Flashback Saturday: DLS>DNF>DNS

I thought this blurb from Thursday, April 26, 2007 was appropriate because it is the first time I realized that there was glory in just crossing a finish line as opposed to PR'ing or winning something.

DLS>DNF>DNS

Sports psychology - it's everywhere. Everyone thinks they're a shrink, and everyone into sports thinks they're a sports shrink. Every day you'll see these cheeky little phrases that people love to use to pump themseleves up. You know which ones I'm talking about: pain is weakness leaving the body. Runners get more done before 6am than most people do all day. If you can think it, you can do it. Be the ball. Etc.

I was running Disney's Race for the Taste 10k, my first 10k, in October 2006. I remember it very clearly because one of my co-workers, who racewalks, walked with me during the first couple miles while I was warming up. Toward the end of the race, around mile 4, I started to blow past everyone. It was my perfect "second half" - I had very few fatigued spots - I just keep soaring right on by.

At everyr ace, there are a group of women who plan matching outfits and run together. They often wear their race shirts from previous all-women's races, and even though there's nothing wrong with all-women's races, I always considered them more a place to bond than actually race. And I couldn't help but smirk at the some of the other shirts I saw, especially those sporting this equation:

DLS>DNF>DNS

Those of you who have ever done any kind of race, (foot, auto, cycling or otherwise), know what these acronyms mean, but in case you were a non-racer, or someone who just didn't get it, here's what it means. Underneath this catchy little blurb were the following words: A Dead Last Finis (DLS)h is greater than a Did Not Finish (DNF), which is greater than a Did Not Start (DNS).

Great. Another dopey sports psychology mantra. I had a good chuckle, I'll tell you that, as I sailed past them. Mean as it sounds, I thought, if you need that slogan to pump you up, you're obviously not as tough as you think!

But now, after my recent DNF at the TriAmerica triathlon and a DNS at the OA Corporate 5k, I'm starting to wonder if I was the dope. The spirit suggested by that hokey equation is probably the spirit I should have had all along. I have finally learned that finishing is the more important part. A runner with the ORC told me one night, Pain is temporary, but a finish lasts forever.

Tell me about it. So does a did not finish.

Doubt may be powerful, but hope will win every time

It's time for a long discussion about the lovers and the haters.

I feel like almost everyone avoids the negative topics concerning our great sport(s).  A lot of people don't want to talk about DNF's and DQ's and injuries and overtraining and illnesses and - let's not forget - straight-up jackasses and haters. 

Jackasses are easy to spot.  They're the people who don't say "on your left," and almost crash someone just to finish behind (or 2 seconds in front of) the person they almost crash.  They rack their $5,000 carbon triathlon machine on top of your poor little bargain road bike in transition despite there being 100 spaces open after the ride.   And sometimes they just act like jerks because they have more money.

And then there are what I call haters. Haters are more subtle.  They try to undermine everything you do.  Sometimes they'll tell you how great and awesome you are while they plot on how to show you up at the next race.  They question your choice of clothing, your training plan, your shoes, your race goals, and sometimes try to sabotage you mentally because they're afraid you might finish a few minutes ahead of them and they just can't stand to finish behind someone who doesn't look as fit as they are, or who doesn't follow their rules.  All you can do is your best to avoid them. 

The reality is this: triathlon and marathon are very competitive.  And some people take that SUPER seriously.  The haters, like the jackasses, are unavoidable. 

And that's ok.  Without a little competition, many of us would never push ourselves to be better.

But it's also ok for a completely different reason.

LET'S TRAVEL BACK IN TIME

In 2006, when I did my first 5k, I had no idea what was ahead of me.  I was talked into doing it by my best friend, and really encouraged toward it by my original triathlon mentor, who helped found the Lakeland Landsharks Tri Club.  At the beginning of the race, Karime, who does not harbor a single ounce of malice or ego about such things, told me something I will never forget.

You're faster than me, so you go ahead and I'll see you at the end.

The thing is, she really meant it.  She wasn't telling me go ahead and thinking or pretending she wasn't thinking I'm still going to beat you or we both know I'm really faster.  No, she seriously, truly, honestly, wanted me to kick ass.

still kind of back in time here

When I started typing this, I started to think about her.  And something else someone told me - someone I still don't know to this day - came to mind. 

