A First

You always remember your first...the anticipation, the nerves, making sure you have everything you need, wondering how you'll know the appropriate time to start taking clothes off... Yes, I'll always remember my first triathlon. What did you think I was talking about?

Today my son participated in his first rock climbing competition with his team from Rocksport in Queensbury, New York. For kids active in sports, it's probably just another game, but for a kid with an SPD, just showing up is a big deal. The crowded climbing gym and loud music are bigger challenges than the wall routes. Getting my son in the door was a small victory. I'm thankful that his first was at the familiar Rocksport and not at a strange climbing gym.

We started him climbing on the team because he loves to climb and the Occupational Therapist agreed that it provided the sensory stimulation he needed. He was really nervous about the competition, but he did okay. We didn't expect him to win (he didn't), but he climbed hard enough to wear skin off his fingers. All we asked him to do was try, and he did.

I hope you'll indulge me while I share too many pictures of my son climbing the walls. I'm a mom, after all.

Warming up in the bouldering room

First wall route of the evening

Topped it on his second try

More climbing

One move left to top it

Still climbing

Coming down is much easier

Determination?

Still climbing, even though he was tired

Smelly post-climbing-shoe feet

Be very thankful none of those packets bouncing around the internet carry smells, because the smell coming off those feet could wipe out a small town.

I don't know if he'll remember his first climbing competition with the same fondness I have for my first triathlon, but I'm very proud of him.

We celebrated by going to the Golden Corral, which would be my last choice except that it's a two-minute ride from the climbing gym and on the way home. I managed to put together a decent vegan meal at the buffet. I did cheat earlier when I shared a Snickers bar with my husband at the comp, but I'm still cheese-free.

Death and Life at the Chicago Marathon

Last weekend was a big one for endurance sports, with the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii on Saturday and the Chicago Marathon on Sunday. The Chicago Marathon proved the more newsworthy, marred by the death of a 35 year old, and apparently very healthy, firefighter from North Carolina. The exact cause of his death, just 500 yards from the finish line, is still unknown, but, as anyone who has been reading the (seemingly endless) chapter on determining VO2max in the personal trainer manual knows, the risk of cardiac arrest at maximum heart rate is significant. After 26 miles, could the sight of the finish line inspire even an experienced marathoner to sprint to the finish, pushing his heart past the breaking point? It's possible.

Chicago Marathon death: Autopsy inconclusive on Bank of America Chicago Marathon runner - chicagotribune.com

The universe, though, keeps everything in balance. A few hours after the news of the death reached my twitter stream, this story hit the internet.

Some will question the wisdom of participating in a marathon when 39 weeks pregnant and point out that it led to the somewhat early birth of the baby, but these are not people who consider running a normal part of daily life. My oldest was born at 38 weeks and the early labor may have started as a result of an afternoon spent walking around the mall, trying to finish my Christmas shopping. Shopping is certainly a normal part of life for many of us and not likely to be considered too risky an endeavor for moms-to-be. Amber Miller was a seasoned distance runner and had clearance from her doctor to run/walk the 26.2 miles last Sunday. The baby is perfectly healthy, although I've heard rumors she came out complaining about the bumpy ride.

Interestingly, this video about pregnant rock climber Carrie Cooper, also 39 weeks pregnant, was making its way around the web last week.

Carrie Cooper: 39 Weeks from Prana Living on Vimeo.

Neither Amber or Carrie took up their respective sports after they were pregnant. They just continued doing what they always did, reminding us all that pregnancy is not a disease or a disability, simply something that women's bodies can do in addition to all the other activities of daily life. If those activities happen to include running 20+ miles or climbing rocks, it's because these women are amazing athletes. We should admire them for that. I would like to be a fit and strong as either of these two, sans baby.

Spazz, with a Capital S

Image by Gare and Kitty via Flickr

I was chatting with a yoga student after class yesterday and she asked me which sports I had played in high school. My answer seemed to surprise her. The truth is, I never played any sports in high school. In fact, I spent most of high school volunteering to play ping-pong with the special ed kids so I could get out of gym. I was not athletic. I was an uncoordinated, gawky honors student. I was a Spazz. (Note the capital S.)

So how does the high school klutz end up teaching yoga and participating in triathlons in her 40s? I've been thinking about it, and, honestly, I don't know. I can't remember what drew me to the first yoga class 13 years ago. Desperate to lose post-baby weight, I made a fool of myself in all the aerobic and spin classes they offered in the gym. Maybe I figured yoga couldn't be any worse. I can say with certainty that after one class I was hooked.

Fast-forward 12 years, and I'm finishing up 500 hours of yoga teacher training. I knew the day was coming soon when I wouldn't be spending one weekend a month at the yoga studio, and I wouldn't be compelled to practice every day. My body felt great - strong, flexible, coordinated. I'm afraid that once I lose teacher training, my motivation will go with it. I needed something else to do.

A couple of months later I was in Colorado for a Yoga Journal Conference. I went a day early to do a yoga and rock climbing intensive with Jason Magness and Team Yogaslackers. Rock climbing was something I always wanted to try, so I figured I could scratch that off my bucket list. (I loved it, and now my whole family climbs at an indoor gym. We're hoping to get out on the rock again next summer.) During the intensive, someone mentioned triathlons. I wasn't paying much attention, but I guess that triathlon idea worked it's way into my head.

A week or two later I found myself googling "triathlon" and "training plan". I can't say for sure what made me think I could do a triathlon. I could swim well enough to avoid drowning, bike around the park, and I'd run a 5K once. Not really what I'd call a solid base. I just wanted to do it, so I did. Twice. Now I get to call myself a "triathlete". Notice the "athlete" in there?

When people say "athlete" I still assume they're talking about someone else. But I'm working on it.