What it means to be a Triathlete

I echo sentiments from many people who started doing triathlons later in life – I never thought of myself as an athlete growing up. Yeah, I played softball for a few years. I tried cross country in high school. But in my mind, athletes were the ones who ate, slept, and constantly thought about training for the next race, meet or game. When I heard the word athlete, I thought of the amazing men and women competing in the Olympics. Since I didn’t think I’d ever be that awesome at any sports, I never thought of myself as an athlete.

My definition of an athlete has changed over the past few months. Yes, my definition still includes eating, drinking, sleeping and thinking about your sport almost obsessively. And athletes all work very hard in their chosen competition. But athletes don’t have to be Olympians or star quarterbacks. They don’t have to be a Nike sponsor or walk around with milk mustaches all day, even when it’s not Movember. I’d like to describe what a triathlete is to me, both from observations at the many triathlons I’ve been to this year, as well as from personal experience.

• A triathlete invests countless hours into running, swimming, biking, cross fitting, lifting, and drinking and eating stuff chock full of protein and other ingredients a non-triathlete can’t pronounce (and probably doesn’t want to taste – blech!).
• Many triathletes long ago stopped letting their moms pick out their outfits – and it shows with the many neon, glitterized, miss-matched outfits often seen on cyclists (but those cyclists’ friends and families have a very easy time picking them out of the crowd).
• On any given day, a triathlete can name 2-3 (minimum) injuries they are trying to roll out, massage out, or fight through. Triathlete injuries are like battle scars for a soldier.
• Triathletes can often be found discussing all the various new techniques for getting rid of the above mentioned injuries – gone are the days of merely tugging on compression socks after each race or wrapping up a knee or shoulder in KT Tape. Now you can choose between Compex Sport Elite electrostimulation devices (say that 10 times fast), pharmaceutical grade fish oil and the slightly less technical methodology of stuffing ice down your compression _____ (you fill in the blank with any article of clothing that can now be found with the tight, boa constrictor feel – basically everything).
• Triathletes are masters at timing. They can spit out their splits faster than you can say Garmin. They also have the 20 second draft rule down to an art – leap frogging with others to try and sneak in a free ride here and there.
•  Many triathletes make Cirque du Soleil performers look like amateurs. Have you seen someone trying to peel out of their wetsuit when they are dizzy and/or shivering? It’s truly an art.
• Triathletes are very flexible, especially those competing in Ironman distances. How else do you explain someone angling and aiming just right to pee on the person cycling behind them around mile 78?
• On the more serious side, I’ve never met a closer-knit supportive group of people. When I played softball, I never heard the 2^nd baseman tell me, “great steal” or the catcher say, “nice homerun”! Many triathletes encourage each other, cheer each other on, and make new friends – especially during the run portion when everyone is tired and just wants to be done already. I’ve seen people hang out at the finish line after they’ve finished, cheering for someone they just met that day. When I was amongst a crowd of probably 30 or so people running behind James Lawrence, aka the Iron Cowboy, as he finished his 30^th Ironman this year, I felt like I was with family cheering on a cousin. What also impressed me was how James stopped and waited for his friends during the swim – cheering other athletes on during the wait.
• Triathletes are incredibly persevering. They come in all shapes, sizes, experience levels, nationalities, etc. But it really doesn’t matter their weight or height – what matters is their determination to finish the race. The best ones even smile while they’re doing it.

Nothing marks a triathlete though like the huge smile, arm pump, cartwheel, jig, or even tears that often accompanies them across the finish line. I can attest to the complete euphoric joy of running across, full speed, knowing you’ve just done something you never thought you could. When I thought of how I’d overcome my fear of water, and just swam 750 meters in 24 minutes (which actually turned out to be almost 900 meters), cruised along on the bike for 12.5 miles averaging 17.7 mph (passing tons of people on the way), and did a slow but acceptable 31 minute 5k – all in an hour 44 minutes, I employed both the huge grin and arms raised high in the air finish line techniques. But the joy I felt at knowing that I could now call myself a triathlete – because of the training, injuries, mental struggles, drinking all those nasty green protein shakes, cheering on my fellow athletes on the run and shucking that wet suit like it was 1999 (okay, just kidding, I had to have some major help on that one) – was indescribable. I still feel all warm and tingly inside when I think about it (or maybe that’s from the medal AND kiss I got at the finish line…). 

