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Bring da pain!

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My lungs are on fire, my jaw is clenching and aching, my legs are like lead, my heart is pounding, almost out of my chest, and my mind is digging deep to find that last ounce of mental strength to compensate for my body that is on the brink of collapse. My RPMs are barely registering at 25, and I’m fairly certain that I could topple this bike over at any second. My coach is right by my side offering words of encouragement, trying to get that last little bit out of me, and it’s all I can hold onto as tears uncontrollably start to well in my eyes. Finally, he declares we’re done, and instantly my body begins sensing relief. This is the VO2 max bike test, and it nearly killed me.  
When it comes to the science side of sports, I can’t keep up. You show me formulas, equations, graphs, pie charts, symbols or anything remotely related to numbers, and I will look at you with horror and utter confusion – kind of like a child seeing Santa for the first time. Nonetheless, I find it fascinating, because over the last 10-15 years science has really driven sport in some unimaginable directions. Without it I don’t think we would have some of the powerhouse athletes today. So, while I may not understand it, I am, without a doubt, always willing to be a science experiment while someone else does all the thinking. 
The VO2 test was brutal, but once I didn’t feel like I wasn’t going to crumple on the floor and die a slow delirious death, I felt good. It’s just all apart of the process on the road to one hundred forty point six miles. And, anyways, I need to get used to the pain and the sensation of nearly dying, because at the end of it all what’s an Ironman without a little bit of suffering. 

 

 

An adventure on ice

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I live for the simple adventures. The adventures that you can find in day-to-day life that are by no means grandeur, like climbing a mountain or traveling to a far away place, but just simply new and uncharted. On a Sunday morning after a friend presented me with a “no is not an option” offer, I found myself with a new adventure, that may seem simple but was actually quite grandeur. It was one that involved ice, a pair of 20-year-old-can’t-remember-when-they-were-last-sharpened skates, and head to toe armour that made me feel like a two ton linebacker; yes, I was going to play ice hockey. The last time I put on hockey gear, I was 7 and well, the adventure didn’t last long.
Upon walking into the dressing room I felt like a fish swimming into the shark tank; extremely out of place and expected to be eaten alive. Sitting down to gear up I sheepishly looked around before declaring that I had no idea where to start. With a laugh, my friend, immediately started pulling out the equipment and instructing what went where; well no, she pretty much dressed me. Like a 5-year-old I sat there holding out each arm as instructed, then each leg. At least I could tie my own skates.
By the time I was dressed and half the team was out the door I was already overwhelmed and thought I was ready for a break. But like a child being shuffled on stage for their first recital, I was shoved out the door and with a slight nervous stutter step I was on the ice. It was nothing short of a miracle that I stayed on my feet, and didn’t face plant. I already had visions of trying to pick myself back up, and laughed in spite of myself. Slowly I joined in with the others, skating some laps and getting used to the gear. This was easy. In fact, dressed like a linebacker made me feel much more safe and less prone to injury. If I fell my only suffering would be losing my pride. From the bench, my friends, helped guide me through the warm up and laughed at my Bambi-like skills and otherwise complete confusion. Every now and again I’d hear them acknowledge when I did something right and a smile would spread widely across my face. As I continued pretending to know my way around the ice I tried my best to not look out of place, or lost, or new, but at 5’9 with my robust frame I had nowhere to hide. I felt like a towering, uncoordinated giraffe; so much for blending in.
By the time the puck dropped I was ready for my debut. They had me playing defence, which I thought was hilarious because I could not skate backwards. So I proceeded to continue skating forwards while cranking my neck around like a deranged bird trying to find my opponent. This just resulted in confusion and dizziness, and they mostly just skated circles around me all the while probably wondering if I knew where I was going. Needless to say I managed to touch the puck a couple times and otherwise flailed around until they called me to the bench where I was greeted with praise. I couldn’t stop smiling. They said I looked like a natural but I still felt like that awkward, looming giant girafe trying to maneuver from one part of the ice to the other.
Each time they called me back on the ice, I took a dainty nervous stutter step then I was out the door. By my second shift I was sweaty and tired. I was expending all my energy into staying upright, remembering where to be, cranking my neck like a bird and otherwise trying to skate. I was slowly getting the hang of it and after falling down twice and successfully getting back up, I didn’t feel like a complete failure.
We ended up losing by a goal but my usually competitive attitude didn’t care about the score, or how I looked, or really even what I did. I just felt good. I felt like I had ignited a spark in me. On this Sunday, with the wind rushing through my helmet as I unsteadily zig-zagged up and down the ice, I was happy and care free.
I wish someone had encouraged me to play hockey when I was younger – who knows where it would have taken me. But I’m happy for the opportunity to get on the ice now and learn something new as an adult. This is one adventure, I plan to continue embarking on, while learning how to skate backwards and otherwise how to play this game.

