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.

Asking the Right Questions.

There was a dark period in my life when I felt completely numb, traumatized, angry and victimized.  I wasn't sleeping.  It was difficult to function in my daily life, and some people even gently suggested medication.  I was anti-meds, and found that the only breakthrough I had was through EMDR (Eye movement Desensitization and Reprocessing).  This technique miraculously allowed me to move on in my life by reprogramming 'triggers-' things that once caused a spiral of anxiety and stress were now considered harmless memories once they were reframed.

In essence, I learned to stop asking the pitiful and selfish question, "Why me?" and instead probe, "What can I take from this experience?  What has this experience taught me that can help me make better decisions in the future?"

Coach knew the hills in Tahoe made me feel like a victim- angry, weak, subordinate and questioning everything.  And so, before we rode the hills on the 3 Bears ride on Thursday, I was asked to reframe my view of the hills.  Instead of hating them, I was told to ask them, "What are you teaching me?  What lessons can I gain from you?"

With this new open attitude of nonresistance and surrender, I was able to relax and receive.  I allowed the hill to guide me like a gentle elder, giving me wise words that will stay safe in my journal.  Instead of being tense and angry at the bottom of the hill, I actually enjoyed climbing for the first time- I was hungry to hear what the hill had to teach me.  I even had some fun on the climb, spinning away and feeling much more empowered and stronger than before.

A view after one of the climbs.
Just like the sun's rays, the answers to good questions always penetrate through the clouds.

Even in meditation, so often people think about what they want. They spend their minutes focused on the question, "What do I need in my life?"

My dear friend (PK, you are secretly my guru!) challenged me to ask a different question- "How can I serve?"

Oh man, that changed everything!  All of a sudden, it was not about me.  It was about the bigger world around me, other people and communities, and how my life could somehow fit into that larger scheme and make a bigger difference.

In life, sport and spirituality, it is amazing how perspectives and judgements and attitudes can dictate our experiences.  All of these perspectives and judgements and attitudes are contingent on the questions that we ask ourselves.

So make sure that you are asking yourself the right questions.

Building My House.

When we were kids, my mom gave my sister and me a huge tri-fold piece of white paper.  We used a ruler to draw lines for the different levels of a house, for the rooms, and for the roof.  Then, we drew our "perfect" house.  I remember I made one of the rooms in my house a pet room, since I was obsessed with cats and fish at the time.  Another room had a grand piano in it.  And the bedrooms all had bunk beds.  My sister and I cut out small cardboard people to play in the unique houses that we each created.  I bet those paper designs are still saved in a box at my parent's house...

This past training weekend in Tahoe was eye-opening.  The course, coupled with the altitude and the distance will make for a very long and hard day come September 22nd.  But the fact that I felt much more smashed than my training partners made me panic.  Sometimes in sport, it is easy to compare yourself to other athletes and judge your fitness (or lack thereof) based on everyone else's.

I voiced my concern to Coach, and he reminded me that as athletes, we each have our own ebb and flow- we all peak and dip at different times during the weeks leading up to the event.  But the goal is to all be at our prime for the event.

And his email today reminded me of that very fact in a poignant way- 
"Relax Shadow, let all the building blocks fall into place race week.  You cannot put a roof on the house until you have the foundation and the walls."

And just as I worked on creating my ideal house that was different than my sister's, so I shall continue to build this 'house,' albeit not on white tri-fold paper, but in the sport of triathlon.

This is my PowerBreathe cram session on Friday.
I am now committed to REALLY using it for the next 10 weeks to
strengthen and build my lung capacity!

My fake PMA pose after a really mentally and physically tough climb x 2.
Building stronger climbing legs and attitude are in the future!

The gorgeous view from the Ironman run course.
I admit, if you're going to suffer, at least you have an awesome backdrop!

For me, successfully building my house includes-
Taking the time to build a solid foundation.
Not comparing.
Enjoying the process.
Trusting the architect.
And looking forward to the finished product.

P.M.A.

I first heard of this term a few years ago, but never really used it.  Then during one practice while I was talking to Wolfie, it resurrected itself.  

"We just need to have a P.M.A." 
"What's that?" she asked.
"Positive mental attitude."

