The Road to Raleigh

Remember this?

And then there was this:

 

So in July, after much thought and searching for other 70.3 races, I did this:

 



After the events of last June, there was no doubt in my mind that I would return to the Raleigh 70.3 starting line this year with a new confidence, different training, and an unbreakable spirit. 

The road to Raleigh wasn't without potholes and roadblocks.  There were setbacks from injuries. I was forced to take 8 weeks off from running at the start of 2014 due to a nagging injury that occurred during marathon training.  I saw my  Chiropractor more than my hubby some weeks as I worked through impingement syndrome in my shoulders that kept me out of the pool for a month.  Although I had to work through physical issues to get to the starting line on June 1 (and in turn, come back stronger), I never let doubt creep into my training.  If I couldn't run on the road, I would run in the pool.  Couldn't swim?  Ramp up the miles and hours on the bike trainer.  Daily stretching, compression sleeves, and rest became part of my routine.  My training was solid, focused, and manageable, but I did not let it take over my life.  I found a balance that worked for our family (hubby was training for Raleigh, too), and my kiddos were present and involved with the majority of my training time--I swam laps with the Reporter, pushed The Little Guy in the jogger as the Reporter rode for bike for miles as I ran, and I relocated my bike trainer to the patio for many Sunday afternoon rides while the kids played in the yard for hours on end. 

With a bitterly cold winter (Polar Vortex, anyone?), Jordan Lake's water temperature hovered in the chilly range for months, making Open Water Swim practice unbearable.  I worried that I wouldn't get the time in the lake that I needed before the race, but I also said a prayer everyday that the water temperature would stay low enough to read 76 degrees or lower on June 1, ensuring a wetsuit legal swim. 

The first Open Water Swim of the season for hubby and me was on May 10, less than one month until race day.  Earlier that week we decided to register for The Jordan Lake Open Water Swim Challenge (1.2 miles for me and 2.4 for the hubs).  I mean, there's nothing like making your first OWS of the season a 1.2 mile race, right?  Luckily I was able to wear my wetsuit, and after checking in, I calmed the fears that were beginning to bubble up by getting in the water, without hesitation, for a quick warm up.  At that moment, I knew that this year was different.  There was no fear, no panic, no drama, and no tears.  When my swim wave was called to start, I calmly approached the starting line, counted to 10 after the starting horn sounded, and swam without fear for 58 minutes and 20 seconds.  I only paused to sight along the way (the buoys were spaced pretty far apart) and I didn't meet a single kayaker or lifeguard.  As I emerged from the water, I realized that this swim had given me the confidence I needed to get to the starting line on June 1.  Between May 10 and June 1, I did two more short open water swims with friends, but I knew that I was ready for Raleigh.

 

Most of my training rides for Raleigh took place on the trainer this year, both out of necessity and fear.  Over the past year, my eyes have been opened to the danger of the road with several friends suffering injuries from crashes on training rides.  Because of that, and my two sidekicks, I put in hours upon hours on the trainer.  While I found it frustrating not to log the big miles on the road, I knew that I was getting in much needed saddle time (2, 3, 3.5 hours at a stretch) and building mental stamina.  My first road ride for 2014 was over Easter Weekend (less than 6 weeks before the race).  It started out strong, riding with my dad and the hubby, but before the halfway point, I lost it.  Cars felt too close, the wind felt too strong, and the miles felt way too long.  There was a tantrum on the side of the road, that may have involved tears.  But when you are 15 miles from home, you don't have much of a choice about riding. . .  you have to get home.  As I completed the final 25 miles of that training ride, something happened.  I vowed to let my faith be bigger than my fear, and I began to see the payoff of all those Sunday patio rides.  Faster pacing, consistent cadence, increased steadiness. . .  I just had to find it on that road to find my confidence on the bike.  I only completed three more rides on the road prior to the race --2 on the first 35 miles of the Raleigh 70.3 course and 2 rides posting my fastest average pace on the bike ever.   I finished that last ride with a new outlook and a positive mindset.

