and so it begins.....

and so it begins….

The beginning of another Triathlon season.  

Triathlon seasons are filled with finding the perfect race, getting the seasons coolest race kits, equipment preps, structured schedules, early bedtimes, even earlier wake ups, (o’dark thirty does not look good on me) race day nutrition planning and prepping, tapering, traveling, transition area set ups, pre race start jitters, crossing finish lines, medals, podiums and 5 months of relentlessly chasing your triathlon dreams.  

It is a season shared with hundreds of other triathletes who share not only their love and dedication for their chosen sport but their love and respect for their fellow athletes.  

Last year, while standing on my little towel in the transition area of the Lavalette Tri, I felt  overwhelmed and frankly a bit sad. There was a sea of people buzzing around me, sharing the collective vibrations of pre race energy, yet I felt completely alone.  

What a terrible feeling.  

I always considered triathlon to be more of single athlete sport, not a team sport.  Honestly, I am not sure why that was and boy was I wrong. The more events I participated in, the more I would see groups of athletes dressed alike, helping each other, walking together, laughing and supporting each other and I realized this is what I was missing.  

Last fall after IM, I was on the Medic truck flipping my way through Instagram (shocking I know), I came across this really cool picture of a triathlete in his blue and orange suit facing a sunset.  I clicked on the link and there was the application for new members and I thought they genuinely looked like great group of people. I filled out the application and patiently waited. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to be accepted or if I was even good enough to be a member of the team; Speed Sherpa. (


See, now the thing here is, I don’t make friends easily.  Not at all. I can be really socially awkward and quiet if I don’t know you and I am not very trusting.  Immediately, I noticed that this team is different. Somehow, it just felt right from the very beginning.  (Not to mention I look really good in Blue and Purple) I was immediately welcomed in and made to feel as though I was a member of this huge family of incredible triathletes.  My Speed Sherpa family has athletes of all types and abilities, from novice triathletes like me to the Elite. They provided me with inside access to the best resources for questions and concerns, training aids, proper gear and most importantly to me:  CONFIDENCE Coaching.

Speed Sherpa introduced me to my fellow Sherpa and an all out fabulous human, Kelsey Abbott ( Kelsey coaches our team on our individual confidence, the power of positive thinking and the bane of my existence: SELF SABOTAGE.  I was actually kind of surprised that I am not the only person who deals with this. Lack of self confidence has always been a huge problem for me, forcing me to get in my own head more times than I can count.  Why am I not fast enough? Why can’t I do better? Why can’t I be as good as that other person? Why is it so easy for me to want to quit something I love so much and want so bad? The worst of all was I wondered if I was even good enough to be doing triathlons? On my first webinar with our team I was one of the first people to have logged into the Zoom app.  It was nice to be able to see everyone’s face in attendance and like every other class or seminar I attend I did what I usually do and kinda sink into the background and observe. It’s what I’m good at: observation and sizing people up.

Well.  Let me tell you.  Miss Kelsey called me right out on that!  She zoomed right in on me but didn’t do it in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, on guard or threatened.   She made me feel like I was reconnecting with a bestie from college I haven’t seen in a few years. You know that friend, the one we all have. The one that knows all of your strong points as well as every chink and dent in your armour, the friend embraces all of your parts and reminds you what an amazing person you really are.  That is Kelsey.

She made me feel like she knew every layer of the Tracy “7 layer cake” and everything kind of made sense.  She said to me…”Instead of focusing on how your doing something wrong, focus on all of the things you ARE doing right” I had to retrain my brain to only focus on the positive things I was doing right.  That’s a lot hard work.

After I was given some confidence coaching homework, our zoom meeting was over and we were sent to finish winding down our day.  I stood in my dimly lit kitchen and stared at the dark screen of my phone for several minutes processing all of the things discussed between my teammates.   Then, slowly but surely, the proverbial light came on.

One of the primary reasons I started this triathlon journey was to prove to my kids that with hard work, anything is possible.  I mean, realistically, my kids see me getting up 4 or more days a week at O’Dark thirty and going to work 12 hours shifts on a Medic truck.  They know I work a lot. They just don’t know how hard, or stressful it is because they don’t see it. Training for a triathlon allows them to see COMMITMENT and FOLLOW THROUGH.  Jake and Courtney see all the stupid early wake ups, hour after hour spent on the bike trainer in the basement, endless miles of running and swimming. They see my commitment to my chosen sport, they see that improvements no matter how small are made with persistence, consistency but most importantly they see FOLLOW THROUGH .  No matter how hard I fall, I keep getting back up and starting over. That is in fact, Life. In life when shit gets wonky, warped and generally bent out of shape: find one thing positive and focus solely on that. “Did you show up when you didn’t want to?” Kelsey asked me. “Yes, yes I did”, I replied. “Then that is your positivity, commitment and confidence in yourself shining through.”  “You just have to redirect your focus”. Damn, Kelsey, you are a ROCKSTAR.

In January, I took a fall off the bike trainer again. (Admit it, you just either rolled your eyes or laughed out loud.)  Without getting into too much detail, I can say this. SO MANY BAD WORDS. ALL OF THEM. I jammed up my right wrist and shoulder pretty bad.  Did some rehab and tried to push through it the best I could. Then, I finally broke down and went to the Ortho. Torn labrum in my right shoulder.  FML. No swimming or heavy arm use for a few more weeks. Guess what that meant? No Ironman, 70.3 in Virginia. W. T. ACTUAL. F.

It’s hard to mentally regroup after this shit continually happens.  The bike, which used to be my best and strongest suit, has now become my absolute worst after my AID diagnosis.  I had to dig deep and focus on WWKS (What Would Kelsey Say), dust myself off, rehab and find at least one positive thing to focus on.  I found three. I believed in myself, my kids and family believed in me, but more importantly: MY SPEED SHERPA TEAM DID.

With my teams help and support, I worked harder than I ever have to build up my shoulder and try to be prepared for my next race: IM 70.3 in Connecticut June 2.  On race day, I will show up for myself, my kids and my team. I now know that when race day comes, while standing in a sea of Triathletes...I will never again be alone, for I am a Speed Sherpa triathlete.


Team Work Makes The Dream Work....

I am back with a literal and figurative point to prove.  After a humbling medical DNF in Placid, I came home to nurse my injuries and wipe the slate clean.  I had nothing but time while laying in bed allowing my spleen and ribs to heal to read, research, watch videos, read blogs and take notes on everything triathlon.  

The first thing I felt I had to address was my diet.  I considered myself to have been eating the “right” foods for my Autoimmune Disease, cutting out all things Gluten as I was allergic to wheat.  I wasn’t a label reader by any means, the extent to which I would look was if the packaging said “Gluten Free” it was fine for me to eat. Lazy? MMMMM, Maybe.  For the most part, I’m like every other single parent working two jobs it was time, distractions and everything in my life was fit into a neat little compartment, I didn’t have the time or energy to put into structured shopping and meal prep.  I was a linear thinker when it came to nutrition and “diet”. I knew I had to follow the rules pertaining to the food pyramid. Eat your veggies, proteins, grains and dairy. This stuff is mashed into our lives from the time we are small. As a child of the 70’s and 80’s there were no water bottles at lunch for us.  We had trays stacked up outside of our classrooms of those little red milk cartons that make the fantastic bubbling sound with a straw. Admit it, you just giggled because you did it too.

I opted a few years ago to try various, internet and multi level marketing promoted shakes. What a learning curve.  Every product I tried or was suggested to me was made in a lab, compounded into a power to be consumed once or twice a day.  Are these good for some people? Yes. Are they expensive? YES. Were they right for Me? NO.

For each new shake trial, most days I felt worse than I felt better.  It became cyclical for me with a combination of good days and bad days, trying to find that perfect “shake”.  Daily I wondered what I was doing wrong and why it was working for all these other people and not me?? The more I read and took I notes, one thing kept becoming more clear.  Eating right is not a “one size fits all” thing. It is a thing that is specific to each individual person on a cellular level.

Because, you know...SCIENCE.  

In September, 2018 after Ironman on my follow up post Spleen injury I was 5 feet 5” tall and weighed in at 155 pounds.  I thought I was in relatively good shape and kind of just resolved myself to the fact that this was my “healthy weight”.  I thought my Hashimotos was for the most part managed as well as my asthma and other AID symptoms. (Prior to being diagnosed with Hashimotos Hypothyroid with Autoimmune (Celiacs) I was 5’5” and 124 pounds in October, 2010.  At my heaviest before finding the right dose of TiroSint (150mcg) I was 178 pounds in April, 2011. 54 pounds. In 6 months. Holy cow. I looked and felt terrible.

The end of September, I bought the book “The Plant Paradox” written by Steven R. Gundry, MD.  It was the first time in recent memory that everything that was going on in my body made any sense. I felt empowered.  Shortly after, I called my Mom, Joan on the phone. “Hi, Mommy!!” “Hi, Baby!!” (Our daily greeting for each other. ),  “Mom, I know you already think I am a crazy person with the Ironman obsession, but I need your help” “Sure, what do you need?”  I began to explain to my Mom in detail this super structured, daily food plan and diet I needed to try. I got the usual “Your Crazy” from Mom but surprisingly it was followed by a “I think this is fantastic and I’ll do what I can to help”.  

