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.

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!

IM 70.3 NOLA

After finishing Augusta 70.3 last year after juggling a few challenges, I knew I needed to find another 70.3 to focus on. So even though I knew I was going to register for Augusta 70.3 and IMFL, I figured New Orleans would be the perfect place to start the season. I somehow convinced Josh, my dad, and my mom to register as well. I don't know if they hate me or love me for it...but it is such a cool experience to have with so many family members.

We've arrived and it's a family affair! This would be my mom's second 70.3, Josh's first.

Banded and ready for some NOLA fun. (Yes, for some reason I imagined that it would be a little like Mardi Gras on the run.)

It has become a tradition for me to get a jumping photo at the races. Check!

And it was morning race time. This photo is following a completely stressful morning of sitting in the car in the parking line for over an hour and a half while and missing the transition time. Obviously since so many people missed the transition time, they extended it and hour and pushed back the start of the race. Josh and I were ready to roll and look forward to the race. I will admit that with the move to DC and the amount of snow we had over the winter, we struggled getting the distance in, especially on the bike, but we did way too many long hours on the trainer to miss out on this day.

Checking my swim time. Someone should have told me I was also rocking a mud beard.

Rocking out the bike. Although we hit very strong head winds on the second half of the bike, I managed to cut some time (even with the limited indoor training) from Augusta.

And on to the run. This is my favorite part and you can always tell by the pictures how much I actually enjoy running.

And as usual, having fun with the 'in air' photos on the run.

Coming down the chute and nothing but smiles.

And that is what winning feels like. Truly seeing and feeling the training pay off. So excited to have PR'd the race!

Post race photos of Glory!

I've Finally Arrived!

If you've been following me on twitter, you know that I have been working extra hard (biked 1305 miles, ran 765 miles, swam 82,700 meter , and lifted weights for over 23 hours in 6.5 months to be exact) on the #Road to Augusta and well, I've finally arrived!

After dealing with some challenges leading up to the race, I was nothing less than excited the entire week before hand. By Monday that week, I was already packing and preparing and couldn't shut up about Augusta. I know social media loved the way I flooded the pages with everything Augusta related.

Although I was extremely excited I knew that I was also very anxious, so I decided to make a mini road trip of heading to Augusta to help break things up. Thursday, we headed out early from work for a pit stop in Jacksonville and then a late night check-in into Savannah. This put us just two hours away on Friday morning to Augusta. After a leisure morning, brunch on the riverwalk, and some site seeing, everything hit. Literally in the middle of a store while shopping, I looked at Josh and told him "we needed to go". Not sure why, but I had the sudden urge to get to Augusta and be there right then. Lucky for me, he knows I am a little narcotic when it comes to races, so he obliged and we were on our way.

We arrived to Augusta just as my parents were also arriving. Perfect timing...or great instincts to leave Savannah as quickly as we did. Back in December, I got a tip from my friend Dave about hotel location and we were able to score a room that was walking distance to the expo, the swim start, and the finish line (score!). So as soon as we arrived, we headed to the expo for packet pick up to avoid the Saturday morning/afternoon rush (not that I knew there would be a rush, but my IM experienced father expected one and well, I just trust his judgement). Registration was a breeze, literally no line at all.  The moment we walked in, my heart sank...in a good way. It finally felt real. Just two years ago I couldn't even swim, just 16 months ago I did my first triathlon, and just three years ago I couldn't even imagine being in good enough shape to do any one sport of a 70.3 by itself. But here I was and I was so ready for the experience.

IM photo at the expo with my mom. She somehow was super calm this day and but was also super excited to be competing in her first 70.3. In fact, it was my dad's first IM 70.3. Yes, he has done like 12 IMs, a double iron distance, and 3 half iron distances; but never and IM 70.3. So it was a cool family moment.

More pictures. I mean honestly can you have enough?

