Chugga CHOO CHOO

They say that the finish line is not the defining moment. The journey is what changes you, shapes and molds you. Causes you to face your fears, shake your doubts and test your spirit. My journey has shaped me, and this chapter of injury has probably shaped me more than any other part. There were so many things I had to let go of, and I had to face by biggest fear – I was not in control of my own body, my mind could no longer just will me through it.

The weekend before the race, we had bonus son #2’s graduation. We had a great time, but with all the walking, standing, car time and chairs that didn’t have a whole lot of support or cushion, my back was letting me know it wasn’t happy. My adjustment Monday felt off, I had a horrible headache and hip pain Tuesday, and Wednesday my back was really in pain. I stood in the living room that night and said to Michael the words I didn’t want to say, “If this is how I continue to feel, I can’t race Sunday.” There it was, what I dreaded was about to come true. I stuffed ice packs down my pants all day Thursday (much to the hilarity of my students). Thursday after school I went back to the doctor as a walk in. He took one look at my face and took me right in. The adjustment felt better, and we talked about what to do. He told me that he was going to clear me, but that he trusted me to make the right decision in the moment if I needed to. 

Friday I continued with ice packs and stayed horizontal as much as possible. I felt better, but I wasn’t going to risk it. Saturday was check-in, and Michael and I were excited at the chance to meet Rinny and Sebastian, since both were going to be at the pro panel. Bikes were checked in, last minute advice given by my coach, and then we wandered over to the pro panel. And there they were! We got to meet both of them. Rinny is TINY, and solid muscle. Putting your arm around her is like putting your arm around a cement column.

Giggling like school children, we met up with our DAC friends to have a late lunch before going home. As we walked through Ironman Village, Michael asked me how I felt. I said, “I’m not even nervous. Walking through here makes me feel like I’ve come home.” I think it was in that moment I knew I would finish the next day.

At the swim start, I had some time to talk to God. I was honest with him – I knew I was undertrained being injured, and my back was a big if, so I said to Him, “This is going to have to be all You. There isn’t a whole lot of me ready to do this.” I was calm and at peace with whatever the day brought. My only goal was to finish…okay, not entirely true. I did have a time goal, but it was based on my paces during training, and I was more than willing to let go of them if it meant being able to cross the finish line. The swim had a 350 m upstream and then a turn to go downstream the rest of the way. I thought I would be smart and swim wide of the buoys downstream, missing the mess of bodies that would be swimming near them. It wasn’t smart – I cost myself minutes by trying to cross cut the current, and it would throw me off course. Will not being doing that again!

Out of the water, and off to transition. While I was thrilled to have my bike close to the swim out (as close as it could be when you have to run down a dock, up a hill, then cross the street to get there), it also meant that Bike Out was all the way across transition from me. I ran/jogged/walked as I needed and I was mounted and ready to go. The gentleman in front of me however, with his $5000+ bike and super aero helmet was having some difficulty getting his shoes on. He had thought to save himself time by having his shoes clipped in on the bike ahead of time. Only works if you practice it, which it didn’t seem he had. He wove back and forth all over the lane, and when I tried to pass him, he swerved in front of me. Not going down because of him, I just spun my pedals and waited for him to get his act together.

The bike course is all about perspective. Those that live here or in similar areas would say that they are rollers with some long inclines. Those that live in flatter areas would curse the hills. I’ve not even lived here a year, and in those first twenty miles, I questioned a number of times why I hadn’t chosen Galveston instead. I’ve never had home court advantage, and knowing all the quirks of the bike helped me tremendously. Problem with a rolling start without seeding for time is that you constantly have fast bikers flying up from behind you. I got a little sick of being passed. It was more than made up for by the gorgeous scenery.

Halfway through the course is Andrews Hill. It’s a sharp left turn, a VERY steep incline that ends, with the irony not lost on me, at a cemetery. You take the corner with as much momentum as you can muster, prepare to gear down and start asking the gear fairy to bless you with more gears. I was afraid it was going to be packed on the hill and I wasn’t disappointed. I was happy to pass some guys there, knowing full well that when we got to the descent, they would come flying by. A girl did almost hit me as she overcorrected to miss a branch on the road, but soon I was up and over and getting ready to enjoy the half mile of hold onto your bike and pray you don’t fall kinda descent.

We turned left again, riding back toward town. At first the wind didn’t seem so bad, then I came around a curve and BAM! There it was. What was supposed to be a light breeze turned out to be a fairly strong wind. There’s a long incline through Chickamauga (say that five time fast), and then a really fast descent. Coming back into town, my bike began gearing funny. I thought I had it figured out, and then at mile 52, my chain dropped. I coasted to an intersection where there were two policemen directing traffic for us. The lady officer asked me if I was okay, and I told her I was, I had just dropped my chain. She must have not been a cyclist, because she got all concerned and said, “How far back? I’ll help you go look for it!” I thought that was so sweet, but also a little funny.

Coming back into transition I got smart. I dismounted, entered the bike area, stopped and took off my shoes. I was not going to try to run all the way across transition wearing those shoes. Getting to my area, I saw that the lady next to me had set up camp – right where my bike was supposed to be. I asked her to move, which she did – slowly. A quick change of shoes and I was off on the run. I immediately saw Sheree, and that really helped me get off on a good start. My legs felt heavy, but I was hoping they would ease up as I went. That didn’t happen. My right calf started tightening up badly, and I started going through all possible reasons. I fueled properly on the bike, had my Ucan, ate my food, had my Nuun….oh wait, no I hadn’t. I had the tube with me on the bike, but didn’t put any tabs in my fuel bottles. Ugh, it's suck it up buttercup time.

