Waking up at 5am in the dead of winter for a swim workout is fun. Nothing really beats shuffling down the icy driveway towards my frosty car as the chilly breeze freezes me to the core. It’s like a second alarm clock that jolts me awake.
I am nearing the seven month countdown until my half-distance tri in August and two-a-day group training sessions have begun, which means, chilly before-the-rooster-awakes morning workouts. For the past year, I trained alone, which has allowed me to set my own schedule, find excuses to miss workouts, and otherwise avoid early mornings in the winter. But this year I decided to get some coaching to help guide me through more focused workouts, and with group training sessions I now have company and a motivator for getting out of bed, even at 5am in the dead of winter.
I find my group on the deck, and my coach looks at my goggles and cap, and says, “Do you have an ankle band?” Staring blankly back at him I shake my head as I look down at his thick black elastic-band and then to the rest of the group, who are all carrying swim bags loaded with training aids. In just the last six weeks, I have seen tempo trainers, pull buoys, hand paddles, and now ankle bands. Gone are the days when a cap and goggles are the only swimming gear required.
As we hop in the pool, Maurice lays out the workout, four sets of 15’s, including free swim, ankle band, pull buoy and pull buoy with paddles. Four sets of 1500 metres? That can’t be right. We haven’t even started swimming, and I’m already confused. At least I know how to swim; I figure I’ll just follow their lead.
As I finish my first set of 15 minutes, not 1500 metres, Maurice, offers me his ankle band. “Here, just loop this around one ankle, figure-eight it around and put this end on the other ankle, it’s meant to make your legs sink.” Oh sweet, you want me to tie my legs together. “OK,” I reply, “I’ll try not to drown.” With a somewhat serious expression, he responds, “Yea, there are a few lifeguards around if you need help.” Oh, so drowning is definitely a possibility. OK. I wasn’t about to tell my coach I didn’t want to do it; I don’t think it was an option.
So I proceeded to literally tie my ankles together and pushed off the wall. At first a mild panic rose within my chest and my heart began to beat faster as my legs sank behind me. This is how I imagine it feels after walking the plank, at least my hands weren’t tied behind my back, but for a brief moment, I wonder if that’s an exercise for next week. I picture myself writhing around like a worm through the water, and then realize I already look like a drowning seahorse or a floundering walrus, so it probably can’t get much worse. While pulling through the water with my dragging, useless legs I found that if I focused more on the swim than on my bounded feet, I was surprisingly OK and in fact not drowning at all, minus some flailing here and there.
Next set, and it’s on to the pull buoy, which I have maybe used once in my life, but I gave up because it felt like a balloon pulling my ass towards the sky. Once again I have no idea what I am doing, so as my swim mate stops by the wall, pops in her buoy and asks if I want to go first, I reply, “no, you go on.” She doesn’t know that I need to first watch what she does before I make a fool of myself. As I look under the water at the placement of the buoy, I follow suit, and carry on. And just as last time, my ass floats skyward. Buoyancy is definitely not an issue for me, so when you stick a flotation device between my thighs, well naturally things will go up. At this point, I wasn’t sure what looked better, my drowning seahorse act or my giant floating bum. I longed to just swim normal laps without the hindrance of an elastic band or a piece of foam wedged between my legs.
For the last set, I grab my hand paddles (the only other piece of swimming gear I own besides my cap and goggles) and continue pretending to be the pro that I am not. With the buoy still firmly squashed between my legs, I keep motoring along through the final 15. At each end, as I attempt to grab the deck with my flipper-like hands for my open turn I can’t quite get my grip, and end up just kind of bobbing like a child on a pool noodle before turning around and setting off again. The ensuing laps are reminiscent of an overweight seal with a slightly dysfunctional back end. Seriously, only I could manage to resemble three different drowning sea creatures in just one morning swim. Maybe it doesn’t look as funny as it feels. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself anyways.
At the end of the session, my head is full with new knowledge and my body has learned a few new ways of getting from one end of the pool to the other. It still never ceases to amaze me just how much there is to learn and that it’s a constant process. Who knew something as simple as swimming, biking and running could be so complicated? Nonetheless, I am grateful for the stories, and even more so for the chance to laugh at myself as I continue on the road to one hundred forty point six miles.
swim
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.
The next step
It was just over a year ago that I made the decision to commit myself to completing an Ironman. At the time I barely knew how to swim the front crawl, run without walking breaks or balance on a road bike. Yet this is usually how I approach things in life, jumping in with both feet and never really looking to see where I’m landing. I’m stubborn, impulsive, determined and reckless, and while these attributes often result in trouble, I honestly believe they are the attributes that will help develop me into the Ironman I so desperately want to become.