My dad on the left and Dave on the right. Throughout the process and training for Augusta, both these guys have been super helpful and encouraging. My dad has given endless training advise and wisdom and Dave has kept me accountable for long weekend rides and making me push harder and faster. It was great for the two of them to meet.

Back to being a little narcotic about racing; turns out my father is the same (must be genetic) and neither of us like to do things last minute. Which means we usually show up early than necessary or the second transition opens. As you can see, we were at transition so early on Saturday to rack out bikes, the place was nearly empty. But with our bikes in place, the only things I needed to do was breathe, eat, breathe, stay calm (I hear breathing helps with this), breathe, and rest. Oh, and breathe some more.

And then there was time for more photos. Here is me, mom, and dad; all ready for the day ahead of us.  After racking our bikes, I ran through both T1 and T2 to mentally prepare what I needed to do the next day. Following this we walked back to the hotel and then had dinner. The afternoon seemed to fly by but my restlessness that evening definitely slowed the evening down a bunch.

Just like that, race morning was here. The weather that day was great perfect. Low 70s in the morning and mid 80s mid-day with great cloud coverage. However, the water was only 68, so it was definitely a wetsuit kind of day. My mom and dad started the race at 7:48a and 8:00a, respectively; yet, I wasn't starting till 9:00a, so they were suited up and ready to go before me. Snapped a great photo (I had only cried once before this photo), wished them luck, and then I was stuck thinking about the race for the next hour.





It is funny that no matter how many times I swim or prove I can go the distance, I still freak out a bunch before entering the water. This day was no different. As I got in line and with the group of girls in my wave, the tears just started streaming down my face. Josh tried to comfort me as much as possible but I think that is just my way of dealing with all the anxiety and excitement. As we approached the dock my heart sank...in a bad way. Then everyone just jumped in the water and started swimming. I panicked and thought I missed the gun. Nope, just I missed that the start line was not the dock, it was some imaginary line about 25 yards out.  Not wanting to be left behind, I jumped in. Something about just getting in the water changed me completely. I stopped crying and the anxiety disappeared. I was in race mode!

I had heard that the race had a strong current, but to be honest I couldn't see the water moving so I assumed I would finish the swim in about an hour.  Once I was actually moving along, I felt great and all the nerves just became excitement. I focused on smooth strokes and not time. Although I underestimated the power of the current and finished in 38:16, I think there is a ton of room for improvement.  Although a way better time than I expected; the slow, smooth strokes were more like an easy swim day not a race swim day and I know that I could have pushed a little harder. None the less, you learn something new at every new race...so next year beware.

 

With a swim time like that, I was pumped and ready for the bike. I don't have another race of this distance to compare T1 to, it felt like I hustled though and clocked in at 6:08 and headed for the 56 mile ride.  I didn't use the new bike since I didn't get a chance to use it before hand, but the Trek had just come from the shop and was ready to roll. 

Never in a bad mood while racing and finally saw the camera on this course to capture a rocking, happy photo. Just after this photo, I had some complications with the bike. Given the time I had to take off before the race, I didn't get a chance to ride the bike before the race and after I got it from the shop. Turns out it wasn't really fixed. I might have had to stop twice to try and look at it myself, twice to talk to a tech, and twice to replace the chain. True story. But that is neither here nor there (and it gives me a huge opportunity to PR the bike course next year). What matters is that no matter how many times I stopped or had issues, nothing could get me down that day. I was there to have a good time and a good time is what was had. Even when I found myself getting frustrated that I could only use two gears to make it up the hills, I was reminded that hard work and good health conquer races like these. And even if I was the last one off the bike, I still had the run and the right attitude to make time up.  It was a very slow 4:01:37 and way slower than I would have predicted. T2 was 5:34 and I took a potty break, so faster than the first go around.

The run is always my favorite part and if this photo doesn't show how much I like this part and how much I enjoyed the race as a whole, I don't know what else would.

