Welcome back to my Healing Motion Blog. If you read my last Blog post, on August 12th, 2020, please scroll down to the Chapter 8, Ironwoman excerpt.
If you’re new to my Blog, please enjoy the full page:
I am continuing to enjoy the process of editing each chapter and flashback for my upcoming memoir, Apple In My Truck, A Pathway to Inner Peace.
Erin R Lund of Sunshine Editorial Services is currently hard at work brightening each paragraph. I am grateful to Erin for her professionalism, enthusiasm, and quick wit.
My initial editor was Angie Bihn. She had helped me to unbury my painful past while writing and editing. I have referred to Angie in previous blogs as my personal therapeutic archeologist. I am thankful to have Angie’s brilliance within the pages of Apple In My Truck.
Allow me to briefly explain my history with writing. One afternoon during elementary school recess, in 1978, my teacher kept me confined to the classroom while the other children got to play. Her reasoning was that I needed to learn how to NOT talk during the moment that she was attempting to perform the roll call duties.
My punishment was to stand in front of the chalkboard and write out, ‘I Will Not Talk In Class,’ one-hundred times. So you can imagine that I never really liked writing much when I was younger.
During 1993 through 2011 I worked in the emergency medical and fire service profession while living in Arizona. Patient documentation was a daily requirement. Therefore, while I worked for the fire service, the act of writing was never enjoyable.
However, in 2011, I discovered a Yoga Teacher Training program. It was my yoga teacher trainers who helped me to realize that yoga wasn’t only a physical practice. They’d taught me that yoga is about joining together or ‘yoking’ your mind, body and spirit. I’d learned how to connect to my higher Self mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually.
Today, I continue to practice the ancient teachings of yoga. Specially the teachings of an ancient sage known as Patanjali. He is famous for his teachings of the Yoga Sutras. The Eight-Limb Path of Yoga is embedded within the Yoga Sutras.
Svadhyaya (self-study, study of the Self, journaling) is the fourth tenant that resides underneath the second-limb or Niyamas, which inspired me to begin journaling or writing.
My yogic path of a daily Sadhana (practice) of the Eight-Limb Path of Yoga continues. I will be a forever student of yoga continually visiting the teachings of Patanjali to learn, explore and reach my own pathway to inner peace.
Below is a short excerpt from Chapter Eight, Ironwoman, from Apple In My Truck, A Pathway to Inner Peace.
It was August, and three months until I’d be racing in the Ironman. The lines on the asphalt beneath my bicycle were blurring in my vision from my having ridden in the day’s extreme heat for over seventy-five miles. I was losing track of where the road ended and the sidewalk began, and becoming distracted by the icy drip of the frozen water bottles I’d placed in my bike jersey’s back pocket earlier to help keep me cool. As the cold water rolled down my tailbone, I realized that the once-frozen bottles had now melted. Having learned to freeze two of them the night before in readiness for my morning workouts, I mused to myself, Maybe I’ll freeze three the next time I plan to take a long ride.
After training for months, the Arizona 2010 Ironman race day finally arrived. I felt ready to compete. In preparation, I taped inspirational photos of Tony Joe, Peter, and our dogs, Gus, Riley and Henry to the aero-bars of my road bike so their smiling faces would fill me with their love when they weren’t with me. I also dropped off my run bag and bicycle the day before since I knew Race Day would be chaotic, and the IM competition site provided overnight security to guard our gear.
That morning Peter drove us, along with Gus, in my truck to Tempe where the race was to be held. When we arrived, I was thrilled to learn that Chrissie Wellington, one of my Ironman pro idols, was competing. I hoped I might get to meet her. With nearly two hours until the amateur athletes would begin entering the water, I laid in the grass for some easy stretching to calm my nerves while Peter took Gus for a walk by the lake. Afterward, I made my way to the bicycle section and checked in with security so I could do one final check-off on my bike: tires aired up - check; race gels and tire repair kit in bike bag - check; rain poncho, snacks, and two hydration water bottles packed - check.
As race time neared, I donned my wetsuit. I had learned from the past months of practicing pulling it on that this process took at least five minutes, and felt like I was stretching a tight glove over my entire body. A great deal of energy was required just to make sure it was on me properly. Peter and Gus approached for the final time before the starting whistle, and I kissed them both goodbye. “I’ll see you two tonight at the finish line.”
A half-hour remained before the race would begin, and I was anxious to get into the water. The race announcer suddenly spoke so loudly that I jumped when I heard, “All athletes need to start making their way to the water’s edge.” In preparation, I took out my energy gel for a quick boost from its sugar and calories, savoring the sweetness of its chocolate flavor.
