The word that I took the plunge and registered for the Ironman is slowly getting out. Two people at work know (one I told, the other found out here), a number of my friends know, and I told my sister. The response has been more of less positive (my sister, being practical, asked if I have told my doctor). I have decided not to tell my parents until sometime next summer. Why, you may ask? Well, let's use this an an example:

During my first marathon in Chicago in 2005, my husband (who was following me around the city to cheer me on) received a phone call to confirm I wasn't dead. That's right. Not dead. My mom had some pretty serious concerns that I was not going to survive running 26.2 miles. So one can imagine her thoughts of a race covering 140.6 miles in one day. (On the plus side, when I called her after last year's marathon, her response was less fatalistic: "I'm glad you're done. Don't do it again.")

On a very positive note, I've quit having panic attacks every hour. I'm sure they'll start up again when the nitty-gritty training really starts, but I'm just kinda enjoying the idea of the race right now. I put aero-bars on my bike (2005 Fuji Bordeaux) and tonight I'm taking it over to Debi's to test them out. I'm not a strong cyclist, and I can use any help I can get. I would coat myself in Vaseline if I thought it would make my more aerodynamic.