I need to change focus for Sunday.  Instead of focusing on my fears and doubts, I need to put my .energy towards belief, courage and confidence.


It's lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believe in myself.  ~ Mohammed Ali.

Bust portrait of Muhammad Ali, World Journal Tribune photo by Ira Rosenberg

Mohammed Ali is one of my heroes.  Right from a young age, he looked adversity in the face, stood up to it and said, "Yes I Can!".  Sometimes he said it quietly and sometimes with humour and flair.  He always said it with courage.

On a balmy October afternoon, in Louisville, Kentucky, 12 year old Cassius Clay, as he was then called,  rode his brand new bike to the Columbia Auditorium.  He parked it, went about his business, and, when he returned to ride home, the bike had been stolen.  Enraged, he sought out a policeman in the basement of the auditorium.  The officer happened to be Joe Martin who ran a boxing gym. He encouraged Clay to learn boxing in order to effectively get even with the thief.  If he was going to take him down, he might as well have a leg up on the other guy. Only six weeks later Clay won his first fight. 

I love this true story because Ali stands at the fork in the road and makes the more difficult choice.  At 12 he is able to postpone instant gratification, consider advice an adult gives him and take action.  He does something it has taken me most of my adult life to learn to do. 

Unlike many elite sportsmen, Ali has, throughout his career, acted with dignity and grace.  He has made bold decisions based on well-reasoned principles and he is still making them today. 

Most impressive was his decision, at the peak of his physical fitness, and the height of his boxing career to go to jail for refusing to fight in the Korean war.  He may have been a fighter, but he wasn't a thug.

He is still acting with courage and humour while living with parkinson's disease.  He may no longer be the world champion boxer, but he is living life with courage, one step at a time. 

So, on the eve of my biggest race yet (500 swim, 20k bike, 5k run), I take positive inspiration from one of the few remaining heroes in my adult life.  When on the course I will have faith.

Cheers!

Barb and I talking after I pulled out of the race. 

It's all part of the journey.

The journey is rocky, unpredictable, and I stumbled and fell.  I pulled out of a race Sunday, 16 October.  I wouldn't have conceived of doing that last season.  But, surprisingly, it wasn't a fail.  It was another step in the journey.  All the things I learned Sunday are lessons I needed to learn before Nepean. 

I had swum about 300 meters.  I had begun stopping already.  Each time I rested, I took longer and longer to recover.  A voice inside my head said, "You can't possibly swim that whole way."  I looked at the buoy.  It was so far away.  The voice became emphatic:  You won't be able to make it.  Your body can't cope.  Everyone around you is gone.  The spotter is walking with YOU!  You are dragging the race down.  You better get out of the water. 

Glenn W. approached me on the board and asked if I wanted a rest.  I jumped on the board and asked to go in.  He seemed surprised, but I knew I was defeated.  My body, my mind, my heart had all joined forces to undermine my fighting spirit.  They won this time.

But not for long.

After doing my civic duty by informing officials and my husband that I'd finished for the day, I sat by my bag and went inward.  My body was shaking and tingling.  I lay down on the grass and looked up at the ceiling.  I closed my eyes.  What happened? 

First, I have actually been sick.  I don't know what I've had, but I haven't been 100% since July.  This has really psyched me out. I don't feel powerful. I don't feel like I'm making progress.  I feel foolish, tired and old.  These are all things out of my control and this is usually the kind of reasoning I use to talk myself out of something.  This is the obstacle in my path, my own personal dragon. 

I do races and triathlon because it's something I don't feel I'm capable of doing.  If I was good at it, it wouldn't be the same kind of challenge.  It brings up all my feelings of less than.  And in doing so, it forces me to quell my ego and face the demons.  This is the exhilerating part of finishing a race.  I look the dragon in the face and keep moving.  If I finish, I win. 

Also, I wasn't properly prepared.  I rushed around in the morning without a clear head.  I must prepare it all the night before.  This last minute organising is interfering with my goals. 

Next, I'd forgotten how to race.  I'd forgotten what it felt like and that it was hard.  I'd forgotten that it is always painful.  Nepean is going to be a hard race.  I was thinking that because I was training, I had it in the bag.  No problem.  Walk in the park.  I have such a short memory!

