Full Disclosure

Full disclosure…

Or “the race that wasn’t supposed to be - at least not today “

It’s been over twelve weeks since 70.3 Lake Placid. I know I did not do a race report. In fact, I didn’t talk about it all for 3 weeks because I was so pissed. Not like me to get pissed off about a performance but this one was supposed to be different. It might seem as if its too late for a race report, but its connected to the end point.

Truth be told I was most worried about the swim. Also, not like me. I only had a couple of open water opportunities this season and they were disasters with a couple of wetsuit panic attacks. I decided I was just going to put my head down and have a nice relaxing swim. Even relaxing I knew I’d be okay and not need to worry about the 1:10 cut off.  And, I decided to use a different strategy and go out with a group that was one pace slower than I expected to be. This way, maybe I could get out in front have clean water. That was a great strategy for the swim. I had clean water and I was on the cable 97% of the way. I never stopped to get around anyone or to sight. When I got out of the water and looked at my watch I was blown away. My goal for the day was a PR in each leg of the race and overall. That would’ve meant sub :35 in the swim. I kept thinking “do I really waste that much time in the water when I’m panicked or in a mod that I would have been that much faster?” My watch said 21:50 - how could that be? What a slacker I’ve been!  I was a few miles into the bike before I figured it out……yards, not time idiot 2150 yards. I had a good laugh about that. Nevertheless, it was a good swim strategy and I was relaxed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a good bike strategy starting two minutes later on the swim.

I was so psyched for the bike even though I was concerned about the hills. People think Colorado is full of hills. But the front range is flat as a pancake. If you want hills, it’s in the mountains where it’s not safe to bike. Well, at least it isn’t if you are me. I’m sure Miranda does just fine. I’ve always hated that first hill on the course pass the ski jumps more than any other hill on the course, but I surprised myself climbing it. And, I surprise myself with how much I enjoyed the descent into Keene. It was interesting watching other people sitting on the Side of the road catching their breath before the next part of the course - their life flashing before their eyes once again. I stayed steady on 9N and was right where I needed to be. The next challenge would be the cherries. The first time I climb them I stopped before the last one, pulled over and cried. LOL. I was so tired and there was no way I thought I could get up the last hill. (it’s funny now but it wasn’t then!) But again, I was surprised at how comfortable I was.

I had not ever been on the new part of the course, so I didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t a lot of climbing but there wasn’t a lot of speed either and it seemed to go on forever and I felt myself letting the fear of what was ahead get to me. I also should’ve noted a decrease in my energy level and increased my nutrition. I was hungry and was scouting bananas at every aid station. That had never happened before, but I wasn’t mindful about it. I was too worried about the climb out of Wilmington. I was starting to get cold and feeling defeated before I even got to the turn onto 73.  I was right at the 3 hr mark. Once I got it in my head that I couldn’t possibly make T2 in time to meet my goal – the biggest goal I had for the day - so why try? Save for the run. Total mistake because I wasn’t watching the overall time. I saw Mindy Lu on my way in to transition and just shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. It wasn’t supposed to go that way – not today. I had absolutely no idea at that point that I had missed the cut off by one minute. Starting one group back in the swim cost me two minutes.

There was one last opportunity for a PR in the run. But that quickly disappeared when, about 2 miles in, I asked some spectators what time it was. Then it all hit me. I probably already DNF’d and I certainly wasn’t going to make it under eight hours no matter how much of a PR I had.  I started walking and contemplated turning around and calling it quits. I have no idea why I continued. The further I went, the more negative noise I gathered in my head and I just couldn’t get back in the game. “See, what were you thinking PR’s – pfft.” “you are never going to get better at this” “you came all the way from Colorado to fail…again.” “face it, you are NOT an athlete.” And on and on and on.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way not today. I was supposed to finally get to that oval. I was supposed enter that oval in the bests shape I had been in in years. I was supposed to enter that oval having survived breast cancer. I was supposed to enter that oval ready to start some exciting new things.

Instead it was my worst time for the bike and the run and my overall 70.3’s. Oh yeah and another Lake Placid course DNF. I was angry, devastated and mostly embarrassed. I got over the finish line and went straight toward Mindy Lu and burst into tears. All I could say it was “it wasn’t supposed to be that way - not today!”

