The First Run aka My Lesson in Re-alignment

After the agony of my last Fun Run and the seemingly epic two week running ban, I finally got to get back out on the track on Monday.

I was a little apprehensive. After working so hard over the last 6 months to build up my running fitness would it all be gone? Would I be relegated back to Couch to 5K to build it up again? I realised that since I started this whole running caper I had not gone more than three days without getting out there so I honestly had no clue what to expect.

If I was being completely honest with myself I think my podiatrist would have told me to give it a bit longer before getting out there. And my foot was feeling a little bit twitchy in the morning but I put that down to the fact that the impending run had made my hyper-aware of every little twinge I was having.

My plan was to be as kind to myself as possible. I had taken all of the hills out of my normal route, both the ups and downs and I had worked out a shorter course that would leave me running about 4km tops. I promised myself that if my foot felt any kind of discomfort I would stop to walk and not beat myself up over it.

I pressed the start button on Garmy and I was off...

I felt AWESOME!

I could still run! Hallelujah!!

My foot felt fine and the orthotics weren't bothering me at all. There was a lingering humidity in the air from the two previous days of scorching temperatures and it was working we to keep me cool. The track was quiet with no other people around and my brand new iPod playlist had some fantastic songs on it. At 1km I couldn't wipe the smile off my face!! Lap 1 time? 5:47/km!!

Aware that I might be getting a little too excited and going too hard, I reigned the pace in a bit. Lap 2 time? 6:11/km. During that second kilometre I could feel that my foot wasn't 100%... I wasn't expecting it to be after two weeks but it certainly wasn't painful, just tender. What was more worrying was a dull ache that was developing in my right hip. I pushed my luck... I kept pushing until, right before the 3km mark, a sharp pain shot through the hip and I knew I had to stop. I continued to walk and the pain returned to the dull ache and continued to reduce until I couldn't really feel it again. I started to run again and the pain came back. The  amount of swearing I was doing inside my head would have earned me an M15+ rating. This wasn't supposed to be happening! I walked a little longer and tried again... Same result. 

In hindsight, I should have just walked and not pushed it. After all, I had proven to myself that my running fitness hadn't disappeared but eventually I was able to run with only slight discomfort (stupid, stupid) all the while trying to work out what was going on. Wasn't the problem supposed to be on the left!? Then I realised that, yes, the podiatrist has given me orthotics in my left shoe but there was also one in my right so maybe, just maybe, my feet, legs, hips, would all take time to re-align!! 

My Rollercoaster Run!

I decided to not panic when I got home and my hip had started to get more and more painful. I iced, I hoped, I Googled. I was comforted in the fact that temporary hip pain with new orthotics seems to be relatively common. Despite this, by the time last night rolled around and my left foot had decided to join in on the pain-party, I was distraught. I could see my half marathon hopes flying out the window, holding hands with any notion of a marathon attempt. I felt old and broken. I moaned to Danny 'I just want it to be tomorrow morning so I can see how bad this is!'

This morning my left foot was tender but not overly so. It was manageable but I certainly wouldn't have been running on it.

My hip was still touchy but it was noticeably improved. My day was looking up! And it felt even better once I put my shoes on, so I am taking that as a good sign. As I sit here at my desk I can twist and stretch at the hips without any discomfort. I wouldn't be game to go out for a run right now, and not even tomorrow (Wednesday's are normally run days) I will reluctantly but sensibly stay on the bike until Saturday when I will reassess and if everything is feeling good, I will try another short run. I think that will be how my runs look for at least the first couple of weeks of March - One or two short runs a week until everything is where it should be and feeling good. Slow and steady my friends...

In the meantime, I want to send some virtual hugs out to some of the bloggers I follow that are also currently dealing with pain-in-the-butt injuries; AliMc and Meredith. Good luck and crossed fingers ladies, not that you will need it because I know how super strong you both are :)

The Queen (Part 2)

(You can read Part 1 here)

When I remove myself from this haywire eat-exercise-eat cycle of mine and imagine I am reading my last post as an outsider, I can see so many sensible and easy ways to fix my problem. This is what I find most frustrating. If it is so obviously clear, how am I able to completely ignore this logic in my everyday life? 

 I am trying to look like I am thinking. 

Maybe about why I didn't put any make-up on?!

Part of the solution, I believe, is to identify my triggers and weak spots. My biggest ones are:

The scale readings – My last post described my varying and mostly crazy reactions to the number I see on the scales. 

Lack of planning – I know from experience that I feel strong and in control when I have a menu plan in place. Without it I rely of fast, unhealthy and oversized options. 

Portion sizes – See above... And really, even with a menu plan, I tend to eat portions that leave me feeling stuffed and guilty. Just because Danny needs a large portion, it doesn't mean I do. I am supposed to be a much, much smaller person than he is (He's 6'6”) 

Alcohol – When I drink I make ridonkulous decisions regarding food. When I wake up the next morning feeling less than 100%, I make even more stupid choices. And that's not even considering the fact that alcohol in itself is high calories and completely void of nutrition. 

'Success = Food Reward' Cycle – This one is a complete no-brainer. Rewarding my weightloss with eating unnecessary foods is not a healthy habit and I need to change it NOW.

March signals the start of my 27th year on this Earth and to celebrate, I am declaring the month to be dedicated to opening my eyes, thinking clearly and defeating some long held demons. When I picture the person I eventually want to be it does not involve my mind being fixated on food in the way that it is now.

The first thing that I will be doing, even though it scares the crap out of me, is ditching the scales. I am getting anxious just thinking about it, how crazy is that? The control freak part of my brain is telling me that I need the number on the scale each day to keep myself on the straight and narrow and without it I am going to end up back where I was. I know however, no matter what I do, I will not end up at 142kg come April 1st . The reality is, the number on the scale is one of the things that is most sending me into a tail spin each week at the moment, a break from it can only be positive. 

Secondly, I will be planning and recording my food. I will do weekly meal plans so that the whole 'caught short' issue is avoided and part of this will be working with portion sizes. I will FINALLY start a food diary which I have seen so many people have success with but have never been able to execute myself. It's something I have wanted to be able to do for ages, it's even one of my goals in my bucket book. I think the real benefit of the food diary is an enhanced accountability. If I have to write it down I automatically have to put more thought into it than I normally do.

March will also be 'dry'. This may seem like an easy challenge for some readers but for me, especially given it is birthday month, it will be somewhat tough. My alcohol mantra will be 'Empty calories, empty calories!'

And when I have done all of these things successfully I will reward myself but not with food. I'm working of a list of the little things in life that I love don't often get to do or think of doing. Painting my nails is a big one! Maybe I can even rope Danny in to give me a back massage after a particularly good week?!

That was the end of my plan for how to begin to tackle my warped view of food but TriGirl's comment on my last post really got me thinking. She mentioned that there may be benefit in me seeking out a dietitian and at first I kind of brushed off the suggestion. Why? I am not quite sure! Maybe I didn't consider myself someone who needed a dietitian? Maybe I didn't want to pay the cash involved in seeing one? Maybe I was worried they would try to lure me back into the world of meat eaters. But I am the exact kind of person that needs a dietitian. And after my post where I was banging on about 'taking charge of my health' I knew that it was a very good idea and that the cost outlay would be minimal given that I have private health cover. And, at the end of the day, if the person I was seeing didn't respect my choices around my vegan lifestyle then I would seek out the advice of someone who did, problem solved! So part five of my big March plan is to make an appointment with a dietitian so if anyone has any pointers of what to look for in order to find a good one, I am all ears! 

