i swam. i biked. i ran.

I was cleaning out some files at work this AM and came across the post I wrote about IMFL for NikeRunning.com. figured it would be fun to share it here as I'm once again relearning these top 10 things. hint: click on the image to view it a fairly readable state.

((((panic)))). a wild ride.

when I was growing up, my dad would sometimes seize up with panic. frozen with fear, he would hyperventilate, become non-communicative and pretty much scare the shit out of my sister, brother and I. eventually he sought medical help for what would be later diagnosed as "generalized panic disorder" and today, while still taking meds for it, he has it mostly under control.

while I witnessed my father's panic attacks, I never truly understood why he couldn't just take a deep breath and relax...until the summer of 2006. I had just moved back to NYC and was under extreme pressure: a new job with a heavy workload, the beginning of grad school and a "new" city where all my old friends had left.

"it" hit on the fourth of july. I went to coney island to witness the infamous hotdog eating contest. it was blazing hot. and crowded. and loud. jammed between a mass of people, I freaked. I sent the friend I was with a text and made my way to the less crowded boardwalk. a million thoughts pummeled me. was I dehydrated? did I have low blood sugar? was I just under the weather? I had no clue, but I knew I wasn't well. my friend came to find me shortly after and tried to get me to eat. I couldn't. shaking, I was certain I was going to throw up. maybe I was just getting sick...

I decided to pull the plug and head home to the UWS to get out of the sun. I didn't have a couch yet for my apartment (and at the time, a pain in the ass loft bed), so I curled up on the hardwood floor with a pillow. I flipped on the tele to distract me...hours later, I had yet to move...and felt worse. but not sick worse, just simply freaked out. I remember watching the NYC fireworks on TV and weeping, thinking 'what is wrong with me?'

I didn't any feel better the next day. when I was still in a tizzy the following day, I decided to go see an urgent care doc. he took my blood oxygen and flipped out; he was certain I had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in my lung) and called 911. in an ambulance I went...now also REALLY freaked out that there was something seriously wrong with me. yet after blood tests, MRIs, chest xrays...the whole nine yards, the only thing the could determine was that my iron was a bit low. brilliant. I was discharged seven hours later and went home to my apartment, feeling no better than when I left nine hours before.

over the next few days, I continued to feel worse...short of breath, heart pounding, body shaking. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. the only thing I did was go to work and hope I could endure the day.

on july 11th, a week after the initial symptoms, I couldn't take it anymore...I hauled myself into a cab to another ER. something was wrong with me. it had to be. hours later...the same news...nothing wrong. this couldn't be. I remember sitting in my apartment that night sobbing and wishing that someone would help me.

it turns out, I helped myself. the next morning on the way to work I realized what was wrong: I was having constant panic attacks. duh. my sister had struggled with it for years and obviously, so had my dad. I immediately got on the phone with my insurance and picked the first doc with availability.

I wasn't cured instantaneously and I'm still not "cured."in the summer of 2008—after two years of being on meds—I decided that maybe I'd have a go without them. I was fine for two months, then WHAM! the panic hit me like a truck (right in the middle of my training for Ironman #1). so back on the meds I went. I also switched from Effexor to Lexapro at one point...the withdrawl from Effexor was like nothing I've ever experienced...absolutely HORRIBLE.

now nearly four years since my first being diagnosed with the same affliction as my father, I am struggling once again. I haven't stopped taking any of my meds, but the panic attacks are creeping back...ALL the time. up the meds? change again? add something? maybe, but to be honest, I'm SOOOO tired of all of it. the panic, the side effects, the cost, the slave I am to daily (sometimes twice daily) little white and yellow pills. I'm 29 years old, not 89!

I don't have a plan of action to tackle this yet. my bf understands which is nice. and I do have the name of a new doc (my present one is just old...smart, yet wayyyyy overdue for retirement). I guess my first step was to write about it...just talk to myself in the way I know best: through word. and then take action. and as we all know—myself included—I'll find a solution no matter how pretty or ugly the path is.

so here goes...

eleven things. the best pre-IM advice.

I had the above printout posted by my desk for the many months leading up to my first ironman. it stayed there well after my race (actually, until they moved me last week...over a year after my ironman). it's pretty much the best "advice" anyone gave me before IMFL (passed along by a teammate...I can't recall where he got it). I've re-posted it by my new desk, but wanted to share it with everyone.

missing: motivation.

I can't deny it any longer: I'm REALLY having difficulty drawing much enthusiasm for my Ironman training.

I feel kind of sacrilegious writing that, but it's true; my motivation is lacking. I checked my Coeur d'Alene countdown on Facebook yesterday. it nearly made me cry. yes, I'm putting in the workouts. yes, I don't "super suck" at any of three disciplines (not that I excel at all of them). yes, I'm moving myself from the road to the trainer to the pool...but it's just not there this time around...the excitement.

I can pinpoint several things that are making it difficult during this go:

1. it's winter.
2. I hate the bloody trainer.
3. I have yet to have a single ride that has felt even remotely good.
4. have I mentioned I hate the bike?
5. I'm doing nearly all my training by myself.
6. I'm tired. I feel like my body hasn't fully recovered from my 3rd meeting with mono nor the b12 deficiency.
7. I just want to be running...fast.

blah, blah, blah...right? I wish I could just tell myself to suck it up...but I haven't found that meanie within me just yet.

right about now you might be wondering why in the world I signed up for IM #2. yeah, I am too. I guess I wanted to try my hand at the distance when I wasn't in grad school, working full-time and juggling a long distance relationship (that was a juggle). so I took the crazy leap (again) and paid my $576 to active.com last June. reality hit in December when the training plans started rolling into my inbox. 'shit, I've got train for this thing again!'

