What could *possibly* be more important than updating your blog, Kelly?

Once upon a time, there was a lovely little summer storm that swept southeastern Michigan. It brought rain. A lot of rain.

"Kelly, that is a lovely pond near your house."
"Thanks, but it's actually the road, sidewalk, and half my yard after approximately ten minutes of the rain."

One of the few vehicles that didn't stall out while driving through the neighborhood. (It's probably a FORD.) #motorcitylove

"Boy, Kel, with all that action outside, you must have been super worried about your basement, huh?"

"Nope. Not at all. Just this winter we dropped a pretty penny on waterproofing the basement. All that work held up beautifully. However, all the waterproofing in the world is no match for when the SEWER backs up."

If you're wondering if crib mattresses float, the answer is YES.

Also, boxes and bins float, cardboard disintegrates, wood and fabric absorbes... it was like a real life science lesson. Homeschool. Speaking of, to the left is all of our homeschool curriculum.

Our humidifiers = death by water.
There has to be a joke there, somewhere.

Also, sanders and saws and other miscellaneous tools do not like to swim.

And the final verdict? About six inches of sewage.
Thank God for that pump. It worked tirelessly all night and Tuesday dawned bright and early with only a squishy and puddley (totally a word) basement to be had. 

Once the water was gone I could survey the damage...
I stopped counting at $1000 worth of curriculum destroyed.
(For those that know what I'm talking about - on the right is the ENTIRE Answers in Genesis God's Design for Science curriculum. Also lost - two years of My Father's World. The deluxe kits. Ouch.)

On Tuesday night help arrives in the form of eleven strong young men ready to haul out our possessions and do whatever needs to be done.

Seth, John, and Hosanna wash all the sealed but submerged food and drinks that were floating around the basement. Our pantry was downstairs. We saved $70 worth of soy milk, $50 worth of canned/jarred goods, and 20+ unopened gallons of water. We lost anything in cardboard, or anything absorbent.

Salvageable goods begin to take over our home.
(Aren't we blessed to have so many salvageable goods?!)

Destroyed goods go on the right in our garage, salvageable goods on the left.
(pictured (the destroyed goods) = furniture, an amp, MY PLYO BOX)

First day of garbage. I honestly stopped taking pictures at this point except for what we needed for insurance purposes. We have filled to overflowing two bagster dumpsters (most of this was with the drywall, baseboards, doors and other construction debris that accrued from the restoration process) and filled the entire easement with trash. The following week's garbage looked similar. 

Our focus now is on sanitizing the salvageable goods. Every item that touched the water has to be washed with an antimicrobial, washed with clorox, and then thoroughly dried. Anything solid wood needs to go through the same process, but then be re-varnished afterwards. My elliptical survived but needs to be taken completely apart and every surface washed and disinfected. We need a professional to do that.

This has been such an overwhelming undertaking. I came down with a sinus infection and double ear infections after days of sorting/cleaning the wet basement. We started homeschool less than a week after this all happened. (We're doing online school so we didn't have any wiggle room.) We needed new furniture so we had somewhere to sit. I've never had insomnia, but these past two weeks brought many nights that I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m., only to have Ezra wake me up at 7:00. Because poop. Or milk. Or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, please.

My Pollyanna Thankfulness List:

*Nothing brings the neighborhood together quite like disaster. Everyone is out on their front lawns chatting it up with whoever is out. People gather to help haul, or share dumpsters, or pass along contractor names. A family down the street that came away relatively unaffected brought us vegan cupcakes. Vegan cupcakes. They are my new favorites for life.

*Welp, the basement has been on my Must Clean Out list for years. This is one way to start/finish that project.

*Antibiotics and iced coffee - did you really think I could go a whole thankfulness list without mentioning iced coffee? It's like you don't even know me. After three days of the antibiotics for my sinus and ears I felt like a new person. And while the melatonin I bought at GNC isn't touching my insomnia, the Quest bars I bought during that same shopping trip are making me deliriously happy.

*Comparatively, we came out pretty okay. We lost a ton of stuff. We have a huge cleanup in front of us. But there are people in Metro Detroit who lost their entire homes. Their homes were moved off the foundations from these floods and are now unsafe and uninhabitable. I belong to a flood recovery group on Facebook and there are people dealing with six feet of water in their homes. I am thankful for just six inches of sewage. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

*Lifetime Fitness and Kemper - working out has been my sanity. I can forget and just lift and feel accomplished and so much better.

*Friends and Family. You guys. I have no words for how blessed I am. Here is a happy little picture I took with Sister Wife Rose at a wedding Saturday.

