An hour run…..and finding hope:)

This is a short tale about finding hope.

Despite my best intentions, this blog really hasn’t spent much time documenting my efforts training for the full international length triathlon (Miami Man) that I have on November 14th.    Much of this I can attribute to my lack of consistent and positive workouts.  I simply haven’t been that serious about training.  And while some of this I can blame on procrastination, personal demons, and the allure of the BRAVO channel  – much of it I blame on circumstance and my personal situation.   My husband simply hasn’t been home to watch the kids and it has been hard getting a babysitter.   On a positive note – the tides are FINALLY changing.  My husband is on his last out-of-town trip and then, he is taking paternity leave.  Yes, he is staying home and taking care of the baby.   Besides (and most importantly) having great care for my newborn this also means that I will be able to train consistently and also make plans (his trips always change making planning for anything very hard). 

Lets get back to hope.  Lately, I have really questioned whether I could do the international tri.  The weight isn’t coming off quickly (not that I thought it would but a girl could  dream).  I also was (am) really struggling with running and biking (I haven’t even started to train for swimming).  To illustrate, I had gone, pre-pregnancy, from a slow ten minute a mile snail pace to a 11:20 minute earthworm pace; from running well over an hour to barely finishing thirty minutes.  My biking average has dropped from almost 20 miles an hour to 14.  Grim, Grim.  And then hope appeared unexpectedly at my doorstep today in the form of a glorious, wet run. 

My husband was leaving today (after being gone for the last three days).  I, of course, slept late. This left a small window to run.  And it was raining.  A lot.  When I started to run it was lightly “spitting.” At 5 minutes in it became tropical. It never stopped.  Little creeks of water on the street became roaring rivers, water lightly circling the edge of sewer grates became large whirlpools.   And I ran.  Sweet little puddles became the diving end of a pool and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to find a stretch of the street that wasn’t a pool.  And I continued to run.   The song Footloose somehow got stuck in my head,  a white Jeep sprayed me with a tidal wave of dirty street water  (I gave them a thumbs up opposed to a deserved middle finger – My sarcastic, “wet n wild” moment for the day), and a random, burly guy getting into this truck said as I passed, “You are hard-core. ”  My response to said, random man was – “apparently”.     Then it hit me – I am more committed to this that I give myself credit for.  If I am willing to run in this kind of weather, I really do want it – so I am going to fight for it.  

Moral of the story:  After an hour of consistent, non-stop, soaking wet running –  at the snail’s pace of 11-12 minute miles – it did, in fact, become apparent to me that I am (at least a little) hard-core.  This is my year of change.   And I am in better shape then I thought I was.  Bring on Miami Man.