Working on my Transitions

Transition: 
The process of changing from one condition to another.

Triathlon has two transitions: from swim to bike and bike to run.  

John and I sharing snacks on our
most recent bike ride together.

But the Degonia family has many more transitions occurring simultaneously: John is leaving one job for another.  He is super excited about the opportunity, but that doesn't mean there aren't tense moments.  

Spencer and Denver are transitioning from homeschool to public and private school.  They are not super excited, but they are ready, willing, curious, and more than a bit nervous.  

John Robert is transitioning between time zones as he travels to Europe this summer with fellow classmates and his first girlfriend.  

Jibby pausing for a picture
in Madrid, Spain.

And I . . . I am transitioning from being a 40-something to celebrating my 50th birthday.  I am going from homeschool teacher to P.E. teacher at Denver's private school.  I am coaching beginner triathletes, and I am preparing for Ironman Chattanooga.

That's a lot of transitioning.

According to Google, the word Transition has several synonyms, including Metamorphosis.  I like that one.  The Degonia family is undergoing Metamorphosis. 

Welcome to the Butterfly House!

 

Preparing to Swim in the same River Twice

Accidental selfie--
taken on every bump in the road 
on yesterday's ride!

I wanted a repeat of last spring.  I wanted long rides with my husband and cycling club.  I wanted the excitement of anticipating race day; and let me admit it, I wanted the weight loss I experienced last year.

Few of these experiences have come to pass.  I am enjoying long rides with my club, and I love it; but my husband rarely gets to join us.  My race training is slightly less thrilling than last year, and I'm up ten pounds.  I'd like to claim it's all muscle, but I'd be lying.

A Sunday Novice ride with my son, Denver.

Heracleitus said we "can't step in the same river twice" (Of course, he said it in Greek).  I realize I've been trying to do just that-- repeat last year.  This year's training experiences are different.  Still good, but different.

One change is my focus: I've begun thinking how fun it would be to share the triathlon experience with others.  I've been offered the opportunity to coach, and I'm going to take it.

Riders seeking sustenance at Rest Stop No. 4
at the Tony Serrano Ride. 
It was a joy to meet every one of them!

Another surprise, I became president of my cycling club this year.  An even bigger surprise is that I love being more involved with our riders and supporting the growth of the club.  Working as a volunteer at the Tony Serrano Century was incredible!

Baking Pumpkin cookies for
the Tony Serrano Ride.

Another unexpected change is that I've fallen out of love with running (temporarily, I hope.  We're in counseling ;-).  And my nemesis and I are more than just friends--I'm passionate about swimming-- some would say obsessed (Amy Benton).  

I'm happily training and looking forward to race day, but it's less mysterious now.  I know if I have a good day, I'll be faster than last year.

Sneaking a kiss from my son after our ride.

Dominic and Eddie on our last ride together before
Dominic's move to Philadelphia.

A rare opportunity to ride with (almost) the whole family.

What I don't know is what this quiet, rainy day will bring, or the days that follow it.  This admission is hard for an organized, goal driven control freak like me to admit.  Today will be a rest day.  A be grateful day.  But maybe . . . if it stops pouring . . . a long run day.

When "Just Keep Swimming" isn't Enough

It was a rest day . . . or it was supposed to be a rest day . . . but my 11 year old son wanted to swim and I agreed to go to the pool for a fun swim together.

We had a good time.  He loves to coach me; so after we warmed up, Denver began telling me how to do butterfly.  He talked and demonstrated.  I tried.  He told me everything I was doing wrong.  I tried again.  Repeat.  Repeat.  At one point, he said, "Your upper body is too stiff.  You look like this."  He then proceeded to thrash in the water as if his upper body and lower body were trying to drown each other!

Enough of that, I thought.  I'll do something I know how to do.  Freestyle.  I've been studying and practicing and reading and watching videos for three years.  As I swam, Denver decided to record me so he could offer advice.  When I saw the recording, I became sick to my stomach.  This is me?!

