It’s been almost a month since being sidelined with Meningitis, and every ounce of me has been itching to feel the pounding pavement beneath my feet, or the wind whipping at my face on the bike, or the calming rush of gliding through water. The things that make me feel free and alive have been absent, and I desperately want them back, but it’s been a slow process. I’m getting better, but there is a fog that still plagues me. I’m struggling to regain my energy, headaches randomly creep in, and sleep is an impossible task – I just don’t feel like myself. So, this morning, with 3 hours of sleep, I forced myself to crawl out of bed and go do the one thing that washes away the aches and pains, the doubt, and the anxiety – swim.
I haven’t crawled out of bed much before 9am in the past few weeks and the darkness of the cool morning was a stark contrast to the warm, bright mornings I was used to seeing. It felt like the days of summer had disappeared over night, and I’m afraid that soon enough these early starts will greet me with snowy drifts and a freezing nose. Until then I’ll take the fall temperatures and semi-darkness.
When I arrived at the pool a familiar scent of chlorine instantly wafted through my nostrils and I inhaled it like a sweet drug. I looked around the old confines of the change room as the damp tiled floor soaked the bottoms of my dragging sweat pants – normally something that annoys me first thing in the morning, but today I was feeling too grateful for annoyances. It seemed like I’d been away for so long but that’s the punishment of time when you’re eagerly awaiting something special. As I walked out onto the pool deck I was acutely aware of the childlike grin on my face. The water was calm and only slightly rippled by the few early swimmers. This place has been a source of resolve for me a few times before. I don’t know what it is but something about swimming brings me to a place of peace.
As I slowly walked down the stairs into the cool water I felt like a frail old woman preparing for my morning water aerobics class. Normally I would drop myself off the elevated deck, but this morning I opted for a safer and slower entrance. The cool water instantly sent a shiver up my spine, and without much hesitation I submerged myself and allowed the water to envelope around me before resurfacing. The journey to the other end looked longer than I remember, and just like the first time I ever swam the long course pool, I felt nervous about making it all the way. But instead of thinking for too long, I pushed off the wall, glided under water like a slow yet graceful seal, and just started swimming. Whatever doubts I had about forgetting to swim or not being able to get to the other side quickly vanished. A goofy underwater smile spread across my face causing my goggles to shift and droplets of blue chemically water seeped in stinging my eyes. I really didn’t care, and like my old friend Dory, I just kept on swimming, feeling alive and miraculously cured of whatever ailed me. From one wall to the other, I would push off, relaxed and free. Thoughts about my missed race and what could have been this season crept into my busy mind and it only pushed me to keep on going, slow yet steady, and determined. At first the numbness and tingling in my legs felt strange and uncomfortable, but I eventually adjusted until it just began to feel normal. This is exactly what I needed, the free flow of water against my body and a friend to share the lane (thanks Mel) – if only we could high five and swim.
Even though next season is still – well, next season – this felt like the first step to what lies ahead. Perhaps, for now I should just enjoy the peacefulness of slow and steady because without a doubt there will come a time again soon enough when it will be back to the old suffer grinder fests that I’m used to enduring. Crazy as it sounds, I’m looking forward to it, all the while counting my blessings that I can still do what I love. In this journey I have no doubt there will be more curve balls hurled by way; what matters is how I throw them back.
ironman
Believing in yourself to get ‘er done
I have done the head bob a record number of times in the last two weeks as my body has been begging for more sleep. I’m practically a bobble head on the dashboard of a moving car. Everything in my life has been full on and sleep is the first to suffer. Work has ramped up, training has – well no – training is just always ramped up, and for some reason, I thought maybe I could ramp up my social life too. And suddenly I look around and I have no clean clothes, dishes piled to the ceiling, unpaid bills, permanent footprints in my bathtub and cob webs forming on my couch. I feel like I’ve only sat down to pee, put on my shoes, work and sleep. I am exhausted and lately I’ve been feeling like my performance is going downhill and that I’m never going to be ready for race day. I know that now is not the time for self-doubt but it crept in like a disease and it’s been hard to shake. I’ve been craving a break to let my body rest, but coach has other plans in mind and well the guy is like the rain man of triathlon training so I can’t argue, but I did ask for an extra day off this past weekend. He seemed slightly shocked that I wanted to skimp on workouts during the final three weeks of prep, and I suppose I understood considering I wanted to take the day off to drink beer and play in a ball tournament instead of riding my bicycle for four hours. Irregardless, he took my four workouts from Saturday and Sunday, combined them into one, said to have fun and in not so many words to never ask for an extra day off for fun ever again.
