Saturday, March 12, 2022

IMLC70.3

My day started when the alarm went off just before 5. I quickly dressed in the dark, grabbed a banana, and headed out the door. This early in the day, I immediately noted that my stress level was practically non-existent. On a normal race day, my hands are shaking, I am sweating, and I am wondering why in the world I signed up for this thing. Yesterday was very different. I was still wondering what on earth I was doing, but I wasn’t the least bit nervous about it. I felt no pressure, no stress, no anxiety - there were literally zero expectations tied to this day. I knew that if things went according to plan, I would be finished around 1 PM. Otherwise, I literally had zero expectations for the day. Only 7 people knew what I was doing, so nobody else had any expectations either. 


I drove to the fitness Center and arrived just after they opened. When I got down to the pool, I had the place to myself. It was a little chilly, so I didn’t waste much time getting in the water. As I pushed off the wall, I sang the national anthem in my head. While there was no canon to mark the beginning of my day, race day was officially underway. I prayed a significant portion of the swim and just generally enjoyed the 47 minutes alone with my thoughts. I hauled myself out of the pool, hustled to the locker room, and began my preparation for the bike portion of my day. 


Swim time - 47:37


Transition 1 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant 


I had tossed around the idea of doing 56 miles on the Texas City Dike. Race day conditions would’ve been perfect for it as there was virtually no wind. After several conversations with Doug about my plans for the day, we both decided that riding alone on the Dike and subsequently packing up and driving home afterwards was not the safest idea. There are about 10 million details about these conversations that I could get into, but I’ll save you the verbal tennis match. We decided the best course of action would be to put my bike on the trainer and maintain a steady pace at 16 miles an hour for 3 1/2 hours. When I got home from the pool, my bike and nutrition were already set up from the night before. I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, jumped on my bike, and started pedaling. At this point in the day, my children were just waking up and the morning routine began around me. I conducted my part of their activities from the saddle and helped Doug remember all the things. We usually divide and conquer in the mornings, so he’s not that familiar with the part I play. Miraculously, they walked out the door exactly on time for school. I got a quick kiss and a sweaty side hug from both of my kids and kept right on pedaling.


The next 210 minutes passed mostly uneventful with one exception. About 30 minutes before I was finished, I got a call from the school nurse. I would like to point out the last three races I have done, I have gotten a call from somebody about one of my children either at the athlete briefing (IMTX17 when Lia sprained her arm), driving to IM Waco 18 (when Daniel’s teachers needed to talk to me about his inability to pass off a specific lesson in Dreambox - don’t ask), and now for my make-believe race (where Lia tripped over a tree root, fell, and hurt her leg “so badly” that the PE coach had to put her in a wheelchair - please note that she went to school today without a wheelchair, crutches, a brace, or a bruise…). At any rate - my parents were in the area and picked her up for us. 


By the time they arrived at home, I had 3 minutes left on my bike. Doug helped Lia hop on one foot to the couch, my dad got her an ice pack, and my mom got her a blanket and The Princess Bride. I climbed off my bike and got ready to run. I was actually feeling really great at this point, perhaps because I religiously consumed Honey Stinger Waffles, had NOT been fighting the winds of Galveston or the hills of Waco or Montgomery, or because I had nothing to focus on aside from moving my legs in circles. No traffic, no potholes, no other racers shouting out, “on your left!“. Whatever it was, I was grateful for it.


Bike time - 3:30:01


Transition 2 - unknown, unofficial, unimportant


Thus began the grueling part of my day, but not as grueling as I had anticipated. Running 13 miles is hard. Running 13 miles by yourself is harder. Running 13 miles by yourself after riding your bike for 3 1/2 hours and swimming 1.21 miles is the hardest. Me and my water bottle and my shot blocks got to work. My amazing parents showed up to be my mobile aid station. They met me around the 2 mile mark with cold oranges, bottled water, and Gatorade. Aid station volunteers are among the most amazing humans on earth. When it is your own mom and dad, it is truly next level. They opened my bottles, took my trash, and gave me encouragement. My next aid station was my own house. I was able to go to the bathroom (not in a porta potty!) and restock my nutrition. I also snuck in a quick kiss on Lia‘s head, which definitely made it feel like Ironman. My kids have been there for almost every race and I was actually pretty sad that they wouldn’t be there for this one. What a nice surprise tripping over a tree route turned out to be.


With 4.5 miles on my watch, I started doing race math. For anyone who has ever raced, you know what I’m talking about. With the flexibility to run whatever course I chose, race math was (again) next level. My route was to be three figure eights around the lakes in my neighborhood. On this lap, I got creative and added some mileage. My thought process went something like this… If I can manage to get 10 miles in before I get back home, I will just have a 5K left to do when I get home. I had already far exceeded my expectations on the run. I was certain if I could keep up this pace, I would really have the best race ever. 


