rust2iron

Getting to the start line – one pothole at a time

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In six days, I will be competing in my first half Ironman – a goal almost one year past its expiry date. My first half iron event was originally scheduled for Penticton in August last year, but the universe had different plans for me. So here I am for round number two still trying to get myself to that start line.
Looking back on the past two years, I see a journey that has been fuelled by a colourful array of emotions – sometimes good and sometimes bad. It has not been an easy road. With a goal as demanding as Ironman I expected challenges, I expected detours, bumps and bruises and maybe some aches and pains, but I was never expecting some of the hoops thrown my way. I suppose that is the fine line of life – it could go one way or another in a heartbeat.
After missing my first big race, I wallowed for a little bit in disappointment, but with time I would put it behind me and move on to the next challenge with a brighter and more spirited outlook. By December I was back into training with my sights set on completing the half Ironman in Victoria – my hometown. For the past six months, I have once again poured my heart and soul into the training plan, conquering new challenges, setting new personal bests, and feeling more resilient and more determined. These kinds of bumps in the road are always a difficult pill to swallow but it’s incredible how much stronger we can come back after being pushed down. Unfortunately though, I have continued to face tough obstacles. Even in the past week, I have encountered new injuries that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. It has almost become comical as I scramble to make last minute chiro and massage appointments – even my bike is broken and checked in for a fix-up. What else could possibly happen to threaten me from getting to that start line? It’s like riding your bike along a long, smooth, unknown highway – you have no idea how long it will last or if, just beyond the horizon, the road is full of pot holes or long stretches of gravel and, boom, down you go. I suppose, among many other things, it has taught me to enjoy the smooth ride while the smooth ride lasts. If the potholes come, brace yourself, and hope for a soft landing.
There have certainly been times when I thought maybe racing long distance triathlons was just not meant to be and that maybe I was better suited for knitting or water aerobics. At some point you have to wonder. But I’m also too stubborn, too proud and even times too stupid to give up. That all being said, I have also had too much fun. For the most part, I train six days a week, twice a day, and sometimes in the freezing cold, the burning hot, and from 6 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon non-stop. I have toes so black they fall off, I have aches so sore that I often hobble, I have blisters that sting, I constantly smell like sweat or chlorine, and I barely have time to eat, sleep or otherwise fit in a social afternoon with friends. To many people, this is nuts. But I love it. I love every waking moment of it and even with the potholes or long stretches of gravelly road, I know things eventually smooth themselves out again. Looking back on these past two years, I see a life teeming with fulfillment, challenge, passion, determination and grit. The injuries and illnesses have played a huge role in my journey, but they do not define it.
With just a few days until race day, I plan to bubble wrap myself and sit on my hands – there is no more room in this journey for any more hiccups. Race day is happening, whether my body wants to take part or not. I know my mind is up for the challenge, so I guess we shall see who prevails. Within my heart, I know if I just hang in there and get it done, there will be much celebration, much to be proud of, and there will be much to look back on and say, “I did it! What’s next??” Here’s to the final days to that half Ironman start line and crossing that finish line with my arms in the air and a smile on my face.

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Training for the mind

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My training journey has been one full of learning. I’ve learned how to use clip in pedals, drink while running, eat while biking, tape up blisters, blaze through transitions, and otherwise how to be an ironman triathlete. But aside from the physical skills of this sport, I’ve started to learn the mental game.
The past eight weeks have really put me to the test. With a torn MCL earlier this year, I was limited in my training for six weeks, and then just as I received clearance to run again, I took myself out with a cold, which can only be described as the plague. For almost two weeks, I was only able to lift my head for violent coughing fits, or blowing disgusting amounts of snot from my nose. As I replaced running marathons with sleeping marathons, I wondered if I would ever get back on track. Everything seemed to be going either in slow motion or backwards as I tortured myself by counting every workout I missed. I realized this was the part in the journey where I was either going to sink or swim.

