Holding Water

Writing has been looming large for me in my everyday happenings....not because I'm doing a great deal of it, writing that is, but rather because I haven't. Writing is like that old friend you haven't visited in a while. You say life gets in the way. You screen your old friend's calls, you text instead maintaining no intimacy whatsoever in your once healthy friendship. You're a schmuck. Yet, you think about writing almost daily and the ways in which it can heal, grow, challenge and cleanse the soul. You're not sure why you just don't pick up the phone and give Writing a call?

I'd like to offer this quote on my present state of mind and perhaps some commentary after.

"The harder we try to catch hold of the moment, to seize a pleasant sensation . . . the more elusive it becomes . . . It is like trying to clutch water in one's hands--the harder one grips, the faster it slips through one's fingers." Alan Watts 

I'm going to try to try less to grip the water. Feeling it pass through my fingers is enough. I'll allow it to collect in the basin below and visit it when needed but feel content in knowing that I've touched happiness.

The rush I get when I'm flying down a smooth piece of single track is physical. I can feel the heat in my muscles when I power up a climb and the tightness in my chest when I attempt a technical section for the first time. My body feels joy in those things. My mind feels joy when I write about those same experiences.

Today, I'm calling myself out.

Stupid "Bobby"

Missouri on a fat-bike, really there's no better way to see the Show Me state. Al and I set off on our fat-bike trekking/ birthday adventure on a Saturday a few weeks back. We had loose plans to ride 100 ish miles out and 100 ish miles back along the MKT trail (America's longest Rails-To-Trails project - 237 miles one direction).

chicken car. . .what else?

So young and full of life, the first mile

Over half of the trail follows Lewis and Clark's trip up the Missouri River under bluffs and through farmland, truly what one thinks of when one thinks "Americana". . . . there ya go, my nod to the travel writer right there.

We parked in the St. Charles FD parking lot (funny - drove 4.5 hours to park at an FD with the same name as the FD Al works at). Anyways, we loaded up the NOT a Bob trailer (we have a knock off) and pedaled westward. Again, we were aiming for 100 miles out and 100 miles back. Breakin' it down we thought with a late roll out we'd start with an easy 30 and find a B&B somewhere. A little under 30 we stopped in Augusta at the Augusta Brewery and spoke with the barkeep, Karen, who recommended a little B&B up the HILL.

See creepy pictures below, think. . .American Horror Story. I've never stayed in a B&B and I can say I won't be staying in another one any time soon....I don't care if the Chef is "Classically trained." The stuffed and mounted Jack-a-lopes, group dining and Ports on a platter were a little beyond my comfort zone.....I don't care how many bowls of M&Ms you have laying around . . . although I do love me some M&Ms.

Fat and loaded . . .not Al, the fatty and the not a bob trailer

We woke to big fluffy snowflakes falling outside of the 100 year old window. REALLY???? Weather Bug you failed me! Waiting it out until 10 we were able to partake in a three-course breakfast which included waffle boats, stuffed tomatoes, fruit smoothies, coffee, and macerated strawberries in Amaretto sauce (macerated sounds like something a bird might do to feed its young). With full bellies and a lot less in the wallet (B&B's are pricey), we were back in the saddle again (sing it Steven). Sucky part was it was cold and we weren't fully prepped for cold weather riding. We stopped at a local hardware store and bought work gloves and hoped for warmer weather as the day wore on.

Buffalo photo bomb

American Horror Story-esque

Spooktacular

It was clear after about an hour that we weren't going to be able to ride the 60 miles needed to get us to the next stop. We were cold, soaked and this wasn't fun anymore. We decided to call it a day after 40 which landed us in Hermann the Germantown. OMG, I totally forgot to mention the disaster on the trail. About 10 miles into our day the trailer with all of our worldly camp possessions / clothes and snacks broke. Like broke broke. Could not be fixed no matter how MacGyver we got on its ass. Here's a summation of the ideas we brainstormed. Finding a Post Office (most of the world knows the USPS isn't open on Sundays but we weren't thinking) and mailing our shit home. Calling our friend Karl and asking him to pick us up. Bailing on the whole adventure. Just ditching the trailer and hoping our belongings fell into the hands of a good natured cyclist who needed camp equipment, granola from Whole Foods and a French Press. What we decided on . . . there was an abandoned grain silo along the trail which we buried the trailer and our gear under brush and twigs. That's when we found out about Hermann the German town and opted make it our home base for two days. Taking with us only what we could carry in our backpacks including one change of clothes, a little bit of food and well, that's it. Camping was no longer an option.