Finally, my confidence is low because of my running injury.  Confidence is a powerful force.  I am only learning how much my own thinking can affect my actions.  I was demoralized because I was coming last.  It turns out I was ahead of David the whole time.  It didn't actually matter in the slightest what place I was coming.  What mattered was what I thought.  Afterwards, someone told me to run my own race.  This is great advice. 

I am currently suffering from a three-pronged undermining condition.  I imagine it to look much like the Devil's pitchfork.  The three issues are boredom, illness, and challenge.  Although challenge usually appears as a friend, it can also morph into this rubber wall of lack of belief.

This week, I'm on holidays, which also means that I have gotten my usual holiday viruses.  You know the drill.  Body lets down, relaxes or, really, is just worn out.  Everyone in the family has some virus that they've brought home from different places.  We are all shuttered together in a rain-induced and damp castle.  We exchange viruses and it takes us most of the holiday to get over them.  It happens every time.

Anyway, also each time i get to the training facility, I am initially tired and bored to the extent that I am continually glancing at the clock to see how much more time we have in the training session.  I am unmotivated.  in addition, my mind keeps telling me that I hate this and i just want to go home and have a simpler (read sedentary) life.  ughhh!  what's happened to my drive?  What's happened to the enjoyment?

Of course, i am getting satisfaction from improving in my training and from completing each session.  but, psychologically, it is very hard work.  There's hardly any fun in it.

Family Visit

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most importantly, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.” - Steve Jobs

What does a family visit to the U.S. have to do with training? A lot for me. As they say, the most difficult part of the race is getting to the start line. And getting to the start line always involves confronting our individual demons. And demons have arisen...

I remember now what real demons are. I remember what being in a haunted house is. It is not translucent white things floating around a victorian style home. Ghosts and demons are not kind enough to confine themselves to a home. They haunt in my head and my heart. And their fuel, their accelerant is family relations. The closer they are to family-of-origin, the more they burn.

We have been visiting in the U.S., my place of origin, my country, my people. Excitement, exhilaration, joy, anxiety, devastating pain, despair have all arisen as the ghosts and demons of family relations. And with all these come the doubts that interfere with getting out on the road, putting one foot in front of the other and getting it done.

I have managed to do 2 training sessions in 10 days. This must improve.

Musings on an Early Morning Swim

5:30 a.m. Tuesday

I read yesterday that a writer writes, not to communicate what he thinks, but to become aware of what he thinks. This is true and one of the reasons I need to write.

It is 5:30 a.m. and I do not want to go swimming. Instead, I want to nurse my foot, feel sorry for myself and drink coffee. I want to read about the news of the world, feeling self-righteous in my thoughts and feel fulfilled like only Monday morning quarterbacks can.

I have to go swimming this morning. If I don't, I won't go at all today. And I have a perfect excuse for it. My foot.

O.k. I've had two cups of coffee. Now I'm working on the third and two pieces of toast. All I have to do now is grab my suit and I'm out of here.

Half a toast eaten.

Got my swim bag. Need more coffee.

One shoe on, one to go. Drink more coffee.

Almost there. See ya!

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

~Later~

I'm arriving at the pool when I realise I left my towel...again. People are going to think that I like to put on my clothes when I'm sopping wet, I forget my towel that often. Sometimes I forget my bra. Once I forgot my undies!

The pool is quite crowded. I'm astonished. There are about 30 people there. I see a bike with a familiar water bottle and wonder who is here from the club. I'm so glad I'm not alone. I love company.

I am not feeling 100% as I stumble into the locker room, undress, dress, out the door with my swim bag. Unbeknownst to me, I left my purse in the locker room. I won't find this out until I am finished. Lucky nothing happens to it. We are all bleary-eyed and crazy to be out at this time in the morning on a weekday.

I jump into the pool. It's Elissa there. Probably there are others. At one point I see the grey & white PTC swim budgies. I am too worn out to look up. After I see Elissa, I don't care anymore. I swim 4 x 100 w/u but it is difficult. My heart is beating too fast on the warm up. I am getting sick. I can tell. I'm out of my faithful antioxidant that we've dubbed The Magic Bullet. It has kept us healthy all year. I finished 3/4 of the session until I have to get out due to time.

