70.3 Austin Half

Normally, I write about a race as soon as I can after, so as not to lose the details.  This time, I wanted to have time to reflect on what happened first.

Going into this race, I knew I could do the individual distances, but putting all three together on the same day...I wasn't too sure about that.  Still, my coach seemed to be sure, and since he knew what he was talking about for every other race, I decided to believe him.

Shortly after Wally's Tri, something happened that caused me to have anxiety, especially about the water.  I know, who would have guessed this fish would become afraid of the water?  A week before the Half, I wasn't even sure I was going to do the race because of it. It was only the support of the people around me that motivated me to at least try.  Besides, I wasn't going to throw away nine months of training without a good fight.

Race day dawned rainy and slightly chilly.  SPI Tri 2.0 I thought.  There was a flurry of activity as Farrah and I went from one transition to the next, getting our stations ready.  During that time the rain stopped, and the announcer said we would be starting on time.  Farrah and I made it down to the starting chute, and that's when the anxiety hit.  The waves were marked by swim cap, and we were blue (the guys behind us were pink, I think the organizers did that for fun)

You can't ask for a calmer, more positive person to be around than Farrah.  She simply radiates warm fuzzies. As our wave moved closer to the water, she reminded me of words I had told her to help her get over her fear: Fear is in our minds, we create it and so we can control it.  Funny how your own words come back to you.  Breathe and focus...Once we entered the water, we had two minutes before our cannon would go off.  I reached out to Farrah for one last hug before the start. And then it began.

I usually need about 400 m to find my stride.  This generally works out well since that distance is generally pretty chaotic in the beginning. Move here, dodge there, as the mass of bodies work toward the same goal.  When I got to the 400 m buoy, I had a full out panic attack.  I came up to sight and couldn't see the course.  I had over rotated and turned myself sideways. Getting myself back on track, I seriously considered quitting. Just keep swimming while you think about it, I thought.  You can always get picked up later.  So I started thinking about why I should keep going.  I already paid for it, I already trained for it, but most importantly, there will be a girl at the end of this race who will learn from her mother what it is to stick to a goal.  Okay, one buoy at a time, and try not to completely melt down.

I have never been so timid in the water.  When I hit 1600 m, as I sighted I took a quick glance at my watch.  I should have done it earlier.  When I saw how far behind pace I was, all anxiety left me, all thoughts of quitting were gone, and all I could think was "Oh, HELL no! That is just not going to happen!"  I finished the last 300 m faster than I ever have.

I knew I had time to make up on the bike.  There was no time to drive the course ahead of time, so I wasn't sure what I was riding into.  Making sure I kept my nutrition plan intact, off I went.  Training on Vintage and then racing on a tri bike is probably the best thing I could have done. I felt light, felt strong, and had no problems tackling the hills.  On the first big hill, I was coasting down, and saw that I was doing 33 mph.  Halfway down, there was a speed limit sign of 30. Hee hee hee, I was speeding...on my bike. Being the math person I am, I recalculated at every checkpoint what I need to come in on the bike so I could reach my time goal. Coming into transition, I had done what I wanted to do - and had given myself the time on the run I needed.

Hannah and Yanory were waiting for me at T2.  Seeing them gave me an extra boost, and I was excited to get out on the run. I really did feel great, only a little tired, but fired up and ready to go.  Got out onto the run, and felt this slight pull in the outside of my left leg.  It will work itself out, I thought.

On the run course, the middle included a long downhill and a steep uphill, with a tour through the park in the middle.  With the three loops, this meant doing the up and down six times.  It was great having the two way traffic, because I got to see everyone I knew out on the run. Loop one was no problem, kept pace, felt good.  Started on loop two and that twinge started flaring up.  After the downhill, it was starting to ache, so I thought I would walk a bit to rest it.  I walked with this nice lady who turned out to be from Brownsville, and stopped to help a guy who was cramping up by giving him some S caps.  All of a sudden, two hands clamped down on my shoulders and I heard my name called.  My buddy Ramon had a flat on the bike, and he had just caught up to me.  I thought about running with him, but the pain in my knee was still nagging.

Finishing the second loop, I saw Hannah and Yanory again.  This time, I stopped to hug them both, and to let them know the pain was getting worse. It was very uplifting having all the people there, lining the end part of the run course.  They didn't just cheer their family members on, they cheered everyone on. And since your first name is on your bib, they call you by name, it's very cool.

That last loop was pretty much agony.  I was reduced to walking one minute, running one minute.  A nurse joined me for about a mile, and she said that as a nurse, she recommended I stop to prevent more damage, but as a fellow triathlete she knew that was pretty pointless advice. She waved me on for the last mile, and I started forcing myself to run two minutes at a time. I saw Farrah, now out on her run, and we stopped to give each other a congratulatory hug.  It was great to see her before the finish. Right before the curve to the finish line, my leg gave out. I stood there crying, gave myself exactly ten seconds, and then said to myself, "Suck it up, you've got people in there waiting for you.  You will run to that finish line, smile for your finisher picture and then you will get to medical...so get going!"

And so I did...behind my time goal, but finishing despite the obstacles that were holding me back. Yanory I saw right away, but as I crossed the finish, I didn't see Hannah.  I felt down thinking she might have missed it.  Then, there she was, holding her arms out to me.  I went and hugged her and heard the words that made all of this worthwhile - "I love you Mom, and I am so very proud of you". In time, I will forget the pain, I will forget the details, but I will never forget that moment. I wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could, but my leg needed attention.

Getting into medical, I saw that in the grand scheme of things, I wasn't that bad off.  There were people on beds with IV's, and one guy complained about his foot hurting, and when they took off his sock, the bottom of his foot looked like hamburger meat.  He had a series of blisters that had the skin taken off from running.  Yep, I'd take my knee pain.  They iced it and massaged it a bit, and I asked for a verdict.  The girl told me that my IT band was pretty tight, but she was fairly sure it was my LCL tendon that I had damaged.  I was still so amped up from the race it didn't even register with me what that meant.  It was only when I looked at the guy next to her and saw his face I asked how long I would be out.  A month, she said, at least.  A month?  A MONTH?  I looked at her and said, "It has two weeks, tops.  I have a Full to train for." Obviously, they hear crazy talk often because she didn't laugh at me.  She just said to get it checked out, and hopefully she was wrong.

I really wanted to get back to Yanory and Hannah, so I asked if I could leave.  Then she laughed.  She said I could leave if I could walk to the pole and back.  Hah, I thought, I just finished the Half, I can walk that far.  I stood up, and almost immediately fell down.  What the heck was up with my legs?  I will make them work I thought.  And like a weebel, I tottered to the pole and back. She laughed some more and said she gave up.  I was released.

Coach said I had to take the week off.  It has been like living in a different world. When you become so immersed in training, you forget any other life.  I've read books, watch TV, and sat by the pool for long periods, trying to fix what triggers the anxiety. Got good news from the doctor - my IT band locked up, I never injured my tendon. Lots of stretching, massage, and some therapy and I will be better than new.

It was an amazing experience that I hope to remember for a long time to come.  My students were so excited to see my medal, and a few of them now want to train for triathlons themselves.  Tomorrow I start training for the Houston Full. I'll find a new normal as the training gets longer and more arduous. Thanks to my support crew, I found that I had more inner strength than I thought I did. I hope that someday, I can help others the way they helped me.

Fully Crazy but Half the Distance

1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run...the Austin Half Ironman


It seems like yesterday that I walked into VRC and said I wanted to do an Ironman. It seems even shorter that I was hyperventilating over signing up for the Half Ironman. Now that it's here and only a couple of days away, I know I should be nervous, or excited or both.  But truly, right now I just feel blessed.

This is not my accomplishment.  So many people helped me along the way, and I would not have gotten here without them. I will probably miss someone here, and if I do, I apologize now.

Thanks Nacho, for being the one waiting for me when I first walked into VRC and being so welcoming.  You have no idea how close I was to walking out of the store because I was intimidated by my own goal.

Thanks to the VRC running group for being there week after week, for commiserating over the tough runs, and for every "good job" you gave me when you passed.  Maggie, Jose Obando, Carlos (my running daddy), Cesar, Amanda, Karla, Gaby, George, Lupita, Marco, Earnesta, Andy, Sara, Hector - you guys kept me chasing you, and I thank you for that, it made me a better runner.

Thanks Maggie for all the pep talks, for coming to CapTex to cheer me on, and for the days of texting face wars.  That meant a lot to me :)

Thanks to David Zuniga for teaching me how to run hills (which will come in very handy in Austin I hear) and to Donna for teaching me how to run for fun.  I haven't forgotten my first trail run with you!

Thanks to Mari Calzada for being there when I needed a shoulder, and for teaching me how to relax when running (not the easiest thing for me!).  You and Carlos are missed a lot down here! Carlos, someday we will play Game of Thrones.