Dealing with adversity is never easy, yet it comes with great teachings, that, in the end, can build a resilient and smart athlete. I have learned how to adjust and adapt, which are two very important abilities for an ironman athlete to obtain. Racing is unpredictable and the best triathletes are those who make dispensable plans – if one doesn’t work, throw it out the window, and go for Plan B, or C, or Z. Understanding that training and racing comes with many variables, also means I have learned to accept uncontrollable situations. Sometimes shit happens , that’s just part of life. In acceptance, I’ve also learned that sometimes I will have bad workouts, sometimes I might come in dead last, and I might get ill or injured – accept them for what they are and move on. It doesn’t mean settling, it means accepting that every day is not perfect. And by foregoing perfection, I have learned how to change my expectations and be ok with it. If my muscles are aching, or I’m sick, or overtired, I can’t reasonably expect the same results if I was rested, healthy and pain free. Once again, not every day goes according to plan and neither does every workout. Most importantly I have learned that training smart is better than training hard. This by no means suggests that half-assing all workouts is smart – there is no substitute for pure hard work. But there are some days where pushing the envelope can be detrimental. If I listen to my body and go with my gut instinct, I’m less susceptible to going down a path of disaster. I’ve finally recognized that my training schedule is not the bible. On some days, what coach says might not be what my body says. Like I said, adjust, adapt, accept, and be smart. And when it all comes together, celebrate the successes. There is no such thing as a small success and every hard earned effort should be recognized, otherwise I’m in for a dark, unhappy ride. Lastly, no one likes a pity party. Everyone is enduring their own battles of aches and pains, and my aches and pains don’t make me special or entitled to whining about it. This doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to my feelings, but not everyone needs to hear about how tough life is all the time. Scream into the pillow, kick up some dirt then put on the big girl panties and keep moving forward.
If I can mentally out tough this journey, then I know my body will be able to do the rest.
Despite the set back in my training, I’m still clinging on. I’ve taken the past eight weeks to apply my learning and keep pushing towards my goal. This past weekend, I finished my first race of the season with the lingering effects of the cold. For the entire race, I coughed up phlegm, snotted all over myself, breathed heavily and otherwise felt heavy. There would be no PB’s or impressive splits, but I was there doing something that eight weeks ago I thought was impossible. I was relaxed and care-free. For the first time since finishing a triathlon, I did not care about my performance, placing, or time, and as I crossed the finish line, I raised my arms in celebration and with a smile on my face – something I’ve never done before.
You can teach someone how to swim, bike and run, and all the other physical elements that go along with becoming an ironman athlete, but developing the mental grit, is almost more important and doesn’t come without its challenges. Cruising along in calm waters all the time can be dangerous, because once the storm hits you won’t be prepared. Endure a few swells along the way, and you’ll learn how to survive and smile while doing it.

Me and my crew

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Someone once asked me what kind of support system is required when training for an Ironman race. I paused for only a brief moment before recalling the date June 22, 2014. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a hot Sunday afternoon en route back from a 200 kilometre ride, and I was starting to feel unusually tired, unhappy, and heavy. I wanted to burst into tears, as every pang within my body started to scream. We still had 50 kilometres to go, but after failing in the calculation of my hydration and nutrition, this was going to be a long, bonky ride home. As I slowed down to almost a snail’s pace, two of my training partners rode up beside me for support. For the remainder of the ride they stayed with me, even tolerating my cursing, spitting and delirium. At one point Vince literally pushed me up Cardiac Hill – a mountain of an incline just outside town. It was one of toughest rides I’ve ever done, and really the only reason I lived to tell about it is because of those who were willing to literally push me up a mountain. They are the same people who greet me with smiles at 6am on the pool deck, who find time to laugh with me between gruelling sets, even though sometimes we’d rather cry, and the people who have seen me shoot snot out my nose, with multi-coloured gels caked onto my cheeks, and salty sweat dripping off my nose.
They are there for pool sets, where you just don’t think you can do one more, and they step up and pull you along, worker harder, so you don’t have to. They are there on long runs, looping back, because no one gets left behind. They don’t pass judgement when you have to run into the bushes every five minutes, or look at you differently when you put ice in your underwear, puke up your breakfast, pee in your shorts, or otherwise start taking off your clothes in the middle of anywhere, because they have all been there before. They have been there through your breakthroughs and your breakdowns, and it’s because of this that we share a genuine and unique bond.
Beyond the high fives, hugs and other moral support, my training partners also play an integral role in the execution of my training plan. Whether that’s by pushing me, challenging me, or otherwise, simply lending me a set of wheels, or a chocolate peanut butter ball when I’m feeling bonky or cranky. They also lend me expertise that you won’t find it any book or online blog. It’s a simple gesture but I’ve come to learn that the advice from a veteran Ironman athlete is simply priceless.
At the end of the day, my passion for this sport is often fuelled by the people I do it with day in and day out. I have often said that I don’t know if I could do what I do without their support. Sometimes knowing they are there, whether it’s beside you or kilometres ahead of you, enduring the same challenge, makes this journey that much easier.
Just this past weekend, after a long 94 kilometre ride, we had a 45 minute brick run that I was dreading. No part of my body wanted anything to do with it. But as I looked over at Katrina, who had just completed her longest ride ever, I figured the least I could do was run alongside her as she finished her milestone.

