Off to the races. Just not the ones I expected to be doing.

At the beginning of this year, I had two main racing goals:
1. Break 3 hours in an Olympic-distance triathlon.
2. Break 1:50 in a half marathon.

As it turns out, none of the local Olympic tris initially fit into my schedule or budget. By the time I figured out when I could do one, they were sold out.

So, onto goal 2, the half marathon. I found out about a new race in Hershey, PA, with a chocolate aid station. Yes, you read that right. Chocolate at mile 12! I signed up on the spot, reserved a hotel room, and booked spa treatments for the day after the race.

Meanwhile, I wrote and rewrote and revised (and re-revised!) my training plan as I tried to figure out when to do what, whether or not I could fit in any triathlons, and how to work my family vacation into the plan. The heat of the summer -- and some still-unexplained health issues -- absolutely destroyed my long runs. And most of my other runs, as well. The two friends I train with most frequently were both preparing for Half Ironmans this summer, which meant that our training schedules were very rarely in sync. Left to do speedwork by myself in 100 degrees, I opted instead to stay home on the sofa watching bad tv. I tried to keep up with the long runs, at least, but never got into double digits. Not once.

And vacation? Forget it. I worked out most days, but for fun. No specific training; I just did what I wanted to do. Mentally, it was wonderful. As far as race readiness, though, I sabotaged my goals.

So now I'm here, at the end of the summer, with no double digit runs to my name. I've done one sprint triathlon, one duathlon, and my first Splash and Dash. I am finally accepting the fact that the HM is not meant to be this year, at least not on October 3. Because of that, I freed up my schedule to allow for my true love -- triathlons.

And that's how it came to be that I am doing a sprint this Saturday and another sprint next Sunday, a mere 8 days apart. Maybe that's the challenge I was meant to do this year.

I've been a bad blogger

This is what happens when you are cramming to get everything done at work before vacation. And then go on vacation and don't watch tv, read a newspaper, or go online for eight blissful days. :)

Too much to type now, but suffice it to say vacation was wonderful and I'm less than thrilled to be back to normal. Well, as normal as I get, anyway.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

When I was five years old, I was Mary Poppins in the Little Folks Fair, a variety show put on by my preschool every year. Most of the numbers in the Fair were group songs, and each year the show was a bit different based on the kindergarten class. The school director hand-picked me to play Mary Poppins and sing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and do a tap dance -- alone! Apparently, before the show my mother asked me if I was nervous. My reply was, "Mom, I'm simply going to do the best I can do." No nerves. No stagefright. Just calm and assured.

My mother told me the story (again!) this weekend of how all the other songs were very simplistic (we were only five, after all!), and how several of the other kids were picking their noses onstage, or forgetting their lines, or whatever. (Again, it's a kindergarten production!)

And then I came out, literally belting out my big solo. My mother and aunt were sobbing their faces off in the audience. Behind them, another audience member said, "Now THERE'S a talented child." Well, forget it. Mom and my aunt were hysterical.

During yesterday's truly craptastic 9-mile run, I recalled the conversation Mom and I had had Saturday night and wondered where that fearless child had gone. At what point do we lose that fearlessness? That feeling of invincibility? Sure, I'm older and wiser now... but I'm also much more fearful, more critical, and more cynical.

Yesterday I was ready to give up running forever. I wanted to stop. I wanted to sit on the curb and wait for someone to take pity on me and drive me home. I was disgusted with myself, disappointed in my conditioning, and in tears over how bad it hurt and how awful it felt.

"Where did that little girl go?" I wondered. "What happened to her? To me? She feared nothing, and I'm in tears over a bad run? She wouldn't have ever dreamed of giving up, but I'm thinking about dropping out of my fall Half Marathon?"

I want to be Mary Poppins again. I want to shine, to be confident, to be content. I want to be able to take chances and not worry about failing. And if I do fail, I want to be able to say, "That's OK. I simply did the best I could do."