Thanks to all the trail/distance runners who gave me advice whenever I asked, and encouragement along the way - Celinda, Norma, David, Ben, Sami, Carly (and her bright smile), and the many more who posted things that always inspired me.

Big thanks to Cyndi for helping me break through my mental pacing barrier - running with you made all the difference. Hopefully soon I'll take you up on your offer to run Boston with you.

Thanks to Frank for running with me to help me pace, and playing beach volleyball - that was a blast! You'll be back at full tilt in no time!

Thanks to Esmeralda Chavez for not giving up on me when we first met, and inviting me to be a Cyclepath. Every word of encouragement you have given me did not go unappreciated. Thanks to the members of the Sunday ride group - especially Ramon for always being a ray of sunshine, and Mike for pushing me but giving me the right technique to make it effective.

Thanks to Luis De La Garza, Ramon Catindig and Gerardo Aguilar for letting me ride with the "big guys" a few times, and taking turns babysitting me so I wasn't lonely when I couldn't keep up.  You guys are awesome, and someday soon, I will keep up, or die trying.

Special thanks to Gerardo for the loan of the bike and for teaching me how to use it. I'll keep it safe, I promise.

Big hugs to Erica W. and Erica Proffer - I look forward to riding with you two more, and just spending time in general - love ya both.

Farrah - oh my gosh, I'm not sure there are words.  You scared me the first time I met you and you gave this non-tactile person the biggest hug of her life. Who knew the power of an all encompassing hug?  Meeting you was such a blessing to my life, and I look forward to seeing your smile.

Yanory...wow, you are a crazy girl, but that suits me just fine.  Thanks for all the talks, for making me chase you on the bike, and for everything else.  It's going to be a wild ride.

Thanks to the Run, Walk or Crawl group for inspiring me every day with all the posts and responses to my posts.  Never did I think I would find such a group of awesome women.

Thanks to all my friends on Facebook - posting workouts made me accountable, and every person who posted or messaged me encouraging things never went unnoticed.  Whether you live next door or in another country, you all kept me motivated.

Thanks to Cheryl Medrano for tea and scones, for pool talks and spinach salads...may there be more.

To my other adopted family, the Villarreals, thank you for the home away from home in Austin, and for searching for me when you thought I had drown at CapTex. Art, you are like a brother to me, and your support and advice have held me up in some of the most trying times of my life.  Monica (aka Mini Me), you are the little sister I always wanted (although sometimes you act like a big sister). Thanks for the daily talks.  It will be an honor to have you guys there at my race this weekend - I promise not to drown, so if you don't see me, don't panic :)

To my former Canadian coach and great friend Brian - you are sarcastic, unrelenting, and generally crabby.  That being said, you are also a huge support to me, and someone I consider a close friend.  Thanks to the invention of Skype, I am able to hear your sarcastic comments all the way from up north.  I look forward to our long typed conversations - even though it's been years, we always pick up right where we left off.  That's a sign of true friendship.

Big hugs and thanks to my adopted parents - Sally and Xavier Moron.  You are my biggest cheerleaders, my support staff, my doggie feeders, my yard gnomes, and generally, the most awesome people I could have asked for in my life.  God really blessed me the day I moved next door.

Love you, Hannah, for telling your mom it was her time, and for being patient when we would come home and I would say that I had to go for a run/bike/swim. I am so happy to share this with you and hope I make you proud of me.

Now the big one - my coach German Madrazo.  I have no idea what you saw in me that made you take my goal on, but I don't think I could thank you enough for believing in me. Thank you for all your guidance, the workouts, completely changing my running form so I actually could become a runner, and for all the positive energy you just seem to radiate.  I know I have a long way to go to the ultimate goal, but thanks to you, I am on my way.  You and Luci are going to make awesome parents!

I started this journey in January, and along the way learned a lot about life and myself. I met an entire community of amazing people I never knew existed, and am so thankful to have them in my life. There were a few hard knocks along the way, but those times only made my resolve stronger. As I head to the starting line on Sunday morning, I will carry all of you with me (figuratively of course). I have bigger mountains to climb after this, but for now, I am going to enjoy this race for what it is. Thanks for all the support, and see you at the starting line!

No Struggle, No Reward

With less than a month to the Half Ironman in Austin, there is an epidemic running through those that will be competing - doubtitis.

For the majority of us, it will be the first time we have attempted that distance. Even though we have been putting in the work and hours needed to condition our bodies to doing these long distances, we won't actually put all three parts of the race together until race day.

Our condition is common, pretty much everyone goes through it, no matter what their sport. "Did I train enough? Am I strong enough? What the hell was I thinking paying to do this to myself?" That kind of thing. There are those who will openly admit that they are feeling this way, and then there are those of us that don't say anything and just hold it in.

Day to day I vary.  Days like Saturday, where a 60 mile ride with a good headwind during parts of it showed me that I could maintain a good pace even when I was nutritionally deficient (when I stopped at red lights for the last ten miles, my legs literally shook - serves me right for only bringing one GU). I knew had I done the right nutrition, I could have easily started the run.

Sunday was an open water swim - you could see the tension in people's faces as they talked about the upcoming SPI Tri, and further out, those doing the Half. It seemed like the kind of day to really play on your fears - a bunch of people were stung by jellyfish that were not normally out there, two people were observed by a curious dolphin (which I wish had happened to me that would have been SO cool!) and Cheryl was swarmed by a group of fish.

Since swimming is like breathing to me, and I was spared the jellyfish thankfully, the swim was more therapeutic to me than anything. I could tell, however, that not everyone shared my view. Swimming generally tends to be the sport most triathletes survive to be able to get to the rest of the race.

I think as these next few weeks play out and the race approaches we need to remember that it is these fears and doubts that allow us to have that sweet feeling of accomplishment when we finish.  There is no victory without the struggle, no reward without the challenge.

For me, I have been blessed this last week or so.  I've had the chance to run with an uber runner - Cyndi, who eats the Boston Marathon for breakfast.  You can't help but be encouraged when she tells you you are doing well. I've had encouragement from everyone, the demons in my head have decided to tone down the noise, and my foot is getting better. My own doubtitis flairs up once in a while, but I welcome it, knowing that each time I feel it and beat it, that medal around my neck will mean so much more.  

The Boogeyman and the Poodles

As children, we are afraid of the boogeyman.  He generally lives either under the bed, or in the closet. When I was a child, I used to think about poodles at the circus to try to distract me from being scared of what could be lurking in the dark. All that managed to do was make me afraid every time I thought about poodles at the circus.

As we get older, and less afraid of the dark, the boogeyman takes up residence in our heads.  He feeds off every person who put us down, every memory of feeling unworthy or incapable, and toys with us as we face new challenges.

During this last year, I have made a concentrated effort to take a bat to my boogeyman and pound the living snot out of him.  Because of this, I can honestly say that I am currently living the best, most peaceful times of my life. I'm happier than I have ever been, and every day I gain more confidence in myself and my goals.  Physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally, I am the strongest I have ever been.  Even the occasional freak out day is nothing compared to the stress and drama I have endured in the past. 

Having had removed the negative influences in my life, I worked on healing the wounds left behind.  Unfortunately, longstanding wounds tend to become infected, and there is more under the surface than it appears. Sunday was exactly six weeks to the Half Ironman.  Sunday night I had the nightmare.

It was so real, and the pain that surfaced because of it was powerful.  I know that people say a dream is just a dream, and that may be true, but this one caused a trigger. The boogeyman had not eaten in a while, and he just was given a free pass to a banquet.

A flood of voices came into my head, telling me I was done, I would crash out before the race, or I would quit the day of. A year ago, this would have knocked me to my knees.  Today, it is like a thorn in my side.  It's annoying and nagging, but I can keep moving. I also welcome it. Let it surface so that I can heal it once and for all. Like a thorn, draw it out, let out the pus, and let it heal clean. It's not easy, but the alternative is going back - and that is something I just can't allow.

Last night I ran into Lori - not me, but the more badass version of me, Lori Tijerina.  The conversation we had helped me to see that while the boogeyman may yell and scream in my head, I'm far stronger than he is. It is an incredibly liberating feeling knowing that what held you back before doesn't have a hold on you anymore.  It may still be there, but it doesn't scare me.

There are many scars I carry from my past, but now I carry them as a reminder that if I made it through what I have, then what I'm facing is not such a big deal. I have the best weapons in my arsenal - my faith, and an incredible group of people who look at this ordinary looking woman and see something special.

I don't think I'm anything out of the ordinary, and I'm doing what a lot of people have done before me. There are much more extraordinary people out there doing much more extraordinary things.  But for me, I'm doing the one thing I never thought I would be able to do - believe I can, and hold that belief out against those who would say I couldn't.

Do I hope that my story and journey will help someone else take that step to healing? Absolutely! I don't feel you take a journey just to get yourself there, you have to pay it forward.