Running proved to be a hurdle this year, as well.  While it is usually the strongest of the three disciplines, for me (even though I am far from speedy), starting 2014 on the sidelines didn't bode well for training.  While I was training for my first marathon (a blog post I really should've written), I began feeling soreness in my shins that resulted in multiple trips to the Sports Med doc, two different visits to orthopedic specialists and, finally, a series of Active Release (ART) treatments.  Once I was cleared to run, I had to start low and slow and I was worried that the build up to 13.1 for Raleigh would be too much.  However, I stuck to the plan, employed a run-walk method and added lots of stretching and strength training.  On April 26 I ran the Tarheel Ten Miler, unsure that I would finish with a smile on my face.  My paces had been significantly slower since returning to running and I knew that the course was challenging, as I had run it in 2012.  After a two mile warm up (the plan called for 14 that day, but I was being conservative), I ran the fastest pace that I had clocked in months.  Not back to my speed that I found last summer, but a satisfying sub-10 pace for 10 hilly miles.  After that boost of confidence, I continued logging miles toward half-iron training, many with my favorite cheerleaders in tow. 

 

 

As the date for Raleigh 70.3 grew closer, my confidence grew and my fears lessened.  I knew that I had done everything I could do to prepare for redemption. 

 

But had I done enough? 

 

 



Belews Lake International Distance Triathlon--Race Report

Choosing to register for an international distance race pushed me right out of my comfort zone and into a 1500m open water swim and a transition area full of experienced and elite triathletes (including an Olympian in training). But I kept repeating Coach E's words of wisdom to myself as I set up my transition area:

"The Longest Distance in ANY race is the six inches between your ears"

This race was different from most because it was a time-trial start, meaning that only two swimmers entered the water at a time, instead of an entire group taking off at once.  Honestly, that was part of the allure of this race (not to mention that it was a wet-suit swim and the water was CLEAR).  After our group slid into our wet suits, we lined up according to our race numbers to wait our turn to take to the water.  Because I decided to register as a "novice", I was seeded 4th from the end.  A position that wasn't so bad in my mind--no eager swimmers to swim over me and chances were good that the fleet of kayaks that were on the water for assistance would be available if I needed to take a moment to freak-out. 

One-by-one I watched as our group entered the water.  The hubby gave me a quick kiss and a few words of encouragement, and before I knew it he was in the water. 

As I lined up beside the other Novices, the fear began to rise.  But the closer I got to the water, the calmer I felt. . . the more I trusted that I would do this.  

The timer counted down and I stepped forward into the water, began to swim, and the most amazing thing happened. . . no anxiety, no freak-outs, no panic.  I was swimming, breathing, sighting and moving forward. Coach E and the hubby had both advised me to think of the swim, not as a 1500m race, but as 15 100m races, meaning to swim to each buoy, stop, regroup and continue until you reach the shore.  But when I reached the first buoy I felt okay, so I continued to swim a bit.  After 200m, I decided to take their advice and pause, meanwhile meeting one of the kayakers who checked on me.  I assured her that I was fine and continued to swim.  At 300m, I paused again, and the woman in the kayak, again, checked on me.  She said, "You know, you don't have to do this.  You can get out.  You don't have to finish if you don't want to."  I calmly said to her, "That isn't an option.  I am going to finish.  I might be slow, and I might be last, but I will finish.  If you would like to paddle alongside me in case I need you, that would be fine."  I continued the swim.  100m by 100m I counted them down.  I kept telling myself "Get the ---- over it" and "Keep Moving Forward" for encouragement. . . and it worked.  43 minutes and 28 seconds later, I exited the water, turned and waved to the fleet of kayaks in the water and felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.  I had done it.  I swam 1500m in the open water.  I did not touch a canoe or kayak to rest. I never had to flip on my back AND I did not finish last.  

Once the swim was behind me (literally), I was able to focus on the next leg of the journey.  After 4 minutes and 45 seconds of being "lost in transition" (What the hell was I doing?  Removing my wetsuit, eating oranges. . . who knows?) I "ran" my bike to the mount line and began the painful ascent to the bike course.

Yep.  That hill is right out of transition. . .you met it twice. . . once on the bike and again on the run.

