Imagine the worst pain you have ever felt. The kind that sucks the breath from your lungs before you can catch it. Every step is excruciating. You can't even shed a tear because it would take energy and oxygen to do that, and right now, all of your strength is going towards simply putting one foot in front of the other as fast as possible. Your numb run turns to a limping jog. Screw the mile repeats and fartleks you did to train for this exact moment. Forget about the Wednesday night track practices and the nights meticulously writing down your lap times. The race is over. Right now, you run only because you know that will end your suffering faster.
Now imagine doing this in 45 degree air, 54 degree water, and 30 mile an hour wind gusts.
Imagine doing this at Triathlon nationals: the sub 3 hour time slot you spent the last 5 months preparing for. You picked up a part time job, iced, heated, foam rolled, stick'd, therapied, begged, pleaded, braced, wrapped, bio freezed, rock taped, shoed, and flew 1,700 miles just for this moment. You prayed. You promised God if your left leg would hold out for 33 miles, just 33 miles - under three hours - you promised that you would give it a rest for a while. You would get your orthodics and maybe for once listen to the physical therapist when she told you to not run for a week.
But none of that matters right now. All you can think about are the daggers being pushed through the bottom of your foot and pressured onto your knee. All you can wrap your mind around is that your hands are so cold, you can't get your helmet off to even start the hour of torture. Your fingers turn white as you use them as levers to pull the back of your shoe onto your foot. You don't even feel the first two miles because your legs are dulled to pain...a result of your compression socks being frozen onto your own body.
It started with packing up the bikes, which was a little more than frustrating considering I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I felt like an idiot trying to fit Doctor Jones in this little 5 ft X 1 ft case, knowing in less than 24 hours I'm going to have to take him out again and re assemble him - so dumb. Can't they just let me wheel him onto the plane??? He's considered compact, I swear.
So that took forever and stressed me out. But I had my personal assistant there with me...aka the most wonderful human being on the face of the Earth...yes, Chris ;) which kept me at least a little sane. And Colin let me borrow his SWEET racing wheels - which are amazing. And no, I did not pay attention when Josh taught me how to change a flat - something I would literally kick myself over later.
I left the apartment where we packed the bikes past midnight, keeping in mind I'd be back there in less than four hours.
Then I had to say goodbye to Chris. I know we've been dating less than a month and it was only a 3 day trip, but it's amazing how fast you can get used to having someone around. He escorted me at 3 am down to Colin's apartment and helped us pack up the bikes with absolutely no incentive or real reason to - question? Where did this guy come from and where can I get one for my all of my friends??? He blows my mind.
The airports were about as fun as Dallas and Lubbock airports could get. I ate a lot and napped and bonded with my teammates - who I absolutely could not be more in love with than I was this weekend. I have no idea where these people came from, but I am so glad they are here.
Everything went down without a hitch - except Austin's bike was left in Dallas, but we got it a couple hours later. Oh and we had to fly in a toothpick from Dallas to Lubbock, but what did I expect? Swarms of people flocking to Lubbock? Fat chance.
We arrive and much to our dismay....rain. Lots and lots of rain. Sheets of rain. Oh, and wind. 31 mph wind gusts.
Our hotel was SWAG. If you ever find yourself in Lubbock, Texas - and for God's sake I pray you don't - stay at the Overton Hotel. It's pricey, but worth it. The beds are a little short, but completely cush. The only issue I had was the alkaseltzer/pepto bismal water - but that's not its fault. I blame Texas.
And if you are ever hungry in Lubbock, Texas if you go there, which, again, please don't - go to Ruby Tequilas (No affiliation to Ruby Tuesdays, as we found) and ask for Willie to be your waiter. He'll bring you chips every thirty seconds, has the most adorable southern accent, and won't complain when you drink no less than ten glasses of water. He'll even pretend to be cheerful about it. And the portions are enough to feed a small third world country and your aunt's Great Dane.
Oh and no, Willie has neither raced a triathlon nor raced in a triathlete - as we also found, courtesy of Liv.
The first night we assembled our bikes and went straight to bed only to find the beds were way shorter than expected. What the hell? Who tested these beds - midgets?
