Those Who Believe

     This was not the blog I planned on writing this week.  But as with most well laid plans, it went awry.  Sometimes, events that seem arbitrary link together to make a bigger picture.  Eight months ago, I chose a new path. In doing so, I opened myself up to new ideas and people who I otherwise would not have.  Recently, those seemingly random events came together, and wherever this new path is taking me, I have learned some very valuable lessons.

     It was an interesting week. I hadn't realized what was unusual about last week until yesterday.  Sunday afternoon I was able to read a great article by Craig Lloyd, "Honoring those Who Believe in Us".  Here's the link.

http://trailandultrarunning.com/honoring-those-who-believe-in-us/

      So often we focus on the ones that try to hold us back, that we forget to give thanks to those who always believed in us. I'm not going to lie, when I started my training, a lot of it had to do with just that - proving the naysayers wrong, and trying to heal some very old hurts. Reading this article confirmed a shift in thinking that began with some isolated incidents throughout the week, and I want to take a moment for a big thank you to those people who took part in getting me to this new mindset.

     I was able to have a conversation about the most special person of my childhood - my grandmother.  I don't really talk about her often, and I have no idea why I talked about her at that moment, but I'm glad I did. Bobche (grandmother in Ukrainian), was my sunshine.  She lived next door (which in country terms is about a quarter mile) and I saw her most days.  A tough lady, she grew a half acre garden with just about every vegetable you could think of until she was well into her eighties, and could whack the heck out of the dandelions in her yard with her walking stick. She and I had a special bond, and I always knew she loved me unconditionally.  We would sit in her front yard and we rarely needed to say a word, which was good since she really didn't speak much English and I knew less Ukrainian. When she did say something, she was always encouraging me to push on, to set my goals higher. She passed away when I was 18, she was 91.

I got an email from an old friend/coach from back in my college triathlon days.  I had written him about starting training again, and talked about how I was trying to silence the negative voices in my head. He told me the negative people didn't matter, and out of the people that did matter, I was the only one who had ever thought that my goals were not attainable, choosing to believe the negative than chance the positive.  Huh.

This week more than others, I feel like I have gotten closer to the new connections I am making within my different training groups. I didn't really think my swimming skill was all that unusual or valuable, but to those who are trying to train for their first triathlon and don't know how to swim, I'm like, you know, cool. I am getting the chance to give back, and whether these people know it or not, they are giving me so much more in return. Seeing someone conquer their fears and swim for the first time, and how happy that makes them is a great feeling.

Sunday morning, I was running late for my open water swim after an unfortunate goggle mishap (how a redhead has so many blonde moments is beyond me).  I text for them not to start without me, and Esmeralda sent back, "Are you kidding?  I'm not getting in the water without you!" Moments like that make you stop and think.

If I had to make a list, with the people who doubt me on one side, and those that believe in me on the other, it wouldn't even be close.  I'm very lucky to have so many people believing in me.  When you have people who are willing to support you, to cheer you on, what are you telling them when you place a higher value on the opinion of the few who doubt?

If I started this journey wanting to tell those who say I can't that I can, it is now quickly becoming more about saying thank you to those who know I can, rising to the potential they see in me, and seeing that potential for myself. Then, in turn, cheering on those who don't yet believe they can. A life changing confidence has developed, and I like it. It also means I have had to say goodbye to some people who cannot cope with the change, or were the negative ones holding me down.  I wish them the best, hope they find happiness and peace, but they are no longer part of my journey. You have to be prepared to walk away from those who do not value or respect you, if for no other reason than the love and respect you have for yourself.

Very soon, I'm going to have to face a major milestone - facing the same distance triathlon that ended my racing career 20 years ago.  A few weeks ago, I would have been (and was) scared.  As my focus shifts to those who have and do believe in me, the fear dissipates, and something new emerges - excitement. Because I now understand that for this group of people, if I have a bad race, it does not define me. They will not think less of me, or give up. They will cheer me on, knowing that I will pick myself up and keep moving forward.

Thank you.  I will honor you the only way that is fitting - I will achieve.