Using my run/walk method, I soldiered up an incline to see a large group of blue shirts. DAC rocks! It was just what I needed to get motivated to keep at it. These awesome people were everywhere on the course, surprising us at various spots on the bike, and now the run. 

The volunteer stations were amazing, especially Kona-nooga. They were so happy, you couldn’t help but feel happier too. As my legs got more tired, I decided my best chance of not having to walk the whole thing was to lower my run interval and increase my walk. It was a really good decision, and soon I was rounding the corner to get to the chute. Bless them for putting the finish line at the bottom of a hill, gravity worked, and I ran all the way in. As the volunteer put my medal on, I began to feel very light headed, and tipped to the side. They called medical, and got me a wheelchair to sit in. All through the race, I had a heart of gratitude, and reminded myself that almost exactly ten months before I was in a wheelchair to spend the day with my family. Sitting in that wheelchair again at the finish line, I felt I had come so far from that person I had been, and I had an answered prayer – God had carried me through.

In our DAC group, we had a number of people who were doing this for the first time. Everyone finished, and many beat the goals they had for themselves. I feel blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful, supportive people. I have a great guide in my coach, Robyn, and I thank her for her patience as we both figure out when I can push and when I have to hold back.

Every day I think about how lucky I am to have such an amazing husband, and this training was just part of the reason why I feel so blessed. Michael cheered me on through every breakthrough, held me when I cried, listened to my fears, was my rock through setbacks, and gave me a kick in the butt when I needed it. Our song at our wedding had the line, “When God made you, He must have been thinking about me.”

I know this path will continue to hone and shape me. The Full is now just over 100 days away, and there's a lot of work to do. But in this past year, I have seen what an incredible support group I have, and if it takes a village...well, my village is pretty stinkin awesome.

Tech-no-no

Most people love technology. The advantages of technology, especially in our sport, can make a huge impact on our training and results. Pouring over data, splits, watts, cadence, and heart rate has almost become a discipline of its own. And then there's me. I certainly have nothing against technology, I think it's awesome. For some reason, the feeling isn't mutual. I don't understand why, I talk nicely to all my equipment, tuck it in at night, read it stories, but to no avail.

This discord first showed up in heart rate monitors. Training by heart rate is critical in Ironman. Teaching your body to stay in that golden zone 2 can be the difference between finishing strong and crawling. My first few months of training, I took my heart rate with my watch and counting beats. Then I tried monitors. The first one lasted five minutes, the second told me I had a heart rate in the 160's while I was light jogging, and dropped to a 55 while I was doing intervals...so basically I was dying. Right after that I tried a third, and I couldn't even get it to pick up my heart rate. So I went back to the old fashioned method, and I was happy to know I still had a heart rate during intervals.

GPS became an issue. During my Southern Tour with Hannah, Whinney (as she is called in our family), would take me the worst way possible. Trying to find Target from our hotel took us through every back road, and when we finally got there, right across the parking lot was the same road our hotel was on. What the heck?!? Whinney tried to take us back the way we came, but I ignored her and took the main road. Took 20 mins to get there, five to get back. Houston, we have a problem.

Michael didn't believe that Whinney had it out for me until we took two cars to Ikea in Atlanta. We typed in the same address, and off we went. We got separated in traffic, and after he got there, he asked me where I was. My answer? I have no idea. She had us on a road I had never seen, through two neighborhoods that were pretty scary and a U turn that I missed because why would there be a U turn???

Once we finally got there we looked at the routes. Using the same address, Whinney had Michael get off at exit 250, and I was sent to exit 252. He now believed.

As we were renovating, Lowe's became our second home. We took our cart to checkout, waited our turn, and then the lady started trying to scan our merchandise. And nothing. The gun wouldn't work. She tried resetting it, and nothing. She laughed, saying she had just used it. Michael looked at me and asked me to go stand about ten feet away. The lady look really confused. Michael told her to go ahead, and sure enough, the scanner worked. She couldn't believe it, but it didn't surprise me at all.

Theories range from having certain magnetic fields in my body that messes with tech, to since I was electrocuted as a child, it stayed with me. My Garmin and I get along well enough, except that it can take four or five tries to get it started sometimes. I'm reluctant to upgrade to the 920 since it's a lot of money to spend on something I'm not sure will work for me. Maybe I'm reading the wrong bedtime stories...

Restarts and Roller Coasters

This year has been a roller coaster for sure, and the twists and turns keep coming. It's been wild, but thrilling! I just got some exciting news....I'm pregnant!!  JUST KIDDING!!!!

Seriously, between the two of us, we are now a happily blended family of six kids, four dogs, and a cat....there will be no more additions to our clan, two or four legged. Bikes however, is another story.

No, my news is that my doctors have decided to stop my decompression treatments. The last two times I've wound up with more pain from the table than I did going in, and that means my body is resisting it. So for now, we are going to see if that means I've healed enough to graduate.

A lot of mixed feelings. On one hand, since I have been in less pain and basically can do my regular life without too many modifications, I'm ecstatic. On the other hand, it's kinda of like letting go of the side of the pool in the deep end for the first time - am I really ready for this? Will I get injured again without it? It's kind of become my safety line.

It's been nine months since that day at the pool when I became afraid to get in knowing how much pain I would be in. This whole time has been a process for me, because for the first time in my life, I couldn't will myself through something. I had to stop, and listen, and wait. Very un-Lori like.

We are about to start training for the CHOO 70.3 in May. Most likely going to meet my new coach next week. It's going to be easier to be coached by the same person, but Michael and I are starting from very different places, so it will be a while before we actually get to train together.  Motivation for me, I love to chase the rabbits :)

So what have I learned form all this? If I'm going to work my body like a machine, I need to treat it like one, which means clean fuel and regular maintenance. No more thinking the pain will go away on its own. I remember coming off the bike in IMTX and knowing something was really wrong with my back, but waited until I couldn't bring myself to train anymore to actually get it checked out. Yes, it was a moronic thing to do.