Maybe this Queen of the Quick Fix is finally learning to be the Queen of Sensible... Finally!

Your Turn:

Have you ever seen a dietician/nutritionist/similar? What was your experience and what did you find most helpful? 

The Queen (Part 1)

I am the Queen of the quick fix. My impatient nature means that if I want something done I want it now!

In the starting days of weight loss everything tends to come easily, especially if your journey starts at a weight as grand as mine was. Back then the number of calories my body required just to function each day (my BMR or basal metabolic rate) was somewhere around 2,200.

These days, 3 years and 50kgs later, that figure is closer to 1,700 calories per day. Unfortunately most days it is hard for my greedy inner demons to accept that I need a lot less food. Let's face it, in order for me to get to 142 kg to start with I had to be pretty fond of food at that is something that is still as true today as it was back then.

I still have over 14kg to go before I have a healthy BMI and maybe even further until I reach a weight that I am happy with. I want desperately for each week to be a 'success' and at the moment for me a success is a reduction in the number on the scale. I feel completely at the mercy of the silver square that lives under my bathroom basin. A day does not pass without me seeking out my 'scale fix' and on a bad day I can be found glaring at the little screen more than once.

My reaction to these daily fluctuations can be mixed. If I see the number going up I will either panic and restrict my eating for the next meal and consequently pig out later. Or, I will throw my hands up and declare that the scales have won for another week and gorge myself straight away.

Now if the scale shows a loss you would think it would yield a different result right? Nu-uh... If I see a loss, more often than not I will decide that's a perfect excuse for a reward! And what is a better reward than food right?

The reactions all differ but the food is constant and the eventual aftermath is always the same. The guilt eats away at me until I yield to it. Whether it be later that day or the next morning I am overwhelmed by the desire to 'fix' what I have done. A healthier reaction might be to sensibly cut back on my food intake for the next day or so... But for me that seems like unnecessary and drawn out torture. I am the Queen of the quick fix so my chosen solution? Exercise. Enough for me to feel like I have made some kind of dent in the damage I have done, even if I have already done my planned exercise for the day.

I spent 90 minutes on the exercise bike today in order to satisfy the nagging feeling inside me. I burnt nearly 1,000 calories but I still feel like I haven't undone the damage I did by eating hot cross buns and drinking chocolate soy milk. If my butt wasn't so numb from the bike seat I would probably still be on there!

I guess this was why I was so distraught when I realised I couldn't run. Nothing beats running for efficient calorie smashing. Not only was I not going to be able to run for at least two weeks but how long was it going to take me to work up to being able to run for an hour again once my foot was fixed!?

Most of my food damage seems to be done on the weekend when I feel like I still have the entire work week to make up for it. But I don't want to spend the next five days busting my ass! I want to be able to eat sensibly everyday and feel good about most, if not all, my choices. I want to be able to occasionally have a piece of cake or some potato chips without being a guilt-ridden mess about it until copious amounts of exercise takes the feeling away. I want to be done with my 'fat' brain and replace it with a 'normal' one. Is there such a thing?

I really worry if I am this neurotic and illogical about losing the remaining kilos what hope do I have for successfully maintaining the loss. This Queen has a lot of learning and a lot of soul searching left to do...

Summer Lovin'

I have to say that I was pretty glad that running was out of the question today. BOM had the forecast for my area to be at least 38C (100F) for the next two days and I knew the temperatures would start to soar pretty early. 

I took refuge inside and got on the exercise bike before the house got too warm. After 30 minutes on there I busted out Level 1 of Jillian's Yoga Meltdown. By the end I could barely hold my downward dogs as the sweat poured down my arms, making my hands a slippery and disgusting yoga hazard. People rave about going to 'hot yoga' and pay some bug bucks for exactly what I got to experience in my own living room this morning!!

I had planned to chop, bake and freeze our very first pumpkin of the year but with the temperature in the kitchen already sweltering, I decided anything involving the oven was probably not a good idea. 

 Yay Pumpkin! 

Obviously I was never told to not play with my food!

So instead, I have taken advantage of the heat and the gusty wind (very dangerous mix *eeek*) to get all my washing done. I made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning the kitchen and I played about 1,000 games of solitaire.

I am trying to not be too put out by the warm weather because goodness knows, its likely to be the last warm days we see before the cold of winter arrives. I have to say though, I am much more of a cold weather person. I always say that you can always put on more clothes if you are cold but when it is stinking hot there is only so naked you can get ;) Rest assured that I am writing this post fully clothed haha

Your Turn: 

Hot, hot, hot or ch-ch-chilly? What's your preference and what do you get more of where you live? 

We are generally considered a cold climate where I live but not so cold that we get snow regularly like I have seen on some of your blogs!!

And the Doctor Said...

Do you want the good news or the bad news?

The good news is that I get to keep the foot :) No amputation required!

And the bad? Well, there really isn't any!

My biggest concern going into my podiatrist appointment on Wednesday was that BD would tell me that I shouldn't run again. I knew it was a very unlikely outcome but in situations like that I tend to get a bit dramatic.

BD started out by checking the x-rays. I started to get a bit panicked when it took him awhile to come back. He walked into the room and I braced myself. He talked me through what he had found. There was some muck in one of the joints on my big toe, I had the heel spur, my left foot rolled out and the right one rolled in and my bones had a very definite and strange inward curve to them which from here on out will be known as 'banana foot'.

 Banana Foot! Goes well with Monkey Foot don't you think?

But these things were either minor or not causing me any issues. He told me that he could see no damage to the bones so the pain I was feeling was most likely a soft tissue problem. Then he mentioned something about running. I can't remember exactly what his words were but I know that whatever they were, he was indicating that I was going to be able to run again. He was still talking but I was too busy screaming hallelujahs in my head to listen.

He talked about what my solution was, a simple set of orthotics that would mimic the taping that he had done the week before. He asked what I thought of everything he had said,

“I am just glad I still get to run.” I replied honestly.

“Well, we find in all but the very worst case scenarios there is some kind of fix for most things.”

He brought in the other Podiatrist in the clinic to check out my manky feet and to make sure he was on the right track with everything. He is a Baby-Doctor after all! The second guy checked everything out and asked me about my running. How much I was doing, how often. I gingerly mentioned my half-marathon plans and he asked when I was planning on doing it.

“June or July?”

I waited, barely breathing, for him to tell me that it was an unrealistic goal.

“We better fix this straight away then huh?

After getting the all clear from the older and wiser podiatrist, BD set about making me my very own set of customised orthotics. He had the unfortunate honour of getting to put them into my stinky, sweaty sneakers. I cringed as I watched him doing it but was also glad they were still relatively new.

So, I knew that I was going to be able to run again but they hadn't told me how soon it would be before I could hit the trails again. As he poked and prodded the orthotics into place I asked the question,

“So, when will I be able to run again?”

He began to tell me about running too soon with orthotics and the blisters I could be subjecting myself to. He told me that when I could wear the inserts for a full day at work without discomfort I could then try out a long walk with them and then progress to a short run...

*sigh*

That sounded light years away...