I have 102 days until the race. My trainer, Jodie, is now talking about walking the 10 k. I'm discouraged. I miss running. I do too much then suffer for it. I know I can keep swimming, keep cycling, but it's not the same. My ego is involved now. I want to say I've done it.

I see myself write these thoughts and I know I am headed for a danger zone. This is how people begin to look towards half IronMan races. Each race is not enough. What will I do when I'm no longer racing? How will I find this camaraderie? I will manage. I'm not the addict I used to be.

I have all sorts of posts that I've written and not posted. I don't know why. When I was struggling with motivation, I suddenly lost all interest in writing. I have, however, regained interest in reading. Here is some great sports writing:

John Feinstein is one of the best sports writers ever. He introduced me to the soul of sport. His most famous book is, perhaps, A Good Walk Spoiled, about the PGA.

http://www.feinsteinonthebrink.com/index.php

George Plimpton is a very famous American sports writer. He was also an actor who appeared in many films and TV shows. You'll recognise him when you see him.

http://openlibrary.org/authors/OL388011A/George_Plimpton

The idea that blow by blow sports writing is the way to go may be the work of

Thank You Barbara

My friend, Barbara suggested this song to help me realise I'm not alone and that I CAN DO IT. She said something very valuable to me: Why would you let anything keep you from doing what you LOVE? The song's lyrics are below:

"It's The Climb" by Miley Cyrus

I can almost see it

that dream I'm dreaming but

there's a voice inside my head saying

you'll never reach it.

Every step I'm taking

every move I make feels lost with no direction

my faith is shaking

But I gotta keep trying.

I gotta keep my head held high

There's always gonna be another mountain.

I'm always gonna wanna make it move.

Always gonna be an uphill battle

And sometimes I'm gonna have to lose.

It ain't about how fast I get there

Ain't about whats waiting on the other side.

It's the climb.

The struggles I'm facing

The chances I'm taking

Sometimes might knock me down, but

no I'm not breaking.

I may not know it But

these are the moments that

I'm gonna remember most

Yeah, just gotta keep going And I

I got be strong.

Gotta keep on pushing on, cuz

There's always gonna be another mountain.

I'm always gonna wanna make it move.

Always gonna be an uphill battle.

Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose.

Ain't about how fast I get there

Ain't about whats waitin on the other side.

Its the climb.

Keep on moving

Keep climbing

Keep the faith, babe.

It's all about, It's all about the climb.

Keep the faith. keep your faith Whoa oh oh oh

Confessions of a Struggle

Today I go to an A.R.T. practitioner. I am hoping it helps the fear that I have been nursing. I am afraid of further injuring my body. I am afraid to get out there and *snap* there it goes. Gone forever. So, my solution has been to abandon my program completely. This is, of course, an absurd conclusion but has made perfectly good sense to me. I have abandoned it out of fear. I am nearly afraid to move. I am like a character in Jurassic Park facing a T-Rex that is failure. Don't move and he won't see you. The flaws in the theory are obvious.

Yet, I am very comfortable with failure. I truly believe in the complex, wandering streets of my mind's neighbourhood that I am not an athlete. I am still that 7 year old girl, teased and excluded by her sisters, comforting herself with food and gaining weight exponentially. I fight her constantly. People say, Oh, believe in yourself. Accept that little girl in you. Geez, is it really that cute and simple? I was a girl who quit preschool!

Self-sabotage is a specialty for me. I have been eating biscuits, pizza, McDonalds. I have grown a bitty pot belly. I have let life get in the way of my training. I haven't even been walking.

I do have legitimate reasons, but they can be overcome. I have been moving house for about two months now. I resentfully consented to not using movers/removalists and I have been bitter about it since. We are emptying out my mother-in-laws' house at the same time as moving out of our house. We are getting our house rent-ready. It's a lot of work but, until I got injured, I was able to handle it and train.

I have an infection. No need to elaborate. Yesterday I visited the doctor and now I'm taking antibiotics. I am tired and legitimately feel I should rest. Again, it can be overcome.

