tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13896603600689099692024-03-14T02:47:45.717-04:00Lora AbernathyIn a state of constant upgrade. Published daily, except most days.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-75472879606850682412014-07-08T20:48:00.000-04:002014-07-08T20:48:16.855-04:00Change of pace a breeze<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1tY_GICkEU/U7yRCEeojSI/AAAAAAAAA6g/DcGSDbC8oEo/s1600/beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1tY_GICkEU/U7yRCEeojSI/AAAAAAAAA6g/DcGSDbC8oEo/s1600/beach.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I did something I normally wouldn’t do, but that was the whole point.<br />
<br />A couple issues ago in Salt magazine, I wrote about how important down time is. I put my money where my mouth was while I was on vacation.<br />
<br />One of the best trips I’ve had in years, Gary and I traveled to Myrtle Beach with his daughter, her husband and the two granddaughters in June.<br />
<br />Instead of filling the time shopping endlessly, or making sure I took in all the sights and sounds the beach had to offer, I took in one sight and one sound, and they were both the same — the ocean.<br />
<br />I spend so much of my life being hurried — check emails, assign stories, make more coffee; the only hurrying I managed on vacation was to immediately find my flip flops so I could go sit on the balcony as soon as I got up in the morning.<br />
<br />In a protest to the fast-paced lifestyle gods, I threw caution to the wind, literally, as we kept our bedroom balcony door open — wide open — while we slept every night. There was no screen to keep out the bugs, and no adjusting the volume of the waves.<br />
<br />As a person who loathes the sight of bugs (though finding one crawling on your arm is certainly worse), I was so unconcerned with whether any would find their way into our room at night. The pleasure of the rolling ocean and its accompanying wind superseded any of my fears. (I only killed one the whole week.)<br />
<br />Most of the day was spent sitting, either on the balcony, down at the beach, or back on the balcony again in the evening and at night. Conversation with people I love replaced mindless staring at my computer and iPhone.<br />
<br />I watched TV for less than three hours during the entire vacation, choosing to stare endlessly out into the beautiful ocean.<br />
<br />The great news about being such a busy person is that I have come to appreciate all the other end of the spectrum has to offer. There’s plenty on the other side if we choose to look for it.<br />
<br />
<i>EDITOR'S NOTE: This content will be published in the next issue of Salt magazine, hitting home delivery subscribers for some of our southern Ohio newspapers July 16. Just couldn't wait to share.</i>Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-58968851027347960182013-07-17T11:18:00.001-04:002013-07-17T11:50:51.002-04:00I did a Half Ironman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekRhIxNIQoQ/Uea00fnL_TI/AAAAAAAAA54/EX6SWGZdSgs/s1600/DSCF4656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ekRhIxNIQoQ/Uea00fnL_TI/AAAAAAAAA54/EX6SWGZdSgs/s200/DSCF4656.JPG" width="200" /></a>With only five minutes to spare, I made the cutoff for Ironman Muncie 70.3 on Saturday, my first HIM.</div>
<br />
The swim was the easiest of any tri I've done, the bike was the most miserable I have been in life in a while and the run was pretty decent.<br />
<br />
I'll have a full race report later, but just wanted to share the good news.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-41435031577630052592013-04-30T14:36:00.001-04:002013-04-30T14:36:21.237-04:00New running shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/934656_4860117780981_350951095_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/934656_4860117780981_350951095_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I finally got a new pair of running shoes last Sunday. Not only do they fit great, they're also quite adorable.<br />
<br />
I'm still adjusting to their character, hoping that we will make a long-lasting fit. So far so good, though.<br />
<br />
Happy running!Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-83557196537811712902013-01-06T19:39:00.003-05:002013-01-06T19:39:56.548-05:00I'll have the truck, please<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T9eUpGiZeJ4/UOoZBDFx7HI/AAAAAAAAA44/hQklRkyvxuM/s1600/Truck+Accident+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T9eUpGiZeJ4/UOoZBDFx7HI/AAAAAAAAA44/hQklRkyvxuM/s320/Truck+Accident+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">The sound of our
shoes crunching over the ice and snow in the parking lot could be heard
as someone I was walking in to a meeting with the other night remarked,
"I didn't know you drove a truck."<br /><br />"Oh, yeah," I said, smiling,
pausing to look back over my shoulder at my truck, her top covered with
snow, frost consuming her windows in winter's first storm. She looked
terrific.<br /><br />"After all," I continued, "I am from West Virginia.
Girls dream about their first truck as much as they do their wedding day
over there."<br /><br />Though we chuckled, my comment wasn't far from the truth.<br /><br />When
our friend, Robin, got her brand new 1993 Toyota truck our senior year
in high school, my best friend, Holly, and I both wished that we could
trade in our run-down Chevy Caprice or Toyota Tercel hatchback for a
truck like hers. She had struck gold.<br /><br />Though it took me 17 years, I finally got my truck three years ago through a deal that almost didn't even happen.<br /><br />My
husband and I were at the dealership, ready to put some money down on a
Chevy Malibu, a sensible selection; but before we made a commitment, I
looked up and said, "Any chance you've got any trucks around this price
range?"<br /><br />The rep said, "Well, there is one, but I don't think you'll like it."<br /><br />This
guy was the coolest cat of a car salesman either of us had met. He
wasn't being condescending, but given that I was wearing a suit and high
heels, he simply said it as a matter of what he had surmised to be a
fact.<br /><br />"How could I not like a truck?" I thought to myself as I perked up to hear what he had to say next.<br /><br />"It's
what they call a work truck. It doesn't have any carpet on the floors,
and ..." he continued to mention a couple other things, but he had me at
"no carpet on the floors."<br /><br />Herman's Hermits' song, "I'm Into
Something Good," began playing in my head. I imagined, like the scenes
with Leslie Nielsen and Priscilla Presley as they were falling in love
in the film "The Naked Gun," the adventures this truck and I could have;
adventures such as 2 a.m. drives to triathlons, mud-covered training
days at Caesar Creek Lake and summer days with the windows rolled down
as the high-riding power of her engine purred us across southern Ohio.<br /><br />No carpet was just what I needed. This was going to be great.<br /><br />"Let's go look," Gary said.<br /><br />We
walked to the back and there it stood - all by itself. It was a huge
truck, a 2009 Chevy Silverado that only had seven miles on it. It was
March 2010 and the truck had been sitting on the lot for one year.<br /><br />I think I know why.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">It is a very weird
truck with an odd blend of modern and 1980s features. It has Sirius XM
Radio, an adapter for an MP3 player and came with OnStar. However, it
does not have power doors or windows or keyless entry. The inside light
doesn't even come on when you open the door.<br /><br />It also did not have
4-wheel drive, mandatory for every truck a West Virginian will drive.
