I don’t think you can commit yourself to training for something like a half-ironman and not change a little in the process. Like anything, when you spend so much time on something you can’t help but become attached. I feel like the race was a stranger to me in January. We didn’t know each other and I was just a guest in his home. But now, life is so different. The race has become my friend – my confidant. I’ve given him love; shown him dedication and we’ve pushed through our hard times. Somehow in one summer, a simple registration fee and a day in August has turned into a relationship and a change in lifestyle. As bizarre as it may sound, I can’t really imagine what life was like before him, or what my life would be without him.

I can remember looking at my training program and thinking, “are you kidding me?” The schedule called for only a handful of days off and most days included two workouts. It was a little daunting, but I knew that being strict with myself and committing to training was my best shot at finishing. And so it began…I slowly started getting used to my days starting with a swim and my evenings ending with a run or bike ride. It’s sort of funny to think back to my first few rides. It’s not that my bike is foreign to me in any way. I’ve had it for several years and done several different events on it. However, it felt a little uncomfortable…I couldn’t help but think “who am I trying to be with all these cyclists?” I definitely didn’t have the technical clothes. I wore cycling sandals, and I stumbled upon routes. It seemed like unfamiliar territory. After all, Boulder is overflowing with ripped bodies and triathletes; which can be a little intimidating to a girl who registered for the race because it guaranteed lots of time outside and an increase in food consumption.

As the days went on, the process became more familiar. The early morning trips to the pool got a little easier as the sun rose a little earlier and winter turned into spring. The rides got a little longer as my butt got a little bigger, and, well the runs…they were totally dependent on what my knees felt like doing that day. The training became the one thing I could rely on every day, especially in a time where other aspects of my life seem so inconsistent. And before I knew it, four hour bike rides and two hour runs were what I looked forward to on my weekends.

And now here I am after roughly 2000 laps in the pool, 950 miles on the bike, and 300 miles of running (in 3 ½ months) – not to mention the 3 ½ months of before that just to be ready for the training program. I’m less than one week from hopefully crossing that finish line, where I’ll have to say goodbye to my friend – the race. I know there will be others (at least I think there will be), but like your first love…your first race is something special. I’ll deal with that next week, but for now I’m enjoying my last few days of training and mentally preparing for a great race. I’ll end this with a list of a few things I’ve learned, tips for others, and random thoughts I’ve had during this journey.

1. Always check to see if your handle bars are tight – learned this the hard way by practically ejecting over them on a downhill. I’m actually lucky to be alive.
2. Other athletes’ level of acknowledgement is entirely based on your apparel. I say “hi” to pretty much every single person I pass on the bike or while running and it wasn’t until I finally invested in my first pair of tri-shorts that someone said hi back.
3. I no longer need a belt to keep my pants up, because my butt has doubled in size from the cycling. I actually started running into things that I never did before because of my new booty.
4. Turns out that running in tight shorts (spandex – tri shorts) is actually fantastic! Maybe it’s because everything is “sucked in,” but regardless I think I may be changed for life.
5. Never rely on cottonwood to tell you which direction the wind is blowing. And always assume that a headwind will stay a headwind when you turn around. It’s a phenomenon that I still don’t understand.
6. After months of testing out gu’s, gel’s, bars, and drinks, my favorites include, Clif bars, Chocolate Gu, Sport Beans, Peanut Butter Balance Bars, Gatorade, and SNICKERS!
7. Keep in mind, I’m not too fancy, but my favorite pieces of gear include my orange Nike visor, Zoot tri-shorts, Brooks sports bra, Asics Gel-Nimbus running shoes, Specialized triathlon cycling shoes, and Pearl Izumi cycling gloves. It’s just as important to look good as feel good, right?
8. I’ve learned that, though probably not safe, it’s possible to fall asleep while running, biking, and even swimming. Don’t ask me how…it just is.
9. I’m truly in this for the love of the game and hoping just to finish (well, finish strong), but there still is something so great about blowing by a “decked out” guy on the bike!
10. The hardest thing to do is to get out the door. Though some workouts have been easier than others, I still consider myself so grateful to have been blessed with a body that has allowed me to strive for this goal. My eyes have allowed me to see beautiful Colorado in slow motion from my bike, my ears have allowed me to listen to music to get me up tough hills, my mouth has allowed me to taste all the delicious post workout goodies I’ve earned, my nose has allowed me smell fresh, clean jerseys; and my sense of touch has allowed me to feel the water glide against my skin and feel the breeze at my back. I’m a lucky girl and that’s all there is to it.