When I put my shoes on with the inserts in however, I knew it wouldn't be too long. They felt so perfect. Just like when I had the tape on my foot, everything was sitting so much better and felt steady and strong. I walked out on cloud nine.

Today I wore the inserts for the whole day and the only discomfort I felt was some dull aching in my knees towards the end of the day. Without my shoes on I can still feel the pain in my heel but it is reduced a lot. With shoes on however, the heel pain in gone... Nothing, nada, perfection.

I am sticking to my original plan, no running before Monday and I will assess everything right up until then but I am pretty confident I will be ready to go, even if it's only a short run. I am excited but also apprehensive. I just hope I haven't lost too much fitness.

But as it stands right now I feel ready for anything! Even pumpkin football! 

Bring it ON!

The Care Factor

When I was 142kg I had myself convinced that I was okay and I was healthy because I never got sick and I never went to the doctor. From where I am now I can see that this was clearly not the case. The fact that I was spared from every cough and sniffle going around probably said more about the hardy genes passed down to me by my Mum and Dad than it did my actual health status. 

And the number of visits that I had to the doctor was in no way an accurate indication either. In reality there were some things that I really should have gone to the doctor for rather than simply ignoring them in the hopes that they would go away.

Unfortunately for me, some of these 'overlooked' issues have come back to bite me in the butt. I mentioned in this post that I sprained my ankle on my wedding day which BD thinks is the reason for my wobbliness. 

How I came undone on my 'day of days' is pretty ridiculous. It involved too much wine (doesn't it always with me?) and a very unflattering photo of me that got passed around all of my wedding guests by my new mother-in-law. 

The photo was given to her by Danny's sister so I decided it was her fault that it was there and jokingly ran up behind her with the intention of tackling her. She wasn't prepared for the attack and went down like a feather and landed very awkwardly on my ankle that was already twisting in the wrong direction. The pain was pretty immense and brought tears to my eyes. There was talk of taking me to the hospital because some people were concerned I may have broken my ankle. I knew it wasn't broken, just very, very twisted and there was no way I was going to go.

I sat on the floor for a good, long time trying to not cry...

We left for our honeymoon two days later. I bandaged the ankle (which had turned a glorious shade of blue) but I didn't see a doctor.

Fast forward a year or two and I started to get this horrible tightness in my foot when I woke up in the morning and if I sat still for too long. With the magic of Google I self-diagnosed Plantar Fasciitis. No Doctor required, yet again. It took a few months before the stiffness was gone and you can bet all your money on the fact that I used the PF to spend even more time than usual sitting around, doing no exercise. I was about 130kg at the time and just getting heavier.

I did end up at the doctor eventually. I started to experience a pain in my scalp that, quite frankly, scared the poop out of me. I had visions of tumours and all sorts of terrible conditions and the fear was enough to make me book an appointment. It turns out it was a mild case of neuralgia that disappeared on it's own a few weeks later but the Doctor had taken my blood pressure during my appointment and had been more than a little alarmed at the 160/120 result. This was not a healthy reading for anyone, let alone a 23 year old. He wanted me to make some changes; less salt, less alcohol, losing weight. I was supposed to return to him in a months time and if I hadn't been able to make a significant shift in my reading he was going to put me on blood pressure medication.

I made a half-hearted attempt at making the changes he had asked for and they lasted at least the first 3 days but then I decided that food was more important than health. I never went back to the Doctor for the follow up appointment and carried on on my merry way until it became evident that my options were change or die a very premature death. That was early 2009 and I weighed 142kg.

In the three years since, I have visited the doctor and other health specialists (Hello Baby-Doctor!) more times than I had in the ten years prior. It bears thinking about exactly why this is because I have certainly been a much healthier person since then.

I realised that the reason for the increase in visits is very simple. Somewhere along the way I actually started to give a s**t about myself. My care factor, that was previously so low it didn't even register, was back in the 'normal range'. As I started to lose more and more weight and understood that this time was a completely different kettle of fish, I dared to believe that I could actually become the very best version of me that is possible. And part of that realisation was taking the best care of myself that I could and getting help to do it.

I also know that part of my avoidance was the shame that is associated with being so very overweight. I knew deep down that most of my health issues were caused by, or made worse by, the fact that I was twice the weight I was supposed to be. I didn't want to be lectured, I didn't want to be touched, I didn't want to actually hear the words, "Kristin, your weight is going to mean an early grave for you."

I have learnt that doctors aren't just for when you are sick or scared to death that you have a life threatening illness. Prevention is a million times better than cure and healthy really does feel more amazing than any food can taste. Taking control of the health issues that are worrying you releases you from the constant pressure of 'what ifs' and 'I really shoulds'.

My blood pressure is now in the healthy range and my weight is heading in the same direction. Not seeing a doctor and treating my sprained ankle properly and ignoring the Plantar Fasciitis all those years ago has left me with some issues that I will have to manage for the rest of my life but seeking the proper treatment this time around means that I know how to do that the right way.

Google is no replacement for a real, live, in-front-of-you Doctor. And if you are avoiding the Doctor because of your weight or something else, that should be a pretty good indication that perhaps you should look to do something about it, in which case, the Doctor is your very best bet.

Your Turn:
What is something you have swept under the rug and decided to ignore despite your gut instinct telling you otherwise?

That Would Do It

As per Baby-Doctor's (BD) instructions, I booked myself in for an x-ray this morning.

I hate x-rays... As soon as the technician tells you to hold still my body, rebellious as it is, begins to shake and wobble like nobody's business.

I did my best and apparently that was enough because the technician handed me the envelope with my prints and I was allowed to go. Being the sticky beak I am, I had to have a look-see.

As soon as I looked at the images, I could see very clearly what was causing my heel pain...

Can you see it??

Let's look a little bit closer...

That, my dear bloggy friends, is my very own Heel Spur (Is it a coincidence that I just typed 'Hell' Spur accidentally? I think not!)

And, just because my foot is not weird enough, did you notice my patented method to keep my foot from shaking too much?

When Danny saw them he asked me if they had told me to hold my toes up like that. No, my dear, that's just how I roll...

In order to have my monkey foot x-ray done this morning I had to finally remove the mountains of tape that BD had applied on Saturday. As gross as it was not being able to get my foot wet for the better part pf three days, the strapping had made a world of difference. On Monday morning I had woken up with practically no stiffness or pain in my heel or ankle so I had high hopes. Unfortunately as soon as the support of the tape was gone, so was the relief. My ankle was slightly more steady than it had been pre-taping but only marginally. And the pain in my heel was definitely still there... Damn, damn, damn. Seriously, am I destined to live a life in strapping tape?

I am sure that BD will have some wonderful plan for me that involves more stretches and maybe some orthotics and this article from Livestrong is keeping me positive that I will be able to get back to running with the stupid heel spur, maybe even by my planned day (Monday). I think my attitude to taking care of my feet was a little too relaxed which is something I am just not going to be able to do from here on out.

I am well aware that all I have been blabbering about for what feels like forever is this crazy foot of mine so as a peace offering to end another rambling post I offer this -> You Jest? My Birdy Nest! A Blog that is not just about something other than my left foot but that is articulate and interesting, filled with a passion for a craft that I have never been very good at; the written word. 