The Silverado also had an automatic transmission. I prefer driving a
stick.<br /><br />It is rare for a vehicle to be sold in Ohio with a manual
transmission, and, not wanting to let the perfect be the enemy of the
good, I decided I could do without 4-wheel drive.<br /><br />The deal was set and I was now the owner of my first truck.<br /><br />After nearly three years, our relationship has been everything I had imagined in those first few moments - and then some.<br /><br />Two
months after I brought her home, I clipped the side of my garage as I
was turning the corner down our driveway to cover some breaking news
story.<br /><br />"Uh, oh," I muttered. "Please let it just be a scratch.
Please let it just be a scratch. I wonder if Gary saw me. Oh, no. Please
let it just be a scratch."<br /><br />Gary came stomping from inside the house and he was hot. I would quickly see why.<br /><br />I
scrambled out of the driver's side door, scurried to the back, stopped
fast in my tracks and hesitantly peered over the right-back corner of
the vehicle to slowly get a full view of the damage. My jaw dropped to
the floor.<br /><br />It was more than a scratch. It looked like The
Incredible Hulk had just pummeled the mid-section of the truck with an
angry fist. There was only a little crack in a piece of siding on the
garage.<br /><br />After a couple weeks at the body shop, she looked just as good as new.<br /><br />Nearly
three years later, I find there are some items with which I still need
to equip my truck. I desperately need running boards, a good liner for
the bed and even some kind of top.<br /><br />My mom did get me a set of floor mats for Christmas last year from Lands' End.<br /><br />I
do not find it bizarre when country crooners sing about their trucks.
There is "Somethin' 'Bout a Truck," Mr. Kip Moore, and I get it. I
always have.<br /><br />Who knows how many more years we'll have together,
but through thick and thin, summer and winter, the journey ahead will be
packed with adventures - because that is how I choose to live my life.<br /><br />Though I am proud to now call Ohio home, I will always find a way to let out the redneck.<br /><br />For instance, did I mention the floor mats are monogrammed?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><a href="http://wnewsj.com/main.asp?SectionID=42&SubSectionID=367&ArticleID=203631" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">T</span>his column originally appeared in the News Journal.</a> </span> </span>Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-63081274926431179252012-12-03T23:17:00.001-05:002012-12-03T23:17:07.176-05:00I always start out in first place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EmKn3JM3nJU/UL146kKsSTI/AAAAAAAAA4g/CP9PNR5Wxes/s1600/Me+at+Turkey+Trot+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EmKn3JM3nJU/UL146kKsSTI/AAAAAAAAA4g/CP9PNR5Wxes/s400/Me+at+Turkey+Trot+2012.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">I must admit, I do it for laughs.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">When running in a
5K, I will stand in the front of the starting line knowing good and well
that I will not be first across the finish line. Ever. For any race.<br /><br />It just makes me chuckle, especially when I later see a photo of the race start.<br /><br />I
wear all the right clothing, have a waterproof heart rate monitor with
GPS and even bring a race belt to these things. I look like a serious
runner and, therefore, like I might be fast.<br /><br />But I'm not. I'm
slow. But that secret typically goes undetected for at least one minute
into the race until I start getting passed ... then passed again ... and
then passed again.<br /><br />In fact, during a 5K I ran earlier in the
year, I was talking to a guy after the race who told me his wife had
sized up the other racers (there were only 40) before the gun went off,
and she had decided I would be her biggest competition.<br /><br />Now, that
was funny. She ended up beating me by a couple minutes. I wonder when
she figured out that I wouldn't be giving her any problems.<br /><br />So,
of course, I got in the front of the line at The Friends of the
Wilmington Parks Seventh Annual 5K and 10K Run and 5K Walk to Promote
Health and Community Fellowship Thanksgiving morning.<br /><br />Made up of what appeared to be mostly students from Wilmington College or the high schools, I was the only old person up front.<br /><br />After
the starting gun fired, these kids were already blazing a trail. A
minute later, I got into my pace, turned on my playlist and just enjoyed
the scenic course.<br /><br />Race organizers told me Thursday morning
before I had to leave to come back to the News Journal office that there
were at least 350 participants, but that they were still counting the
numbers.<br /><br />As of Thursday evening, according to the race's Facebook
page, there were 469 timed participants. A record-turnout for the race,
now in it's seventh year.<br /><br />The excitement of seeing so many
friends, the perfect running weather and a beautiful course all added up
to a wonderful morning of racing - and I had a blast.<br /><br />There was, however, a downside I would soon discover.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<br /><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">I haven't been
training as much as usual lately, and, though I finished the race
without struggle, I was able to observe a decrease in my stamina.<br /><br />I typically get passed by others more than I pass them, but I felt like I was choking on more dust than usual.<br /><br />I needed to put more people behind me ... but the energy just wasn't there. <br /><br />With
just a half a mile to go, Mötley Crüe's "Kickstart My Heart" showed up
in my playlist. I paused it, knowing that would be a perfect song to get
me going at the very end, and I ran a few minutes in silence.<br /><br />As I turned the last corner, the finish line was in sight. I unpaused the high-energy music and picked up my pace.<br /><br />A
few seconds later, a man running with a stroller started to catch up
with me. He, and the two other people with whom he was running,
eventually passed me.<br /><br />I said to myself, "OK, Lora. You cannot let
someone pushing a stroller beat you. Pick up the pace a little and
sprint to pass them at the very end."<br /><br />Though I picked up my pace
slightly, there was no sprint left in me. To make matters worse, the
song slowed down at that point, going in to its bridge.<br /><br />Of course it did.<br /><br />Though
I had to watch papa and his little one score a higher ranking than me, I
actually was pleasantly surprised when I looked up the race results
Friday afternoon.<br /><br />As an unquestionable middle-of-the-pack runner,
I was nearly dead center overall having placed 174 out of 349 in the
5K. I placed 76 out of 192 among the females and 28 out of 70 in my age
group.<br /><br />Given how sluggish I'd felt throughout the race, I thought for sure I was headed more toward the back-of-the-pack standings.<br /><br />I
am a very, very competitive person - at least in the things I know I
can do well. Running isn't one of them, so even though I have the
occasional small goal in a race, just to make it interesting, I'm able
to just go out and have a good time.<br /><br />Thanksgiving's turkey trot
served not only as a reminder of how out of shape I am, but also of how
grateful to God I am that my faculties are still intact and that I have
