8 month old thoughts

"Life is pretty darn good" 

"After all, I was born only 8 months ago into a family with lotsa love."

"And I've got this monkey on my back.  Oh, actually, it's my Dad, he loves me."

"And I've got a Mum that cuddles me, an uncle that dotes on me, 

a gran that will play with me and best of all, 

a name that I will grow up being proud of, Anthony."

Anthony Lyall Farnham.

So I am doing the 2014 New Zealand Ironman event next week

Was going through some old files tonight, once all the Once Were Runners runners were gone.

It is only ten days to Ironman and it seems everything in my life at this particular point of time is all about Ironman, ironmen, ironwomen and iron things. Up until the past few days there was a little more balance in my life, but once it got to the two week count down, everything became Iron focused.

Fortunately the focus is not about me.  Or my Ironman.  For although I am doing Ironman this year, it almost feels that my event will be a virtual event due to the fact that my focus has been, and will be, on so many others on the day.  Purposely so.

They will be the group of amazing individuals who I have categorised in my file as ‘Finely Tuning Athletes’.  Those who I have coached or trained with for many, many months now – most since early winter last year.  Those who had set themselves their own personal challenges and who I have seen ride the roller coaster of athletic endurance challenges.  Six who will be competing in their first ever Ironman event and others returning for their 2^nd, their 4^th or 5^th time.  Throughout the whole day I will be constantly searching to catch a glimpse of each one and in a nano second will be analysing how I think they are faring.

It will keep me from the edge of disintegration into emotional wreckage. 

I had decided a long time ago that I need to be doing Ironman this year.  However with certain health and injury problems I could not make a final decision on entering until the very last minute.  There were supposed to have been hospital procedures to have been done, knee operations to have occurred – but due to the public health system and some very weird circumstances neither of these ended up being done.  Thus the body is still battered and broken, but the spirit is stronger than the body so come the last critical days my entry into Ironman 2014 was submitted. With a sense of immense relief and certainty.

I need to do Ironman this year.  Not just for myself.  For Tony and myself.  For neither he nor I can move on, move into the future, until this is done.  I have such a strong sense that he wants me to do this Ironman – that he has planned for me to do this Ironman and to do it alone.  Without him.  For every other of the 13 Ironman events I have done it has been done with Tony somewhere around me on the course, somewhere in reaching distance where one glance of eye contact from him would lift my spirit, my drive and my confidence to move forward and reach that finishing line.  And be with him.

                 

Had Tony lived this year’s Ironman would have been his 30^th.  How he would love to have gone out on the 30^th.  I can do that for him.  Last year son Glenn did the 29^th and presented Tony with his personal finishers medal two days later when returning to Auckland to see Tony in Mercy Hospice.  The very last thing Tony consciously did was clasp that 29^th finishers medal in his left hand and hold it there as he went into unconsciousness, forever.  I know he was so very proud that one of our sons did his 29^th Ironman for him.  I shall do his 30^th.  And tie our personal Ironman legacy of Tony Jackson all up in a tidy finality, for us both.

So tonight I decided to pick up a couple of old folders, ones that I have not been able to open for quite some time and flicked through photos and papers of Ironman events past.  For the first time I was able to look at the photos with an almost happy sense of gratitude, rather than despairing grief.  Yes, this Ironman will be a tough one – and I know I am going to have many private heartbreaking periods throughout my long day, but for me it has more purpose than any of the others I have done. 

For I have to complete this finalisation – and at the same time focus on a number of those special ‘Finely Tuned Athletes’ who will be creating their own legacy, of being an Ironman. 

                                     

                              

                           

                        

It ain't all bad.

In fact today has been a far better day than many over the past period.

No, I have not found the diamond that has disappeared from my wedding ring – but I still look, everywhere.  Due to other more urgent matters the repair/replacement of the ring has been put on hold until Monday when it will have to be my priority Number 1.

I find it deeply disconcerting for me to not be wearing my wedding ring.  Not only do I feel terribly disloyal to Tony for not having it on my finger, but it is a constant reminder to me of what love and marriage meant to us and while I have neither anymore, just having the ring constantly on my finger gives me a sense of emotional security.  It constantly reminds me of what a treasured life I did once live.  Unlike many people I like to look back to the past, especially the happy past I have had, for it is reflecting back there that gives a sense that the past was not wasted, most particularly because I made someone so happy.