Bumps in the road

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Life is bumpy. I haven’t yet decided if I’m Ok with that or not. Sure it keeps me on my toes but smooth and straight, predictable and comfortable are kind of a reassuring thing. Right now, I don’t like bumpy. Right now, I want comfort and ease. I’ve thrown myself a curve ball (we are often guilty of the bumps we face) with a major change and I’m struggling to get back on track. Back on track with sleep, training and figuring out what I’m doing with myself. I’m in a major slump and I have yet to see the light. I thought my first swim back on Monday and a new job would reinvigorate me and recharge my batteries but there was nothing. I had visions of dipping my feet in the cool water and feeling alive again, and sparking back the motivation for my dreams, yet I was a fizzling engine as my tears of sadness just melted with the chlorinated water and disappeared. It was a punch to the gut, and the ensuing workout was a floundering mess like Dory without her Nemo. The rest of the week has been much of the same as my emotions yo-yo, going from loud and bright to quiet and dark. The loneliness, confusion, stress, and worry, and unknown have made me feel sick to my stomach. The long nights where I lie awake watching the numbers on the clock tick away are pure torture.
I know that with time though I will smooth out the bump and I will look back on the darkness with a new perspective and strength but as for now I just want things to be normal. Right now I am longing for laughter as I experiment with new training tools, or a smile as I accomplish something I never thought I could. Those are the moments in this journey that make it worthwhile. Sitting on my ass and dwelling on what was, or could have been, or choices that I made, is not what it’s about. I know I just need a swift kick in the ass but I need it sooner than later because Ironman doesn’t wait for the laggers. Tomorrow starts a new day, and maybe as I dip my toes into the cool water, I will feel that charge I have been desperately seeking for the past week. Maybe tears of happiness will collide with the water and I will feel strong again. Maybe I will sink or wish I was sinking. Maybe it will be good and the next day will be bad. Or maybe as my mom has always said, I just need to put on my big girl panties and get over it. But either way, I’m not giving up, because Ironman also doesn’t accept quitters and I have a journey to complete.

