Last Sunday was the Las Olas triathlon.  I wasn’t sure how this one was going to go given the fact that I  missed some training days because of the biopsy and I was stressed out and just didn’t care about it.  The other variable was mother nature, which is never a guarantee anyway.  Last year, all seemed picture perfect until a storm rolled in.  It changed the tides, monsooned for at least an hour, thoroughly soaking all equipment and bystanders, and made for a really rough time.  This year was kind of a crap shoot.  A month before the race, the beaches were covered in Portuguese man of war jelly fish.  I had planned several weekends of open water practice, but the invasion of these pests put those plans off completely.  There was no way I was going in with the amount of them that I had seen out there.  A big nor’easter came into the east coast and brought with it a lot of rain and a change of wind direction.  Thankfully it cleared up the pest problem, but brought some nasty weather in with it.  I watched the beach conditions almost daily, hoping to see green flags.  They post a colored flag every morning to represent the conditions.  Green means you are good.  Yellow, it’s rough and Red it’s unsafe.  They also make a note if there are rip currents, etc. and will add a purple flag if there are pests, like the jelly fish.  The swim conditions were red, day after day.  No more jellies, but rip currents galore!  There was even talk online of the race having to cancel the swim.  Then, just about three or so days before the event, things calmed down and the flags started showing yellow again.  Well, yellow is better than red.

The morning of the race, things seemed pretty calm at first but as the hours passed the waves began to crash.  It was about ten minutes to start of the first group when they announced that the swim was being cut short for the international distance athletes because the conditions were just way too rough.  What about the sprint distance? I thought.  It didn’t exactly make sense to me, seeing as the international athletes are more likely to be experienced if they signed up for twice the distance and the poor sprint people (me) were less experienced.  Nonetheless, we sprint folks were doing our regular swim, apparently come hell or literal high water!  I was really concerned when I saw the elite group run out at full speed only to be sent back a few feet with every attempt to advance.  All I could do was watch and wait my turn and hope that it looked way worse than it was when you finally got in.

I made the decision before starting that I was going in wide and slow.  There were way too many people expending tons of energy for speed they didn’t get, once the waves hit.  I also saw way too many people start too narrow and have the current pull them too close to the buoy and they had to backtrack to not get disqualified.  The gun went off and I stuck to the plan.  I headed out wide and as calm as I could.  I was off to a great start until I got pounded by wave after wave.  I lost my bearings for a moment, swallowed a butt ton of water and thought to myself “what am I doing this for?”  I mean really, why was I even here?  Yes, I like training, I love it in fact, but I can honestly say I have never truly enjoyed a race.   I have smiled, yes.  I have felt great at parts of it, yes.  Finishing is always good.  Do I truly enjoy it the way I hear other people describe it? Nope.

I started to swim and then got hit some more, swallowed some more water and figured it was time to throw in the towel.  Then I slapped myself.  Not literally, the waves were doing that enough for me.  I just yelled at myself internally to stop being a wimp, and figure out the best course of action.  I reminded myself of how thankful I was to have the physical ability to do this.  To have the fortitude to even try being as fearful as I was, and to just stop panicking.  There was no way I was going to quit.  I took a deep breath, swallowed some more water and turned the first buoy.  I tried to swim but kept having to stop and gasp for air.  The lifeguard was shouting to everyone to swim breaststroke.  He said to keep your head up so you can see the waves and it was too choppy to swim freestyle.  Can it ever be too choppy to swim properly?  I didn’t know the answer to that, all I knew was it wasn’t working for me.  Maybe I was timing things wrong, maybe I just didn’t practice in the ocean enough (that was definitely part of it).  I took his advice, but turns out, I have no skills in breaststroke.  I decided to swim on my side so I could keep an eye out for the waves and the buoys.  I did flip to my back once to try to just calm my legs some because I knew I was kicking a lot more than I had planned and was getting pretty gassed.  I finally made it to the last buoy, but I was just shore side of it, and it is required to go around it.  I grabbed the buoy itself and used it to propel myself around it and head into shore.  I thought that the waves would carry me home, but every time I got two paces towards the shore, the ocean pulled me back what felt like three paces.  It was like being in a washing machine.  I swam hard to try to stop being pulled back in and finally made it to where I could stand.  I finally made it….and I wasn’t the last one out of the water!  I watched as big dudes fell over just as I did, trying to get out of the pull of the waves.  Everyone struggled.  I’m calling this one progress because I wasn’t the only one who struggled and I got myself to calm down and keep going.  Now, if only I could get my legs to move faster.  Transition was a long way away from the swim exit and I needed to get moving!