Today though, the ring had to take a back seat, had much to do and little time to do it.  

In amongst the busy day though, I found I had won $36 on last week’s Lotto.  Sure, it was not the millions, but that is irrelevant, what is relevant is that I won $36.00.  Enough to put a smile on my face for a while.

And as all good Lotto winnings should do – most of it went straight back into more Lotto tickets – in the hope of actually winning something greater than $36.00.  If I do, I shall not let you know.  If I don’t, I probably will.

Another good part of my day is I finally got my new bike shoes and pedals fitted on my bike.  That was a hugely exciting interval this afternoon, having the new pedals put on the bike, sliding my feet into my new shoes and test driving the freshly polished bicycle. 

To some that would seem rather sad, my excitement at new bike shoes, it probably is.  I don’t care. It excited me.

The day has since concluded with a most pleasant early dinner out with three cheerful and chipper lady friends;  the dinner being the prelude to the evening as when finished we walked to the Vector Arena where Dolly Parton would entertain us for over 2½ hours.

I confess to being somewhat apprehensive as to what the greater audience would be like. Aging country fans dressed in country gear, Texan hats and boots and all.  Or aging aged, dressed in their knitted cardies and comfy shoes, coming to relive the past, the long distant past, for that is after all, where Dolly comes from.

By her own admission it is 30 years since she was last in New Zealand.  I knew that, because my sons told me that.  When I informed them, rather sheepishly, that I was going to the Dolly Parton concert they happily informed me the very first concert they had ever been to was when I took them to see Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers, 30 years ago.

I had completely forgotten that fact from my past and was truly impressed at what a nice mother I must have been to have taken two teenage boys to a live concert, to a Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers live concert.  What lucky teenage boys they were.

Tonight I had envisaged the high possibility that my friends and I would be the youngsters in the audience.  Obviously I would have been the oldest of the youngsters, but would still have the pleasure of being younger than most others in the audience.  But not quite so.

Yes, there were Texan hats and knitted cardies and comfy shoes – but so many of them were on the heads, bodies and feet of young people.  Young as in late teens, twenties and early thirties.  This was a surprise.  I would have thought their generation would have skipped Dolly totally.  But not accordingly to the annoyingly, irritating and rude quintet of wine swilling twenty-year old girls sitting behind us who talked through almost all the first half and tipping the wine over the chap sitting next to me throughout the second half.

As an aside, the silly man.  It took him three lots of wine sloshing over his head before he finally turned and complained to the low-level IQ’d screamers behind.  Silly man.

Well, Dolly was truly the show woman to top most show woman.  She may be collecting the pension now but she’s spending it cleverly in ensuring her figure remains as it was 30 years ago and in keeping that voice toned and tuned to be as good as it ever was.

She connected with the audience – well at least the screeching quintet behind us told us she did – she talked almost as much as she sang and was clearly enjoying herself in delivering what the audience had hoped to get. 

She belted out old and new songs.  Melodies and country. Played more musical instruments than you could imagine, including a small “sexaphone” and danced constantly on precarious high heels than not even the screeching girls could possibly balance on.

It was many months ago, sometime last year, that our own little quartet decided to make a girls night out with Dolly.  I confess to being reticent initially, solely due to the dollar value the night would cost, but tossed practicality aside and thought “bugger it, I’ll go.”  

Probably one of the better decisions I had made in my annus horribilis.

Thanks K, V, P.  Thanks lots.

       

I should never have got out of bed today.

I should never have got out of bed today.

Oh, it started off all right.  Quite good actually.  Up early and in the outdoor swimming pool before the sun had come up over the horizon and chewed out a good 2.5 kilometres of swimming.  Followed this with an enjoyably lazy, well earned and long post-swim coffee before heading home to an unusually whole day being at home to finally get some catch up work done – in all areas.  

Had already scheduled myself a timetable for the day, to run as so:

• ·         1 hour – the first hour - to get some boring and dreaded housework done as loathe sitting in a house seeing basic cleaning that needs doing.
• ·         1 hour – the next hour - to spend outside in the yard to get something out there done and then feel good for having done so.
• ·         All other hours in the day to be spent in front of the computer to catch up on long overdue communications, research, accounts, speech making and training programmes. 