Me and Sister Wife Rose = the best kind of trouble.

Happy Friday everyone! Enjoy that weekend!

Up a creek (yep,*that* creek - literally) without a paddle. Also, when it rains it pours.

MY FIRST EVER VLOG. 

Y'all - try to contain your excitement. 

Here is a video to prove how Midwestern I am.

Also, just send me some love. For real. It's crappy here. LITERALLY.

(Sewage jokes, already? Too soon, Kel.)

Hey Daddy, those are some long legs you have...

So, Day Two of the camping trip.

After returning from Wal-Mart I ate two mini Kit Kat found my friend Eliza who offered to help me fulfill yet another one of the items on (last year's) Summer Bucket List. (Um, *yeah* I'm still working on last year's list.  I'm totally not a quitter, dude.)

Eliza told me she brought two kayaks to the campgrounds.  We were free to kayak anytime we wanted and I wanted to right now.  But while I was totally pumped to get out on the lake, on a scale from one to ten, one being: not at all and ten being: consumed and miserable by the mere possibility, I felt about a "six" concerning Getting Caught Doing Something Stupid While Learning to Kayak. Because statistically, the chances of me publicly embarrassing myself on a normal day are above average*; throw learning a new skill, balance, and water in the mix? It's like a perfect storm.

*Just ask my sister about the time I tweaked my shoulder performing the Roger Rabbit during a dance off with my six year old nephew. Some call it "over-committing" but I say "it's impossible to over-commit when dance off bragging rights are on the line."*

Eliza and I walked around the lake to where the kayaks were stored and I made absolutely sure that she knew she was going to have to go first to show me everything. I wanted to watch her get in the kayak and paddle before I even attempted such a feat. Mostly I was concerned with tipping the kayak, but only because leeches.

Just as we reached the kayaks, Eliza's husband John and her two boys (middle school aged) pulled up in their truck to say they were running an errand. This arrival turned out to be the saving grace of this whole experience, because as Eliza was flipping over the kayaks and telling me all the Very Important Needs to Know info about this venture, I realized my kayak was filled. with. bugs.

Now, you might be thinking, keeping with true Sublurban Mama form, that statement might be a bit of an exaggeration and maybe there were like, three crickets up in that thing. You would be so wrong, friend. As soon as I saw all those creepy-crawly things I immediately stopped hearing Eliza talk and this happened in my head.

"Duuuuuuuuuude. I can not get in there.  Oh.my.lanta.  I just ... can not. There are: one, two, three ... six freaking daddy longlegs. Is that a cricket? Nope.  That's at least five very active crickets.  And that thing?  I don't even know what that thing is. I'm going to die. How rude would it be to ask Eliza to switch with me? Could I do that? She's already taking me out on the lake in her kayaks ... and that's super nice. I don't know if I can do this."

Then John broke in with some really helpful information.

John: Did you know that Daddy Longlegs are one of the most poisonous spiders, but they can't bite humans because their legs get in the way.

Kelly: Dude, that's awesome. *eyes kayak nervously* So, I'm not going to die when all those spiders attack me? *probably looks like I'm about to cry*

John: *a married man who correctly assesses when a woman is about to lose her hold on her calm, detached manner, calls to the truck* Hey boys, come catch some bugs.

Did you audibly hear angels sing from heaven when he said that?  Because I assure you, the angels sang.

When those darling manly men captured all the bugs and left me with a safe kayak, I flopped down into it gracefully seated myself and pushed off into the great beyond.

Kayaking was so much fun! Honestly, Eliza and I were chatting too much and the lake was too small to really go anywhere, but we paddled around the lake a few times.  I only ran into her four times, totally pseudo-yelping, "DUDE! I'm going to run into you because I don't know how to stop/steer properly/understand the physics of using a paddle yet!" every single time and apologizing because I'm polite when I crash into someone with their own vessel.

Just another tranquil day on the water, with me kayaking like a boss. No biggie.

This is what the fulfillment of a life goal looks like, for those of you taking notes.

I was about to count the whole kayak adventure a success when I looked down at my right arm. Perched on my forearm like he owned the place was a freaking rogue Daddy Longlegs. Without thinking I screamed, "Eeeuugh," which roughly translated means, "THERE IS A HUGE-A SPIDER ON MY AAARRRRMMM" and reached over with my left hand, grabbed the spider without even wearing any gloves, and threw it. It was like I was overtaken by a super power. It was just like when a mother is able to lift a car off her child, but instead of getting super strength I got a different super power. The super power of "No Fear of Grabbing the Spider Because You Are Too Consumed With the Fear of It Chilling On Your Arm". (That's what I'm getting printed on my cape, anyways.)(Disclaimer: It's going to be a pretty big cape.)