And, of course, the injuries. But why, then, the inconsistent practice of the exercises? Because, in my mind, I have already failed by getting injured in the first place. My injury is the message that I am not really an athlete. My body can't handle it. I am stupid for beginning triathlons at 46.

I suppose the medicine for me is to never stop training unless it is part of my program. The reason I hired Top Notch as my trainers was exactly to support me where I can't support myself. But I don't use Jodie. I am hiding from her. Hiding from her allows me to hide from myself. It is very difficult to face my shortcomings. Not writing also allows me to hide from myself.

People have always said I am hard on myself. And I am. But it is the only motivator I have ever had: criticism. Unfortunately, the side effects can be devastating. The most obvious being a lack of self-worth.

I guess the real reason I am doing these races is to find healthy tools to face myself. It is so hard. I love the PTC and feel like they are family, but I still feel vulnerable.

If you see me, please share with me your stories of struggle. It is in sharing these that I get my strength: experience, strength and hope. That is what I need. And I need stop thinking and do as my favourite running song says:

You put one foot in front of the other
And soon you'll be walking 'cross the floor
You put one foot in front of the other
And soon you'll be walkin' out that door!

Cheers, mates!

Injuries!

There is not an athlete in the world who doesn't suffer from some sort of niggle or injury. And, show me an injury and I'll show you heartbreak. I'll show you frustration. I'll show you defiance.


When I'm cruising along on my training program and feeling the improvement, I am at peace. I have a purpose that is being achieved in a very honest way, inch by inch, little by little. It is something that is very hard to see in the rest of my messy, fallible, grey-area existence of my day. Raising kids makes me feel like a near constant failure. I am almost continually at odds with them. Work is just work. They pay you and that is thanks enough. Contrary to the government's belief, success as a high school teacher is not really measurable. So, when I am training, I have a context. I have specific and overall goals that I can actually measure with the clock or a hill or a race. I love the affirmation.


Enter injury...


An overuse injury is a sneaky little sh%#. It sneaks up on you at night and vanishes during the day. One minute you are limping, then you go for a run and you feel fine. But you are not fine.

I have an overuse injury in my tibialis anterior. My what??? I enjoy an anatomy lesson but the words are not easy on the ear or the memory. Turns out that this sneaky little muscle and tendon by the same name is very important in running. http://www.getbodysmart.com/ap/muscularsystem/footmuscles/tibialisanterior/tutorial.html. It stretches from the bottom of the knee, over the calf, becomes a ligament and inserts just at the arch of the foot. It dorsiflexes the foot at the ankle and inverts the foot. It is essential for running, jumping, and effective cycling. Dammit!


Wrist: I think it's extensor carpi radialis longus muscle &/or " EXTENSOR CARPI RADIALIS BREVIS MUSCLE " or some sort of thing that is making me feel pain in my wrist. It is in my right wrist and I am right handed, so I am having a very difficult time resting it.

On top of all this, I've had a cold. A cough keeps threatening. My five year old is oppositional. My three year old is deathly afraid of soap bubbles. Life just keeps getting less intelligible and I have no time to figure out solutions.

So...training has come to a screeching halt. I had to do it. My husband has reports due and he needs my help. My kids are always wanting my attention. We are moving house on Sunday. And I have to work!

This is how I feel...frustrated, guilty, weak, sensible, wise mother, enabling mother, supportive spouse...no wonder I am confused.

This is the life of an amateur athlete.

And if my body weren't backfiring on me, and I didn't know that I could severely damage myself, and I hadn't talked to my personal trainer and physio, I would be out there still. I would be defying my body. I would be seeking a thrill. I would be seeking the confidence and well-being that I gain through exercising. However, here I am...heartbroken, frustrated and waiting, waiting, waiting....

Back to Beginnings

Below is more of my story of how I got to be a triathlete.



Full of joy and amazement the day my daughter, Mavilee, was born, I could not have predicted what came next. Although I was thrilled to arrive home with my baby, I was absolutely exhausted. Having had a cesarian to deliver her, I figured this was normal. I had just been through the ordeal of my first operation. Lack of appetite, shortness of breath, fatigue would dissipate naturally. Right? Wrong.



