On Moms

When my mother was terminally ill, I asked her, “Can you imagine anything worse that what you are going through?” 

Without having to think, she responded, "If any of my children were going through this instead of me."

And in that moment I began to understand a phrase she had mentioned many times.  Nothing compares to a mother’s love.

Pure. Unconditional. Love.

I am not a mom.  I don’t fully understand this quite yet.  But I hope to someday soon.

As I get older, I realize, my mom was often right.  I fought with her rules and constantly challenged her direction.  I didn’t enjoy growing up in a strict religious home. And I rebelled. 

Now I see.  Now I understand.  That mom’s are often right.  She wanted what was best for her children and she knew more than we did.

Although my mom lived to only 61, she did what she loved most.  And that was loving her children.  She sewed us clothes at Christmas. 

She sewed us bedspreads and prom dresses and she made us our favorite home cooked meals.  Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. She painted us pictures and wrote us letters when we moved away.  She bought us second hand clothes.  She passed away in March, but had already prepared our Christmas presents for December. She listened to us when we were down and out, and she didn’t take our shit.  She stood her ground and although she was 5”2’ with soft green eyes, she was a spitfire.  She took care of us, and she loved us to death. She was a mom before anything else in life. A mom. Her greatest and most meaningful role in life. 

So this blog is for Mom’s. Mom’s of all sorts. Because you are, above all, mothers. You might be moms who gave birth, moms who've lost, moms who adopted, moms who married into a family, moms of dogs and moms of cats, moms and mentors to children.

To all you moms. I bow in gratitude and I am inspired by you all. 

Warning: contents may offend

Before my mother passed away, she decided that she would dedicate her time to a cause. It was about 1999 and she was writing letters to municipal leaders, encouraging them to forbid gay "marriage."  She believed that people in same sex unions could come up with their own word, but that "marriage" was sacred. She was hung up on semantics and she was waging her own little war.

My understanding of gay unions was limited. I know that I strongly offended a friend in high school because I revealed that someone she knew was openly gay, and I knew that the Second Cup on Church (Toronto) was the gay area. Other than that, I kissed the odd friend for attention at keg parties and dabbled little in what it meant to be gay.  

Better said, what it doesn't mean.

Fact: people have attached meaning sexual orientation just as they have attached meaning to words like Muslim, Black, Anorexic, Challenged, Jew, Middle-eastern, Indian, Christian, Mormon, Pot-Head, or MILF for that matter. I could go on.

I believe that had my mom survived to experience progress and change, that she would have adapted her beliefs, that she would have adapted her views, that her scope would not remain a single eye-piece, but a periphery; as it truly is. In the end, she gave up on her crusade to limit the use of the word, and instead she taught art classes in a hospice.

Five years ago my dad got excited as he shared, "The church has become really progressive. We are letting gay people in now, and we have a program to convert them."

SHUT. THE. FRONT. DOOR.

"Do you have a program to change the color of people's skin too?" I interjected.

Wouldn't change one damn thing here. Salt of the Earth.

 I left the church when I was 16 after sobbing every Sunday in our silver Chevy Sprint while my mom attended the service.  I don't fit in here. I thought. And I was right.  I didn’t sob because I was sad per-se, but because I felt my core being squished into tiny space of intolerance. Of should do’s and in my case, shouldn’t do’s.  

Confession: I open-mouth kissed a boy by the time I was 12.  Doug Larmour. One of my leaders STRONGLY encouraged us not to because, “It was a fact that within five years of French kissing, you would be having sex.”  I quote.

I will never fit in to a vision that is so narrow in scope that it shuns the heart and soul of a fellow sister or brother, an institution that turns it's back on good people; great people.  I will never belong to club that thinks for fraction of a second we are better, or they're not good enough to be here. I will never fit in to religion that preaches with words, but acts in complete discord. My heart is open and my scope is broad.

Don’t get me wrong.  There were members of the church that set a wonderful example of compassion and kindness.

