What *ARE* You?

In the jack-of-all-trades sport of triathlon, inquiring minds want to know what you “are”.   Swimmer? Cyclist? Runner? Do you belt out “100 free” in 00:45? Peel off sub-four miles? Generate wattage to rival Mellow Johnny? “What, praytell, are you?”

My answer vacillates with the tides of my confidence.  Swimmer-Cyclist-Runner?  I am none of the above.  I am all of the above.  I’m an accident-prone 40-year-old lefty vegetarian chick with a peculiar penchant for picking precisely the wrong partner.  I’m a girl who haphazardly signed up for her first tri one sunny Sunday as she sat at her cousin’s bridal shower debating the pros and cons of gastric bypass surgery and wondering whether sanity was still an option.  (Long story–let’s leave it at that.)

April 18th 2011 is mere hours away. Right now my answer is clear. I am a runner. Not just any old runner: I am (say it with me) #24777 in the 115th Boston Marathon.

This has been a journey of 152 days and 638.44 sneaker-miles (I insert here many thanks to Pairs A, B and C. Yes, Daughter # 1, I know inanimate objects need not be thanked. I thank them still—especially A and B, those faithful domestiques who made the ultimate sacrifice). Those miles took me past scenes that made me sad, (the crosswalk where 15-year-old Allie was killed in ’09), soar, (puppy dogs, sunrises, sunsets) and scratch my head (“unique” lawn ornamentation choices including this life-sized bull statue on 2nd Street).

Statue of bull at 137 Second Street, Marlborough. Your guess is as good as mine.

Triathlon great Sally Edwards has been with me every crazy stride of the way. (Figuratively, folks. Not literally.) Back before my first tri, I consumed Sally’s book Triathlons for Women with gypsy moth-like voracity.  One tip she offered newbies like me: get yourself a balloon to mark the location of your wheels, lest you get lost in transition.

I am truly talented at getting lost whenever called upon to transition, so I figured I’d best heed Sally’s advice; the night before my first tri I bee-lined to the balloonery and gave my girls license to choose my beacon.  I nixed their first choice (an uber-massive-neon-yellow smiley face), so they settled upon this multi-colored mylar butterfly:

Marlborough Triathlon August 1st 2010: me, a Cannondale named Maverick the Second and our admittedly unnecessary butterfly balloon

The metaphor lasted longer than the helium; I was different after that race. And the next. And the next.  So began my tradition of collecting a glass butterfly to commemorate the effort it took to start and finish each “impossible” challenge.

I’ve four butterflies from my first season of tri-ing…

my first four butterflies, from left to right: Lobsterman Olympic Tri (blue for my first ocean swim), Marlborough Sprint (multi-colored, just like my balloon), Title 9 Women-Only Sprint (all girls, gotta be purple), Scituate Duathlon (salmon was the only remaining color in stock...lol)

 

…and three more recent additions represent the 2011 road races I took on to prepare me for the 26.2 jaunt to Boston: the BP-16, the Black Cat 20-Miler, and the New Bedford Half Marathon. An eighth, still boxed, awaits her turn to emerge. She is blue and gold (for the unindoctrinated: blue and gold are Boston Marathon colors) and trust me, she’s gorgeous.  

 

 

2011 race butterflies, left to right: Boston Prep 16-Miler (Derry NH), Black Cat 20-Miler (Salem, Ma.), New Bedford Half Marathon (New Bedford, Ma.) and my latest Lepidoptera

Right now I am many things: Mother of Emma, Lida and one very well-loved, very goofy spotted beast of many nicknames. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Single-lefty-vegetarian PR chick. Owner of seven colorful glass butterflies and one black box. #24777.

Once I turn right on Hereford, left on Boylston, I will be something else, too.

It’s almost time to line up with 24,999 other runners—each bringing their own story to the start line. Some of those stories will be shared; most won’t. What an honor it will be to hit the pavement with all those amazing human beings and their Pair Cs.

Thank you for reading my ramblings. A special thank you to those of you who have supported my run; because of you I’ve surpassed the $5K fundraising committment that back in October seemed pretty darn daunting in and of itself. Surpassed, I say! I am so thankful for what Children’s does for ten-year-olds like Grace every day, and for what they do for 40-year-olds like me by giving us the chance to both contribute and to run the world’s greatest footrace.

As they say in France, it’s time to ALLEZ! (I know: wrong race. Wrong sport even. Oh well; it works for me and is part of my race-day mantra: STRONG. READY. ALLEZ!) Yes folks, LET’S GO! See you on Boylston Street (some literally, others figuratively); you are all a part of my story and you will all be with me every step of the way.

/cj

About garmin_girl

I'm a 40-something single mother of three--two great human girls and one four-legged Dalmatian banshee--who is hellbent on swimming, biking and running straight through my midlife crisis. Care to tag along? Crazy loves company! ;)
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One Response to What *ARE* You?

  1. Gay says:

    Well, this last entry really got to me, #24777! Made me cry.
    I’m so excited for you, but I’m confused as to what is said to one who “tri-s.” Good luck seems so bleh. And really, there is no luck involved. You’ve trained like a mad woman, so luck doesn’t work here. Merde is said to ballerinas. Here’s hoping you don’t step in merde! And “break a leg” is good for us theater geeks but totally inappropriate for a runner. So, may the road rise to meet you, and the wind be at your back. You are truly full of Grace.

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