A Funny Thing Happened...
Tuesday, May 8, 2007 at 11:22PM 
Bikes, bikes everywhere! The Olympic transition area at Wildflower...
...on the way to the Wildflower...
A (rather long) post about triathlons, life lessons, Mahler, disco, and The Bachelor...
Oh yes - I did do a triathlon this weekend, and since so many of you seem to be holding your breath with wanting to know the outcome, I shall indulge you... But first - thank you to everyone for all of your emails, voicemails, and texts wishing me luck - you guys are fabulous!
Overall, my second bout with the Wildflower Olympic Distance triathlon was awesome, and I'm not just saying that. The hard evidence is that I beat my previous course time by almost twelve minutes, but it's the intangible evidence that really made a difference to me. (I know some of my friends had a tough time this year, so the Wildflower's fortune is indeed fickle...) This course is known to be the most-challenging olympic course in the country, and I didn't let it beat me the way it did last year. I was hydrated in the ninety-degree heat, well-nourished, well-rested, and overall just happy to be there. I didn't start the weekend this way, but that's all a part of the life lessons I learned...
Lesson #1: No Expectations.
On Friday morning, I allowed myself an extra forty-odd minutes of premium dozing time in a clean, comfortable bed. I knew that within a few hours I would need to drive five hours to a hot, dusty, campground, and wait out the next day in anticipation of my triathlon. I really didn't want to go. Flashbacks to last year's race kept coming to me: I was haunted by the interminable swim, the slow climbing hills on the bike, the heat...the heat. Like a bad dream, it kept repeating. Is there no way out of this hell I had signed up for? Is there a freak case of scarlet fever or the measles or hives I can catch anywhere?
Nevertheless, my phantasms were stopped by a loudly ringing cell phone - mine. It was my friend Jen wanting to know when we were to head south, and soon we were on the road. Not only did I not want to be going, but I was more than a little afraid. I knew I was prepared for the race, but I had my doubts. Last year I was bested by the Wildflower, and while proud of the accomplishment, I was disappointed with my own performance. Would this year be any better? I didn't really know. I also didn't really know why I was doing it again; I seemed to have an idea at the beginning of the season, but just two days prior all of those good reasons were escaping me.
On Friday evening, we gathered with our team in an incredibly crowded campground at San Antonio Lake, and my mood became more and more disinterested. The "newbies" or people that had never done Wildflower before, were running around in a flurry of mad adrenaline and high-pitched excitement, wanting to make certain everyone else was just as excited as they were for the race. It is rare that I find myself cynical, but this kind of happy anticipation and "isn't this fun" atmosphere really brings it out of me. I was sinking from experienced aloofness into negativity and meanness - not outwardly, mind you, but it was definitely in my mind. I hate camping, I don't like being dirty, and I don't like overly-excited people asking me about my "race plan" and "preparedness." I may publish on the internet, but I am a pretty private person, and these kinds of thoughts aren't really meant to be shared, and certainly I'd never ask someone else these questions... I finally decided that no, I wasn't excited, but I was well-prepared and didn't have any expectations for the race. While this may not be what some people wanted to hear, it was the truth, and I felt good about it.
Then I ran into one of our team honorees, Craig. Craig is a semi-pro(?) cyclist and all around bad-ass athlete who recently completed the Ironman New Zealand - and this after suffering from his own bout with blood cancer a few years ago. He's a friend of my friends Billy & Kat, and always seems to be doing something modestly impressive, like quietly riding his bike to meet the team at San Antonio Lake - from San Francisco (about 200 miles.) As I chatted with Craig around the campfire, I told him how the general crowd of aimless excitement was beginning to get to me... He gave me some very sage advice: "I never talk about how I feel before a race - it isn't anyone else's business. On the morning of a race, I don't talk to anyone. I'm curt, quiet, and unfriendly - I'm just focusing on my own thing and need to be left alone." Spoken by an expert, I thought about this as I went to sleep.
Lesson #2: Sleep Well.
I'm not a very good sleeper. I toss & turn, I wake up in the night, I doze. Deep sleep is something I value because I know how hard it's won. Camping is something that is a special challenge because every little noise can keep you from the peaceful rest you really want. While Dr. Jim Taylor told our team that it "isn't the night before, it's the night before the night before...and even the week before" that really matters for pre-race resting. Since I'm hard-pressed to get any sleep when camping, I took matters into my own hands and brought my noise-canceling headphones. Snuggling into my warm bag, I put my headphones on and zoned out in a sea of white-noise bliss. Nine hours later, it was morning.
Lesson #3: You have a choice.
This is the feeling...The next day, we went to watch the half-ironman race down at the lake. It was warm, but a wicked wind was blowing everything in every direction. The lake was choppy, and I didn't envy the long-course athletes as they set out. Standing next to the fence at the transition area, Jen & I cheered on our teammates as they emerged from the lake and ran to their bikes. This is a difficult transition, requiring removal of a wetsuit, donning of bike shoes and gear, and getting back out on the race course - for half-ironman racers, this is between a 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile bike ride, so it's only the beginning. Just thinking about how awful the half-ironman course must be made me cowed with admiration at these athletes; where I would me more than fearful, they were strong and meeting their challenge willingly.
Then, I saw her. A girl about my age came out of the water, and after seeing her friends cheering her on, flashed the most tremendously beautiful smile at the crowd. She wasn't tired, she wasn't daunted, she was happy. How did she do that? I want to do that...
