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!