The Double: Finding Aloha in Owning my Shit

So I raced back to back Ironman triathlons last month.  And it was easier than I thought it was going to be.  And it was harder than I thought it was going to be.  And it confirmed what I knew on November 16, 2015... that 2017 would be a year of adventures.  Nothing more, and nothing less.  And I'm fine with this.  But also... not fine.  Kind of unsettled. 

No one needs a play by play of 281.2 miles.  Here's the ugly truth:  I was mentally weak.  This didn't happen overnight.  The breakdown occurred slowly between July and November.  I came out of Alaska feeling underwhelmed with my performance but I didn't really feel trained going into it.  And then I continued sorta training but not really for another few weeks until I pulled out of Wisconsin.  At that time I had a come-to-Jesus talk with Hillary because I knew I was not in Ironman shape and I knew the double was creeping up.

And then training happened.  And my numbers (according to Hillary) were good-- "as good or better than they've ever been", only I didn't really know this I just knew that training felt "harder" than I feel like it should have felt.  But I kept doing it, and it was fine.  Some days I felt great (mostly swimming), and other days I felt blah (mostly biking). 

And basically, though my body was training-- my mind was totally not on board.  I had zero confidence.  And in a way I could see this coming.  It was almost like I could see it in slow motion, the train zooming down the tracks at me as I stood there, powerless, and I just couldn't jump out of the way.  I didn't know how to pull myself out of this.  Or I did, and do, but I just didn't execute?  Part of me kept thinking, I just need to be training more.  Eventually if I do enough training, I will nail workouts that will give me confidence.  But time ran out before I got to that point.  And I tried to fake it.  I dug out one of my favorite self help books to cram for some last minute confidence.  But it was too late. 

And so I arrived in Cabo.  I had a chat with my mindfulness mentor, Jess, before I left and she said a few things that really stuck with me.  One worth sharing:  "These are not my thoughts."  You know when you're at registration and cruising through IM village in the days leading up to a race and there's so much anxiety in the air?  And people are kinda rude because they're freaking out just a little bit?  And everyone is on edge?  And on race morning when the tension in the air is palpable?  I just had to remind myself that "These are not my thoughts" and stay as calm as possible.  And actually it was the most relaxed I've ever been on race morning.

My favorite kind of swim:  non-wetsuit

And when shit was going south 40 miles into the bike ride when I was already feeling the effects of dehydration and negative self talk wants to creep in?  I reminded myself, these are not my thoughts.  And I kept trouble shooting as best as I could.  And at mile 100 when I felt like I was having an out of body experience secondary to dehydration, I stayed in the moment and kept myself alert as possible.  And when I was dizzy and nearly to the point of blacking out on the run course, I stayed in the moment, and was rational enough to know I needed to stop and regroup. 

Beautiful.... and brutal...

And I wanted to quit, but I also knew there'd be no revenge possible on Cabo and I needed to finish.  Plus, I'm not a quitter.  So I stopped, and laid on the curb, and ate a bit, and drank a bunch until I saw medical personnel starting to circle around me on their motorcycles and then I got up and ran/ walked, faking a smile and cheering everyone on around me lest they think I AM going to pass out and try to pull me off course.  In the end, I got it done and actually 12 hours for a "bad day" is pretty darn good so it's fine. 

Number one done!

Post double, I tried to assess what I could have done differently.  And a friend had warned me about the lack of water on the bike course.  But I didn't really know what this would look like, having never raced outside the USA.  So what was happening was at every aid station they would give you a bottle of water-- the bottle was about a 16 oz size bottle, and contained approximately 4 ounces of water with a lot of ice.  If I was lucky, I was able to grab 2 bottles per aid station... but with only 500 athletes the aid stations were not super spread out (like we're used to seeing), so often it was one little bottle every 10 miles. 

In the moment I kept thinking, I'm racing...I can't stop to grab more water or fill my bottles, or whatever.  Looking back, I wish I had A) worn a camelbak (this it the only thing that would have REALLY made a difference) or B) stopped, physically stopped, at the aid stations and poured the contents of 6 bottles into my 24 ounce bottles and kept going.  Even when I was in a really bad place-- between miles 80 and the finish -- I didn't stop.  I just grabbed water and kept going and this was a huge mistake. 

All that said, every race is a learning experience and I definitely learned something.  After the race, we didn't stick around in Cabo too long because we had to get back to prep for IMAZ.

My husband came down with "Montezuma's revenge" upon our return from Cabo.  And if he was a 10 out of 10 on the "I never want to see Mexico again" scale, I was about a 3.  Nevertheless, it was enough to make me question starting the race on Sunday morning.  I thought there was a very good chance that I'd end up shitting myself if I couldn't get out of my tri-suit in time.  Thankfully I had a 10 hour and 53 minute reprieve from symptoms after ingesting what had to border on a toxic dose of Imodium. 

The swim was lackluster.  The bike was gawd-awful.  And the run... was actually fine.  Not great.  Not spectacular.  But fine.  After giving up at mile 80 of the bike ride (or maybe long before then), I tooled back into transition and just went through the motions.  I ran out of transition and after a couple of miles settled into a 930 pace.  And I worked for the rest of the marathon to keep my pace going.  I wanted to quit.  I wanted to walk it in.  I wanted to not hurt so much.  But I also wanted it to be over and the faster you run the sooner it's over.

The finish line should be celebrated NO MATTER WHAT.

And here's the kicker.  Racing back to back was not any harder than just racing.  We were so well prepared to do the double that by the time the second one rolled around I had forgotten that I had just raced a week earlier.  I actually think I was in better shape going into the second race, and that coming out of IMAZ I was in the best shape I'd been in since May.  (This is why racing multiple IM in a season can be beneficial!!!) 

Los Cabos- Arizona Double

In my post race / end of season analysis I told Hillary that I physically I felt about 75% of normal heading into the double.  And that's when she pointed out that my numbers were fine... and that I fell apart mentally.  I *knew* this deep down.  But I didn't want to admit it to myself.  Once it was out in the open, I actually felt relieved.  I AM still capable.  Physically.  Mentally?  I can (and need to!) get my shit together.  But to think that physically I might never be competitive again is a hard pill to swallow.  One I'm not ready to swallow yet.  I still have dreams.  And goals.  And things to do. 

And as tough as it is to look in the mirror and say, girl, you fucking gave up... at least I can own that shit and move on.  If I had to look in the mirror and say, your competitive days are over and you're never going back to Kona no matter what you do... well, that would just plain suck.  And maybe I WON'T ever go back to Kona.  I don't have a lot of actual control over that.  But I believe that I can.  And that's 100% of the battle.

So now here we are in off season.  And I'm working on my weaknesses.  Not just mental weakness.  But physical weaknesses too.  Because I want to be strong the next time I am faced with the choice.       