(Editor’s Note:  Kristin is able to send us her blog entries when she comes to a town with internet access.  As a result, the entries are published as they are received rather than on the day the events actually took place.)

It started with High Octane, Chick Magnet, and Bobcat. I had not seen another hiker for days and all of the sudden there they were. Trudging up the hill ahead with worn packs and trekking pole

Every year, because of the small weather window, most PCT thru-hikers end up clumped together in what is known as “the herd.” They start in late April to avoid the worst of the desert heat and finish before the snow comes to Washington’s mountains in the fall. Along the way a tight community forms and as a part of that community you are given a trail name. While I was on the Appalachian Trail I was given the trail name Lost because . . . well, lets just say that the trial took a turn and I didn’t. I decided to keep the name mostly for sentimental reasons. Since I had started about half a month after most hikers, it took me until Agua Dulce to catch up. Hiking alone has its advantages. It allows you to travel at your own pace, take breaks whenever you want, and think. Nearly three weeks of hiking alone had been more than enough time to think and I was very ready to be part of this “herd.”

After the first 500 miles of desert, the Pacific Crest Trail dives into the Mojave. The name alone is enough to intimidate a person. I had heard horror stories about dehydration, heat stroke, and getting lost on that forsaken stretch of trail and was more than a little nervous as I approached it. The first glimpse of the Mojave is from the surrounding hills. You can see the heat shimmering off its floor and a flat, endless stretch of dirt. On the morning that I was supposed to reach the desert floor, my pack felt unusually damp against my back. I ignored it at first but then my back kept getting more and more wet. I could not believe that I was sweating that profusely, so I finally took off my pack to see what on earth was going on. My Platypus had a hole in it and half a liter of water had leaked out. The most difficult stretch of the Mojave Desert was 4 miles away, and there was a hole in my platypus. Luckily, one of the kindest human beings on earth was also only 4 miles away in a place he named “Hikertown.”

When I reached Hikertown I thought I must be in the wrong place. A long row of small buildings decorated with a western theme stretched out before me. I was about to turn around and check the guidebook’s directions again, but then a man appeared and started walking towards me. “Welcome” he said eagerly and quickly ushered me into the little piece of heaven that Hikertown is. He showed me where I could get water, shower, sleep, and then took me to a final building where four other hikers were already hanging out watching TV. About 10 minutes later the owner of Hikertown let me and a couple of other hikers take his car to the nearest store where I was able to resolve my water problems. Despite all that they do for hikers, the owners of this place do not charge a cent.

Later that day I entered the aqueduct section of the Mojave with a full stomach and a little more confidence than before. Two sand and heat filled days later I was standing at Willow Springs road, hitching into the last official town in the desert, appropriately called: Mojave.

Someone once told me that we make time for the things that are really important to us. I believe this to be true. I cannot make more time in the day. But, I can allocate what I have judiciously. Being a new mom has really put that philosophy to the test. How can I work, run, take care of any personal issues and errands, be a loving partner and parent, and keep my sanity? Prozac helps. But it can’t get me out on a run or help me make dinner. I have to decide what’s important.

In particular, I’ve realized that I have to commit to working out or it will never happen. I have to make and get approval in advance for plans to rock climb or snowboard or hike. Before adopting Logan, our three year old sweet boy, I had all the flexibility in the world. Now, I schedule and scheme to keep my life orderly and balance work, play, and motherhood. I still believe you can have it all though. You just might have to get up an hour earlier and go to bed an hour later to get it.

One of the biggest adjustments I’ve made is running Logan in his BOB Stroller to day care two miles away, then leaving the stroller for pick up later, and running home to shower and go to work. I don’t like running with a stroller. Especially when it’s loaded with thirty pounds of toddler. But, it gets the job done. I take him to school and get my run in…it’s a win-win. When Logan was really little, I tried hiking with a Sherpani baby carrier on my back. I’ve decided I’d rather roll Logan down the hill than carry him strapped on my back. Whew, man, that’s a workout.

