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Who Put Doing A Triathlon on my Bucket List?

7/26/2015

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I got into the wetsuit in less than 10 minutes…and was in the water less than 10 minutes when I got out of it.

Last winter I invited my brother-in-law, Chris, to invite me to do a triathalon with him.   Obligingly, he complied.   I am not sure who put doing a triathalon on my bucket list—I guess it was me.  I put it there after I invited Chris to invite me to do it.  I put it there so that I could cross it off when I completed it.   Having done it, I would never need to do a triathalon again.   Saturday I participated in the Spudman Triathalon, an event featuring a mile swim in the Snake River, a 25 mile bike ride around the Burley, ID area, and a 6.2 mile run along a Burley canal bank.   

Having heard that wetsuits are a must but being reluctant to part with the $50 it would cost to rent a suit, I asked Chris “How many of the participants last year did not wear wetsuits?”   “About 2….out of 2000,” was his response.     Swayed by the wisdom of the masses, I decided to rent a wetsuit.

Earlier in the week I tried on the wetsuit before renting it and decided that triathlons should really be called quad-athons with the fourth event being the putting on of the wetsuit.    Holy cow!    I burned up 10 minutes and 2,000 calories just trying to get the thing on.   It was a real ordeal that left me drenched in sweat.  The salesman said it should be tight and it was.

Too tight.   Saturday I started swimming in the fourth flight (red swim cap, 7:40 a.m.) of the day.   When I entered the river and tried to swim away from the bank I found that I could not breathe.  My chest simply did not have room to expand.  I could not draw a deep breath and was forced to swim with my face out of the water in order to get enough air.  Soon even swimming with my face up wasn’t supplying my oxygen needs.

Before the race I’d prayed that I’d be guided to make wise decisions.  My prayer was answered multiple times throughout the day, the first being my decision to get rid of my wetsuit top.  [The wetsuit was a two piece contraption, consisting of bib pants and a pull over top.]  About 50 m into the race, I floundered over to the dock where kind race officials pulled me gasping from the water and helped me remove the restricting top.

I got back into the water immediately.  Though it was several minutes before my breathing returned to normal exercise patterns the difference was instantly apparent.  I could breathe again!   What difference breathing makes!!

Once breathing became something I did, instead of something I struggled to do, the swim became very pleasant.   The water—about 70 degrees F—was nice.  The river—The Snake—was wide and gently flowing.  I couldn’t really feel the current but its effect was very apparent as my mile swim time was about half normal.   The swim was over before I expected it to be; soon I was in the bike transition area.

As a first-time-triathalete-with-no-plans-to-do-another-one, I didn’t purchase the fancy gear that many people utilize and so I had to wait for an open porta-pottie to make the change from my swim suit to shorts and a t-shirt.  Soon enough I was on my trusty bike, a mountain/road bike hybrid.   I was on only one of three bikes I saw with knobby tires.   Hundreds (and hundreds) of bikers on road bikes with razor thin tires passed us (me and my bike), sometimes solo, often in packs of 10-20….and I was totally okay with that.

The 25 mile bike ride was beautiful.  Wide, blue skies above, country roads beneath, cows and crops on both sides; it was a country girl’s dream come true.  We—me and my bike—rode past corn and grain fields, a leafy crop I learned later was sugar beets, and many dairies.  (Oh the dairy air!!)    I spent a good portion of my ride thinking about Lance and what a blessing he is in my life.   I’ve been able to do a lot of really cool things because he is there for me.  He encourages me to have adventures and completely supports me, both physically and emotionally, while I have them.  He has my back and what a blessing that is!

My back was good but my butt got a little sore at the end.   I was really pleased to read the sign that said there were only 5 miles left but the ride never crossed the line from a mostly-enjoyable task to a largely-difficult one.

Immediately after the bike transition area, the course ascended up a 150 m hill whose steepness equaled that of football stadium steps.  I have a long standing policy to NEVER walk uphill—I always take hills at a jog, even if it is a super slow jog—but as I started to run up the hill my legs, which hadn’t previously indicated to me that they were fatigued, made it very clear that they’d just pedaled me 25 miles, that they needed a break, and that if I insisted on making them power up the hill, they’d make my life really miserable later on in the run.  I wisely decided that the hill was still part of the transition zone, that the run did not start until the top of the hill, and that I would walk to the end of the transition zone (i.e. up the hill) which I did …and it was good.

