Club Med sprint race update

It's that time of year again.  Time to feel the adrenaline (or, as my exercise physiology coursework has informed me, epinephrine) surging through my veins in anticipation of race season.  I kicked off what will hopefully be another great spring season of triathlon racing with my awesome Tri-Gator teammates this morning in Port St. Lucie in the Club Med sprint triathlon.  I didn't know quite what to expect out of this race, because the last time I raced was all the way back in October and because let's face it, my biking has been less than stellar lately.  But I digress.

The positives: I powered through the swim, nailed the flying dismount at the end of the bike leg, and possibly had one of my better run splits. I have wonderful teammates, one of whom absolutely schooled everyone else who tried to keep up with her, (I'm so proud!) and my parents came to watch me.

The negatives: The swim wasn't that long (less of a lead for me out of the water), it was a very windy and U-turn infested bike course, and I felt pretty sluggish (as usual) through mile 1 of the run.  Plus there's that lingering feeling that I'm still not quite racing up to my potential.

The facts: First or second (not actually sure which) girl out of the water, 1:06 finish time, 7th collegiate girl out of around 30. Splits, undetermined as of yet.

The thing is, with triathlon racing, you get out what you put in (like many things in life).  And in my case, I know I haven't been putting in as much cycling and brick work as I need to be.  Knowing what you need to work on doesn't make it any easier, but it does give you somewhere to start from.  Right now the bulls-eye for me is on March 25, our conference championship in Clermont.  No two races--even at the same location--are ever the same, but I'm gunning for both a good finish and an Olympic distance PR.  And maybe one of those FCTC point standing plaques, if all goes well.  It's all about trusting your body to do its thing when you know you've put the time in.  Guess I'd better get on it...

#Triathleteproblems

One thing I really don't understand is hashtagging on Facebook.  Isn't that a Twitter thing, supposedly? Not that I would know...I don't have a Twitter.  One life-consuming social network is enough, thanks.  I have to say, though, that I've been guilty of the very thing I don't quite get, and I suppose my motivation must have been the same as it was for everyone else: it looked cool. Very 6th grade of me, I know.  I've noticed there are many hashtags about various sorts of unique "problems" that people seem to be having: #firstworldproblems, #whitegirlproblems, #collegestudentproblems...before the hashtag craze, I had no idea that people had so many problems.  At any rate, I figured why not add my own problems to the ever-growing pile?  Ever heard of #triathleteproblems? Now you have.

1.  Try on size small jacket.  Examine self in mirror.  Try to take off jacket.  Fail miserably.  Have to get pulled out of said jacket by friend because your arms have become too muscular from swimming and are no longer proportional to your body.

2. The jean dilemma. Waist fit=perfect. Ass fit=bustin' outa there.  Ass fit=perfect.  Waist fit=enough room for a party.

3. The internal debate: am I hardcore enough to have my name on the backside of my uniform?

4. Almost EVERYBODY who isn't a triathlete thinks you only do the Ironman.

5.  The inevitable "Why are you always eating?" Or if you're with a guy, "I think you just ate more than me."

6. Bursting into a wildly inappropriate rap song in public because it's the one that got stuck in your head while running. "Left cheek right cheek..."

7. Race shirts: do I LOOK like a large?

8. The perfect snot rocket. Nail it, and you're awesome. Mess it up, and you're absolutely disgusting.

9. The person you're drafting behind on a ride is too skinny to block any wind.

10. That deflating feeling when you get passed by a lady with "50" written on her calf.

I'm realizing that many of these are quite gender-specific...maybe I should have called it #triathletegirlproblems.  Oh well. This is only the tip of the iceberg. More to follow...

Fearless

Much ado is made over being fearless.  Many great athletes, adventurers, and innovators are often described using this adjective, their achievements towering over their equally larger-than-life personas. What exactly, though, does it mean to be fearless?  Why do people want to assume that great accomplishments come only through a lack of one of the most basic human instincts?

Fear is often one of the first emotions we remember having.  As children, we are afraid of the dark, of our nightmares, or of losing sight of our parents in a crowded room.  Perhaps these basic early fears reveal the real reason for the existence of the emotion: survival.  As we mature we develop more complex fears--fear of losing those close to us, fear of failure, fear of being alone--but the reasoning remains the same.  We fear these things because of our strong desire for both physical and emotional security.   I believe it is impossible--perhaps with the exception of sociopathic individuals--for someone to go through a lifetime without having feelings of fear in some context.  How, then, can anyone truly be called "fearless"?

It is not a lack of fear that aids the world's greatest individuals in their successes.  Rather, being "fearless" is simply finding the ability to override every hesitant impulse, nagging doubt, and feeling of outright terror in order to complete the task at hand.  Fearlessness is looking down the face of the steepest wave you've ever seen, feeling your stomach twist in a knot, and deciding to make the drop anyways.  It's finding the courage to run your first marathon in spite of the fact that your training went nothing as planned.  It's taking the risk of becoming a laughingstock and a failure in order to push a bold new technology.  It's not a lack of self-doubt--it's an ability to toss those feelings aside.  The moments in life with the potential for greatness are often some of the most terrifying.  And through the fear, you're faced with a decision. "Am I going to do this--or not?" Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind.  Yes, you could land smack on your ass.  But you could also have a moment that changes your life.  That's what being fearless is all about.