And the naysayers?  Well, I still plan on taking my (hopefully photo-bombed) picture at the end of Ironman Houston next year with my medal and sending out a copy. :)

Nature's Calling

Right off, I have to say - I love camping.  Love it.  Love the trees, the fresh air, the de-plug from the hustle and bustle. I love to hike, the longer the better, and have done free climbing and repelling.  I would rather get some cool camping equipment than a new dress (although now my focus is cool racing equipment), and feel ansty if it goes too long before I get out there again.

That being said, when this year's Senior trip took us to Garner Park, I was more than happy.  A week out in the woods sounded like a great idea to me. Of course, since CapTex is coming, I wanted to be sure to include my training schedule. When I told my principal room would need to be made for my bike on the bus, he stared at me for a long time.  I stared back, unblinking.  He shook his head and said "okaaaay". Yay, I won.

I was happier than a kid at Christmas when we got there.  Our campsites were right next to the river, so swim practice was up first. The river is called the Rio Frio for a reason.  Fortunately, I had borrowed a wetsuit. Swimming in open water may be hard for some, but I grew up swimming in lakes.  The river, unlike lakes, was clear, so being able to see the bottom as I swam was a novelty. It was quite entertaining.  Look, there's a fish!  There's a bigger fish! WHOA!! There's a rock! Swim around the rock... there's a fish! Swim training? Check.

Biking was going to be a challenge.  The roads in the park are okay, but distance is a problem when you can't roam too far from your group.  There were two massive hills in the center of the park that I was really excited about, thinking I could get some practice in shifting on the fly.  First hill - I think I can, I think I can...and I did!  Coast down the back and gain momentum for the second.  Hmmm, must tell the kids that Physics class came in handy today.  Here comes the next hill - I think I can, I think I can...shift down, SHIFT DOWN! Turns out it is very important to know which way is shift up and shift down.  I came to a complete standstill in less than two seconds and feel over like a tree. I picked myself up, coasted back down the hill and tried it again.  Vintage complained the whole way, but she made it.

I was clipping along at a pretty good pace on the flat part when something caught my eye from the side of the road.  In my years of camping, I have run into javelinas, mountain lions, a family of bear cubs (great pics - I was within ten feet of one of them), foxes, coyotes, various birds and bobcats.  I don't fear wildlife, which has caused panic attacks in anyone who goes camping with me. However, when this particular creature ran across the road in front of me, all I could think was,"what the HECK is that?" I was in aero position, and what looked like a cross between a wild turkey and an ostrich was taller than me. It stopped on the other side of the road (which brings to mind all of the chicken and the road jokes) and looked at me like "what the HECK is that?" It wasn't like I could stop and take a better look, so I kept going, hoping it was my only strange encounter.  Cycling training - check.

Hiking at Garner is fairly tame.  The trails are not too long, and the climbs, while steep, are not particularly tricky.  Great for families with small kiddos, but if you are looking for something harder, go to Big Bend.  Nice long trails, spectacular views, it's my favorite place so far to hike. I planned on supplementing my running with the hikes. I also planned on running the hills that made my bike so interesting. My students kept telling me they were going to join me on my runs. There was a lot of smack talk about how it would be easy to run with me and how fast they were.  Until that is, their first hike. The next day, groans and complaints were heard from all the shelters.  Only one student was brave enough to come with me on my run. He was not a runner, but insisted he was going to do all six miles with me.  Ah, young and naive.

He lasted two miles. He felt bad, but I told him two miles for his first run was awesome, and the kids congratulated him when he got back. I didn't have any more offers to run.  I managed three runs, one of them a 10k which I did in under an hour (56 mins). Obviously, there were butt muscles I had not used before, as I discovered once the soreness set in. Got to love hills.

Other than a lingering panic that I was not going to be ready for CapTex with this modified training (thanks to those who gave me pep talks during those moments) it was a great week. Now it's back to reality, and the final push.

Baby Steps

Today was the Stanley Sprint Triathlon, and my official return to triathlons in general.  It was a first step, and I was looking forward to it.  I also felt a little silly about it considering a bunch of friends were doing a half Ironman the same day, but more on that later.

I've mentioned before how things have changed since I raced, but never until today did I realize how much.  I got to the transition area, Vintage and gear in tow.  A man checked the old girl over, and made some comments about her safety.  I assured him she would hold together and he reluctantly let me go.  It dawned on me at that point that my bike was probably older than more than a few competitors.  I tried not to think about that.