But I experienced what it feels like to navigate the world with blinders on. Albeit, at the "righteous" hand of hypocrisy and dishonesty. 

This post is inspired by this video, and the subsequent article.  Share your thoughts.

VIDEO

ARTICLE

IM Los Cabos: The Run and Being Hunted

If you missed IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O click here.
If you missed IM Los Cabos: The Bike click here.

I left the tent screaming, "I feel like a million bucks."

And I did.  My legs felt great and the streets were filled with people cheering us on.  The run in Los Cabos was shaped like an M, at least, that's what I heard.  It makes sense too.  We would have six turn arounds where you could see who was in front, and who was behind.  We would run three loops of 8.5 miles (or so).

I started to see some familiar faces, and cheer out to people I knew, and didn't know.  For some reason, my race number had MEXICO instead of CANADA written on it so needless to say, I got a lot of "Vamos Mexico"  from the crowds of Mexican  supporters.   

I ran the first loop feeling great, but I was well aware of who was steadily gaining on me.  There were too many turn arounds to start counting time, but I knew it was coming on the second lap.  Upon reaching one of the water stations, I saw a girl with sunscreen.  Although it was far too late, I took a glob and rubbed it on my shoulders.   

As the sun set, and people became silhouettes I could see who was approaching.  It was mile fifteen and I looked over my right shoulder, "ahhhhhh shiiiit" was all I had.  Ricardo had caught me and I knew that was it.  He was running a lot faster than me, so I knew that matching his pace was almost impossible.  

"What happened on the swim, babe?"  I asked.

Now I would find out why he will never ask me to zip him up again.

"My wetsuit opened, and I couldn't zip it back up."

"Did you swim he whole race with it open?"

"Ya.  And I was so cold that when I got out of the water, I couldn't feel my legs.  So I sat in transition to warm up."

Oops.  First the upside-down E and then this. 

After looking at the times, I would see that Ricardo did in fact beat me on the swim, but then had a 12 minute transition.  I got on the bike 1 minute before him.  

So after our brief chat, he gave me an "I love you Babe!" and sped ahead.  

As I set out on the third lap I started to feel a little bit better. A girl with green socks who I had passed on the bike passed me and drifted by with a fast pace.  Coming up to mile nineteen, I decided to unleash the beast.  I had been carrying a Gu Espresso Love Gel with me the whole race.  Now, for those of you who know me, I am like a kid on speed when I have caffeine, so to be honest, I was afraid to take it. What the heck, I am going to see what this is all about.

Bottom left corner.  That's my back!

 At mile 20, I sped up.  Faster, and faster.  And then even faster.  A while back I read a race tip that said you go slow, slow, slow ... until there are five kilometers left.  Then you let it rip.  This worked well for me in Brasil, and with 6 miles left, i thought I might be jumping the gun.  I was going for it.  I am going to catch him. 

Without letting up, I let my pace continue and when I arrived at the last turn around, I saw him.  I was literally 300 meters behind him.  And there was about one kilometer to go. He gave me a thumbs up and yelled, "good job babe!" and then he did the unthinkable.  He sped up.  For a moment I wondered if he might wait for me, but I didn't get my hopes up. Between him and I, was Heidi gliding in her green socks.  

Although I didn't catch him .. I gave him a good scare.  That's his finishing photo. Afraid of what, or who might be lurking behind him. 

 

I sprinted into the race chute and saw the clock 12:46 and some change.  There was Ricardo smiling big and holding out my medal.  I jumped up and gave someone a high five and then cheered my way through the finish line. 

Ricardo would beet me by 2 minutes and 40 seconds ... this time.  

He put the medal around my neck, we hugged and kissed.  

And then we ate pizza.

We sat down and started to talk about the race, Ricardo was saying, "I love you babe, you are such a Rockstar."  I gave him my hand (like hand to the face) and said, "Sorry Babe, I think I am going to pass out and I don't know what to do." He picked me up and walked me to a medical bed where I layed down.  

