Welcome Home.

"Inhale, plank. 
Exhale, chaturanga.  
Inhale, updog.  
Exhale, downward dog."

The room was filled with glistening bodies as we lost ourselves in the beat of deep House music and the subtlety of our breath.  My mat was inches from Mike, a fellow cyclist who had introduced me to this studio and instructor.  Synchronized together, we flowed from Warrior I to Warrior II pose.

Imagine this- but sans the ocean waves...

I could hear the instructor's deep voice- "Be brave.  Be strong."

My mind focused only on the rhythmic movement of my body, in sync with my breath.  Sweat droplets streamed down my body and face, mixing with my tears.  It was a cathartic release from the earlier events of the day- coming to terms with the abrupt closure in a relationship dear to my heart, and the looming uncertainties with my foot within the scheme of Ironman.

On the mat I realized that with closure in one area , there is always room for new opportunities in other areas.  I relaxed into a space of non-judgement, neutrality, and acceptance.  In that moment, I let go.

Inhale, exhale.  Ebb and flow.  The ending of a sequence leads to the opening of another- both on and off the mat.

We continued the sun salutation sequence on our own, each connecting with the rhythm of our own bodies and breath.  We all met each other in downward-facing dog, taking three deep breaths.  That's when I heard the instructor's voice again, resounding with a quiet strength that gave me shivers since it fit so well with my state of bliss- "Welcome home."

Saturday's 10-hour training session followed suite- a long swim, bike and water run where I hoped to be in the same mental space- one of acceptance, neutrality and non-judgement.

I knew I needed a solo ride to prove to myself that I could endure a mentally and physically long day without the playful stories and jokes of training partners (aka. awesome distractions from the distance/course/screaming legs).  I packed the ipod shuffle as back-up, just in case my mind turned negative and I needed to shut it off.  I had people praying for my safety and specifically, that I would have positive thoughts running through my head during the long day.

I had one of the best rides I've experienced all season.  I rode my favorite routes- the same familiar winding roads that healed my broken heart and that were shared with dear friends.  I was reminded of all the good company throughout the years and all the people in my life who have helped me get this far.  I found my rhythm, my breath, and effortlessly pedaled up hills that I remember being difficult in the past.  As I crested up to the top of the hill to Skyline, I pedaled past the point where I had fallen over, clipped in, after sheer exhaustion from climbing back in 2009 (thanks, Merrick!).

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.  May your mountains rise into and above the clouds." -Edward Abbey

My legs kept pedaling, I was smiling, and mentally was in a space of absolute gratitude- thankful for the coaches I've had in my life, for my squadmates, for PK (who taught me that yoga is so much more than asanas), and for my family.  

I rode into Danville, past my crash site from last year- and was reminded of how grateful I was for my safety and for the SAG support I had for that day.  The day ended with a 2 hour water run.

The proof is in the pudding, err, pruney fingers.

On Friday, Coach warned me that the 10-hour day could bring out a lot emotionally for me.  These past few weeks have been littered in self-doubt, negativity, and fear.  He told me that this day was not only about the physical component, but more about the emotional one- I would experience extreme highs and lows.  But as he ended our conversation, he mentioned that with everything I've been through lately, "the tenacious girl I saw during those long winter rides is still in you."

Saturday was about refusing to give up- to keep moving forward with courage and faith.  I rediscovered that tenacious girl- the one who overcomes obstacles both on and off the bike- and the overwhelming joy and thrill that comes with having the willingness to risk.  I reconnected once again with the girl who felt supported, loved unconditionally, and comfortable enough to get uncomfortable-

And as I wrapped up a solid 10-hour training day on Saturday, she whispered to me, "Welcome home."

"Sometimes when you think you are done, it is just the edge of beginning.  Probably that's why we decide we're done.  It's getting too scary.  We are touching down onto something real.  It is beyond that point when you think you are done that often something strong comes out." -Natalie Goldberg

Flexibility.

It's not news that I like structure.  Believe me, my monthly planner has all of the big workouts written in- the 21 mile run, the 90 mile bike followed by the hour run, the 10 hr day (next Saturday, to be exact)...and to be perfectly honest, I actually enjoy the long stuff.  These were the workouts that I was told about from the beginning, and I was looking forward to them (we're all a little cray cray).  But now I look at them and understand that modifications need to be made.  And I just have to be flexible, breathe, and allow the body to do what it will do.