I got to my bike, kicked off the wetsuit and put on my cycling gear.  I grabbed my trusty steed and sprinted to the bike out area…. or maybe not.  I went the wrong way and had to turn around and go back the other direction.  Dang, there goes a fast transition time, along with my little energy burst.  I was already tired, but reminded myself to be grateful once again.  I hopped on the bike and got going.  I was headed north, into the headwind.  That sucked, but I knew there were several turns.  When we turned left I was really surprised to be greeted by yet another headwind.  What the heck?  How can the wind be coming from all friggin directions?  I don’t know if it really was, but that’s what it felt like.  I had brought some sports drink to replenish me, but found that it just burned my throat because of all the salt water and coughing.  The bike was challenging but I will admit, I did have fun.  I do love riding through the park there, surrounded by nature on mostly smooth roads that are blocked from traffic.  I wasn’t as fast or strong on the bike as I would have liked, but I made it and call it progress.  I did better on handling without getting panicked and passed more people than I ever recall passing in other races.  I got back to transition, dismounted and headed in to get ready for the run.

Running is my thing, but the run was difficult.  It was only a 5k, but I cooked up my legs some and realized about a mile in I was getting blisters.  Not sure if it was the wet shoes (it rained a little) or some residual sand, but it sucked!  There was also no wind.   Where did all that headwind go?  When I made the u-turn at the halfway point, there it was!  The cool breeze was magic for me!  I doused myself with water at the water station and soldiered on.  I tried to slow my pace a bit because the blisters were really killing me.  I’ve never had blisters before from running.  I’ve run in minimalist shoes, shoes that were too small, and soaking wet shoes for a 10k no less, and not a single blister.  First time for everything.  Much to my surprise, my time was a lot faster than I thought it was by feel.  I crossed the finish line, ecstatic to finally be done!

It was a bitter-sweet moment.  Darin and D2 had a scouting event, so they couldn’t attend.  I really loved being on my own in the morning.   I didn’t have to make them get up at an ungodly hour, or eat on the go like I did.  I didn’t have to worry about what conditions they were sitting in for several hours waiting on me. I didn’t have to worry about anything but getting myself going.  It was great, until the finish line.  I missed seeing their smiling faces, feeling their warm hugs and hearing their congratulations.

I took some time when I got home and showered, to reflect and try to figure things out.  Do I enjoy racing or not?  I really don’t, but I was not sure why.  I was really kind of excited for this race, up until the morning of the race.  Then, I wondered why the heck I was doing it.   Up until then, I pictured myself enjoying the whole thing, from start to finish.  The morning of, all I did was dread the start and question why I bothered.  It only got worse as I got closer to the start, but why?  If I had to narrow it down to one thing that keeps me from enjoying race day, it’s a lack of confidence.  I doubt myself and let my head get in the way.  I tell myself to go out and just have fun, but the truth is, I don’t want to have fun.  I want to kick butt!  I’m not talking about getting a podium spot (not that I would turn that down), but I want to finish a race feeling like I pushed myself hard and did everything I could.  I also want to feel like I did well.  The swim is still my weakest point.  How can a race start off well if you dread the first part of it?  I have lots of take-aways and things to work on, but I feel a renewed energy for it.  This time, I gave myself credit (new for me).  If that ocean was chill, I think I could have done the swim mostly correct, if not all of it and I did push pretty hard on the bike.  I think the issue is that I have yet to come out of the water feeling good.   So, until I do, I will keep signing up for races.  I will keep struggling, and I will keep pushing on.  One of these days, it’s going to happen and that is when I will truly know if I enjoy racing.  If I don’t at that point, fine, I don’t have to race to train, but something tells me I will enjoy the heck out of it when I do!

Best Race Ever!!!  That’s how I hoped to start this post, but alas, Sunday’s race was not the best ever.  It wasn’t even really a race for me.  Before I get into the happenings of the day, let me start by sharing a little back story.  If you know me at all, you know I have been training and looking forward to this race for some time.  Yes, the distance was a little more than I had done before, but I knew that with the right training, that part wouldn’t matter.  This race was twice as long as the others I have successfully completed and was to be my  fifth triathlon.  I signed up for this one for one reason, the run.  The run took place at Zoo Miami.  I had run there before for a 5k and the experience came second to only a run through Disney.  I could not wait for this one!

