Good Enough?

9 years ago on a Wednesday afternoon, I received this in my inbox:

College bound!

Several of my Seniors are at that point in their life, waiting for the one decision that will supposedly allow them to enjoy the rest of their senior year or ruin their lives. I've heard the "please-I-need-an-A-or-I-won't-get-in-to-__________" more than enough times this year, only to break their hearts because sorry, you just really didn't deserve the A. 

It's not that I'm not sympathetic, I was them at one point in my life. Wondering if everything I did in the past 4 years was good enough. Wondering if the relationships I made with my teacher were good enough for a glowing recommendation, wondering if the relationships I made with my friends were good enough to make it through college.

Senior year, I was 30+ pounds heavier, and couldn't run more than two miles.

Luckily, it worked out for me and hopefully several of my students have been able to spend the day celebrating. But I know that for so many, it won't. So what do you tell the ones that just had a multi-year dream crushed by a signed letter from someone they don't even know?

My answer: Your life in 9 years will be far different than what you could have planned or imagined. Maybe one day you'll do something completely different than your major. Maybe one day you'll become an aunt/uncle to the two (yes, two! starting 3/2014) cutest girls imaginable. Maybe one day you'll become an Ironman. You'll never stop wondering if you're good enough, because if you stop wondering, then you've stopped trying.

With the new year coming, many people are pressed for a fresh start. Resolutions are created and announced, only to be broken at some point throughout the year. Instead, I ask people to surprise themselves. Do something your 9 years ago self couldn't imagine seeing yourself do today. I've tried that for a few years now, and it's turned out pretty great.

Happy holidays and have a great new year. Don't forget to dream big. I'll be back next year!

Can't you tell life is pretty great right now?

Finishing is Winning

It's taken me a long time to organize my thoughts for this race. How do you summarize a 15+ hour day, a 5+ year goal? It's hard to explain what kind of emotions, thoughts, pain, and joy you feel going through an Ironman.

I've organized my race into five things I've learned through the Ironman journey, paired with quotes from my current favorite book series, Divergent by Veronica Roth. Check out the trailer for the movie coming up in March 2013!


1. Fear only has as much power as you give it. "I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us." 

There was a storm brewing the morning before the race. When it was time for my teammates and I to jump in for our practice swim, the beach called for double red flags. Having not really gone to the beach, I had no idea what that meant. I just knew it sounded bad, and it definitely looked bad.

Something about no lifeguards, something about no one allowed in the water, something about lifeguards not being able to save you? Hmm... well, we went in anyways where Matt tried to give me a 10 minute "How to Jump Waves and Get Past Breakers" crash course lesson. Jump over those, swim under these, never keep your back against the wave, if you get caught under the wave stay calm, look out for the next wave, no seriously, look out for this wave!! Feeling panicked and scared out of my wetsuit was an understatement, and after a few minutes I had enough. I swam back, only to be tossed and disoriented a few more times before I climbed out of shore, maybe 50+ meters away from where we started.

Brave souls telling the two red flags to HTFU. Yes, I am one of them. Photo from Beth

Pre race swim/bike/run brick

I've written about my fears before, and I knew if I could just get past the waves, I would finish the swim and therefore finish the race. The storm had passed and the waters had drastically calmed down morning of the race, but still present. The minutes leading up to the race were nerve-wracking, the seconds leading up to the race, emotional. I couldn't believe the start was here and every training session I had done would be put to the test. The gun went off and I followed the 3,000+ crowd into the water. I listened to Matt's voice from: yesterday, duck, jump, jump, duck, kick, hold your breath and before I knew it I was past the major breakers. The rest of the swim had some light swells, we went up and down with the waves which admittedly, was kind of fun. I wasn't worried about the current, I wasn't worried about the next buoy, I just drafted with the crowd and before I knew it was on the way back to shore.

Coming out of my first lap I saw friends Katie and Debbie cheering and yelling my name. I was shocked to see them among the crowd that had gathered. I glanced at the clock, and it had already been an hour. Already?! I thought I had done really well, and it's never taken me an hour to do any 1.2 mile swim. Someone next to me told me it was the professional time, and we were only at 50 minutes. With a big sigh of relief, a small smile, I stopped letting my fear take control of me. I got back out of the second lap. An hour later I finished, right under 1:50, with a 10 minute 2.4 mile swim PR to boot.

2. There is still kindness and humanity in the world. "I believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another."

 I can't even begin to count the amount of volunteers, strangers, and friends who helped, cheered, and encouraged me throughout the day.