That's really the moment, surviving the absolute worst kayaking could throw at me, I knew kayaking could be my thing. Even three days later when my sunburned shins started peeling like I was supplying a dandruff commercial because I never thought to pay extra sun-care attention to my lower legs, instead focusing on my face, ears, and hair part, I knew I had the potential to be A Kayaker.

So, thank you Eliza (and John and the boys) for a lovely time on the water, and for helping me get one step closer to finishing the Summer of 2012 Bucket List.

Some call it "Fourth Place"; I prefer to think of it as "Third from Winning"

"Duuuuude, Kel, nice job on FOURTH place. You
must be soooo stoked and like, super fast, man."

So I totally did it.  I may have cried a little.  But I FINISHED THE RACE. I also may have placed fourth in my age group.  (Please don't harsh my buzz by reminding me there were only four in my age group.)

Thank you for all the prayers on my Facebook plea Friday night. My triathlon was on Saturday. My LAST CHANCE Thursday evening swim workout ended about fifteen minutes after it started.  I was stuck behind a slower swimmer and had to switch from freestyle to breaststroke.  I wasn't really concentrating and made a lame attempt at the breaststroke kick and tweaked my knee.  I tried water walking on it and it hurt so soon I just got out of the pool. 

On Friday night Sarah came over to look at it.  (How did I manage to get a training partner that is also in orthopedics?!)  She thought it was a bruised meniscus and told me how to treat it.  She encouraged me to go to the race as planned, and if I needed to, I could always DROP OUT.  All I could think of was a huge DNF next to my name.  What a struggle - do I try and risk a Did Not Finish - or do I just throw in the towel and not try at all?

I trained and trained my tush off for this race.  I only do one triathlon a year because I have four kids and they have some pretty messed up priorities.  I mean, they would rather have money to eat dinner than allow the woman who birthed them to participate in numerous triathlons.  How selfish.  So this was my one shot this year. *Enter Eminem's Lose Yourself swelling in the background like a wave ready to crash on the beach of Lake Huron* (Compatible simile FTW.)

"I love open water swimming.  Also, if you smile wide
enough you can almost forget this water is about 70
degrees*". (*not a made up number to shock you;
the legitimate temperature of the water.)

It was a huge victory for me to get in the water and start that race.  My lifelong buddy - good old Fear of Failure - was with me the entire previous twenty-four hours, but I finally duct taped his mouth on the beach before the swim and just decided I was going to go for it.

So, how did it go?

It was awesome.  And it sucked.

Firstly, some background on the young fella in the picture.  Sarah and I have been training with a teenager named Jacob for a few months.  He is a runner and a cyclist, and I thought he would love triathlon, but the boy needed to learn how to swim.  (I mean, he could swim, but he couldn't swim, youknowwhatImean?)  He decided to do the Olympic distance (which was double my Sprint!) and a very ambitious goal for a first tri.  He worked really hard to get his endurance up for the race, but we never had time to do any open water practices.  Pool swims are vastly different from open water.

The water Saturday morning was C-O-L-D but also really, really rough.  Lake swims are usually fairly calm, but Lake Huron is one of the five Great Lakes, so it has things like tides and waves and undertow and mimics more closely an ocean swim than a smaller lake swim.

Pre-race I threw every word of wisdom at Jacob I could think of.  I'm sure it was entirely helpful and didn't freak him out at all.

"Dude, don't worry about your time - just stay alive.  You can make up time on the bike and run.  If you get tired switch to breaststroke or sidestroke.  Take your time to recover.  You are not going to drown.  You might get kicked, your goggles might get knocked around. You could even inhale some water, but remember, you can go a long time without air. Just stay calm, you'll be fine.  Look for the kayaks if you need help.  But, you'll totally be fine."

I'm a really good coach/pep talk giver.

The race started (Olympic distance first) and Jacob was off. There were only fourteen in his entire race and it was a very competitive field.  He was the youngest by a few years.

I waited nervously for the Olympic Distance swimmers to round the buoy at 250 yards, and then I peed in the water joined the horde of Sprinters close to the start.

I thought I was being smart this year by not placing myself behind the slower swimmers.  I knew I had upped my game in training and was ready to be a lot more confident in the water.  At the bell I scrambled for my position.  It looked something like this:

Only 20 yards in I got kicked in the face and my goggles got knocked off.  I also inhaled a ton of water.  I couldn't catch my breath and the waves (which really look non-existent in this picture so you're just going to have to trust me on that) were knocking me back.  I was already in over my head (haha - figuratively, as well) and couldn't stand to get any air or to fix my goggles.