I first had to address my “vices”.  I don’t drink or smoke but, damn do I like my candy and potato chips. I had become dependent on their comfort food feel on a daily basis. Dare I say, I was addicted to simple sugars and starches.  I went through my house and purged it of any and all synthetic sugars and potatoes. (I cannot confirm nor deny that I cried a little). Next came the grains.  They all got packed up and stored into the bomb shelter in my basement, along with anything that contained any Soy byproduct. (I genuinely had no idea that Soy is in almost everything)  This was becoming a labor of love. I love my chocolate, however I had zero idea that most commercial chocolate has soy in it. I spent 45 minutes in my local health food store reading the back of every label of dark chocolate.  Know where I found the best one? Starbucks. As much as I love my dairy, that went too.

Then, I proverbially sat back and waited to embrace the suck.  The suck of withdrawing from synthetic sugar and grains. It was hard, but tolerable.  When it got bad at work and I was stressed, I would immediately have a thought pop up to grab for a comfort food.  I was crabby and a touch irritable but it was tolerable. I refused to get on the scale. (I do this every morning religiously to keep track in my upswing of maintaining water weight) I began to follow a daily, structured routine of certain foods and started to religiously meal prep.   My Mom helped. She would help me with my grocery shopping, reading labels with me. Everything became about “pastured” meat and dairy. Makes sense if your allergic to certain grains, to stop consuming things that consume grains. I would come home, Mom would have meal prep suggestions and find the best prices on pastured chicken and beef.  Courtney then jumped on board. “If your doing this, then I’ll do it too. Maybe it will help my Crohn’s”. It became teamwork.

About three weeks in, I noticed it.  My anxiety level decreased. My clothes began to feel loose and I genuinely began to feel like I had some energy back.  Initially, I thought it was a coincidence between my spleen healing and feeling better. But quickly I realized it wasn’t.  

Mid October, I went to Labcorp and had my annual blood work for my thyroid.  Dr. Fomin runs my Vitamin D, TSH, T3, T4, Cortisol and Thyroid Antibodies. I went to see Dr. Fomin on November 8th.  Dr. Fomin is a whirlwind of an Endocrinologist, her office staff is incredible. She comes buzzing in shakes hands, sits at her little glass computer desk and asks me how I am doing as she is pulling up my lab work.  I state that I am well, I now weigh 142 pounds, however my hair is falling out and my anxiety level has been a bit off the charts at night as I am not sleeping well. She looks up at me and back at the computer screen and asks what I am doing different.  I explain to her my diet and all of the changes I have made in the last two months. I talked to her about my training schedule and how well I have been doing with it.

She comes back from around her desk and says…”Well, these symptoms are due to you now taking too much Tirosint”  Wait. What?! She said “Your Thyroid antibodies have come down 60 percent, you have lost weight and your numbers show your taking too much, so we need to lower your dose.  That is what is causing your symptoms”. She told me it looks like I’m well on my way to “healing” my thyroid. Gave me a Script for more blood work in 6 weeks and told me to call her after I get it done.  

You know that feeling you get when you WIN at something?  That was the feeling I had walking out that door that day.  

Eating the right food initially was a labor of love, it turned into a love of eating right.  It made me more driven than ever before to be the best version of myself. I committed 100 percent to eating only the things I should eat to give my body the fuel it needs to succeed in healing.  Two weeks ago, after two really long training days (usually adds two pounds of water weight) and 5 12 hour shifts, I got on the scale. Unprepared for what I was going to see. 139 Pounds. Oh. EM. GEE!!!  This morning, I weighed in at 137.5. I have never been hungry, I have no gas or gas pains, I have zero joint pain, my anxiety level is almost gone (minus the one or two pucker factor jobs I have had at work), the brain fog has completely dissipated.   I am back to my 03:30 am wake ups and two hours of training before work. The most important part is I feel fantastic and have a positive mental attitude, which is palpable to all who know me.

Teamwork, has made my dream work and for that I am grateful.  

Here is a one day sample of what I eat on the Medic Truck:  (Most of what I get is from either Whole Foods or ShopRite)

Coffee is life.  Medium roast coffee with one teaspoon of coconut sugar and some Organic Heavy cream from Pastured cows and 1 tablespoon of organic MCT Oil.

1 tab of AltRed

Banana with shredded coconut, chocolate flax and chia seeds.

“So Delicious” brand Coconut milk yogurt.  (The Key Lime is crazy good)

Raw, unsalted almonds.

Broiled brussel sprouts baked with avocado oil and pink sea salt. (I love snacking on these while on the Medic truck)

1 pan fried then baked chicken breast, with organic pastured fresh shredded cheddar on top and ½ cup mashed red sweet potatoes with kerrygold butter and pink salt.  

½ avocado or broiled asparagus

If I really am in a jam and need something sweet, 1 teaspoon Manuka honey.  (Keeps the bad virus JUJU away)

For 2019’s Tri season, I am now a proud member of the Speed Sherpa Nation ( I have an entire, national Tri family who now has my back. They help me train, keep me motivated to help me be the best version of myself. Feel free to read all about them and their mission on their web site!

Next week Denise and I get in the pool for the start of our training and my cycling classes at Cycles 54 in Wall, NJ start January 3rd...can’t wait to tell you all about our training shenanigans!  Until then, stay safe and be good to each other! ~ T


My "Do Over" September 28, 2018

September 28, 2018 was a new start for me.  Well. Not really a new “start” per say but more a “do-over”.  After my DNF at IM 70.3 LP on Sunday, September 9th due to a Spleen and Kidney injury I was allowed to start training again.  

I have to say, there is not much I am afraid of.  Legitimately. But this day, I was afraid. I have determined to this point that the bike has been and will continue to be My primary nemesis and now the pain it has caused me has made me afraid of it.  AGAIN. Well, I’m afraid of the pain, not the bike. I love my bike. The pain, I don’t love that.

After much discussion and back and forth with Michael for both the positive and the negative sides of triathlon, the decision was made to start training again.  Once I made the commitment, the fear set in.

I consider myself to have a super high pain threshold, especially after the break to the bones in my right leg in 2010.  The pain I experienced with this most recent injury is the most intense, relentless pain I have ever experienced. Relentless. Every minute of every day, asleep or awake, I was reminded that my Spleen was angry.  I had swelling on my side that was pronounced enough that you could see it under my white uniform shirt. I lovingly referred to it as my “Spleen Baby”. I was tired, sore, swollen, short of breath and generally crabby.  

To my fellow EMS providers that had to put up with me for those two weeks, I’m sorry.

September 28th, I suited up, stretched and headed out with instructions from Michael.  Start slow. 30 seconds on 30 seconds off, see if you can tolerate it and only do 20 minutes.  So I did. One foot in front of the other. Right foot, Left foot. Right foot, Left foot. Right foot, Left foot.  

Zero pain.  Like a child on their first day of school, off I went. Within a minute all of my fear and anxiety began to dissipate and I smiled and continued on. I finished, came into the house mildly short of breath and Michael asked how I did.  ZERO Pain!!

Then it sank in.  Eventually, I would have to get back on the bike and ride outside. Well, SHIT.

On October 2nd, that is just what I did.  I don’t know who was more leary, Michael or I.  Well, I think Michael may have showed it more than I did.  I hydrated, suited up, pumped up my tires and went through my gear to make sure I would have everything I needed.  Then just like that, I clicked in and off I went. At about the first half mile, the fear started to take a back seat to being hyper vigilant to my surroundings (at work we call it Situational Awareness).  My train of thought began to focus solely on the traffic, bumps in the road, animals and the smells of fall in the air.

At mile 5 I looked down saw how far I had gone and I smiled.  It was glorious. The wind in my face and the quiet solitude of just me and my bike, My little green monster.  

I’m not really sure at what mile exactly it happened, but it did.  The fear completely went away. When I returned home after 15 miles, it was clear to see that it had left Michael also.  It was like a breath of fresh air had entered our home.

So in the process of me attempting to finish my first half Ironman this past September, I learned a lot of new things and made a lot of new friends.  There is one in particular who I am especially thankful for coming into my life. You know that one friend who comes into your life when you most need it, like a giant hug from the Universe saying: “Here, I made this just for you!”.  Her name is Denise, she is Friends with Michael, they were training buddies for IMLP in July 2011, she had been following my progress all along and had a vested interest in my success.

Denise is an Ironman.  She has completed 5 full Ironmen over the course of 8 years.  Her resume also includes 15 marathons, two 50K’s, one 50 miler and a 212 mile bike in one day.  

Denise is a legit BADASS.  (if you ask her she uses the hashtag #usedtobeabadass.)  Denise has become my go to girl and my biggest support system next to Michael.  She is a Nurse, She is my Sherpa and I love her. Denise and I signed up to do a 70.3 together and train for it.  Our choice? The newly acquired IM 70.3 VA on May 5th. The rooms are booked, the entry has been paid for and away we go!  On a daily basis now we compare notes, training, equipment, diet but mostly, Denise shares her wealth of knowledge and experiences with me.

