Balance

I've been on a see-saw lately. Like a toddler, unstable, yet gripping on tight, while on the other side a load of weight has been piled on. Out of my control. The good news is: I am still on!

I feel like I am back to being balanced, after a month of uncertainty about the future, about where we want to be, where we need to be, what we want to do and what we need to do. Decisions have been made and both Duncan and I seem to be re-adjusting to the new reality, taking it into our stride and starting to enjoy it.

Any of you who follow will know that I was due to race my first IM distance race this August in Copenhagen. Most of you also know that I didn't. It was a decision not taken lightly, but I had to take into account so many different things that it did take a while to take. For both health and financial reasons both Duncan and I decided it was not wise (not to say it was not possible) to pursue it and so we both withdrew with a week to go.

Do I regret it? No.
Do I wish it could have been different? Oh yes!

But for the last year or so life has been such a challenge, getting out of bed, paying the bills, holding it together alone has taken all this effort, that training and racing has been a luxury we just could not afford.

The problem with when you strike a balance is that it always feels so fragile. It is teetering on the edge of tipping and, more often than not, you have little control over which way it's going to go.

I am striving to stay sane, but I am making no promises....

Looking from the outside in

I have been away. On holiday, I say to friends and family, but most look at me like I am crazy. On holiday? In England? What kind of crazy are you? No beaches, no bars, no sunshine...

But yes, this is part holiday, part retreat. It is where I have come to relax. To not deal with the phone bills, the tax office, the long list of things that need doing in the house and everybody else's needs. To be able to sleep and eat and run and write where and when I want.

I have enjoyed the cool green vastness of the English countryside, the subtlety of the English sunshine. The polite greeting of the cashier at the supermarket, the orderly rows of houses. I have enjoyed being cold enough to wear a jumper during the day. I have loved walking everywhere. And I have absolutely relished having 24 hours every day to do what I want.

Selfish, I know, and oh so indulgent!

When you're IN a problematic situation, whatever that situation might be, it is very hard to see out of it. Very hard to find a solution to it, to even think that you can come out of it. Greece (not just the country, but my own personal situation too) has trapped me, not physically, but trapped my thinking. I have been thinking so narrowly, looking for solution in front of me, yet not around me. This trip has changed this, my perspective has become more global again and my problems have become solvable again. I am looking from the outside in.

This trip has shown me the possibilities. Yet vast choice does not make us happy, and that too has become apparent. D and I have been talking about our future and we both feel powerful again. It feels like we have been through so much the last couple of years, yet we have also taken some very brave steps towards change.

And yes, it has left us in an unenviable situation of having no savings and sharing a house with my mother, but all with the goal of making big changes. We have taken risks that others don't, we have left behind a life we did not feel fullfilled us to build a life with more time for each other, more meaning in our employment, our engagement, more quality, less quantity.

Transitions are hard and we have been feeling that. We might be foolish in our outlook, only time wil tell, but we are brave. Most of the time.

The prize of failure

"Behind every difficulty there is its prize:

success and satisfaction.

Even failure has its prize:

wisdom.

From the one who's on his way out,

To the one on her way in."

My dad wrote this to me, on the cover of a book he sent me after I moved to England in '96. I was only 15 and I honestly did not remember these words until I found the book again, with the recent move. I did not remember them, yet I have lived every day of my life by them. He is with me in everything I do, in my spirit, in my values, in my way of thinking.

I have felt like I have been letting him down lately. I have felt very low and every day, robbed of pleasures, has become a struggle. The pact I made with myself (and Duncan) when my dad died, to live every day to the full, to take "fishing days", sounds hollow now. Yesterday I had trouble getting out of bed or getting motivated to perform even small tasks like eating. That was yesterday...

Today I am back. I am refocusing. I am drawing up new goals, or looking again at the old ones in a new light. As in a race, when something goes wrong, but also in training and in life, to refocus is to start afresh. To not worry about what has been but to ask of yourself: "How can I best go forward from now on?". Here is an interesting article on it from the Podium Sports Journal. http://www.podiumsportsjournal.com/2007/09/29/refocusing-during-sport-down-time/ It is more about refocusing on the spot, during competition, but it should be clear how it transfers to other down-time too.

