Most people look at the season of winter with a scowl, dreading the harsh cold meeting the harsh darkness of short days and the freezing chill of ice and snow. When the first snowfall blanketed the city in December, I can’t really say I was really all that jazzed up myself, but two months into the season of harsh darkness and I’m feeling more inspired and motivated than ever. The snow is melting, the air is warmer and everything is falling into place.
This past Saturday morning I was still reeling from an intense week of workouts and heavy mileage, which meant my body was achy, heavy and tired. As I hopped on the spin bike for my morning session I felt as though I was dragging lead legs around in circles on a pointless journey of repetition. In the back of my mind, I started to dread the impending tempo run to follow shortly thereafter.
As my sweat continued to form droplets of tiny pools around me and the heaviness in my legs intensified, I focused on pounding out each rotation and blocking out the negative thoughts of questioning my ability to carry on. Finally we hit the last set, and my legs came to an almost out of control stop. I flipped my feet out of the pedals and as gracefully as a blind elephant I clambered off the bike and contemplated lying down for a nap on the spot. Running a 5K tempo at this point seemed almost crazy.
After changing out of my sweat drenched clothes I walked outside and was greeted by an unfamiliar warm breeze – at least it felt warm for a February morning. Most of the snow had melted and the dark, dreariness of winter seemed a distant memory.
By the time we had finished a couple kilometres of easy warm up I was ready to ditch my long sleeved jacket for a tank top. It had been almost five months since I’d felt so free. The fresh breeze against my exposed skin was rejuvenating. With green mitted hands, black capri pants, neon pink compression socks, and my bright blue tank top tight against my pale wintery skin, I turn
ed my trucker hat backwards and shut off the doubts in my mind. I would no longer allow myself to feel the lead in my legs – it was time to brush it off and find the spring in my step.
For the first few minutes I felt strong and relaxed, even relishing in my freedom of bare skin against the winter air. By kilometre one my heart rate kicked up, my breathing intensified and I had to set my mind into a place of enduring a suffer grinder fest. While only a short 5k tempo, they are mean and gruelling. Despite the pain and tiredness that crept back into my body, I was determined to keep my pace and would not allow myself to fall behind.
As I hit the turnaround point, coach called out my expected finish time, a time I had never hit before, and I knew what I had to do. With each passing half kilometre, I would look at my watch and with each glance I was forced to pick up the pace. My arms were getting heavy, my lungs were heaving, yet the desperation inside me wanted to hold on so badly – I was not giving in. I had set my expectation and I would not fail.
With just a couple hundred metres to go and my goal time ticking away almost as if in fast forward, I swung my arms faster and charged through to the end. I crossed the finish marker and thought my lungs might burst from my chest as I looked down at my watch to see I had hit my time with four seconds to spare. This would mark the fourth personal best I’ve set in the last few weeks and the elation had me grinning that Disneyland happy smile from ear to ear.
All those miles and hours and bad days, angry days, frustrating, bitter, and hateful days of seeing no progress and feeling horrible pain, and finally there is a break through. You start to believe it will never happen, you start to believe that you’ll just keep piling on the hours and mileage without any progress. There are days you want to scream and maybe even cry just a little, and then there are days like this when it all comes together and your faith in everything has been restored. This journey is not easy and it can be full of ups and downs, but when you hit that ‘up’ moment, you must never forget to embrace it.
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Today’s record is tomorrow’s motivation
My heart starts to pound a little harder, I feel a shake in my hands and suddenly the nerves have me hopping out of the pool running for a pee. It feels like the beginning of a race, but really it’s just another one of my not-so favourite workouts, the 800m time trial swim. As I hop back in the pool and find more reasons to put off the task, my swim partner and I finally agree that once the green hand on the giant clock hits the top, we go. During the quiet of the public afternoon swim on a Saturday we are afforded the luxury to split the lane and just like that I have an opponent; someone to chase.
As we count down to the final second, we charge forward moving the water like two hungry sharks. Out of the corner of my eye, I keep Tracy in my sights the whole way, and for the first 200 metres we are almost side by side. With each fierce kick off the wall I just keep telling myself to not let her go and my arms start to reach even further, stretching for as much pull as my shoulders will allow. I’ve already lost sight of the clock and my focus is narrowed in on closing gap between us. On some laps she pulls further ahead and on others I push closer. I loathe the times when I sense her picking up speed, but love the chase. I can start to hear involuntary gasps and gulps as I desperately turn up my kick and feel the burn in my legs and arms. There are even some moments I feel as if I’ll just pass out mid-stroke, but I’m so transfixed on chasing her down that I don’t even care. Finally, beneath the water I see her touch the wall, her legs sink down into the standing position, and then her voice echoes into the water yelling at me to push the last 10 metres. As I reach for the wall and come to a stop I feel the heat radiate off my face and my heart pounding like a drum inside my chest. Almost in unison as I look at my watch Tracy goes in for the high five with exclaims of, “that was awesome.” I crushed my previous time by one minute. The tiredness in my body is quickly replaced a burst of happiness and energy – I call it my Disneyland happy. 