It was at Florida 70.3  I had just been DQ'd for missing the time cutoff on the run. My nutrition, which I'd trained with for 2 years, had sent me attempting to poop or puke down the run course for 13.1 miles and subsequently had me shut down with only 4.3 miles left.  I was crying.  I'd trained for 2 years and thought 2 years was more than enough experience to finish a HIM. An older, wiser, more experienced athlete gave me this advice:

Don't ever let anyone rent negative space in your head.  (He mostly meant ME renting negative space in my OWN head, but it pretty much applies to anyone.)

WELCOME BACK TO 2011


I realize that if I spend too much time talking or thinking about the haters, I am letting them rent negative space in my head.

So instead I'm gonna tell you about the lovers.

Last night, I meet Karime for dinner and to watch some baseball and have a beer and just catch up.  Since that first 5k, I have done dozens of races.  Karime is still cool with doing a 5k every now and then but has no desire to be a crazy triathlete.  Nonetheless, she is completely supportive of my athletic insanity.  She's asking about the century, and I tell her that I really know now how little I want to do Ironman.  The conversation goes like this.

Karime: "Sure."

Me: "What?  I'm serious.  Don't want to.  At all."

"No, you're going to do one."

"No, I really don't want to."

She looks at me for a second, puts her hand up and says, "Listen, bitch.  I know you.  You did a 5k and said you'd never do a marathon.  Now you've done how many marathons?  How many triathlons?"

"Yeah, but Ironman is different."

"I didn't say you're going to do one now, I just said you're going to do one.  Maybe in 5 years.  But eventually you'll get so well-trained you'll do it just like everything else,  just because you can."

I stop for a second, speechless.  Here is someone who believes in me so strongly that she does not doubt I can do anything just because I decide I can/want to. 

And then she says this: "Just make sure it's the one in Hawaii.  Because I really want to go to Hawaii."

Well, now she's just delusional.

"Do you have any idea how fast you have to be to get to Kona?" I sputter.  "You have to be like a 12-hour Ironman finisher.  Elite.  Super fast."  I point at myself.  "Not this gal."

She shakes her head and tells me, "You'll get there.  I know you.  Eventually you'll just get to the point that you can."

I look at her like she has six heads, and she adds, "Let me tell you how this conversation is going to go.  'Ring ring .  .  . hello?  Oh hi Meggan.'  'Oh, hi.  So I was wondering . . . do you want to go to Hawaii?' "


The point here is not that I want to do Ironman or think I can qualify for Kona, ever (because, for the record, I do NOT.)  The point is that this person believes in me enough to truly think that, if I really, really, really wanted to make it happen, I would do it.

That single conversation instantly crushed the memory of the 50 more I have had with haters.


Triathlon aside . . .

What would life be like if we all believed that?  If we all did not doubt we can do anything just as long as we decide we can?

I have been trying to surround myself with more and more lovers.  And I know there are sometimes going to be more haters than lovers.  But that's ok.  Doubt may be powerful, but hope will win every time.

Florida Ironman 70.3: A Tale of Two Races

I don't really want to talk about this, but by now some of you have already viewed the results of my race yesterday, so I'm mustering what courage I have to write my preliminary race report. I have to say that I have never felt so appreciated and supported in all my life. The flood of e-mails, texts and comments I've received in the past few days mean more than I could ever explain, although answering them all has been a slow and painful process. But, before I get started, let me give one disclaimer: this is going to be shorter and far less entertaining than any race report I've ever written.



Good. So, now that we've gotten that out of the way.



My goal for this race was simple: to finish. It's the first race I've entered where that really was my goal. Normally, I care, and then everyone tells me NOT to care, but then I spend the entire week after the race talking myself out of being upset that I wasn't as fast as I wanted to be. Not this time - I just wanted to finish.



My parents and aunt were down from Alabama to watch the race. Sherpa was there. Everyone showed up - either in person or via texts, calls and emails - to wish me luck. Usually, Disney races are boring because they have you running through the park early in the morning while it's closed. This one was actually really cool - although the expo was MUCH smaller than I expected.



This was my race. I was going to OWN THAT COURSE.



I executed every single part of my plan precisely and successfully, with the exception of getting slightly less sleep than I'd have liked, but nonetheless, everything from dinner the night before to nutrition to transition to the three sports themselves went exactly as planned. I went nice and easy on the swim, during which I passed some of my wave and the wave before, getting out of the water in 1:05 - again, I'm a lot slower than I was before my stroke changed, but I had expected the swim could take me up to 1:15 or even 1:30 since I was purposely going super-slow.