I've learned that it is not a sign of weakness to accept help from others. I was raised to be very independent, but there have to be limits. Asking for help has been a hard lesson too, but slowly but surely, I'm doing better at that too. Michael just flat out refused to allow me to lift, carry or move in ways that could be bad for my recovery. I remember when he said to me he would rather see me take care now than be in a wheelchair when we had grandchildren. He's been so great, loving me through my cranky and frustrated days, and helping me see what improvements I've made.

Your heart, mind and body work as a cohesive unit, and if one is off, the other two can only compensate so long. I thought that my focus was my greatest strength, and it is a strength. My mistake was thinking it overrode the other two. My injury showed me that in this case, it was my weakness, and I'm hoping through all of this I will become a better balanced athlete.

Next year will be another big year, a half and full Ironman in the works. I'm taking training one day at a time, and finding that balance between pushing the limits to make gains, but not crossing too far over the line to cause injury.

Someday, I will look back on all of this as a foggy memory. I hope not to forget the lessons I learned.Someday, I want to qualify for Kona, I might be 80 at the time, but hey, I'll take it!

Back in the Saddle

I'mmmmmm baaaaaaack!

The last few months have been a blur, but now that I'm getting back on track physically, it's time to revive the blog.

A few months ago I posted about my back not feeling right.  That was probably the greatest understatement I've ever made.A herniated disc, two bulging discs, misalignment, nerve spasms over 1000%...fun for the whole family.  I have to be honest, I was actually kind of relived at the diagnosis.  I knew my back hurt, but through January and February I was training anyway, under the delusional belief that I could therapy my way through this one like I had with previous injuries. It was just a case of mind over matter, right? Ummm, no.

February came, and I couldn't push my body past 50 miles on the bike.  It just stopped. Runs ended at about six miles, and while I could still do the 3000-4000 m swims, I paid for it. At that point I thought I just wasn't mentally strong enough to push myself through.  My body wasn't listening to me. I was supposed to do the Half Marathon in Pharr in February, but woke up that morning and knew that just wasn't going to happen.  I had seen Sandy Overly the day before at packet pickup, and she suggested Martin Chiropractic. I will always be grateful. The next night was a swim night, and I found myself sitting by the side of the pool, talking to Michael and saying something I never thought I'd hear myself say. I was afraid to get in the pool. Afraid.

Over the past two years, I had gotten a small sense that I was impervious. I asked my body to do these hard workouts and train like a madman, and it did it.  Injuries came and went, but with therapy, my body just kept going.  After IMFL, I was riding pretty high that this was going to be a great year. Now I sat by the side of the pool, dreading getting into the water, because deep down I knew I wasn't impervious.  Something was seriously wrong. So I went home, and the next day, walked across the street (I had probably seen the sign a million times) and made my first appointment.

Getting the news put me in shock. I dabbled in denial for a few weeks, but reality finally set in.  My year was gone. I was broken, and this wasn't something I could could stubborn my way through.  It shook me, because that was kind of my survival instinct, just keep pushing ahead. Now I couldn't do that. I felt lost in this new territory. Selling the house made recovery harder, and I'm so grateful to those that came out to help me get things ready, you really were lifesavers. Even still, old Lori did too much, and wound up on the couch for two weeks.

When you have that much time to think, things become real clear real fast, and thank goodness for Netflix because otherwise Jerry Springer and I would be on a first name basis. Ironman life as I had known it was over. If (because at that time I dealt with ifs) I could heal and get back, did I want to? There were many reasons why I started this journey, and many of those reasons had seen fruition with the races I had done.  Maybe it was time for a new, less taxing hobby? I could be Michael's Sherpa, do smaller distance races, join a dance class, do weights...

I'm glad for that dark time now. It helped show me that Ironman isn't what I do, it's who I am. I remember being 18 years old, and dreaming of Ironman. There were a couple of people who scoffed at me then because I couldn't run, and had DNF'ed my last Olympic distance. But I'm not that person anymore. I'm not the person I was a year ago. Accepting that I am an Iron distance triathlete helped me accept that I would have to rest....a lot. And the way I trained doesn't work for me anymore. It also changed my why, and I think it will make me a stronger, better racer because this why has no expiration.

Michael and Gina helped me so much. Gina would send me encouraging messages, and let me vent when I needed to.  Michael was and still is my rock.  Knowing Galveston was coming up, he arranged (with doctor approval) for me to come to Georgia so I wouldn't have to be alone thinking about it.  As excited as I was for how awesome my friends did, I cried.  I admit it. I felt like I had failed not showing up race day. Michael has been amazing through this whole process, encouraging me to rest, keeping my spirits up, helping me with whatever I need...I'm very very blessed.

But what happens to someone who can't exercise? No matter how I restricted my diet, the weight slowly crept up. And during my dark time, I gave up on even trying to restrict the diet. So now, I'm almost back where I was when I started this journey weight wise. UGH!

A couple of weeks ago, I was cleared to start light training again. Weights and strength training and now a daily part of my life....forever. The birth defects found during my medical tests mean that I will always need to have a strong core, or else my back will deteriorate. Which is perfectly okay with me, because I actually enjoy weights.

My first day at the gym was comedic to say the least. Here are all these people lifting their 50-120 pound weights.....and then there's Lori, limited to ten pounds....wheeee. Nevertheless, I was happy to be back. Biking has been going well, I'm up to 35 mins steady, all trainer work. Once I hit an hour, I'm planning on joining the Turtles in my area's cycling group (I didn't name them, but will be thrilled to ride with them). The hills here are no joke, and I want to rebuild right.

