Tahoe 70.3 Non-Race Report

I would have loved to bang out a half Ironman this year, but it didn't happen. Wildflower was fantastic for an early season event, but to have ended with a great performance in Tahoe would have been the ultimate year. Unfortunately, due to the King fires near Sacramento, North Lake Tahoe was filled with smoke, which ultimately shut down the race - 10 minutes prior to the start. There are plenty of athletes who trained very hard to compete, and gave up many more personal and family obligations than I did to compete, not to mention those who came from a distance or another country. Furthermore, people are in risk of losing much more than a race, but their homes and potentially their lives.

I refuse to complain about my own ambitions. It wouldn't be right.

Top 10 Reasons I'm ok with IMLT Cancelation

1.) I am so glad I didn't cave and buy branded race gear! Win! (Suzanne +1, all of you other suckers who bought the jersey and shorts -1)

2.) I didn't have to eat 1000 calories of Clif Bar for lunch.

3.) This is the first event that didn't give me serious chafing, or a sunburn.

4.) There is no need to rest before going into fall/winter marathon training! It's on!

5.) I rode my bike from Kings Beach to Squaw after the cancellation announcement, and broke every one of my course records on Strava. 

6.) Free cookies, bananas, and Red Bull. They were just giving stuff away.

7.) I am pretty good at Swim, Bike, Run but am surprisingly good at Gin, Beer, Rum as well (not in that order)... I learned that endurance sport nutrition is more similar to endurance drinking nutrition than I originally thought: Pre-load on a bunch of protein, eat at least 500 calories for breakfast, and remember to drink water and eat consistently, and you'll be fine. Sherpas are recommended. (We had a lot of fun at the Irish Pub in Squaw.) :)

8.) I am lucky to live in the Bay Area, and Lake Tahoe is only a 4 hour drive. I spent 18 glorious days with some of the best damn people on the face of this earth. From my Trans Tahoe Relay gals, to Silicon Valley Triathlon Club, to all of the other athletes I met while training. You guys are my rock. Thank you for your support, and most of all, laughter. We had some great times up there in the altitude and blue water.

9.) I met a pair of Challenged athletes who inspired me. One was trying to finish his 25th Ironman, and the other trying to finish his 1st. 

10.) We all have our lives, and our health. We are all capable of training for another event.

Confession: Endurance Sports Make Me Cry

I'm a total baby.

Sometimes I get choked up during my own races. Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of "Wow, this is awesome!" kicks in, and I have to hold it back (wastes too much energy). Most of the time, I cry watching other people compete - amateur competitors. Rarely do I get choked up over professional athletes. Professional athletes are amazing, and worthy of being lauded for their achievements. But, I typically don't know who wins a race. I can hardly pay attention to the first person over the finish line, when the real warriors are often an hour or more behind them.

October 2009 - My first big-city (San Jose) half marathon. I'd finished my race, and was standing at the finish line to watch the other participants - especially waiting for the arrival of my friend, Paul. Paul was involved in a nasty motorcycle accident 15 months prior to the race in which he broke his femur. He was probably lucky as hell to be alive. As a physical education teacher, he wanted to do a race to help overcome the injury both mentally and physically. So, he signed for for the San Jose Rock and Roll Marathon. He didn't have a goal time.

While waiting for Paul, I probably watched a thousand other people enter the finishing shoot, and run to the finish line. The sight of that big finish line banner makes people do the most incredible things (even if they were walking just moments before): they sprint, they smile, they find their loved ones and cherish the moment of the big finish. Some of them wear t-shirts in support of an organization, and some have personal messages on their clothing from a family or friend who has passed on. Some cry. Some turn on the engine at the last moment, and try to pass as many people as they can. This finish line is not just the end of a race, sometimes it is the end of another journey, or the realization of how wonderful it is to be alive.

Finally, Paul walked around the corner, and as soon as he saw the finish line, his face lit up with a smile and he picked up the pace, hobbling somewhat to the finish. I totally choked up. Shit, what a great moment for him. His finishing time was 2 hours, 38 minutes, but his race was so much more of a win than mine. Here is a man who could have possibly lost his life, battling 13 miles of a road race on a rehabilitated leg.

