Things to consider...

When you dress the morning of your 5k race, there are some extremely important things to consider...

What will the weather be like during race time?

Do you need gloves and a hat or will a visor suffice?

Where are my favorite running socks?

Does the underwear that I'm about to put on have a tendency to fall down?

You see, I've primarily been focused on triathlons, and that had some very specific gear that makes you forget about everything else.

I have a wet suit, swim cap and goggles for the swim. My bike gloves, helmet and sunglasses for the bike. And tennis shoes and visor for the run.

All of it done in what are known as tri shorts and tri tops. They're made of quick wicking materials to help you dry off quickly when coming out of the water or when covered in yucky sweat. They have all the necessary undergarments built in so it's a no-brainer.

For some reason, sports bras seem like a no-brainer as well.

Underwear...well, not so much.

The Muddy Monster 5k was last Saturday.

I set off to the park about 9 am. It was the first clear day in almost a week of rain and I arrived in the first wave of traffic.

I found a parking spot, gathered my race number and my Nike+ iPod and was off to the starting line.

Not only had it been rainy all week, but it had been cold, and this morning was no different.

As I stretched out, I surveyed the other runners and familiar feelings began to settle over me.

What the hell was I doing here?

I am NOT a runner.

Technically, a triathlete, sure.

But not a runner.

I started thinking to myself how easy would it be to duck out. I hadn't seen anyone that I knew, so it would be a piece of cake to slink back to my car and drive away from the park and the hordes of runners with their .5% body fat.

But I forced myself to stay.

I wasn't doing this to compete with them.

I was doing this for myself.

I continued to stretch until it was time for the runners to take our marks. Okay, so to more accurately describe it, crowd into a starting pen like veal.

We set off and I quickly knew that I was in trouble.

I had put on a "comfy" pair of undies earlier that morning, completely forgetting that every time I throw them into the dirty laundry hamper, that I think to myself that I should really throw them out instead.

Sigh.

I tried to discreetly to tug them back up, knowing full well that the t-shirt and sweatshirt I had layered would cover me up in the event of disaster.

I did okay.

This run was called the Muddy Monster because it was a trail run, something that I had been looking forward to since I wasn't very well conditioned to run on concrete or even asphalt.

I held my own for the first two songs into my iPod. I could feel the freezing air that I was drawing into my lungs really start to affect my breathing. I hadn't really trained outside in the cold and I was conditioned for that either.

I ran/walked off and on, trying very hard to do more running than walking, until I hit the mile and a half marker. My right hip had tightened up, making running very, very uncomfortable. I decided that I wasn't going to push it since this was my season closer.

In the end, my time blew. I seriously overshot my goal.

I crossed the finish line, waited while a nice girl removed the timing chip from my shoe and then headed straight for the timing tent.

I got there so quickly that I had to wait a couple of minutes for the system to update with my race times. I didn't even look at it as I headed to the warmth of my car.

Disappointing?

Yes.

All in all though, it was a good first season I think.

I pushed boundaries, made new friends, beat some goals and fell short on others.

I learned that I can put my face in water and not worry about drowning. And now, not only do I know what a dérailleur is, but I know how to tune it myself.

I know and understand the importance of consistency.

That some days training will kick ass, and other days I'll feel like I should have stayed in bed.

I'll bounce back, I am elastic.

Just hope my underwear is too.

Why do I tri?

A sharpie is my war paint.

The airhorn is my battle cry.

I will take no prisoners.

Why do I tri?

It's a personal question. Some say it's for the competition, some for fitness, others say it's just for fun.

I tri for cancer.

It's how this started, and until it's wiped clean from this world, I will continue my war.

The race season is winding down, with only a 5k left on the horizon. It does not mean that my battle is over.

My first first-hand experience was losing my mother-in-law two years ago.

I dedicated the Pigman to her and raised over $1200 for cancer research in her memory.

It was two days after that race that I found out that my mom had begun her own battle.

My best friend.

The nerve to strike so close to home.

The audacity of cancer.

That's when I steeled my resolve to do this every year to raise money, wage my own private war.

My mom is doing well, I am happy to report, but my combat continues.

I'm taking a couple of weeks off from training, allowing for a recovery of sorts. But soon it will be back to the pool, to the track.

