Aloha Tri Club Training Triathlon

Well, despite only having been back to serious training for a few weeks, I let ambition be my guide and participated in the Aloha Tri Club's training triathlon on Sunday. It was a .8-mile swim, 31-mile bike ride, and 5-mile run. It had "training" in the name, so I told myself it would be okay. I mean I'm training, right? So it should be fine!

Pre-race meeting

It was a stretch, but it was, in fact, okay. Everyone met at Hapuna Beach around 7:30 and set up very casual transition areas in the parking lot. We used the bed of Sean's truck, laying out our gear and leaving our bikes ready to go, under the watchful eye of some awesome volunteers. There were stations set up with bikes leaning against cars, trunks open and full of helmets, snacks, and running shoes. People were clustered around their gear, laughing and talking, and it was a really fun atmosphere. After a brief meeting, everyone headed down to the water.

In-water start

It was odd to swim at Hapuna with a lot of people because I am so used to being alone, but it was also comforting to know that increased numbers offer some level of protection from ocean critters. I placed myself well for the start of this swim, I was only passed once and I passed one person. (Unless, of course, you count the lady who kept swimming at sprint speed for two minutes, then stopping, then restarting at break neck speed, only to stop again, forcing me to dodge her extremities over and over and over... don't be that person. It makes your fellow racers really, really hate you.) I know that this seems like a small detail, but it makes a huge difference in energy conservation when you can focus on swimming rather than dodging. The swim felt good, but long. Very long. However, the water was perfectly clear and conditions were really good. I was pleased with my time, too, coming out of the water at 28 minutes, a slightly faster pace than what I swam at Lavaman Keauhou.

One major benefit to a practice triathlon is that because there was no official timing and Hapuna has wonderfully warm showers with great water pressure, I got to take a quick shower before jogging up to the "transition area." Shoes on, shirt on, helmet on, sunglasses on, snacks in my pocket, I was off! The first miles were tough. My legs, like they always seem to be coming off the swim, were filled with concrete and did not seem to want to cooperate and the beginning of the course was two hills. About five to six miles in my legs loosened up and I actually felt really strong all the way up to the turn around point at Mahukona. Unfortunately, though, this strength didn't last me to the transition area and with about ten miles left they started feeling like noodles. The hill coming out of Kawaihae going back toward Hapuna almost killed me, and I actually stopped for a moment to stretch before chug, chug, chugging the rest of the way up. The bike course was largely on my regular stomping grounds, and it was a beautiful day, so I really enjoyed it, even feeling tired.

Bike security :)

When I took off for the run, I knew it was going to be hot. The course was hilly and the sun was already blazing. Armed with big sunglasses (STILL embarrassing non-athletic ones because I haven't replaced my broken pair) and a new addition--a hat!--I took off. I just have to take a moment to say that I have been very, very stupid in not wearing a hat up until now. I couldn't believe the difference it makes to have shade on your face! I will never run without a hat again. I might even go get myself one of the oh-so-distinctive triathlete visors I have scoffed at for so long.

Another new addition to my race gear was homemade snacks. As I mentioned in a previous post, gels and other non-solid fuel sources do not seem to agree with my very particular tummy, so I am always in search of new ways to keep my body going. Following a couple of recipes from an endurance nutrition book, we were equipped with little 2"x2" peanut butter and jelly rice sandwiches (sounds weird, tastes delicious!) and egg, rice, and parmesan frittatas. They were easy to eat, easy on my stomach, and seemed to provide plenty of energy. It is also surprisingly nice to taste real food mid-race rather than chemical-laden packaged calories.

Sean on the run

I was pleasantly surprised with my run, especially given how tired my legs had felt at the end of the bike. My strategy, which I originally created as a joke but realized it actually sounded pretty good, was to walk up all the hills but run anything and everything that was level ground or downhill, worked like a charm and saved my legs until the very end of the race. The first mile and a half was up-down-up-down-up-down, very steep hills. After that, to the aid station and up to the turn around point at 2.5 miles, it was either flat or moderate inclines. The aid station, run by two awesome volunteers, had cold water, electrolyte drink, and pieces of Nature Valley bars, all of which tasted like mana from heaven in the midst of the heat. They even had a bottle of water for me since I was apparently the only one who didn't get the memo that we should carry a water bottle with us.

The last big hill actually made even walking difficult. Up until that point, I didn't know I could actually get so tired that walking becomes difficult, but news flash: I can. However, I made it to the top, ran down the back, to the finish line, and toward the delicious blueberry streusel bread, sliced fruit, and white chocolate mac nut cookies again provided by volunteers. Mmmm.

I finished with a total time of 3:42:15. 28 minutes for the swim, 2:03 for the bike, and 1:02 for the run, plus whatever time is left for transitions. Not fast, but not bad for how little training I've had. It was a really fun event, lots of camaraderie and smiles, and I'm glad we made it despite being intimidated. Thank you to Helgi Olafson and Shirley Pratt for putting it all together, and to the volunteers for keeping our bikes safe and the athletes well-fed.

