Exactly 13 years since our Temple sealing - June 26 - has become the longest day in my life.
Scott and I woke up at 4:30. Kids and Mom were still asleep. We quickly and quietly got ready, packed Scott's stuff and by 5 am were walking down the street towards the Promenade. It was still dark. Scott does not talk much, he is either nervous, or he is meditating, or still sleeping. I know I am worried. But I am mostly concerned about the logistics of things. Will I be able to take pictures of him during the transitions? Will we find each other after the race? Will kids behave and will we have any fun that day while waiting?
As soon as we came around the cliff and got a good view of the Promenade des Anglais, I got a better idea of the scale of this event. There must have been thousands of people all gathered up at the break of dawn on the banks of sleeping Mediterranian. Music blairing, causing blood run faster through our veines, beautiful fit people were definetely the center of attention. I admired their willpower and strength, but mostly, of course, I admired my husband's willpower and strength. If I only knew what a dangerous game these Ironmen are getting themselves into. . .
Just by the way, I've noticed the boats patroling the waters of the Plage du Centenaire, stretches prepared on the beach, ambulances parked on the street, and medical boothes set up along Promenade. I felt chills going down my back. I already felt bad for those less fortunate who would have to be fished out of the water, or break their bones crashing off the bike, or have an iv to rehydrate them in the shade of a first aid station. But certainly they'll all be ok. The worst pain for them would probably be not finishing the race. I live with an athlete, I know the drive behind all of this "fun".
I was confident though that this misfortune would pass Scott by. He would paddle hard through his 2.4 mi. swim, breeze 112 mi. on his bike, and run (something I was the least worried about) all the 26.2 mi. of his marathon. Really, he trained good. 3 hours every morning and about the same at lunch or afternoon. In fact, the most challenging part of the race was supposed to be the swim. So, I decided I'd stay to make sure he'd get out of the water and get on his bike.
He is in his wetsuit and after my clumsy encouraging words and a good-bye, we are separated. He joins his fellow athletes, and I walk up and down trying to find a spot betwixt the spectators glued to the railing. I squeeze in and finally am a part of the fan club, trying to spot a familiar wetsuit. It's not possible really, all the wetsuits are black, all the heads are wearing blue swimhats.
The French race announcer/dj is dancing on the platform, singing along to "tonight's gonna be a good night", yelling in French, then English, then French again. At some point he makes all athletes raise their arms, they all start to dance, and the feeling is great. I am proud of these people and root for their success. It's broad daylight, 7 am. The huge mass of swimmers enters the water, and the Ironman Race begins.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
1. Off to a Dream Vacation
In the beginning of this summer we were hoping to pack a lifetime of adventures into two months of a European vacation. We started out by visiting my hometown in Russia. Then the plan was to drive to Southern France where we would play on the beach after Scott's Ironman competition. Upon returning from France, Scott and I were going to drive to Rome to catch a Mediterranian cruise, while my Mom kindly agreed to babysit. And to finish off our european tour we were going to do and see whatever else we had not done and seen in Bavaria. Crazy, huh? But, hey, we are familiar with strenuous life routine, why not take 4 kids on an 8-hour long road trip. Plus, this was our chance to say good-bye to Europe before we were bound to return to the States the end of July. So, ready or not, here we come.
Nadia, David, my Mom and I flew from Russia on June 24. Scott and the babies met us at the Munich airport. Tightly squeezing all the people and luggage into our van we started out towards France. That's correct, we did not even stop at home to drop off Russian souvenirs and rain coats. The van was stoickly venturing a new road winding through Swiss Alps, then northern Italy with vineyards on both sides of the freeway, then, long after dark we arrived in Nice.
Our apartment is in a busy part of town with a loud pub on the first floor. No empty parking spot in sight. Double-parking was the only option for us to unload our cargo. As we soon find out double-parking is not an outrageous behavior in this part of the world. But for now, we are nervous, hurriedly emptying the car and carrying everything, plus sleepy kids, on the third floor. One word - exhausted. One more word - hot!