It also helps that it is written by my bestest friend ever :)

Happy Feet

What makes a person wake up one morning and decide that, for the rest of their life, they would like to play with feet? They go to school for more years than I care to think about only to dedicate their life to other people's manky, smelly, beat up tootsies!? Whatever their motivation, I have to say I am pretty grateful that people like that exist...

This morning I had my first appointment with a (my?) podiatrist. When I had rung through during the week to book in a time the receptionist told me that there was a doctor that was new to the clinic and was I happy to book in to see him. I felt like saying 'Lady, I don't care if he's just flown in from Jupiter, if he can help me, I will see him!'

It turns out that 'new to the clinic' also new 'new to the big, wide world of podiatry'. Yes folks, I had me a baby-doctor on my hands... Or feet... Whatever... 

This really didn't bother me. I figured if he is straight out of fancy foot-doctor school all of the important stuff should be fairly fresh in his mind which got a big thumbs up from me. 

My problem was that he was just a little bit cute...

There is something about sitting in front of a tall, athletic, good looking male about my age, who is about to start poking at my manky, veiny feet that makes me very self conscious. Blergh... Thankfully, he was all those good things and friendly. He asked questions about what I was currently feeling and I filled him in on the long and languid history of my feet. I told him about the last time I suffered from Plantar Fasciitis and about how my left ankle has been the 'weak' one since I sprained it badly on my wedding day. 

We talked about my shoes and I had been smart enough to bring my running shoes along. He poked and prodded at both of my feet for what felt like an awkward eternity. Then I got to walk backwards and forwards over and over again. More poking, more prodding, more walking, some stretching and some perplexed moments of silence. 

Eventually he determined that, yes, I have a weak left ankle that has been aggravated by the weird gait I had taken on to avoid the Plantar Fasciitis heel pain. He gave me some stretches to do to work on building calf and ankle strength, scheduled me in for some x-rays on Tuesday, told me to still avoid running. He booked me another appointment for Wednesday and let me know that he would be bringing in the other podiatrist to get his opinion and brief mentioned the possibility of shoe inserts. 

And then he did something that made me want to kiss him... So simple, I am annoyed I didn't even think of it...

He taped up my ankle and the base of my foot. He taped and taped and taped... I was pretty convinced that my consultation fee was just to cover the sheer amount of Leuko he used! But I would have paid anything for the feeling I had when I stood up after he had strapped everything. The horrible wobbly feeling in my ankle was gone! It no longer felt like my heel was going to slip out from under me and the bridge of tape he had put along the base of my foot meant that my whole Plantar Fascia was supported. Baby-doctor did good :)

So, my ankle and foot stays strapped until Tuesday when I go to get my x-rays done. I can't run but I can cycle and yoga my heart out. My old running shoes that I was using for walking have to be laid to rest and I have some stretches to do morning and night. He didn't tell me I was going to have to stop running for ever or that I am too fat to run. I am feeling much more optimistic about the whole 'foot thing' now.

Your Turn:

Let's share War Stories! What's your worst injury so far? Not just from running, but life in general... The worst I have had is a sprain, no broken bones *touch wood*  :)

Milestone Weigh-In : 50kgs Gone!

I spent my week convinced that the title of this post was going to be 'Obese Again'. My self-enforced hiatus from running has thrown me for six a little bit. I found myself in this disturbing little cycle. I would panic because there was no other exercise, no matter how long or how hard I did it for, that gave me the same feeling as running so I was convinced that I was putting on weight at an alarming weight. And what does a recovering food-a-holic do when they are stressed that they are putting on weight? Cram more food into their mouth!! 

I am pretty convinced I will go to my grave not understanding how my brain can make behaviour like this seem completely logical...

And when I thought about the fact that I had two days where I indulged a little too freely in my old friend wine I thought weigh in was doomed...

And then there was Valentine's Day with the chocolates and dinner...

Okay, you're getting the idea. *sigh*

This morning on the scales I was praying, at best, for my weight to stay the same (92.5kg). Worst case, I hoped it wasn't going to be more than 92.9kg. But even then my BMI would be back in the 'obese' category...

But, I dodged a bullet... Again... I have really gotten lucky when it comes to testing the limits of this weight loss thing! This morning the scales read 91.9kg, bringing my total loss so far to 50.1kg!

5.0.

Holy cow...

I have lost a Molly Shannon

Or a Christina Ricci!

Or even a Kelly Ripa!!

At my last 'kg' milestone, 40kg gone, I could only say I had lost an Olsen Twin and that seem so little and scrawny that it wasn't that impressive. 

It's been a quiet week otherwise. I haven't blogged because there is only so much you can say about sitting on a bike which is what my fall-back exercise is now that my foot has decided to be a pain. I have an appointment booked with a podiatrist for tomorrow morning so I will be back to let you all know what he says. I'm not sure what I will do if he says I have to extend my hiatus out even further to something ghastly like six weeks. Or worse still, what if he tells me I am just to heavy to run?? *gulp*

B&E Run the Bridge 5K Race Recap

Sometimes runs just don't feel right...

Maybe it was my impending hiatus from running? Maybe it was the fact that the aura of crap I have had since Wednesday is still following me around? Most likely it was the niggling pain in my foot that I am so over it's not even funny...

My plans to be at the race site 30 minutes early were interrupted by an emergency toilet stop (TMI) and my dearest, darling husband completely ignoring my instructions to 'take the next left' resulting in a ten minute detour. I got a call from the previously mentioned Copy Cat Kid (CCK) who was already at the site and receiving mixed instructions from the race officials and other participants. No one seemed to have an accurate idea of where we would be starting and teamed with being late, I was a crazy mess by the time I got out of the car.

Danny left to drive to the finish line and I found CCK and we tried to make sense of what was going on. After all the complaining that I did about her 'stealing my thing' I have to admit it was really good to have her there. My usual race buddy, my Mum, has once again decided that she doesn't like me and doesn't want to speak to me so she was nowhere to be seen *sigh* So having CCK there to talk to was pretty nice. I had previously spoken to her about wanting to run my own race and she was fine with that.

We stood in the crowd, about halfway back and waited for the starter to get things going. I could see lots of wee tackers in front of me and crossed my fingers that I wouldn't mow any of them over. One false start later and we were off. Kind of... The large group was moving slower than molasses! I had no reason to worry about the kids, they were off like a shot. It was the walkers that were the problem! I don't deny people the right to walk in a fun run but I would love for them to have a little more of an understanding of the runners around them. Please, start at the back, stick to the left and for the love of poop PLEASE do not create a human wall with you and six of your besties making an arm-linked chain of slow moving Sunday drivers!

The Bridge part of 'Run the Bridge'

I used a pretty sunset picture because all 
of the daytime ones are not as nice

Source

Eventually I was out of the thick of it and making the climb up the bridge. My foot was holding up but my stomach was not. I was not down with this and I told my stomach, under NO circumstances was this to continue. We were almost 5Ks from the nearest toilet, in the middle of a crowded bridge. I tried to think of anything but the churning in the hopes that ignoring it would make it go away. Somewhere in the next kilometre it worked because the next time I thought about it the 'urge' was gone. 

Around the start of kilometre two, as the course started another upward climb, my foot pain made itself known. My ankle felt as though it was seizing up and the outside of my foot felt like it was going to snap off. At that moment I knew a couple of weeks off was not just the best thing for it, it was the only thing for it.

