Drenched (aka - Tenting it on the Olympic Peninsula)

So, I've discovered the problem with tent camping on the Olympic Peninsula is that there is a very high likelihood of getting rained on, thus having to take refuge under a makeshift tarp shelter for hours on end.  And when one is stuck huddling under said shelter for an indeterminate length of time,  just watching the deluge around, there isn't much to do.  Thank heavens for box wine.  That was the only thing that helped us pass our time the first couple of days we were out there.  The incessant rain forced us to huddle under the tarp like pathetic refugees, and filled the air with so much moisture we couldn't even read our books or play cards; it was just too wet.  So, we sat and drank.  Good times. (Please note the sarcasm.  Even box wine gets old after a while.)  But, after two days, the rain relented and we were granted some sunshine.  Still, nothing really dried out.  (I don't think that part of the world ever does.). We stayed as damp and musty as ever.  But, at least, we were able to get out from under the tarp and expand our world.  We hiked and admired the old-growth trees; some so massive, one could only guess as to how old they were.  We lounged by the lake, and let Puppy swim to his heart's content.  By all accounts, it was a perfectly lazy Labor Day weekend.

Now, we've shed the forest and are chilling on the coast.  It's not the warm, sunny beaches of SoCal that we're accustom to (cloudy is the word of the day), but the scenery is breathtaking.  I think we're doing the Pacific Northwest well...

Rained Out

Road Trip Day #14 - Well, we didn't have any luck with blue skies yesterday.  So now, we look and smell like drowned rats.  So far, camping on the Olympic Peninsula has proven to be a very soggy ordeal.  We're not going to quit, though.  We're rough 'n tumble campers and are going to tough it out.  The forecast is predicting bluer skies, so we're hoping for the best.  If not, we'll be back to drinking boxed wine under the tarp.  Bleh.

Over and Done

Road trip Day # 13 - It's amazing what a few days of rest can do for the body.  Considering how thoroughly wrecked I was on Sunday night, I feel great.  My quads are a little fatigued and my back is still in knots, but those are the only physical remnants of Sunday's Ironman.  It's almost sad.  After all those months of training, planning, and obsessing, it's just over.  Sigh.

But now it's time for the fun part of our road trip.  Now it's time to play.  We've crossed the border and are back in the states, exploring the Olympic Penninsula.  We spent last night at Dungeness Forks campground, tucked back into the Olympic National Forest.  Today we're headed south to Wynoochee Lake, and are praying the rain lets up.  It's beautiful out here, but wetter than wet.  The peninsula is certainly living up to it's reputation.  All we can do now is hope for the best and, possibly, a break in the clouds.  A little blue sky would go a long way...

Ironman Canada

It was just after 8pm when I crossed the finish line, thirteen hours and three minutes after the gun went off and I plunged into insanity.  The final surge of adrenaline I had felt in the final miles of the run i
mmediately dissipated, only to be replaced with relief and utter exhaustion.  I had done it.  I had completed Ironman Canada.  My legs could barely hold me up, my entire body shook with cold and fatigue, and waves of nausea overcame me.  I made my way through the race corral and collapsed into Mouse's arms, fighting back tears.  All of the emotions I had battled over the course of the race - frustration, fear, pain - all bubbled up and came out.  I was completely and thoroughly spent.  But through the fog of my mental and physical pain, I was still able to feel the unmitigated elation of knowing that I had actually finished.  I had accomplished my goal.  I was now Ironman.

Sitting on the grass, sipping my chicken broth, it was surreal to think that I had started this morning at the lake, battling my way through the two-mile swim with nearly three thousand other participants.  It had been my first mass start, and it was ruthless.  The sheer number of swimmers made it impossible to get into a good rhythm for the first mile.  I spent more time fending off the other swimmers than I did actually swimming, and sucked in more water than I did air.  I sputtered and coughed.  I can't even count the number of blows I took to the head.  It was pure madness, and it took everything I had to keep the panic at bay.  Luckily, the field began to open up as I began my second mile, allowing me to fall into a steady rhythm.  With every stroke, the panic faded and my confidence began to build.  I could do this.  I found open pockets of water, navigated my way through the other swimmers, and made seemingly slow progress through the field.  Finally, I rounded the last turn and reached the shore.  The first portion of the race was done.

Then came the bike - the part I had been dreading.  It's my weakest event and, also, the longest.  I'd been reading the course reports for weeks and feared the worst.  The official report claimed only 4,000 feet of elevation gain over the 112 miles, but the unofficial reports warned it was closer to 6,000 feet.  Either way, I knew I had a significant amount of climbing ahead.  And climb I did.  Then I climbed some more.  That's all I seemed to do.  Every time I gained a little speed on some downhill, I was met by an even steeper uphill.  My quads burned and my spirits sank.  It was becoming a vicious mind game, and frustration was getting the better of me.  I tried to distract myself with the awe-inspiring beauty of the surrounding mountains, but even that couldn't boost my spirits. The hills just never seemed to end, and miles 92 to 100 felt like a cruel joke.  But, like all things, the hills did eventually come to an end.  I rode into the transition area on an indescribable high, knowing I had battled my demons, my burning quads, and those insufferable hills.

