was unsuccessful at squeezing in training during the week.  But when training for a half ironman, my next race, you cannot skip the weekend workouts.  Period.  And so I developed an elaborate, stressful, plan of babysitting, sleepovers and playdates to do my long run on Friday afternoon and my long brick (bike and run) on Saturday.  Sunday was just out of the question. This was a weekend filled with preventable angst.  My husband, Joe, has been out of town wrecking havoc on my training, or more precisely, the lack thereof.    

Unfortunately, Friday was hectic.  In order for my plan to work, pick up at school had to be flawless thus allowing for two and a half hours for my thirteen mile run.  I rushed and rushed the boys only to find myself stuck in traffic.  Every minute that passed I thought of as a minute less of time I would have for my long run, and so each passing minute amped up my anxiety by a notch.  My anxiety is then bestowed upon my kids who were behaving like kids stuck in traffic, in other words, they were going crazy.

Until it hit me: I thought of my cousin who recently lost her father, my sister who asked for prayers for a premature two pound baby, and the children who have passed away from cancer that I read about through the Jesse Rees Foundation on Facebook .  When I catch myself getting flustered, I think back to them and countless others who are truly grieving the loss of time with someone they love.   

And here I was having a tantrum about how many minutes of my training would be lost in traffic.  I turned around and looked at my boys; my eyes welled with tears as I reminded myself that our time together is fleeting.  My shoulders relaxed and I engaged in conversation instead of scolding.

I deposited each boy in his respective playdate and had about two hours for my run.  There went the thirteen miles. I would just do as much as I could and was okay with that.  Thinking of these people gave me perspective. 

I have a constant nagging in my heart that I put my training before my children.  I speak about it often to Joe, my biggest cheerleader.  I speak about it to my mentors, and fellow triathlete moms.  I even spoke about it at a spiritual retreat, and I felt like I had guilt under control.  Those that support me tell me I am giving the boys the gift of a healthy mom, showing that exercise is important, that if you want to do something that seems impossible you need to work hard, and that impossible is really a relative term.

But then there are those who love me, and who think I may be obsessed.  It’s not that they don’t want me to succeed; they just don’t want to see either my children or myself hurt.   And it just so happens that on Friday night I was asked, if I didn’t think I was a little selfish for training so much.  Perhaps my boys needed me more than I was available to them, and wasn’t I pawning them on their friends all the time?  My heart sank, as if I had an open wound and someone stuck a finger deep inside it.  I went to bed late and with a restless heart.

Saturday I had a seventy-mile ride with a six-mile run and that would take, for me, over five hours.  I knew from the start I wouldn’t have time to finish it as I had “pawned” my children with family and friends for the morning.  I found myself again teary-eyed most of the ride, was I being selfish?

My rational mind tells me to go forward but wouldn’t the same lessons be taught with just one hour of exercise a day, even two?  Do I haveto go for an IronMan which would just imply even more training and time away from my kids?  Why do I have to go for this endurance stuff?

Because I like it.  Some people like tennis, others like yoga, I like long distance triathlon.  I was a stay at home mom when my children were tiny, I taught at their preschool when they were smaller, and now as they get bigger I am finding my space. I can go to that deep dark place that says I am not with them enough.  I can think of all those parents who want their children back, of Joe and how all he really wants is to come home and here I am, at home with my healthy children, and thinking about my training. 

So I look back at the weekend.  I did spend some quality time with my boys with lots of laughter, I spent time training, and they each spent time with friends.  They have also spent time arguing with each other, and I did let out an occasional THAT’S ENOUGH.  My kids won’t be perfectly behaved because I spend more time with them because they will never be perfectly behaved: they are five and six year old boys.  They have great moments and awful moments but I guess I divulge many of the awful ones because they are more entertaining.  What fun would it be to talk about a trip to Toys R Us where everyone was wonderfully behaved?  That’s bragging.  Wouldn’t you prefer to hear about the time Fearless took a skateboard and rolled down the aisle screaming “weeeeeee” at the top of his lungs?

Questioning is not bad.  Having someone confront you from a place of love isn’t bad either.  There is some room for me to relax a bit and lower my training goals.  I don’t have to beat my time in my upcoming race, I can just do it for the fun of it.  And the IronMan?  That’s over a year away … I can stress about that later.  It doesn’t matter how much time I spend with my children, if I am not fulfilled they wouldn’t get the best of me anyways.  Training gives me my sense of purpose: it gives me sanity.  I am pretty sure they would rather have me, as I am today, than me insane because I wasn’t able to honor my true self.  Though my doubts and my angst and my questioning this weekend certainly weren’t pleasant, they did have its place.  And as I write this feeling anxious about my ridiculous track workout tomorrow, I can take a breath and feel fortunate that Joe will be back and I can go for a run in the first place.