         

Finding Kona: Staying the Course

I have been noticeably absent from writing this summer and I think it's combination time is escaping me and I was struggling with the lack of sunshine and rainbows.  Over the last few months I've had multiple conversations/ reminders from Hillary that what I'm feeling is normal and not to lose sight of reality.  So here's the reality check:

1.  I remember nailing my 12 mile run the day after spring camp ends, when everyone else was sleeping in and enjoying a little recovery swim.  What I forget is that when I found out I had a 12 mile progression run after 5 days of destroying myself I threw the biggest pity party known to man.  Complete with tears.  #notsunshineandrainbows

2.  I remember the feeling of pride after completing the Mt. Lemmon double.  I felt invincible.  I forget crying on the side of the road at Palisades 3 hours into the ride because I was sure there was no way I could finish the double.  And if I hadn't seen Hillary and her group heading up as I descended the mountain I likely would have gone back to my car, tucked my tail between my legs, and driven home defeated.  #notsunshineandrainbows

3.  I remember being so so tired in April, but so fucking strong.  No matter what she threw at me, the hardest part of my day was getting out of bed.  I did not nail every single workout.  But I finished every single thing she asked me to do and I believe that I was rewarded with my (tired + strong) happy place because of it.

The other thing that I've struggled with is the connection with my goal.  The spiritual connection.  The "it" factor.  That one little piece of the puzzle that drives you, keeps you engaged.  Pursuing Kona for so long, and then finally being able to make that dream a reality, and then rolling straight into Ultraman, which is like #findingkona on steroids... you can imagine the difficulty coming down from that high.  I have struggled since May to connect with a "normal" goal.  To feel satisfied in doing normal things.  I didn't realize how much I was getting on an emotional and spiritual level chasing these goals for the last 4 years.  I imagine it's like summiting Everest and then getting back to base camp wondering, what's next?  There are no higher mountains left to climb.

Thankfully that's not exactly true with triathlon, there's always another goal.  Another race.  A faster time.  Higher watts.  A faster swim.  But taking a step back from Ultraman has been, well... disappointing.  I crave that strong + tired feeling from 5 months ago.  I crave that little bit of fear of the unknown.  Prior to Ultraman I told Hillary that if I was going to race UM, and then be too burnt out to race another Ironman I didn't want to do it.  What I didn't realize at the time is that while I would feel physically fine after Ultraman, mentally it would be more challenging to toe the line in something LESS that Ultraman.  And thus far I've avoided doing so.  I joined my sister for a 3 day half marathon series.  I raced the inaugural Alaskaman Extreme Triathlon.  But it's nearly October and right now I'm not even close to obtaining All World Athlete status for next year.

But knowing that I DO want to go back to Kona again, I had to do something to change this mindset.  I reached out to a friend of mine, Jess the YogiTriathlete, and asked her if I could come live in her world for a few days.  Jess and her husband, BJ, incorporate yoga, meditation and mindfulness into their daily triathlon and running training.  They coach athletes and Jess does online meditation instruction as part of this, but I hoped that by leaving my world behind for a few days, and immersing myself in their culture that I could learn to connect with my goals in a new way.  Bring some fresh vision and life to my dreams.  Be all in for those few days so that I can be all in when I line up to race my first Ironman of the year in 6 weeks.

So next week I will embark on my High Vibe Retreat.  Aside from swim, bike and run training with BJ, I will have daily meditation sessions and yoga on the beach with Jess.  In addition we will prepare most meals together in their plant based kitchen.  My good friend, Rachel, is flying in from Iowa to join me for this most amazing journey.  I have watched her embrace life's ups and downs over the last year and I thought, who better to join me on this adventure?  It would be my dream to one day take my whole tribe for a High Vibe Retreat weekend, but for now, the one on one attention that Rachel and I will receive is what's needed.

We're heading out a few days early so I can do some training with my fellow Team HPB mate and my coach.  And we'll soak up some salty sea air and sunshine while we're at it.  I'm sure there will be plenty of updates on Instagram and I'll be back to recap after the retreat!  Happy training!   

Finding Aloha in the Journey

13 weeks.

13 weeks from today I will be racing the Ironman World Championships.

13 weeks from right this very moment I will be mere minutes into the 2.4 mile swim.

Every time I think about my journey and everything that has gotten me to this point I am overwhelmed with joy and gratitude.  As slow as the first half of the year went, time has now sped up and I want to maximize every workout, every opportunity for rest and recovery, every everything that can help me get through race day in 13 weeks.

Many people have asked me my goals for Kona.  I have avoided setting time goals for this race because time goals in general are useless and I think setting them is really silly.  For me.  This is my first time racing on the Big Island.  It's my first time competing in a major championship race.  I do have a rough idea of what I am capable of on a "perfect day".  But I also know that I need to get to the finish line no. matter. what.  Unlike racing in Arizona, I cannot completely throw caution to the wind.  However if I focus on doing what I do every single day in training, and stay in the moment, and stay on top of my hydration and nutrition, everything will be fine.

I'm going to be very honest here and say that the Ironman World Championships scare the sh*t out of me.  I ran the Kona Marathon in 2005 and it was great.  My sister and I were vacationing on Kauai, flew over for the night to run it and then flew back.  It was the same course as Ironman except you started/ ended at the far end of Ali'i Drive (where the run course at IM does the first out-n-back).  It's comforting to know that I've run through the energy lab, granted much earlier in the day, but I did it.  And at the time, I ran a marathon PR.

A few years later when my husband raced in Kona for the first time (2009) I took my bike to maintain my training for IMAZ.  I was absolutely destroyed by the heat and humidity.  I remember going out for a ride one afternoon.  Just an hour shake out.  Nothing major.  I seriously bonked within 15 minutes.  Like, had to sit on the side of the road in the shade of a vehicle to recover, destroyed.  I did my long ride during race week on the Ironman course and it was absolutely the worst 75 mile ride I've ever done.  I remember getting back to our condo and telling the hubs that I never, EVER, wanted to race in Kona.

Obviously a lot has changed since then.  I'm a different athlete, and by the time we went back to the Big Island in 2011 I thought, I could do this.  And that's when I decided to start pursuing the goal (initially chasing the Legacy).

I have worked really hard to change my approach mentally and this past week I was watching the broadcast from last year's race while on my trainer and I thought to myself, there have literally been 40,000+ who have finished this race.  For real.  (Almost) 40 years x 1000 finisher average (this is way low for a majority of years)= 40k.  There is absolutely no reason in the world that if I am on the start line on October 8 I can't be one of them.  None.  Not a single reason.

I will be prepared.  I have a heat acclimation program set in place.  I work every day on making sure my nutrition and hydration are working for me.  I am practicing with all of the gear and methods that I might want to use to help keep myself cool on race day.  There will be nothing left to chance.

The meat of my training is just beginning.  From now until the end of September I will be in full Ironman build mode.  These are the weeks I've waited for and looked forward to all year.  Every day I wake excited and ready to tackle whatever awaits me in WorkoutLog.

