lucky.

This is starting to hurt. I mean, I knew it would. I knew it had to. It's been a big training week so far on little sleep, and I am overwhelmed and emotional and ready to crack. Snippy and short and stressed and panicked. It’s hot again, and I just want to put on some comfy clothes and crawl in bed. This is how I'm feeling after my workout this morning, and I know I need to take a deep breath and change my attitude. And remember, I am lucky.

I remember the run portion of the Galveston Half-Ironman a few weeks ago. I spotted a blind athlete who was running tethered to his guide during the race. I saw several varieties of paraplegic athletes or athletes missing limbs. And I remember thinking “what the hell do I have to complain about my race – I can see and I have four functioning limbs.” My racing and training problems are small. I can go out and ride without concern over logistics of someone being my eyes. I don’t have to worry about my prosthetic and I don’t give a second thought to how I’m going to get into or out of the pool. I just go and do.

But it’s more than that.

I’m lucky. I forget this sometimes, in the day-to-day of being overwhelmed and stressed; of focusing on the little things. I focus on my shortcomings and perceived failures. I focus on what I do not do well. I get frustrated. I forget.

I forget that I can see and I have four functioning limbs.

I forget how lucky I am to have a husband who supports me in my endeavor.

I forget how lucky I am to have a family who supports me, encourages me and cheers me on every chance they get.

I forget how lucky I am to live in a state without winter.

I forget how lucky I am to have a pretty flexible schedule and work close to home.

I forget how lucky I am to be essentially healthy, without physical limitations, restrictions, conditions or barriers.

I forget that I run for myself, for the simple pleasure of seeing how far I can go and how fast I can go without thinking about or comparing myself to anyone else.

I forget that I love the freedom of the bike, the things I see on the road, the joy of legs spinning madly.

I forget that the peace I feel in the water, even during the madness of a triathlon.

I forget how lucky I am to be able to afford bikes and shoes and race entry fees.

I forget that I love the sport for what it gives me and not the time it takes away.

I forget how lucky I am to be training for Ironman.