Sunday was the Labor Day Triathlon.  My redemption day!  The day where if the swim went well, it would provide me the proof that all this training I do, all the failures I experience and push past are worth it.  The day where I would finally know that I can do this sport, all three parts of it.  Well, that didn’t happen, and hanging my hat on the thought that it would be easier to accept failure if I expected failure, didn’t work either.

The morning of the race, I was feeling ok.  Kind of excited.  Excited that this might be the day I actually swim right.  I was hopeful but didn’t have high expectations because I know that what I feel before hitting the lake and what I feel in the lake are two very different things.  The one thing I did know, was that either way I could finish.   The distance somehow looked shorter to me this time.  It didn’t seem like that unachievable feat it has in the past.  When it was my wave’s turn, the gun went off and I was feeling good.  I started out in great form.  I was swimming freestyle and breathing every stroke.  I was about halfway to the first buoy when all the sudden, my chest felt tight and my head came popping out of the water.  It’s very hard to explain, but the only thing I can relate it to is how the body reacts when it thinks it’s in danger.  Instincts took over and I literally could not put my face back into that water.  I swam a bit like that, telling myself to just give it a minute.  I hit the first buoy and flipped onto my back.  I was hyperventilating again.  This time was different though.  As I swam backstroke I tried to take inventory of what was going on.  Was I afraid? No.  Was I physically drained like in the past? No.  Why couldn’t I get my breath to calm down?  Why couldn’t I do this?  I tried again and again.  I realized quickly that I was just wasting time.  I was going to be way behind as it was, so I had two choices.  Keep trying to swim it “right” or just go on my back and swim it faster.

I decided to go for faster, knowing that I definitely didn’t want to miss the cutoff.  That’s a move that today, the day after, I regret.  Time in that lake is limited to races.  You can’t swim there when there isn’t one.  I really wish I would have taken the time to figure it out.  I wish I would not have concerned myself with times, or what other people think.  I wish I could have stopped worrying about inconveniencing everyone else, holding people up and just took the time to figure me out.  I wish I would have taken the time to sit in that water, and find out what made my body react the way it does.  Instead I took the quick route, thinking that if I got the swim over with, I could enjoy the rest of the race.  I was dead wrong.

In the past bad swims, I spent the entire time trying to fight the instinct to quit.  All my energy went to just moving forward and completing the swim.  I always felt free after I got out of the water.  I was always exhausted, but relieved that I didn’t quit and ready to get to the fun parts.  I had planned this race no differently.  I told myself that whatever happened in the swim, I was going to enjoy the bike and run and really push myself.  I was going to leave it all on the course.  This time was different.  I got out of the water and felt nothing.  I walked into transition, didn’t even try to jog.  I couldn’t care less about the bike.  I got my gear on and walked my bike to the mount line.  I rode at a fine pace, I didn’t push myself nor did I just cruise along, but my head wasn’t in it.  I did my two loops, dismounted and walked my bike into transition.  Maybe the run would be better.  Maybe crossing the finish line would boost my spirits. Nah, who cares.  I am going to finish because that is what I paid to do and didn’t want it to be a waste.  I crossed the finish line and collected my medal.  I had hoped for some feeling of excitement, relief, something but all I felt was like getting home and getting a shower.  My head was throbbing,  and I felt like the day was a loss.  I just wanted to wrap it up and head home.  I decided to give myself the day to have a big old pity party.  As we were headed home, I decided to look at my times.  I pretty much expected this to fuel my pity party.  My times would be the barbecue grill on which I roasted myself.  Much to my surprise, I had my fastest race ever!….even in the swim.  My original race has always been my best up to this point and it took me 1:36.  This time, it took me 1:27, and that was with me moping into transitions and not giving it my all on the bike or run.  Huh,  not much fuel for the pity party anymore.

While I very much did have my pity party, I woke up the next day feeling so much better.  I started to realize that what I was afraid of most was feeling like I was just going to want to quit the sport.  I was worried that this would be the nail in the coffin and I would just feel like I was not cut out for it, like it wasn’t worth the effort.  I was afraid that I would just not want to do it anymore.  After all, how many times can you fail at something before you start to think that maybe the universe is trying to tell you it just isn’t for you?  During the swim, I felt empty and numb, but now I see that it wasn’t because I failed again, I was empty and numb because I am so used to pouring all my energy into not quitting that I didn’t know what to do this time. The thought of quitting never once entered my mind.  The thought that I could not finish never entered my mind.  Yes, I was really disappointed that it wasn’t going to be my inspiration for the next race, my confirmation that it was the right thing for me.  It wasn’t going to be my redemption.  I think that at some level I was waiting to have to fight those feelings of quitting for good.  I was going to have to convince myself to try to train for the next race.  I was going to have to convince myself that I could move forward.  I waited for all those things so I could pour my energy into that, and they never came.  I realize now, that I have improved leaps and bounds.  Not just because of the times I achieved, those were nice, but because I didn’t have to use energy to fight myself and keep from quitting anymore.  I didn’t know it at the time, I really wish I had.  I know I didn’t give the rest of that race my all, if I had, my times would have even been better.  I woke up the following day ready to train and determined to improve.  I’m looking forward to executing my coach’s plan, which is going to really kick my butt next week.  I’m excited for the next race and I know I’ll be ready, for even the swim.  I won’t quit, I won’t even think twice about it, I’m done with that.  This is what I want to do.  This is my sport.

