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.

Cowbirds.

Instead of staying local and sulking about my bum foot, I was kindly invited up to Tahoe for some much-needed R&R, or as Hulk stated, to "gain perspective." I packed bikinis, not a bike.  I packed wine and snack food, not bags of secret powder sports drink mix and tons of gummy chews and gels.

In other words, it was my most normal-person weekend I've had in a really long time.  And as much as I love training and working towards a big goal, it felt really good to just relax for once with Wolfie up in her cabin.

Now this is what I call gaining perspective!
 The view from our first open water swim at Sugar Pine.

Day 2. Open water swim at Bliss Beach.
And for the record, it was very blissful.

We slept in past 7am.

We s'mored.

The marshmallows were Hulk-size. Huge. And so awesome.

We swam.

Who needs an ice bath for my foot when I have the cold temps of Lake Tahoe?

We sunned.

Chambers Beach = Chambers Punch

I also learned a lot about birds.  Staying with Wolfie's family was really enjoyable and educational at the same time.  They had a lot of bird reference books, and even a journal where they recorded the birds they saw, the location, and the date.  Pretty spiffy.

During our time outside by the birdfeeder, Wolfie pointed out to me a cowbird.  Cowbirds will lay their eggs in other bird's nests and abandon their young to be raised by the other bird.  The worst part?  When the cowbird lays its eggs, it often 'kicks out' most the eggs of the host bird that were residing in the nest.  The foster mom ends up taking care of the new cowbird as one of its own, providing for it and nurturing it, even though it looks nothing like her.  Her own eggs and potential offspring were sacrificed as a result of this.

The Cowbird.

We were watching the host mom and the cowbird at the bird feeder.  The cowbird was twice the size of the host mom, and the thought came across my mind- "Didn't she know it didn't belong when she was sitting on an egg that was double the size of her eggs?"

This made me think about the thoughts and dreams that we all hold dear, protecting and incubating until they are ready to mature and hatch- and the Cowbirds we all have in our lives that dump their opinions and baggage into our 'nest.'  I think in any time of vulnerability (injury, loss of a job, relationship, etc), it is so easy to adopt the thought patterns of others and nurture them as our own, when really they are not consistent with the truth that we hold in our hearts.

I am challenging all of you to take a long hard look at the eggs in your own nest.  Make sure they are yours, not the opinions or long-lost hopes and dreams of the Cowbirds in your life.  Incubate, nourish, and love the eggs that you were meant to nurture.  The rest will fall into place.  Or out of the nest.

On Being Child-Like...

"The soul is healed by being with children." -Fyodor Dostoevsky

I ran across this quote yesterday and loved it.  How true.  My niece just learned how to play checkers and watching her play was interesting.  She never double-guessed herself or made futuristic moves- "Well, if I move here, than she can move there, and then I'll lose my checker piece."  She just moved her piece (sometimes she illegally moved her checker piece, but I'll let my sister deal with that later).  Life for a 6 year-old is simple.  Don't overthink things.  Just make your move and then deal with things as they come.  Celebrate your wins.  Be a good sport even if you lose a checker piece.

Even her jokes were awesome-

Q: "What do you get when a turtle and a porcupine cross the road?"

A:  A slowpoke!

I think children possess a beautiful innocence, carefree attitude, and sense of wonder that is refreshing to be around.  Life doesn't always have to be so hard.  Rest.  Relax.  Go to swim practice.  Take naps.  Draw pictures with crayons.  Tell jokes.  Laugh.

The next few days I'm hopping on this bandwagon and I know that my soul (and foot) will be healed.  Can't wait to play checkers again on Wednesday...

Knowing when...

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done."
                                                   -Kenny Rogers "The Gambler"

When a blog falls silent for awhile, it could mean that things are really really good, or really really bad.   For me, it's been an even mixture of both.  I've had some amazing and inspiring conversations that have led me to tears, and also have had severely painful and frustrating days that have left me in tears.  The vacillating has been exhausting, so I've held back from posting.  But I always would like this piece of blogland real estate to be honest and authentic, so now I'm writing...

Tears seem to be the constant.  And for someone who was nicknamed "Stoney" for my ability to remain stoic and hold things in, this shows to me how deeply I care, how the pain not only is present in my feet, but how it pierces my heart and the very core of who I am.

I have thrived on my ability to persevere, to be the girl with grit, to be the one who finishes what she starts.  I hate quitting.  So I keep going, keep my chin up, try to troubleshoot and find other solutions.

But the foot pain is still there.  And it is so real.

I am a fishy.  But the painful foot pain leaves me feeling stupidly nonathletic.

And deep down I know that adding 140.6 more miles to my resume would not make me be loved any more or any less by those who truly care about me.

This song has been on my mind so much lately- you need to know when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em...and really, only you know the answer.

It's a question that I've been asking myself lately.  I have less than eight weeks to find the answer.

  

Becoming strong.

...and I am glad that I am not alone in this journey.

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.