I wish I could feel bad that the boogeyman is going to find the food at the banquet unpalatable, but umm...no. He is officially on a starvation diet. Seeing how much I like this time of my life, and knowing that by allowing the rest of my hurts to heal it will only get better, I no longer have room for the boogeyman or the poodles in my head.  I'm way too busy seeing myself at the finish line getting my Ironman medal.

The countdown continues...

Definition of a Dork

Part of my Ironman experience has been taking a good look at who I was and who I am becoming.  From where I started this journey, I have come a loooooong way, those of you who met me in January for the first time can attest to that, right Esmeralda?

When I am in my element, say, the pool for instance, I have no problems. Can talk to anyone, feel confident, swim like a fish. Slowly but surely, the other sports have become like that too. Watch me in my classroom and I am completely at home. However....get me out of my element, and for a time I will turn into the definition of a dork.

It doesn't happen right away, which is probably why it can catch people off guard. It generally tends to happen a couple of weeks after meeting someone.  It happens with guys and girls alike, but when it's a cute guy, well then, I might as well be Raj from the Big Bang Theory.  I get nervous, I stumble over words, and I have a tendency to stick both feet in my mouth and swallow on a regular basis. I see myself in third person, figuratively smack myself on the forehead and say, "DORK!"

Fortunately, it tends not to last. A couple of weeks like that, and I'm back to myself again, and with the person it happened with, it doesn't happen again. Why does it happen? Well, that's a really long story that doesn't need to be told. Everyone has things in their past that cause them to behave certain ways - most of the time, we don't even realize we are doing it. I realize it, and I'm working on it.

I have been fortunate to have people who have been willing to be patient with me during my dork phase. These are the people I truly treasure - because they were willing to see past the awkward me and give me the space and support I needed to find my feet again so they could get to the real me.

I spent a large part of my life feeling the need to always be perfect.  I've come to realize that I'm not - that sometimes I am a dork, and that's okay. Do I hope that the journey to Ironman helps me get over it? Absolutely! But until then, I will continue to appreciate those who either don't mind or don't see my little phase. It's not who I really am, just a leftover from who I was. It's kind of like your appendix - there was a use for it once upon a time, but now it's just annoying when it gets inflamed.

54 days to the Half, but who's counting???

Couples Therapy

Relationships are funny - even if you take care of them and nurture them, they can fall into these periods where nothing seems to go right. Then you have to make a decision: is what you have invested in the relationship worth saving, or is it time to just walk away?

Recently, my bike Vin and I have been in desperate need of therapy.  You would think after being together so long, we would have this communication thing down pat.  I really think the trouble began when I went to the open water swim and rode my friend's tri bike instead of her.  She had to wait in the hot car, and I'm fairly sure she wasn't too pleased when she saw how happy I was after riding the other bike.  Girls and jealousy...

As I wrote in an earlier post, the Mcallen ride was a disaster, and my last two outings after that had been cut short by spectacular blowouts. The first set I understood, after all, the tires were old.  The second and third sets, well, let's just say I think Vin was trying to tell me something.  I really wish she would have just come out and said it though.  Golly, with how much girls love to talk, you would think she could have just TOLD me!

Thankfully, I think I have been forgiven.  I got out today and rode 25 miles flat free, and with good average speeds. Whatever issues we were having, I think the worst of it has passed.  Good timing too, with less than eight weeks to the Half, this really isn't the time for a communication breakdown.

I'm being very careful with what I say - I don't think it's the right time to tell her that I intend on riding a borrowed bike for the Half.  As long as I keep the two of them apart, she'll never know.  Do I feel a little guilty?  Well, yeah.  But Vin's getting old and maybe the Olympic distances are a good length for her. Have to show her the proper love and respect by treating her well in her old age. She's been good to me.

I can't believe the Half is almost here.  It seemed like yesterday it was March and I was signing up.  Being able to share this race with so many other first timers will make it very special - especially with Esmeralda.  That is one fierce lady, and I am honored to share the course with her.  Just hope she doesn't beat me by too much, or at least waits for me at the finish line.

For all of you who are joining me in Austin - 8 weeks to go! Hope your training is going well, and see you at the starting line! :)

The Ten Second Rule

At the recent open water swim, we had a rather large crowd of newbies.  It was awesome to see so many people taking an interest in triathlons.  My friend Maggie did her first OWS, and she was a beast!

After the swim, I got to talking to two ladies and I was asked what they could do to get rid of the fear they had when they first started swimming. I may not be the best person to ask, because despite the fact a five foot bull shark was caught on the gulf side the day before, open water just doesn't scare me.  But there are plenty of other things that do.

I am terrified of straight drop roller coasters.  Love the twisty ones, can ride them all day.  But the straight drop ones - you generally have to offer me large sums of money to get me on one. So, relating their question to that situation, I said to them ``I let it take me.``

Both heads snapped around, and they looked at me shocked. Okay, not the answer they were looking for, but this is what I've learned:

Since fear is what we create, and it`s all in our head, then the more we try to fight it the bigger it`s going to become.  So for me, I let the panic set it. Then I count to ten.  During those ten seconds, I keep moving if I need to, stand still if I don't.  Once I get to ten, I imagine the fear slipping away from me.  I may still be afraid or nervous, but the panic part will be gone.  And then I go and do what I was afraid of, including straight drop roller coasters (but only because Hannah asked me to).Turns out that the straight drop only lasted four seconds, so I had six seconds to spare.

Just in case I get asked that question again, anyone got any other advice to conquer fear?

The Non-Finisher Medal

Let me start by saying - I've had a really bad week. Usually I have a bad day here or there or a few hours that are off, but for some reason, starting Tuesday morning, ugh!  Really.     Bad.    Week.

I'm fairly good at the whole brave face thing, but I knew even that wasn't going to last, so when I heard about the Viva McAllen bike ride, I thought to myself, excellent! Road therapy! I needed a long ride anyway, and hey, it's been a while since I got a medal for my collection.  Plus, I wanted to see if all this interval and spinning work was actually working for me.

Esmeralda was also doing the 60, so it was like Shiner, the Sequel.  Minus the hills, of course.  She was all amped up, but I was pretty mellow, just looking forward to getting out the ickiness of the week in the form of some really solid times, and buckets of sweat.

Things started well enough. Got some compliments from cyclists about how good my form and cadence were, and maintained a good average speed.  At about mile ten, we went over some railroad tracks that seemed a little bumpier than usual.  A little further ahead, I saw the SAG vehicle repairing flats.  Wow, that sucks, I thought.  So early in the ride and poor people got a flat.

It started getting harder to maintain my speed. I checked my form, and was letting the hamsters in my head figure it out when a lady came up behind me and told me my back tire was a little saggy.  Thirty seconds later, it was completely flat. Huh. Okay.

Now, I know the theory behind changing a tire.  I say that because in my racing time before, I never had a flat.  Not once.  I was actually kind of excited, because I had a CO2 cartridge and wanted to see if it was as cool as everyone said. Got the tire off, replaced the tube, put the canister on...and nothing. Hmm, maybe I did it wrong.  Re-positioned the canister, and...nothing.  Meanwhile, all these people are passing me, and my ride for time just became a survival ride.

The SAG vehicle showed up, and the guy had a pump, bless him!  Tire fixed, off I go.  I motored as fast as I could and manage to keep my legs fresh.  I was fairly happy, maintaining a 20mph pace.  On my bike, that's a fair accomplishment.  Just past mile twenty, I caught up to two guys.  We stopped at a light, got started and about a block in - my tire popped and went flat.  I'm not sure how many expletives I actually said, but there were enough going on in my head.  No flats for 22 YEARS, and now two within an hour, are you kidding me?

The guys were kind enough to stop to help, but when another SAG vehicle came up, I waved them on.  They encouraged me to keep going, they expected me to pass them again.  Just let me get this tire changed...

Mitchel and Oscar cracked jokes with me as we fixed the tire, trying to keep me positive.  Poor Oscar, we made him take apart the wheel three times before it could be inflated.  Once it was, I looked at the tire and something was off.  Sure enough, one of the flats had shredded the side of the tire itself.  I was done.

Now, Oscar drives a Scion.  While I could spend some time here mocking the wanna-be-a-car car, he was gracious enough to stuff me, my bike, Mitchel and himself into said non-car, so no jokes will be made.  However, part of the bike and I did have to hang out of the back of the car while he drove 70 mph down the expressway.  I tried very hard not to look down, and kept a firm grip on the bike.

Getting back to the start at the Convention Center, Mitchel starting joking about how this would make for an interesting blog.  She told Oscar he should read it.  He asked me where to find it.  I had already "liked" Veloce magazine, so I suggested we become friends on Facebook.  He starts looking me up, and lo and behold, we already were friends. We started cracking up.  Big thanks to the both of them.  They helped me out, and helped keep me positive.  Good people.