Now it was time for the run.  This is what I had been looking forward to all day.  This was going to be my chance to make up some of the time I had lost on the bike.  Amazingly, I felt great on the first thirteen miles.  My adrenaline had kicked in as soon as I put on my running shoes, and my legs wanted to go fast, maybe a little too fast.  I tried to slow myself down in preparation for the 26.2
miles ahead, but my first couple of miles still went by more quickly than they should.  By mile 5, I was able to fall into a comfortable pace, and I settled in to my run.  The course switched from paved path to gravel trail, winding past golf courses, lakes, and through wooded areas.  The varied terrain was a blessing, keeping my mind occupied, and off the severe fatigue that was starting to settle in.  No matter how much I love running, I couldn't deny that I was beginning to fade.  By mile 15, my quads were shredded and my pace significantly slowed.  At this point, it was a mind game.  I knew I couldn't let time, distance, or fatigue get the best of me.  So, I just kept pushing along.  At times, I was certain that my shuffle was no faster than a walk, but I didn't care.  I knew I had to keep running, which is exactly what I did.  I kept running past mile 20, then mile 22, and before I knew it, I was passing the mile 24 marker, making my way into Whistler Village.  The crowd support was amazing; their cheers only adding more fuel to my fire.  My pace quickened as my adrenaline surged once more.  Before I knew it, I was crossing the finish line, barely able to process what I just done.  I was speechless and stunned.  I had thought I would cry tears of joy as soon as I crossed that line, but I discovered I had nothing left at that moment.  I was the definition of done.

There it is.  Six months of my life wrapped up into one, long day.  Was it tough?  Definitely.  Was it worth it?  Most certainly.  I'm proud to say that I am Ironman.

IMC - My Day of Reckoning

Road Trip Day # 9 - Race Day.  It's 4:30 am; my final pre-dawn morning of the season.  It all comes down to this.  140.6 miles of swimming, biking, and running, which will most likely take me (at least) fourteen hours to complete.  It's going to be a tough day.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, maybe even downright scared.  This race is going to test me physically, mentally, and spiritually, but when it's all said and done, I will be an Ironman.  Here goes nothing...

The Problem with the Taper

Road Trip Day # 7 - OK, so I totally lied.  I still feel like a slug.  Or, maybe, a better description is that of a big, fat, doughy ball of out-of-shape flesh.  Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.  I have been actively training for Ironman since February, after all.  It's just that this tapering and carbo-loading thing is messing with my mind.  After being so active for so long, and becoming accustomed to training for several hours every day, this self-imposed state of rest is disconcerting.  I already feel thoroughly out of shape, which is not exactly ideal, considering how quickly this race is approaching.  I'm trying to make the best of it, though.  (I know, I know.  Poor me.)  I guess there could be worse things than hanging out with old friends, cooking meals together, and relaxing in a mountainside condo, so I really should stop my moaning.  One more day until IMC.  I hope I'm ready for this...

Ready or Not

Road-trip Day #5 - I may be dirty, smelly, and vaguely reminiscent of the patchouli-laden hippies that seem to populate Vancouver Island, but at least I'm feeling less sluggish. After a couple of days tucked into the wilderness, with some trail runs and hikes under my belt, I'm beginning to feel a little more like myself.

Vancouver Island was everything I imagined it to be; the exact portrait of the Pacific Northwest conjured in my imagination. Victoria proved to be a quaint city, exuding an old-world vibe one doesn't get back home, with it's architecture of centuries past. I wish we had been able to spend more than a couple of hours there, as it would have been an intriguing area to explore, but the southern portion of the island was calling us. So, we ate, stocked our groceries, and headed for less-populated shores. The drive to China Beach in Juan del Fuca Provincial Park took much longer than expected, along the narrow, winding, rural roads, but it was worth the trek. The further south we ventured, the more rugged the wilderness became. Except for some houses dotting the coastline, and the occasional roadside cafe, there was no civilization to speak of, just old-growth forests and rocky beaches. I honestly don't think you could get more quintessential Pacific Northwest than this. The pine trees towered at least one hundred feet overhead, majestic in their presence alone. The green mosses and ferns covering the forest floor only further lent to the sense of mystique, like we were walking into a storybook rendition of a rainforest. It was all so rugged and beautiful in a way that made me want to get lost there forever. This abject beauty did not come without a price, though, as it was quite a bit colder than expected. Even in the supposed heat of August, the ocean mist would role in and chill us to the bone. I guess that's a small penance for such surreal surroundings, though.