Before the "not a bob" broke

Hermann the German town was fun. We found a winery. . .turns out Hermann is known for its wine. It was tres good. Best part of Sunday was being able to catch TWD even if it was on a 8" TV. We rallied on Monday (my 37th birfday) and took a day trip, rode 66.6 miles in honor of SATAN \m/. We found a local brewery known as the SawMill refueled and discussed our plans for Tuesday. We had two more days but decided we had seen what we came to see.

Tried out the Beaverguard
didn't work so well, muddy
biscuits!

We rose early the next day, found a doughnut shop in town and set out for the ride back to St. Charles. On the way back we detoured at the silo to check on our gear, it was still there, phew! Ditched more gear and rode the remainder of the way back to St. Charles.

shit really?

Things might not have gone as WE planned but things always go AS planned . . .  I loved riding the fatty. I deff want to log more trekking miles. I was sad we weren't able to camp under the stars but sleeping in what I'm certain was a haunted house and then a motel for wayward door-to-doo sales men was kind of like camping......there were deff strange noises at night.

I'm really super duper cold

Get it?

The Might MO

Look at my bike leaning against stuff

There's a goose up there see it? I didn't at first

See it now?

Fucking childish humor

This wasn't our motel, I promise

The end . . . 200 miles done!

Rollin' fat or in my case pushing the fat - '16 Fatbike Birkie 47k

Shit, God dammit, son of a biscuit. Yeah, cuz son of a bitch is just too harsh. Looking down I now knew why my bike felt bouncier than normal. A flat, 10 miles in, 19 to go, 32 degrees, snow, trees, wilderness, the North Woods of Wisconsin. I've been in this place before and much to my dismay in a similar predicament. Only this time the course and distance were well within my capabilities. I actually had visions of standing up on the podium a few hours from now.....until this happened. Well shit, what now? Take a breath, take the wheel off, fix it, get back to racing. I can rally. Tubeless would have been so much better. It's my cheap-ass fault. Al wanted to set our bikes up tubeless.....I never gave him the okay to order the fatty strippers (funny name). Now look. Tim's pre race sentiment running through my head "You'd have to be one unlucky dude to get a flat on a snowy course like the Birkie." So here I stand with my wheel in my hand trying to fix the unfixable flat. Unfixable cuz I just don't have enough air in my repair kit to fill the tube to seat the tire bead on the wheel. I'm starting to get cold. It's settled, I'll run the 1-2 miles back to the last aid station and see if there's a pump or a mechanic that can save me. 

Flash forward two days. I'm sitting at my computer recounting the weekend's experience summing it up to "oh fucking well, you win some you lose some." I earned a DNF and I was pretty pouty most of Saturday. It was hard initially to exude brevity while feeling as if I didn't really "earn" those hoppy beverages at the Saw Mill. I still drank them, but it was with reluctance . . . sort of. 

Today, as I reflect, I realize I did earn them. This experience has taught me that it's not just about standing shoulder to shoulder with the fastest cyclists on the course, it's about standing shoulder to shoulder with adversity and growth. The Fatbike Birkie didn't end up as I had planned, but from the 20k I was able to ride / run / push my bike, I was taken aback by how magical the area is. The rolling hills, the rivers and creeks no longer frozen, the spiny tree branches gently dropping puffs of snow onto the ground and the stillness I encountered when no other riders were nearby. Wisconsin, I thank you, I have again, learned a lesson. 