Mitchel wanted me to get my medal.  I felt bad about it. In my mind, I didn't finish, so I didn't deserve the medal.  She kept encouraging me, so her and I went to the finish line.  She went over to the people handing out the medals. I have no idea what she told the lady, but I got called over, and after asking me if I was okay, she handed me my medal.  I jokingly said it was my non-finishers medal. In the end, I'm glad she got me to do it.

Perspective time - my tires were original to the bike.  Considering how old they are, it's really not surprising they gave out.  It could have been much worse - this could have happened at Ironman.  Or even worse, I could have had the blowout when I was going full speed and wiped out, really harming the bike...I mean myself. Ah, who am I kidding, Skin heals.

Overall, it was a bad ending to a bad week.  But it happened, it's over (hopefully), and once I have some time to lick my wounds (and purchase new tires), everything will be okay.

As I was driving home, I heard this loud pop behind me, and a hiss.  I figured it was the other tire giving out.  I glanced behind me, and it was the CO2 cartridge, finally discharging.  I sat there shocked for a few seconds and then starting laughing.  Cause on days/weeks like these, it's better to laugh than cry.

Ghosts of Coaches Past

At first, it all seemed so simple...girl met race, girl trained for race, girl finished race, girl fell in love with racing.  Yeah, too simple.

Back in reality, training can be your best friend, or your worst enemy depending on the day. Running was coming along (slowly but surely), biking I was struggling with (but with the help from some awesome cyclists, it's starting to come together), and I figured I had swimming in the bag.  Just to be sure, I contacted a ghost from my past - my original triathlon coach, Brian, to get reassurance on my swim technique.  He had been a competitive swimmer, been trained under the wing of a four time Para-Olympian Gold Medalist, and had spent the last 20 years coaching at all levels.  Plus, he has known me since I was 15.  I don't think there is anyone who knows what makes me tick like him.

At first, the conversation was quite chatty - his wife, kids, Hannah, teaching and such. Soon, we turned to our favorite topic, swimming (occupational hazard for him, obsessive fixation for me).  I had already told him about training for Ironman, and his reaction was that the only person who did not believe I could do it back in college was me. He knew I could. But then came the million dollar question: did I want to "do" an Ironman, or did I want to "race" an Ironman. You can imagine my answer.

He asked me to film my swim, both above and under the water, and send it to him for analysis.  There's this cool app called Coach's Eye.  It lets you look at a video frame by frame, and you can draw on it to show different things. Highly recommend it for any sport. A lot of times what we think we are doing and what we are really doing are two different things. Film shot and sent, I waited.

A few days later, Brian called.  I asked him what he thought and he was quiet...too quiet. Then he said something I was not expecting at all.  He said the video wanted to make him cry.  Pardon?

Turns out I am what is called a front quadrant swimmer.

Confused? Me too.

It's a technique where all the emphasis is placed in front of the shoulders.  It's almost impossible to teach, so to find someone who does it naturally is a coach's dream.

Sounds great, right?  Wrong.

It is a sprinter's stroke. Not at all effective for an endurance sport. I could "do" the triathlon with it but...well, you know where I'm going with that.

List of corrections in hand, I have spent the last week or so trying to learn a new way of swimming.  Frustration does not even begin to describe how I feel. I'm sure I look like a suffocating fish flailing about. If I did not place great faith in Brian's ability, I would have chucked the idea this close to the Half. But like the Christmas Carol, my ghost of Coaches past has come to teach me something, and I have to learn it to go forward.

He knows me well enough that there is only one reaction he will give me to my frustration - he laughs at me. Then he makes a few sarcastic comments about my ability and, like throwing a grenade, waits..3..2..1. Boom - I get all fired up to go back and get it done. Like I said before, different people get coached different ways.  Soft and gentle doesn't work for me - I do best when that competitive spirit is lit, and I'm given a challenge. Turns out that works out well for Brian, since he thrives on sarcasm and cynicism.

I've got three months to make this work, and then six months to refine it. I wish I had Brian's faith in me that I'll get it done, but all I can do is just keep at it, and wait for it to click. So click, darn it, click!

See you on the flip side!

Musings of a Sugar Rush

Tonight was GNO, and I allowed myself a soft drink (gasp!).  So now, in the midst of a full blown sugar rush, I present to you what I have learned so far from training for triathlons - in no particular order:

1. Sometimes it is better to swim in murky water just so you don't know what's swimming under you.

2. Sometimes it is better to swim in clear water so you can try to avoid what is swimming under you.

3. NOBODY looks good in a swim cap.

4. If, when taking a breath, you get water in your mouth, never swallow it.  You don't know what the person in front of you did before you got there.

5. Nobody looks graceful while trying to take off a wetsuit quickly.

6. Make sure your feet are fully clipped into your pedals before starting high cadence.

7. Look behind you before clearing your nose while on the bike.

8. There is no topic off limits while on a training ride, so be prepared to hear some really personal and/or weird stuff. You are on the bike a long time, and you need to talk about something to forget how much you hurt.

9. No matter how long you have been training, your nether regions do not become calloused to the bike seat.

10. Gravity works - leaning over too far or looking over your shoulder is a sure fire way to find out how much road rash your body can tolerate.

11. Slow down on the bike coming into transition - the volunteers are not bowling pins.

12.  Know the difference between your front and back brake, especially when riding downhill.

13. For the first mile or so of the run, your legs will feel funny after coming off the bike.  Chances are, you will run funny too.  So will everyone else, so it's ok.

14. There is no such thing as a safe way of passing gas on the run - you don't know what else may happen.

15. They put the your age on your calf for a reason - so you can see who is ahead of you, and you can run them down and crush them before the finish.

16. It is a talent to be able to run and drink from a dixie cup at the same time.  If you haven't mastered it, walk or be prepared to be wearing it.

17.  Always save a little bit for the end so you look strong at the finish.  No one needs to know you were crawling the mile before.

18. It is the only time that talking to yourself is perfectly acceptable.

19. Plan to stay somewhere that has an elevator, or stay on the first floor.  After the race, a single flight of stairs may as well be Everest.

And, the most important.....

20.  Always, always, always, know where the cameramen are.  Plaster a smile on your face so everyone can be impressed with how strong you look.  You can throw up as soon as you are past them.


Sugar is starting to wear off, and my finger that I fractured today in a freak dreadmill accident is beginning to throb. 3 months and 18 days to the Half Ironman.  See you on the other side of the finish line!

The Ultimate Question

Recently I was asked what at first seemed like a irrelevant question.  While out at dinner, my date asked me if I did triathlons and wanted to finish Ironman because I thought it would "fix" me. Kind of deep for a date. I didn't take it offensively, since he was not a runner or athlete of any kind.  Had he been, he probably never would have needed the answer to that question. I asked him to give me a moment to think about it before I answered.

We all have our stories as to why we start this journey, and usually those stories have a lot of pain and loss involved.  Many times I have asked my fellow triathletes why they got into the sport.  Cancer, death, divorce, being bullied, dysfunctional home life as a child, wanting to lose weight, take your pick.  It turns out if you ask the question and just listen, people are happy to share. Those stories tend to build on themselves.  When others with similar experiences hear how you have overcome obstacles, they get inspired to do the same. It's the best part of endurance sports.

I sat for some time before I answered.  There are people in my life who know parts of my story, those that know more, and a select few people who know it all (and seem to still like me anyway). I felt like in that moment I was the representative for all of us, and wanted to make sure I gave the best answer possible.  I give the guy credit, he understood this was a big question and gave me the time I wanted to think about it.

We joke about training being cheaper than therapy. There is just something about putting your emotional pain into a physical workout, and tiring out your body so your brain will, for at least a little bit, stop working in overdrive. Endorphins give us a natural boost, and we build confidence as we see our body respond. As our limits become redefined, and we see that we can accomplish more than we thought we could, our viewpoint changes.  Life no longer throws us back and forth - we stand strong against what would try to take us down. When things get hard, we turn to training.  It is constant, always there for us, and generally doesn't talk back.

It is also a natural tendency to surround ourselves with those who are pursuing the same or similar goals.  Those ahead of us inspire us, and those behind us are inspired by us. These people understand why we push ourselves, what sparks our drive, and are willing to help push us on the days when motivation is hard to find.  The strongest metals are forged by fire, and each setback or disappointment we face in life refine us as long as we don't give up on the process.

These people see on a daily basis how far you have come, and celebrate the accomplishments with you.  They are there on the bad days, when the workouts don't come together, or the even worse days, when life hits you so hard you don't want to workout, and are tempted to give up on your goals. (I had one day like that, and had some great people talk me down from the ledge.)  The best training family members come out and get you, kick your sorry butt out the door, and make you workout until you find your footing again.

Realizing there was no way I could convey all of that, I came up with the simplest, most honest answer I could.

