Kona IMWC Encore: Exiting Stage Left

”Exit stage left.”  Theater.  To give the impression that someone is exiting the stage and will keep going off into the distance toward open possibilities.

“Holomua.” Hawaiian.  To move forward.

A final race rehearsal was planned two weeks from race day.  Mark supported a big day out, the race plan checked out perfectly and all systems were go!  A few days later, we started feeling quite unwell. Then we tested positive for COVID. Sad, oh so very sad trombone.  

Once in the clear, I was able to nurse my way through a few low intensity workouts, though they didn't look anything like the pretty plan laid out so carefully months ago.  Sigh.   I got the green light to toe the line and was game to give it a go, though I still felt a bit.... compromised?

Race morning.  Surprise!  Late the night before Kyle had flown in from Oahu, snuck into the condo like a ninja and was suddenly in the kitchen!  Mom and dad had their virtual fan club accoutrements and were ready to rock.  My cup runneth over already and we hadn't even left for the start.

Boom went the start cannon it was on!  I swam well within myself and pretty darn straight, by the look of the Garmin file. On the bike I’d dialed back the plan, but it was still a lot of fun and I felt good.  Starting in the last swim wave, I spent most of the ride passing other ladies and exchanging encouragement.

Early in the run: High fives to Mark and Kyle with my parents on FaceTime. On to the Queen K: Things were still fine… until they weren’t. Holomua.  Move forward.  Out of the Energy Lab:  Mark with impeccable timing and words of encouragement.  I was going to get this thing done, but it wasn’t gonna be pretty.  I fought for each (ever shortening) step. I didn’t stop, not once.  Holomua.

The famed right onto Ali’i drive and the crowd draws you to the red carpet finish line.  Over my twelve Ironman career I’ve had some objectively great performances - the best was at this very race in 2016.  It’s one very hard thing to finish an Ironman when things are going well.  I may be the proudest of finishing this one because it wasn’t.

Towards open possibilities. Holomua.

1️⃣ Swim start with Mark and Kyle.

2️⃣ Let’s do this!

3️⃣ Swam straight.

4️⃣ Virtual fan club accoutrements.

5️⃣ Bike spot: Go to the ocean and stop before you get wet.  The volunteers called it the penthouse.

6️⃣ Race morning dawn view from the penthouse.

7️⃣ Transition bag mojo: Mom knows I’m a sucker for a sticker.

8️⃣ On the run while Mark and Kyle FaceTimed my parents.  📸 Teammate Carl.

9️⃣ Proud!

🔟 Holomua.

One Last Dance at the Big Dance

Racing took an abrupt detour after Kona 2016 straight into a cancer diagnosis and a lot of… life.  Seven years, four surgeries and two moves later finds us happy, healthy and in what we hope is our forever home. Our cup runneth over.  And yet…. that feeling of unfinished business.  Let’s make it to a start line one more time. I’ll retire from Ironman on my own terms - tend a garden or become a yoga instructor - something much more zen.

Training went well. My body is different, but it works and I can do the damn thing and for that I am truly grateful. I knew I was as prepared as I could be and proud of the work I’d put in.  We were looking forward to spending quality time with teammates we chat with daily yet rarely see in person. Heidi and Robin were driving in to support and Brian was flying in from Michigan! 

Race day went by all too fast and all too slow at once.  A solid swim, bike and run and I arrived at mile 20 running well with a doubled resolve for retiring at the finish line. Then there was Robin with this little nugget at mile 20.5: I was within striking distance of a Kona slot.  That was absolutely the worst news and the best news all at once after years on the bubble, just missing out due to this or that.  The bubble is not a particularly fun place to be.  

What that meant for me in that moment was I had to really be sure I’d emptied the tank. No regrets, no surrender. One more time.  My back was on the verge of completely imploding, every port-a-pottie beckoned like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow and my quads were about to break up with me once and for all. I hadn’t walked yet and didn’t intend to start now. I thought about those that couldn't. I thought about the times I couldn't.  I thought about what a privilege it was to be in this moment. 

