The Other Side of the Mountain

Whenever I am ill, there is one film I have to watch. It is one of those movies that leaves you sobbing to the point where you don't want anyone to see you because you've got snot dripping from your nose, tears streaming down your swollen eyes and pajamas on at 3 in the afternoon. The movie that leaves me in this state is called The Other Side of the Mountain.

The Other Side of the Mountain is the true story of Jill Kinmont, an Olympic hopeful who was left paralyzed after skiing off a cliff during a race. There is a scene in the beginning of the movie where Jill is lying on the floor of a ski cabin having a slumber party with her teammates. She and her best friend have spent the entire day riding fresh powder, flirting with handsome boys and enjoying life. As Jill reflects on her day, she tells her best friend that she wonders if she is using up all of her luck. Everything in her life is perfect and she has never had to deal with a huge loss or heartache. She is a gorgeous, young, talented skier and everything seems to work in her favor. Mid-sentence, she realizes that her best friend has a severe fever and needs to go to the emergency room. Later, it is revealed that the best friend has polio.

From that point on, Jill's life spirals downward.

I watch this movie and think, "This is so incredibly sad; thank goodness that will never happen to me." Then I wake up one morning, drive into town to do a food buy and get a call from my mom saying my brother was killed in a motorcycle accident. I hurt and I cry and I wonder why God would allow this to happen to a 24-year-old man with so much life in him. But my days carry on and even though it hurts knowing he is gone, I praise God that something like that will never happen again.

Then six months pass and I get hit by a car on my bike. My life is turned upside down and I have to start fresh. I don't know what I'm doing and I never truly feel satisfied with my new jobs, but I know that God has a plan and that life will work out and thank goodness I still have my family and my friends.

A year passes and my best friend since childhood and I make plans to see each other over the holiday weekend. Life is good. I can't wait to see her and hear about her babies and her husband. Then my mom calls me to tell me she was life flighted to the hospital and has no brain function. The doctors performed brain surgery, but she is not responding to stimuli and she cannot breath on her own.

This girl, this gorgeous girl who was homecoming queen and one of the sweetest, most genuine women around. The girl who wanted to start an orphanage in Mexico and surf every day. My very best friend with whom I spent every single day of high school. We laughed, we surfed, we loved, we cried, we dieted, we played volleyball, we got fat off of guacamole chips and mangoes. Lauren was my world growing up. She was that girl who everyone loved and wanted to be friends with, but she chose me to be her closest friend.

I even remember when she got engaged to Jayson and I was sad because suddenly I wasn't the most important person in her life. But I watched her grow with Jayson and I cheered her on as her dreams changed and she became a mother of two beautiful children. She was my encourager when I gave up my goal of being a surfing journalist to be a professional triathlete.

Distance kept us apart, but she was still my "Honey". When I thought of my wedding day years from now, she was still standing next to me in a bridesmaid dress. In my future, we were still getting together for play dates with our kids, watching them eat sand while we talked about the silly things our husbands did and the adventures we hoped to have one day.

I guess the take away from this is to never lose touch with the ones you love. Appreciate them every single day, even when life gets busy. You may be laughing over a cup of coffee with them one morning and sitting by their side in the hospital the next. Both Matt and Lauren were too young to have something this tragic happen to them. It was totally unexpected. My heart breaks for them and their families and for myself. Parents shouldn't have to bury their son. A husband in his 20's shouldn't have to worry if his wife will make it through the night.

Life isn't fair. There is no way of knowing what will happen next. Just because everything seems alright, doesn't mean a storm isn't brewing. All I know is that God doesn't cause bad things to happen, but He does do miracles. Maybe Lauren will not live. Maybe she will live but will "never be our same Lauren" as her mom said to me over the phone the night of the accident. BUT I do believe that God will bring goodness out of this situation. I also believe that the memory of Lauren will stay strong in the ones who know her.

Please pray for Lauren and her family.