Today, we're back on the ferry and returning to the mainland. Our next stop is Whistler, the true purpose for the trip. While I'm excited for the luxury of the condo, and to spend some time with friends, I'm also keenly aware that this signals that Ironman is nearly here. I'm trying to keep my nerves at bay, and focus only on the good, but it's tough to do when Sunday is approaching so quickly. I just have to remind myself that it is only one day, and I've been preparing for it since February. Ready or not, here it comes.

Oh Canada!

Road-trip Day #3, and I feel like a slug. For two days now, we've been on the road for more than twelve hours a stretch. We've subsisted on fast food and junk, as there aren't many nutritional options in the middle of nowhere. And any form of exercise has been out of the question; we've been too focussed on making good travel time for any form of leisure. I'm not sure if this is the best pre-race prep, but I guess that's how it goes.

We finally crossed the Canadian border last night and made it to our campsite on Porteau Cove in pitch black. The beauty of the coastline was lost on us as we navigated the winding Sea-to-Sky Highway. All we could see was the precarious road ahead and the infinite darkness around. This morning was a different story, though. We woke to a misty Pacific Northwest morning, with the fog unfurling from the mountains into the sea below. It was a sight for sore eyes, and a welcome reminder of why we drove so far.

Thankfully, the worst of the traveling is now behind us. Today, we're hopping a ferry that will take us from the mainland to Vancouver Island. Once there, we'll hit up the city of Victoria for a proper lunch and some microbrews before heading further south to Juan de Fuca Provincial Park and China Beach for some more camping and, finally, a touch of relaxing. I don't think I've ever been more ready for the mainstay of a vacation to begin...

Whistler or Bust

Well, here we go. My training is complete. There's nothing left to do. At this point, I will either sink or swim come next Saturday. (Frighteningly, that's a very literal interpretation of what could happen.) So, we packed our gear and hit the road early this morning. Our final destination: Whistler, British Columbia. Today, we'll be happy to make it to Boise. Right now, we're somewhere in the flat, never-ending grasslands of Wyoming, wishing for even the slightest change of scenery. Our road-trip has officially begun, and we have countless hours of driving ahead. Even though this first stretch is tedious and threatens to be mind-numbingly boring, I'm thrilled for our vacation to begin. I've been planning, plotting, and researching for this all summer, and am excited to see my efforts finally come to fruition. Besides, I need to focus on how much fun this trip is going to be, rather than how truly terrified of Ironman I am. So, for now, I'm pushing all race thoughts as far to the periphery of my mind as possible and am treating this like any other vacation. I'm looking forward to exploring the Pacific Northwest, a region in which I've not previously ventured. I'm looking forward to seafood dinners and days on the beach. Most importantly, I'm looking forward to finally having some time to unwind. So, let another adventure begin!

An Iron-Clad Summer

I remember the good old days, when running a marathon meant I got a little time off.  I remember a time when I got to kick back, relax, and enjoy the time it took for my fatigued legs to recover from the grueling 26.2.  But, this time around, no such luck.  I quickly learned that, when one is training for an Ironman event, "time off" does not exist.

So, after the marathon, I jumped right back into training.  My coach was kind enough to grant me a little bit of recovery time, in that I did not have to run immediately post-race, but everything else was fair game.  Thus, I was back in the pool three days after completing Utah Valley, and back on the bike one day thereafter.  In fact, since the marathon, and my last post, I've participated in two Olympic-distance triathlons, one Century ride, and have spent countless hours on the bike, in the pool, and pounding the pavement.  It seems as though my entire life revolves around Ironman.  When I'm not working, I'm training.  I leave the house before dawn most weekend mornings, and don't return until late afternoon, exhausted and chaffed.  My social life has disappeared.  My husband feels abandoned.  I've become an absentee friend.  This is the summer of Ironman; everything else had had to take second place.

When I started this training, I had plans to write weekly updates to document my training progress.  But, as this summer and my training have progressed, I've realized that: 1) I'm just too tired to write, and 2) there isn't much to write about.  Let's be honest, you all would get very bored very quickly reading detailed descriptions of each and every training ride.  No one needs to read multiple entries on how tiring riding 90+ miles is, how my bum is bruised from all the time in the saddle, and how I'm beginning to despise every form of energy food.  Because that's pretty much how I can sum up my training thus far.

That being said, I'm also impressed with how well my body is holding up.  I haven't been taken out by any strange illness.  I haven't gotten shin splints, or stress fractures, or any of the old injuries I suffered from in my early days of distance running.  My only complaint is that my left toes keep popping out of joint, but with a little help from my amazing chiropractor, Joseph Hummell, and Denver Community Acupuncture, I'm keeping the pain at bay.   I'm not losing massive amounts of weight, and think I have my nutrition fairly well dialed-in.  And, even though my muscles are constantly fatigued, I can tell that my body is becoming stronger and my endurance is improving.  As nervous as I am about the actual event, I think my body just may be blossoming into Ironman material.

