little droplets

Dudes, I'm here.  

I didn't feel like I was suffering from taper craziness in the earlier part of this week.  Looking back now, of course, I can see that was a bunch of crap, I was an emotional disaster.  We had a very long day of traveling yesterday, but for some reason, when I stepped off the (third) plane and out into the sunlight in Spokane, some most all of my crankiness just melted away.


I'm so happy to be here.

Last summer, for whatever reason, I felt a pull towards this race.  I talked about it when I signed up - I couldn't figure out why, but no other 140.6 interested me like this one did.  I thought about waiting another year or even a few months and signing up for a late 2012 race, but I just couldn't stop thinking about Coeur d'Alene.  I still have no idea why I feel this way, but here I am.  


I'm so happy to be here.

Not just physically here, but happy with the choices I've made to end up with my brain in this place.  I remember so clearly laying on my couch last July, clicking the final "submit" on the race registration and feeling a lot of things, but mostly scared and excited.  And then the excitement settled down into busy list-making and details, and then once all the details were worked out I settled down into the work.  But the lists are checked off, the details are completed, and the work is done.  There is no more talk of shoes and nutrition and pace and MAF and helmets.  


I'm so happy to be here.

And I'm enjoying myself.  Last night I spent some quiet time in my running shoes getting my feet back under me, and then I went out to dinner and spent time laughing and being around good people.  I built my bike in about ten minutes without wanting to fling it out the window even one time, and this morning I'm out splashing in the lake and laying rubber down on the road.  Friendly workouts with just enough pep to remind me of what's coming.  

I've had some nice little droplets of love from the universe.  Yesterday on the plane, we sat next to a woman who told us that she was coming to Idaho to see her 81-year-old daughter - Sister Madonna - race.  I have no idea how young you can be to have an 81-year-old daughter, but after some time on google last night, I can say that it was definitely her.  We rolled up to athlete check-in late in the day and when we stopped to ask directions, a security guard was kind enough to pick up some cones so we could princess park right outside the expo (I told him I'd mention him on the blog, I'm sure he was only playing it cool when he looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about and ran right home to flip on the local news to watch for it).  Everything is just good.  Little droplets of good love.

I don't even feel excited or nervous yet, although I'm sure those feelings will roll in.  I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about how the race is going to play out.  I don't need to memorize a complicated race plan - I've done it enough in training that it's mostly second nature at this point.  There is nothing left to analyze, there is no data that matters.  What matters is what is in my head, my legs, my heart.

I would say that you can track me on Sunday, you can type in my last name or my bib number (282) into the ironmanlive website (good luck with that), but time matters so little to me that I'm not sure what you should look for, other than the fact that I make it over the line at some point.  The poet will be blowing up twitter and maybe Facebook with updates and pictures throughout the day, so that might be more fun if you really want to stalk (you know you do).  I'm new enough and ignorant enough about how IM training works to not really have any idea what I'm going to do as far as the clock is concerned, and I never thought that I could truly be okay with that, but I am.  I'm glad that I can't do the complicated translation of training sessions into race expectations.  I'm glad that while I have a race plan, I'm not married to numbers on a watch.  I have a lot of friends here racing, some for the first time, some for the.....dozenth? time, and I'm looking forward to seeing each and every one of them out there.  Most will probably cross the line before me, and I will high-five every one on the way.  There was time in training to be serious, to buckle down, to hurt hard, and every drop of sweat, of blood that went into those months - I am reaping now.  Because I know that I've done the work, I have respected the distance, and I intend to smile through every mile.  To blow up this corner of Idaho with explosive joy.  

I'm so happy to be here.