 Sometimes we do what do, not because we want to, but because someone else’s journey that day is more important than how we feel. So, with lead in our feet and pain in our legs, we trudged along together, grumbling and mumbling, yet all the while knowing we would make it out alive.
As the season ramps up, the gruelling workouts are just beginning but for every one that I accomplish I know there will be sweaty, gritty, salty hugs or high-fives waiting for me on the other side – and that is something worth getting up for.

 

Swimming with the fishes in the deep blue sea

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The ocean air breezed gently across my skin and I soaked in the radiance of the warm sun as Tracy and I walked along the rock wall of Alli’i Drive. On this morning, as I glanced out along the horizon, the ocean appeared incredibly vast and exceptionally grand. It was like a serene, turquoise mass of rippling water gently swaying in tune to the calm morning winds. I closed by eyes tightly as I embraced the salty air and the feeling of freedom and revitalization. I am a water baby, born to love the water, and a west coast girl, born to love the ocean. The crashing sound of waves, the rush of the tides moving over tiny pebbles, the bright colours of starfish, jellyfish and shells, the smells of changing tides, and the feeling of wet, soft sand between your toes, reminds me of a childhood of memories frolicking along shorelines.

As we passed the end of the rock wall we reached the top of the stairs to the small sandy beach, where we began to remove our shoes and put on our goggles and caps. Despite the warmth in the air, my teeth began to incessantly chatter, a sign of my body’s first reaction to nervousness. Although I feel like my soul is innately connected to the ocean, I prefer to feel that connection from a distance. For as deeply as I love it, I am also deeply afraid of it, particularly what lies beneath it – fish, octopi, crevasses, caves, sharks, stingrays, jellyfish, turtles, especially whales and anything that moves, sits still, barely lives or even floats.  In fact, when I first started triathlons I swore I would never do an open ocean water swim, unless I qualified for Kona.  Well I lied to myself, because here I was about to swim 1.2 miles into the open ocean where I would be an insignificant dot amongst all the things that moved and floated, including sharks, stingrays, turtles and whatever else lurked in the bay that morning.
As I hobbled down the rocky steps to the wet, sandy beach, I found a spot to sit where I could pull on my “legs.” Before I left, my coach gave me the bottom half of of his wetsuit, cut into two single legs. It would help keep my injured knee stable and afloat so I wouldn’t need to kick. They would also provide some slight flotation, which was reassuring at the time. Given there were no lane ropes or deck to grab onto, it was nice to know my legs were a little bit more floaty than usual. Although, it did briefly enter my mind that from the view below, I now slightly resembled a seal, which was prime bait for large, carnivorous sea creatures. Looking back on it now though, I should have been more concerned about walking around with the the not-so-fashionable look of cut off wet suit legs over my tri shorts, which as I recalled was how my coach told me not to wear them.

Looking out over the horizon of the Kailua-Kona bay I took one deep breath and plunged myself into a hesitant head-first dive forward and just started swimming.