This summer, I volunteered for the California International Triathlon and was assigned to the absolute worst part of the course: the run turnaround at the top of a dusty hill. Man, people were really suffering on that hill in the heat, and they had to do it twice! At first it was exciting to see the competitive age-groupers conquer the hill, but as the crowd came down to the one or two who would walk most of the last two miles - my heart was full and so were my eyes - of tears. I wasn't at all sad for these people. I was so freakin' inspired.

As all good volunteers should do (take note), I decided I would stay until the bitter end and make sure the last runner returned safely to the finish line. Her name was Katherine, and she was the mostly lovely woman. Her calf read her age, which I believe was 66. As she came up the hill for the second time, she had to walk. So, I walked a bit with her. She started talking to me like a friend. She wasn't happy with her swim time, but didn't want that to stop her, and she knew she was either last, or the person behind her had decided not to finish. She wanted to see her husband at the finish line.

At one point, Katherine asked me if they had taken the finish line down. "It doesn't really matter," I said, "you are awesome!" I was so thrilled that the finish line was still up when she reached the final stretch. She raised her hands above her head, found her husband, and they hugged.

Then, the waterworks came!

Ok, I'll admit, watching Meb Keflezighi in the last mile of the Boston Marathon this year was pretty thrilling. But, typically my tears are reserved for the regular people, the common man, the weekend warrior who has overcome obstacles to be at the finish line. They didn't have the best performance, or the best time, but they endured. Everyone is on their own journey. Those who reign supreme, and those who "just finish" are fighting different battles, and have overcome something to be where they are. If you asked me who my favorite athlete is, I would probably say someone like Paul, or Katherine.

In about a week, I will be live and in person at the Ironman Tahoe finish line. I will need to pack some Kleenex.

35 Years

When I was 25, I smoked Marlboro Lights. I could go out to a bar and drink four gin and tonics, eat very little, and be home by 4 a.m. with the ability to catch the bus and get to work at 9 a.m. My heroes were Carrie Bradshaw and Bridget Jones.

At 35, I smoke fools on my bike. I can drink a gin and tonic or a glass of wine at home, eat every crumb out of my refrigerator (starving from workout), be in bed by 10 p.m., and get up to drive myself to work in a compact SUV and arrive promptly at 7:30 a.m. I'm don't have any specific heroes, but am inspired by everyday people who are awesome. Carrie Bradshaw isn't real, and I now realize that there is no way a lawyer, a housewife, a PR mogul, and a writer could have time to meet in a coffee shop once a week. It just wouldn't happen. And Bridget Jones is pretty much a basket case. How she ended up with a barrister is beyond me.

At 25, I had just moved back to California from Las Vegas. I took the $400 I had in my bank account, asked a friend to help me put my belongings into a moving truck, and moved the F#$% out of that town. Vegas has the diversity of the Bay Area, but drop the education and common sense by about 80% - and there you go. I probably contributed to that while I was there. Not my place in the world.

At 35, I'm "making it" (whatever that means) in the Silicon Valley and seriously kicking ass. I surround myself by quality people, because I aspire to be a quality person myself. I have a much better understanding of my place in the world.

Ten signs that I'm officially in my mid-30's

1.) I drive a compact SUV. It's a total mom car, except my children are bikes and wet suits. I love taking the kids to Tahoe!

2.) I seem to be suddenly more attractive to men in their 20's than when I was in my 20's. I also seem to attract men who could be my father. Eeewww.

3.) Eating whatever you want is a myth. Even if you work out, you can't eat whatever you want. Not at 35, or any time after that. I've heard that your appetite is supposed to decrease as you get older. This has not happened to me. I'm only getting more hungry. It will be interesting to see how much I eat when I train for Ironman Canada next year.

4.) My skin is on a revolt against my face. What I thought were cute freckles ten years ago are not - it's melasma (look it up)! Also, I'm having a strange case of adult acne.

5.) I bought a basil plant. I thought it was ridiculous to buy a pound of basil for a recipe that needs only a tablespoon, so the $2.99 plant made sense to be both sustainable, and economical.

6.) I considered cat ownership. Then, I thought about what it means to be a cat-lady, and decided that this is not the direction for me. Cats are pretty cute, and I saw one walking outside of my house last night (It's a sign!). I will resist the temptation for a furry friend. I would much rather have a dog anyway.

7.) People at the grocery store officially call me ma'am. I don't get ID ed either, except at the airport.