the ability to just pick up and run.<br /><br />I noticed there were a
couple photographers snapping pictures at the start, finish and along
the course. I look forward to seeing the photos online later and having a
good laugh about it. I'm always in first place at the starting line.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: GEORGIA, SERIF; font-size: small;">This was <a href="http://wnewsj.com/main.asp?SectionID=42&SubSectionID=367&ArticleID=202963&TM=83619.1" target="_blank">originally publis</a><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://wnewsj.com/main.asp?SectionID=42&SubSectionID=367&ArticleID=202963&TM=83619.1" target="_blank">hed in the Nov. 24 edition of the Wilmington News Journal</a>.</span></span></span> </span>Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-79876546324164825142012-08-25T10:34:00.001-04:002012-08-25T10:34:29.280-04:00Juggling lemons<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8297/7847775842_d20a2bfed7_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8297/7847775842_d20a2bfed7_k.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="name" id="yui_3_5_1_3_1345904226544_936"><strong class="username" id="yui_3_5_1_3_1345904226544_935"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/arcgcdregion/" id="yui_3_5_1_3_1345904226544_934">Courtesy Greater Cincinnati-Dayton Region Red Cross</a></strong></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was a celebrity waiter at a recent fundraiser for our local American Red Cross. I'd never been to a celebrity waiter event, but I knew going in that being entertaining and goofy were the requisites.<br />
<br />
Goofy I had down. Whether that would translate to entertaining, well - I had my doubts.<br />
<br />
I threw on a couple silly hats and mingled with some customers.<br />
<br />
One couple said the last guy did magic tricks for them.<br />
<br />
"What can you do?" they challenged.<br />
<br />
"Well, I can juggle ... a little," I said after thinking for a moment.<br />
<br />
I went to the kitchen and grabbed three lemons out of the fridge. I went back to the table, negotiated a price and pleaded silently with my body to please not let me drop them.<br />
<br />
I started juggling and was able to make it through a few good looking rotations before I lost my groove.<br />
<br />
The couple seemed please, clapped and handed me some dough.<br />
<br />
More than $5,500 was raised that night and all of the dollars went to this Red Cross chapter.<br />
<br />
Given the choice, though, I'd rather juggle interviews in the privacy of my office than lemons in public.<br />
Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-13607005277627189812012-07-04T09:17:00.004-04:002012-07-04T09:17:45.144-04:00Happy 4th of July<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://sphotos.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/425545_10151058768204534_1758942070_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://sphotos.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/425545_10151058768204534_1758942070_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy 55KRC Radio.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My favorite period to study in history is the Revolutionary War era.<br /><br />I remember sitting at my desk in the 5th grade and being outraged - outraged I tell you - at what the British empire was doing. I couldn't wait to turn the page to learn how my forefathers were going to rebel and stick it to them.<br /><br />Today, we'll have the day off from work, cook out, set off fireworks and maybe hang a flag. My hope is that you at least take a moment to reflect on the significance of the day and thank a veteran for keeping the most important freedom movement history has ever witnessed going.<br />
<br />
Happy 4th of July, my friends!<br />
<br /><br /> <br />
<br />
<br />Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-7031923645503831062012-06-12T21:57:00.001-04:002012-06-13T10:02:25.269-04:00Capping it off<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gSo3jEAxDKs/T9fvQNUHoeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/9tF_5wvbEeE/s1600/Nike+Cap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gSo3jEAxDKs/T9fvQNUHoeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/9tF_5wvbEeE/s200/Nike+Cap.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new Nike ball cap.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was never going to be expensive to buy; at most a little more than a hearty lunch for two at Panera Bread.<br />
<br />
Still, I continued to spend my triathlon dollars on race entry fees, new tri shorts or nothing at all given how little I've trained lately.<br />
<br />
And my other spare dollars?<br />
<br />
Those exist?<br />
<br />
For a few years, I've been wanting to buy a better ball cap, one that wicks the sweat away and promotes a great shape on my noggin'.<br />
<br />
My mom got me a really nice cap for Christmas a couple years ago. It was white and read "Marshall University" in a proud green. Other than not being made of the quick drying fabric, it was perfect. It was so perfect I didn't care that it wasn't quick drying.<br />
<br />
My Great Dane chewed it apart a few weeks later.<br />
<br />
A few months ago, she got me another Marshall cap at Cracker Barrell. It was another great fit. However, it's a fitted hat and does not have a spot for me to pull my pony tail through. I save it for casual weekend wear.<br />
<br />
The other day, I found the ball cap for which I'd been looking. Gary and I were at Dick's and I saw this hat with one other on a random shelf. As soon as I put it on I knew I'd be taking it home. I tried on another one from Under Armour just to see how that one fit to compare.<br />
<br />
I should not have bothered.<br />
<br />
I've worn it three or four times out on my runs and it feels great. It also looks spectacular, which is the most important feature for a dorky girl like me trying to pass for somewhat normal.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-23129379925244862372012-05-13T19:28:00.000-04:002012-05-13T19:28:26.318-04:00Blog gets first place nod from the Associated Press<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-693BOn1KcHs/T7BC1FNI6lI/AAAAAAAAA3Q/q7d24MOkjuU/s1600/Out+on+the+Run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-693BOn1KcHs/T7BC1FNI6lI/AAAAAAAAA3Q/q7d24MOkjuU/s320/Out+on+the+Run.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on a run yesterday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was so thrilled to have won first place for Best Blog at the Associated Press Society of Ohio's annual awards banquet last Sunday for "The Iron Mountaineer." Some days, I just can't believe my life.<br /><br />These were the judge's comments:<br /><br />"Great blog! Entries aren't extravagantly long, topics are focused, writing style is light-hearted. Personality of the blogger shines through. Excellent."<br /><br />I also took home second place recognition for Online Photojournalist and third place for Best Use of Multimedia. The paper with which I am most associated, The Times-Gazette, took home seven AP awards all together. My colleagues at the Wilmington News Journal took home six and the Record-Herald walked away with two.<br /><br />There are five divisions in Ohio based on circulation and our division, Division 1, has the most papers, making it the most competitive division in Ohio.<br /><br />These are the four entries that I submitted for judging from last year.