Immediately after the swim a volunteer helped me strip my wetsuit. 2 minutes later another one handed me my bike bag. Another woman helped me get dressed in the tent. She laid out all my clothes and helped me pull down my shirt. She put all my gu and nutrition in my pocket, got me water, and wiped my feet as I haphazardly tried to remember what else I needed to carry or put on. She told me to go whenever I was ready, and she would pack everything up for me. I was handed my bike, clipped in, and ready to go. I passed super sherpas Beth and Johnny, drink in tow, the only way they know how.

Beginning of the bike. Flying and happy!

I flew through the first 50 miles, happy and cheering for all those who I went by and those who flew by me. I chatted with a man, who explained there was a tough segment of bumpy road up ahead (later on I found out he crashed his bike to avoid/help someone else, and was featured in the Ironman recap). Matt snuck up behind me right before the stretch as we passed a TeamZ cheer station.

The road was more than bumpy, it completely sucked. Halfway through were your special needs bags. I couldn't find mine, so another competitor stopped refueling/eating and helped me find mine. Meanwhile a little girl hops over and offers to hold my bike as I got my stuff together. I finished the last stretch of the road, passed the cheer station again and rounded the turn into a deep, dark, spot...


3. Your mind is stronger than your body. "Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now."

After getting off the bumpy stretch of road, I lost it. My arms were tired and sore from navigating the cracks, there was a pretty strong headwind, and the only two or three hills in the entire course just came at the most convenient time. I started to cramp all over my legs and my mood made a complete 180 degree turn. My speed slowed down drastically and I turned into some sort of cycling zombie. All I knew was I had to keep pedaling. I talked to myself, sang, cried, laughed, anything to keep my mind off of it. 70 miles=42 miles to go, 80 miles=32 miles to go (seriously WTF, 32 more miles to go?!). The cramps kept getting worse. I wanted off the bike.

At mile 90, flamingo Beth jumped out in the middle of the course to do a little dance. Thinking back it was pretty freaking funny, but I don't even know if I mustered a smile. At the next aid station I got off my bike to stretch. I don't know how long I stopped but it felt like forever. I was fighting to make it under my goal of 7 hours and time was slipping by. I couldn't even stand without having pains going up and down my leg. How the heck was I ever going to get back? I tried a couple times to get up, then tried a few more times to just swing my leg over my bike. Quitting was never an option, but I questioned how I could possibly finish this leg of the race. I wanted to go but my body would not physically let me. After some time, my mind finally took control. Magically, I sucked it up, got back on, and pedaled through the last 15+ miles. The pain never went away but mentally it didn't matter. I made it back right under my 7 hour goal at 6:55.

So... close...

4. Friends are underrated. "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to be near them."

Start of the run- can you see the pain on my face?

I paid for pedaling through the pain when I got off my bike. Immediately getting off I couldn't do anything except crouch over in transition. Stretching one part of my leg would cause another part to cramp. Eventually I got up and managed to get into the changing tent. Another volunteer helped me change and literally dressed me, putting on my sleeves, socks, and shoes because I couldn't bend over to get them on. After thanking her over and over again, I started off on my marathon. I couldn't decide if it was "only a marathon left" or "oh crap I still have to run a marathon left." I was moving slowly but knew I would see the TeamZ tent not too far away from transition. I desperately needed some encouragement from familiar faces. I saw Beth and Johnny before they saw me. I told them I was dying. "NO! YOU'RE NOT! You have 8 hours to do a marathon. YOU! GOT! THIS!"- Beth. She updated me on my family in Maryland and California, and the friends tracking me at home. Everyone was online checking splits, which helped encourage me to always find the next one. She walked with me for a bit and the dropped back off to cheer.

Hard core flamingo cheerers. Photo from Kathy

I walked the first 1.5 miles through the main street lined with spectators. Everyone was cheering me on but I couldn't physically pick up and rotate my legs. I  sucked it up again and was able to do a run/walk. When I was actually running I was able to keep a decent pace around 11 min/miles. The two loop out and back course allowed me to see a ton of TeamZ friends and cheerers. I finally snuck up on Matt. We walked and chatted a bit when he told me was going to have to walk the whole thing. That freaked me out because I did not want to walk and be out here longer than necessary. I picked it up again and finished the first lap right as the night went completely dark.