8.) I recently went into H&M and was horrified by what I saw. It looked like a garage sale multiplied in there. No wonder you can get a pair of pants for $5! I've been told that I am not old enough to shop at Chicos. .  . although that blazer is really cute. So, I have found a fashion stepping stone!  My new locale for age appropriate clothing is J Crew. That's right. I'm preppy.

9.) Speaking of preppy, I've decided that the term "yuppie" does not apply to me. Yes, I am still upwardly mobile, but I am not upper middle class - at least not in the Bay Area.

10.) I lived through three complete decades, and feel I can finally use terms like, "Back in the Day" or "Kickin' it Old School", and it is age appropriate. No one "kicked it" until the 80's. So if you don't remember the 80's - stop using that term. (Love, the Bitchy 35-year old.)

A Donner Lake Race Report

I had a title selected for this blog already - a week before the race. It was going to be called, "Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride," in response to a 4th place age group ranking. This is usually where I end up in an Olympic distance triathlon - just shy of the podium - usually because of a slow swim time. My plan was to wrap up a race report with memories of being a bridesmaid. Kind of like the movie "27 Dresses": only less dress, more sweat.

That would have been a really funny post. But, I'll have to save it for another time...

The Donner Lake Triathlon was a planned "A" races this season. The event is a smaller, local event, but the course is challenging, and many seasoned triathletes come out to race it. I'd spent the last nine days at altitude already with some awesome training under my belt: Trans Tahoe Relay swim, a practice ride of the Ironman 70.3 course, and a few running opportunities. On the flip side, I'd also spent nine days eating everything in sight, and drinking some gin (also beer, wine, and a Wet Woody....). Don't judge. I was on vacation too!

After checking the results from the previous year, it seemed I would need to finish in around 3:00 or 3:01 to be on the podium for the DLT. My goal was to listen to my body, and start each leg easy. After spending nine glorious days at altitude, training and vacationing, I could still feel the lack of air, but knew I could manage if I could also relax into each event, and not hyperventilate. Plus, I've never really raced up a major climb before...

The Donner Lake Triathlon is mega scenic. The .9 mile swim in Donner Lake is a rectangular course with buoys to the swimmers left side. The bike ride up Donner Pass, passed the Sugar Bowl, into Kingvale and back is absolutely gorgeous, but also a challenging 2,100 feet of climbing over 24.8 miles. The 6.67 mile run around Donner Lake starts out flat, has one significant hill half-way through, then rolls to the finish line.

Swim: 34:21
The water of Donner Lake is clean and lovely, slightly chilly. The sun had risen high enough that the buoys were not completely out of sight, which was nice. The lake is very deep in the middle, so it suddenly goes from sand to a black abyss below. The ghosts of Donner Lake were messing with us swimmers because apparently no one was able to swim the course straight. (Thanks to Jimmy for putting the image of dead bodies in my head.) I never swim the course straight, so it was an average swim for me.

With Randi before the swim. She's a real swimmer. Like really awesome n' stuff. 

Bike: 1:31:12
There was no choice but to start out slow on this bike course - the course begins with a 3 mile climb up Donner Pass. So, I went into my lowest gear and churned at a comfortable pace. Such a gorgeous climb! The absolute best scenery of any climb I've ridden. Breathtaking. Lovely. . .

When I got to the top of Donner Pass - it was ON like DONKEY KONG! I knew there were only a few miles to take advantage of the downhill, so I got low and jammed down the other side into Kingvale like it was no body's business. Just before the turn around I saw a group of really strong women coming up the hill and I really wanted to catch them. I had taken it easy long enough, so I cranked it up a notch up the longer ascent up the other side. There were two short downhill opportunities where I saw other cyclists stop pedaling, but I knew I needed those few extra pedal strokes to make up some time.

This is the first year that I've felt comfortable descending, but I would typically ride the breaks a bit more doing down a hill like Donner Pass Road on a training ride. Not today, folks. That hill was mine! All mine! Wah ha ha! *evil laugh* I was shooting for 1:30, and it wasn't too far off.

Coming in from the bike. Photo credit: Pim K.