 

Someone asked me recently if I was going to do another triathlon. Heck yeah! Bring on the runner’s knee, lost toenails, and green sludge! Because now, when I think of an athlete, I think of all the amazing people (especially Kermit) I’ve met of all shapes and sizes… and I think of me. Wow.

I’m a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad person – or so I once believed

Do you remember that children’s book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, no Good, Very Bad Day? I LOVED that book as a kid. No matter how bad of a day I had, Alexander’s day always trumped mine. Thinking about this book, and my life, I realized there are quite a few parallels between Alexander’s perceptions of his day and my perceptions of myself. I’ll explain.

Alexander endures many taunts, teases and snide remarks from his siblings and people at school.

I was that kid growing up who always got picked on. My short stature, glasses, and unruly curls were great tinder for bully’s jokes and taunts. By the time I got to high school, I had friends in all cliques at school, had a different boyfriend every month and was well on my way to becoming a successful young woman. However, that didn’t change the fact that after years of put-downs and taunts, deep inside, I truly believed I was ugly, fat, stupid, and would never garner the love of an awesome guy. I tried to prove everyone wrong, though. I was an over-achiever, worked hard at how I looked, and tried my best to be the best girlfriend in the universe. I may have convinced others, but I hadn’t convinced myself.

When they go to the shoe store, the color of shoe Alexander wants is out of stock.

I don’t think I have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I’ve had a goal or vision of how something should turn out, only to have it fall short of my expectations. When I was married, each time I hoped, prayed, and tried to garner every speck of faith I had that things would be different this time – I was disappointed almost every time. Each time this happened, I slowly began to lose faith – in myself as a wife and mother, in God, and in love in general. Because I had been taught to not blame God, and love was an intangible thing, I turned all the disappointment and frustration inwards. By the time my ex moved out, I was completely convinced I was a woman of no faith, no value, that I was fat, that I could never make any man happy and that I was horrible mother. Yet, I kept going to school, got a 4.0 that first semester after my divorce, and graduated Summa Cum Laude with a 3.93 GPA. How could I see myself so differently than others? They obviously saw something of worth in me. But again, I wasn’t convinced.

When Alexander, his mom, and siblings visit their dad at work, Alexander tries to help his dad by trying to fix the printer. Instead, it breaks.

After trying repeatedly to fix my marriage, help my son who was struggling in school, and learn to overcome my negative emotional downward spirals I often found myself in, I decided the more I tried to “fix” everything, the more it broke. I finally came to the conclusion, about 4 years after my divorce, that I was broken – that I always would be broken - and that nothing could fix me. After years of trying everything I could think of to see myself as others saw me – someone awesome and amazing, I couldn’t and I gave up. Nothing worked. I always fell back on thinking I was a loser. Every time my kids made a mistake. Every time I made a mistake. I never felt like I’d be good enough for anyone- for God, for my parents, for my kids, for my ex, for the people at church, for my professors and employers… the list went on and on. I often wondered how in the world people could love me when I could never seem to get anything right. Couldn’t they see what a horrible person I was? My ex had finally figured it out. All the guys I had dated figured it out. Why didn’t anyone else see it? Were they completely blind?

It all comes back to perceptions. At the end of the book, Alexander’s mom tells him things really weren’t all that bad, and some days are like that. His response was that he wanted to move to Australia. Sounded good to me, I thought. 

But then one day on a run I realized I’ve been living my life trying to meet what I thought other’s expectations were. The problem is, I don’t really know what their expectations of me were, and what it really came down to was my expectations of myself. I’ve always had the problem of thinking I could do better than I was, so I was always disappointed in myself when I didn’t achieve the near perfect expectations I’d set for myself. On top of that, I thought everyone would be disappointed in me, and think less of me, if I didn’t meet my expectations. When really, they were amazed at all I was simply trying to accomplish.