I arrived in Revelstoke on Friday night and swore off the beer for the first night so that I could get up at 6am for the double duty workout. First on the docket was a 45 minute warm up on the bike followed by a ride up the Steamer – a 25 kilometre, 1,500 metre climb up Mount Revelstoke. In my mind I had prepared myself for a legs burning, lungs dying cycle and I was amped to just get ‘er done. As I flew down the highway and came up under the overpass I saw the ascent ahead of me and prepared to endure the pain. Yet within only a few hundred metres I realized that this would be one peaceful and beautiful challenge. Huge trees loomed around me, while the odd squirrel, rabbit and deer would pop out from the shrubs to curiously watch me spin along the pavement. I could hear the vast sounds of nature with mini roaring waterfalls and soaring birds. This is one of the first rides in a long time where my skin wasn’t being scorched by heat and with the calmness of the world around me, I settled in for one of the tougher, yet ironically relaxing climbs of the season.
As I reached the top and looked out over the valley I breathed a sigh of relief and content, before peeling around and tucking in for a fast descent. The fresh breeze whipped at my face and I felt strong and oddly rejuvenated. The self doubt was fading and I was back on top of the world.
Once back into town I threw the bike in the car, put on the running shoes and set off for a 10k tempo run. Much to my surprise there was a fire in my legs that wasn’t burning or painful, but lively. I was raring to go and everything felt rhythmic and smooth. I had no pain in my shins, and my heart rate remained at a constant, manageable beat. After a brief warm up I kicked it up and took off for the tempo, maintaining an even pace the whole way. I haven’t felt that strong on a run in forever, and after dominating the Steamer, I was amazed that my legs had it in them to deliver that kind of performance. Rounding back into town, I looked down at my watch to see a personal best for a 10K effort and a smile spread widely across my face – I almost wanted to hug myself. Instead, I tossed off the tri gear, grabbed my ball glove and a celebratory beer and ran out onto the field for a game of softball with my buddies. I deserved my extra day off and was going to enjoy every minute of it before going back to reality and the grind.
This sport can be so draining and with the physical ailments comes the mental wavering until you eat away at yourself. Some days are incredibly tough and you feel like quitting, and then you hit a PR and suddenly you feel on top of the world. I’m learning to trust in myself, believe in myself, and to not be so hard on myself. Training is so much more than becoming a stronger triathlete, it’s also about becoming a stronger person and learning who you are and what you can do. Some days you just have to hunker down, tell yourself you can do it, and just do it. The Challenge is less than three weeks away, and I am holding onto the positive vibes, strong legs, and tough mind for as long as possible because that’s exactly what will carry me across that start line right to the finish.
Aly’s no good, very bad bike ride
You know those days when it just feels like everything that could go wrong, goes wrong, and really insignificant obstacles or hiccups along the way feel really ginormous and apocalyptic? That was my afternoon. It was like the universe decided to poke an already emotionally and physically distraught, unrested cranky beast to see how far it could get. Well, after nearly three hours of poking and pushing I just shut the emotions off, and at the end of it all I think my brain was in Disneyland and my body was merely a physical entity taking up space.
