To sit down and try to summarize all my thoughts, emotions, and retrospects from the past two years is a challenging task. For the first time in this journey, I’m finding myself at a loss for words. Part of the problem is that my emotions jump from one to the next in mere minutes – smiles to tears, laughter to screams – so it’s hard to say what I’m thinking. The butterflies come and go, so does the anxiety, fears, and even some excitement. I’m still not sure that I’ve quite grasped the magnitude of what I’m about to tackle tomorrow – swim 3.8K, bike 180, then run a marathon- it sounds like a bit like insanity, even to me. But what has been reiterated to me time and time again, is that the work is done. All I can do from here until race start is rest, shut off the brain and trust in the journey I’ve been on. Trust that everything I went through was a part of the bigger plan to get me here. The meningitis that delayed my first half ironman, the knee injury that threatened to end the dream, the popped out ribs, the colds, the heat stroke, bleeding toes, blisters, sun burns, and all the other cuts, scrapes, bruises and obstacles, were all a part of growing me into the person I needed to be to do this thing.
I still remember when I first told people I would do an Ironman. My dad looked at me with suspicion and said, “that is a really big race.” Some of my friends also gave me the same looks of suspicions, yet they smiled and nodded that I could do it. So, off I went – like an eager kid, hopping in with both feet and never looking back. Now here I am, less than 12 hours from hearing that start cannon – it’s a bit surreal.
Over the past few days, with all the buzzing of energy, sleepless nights, and unpredictable emotions, there has been one constant in my life – the support and it’s been that way since day one. Triathlon may be an individual sport, and on race day I have only myself to rely on to get me from point A to point B, but there is no denying that there are many people who have been by my side, believing, even when I doubted myself, that I could and would do this thing.
First and foremost, I would not have even stepped foot into this sport if it wasn’t for the three most important role models in my life, my mom, dad and big brother. My love for sport and competition, and relentless determination and stubbornness comes from one of three places and I have them to thank for telling me I could do whatever I set my heart out to do, even if it was Ironman. Through the journey they have been on the other end of the line to hear it all, to cheer me on, and to build me up when I was down. I also couldn’t forget the love of my sister-in-law who, despite not understanding anything about the sport, would often send me text messages full of Ironman related questions and words of encouragement. Her curiosity of my insanity oftentimes made me smile and I loved sharing my stories with her.
Then there have been my friends, who may never truly understand why I do what I do, but have been every step of the way. Whether it was coming to cheer me on at one of the world’s worst spectator sports, randomly volunteering at my races just to get closer to the action, talking to me about my training for hours on phone, or tracking me online – knowing you were there rooting for me every step of the way meant the world. I am especially grateful to those who made the journey to Whistler to sport a neon yellow ‘Team Couch’ support crew shirt and cheer me on for however many hours of the day this thing will take me.
I also can’t look back on these past two years and not think about my training partners, who have not only become friends, but my second family. I couldn’t possibly single any of them out because each of them has offered me something unique and priceless – from many words of wisdom, to shared tools, bike parts, tires and wheels, to shared homes, food, drinks, laughs, cries, dinners, hotel rooms, trips to Kona, chats in the hot tub, chats on the curb, and so much love. Their support over the past two years has been nothing short of incredible and inspiring. I will be thinking of each of them on race day and everything they taught me leading up to tomorrow. I could not have found a better group to go through this roller coaster with me.
Then there is coach. Before Maurice, I learned what I could from online videos, blogs and books, but his knowledge, expertise and ‘rain man’ way of looking at this sport was truly special and it’s because of him and his training program that I got to this day. Although he often said things I could only smile and nod at, he was able to look at my journey in a way I could never have comprehended. There were also times when I cursed his name. But in the end, he cared about us as athletes, and he went through every up and down with me, making damn sure I got here in one piece. I couldn’t possibly thank him enough for his patience when I chose to do keg stands instead of bike rides, for playing hockey or ball when I should have been resting, and for allowing me to ask all the dumb questions in the world. He has been one hell of a coach.
And speaking of coaches, I’ll never forget the woman who would teach me all the fundamentals I needed to know about swimming. Teresa was the one who helped get me from one end the pool to the other, and eventually into my very first open water swim. You never forget those moments or how they contributed to the overall success of my swimming.
