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. 

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

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...