So what, I told a little lie

XTERRA World Championships Maui, Hawaii

Crossing the finish Worlds

It took me four hours. The same amount of time I lay supine on a cold surgical table in the bowels of a hospital in January with my guts open to the world. It took me four glorious hours to make my way through the XTERRA World Championship swim, bike and run course on November 1st (eight months post op).

Hold the phone, you read that right Jack! I got back to doing what I love and doing it pretty well in 285 days. I raced with every ounce of testicular fortitude my remaining ovary could muster. I knocked it out of the effin' park Mister!

Living!

I guess I told a lie. Believe me, I had every intention on making my tale of Endo a multi part saga. I'm pretty stoked to say that life, well, life got in the way. I made good on my promise to live each day to the fullest. Cliche, I know, but it's what you gotta do these days, you just never know.

Conquering fears . . . baby steps

I'm feeling more or less that what I experienced last winter was the Universe's way of letting me know that life is fragile. Although my bought with illness was fleeting on the grand scale, it was a pretty big blow to my sense of self.

So I will publish this entry with a renewed outlook. One that is painted with gratitude for those that supported me, hugged me, encouraged me and inspired ME to keep going. 

at the Blowhole

I won't go into full blown race report(s) mode, instead here's an abbreviated version of my 2015 season. 

SE Champs, earning my spot to Maui

Earning a second on the podium at Southeast Championships in Alabama in May (first race post op) secured me a guaranteed slot to the XTERRA World Championships in Maui. The decision was as simple as counting to three. I was out on racing Ironman Louisville - a race I signed up for after doing well at IMCHOO in 2014 - and in for XTERRA Worlds. Besides, playing in the surf in sand is far more enjoyable than slogging out six hour trainer rides. Blahhh!!! 

Palos Meltdown OA chickadee 

The next few months flew by. I collected a couple 2nd overall female, a 3rd overall female, and a 1st overall female on the local XTERRA circuit and even won my first MTB race. 

USNats, runnin' down a dream

XTERRA Nationals came and went and I pulled out a 5th AG finish. No small feat for a flat lander racing in the mountains in Utah. 

Maui was a dream. I knew the heat and the hills were going to be a tough adjustment. Race week was all about staying cool. I had three goals and one secret goal. First, I wanted to beat my swim times from 2012 and 2013. Did it! Second, I wanted to beat my bike split. Did it, and on a longer course. Third, I wanted to break four hours. Almost, I finished in 4:00 flat. Lastly, I'm not gonna mention my secret goal, that is one I'm still fighting for!! 

I'll let my pics speak for themselves. Describing the Maui course is nothing compared to surviving the Maui course. 

Until next time, I've got some livin' to do! See you in the dirt!

Cheers, 

K

Exploring Maui post World Championships

They call me Ovary One Kenobi

I’m fucking angry. I’m overcome with grief, then guilt, then, utter sadness. It’s part of the process everyone tells me. You’ve been through so much they all say. I guess. I guess I have been through a lot. Everyone looks at me like a fucking patient. I had a surgery that didn’t go so well, then 48 hours later I had a second surgery to clean up the first. I spent nearly 11 days in the hospital; I have a $140,000 bill to show for it.

I fantasize a lot. I’m sweaty, panting; my heart is a racing, pupils dilated. I’m so ready for this moment. My breath escapes me through slightly parted lips; I suck in the thick air summer air. I feel primal, I feel alive. I’m my most happiest me. I’m competitive again. If perhaps you thought this was the intro to some tawdry sex novel this is much more salacious. This is a story about a girl and yes, a little mention of what’s between her legs. So if that’s enough to keep you reading, I’m fine with that. Perhaps in the end you’ll walk away feeling something else. At least that’s my hope.

This is the first in a series of articles cataloguing my recent diagnosis with Endometriosis and subsequent journey from the belly of despair to something more salient. A lot of what I’ve documented is raw. I wrote down my feelings as they surfaced. There is a clear timeline of events even if the emotions I experienced jumped from grief to anger to questioning and back again to grief. I’ve yet to reach the acceptance phase.

