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.

Gasparilla Ultra Challenge 2016

I think this is how the conversation went...

Tammy: "Hey, you know what sounds like fun? A little 5K at the Gasparilla races in Tampa.
Kayla: "We should just go ahead and do the 8K, 15K, and half marathon, too...haha!"
Tammy: "Okay."

And that is how this crazy idea of 4 races in one weekend with 5 ladies got started. But by golly, we had a lot of fun.

4th Annual Swenson 10K Super Run World Cup

It's Thanksgiving, so that means it is time for the 

Annual Swenson 10K Super Run World Cup! 

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.

For the WIN!

2015 has been a physically challenging year and an emotional roller coaster. I don't think I expected the ups and downs that come with training for an IM. But the high that I experience at Augusta, I still feel 2.5 weeks later.

It Feels A Little Like This

Augusta 2014 was a great race for me. It was my first ever 70.3 and I got to cross the finish line with both my parents (they are my biggest fans). But prior to the race I struggled with some minor health issues that I felt set me back and initially defeated me. Still, I pushed through to finish the race and became even more determined to return. Back in November, I made the decision to run a IronMan race and registered for the race ready package that included IMFL and Augusta 70.3 six weeks prior. Although IMFL is the longest race and requires the most work, Augusta was my 'A' race; and I wanted some course revenge.

Over the past few weeks, I've experience those ups and downs, I've gotten up far too early too many days a week, I've put in the miles, I've not stop eaten food, I've toned up everywhere, and I've really found a deeper routed passion for the sport. Yes, I have those days where sleep seems to be the only thing I want to do, but I also have so many great workouts and accomplishments that they seem to be the part I remember.

Heading up to Augusta I was all butterflies. I was focused and driven, but scared and anxious. I knew that once I arrived, I'd be greeted by my parents yet again, and even cooler, my uncle decided to join us for the race.

We arrived the Friday before the Sunday race: got banded, swam the swim course, and ate dinner - easy night to keep the butterflies at bay.

Getting Banded Together.

Bike Check Day.

Pre-race beer with the cutest athlete to calm our nerves.

Morning of the race and we are all smiles (except mom, she felt awful and had to sit this one out). I felt like I actually got a little sleep that night. I think the beer helped. So, when the alarm went off, I was up and ready to get things going. Of course, it takes a bit of time to get through all the waves, which gave my dad, uncle, and I plenty of time for a pre-race cry fest. I don't know what kind of screwed up gene I got from them, but it became apparent that my happy cry was indeed genetic.

I spent a lot of preparation time on my transitions and moving from the swim to T1, so I love that you can tell I'm running out of the water here.

When we swam the course the Friday prior, it was obvious that the flow of the water was far less than the prior year, so I wasn't expecting a faster swim time, but when I got out of the water and saw that I did indeed swim faster, I was ecstatic. With a solid 37:38 on the swim, I was in line with the goals I set for myself.

The weather was perfect for a nice 56 mile ride. It was high 70's, overcast, and mild mist the entire ride. I definitely felt way more comfortable out there this year and felt like I was cruising along. But when I crossed the 50 mile mark, I noticed I was 14 minute behind schedule and that really fueled my fire. Somehow, I powered through the last 6 miles and made it through T2 and was then only 3 minutes behind where I wanted to be.

On to the run and I was feeling good and cruising along. I was surprised by my first 5 K and the pace I was keeping. In fact, in the first 3 miles, I had already made up those 3 minutes, so I just focused on having fun and keeping that pace steady. Here I am trying to catch my 'in the air' run pose. Not perfect, but I was doing what I set out to do...have fun.

Crazed run look. Just missed that jump. This is about half way through the run and I was already calculating that I could indeed have a PR and smash my 6:30 goal.

Before I turned the corner to the finish, I saw my father and Josh (who both had already finished and PR'd the race) and I just couldn't hold back the tears. They of course thought I was injured, but I made sure they knew I was well on my way to a really great PR. And then the tears couldn't stop, they kept flowing and the ugly cry came out.

Still crying coming down the chute.

There is nothing more exciting than seeing a year of dedication paying off. In one year of training I cut my finish time by 1 hour and 2 minutes. Hard work pays off!

Post-race photo with the cutest athlete.

A 6:22 finish time. I long doubted that I could ever break 6:30. Thanks Justin Bieber for believing in me. ‪#‎NeverSayNever‬. I'm so grateful for the support and encouragement of my friends and family. It truly has been an awesome journey...and I'm not done. And did I mention the Josh, dad, and my uncle all had PRs too. FOR THE WIN!

Another New Bike

Just after IM 70.3 Augusta, I took the only 1 year old "New Bike" in to get a small adjustment. Somehow I ended up walking out with this new beauty. Here is to new records and stronger bike times.

Indiatlantic Triathlon

I had so much fun at Pinappleman Triathlon that I last minute registered for Indiatlantic Triathlon just three weeks later. And of course, I convinced Tammy to join me.

One of my favorite things about this race is the number of people that participate. It truly is your local, small town race. Maxing out at 300 people, you get plenty of space and time to set up your transition. Not to mention you get to practically park at the start/finish line for ease of unloading the car. This is also the race that is my fastest sprint time. So once I got set up, I was ready to race!

Recently, sharks have been all over the news. Shark spotting, sharks washing up on shore, and more importantly shark attacks. Including several on the Florida coast. Although I do most of my races in Florida, most of the swims are either in lakes or in the inter coastal (although it is the Ocean, it seems less scary since there is land on both sides). As I was standing on shore, I just kept saying, 'swim fast and the sharks won't get you.' In hindsight, that probably wasn't the best thing that I could have done. Sharks were on my mind and I was not in a good spot. About a third of the way I encountered a jelly fish. And you would have thought I was getting attacked by a shark. With the wrong mind set and the sudden sting, I freaked out. I ended up having to swim to a kayak, hold on, and cry it out. And by cry it out, I mean hysterically bawled my eyes out, while the volunteer didn't know what to do, other than continuously ask me if I want to quit. Well, no, I'm not quitting, I just needed to focus and get my act together. After taking forever to finish the rest of the swim, I got my head in the right place and was able to focus on another strong bike.

The bike goes over two Florida hills or causeways as non-Floridians call them. And since I was training in DC for the last couple of months, I was actually pretty ready to tackle them on. About 2 miles in to the course I hit my first one and raced up it. I passed some people and that gave me the boost I needed to push hard for a strong bike.

On to the run, I was on a mission. I know had a horribly slow swim, a solid bike, and was on to my bet with Tammy. I can never beat her overall but I'd been doing a lot of running (and she was still recovering from her back surgery), so we made a bet on the run - whoever ran the fastest was to be served a post race beer. And although the beer was free, bragging rights were on the line. Again, I figured that I would either run hard till I passed out or till I crossed that finish line. So I ran, I ran hard, and I finished before I passed out.

Seeing the results at the finish was a little heartbreaking for me. Yes! I beat Tammy on the run. But I took 4th in my age group. And I was only off by less than a minute. I was second fastest in T1, T2, and the run; and 3rd on the bike. But last on the swim. So after taking a second to pout, I realized the big races of the year had yet to come. So I drank my glorious, bragging rights beer and cheered on Tammy's podium finish.