If You Can't Beat Them, Join Them!

I know that most of my entries are chock-full of nausea-inducing details about how beautiful my training grounds in Hawaii are. I am semi-apologetic, because... well, no, I'm not. Hawaii is beautiful. BUT, with that being said, even living in Hawaii I have days where my training conditions are less than ideal, and with that in mind I will share my swim training experience from Tuesday of this week.

I left the house at 5:20am, feeling energetic and excited to swim at Hapuna Beach, which is a gorgeous half-mile long stretch of white sand with consistently clear water. In the mornings, it is one of my favorite places to be. The water is glassy and calm, there are usually only one or two people walking along the beach, and I am always the first one in the water. The clouds are generally still pink and the sun is just peeking over the horizon. Everything is awash in pastels. It is quiet and peaceful and centering with only the soothing sound of the rhythmic waves in my ears. I was looking forward to a meditative start to my day.

As I got closer, I realized my morning may not go as planned. It was pouring. Now, I don't mind swimming when it's raining, but I do mind being the only one in the water with no one on the beach. If something were to happen, which is totally possible at Hapuna, with its sharks and open water, no one would be there to fish me out. I checked the beach, but as I suspected, the rain had kept the few early risers indoors.

I was disappointed, but figured I would just go to Kailua Pier in Kona and swim there. (Notice my victory over the Quitting Moment in this situation!) When I got to there, though, my heart sank. The times that I have swum at Kailua Pier in the past, and really every time I ever recall looking at Kailua Pier, it has been relatively flat. Not glassy, like Hapuna, but at least lacking in waves and choppiness. Not so today. There were breaking waves, rolling surf, and wind-blown chop. God damn it.

Kailua Pier, on a normal day (Photo courtesy of lovebigisland.com)

Having just given myself healthy amounts of congratulations for not quitting when I realized I couldn't swim at Hapuna, I would have felt like a total douchebag giving up when I got to Kona. And so, begrudgingly and with a fair amount of fear, I took out my swim cap and goggles and put my towel in the little cubbies provided for swimmers. At one moment, there were two middle-aged women standing near me. Next thing I knew, there were fifteen of them completely surrounding me and blocking me in as they strapped flotation devices around their midsections and chattered about who they weren't inviting to their sunset yoga class. I tried to keep my eye-rolling under control as I "excuse me, excuse me, EXCUSE ME'ed!" my way out of their midst and walked toward the water.

"Do you know that he is King Kamehameha?" Came a voice to my left. I was still annoyed at the spatially-challenged women and it took me a moment to snap out of it. I looked over to see a very dirty but very happy homeless man looking at me inquisitively. He was gesturing in the direction of his friend, also seemingly homeless, who was standing behind him dancing in the middle of the street.

"I did not know that," I responded.
"Yes, he is King Kamehameha. The Great One." He informed me.
"Oh. Nice to meet you," I said.
"Well have a good day," He said with a smile before returning to the dance party.

And so, with that send off, I waded into the water, timing it so that I got swept into the deeper water instead of against the sea wall. I would like to say that it was better than I expected, but it wasn't. The chop had stirred up the bottom and I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Spoiled with clear water for so long, it freaked me out to not be able to see where I was going, especially with waves. And there were waves. I didn't go as far out as I usually do, just tried to swim hard so I got a cardio and arm workout.

One my way back in, the 50-something gossip exercise group had positioned themselves in the shallows completely blocking the swim lane, bobbing in place and still talking a million miles an hour. Of course since the water was so cloudy I couldn't see this until it was too late, but to be honest I got a little satisfaction out of accidentally slapping one of them.

I made it back to solid ground, glad to be out and marveling at what a shit show my peaceful morning swim had turned into. The guy who fixes the air conditioning at our office was standing on the pier, sharing what appeared to be alcohol with my dancing friends. He gave me a wave, clearly un-phased by the fact that I was witnessing him drinking on the street with homeless people at 7am. It seemed like the natural finish to my morning.

The ridiculousness of it all finally hit me and I just laughed. In fact, I giggled all the way back to my car. Because if you can't beat them, you may as well join them.

The Quitting Moment

I am finally back. Really back, and exercising on a schedule again. Yesterday I ran 38 minutes without walking once (good for me in my current condition!), and today I biked 20 miles. I feel strong and motivated, feelings that have eluded me for the last few months. So what changed?

Pretty new helmet, embarrassing non-athletic sunglasses

I discovered The Quitting Moment.

The Quitting Moment is that moment when you find an excuse. It's the moment when you know you don't feel like putting on your bike shoes or starting your run and you find an out -- a valid, believable out that allows you to convince yourself you have a good reason not to go for it. It's the flat tire, the bad weather, or the missing piece of gear. It's the moment when you let an option other than "do it" into your mind.