The bike course was a 2 loop course that totaled 27 miles.  Since I was one of the last swimmers in the water and one of the last (but not THE last) out of the water, some athletes were already finished with the bike portion, and others were close to halfway finished.  That meant that some guys were already out on the run, but others would be making their second loop as I made my first.  As I left the marina area, I passed two other people headed out on the bike before turning onto the highway.  I was soon greeted by the whoosh of zipp disks roaring past me as participants pushed up the slight incline at the start of the loop.  I had many passers-by that just blew on past, but occasionally heard a call of, "Good Job Novice" or "Keep it up Novice, you got this" as they spied the big "N" on my right calf indicating my level lack of expertise.  About 3 miles into the ride I saw a rider approaching in my mirror and heard, "Oh! Hi, Erin!"  My brother was well on his way to finishing the bike portion of the race at a respectable pace.  I knew the hubby and friends couldn't be too far behind, so for the remainder of my first loop, I held out hope that I would see them passing by.  Meanwhile, I enjoyed the presence of my new bike computer to keep my speed at a decent pace (18-21 mph in the flats), and tried not to get passed by too many riders.  As I rounded the last turn of my first loop, the wind picked up and the pedaling became harder.  As I passed the entrance to the marina, I realized that no one would be blowing past this go-round.  Everyone had either finished or was on their second lap--in front of me.  My only hope of seeing another athlete was catching up with someone, and despite my best effort I knew that probably wouldn't happen.  The second lap was long and lonely.  I rode 13 miles--ALONE.  I saw NO one except the law enforcement officers that were positioned at each intersection and the occasional passing car or motorcycle support crew.  The wind picked up significantly and it was difficult to keep a steady pace AND keep the bike in a straight line--I felt like the wind was going to tip me over at any point and I looked forward to stretches of road with trees for protection from the sun and the wind. I finally rolled into the marina and crossed the line into transition 1 hour, 44 minutes and 50 seconds later.  My glutes were numb, but my favorite part was ahead. 

T-2 was a bit speedier (2:15), but I paused to say hi to my brother (who had already finished--2:36:42) and get a report on our group's whereabouts.  Everyone else was still running, including the hubby, which meant I was guaranteed to see them on the course since it was a twice-out-and-back layout.  I hobbled out of transition and began to worry that I would not be able to finish my favorite part of the triathlon.  I usually love the transition from bike to run, but that day my legs just wouldn't go.  Climbing the hill out of transition was tough, but once I hit the flatter section, I was able to move freely and pick up a little speed.  As soon as I hit the course, I saw my friend "Gills" and soon thereafter our birthday girl of the group.  The hubby was less than 1/4 mile ahead of me (on his second loop) and I pushed to catch up.  Being able to run with him for a short distance and reconnect was what I needed to keep me going.  We eventually split up (I was walking water stations and he needed to keep moving to avoid cramps), but the momentum that I lost on those 13 lonely bike miles returned and helped to keep me going toward the finish. My 10K time of 1:01:24 was certainly not my fastest.  In fact that is the slowest 10K I have run in quite a while.  But given the hills of the course and the fact that I had completed both a swim and a bike prior, it was good enough.

3 hours, 36 mins and 40 seconds after I dove into the cool, clear water, I crossed the finish line.  I certainly wasn't fast, but I will have to admit that it was the proudest moment I have had in a while.  I honestly wasn't sure I could do it.  Not just the swim, but all of it.  

Triathlon is not just about your body being in shape, but about your mind being in shape.

"The Longest Distance in ANY race is the six inches between your ears"

 It is true.  

10 Things I learned:

1.  Starting last in the swim isn't such a bad thing.  You get a personal escort into shore by the kayak fleet AND the air temperature just might be higher than the water temperature by the time you finish the swim which makes for a much more comfortable bike ride.

2.  Trust your wet suit.  It will keep you floating if you need to stop.

3.  Riding 27 miles, in the sun, with a sleeveless tri-top is another way of asking to be sunburned. 

 Expect it. Use sunscreen.

4.  Transition is not for picnicking.  Use your time wisely and keep moving.

5.  If you peel a clementine before the race and leave it in transition, it may get gritty and feel like you are eating sand by T-2.  Just sayin'.  Try fig newtons instead. 

6.  The longer the ride, the tougher it is to get off that bike and run.  Just keep moving.

7.  You are not last (or close to last) because you are slow.  You are there because all the other people that considered doing the race decided that they couldn't/were scarred/ were too slow.  You had the guts to take a risk and they didn't.  Who will feel the sense of accomplishment later?

8.  When in doubt, "Get the ---- over it" and "Keep Moving Forward". . . that is where the finish line is.

9.  My hubby knows me better than anyone in the world.  He had faith in me when I didn't and helped me find that same faith.

10.  I CAN do ANYTHING I set my mind to.

Finish Strong. . .

So, what's next?  A little speed work to get ready for a super-sprint, embracing my clipless pedals, and then just some training this summer.    Maybe a return to Belews in the fall for the sprint? 

Who knows what I will accomplish?  

I certainly didn't think I would have finished an international last week. . .

The Longest Distance In Any Race. . .