Now, I'm less than four weeks away from the event, so the worst of the training is behind me.  Of course, the 140.6 grueling miles of race day still looms in my near future, but I think I'm ready for it.  All of the time I've put into training haven't been for naught.  Each and every workout has been carefully planned to prepare me for race day.  So, I just need to tough it out a little longer.  My chance to prove that I  am an Ironman will be here before I know it.

Utah Valley Marathon - Race Report

Holy soreness!  My quads are so spent that I'm hobbling around like someone's grandmother.  In order to get around, I've had to adopt a stiff-legged, Tin-Man style of walking.  I can barely make it down any form of stairs.  Embarrassingly, even the slightest downward slope makes my knees buckle.  I'm pretty sure that, to an outside observer, I must look ridiculous.  Apparently, the "net downhill" of the Utah Valley Marathon was much harder on my body than I anticipated.

All pain aside, I am a very happy girl right now.  The course my have been tougher than I planned, but I still managed to qualify for Boston.  If you had asked me five years ago whether or not this was an attainable goal, I would have emphatically replied "no".  I never thought I would be fast enough.  But, here I am, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, and quite possibly the best shape of my life, and I qualified for Boston.  I am so giddy that I could jump around the room and squeal with delight.

I realize that I'm just one of approximately tens of thousands of runners who qualifies for the Boston Marathon every years, but that can't kill my buzz.  I'm proud of myself.  I really am.  I trained hard.  I raced hard.  And the Utah Valley Marathon was nowhere as easy as I thought it would be.  It turns out that even a "net downhill" course can still be incredibly painful.  Seriously painful.

Oddly enough, despite the constant stress on my quads, the first twenty miles felt great.  I might even go as far as to describe them as being pleasant.  It was a beautiful day.  The morning started out nice and cool.  And I had the fortune to be running alongside one of my best friends.  It was the ideal start to any race.

But then I hit Mile 21, and Mile 21 blindsided me with a ruthless vengeance that I couldn't have seen coming.  I thought I had been racing smart.  I thought I had been conserving energy.  But then the coarse flattened out, the temperature started to rise, and all of my energy evaporated in a matter of minutes.  My legs, which had been working so hard to stabilize me down the canyon road, now felt like rubber, utterly confused by the sudden change in grade.  It was painful and frustrating.  My pace immediately slowed.  I saw my goal of finishing in 3:35 slipping away from me.  My confidence began to wane, and my spirits sank.  I seriously considered stopping to walk.

But then I heard the boisterous cheers of a very spirited runner just behind me, loudly encouraging everyone around her to dig deep and run through the pain.  It was the 3:40 pacer, and her emphatic support was exactly what I needed.  That little bit of encouragement was all I needed to not give up, to not ease up on my pace.  At that moment, I resolved to erase all of the frustration from my mind and take the remainder of the race mile by mile.  And that is exactly what I did.  I ate my peanut-butter GU, focussed on my breathing, and tried to match my pace to the music on my iPod.  Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I saw the finish line.  And then I crossed it.

I didn't make my original goal of 3:35, but I did finish in 3:37:14, which was a PR by three minutes, and a fast enough time to qualify me for Boston in the 35-40 age division, which is where I fall next April.  So, even though I may be a little disappointed, I am also elated.  My hard work paid off.  I'm going to Boston.  (I hope.)  Now it's time to rest up, recover, and keep on training for Ironman.

Utah Valley Marathon - Good Morning, What Sunshine?!?

I'm sorry, but 3:00 am is just too early for anything.  There is absolutely no good reason to get up at this unholy hour of the morning.  But, here I am, wiping the sleep from my eyes, trying my best to wake up and fire up.  The bus arrives in 30 minutes to take us to the race start, but the gun won't go off until 6:00 am.  So, for now, it's a whole lot of sitting around and waiting for this thing to begin.  I hope I'm motivated by race start!

Utah Valley Marathon - Pre Race Fun

It's nine o'clock on a Friday night and I'm already off to bed.  I feel like someone's grandmother, crawling under the covers before the day is truly over.  But I guess that seems to be the way my life is going these days, considering all of the early morning training sessions I've been forcing upon myself. Tonight feels extra depressing for some reason, though.  Maybe because we're on a mini-vacation.  Or, maybe, because it's so gorgeous outdoors.  I would much rather be lounging on the patio of this quaint Utah resort, drinking wine, and listening to the house band play.  Instead, I've locked myself into a blacked-out room, and am trying in vain to lull myself to sleep.  It just feels wrong, especially considering it's not even dark out yet!  Sigh!  But my 3:00 am wake-up call will be coming all to soon, as will my 04:15 am bus pick-up.  Why this marathon insists on starting so early, I'm not sure, but my circadian rhythms are certainly paying the price, as is my social life.  Oh well.  I can't blame anyone but myself.  I did sign up and train for this nonsense.  I guess I better pony up and get the job done.