Figured that should have some of the ‘monkey-on-the-back’ stuff analysed, sorted, clarified, classified, closer than yesterday to being completed and thus leave the mind clear and free for an hour or so of evening exercise – preferably at a spin class where the heat, body odours and noise will take the mind off any other pressing concerns.  You try worrying about anything serious when the bloke on the spin bike in front of you reeks of stale body odour from wearing the same cycle garments he wore the week before and shoved back into his bag last week, to be brought out again this evening and put on and worn for yet another hour of total sweat producing exercise.  My logic and thinking brain cells brain cannot operate under such circumstances as they are totally over exerted by the brain smelling cells and thereby means the thinking cells goes into total evacuation mode – a positive then for stinking men as they managed to take my mind off any worries.

So that was the plan.

Until I pulled up outside the house this morning, after the prolonged coffee break, was unloading the big van and noticed I had a flat tyre.

                                             

Now, I had a flat tyre – of the most dramatic type – only a couple of weeks ago when I pulled into a parking spot along busy Mt Eden Road in the Mt Eden Village. As I pulled in there was an enormous “BANG”  that was so explosive and loud that every pedestrian walking the streets of Mt Eden Village jumped and almost dived into the shop doors for fear it was a bomb going off.  It certainly startled the butchers in the butcher shop I parked adjacent to.  I saw them both jump with fright.

Almost as instantly the left front of the vehicle did a delicate drop.  Clearly I had managed a big puncture.  The first motor vehicle puncture I would have had in decades.  But it was a good one.  A really good one, helped by the fact that I had to call the AA and let them know I was about to be parked in a Clear Way zone within the next few minutes, at peak hour, of course.

The friendly, very friendly, AA man came and fixed the problem and made me feel ever so much a lady by reassuring me that no woman should have to do such a dirty, messy job as changing this particular vehicle’s tyre.  Sometimes it is nice to play the woeful, useless female.  I rather enjoyed being so on this occasion as he was literally covered from head to toe in dirt and dust by the time he finished the repair.

This morning I looked at the very same wheel and see the tyre is flat.  This time I can see the lead headed nail that caused the puncture.  This time the AA man was not quite so ‘friendly’ but nevertheless he was just as efficient at changing the damn thing. 

Now one must bear in mind that whilst this was happening today, only yesterday I had to wait a minimum of 2 hours at the Novus Auto Glass Repairs shop, as a few days earlier some stone or rock had hit the windscreen of my vehicle which resulted in one very long, and growing longer by the day, crack going directly from left to right of the entire windscreen.  Only at times like this does one feel grateful for all those thousands of insurance dollars we pay out.  All in all the Novus trip used up about 3 hours of my day yesterday.

Hence my better planning today. 

But, due to happenings, the first 1 hour of today’s scheduled chores did not get done. That was spent on calling AA men, talking to AA men and then taking same punctured tyre to the tyre-fix-it place, where yet another smelling-of-body-odour-man fixed the repair for me.  All in all, that took up over 3 hours.  It was whilst there I happened to look at my wedding ring.  The very special wedding ring that Tony placed on my finger on our most romantic wedding day.

                              

I have told anyone who listens that I have only two fears in my daily life, one is the fear of losing any of my teeth (due to the cost of replacement), the other is losing my wedding ring.  Why the wedding ring?  Because this wedding ring has meant more to me than any car, house or other personal property I have ever owned, such is the personal and emotional meaning that the ring has always held for me.

Sitting in the waiting room at the tyre shop I look down at my ring finger and notice… the ring is there, but main, central diamond has gone.  The ring is just one ugly big claw. 

My immediate thought is that it must be sitting at the bottom of the Parnell swimming pool and no amount of friends performing hypoxic breathing exercises to the bottom of the pool would ever find it, no matter how often or for how long I sent them down there.

On the other hand – it certainly would be great swim training – all that hypoxic breath holding.  That would extend their oxygen uptake improvements.  Immm….

I digress….

A smart trip home, dive into insurance files, ring insurance company, they ask the obvious, when did I last have the diamond valued.  Err… maybe nearly 30 years ago…. ??  yep, about then … this wedding ring was designed to emphasize a diamond I had been given over 30 years ago and never had done anything with. What better than to use it for something so special – it was nice to have my wedding ring designed around it.  Made Tony’s putting it on my finger seemed that extra special.