I know I won't regret my decision to go another 140.6 when I cross that absolutely wonderful finish line come June 27th, but on February 8th, I'm struggling. So, for now...come on motivation—I'm missing you madly!

to settle: a dirty verb. or my best friend?

a couple words in the english language make me shudder with fright: average, normal, boring, milky and moist, among many others. none, however, scare me more than a seemingly innocent verb: to settle.

I've been thinking about this word a lot lately, perhaps because I feel as though I'm in a bit of transition period in life. while certain things are very solid, others are in a bit of flux. naturally, my always racing thoughts send me down memory lane.

in reality, there's no reason to fear "settling." I never have. my freshman year of college—despite kicking ass on my cc team—I chose to transfer because the school wasn't right academically. I didn't settle.

after returning to ohio to complete a second undergrad degree, I built myself a bit of resume by working at a couple good companies, but I had to get back to NYC to get my MA at a school I always wanted to attend: NYU. so I found myself a job, got myself into grad school and moved back. I didn't settle.

one of the hardest decisions in my life came when I was faced with a question that should often brings extreme joy rather than extreme confusion: will you marry me? I took a year to answer and ultimately gave back the MOST beautiful diamond ring to a man I knew I just wasn't in love with anymore. I didn't settle.

I didn't settle when I hated (yes, hated) the job I took during my first year back in NYC; I got a new one. I didn't settle after needing to walk nine miles of the 2007 Chicago "heat wave" marathon because of a stomach infection and mono (didn't know I had the latter until post-race); I came back three weeks later to finish another hour faster in the NYC marathon.

And I'm not settling now as make another change in my career; whatever comes next is sure to be a great next step.

thus, I think I can stop fearing "to settle" and see it as a friend. I wouldn't be where I am today without it.

it's all about the bike. or is it?

when I was training for my first ironman, I had a lot of people tell me the same thing about 140.6: "it's all about the bike." this made my stomach writhe every time I heard it as the bike is my "weak" link. if I was going to "suck" on the bike, how in the world could I complete the ironman in a respectable time?

I swapped out my pinarello (too big for me) mid-training for a kuota kalibur I bought off ebay (after extensive time spent roaming NYC bike stores and looking for my next best thing). two weeks later I raced on it and took 7 minutes off my half iron bike time (3:23:10 at Tinman in June; 3:14:59 at Timberman in August). sure, I was more fit, but the bike was always a better fit for me.

with a little more confidence in my back pocket, I plugged through the rest of training with the realization that I wasn't going to bomb the bike in florida. no, I wasn't going to burn up the road with my killer speed, but I was going to make.

enter race day. a solid swim (1:14:06) started me off on the right foot. then I hit the bike. the first 30 miles was a slaughter fest; so many people passed me that I eventually started laughing out loud in disbelief. to keep my spirits up, however, I kept reminding myself that I got to do the same thing when I hit the run course: pass each and every one of the individuals who had just passed me.

if you've ever done ironman florida or read about it, you know the bike course is flat and monotonous. one big loop with only a few little inclines to get you out of the saddle (and my strongest suit it climbing...IMFL: 1, me: 0). regardless, I tackled each mile the best I could, prayed for no flats and just keep eating to fuel my run. I remember hitting mile 90 and feeling really fatigued, but after digging deep and passing the century mark, I knew I was almost home.

I cruised into T2 with a HUGE smile on my face; I had made it in 6:27:18, a 17.35 average. I saw my sister and declared, "that was a long way to ride." I didn't care though. I finally got to run! And while I didn't have the most awesome run, I still kicked enough butt in order to cross the finish line in a thrilling 12:25:21.

I am now training for ironman #2 in june. I have a sub-12 hour goal, "lofty" as my coach says. while I know I can improve on both my swim and run, I still have it ingrained in my head that it's all about the bike. and it's defeating. you might think my confidence from training for and successfully finish my first ironman would give me some ammo; not so much. my first month of riding has felt horrible: painful, painful, painful. I got off the bike last night cursing and wondering why in the world I'm doing this again.

this is when I got to thinking (on my post-ride run...the best thinking time). yes, the ironman is about 112 miles on the bike, but it's also about 2.4 miles in the water and my favorite, 26.2 miles on the road. it's not all about the bike...and my first ironman time proved that.

so I'm going forward with this in mind. the ironman is about the swim. and the bike. and the run. it's about how well I can put all three of these things together. it's about remedying my weakness, fortifying my mind and body and making it a kickass second 140.6.

it's not all about the bike.

everything happens for a reason

my father is a huge fan of mantras, sayings, quotes and the like. I am too, but only when applicable and only when I wholeheartedly believe in them.

one I picked up from him is, "everything happens for a reason." I'm a firm believer in this saying while it's not always easy to remember when in the heat of a bad moment, at the end of the day, I always look back and realize that I wouldn't have arrived at my present position without going through something I thought was hideous.

this saying has been on the tip of my tongue the last few months as I have been hit with some pretty ugly physical obstacles: mono, a B12 deficiency, a knee injury...not fun nor pretty. yet through it all (and even during the really ugly days), I knew in the back of my mind that these physical struggles would lead me to some place and space (physical and mental) that I needed to be.

I also use this saying during times when I begin to regret life choices or begin the "woulda shoulda coulda" game with myself. I remember every decision I make is for a reason. every struggle I go through moves me forward. every shift in life results in a shift for a purpose.

yes, everything happens for a reason and I'm so thankful I have this little bit of wisdom in my back pocket.