When Logan gets old enough, I look forward to snowboarding and climbing with him. But for now, my partner and I trade off parenting time to do things we love but can’t quite take him on yet. I struggle, perhaps like many of you, with the guilt of taking time for myself. But I do realize that adventure is a huge part of who I am. Being outside in the mountains makes me happy. If I’m happy, I’m a better and more patient parent. If I’m healthy, I get to be part of my son’s life for a long time. And, I am lucky I have a fully participating partner. I honestly don’t know how single moms do this. Seriously, my hat is off to you all. Keep getting outside and share your tips with other moms!

(Editor’s Note:  Kristin is able to send us her blog entries when she comes to a town with internet access.  As a result, the entries are published as they are received rather than on the day the events actually took place.)

Snow. It is the sort of thing you day dream about in the desert. The sort of thing you almost forget exists. Several scorching days after Warner Springs I woke up at the base of the mountains leading to Big Bear, CA. By 9 AM I usually had shed my fleece but on this day noon had come around and I was wearing both my fleece and my raincoat to stay warm. By 4:30 PM the long hike up was wearing me out so I decided to have an early dinner. I sat down on my Therm-a-Rest and boiled up some macaroni and cheese. That is when it started.

When I saw the first specks of white falling , I thought I was seeing things. Hadn’t it been over 100 degrees the day before? Wasn’t I just half a day from the desert floor? But then the specks of white changed to flurries and the flurries changed into a downright snow storm. White covered my pack and I quickly took out my umbrella to keep things dry.

And so there I was in the middle of the snow storm shivering and eating my mac-n-cheese as fast as I could so that I could get going. By 5:30 PM I was on my feet walking again and everything was covered in snow. I walked into the dark with my head lamp on, not wanting to stop it was getting so cold. My surroundings blurred by as I trudged on and on. Then, quite suddenly, a red cooler appeared to my left waiting with a sign on it that read “Welcome thru-hikers.” It contained a bag of oranges. They were nearly frozen, but they were delicious. My first piece of trail magic. Trail magic is the name given to any sort of help locals are kind enough to give to thru-hikers. This was pretty good trail magic.

Exhausted, I set up my tarp a few yards away and fell asleep with an orange dessert in my stomach. The next morning arrived with the cold hard thud of my water bottle slipping out of my pack’s pocket. It was frozen solid. Normally I’d sleep with my water in my sleeping bag to prevent this from happening but with last night’s exhaustion I had forgotten. Luckily my Platypus had not frozen so I had just enough water to get to Big Bear and when I arrived at the road, more trail magic was waiting. A cardboard box filled with sodas! “Welcome to Big Bear PCT class of 2008” a sign read.

My mother probably loses sleep over the thought of me hitch hiking but the towns along the Pacific Crest Trail can be 10 to 30 miles away. There is no way to re-supply other than to wait by the side of the road, thumb out, hoping that some kind soul will take notice and give me a ride. You try to make yourself look presentable. You wash your face with what water you have and pull back your hair and smile as the drivers pass. On this particular morning I was very lucky. A nurse was driving by on her way to work and pulled over when she saw me standing there in the snow. “Where are you headed?” she asked. “Anywhere with a grocery store” I replied. She told me to hop on in.

I’ve often thought that the thing that intrigues me most about cycling is its dual personality. It’s gobs of fun to ride around (fly around really) on quiet roads with girlfriends, going nowhere and seeing, hearing, and smelling everything around.

But it’s one of the few sports I can think of that can immediately translate into practical transportation. Sure we could walk or run everywhere, but probably not all the time, and probably not fast enough to cover the distances most of us need to cover. On my bike, I get to work every day, I zip over to Target to fill a prescription, I tool down to the library to grab a book. If I was able to haul my teenage daughter around with my bike, I’d do that too.

I ran across an article by Rick Crawford over on Velonews.com that says it so much more succinctly than I can. How often do we think about our sport/outdoor time as energy wasteful? All those BTUs we’re churning out just evaporating into the atmosphere instead of powering our TV or computer? Of course, everything in life can’t be perfectly utilitarian and thrifty! We all need our fun and relaxation. But if you could catch the energy you’ll pour into your next triathlon or skiing trip and run your washing machine for a month, wouldn’t you? All that fun and a lower electric bill to boot.

I’ll let you know when I figure out a way to sell some of my cycling wattage back to the power grid!