I was reminded of the old adage that "practice makes perfect" only if your practice is perfect.  I have been practicing swimming poorly, with my arms sweeping out to the side, my stroke not fully extended, my hips flat.  Sigh...

It's funny how easy it is to watch others swimming and to learn from watching them without forming any kind of judgment about them as people.  When I watch myself, however, I am so frustrated that I almost don't want to get back in the pool.  

I am humbled by the embarrassment of being a newbie once again.  It reminds me of how my children must feel as they try new things and receive unsolicited feedback from well intentioned adults. 

Kindness matters.  Patience matters.  As my yoga teacher offered at the end of every class, "Nothing takes the place of gentle, loving persistence."  And . . . back to the pool I go.  Humbled, but determined.  

I have a sink full of dirty dishes and a couch hiding beneath a mountain of unfolded laundry. Happy International Women's Day!

A Joyful Christmas breakfast with Poinsettia dishes.
John did the cooking.  I did the cleaning; and then
I went for a ten mile run.

Okay.  Let me first say that I'm very lucky to have a plentiful supply of dishes.  And when I think about "doing the dishes or laundry," I don't actually mean without a dish or clothes washer!  So, let me just admit that by every measurable standard, my life is awesome and wonderful and I love it.  My husband is incredible.  My kids are fantastic.  I have a great job.  But even with this life, from time to time, questions arise.  Sometimes, but not always, they arise while I'm on a six hour bike ride with my cycling club on a sunny Saturday afternoon while my kids are home . . . playing video games.  

A frequent post in my women's triathlon Facebook group is this:
"My (insert husband/partner/mother/father) says my passion for triathlon is selfish and it's taking too much time away from family obligations.  I love running, biking, swimming, and competing in races.  Am I being too selfish?"

Ten hours into my first Ironman.

I have looked for such questions in male dominated triathlon groups, and have never found them.  When something similar is asked by men, it is usually related to career obligations, and there is no angst in the questioner's voice.  It is simply a matter of logistics, not guilt.  

The same questions arise with regard to mothers working long hours in careers they love.  How do they do it, people ask, with a family?  No one ever asks that of men.

And the truth is that a mother's place is still in the home, even when she's not there.  It's okay for her to do other things, even fantastic things-- going to law school, becoming a judge, competing in Ironman triathlons-- as long as these activities do not get in the way of all of her family obligations.

I don't know what to say or do about any of this.  I'm not even sure how I feel about it.  By the time John and I had our first child, I drank the Kool-Aid.  I wanted to be the Best mom, wife, housekeeper, attorney in the world.  My mom set the standard for how much a mother could accomplish.  She rose at 5am and worked as Postmaster of a small post office all day, returning home in time to feed us dinner, attend our after school events, clean around the house, do laundry, and remember all of our dental and doctor appointments.  

But I couldn't.  Not really.  Not and have a moment to relax and enjoy the life I was creating.  Now that the kids are old enough to cook themselves breakfast and one of them can drive, I no longer feel the pull of society's expectations.  Instead, I feel the drive to go outside and chase dreams.  Usually, on a bicycle.  The dishes can wait.  And your clean clothes are on the couch.  You'll have to dig around a bit, but they're there.  Call me if you need me.  I'll be riding, or trail running, or swimming.  I'll call you right back.

A New Romance

Tracks left by Apollo and me on the dawn of our one real snow day.
--Photographer Unknown

As winter forces me closer to the fire, my triathlon training adapts.  Gone are the long, sunny days of cycling.  I miss the sunshine on my skin and the unfortunate tan lines that cyclists wear with perverse pride.  

Instead, the few rides we have are cold; and we not only dress like crazy clowns, but some require whiskey for warmth!

Our first winter base ride
of the season.

An "unnamed rider" taking
advantage of a little liquid heat!

I have been running more.  Harder.  Longer.  I've finally committed to real strength training and have seen my body change and adapt.  Who is this strong woman in the mirror?!

Most surprising of all, I have a new romance with . . . swimming.