As I headed down the other side of the hill and into the city I put the pain to the back of my mind as much as I could. I watched the other participants (I love me some people watching!), sang along to a song or two in my head and wondered how CCK was going. I had last seen her going up the bridge but not since. She could have been in front, she could have been behind... I knew which I preferred :) I checked on Garmy who was telling me I was holding a 5:44min/km pace! Wowzers! I had honestly thought that I was a 6:15 at best and I would have to bust my butt for any chance at a sub-30!!

HA! I am doing something weird with my tongue! 

Click to enlarge, I dare you :)

I had read that the run was set to finish inside a big 'shed'. It's not so much a shed as a function area that was converted from an old shipping shed on the docks. As I saw it come into view I breathed a sigh of relief. My foot had gone past 'ignorable' and I just wanted to be finished. Unfortunately, the course designers had other ideas and I could see that they had us running down the road beside the shed for about 250m before doubling back to enter the shed. I looked a Garmy and knew the course distance was way out! This was confirmed when my wrist buzzed before I even reached the run turn telling me I was at 5K. 

I was peeved. I trusted Garmy more than the course because he had been spot on up until that point. The last thing I wanted to be doing right at that moment was running a step further than I needed to! But I pushed on and headed towards the turn. As I came to the turn I ended up swearing under my breath at a man that I am hesitant to call a walker because he was performing more of a 'stroll' than anything. He stuck SO CLOSE to that run turn, blocking what could have been a tight corner and costing precious time for all those people who were running and busting their butts to get over the finish line! *Arrrgghhh* I was an angry, sore, sad, 'mad-at-everyone-and-everything' person! My spirits were lifted a little as I spotted CCK coming in the opposite direction and I knew that, if nothing else, I was going to cross the line before her.

I finally made it to the shed and I could have kissed the carpeted finishing channel! I hit stop on Garmy as I passed over the timing pad and collected my finishers medallion and a cup of Gatorade. I waited at the finishing line to cheer CCK as she crossed the line. She looked as glad as I did that it was all done! My time to run the full course of 5.42km was 32:03. My time to actually run the 5K? 29:12! I am going with the actual 5K time because you can't compare apples with oranges now can you?

As I stood with Danny and CCK I realised I was being a giant jackass. My run today was supposed to be about honouring the memory of Sherry Arnold and I had thought of her as I was running. But ultimately I had been a whiney, grumpy, unfriendly runner. 

Yes, my foot hurt

Yes, some people needed a lesson in race etiquette

Yes, the course was almost half a kilometre longer than it was supposed to be

But I got to run today. I got to wake up with my husband that loves me. I got to set a new PR. I got to go home and do my washing and cook lunch.

I got to live today which is more than Sherry got. 

I packed up my bad mood and put it in my pocket. Today was not the day for that. Today was for living my life twice as well as I could. Once for me and once for Sherry.

Your turn!

Did you run for Sherry today? 
Go ahead and share your story or link to your blog post.

Time To Go Forwards

Now that my post about little Moopy is done I am feeling some closure about the whole thing. Writing can be so amazingly therapeutic but maybe writing the post at my desk at work after a long and draining week wasn't the best idea! I got many a strange look as I tried to hide behind my cubicle walls with tears rolling down my cheeks.

AliMc at Running with Spatulas was lovely enough to High 5 me and she wrote some very kind and humbling words. She also shared some lyrics from a Coldplay song, Twisted Logic, that were so, so timely and summed up how I feel life is moving right now. (I hope you don't mind me sharing Ali!)

"You'll go backwards,

but then you'll go forwards again

You'll go backwards,

but then you'll go forwards"

I think I really needed those words to help me to remember that every single one of us are faced with these obstacles in life but eventually we all move past these and go on a little bit stronger.

Thank you to everyone for your kind words and thoughts on my last post.

Now it is time for me to go forwards.

That said, what I am writing about today isn't an altogether positive topic but it won't have me crying at my desk (or couch as the case may be)

For the last, well I don't really want to admit how long, maybe a month or two? I have been dealing with the return of a case of plantar fasciitis. The last time I had PF I was almost 50kgs heavier and it came on just from the sheer pressure my body weight was exerting on my poor feet. I think this is why I find it so frustrating now. I know that when I run some horrible multiple of my weight is pounding down on those same poor feet so it once again shouldn't be surprising that it has come back. I am still overweight and it's still a heavy load for them to endure.

Despite my better judgement I tried to treat the issue but still continued to run, increasing my mileage along the way. Some days were better than others and it was never such a bad pain that I couldn't run or exercise. In other words, I thought I was doing no harm.

What I didn't notice was the slight shift in how my foot was hitting the ground to avoid hitting on the most sensitive areas of my foot. My foot sure as hell noticed! More specifically, my peroneal tendon noticed...

I wanted to say 'that's not my foot' like it was an ugly foot. 

Then I looked at my own foot and realised, 

"Damn, I have UGLY feet!" so let's say that this is my foot!

It started as a dull pain through the side of my foot to the little toe. Then a stiffness in my lower ankle. On Thursday morning, after the sad run the night before it was quite painful. I could walk fine but if I placed my foot down wrong it would shoot a sharp pain down the outside of my foot. My left foot was basically a slab of ouch.

I looked at my half-marathon training schedule (now revised in light of the Launceston postponement) and took stock. Was it really realistic to start increasing my mileage to that required when I was starting on a foot that was getting progressively worse? 

This time my head was not alone, as my heart chimed in and they both rang out with a resounding HELL NO!

I have to admit, this scared the poopies out of me. I was terrified that not running for any period of time would mean I would 'forget how'. And I have grown quite attached to running and the thought of even a few days without a run is not one that fills me with happiness. My sensible side said 'Fair enough, but if you keep going on a dicky foot you could do permanent damage and not run again EVER'

Touché brain, touché!

So I guess that the postponement of my planned half-marathon is a bit of a blessing because now I have time to get this foot under control without interfering with any training time. I think I have decided on a replacement half that is in July. Now my plan is to take ten to fourteen days to baby my left hoof. Lots of stretching, massaging and no running. I am going to be all about the bike and kicking it old school with Bob and Jillian and their yoga DVD's.

But of course, I do have one last run that I will need to get through tomorrow. Yep, it's time for the Fun Run I mentioned here when I was talking about my copy cat co-worker. She has eased off a lot since I wrote the post but is still very keen to come in under half an hour. But she hasn't gone for a run in three weeks... Should be interesting...

As a side note, I will be wearing this bib for the run ->

Sherry's story is tragic and I feel I have written enough sad words this week so I a going to direct you over to her cousin's blog, Shut Up and Run to read why me and so many others will be running for Sherry this weekend. I hope you can join us.

The Hardest Week

My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet

~ Edith Wharton

Dear Maddy,

Almost fourteen years ago, you came to stay... So after all this time it's hard to imagine you being gone.

You entered my life a crazy ball of energy, with a lust for life that humans could only dream of. Everything and everyday was a constant adventure for you and I'll admit, sometimes it drove me a little mad.

But you always knew when I needed a friend. When life got hard at home and all I could do was cry, you were my best friend, my confidante and my shoulder to cry on, giving an unconditional love that never once wavered.

The day I packed up all of my things and left home I would have left it all behind if I could have taken you. You were more valuable and priceless to me than any of that but it wasn't fair to you. Not seeing you for the better part of a year, my little Moopy, was so hard. But when things started to calm down and broken bridges were mended, you were back in my life.

