It's not "Just another bib"

           If you are a triathlete or runner, chances are you like to decorate your walls with race bibs, hang medals wherever possible, and place your trophies in plain view. Endurance sport becomes such a big par of your life that you must have race memorabilia close at all times. Because, obviously, your non-running friends never get tired of you talking about your races. No one needs reminding that you are a multisport athlete, but the bibs, medals, and trophies are a part of you that you can hang on the wall or place on your mantle.
              I recently moved across town, which meant that I had to pack up my life into boxes, only to unpack them in a new location a mile down the road. As I re-created my room in my new apartment, it took me twice as long as it should have. I was too busy reminiscing. I hung my race bibs on the wall behind my desk, re-counting each race in my head as I placed them up one-by-one. I remembered the firsts: my first triathlon, Trigator race, Olympic distance race, half marathon, and marathon. I grinned as I hung those from my PR races, and grimaced as I thought about those that didn't go as well. But what about all the others? Were they "just another race"? Of course not.
           I realized that every race had a story. Some were more mundane than others, but they had a story nonetheless. My first Great Clermont bib reminded me of how sick I was, how I wanted to quit after the first lap of the swim, and how I finished the race anyway. My Mitchell invitational bib reminded me of the moment that I realized that I loved cross country. I didn't even run that well, but my runner's high had me beaming all the way home. My Mountain  Dew bib brings me feelings of disappointment, but now I realize that it was a springboard to some of the best running of my life. It also reminds me of how loved I felt that day, with the support of my old cross country team and new friends. My Suncoast Triathlon bib makes me pack a safety pin for my timing chip (the one from that day is sitting at the bottom of the Gulf). The Wildman bib from last year almost makes my feet go numb (it was 65 degrees at the start). Every race is special in some way.
          To me, race bibs are a tangible part of the race that I can keep with me. Sure, I have the ingrained memories of burning legs, debilitating cramps, trials and tribulations. But my bib is my proof. My bib is like a snapshot of myself on the day of the race. I was a very different athlete when I earned my states bib than when I earned my Women's Half Marathon bib. Maybe I'm just a pack rat, but I love keeping my bibs. I have visions of myself at 80 years old, going through my old and yellowing bibs with my grandchildren saying things like "I got this one when I ran my 20th Gasparilla Half Marathon at age 40". I guess only the time (and bibs) will tell.
    
       

Olympic Proportions

                 If you are anything like me, you've been captivated by the Olympic games over the past two weeks. I haven't  changed the channel on my TV from NBC since the games began. The games inspire me (and countless others, as the gym has been a bit more crowded recently) for many reasons, and I'd like to share some of my love for the best sporting event in the world.

     First off, the bodies. No, not exclusively from an attractiveness standpoint, but rather just the incredible level of proficiency that Olympic athletes have woven into their chiseled into their muscles. From the crazy amount of body control displayed in gymnastics to the power associated with running a 100 m dash in less than 10 seconds, these people are truly extraordinary. As an anatomy and physiology nerd, I get probably too much enjoyment from thinking about how beautiful the orchestra of muscle firing in these athletes is. I could sit there and just watch muscle contractions all night long.

    The Olympics is the biggest stage of sport. These athletes train four long years just to see what it feels like to have a medal around their neck. I love the emotion that pours from their faces when they realize that they have just won a gold medal. You can just tell from the mile-wide smile and streaming tears that they are feeling elation beyond just winning any other game, race, or match. It must be an emotion unlike any other. I can't imagine training four years for that moment. That would be like me training for one race since I was 16. Crazy.

     I LOVE the nationalism. They are all competing for their country, not for money. They are in London to represent themselves and their country in the highest esteem possible. It must be really awesome to drape the American flag around your shoulders, sing the national anthem from a podium, and wear a jersey with USA emblazoned on your chest. You can tell that these athletes don't lose sight of what they are competing for. Of course they are motivated to some extent by individual glory, but at the end of the day, they are there to represent our country; and that's cooler than any professional/college sports team.

   There were some really cool stories, too. Oscar Pistorius and his prosthetic limbs (I love his quote--"You are not disabled by the disabilities you have, you are able by the abilities you have."), Misty and Kerri's last medal together, Usain Bolt and the always fun Jamaican sprinters, the list just goes on and on.

It's hard not to get motivated by seeing so many dedicated people perform their best (heck, even 90% of the commercials were made you want to go out and run some 400's). It's also hard to hide your American pride. USA! USA! USA!