I told Hillary after Oceanside that I thought this year was going to be special because I no longer felt afraid, I felt free.  And that freedom propelled me to another podium finish at Ironman CDA 70.3 two weekends ago.  When she asked me my plan for the race, I told her I was going to go as hard as I could on the bike and hold it together for the run.  And I did!  After being first out of the water in my age group, I absolutely attacked the bike course, held higher watts than I've ever raced at before, and still managed to tick off the miles on foot feeling strong.

A few pics of our weekend in Idaho (my favorite race venue!!!):

Post race spin taking in the scenery! #ilovemybike

Pre race dinner.  Ready to smash it!

A little selfie fun at packet pickup.

My gem racked in transition.  Rock star parking!

Ceiling art at Taphouse Unchained.  Post race celebration!

2nd Place Women 40-44!

Next up:  Tahoe Rim Trail 55k!  Finding Aloha in my favorite place to run!

(P.S.  13 weeks from right now I'll be an hour into the 112 mile bike ride....)

What drives me

Earlier this week, I listened to THIS podcast on The Art of Suffering while knocking out some intervals on the treadmill.  As always Hillary's words were thought provoking and I thought I'd share some of my reflections.

I am open about my goals and dreams, and I think sometimes because of that I feel the need to justify why I do what I do.  Sometimes I hear people say things to me or about me regarding my pursuit of "Finding Kona" and I have to try really hard not to take things personally and realize that the perspective of the public is tainted by what I allow to be public.  What I put out there is what people see and judge me based on.

So when I say I am #findingkona and I fall apart in the Texas heat or walk a 6 hour marathon in Lake Tahoe, I shouldn't be offended when someone asks me, "what the hell happened??" (Which someone did, by the way.)  What they don't see is why it doesn't really matter.  Really.  It doesn't make me depressed.  It doesn't fuck with my mental game.  It doesn't deter me in the slightest from believing that one day I will find Kona.  I know I can.  

In the podcast, she talks about how obsession with a goal can be detrimental.  It can prohibit one from performing their absolute best because when in a race situation that is not ideal it is way too easy to start making excuses (for me, I'm not winning so I'll just walk the next aid station) or to allow it to get inside your head and you start to feel worse physically because mentally you're not where you thought you'd be.  For example, if I am so focused on qualifying for Kona (I need to finish top 2 in my age group), and I come off the bike in 5th place-- it can be daunting to try to imagine the outcome that I so desire.


After Ironman Lake Tahoe, I talked to Hillary as I always do via phone.  We recounted the race step by step, broke down what went right (a LOT) and what went wrong (one KEY thing).  We talked about how we are going to address the issues in training and preparation for Arizona.  And then she said something to me.  She said our goal for Arizona is going to be to see how fast I can go.  That's it.  What am I physically capable of, on a course I know as well as the back of my hand and have raced 6 times.  How fast can I go?  This prompted a cascade of thoughts as I released myself from the pressure of qualifying and embraced a new vision.  Not that my ultimate goal is different... but I have zero control over who shows up to race Ironman Arizona- which directly affects whether or not I will qualify.  I have absolute control over my own race execution.  

I emailed my coach after listening to the podcast.  She knows me pretty well as an athlete and can see how my mind works in training and racing.  But I thought she might be interested to see how that side of my brain functions in the real world.

This is what I wrote:

When you talked about lesson number 1:  not obsessing about a goal -- this is something I've thought a lot about.  And what you said to me after Tahoe was kind of a relief in a way.  You said that for Arizona we are going to focus on going as fast as we possibly can and have that be our goal for the day.  How fast can I go.  I've known for a while that I need to not obsess about Kona, but it's really hard not to.  Hearing you say that gave me permission to take a step back and remind myself that this is a process and a long term goal, not one that has a time limit on it.  I honestly love training and RACING, I wouldn't be here if I didn't.  So no matter what happens, I'm still going to be here working on getting stronger and faster.

I started thinking about my other life, and I see the same sort of thought patterns and the good/ bad that comes out of obsession.  My family says I decided to be a veterinarian when I was 6.  As a child I asked for a microscope for Christmas one year (and got one).  When I was in high school I took classes at our local CC during my junior and senior year so that when I started college I had > 30 credits.  English, Art History, Philosophy, but also Calculus, Advanced chemistry and Physics.  I chose biochemistry as my undergraduate major because it was harder and more prestigious than biology or animal science which most pre-vet students are.   

I remember getting a C in organic chemistry first semester of college because there were some concepts that I couldn't grasp.  I had a complete meltdown when I got my grades thinking I'd never get into vet school.  A friend of mine who was pre-med explained a few things and I aced second semester O-chem.  I applied for vet school during my sophomore year of college "for practice".  I had all the prerequisites done so I was allowed to do this.  When I got the acceptance letter it never occurred to me not to take the spot.  It was the only thing I had worked for my whole life.  (I could have deferred a year and finished undergrad.)  

I started vet school at age 19.  I could legally prescribe drugs before I was old enough to drink.  I guess the point is, I know how to channel that obsession and energy over a VERY LONG period of time.  Yes, there were moments when I had meltdowns and worried I'd never get in... but it never deterred me or got in my way of achieving my goal.  

I think in triathlon, I have that same ability to maintain motivation long term.  It is crazy to me how many people are "burnt out" after one season.  I cannot relate to that.  Now, I just need to channel my energy and focus into my new goal for IMAZ.  Kona is the long term goal-- but just like I couldn't start vet school at age 6 because I decided I wanted to... there are a lot of things that I CAN do now to prepare for someday.

I worked for 13 years on one goal.  13 years, during a time in which most people have no thought or care in the world aside from who's going with whom, and what they're going to wear to the football game on Friday night.  I know how to focus and kindle a slow burning flame.  It's like looking through a tunnel and seeing only the end result.  And everything you do as you walk through that tunnel takes you one step closer to your dream.  You can't be afraid of the darkness or the creatures that might be hiding in there.  You simply focus on the light at the end of the tunnel.  And take one step at a time.  

Hillary's response to my email validated everything that I value and believe to be true about myself.  She encouraged me to shift my thinking on race day, but also acknowledged that I am not like most people.  That for someone like me the intense and extremely focused pursuit of one goal IS where the fun is and actually adds to the experience rather than being something that a normal person can sustain for only a short period of time.  She recognized that for me, being "all in" IS the fun, the motivation.  What drives me. 

As I mentioned in the last post, I didn't achieve the goal I had set out for myself on race day in Lake Tahoe... but I'm no less excited and "ready" to tackle Ironman Arizona.  My training the last few months has been unbelievably rewarding.  I have grown so much as an athlete and I can see the gains every single day.  I want nothing more to be on the start line in Kona 2016.  And you'll likely hear me talk about it every day for the next 372 days.  Well, every day except one that is.  Race day in November.            

Show Your Cards: Mountain Man Half

I hadn't planned on racing the Mountain Man Half this year but coming off of Lake Placid I recovered really quickly and was feeling fantastic, so a few days before the race Coach gave me the go-ahead.  We figured it would be a good hard effort to jump start the next phase of training.