For me, yesterday, it was a pair of socks that I thought were in my triathlon bag but were in fact safely nestled in my drawer at home. I had managed to get myself out of bed at 5am and to Kona with time to spare to run before work, but when I opened the bad and took out my shoes, there were no socks. Immediately I was relieved. Too bad, I thought, Guess I can't run after all. I'll just run later. 

Within a split second I was thinking about how I could go get a yummy omelet and a chai tea and sit by the ocean while I ate a leisurely breakfast before work. I was imagining the cheese and the portugese sausage...

Nice and cool for the Horrible Hawi Hill

But then I realized. I wouldn't run later. If I didn't do it now, I wouldn't do it at all, and eating a big breakfast would not make me feel as good for the rest of the day as exercise would. So, I decided, I would just walk. Walking is better than nothing. (Progress on my perfectionism issues!) The funny thing, though, was that as soon as I started walking all I wanted to do was run. And so I did.

I told myself that I would only run in intervals so that I didn't hurt my feet, but once I started running all I wanted to do was keep going. And so I did. I ran for longer than I had originally planned, and although I did indeed end up with a few blisters, I also came away with a bad ass feeling of accomplishment and strength. I wore those blisters proudly for the rest of the day.

Today, it was a storm hovering over Hawi. I had planned a 20-mile ride, but when I woke up it was pouring. I drank some tea and waited, called my mom and waited, but although it stopped raining, the clouds still looked menacing enough that I decided to call it a day and stick with an indoor weights workout. Then I remembered how I felt yesterday after pushing through the socks obstacle, and realized that this was the same thing. Races happen rain or shine, so why shouldn't training? If I wait for everything to be perfect, nothing will ever get done.

Once again, I told myself that I just had to go ride a few miles, and if the weather was too crazy I could turn around, but once I got on the bike I knew I was riding the whole distance. And if I was going to do it, I was going to conquer the horrible North Kohala 7-mile hill that is my on-again, off-again nemesis. I hadn't done it since January and I'd been to scared to attempt it.

It did rain, but guess what? It felt like beautiful little cooling drops of joy on my sweaty skin, and the menacing clouds created beautifully cool air, keeping me comfortable throughout the ride. The sun came out long enough to illuminate the plentiful green hues washed clean by the rain, and, perhaps most amazingly, I did not see another cyclist the entire hour and twenty-minute ride. I was the only one who had decided to brave the weather, and I was rewarded with a gorgeous, empowering experience.

The beautiful view

I realize now that I have been short-changing myself by allowing the Quitting Moments to get the best of me. By identifying them for what they are and being conscious that I am accepting an excuse rather than a new experience, I can remind myself that I have yet to regret pushing through an obstacle to accomplish a goal, large or small. Strength is not allowing the wrenches life throws at you to slow you down. It is recognizing when you are at the crossroads between the easy way out and a challenge, and choosing to take the challenge head on.

No excuses, no quitting.

Inch by Inch, Mile by Mile

Well, my last post was great, but it's easier said than done. I have made some very, very modest progress. I've cut a lot of the excess processed food and sugar out of my meals, I've gone running several times, I've been swimming twice a week, but the cycling is just scaring the crap out of me for whatever reason. What is it about where I'm at in life right now that makes me feel so far away from the tough, strong warrior that triathlon brings out? Why am I so weak?

I'm asking these questions not because I'm overly frustrated, but rather because I feel like it's important to look inward when struggling with motivation. And I know I'm not the only one who struggles. I suppose that the first question is this: what feeling is it that keeps me from taking the first steps of a run or from getting on the bike? The simple answer is just that I don't feel like it. I feel like cuddling into the couch, drinking tea, and writing. I feel like going to the beach. I feel like relaxing. I feel like taking a bath with lots of lavender. But why? I am tired, and I know that. I don't feel like I have enough time in the day. But these are not the ultimate reasons that I'm not following my training schedule.

On my days off, I can go running in the morning and still go to the beach and take a bath, but I don't. I could do a two-hour bike ride, then drink tea, write, and cuddle into the couch, but I don't. In fact, my days off seem to be when I am least likely to get my workouts done. Why?

I know that part of the problem is that I have been too vague with myself about my workouts. I wrote my schedule down in a place that I am not forced to look every day, so when I plan my next morning's workout I'm not thinking "4-mile run," I'm just thinking "run." Visualization is important, so when I don't know how far I'll be running (or where, or what route) it's too easy to get out of. Same goes for the bike. If I have to plan these things in the morning, it just doesn't get done and I end up sitting around for too long.

In addition, the weather keeps giving me (lame) excuses not to get on the bike. The wind around my house has been insane -- gusts of 40-50mph, and since I'm already weak and out of shape, this just intimidated me out of riding. I know, excuses excuses. There are plenty of people who ride through anything and I should be one of them, but I'm pathetic and scared. So, to counteract this excuse, I got a trainer. Now I can sit in my living room watching Friends or It's Always Sunny pedaling away to my heart's content. Realistically, riding outside is more fun anyway, but this takes away all of my excuses. No excuses.

