Journey2Fitness

Weight Watchers Core: Mom's Old Skool Diet

Weight Watchers Core plan is still the way I believe our bodies were meant to be fed. Whole, natural foods, a diet not centered on white flour and sugar. But our culture here in America, centered around consumerism, keeps pressing on us foods that are cheap to produce and have an extremely long shelf life.

This interesting TEDtalk on diet and lifestyle choices by Dean Ornish in 2006 gives me the same old feelings of guilt and shame; my own lack of willpower is the problem. If I would just eat this diet and exercise regularly, my body would thrive, heal itself.

A comment featured under the video makes a point I find interesting. Fiora Alite said:

This talk doesn't deal honestly with what I think is the fundamental barrier to healthy living and eating. When copious high fat food is readily available despite a sedentary lifestyle, how can you fight years of cognitive evolution that tells us to enjoy fat immensely?

I've often thought something similar. I think fat isn't the biggest source of evil in the American diet, but that white flours and sugars are worse. But I take her point.

Am I just being a spoiled American wanting to blame my laziness and lack of self-discipline on the food industry and the power of advertising?

• 1979. Cholesterol is identified as the culprit for heart disease. Eggs are declared bad for you. Eggs?!
• 1990. Fat-free everything starts to appear on the shelves. Fat-free cookies, though a tempting idea, seem like a really bad idea to this dieter. Fat-free cream cheese and butter, hmm, they don't appear to be related to real food in any way.
• 1997. Coworkers on Atkins begin to drop weight, fairly readily. They have bad breath; I remember that ketosis thing from the liquid protein diet I followed in the late 1970s, but instead of fasting and drinking only disgusting liquid made from rawhides, they're having bacon and caesar salads. I know the body is an amazing thing, and it will heal itself if given the opportunity. Is that what is happening to the people on Atkins? People are so terrified that Atkins dieters will drop dead from all the fat and cholesterol. Some of my health-savvy friends adopt an Atkinsesque diet. Hmm.
• 2004. Weight Watchers Core plan introduced. I get excited and adopt it, it resonates as the right way to eat. I do well on the plan in the first flush, when I make time to plan meals, shop, attend WW meetings, cook and exercise.
• 2004, later. I run up against my own overextended lifestyle. I fail to make enough time in my days for planning, shopping, attending meetings, cooking and exercising. I feel guilty. The only thing I feel I have time for is eating convenience foods. I notice that other overextended people - the ones who step up and do for others - are often the most overweight.
• Yesterday. I find myself remembering what I ate when I was growing up. My Mom was one of those Home Ec majors who dropped out of college when she got her Mrs. degree, and she had studied nutrition. We ate bacon and eggs, red meat, fried chicken. I used to think Mom was fat, but compared with today's standards, she was not "clinically obese" -- probably a size 12 or 14, a size I'd love to be again right now. I experiment with fixing my family some of the old Mom favorites; chicken and dumplings, steak, mashed potatoes and salad. This food comforts me, my panicky food obsession fades back a bit.
• Today. After a few months just not worrying about diet, eating what I seem to want, when I want, I'm amazed to find that my weight has remained stable. When I was trying hard on the diet, my weight was stable. I stop trying, and it has remained stable. I'm beginning to feel that familiar feeling of being ripped off.

So - what I do know is:

• Being in the panicky, obsessive place about food isn't healthy.
• Eating more whole, unprocessed foods is healthy.
• I need to make space in my life for things like planning, cooking and recreating. When I'm emotionally healthy, I get into a wonderful positive feedback loop of happiness and balance.

I find a lot of inspiration in Caroline Myss's Self Esteem series, also Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. They both take TIME to do. But I need to make time for them. "Not making time for this" is my big sin, I believe. I take on anything and everything but the stuff that pertains to JUST ME.

So maybe what I need to go on a DIET for is, limiting my commitments. Stop believing the myth that I can have it all, and there's no price to pay for not setting limits, either on my food or other people's expectations and demands of me. A time diet, if you will. Only so much of my time promised to others. Only so much for work, so much for Mothering, so much for Wife. And leave more time for me and my own agenda.

Supercoping, Karma and Boundaries

I've been exchanging emails with my dear friend Nancy. Nancy is one of those very wise souls who knows all the answers but can't always follow her own great advice (otherwise she'd be insufferably perfect).