The next day we slept in until 8 - yessss! Then went to breakfast at iHop with what seemed like every triathlete in the country. The rumors are true - everything in Texas is HUGE and smothered in butter...awesome. And the "Fresh fruit plate" consisted of melon, 2 grapes and a piece of white watermelon...and we got charged extra for the banana. Those sticklers. Oh well, overall the food was good..but the omelets paled in comparison to Nicole's.
Then we went to Walmart. It was phenomenal. I got SO much food for $12 - as in cereal, granola, fruit, granola bars, and soy milk. I always forget in other parts of the country a box of Special K doesn't cost $5. Insane. Lubbock mildly redeemed itself here..for a moment.
Until I ate a bagel I bought and it crumbled in my mouth just before severely offending my taste buds. Oh well, can't have 'em all.
Then we went to the race site - which was....well. Whatever. A giant lake in the middle of Dumbfuckistan, TX. The dirt down there is red and the houses look like they were built during the depression. OH and the roads? Might as well give up now. They're named Avenue A, B, C.... all the way down the alphabet and have no order. And, because there are nothing but cows, manure, and oil rigs...they all look the exact same. We drove down the same road for 45 minute, made multiple turns, listened to terribly techno, and somehow ended up at Buffalo lake.
When I got there Short Stack (Meg) and I went for a quick ten minute run. I felt fast. I felt energized - almost springy. I ran straight up the hill like I was on a tread mill. The Tri gods answered my prayers. I was running on air...okay really I was running on my new Mizuno Wave shoes...but whatever. Same difference.
Then disaster hit. Less than five minutes after I stopped running, the same old flair times 100 shot up my leg - like knives and fire. I said I wasn't feeling so hot and my leg hurt and I climbed into the car as my teammates went for a quick ride to check out their bikes. I sat in the drivers seat and bawled my eyes out. I was at a complete loss. I came so far - all for one thing to hold me back. I did everything I could, I could do nothing more. I would race tomorrow - that's for sure. It would just hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought.
I went home and iced, rock taped, compressed, rolled, and stretched. Then I went to Colin's parents hotel room and ate an amazing pasta dinner and went straight to bed.
I woke up the next morning at 5:30 with Liv and had a rather classy race morning breakfast. We drank our instant coffee and moved about the room quietly to not disturb Meg and Colleen. I felt pretty good, maybe a little limpy but all around, I was feeling fine.
I looked out the window. Rain and wind. Lots of wind. Overcast. Cold. Ideal racing conditions.
Liv and I listened to more God awful techno on the way to the race - nothing puts you in the mood like monotone beats pared with "oom chickas" and "bow wows."
Usually lady gaga, kesha, and TI pump me up..but I guess that works, too.
Okay skipping all the little details - because there is no point in even trying to explain how cold I was setting up in transition. One word I heard over, and over, and over in the transition area was: Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. FUCKING COLD. And sometimes it was: SHIT. FUCK. mixed in, too.
I couldn't stop shaking and my feet were white. I couldn't do anything to keep myself warm. I couldn't do anything except think about how cold I was. In the words of Al: I just don't know how people on the Titanic did it.
I'm standing on the water's edge in sprint position. One minute and thirty seconds to the gun. I look to my left and there's a girl ready to dive in with me. Her legs and arms are stark white except for the purple tips on her toes and fingers. This is not okay with me, this girl cannot swim in this. I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed out her little situation. Next thing I know, she says what I've been thinking all morning, "Fuck this." She stands up. Takes her goggles off. And walks off the line.
On a scale of one to ten want to know how bad I wanted to follow her? About a twenty.
But before I could, the gun went off. And before I knew it, I dove in the water.
50m in I realized I quite literally could not breathe. I. Could not. Breathe. My wet suit was quite literally strangling me with every stroke. And on top of that the ice water was sucking the breath from my lungs.
I ran out of the swim and my feet were too numb to even feel the pavement, which was rocky and covered in thorns from the delightful Texan trees.
After a three minute transition (atrocious) I cranked up the hill - finally I was in my element. Five miles into the bike I hear it. That noise that causes my heart to sink to my feet. The second I knew the race was over.
I looked down and I was riding on the rim.
Fuck.