Thanks to an incredibly thoughtful swim program called Swim Speed Secrets by Sheila Taormina, my hours in the pool have doubled.  More importantly, swimming has gone from long and boring to challenging and different every day.  My stroke technique has improved.  I can see and feel the changes in my body.

Other than misgivings about my visibly bigger upper arms and shoulders, I am both surprised and delighted with this new relationship to the pool.  And biggest surprise of all?  I'm getting faster.

I'm so surprised by these changes that I don't quite know what to do with them.  Should I enter an open water race?  Join a masters' swim team?  Just keep training for my Ironman?

Not that it matters all that much.  As John will happily remind me, I haven't found a way to make swimming (or anything else!) into a money maker.  Yet it thrills me to see my body happily responding to new training and new challenges.

Old dog.  New tricks.

Apollo watches the rain as we both wait to go for a run.

My Swim Coaches live upstairs

My Eldest Swimming Hero: John Robert off the blocks in the 100 Freestyle.

As the new year approaches, I don't need to hire a swim coach or seek inspiration for the hard work required for successful racing.  Two of my heroes live with me.  As I work to become a stronger, faster swimmer; these two are both my coaches and cheerleaders.

John Robert's cheering friends at a recent swim meet.
My favorite sign: Chlorine, Breakfast of Champions

My eldest son, John Robert, continually surprises me with his dedication to excellence in all that he touches.  This (unfortunately) extends to video games and Dungeons & Dragons, but also includes academics and swim team.  Over the past two and a half years, it has extended to swim stroke advice.  

When I first began training for triathlons, I could barely swim freestyle.  Because John Robert has been swimming on a competitive swim team for several years, I asked him for help. He cautiously agreed.  

John Robert patiently endures my photography
and swim questions over a breakfast of Honey Nut
Cheerios and an Arnold Palmer.
Obviously, we differ on nutritional advice!

After watching me from the pool deck, he put on his goggles and jumped into the water.  He watched me from the bottom of the pool.  He then began with the most careful of critiques: "First of all, Mom, there is a lot you are doing right."  

Ha!  He knows my sensitivity to criticism so well!  He then proceeded to offer one thing for me to work on for that practice.  He did not make the mistake I might have made by offering a laundry list of flaws that needed to be addressed.  Day by day, I ever so slowly improved.  

John Robert in a rare moment of relaxation.

If John Robert wrote an inspirational
slogan, this might be it.

Since that time, he has gone from being mildly embarrassed by my presence at the pool in front of his teammates to a quiet acceptance.  In the past year, I even detected a bit of pride when he mentioned to a fellow lifeguard that his crazy mom was training for an Ironman.  When I asked him about my stroke, he said it looks fine.  I can even do flip turns!

Denver at the start of his 2017 triathlon
at Calloway Gardens.

My other coach is Denver.  He, too, competes on his year round swim team.  He loves his coach, his teammates, and anything that involves being with other people.  He knows every member of his swim team.  Even the older kids give him high fives as he walks onto the pool deck.  He is a fan of freestyle and butterfly, but his biggest love is any relay where he is competing with his teammates. 

Denver at state competition with his relay team.

It may go without saying that Denver doesn't like to be left out.  This has wonderful side effects.  He competes in triathlons so that he and I can "talk" training and spend more time together.  Denver is my primary cheerleader, but also enjoys telling me what I am doing wrong.  One day he spent over 30 minutes showing me the proper way to do a flip turn and having me practice until I was too dizzy to go on!

Denver was present at my first Ironman competition, and will undoubtedly be there for the next one.  He yells almost as loudly as his daddy.  When I was starting out on the run, I paused to speak to him.  He pushed on my back.  "Get going!  This is a race!" 

He was there to cheer me to the finish line after a 13 hour day.  I appreciated his presence as much as that of his big brother, Spencer, and his Daddy.  Denver is a fan of Ironman souvenirs, too, and has adopted all of my Ironman gear as his own, from tri kits to backpacks.  With this boy, I feel the joy of competition and teamwork.