When I decided to get my feet wet in the sport of triathlon, I immediately resigned to the fact that I would always be limited to short, super-sprint distance races.  Remember? I had that little problem with swimming, and felt certain that no matter how many laps I swam at the pool, I would surely never be ready for anything over 250-300 meters--especially in the open water.  However, this sport has a way of changing you. . .  changing your mindset and making you take a risk that you never thought would be possible (or maybe that is peer pressure?).  So at the end of last season, I completed my first sprint distance triathlon and finished the 750m open water swim portion of the race with a smile on my face, and felt sure that the next season would hold more sprint distance races to increase my swimming confidence.

When the registration for the current triathlon season opened up, the hubby and I sat down and discussed some races that we both had in mind for the season in order to prioritize, budget, and work out kid-watch duties.  At the time, I was focused on running and rehabing my poor Achilles, so  I gave the hubby the green light to go ahead with registration for races, while I waited to see if I would even be able to run after swimming and biking.   While I was resting from running, though, I was logging lots of pool time and increasing my distance each session--1 mile, 1.25 miles, 1.5 miles per swim session was not unusual for me.  Although I was sad to miss out on running days, I was gaining much needed confidence in my swimming skills and endurance.  Once I was cleared to run again, I began to entertain the idea of taking on a longer distance triathlon this season.  The International/Olympic distance was the "next one" on the list, and I knew that there would be one in the Fall at White Lake with plenty of time to train.  I also knew that the hubby was already registered for one in April, but didn't feel "ready", yet.

As the date of the Belews Lake International Distance Triathlon approached, I began to feel pressure from a few tri friends to take the leap and register.  I dismissed their prodding with comments like "I'm just not ready for THAT swim distance" or "I'll be cheering you on, but YOU can freeze in the water!".  Deep down I REALLY wanted to register and attempt the new distance, but I was scarred--afraid I couldn't make the swim, finish the bike, or run the run.  That race was a big step, and I wasn't sure it was a step I was ready to take.  The hubby began to threaten to sign me up on the sly because he knew I wouldn't do it on my own.  My brother asked me if I had registered, every time I saw him.  My friend with gills emailed me with encouragement.

FINALLY, after weeks of contemplating, I did it.  I registered, and the anxiety began to build.  Luckily I only had two weeks until race day, so the nightmares about the swim could only go on for so long, right?  In an attempt to calm my nerves, we ventured out to the lake over Spring Break to get in a quick open water swim.  The first two times I tried to leave the shore I became paralyzed with fear.  I couldn't breathe, I felt overwhelmed, and I doggy paddled back to the shallow water to regroup.  I finally got in about 500m and called it quits.  Only time would tell if it was enough to keep me calm on Saturday morning.

The night before the race, the hubby and I made the hour drive to the race site to pick up our race numbers and see the lake for the first time.  I tried to knit away my fears as we drove, but I kept focusing on the thought that I would be swimming in 68 degree water for almost a mile the following morning.  As we stood on the dock and tried to spot the bottles that were marking the course, I swallowed back fear.  Finally, the hubby saw the tears in my eyes and asked what I was so afraid of.  I couldn't tell him.  What was I afraid of?  I was afraid that I would get in the water and forget how to swim, how to breathe. . .  He looked at me and said, "I really don't know a nice way to say this, but sometimes you just have to get the ---- over it".

Guess what.

He was right.

Race morning arrived and we left before sunrise.  Chatting with the hubby and my brother in the car helped to keep my nerves at bay.  When we arrived at the race site, I stood in my transition spot and looked at the calm, clear water.  As I fought back tears, Coach E looked at me and said, "Remember, the longest distance in ANY race is the six inches between your ears."   At that moment, I knew I could do it.

 to be continued. . .

Going the Distance

Remember this post?  I had just completed my third triathlon and I was feeling pretty good about the progress that I had made since September of 2009.  In case you missed it, I had gone from an essential non-swimmer to an "Ok, I can complete a short swim in a pool-triathlon" swimmer.  My confidence was growing and my swimming was getting faster and more efficient.  Well, since that post on June 16, I have continued triathlon training and completed four additional races.  Yes, FOUR!  In fact, I even placed third in my age group in one race and won a Rockin' new travel mug to keep my java warm each morning as a prize!

