Reflections

I was happy, but my stomach wasn't...

The mountain I run on my long runs in the beauty of the early evening light

It has been a quiet week, with Duncan being away on a school trip and only Spencer and me at home. I was determined to catch up on reading, spend some quality time with the puppy (and start his training) and of course get some good hours in, especially after last week's reality check on the bike.

I was mostly successful, though this week really highlighted for me just how much more fun things are when you share them. Spencer and I got into a good routine, getting up before 6, playing/walking and running outside then having breakfast. He would then spend many hours on his own at home, while I was at work. The evenings were similar, we would walk, run and play, then eat and collapse in a heap at the end of the day. Living a dog's life is simple and almost meditative. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I managed to fit in 10:30 hours of training this week - unfortunately a few hours less than my training programme ordered, yet on reflection every single session was very focused - quality miles if I may say so. Swimming hours suffered again this week, but hopefully I will be able to make that up this week.

A wave of tiredness hit me by Wednesday and I felt unable to do my long run. After a lot of to and fro-ing and some very good advice from Jack, a successful IM athlete and coach, I took the day off and rested and then did my ride and long run the next day, fresh and happier. Still... the run didn't go as planned: the energy drink that I had chosen caused me to feel pretty sick from about 40 mins on and my stomach felt bloated and a little bit too full of liquid to make the run enjoyable. I should, on reflection, have known as the same energy drink had caused me to feel pretty bad on Tuesday at the pool, but I thought that diluting would have been enough of a solution. I was proven wrong and will not be touching that flavour and brand again. Even so, I finished the run and didn't feel all that bad afterwards or in fact the day after - apart from an overriding desire to eat everything that came in sight (and a lot of things that didn't).

I have been reading a lot about learning lately, as well as going to a conference and today, during my 4 hour ride a had a mini-epiphany. In life (and it applies to all things, from school, to relationships to IM training) learning does not come merely from practice, but from reflection of that practice. What I mean is, mindlessly putting in miles, or in a school context doing long division, will not give you the skills. The skills come from reflection on the practice, and more conscious learning. I discussed this with Duncan and he brought up the example of his swimming, which has improved a lot this year, and how constant reflection has been the moving force.

And some I move forward, to Challenge -12 weeks. Today's brick is starting to give me the confidence that I will be able to do the training I need. My 1 hour run off the bike felt very good, the pace was solid and my feet felt light (especially after the first 30 mins). In the same time I managed to go 2 extra kms than I did a month ago on one of my long runs! Don't you just love improvement!

Reflecting on my improvement, I spent some time reading my blog entries from last year. It's like a different person writing! I am pain free and training in a way that I honestly thought was impossible a year ago. I feel strong again, in body and in mind.

Next week I have a triathlon race coming up, my first in nearly 2 years. I am excited beyond belief and despite the fact that it is a sprint (and I have no top speed in my legs at all...) I am looking forward to getting out there and putting myself on that start line. That will be my win!

When things are bad... keep going!

Duncan and I in front of the temple of Poseidon, half way through the ride.

When I was younger I used to get so angry at my body when it failed me. Not just disappointed, but outright angry. I felt my body was a tool - a well oiled machine, that could, and of course should, unfailingly deal with all that I presented it, from not eating enough, to training excessively, to staying up or not resting enough. In my old and wise age (of nearly 30) I am still learning to respect my body - to give it time and nourishment and days off.

I have seen what a failing body looks like, I have felt it, hugged it and lifted it. In the last few months of his life my father's body truly failed him. He became small and frail, a mere 37 kgs of bones and skin. I could lift him with little help. Yet he had faith in his body - to the last minute he believed that he would walk, he would go fishing again.

Maybe I am just mellowing out - I am definitely less strict with my training, yet I enjoy it a lot more. I expect less from my body, yet it does more. It has taken to training like a fish to water, and considering that I had such a long time off, it is getting back to form beautifully. A chronic injury also teaches you not to take things for granted; the fact that I am up and walking today means my body has not failed me.