I'll be back in the saddle again.

I'll don my war paint.

Cancer will hear my battle cry.

Danksin wrap up and future goals

It's something that I'm bitten with. I can't explain it.

It was almost exactly a year ago that I decided to transform myself from a squishy couch potato into a triathlete. Now, I have a 5k and two tri's under my belt. A second 5k will be run in two weeks. Sure, why not? I began the season with a 5k, why not end it on the same note?

The Danksin was a couple of weeks ago and I have been remiss (or so my mom keeps reminding me) on not blogging about it.

The race results gave me mixed emotions.

I took on a new position at Yellowbook 5 weeks before the Danskin. So that meant two months before the race started, I began to spend longer hours at work trying to wrap up everything before I left my position in Human Resources. The house projects were in full force, and two wedding cake orders that had been put on the books before I signed up were coming due.

My time to train had become extremely limited.

My goal time was 2:10, 14 minutes less than the Pigman.

One again, I came in over that goal; this time at 2:17.

Overall, I had longer transition times on race day (I still blame that on the fact that the physical transition area was also twice the size at the Pigman), as well as a much slower pace on the bike leg despite what I felt was an easier course.

I was seriously disappointed in my time.

I dwelt on this over a post lunch race with my husband, parents, Andrea and her husband.

I had started going to spinning and had learned how to more efficiently use my legs. I was a stronger swimmer than I was even back in June.

Running..well...what was there to say about running?

I set out on the run. My calves and other muscles (whose names I regretfully don't know) protested greatly. I jogged out of transition and past my cheering group of well wishers (stopping to kiss my mom and dad as I passed). But soon I gave in to the protests and slowed to a walk.

My internal monitor protested, knowing that I was losing time and was going to come up short of my goal.

Okay, I'll run to the sign, I told myself.

And then on to that next bush.

When I get to that shady spot, I can walk.

I did that, mentally bribing myself to start running, trying desperately to keep myself to the goal of running it all.

It didn't work.

I ran, I walked, I ran some more, pushing myself harder and harder.

At one point, just before the water station at 1.2 miles, I had started to walk again.

Another runner came up behind me and put her arm around my shoulder.

"Come on. Let's run," she said.

And so we did.

We chatted a bit. She was from the Chicago area and this certainly wasn't her first tri. She was surprised at how far I had driven to compete in the race. And sadly, I don't remember her name.

I kept up with her for another half mile or so, past the water station, where she taught me to hold up two fingers and get two cups of water. (Simple, I know.)

I walked for a couple of minutes and picked up the mental push again.

Just to the tree.

Just to that sign.

To the next post, the crack in the pavement....

....hmmmm.....I lost myself.

Quit literally.

I got so lost in thought after a push that I had forgotten to give myself a new goal and I just kept running.

I didn't even notice.

That, I believe, was the highlight of the event for me.

(Well, I immensely enjoyed backstroking almost the entire swim because the gorgeous blue sky was spattered with gauzy clouds that looked like elephants, dinosaurs and even a phoenix.)

Nevertheless, I completely lost myself in something that a year ago I never thought I could possibly enjoy.

I came to this realization the next morning when I came in to work and decided to compare my race numbers against the Pigman.

Though (in my opinion) I had thoroughly bombed the transitions and the biking, I took 8 seconds off of my 100 yard swim pace and 47 seconds off my mile run pace. 6 minutes and 35 seconds less overall.

I would have taken even more off of my run except that I haven't figured out how to get through the race without needing to use the port-a-potty. Maybe next season.

I knew in June that I had become addicted to triathlons.

The Danskin just completely sealed that for me.

I announced a new goal to family and friends the Monday after the race: Olympic distance by 2015.

Okay, so in my opinion, now that I know what Olympic distance* is, 2015 seems so far away.

I'm upping that to 2012 at the latest.

I started this craziness thinking I'll do a tri, but just a sprint. Anything more is crazy. People who do Ironmans (120.6 miles total) are insane.

I don't think I'll ever get that far, but I've seriously begun to consider a Half-Ironman.

70.3 sounds like a nice round number to shoot for.

*Approximately twice a sprint distance = .9 mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run.