On Conscious Choices

I wasn't sure if I was going to write a blog post about that race in StG, but every once in a while I sort of enjoy going back and reading some of my thoughts from years past and I think it might be an interesting thing one day to go back and read them all together and see what kind of 'evolution' I've had over the last decade+... Plus, as some who know me well already know, I've been "trying" to retire from triathlon racing for the last probably 5-6 years. How many times have I said, "I'm never doing that again!" only to sign up for the same races year after year hoping maybe it would be different/better somehow next time? I have never been able to just let it go. Why is that?? I've seen other people let it go. I remember very specifically one post-race experience with an athlete I was coaching... it was 8 years ago. We'd both just finished IM Cozumel. She was happy with her race. I wasn't. You know what's funny? I cannot remember the outcome of that race (ie my time/place or whatever). All I remember is not feeling satisfied. She did though. She said, "I feel at peace." I was jealous. That's how I wanted to feel.

After this 70.3 race in StG, I remember feeling like I was at peace. What's funny is that it's not like I look back at my time/place and feel like it was exactly what I wanted. It wasn't. And yet, I had this novel feeling of "peace". I think I always expected that "peace" comes when you absolutely crush/nail every aspect of a race... Like, you finally achieve your perfect race then you can be at peace. But that's not how it works. Or I should say, that's not how it worked for me.

I've spent the last year or so working on a remodeling project of sorts. It's been both an internal and an external remodel. I think the internal part is the most important part. It's really hard to summarize in words what all I've done (or how), but since I always try to be upfront and honest in my blogs, I'll try. The short version is that I've done a deep dive into better understanding my nervous system; I've learned to use my breath to help me not only read my state but to change it when I want to; I've learned to quiet my own mind and create space for objectivity and analysis; I've learned to not be a judgemental wench, especially when it comes to how I talk to myself internally (this has been a huge win); I've greatly improved my CO2 tolerance; I've improved my posture; I've developed more patience. I suspect I could go on, but I'll leave it there for now. Suffice to say, positive changes that have been a long time coming.

Leading up to StG, I was really trying to focus internally on myself. I was trying to remove any judgemental comparisons of myself to others, and to that end, I took a few steps to help myself achieve that goal. One of which was disconnecting my garmin from my Strava profile. That lifted a little weight off my back. I felt more free to just do what I wanted to do with my training without having a little birdie in the back of my mind worrying about other people silently judging what I was doing (or not doing). Turns out, even when you take those steps, you'll still get judged. Maybe not even silently! I was accused repeatedly of "secret training"... That made my head spin. There is no secret training. Training methods in this day and age are VERY well known. I was swimming and biking and running consistently. Mostly easy but sometimes very hard. That's it. No secrets.

I had the thought that the only 'secret training' I was doing was happening on my living room floor. And even that wasn't secret. I told anyone who would listen what I was doing there! It's not easy work, remodeling yourself from the inside out on your living room floor. Most people are unwilling to do it. Progress with it is slow. The process is tedious. You have to just sit there, quietly, focusing on your inhales and your exhales and then come back to that focus every time your mind wanders ... over and over and over. Every day. I found motivation to keep going with it though when I started seeing signs that I was making progress. What did that progress look like? For starters, I started noticing pretty flowers on my dog walks. I found that I had more patience with people and situations. I felt calm. I was more creative. My memory improved. I could make reasoned decisions eaily. I slowed my life down. I was sleeping better. I did less mindless eating/snacking. I felt happier overall as a wife and a mom. All great reasons to continue down that path!

I sought out other learning opportunities and enrolled in courses titled "Art of Breath" and "Skill of Stress". Wow. Mind blowing information there for anyone on a path of self-improvement! When you learn how your breath is connected to your physiology, and how you can take conscious control of that when you decide you want to, it feels like a superpower. The night before the StG race, I was flipping through some of my notes trying to remind myself what exactly I wanted to focus on the next day. I found this note from the Skill of Stress course and decided it would be my race day mantra. I had no idea at the time how impactful it would actually be.

So I probably don't need to recap again the drama that was race day weather conditions for those who started the race in later waves, but since I can see myself reading this again a decade from now, I'll describe the whole day with a bit of detail.

My wave started late. Like, almost 10am. The pros went off at 7. I had rented a house that was like a mile from T1 so I had the most relaxed race morning ever. Woke up with no alarm. Drank my coffee and ate my oatmeal while watching the live coverage of the pro race on my ipad. Used the nice bathroom in my own house (several times ha ha!). My husband drove me over to T1 and dropped me off and I was super relaxed as I was putting my bottles on my bike. Waiting in the corral with my fellow W45-49, I chatted light heartedly with several of them. The sky above us was blue was we entered the water. I saw the black cloud off in the distance but didn't give it any power. Instead, I kept my focus on the present moment. While I was swimming, I was 100% focused only on giving whatever effort was necessary to stay on the feet of the gal who was doing a brilliant job of weaving her way through the swimmers who had started ahead of us. I wasn't as cold as I'd anticipated I would be and I was very much enjoying the swim. I could feel some chop picking up as the swim finish was nearing, but truly didn't give it a second thought. Just stay on her feet. Simple. Not easy. --- Running through T1 was where I started to understand how conditions had changed while I was in the water. Yikes. It hadn't started hailing yet, but the wind had blown some of the fencing in the transition area away. I had a hard time running with my bike to the mount line. The most interesting part was that through it all, I was laughing. I suspect that laugh was actually a stress response, but it was a better stress response than freezing in fear, or getting angry, or any other common reaction to stress. --- I am consciously choosing to engage with this storm/stress.

