Hoosier Wordsmith

Tim Peters -- You Are An Ironman!

He did it -- in 13.33 minutes, my dear husband Tim finished the Ironman in Louisville, KY: 2.4 mile swim, 110 mile bike ride, and a full marathon -- 26.2 miles. A year of training, incredible self-discipline, research, and not to mention a supportive wife (that would be moi) all added up to a great race!

He did get very dehydrated at the end and had to get an IV. He was so pale that he almost seemed transparent -- blood pressure 80/50. Phew!

Kate and I had a fun day together chasing him all over the city. We saw him finish, along with several of the other athletes from Plymouth and nearby Bremen. We have a great tri-community here. (I think pretty soon people will be moving here just to train! Like Lake Placid! Or Kona!)

Pictures soon ... although there are a lot already on Facebook thanks to Lisa Jacobs, official Team Photographer!

Performance - the name of the game!

Performance - It's the name of the game

Three Weeks to Ironman!

It's just three weeks to Ironman. Tim left early this a.m. to participate in a group swim in Lake of the Woods. It's still dark -- I hope there aren't any big snapping turtles lurking in the weeds.

He's begun The Taper. His coach, Patrick, warned me about it.

"He'll be grumpy," he said. "He'll have all this extra energy and nowhere to put it."

How about putting it toward unfinished handyman projects around the house? I thought. That oughta wear him out.

The last big race Tim did was the Muncie Endurathon. Despite awful conditions (choppy water in the resevoir and a nasty rainstorm), he did well and recovered quickly. And I got through most of Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls while I was waiting for him to finish! We celebrated our 17th anniversary with the Plymouth/South Bend race crowd the night before at The Olive Garden -- Tim wore his bow tie from his tux and I wore a fairy veil I found in the girls' playroom.

Here's some Endurathon pics. It was wet-suit legal, which made everyone happy!

  

Tim, Don Allen, Doug Sartorius, and Chad Barden waiting for the swim start. They're smiling. That won't last long.

Back in Training

Tim left early this a.m. to run at the LifePlex. Several inches of snow fell last night--enough to make it sloppy. (The elbow I broke in 2000 is aching a little--will the schools have a two hour delay?) Yesterday he sweated through a spin class, then suffered through yoga with me (I didn't suffer--he did!), and then ran with the guys before our weekly dinner with the gang at Pizza Bill's. I have made the necessary mental adjustments; Ironman training has begun! And he's going to be gone--a lot.

After the Chicago Marathon in October, he took several weeks "off" to recover. It was strange to have him home so much. It was nice to have him around, of course--no complaints here! But I realized that as first a doctor's wife, then a tri-wife, I have developed an independent streak. It's a survival skill. I realized early on in our marriage that if I was always waiting, I would always be frustrated. I had to be independent,to be active and not passive. I had to Get a Life.

However, marriage is a curious dance: I am fully an individual, and yet half of the whole Tim and I call our marriage. If I don't miss him when he's away, there's something wrong. Yet, if I insist he give up his goals to keep me company, there's something wrong there, too. He has to balance his commitment to the Ironman with his commitment to be a dad and a husband--I can't figure that out for him. How do we negotiate this uncertain terrain?

More later . . . I've got to see if there's a two-hour delay . . .

A Tri Wife Life

        Tim's at the pool tonight taking a swim class.

    "They're going to videotape my form!" he told me. "It'll be great! My technique really oughta improve after this class."

    It was just a year or so ago that he hooked up with a group of runners in Plymouth. I was happy for him; after almost a decade of private practice, he was struggling to stay motivated in his job. After working out with "the guys" for a while (a misnomer, because there are some awesome women athletes in this group), he came home one day and said,

    "These guys do triathlons. I'm not going to do that. I'm just going to run."

    I smiled. I knew what was coming.

    Behind every great amateur triathlete is a spouse wondering where to store the wetsuit. And the running and biking shoes. And the tri-bike (the garage is not an option). And the lifeguard "floatie thing." And all the performance apparel. I regularly step over the "transition bag," a backpack so large that you could park a Honda Prius inside it. There are usually swim trunks hanging up to dry in the shower, and we go through as many towels in a week as the Brady Bunch and the Partridge Family combined.

    Personal hygiene has changed a little around here.

    Last summer, Tim started shaving . . . his legs. This was inconvenient, because I was darned if my husband's legs were going to be smoother than mine. Then, one night just before I drifted off to sleep, he leaned over and whispered to me,

    "Guess what."

    "What?" I asked, peering at him through half-closed lids. This was an interesting conversation starter.

    "I shaved my chest today." I heard him grinning in the dark.

    "What??" I sat up in bed, stared at him, and then, very slowly, prodded him with my index finger. His chest was as smooth and hairless as a newborn hamster.

    Last night I heard a buzzing sound from the bedroom. Upon entering, I found Tim sitting on the floor shaving his legs with his clippers.

    "I didn't think you guys did that in the winter," I said.

    "It had been a while," Tim said, sheepishly. "The hair was starting to grow back and itch."

    "Been there, done that," I sympathized. I'm no triathlete, but we do have that in common.