A memory

I didn't want to run outside at first. This was just over three years ago, and I remember running 1.1 miles downhill to Grasslawn Park from the Pro Club...then turning around and having to walk up the beginning of the hill on the way back.

My heart rate was in the 180s; I poured sweat; my legs felt like lead. I looked away from the street in hopes that no one driving by would recognize me - the fat girl trying to run.

This morning, I mapped a ridiculous route. It took us from the Pro Club on the border of Redmond and Bellevue all the way into downtown Bellevue; then to Medina, Clyde Hill, Hunt's Point, downtown Kirkland, and back into Redmond.

And despite my high training volume in the early part of this week - despite the hills of Bellevue (don't believe the elevation profile of the route - it's way wrong) - despite the distance - I didn't even question whether I could do it.

I did it joyfully, too - I honestly felt like dancing and singing the entire way. I felt light and light-hearted.

Nine miles in, I said to Nancy and Sarah, "Hey. I'm going to be an Ironman."

I love runs and rides like this - where I feel Ironman is so within my reach. I've had the opposite, too - but more and more, I feel this way. I can do this. It's going to happen.

They looked at me like, "Duh!"

And I replied, "Come on. Sarah, you knew me before. Where did I come from? How did this happen?"

Maybe it was always there, dormant under the layers of fat. Or maybe it just developed organically as I experienced each new thing - a completed 5K, a 5-mile run, my first 50-mile bike ride, and so on.

Either way, I hope I always remember what it was like to not make it up that hill way back when. I want to cherish that memory as a starting point - recognizing now that I can only imagine what the end-point will be. There's always something bigger - and I just believe so much now that whatever it is, it's achievable.