I had the honor of helping USMES teammate Lynn Mattix share her very personal story on IRONMAN.com.  It was a deeply rewarding experience, and I hope to work on more collaborative writing projects in the future.

Joy Is Enough: Healing My Family and Healing My Self

Editor’s note: Lynn Mattix is the Membership Coordinator for US Military Endurance Sports, which helps active duty and veterans be fit for duty and fit for life through cycling, running, triathlon, adventure racing, and adaptive (wounded vet) programs. Support or join USMES by clicking here.

By Lynn Mattix

The email that changed my life forever arrived September 15, 2015. I was in my office at Guam International Airport’s control tower, where I worked as the Air Traffic Manager. I was spent. The kind of bone-tired that comes on in the last two months of Ironman training, when you’re piling on the big miles, working more than full-time at a high-pressure job, saving all your smiles for your two small children and spouse at home, and in my case starting work on a second graduate degree. But this is how I ran my life ever since I was 16, trying to prove to the world I wasn’t another teen screw-up. We Ironman athletes are a driven bunch, and I was no exception. I had served in the Air Force for nine years, I had a Master of Science in Aeronautics, this would be my second Ironman. I collected certificates, degrees and medals like some people collect classic vinyl, driven by a deep need to prove myself—one that I rarely questioned even as it ran my life.

But that one email would point me down a different path. One email, and five Ironmans (I can be a slow learner).

With a small thrill, I opened the email from Mike and Teri, a couple who had known me for 18 years. 18 years ago I was a scared teenager: ashamed, in denial, and 24 weeks pregnant.

My parents are amazing people but this was an incredibly hard situation, and we had no idea how to handle it. My dad, a quiet, reserved police officer, took me to buy a test; it was pink before it ever left the box. Then it was my mom’s turn to take me to my first OBGYN appointment.

Mike and Teri were the couple I chose to be my daughter’s adoptive parents. They came to doctor’s appointments in the last trimester and were with me the day Alyssa was born. We wrote and visited until she was five years old, and then kept in touch strictly with letters.

It wasn’t until recently that I would’ve thought this story had anything to do with endurance sports, but what I’ve learned is when the going gets tough (and let me say there’s absolutely, positively nothing glamorous about being a pregnant teenager) we have a choice: Stay on the couch or get out and push—hard! —into something amazing.

This wasn’t a normal check-in email, Mike and Teri had big news: “Alyssa really wants to meet you in person again.” I hadn’t seen my daughter since she was five—12 years ago. “She’s not mad at you, she feels nothing but love.”

As luck would have it, I already had a trip planned back to the U.S. for Ironman Florida. I went to Mike and Teri’s house the week before the race, and Alyssa and I met for the first time in 12 years. I cried when I saw Alyssa still had my Air Force basic training photo on her desk. We went out for ice cream, and it was perfect.

At Ironman Florida, I felt lighter on my feet because I had reconnected with Alyssa. My shoes were filled with helium—or joy—it was hard to tell. At Ironman North Carolina the following year Alyssa got to meet my best friend Laura, who was right by my side for everything when I was pregnant. My family was starting to reconnect, reshaping itself around this beautiful young woman.

For me, my teen pregnancy and endurance sports are inextricably linked. I truly believe we are meant to experience adversity and discomfort and challenge. All people. It’s when we are uncomfortable that we really figure out who we are and what we’re made of.

Alyssa is an outstanding high school athlete: she plays soccer, basketball and softball. She also has serious knee problems that have baffled doctors and led to three fruitless knee surgeries, and pulled her body so far out of whack she developed intense back spasms. She is stubborn as hell and played through the pain all through school. She’s not in perfect health, but I am. When things get tough for me on the course I know that she pushes through pain, so I will too.

I didn’t know any of this before I met her. I felt such guilt when I found out. My younger kids and I are as healthy as can be, we have no issues with anything. Our family life is an active one—we go for hikes and play in the great outdoors. If I could take Alyssa’s knee pain for her, I would do it in an instant.

And this is where the fourth Ironman comes in. (Were you counting?)

In June of 2017 I raced Ironman Boulder. This time there was hometown pressure; I now live in Colorado Springs, I’m the Membership Coordinator for a large Ironman-registered tri team (U.S. Military Endurance Sports), I’m an Ironman All-World Athlete. I really wanted to PR on my home turf—but it was not going to be that kind of day. My personal best at the Ironman distance is 12:40 and I crossed the finish line in Boulder in 13:26. But the race was a different kind of turning point.

Knowing there are many times Alyssa had to stop playing a sport because of the pain, I tried to keep that perspective during the race. I can be out here. And there are people who want to be out here that can’t.

My hands and feet were completely numb after the swim, I’ve never swam in water that cold. A volunteer had to put my gels into my pocket for me in transition because I kept dropping them. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to grip the bars enough to steer my bike. The marathon was mostly a walk through Boulder.

Not a PR, but a high point in my life for sure. Because the whole prior week Alyssa was at my house.

While she was visiting, my husband and I explained to our two kids, now eight and nine years old, who she was. They received it perfectly: my daughter was thrilled to have a big sister and my son was extremely concerned about being outnumbered. Having Alyssa there, playing with my kids, validated my soul-searching decision to place her for adoption. This amazing woman was now part of two incredibly blessed families. Two families thriving, which I find remarkable in such a tough, unforgiving world.

Families come in all shapes and sizes. I think our story is a beautiful example of how situations like teenage pregnancy don’t have to be dramatic or negative. They can just be simple and real and full of love, from 20 different angles. Alyssa seeks adventure, just like me. She walks very fast, just like me. And her hair is curly and crazy, just like mine.

She is and always has been part of me, but she is and always will be Mike and Teri’s daughter.

For me “Anything is Possible” means a pregnant 16-year-old, overwhelmed by guilt and shame, can find rescue and redemption. In November, I’m headed for Ironman Arizona, my fifth full Ironman. I will swim, bike and run with no secrets. Only joy about all that has come out of a really tough situation.

And there is one more connection to endurance sports. My compulsive drive to prove myself is gone. I train because I enjoy it. I’m even working on my second Masters knowing I may not finish it. And that’s surprisingly ok. Because the part of me that was driven to train—achieve—collect all those pieces of paper to prove that I was good enough, that I wasn’t still that 16-year-old inside, that part has finally healed. My family loves me and couldn’t be prouder of me. I have a job with a wonderful non-profit (U.S. Military Endurance Sports) where I get to help people every day. I have a strong body that takes me outside to play in nature. And finally that is enough. Finally joy is enough.

This story originally appeared on June 30, 2017 on IRONMAN.com