The kind of happy where I might cry, I can’t stop laughing and my smile spreads so wide you almost lose my eyes. This is what training is all about. For almost eights months of the year, six days a week, twice a day, I swim, bike and run. I log hundreds of hours and thousands of miles in the snow, sleet, heat, rain and ice. It’s a long, tough road, and most workouts are not sunshine, rainbows and Disneyland moments, but when they do happen they feel pretty damn amazing. I’ve made the mistake in the past of holding onto my failures and forgetting to enjoy the ride. This past weekend was a reminder that this journey can be incredible and is meant to be incredible. Here’s to holding onto the good feeling for as long as possible, or until the next suffer grinder fest kicks me in the ass and coach wipes this dumb smile off my face.
Wintery playground
A slight burning tingle ripples across my red stained cheeks, partially from the cold wind whipping against my face, but more so from smiley so wildly. I can’t stop gleefully giggling like a child on Christmas morning as I fly through the fresh untouched snow, ripping into the delicate powder with the edges of my snowboard.
For most of the year, my free time is dedicated to training, but in the early season while snow still blankets the mountains, some days are reserved for play. Yesterday afternoon, the snow had been rapidly falling since mid morning and with each passing hour the powder was increasingly becoming deeper and deeper. The backside of the mountain was exceptionally quiet and I was more than happy to be alone to roam the hillside like I was the only person left on earth. Every now and I again I would stop just to listen to the eerie, yet calming sounds of nature around me before carving back into the powdery flakes.
Sitting back in the saddle I simply bent my knees and allowed them to act as shock absorbers as I braced for every bounce and bob, just like surfing tidal waves. I felt like a rag doll, yet somehow in control, as I allowed the ride to go on wherever the path seemed to go. On the verge of face planting on almost every turn, I kind of just bounced back around for the next line and kept going, trying desperately not to bail. Falling in this much snow is like digging yourself out of quick sand; you kind of just keep sinking in.
It’s hard to explain to those who have not experienced it, just how electrifying and energizing the mountain can be. The snow-drenched trees loom as if in a winter slumber, the sparkle of a trillion snowflakes glimmer in the daylight, and the muffled sounds of nature echo against the backdrop creating a breathtaking sprawl of a winter. You really have to get out there to feel it. Whether it’s snowshoeing in the backcountry between the quiet of the trees as you roam for hours in lost solitude, or ripping fresh lines on your board, or tracks on your skis, it’s all just the same kind of play reserved for the mountain.
On the last run of the day, after milking every turn for what it was worth and carving as many fresh lines as I could, I crumbled next to a tree and looked out over the valley. My legs were exhausted, my skin was a mix of hot and cold, and my breath slowly calmed in steamy puffs beneath my nose. The light of day was slowing slipping away and the quietness of the afternoon seemed even more silent. I could have sat there for hours until the moon was the only light in the night sky, but the evening chill reminded me that my day had ended and it was time to return home. Another day with more snow and more adventure would await on the other side of the evening and once again I would play like a giddy, care-free child in my wintery playground.
