Promises made and promises lost my sisters. On this day of
all Tuesdays, I’ve been thinking a lot about the paths we take in life and how
one moment indeed can define us as much as a thousand of them.
Last week I was scheduled to race the Penticton Challenge.
Physically I was strong and (somewhat) ready. I had trained for months with my
fabulous coach (shout out K.B.) whose arms are indeed as perfect as her soul.
But as the race day drew near, I just “did not have it”.
Something in me could not get into the idea that this triathlon would be mine.
Sure, I could just go and do the race- but really? You can’t “phone in” a Half
Iron man distance triathlon. After swimming for 1.9km, you cycle 90km and then
run 21.1km.
This would be the second time I totally lost my mind in an
endeavour of this nature. Last year I did my first Half Iron Man triathlon and finished
in last place. Make no mistake- it was awesome. If you don’t believe me…. Read
this.
But this year something had shifted. I was ready for the
race’s physical challenge but mentally my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was
because this year’s race calendar had been full? Perhaps I had been working a
bit too hard? Perhaps I just did
not have “it”…. You know, the Mojo, the charm, the spell that usually takes
over a few weeks before a race and BAM you are hooked and good to go.
I am not sure what it was last week that made me change my
triathlon mind, but I did. And so I decided a week before my race to just NOT
do it.
I should preface this by saying this behaviour is not in my
character. I am not a person who backs down easily from any challenge. In life
there are those of us who run into the burning building and those of us who run
out. I would count myself the former.
Be it work or play, sport or shoe sale- I am someone who
definitely shows up.
And so it was a bit out of character for me to BACK DOWN on
this, the Penticton challenge.
Mentally how would I cope with the idea that for the first
time in my relatively young racing life, I had walked away from a challenge?
On a practical note, what would I do this weekend? Here I
was locked and loaded with endurance to spare and nowhere to put it?
The practical solution came easy.
Vancouver has many a race every weekend. Could I compensate
for my Half assed Iron man with a three-day event that would make up the
distance?
Certainly. Could I “mix and match” a series of races and
come up with the 70.3 miles of swim, bike run without ever leaving the
Vancouver lower mainland?
Done.
This past weekend Vancouver was hosting the Lululemon Sewheeze
half marathon. I bought an entry
bib (or shall I say and entry bracelet?) from some lovely girlfriend on
Facebook and spent 4 hours in line on Friday morning at the Seawheeze pop up
store in search of the perfect racing outfit.
Do not judge my sisters… I was grieving the loss of my
triathlon and trying to shop my was through my decision. Retail therapy is
genius.
And so on Saturday morning, I suited up with 10,000 other
sisters… believe me there were maybe 100 men in this race- Seawheeze is an
estrogen fest to run for glory.
The race was a glorious one and I must admit- indeed it
erased any doubt in my mind regarding my triathlon misgivings.
I had a good run (not a great one) and my medal matches my
outfit. This cannot be wrong in any universe.
ON Sunday, legs a bit weary, I strapped on my cycling shoes
and Bella (my bike) and I raced the demons away in Coquitlam at the Mountain Equipment
Co-Op Century ride. Nothing chases away the devil like a 100km ride through the
rolling hills of the Lower Mainland.
That is until 4 hours into the ride you find yourself
walking up said hills with your bike because the 20% grade is meant for someone
with greater stuff than I. By greater stuff I mean a motorbike or a drug doping
scandal.
For some reason, the race organizers thought that a few very
steep hills would add to the challenge. Make no mistake- I can bike a hill.
Just last week, I cycled up Cypress Mountain. I am not adverse to hills- I don’t; speed up them but I can
do them (with a bit of Bitching and moaning to power me through). But a 17%
grade hill followed by a 20% grade hill in the middle of the race is really the
devils work.
There I was, in the middle of nowhere pushing my bike up a
hill in bike cleats- this was the equivalent of walking in heels… to Whistler.
No fingers pointed- I signed up for this course….
I should say that as I write this, the memory of pushing my
bike up a hill with bike shoes on is quickly fading. .
The scenery was epic.
My first half of the ride was glorious. My legs were stiff
but I was ready. But 30km in- I lost touch with a pack and wound up riding the
remaining race alone. “No, matter,” I told myself- “I ride alone all the time”.
The problem with riding alone on the country roads of
Coquitlam was that MEC in their infinite wisdom had failed to mark the course
clearly. Getting lost on a back road in British Columbia indeed tests the soul
as much as it tests the legs.
And so I spent 20km wandering through Coquitlam looking for
race markers wondering whether a cab would drive out this far to get me.
It was indeed somewhere around the 70km mark that I faced my
own HEART OF DARKNESS.
You see, I backed out of the Half Iron Man because I did not
have the mental will for such a race. There I was with a half marathon run on
my legs and 70km of bike riding behind me lost in Coquitlam with no cell phone
coverage and somehow I found my way home.
I called my fabulous coach (who had likely finished the race
an hour or so before) and asked for directions. Graciously- she let me rant and
then talked me home. With new directions in tow- I made it safely across the
finish line 90 minutes later- 120km on my bike’s odometer. This was a century
PLUS ride and I had found my way.
I awoke Monday morning with a plan to swim 1.9km in order to
complete my own personal triathlon. There was no need.
For some reason I had banished the doubt. I had washed away
the urge to perform and had risen to my own occasion.
No evidence this week- but I learned a lot, my sisters about
what it really means to be an athlete. As someone who always is a little slower
than the pack- I often wonder if I am making the same mark as the others in the
race.
But this weekend with a half marathon race and a century
ride- I learned that in life- sometimes we do readjust our expectations and the
world indeed accommodates. Sometimes a moment on a country rode is more
significant than 8 hours of racing for glory.
Because in life as in any sport- it’s not how you start…. It’s
not even how you finish…. It’s WHO YOU ARE along the way that makes the rubber
hit the road.
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