So I pulled over on the side, the girl I had just cranked my ass off to past flew past me at 30 mph, not even tossing me a backwards glance. Awesome.
I had no idea how to change Colin's wheel set. In fact, if Chris and I hadn't gotten that flat last week when we rode, I wouldn't have known how to change a tire at all. Period.
So I'm sitting on the side the road feeling like a monkey with a computer. I couldn't think of anything to do other than grunt and hit it. Oh, and I also threw my cycling sunglasses down in a fit of rage and shattered them. My hands were too frozen to do anything quickly, so screw even trying to get back into the race. At this point, I just wanted to go back to the race site, eat, and pretend all of this never happened.
Somewhere around 15 minutes of trying to get the damn wheel off the damn rim...I gave up. Max looped back around and passed me again, he tried to cheer me up as he flew past but was only met with, "The race is over." I sat down, the classical sign for a race official to come pick you up, and waited for a ride to the site.
I thought about everything I sacrificed for this race. I thought about how hard I worked, how many hours in the pool, on the bike, and in my running shoes I spent. I thought about Chris and his note he hid in my book, in it he wrote "never quit." as the last line. Would this be quitting? Would this be giving up? Had I REALLY done absolutely EVERYTHING I could?
If you had asked me before the race if I would still do the race even if I got a flat, would I have said yes?
After three minutes, no car had still come. I thought this was weird because literally before this every 30 seconds a van would drive by to pick up drop outs.
I took this as a sign.
It's not over until it's over.
Okay, God. I'll play your little game. I'll humor you. I'll give it ONE more try.
This time I picked up the wheel, and I slipped the tube right on the rim, put the tire back on, and some how, by the grace of God, figured out how the C02 worked and pumped it up in less than a minute. Flabbergasted by myself, I put the wheel back on. Almost too easy.
Back in the game.
I jumped back on the Doctor, clipped in and was off.
Less than ten second later I hear it again. That noise. I look down and my tire is flat again.
I had forgotten to close the nozzle. But, before the race started, I thought to grab one more c02 and put it in my bag...I still have no idea why. It never takes more than one. I grabbed it out of my bag and pumped my tire up again, closing the nozzle tight this time.
NOW I was back in the game.
Despite riding on an angle because the wind gusts were so strong, my handle bars literally coming unscrewed, and losing 20 minutes on the cycle, I actually did rather well. I cranked right up the hills no problem and had a blast, all things considered.
The run went well...it went. The first 2 or so miles I was literally numb from the hips down so actually those went really well. Then as I started to thaw out the pain set it and I've never felt so terrible in my life. My lower back killed, my knee buckled, my ankle throbbed, my shin splints were excruciating. There is no way to train for this kind of pain. The only thing I could think about was do.not.walk.
My run turned into a jog..which slowed to a limping trot. And that's all I could do.
The first lap sucked. The second lap sucked even more. But I sprinted to the finish line, passing 3 people for the first time the entire race.
That adrenaline rush can't be simulated - it was amazing.
I crossed the finish line absolutely exhausted. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't walk. I bawled my eyes out and went straight to the medical tent. By five minutes later I could put no weight on my left foot.
But I did it.
My time ended up being 3:04 - which is a little more than a lot depressing. I finished 681/783 - which absolutely killed me because I KNOW I should have been way, way closer to number one. It sucks knowing that what I worked for for the past 6 months is over - I feel kind of empty. What do I do now? With no major races coming up, I feel that post-race depression setting in. It's hard to keep myself motivated to keep training, but I also know I can't mull over the past, it won't do any bit of good thinking about what nationals would have been like if nothing went wrong.
One thing I learned from this race is there are always going to be things you can't control...but that doesn't mean you take yourself out of the game. You can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you react. It would have been perfectly respectable to drop out of the race even before the swim - no one would have been mad at me. In fact, a lot of athletes did. It was 47 degrees out for God's sake! What kept me going is knowing there were 782 other athletes just as freezing as I was. And they were out there diving in the water and cycling through the wind gusts and running through the pain.
There were 782 other athletes in lubbock Texas racing at 9 am...but how many of them would have swam through a suffocating wetsuit, then sat on the side of the road for 20 minutes fighting with 2 flat tires? Then run through 2 months worth of tear inducing injuries?
