I have been enduring a significant amount of pain in my shins for the duration of this season, thus far. It has been draining and defeating, and before every run workout I dread failure. Tonight was different. For whatever reason, tonight everything was in sync.
As per every typical run workout I had snot dripping down my chin and flying off my cheeks as I sucked in each breath of oxygen and demanded driving power and stamina from my legs. Hail had begun to pour down on my warm, pink skin and I smiled with each step through the slick mud on the narrow trail. I felt refreshed by the cool, fierce pellets of icy rain and the harder it poured, the harder I pushed to keep up to the group ahead of me.
We were putting in a set of interval hill running in Kenna Cartwright park and I instantly felt incredibly free. It’s the only place where I can run as slow as a dying snail with spit dripping from my chin, and mucus plaguing my lungs, and then run as fast as the Kenyans with my arms flailing as wildly as Phoebe in Central Park, all in the same interval. It’s like a sweet mixture of pain and pleasure, and in some sort of weird masochistic kind of way, the pain becomes pleasurable. The more I sweat, want to puke, fall over, or die, the brighter and wider I smile, as if opening my arms to torture. Either that, or I was just relieved to feel the good pain. The kind of rewarding pain that tells you to keep going. The kind of pain that every good athlete feels when they are pushing their limits, without risking injury.
As we hit the seventh interval I felt even stronger, well perhaps mentally stronger. I had already felt the urge to puke my guts out, and my heart rate was pounding hard, but still I was good to carry on. With my legs dripping with mud, my hair matted from the rain, and the salt of my sweat dripping off my lips I bent down to run my fingers through the mud and swiped two streaks under my eyes. Sometimes a little mud on the face is all you need to feel a little bit more tough and little bit more like a warrior before tackling the final leg of a really bad ass workout.
Once at the bottom, I was grateful and relieved to have not only survived, but to have survived strong. Usually at the end of a run workout, especially after enduring miles upon miles of shin pain, I resemble somewhat of a deranged, flailing drunk trying to catch my breath before submitting to defeat in the fetal position on the cold, hard ground. But like I said, today was different; and I’m holding onto that for as long as I can.
Sometimes when I tell people my training stories, they ask me when I have time for fun in my life, and I tell them with a smile on my face that I have fun every day. Reaching milestones, conquering mountains, pushing through the pain, pushing my limits, refraining from puking, and painting mud on my face are some of the funnest and most rewarding things I have ever done.
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Rust2Iron 4 MS
Not unlike almost every other night, I sit here on my couch unwinding from the day with ice bags draped over my legs, recuperating from another week of swimming, biking and running. It’s in these moments of easing my pain with icing, stretching, foam rolling, and massaging that I remember the words of one of my training partners; “Aly, you just get used to being uncomfortable.” And so I’ve come to learn that she is exactly right. Training for Ironman is not supposed to be easy or comfortable, it’s meant to push your limits, and it’s how you mentally handle those limitations that will ultimately determine whether you make it to that finish line or not. So, every time I get that unbearable pain that stabs into my inner shin, I scream at it to shut up and go away; every time my lungs burn and my heart pounds almost out of my chest, I block it out and tell myself to work harder; every time my knee pierces with pain, or my feet hurt, my shoulders ache or my hair flies in my face and messes with my rhythm, I hear a familiar voice that says, “suck it up, princess and put your big girl panties on.” That familiar voice comes from a friend near and dear to me, someone who I’ve never seen give up, and who always stands proud and just keeps on putting one foot in front of the other. She is the strongest woman I know, and even through her battle with Multiple Sclerosis, she continuously lives life being uncomfortable, managing the pain, and always just moving forward. She has been a constant source of inspiration for me throughout life and this journey because she is always in the back of my head pushing me to be better, no matter what obstacle stands in my way. To give back and to say thank you, I am dedicating my race to raising money for MS. After all these long training hours, tears, aches, pains, triumphs, and failures, I want to cross that finish line accomplishing something bigger than myself; something that makes a difference. Please join me in my fundraising journey, and support the cause to help those living with MS by checking out my fundraising page here. Any financial help is wholeheartedly appreciated, but any and all moral support is just as welcome. Thanks to those who continue to follow me as I embark on this wild and crazy ride.
