Meredith Atwood's Blog, page 17

The Night the Darkness Almost Got Me

I attempted suicide eighteen years ago. I failed. Anthony Bourdain is dead. Kate Spade is dead. They didn’t fail at their attempts. I am saddened, truly devastated by these losses to the world. I failed, and I am glad that I was such a failure. The gifts of failure are plenty. This is the blog post where I tell this story I have never shared with more than a handful of people in my entire life. This is the post that made my heart race… right before I hit “publish.” I will also include a warning that it might be hard to read, or cause issues to read this for some of you. Please take care to read with caution. This… this story I have never told, despite telling so many other stories over millions of words.  I have kept this one quiet, buried. Because of shame. Because I didn’t want to embarrass anyone. I have waited to tell this story—and for that—I am now ashamed. I am not embarrassed about what happened. I am at the place where I can tell. But now, I am embarrassed that I haven’t spoken up sooner. The truth behind my incident is that I was twenty-years old, and I was blitzed out of my mind. I was prescribed Zoloft “for my depression” and I was ballooning up in weight. One of my best binge meals that I can remember was two Whoppers, two large fries, cheese sticks and jalapeno poppers. Then I had ice cream. I used to always eat a lot—but during that period, I was binging beyond all space and time and reason. I drank often and a lot. I was pushing people away, and I cared only about drinking and eating and watching a weird soap opera. I wouldn’t go out of the house. I stayed hidden, embarrassed by my body, my habits. At twenty years old, I had given up hope for a good life. Worst of all, I didn’t know why. One night, I mixed my regularly scheduled Zoloft with a whole lot of vodka and cigarettes. I called my boyfriend and told him I was going to kill myself.  I sat on the front porch and sawed superficial cuts into my arm, waiting on him to arrive. When he showed up, he took the dull knife from me.  I told him I was going to slice my wrists and he said, “No, you won’t.” (Nobody puts Baby in a corner.) We were standing in the kitchen. In one movement, I opened a drawer, grabbed another knife, raised my arm and sliced downward, hard on the left wrist. I showed him. He immediately grabbed a dish towel, and held my wrist so tight that he hurt me. My roommate called 911.   I was carted off to the hospital, where I had a blood alcohol content of 0.36—which is the amount of alcohol for most people to be in a coma, if not dead. And I don’t remember any of this. Well, that’s not true. I remember a few things:  laying on the floor and praying that I wouldn’t die. And hoping the cops didn’t find my fake ID. I remember calling my mom and her screaming. I remember the three days that I had to go to a treatment center—where they placed me with the psychiatric patients instead of the substance abuse folks. I remember that I smelled like booze for two days. I remember when my parents showed up that I was like a caged animal. I was ashamed. And trapped. I remember that the center let me go with no follow-up. Because I was good at playing the game. I don’t remember what happened on that night, because I—the real me—was not present that night. I was numbed by anti-depressants and I was high on vodka. I was a mess from all the sugar and chemical foods I was eating, the lack of exercise and sunlight. I stayed inside and wrote and went to school, and I shut myself away from the world. This was not a long process—but rather a quick turn that took about three months. I went from mildly sad. And I spiraled fast.  Three months. That was all it took from me telling a doctor that I was “depressed” to almost losing my life by my own hand.  If my boyfriend hadn’t been there, I might have died. If my roommate hadn’t been there, who knows. It’s easier to say that I didn’t want to die and I wasn’t there that night. It makes it somehow more forgivable. When I have told this story a few times, I always say that it wasn’t “me” that day—it was Zoloft and vodka, sugar and sadness, hopeless and shame. But the truth of the matter… is that sometimes, all of those things are me.  