So, Denise and I have decided that we will set aside two days a week with our rotating schedules for our long runs/rides with one of the two being a rain date/alternate training date.  We may or may not have Michael convinced to do one with us!

WE will keep you posted!!  

Denise, Jaker, Ladybug and Myself will be participating in this years “2018 Stomp the Monster Almost 4 Miler” in Manasquan, NJ on Saturday, October 20th if you want to join!  No timing chips, just a great group of people running for a great cause and post race hanging out at our local go to place, Leggetts!

Until next time, Stay Safe out there and BE GOOD TO EACH OTHER!!  - T


How it all went down...

I worked last weekend on the Medic truck and by Saturday night, I could feel the burn of a sore throat looming on the horizon.  Sunday morning, my ear hurt and I couldn’t swallow so to Walgreens I went. By the time I left for Placid on Tuesday, I was having a hard time breathing and was coughing up a ton of mucous.  Travelling through the mountains was nothing shy of painful, I felt like my left ear was going to rupture. I started a vigorous routine of rinsing, Zicam, Dayquil and was leaning on my puffer pretty hard.  Walking up the twelve steps to the top level of the Wilmington house was painful and I was super short of breath. I locked in and locked on in every attempt to rid myself of my lung plague before the 9th.

I have a saying.  If something messed up is going to happen, it will happen to me. IT DID..  

While not feeling great and finding myself generally exhausted from fighting a virus, I was angry that I had made it this far without having gotten sick in months.  Such is the peril of working around sick patients, I guess.

My Mom and Dad said that if I chose not to participate in the 70.3 because I was sick, they were ok with it and they were sure that “everyone would understand”.  “I’m ok, Mom. I didn’t travel all the way up here to not do this because of a cold”. “Whatever you decided, Dad and I will have your back”. “I love you, Mommy.  Thank you.” “We love you too, Tracy.”

I rested all day on Wednesday and tried to purge the demon mucus from my lungs.  Thursday, Michael made me an amazing breakfast, we had our coffee and I went to walk to clear my head and see how my lungs felt.  I was winded easily, but I figured a few more days and I will be good to go. Sometime after lunch, I meandered my way to where I keep my equipment in the house and walked up to the living room to get on the trainer to spin a bit.

I got the side eye from Mike.  “You need to take it easy”. “I’ll be good”.  


About 45 mins into me spinning, I was leaning down on my bars and felt the bike move.  Weird. Maybe it is sliding on the hardwood floor, I thought. I kept spinning. I felt it move again, looked down at my blocks and instantly realized the BACK of the bike was moving not the front.  A split second later, with no time to react, the entire bike slid out from under me, listing me up and to the left. My left side came crashing down onto the hardwood chair that was pushed up against the wall with nowhere to go.  I slammed onto the chair, which then promptly bounced up and fell over and on top of me while still attached to the bike. Michael came running over, trying to free me from being bound up in the trainer and chair but he couldn’t move me without me screaming in pain.  

I laid on the floor for what seemed an eternity, Michael was able to get my boots off and started slowly sliding everything away from me.  I couldn’t move without feeling like a knife was in my side and I knew immediately something was terribly wrong. I rolled to my left side, laid there and caught my breath then when I could, rolled to my belly and tried to stand up without vomiting.  After a few more minutes, I was able to get to the couch with some help and packed my left flank and back with ice. “Michael, how bad is my bike?” (For the love of all things holy, I know) “I could care less about the bike, do you need to go to the ER?”  “No, please check on my bike. I’m pretty sure it’s really messed up.” About 20 minutes later, Michael came in and said “Yup, the skewer is bent and the bad news is your back tire.” Well, SHIT.

The messed up thing here is this: I knew how bad I was hurt and in all actuality, if any other person other than me presented like this to a Medic at that time, they would have been treated and taken to the hospital.  But, nope. Not ME. Like a complete jackass I was worried about my stupid bike. Then I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to compete on Sunday. Again. Well, SHIT.

When I was able to move a bit and the advil started to kick in, I called Placid Planet Bikes (a Specialized dealer) explained to them what happened and asked if I could please bring my bike in to have them assess the damage.  She clearly heard how upset I was and said to come right in. We made the trip into the village, I tried to get out of the car and I genuinely couldn’t. After a few minutes, Mike was able to help me out of the car and we walked my banged up little monster into Placid Planet.  

The woman who greeted us was the same woman who had answered my call.  She first asked if I was ok, because she said she could hear how upset I was, then ushered me to the back of the building so they could look at my bike.  They worked to fix it, but most importantly, helped to calm me down a bit. What a great group of people they are and I was super appreciative. We left with my girl patched up and ready to go on Sunday.  Me, however not so much.

I spent the next two days in and out of the tub, soaking in epsom salt.  Damn, I was miserable.

This was nothing shy of a bad idea.   

Sunday morning at 03:00, the alarm goes off.  I meander my way to the tub, make it as hot as I can tolerate it and dump in epsom.  I get dressed and head up for breakfast and coffee, Michael and Mel are already on it.  We pack up all my gear and take the 20 minute ride to the village and I have my way with the radio and my playlist.  “This is ME” comes on and it is turned up as loud as is tolerable and we all sing. It makes me happy. For a few minutes at least, I forgot how miserable I was and tried to enjoy the process of having my tribe with me as I geared up for this test of mental and physical endurance.

I laid out all of my equipment and wiped down my wet bike.  It was so damn cold, the air hurt to breathe. I laid everything out in order of use, put my wetsuit on grabbed my “morning bag” for whatever I needed to wear to keep me warm before I got into the water and headed down the carpet to a quarter mile to the beach.  

Everything burned, my lungs, my nose and with back and side were unbearable.  I turned in my gear, walked over to Mel and Michael said my “I love you’s” and walked to the tent.  I hear the announcer say “This is the coldest start to an Ironman LP in history. It is 31 degrees out right now” WONDERFUL.  I waited for my wave and watched the pros walk through the entrance and disappear into the fog. Time to find my happy place….

A girl walked past me, frantically looking down and moving her way through the crowd.  I asked “Are you ok?” She looks up and stares up at me, visibly upset. “I’m beside myself, I lost my goggles, have you seen them?”  “No, I haven’t” “Oh my God, I don’t know what to do.” I said, “If you cannot find them, please come back and find me” An older gentleman turned slowly and shook his head, “that sucks”  “Yes, yes it does”

About 5 minutes later, she came back and said.  “I’m screwed, I can’t find them and they don’t have any extras”.  

Now, let me go back.  On Thursday’s check in before I fell we went down to the lake so I could take a picture of the Ironman rock.  (I know I am a freak with the pictures but it’s my thing) while standing there a little whirlwind of a woman comes down the path with a purpose.  She immediately starts up conversation (My kinda girl) and asks if Michael is doing the Ironman (She saw his tattoo) “No, She is” she giggles, we giggled, and we all talked.  She gave me some pointers, I helped her zip up her wet suit and showed her the easy way to do a surfers loop with the strap. As it turns out… She is an Ironman. Several times over, starting the sport at the age of 50 after her babies were all grown up.  She qualified for KONA….MORE THAN ONCE. This woman, of small stature was a legit badass and personified what being a triathlete was all about. She is a ROCK STAR. She left me with some positive reinforcement and a word of advice about the swim: people will swim over you, crawl over you, kick you in the face and head. Be smart about it, shove an extra set of goggles in your wetsuit to protect yourself and your ability to finish the race.  “That is fantastic advice, Thank you” SHe made my day, she made Michael’s, we took her picture to prove to her kids that she was in fact going for a swim, wished her good luck on Sunday and left with a smile on our faces.

“What do I do?” This young girl says to me.  “Here, Take my extra set” I reached into my wet suit and pulled out the goggles I had because of advice offered to me and handed them to her.  “Wait. WHAT? Are You serious?” “Yes, absolutely” “Oh My God, How can I get them back to you after the race?” “Don’t worry about it, just go out there and have fun and do right by me and finish”  She hugged me and I hugged her back and she hurried back to her group. The old guy standing next to me, turned slowly and smiled. He knuckled me up and said “I’m super proud of you, that was an amazing thing you just did”  “Thank you.”

It was now my waves turn to get into the water and I did exactly how I was trained.  I gave myself space, paid attention to who was around me and started my breast stroke to get myself to where I needed to be so I didn’t get trampled in the water and began my free style swim.  I had one of the best swims of my life. I felt strong, I moved past people and I wasn’t fatigued. I exited the water to hear Mel and Michael screaming “GO T!!!!” I smiled.  It made my heart happy. The swim after all, has always been my weak suit.

I came up to the carpet, started peeling off the layers and attempted to jog down to transition.  Michael ran alongside me yelling that I did great on my swim and like an affirmation of all my training was finally coming together I carried on determined to get to my bike and keep moving.  I couldn’t catch my breath, it hurt to inhale.

