Picking Up Where I Left Off...
- Heidi Shortis
- Nov 19
- 7 min read
Where to begin?
The house is quiet, dark and cozy. It's only 5:30 pm, but in mid November - it's pitch black outside, and I love it. My husband is out bow hunting for deer, most likely making his way back out of the woods and to his waiting car. When he gets home I'll ask him, "Did you catch any deers?" An old joke. My son would ask him that each time he came in from hunting and it's one of those things that just stuck...as they sometimes do. Most likely he saw some squirrels.
The dogs are curled up on the couch. Snuggling in the faux fur blankets after their off leash walk in the woods. Stella snores, not so softly. It's a tough life for a Shortis dog.
Most people that I know grumble and complain about the "time change" and the winter months, but they're my favorite. A time to slow down, recharge, reflect, reconnect and hunker down.
Reflection: I've been doing a lot of that these days. When I thought about adding my old blog to my website, I wasn't sure if it would be relevant, or old and outdated. But after reading through all of the old posts - and experiencing more than just a little nostalgia, I came to the conclusion that it was relevant. That was the start of journey that made me the person I am today. Those blog posts are the Me that was just beginning to learn about all of the passions, knowledge and experiences that lead Me to here. To this blog post, to this website, to this new career.
So bear with me, there are many years to catch up on. Ten to be exact- and that kind of takes my breath away. How has ten years so quickly slipped by? But then I think of all of the things that I've done since then and I wonder how all of those experiences and events could have happened in just ten years!
Time is a fickle lady.
Picking up where I left off I guess I'll start with my 8th place trophy in my first mini-triathlon.
When I was six years old my mother sent me to a sleepaway summer camp operated by the local YMCA. She had just had her third child and I think she just needed a little bit of a break. I had never been to sleepaway camp, or any camp for that matter, but I was a super social and outgoing child. Loud and gregarious. Dramatic and friendly. I'm sure she thought it would be an amazing experience for me and a welcome break for her.
I can't speak for what it was like for my mother, but for me it was disastrous. The very first night, around the campfire, the older kids and counselors carried out the tradition of telling the legend of the man who had lived in the woods, went crazy, cut off his ear and died. His tortured soul haunted the woods...specifically around "The Mo".
The Mo was a scary place without the ghost story- an outhouse at the top of the wooded hill, well away from the safety of the tents and bunkhouse.
My second day at summer camp was the swimming test. Even though I was young, I was a good swimmer. I had been swimming in a pool and had taken lessons for several summers. As a strong swimmer, I easily passed the swimming test and was given the greenlight to be able to swim out to the floating dock.
Of course, the first chance that I got I wanted to swim out to the dock. The only problem was that I had never before swam in a pond with vegetation, fish, turtles, snakes, or god knows what else lurking beneath the murky water.
As I was swimming my way out to the dock, some type of grass must have wrapped around my ankle. I completely panicked, sure that it was a snake or an eel or the ghost from the woods. Thrashing and yelling, under water and above, water in my nose and mouth...
The next thing I remember is being pulled onto shore by the lifeguard.
I've been terrified of fresh water since.
Fast forward to 2013
My goal for 2013 was to conquer my water fear once and for all. After signing up for a Tough Mudder obstacle race with a group of friends, which has a lot of water obstacles, and participating in the local River Rat canoe race I felt that I was ready for the next challenge. A mini triathlon at a local pond. 1/4 mile swim across the pond, 4 mile bike and 2 mile run.
One of my close friends and unofficial training partner, Tina, had been doing it for years and gave me the confidence to sign up. The only problem was, she had never seen me swim before. A few weeks before the event, we decided to get together and get in the water. How bad could it be? At this point , Tina knew I was pretty tough- even if I did like to complain my way through the challenges. She was certain I'd do great.
My husband, Kevin, came for moral support- not even he knew just what they were in for.
The plan was to swim out to the center of the pond and back, approximately the distance of the race swim.
If you don't have a fear of water or something else that you can't control, it's hard for me to explain what happens. Completely rational and calm before we arrived, turned into sweaty palms and upset stomach on the beach. Heart palpitations and shortness of breath as I waded into my waist. Full blown hyperventilation and thrashing around as I tried to swim...anywhere. Even when my feet could still reach the bottom.
Shocked and speechless, Kevin said, "you need a noodle!"
After several more tries, with a noodle, and on many different days it was clear I had to either back out of the event or swim with a pool noodle.
For better of for worse, I am stubborn. I really didn't want to swim with a noodle, but I also didn't want to quit. But no matter how hard I tried, practiced, visualized, pep talked I would still have that uncontrollable panic each time I stepped foot in the water.
Race day was hot and sunny.
My bike was on the shore, ready to go with my sneakers, socks and helmet. We, the participants, lined up on the beach awaiting the boat ride to the opposite shore. Kevin kissed me good luck with an uncharacteristically worried expression as I took my place on the beach, pool noodle in hand. Tina squeezed my hand and smiled. I tried not to notice the sideways glances from the other participants at my noodle.
Once on the other side, it all happened so fast. We were standing in the water up to our shins, and all of a sudden the air horn blared and everyone jumped and dove into the water kicking and yelling and splashing, arms and legs and flashes of color.
I stood there, frozen.
Tina yelled over her shoulder, "You've got this! Let's go!"
I took a deep breath, and despite the panic and hyperventilation, I went. Kicking like mad with the pool noodle tucked under my armpits.
I have no idea how long it took me to get across the pond, but I know that I was last. By a lot. I shed tears of relief when my feet could touch the sandy shore beneath the water and I began to wade my way up to the beach. Kevin was waiting for me with a towel and yelling, "Come on, come on! Get your shoes on , get on the bike!"
I collapsed on the soft pine needles under the trees where my bike was propped and cried, "That was the most embarrassing thing I've ever done!"
Kevin was drying my feet, pulling my socks on and jamming my feet into my sneakers.
"I can't!" I cried.
"You are not giving up! The hardest part is over!" He kissed me and handed me my helmet.
I'm pretty sure I cried during all 4 miles of the bike leg of the race.
A smile, a kiss and a pat on the butt and I was off for the 2 mile run.
I finished. Dead last. By a lot.
But, I finished.
Kevin, Tina and our friends congratulated and celebrated.
During the awards ceremony I clapped and smiled and felt happy for the winners and runners up. And then I heard my name called: 8th place in the female category.
What??!! How could that be possible? There were a lot of women who had competed.
Tina explained that there were only eight of us who did all 3 legs of the race by ourselves and not on a team.
"A team?! We could have done this as a team?!"
Tina threw her head back and laughed.
The next day the local newspaper announced the winners, and there I was, Heidi Shortis 8th place in the Packard Pond Triathlon. (it failed to mention there were only 8 solo female participants)
I went on to do the Packard Tri two more times. The second year I did the swim without a noodle and with my husband in a canoe beside me. I was still last out of the water, but not by as much and with a lot less embarrassment. The third year I did it without a noodle or a canoe safety net, AND I wasn't last out of the water. I'd say that's progress.
Some pics from the canoe race, the Tough Mudder and the Warrior Dash
Thankfully there are no pictures, that I know of, of the noodle swim.
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