For three weeks I was crabby. I didn’t keep up with my workouts. I ate whatever I wanted. And then it all surfaced. It wasn’t so much about the race as it was about credibility.  The plan post-race was to celebrate that I had recently completed my USAT Level 1 coaching certification and I had officially started a business to coach cancer survivors. That race was supposed to give me the last thing I needed to add to a year of getting fit and surviving cancer……….. credibility.

I finally picked myself up off the ground and started my workouts again. Then I had a little talking to from my coach – perfect timing.  I decided I was going to end the season with a PR even if it killed me. I ran 72 miles in 15 days - all at the pace I knew I needed to PR the Rocky Mountain half marathon. No faster and no slower.  For the first time, I did not waiver from my goal while I was out there on the course.  I had finally learned that I have a habit of giving up. Not giving up and quitting but giving up on effort.

I am a USAT Level 1 Certified Coach. And this week I was hired as one of four coaches for Colorado Wild Women. A team of 50 women new to triathlon - many of them cancer survivors.

On to Disney!

Last month marked the two-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis.  If you’re reading this and you have already donated to my Leukemia and Lymphoma pediatric research initiative – thank you! If you have not, I would be honored if you would do that now.     https://pages.lls.org/tnt/rm/wdw20/DArmstrong

Accountablity

Who writes a blog post once a year, or maybe once every other year? No one. Except me. This is my public commitment to make it more of a habit!

This weekend I will be participating in my first triathlon since September of 2013 in Skaneatles. It is a sprint (750 yard swim, 17.3 mile bike and a 3.1 run) My goal? a refresher before LP 70.3 in September. (If I can get there!) The swim is short so no wetsuit. I am actually a bit nervous about it based on my two ows experiences two weeks ago. Not at all a relaxing swim. My head was up every 100 yards, trying to catch my breath and relax. My second attempt was better with a different wetsuit, but still not what it should be. So, Sunday - no wetsuit. I had built up my running

Someone told me I should read David Goggin's book, and then I read Atomic Habit, and 5 second Rule, and Endure, the Alchemist, and Soar. Wow I've been missing a lot by not making reading a priority. Some things have not changed at all since I last posted: we are still in Colorado, I am still looking for my next career move. Some things have changed 360 degrees. Let me focus on that for a minute. I got a coach. I lost some more weight and gained some more strength.

This is my day, everyday....

My alarm clock is now on the other side of the room. No more snooze. No more turning it off and sleeping another hour. I am up by 6, usually by 5. While my coffee is brewing, the dishwasher gets emptied, and I start any laundry that needs to be done.

I have an accountability mirror- it is a whole new ball game. The idea came from Goggin's book, but I took it a bit further. Every month I choose 10 things that have to happen every day. I always start with making the bed (also a new thing!) I do not get back in bed (the hardest item every. single. day.) I do my workout, spend at least 3 hour on the job search, and 1 hr reading ( I have read 14 books since April - more than I have read in a long time!) I have a to-do list that changes every month and i pick something off that for the day (you know - all those tedious things you've been meaning to do forever but never get to like closing the NY bank accounts!)

For the first three months I spent an hour everyday purging or organizing paper, clothes, art supplies, emails, photos, books, old school work, a box of my father's keepsakes, items from the 1990 house fire that I had not been able to part with and unloading many, many unused and unnecessary material objects. That's 90 hours of cleaning up life.  It is an amazing feeling. Last week I found a letter from 1978 that my sister wrote to me when I was away visiting family. She was 6.

You know what I have learned - its hard! And I mean really hard.  Its a constant struggle to stay focused, to not say "oh the hell with the schedule today," or spend the whole day reading the really good book, or throw in the towel because...why bother?  In the words of Steve Jobs "remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose."

Someone said to me last week that my whole idea of Ironman was the dance of the finish line. It was never about being an athlete. That was right. It was about doing triathlons not about being a triathlete. It's different training because it doesn't feel like it is training anymore, it feels like being who I am and every event of the past two years has brought me here; epic parallels. From pain and exhaustion, to thinking you'll never be able to do it, pushing through, and maybe somethings puking; epic parallels. It all happens for a reason and I am grateful that I had a wake up call!

Next month is LP 70.3.  I am struggling with how to get there since we thought we'd be home by now. And of course I am nervous - not a lot of bike climbing here believe it or not. But this is what I am hanging onto - I passed people on the bike leg of that sprint. Uphill, downhill and on the flats. No big deal to many, but to me it was proof of so many things!