In one last shout out, I couldn’t forget all the medical professionals I encountered along the road. From my massage therapist, to chiropractors, my athletic trainer, and hospital staff in Victoria – I saw some of them more than I had wanted, but they played an integral role in making sure I got here alive and in one piece.
As I turn off the light and try to shut off the buzz that invades my head, I will take one final thought with me, “It’s lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believed in myself.”
run
Deliriously content and feeling alive
The sound of an alarm clock buzzing off at an early hour on a weekend seems uniquely different than a weekday wake up call. During training season, it buzzes at the same time Monday through Sunday but the buzz on a weekend sounds the alarm for something so much better.
This morning was the first time since August that I have risen early for a group training session. I couldn’t wait to get my bike shorts back on, although they fit a little bit snugger and I looked a little bit frumpier, I didn’t really care. The last month I have been craving getting back into a routine and, for whatever reason, this morning felt like the perfect time.
Just like any other training day I went through the early morning routine of sorting out what to wear and calculating my calories and hydration. Todays workout was “Everything but the Kitchen Sink,” which usually involves a 1.5 to 2 hour spin, followed by 20 minutes of core exercises and cooling off with a short run. I thought I would be apprehensive about how I might perform and worry about passing out mid-spin from exhaustion, but there was a huge part of me that was just ready to go, whether my body was or not.
As soon as I got to the office, sat on the bike and my legs started to go I felt a wave of ease and almost a sense of giddiness. There was a boisterous chatter amongst the group with the quiet whir of rotating discs in the background and I realized just how much I’ve missed this. I think I had forgotten all the little details – the sounds, the smells, the feelings – all of it combined is like one big happy thought.
As the workout intensified and my legs in somewhat unison with my lungs started to burn, my mind cleared and I zoned in, which is a rare thing for me. Usually my mind is buzzing, racing, over thinking, analyzing, but when I’m swimming, biking or running, it’s just different, I’m in the zone and everything just seems a little bit less chaotic. When I signed up for long distance triathlons I did so for a challenge. I wanted to see how far I could push myself, but in the end I got so much more.
As we hopped off the bikes and headed outside into the crisp cool morning with the sun shining brightly upon us, I was reminded that this is my passion. And despite the fact that I ended this workout sprawled on my living room floor like I starfish, I felt deliriously content and amazingly alive and that’s a pretty sweet feeling.
Kona, reflection and more non-training days
It’s Kona week. In just two days the cannon will blast a plume of smoke over the thousands of eagerly awaiting swimmers in the pristine waters along the Kona coast. It will signal the start of the grandest, most sought after long distance triathlon event on the planet. For many of those triathletes it will be a moment they will never forget and an experience to cherish forever. Almost every dedicated long distance triathlete dreams of one day gracing the world championship stage in Kona, but only the elite, the best or the lucky will have that opportunity. Kona is one of the reasons why I am in this sport. As a kid I remember watching the broadcast on TV, thinking the athletes were superheroes, and that one day, maybe, I could live the dream of competing in Hawaii. Even as a teenager, on a trip to Kona, I remember seeing the “OFFICIAL SWIM START AND RUN FINISH IRONMAN TRIATHLON WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP” sign at the Kailua Pier, and having a moment to reflect on all the great athletes who had realized their dreams in that very spot. At the time, I really knew nothing about the sport, other than its grueling nature. I still remember images of some of the final athletes literally stumbling and crawling across that coveted finish line on Ali’i Drive – it was inspirational. With a course that winds through mountainous climbs, lava fields, scorching temperatures, and howling winds, it is one of the most gruelling races out there. On this particular week, thinking about all the triathletes descending onto the course has inspired me to reflect on my own triathlon journey this year. The season was filled with triumph, defeat, failure, heart break, sore muscles, tears, laughter, joy, happiness, and success. I don’t even think there is an adjective or emotion that wouldn’t be fitting to describe the roller coaster that I called, training. Almost a year ago I walked onto the pool deck for my first workout with my new coach and two of my soon-to-be training partners. At the time I had a few sprint triathlons under my belt, but the training regime I was walking into was going to be a drastic change. These were Ironman competitors, and I was about to be put in my