I am doing this, as of now. I am concentrating on good quality workouts to get me back on track, eating well (which seems to be much easier in the summer - is it the abundance of fresh produce, or is it the abundance of time to prepare healthy meals?), revisiting Pilates systematically, spending a little less time on miles and a little more on balance, technique, stability. And trying to start enjoying it again. Finding new trails for running, catching up with old episodes of my favourite series on the trainer, listening to IMtalk (www.imtalk.me) and getting out on the mountain bike are all helping me keep it fun.

Behind each difficulty there is a prize, even if it's just the knowledge that you have the skills to overcome difficulties, refocus and go on.

The luxury of sport

The journey is long. Longer than I thought. And full of potholes! And it feels like I lost my map quite a while ago.

I haven't written in a while. Life has got in the way. It feels like a struggle at the moment and I am sad to say there is little enjoyment in our everyday tasks. I don't know if it is a delayed reaction to our loss, as a family, though every day that goes past it feels like the gap my dad left is getting bigger, not smaller. Or maybe just tiredness, after a very long, very difficult year. Either way I have been feeling deflated and just so so tired.

We have had to move out of our lovely little house and into my family home. It was a decision made mainly for financial reasons and it has been harder than any of us thought. Physically, emotionally and financially it has taken a huge toll and we are at the end of our third week of moving, with a lot of our stuff still in boxes, having to make some decisions. Our IM training has taken a huge hit - we have done no structured training since racing 3 and bit weeks ago. We have to decide whether racing in Copenhagen is prudent, or in fact even possible.

I was reading a very old issue of Inside magazine the other day, an interview with Dean Karnazes (if you don't know who Karnazes is, he is worth a google!) This is what he says:

Western culture has things a little backwards right now. We think that if we had every comfort available to us, we'd be happy. We equate comfort with happiness. And now we're so comfortable we're miserable. There's no struggle in our lives. No sense of adventure. We get in a car, we get in an elevator, it all comes easy. What I've found is that I'm never more alive than when I'm pushing and I'm in pain, and I'm struggling for high achievement, and in that struggle I think there's a magic. (for the full interview http://outside.away.com/outside/features/200701/dean-karnazes-interview-1.html)

It definitely struck a chord with me. It gave me insight into why I do endurance sport... but also into the huge cultural differences there are between Greece and Western culture, namely what I know of Western culture, the UK. OK, it also gave me an excuse, a way out, a reason for my inability to concentrate on training or anything tri related.

Sport, especially endurance sport with its pain and suffering, is a luxury. A luxury for when your every day life is not a struggle. I am not under the illusion that everyone who does endurance sport leads perfect lives, but in the last three weeks it has felt like both D and I have expended massive amounts of energy to get through every day that we had none to throw into our training.

When we moved from London it took us 20 minutes to cancel our bills, on the phone and online. Here in Greece it took me several days of queueing, arguing, submitting useless sheets of paper and a little bit of begging. In London I did the weekly shop in the half hour it took me to log into Sainsbury's online and choose the products I wanted delivered to my house. In Greece it takes me several hours a week, dealing with unsmiling cashiers and having to fight my way to vegetable weighing as no one knows how to queue I know... hardly a tragedy - there are people in the world who don't have the luxury of the super market or indeed have very little food. It sounds so petty when I type it, but nothing is easy here. And it seems that the little things have been accumulating. They have been eating away at our energy, to leave us empty, bitter and deflated. (It was helpfully all topped up when our new neighbour, who got annoyed with us asking him not to throw his rubble in our skip and stuck four nails, one on each of our tyres for fun. Welcome to the neighbourhood!)

We have been trying to refocus. To look at the positives. We are getting back into a routine that will allow us to train, play and have fun. We love triathlon and, most of the time, it relieves the problems of our every day life. So we are plotting our return...

