Beating the Voices in My Head

My workouts the last few weeks leading into Sunday's Half Ironman were strong and confidence-building. Six months of diligent training made me ready to compete, both physically and mentally. The voices in my head, which had initially said I wasn't strong enough, fast enough, and wouldn't be able to endure such a grueling event, were now telling me I was at the apex of my game and would be able to conquer the challenge.

I had begun rallying the troops together a few months ago. I knew that at the end of an 8 hour event, my heart would need some encouragement, so I persuaded most of my immediate family to pack the sunscreen and travel to Kansas. Ironman events are not much of a spectator sport, in the sense that you will most likely be able to cheer on your athlete only 4 or 5 times throughout the day. However, they did not disappoint. My family was prepared ~ arriving before dawn to find the optimal advantage point from which to see me pass by as many times as possible, popping a canopy to provide shade from the seering sun, and making lots of noise each and every time I passed. In the end, they were a force that helped me push past the pain and keep moving forward.

Temperatures during the week were warm and forecasts showed it steadily climbing. An expected high of 95 degrees with a heat index of 105. This would mean the water temperature was too warm to wear a wetsuit. I had confidence I could swim the mileage (1.2 miles) in calm water, but was unsure with wind and waves, how much time and energy I would spend off course. Therefore, on the morning of the race, as I sat on the shore and watched swimmers struggle, I knew that in order for me to compete at my best for this particular day, I would need to wear my wetsuit.

Entering the water, someone referred to us as the "Rainbow Wave" because of all the different colored caps. Except for the orange colored relay participants, the rest of us had foresaken our original waves and start times because we wanted to wear our wetsuits. My family has since asked, "If you could do it over, would you make the same choice?" Without hesitation, my answer is yes. The current knocked me around and I struggled not only to stay on course, but also to breathe without drinking the lake water. This induced panic. Fear that creeps into your body and mind half a mile out from shore can be incapacitating. You want to scream. You want the waves to stop pounding. I've battled this situation before and had been preparing over the past months to fight back the demons from within. I did and I made it back to shore feeling strong and ready to continue.

As I make my way out of the water and up the boat ramp, I can hear my name being called by some of my family. Progressing toward my bike, I see my friend, Tina, heading out for her ride. I wish her luck and am feverishly trying to remove my wetsuit. One last layering of sunscreen as I glance to make sure I bagged all my belongings and I mount my bike. Weather forecast had predicted winds 20-25 mph with gusts up to 30. I knew with these crazy headwinds, my ride today would take me much longer than the previous times I had ridden the course. At the top of the first hill, the rest of my family feverishly begins yelling. What a great way to start my 56 mile journey.

Forecasts were true. Headwinds of 20+ mph and sweltering heat made for an uncomfortable ride. To start, I had taken two water bottles with me, with the intention of grabbing other fluids throughout the day at the aid stations. Within the first 10 miles, I had drank one of my bottles so I grabbed a gatorade at mile 13. Cool and refreshing, just what I needed as I turned the corner and headed directly in to the wind on a 15 mile out-and-back stretch of road. My legs were moving, but I didn't seem to be traveling very far very fast. Neither did the people I passed along the way. The tailwind on the return didn't seem to be much help as I worked my way back to the main road. Ahhh, time for a cold water from the aid station at mile 28. I thanked the volunteers as I passed, placing the top of the bottle in my mouth so I could open it when it slipped between my fingers and fell to the ground. On the spot decision-making is not my forte. After I debated with myself for twenty yards, I decided to continue waterless. Onward I rode, another turn south with several steep climbs. There were riders scattered alongside the road. They weren't in distress so I assumed they were having mechanical issues or simply taking a break from the beating. At one point, I wondered how tacky I would seem if I asked for one of their waters. Finally, a small stretch of road where there were no winds and at times even shade. At mile 40, I took a break and grabbed a couple waters. Sixteen more miles and a few more hills.

Those last few hills back in to the park were tough on my legs. My quads were starting to ache, but more importantly, my lower legs were screaming at me. I had dreaded the possibility this might occur. While in college, I suffered from lower leg compartment syndrome where the fascia doesn't allow the muscle to expand and therefore builds up pressure. Although I had surgery 18 years ago, there are still lingering symptoms of tightening and intense pain.

Although I was tired, my run started out strong. I had been practicing a run/walk method throughout my training and fully expected to be able to complete the half marathon with few problems other than fatigue. Unfortunately, lack of hydration and high heat had drained me more than I expected. Although I began my run with a little leg pain, by the time I had reached mile 8, I was walking more than running. I had cramping in my right calf and was only able to run about 20 yards at a time, then 10 yards, and finally only a few steps. By the time I reached my steadfast cheering section at mile 11, I was in tears from pain and frustration. While I knew I would not give in and quit, I simply could not fathom the idea of more pain. Thankfully, my husband began to walk alongside me. Encouraging me to keep going, noting how far I had already come. Through his reassurance, my spirits were lifted and my tears dried. My pace quickened to that of his own and eventually we made it to the finish chute lined by Ironman banners. It was here that he said to me, "Grin and bear it. Cross the finish line running." And I did, with my head held high.