<br /><br /><a href="http://theironmountaineer.blogspot.com/2011/06/name-i-wont-let-them-call-me.html" target="_blank">The name I won't let them call me</a><br /><br /><a href="http://theironmountaineer.blogspot.com/2011/08/mourning-fading-body-markings.html" target="_blank">Mourning fading body markings</a><br /><br /><a href="http://theironmountaineer.blogspot.com/2011/02/top-5-swimming-pet-peeves.html" target="_blank">The top 5 swimming pet peeves</a><br /><br /><a href="http://theironmountaineer.blogspot.com/2011/11/its-like-im-half-triathlete-half-human.html" target="_blank">It's like I'm half triathlete, half human</a><br /><br />Thanks for reading, everyone, and helping to make this trip even more joyful.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-10214457050607185262012-04-15T19:57:00.002-04:002012-04-21T17:27:24.443-04:00First place in my age group<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span id="goog_2051938785"></span><span id="goog_2051938786"></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pev2YtgZMQ0/T4tcwix5MpI/AAAAAAAAA3I/B7cEbmUIuWk/s1600/P1010014WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pev2YtgZMQ0/T4tcwix5MpI/AAAAAAAAA3I/B7cEbmUIuWk/s400/P1010014WEB.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing my 1st place AG hardware standing by my truck.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With only 48 participants, and the majority of them walkers, I can't say I was totally surprised when they called my name for 1st place in my age group. It was, however, still pretty cool.<br />
<br />
I've only placed once before. It was during the Thomas Frericks 5K at the University of Dayton where most of the participants were college kids or their parents. There were only three other women in my age group. I received a UD ball cap for my win.<br />
<br />
The course represented the area in which I live: rural and pretty. It was a scenic route past homes and farms scattered several yards from one another; cows and horses grazed on the bright green grass.<br />
<br />
Though a casual affair, the organizers certainly had the basics covered very well. The course was clearly marked, the water station was perfectly timed, the post-race recovery water and bananas hit the spot, the mile markers were clear and the mileage on the race was spot on.<br />
<br />
The name of the race was the <a href="http://timesgazette.com/main.asp?SectionID=18&SubSectionID=175&ArticleID=184340" target="_blank">In Step for Life 5K Run/Walk</a>. These folks are raising money for a community garden, so the registration money went to a good cause.<br />
<br />
My time for my three-mile effort was 32:57. When I train, I'm usually hitting three miles at about 35 minutes, so it was a pretty good time for me.<br />
<br />
What a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.<br />
<br />
SATURDAY, APRIL 20: JUST DISCOVERED THERE WAS ONE OTHER IN MY AGE GROUP AFTERALL.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-49294552517357311162012-04-06T10:35:00.005-04:002012-04-07T10:35:38.985-04:00'Ron Swanson' was my race director<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0GX1dyIwac/T375MCQbtyI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/wyfOO5zw5Xc/s1600/Swim-StartWEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r0GX1dyIwac/T375MCQbtyI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/wyfOO5zw5Xc/s200/Swim-StartWEB.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the triathlon from my dream.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The way I started this triathlon was the beginning of a dream.<br />
<br />
A notoriously slow swimmer, I was the first one to exit the water. I thought, <i>Could I possibly podium in this race, and not just in my age group, but overall?</i><br />
<br />
The answer would be no, I was soon to find out.<br />
<br />
There had been another competitor directly behind me. I had to keep up a strong pace in the Transition area to maintain this unreal lead.<br />
<br />
When I went to Transition, it was like a locker room but in a hotel. I was frantically looking for my tri shorts, shuffling through my bag and other belongings. That was quite strange because I should have been wearing these during the swim.<br />
<br />
<i>Uh, oh. </i><br />
<br />
I was unable to find my shorts or anything else I needed fast enough to keep my lead. I looked to my left and out of the room. The lady who had been behind me was now jetting off on her bike.<br />
<br />
<i>Drats!</i><br />
<br />
I continued to scurry about looking for what I needed. Though the next part was a blur, I ended up finding it. I began walking my bike out of the hotel when all of a sudden the tile flooring turned into dirt. There was a trail barely marked for the bike, but I somehow knew where to go.<br />
<br />
As I came around the corner, I noticed triathletes already running. I couldn't believe I'd gotten so far behind that people had already finished the bike and begun the run.<br />
<br />
Placing was obviously off my radar. I now needed to address the challenge directly in front of me: finishing the bike.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y9CQYWovfSY/T38BS1DE2yI/AAAAAAAAA0k/aRmIUbNMF8s/s1600/Tri%2Bfor%2Bthe%2BCure%2B09%2B-%2BFinish%253F.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="149" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728298674027813666" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y9CQYWovfSY/T38BS1DE2yI/AAAAAAAAA0k/aRmIUbNMF8s/s200/Tri%2Bfor%2Bthe%2BCure%2B09%2B-%2BFinish%253F.jpg" style="float: right; height: 130px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 174px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A real finish line.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The bike was only seven miles but it was around a track and spectators lined up all around. As I was going around one of the turns, I saw a sign that read "Party After the 5K."<br />
<br />
I turned another corner and saw <a href="http://youtu.be/Hyc1aMtnHJo" target="_blank">the character Ron Swanson from "Parks and Recreation"</a> standing on the side. He was leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigar, clearly in charge of the race but obviously disinterested.<br />
<br />
I told him hello as I was riding by on the bike. He stopped me to ask if I would go check on a problem happening in the ladies room. I told him no. Without a reply, he stepped back to lean against the wall, like a shadow trying to forget it was ever there. Though I didn't do him any favors, I thought I saw him nod in approval of my refusal. Almost like I was April from the show.<br />
<br />
I finished the bike and now needed to run the three miles of the run. I asked Ron where the trail was. He pointed to the "Party After the 5K" sign.<br />
<br />
I was miffed and said, "No. No. Where is the trail? Just because that sign has the word 5K in it doesn't mean it's the trail."<br />
<br />
He was a horrible race director.<br />
<br />
He then said, "OK. Let me show you what you have to do next."<br />
<br />
I thought, <i>I know what to do next, this is not my first tri. I just need you to have been a better RD.</i><br />
<br />
He led me over to the sign again and all of a sudden there was some kind of kid's mini jungle gym toy that he said I had to stick my feet through to wiggle my way to the other side where the run started. There was one problem: My feet were too big to get through. I'd have to take off my shoes. I couldn't believe that every other contestant ahead of me had to do this. Somehow they did, so I must, too.<br />
