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It's so easy to smile when you're going downhill!

I did it: I finished the Ironman triathlon in Penticton, British Columbia on Sunday.

I wrote last week about how it was going to symbolize something important: that I can push through adversity and accomplish something big. That life is full of possibility. That the fat girl I used to be had huge potential inside her.

And you know what? It does mean all that. But in watching all the hundreds, possibly thousands of volunteers out there helping to make my day safe and fun, I had another thought: it was also about how we can't do anything alone.

Yeah, I swam the 2.4 miles myself. But there were kayakers, SCUBA divers, and boaters out making sure I was safe. There were people there to take my wetsuit off of me, help me change into my bike clothes, and put sunscreen on me before I set out on the bike.

During my 112-mile bike ride, every 10 miles there were people handing me water, Gatorade, bananda, oranges, cookies, gels, and sports bars. Twice people held my bicycle upright so that I could use the porta-potty. And when I had a small mechanical issue on the bike, the roving bike mechanics showed up in less than 30 seconds and fixed my problem in less than 20. Oh, and of course the police officers and course marshalls were out in full force, ensuring my safety (and that I was following the rules).

I returned to the transition area and handed my bike off to a volunteer, who racked it for me. Another person retrieved my bag with running clothes in it and yet another helped me change. I then set off on the 26.2 mile run.

Every single mile, there were volunteers to again hand out food and water. There were medical personnel available should I feel sick or get injured. And more police and volunteers to block traffic and make sure the course was clear for runners.

I also can't fail to mention the spectators. They lined up at the most challenging points of the bike course, probably waiting hours for a quick glimpse of their friend or family member. But they cheered for me, too. And later, on the run, they yelled my name so much I thought I was famous. (In reality, it was printed on my race bib.)

Finally, there was my family. I didn't want them to spend the long day chasing me, but they pretty much did anyway. They drove ahead of me in our car for the first half of the bike, pulling over and hopping out to take pictures. Both kids had cowbells, which they enjoyed greatly and probably drove my poor hubby nuts. They returned to the race course as I was setting out on the run, and five and a half hours later, returned to watch me finish.

And, in all honesty, the very best parts of my day were these: cuddling up with my husband in the morning as I procrastinated getting out of bed and getting ready, and later, when John went to pick up my bicycle for me, sitting on the ground in the finisher's area, one kid on each sore leg, hugging as tight as we could. We were cuddling in part because it was cold; I finished at 10:21 p.m., so the sun was long down, but also because ultimately, what was most important about the end of that day was that I got to get back to my kids.

My Ironman journey was six months of training and 140.6 miles of racing. But it ended right where it started: as a wife to John and a mother to The Girl and The Boy. I hope that whatever comes of this experience, it helps me be better at both. I am so grateful for having their support.

(So...if you want to know my times, they break down like this: Swim: 1:28; Bike: 7:49; Run: 5:43; Total: 15:21 (includes transition). Started at 7 a.m., finished at 10:21 p.m. For the full, 6,000 word race report, see my personal blog.)