Karen's Journey

NOTE: If you haven't read the prologue to this post, I highly recommend reading that first by clicking here. We spend Day Six of our 2012 Lake Placid, New York vacation mostly resting up and trying to decide what our final hike will be on Day Seven. I had planned on the traditional hike into Marcy Dam, since a walk through the woods to eat lunch at Marcy Lake is a pleasant way to end a week of nearly daily physical exertion. And I had not counted on being able to hike a high peak this trip due to my knees and lack of training. But Mt. Jo had been such an easy walk, I'd decided that Cascade, the easiest of the high peaks just might be within my abilities. A stretch, maybe, and I could be very well biting off more than my knees could chew, but I feel mostly confident. My biggest worry is knowing that the last time I'd hiked up Cascade it was a cloudy day and the fear of heights that kicks in on large, open ascents was kept at bay by not being able to see or sense the ope...

I didn't shed a tear on the first day of Pre-K. I was dry eyed as he got on the bus for kindergarten. No tissues needed for first grade or second grade either. But I try to put his set of Snap Snap books into a bag destined for Hub's cousin's son and the floodgates open. You see, I was relieved to be able to send  T to school. The memories I have of his first years here are mostly of conflict. Both he and I lost out on his early childhood. He was one.angry.boy. We had few positive interactions. Life was a constant battle. He'd wake up sunny and happy. Hubs and I would take bets on how long it would last. Generally less than two minutes. And why should he have been happy? Being here with us in this family was not his choice.  But I just could not handle the constant-ness of our battles. Nothing was ever right. He fought me at every chance over everything. Him spending eight hours at school and daycare gave me the time I needed to be able to be a halfway decen...

This is my swim wave. I'm the short one in the center to the right of the tall woman  with her hands on her hips. The horn is in the air, poised to sound  the start of our race.  We left off with me standing in a lake waiting for the start of my swim wave in my sprint triathlon. This is what I knew standing there: If I make it to the run, I'm golden. My legs know what to do. "My legs are fine/after all, they are mine."  That quote comes from a song I heard on the radio every time I was going to or coming from a workout:  Carry On  by Fun.  (watch the video here) Eventually, the lyrics started sinking in and I realized this was my triathlon theme song. Call me crazy, but I think it might have a bit of an Ethiopian beat to it, once it gets past the intro. " If you're lost and alone (bike ride) Or you're sinking like a stone (the swim) Carry on May the past that you've found Be your feet upon the ground (the run) Car...

When I was about 10 years old, I heard my mother tell a friend of hers, "Oldest Daughter is the athletic one." As the middle daughter, I've spent the rest of my life trying to prove her wrong. Okay, so it took me two years to get out of the beginner's group in swim lessons and I never did pass advanced swimmers, and Big Sis was indeed bigger and stronger than me -- she actually made it through advanced life saving and worked as a life guard and swim instructor. And she could beat up the boys who picked on me -- that was handy. She actually made one cry once. Score. Even though I felt a little sorry for him. But still. To be pigeon-holed as "not athletic." That kind of irked me. Which is probably how I ended up standing nearly hip deep in Oneida Lake in upstate New York on a chilly Sunday morning in early August waiting for the horn to signal the start of my 600 meter swim, followed by a 30 kilometer bike ride, followed by a five kilometer run. I'm ...