Three-peat hills
It feels like every single week I’m hitting new milestones in my training journey, and doing things I never thought I could do. Every week I am pushed to new limits, and most days I don’t even think twice about taking on the challenge, no matter how hard. With my training partners by my side, my coaches constant voice in my head, and my dreams laid out before me, I am fully willing to puke or pass out to get where I need to be. Whether it’s finding that extra push to beat the clock in the pool, or that extra step to keep pace on the track, or that extra drive to rotate my wheels just one more time on the bike, I am constantly pushing myself, and it feels so damn good. That triumph and rushing feeling of greatness after killing a workout strikes me with an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness, and any amount of ache or pain within my lungs or muscles quickly evaporates.
This weekend I had a hill climb workout on the schedule; my first ever. My idea of hill climbing last year compared to this year are vastly different; like mole hills and mountains.
I teamed up with two of my training partners at the crack of 7am for an easy warm up in the crisp and chilly morning. The sun had broken through the clouds and the sky was a vast beautiful blue, lighting up the asphalt before us. Like most workouts these days, I never know what to expect, so naturally I just always prepare for the worst, and psych myself up for the greatest challenge of my life.
After warming up our legs, we entered the bottom of the first hill at Todd Road. I looked up, shifted down, mumbled some words of wisdom, and off we went. Within the first kilometre my heart rate had certainly elevated and my legs were slightly heavy, but with each pedal I had a good feeling that I was conquering this hill. It was in the last kilometre and a half where my breathing intensified to what sounded like wheezing, my heart rate sky rocketed, and my legs seared with that lactic acid burn. I began to wobble, and even thought of giving up, and literally just toppling over dead on the side of the road. But as always, I looked up to see the bobbing heads of Pat and Vince just ahead of me, and I cursed at myself to keep going. Once at the top, I smiled with joy; one hill down, two to go.
The descent was the perfect time to relax and enjoy the ride down with the wind whipping at our faces as we practically kept pace with the cars beside us. Halfway down and my heart rate had already calmed to a recovered rate, my lungs were no longer aching, and my legs felt fresh again; all in time to do it all over again. So, I shifted my gears, settled in, and while muttering the words of Katy Perry’s ‘Roar,’ I once again proceeded up the hill, one rotation of the crank after the other.
Round number two was reminiscent of the first as it went from easy, to more difficult, a little more difficult, challenging, then to heart pounding, lung burning pain. And as good as it felt to conquer it the first time, it felt even better on the second round.
At the bottom of the third hill, the boys talked about hitting the top and then continuing on to Coldwater Terrace for one final hill. “Some people stop at the roundabout, and some people go for the top,” said Vince. “That won’t be me,” I replied with a grin. The funny thing is, no matter how much I have accomplished and no matter how well I do, I always sell myself short. But when we reached the top of Juniper, and Vince called back to see if I was continuing on, I knew if I didn’t accept the challenge, I would spend the rest of the day in regret, so I called back a quick, “yup.”
As I reached the final ascent, I looked up to see what lay before me, I looked down to see my legs churning the crank and I looked out at the valley below me, and I was all smiles. This wasn’t painful, it was pretty freaking awesome. 
As much as training for Ironman is a physical challenge, it’s a mental one too, and so often you just have to be prepared to find whatever it is within yourself to push a little bit further. Whether it’s been running in snow blowing in sideways, cycling up mountains, or swimming with ninja sticks on my arms and my feet tied together, I always find a way to keep going and to always finish with a huge smile on my face. It felt amazing to conquer the three-peat hills this weekend, and I am already anticipating the next challenge on my schedule, and looking back on this and thinking this was a walk in the park.
Training partners and snowy rides
On this morning’s ride I could feel snot flying from my nose, and as the snowflakes peppered my face with a fierceness that chilled my brain I just bore down and kept going, charging against the brutal wind, one pedal after the other. I knew my group mates were just ahead, and their presence, even as slowly disappearing dots ahead of me, prompted a voice inside my head that almost screamed to just keep going. We were on a three hour ride – the longest I’ve ever been on – and all of us were soaked, caked from head to toe in mud, and slowly losing feeling in our fingertips and toes. There were moments when my glasses were so fogged and splattered with mud that I couldn’t see more than two feet in front of me. The official start to spring was just a few days ago, but it still feels like the dead of winter. Life in Canada can be so cruel sometimes. In the back of my mind, I hoped for some hill climbs just to warm up, but almost two hours in, as I reached the bottom of the longest, steepest ascent I had ever seen, I cursed at myself.