I used the opportunity to spend some time with the #bff driving up on Friday for a long weekend.  I haven't been to Sedona since we first moved to Arizona and I had forgotten how beautiful it is.  Literally sitting in her living room staring at the gorgeous red rocks, as they are called.  I can see why they up and moved from the East Coast.

We had a relaxing evening and Saturday morning before heading to Flagstaff.  We stayed with my cousin and his wife in their new place just outside downtown Flag.  Their home walks out into the woods behind the house.  I could totally live there.  Though it might be hard for me to hold down a real job when I'm exploring the woods on foot all day.  Anyway, we met a bunch of friends for an early dinner and then off to sleep we went.

I honestly thought that best case scenario I would be top 4.  There were a couple of notoriously fast girls racing and I didn't think I would be able to defend my title from last year.  But I knew it would be a good day, and I was going to give it my best shot.  You see, I have a new mantra.  A few little words I whisper to myself throughout the day to remind myself of the goal.

It came about after a couple of back to back HARD workouts a week or so ago.  One on the trainer, the other in the pool.  In both workouts, I far exceeded my expectations and when I was logging the workouts part of me thought, This is trouble.  Coach is going to see this and she's going to up the ante next time.  And next time, I might not hit the target, I might fail.  Thankfully, the next thought in my head was, If I don't get challenged in training, I'll never be ready on race day.  She needs to push me so that I can improve.  And I said to myself:  Show your cards.  Log the workout.  Stake claim to nailing those workouts and the next time around, step up to the challenge.  Step up, every. single. time. and show your cards.

And on race morning as we got ready for the Mountain Man Half, I knew that if someone was going to beat me they were going to have to show their cards.  They would have to give everything they had, because that was exactly what I was going to do.  Nothing could be left on the table.

Pre race with my #TriScottsdale teammates!

The 4 girls I had pegged for the podium all lined up on the front row.  I was on the outside and when we got the GO! I took off hard with a straight line toward the first buoy.  I could see JFP on my right shoulder for a couple hundred yards or so and then she seemed to veer right and I was left alone.  I stuck to my plan and swam as hard as I could.

I don't know why, but I seem to handle elevation well.  If I had to guess, I would say it's two-fold. 15 years of consistent aerobic activity builds a pretty big base.  Secondly, in training I'm often pushing the envelope into the phase where I am hugging my anaerobic threshold for extended periods of time, so that when I am swimming in Lake Mary, with reduced oxygen, it feels like every other hard swim I've done in training.  It is uncomfortable, yes, but it is familiar.

Coming out of the water my watch said 26:xx and I did a little jump for joy.  Post race, (as usual) there was a lot of talk about the course being short, or too long, or too muddy, or too cold, or too watery, or whatever.  All I know is that according to my Garmin, the course that I swam was accurate to the half distance, and I swam a PR for that distance.

Exiting the swim in the lead.

I peeled my wetsuit down as I ran through transition.  The emcee announced that I was the first woman which I was happy about.  I figured when the other girls started passing me on the bike I'd be able to keep track of where I was and fight for position.  I grabbed Hope and off we went.

The Mountain Man bike course is 2 loops, rolling hills.  After the first loop there's a little out-n-back that allows you to gauge the competition.  Coach warned me that my power numbers would be low due to the elevation and not to worry about it.  I didn't pay much attention to my Garmin, just rode a hard effort.  On the out-n-back, I calculated the second place girl to be at least 4 minutes back.  And I know she's a good swimmer, so I figured I probably put a minute or two into her on the first loop.  I didn't see anyone else, but I knew my friend LP is an awesome cyclist and I was expecting her to still catch me.

Heading into lap 2 of the bike I glanced down at my numbers and saw that my power output was, in fact, NOT low.  Uh oh, I laughed, it is going to be a painful run.  Mountain Man is a very small race (only 103 starters) so it can feel very lonely out on course.  Loop 2, I was basically alone and just tried to keep my effort level steady.  It can be challenging to stay focused without other athletes around.  Once we hit Lake Mary Road, heading back toward transition, there were quite a few Olympic distance racers out there which gave me carrots to chase.

I. LOVE. my bike!!  2:36:31 *BOOM!*

Running into T2, I was still in the lead.  Knowing that the run course has the potential to destroy, I decided to take it out conservatively.  I chugged up the switchbacks a little slowly, and at the turnaround (mile 3), LP was next female behind me.  She wasn't too far back, but I forgot to check my watch for a time check.  Further down the hill, 3rd and 4th place women were heading up, but I had enough of a lead on them I knew unless I totally blew up, they wouldn't catch me.  I decided to stay comfortable until the final turn at mile 8 and then if LP hadn't passed me yet, it would be balls out all the way back to the finish.

Run course.

I calculated a 4 minute lead with 5 miles to go.  LP is more than 10 years younger than me and I've seen her run.  I knew she had the potential to run me down.  I surged for about 2 miles and really dug deep.  With 3 miles to go I was suffering badly, but knew it would be over soon I just needed to hold on.  With 2 miles to go the #bff (who finished the Oly distance earlier) rode by on her bike.  I asked if she could see LP behind me.  She said she thought I still had close to 2 minutes lead.

Celebration!  5:07:05!!

If LP was going to beat me, she was going to have to show her cards.  It was now or never.  We were running out of ground.  I pushed one last time and I could see the turn to the finish.  I knew it was mine, but I couldn't let up and enjoy it.  I ran across the finish line, high fived the race director, and bent over with my hands on my knees waiting for LP.  She was 1 minute and 3 seconds behind me.  We hugged and congratulated each other.  Eventually I left in search of food, water and a place to sit down.

Post race smiles with the #bff and superstar LP.

I was really proud of this effort for a couple of reasons:  I had a half IM distance swim PR.   My power numbers on the bike were the same as what I rode in Galveston- where I was very specifically pushing the bike.  My bike time (on a hilly course, at elevation) was my second fastest time at the half distance, bested only by my time in Galveston (a flat, fast course).  And my run was the fastest I've ever run on this course.  LP ran eleven minutes faster than me and I managed to hold her off.  I fought for this.  I followed my plan in a race where plans can become derailed easily by lack of focus, overcooking the bike, and taking the run out too hard too early.  I am thrilled with the progress I've made this year and I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but it really is just the beginning.  I have so much room for improvement!      

The coveted alabaster trophy.

Ironman Wisconsin: Uncovering Truth

Wednesday
I climb into bed, the sharp ache of the effort gone leaving only the emptiness of fatigue throughout my body.  The darkness surrounds me and doubt creeps into my mind.  I break the silence.

Me:  Do you think I'm wasting my time?

Him:  (long pause)  Let me ask you a question.  Is this what you really want? 

Me: Yes, I

Him:  Are you willing to keep working?  

Me:  YES, I 

Him:  Are you tired of it?  Do you have a passion for it or has that worn off?

