As if you haven’t noticed, this blog has been mysteriously quiet.
Because this finally happened yesterday:
I registered for Ironman Louisville 5 days shy of 1 year ago. And I had full intentions of training my butt off, cutting an hour and a half off of my time, and re-upping on that Ironman high that I’ve been coasting on since crossing that Arizona finish line in 2013.
But somewhere along the lines, I just stopped caring. In fact, I’m completely blaming this guy:
Now don’t get me wrong.. Ironman Arizona was the 2nd (maybe 3rd) best day of my life.
Nothing, nothing, nothing compares to the feeling of crossing that finish line. Of working so hard to accomplish something that only a few are able to do. I enjoyed being a triathlete and I learned a ton from training and if anyone wants to talk about triathlon, I will prattle on for HOURS about it.
But I just don’t care anymore. I used to scour race reports, relishing every word, but now they just all seem so long.
I used to live for Instagram-inspiration, but I feel burnt out just looking at other people’s schedules.
I used to tune into the live feeds of the Ironman finish lines, but even thinking about ME crossing that line in Louisville fails to give me that squiggle feeling of anticipation and happiness.
I just don’t care anymore. And that’s okay. I signed up for that race a year ago, and things change. I didn’t take dropping out of IM LOU lightly. Paul and I thought it over for a long time. And it was an even longer time coming before we admitted it to ourselves.
In the past year, my passion for travel has exploded. We’ve repeatedly chosen new trips over training. I’ve even signed up for a photography class at the Kansas City Art Institute.
In the past year, I’ve fallen in love with my bike. My gravel bike. I never have improved so much in a sport than when I found a love for just riding. Not being aero. Not hitting time goals. Not riding laps about the airport just for time. But riding for fun. Dirty Kanza. Getting muddy, exploring new roads, and doing hoodrat stuff with my friends.
Yes, dropping Ironman was an expensive choice. I only got $150 of my race fee back. However, Paul and I realized we would still be saving more than we would be losing by dropping now. Besides the mental happiness of not torturing ourselves for the next 60 days, we will avoid the cost of traveling to Louisville, (overpriced) hotel, merchandise, required finisher’s jacket, food, GU products, etc, etc, etc. And not to mention, at this point we are so behind in training that our performance wouldn’t be our best and that would just add to even more disappointment.
So as of Thursday, August 20th, 2015 at 2:20 pm, I am a free woman. And I immediately felt relieved. I went home from work last night, ate pizza on the couch with my husband, and woke up still feeling relieved. I loved my time as a triathlete, but I’m ready to move on.
And this blog certainly isn’t dead. I’m giving up on triathlon, but not on life! I’m excited for the Dopey Challenge in January and toying with the idea of finding a late November half marathon to try and PR.
I’m also registered for the Rock n Roll Nashville Marathon in April and I’m ECSTATIC to try for redemption at Dirty Kanza this year.
And now that I’m not drowning in guilt over my missed workouts and how far behind I am, I’ll feel more confident blogging and letting you all know about our adventures! Until then, feel free to catch up on our recent trips on the First Rule of Travel.