This year was supposed to be “the” year.  Just like thousands upon thousands of triathletes before me I had notions of qualifying for Kona at Ironman Louisville this year. I was close enough to taste it last year at Chattanooga and missed a slot by 12 minutes. I was on fire last year. I won overall female at two XTERRA triathlons and one sprint triathlon. Good things were happening. I’m coached by 2x XTERRA World Champion Lesley Paterson. Together with the help of her sports psychologist husband Simon Marshall, I was gonna get me one of those slots. So it sounds more or less that I’ve written that off. Not quite. For now I’m focusing on the next couple of weeks. Each day I do a little bit more. Eight weeks ago I was pushing my IV pole 40’ to my neighbor’s room and back again.  Now I split my time each day between my road bike and trainer, the treadmill and a step-mill. For someone who has logged 20 marathons, a handful of ultras and three Ironman triathlons, admitting that the most I’ve been able to run so far is 1.2 miles at a snails pace is pretty demoralizing.

At the finish of IMCHOO 2014. PR'd it
finishing in 10:34, close to Kona but close
doesn't cut it!

I want this to be no big deal (even though it’s a really big deal I know).  My husband, in his attempt to make me feel not so bad about not seriously racing Ironman, said this year could just be about fun, no pressure. You know what I kept thinking about? That damn hoodie I bought my dad for his birthday last year. It was a custom IM jobber that said Kristen’s Pops on the back and the IMLOU date on the front, 10.11.15. I thought, “I have to race, my dad has that hoodie. If I don’t its all a lie.”

In the beginning . . .

I’m documenting “my road to recovery,” it just sounds cheesy. I suppose in a month I’ll be better than I am today and I’ll revisit my words, I’ll be reflective, introspective, ponder the meaning behind all of this stinking pile of shit that has befallen me. Whoa, why so negative? It’s where I am today. I’ve been out of the hospital now for almost two weeks. I’m 13lbs lighter (wish it was more), I’m one ovary down, and I have 1’ less small intestine out of 14’, no appendix, and get this, Endometriosis. In addition to all that was removed, the surgeons took a 10cm cyst that had swallowed said ovary. Do you know what 10cm is comparable to? A fucking apple! Jesus H. Christ. Do you know how big the average female ovary is? Its 3 cm . . . chew on that.

The quiet moments before my nightmare began
Jan. 17, 2015. Operation #1. I'm all pre-oped
and stuff!

Endometriosis is a disease in which tissue that normally grows inside the uterus grows outside the uterus. Its main symptoms are pelvic pain and infertility. Nearly half have chronic pelvic pain while in 70% pain occurs during menstruation. Pain with sex is also common. This is bad news for the men who support the women who have been diagnosed with Endo.

As if all of this wasn’t tragic enough, infertility occurs in up to half of people diagnosed.  Obviously I’m referring to women, but in rare cases Endometriosis has actually been found in dudes. Then, there’s the social and psychological effects.  I can attest to the psychological effects. But I wasn’t prepared for was the Tsunami of emotions that are associated with having an ovary removed. I’m a hot mess right now. I actually bawl, howl like a Basset hound . . . over minor things. I’m “that girl” the one that’s on the emotional rollercoaster and my poor husband has front row seats. Less common symptoms include urinary or bowel symptoms. About 25% of women have no symptoms. Up until the giant cyst was discovered on my ovary I was part of this group, no symptoms, I WAS one of the lucky ones. Those days have passed. I’ve read some horror stories about women who couldn’t bare the pain they endured every month and felt there was no way out but to end it through suicide. This is where I get crazy mad. Why isn’t there more research on this disease? Why aren’t there more support groups? For an illness that accounts for the 11^th largest country in the world if all those afflicted were thrown in a giant bowl together, the resources associated with finding a cure and educating women is shoddy.

This is my Warrior Husband Al. He's the best
mothah f*#ckin husband in the whole world!