A cute representative of Nice Pebbles welcomed us. The apartment is very nice, spacious, carefully decorated, with many balconies, stainless steel kitchen counters, a big screen tv, and... no AC. There is no designated parking spot for our van either. So, on goes Scott to drive our faithful Honda into the first parking garage with the sign "Ouvert" (open) on it. Which is apparently a couple kilometers away from the apartment, somewhere in the woods of a busy european city. As long as Scott remembered the way back to it, we are good.
The next morning grocery shopping was the first cultural activity on our agenda. Baguettes, le lait, mousse au chocolat, fromage, ratatuille, and peaches grown in France ended up in our shopping cart. We just went with our gut feeling about the authentic French grocery list. We were clueless but eager to give it a try. Toiling our load of French delicacies to the apartment we took a short break at the boulangerie. Boulangeries are bakeries with so many kinds of different breads that you can eat a loaf a day for a month and never hit the same taste buds. Among numerous temptations, baguettes seem to rule. While we were standing there mouths open trying to pick something very authentic and French, local people kept coming in, and out they went with bouquets of those long sticks of bread.
Ironman registration was another important task of the day. It took place in booths set up in the park across from newly built fancy Malaussena street with black and white checkered tiles and a naked guy made out of white stone standing in the middle of the fountain. We split our team in two. Older kids and Dad went into the booths. Babies, Mom and I decided to take a "shortcut" through Old Town. We got a pretty good workout climbing up and down the stairs with the double stroller, trying to find our way to Lascaris, 19.
After my unsuccessful experiment with ratatuille, we ate plain normal meat and potatoes. No French cousine that day. But we were together as a whole family and that mattered the most. We were fantasizing about the rest of our Nice vacation. Not knowing what will happen to us the next day at about the same time. . .
Nadia, David, my Mom and I flew from Russia on June 24. Scott and the babies met us at the Munich airport. Tightly squeezing all the people and luggage into our van we started out towards France. That's correct, we did not even stop at home to drop off Russian souvenirs and rain coats. The van was stoickly venturing a new road winding through Swiss Alps, then northern Italy with vineyards on both sides of the freeway, then, long after dark we arrived in Nice.
Our apartment is in a busy part of town with a loud pub on the first floor. No empty parking spot in sight. Double-parking was the only option for us to unload our cargo. As we soon find out double-parking is not an outrageous behavior in this part of the world. But for now, we are nervous, hurriedly emptying the car and carrying everything, plus sleepy kids, on the third floor. One word - exhausted. One more word - hot!
A cute representative of Nice Pebbles welcomed us. The apartment is very nice, spacious, carefully decorated, with many balconies, stainless steel kitchen counters, a big screen tv, and... no AC. There is no designated parking spot for our van either. So, on goes Scott to drive our faithful Honda into the first parking garage with the sign "Ouvert" (open) on it. Which is apparently a couple kilometers away from the apartment, somewhere in the woods of a busy european city. As long as Scott remembered the way back to it, we are good.
The next morning grocery shopping was the first cultural activity on our agenda. Baguettes, le lait, mousse au chocolat, fromage, ratatuille, and peaches grown in France ended up in our shopping cart. We just went with our gut feeling about the authentic French grocery list. We were clueless but eager to give it a try. Toiling our load of French delicacies to the apartment we took a short break at the boulangerie. Boulangeries are bakeries with so many kinds of different breads that you can eat a loaf a day for a month and never hit the same taste buds. Among numerous temptations, baguettes seem to rule. While we were standing there mouths open trying to pick something very authentic and French, local people kept coming in, and out they went with bouquets of those long sticks of bread.
