The thing about racing is that it's hardly a matter of racing. That's actually the smallest part of the sick/beautiful/addictive/neurotic/heroic/narcissistic pie. I want to share my endurance rollercoaster through heaven and hell with everyone being careful to amplify the truth that it was NOT JUST ME ON THE RIDE. The people I love had a huge impact on my training and results. My most beautiful family came to see me in what they felt was larger than the "Olympics" and surely I was to win the whole thing and be universe champion. To my family who doesn't live here and who isn't savvy to how simple and quite frankly boring my life is, I was a superhero. I decided to roll with it and I put on my USA triathlete costume. If it didn't chafe so much I'd feel more super. It takes a village to raise an athlete for lack of a better cliche, and it takes humility to be that athlete. I'm humbled, hurting, and utterly happy as I usually am after a hell of a race. Here's my experience both from the trenches and from those plastering the sidelines lovingly in my honor.
Race morning came; this whole thing wasn't just some long dream that mixed surreality with actual phsical hurt and euphoria. It came with wind, freezing temps, and avengence. Forget the anxiety of a world championship triathlon, look at the elements. Did I have enough fat on me for this?
5:24am Saturday, Nov 5 2011 Melissa Olivas reported to me that "the swim was cancelled." I had my wetsuit halfway on and my head fully on and ready to swim. The swim is my strength. The swim is my tactical friend in all these godforsaken races from whom I receive regular help in making up for my lazy friend, my bicycle legs. The swim left as fast as time goes the months leading up to a race of a lifetime. And she left me hanging. Wetsuit and all.
Like every 'swimmer' at the race I foolishly mulled over all the endless hours in the pool and lake over the last 20 weeks. Was it all for nothing? Who is USAT or ITU to say when it's too cold or dangerous? What just because they have some silly acronym?! I have a full wetsuit! And I know how to f'ing swim like a world champ so bring back my leg up on everyone! I stared at my bike. I don't know how to ride this thing without getting on it wet, I sware.
My sis followed me up to the start of the bike so that I could keep my sweatshirt on til the last minute before lift off. Mickey locked eyes with me and said, 'hey....nothing changes!' What he meant was that my 'numbers' on my bike, as in my 'power' and 'heart rate', perhaps even 'avg mph' or 'distance'....would NOT change just because I didn't have my swim for a warm up. He mentioned this because for the National Championship qualifier, the swim was cancelled. I was so wound up about it and nervous fearing that I didn't know how to race without the 'swim' in 'triathlon' that I got on the bike and hammered it so malicously along with doing a hellacious fast run, that I spent the night puking.
I was so relieved when he told me that. Instantly I felt peace. I almost felt a little grateful for the fact that I would be riding in 30 degrees in a skimpy uniform....dry. Outlook was good! Just stick with my numbers. The numbers to whom I've been married for 20 weeks. The numbers I know so well. The numbers that took me to a Long Distance Triathlon World Championship.
Shit I have no numbers. My bike computer wasn't working. Upon the start of the race with my new leisurely perspective, I looked down at my handlebars so some technology would as usual, tell me what to do with my body. My heart rate jumped back and forth between 30 and 280. Awesome, so I'm Lance Armstrong at rest and/or a hummingbird. My distance said I'd gone 45 mi in approx 25 yards. And my power, my power with whom I've made the ultimate bond and who tells me just how hard I can go to even THINK about taking on a distance like this and still be able to muster my way through a long run....my power was reading zero. Zero guidance. Zero sight into 80 mi bike and 18.5 mi run. Zero assurance. Zero remaining faith in endurance technology. Ever! And then zero hope. Zero filled my heart. And there was a long way to go.
I don't know exactly where the voice came from, but I'm pretty sure it was from my legs. I talk to my body SO much while racing and often go through each muscle group (even the smallest because it's great practice for keeping up on my career not to mention a great distraction) thanking them for enduring. A voice came from my lower extremities saying 'don't worry....you still have FEEL.' Yes of course! Feel! What are we as athletes without FEEL?! This is exactly what distinguises an athlete! KNOWING our bodies. I no longer had fear. I had instincts, the greatest training tool in the world.
My bike ride was on MY course in MY backyard and I reminded all my competitors as I passed them, inside my head and with utter courtesy and respect, that they were on MY ride. I felt fantastic. I felt like even though I was lacking a tangible tool I had more tools than anyone. I felt like I was flying and it was easy.
It must have been easy because before the 'sisters', the steepest hills on the course painfully placed near the END of the ride, my average speed decided to show up on my computer (along with time) and it reached up to slap me in the face with a reading of 18.5 mph average. 18.5! Shit! Way, way too fast. I had trained impeccably at 17.5 to ensure I would still have some run legs. Long distance run legs. Fear seeped into the stitches on my uniform and suddenly I felt the worst sensation a triathlete feels in the middle of the bike....tired.