From Jayson:
  Lauren continues to rest and is surrounded by the whole family. Our dear sweet girl took a bad spill and sustained a very serious head injury on Saturday. She is capable of breathing on her own, but that is about as extensive as her brain stem activity gets right now. The rest of her brain is shut down. The conflict is that she has made small improvements the last two days (something for which we are praising Jesus), but the brain injury butts heads with that. Medically, the outlook remains grim, however, we continue to call on the One who is bigger than medical outlooks. We are all amazed by the sheer number of people who are lifting her up in prayer and interceding on her behalf. The Word promises that where two or more are gathered in His name, there He is also. Well, that is blown right out of the water here. To anyone reading this message, make no mistake, what has happened to Lauren is not the will of God. Yahweh does not want this for our precious girl any more than any of us. We live in a world where death - the enemy of God - runs rampant. The promise that we cling to in this time is that our Savior has defeated death and it no longer has a sting. Now, what IS the Father's will is that good will come from this evil situation, as we are already seeing. Please keep praying, friends. Know this: prayer has the power to change reality. Remember Moses in Exodus 32 - he interceded on behalf of Israel when God was ready to wipe them out and God relented. Again, He has not "done this to Lauren," but He has the power to rescue her from this horrendous situation - one which she absolutely does not deserve. Keep the faith, take care of yourselves and each other, and be at peace, brothers and sisters, for that is exactly what Lauren would want us all to do. Much love.

Shaking Off the Funky Funk

After my 75 mile bike ride last Saturday, my body felt pretty worked. Fortunately for my legs, I don't get sore; however, the ride left me feeling tired and unmotivated. Sunday morning, I woke up at my parents' house and did a 12-mile mountain bike ride with my mom. It was mellow and relaxing. I knew I still needed to run, but I couldn't decide which trail to conquer. Then my friend said he would run with me after I got off of work, so I postponed the running plans and sat around my house with Lyla Bear until 3 o'clock.

Bad idea. Never depend on a workout partner until you know they are true to their word. My friend bailed on the running plan and by the time I finished everything I needed to do, it was dark out. Deciding not to spend the next two hours of my evening on a treadmill, I went home, turned on the television and ate a chocolate bar.

When I feel poorly about myself, I turn to chocolate bars and Juanita's tortilla chips. Because obviously, if I'm feeling poorly about being fat from not working out, I might as well add on to the self-pity with a bag of salty triangles.

The next morning, I vowed to run my missed workout from the day prior, but somehow the day got away from me and all three of my workouts were never started. Instead, I ate 3/4ths a bag of tortilla chips while sitting in my bathtub feeling sorry for myself.

Tuesday. A new day. My feet had a difficult time slipping out from under the covers. Lyla Bear was curled up next to me on the bed and I could tell she had no intention of waking anytime in the near future. We cuddled for a little bit with daydreams streaming through our heads until I finally convinced myself to get out in the sunshine.

Nine miles on a forest road. That's all I had in me. But I was glad I broke my no exercise depression.

Yesterday, I still felt off. After Optimal Core Performance, Amy and I decided to run up to the top of Black Butte. My legs felt weak; I wasn't sure if it was from lack of exercise or if it was residual tiredness from the overtraining last week. I was so thankful Amy got my butt out though. It felt nice to be outside with a friend. You can't turn around early when someone else is there expecting you to keep going.

My great friend Parker, who was All American in cross country this year, is leaving for Thailand in two days. Every time I talk with Parker, I feel instantly rejuvenated. He has been in town for the past week and has been trying to get together, but I keep turning him down. Most of it was due to business, but a big reason I wasn't making an effort to see him was because I felt so poorly about myself. I didn't want to see him for an hour and spend the entire time trying to force a smile and pretend like everything was okay. But I did it anyway. I cancelled my bike and my swim, which I was really anxious about, to go sit in his backyard and reflect on life over a glass of water.

As my walls broke down and I opened up to someone for the first time about how I've been feeling, I felt this huge stone lift from my heart. I have been holding so much back and haven't wanted to burden anyone with my anxiety, stress and feelings of disappointment.

I think exercise is a huge anti-depressant for me. Having children scares me because it means a hiatus from exercise. Getting injured again frightens me for the same reason. The impact an hour of cardio a day has on my mood amazes me.

After three days of deep sorrow, I am so thankful that I was able to shake it off and get back to my routine. The lesson I learned from this is not to be scared to show people your weakness. It helps to let the tears flow; in fact, it is healthy for you. Also, don't fret about a missed workout. You can always make up for it later. But don't turn to a bag of Juanita's for redemption. They never satisfy the way you hope they will.

