When I was a little girl I remember looking in the mirror and being disappointed in my body. I remember pushing in on my stomach and imagining what it would look like a bit flatter. I remember sucking in my gut at 7 years old when people would look at me. I remember when I was about 12 knowing that I was fat. I remember knowing that fat was one of the worst things you could be, because if you were fat it really didn't matter how smart you were, how funny you were, how kind you were, people would still always describe you first as fat. Of course they might not say the word fat, they might say "large, chubby, fluffy, bigger, chunky, puffy, round" all of which just mean fat. Don't get me wrong I was confident, I participated in theatre, I sang publicly, I spoke out in class I wasn't hiding. I just knew I was fat, it was a part of who I was and being fat meant people automatically thought you were lazy, slothful, selfish, and incapable-- at least it did in my own head.
There are many times people look at me and say " I don't know how you do it all" The answer to that is complicated, but it goes back to the fact that in my family being "lazy" is one of the worst human offences. One of the first memories of something my mother said to me was me telling her "I'm bored" like a lot of kids do when they want entertained. She would tell me over and over " A bored person is a selfish person, if you cant find anything to do, do something for someone else." I think this one statement has formed the kind of woman I strive to be. I don't want to be considered lazy or selfish so I fill my life with challenges. This is the first time in my life that those challenges have been physical, and the first time that I have never won and likely will never win any of these races and that part officially sucks.
My race day started with a phone call, from my friend Steph who was waiting for me ready to drive to the race in the Walmart parking lot. I was asleep, dead asleep and from the first ring I knew I had overslept. I answered the phone with, "What time is it?!?" I panicked. Got off the phone, got my clothes on and ran out the door running 20 minutes behind. I was just hoping I remembered to bring everything so I wouldn't be swimming in my clothes or one of the weird suits from the YMCA lost and found. With today's luck I would end up with the size 2 thong bikini left behind from 1978 and would alienate the whole of Walnut Creek. Luckily I had my suit. We arrived with just a few minutes to spare. The swim was first and I finished in record time, even though the other lanes were all emptied out before ours I wasn't that concerned. I still finished at least 3 minutes faster than my usual time in the pool. After a slight mishap which ended with us walking into the men's locker room. We changed and went upstairs to the cycle room and here is where things started going downhill for me. My legs were exhausted, not just tired, literally in muscle failure shaking with every pedal.This had never happened before. I had to stand to get the pedals to move and by the second mile I started feeling defeated. At one point I felt my hands pushing my legs down to get the pedals to move. I finished 10 minutes after the other Dirty Skirts, and many many minutes after the other tri-athletes. I wanted to quit, I wanted to cry, I wanted to run. This was not fun. This wasn't empowering or liberating or motivating. This just made me feel like I was back in 9th grade gym class where everyone was looking at the chubby girl, and hoping she wasn't going to end up on their team. My only solace was in the faces of my skirted friends, the ones who have seen me at my highs and lows. The ones who knew how far I have come and where I want to go. These women are powerful, engaging, beautiful, and strong and everyday I am with them I feel better about everything and I wasnt going to let them down. At mile 7 they are off the bikes and have become my focal point. I hear their voices in my head even when my eyes are closed pushing back tears more from defeat than the pain. I still put on my "show face" the one I put on when a customer isn't happy with me, the one I put on when the seemingly perfect mothers make a comment about serving my kids processed foods, the one I put on when someone says, " I wish I could dedicate so much time to working out" as if working out is taking away from other more important and neglected areas in my life. I had my worst bike time ever- longer by 9 full minutes. People from the next heat were done before me. 10 miles never felt so long. When I saw the treadmills( equipped with personal TVs-- this is a beautiful facility) I actually felt relief. I got on and I immediately felt at home. My legs weren't shaking anymore. It was like my muscles were thanking me for remembering what they actually know how to do. Run. I started slow to make sure my legs wouldn't fall out from under me and finsihed strong. I hate running on a treadmill, but today I was grateful for it. I finsihed the final leg of the race in my normal time frame. And when it was done, I felt like pouting.
I pouted on the inside so no one would think I was a whiner. One thing worse than being lazy is being a whiner. I actually got stabbed by a fork in the back of the hand for whining, but that's a whole other story better left for a day when I am not busy feeling sorry for myself. Then it hits me I AM WHINER! I am going against my own advice when I tell first time runners its not about winning. I am a hypocrite and that is NOT ok. So today If they gave medals mine would say "Last Place". My original goal was to finish in less than an hour and thirty minutes and I DID by a lot. And that is GOOD! There is only one thing worse than being a whiner and that's is being a quitter. And on Sunday, January 29th 2012 I was NOT a quitter. I finished last. BUT I did finish. I may not be there yet, but I am closer than I was yesterday and "still lapping everyone on the couch" So maybe I wasn't dead last after all, and maybe for today that's good enough.
I am dedicating my first Triathalon to my Dad, Jay Tallmon, who was and is one of most important influences in my life. He was the first man to call me beautiful, the first man I ever danced with, and the man who cried when he "gave me away". He has shown me through his own actions that I can achieve physical success even without an atheltes body. He has always pushed himself to do better than his best, and he has NEVER ever quit anything he starts. I love you Daddy!
