More of My Outlier Story

I want to fill in a few more blanks here so that the whole thing makes sense.

In my 20's, I was a rollerskating whore. I also took a bodybuilding class around the age of 26, and was told by the instructor that "if I wanted to, I could pack on a bunch of muscle." I guess that means he thought I am an endomorph, how funny considering certain people (I call them jealous assholes in my head) seem to get a kick out of calling me skinny now, which would imply that I'm an ectomorph who has trouble adding muscle mass. Which is it? If I don't do a lot of cardio, I know I can put on muscle pretty quickly...keep reading.

Right after I got married, I stopped rollerskating in order to adopt more of the hobbies of my husband (fishing, canoeing, camping, drinking, ping pong), although I did not take up running 2 miles at a time occasionally--I just wasn't into running.

In 1991 at the age of 35 (still married at this point), I became tired of being skinny and flabby. I enjoyed the way I felt in my 20's when I was at least doing about an hour of aerobic exercise a day, and I also liked lifting weights. So with one of my bonuses (from being a workaholic), I bought a weight machine that I still have and love. I also bought some dumbbells to round out the weight collection. I started working out with that stuff, and in about 3 months' time, my then husband remarked to me, "Don't you think your arms are big enough?" What the fuck, man. It's not like I was a steroid bitch. Sure, I was showing some bis, tris and delts (nice ones, too), but I still had a nice ladylike coating of fat over them. Still, that comment sat with me.

In 1992, I became fed up with the workaholic lifestyle, received a poor, undeserved performance review (my then manager was fired soon thereafter, so my instincts about him were right on the money), and quit my job with the blessing of my husband. I just wanted to take a few weeks to breathe and figure some things out. I don't remember how long I took off, but it wasn't too long, and I secured another job easily. I continued lifting and began adding some cardio to my week because I thought it was the right thing to do.

In 1994, my husband asked for a divorce. That sent me reeling, and 3 months after the process got started, I was laid off from my job. I pulled a stupid maneuver and went rollerskating after a few too many drinks, crashed and ended up with a broken arm and good concussion that made me pass out a couple of times in front of my Mom. I wasn't exactly at my best.

I picked myself up and got onto the job hunt, which at first depressed me. Here I was going through a divorce, lost my job, crashed on skates drunk, my self-confidence was at an all time low, and I am supposed to be all smiley and confident walking into job interviews. The first 2 weeks were hell, but then things turned around and all of a sudden I had 3 job offers. I took the one that required the shortest commute with the most pay.

Since I was so happy to have found myself in a slightly better place, I rewarded myself with a trip to Kona before I began my new job. I had a great time, basically laying on the beach drinking and snorkeling. It was awesome.

I made some fast friends at the new job, had some post-divorce wildness (I won't go into details), and joined the health club in the office building because it seemed like a fun thing to do. I was invited to join a step aerobics class. I thought, OH NO I AM A SPAZ (Spaz is my brother Mike's affectionate name for me), but I caught on soon. And then I liked it so much that when they told us to take our heart rates and mine was quite low, I took it as a signal that I needed to work out harder.

Are we seeing a pattern here?

I kept doing the step class to the point where I was so good at it that I could sub for the teachers when they were sick. There was a parade of trainers at this gym until 1998 when the guy who led the step class changed it up to a circuit format including jump rope, jumping jacks, assorted step things, etc. When it turned to summer, we headed outdoors and it got even more fun because now we incorporated sprints. I had never run before, but I was cool with the sprints.

One day, I thought, "I wonder if I can run around this outdoor path all the way." And so I did, and it felt easy, so I did it a few more times. One of the runners I knew said, "You just basically ran a 5K." I didn't know what that meant, but I found out, and also that every weekend in the Chicago area in spring through fall you can find a 5K race, so I thought I'd try one out.

I puked at the end of my first official 5K in 1998, but loved it. The reason I puked is because I took my then usual handful of vitamins like 2 hours before the start, and so they didn't really have time to digest much with the nerves and all, and hence I puked heartily at the finish. In fact, I found the nearest garbage can and heaved into it once, backed off, and then went back for seconds! Someone asked if I was okay, and I said, "Just leave me alone once I finish puking I'll be just fine." And I was.

Next, these "runners" began talking about marathons. Not me, NO FUCKING WAY NEVER! And fall of 1998 I agreed to run the last 5 miles of the Chicago marathon (or at least try to) with a friend. The week before, I realized I had never run that far ever, so after my usual 3.5-ish mile run, I ran another 5. It seemed like I could do it, so I was happy I would be able to keep my promise.

That year they had a 5K that began about 1/2 hour before the marathon start, so I did it, and then I took the El out to the 21 mile point of the marathon. I met up with my friend, and she was running maybe 8:15's and I couldn't run that fast, but I think I kept with her for about a mile, and then told her to go. I still ran all the way in and they tried to give me a medal and everything (I did have a bib on from the 5K).

My friend tried to convince me to do a marathon and again I said NO FUCKING WAY. I went to Kona on vacation the day after the Chicago marathon. The second day I was there, I decided to just run a bit more slowly and see how far I could go. I ran 7 miles. Then 2 days later, I ran 9 miles. 2 more days later I ran 11. I decided right then and there that I could run a marathon.

When I got home from Kona, what should appear in my mailbox but a flyer for Team in Training's program for the Anchorage marathon in June, 1999. I signed up, and also decided I'd do Chicago marathon later that year.

Now, it was in April of 1999 and I was in Kona again on vacation and I did an 18-miler to prepare for Anchorage, and it was on my way home from Kona that the fateful discussion about Ironman took place. I had not even done my first marathon and I was thinking of Ironman.

I find this all very entertaining to recall. See I just listened to people who took time to know me and see things in me that maybe I couldn't see myself at first. And now I've done 15 Ironmans, 8 open marathons (2 of them being on my own) and one Ultraman.

My dear Dad (rest in peace) did not at first understand why a seeming smarty (he considered me the brightest of all his children and I believe he was correct) would want to get involved in endurance sports. I pointed out that Alan Turing, for one example, was into endurance sports. Albert Einstein was known to go on 3 hour walks. My point being that endurance and deep thought (even mathematics and physics!) are very compatible pursuits. So I guess I was convincing Dad that I wasn't an outlier. And he did come to understand how the physical stuff balanced me out emotionally and intellectually.

There. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!