Ironman registration was another important task of the day. It took place in booths set up in the park across from newly built fancy Malaussena street with black and white checkered tiles and a naked guy made out of white stone standing in the middle of the fountain. We split our team in two. Older kids and Dad went into the booths. Babies, Mom and I decided to take a "shortcut" through Old Town. We got a pretty good workout climbing up and down the stairs with the double stroller, trying to find our way to Lascaris, 19.
After my unsuccessful experiment with ratatuille, we ate plain normal meat and potatoes. No French cousine that day. But we were together as a whole family and that mattered the most. We were fantasizing about the rest of our Nice vacation. Not knowing what will happen to us the next day at about the same time. . .
Saturday, September 10, 2011
IronSummer - Prologue
I am used to having all kinds of adventures in my life. Being married to Scott kind of guarantees that. He loves the extreme, there is nothing lukewarm about his character. He shoots high and is unstoppable in reaching his goals. The hard part is that those of us who tag along don't realize all the risks he is imposing on himself and on us.
It usually turns into an unforgettable growing experience for the whole family. We never regret the paths we took together as a family no matter how rough the terrain. There are always moderate dozes of resentment along the way but things end up working out one way or the other. I've already learned that God did not intend it to be easy for us. I've also learned that there are valuable lessons to be learned in life only through challenges.
I never expected to be smashed into a wall of such difficult curcumstances that I would evolve into a completely new being. Almost physically feeling my hair turn gray I realized I had grown (or got old) and become more sensitive and less judgemental, more meek and less ambitious. The dross of life has burned away and things I loved have now become of utter and only importance. What I knew was right, now was engraved in my heart with agony and pain. These things are - family, life, gospel, Christ.
This summer will mark our family history as one of the most tragic and the most miraculous summers ever. It was the summer of both Scott and me becoming Ironpeople. Our children, having tasted the bitterness of this trial, have also become stronger.
It was a terrible and grand experience that "grasped us by a power that is greater than we are, a power that shakes us and turns us, and transforms and heals us." It was the time of horror and humility, fear and faith, tribulation and testimony. Indeed, we've come to believe in the words of Paul: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress,, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us."
God and his angels (a.k.a. kind friends and family, doctors and nurses) have come to our rescue and lifted us up from the depths of despair. I am thankful, humbled and obligated to write about our hardships and the mirales that followed and were possible because of many wonderful people in this world and because of the Lord Jesus Christ. But mainly I dedicate this story to our sweet kids, my awesome Mother, and my strong and amazing husband. He is my Ironman forever.
It usually turns into an unforgettable growing experience for the whole family. We never regret the paths we took together as a family no matter how rough the terrain. There are always moderate dozes of resentment along the way but things end up working out one way or the other. I've already learned that God did not intend it to be easy for us. I've also learned that there are valuable lessons to be learned in life only through challenges.
I never expected to be smashed into a wall of such difficult curcumstances that I would evolve into a completely new being. Almost physically feeling my hair turn gray I realized I had grown (or got old) and become more sensitive and less judgemental, more meek and less ambitious. The dross of life has burned away and things I loved have now become of utter and only importance. What I knew was right, now was engraved in my heart with agony and pain. These things are - family, life, gospel, Christ.
This summer will mark our family history as one of the most tragic and the most miraculous summers ever. It was the summer of both Scott and me becoming Ironpeople. Our children, having tasted the bitterness of this trial, have also become stronger.
It was a terrible and grand experience that "grasped us by a power that is greater than we are, a power that shakes us and turns us, and transforms and heals us." It was the time of horror and humility, fear and faith, tribulation and testimony. Indeed, we've come to believe in the words of Paul: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress,, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? . . . Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us."
God and his angels (a.k.a. kind friends and family, doctors and nurses) have come to our rescue and lifted us up from the depths of despair. I am thankful, humbled and obligated to write about our hardships and the mirales that followed and were possible because of many wonderful people in this world and because of the Lord Jesus Christ. But mainly I dedicate this story to our sweet kids, my awesome Mother, and my strong and amazing husband. He is my Ironman forever.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)