Me:  No!  I really want it.  I will do anything I have to do.  I knew going into this that it was going to be a 2-3 year process.  I'm OK with that.  But... what if I can't?  What if I never get any stronger on the bike?  

Him:  You will.  But it doesn't matter.  Look at it this way, you don't have to be a Meredith.  You can be a Rinny. You don't have to be the fastest one on the bike.  You have to be as strong as you can possibly be so that you can run to your potential.  That is how you will win.

A quote from my coach's recent public speaking engagement runs through my mind as it does now almost daily.  If you're willing to keep showing up longer, and again and again and again, after everyone else has given up ...you'll get to where you want to go.    

Contemplating the road ahead.

Tuesday
I sit on the rickety spin bike with almost no load on the flywheel.  My legs turn the crank and my calves remind me of the effort 36 hours past.  My Garmin 510 is in my hand and I am flipping through my bike ride for the first time.  I scroll through the splits, divided into 4 neat segments of the 112 mile course.  In my mind I know the truth before my coach has to tell me.  This isn't going to cut it.  If I want to get to Kona one day I am going to have to get stronger on the bike.  I upload the file onto my phone, take a deep breath and email the data to my coach.  Is it wrong that I'm almost embarrassed to send her this information?  I am relying on her to help me get stronger, but having no prior power data to speak of, this is my first test.  And I feel like I've failed.  I know this is a stepping stone, and I keep reminding myself this is a process.  I cannot be impatient.  I have to be present every moment.  Do the work.  Keep chipping away at the proverbial rock.  Never give up.

Reenactment of the proposal.

5 years ago we got engaged at this finish line.

Monday
She calls me in the afternoon to deconstruct.  I have been napping and now we're getting ready for dinner.  We talk about the positives from the race.  I tell her it probably didn't look like anything special on paper, but there was a lot of good stuff.  I felt super strong in the swim.  I had an opportunity right at the beginning, literally 5 minutes before the gun, to affirm my commitment to my plan.  He wanted me to line up closer to the buoy.  You're strong, swim with the main pack.  No, I said.  I have to stick with my plan.  I lined up far right to avoid the pack and a subsequent panic attack in the first 200 meters.  My plan worked, I had smooth sailing all the way to the first turn buoy which I reached with the front pack.  

I admitted, the bike ride crushed me.  So many people passed me in the first loop like I was standing still.  I felt like I maintained my effort and kept my pace consistent for the second loop, but I was hurting.  I definitely felt the effort.  But, I didn't get negative and stayed present.  I would not let my mind turn on me.  I remained positive and though I cursed at those shitty, rutted farm roads MANY times, I didn't let the thoughts remain.  I verbalized, took a deep breath, and pedaled on.  We confirmed that I need to take in more calories on the bike, but now that we know what works, we can up the intake.

I fought back on the run.  Despite a bad patch in the middle, I fought back and finished my final 10k strong.  This was a first.  Generally once I've fallen off, my pace continues to slide.  But I was using this race as practice.  Even though I knew my pace was well below the leaders in my age group, I still used other athletes on course to work off of.  I didn't want them passing me.  I fought to stay with them when they did.  This is important work for my progress as an athlete and necessary for me to see that I CAN make myself run hard even when it doesn't feel good.  This was my most important piece of the puzzle.

Sunday
140.6 miles:  11 hours, 49 minutes, 45 seconds

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Finish

26.2 mile run:  4 hours, 24 minutes, 59 seconds.

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Finish Chute

Mile 139.9.  The guy I've been back and forth with all day catches up to me again on State Street.  We congratulate each other briefly as he passes me on the way to the finish line.  He's a graduate student in physics at the University of Wisconsin.  His fiance is on the east coast and couldn't be here to see him finish his first Ironman.  His friends are here and he is in good form.  He'll be fine.  I climb the final hill to the capital.  I make the final lap around the capital listening to Mike Reilly's voice.  When I hear my name, I raise my arms in victory and smile for what feels like the first time all day.  I smile in relief because I'm done and I can stop running now.

Mile 133.4.  I'm walking up the hill at Observatory Drive.  In one hand I have a cup of salty potato chips.  In the other hand I have a double shot of Coke.  I keep telling myself, the race starts at mile 20 of the marathon.  I have to pick it back up.  I had been running strong for the first half, but somewhere along the way my energy dipped.  I have been trying to get back in front of my calories now for several miles.  This is it.  There's another girl in Smashfest coming the other way.  I will not let her pass me.  I pick up my pace a little bit and force my aching legs into the effort.  At every aid station I grab a little bit of calories.  Another Honey Stinger gel.  A cup of Coke.  Perform.  Chicken broth.  Keep the fluids coming.  Pretty soon, my legs begin to respond and recognize my pace.  It hurts just a little bit less and I pick it up a little bit more.

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Run Course

Mile 128.4.  I'm heading toward the Camp Randall Stadium for the second time.  I'm still feeling good but not quite the same as my first 8 miles.  My mind knows I'm too far off pace but this is my opportunity to practice racing.  I keep running.  I see him coming from the other direction.  He doesn't look good.  He's wobbly and staggers a little bit to my side of the road.  He's been puking for hours.  I tell him there's an aid station around the corner.  Go there, rest, and get some calories and fluids.  He tells me he's dropping out.  I keep running.

Mile 120.4.  My mind and my body are reeling.  I have zero recollection of hills on this run course.  I feel like I've been slapped in the face.  A rude awakening.  With the gradual climb through the neighborhood, and the several steeper climbs, I am feeling every ounce of effort.  I stick to my plan taking in gel at regular intervals and water at every aid station.  My stomach has been solid all day affirming that my new hydration/ nutrition plan on the bike works.  But why didn't I remember these hills?

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Run Course

T2.  I'm so happy to be off the bike.  I can't wait to start running.  I dump the contents of my  transition bag on the floor.  I slip into my running shoes, grab my race belt and visor and run out the door.  2 minutes 9 seconds.

112 mile bike:  6 hours, 17 minutes, 3 seconds.

Mile 82.4.  Almost there, almost there, almost there.  I keep telling myself this so that I don't lose focus.  I am counting down the miles till I'm back on the stick heading toward the finish.  The roads on the course are brutal.  Jarring.  My body is trashed from bracing against every pothole and rut in the road.  My bike feels like it's falling to pieces.  My xlab has completely slipped, that happened in the first 20 miles.  My derailleur which was nice and quiet at the beginning of the ride now resists changing gears and is making a lot of noise with the effort.  There are still people passing me, just not as fast now.  And I am passing a few people back.  That feels pretty good.  My energy levels are stable.  My mind is clear and focused.  I am getting this done.

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Bike Course

Mile 32.4.  I can't think about how far I have left to go.  I have to stay in the moment.  One down side of being a good swimmer and an average cyclist is that I am literally getting passed by everyone.  I take a deep breath and keep going.  I have to race my race.  Keep my head in the game.  My watch beeps to remind me when to eat.  I stick to my plan.