I was feeling somewhat motivated and refreshed for a night of four-peat hills up Juniper and Todd tonight. It’s been a tough week, so when I get the spark to take on a workout I have to run with it. As I rigged up the bike I decided to strap on the Go Pro to the front handlebars for a front seat view of the ride. This way I could upload some footage and make my friends jealous of all the wild and crazy fun things I do on a Friday night, while they drink frosty cocktails on a patio. Geared up and ready to go I pushed off from the curb and barely moved one full rotation before I heard a rubbing whirring sound coming from what I thought was the front tire. Awesome. Hiccup number one and I could already feel agitation start to creep over me. So, I hopped off examined it for a minute, then hopped back on, only to hear the same sound again. I hopped back off to see that it was the back tire rubbing against the bike frame. For the next 15 minutes I was bent over, fuming over the fact that my bike was just in the shop and the wheel was totally out of alignment. As I cursed under my breath and balanced my bike between my thighs with my spandex doned ass straight up in the air, I started to hear cat calling from guys driving slowly down the road. I had to muster every ounce of restraint to not fly off at the mouth like an inbred sailor. Finally, the tire was aligned and after wasting 15 minutes I was back on the road.
As turned off the highway onto Valleyview Drive I was greeted by my second obstacle of the evening; rocks everywhere. Flash flooding from the day before had left a horrible mess and I was dodging pebbles and mini boulders all the way to Juniper and praying my tire would not flat. Rounding the corner and heading up for the first climb of the night I turned on my ipod and blocked out my agitation. At the top I felt exceptionally dehydrated from the hot sun, with only 20 minutes into the ride I had already polished off one of my two water bottles. I thought to run over to the corner store to stock up only to realize I made the boneheaded decision to not bring any cash or cards with me; rookie mistake. I would have to make like a camel and reserve. As I turned around for the descent I went to flip on my Go Pro I encountered piss off number three of the evening, the memory card was stuck in the lock position. Mother trucker. I almost hurled that thing under the oncoming tires of passing by trucks. As I mumbled more curse words I could start to feel rushing beads of sweat down my arms, legs and face, and I wondered if I would make the next hour and a half of climbing on one bottle of Gatorade. Either way, the hills still needed climbing and I was standing still, so off I went.
Obstacle number four greeted me in the form of the biggest mother of a puddle I have ever seen; another after effect from the flash floods. It was like a god damned lake had formed in the middle of the road. With the way the night was going I wagered it a bad idea to try and go through it, so I unclipped, picked up my bike and proceeded to go around it through the claylike mud. With each step I sunk deeper into the muck and I worried I just might get stuck right there and bake in the sun until dark. Once to the other side, I hopped on the bike only to realize the mud had clogged up my shoes rendering it impossible to clip back into the pedals. More swear words tumbled from my lips as I peeled the mud from my shoes and smeared it everywhere. Finally I was back in the saddle, wondering what the hell was next.
About halfway down the highway something on the bike didn’t feel right. I didn’t know what it was but I was deathly afraid of self combustion and flailing under a truck and meeting my demise. I turned off for Todd Road and had a quick inspection to discover nothing was wrong and that I was getting paranoid, and headed up for climb number two. As soon as that was over, it was back up again for climb number three, which at this point had me feeling famished and desperate for cool drops of water. As if to add torture to pain I start envisioning watermelons and smoothies, ice cold water and more big juicy watermelons. Then the smell of BBQs wafted through the air, and I almost surrendered mid pedal. As I hit the top and started my descent, I was greeted by obstacle number five in the form of a loud SHHHHHHHHH…. holy jumping mother sand trucks. There goes my back tire. I pulled over to the side of the road and kicked gravel like a mad person. I just had brand new tires installed this morning, tires that were supposed to defy all the rules and never flat, tires that cost $150! How the hell did I get a flat? Oh that’s right, the universe has a bone to pick with me. In a fleeting moment I contemplated lifting the bike over my head and hurling it over the cliff side, wiping my hands, taking off my shoes, and walking home. But instead I flipped it over, pulled out my spare, sat down in the dirt and calmed myself. Just then I started to hear rustling in the bushes and gravel rolling down the hill side. Would obstacle number six come in the form of rabid animal who would tear me into pieces? No, but It made me change the tire faster, so maybe it was the first blessing of the night. Tire back on, back to Juniper for one more climb, but not before walking back across the clay like mud, wiping my shoes and singing some Celine Dion.
