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.

Pinappleman Triathlon

Pinappleman Triathlon is one of my favorite races and of course, how could I miss it this year? But with my focus on 2 70.3 races and a full IronMan races this year, I was in a completely different training mode. But heck, I knew I was putting in the work, so worth still racing and having a good time.

Of course, racing with my best training partner always makes the day better. Tammy and I setting up transition for the day and rocking our new tri kits. #badassisbeautiful

They switched up the swim course this year and I swear it got longer...if it didn't I got way slower. I felt like I was swimming strong in the water but seeing my time was frustrating and confusing at the same time. So what do you do when you aren't performing well? Push harder. And that is what I did. On to the bike I was determined to make some moves and make up the time that I felt that I was behind, so I hammered out as hard as I could. I managed to have my best course ride by almost 5 minutes that day, which I was stoked about. But, it was an extremely hot day, so by the time I got to the run, I might have overdone it. The run is one of the best because it goes through a neighborhood and everyone comes out to cheer on the racers. Even with the heat and pushing hard on the bike, I managed to pull through a solid run for a good finish. I was actually 4 minutes slower than last year...I've learned this year that training for an IronMan and for a sprint are two very different things. In fact, I might have been slower, but I was way less tired than years past due to some of the longer workouts I've done. Maybe next year I will focus on sprints and getting some big PRs!

Post race celebrations!

Triathlete!

Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about trying a tri; not getting though the swim, struggling with the bike and then not living up to actually doing a triathlon later in the year.  Fast forward one year, I now get to write about actually finishing a tri!

In September, I signed up for a triathlon at the beginning of May.  That would give me plenty of time to get through my Marathon, take a quick break (which ended up being almost a full 4 weeks off...and it was nice), and change gears to biking and swimming; with maybe a little running along the way.  So mid January hits and I get back in training mode.  I got lucky that early in my training I met another triathlete (and a super successful one at that) at the pool who introduced me to some improved stroke techniques, a near-by (and pretty car-less) 11 mile bike loop and some other triathletes working towards a half iron-man a little later in the year.  That is just what I needed; some pros at this sport that were nice enough to teach me the tricks of the trade and keep me accountable for time in the water and on the road.  And thanks to them, I finally over came my fear of biking.  There had been few and far between rides after the "accident" that happened in September of 2011.

With some solid training behind me, I was getting anxious for the big day.  Literally couldn't wait and decided to do a race before the "first" race.  Cocoa Beach Triathlon was the chosen winner!

Pre-race prep photo.  I honestly had no idea what I was doing.  Just tried to copy everyone around me, keep the nerves low, and the excitement high. Luckily I had my very own cheerleader with me that morning.  Josh did a good job keeping from looking inexperience and crazy; all while pumping me up.

Check me out center of photo with the pink cap.  Fake smile much?  I was definitely getting very nervous at this point.  Ready to hit the water.

As I entered the water, reality set in.  I was swimming in open water for the first time.  I was swimming with other competitors for the first time (nothing like taking a foot to the face for the first time). And I was swimming in a wetsuit for the first time.  Yes, I panicked.   I got out there and immediately didn't know how to swim or breathe.  It was actually very scary.  Even though I knew that I would not sink in a wetsuit, something told me I was going to die.  When I heard the whistle for the next wave, I tried to get myself together.  All of a sudden, the next whistle went off.  Who knows where my head was...but it wasn't there.  I did some doggy paddling, some breast stroking, some frog kicking and a bunch of other things to move in the water that were not free style swimming; like I practiced.  Finally to the end and feeling defeated, I exited the water.  Actually the yellow caps started 2 waves after me...leaving Josh a little concerned how many people got out and I didn't.

As I entered transition, defeated and upset, I decided to do what any 3 year old would do.  Throw a tantrum and whine.  Yup sat there for nearly 5 minutes saying things like: "This is stupid," "Why would I even want to do a tri," "I almost died," "ERRR." But I'm here and I ain't quitting.  So on to the bike I went.