Sometime during the first lap Johnny went to get my bike and bags, so I wouldn't have to worry about it after the race. I saw Beth again and desperately asked if she could just stay with me a little while. She went back to grab her bike and pedaled next to me, and so came the last 13.1 miles of my day. At this point I had already gone 127.5 and been in pain for almost 7 hours. There were some points I moved so slow that Beth had to get off her bike and walk next to me. We got to the furthest point of the course, into the park, where she couldn't come with me. It only lasted a little over a mile, but was no doubt the longest, slowest, darkest, hardest part of my day.

Towards the last 4 miles running wasn't even an option anymore. I managed to shuffle through a few stretches, barely picking up my legs. People in front of me thought there was an elephant coming through. Beth kept telling me stories, stories about our teammates, stories about her day, random stories about random people, anything to keep my mind off. Eventually the miles started to countdown, 23=3.2 miles left, 24=2.2 miles left. Beth texted all my friends and family that I had 2 miles left. I knew a lot of them were watching and wanted to make them proud.

Hmmm.. soup!

Coming up on mile 26 was TeamZ with so much cheering, so much energy, and so much love. The finisher chute was pretty long, but I didn't mind, it was my chance to soak it all in- I had the race in the bag and all I had to do now was enjoy the last few minutes. I kept looking behind me selfishly so I didn't have to "share" my finish line moment. Every hand was stretched out to high-five me and my face was on the jumbo tron. Seconds later I heard my name and hometown, and the infamous words you only dream to hear "You. Are. An. Ironman."

Thank you J&H for this awesome screen shot!

5. "Finishing is Winning" - students in my 6th period AP Stat class.

To a certain extent, I still can't really fathom what I had done. The training had been so long and grueling, that the long days just kind of blur together. No sane people actually participate in these events, at least nobody like me. And then I remembered why I did it to begin with. Not just for the finisher jacket, the car sticker, the amazing welcome home/Ironman parties at home, but to know that at any time, at any age, anybody can finish what they start, and win.

When I first heard of Ironman I reacted the same way my students did. "That's CRAZY!" "How do you eat?" "Do you win? If you don't, why do it?" "I would never be able to do that, I can't even run a mile." They didn't get it like I didn't get it. But after 6 years of teaching, I received some of the best compliments I ever got from parents. So many parents not only encouraged me to continue racing, but thanked me for being such a positive role model for their kids.

I can't thank everybody enough for being there for me through the year. For all those who I know tracked at home, you really encouraged me to reach the next split! (All of TeamZ, Esther, Aunt Ching, Cat, Emmie, Emily and J, Jenny, Susan, Sean, Lauren, Jo, Harriet, Jason, Debbie, Robert, Baby K). I will also remember those cheering on course: Deb, Katie, Ryan, Euge, Kathy, Greg, John, Janet. Thanks Tom for picking me up from the finish. Thanks Tom Fong and CYC for your sponsorship! Big thanks to Johnny for being an awesome driving friend, roommate, sherpa, and being so proud of us that you almost teared up at the start. Huge thanks to Matt for being my training partner through all of it. And the BIGGEST GREATEST THANK YOU to super sherpa extraordinaire pink flamingo/flowing flamingo BETH! Your physical and emotional support has been everything to me, just let me know when it's your turn to run Ironman and I'll be there :)

Super Sherpa Beth!

Training partner Matt

Ironman Cake

CYC welcome home party but together by my sweet brother 

CYC "Welcome Home Gladiators"

It wouldn't be a real blog entry without a picture of K

Check out some awesome videos on the race:

Ironman Florida 2013 Race Highlight

Ironman Florida Swim Start

*Summary of Divergent via amazon.com, an amazing series I highly recommend it: In Beatrice Prior’s dystopian Chicago world, society is divided into five factions, each dedicated to the cultivation of a particular virtue—Candor (the honest), Abnegation (the selfless), Dauntless (the brave), Amity (the peaceful), and Erudite (the intelligent). On an appointed day of every year, all sixteen-year-olds must select the faction to which they will devote the rest of their lives. For Beatrice, the decision is between staying with her family and being who she really is—she can’t have both. So she makes a choice that surprises everyone, including herself.

10 Day Forecast

The day has finally arrived when the 10-day forecast becomes visible for Ironman Florida.

0% rain and a high of 78, ideal racing temperatures in my opinion.

But, like the weather, no one really knows, how will the day go?

There are probably two people in the world who can get away with feeding drastically incorrect information without getting fired: weathermen and statisticians. Sure they have to know their stuff, do their research, apply some inductive reasoning, but in the end, all they do is make a prediction. So what if they are wrong? Nothing, really. Derecho, anyone? How about the disappointment of waking up in the morning to no snow and the fact that you actually do have to go to school/work that day? Check out an amazing video of my favorite weatherman regarding the 2010 snowmageddon. 

