I'll play for you tonight;
The thrill of it all.
Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes,
But I'll work it out."
--Dave Matthews Band, "Dancing Nancies."
I will not be the first person to draw an analogy between an athletic event and life.
For my 10th multi-sport event, I raced the Columbia Triathlon on Sunday, May 23, 2010. It was rainy. The hills were not even close to a joke. The course was by far the most challenging I've ever completed. The bike course from Luray last year comes close, but the run at Columbia was brutal. It is proudly announced on the race web site that the run course "has been acknowledged as one of the most challenging in triathlon." It definitely was the most difficult 10k I've ever done, inside or outside of triathlon.
In addition to the course difficulties, though, I suffered a panic attack and hyperventilation at the beginning of the race. While anxiety in open water is not uncommon, it certainly is not helpful in a triathlon. Despite having been through this type of thing before (like, my first 6 triathlons until Dextro on 6/21/2009), despite having done an open water swim with my boyfriend the day prior, and despite the thousands upon thousands of meters I logged in various pools over the past 6 months, it still happened. And I was pissed off.
The thing about being in open water is that your choices are extremely limited: find a way through it or drown. So, I rolled over to get my face out of the water and began a humiliating backstroke. Staring up at a sky that was white with low, water-logged clouds, I cursed aloud.
"@#&*(@#$&*@*!! I thought I was past this! I thought I conquered this! I thought I could do this! @@#%$^%#%%$$%##@@~!"
I tried to block out all the pink caps swimming quickly away from me. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a bright yellow buoy. I was cruising past it. On my back.
Surely, my respiration rate came down, and about 300 or 400 meters into the race, I was able to roll over, put my face in the water, and pound through the rest of the 1500-meter swim course in a total time of 35:34. Not my fastest, but not that far behind it, either.
Soon thereafter, I was suffering the ups and downs of the rest of the course. I am pretty chatty out there, befriending folks I may ride with for a while, cheering on those who zip past me, encouraging those who are struggling. Jeff, age 50 (according to the number on his calf) and I biked together for a while before he zoomed out of my range. Steve (age 43) and I stirred up some "Mile Marker Parties" on the run course at Miles 2 and 4.
As I was running solo down the chute, I heard the announcer call my name, and I tried to hold back the tears of joy that always seem to sneak out of my eyes and ruin my finish-line photos. But I couldn't.
So. Did I "PR?"
Heck no.
But if I ever wanted to teach myself a lesson about:
Repeatedly conquering certain struggles...
Making progress even in the midst of pain...
Forgiving myself for a weakness and moving on...
Doing something I love even though I'm not the best at it...
Giving myself propers for doing something super difficult...
... and ...
Making friends along the journey...
...finishing this race reminded me of all of that.
If you've ever wondered why I love triathlon so much, maybe this will help you understand.
GIGANTIC SHOUTOUT TO SUPER SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND FOR a place to rest my head, photography, cheering me on at both transitions and the finish, and chauffering. You're awesome, love.
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