Something happened on the bike.  Something really good.

I found myself realizing why I wanted to do a triathlon.  Not to win the race, but to win for myself.  Finally being able to say I can swim; finally being able to say I got back on the bike; and finally being able to say "I am a triathlete!"

It was nice to get my head right...and at that moment all was good in the world and I was happy to be there.

The Run!  I love the run.  I'm not fast, but I run it. It was a great day for a run and I couldn't be happier at that point.  As I turned the corner and saw the finish line, I had to restrain myself from crying.  I sprinted forward and finished with all I had.

Finished!  I AM A TRIATHLETE.

Beach Running World Championships

This run started with poor nutrition, little sleep, and a sour attitude but that is certainly very opposite of how it ended. I have contemplated how to detail my lack-luster run through my blog and kept coming back to the same concept.  It wasn't my time that mattered, it wasn't my finish that mattered; it was my attitude and the experience I had along the way that mattered.

By the time I got to the first mile marker, my attitude had already greatly improved.  I mean the race was right along the shoreline and the sun was rising...how could you be in a bad mood when the world's beauty surrounds you and good health has allowed you to make another race regardless of lack or sleep or nutrition. Not only was I staying strong in my running pace, but the music was just right for the morning.  I tend to get caught up in my thoughts and music and the miles pass pretty easily.  Before I knew it 3 miles had passed and I was feeling really good...that is until the music died.  I knew very quickly that I had to focus on something else if I was going to keep running for the next 10 miles.

By this point there were many 10Kers that had started heading back to the finish line on this out and back race, so I played cheerleader for them and they were generally grateful (not to mention my encouragement is typically pretty entertaining and funny so I was cracking myself up). It wasn't too much further that the really strong half marathoners were now heading in the direction of the finish line, so my hilarious cheering continued.  Both time and miles passed quickly, but by the time I got to the turn around and then made it to the 8 mile mark in this very small race, there were very few runners heading in the opposite direction to cheer on.  Time to refocus my energy again; I noticed a runner using the Galloway method and we were playing a tag. I would be leading, he'd catch me; he'd be leading, I'd catch him.  I actually pulled out a great mile pace just pushing myself not to let him win.  But if you know me, you know...I'll eventually start a conversation with you.

Turns out this Galloway runner was a really interesting person and I actually joined his run-walk-run method to hear all about him "giving life the middle finger one more time," his actual words.  Scott was out running with his daughter who was training for a marathon in January and he wanted to support her pursuit of this goal.  We became instant friends and he revealed to me that he had not only had a kidney and a lung removed, he survived cancer once before and was about to start chemo again.  What a bad-ass!  I was so intrigued with his spirit and his drive and decided to run/walk the rest of the race with him.  We had 5 miles to become BFF's and it really changed my attitude from the beginning of the day.  In fact, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since that day.  I find the world to be filled with so many wonderful people and when you couple this with an over zealous and friendly person, you find it isn't difficult to meet them.  So I present to you my new blog chronicling all the people I am fortunate to meet...drum roll please, "*My New Best Friend."

*My New  Best Friend is in the very early stages and is still being developed, but I promise great stories to come.

hot Hot HOT!

What a cool running season for me - I went from running my first half marathon in January and crossing the finish line with my mom to running my fourth, personal best half marathon and crossing the finish line with my father in April.

Leading up to the run, I was stressing a lot of the outcome.  I really wanted to run a half marathon at a sub 2 hour race and I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to make this race the race for it to happen in.  But I knew it was going to be hot and I didn't train very well during the 4 weeks before.  I decided not to write any goals on paper and just make my last half marathon of the season a good race to end with...and that it was.

