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What is it about getting in the car and driving away from Calgary that is so refreshing? It doesn’t matter where exactly I am driving to, the act of a road trip gives me the extended time to ponder life in a place other than home. At home there is laundry to be done, work to be complete (the downfall of having a home office is the blurred line between work and non-work), food to be made, and a yard to tend to. There are texts to return and phone calls to make, and the always continuing ‘life as a grown-ass woman‘ type of chores to be done.

This weekend past I hopped onto a road trip of Jon’s and made my way out to Kimberly BC for the 2014 Wasa Lake Triathlon. Twice I have competed in this fun, well-organized local BC race, only this time I was there to  spectate.

I made the terrible mistake of not “logging off” work entirely and checked my email first thing on Saturday morning, which resulted in a chain-reaction unhinging of my own doing (I suppose when you own your own business you never are really “off”) based on an email I read first thing. (Personal and professional side note: I am still contemplating how to manage this type of unplugging that I so desperately need but am simultaneously terrified to take, in the case a client needs me over the weekend).

I managed to compose myself enough to get in a short Mountain Bike Ride, and “watch” the Alouettes game via twitter, and take care of my professional athlete as he prepared to defend his title at Wasa Lake.

I woke up cranky on race day morning. I dragged myself to the transition area and felt increasingly sorry for myself as I visited with other TCTC members preparing to race. I wanted to race. I felt irritated with myself, with my stupid right knee for being dumb (and by dumb I mean inflamed and tender, occasionally locking up entirely) and the more times I repeated my story the worse it became, “No, I’m not racing. Yes, I am injured. Well, you see, my right knee….”

Every conversation made me acutely aware at how much like a stereotypical triathlete I sounded like. I watched the exit from the swim to T1 and I felt my heart race with nervous excitement- like my body was racing. I fluttered about the course, cheering on members of the club and doing my best not to cry out of sheer frustration. I wanted to be racing.

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I noticed this also working the Calgary Marathon a few weekends ago. It’s like my desire to race had been laying dormant for months on end before waking up, stretching out and leaping out of bed. Watching and reporting live from the marathon made me realize – with some chagrin- that I want to run another marathon. It’s like my Father-in-law warned me: once I completed one, I’d want to do another to see if I could best the first. I thought he was lying, because I was deep in the thick of the long run training I detested so much, but now I see he is right. I forgot about the pain and suffering of it all and got swept up by the energy and majesty. I want to race again.

If this was my key takeaway from the weekend past, I choose to be grateful. I rode my MTB in a new place, I watched Jon successfully defend his title, and let myself breathe different air. We took a drive through the mountains and had long conversations about serious and not-so-serious things. We escaped the city for a few days.

I let myself adjust to the idea that I want to race. Bad.