And that, right there, is really the key here. NO EXCUSES. None of it matters. I can do anything if I really want to get it done. If I'm not getting it done, it's because of me and nothing else. I have to keep reminding myself that all of those other things I want to do -- baths, writing, relaxing, reading -- will be more productive and more satisfying when I know that I have accomplished my goals for the day.

In the words of Chris McDonnell, a Kona 2013 finisher: "Look up. Move forward."

It's Never Too Late to Start Again

On November 24th of last year, I completed my triathlon goal for 2013 by doing the Lavaman Keauhou olympic-length tri. It is horrifically embarrassing to admit, but what is writing for if you can't be honest? Since that day, nearly four months ago, I have done exactly three bike workouts, two runs, and one swim workout.

Beautiful Hawi, the reason I commute instead of move

It sounds even more awful now that I've said it out loud.

There are plenty of excuses. The weekend after the race, I got a cough. Not a normal cough, but one that left me (and Sean) awake at night, one that rattled deep in my chest, one that kept me from catching my breath, made me lose my voice for almost two weeks, and one that wouldn't leave my body for almost a month and a half. I'm not sure if this was a reaction to exerting myself in the race, or a side effect of sharing an office building with a pediatrician's office, or some combination of the two, but it knocked me on my butt. The one bike workout I did try to do, I gasped for air and spit up phlegm every few minutes. Not fun.

Then, just as my cough began to abate, our office moved from lovely, intimate, beautiful Waimea, which was just thirty minutes from my house, to overrated, crowded Kailua-Kona, leaving me with an hour and fifteen minute commute each morning and evening. This alone should have been handleable, but I also started school on January 6th. While I'm very excited to be working on my Neurodiagnostic Technologist degree (!), I got overwhelmed by too much change all at once. I left the house each morning in the dark at 6:15, drove for almost an hour and a half, worked a ten-hour day, drove the long drive home, arriving again in the dark around 7pm, then had two hours to shower, cook dinner, eat, read and do homework, attempt to relax a little, and get to bed so that I could get enough sleep to do it again the next day.

I failed at this.

Now before you say, "Wow, you are lame, that is not so bad," I would like to offer my explanation for my malcontent. I didn't move to Hawaii, especially to this island, to spend every waking moment at work. Call me what you will, but I have come to the conclusion that for me, life is to be enjoyed, and that if I can't be a ballerina, I don't want to watch my non-work life be consumed by time at the office. I want to be outside, I want to feel the sunshine and the ocean and the wind on my face. I was mourning my old life, in which I could feed the cows behind our house, run and swim before work, and walk around our yard to relax before watching the clouds turn pink over the ocean when I came home each night. I love where I live passionately, and seeing it only in darkness five days out of the week just made me sad. By the time the weekend came I was so tired and irritated that all I wanted to do was lay around. I had lost 7.5 hours per week to driving alone and another 10 or so to school work, and these hours came out of my training time. In fact, they obliterated my training time.

Could I have been more cavalier? Could I have been stronger? Could I have powered through and made it happen with my workouts?

Yes, of course. Yes, yes, yes. That is exactly why I chose to call these "excuses" instead of "reasons." I was tired, weak, sad, and angry, and it got the better of me. That is the truth. The irony, of course, is that if I had mustered the strength to work out I am 100% sure it would have actually made me feel better, because I have yet to finish a workout and feel badly about it. Exercise seems to be the only exception to the concept of classical conditioning - even though I always feel wonderful afterward, it still seems daunting to me.

My wake-up call has been prodding at me for the last couple of weeks. First, I just feel awful. My body feels heavy and fatigued and my stomach is off due to the "convenient" foods I've been consuming. I've gained weight, and I lack energy. Then I went to ballet, and looked in the mirror. I remembered how I looked in ballet classes when I started going to this studio. I showed up with my hair nicely done, in good ballet clothes, and when I moved my arms I saw muscles, not jiggle. I looked like a ballerina. This did not resemble what was greeting me in the mirror. My hair was unkempt, thrown hastily into a messy bun that wouldn't stay in place because I haven't had a chance to get my hair cut, I was wearing socks instead of ballet slippers because I hadn't had time to search for them in the dark that morning before I left for work, and my legs wouldn't lift like they did before because the muscle is gone. And it hit me.

This is ridiculous. I need a plan.

I have been so busy focusing on what I can't do training-wise that I forgot what triathlon has taught me. I am strong. I am tough. Discomfort is okay. In fact, discomfort often leads to the greatest accomplishments and instead of wallowing in it I should be facing it, feeling it, and using it to prove to myself that it can't beat me. I started browsing back through my old posts and found one written at this time last year, just as I was about to uproot my Honolulu life to move to the country; Swimming Through the Tides of Change reminded me that this is not new in my life. Just as I have overcome it in the last, I can overcome it now. It is never too late to start again.