Kansas 70.3 Official Race Results ~ 8:07:19

Swim     52:03                 Bike    4:08:06                    Run     2:57:53

Kansas City Triathlon Recap

0430 - Alarm rings. 5 solid hours. Will it be enough for an international distance?

0500 - Car is packed and off I go. Did I remember to pack everything?

0600 - Arrive at race site. Skies are overcast and water temp at 72 degrees = perfect race conditions.

0615 - Body marking, racking bike & preparing transition gear. (1400 people makes for a very
           crowded transtion area.)

0700 - And the wait begins ...

0730 - Professionals are off in the water. They'll be back on the beach in less than 20 minutes!

0801 - Ready or not, here I go! It'll take me 38 minutes before I'm back on shore, but I think I would
            have shaved off a little of that time if I hadn't been chasing after the runaway bouy. No telling
            how much extra mileage that added. But I made it through my main obstacle! I put my face in
            the water and freestyled my way 0.9 miles!!!

0845 - Taking off on the bike. It's a flat course with only a few small hills to overtake. These "turbo
            fast" wheels I rented for the day will help me get back quickly after 2 loops of the course.

1015 - Feeling good! Final step is running two loops on a flat course. Sun is out and shining bright.

1120 - Crossing the finish line with a HUGE smile! I feel strong ... and hungry!

Total time 3 hours 19 minutes

Waiting to Exhale

"Relax. You've spent so many hours in the pool training for this. Relax and breathe."

This was the monkey chatter in my head as I placed my face in the water for a quick lake swim on Saturday. Each workout has a purpose and my purpose for this day was to squelch my fear of getting back into the open water.

You see, my last open water swim took place in the mountains of Maryland at Deep Creek Lake during the Savage Man Triathlon in September 2010. The water was cold and I was so unprepared for the shock it would have on my body. When my face hit the water, my body wouldn't exhale my breath and I spent the entire 0.9 mile on my back. I periodically tried to flip over and put my face back in the water, but the result was the same. I was so disappointed .... told myself afterwards that I would NOT compete in another triathlon.

Yet, here I am, two years later, training for the longest endurance event of my life. I consider the swim my weakest discipline and in order to complete the first portion of the Kansas Half Ironman, I must stroke for 1.2 miles in the open water with no lane lines to keep me on track and no place to land my feet when I grow tired.

Saturday's sky was overcast and there was a breeze heavy enough to make the water a little choppy. Both were distractions that could derail me if I let the voices in my head take control. Not only have I been training my body for the last five months, I have also been training my mind to remain calm when I start to feel as if events are veering from the norm.

Only a few hundred yards for the day, but I stepped out of the water with a smile. Task accomplished.

Three days later I was back in a lake for another open water swim. Clear skies, no wind, taking place at the lake I will be racing this Sunday ... and 100 other triathletes. My purpose this time was to swim. Swim around the bouys. Swim and stay on course. Just swim.

I wouldn't consider Tuesday night's swim one of my best open water swims, but I was relaxed. I remained calm even as I swam into other swimmers, swam off course, and lost sight of land through my fogged goggles.

Yes, I am thrilled to announce the waiting is finally over. I am exhaling.

Climbing that Hill

Tonight after work I went for a run. I'm usually very practical and only run in the light of day when I can see what I'm running toward and cars can see me. But I needed to complete the workout I started this morning, so I laced up and strapped on my reflective belt. I chose to run a well-lit sidewalk along a long and quiet street on the outer edge of town. I usually save this route for runs requiring more than 6 miles.

This road is less than a quarter mile from my house. It isn't much of a warm up for what I'm about to undertake. As soon as I hit 20th Street, the uphill climb begins. It is a slow and steady 3/4 mile ascension. In the 8 months I have lived here, I have never run the entire hill without stopping to walk.

I'm not physcially incapable of running the length of the hill. Simply stated, my mental toughness hasn't withstood the test. But tonight, needing only 4 miles, I decided it was time to run the hill from start to finish. Slow and steady, one foot strike at a time, keeping my gaze only a few feet in front. AND I MADE IT!!! No time to congratulate myself because once I crested the hill, I knew it was a mile downhill to my turnaround point.

Yes, that means a mile climb back up until I reach the downhill toward home. Onward I run, relieved with the ease of running downhill, but preparing myself for the return trip. When the Garmin beeped at mile 2, I turned around and headed back. All I could see in front of me was incline after incline until that final stretch of steepness. I told myself I could stop if my hip hurt or if my knee was giving me issues or if my forearms went numb again. You see, running is not easy on my body and therefore I provide myself "outs" with which to protect myself from pushing too hard. Not tonight. Tonight nothing hurt or ached. It was an all or nothing night.

