A Year Later

Good lord. It's been so long since I've logged in, I had to request a new password. Is that like the digi equivalent of dusting?
My last post to my blog was about my Olympic-distance triathlon travails. I should go back and read those so I can adequately acknowledge how much has transpired in a year. Case in point: yesterday I was putting patient Steve through my favorite exercise:
"Do I look like a cyclist when I'm on the bike?" "When I run, do I look like a runner?" He obligingly tells me yes, and then offers some constructive advice, which I almost always take as a momentary barb. The moment passes and I'm on to a new question. I noted to Steve yesterday that I never cried once all season long this year, in very stark contrast to my sob-fest of my inaugural season. He pointed out, "Well, you did cry that one day that you didn't ride with the group. Remember? When you sat in the car for an hour and a half and cried?" "Oh yeah. But I didn't cry DURING any practices, which is a big change!" Always finding an angle.
So, not only have I not cried this year, but I can officially (finally) say that triathlon has been the biggest life change I've experienced since I uprooted my very LA life and moved to Seattle ten years ago (10 years on August 7!). That move set my adult life into motion, though of course I didn't realize it then. Everything I do and love and live today can be traced back to that moment ten years ago. Sure, I've been a pinko liberal all my life, I've been me all my life, but my home, my livelihood, my love, it's all 206, baby.
Then last year I got roped into training for a tri with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training program, and my life changed again, in a quantum, tear-filled leap. Until that moment of roped-in-edness I'd never intentionally raised my heart rate above a stutter, I'd never sweat for any purpose other than weight-management, I'd never become gleeful about wicking fabrics. I'd also never clipped my feet into a bicycle's pedals, I'd never ridden more than a handful of miles, I'd never run (period), I'd never swum (swam?) in a lake, I'd never been in any manner of race, and I'd never had teammates.
I can now say: last summer after my terrifying first Oly-distance race I did 5 more tris of varying sizes. (I cried and contemplated quitting during most.) I ended the season totally freaked out by how much I hated running, so I signed up to train for a half marathon, which I completed on an unusually snowy morning in November in Seattle. (And I smiled through much of the race.) I did Team in Training again this year and helped contribute to a whopping $270,000 in funds raised for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. I did an Oly-distance tri in Maui with my team in June, and smiled through the WHOLE THING. Serious, heartfelt smiling, which was a notable enough departure from my experience(s) last year that my coach was incredulous (and happy) when he saw me on the run course (95 degrees in the lava fields, no less). A few weeks ago I rode my bike 78.5 miles, and beamed at the accomplishment. I have three dresser drawers in our house, one of which is totally dedicated to fitness apparel. I've grown to love any manner of fitness clothing, from the banal (my Smartwool socks) to the glamorous (love love love my Nike running watch). Oh, and today I commented about how perfect my weekend was. We rode a super-hilly 40 miles yesterday and then today Steve goaded me into running a spontaneous 13 miles, which I followed with a pedicure. A new perfection, I guess. Good lord, indeed.
So, on my run today I felt myself go into that odd, mind-wandering state I wish I could bottle, and my thoughts led me here.
Well-meaning loved ones of all persuasions have been befuddled by my seismic life change - it's as if, some have said, I've joined a cult or found god. It has also been noted (correctly) that I have chosen this life over other things - friend hang outs, family time, etc. I wish I could adequately express what I've found since I got on this path. The confidence. The joy. The challenges. The "intestinal fortitude," as Steve says. It's addicting, really. Every week I push myself a little bit harder, or I find myself not pushing hard enough, and I learn from each state. I swam under an eagle last week, and rode through the countryside yesterday. Life really couldn't be any better.
So, do I expect this to go on forever? I actually have these little moments of fear that this, like so many other things I've loved, will eventually erode to some other passtime. When I have that fear I remember that as long as I keep learning and getting and giving from these experiences I will continue to get up early every Saturday, will bitch and moan about how I'm not a morning person and I have no balance in my life, and then in an hour I'll be on the bike trying to figure out how to go faster, how not to chafe, or how to eat a Gu with one hand, and I'll be as happy as I've ever been.