In September, I returned to the site of my First Triathlon--White Lake, NC.  This was the place that I had faced my open-water fear head-on (and had spent the better part of my swim right next to a canoe in full hyperventilation because I was convinced that I would not finish that 250m swim!).  The lake was just as beautiful and clear as I remembered it.  To take away some of the pre-race jitters, we arrived at the site early the day before the race, just so I could swim a bit and reacquaint myself with the water.  After a few trips between the docks, I felt ready to tackle the race the next morning.  And tackle, I did.  I took a grand total of NINE minutes off my total race time from 2009.  My swim time was recorded as only about 2 minutes faster, but I learned later that the course was a bit longer this year, so I truly had made significant progress (all those laps and trips to Jordan Lake for training had paid off!).  As the hubby and I drove home, we discussed the race and upcoming races left in the season.  I confessed that although I really enjoyed these quick super-sprint races, I was ready to tackle a bigger beast.  We agreed that May 2012 would give me plenty of time to prepare mentally and physically for a new, longer distance and we moved on to a new conversation to pass the time on the road.

A few weeks later, our Tri-group started chattering about getting in "one last race" for the season.  I knew that I still had one super-sprint distance left, but encouraged the Hubby to sign up for the last "hurrah" with the gang, knowing that I didn't feel ready for a longer open-water swim, yet.  Somehow over the course of the next few days, I became the owner of a wet suit and I was registered to "tri" a sprint distance race.  What in the world was I thinking?  This was me--the girl that barely made it out of open-water the first time she tri-ed.  Could I really swim THREE times the distance I was used to IN A LAKE??

The morning before the race, the hubby, our buddies, and I bundled up (it was a cool 47 degrees) and headed out to try out our wet suits in the cool waters of Jordan Lake.  As everyone else zipped through the water, swimming around the buoys, I hovered close to the shore and stopped frequently to readjust my goggles and swim cap, all the while asking myself "What the Hell were you thinking signing up for a race this distance?" Then I followed up by reminding myself of the cost of the race and wet suit and I paddled on.  As we stripped our wet suits off and traded them for sweatpants and fleece jackets, the conversation focused on race pointers and reminders for the next morning.  I felt my anxiety growing, but I was also excited about this new distance and milestone.  Not to mention the fact that this would be the first triathlon ever that the hubby and I would be doing together!  No cheering from the sidelines--truly cheering and racing together!

The next morning, a 2:45 wake-up call came early, as we had to travel 2 hours to reach the race site.  The hubby, my brother and I met up with another couple and drove to Pinehurst drinking coffee to wake up and warm up (it was 49 degrees) and eating my usual pre-race Luna bar.  When we arrived, the 1/2 mile walk from the parking area gave us a taste for just how cold the air was going to be when we mounted our bikes after exiting the water.  I wasn't worried about the cold. . .I was only worried about the triangular buoys out in the lake that I would have to pass in order to even get to my bike.  When I saw the lake, I had to swallow back my fear.  It looked huge. . .and cold. . .but now was not the time to back out.  I set up my gear, visited the leaning tower of potty (yes, the port-a-johns were on a hill), and shimmed into my wet suit while fighting back tears of fear and anxiety. "Here goes nothing!"  The swim waves began and one-by-one (or mass by mass) my friends left the shore.  My brother, the hubby and Coach E swam first, followed by steady-Eddy J and then my wave--the Novices.  Newbies to the sport and scared out of our minds, we huddled on the shore and prayed for a fast easy swim with no chop and few kicks to the face.  The horn sounded, and we were off.

Two hours, four minute and thirty-eight seconds later it was over.  I had done it.  I had completed my first Sprint distance Triathlon.  And you know what?  I had fun doing it.  Sure, I was scared.  The start of the swim was terrifying--the first 400 meters were awkward and taxing--but I found my rhythm (even after veering off-course about 50 meters--you can have brunch on a houseboat mid-swim, right?) and finished out the swim with strength and energy.  The bike course was brutally hilly and my toes were absolutely numb with cold by mile 5. But I found a group of cyclists to stick with and even passed a few people on the uphills thanks to my light ride!  The run is always my favorite part and I definitely found my groove there with a killer time (for me) and a really strong finish.

No, I didn't finish in the top half of my division (although my brother finished top three in his!), but I finished and that was all that mattered that day.  I also came to the realization that as much as I love the atmosphere of the small, women's only super-sprint races, I missed the challenge of adding distance.  Although I was not fast by any means, I felt stronger when I spent more time doing each event (i.e. I felt strongest in the swim after 400m, The bike started rocking at about 12 miles, and I just hit my stride in the run at mile 3).  What does that mean?  Well, I hope that it means that I will spend time training longer distances for next season!  I already have my sights set on a few races for the spring and fall.  Could an international be in my future?  We shall see. . .

But for now, I am off to get a little shut-eye before my last race of the season. . .