I freaked the heck out.  I could feel a panic attack a-comin'.  It was every worst case triathlon scenario combining into a fantastic culmination of suck.  I don't even know if that sentence makes any sense - I just know at that point I was having a huge problem that had nothing to do with my knee.  I thought about calling for a pool noodle, but then realized I couldn't find a kayak in order to request one. Finally I remembered what I told Jacob, namely that I wasn't going to die.   First I had to clear my lungs and get some air.  After a minute of sidestroking and slowing down my mind while taking teeny breaths that did let in some air, I calmed down enough to cough a bit.  Once I had my full breath I adjusted my goggles.  They were still a little wet inside (and very foggy) but at least I wasn't completely blind anymore.

I tried freestyle but at this point I was fully entrenched in the breaststrokers.  I just couldn't get through anywhere.  These people had dutifully followed directions and waited in the back so they wouldn't get swam over, and honestly, at that point I was just not powerful enough to swim over anyone. (But I probably accidently goosed at least three people with my stroking arm.)(Stroking arm.)(*giggle*)

When I neared the beach I tried running out of the water but the undertow was cuh-razy strong and unexpected, so I sort of stumbled majestically.  Like, the waves battered me from behind while the water grabbed at my ankles and I did a weird curtsy looking thing in order to stay upright.  (Shout out to Will and Kate!) The beach that separates the water from the transition area is about 100 yards of soft sand.  I ran about six steps before my knee said, "Naw, girl, let's meander this beach."

Meander I did.  It looked something like this:

I would subtitle this photo: Discouragement/I'm About To Kill Something/Brian Better Not Be Taking A Picture Of Me Because I Hate Everything Right Now/I Can Literally Feel Seaweed On My Back/Tri Shorts Moving South In Order To Display a FANTASTIC Muffintop

I'm not going to lie.  I cried a bit in Transition.  I told Brian, "I can't run. Waaaaa." (Not an ugly Kim Kardashian cry, but a pitiful little whimper-esque thing.) Brian ignored me and yelled, "GO KELLY! YOU GOT THIS!" which is why I married him.

Broccoli tattoo in full effect.
P.S. It's totally not really broccoli.

Thinking only about the hill.  And my bike shorts.  Which were caught on the seat.

Bike started just the way I needed it to.  I was totally worried that the bike course starts with a hill.  There is no real lead up to it; it's just right there as you get on your bike.  As I was getting on my bike, my tri shorts caught on my bike seat. Since the only thing they have to grip is my bathing suit, the bike seat pulled my shorts down fantastically low and I had to make a snap decision - commit to the hill or pull up my shorts?

You don't even need to wonder what I chose; you know I'm a super hardcore athlete, so of course I mooned* everyone along the entire bike course. (* It was just a bathing suit moon, 100% legal, chill out.)

The bike portion was so.much.fun.  I knew the course, biking wasn't hurting my knee (it never fully extends while pedaling), and, since I seriously doubted I would be running, I went full out for the duration, not worrying about conserving any energy for the 5k. WOO-HOO!  Miles 3-6 are a steady incline, so my legs were feeling it by the time I turned around.  Then I got to Speedy Gonzales my way downhill. It was wonderful.  THAT was what I trained for.

After bike I decided I was just going to walk to stupid 5k.  I certainly wasn't going to quit at this point.  The race volunteers assured me the course would still be open (due to the Olympic racers) for as long as it took me to finish.  My pride took a beating as I strolled past spectators cheering on the first finishers.  I jogged a few steps every ten feet just to test things out.  It was getting easier to jog as my legs calmed down from the bike portion, but it still wasn't the most graceful looking comfortable thing I've ever done.

I walked about 3/4 mile before I had this epiphany: It hurts to walk.  It hurts to run. I may as well run because it will go faster.  (This is the kind of reasoning that separates us from primates, y'all.)

About this time I met Jack, my Triathlon Best Friend.  Jack and I had been leapfrogging for the run portion.  (I know some people hate leapfroggers, but they don't bother me at all.  I just assume it's their well thought-out plan to avoid injury or something else altruistic.) He kept asking questions about the run course and I explained how clearly it was marked.  I was pretty sure he was over the tri thing at this point and just wanted to chat with someone.  Plus he kept jogging and walking at inconsistent intervals, so Hey There, Sherlock.

I finally called out, "Yo, Number 14," which was his age,"Wait up a minute."  He stopped and I caught up and continued, "So my knee hurts and you look like you are struggling a bit.  Let's stay together and set little goals.  What do you think?" He was all, "Totally, Woman Who Seems Not Crazy At All Like Someone Who Is An Expert At All Things Triathlon."  This was an excellent system for both of us.