<br />
Then I woke up.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-89863463275291098112012-03-18T10:14:00.001-04:002012-03-18T10:16:09.450-04:005 things I want from a race T-shirt<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MdWeQ3IkU28/T2XptERYwKI/AAAAAAAAAzg/4OpV1U8QVq0/s1600/Flying-Pig-Half-Marathon-2011WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MdWeQ3IkU28/T2XptERYwKI/AAAAAAAAAzg/4OpV1U8QVq0/s320/Flying-Pig-Half-Marathon-2011WEB.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My second half marathon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A thread was taking place over on the <a href="http://www.beginnertriathlete.com/">Beginner Triathlete</a> forums titled "<a href="http://beginnertriathlete.com/discussion/forums/thread-view.asp?tid=430443&posts=63&start=1">RD wants to know what you want in a race t-shirt.</a>"<br />
<br />
This RD was getting a bounty of feedback from the community. People are clearly passionate about their swag.<br />
<br />
Most posters agreed that Technical T-shirts are the way to go, but a few said they wouldn't mind cotton Ts as long as they were decent cotton. (Wrong!)<br />
<br />
The community was almost evenly split about whether T-shirts should be white or not, and there was some discussion about where logos should be placed.<br />
<br />
I chimed in, too, and these were my thoughts, though I've expanded them a tad more here.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Fabric</span><br />
Please. No cotton Ts. That's like having moved to CDs in the early 90s and then your parents go and buy you the new album that you wanted for Christmas - on tape! Disappointment. Please use current technology.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sizing</span><br />
Please offer women's sizes, and make sure they're long enough. Nothing like your muffin top peeking over and bouncing above your shorts. Not all of us "look like runners."<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Color</span><br />
White is fine with me. Just don't order a gross color like mustard yellow. I have one and it is visible only at bedtime.<br />
<br />
<b>To buy or not to buy</b><br />
Give the racer the option of <u>not</u> buying a T-shirt for a lower registration price. This is true especially if you've decided to order cotton Ts. (By the way, why are you ordering cotton Ts?) If you're offering Technical Ts, make it clear on your registration form.<br />
<br />
<b>In lieu of a T</b><br />
People typically expect a T-shirt. If you're going to replace it with something else, it must have the same "a ha" worth. I don't know if a visor does that. Now, a nice wicking ballcap would be a suitable substitute.<br />
<br />
What do you want in a race T?Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-29642316401909196612012-03-07T14:45:00.005-05:002012-03-07T14:56:21.949-05:00Running from irony<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M_R7aKoReX0/T1e7Rl8V9MI/AAAAAAAAAzA/53575ANjIKI/s1600/Run-Columbus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img style="width: 126px; height: 168px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M_R7aKoReX0/T1e7Rl8V9MI/AAAAAAAAAzA/53575ANjIKI/s200/Run-Columbus.jpg" border="0" /></a>My mileage has certainly been down lately as I have been nursing my feet injuries. What little running I'd done was on the treadmill. So, when the weather warmed up recently, I put on this long-sleeved shirt, a pair of running pants and hit the pavement.<br /><br />(I won this shirt from the Nationwide Better Health Columbus Marathon organization last January in a New Year's Day Twitter contest organizers were holding. Really very cool.)<br /><br />Though I was only running two to three miles, I had to stop more times than I wanted to, gulp, walk.<br /><br />Walking at the end of a steep hill more than once, I imagined what the jerks would say as they would drive by, watching a person struggling to breathe just <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dD5GUP8hK40/T1e770YJcQI/AAAAAAAAAzY/2Z4IuevYmHc/s1600/Col.-Mar.-Twitter-Winner.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 349px; height: 89px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dD5GUP8hK40/T1e770YJcQI/AAAAAAAAAzY/2Z4IuevYmHc/s320/Col.-Mar.-Twitter-Winner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717244888316735746" border="0" /></a>walking, but wearing a big sign on the front of her shirt that read "RUN."<br /><br />But then I didn't care. I've had to take some steps back as I heal, but I know my training will increase and I'll be running full steam ahead on those same hills in a few weeks - and then, my shirt won't seem ironic to anyone, but most importantly to me.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-76139933402327411192012-01-24T11:06:00.001-05:002012-01-24T19:06:39.290-05:00A dessert by any other name<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50qy4Go6Q6M/Tx7Vq5fhSTI/AAAAAAAAAxo/vT2kP7vtGlQ/s1600/P1000926WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="153" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50qy4Go6Q6M/Tx7Vq5fhSTI/AAAAAAAAAxo/vT2kP7vtGlQ/s200/P1000926WEB.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These should last a week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I don't nag my husband, Gary, about eating poorly (what's the point?), but I do tease him about it on the rarest of occasions.<br />
<br />
It's a running joke that his idea of a balanced diet is making sure he has French fries across from the cheeseburger on his plate.<br />
<br />
Recently, we were relaxing on the couch watching a couple hours of TV before heading off to bed. After eating one chocolate ice cream bar, he got up, walked to the freezer and pulled out another one.<br />
<br />
Moving my glasses slightly down my nose and glaring at him from above them, I asked, using my nagging wife voice, "Going for no. 2, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Nope," he said. "I'm calling this my middle one."<br />
<br />
We both busted out laughing, having to pause whatever show we were watching because we were nearly on the floor.<br />
<br />
The irony will be, of course, that he'll probably outlive me. At least there are precious moments like these to cherish along the way.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-1122757792965674902012-01-05T08:19:00.002-05:002012-01-05T08:22:37.206-05:00Short, hilarious video: 'Day after the marathon'A coworker, a runner, shared this with me yesterday, and we both just laughed our butts off because it is so relatable.<br /><br />Maybe it's been floating around for a while, and I'm one of the last to discover it. It wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened. Nonetheless, enjoy, and be sure and watch it up to the last second. <a href="http://youtu.be/m-hCuYjvw2I">Here's a direct link</a>.<br /><br /><object width="1280" height="720"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/m-hCuYjvw2I?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/m-hCuYjvw2I?