The Long and Snowy Drive Home

Argh.  Today's drive through the Rockies and into Denver was decidedly NOT fun.  The sleet started as soon as I hit Vail and only got worse as I drove east.  By the time I was through the Eisenhower Tunnel, I was in full-on blizzard conditions.  Ice and blowing snow were all I could see; the lines in the road were all but erased by the storm conditions.  Slipping and sliding were inevitable.  I crawled along at a snail's pace, just hoping to stay on the road, unlike the many unfortunate drivers who weren't able to do so.  They littered the shoulder of I-70, making it look like some sort of impromptu used car lot.  It was a miserable drive, which didn't get any better as I reached the lower elevations.  The roads in Denver were just as bad, covered in snow, slush, and ice.  The entire city moved in slow motion, as every driver did their best to tackle the treacherous roads in an overly cautious manner, resulting in a painfully slow drive back my house.  But, I finally made it back, safe and sound.  Home again, home again.  Those words have never sounded so sweet.

Rage in the Sage 2013

Holy headwinds!  That's all I have to say, as that one statement truly sums up the entire race.  I'm not exaggerating; the winds at Lake Mead were ridiculous yesterday.  I might have actually had a good race, if I hadn't been biking into a wind-tunnel the entire time.  The crazy thing is, said winds were coming from every direction, so there was no relief.  I struggled on my way out and struggled just as much on my way back in.  It was ridiculous and exhausting.  Crazy Vegas weather!

All moaning and crying aside, I have to admit, I really did have a decent race.  I'm a little irked at the moment, because I'm convinced I could have done better, but isn't that always the case?  The fact of the matter is, I cranked out my best swim yet, managed a solid ride despite the wind, and held a strong pace on my run.  I came in at 3:06, a little slower than I had hoped, but still a time I can be proud of.  It put me in 7th place (out of 17) in my division, and 19th overall for females (out of 72).  It wasn't my best performance ever, but not bad for my first event of the season.  Now I know what I'm doing right in my training, and what I have to improve upon.  So, I guess I need to stop my whining and get to it...

Raging Jitters

Race day jitters. I always get them. It doesn't matter if it's a big race, or something as insignificant as a little, local 5k; I always get a case of the nerves. So, here I am, in the wee hours of an otherwise normal Saturday morning, stressing about the triathlon in my very near future. Two hours from now, I'll be wetsuit-ed up and plunging into the frigid waters of Lake Mead. It's Rage in the Sage time, the first tri of my season, and it's way too late to back out now. I have no idea how I'll fare, whether I'll be fast or slow; It's all a mystery for now. So, all I can do is put my game face on, psych myself up, and push myself as hard as a can. I'm ready for rubber arms and lactic acid-filled legs. Lake Mead, here I come!

So Over It

My contract is over. My work here is done. It's amazing how quickly the thirteen weeks flew by! Goodbye, SoCal! I've put in my time, and worked my fingers to the bone, so now it's time to play. First, a weekend in Las Vegas, which includes my first triathlon of the season, Rage in the Sage. Then the grueling drive back to Denver, where I'll reside for the summer months. It's been an interesting, chaotic, and exhausting thirteen weeks, so I'm relieved for my life to return to normal, to have dinners with my husband, and to sleep in my own bed. Travel nursing has it's perks and is certainly exciting, but, for now, I'm ready for the mundane.

Exhausted: Training for Ironman Canada, Week 6

Only six weeks in, and I'm already exhausted. It's like I've become a hamster in a massive wheel of triathlon training, continuously spinning myself into a frenzy, in hopes of whipping my body into Ironman shape. Everyday is a new challenge, whether it be running, biking or swimming. It's always something: speed work, hill repeats, strength and distance training. It never seems to end. My shoulders ache. My quads are incessantly fatigued. My appetite is out of control. And this is only the beginning...

All whining aside, I'm actually enjoying myself. With every workout, I feel myself getting leaner and stronger. Thanks to my coach, and the plan she's developed, every workout has a purpose and offers a new challenge. The days of simply going out for a run, a ride, or simple laps at the pool, are long gone. Now I'm forced to think about each and every training session. I focus on form. I concentrate on stride, pace, cadence, and RPMs. It's all become so technical, I almost feel like a real athlete.

