FLASH-POINT BLOGGER: SARA ZIEMNIK

So today on my tempo run (which was fabulous, by the way), I got to thinking. I've been wanting a new, hawt, sexy tri bike for a while now.

But why? I dunno. I guess because it just seems like a natural progression or something. You know...start running, do a few sprint tris on mountain bikes, get an entry-level road bike, run a marathon, do an MS 150, think maybe an Ironman's not so crazy after all, spend a few seasons getting ready for it, finish Ironman. Want a new sexy hawt tri bike.

Now that I'm realizing how much child care costs (seriously...second mortgage, anyone?) and just signing up for races in general (for real, dawgs...does Steelhead REALLY need all $200? Would they also like my soul?), I'm thinking it's just not going to happen.

But I think that is OK.

See, I really have no business going out and getting a hawt sexy tri bike. Not just because I can't afford it. Because I'm not really even cool enough to ride it.

Seriously. I have no business on one of those things. Who am I kidding?

Growing up, my parents THANKFULLY did not allow me to succumb too much to the ridonkuluss-ness of the dreaded Middle School Years. Where most girls are mean girls, and where you tried your hardest to look like everyone else. Where you buy that purple ESPRIT sweatshirt...marked up $50 because it has the word "ESPRIT" on it and at age 11 you're not even really sure what that means but you MUST. HAVE. IT. because so-and-so has it and made fun of your outfit from Sears.

I really didn't have much ESPRIT stuff. Except for one purple sweatshirt.

But one thing I did have was a Coca Cola shirt.

It was red, because it had to be. And I wore it on the first day of 6th grade with my denim skirt and loafers with the laces tied in some ornate knot that I had to do because everyone else was doing it.

I loved that Coca Cola shirt. It was the one piece of clothing I had that I really allowed myself to "buy into the hype" and feel all cool and stuff and do what everyone else was doing.

And then a few years later...and even now...I look at this thing and go, HUH?

THAT'S the fugly thing that I wanted to wear? Because everyone else said so?

Hmmm.

Since when have I cared what I'm riding? Honestly. Sheesh. I am currently driving the only car I've ever owned... a '99 Chevy Cavalier (total base model--no power locks or windows) with 92,000 miles on it. The heater and AC has two levels: high and off. The cupholder blows. There's some weird stains on the seats. It came with just a RADIO. Not even a tape deck. I splurged and spent $125 on a CD player, lest I succumb to the idiocy of Cleveland radio stations. The rust spot on my trunk is covered up with an Ironman Wisconsin magnet.

It is NOT a HAWT SEXY CAR at all.

I drive it to school and sometimes my students make fun of my car. SERIOUSLY. My students, many of whom have brand new or leased cars that are wayyyyyyyyyyy cooler than mine.

THEY'RE SIXTEEN.

Last year there was an H3 in the student parking lot.

I wish I was kidding.

I am always quick to defend my car. It's been hella more reliable than many of my friends cars. I gotta give Chewy some love. (that's her name) In fact, I sort of pride myself a bit on having a car that I paid off in 2002 still, that doesn't have any bells or whistles, and that I have money to spend on other things. Like a backpacking trip to the Grand Canyon, or whitewater rafting in the New River with friends.

(Or, lately, diapers and wipes.)

So I think I'm going to embrace my bike. Love the bike. It's a 2002 Trek 1200. I bought it with no experience whatsoever, and it took me on my first MS 150 that August. It allowed me to think, "Hey...maybe that Ironman thing...maybe it's not too crazy, since I just rode 150 miles...?" And it took me to Ironman Wisconsin. And it got me to the finish line.

She's not very sexy. But she's a workhorse.

This year, I'm going to put my FP60s on this very ordinary, very entry-level, very non-hawt bike. These FP60s, which are WAYYYYYYYY cooler and hawter than my bike, or really me for that matter. And I'm going to see how far they take me. And how far my bike takes me. But really, I'm going to see how far ME takes me.