Jack was a fourteen year old who recently moved to Michigan from Australia. He is the oldest of four, a soccer player, and about to enter high school in the fall.  I was all, "I could be your mom." Jack's proper response should have been, "No, you're not old enough," but instead he replied, "Yeah!"  I forgave him since he encouraged me for almost two whole miles before his uncle caught up with us and Jack blew our current pace out of the water to finish with Uncle John.

The last half mile was run on pure heart.  I knew the course; I knew I had the equivalent to a few blocks and some downtown area to run.  I was pretty warmed up and my knee wasn't as loud in it's complaining.  I knew I was going to finish this running. Dare I say I actually felt TRIUMPHANT at this point?  I probably cried a little again.

50 yards to go! Run, Kelly, Run!

SMILES? 25 yards to go!

FINISH LINE!!!!!!

I crossed the finish line at 1:35 - less than five minutes slower than last year.  You gotta believe that stung a little.  If only I would have run the whole thing ... ;-)  I came in fourth in my age group - there were only four of us, natch - and top three got finisher medals, but hey, now I know what is possible for next year, right?

We waited for Jacob to finish.  He finished in an impressive 2:39.  He beat out two other triathletes.  He was last out of the water but not last up the beach after the swim; he averaged 18.5 mph on his 24 mile bike course riding a heavy mountain bike (with the lock still attached!)(wish I'd caught that earlier), and finished the race with a 6.2 mile run with an average pace of 7:39 - WHAT?! (oh to be young, driven, and naturally athletic.)  I was so proud of him.  He worked so hard and is now a TRIATHLETE!

Future Ironman.  You heard it here first, kids.

We completed the day with a Grand Slam breakfast at a Denny's where the hostess loved me and got me a giant bag of ice to put on my knee.  She even sat us in the corner booth so I could prop up my leg behind Esther while we inhaled ate our pancakes like ladies.

I shared my bacon with Eve = Best Mom Ever.

The End.

When the Recap Fairy Sneezes

So, I really want to finish up the California Series (doesn't that sound totally like I have a grownup, well-thought out blog?) but I also really want to recap Saturday's triathlon.  Lest you think this is the worst First World Problem I've had today, let me share with you that:



My church clothes were really comfortable but I had to grocery shop so I had to change into my really comfortable blue jean cut-offs while I was still really comfortable from my nap and it's hard to transition between comforts.

My knee hurt but if I wore my knee brace with my comfy shorts my leg looked like a sausage in a casing.

I wanted Breyer's Thin Mint ice cream but Breyer's M&M ice cream was also on sale. I guess I had to buy them both.

One radio station had Imagine Dragons Radioactive while another was playing Bob Seger We've Got Tonight and I couldn't decide if I was feeling like a warrior or if I wanted to give in to PMS.

It was 5:30 p.m. but if I didn't have iced coffee right now I.might.die. but then I wouldn't be able to fall asleep quickly and I would have to stay up late watching t.v.

I got tired watching Brian unload the groceries from the car because then I could see how much there was for me to put away.


Let me tell you, it is rough living my life.  Truth.

In response to the initial recapping quandary (Cali or triathlon?), I'm simply going to share some pics, and recap the race fully on Wednesday.  Because you'll need the details about how I rallied from a life-altering knee injury* (*really, Drama Queen?) to place (7)1st out of EIGHTY-ONE competitors, which, if you can math, you figured that I beat out (count 'em) TEN of those participants.  But? I totally finished and I am darn proud I did.  Victory, yo.

Here is the pictorial conclusion to the California trip.

Dinner and an all-female mariachi band in Old Town San Diego.  Also, they did a Disney medley which was as awesome as it was weird.  I ate a tamale for the first time and now I think Eve is lucky we named her before this experience.  Otherwise my firstborn would be named Tamales de Pollo.  It was verde, verde good.

Mission Beach!  I've actually never seen a freeway exit with just the word "Beaches" on it.  It was sweet and prompted me to say, "Wat up, BEACH-ES?" a million times because it never stops being funny.  Never.

This is because I'm a really good friend to show you how committed Lauren is to getting a good shot.  The tide pools at Sunset Cliffs.  And yeah, as soon as she posts her pics to Facebook I'm totally stealing one of this cute little crab.  Adorbs.  Also, she will probably post (in revenge) several shots of me being "pensive" on the cliffs... and later standing up and realizing I left damp butt cheek prints on the rocks.  (Damp from sea water spray, not tush sweat. Stop being so gross. Seriously. Stahp.) (I almost published this with "stahp" - a Jersey Shore reference - spelled "staph", which would have taken this story in a whole 'nother direction.) 