Sugar and sadness, hopelessness and shame. And I, to this day, have never told this story publicly because I had been ashamed of it. I was embarrassed for my family that endured it. But mostly, I continued to think that “it wasn’t me” – that was a drugged-up, drunk version of me. That wasn’t me. But it was me. I was there. I remember parts of it. I remember the feelings. Writing this post started as a trickle when I learned of Kate Spade’s death. This morning, on the way to CrossFit when I saw Anthony Bourdain’s suicide—the trickle opened into a deluge and I wept. I had to speak up and tell my story, just in case. Just in case it mattered. Who am I to hide from something like this? I had to tell what happened to me.  I had to express my joy for continuing to live. For my family and my children who wouldn’t be here. For this blog. For colorful triathlon clothing. For so many joys that would not have happened. Had I been a “success.” Like Brene Brown says, “I think shame is lethal. I think shame is deadly. And I think we are swimming in it deep. Shame needs three things to grow exponentially in our lives: secrecy, silence, and judgment.” Here’s the bottom line: “Shame cannot survive being spoken,” Brown says. “It cannot survive empathy.” Before I quit drinking two and a half years ago, I would think about driving myself into a tree. This giant tree at the bottom of a hill on a road I drive often. I was no longer on medication, but I still managed a pretty serious drinking problem. I was sick. I was depressed. I was working out all the time, but miserable and unhealthy. I had fixed some things, but deep in my core—I thought that I might could just drive into a tree and be done with all the feelings. I drank so I didn’t need to feel. Feelings are the things that hurt the most. Getting sober was about feeling the feelings of my life. Feeling is the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. Miraculously, though—in the last two and a half years, I have not once thought about ending my life, or driving into that tree.  I have been healed by stopping drinking and focusing on new things. I know that not everyone can have that great or easy of a recovery from addiction or mental illness. I know that. But the reason I am telling this part of my untold story is for one reason—the power of not giving up. The power of walking away from substances that harm us. If you don’t feel right, then something isn’t right. If you are depressed, I understand. Take a look at your habits, your life. Take a look at your medication and your past—did your life get worse or better with that particular med? Are you mixing it with a cocktail? Find a doctor that really listens and treats you—and sees you and is willing to work with you. Before you lose hope, remove any potential barriers from your life that are impeding the ability for the light to shine in. Whether it’s booze or food or the wrong prescription, the wrong people or job, or family… take a moment to figure out what might be driving the pain, the sadness and the suffering. What is dulling the light? Then reach out, don’t give up. I was not mentally ill—back then and not now. I have had to go through many years to realize that I suffer from swings and depression, but they are made highly worse by certain drugs and booze. I liked to drink because it stopped the swings. I suffer sometimes in ways that are painful. And I don’t want to feel those feelings. With booze and drugs, I was simply not trying not to feel pain and sadness. I just wanted to feel nothing. Our culture’s aversion to feeling the pain and sadness is real.  Feeling sadness is the worst part—but feeling hopeless is the thing that drives us beyond repair, beyond reason and thinking life is over. If you feel this way or if you suspect mental illness, please seek help, please reach out, please look for the light. To the hotline (below), to a friend, to our Grateful Sobriety group, to your pastor, your doctor, to me.  You are not alone. There is light, there is hope. I am proof of that. Sometimes my light is bright, sometimes it is dim. But even when I thought all was lost, I found it again. You can too. I promise. Just keep moving forward. We need you. Thank you for reading, for allowing me to share. Love to you all, Meredith Please also know that I wrote this from a place of sharing a story, not legal or medical advice, or to change someone’s course of action or medical treatment. It’s merely anecdotal and made in an attempt to bring more light to this darkness. https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ 1-800-273-8255          