When you were seven you came to live with Danny and I in our new home and I couldn't have been happier. Danny, more accustomed to big dogs, was a little more sceptical. But he knew how much you meant to me and it didn't take long for you to win him over. You were like that, a little charmer.

Even though you were seven you still had that crazy puppy energy that you always had and you took great pride in getting into all the things you shouldn't have. You came to live with us so well trained but before long, it was Danny and I that were at your beck and call. 

You found a favourite spot, down by the back gate, which gave you a perfect view of the world outside our little home. There was always a passing dog to bark at, a bird to watch and a kind word from a neighbour walking past. But most of all, you liked that spot because you could see when we got home. 

It wasn't until you were 12 that you really started to slow down. It was hard to see you go from a bounding ball of crazy fur to a much slower, older lady but it meant you spent more time just sitting with us, instead of chasing every little thing that dared enter our backyard. When you couldn't jump up on the bed any more, we gave you a step. And when that got too much, we gave you a bed in the corner of our room. 

I realised then that our time left together was not as long as I hoped for. If I had my way, you would have been here forever...

On Tuesday, I knew it was all getting too much for you. Your legs were sore and you were so tired. I knew deep down when we left for the vet that morning, you wouldn't be coming home but I hoped for some kind of miracle solution. But I was right and I guess I should be thankful that Danny and I got to be there as you closed your eyes and then pain was finally gone for you. But right now I am not thankful... I am sad and angry. Not angry at you but at this stupid circle of life and the fact that pets just don't last as long as their humans.

I know if you were here, you would sit with me until the tears were dry, the perfect example of patience and love. But now I need to learn a life without you and it is hard and it will be a long, crappy process of fully realising you are gone.

So to you, Moopy V, my little precious pup, I say thank you for growing up with me, for teaching me that when people are bad, animals are good, and for showing me that often words aren't needed, just a friend to sit with is enough.

I hope you were happy living with us and that you felt the love I had for you everyday. I will be thankful always that I got to have you in my life for as long as I did and I will remember all the things you taught me.

All my love,

Kristin

Happy Birthday Danny!

So I know how this 'blog' thing sometimes works. You read along with a blog about weight loss for a while and then the writer starts to talk about how they had a slip up here, and a few dozen donuts there and before you know it the posts stop and you pretty much know that everything has gone to poo... I assure you that is not what is happening here. I have been quiet this week because it has been pretty rough... not because I have been eating too much or the wrong things. And I have still been exercising and my weigh in today was good, I even managed to reach a new milestone and tick off a weight loss goal. I will write more about what has been so hard in the next day or two but for today, let's focus on something very happy indeed...

Today is Danny's 27th Birthday!

Danny and I met in college when we were both 16. Despite his questionable fashion sense I liked him straight away. He was hilariously funny and wasn't a poo-head like most of the boys I had met up to that point. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a thing for my bestie Nell. Stubborn and pig-headed, I didn't let that stand in my way!

The story of how we finally 'got together' is not very romantic. It involved a drunken friend and a port-a-loo at a friend's 18th birthday party so I won't go into details. Instead I will tell you about all the things that make me love the Birthday Boy so much!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANNY!!

For Fries Sake!

I've come to the conclusion that one of the biggest reasons I have been able to lose weight and keep it off this time is because I have finally been able to identify when I start slipping back to old habits and put a stop to them before I do too much damage. I wish I was at a point where I didn't have 'fat-relapses' or even that I was better at identifying and rectifying them sooner. 

I am currently in the 'recovery' phase of my most recent revertion to bad habits; the one that began with the trip to Melbourne for the triathlon. If I am being completely honest, it may have even happened before that and I just tried to kid myself that I was carb-loading. 

My weigh-in on the Friday before we flew out saw me gain 0.3kg which meant that I was not even close to my goal of seeing 92point-something on the scales. Up until that point, I hadn't really been eating badly, just way too much and in a completely mindless way. When I was at work I would comply way too easily with the nagging 3pm sugar-fairy and for some reason I thought it was reasonable to stuff my face full of food after dinner.

When I got to Melbourne, however, the real trouble started. I have already written about the cupcakes and the beer. What I haven't mentioned was the numerous trips to my favourite burger joint, Lord of the Fries. And the there was the wine, the gelato, the pizza, the fries and the GIANT burrito at Trippy Taco... The night before we were due to come home I felt a familiar feeling of dread. I knew the first thing I was going to do when I walked through the door was weigh myself and I knew it wasn't going to be pretty. So why then did I think a pint of beer while waiting at the airport was a good idea??

Nothing comes between me and my burrito!

Much to my surprise, the scales weren't as mean to me as I imagined. If anything, they were overwhelmingly forgiving, telling me that I had stayed exactly the same; 93.7kg. And better still, by official weigh-in Friday, they had dropped right down to 93.1kg! SCORE! I can't quite tell you how this happened because I had continued the holiday-style eating after I had gotten home! I know I ate a huge muffin every morning for breakfast and I am pretty sure I bought my lunch each day too!

In retrospect I wish the scales would have given me some awful number that showed me how stupid I had been because a crappy weigh-in would have been just what I needed to snap out of it. Instead, for some reason, I lost the ability to think rationally and to celebrate my loss on Friday I bought my lunch again and then Danny and I headed out for dinner after work where I ate so much I could barely walk out of the restaurant upright. 

I struggled through a 10K run the next morning because I was running on mostly fat and sugar and then ate lunch: tempeh, salad and fries. That evening we had to go to Danny's Dad's birthday party so instead of cooking I decided we would grab something on the way. My choice? Fries, pita and hummus... Mmmm hmmm, more fries! That's not even the best of it because I honestly couldn't tell you how much I drank at the birthday party!!! I have not been so drunk since the legendary NYE party, 2009. And what does a drunk person want, late at night when all logic and reason have gone out the window? FRIES! No s**t, I ended up at McDonald's where I proceeded to eat not one, but two large fries!

The next morning I battled hard to fight off the nausea and the pounding in my head and I eventually won that battle. But I couldn't shake the shame... I couldn't even imagine the amount of calories I had consumed the day before... And the worst thing was, I knew exercise could reverse a little of the damage but my hangover had left me drained and with zero motivation. Eventually the shame was stronger than the lazy and I did two 'shifts' on the exercise bike of 40 minutes each.

Even so, I didn't dare get on the scales this morning...

Today I thought long and hard... The last week had resembled the old me so much and I didn't like it and I really didn't like how it was making me feel. I took stock of how I felt physically; tired, slow, greasy and like I had a constant headache. Even worse, I made a list of how I felt emotionally and there was nothing good there. I was feeling like I was failing myself and all the people who are so proud of me and angry that I was silly enough to let this happen... Again... I felt ashamed and sad. Pretty much every negative emotion, it was right there.

And was I going to let it continue?

Nuh Uh

I know how good I can feel. I know what I can achieve. I know where I want to be going and that old life? That isn't going to get me there.

So, this morning I started again!

And I have pronounced fries the enemy!