After I dropped my stuff off, I got marked - that I remember from years past.  Then I was fitted with my timing chip - felt like I was going under house arrest. Fortunately Missie was there helping out, and she cracked some jokes easing my nerves. Chip, bib, tri suits, the incredible bikes I saw, nothing like that was remotely part of the racing world I was used to.  That's when I started getting nervous.

I laid out my transition area, and waited for the start. Much to my surprise, more and more people I knew started coming in.  Now it was a party! Some were first timers, and some were already Ironmen.  Either way, we were there for each other.

I made a few mistakes during this race - ones that just might have altered the outcome.  But this was why I came, to make these mistakes now and learn from them.

Mistake number 1 - Don't sell yourself short when they seed you for the swim time in a pool triathlon, you will pay for it.  My 100m time in practice has always been around 1:45.  When they asked us to line up according to time, I changed my mind and seeded myself with the 2:15's.  Why did I do that?  I have absolutely no idea.  All it managed to do was cause me to be stuck with three people who refused to let me pass, despite the fact I was crawling up their legs the entire way. There's a reason why I love open water swims, you can get around anyone you need to.

Mistake number 2 - I need a tri suit. Like, yesterday.  Trying to pull on bike shorts quickly on a wet body is like trying...well, nothing I can think of is remotely flattering to me, so I'll let you think of your own analogy.  People flew out of transition, while I wasted precious seconds getting my shorts on.

Mistake number 3 - I guess in racing terms, this would be considered a mistake, but I had so much fun, I couldn't help myself and I would do it again.  Out on the bike, we first got to ride with the wind.  Uphill, but with the wind.  So every time I saw a rider out on the course, I would yell an encouragement out to them. They, in turn, looked at me like I had lost it.

 I remembered what people told me about enjoying the moment, and I wanted to send some positive mojo out to my fellow racers.  However, when I hit the turn around and started into the wind which was pretty heinous at that point, I began to tire when I called out. Especially since, magically, we were STILL going uphill. It was at that point I said to myself, "this is great and all, but do you think you could maybe save your breath for this wall we are currently hitting?"

Something else I saw but fortunately did not do, was now something I will be sure to never do.  About mile 10 on the bike, a girl with a truly awesome bike passed me.  In the last mile though, I caught up to her.  She looked over her shoulder to see how close I was, but over-rotated and crashed her bike.  Hard.  Don't worry about where anyone else is, especially that close to the end, it's not worth it.

During bike training, I had done something that helped me out a lot today.  During some of our rides, I refused to draft off other riders, especially in strong wind. Esmeralda and I would say,"There's no draft in Ironman!"  This prepared me for riding in the strong wind, and helped save my legs for the (gulp) run.

I am happy to say that I didn't make any mistakes on the run - I was dreading that part, but my feet kept moving, and I kept breathing.  As I passed Wally I told him it was a lovely day for a stroll, and it was. I went a little slower than I had hoped, but I kept either maintaining or negative splits.

After my finish, we waited for others who were still out on the course.  Cheryl, Irma, Rosie, we all chanted them to the finish line.  It was emotional, especially for Irma.  I was happy to share that moment with them.

It was time for awards, and German had said I should place.  I didn't want to let him down, so I looked at the results with mixed feeling.  My bike was 10 mins slower than he had wanted, and my run was a little off pace too.  I found my name, and let out a squeal that made everyone wonder if they had stepped on me. Third!  I had made third!  On top of that, I was just a minute and a half behind the girl who got second.  Time that would have been made up with a little more experience in not making the above mistakes.  But it was fine, I placed, I survived and I was happy.

Now I just need to grow out my hair enough so I don't look like I touched a live wire :)

Once I got home, I turned on the computer to find the results of the half Ironman in Galveston.  German was a beast, Lori did awesome, and George, well George defies all logic.  For his first triathlon, he does a half Ironman, and teaches himself how to swim from You Tube. It's either crazy, inspiring or both.

It was a good day for triathlon, both big and small. I met new friends, got to know others better, and made progress towards my ultimate goal. Lesson were learned and fun was hard, and in the end that's all that matters.