Then I got out on the bike course and also did exactly as planned: I saved my legs for the run. I had the single best bike ride I'd ever had in my entire life. I knew at mile 50 that an Ironman was in my future - yes, all 140.6 - when, at one point, rolling down a hill at 30mph, I found myself singing the lyrics to Bon Jovi's Living on a Prayer at the top of my lungs:"Whooooaa, we're halfway there . . . ." (I had passed cyclist after cyclist who'd blown their energy at mile 20 or 30 by this point.) Started to bonk around mile 52, got out of my shoes during the last few miles to let my feet relax and breathe, as planned, spinning easily, then kept my HR down through T2 just as I had done in T1. With the exception of that last few miles, I maintained an average of about 14.1mph. Real athletes would call this slow. I would call this extremely respectable on my first 56-mile course.



I had 4 hours left to finish the half marathon. Right knee was sore from being in cycling position, but otherwise in great shape. My legs felt fantastic as I trotted out onto the run course. The first part of the 3-loop course starts in the shade, too. Sherpa was waiting for me at the finish. My parents were crowded at the turnaround.



And then the unthinkable happened.



Triarrhea. Just like at St. Anthony's.



Only this time, I hadn't taken both the pills that keep me awake. And I didn't take ANY energy drink. So that left only one cuplrit: GU or my pre-race breakfast. The first I've trained with off and on - it used to bother me about 2 years ago, until I started taking one particular flavor. The second I've trained with extensively. I'm honestly uncertain about the cause. In any case, I spent loop 1 in the porta-potty with diarrhea and constipation. By that time, hyponatremia was starting to set in. I know way too much about this condition because one of my medical conditions includes a natural tendency toward hyponatremia. And this race was brutal. Unshaded (except that first few meters) sweltering, the run left several pro and elite athletes passed out on the course with medics, suffering from some of the same symptoms I was experiencing.



I was already in tears. My mental iPod had long been replaced with the noise of a giant calculator, re-estimating my pace over and over in my head. For the first time in my life, I prayed outloud, begging the Powers That Be to let me make it in time. I wept and jogged simultaneously as I passed my parents. "I don't think I'm going to make the cutoff," I choked out at one point, knowing good and well that crying expends precious energy. My aunt and mom asked if I was going to keep going. I hope I didn't blow snot bubbles on them when I loked at them as if they'd just spoken to me in a foreign language and answered, "Yes."



At one of the last aid stations, I stopped to confirm with a course worker that I could still continue as long as I finished by 4pm. The answer was yes. I kept pushing to shuffle down the shady section, Sherpa ahead of me on the grass so everyone would know he wasn't helping me. My last loop was in my grasp, and even though I almost flagged down a medic several times. I even stopped to check my resting heart rate as I rounded the corner at around 3:19.



The course was closed.



And that was it. All of the training, all of the not-training, all of the struggling with my budget and medicines and schedule, all of the blood, sweat, tears, blogging and praying I'd put into the last 6 months of my life were over in an instant. Officially. I mean, this was not me just being slow and last on the course. This was greater than that. This was the big, undeniable, f-you from the Triathlon Gods. I could practially hear all of my hard work, my great bike ride, my planning and careful execution being flushed down a giant cosmic toilet bowl.



A peer who was also struggling saw me lean down and rip off my chip. She, too, was not going to officially finish. "Put your chip back on," she said. "Let's at least cross the finish line together." I heard my mom yelling at me from the sidelines. "Yeah, come on, Meggan!!!" That last few moments was a blur of tears and activity. We crossed the tape. They put a finisher's medal around my neck. The guy who handed me my shirt and my hat at the end was apologizing to me that he didn't have any sizes but large. Everyone was calling me Ironman. I told him he couldn't give me anything and tried to hand him back my medal, too. "I didn't finish my last loop," I choked. He didn't care. I did. Wearing that stuff would be unethical. Even keeping it feels fraudulent.



I stood at the exit area with Sherpa for a good five minutes, weeping in his arms. I am crying now as I type this. Because, you see, this is not some silly sprint- or international-distance race for which I can just go and sign up in another month or two and show the course who's boss, as I did with the only other race I DNF'd for medical reasons. This is Ironman. This is an event I'll have to wait perhaps an entire year to even attempt again, especially with location and costs to consider. And, as much as I was afraid that I wouldn't finish, I really believed I would do it. Especially as the bike was ending. And you know what? Everyone else believed I would, too. And I let them all down.