And just like that, it became a permanent part of our vocabulary.  I've learned on this journey that there are two ways of approaching hard workouts- 1) Embrace the suck (the preferred masochistic approach of Macca and Hulk) or 2) Have a PMA (the preferred approach for Wolfie and me).

One of my favorite amateur triathletes Sonja Wieck said it best- "It's true that your ability to remain positive in all situations will give you a leg up on your competition, and even if it doesn't...at least you will have a positive outlook on things.  If you are fast and happy, you're good.  If you are slow and happy, still good.  But if you are fast or slow and unhappy...no bueno.  If you are slow and unhappy, I'm pretty darn sure that shifting to slow and happy will give you the best chance at becoming fast and happy."

An example of NOT having a PMA.  A mud-covered face and booty during a rainy bike sesh.

And this here folks, is Wolfie, the fresh-faced PMA model.

So the recipe for success, alongside a good coaching program?  PMA.

On Tuesday morning in the pool, I was chatting with Wolfie.  That night my group was supposed to do power climbs up Mt. Diablo.  And I was not really that excited.  Did I mention that I was not that excited?

"Ohhhhh Shadow, you gotta have a PMA.  It'll be FUN!  You might see Bambi!  It's soooo pretty up there."  It was semi-sarcastic, but it made me laugh, and it did change my perspective.  Wolfie knows all the right things to say to me.

That night, I resolved to have a PMA.  It helped a lot.  And my new climbing gears on my road bike helped too, as well as the fact that I had really awesome company.

Doing power climbs up Mt. Diablo with this as the backdrop?  No complaints.

No Bambi sightings, but I was trailing behind these guys. #thenextbestthing

And yesterday was my first double-run day.  I like double mint gum.  And double chocolate chip cookies.  But double runs?  Not so much.  I was especially not exactly looking forward to the run after work, but I loaded up my ipod shuffle with Rich Roll's new podcast featuring Hillary Biscay, laced up my shoes, and didn't forget the most important thing- my PMA.  In all honesty, it was the most energizing/relaxing/beautiful run I've had in a long time.  It actually felt better than the run I had in the morning.

Double runday funday.

Having a PMA helps not only in sport, but also in your professional life.  If shifts occur on the work horizon, having a PMA is critical in allowing you to embrace changes as growth opportunities and creative new endeavors, rather than scary roads.  I think it's true- you can change your life by simply changing your attitude.

In everything that we do, we have a choice about how we approach it.

So either embrace the suck.

Or have a PMA.

Race Day Magic.

Three days after my Lake Del Valle open water swim, I was flat on my back feeling like all the energy had been sucked out of me.  My nose was running, I was coughing, and I had the worst headache.  I slept for almost 2 days straight and was convinced that I had some strange microbial infection from the lake that would eventually kill me.  A 'real' doctor told me I had sinusitis.  And to stop freaking out.

Mom saves the day with homemade chicken soup, garlic bread, an orchid, and Mucinex-D.

Another friend brought over organic lemons (he knows I'm a snob).
With tea.  And chocolate.  And cookies.
I think all this worked more than the Mucinex-D, in my humble opinion.

The thought of having to navigate again in the open water swim just one week after I had recovered from this bout of feeling-like-crapitis made me nervous.  Granted it wasn't Shady Cliffs, but still...

Some races, things just all come together- I can't really explain it- so I just call it "race day magic."  The day before, I had an awesome pre-race lunch (eating fresh fish somehow always channels my inner fast fishy).  I got my good luck pre-race hug.  And pep talk.  Which really wasn't a pep talk, but it felt like tradition.  And it made me happy.

Having most of my GL Coaching teammates also participating made it so much fun.  On the drive over, I opened a super sweet card from Wolfie that made my day and inspired me to swim fast.  According to the Gary Chapman's book The Five Love Languages, Words of Affirmation is my primary 'language.'  So encouraging emails and cards and pep talks are all positive forces that act as huge motivators.  It was perfect timing.  And Hulk (aka the mailman) didn't get in trouble because he remembered to deliver it on time!

Wolfie's words of affirmation. 

Coach said the 2.4 mile swim was just "time practicing in the open water."  I'm not sure if he tells us that to keep us calm and relaxed, but secretly, I think this is what he really means- 

Er, sexiest wetsuit...