Ironman, we are coming for you!

PS. Thanks Ramon, for all the great pictures!

Hit Submit

There are moments that define us, and this week I had one of those moments.

There is a high learning curve with any sport, we constantly have to refine and hone our skills to get better.  Nobody does what we do - no matter what sport you participate in - and state "I'm good enough, no need to get better". Not going to happen, and I expected that.  What I didn't expect was how much I would learn about myself.

Training has been fabulous.  Love my workouts, love how my body is adapting to them, happy with how times are going (especially in the running). Seems like I am stronger now than I was in college, both mentally and physically. And I especially love all the wonderful people I have met.  Diverse backgrounds, common goals. Each and every one of you inspire me to become better.

Not going to lie, I can tend to be a little focused, and maybe slightly competitive. Okay, those that have known me for a long time can stop laughing hysterically now. Last weekend I learned to let go of that by running with my new friend Donna.  I ran just for the love of it, and to support her. She was great the whole way through, we talked and laughed (well I talked mostly, and she let me) and I enjoyed every single minute of it. It added a new facet to training, to let go of the goal, and to just be in the moment.  Never before had I felt so free after a race.

Inspired by this new knowledge, I sat down this week to do something I had been putting off doing.  Three times before in the last month I had called up the half Ironman registration page for the October race in Austin, and three times I turned it off, not ready to make that step.  I sat down again this week and told myself that I was going to do it no matter what, because I was scared they would close the race, and my whole training schedule for the next year would be messed up.

Screen 1 - Basic information.  Okay, not so scary, I can handle this.  Hit submit.

Screen 2 - Background information (how many tri's have you done in the last year, have you ever done a half/full Ironman before) - Since I left most of the page blank, it was a little intimidating.  I felt like I was not doing enough to prepare.  Hit submit anyway.

Screen 3 - Medical/release waivers....many of them.  Basically, if you die, your family members die, your equipment dies, nobody can sue Ironman for anything.  Having coming close to death as many times as I have (that's a WHOLE other blog), I tend not to focus on these things too much, it takes up too much energy. Helps that I'm Ukrainian.  Hit submit.

Screen 4 - Payment information.  I had done extra hours of working and side jobs for a while to set aside the money for this, so knowing the money was there felt good.  Filled out the screen, and tried to hit submit.

I couldn't do it.  I raised my hand over the button a bunch of times, and then took it away.  Hitting that submit button meant it was real.  No longer workouts on a page, visualizations of crossing the finish line, or dreams that keep you going on the tough days.  It was real, no refunds, no returns. Put up or shut up time.

Voices started in my head - no, not the insane kind.  The memories of things said to me over the years by people I looked up to who told me I couldn't do this because I was not special enough or strong enough.  Voices that held me back for a long time from even attempting this came over me with conviction, telling me to shut down the page and quit being stupid. It almost worked.

But then a funny thing happened.  Other voices, those of my friends, my students, my daughter came into my head.  They started telling me to look at how far I had come already, and to try to see the potential of what I could become. That I could do this, that it wasn't a matter of if but of when.

It was very crowded in my head.

Then I had two thoughts - first, what kind of role model would I be to others if I quit without even trying? Could I live a life of regret? Trying and failing is one thing, but quitting before your tried? Hmmm.

Second, I remembered a quote I had seen on Facebook the day before -

Doubt kills more dreams than failure.

I will never know how far I can go if I don't push myself past whatever limits I have.  Right now, all my limits are mental, and I need to get rid of them.

I hit submit.

I then proceeded to have a small to medium panic attack of the "what did you just do???" variety. Took a few deep breaths and then pulled myself together - after all, I had running group to get to. :)

Gadgets, Gizmos and Garmins

            Getting back into racing, I deluded myself into believing that it couldn’t have changed that much since I left.  After all, training is training, right? Wrong. Someone should have offered me ocean front property in Arizona, I would have bought it.

            Meeting with my new running group was not only daunting for the very idea of trying to keep up with these people, but it was if they spoke another language, and I had no translator. All I could do was nod knowingly without having a clue.