Then, the roar of the crowd on Sherman Avenue, the finish line hugs.  Bottle that and sell it.  Mark, Heidi and I walked back to the swim start. I just kept right on walking straight into the water, shoes, kit and all. Glorious. The sun set as we chatted about how the day unfolded.  We are going back to Kona. One more time.  🌺

1️⃣ One Last Dance

2️⃣ Mark and Heidi at the finish

3️⃣ Team mojo swim 

4️⃣ Swim course race day vibe

5️⃣ Team mojo bike

6️⃣ Thumbs up on the race day bike

7️⃣ Post race refreshment 

8️⃣ Mark, Heidi, Robin and Brian 

9️⃣ “Jennifer Edwards, Aloha!” 

🔟 Mark as the sun sets on our day

Squeaky.   And what she taught us about time.  

I didn't want another cat.  Mark was in an impossible position.   Our current count was four and Squeaky would put us at five. To be fair, I didn't even really know her.  For some reason I'd drawn the arbitrary Crazy Cat Lady line at a six-pack and in my head five would put us precariously close to going over the edge.  Mark's dad had passed away, his mom was moving and she wasn't taking Squeaky.  Squeaky would either be relegated to becoming the neighbor's full time outdoor barn cat at thirteen years of age or we would take her.  I was pissed. Mark envisioned coyotes, cars, cold.... and knew it wouldn't end well. He fought for her.  So she came.  

Showing off her vocabulary

Napping buddies before she came to us

Upon arrival it became clear, nobody puts Squeaky in a corner.  In the assimilation process we started her out in the fifth wheel.  We figured she'd find comfort in something familiar as it was the very fifth wheel previously owned by Mark's parents and she seemed to know her way around it.  The first night she shredded the screens trying to get out.  She was promptly rewarded by being graduated to the large garage.  There she literally swung from the rafters and, after about a week, broke out a window.  Well then.  In to the house she came to own the entire second floor where she had run of both our offices, the pain cave and a large bonus room. Still, in the mornings she let us know this was wholly unacceptable!    By the time we moved to Oregon she'd assumed her proper place as Queen running both floors of the entire house, plus the garage while purring herself to sleep on my pillow each night.  

Nobody puts Squeaky in a corner, petulant toddler edition 

Swinging from the rafters 

With five cats all in their teenaged years, we came to call our household "Chateau Edwards Home for Geriatric Felines."  Falling in love with a thirteen year old cat made me angry all over again.  Why hadn't we just taken her sooner?  How much time would we actually have with her?  How could we make the most of the time we did have?

Hanging out at work

She was our constant companion with a huge, sweet personality and an extensive vocabulary. In the mornings she'd come running to sit on laps for coffee and supervise workouts.  In the office she hung out on my keyboard and made herself known in meetings.  Sometimes if the meeting required some modicum of professionalism, maybe one that would be best without a cat licking your face, I'd try to get her to settle on my lap, aim the camera up and hope for the best.    We took walks on a harness outside, she laid on my chest for foam rolling sessions and thought hanging out in the shop with Mark was absolutely the coolest thing ever.  

Mark's shop buddy

Alarm bells started to go off when she started to lose weight.  The diagnosis didn't seem to fit. She continued to lose weight and, after a couple of months, I pressed for a second opinion.  Yep, misdiagnosis.  I was pissed all over again. "I feel like the clock is ticking." I said to my mom as I watched her wither away. "The clock is always ticking." Mom said.   

 Stage five clinger status firmly established

We cherished every moment even more dearly.  Walks on the harness eventually became walks in our arms.  She took in the scenery and purred and purred and purred. She was getting the right treatment but was still slipping away. I fed her constantly like a baby bird to no avail.  Then, it was clear there was no time left.   The vet helped us say goodbye at home, still purring in my lap.   "And poof, she's a memory." said Mark. 

"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind." - Nathaniel Hawthorne

Grass is good

Our next family member will be welcomed to our home, newly dubbed Squeaky's Sanctuary, with open arms, even if we do get a bit close to that Crazy Cat Lady line.  Squeaky taught us that we have plenty of room in our home and in our hearts but only so much time.