Run: 55:24
My first practice run at altitude was brutal. I thought my sports bra was on too tight, then realized it was just the lack of oxygen. I was prepared for this feeling again. It was difficult not to look at my watch, but I tried to run by feel instead of by the pace on my Garmin. The run would not be a sub-8:00 mile run unless, for some reason, I felt awesome a couple of miles in. The first 3 miles are typically difficult as my legs adjust to the road. I calmed to my 3 (in) - 2 (out) breathing cycle repeating:

This. Is. Your. (in) A. Race. (out)
This. Is. Your. (in) A. Race. (out)
This. Is. Your. (in) A. Race. (out)
This. Is. Your. (in) A. Race. (out)

I never felt "awesome" per say, but it was a good run despite walking one hill at mile three. No one passed me on the run, and I closed the gap between me and a couple of other women in front of me who weren't in my age group. Isn't it funny how during the race you think, "Oh my God, I can't go any faster." Then the second the race is over you think, "I could have caught them." Hindsight 20/20.

It would have been great to have been the sub-8:00 mile range, but I was happy with the run overall.

Photo credit: Pim K.

During the race, I didn't see a lot of women in my age group at all. This is a typical scenario. I always assume they get out of the water before me, and I never catch them. The only thing that kept me motivated during the run was knowing that I had set out to give it my all.

Finish time: 3:04:12

After the race, I found my compadres and awaited the results that (I thought) would put me in 4th place in my age group again. I didn't think my time was enough for a podium finish, and I definitely wasn't expecting a first place ranking - shit, third would have been really great! So, I was very happy with a first place age group finish at the Donner Lake Triathlon.

Finally! I'm a bride!! Er... podium finisher!

Podium ceremony, without a podium.. or the 3rd place AG finisher. Photo credit: Pim K.

Getting fresh with sweaty people after the race: With Jimmy, Kathy, Rune. Photo credit: Pim K.

Youth is wasted on the young.

What I wouldn't give to be 17 years old for just one 200 meter dash. . . or maybe two.

It is unfair that your body and your brain don't match up at the right times. There is a certain age when your potential is so great, but your mind hasn't figured it out yet. Or your mind is so keen on how awesome you could be, but your physiology has other ideas.

This thought occurred to me as I was reviewing the pace intervals prior to a Tuesday evening track workout.

Ok, so my VDot is 44, which means I should be running a 200 meter at Interval pace in about 48 seconds. Got it. 200's are pretty fun. I used to run them in high school...  

With a few Google search words I was able to find my 100 and 200 meter dash results from 1996 and 1997 Iowa Girls State Track. This made me feel slightly younger, knowing that the internet was invented while I was still in school. Thank you Al Gore! *wink*

High school, high school, high school...(fading, fading, fading)...

As a junior, I placed 5th overall in the 100 meter dash final, and wanted to go back as a senior even stronger. I did very well at the district meet, and qualified for the state track meet in both the 100 meter and 200 meter dashes. I even beat out my nemesis, Pam, who only made it to state in the 200 meter race and into a slower heat. Take that, Pam! I may have been more focused on beating Pam than actually doing well at the meet.

District Finals 100 meter dash. (Pam is to the right of the girl in purple shorts, not pictured.)

State track organizes multiple heats of each race based on the runner's qualifying times at the district meet. For the 100 meter preliminary, I was placed in the third heat, and in the outermost lane - lane 8 - the worst lane. I ran that 100 meters in 13.61, which was pretty slow, and I didn't qualify for the final. Similar story for the 200 meter dash. It just didn't have it that year, or maybe the competition was more stiff.

That's me, all the way to the right. Next to the girl in the purple shorts. The winner of that heat went to win the 100 meter and 200 meter overall. She was DQed from the 100 meter the previous year for a false start.

Looking back on the results, the winner of the 100 meter and 200 meter in 1997 was disqualified from the 100 meter dash the previous year because of a false start. She probably would have had a repeat win in both events. But, one little misstep, and she was out. One false move or breath can make or break an entire sprint. I didn't realize it then, as much as I do now. Yeah, you have to be fast, but your mindset has to be deadpan to really be competitive.

Endurance sports are much more mental sometimes that shorter races because you are dragging ass to the finish line after exerting your energy for hours. When you have more time, there is more room for error; even if a part of the race feels wicked hard, there are other parts that can feel amazing. In contrast, a shorter race leaves no room for error. If everything from tying your shoe laces to coming cleanly out of the blocks isn't perfect, it can have a .01 effect on your performance which can mean winning, or losing.