Are we having fun yet? (Astroman Race Report)

How come the tougher the race, the more satisfaction one gets? Are we all really, deep inside, just a different kind of masochist or is the relief of finishing that brings such great gratification?

I have been asking myself again and again if, knowing how hard the race was, I would do it again. I still have no answer, but let me explain myself first.

The race was simply wonderful - a very scenic, well planned and faultlessly organised race. My third half IM distance race, I went into it feeling quite calm and excited, fazed only by the heat which was predicted to be getting worse. Race day was predicted to be around 37 degrees Celsius (that's in the shade...) with little wind and rising humidity of around 60%. I was concerned, but everyone reassured me that I would be fine. I started hydrating on the Thursday, downing several bottles of Gatorade, (what felt like) tons of water and munching on saltsticks. Possibly the wisest move in preparation that I made.

Driving down on Saturday was not the wisest move D and I made, but we found the spot easily and we assembled bikes, got race numbers and generally got ready fairly quickly and easily. The hotel was as no-frills as they come (one sliver of soap between four of us, cutbacks you say?) but it seemed clean enough and far away from the road, so we hoped it'd be quiet.

After a fun, yet short pasta party, we headed to our room for a last minute equipment check, putting numbers on belts, threading shoe laces and other things I had neglected to do over a very busy week at school. I also spent plenty of time choosing race nutrition and packing it diligently. In the meantime I worried aloud to D, who very stoicly calmed me down every few minutes telling me that if I got too hot all I had to do was slow down... Little did he know....

Our sleep the night before the race was from the "how-not-to-do-it" handbook again. At around 12 o'clock most of the guests of the hotel started returning from what we found out later was a wedding and kept on coming, through the gravel driveway, into the hotel with wafer thin walls and preceded to have showers, which sounded like someone was showering in our own bathroom all the way to 4 o'clock... This combined with a broken aircon unit which would not turn down and kept pumping chilled air into our room, the lack of sheets (more cutbacks?) and an old Russian fridge that "woke up" to a rusty murmur every 20 minutes or so meant that D and I got very little sleep... Still, the alarm went in the morning and we both felt race ready! Bring it on!

We made the short drive to transition to be met by many nervous smiles - excitement was tangible. The sea was dead calm and I looked forward to a good swim. Last things checked in, tyre pressure checked, frozen water bottles left in transition ready and a quick race briefing brought us very near to 8 o'clock. The sea was warm enough to go wetsuit-less but both D and I decided it'd be nice to have the advantage of the wetsuit and so zipped ourselves up ready for the race.

I did not place myself well and felt I lost valuable time having to swim over everyone and their granny... I guess my confidence was a bit shaken after being beaten last time and thought that placing myself further back would mean less struggle. I am not sure if that was true - I found myself unable to overtake quite a few people, despite the fact that I was blatantly faster. Even after the first 300 meters or so, at the first buoy I was still overtaking slower swimmers easily. After the first lap I realised that I was leading a group of about 15 swimmers spaced out behind me, while the next swimmer up ahead was at least 50 meters up. So much for drafting!

At 39 minutes the swim was the slowest half IM swim I have ever done, but was done at IM pace - I felt like I oculd keep up the same pace for another two laps (if it weren't for the wetsuit, which by the beginning of the second lap had become a sweatsuit.) It brought me out 39th out of 110 starters, and with a smile on my face. T1 was 1:30 odd, but felt like an eternity...

Onto the bike, where it was all going to be HR effort. A furtive check showed my heart rate at a racing 151 bpm out of T1. "Settle," I told myself, quite possibly loudly... And I did. I sat at 135-137 bpm, a bit over my target of sub 130, for the first 15 kms or so, before I hit the hills. On the hills I struggled to keep the HR down, and quickly readjusted my target again to sub 145 (and readjusted again after I hit the toughest part of the +1200 elevation course in granny gear). All in all the first lap was wonderful, the views amazing, I did not lose much ground once on the hilly part and enjoyed myself. Nutrition was in check, one GU gel per half hour downed with plenty of water and a couple of GU chomps.