As I train for Ironman Chattanooga in 2018, I look forward to the loving support of my whole family.  I know my husband will be there as my training partner.  I know my cycling club will be there to help me put in thousands of miles with a smile.  But my two favorite swimmers deserve a special shout out today.  I couldn't and wouldn't do it without them.  
    

All three of my monkeys enjoying some pool time three years ago.
Spencer-- my middle guy-- is not my swim coach.
He is, however, a wonderful cheerleader!

One of Denver's many temporary tattoos
used at competition.  I don't quite
have his confidence!

The Long Road to Recovery

The view from the top of my driveway yesterday.

Recovery: A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.

Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever: A bacterial infection transmitted by a tick that can cause serious damage to internal organs such as the kidneys and heart.  Most commonly found in the southeastern United States.

After the whirlwind of Ironman-- the "Hurray!" and the "Congratulations!"-- what does one do?

My dear brother and sister-in-law
sent me this fruit basket.
The boys ate it in about 12 seconds!

I expected to feel done with triathlon.  I had been warned about burnout and depression after accomplishing this goal.  Neither arrived.  I wanted to train for next year.  Chattanooga 2018.  I thought I could go faster.  Maybe also try to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Maybe compete in a bike race.  

My poor husband just looked at me like . . . !?X?!  Poor guy.  He thought the craziness was over!

After a mere two days of rest, I felt restless.  I was unaccustomed to sitting around.  I wasn't even sore.  Sadly for my house, I felt no desire to do a thorough cleaning or catch up on other chores.  I enjoyed more time with the boys, but even so, there was still a hole in my schedule.  I wanted to get back on the bike, or take a run, or maybe a swim.  

Back in the saddle with a few
of my favorite C4 folks.

Three days after Ironman, I rode 22 miles on the bike and did a 2,000 yard swim.  Delicious.  The next day, a 30 mile bike ride.  I wasn't fast.  My legs were still recovering, but the movement felt great. I allowed myself to continue doing half distance/half speed workouts for the next several days until a sudden change sucked the strength out of me-- Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

It began nine days after Ironman, with a sudden dislike for coffee.  It tasted funny.  Hmmm...  I wasn't hungry for breakfast or lunch either.  Then came the fever.  103.  Nausea.  Headache.  OOoooh!  HEADACHE...

This continued day and night.  I lived on the couch.  I forced myself to eat, and sometimes I kept it down.  One day it was half a bowl of Cheerios.  Another day, five bites of sweet potatoes.  I thought I was staying hydrated, but the continual profuse sweating-- which required daily sheet and blanket washing (Yuck!)-- was literally draining me.  At my mother's urging, John took me to the ER on the fifth day.

After ten hours in the ER, two IVs, numerous tests, and what was to be a $16,375 bill, the doctors sent me home with a shrug: "Maybe it's some sort of virus.  Make sure you follow up with your regular doctor."  Seriously?!  They didn't even test me for tick born disease, which I specifically asked them to do.  Grrr...

Two days later, I saw Dr. Lanclos who diagnosed me appropriately, and prescribed the antibiotics that would heal me.  It took another week before I could stay awake all day without a long nap or drive a car without getting dizzy and nauseated.  It was 14 days before I felt like exercising.  My parents came down for a visit and were a wonderful help keeping the boys busy with activities, cooking meals, shopping, and encouraging me to rest-- which I did!

So here I am-- six weeks and four days after Ironman, and in my third week of regular exercise post Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Where am I headed?  

I want to see if I can knock it out of the park next fall at Ironman Chattanooga.  How much stronger can I become?  How much faster?  

And-- by the way-- I know that in many ways it doesn't matter.  Health, Love, Family-- these three things are far more important than any physical challenge . . . and yet... these physical challenges call to me like a bewitching siren.

This drive to test my limits, however, has been tempered by the knowledge that my body is not superhuman-- despite my Ironman status.  It is humbling to see how quickly the body can falter.  But with the support of my favorite training partner, I think we still have goals to achieve.  Right PBM?