Skip to main content

Countdown to Worlds 70.3: Week 2

Coolum Beach, Queensland, Australia
Today, Bryan and I touched down in a new country, in fact, a new continent. I am happy to say that despite enduring an 18+ hour travel excursion, we both enjoyed the waters of the Coral Sea underfoot this evening. In addition, every bag of luggage made it. Regardless of the way TSA violated my bike and the contents of my bike box, my efforts to protect everything with pipe insulation and styrofoam apparently succeeded.

The first few days of this week mimicked those of the previous four. However, I remember telling my girls on Monday that indeed, this would be the last 45 minutes of hell that involved running at such a speed that no one, upon awaking on a Monday, would ever like to see before 5 o'clock in the morning. On Wednesday, I informed them that having to endure the boredom of watching their owner run up and down a hill would finally come to an end. What I don't think they had quite prepared themselves for, however, was mom leaving on Friday for a race they had no idea they helped prepare her for.

Our 14 hours on a Qantas flight from LA to Brisbane felt tight. Bryan likened our situation to what cattle must feel like when shoved into semis for slaughter. A twinge of sadness overcame me when he said that, and I reminded myself that in an hour, the powers of Ambien would guide me into what I hoped to be a deep sleep. It seemed 5mg bought me about 3 hours, so after a total of 15mg, I let myself remain awake for the remaining two hours to Brisbane. What Qantas lacked in leg room, they fairly made up for with food. My breakfast hardly compared to the pretzels and ice water I've grown accustomed to on flights these days.

A little delayed, Brisbane welcomed us with temperate weather and sunny skies. After just one wrong turn onto the motorway, we found ourselves heading to the north toward Coolum Beach, where the AirBnB we'd reserved awaited us. Driving on the left side of the road made for some serious entertainment, primarily from the passenger's point of view. Bryan, on the other hand, struggled with his turn signals so that we both understood our windshield wipers worked, one too many times. All I could think was how fortunate we were the gas and brake pedals weren't on opposite sides, too.

Friendly people awaited us in Coolum Beach. Our host welcomed us openly and even offered to assist us with our first grocery shopping excursion. We declined her hospitality so we could take showers we longed for desperately. Later in the afternoon, we did venture into the heart of town before coming home so Bryan could rest and I could go for a short run and explore the area. I marveled at how wonderful I felt running across the sand, overlooking the ocean whose waters lapped the shores of Australia! I feel blessed to visit this area, and I long for a memorable race this upcoming weekend.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My opinion...For what it's worth

My first Half Ironman 70.3 turned into Boise 29.3. I may be the only one to say that I respect the officials' judgment call on this one, because apparently, a few of my triathlete comrades lack sufficient brains themselves. The comments I'm reading on Facebook leave me pretty disturbed. Let me just put this out there: I entered this sport because it looked tough and challenging. It pushes anyone who enters these races to their ultimate limits and requires a demanding amount of time to complete the training necessary to succeed. I entered this sport because of the people. Healthy, smart, fit, inspiring, motivating. I can't think of a single person who has questioned my ability to participate in this sport. I entered this sport because anyone can do it. I passed people younger and older than me, some as old as 74. I watched one woman hobble along the run course, surely just on her first lap. She looked like her knees were going to cave in. Yet she was running. I did not ent

Pain loves misery. Misery loves company.

I remember running through complete darkness along the paved trail between Moscow and Pullman during my years studying at University of Idaho. Five years ago, my training consisted entirely of running. Cycling served as something to do on the weekends, and swimming didn’t even exist until my sophomore year. What I remember most, however, revolves around the early morning runs. I awoke at 4:30, donned my warmest clothes, started my GPS, and turned my headlamp on in preparation for eight to ten miles of farmland along a lonely stretch of highway. Running served as my outlet. I buried myself in 20+ credits of biology, chemistry, physics, and human anatomy courses to fill my time. And fill my time it did. So running every morning was my recourse to stay sane. Every. Lonely. Morning. It wasn’t until the thrill of riding my bike overtook me did I realize riding alone—training alone—hardly compared to the enjoyment of working out with other people. My dad always stressed the importance of r

Noosa Triathlon - The Grand Finale

I looked out into the surf and watched the waves churn and roll, crash, then churn and roll again. Supposedly, I signed up for this, along with the 7000 other athletes who stood on the shore with me, questioning their own sanity. These Aussies grew up swimming in this insanity on the daily, and their numbers far exceeded that of my fellow Americans. Nevertheless, I puckered up my American ass and tried to stand tall and confident to the waves. I watched Natalie Van Coevorden scheme and plan her strategy, pointing out toward the buoys. Not until the gun went off did I realize that plan involved running at least 100 meters down the shoreline before we jumped into the water. Interesting. I never would have thought to do that, considering my open water swimming experience in ocean rip and waves is virtually non-existent. When confronted with a situation such as this, I have learned to fake it. Pretend I know what I'm doing. I can do it. I can swim with the best of them. Then I jump