I started training because I needed an anchor, something I could hold onto as the storm passed.  But I will finish Ironman not because I was "fixed" by it, but because I have come to realize I always was "fixed". Training just helps you sort through all the garbage that covers up who you always were. As you get stronger, those qualities that got pushed deep inside come out, and you see the value in yourself you may not have seen before. You no longer settle to be treated badly by others or even yourself, and face adversity with confidence, knowing what you have already accomplished.

He took that in, and then we started talking about something else.  But the conversation has sat with me since then.

In the past couple of weeks, I have been having these periods of time when I am incredibly happy.  There is no specific reason for it, no event that triggered it.  It has not (yet) happened right after an accomplishment, good training, or when something really good has happened in my daily life.  It just sneaks up on me, and I get a big smile on my face. At first, I have to admit it freaked me out. Now, I am willing to accept it, and bask in it.  It is the truest form of happiness: not tied to anyone or anything, but because in that moment, I am content with who I am, where I am, and know I will attain my goals.  Everything is at peace, and I see who I really am outside of the things I have gone through.  One of my goals now is to have that feeling all the time, regardless of who is around me or what I'm going through. I feel blessed to have these moments, and am grateful for them, and for every workout that got me here.

Have a great day everyone and happy endorphins!

Darth Gator Strikes Back

Javi and I were excited about Gatorbait.  For Javi, it was the start of triathlons.  For me, it was my first post CapTex race, and I wanted to see how much I had improved. Lake swim, hilly bike, longer run.  No problem! (Murphy's Law: when someone says "no problem", you know what's coming)

We got there and started setting up our transition areas.  I had broken the cardinal rule of triathlons - you are never supposed to try something new the day of the race.  But tired of long transition times because of having to fully change outfits with each sport, I bought a tri suit the day before.  You are supposed to train with any new clothes first to make sure you don't run into problems, but I figured the risk was worth it.  

I kept thinking I must have forgotten something, since it didn't take me long at all to set up, but it turns out I have just gotten effective at it.  Javi had gotten run into by someone's bike, and have a nice little gouge on his leg, but he didn't seem too concerned about it, so off we went to the race meeting.

These are generally very dull, and I pay about as much attention to them as Charlie Brown's teacher (wah, wah, wah, wah, wah) but this time, I was trying to set a good example for Javi - very glad I did.  The county had chip sealed the first three miles of the bike course two days before the race, which meant there was no time for car grooves to be created.  It was the equivalent of riding through heavy mud. Since it was a loop, that meant the last three miles would also feel that way.  We were also told about Heartbreak Hill - aptly named since when people saw it, they wanted to cry.  We were told to walk it if we had to, but to be very careful on the way down - you could easily hit 55 mph.  My thought was (as a Physics teacher), if it had the steepness and length to create a 55 mph downhill, what was this thing going to be like to climb up??

Instead of a mass start, we had a mini wave start.  People were let out at five second intervals based upon their bib number or seed time.  I joked with the people around me, trying to keep Javi calm as we waited for our turn.

The water was a little choppy (Javi would say, "a LITTLE choppy?") but I kept good time.  Javi was behind me, and I hoped he was having a good swim.  About halfway through, I brought up my head to sight and WHOA, there was a kayak right in front of me.  For some reason that only made sense to the guy in the kayak, he had crossed my path and stopped to give another swimmer a rest.  I had to make a quick decision - around or under?  I opted for under, and kept going.

You can imagine my surprise when I got out of the water and there was Javi.  Now, my first thought was that while he had gotten stronger, there was no way he had beaten me out of the water.  My second thought was to question if he had gotten in.  Turns out, he started, but when the waves started forcing water in his mouth, he panicked and got brought it.  Happens to all of us at some point, and I'm proud he tried it at all.  The race directors said he could continue with the bike and run to get a feel for the triathlon as a whole.  We ran to transition together and got on our bikes.

Chip seal - bane of my existence.  I kept looking down to see if I maybe had a flat, that's what it felt like trying to bike through it.  Once past it, there was a nice little series of inclines leading up to Heartbreak Hill.  I was determined (stubborn) to ride up it, no way I was going to walk. I watched my Garmin, Heartbreak Hill was also the turn around point.  I came around a long winding turn, and there it was.

Doesn't look too bad, does it?  Yeah, it's deceptive that way.  Took advantage of a slight decline to gain some momentum, and off I went.  I saw others already walking their bikes.  I think I can, I think I can, I...think...I...can.  Slow but steady, I kept climbing.  At about two thirds of the way up, I thought to myself - I am going to do it! 

Murphy's Law: you haven't done it until you have actually done it.  I looked down at my feet, and my back tire had caught a rock.  Unable to get my feet out of the clips in time, I fell over like a tree. Annnnnd, now I'm walking. Later I would find out that little mishap cost me fifth place, but c'est la vie!

The return trip of the bike you flew, since all those inclines now became declines.  Except for the chip seal, that still biked like mud. I saw Javi as he was approaching Heartbreak Hill, but I figured there was nothing I was going to be able to say to make the experience any better, and no way to truly express what he was about to see.

The first mile of the run was trail - lots of hills, wash rocks and low lying branches.  Not used to trail running, I relied on the tips Mari had given me the week before.  I was happy to get on the flat part.  This I knew.  I concentrated on negative splits every half mile and started checking legs as I caught up to runners for my age category.  56, 29, 48...all good.  Near the finish I saw what I thought was a 48, but as I got closer was a 44.  There was no way I could lose a place so close to the finish, so I started sprinting.  As I passed her, she realized what was going on and took after me, but it was too late, sixth place was mine! :)

As Lisa and I waited for Javi, I began to get concerned.  We should have seen him by now.  All of a sudden, he passed by the far side of the finish, about a mile away from the end of the course.  I asked the directors if I could run with him, and they said yes.  So I took off, and Javi and I talked about the race and what the next race would be.

His daughter Chloe helped him run into the finish, and then we were both done!

Javi will need more exposure to different swimming conditions (and just a lot more swimming) before he will feel confident in the water.  Considering he could not swim a few months ago, I am very proud of what he accomplished.  I know he will conquer the tri, and I plan to be there when it happens.  Congratulations Javi!

Now if only my hair would grow out faster so that I didn't look like I had stuck my finger in a light socket...

Prepping the Bait

     One of the best things about coming back into training has been the chance to pay it forward. Everyone knows that running is not my forte, but over time, running has become one of my favorite things to do.  That transition would not have been possible without the support and encouragement of those around me.

     My friend Javi, and his wife Lisa wanted to learn to swim.  While I will never be Michael Phelps, swimming is where I hold my own and was happy to help.  Javi had a goal - he wanted to do a triathlon and decided on Gatorbait. Always ready to convert more people to triathlon, his goal became my goal, and we got to work. One thing you can say about Javi, he never gives up.  There were days that things just didn't click, but he kept at it. His stroke got smoother, he felt less like he was having a heart attack each lap, and he didn't fight the water anymore. He still had yet to finish the distance, but I taught him the infamous Chavez float to make up the difference.

     At our practice last week, I casually mentioned to him that he might want to try an open water practice before Gatorbait, since pool swimming and open swimming are very different.  I also wanted him to get a feel for the distance before the race, since suddenly looking at how far you have to go can cause panic to set it.  Not exactly prime conditions for starting the part of the triathlon where you can drown.

     Things worked out well - there was a run in the morning for iRun, and we could skip over to SPI for the swim after.  I asked Javi to bring his bike too, so we could get a lopsided Tri in.  He would do the 5k, I would do the 10k (my first 10k race!), that way he could feel the distances out for the run as well.

     The weather was perfect (hot and humid).  The run went great (Javi, David, Donna and the others did awesome) and Javi kept mentioning how he was getting nervous because he was not nervous about the swim.  After I changed, I found him standing near the dock, just looking out at the water.  Yeah, sure, he's not nervous.  I promised Lisa I would bring him back in one piece, and I've never lost a swimmer, so I was pretty confident he would make it.

                            See that white buoy right next to the white boat on the left hand side of the pic?
                                     That's where he was swimming to, he just didn't know it yet.

     We got in the water, and after a few false starts, Javi got going.  When you coach people, you have to figure out how best to do that.  Some people like gentle correction, some prefer you wait until after practice. Javi works best when you get after him. So, much to the amusement of the people on their docks, I kept yelling at Javi "KEEP GOING" every time he tried to stop.

     Meanwhile, I was having a blast.  I swam next to Javi, yelling at him when I needed to, and watching the fish jump when he didn't.  I grew up on lakes, fish do not bother me. They jumped next to me, and I even got bumped a few times.  It would have seemed like back home if it weren't for the unbearable heat and the fact it was salt water.