The challenge, of course, would be the swim.  At a little over half a mile, it was not the longest one I had done.  I allowed myself a little confidence this time.  After all, I swam that same distance in the middle of a monsoon before.  Sure, it took way longer than it should have, and sure this was in a lake, but hey every year it was wetsuit legal and again, I had done the distance before.  We went out to the race site a couple of weeks before the race to ride the bike course.  One of the reps from the race was there and showed us the swim course.  As I stood on the shoreline, the past flushed over me like a wave.  It was a classic tunnel scene from a movie when you see the end of the tunnel and it stretches right before your eyes.  All the sudden, what I was actually a little confident of became an insurmountable feat.  I wanted to just throw in the towel right then and there.  We rode the bike course and it was awesome.  Very windy, but totally manageable.  I texted my coach that I was scared I would panic and end up on my back again during the swim.  We texted back and forth a bit and decided that I should try to not make it an option.  I decided on a strategy I read about.  If I was feeling panic and wanted to flip over, I would make myself stay in position for ten more strokes.  If I still felt the need, then I would flip over for five strokes and then back again.  After about a week of battle in my own head, I was starting to feel better again.  The week before the race, I had a swim that was about the same distance of the race swim.  Yes, it’s in a pool but I wanted to swim it as continuously as possible.  I figured an extra confidence boost was good.  I was right.  I swam it non stop and felt amazing.  I even broke one of my rules and predicted a time for my swim in the race, I was feeling so good.

Thursday before the race,  I had a terrible sore throat.  I worked from home Friday, trying to nap in between meetings to rest up.  I felt like crap.  Saturday was Expo day, something I had looked forward to since signing up for the race.  That morning, I couldn’t have cared less.  I tried to be peppy and think about all the tri goodies that would be there for purchase.  I tried thinking about how cool it would be to get all the swag I had heard about.  How different this one was because I was dropping my bike off the day before the event, something I had never done before.  I got there and was very matter of fact.  I didn’t have much interest in purchasing anything.  I had wanted a hat I saw online but couldn’t find it, so I didn’t bother asking.  Encouraged by Darin, I picked up a bike jersey.  I can always use one, so why not, was my attitude.  Not the excited, hold myself back from spending too much attitude I had expected to have.  I didn’t know what was wrong with me.  I was scheduled for a prep workout that day too, and totally blew it off.  I told myself rest was better, but I just didn’t feel like doing it.

Race morning came and I generally am jittery and concerned about the goofiest things.  Would I go to the bathroom before I get there or suffer the port o potty and long lines?  Would my stomach hold up or feel like I was going to yarp?  Would I be able to eat?  Will I be nervous?  Not this morning.  I woke up and again couldn’t care less.  I tried to be open with Darin and tell him that, hoping that saying it out loud would help me snap out of it, but no such luck.  I made some toast, grabbed my gear and headed out.  This race was much different than any other morning experience.  Not just because of how I felt, but because of the schedule.  I’m usually up and racing within about three hours or so.  This time, we had to drive to Miami, be there and set up before transition closed at 6:20, and my wave didn’t start until 8:20.  My newly found disinterest the days before the race, lead to poor preparation on my part.

I made many mistakes leading up to this race, mistakes I am trying to learn from.  The first, and biggest mistake was breaking my own rule.  I told myself I would not go to a bigger distance until I felt awesome doing the small distance stuff.  I totally blew off the fact that I struggled in September and just assumed I got past all that for this one because the appeal of running through the zoo would motivate me.  The other mistakes were things like eating and drinking.  I ate and drank nearly five hours before the race start.  I should have taken in nutrition at least three hours before start.  That isn’t what cost me the race, I will get to that soon, but it could have further down the line.  Another mistake was my wetsuit.  For the first time in the history of this race, the water temps made it not wetsuit legal.  What does that mean?  Well, a wetsuit legal race means the water is cool and most people will be in a wetsuit because it helps you move through the water faster and makes you way more buoyant.  The wetsuit was to be my super-suit.  How could I fail with it on?  The water temp was not cool enough for wetsuits this time, but the race directors would allow you to wear it if you went last and agreed that you were not eligible for awards.  Ha!  Awards?  I got no chance of that anyway, so why not?  Now, my wave was at 8:45.