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="220" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-68771961516425455352011-12-30T14:39:00.002-05:002011-12-30T14:52:48.780-05:00Me versus the majorette<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mCAm4r4oWyw/Tv4KVNDGsCI/AAAAAAAAAwA/_PQkfYiXmXk/s1600/Me-Verses-22-Years-WEB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img style="width: 224px; height: 137px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mCAm4r4oWyw/Tv4KVNDGsCI/AAAAAAAAAwA/_PQkfYiXmXk/s320/Me-Verses-22-Years-WEB.jpg" border="0" /></a>I recently found an 8x10 photo from my days as a majorette at Nitro Junior High School. I scanned it and posted it as my profile pic on Facebook.<br /><br />I don't spend much time worrying about aging. I've been using quality moisturizers since I was 21, and will continue to do so, I have good genes (my grandmother's skin is softer than mine) and I quit going to the tanning bed years ago.<br /><br />But when I did the math on how many years it had been since the picture was taken, I let my curiosity take me down a fun road: I wanted to see how much older I really looked.<br /><br />So, I cropped the majorette picture and juxtaposed it with a mug shot taken of me late this summer.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DjrZH-_QeHE/Tv4UFjc-dlI/AAAAAAAAAwM/XRoyhzPEKKI/s1600/Me-as-Majorette-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 284px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DjrZH-_QeHE/Tv4UFjc-dlI/AAAAAAAAAwM/XRoyhzPEKKI/s320/Me-as-Majorette-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692009064691562066" border="0" /></a><br />You can clearly see some aging on the image to the right (above). I wouldn't go so far as to call it a wiser countenance, but definitely one that reveals experience, hardship and certainly plenty of adventure.<br /><br />I seem to have more freckles today, and I stopped using Sun-In years ago so that the hair color you see today is all natural. And I definitely don't look 14 anymore.<br /><br />But I don't look 50 either.<br /><br />The picture was shot 22 years ago. When I consider that, I'm pretty pleased with how the ruggedness of life has treated me. I certainly could have aged much more rapidly these last years.<br /><br />Of course, because by now speaking of the topic I will have jinxed it, the picture that will be taken of me 22 years from now will undoubtedly reveal a horrid old lady.<br /><br />I hope you'll still be reading to find out.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-72418914556426894812011-12-20T21:18:00.009-05:002011-12-20T22:16:45.342-05:00Free cup of Joe has big payoff<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/36952_124558710920424_124558297587132_140327_8339973_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="151" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/36952_124558710920424_124558297587132_140327_8339973_n.jpg" style="float: left; height: 176px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 233px;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy Holtfield Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The drive-through line at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/#%21/pages/Holtfield-Station/124558297587132">Holtfield Coffee Station</a> was moving along pretty quickly as usual. When I reached the microphone, I began placing my order.<br />
<br />
"Just a regular cup of coffee, please," I replied after the voice had asked me what I wanted. I frequent this small town treasure so often, sometimes they greet me and tell me to just "go ahead and pull on up," already knowing what I want. It's a "Cheers" kind of moment.<br />
<br />
When I reached the window, the manager, Tina, told me that the person in the car in front of me had just paid for my coffee.<br />
<br />
"What? Really? You're kidding," I said, my mind now trying to recapture any detail from the vehicle that might clue me in as to who this sweet person was.<br />
<br />
"No kidding," Tina said.<br />
<br />
With no one behind me and Tina taking care of other business, I noticed someone I knew waiting on his morning beverage inside the store.<br />
<br />
"Brent, do you know who that was by chance?" I asked, hollering in at him.<br />
<br />
He moved in a little closer to say: "No, I sure don't," but he did try to describe her.<br />
<br />
Well, I knew it was a her at least.<br />
<br />
Stories are being told by media outlets around our area, including our very own <a href="http://timesgazette.com/main.asp?SectionID=18&SubSectionID=175&ArticleID=182619&TM=76627.1">Hillsboro Times-Gazette</a> and <a href="http://www.wnewsj.com/main.asp?FromHome=1&TypeID=1&ArticleID=195217&SectionID=49&SubSectionID=156">Wilmington News Journal</a>, about individuals anonymously paying off the layaway balances of those indebted this holiday season.<br />
<br />
Perhaps this lady felt inspired to do something benevolent having read these stories. Perhaps she's the very reason for those stories in the first place. Nonetheless, I may never know who she is and, therefore, certainly never discover why she bought my coffee Tuesday, Dec. 20, but that isn't the point, is it?<br />
<br />
Generosity such as hers makes you stop and consider your blessings, brings out humility and greatly inspires you to pay that kindness forward.<br />
<br />
Thank you, ma'am, for the coffee. It only cost you $1.29, but it restored my faith in mankind this holiday season. Furthermore, that state of "grateful flabbergastedness" in which your kindness left me was an important reminder of how I feel each time I think about what Jesus did on the cross.<br />
<br />
"What? You did that for me? Why, I didn't do anything to deserve that!"<br />
<br />
No, I certainly didn't ... and that's the point of Christmas.<br />
<br />
Please have a wonderful holiday season, everyone. Merry Christmas!Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-5972830178486394022011-12-12T16:11:00.002-05:002011-12-12T16:26:50.509-05:00Top 5 things to do when you're a sidelined triathlete<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.aloha.com/%7Elifeguards/beach101801.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 126px;" src="http://www.aloha.com/%7Elifeguards/beach101801.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">5) Register for a crazy race ... like an Ironman</span><br />There is no better time than when you're not training to decide to push your body to the limits. Galvanizing the courage to register for an Ironman is easier when the terrorizing headwind from yesterday's 30-mile bike doesn't remind you of how extreme this sport is.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4) Promise yourself a PR</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">... right after an injury</span><br />You've been out of the game - for a long time. Once the doctor gives you the go ahead, you've stored up enough determination to resolve that the next season is going to rock. Why should your focus just be on remaining injury free? Why shouldn't it include a PR from the get-go?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3) Live with regret</span><br />Nothing signifies a hopeful look toward the future like a forlorn expression in the rear view mirror.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2) Blame it on the gear</span><br />Pretend that every piece of equipment or gear you don't have could be the one that makes you the triathlete you've always wanted to be ... because we all know time in the saddle has nothing to ultimately do with performance.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1) Blog about being a sidelined triathlete</span><br />Hey, there's a gem in every experience ... or non experience.