So, I'm 34 years old and had never been here in my life.  Sister Wife Rachel suggested I get my fries "animal style" and the biggest regret of my life is that I did not heed her suggestion. No one in the vicinity of the restaurant had them and I was scared to ask.  This is how fear ruins your life, y'all.

Sunset at La Jolla.  If I wan't married I might troll La Jolla for a hubby. (#Iain'tsayin'sheagolddigger)
Gorgeous.

Two hours north of San Diego at Wayfarer's Chapel.  If I wasn't married and had found a husband at La Jolla, I would totally get married here.  It's a glass chapel that overlooks this kind of thing.

And this.

And this.  Sike.  That's just me.

So, to sum up California:  If I could pack up everyone I know and love and take them with me to southern California, I would do it tomorrow.  Consider that a heads-up, all you I know and love.  Settle your Michigan affairs and grab your sunblock because we are moving West. I will not easily forget you, California. Nor do I suspect some of you will easily forget me. (I might be thinking of you, Poor Snot Boy.)

As a teaser for Wednesday's post, check this out:

Awww yeah.  Jacob has been training with Sarah and I for a few months now.  This is his first triathlon. This picture was taken pre race, while we are full of terror optimism.

First of all, you're welcome.  Second, this is me before the start, mere minutes before I got kicked in the face, had to tread rough water to reattach my goggles and experiencing several of the other Triathlete's Worst Case Scenario happenings.  I can't wait to talk about this swim.  

Race recap Wednesday.  You don't want to miss it!

DFL - A Modern Day Horror Story

"Second Place is First Loser."
-the Navy Seals

I don't want to get too bragg-y, but in terms of my running speed, I'm pretty solidly in the 40th percentile.  Roughly 60 percent of the other runners in the race will cross the finish line before me.  I'm okay with that because 30 percent are finishing after me*, which I'm sure we all can agree is the main point of races.  You know, to beat somebody.

(*Even at my slowest, my very first 5K was comprised of both walkers and runners so I was guaranteed a middle-of-the-pack but totally an end of the pack for runners finish.)(It's not like any of the walkers passed me while I was running.)(That would be ridiculous.)(It totally happened.)(But if it did happen, it would have been by a cracked out power walker wearing Shape Ups.)(One who, if having incorporated just a little more bounce in her step would have technically been considered jogging.)(I'm going to suggest some of these "walkers" get tested for performance enhancing drugs before races.)(Because if there's one thing we learned from Lance, it's how to look bored out of your mind while confessing your contrition when you get caught doing the thing you spent your career vehemently swearing you didn't do   that it is possible for a Damage Control Publicity Tour to make you seem like more of a jackhole than the initial infraction ever did  that victory obtained through falsehood isn't true victory.)

As I was picking my races I thought, "It might be really cool to do an Olympic distance triathlon this summer."  The Olympic distance is twice as long as the Sprint distance I did last year.  I spent a few days warming up to the idea, looked up a good race, and committed.  I was going to do an OLYMPIC DISTANCE TRIATHLON.  I wrote out my training plan and took some time to revel in my own Bad-A self.  It was while I was dwelling on my awesomeness, picturing myself competing in this particular race, when I was struck by a horrifying thought.

(If you are a runner, there are a few acronyms you pick up along the way.  "PR" stands for the Personal Record, "LSD" is the long slow distance I drop every Sunday before church, and "ACL" is an injury to avoid like the plague.  Some acronyms you learn to save time, some to be cool, and some just for plain old survival. There is one such survival acronym in my arsenal that I never-evah-evah (Sorry Ms. Jackson)(forevah-evah?) wanted to see associated with my name.

D  F  L.

Dead Effing Last.)

I realized, what with the size (this race is very small.  Last year about 120 people raced the Sprint.  Only seventeen raced the Olympic.  Of those seventeen, two were women.) and caliber of athlete competing in this race (last year's slowest time - by a lot - for Olympic was 2:53:46), if I do the Olympic Distance Triathlon I want to do, there is a huge chance I will finish last.  Like last out of the whole entire race.  Both Sprint and Olympic combined.  DFL.

"So, Kelly, what's the big deal, find a different race."  I know.  I could just find something bigger and stop being such a drama queen get on with life.  But I like this race.  And now I have a mental challenge on top of the physical challenge of racing.  Can I emotionally handle being DFL?