Then I ran 6.2 miles (about) and it was good…if you can call a 13 minute mile pace good (which I can!).  I was slow, slow, SLOW but, like the tortoise, steady.  I had 2 glasses of water at each of the three water stops, one I put down my throat and one I poured over my head…and it was good.    The course followed a farm canal for a couple miles…and it was good.  My country girl heart was full.

My heart was also tired as were my legs and most everything else associated with me.  About mile 3 I got a second wind of sorts and felt confident; “I can do this thing”.  (Translation:  I can finish without experiencing too much pain.) About mile 4 I was not so sure.  I really, really wanted to walk.  I did not hurt anywhere specific and I had no good reason to walk but I really, really, REALLY wanted to.

At registration, race officials used a permanent marker to write every competitor’s number on his/her left arm and calf.  They also penned every competitor’s age on his/her right calf.  What a blessing!  As people (hundreds of them) passed me (on the bike ride and during the run) I looked at their right calves and thought “Yep, she’s younger than me…so is she….he is too”.  It was a great source of distraction and validation.    By gum, I’m a 50 year old woman doing her first triathlon and I’m just happy to be out here on the course doing it—creating a story—grabbing life with both hands and living it.  Whaaaa-whooo!

So…about mile 4 I was not feeling a lot of “whaaa-whooo”.  I was feeling a lot of fatigue and I just wanted to walk.  Two things kept me going:

1)      I wanted to be done.   Just be done.   If I walked it would be longer before I was done and I really, really just wanted to be done.

2)      Experience, in races and in life, has taught me that one step at a time takes me where I want to go.   If I could just keep taking one step at a time, I would make it to mile 5; it was inevitable.  And, getting to the place where there was just one mile left, I also knew from experience, was magic.  The last mile is do-able.  At mile 4, I did not have to run 2 more miles, I just had to make it to mile 5 and momentum would carry me in.

I made it to mile 5 and momentum did bring me home. I don’t remember much of mile 5 but I do remember it was easier than the two that preceded it.  We country folk call it “smelling the barn”.

The final stretch took me down a grassy slope, around a corner, and onto a broad, green fairway, lined by orange webbing and cheering onlookers.  Oh what a feeling!!!  Money cannot buy the joy/ecstasy/elation that one feels at such a moment.  It must be earned.

It was a forever moment for me; the images of a beautiful blue sky, a clear bright sunshine, and of Lance snapping photos, the sound of hundreds of genuine strangers cheering, the sight of the finish line within sprinting distance, and the absolutely, undeniable knowledge that I’d done it will stay with me forever.

“Crossing the finish line is Teresa Hislop, of Roy, UT, 50 years young!” the race announcer said.   I found myself again struggling to breathe, not because of restrictive clothing, not because of fatigue or exhaustion or for any other physical reason.  Emotion constricted my chest and sobs threatened to block my airway.   What an incredible experience!   What a great and glorious experience!!!

When is the next one?



Love,
Teresa



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I could breathe....
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...and stretch before I started swimming....
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On your mark, get set, swim!!
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Starting the swim to bike transition....Notice the wet suit top is missing!
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Transition from bike to run....
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Finishing the swim to bike transition...
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Running down the home stretch.... I don't look too good but I feel great!
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Chris and I with our support crews, Lance and Sallie
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Teresa Hislop of Roy,UT. Fifty years young!
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I Love My Neighbors!!!

7/19/2015

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I love my neighbors, I really do!   I have fabulous neighbors on both sides of me, north and south.   We share ducks, dogs, and desserts.   Lonnie told me where the keys to his tractor are and Darrell bakes my cakes for me.   Chris lets Miles borrow DVD’s and Rita watches out for my animals.   They truly are wonderful, WONDERFUL people and I feel exceedingly blessed to have them at my sides.

Recently I gained appreciation for another neighbor of mine…..ours, actually…..

Earlier this month, accompanied by our faithful friends the Dragos, we visited our neighbors to the north….a long, long way north…where I quickly fell, if not in love, at least into a deep, deep friendship.   I love Canada and Canadians!  What a truly awesome experience we had!!

At the Canadian border, I found myself doing a figurative potty dance in the car.   We were the third vehicle in line and pressure in my bladder was getting uncomfortable so I decided to take matters into my own hands.   Hoping there were public bathrooms in the border station, I grabbed my passport, exited the car, and approached the guard on duty.

