tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12645964632126923642026-10-13T02:56:29.065-07:00triathlon, friends, and being thankfulKatiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comBlogger820125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-78757730371078668862023-12-16T06:37:00.024-07:002023-12-16T19:46:15.143-07:00

It started with Molly getting picky about her food.The details don't so much matter, but here we are anyway. I took her to the vet. A huge mass, an urgent surgery, the relief when the call came, we think we got it all! And then. Another restless night, a pre-dawn trip to the emergency vet, a heart arrhythmia and cancer that had spread aggressively to her liver, everywhere, thieving away her

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-3830869411169363832023-07-11T11:17:00.088-07:002025-03-08T19:30:04.717-07:00

People often ask, when I share that I lost another baby, how many is it for you, now? I try to explain quickly, to get up-over-and-through the place where sharp shards of sympathy rake across the nothing that's left of my rotten and ruined heart. It's easier to speak lightly, to smile and change the subject, to pretend there's really no difference between losing three or four or five

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-88577376124297419382022-06-23T14:11:00.009-07:002022-06-24T09:09:11.544-07:00

Here’s to jeans with a blazer, to furry barking happiness, to something in my life finally working out just a teeny tiny bit the way I hoped it might. Here’s to moving forward. Here’s to being brave enough to try, to leap, to love as deeply as I do. Here’s to getting back in the classroom, here’s to Annie sneezing sand in my face until the end of time, here’s to a garden that’s bursting into

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-43272871453675651712022-06-17T06:02:00.014-07:002022-10-30T13:40:42.098-07:00

Graham spent the first year of his life as an 'only child' dog.He didn't know how to bark until Molly showed up, fourteen pounds of absolute chaos that tried to pull his ears off and stole his toys and collapsed on top of him panting after romping madly and muddily through the backyard. In truth, I was afraid to bring her home, because I thought my love for Graham had taken up all the extra space

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-25187144426111757012022-05-24T09:31:00.020-07:002022-05-25T09:01:47.738-07:00

Most people didn't even know that I was pregnant.In theory, that should have made it easier, when my baby died. Easier than when I miscarried my first, just shy of a year ago now. When I found out I was pregnant again, how I felt was complex. Lucky. Hesitant. Optimistic. Terrified. But it wasn't the fear that threatened to crush me. Anyone who has lived within this loss understands that it was

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-3581863016575481472021-12-19T18:27:00.032-07:002021-12-21T18:01:24.730-07:00

Last year I climbed a mountain on Christmas Day.It's one of my favorite hidden backcountry wanders in Colorado. When I tell anyone about it, I say, I'm taking you to the top of the world. I packed the car the night before and crept out well before dawn, snowshoes and pb&js, carols on the car stereo and coffee in Evergreen. I was parked at the rundown mine shaft by 6:30 and heading up the

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-10614265483698209072021-10-08T06:20:00.001-07:002021-10-08T14:55:29.430-07:00

When I was eleven or twelve years old, I won a talent competition at church. (I've actually talked about this before, but any excuse to post this photo.)It was the first time in my life that I felt like I had done something well. I was never going to be an opera star, or a rock star, or any kind of star, because to be truly excellent and rise to the absolute top, you need to have

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-38732811725433641872021-07-11T20:59:00.038-07:002021-07-12T19:34:03.142-07:00

There is no way to brace for this impact: I lost the baby.I've had to find ways to write it, to say it out loud again and again. It's impossible to sugarcoat it. I can't put a positive spin on it; even me, the eternal optimist, is unable to find some shining way through. There's a really good reason that no one ever talks about this, and that's because it's fucking unbearable. How do you grieve a

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-75156231383766276402021-05-27T06:10:00.001-07:002021-05-27T15:31:06.435-07:00

And now we've come full circle.I'm a storyteller. I said it last fall, in a post weaved through the crappy Snow Patrol song that is somehow marking time around the beginning of it all. I may not do it well, or properly, but it's never so much about the story as it is about the telling, the things I learn about myself as I pour words onto a blank page. Hoping for nothing more than to dig through

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-13976164271815269032021-05-23T15:55:00.000-07:002021-05-23T15:55:51.244-07:00

There is something I have been dying to tell you...

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-16902943778838420922021-05-13T17:26:00.018-07:002021-05-15T09:46:41.206-07:00

I will either win or learn from this experience. That's one of the mantras I carted around with me when I raced ironman. If memory serves correctly, Nelson Mandela said it first, before triathletes imported it for their own abuse. I used to flippantly comment that it meant I was ready to make a whole slew of brand-new mistakes on race day, none of those old tired mistakes would do. For

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-43844772312243608422021-05-06T16:29:00.037-07:002021-05-07T08:23:44.825-07:00

In 2017, I was in the pool one early April morning when something tweaked deep inside my shoulder.I was accustomed to little weird bites of pain popping up, it's normal when you're haul-ass up to your eyeballs in ironman training. I was working more and harder than ever, seeing numbers, times, watts and paces that I had never seen, so niggles were to be expected. We roll through them as

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-24426568063240328012021-04-29T05:14:00.007-07:002021-05-13T18:34:56.351-07:00

I am a creature of habit.My morning routine is kicked off by dogs petitioning for breakfast. I brush my teeth, take my vitamins, get dressed, make my toast, play the silly addicting puzzle game on my phone in the early quiet while I eat and then I'm out the door to move my body. It's always the first real thing of the day, my brain doesn't function until I've shaken off the night with sweat. Once