     Javi did it! He swam 450 meters, more than he would need to in the race.  We worked out a good system of swim/Chavez float for him, since I would not be swimming next to him during the race.  I left him to rest near the dock while I got a quick swim in to keep my still nagging shoulder loose.  Javi and I started chatting when I came back, and we sat in the water for a few minutes talking about the practice.  Suddenly, something LAID on my foot.  I shrieked like a little girl, and Javi bolted out of the water like a shot.  I swear he did not touch the water on the way out. Turns out a flounder thought my foot was a good place to take a nap. Javi had just finished reassuring himself the water was safe - no sharks, no jellyfish when I let out my yell.  He did not look back to see if I was okay. I was laughing so hard I couldn't see where he went.

                   Imagine Javi moving as fast as the dog (couldn't see if he had the same face or not).

     Other than a continual need to giggle, the flounder incident did not deter the rest of the day.  We transitioned rather quickly, then headed out for a leisurely 10 miles on our bikes.  No fish were evident on our ride, so it was relatively uneventful.  Afterward, as we set out in search of food, Javi kept smiling to himself.  He now had the confidence he needed to face his first Tri.  In one day, he had done all of the distances he would need to.  He dropped me off at home, and once I got settled, I text Lisa to let her know how proud I was of him.  She told me that pretty much within five minutes of laying down, he was out like a light. Guess I should have warned him that three sports in one day could do that to you.

In a week, Javi is going to make his first step to becoming a triathlete at Gatorbait Tri.  It's going to be an awesome feeling watching him cross that finish line.  Knowing how many people have guided me along my journey, (sometimes gently encouraging me, sometimes yelling at me) it will have been in honor of them that I pay it forward.  Have a blast Javi, because I already know you are going to kill the Gator! The bait has been prepped!

Attack of the Post Race Blues

You start training, a specific race in your sights.  You work hard every practice.  You eat, sleep and sweat your goal.  On race day, no matter what happens, you know you have put in all you could.  The race ends, there are hugs, congratulations, and tons of pictures posted on Facebook, not to mention some really cool medals. You have this amazing sense of accomplishment.You did it!

By the way, I love looking at everyone's race photos, whether I was in the race or not. Even if you are racing with these people, often you don't see them during the race.

I was warned that after CapTex, I would be hit with something called the Post Race Blues. The high that we get from attaining a goal gets replaced with the idea of "I have to do that all again?" for your next race. If you don't have one in mind, it becomes "now what?".  I was even warned that I may be tempted to take the dreaded "time off", which, if you are not careful, can become permanent.

After Recovery Week, I waited for the attack. The workouts were reduced since I had this nagging pain in my shoulder, but I still looked forward to each one.  Waiting for my new training plan was akin to a kid waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of Santa Claus (Is it here yet? Is it here yet?).  Heck, Austin Half Ironman is only five months away, and I want to do that baby in style.

Mentally prepared for battle, I waited.  And waited. Sneaky little suckers, I thought.  Just waiting for me to let my guard down.

These past couple of weeks, I found myself waking up at 4 or 4:30 each morning with this insane urge to go running.  This I found to be very funny since during the school year I easily hit the snooze once or twice to delay the inevitable as long as possible - I have a very comfortable bed, and as much as I enjoy teaching sometimes I just want to lay there a l-i-t-t-l-e longer.  Now that school is out and I don't have to get up early, my body is getting me up even earlier and it's happy to do so. Weird.

Saturday I'm up and ready to go for my 4 am run, or should I say swim through the humidity and constant  battling of gnat swarms. It has become clear I am going to have to learn to breathe through my nose, because gnat is not one of my favorite meals. I start my run, and come to my Aha moment - cue the background music please...

When you place all the value on the race, you could miss the point. It's like the difference between a job and a career. A job you do to see your specific end result - pay bills usually. A career is something you love to do, and don't feel like it's an obligation to do.  Sure, you get tired and want a break, but it's simply part of who you are, you do it naturally, and a bad day (race) is still better than a good day at a job. Like the Blues, when you have a job and pay your bills, you look at what's left and think, "man, I have to do this all again to pay next month's bills?". With a career, you look forward to what the next day (training session) will bring.

Allowing yourself to enjoy each workout as something unto itself instead of race day won't even allow the Blues to get any footing.  On my run, I looked over the last four to four and a half months (while attempting to dodge gnats), saw how much I have developed physically, mentally, and emotionally, and thought to myself, "that's pretty cool, can't wait to see where I will be after these next five months of training!". After that, my focus became to make each training session as good as possible.  Live in the moment - race day comes whether you think about it or not. Before you know it, the next race will come, and there will be hugs, congratulations, tons of pictures posted to Facebook, and some really cool medals.

I leave you with my favorite quote of the week:


"Until you face your fears, you don't move to the other side, where you find the power." Mark Allen (one of my inspirational people).  Thanks Farrah! (another person who inspires me)



On a sad note - I regret to inform you that it has come time to retire my first true pair of running shoes, Brooks Pureflow 2's. They saw me through learning how to run (properly) and this first phase of training.  They have become a symbol of how far I have come since I made the decision to change my life. In them I went from dreading running to it becoming one of my greatest passions. I never thought I could get sentimentally attached to a pair of shoes (especially hot pink ones).

On a happier note - I found out that VRC has the exact same shoe in my favorite color - purple!! :)

Finding New Paths

Post - CapTex brought on the dreaded Recovery Week AKA only slightly less frustrating than Taper Week week.  Since you have that sense of accomplishment, and well, you are tired, it's a lot easier to give your body a break.  Add in the slightly annoying pull in my shoulder (I refuse to acknowledge it as an injury), and I cut my distances down to rest up.

Something had been niggling in my brain for the past three weeks or so, but it wasn't until this week that it came out full force.  After an endurance race, you are HUNGRY for the following few days.  After Shiner, if it resembled food, it was a target.  This time, something odd happened.  I didn't want meat. At the CapTex celebration dinner, I ate fajitas and cheese quesadillas. No disrespect to the chef, the food was cooked great and it was tasty, but it just felt kind of...empty. So yesterday I made a decision to become vegan.

This is somewhat of a radical decision, heck, I grew up on a farm.  Eating animals was a way of life.  We were told never to name the farm animals, so as not to develop any attachment to them.  Later on, the joke when seeing a cow was to name it Big Mac or Whopper. We were allowed to play with the new chicks until they began to develop their feathers, then it was off limits.  Meat was a way of life, and we had it sometimes three meals a day.

Making the transition into training again, I never thought this would be a viable choice for me - tried being vegetarian once, for a week. Made it to day four, and found myself at the local McDonald's, chowing down on a Big Mac. So, as far as I was concerned, it was off the table.

But as with many things, the more you are surrounded by people being excellent at something, the more you wonder if you can do it too.  Many of my group at VRC are vegetarians or vegans, and I applaud them for not trying to stuff it down my throat.  When they talked, I listened.  And slowly this idea began to grow in my head - if they were looking so good, being strong in their runs, and didn't seem to be suffering from lack of meat, was it possible?

I'm not going to use this as a platform to tell you everyone should be doing this.  First off, that would be stupid (and I pride myself on being fairly intelligent) and second, everyone needs to make their own choice.

I didn't want to try it before CapTex, since you never do anything new in the weeks leading up to a race.  But this seems to be the right time.  I'll be starting a new cycle of training, and I am on summer vacation which means I will have more time to research. My daughter is somewhat on board - she wants the option to eat meat when we go out.  At her age, she can make that decision for herself, I'm not going to risk rebellion by forcing it on her.

So, it looks like I'm trying a new path...again...seeing where it will take me. I hear the detox is interesting to say the least, but in the end I think it will be worth it.  I have a goal, and if this decision will help me get there, then it is what I will do.

See you at the starting line!

The Tipping Point

I have joked about CapTex being a redemption race.  Twenty years ago, it was a race of CapTex's distance that I ended (I thought) my triathlon career.  I saw it as my Goliath.

This past month, I have worked on my mindset more than my physical training. I didn't want to fear failing at this race, I wanted to celebrate the work that I knew I had put into getting there. 

3:45 am came quickly the morning of the race, but I woke up excited and ready to go. Getting to transition was surreal with 3000 bikes racked and waiting. We were racked by age group, so I found myself standing with all my "competition".  Except they weren't.  They were a great group of ladies who chatted about their lives and kids, their fears about the race and what they hoped to accomplish.  I had pictures taken with them before we even knew each other's names, and we all went together down to the water to watch the first waves go off. We were all in it together.

Slight nerves set in two waves before mine. You could see the tension on some of the ladies' faces, especially after watching a few of the guys getting pulled out of the water, too tired to go on. It was, after all, almost a mile. A long way to swim.