“May I use your bathroom?” I inquired politely.

“Not until I have checked you in,” she said.

I handed her my passport.

“What is your full name?” she asked.    I answered correctly.   She followed with a series of questions, each of which I answered appropriately…. “Where do you live?”, “Where were you born?”, “What is the purpose of your visit to Canada?”, “How long will you be staying in Canada?”....until her final question…..

“Don’t you have a current passport?” she inquired.   I had no words.  All I could do was gasp as air and hope rushed out of me.

“Isn’t that my current passport?” I eventually managed to stammer.    It wasn’t.  I’d brought my mission passport, a document that expired in 1996.

Words cannot describe the horror I felt as my mind raced over the possible consequences of my blunder…..nor can words describe the relief and gratitude I felt when she allowed me to enter the country anyway.   It was the first of many love-inducing experiences I had with our neighbors to the north.

Lois, the spry 83 year old mother of a woman in our stake, is another reason I love Canada.  She welcomed us into her home, bed and breakfasted us (twice), and generally welcomed us like we were long lost kinfolk.   Her incredible home—a log cabin with open beams ceilings and an interior rope swing—was exceeded only by her incredible graciousness.   All of us what to be like her “when we grow up”.

The incredibly kind border guard and our unofficially-adopted, incredibly kind grandma were appropriate pre-coursers for what is appropriately billed as the most incredible outdoor show on Earth---Welcome to the Calgary Stampede!

Holy cow!  HOLY COW!!!  Actually the cows probably were not holy but they were certainly awe-inspiring as was everything else associated with The Stampede.   Seriously.    Even if you do not like rodeos (Lance hates rodeos), you should consider putting attending the Calgary Stampede on your bucket list.  (Lance LOVED it.)   If you even a slight interest in rodeos, going to the Calgary Stampede is a MUST.   

The Ogden Pioneer Days Rodeo was recently ranked in the top five in our nation.    The Calgary Stampede is 10 times, maybe even 100 times better.   Everything about it was phenomenal, from the cowboy athletes—all but one of the bull riders stayed on the bull the entire 8 seconds, to the stock—the horses jumped, kicked, and twisted in ways that only Olympic gymnasts could imitate, to the announcers—whose running commentary was both entertaining and educational, to the bull fighters, three of whom we watched chase down a bull and cut loose the cowboy it was dragging.  Truly amazing. Truly.  I am totally addicted and would return every year if possible.

And, come to find out, the rodeo is only a portion of The Stampede.  At Stampede Park there was also a carnival, concerts, agricultural information/education booths, and livestock competitions of various kinds.   At the sheep shearing competition we watched a man from New Zealand shear 6 sheep in less time than it takes Grace AND I to shear one side of one ewe.  

We saw two Heavy Horse competitions, the Clysdale/Shire Ladies Cart and the Team of Registered Mares.  Fascinating.   In the Ladies Cart class, the women were dressed in formal gowns, the judge was in a tuxedo and top hat, and the horses pulled the cart around the arena to the accompaniment of the live Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra.  We felt a bit as if we’d been transported back time to eighteenth century England.  Fun fact: a team from Young Living Stables from Mona, UT, won the Team of Registered Mares class.

Our favorite, rivalling the rodeo itself, was the cattle penning competition.   Three riders.   Thirty cows, each with a number 0-10 pasted on their backs.   Sixty seconds.   After the clock started, as the riders were approaching the herd, they were told the number of the three cows they had to cut out.  For example, if “2” were called then the riders had to separate the three cows with the number “2” glued to their backs from the other 27 cows.   Once separated, they had to move those three, and ONLY those three, cows to the other end of the arena and put them into a small corral.   When all three of the targeted cows were in the corral at one end of the arena and the other 27 cows were at the other end, the timer was stopped.   If they took longer than 60 seconds, they were disqualified.   The record we saw was 27 seconds.  Holy cow! Or, more appropriately, Holy Horseback Riding!!

More fun facts:

·         The bucking broncs and bulls used in the rodeo are supplied by the Calgary Stampede Ranch.  “There is not a bronc or bull here that is worth less than $50,000,” the announcer told us.

·         The food is worth a lot also….or at least it costs a lot.   A hamburger, two turkey legs, and a plate of curly fries cost us $65.

·         Ninety-seven percent of the cows milked in Canada are Holsteins.