Aside from the fact that the anti-fog Spitz was burning my eyeballs within the first loop (Iesson learned for IMLT- rinse them out!) and the fact that my half-a$$ Body Glide application had left my wetsuit chafing my neck with every stroke, I felt good.  It seemed like I was swimming all alone- I couldn't see anyone else around me.  After the first buoy turn, I looked up and saw another human being!  And it was Hulk!  I let out a shriek of joy, partly because I wasn't lost alone in the middle of Chesbro Reservoir, and because Hulk=fast feet. I hopped on his feet for a few seconds and then noticed they were doing a hard kick of BACKSTROKE.  I lifted my head up and we both started laughing.  Then, we got to work and did what we do best- we swam together and it was good enough for a 5th/6th place overall.

Hulk always tows me on the bike, so I was happy to tow him around for a bit in the water.

I was really surprised with my results- I was the 1st woman in my AG, and even more cool- 1st overall woman in the 2.4 mile wetsuit division!  

Game face.

#willraceforwine

I can only say that it is because of unique coaching I've been receiving, and for all those early mornings with Hulk and Wolfie beside me in the pool, encouraging and pushing me to swim 'my fast.'  We all need each other, and our individual wins are really a reflection of the group's wins.

Turns out, GL Coaching's group is full of fast fishes who also placed really well!

Most of the crew with our winning schwag...

I have memories of the last time I did the 2.4 mile Catfish Crawl.  This year's theme all around seems to be re-writing the past and moving forward with an improved technique and mentality- which is translating into better race results.  I love the coaching I'm receiving.  I love my inspiring teammates.  And I've always loved the open water.

But I'm still taking Mucinex, just in case.

The Sweet Spot.

My favorite part of the trail.  With my favorite trail buddy.

During one windy bike ride, I remember Hulk telling me to tuck behind the wheel in front of me and "find that sweet spot."  You know, that perfect spot where you are shielded from the wind and can pedal easily and effortlessly in the draft.  You continue to move at a fast pace, but with absolute flow and ease.

Lately, I feel like I've hit a sweet spot in life.  I think back at the numerous paths that my life could have taken, and how drastically different things would be now if I had followed down those roads.  Back when I was 24, I thought I would be married and have kids by the time I was 32.  I've learned that happiness and success are not contingent on the trajectories (heavily constructed by society and culture) that I held for myself way back when.  Things change.  But more importantly, I've changed.

What if I had stayed in Southern California?  What if I had gotten married?  The endings to those scenarios that I  sometimes envision fall short of what I would consider being truly happy and fulfilled.

The path I'm on now feels more authentic- it feels good under my feet and I'm always curious to see what is beyond the next curve.  The feelings of joy and gratitude fill my heart- not fear- and for me, this is monumental.

I'm reading more books.
I'm watercoloring.
I'm meditating.
I'm surrounding myself with quality individuals who motivate and challenge me to aim for higher levels- physically, mentally and spiritually.  
And of course, I'm loving every minute of swimbikerun.

Life isn't always easy.  I know that.
So it makes it that much better when you hit a sweet spot.

Calidoscopio.

This morning I believed with all my heart that today would be a really fast swim day, and hopefully fast enough to secure a 1st place AG win.  It may seem trite to some, but I really wanted this.  Sure, I've never raced an open water 5K, but I did the math, checked results from last year against my old 2.5K results, and trusted the amazing coaching and swim sessions that I've had since February.  As I was eating my pre-race breakfast, I happened to stumble upon this video.

It left me tearful over my bowl of oatmeal, and there were some valuable lessons I gained- Fall into your own tempo.  Don't allow the pace of others to dictate your race.  Find your own 'fast' and have faith in it.  Trust it, even if others may judge you, and comment- like the track announcer did- that you're "way out of the race right now."

Lake Del Valle. 5K = 2 loops around.  Feeding boat on bottom left! 

The swim start was competitive and fast, and unlike triathlon where strong swimmers can 'out-bully' weaker swimmers, everyone here was stubbornly battling for position and no one was letting up.  Someone behind me kept grabbing and pulling my feet down so I couldn't breathe (I know this was likely unintentional as they were probably trying to stroke their arms forward).  But still.  At one point, another swimmer and I got entangled in each other's arms so we looked like BFFs.  That actually made me laugh.