I swam for the first time back last week. I was a little scared about it since this is the one exercise that involves some twisting and that could trigger my back.  It was, to say the least...magical. I felt like I had come home, and wanted to keep going.

I'm learning my body in a whole new way now, sometimes I think Michael laughs at me because I will get this look of concentration on my face as my body and I are "talking". Every time I get down, I think about where I was four months ago, when walking through HEB made me cry in pain. Or where I was a month ago, when folding laundry meant an hour on the couch with an ice pack. Daily life is almost normal now with some adjustments, and I have Helicopter Michael to make sure I don't push myself too hard. We go for walks often, and the scenery here is so beautiful, and the hills work those glutes!

It hasn't be fun doing these things with the little voice in the back of my head telling me where I used to be. I struggle with that a lot. Lifting 10 pounds when I used to lift 40, swimming 500 m when that wasn't even my warm up before, dealing with the concept that when I start trying to run again at the end of the month, I will be lucky to get a mile in using the run/walk method.  The mental regrowth is almost harder than the physical.

Don't get me wrong, this is no pity party. I know that I will get stronger, and like both Martin Sr. and Jr told me, "If you trained liked you did all last year while broken, imagine what you can do hitting the starting line healthy."

I thought about not starting the blog back up, because I didn't want to admit how far back I've gone, or open up about the emotional struggles that go with it. On one of our walks, Michael told me that maybe it might help someone going through something similar, and I hope it does. I'm hoping that someone facing a rebuilding process like this can find some company here, or I can be a word of caution to those who may be putting off getting that pain checked out.

I really needed something to focus on to keep myself motivated, so Michael found a micro sprint in October. The great thing is that they have all the distances at the same race, so he will be doing the 70.3. 200m swim, 9 mile bike, 1 mile run....back to basics. In some ways I think I will feel more elated to cross that finish line than I was at Florida or Texas Ironman. Looking ahead, the plan is for us to do Chattanooga 70.3 next May, and 140.6 next September.

In the meantime, all of us are adjusting to the new life here in Georgia. We are working on Michael's dog Buzz to not see Lady as the agent of evil that must be destroyed (Buzz is okay with the boys, but Lady is another story altogether), and the dogs are loving having more people in their pack with Michael's wonderful kids, meaning more attention, more belly rubs, more people to sleep with and more treats thrown their way.  The version of doggie paradise.

Setbacks are going to happen, sometimes they will be a small jump back, and sometimes they are wipe outs to your foundation. While I struggle with what was lost, I'm excited about what I'm gaining - a new found knowledge and understanding of my body, and being able to rebuild it right. Soon, this time will be a laughable memory, but the new path will make me stronger and take me farther than before....I'm all for that! Mike Reilly, here I come!

Let's Build a Snowman

Phew! 2014 is done, and what a crazy year that was! Looking back, the year was a roller coaster of highs and lows, but in the end....what a ride!

I never did do a Florida race report, so here it is - it was COLD and WINDY!!  Seriously though, the few days leading up to the race, we all anxiously looked at the weather.  Sure, it was in the 70's right then, but the weather reports kept making race day colder and colder.  Having lived in the Valley so long, I didn't have any true cold weather gear, but upon Michael's suggestion, I did pack some tights and a long sleeved shirt.  I had no idea what a lifesaver he was.

The day before the race, I did a practice open water swim.  Oh my gosh! It was amazing to be able to see to the bottom, and as I was happily swimming along, a stingray nonchalantly swam under me...it was SO cool! I had a great swim, was super excited about the idea of swimming in clear water and was generally pretty stoked about the next day.  Since it was my second Ironman, the nerves were different.  The first time, there was a long of anxiety about not finishing.  This time, I knew I could do the distance, so my fears were more along the lines of avoiding the injuries I sustained in Houston. Also, since I had displaced my SI joint in IMTX but didn't know about it till July, there was a little nagging in my mind that Joey's magic hadn't had enough time to work. Michael and I also had a friendly bet going, so I had a goal time in mind.

The day of the race dawned, and as soon as I checked the weather, my heart dropped.  The cold front had come in overnight, and it was a very chilly 39 degrees.  Now my big concern was being too cold after coming out of the water.  I would have to take extra time in T1 to make sure I was as dry as possible before getting on the bike.  As we got to the race area, there was a lot of speculation about the swim.  I got my bike ready as fast as my frozen fingers could go, and then we headed into the hotel lobby to get my wetsuit on.  They made the call to get out to the beach, and we all went out like lambs to slaughter, silently following each other.  Being as vertically challenged as I am, I couldn't even see the water when we got to the beach, and the press of bodies was freaking me out, so we moved to the side.

My first look at the water banished any other thoughts from my mind.  The surf was a blender, and the sherriff's boat got tossed around like a feather in a strong wind.  Believe it or not, while other people were talking about how they hoped the swim got cancelled, I was plotting what technique to use in the waves.  About ten seconds later the announcement came: no swim.  Three thousand enthusiastic cheers went up, and about a hundred of us groaned (I was one of those). I love the swim, the swim is my friend, and like many others, felt like it wasn't a real Ironman without all three portions.

We were going to be seeded out on the bike, and all sat there shivering while we waited for our row to be called.  Many had not packed extra nutrition, so they started to get very hungry as the hours went by. I did, and went to hide in a corner to eat so that I wouldn't get attacked by the other racers.  Finally, it was our turn.  Imagine the Ironman swim start, bodies everywhere, trying to find some room to move.  Now add bikes and bad tempers.  That was the first 30 - 40 miles of the bike.  Nobody was happy with the wait, and many of the first timers now saw this as a bike tour, so they rode (poorly) as groups of fifteen to twenty.  Since the wind ranged from 18-26 mph, and we had only warmed up to 42 degrees, it took about that first thirty for me to stop finding ways of quitting and thinking about being back at the hotel with my parents and Michael with a nice warm cup of hot chocolate.  Finally, my competitive spirit kicked in, and those thoughts left, and my training took over.