Because I was so anxious to get home with my baby, where my mom and husband had been waiting for a week, the hospital released me on the home nursing program.


Oh, I was so excited! The nurse would come visit me, teach me how to parent, and all would be fine. When Jill, the nurse, arrived on Monday morning, I was a little bit scared. She was a strapping hulk of a woman who took no prisoners when it came to taking care of her women.

We had a chat. She weighed the baby. She showed us how to wrap. She checked my stitches. Then she asked how I was doing.

"I'm fine," I said tentatively. "I wonder, though, is shortness of breath normal?" I inquired almost apologetically.

She looked at me quizzically. "Noooo," she said in that sing-song kind of way that indicates concern. "It's not really normal."

Then she shifted into gear. "Right. Go down and see your family doctor. Find out what's causing your shortness of breath and call me today after 2:00."

On the way to the doctor, I began seeing spots in my eyes. Dr. Wong took my blood pressure and confirmed that I wasn't well. It was through the roof. He ordered me to get some kind of scan and return Tuesday.

We went for the scan. I had to lie down with my head within this giant disc. The radiographer told me that I might feel like I had to wee. He put die through my veins. I felt very hot then very cold. Terrified, I whimpered to myself, "What is happening to me?"

A CT machine makes sounds that we instinctively run away from. It is like a train barrelling down on you then suddenly shifting. My body jumped from the sound. The radiographer would say, "Try to stay still, please." Geesh! How possible was that?

~More on that later~

Testing Ground

Today is the short sprint race. I am busy getting ready. I'm nervous and excited. Last night I felt like I had the flu. David said it was pre-race jitters, so I went to bed. I woke up refreshed although I still have a cold. The race is at 3:00 at Sydney International Regatta Centre. Come watch if you like! Click on the location icon below.

~Later~

I did it! I did it! I really really did it! 500m swim/20k bike/5k run. Wow. And I wasn't last. And I didn't quit. And all those fears I had didn't materialise! And I wasn't perfect and IT DIDN'T MATTER!

I'm learning that racing is very honest. What you put in, you get out. There are no miracles on race day, but there are few robberies, either. I performed as I trained. David was there with the girls cheering me on. They were marvelous. David kept track of my time and helped me in transition. Here's how it went...

Swim: 500m. Thank God I have a wetsuit on because the water is absolutely freezing. The cold begins to radiate through the wetsuit and into my body. I am in a refrigerator. I dive in to get my head wet and, with 10 seconds to start, I forget all about the cold. 10, 9, 8...4,3, 2, 1, I swim.

At first I feel good. I am not yet a paddle wheel but I have high hopes. And this is always the place where it goes wrong. From about 50 meters in, I feel awkward and uncapable. The environment is intimidating. There are swimmers around me, next to me, in front of me. They all look professional from where I'm sitting. And I am sitting. I've stopped for 10 seconds. It turns into 20. The rest of the swim is a struggle. It's the breathing. I am just trying to get through it and I use all the tricks I have learned so far...breath every stroke. Breath every 3 strokes. Take big breaths. Keep your feet moving. Lead with the hips. The trouble is I can't coordinate it all. It's disheartening. But I keep going. I do my best to swim with good technique. I hear David on the side yelling, "Use your feet!". I veer to the right over and over and bring myself back to the line of swimmers. Finally, I am there. I am rounding the orange buoy that marks the last 50 meters of the race. I've made it! I slip a bit on the rocks on the way out, but I stand up, hands to the back, wet suit down. Result: 14:08

Bike: 20 k. I jog to transition and look for my bike. But I am disoriented. I can't find my bike. David yells from the sidelines, "It's right in front of you! Right next to that girl!". He's yelling other things as I spot the blue bike, green towel. "Helmet on! Helmet on! Get going!" It's all on and I've got my bike. Shouts of "Mount past the line! Mount past the line!" register. I move past the line and I'm on the bike. I'm just going to smash this leg! I am so confident. I am screaming past one, two, three cyclists. As I make my way around the second lap, I hear David say, "use a bigger gear!" Immediately I feel hopeless but regain my confidence as I scream past more cyclists. Rounding the third lap, I change gears and, @!#$, I drop my chain. For some reason unknown to me, I try to fix my chain while I'm riding. I have absolutely no idea how to do this, but I keep trying until I slowly glide to the turn, dismount, and fix my chain there. It probably took me 2-3 minutes. What a dwebe!

