Last year, after my mother died, and I learned that The Ann Arbor News, my then-employer, would be shutting its doors in July - thereby ending the job I’d waited my whole life for - I decided to register, and train, for an women-only mini-sprint triathlon.

Why did I do this arguably frivolous thing instead of updating my resume and researching career options? I wondered that, too. The mere thought of being unemployed filled me with dread; yet I also couldn’t bring myself to tackle the problem, either.

I was mentally paralyzed in those months. In some Joan Didion “Magical Thinking” kind of way, I thought that if I avoided dealing with the fact that I had just lost my mother and was about to lose my dream job, then none of it would be real.

So the initial basis for my mini-tri registration was probably grief and denial (yay, Midwestern Protestant repression!). But in my defense, I also knew myself well enough to know that I needed to work toward something positive if I was going to get through this rough patch intact.

For everyone’s sense of identity is, to some degree, wrapped up in his/her occupation, but this was particularly true for me. Having been one of those college students who never once spoke up in class, so convinced was I that I had nothing of value to add to discussions, I'd found that the public act of writing out my thoughts and ideas at the News had provided me with a voice, as well as the means to have conversations with myself in a meaningful way. After finally achieving that, how could I stand to lose it?

And although my mother had struggled with cancer on and off for 14 years, her death was shocking in its swiftness. We’d seen her at Christmas only weeks before, and she had seemed fatigued and not quite herself, but none of us - not even my father, who’d been through every minute of difficult these years with her - had any idea what was coming.

My last phone conversation with her was of the breezy, forgettable, “Hope you’re feeling better” variety. I remember little to nothing about it. And five days later, my husband and I were on a plane with our then-9-month-old daughter, Lily, hoping against hope that my mother would be able to hold on until we got there. She couldn’t, and in some ways, this may have been a blessing. But regardless, just as I wondered who I would be without my job, my writing, I wondered who I would be without my mother - the primary witness to my life, from its beginning, and my longtime companion. And while I was still adjusting to my new motherhood, I lost the person I’d hoped would provide me with valuable guidance and perspective.

So with one huge loss behind me, and another one imminent, I trained for a mini-triathlon. I signed up for a community college's endurance swimming class (which amounted to showing up two nights a week and swimming laps for an hour); I maintained the running regimen I'd established in my life long ago; and on nice days, when I was home because I was reviewing a show that night, and Lily was in daycare, I’d go for long bike rides.

The swimming surprised me. I had to start from the ground up, since I’d never been a serious swimmer (I still have no idea how to do one of those fancy-shmancy lane turns). But I came to love how strong I felt after doing laps, and how - after building a bit of a foundation - I could eventually feel pretty zen while also knocking myself out physically, doing longer and longer distances each time. (And swimming laps totally gives you Michelle Obama arms, which is awesome.)

Biking, meanwhile, just felt like child-like fun to me. Yes, I pushed myself to keep a reasonably good pace, but there was something so wildly liberating about being outdoors on a bike path. I often had the sensation of flying. The speed, the smoothness of the ride, the air rushing against me - it was the opposite feeling I’d had at work, where each day, we looked at each other with sadness, wondered what we would all do, where we would all go, and how much we would miss each other.

But the trick, of course, when you’ve got a little one is finding the time for all this training. Usually my husband and I alternate Lily-duty in order to squeeze in time for both of us to run on weekend days and, hopefully, at least one night during the week. Throw in my two weeknight sessions of swimming on top of that, and things get pretty complicated (particularly since I often have one or two evening work assignments each week).

Plus, having never read a book or taken a seminar on triathlon training, I worried that I didn’t really know what I was doing. But I was registered, and I told people I was doing it - that, more than almost anything else, made me live up to my commitment.

And I did. Yes, I struggled a bit on the swim (I’d done zero lake swimming, and the field got pretty crowded after the first turn), but I got back on track, made up time on the bike, and finished with a slightly stiff run. I wasn’t breaking any records or anything, but I finished, and I felt really good about that.

The timing of the race was also nice in that it marked a little more than a year since Lily’s birth, so I felt great about being in really good shape again, and about having my body back to myself (we had just weaned Lily). Plus, as it happened, my high school class was having its first-ever reunion (our 20th) shortly thereafter. At the time, I'd thought that even if I cried repeatedly at the reunion while talking about my job - in what seemed a cruel joke, the event happened to be scheduled for the day after The Ann Arbor News’ closing - I told myself that my old friends and tormenters alike might at least notice my fierce new guns while I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

As it happened, though, I received an unexpected job offer from AnnArbor.com between the time of the triathlon and the reunion, and was thus less likely to be such a weepy mess. Strangely, it seemed like my triathlon plan, born of denial and fear, ended up delivering me through to a better time in my life. And I’m so thankful for that.

This year, I decided to train for another triathlon, and I’m in the thick of that now. No surprise, it’s really hard, once again, to do so, with Lily being ever-more aware of our comings and goings, and with time being at such a premium. But I’m doing my best, and we’ll see how it goes.

My father, who absolutely detests exercise, asked me last year why I was doing a triathlon, and I told him that I needed something positive to work toward. This year, the circumstances of my life aren’t as bleak, and my reasons are less clear. Maybe I just feel gratitude for what the process provided me last year, when I really needed it. Or perhaps I wish to express appreciation for my body, which I ask an awful lot from.

Or maybe I just want those bad-ass Michelle Obama arms back.

Check out Jenn McKee's parenting blog, www.anadequatemom.wordpress.com, to read more. Jenn McKee is the entertainment digital journalist for AnnArbor.com. Reach her at jennmckee@annarbor.com or 734-623-2546, and follow her on Twitter @jennmckee.