Before I knew it, the sea of athletes had made their way over to the entrance of the lake. I’d heard that there were more than 2,000 IM athletes racing today.
The sign reading the water’s temperature showed how cold the water was, but I wasn’t worried about this, knowing I would be safe in my wetsuit. I walked over to the crowd of athletes to find a place in line. As they slowly inched forward, I noticed the low fence which was corralling us. However, I had somehow ended up on the other side. Crap; I am on the wrong side of the fence! Fortunately, a man standing near me realized my dilemma and intertwined his hands together in a makeshift step, then gestured for me to put my foot in his hands to scale the fence. Other athletes noticed what he was doing and encouraged me by shouting, “You got it! Get on this side!” The low fence seemed easy enough to manage, so I went for it instead of walking all the way around. Trying not to laugh, I put my left foot into his hands and hiked my right leg up and over the fence’s bar.
I paused for a moment on the top of the fence to assess my situation and how I could best dismount to the other side. I don’t want to land hard and roll my ankle. Jumping down, gravity helped me land firmly on my feet, but then I heard a loud POP. I realized I had caught the crotch of my wetsuit on the top of the fence, and the force of my jump had torn it wide open. While I was fine, my wetsuit was traumatized. My eyes widened as I stared at the tear. One of my fellow competitors noticed it and said, “Get ready to be cold.” Another optimistically stated, “You can swim like that, no problem!” Deciding that giving up and going home in tears would probably be more painful, I instead laughed and began warming myself up. Then my turn arrived to jump into the lake. No turning back. Think warm thoughts. Don’t get kicked. Have fun. This is fun, right? Holy crap, this water is cold! Lord, please give me strength.
The professional athletes had already begun their swim toward the eastern sky. Though I felt a bit congested by the crowd of bodies around me as I and the other amateurs treaded water together waiting for our swim to begin, rather than becoming discouraged, I chose to instead focus on the smiles of the triathletes in my vicinity. I felt I might sink if I didn’t lasso the frenzied energy of their kicking and flapping. In the next instant, Black Sabbath’s Iron Man boomed from the loudspeaker on the announcer’s platform, and as we struggled to keep our heads above water, our voices erupted as one into the opening line: “I...AM...IRON...MAN!” Its opening guitar riff sent a jolt of adrenaline pulsating through me. I was thrilled to be one small ingredient in this crazy, murky Ironman stew. Then the race gun fired and we were off.
Slowly, I maneuvered to get myself horizontal. I needed to get my ass in gear if I didn't want to get plowed over by a nearby enthusiastic swimmer. Minutes passed until I could find an opening to move forward as I worked to dodge the back-kicks of strangers in wetsuits. With a breath, I focused on my swim strategy. Cheri had advised me during training to keep calm. That’s much easier to do when I’m not surrounded by so many bodies. Once the crowd of swimmers dispersed, I found my groove. Keep a steady pace, don’t try to swim too fast, take a break if you need to, and always continue moving forward, even if at a turtle's pace. I continued to stay focused on the turnaround buoy far off in the distance. At the halfway point a moment of breathlessness came upon me, and I prayed, God please help me find my breath.
Then I realized I needed to pee; my sides were aching and I couldn’t hold it any longer. Spotting a volunteer in a kayak, I waived and approached him, hoping he’d let me hang on for a rest. He asked me, “What do you need? Are you ok? Do you need anything?” Yeah, I just need you to stop talking and keep the boat still so I can relax for a moment and pee. I remained silent as I hung onto the side of the kayak, wondering if he had guessed what I was up to. A minute later, I released my grip, told him, “Thank you,” and turned my focus to getting to the swim’s exit point. I had suddenly run out of gas though, so in my fatigue I resorted to backstroking and side-stroking to keep moving. Well at least I’m not dog-paddling.
Soon I realized I had reached the swim’s end, with just thirty minutes left on the race clock. Though my body was exhausted, I was thrilled that I’d completed the swim. I’m not done for today, I want to be an Ironman! While leaving the lake, volunteers directed me to the entrance of the female transition tent where I could prepare for my next event.
I hope you enjoyed this short sample of Apple In My Truck, A Pathway to Inner Peace. Stay tuned, as next week I’ll bring you another brief excerpt from my upcoming memoir.
To learn more about the Eight-Limb Path of Yoga please read my self-published fictional book, dYnO’s DaNcE, On The Eight-Limb Path.
dYnO’s DaNcE, On The Eight-Limb Path, is an imaginative tale liberally sprinkled with Patañjali’s spiritual teachings. This story offers a great pathway for you to connect with your inner child.
Find your copy online at:
Be A Flower,
Share your Beauty
Namaste.
Alicia
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