Since I started running, and more recently training for triathlons, I’ve missed a lot of my expectations. My initial thought is always that I am a failure, unworthy of praise and love. How quickly I forgot that this is a process. Learning how to clip in and out of clipless pedals will inevitably include some falls and bruises. And no one expects otherwise. Only I was. Because I should be able to do better, right? And if I can’t, that means I’m not an athlete at all, and certainly not worthy of anyone’s praise or admiration, right? And it also means I’m a terrible person for even beating myself up and getting down about it, when I should just learn from it and move on. But because I get grumpy and beat myself up every time that means I’m a terrible person, right? 

I mentioned in Mental Muscle that I wanted to gain the mental strength I saw in Kermit during Ironman Kentucky. And I have to be honest that I’ve been really disappointed with myself the past couple of months. I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress. With my first open water sprint triathlon this weekend in PalmSprings, and just getting over the flu or strep throat or something nasty, and after signing up for my first Ironman in Cozumel next December, it hit me today that I’ve got to try harder to snap out of this. Kermit says he believes in me. My coach and even the Iron Cowboy say they know I can swim 750 meters. But it’s time I believe in me. But how exactly does one do that? How do you push aside years of self-loathing and not believing in yourself and really truly know, yes, I can do this? Sometimes I feel like I’m close to the answer, or so close I can touch that ray of hope I’ve long since dismissed. 

I’m afraid I’m stumped on this one. I started out this post thinking I’m overcoming the “I’m a terrible, horrible, no good very bad person” mantra. But I think I was wrong. I don’t know if I can make the 30 minute cut off on the swim. I don’t think I’m good enough for that- or to be an Ironman. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve tried everything I can think of over the years and nothing works. But I know I need to figure it out - by Sunday.

How far you’ve come, not how far you have to go

I can remember milling about after finishing the American Fork Canyon 5k back in June, watching all the half marathon runners cross the finish line. I kept thinking, “Wow, 13.1 miles, there is no way I could ever do that. I did horrible at this 5k (I had an average 10:16 mile that day), there is just no way I’d ever be able to run for 13 miles! That’s crazy.” But as I watched them, I noticed something. They came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and both males and females. I could tell which ones were serious runners by their fancy running clothes. But there were plenty who looked like they hadn’t been doing this long, were kinda out of shape, and obviously didn’t know what to wear/eat on a longer distance run.

That was a mere 4.5 months ago. I realize now I had no idea what I was talking about. Two 5k races does not make one an expert. And having never considered myself an athlete, I didn’t really have any background to base my opinions on. After all the races I’ve been to since then, and all the people I’ve met, I’ve realized there really is no status quo when it comes to running- and even more so when it comes to triathlons. It’s more about overcoming personal challenges, and learning how to keep going no matter how tired you think you are. Because in reality, you can always go just a little further, and a little further…

Since starting on my quest to gain mental toughness, I’ve realized it’s about as hard as I thought it would be. And I learned I have a tendency to focus on how far I still have to go rather than how far I’ve come. This really brings me down. But just looking at the spreadsheet I’ve been keeping, my last two 5k’s were under a 9 minute average mile and I now have not one, but two half marathons under my belt. The first, the Pink Half in Park City was a 10:20 average mile, and the second, the Provo Halloween Half was a 9:47 average mile. Less than 5 months ago, I thought there was no way I could do a half marathon. But I did it! Twice! And I’ve shaved off a minute and a half per mile from my 5k time.

You may be asking how my swimming is coming along. Overcoming that childhood fear has been the hardest mental challenge yet. I think I’ve driven home from tri class crying more often than not- frustrated at my slow progress and worried I wouldn’t be even close to being ready for my first triathlon. Still, I’ve gotten up at 5AM many times, headed to the gym, and struggled through countless laps- each with a break between- even after only 25 meters. I kept asking myself, how in the world am I going to swim 350 meters on November 10^th for the Turkey Triathlon and 750 meters on December 2^nd at the HITS sprint triathlon in Palm Springs when I can’t even make it 25 meters without stopping?

Mother Nature was looking out for me this weekend. Knowing I wasn’t feeling prepared, she brought an early humongous snow storm and race organizers had to cancel the bike portion of today’s triathlon. On the one hand, I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t speed off on my brand new Cannondale Slice all carbon tri bike (which I have named Oscar Cannondale, since it is green in places. I am now in a relationship with him on Facebook). But, I knew I’d be tired by the time I got to the swim portion, as this was a reverse triathlon, so by cutting the bike out, I could hopefully save some energy for the swim. But I have to say, after doing 10 burpees and 20 air squats, I was breathing pretty hard (they substituted that plus another half mile run around the track for the bike).