Despite this shift in my training style, and my newfound fatigue, I have to admit that the workouts aren't really THAT hard. Yes, I'm pushing myself much further and harder than I have in the past, but it's nothing my body can't handle. The real challenge has been fitting the required sessions into my insane work schedule. Finding time to squeeze in six separate training sessions per week has not been an easy task while I'm working four, twelve-hour, overnight shifts each week. And convincing myself to get up early enough to jam in a short training session between shifts has been next to impossible. But, somehow, I'm making it work. I've made peace with the new reality that every day off from work is a day fully committed to my training. And I've even managed to occasionally peel myself out of bed in time to go for a run before heading into the hospital. It's exhausting, but I know all of this hard work is going to be worth it in the end.

So, that's where I'm at six weeks into my Ironman training. Just plain tired. I don't expect the exhaustion to ease much as the weeks wear on, but my work schedule will lighten significantly soon, which should help immensely. So, for now, I just have to grin and bear it. Preparing for Ironman is a labor of love; I guess I need to learn to love all of the labor it entails.

Perpetual Motion

I know. I know. It's like I fell off the face of the earth without any warning. It's been an entire month since my last post, and I can't really give a good reason as to why. It's not as though I haven't had things to write about. If I think about it, I've actually had a great deal to discuss: work has been crazy, my living situation interesting, and my training schedule insane. I could have written so many posts. I just haven't.

The only way to explain it is that it's as if I've been living my life with blinders on since our Bahamas trip. As soon as I got back to Cali, I put my head down, dug in, and began concentrating on nothing but work and training. My focus has been intense. So, life has become a blur of nights spent in the ICU and days spent running, biking, or swimming. (Some days, a combination of all four.) Everything else has fallen to the wayside. My social life is nonexistent. My personal life has been limited to phone calls and texts. Sad, but true.

In all honesty, I don't mind this current state of perpetual motion. I may be mentally and physically exhausted, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. At least, then, I'm also too spent to feel lonely for my life back in Denver. Instead of falling into any sort of melancholy, I simply fall into bed, too exhausted to feel anything but an overwhelming desire for sleep. I guess that's the overriding reason why I haven't been posting much, I've simply been too tired.

I'm so grateful all of this is almost over. I still have months of training ahead of me; that much won't change. But, at least, in a few short weeks, I'll be doing it from home. This contract will be over in a few weeks, and my time in SoCal, away from my Mouse, will come to an end. It's time for this adventure nurse to take a break and rest her weary bones. (Relatively speaking, that is.)

In Over My Head

Oh my goodness.  What have I gotten myself into?  I'm definitely feeling more than a little overwhelmed right now.  I knew it was going to be tough, and was going to take up a significant amount of my time, but seeing it all laid out in front of me is an entirely different situation.

You see, I've decided to do an Ironman this summer.  For those of you not initiated into the world of Ironman triathlons, that's 140.6 grueling miles of competition, consisting of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run.  For most, that probably sounds like hell.  For me, it sounds like an outstanding challenge.

So, why am I overwhelmed right now?  It's not like I didn't know this was a serious undertaking; I've done enough Half-Ironman events to know that.  But, this time, it's different.  This race is double the distance of anything I've ever done, and double the commitment.  So, I've decided to train the right way, and really take it seriously.  In the past, I've followed training schedules of my own making, and have done well enough, but I thought I could do better with a proper coach.  Enter Mile High Mountain Sports, Coach Kathy, and the TriBella women's team.  I'm counting on them to keep me accountable, challenge me, and help me prepare for this race at a much more competitive level than I could on my own.

Again, why am I overwhelmed?  Well, Coach Kathy just sent me the first few weeks of my training schedule, and it isn't pretty.  It's much more technical and focussed than anything I've ever done: fartleks, intervals, tempos, and a whole lot of training jargon that I'm not quite sure I understand.  Just looking at the proposed workouts makes my head spin.  While I understand this is exactly what I need, it doesn't make it any less intimidating.  It really makes me question whether or not I've gotten in over my head.

But I don't have time to panic.  The race is only 6 months away, so I just have to throw myself into this,  and do the best I can.  As the weeks and months go by, the training will begin to make more sense, and will become more intuitive.

I'm going to start writing regular updates to my training, to help keep track of my progress.  So, I guess the countdown to Ironman Canada is beginning.  6 months and counting...

Punching Bags

Patients can be so cruel at times, lashing out at the very same people who provide them life saving care in their hours (and days) of need. They throw out insults and racial slurs like daggers to our hearts, saying such pointedly mean and ignorant things that it's tough to simply shrug the words off. They rant anti-gay or chauvinistic sentiment with such vehemence that it's all one can do to shut out the epitaphs. As healthcare professionals, we are taught that, most often, they don't mean what they say. They are not themselves, especially when some type of brain injury is involved. We know we're not supposed to take it personally. But, sometimes, the yelling and the ranting is so cruelly directed at us and is so personally offensive that it's difficult not to. We have to wonder if there isn't a kernel of personal truth to their hateful comments. We want to think the best of everyone, but it's not always so easy. We try to build thick skins, but sometimes the insults are too much. All too often, I've seen the sting in a coworker' eyes. And I know it's been apparent in mine from time to time, too. In what other industry would this ever be remotely acceptable? Why are we expected to be the punching bags? And worse, we're supposed to take the abuse with a smile? It's a serious flaw in the healthcare industry; one that I have no clue how to begin solving. All I know is that you should give your favorite nurse, or other healthcare worker a big hug today, as you never know what they went through at work.

