i bled for my sport

I've never considered myself an athlete. I've never competed in much of anything. Not even ping-pong. I played a few games of racquetball in college (after conquering my fear of balls) and learned how not to throw like a girl.

And though I ran a marathon, there was nothing competitive about it. I believe I was even passed by an 80 y/o close to mile 22.

However, I do have an obsessive and addictive personality. That's why I don't gamble. I KNOW I would get addicted. Anything I do for more than a few weeks, I get addicted to.

That's how I became, as friend Jacquelyn put it, a runaholic back in college. I was the fat-probably-going-to-turn-out-gay one in H.S. I hated P.E.

But there was some kind of epiphany in January of '98.

I was taking the required P.E. course in college. In one of our first classes, we had to "run" for 12 minutes. I was shocked. SHOCKED. First, that I could move my legs at a pace faster than tortoise for more than 30 seconds. Second, that in those 12 minutes I actually went a mile. I had NEVER done that. (well, if you count junior high P.E., I did a mile in 15 minutes, but that's really walking fast)

I kept going back to the track just to see how far I could go. And within a couple months, I was running 5 miles/day at 6 mph. And the next year I did the marathon.

Moving to Kansas changed all that. New surroundings. New habits. Running fell by the wayside.

Until my fat-pants got tight last December.

We had had a YMCA membership for several years. I would go every once in a while. For a few months a couple years ago, I took swimming lessons and was amazed to find I could swim. (never had done that, either.)

So I made a goal to do a triathlon by my 30th b-day. (next year)

No offense Addy, but I thought, if Addy could do it, so could I!

Which is interesting because she said it was because she saw me do the marathon (she made the 6 hour drive with me to Kansas. From L-R Addy, Me, Jill) that she started doing triathlons.

So here I am. Runaholic. Swimaholic. Bikeaholic.

Last Friday was my longest run in almost 7 years. Six miles.

It was hot. I had just done a lower body and sprint workout at 4:45 a.m. that morning.

Half-way in the run, someone supplied my water stop. It was after that, I noticed blood covering my left hand. My watch was digging in the back of my hand.

I kept running.

I must have drank too much water, because I puked some of it back up on the way home.

I kept running.

My thighs were killing me. I was running into 15 mph wind.

I kept running.

THAT, people, is an addiction. I loved it.

I saw my trainer at the gym this morning and told her about the blood, puking and pain. She got a huge smile on her face and hugged me and said, "Oh, honey, you're a real triathlete now."

On top of that, I had to go perform in front of an audience at 9:00 that night.

I'm crazy and I know it. But the pants fit again.