Maybe the transition area at Steelhead will remind me of my high school's parking lot. I'm used to driving the oldest car there and it doesn't affect my work performance at all.

Perhaps ol' Chewy is trying to tell me something.

One of the most frequent questions I get asked now that I'm obviously pregnant, aside from "do you know what it is?" (I usually like to respond, "homo sapien"), is, "So what strange cravings have you had?"

Really. I can't say that I've had ANY strange cravings. There was a bizarre macaroni and cheese thing for about 5 days back around week 13, but other than that...um....I got nuthin'. No pickles. No ice cream, really, which for me is quite a shock.

There are two things I crave more than anything though, but I can't indulge in them. You can't buy them in any store.

They are:

1. A 10 mile run

2. A 3 hour ride

Well, I'm just sayin'.

THAT'S what I'm craving.

How do you avoid triathlon burnout?

Get knocked up.

(Seriously.)

I think this is great advice. I was thinking about it the other day, and I really haven't stopped moving in a while. 2004 saw a bunch of triathlons, a Masters degree, and a marriage. 2005 brought me another marathon, some olympic and sprint tris, and my first half ironman. 2006 brought me another half ironman, 2 half marathons, a few shorter tris, and an Ironman. I did a half marathon in late November, 2006.

I didn't stop.

Until February rolled around. When my body gave me the proverbial middle finger and sort of FORCED me to stop.

I kicked and screamed. I tried to keep going...and mostly failed. I slept. A lot. In short, I really didn't know what to do with myself. If I'm not moving, then who am I?

I think that's a good question for all triathletes out there to ask themselves.

Because this thing can be taken away from you at a moment's notice. And not always for good, exciting reasons.

You really, really need to know who you are when you're not moving.

I'm getting to know her...and maybe starting to like her a bit. I'm realizing how much of a dreamer she is--that she can't stop thinking about the future. She thinks about school...will she really be able to handle an AP class and a bunch of honors kids? She hasn't really had the honors kids...ever. Far from it. Especially not with a new (or at least MUCH more detailed) subject and when 9 months pregnant.

Then, she remembers...yeah. Cum laude, Miami University. Armonk Scholar. James Madison Scholar. 3.9 GPA in MA program.

She can do it somehow. She'll make it work.

She thinks about the fall. How the room that used to be an office is now starting to fill up with blue, yellow, and green things. How she can't deny what's about to happen when she feels a strong kick to the rib cage. How sometimes it's all so overwhelming it brings tears of frustration to her eyes...this thing is so much bigger than anything she's ever done. It's so damn scary.

But she's never let herself down before. She remembers that...at mile 5 of the bike course last year, she knew if she was going to make it that day she was going to have to adapt to the situation and throw all prior goals out the window. It was going to be all about surviving.

So she knows she'll somehow do that, too.

She dreams about next year. Of how happy she'll be to get on her bike for the first time, after watching so many rain-less, brisk mornings go by this summer. Of how she can't wait to run...to really, really run again. To do a track workout. To gasp for air again. To see a "7" on her watch--at the front--after running a mile. To feel her heart pounding.

Of how good it will feel to be at a starting line next year.

Any starting line. And how good it will feel to finish.

But for now, she's forcing herself to be in the present, because she has to. The kicks remind her. Snap out of it. Think about now.

She's packed away all her trophies and age group awards, and really wasn't sad to see them move to the attic after mostly gathering dust in the old office. She's starting to realize that's not what this is really about. That she'll never, ever be in the top 3 at an Ironman, a marathon, or for that matter, probably at a half-ironman. But she knows that those races are where she needs to be.

She's getting as ready as she can...because you never will be ready. You can wait your whole life to be "ready," and still not be there. She's figured that part out, at least.

But sooner or later, she knows she's going to have to trust herself and her abilities.

And that's who I am when I am not moving.