How Awesome Is This?

I had a really pleasant surprise waiting for me on my desk the other morning.  Something that still proudly resonates with me now and more than likely always will.  In fact, it might just become my new slogan for life.

Every now and again, HRH  likes to leave me little notes on my desk as a surprise when I go downstairs to enjoy my morning coffee and check my work email prior to taking her to school.  Often they take the form of pictures or simple drawings, other times they’re short silly stories and sometimes, well, sometimes they’re completely inspirational such as this little acrostic poem yesterday:



I mean, really, how incredibly awesome is that?

Just over two years ago, when I did my workouts I went out, busted ass, then came home and plopped my exhausted rear end into my EZ-Boy in front of the boob tube.  Nobody ever noticed and, more than likely, nobody would have cared.  In fact, most people simply thought that I just had a screw loose for punishing myself so hard.  Fast forward to today and, clearly, things are a bit different.  But while I’ve harbored the concern that my Ironman training might take me away from my family more than I’d like, my ultimate fear has been that it might be perceived as ultimately more important than they are in that I’d rather be training than spending time with them.  And while Kelly is more than able to understand my passion, HRH, well, maybe not so much.  She’s only eight-years-old for Pete sakes.  What does she know about training and goals and whatnot, she just wants her cuddle time in the comfy chair and a Disney movie and anything that might prohibit that time could be perceived as an immediate threat.  And who can blame her?  It is.

But, regardless, maybe this is a sign that I’ve been worrying too much; either that or I am currently doing a pretty good job at managing my home and training commitments.  Good for me!  Whatever it is, I am absolutely stoked at this revelation that she doesn’t think I’m either a total wack job or I am consciously dismissing our cuddle time to indulge in my own selfish interests.  Actually, it seems like she’s perfectly fine with it.  Hell, she thinks I’m a rock star.  That doesn’t sound like she has negative issues with it, does it?

Tough?  Energetic?  Awesome?  No, it sounds like I’m doing a pretty good job at whatever it is I’m doing and that feels pretty good.

God help me.

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