According to a bunch of doctors with fancy degrees who wear white lab coats, the cause is not entirely clear. Risk factors include having a family history of the condition. Most often the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and tissue around the uterus are affected; however, in rare cases it may also occur in other parts of the body. The areas of endometriosis bleed each month, which results in inflammation and scarring. The growths due to endometriosis are not cancer. Diagnosis is usually based on symptom in combination with medical imaging. Biopsy is the surest method of diagnosis. This is all very medical I know. So do you get this? I mean do you fully understand what this means for a woman who is repeatedly told by doctors that she just has “really bad cramps?” It means that when she finally finds a doc worth his or her salt, she has to undergo a pretty significant procedure before she can be validated or more accurately vindicated amongst those that told her to just take a few ibuprofen. Fuck that; learn to be an advocate for yourself. If your family physician is blowing you off, see a specialist. Your health and wellbeing is YOUR responsibility.

A couple of nuggets here I’d like to point out, infertility, which I’ll come back to. Also, areas of endometriosis bleed each month. Think about this for a moment. The endometrium travels backwards and escapes the confines of the uterus and fallopian tubes and floats out into the great unknown attaching its spider web-like cells to your intestines, diaphragm, bladder, stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, and in rare cases your brain. Then once a month when “Aunt Flo” comes a knockin’ those pesky Endo cells bleed right along with your mighty Vag. Fucked up isn’t it? This is where the horrible cramping associated with Endo comes from. So all the ibuprofen, heating pads, and ice packs in the world don’t do shit for alleviating the deep aching pain that many women experience. Yes, I mentioned I was part of the 25% of women who don't experience Endo symptoms. Whelp, that ship has sailed. My first period post surgery was brutal. I’m not gonna lie, I was grateful to have had a narcotic pain killer on hand (left over from surgery). I used it . . . often.

This was my little friend. It's actually a drain.
Its tubing was fastened inside of my belly for
the better part of a week.

Ladies many of you are suffering in silence unnecessarily. According to the organization Endo Warriors, It takes on average seven years for a woman to be diagnosed with Endometriosis. Life shouldn’t stop because your lady bits are throwing a temper tantrum. If this experience has taught me anything it’s that there’s the common issues like gas and then there’s the not-so-common like the giant 10cm cyst growing on your ovary. Get checked out!!

FrankenBelly. Not lucky enough to get
Laproscopy. The vertical incision is from
surgery #2 aka ABSCESS

I want to circle back to the infertility issue I mentioned earlier. A close friend of mine recently asked me about having kids specifically whether or not I can have kids post operation. The topic is really moot, my husband and I made the decision several years ago to not have them and sealed the deal with a vasectomy. Irony is a real kick in the balls though because now after being diagnosed with Endo, I’m again on the pill. Birth control pills are often prescribed to women diagnosed with Endo to help reduce the risk of it returning. But it's not a cure!!! There is NO CURE!!! So, can I have kids, not sure? Do I want kids? Nope. I have two stepsons and I love them dearly. But . . . motherhood takes a very special type of woman. I am not she. I struggle with the maternal instinct. Frankly, I struggle with any outward display of affection. I try. So do I mourn the loss of my ovary, as the possibility of ever conceiving one of my own is probably gone? Not in the least.  Like me or not, I’m honest in my stance on motherhood. Having children and raising them to be wonderful beings is the noblest of callings.  I rank it up there with fighting for your country. I’ve just never wanted to do it.

More feelings . . .

“In the blink of an eye.” Whoever came up with that phrase must have had the rug pulled out from under them. That’s pretty much what happened to me. Sidelined, out of the game, benched for who knows how long. I’m not sure what decisions to make? Scared that if I make decisions based on how my body feels right now in this moment they’ll be the wrong ones. I can’t trust my body to give me the answers I’m seeking. I’m now nine weeks post op and I’m on the fence about pain I have down there. It’s hard to tell, did I push one of my workouts too hard and pull something or is this pain a cyst on my remaining ovary or worse yet, is this pain the Endo? It hasn’t always been this way, like I said in the blink of an eye it’s all taken away from you.