Over this year, I have stuck with my commitment, and while I still have so far to go in my journey I no longer feel impulsive and reckless. I know I am making the right decisions with my training and I’m approaching each level of the sport with reason and careful planning. That being said, while I submitted my registration form for the half-distance 2014 Challenge Penticton race it felt like a leap. No matter how prepared I am, it’s still hard to believe I can actually do it. The scary part about realizing your dreams is when they suddenly become reality. Nonetheless, my calendar is already mapped out and the training schedule is planned. So I may as well continue jumping in with both feet, because so far it seems to be working out for me.
Not enough time
There is never enough time. Outside of eating, sleeping, cooking, cleaning, personal hygiene, socializing, walking the dog, quality time with the boyfriend, and a Monday to Friday 8-4 job, I’m left with few precious hours to train. Sometimes I look at my training schedule and wonder how it will all fit into my day. In fact I find it challenging from week to week to properly fit it all in without overdoing it or missing something. Today was a prime example of trying to do too much at once. I was scheduled for a two-hour endurance ride and a form practice swim lesson at 7pm. Waking up at 430am to get in nutrition, stretching, the ride, a shower, and travel to work, seemed a little unreasonable, so I figured I’d make a mad dash home at 4pm, hop on the trainer, then rush off to my swim class at 630; totally doable. Cue 415 and I’m flailing through the front door, scrambling into my bike shorts, filling up water bottles, and grabbing TV remotes (trust me, you need TV for an endurance ride on the trainer). I finally got properly seated in the saddle and I had a Gatorade in one hand and two remotes in the other, surfing for the hockey game. At this point I was still frantically settling myself in for a long ride, and as I reached down to the coffee table, mid cycle, for my water bottle cap, the law of gravity embraced my large off-balanced body and, wham! I had the trainer and bike on its side and on top of me, my body slammed up against the side of the table with a handlebar jammed into the top of my thigh. 
In the moment, horrendous curse words flew from my mouth and rage, panic and frustration welled up inside of me. I learn a valuable lesson today about training and about being reasonable. My training schedules are automatically generated for me based off my goals. It doesn’t take into account eating, cooking, sleeping, my boyfriend, or life in general. It just demands hours and mileage. But as an age group triathlete who will probably never grace the podium, I have to be realistic with my goals. I want to get better and I want a challenge, yet I still need to have time for everything else. What I learned is that training needs to fit your life, and sometimes it’s OK to miss a workout, or to take an extra day off. The top age groupers may believe their life revolves around the sport, but for me, until this sport will pay my bills, I will be left scrambling for time to fit it in. It will be a delicate balance, but frantically rushing from one thing to the next and falling on top of coffee tables seems like a bit much to me.
Pavilion Lake 2013 – 1:29
Like the cold winds that sweep in with the passing of summer, triathlon season has also begun to see its leaves turn. Mornings are too dark for early rides, cool winds require long pants, open water swims are too cold, and rain drops, dark clouds and cool temperatures dampen my spirits. Yet, with one last warm, sunny, bright summer weekend, I got in just one more race of the season at Pavilion Lake.
On the drive out, I remember feeling unexpectedly relaxed. On any other race day, I would have described myself as jittery, shaky and fluttering. Yet, on this morning I didn’t sense any form of nervousness or apprehension.
This was my third race of the season, and I now know what I am capable of doing. I know that I won’t drown, my legs won’t stop working, I won’t get lost on the course, fall off my bike, or otherwise fail. Four months ago, I would have thought that any one of those predicaments could be possible. Being confident and trusting in my abilities is so reassuring.
I couldn’t have asked for a better way to end the season. I felt strong in the swim, killed the bike, but the run was a challenge, as always. Heading into winter training, I know that my focus will be on my running. Sometimes I feel as though I am carrying concrete slabs for legs. I continually scream quietly, yet loudly to myself, “you’re light as a feather; run like a Kenyan; mind over matter, mind over matter.” It doesn’t seem to do a thing, as I continue to saunter along like a 2 tonne elephant. But that’s all in the process of getting stronger and better and learning. Along with expensive chiropractic and massage appointments, early mornings, tired work days, shin splints, blisters, road rash, chlorine hair, higher grocery bills, and more money spent on new equipment, coaches and gym memberships. It sounds kind of off-putting, yet I don’t foresee myself quitting anytime soon. It’s just part of the package.
This journey has also been much easier because of friends, family, coaches and training partners who support me. Most recently, I will never forget when my best friend came out to cheer me on and not only screamed my name at every turn along the course, and made me feel like a champion, but also spontaneously became one of the volunteers, helping with set up and timing. She was also the loudest one and perhaps the only one shouting in excitement when I won second place in my age group (it was a small event). She was proud of me, and I know that she would have been proud even if I did drown, fall off my bike, or get lost on the course. Sometimes racing in the sport of triathlon can be lonely, daunting and unforgiving, but with the support of those around me, the voices in my head yell at me with a little bit more encouragement, telling me that yes, my thunderous thighs will propel me to victory.
As I head into the off season I am already planning next race season, and feeling excited for more stories of my training through the next eight months as I continue my journey to one hundred forty point six miles.
Rust2Iron 