So here is the plan:
1. This year my goal is as follows: Maintain my triathlon fitness and improve my running. Since the Hawaii 70.3 filled up long before I thought I needed to register, and I have neither the financial means nor lack of common sense to pay $600 for a half-Ironman, the race is out for this year. Instead of being frustrated, I am looking at it this way: This year started out badly for me, training-wise, and it's going to continue to be tough for a little while. This can annoy me, or I can take it as an opportunity to really solidify my fitness in the olympic distance. Since running is my weakest sport (even though I have grown to enjoy it), I will focus on amping up my distances and speed. This way, I'll be really ready to increase my training distances next year when I can really dedicate myself to training for the half and full Ironman.
2. Figure out my eating.
My body hates processed stuff and too much starch. That's it. My taste buds love cake and pasta and peach gummy candies, but my stomach does not. I have to get back in the habit of eating cleanly, because it's really hard to have energy to work out when your stomach is churning or feels like a balloon.
3. Follow my training schedule for Hilo Triathlon, as best I can.
I made a lovely new schedule for the Hilo Triathlon, which is July 13th, and I will stick to it. However, if I miss a workout because of work or school, I promise not to get all grumpy and down on myself, because once I am upset I fall off the training wagon. Positive thoughts, positive effort, anything is better than nothing. I will do what I can, when I can, and celebrate that.
4. Pay more attention to taking care of myself.
I've been so far into the mindset of "just get it done" that I've neglected myself. It helps to feel like you look nice, not because of what other people think but because caring about yourself encourages you to do other things to care for yourself, such as working out so that you can feel strong. I do care about myself, so I'll try to show it more.

There is no shame in getting derailed. We are all human, and life doesn't just chug along on an even course. There are ups and downs, periods of time when everything just fits and times when everything seems like chaos. I can't be frustrated by losing my momentum. Instead, I must revel in finding it again. So I am back, learning and striving and growing and, as always getting stronger.

Papaya Trees Are Out to Get You: The Truth About My Broken Foot

So, it's been a week and a half since I crossed the finish line at Lavaman Keauhou. This means that I have officially passed the one week mark at which I broke my foot after my first triathlon, which was a relief. Silly as it was, I spent much of Saturday consciously avoiding anything that could trip me, fall on me, break under me, hit me, et cetera, because the feeling of being immobile directly after accomplishing a physical goal was really, really frustrating and I don't care to repeat it.  In addition, it was pointed out to me a couple of days ago that I never really explained (or, more appropriately, admitted) how I got injured. Normally this wouldn't be important, but since this is a training blog (and the person who pointed it out was asking because they were wondering if it was a stress fracture) I think it's relevant to note that it was not an over-stress injury but rather an acute one when I attempted to climb a papaya tree, the branch under my foot broke, and I fell directly on my foot without time to adjust my body so that my derriere could take the brunt of the fall.

That's right, I fell out of a papaya tree.

Two bones broken and a sprained ankle. For the record, I got the papaya I was going for, but it definitely turned out to be the most expensive papaya I've ever had, and I couldn't even eat it because I was so angry. Turns out that papaya branches have soft centers, so it is common knowledge (except to haole dumbasses like me) that you're not supposed to put any weight on them. The first thing out of every local person's mouth when I admitted my stupidity was "oh no, papaya branches are too soft to climb!" Yeah, thanks, duly noted.

To be totally honest, I was just to pissed off and angry at the time to even think about writing about it, but now that I have some distance I can shake my head and laugh about how ridiculous it is that I conquered a triathlon only to be taken down by a tropical fruit tree. So officially, for the record, I wasn't injured because of overtraining; just watch out for those papayas.

Tri-ing Lavaman Keauhou: My First Olympic-Length

Eleven months ago, I sat down and wrote the following:

"No more excuses, no more convincing myself that I could do it if I really wanted to but just don't have the time, and no more fear of the unknown. That bronzed fitness goddess is in there somewhere and it's way past time that I find her. And so, my goal is as follows:

1. I will complete a sprint length triathlon no later than the beginning of June, 2013, consisting of a half mile swim, a twelve mile bike ride, and a three mile run.
2. I will complete an olympic length triathlon by the end of 2013- .93 mile swim, 24.8 mile bike ride, and 6.2 mile run."

I hadn't taken a swim lesson or attempted to do a crawl stroke since I was in kindergarten. I'd never worn a swim cap. I didn't own a bike helmet, I'd never ridden a road bike, and I didn't know that tri bikes or aero bars existed. I hated running with a fiery passion and could barely run a mile. Still, something in me (perhaps a blissful ignorance of how difficult this sport really is) told me that I should do a triathlon. 

"There are so many what-ifs floating around in the back of my mind ... What if after all of this time, I try to do this and fail? What if I can't figure out the logistics of a multi-sport race? What if I struggle through this whole thing only to find that no matter what I do, I will never be like the bronzed badasses on the pages of the sports magazines? The biggest what-if, however, is what keeps urging me forward. What if I think about this year after year and never make it happen? How pathetic am I then?"

