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.
running
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.
Embrace the pain
It’s 35 degrees, the sun is scorching against your skin and it feels on fire, along with the fire burning in your heaving lungs, pounding feet and heavy legs. You’re 5 kilometres into a 10 k tempo and every bone within your body is telling you to stop, puke and collapse in a pool of your own sweat. There is an inner turmoil within your brain, half telling you to keep going, half telling you enough is enough. It’s that point in the workout when you have to dig deep and go to a place to find even the tiniest bit of inspiration to just keep going and to keep on pace.
This is the inner battle of going above and beyond and breaking through. Most, if not all, athletes go through it and how you come out the other side is how you choose to face that battle, and sometimes a little inspiration goes a long way.
My inspiration starts with my friend who has Multiple Sclerosis. She struggles with pain, debilitation and exhaustion; that’s her daily fight. Whenever I get to that breaking point in my workouts I think of her and I remind myself how fortunate I am to have the ability to even chase the dream of competing in an Ironman race. It really is a gift to be healthy and able bodied, and it’s something to never forget. No matter what pain I face in a race or a training workout, there is someone, somewhere facing a much greater challenge, someone like Kayla Montgomery, the runner from North Carolina, who is defying all odds. I stumbled across Kayla’s story the other night and was instantly moved to tears. Despite being diagnosed with MS, Kayla is one of the best young long distance runners in America. Her story is remarkable and simply inspiring. She embodies discipline, hard work and determination. Watching her collapse at the finish after an incredible performance on the track is gut wrenching but amazing. She is chasing a dream, because she still can. Because of her disease, there may be a day when she can longer compete, yet along walk, so she’s doing what she can while she can. It’s something we should all remember – just how blessed we are to have the ability to do what we do. Suffering through the grind is just a part of the journey, and we should embrace every pain that comes along with it, because it’s better than not being able to run at all. Being in good health should never be taken for granted because you never know when that might change. As Kayla said, “I hope to run to as long as I can and to make the most out of it as long as I can. When or if I’m not able to run at some point down the road then at least I can look back and know that, when I could, I gave it my all.”
Coastal Thanksgiving Weekend
This Thanksgiving weekend I spent my time in Victoria with loved ones, enjoying the freedom of drinking bottomless bottles of wine, overindulging in food and sharing in good laughter with friends and family. Over the past couple of weeks, I have really forced myself to stop obsessing over training and what will come next year and focus on, really, not focusing on anything at all. But in between the drinks, food and unfocused inhibitions, there is always time for a run along the waterfront.
Back on the coast, I instantly felt the fresh salty air fill my lungs as I deeply inhaled wisps of a thick, moist ocean breeze. It felt as though I was breathing in a lifetime of memories, and there was a sense of calm that washed over me. After living in the desert interior for the past few years I have become like a leathery lizard. Here, back in my west coast hometown, the ocean’s dampness brushes on my skin and I absorb the moisture like a sponge.
My last visit home was clouded by sickness and recuperation, and this time I was desperate to cling onto the coastal air with every last breath. Honestly, it doesn’t take long to feel reinvigorated by the trickles and sprinkles of fall rain showers, and a slightly chilly westerly wind. On this particular day I was pounding the pavement along the Galloping Goose – a long and winding trail throughout the city that makes a frolicking playground for runners, walkers and cyclists. With the gentle ocean breeze I had tears streaming from my face and a runny nose. Over-sized maple leaves flowed freely about the winds and flopped down upon the damp pavement like drenched lilly pads. The contrast of blues, greens, and even a slight tinge of grey amalgamated together to create beauty and serenity lain out before me. I miss days like these. I don’t often get to visit home much anymore, so I always cherish every moment, relishing in the local running trails and everything else this small BC city has to offer.
I grew up in this multifaceted community, and just like this trail, every road, park, building, and tree represents endless vivid memories. On this day, even with the trickling raindrops, there was still a milling about of active Victorians eagerly pacing themselves along the ocean’s shoreline, enjoying the exercise, company and simply the sheer beauty of the scenery before us. I love the vibrant west coast, and how alive it makes me feel. The pungent stench of the now unfamiliar ocean plagued the moist ocean air and, despite my constant moving, the light breeze brings chills to my bones. Off in the distance I saw a bunch of kayakers peacefully floating down the calm waters of the Pacific and I deeply inhaled the ocean air and instantly felt a sense of calm, even despite my skyrocketing heart rate. As manic as it sounds, I could spend a lifetime simply jogging up and down the seashore trail, like a Forrest Gump on his mission to nowhere but to just keep running.
Life on the island can be extraordinarily idyllic. It has the charisma to take you places you’ve never been before. It’s funny, after spending more than twenty years in this seaside oasis I lost sight of its beauty, and often took for granted what lay just outside my back door. Nowadays, during visits that are often much too short, I have found my way back to appreciation for the magnificent coastal mountains, cool ocean breeze, great Canadian maples, and majestic running and bike routes. It feels so good to be home.
Over the next few weeks, I am going to maintain the “have fun, forget about the pain,” mentality and try to relax. Surprisingly, it’s hard to do. There is an itch within me that wants to be constantly tied to a schedule, especially a schedule of endless training. At this point though, I figure it’s best to to get it out of the system and enjoy the peace now, because the work is coming.
More snot and other grossness
Mud and water flew up my nose and splattered my face for 3 hours on this morning’s ride, and it goes without saying there was flying snot and rockets of spit. And in that moment it occurred to me how unglamorous I’ve allowed myself to become since I started training. I now feel no shame in about being covered from head to toe in mud, grit and sweat, shooting snot from my nostrils, spitting all over the pavement in front of complete strangers, heaving out my guts after a hard workout, going out in public with permanently matted, frizzed hair, walking like a broken old woman, and leaving behind a trail of intoxicating chlorine scent. I sound more like a tobacco chewing, tractor driving hillbilly than an endurance athlete. My mother would be so disappointed. But what happened after the ride this morning, as I was stepping into my hot, steamy shower really took my level of unglamorous up a couple notches.
The warm water felt awesome, and it was especially satisfying watching the mud wash off my sore, tired body and circle down the drain. But as I turned around and the hot water splashed against my backside, I shrieked and nearly jumped straight through the shower curtain. I felt a harsh sting shoot through me, and while huffing and puffing through the burning pain, I twisted myself around to discover I had experienced my very first saddle sore. The soaking wet padding in my bike shorts chaffed my skin so badly that on either side of my buttocks I had two large engraved pink curved raw lines running down towards my thighs. Gross. Along with all my rocketing and ejecting of bodily fluids, I now have what looks like diaper rash. The best part, or maybe the worst part of it all is the phone call with my mother this evening, when she offered up her motherly advice of plastering myself with diaper rash ointment and taping sanitary napkins to my butt. Seriously? “It’s worth a go,” she said. Oh man, I think I’d rather endure the suffering, even it it means that I’m not going to be able to sit straight for a week. I can just picture myself walking around the office on Monday like an old woman and then awkwardly propping myself on my hip while I sit at my desk. My co workers will wonder if I contracted something at a party over the weekend; nope just self induced pain from 10 hours of running and biking. It’s crazy what I do for fun.
Despite all the suffering and grossness though, I feel awesome, I just might not look good doing it. Doesn’t matter, I’ll take all the flaws triathlon bestows upon me and just keep going, ass sores and all. It’s just a part of the journey. And not to worry, this is one post that won’t include photos.
Rust2Iron 