Flailing is my favourite swim adjective

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Waking up at 5am in the dead of winter for a swim workout is fun. Nothing really beats shuffling down the icy driveway towards my frosty car as the chilly breeze freezes me to the core. It’s like a second alarm clock that jolts me awake.
I am nearing the seven month countdown until my half-distance tri in August and two-a-day group training sessions have begun, which means, chilly before-the-rooster-awakes morning workouts. For the past year, I trained alone, which has allowed me to set my own schedule, find excuses to miss workouts, and otherwise avoid early mornings in the winter. But this year I decided to get some coaching to help guide me through more focused workouts, and with group training sessions I now have company and a motivator for getting out of bed, even at 5am in the dead of winter.photo(12)
I find my group on the deck, and my coach looks at my goggles and cap, and says, “Do you have an ankle band?” Staring blankly back at him I shake my head as I look down at his thick black elastic-band and then to the rest of the group, who are all carrying swim bags loaded with training aids. In just the last six weeks, I have seen tempo trainers, pull buoys, hand paddles, and now ankle bands. Gone are the days when a cap and goggles are the only swimming gear required.
As we hop in the pool, Maurice lays out the workout, four sets of 15’s, including free swim, ankle band, pull buoy and pull buoy with paddles. Four sets of 1500 metres? That can’t be right. We haven’t even started swimming, and I’m already confused. At least I know how to swim; I figure I’ll just follow their lead.
As I finish my first set of 15 minutes, not 1500 metres, Maurice, offers me his ankle band. “Here, just loop this around one ankle, figure-eight it around and put this end on the other ankle, it’s meant to make your legs sink.” Oh sweet, you want me to tie my legs together. “OK,” I reply, “I’ll try not to drown.” With a somewhat serious expression, he responds, “Yea, there are a few lifeguards around if you need help.” Oh, so drowning is definitely a possibility. OK. I wasn’t about to tell my coach I didn’t want to do it; I don’t think it was an option.
So I proceeded to literally tie my ankles together and pushed off the wall. At first a mild panic rose within my chest and my heart began to beat faster as my legs sank behind me. This is how I imagine it feels after walking the plank, at least my hands weren’t tied behind my back, but for a brief moment, I wonder if that’s an exercise for next week. I picture myself writhing around like a worm through the water, and then realize I already look like a drowning seahorse or a floundering walrus, so it probably can’t get much worse. While pulling through the water with my dragging, useless legs I found that if I focused more on the swim than on my bounded feet, I was surprisingly OK and in fact not drowning at all, minus some flailing here and there.
Next set, and it’s on to the pull buoy, which I have maybe used once in my life, but I gave up because it felt like a balloon pulling my ass towards the sky. Once again I have no idea what I am doing, so as my swim mate stops by the wall, pops in her buoy and asks if I want to go first, I reply, “no, you go on.” She doesn’t know that I need to first watch what she does before I make a fool of myself. As I look under the water at the placement of the buoy, I follow suit, and carry on. And just as last time, my ass floats skyward. Buoyancy is definitely not an issue for me, so when you stick a flotation device between my thighs, well naturally things will go up. At this point, I wasn’t sure what looked better, my drowning seahorse act or my giant floating bum. I longed to just swim normal laps without the hindrance of an elastic band or a piece of foam wedged between my legs.
For the last set, I grab my hand paddles (the only other piece of swimming gear I own besides my cap and goggles) and continue pretending to be the pro that I am not. With the buoy still firmly squashed between my legs, I keep motoring along through the final 15. At each end, as I attempt to grab the deck with my flipper-like hands for my open turn I can’t quite get my grip, and end up just kind of bobbing like a child on a pool noodle before turning around and setting off again. The ensuing laps are reminiscent of an overweight seal with a slightly dysfunctional back end. Seriously, only I could manage to resemble three different drowning sea creatures in just one morning swim. Maybe it doesn’t look as funny as it feels. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself anyways.
At the end of the session, my head is full with new knowledge and my body has learned a few new ways of getting from one end of the pool to the other. It still never ceases to amaze me just how much there is to learn and that it’s a constant process. Who knew something as simple as swimming, biking and running could be so complicated? Nonetheless, I am grateful for the stories, and even more so for the chance to laugh at myself as I continue on the road to one hundred forty point six miles.

Changes are on the horizon

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I’ve never been one to set resolutions in the New Year. I’ve always just thought of January as another month, where the numbers turn over and a bunch of people start swearing they’ll lose weight, go to the gym, be nicer, and overall become better people. We still have a few weeks to go in 2013, but with or without resolutions, I already know that 2014 is going to bring a lot of change into my life. I just accepted a new job, and I am over the moon with excitement that I will be embarking on a new journey with new challenges. Anyone who knows me knows I need change, and I need it often, otherwise life becomes too predictable. More importantly, though, this new job breathes new life into my training. For the last five and half years I have worked in the wildfire business, where summers are nothing but flames, planes and fire trucks. Between on-call shifts and 12-14 hour work days for three weeks at a time from May to October, the summer can leave me with few precious hours for anything else, let alone, swimming, biking, or running. But come January 6, 2014, I will have my summers back, which means I can focus all of my energy during my spare time on reaching the goals I’ve been dreaming about for the past year. No more 10pm swims after my on-call shift is over, no more running with the Blackberry attached to my hip, no more wondering if the next big fire will interfere with my next big race, no more riding the bike while talking on the cell phone (which, I might add, has almost led to some epic crashes). During race season, my life revolved around work, and I have spent a lot of time over the last year wondering if I could ever reach my goals, especially an Ironman distance triathlon, while working those kinds of hours.  In fact, there were times when it seemed impossible. Now I feel like a weight has been lifted, and it’s one less thing to think about. Now when I see smoke in the air, the only thing I’m going to worry about is how the particulates will affect my lungs during training, not about when my phone will start ringing.