Walking through the course before the race, my toes turned numb and I wondered how in the world I’d strip down to my tri suit, run barefoot across frozen grass and concrete (the organizers made a great little path through the snow for us) and jump right into the pool (it was indoor) for a swim I knew I wasn’t ready for yet. My only consolation was that at least I wasn’t one of the women in a skimpy one piece bathing suit. Or that guy running the race in 25 degree temps in a speedo. Although I have to say the guy who had little stuffed animals pinned all over his sweatshirt was the best. 

I tried to push the swim part out of my head as we lined up for the run portion. Determined to enjoy this race, and not walk away from it angry at myself because I hadn’t stopped to just enjoy what I was doing, I instead focused on all the snow covered trees and houses as I passed. It felt like Christmastime. And I found myself really enjoying it. I also had a nice view of Kermit running in front of me. Although he tried to pull ahead, he was never too far away. 

The whole time, I just kept telling myself to do my best and to not worry about the rest. As expected, the swim was really hard. I had to pause and catch my breath after every 50 meter lap. Tons of people passed me. I got really down and it was hard to keep trying to swim. I was so tired already, and I think I doggy paddled and swam on my back more than anything. But after the first couple of laps, Kermit was there at the side cheering for me. And I knew somewhere in the observation area, my kids were up there cheering for me too, even if they couldn’t see me for all of the steam. That helped a lot. And I just kept telling myself that 6 weeks ago, I couldn’t swim at all. And now I was doing my first triathlon.

I heaved myself out of the pool and on wobbly legs tried to go as fast as I could to cross the finish line. It took a few minutes of gulping in air before I could talk. But I had done it. I did my first swim in a race. Wow.

My times weren’t too great today, and I finished in 10^th place out of 12 or 13 in my division. And I have a triathlon in three weeks that will be my first open water swim and will be even further- a 750 meter swim. But look at all I’ve accomplished in such a short time. This past year, I can look back and list quite a few accomplishments. I finished my Master’s degree, got an awesome job I love, ran my first 5k race, 10k race, half marathon, and triathlon. I have been smashing personal records and overcoming things that have always been difficult for me. 

So now that I have a half Ironman and Ironman coming up in the next year, as we’ve decided I’ll be ready for Cozumel Mexico Ironman next November, I’m determined to focus not on how far I have to go but on how far I’ve come. And more than that, I’m determined to enjoy each new race experience as I continue on this journey. Otherwise, why am I really doing this?

Mental Muscle

Although my kids have made me sit through countless episodes of SpongeBob over the years, there is one in particular that sticks with me. SpongeBob and Patrick are determined to get into the tough-guys hangout (Salty’s Spittoon) rather than their usual pretty-in-pink Weanie Hut General. The door man goes through a lengthy explanation of checking their toughness before they can enter. One requirement is having muscles on your eyeballs. In fact, they have to have muscles on their muscles (as the doorman’s eyeball muscles start popping out on top of each other, forming a muscle mountain). 

My kids and I have laughed about that episode many times. Who would have muscles on their eyeballs? But after attending an Ironman competition, I’m convinced those guys, especially the ones who can finish the race in less than 10 hours, have muscle mountains all over the place- most especially in their minds.

When I was a kid, my mom tried everything she could to make me comfortable with washing my hair. Every as-seen-on-TV crazy contraption entered our home and onto or around my head.  Being only 5-6 years old, I couldn’t quite articulate to her why I hated getting water on my head/face.  She thought it was my ears, so she bought this blue foam visor-looking thing that looked like a stretched-out accordion going all the way around my head. The hair was supposed to sit on top, while my ears, eyes and nose stayed out of the water. I’m sure I looked like some kind of scary sea creature, but alas, it didn’t work and I ultimately ended the shower in tears, just like everything else she’d tried.