I got changed, got on my bike and headed out for the 56 mile course.  My left side hurt so bad I couldn’t get comfortable on the bike and holy shit was it cold.  It had only climbed up to 35 at this point and with wet hair and minimal clothing this was going to be a challenge.  For the most part, I kept good time until I hit mile 25 and something started to change. I felt like I had a grapefruit on my left upper quadrant, I was nauseous and couldn’t catch my breath.  I tried to stand up by felt like a knife was tearing through my flank when I did. Something was wrong. I came to mile 35 and finally decided to make a pit stop to use the bathroom. I couldn’t stand up straight.  A NY State Trooper offered to hold my bike for me, I thanked him when I was done and carried on trying to figure out how to get around this terrible pain I was in. Never in a million years did I think I was putting myself in harms way, but somehow I knew I was going to time out as I didn’t have the strength to push any harder.  

Mile 46.4.

The van pulls over and I knew I had timed out.  “You are not going to make the time cut off, you can finish if you want but we need your chip”  The Trooper who had been rooting me on for the last 5 miles stopped when I did. I unclipped and said, “No.  I’m done. I need to get back to my family.” The Trooper exited his car and said “You fought until the very end, I am proud of you” “Thank you, Sir.  I am actually proud of myself too.”

I rode back in the van with other athletes, some who got pulled because of equipment failure that was unable to be fixed, some because they were injured and others that this brutal course just ate up whole.  One of the riders stated that there were “dozens” of athletes who tapped out at the first “aid station” in Keene due to the cold. I thought to myself, I at least made it close to the end.

I came back into town, grabbed my items from transition and began the process of exiting the area.  I was met by my tribe and was so damn happy to see them with smiles waiting for me. I was happier to know how proud of me they were, I literally tried my hardest but today was just not my day.  “I’ll get it next time, this was fantastic learning experience”

We made our way through the mountains, back to the house and I went back to the tub.  See, here is where I knew I was really in trouble. I couldn’t get out of the tub without feeling like I was going to vomit.  I couldn’t expand my chest wall to take a breath, I couldn’t cough and I couldn’t lift my left arm at all. At dinner, I was crazy uncomfortable and getting more so every minute that passed by.  Then, the crushing chest pain, shortness of breath, left shoulder pain, nausea and sweating.


But it was.

Mel and Mike packed me up in the car and we headed to Saranac’s ER.  I was taken right in and evaluated. EKG, ok. IV, Aspirin, Toradol, IV Fluids, Zofran.  Physical assessment. Diffuse left upper quadrant pain, radiating to my left shoulder. “We need to get you to CT scan right away and take a look at your Spleen”.  Off I went.

To hear a Doctor talking about traumatic injuries while on the job is one thing, but to have it be you a Medic on the receiving end is something completely different.  It turns out, I significantly underestimated how badly I was hurt. I had bruised my Spleen and left lung in my fall on Thursday. The Doctor informed me that the Bike was not only really bad news, but the run may very well have been catastrophic as my already swollen spleen could have ruptured.   He gave me a look, and a list of things I needed to keep an eye out for and if they appeared to come right back in.

We were up for a solid 24 hours that day.  Longest day. EVER.

I spent most of the day in bed Monday, resting enough to be able to make the 6 hour ride home.  We came home today and here I sit. In bed. Resting. I am thankful that things didn’t turn out worse and that given time, I will heal and be able to start training again in a few weeks.  My body may be bruised but my ego and most importantly, my spirit is not. I have learned so much to this point about me, the real me, what makes me keep getting back up and trying despite my body’s best efforts to force me to quit.  Mostly, I have learned that there are so many good people out there who love and support me in everything I do. For that reason, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, get back on that damn bike and work harder to earn the title “Ironman”.

Stay safe out there and be good to each other ~ T



So, today I left my local Starbucks and headed North toward my Medic shift at JSUMC.  I was sipping my green tea and had a warm feeling on my right cheek.  It was the rising sun, My promise of a new day.  Even after 20 years on the Medic truck, the anticipation for what is awaiting for me between the punches still gets in my head.  I am still kind of groggy, this is the third 12 hour shift in a row. I haven’t really slept in a few days as much as I should have and today, I feel it.  I’m distracted with my own thoughts (so many of them) specifically, the bike course of IM 70.3. I’m still gun shy from my fall. I have been working on my hill climbs and getting comfortable being out of the saddle and pushing my non cooperative legs.

Suddenly, my attention is immediately drawn to what is coming over the radio from my iTunes.  “Titanium” I am a firm believer that when we need it the most, signs are thrown at us from the universe but most are too distracted by life to pay attention.  This time, however I was locked the hell on with all of my senses and I hear this specific phrase:

“I'm bulletproof nothing to lose Fire away, fire away.  Ricochet, you take your aim. Fire away, fire away. You shoot me down but I won't fall, I am titanium.  You shoot me down but I won't fall I am…”

Titanium.  Yes, I have it.  It’s a constant reminder of an injury that has prevented me from being the athlete I always wanted to be. That’s always been how I processed that song, reminding me of my own personal titanium.  Then I realized, wait. That’s not the song’s message. This song is not so much about titanium, but about taking whatever life has to throw at you and not letting it take you down. It’s about always getting back up.  It’s about perception versus reality. That’s it. Universe, I got your message loud and clear and thank you for the reminder.

Last week, I started the “taper” process portion of my training.  It’s that part you look forward to as you know the super long hours of training start to wean down, theoretically giving you some more time with family and friends.  The downfall of the “taper” process is loving referred to as the “taper blues” and apparently, I have a raging case of it. It’s hard to describe honestly. The easiest way is maybe to say it’s like the week before summer is over. You know the days are getting shorter and you have to go back to school and you grumble in anticipation.  I have come to rely on my pre medic shift exercise induced endorphin rush and I miss it terribly. I’m legit a crab and ball of stress.

Last week, I went through all of my pre race “to do” list.  Bike check up, pharmacy refills, supplement refills, things that are lost and or missing.  WHERE THE HELL DO ALL MY WATER BOTTLES GO?!?!?!  Ugh, Jaker and Ladybug that's where.

Most importantly, I went to the Podiatrist to make sure my feet are in good health.  I make it a point to take exceptionally good care of my feet since I broke my leg. I go every three months for evaluations and injections.  At some point over the last few years, I developed “Tarsal Tunnel” syndrome. If you haven’t heard of it, I’m not surprised, I had never heard of it either but let me tell you.  That shit hurts. Years of not running in the right shoes, hyper-pronating, not using orthotics and a totally different method of running post fracture lead to this. When you add to that annoying thing called AutoImmune Disease where everything is swollen and hurts and it makes for a miserable way to be.  

This week, I went to see Dr. Greg Clark from Jersey Shore Podiatrist Associates in Sea Girt.  He assesses my feet, states I’m doing a great job keeping my toes in line (I started to develop a bunion on my left foot in January.  GO GENETICS) and it looks like I caught them in time. He reviews what therapy I am doing on my feet and suggest some new ones. He pushes my instep and on the medial part of my ankle and I quickly retract in pain.  “Ok, it’s time for more injections. When is your race?” “The 9th. Oh My God, I just said that out loud. It’s coming!” Ladybug giggles. Dr. Clark says its perfect timing and sets me up. Then the manipulation and injecting a tuberculin syringe into the sheath of the nerves that are trapped and causing me to lose feeling in my feet.  This is miserable. I shudder. He says, “after everything your feet have been through, this is nothing” He is 1000 percent correct. He puts on my lovely little latex free bandaids, wishes me luck and sends me on my way. “Good LUCK! We are all rooting for you, we will see you when you get back!” Yes. YES YOU WILL.

I am TITANIUM.  Literally and figuratively.  

So after a minor pity party this morning during shift change, I got my shit together. I got a pep talk from Anna and Michelle my Medic Sherpa’s and started my day.  I have a 12 hour Medic shift and two wake ups before I leave and holy shit it's coming fast!!


For those interested in following the incredible triathletes I will be sharing time with on Sunday, September 9th you can track each one of us through the Ironman Tracker app or on










My "New Reality"

This morning I woke up more groggy than usual.  

Waking up on any other day of the week I roll over, drop my heavy legs over the side of the bed and meander my way to the coffee pot trying to figure out which way is up.  Today, however is not that day. Today I had no gumption to move out of bed and laid quietly staring at the spinning ceiling fan for a disproportionate amount if time. Ugh.  Maybe I’ll just stay here all day. Who would notice if I didn’t? Then I feel the cold, wet nose of the younger of my two quadrupeds, Belle pushing up against my arm. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.  “Morning, Mom! Your up late! WE ARE HUNGRY, FEED US!” Yes, I talk to my dogs and YES they talk back. Don’t judge.

Today is the day I will have to dig deep and get it done.  Today, I have to come back to the one thing that above anything else provides me clarity.  Running. Today is the day that after the dust settles of having been on a Medic truck for 24 hours I am given time to process and realize sometimes, I HATE MY JOB.  You see, in my world, like many other “PARAMAGICIANS” there are two realities. Life before Paramedicine and life AFTER. If you are or have been in my shoes, then you are now shaking your head in agreeance.  If you have not, it is something you can only try to understand but I’ll try to explain my BEFORE and AFTER.