Running through it all
Winter is here. The sun disappears by 4 o’clock, the temperatures dip below freezing, the sidewalks freeze and so does my snot and eyelashes. Just the other night, I thought about sticking heat packs down my leggings, but instead opted for multiple layers. So far my record is four top layers and three bottoms, including one toque, one balaclava and two pairs of socks. The dreariness of the season makes running workouts feel torturous some days; not all days, but some days. I can tell you that when the clock hits 4:30, it’s the end of a long work day, the sun is long gone from the sky, the mercury in the thermometer is falling and your workout calls for a two hour endurance run, a warm fire, with a warm blanket, and a warm drink sounds much more enticing. These winter days make me feel like an old, frumpy beast just lugging myself around, sometimes questioning why I’m choosing to torture myself. I have no idea why people start resolutions to better themselves in the dead of winter when it feels like you’re suffocated by 24 hour darkness and a constant chill. It’s mad to think any one of us feels inspired, motivated or charged to take on a new challenge with spunk and pizzaz, or whatever. In fact last year I didn’t run outside until February. I didn’t think people ran outside in the snow – it seemed almost preposterous. Being an island girl and growing up in a climate that consists of the rainy, rainer, less rainy and sprinkling showers seasons, I was spoiled by good running conditions all year long. Well, since moving to the interior I’ve rode and ran in almost every possible weather condition from hail to snow, rain, lightning, hurricane winds, sleet, and 40 degree heat to minus 25 degree cold. When I first started training I hated the terrain and the weather here. The winters are freeze-your-snot cold, the summers are ice-in-your-shorts scorching hot, the hills are long and steep and the winds are ferocious and constant. But I’ve built a lot of character and a bit of grit from these adventures. It is one hell of a way to start testing your mental strength and commitment, and to really see if you’re cut out for an Ironman triathlon. Instead of hating it now, I embrace it and learn to love it.
As the New Year trods on and people’s resolutions fade away, some of us will just keep trudging on, chasing our delusional dreams. Sometimes it’s the only thing that will keep you going. Here’s to many more cold, dark and lonely runs and plenty more suffer grinder fests in solitude on the spin bike.
Rolling with the punches
At the pool the other morning I was adorned with my first battle wound of the season while simply swimming routine laps. Normally I’m reminiscing about stories on the battlefield of bike rides where traffic, curbs, pebbles and even painted lines seem to jump at you and threaten a good bruise, laceration or road rash. Usually injuries in the swim come from either a severe lack of ability to remain afloat, severe lack of ability to judge when you’re going to literally hit the wall, or, and more likely so, during a race when thousands of other arms and legs are seemingly flailing all at once. Swimming routine laps on a training morning with clearly marked lanes and significantly less flailing bodies, usually means you’re pretty safe from injury. That is until I get in the pool.
On this morning, the pool was unusually packed and at first glance it almost looked like a race of jumbled bodies. There were slow people in the fast lane, fast swimmers swimming on top of slow swimmers, some would start with the front crawl and randomly switch to the breast stroke, some were sculling down the ropes at a turtles pace while others were working on speed work – it was a mess. For triathletes, we welcome chaos in the water. Most people, would prefer to leisurely swim up and down the pool, back and forth without waves or disruption, but we like to churn things up a little bit. It’s good race prep and besides we’re all used to having fingers tickle our toes, arms punching us in the head and bodies literally swimming on top of us. This is more or less what an open water swim entails.
For most of the morning, I was situationally aware and good at sensing a slower swimmer ahead of me, quickly checking for oncoming traffic, then slithering my way between two bodies to make a safe pass. That is unless you have crazy legs in the pool. This guy has the most unusual swimming technique I’ve ever seen. I have described some of my swimming techniques as reminiscent of a dying sea creature but this man has an incredibly interesting way of propelling himself forward in the water. I can’t quite describe how he manages to get from one end to the other, but he does, and I would willing to bet he is the hardest working swimmer in the pool on any given day. That being said, he is one of the best obstacles to try and maneuver around if you’re looking to simulate a chaotic open water scenario. Most of the other swimmers know that you don’t attempt to swim within a 5 metre radius of him, even with a rope between you, because there is a good chance one of those wide-spread flailing arms will swipe across the water and take you out, as I learned the hard way.
On one of the final drills of the morning set, I found myself coming up behind a slower swimmer, so as I had done all morning, made a quick look before picking up speed to propel between the swimmers on either side of me. Just then a flash of human flesh came surging towards me and with no room to move or react my arm, already moving at full speed flew into the air and the hard knuckled fist of the oncoming swimmer slammed into the inside of my arm. A sharp pain shot down my appendage and into my armpit. It was a brief moment of churning water and at one point there was another body beneath me. As I sorted myself in the right direction and away from the other bodies, I saw the concerned onlooking lifeguard, before, doing what any triathlete would do, and settled back into my rhythm. What I’ve come to learn from swimming with packs of people is that collisions happen but you must never stop. I’m fairly certain the other swimmer, after punching into my soft flesh, immediately stopped and probably bobbed at the surface for a confused moment trying to make sense of what happened. All at the same time, I was continuing on swimming with a shooting pain running down my bicep. In my own strange way, I was proud of myself for doing what we’ve always been taught – to just keep swimming even after taking a punch. Every moment in training is for the greater good of preparing for the big day and I’ll even thank crazy legs for teaching me how to take a hit in the water.
Rust2Iron 