From the time I was 5 until I was 10, I’d taken swim lessons 3-4 times. Each swimming lesson attempt ended with the same results. I could glide in the water, but only for a few seconds. As long as I could keep my face out of the water, I was fine. I grew to be incredibly scared of the water. Even I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t do it. I tried to do exactly what my teachers suggested, but each time, I got so scared I wanted to cry.

Over time, I was able to doggy paddle, and eventually I could even go off the diving board. But I couldn’t stick my face in the water. Being the Capricorn over-achiever type, water became the bain of my existence- something I both hated and feared.  

Into adult hood, I’ve been teased on a few occasions for plugging my nose when I’d jump in the water- especially when I started going wake boarding.  I shrugged it off and laughed along, but it kept eating at me.  What was wrong with me?  I even tried putting my face in the water without holding my nose when I’d take the kids to the pool, but each time, I’d come up gasping and choking from the water going up my nose and down my throat. Unlike almost everything else I’d tried and succeeded at in life, I hadn’t stuck with swimming lessons long enough to find the problem.  So, I got so frustrated, embarrassed, and afraid that I just couldn’t do it, I gave up trying. The problem was, no one had ever really taught me how to keep the water from going up my nose. I always heard, well, I just do it. Just don’t let it. That didn’t help me any. No one had ever explained to me that you blow out of your nose when you’re in the water, and keep blowing out until you are well out of the water. I had always stopped blowing out right as I got to the top, or was coming out of the water. That second too soon made all the difference in getting water in my nose and thinking I was about to drown for the hundredth time.

And then I went to an Ironman competition. Before I met Kermit, I’d heard of Ironman, but didn’t really know what it was, other than a race crazy people did that I would never be able to even dream of doing in a million years. I’d gone to a couple of triathlons with him, and he kept telling me that if I kept going, I’d want to do one too. Yeah right, I always said.  I can’t swim. Then came Ironman Kentucky 2012.  It’s been hard for me to express what I went through that day, so I’ll just share some things from my journal.

“Watching him (Kermit) struggle and press on through a 2.5 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26 mile run, through very hot temps, with the limitations on his body because of his gastric bypass, my heart was aching, my stomach in knots. I wanted to be superman and pick him up and carry him through it. I walked by his side encouraging him, desperately trying to find the right words to motivate him to keep going, wanting so badly to support him in any way I could. It was mentally, emotionally, and physically draining for me. I knew how much finishing meant to him and I wanted to see him succeed so bad!... my dad had been tracking him online helping me know where he was because with so many people getting hurt or sick, I was really worried… we were scared he wouldn’t make it in time. He was physically and mentally spent…my heart was breaking for him. At about 16 hours, I positioned myself on this bridge above the finish line. I kid you not the entire next 53 minutes I was praying and trying to mentally send encouragement to Kermit non-stop… I wish I could express the absolute joy I felt when I saw Kermit running towards the finish line. I was grateful beyond belief. I started yelling, screaming, and nearly crying. I couldn’t have been more proud. He had 6 minutes and 45 seconds to spare.”

I still can’t quite express what I felt that day.  Kermit and all the other athletes had  overcome so many challenges to reach the finish line.  Many didn’t make it.  I realized the most important thing in finishing an Ironman race isn’t the hours of training to build endurance. The most important thing was mental strength.  Kermit’s body was on the brink of shutting down.  He doubted he had the physical strength to finish it. What got him across the finish line was him making up his mind that not only could he finish, but that he would finish. 

I looked back over my life, at not just my failed attempts at swimming, but other times in my life where yes, I’d gotten through hard things- but all the while, I did it kicking and screaming in my head, letting that negative voice take charge, telling me I wasn’t strong enough to handle everything, wasn’t smart enough for grad school, or wasn’t pretty enough to find my future knight in shining armor.  And I decided right then at Ironman Kentucky that I was done with that.  I wanted what Kermit had found- the ability to dig deep, even in extreme physical and mental exhaustion, where you can tell yourself not only “I can do this”, but “I AM doing this”.  I decided I was sick of the mental battles I had each time I tried to accomplish something difficult.  And I knew that if I ever wanted to be with a man as strong and amazing as Kermit, I needed to cowboy up and develop my own mental muscles.  So I decided I was going to learn how to swim, and that I too, would be an Ironman.