Tired right before the sisters, too for that matter. I approached them conservatively assuming I would be LUCKY to even make it over. But as I started over the first bitch sister I felt so fresh! So much pop in my legs still! Wow, even after holding 18.5. I felt invincible. I felt like I had conquered all the previous labels I'd held over my head regarding my 'weak bike leg.' I felt ready for my run.
My transition was smooth and almost looked as though I had done it a few times. I didn't roll over my shoes or tip over still stuck on my bike like the ways in which I normally subject myself to 'transitioning off the bike' in most races. It was pretty amazing up until I put my socked feet down onto the asphault. I'm not sure if anyone noticed, but it was as though I'd never been off pedals in my life and my newborn baby deer legs wabbled and threatened to give out. They matured and got me into the transition tent where I got into my BFF...my run shoes.
I lied, my swim is not my strength. My run is. All runners just plain know how freeing it is to run. Freeing isn't normally a word until you start running. Then it's forever appropriate. Triathlon is just a run with a longer warm up as far as I'm concerned. The whole race is strategized around having a good run. If you had a crappy run, you had a crappy race. Everyone at the world competition level was coming in with a hell of a run. And I planned on doing a 'heaven' of a run. Given that my legs wouldn't say 'f**k you, you just put us through 18.5 and now you want this?!'
The first 3 miles I spend checking into my body. Moving from a relatively horizontal and fast position on the bike to a slow/vertical position running, can do a number on even the most seasoned athletes. Super baseline questions fill my mind during the first 3. Am I ok? Am I going straight? Am I going forward? Then it's all about the twinges. Major muscle groups have shifted and taken on new responsibilites. There will be pain and all sorts of other sensations as a result. I like to identify them as quickly as possible then assign them all a 'time limit' in which they're directed to leave. For instance the calf cramp only has one more mile or 7.5 minutes to make it's debut, then it has to leave so that left hamstring sledgehammer can get it and out in time. A long time ago I discovered that if I personify any issues in my body not to mention the muscles themselves, everyone cooperates much better. We can usually all work together with a productive purpose.
But being that this course was on one giant hill of major grade, all my twingy issues got a little selfish with their time. You see this course was a festering mecca for pain. I tried to talk to them....but my feet turned to the dark side.
The series of painful issues with which I dealt for the next 2 hours I will not bother to explain. I will, however, give a quick THANK YOU FOR KEEPING MY LEGS ALIVE to Biomechanics of Las Vegas because without them I wouldn't be so lucky to even HAVE race pain because I wouldn't be able to race. The truth of the matter is ALL long distance triathletes deal with this crap and we CHOSE to subject ourselves to it so we ought to stop whining. It's not worth the words. What is worth the words was what was actually going on OUTSIDE of me.
I've struggled with some major elements of triathlon since I began the obsession. I've struggled with the narcissism. I've struggled with the sacrifice. I've struggled with the loss (or gain) of identity. Jesus I've given up so much to do this stuff. Yes I've gained a world of joy, but call me a half empty type of athlete, I've had so much turmoil during the completion of this endeavor. Triathletes always feel as though they're letting SOMEONE down, somewhere. Whether it's our families, clients, friends or whatever, we've had to let go of some things in our lives to gain athletic benefit. This has always haunted me.
But I must have done something right in this pursuit. When I went running by on some seriously destroyed feet/legs, I felt no pain because the cheering overpowered the hellish screams from the lower limbs. SO SO many of my clients and family were screaming their living, beating, loving hearts out for me. They came. They brought banners and cowbells. They screamed so loud they scared the foreigners god bless them. They put their lives on hold to spend cold hours in the wind anxiously waiting for another few seconds that I may run by. They worried about me. They thought good thoughts for me. They recorded every silly step I took. They told me I 'could do it!' They carried me through the course. All I had given up, all the garbage I'd taken, all the guilt I'd placed upon myself for taking this on, and all my idiosyncratic race anxieties....melted.
I finished and found myself immediately greeted by my coach, Cyndee Platko, who has given my the best guidance in the world. Mickey held me up both physically and metaphysically. My entire family (mom sis bro stepdad aunt uncle) had been here making my home feel like home and they did the same at the finish line. My sis started massaging me in a frenzy like a mama cat nervously licks her kittens. My mom tried to feed me. The dearest and best clients/friends a crazy mama triathlete could have, softened the nausea at the finish with their smiles. I had forgotten about the race and my 6 out of 46 world placement. All I could do to not cry and cry joy over the fact that the people in my life were far more grand than any world championship, was go say 'hi' to my 4 year old playing on the ground. He smiled at me and asked for a snack. That sounds good.
I flew back to earth from being universe champion. I was again grounded. Triathlon has in many ways defined me. It's made me dig deep into the nitty gritty of my very being to see exactly of what I'm made in this life and what I can handle in a day. But it's the support system outside of an athlete that truly makes one's heart beat strong. I owe any athletic success to those helping keep me afloat OUT of the water. Thank you for your support. Thank you for all the love. Thank you for carrying me through the trenches.
No comments:
Post a Comment