In the middle of the bike we were directed over 12 miles of the worst road conditions ever.  Large cracks in the road every ten feet or so made your bike go ca dunk ca dunk ca dunk.  I was worried about busting a tire when suddenly my handlebars fell forward. Yes, the entire handlebar rack had come loose from the stem because of the bumping.  I hauled them back in place, and tucked over the horns, holding the bars in place until Special needs a few miles up the road.  There, I tightened them up quickly, and didn't really lose any time. A few miles later there was a collective sigh of relief as we turned off that road.  You could tell who the newbies were, they stopped on the road, in the middle of turns, swerved all over the road.  I was amazed we didn't have more crashes then we did.  At that point we had a long stretch till we had a tailwind, so I just tucked in, sung to myself, and made sure I took my nutrition on time.

Nothing of note happened until mile 90.  Then I started having some trouble steering. Looking down, I didn't see a flat on my front, so I stopped and checked for a back flat.  Nope, all was good.  A few more miles, and I really started having trouble.  Now I thought it was my shoulder, that maybe I had pulled something. Finally, I got off my bike to make an overall check.  My front tire was flat, I guess from the angle I couldn't see it before, or it was a slow leak.  I had never had a front flat before, but I laughed thinking about how I had thought it was my shoulder!  Somehow the tire had sealed itself to the rim, and I could hear the minutes ticking by as I wrestled my wheel.  And I literally mean wrestled.  A guy passed by and said, "are you okay?" to which I mournfully yelled "NO". I personally would have left the crazy lady behind but he took pity on me and became my angel.  It even took him a few tries, but he got the tire off for me.  I quickly changed the rest and got back on the road.

Coming into T2, I was concerned that riding that flat for so long would hurt my run.  Nothing could be done about it, so I went out on the run with my plan - run race pace until I couldn't and then run intervals after that till the end. Amazingly as I came out, I ran into Lou Hollander, an 80+ year old who has been doing Ironman basically forever. It was a great way to start the run! I came through the chute, and there were my parents, cheering away. Well, my mom was cheering, my dad is a little too stoic for that, but hey, he was smiling!  A few yards up, Michael was waiting for me.  He had volunteered at Run Special Needs so he could be sure to see me.  A hug and I was off. I felt good, keeping race pace was easy, but I knew better than to trust it. The run on the Ironman can eat you up and spit you out. The crowd dynamic was amazing, people out in Speedos in the cold, signs everywhere, music blasting and hula hoop girls twirling.  My friend Paula was riding her bike along the course so she could keep track of a few of us, and it was nice to chat with her for a bit.

There was a portion in the run that went through a park, that was pretty lonely - no crowds and everyone was trying to find a way to keep warm as the temperature started dropping again. With the wind for 6.5 miles, then turn back into it, and the wind had not calmed down at all.  I had decided to run with a handheld with a twist.  I used a bottle I didn't mind tossing so I could have finisher pics without it.  It worked really well, and my first loop went without a hitch.  I was very happy as I came into Special Needs, knowing Michael would be waiting for me.  And there he was, surfer hair and all, with a big grin on his face as he held out my bag to help me with whatever I needed.  I felt so good that I just got more nutrition, took off my pack, gave him a kiss and off I went.  He asked me how much longer I was going to run until I started intervals, and I said until I felt I couldn't run anymore.  Rounding the turn back onto the course for my second loop, I sent out a silent prayer: if God would give me the strength to run the whole thing, I wouldn't give in to the mental tiredness and stop running.  Darkness fell and it was very quiet out on the course between stations.  More and more people were walking and shivering. I kept running....mile 14, then 17, then 20.  As I hit the turnaround point for the final time, I really began to own the idea that I could run the whole marathon.  At mile 24 I hit the wall, and my mind went pfffffft.  I wanted to walk, I was cold, it was no longer any fun, and who's stupid idea was this anyway???  Still, I did the quick math, and two miles of running would get me to that finish line and warmth WAY faster than walking.  Going by Special Needs again, Michael was still there.  He had decided to stay to help out after his shift so that he could see me at the end.  He ran with me for a little bit, then branched off as I entered the chute.  I had finished another Ironman, 12:17, so even if I had the swim I had in Houston, (which would have upset me but hey) I would have done the full distance in under 14 hours, a full hour and a half faster. The finishers area is kind of a blur, getting to the car is a blur, and my mind shut down all external thoughts, choosing only to focus on immediate needs - food and warmth.

Sure enough, the next day brought back the sunshine and the warmth.  Michael and I walked the beach and I was stunned how different it was the day before. Each race leaves its own mark.  People have asked me if I will do Florida again.  My answer is maybe, but not for a long time. I do feel like there is some unfinished business there, but it can wait.

I have spent a lot of time during my recovery thinking about how I got here. There were a lot of people who helped along the way, all recruits in Lori's Army, as Gina says.  I thank all of you for your support, kind words, helpful advice, and even criticisms.  Nothing like some bad comments to make you want to prove people wrong :)

So what now?  2015 is proving to be even a bigger challenge in may ways.  First, I completely went off the deep end and signed up for IM Placid with German and Roger.  I still have "what were you thinking?" moments.  The bike profile gives me nightmares.

Hannah will graduate this year, and that also gives me nightmares.  She grew up too fast, and while I tend to be a little stoic like my father when it comes to mushy stuff, I will bawl like a baby when it comes time to let her go. I'm also excited for her, a new phase in her life, and new adventures. It's an exciting time for her, and I am so very proud of my little girl.

