run this amazing day

Never give up, for that is just the place and time the tide will turn. - Harriet Stowe I read this quote on another blog a few days before the race.  It's a favorite of mine right now, for obvious reasons.   When I got hit, on the bike, all my initial thoughts were negative.   You're such an idiot, who gets in a crash when you aren't even riding, you hate drama and now there's going to be drama.  Maybe I just won't even tell anyone that I crashed, maybe I'll just call it an off day and never talk about what happened, maybe I can get through the run without anyone knowing or noticing.   That's how I felt, what was going on mentally, for the rest of the bike.  I felt like an idiot.  I wanted a calm, no-drama day, and now no matter what happened, there was no chance of that race coming true. I started to run.  The up-and-down motion of running was jarring my upper arm flab, and that was pretty darn painful.  Every step felt like my arm was being slammed

I rode out of transition and realized that my Garmin was off.  When it loaded up, I caught a glimpse of the time of day and it was 7:54.  That made me laugh, I figured my swim time had been somewhere around 50 minutes, what a great way to start the day. Because of the fast swim, athletes were far less spread out getting onto the bike than they usually are, and getting out onto the course wasn't even a "draft fest" as much as there was nowhere to go, no matter how slowly you rode or sat back.  I made sure not to get swept up onto any wheels blatantly, but the first two miles were very crowded.  A large pack swallowed me up at one point, and I immediately sat up to make sure I wasn't on a wheel.  An official was nearby, and as soon as I sat up, he pointed at me and said something long in Spanish that I didn't understand.  I said what?  and he pulled out his iPhone, took a picture of my helmet and told me YOU STOP  and then rode away.  He didn't show me a red

No matter how hard I try to avoid it, the last few days before a race always have some anxiety.  Stress, tears, fret, worry.  Cozumel was no different.  There was a lot to do and it was busy and disorganized and swims were getting canceled and drop-offs were changing and I tried, I really did try to be zen about everything, to just go with the flow.  But I was carrying a little lump of stress, a serious and stern little black storm cloud was following me.  When I got back to the hotel after bike drop-off Saturday afternoon, Allison had arrived.  We changed into our swim suits and tried to get into the ocean (one last attempt to swim with the jellyfishes before race morning), but we couldn't, so instead we hopped in the pool and splashed around and took goofy pictures with the underwater camera.  And when I laughed out loud, finally, honestly laughed, it felt like the first time in days.  Like my chest opened up and let lightness back inside, like all of the worried weight just wigg

I've said it about twenty dozen times in the past several hours, but I'm going to say it once more.  Anything can happen on race day. Anything.