T1.  I swam under an hour.  I swam under an hour!  Confirming my progress wasn't a fluke, and sticking with my plan at the start line was the right decision.  I swam under an hour.  How long is this freaking transition?  I am spinning up the helix and into the change tent.  The volunteer is trying to be all calm and taking her time.  I throw my bag on the floor, not even bothering to sit down.  I strap my helmet on, grab my shoes and sunglasses and run out the exit.  I holler thanks! over my shoulder as the volunteer is explaining how she'll pack up everything for me.  I'm gone before she can finish her thought.   5 minutes 40 seconds.

2.4 mile swim:  59 minutes, 54 seconds.

Ironman Wisconsin 2014 Swim Exit

Mile 1.9.  I am going nowhere.  Am I going nowhere?  Why do I feel like I'm swimming in place?  Since making the final turn toward shore I have hit some type of current and literally am swimming upstream.  I kick a little harder.  I try to pick up my turnover.  I can see the exit I just don't feel like I am getting any closer.

Mile 0.8.  This is freaking awesome!  I look to my left as I breathe and I am with the front pack as I converge with them on the first turn buoy.  I feel fantastic.  So strong.  My turnover is perfect, I am swimming a straight line.  Is it possible to get a runner's high while swimming?

Mile 0.0.  The national anthem is playing.  We have 5 minutes till the start.  He encourages me to move closer to the actual start buoy.  Swim with the main pack.  You're a strong swimmer.  I shake my head.  I think back to Texas.  I don't have time to explain all the thoughts running through my head right now.  There's no time.  I have to stick to my plan.  *BOOM*  The cannon sounds.

T minus 3 hours.  My alarm beeps.  It's race day.  

The capitol building in Madison, WI.  Backdrop for the IM Moo finish.

    

 

Ego Trip 'N' Fall

There are voices in my head.  All the time.  Before you go gettin' all high and mighty, there are voices in your head too.  Just listen.  Weren't you just telling yourself, "this chick's crazy!"?  Yep, that was your voice in your head.

Usually the voice in my head is my own.  Sometimes I talk to it.  A few words of encouragement.  Sometimes an entire conversation.  Other times the voices in my head belong to my family and friends.  I hear their words of encouragement.  The challenges they sometimes throw down.  Sometimes I sing songs to drown out the voices in my head if they're being negative or saying things I don't need to hear.  I have to sing pretty loud so I apologize to anyone who may have been racing next to me during one of these episodes.

Last weekend I raced the IMS half marathon.  Now, let's set the record straight:  I have not raced an open half marathon since Dec 2011 (ie:  a half marathon not following a 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile bike ride).  I also have been in full on training mode for my upcoming triathlon season.  I also did not taper prior to the half marathon, though I did have 2 easy days of training immediately prior.

So, now that I've set the stage for you, what do you suppose the voices in my head told me regarding this race?  They said "PR!"  Yep, my ego told me that despite all the evidence to the contrary, I should be able to go out and run the fastest half marathon I've ever run.

Now you can imagine my surprise when on race day, mile one I clock a 7:30 mile (way too slow for a PR).  By mile 4,  I realize that I want to kill those voices in my head.  How could they do this to me?  Is this a joke?  By mile 10 I wanted to cry.  Literally.  I kept choking on the tears that threatened at the back of my throat.  It took everything I had not to stop running as hard as I could despite how slow that pace seemed.

I knew that my husband would be at the finish line and possibly running backwards on course to meet me.  Early in the race I didn't want to see him.  I didn't want to hear him telling me to run faster.  I knew how slow I was going.  By mile 11, I was desperate to see a familiar face.  I wanted to see his form pop into view around the next corner.  I imagined that he would laugh and tell me that coach had texted him, letting him know that my expectations were too high and that he should get out there and cheer me in because the crash from my ego trip was going to be pretty epic.  (Yes, I was slightly delusional at this point).  I imagined that he would tell me that I was doing great, and even though it was slow, it was exactly where I needed to be right now.

IMS Arizona Half Marathon

None of this happened.  I saw him as I crested the final hill a half mile before the finish line.  Yes, he cheered and snapped some photos like the supportive person that he is, but there was no blowing smoke.  I ran through the finish line, exhausted and dehydrated.  I hobbled over to where he was waiting and we headed off in search of my drop bag and the car.  I waited until we were out of view of the main crowd before I cried.  Yes.  I *cried* at a half marathon.  Not for long.  Seriously just a whimper really and a couple of tears,  I was so disappointed in my performance.

My hubby did not allow this pity party to go on for very long.  He reminded me off all the things I already knew about my training and level of preparation for this race.  He reminded me that my goal is not today, but in 6 weeks from now and 7 weeks after that.  He reminded me of all the work I've been doing and how great it is that I can run this well on tired legs.  We went on to enjoy an afternoon of riding our bikes followed by a dinner that I didn't have to cook.  And it was back to training as usual on Monday morning.

Part of me felt like hiding and pretending that I didn't run this weekend.  The people with whom I was shit talking prior to the race (you know who you are!) knew the outcome and didn't rub any salt in my wounds.  The rest of me knew that I needed to own this performance and grow from it.  We all have bad days.  And not that this even falls into the category of "bad day" but when your expectation is out of alignment it doesn't feel too good when reality hits.  I want to set high goals.  I am a firm believer that if you don't aim high, you'll miss.  Only people with supreme talent win by accident.  That is not me.  I race from the heart.  And my heart needs to have a BIG goal.  Something to be passionate about.  When the going gets tough, and I have to talk my way through a race I need to know that when it's all said and done if I reach my goal I will have exceeded all my expectations.

So rather than tuck my tail between my legs, I am owning this performance.  I am owning my ego trip (and subsequent fall).  I am owning my performance from start to finish (which seemed like would never arrive!).  And in the future, when my ego starts talking I will sing just a little bit louder to put it back in it's proper place:  behind the voice in my head that tells me to do work, and give it my all, and run from the heart.

IMS Arizona Half Marathon:  1:41:48

Next up:  Can I match this pace at Oceanside?  I say, YES!!!

Everything's Bigger in Texas: Ironman Edition!

On Friday night, I texted my dad with the link to where he could track me on Saturday, along with the comment, "I'm hoping to finish in 12:30 or so."  I told someone else at the athlete dinner on Thursday night, "top 20."  So with little formality, and not a lot of thought, I laid out my plan for Ironman Texas.  Yee-Haw! 

The Swim
This was my first non-wetsuit swim in an Ironman event.  And actually I've only done two open water long distance swims (ie: greater than 4k) without a wetsuit.  So I had a lot of anxiety about how I was going to fare in the waters of Lake Woodlands.  As always, I lined up in the front on the outside (away from the buoys).

Standing in the water prior to the start I was shaking.  My husband rubbed my arms trying to warm me up, and I didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't cold.  I was terrified.  Those 20 minutes are absolute torture waiting for the cannon to go off.   Once the start was signaled and we began swimming, I was in my element and felt completely at ease.  Magically all of my fears and anxieties fell to the bottom of the lake and I just put my head down and swam.  Swam like I do every day.