We got onto the subject of supercoping. She had this little gem for me:

>> Yeah, we're neurotically helpful and giving and then (me anyway) seething with resentment (when I'm not too exhausted to seethe that is).

That's it exactly. So my lack of boundaries is not just a lack of self-love. I must love myself at some point, the red zone of resentment.

But through too much coping, I've set my "resentment alarm" boundary way past where it's actually comfortable. I've let those boundaries get trampled, all the while telling myself how strong I am, how not needy, how good I am at coping, how much I love helping this person, how it'll be my turn in just a little while and then how sweet it will be.

That "it'll come back to me" thought, the idea of karma around behavior, maybe works at large in the universe over time, but in my immediate household the karma theory doesn't hold.

Like a sore knee that goes numb after the first mile, my feelings on the boundaries don't sound the alarm like they used to - I don't hear any alarm bells until I'm squarely, fully, unequivocally in the RED zone, all righteously pissed off about these stinking other people with their stinking needs and their stupid inability to regulate how much unreasonable burden they put on others.

Wonder if it's possible to retrain those feelings to alarm me again? I've had some limited success following a suggestion Nancy made to me years ago - put off answering when asked for a favor, or a service. "I'll have to think about it. I'll let you know." Can't quite bring myself to say "No, that doesn't work for me" as much as I need to.

When I train our beagle Lucy, we use a little belt-hung treat pouch from which I dole tidbits. I should load that sucker with chocolate truffles. I get one every time I say, "No, that won't work." No treat if I start with "I'm sorry", and maybe an extra big or coffee-flavored one if I just stick with "No."

Inflatable Kayaks

I got my two inflatable kayaks this past week from Walmart. What a great idea! We'd been hankering for our own kayaks since we rented some in Port Aransas, but was reluctant to shell out the cash for the kayaks, roof rack for the truck, and so forth.

While I was in REI, their in-store display brochure showed an inflatable kayak, and I thought - right! Try these out and see if we like it, and would stick with it. So Googling I went, and found some Coleman brands getting really good reviews from people who sounded like they knew what they were talking about.

And these things kick butt! Here's why:

* They're cheap :)
* They're portable; though a bit bulky, can be folded, stuffed into a (large) bag and tossed into the trunk of the car or bed of my truck.
* I can carry even the 2-person one with the paddles.
* The groovy little rechargable inflator/pump inflates them right at river's edge, and it isn't too heavy, bulky or awkward.
* The maneuverability and performance doesn't suck - little skegs on the bottom keep you moving ahead and not side to side with each stroke.

We got one 2-person sit-on-top (SOT) kayak, and one one-person normal kayak, with the charger, for just over $200. So our little family of three is afloat. They're remarkably stable, and glide over the pretty still Blanco river with no problem.

Both kayaks came with starter paddles, and the reviewers of these Colemans reported the paddles were inadequate, flimsy. They are - my next purchase will be some better ones from Academy at around $20 apiece. But we've used the cheesy ones in our forgiving environment, tightening their joints periodically.

Matt and I went out on the Blanco river twice this past weekend and had a blast!

Crone's Journey: Housecoat

I am 46 years old. I used to consider that pretty old. With the big half-century mark staring me in the face, 46 sounds young, strong, good, active.

So imagine my surprise at my sister-in-law's Christmas gift - a housecoat. A housecoat! I might expect a housecoat when I'm in a nursing home, or assisted living. Or if I become so decrepit that all I can do is hang around the house all day. When I'm 99 or so.

And it's not like I don't need such an item. I have an 8-year-old boy who doesn't need to see me walking around naked. I have a husband whose interest in my body is best served with small, selected peeks rather than uninhibited, unfiltered exposure. And I have two robes, both of which are the wrap-and-tie style that come open inopportunely, even more when my weight is on the high side of my range. They get twisted up, their ties get lost away from them. So a housecoat that buttons or snaps is a practical, lovely gift.

And it's a lovely housecoat. The pattern is very fresh, floral, pretty colors, nice bright white background. It doesn't snap - that's one less grannie feature to worry about. It's XL - as my bottom definitely is, despite all my denial tactics. No worries about it fitting.

It just doesn't fit my self-picture. Not at all. Housecoats are for grannies. Housecoats are for sexless beings. Housecoats are for women OLDER than I am, who don't care about their weight, or who have given up the weight battle. I love and appreciate the gifts Marsha gives me - they're always tasteful, well-thought-out. I realize I sound horrible, undeserving, ungrateful.