Three guys joined our wave, having missed their own. We all jumped in the water, swam to the start, and tread water. The initial start was like bumper cars, all of us trying our rhythm. After the first turn, we spread out, and while I felt the pull of the current against me, it didn't hinder me.  All of a sudden, I felt a body shove up against me.  Taking a quick check off that side, I saw a green cap - one of the guys that had joined us. I shifted a little to the side and kept going.  Whack, he hit me again, and again.  I knew I was sighting straight, so it had to be him that was weaving.  I brought my head up and doing breast stroke, saw that he had pushed us right off the course. Rats!  I picked up my speed and got back on the course. Coming around the second turn, I felt it again. Seriously?

This time I shifted over to the far side of the course.  He must have been using me as a sight, because he followed me.  The last time he hit me he said sorry about three times and then proceeded to weave so far back on the other side of the course the person on the kayak was yelling at him to get back on course. Climbing out of the water, I was ten minutes off goal. Giving my head a shake, I let it go. There was still a lot of race, and I wasn't going to let it get to me.

I had used my legs a little more on the swim than usual with the current, so the first mile I used to loosen up my legs.  My former Canadian coach and I had poured over the maps, and I knew I had three turns before the hills.  One turn, two turns, whoa! The first one was bigger than I expected.  The Shiner ride became a good decision - I knew how to shift to conserve my legs as much as possible.  Two very scary hairpin turns later and I was on the long part of the loop.  Since it was a slight downhill, all of us hit the high gears.  We were flying, and it felt great.  Four loops and the bike was done.

That's when it hit me.  I had already won this race.  It was on the bike I had ended my last race, so I had already done what I set out to do - the run was now just for fun. I caught up to three girls from my cycling group, I ran with them for a bit, and then they waved me on.  It was awesome to share this race with them.  

Coming up to the finish line and hearing the crowd cheering just validated everything I have learned over the last four months. I had taken the last of my mental monsters and squashed them. I know now that Ironman is a certainty - and it too will be a day to celebrate every workout I did to get myself there.  Until then, there will be no focus on the end result - Ironman comes whether I think about it or not.  Instead, it will be taking one workout at a time, and enjoying the process.

Thank you to everyone who believed in me, everyone who cheered me on. Many of you let me know that you had followed me online, and that was a wonderful feeling. Five months from now is the Half, again in Austin. The road to Ironman continues!

Stone in the Road

     I would like to say thank you to all of you who read my blog.  Many of you have spoken with me about how certain topics have resonated with you, and I appreciate the time you take to read what's on my mind.  Checking stats before this post (because that's what math teachers do) I have 799 page views - thanks!

      I have two analogies running through my head - skeletons and stones. I think, since many of you are runners, I'm going to go with the stones...

     For the past four months, I have had an amazing ride (run? swim?).  Things have been so positive, my times have been getting better and better, I can see muscles forming, and my confidence has been building.  I have felt like this light has started to shine within me, and I've been so inspired by the people around me.

     Sunday afternoon, a proverbial straw broke the camel's back, and for about an hour, I considered taking some time off. Training, Ironman, all of it.

     Not what you were expecting, I'm sure.  Neither was I.  As it turns out, things from your past can be stones in the road, and even the smallest ones can trip you up and sprawl you flat on your face.  I wasn't paying attention, and I tripped. Not my usual writing fare, I know, but stick with me.

     When negative people in your life show that the patterns in their life are not going to change, it should not come as a shock.  Right before the Shiner ride, about two weeks ago, a friend dropped into my life after an absence and demonstrated exactly this to me.  I guess I have the tendency to believe the best in people because I was shocked, even though I had seen these tendencies before, just directed at other people. How deeply I was shocked and hurt almost must have bypassed my radar - probably because of the mental power it was going to take to get Shiner done.

     Coming back from Shiner, I began to see holes in my motivation.  Not much, but they were there, and I chalked it up to just being tired.  Others noticed that I wasn't quite as peppy or happy as normal, I was starting to seem "off", and I admit it, for the first time, I felt drained.  Again, I thought I was just tired, 100 miles is a long way.  Workouts weren't going as well, and the effortless became more effort. I even had to talk myself into getting into the pool (gasp).  Then Sunday, when this person's agenda conflicted with my goal, the realization of what was really going on hit me.  In that moment, I understood that I was going to have to let go of one of the closest friends I had.

     Having that talk to have closure on both sides was not easy, and they did not understand why I needed to do this (turns out negative people don't see themselves as negative - just really, really, really realistic). I looked up to this person, and for a long time valued their opinion. Losing a close friend hurts, no matter what the circumstances are that surround it. I wish them well and hope they find...whatever it is they are looking for.  For me, everything now is about finding that cool mojo I had going on before this person dropped back into my life, and letting myself heal.  Letting them go was hard, but knowing that I have more room for a positive person helps.

     I struggled with the idea of writing this, since many people could look at this as me being weak, allowing someone to mess with my head and my path.  For six years this person was someone very close to me, so their opinions and thoughts held a lot of weight, and it didn't dawn on me that they wouldn't have my best interests at heart. I guess I am willing to admit it to show I am not weak because I tripped and fell, I'm that much stronger (albeit a little bruised) because I got back up and kicked the stone out of my path so I don't trip on it again. I've been told setbacks make you come back stronger, this was my setback, and I will come back stronger.

     We all have our "stones" - the events or people that trip us up and make us doubt ourselves.  Anyone who says they never doubt themselves is either lying to you (or themselves) or wants to sell you a really cool vacuum. When that happens, we have to make a choice - do we stay down, or do we get back up, dust ourselves off and keep going?

    Tonight I went to group run, and despite the fact I still feel "off" (which friends noticed, and I thank them for their encouraging words), I ran some really good times. It may take a little while for me to be completely back to my happy self, but that's okay, it's all part of the process. Having bad times with the wrong people just helps you appreciate even more the good times with the right people.  Fortunately for me, I have an abundance of good people around, and now I just have more space for them.

Also, I have no intentions of taking any time off. That was just lemming talk.  If anything, I'm beginning to feel the need to kick some Ironman butt. Let's start with CapTex!

Perfect Timing

"If you keep waiting for the right time,

it may never happen.  Sometimes you

have to make the most of the time you have."

    We all know someone who has said it, or have said it ourselves: "It's just not the right time..."  Usually, this has something to do with the new diet, or starting an exercise program.  It's the holidays, or your schedule is too hectic, or those people are coming in from out of town...you get the idea.  We are generally very good at justifying why we can't do something at a given time.

   The best things in life tend to happen when you are least expecting it, or when you are not prepared for it (the wrong time).  That statement is true enough in my life, except for my daughter Hannah, who was kind enough to be due in the summer, allowing me to finish my school year.  

   Entertaining the idea of pursuing my goal of doing Ironman could not have come at a worst time.  I was working one full time job, another almost full time job, and a number of smaller jobs wherever I could fit them.  I was Senior sponsor at school, in charge of fundraising for trips and graduation, taking a distance learning night class, playing chauffeur for Hannah and all her activities, and was emotionally drained, just trying to make it day to day without a meltdown.  Everything was stacked against the idea, and there was nothing for it, other than this little voice in the back of my head telling me to go for it.  Like a gnat, the idea wouldn't go away, no matter how much I tried to justify it to myself it wasn't the right time. I tried hiding from it, under the excuse that I needed to wait. Wait, I told myself, wait a year, wait to be in better shape, wait until there was more free time.  Wait, wait, wait...it's not time.

     Honestly, I was afraid, and fear is this really high cliff in your mind.  The closer you get to challenging it, the scarier everything seems. I was afraid of making the wrong decision, afraid of how it would affect my life, afraid of injuring myself, afraid of failing, afraid of succeeding. At the same time, there was this part of me that despite the fear, wanted this really bad, and no matter how afraid I was of it, I was drawn to it. At the same time I knew my life.  I could function within it, knew how to handle most of it and changing it meant adapting to something new without any guarantee of success. I had to make a choice - stick with the familiar or chance the new.  So I walked to the edge of the cliff in my mind, took a deep breath, and jumped.

  Things started falling into place, and at first, the change didn't seem so hard. Through a series of fortuitous events I met my coach, who owned a running shoe store so I had the right equipment, and had a running group to teach me how to turn my nemesis running into a life long passion.  However, while he and I sat down to formalize my training plan, it quickly became clear that there was no way I could do this and work the amount of hours I was.  Another fear cliff.  Cutting my hours meant taking away some financial security. It wasn't the right time...but I also knew that it would never be the right time, that there would always be some reason not to try.  It was the time it was, and I could grab hold of the chance for something great to happen, or I could let it slip and continue on the path I was on.  I went home and cut my hours to the bare minimum on my secondary job. While I was hyperventilating my way through a medium sized panic attack, I kept telling myself it would be okay.  The household would adapt.

   Things again fell into place.  I am not homeless, Hannah and I eat everyday, as do the dogs, except Bear is convinced I never give him enough. Race fees get paid, equipment is bought, and Hannah and I are happy. The fear was just in my head, trying to get me to quit.

