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~