place. Only a few months previous, I was cycling along Westsyde Road, a rolling hills, yet mostly flat jaunt out in the country, which at the time qualified as my “hills” ride. Now here I was about to embark on one of the most gruelling training plans I have ever endured. My first hint was on this morning at the pool when my coach told me to swim laps with my legs tied together. At first I thought he was trying to drown me. There are still moments, even a year later, where I think his workouts are for the intended purpose of murder. Anyway, that swim was nothing short of a flailing attempt at bobbing from one end of the pool to the other. I was heaving along like an exasperated floundering sea creature, all the while struggling to mimic the graceful and quick movements of the other two swimming along with me. I felt out of place, but determined. And from that day on, that just kind of became my style – struggle to keep up yet push with every ounce I had to follow in the footsteps of those ahead of me, and they were always ahead of me. Some days I thought it would be nice to have someone who moved at my pace, but then I realized the faster my partners moved, the harder I pushed. With each workout I would tell myself to never lose sight of the fastest one, yet I would fail every time. And failure became my driver to continue screaming and cursing and flailing, all the while pushing the limits. Some would think it’s lonely at the back, always being last, but I grew to accept it and to thrive from it. Always chasing someone means you are always, always pushing. I became grateful for the expertise they shared, and even more so that, even through their own pain of the workout, they would encourage me along as they lapped me, time and time again. Reflecting on this past year, I would say my development as a triathlete started with the 5-peat hill climbs, gruelling 10X400 metre swims, and the endless mind, body and soul testing track workouts, but it was the group of incredible people I got to train with that really molded me into the triathlete I wanted to be – determined, driven and committed. The season may have ended on a sour note, and I might be struggling to find a rhythm in my recovery, yet looking back on the year, it was an incredible journey; a journey I can’t wait to repeat, only this time with a different end result. This sport has changed my life for the better and I can’t wait for the back-to-back workouts, tears, sweat, pain, yadda, yadda, yadda. It will be great. In the meantime, I will put on my pom poms, enjoy the quiet of recovery and cheer on the Kona competitors, but I will be cheering loudest for the one and only Melissa Lowenberg., a true friend and competitor. Mel, go get ’em.
Here’s to finally putting the 2014 season behind me and looking forward to the new challenges of next year. 
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.
Race weekend! Oliver 1-54-10
I looked out upon the glassy, calm lake to see the sun reflecting brightly upon the yellow buoys marking my conquest for this morning. It was a beautiful morning for a race, but my nerves were firing into overdrive and I could barely stand still long enough to enjoy the scenery or pull up my wetsuit. Out of the corner of my eye I could see hundreds of seal-like people milling around the starting line; some warming up, some dancing around, some looking just as bouncy and jittery as I felt. I stood there on the other side of the chaos for just a few minutes longer pulling my wetsuit tight to my neck and ensuring that the sausage casing was wrapped around my body perfectly. Once I was satisfied and no longer felt the need to poke and pull on my second skin, I took a few deep breaths and plunged into the cool yet welcoming water to flap around. Satisfied that everything felt right I sauntered over towards the crowd where the pulsating rhythms of everyone’s nerves, adrenaline, terror and excitement pulled me in. The amazing thing about all the people you race with are the stories. Everyone has their own reason for being here; their own story, and their own failures and triumphs. For many people it will be their first race, and for others it will be just one of many. Yet most of us all have the same feelings that cycle through our minds and bodies just minutes before the starting horn blares.
In the sea of people, I managed to find my training partners and I couldn’t have felt more relieved yet overcome with emotion. Like everyone else we all have our own stories, and over the past six months we’ve been through it all together. For Vince, this would be his first half iron race; for me my longest (1-54-10); and for Yvonne, Mel, Mo, Tracy, Karen, and Pat, this was one of many they have done before, but it would still be new to them in their own ways, with different challenges and different goals.
Like a parade of seals we congregated around, posing for last minute photo ops, hugging, and talking swim position strategy before sauntering to our starting positions. Slowly we stopped talking and everyone focused on their own plan and absorbed themselves in their own minds. We had come to the starting line as a team, but we would now rely on ourselves to get to the finish line.