I know at least one who did. And I would do it all over again in a heart beat, twice if you asked me to.
love love love,
me
ps....next race is May 9th. Let the redemption begin.
Now imagine doing this in 45 degree air, 54 degree water, and 30 mile an hour wind gusts.
Imagine doing this at Triathlon nationals: the sub 3 hour time slot you spent the last 5 months preparing for. You picked up a part time job, iced, heated, foam rolled, stick'd, therapied, begged, pleaded, braced, wrapped, bio freezed, rock taped, shoed, and flew 1,700 miles just for this moment. You prayed. You promised God if your left leg would hold out for 33 miles, just 33 miles - under three hours - you promised that you would give it a rest for a while. You would get your orthodics and maybe for once listen to the physical therapist when she told you to not run for a week.
But none of that matters right now. All you can think about are the daggers being pushed through the bottom of your foot and pressured onto your knee. All you can wrap your mind around is that your hands are so cold, you can't get your helmet off to even start the hour of torture. Your fingers turn white as you use them as levers to pull the back of your shoe onto your foot. You don't even feel the first two miles because your legs are dulled to pain...a result of your compression socks being frozen onto your own body.
It started with packing up the bikes, which was a little more than frustrating considering I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I felt like an idiot trying to fit Doctor Jones in this little 5 ft X 1 ft case, knowing in less than 24 hours I'm going to have to take him out again and re assemble him - so dumb. Can't they just let me wheel him onto the plane??? He's considered compact, I swear.
So that took forever and stressed me out. But I had my personal assistant there with me...aka the most wonderful human being on the face of the Earth...yes, Chris ;) which kept me at least a little sane. And Colin let me borrow his SWEET racing wheels - which are amazing. And no, I did not pay attention when Josh taught me how to change a flat - something I would literally kick myself over later.
I left the apartment where we packed the bikes past midnight, keeping in mind I'd be back there in less than four hours.
Then I had to say goodbye to Chris. I know we've been dating less than a month and it was only a 3 day trip, but it's amazing how fast you can get used to having someone around. He escorted me at 3 am down to Colin's apartment and helped us pack up the bikes with absolutely no incentive or real reason to - question? Where did this guy come from and where can I get one for my all of my friends??? He blows my mind.
The airports were about as fun as Dallas and Lubbock airports could get. I ate a lot and napped and bonded with my teammates - who I absolutely could not be more in love with than I was this weekend. I have no idea where these people came from, but I am so glad they are here.
Everything went down without a hitch - except Austin's bike was left in Dallas, but we got it a couple hours later. Oh and we had to fly in a toothpick from Dallas to Lubbock, but what did I expect? Swarms of people flocking to Lubbock? Fat chance.
We arrive and much to our dismay....rain. Lots and lots of rain. Sheets of rain. Oh, and wind. 31 mph wind gusts.
Our hotel was SWAG. If you ever find yourself in Lubbock, Texas - and for God's sake I pray you don't - stay at the Overton Hotel. It's pricey, but worth it. The beds are a little short, but completely cush. The only issue I had was the alkaseltzer/pepto bismal water - but that's not its fault. I blame Texas.
And if you are ever hungry in Lubbock, Texas if you go there, which, again, please don't - go to Ruby Tequilas (No affiliation to Ruby Tuesdays, as we found) and ask for Willie to be your waiter. He'll bring you chips every thirty seconds, has the most adorable southern accent, and won't complain when you drink no less than ten glasses of water. He'll even pretend to be cheerful about it. And the portions are enough to feed a small third world country and your aunt's Great Dane.
Oh and no, Willie has neither raced a triathlon nor raced in a triathlete - as we also found, courtesy of Liv.
The first night we assembled our bikes and went straight to bed only to find the beds were way shorter than expected. What the hell? Who tested these beds - midgets?
The next day we slept in until 8 - yessss! Then went to breakfast at iHop with what seemed like every triathlete in the country. The rumors are true - everything in Texas is HUGE and smothered in butter...awesome. And the "Fresh fruit plate" consisted of melon, 2 grapes and a piece of white watermelon...and we got charged extra for the banana. Those sticklers. Oh well, overall the food was good..but the omelets paled in comparison to Nicole's.