Is this an indication that it's time I dress and act my age? I still wear my hair long, don't wear too much makeup. Does my self-image need to catch up to my body, my age? Or should I keep up the fight to remain 30 in my head?

Ab-Lounger Guy Update

Well, here's an update on my ab-flex guy. I met him on the track again, and guess what? He approached me, grinning. I took off my earphones again, expectantly.

"Hey, let me tell you something!" he beamed.

"About the ab-flex?" I asked, in case he didn't remember me.

"Ab-Lounger," he corrected me.

"Ah. OK," I said.

"It really is amazing!" he gushed.

"I know! You told me!" I smiled, trying to forestall the belly-show again.

He cocked his head. "You know where to get one?"

"TV!" See, I listen! I'm a good girl!

He smiled smugly. "No! They have them at Target and Wal-Mart now." This time I waited expectantly.

"You should get one!" he said. Up came the shirt. Poke-poke-poke in the would-be six-pack. "See!"

My friend Julie had recommended that, if I saw the guy again, to ASK him whether or not he sees me as a peer. That's not my style at all. I had already vowed I would answer "I need a butt-and-thigh flex, not an ab flex" if the situation presented itself.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to say anything. He's happy, I'm happy. What difference does it make?

And maybe I *should* get an ab lounger, eh?

Maiden, Matron, Crone

I knew I'd made the transition to "matron" from "maiden" when Matt was a toddler, and another mother on the playground said, "It's great to have grandchildren, isn't it?" I'm sure she knew from my expression that I *wasn't* a grandmother. Yes, I was technically old enough to be a grandmother at the time - 38 or 39, just time to have spawned in my late teens, and assuming my daughter never learned to keep her sexy teenaged legs closed either - but sheesh!

Today I took another step, this time toward becoming a crone. See, I know I'm 45, but in my mind's eye, I'm still about 22. I'm surprised when someone calls me "Ma'am." My husband and I went to the lawyer to sign our wills yesterday, and it felt like an incredibly adult thing to do.

This morning I went for my walk, decked out as usual with my little swingy blonde ponytail, my red shorts, my earphones and MP3 player. Notwithstanding my 45-year-oldness, I don't feel I look THAT old. I was happily walking the track in my local park, minding my own business.

I passed several "regulars" on my route, nod and smile. Here we are, exercising. Good for us, we seem to say.

On my second pass of a late-60s gentleman, he waves at me cheerfully, indicating he wants to tell me something. It seems urgent. I stop, pull off my earphones.

"Hi," I said.

"You know those exercise things for your stomach? On TV?" he demanded.

"Uh, no, I don't..."

"For your abdomen? Well, take a look at this!" he shouted, whipping up his t-shirt to display his stomach. Expectant pause.

I dutifully examined his stomach. It's a 60-something stomach. What am I supposed to be seeing? I take a chance.

"Great, good for you! Was it an ab-flex?" I said in what I hoped is an enthusiastic tone.

He beamed. "It really works!" He jabbed his finger meaningfully into his would-be six-pack abs, to demonstrate tautness, I conjecture.

"Two weeks! This is from only two weeks!" He was so full of himself, it was infectious. He's obviously given no thought to the fact that I have no mental "before" picture of his abs. Oh well, be a good sport, Suz. He seems harmless.

"Wow!" I say, grinning. "Only two weeks?"

"Yep!" he beams proudly. "You should get one!" he offers next. "They really work!"

I smiled and said, "Thanks! Congratulations!" and slipped my earphones on again, edged away.

I'm still smiling from his obvious glee at self-improvement. I can relate to that feeling of actually doing something positive about my body - it's why I started the blog. It's how I felt when I posted about my Danskin triathlon experience.

About five paces later, it hit me. He sees me as a peer. Not as a young something, but as an older woman. An overweight, older woman. Someone he feels comfortable enough to not only show his stomach to, but who will appreciate a nudge to work on my own. Despite the fact that as any fool can see, I need a butt-and-thigh-flex, not an ab-flex.

My buddy Julie was inclined to chalk it up to my high approachability, which I admit I have. Greg and I joke about it sometimes - we have the "goober quality," some indefinable combination of bland, middle-income normalcy that invites strangers to ask us for directions, or the time, or just strike up a conversation in the checkout line.

But I don't think so. I think this guy, in his mind's eye, is 45. He expected me to be impressed. Well, I was - but with his uncontainable enthusiasm, and my projections of his image of me.