2012 Goal Update - January

At the start of 2012 I set some goals for the year ahead. Each month I hope to do an update on my progress towards ticking everything off the list. Thankfully, January was a pretty succussful in regards to the goals list so my first update gets to be a good one :)

Finish my Triathlon - DONE After signing up at the end of August and waiting five long months I finally got to do my first triathlon! My sister and I swam, rode and ran our way to both cross the line in under an hour. The biggest lesson I learned from the triathlon? I mix with water about as well as oil... It's dry land for me from here folks! You can read the race re-cap here.

Complete a 5K Fun Run - DONE I got to tick this one off pretty early in the New Year with the Cadbury Marathon 5K. I really wanted to cross the line in under 30 minutes but sadly it wasn't meant to be. You can read the race re-cap here.

Complete a 10K Fun Run - I think I have found a 10K to sign up for in March. It's about three hours away so I am waiting to see if we have the funds available for the race and accomodation.

Complete a 1/2 Marathon Training Program - Even though the 1/2 marathon I had planned to do in May has been postponed by the coordinators, I am still going ahead with the training program. 

Complete a 1/2 Marathon - As I mentioned above, the inaugral Launceston Marathon has been postponed until 2013 so I am on the look-out for a replacement 1/2. I have me eye on The Age Run Melbourne 1/2 Marathon but I need to work out funds and accomodation. It's held in July so my training program will be extended by a few weeks which is probably good as it gives me so insurance in case of injury. 

Join a Soccer Team - No progress made on this one. I'm not really sure how to start this one. How do I find a soccer team to join? Plus, I would really love a friend to join with me but I have no takers at this stage.

Cook my way through a Cook Book - *pffft* I started this one today! I changed the book that I was attempting to cook through because the one I had originally selected was a little too overwhelming. Time in the kitchen and time exercising aren't really compatible. Luckily I found a book that satisfied my requirement for easy and tasty - The Vegan Slow Cooker by Kathy Hester. Now I can get all my preperation done just before bed, chuck it all in the pot in the morning and have dinner waiting for me when I get home! PERFECT!!

As for my weight loss goals and milestones, I didn't meet any in January :( I am still chasing that illusive 'overweight' BMI that I will get when I hit 92.5kg and the 50kg-gone milestone that will come soon after, at 92kg. My eating for the last two weeks has been in the toilet and I need to get on top of it if I want to meet these goals.

Triathlon Weekend - Part 2 - The Main Event : Triathlon Pink 2012

WARNING : This post is lllloooonnnngggg... Sorry :)

When my alarm went off at 5am on Sunday morning I felt like I had been asleep for about 5 minutes. I had the heaviness in your chest that comes with lack of sleep and I had taken on some zombie-like qualities. I double-checked all of my gear, gave Sprocket's tyres one last pump and chucked my bread in the toaster... And promptly forgot I had done it until the in-room smoke detector began blaring! Yes, that's right, I was that person... The one waking up the entire hotel at the butt-crack of dawn because she can't even supervise a toaster! As Danny ripped the battery out of the alarm and I opened all the windows I prayed that this wasn't a preview of how my day was going to go.

We left the hotel ten minutes later than I had planned and, as with the epic journey from the day before, I was way off in judging how far away the event location was... I had such grand plans of being there at 6am. At 6:10 Danny told me to ride the rest of the way and he would find me there. I made it to the registration area by about 6:15am and I was feeling like all of my carefully crafted plans were going down the toilet. I called my sister, who was doing a much better job of being on time, to find out where she was. It was pretty lucky that she had gotten there before me because she was able to tell me where I had to go and what I had to do. She took my bag to my transition spot while I registered and got my number written on my arm and leg. There is nothing quite like having a random number permanent-markered onto your body to make you realise you are actually about to do a triathlon! I hoped that my number, 255, was lucky.

I found my sister, her family and Danny who had finally showed up all standing at my transition spot. The spots were quite small but luckily I had brought a little collapsible box to keep all my stuff in. I started to set my things up, trying to remember how I had everything when I had practised. My sister noticed a lady standing to one side and apologised as she thought her son was in her way. The lady curtly replied "No, I am waiting for my spot, 254." It's hard to inflect her tone via writing but trust me, she was overly rude from her body language right through to the evil stare she was giving me. It's not like the event was due to start anytime soon and I hadn't taken an excessive amount of time setting up. Regardless, the doormat in me didn't want to upset anyone so I hastily chucked everything in the box and made a swift exit so she could set up. 

Between the fire alarm, the later than planned arrival and the rude lady I was feeling like nothing was going to go right.

We now had some time to kill before the event started and it was pretty cool to be able to spend some time with my niece and nephew while people watching. I was amazed by the sheer cross-section of people that were there. There was thin people, fat people, professional looking people and then the ones that looked just as terrified and unsure as I was. 

Good luck kisses from my niece helped with the nerves :)

I think I had passed the point of 'just a little nervous' into full-blown fear because I didn't have the overwhelming need to pee every 5 seconds that tends to come with slight nerves. I may or may not have joked that I could always pee in the pool anyway.

At 7:15 it was time for my sister and I to head to the pool for our briefing. One look at the water and the buoys was enough to make my mouth go dry. We sat in the stands with all the other long course participants. I was listening to the event coordinator but nothing was really sinking in. I just hoped there would be plenty of people around that I could follow when push came to shove. I looked out into the crowd and saw that Nell had arrived along with another of our friends and her baby. They were all wearing 'Team Kristin' t-shirts which was pretty much the most awesome thing ever!

Greatest cheerleading squad EVER!

The one thing that I did pick up from the coordinator was that we would be starting the swim in numerical order with one person getting into the pool, to be followed quickly by another. My sister was number 199 so there was a fair gap between our starts but he also mentioned if we wanted to we could start with a friend, regardless of number so I totally gatecrashed my sister's start :) Before we knew it we were approaching the front of the line to start. I could see everyone in the pool and I was happy to see so many people doing strokes other than front crawl. My sister and I discussed our entry into the pool and how best to do it. I don't think we came to a definite conclusion before we reached the front of the line.

THE SWIM - 300 metres

My highly accurate 'Paint' drawing of the pool course!

I entered the pool via the sit and plop method (patent pending). It was awkward, inefficient and probably looked funny as hell from the side of the pool. And unfortunately it was the most successful part of my swim. After about ten seconds I realised I hadn't started Garmy so I fumbled for the button. With Garmy started I set about getting the swim over and done with. Then, WHAM, someone coming up behind me slammed their fist into my side. This was followed by a foot connecting with the side of my head and someone who seemed to be swimming sideways head-butting me in the arm. It was ferocious! The was nothing I could imagine that I could have done in my training that would have adequately prepared me for the overwhelming terror of a group swim. I could see my sister's black cap moving further and further away. I knew what was coming but I had no idea how to stop it. The wave of terror washed over me and I couldn't breathe. Front crawl went out the window and I began some ridiculous swim that was a mixture of breast stroke and dog paddle. I let myself do this until I reached the first buoy. Once I had gone around I started with the front crawl again. I could feel the panic coming back but I tried to push through it. I got all the way around the second buoy, all the while getting slammed by other people's wayward limbs before the anxiety got the better of me. At this point even my breast/dog weird swimming style wasn't cutting it. I breathed in approximately half the pool and convinced myself I was going to die. I remember reading on SwimBikeMom that some people think that flipping onto your back is an effective way to calm down which is how I found myself like this...

Swim fail...

