Facing Failure

I've thought about IMFL every day, non stop for the past two weeks. I thought about every morning I woke up at 4am for a long run, a boring bike session on the trainer, or cold swim before going to work. I thought about every social gathering I passed up so I could get to bed by 830 on a Friday night. I thought about the cookies I said no to - the ice cream, the pizza, the beer, all the food. I thought about the weekends that were focused on training that didn't leave enough time for other things. I literally replayed every single training moment over and over; and every single minute in the water that morning before I failed at something I wanted so bad. Heck, I thought that maybe if I could stop thinking about it, it would go away. Maybe the pain of losing, the embarrassment, the many tears I cried...maybe they'd all eventually just go away too. But I've spent the past 4 years building a blog and personal image that I hope encourages others to find a way to celebrate their successes even when they didn't win, encourages others to strive to be better today than they were yesterday, and encourages others to fight to improve no matter how they compare to other people. So if all the suckiness goes away, I feel like so does all the greatness.

I struggle finding the right words that express how I feel as a point of reference and not a sign of poor sportsmanship or overwhelmingly complainy. I don't want this to be a story of pity or unfortunate circumstances but rather a story of facing failure and figuring out what comes next.

In the six months leading up to IronMan Florida, I ran two 70.3s, competed in several sprints, set new BIG PRs, swam 137,900 meters, biked 1416 miles, and ran 872 miles. I gained focus, I lost weight, and I challenged myself to be the best athlete I could be. Along the way, I convinced (or maybe they convinced me...the details really don't matter) my husband, my father, and my uncle to join this journey with me. It was a good balance of having my husband experience training for his first IM and having both my dad and uncle (both multiple time finishers) as support, encouragement, and free coaching to get me through the process. I had relocated back to Orlando in the process and now even had Tammy there to keep me company at the butt crack of dawn (she totally love/hates me for all the morning wake up calls). The more I trained and showed myself the level of commitment and self control I had, the more I dreamt of what crossing the finish line would feel like. I thought of the precise place I would put my M-Dot tattoo. And I imagined what my next big venture would be. In a sense, the training took over. I literally planned my day around the training. Yes, I had some missteps; the snooze button is so tempting and beer tastes so delicious, but cheating a little bit kept things interesting.

Every time I felt like giving up or giving in, I revisited the famous 'Rise and Shine' video. I watch this every morning before a race to help get my head straight. And the morning of IMFL was no different. I woke at 330am to the video, my morning nutrition, and tons of family ready to cheer me to victory.

 The Racing Crew.

My awesome family all here to support and cheer.











Body marked, gear checked in, thanked my support crew, hugged my racing crew, got my jumping jacks on, cried a few ugly tears, and the start gun was just moments away. A year of dreaming of this moment and it had finally come. It was go time.

Though the waves were big, the IM staff determined that they conditions were safe to swim in, so we jumped in. I remember having a weird sense of euphoria that morning. Like I had already won the race without even starting it. I think it was that euphoric state that didn't make me scared of the waves. I knew I was a strong swimmer, yes slow, but strong. Mix that with determination and it just seemed as though I was meant to be there, at that moment, doing this race.

I planned on doing lap 1 in 55 minutes and lap 2 in 62 minutes. I planned to swim nice and steady and not to worry about being passed. I planned on focusing on one buoy to the next. But I never planned on getting sea sick. About ten minutes into the swim and just before the second buoy, I had an overwhelming sense of nausea. I might have swallowed the first round of vomit, but immediately it came back up. There wasn't a kayak near by, by a kind fellow swimmer grabbed me and helped me get through the first hurdle of vomiting (if he happens to ever read this...I'm so sorry for vomiting on you). Funny thing, it didn't even phase me. I wiped my mouth and got back to swimming. My first thought was that I might have lost some time, so if I was going to make my 55 minute goal, I needed to swim - nice, straight, and steady. I felt like I was getting back into the swing of it and again...vomit. This time though it phased me less. I distinctly remember coming up for a breath, vomiting, and going to the next stroke. I can't count how many times I did this through the first and second turn of the lap.  Just beyond the second turn and now a good 45 minutes into the swim. I needed a break. The excitement was wearing off the the reality of not being able to shake being sick was setting in. I stopped at a kayak and had a nice conversation with a volunteer. I was already dry heaving at this point but he helped me to push on and finish that lap (some of the nicest people you'll meet at a race are the volunteers).  