What's next, I wonder? Mother used to like to eat at Luby's cafeteria, to feel young. I'm not there yet, but I can see it coming.

Weight Watchers Core Plan is Working!

I had my second weigh-in, and true to my pattern, my weight loss came in! I'm down a total of 4.2 pounds, and that's a breakthrough for me, typically a very slow loser.

And the best news is, I'm not feeling deprived or hungry! Usually heading into my third week of new-resolution dieting, I'm deep into deprivation mindset - obsessing about what I can and cannot have, fantasizing about my next opportunity to eat something forbidden, trying to find ways of being alone so I can sneak.

None of that is happening this time. I've been trying to figure out why that is.

One factor is definitely the lack of an external limit on my portions. I like the idea that I can trust my body to tell me when I've had enough. Believe me, I *needed* these past years of training in portion control, all the lectures by my leader about halving the restaurant serving and putting half in a doggie bag and so forth. But now I'm appreciating giving myself the limits, and this skill will be critical to maintaining my weight loss.

The other is the good, whole food on the Core plan. If I'd chosen this type of food on the Flex plan, I wouldn't have left myself hungry. My problem was believing too much in the "eat anything you want, as long as you count the points" philosophy. I wanted all kinds of sweets, breads, tortillas - and couldn't imagine going a whole day (much less 2 weeks) without those things.

When I'm feel completely satisfied from a healthy serving of turkey chili, I can make a much more sensible selection to satisfy my sweet tooth. Instead of the two skinny cow ice cream sandwiches I used to have, I'll have plain yogurt with a smidgen of vanilla extract, a packet of splenda, and some sliced strawberries.

The main difference seems to be: I can easily picture myself living this way for the rest of my life. The Core plan foods are an intersection of so many diets I've tried to follow over the years - Fit for Life, remember that one? Only fresh fruit until noon, don't combine proteins and carbs? I used to think, if only I could follow this, I know it'd be good for me and I'd lose. But I didn't feel I could stick to it.

With the Core plan, I have official permission to have my bagels, tortillas, real butter, or whatever - but I'm very much aware that they're highly limited extras. They're the tiny little tip of my own personal food pyramid.

I'm feeling like the captain of my own ship - my own mother, if you will. I'm making these choices not because I'm following some program, but because these are the foods that lovingly nourish my body while carrying me toward my weight AND health goals. It no longer feels temporary, something to survive until I get to goal.

Promising!

Olympic Fever

I'm fairly disgusted with the commercialism and hype of the Olympics. Poor Michael Phelps - such a buildup; I feel that that much advertising pressure is unfair. Even if he *did* equal or better Mark Spitz's gold medals record, he'd feel he had to, to live up to the hype. And *not* meeting the ultimate goal steals his satisfaction - and the fans' - in his actual achievements. Sheesh!

But there's nothing like explaining the Olympics to a 6-year-old to rekindle the romance. Here's how that went.

Matt: "What's the Olympics? Turn it back to Cartoon Network!"

Me: "Every four years, each country sends its very best athletes to represent them in a big, worldwide competition, called the Olympic games."

Matt: "What kind of games do they have?"

Me: "All kinds of games - running, gymnastics, horseback riding, swimming, biking, pole vaulting, fencing, and some you've never even heard of.

Matt: "Bone Arrows [archery]? Swordfighting?"

Me: "Yep. Even ping-pong."

Matt: "Why do they do it?"

Me: "It's a big honor to represent your country in the Olympics. Every one of those people there have worked really, really hard to get there, and they're the very best at their sports, in the country they come from. Now they get to see if they're the very best in the world.

Even in years when some of the countries are fighting wars, we still hold the Olympics and try to put aside the fighting, to do honor to themselves and their countries. Sometimes this doesn't work out, but most of the time it does."

Matt: "What do they win?"

Me: "They have a special ceremony for the top three winners. The winner gets a gold medal, the second-place person gets a silver medal, and the third-place person gets a bronze medal. The flags from their countries are raised to honor them, and they play the gold medal winner's national anthem." [Here we had to digress to a discussion of National Anthems, with me singing the three I know (France, England, U.S.).]

Matt watched swimming with me for awhile. Then: "We want the United States people to win, right?"

Me: "I usually want our athletes to win, but I like hearing the stories of all the athletes, where they come from, how they got good at their sports, the problems they've had to get over. Sometimes that makes me want folks from other countries to win instead. Whoever tries the hardest, I want them to win."