            “Did you see the new Garmin? It’s really cool!”  Garmin? Garmin…Garmin… nope, no translation for Garmin.  Obviously it was not a person, and these were runners, so maybe new shoes? Don’t even get me started on how long it took me to figure out what Hokas were.

            “I left my Garmin in the car, it was about to die.”  Um, pardon? What’s a Garmin? I really did want to ask, but I was intimidated. They knew what a Garmin was, it was obvious they thought I should know what a Garmin was, so I simply nodded and hoped I wouldn’t be asked my opinion on it.

            We began running and I continued to listen to them talk about their Garmins.  I listened, not only because I did not want to reveal how technologically challenged I was but also, at that point I couldn’t run and talk at the same time.  I pride myself on multitasking, but that was asking a little too much of me that early in training. Quickly, the topic turned to other things, and I promised myself that a soon as I got home, I would find out what it was.

            A GPS watch! Are you kidding me? That's awesome!

           A few days later, my coach found someone who was upgrading to a newer Garmin and was wanting to sell his old one. I was so excited to get it, and I wanted to just hold my arm out all practice to show everyone I got initiated into the Garmin group. I put it on, pushed the on button, and stared at it, realizing I had absolutely no idea how to use it. Coach quickly helped out, setting it up for training that night, and I went home determine to figure this out.  Two hours of You Tube videos later, I had the basics down.

          A couple weeks later, Coach asked if I had been downloading my workouts into Garmin Connect. Whoa! There's an APP for that? Cool beans! An hour of downloading the program (my computer is archaic) and a whole lot of clicking to see what this or that link did and presto! I was totally geeking out to all the charts, splits and maps I could possible look at.  The mathematical part of my brain went into happiness overload as I analyzed to my heart's content.

        After this week's practice, Speedy, the Spy and I stood in the shoe shop staring at the Garmin case.  It reminded me of little kids standing on the snowy sidewalks looking at the toy displays in department store windows at Christmas.  Seriously, we were fogging up the case.  As I was drooling over the new triathlete Garmin, the Spy was thinking about a running Garmin, his first. Speedy and I told him what we knew, and in my case, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about, but if he asked me anything too technical, I knew my cover would be blown.  Fortunately, Speedy had the woman's version of the Garmin he wanted, so she could show him what it did.  Whew!

          It may take me a while to get up to speed on all of the advances that have been made since I left, but I must still be old school - nothing beats the cheering, love and support of my friends and running/swimming/biking families.  Love you all, and see you at the finish line :)

Finding a Four Leaf Clover

My first 5k, I was so nervous I barely even thought to look around me.  For my second, I made sure I got there early enough to really take in the experience. I learned that very little of these races have to do with times and what place you come in, other than validation of all the hard work you put in to get there. The real action comes from the people themselves.

Since it was a St. Patrick's Day run, there were tons of runners dressed for the occasion.  I saw green tutus, green striped socks, green bead necklaces and even some green faces.  The atmosphere was jovial, and everyone acted like it was some huge barbecue cook out rather than a race.

The kids ran first, and standing at their finish line, I was able to see some of the most heart warming things I ever have.  They came in flashes, almost like pictures, brief snapshots of time where nothing else had relevance. There was the boy who ran so hard and was so focused that he actually ran out of his shoe and just kept going in his sock.  

The girl with a milder form of cerebral palsy, who used her walker to run the mile (and she did run) with her parents on either side of her.  She would look at her parents to see if they were paying attention, and if they weren't, she would take off faster, causing them to chase her.  All the while, she was laughing and smiling. Once she crossed the finish line, her siblings stood next to her, all of them beaming for the photo.

There was the four year old girl who ran as fast as she could with her father next to her, and when she crossed the finish line first, she screamed with glee that she had beaten her daddy at running. The little boy behind her finished, turned to the little girl, and asked her if she wanted to do it again.

There was the overweight girl who crossed the finish line, and into the arms of her mother. The mother, also overweight, was crying and told her daughter how proud she was and that things were going to be different, that they were all going to get healthy. 