It was a very hot and windy morning.  It was just about time for my wave, so I headed down to get my wetsuit on.  I had worn the wetsuit several times earlier in the year.  Sure, I should have practiced with it on more closely to the race, but what could go wrong?   Generally, I take great care putting on my wetsuit.  Believe it or not, they tear very easily.  I was proud that I had worn it a good few times and never had an issue.  Let me tell you that trying to squash two pounds of jelly in a one pound bag is hard enough, trying to do it while sweating is a whole different struggle.  The struggle is real!  I had no patience whatsoever and again, didn’t care.  I jammed myself into the thing and pulled and tugged.  Darin did his best to help me, poor thing.  I ended up with three nice little fingernail tears.  They devastate me now, but then, nah didn’t care.  Just wanted to get the swim over with so I could run with the lions.

The start horn rang out and I usually click into race mode.  It usually doesn’t matter if I am scared, nervous, feeling sick, whatever.  That horn goes off and something inside just goes.  Not this time.  I was miserable.  I was sweating so profusely, that I was already dripping inside the wetsuit.  I hoped once I hit the water I would cool down and yet it was like I wasn’t in a hurry at all.  I just kinda sauntered into the water, like a day at the beach.  In the past, I usually jam my face in and at least try.  Not this time, I swam to the first buoy with my head clean above the water.  My face never even got wet.  What was wrong with me?  I thought.  Ok, Cris, you need to snap out of this funk.  You have been working hard for this.  Yeah, I will make the turn and put my head in the water and just go.  I always finish.  This was no longer than the swim I did the other day.  Yeah. …… No.  I put my head in and I can’t even say I had control over my body and I can’t say that I feel looking back, like I really tried.  I felt like my wetsuit was trying to murder me.  It was strangling and smothering me.  I had never felt this before.  I know they feel less constricting when in the proper swim position, but I just wasn’t getting there.  My heart rate was sky-high and I had no conscious thought of trying to get it back down.  This was nothing new for me, I have experienced this in every race so far, and in every one of those races I kept moving forward.  I always reminding myself that I needed to persevere.  Today was different.  In that moment, I was done.  A lifeguard had come over to me, seeing that I was struggling and I said I was done.  I could barely breathe and didn’t have a single ounce of energy in me to convince myself to even bother continuing.  He pulled me to the side and said that I was way overheated and opened the back of my wetsuit to allow more water to rush in.  I can’t describe how awesome it felt when that cool water rushed in and I no longer had that constriction around my neck.  Don’t get me wrong, it was not the wetsuit to blame.  Had I not worn it, the outcome would have probably been the same.

So, what happened?  Well, hindsight is always clearer and I love playing the part of my own psychologist so here goes.  I think what happened was I was just tired.  Not in the sense that I didn’t get enough sleep.  I was just tired of having this issue with the swim.  This was the fifth time!  It’s mentally draining to fail at something over and over and keep trying.  We want to say that the fact that you don’t quit is awesome, and it is really great when people fail and don’t quit, but it’s freaking hard!  I didn’t have it in my logical side of the brain to fight the instinctual side that day.  I just didn’t.  I regretted saying I was done the moment the words came out of my mouth.  I knew that I actually could have finished, because I had before, but that didn’t matter in that moment.  While I regretted it, my body and part of my mind was so relieved.  It was sweltering hot and to think that after exerting all that energy to simply finish the swim I still had over two hours of cycling and running left on a fairly empty tank was probably not going to work out for the best anyway.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a sufficiently long pity part for myself.  I didn’t want to think about having to tell people that I totally failed.  I wasn’t sure how I would even bother with this sport again.  I went through all the emotions.  I was mad at myself for not finishing.  I was sad, of course.  I felt guilty that I dragged Darin all the way out there for this.  I felt frustrated and like a total loser that after all this time in the pool and training, I couldn’t do it.  I felt like I should just find a new sport.  That whole duathlon thing was looking pretty appealing in that moment.  I quit the race, how much harder would it be to just quit the sport?

Once my pity part ended and all the “guest” feelings in my head had gone home, it was time to clean up.  I went over the long list of things that I know deep down I could have done better.  I failed at this one, but the best thing I can do as an example is to learn from that failure.  So, that’s what I am doing.  I’m going to stop breaking my own rules, and not add distance until I am absolutely crushing it.  I’m going to figure out how to train more in different types of open water.  I am going to let my coach help me way more than I have in the past.  I’m not one to rely on other people.  I usually rely on me, and me alone, but I need help here and that’s his expertise.  I just have to put my trust in the training, more so than I have in the past.  I love training for this sport, I’m just crappy when it comes to races!… And that’s ok.  I train hundreds of days in the year.  I only race a couple of days a year.  I can’t quit something I love the majority of the time for something that is really a small part of it when you think about it.  Speaking of that small part, I’m already signed up for the next one in March.  That’s enough time, right?