Snapshot from the past

I remember my first 5-mile run so clearly.  I was 14 and training for my first year of cross country.  I had only recently finished my first 5K race, and was eager to get good enough to make the varsity squad.  My father, I remember, followed my progress with a quiet enthusiasm.  We had always been rather alike in our mannerisms and personalities, he and I, so when I made my first foray into distance running he began to tell me how far he used to run before his knee surgery.  It was fascinating and fun for me to imagine that perhaps heredity had ingrained in me the mysterious love of running far and fast.  Sometimes he mentioned  to me that he thought he might be able to run again, as long as he took it easy.  Still, it took me by surprise when upon declaring my intention to run 5 miles, he said he'd come with me.

We decided to run from our house to the lighthouse at the end of the 7-mile long barrier island where we lived.  The distance, my dad told me assuredly, was almost exactly 5 miles.  We enlisted the help of my mother to pick us up at the end of our run and thus began our trek to the end of the island.  Strangely enough, we were a well-matched pair--he with his caution about his knee and I with my slight anxiety at running a distance I'd never attempted before.  It was early evening and still light out when we started.  The pace was slow and relaxed, and I concentrated on listening to the rhythm of my dad's footsteps to keep myself from getting carried away with a pace I couldn't sustain.  We talked and laughed, and the first few miles flew by with an ease I didn't think was possible.  I remember the sound of our combined footsteps--his a little heavier and controlled, mine light and unsure.  I remember coming to the 4th mile just as the night was falling and the first stars began to appear.  I remember the sudden burst of energy flowing through my veins near the end as enthusiasm got the best of me and I sped ahead.  Most of all, though, I remember the connection we established.  My relationship with my mother had always been straightforward.  She never minced words and loved us with an unmistakable fervor.  My dad, however, had always been subtler.  Sharing a moment with him had always been harder, his emotions hidden beneath an impenetrable calm.  That night, though, the simple act of running brought us together.  There were no barriers, just a father and a daughter victorious in their shared quest.

Sometimes it's not the actual runs, rides, and swims we remember, but the people we share them with.  Endurance training can be monotonous and unmemorable, but in the black-and-white of our memories some moments stand out like a Technicolor dream.  These moments are what make training--and living--worthwhile.  I can't speak for everyone, but a single vivid memory can stay with me for a very long time.    A stellar race, a hilarious workout with a large group, a moment--even if it's fleeting--shared with someone who means something to you.  So much can get lost in the repetitiveness of distance running and triathlon training, and undoubtedly there are many things we'd like to forget as both athletes and individuals.  Life is just a collection of big and small moments, an album of snapshots that can be lost or recalled. What will you remember?

Resolved

I've been very silent as of late, partially owing to the end-of-the-year madness that has pervaded my life in many different forms.  But I've realized lately that I've missed sharing my thoughts with the kind few who enjoy hearing them.

With a new year comes the inevitable slew of New Year's resolutions, which got me thinking.  The majority of New Year's resolutions involve health and personal happiness.  Eating better, exercising, and generally living in a healthier manner are on many people's to-do list at the start of a new year.  And even though as endurance athletes many of these things are already ingrained in our lives, there are certainly things we can do better.  We can train harder, refine our diets, or chase a new PR.  More broadly, we can adjust our attitudes and vow to become happier, more positive, and more flexible.  But what, exactly, does making an "official" resolution accomplish?  For many people, having a set goal to work towards at the beginning of a new year is helpful and motivating.  I, however, believe that we shouldn't need a New Year's resolution to live our lives in the best manner possible.  Instead of making  New Year's resolutions, we should make a promise every day to be the best we can be--whether it's athletically, professionally, or personally.  After all, excellence isn't just a once-a-year pursuit...it's a daily attitude, a choice.  Many people "chase" happiness or satisfaction and believe that if they were to just accomplish a certain goal, they would achieve peace and self-fulfillment.  In my opinion, this is part of the appeal of New Year's resolutions: they provide a starting point for such a chase.  However, I believe that happiness is not something to pursue, but a decision we make every day.  Will we constantly be looking for something to fill the void within us, or will we do the best we can with what we've been given?  The choice is ultimately ours.

Over the course of a year, many things can happen.  As I look back on 2011, I personally remember a year of cementing strong friendships, making amazing memories, learning some hard lessons, pushing through difficulties, establishing new relationships, and saying goodbye.  Some of these things have been bitter, others sweet.  Overall, though, there's not a thing I would change.  We're never really done finding out who we are.  All of life is a journey of self-discovery, and I'm entering 2012 determined to continue experiencing life to the fullest without any regrets.  Fear is irrelevant.  The big wave surfer Laird Hamilton once said, "I don't want to not live because of my fear of what could happen," and it's become a mantra I try to live by.  So, my lovely followers, as we enter the new year I urge you to step outside the box.  Live life without fear, and love with reckless abandon.  We only get one shot at this...let's make it worthwhile.  Happy 2012!

~Abbs

On impatience

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.

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.