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />Clearly Digging for Blog MaterialLora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-52075831024313610402011-12-08T19:39:00.003-05:002011-12-08T20:04:36.979-05:00I've lost it<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NG02tYE9XVo/TuFbWMF7RCI/AAAAAAAAAv0/U9z1cb6UXOQ/s1600/Clock-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 138px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NG02tYE9XVo/TuFbWMF7RCI/AAAAAAAAAv0/U9z1cb6UXOQ/s320/Clock-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683924641479607330" border="0" /></a>I knew that being off the last five months because of feet injuries could lead to difficulties getting back in the game; I just didn't believe it could be this difficult.<br /><br />The pain in my feet comes and goes. Just when I think the pain has left the body, a whisper of its existence reaches out to the soles of my feet. I will finally see the physical therapist. I promise. Really I will.<br /><br />The least I could do, of course, is to strength train in the interim, right?<br /><br />Yes. Of course!<br /><br />I went to the Y on a Monday night three weeks ago and did a little of that. I haven't been back since.<br /><br />I could also be swimming, too, right?<br /><br />Yes. Of course!<br /><br />Unfortunately, my swim suit is ruined and I haven't had the chance to travel an hour to a big city to shop for a replacement.<br /><br />I have to be brutally honest with myself: I've gotten out of the habit, succumbed to laziness, have lost the fire and motivation to kick butt when it comes to triathlon training and am clearly making excuses.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.americantriple-t.com/templates/yoo_seasons/images/logo.png"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 141px;" src="http://www.americantriple-t.com/templates/yoo_seasons/images/logo.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I think I need to register for a half iron-distance race which will, I guarantee, scare me into getting motivated.<br /><br />That really is what I'm going to have to do. I've got my eyes on the half-distance portion of the <a href="http://www.americantriple-t.com/">American Triple-T in Portsmouth, OH</a>. I will definitely have more to share with you about that race in an upcoming post, so be on the lookout.<br /><br />Cheers and Merry Christmas, everyone!Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-29516514660037822212011-11-22T15:56:00.002-05:002011-11-22T16:05:48.128-05:00Food, family and a mascot that actually exists<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0OykHtsmJEc/TswNG6wcJYI/AAAAAAAAAvo/XGO6vgiAtwI/s1600/Turkey-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 171px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0OykHtsmJEc/TswNG6wcJYI/AAAAAAAAAvo/XGO6vgiAtwI/s320/Turkey-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677927642710156674" border="0" /></a>By far my favorite holiday, its Thanksgiving's simple premise that makes it extraordinary: Cook and eat food with family or friends, and a world hushed and settled from its typical hustle and bustle serves as the holiday's backdrop.<br /><br />No gifts to buy, no elaborate decorating to do ... and, most importantly, no Santa Claus or Easter Bunny.<br /><br />Those annoying, imaginary mascots have become so ubiquitous during their seasons, they really need to create another word which would mean super-ubiquitous. Kind of like in 9th grade science class when we learned about saturation, only to discover when we flipped to the next page of our textbook, that something called super-saturation exists.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What?</span><br /><br />No, Thanksgiving is all about a real animal, a turkey. We kill it, cook it and eat it with people we like, or people we're willing to put up with for a few hours because we love them ... or so I've heard.<br /><br />Though turkeys are just as synonymous with Thanksgiving as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are with Christmas and Easter, respectively, I take solace knowing that turkeys are, indeed, real, and have an actual connection to their holiday.<br /><br />For that, and for that alone, the November holiday will always get my thanks.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-33277823786744466742011-11-16T15:56:00.004-05:002012-01-14T11:26:39.363-05:00It's like I'm half triathlete, half human<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iT4Mhi6trZM/TsQjrSosi2I/AAAAAAAAAoU/swDASbkDhf4/s1600/Cowboy-Hat-WEB.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675700657037544290" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iT4Mhi6trZM/TsQjrSosi2I/AAAAAAAAAoU/swDASbkDhf4/s320/Cowboy-Hat-WEB.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 159px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 235px;" /></a>An adorable neighborhood boy, approximately seven-years-old, kept riding by on his bike, his eyes fixed on the black cowboy hat my husband, Gary, had sitting out in our yard sale recently. After a few back and forth trips, Gary walked over to him, placed the hat on his head and told him he could just have it.<br />
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His excitement about this unexpected gift prompted him to bike home to his family a few houses down the street and tell everyone the good news - including his brother.<br />
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Several minutes later, the two youngsters reappeared, one of whom was grinning ear-to-ear with the oversized cowboy hat atop his head.<br />
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They began looking at more of our yard sale items, and the kid with the cowboy hat announced to his brother, not knowing we could hear him, "It's like I'm half cowboy, half human."<br />
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Gary and I chuckled as quietly as possible to ourselves and then busted out laughing once they were out of earshot.<br />
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Though humorous, what this young fellow said seriously reminded me of how I feel race morning when I don a swim cap, my bare feet planted in the shifting sand of the shallow water in the lake, the race before me weighing heavily on my mind.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1PYS2cZncdo/TsQj7wm4bQI/AAAAAAAAAog/6tZdIlaimhc/s1600/Toyota%2BChallege%2B-%2B9-14-08%2B006.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675700939960904962" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1PYS2cZncdo/TsQj7wm4bQI/AAAAAAAAAog/6tZdIlaimhc/s320/Toyota%2BChallege%2B-%2B9-14-08%2B006.JPG" style="float: right; height: 131px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 175px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at my 2nd tri on 9/14/08.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I feel like I'm somebody else, certainly not the makeup-wearing woman clad in a business suit and four-inch heels most days.<br />
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There is, indeed, almost a dichotomy of personality. When you're out in the water or on the road, your body sweating, your nose running, your pores collecting dirt from the wind, all while you wear a skin-tight tri suit, you realize something very simple about yourself: Right then, you are just a machine.<br />