Translating flexibility now to my training program...

Last week, I was not Ms. Flexible Ironman Training Plan Girl. I was ready to call it quits.  Done.  Game over.  I can't even walk.  Pua.


And then, all of a sudden, it was like the Ironman Cowbird came and laid its eggs into my nest, pushing out the eggs of despair, frustration, fear of failure, and negativity.  Family and friends supported my decision either way.  But this week, miraculously, the foot is healing. But most of all, my spirit is healing.  I've had really positive and supportive encouragement from those who I respect both as athletes and as people.  Hulk reminded me of everything we both have invested already in this journey.  After our conversation, all of a sudden it came flooding back to me- the early 4:45am wake-up calls to swim, the long winter training rides where I'd try my hardest to not get dropped by the boys, the evening rides when I just wanted to go home after work and nap, bowing out of social engagements because I had an early bedtime- both of us understood the sacrifices of doing this sport.  His valuable input sparked the question- "What is better, to DNF (did not finish) or DNS (did not start)?  And my answer resonated with Kathryn Bertine, who failed to qualify for the London Olympics in women's cycling-  

"I have twice tried to cycle my way to the Olympics and did not succeed on either attempt.  And yet, I refuse to use the word 'fail.'  Not reaching a goal is one thing, but to attach failure to it would take away all I did achieve along the way.  From seeing the world to meeting incredible competitors to improving as an athlete, I have only gained, not lost.  To 'fail' at anything means one must first try something, so technically the failure cannot exist without trying; and if there is effort, then perhaps there is no such thing as failure.  The gift of disappointment is it shows us our capacity to care, want, hope and be truly invested in life and go after what we want.  It hurts when we don't reach our goal, but disappointment is an odd sort of victory; it can be felt only by those who try.  I put my heart and soul into trying.  I am pretty certain that is what hearts and souls are for.  There is no greater regret than looking back on life and wondering, 'What if?'"

So now, I am learning to be flexible.  I am still listening to my body, evaluating the levels of pain, and accepting the current foot situation.  Luckily, there is progress.  I can water run with a brace, without pain.  And the indoor trainer doesn't flare it up.  And so, despite the numerous physical disappointments that have wormed their way into my Ironman journey, I continue to hold on to hope, keeping the faith, and reminding myself to never stop trying. 

Multi-tasking at its best- Water running while listening to podcasts.
The guys in the hot tub drinking their beer think it's pretty awesome too.

Seeing the Good.

I cried in the pool on Saturday.  Shocking, I know.  But after a string of sub-par workout sessions for the past week, the emotions took over as I stood at the side of the wall while I was lapped.  One part of me said, "Whatever, no big deal.  Just keep swimming."  Another voice said something else, and I was stupid enough to listen to that voice.  Then the tears started coming, and I was embarrassed that something so trivial as being lapped could release an avalanche of negative thoughts.  As I finished up the swim set, I thought about Amanda Beard's book In the Water They Can't See You Cry: A Memoir.  No, I never read it, but I thought it was a catchy title.

The title of her book was true- up until I hit the wall and Coach and Hulk were there and they saw me cry.

Speaking of books, I finally finished reading The Life of Pi.  Some people say that the tiger Richard Parker symbolizes the violent, ferocious side of humanity that allowed Pi to survive in the ocean.  The tiger-like aspect of human nature emerges when it is faced with the will to survive.  This potentially vicious and dangerous side of his personality stands in tense opposition, yet shares an occasional partnership with the gentle, kind, loving nature of humanity- and this delicate dance between the two is illustrated through how the boy Pi and the tiger are both enemies and allies.  

I loved how Pi's name was short for "la Piscina," one of my favorite places.
And so I finally finished reading this by la piscina. #fitting

Similarly, Ironman training can bring out the worst and the best in all of us.  Instead of being on a boat alone for 227 days, you're in the pool, on the bike, and on the running trails for 243 days (~8 months of training).  There are those 'aha!' moments where everything clicks, when you hit your target pace, and when dreams are becoming a reality.  And then there are those moments when you feel tired- perhaps physically and emotionally- and every swim stroke, pedal stroke, or run stride feels heavy and hard- when you look around, compare, get angry, get negative, and start to question things...

Even for someone like myself who has been called "Ms. Sunshine and Rainbows" by a few people and who likes to the celebrate the notion of PMA, sometimes it is hard for me to see [enter squinty Asian eyes joke here] the good in the hard times.  When I get to this tipping point, I know what I need to do- and sometimes it means to take a mental break and step away...