Meeting Michael was not something I expected.  I had enough of the relationship missteps I had gone through over the last couple of years, and had thought I would stay out of dating till Hannah graduated.  Famous last words.  A week later, he and I met, and the rest just fell together.  Many of you already know this, but I have decided that at the end of this school year, I will be moving out to Georgia to be with Michael, his wonderful family and amazing friends.  While I am very sad to be leaving all the incredible people I have met here, this has never really felt like home to me, and it's time for me to start some new adventures of my own.  Since Michael is also an Ironman, I'm sure that will include many more races in the future.

This Ironman journey has had more twists and turns than a Spanish Novella, but it's not over yet.  Right before my birthday, I got really sick and spent a few days in bed.  For some weird reason, my back locked from laying down so long.  So it's back to therapy.  I'm kind of encouraged though, every time Joey works his magic on me, I wind up being faster!

May 2015 be a wonderful year for you all.  May you reach the goals you have set for yourself and surprise yourself by reaching ones you didn't think you could!

One Step at a Time

I was reminded, and not very gently, that it had been some time since I've written. Time sometimes gets away from you, and you get so focused on what's going on in front of you, you forget. So, sorry!

This summer was interesting to say the least.  After Ironman, I didn't take off a whole lot of time, preferring to get started on the training for IMFL as quickly as possible. Took a week to go visit Chris, which I was very happy about.  We had a great time, and got the opportunity to train together which was a blast.  Biking in Kansas made this girl very happy. Wheee down the hills, and even the up the hill part was fun.

Shortly after I got back, I had an incident during a sprint workout. My right foot started tingling, and within 20 seconds, it was dead.  I couldn't feel it, and my calf was screaming in pain.  My body obviously had other plans when it came to training.  I didn't want to admit it but I was really scared.  It took about a week to get in to see Joey, the medical part of my army. Hannah and I went out to eat, and I wore my high heels.  I couldn't walk in them.  My right ankle kept flopping over.  This is baaaad, I thought.

I started PT, but really didn't feel like we were making a whole lot of progress; my leg was still very weak, I couldn't run more than seven miles without loss of feeling in my foot, and my ankle flopped around like spaghetti. My hip had been out of place since the bike incident in Ironman.  Turns out reaching for that bottle had popped my hip out, even though I hadn't felt any pain. Joey put in back in place, and we prayed it would stay there.

Right about that time, I started a cold, and had been warned that I could come down with something, since it takes a while to recover after an Ironman. That quickly turned into a major sinus infection, which then moved to my lungs. I sounded like a really old car trying to get started, and when I tried to swim, my head felt like it was going to explode. Six weeks and three rounds of antibiotics later, I'm over it.  It was fun!

Joey then suggested a running analysis to see if running mechanics could be a problem. And that's when everything came into focus.  My right foot was crossing over my mid line, almost in line with my left shoulder.  To top it off, I had complete supination, which was causing the stress on the nerve, and causing my foot to lose feeling.  It was scary to watch, and the knowledge that I had been running like that for a couple of months made me worried about how much damage had been done. Turns out the hip being out of place had caused me to try and compensate, messing up my mechanics.

It was back to square one, but I felt a lot better knowing what the problem actually was.  As it was with my foot injury, taking time off wasn't really an option, but I did lay off speed work while I fixed my mechanics. First up, I had to learn how to walk again.  It's amazing how much you take that for granted. I walked, concentrating on feeling how my left foot planted and recovered, and focused on repeating that with my right.  It took a few days, but I finally got it.  Then I was allowed to run, but only a couple minutes at a time, with walking, foot placement and stretching exercises in between running intervals. It was disheartening seeing everyone else motoring along, knowing the clock was ticking to Florida, since we had no idea how long this would take to fix, or how well I would come back.

Trying to let your left foot do its thing, then focus on making the right foot run properly was interesting. Turn mind on, turn it off, turn it on...I didn't want to mess up my left foot too. Slowly, I got to the point where I could run a half hour, then 45 mins. Still doing the exercises because the muscles had weakened so much, I found that PT was becoming a full workout in itself. Two weeks ago, I got to do a modified version of speed work, and last weekend I got to run past seven miles.  That was a huge mental demon for me, so hitting that seven, and not having too much pain, I did the happy dance in my head.  Doing it on the trail would have been entertaining for the people passing by, but I digress.

Slowly, my paces are coming back.  I don't have as much pain, but it's still there.  The muscles are still weak, and I have to stay focused when I run so the mechanics don't slip.  Imagining running with a cantaloupe between my legs actually helps. My lower back and hip ache, as the tendons and muscles strengthen back up. I haven't tried heels yet, and am trying to start a new trend of dress pants, dress shirt and running shoes...expect it to be all the rage in New York this year.

I've talked to a number of people who have come off a bigger injury. To those of you facing that now, I say just keep working at it.  Icing, heating, PT, stretching, rest, whatever you need to do, and it will come along.  You will get stronger, and you will get back to doing what you love to do. Be patient, time is going to pass anyway. might as well pass it getting back to your passion.

All in all, Florida is coming, and I intend on being ready. Thanks everyone for your prayers and encouragement, I'm grateful to God for my healing.  A big thank you to Joey and his team of miracle workers who get us crazy, stubborn athletes back out doing what we love. Thanks to Chris, who keeps encouraging me, and helps me keep the negative voices quiet. And as always, a thank you to my mentor and coach, German, who pushes me past my fear, and has always believed in me.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other (correctly placed of course) and you'll get where you need to be!

Metamorphosis

When asked about Ironman, usually the first thing people will tell you is that Ironman changes you. It strengthens you, not only in body, but in mind and spirit.  The training takes an enormous amount of dedication and sacrifice, and it basically becomes a temperance by fire. A metamorphosis takes place, and while you may not be completely different....you become refined.