Poor British Boy

The boy from England. The soccer player who made me laugh and kept me on my toes. Our first date ended at my doorstep after a night of conversation and European music. The chill in the air caused me to tuck my hands into the pockets of my Patagonia jacket as he walked me to the door. My fingers felt a small object, much like a lipstick tube. Alas, it was not lipstick; in my pocket sat a small can of pepper spray. A giggle escaped my glossed lips and the soccer player's blue eyes looked inquisitively into mine.

"I have a can of pepper spray in my pocket," I exclaimed.

His toned body became rigid. He awkwardly took a step back from me and stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Oh... er... alright then," he said in a thick British accent. "It was a lovely evening. May I see you again?"

I agreed that I would enjoy that then said goodnight and walked through the doorway and up to my room.

I had succeeded in scaring the man away...

Or so I thought.

A week later, I drove two hours south to see him. We met at Peet's Coffee. When I arrived, he was sitting on the patio, talking on the phone. He barely acknowledged me as I walked up, just gave me a nod as if we were dear friends who met up for coffee daily. Without a word spoken between us, I walked inside and ordered a cappuccino. When at last I returned, the man was still sitting, still speaking to the person on the other side of the line.

Ten minutes passed before we finally said hello. I played with the hem of my dress while he finished his conversation. Another ten minutes passed and it was time for me to return home. A very quick visit, one which left me wondering why I had driven so far just for a cup of mediocre coffee.

Another week passed and his job had taken him back to England for a few months.

A car hit me, as you know, and I moved up to Oregon. Soon after my arrival, a bouquet of flowers arrived at my doorstep. The card was signed by him. What had I done to captivate this man?

He texted. He called. I ignored, but was flattered. Finally, one evening as I returned home from a wedding, wishing I, too, could find the man of my dreams, I made a terrible mistake. I texted him back.

His reply was immediate. He wanted to see me. When could he see me? He would fly to Oregon. Would that be alright?

I gave my consent.

After a three hour flight followed by a four hour drive, a rented Sedan with a British athlete inside pulled into my driveway. I walked outside, pearls around my neck, a playful dress blowing in the breeze. My dirty blonde hair was pinned back and I was wearing make-up, a very rare occurrence. The sun shone upon his strawberry blonde locks as he stepped out of the car. A smile spread across his face. His pace was slow as he walked up my steps to the front door in his twill pants and collared white shirt. He looked like he had walked off of a golf course in the 1950's. My parents waited inside and introductions were exchanged.

Shortly after his arrival, we departed the house and made our way to the restaurant. Black Butte Ranch: He had chosen well. A private golf course twenty miles out of town with a beautiful view of the Cascade Mountain Range.

"Parents on a third date? I haven't even met your friends," he commented. I could barely make out his words from his thick accent and slurred speech.

I asked him questions; he responded. I never knew what he was saying because his accent had gotten thicker, so instead of expanding on the current conversation, I continuously was forced to come up with new topics on which to speak. A familiar band played through the car speakers. "Do you recognize this song," he asked. "It's by The Streets. I know you like them." Ah, yes, the band I had mentioned enjoying on our first date. He had remembered.

Up, up, up the restaurant stairs we walked. My boot hit violently against the wooden steps. My Italian flat softly tried to make up for the noise. When we reached the top, I was thankful I had not tripped, but knew my journey was not done. We still had two more flights of steps before reaching our table. A table for four with only two place settings. The settings were next to one another instead of across. Thinking that was strange to sit next to someone and not across from him, I took the seat with no setting. This caused a commotion with him trying to sit next to me then demanding I switch seats to one of the places with a setting. I obliged, though I did not want to do so.

More words were spoken, though I cannot tell you what he said. If I had understood any of it, I would tell you, of course.

When the plates were cleared, he asked me a question.

"Is there a bathroom?"

"Oh yes," my voice came out loud. "It's just up those stairs then down the other stairs."

"Shall we go then?"

Odd. So very odd. Why would he want me to join him?

"I suppose it's on our way out," I noted.

We stood and walked toward the stairs, he put his hand out behind him, as if offering to take my purse.

"Are you trying to take my purse," I asked, shocked by the offer, if that's what it was.

"No," he said. "Your hand."

"What? Do you want to take my purse?"

"No." Patience must be one of his virtues. "Your hand."

"Oh, I see," I allowed our fingers to intertwine. It felt awkward and forced, especially while my other hand was clinging to the banister to steady my body up the steps.

Down the next flight of steps we walked. The bathroom door awaited us. "There it is," I pointed.