With about 250 metres to the top of Juniper, as if the icing on the cake, I felt my back tire slowly go down, down, down. Well I was out of spare tires, and frankly out of patience.
A $16 cab ride later and I finally made it home, with emotions turned off and one giant watermelon in hand. When the universe tries to tell you to just go home and try again tomorrow, tell it shut the hell up and keep on going. None of this journey has been easy and I would be damned if I let a few typical bike ride mishaps falter my focus and determination. On any other week I may have just laughed in the face of it all, but with race day looming and my tired mind and body, I was easy to provoke. Tomorrow I will head to Whistler to cheer on my training partners and I know it will be the spark I need to find my motivation to get ‘er done. Here’s to buckling done and moving on, even when you want to throw a tantrum and flip off the world.
The final countdown
My energy has been sucked dry, my body aches in a way that is begging for me to stop and overall I’m desperately holding on to the last five weeks of this journey for dear life. I’m struggling to find the words to express my emotions because it’s consuming and constantly changing. There is relief, excitement, fear, sadness, happiness and stress. I never know which one is coming or going, or how long it will last. I’m jumping into everything with both feet and my whole heart, but I never know what to expect. Some moments I’m flying, other moments I’m floundering. In talking with my training partners, it seems that this is all completely normal for the last few weeks of the season leading up to the big race. As one of them said, it’s like going to war. It’s not like you spend all this time making a chocolate cake, then you get to eat it, it’s like you just get dropped into the war zone and you see whether you live or die. It all sounds a bit melodramatic, but this has been one of the hardest mental and physical challenges I’ve ever put myself up against and I’ve worked so hard to get here. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about swimming, biking and running and all the things in life that revolve around it. I dream about it, I write about it, I never stop talking about it, I devote my time, my energy and my emotions into it, and as much as some people think that’s neurotic – I love it. At the end of the day, I might feel a little bit broken and a half way to the grave, yet this is the first thing in my adult life that has made me feel undeniably happy and unquestionably alive. As I descend into the final weeks of preparation for my biggest race this year, I’m focusing on the finish line and the glory of all that I have accomplished. I’m also looking forward to more free time, more cold beers and less time in an ice bath. Here’s to the final weeks of triathlon season 2014 and maybe a few more stories of suffering and triumph along the way.
The end of an era
This weekend began a new era of cycling in my triathlon journey as I made the switch over from a roadie to a tri bike. Since clipping in on Saturday I’ve put in over 100 kilometres in the saddle, and I think I’m in love. It’s sleek and quick and light and it’s molded to me like a glove. But this new love has come at the expense of my old flame. This week’s post isn’t about breaking through barriers, or new challenges, or epic journeys, but about remembering Red Lightning, one of the most important partners I’ve had along the way.
He was once the light that shone brightly and mighty. He was old, but full of life, and I loved him. Now he sits, torn apart and left behind like a broken lamp that has no home. I stripped his wheels, pedals and saddle, then left him there in his fading blaze of glory. As I walked past him this morning, I felt an unusual and most abnormal feeling of grief. 
Together we have conquered mountains. We have crashed together, cried together and laughed together. I’ve yelled at him and spoke softly to him. We have had bonding sessions before races, and I even hugged him after races. But most importantly during those races we could drop faster, sleeker, prettier, and pricer bikes, because together Red Lightning and I were unstoppable. He was my first road bike and in some way I feel that since we started the journey together we should end it together, but alas sometimes change is good. It seems so silly to become attached to an inanimate object, yet in a year of so many challenges and first experiences, it’s hard not to feel that connection. It does become part of the experience and, for the most part, he fared me very well. Together we rode more than 1,500 kilometres, climbed more than 15,000 metres, raced in six triathlons, called one taxi home, crashed twice and conquered the biggest challenges of my triathlon journey. I know this isn’t the end of his road, perhaps maybe it’s just a break, but nonetheless I feel it’s important that at this juncture to look back on the memories. Nonetheless, no matter where the road goes, he’ll always have a place in my heart and together we will ride again, it will just be a different journey.
Rust2Iron 