This was the first time I have felt such an after race sensation.  I was freezing cold so they stripped my clothes off and gave me a pair of boxers, and Ricardo gave me his finisher shirt that was dry.  My race clothes were soaking wet and the temperature had dropped.  2 hours.  That's how long we stayed in the medical station, well, between it and the port-o-let.  I will spare you those details (but if you are interested in reading about such material, visit IM Cozumel: The Bike).  My brothers might appreciate that one. 

Knowing that we had to walk our bikes back to the hotel, I had a familiar flash back. I remembered being young and foolish, and drinking too much.  That feeling that you have to get up off the toilet, but you can't, but you have to, but you cant, came flooding back.  I had to get up.  "OK!"  I said.  "Let's go." 

The medical staff checked my blood pressure that had dropped really low and it was on the up.  It's now or never.

We got up, Ricardo in his race gear and me in my boxers, and arm in arm, we walked out of the race area.  

Run time: 4:38

Race time: 12:46:27

It took 24 hours (the typical amount of time it take to feel normal again), until I was ready to talk about which Ironman we will do next.  And so it has been written, Nice, France June, 2014.

Raynelle and Larry Thompson.  Ricardo and I want to be like them when we grow up. #Konabound

Thank you

Thank you to Bekah List for kicking my swim up a notch, to Vail and Sarah for making a great pre-race motivational video and to everyone who send messages along on it.  Thank you to Ellie who made my my first ever golden carrot (that was orange). Thank you to everyone who wished me well and sent messages of encouragement.  And to everyone who gave a shout out at the end.  Thanks to all who followed the live tracker and who dispatched details.  Thank you to Sergio Godinez for always taking the time to check out our aching knees, ankles, and shoulders.  Thanks to Asdeporte for another great race, and thanks to my Sweet Ricky P.  who really is the wind beneath my wings.  

 Fun fact: Bekah, my coworker and swim teacher extraordinaire says to me on Thursday, "You know what? My friend finished in between you and Ricardo."

My reply, "HEIDI in the green socks."

 

IM Los Cabos: The Bike

If you missed IM Los Cabos: Pre Race/H2O click here.

As I left transition, I kept thinking, what happened? Did I have a really good swim? Is his transition bag gone? Where is he? With the lead in my hand, I clipped my new shoe plates into my pedals and I rode.  We trained the bike Friday and Saturday and I was feeling pretty good about a sub-six hour ride despite the hills.  I am a hill-lover.  I love the climb.  I love the burn in my quads; the sound of a powerful exhale.  The thumping in my chest.  I love cresting a hill and dropping back into my seat.  I climb on my feet.

Practice Ride Friday.

 I love hills. Did I mention that already?

This picture is fully and completely stolen from finisherpix.com. The best pictures on the circuit.

As I set out, I found myself riding the familiar road to Cabo San Lucas.  There were some bumpy patches, and some aluminium speed bumps, but I didn’t mind either.  At the first turn around, I started to count.  How many minutes will it be until I see Ricardo.  I figured that I would take that time and double it since we now would be riding in opposite directions of the turn around. 

Boom.

I had counted about 2 minutes, which meant that he was 4 minutes behind me.  On the flats, Ricardo has been consistently faster than me, but on the hills, I am generally stronger than him.  But he has MUCH improved. I didn’t know how this was going to pan out.  The next turn around would be about 45km away.  As my mind raced I was passed by a woman in a green bathing suit.  There was a “V” on her right leg, indicating she was in the 55-59 age group. WOW. Admiration. Wow.

I raced my plan, taking water and Gatorade at every hydration station.  The water, I used to dump over my hear and arms, the Gatorade I drank.  I kept a steady flow of gel going as well.  One gel every 45 minutes to an hour.  We decided against Powerbars this time as we though our regular PB and jelly would do.  When I reached into my bento box for my sandwich bag, out popped my salt pills.  Hasta Luego sodium! I hope I didn’t really need those. And I bit the bag holding my sandwich open.   