My favorite spectator, Josh, snapped a bunch of photos as I did the run. Augusta has such a spectator friendly course that I was able to see him like five or six times in the thirteen miles. I was also able to see others that came to cheer me on (and my dad who killed the race and finished before I even started the run...did I mention he also showered and changed clothes? He is fast!).  It was an awesome reminder how great the athletes and spectators are and I hope they know how much I appreciate their support (thank you Josh, Anetta, and Alex for cheering me on)! And thank you for everyone cheering me on from home ('Coach Tammy, Heather, Melanie, Kristen and everyone I missed). It was too cool to get done with the race and see that my facebook and twitter feeds were loaded with messages of support, pictures of my progress, and endless comments.  Now back to the run...again, a little (okay maybe a lot) slower than I expected. My legs were shot from powering up the hills on limited gears, so although I ran the whole thing (with the exception of aid stations), I ran slow.  I guess, that just gave me more time to enjoy the best part. I talked with so many athletes out there and was so impressed with the positive spirit that they brought and the encouragement they gave. My total run time was 2:32:46.

What a great first 70.3 race. I officially crossed the finish line at 7:24:21. I wish I got a better finisher photo, but at about an quarter mile to the finish I passed my husband, mom, and dad all cheering me on and I just balled like a baby. Not little tears. Like the 'ugly cry that is uncontrollable that you aren't suppose to do in public' cry. I guess my first instincts were to hide my face. None the less the crying wasn't because of my 30 minutes slower than anticipated time, it was out of pure joy and amazement.

I won, I won (in Ralph Wiggum voice).  Finished my first 70.3 and looked good doing it. What more could a girl ask for? A 140.6? Details to come...

The Heart in Heartland

Last December, after completing only my first sprint triathlons, I (pretty much over night) decided to complete at half ironman in the 2014 season. With the race fast approaching and my uncertainty in the water, even after many Lucky's Lake crossings, I still wanted to test my swimming skills in a race longer than a sprint. And that is where the Heartland Olympic race comes in.

Nothing new, as I approach transition, the nerves set in and I realized that I would actually have to not drown in the water and then somehow ride 40K and run 10K following the potential drowning situation. The morning was filled with nerves, doubt, and of course tears.

First shot of the lake. Looks calm, so that is good, but 1.5K is a really, really, might I add really far way to swim. Trying to fake not being nervous, but it wasn't much after this that my tears began to fill a bit with tears. The race had both the sprint and olympic distance races that morning. So I tried to focus and warm up as the sprinter's waves each set off into the water. Once it was our turn to line up and wait for the gun, nerves came over me and the tears that filled my eyes finally started to stream down my face. A nice lady came to reassure me that everything would be alright. And I tried to reassure myself, that is what training is for and I got this.  The gun went off and I took a second to let the others go ahead and walked out to the drop off. Finally I jump in. Once I got going (maybe 25 meters out). The nerves disappeared and I was finally getting in a groove. I just focused on swimming; not fast, not hard, just strong and consistent. I never looked at my watch or worried if I was ahead of people, I just swam. Turns out, I can swim! Making it to the end and then popping out of the water to cross the mat and head into T1 was such a good feeling that day and at that moment, I knew this would be one of the most memorable races of my life.

I was seriously so thrilled with completing the swim and coming so far from just two years ago when I took swimming lessons and attempted to get in triathlon mode. And what better way to celebrate than to take take this lovely photo while trying to focus on the bike.  Okay, probably not the safest thing I've ever done, but you have to live every once in awhile!  The bike and run were great. Not my fastest but still my best effort for the day and with a smile on my face the entire time. The run portion of this race is both interesting and fun in itself. It is a 5 star loop, so lots of spectators and opportunities to talk with the other athletes, cheer each other on, and meet some new racing friends. I gave it my all that day and I think that is what puts the heart in Heartland. For my first OLY, it was one for the books and obviously now my current PR. It was a great distance and lots of fun, so I am certain I will be back next year to see what more I can do.