My first run back. It wasn't fast or very long, but you have
to start somewhere, even if its the bottom.

There’s always going to be someone hurt more badly than I’m hurt right now. That’s what my husband says. He didn’t say it to make me feel guilty for feeling depressed about my current situation, quite the contrary. He said it to let me know that it’s totally okay to feel bad, sad, blue whatever. He wanted me to know that embracing the feelings I’m feeling right now will make me appreciate my struggle. He’s one in a million; he’s my cheerleader. I’d like to think I would be as patient with him as he’s been with me. But I can’t say for sure I would be. I’m not him. He holds me when I cry, which I do a lot. He makes me food, cleans up after me, changes the sheets when I wake up drenched in sweat, kisses my forehead and doesn’t ask for much in return except for patience within myself. Those are the good days. The bad days we argue. I ask him why is this happening to me and he doesn’t have an answer. Here’s where it gets real. My hormones are half of what they were before my surgery. My one ovary must compensate for the missing ovary. So my emotions are all over the place and my sex drive is nowhere to be found. I wanna preface this with the fact that I wasn’t a horny teenager before surgery. So adios remaining sex drive, she’s left the building. This coupled with the stresses of surgery, recovery, and the perceived loss of identity has placed a huge strain on my marriage. This is reality of Endometriosis. At the time of publication I’m still not sure who to address this. It’s a sensitive area. Do I talk to someone? It might have actually come to this. I love my husband madly, deeply and forever. I want to be able to share the intimate moments with him again. Life can be humorless and cruel.

Happiness isn't always clean. 

So how do you take the first step back? It’s hard, in fact some days it’s seems insurmountable. It’s like I’m at the base of a giant pile of sand. I take a step up, my feet sink, and the sand from beneath me tumbles down the pile like a tiny avalanche. I take another step up the hill, this time I use my hands to gain a little elevation. I’m grasping at things but the things I’m grabbing just slip between my fingers. It takes so much effort just to go forward a few feet. I can see the top of the giant pile of sand but I don’t know if I’ll ever get there.  My recuperation is for the most part taking a linear progression. Meaning most days I wake up are better than the day preceding it. What I can’t reason with is the Endometriosis. It may or may not be lurking inside of me ready to wrap its spidery poison around my insides. The countdown recycles every 28 days.

I have to apologize to the reader this isn’t me, this brooding teenage-like outlook. I’m mostly a positive and happy person. Blame it on the one ovary, blame it on the surgery, blame it on the shit weather we’ve been having so far this year. Blame it on whatever the fuck you want but it’s not me. I’m trying here. I’m trying to see the silver lining in this entire shit sandwich; I’m failing, failing to see the plan.

Why bear trophies are the cat's ass

Bear trophies are the cat's ass because that's what you get when you win overall female at the XTERRA Illinois Wilds off road triathlon!

Quick recap: 800m swim @ 14:54. I came out of the water 2nd female :32 seconds behind the swim leader Erin Kersten, I actually saw her silhouette as she exited the water. Drafting on the swim I was able to find feet and hang on. What I didn't expect was to see Al in transition, he took off pretty quickly and I knew I wouldn't see him until the end -- he's just fast like that!

15 miles of GNARLY-twisty-turny-rocky-sandy-shred-your-tires-up-single-track. *Take note of the foreshadowing. Fortunately for me I was not the recipient of the ill fated flat tire--a little gun-shy after last weekend's blowout. Finishing bike time 1:26:35 (10.4 mph avg). Caught up to and passed the first chickadee I mentioned from earlier, probably within the first mile. At this point it was all about creating space. Space is KEY, you have to create as much as you possibly can because space on the bike is far more damaging than space on the run. I used to race under the latter methodology. You learn though that it's not as much fun being the hunter vs the hunted. So I was able to put 9 minutes between myself and the eventual number 2 female. Albeit, I did not have the fastest bike for the ladies. That title belongs to my good friend and one of the most prolific XTERRA title holders Ms. Beverly Enslow, she's a beast and she's bad ass and rockin' it at 57 years young! Beverly got me by 1:15 . . . . on her home turf. A vast improvement from two years ago when Beverly killed me with a time diff of 9:16 on the bike. Looking at numbers I knocked a total of 12 minutes off from 2012 to 2014 on the bike portion of the race. Skill work baby! Phil and Flow as I like to say!