Cannot find the diamond valuation but do find an original diamond description. Into town to a jeweler to take the next step and ask what would be the next step. Only problem is, most of these jewelry shops do not always have their jeweler in store. Only sales staff, with the jeweler coming on on certain days, but not today as he is at another of their stores, so that was useless. 

I exited the shop, dejected, rejected, chin sitting loosely on my chest in a forlorn-type droop. Stepped out onto the pedestrian crossing to walk back to my car on the other side of the road.  Was so dejected as how the day was turning out that as I took my second or third step onto the crossing I look to my right to see one great, big, red bus fast bearing down on me.  For one tiny, momentary nano-second I thought about throwing myself under it.  Uhhh… that would literally put to rest any concerns about lost diamonds, blown tyres, house work, paper work and commitments. 

But it was only a nano-second.  In that same nano second realised that when commiserating folk visit the house they would see that I didn’t do the housework.  That would not do.  Priorities girl.

Drove ever so carefully and directly home. Without incidents.  My refuge.  Demolished half an iced Christmas cake.  Literally. Felt good at the moments of demolishing. Doesn’t feel good now though.

Am staying home for the rest of the day and night – everything can go on hold – I will not go to spin tonight - I have closed the doors, will not answer the phones – I am safe, secure and hiding from the world  … until my 8 pm massage arrives nothing else can go wrong.  I shall sit on the PC and achieve something.  That is, once I finish procrastinating doing the PC chores by off loading this drivel/moan onto the screen.  But just before I do, will go into the front room to look for something in the cupboard – it is dark in the cupboard so I turn the room lights on.  Boomph… the lights have blown…. hang on  ... there are six little bulbs in that light fitting and the whole lot are not going .... grrr...  try the other switch  ... nothing.   Grrr......   Damn it, has to be something wrong with wiring - argh, another smelly man to be involve??

Stomp out of room; and straight onto cat; cat screeches; I jump;  I trip; I land on floor and hurt my wrist.

Where is that great big red bus?

                                           

                                                  

Phew!

Phew!

I am exhausted.  And if I am exhausted so should another 16 people be.  And this is supposed to be a long three day mid-summer holiday weekend when all Aucklanders are resting and relaxing and enjoying the anniversary of Auckland being what it is – the greatest little big city in the world.

But my body can barely move from the couch to the computer.  Mind you, as an aside, I noticed there was almost a little lilt to the step when it was heading for the fridge.  ..  maybe more on that later.

It has been an interesting 12 months since Anniversary Weekend this time last year.  Indeed, I recall having a quiet few days at home with Tony whilst my Ironman ‘athletes’ were in Taupo for the annual Tony & Verna Ironman Training Weekend.  Of course myself and Tony were unable to do the training weekend last year and it was with a great sense relief and gratitude, and fortune, that an associate from our triathlon club put up his hand to volunteer taking himself and his family down to  run the weekend for my team of first time Ironman athletes.  To this day I do not think I have thanked him appropriately for doing that for me, for Tony and for the athletes.  One day I will.

Since then twelve months have passed by and Anniversary Weekend loomed for this year’s small Ironman crew of athletes from the Cook-Jackson stables, first timers and repeat recidivists.  And repeat supporter even.

Clearly organising a weekend away to train and train with a bunch of eclectic individuals, 16 of them, will never be an easy task.  Certainly each person has a common denominator but each person is an individual and that in itself can cause many a sleepless night in ensuring the preparation, organisation and clockwork timing of each day will result in everyone of those athletes achieving the best possible learning experience to add to their journey toward the big Ironman event on March 1^st.

For the purpose of brevity, which I am never very good at – the planning process will not be scribed here – am sure the balancing acts of where, when, how we would all get there, be there and stay where is not interesting topic matter.  What does make these weekends most interesting is the personality strengths, gains, weaknesses, development, interactions and contributions that make for a memorable couple of days, or few hours, for each of the individuals that they will reflect on for the rest of their lives.

Among the 17 of us who headed for Taupo for the three days of Ironman training on the Ironman course, only ten are to compete in this year’s Ironman.  Six of those for the first time. Four for their second, fifth or more Ironman event; therefore very experienced Ironman athletes.