Mid-way through my muscles were screaming at me to topple over the side of the road and succumb to defeat. I was visualizing myself literally just toppling over like a massive heap and never getting back up again. But as I looked ahead and saw my training partners bobbing along, I told myself to shut up and just kept going.
Once at the top, I wanted to jump up and down and proclaim my victory, but with all the veteran cyclists, who have no doubt climbed this hill, and others, many times before, I reached for my water bottle instead, and quietly reflected on my own personal milestone.
On the journey back, we endured a whipping wind, an assault of missile snowflakes and caking mud spray from the roaring passing vehicles. For my first group ride, it was one I will never forget.
Having training partners during these kinds of workouts are like a gift. If I woke up this morning for a solo ride and saw the snow and the wind, I probably would have curled right back up in bed. But when you conquer a training session with a group, you push yourself to do things you never thought you could do. You look at those around you and realize everyone is cold and muddy and wants nothing more than a hot bath, so instead of grumbling about it, you just keep going and you have fun doing it, even if you can’t feel your toes. 
Over the past few days, our group has endured some serious harshness from Mother Nature, which has tested our mental toughness, but we’ve done it together, pushing each other along, and I can’t thank them enough. During this journey, I have come to learn that coaches and training partners are the backbone to our triathlon journey and I feel so fortunate to have a group that, since day one, has pushed me to be stronger and better, even when the only thing on our minds is hot chocolate and a warm blanket.
Puke-worthy workouts
Finding my physical limits face
I’m only two months into the core of my training for the season, and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about the long road ahead and the long road behind me. I am often doing a lot of self-reflection. When you are set to tackle a race of this magnitude there will be long, challenging, and at times, insufferable training sessions, and when your physical limits are pushed, so will your mental limits. And there has been some experimenting with my thresholds. This week has been particularly gruelling. I don’t know how many more VO2 max intervals I can take. It’s been balls-to-the-wall, and I even had my first post workout puke. It was moments after my sweat pouring, heart pounding spin when I began to feel this hot, uncomfortable wave of nausea engulf me with a suffocating grasp. I was on the verge of folding into a heap on the floor. My legs were heavy slabs of lead and I was practically spitting with every breath. It was all I could do to crawl to bathroom where I proceeded to hurl out every ounce of water I had consumed over the past hour. This was the very definition of leaving it all out there. Most normal people would say that’s a sign of overdoing it, but I know my coach would say that’s a sign that you’re doing it just right.
Each of these workouts this week have tested my limits and I swear I’ve had the lifeguards watching me with one foot already in the water, body pains I’ve never had before, heart rates that can only be compared to the beginning stages of a heart attack, and guts churning to the point of expulsion. At this point, I don’t know whether I feel good or awful. Most days I think I’m just too tired to know.
Ice bath. Heart rate went from 88 to 107 upon submersion.
I make it sound like torture, yet, what makes me want to come back for more painful, long, puke-worthy workouts are the successes along the way. Like, being able to swim 50 continuous metres in the pool and not drown or scare the lifeguards, finish a triathlon and not actually die, swim in the open water and discover it’s really not that scary, and run longer than 12 kilometres and not want to die. And, even the failures makes me want to come back for more, because they taunt me to get better. Like, the first time I forgot my feet were clipped in and I toppled my bike, the time I crashed my trainer into the coffee table, the time I had a flat tire and didn’t bring enough spares, the time I couldn’t swim more than 25 metres, the time it took me three months to get rid of shin splints, and the time I couldn’t run 5K without my lungs being on fire. So, yes, the road to Ironman is long, challenging and at times, insufferable, but it certainly isn’t impossible, completely torturous, or even unenjoyable. It’s been a journey of many triumphs, with a few bumps, and, so far, it has been one of the best rides of my life.
Rust2Iron 