He turned his body to face mine. I let go of his hand. He stared at me, his face lacking any form of expression.

"I think I will go, too," my voice broke the silence.

"I asked if there was a bar here," he said, flatly.

That made more sense. I laughed and we climbed three flights of stairs to the bar, boot knocking on the wood.

Remembering my drink of choice, he ordered two whiskeys. Neither were touched. The sun set across the lake, behind the mountains. A setting that should have been romantic, wasted on a girl who was obviously uninterested.

When the bar closed, we went back down the steps. My boot caught on the ridge and I fumbled to release myself from its grip. After a long walk back to the car and a longer drive back to my parents' house, he parked the car and turned his head to look at me. "Well then, Miss Francis, may I kiss you," he asked.

"I gave up kissing for the year, didn't I tell you that?" I asked. "I could have sworn we have talked about this."

"No," he seemed stunned. "Are you joking me?" His British accent would be cute if I was in love.

"No," I laughed. "I have definitely told you this! I even wrote a blog about it."

"We have not talked about this. You are serious?" He asked.

"Absolutely," I confirmed. "I am so sorry."

"Well then," he paused. "May I walk you to your door?"

To my front door we walked. He hugged me goodnight. "May I see you tomorrow," he asked.

"I thought you had to drive back to Portland." My keys were in one hand, ready to open the barrier that would soon be between us.

"I postponed my flight so I might spend more time with you," he said. Oh, if only I was in love.

"We shall see. Tomorrow is a very busy day," I admitted. It was not a lie.

"Alright then," he took a step backwards. "Have a lovely evening."

"Thank you for dinner." I unlocked the door and stepped inside. My eyes watched as he walked down the front steps and down the driveway.

Poor British boy.

Weekend of the Warrior Cry

My chest puffed up in pride all weekend long. My sister has done it: She is a college graduate!

Kaylee is not only my little sister; she is also my very best friend. This girl has a heart of gold and I love bragging about her any chance I get! She worked her butt off to pass math and she finished strong!

My sister is unlike most people. When people ask me what she does for a living, I love watching their expressions as I tell them, "Oh, she works with prostitutes!" (See? What is your expression right now?) Kaylee has always had a huge heart for people in need. I could go on and on about the reasons I want to be just like Kaylee when I grow up, but for now, I'll leave you with this: Beyonce, Tyra Banks and Mother Theresa? They have nothing on my sister (except for two of them are black, so they have that).

Congratulations, Keiki! You did it!

This weekend, I did my first "long bike ride". I rode for 5 hours straight... then I took the dogs on a run, rode my bike home and met up with Lance to go mountain biking for the first time ever. I rode my bike around the circumference of Central Oregon and I can honestly say, The Thunder rocked me. It was such a beautiful day though. The wind was against me almost the entire ride, but I felt super strong and confident in my abilities... I'm beginning to wonder if I should just focus on biking like Greg and Rich have been suggesting all along (they are biased though, so they can't be trusted).

But mountain biking is super fun! Watch out, trails, I think you may be seeing a lot more of me!

Check out what I'll be doing for workouts this week here: http://ashleetrisharder.blogspot.com/p/my-training_7.html

Let the Pain Begin

After Wildflower, I thought I would give myself a week to recover. You know what recovery is, right? Laying on the couch, painting, playing with the dogs, reading a book... all fantastic ideas! But after 3 days of "recovery", which looked more like taking my friends on a hike, teaching Pilates and driving back to Oregon, I decided to stop letting time slip by and begin training for Ironman Boulder.

Coaching yourself in triathlon is hard work. When I hired a coach two years ago, it was fantastic because he would look at my ten hours of training per day and say, "Ashlee, what are you thinking?! I want you to take an entire day off." I would do an easy bike ride instead. Coach would see me and say, "Ashlee... I mean it! No working out today!" It is so much easier to recover when you are forced into it.

So today, I looked at my schedule and saw a huge gap of time between teaching yoga and meeting with Leah. What better way to fill that time than to go crank out a 23 mile bike test then brick it with a five mile trail run? Great idea!

So the IMBoulder training has begun.

STATS AS OF MAY 8, 2014

BIKE               23.1 MILES
RUN                5.0 MILES
SWIM             0 MILES
WEIGHTS      0:15
YOGA             1:00
PILATES        0:00        

Starting photos with three months to go:

Comeback Tour 2014

One stroke, one peddle and one step... followed by multiple more. Gotta love Wildflower!