I remember meeting with Heather last May when I began strength training. She asked me about my goals for this race. Truthfully, all I wanted was to have a good day. I have never had a race where I didn’t cramp up, throw up, or want to give up. My initial plan had been a five-to-one run walk ratio. At this point, I had been maintaining a 1 mile/1 minute run walk ratio. If I could continue that strategy, I would be finished in record time. I just had to somehow manage not to cramp up or throw up. 


My strategy almost worked and by the time I arrived back at home, I had 3.6 miles left to go. Unfortunately, my Apple Watch was not in it to win it. I exchanged my watch for my Garmin, refueled once more, and set out for the final leg of my journey. I told my family to expect me back in about 40 to 45 minutes. This was by far the hardest part of my day. My legs felt like lead and I was running out of things to think about. I was still in good spirits and miraculously never found myself at the entrance to the pain cave. I was able to spend most of my time thinking or talking to God, but by now, I was running out of things to say to Him. I convinced Doug to go with me for this last portion. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to say to him, either. Ironman has strict rules against non-racers joining you on the course, so this was a new and different experience for me. By mile 67 of a 70-mile race, all I ever want is to stop moving and to be with my family. Having 50% of my needs met was pretty amazing and I relished the companionable quiet. After a few minutes of nothing but footfalls and breathing, Doug turned back and I continued on the last little bit. 


My strategy on this last portion was simple - run 1.8 miles, turn around, and come back. That 1.8 went on and on and on and on. When I  finally got to the turnaround, I was home free. The last 20 minutes flew by and before I knew it, I was turning the corner to the literal homestretch. I saw something I 100% did not expect - an actual finish line complete with handmade signs my kids had made for me. I have never gotten choked up at a finish line until that moment. I guess seeing your parents at the finish line means a whole lot more when they’re the only ones there. No pomp. No crowd. No finisher’s medal. Just the two people who have supported you through everything you’ve ever done in your entire life. The two people who gave you life, gave you opportunity, and gave you encouragement beyond your wildest expectations. My throat closed up and my chest got tight as I ran those last few meters into my driveway. The enormity of what I had just completed (mostly) by myself really just hit me. I had to fight back tears, but not for long. 


By the time I got to my crepe paper finish line and my mom and dad’s hugs, I was all smiles. It was over. My 70-mile journey complete. I caught my breath, took a few pictures, and said goodbye. When I pushed the door open, Doug said, “how much longer do you have?” 


“I’m finished,” I said. “It’s over.” 


“What?? I thought I had like 10 minutes left! I missed the finish?”


“Yup - but mom and dad made me a finish line. I’m done.”


A previous version of myself would’ve been disappointed. This version of myself was just grateful. Grateful for the mile Doug ran with me. Grateful for quick kisses from Lia between laps. Grateful for cold oranges and encouragement from my parents at every turn. When I said I wanted to have a good day, I couldn’t have possibly dreamed up a day *this* good. No cramps. No wall. No pain cave. And to top it all of? A 20-minute PR. 


I grabbed my crepe paper finish line and claimed my personal victory. When I said, “I’m done,” I meant it in a lot of ways. My 10-year run of racing and triathlon has been amazing, but it’s time for Ironman to take a seat in my life. I thought I would be sad, but I feel so good about the day that I had and the closure that came with it that I don’t even feel a hint of sadness. I’m happy to call it quits this time and in this way and when April 3 rolls around, I’ll be sitting poolside, cheering my guts out for my baby girl, and not feeling the slightest hint of regret. 


Goodbye, Ironman. It’s been real. 

Wednesday, March 9, 2022

What had happened was...

So I was really committed to this race (70.3 Galveston…). Like for real. I’ve been hitting all of my workouts. 3+ hours on the trainer. 8 miles in the parking lot of the natatorium between Lia’s water polo games. Swimming 2000 meters in 33-degree weather. I’ve been a beast (pats self on the back).

Lia’s big water polo tournament was scheduled for April 2-3 in Pearland, the same weekend as my race (for those not familiar with Houston, Pearland is literally two towns over from League City). The plan was to be at the nat all day Saturday cheering her on. Sunday was race day and I recruited friends and family to cheer her on so I could go chase finish lines all over Galveston Island. I was hoping to be finished with the race by the finals and be back in Pearland to watch her compete. Then…

The tournament got moved to San Antonio. The minute I saw that, my mind was made up. There’s no way I’m going to be in Galveston while my baby is in San Antonio playing her heart out at the tournament. It’s not in my DNA. I’m not wired this way. I think back to 1995. My dad had triple bypass surgery just a few days after I turned 16. In fact, the first place I drove myself was to the hospital to see him in the ICU. I had a softball tournament a few days later and I will never forget my dad walking down the sidewalk to watch me play, wearing compression socks and carrying his teddy bear he was supposed to hold when he coughed. If triple bypass surgery didn’t keep my parents from being there for me, how on earth can I let a race keep me from being there for my baby?