Top 3 chickadees Me, Erin Kersten (2) and Beverly Enslow (3)

4 miles of rolling terrain through the Prairie Wildlife State Park sustaining a 7:43 (actually slower than in 2012 by :13 seconds). But I'm cool with this as I explained earlier, I'd rather put space down on the bike than run down the comp at the end like I had to do in 2012. Again, I didn't tow the line on the run either, Erin (#2 F) ran her girl ballz off laying down a 7:04 min/mile. I'll give it to her, she earned back 3 of the 9 minutes I put between her and I on the bike. Damn fine running mama! Gotta watch out for that one :)

2014 Finishing time: 2:14:22
2013: broken foot boooooo :(
2012 Finishing time: 2:25:42

Shain crossing the finish line at his first XTERRA

I'd say that's a success, Everyday I race my MTB I thank my awesome husband for not giving up on me, he knew there was a racer deep down in there and he wouldn't shut up about it until I finally relented. There's a compliment in there, trust me.....

Oh yeah the foreshadowing. So goin' out on my second loop on the bike and who do I see along the two-way.....Al. WTF? Dude shredded his tire. This poor guy has the bad race juju goin' on like you wouldn't believe. One week post bike crash at Steelhead 70.3 he's racing again, stitches and everything. Despite making peace with the tree that took him out twice last year on our pre ride, the race God's were not appeased. Thinking of sacrificing a chicken or goat, what's worth more spiritual brownie points? It might be the only way. So positive thoughts are appreciated...direct them to AL WADE as he approaches his Ironman in less than a month.

Okay, but the real star of the show is my stepson Shain. Less than 24 hours from the start of the race this guy decides he wants to take a stab at it. So, Al takes him out on the bike, he does fine. Next test, OW swim. Not quite as successful. But, no worries, we'll look for a relay team missing the bike or run portion. Nope, no go. Okay, last ditch effort, let's talk to the RD. Bingo, he's in! But . . . he's a pirate racer, no number, no official finishing time. Shain was cool with that. So I'm guessing he was the only 15 year old out there, scratch that, he was the only racer out there on a single speed, fully rigid 29r with a leather Brooks saddle and platform pedals. The kid nutted up, finished, and did it with a smile on his face.

So. . . we have another Wade that digs the durt! Watch out cuz he's racing the XTERRA Grand Rapids DU in October on a proper bike!

Steelhead 70.3 Race Report and some BLOOD

It's one of those bitter sweet kind of feelings, having the race you hoped for up until you flat and watching it slip away in 60 second chunks.

But I can't give away the ending, not just yet. Signed up for Steelhead 70.3 as a means to "tune up" a month out from my IM. Yuck, seeing it there in black and white causes dry heaves. IM = uncontrollable tremors, disdain for early morning workouts, cold sweats thinking about my coach's scheduled 6 freaking hour training rides followed up with a nice dose of 6 x 1 mile repeats at increasing efforts . . . I just wanna ride my MTB in the dirt. MTB'rs don't wake up early and they drink beer and coffee, lots of it. What's wrong with that. Who talked me into this crap anyways?

Myself and Meg at the rack!

But I digress . . . Drove to Michigan Friday with the hubby, and three athletes we currently coach (two of which competed), checked in, racked my bike, took the obligatory pictures of said racked bike, got my pre swim on, lost my earring in the water, bought crap I didn't need at Athlete's Village, and linked up with another coached athlete of ours and his lovely fiancé for dinner. Headed back to Stevensville where we were staying at a friend's house talked about the race and our expectations all while Garmin 910xt beeps played ever so softly in the background -- auto multisport was a go!

Swim start, that's me in the front!