The swim is a point to point swim, with 3 nearly equal distance legs.  For the first leg, I thought 'just keep swimming, swim swim swimming' until I got free from the pack and settled into a rhythm.  Then I began to recite my mantra from Arizona, 'I am a strong swimmer.'  I. Am. A strong. Swimmer.  With each stroke and each pull of my arm through the water.  I became stronger.

After the first turn, the pack had thinned but I maintained my position on the outside.  The water was more choppy but I continued to feel strong.  Soon, we made the final turn into the canal.  The last leg of the swim was approximately 1000 meters down a canal which was maybe 15-20 feet wide.  Because it was so narrow and there were many bodies churning through the water it was a washing machine.  I sighted every so often waiting and waiting to see the transition area come into view.  It felt like FOREVER before the white tents finally appeared on the horizon. 

Ironman Texas 2013:  Swim exit

 

I got out of the water and the official clock read 1:23.  This was about 20 minutes slower than my normal swim but I was thrilled.  I had felt strong throughout and knew I would be a little slower without the wetsuit.  What I didn't realize until hours after I had finished and showered and eaten my post- race meal was that I had actually swum a 1:12:18.  The clock at the swim exit was still set from the pro start- about 10 minutes before us! 

I took my time in transition, making sure I applied sunscreen and had everything together for my bike ride through the Texas countryside. 

T1 4:20

The Bike
The Texas course is often described by locals as rolling hills.  Being from Iowa, and having ridden RAGBRAI twice, I was sort of expecting rolling hills.  (Sidebar:  anyone who thinks that Iowa is flat, I invite you to sign up for RAGBRAI.  But please don't say I didn't warn you.)  But as we drove the bike course on Friday, I realized that, in fact, there were no hills, just a gradual sloping of the road. 

On race day, there was no free speed.  I was constantly working for 112 miles.  I was happy to have a single loop bike course on mostly fantastic road surface.  I took it out of transition very easy and maintained my easy pace throughout.  I told myself, once I hit 80 miles I could pick it up.  By the time 80 miles rolled around I was happy to have paced myself so well as I had energy to spare in the final 30 miles of the bike. 

Ironman Texas 2013:  Bike course

I encountered a few minor annoyances during the bike ride.  The first presented as an inability to process fluids and calories.  Everything I ate sat in my stomach for 112 miles (and then another 26.2...).  I never felt nauseated, just full and sloshy.  I tried changing things up.  Taking in more salt.  Taking in less salt.  Taking in more calories.  Different calories.  Less calories.  Nothing helped.  I feel that the heat and humidity were somehow tied to this problem, and maybe I was just dehydrated but I just couldn't get out of this place. 

Eventually my nutritional issues led to cramping of my adductor muscles.  Thankfully, it was not severe and as soon as I felt the cramping come on, I took in more electrolytes and shifted to a lower gear.  It never progressed to the point where I had to stop and stretch, I was able to manage everything to the transition area and even pushed the pace a bit in the final 20 miles. 

The one annoyance that I couldn't control were the "big guys" who would pass me on a downgrade and then start coasting.  As I mentioned before, there was no free speed on this course.  So there really was no place that you could coast and maintain your pace.  This meant that these guys would go by me, and then slow down.  Some even slowed so much that I actually had to hit my brakes to avoid colliding with them as I have to drop back to legal distance before I can pass them again.  Over and over and over again this would happen.  I know if I had been racing the bike course as I did at Arizona last year this would not have been an issue.  But that wasn't my goal for Texas so I had to just deal with it.  I managed to take it in stride and maintain my happy-to-be-here attitude for the entirety of the bike course, but I was happy to see T2. 

Bike 5:58:07.

I rolled into T2, and a good friend was camped out inside the tent.  I asked her if she wanted to walk with me, and she declined saying that her knee was hurting and she was dropping out to avoid further injury as IM AZ is her goal race for the year.  She helped me gear up for the run and gave me some words of encouragement.  I took some time to apply more sunscreen and drank a little water.  I hoped that by sitting for a few minutes my stomach would empty a little. 

T2 7:23

The Run
I loved the run course at Texas.  I know this might categorize me as crazy, or in need of mental help, but it was truly a fantastic course.  As a 3 loop course, there was so much entertainment and hundreds of spectators on course to keep us distracted and motivated.  The aid stations were wonderful. 

The course starts out circling through the woods back to the park where the swim started.  Then we continued through the woods alternating between paved bike path and a lane of the road.  The woods provided some much appreciated shade and protection from the blistering sun.  The middle couple of miles we looped through the most gorgeous neighborhood.  Every singe home was like a plantation.  Huge.  Southern.  Regal.  Beautiful.  It was wonderful to look at and so much fun.  Then we went through the woods briefly again and ended up on the path that circled the canal where we finished the swim.  This stretch was long, hot, and exposed but the sheer number of people screaming and cheering kept me smiling and moving forward. 

Checking out the run course prior to race day.  Beautiful!!

Throughout the run course I had to manage my fluids and calories, just working my way from one aid station to the next.  I was thankful to have brought along a bandanna which I filled with ice and alternated tying it around my neck or my head.  The ice would slowly melt and keep me cool.  I never felt overly hot, just occasionally weak when my blood sugar would drop.  I had a hard time eating on the run because nothing sounded good.  Usually I can take in a little solid food, or keep eating gels and I'm fine.  But with the humidity playing tricks on me, I had to force myself to eat anything at all.  I nearly did a cartwheel when I rolled into an aid station and was offered salted watermelon.  Yes, please! 

As afternoon turned into evening, the sun began to dip lower in the sky.  The temperatures dropped ever so slightly and the aid stations brought out the chicken broth.  By the third loop, I could feel the finish line and with 5 miles to go, I was already celebrating.  I teared up a couple of times thinking about what an amazing day it had been and how happy I was to be nearly done.  My last 4 miles were the fastest of the day as I ran with the hugest grin on my face.  I was about to be done with my 9th Ironman race. 

I had entered this race with a lot of trepidation and anxiety.  I didn't feel ready physically or prepared mentally for the challenge.  What I realized is that without expectation, I freed myself to enjoy every second of the race despite the challenges.  I never had a negative thought.  I never became discouraged even when I believed I swam a 1:23 or had to walk more than I would have liked to.  I allowed myself to race for the simple pleasure of Ironman.  It was a celebration of my strength and health and all the work I've done over the last 6 years.

I crossed the finish line in 12:33:04 with my arms in the air and joy written across my face.  It was the perfect start to my Year of Ironman.

