People keep asking me how I feel. They expect me to be scared or nervous...or both. And quite honestly, that's what I expected, too.

But truth be told, I'm neither. I keep waiting for those feelings to come. For the jittery panic to set it. For things to lose focus and to get caught up in the hugeness of it all.

I thought it would come when I first walked through Ironman Village. Nothing.

I thought it would come at registration yesterday. Nothing.

I thought, maybe, it would come at the Ironman store, or seeing all of the buffed-up Ironmen and Women walking around the square, or when I started to set out my gear. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

I'm strangely calm in the midst of all of this -- a technique I think I've learned through horse showing. Showing horses -- especially at big shows like Congress and the World show where the warm-up rings, holding pens, and the grounds in general are like a nine-ring circus -- nerves are not only useless; they're dangerous. Some riders might have had good goes with jangled nerves, but those rides are flukes. The riders who win, who put in completely solid rides, are in total control of their emotions. They don't get themselves all riled up with thoughts of "Ohmygosh, this is the WORLD show. There's so-and-so, and so-and-so...and what if I mess up. What if I miss a stride" and on and on. They treat it as just another ride around just another course.

I'm trying to do the same with Ironman. And, apparently, it's working.

Like last night, when, at the recommendation of my coach I tried "floating."

From what I've read, athletes like pro football players and Olympic track stars have been using floating since the early 80's.

I can see why.

First of all, it's an incredibly relaxing experience. You lie in a dark tank in 18-inches of water in which 1,000 pounds of epsom salts have been dissolved. It's completely dark, and the temperature of the water and the air inside the tank matches the surface temperature of your skin, so you do literally feel like you're floating.

Some people spend the time meditating. Some fall asleep. I decided well ahead of time to spend the hour visualizing.

I visualized race morning -- waking up, getting dressed, walking up to the square (with my wetsuit, Xt4!), visualizing before the race in the Terrace's hallway (not often you can visualize yourself visualizing, but hey, Ironman's not your everyday experience), and bobbing in the water before the cannon went off. I visualized the noise, the crowd, the energy, and staying calm throughout. Horse show calm. I visualized getting kicked and batted around on the first lap, and finding my own space as well as being tired in my arms and neck and shoulders on the second. I saw myself getting out of the water, disoriented, and taking my time to get oriented and find a stripper. I visualized that I'd feel tired running up the helix and I wouldn't let that bother me. I visualized telling myself that it would be a long, long day, and I'd feel tired at lots of times throughout.

Then I visualized the bike course. The whole thing: the large rollers of Whalen, the climb on Valley Road that never looks like much but sucks my breath like a vacuum, the dreaded (for me) Route G and it's little climbs that never feel little, the three little pigs on the downslope of Rt. 92, the hill into Mt. Horeb, Whitte Road's rollers, the "wheeeee!" Garfoot section, the dreaded (for everyone) Old Sauk Pass Hill, the next two bitches (which I secretly like), and making my way back into Verona (which always feels long, but will hopefully be better because of the great crowds on raceday). Then I did it again. And I tried to envision how I'd feel on the way back. Tired, maybe, on Whalen, but at the end of that, it was going to be all downhill. And then I'd get to run.

I visualized getting off my bike, taking off my shoes, and running (or walk-running) into T2. I visualized getting dressed, putting on bug spray, strapping on my fuel belt, and slowly getting my legs going -- out the door and around a few blocks, finding a rhythm before I ran the gauntlet of the great crowd on MLK. I pictured walking through the aid stations, alternating water/food and Gatorade. I felt the desperation that I'd feel at mile 14-18 (because I always do. Those are the hardest.), and telling myself, "Even the Pros hurt. Everyone hurts. Just keep running. The only way out is through." I pictured myself feeling renewed at Mile 20, ready to run the last six miles of this journey just the way I powered through the last six miles of my Dairyland Dare/Olympic Tri weekend. And I pictured the finish line. The sounds, smells, and feelings that would come then.

I left the float feeling relaxed and prepared even more than when I had entered.

And now, I'm off to a massage appointment to get this pesky issue I've been having with my back and neck worked out.

I'll leave you with some pics from registration yesterday, and one of the BEAUTIFUL flowers my DC girls (Anne, Kelly, and Deanna) sent me this afternoon -- thanks so much, girls. Much love!

And as one last note, since this may be my final post for a couple days, I just want to also thank everyone who has emailed me notes of encouragement. Each and every one has moved me to tears (Again with the crying, I know!!!), and your support and love is overwhelming and humbling all at once. This experience has taught me many, many lessons, the most important of which is just how blessed I really am.