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The Gift of Being a Failure

With the falling apart, I note the following themes:

I am a failure.

I am a failure in general.

Specifically, I am a failure at: motherhood, writing, love, money, nutrition, crossfit, running, swimming, yoga, thinking, reading, existing, living.

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Fight Club on The Same 24 Hours

I’ve been a little busy and not blogging much lately.  I can’t say it’s a bad thing, because the new things are AMAZING–just taking much more time and energy than I thought possible. All. Good. Things. And more to come on that in the future.

Why Your Suffering is Real

Expectations are the enemy of progress and the creators of all sorts of crap. I mean, it makes total sense. If I expect a birthday cake and I get a birthday carrot, someone is going to pay dearly. However, if I expect nothing, and I receive an avocado? “An avocado! Thanksssss!” Aside from the connection between expectation and suffering, many people are uneasy with the idea that their lives actually contain suffering. Perhaps it’s the word itself that gives us pause. Do my feelings really rise to the level of suffering? Often we think, “Oh but this person has it so much worse than I do.” We close ourselves off. We isolate ourselves. We feel that our suffering is not worthy of discussing, so we go off into a corner to suffer further by ourselves. “Suffering comes from a Latin word ferre, which translates as ‘to bear’ or ‘to carry,” Phillip Moffit writes. “When you deny or resist the experience of your own suffering, you are unwilling to consciously bear it. It is this resistance to accepting your life just as it is that makes suffering ignoble, despicable, and shameful.” Whoa.  Those are three impressive synonyms of suffering: Ignoble. Despicable. Shameful. But consider it for a minute. How many times have you struggled with something that tore your insides to shreds, but you felt unworthy to feel that way? Ignoble. Despicable. Shameful. Pretty accurate terms. I have written about the difficulty of a DNF (did not finish) in a race.  Not finishing a race “seems” like it “should” be something to get over quickly. After all, it’s “just” a race. However, we set out and expect to finish a race–that so-called failure (not a great choice of word) can be devastating. The expectation not being met results in suffering. Sitting with the feeling, acknowledging the suffering of those outcomes is necessary. If you are suffering–then your suffering is real. Acknowledge it.  Trying to push it down, pretend that it doesn’t exist is making everything worse.  If you feel alone, you are most certainly not.  Every time I have written anything where I was hurting, I have a dozen people reach out and say, “Oh my goodness. I thought I was alone.” You. Are. Not. Alone. Find your place. If you don’t know your place, then I have two groups that are free that might be for you: The Year of No Nonsense and Grateful Sobriety Join a safe place. Speak your suffering to someone and let someone say: You are not alone. I PROMISE you they will. And if they don’t, they aren’t the safe place. If you don’t feel comfortable in a group, or don’t know who to tell… then just tell me. Love to you all, M PS – if that doesn’t make you feel better, here’s a picture of a hedgehog.

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Tri*Fe Announcement!

ANNOUNCEMENT EVERYTHING at Tri*Fe Tri has been reduced in price. Yes, there are items in CLEARANCE, but in addition to those, ALL the tri kits, tops, and one-pieces (regular items) have been reduced from 5-20% (yes, even the new stuff). Why? Well, everyone should be able to afford a well-fitting, long-lasting and beautiful kit in their size this season. That means you too. Go here to shop the new Tri Fe Tri. Triathlon for the Every Woman – sizes S to 4XL [Thank you for understanding that new prices cannot be applied retroactively to past orders]

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Making Time: Can We Do It?

