chortle

the other day i woke up and the first thought/word that popped into my mind was 'chortle'. my next thought: well that has to be my absolute LEAST favorite word. e.v.e.r. chortle. what the fuck is chortle?! i mean, come on. ironically, every definition of 'chortle' includes the word glee. see, even my subconscious is a pessimist. that's talent. or maybe just congruency at its finest. stupid damn word. and of course, as always happens to me, i come across this word THREE times that day. not just once, or twice. but THREE times. how the hell does that happen?!

CHORTLE

stupid fucking word. i thought maybe if i changed it's font color, it might be a little more tolerable. i was wrong.

carry on.

what's a hand-basket?

it has been a very, very long time. recap:

IMAZ was quite an experience this year. dave's parents came down, as did mine. i got there on friday, in order to register. yes, i'll wait for your double-take. when i learned i'd only be getting back $175 of my $550 'donation' to IMAZ, i decided to keep the registration so that i could be in transition with dave. i walked through the registration area, and from the time i took me to clear those 50 yards, i went from happy and excited to absolutely raging pissed. i was so angry. i wanted to cry/scream/hit someone/throw something. that was my race, that was OUR race. and here i was, going through the motions so that i could sit on the sidelines. saturday i was able to go out in tempe towne lake and freeze my ass off along with dave. we weren't out there for long, but it was nice to be in my wetsuit, and with dave out there, just the 2 of us (and 500 others) away from parents and from other people. it gave us a little calming time alone.

sunday morning i woke up with the determination that today was going to be dave's day. it wasn't about me, and how i wasn't racing and why. it was dave's day, dave's race and we were all here for him. wrangling 8+ people for a race like IMAZ can be quite interesting. having been there last year for max helped a lot, as we were able to pick out good spots to camp out. the dog did wonderfully, even in the random and freezing bout of rain that pounded us for awhile. the weather was just brutal. this race couldn't be more different that last year's. the wind was just total bullshit. i was very worried for dave before he even came out of the water - it was going to be a cold day.

all-in-all, it was great. dave finished with lots of gas left in the tank, something he wasn't too happy about. mentally he was strong, but tired of being out there. i was holding up rather well, until dave needed me to meet him at the special needs area. we talked, i gauged where he was at/how he was handling all the craziness that is Ironman. we got through all that when he looked at me and said 'you should be out here with me'. it was probably 0.75 miles back to where the group was camped, and i bawled the entire way back. the finish was amazing. he was amazingly jovial, cracking jokes and talking to everyone. honestly, it was as if he'd just done a tough oly race, not an ironman. the group enjoyed some pizza and beer after, and we were all in bed by 10 or so. the next day we made it to the store back at the race venue, and proceeded to blow $400+ on gear. couldn't help it, we have an ironman in the house now. that is cause for recognition.

on the job front, i've dug myself quite the hole. a lady on the inpatient side, a key person that starts the ball rolling for my job duties, just quit. literally gave like 2 days notice and just disappeared. and that was before thanksgiving, as it turns out. so i came back after being off for 1.5 weeks to find that everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket. what's a hand-basket anyway? is it similar to the size of basket found on beach cruisers? and if so, how could that possibly carry such a negative connotation as going to hell? they're meant to carry flowers, and small furry friends, how is that anything BUT hellish? even the fattest of furry friends is still happy. i don't get it. i digress. work is crazy, and i dug myself a hole by opting to take over a large part of the disappear-o's duties. do i know how to do any of it, oh of course not. but it needs to be done. the good part - if i truly end up keeping it, i plan on hitting these people up in another month or so. it's a major time-suck, and i deserve to be compensated for it if it's truly going to be mine.

on the training front...

yeah, that's about it. well maybe not that bad. i went to PT, and he essentially told me he couldn't help me. i wasn't lacking in strength or flexibility. my follow-up dr's appt yielded squat. well, not squat. i was really pissed. so it yielded very angry feelings, but nothing as far as a plan. he told me that he never said he'd go back in for repeat surgery, that he just wouldn't do that. i proceeded to remind him that i was a nurse, and i know what was discussed at my last appt. he reiterated that he wouldn't go back in surgically, there was no defined mass there anymore. it was all fluid spread across the sub-q, essentially like an IV infiltrate for any of you aware of what those are. yeah, not going back to him. i'm trying to get into a specialist at kaiser. working on that now.

had my first jog/walk this morning. it felt good actually. in order to be able to walk, i have to wrap the majority of my upper thigh in very wide ace bandage, tight. this gives me a lovely muffin-top kinda thing (excess fluid has to go somewhere) above the wrap on my ass, but i'm able to run. i should run with an apologetic sign affixed to my back, as the view from the back of me can't be pretty. i'm way out of shape, but that's to be expected. i haven't ridden in ages, a very nice little fear of road riding has planted itself in my mind as of late. i'm sure it will subside if i can just get myself out there, but i'm not quite ready yet. the path dave loved to ride in IMAZ training was good, but it got monotonous after while. we'll see.

i turn 30 in a few days. that makes me sad. i had 2 goals to accomplish before i turned 30, either become an Ironman or be a momma. fail. on both counts. but, i'm alive, and i have a lovely life/job/hubby/dog. i know this, but sometimes it still bums me out. c'est la vie.