Of the other seven in attendance, one was a first time Ironmanner in 2013 and had a generous want to come along to help those as he had been helped last year; two have a definite commitment to themselves to achieve Ironman in the future and had recently been successful in their own first time half Ironman races in Taupo and Auckland; one other had also achieved at a recent half Ironman event and methinks was coming along to not only support her partner who is doing Ironman but also no doubt was curious as to see firsthand what really makes an Ironman.  Fortunate for the rest of the group she brought along her twelve year old budding athlete son who seemed to gained as much from the weekend of being part of the Ironman crew as any other individual.  More maybe. 

Then we had Phil, husband of one of the Ironman-wanna-bes;  a seasoned cycling athlete who even in his middle ages can whip the cycling backsides of many a young chap on any cycle race, and very recently done so on two occasions.  Last and by no means certainly least, as she had committed herself to give up her entire weekend back home in Auckland to come down and be a chief supporter and main volunteer for the athletes during their long and arduous six to seven hour bike training ride on the Saturday.  Her presence was invaluable to the group as a whole. Having her there and knowing she was experienced in her role of helping the ‘team’ gave me a sense of relief in knowing we were covered at all bases should anything unexpected occur.

Thus the ages of the group of 17 went from 12 years to 70 years.  Now that easily can take the label of an ‘eclectic’ bunch of gnarly athletes.

(I had a rethought about using the word ‘gnarly’, figuring the odd person in the group may be offended at being labeled ‘gnarly’.  However the dictionary defines the word as meaning:  finest, magnificent, marvelous, great, swell, superb, sensational.  Who could possibly be offended at being called gnarly then!?)

Drove to Taupo on the Friday and my co-driver had asked me how I thought the weekend would go.  Without having to think I responded with a couple of quotes that even I am amazed proved to be 100% accurate with the eventual outcomes.  Shall not note them as they are not worth delving into, but am chuffed at my own ability of prediction.  So was my co-driver who spent some time on the drive back to Auckland at the end of the weekend questioning how I could have predicted so.  People experience, nothing less than people experience.

Now, the whole purpose of this scribe is to remind anyone who reads, that what you give out you get back. 

Coaching on the level I have been since Tony passed away has not always been a smooth and reclining ride.  I continued with the coaching after his death for two reasons.  One being I know he would have wanted me to, as he always told me he considered his wife a far better coach than he ever was.  But it also gave me something to do.  Grief is horrid and everyone experiences varying levels of grief and I know and knew the depth of my grief would be so that should I have no immediate focus I would take myself down the road to eventual self-destruction.  I knew the best manner to prevent this would be to give something back to others and the only skill I had to do that would be the knowledge skill of knowing how damned hard it is swim, or bike, or run, or all three if you have never done those things before.  A case of having been there and done that.  And it is not just the physical skill but the mental skills also to overcome the mental weaknesses.  That’s why Tony said I was so good at it. 

Individuals will be individuals and all along the ride one can only hope that your own experience and ability to give and share as much energy level at both physical and mental planes will eventually give someone the physical and mental strength to reach a goal they may never have otherwise ever achieved.  Not everyone achieves the same level of physical or mental strength as others, nor at the same time, or in the same manner of coaching.  Therefore it does make for some enormous highs and lows when dealing with a wide variety of individuals, bodies and minds.  I have found that if one athlete is troubled and not sleeping, so too am I troubled and not sleeping. Am constantly trying to fathom out ways and structures in how to overcome their particular short coming.  The mind rarely shuts off.

Thus I am forever being berated by others for my over commitment to the ‘team’.  And know that I have emotionally overcommitted, which in turn has financially done the same.  Common sense tells me I should be working an 8 to 5 job and focusing on that and finances instead.  I will, soon.

In the meantime – it all boils down to the old adage, “What you give out you get back.”   Or as Tony kept telling others to do…. Paying it forward.

Paying it forward has had its unexpected rewards recently.  I have “got back” such a lot over the past many weeks.  The successes of the athletes in the Taupo Half Ironman, in the Port of Tauranga Half Ironman and in the Auckland 70.3 has been enormous and personally satisfying to this coach.  To see those individuals who had only weeks earlier been stressing mentally, or physically, crossing the finish lines and then smiling and relating their races to all and sundry afterwards – for days and weeks afterwards – has been the greatest satisfaction one could ever wish for.

I have “got back” for putting out, or paying it forward.

Even more so after this weekend.