This is cool on the beach.
During a competitive open water swim?  Not so cool.

I settled into my rhythm and kept asking myself and self-assessing- "Am I giving everything that I can?  Am I squeezing out every last drop?"  I just imagined myself in the pool next to Hulk, and all of those times when we'd have butterfly interspersed into a long swim set to build endurance- just enough to raise the heart rate, but short enough to still recover from that effort and settle back into your rhythm.  Like the butterfly, I'd sprint to chase the bubbles in front of me, roll through it, and recover.  And repeat.  On the second lap around, there was no 'pack,' but merely random individual swimmers sprinkled throughout the water.  To choose a target was meaningless.  I just put my head down and kept swimming "my fast."

As I passed the final turn buoy, I turned on the motor as high as it would go.  At this point, we were all so spread out, each of us choosing a different line to the finishing chute.  I channeled Calidoscopio, coming along that last turn- strong, in rhythm and in flow.

I ran up the ramp and almost lost my balance as the volunteer removed my timing chip.  "Good job, Bob!" I looked up in surprise at who knew my secret nickname, and it was Talia- we had swam together through high school and at UCSD. It was great to see her there. Another friendly face had also perfectly timed his bike ride to hear the announcer say my name- it really made my day.

I was really happy with my swim- 1:25:35.  Was the course longer than 3.1 miles?  Some said yes.  Regardless, I was proud of my effort and was pretty sure that I had placed.  All that changed when I checked the results.  My heart sank.  Above my name was another 32 year-old girl's name, with a time faster than mine by 15 seconds.  All of a sudden, in a flurry of disappointment, a really perfect swim became the object of detailed analysis.  

"Should I have gone out faster?"  I answered myself right away- "No.  I went out as fast as I could."  I took a leap of faith and wasn't afraid to swim alone, even if it meant ditching the feet in front of me and the effortless draft they offered.  I knew deep down in my heart that I swam the best race that I could.  I told myself, "C'mon!  You should be so happy with 2nd place!"   But still, I couldn't shake the disappointment. 

And that's when I met Susan.

As the last swimmer finishing the 5K, her 5K swim time rivaled that of some people who did the 10K swim... 3+ hours.  In fact, as she was toweling off, some people asked her if she had just finished the 10K swim.  You couldn't tell since she had a huge smile spread across her face.  Her 63 year-old body was beaming.  "That was the hardest thing that I've ever done.  I wanted to quit so badly.  But I didn't.  I'm so incredibly proud of myself that I could cry!"

Wow.  Attitude check.

Susan continued, "I know I'm a slow swimmer.  I know that."  In our conversation, I learned that she had just started swimming when she was 54 years old.  

I was intrigued.  "What did you tell yourself when you wanted to quit?"
"I dedicated this race to my friend who has cancer.  And even though this is hard, it's nothing in comparison to fighting cancer.  I do these open water swims and everyone asks me, 'What was your time?  What was your time??'"

She paused.  It was at that moment when our eyes met and I spoke.  "But really, time doesn't matter.  At the end of the day, you and I both swam a 5K.  And that's a lot more swimming than most people would ever attempt.  Your courage, irrespective of your finishing time, will serve to inspire the people you know to attempt something that is outside of their comfort zone."

She began to cry.  "Thank you."  I looked at her as well with tear-filled eyes.  Really, I was thankful to her.  Her attitude gave me a renewed and different perspective.  Sure, it would have been nice to win 1st place.  But at the the end of the day, it's more about giving all you have, at that moment, and surrendering the outcome.  And that's what we both did today.

When I look at my medal, I'll be reminded of Susan- and even if she never wins a tangible medal for her swim efforts, I know that her heart and her story is adorned with those medals of courage, honor, and faith- things of lasting value.

Hardware to remind me of this day and the lessons I learned.

Perhaps just like Susan and Calidoscopio- even if others label you as 'older' and 'slower,' you must learn to be comfortable going at your own pace in your own race.  In your jobs, relationships, or marriages, outsiders may judge and say that you are "way out of the race right now."  The trick is to drown out the voices of those critics and trust what you know is true.  It's at this moment when the race- and the victory- are yours for the taking.