So I've taken the first step.  (Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?) I've also taken the official next step, which I've decided is "Contact the race organizers and make sure there is not a time cut off for the Olympic distance."  Because the only thing more embarrassing than a DFL finish is the one you are not allowed to finish because you're TFS*.

*I made that one up.  You can work it out on your own.

How I Became an Ultra-Ironman Triathlete

I should not have put off writing today's post for as long as I have, as it is now late Tuesday night and instead of reveling in my normal hilarity I am sad, sad, sad.

Brian just took the in-laws to the airport. You know, where they will be boarding a plane to Africa.  For a year. (And by that I mean they will be living in Africa for a year, not boarding a plane for a year.)(It's just that my sentence structure was confusing and I didn't want anyone to be misinformed.)(Because here at Sublurban Mama we care about factual and accurate information.)(And avoid redundancies and repeating ourselves.)(Did you like how I said "we" like Sublurban Mama is more than me, a SAHM blogging in my jammies, wondering if Ezra will remember he has a Milky Way Valentine's heart from Grandma in the fridge or if he is still young enough that out of sight means out of mind, and if that is the case I should totally eat it?)

For those who already live far away from family, or just plain don't see yours much, in-laws in Africa for a year will not seem a big deal.  But I'm close with my in-laws, and the kiddos see their grandparents several times a week.  We live 3.1 miles apart (which is an excellent running route, because there's always cold water and a potty half way through)(and a ride home if I wuss out).  This will be an adjustment.  Because honestly, I can't see myself going out for a jog to Malawi anytime soon.  I am an ultrarunner at heart, but I should probably cover more than 6 miles at a time if I'm going to attempt intercontinental running.  Plus there's that whole "ocean" thing.  Although that could be the most intense triathlon ever.

The Ironman Triathlon is a 2.4 mile swim.  The Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon is about a 4,000 mile swim.  The Ironman follows it's swim with 112 miles on the bike.  My VTILIM Triathlon would have a 3300 mile bike ride.  The run would undoubtedly be the easiest part. The Ironman finishes with a little 26.2 mile marathon, and I think the VTILIM run would be about the same.  Except in a third world nation.  With no support or paved roads.  A trail run marathon.

Actually, my Visit the In-Laws in Malawi Triathlon sounds a lot like what I imagine is an everyday Navy Seal workout.  In fact, with a few minor tweaks (like the rule where you have to carry a weapon and wear camo body paint) I'm pretty sure I should rename this the Navy Seal Triathlon for Hardcore Endurance Athletes that Know Second Place is First Loser and that Pain is Just Weakness Leaving the Body.  It's catchier and more inclusive, don'tcha think?

Hoorah.

It Feels Good to be a Gangster

Victors.  Champions.  Warriors.

I came.  I saw.  I took a cup of water in the face because Rose had a mini-tantrum.  I conquered.  Awwww yeah. Warrior Dash 2012.

Can I say that I freaking love Warrior Dash?  For those of you who have been denied the knowledge of the existence of such an event, let me first apologize for how broken your heart will be when you discover what exactly you have been missing.

Warrior Dash is a 5k-ish run filled with 10-12 obstacles that will test your strength, endurance, and aversion to mud.  There are two story cargo nets to scale.  Fires to leap.  A pit of mud under barbed wire through which to belly crawl.  Also?  It is totally fun.

I somehow convinced Rose to do it with me this year.  Next year I'm coming after YOU (yes, you) so you better start training now in order to be ready.  (Or like a month before, whatev's.)

Since Brian needed the minivan to ferry our barrel of monkeys around town (or out to Pizza Hut because Papa "cooked" dinner), Rose agreed to drive the two and a half hour commute to Warrior Dash.  Thanks to that sweet ride, I have fulfilled my quota of Little Wayne and Young Jeezy for a while.  Rose does not share my intense personal love for Needtobreathe, but that's okay, because Little Wayne provided some inspiration a la songs I totally didn't understand but felt hardcore and plenty street while nodding my head and gritting my teeth as I listened. (Wesley Snipes is totally telling me I may have listened but I didn't hear it.  Sheesh.  Chill out Wesley Snipes.)

This is not me.  It's Curtis James Jackson III.  But picture me making this same face while listening to music in Rose's car and nodding my head.  You're a little intimidated, right?

Rose has a friend that lives a few minutes from the race grounds, so we went there first to pick her up.  Kathleen graciously offered to be the official photographer, and made available her shower after the race.  (And?  She's totally doing the dash next year.  Because she saw in person the sheer awesomeness.)