And so yesterday, I knew the best thing for me to do was to:
1) Ride my bike somewhere new, preferably near the water 
2) Ride with someone not doing Ironman- someone who just likes riding their bike to ride their bike
3) Run new trails
4) Remember the joy
5) Get the miles in 
6) Stop thinking about if I am feeling fast/slow, if my running stride feels heavy/light and think about how awesome it feels to be able to move my body and see amazing sights
7) Focus on the good

And fortunately, all of the above happened.

My first coast ride ever-
there's something about the ocean and bikes together that heals everything...

Still all smiles after 75 miles

And STILL smiling after an hour run (believe me, this is a rare sight)

With training volume about to reach an all-time high in the next few weeks, I am grateful to be surrounded by positive friends and teammates.  Not everyone is lucky enough to be supported in love during all their breakthroughs and breakdowns (thank God this did not include a break-up!).  Sometimes when your own goggles are fogged up and teary, it is your teammates who act like the anti-fog and help you see the good.

Wolfie's wine pick. Friends. Red wine.
Both are helpful in allowing you to see the good in life.

#1830

Dear #1830:

It's been almost one week since I first met you, yet due to the nature of our sport, I feel like I already know so much about you. 

We exist in a sport that weighs so heavily on numbers (pace, heartrate, power, cadence, miles, speed)-  even 4 numbers attached to a racebelt represent your identity... yet behind those numbers I know there is a strength and a resilience that cannot be captured by objective data.

The outsiders call us crazy, but to each other, there is an invisible thread that weaves us together because of our shared experiences, albeit very personal, on and off of the race course.  We all have hit very dark, dark places that crack us open so we can feel the center of our own soul; yet have found strength in that vulnerability that eventually fuels us forward.
And always forward.  It is a sport that continually breaks us and rebuilds us, in a physical, spiritual, and emotional sense.

I read this beautiful article and thought of you, your dad, and how toeing the line on Saturday at Oceanside 70.3 is symbolic of so much more than swimbikerun.  

When it comes to living, it is always better to DNF than to DNS.

And so, on Saturday, my dear #1830, I ask that you forget about the numbers and think about your mantra- FEARLESS.  I know you said you were borrowing it from me, but it is now fully yours to embrace.  Because what we think about, we become.  So may your head be filled with good and positive thoughts.

Your Oceanside 70.3 wristband mantra...

The famous Aussie coach always reminds us to think, "I feel good, I feel strong, I feel relaxed," and even when I'm in the middle of a horrendous hill climb, it's amazing how I say those words and my body follows suit.  You can borrow these too; I'm sure he won't mind.

Leave the fear of the unknown behind.  Race with your heart.  It will not disappoint you.

Love,
#2111

A 'lil #throwback Thursday action- Oceanside 70.3 2010

P.S. And whatever you do, don't forget the important stuff-  Smile for the camera and pee in your wetsuit before the gun goes off.  (I just saved you from being asked if people can borrow your wetsuit.  You're welcome.)

Small Wins.

It was around mile 70 when I could start to feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  My legs felt like lead.  I was dropped and watched the rest of the group ride away.  Last week at this same hill, I felt so good.  This week I could barely pedal my bike.

Keith dropped back and as I slowly rolled up to him he asked, "How are you feeling?"
It was hard to breathe because I was crying.  "I'm having a hard time.  Today is a bad bike day."

Yes, this did happen.

With the physically and mentally challenging day I had experienced, I was perfectly fine riding back at my own pace since we were only 10 miles away.  His answer surprised me.  "You didn't work your a$$ off for 70 miles to ride home alone.  We're all gonna ride back together."

The last 10 miles were a tangible reminder that in life we are never alone- there are people who act as our steady wheels, shielding and blocking the wind from us so we can arrive at our destination in one piece.

Was able to do this with the wisdom of my teammates and coaches.

In his book The Power of Habits, Charles Duhigg presents the concept of "small wins."  A huge body of research has shown that small wins have enormous power.  Once a small win has been accomplished, it fuels transformative changes that favor another small win. This chain reaction and momentum that is created can convince people that bigger achievements are obtainable.  Even in difficult or challenging times, this momentum still continues to propel you forward.  Pyschologists refer to this as the "science of small wins." The concept applies specifically to business and work models, but I found it can equally apply to sport. 