For the first 150 metres, the water was amazingly clear, and we were surrounded by vibrant colours of darting tropical fish and a bursting array of coral. Every few metres I would I lose  sight of where I was going as I was more enthralled with the happenings beneath me. Here in the bay, I felt safe and relaxed. The water was deep enough for swimming, but shallow enough to prevent any large unwanted sea creatures from disrupting the peace. The waves gently rocked me back and forth as the tide pulled in, then out, but it didn’t bother me; I just kind of rolled with it.
As we moved past the 150 metre swim marker, the coral slowly disappeared into white sand and the depths grew deeper and deeper, and suddenly I felt much more vulnerable and my mind started to run wild. I kept telling myself to calm down, relax, be one with the water, but I couldn’t keep the word “shark” out of my head and my eyes darted at every shadow. With every fourth stroke I would pop my head up slightly to navigate my way through the waters and every time I would realize just how exposed we were out in the middle of the open ocean. The horizon was dotted with various boats, buoys, a titanic sized cruise ship and occasionally other swimmers. I couldn’t decide in that moment whether it was a breathtaking sight or simply terrifying. So, I shut out the dark fears of large looking sea creatures and tried to focus on the small, harmless fish. With just metres to go before hitting the marker, a large haunting looking shape swept over the ocean floor. It was a Manta Ray, calmly floating along. This creature wasn’t terrifying, in fact, it was quite peaceful.
As I continued on and bobbed my head up to sight I saw Tracy pull up; we had hit the 1.2 mile marker. The two of us floated there in the middle of the open ocean, just two insignificant dots, surrounded by a mysterious underwater world, and exchanging high-fives as we celebrated our triumph. We turned to head back, and a local swimmer popped up beside us. “Beautiful morning for swim,” she exclaimed in a calm almost namaste-like greeting. Tracy and I smiled at each other. For the first time, I was completely  relaxed and the dark thoughts of terror in the great, deep sea were gone. The journey back was much more comfortable, and my eyes no longer darted in all directions. I was calm, yet straddling the edge between fight or flight. I was guarded, yet open.
Once back on shore, we stumbled along the soft sand like drunken sailors touching land for the first time and laughed in spite of ourselves. I looked back over the horizon to see the marker off in the distance and smiled. I will forever be grateful for my first open ocean water swim, yet I don’t know if it’s something I am intent on repeating anytime too soon. I will always respect the ocean and what lies beneath it, and I don’t think I’ll truly ever lose that fear, but for now I am just happy to have survived and happy to have experienced the beauties of the great blue Pacific.

*A couple days later there was a shark attack on one of the nearby beaches and a Grey Whale sighting just off the marker in the bay. I counted my lucky stars for the peaceful adventure we experienced, and didn’t swim much further that the buoy line for the rest of the week.

Plans derail, but determination prevails – Part one

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It was a cold January afternoon when I made the commitment to a destination training week in Kona, Hawaii. I would eat, live, and breathe triathlon on a ruthless training schedule that would entail multiple six plus hour rides along the grueling lava fields while enduring fierce winds, open ocean water swims, pool speed sessions, and heat-searing-off the pavement runs. As an age-group triathlete, this kind of training schedule away from the demands of everyday life and work is an amazing opportunity, especially in a place like Kona – home of the Ironman World Championships. Unfortunately, one week before my trip, I wrecked my knee and all my plans came to a grinding halt. That’s the reality of life though, sometimes things don’t go as planned. At least I could swim, and maybe even perhaps I could attempt some light cycling. All was not lost. So, with Chrissie Wellington’s book, “A Life Without Limits” tucked under my arm, and suitcase in tow, I boarded the plane. The next morning, I awoke in Hawaii to the sounds of chirping birds, the damp warmth of tropical air, and the intoxicating scent of the ocean – this was exactly where I needed to be.
That morning I walked down to the official location of the Ironman swim start and run finish along Alli’i Drive. To walk the streets where legends of my sport were made, is a moment I’ll never forget. From Julie Moss’s gutsy finish line crawl, to the battle between Mark Allen and Dave Scott, Paula Newby-Fraser’s eight titles, to the unknown Chrissie Wellington’s first world champion win, and Mirinda Carfrae’s world record marathon finish, this place was where the impossible happened.
For the next couple hours, I simply walked up and down the strip soaking in the warm sun and the thinking of the dreams that had been realized right there on that pavement. I thought of my friend, Melissa, who had qualified to race here twice before. I thought of her and all the other thousands of athletes, who, through hard work, relentlessness determination, and sacrifice, did what so many of us can only dream of accomplishing; earning their spot to race in the Ironman world championships.
As I leaned out over the rock seawall, I stared off into the horizon of the Kailua-Kona bay, and with a deep sigh turned to walk back home. Tomorrow, I would do the one thing my knee still allowed me to, and swim in that bay of dreams.