My prescribed training today consisted of a 3 hour ride followed by a 45 min run. A tough session, especially as I have not ridden that long in almost three years. The ride was hard from the beginning possibly as I have been unwell lately - took two days off Thursday and Friday for tonsillitis, possibly as an remnant of a 90 min ride the day before (and a 3km swim...) or maybe just because my legs are just not used to riding as much as they ha in the past. It was also a group ride, which is both good and bad. The good is that you have friends to ride with, you can chat and you are also more visible. The bad is that you have to go at a pace that may or may not suit you. I was trying to stick to my IM pace (by heart rate) and that proved hard, as the group would surge up hills then level out on the flat. It was clear from the beginning that the pace was not ideal for me. It also became clear pretty early on that there was no chance my ride would be 3 hours, but would more likely end up being 4. Still, something that 4 years ago would have worried me, didn't. Sure, that's what I can do now, this is as fast as I can go at this heart rate and my legs feel heavy. Maybe it is a reality check - but at a good time, still 13 weeks to go. I enjoyed the ride, all the while trying to make it as useful to me as possible, gauging perceived effort to heart rate to speed relationships, making mental notes on how comfortable my position/equipment felt (possibly time for a bigger pair of shoes) and keeping hydrated and blood sugar up.

3hr 48 mins later I came off the bike pretty tired. And felt ready to run - my legs wanted to do something other than go round and round. Of course 10 mins into the run they also wanted to do something completely different, like lie down, but the run felt light and, if not easy, bearable. Pierre, a fast and always fit Frenchman who was training with us, pushed the pace a bit and I found myself being well over my pace/prescribed heart rate, but at least I finished the run standing.

Today was another lesson that I should take with me on the journey to Challenge in August. In fact it was several lessons. 1) When things get bad... keep going. They almost always get better (especially after some food) 2) For runs off the bike especially (actually... and long runs) run alone, at my own pace 3) Ride more!

Total hours this week: 11 (with two days off for sickness). 13 weeks to go!

Recovery

View from our Monday night running spot

New addition to the family, the cutest and sweetest puppy ever, Spencer.

I often make analogies between life and sport, so much so that it gets boring. But after this week, my rest week, I have come out with a deeper understanding of life... and sport.

I never used to like rest weeks, a lot of athletes don't. Routines get disturbed and there is more time, less sweating, more sitting around... I entered the rest week quite tired from my first 4week cycle of ironman training. The hours had been done, heart rate had been measured, everything had been recorded and having ended the week with a tough 2 hour turbo/ 40 min run brick I felt ready to enter into a week where sleeping and eating had a priority over rushing to the pool after work. It started off well, with Monday's swim and weights being omitted and the run cut down from 45 to 30 easy minutes. A nap in the afternoon, with little Spencer (the new addition to our family) sleeping happily next to me, rounded the perfect rest day off!

The week continued in a similar fashion, the two/three hours of training were reduced to 1 per day, lots of technique and when dog allowed, yoga. Only instead of finding myself feeling refreshed and rested I started feeling more tired. The old me would have given in, adding sessions here and there to feel better. The new me thought... how could this be?

In sport, as in life on reflection, the recovery and rest that follow a period of stress (and, let's be honest, what is ironman training if not stressful for the body!) can be the toughest ones. When the adrenaline wanes and the acute pain subsides, you get a deeper ache and a fatigue.

Before my father died, and while he battled the disease so bravely with us on his side, I managed to live with little sleep, not a lot of food and with acute emotions. I also thought that when it was all over, things would go back to normal, like we were before. What I found was a deep ache, a big gap and a heavy tiredness remaining. Nothing was/is back to normal. Or rather we are all getting used to a new type of reality and normality.