As we counted down the final seconds, I glanced around one more time to see the familiar faces beside me before the horn blared and like a blur we all meshed into a heap of flailing arms, thrashing legs and bobbing heads churning up the water. Hands punched me in the head, feet flicked at my face, and arms slapped against my back. I just boogied along, focused on getting around the buoys and back to the beach as fast I could all the while doing what I always do during the swim, repeat the wise words of Dory the fish, “just keep swimming , just keep swimming…”
As I rounded the second buoy I began to sight the beach and meshed in with the crowd to charge through the home stretch. It wasn’t long after that when my hands began to touch sand, and I took a few last strokes before clambering to my feet and flip flopping up along the beach. Then it was along the road where I would run another 500 metres to transition all the while pulling down my wetsuit and tearing off my cap and goggles. By the time I reached transition, I was exhausted and breathing like an exasperated woman in labour. With only one sport down, I figured now would be a good time to bring the heart rate down just enough so I could peel my wetsuit over my ankles, slap on my helmet and grab Red Lightning. Once I settled into my pace on the bike and shot myself pull of carbs and fluids, I found my rhythm and hunkered down for the 54 kilometre ride.
I felt strong. With all the miles and hill climbing Maurice tested us on during training, I knew I was well prepared. As I ticked off the kilometres, slowly the leaders from my training group, finished their 2 kilometre swim and began to catch me on the bike. They whizzed by, and I could barely muster any words, so I just dropped my head and churned my bulky legs a little bit harder, knowing I would never catch them, but at least I could chase them.
As I rounded the final corner and headed into my final transition I hopped off my bike, lost a shoe in the process, and just kept going. With Red Lightning racked back up, I remembered a last minute transition tip from Yvonne to slip on my shoes, grab my gels, race belt and hat, and get out of there.
The run course was empty and lonely. The half iron competitors were still on the bike, and my competition was far enough out of sight ahead or behind me. As I ran up past the iconic voice of Steve King, I could hear him rattle off my swim, bike and transition times, and about my journey of raising money for MS. It was the inspiration I needed to find a jump in my step as I moved my clunky legs a little bit faster. After turning down an empty neighboured road I found myself completely isolated and within half way of my run, I got lost. There was no clear markings and somehow I found myself down a trail that eventually seemed not so much a part of the course. I was confused and frustrated, firstly at myself for not knowing the route better but secondly at the race organizers for not clearly marking the course. It wasn’t long before I reconnected with a path that got me back on the right trail, but nonetheless I’m almost positive I took a small detour. It was enough to throw off my entire race, and I was angry for the entire second half of my run. My watch didn’t start properly, so I had no idea what my pace was or even how far I detoured. When I crossed the finish line, I felt more rattled by my deviance that I couldn’t even celebrate my achievement. I placed second female overall, but I will never know how far off my time was from my little escapade off the beaten path. It was almost enough to bring me to tears, then I remembered the story of when my dad once got lost on a triathlon run course, and I laughed in spite of myself. I took a few minutes to gather my emotions before running over to transition where I saw Yvonne coming off the bike, and I forgot everything about the past three hours.
One by one each of my training partners flew in on their bikes, and shot off on their run. Seeing them compete was all I needed to re-focus my energy and celebrate their successes. For the next two hours, I stood at the turnaround point of the run course and watched them all absolutely dominate this race. My energy was alive again, and I was overcome with pride. Each of them had a phenomenal showing, or as coach puts it, “excellent execution.” At the finish line as they all trickled in, we hugged and shared our triumphs, back together again just as before the race began. Each one faced their own battles and endured their own stories, but we came back together as a team and our experiences were celebrated as one.
If you ask me about my race weekend in Oliver, chances are I’ll tell you all about my amazing training partners, and what they accomplished that day. Truth be told, I don’t really even remember much about my race, only that I got to finish with some of the most amazing athletes and people I have come to know. I learned that sometimes it’s ok to let go of the competition and the expectation that things will be perfect on race day. I also learned celebrating someone else’s success is just as rewarding as your own, if not, better.
Thanks to Katrina for the amazing photos!
Rust2Iron 