Sunday, March 15, 2015

9 pre-season triathlon thoughts

The 2011 Columbus Marathon.
Back out on the pavement today for a three-mile run — beginning the training in my eighth triathlon season — a few thoughts crossed my mind.

1) I love to run.

2) I really love to run.

3) I love touching my face after 20 minutes and feeling the dirt, the grit on my cheeks.

4) I love knowing that as gross as my skin can get, I can use the Mary Kay Miracle Set to give my face a kick-butt cleaning and pampering afterward.

5) I love pushing myself beyond my limits, if only just to the next edge.

6) I love being reminded that my body is a machine. I'm out there soaking up my life and I don't care if anyone sees me spit out dirt or wipe my runny nose with the back of my hand. I'm a machine — maintaining, progressing.

7) Easily my weakest sport, I really need to learn to love biking just as much running.

8) I'm reminded how much I'd rather train in 100-degree heat than 30-degree cold.

9) I'm blessed to have the faculties to do this.

Here's to an amazing 2015 season.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Change of pace a breeze

I did something I normally wouldn’t do, but that was the whole point.

A couple issues ago in Salt magazine, I wrote about how important down time is. I put my money where my mouth was while I was on vacation.

One of the best trips I’ve had in years, Gary and I traveled to Myrtle Beach with his daughter, her husband and the two granddaughters in June.

Instead of filling the time shopping endlessly, or making sure I took in all the sights and sounds the beach had to offer, I took in one sight and one sound, and they were both the same — the ocean.

I spend so much of my life being hurried — check emails, assign stories, make more coffee; the only hurrying I managed on vacation was to immediately find my flip flops so I could go sit on the balcony as soon as I got up in the morning.

In a protest to the fast-paced lifestyle gods, I threw caution to the wind, literally, as we kept our bedroom balcony door open — wide open — while we slept every night. There was no screen to keep out the bugs, and no adjusting the volume of the waves.

As a person who loathes the sight of bugs (though finding one crawling on your arm is certainly worse), I was so unconcerned with whether any would find their way into our room at night. The pleasure of the rolling ocean and its accompanying wind superseded any of my fears. (I only killed one the whole week.)

Most of the day was spent sitting, either on the balcony, down at the beach, or back on the balcony again in the evening and at night. Conversation with people I love replaced mindless staring at my computer and iPhone.

I watched TV for less than three hours during the entire vacation, choosing to stare endlessly out into the beautiful ocean.

The great news about being such a busy person is that I have come to appreciate all the other end of the spectrum has to offer. There’s plenty on the other side if we choose to look for it.

EDITOR'S NOTE: This content will be published in the next issue of Salt magazine, hitting home delivery subscribers for some of our southern Ohio newspapers July 16. Just couldn't wait to share.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

I did a Half Ironman

With only five minutes to spare, I made the cutoff for Ironman Muncie 70.3 on Saturday, my first HIM.

The swim was the easiest of any tri I've done, the bike was the most miserable I have been in life in a while and the run was pretty decent.

I'll have a full race report later, but just wanted to share the good news.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

New running shoes

I finally got a new pair of running shoes last Sunday. Not only do they fit great, they're also quite adorable.

I'm still adjusting to their character, hoping that we will make a long-lasting fit. So far so good, though.

Happy running!

Sunday, January 6, 2013

I'll have the truck, please

The sound of our shoes crunching over the ice and snow in the parking lot could be heard as someone I was walking in to a meeting with the other night remarked, "I didn't know you drove a truck."

"Oh, yeah," I said, smiling, pausing to look back over my shoulder at my truck, her top covered with snow, frost consuming her windows in winter's first storm. She looked terrific.

"After all," I continued, "I am from West Virginia. Girls dream about their first truck as much as they do their wedding day over there."

Though we chuckled, my comment wasn't far from the truth.

When our friend, Robin, got her brand new 1993 Toyota truck our senior year in high school, my best friend, Holly, and I both wished that we could trade in our run-down Chevy Caprice or Toyota Tercel hatchback for a truck like hers. She had struck gold.

Though it took me 17 years, I finally got my truck three years ago through a deal that almost didn't even happen.

My husband and I were at the dealership, ready to put some money down on a Chevy Malibu, a sensible selection; but before we made a commitment, I looked up and said, "Any chance you've got any trucks around this price range?"

The rep said, "Well, there is one, but I don't think you'll like it."

This guy was the coolest cat of a car salesman either of us had met. He wasn't being condescending, but given that I was wearing a suit and high heels, he simply said it as a matter of what he had surmised to be a fact.

"How could I not like a truck?" I thought to myself as I perked up to hear what he had to say next.

"It's what they call a work truck. It doesn't have any carpet on the floors, and ..." he continued to mention a couple other things, but he had me at "no carpet on the floors."

Herman's Hermits' song, "I'm Into Something Good," began playing in my head. I imagined, like the scenes with Leslie Nielsen and Priscilla Presley as they were falling in love in the film "The Naked Gun," the adventures this truck and I could have; adventures such as 2 a.m. drives to triathlons, mud-covered training days at Caesar Creek Lake and summer days with the windows rolled down as the high-riding power of her engine purred us across southern Ohio.

No carpet was just what I needed. This was going to be great.

"Let's go look," Gary said.

We walked to the back and there it stood - all by itself. It was a huge truck, a 2009 Chevy Silverado that only had seven miles on it. It was March 2010 and the truck had been sitting on the lot for one year.

I think I know why.

It is a very weird truck with an odd blend of modern and 1980s features. It has Sirius XM Radio, an adapter for an MP3 player and came with OnStar. However, it does not have power doors or windows or keyless entry. The inside light doesn't even come on when you open the door.

It also did not have 4-wheel drive, mandatory for every truck a West Virginian will drive. The Silverado also had an automatic transmission. I prefer driving a stick.

It is rare for a vehicle to be sold in Ohio with a manual transmission, and, not wanting to let the perfect be the enemy of the good, I decided I could do without 4-wheel drive.

The deal was set and I was now the owner of my first truck.

After nearly three years, our relationship has been everything I had imagined in those first few moments - and then some.

Two months after I brought her home, I clipped the side of my garage as I was turning the corner down our driveway to cover some breaking news story.

"Uh, oh," I muttered. "Please let it just be a scratch. Please let it just be a scratch. I wonder if Gary saw me. Oh, no. Please let it just be a scratch."

Gary came stomping from inside the house and he was hot. I would quickly see why.

I scrambled out of the driver's side door, scurried to the back, stopped fast in my tracks and hesitantly peered over the right-back corner of the vehicle to slowly get a full view of the damage. My jaw dropped to the floor.

It was more than a scratch. It looked like The Incredible Hulk had just pummeled the mid-section of the truck with an angry fist. There was only a little crack in a piece of siding on the garage.

After a couple weeks at the body shop, she looked just as good as new.

Nearly three years later, I find there are some items with which I still need to equip my truck. I desperately need running boards, a good liner for the bed and even some kind of top.

My mom did get me a set of floor mats for Christmas last year from Lands' End.

I do not find it bizarre when country crooners sing about their trucks. There is "Somethin' 'Bout a Truck," Mr. Kip Moore, and I get it. I always have.

Who knows how many more years we'll have together, but through thick and thin, summer and winter, the journey ahead will be packed with adventures - because that is how I choose to live my life.

Though I am proud to now call Ohio home, I will always find a way to let out the redneck.

For instance, did I mention the floor mats are monogrammed?

This column originally appeared in the News Journal. 


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