Post Race
After the finish, I wandered into the athlete area and found my husband who had just emerged from the medical tent.  We went through the food line, but I just couldn't think of stomaching the burritos that were offered.  I drank a chocolate milk and then suggested we head off to collect our gear before my hour window was up and I was starving.  (It generally takes me about an hour after finishing to feel up to eating.)  With my medal around my neck, and a smile still plastered on my face we walked the quarter mile or so back to transition to collect our things.  We loaded everything into our car, parked in a garage across the street, and drove our bikes back to the finish line where we turned them over to TriBike Transport.  And then we left in search of the nearest drive through chocolate shake!  We made our first ever trip to Jack in the Box where we had burger, fries and shakes.  With a full belly, we relaxed on the bed and watched movies waiting for sleep to overwhelm us.

Ironman #9 in the books!

Thoughts on IM Texas
Though I wish IM Texas were in March or April, I truly loved this race.  It was well organized, well supported by the community and such a beautiful venue.  I'm already registered for next year!
There is something to be said for southern hospitality and I will never tire of hearing 'Y'all are doing awesome!'  They could probably swear at me with a southern drawl and I'd giggle.  The food at the pre and post race banquet was amazing.  So if you're on the fence about Texas, take a leap of faith.  Y'all will be happy you did!     

Full Circle

Let's face it.  Life ain't always what you think it's going to be.  Over the last 12 months of racing, my mental outlook has run the gamut and come full circle.  Not in a good way.  A year ago, I was preparing to race IM St. George.  I was super excited.  Training had gone well.  I had put in some long, hard miles on the bike.  My run was strong.  I was convinced I was going to crush it.

I was overconfident.  And I didn't have the mental preparation to back me up. 

On race day, the waves tossed me around like a sock in my overstuffed washing machine and the winds on the bike ripped apart my ego.  At 70 miles into the bike ride, I quit.  Walked off the course.

I'm not going to rehash the ins and outs of what happened before and after that, but needless to say I realized pretty immediately that my mental game needed some help.  Pronto.  I began to incorporate visualization into my daily routine.  Visualizing a pattern for race day, leading ultimately to me getting across the finish line.  No matter what.  I worked relentlessly, both in my physical preparation and my mental training leading up to IM AZ in November, and I executed the race of my dreams.

I was confident, and had the training and mental game in place to allow me to get through some rough spots in the day.

Again, I won't rehash every single detail, (*yawn*) but since November I spent much of the last 6 months battling fatigue to various degrees along with recurrent allergy and upper respiratory problems.  Much more so than I've ever encountered in the past.  There are certain things that I know to be contributing-- long hours and late nights at work in particular cause me to lose sleep, further compounding my growing anxiety.  And my lack of proper nutrition...cereal at 8:30 PM does not qualify as an appropriate dinner but when I'm exhausted at the end of the day sometimes it's a stretch to eat anything at all.

Now I'm facing the first of four Ironman races scheduled this year.  I am lacking all confidence in my abilities as I know my training has not been up to par.  I completely let my mental game slide after November and everything I worked so hard for (being able to talk myself out of a negative attitude) has completely gone down the drain.  In every long ride, I get angry that I'm going so slowly and I get mad that my fitness has disappeared and instead of being able to take a deep breath, and move on, I wallow in self-pity and grow more and more miserable by the minute.  I even bailed in the middle of a long bike ride and called a friend to pick me up-  first time in 4 years I've done that.

With 10 days to go, I'm resorting to drastic measures.  I'm looking for any little tidbit to cling to on race day that might allow me to make it to the finish line.  I am fully expecting this to be a learning experience.  As opposed to St. George, where the thought of quitting never crossed my mind prior to the race, I'm entering Texas knowing that every second is going to be one second longer than I thought I could do.  I will get through 140.6 miles because it is the only option I have.  I am finishing this Legacy program come hell or high water...  :-) A little irony for you.

The one trick that just might save me on race day... humor.  Stolen humor.  Borrowed humor.  But, whatever, right?  Those mental games in AZ were borrowed too.  On Sunday, we had a particularly nasty bike ride.  And by nasty I mean that my attitude was horrific and if I was my husband I A) wouldn't have biked with me and B) would have thrown my ass off the side of a mountain.  Thankfully, after allowing me to vent tolerating me venting, he made me laugh.  For some reason, it just seemed to do the trick.  I didn't become magically happy, but it did allow me to stop complaining for two seconds and just ride my frickin' bike.  And the rest of the ride went by uneventfully.  (Or at least I can't remember any more meltdowns after that.)

As we were getting ready to leave for lunch later that day, he grabbed the latest issue of Triathlete magazine, opened it to Jesse Thomas's article and said, "I'll drive, I want you to read this."  The article, written is Jesse's typical humorous style, was about what he called borrowing from the Get Screwed Fund.  He regaled the reader with stories of family vacations of his youth and how something inevitably went wrong.  Car trouble.  Hotel lost the reservations.  Whatever.  And his mom would say, it's OK, we're taking it out of the get screwed fund.  So in situations where it would be perfectly reasonable to be upset about something, there was no need.  It was already covered by the get screwed fund.  You could just relax, get through it, and move on.  No need to stress.

He went on to say how, when he was injured late in the season before an important race, his wife calmly suggested he take it out of the get screwed fund.  Rather than stress about lost training on the run, he was able to rest a little more, stretch a little more, and run a little less.  On race day, he was pretty well healed and at least had the opportunity to have a good race (which he did, by the way).

And in another report, Jesse made mention of a rough swim and feeling like he was swallowing a shit ton of water, being beaten up.  And then he reminded himself, "I eat fish, like, 2-3 times a week.  This is no big deal."  This seriously made me laugh.  Out loud.  At work.  When I should have been doing something other than reading his blog post.

Of course, I eat fish.  Duh.  So when I'm swallowing them whole in Texas, in the non-wetsuit swim where I feel like I'm drowning.... it's OK.  Cause I eat fish.  I'm going to work hard to keep this in my mind when I wish I was anywhere besides the lake in the Woodlands in the middle of a 4000 meter swim without a wetsuit.  I can swallow water, and it's OK.  I will be OK. 

I am taking a deep breath and I'm going to try to just let it all go.  The expectations.  The performance anxiety.  I have to let it go.  Arizona was not a one-time-gig, but it's also not an every-race either.  No one is placing expectations on me, besides myself, and I have nothing to prove.  I think that's the hardest thing I've had to realize.  No one cares.  For real.  12 hours 30 minutes.  10 hours 45 minutes.  No one cares but me. 

If you have any mantras or words of wisdom that get you through a tough race please share them with me.  I'm going to be borrowing from everyone to get through this first race of the season.  Then I can regroup and reorganize my thoughts before CDA. 

Final thought (stolen, again).  Do we train to race?  Or do we train to train?  Most of the time, I would say I prefer to train to race.  Meaning, if I need to cut back cause I'm too tired or change my plan for some reason, it's ok because the big picture is race day.  Right now, the race day seems pretty daunting and I think I'm better off focusing on the training to train.  Just enjoying what I'm doing in the moment and not worry about if I'm going fast enough or far enough. The training is stress relief.  It's what keeps me sane in my everyday life.  Though the race day normally feels like a reward, right now I think I just need to focus on enjoying the little benefits of my daily workout.