Big shout out to my friend Maura for completing her first Ironman this past weekend - epic parallels!

If You Can, I Can

I had a colleague at Syracuse ....I don't call her a friend because true be told, we didn't like each other very much in the beginning. But we did have an impact on each other's lives. Little did I know at the time how much of an impact she would have on me! In 2010 I participated in the first Syracuse Irongirl. I took my medal to work on Monday to show it off. When I showed Carol and told her and the others gathered about the experience and how great it felt to accomplish something you didn't think possible, she said "I'm going to do it next year. If you can do it, I can do it." I took it as a compliment, though I'm not sure it was. I bought her a beginner's triathlon book and connected her to the local tri club and she started training. And then...cancer, brain cancer. But you know what, it didn't stop her. She trained right through her treatment. She started that race and she finished! She was the very last to finish with a crowd of people cheering her on and not a dry eye at the finish line. One of the most powerful things I've even seen. About six months later she lost her battle. I have a picture that sits in my office of her crossing that finish line. Many times, during my own treatment I would think of Carol and wonder how the hell she trained through chemo!? I couldn't even convince myself to walk to the mailbox some days!

When I returned home after my walks at the start of my training, I was always making a mental note of a particular driveway on our street. I wasn't really sure why at first. Later, when my walks were longer and more tiring, I'd see the driveway, enter my garage, sit on the step and just sob. One day someone posted an article on survivors’ guilt and I recognized the signs. That driveway is connected to the house of a friend who is still fighting her own battle - one that is and has been much more difficult than mine. She has two beautiful young daughters and an amazing husband. They were a Godsend to us during my battle. Why was I okay and she wasn't? Why did Carol lose her fight and I didn’t? I decided that there was really only one thing to do with that guilt - "committing to a life of significance in honor of those still fighting or who have lost their battle." After 55 years, I have a personal mission statement!

That is why I accepted the very generous Disney offer. Yes, I got a lot of attention - embarrassing amounts sometimes. One special family spent their whole weekend hosting me and keeping me company. And really, I had no business being on a marathon course at this stage of training. But if just one cancer patient with a port in their chest, a mirror in their bathroom that reflects someone they don't know, and a pharmacy of meds on their kitchen counter realizes that it does get better because they heard the story, then it was worth it.

Selfishly, there was plenty in it for me too. I met a group of people who already knew their mission statement, already “committing to a life of significance in honor of those still fighting or who have lost their battle." Survivors, those who lost parents, children, spouses and friends. People who don't just raise money one time so they can run a race at some awesome place. The people who brought me to Disney, Pop's Warriors, are doing that every year, all year long. They are raising their children to do the same. I saw more compassion, more men crying, more grateful survivors and more hope than you can imagine. I knew they were good people before I got there, but until I saw them together and immediately felt a part of their family, until I saw their tears, their joy and their fight, I didn't know how pure their souls were.

The other highlight for me was the inspiration I experienced. There were people on that course who finished treatment in December! One person who ran all four races, 48.6 miles in four days, and then flew home to start treatment on Monday morning. And those are only the ones I know about. There was also inspiration that came from my thoughts of Carol. This time it was me saying “If you could, I can!”

And of course, there is the medal. It wasn't about the medal, but it’s always about the medal a little bit right?! That part comes next when I finish my race report.......... In the meantime, a friend posted this statement on FB on Sunday. It was something I wrote in 2011 after my first marathon. Eight years later is truer than I knew back then. I'm dedicating it this time to my newest friends, Pop's Warriors.

The Finish Line
January 13, 2011 at 9:33 AM
There is a silence that comes after and is hard to explain to those who were not there. You feel separated from everyone around you having lived an experience that others can’t possibility understand. It must be similar to the way cancer patients feel – chemo and radiation tearing them down to the point where they think that they have absolutely nothing left to take the next step. I’d like to say it was an easy run, an enjoyable run, or even a rewarding run, but it was not. It was a test, it was painful, it was hard beyond my wildest dreams and I wanted to give up so many times. But the reality is that when I crossed the finish line I was done. The cancer patient has to endure, has to run again, and again and again before their finish line. I did not understand the connection between endurance sports and raising money for cancer before my run. But now I understand that there are no truer words than “There is no finish line until there is a cure.”