I began the second lap feeling strong. The ascents were easier than I had expected and the descents, which had worried me the day before in the car, had given me no trouble at all. I was taking in calories (still) and was drinking plenty. In fact I was drinking more than I had planned and was also throwing a lot of cold water on myself in an effort to cool down, making it necessary to take on board about 2 x 750 ml every 22.5 km. No problem, the volunteers were helpful, the aid stations well stocked and I was cruising.

Until I hit the last 10 kms... It was already past noon and the heat was relentless. The last 13kms of the course were on a very nice gradual downhill and I should have been able to hammer it, without the heart rate creeping up, but I was struggling to hit 30km/h, while my HR was on the up. "It is impossible," I thought to myself, yet my HR monitor was not lying, I was struggling to keep it under 145 in the downhills. I had also ran out of water to throw on myself and the white sunsuit I was wearing was feeling asphyxiatingly hot. A draft buster/volunteer passed me for what felt like a hundredth time and asked me if all was good - he was possibly wondering how someone could be so red... I asked for water, and miracle of miracles he had some on his motorbike!! Cold, crystal clear water! I was delighted. He passed it to me and I threw it on myself (which might have made him wonder... I guess he expected me to drink it). It felt heavenly - water on my head and through my helmet and on my hot shoulders and face.

The end of the ride came, in 3:43, more than half an hour longer than either of my past 70.3 efforts, yet true to my goal of pacing by HR. I dismounted, had another speedy transition (in blissful shade) and headed out... into the oven.

The first kilometre felt OK, but brought with it two realisations. First, it was H-O-T. Secondly, my stomach had shut down for business for the day. I had a suspicion on the bike, after the fourth gel, which kept repeating on me. I had tried a few more chomps, which seemed to have gone down OK, but were they going to stay there? Was anything being absorbed? It felt like it wasn't. I knew it wasn't the pace, I was not going fast at all. But could it be the heat? With little experience in such conditions (thank you, England) I kept going, hoping for things to settle and trying to stick to my nutritional strategy of taking something (anything!!) on between running spells, in my walking breaks. 2 and a bit kms in it was pretty obvious that nothing was going in. It was also pretty obvious that my body was working pretty darn hard trying to keep me from frying, my HR was over 155 even when walking (slowly!!)

Temperatures were reaching 40+ degrees in the middle part of the course, a windless little road which weaved in and out of olive groves, but with no shade anywhere. I decided I could no longer keep the sun suit on, as I was not able to wet it enough to keep me cool, it took about 40 secs to get dry again. I took it off and left it with some volunteers and started dreaming of also taking my fuel belt off- I could not have what was in it, so no point carrying it. By this stage I was more than half way through the first lap and the thought hit me "I might not be able to finish this!". It wasn't a wish, the thought of giving up - I was not going to stop moving. But I had a feeling that my body might not be able to take me all the way through to the finish line.

I pushed all such thoughts aside when I caught up with another competitor who was walking and was visibly in trouble. "Keep going" I whispered "I promise you will feel better in 20 minutes," as much to her as to myself. After the first 5 kms the plan had been revised further. As long as I keep moving forward I am good! I was sticking to a 2mins run, 2 mins walk ratio, but the walk was not much slower than the run and it seemed as if I was keeping up with those around me. So I kept going... After my first 7km, the first lap, I was pretty certain I was going to finish.

Everything started blurring after that. First lap, second or third lap I am not sure any more. I know that the following happened.