It didn't work for me... I ended up panicked AND worried that I was floating way off course. I flipped back over and tried to regain some composure as I rounded the third buoy. I spent the next fifty metres wishing that this was all over, praying that my ankle timer didn't fall off like it felt it was about to and trying desperately to give myself a pep talk. 

The pep talk must have worked because as I came around the second to last buoy, with 100 metres left I decided that the fastest way out of this hellish situation was to get down to business, act like a grown up and swim like I was supposed to. I began front crawl again and finally found a rhythm... Too little, too late but at least I got some swimming photos where I actually look like I was putting in a decent effort!

Finally...

As I reached the stairs to climb out of the pool I knew my sister was somewhere miles ahead and I knew the swim had been a catastrophe. I couldn't even imagine how long it had taken me but I was sure it was somewhere between 15 minutes and 3 decades. If I would have been thinking straight I would have remembered I had a nifty $400 gadget strapped to my wrist that could have told me how long it had taken which would have also meant I would have remembered to press the lap button to show that I had entered transition. The swim had been poo but at least it was done... 

Sweet, dry land!

THE BIKE - 9 kilometres

With the trauma of the swim behind me, I headed out of the pool and into transition. I tried to not be perturbed by the number of bikes that were already un-racked and gone. I finally remembered to hit the lap button on Garmy *sigh* Was I going to get anything right? I found my bike but I  found my grumpy neighbour was there too. I tried to ignore her and remember the important things like putting my helmet on before touching my bike. Transition was located on a dry dusty field and my feet were now caked in a thin layer of mud. I tried to wipe most of it off on my towel before pulling on my socks and shoes but mostly just managed to spread the mud from my feet up my ankles. Shorts on, hanky in my bra, sunglasses on and I was finally ready to get Sprocket on the road. 

The event coordinator had explained that the long course bike leg would consist of three laps of the mapped route. I am not a big fan of 'loops' but I was so glad to be out of the water they could have told me it was fifteen laps and I would have been happy. I found my rhythm very quickly and was pretty happy to find myself actually passing people. My legs felt strong and I finally started to enjoy myself. Then I realised I hadn't freakin' pressed the button on Garmy to show I had started the bike leg! FAR OUT, BRUSSEL SPROUT! I hoped and prayed that the timing chip on the anklet that I had been given was registering everything correctly because my Garmin results were going to be all over the show!

Around 500 metres from the first turn (could have been more, could have been less?! I have shown I am not a good judge of distance) I spotted my sister coming the other way and estimated that I was about a kilometre behind her. It was about then that any hope of finishing anywhere near her disappeared. I knew that the run was her strongest leg and if I was already this far behind I would have no hope. I made the first turn and headed back, now concentrating on passing as many people as I could. I spotted Danny a few times on the sidelines with the camera and I kept a look out for my sister but I didn't see her again. 

As I went into the last turn and started heading back to transition I tried to work out if I was better to keep pushing as hard as I was or to drop off a bit in order to save my legs for the run. I never really made a choice because I was distracted by two men on bicycles. First thing I need to point out is that Triathlon Pink is an all-women's event. Second, it was quite obvious to anyone around that there was a large event on that day with plenty of signs and participants everywhere. So when these two guys came riding up beside me, on the track set out for our event, I was initially a little miffed. I realised quite quickly that they weren't part of the event and I was mildly peeved that they were there. I told myself to get over it, they weren't hurting anyone and just concentrate on what I was doing. We rode side by side for a few metres... 

Damn imposters!

All was well until they decided that us mere triathlon-completing mortals were an inconvenience to them and they sped off, still on our track, pedalling as fast as their ridiculously rude legs would take them. Honestly, I felt like chucking a stick in their spokes and sorting them out. Luckily (for them? Me? My Police record?) I was also approaching the transition so I had more important things to think about, like remembering to press the lap button on Garmy!! I entered the second transition, happy with the fact that my grumpy neighbour 254 had not yet returned from her ride.

THE RUN - 3 kilometres

I kicked of my shoes, re-arranged my soggy socks and peeled off my bike gear and replaced it with my run stuff. I decided against eating some GU Chomps because I felt like I had enough fuel in the tank to get me through a 3k run. I pulled my shoes back on, spun my number belt around and headed out. 

This run was not my favourite. The track was a flat, out and back route so I was glad for the lack of 'loops' but I find I run better on an undulating track rather than flat. My legs felt okay. They were definitely tired but they were standing up well. I would have loved to have my iPod there at that moment but alas, MP3 players were not welcome. I saw many people walking and almost found myself negotiating with myself to stop and walk. But then common sense would kick in and assure me that I was more than capable of finishing a 3k run without walking. I concentrated on keeping my eye out for my sister coming back the other way and avoiding the giant puddle that had formed on the track at one point of the course. 

When I saw the turn around point approaching I realised I hadn't seen my sister. This meant that I either hadn't seen her as I passed which made me feel a bit rude or I was going so slow that she had finished the run before I had even started. The thought made me want to walk even more... As I rounded the halfway marker my jaw hit the ground. Right on my tail and gaining very fast was my sister!! I almost pooped myself! Never in a million years did I think that the reason I hadn't seen her was because she was behind me. My joy was short-lived however because she powered past me at a pace that my sad, tired legs couldn't even dream of keeping up with!

Soon I could see the big arch in the distance and I knew I was almost there. I really wanted a good finishing photo so I kept an eye out for Danny and I eventually spotted him. 

What's a finish without a crazy photo?

I passed through the big arch but it was quite deceptive as the finish line was actually around the corner. I zoomed over the finish lines as fast as my legs would take me and actually remembered to press STOP on Garmy!

DONE!

In the chaos of the finish line I got given my medal (YAY!) and chugged down what was left of my water. I found my sister and her husband and we had some photos done. Soon enough Danny found us and directed me to where my friends were. My brain was mush and I could barely form logical thoughts :) I couldn't believe that it was all over! I think I even felt a bit sad that it was done. I was, however, glad to relax!

My ultimate goal for the day was to finish in under 60 minutes. Garmy told me I had crossed the line in 57:42 including the transitions. The official results didn't included transition but here they are anyway!

My sister crossed the line in 53:01. I would have loved to have finished before her but I honestly never imagined I would have come so close to her time!

And just in case you were as interested as I was in how my grumpy neighbour, number 254 went? 54:46 :) I have to admit I was pretty chuffed when I saw that... Karma is a b**ch...

So now that it's all said and done what are my feelings towards triathlons? First and foremost, I am happy to be able to tick this off my list of goals. Secondly, I am in absolute, hands-down awe of the people out there slugging their guts out to do 'regular' length triathlons with open water swims and epic bike and run legs... Seriously! I take my hat off to all of you because I really don't think I could even finish a sprint distance triathlon!!

Would I do another one? I will definitely consider doing Triathlon Pink again next year. It was so well organised with a big focus on fun and inclusion. As I mentioned before, one of the best parts was seeing so many different people of varying abilities out there just getting it done. My favourite part of the event was getting to do it with my sister. I have looked up to my sister every day of my life (even through those difficult 'teenage years' LOL) especially when it comes to how athletic she is. It was amazing to be able to complete an event like this with her. As for a different triathlon or a longer event? Not right now... I think it will takes a long time for the scars of that swim to fade and the thought of doing ANY swimming, let alone a longer distance right now is not good.