It’s 5:30 am, rest day.  Two days from my next triathlon.  I told myself this one was going to be my redemption.  The one I really felt like I did well at.  While I’ve only done three, the last two were horrendous and a bit deterring.  They had me thinking maybe I should consider another sport.  Yes, there were extenuating circumstances, but that doesn’t change how I feel.  My first was crazy and hard, but I expected that.  When it came to my second one, I wasn’t quite myself.  You see, I generally picture the worst.  My second tri was different.  For once, I told myself I was going to do really well.  For once, I told myself I could be confident.  I had trained, I had done the work, I had run the same course before as a newbie.  Surely I would do better the second time.  Yes.  I was going to be confident.  I had this.  Of course I did not say this to anyone.  I just tried to say it in my own head and that was progress enough for me.  Well, it didn’t go well at all.  Yes, the water was freezing and I didn’t have a wetsuit.  Yes, insert excuse or reason here.  I finished it.  I can give myself credit for not giving up, but it was such a disappointment.  The biggest reason for the level of disappointment is that I actually allowed myself to believe I could do well.  My third was a longer distance, but I trained hard and had a wetsuit.  I was by no means confident, but I was hopeful.  That was a disaster.  Much of that was provided by nature, yes, but I don’t know how I would have done even if that storm hadn’t rolled in.

I told myself I would prepare and finally feel good at the one year anniversary of my first tri.  Here I am two days away and I have no idea how I feel.  I almost feel numb.  If I reach down inside, I really want to feel confident.  I really want to feel good about it.  I trained, really hard.  Having a coach has proved beneficial.  I’ve felt like I was really accomplishing something in training, and yet here I sit unsure and uneasy.  I realized, listening to a podcast that part of my problem (I am sure there are lots of parts) is that I lack trust.  The podcast was about just that.  Trust in your training, trust in your coach, trust in the work you have put in, trust in yourself.  I lack trust, in most of those things, but what I probably lack trust in the most, is myself.  More specifically, I don’t trust my mind.

No, I am not crazy…. Well, ok yes, I am my own brand of crazy, but that’s not the point here.  What I am talking about is my mind overriding everything, mostly in the swim.  I think back to how I have felt every time I stand at the start of the swim.  I do ok.  I am not panicking.  I am not completely terrified.  I feel, well, alright.  The gun goes off and I get moving.  I’m ok.  Moments in, it starts.  There’s no specific fear.  I know I won’t actually drown.  I am not afraid of creatures in the lake.  Surprisingly, I don’t care that it’s gross or gooey.  Out of nowhere, my mind just starts going into all the self-doubt and negative talk.  My mind tries to take over and give me all the reasons I should just quit.  It’s funny how powerful the mind is.  I remember thinking to myself in one of the races that it was so exhausting and I should just stop, yet I had no muscle fatigue.  I was breathing ok and yet my heart was racing.  Yes, there is the level of excitement and adrenaline rush of the moment, but it was more so because my mind was taking over and it took everything I had to just keep moving forward.  I’m proud I didn’t quit.  That would have been easy.  I’m proud that as horrible as those races were, I still signed up for more.  I am glad that during the entire time between the last race and up to about now, I have been excited to train.  I have been hopeful.  I’ve been motivated.  I’m really happy with all that I have accomplished in my training.  I’m not thrilled about how my eating habits have been, and I’d feel a lot better if I had about ten pounds less fat in my body, but I know I just have to work harder at that.

I envy those people who have confidence, even the ones that fake it.  The ones that say they are going to do well out loud.  The ones that aren’t afraid to say they are ready for their race.  I don’t do that.  I always portray the negative.   It’s less of a let down, I guess it’s safer that way.  I say I “hope” to do ok.  I’d be happy just to finish.   Maybe it saves me some of the shame or embarrassment if I fail.  The truth is, that’s all BS.  I don’t want to just finish.  I don’t want to “hope” to do ok, I want to do well, or great even.  I want to start swimming and not spend the entire time trying to talk myself into turning off my back and actually swimming with my face in the water.  I want to get out of the water faster than I ever have before.  I want to come out of that freaking lake feeling like a boss!   I want to finally feel like this entire year of training wasn’t lost.  I don’t want to be let down by me.  I want to trust in my training, and I want to trust in myself.  I want my mind to feel as good about this as my body does.  I want this race to be my foundation for starting to not just hope, or believe, but know that I can do this.  I guess I’ll find out in tow days!