• a friend helped me rid myself of my fuel belt, and I was very grateful
• I had some coke which stayed down and made me feel a little better
• I met a German guy called Axel who helped me through a tough part of the course
• I was helped several times by the best volunteers I have ever seen in a race, showered with ice, given water, helped to fill my flasks with coke, ice cubes etc
• I met D, who after his own finish came on the bike to help me out
• I asked D to leave me alone as I was trying to "focus"
• I started feeling pins and needles in my feet and hands
• I forgot to take on coke at one aid station and started debating going back 200 meters to get some, luckily another athlete offered me the second half of his glass
• I was cheered on by people at cafes, on the beech and in cars, some sincerely and some mockingly
• I started counting steps

On my last lap I was so confused that I thought the 5km marked on the hot tarmac was 5k to go... I was so sad, totally disheartened and very close to tears, when a volunteer told me I was actually only 2 kms away. Smile on and continued.

I finished the half marathon in 2:46 but at that stage this and everything else was irrelevant. I was sunburnt, felt dizzy and weak and all I wanted to do was hug D and lie down. I put myself around Duncan's neck and lifted myself on my tiptoes, only to feel my calves cramping. I sat down in the shade, took it all in and cried silent tears for all the things that kept me going. My dad, my husband, myself.

I didn't learn much that can be transferred to Denmark in August, unless Copenhagen gets a freak heat wave and grows mountains. I did learn that a plan is only as good as its flexibility. I also learnt that no matter what happens, as long as I keep moving forward, I am in the race!

Thanks to the organisers, Marie and Leo. To the volunteers, Christina and Stelios, Thomas and Hara and all the other guys who stood there for 8 hours only to help us reach our goals (and keep us from being hospitalised)

p.s. I didn't pee for another 24 hours from the start of the race. The next day all I could eat was Pringles... A week on I feel like I am recovered!

Relief, happiness and exhaustion all in one picture!

Turn the heat up!

Two weeks ago - loved racing again!

I often play this game of "this time next week" or "this time last month". It puts moments into perspective and things into a bigger context. It makes you see the big picture.

So here goes:

This time 3 years ago I had just finished my second half Ironman where Duncan and I met. Exactly 3 years ago to the day we were on our first date. He later mentioned as a pretty bad first date - half way through, returning from the loo, he even thought I had walked out on him. To his relief (?!) I was only at the next table, hidden by a well placed pot plant. I later described the same date, as the "best first date ever" to my good friend H, and my housemate at the time. Go figure...

It can't have been all that bad, as this time last year, we got married. What a wonderful night that was! Two days later, my dad went into hospital for what we thought at the time would be a life-saving 11 hour operation.

This time 3 months ago, I lost my father. I still miss him every day. The pain has softened, but the gap is still so big and cannot be filled by any amount of training, work, time with friends or family. He taught me much of what I know and gave me much of what I am, and in that sense he is always very close to me.

This time 6 months ago, I could not run more than 15 minutes. I could ride my bike for maybe 30... I was in pain and could not even imagine that 6 months down the line I would be training for an Ironman...

In 10 weeks if all goes well, I will be lined up with another 2000 people at the start line, in Copenhagen. That's the dream. But as the last year has taught me, dreams don't always come true. You still have to fight for them, though, with all your might.

So... this time next week, I will be lining up for another starting gun - the one for the inaugural Astroman. With the company of another 110 athletes we will all be trying to get ourselves to the finish line. I have been very excited about the race. Yet, this week I have been nervous, primarily for two reasons.

The one is intrinsic, and I guess it's very controllable. I am worried about pacing. I am worried because I am meant to be using this race as an IM dress rehearsal, going at IM pace, using my IM nutrition, gear etc and seeing how my body reacts to it all. However, I know myself and I know that it will not be hard for me to get caught up in the racing. I also have the fear of being last... The guys who are racing here (oh ok... and the 4 women) are all seasoned athletes, this is not the country of mass participation sport (yet) and so it is very likely (in my head at least) that they will be packing up the finishing chute while I am at km 20 of the run.

I have, therefore, decided to race with my HR monitor - it will be my first half IM and only my second ever race where I will do that. That should keep my excitement in check and give me some honest feedback, aside from feel, on how fast/slow I should be going. I hereby declare that I will not ignore the beeping!