I am striving to give my soul what it needs to recover. I am giving myself time and focusing on the good things in life. I miss him like crazy, more so when I am happy, like today. But I know that I will recover and I will be stronger for it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sport has given me so much in my life. When I try to think of the biggest life lessons, most of them have come from sport. Before I failed to make the lightweight Blue Boat at Oxford, in my third year as an undergraduate, I had never failed at anything. What a lesson that was!

Not just lessons of course! Sport has given me some of my closest friends. Friends who have seen me cry in pain and in joy, who have helped me "needle" my blisters, who have raced with me and supported me. And of course sport gave me my husband! A man so loving and caring, yet like me disciplined and driven (and far wiser than I will ever be!)

Sport is helping me recover. In practical terms it has helped me to get back into a routine, helped me sleeping and my eating patterns, both of which were very disturbed after my dad's passing. It is helping me look into the future: when some days seem too hard I have a goal to focus on. And it is helping me see beauty around me again! I am back on the bike, literally... and figuratively.

Recovery week over. I am ready for another 4 week cycle!

Being a teacher (and a pupil)

I love my job. I often meet people who think I joke when I say this, more so in Greece than in other places, but hand on heart, I really do love my job. Yes, it's tough. Anyone who has spend more than an hour with 7 year olds knows that it's not a walk in the park. They are demanding and require massive amounts of energy, attention and love. It can be draining, sometimes at the end of the day my feet are killing me and my head is buzzing, but it is also uplifting and very very rewarding.

I have always considered myself lucky to be doing what I do and my job has really pulled me through this difficult time in my life. Kids can be selfish, they don't care what kind of day you are having. In a nutshell: the show must go on! Yet, still, they care and they too, give back to you in so many ways.

I feel happy to know that I am changing lives, the lives of young people who are the adults of tomorrow. But I feel even happier and privileged when I think about how they change me! Every class I have taught has always taught me something - almost every kid I have spent time with day in, day out for a year has given me an insight into the world. The girl who never gives up. The little boy who copes with the crippling reality of having a dozen allergies without so much as one complaint. The child who comes to school speaking hardly any English, yet makes friends and moves on.

Children are so resilient and they are a lesson to me, everyday. They are resilient because their life-force is so strong. Life is resilient. Resilient, yet flexible, bending along with the wind, yet standing up at the end of every day.

Today we had a 'clinic' for beginning triathletes, introducing them to this wonderful sport of ours and giving them tips for their first race. I look and find inspiration everywhere, and as with my other class, in this one too. I was surprised and in awe of people's ability to 'give it a go', to try something new, to leave their comfort zone. To try and swim 750 meters in cold water, to keep running when their legs screamed. I hope we gave them some help and tips for their first race, but, let it be known, I got a lot more back - lessons for life and sport, as well as the mixture of fear and excitement of getting ready for your first race.

Theory...

... and practice

On the back of all these thoughts I have had a very good week of training, that has left me hungry and tired every single night this week. On course for a solid 12.5 hours, as well as 40+ hours of work and 7 hours of training camp for with trigreece.gr (thank you Stelio and Christina!).

Good luck to Robbie, Spyro and Laura who are racing IMSA. Enjoy the race, guys!

Train, eat, sleep and be happy!

It's been a good week. I am feeling more like myself, I am happier, healthier and have even put some weight back on! Training has been, it feels like, very solid. My sleeping patterns have returned to normal and I have really enjoyed this week at work too!

So it seems life is good. Most of the time. Dark moments lurk where you least expect them and I find that I can change from one minute to the next, from happy to deeply sad. Like at the wedding we attended last night - full of happiness and excitement and I really felt happy for the couple. Yet out of nowhere tears came to my eyes and a heavy sadness when the bride danced with her dad.

I have had a lot of good advice and would like to thank everyone for it. I take a special kind of strength from people who have been there - their words have a special meaning to me and I welcome their advice. The most important piece of advice: be understanding with yourself and let yourself feel whatever it is. There is no right or wrong in grief.

