For a triathlete training in Canada, the month of March elicits extraordinary feelings of excitement and glee. It brings us that much closer to race season, and takes us that much further away from the cold and the snow.
For the last month, I have been watching the weather forecast like an obsessive lunatic hitting refresh every half hour of the day, hoping for clear skies and warm temperatures. I have been ticking off the days of the calendar as we get closer to the spring months. And every day I dream of warm breezes, clear roads, and not wearing three base layers, toques, snot-covered mittens, and long johns. Even on days when that little snowy cloud icon stared back at me with it’s taunting evil eye, I would wholeheartedly deny that any white stuff would materialize. If I believed it, then most certainly I could defy Mother Nature. Yet, on this horrendously snot freezing kind of winter day, snow has been puking from the sky. Consequently, Mother Nature has been laughing at me as she blankets the city with mounds and mounds of impure, mud-stained ivory flakes of hate. In this moment, I have a deep resentment towards her; a strong loathing of bitterness that spills out of my lips in the form of angry profanity.
This is meant to be the time of year when I dream of a world where my snot doesn’t freeze, I don’t slip on patches of inconspicuous ice, or otherwise become trapped on my indoor bike trainer staring at the wall for hours at a time. March is the month where I am supposed to be giddy at the thought of once again teaming up with Red Lightning for a blazing ride along the winding roads. It’s supposed to feel like the can’t-sit-still excitement of Christmas eve, but warmer and sunnier. Instead I am left to mutter my disapproval as the salt and sand trucks roam the streets littering my playground with grit. One can only imagine that I am floored with the idea of trudging through the snow to my frozen car at 5:30am for my swim workout tomorrow. Maybe, if I’m lucky enough, it will snow through the night, and I can swim through the streets. Wouldn’t that be awesome? I can almost feel the sarcasm dripping from my lips.
bike
Bike, run, swim/drink – winter triathlons
The last couple of months I have been using some real nasty adjectives to describe my training. Painful, daunting, tiring, consuming, fun-sucking, and miserable are a few that come to mind. But on this beautiful Saturday morning, feeling fresh and energized, I embarked on a mini triathlon of sorts. I left half a gallon of sweat on the floor beneath my bicycle on an indoor spin. Then strapped on my runners for a brisk 8k jaunt. And then transitioned out of my dripping wet clothing, and embarked on a swim in my bath tub with the company of a tub of Epsom salts and a bottle of vino.
My body is refreshed and relaxed, and so is my vocabulary.
Bring da pain!
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.
Get a little fire under yer ass
There are some days when I feel defeated, useless, sore, tired and otherwise just plain shitty. It doesn’t matter if you’re a triathlete or not, days like this just happen, and sometimes you just need some perspective, inspiration and a little fire under your ass.
Cue, the Ironman Kona broadcast, an hour long inspire-the-world-one-story-at-a-time feature presentation.
I was a child the last time I watched Kona, yet the familiar narrative voice of Al Trautwig triggers a rush of memories of me sitting in front of the television. Even with the fleeting attention span of a child who struggled to sit still, I was glued to the screen, mesmerized, and in awe of these super heroes who were living out their dreams in one of the toughest races in the world. Each athlete had their own story and it was those stories that made me feel connected to their journey, and to every part of their own failures and triumphs. Stories like these, are exactly what I need tonight. Stories that light that fire, and remind me to pull up my big girl panties and stop pouting. If I can’t do that, then I should probably quite while I’m behind.
Ironman is a beast of a triathlon. It is an extremely physically challenging endurance test, and even more so a test on your mental limitations. How do you run a marathon after swimming 3.8 kilometres and grinding out 180k on your bike? How do you silence all the voices in your head telling you to stop, quit, give up, or surrender? How do you come to terms with failure when your body shuts down and quitting is no longer a decision but your only option? These are things I do not know yet. These are things most people do not know until they are faced with them. I think this is why I have always loved watching this broadcast, and why I have made it my mission to conquer the race myself. Ironman allows ordinary people to do extraordinary things, and it is a testament to the results of commitment, extreme determination and an unwavering desire to conquer the impossible. For some, it may be hard to comprehend why anyone would want to take on such a feat, but when you see these athletes finally cross the finish line, and you see the jubilation on their faces, you understand. As six-time world champion Ironman, Mark Allen said, “Until you face your fears, you don’t move to the other side, where you find the power.” It gives me goose bumps just thinking about it. So here I sit, feeling a bit more inflated, inspired and rejuvenated, and thinking about the day when I get to share my story, and feel pretty damn bad ass about it.
Rage against the bicycle
It’s the middle of November and for the first time since mid-October there is bright, glorious sun, and I am dying to get in a rare off season outdoor ride. Mere moments ago I was excited at the thought of bundling up to brave the chilly air, and to bask in the glory of a sunny Sunday afternoon, yet now with a black film of grease caked onto my hands, sweat dripping from my brow and profanity flying from my mouth, I am feeling disappointed, angry and frustrated. After taking my rear wheel off and swapping my indoor trainer tire for my road tire, I am struggling to get it back into place. A task that should be simple and routine, yet I have made it quite complicated; typical. By the time I have the wheel back in, the brakes seem to have magically shifted and now I’m fiddling with screws that connect to components which are foreign to my pea sized brain’s understanding of bicycle mechanics. At this point, I have made too much of a mess, and I worry that by fiddling with unknown parts, I have increased my odds of mechanical failure on what was supposed to be a lovely Sunday ride. With the bike shops closed today, I am left with the decision to degrease my hands and pout. 
I have said it so many times before, and I will say it again and again, there is so much to learn. The mechanics and maintenance of my bike is something I really struggle to understand. I remember as a kid that if my chain came off I walked that bike back to wherever I came from, because I simply did not know what to do.
When I first started this sport, I didn’t even know how to change a tire or grease a chain, and I really still struggle with both. Today’s rage against the bicycle episode, and there have been a few, really highlights the need to truly understand all aspects of this sport, including the equipment.
So it’s off to the bookstore with my dirty, greased up hands for a much need self-help book and then to the spin bike for a much deserved stare-at-the-wall-and-pedal sweat fest. I am overjoyed.
Rust2Iron 