I love peanut butter almost as much as I love hills.  The ¼ sandwich was goooooood.  And I put the bag back.  When I arrived at the hill, (see below marked “Big Ass Hill”) I grinned as I started taking hill points.  “Hill points” are the amount of people I pass on hills.  I don’t know how many I took until I saw a familiar green bathing suit standing on the side of the road. “Do you have what you need?” I yelled. 

“You haven’t got an extra CO2 cartridge do you?” She asked.

“In fact, I do.” 

This has been the first time in an Ironman I have been able to help a fellow athlete.  I stopped my bike and fished out my extra cartridge.  “Now, do you know how to change a tire?” She asked.

“That, I can’t help you with.” I responded.  I have changed one road tire in my life and it was not really me who changed it.  Knowing that this would be a time-consuming endeavor with no guarantee, I left her in the hands of the race-mechanics that ride the course on scooters trouble-shooting.  Ricardo would tell me later that she passed him.  

I got back on my bike and continued riding the 5.5km climb. 

Only one song came to mind. And only 5 words, repeated themselves over, and over, and over, and over, and over until I started singing it myself. 

The Long and Winding Road … da, da …. da, da …

 “Isn’t this fun.”  I yelled as I was taking another hill point. “We pay good money for this. Enjoy it.”  And I rode on.  When I got to the turn around, I started counting again.  If it’s more than 2 minutes, I have gained some time. 

4 minutes.  I was now 8 minutes ahead. If I could keep this pace, and Ricardo keep his, I might have a chance of “winning him” as my students would say.  And I rode back to start my second loop.

SMACK. POW. BOOM.  Like a Batman cartoon, the wind slapped me in the face.  The ride to Los Cabos would be just that.  An assault.  A wind assault.  A slap in the face, and a sound that hollers, “Ha ha ha ha haa, you are pedaling and not moving very fast …. Sucker!”

I would suffer until the turn around, scooping my peanut butter and jelly out with my fingers because the bread had been soaked with water as I doused myself.  I would wear a grimace instead of a grin, and remember, This is temporary.

But it wasn’t.

They were cross winds and when I turned around, it felt just the same.  Smack.  Time. Count.

6 minutes.  6 minutes = 12 minutes.  Indeed I was increasing my lead.

Now.  This is an important detail.  Ricardo and I went to a wedding on February 23.  This was supposed to have been a big training weekend, but, well, it was a wedding.  The only training we did was wine and dancing.  The night before the wedding, two friends of Ricardo’s made a bet on who would win between the two of us. 

Sidenote: Ricardo and I met at the finish line of Ironman Cozumel in 2011.  We have a similar pace.

So Jeroen bet on Ricardo, and Reuben bet on me.  We took a picture just in case there was ever a reason to not remember having made the bet. 

Yep.  That's a $1000 bet alright.

When I made my way back to the “Big Ass Hill” I was feeling spent.  My sub-6 hour dream was over and I was once again singing,

The LONG and WINDING road. 

And again, I began to giggle.That's when I turned to poetry.  Inspired by the butterflies and bees along the way, I began.

Bees and Butterflies,

Are two different things,

One flutters it's wings,

And one really stings.

That's as far as I got, but like The Long and Winding Road, I repeated it over, and over, and over, unable to come up with a second verse without fear that I might forget the first.  This is called Ironbrain.

Out and back and that was that – done deal. I had opened up the lead to about 15 minutes.  

Ricardo is a much better runner than I, but is he that much better?  His marathon was 10 minutes faster than mine back in May, but now … his run had improved, as mine seemed to have worsened.

IM Los Cabos: The Run: Coming as soon as my big ass pile of grading and report cards are done. 

If you'd like something to tie you over, do visit IM Brasil: The run. 

Fun fact:  The IM Los Cabos swim was actually 4.1km rather than 3.8km.  For real. 

Bike time: 6:31:33

T2:  2:05

I left the tent screaming, "I feel like a million bucks."