·         All of the horses used in the cattle penning competition were American Quarter Horses.   Apparently, Quarter Horses are to cattle working what Border Collies are to sheep herding.

·         During a pause in the action, a bull fighter explained his job to us.  “We don’t do much while the cowboy is on the bull,” he explained.  “After 8 seconds our job begins.  We make sure the cowboy is safe, that he gets up to ride again.  If a bull goes after a cowboy, we take the hit for him.  That’s our job.”

When we left Stampede Park, about 9 p.m., there was a full grown jack rabbit in the parking lot and we saw a young buck in the freeway meridian as we pulled out.    I love Canada!

Inspired by my growing love for things Canadian, I developed a “You Might Be in Canada if….” List.   Here goes:

You might be in Canada if….

·         Seat belts are compulsory (instead of required).

·         Compression brakes are not allowed in corporate (instead of city) limits

·         Vast, VAST fields of bright yellow flowers line both sides of the highway.  (The canola was in bloom.)

·         The speed limit is 110.

·         They sing the Canadian national anthem at the beginning of the rodeo.

·         The border guard lets you in with an expired passport.

THREE CHEERS for our neighbors to the North!   May I be able to visit you again soon!!!

Love,
Teresa


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Calgary Stampede. The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth
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Cut them out, round them up, and....
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...and the pen!
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First place, Ladies Cart class
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First place, Team of Registered Mares class
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I took this photo for Chick who maintains that everything is better with bacon on it.
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The most expensive meal of the entire trip....
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Three little lambs....
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Sheep shearing contest
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We tried to lose him but to no avail...!
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One big pig
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This is true!!!
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In Stampede Park, one uses washrooms, not restrooms.
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The Calgary Stampede Parade....
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Lois and the Lois-wanna be (ME!)
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Open beam rafters...
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Interior rope swing
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Canola fields in bloom
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Better Than the Grand Canyon?!?!?!

7/16/2015

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Better late than never……….Or is it better never than late? 

Well this letter was going to be never and now it is only late.   Those of you who wish it were never can stop reading now. [Insert SMILE emoticon]

The Redwoods.


WOW!

I think they match, maybe even exceed, the Grand Canyon for grandeur.   Absolutely incredible.  If you have not yet been to the Redwoods, you need to add it to your bucket list.   Seriously.

I will tell two (maybe three….) Redwoods stories and then let the pictures do the communicating.

Camped in Del Norte Redwood State Park with Blaine and Cathy and family and Brad and Nikki and family, we wanted a campfire.   Gathering wood was strictly prohibited and there was no wood to be purchased in the campground.   There was no wood to be purchased at Wal-Mart or Safeway either.   Not to be deterred, Lance went to Home Depot where he bought two 8 foot pieces of scrap 2 x 4, marked 70% off.  He then had them cut it into 15 inch lengths.  Waaa-laaa!  For $3, he got twice as much wood as he would have, had he been able to purchase an $8 bundle in camp.   More wood, less money.  YEA LANCE!

The Redwoods are bear country.   Though we had not seen hide nor hair of a bear, Miles was very bear aware.   In fact, he was much more than bear-ly scared.  Kept awake by his fears, he said a prayer. The next morning he shared the following with me.

“Mom, you know how when you pray you get answers to prayers and you just feel it; you feel a calm and you know it is right?  …… Well I’d never felt that before but when I prayed last night not to be afraid of the bears I was still afraid and then I thought that I had to trust Heavenly Father.   And when I trusted Heavenly Father the fear went away, I felt calm, and I knew my prayer had been answered.



“Faith isn’t enough by itself,” he continued.  “You have to do your part too.  When I did my part, my prayer was answered.

Thank you, Heavenly Father, for answering my child’s prayer.   Thank you also, dear Father in Heaven, for filling my bucket!

When we left the Redwoods Wednesday (6/24/15) afternoon, my joy bucket was filled to overflowing—time in the trees, time with my family, especially my brothers and their families whom I do not get to see very often…life was good!

We borrowed the Drago’s van to make the trip and took it on what ended up being an almost 2,000 mile test drive.   The van performed fabulously on the trip—including going over 90 in a 75 mph zone in Nevada and we have paperwork from the police to prove it—so we came home and bought it from them.  Life truly is good.

Love,
Teresa


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Tree hugger
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Boy Scout Leader at the Boy Scout Tree
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The Redwood State and National Parks include northern California beaches...
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Two sets of footprints in the sand.....
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    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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