Bark at the moon like the wild dog that you are! And Get It On Film!

"I want to know what you ache for. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for you dreams, for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can live with failure and still shout at the edges of a lake, river or mountain "Yes I am a warrior poet!" I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, wary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done for someone you love. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments of your life. Unleash yourself upon the world and go places. Go now. Giggle, go, laugh, and bark at the moon like the wild dog that you are."

This is serious motivation. John Blais, the warrior poet, was diagnosed with ALS and then completed an Ironman. The next year, he wasn't around to witness the same race. He tells a great message through his story. A message that tells you why you put your body through the pounding, the pain, the product of your potential insanity.

"This is not a dress rehearsal. This is it. Your life. Face your fears and live your dreams. Take it all in. Yes, every chance you get. Come close. And by all means, whatever you do, GET IT ON FILM."

Do you have a death wish?

**Yikes. So I knew Ironman training was going to be time consuming. But I never really realized it would take AS MUCH TIME as it has. I mean, I haven't blogged in over a month. Call me a slacker. I deserve it. But when you do, just remember that I've been the one doing 90 mile rides and 20 mile runs.


Monday mornings at most offices finds co-workers recounting stories of weekend activites. Children's ball games, yardwork, restaurant experiences, crazy nights out. When I tell my co-workers about my weekend of 90s and 20s, they look at me bewildered. One woman always asks, "Do you have a death wish?!"

And, ya. I do. I want to kill all self doubt. I want to destroy every ounce of poor self esteem. I want to deafen the voices in my head telling me I can't do this. And right now, more than anything, I want to stomp muddy footprints on the images of those who've been unsupportive of me in the past. One in particular. I'm sure you've heard me mention him. Shithead.

For the worst 8 months of my life, this "man" (which I use in the loosest sense of the term) made me feel horrible about myself. There was nothing I could do. No one I could be. All I was happened to revolve around him, how he perceived me, and my perception of how he perceived me. I was ugly, fat, stupid, incapbable, unloved and every other descriptor that made me feel worthless.

Not only was he convinced that I was nothing, but he had me convinced I was nothing. In the past three years, I've done a good, scratch that, GREAT job of killing that image of myself. Now, training for Ironman is one more way to prove to myself first and foremost, those around me secondly, that I can do anything, be anything, feel anything that I put my mind to.

I knew this would be a journey. A challenge. A fight. More steps would be taken begrudginly, more taken with pride, more out of responsibility than I'd ever planned on. I have 50 more days to prepare to step up to the starting line, wading and floating in Lake Mendota in Madison, Wisconsin, nerves at full tilt waiting for the gun to go off telling me there really is no turning back now.

Stroke after stroke, step after step for 140.6 miles. Each step squashing all the fears, the doubt, the voices telling me I'm nothing. And from each step, from the ashes I've created from my blood, sweat and tears, will rise a new identity, a new perception, a new me. An Ironman. A badge to carry to prove that Yes, I do have a death wish.