Life happens

I follow this blog called Spaces of Gratitude which is written by this lady accounting her life's experiences and eloquently assigning meaning to them with hopes to inspire her readers and nonetheless, vent. Venting always feels nice. (I started following her because she wrote this inspiring piece about why she started doing triathlons)

Her latest post titled "The Bucket List" ended with a lesson that we should learn to embrace the things in life that aren't necessarily planned, and that there's always a positive that can be taken from any adverse situation. 

There was one particular sentence that resonated with me...

What I wanted to tell her, is that there is a happy life on the other side…that each year will get easier until it becomes a part of your past that you wouldn’t want changed because of the person you become because of it. 

I've been through a lot of crap, whether it's because I occasionally live recklessly or because merely, life happens. Whatever the case, what makes this statement so good is because it is true. Simply put, and we hear it all the time, live with no regrets and shame; accept all of life's moments and understand it's there to only make you a better person than you were before. So, I do. 

And we wonder, how do people know such things? Again, it's life; experiences. Some times living boldly costs us, but I'd rather have it that way than living average.

An ironman

No, not what I've been bragging about the past few weeks. This is actually someone you should really model yourself after.

Dick Bavetta. After 39 years of ref'ing in the NBA, he's retiring. That's 2,635 games… consecutively. Yes, he didn't miss a game. Since 1975 folks. He's 74 years old.

Let me put it in another perspective, he ran up and down the court with elite athletes for 48 minutes a game, up until 74 years of age. (I ref'd some intramural games back in college, and to be able to attempt to make accurate calls while running up and down a court, it's not easy. And I was only 19.) I believe I heard he ran about 6 miles most mornings, wherever he was–at the hotel, at the airport, on vacation– for his own good.

Sometimes we get complacent, lazy–whatever you want to call it–with our work, with our spare time, with our body, with our loved ones... settling and not realizing we could be living better.

Thanks Dick. (and I'm not being sarcastic)

Progress

Two days ago, I completed my first Ironman. What? I know, I can't believe it some times. At some moments post-race I'm so proud and impressed, and sometimes I feel like "eh, it's just another race completed." Whatever the sentiment, I'm happy because I'd like to think I'm better than I was yesterday. What a birthday present.

But let me take you back about one month ago (because I was so busy back then that I kept procrastinating posting in my blog… (poor excuse))… It was an early Sunday morning, driving from my gf's sister's bf's house in Santa Rosa to go for my training bike-ride on the Vineman course. As I was driving up on the 101, all to myself, I began to recognize the landmarks I'd been familiar with going up towards Windsor HS from supporting my cousin and friends doing the half and full Vineman the past three years. And then it started to hit me. Man, I'm actually doing my first ironman distance triathlon in a month. This is crazy. And as I'm going through this monologue, feelings of 'I can't believe I'm doing this/remember why I'm doing this' start to overcome me. It's the combination of true inspiration mixed with awe and a sprinkle of a little bit of "why?! this distance is so long!" And how does this physically look? It's tears. I'm crying because I remember how, why, and when I got started doing triathlons. If you recall, my mom passed away with cancer in October 2011. And ever since then, I have pushed myself to accomplish the tasks I feel really push my life's potential because you never know how long you'll live to see things through and in the end of it all, put it all in honor of my mom. And as a profound jump off from that, it's for all the people in my life that have been affected by diseases that hinder living life fuller than they had imagined, such as my Dad who now has Parkinson's, my friend's parents who have died from cancer, ... I had considered doing tri's for a couple years past because I used to be so intrigued when I'd watch my cousin and friend do theirs, but I had always kept saying, 'i'll wait till i'm done with grad school…' But, like they say, there is no time but now. So I signed up for my first tri (Wildflower Olympic '12) during my last semester in school, and now, about 12+ races of running and triathlons under my belt in two years, I'm signed up to do my first ironman.
So, I'm crying as I'm driving... it's a good thing... i'm so inspired… i'm so pumped!… i become humbled…
Then, already emotional without the aid of something external, one of the songs that really inspires me/gets me hyped up starts playing on the radio, not lying… don't laugh… well, you can laugh… "Firework" by Katy Perry. Aw yeah! It's the uplifting words mixed with the crescendo-ing melody/pitch… ahh.. that really brought the tears out. And then a little chuckle, laughing at myself for having an unmanly sense of motivation.

Fast forward back to this weekend… I did it. I'm an ironman.

Synopsis: wake up at 345am, eat, swim 2.4 miles, walk a little (i don't know why it was hilarious to see people, including myself, walking during the swim. i actually laughed), eat, drink, 112 miles on the bike in 90-100 degree heat, eat, drink, eat, drink, question your decision-making ability, drink, pour water all over body, start run, wait, can't run, walk, drink, eat, drink, drink, jog, walk, jog, it's still 100 degrees, drink, #2 twice, sprint to finish line a little after 9pm… oy vey. You ask how I did? The competitive person in me would say I didn't come close to my expectation of time. I did it in 14+ hours. I was hoping for about 12-13. But, does that really matter to me now that I think about it? Nope. What really matters to me, and what I came to grips with coming out of T2, is what I had been TRYING to say to myself the weeks leading up to the race–just finish. So that I did. I finished because I know not a lot of people are able or privileged to do the same. I finished because of love–the love and support I receive from friends, family, and all the volunteers and random cheerleaders out on the course. I finished because my mom was in more pain than I was yet I can say she "finished" life in glory.

I walked most of the run. It's okay. As someone hollered to a suffering runner (i.e. walker) behind me, "you're moving forward, that's all that matters." Indeed... in so many ways.

The camera makes me look dark.. oh wait, i am.
(note to self: next race–not in the summer)

Sandbagging and why it can be a good thing

An excerpt from a www.thenorthface.com article written by Ingrid Backstrom about Jim Zellers of The North Face:

A mean trick, perhaps. However, if sandbagees would have been told beforehand exactly how the day was going to go down they never would have left camp — and they never would have experienced the feeling of accomplishing their own personal challenge. The truth is a well-crafted sandbag forces people to look deep inside themselves; it requires every ounce of physical and mental strength, and it results in an adventure that will never be forgotten.

Boom.

I said I wouldn't do it again. But...

I'll get to it...

I promise. So it looks like I haven't written something here in years. I've been busy! (Poor excuse. That's like saying, 'I don't have time to clean the house' 14 days later from when you first thought about it. I call BS.)
So, let's consider this post a start. Quick notes for now…
It was mom (or would've been mom's) and dad's birthday last week.
I did my third half-ironman distance tri. It was about 100 degrees by the time I was running.
I have my first full ironman distance this July 26. Shit.
Joanne's birthday is in two days. I love her.
I'm hungry.
I'm progressing here at TNF.
Going to LA in a few hours. I'm going to eat some great food and see some good people.

Joanne leaving Multnomah Falls

Peaces.