The day after I did my not-super-short, but not-really-long triathlon on July 19th, I got really sick with terrible bodyaches and headache and fever. As is true with most young families I know, a relatively little thing like this - a sick mom or a sick kid or a canceled babysitter - throws the delicate balance of LIFE off enough to make everyone in the household miserable and harried.

During the week of illness, I decided that I would not continue training for my half-iron distance triathlon. I was supposed to do it in September, and my training was already bare-bones. Every time I got on my bike, I'd think, "How will I do this for 56 miles? And then run a half marathon?" Never mind the swimming problem, which was that I was not swimming AT ALL.

Giving up the race was a tough decision mostly because I planned to do it with my good friend Sheila, and I knew she signed up for it at least partly because I wanted her to.

But, once I allowed myself to think of letting it go, I felt relieved. No 70-mile race looming on the calendar, just six weeks out.

The worst part about the whole thing was telling Sheila. But of course, she got over her disappointment pretty quickly and is still my stalwart friend and training partner. We'll be running the Twin Cities Marathon together on October 4th, and the training for that is actually going quite well. Sheila did say, however, that she thought my backing out of the Half absolved her of any obligation to do a full Ironman at any point in the future.

That's totally fine, I said. But, I still have a dream of doing one. I think I might treat myself to it for my 35th birthday. The kids will be 5 and 9 by then. I probably won't be waking multiple times each night. And maybe our lives won't be held together by such teeny tiny weak little threads.