The second, and more serious of the two worries, is the weather. Extrinsic, and therefore not controllable. The weather forecast is for a scorcher (not an English scorcher of 26 degrees C) a real scorcher of 35++ in the shade, which means that the hottest part of the day will definitely coincide with the hardest part of my race, in the least shaded part of the course: the run!

Now all my racing experience has involved ice cold bodies of water, rain and a maximum of 17 degrees Celsius. I have done some training in hot weather, including last week's 4 hour ride in 34 degrees heat, plus humidity, and I can tell you I do not respond well. On top of that I have been reading this month's Triathlete magazine, with a great article written by ex Danish pro Torbjorn Sindballe on dealing with the heat and it strikes me how unprepared I am! (here is a much shorter version of the article http://triathlete-europe.competitor.com/2009/10/03/sindballe-perspective-heat-management-through-acclimatization/)

Sindballe covers the all the bases and what I can take away from it is that there is a direct correlation between heart rate (and therefore pace) and overheating, and also both of those combined and ability to take in calories. The only good news is that I do have a small advantage, being smaller than more of the other athletes who will race on the day, at 52kg.

So, after reading the article, it makes it even more important for me to stick to a slow pace. It will be important to stay in fat burning zone, as I will be able to ingest only minimal amounts of calories (and absorb them). I know my body and I have troubles taking food in even at more normal temperatures. Secondly I need to keep my core temperature down, mainly by keeping the heart rate low again.

In conclusion... if the heat is up, I will be going s l o w l y. Let the fun begin!

The more you sweat in practice the less you bleed in battle

Quote by unknown. I am not sure how true it is, but I am trying to live by it at the moment. The training has been good. It has taught me a lot this week. Biggest week so far and hoping to have an even bigger next week, before we head off to Astros for a half Iron distance race.

http://www.schiniathlon.gr/news-20100405.html It's the first ever event of its kind in Greece and if it is anything like all the other races these guys organise it will be awesome!

Since coming back to tri and especially as my return and recovery was a long time coming, yet sudden, I have found a new respect for my body and a new pleasure in training, and of course racing. I get giddy with excitement, thinking about lining up on the start line and even now, 3 months away from my main event, I get butterflies in my tummy every time I think about it!

I have been looking at sport quotes and, gosh there are a lot out there! I read somewhere that sport is human life in microcosm. Sure. Sport can teach us a lot about life. But, with all due respect, there are some major differences. The biggest one, the biggest antithesis I have felt between sport and life, is that in life you can very rarely be ready!

In sport we have the luxury of preparation. We have a fairly good idea of what to expect, and even with the unexpected we can have a plan of how to react. Life is not like that. I have learned that the hard way - but I have also heard it from people around me - I know it's true! There are certain things in life you can never be totally prepared for.

When my dad was told his cancer had metastasised and we were told there was no cure, I reacted like an athlete. I started preparing. On a daily basis I thought about it, I cried myself to sleep over it, I slept and I woke with the thought that I was losing my father. I was devastated. I was preparing for the loss, thinking that the more crying I did, the more I lived with it, the more prepared I would be when the day came.

Other people around me reacted differently, but I have been an athlete most of my life and that was the way I was dealing with it. And so the time came. I lost my dad and I was hit hard - harder than I expected, harder than I could ever have imagined. My preparation was nothing, for I was not even sure what I was preparing for - the loss, the pain... it was all so new and so... unexpected, despite the fact that I had known for the best part of a year.

But it's not just death. I hear that the same goes for children, you think you are prepared and when the bundle of joy arrives it totally knocks you off your feet!

Life can kick our asses in many ways. The key in life is not in preparation or anticipation, but in response. And back to sport, where both preparation and response have a rightful place. This week I feel I put the time, the miles and the quantity in. I swam well, rode hard, ran long and boy did I sweat! So... this week I sweated in practice, but will I bleed less in battle?

I know race day will be hard, but I also know I need to be prepared. Maybe it is not so much that we hurt less, maybe it's just that we get used to hurting...