An Ironmom's Thanksgiving

I AM THANKFUL FOR

My less than perfect, slow body for answering every challenge that I force upon it-- from an Ironman to the PTA. . .
The silence of a full house when I get home from my morning run and everyone is still asleep. . .
Pony tail ports and thumb holes. . .
Unspeakably loud, obnoxious music that I would not admit is on my playlist, especially about mile 10. . .
My two boys who, I hope, will grow up proud that their mom is an Ironman. . .
The ability to age . . .
Pasta, refined sugar, and beer.  In no particular order. . .
The stretch of Park Ave between Highland and Salisbury. . .
Title 9. . . for good or for ill, it helped make me who I am today. . .
My dad for showing me how to run races and. . .
My mom for teaching me how to cheer for each and every person on the course. . .
Ironman for designing races that sell out in less than a minute. . .
Compression socks and arm warmers. . .
My TNT family for cheering me on every stroke, pedal, and step of the way. . .
10:30 recovery runs and 8:30 intervals. . .
My God who gives me the strength in my mind to keep my legs moving. . .
My husband, who, although less than enthusiastic about all of this, still supports me in these endeavors. . .
My health. . and the fact that they make replacement hips and knees just in case. . .

Happy Thanksgiving