After I left college I worked in the corporate world for a Fortune 500 company, making crazy good money. I had stock options, fantastic benefits and financial stability.  I was a hustler. (My Father used to say I could sell a Ketchup Ice pop to a woman in white gloves). I was relatable, I was honest, I was good at my job and people liked me.  (What's not to like??). But I genuinely felt something was missing and I had more to offer the world.

In 1993, My employer at the time was looking to send people through an EMT class, it seemed intriguing so I signed up, finished the class and with my bright orange jump bag in hand I was on my way.  On my way home from work one night, I drove past a sign saying “members wanted”. I turned the car around and walked into the open bay door. I was met with a smile, witty sense of humor, a handshake and introduction of “Hi, my Name is Nick.  Can I help you?” The first words of many and the start of a lifelong friendship.

Nick Curcio and I became besties in every sense of the word.  He was quickly someone I could confide in and seemed to have an “old soul” vibe about him.  Nick had been through more medically in his short time on earth than most could ever fathom.   He became my protector and I in turn became his. Through him, my Mentor, I quickly found my purpose in life as a “helper”.  A few months into being a “squaddie” we were dispatched to a motor vehicle accident on one of our towns interstates. Enroute to the scene, bumping down the road we were advised that this was a “fatal” and where to stage on scene for our safety.  We arrived and the scene was a blur. Sirens, people moving, cars moving, smells of smoke, fuel and oil, Medics shuffling intensely yelling medical orders on a wireless box and with a sense of purpose, radios squelching, bystanders gawking. Then Clearly. THE SCREAMING. It’s a primal scream, one that can never be unheard. That is all I can distinctly remember.  The screaming.

On the way home, Nick and I were quiet.  Nick was seasoned, I was not. Nick spoke first as I stared out of the Internationals window bumping down the road.  “This is terrible. It is the worst thing another human being can see. It hurts. Tracy if your going to do this from here on out,this is your new reality.  This is not the movies or TV, this is real life, some things cannot be fixed. Bad things happen to good people who don’t deserve it. Here’s the thing though.  These good people need good people like us to help them.” My new reality? I thought….what does that mean?? We sat with our compatriots at a CISD (Critical Incident Stress Debriefing) meeting and discussed, cried and processed with other “helpers”.  Bill Voelkel, Captain of the North squad pulled me aside. “Your a Hawk too. (a reference to being a Monmouth College alumni) Welcome to the family.” Thanks Bill. “Find an outlet.” he says. “Walking, running, swimming, knitting, whatever it is. Do it. Don’t drink. Talk to others and find your outlet.”  “I will, Bill, thanks.” (I miss you every day, Bill. Every. DAMN. DAY.) It took me years to figure out what he was talking about.

In 1996, I felt compelled to leave my crazy secure, good paying job to go back to college and become a Paramedic.  My Parents thought I was an insane person. (Insane? No.  This was my: “Wait, Hold my beer” moment)

I married a man who was also in public service, he was a police officer.  In my early days of being a Medic he sat me down (I am stubborn and obstinate but I think I covered that in an earlier blog) and with kid gloves Bill had a talk with me. “Tracy, your job is changing you, it’s’ making you a different, unhappy person.  I think it’s time to start talking to a CISD or genesis counselor to help you develop a coping mechanism”

Ok, now Bill had a world more experience than me so I listened and I went.  It helped. Over the course of time, I learned coping mechanisms and how to live life with my “new reality”  The Paramedic’s new reality, the one that we as EMS providers know all too well: We only see the worst things that life has to throw us.  911 medical emergencies are never called to someone’s house to celebrate the good, only to help ease the burden of the catastrophic. Those primal screaming kinda calls.

So one day I figured it out.  Running. Running gives people endorphins.  Endorphins make people happy. Happy people can cope.  So I started running. I ran, I processed, I healed. I had the best, cheapest and most effective way of coping.  Loud, angry music, just me and my feet hitting the pavement, breathing in and breathing out and time to figure out all of the worlds problems.  I was fast and lean and was capable of running long distances.

Then, in 2010 I broke my leg. Another "new reality": “You will never run again, you have hardware in there now."  Well, SHIT.

Fast forward to 2015: I am Lion, hear me ROAR.

I was able to get my coping mechanism back and it was glorious.  I was slow and I will now always be slow. It was painful and it will always be painful, but I was back.  Damn Straight I was back.

There are days on the truck where, like the last two days, I know it’s going to be super hot and busy and in an effort to conserve my energy, I will not get up at 04:00 and train.  I try to save my energy for the shit storm the universe will throw at me. The downfall to this thought process is, I don’t get my pre shift endorphin dump.  This is where you hope for the best and try to make it through the shift with little to no drama. The last 24 hours, however that is all there was.

The bad things happened.  Then the worst things happened.  Then, the SCREAMING.

I arrive and take control of the scene, like I always do and has come to be expected of me.  I take control of everything and everyone in my presence. I take control to slow things down, to let everyone know the emergency is over, the cavalry has arrived.  

I take control to stop the SCREAMING.

The literal screaming stops, but the proverbial sound still echoes through my head.  I punch out at the end of my shift with yet another little piece of me left like a crumpled up piece of paper on the floor and I go home.  My co workers, who stand in the trenches with me, text, message and call to make sure I am ok, because they get it. “I will be, thank you.” is always my response. I shower, eat and crawl into bed after my good nights and I love you’s, grateful for another opportunity to have made a legitimate difference in someone else’s “new reality”.  

Today, I wake up and I am grateful that now, more than ever I get another day on Earth.  I will bike, run and swim, because I so desperately need those endorphins but most importantly, I run because, I NEED it.  Because someone once told me I would never run again. Most importantly: I run to remind myself that today, in my “NEW REALITY”: The only one stopping me is ME.

Today, Ironman LP 70.3 is now just 10 days away.  Well, SHIT.

Stay safe out there and be good to each other. ~ T



"The Seeds of Doubt"

In an earlier blog I talked about my doing a sprint tri in Lake Placid while we were on vacation.  Here is the back story to what could have easily been me walking away from the sport of triathlon.



My swim was rather uneventful, I took my time and actually enjoyed the process, something I have come to learn from some amazing athletes on a Facebook triathlon forum, Women For Tri.  I came out of transition and actually had a smile on my face. I walked my bike from the transition with a group in front of me and a group behind. Clip in the left, clip in the right and here I go.  About 250 feet in, I hear a female voice behind me. “Hey. On your left.” Me: “thank you” Her: “you need to get out of my way” Me: “OKKKkkkkkkk?” I could not have possibly been any further to the right.  Whatever, carry on.


Toward the end of bike portion, I was coming up to the top of the hill toward Main Street and my legs gave out on me.  You see, part of my Autoimmune Disease (AID) causes me to not feel my extremities very well at times. This is a dreadful part of my new reality.  I manage on most days, but this day was hard. I was tired as I had already done my run and swim circuit that morning. Mid crank, I could not get my right leg to move at all anymore, it was as if my body said, “That’s it, I’m done” and just gave up.  I fell, still attached the bike as I could not release my cleat fast enough as my legs were not responsive. Crashing down on the side of the road, I landed with my right hip on the edge of the curb and my head (helmet attached thankfully) and shoulder went into a concrete pillar.  My right hand blocked my fall and immediately swelled. Pain everywhere. Well, SHIT.


As a child, falling from your bike is like a right of passage, at some time in our youth, each one of us had scraped knees and palms as well as a mental note to not do whatever it was that caused us to fall in the first place. As an adult, however we all know that is much different.  Chronologic progression, I like to call it. (I refuse to say I am growing up, I am just chronologically progressing) As an adult when we injure ourselves, everything in our body immediately locks in, memorizes what happened and tries to prevent us from doing whatever “thing” injured us.  It’s a mental note persay. “The coffee table is there, please do not put your little toe into it again”. “”Dopey, your elbow is right there, so is the door jamb. Remember, It’s not so funny, that funny bone”. As a person who suffers chronically from all things gravity, I can tell you very bad, colorful words come from this little person on a regular basis.


When I fell during this race a rider behind me immediately dismounted his bike to help me up, saying “holy cow, are you ok??”  Two cars stopped on the hill to assist. I popped myself out of my boot, still attached to the cleat, pushed the bike away and stood up.  Immediately, after with now the post fall adrenaline surging through my system, I looked myself over quickly to assess the damage. Well. My favorite Garneau tri shorts are ripped, I can’t move my hip that well, right knee and thigh are bleeding and crap, I think I broke my hand.  Now, as a Paramedic we are rigorously trained to treat and correct life threatening illness or injury. This training is hard wired into our brains so it never has an off button. I think to myself “Is this anything that is going to kill me?” “NO.” “Is this anything that will prevent me from finishing”  “NO.” “Can this wait?” “YES.” The rider grabbed his bike, and says I’m going to ride back into town and go get you help, stay right here”. “No, thank you. I really just need to get back on the bike and finish as long as it works”. “Your bleeding…” “All bleeding stops eventually” (Insert smile here) He says, “You sure??” “Hell, yes, I am going to get back on this damn bike and finish”.  