Matt: "There are sports on TV all the time. Why do we have to watch this, now?"

Me: "The Olympic Games are special. It makes me feel proud to be a human being to watch them. It's like I'm cheering for Earth, for all human beings, not just the United States. I think it's one of the best ideas people have come up with, sort of like space travel."

He considers this, watching patiently with me. Then: "I wish they didn't have any commercials."

Me: "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

Danskin Fears and Triumphs

Most revelatory about the Danskin triathlon experience was that its challenges were largely mental. Not that those physical activities were a cakewalk - each leg was grueling in its own way. But my own resistance to the idea of me participating was a much more formidable obstacle than getting kicked in the open water swim, or the many steep grades in the bike race, or the steaming, sucking mudholes of the run course.

I'd gone into this knowing that I have the physical strength and stamina to complete any one of those challenges, and that doing all three together would be difficult, but not impossible.

Don't get me wrong; I wasn't sure I could do it. But that's the point of trying, isn't it? To make sure? Am I really in good enough shape to do this? What if I have to quit? What if I have to be rescued?

But what really got me were the stupid worries.

• I will be the fattest person there. This was my number-one worry. Worse than fearing I couldn't finish, was the fear that other people would look at me and think "Who does she think she's kidding?" I found myself scanning the crowd at the swim start for fat thighs and large bottoms. There were quite a few, but we were definitely in the minority. I wasn't the fattest person there.
  
• I will be the oldest person there. In addition to your identifying race number on your biceps and thighs, they actually mark your age on your calves in big magic-marker digits, so I was able to frantically scan for numbers higher than 44. I only saw a few in the large crowd. When I did see a 47 or a 45, I'd quickly calculate the fitness of the individual. I never did find anyone older *and* fatter than myself, so was able to continue worrying about being one of the last finishers. Sigh.
  
• I will be the final finisher. Actually, as I've mentioned before, Sally Edwards volunteers to be the final finisher. My unofficial Danskin angel, Chris, told me there are cancer survivors, amputees, and others who will always finish very late in the race, so that a reasonably fit adult will never be the final finisher. But why do I have to compete or apologize for myself, anyway? So what if I were the last one? I still have a ways to go in the self-esteem race :)
  

But I got past all that, with the help of my newfound friends at the race. I'm planning my new and improved training schedule and envisioning myself doing better next year. I hope Sharon or Kathy or Julie or some other buddy will do it with me next year, but now I know that I can do it alone. And that's a great feeling.

I did it! I did the Danskin! (long)

Yesterday, I officially became a triathlete. I finished the Danskin Austin triathlon, a half-mile swim, a 12-mile bike ride, and a 5K run (walk, in my case).

I am so happy! I had a great time, and I feel proud and self-confident, determined to keep up my fitness and do even better next year - which I believe was the intent of the event's founder.

I had not wanted Greg and Matt to come, fearing I would spend energy worrying about Matt instead of mentally preparing for the race. But Greg was unwilling to tend Matt all weekend, so we struck a deal. They could come up with me, we'd stay in a hotel, but I didn't want to have to worry about Matt the day of the race.

Greg and Matt dropped me off at the Travis County Expo center, where I checked in, got my race number, swim cap, timing chip and t-shirt. I thought, well, at least I got the t-shirt. I can quit if I want to. The pre-race logistics spook me more than anything else, I think. Where do I check in? Which line am I supposed to be in? Where am I supposed to park? Where do I take my bike? All that crazy stuff.

After my bike was on the rack in the transition area, we went and had lunch, visited Julie, found a hotel, played in the hotel pool. Relaxed and had fun. I was thinking, I don't have to be here, I don't have to do this. I have nothing to prove. Why should I trash my body for this goal? I'll be exhausted. I can just do the three things some other day, and I'll know I can do this. Matt kept advising me to quit; he didn't want to get up early to drop me off.

But I looked through the packet of race stuff, fingering my Danskin UltraMax singlet with the logo on it, my lurid fluorescent green swim cap. I didn't really want to quit, I was just scared. Feel the fear and do it anyway, girlfriend, I told myself. I set the alarm for 5:30 and scheduled a backup wake-up call, just in case.

Greg was great, supportive and low-key, keeping all the Matt-wrangling to himself. They dropped me and my backpack off near the shuttle buses and gave me a good-luck kiss apiece. I was on my own.