Thinking back on past training workouts, I rarely remember the easy, good days.  It's those hard days; the ones that really made a dent physically and mentally- that I can recall vividly. 

I can remember the first time I climbed through Morgan Territory, feeling the lactic acid in my legs, and with each turn, seeing the pitch in the road curve ever so slightly upward.  Countless times I contemplated getting off my bike to "stretch" (aka. catch my breath).  But I didn't.  I kept chugging onward.  I kept moving forward.  And I remember how that ride taught me that my little legs have more stamina than I give them credit for.

Or that steep little climb right at the top of Mt. Diablo.  You know, the one where you want to zigzag your bike to offset the grade percentage, or walk your bike up, or kill whoever constructed the road at such an angle?  Yes, these are the rides I remember.  These are my "small wins."

Today's ride distance and the yummy Wolf food that helped fuel me.

Physically, there was nothing "winning" about this ride today.  But it taught me that it is important to finish what you set out to do, and there are people who look after you and help you reach your goal.  During Ironman on the lonely parts of the course when it starts to feel hard, these are the moments that you recall.  This recollection of "small wins"- the times when you resisted the temptation to quit, moved past it and finished intact- provides the momentum that fuels you to that finish line.

Today at mile 70 I said that it was a bad bike day.
I was wrong.
Today was a small win.

The Icarus Deception

"Stop swimming from behind.  Swim YOUR fast."  Coach first said this to me from the pool deck on Tuesday morning.  He repeated these words to me this morning before practice.  I first thought he was referring to my swimming tendencies with my lanemate, since I tend to mindlessly gauge my efforts on his pace.  He is a strong, steady fish, and sometimes it's easier to swim in his shadow than listen to my own body and what is my own perceived effort.

But Coach was referring to the fact that I am swimming slower than I am capable of, mostly because I like to be comfortable.  How can I get faster if I refuse to swim and challenge my body to a higher threshold of work? (notice I deliberately didn't use the word pain...)

Remember Icarus, from Greek mythology? He attempted to escape from Crete by wings made of feathers and wax.  He ignored the instructions not to fly too close to the sun, and the melting wax caused him to fall into the sea where he drowned.

I recently heard of Seth Godin's book, The Icarus Deception: How High Will You Fly?, where he challenges the old rules of playing it safe and staying in your comfort zone in your career and life.  He flips the lesson on the classic Icarus myth, and instead praises Icarus for his willingness to take a risk and challenge preconceived notions.  In society, the real innovators and artists are those who defy traditional rules and strive higher.  They are not afraid to risk. Godin writes about how it is better to be sorry than safe.  We need to fly higher than ever.

In sport, our 'dangerous sun' is also know as our "red line"- the point that you reach where you either quit, vomit, or have to slow down.  Ironically, that line is rarely reached since our head prevents our bodies from ever coming close to that breaking point.

Most of us train in the gray zone, that comfortable place where we give some effort but not enough to make us faster in the long run.  I've been guilty of this.  I know my body and when things start to feel uncomfortable, I dial it back a little, recover and conserve.  I'd rather have "something left in the tank" than crash and burn.  I live up to my nickname at times, where I have a tendency to rest in the shadows and put out effort when I feel like I have something in the tank.  The problem is, I always have more than enough left in the tank.  I have yet to fly close to my sun because I have been afraid of the melting wax on my wings.

Exploring those limits with 3 minute TT relay efforts on the bike.
Gotta love the nickname! 

Hence, my coach's words of advice.

So today I swam MY fast, in my triathlon kit with more drag than I'd prefer.  I felt the lactic acid build up in my muscles.  I kept swimming.  I dismissed the negative thoughts telling me to slow down.  I concentrated on feeling strong and relaxed, and gliding effortlessly over the water.  I adopted the attitude of staying curious, not afraid.  Exploring my limits, and moving past them.

"Stop swimming from behind.  Swim YOUR fast."  Don't gauge your rhythm, your pace, and your path in life upon someone else's.  Pave and discover your own way.

I am still finding my fast in the pool and on the bike, and in life.  Today I came one step closer.

Stay curious.
Dance upon the edge.
Be like Icarus.

Enjoying the Process...

So often many of us are so fixated on a goal, on a certain outcome, on a destination- myself included.

One of my dad's many masterpieces, now residing at my place!