Because every WD is different, the map of the obstacle course I ran can be found here.  It was a little different from the WD I did in 2011.  Mainly, there was a lot less mud, which was mildly soul-crushing.  It was probably due to the fact that my first WD was held on a BMX course and that day it rained buckets.  This dash was held in a beautiful park and some of the trail was actually paved.  (It was like WD-lite for those parts.)  Plus our weather was suburb; sunny, cloudless, and 75 degrees. What it lacked in mud it made up for in hella hard water obstacles.

If you clicked to see the map, you would see right away there was about a mile run.  This was dusty, as it was a trail run with a few hundred people.  The fine people of the WD offered us water at the one mile mark, and after another quarter of a mile came the Deadman's Drop.  This obstacle is awesome because it requires climbing up and over a wooden wall about 15 feet high and sliding down an almost 90 degree wall of plywood on the other side.  If you were me, you were probably glad you wore your running capri's because the huge line of people at the bottom of the wall couldn't look up your shorts at the nasty granny panties you were wearing they seriously cut down on splinters.

Barricade Breakdown.  Over a four
foot wall, under a two foot barricade.
Five or six times.

The next obstacle was one of my favorites.  It was the Barricade Breakdown, followed by the Chaotic Crossover.  Since I've done them both before, I had a technique that involved not being scared and flying through them, occasionally going, "whoa - dude" whenever I slipped.






I'm not gonna lie.  The next obstacle, the Deadweight Drifter, was sum bul-loney. There, I said it. The idea of the obstacle is to get over five floating barricades in waist deep water.  At the last WD I did they used giant logs that we team-worked (totally a verb) pushed down and hopped over.  It was, as described, in waist deep water.  This year's obstacle used huge plastic flotation devices in water well over our heads.  There was no way to get up on top of them without some serious brute strength. Or, if you lacked that, mental consideration. This is where Rose proved her weight in gold.  I never expected to walk away from WD saying, "Thank God I had a cheerleading coach with me."  But Rose got stuff done.  Before I knew it we had a team of five or six working together.  Rose would do some fancy cheerleading foot boosting move (genius) to get me on top of the flotation device, and then I would pull her up.  It was by far, the hardest obstacle I've done.

There was another water obstacle with those same stupid floating things, but this one was in waist deep water, and the only sick thing was sinking into shin deep muck.  This is where I reveled a bit in all the mud.  This is where Rose took the opportunity to inform the world that her nails were totally done.  (In her defense, she then mentioned that she sounded a bit like a little um, female dog when she announced it, so that was kinda like she took the nail complaint back.)

The next few obstacles were good; mostly walls to climb, cargo nets to scale, balance beams to cross, and barbed wire to crawl under (over gravel - not too cool).  Rose and I walked all most of this portion.  Rose was feeling a bit *cranky* and said several hilarious things that she has forbidden me to post in this blog.  So you can thank her for ruining everyone's good time.  This is also where she threw a cup of water in my face.  Maybe because I finally told her, "Yes, everyone is totally looking at how bunched up your granny panties are, what the heck is wrong with you for not wearing a thong to WD?" For no reason at all.

We also discussed our mutual fear of leeches and she confessed that she was thinking of them during the two water obstacles we did, but out of love for me did not mention it out loud.  I was very grateful.  Then our very next obstacle was this:

This is an actual picture from the WD we did.  (Someone else took it, I just stole it from the Internets.)  Notice the ideal leech breeding ground?  Perfect timing for discussion of leeches?  We have it.

For the final three obstacles, Kathleen was able to capture on film the beauty and athleticism we displayed as we conquered The Dash.  Prepare to be awed.

Rose is in the black (really purple) at the very top.  I am below in pink.

"Hey Kel, is that you smiling while you leap over some roaring flames?"
"Why yes, it totally is me smiling.  Also, I perfectly timed it to block Rose's face with my arm.  Way to ruin a potentially awesome(r) shot."

Swimming through mud under barbed wire?  Check.

Big Muddy Finish

Warriors.  Mud beards. Snap into a Slim Jim!

So, Warrior Dash.  In conclusion, Kelly means "warrior woman."  I think it should really be called "Kelly Dash" but I'll be the first to admit "Warrior Dash"  just has better flow.  And after all that Little Wayne and Young Jeezy, I should know a little bit about flow.  Until next year, WD.



For the first time ever in Sublurban Mama history, I am having a contest.  WOO-HOO!  While waiting in line to take a picture with the Warrior Dash sign, we stood behind this young man:

The heck?

Whoever can figure out what his tattoo says is the winner of a lovely, never been taken out of the packaging, Fuzzy Viking Hat. (OOOO - say it like you're in a game show audience.)  It retails for $10.00 y'all.  For real.  So get crackin', because this tat is driving me crazy.