By 530 the temperature was already ready 79 degrees and the sun hadn't even come up yet.  I am super paranoid of dehydration and decided to run with a bottle of water since it was only getting hotter by 7.  They were expecting temps of 86 during the day with no cloud coverage.  And when I say no cloud coverage, I literally mean there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. So the race was off (you can catch a glimpse of my mom in the picture as well to the left).  My dad, who is like speed lightning, volunteered to help pace me to a sub 2 hour race.  I was just off of this mark a few weeks earlier by 1 minute and 13 seconds at the Gasparilla half.  The first two miles felt great even though the heat was brutal.  My plan was only to do 9:15-9:20 for the first three miles but I wasn't complaining about the 8:56, 9:02, and 9:00 miles.

By mile 3, I was drenched in sweat, almost through an entire bottle of water (even though I stopped at each water stop) and having a little fun since my times were slightly faster than I planned.  We were still with the masses at this point and had a couple interesting conversations.  Two nice ladies recognized my dad from the previous month's Double IronMan wished me luck for my finish.  It was a little too early on, but still got me a little too excited about really doing this. This is my first season of running and really committing to training for long distances and I want that sub 2 hour goal more than anything. The mile markers started giving a few people concerns.  Being off by any where up to a half a mile.

By mile five I picked up a friend.  Met #614, Emily, who was on her 7th half marathon and trying hard for her first sub two hour finish.  We quickly decided, without speaking it, we'd work together and push to that goal...of course relying heavily on my father to help us pick up the pace when needed. I find is so awesome how many people are actually willing to have a conversation out their even when we are huffing and puffing to make it to the finish.  The three of us chugged along and head to a pretty steady pace during the long stretch that ran right up along the beach.  Next set of miles were 8:54, 9:10, 9:15, 9:16.  Slowing down a bit but knowing we weren't off our mark...or were we? The mile markers were still giving us issues and I wasn't sure if we had ran 6.5 miles or 6 miles at the 6 mile marker.

Approaching the turn around right around the 7.5 mile mark, I was able to get down a gel (gosh those things are disgusting, seriously all flavors suck) snag a cup of water, push toward the finish and actually match right around 7.5 miles on my watch.  Silly mile markers.  The next 3ish miles were really exciting and helped to get my mind off of the agony of the heat.  We got to pass all the others that were still running to the midpoint.  Passed a friend, passed some of my mother's co-workers and got to cheer on my mom who was just about a mile behind us.   I was burning up though and made the decision to de-cloth slightly to try and stay cool.  My wonderful father even agreed to carry my drenched shirt just so I could concentrate on running. Clocking these miles at 9:05, 8:59, 8:59.

We made it down the coast and back into the neighborhoods and it suddenly wasn't fun anymore.  There no longer was a sea breeze and the heat seemed to intensify.  I seriously contemplated just stopping and walking the rest of the way.  My father on the other hand thought he would stop and take a shot of rum.  No seriously, at the "free rum shots" stand he stopped, told a joke, took a shot and then caught back up.  What a daughter I am...I didn't even wait on him or attempt to slow down.  So with that in mind and seeing him be such a sport (he doesn't drink liquor) I decided to tough it out. And tough it was.  I was really started to struggle, but sub two hours could still be met. Emily dropped off a bit as well.  Powered through a 9:10 and 9:13 mile but hit the 12 mile mark on my watch way before the sign.  

As we rounder the corner and came out from the neighborhood, the finish line was in sight. But I knew I only had a minute or two to get there and it wasn't going to happen.  I wanted to just give up right there, nearly broke into tears and broke down.  My dad wouldn't let me stop though and even with wanting to quit and getting hotter by the second I did my final full mile in 9:26 and the last stretch in roughly 2:39 (my watch says this was .34 miles).  We picked up the pace and pulled the last little bit of energy out to finish strong ( I totally to kicked my dad's butt by one second).  Final time 2:01:06; that is a 7 second PR.  Not what I wanted, but it felt good.  I raced a good race and had a solid finish to my first of what should be many seasons of running.

So, yeah, a cool running indeed - I went from running my first half marathon in January and crossing the finish line with my mom to running my fourth, personal best half marathon and crossing the finish line with my father in April.