Then we went to Walmart. It was phenomenal. I got SO much food for $12 - as in cereal, granola, fruit, granola bars, and soy milk. I always forget in other parts of the country a box of Special K doesn't cost $5. Insane. Lubbock mildly redeemed itself here..for a moment.
Until I ate a bagel I bought and it crumbled in my mouth just before severely offending my taste buds. Oh well, can't have 'em all.
Then we went to the race site - which was....well. Whatever. A giant lake in the middle of Dumbfuckistan, TX. The dirt down there is red and the houses look like they were built during the depression. OH and the roads? Might as well give up now. They're named Avenue A, B, C.... all the way down the alphabet and have no order. And, because there are nothing but cows, manure, and oil rigs...they all look the exact same. We drove down the same road for 45 minute, made multiple turns, listened to terribly techno, and somehow ended up at Buffalo lake.
When I got there Short Stack (Meg) and I went for a quick ten minute run. I felt fast. I felt energized - almost springy. I ran straight up the hill like I was on a tread mill. The Tri gods answered my prayers. I was running on air...okay really I was running on my new Mizuno Wave shoes...but whatever. Same difference.
Then disaster hit. Less than five minutes after I stopped running, the same old flair times 100 shot up my leg - like knives and fire. I said I wasn't feeling so hot and my leg hurt and I climbed into the car as my teammates went for a quick ride to check out their bikes. I sat in the drivers seat and bawled my eyes out. I was at a complete loss. I came so far - all for one thing to hold me back. I did everything I could, I could do nothing more. I would race tomorrow - that's for sure. It would just hurt a hell of a lot more than I thought.
I went home and iced, rock taped, compressed, rolled, and stretched. Then I went to Colin's parents hotel room and ate an amazing pasta dinner and went straight to bed.
I woke up the next morning at 5:30 with Liv and had a rather classy race morning breakfast. We drank our instant coffee and moved about the room quietly to not disturb Meg and Colleen. I felt pretty good, maybe a little limpy but all around, I was feeling fine.
I looked out the window. Rain and wind. Lots of wind. Overcast. Cold. Ideal racing conditions.
Liv and I listened to more God awful techno on the way to the race - nothing puts you in the mood like monotone beats pared with "oom chickas" and "bow wows."
Usually lady gaga, kesha, and TI pump me up..but I guess that works, too.
Okay skipping all the little details - because there is no point in even trying to explain how cold I was setting up in transition. One word I heard over, and over, and over in the transition area was: Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. FUCKING COLD. And sometimes it was: SHIT. FUCK. mixed in, too.
I couldn't stop shaking and my feet were white. I couldn't do anything to keep myself warm. I couldn't do anything except think about how cold I was. In the words of Al: I just don't know how people on the Titanic did it.
I'm standing on the water's edge in sprint position. One minute and thirty seconds to the gun. I look to my left and there's a girl ready to dive in with me. Her legs and arms are stark white except for the purple tips on her toes and fingers. This is not okay with me, this girl cannot swim in this. I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed out her little situation. Next thing I know, she says what I've been thinking all morning, "Fuck this." She stands up. Takes her goggles off. And walks off the line.
On a scale of one to ten want to know how bad I wanted to follow her? About a twenty.
But before I could, the gun went off. And before I knew it, I dove in the water.
50m in I realized I quite literally could not breathe. I. Could not. Breathe. My wet suit was quite literally strangling me with every stroke. And on top of that the ice water was sucking the breath from my lungs.
I ran out of the swim and my feet were too numb to even feel the pavement, which was rocky and covered in thorns from the delightful Texan trees.
After a three minute transition (atrocious) I cranked up the hill - finally I was in my element. Five miles into the bike I hear it. That noise that causes my heart to sink to my feet. The second I knew the race was over.
I looked down and I was riding on the rim.
Fuck.
So I pulled over on the side, the girl I had just cranked my ass off to past flew past me at 30 mph, not even tossing me a backwards glance. Awesome.
I had no idea how to change Colin's wheel set. In fact, if Chris and I hadn't gotten that flat last week when we rode, I wouldn't have known how to change a tire at all. Period.
