faking it until I'm making it - again.

For as long as I can remember, I've laid my clothes out for the next day, the night before. It saves time in the morning, and in my half-sleep daze, I can just pull whatever on. For some reason, tomorrow I have the urge to wear the craziest thing -- black Under Armour nylon exercise pants, aqua Nike dri-fit v-neck, and my black Ironman thin lycra zip up that says "140.6 Miles of Awesome" on the back. That was my goal. I wanted to do a 70.3 before my 35th birthday. Maybe that's still possible, I don't know. Last year I let my Triathlete and Runner's World subscriptions expire. I just didn't have the time. I'm glad I did. Ever since the beginning of these tremors, I haven't picked up either of those magazines. No, that's a lie. I did flip through a Triathlete, and it made me too sad. I think getting out of the city will help. Once I'm back in Chapel Hill, I can go back to the Wellness Center, start swimming, biking, and walking again, and build my strength up in a place that is familiar and medically safe.

Right now, I feel like a phony even putting on a sports bra. It's hard to believe, to remember those days where I would voluntarily wake up at 4:30am, go swim laps, get dressed for the day, go to A&P lab, do freelance work, then go to class. I remember every day and night, that feeling of calm that swept over me the minute I entered the Wellness Center. Like I belonged. The smell of chlorine and sweat and muscle cream. I remember the first time hearing my knees crackle as I walked down my steps. I had to buy joint salve, the tingly kind. No one warned me that I shouldn't shave before I put it on. So not only did I smell like a pine foresty old man, but my knee areas were pretty much on fire that first night I used it.

I wore my rubber Ironman watch 24/7 - no need to take it off. My RoadID was right above it. The constant chlorine smell of my hair was comforting. Slowly, I forged tentative friendships with older people at the gym who were also in the tri club. They helped draw me out of my shyness. I had a place there.

All this is to say that wearing simple nylon sportswear is like, a big deal for me for some reason. I haven't worn any really, since the tremors started. But I miss the girl who did. I miss the girl who went running in the woods with her running group twice a week. I miss the girl who watched old Kona Ironman specials and got chills every single time. I miss the girl who, even when exercising or doing sports, coordinated her Nike outfits and preferred running skirts to shorts. I miss the sound of ground and leaves crunching under my feet as I run on the trails. I miss my running coach, Mimi, who made me think I was a runner. I miss the girl who actually, seriously considered entering the Kona lottery but didn't have the extra money to spare to sign up. I think she's still in there. I just have to find her and get her stronger. No, I know she's still in there. Because I haven't yet heard the words shouted over the loudspeaker, "Jaime, YOU are an Ironman!" But I will. If I have to crawl to and across the finish line like Julie Moss did in 1982, I will.