I have had interesting conversations with people over the last few weeks about the concept of “the same 24 hours” and the great debate of “I don’t have time.” The thoughts and interest continued with a great conversation with Melissa Hartwig last week, some more conversations with family and friends–and my recent news about a time-crunch that is squeezing me in new, but awesome ways… I was forced to pause and ask myself (once again) about the ever-elusive time and what does it mean to “have time”? I have, over the years, “found” time in interesting ways to find time. I have created and shared tools and methods (the Suck Line), made early morning wake-ups a part of life, and learned the art of re-shuffling priorities. I have given up drinking and bar time (a giant time suck and health drain, mind you) and taken to a life of lunchtime smoothies (a giant time saver), saying no to coffee dates with people for periods of time, and checking my email inbox at only, special prescribed times. I make and adhere to lists. I put my phone on silent. I never take naps (ever). And more. I go upside down. I have turned to CrossFit–which is a serious “bang for your buck” workout.  I set timers, turn on “state” music, and work without peeing for hours (okay, so that’s not part of the plan usually, but it happens).  I have read all the books about time management, taking hacks from 4-Hour Work Week and High Performance Habits and Tools of Titans). I am efficient and hard-working as I can be. I believe whole-heartedly in the hustle. I also believe in rest periods (of really not more than a day or two, I’ll be honest). I believe in self-forgiveness and love, but also not giving ourselves “outs.” [[[Dude, I’m trying to figure it out.]]] Ah-hem. And with all of this “figured out,” I said to the Expert yesterday, in light of my new deadlines: “I have no idea how I am going to get these things done. I just am scared I don’t have the time.” He said, “Well of course you will get them done. These two things matter the most to you right now.” Ah-freaking-ha! With all the tools and tricks and people telling us how to find time and be more efficient–what have I learned?  It’s pretty simple:  if something matters, there is always time for it.  And that is the simple part of “we all have the same 24 hours – it’s what we do with it, that leads to our greatest health, happiness and success.” In other words, the WORLD does not define what is success–we do. We can create and define what is success and what matters IN OUR WORLD and TO US- and suddenly, we are all time-makers. We learn the subtle art of “no nonsense” and “I can’t” and “no thanks.”  We learn to get rid of toxic people and things. We truly hem and haw about “not having time” when we have a life and list of things that are crushing us–because so many of those things are not important. What is important? That is the question to ask about making time. (*I will caveat:  life is hard.  Sometimes the curveballs of sickness, loss, and more–that’s not what finding time in this post is about.  Those things require certain processes of grief and a different time-frame altogether; please do not mistake this in any way for addressing these complexities in life.) My thoughts recently have centered around time and how we can make our lives what we want.  I have spent years working towards making time in the way that I needed.  And then I found myself saying, “I don’t have time.” I almost slapped myself. I know better. Truly, it’s up to me to create the time I need–doesn’t meant that’s easy. But it is up to me to say “no” (to whatever and whoever), go to bed, turn off the phone, put my head down and work.  It’s up to me to wake up at 4:30 and get my day started. I have to ask myself: what matters and how do I focus on those things?  The constant juggling act requires intense focus and care. At the end of the day–we must ask these questions and stick to our priorities. Give ourselves kindness, but not “outs”; give ourselves a break, but not a breakdown. Summary: we can do this! Turns out, I needed these thoughtful discussions this week, and I think you all might too. Today’s episode on the Same 24 Hours Podcast is with Bob Clagett – author of “Making Time” and host/founder/genius behind the addictive DIY YouTube channel “I Like to Make Stuff”. Bob figured out how to “make time” for what he wanted–to escape his day job in software–and chase his dream AND inspire others in the process.  He likes to makes stuff, AND help others find their inner crafts-person–through an amazing YouTube channel with well over a million subscribers: I Like to Make Stuff. Whether it’s music, websites,  software,  furniture,  vintage scooters or motorcycles—you name it–he likes to make it. He is the father of four, husband of one and loves his life completely. He recently left the software industry to make stuff for a living and started I Like To Make Stuff.  I Like To Make Stuff is a place to chronicle the work and interests of Bob Clagett with the aim of providing inspiration to the DIY and maker community. I loved this episode. Hope you will check it out! Love to you all, Meredith