After the last week of training, I was so excited for the race that I could hardly think of anything else. At work, at home, at ballet, all I wanted was for it to be 7:09AM on Sunday November 24th so that I could be in the water, waiting for the gun to go off and my goal to be in progress. I gathered my gear, obsessively checking and re-checking each bag before we took off for Keauhou. We checked in at the Sheraton, picked up our packets and race numbers, attended the pre-race meeting, and then relaxed in our hotel room. We even hit the hot tub for about 7 minutes. (Bad, I know, before a race, but I had made the mistake of going to ballet the day before and damn the hot water felt good on my tight, sore legs!) After trying on our swim gear (stylish new swim caps courtesy of Lavaman) we ate smoothies made of milk, protein powder, banana, and granola, and we went to bed at the grandma-like hour of about 8:30pm.

Race morning, like every race morning I remember, was exciting with a side of hectic. No matter how many times I checked my transition bag I was certain that I was missing something, which ended up being true when we closed the hotel room door and realized that we had neglected to fill the bike water bottles and put them on the bikes. Close call. The transition area, in its near-dawn light, was like every transition area I've seen so far: full of anticipation, nerves, and incredibly beautiful bikes. This time, however, my bike fit right in! I discovered that the perk to registering early was that my transition area was perfectly positioned just steps from the bike exit/entrance. Unlike my first triathlon, I wouldn't have to run through the entire transition area with my bike, dodging gear and trying not to trip. In addition, it made my decision to put my bike shoes on in the transition area and run in them to the mount line much easier. I arranged my gear underneath my bike, in order of when I would need it: bottle of warm water to rinse my feet, socks, bike shoes, shirt, helmet, sunglasses, Clif Shot Bloks and Bonk Breaker Bites, running shoes, running race number, plus some hairspray just in case things got really out of hand. (There are very few things more annoying than having a stray strand of hair poking you in the eye or tickling your nose while you're trying to run!) Then we went to pick up our timing chips, which, unlike the last race I did, were attached to a flimsy plastic anklet and clipped on with an even flimsier plastic snap. The Velcro straps used at my first triathlon seemed like a wiser choice ... I had the sinking feeling that there was no way this clasp was going to last through the race.

Bikes, bikes everywhere!

Just like that, it was time to go down to the water. No matter how early I get to the transition area, it always seems to come as a surprise when we're told it's time to head down to the water although I have to say, it was nice to have Sean there with me this time so that we could share the walk, (or hobble, since we were walking on gravel-y pavement with bare feet), the excitement, and last words of encouragement. Since this race had start waves, Sean in the Male 14-44 wave and me in the Female 14-44 wave, we started 10 minutes apart. We wished each other good luck and I watched him wade out into the water. I put in my earplugs and stretched my light blue color-coded swim cap over my head. Once again it was just me and my thoughts.

I focused on controlling my breathing. I eased into the water, dipped my head under, and got my arms moving a little. I floated and relaxed and reminded myself how far I've come. Then, as a group, the light blue caps -- aka the Female 14-44's -- began their slow swim out to the start line.

Courtesy of HawaiiPhotoMan

As far as start experiences go, this one was truly great for me. The water was clear enough to see the dozens of bright yellow tang beneath us and there was a lot of camaraderie among the competitors, with many laughs and a feeling of support as we gathered near the paddler who would lead us out. We were lucky to have the paddler, too, because this race had no start gun and the announcer was far away with a pathetically insufficient microphone. We got a 5-4-3-2-1 countdown from the paddler and I was on my way.

I went out fast. Foolishly fast, to be honest, because I was arrogant and my fast swim times at Hapuna set me up to think that I should be right toward the front of my group in the swim. Well, either the swim was longer than 1500 meters or Hapuna is shorter than a half mile, because the swim was much longer than what we'd been doing in training. In addition, my swim group included Leahi Camacho, who just swim from Molokai to Oahu (26 miles in open ocean) and other elite-but-non-pro swimmers, so I quickly realized it would be wise to settle for upper-middle of the pack. On the upside, my swim felt strong and starting myself nearer to the front was a much wiser decision than how I had placed myself for my first race at Lanikai, during which I spent a lot of time trying to awkwardly maneuver my way past slower swimmers in churned up, poor-visibility water. I got passed a couple of times (but not many) and I passed people a couple of times (but not many), which makes me feel like my placement for the start was good. For the majority of the swim I ended up in a lovely little solo spot between the two packs -- behind the really fast group but ahead of the slower mass. The water was clear and blue, with yellow reef and brightly colored fish darting underneath me.

The turnaround point was a boat anchored about a half-mile out, and as we made the turn back toward shore the bottom dropped out from under us. The bright blue and reefs gave way to a deep, deep cerulean with depths of over 100 feet. It is the first time I've had the privilege of swimming and such deep water and oh my, was it beautiful. My stroke, like last time, alternated between really good and smooth and a little short and choppy. As always, ignoring my kick and focusing on my arms seemed to kick me into high gear so as long as I remembered that I was in good shape. Luckily for me I feel comfortable with the swim, so even though it was longer than I had anticipated I still felt strong when I reached the boat ramp that served as our exit. The run from the swim exit to the transition area felt a little rough, just like last time. Something about coming out of the water and having to run just makes me get breathless. Something to work on...