With the days, hours, and minutes dwindling down to November 2nd, I'm surprisingly calm. With my niece encouraging me to be fearless, I am able to face the day with more excitement. But as a natural math nerd and a statistics teacher, I wonder about the probability of actually finishing the Ironman race.

The chart below shows finishers and DNF (did not finish-ers) in 2010 via runtri.com. Click here for a bigger picture.

2010 results

Out of 2,424 athletes, only 99 did not finish. A 4% non-finish rate, a 96% finish rate. I'll take those odds. But wait-hold-on-a-minute, there is a still 4 out of 100 chance that one of those will be me. 

Math and statistics is a tricky thing. No event is guaranteed unless the probability is 1 (or 100%), and how many things in life truly have a probability of 1? On top of that, imagine you are racing with just 4 friends. The probability of all of you finishing would be .96 to the fifth power, assuming someone finishing/not finishing does not affect the other person. The chances of all five of you finishing would be 84.9%. With 10 people? Down to 66%. Oh. Crap!

I promise you, I'm not trying to freak myself or anybody else out. But that is my point exactly. Just as absurd and ridiculous those statistics are (albeit legit theoretical math), sometimes you just have to throw all that crap out the window. 

So what if you're the last swimmer out of the water? (FYI a legit fear). You still get to bike and run! So what if you get a flat? But, what if you don't and just end up cruising through the ride? What if it rains during the run? But, what if it doesn't?

Take a word from the wise.

Phil'sosophy

If you're still not convinced, a 96% probability of finishing is still better than these odds:

1. Getting a one pair in poker (42.3%)

2. Getting anything in poker (49.9%)

3. Students who graduate within six years at Johns Hopkins University (94%)

4. A celebrity marriage will last a lifetime (33%)
5. A first time marriage that lasts a lifetime (59%)
6. Free throw percentage of top NBA free throw shooter Stephen Curry ( 90.3%)
7. High school graduation rate in Montgomery County, MD (84%)
8. High school graduation rate in Fairfax County- the highest rate among the 50 largest school districts in the nation (85%)

Fearless

Google fearless, and these are some things you get:

"Fearless is not the the absence of fear. It's not being completely unafraid. Fearless is having fears. Lots of them. Fearless is living in spite of those things that scare you death."

"Being able to stare someone in the eye as they hold a rubber band wrapped around their hand ready to fling at you without flinching."

"Having fears, but jumping anyways."

Don't flinch

Mention fearless, and this is what I think:

1. People who skydive and bungee jump
2. An awesome Taylor Swift song/album/concert
3. My niece
4. read on...

It took me 4 seasons of Triathlons to want to sign up for an Ironman. Not because I didn't think I could do it, not because of any physical problems, but because I was scared. What happens if you can't survive the training? What happens if someone steals your bike the week before your race? What happens if everything goes perfectly up to the day of the race, and by some rare probability you don't finish?

For my one-year-old niece, everything is new to her, yet she faces new things and new people with no fear. Two days into her trip this summer in Maryland, she learned how to climb stairs. The next day her dad showed her how to pivot at the top of the stairs and go down backwards. She first tried on the two step hardwood floor from the kitchen to the living room, and fell flat on her face (on my watch, oops.) Later on she tried again and succeeded, and the day after she could climb down backwards from the second to the first floor (13 steps!). She's the friendliest baby in public and will smile at you coyly, let you pick her up, even crawl or walk over to socialize.

If you fall...

try again!

Meeting her friend Victoria for the first time

Trust me, she wasn't always this fun to be around. Unlucky with acid reflex, K would only sleep a few hours at a time (up until 7 months!), torturing her parents and everyone around her until they played the "vacuum" song or go through an elaborate fifteen step process of putting her down. One day it stopped, just like one day a few weeks ago she started walking. Like my sister said, she walked when she was ready and not when someone made her.

Big girl standing with big girl jeans

So, what's the last thing I think of when I hear of the word fearless?

4. What would K do?

In the past 3 weeks, I've survived completed an 18 mile run/110 mile ride training weekend, a 2.4 mile swim, and a 20 mile run/120 mile ride training weekend. All of which I had never done altogether, two of which were "longest rides ever," and one "longest swim ever." It's scary to try something you've never done. It's scary because you don't know if you can do it, no matter how hard you try. But like my niece, you brush off the fear, grow up, and face it on your own terms and on your own time. 