I knew myself well enough to know that if I had quit and walked off the course, the seed of doubt would be permanently placed in my head and I would second guess over a years worth of training.  


I came back in to the transition for the run, Mel immediately assessed my hand. “I am going to finish, I don’t need my hand to run” “The Lion lights up, she says.  It’s showtime” “It’s Showtime” I repeated.

I started the run slow...EVERYTHING HURTS!!!!  Came up to the top of the hill and made the right turn onto the side street.  As I am now at a decent trot, I recognize a face coming toward me, one of two runners.  He sees me approaching, the recognition washing over his face. “YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!” “WAY TO GO!!!!!!!!”  We high fived, had our moment and both kept moving. I turned to look back and noticed an “M Dot” (the Ironman tattoo) tattoo on his calf.  “Rockstar” I thought and suddenly, spontaneously I gained my second wind.


I ran to the top of the hill and turned that terrible orange barrel marking the halfway point.  “I got this” I thought to myself, looked down at my ripped up hand and headed down the hill. It was getting dark, twilight had set in.  Everything hurts. THIS SHIT IS HARD. I came down toward the end of the gravel road to make the left to head toward the finish line and turning off Mirror Lake Dr toward me was a girl.  She was looking down and concentrating. “Wait. I KNOW HER.” She looks up as she heard someone rapidly approaching her from the front...ME. Her: “Are you F-ing KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?!”  Me: “NOPE! Enjoy the rest of the run!!” I smiled and trotted toward the finish line pulling off some of my best run times to date post ankle surgery and AID diagnosis. I was so proud of myself.   The gentlemen I saw on the run, came over and said how proud they were of me for not quitting and what a huge deal it was that I got back on the bike. Initially, I agreed.


The next day however, was a different story.  I woke up, found the coffee pot and began the long arduous wake up process.  Then I headed toward my bike. Nothing really out of place. But was it? Physically, the bike was intact as was I.  Mentally, however… the seeds of doubt had been subconsciously planted. SHIT. Mike said, “we need to get you on that bike today.”  (By WE he meant, ME) “Not today, My hip is killing me” I took the day off. Then the next day, “I’m too tired” and “I can’t” every excuse I could.  The day before we left… My bike shoes were handed to me. “There’s no excuse today, your going” This was followed by many volleys of no’s, yes’s and a myriad of excuses.  I lost. Mike won. Lots of bad words. I would ride, then pull over, dismount and stop. Over and over for an hour. It was brutal. I am stubborn and obstinate. The session ended and I went back to the house with my tail between my legs.  PITY PARTY.


We came back to Jersey and I quickly transitioned back to work and Mom duties.  My bike loomed on the trainer, like a vulture awaiting my self imposed demise. Then the email came from Ironman for IMLP 70.3 with the bib numbers and instructions.  AWESOME! Hold, on put the brakes on. I read the time cut offs for each event that would lead to a DNF (Did Not Finish) and being pulled off the course. FULL ON PANIC MODE.  I called Mike shaking. I was not going to be able to do this. I was in full on freak out mode. And just like that, there it was: the “seeds of doubt” had grown into a full sized “I can’t do this” tree.  SHIT.


Since last week, I have had multiple conversations with fellow triathletes, both professional and non professional.  The resounding theme: “TRUST YOUR TRAINING”. So I showered the tree of “I can’t do this” with a healthy dose of “trust your training” and I hit my shit bricks hard.  Blocks of risers, intervals of hitting the “Hills” hard and learning how to come up out of the saddle with heavily cramped legs and hip flexors. Spinning. Intervals.  Spinning. Intervals. Hours at a clip. Run intervals. It has been a physical and mental reprogramming process. Any triathlete will tell you, this shit is hard, but what makes an endurance athlete different is how we are wired, it’s how we handle the hard shit.  Our “seeds of doubt”.


So now, I am digging up those “seeds of doubt” and liek caution, I am throwing them to the wind.  I am going to go out there on the 9th, trust my training and remember this one thing:

Every amazing athlete standing in the Triathlon trenches with me on that frosty morning has at one point, had their own “seeds of doubt”.  “It’s SHOWTIME”


Stay safe and be good to each other ~ T


Today, I get a day off. KIND OF.

Today is my day off.  Well.  Let me clarify.  Today, I am not on the Medic truck.

I got to sleep in past 03:45 and take the time to enjoy my coffee.  In all honesty, once you become acclimated to waking up at O'Dark Thirty on a regular basis your body naturally starts to wake itself up at an ungodly hour.  Today, I woke up in a panic twice between the hours of 04:00 and 07:00.  You know the kind.  "Oh, SHIT.  I slept late, I'm going to be late for work!  Where's my uniform?  I HAVE TO CALL THE SUPERVISOR!!" You heave your legs to the edge of the bed, feet dangling, head spinning with a raging case of bed head and it sinks in.  I do not have to go to work today.  GREAT.  Now what do I do with all of this unnecessary adrenaline?  

I laid in bed for a bit, scratching Sammy's ears.  When the light starts to creep in through the windows and my eyes begin to focus I think about all of the things I have to accomplish today.  Groceries.  Meal prep. (My Mommy is making me Chicken Salad today) LAUNDRY. (Have we talked about how much laundry we generate?? For the love of all things holy) Cleaning.  Eating.  TRAINING.  Oh lord.  What does Michael have on the agenda for me today??

I get up, Sammy reluctantly follows,  we both wander into the kitchen and I try to figure out how to make the coffee. I am a train wreck in the morning. Sammy is too. The pups go out, do their business and then lay in the morning sun to recharge their batteries.  I keep the house the temp of an Arctic Tundra at night and sleep with a fan in my face.  My bipeds and quadrupeds hate me for it. (Sorry, not sorry.  I'm the Adult who pays the bills)

Sitting at the computer, I have in front of me my Paleo-ish pancakes, my java and I log into my social media accounts to read the "news".  I get a text message from Michael. "Morning love"  "Morning, Babe" is my response.  "I'm up, moving super slow today, I'm going to finish my coffee and run"  See, now by this I mean I am going to figure out which way is up and then go do my circuits.  "Bricks" he calls them because they are blocks of daily workouts.  I call them shit bricks.  Blocks of heavy, hard work outs that at times make me feel like shit.  SHIT BRICKS.  

"Today you should be doing 1 hour on your bike and 25-30 min. run..the run is the easy have to be prepared to be on the bike for 4-5 hours" "Just eat something, let it digest then stick a phone book under your wheel and do 1 hour and then your need a brick with  1 hour bike and 30 mins run."  "OK, I'm on it"  Grumble.  There is not going to be enough coffee for today.

I then look to my left and there staring at me like a beast...Matt Long.  He's giving me an unapologetic stare from the cover of the book I use as my bible and motivation.  "The Long Run" By the way....Whoever did his cover work photography should receive an award.  He has a stare equivalent to the "Mona Lisa".  Anywhere you go, he's like "get the hell up and do this, you have no excuses."  Right, Matt.  I'm going. UGH. You Sir, are a beast. Today, however I am NOT.

So I'm heading out to do my "brick" so I can finish the rest of my day.  There will be lots of grumbling and bad, bad words today.  So here is what I can offer you today: For the Paleo-ish pancakes:  3 bananas, 2 eggs, one scoop of almond butter, mixed together really well.  When you pour them in the skillet, make sure to make them smaller than your spatula.  We learned the hard way, they don't like to be flipped so they fall apart easily.  Whatever you don't eat, put in the fridge.  They are just as good cold as warm.  I bring mine to work and snack on them throughout the day.

Heres a sampling of the training "BRICKS" (Shit Bricks) Mike has me doing through September 2:

August 13-19: 2) Bricks 1.5 hours bike then 35 minute run.  2) swim 3 intervals pf 5 mins with swim lanyard with 2 mins rest.

August 20-26: 2) Bricks 2 hours bike and 40 minute run. 2) Swim 4 times 5 minute intervals with lanyard with 2 minutes of rest.

August 27-September 2: 2) Bricks 2 hours 30 mins bike followed by one hour run. 2) Swim 3 times at 7 minute intervals with swim lanyard and 1 minute 30 seconds rest in between

After a 15 minute warm up on trainer, concentrate on incline trainer work.  Stand up and crank when tired..spin for last 5 minutes before going for your run.

Enjoy your day, Be safe and Be good to each other ~ T


"The Lion and The Gazelle"

When I was growing up, I was not necessarily a quiet child.  I wasn’t a very loud one either. I was always the kind of kid who observed everything around me.  I took it all in, processed it and figured out what was going on. I never really spoke unless I was spoken to.  When I was asked a question or was provoked I would answer or come at you. There really was no in between. I wasn’t the kid who went looking for a fight.  I was the one who if the fight came to me, I would end it.

Not much has changed in 48 years.