I made it! That is through loop 1. Whomp Whomp. I still had to get back in the water and swim another 1.2 miles. I grabbed some water but immediately it came up. Another kind volunteer and life guard was concerned on shore so insisted on swimming with me through the break. I was feeling weak but not broken and I knew I wasn't going to give up. When I was fighting with the water and cursing the waves that morning, I was the person I set out to be. Determined. Passionate. A Fighter.

I made it through the break, I rounded the first corner, I rounded the second corner, and I stopped at the same kayak for another quick breather. Over an 1 hour and 55 minutes of swimming and vomiting had finally caught up to me at that point. Both legs severally cramped up and the kayaker called it quits for me. He called the paramedics and they determined that my day would end early right there. I don't remember their exact words, but I do remember my world feeling as though it was crashing down. I remember feeling my stomach in my throat and becoming blinded from tears. I remember everything going silent as I realized my dream was dead. They granted my request to cry it out for a moment before taking me via jet ski to the shore.

The ride on the jet ski felt like an eternity. How would I explain this to people? How could I not have ever thought about the potential of sea sickness? Did I train enough? Did I not eat the right food? How would my race crew feel (after I dragged them into the mess) with me letting them down? How could I let myself down so bad?

Back on shore, time stood still as well. I just laid in the sand and cried, dry heaved, and cried some more. Hopeless, disappointed, psychically drained, and mentally wrecked. I struggled with the urge to act like a mad man. I wanted to throw my swim cap down, kick the sand, and pout like I was three again. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs like I had just witnessed a horrific crime. I wanted to run, run far away and just never come back. I literally felt like my heart was pounding out of my chest and that I would never catch my breath again. My heart was breaking. And these moments will be burned into my memory for years to come. That day will haunt me until I do eventually cross that finish line.

I knew that if I couldn't finish the race I wanted to be the best damn cheerleader I could be for my dad, uncle, and husband - who all still had no idea that I hadn't finished the race. After closely tracking each of them, I planned to catch them on the run and cheer them on. It took every ounce of my being to face the reality that I was on the wrong side of the course and even more to watch their faces as they realized the same. It was heartwarming and even more heartbreaking to see their disappointment the moment they put things together. And I don't think it was disappointment in me as much as disappointment that they knew I wouldn't get to cross the finish line with them that day. I wasn't the only one crying as I experienced that moment three separate times.

So IMFL wasn't my race but my dad, uncle, and husband all did kick butt that day...so quick side track to celebrate their glorious and well deserved finish.

Steps from the finish line, my dad and mom hug to celebrate his killer finish time (it is crazy how he is getting faster with age). A complete badass.

Nothing but smiles from my very own IronMan, who finished his first in just over 13 hours and averaged nearly 20MPH on the bike. I could not be more proud of his commitment and perseverance.

My uncle Mark as he rounds the corner to finish his 12th IronMan and a PR for him. He impresses me with his positive attitude and big heart.













Today may not be the day that I decide that I am ready to sign up for the next IM. And it may not be tomorrow. But today is the day that I've decided to face this failure and move on. Today I accept that I did a damn good job training and preparing for the unexpected. But the unexpected is just that...unexpected. Sometimes we can triumph and push through and other times the stars don't align. But most importantly, it is what I do next that defines who I want to be. This will make the snooze button less desirable. This will make saying no to a beer a little easier. This will make every mile of every run or bike that much easier. This will fuel my race season.

May my story of facing failure eventually have the happy ending I dreamt of all year long...

Stay tuned.