And I chose all.

I ran all 4 miles. I ran both sides of that monstrous hill. I pushed past my mental block. I AM changing the voices in my head.

Holding Myself Back

Yesterday, one of the ladies I train in a six-week weight loss challenge came into the training studio to thank me for the motivation and encouragement I have given her during the competition. She is nearing 70 years old, but is extremely active, playing competitive raquetball and golf with her friends and attending classes at the gym. Our weekly workouts are extremely challenging and push members to their physical and mental limits. From week one, she has kept up with her teammates who are 30 years younger. Her work ethic and willingness to attempt new exercises has pushed her past what was holding her back ~ she undervalued her capabilities.

With tears in her eyes, she hugged me and said, "I want you to know what a difference you have made in my life. I feel stronger and more alive because you encourage me to attempt feats I thought were impossible for a woman my age."

This struck a chord with me for a few reasons: 1) Even though I encourage people I barely know that they can accomplish their goals, I do not do the same for myself.  2) I, too, undervalue my capabilites and achievements.  3) I focus on the negatives (what I didn't get accomplished) rather than the positives of my workouts.

On Saturday I completed my 8th week of training for the Kansas Half Ironman. In my two months of training, I have swam 45,150 yards (or approx. 26 miles), biked 325 miles, and run 92 miles. Each week has had its own challenges and more workouts than I like to admit have been missed (see, focusing on the negative here), but these totals show how much I have accomplished in just a few weeks on my trek to make it across the finish line.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

The voices had been quiet for a few weeks, but recently revealed themselves again ... louder than ever.

Friday night I had plans to ride for 75 minutes and attend a yoga session. I timed it perfectly so that I could ride at the bike shop (where I keep my bike set up on a trainer) and then walk a block down to the yoga studio. The people at the bike shop are great people. One strength (and albeit at times a hindrance) is that they are problem solvers. Passing through the shop, I mentioned that my computer wasn't picking up speed or cadence even though the battery was new. The owner willingly trudged down to the training area and fixed the issue. Forty-five minutes later, I finally saddled the bike. Ughhh the frustration. Either I wouldn't get the full training time in on my bike or I would have to forgo one of my two scheduled yoga sessions for the weekend. I decided I would continue on with my bike ride. At least now the computer was tracking my distance.

A Saturday morning to sleep in. That's all I wanted. In my wisdom, I decided I would grab some much needed extra sleep, postpone my swim until the afternoon, and replace it with a yoga class in the morning. Who needs to look at a schedule? Evidently I do. I grabbed an hour of extra sleep and spent the first hour of my day reading through emails and facebook. When I finally decided to get ready for yoga, I thought it might be a good idea to check the schedule and realized I had already missed class. Ughhh the frustration. Well, I might as well get my swimsuit on and complete my other workout for the day. This time I checked the pool website. Good to go.

Motivation was low as I trudged through the parking lot, trying desperately to convince myself this was going to be a great workout. I walked past the front desk attendant and scanned my card. In the locker room, I grabbed my swim cap and goggles and headed toward the swim deck. There I walked past the lifeguard to grab a kickboard and buoy. Picked out a lane and slid myself into the water with a cringe at the temperature. (I always cringe at the temp, doesn't matter how warm.) My workout for the day was a warmup of 200 yds, drill of 10 x 50 yds, swim of 2 x 700 yds and cool down of 200 yds. I completed my warmup and was in the 8th of my 10 x 50 when a different lifeguard approached me with the request that I exit the water within the next 10 minutes since there was a pool party about to take place. Ughhh the frustration.

The voices in my head had been dormant, but are back in full force, louder and more aggressive. They make me wonder if this challenge is too much for me to physically take on. They make me question whether or not the completion of the task will be worth my self-induced mental frustration. I am trying to counter attack with positive self-talk and refocusing on my goals.

The First Two Weeks

Exhaust (verb): to drain of strength or energy, wear out, or fatigue greatly, as a person.

Exhausted. It's a word I've used many times to describe how I'm feeling, but without truly understanding its meaning. After a little more than 2 weeks of training, I better understand.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to call/text/message to ask how training is going. Let me just give you a rundown of the first 14 days of training:
6 swim workouts totaling 6 miles
5 run workouts totaling 25 miles
5 cycling workouts totaling 100 miles
4 strength training workouts
4 yoga workouts

Now you can see why my responses have been short and to the point ... I'm tired.

Tired, but LOVING it!
Loving that I have a challenge to conquer.
Loving that I am able to see how my body handles the increased workload.
Loving that I am witnessing progress.

And the voices in my head have been oddly quiet. Either they are resigned to the fact that I am commited or ... they, too, are just tired.