Surprise, Surprise! (IMNC Part 1)

This time last year, I was devastated. I literally felt like my world ended. I don't recall ever feeling such shame in my life. I went from being on top of the world and celebrating a season of triathlon accomplishments to avoiding making eye contact with anyone who knew (which was everyone) that I went to IMFL. It took me a long time to come to the fact that failure is okay, that depression is okay, that not feeling like 'enough' is okay. It took even longer to talk about it. I put up a good front and pretended it would make me stronger, but I was secretly just trying to make sure the world didn't make what I saw seemed like a "first world problem" - oh pity you, you didn't finish a triathlon but you had fresh water to greet you and a roof over your head as you pouted over a non issue - into anything more than it was.

But it was. It was more than a moment in time. It was more than a DNF. It was what I felt like defined me. It was un-explainably awful and it was necessary.  Its been almost a year since I wrote about DNFing at Ironamn, http://www.competersandcompleters.com/2015/11/facing-failure.html, and the pain still exists. But turns out, it was probably one of the best things that has ever happened to me...

To say IMFL plagued me for a year is an understatement. After finally getting up enough courage to register for IMNC, it was my everyday excuse to pull myself out of bed before to sun woke; it was my excuse to be socially lame and go to be at 830 on a Friday night; it was my excuse to skip a drink and hanging out with friends; it was my excuse not to clean my house, showing up late to work, forgetting everyday chores...and well, everything else that I consciously decided not to do for 6 months of training. But more than an excuse, it was my purpose.

For the first time in the past four years, I didn't log my workouts. Stemming from an early season race where I forgot my watch, I felt liberated to not feel obligated to time, measure, and account for every swim, bike, and run. I pushed hard. I didn't skip. And I prepared by just working at it. I hit milestones I hadn't before, I gained speed I didn't think was possible, I started to actually look like a triathlete.

Fast forward to race week. Oh RACE WEEK. What a joyous feeling...That is until you get an email 4 days before your 140.6 Ironman Triathlon, within hours of getting on your road, that tells you the bike course has been shortened. SURPRISE! I barely held it together at work. In any normal reality, a shorter bike is a good thing. But for my redemption race, the full distance was everything. Let the panic begin. I cried on the drive home as I went through the other possible scenarios of how to accomplish this race. I really felt like I could never go through this training again. Maybe I'd go to another race in 5 weeks, maybe I'd do an iron distance in the hills for another $600, maybe I'd try and get back into IMFL in just 2 weeks. Oh the decisions. Oh course, my phone was blowing up with opinions and I read all 600+ facebook comments from other panicking racers. All the worry and arguments of social media surely made the decision better. But somehow, I listened to my gut - get it together, race your race, and put a dang smile on your face while doing it. I didn't sacrifice for IMNC for 6 months to quit just because expectations changed. So on to IMNC we went.

By my arrival on Wednesday morning, I still wasn't OKAY with the shortened race, but i was RACING.

Though we got to check-in early, the room was still very tense from the previous day's news. None the less, we went to the athlete briefing to hear how the roads were impacted and hoped they would tell us that it was all just a joke. Not a joke but we get what they give us. Sitting through the briefing was a bit tough but quickly became a wonderful surprise. About midway through a very forceful gentleman stole my mothers seat while she ran to the restroom. I assumed he was a disgruntled racer and thought, I better not mess with him, mom can sit on the floor (sorry mom). But as I looked up and pieced together that moment, it was my uncle Mark. Another surprise, this one, very much welcomed. Just one year earlier, I toed the line with my dad, husband, and uncle, and now I had them all back to help get me to that finish line as previously planned.  With a few minutes of tears and near silent greetings (we were in the middle of a very intense briefing), it seemed as though my upset feelings began to fade and turned into, just another first world problem - okay, you have your health but for the safety of others you will only bike a portion of the original distance - sanity restored.