In the first 10ish miles of the bike (for me), the conditions were among the worst I'd ever ridden in. Strong wind, hail, lightning. Utah flash storms are legit. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't comtemplating quitting. I absolutely was. There were a few women riding aggressively, but most were riding as carefully as I was. I heard or saw 3 ambulances. What was I doing? Is this worth it? Should I stop? Where do I go if I stop? I mean, the reality was, I needed to get to T2. That's where my family was. I had some awareness that the storm was unlikely to last all day. And I didn't want to live with the regret of quitting a race because the conditions were ugly. I knew I'd regret that choice if I made it. So I kept riding and eventually the storm did pass. Roads were still all wet but it felt less scary overall and I just kept repeating my mantra to myself. --- I am consciously choosing to engage with this storm/stress. --- The only time I had dry roads on that ride was the climb through Snow Canyon. And I was super happy at that point! My legs weren't tired since I hadn't given a lot of physical effort in the first 40 miles (that was all mental effort I was giving, which is still a lot of energy, but at that point my legs felt pretty good). I was climbing and happy and singing out loud... The other thing that struck me during this race was how nice I was to those I was riding around. Normally in a race situation if an athlete was riding in the middle of the road and therefore not leaving room for others to pass on the left, I'd yell something very direct. MOVE OVER! Maybe even MOVE OVER BITCH depending on what kind of mood I was in. On this day, when I encountered that exact scenario, I calmly said to a woman, "It would make it easier for everyone else if you moved over to the right." And I pedaled on. Who was I anyway???

Last 6 miles were all downhill to T2, which could have been super fun, but that's where the sky opened up again. Flash flood style dumping rain in drops so big an iphone camera could capture them in an image. It wasn't actually as fun as I'm making it look here. Lol.

I am consciously choosing to engage with this storm/stress. --- It's possible that was the most relieved I'd ever felt in any T2 in any race in almost 25 years of racing triathlons. There was a volunteer in T2 telling me to go slowly over some very wet carpet as I was on my way to grab my T2 bag. No worries lady I was in zero hurry and walked through T2 soaking it all in. My lack of desire to RACE others in this race meant that rushing through transitions wasn't something I was going to do. I mean, I didn't have a picnic lunch or anything but I walked and took my time putting my shoes on (no speed laces required) and I joked with some others around me about how happy we all were to be off the bike. I found that the majority of women around me all day had amazingly positive attitudes. Given everything that was thrown at us that day, it was inspiring to see/feel. Female triathletes are bad ass, you guys. We endure.

Immediately onto the run I saw my family and also Tia, which was fun! There were thousands of spectators - some all dressed up in costume while others were half naked in crazy hats. That part felt somewhat chaotic but it goes with the territory of big races like this and honestly, that's what makes a race a 'big' race. It's not just the athletes that make a race a big deal. It's the spectators who care about the race that make that happen.

The run course was harder than I expected. I mean, I knew it was going to be hilly but when I read 1200ft gain in 13 miles I just totally assumed that was a misprint. Somebody's garmin had to have been drunk when it measured that I mean anyone who pays attention to elevation gain on their training courses knows that 1200ft gain in 13 miles is insane. I was wrong! I'll tell you- I'm super impressed by everyone who completed that run course. It went up up up forever then DOWN this crazy steep pitch for something like a mile... then repeat! I've worked hard on my run this past year and I know it has improved. It didn't come out on that course on that day, but that doesn't deplete the confidence I have that my run is improving.

I finished that race feeling more proud of myself than I expected. Given a week removal from it, I think the pride I felt was more about how I handled the whole situation with the course/conditions than anything else. My goal going in, as stated the day before the race even started, was to choose to engage with the storm/stress, to consciously carve a new canyon of healthier response, widening my response options and tolerance to stress of all kinds. At the end of the day, that's it, isn't it? The reason we challenge ourselves to do hard things?

This morning as I was rolling out on my ride, it started to rain. It was just drizzling though. It wasn't hailing and there was no lightning and no garbage cans were flying across the street. Little bit of rain? Zero issue. The race last week served as a vehicle to allow my Window of Tolerance to widen. --- Goal achieved. After 25 years of racing triathlon, I feel at peace.