Back to back 20 mile run, 120 mile ride weekend

September has been a huge month. I'll never be as fearless as K, but I've learned how she faces life; look fear in the eye, and just jump anyways. After all, I have to make sure she as at least one cool Ironman Aunt.

K's fearless face

Firsts

August was busy. The first time I raced every weekend, spanning across five states and the district. It was a month of many firsts.

First Century Ride- Bike to the Beach (106.5 miles). DC to Maryland to Delaware.
August 2nd

I have dreamed of doing this ride for years. I knew if I ever did a charity ride it would have to be for children and I couldn't have been happier to raise over $1,700 for Autism with one of my best friends. The fundraising started in April and I had my last donation the week of the ride.

The ride started at Gonzaga Prep High School in DC. The cue sheet was the biggest piece of paper I've seen in my life. We were ready and well trained, having just ridden 80 hilly miles the weekend before. The first 15 miles or so out of the city was exhilarating yet terrifying at the same time. There were hundreds of bikers cycling in pitch black at 5am, dodging pot holes, and let's not forget the cars, buses, and people who just "happened" to be up (what are YOU doing awake?)

People started to space out the next 18 miles all the way to Annapolis. It was barely 7, and I was starving. Annapolis had a major check point where we refueled and got on a bus and over the bay bridge- not my favorite landmark to cross. Of course the giant charter bus decides to go on the side lane. Let's sit still everyone, just in case there's a giant gust of wind! That would definitely suck if the truck holding our bikes all fell in over. Almost an hour later we were transported across, got our bikes and were ready for the remaining 70 miles. Only 70 left, right?!

Getting transported over the bridge. Always protect your head!

Surprisingly, the last 70 were pretty easy. I'm not going to lie, I was expecting the worst to happen- major cramps, a mental breakdown, losing my only water bottle (I dropped two at mile 17), a flat tire, or plain exhaustion. It was the first time I crossed a state line on a bike. Definitely an incredible journey and one I highly recommend for anyone doing their first century.

The first state!

106.5 miles later

First Race in the West Coast- Chula Vista Challenge (Olympic Triathlon). California.
August 11th

My dad booked me an 11 day trip to San Diego (Chula Vista) to visit my grandparents. At first I thought to myself, what the heck am I going to do for 11 days? WHAT ABOUT MY TRAINING?!?! The answer: race, of course! It must have been fate that the little town my grandparents lived in was holding their annual triathlon. An Olympic distance sounded easy. Except the bike ride was literally all. up. hill.

Rented B16 Felt Bike and Swim Start in the Bay

The swim was uneventful (but completed unlike Williamsburg) with my usual 1.5k time. Riding from shore to the inland was a first and a fun point to point course, but once you started climbing, you didn't stop. I powered through and still managed to come in at around 15 mph. My run was pretty great compared to my slower, dragging summer runs. Maybe it was because the San Diego humidity was non-existent, but also the incredible lake scenery and the added bonus of running through the Olympic training stadium.

Rode back to the run course a few days later just for a picture

Although it was a race of little "fluff" and a small cheering crew of just my dad and aunt, I was able to go home to my grandparents proudly waiting at home. Within two years, I have successfully completed a triathlon at the place where both sets of grandparents were located.

Grandma and Grandpa, 91 and 89 years young

My aunt and I by the finish

First Race with no Food or Sleep- America's Finest City Half Marathon. California.
August 18th

Let's just say I ran into some personal, emotional issues. My stomach was in knots, I was an emotional wreck, and I barely ate and slept for 2 days. I was exhausted getting up at 5 am and had to be transported to the start (another point to point course) at the top of Point Loma. It was dark, not even 6, cold, and lonely. My dad and aunt waited patiently at the finish, but I was alone at the top of the mountain. I called my sister from across the world, I called my best friend on the east coast, who both calmed me and asked me to bow out gracefully if I was feeling dizzy. I couldn't go back now anyways, the shuttles to the start were only one way.

Lonely on top of Point Loma

There was a mass start at 7. The course was rolling for the first mile, but the next three were pretty much all downhill. I was clocking pretty good time, even on low fuel. Next came a long flat segment around the bay. Thinking back, it really was beautiful and my ideal course and temperature. At mile 8 I started to get tired. My foot, ankle, and legs started cramp which I haven't experienced in a while. I was definitely fatigued and hungry (finally!). Not dizzy though, so I kept going. The last 2 miles was a real uphill climb to Balboa Park and the Zoo. I'm not really sure how I survived the last 4-5 miles but I did. It was a testament of my Ironman training, and how much I am willing to give before giving up.