At some point, I started to grow up and ease into adulting (there is an undertone of sarcasm here that would otherwise go completely undetected unless I point it out).  People appreciated my drive, tenacity and “tell it like it is” personality. I was the girl who if you asked me a question you better be prepared for an honest answer because that is all you will get.  “Are you sure you want me to answer that? ‘Cause it’s going to hurt” is my typical response. I was referred to as a leader and that is where I fall in line in both my social circle as well as professional one. “My pack”

I am a Leo.  Without really having to go into too much detail, I fit the personality profile perfectly if you believe in that kind of thing.  I am action oriented, warm hearted, I have an insatiable drive to succeed and I am not afraid to let people know I mean business.

A few months ago, I was watching some Ironman motivational videos.  (YouTube is life!) While on the Medic truck, I will sit between calls and watch these amazing athletes crush the sport of triathlon.  This of course, initially bothered Ed. It wasn’t until he began watching them with me that he began to understand. One one of my shifts, I came in more sore and tired then normal for a 07:00 start time.   That morning, I had spent an hour on the virtual bike trainer doing blocks of high intensity intervals to help with my fear of the hills in Lake Placid. Being not just a lifelong friend but partner, he listened graciously.  I grumbled something about “embracing the suck” and “this shit is hard” then Ed said “Tracy, you understand that the reason this is hard, is because IT IS. Your doing things a human body is not designed to do. Literally. Humans are not physically designed to run marathons, let alone a triathlon.”  Uhhhhh. Well, SHIT. Point taken.

One of my favorite videos to watch is “Wired Differently”.  It is that one video that gets my blood pumping and makes me want to go out and break land speed records. (In actuality, I’ll be lucky if I don’t trip over my own feet and roll backwards down a hill. GRAVITY.)  There is a part where Eric Thomas is speaking about the difference Lion and the Gazelle, how they are wired differently. “When a gazelle sees a Lion because of how he’s wired, automatically fear takes over. When a Lion sees a Gazelle, He lights up.  It’s SHOWTIME. The hunt is obviously what I was made for” I took that, memorized it and put it away.

While in Lake Placid a few weeks ago for my family’s annual vacation, my Best Friend, Melissa and I were talking about the personality differences in each person in the house.  (10 of us) She and my Father, Sid are both Taurus, the Bull. Jake and I are lions. Courtney is a Cancer and at 14 years old, she is in fact, a crab. (especially in the mornings) I started telling her the story of the “Lion and the Gazelle” then broke out the ipad so she could watch the video.  She watched intently. She got it. We spoke about the amount of commitment that trying to be an endurance athlete takes. I reminded her that the only thing stopping her from doing it also was herself.

Later that day, Michael signed me up for a sprint Triathlon after our Open Water Swim practice in Mirror Lake.  High Peaks Cyclery has a summer series Sprint Tri every Monday night (.35 mile swim, 12.5 mile bike, 3.1 mile run).  It’s fantastic. I’ll “Tri” anything, I thought. (see what I did there??)

I took my time, as the water is my worst suit especially getting in with a hundred people. I got out, transitioned and got on my bike. At mile 6, I threw up whatever I had in my stomach. The bike sucked. On the last 2 miles, at the hardest point for this race coming up to Main Street, my right leg gave out and I fell off the bike in grand fashion. I picked myself up, walked off the pain, got the hell back on the bike, clipped in and finished. I came into the transition with my right hand bleeding, black and blue and unable to make a fist.  Walking was hard, My hip felt like it was out.

Immediately, Mel knew something was wrong. Courtney came up and grabbed my bike and said “what happened?” “I think I broke my wrist” The Paramedic in Mel immediately grabbed my arm to look and said “let me see.” I stopped. Looked up at her and said. I’m fine, if it’s broken I’ll deal with it later.  I don’t need my arm to run.” I saw my quitting as a sign of defeat and with the bigger picture in focus, my inability to finish a 70.3. I refused to stop this far in. Mel bent down next to me to help me ties my sneakers. She whispered to me. “When the Lion sees the Gazelle, it lights up. It’s SHOWTIME.” I looked up at her, smiled and said “It’s Showtime”.

I stood up, transitioned out and I began the run. The first half of this 3.1 miles is completely uphill.  Somehow, I managed to pull off reverse splits. As I came down to the bottom of Mirror lake, toward the finish line, there waiting for me was My family. Cheering me on.

I came in first place in my age bracket.  After this particular race, I cried. I am not a crier, but this time I cried and it was a good cry. It was a validation that I could do this.

I refused to be a gazelle and run from fear.  Fear of failing myself and my goals.

The moral of the story:  In the world of Triathlon: Don’t be a Gazelle.  Be a LION.

Wired Differently - Ironman Triathlon Motivation

Motivational Speech by Navy Seal Admiral William H. McRaven



"You're Nuts..."

Today I had a new partner as my most recent one has left me for Medical School (Yes, Ed.  I am still holding a grudge until you return)

While it was just for today, Art and I seemed to have an immediate understanding of each other.  Our Medic numbers are only a few digits off and we both have experienced what life is outside of EMS.  We enjoyed our day, we had great conversations, saw a few patients, had a lot of laughs and because of him, I actually enjoyed my first day back to work since July 24th.  This was a relatively benign for a Medic Shift in this area (Lakewood, NJ).  So it was an easy day to ease back into the Medic saddle.

For those who don't know me...I am a walking talking shit storm when it comes to bad EMS calls.  The Nurses at Jersey Shore UMC in Neptune always give me a side smile when I walk through the doors and say "we should have known you had something to do with this" It makes me smile at times and others it makes me shake my head.   There is a lot of pressure in my job.  It's a job where you usually only see the worst things life has to throw at another human.  Let's face it.  If you have ever called 911, it wasn't because something good happened.  It was simply a cry for help in desperation or something life altering had just happened. 

After almost 20 years on the Medic truck, I still call my Mother, Joan every night on my way home.  It has become our "thing".  When she sees or hears my name being announced on her caller ID, she always answers the phone in her very upbeat voice and asks "How was your day, honey?" There is always some kind of snarky answer or a long drawn out silence, groan or grumble. (Anyone who has worked in public service knows those answers can vary greatly depending on what the universe has decided to throw at us in between punches of the time clock.) You see, I can talk to my Mom of the things I see, hear feel and experience "on the job".  She understands pressures of the job.  After some persuading by me in the early 90's, she went through EMT school and found her passion.  She loved every minute of it.  But she also got a good taste of how stressful the job can be.    

Today, my answer to Joan was: "Relatively benign for a Sunday in Ocean County, NJ".  Mom giggled. (She does, in fact have the best giggle ever next to Courtney's). While chatting with my Mom and her giving me the run down of her day, she states: "Well, now you can go home, peel off your uniform, climb into your comfy's and go to sleep". I unwittingly let out a sarcastic giggle. "Wait. What?! Why are you giggling??"  "Mom, I decided to sleep in today 'cause it was my first day back to work so I have to do at least part of my circuit tonight".  Mom:  "You're Nuts!" Me: "Well, kinda.  Yeah."  (It takes a nut to know a nut, Joanie)

My Mom and Dad have always been my own personal cheering section.  There were 7 of us growing up.  With my Dad working so much to support us, she tried her best to get to every sporting event and cheer us on.  Now, at 84, it's no different.  When I post something about my Tri Training on social media, she always chirps up with a "That's MY GIRL!" comment.  I think she lives her life vicariously through me and my adventures, I don't blame her.  I have a pretty amazing life. My generation of female athletes is only possible because of hers.  She has taught me to recognize and respect that, I do.  I go on to explain to her the amount of pressure I have put myself under as I am 27 days away from my first Ironman 70.3 and I am in fear of not being able to finish it as my body hasn't been cooperating.   She tells me she loves me, tells me I can do it, tells me to please be safe and call her tomorrow during my shift at Jersey Shore.  "I love you too, Mom".  Sleep well, beautiful. 

I disconnect the call through the magic technological person called Siri in my phone and much to my surprise what is on the Radio? Under Pressure by David Bowie and Queen.  It's Jake's favorite song.  I have listened to the words for what could possibly be a million times.  I know them.  But I never really listened to them.  Until tonight.

"Pressure pushing down on me, Pressing down on you no man ask for
Under pressure that brings a building down, Splits a family in two, Puts people on streets.  It's the terror of knowing, What the world is about, Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out', Pray tomorrow gets me higher, Pressure on people people on streets, Chippin' around - kick my brains around the floor, These are the days it never rains but it pours."

All of a sudden, I got it.  Pressure comes from all sources, both Internal and external, some in our control some completely out of our control (like my job).  My fear of failure is my own personal pressure.  It's pressure I don't need.  None of us do.  So yes, Mom.  I'm Nuts.  Im Nuts if I don't think I can do this.  So even though today is one of those days where EVERYTHING HURTS, I'm swollen and exhausted, I put on my sneakers, my beats and my flasher (a gift from Michael for when I run at O'Dark-Thirty in the morning) and I ran.  Only two miles.  I did it for me.  Most importantly, I did it for you, Mom.  I love you. 


Stay safe everyone and be good to each other. ~ T


Janae asked me a question.....

Well, she did and it got me to thinking.  A few weeks ago, my Friend Janae (Emergency Room Doctor in Newark, NJ and Former Paramedic) and I sat around the table at our Medic Station eating lunch.  We were live streaming Heather Jackson kick ass and take names at Ironman Lake Placid and stuffing our faces in between calls.  Janae watched me systematically go in the refrigerator a few times and pull out a few pre packed meals and eat them like I was going to the chair.

