiful.”  I assure you, there was nothing beautiful about that water, but he almost made me believe him.  As we swam I said, “I like you guys.  I’m going to stay here with you.”  He said, “Yeah, we’re just having a swimming party.”  Me: “I’m not sure what I’m doing right now looks much like swimming.  It kind of resembles the doggy paddle.”  Him:  “Whatever.  At the end of the day, you’re still a triathlete.”

A few days later, when I was sort of recovered, I joined Barb in Columbia, IL for my first ever century ride. We got a beautiful fall day and rode the flats of Mississippi River valley on the Illinois side.  We agreed to both take it easy and just get through the miles since we were coming off 70.3 and she was headed into Chicago Marathon weekend.  There was a stretch in the middle of the ride that I struggled with but I was surprised at how good I felt upon completion of 100 miles on the bike.  It was another boost of confidence pointing toward Arizona.

I’ve done several long runs, mileage in the teens. 16 miles with Steve, Steve and Dr. Brian at Creve Coeur Lake.  A 3 hour run in Rockwood and Al Foster where my Garmin died at the end so exact mileage is unknown. We also had Rock n Roll Marathon weekend when I worked the expo, hit a Pedal the Cause fundraiser on Saturday and then ran the half marathon with Farrell before heading over the work later in the day on Sunday.  I spent a lot of that weekend looking around and thinking…”I really have the coolest job ever.”

A couple weeks ago, I did another century ride. Steve actually took the day off of work to go ride with me.  I let him plan the course.  I said “not flat”.  He didn’t disappoint.  It was another character building day, since I was mentally screaming, “I don’t want to be on this bike anymore!” And that was at about Mile 12.  It was a day of gutting it out, getting through the miles, one hill at time.  7ish hours later, Steve knew I was spent when I couldn’t even find words to respond to him.  As we got back to his house, I propped my bike against the car and promptly laid down in the grass.  It wasn’t too long until the smile returned to my face.  I’d made it.

A few days later, I was heading out to Lake St. Louis on a Sunday morning to meet Steve again, and our friend Luis. But this time there were no bikes involved.  This one was about swimming.  It was maybe 50 degrees that morning.  All the way there, I cried.  I did not want to put on my wetsuit or get into that cold water or swim the entire 2.4 miles that I needed to practice for my big day in Arizona.  I was the first one to arrive at the clubhouse.  I sat in the car.  I didn’t want to get out.  I stared at the bracelet on my wrist that reads Courage.  I thought of Teri.  I wondered how many times Teri had driven to chemo thinking…I don’t want to do this.  And so, I sucked it up, got out of the car and put on my wetsuit.  The boys arrived and we walked down to the beach.  I procrastinated.  A lot.  Finally our swim was underway.  Luis would swim ahead to “mark the course” or rather be the buoy for me to swim to.  And Steve would stay close to me for company.

While we swam, my theme song through my training for Arizona played on repeat in my head. Just as it had on my century with Barb.  And my century with Steve.  And on that one run when I had forgotten my ipod.  And all those times in the pool, staring at the blue line.  All that time in the water, or on the road gives you a lot of time to think.  It can be a little like looking into a mirror.

The song goes like this…“Spent today in a conversation, in the mirror face to face with, somebody less than perfect. I wouldn’t choose me first if I was looking for a champion. In fact I’d understand if you picked everyone before me.  But that’s just not my story.  True to who you are you saw my heart and made…something out of nothing.”

Steve and Luis and I finished a loop around the lake. We were half way there.  1.2 miles.  Luis asked if we were going around again.  Ok, let’s do this.  And so we set off again in the same fashion.  Luis leading the way and cheering me on as I swam around him.  After just under 2 hours in the water (yes, I’m that slow) we were headed back for the beach.  Luis’ kids were cheering my name from the shore.  Steve and Luis were right there as I finally put my feet on the sand and stood up.  I hit stop on my Garmin and moved my goggles from my eyes.  I’m sure Steve could see the tears brimming when he high-fived me.  And I’m sure they both heard my voice crack slightly when I said, “I did it”.

That was the last piece falling into place. Proof that I could do the 2.4 mile swim of an Ironman in less than the 2 hours and 20 minute time limit allowed.  That was one of the best feelings ever. It was relief.  It was confidence.  It was the personification of “courage”.

Luis’ wife Melissa had brought all kinds of food out for us. I quickly stuffed my face and then I bustled off to work so I could wash the lake off of me before any customers showed up.

The past month has held some pretty amazing moments that I will cherish forever. Not just as my memories of training for Ironman Arizona, but also just going forward through life in general.  People giving up their free time for me, people taking off work to spend the day training with me, people cheering me on and celebrating my victories.  The memory of standing on the shore before Border Wars hugging Kris, Jen, and Adrianne, in an attempt to stay warm before the dreaded plunge.  As we stood there, Karen walked over to me and said, “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.”  It was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.  A few minutes later as I made my way into the water with all the other wetsuits and pink swim caps, trying to avoid an anxiety attack, those words were ringing in my ears.  And they stayed with me through that entire race.  Unfortunately, that was not Karen’s day to race.  Before I got to the first buoy, I looked over my shoulder to see a look of pure panic on Karen’s face and I pointed to the kayak.  But I held on to her words.  And as I crossed the finish line later that day, Karen was standing right there.  I hugged her and assured her that she didn’t not finish her race, she just had a different purpose for being there that day.  It was to remind me how to get through the hard days.

In less than a week, I will load up Isaac the Santa Fe and head west to Arizona. The hard part is done.  Now it’s time to trust my training and go enjoy the day.  I will carry all of the last month with me into that.  And no matter what the day looks like, at the end of it, I will still be a triathlete.  I won’t be first and I won’t be fast.  But that’s not what it’s about for me.

There is another line in my theme song that goes, “I’m not living for applause, I’m already so adored.” Training for this race has been hard.  The time, the effort, the resources.  I’m not doing it to prove anything to anyone but myself.  But the best part is what others have shown me along the way through encouraging me, supporting me, training with me.

I think back to where I was when this journey started almost 3 years ago. And where I am now.  I have been remade. I am so adored. Something out of nothing.