This past weekend, I raced Battle of the Bridges down in Melbourne as the second race of our collegiate triathlon season. I was especially excited for this race because, in case you hadn't heard...I GOT A NEW BIKE! I already liked what I'd seen from my baby in the limited time I'd had him (yes...it's a he) and was pumped to see what results I'd see in a race from such a drastic change in equipment.
The swim was wavy and possibly a little long--I noticed slow times across the field when looking at the results last night. The bike was a complete turnaround for me. I added 1.5 mph to my previous best speed and hardly got passed at all, despite the fact that the bike leg was two miles longer than that of a typical Olympic distance race. I also realized how much it can hurt to really push on the bike. Somehow with the new bike, something clicked. I realize that before this, I wasn't actually ever "racing" the bike leg. I was defeated before I even took the first few pedal strokes. Yesterday, though, I found that even though it hurt, I wanted to push harder because it just felt so amazing to go fast for a change. On the run, however, I was reminded of the pain that goes with my favorite pastime. By the time I made it to the finish, I was overheated, dehydrated, and cramping like a...well, you get the picture. It was one of those finishes that made me ask, "Why do I do this again?"
While the positive energy of post-race socializing soon brought me back to the land of the living, later I found myself pondering that question again. Though I'd just completed one of the most painful races of my triathlon career, something in me couldn't wait to give it another shot. Where does that come from? I wondered. I went through the race again in my head and thought about the high and low points throughout. Eventually I found myself contemplating pain and its effect on training, racing, and life.
Pain is a powerful motivator. How we deal with it shapes the people we eventually become. I realized when I started thinking about this that I don't deal with pain very effectively sometimes. I shut down, run away, and pretend that what made me upset doesn't exist. This doesn't really work, though, and I know it. Part of the reason why I've grown to love triathlon so much is that it forces me to be a warrior. Alone on the course, I can't run away any more. At least figuratively. I have to look the pain straight in the face, accept it, and find the courage to do battle with my demons. Like in life, I don't always succeed. When I do, though, it is so sweet. Little by little, the fight makes me better. Thinking back on the race, I know I smiled and laughed in the face of agony on my bike, and it felt like such a victory. At the end of the run, though, the usually fiercely competitive side of me got demoralized and watched vainly as a rival went by. Pain got the best of me. But it's not over. I'll be back. Triathlon is hard--but so is life. Simply finding the strength to face what is hard and painful and agonizing not only makes you a better athlete, but it also makes you a better person. Every time I confront and fight the pain, it makes me stronger and helps me realize that I can take much more than I sometimes think I can. And that is a victory in and of itself.
All in all, I can't complain. Had the race been a standard Olympic distance, it would have almost certainly been a PR. I've got tweaks to make, but I've got a sweet new ride and we make a great team. Suncoast, I'm coming for you!
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