The bike transition went smoothly (running awkwardly in my bike shoes, mounting without tipping over...) but the breathlessness post-swim lingered well into the first portion of the ride. Immediately out of the transition area was a hill -- a short hill, but a very steep one, which slowed me to a crawl and definitely didn't give me any assistance in catching my breath. The next six miles or so were on mercifully flat ground along Ali'i Drive, which was lined with spectators out to cheer us along. It was needed at that point, because my legs felt like cement and I was still unable to really control my breathing. I've read that you aren't supposed to eat at the transition area because it is better to let your body adjust to the new activity before making it worry about digesting anything, so I tried to wait until I felt more settled on the bike, so at about the six mile point I choked down my Shot Bloks (gummy fuel squares that are usually delicious but were not going down well post-swim), knowing I I'd need them for the upcoming hills.

DOWNHILL!

Some time between the Shot Bloks and the first hill, my legs loosened up. The middle gears felt like middle gears and my cadence came up to normal rate. I was infinitely thankful, because up until that point I was actually concerned whether or not I'd be able to make it without having to get off and walk. The first big hill was a moderately steep 2-miler and I quickly realized that I was better prepared for hills than I thought. I overtook person after person in slow-motion passes that for some reason struck me as funny in the same way that a slow-speed police chase is. I was feeling really good when I down-shifted, felt a loss of pressure, and suddenly found myself pedaling as fast as possible against no resistance, going nowhere. I'd lost a chain. I started to tip and, thank god, managed to clip out and catch myself before going over. I stepped out of the lane, re-threaded the chain, and hopped back on, annoyed but glad it was a chain and not a tire.

The micro-break actually seemed to work wonders, because as soon as I got back on I re-passed all the people I'd passed the first time and even overtook a couple more by the top of the hill. Then came the glorious down. Down, down, down, flying at around 40MPH and faster, beautiful wind in my face. I can deal with climbs, but oh my goodness I love high speeds! According to the elevation chart they showed us at the pre-race meeting, there were two big hills. With one down and one to go, I was feeling good. I was pumped! The course came almost back to the transition area, then headed out the other direction, where I knew the hill (the worst hill, from what everyone told us) lay in wait, and sure enough a couple of miles down the road it reared up in front of me into a nasty, long incline.

Initially I attempted to keep my cadence up, pedaling furiously, down shifting and down shifting again until oh-no-what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now I ran out of gears to down shift into. Then, I put my head down, came off my aero bars, and just focused on keeping my legs moving fast enough to keep the bike from coming to a standstill and tipping over. For what seemed like forever, I thought of nothing but "pedal, move forward, pedal, move forward." I passed a couple of people. Someone on the side of the road yelled "the turnaround is just up and over the hill!" and I allowed joy to enter my heart as I crested the hill. I saw no turnaround, just curvy road, but I kept pedaling, looking hopefully around each corner. When I came around a curve to see another hill (albeit a slightly smaller hill), I took it in stride and eased back into my "just keep moving forward" mentality. It wasn't too bad.

"This must've been the hill that that stupid lying slightly confused woman was talking about," I thought to myself. "The turnaround must be just over this hill."

I was busy imagining this when I looked up to see the Mother Of All Hills. Hideously long and terrifyingly steep, it dwarfed the others and sunk my heart to my feet. All sorts of ridiculous things went through my head. In some kind of bizarre attempt at mental bargaining, I told myself it couldn't possibly be part of the course because it wasn't on the elevation chart, despite the fact that there were no cross streets to be seen and cyclists were crawling up its face single file like a line of ants. Then I tried to think of ways that I could avoid it. As I started the climb I had to give up and resign myself to my fate. Again, and more urgently than ever, I focused every cell in my body and mind on moving forward and not coming to a stand still. Athletes who had made the turnaround at the top whizzed by me on the right so fast I could hear them cutting through the air. I envied them, I hated them, wildly jealous of their good luck. I willed myself to be them. For what seemed like an eternity, I pushed and pulled the pedals around in pained circles, but I didn't give up. Even my "you're a motherfucking warrior, you can do this" mantra seemed insufficient. "Keep going, keep going, keep going" went in rhythm with my pedaling and strained breathing, so that's what I told myself. I was still telling myself this when I reached the top of the hill and made the hairpin turn to head back down the hill and toward the transition area where -- dear God help me -- I still had to run.