Being in the presence of a master ceramicist (my dad) and working with clay was a gentle reminder to enjoy the process.  I started out by making pinch bowls, just to get a feel for the clay.  It felt so freeing to work with my hands; to use my thumbs and transform a glob of clay into a bowl by starting from the center and working my way out.

The pinchbowls I made (left); my cup I made on the wheel (right).

My second bowl was ironically more difficult to make.  The walls became thin and as I tried to 'fix' it, it seemed to become increasingly more uneven.  At one point I became frustrated.  I was tempted to ball the entire thing up into a glob again and start over, but then decided to stop being so attached to making a perfect bowl.  I ended up folding some of the walls in and it suddenly became a star bowl. 

Working the wheel was a different story.  It took me awhile to get a feel for the clay, to learn how much pressure to exert, how much water to add to make it pliable, and how to fold my hands and cup the clay in order to center it and form it.

Working the wheel...

I asked my dad what the most common mistake he saw in people when they worked the wheel.  He answer resonated deeply with me.  "They rush the process.  They try to get from A to Z in 30 seconds.  It's not going to happen that way."

The beauty of ceramics is that you may have in mind what type of piece you will create, but it may change as you work with the clay.  It is a continual process of reworking the same piece of clay until you achieve your final product.  Similarly in sport, just as clay is constantly being reshaped and reformed, training plans sometimes must be modified.  There is no one perfect training plan because adjustments always have to be made...what if you feel more fatigued than usual?  Have life-stressors that affect your training?  Are dealing with injuries?

Modification #1: Water running for now...

Growing up, my dad's ceramics were everywhere in our house.  They graced the tables at church during potlucks, and decorated the houses of friends and family.   It was apparent that as a ceramicist, once you are done with a piece, you still continue to create more, as your work is a snapshot of your expression and manifestation of who you are.

Pieces drying and ready to be fired soon...all part of the process...

Dad found an old bowl I had made from (10+??) years ago!
Now it's going to be fired and glazed with the others.

In sport, oftentimes athletes get so caught up in a goal or "A" race.  But after they cross that finish line, then what?  If it was all about crossing the Ironman finish line for me, I would have hung up the bike and wetsuit after Nov. 2011.  I am learning that like a ceramicist, it is not about that one piece of pottery that I create, I just enjoy the process and the journey of becoming a more refined master of my trade, and making adjustments where needed as I learn more about myself, my pre-conceived limits (and how to surpass them), and how much more there is to go.  

Learning tactical group riding skills.
And how being the only girl isn't an excuse to slack off.

I have so enjoyed this triathlon journey through the years but also have to remind myself to be patient as I gain more skills, technique and mental confidence.  Be fully present.  And don't rush the process.  Just like dad said (funny how he is usually right).

Sharing the Same Spirit...

"The water is your friend...you don't have to fight with water, just share the same spirit as the water, and it will help you move." -Alexandr Popov

It's pretty awesome to finish your cooldown to this backdrop.
 I'm starting to love mornings again.

I've always thought of the water as my friend, but now I'd say that we are being reacquainted once again.  I've pretty much swam the same way for almost 25+ years...the same swivel of the hips, hand entry, "S" shaped curve down my body with my arm...

All of that is changing, and I am embracing a new technique and way of moving through the water.  I used to repeat "skewer" to myself while I swam, as a visual reminder to rotate my shoulders and hips and keep my core centered.

Coach made it clear- I'm not a kabob.  I'm a swimmer.

I'm relearning my entire swim technique; thinking quite consciously about not making an "S" curve, and instead feeling my hands pull me through the water with one streamline forward pull.  I feel like I'm hydroplaning.  And I feel faster. 

Just like swim technique evolves through time, so do we as individuals.  Don't stick to old school techniques just because they were the best way back when.  Learn to adapt and embrace change.  Trust the process.  Trust your coach.  Trust yourself.

Then you will truly share the same spirit as the water- as a fluid-like and seamlessly calm and courageous individual.

#22: Make A Vision Board.

I'm sure most of you remember a few years ago when The Secret became so popular that it wasn't really a 'secret' anymore.  This was based on the law of attraction, which is said to work by attracting into a person's life the experiences, situations, events and people that 'match the frequency' of the person's thoughts and feelings.  What you think about becomes your reality, whether positive or negative.