Since it was close to time for the start of the 5k, I went in search of the starting line full of warm fuzzies from what I had seen.  But it didn't stop there.  I soon ran into a former co-worker of mine.  He had gotten into running and had lost more than 80 pounds.  He told me proudly he was going to do his first half Ironman in three weeks in Galveston.  When I had worked with him, we all feared for his health, and here he was, fit and trim. 

As the people crowded the start, the lady next to me chatted me up.  She was 72 years old, and she, along with a group of Winter Texans from her park ran as many of these races as possible. When the younger boys next to her stripped off their shirts, she leaned in next to me and whispered that she was part of a nudist colony and that they often trained naked. Not exactly the visual that I would want in my head, but she seemed so proud of it I couldn't help but laugh with her. Bright eyed and full of laughter, she wished me well on my race, and said she would be chugging along somewhere behind me.

As the race started, I began to think about what I had seen. For some of the people there, this race was a pivotal moment in their lives that would bring them to a better, healthier life. For others, this race was the chance to create some wonderful memories for their families. And for those special few, it was a complete validation of their thought that anything could be possible if they only tried.

Right after I finished, I ran into some good friends of mine who were cheering on their daughter. Fifteen minutes later, who should come jogging up behind me but my new 72 year old nudist friend, with as much vim and vigor as she had started with. My former co-worker also came by, who was making his way back out onto the course to run with the people he had brought with him so they could start losing weight.

In some ways, I feel like I finished the race a different person than the one who came out to run it. I now see running as something other than times and placements.  It is the story of all of us who come together to take part. Whoever you are and whatever your story, the race is your time to shine for simply putting your foot on the starting line. It is a celebration of every time you went running whether you felt like it or not. It is a reward for a healthier choice, and for all the benefits that choice brings.

I felt today like I had found a four leaf clover - discovered something rare and precious.  And I will never look at running the same way again.

What's that?  

How did my race go? 

Oh, well, I cut over a minute off my previous race time, and have a new PR for 5k of 27:08. Color me happy! :)

Splish, Splash

The best part of going back to racing for me has been the return to the pool.  I was four when I started swimming, progressed through all the regular levels, and as a teenager decided to take my lifeguard levels as well so I would have a job in the summers – which I did for 7 years.  I also think it helped that the lifeguard classes were taught by two gorgeous guys with awesome swimmer bodies, but I digress…

As a swimmer, I am genetically deficient. Natural swimmers tend to have long lean bodies (not me), longer legs (really not me), and bigger feet (definitely not me). What I lack in genetics I make up for in spirit. I love the water. Put me in or near it, and you just made me one happy camper. My favorite part of my recent trip to the Dominican Republic? The day trip to the freezing cold waterfalls, where you haul yourself up the waterfalls and then swim down them. If I believed in reincarnation, I probably was a dolphin in a previous life.

I had delayed my swim training knowing that running was my weak sport, but needed to get in the pool so I could see how steep the climb to being race ready was really going to be. Honestly?  I wanted to see if my gills came back. 

There is a pool in my backyard, but starting training in January kind of ruled out its use.  So off to Nikki Rowe High School I went. I had never been on the campus before, and had no clue where the pool was, so I parked my car and took a deep breath.  There it was - the curiously welcoming and very familiar tang of chlorine. Most people can't stand it, but to me it is a reminder of many happy years spent taking lessons and racing. I followed my nose, and quickly found myself at the pool.

I sat for a few moments mentally preparing myself not to have high expectations. I teach swimming in the summer, but this was a different can of worms entirely, and it had been a while since I subjected myself to a swim workout. As I slid into the water, all anxiety faded away. It was like reuniting with a good friend. I started to swim, and felt the power return to my shoulders as I pulled myself through the water.  I watched the bubbles form as my hand entered the water and pulled across for the all important down stroke. It was easy, like I had never left, and I felt my gills return.  I guess I wasn't going to be as aqua challenged as I thought I would be.

It's been almost two months now since I first returned to the pool. Times are good, distances are climbing. A year and two months sounds like a long time, but it will be gone before I know it. I prepare myself for not one race, but four - the swim, the bike, the run, and the mental race all Ironmen face...can I do this?

2.4 miles is a long way to swim. To swim 2.4 miles with 2000 other people at once is daunting for some. For me, the idea is thrilling. Like Dory says "just keep swimming, just keep swimming".