Now it was me whizzing down the hill, first gloating then being overcome with a deep sense of pity for those still on the uphill. I've never gone so fast, and it has never felt so good. I had the new and not-so-pleasant sensation of getting a cramp in my butt and outer thigh muscle, but luckily since I was on the downhill I could coast as I massaged, coerced, and finally punched my muscle back to normal. I focused as I came into the transition area and managed to smoothly slow down and clip out as I watched the man in front of me fail to do so and go crashing to the ground, feet still attached to his bike. Click-click-click-click went my bike shoes as I ran to my station, racked my bike, and tried to get my head straight for the run. As I took off my bike shoes something landed in my hand. Sure enough, the flimsy snap closure on my timing chip was as lame as I'd thought -- it had broken in half. I tried to reattach it, but no dice. I grabbed it, wadded it up in my hand, and headed out of the transition area. I was already out when someone yelled "Bright Yellow, where's you number?" and I realized that shit shit shit shit I was so distracted with the stupid timing chip that I'd forgotten to grab my race belt with the number attached. A quick jog back to my transition spot, a wasted minute or two, and I was out on the run.

The same hill that opened the bike course was our greeting for the run. No one close enough to see was running it, so I followed suit and walked to the top.

"Are you doing the whole thing?" Asked a woman walking beside me.
"Yes," I repled.
"I'm just doing the relay," she told me. "Bless your heart."
I followed her for a couple of miles before my fatigue caught up and she made it out of sight.

The run was, in short, mindblowingly difficult. I ran the first two miles feeling good, legs light as air. Then something terrible happened and my feather-light legs turned to coiled, heavy springs that wouldn't release to save my life. Part of this was that at least two-thirds of the run course was on grass, which felt somewhat akin to trying to run through quicksand. The sun was already beating down, and my image of flat, comfortable cart paths over the golf course was decimated by hill after hill. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it to the three mile mark without walking. I soon realized that no one was making it through without walking, and so I alternated walking and running while still trying to maintain a pace necessary to make the 3.5-hour mark I was aiming for. The course was truly beautiful, with a view of the ocean and the mountains at all times, and the sense of camaraderie amongst competitors swelled in direct proportion to the difficulty of the course. I lived for the aid stations, which offered a tantalizing buffet of water, electrolyte drink, and ice as well as very supportive and enthusiastic volunteers. I tried to eat my Bonk Breaker bar, but my mouth was so dry that it simply glued my mouth shut.

About two-thirds of the way through the run I realized that I was not going to make the 3.5 hour time, and suddenly I could stop worrying and just enjoy the rest of the course. I ran as much as I could, stopped for a few seconds to stretch out the angry knots shaped like my legs, and really looked at the beautiful scenery. I missed the 5-mile marker, so when I hit the 6-mile marker I was overcome with elation. I ran. I passed several of the people who had overtaken me earlier in the run, including a woman who had to have been at least 65 years old ... triathlon gives you a great sense of accomplishment and a great sense of humility.

With the finish line in sight, I put every last bit I had into my run and came across the finish line at 3:35. Not bad, all things considered. My legs were solid and inflexible blocks and my stomach was churned, but Sean was there to meet me at the finish line and my goal, set nearly a year ago, was officially accomplished! I laid down on the grass to stretch and rest and bask in completion. SUCCESS!

So how do I feel, now that it's over? Well, it's a strange combination of accomplishment and a feeling of not knowing what to do now. It's time to rest, recuperate, and pick our next race (and not fall out of any papaya trees...). Triathlon is like a drug -- once you do it once, you're always looking for your next fix.

Accomplishment: post race!

Getting to this point has meant so much to me. I started something I was afraid of, something I knew nothing about, faced it down and conquered it. It's impossible to really impart how much the mentality of triathlon seeps into your everyday life, but there's a strength you gain by forcing yourself through physical pain that is incomparable. The knowledge that you have the mental strength to accept pain, uncertainty, and keep moving forward empowers you and I have a confidence in myself, both physically and mentally, that I never knew before.

So did I become that bronzed, toned, badass athlete in the pages of the sports magazine? I am 9 pounds lighter, more muscled, more toned, and more tan than I was at this time last year, but more importantly I feel like that person. I know now that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to, that I am brave and strong enough to feel my weaknesses and turn them into strengths. I have found my inner triathlete.

Thank you so much to Danielle Mueller, Kate Arvin, and Zara Nguyen for your ongoing words of encouragement throughout this year. Thank you to my mom for sharing her triathlon experiences (and those of my dad) with me and always being enthusiastically ready to listen to me talk about how it's going, to my dad for always being there in spirit when I needed him most, to Cheryle Hirst for many training books and Bonk Breaker bars that kept us going, to Dr. Marko Reumann for my beautiful, gorgeous bike and brand new awesome yellow shirt, to Hawaii Sport Magazine, Salty Coconuts, and DeSoto Sports for supplying my race and training gear, and to Sean for being by my side for most of my training. Most of all, thank you to all of you who are reading for supporting me and participating in my journey.

So let it be seen, for everyone to read ... the next goal is here: 

Before the end of 2015, I will complete a half, then a full Ironman! It's official now, so bring it on!