4:40 a.m., shovel food into mouth, drink too many Nesspressos -- my new fav thing before a race (thank you Mimi!) Leave for race start, almost forgot wetsuit, not good in a 67 degree lake. We arrived at the park and set up transition, I felt good about the day. We made our way to the swim start thinking we had plenty of time. Didn't realize there was a 1.2 mile walk to the start of the swim down the beach. By the time we got there I had 6 minutes to squeeze into my wetsuit and line up. No time for pre swim. Shoulder to shoulder I stood at the front and the gun sounded. I sprinted out in front of the pack knowing full well that the faster swimmers would catch me but I wanted my share of the water first. I remember feeling a little bit of panic in the first 100-150 meters when the cold first finds the seams of your wetsuit and bites at your stomach, that's the worst! The water was pretty wavy, not chop, just big rolling waves. Funny enough I actually had elevation gain per my Garmin during the swim, due to the swells....ha! Deff didn't log the fastest swim time but it seemed slow for everyone. 39 minutes for 1.2 miles. What I lacked in swim speed I made up in T1 and on the bike, well at least for the first 50 miles.

Managed to average 21.5 mph for the first 50 mile of the course. Then, disaster struck. I remember thinking to myself that if all the stars were to align I could have a PR on the bike for this distance, and I felt really strong! So as fate or karma or whatever astrological event would have it, I flatted at mile 50, with just 6 damn miles to go, my REAR tire pissed out air like a birthday balloon. What the flock! Pulling over I watched riders cruise by me I even heard a few "oh no, that sucks," You bet your ass it sucked, sucked ballz!!! So flipped the bike over, took the wheel off, emptied the repair kit, hooked up the air, NO BLASTED AIR, thing was empty. So -- my bad, totally my bad, shoulda, woulda, coulda right? Put the wheel back on the bike and was resigned to walk 6 miles in or as far as I could until the bike tech reached me. But alas, there's always a night in shining armor sent to save the damsel right? Craig whatever your last name is you saved my biscuits! Craig pulled over, asked me what I needed, I said a lever, and air. Here you go, now make that tire your bitch! In no time at all I had the wheel off the tube out a new one in and filled back up. Wheel back on and off I went.

Oh yeah, see the flat......into T2

Made it all the way back to T2 when I noticed I had flatted again. Knowing now what the problem was I have to say, use NEW tubes in your repair kits folks not folded up tubes you've been toting around with your for months and months. Oh, and NEW AIR TOO!!!! LESSONS LEARNED!

Into T2, wham bam off of the run. It was a hot one! Not my fastest splits but I managed to run down 8 minutes of my 15+ minutes lost during the great "flock up" on the bike. So I'll take it. Really focused on keeping the "gals" and my core cool with ice, taking in enough calories and keeping my HR in check. Saw a lot of walking out there but I wasn't one of them. Just one foot in front of the other . . . at a moderately fast pace.

So crossed the finish line at 5:29, not a PR, but despite everything I can't be too disappointed. Pulled off a 12th AG finish. But a las, there are no points awarded for bad-assery and making that tire my bitch, if there were, I'd have been first for sho!!

But I'm not finished with my tale. Once I crossed the line and was ushered through the finisher's shoot I see my hubby with bandages on both elbows, knees and hands. A small detail I forgot to mention was I swear during my efforts to fix my flat I heard Al's voice as a pack of bikers went by me say "hey that's my wife!" So you can understand my confusion. When in fact this NEVER actually happened. Al took a nasty fall 14 miles into the bike on some pretty gnarly chip seal going 30 mph causing him to be immediately separated from his bike and in turn united with the road. He now has two hamburgered elbows that required stitches, a couple bruised thighs, gashes on the knees and hands that also required stitches and a little road rash on his back to sweeten the pot. HE. WAS. REALLY. F&(%ED. UP. YO!!

If you're of the weak stomach persuasion . . . . skip the following pics.

 There ya have it. A tale of intrigue, adversity, gore, and triumph all wrapped up in a 70.3.