High school years were far from my glory days, but I still have dreams about high school track. (And totally unrelated - college Algebra.) If I had to pick a day to go back to high school with my 35-year old brain, it would definitely be that day of State Track in 1997, when I could have perfected just a little more, or pushed just a little harder. I was worthy of the challenge, and I totally could have done better with my current mindset. What I wouldn't give to have one day back on that blue rubber track in a 115 pound, 17 year old body. As they say, "Youth is wasted on the young." So true.

Who's to say that we shouldn't start perfecting things, or pushing just a little bit harder right now. In the scheme of things, our lifetime really is only a blip. Maybe more like a 200 meter dash than a marathon.

Never say never: I'm on Strava

I'm a sell-out. I've been uploading my workouts to Strava. It's true. I'm blaming it on work though. Someone in my office started an East Coast versus West Coast bike challenge. I did it for "the man." That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

In honor of backpedaling, let's make a list of all of my other "I never's."

I'll never say kale is delicious. It's not.

I'll never wear a tutu to a race.

I'll never move back to smalltown USA. i.e. I will never live more than 30 minutes from a major airport.

I'll never go to Disneyland or Disney World. (Maybe if my niece wants to go... )

I'll never date/marry a pharmaceutical rep. I feel the industry is kind of evil, especially the sales people.

I'll never get stuck going to one of these "parties" that try to sell you stuff. Been there. Done that. I always buy something I don't need, then feel bad about it. But, then I feel bad if I don't buy something.

I'll never hang some big inspirational quote on my wall or at my desk. I only like inspiration that comes from self-depreciation.

I'll never live in the city of Santa Clara. Santa Clara is a sell-out city. It's an airport, a mall, an amusement park, and a sports stadium. They have ruined any possibility of a downtown, and the university (the only cool part of the town) is too hard to find.

I'll never own a little dog, especially a white, fluffy one. Little dogs don't really do anything. That's why they are called lap dogs. My lap is too busy to be sat upon. So, unless I have a yard for a big, mean dog (preferably that needs to be "run") then forget it. Also, you are supposed to put your little dog in outfits? That's just dog abuse.

Here are some "I never's" that turned into, "Never say never."

I'll never work in the corporate world. The corporate world is for sell-outs! 
Um, the corporate world pays more money, so you can do those things than non-sellout people do, but you can actually afford to do it. Oh, and eat food, oh and retire, oh and not steal toilet paper from work.

I'll never to a marathon. Running for 4 hours? Hell no.
Well, all of my marathons have been under 4 hours so far. Does that count? Also, I've never run a marathon that I've liked. I hope #3 is a charm, because the last two were really, really hard.

I'll never go on a diet. I work out so I can eat what I want.
I believed this until I was about 30.5 years old. I still think diets are annoying, and people who adhere to one diet are missing out on some awesome taste bud opportunities. But, yeah, my diet has changed. I can't eat a whole pizza anymore. I mean, I can. I just don't.

I'll never drive an SUV.
Damn, really needed room for bikes. Yeah, I could have bought a car with a bike rack, but then you have to worry about the rack, and locking it properly, and ok. Fine, I bought a compact SUV.

I'll never do an Ironman. That's just stupid/unnatural.
Soon to eat my words.

Escaping from Alcatraz

The friends you meet on a boat to Alcatraz island:

1.) A very nervous girl who had her full wet suit on even before we pulled away form Pier 3 (we had 1.5 hours until the start of the race)
2.) A surf-y dude from So Cal who had done the race the year prior. Like, totally.
3.) A guy from Milwaukee who has also done the race at least two other years.
4.) A guy in a Superman kit from Sacramento who had also done the race in 2011.

This was a good group to be around in the hour leading up to my most difficult swim yet. I'd like to thank these guys for putting my mind at ease, and the girl for proving that I'm not really that nervous. In fact, we spent the entire hour talking and I barely looked out the window to see what conditions might be like for the Escape from Alcatraz swim. No matter what the morning currents were like, I was already boarded on that boat, and there was no escaping the inevitable "Escape".

As we lined up to jump from the boat, I zipped up my wet suit and my So Cal friend said, "Woah, sleeveless! You are brave, lady." That's right man, I am so fucking brave.