I joined a long shuttle bus queue filled with spectators. A guy kept telling us, "Competitors only, over here! These first two buses for competitors only!" It took me several minutes to realize I was a competitor. I didn't feel like one - I felt like an imposter. I was thinking of quitting.

Well, at least I could use my registration fee to get up to the race site ahead of the crowd. I could check it out, see what it was like, maybe do just the swim. I know I can do the swim.

Waiting for the bus, two beautiful, lithe sisters - Connecticut Yankees Chris and Lisa - were marking their bodies for the race. "Want me to mark you? It'll save time at the site." I submitted to the marking, thinking, "Fuck! There goes my spectator cover." But secretly happy about it, too. Allowing myself to get excited, just a little hopeful.

Chris sat next to me on the bus. She did the Danskin once before. "You will be so glad you did it. I never thought I could do anything like this. I was on the bike, having a hard time up a hill, but you pass the running athletes on the way up, and they're all yelling and cheering for you. You realize you're going to make it, you're going to finish. It's such a spiritual experience, I cried all the way through the run. It was the most incredible thing I've ever done - except for having my daughter. You will have a great time!"

When we reached the transition area, a volunteer was already yelling, "Ladies, please exit the area so we can start the race!" There wasn't time to think of wimping out. I excavated my goggles and swim cap from the bag, and fled. I noticed several women had helium balloons to help them find their stash, carefully laid out for a quick transition. Oh well, it wasn't going to matter; I would do the swim, then call Greg to come pick me up. Well, maybe the swim, then the bike. If I felt I had anything left after the swim. We'd see.

On the way to the swim start, there were Chris and Lisa again. They had green caps too, meaning they were in the recreational category, like me. I hate to ask people for help, I really, really do. They're sisters, they've planned this for months, they want to be alone. But I did it anyway. "Can I hang with you guys? I'm nervous and alone." "Sure!" They were actually nervous too, they said.

Chris imparted more tidbits. The bike course is hilly - some of the hills are really steep. Lots of ladies get off and walk the bikes up the hills. There are long hills, one of which is right after a tight turn where you are almost stopped. At the end, there's a long climb that looks like it's going to be over, then when you get to the top, there's another one. Just walk up if you have to - you can do it. People all along the way will be cheering you on, so just when you think you can't go on, you catch your breath and keep going. I hung on every word.

The recreational swimmers went at the very back of the pack. We laughed about the race organizers saving the fluorescent green caps for the recreational class. "We need to be able to see them, for sure, they're the most likely to be bobbing away down the lake." That meant we were biking and running last too, and it would be hotter, more sun.

And Sally Edwards, the race's founder, volunteers to be the final finisher, but the course packet said you don't want her to catch up to you and tell you to pick up the pace. Being at the back of the pack meant I was more at risk for seeing Sally.

Finally, we get off. Why don't they stagger the starts more? I could have finished in under 30 minutes if I hadn't had to pick my way through masses of women, legs and arms flailing, getting kicked and bumped. This swim was a bit less than the 800-meter open water Sharon had me sign up for, so it was actually easier. I did pretty well, paced myself. Having that open water experience was invaluable; none of it took me by surprise. Thanks, Sharon!

I sidestroked most of the way, backstroked a little, crawled some, breaststroked some, and floated on my back for brief moments to catch my breath and enjoy the experience. Watch the sky and marvel about where I am, what I am doing. It was fun.

I exited the water, walked up the ramp to the transition area, dried off, got into my shorts, shirt, and shoes. Pinned my number to my shirt - oops, should have done this last night. Oh well, I'm not in a hurry. By this time, I had forgotten that I'd wanted to quit before the bike ride. I felt good. A bike ride sounds good. I called Greg, and reported that the swim had gone fine, and that I was going for the bike leg. "I may not do the run; I'll have to see. I'll call you. I think I might make it, though!" He wished me luck. It was wonderful, empowering having someone there for me.

Biking was great for the first mile or two, breeze drying my hair, legs feeling strong. The first hill was instructive, a long climb. I made it without having to get off and walk, like some ladies were doing. So far, so good. Second and third hills, ditto. I began to think I was going to be able to do the bike without having to walk up any of the hills. How much longer could the course be, anyway? I was passed several times, but I passed a few folks, too.

