September 18, 2011
The foot took a little longer than planned to heal up and thoughts came of possibly bailing on the notion of racing. The local newspaper posted an article that Ironman/K Swiss would be adding a Sprint distance race on the same day of the big race. That, I can handle! Never despise meager beginnings. And I would later realize that the first distance, even without an injury was way bigger than myself.
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Training was back on. Swimming was not my best event, biking would be my stronger event and I strongly disliked running. But, I did my best.
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Having never really learned how to swim the freestyle stroke my default stroke was the back stroke. I read the rules front and back and nowhere did it say what stroke I had to use. All I owned was a mountain bike...it would have to do. The run, if I had to walk part of it, I knew I could do that fast. My biggest mountain was the 248 bike exit off the High Road. My how much that seemed like a mountain. Such a tiny race now that I look back at it, but at the time it was huge and it challenged me on levels that I had never tapped into before. I video'd the whole race course, closed my eyes and played it over and over in my mind.
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It was race weekend and the bike had to be dropped off the day before the race...it was time to register and pick up the event essentials. It rained and rained and rained...sheets of rain that looked like a blizzard. You couldn't even see across the lake at the bike transition area. That would surely cool off the water and race morning temps.. I was getting cold feet big time! I just kept walking it out but has a chicken switch plan in the back of my mind.
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I laid in bed all night listening to the thunder, lightening and rain pour down on my skylight while refreshing my radar on my phone every half hour. The rain hadn't let up for the past 18 hours and wasn't predicted to do so anytime soon. Wake up time would be 4:00 am...like I really needed an alarm clock...I never slept a wink. I went back and forth in my mind all night about how I was going to gracefully bow out of doing this. The alarm went off and I told Brett, "I'm done! I can't do this! I've tormented myself all night and it's not worth it! we can just pick up my bike after the race."
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Well, that didn't work either. Brett and Ciarra watched me just about meltdown right in from of them. "Lose your quit!" were the words from one of my coaches over the Summer that kept playing in my head. I want to do this, I need to do this for myself and I don't want to disappoint the people who supported me and worked so hard with me all Summer. Perhaps they wouldn't have been disappointed but my pride certainly didn't want to face them as a quitter either. All three of us got in the car and headed down to the run transition to pick up one set of my gear. While in route I pulled up the radar one more time...a tiny sliver between two storm fronts was predicted to slide right over Branson for what looked like enough time for me to pull off the race. Ok, "lets head down to the lake" I'm going to take this one hour at a time. Poor Brett and C, I think they felt like they had already done the race before I even started.
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The rain stopped...I arrived at my bike. It was still dark, floodlights lit the transition area. Well, they lit the area for the athletes doing the big race. We Sprinters were at the back of the lot in the dark. The energy walking through the parking lot while the music was playing and everyone was getting ready was electrifying. At that moment, it didn't matter to me that I was an amateur Sprint racer. You could only be in that parking lot if you had the arm band on your wrist and in that moment I had an identity that felt like I had achieved something.
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It was finally time to get ready for my race start. Standing on the beach, 54 degrees and water temps of 78 the sun broke through the clouds over the hill behind me right at the sound of the gun. Backstroke and all, I finished the swim, got on that mountain bike wearing way too many layers of clothes (amateur). I climbed the mountain from the Chateau and made my way to the top of the hill...the Bradford Inn would be the crest of the first peak. The sun came out and I smiled the biggest grin. The sun was out for most of my race and I actually got tan lines from my bike shorts. Next would come the big hill at 76 and the High Road. My green jacket came in very handy. I could legitimately say that I did not use my brakes going down the hill but I certainly unzipped my jacket and let it act as a parachute for me. I'm quite fond of that jacket to this day.
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I made it up the 248 exit and it was downhill from there. I coasted through the intersection that inspired me the previous year smiling and thanking all of the volunteers and police officers along the way. Its a good thing that I had no idea how ridiculous I really looked because it was the best feeling ever. The emotional healing that went on in that moment wiped out a multitude of pain. I did my run my way. A little bit of run, a little bit of walk but I made sure I was running when I came down the chute to the finish line...and I jumped on the line in victory when I arrived.
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So thrilled I didn't quit. It wasn't even about the pride of failing in front of my peers anymore but more about what I would have missed out on by not pushing myself through to a new level of who I could be. The journey changed me. I had time to get quick hugs from my cheering section before the thunder and lightening of the second storm front came upon us. We gathered my bike and gear, loaded up and the torrential downpours began before we even left the parking lot and didn't let up for another day.
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Home soaking in the tub listening to the rain pour down on the skylight was very different than listening to it 12 hours earlier. And, I was very glad to be on the other side of my mountain and not wondering if I could have done it. I prayed, He led, He perfectly positioned the coaches I would need for that moment of my life and I was forever changed.