And so I move forward, as I must, as my dad would like me to as well. I feel more anchored this week - it could be the training or just the full nights of sleep. It's also the new sense of purpose that the impending race has brought to my life.

Monday was a solid day of training, with a long swim that felt wonderful. It was full of glide and I felt almost 'slippery'. Good thing too, as it ended up being my one and only swim for the week - life got in the way! The swim was followed by 40 mins of weights and a run. I meant to keep an eye on my heartrate during the run, but running with others makes that hard, so I gave in and went with the flow. I know... not very useful as I am trying to build my base, but fun nonetheless. As much as aerobic capacity is a goal for my training, fun is higher on the list.

The rest of the week went smoothly, apart from our Thursday night mountain bike. Towards the end of the ride Duncan decided to do a few extra minutes, so I headed home, while he headed back up the mountain. I got home and made some tea, waiting for D to come back. After 30 long minutes I started getting worried, but I got even more worried when it got dark and there was no sign of D. I knew he had no lights and the mountain is pretty dark... I checked my phone, to find it was on silent and had two missed calls, yet when I tried to call him back his phone was out of order. I started thinking of the worst: Duncan with a broken leg, concussion, unconscious, abducted... you name it, it crossed my mind. Of course, it could have been something as simple as a flat... especially as I carried the pump...

I don't drive, but even if I could a lot of the mountain is inaccessible by car. I couldn't get hold of anyone to come with me, so after a while I took my head torch and headed out back towards the mountain. It was dark and was getting chilly, but I had no option.

To my delight, 15 mins into my ride, I saw a yellow fluorescent vest bobbing up and down into my headlight. I could hear the clippety clop of Duncan's mtb shoes on the asphalt and after a while I could clearly see him running downhill, wheeling his bike alongside him. I was so relieved I started to cry, while he started shouting at me for not answering my phone. I didn't care at all and after a few minutes of silence he apologised. Tyre fixed we rode in the pitch black back home.

That night I felt happy to have him lying in bed with me, my legs tired from the ride, my lids heavy from another full day.

Second week of training was productive and I have left every workout wanting more. That can only be a good thing!

First week of training and the many faces of grief

Grief, I am learning, takes many guises. For some it's paralysing, for others it's a weight they carry around for a long time. I thought I was immune, or rather I thought that because I was prepared and because I had cried it would be mild for me, I would sail through it, a mere sadness, and come out the other side. I was wrong.

It has long been accepted that grief is not only an emotional response, but elicits physical, cognitive and behavioural symptoms. I neither knew that, nor was I able to accept it straight away. I found myself unable to sleep, tired throughout the day, wired at night. I was getting ill, yet continued on, because I felt it was all going to go away. I was getting anxious, I was getting physical symptoms and had nothing to attribute them too. Until I opened up and spoke of what was happening to me. I sought help and it came in the form of knowing that what I am going through is normal. That the stress I (and we as a family) have been through in the last year has been enormous. That my symptoms are not unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That to see your loved one die, day in day out, to hold their hand and be there for him, to lose them in the end, takes its toll, physically and mentally.

At first I got scared. I got scared of having to be like this - it's not a nice state. But then I accepted it - this too will pass. And strangely enough, accepting this state alone, has been healing. I am already better and I am finding more and more ways to help me cope. Harvesting the positive, keeping a routine, cherishing the good things, giving myself time.

So my first week of training for the huge feat I have taken on (it feels like that anyway), started last Sunday. In hospital, with IV antibiotics being poured into me. Glad to say that I was out and back on the (training) horse by Wednesday, with a very solid 2k swim, followed by weights. The distance again felt doable. The fact that I did not manage to sleep so well on Wednesday night unsettled me, but I hoped that Thursday would be better.