I reached a water station and realized I was only halfway, but was still feeling pretty good. The sharp turn followed by hill must be coming up - yep, there it is. I tried to keep some momentum going into the turn, knowing there was a climb right after, but the flagman at the turn made me slow almost to a stop. I made the turn and picked up some speed, but there was a women just in front wobbling like crazy. She crashed. I stopped to make sure she was OK, and got the help she needed, then I made some headway up the climb, but I had to stop and walk the bike. Seeing someone crash definitely made an impression.

Watching others, I discovered that I could restart on a grade, and not walk all the way up. Just resting my legs gave me enough gas to get going again. And the downhill grades were pure bliss.

Chris's description of the race course proved exactly correct, but I kept thinking "THAT must have been the big, final hill. That was definitely it." And several times, it wasn't. The first couple of times, I felt betrayed. What kind of sadistic maniac chose this course, anyway? After awhile, the hills began to seem a metaphor for life, and I found myself in a resigned space, enjoying the flats and downgrades, lowering my helmet to meet the headwinds and rises. When I needed rest, I got off and walked. I'd pick a landmark, and allow myself to walk that far. Then back on, and pedal.

Julie loaned me her hybrid bike for the event, and although I wasn't in love with it, I am now. I'm not even saddle sore, and I didn't train much at all. Its seat moves slightly side-to-side, which may account for the miracle of the intact bottom. I was glad I'd ridden a bit to get the hang of shifting, though. I had only one problem, and was able to flip the bike and pedal it into rightness. Some dim recess of my mind retains my year of commuting 16 miles a day back in the early 80s, apparently.

Chris the Connecticut Yankee was right - just when I thought I wasn't going to be able to make it, there was the long climb with the runners going the other way, cheering me on. Cheering me, specifically. "Way to go, #3014! You're on the hardest part! This is absolutely the hardest part, and you're doing it! You're going to make it! Way to hang, blue shirt, you've got it made! The rest is a walk in the park. See you at the finish line!" It had just the desired effect. I made it up the final hill and rested, then climbed onto the bike and rode in the rest of the way, to resounding cheers. Mental note for next time: Act like I'm all done in, then get back on and go - it's a great crowd-pleaser :)

There was no way I wasn't going to tough it out on the 5K, even though I'd had a preview of the run course - marshy, steamy, stinky, and hot. Getting hotter by the minute, actually.

By now, I was shameless, and like Chris, crying spontaneously from time to time, in awe of myself. Walking alone wasn't as fun, though. On a hot turn, I caught up with a tall young woman with a backwards cap, slightly overweight, trudging along. I chatted happily with Danna the rest of the way, sharing stories and marveling at the toughness of the courses, as well as our ability to finish. Turns out Danna had done the entire course three times already as practice, but still didn't consider herself a triathlete. "When I cross the finish line, it'll be official," she smiled. A borderline diabetic, she embarked on a fitness mission to stay off insulin, and had lost lots of weight - several sizes - to stay healthy. What a way to celebrate the long haul of weight loss!

Every single one of the women participants has a fascinating story. Every one struggles with fitness and body image, in one way or another. And for that one day, we were all sisters.

Danna's partner retrieved her about 30 yards from the goal, and I waved them on, watching them jog through the finish line together. The announcer boomed, "Danna, from South Austin!" Shit, do they announce your name as you finish? How scary. Then ... How cool! I didn't think I had it in me, but I jogged in myself, and grinned from ear to ear, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Susan, from San Antonio!" A blond teenager hung a finisher's medal around my neck. High fives from droves of well-wishers, none of whom seemed to think me too fat, or too slow, or too old. They took my picture. I was done!

I went back to my bike and called Greg. "I did it! I did it, I did it, I did it!" I shouted into the phone. He couldn't hear me. That made me feel like crying again, but I gathered up my stuff and waited for him to call me back, which he did. I missed Sharon most right then, gathering up my stuff solo, biking the additional mile, with rises, up to the Expo center parking lot. But happy, proud, triumphant, even.

There were Greg and Matt and the truck. I ended up being very grateful that I had my own personal support system to ferry my bike around, celebrate with me at the end, and drive me home. I was exhausted, but triumphant.

Today, I'm not even tired or sore. Training apparently does make a difference. I'd thought my training pitifully inadequate, but t'was not so! And I'm already thinking about next year - how I can better my time, getting to the course earlier, continuing my swim coaching so I can freestyle next year. My bike goal will be to better my time, and maybe not to walk up the hills, or least not as many. By my 50th birthday, I want to have just done my best tri ever. Wouldn't that be great?