Closing the door

I'm sitting here sniffling, but I got a lot done so far today. Little bursts of energy, more than I've had for the past week, keep hitting me. I'll run an errand, put away some laundry, then go back to bed. Or some times I'll just sit and write for a while before I nap. I'm not putting any serious dents in my to-do list, mind you, but I keep reminding myself that I'm sick and sick time is not about being as productive as you can be. If I ever want to get my immune system back on track, I have to learn to actually REST when I'm ill.

That's how this post was born. I debated sharing it for a long time. It's adapted from a song I wrote, but it describes how I'm feeling so well that I finally just said screw it and clicked "publish post."


Every time in my life, when dark clouds start to build, I look back to a time when things were going exactly as I wanted. I think about what fulfilled me, what put me in that state of happiness and how I can duplicate the words and moves and meanings and even the people surrounding me "back then." I've realized this process has actually prevented me from moving along with life, because it keeps me constantly recirculating through the past instead of generating any kind of future. It engenders a sense of constant expectation: if I do this, I get that. When I had this, I had that. Etc.

If I want to grow, I'm not gonna get there by doin’ what I used to do. (How's the old saying go? If you keep doing what you've done, you'll keep getting what you've got.)

The inside of my mind is like a small room; an intimate space, an exclusive concert venue. Everything and everyone I know congregates in that space, sharing ideas, sharing air. And then one day, when everything started to congregate, the air became too stale to breathe and there was an overhwelming need to get out as quickly as possible. Panic overcame me – how could my place of safety and familiarity dissolve so easily?

This lead me to a singular conclusion: I had to expand my mind or I would suffocate.

And it isn't because I don’t believe in what has brought me here, or that I want to let go of everyone in my life. But I'm starting to become like a rootbound plant in a too-small pot. I already started over new, or so I claimed, and I suddenly see that I haven’t changed at all - I'm the same old me that spent the past year coming down. It's more than changing my zip code. The only changes I've made have been about shuffling around the things outside of me, perhaps subconsciously to disguise the actual lack of change being made: I had a new house, a new dog, new marital status, faster triathlon times, new friends, and I was a little (lot) more outspoken.

But nothing inside of me had really changed at all.

The past and everything with it are gone. I can't change them. Period. For that matter, I only have a small amount of control over the present, and I have no control over other people. So the only way I'm moving ahead is not just by making little surface changes here and there, but by completely closing that door. No more "you're never gonna believe what happened now." No more, "well, I used to be able to . . ." All of that shit is just a waste of time and energy.

So today I made myself a deal. I'm not going to make changes. I'm not going to sack up. I did those things already. Instead, I’m just gonna close that door.

And walk away.

Confirmation.

I think triathletes have guilty consciences by nature. We tend to be an anal-retentive, type-A, overzealous, obsessive lot. I think we even out-obsess runners, dancers, and gymnasts. (And I should know, because I have been all of those at some point.) If we don't have every detail buttoned up and locked away, we can out-guilt the most sterotypically guilt-ridden Catholic. That being said, "confirmation" is the perfect title for this entry.

I realized, as I poked around the worldwide web, looking for some kind of guidance on my recovery that would reassure me that I haven't lost my fitness base, that triathletes and runners are really very different. Although both tend to analyze numbers, results and training plans into oblivion, triathletes in general seem to have this bizarre desire to out-everything, everyone. Even worse, we have this raging desire to finish EVERYTHING to the VERY LAST DROP. Almost to the point where we take an all-or-nothing stance on racing, training, even life. And this week I stepped right into that trap. Why? Because I feel crappy this week. So I'm not getting a very good start to training, and that also makes me feel like world's biggest slacker. As I noted yesterday, I've already had my weekly rest day.

OH MY GOD. STOP THE F#!^ING presses. It's TUESDAY and she's RESTED ONE DAY.

But I'm not training if I don't train with the club. I'm not progressing if I sleep. I should be doing 30-mile hill rides and 10-mile runs and 3km-swims like those other guys the 3rd week after 70.3, and not taking ANY rest days. I should have 20 more races scheduled, and I should be out buying a wetsuit, and I should be seeing a coach every day, and I should be waking up at 3:45am and working out at lunch and and and and . . . .

That's where I had to stop myself. Because none of that crap is really going to get me where I need to be. You know what is going to get me where I need to be? Getting back to basics. Getting back to why I started this sport: because I love it. Getting better at the simple things, like finishing shorter-distance races and enjoying moderate comfort during my workouts. And, on the days when I really, truly need to rest, remembering that it's my body's way of telling me "Hey, guess what. You're doing some work here. You're getting some things in order. You're (as one other athlete told me after FL 70.3) under construction. So if you don't take a break now, this house ain't gonna be finished on schedule. In fact, it may never get finished at all." Removing some of that pressure from myself seems to be the only way to return to the love of the sport that brought me out of the depths of illness and exhaustion the past two years.

I have to accept that, as a triathlete, I'm always going to feel "lazy" for not completing something (even on the days I walk 4 miles and swim 1500yds, because OF COURSE it doesn't count if it was slow and fun and not a structured workout.) But I also have to accept that, as a whole person - let's face it, my other life responsibilities have to take priority, since I'm not getting paid to be a triathlete and my personal relationships often suffer because I put them aside to train or travel for races - I'm not always going to be able to train the way I'd like. What matters, of course, is that I give it my best effort on a regular basis. And that's where my personal demons throw a f'ing party in my brain. Those little jerks start screaming at me, "COME ON! This isn't your BEST, you LAZY B(!@*H! You can DO BETTER!!! Go read what workouts coaches are making everyone else do. Go look at what all the other triathletes are up to. Not only that, but look at what YOU are capable of!!! You, my friend, ARE A SLACKER! You can do SO MUCH BETTER! I don't care if you are falling asleep on your way to work. YOU CAN DO MORE!"