I know when I'm sweating on the trainer and want to call it quits, most of those thoughts can quickly turn negative.  Knowing I'm a visual learner already, I wanted to create a vision board to focus on while I was on the bike trainer.  Mental cues and catch phrases have always worked well for me in the past.  With Ironman Lake Tahoe being my second Ironman, things this time around are much different and I want more than anything to mentally enter this Ironman stronger than before.  I want to be focused, strategic, and have my race be successfully visualized beforehand.

Making this was fun.  I've always loved arts and crafts as a kid and have felt like the right-brained side of myself has been stifled ever since college when the majority of my work was predominantly left-brained.  I had magazines open and cut out whatever images or phrases spoke to my heart.

Last week's retreat made me realize the importance of meditation and mindfulness in both sport and in life.

Can't get much clearer than that!

Nutrition is always part of the equation.  And this year I want to be able to handle any situation.
Especially if it involves flat tires.

My vision board this time around was strictly triathlon-based, but you can expand them to include all areas of your life.  What you believe, you can achieve.  The beauty of the vision board is that you are seeing your final product, your destination, your goal, and all you do is focus on that.  Don't worry so much about how you will get there.  Those details will work themselves out in due time.  The beauty is that you can allow your creativity and your spirit guide you as you merely piece together things that inspire you. 

I had the pleasure of meeting an incredibly special person a few weeks ago.  She is also preparing and doing her own Ironman, although not in the form of swimbikerun.  She has decided she is ready and willing to make small and doable changes in her life to regain back her health, and ultimately her life.  She is also working on her vision board.  Our journeys are very similar.  We will both learn the value of how our daily choices affect our long-term goals.  We will both have setbacks.  We will both pick ourselves up and keep moving forward, knowing we have a team of supporters on the sidelines and at the finish line for us.

If you're reading this, M, I'm so proud of you.  Not only am I excited to see your vision board, but also to witness and experience the inspiration in your life story.  Because vision boards aren't just for dreaming, they are meant for action.  

#10: Hire an Ironman Coach

The foundation that Coaches Marv and Jo gave me for Ironman training was solid.  I finished Ironman Florida mentally and physically intact- my nutrition was spot-on, my pacing plan was flawlessly written and executed, and I gained so much personally and athletically through their coaching and friendship.  The solid principles they taught me will always remain in my blood.

This past year, the self-coached plan didn't work out so well.  I realized that alone I can be pretty disciplined, but underneath the guidance of a coach, the added accountability motivates me to work twice as hard.  

And I love to learn.  As the years go by, I have witnessed my own growth and can see my own potential as an athlete.  At first I thought as I got older, I'd get slower.  But I'm seeing splits in the pool now that I would have never been able to pull off in high school.  I want to learn from the best, from those who have experienced this journey themselves and who have a rich treasure of knowledge and understand me and my kind of crazy.

Within the triathlon community and even amongst friends, the name Greg Lynch kept coming up.  Then I met him on a bike ride, and after riding with me for a few minutes, he was able to provide me with feedback on how to improve my pedal efficiency.  I was immediately drawn to his coaching style, his cheeky humor (gotta love those Australians!) and his genuine love for this sport.  I knew I wanted to be coached by him.  I wanted to be one of his athletes; to soak up his knowledge and to learn from his program that is so differently designed from the typical triathlon programs common in the US.  It's time to ditch the heartrate monitor and get to know my own body, my own limits, my own mind.

Tonight I was introduced to his coaching methodology and was given a sneak-peek at the basic training plan layout from April to September.  I was trying to absorb it all and contain my excitement of how privileged I feel to train underneath him. Some of the big training weekends were a lot to wrap my head around (I spotted a 10-hour training day and a 21 miler), but when it's good butterflies in my stomach, it's a good thing.  

After our meeting, I told Coach Greg, "I will work hard for you and hard for myself."  Immediately he corrected me.  "No, I don't want you to work hard, I want you to work smart."  Lesson 1 is already in the books.

For some, after completing their first Ironman, they're done.  It's out of their system and they can hang up their wetsuit and retire their bike to the storage.  For me, I'm not done yet- there's so much more to learn, to question, to discover not only about this fabulous sport of triathlon, but about myself.

2.4 mile swim

112 mile bike

26.2 mile run

The distance remains the same- 140.6 miles.  But this time around, the terrain of the Ironman course and my support team are different.  And most certainly, I am different.  

Let's do this, mate!