I “came back” to Auckland with two adorable, smooth shaped wine bottles of Pinot Noir and a hugely gratefully received voucher for almost anything one could wish for at some country escape that runs a face and body wellness spa somewhere in the countryside, where I can have a whole or half day escape in luxury, and be treated top to toe to whatever unexperienced (for me) cleansing, exfoliating, tightening!!?? massaging, nourishing, hydrating, invigorating, indulging treatment I want.

I figure that on the day I go, which will be very soon, I shall sit back and go, “Phew…”  and enjoy.

                              

A recent entry from my diary: Learning to be a Widow

I don't like being a widow.

It's a damn hard thing to live with.

I doubt I am presumptuous when I consider that for all widows and widowers there is never a day that goes by when one does not mourn back 2 or 3 years and will that you could be back there and be living that normal life again.  

There is no normal now.  No day is 'normal'. It can't be and will not be for a very long time.

It is not that one is refusing to face reality;  indeed, it is more that reality is so not normal.  

Oh well.  There are some upsides. And if he were here now he would be reminding me of the upsides, the positives. He always found the positive in anything I found negative.  And some of the positives of being a widow would make him grin.  I know they would.  He'd be happy for me to share.

One positive is: I don't have to shave under my arms on such a regular and religious basis anymore.  Always had the fear that I would lift my arm one day and he would view a most unfeminine hairy mass to remind him that women too have descended from apes.  Well, maybe not women in general, just me, his wife.  

The same goes for the daily lady shave routine: no more do I have to fear that on putting my legs on his lap when we are stretched out on the couch is going to have me do a quick reversal of repose and rush off to the bathroom to rid oneself of a hairy leg dilemma - cause I lived in the belief that Tony just presumed I was so femme fatale that hair would never grow anywhere it shouldn't, particularly on the legs.  If it did, it would not be normal.

Well that is two positives of being widowed.  There must be more ....   aahhh, yes.   Another one is:  I can now go to sleep and sleep reasonably well without the fear that one night I might just snore and once again prove to him that I had flaws...  well, a flaw.  I would go sleepless rather than have him hear me snore.  Nowadays I can now sleep making as many zzzzzzz's as my unconscious sleep wants.  Indeed, I wish I could sleep better and make more zzzzzzz's.

And that reminds me of another positive: I used to have a great fear of having flatulence, most particularly nocturnal flatulence.  Heaven forbid that at any time during sleep hours my body would emit a mass blast of nitrogen, carbon dioxide, oxygen, methane and hydrogen sulfide at a precise moment when he was conscious or semi-conscious from his own sleep.  So many times over a twenty year period I would bolt myself upright mid-sleep with the fear that some of those gasses had been emitted at a highly audible volume, the sulphide gasses proving even the most feminine can have an internal constitution of a cow.  There would be no way I could contemplate the possibility that Tony would discover my bodily functions were able to be that basic, or complex (cause I think cows have lots of stomachs - and I wouldn't want him thinking that either).  I'd rather die than have him think so of me. 

Oh gosh - all those 'benefits' are so lowbrow, so puerile, so profane. 

So normal. 



                              

Ironing into 2014

Phew.

It hasn’t exactly been a smooth ride into 2014.

It has already had its ‘moments’.

The eve and initial hour or two were pleasant and memorable as was spent in warm company, on a warm night, in a warm environment.  And we walked to the Domain to watch the SkyCity fireworks from the slopes of the Museum hill.  Many lovely other people there in their groups all happy and content with the quiet evening anticipation of midnight.

Eventually went to bed at 3 am having congratulated myself on enjoying the first post-Tony New Year’s evening.  Sliding into an empty bed reminded me of how much life has changed since March last year; still, guess I am fortunate to have a bed to slide into.

Since that midnight hour less than a week ago it seems there has been an entire month of activity in the past five days.  An odd low light but many highlights to enjoy looking back on.

Catching up friends over the most expensive fish & chips sold in New Zealand at Takapuna beach was a pleasant way to pass one evening. Bubbles were involved. That was a highlight.

Spending a day at the ASB Classic tennis with another friend and watching a real professional athlete at work, Venus Williams, made for a very congenial way to pass a day.

Staying a couple of nights in another friend’s home in Mt Maunganui was also a perfect opportunity to catch up with a couple we have seen little of in the past year.  And the hospitality was thoughtful and gratefully accepted.

The most positive high point of the past few days was the successes of the athlete crew who competed in the Port of Tauranga Half Ironman on Saturday.