Naturally, I hatched a plan. I’ll be competing against a field of one tomorrow. By myself, I will tackle 70.3 miles. Alone. No SAG. No aid stations. No cute kids with signs. No cowbells. No finish lines. I NEED to close this chapter of my story and move on with my life. I need to call this done and I don’t think that calling it quits this close to race day is going to do it for me. So HIMLC will take place tomorrow. 1931 meters at The Fitness Center, 56 miles either on my trainer or on the Texas City Dike, and 13.1 miles around my neighborhood.

Listen. This is for me, not you. If you don’t think it counts because my bike is on a trainer or my swim is in a pool or my transitions require car rides, hear me when I say, “I don’t care.” I’m not claiming a medal. There will be no roll-down slots awarded to the World Championship. On April 4, Ironman will have me listed among the DNSs and that’s ok. This is for me to be at peace with myself and my decision to put my child and her endeavors above my own. My family has tirelessly supported me over the last 10 years while I’ve raced all over Texas. I recognize (a half beat too late) that my kids have reached the age in their individual pursuits where I’m going to need to put my own things on the shelf and spend my time supporting them all over Texas (and beyond). This is me, carefully packing away my things and choosing to be present with my kids.

One last thought – I know tomorrow is going to be grueling, far more difficult than racing fully supported. I’m mentally prepared for that and who knows if I’m physically prepared. That’s what we’re going to find out tomorrow. My whole point in writing this down today is to remember how I felt in “the before.” Stay tuned for my thoughts and how I faced down my demons (or not) tomorrow on the HIMLC course. Let’s get down to brass tacks.


Post Script - I have told virtually no one about this beyond immediate family and those who are helping out on race day. If you're not on the VERY short list of people I told, it bears repeating - this is for me, not you. I don't want to be cajoled. I don't want to be talked out of it. I don't want to be berated for making a "weird" decision or told that you wouldn't do it that way. I don't want to hear all the reasons why I shouldn't do this and I certainly don't want to hear that it "doesn't count." I really don't care. Once more - this is for me, not you. If that sounds harsh, I'm sorry. Very close friends of mine reacted poorly when I deferred last year and I have been junked up about it ever since. I'm keeping this one close to my chest until I cross my own invisible finish line. Here's to hoping my body and my mind hold up tomorrow and carry me to the end of this chapter.

Thursday, January 13, 2022

2022 - The Welcome Wagon

About this time last year, I decided I was going to write weekly. I had an excellent blog post about slowing down and following the pace of Jesus and reordering my life and focusing on the things that were important and then… crickets. Shockingly, I’ve somehow found myself RIGHT where I left off – frenzied, hurried, harried, and not following through on my commitment to SLOW DOWN and get my priorities right. I reread that blog post this morning, listened to the podcast that helped me take my first steps on that path, and felt some serious conviction in my soul to get back to that place (again…).

So here I am – one year later – deciding to write more often, to say no more often, and to spend more of my time focusing on the big rocks in my life. On this 13th day of January 2022, I am declaring some goals, taking some steps, and recommitting myself to reordering my priorities and my heart. As John Ortberg put it, “Hurry is not just a disordered schedule. Hurry is a disordered heart.” It’s time to reorder my heart.

Faith – I commit to read the Bible in its entirety with my small group in 2022. I commit to spending more time in prayer by scheduling quiet times each day to establish habits and rhythms in my life that feel more like breathing than holding my breath.

Fitness – I commit to race 70.3 miles on April 3. I will commit to at least 9 workouts a week for the next 12 weeks. Once I cross the finish line, I commit to NOT signing up for any more races in 2022 so that I can take more time to focus on strength and addressing imbalances in my body.

Travel – I have already scheduled and booked flights to Key West to explore a new place with my husband. I commit to at least one trip to Maryland to be with Courtney and Billy for the biggest day of their careers. I commit to getting my family to New Mexico at least once this year to breathe the mountain air and to reconnect with the land.

Now that I’ve “said them out loud,” I’m committed. These goals and ideas aren’t just hidden in the quiet places of my soul. They’re not out there for my friends and family to see and to hold me accountable. Whether you will or you won’t is completely irrelevant – I will and that’s what matters. No longer do I accept 2020, a pandemic, or the weirdness that is the 20s as an excuse for putting my goals on a backburner. It’s time to get down to brass tacks and to make my dreams a reality.

As I conclude this first entry of 2022, I am setting daily alarms on my phone for quiet times, I am writing down my workouts for the next 2 weeks, and I am blocking out weekly times to spend in front of my laptop, banging my thoughts out on the keyboard. I will also take just a moment to remind myself who I’m writing for –for Sheri in 6 months, for Sheri in 2023, for Sheri in 6 years. These are simple bookmarks in my life to help me remember the things I once held dear and the thoughts that rattled around in my head until I wrote them out and captured them for the future. Today those thoughts just happen to be about getting myself on track to focus on the things that fill my cup. With any amount of luck, the next entries will have the same focus.