Thursday consisted of a wonderful mountain bike ride, on our old circuit, along with Duncan. It was a beautiful evening and we left the house around 6.30, when the sun was already low and giving out caramel highlights to everything around us. The mountain was good to us both, we returned exhilarated and unscathed. I slept like a baby that night.

Friday we had a run planned, but we had guests at the house. A couple of colleagues had come for coffee and as the conversation flowed coffee turned to dinner plans. Duncan and I wanted to run, but didn't want to appear inhospitable either. After tentative attempts to see if our guests would be happy entertaining themselves for an hour while we ran, we figured they'd be OK and headed out. My mother would be truly mortified!

Saturday came and the weather looked about the same, beautiful sunshine, 20 degrees. The wind had picked up, but I was heading out to do the first long ride of my training and I was not going to give up (so quickly...) After all I had just 90 mins of ride to get through. The training day started with a swim in some rough waters. I was pleased I could stick with Duncan and that my stroke felt strong. We did a couple of kms and I felt like I could have kept going, despite the cold water and waves.

Onto the bike (and D off to do his long run) I realised just how windy it had got. It was fine while the wind was head on or tail, but as soon as I turned and the wind came from the side I felt very unstable and tensed up. I had to concentrate hard, make sure my weight (of which there isn't all that much) was on my handle bars and keep my wits about me for any gusts. I am very proud to say I stuck it out, all the time thinking of the conditions I might have to face on race-day. It is a flat and fast course, but also very windy. I made it off the bike and onto a quick run, where I met Duncan and we ran back in together.

All in all (and considering the start of the week) it has been a good first week. It has done little to alleviate my fear for being prepared for the distance, but has shown me that with a bit of help and listening to my body I can overcome most things - from grief to Ironman training. The next few months will prove me right... or wrong. Life is a gamble.

Climbing a mountain - or 19 weeks to Challenge

Having a rest before we continue upwards, with Jenny.

Lovely spot we found in Evia.

It's been a bad "holiday". It started well enough, with my friend Jenny coming to visit and with Duncan and me having BIG plans for a romantic/active getaway, some sun, some sea, lots of sleep and time with each other. We went to Evia for a few days, enjoyed some peace and quiet and climbed a mountain.

Since then I have been ill. Temperature-doctors-tests-antibiotics - kind of ill. Unable-to-do-much-kind of ill. I have also been upset and tired, the frustration and tiredness and sadness of the last 9 months finally coming out. I even started feeling sorry for myself, which doesn't happen often.

And so I decided to do something crazy - to grab the bull by the horns and get busy. I entered Copenhagen Challenge. For those who are not familiar with triathlon, it is an Ironman distance race in August. I had a quick chat with Duncan along the lines of: "Do you think I COULD do it?" and then "Do you think I SHOULD do it?"... The decision was made and 10 minutes of electronic dealings later I was all paid up and ready!

I have been excited ever since and have been thinking about how wonderful it is to finally plan to do something I have been dreaming of doing for the last 6 years! I have been oscillating between excitement and fear, but I have decided both are good. I am embracing both - if nothing else I will need both to do the training before that start line.

So I googled "16 weeks to Ironman" looking for a vague idea of a training plan. Hmmm... Not much came up. Started to worry. "16 weeks to your first sprint" came up... Hmmm... Worry setting in, doubt gaining ground. "24 weeks to a Half-Ironman". Cold sweat... Have I bitten off more than I can chew (in the time given)?

"13 weeks to a 13-Hour Ironman". That was more like it! http://www.cluboceano.com/13.htm I liked what I saw (and could finally breathe out). There are others out there who think that you do not need 3 years to train for an IM!

I know that I am not looking at a good time. I am looking at a looooong day out there. Fine. I am fine with that. I know that 13 hours, as per the website above is very optimistic, I am fine with that too. But I also know that I want to and I can finish the race. So my journey back to tri has just taken a turn towards some sharp learning curves. I am ready to climb that mountain and I am very excited (and scared). Any ideas welcome!