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The Big Brave Silence

Until recently, my “brave” life had been a long exercise in trying to make everyone happy. I began to look at where a life of people-pleasing had landed me: addicted, sicker and heavier than ever, sadder than the final episode of Friends.⠀ ⠀ My brave life has changed–drastically over the last few years–and honestly, it’s changed drastically since I found triathlon. I have been in triathlon for almost eight years—in the way I have known how: training really hard, loving it, learning all the things, encouraging others to love it and more.

The Race Clock Ain’t The Only Clock

In 2013, I finished my first Ironman race with exactly 16 minutes to spare under the time cut-off. In 2015, I finished my third Ironman race with exactly 16 minutes to spare under the time cut-off. This week in CrossFit, I finished the Workout of the Day (“the WOD”) with 16 seconds to spare–under the prescribed time cut-off. What is with me and these 16 minute/second cut-offs? I thought about the CrossFit workout – which was three rounds of the following:  800 meter run, 20 wall ball shots, 800 meter row, 20 burpees – all within a 35 minute time.  Doesn’t seem like a lot, but that’s 1.5 miles of running and 1.5 miles of rowing, 60 squats and 60 burpees in 35 minutes.  Trust me – it adds up, and aerobically–it’s a killer. I have a theory that I will use exactly the amount of time that I am given–in life and in races and in workouts. The shorter the deadline? The faster I get it done. The shorter the timeframe? I’ll squeeze myself into it, somehow.  Might not be pretty, but I’ll do it. Somehow. For example, I went into Ironman Louisville in 2015 a little nervous. I was under-trained because of a bike crash and a car crash. Also, Louisville that year had a cut-off that was 16:30 hours from the first swimmer in the water–so at most I would have 16:30, and it would definitely be less than that because I wouldn’t be the first swimmer in the water. I finished in 15:28–a PR of Ironman-branded race by an hour and 18 minutes.  Okay, so what gave? Well, in that instance, I had built a great aerobic base through that year – sure, I missed much of the key work towards the end – but I had raced Placid and all the training leading up to that only twelve weeks prior. I was in good shape. But also, I think I knew that I had a job to do–that I had less time to do it in–and I needed to move my arse. There is a certain obsession that comes with looking at our Garmins and timing for pacing during a race, and rightly so.  After all, most races do have a time limit. As the race progresses, we can get easily disappointed when we see our bike splits, our time out of the water–especially when we are amped up for a “great race” and we “deserve” a great race, but for whatever reason, the times are not reflecting our hard work. Tough deals, for sure. I also know that keeping an eye on the time and knowing what you need to do in order to make the dream happen is very valuable information.  Doing math on the fly is a part of the gig of triathlon.  (I am not very math-y – so this always keeps me very occupied during a race.) Racing without a barometer is risky if you are one of us who races near the cutoffs. I also think racing without a Garmin/watch is a form of sticking your head in the sand.  Now, before you get all mad, hear me out. Personally, I believe it’s a good idea to race with the timer / race clock going on your watch (if there’s a time cutoff – if there’s no cutoff, I’m indifferent to this).  Maybe have only two screens going:  your heartrate or power or pace (if that’s a thing you want to know), and the timer. Why?  Well, I always think knowing that you have X minutes left to grab your dream is valuable information. You can see that your watch says you’ve been racing for 5 hours and 30 minutes.  In a half-iron, you might have exactly 3 hours to get your half marathon done.  That’s GREAT intel. If you back it up and have pre-written the math for the bike, you know you need to get done with the bike with X time to spare.  That’s also good intel. It pushes you. And yep, maybe it messes with your head. Maybe it’s difficult math to do. (But you’re tough.  You can do it!) I am a proponent of knowing the truth, accepting reality, and dealing with that in whatever way you can.  Especially if it can help push you to make your dream happen. I spent way too much of my adult life with my head down and not saying what I meant, beating around bushes and such. Life is too short. Head out of sand! Head up! Eyes on the prize! Plus, what if we finished (purposely) without the Garmin and were two minutes over the cutoff?  Sure, we can say “time doesn’t matter, I’m an Ironman” and go with that (not arguing that point one way or another).  But… why risk it?  Do you think if we HAD the Garmin we might have found those two minutes? I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. To me, it’s not worth the gamble. Truth is truth and it’s better to have one less excuse for yourself after the race is over.  If you knew the time you had, and you pushed the best way you could?  And you didn’t make it?  At least you knew the parameters you had and tried your best. That is also good intel for your soul.   You really can’t argue with I gave it all I had. That is the final verdict that matters. Here’s my experience with race-day math. In Lake Placid, when I found myself on a massive time crunch from a kick/punch to the head during the swim, a slower-than-hoped for bike, and a marathon that I knew I was walking, I had a clear picture of my time.  I had to keep a 16 minute mile to finish that race.  I had to move my butt.  I had to walk fast.  I would not have known how fast I needed to actually walk without a pace number. Someone could have said “walk fast” and I would have said, “okay” …but I might not have walked that fast. I walked against the clock, doing the math and moving.  It was good info. After all, we want to finish in the time prescribed. We want to be an “official” finisher.  I don’t care what anyone says.  Everyone wants that. Of course, we make the best of it when we don’t pull it off exactly as hoped BUT but I think it’s safe to say that going into a race, we want to finish in the time prescribed. I want to give myself the tools to do the best I can. Finally, just as we are not defined by the scale–we are also not defined by a race clock. We are not defined by the races we didn’t finish, nor the races we don’t start.  We are not defined by the title of “Ironman” or “half Ironman” or  even “runner” or “triathlete.” There is a big difference between owning our athleticism (a good thing!) and letting our accomplishments own us. It’s great to say “I am a triathlete” – but it’s not so great to say “triathlon is my life.” In the race world, give yourself the best shot possible for your finish within the time limits.  Why wouldn’t you?  Know your surroundings and your time limits. At the same time, don’t let it freak you out, and don’t let it define you. Yes, push the best you can.  Don’t give yourself excuses or an out. Trust your training.  Trust yourself. Know you are amazing. Just keep moving forward, and let that forward motion define you–let your best effort under whatever circumstances race day brings be the proof that you are alive, you are trying and you are showing up to your life. That is the real win. That is the real clock.