I've mentioned before that when I began this journey a year and a half ago, I was fairly broken. I look back on that now, and wish I could have let that Lori know how different things were going to be in such a short period of time.

A number of people have asked me why I started this - I was tired of doing things the same way and expecting different results.  I needed to fundamentally change the way I looked at things, so I could make better choices in my life, and put myself on a better path.  I wanted to break the tape that played in my head, and show my daughter that if you are willing to push yourself harder than you ever have and not give up...anything was possible.

Coming up to race week, I felt myself turn inward.  It was a time for me to take stock of my whys, to reflect on how far I have come, and how far I still need to go.  Talking with Coach before I left, he told me that if I was expecting this big revelation type moment crossing the finish line, I probably wouldn't get it.  That revelation came with every mile I swam, biked or ran before I even got to the starting line.  What would happen the day of the race was that I would experience more pain and discomfort than I thought, would wrestle with the idea of giving up, and if I could push past it, have the confirmation that I truly could do whatever I put my mind to. With all that in mind, I was off to Houston. I seriously have the best coach I could ask for.

Things got real fast at the welcome banquet that night.  Every athlete was invited, and families and supporters could come as well.  It was a close personal dinner of 2600 of my nearest and dearest friends. You could tell who the repeat Ironmen were - they were generally relaxed while the first timers looked more than a little nervous.  I spoke with the people at my table, and found their stories pretty interesting.  On my left were a young couple.  It was his first Ironman, while it was her third.  On my right was an older couple.  He was racing while she was the support team.  She really had no interest in doing them, but for his long rides, she would load up water and nutrition on her scooter and ride alongside of him.  All of a sudden, a man approached our table and started talking to us.  Then he went to kneel by the empty table next to us.  I kept thinking he looked familiar....oh....my....gosh! It was Mike Reilly! The voice of Ironman! The man who got to pronounce us Ironmen as we crossed the finish line.  I quickly squat walked over to him and asked to take a picture.  Forget the pros, I had just met Mike Reilly!!! It was so superbly cool!

Mike did a great job of hosting the banquet from there.  We met the oldest competitor, who, at 80, was a true inspiration.  I had seen him compete with his daughter at Kona on TV. There were three 18 year olds who were also brought up as the youngest.  He also did an Ironman "Biggest Loser".  He started at 20 pounds, and climbed by 10 pound increments.  When he got to 80, he brought them up on stage to hear their stories.  Most of them were male, and many had the same story. "My wife is a runner/fitness trainer/triathlete, and I needed/wanted to keep up." One poor guy had his wife sign him up the year before as a birthday present, telling him he needed to get in shape, not the present he was expecting I'm sure.  Considering how high the entry fee is, and that it's non-refundable, he got to work, losing 80 pounds in the process.  The best story was the man who lost 200 pounds.  He started at 450 pounds, and would be competing in his first Ironman.  Hearing other people's stories are so incredibly inspiring.

Mike went through the stats - 41% of the field were first timers. The largest percent of first timers ever.  It helped, I think, to know that most of the field would be going through the same thing I was for the first time.

The next day, we got to have a swim practice on the course. As Chris and I went down there, it was still very surreal to me I would be doing an Ironman the next day. I spent a lot of time getting my bearings, taking my time and getting used to all the people. Right as I was coming out I saw a tethered team in front of me.  The man was legally blind and deaf, and he was guided by his friend. I was very humbled by the sight, and thought how brave this man was for doing this.  If he could be brave, well then, I had no excuses.

Race morning, I preferred to avoid the crush of the mass start, 2600 people fighting for real estate was just not something I wanted to do.  So I chose a spot slightly to one side, and hung onto a kayak with about a dozen other people as the clock ticked closer to seven.  As the cannon went off, there was pandemonium.  The pictures do not convey the insanity that is a mass start.  Bodies, hands, feet, all flying everywhere as swimmers look for anything that resembles a open spot to swim in.  There is a rushing sound in those first few moments, and it's the noise of the swimmers' arms all hitting the water.  After the first 800m, I started seeing people raise their arms to get pulled out or have help.  Just keep going Lori, I told myself...no matter what we are going to finish this.

As we entered the channel, I remembered that I had memorized the buildings that came before the exit.  I mentally cheered as I saw them come into view.  My shoulders were burning, and I was ready to get on the bike.  What I didn't know was that there were three sets of the same buildings.  So after I swam past the first set, I looked up - no swim exit...what the heck?  Okaaay, go past the second set - no swim exit.  Now I was just getting annoyed. Swim the third set - there it was! Get out, grab my bag, run into the tent...and HELLO!! There were a bunch of naked women! Tri-suits people! Just not something I was prepared to be seeing, all I'm saying.

The volunteers were awesome, helping us get ready so we could get out on the bikes quickly. Out I went, breaking down the bike course into manageable sections. My body felt a little heavy, but nothing too terrible. The first few miles I spent loosening up my legs, and eating for the long ride ahead. You make sure to eat every hour on the bike, and drink as much as you can. I made the turns into the main section of the course and discovered that Houston is a lot hillier than led to believe.  Head down, keep moving...concentrate on each hill as it comes.  Hit the downhills with speed, stretch when you can. A lot of the athletes were commenting on how the course was different than they expected, but most of those used words I'd rather not repeat here.

I spent a lot of time on the bike praying, in gratitude mostly, but also asking for help to finish the day as strong as I could. In my belief, there was no way to get through that day without God. Around mile 100, I thought to myself, "yep, I'm ready to get off this bike now." Suddenly, things started looking more familiar, and soon I was back in transition.  As soon as I dropped off my bike, I took my shoes off...ahhhh, that felt good.  My right foot had been aching for about 30 miles, and sure as shootin', I was going to lose that toenail...again.  The grass felt so soft on my feet, I was happy.  As I came into the area that had my run bag, Chris was there to cheer me on.  It was really good to see a friendly face.  I looked up and there was the man holding my bag up for me to see it.  I kept telling my legs to go, to run for it, but they had stopped listening to me.  I felt so bad for the guy I told him I just couldn't go any faster.

