Friday, October 16, 2015

Lessons Learned

Anytime that I travel for work and the subject of iron-distance racing comes up, it’s always a little awkward.  First the questions about the distance, order of events, then listening to stories of friends and family members who have done a “mini Ironman.”  Once people realize what you’re actually doing and begin to believe that you’re completely nuts, they seemingly always ask “Why?”  Other than being able to say that you went 140.6 miles in one day, why would one do this?  Well, I for one firmly believe that there are lessons about you that can only be learned from being pushed to the edge.  Some of us are lucky enough to be pushed to the edge by our own volition.  Others are forced so without their consent due to illness, injury, or tragedy.  And for some it’s both…you often find those who’ve gone through great personal adversity competing at endurance events – I believe that they’ve recognized the value and just want to do it in an environment that is mostly in their control. 
So when I’m asked the question of why, I could give the standard speech of, “Blah, hard work, blah, determination, perseverance, yadda, yadda.” And while all of those lessons are true and learned, the two that resound most strongly to me are honesty and trust.  And I’m unsure that I could learn these two lessons in any other environment.

Honesty:  “You can’t fake an Ironman.”  There are things you can get away with not training for, including a marathon, maybe even a half-Ironman.  It might hurt, you might be near the end of the pack, but you’ll more than likely finish, even if you walk the whole thing.  An iron-distance race is different.  I have known way too many very fit people who find themselves scrambling to make the 17 hour cut-off, despite even the best of training regimens, forget it without doing the work.  Being this open and honest, is hard.  It leaves you vulnerable and exposed in ways that you wouldn’t otherwise need to, or have to experience.   This year I had more than a few conversations with the Cadence coaches that went like this:

“Are you ok?”

Responsive grunt of “Fine” or “Sure.”

“Are you lying to me?”

Responses here are typically (though not always verbalized as such): “Yes, I’m fine, I just need a little validation and attention.”  “Yes, I’m fine, just miserable and whiny.” “No, I’m injured but refuse to admit weakness.” “No, I just don’t have it today.”  

Each of those responses requires a giant gulp of pride and exposure.  Granted, when you’ve got snot, tears, and sweat running down your face, can it really be uglier?  Those moments though, where you have to make a decision with yourself, are far more powerful than you can imagine. 

One of my mother’s favorite childhood stories about me is when students from Carnegie Mellon University asked her if I had been exposed to computers before.  I was in the 4th grade and my single working mother laughed hysterically and said, “No.”  At that time no one had a computer, certainly not us.  When she inquired why, they explained that they had come to my classroom to do a study of how long it took children to learn to type a sentence.  We were instructed to type the same sentence 5 times.  They were hoping to see how long it took us to learn where the keys were.  Despite being told to only touch the keyboard, I used the mouse to investigate the navigational bar.  I knew the words copy and paste and so I typed the sentence, then copied and pasted it a few more times.  Not only I had I completely skewed their results, but learned about efficiency, and effectiveness.  I’ve spent most of my life finding a better, shorter, easier way to do things.  Well, in endurance events, there’s no such thing, and if there is, well, I want nothing to do with it.  I finally, at 34 years old, have learned to embrace the long work, have patience, and be honest, even if it’s ugly, it’s far better than taking a shortcut. 

Trust:  I’m slow to trust.  I’m calculated and generally don’t like risk.  So when presented this year with the opportunity to do my first ever drop-in off of a 20 ft cornice at 13,000 feet of elevation, I had to learn to trust.  First, I had to trust that Emily and Gaby knew my abilities enough to take me up this chair lift, and then up a climb.  I had to trust that it could be done when Emily dropped in “woo-ing” the whole time.  And then I had to trust Gaby when he said I could do it, if I trusted myself.  And there’s the hard part.  Had I not trusted my abilities, I could have easily toppled end over end down the mountain.  I had to believe that my friends wouldn’t lead me astray and would be completely honest with me.  And so, I dropped in, and successfully made it down the hill.  That sense of accomplishment cannot be gained in many other circumstances. 

A few years ago, I put a whole lot of blind trust in a 20-something with a mohawk in hopes that I could cross the finish line of my first Ironman.  Three years later, and iron-distance race #4, I still have full faith in Jack’s ability.  He’s one hell of a triathlete and an even better coach.  For those who don’t know, the #CadenceGirls range in age from mid-20s to mid-50s.  We are a fierce group who wants each other to achieve their goals as badly, if not more so, than to achieve their own.  We’re competitive and supportive, we believe in each other and our coaches.  We’re also completely insane.  We have high powered jobs, and demanding families.  We’re type-A to the max, over-stressed, and neurotic.  These are my best friends and sometimes I’m overwhelmed.  How Jack and coaching partner Matt handled this crew and all of their nuances, is remarkable to me and no task I would ever undertake. 

Like any good coach, Jack says semi-cliched, nonsensical phrases that don’t make sense…until they do.  A favorite this year is in relation to chips and shoulders.  It sparked a bit of debate among the group: Is it one chip, or many chips?  One athlete remarked, “I feel like that’s a bad thing, sort of like, ‘You’re a big jerk.’”   And what kind of chips?  Poker? Potato?  As Emily and Gaby witnessed, I’m far better at putting a Family Size Bag of Lays on my thighs instead of my shoulders!  


As it turns out, the origin of the phrase relates to a dare, as in daring someone to knock the chip (or wooden beam as it were) off of one’s shoulder.  This resounded a bit with me.  I can be damn belligerent, competitive, and my need to be right even gets on my own nerves.  But what were my chips?  I dare you to knock me off of the top of the podium, which I’ve never been on?  I dare you to question my naturally athletic ability?  I’ve come to realize that everyone has different chips. 

Mine are: 
Hard work. I rarely miss a workout.  I stopped thinking I knew everything and listened to those that came before me, and “sometimes” even my coach.
My ability.  I would have told you that I had some success in spite of my ability, but I have worked hard so that I can have belief and confidence in my progress.
My support system.  I have the strongest friends out there.  If I can’t do it myself, I know that the Cadence girls and guys (#3rdRowForLife) will pull me through.

The winds at Maryland are going to be tough.  The Choptank may push me around and try to knock those chips off, but I know that no matter what, even if I fail, I have earned the right to own those chips, put them on my shoulder, and I dare anyone, or any course, to try to knock them off.