It was then that I thought to myself: "I want to be like her when I come out of the water tomorrow..."
A bit later in the afternoon we circled back to the campground to watch the run course go by, and cheer on our teammates. The wind was getting meaner by the minute, catching you unprepared for the cold chill in the otherwise warm sunshine. The pro-level athletes went by, and then the almost-pro-but-still-amateur athletes, among them the current Bachelor-Triathlete, Andy Baldwin. (Not that I'm about C-list celebrity sightings, but I must say that Mr. Baldwin is shorter than I had thought, and although I find him far too pretty, his muscles are pretty amazing. A sight to behold, and I'm damn happy I got to see it.)
The long course run goes through our campsite at around mile seven of thirteen - a long way gone, and still a long way to go. I was amazed at how strong all of the athletes looked at that point in the course. Postures were upright, cadences were brisk - some paces were what I would consider a full sprint, but they didn't seem fazed. How do they do that? Could I look this strong during my own race?
It was then that I thought to myself: "I want to be strong throughout my entire race tomorrow..."
Lesson #4: Prepare & Visualize.
Visualize...crazy coaches... Rhian & James dressed in TNT green & purple (pimp purple) to cheer on the team.Shortly after the run course went by, I took some time by myself to think things through and get my head sorted out for the next day. Dr. Taylor suggested that we write down key phrases to keep in mind during each part of the race to help you focus on technique, strength, and perseverance. My little notes to self were nothing remarkable, but I did visualize things pretty successfully. On my iPod I played Mahler's Symphony #5, letting the sublimely romantic music play a slow-motion video of the next day in my mind's eye. I know it sounds corny, but it was reassuring. Rather than getting hyped up on some fast-paced song, I liked seeing it all happen slowly, like an uninvolved third-party. I liked thinking of myself as being strong and unintimidated - it's a feeling I don't get to have very often, but I held on to it.
Part of my preparation also had to do with food. Last year, part of my problem was the dreaded "bonk" - losing energy during the race due to lack of nourishment and dehydration. So, as I packed my Gu and Shot Blocks, I also packed salty Pringles chips, and Cheese-its. What good is the water if you don't have any salt in your system, and what good is the salt if you don't eat it? Our coaches advised three-squares a day during the week before the race, and I followed this closely, omitting all alcohol as well. It's a tough regimen, but it makes a difference - I felt really good, was sleeping better, and had made the bags under my eyes all but disappear. I had also eaten bananas all week - building the potassium in my system so I wouldn't cramp. Your body knows when it's well-fed, and likes the feeling.
Lesson #5: Sing.
Team in Training believes in feeding its athletes as well. They hosted an all-TNT pasta & chicken dinner both Friday and Saturday nights, and the fare was delicious. At least as delicious as could be eaten off of paper plates while sitting on folding chairs. TNT also has speakers and honorees talk about the work of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) - for our dinner it was five-year-old Lauren Bishop and her mother Emma from Oakland, CA. The two of them talked about Lauren's battle with ALL - acute lymphocytic leukemia which was diagnosed two years ago. Lauren bravely spoke to a group of almost four hundred athletes about her treatments, and how thankful she was for the support of LLS. Her mother spoke of Lauren's favorite song, and suggested that the lyrics might help us through the race the next day...
In the morning, we gathered at the boat ramp for our heat to start at ten past ten AM. Wetsuits and swimcaps on, we watched the race before us go off before crowding closer to the start gate. It was then that Emma Bishop came on the microphone and got us to sing a verse of Lauren's song: "...As long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive...I will survive..."
"Racers...the next sound you hear will be your start..."
Lesson #6: Run Your Own Race.
I wanted to beat my old time, but I also wanted to make it to the end. Finishing the race last year almost killed me, and I was determined not to let that happen again. I thought of the smiling girl, I thought of the strong runners, and I knew how I wanted to spend my time on the race course.
Then, the funniest thing happened: it worked.
People were riding next to me, appreciating my smile, telling me how awesome I was doing. I didn't think I was doing anything really extraordinary, but I had decided to enjoy myself. Every swim bouey was an accomplishment, every bike hill had a breezy descent, and every mile of the run had another water stop. Every discomfort had a plus side, and every time it felt difficult I thought of all I'd already finished, and how much less I had to do. But like anything, you can't do it without a little encouragement. I will never forget our coaches & captains at "the pit of despair" - a two mile stretch of burning roadway with a slow uphill grade - on the run course. They yelled, they cajoled, they made me laugh. Nor will I forget Ben, Betsy, Meredith & Steve jumping out of their beach chairs to do the wave for me as I passed by - and who couldn't laugh at that?
With my second Wildflower medal hanging around my neck, I walked back up the hill with my TNT mentor Kerry, and told her my thoughts on the race. I told her that I found everyone to be pleasantly surprised at my success on the course, while I didn't think I'd done anything too out of the ordinary. She told me: "It's just that...you looked so good - you were so strong every time we saw you..." I suppose there is something visualizations after all! That's something worth remembering...
Of course, I will also remember the 75 year old man who ran by me on the run course - there's always someone older and faster out there. But these are things you cannot worry about, during a race and during a lifetime. All you can do is focus on what you have control over, be confident in your preparation, and be happy with the way you're getting things done.
Or, as in a bit from the poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley "The Song of the Ungirt Runners"...
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.
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