Getting into the run tent (no naked women this time, thank you!) a volunteer handed me a glass of water, asked me to sit down, took everything out of my bag and asked me how she could help.  Those volunteers really deserve medals of their own. I got changed as fast as I could, and went off running.

The first few miles were good, pace was good, aid stations were good, cheering crowds were good, it was all gooooood. I had this pesky pain in my side that had been nagging me since fairly early on in the bike but I set it aside. Around mile 12-14 (can't really remember) I hit the medical station to ask about my side since I was having some trouble breathing.  Told the medic to give me the Cliff notes version, since I was in a rush. Have to give him credit, didn't even phase him. He pushed and prodded on my side, to the point where I was getting ready to deck him - it hurt! Finally he said I had pulled or strained a muscle, and would probably be walking soon.  Off I went, wanting to get as much running in me that was left.

I saw a sight for sore eyes as I finished my second loop - there was Chris and Farrah! I took a couple of moments to hug them both and talk to them, and then off I went.  Finally, I was walking.  I knew I had enough time to finish, but I still wanted to go as fast as I could, so I power walked with what I had left.  I thanked God for allowing me to do this, to finish, thanked Him for all the people who had supported me during my training and throughout the day (big thanks to Chris and Jason for giving out all the updates!).  As I headed into the last stretch, I walked with a man who was hobbled over to the side with back pain.  I tried to encourage him, to tell him we were almost there, but he smiled at me and said, "Are you sure? I've been lied to a lot today - they said the bike course was flat, then for the last five miles of the bike they said it was only one more mile, and now you are telling me I'm almost done." I laughed and told him I wanted to be done too, so I wasn't lying. Sure enough, we entered the final chute.  I told him to go ahead of me, that I would walk a bit more so he could cross the finish line alone.  Also meant that I could cross the finish line alone...but hey.

The chute is magnetic.  The cheering is incredible.  The people don't care if they know you, they want to be part of your journey. I slapped hands with as many people as I could, including a little girl and her baby brother who looked at me like I was this amazing person because I was about to be an Ironman. You run, because your legs forget that they couldn't a moment ago. You almost float on this sea of well being projected towards you, and then you hear the magic words:

Lori Lyn Orsulak...you ARE an IRONMAN!

My first thought as I crossed? I cannot WAIT to do that again! My second thought? I want to lay down!

Chris, Farrah, the Ericas...awesome people who were there to share this moment with me. It meant so much to have them there. Pictures were taken and then I needed food...I hadn't been able to hold down anything for the last ten miles, but by jove I was going to EAT. It then dawned on me that by ending later than hoped, most of the restaurants would be closed, and I was in no condition to sit in a restaurant anyway (how everyone took pictures without a sneer over how I smelled...like I said, these are awesome people).

We picked up some food and kept the windows down going back to the hotel.  I went to shower, and noticed something at my feet.  Two baby fish had been caught in my suit....poor baby fish! I must have swam through a school during the swim and took them with me.  They were dead (obviously) but I still dubbed them IronFish.  They had, after all, done the distance with me. Then they were given the proper toilet burial all fish hope to have.

I expected to be somewhat sore the next day, and was surprised to be only a little stiff.  What really threw me for a loop was that my brain was oatmeal, I guess 15 hours of concentration was my limit for putting coherent thoughts together.  I had a hard time remembering what I had just said, and everything was foggy.

Still, as I drove home, I thought about what being an Ironman meant to me.  I knew without a doubt that I had the tenacity to get through anything, especially when I allowed my faith to give me strength. I realized that while still bruised in some areas, I was no longer broken. That meant that I was ready to let go of the people who didn't want to be part of my life, or would be detrimental to it. That was a hard one, because there are some truly awesome people who I would have loved to have as lifelong friends who chose to go a different way. But we all have our own journey, and cannot force anyone to follow our path instead of their own. If people want to go, let them, and it will make room for those who want to stay. And some pretty incredible people have chosen to stay.

I truly appreciated what everyone's contributions to me finishing meant to me.  Every "like", every comment, everyone who came out to ride with me, every time I was pushed (thanks Pain Lab Doctors), my coach who was encouraging when he could be and getting after me when I tried to slack off. It all came together to strengthen my resolve to finish that race, no matter what circumstances came along. So in one year and five months, my metamorphosis took place.  Into what?  Not sure...but it will be a heck of a ride discovering what it could be.

If I could give anyone advice, it would be this (for what it's worth to you), dream big, and just know that if you set your mind on that dream, you can get there.  Sure, you might have to take detours along the way, and it may not turn out as you planned. That's okay, because as you stumble, you learn to stand stronger. And as all the layers of garbage that held you back are pulled away, you find out that who you really are was there all along.

Florida is 22 weeks away, and I've learned a few things to change in my training and race day plan.  This may have been the ending of the first chapter, but it's hardly the end of the book.  There are many more races to race, people to help, and workouts to be done. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, someone will get inspired to chase their dream, whatever that may be. So meet you at the starting line, and thank you for being part of this first leg of my journey!

As a post note: To finish this chapter, I sent pictures of the finish to the person who told me I wasn't "odd" enough to do this. I got no response, and to be honest, I didn't need one.  Mike Reilly already told me I was odd enough, everyone who supports me knows I am, finally, I believe I am...so that's more than good enough for me.

Project Unbreakable:  To all the people who gave me their names, you came with me, we crossed the finish line together. Your voice was heard, and you are far braver than you know.  Thank you for entrusting me with your stories.