4th and final lap. I am over the bridge and I look around. There's no-one on the course. Where is everyone? I thought I was doing so well?! Did I do an extra lap? I am discouraged and stop peddling to get my drink bottle and suck down some gel. Keep going, Adrienne. Your only competition is yourself. As I approach the dismount with shoes unclipped, I am afraid to stop. Confusion as cries of , "Dismount!!" fill my ears. Okay! I lean my bike over and crash onto the grass. A late dismount but they must take pitty on me because, to my knowledge, no penalty. Result: 48:56.

Run: 5k. Boy does this ever hurt!! I sing my survival song, "You put one foot in front of the other/and soon you'll be walking cross that floor/you put one foot in front of the other/and soon you'll be walking out the door". I sing it over and over and over - throughout the entire run. Result: 29:07

Finally, I am finished. I did it! David is there and the girls are there and I am just so happy. I drink water, eat oranges and talk. I can't believe I did it. I didn't stop. I kept going. To me, I am success. I did something that I didn't think I could do and I am happy. We eat, play and go home with thoughts of a well-deserved day of rest floating in my head. Result: 1:32:11.0

Beginnings

Today I swam. I'm an inconsistent swimmer. Sometimes I feel like I'm really getting it. I envision a paddle wheel on the Mississippi River. "I am a paddle wheel," I say to myself. I glide over the water. I push the water with my powerful hands. Then *poof* I'm a clumpy branch again, tumbling awkwardly into and out of the water. There are imaginary spectators on the side of the pool who are jeering and heckling me with taunts of, "what a beginner!" and "she's pathetic!". Then bling-a-ling-a-ling. The magic fitness fairy waves her wand and I am doing it! Wait till my trainer sees me! She's going to see how closely and seriously I've taken her comments. Fssslllglump! Water in my lungs and nose. Cough, cough. Ugggmmmpphh. Reposition and reach! I will never get this right! I say to myself.
I finished the training session, though. Somewhere close to 2k. In the end, I remind myself constantly, it doesn't matter how I get there. Just that I do it.

The photo above is me in 2004. Aside from pregnancy, this is the heaviest I have ever been in my life. I was a year married. I truly don't know if I was unhappy. I didn't know what I was. I loved my husband but had given up so much to be with him. I was very confused. Somewhere along the way, I had slowly given up what it meant to be me. Something had to change. It did.

Mavilee came forth.

Starting Out

The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my journey to become an Olympic distance triathlete at the oldest triathlon in Australia: Penrith Valley Nepean Triathlon www.nepeantriathlon.com.

Although I've been training for triathlons for at least 4 months now, I feel like I am just beginning. What I feel more than anything is scared. All my life people have told me to believe in myself. My answer has usually been either that I don't know how or that I can't. This blog is my attempt to "just do it". I am a teacher and I tell my students that there is no other way than to just take each step forward and go through it. That is how you learn. It is time to stop being safe and take my own advice. As the preschool song goes..."you can't go under it, you can't go over it, you have to go through it."

Endurance and consistency have never been my strong points. In my own self-perpetuating identity survey, I continually tick the boxes next to whimpy, impatient, whimsical, sedentery. It is my good fortune, then, to have married a man who, although he occasionally identifies with these words, refuses to tick these boxes. He is a fighter. Bring it on...he says.

I mention him because athletic persuits tend to be infectious. My husband, David, has always been athletic. Two years ago, he shared with me his intention to become an Ironman triathlete. At the time, I thought of it as a luxury. It was an expensive, mid-life-crisis goal of his. I truly did not understand. The date was March, 2009. I had half-heartedly participated since 2006 in the PTC http://www.pantherstriclub.com.au/ Tuesday night handicap runs. I had never finished a season. And yet, I egotistically believed myself to be a kind of athlete. I was a runner, I thought. I had done something that I never believed I could do: run 6.7 kilometers somewhat frequently. I was a superstar in my own mind. In reality, I both under- and overestimated myself.

The journey will continue...