In denial

I haven't wanted to admit something, but I think it's time.

I'm afraid in the water.

That stinking rip current last year really did a number on me. I didn't realize it at first this year -- I was so in denial that even I didn't recognize it! -- but I'm finally recognizing my fear. All my race swim times were off this season, despite setting PR after PR in the pool. At first I beat myself up over it a little. Then I got frustrated.

Finally, after the fiasco that was Diamondman, I admitted what I've been reluctant to accept. I'm afraid.

In almost every race, I was out of breath and fighting a racing heartbeat in the swim. Thinking I was going out too fast -- just like I do in the run -- I slowed myself down. Now, I realize that my racing heart wasn't overexertion. It was panic.

So, what do I do? Obviously, spending more time in the pool isn't going to help. I've trained my butt off in the pool this year. The pool is safe. Comforting. Easy.

More open water swims in training? I did short races this year, but more of them than normal. I also swam in bodies of water I've never swam in before. So more open water swimming may or may not help me.

Is it all in my head? Do I need more yoga and meditation?

Is it even something I can overcome? Or am I destined to just be afraid in the water forever? Do I need to just accept it?

Whatever the answer, I know this. I hate it. I hate that something I LOVED so much -- being in the water, swimming, feeling so carefree and weightless and ALIVE -- has been taken away from me.

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."

So I might have an explanation for what's been ailing me

If you've read this blog on any kind of regular basis, you probably have recognized that I haven't been myself recently. My moods have varied widely, my motivation is at an all-time low, and I'm not deriving pleasure from the things I have always loved. I'm also battling horrendous insomnia and female problems, but until recently (thank you, D) I hadn't realized there could be a connection... other than "I'm bleeding like a mofo and not sleeping so of course I'm grumpy and unmotivated, you stupid s--t! Leave me the $%&* alone!!"

D sent a very sweet, thoughtful email last week when I was completely down in the dumps. After some research, he hypothesized that the birth control pills my doc had prescribed for my cramps were possibly leading to depression. Intrigued, I did my own research (how on earth did we ever survive without Google????). What I found was horrifying, depressing, and scary, but somehow invigorating at the same time. You mean, there might be a BIOLOGICAL reason I'm such a turd????

Perimenopause. The period of time just before a woman goes through menopause.

- Trouble sleeping. Check.
- Night sweats and/or hot flashes. Check.
- Irregular periods and/or heavy bleeding. - Check.
- Mood swings. Check.
- Loss of interest or feelings of hopelessness. Check.
- Forgetfulness. Check.
- Headaches. Check.
- Weight gain. Check.
- Fatigue. Check.
- Sore breasts. Check.
- Anxiety. Check.
- Loss of balance. Check.
- Plus a variety of other loveliness, the details of which I won't bore you with right now.

Other than D, only four people know I'm struggling with this: my mom, Karen, Heather, and another (male) running friend, who promptly replied, "No, you're too young!" Sadly, I'm not too young. Mom was 42 when she hit menopause, and her mother was in her 30s. I'm 43, folks. Do the math.

I'll know more when we get test results back. I left the doctor's office this morning with three prescriptions (who gets THREE slips from the ob/gyn???). Blood work, another pelvic ultrasound, and a different pill that's lower in progesterone. So while it may be a few weeks or even months until I know something, at least I know there may be an answer on the horizon and an explanation for why I'm just not myself anymore. Knowledge is power. I'm not thrilled about racing toward menopause at such a young age -- my overwhelming feeling is that my body is betraying me YET AGAIN -- but at least I will have some answers... and hopefully a path forward.

[tap tap] Is this thing on?

No comments about anything? Am I that boring?