Everyone is telling me things like, "you know how many millions of people don't even have the guts to start that distance, let alone -almost- finish?" But I just feel blank. With my phone and computer falling apart too, I feel as if the whole first part of this year disintegrated underneath me. I don't know what else to say. I suppose there will be more later.

After I throw out that medal, hat and t-shirt.

Practice RACE #2 REPORT: You mean triathlon isn't easy?

I felt super duper strong during Saturday's training run, which had me pumped for Sunday. So I was thinking my sub-two-hour goal was totally possible. And tapering was THE BEST IDEA ANYONE EVER HAD.

And then yesterday I successfully beat Lake Minneola and conquered the course that DNFd me earlier this year. That 750m (1/2 mile-ish) swim felt like slicing through butter. But, overall, I got my ass handed to me. My first Dead Last Finish in ANY race. Instead of nailing my sub-two-hour goal, it took me 2:10 and change. To be fair, this was not a TRUE DLF. There were FIVE MEN behind me. But I was the last woman. A DLF is greater than a DNF which is greater than a DNS, right? You just keep telling yourself that.

MEGGAN JOHNSON 28 ORLANDO FL PLACE: 45 of 46 women (but 46 DNF'd)

SWIM
17:46
RUN TO BIKE TRANSITION:
3:35
BIKE:
1:01:57
BIKE TO RUN TRANSITION:
2:18
RUN:
44:31
FINISH
2:10:05

The whole thing was a comedy of errors from the first minute. Before it even started, I realized I forgot my race number, and I had to have them make me one and I had to buy another race number belt. Then I realized my rear brake was dragging on my bike but I couldn't get to the bolt to fix it. So I rode 13 miles of hills with my rear brake dragging. Fun. Ok, HOW MANY TIME HAS MEGGAN ANN DONE THIS BEFORE AND IS STILL MESSING IT UP?

This is what practice races are for.

SWIM: As has been the case in all but one race, the swim was my favorite. For the first time, I actually passed several people in the water. (I am still extremely slow.) But I think I used a little too much energy because I got cocky on the swim and started passing more people on purpose instead of conserving energies as planned.

This is what practice races are for.

BIKE: I really do need my 100 calories per hour for racing - because of that and the hills I lost about 10 min on the bike. Again, I tried to "attack the hills" instead of conserving energies as planned. Not smart with rear brake draggage. One skill I seem to have mastered: removing myself from my cycling shoes while riding. T2 was at the bottom of a steep hill, and by the time I was at the bottom I was out of my shoes and dismounted. A little kid goes, "You don't have any shoes on!" And the lady behind me goes, "She was amazing! She was coming out of those things coming down the hill!"

This is what practice races are for.

RUN: I bombed the run.... and not because I didn't run it well or smart. Remember that race # I forgot, and they had to make one for me, and then I had to buy a new race number belt? I forgot it. I went back to get it, but gave up when I realized I'd spend more time doing that than the penalty they'd give me if they saw me without it. Then I had to stop - not one, not three, but TEN times to fix my elastic shoelaces. They always pinch the wide part of my feet and today was no different.

This is what practice races are for.

My resolve to go long is only strengthened.

Next month's race now feels more intimidating at double the distance. But, because of this race, my training will significantly change. I will ride and run hill repeats once a week every week. This week my openwater swims were already scheduled to increase to 2km, but I will need to increase my pool swims to over 2k. To improve, I need to join a masters swim team, which means I need to learn how to do flies and all those crazy strokes, and I need to go longer than 2k in the pool. My longest pool swim to date is 2200m. My plan is to start swimming at lunch when the masters' group swims and watch what they do. Then I'll approach the coach later.

I have also learned my personal food tolerances and needs, which are QUITE different from those for a foot race. For a longish foot race, a big fat bowl of oatmeal with a banana and a sprinkling of nuts is perfect. Not for triathlon. 1 banana and maaaaybe a sports drink is good for a super sprint, but a sprint needs a banana, sports drink, and half a food bar, with the other half stashed in the bento box in case I need it on the bike. To go Olympic, I'll need an entire banana, an entire sports drink, and an entire energy bar, with a whole energy bar and a sports drink (and possibly a gel) stashed on the bike. Holy shit . . . I'm human. The 100-calorie-per-hour-of-activity-rule applies to me, too!

Now I have to come from the TRUE back of the pack to reach my top 30% goal. This means I may not be ready for a HIM next year. It means I may need to spend the year PRing beforehand.