Anybody who knows me well enough knows that I am not a very patient person. Most triathletes aren't. It seems to be a particularly strong part of my personality, though, and a trait that I don't always have the most success dealing with. It's probably because patience is heavily associated with logic...and let's face it, for me there are many times when training, racing, or just living my life that logic tends to go out the window. At least in my experience, knowing what you should do or being aware of a particular fact almost never manages to suppress your true yearnings.
It always starts subtly, perhaps after one too many fatigued-filled workout, or right when things seem to be coming together for everyone...except you. It always starts with that one twinge of longing, that one rogue thought in the mist of sunnier musings. "This is great and all, but...when's it gonna be my turn?" you think. It's perhaps one of the most selfish thoughts a person and athlete can have, but we've all contemplated it at some point. Knowing that you can't possibly have it all doesn't stop you from wanting to. After all, if we were always satisfied with ourselves, we wouldn't be training, racing, and competing. The thing is that this can lead to a constant sense of expectation, and the feeling that we're always searching for something. Therein lies our--or at least my--central conflict: is it possible to keep that fire and motivation alive while still managing to be somewhat content? Is that the best we can be...somewhat content? The fact that there are always new goals to be reached is what keeps us excited for the future. It's healthy. But there's a very fine line between healthy goals and continual dissatisfaction and resentment.
It's only natural to want to stop walking in the shadows and have your own moment in the sun. It's normal to want things to make sense, add up, and come together. It's human to want a little luck on your side. Anybody who argues otherwise isn't being honest with themselves. I won't lie: I want my moment. I've had a lot of frustrations recently, and I'm itching for something to go right rather than wrong. Logic may go out the window much of the time, but in the end it is what saves me. Waiting sucks. It's tough to constantly put in effort and see agonizingly slow returns. But the thing is, when the tide finally turns...you come to realize that the best things in life truly are worth waiting for.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
When things go wrong...Tri the Rez race reflection
Triathletes are compulsive planners. Every inch of our races is analyzed, mapped out, and planned to maximize our effort and overall performance. Perhaps one of the hardest things to accept, then, is that there are some things that cannot be planned for. Which brings us to this weekend, my first race in 6 months, and yet another lesson learned.
I came into this race (Tri the Rez, Tallahassee, Oct. 8th) feeling very apprehensive but excited. I had not raced in 6 months--not by choice, mind you, but because lingering foot problems put me out for 6 weeks this summer. Collegiate nationals in April was my last race before I started experiencing problems. Coming off of a big, exhausting race at the pinnacle of my fitness this spring and having to take time off was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my training. It was such a relief to start training again, and I became excited for my first race back. I knew not to expect much from my run, as I still hadn't regained the fitness I'd lost this summer, but I was excited to see how much my increased training in the water and on the bike would pay off. So I drove to Tally this weekend, a bundle of nerves and excitement, to see what I could do.
I charged into the water and immediately felt the familiar adrenaline rush that comes with starting the swim in a huge, physical crowd of collegiate athletes. There's nothing that really compares to it, in my opinion. Feeling pretty confident in my swimming ability, I pulled to the front of the group and focused on staying smooth, relaxed, and powerful; raising my head to sight every 10-15 meters. About a quarter of the way into the swim, I realized there was only one girl ahead of me. Instead of this freaking me out, though, it energized me. I started swimming faster, came out of the water, and ran into transition in the mist of plenty of commotion and cheering. As I ran out of transition and hopped on my bike, I heard the voice of a volunteer shout "YEAH, FIRST GIRL!!" I was so surprised that I yelled back, "REALLY?!" Somewhere before exiting the water, I must have passed the only girl ahead of me, making me the first collegiate girl out of the water. This revelation shot excitement through my veins and made me ready to hammer the bike leg. I was feeling awesome at the start of the bike and was starting to believe that despite all my time off, I could have a really good race. The first four miles flew by. And then it happened. WHOOOSH. All of a sudden, I heard the despondent sound of all the air coming out of my tire at once. I knew exactly what had just happened, and my heart sank. In the middle of my not-so-muttered obscenities, I faced a decision. Attempt to change the flat and waste time that way (let's be honest, I'm not so good with the practical aspect of bikes) or attempt to ride on a deflated tire and lose all my momentum.
I chose the latter option, and the 9 miles that followed were pretty awful. I worked twice as hard to go so much slower than everyone else. The rest of the collegiate girls--many of whom I'd had at least a minute lead on--started to catch up with me. I slogged through the miles and reached my peak of frustration as I attempted to climb a fairly steep hill around mile 11. "Why am I even still riding?" I thought. "This is a waste of time." And then I realized something. This race wasn't about my time or placing. I let myself get carried away with the high of being first out of the water. This race was about guts, even before the flat. Getting back out there. Proving something to myself. The flat was just another opportunity to hone my mental toughness. Not the opportunity I'd have picked, but an opportunity just the same. I finished the bike leg and resolved to do the best I could on my run, not worry about the time, and focus instead on being a fighter. My run was less-than-stellar, possibly because my legs were overworked from having to pedal really hard to even finish the bike. But strangely, it didn't matter that much to me. I passed the mental test. "Another race, another time," I thought, and left it at that. It's really hard to stay upset when you're surrounded by people as wonderful, supportive, and downright entertaining as my teammates. Prior to and after the race, we also had the opportunity to socialize with the other collegiate tri teams. Even after collegiate nationals, the level of camaraderie and friendship between the teams of "rival" schools continues to amaze me. It's a huge part of why we do what we do. It makes our efforts worthwhile. So even though my race was frustrating and disappointing, it was a valuable lesson in keeping things in perspective and learning the strength of my own spirit. Sometimes, even in triathlon--a sport where everything can be measured, counted, and timed--there are things you can't put a number or a value on. And often, those are the most important.
I chose the latter option, and the 9 miles that followed were pretty awful. I worked twice as hard to go so much slower than everyone else. The rest of the collegiate girls--many of whom I'd had at least a minute lead on--started to catch up with me. I slogged through the miles and reached my peak of frustration as I attempted to climb a fairly steep hill around mile 11. "Why am I even still riding?" I thought. "This is a waste of time." And then I realized something. This race wasn't about my time or placing. I let myself get carried away with the high of being first out of the water. This race was about guts, even before the flat. Getting back out there. Proving something to myself. The flat was just another opportunity to hone my mental toughness. Not the opportunity I'd have picked, but an opportunity just the same. I finished the bike leg and resolved to do the best I could on my run, not worry about the time, and focus instead on being a fighter. My run was less-than-stellar, possibly because my legs were overworked from having to pedal really hard to even finish the bike. But strangely, it didn't matter that much to me. I passed the mental test. "Another race, another time," I thought, and left it at that. It's really hard to stay upset when you're surrounded by people as wonderful, supportive, and downright entertaining as my teammates. Prior to and after the race, we also had the opportunity to socialize with the other collegiate tri teams. Even after collegiate nationals, the level of camaraderie and friendship between the teams of "rival" schools continues to amaze me. It's a huge part of why we do what we do. It makes our efforts worthwhile. So even though my race was frustrating and disappointing, it was a valuable lesson in keeping things in perspective and learning the strength of my own spirit. Sometimes, even in triathlon--a sport where everything can be measured, counted, and timed--there are things you can't put a number or a value on. And often, those are the most important.
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