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On Respect with Melissa Hartwig

So I’m interviewing Melissa Hartwig for the podcast in two weeks. That’s a pretty cool thing. (For anyone doesn’t know, she is a founder of Whole30, a four-time New York Times bestselling author (It Starts With Food,  The Whole30, Food Freedom Forever, and The Whole30 Cookbook) and someone who really started my journey towards whole food back in 2013-2014.  You could say that I’m a slow learner.) In other words, Melissa is a bit of a badass. So how did this interview get booked? I recognize that interviews sometimes fall through, but regardless, I think the process of booking it was interesting and encouraging. This interview came out of an Instagram post of hers that rubbed me wrong–but only because she was basically saying she did NOT agree that “we all have the same 24 hours”–in that some people use that expression like a mic drop–figure it out and stop complaining sort of way. (More on her reasoning in a bit…) But when I saw it, I was like, “Holy sh*t–stake through my heart! My podcast by that same! My work!” So of course, I receive a dozen messages:  “Have you seen Melissa’s post?!” I knew I had to defend my idea, my podcast. I knew I also paused at some of her points. So I responded to it, and tagged her on Instagram with this post.  — which can be summed up with this: ⠀ We DO have the same 24 hours–and while mine might not look like yours–it’s exactly about hope. It’s about power and finding our own strength in our own realms, in our own 24 hours, in the best ways that we can…  Turns out, we all DO have the same 24 hours… And it’s our power to be great, to find that greatness.  Like John Young says, sometimes you’re the hammer and sometimes you’re the nail—be the hammer (@dwarfparatri) …We all have the same 24 hours. It’s what we do with them that makes us become the best US possible. ⠀ So naturally, Melissa responded. I couldn’t believe how quickly she responded… but she said: I respect your clarification, but please don’t just analyze MY message based on the opener. The point of my post was really summarized in the last real paragraph: You can’t just say to someone “We all have the same 24 hours,” drop the mic and walk away if you want to make a real impact. If you are trying to inspire change, platitudes like this without context or practical solutions are the laziest way out, and generally ineffective. You can certainly OPEN with “We all have the same…” but then a true leader’s job is to follow that up with context, advice, and specific motivation to the topic at hand (fitness, entrepreneuring, parenting, etc). Which is exactly what it sounds like you do with your podcast. Which I then responded: Yes ma’am—which is exactly what I try to do… but based on my podcast by the same name, I had to clarify MY message when everyone starts sending me your post. ❤ Now… care to be a guest on the show and let’s find out what makes your 24 hours great… ? ❤

The Speed of You: It’s All that Matters

At RaceMania this weekend someone asked the question about when triathlon and running became easy for me.  (This is not the first time this has been asked, by the way.) Of course, the response to that was all, “Ummm… Never?” Because running isn’t easy for me.  Swimming can be–to a degree.  Cycling comes in second–not easy, but more natural, but only after working at it for years. But running–no, that’s been a long process of trying to be even competent. [And out of the three sports in triathlon–let me be clear. I’m not super great at ANY of the three.]  And mind you further, I am not being negative. This is not me being “so down on myself” or asking for you to say, “Oh, but you ARE sooooo great!!!”    On paper and in an objective way, one really cannot say that I am great at any of the three disciplines that involve triathlon–there are far, far far superior athletes out there, so there’s not need to belabor this point.  /MovingOn But I have worked really hard over the past almost-eight years in many, many ways… in the public ways, and in the behind-the-scenes ways that no one even really knows about… and never will.   Because at this point, I can say that for ME, I am GREAT at triathlon. Because when I started this sport, I couldn’t run 10 minutes without BRUISING the bottoms of my feet. Literally. I was doing one mile jogs at a 16:00-17:00 minute mile–and leaving myself with bruises—from my post-two-baby weight, from the pain, from my ignorance about proper shoes, running form, any of it. All of it… it was a bloody hot mess.  So the progress to a 2:11 half marathon of 13.1 RUNNING miles at a 10:00 pace, in reality, is actually huge–even in the time it has taken me. And the cycling? Falling at every light because I couldn’t work pedals or brakes. Crying, sweaty hot tears because, “For the love of god, how hard is it to RIDE AN EFFING bike!??” Not understanding ANYTHING about a bike. Gearing? Oh em gee. When I started riding? A 6 mile bike was torture… torture! And 10 MPH? Yes, on a good day… Fast forward a few years… to go from crashing at stop lights (still do, sometimes!) to Ironman on the bike (yes, even at 14.8 MPH for the 112 miles). That is also actually huge. Very huge. Finally, the swimming. During my first swims, I sputtered down the pool… stopping before 25 meters. Weeks and weeks later, my first mile took me almost an hour. And to end up swimming 10,000 meters a while ago (and I’ll be honest in a really obnoxious way, because it’s all I’ve really got… that 10k swim wasn’t even hard… like at all)…