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-40196299462213427712021-04-22T18:17:00.006-07:002021-05-13T18:34:47.933-07:00

My grandma was one of the best people I've ever known.She died almost six years ago, now. I've tried to use the shape of her memory to guide me, particularly in times when I feel the most at sea. I'd like nothing more than to know that I am making her proud. I wish I could have called her when I started my PhD. It would have tickled her to know that I was going to be a 'doctor.' She would have

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-553076789393199992021-04-15T15:23:00.044-07:002026-03-16T22:13:45.680-07:00

The only place in my life where I ever feel graceful is in the water.I certainly don't look graceful. I've got the general build of an oompa-loompa: short thick legs with all my extra weight around my midsection. I feel dumpy in a swimsuit, especially a one-piece, I wear earplugs and hide my goggles under my cap and I'll just never be anything even remotely close to Liz Hurley when I'm

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-81154957846072242872021-04-08T16:26:00.042-07:002021-04-13T07:19:31.719-07:00

If you had told me a year ago what my life was going to look like today, I might have hauled off and punched you in the mouth.For the past few weeks, I've been rumbling with how to talk honestly about where I've been. It's been so hard to see anything except the brokenness of the world. How much I've suffered, how much I've lost. My life last spring and summer (and fall and winter) was a

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-9151749296222797262021-04-01T20:23:00.076-07:002026-03-16T22:07:10.455-07:00

I got my first shot of the COVID vaccine last week (what a weird and wonderful world we live in).Every state is handling it with a different level of chaos, but my "turn" rolled up in the distribution matrix and after a few days of refreshing five different pharmacy websites, I managed to snag a spot up in Loveland on Friday morning. When I got there, the line was long, there was only one

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-59019101858691420812021-03-26T16:52:00.038-07:002026-03-16T21:57:17.292-07:00

I have a really good memory.It's a curse, not a blessing (also a curse: the number of sentence fragments and selfies in this post so if either of those things chaps you right in the craw, click away now). It makes arguing with me a gigantic pain in the ass, because I will unfortunately remember, word for word, who said what and the precise inflection in your voice when you said it. It means that

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-28431792560954001072021-02-08T21:49:00.030-07:002026-03-16T21:48:27.571-07:00

My greatest fear in life has always been that my husband would die.I had nightmares about it for years, terrifying dreams that broke me awake, shaking and silently crying, reaching over to touch him in the dark. Soon after we met, he told me that he was certain he would die in a car accident, and it haunted me. On long car trips I sat on edge, jumpy, continually bracing for impact.

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-75028051520396316592020-10-08T08:15:00.018-07:002026-03-16T21:41:48.439-07:00

I'm a storyteller.I may not do it well, or properly, or how anyone else does it, but it's what I do. Ten years ago, I wrote a letter to myself on my birthday, the first one. The birthday posts have always been my favorite to work through (likely because the navel-gazing-dial gets set to max). They are far too wordy, grammatical nightmares - just like my academic papers ding-dong! - filled

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-60077237260225100532019-02-18T07:53:00.017-07:002020-10-31T14:44:41.778-07:00

Since I relocated to Indiana last fall for school, my husband and I have fallen into habits about how we keep in touch, all of which revolve around the puppies. I FaceTime him when the boys eat, he FaceTimes me two hours later when the girls are patiently waiting for one of us to say, go ahead.  I get up early, here in the eastern time zone, and usually there are a few texts from

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-37303536292978568422018-10-05T13:57:00.002-07:002018-10-05T13:57:19.663-07:00

A year ago.  It seems a logical place to start. Every October since we transplanted to Colorado, I’ve celebrated my birthday with a ride (and every year, I describe this day; please don't mind as I gaze lovingly at my navel for a while).  I step away from work and responsibility and the ping of the phone to wander the mountains alone on my bike, returning home late in the day, blown

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-75984476677626888222018-06-05T19:31:00.000-07:002018-10-06T14:44:38.589-07:00

He came home at seven weeks old. We had picked out several possible names for him, a whole list crowd-sourced from coworkers and friends.  None seemed to fit.  As we drove up I-95 through light snow, I tried them out.  Winston?  Kalai?  And then a few minutes later, off-handedly to the poet, he smells like a tiny box of graham crackers.  He said, Graham?&

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-78860762471222496122018-03-19T09:45:00.003-07:002018-03-19T17:05:23.451-07:00

In life right now, everything is being measured in tiny increments.  I recently passed four months post-surgery.  I've been exercising again for eleven weeks.  My long run has gotten five to ten minutes longer each week, last Tuesday I graduated from the pink 2-pound dumbbell to the blue 3-pound dumbbell in PT-prescribed bicep curls.  My shoulder can tolerate

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1264596463212692364.post-78040861515042677062018-02-14T09:02:00.004-07:002018-02-14T09:26:06.901-07:00

Lately, I've been studying success. I work with athletes and entrepreneurs, two very different sets of people that share a lot of similar qualities.  They tend to be type-A overachievers who are looking for something in the world to push them to their limits.  These may be intellectual or physical or mental limits, but it's the edge they are searching for in business or sport.  

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10004930640458109084noreply@blogger.com