A mini-triathlon is a formidable feat for many, so a half Ironman distance one is an enormous step into the endurance eventing realm.   Needless to say, those under the ‘Verna umbrella’ did mighty well ; at least that is my perception on their ability to have come through the day with great results and having fared no permanent damage to their training bodies.  Physically or mentally.  As far as I can tell.  Even those in the team event achieved positive results.  Another confirmation to self that I must be doing something right.

Meanwhile I look down at my feet now and wonder how it is possible to have feet swell to such an extent.  Yes, I did the half Ironman on Saturday too but a post-event-foot-swelling-condition has never occurred such as it has after this event.  Weird.  Have had the feet stuck in cold buckets of water since arriving home yesterday – well, took them out of the bucket when I went to bed – yet woke this morning to feeling as though the skin was so tight that it must split and finally I may be able to autopsy my own feet. 

Shall head out for a walk soon in the hope that keeping the blood flowing through the legs will help – keeping them elevated last night certainly didn't.  And fitting size 6 feet into a rectangular bucket conjures up all the contortions you could think of whilst sitting at a computer writing training programmes for a number of hours last night.  It kept the cats amused.  For some reason both my cats are fascinated by water. More fascinated with a bucket of water, under my chair, with my feet in it as they lift themselves onto their hind legs and peer into the bucket; probably telling each other that on this occasion their owner has definitely gone bonkers.  

Doing the half Ironman was an unnatural experience for me.  Having done the event in previous years and then again in 2012 I had Tony with me, as usual, supporting, helping and cheering me on in his usual manner; it had been a mentally and emotionally rewarding day.  So much so that I had entered the 2013 event with the bright thoughts of Tony and I replicating a pleasant few days in the Bay of Plenty, as we had done with so many other events over the years.  Then Tony became too ill and the trip to Tauranga was quickly cancelled.  Therefore I decided soon after Tony passed away in March that I needed to plan forward and  tick this event off the list of ‘firsts’;  to go do as soon a possible so that any future trips to the Bay of Plenty would have experiences that did not necessarily include Tony.

It was the right thing to do as I did make my own experience this year.  Me, just me.  That was what was so very unnatural, haunting.

Yes, I had travelled to Napier in December to do the Iron Maori but this was an event that Tony and I had not shared together before.  I went down to do the event because Tony and I had followed the event since it first came on the scene and we had been impressed with the popularity of the event and the couple who initiated it; this event quickly became iconic on the Hawkes Bay calendar.  We had wanted to travel and do the event but circumstances meant it never occurred.  December was my opportunity and I was fortunate a warm friend gave up her weekend to travel down with me and be my sole (perhaps that should really be ‘soul’) supporter.   It is a celebrated event and deserves the many accolades it gets.

But this Port of Tauranga Half Ironman, without Tony.  Everything felt peculiar.  Disquietening.  I had no Tony to drive me down from Auckland.  No Tony to calm me when panicking about getting to registration in time.  No Tony to check my bike.  Nor my helmet which was rejected as unusable, Tony would have discovered that long ago.  I never thought to look.  

I will be eternally grateful to Wayne Skipworth’s offer to lend me his helmet – to his personal detriment (by co-incidence he & wife Heather are the initiators of Iron Maori and happened to be in the bike check shop at the time my helmet was rejected). That’s a true champion. 

No Tony to check any of my other gear and he always did. No Tony to walk to transition in the dark with in the morning. No Tony to pump the tyres.  No Tony to hug me good wishes and to kiss me good luck and squeeze my hand as we parted.  No gloatingly proud Tony as I emerged from the swim or left transition on the bike. No Tony behind the railings at transition to the run.  No Tony out on the run course checking how I was looking – to tell me my style was good (or not so good).  No Tony to hug me at the finish. 

Or, more importantly… to pick up my gear and my bike from transition and return it to the vehicle.  To wash it all down, to rinse the wetsuit, to allow me to shower first.  He was so good to me.  No Tony to share those post-event ponderings on what-ifs and why-nots.  No Tony to wander down to prize giving with, to go to dinner with.  No Tony to rub the aching legs or to share the coffee stop with on the journey home.  To unload the bike and gear while I unpacked the bags. Just no Tony.

It was a weird, unnatural, disquietening, unnerving and peculiar event. 

But the event is over.   It’s dusted, done, completed –mission accomplished.  All by myself.  Maybe I am a big girl after all.