    Training meant joining groups of people, and I was intimidated.  I was the newbie, the slowest, and had no idea how to keep up.  I was emotionally on empty. These people accepted me, and cheered me on.  When you have all these people surrounding you that believe you can do anything, it's hard not to start believing it yourself. I got faster, stronger, and began to have confidence.  Where I was empty, now I was full, and the favorite part of training with both my cycling and running groups is cheering my teammates on.  I have begun to make friendships that I know I can count on, and meeting so many people with diverse backgrounds is stimulating and motivating.

    When planning my major races for the next year, my coach tried hard to get me to wait two years before doing a full Ironman.  Logistically, it made sense.  I am older, we had no idea how my body would adapt to training, so taking it slow seemed like the right thing to do.  Except it felt wrong to me.  I voted for Houston 2014, and accepted the consequences of that decision - having to train harder in a shorter period of time, and hope my body would adapt, especially to the running.  And it has.  Monday I sign up for Houston.  Is it the right time? Nope, there are a lot of other races that would probably work out better for any number of reasons.  But it's my time, and I will follow through, even though there will be pitfalls and curve balls, fear and pain.  Because when I cross the finish line, what I will have gained will be so much more than I risked to endure.

    I'm now of the opinion that there is no such thing as a right time to make a change in your life.  If you make a decision with the conviction to see it through and chance failure, then things will fall into place to help you reach your goal.  Because that happens, we just think it was the "right" time.  Fear is created in the brain, the same place as happiness and joy.  Just depends on who you are going to listen to. You can wait for the "right" time or the "right" circumstances but what if it never comes?  Then you will have missed out on some of the best things that could have happened in your life because you were, well, waiting.  

   

   

Shiner GASP

Driving to Austin to do the Shiner GASP, all I could think about was how woefully unprepared for this ride I was.  While the rest of my cycling group had done long rides, I was in Garner with my Senior class.  The longest I had ever ridden was 65 miles, and that had been about six weeks ago.  I was nervous but excited, intimidated but exhilarated.  I had already convinced myself time didn't matter, just get it done.

Last year, everyone suffered from the heat.  This year, thanks to a freak front, we sat in the parking lot getting ready for the start in 39 degree weather. I didn't want to dress too heavy, knowing once the sun came up I would get warm fast, so I sat there and shivered. Pictures were taken, and then off we went.  

For the first few miles, I concentrated on two things - get used to the adjustments Wally did to my bike, and trying hard not to run into anyone after the mass start. At mile 7 I began to be able to feel my fingers, and at mile 10 my legs had adjusted to the bike.  All was good.

Our first stop was at mile 17.  Both Esmeralda and German had told me the importance of taking advantage of these stops.  Janie was the support crew for Esmeralda and I, and I tell you this: never underestimate the value of a good support crew. I got rid of my jacket, and Janie asked if I needed water.  I realized I had not touched my water or food yet.  Okay, got to pay attention to that on the next leg.  A few minutes of rest, and off we went again.

There were certain markers I wanted to pay attention to - mile 25 (CapTex bike length) and mile 56 (Austin Half Ironman).  Mile 25 went by and I felt great. It was a good sign. 

This course was going to be challenging because of the sheer number of inclines and hills (Esmeralda said she stopped counting at 23 last year), and the wind that it was famous for.  I had hoped that with the front it would be a tail wind, but at mile 30 the wind shifted and was either a head wind or cross wind. Oh well, it was nice to dream.

The first few inclines (Esmeralda told me they were not hills) went pretty well.  I wanted to race smarter, not harder, so I paid attention to the more experienced riders as they passed me.  I had always been of the opinion that you muscled your way up a hill - shifting down was a sign of weakness. I quickly was schooled on the difference between determination and stupidity.  Riding a 100 miles - determination.  Killing your legs by not taking advantage of the fact your bike has different gears - stupid.  After trying a few different combinations of shifts, I found one that worked for me.

I had wanted to keep my nutrition as natural as possible. Relying on the experience of my trail running friends, I had PB&J and dates stuffed with almonds.  I either timed the food or ate at the first pang. It worked really well, and I would do it that way again.

At mile 45, we had a food station waiting for us. Remembering that this was supposed to be fun (and I was having a good time) I stayed for longer, chatted up some of the other riders and chowed down on some pizza.  Cheryl, who was out to support crew for her husband and friends, said she was awed by us.  I was taken aback, and asked her why.  She said that while she was driving the course, she had realized the incline of some of the hills was greater than the angle at which a plane took off.  I hadn't really though about it that way. I saw a hill, gave myself exactly five seconds to think "oh...my...gosh" and then chanted "I think I can, I think I can" until I got to the top.

When my Garmin registered 56 miles, I was euphoric.  Not only had I made Half Ironman distance on a very hilly course, I still felt like I could run.  This was good news. 

This sign pointed to one of the rest stops in the second half.  Not very encouraging :)

I made sure to look around as much as possible during the ride. Rolling hills, beautiful trees, horses, cows, green everywhere.  I have this thing for old buildings. I love to take pictures of them.  There were so many gorgeous old, abandoned buildings, and had I not been concerned that if I got off the bike I may not have been able to get back on, I would have taken pictures of them all. I did take this at mile 91 rest stop.

As I said before, 65 miles was the longest I had ridden before Shiner.  When the buzzer went off for mile 65,  I was happy.  Two thirds done, and I felt good.  That lasted until mile 66.  I don't know if the wall I hit was mental or physical, but everything hurt.  The wall lasted until the rest stop at mile 73.  When I got there, I got off my bike, and for the first time, sat on the ground. I stretched my legs, and got my brain in order.  Janie filled my bottles (she really was awesome) and Cheryl messaged some life back into my legs and shoulders. I told myself that after ten minutes, I was going to get up and get going.  My body obviously listened, because when I got back on the bike, I felt good again.

At the mile 83 rest stop, I found the definition of irony.  We had at least eight hills between the rest stops, and what town did we wind up at? 

Whoever came up the that town name was a very wishful thinker.

Esmeralda told me that the rest of the distance would be mental.  I believed her.  I had gotten past my wall, but my body was tiring.  At mile 87 my mind broke. The whole question of why I was even doing this came into my head.  But a funny thing happened (on the way to Shiner...sounds like the prelude to a bad joke): I remembered the article from my last post.  I was doing this not only for myself, but to honor those who believe in me.  So I repeated that over and over again - I am honoring those who believe in me...Sally, Xavier, Hannah, Kim, German, Maggie, George, Mari, Carlos 1, Carlos 2, Javi, Lisa,...and just kept adding names.  When I couldn't remember any more, I started over. It got me to the final rest stop at mile 91.

I went to sit under a large tree for my ten minute rest.  As I sat down I said "ouch".  The guy next to me told me that I was probably going to say more than that when I tried getting up again.  I smiled and thought this guy didn't know me very well. I stretched and thought about what I had done.  Only nine more miles - overall I felt pretty good, tired and sweaty but not exhausted. I got up (without making any noise) and got on my bike.

As I rode out of the town I noticed something incredible.  Families sat camped out on their front lawns, waving and cheering us on.  It was small town America at its finest.  I didn't know what was really odd to me until I turned onto the final highway stretch - there was not an electronic device in sight. Kids played soccer, on a tire swing or played cards, but not an ipod or cell phone anywhere. 

Looking up, I saw the biggest hill yet.  I thought, "Really?  They couldn't have put this at the beginning of the course?" geared down, and made my life focus the five feet in front of me.  At the top, my left leg seized.  Not cramped, but completely seized up in pain.  Every rotation my leg throbbed. I have a fairly high pain tolerance, have given birth and had kidney stones, but I tell you, in that moment, if somebody had given me a butter knife, I would have cut off my leg to end that pain. Mile 93.  Seven miles to go.  This was what training for Ironman was all about - would I cave, or would I keep going?  I kept going, and climbed five more hills, leg screaming the whole way.

Mile 99 came, and Janie was waiting to take my picture at the Shiner town sign.  Not feeling very picturey at the moment, I still stopped thinking that I would want the memory later.

She tells me, "Now lift your bike over your head in victory!" Um, no.  Other bikes weigh 3-5 pounds.  Vin weighs 16.  There was no way I was getting her over my head at that point.

Stopping must have released whatever happened to my leg, because I finished the last mile feeling good, tired, but good.  The CyclePaths who had already finished cheered me in, and I let the idea that I just finished 100 miles really sink in. CapTex no longer seemed as scary as it did, which was probably why my coach allowed me to do Shiner in the first place (sneaky little devil). Not once did I consider stopping, and now I know what's in store for me in Ironman.  

                                          

There is still a year of training, but I can go into it with the knowledge that while I may bend, I will not break.

Today, I woke up wondering if I was going to be able to walk.  Shockingly, other than some stiffness in my knees and my left hip, I'm fine.  Guess that means I'm going running tonight - woo hoo!