While adjusting my cap and goggles, the goggle strap broke. This was ten minutes before the start of the race. I looked up and saw some, "I'm glad it's not me" facial expressions. Superman looked worried for me. Somehow I managed to calm my shaking hands and get the little piece of plastic through the hole in order to tie it back together and tie it in a knot. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

I was near the end of the line out the door, but not really by choice. I picked a seat near the middle of the boat, and didn't know which doors we would be jumping from. Jumping from the boat is the biggest fear I hear from most people about this swim. But, honestly, by the time you get out the door, and see the ten foot drop, there isn't much time to think about it. The only thing I thought before making that leap was, "Wait until the person in front of you swims away so you don't jump on top of them." Then, it was just a matter of - GO!

I jumped with my legs apart and arms at my side as they suggested; no pencil dives into the Bay, and they only want the pros to dive. Fair enough. As my body fell into the deep, cold Bay water I thought, "Holy shit! I'm in the middle of the San Francisco Bay! This is so awesome!" As I came up, my goal was to find the Fontana Towers and swim towards them. They were relatively easy to spot, until the currents picked up.

About five minutes into the swim, I had a bit of a panic. The currents seemed to be coming from both sides, and I was swallowing water. If the currents would have stayed like this for the duration of the race, I would have had a hard time, but they seemed to only kick up three or four times during the swim. Each time I was able to deal with them better. I convinced myself that, if I didn't get a breath this time, that I would get one the next. Bilateral breathing is so important.

Luckily during the difficult portions, I remembered that there were safety boats who were watching me above the waves. I saw kayaks and paddle boards out there, as well as one water craft who decided to make a wake right in front of me - he better have been rescuing someone (!). Glad that someone was not me.

There is a lot of room to spread out in the Bay, so I often didn't see any other swimmers for a minute or so, but would look up and see a sea of colorful caps ahead of me, or another sea of black arms coming from behind. I didn't feel the mass-start panic that usually happens at the beginning of a race - no kicking or elbowing - which was much easier to deal with. My biggest panic situation has happened in a pack of people; it had nothing to do with water temperature, or sharks. It's people. Swimming is the one time when I'm an introvert!

I thought about sharks one time, but read that they stay on the bottom of the Bay, so I wasn't worried about sea life at all. The other thing I tend to think about sometimes when swimming is dead bodies.Yeah, I said it.

As Fontana Towers drifted out of view, my focus was on Fort Mason, which juts out slightly into the Bay and is easy to spot. My goal was to sight EXACTLY where the race directors told us to sight. Often when you think you might be headed, isn't where you are going. This is a good website with all of the things you might sight on when swimming from Alcatraz. For this swim, 1.) Fontana Towers, 2.) Trees at Fort Mason, 3.) Fort Mason, 4.) Palace of Fine Arts, 5.) Beach/Finish Shoot.

When I finally spotted the Palace of Fine Arts, the only thing left to do was sight the finishing shoot, but I would need to get closer to the shore. The currents, and my leading right arm made it difficult to go left. But, I didn't want to swim too far, and be pushed out to Crissy Field! This is where the currents seemed to give me a push because the Palace of Fine Arts seemed to come so close within a few minutes that I didn't realize it looming right in front of me, as was the finishing shoot.

I did end up swimming beyond the finishing shoot, and had to fight some current to get back to the right place. Good news was, I didn't drift into an entirely different area, and was still within the parameters of the beach.

For the first time in history, I am smiling in all of my finisher photos out of the water. They are still too hideous to post here.

Like many things in triathlon, this swim completely changed my perspective on a lot of things:

1.) If I can start swimming at 31 years old, anyone can. God, I hope I don't sound like an infomercial. But, I'm not amazing. I'm certainly not an amazing swimmer (you can say that again).
2.) You really have to want to do it, and then take the steps necessary to make the literal jump so it becomes a reality. If you don't have the desire to get up at 5:00 AM and swim in the cold Bay, it's no big deal.
3.) Not only did I want to swim from Alcatraz this year, I needed to - perhaps on a more spiritual level. I no longer have an excuse not to push the limits and try something difficult. After this, every swim should seem easier, right?
4.) I wouldn't be who I am without supportive friends. I have a group of people who believe in me, and it motivates me a lot. I'm not very good at swimming, but it has come to my attention that I am extremely good at surrounding myself with supportive people. (Maybe some trial and error has been involved.) Thank you, friends. Old, and very new. Even the nervous girl. You are my rock.