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It's no wonder heading back to the office the next morning, having curled your hair, put on some lipstick and snapped your pearls around your neck, that you feel like a girl again, the machine put aside until the next race.<br />
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But on that particular day, this new cowboy's innocent truth not only caused me to laugh at the moment, but also served as a reminder that whatever half I am, I should never take any portion of it too seriously.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-8738525878612463722011-11-07T06:59:00.003-05:002011-11-07T07:04:04.818-05:00Monday blog hop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.justmarriedwithcoupons.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/giveawaybutton2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 92px; height: 92px;" src="http://www.justmarriedwithcoupons.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/giveawaybutton2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Here is a great way to follow other blogs and for them to learn about and follow you. Just <a href="http://www.justmarriedwithcoupons.com/2011/11/give-it-to-me-monday-blog-hop-giveaway-linky-4.html">click on this link</a>.<br /><br />Have a great Monday, everyone.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-37835064208527875722011-11-04T12:46:00.006-04:002011-11-04T20:13:16.766-04:00Dear three donuts I ate this morning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CU93zF0bohI/TrQa3sA-ApI/AAAAAAAAAnw/9fituo2AKiU/s1600/Donuts-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 278px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CU93zF0bohI/TrQa3sA-ApI/AAAAAAAAAnw/9fituo2AKiU/s320/Donuts-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671187374776648338" border="0" /></a>You were looking oh so sweet as you peeked through the plastic window in the otherwise green and white Krispy Kreme bag those first two times I passed by you on my way to the coffee.<br /><br />My plan was to avoid you in my quest to make my fat jeans loose jeans. (A very recent discovery.)<br /><br />But something happened between breakfast and lunch. It wasn't your doughy allure, though, on that third trip that prompted me to pluck you away from the others. I just got hungry. Plain and simple.<br /><br />Normally, eating one of your kind has more to do with having a hankerin' for something sweet, a state in which I find myself most of the time.<br /><br />But today, it was all about business. You were a means to an end, and nothing more. I was able to mollify those hunger pangs and go on to eat an otherwise healthy-in-terms-of-me lunch, dinner and snack.<br /><br />However, chin up there, donuts. If someone brings more of you in to the office tomorrow, I'll gladly tumble off the wagon and fall into your loving arms again and not give another thought to those jeans.<br /><br />It's what I do.<br /><br />Sincerely yours,<br />LoraLora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-30742391184438401312011-11-02T06:24:00.002-04:002011-11-02T06:27:00.339-04:00Quote of the day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wioYpOmhECA/TrEaq7Ui5tI/AAAAAAAAAnk/MCBmayuLIho/s1600/Basketball-Hoop-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 173px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wioYpOmhECA/TrEaq7Ui5tI/AAAAAAAAAnk/MCBmayuLIho/s320/Basketball-Hoop-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670342730616858322" border="0" /></a>This quote always give me chill bumps - every time I read it. It's a great reminder to take a chance, especially during those times when apprehension can become paralyzing.<br /><br />"You'll always miss 100 percent of the shots you didn't take."<br /><br />Have a great day, everyone!Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1389660360068909969.post-49851805521534542392011-10-31T17:13:00.003-04:002011-10-31T17:26:26.270-04:00The agony and no ecstasy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VgjqWsPlM4Y/Tq8P1CqpZEI/AAAAAAAAAnY/AkxkUE8BMqQ/s1600/Broken-Heart-WEB.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 183px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VgjqWsPlM4Y/Tq8P1CqpZEI/AAAAAAAAAnY/AkxkUE8BMqQ/s320/Broken-Heart-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669767859805971522" border="0" /></a>In February, it was my back. In April, it was my neck. In July, it was my feet. Now, in October, it's my toe.<br /><br />Yes, my toe, but I'm getting ahead of the story.<br /><br />My mom purchased plane tickets for her, me and my sister to visit my brother, sister-in-law and niece in February. I was in such agony, I thought I'd have to cancel the night before. My lower back had not hurt that bad in years.<br /><br />I made it through, barely, with Ibuprofen and muscle relaxers, came back home and saw the doc. She put me on those same drugs, and added Prednisone to the regimen. A few days later, poof! The pain was gone.<br /><br />In April, I developed a stiff neck associated with stress for an event I was planning. Not unusual for me ... except that when the event was over the pain wasn't. Instead, it was escalating.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284818_1891717812837_1238258741_31713271_2020946_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 169px;" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/284818_1891717812837_1238258741_31713271_2020946_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I went to the chiropractor for the first time. After an x-ray and MRI, it turns out that I have a bulging disk in my neck.<br /><br />OK. That's manageable. I ran my second half marathon with a PR in May.<br /><br />In July, I injured my feet. I believe the culprit was a new pair of wedge high heels (that were a size too big) I'd worn for extended hours while covering the Festival of the Bells.<br /><br />This has plagued me ever since. Most days, though not horrific, the pain is noticeable.<br /><br />I ran a 5K on a whim on race day earlier this month and experienced no pain as a result of that decision.<br /><br />Optimism, though always keeping me going, was finally edging out the darkness and light was at the tunnel's en<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://s-hphotos-sea1.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/223818_1891711892689_1238258741_31713254_1396392_n.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 137px;" src="https://s-hphotos-sea1.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/223818_1891711892689_1238258741_31713254_1396392_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>d. I would do some very short runs and bikes to get started back up again.<br /><br />On what was certain to be one of the last nice days of the year, a perfect opportunity to train, I injured my toe. I'll leave out the details, but suffice it to say it would be extremely foolish of me to stress my foot for the next two months.<br /><br />All of these injuries have been breaking my triathlon-training heart. I am not using them as an excuse not to train. Indeed, I'm dying to train. My tighter slacks and race-day pictures like these remind me of that all too frequently.<br /><br />Here's hoping that I can call this the Year of injury, put it in my past and call next year the Year of First-Time Marathoner and First-Time Ironman. Fingers crossed.Lora Abernathyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01950119153605122803noreply@blogger.com8