Official Results for Pinehurst Sprint Triathlon

750M Swim: 21:53

T1: 3:48

18MI Bike: 1:11:26

T2: 1:08

5K Run: 26:25:00

Total Finish Time: 2:04:38

Finish Strong!

The Couple That Plays Together. . .

My husband completed his first Sprint distance Triathlon last weekend (750 meter swim, 14 mile bike, and 3.1 mile run) and I could not be more proud of his hard work and dedication to training.  Although he was somewhat disappointed with his final time, the fact that he trained for and finished the race was impressive on its own.  As busy parents, it is often hard to fit in a workout, let alone a training plan for a distance event.  I openly admit I was terribly jealous more than once when he took off to train with friends during those final weeks toward the push.  However, I would remind myself of the sacrifices he has made in the past (and as he continues to do) to allow me to train for events (triathlons, half-marathons, etc) and we worked together to make the schedule work for our family.

The night before the race, as he packed his things for each event, jealousy washed over me and I admitted that it would be difficult to stand on the sidelines.  As the words came out of my mouth, I immediately wanted to swallow them back.  I was reminded of the races that he attended and did not participate in.  All the photos he captured to document my successes and the sleep he has given up to cheer me on after a long night at work.  I felt terrible for voicing what I thought was jealousy at the time.

Race day came, and it was hot and sticky.  The Little Guy and I packed up the camera, snacks, towels and the jog stroller and went out to support the hubby with a renewed enthusiasm.  I wanted to see him do well and enjoy the race from a different vantage point this time!  (In addition, I was thankful that I would not be swimming 750m in 87 degree water and running when the mercury hit 97!)

When we arrived we met up with three other couples that the hubby had been training with.  Everyone set up their equipment and prepared for a long, hot race.  At the conclusion of the race, the group reconvened and planned a celebratory dinner for the evening and we each went our separate ways to rest and clean up before dinner.

Over pizza and beer, we shared stories of race-day excitement and workout plans, as well as jobs, kids, and life in general.  At some point in the meal, I looked around the table and something hit me.  No, it wasn’t that every family represented at the table drove the same make and model SUV (although that is a little weird) and it wasn’t that each family had children (1, 2, 3, and 4 respectively).  It wasn’t even the fact that we were the youngest couple at the table.   It was the fact that this group was beating the odds.  We had four couples at the table and each and every one was still married (to their original spouse, I do believe).  I realized that as the youngest couple, we had a beautiful example of love before us—love that works hard, plays together and stays together.  You see, everyone at that table is an athlete.  All but one had completed more than one triathlon, several have completed half-marathons, we had an incredible swimmer in our midst and everyone now cycles. 

When I mentioned this revelation to the hubby after we retrieved the kids from the sitters’, he too was impressed that these four couples could stand the test of time.  I hypothesized to him that perhaps it was due to “playing together” and he agreed that I could be correct.  I was suddenly reminded of my own parents who celebrated 37 years together last month and realized that they, too “play together” as they are currently in NY State on a cycling trip.

You see, I do love to exercise and push myself to try new things, but I don’t think I would do any of it without the support of my hubby.  When we trained for a half-marathon together last year, I looked forward to our long weekend runs together.  They were better than a date-- Just the two of us, the open road, and a few hours of conversation.  We have some of our best conversations over sweat and Powerbars.   These experiences don’t only provide us with time together (something two busy, working parents so desperately need), but it also gives us an opportunity to cheer one another on, offer support and suggestions, and see each other grow and succeed with each new challenge--Not to mention the physical benefits of working out.   Is it worth it to pay a babysitter so we can go run, bike or swim together? Absolutely.

Now before you point out that not every long standing marriage includes a couple of endorphin-crazed people, let me say this.  At our house, we are taking “playing together” literally.  However, in the marriages that I have witnessed, couples with shared interests seem to survive better than those without.  Sure, we all enjoy things separately, too—my hubby loathes the fabric and yarn store and I can live without football (shhhh—don’t tell)—but our common ground is what keeps us, well, grounded. 

So back to that feeling of jealousy that I wasn’t participating in the race last week. . . I don’t think it was jealousy at all (well, not completely).   It was sadness that we were missing out on doing an event together—as a couple.  However, there will be more events ( a half-marathon in November and a Full??  In March—eek!) to enjoy together.  And we will keep playing together to make those things happen.  And in the meantime, we will cheer each other on in our separate events to encourage one another’s growth and success.  Because we do believe that the Couple that plays together, stays together. . .

Finish Strong . . .