So I'm sitting on the side the road feeling like a monkey with a computer. I couldn't think of anything to do other than grunt and hit it. Oh, and I also threw my cycling sunglasses down in a fit of rage and shattered them. My hands were too frozen to do anything quickly, so screw even trying to get back into the race. At this point, I just wanted to go back to the race site, eat, and pretend all of this never happened.
Somewhere around 15 minutes of trying to get the damn wheel off the damn rim...I gave up. Max looped back around and passed me again, he tried to cheer me up as he flew past but was only met with, "The race is over." I sat down, the classical sign for a race official to come pick you up, and waited for a ride to the site.
I thought about everything I sacrificed for this race. I thought about how hard I worked, how many hours in the pool, on the bike, and in my running shoes I spent. I thought about Chris and his note he hid in my book, in it he wrote "never quit." as the last line. Would this be quitting? Would this be giving up? Had I REALLY done absolutely EVERYTHING I could?
If you had asked me before the race if I would still do the race even if I got a flat, would I have said yes?
After three minutes, no car had still come. I thought this was weird because literally before this every 30 seconds a van would drive by to pick up drop outs.
I took this as a sign.
It's not over until it's over.
Okay, God. I'll play your little game. I'll humor you. I'll give it ONE more try.
This time I picked up the wheel, and I slipped the tube right on the rim, put the tire back on, and some how, by the grace of God, figured out how the C02 worked and pumped it up in less than a minute. Flabbergasted by myself, I put the wheel back on. Almost too easy.
Back in the game.
I jumped back on the Doctor, clipped in and was off.
Less than ten second later I hear it again. That noise. I look down and my tire is flat again.
I had forgotten to close the nozzle. But, before the race started, I thought to grab one more c02 and put it in my bag...I still have no idea why. It never takes more than one. I grabbed it out of my bag and pumped my tire up again, closing the nozzle tight this time.
NOW I was back in the game.
Despite riding on an angle because the wind gusts were so strong, my handle bars literally coming unscrewed, and losing 20 minutes on the cycle, I actually did rather well. I cranked right up the hills no problem and had a blast, all things considered.
The run went well...it went. The first 2 or so miles I was literally numb from the hips down so actually those went really well. Then as I started to thaw out the pain set it and I've never felt so terrible in my life. My lower back killed, my knee buckled, my ankle throbbed, my shin splints were excruciating. There is no way to train for this kind of pain. The only thing I could think about was do.not.walk.
My run turned into a jog..which slowed to a limping trot. And that's all I could do.
The first lap sucked. The second lap sucked even more. But I sprinted to the finish line, passing 3 people for the first time the entire race.
That adrenaline rush can't be simulated - it was amazing.
I crossed the finish line absolutely exhausted. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't walk. I bawled my eyes out and went straight to the medical tent. By five minutes later I could put no weight on my left foot.
But I did it.
My time ended up being 3:04 - which is a little more than a lot depressing. I finished 681/783 - which absolutely killed me because I KNOW I should have been way, way closer to number one. It sucks knowing that what I worked for for the past 6 months is over - I feel kind of empty. What do I do now? With no major races coming up, I feel that post-race depression setting in. It's hard to keep myself motivated to keep training, but I also know I can't mull over the past, it won't do any bit of good thinking about what nationals would have been like if nothing went wrong.
One thing I learned from this race is there are always going to be things you can't control...but that doesn't mean you take yourself out of the game. You can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you react. It would have been perfectly respectable to drop out of the race even before the swim - no one would have been mad at me. In fact, a lot of athletes did. It was 47 degrees out for God's sake! What kept me going is knowing there were 782 other athletes just as freezing as I was. And they were out there diving in the water and cycling through the wind gusts and running through the pain.
There were 782 other athletes in lubbock Texas racing at 9 am...but how many of them would have swam through a suffocating wetsuit, then sat on the side of the road for 20 minutes fighting with 2 flat tires? Then run through 2 months worth of tear inducing injuries?
I know at least one who did. And I would do it all over again in a heart beat, twice if you asked me to.
love love love,
me
ps....next race is May 9th. Let the redemption begin.
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