One year and two weeks ago, I had surgery on my anterior cruciate tendon. When the doctor was finished, he looked me in the eyes and told me the tendon could not reach and I would never run again. I remember tears flooding my eyes as I realized my job had come to an end and my life as I knew it would be totally flipped upside down.

Then something amazing happen. I prayed and I trusted that God would heal me if it was in His plan. My parents and my sister were my biggest fans and they continued to encourage me when I felt like the road had come to an end. With determination and phenomenal physical therapists, I got back on my feet and started working to strengthen the muscles in my leg. I still remember the first mile I ran with my PT Jason. It was a grueling 8:43 mile and I didn't think I would make it the entire way, but I did it. Slowly, I built my way back to race shape.

A year later, here I am: Lake San Antonio, California. My Santa Barbara Tri Team is here; Sloan is here; my mom, Todd and Richard are here! Life is great!

The morning started at the bottom of my tent. In Wyoming, the kids nicknamed me Inchworm because I would inch into a new sleeping spot throughout the night. Last night, I inched to the bottom of the tent. I woke up and laid in my bag for a bit before making my morning oatmeal in my Darth Vador mug from Jameisha.

*Sidenote: Happy Star Wars Day! May the Fourth be with you! Remember last year I had a Star Wars marathon day on this day? My, how things change.
  

After setting up my transition area and meeting up with Richard (which completely made my day!!), I got on the shuttle and headed out to Harris Creek. I had almost 2 hours until my start time, so I did some squats and some Optimal Core Performance/Pure Awesomeness. This girl Heidi set up next to me and we became fast friends! Turns out her dad lives in Santa Barbara! Heidi and I walked down to the race start and got ready to go.

This year's race was a little different because of the water levels at Lake San Antonio. It was so low, they had to move the swim out two miles from the transition area. So, instead of the typical swim 1.5k, bike 40k and run 10k, it was a swim 1.5k, run 2k, bike 40k and run 4k. The water we swam in was sludge. As soon as you put your face under the water, it was a total black out; even darker than if you had closed your eyes.

All of that is usually covered in water

The swim felt awesome! It was the first race I felt really confident in my abilities. Hiring a swim coach was a great idea. A big thanks to Jeremy for whipping my butt into gear! I was able to spot pretty well, even after having my goggles kicked off and losing my cap then having to carry it in my hand while I stroked.

During the first run, I was right on pace. I felt like I was floating on air! But I looked down and realized my timing chip had come off with my wetsuit. Oh shoot. I debated turning around, but I was already 1.8 miles in. When I got to the transition, I had hoped to get out within 3 minutes, but I had to run around trying to find someone to get me a new timing chip.

The bike started about the same time Lynch Hill started. Eek! I heard Richard and Laura cheering my name then climbed that hill like nobody's business. Right when I hit the point of utter exhaustion, I heard Todd call my name. He was running up the hill next to me, my cell phone in his hand. "Your mom wanted me to play this for you," he shouted. Eye of the Tiger blasted through the speakers. The woman next to me commented that she was sticking with me the whole way and I asked Todd if he would run 25 miles with us.

My mom was at the top of the hill, yelling and cheering. I tore down the road, pressing and pulling. My legs felt so strong. The entire bike was amazing. People nicknamed me The Pink Powerhouse and kept commenting to each other that they didn't know how I was able to climb so well. One man told me that he was known for being a great climber, but he was impressed that I was kicking his butt. No one ever passed me! I don't know if it was the new bike, my legs or just the fact that I trusted God would get me to the end, but I felt so good!

I rode into the transition area ready to go, but once I was off of the bike and had my Kinvaras on, my quads started to seize up. Todd ran up beside me with music, but once we hit the first hill, I had to walk. I had never felt so much pain in my life, not even after my accident. The hill was a beast, but I didn't have to take off my shoes this year!

Running down Lynch Hill toward the finish line, I knew I had not met my goal of completing the race in under three hours or placing in the top 20, but I raced with all I had and I did it! My tendon held and I am here to tell the tale!

My race ended with hugs and notes of encouragement from my family and friends, a bouquet of gorgeous flowers from Richard, a bracelet from Todd and a huge grin on my face.

This just goes to show, with faith, encouragement, determination and hard work, you can do anything to which you set your mind.

Next race: Ironman Boulder! Let's do this!!!