"Can I ask you a question, Tracy, Do you follow a specific diet for all the training you do?" My immediate reply was... "Yes!!  I eat everything"  Then I got to thinking.  No one has really asked me that before.  I mean really, I was never handed a guide book on what to eat when you have Auto Immune Disease and Celiac's.  I just knew in the beginning not to eat wheat, what made me feel crappy and what didn't.  Becoming an endurance athlete added a whole new dimension to my meal planning and eating habits. 

Listen, I am just a Paramedic who treats really, really sick people.  I am not a dietician, doctor or endocrinologist.  I just fix dead people, so I was kind of on my own when I got diagnosed.  Having been 2011 when I was, I had the benefit of the world wide web at my fingertips so that is where I started.  I read.  I read more.  I read even more than that.  It would have been easier if I had someone to text, call or guide me and do all of the leg work for me on a whole new lifestyle of nutrition. I didn't, it was just me. 

Let's be honest.  Most public service employees (Police, Firefighters, EMS providers, etc.) don't exactly eat right. We don't eat to be healthy, we eat out of necessity.  We eat in what's usually a super rushed environment, we are never guaranteed to even be sitting down, let alone have time to properly digest whatever crap we put into our mouths.  We have a joke in my house, keep all appendages away from me when I sit down to eat, you might be missing something when I'm done.  Its a matter of conditioning.  I eat fast.  Now I eat fast and I eat right.

I started following certain blogs, websites and reading every article I could.  The resounding theme: think about what you put into your body.  It is a machine that instead of being well oiled and functioning properly, it is in a constant battle with itself.  AID sufferers know the struggle well.  We can't just go out and slam down few beers, eat potato chips or whatever we want.  Well, actually we can but then we pay the price.  Gut pain, cramping, swelling in your face and joints, chicken skin, rashes, I could go on but you get it. 

One of my favorites to read is by, it is titled "7 Foods you should be eating if you have Hashimoto's".  It is a step by step that explains why, what and how our food works in our new AID food reality.  Lot's of B's.  ALL OF THEM! (B1, B2, B3, B9) IODINE. All the dark veggies, spinach, kale, sea weed and my FAVORITE Collard Greens. IODINE. All of the dark fruits.  IODINE. PROTEINS!  Beef and Chicken. IODINE. Salmon. IODINE. Avocado. IODINE. Bone Broths. IODINE. All the oranges too!  Carrots, Sweet Potatoes.  Did I mention Iodine? Good. Cause no one told me how important it is to thyroid health.  Something so simple like switching to table salt that contains Iodine fixes it.  

Here are a few more links to some good sites:

I work long 12 hour shifts.  I get up at 3:45 in the morning, fumble my way to the coffee pot and sit for about 5 mins to figure out which way is up.  Then I start my circuit.  I either run for an hour, bike for an hour on the virtual trainer, or do a combo of both in rapid fire sequence to train the legs that even on a good day I can't feel very well. This shit is hard.  Really Hard. It's a full time job trying find that perfect balance between training time, work, kids, boyfriend, family, proper nutrition and staying healthy and most importantly: listening to your body.  Meal prep helps.  I buy only what I need for a few days, I don't like to waste.  I cook and pre pack everything to save time.  My time after work is spent preparing whatever I need to get me through the next shift, while tackling homework, sports, college shopping and social calendars for Jake and Courtney.  And the Laundry.  (Did I mention how much laundry two teenagers produce on top of a Mom who trains for Triathlons???)  

Here is a sampling of my daily meals:

Coffee. UGH. COFFEE, how I love you. (I am a coffee selfie nightmare on social media)

Refrigerator Oatmeal: Certified Gluten free Oats, Chobani Chocolate yogurt drink, chocolate flax and chia seeds, honey and topped with fresh blueberries or blackberries.

Starbucks Unsweetened Green Tea. (I love going there to see my favorite people)

Snacks bags of Almonds (avoiding peanuts) carrots and hummus.

Grilled chicken cooked with coconut oil, usually topped with home made pesto, or some sautéed tomato and parmesan cheese.

My Ka'Chava shake.

Minimum Three liters of water. (I usually drink Essentia 1.5 liter bottles)

Fage 5% yogurt, Kind oats and honey granola a banana and honey. 

Dark Chocolate.  Let's be honest, it keeps me sane and this makes all of my coworkers happy. 

I eat. A LOT.  Michael says "you need to feed the beast" I say I need to not be hangry.  Speaking of, it's time to feed the troops and tomorrow starts a long week on the Medic truck.  Stay safe and be good to your body! ~ T


Well, here we go.

So let me start off where most people do.  With me introducing myself.  My Name is Tracy Connellan.  I was born and raised in Wall Township, NJ falling in at lucky number 7 of 7 kids.  I was not necessarily shy or quiet, just the kid who did her own thing, surrounded by Brothers and Sisters who loved me and taught me all of lifes lessons. I was the littlest one of our clan in both size and birth order.  I grew up busy, involved in sports of all kinds and suffered chronically from Asthma, which I to this day have to struggle to manage on some days.

I went to college, I travelled, I worked, I met a guy, got married, had two pretty amazing humans, Jake and Courtney (Ladybug) and got divorced.  Then, I met my Soul Mate, Michael. 

At some point in my 20's, I made the genius decision to leave my crazy good paying job at UPS for a job being a critical care EMT. I wanted to go back to school to be a Paramedic.  "Are you for real?!" My Father asked.  Yes, Dad, just trust me on this one.  My grandmother, Helen told me on hearing my news, "You know, Tracy.  Sometimes, in life you just have to jump off that bridge and build your wings on the way down" "Besides, God made Paramedics for a reason.  That reason is that they do things that no one else can do, ask Grandpa!"  She was right.  It was my life's calling.

I started my career in 1997 and put 100 percent of everything I had into it.  As a Paramedic, I wanted not to be liked so much as a person, I wanted to be the Paramedic that other Paramedics wanted treating their family.  It has been 20 years.  I have become that Paramedic and my Grandmother was right.  God made Paramedics for a reason.

My whole life, when things got bad, stressful or just all out annoying, I turned to running.  There is something to be said about running alone, It's just you and the road, some really angry music, feet pounding, listening to your own breath and plenty of time to fix all of the worlds problems.  I wasn't a great distance runner, you see.  I was always the 200/400 hurdles kind of runner.  Short, quick, explosive with a general point to prove.  I was little, but damn I was quick.  I had to work really hard to do distance.  It didn't come easy.  

In January 2010, I had a very significant injury to my right leg.  I fell out of the back of a moving ambulance on a CPR call.  Flying out of the back of the bus like Superman, I broke my leg in grand fashion, tearing all the ligaments and tendons in my ankle requiring multiple surgeries to repair all the damage.  I was told I would never run again.  

Well, Shit.

In October of 2011, I got the go ahead with a LOT of not so gentle persuading of my Surgeon to start to jog again.  RIGHT.  I am Lion, hear me roar, I'll show them!

I started out pretty slow but was able to get myself back to an 8:15 mile for those 5k's that I loved to do.  By December, however I noticed that was getting harder and harder to do.  I watched my times gradually creep up to the high 11's, eventually not able to finish even a mile on a treadmill without being completely gassed and in terrible pain.  What. The. HELL, Over.

To the Doctor I went.  "It's your Epstein Barr, It's active again".  No.  I knew that feeling all to well from college and having suffered occasional flare ups.  That wasn't it.  I kept going to the Doctor.  "Something is really wrong here.  I can't think, I feel like my head is in a fog all the time.  I can't stay awake, I only want to sleep.  My joints are inflamed, my hair is falling out, not to mention the chicken skin and rashes and...LOOK AT THIS EDEMA!.  Please help!" More and more blood work.  I was then asked to come back to the office to review.  I had a diagnosis: Hashimoto's Hypo Thyroid Disease with Auto Immune. The best part? I was allergic to Wheat.  Wait, no more hot bagels for breakfast on the Medic Truck?

Well, Shit.

I went from a respectable, healthy 124 pounds in October 2010 to a bloated, puffy and painful 178 pounds in February 2011.  

This is where my good Friend and confidant, Kate Palmer, APN from Jersey Shore University Medical Center came in and saved me from myself.  She set me up with an amazing endocrinologist, Svetlana Fomin helped me set up a meal and exercise plan and I was on my  way.  A few changes in diet and daily medication (switching from Synthroid which has a wheat coating to Tirosint which is a gel cap) and I was well on my way to being a brand new me.  

If it was not for Kate listening, guiding and most importantly believing me, I would not be where I am today.  (You will hear from Kate in a later blog)  I am going to listen to my body and rest now.  This was a long two weeks for me!  My Family and I went to Lake Placid for two weeks for our annual pilgrimage.  I'm Signed up for Lake Placid Ironman 70.3 on September 9th.  I got in lot's of Ironman training for 14 days! 

I'll tell you all about it in my next blog post.  Until then, Stay safe and lead by example. ~ T