No matter what I do, it's never enough. It's not that there is always someone better, faster, stronger, smarter, prettier, tougher. It's that *I* could always be better, faster, stronger, smarter, prettier, tougher.

And it will always be that way, regardless of whether I make every single workout during a given week.

The truth is, the only real confirmation of progress comes from within us. It doesn't come from coaches, experts or colleagues. It's how we feel mentally and physically. It's how we're personally enriched by the effects of the sport on our lives. It's when we're finally able to hear those little obsessed triathlon demons inside our brains and tell them, "Shut your f'ing pie hole. You don't know what you're talking about."

And they listen.

Folks, I'm a long way off from making the voices listen. But I'm getting pretty good at serving them a nice, hot cup of shut the f*&k up.

Perception is reality, and reality can be odd.

I love reading blogs. They're like magazine columns, but far more endearing. And when the blogs relate to one of my hobbies, they're even better. I can't tell you how many times I've read blog entries and found myself amazed, amused, touched or even disturbed. I'm guessing those of you who also read and/or write blogs feel the same way.

I love writing, too. (Shocker, huh?) So, I know there are lots of reasons to blog: catharsis, personal enrichment, communication with friends and family. And I also know the risks one assumes when blogging, the most obvious of which is a sacrifice of personal privacy. I mean, for God's sake, it's a public diary. One can disguise names, cities and dates, but the experience and emotion are laid bare for the absorption of any Joe Schmoe in the entire universe. Kinda scary, but (to me) not the greatest risk of blogging. Privacy is the one element completely under the blogger's control. One could choose not to write at all, or to publish one's writing privately. Many blogs allow levels of security where the writer canonly grant access people they know, a select group of those people, or themselves only.

So the greatest risk of blogging, in my opinion, is the element that also scares me the most in real life - that is, the element outside of my control. In this case: reader perception. No matter how stringently one controls one's output, there is no way to control someone else's reaction. One cannot prevent one's readers from feeling pleased, offended, excited, angry, sad, worried, scared, disbelieving - anything - when they read one's entries.

I started blogging about my training and its intersection with the rest of my life to keep me honest, motivated, and cognizant of my experiences, as well as to glean knowledge and insight from other bloggers. Along the way, something unexpected happened: I gathered support from some of those other bloggers and even made friends with many of them. That was a fabulous and uplifting result, but it also made me aware of how very different reader perception can be, even when the reader is someone one knows quite well.

There are many things I don't share here, but I can promise one thing: everything I share is completely unalliterated and totally unfalsified. I make mistakes, and I don't always make the wisest choices - two facts which are often harshly spotlighted by my (unflinchingly frank) blog entries. So I know that, particularly recently, some people have perceived a need to worry about me. I'm touched (and no, I'm not being sarcastic) that anyone in my life would show enough concern to try to understand some of the feeling behind my mindless babbling. But I know that perception is reality, and my reality is very odd. The Drama Llama attached itself to me about 6 years ago and has followed me around ever since. I've begun to accept that my life will never be what many people consider normal or calm. That in and of itself has made me feel more normal and calm.

I found out about a week ago that I qualified for the USAT Age Group National Championship in Portland. I qualified completely by accident, and I decided to go. This shouldn't be cause for anyone to fret. This should be cause to celebrate. After all, it is not every day that a middle- to back-of-packer gets (and is able to accept) this type of opportunity. I could have decided to simply say "I qualified," and be okay with that. But since I already wanted to do at 2 more Olympic-distance races before fall, and I needed to cut my race schedule down for financial and scheduling purposes, it made sense to opt for 1, more meaningful race instead.

Last year, I spent the year in PT because I over-trained and over-raced. I entered 2 marathons (finished 1), 1 Oly, 2 super sprints, 2 sprints (finished 1), 4 5ks (finished 3) and 1 half marathon, which I finished. That's 9 races. This year, I've entered 1 duathlon, 5 triathlons and signed up for the NYC Marathon Lottery. That's 7 races. I didn't do the duathlon and 2 of the triathlons haven't happened yet. So, even upon completion of my June Sprint and Nationals in September, that's 6 races. 5 if you count FL HIM as a DNF, which I don't, and 4 if I don't make it into New York. Roughly half of what I did last year. I'm shooting for simplification. For quality over quantity.

I also wanted to wait until the dissapointment from FL 70.3 died down to make the decision and the announcement. But it didn't last half as long as I expected. The truth is, I don't feel like any less of a person after the HIM. In fact, I feel more proud of myself after that race and St. Anthony's than after some of the races I finished or finished well. I may not have come away sore or tired, but those races put the smackdown on my tough. I walked away from FL HIM in tears, but I came back to the bike a week later and rode a 30-mile brick with a smile on my face.

As someone once told me, though, denial is a comfy place . . . and as my best friend would say, not just a river in Egpyt. So I'm not going into this thing thinking I'm winning awards. It's a tough course. I may not finish. I may not place well. That could hurt; I could come away from the experience feeling pretty trashed. I have to race Athena, pay the travel costs, and really pay attention to my diet and medical conditions. But there are also lots of good reasons to take the chance: it's motivation to train smarter, a reason to go to Club meets, a great catalyst to simplify my race schedule and learn to focus on fewer races. It's far less costly than NYC, I have plenty of time to find better nutrition and see a GI doc if needed, it's only an Olympic-distance course, there's better weather than Orlando, my conditions are less bothersome in late summer-winter, and it is a fabulous honor which will follow me for the rest of my triathlon days.

Am I ready? Not now. Can I be ready by September? Absolutely. Will I be ready by September? Time will tell.

One bite at a time, baby. One bite at a time.