A Slice of Caribbean Paradise

We've arrived stateside. Our vacation is officially done. The kayaks and our Caribbean adventure nothing but a pleasant memory; a trip that turned out to be everything we had hoped. We got away from it all for an entire week, seeing no other human being for the duration of our cay-hopping. We swam with stingrays, sharks, and all other sorts of marine life. We drank wine by the fire at nightfall. We woke every morning to the bluest of blue ocean lapping on our own, private beach. It was a vacation that many will only dream of, and we were lucky enough to make it our reality. Sore muscles and sunburns aside, this past week was near-perfection. I'm going to miss our sandy paradise...

Full trip report and pics to come soon.

Off the Grid

Today is the day our true Bahamas adventure begins.  Today we put out, brave the Carribean winds, and begin our kayak trip through the Exuma Cays.  I've been dreaming of this for months.  For the next seven days, our lives will be nothing but white, sandy beaches, and warm, tropical water.  We'll paddle and snorkel and paddle some more.  We'll be totally off the grid and out of touch with the rest of the world.  We'll be in our own private paradise.  Pictures to come later...

Paradise Found

I am in paradise.  I'm not exaggerating.  I am, quite literally, in paradise at this very moment.  I am lazing on the beach, in the Bahamas, ice-cold Kalik in hand,  with the bluest of cerulean blue ocean stretched out in front of me, as far as the eye can see.  (I wish I could attach one of the million pictures I've taken, but the technology out here is a little behind, so there is no way to send my photos from my phone at the moment.)  But, please, take my word for it, the scenery is beyond gorgeous.  It is breath-taking.  It is perfect.  I promise you, I am in paradise.

Destination Bahamas

Ahhh... We made it. The last few days have been insanely busy: work, packing, catching a flight to Denver, more packing, and a pre-dawn drive out to DIA. But, now, we're finally here. The Bahamas. Great Exuma Island, to be exact. George Town, to be even more exact. Our vacation has begun. First, a few days of lazing about on the beach. Nothing but cold beers, native rum, and relaxing for us. On Sunday, the real adventure begins when we pick up our kayaks and start exploring the out-islands. But, for now, we're testing out the local flavors, noshing on fried Grouper fingers and sipping the Caribbean version of Guinness. (Yes - It really is different.). Let the good times roll...

SoCal State of Mind

And then I get to have a day like this; a beautiful, sunny, mild day in the middle of winter, in which I have all the time in the world to do whatever I want, and I remember how nice it is to live (even if somewhat temporarily) in SoCal. It was the perfect day to pack a picnic lunch, grab a good book, and settle into the sand for some much-needed beach time, so that is exactly what I did. It was my own form of therapy, easing the loneliness of being so far from home for just a little while; my mind soothed by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and smell of ocean hanging in the air. I couldn't help but be happy. It was an ideal afternoon, after all, my mind immersed in my book, my toes digging into the warm sand. It made me appreciate the freedom my solitude affords, to be able to laze about, without guilt, on my free day. I'll be back in Denver soon enough, I suppose. So, for now, I'll take my beach days and appreciate the life I'm in. It's not hard to do with scenery like this...

Absentee Wife

It's Mouse's birthday. It's Mouse's birthday and I am not there to celebrate it with him. Right now, he is out and about in Denver, celebrating with friends, and I am working yet another overnight shift here in Cali. I feel awful. He swears it doesn't matter, that birthdays aren't a big deal to him. But birthdays are a big deal to me. I care. It hurts my heart to know I'm not there to make his day special, to make him smile. It kills me that I wasn't there to make him breakfast, or a birthday cake, or anything else that makes a birthday memorable. Instead, I had to settle for cupcakes delivered by a friend. Today, I feel like a very bad wife.

Settling In

I'm glad I waited a full week to write this next post. I'm glad I gave myself time to settle in and absorb the reality of my new living situation. If I had written anything last week, it would have been angst-y and full of remorse. It would have exposed me for the emotional wreck that I was. Even though I've done this before, last week was a shock to my system. I felt utterly lost, convinced I had made the wrong decision. Strange house. Unfamiliar neighborhood. Horrible commute. It all added up to misery. I don't know how many times I called Mouse, my eyes filled with tears, telling him as much.

