3 Years Coming...

Sitting at the pre-race banquet tonight, I got more emotional than I thought I would. I was really enjoying the whole experience, sitting with Chelsea and Tim hearing Mike Reilly taunt us with "You are an..." and not finishing the statement while we chowed on overcooked twirly pasta and hardened breadsticks. We got butterflies watching the video and energized by the man who lost 212 pounds while training. And then I started thinking...

Thinking about my brother who obviously was wishing he was racing. Remembering when he was in my shoes, sitting in Monona Terrace eating the same mass-cooked meal, shaking the same nerves two nights before his first Ironman. Thinking about everything we'd both put into training to be where we are at that moment. Thinking about where I was when he sat anxious and energized to see if he could "brag for the rest of his life" as the motto says.

I don't remember much. Looking back, I see a dark house, dark leather couches, dark stormy skies and a dark, haunting quiet. I remember checking a couple times online to see how he was progressing, not really understanding the gravity of his undertaking. I remember fighting, crying, exhaustion, anxiety, screaming, insulting, fear. All those dark days with Shithead run together, and this was one near the end.

I wanted to share about 1000 words that tell the story of my progression from that time to now. It's been a long journey. But one that is definitely worthwhile. I'm not the fastest athlete out there, and probably not the one with the most heart. But being the best doesn't matter in Ironman. It's all about having the courage to start. And if I can do it, you can do it. Just take the plunge.

You know that feeling when you’re at mile 22 of a marathon when your legs are heavy and stiff as concrete columns, your body is shaking and tingly from the desperation of wanting to be finished and yet you’re still far enough from the finish line that quitting is a possibility so your mind starts to play games with you? You’re not good enough. You’ll never finish. You’re not tough enough to handle this. Your body hurts, your heart aches, your head throbs. Why would you ever have signed up for such an unreachable feat when you know it’s much too big for you to achieve?
That’s how I felt when my relationship with Shithead was at its worst.

I’d finish a long day at work, after battling those inner demons that all 20-something women have all day, working to prove to myself and my boss that I was good at my job, and come home to a man who claimed to love me. Home is supposed to be your respite from the trials and tribulations of the outside world. But when I got home, things for me got worse.

So bad, actually, that one night we fought (like usual) from the time I walked in the door, until 4 a.m. when I passed out because he strangled me. I had been beating my head against the front door, miserable and hating life, hating who I had become because of him, hoping that I would cause myself outward pain to take the place of the pain I was feeling on the inside. He taught me that I was a horrible person, with no value, a slut and a whore (not to mention a virgin), who had no one to love her except for him. The next day when I got up for work and said to him, “Good morning honey, can I use one of your two cars to get to work today?” He said I needed to ask him nicely. It took me two hours and two missed meetings to figure out I needed to say “May I please borrow your car?”

My independence was non-existent. Everything I had previously used to define myself had disappeared. My friends, my family, my confidence, my motivation – all washed away in the whirlwind that was our abusive relationship.

Until I found the courage to leave. I tried several times, and I have no idea what caused me to finally act. Maybe it was the Freaky Friday effect. It was, after all, Friday the 13th when I finally decided to no longer let a horrible and hateful man define me. To no longer allow any person other than ME to tell me what I was worth.
The following month was a rough one. I almost returned to his abuse many times. But then I found the one thing that helped me become me again.

Both my brothers were runners and they were convinced that running was the best and most cost-effective therapy you can find. So, I gave it a shot.

And hated it. Loathed it. But, luckily, suffered through it.

I have found that a little bit of suffering is healthy. A little bit will help you grow. Too much though, and you’re headed for the injured reserve. Your body, your mind and your heart can only take so much beating.

A year after I left Shithead, I was still on the injured reserve. I put on a good front for myself and for those around me. I was convinced that I had healed from my trauma, I was ready to date again and ready to make a name for myself.
But the truth tells you otherwise. I was willing to go out with any guy that asked me on a date, befriend any girl that showed interest in me. My standards were low and my expectations were lower. Those failed relationships should have taught me a thing or two, but they didn’t.

It wasn’t until the middle of my training for Ironman Wisconsin when I finally came to a gut-wrenching realization.

I was on my bike for my first 90-miler. I was hot, salty and grimy from the summer sun. I was physically exhausted from the five hours of repetitive and mundane pedal strokes and engaged core needed to stay upright in the Kansas winds. My mind kept telling me to quit, just call for a ride and then meet a friend for a beer, I wasn’t tough enough to finish this workout, let alone The Ironman so I might as well just back out now.

And then I remembered how hard it was. I remembered how lonely and tired, beaten and bruised, how sad and exhausted I felt when all I had was Shithead. And now, I have the most important thing. I have me. So I kept pedaling.

I have the opportunity of a lifetime at my fingertips. I have my future and I have me to thank for that. I have my own opinions and they matter. I have friends and family who love and support me no matter what I do. Maybe the reason I’m still single is because I haven’t found a guy who is good enough for me. Maybe he’s just too intimidated by the fact that I (finally) have all my shit together. And maybe that is 100% okay. Maybe I don’t need anyone else. I have me. I have back what I had lost, what he had taken from me.

And now, I have the chance to prove to myself and to everyone who knows me, that I am not broken. I have been through hell, true, but I’m no worse for the wear. I’m stronger and smarter and more beautiful. I no longer need to be handled with kid gloves. I can take it. All 140.6 miles of suffering.

Because when it comes down to it, suffering makes you stronger. I feel stronger than I ever imagined I’d be. And you’ll see that strength when I shimmy down the finisher’s chute at Ironman Wisconsin, not a care in the world because I have just accomplished something I once thought impossible: Self Satisfaction.