One would think this travel thing, being away from the husband and home, adapting to new environments, would get easier with each assignment. It doesn't. It always takes me time to adjust. So, last week, I had to wrap my head around the idea of being so far removed, once again. It wasn't a happy time. But, once I got back into the swing of things, and back to work, everything got a little better. And, I'm pleased to report, that each day since has steadily improved. I still miss all the comforts of my home, but I'm coming to terms with my new, temporary living situation.

So, instead of writing about how sad and lost I feel, I can write about how confident and content I am. Yes, I miss my husband, but this assignment is going to fly by more quickly than I can even imagine, and will amount to nothing more than a teeny tiny blurb in the story of my life. It will be over and done before I know it, so I need to appreciate it for all that it is: a chance to grow as a person, an opportunity to become a better nurse, a great way to make some extra money, and the perfect excuse to spend as much time as possible at the beach.

Gypsy Girl

I live a strange life.  I really do.  Monday was zero degrees and frost-bitten cheeks; Denver at its coldest and least appealing.  Yesterday, I ended my day with a run along Newport Beach, with the ocean and outline of Catalina Island the backdrop for my evening workout.  The juxtaposition of these two scenarios only highlights how crazy my life has become.  One day I'm scraping ice from my windshield, and the next I'm playing in the sand.  The most ludicrous part about it is that this has become my norm.  I've become a professional gypsy, a drifter.  Who knows where I'll be from one day to the next?  I bounce around so often that I'm beginning to forget where I actually call home.  Denver, Las Vegas, Australia, Newport Beach...  My life has become so vast, it's mind-boggling.  I never would have guessed this is what my life would become, a veritable merry-go-round of residences.  But I'm young and energetic, so I'm going to enjoy this ride while I can.  Now, if I could just remember my current address...

Snow Day

I really, truly wish I could experience life through my puppy's eyes, just once, even if only for a fleeting moment.  The world must be so simple, so magical, from his perspective.  There is always unfamiliar territory to sniff and explore.  Sticks make for great play-toys.  And snow... well, that is pure magic.  For him, life is constantly new, exciting, and full of wonder.  Every emotion he feels is pure and unadulterated; his joy never polluted with complicated emotions.  Oh, to live the life of Butters...

Earlier this week, I took Butters on his very first snowshoeing expedition.  It wasn't anything crazy, just a quick trip up to Jones Pass, near Idaho Springs.  I've done day-trips similar to this a million times, but for Butters, this was a completely novel experience.  He had never been in such a vast, unpopulated wilderness, or seen so much snow.  I've never seen his body shake with so much excitement, or his face plastered with such a goofy grin.  (Yes - my puppy was smiling.  I promise.)  He ran as fast as his little, puppy legs would take him, and played as hard as the other dogs would tolerate.  I'm pretty sure he was in puppy heaven, and that warmed my heart.  For me, this was just an excuse to catch up with a friend, and get a little exercise in the process, but for Butters, this was everything.

Watching Butters play, and seeing his unbridled happiness, made me think.  It helped put my own life in perspective.  It made me wish I could find that much joy in anything.  Seriously.  But it also reminded me to take a deep breath, take a look around, and take pleasure in the simple things in life.  It reminded me of how lucky I am to live near the mountains, in the midst of such grandeur.  Most importantly, it reminded me to just be happy.  Thanks, Butters.

I Must be Crazy

And just like that, the holidays are done, the new year is well underway, and my month-long Denver hiatus is nearing an end. It doesn't seem possible for it all to have flown by so quickly. Wasn't I just looking forward to returning home, to spending time with my husband? Didn't I just make the grueling trip from California to Colorado, battling the less-than-ideal road conditions over Vail pass? No matter. It's time to do it all over again.

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I signed another contract. At the time, it seemed like a good idea; a do-able way to make some extra money. And didn't the last thirteen weeks fly by? But, now that it's time to go, I don't want to. I want to be home, to dig my heels in, to feel like I have some roots. I thought a month would be enough. I thought it would give me time to settle in, to enjoy my home, my husband, and the city I love. But these four, short weeks were anything but enough. Instead, I've felt like my life is in overdrive, and I'm constantly rushing to cram in every last detail. It's been a nonstop month of exhausting, and I'm worn out. So much for my holiday R&R.

I try to shrug off the frustration. It won't always be like this. I'm not going to live in limbo forever. (I know I've said that before.) Someday, life will be much more settled. (I hope.) But, for now, I have to take the chaos with the calm, the bad with the good. I'm just thankful that, even though the chaos is plentiful, the good is equally abundant.

As I pack my bags this weekend, preparing for another stint away, I need to focus on the positive, to remind myself this is simply another chapter in the adventure of my life. It may not be the easiest road to take, but it's bound to be worth the trouble. Only time will tell what this next fork in the road will bring, but that is the beauty of life.