Is. this. over. yet?

First Race when I HTFU'd- South Riding Sprint Triathlon. Virginia. 
August 25th

Generally my goal for every race is to finish. PRs are great, but finishing strong has always been good enough. Not this time. Half way recovered from my emotional debacle, I wanted to sprint the race, crush my time from last year, and place on the podium.

After a long waited snake swim, and starting after the first place finisher (already!), I did a running jump into the water. The water was hectic. So much splashing. People in front and behind you, and next to you, going the opposite direction. I passed two people nobody passed me (woo hoo!). I felt like I was swimming forever and all of my swim lessons on long strokes, rotating, catching went out the window. I put my elbows on the deck and literally rolled out of the water into T1.

I fumbled with my helmet. I fumbled with my race belt. This is taking forever. Don't forget the watch. I'll just attach it while I'm riding- stop wasting time! I ran my bike out and almost dropped it. I finally got on my bike and my watch on. It was the first time I raced with my brand new spanking race wheels, and I was determined to chase down as many people as I could. My starting number was 255. I chased down someone all the way down to the high 100s. I don't know how many people I passed, but I knew how many people passed me (0! another first).

Still trying to get my watch on.

T2 was quick and I hit the ground running. It was my third year doing the course, so I knew what to expect. I caught a small Stone Middle School cheering squad and then took off as fast as I could. The best part was an out and back trail to cheer other people on and to see how much time I made up. I passed more people in the upper 100s, and before I knew it I was the one coming back and not the one going out. I chased down a few more people and turned the corner to the finish line.

Start of the run.

For the first time, I actually swam, bike, and ran my heart out. I checked my results and finished with more than 4 minutes under last year's time: 1:13:32. Good enough for a 19th overall women's finish and 2nd place age group finish!

And yes I actually beat people for my podium finish! (10!)

So, I could say something wise here, but really all I can say is I'm thankful to have gotten all these firsts out of the way before Florida. Some of them prepared me physically in distance and speed while the others prepared me emotionally for the unexpected times of loneliness, success, determination, and HTFU moments. Regardless, August is over, I'm back at work full time and before I know it I'll be swimming, biking, and running through Panama City Beach!

Sherpa Wilson

Not Quitting After Already Quitting Once- Rev 3 Williamsburg

Two days before the big Rev 3 Williamsburg Half, 3 friends and I went to Busch Gardens. We walked through the entire park, eating, drinking, and riding. As someone who is terrified of the "stomach up your throat" feeling, I had to pick and choose my rides. I had successfully completed two out of four roller coasters before stumbling upon the last one of the day: Apollo's Chariot.

210 feet drop, max speed of 74 mph

"Come on, Michelle. You'll be fine." I didn't want to do it, but at the same time I didn't want to wimp out on the last big ride of the day. I reluctantly got in line, still unsure of my decision. We waited about 15 minutes in line before stepping up in the dividers to get in your row. I had to make a decision soon. "You can't even hear people screaming." "I just went on it, it wasn't that bad." As the four people in front of us were loaded into their seats, I turned to my friends and said I couldn't do it. My gut told me it wouldn't have gone well. I had nothing to prove, and wouldn't lose anything if I didn't do it. I had already completed two for the day, which was good enough for me.

My friends returned two minutes later. While waiting for the car in front of them to unload, my sherpa for the weekend looked at me shaking his head. "It's a good thing you didn't go, you would have totally hated it." Even though I wimped out, I did a little victory dance inside. My instincts were right and I made the right decision.

Flash forward two days to the race with a harsh 4:15 am wake up call. I stumbled out of bed, got dressed, and walked into the dark rainy cold. Setting up T2 and T1 was nothing out of the ordinary, aside from customized transition areas- very cool.

A little pro treatment for all competitors!

Smiles before walking down to the beach

After a slight delay to the race start, I checked out the triangular swim course. The announcer explained there was a "slight current" going towards the left. Noted. I've done a 1.2 mile swim 5 times before, even once without a wetsuit. The longest it took me was 55 minutes. Not great, but good enough for a weak swimmer like me. The current didn't scare me- just another part of the triathlon.

An original drawing of the swim course

17 minutes after the pro start all the pink caps (women 39 and under) jumped in. I swam out past a yellow sighting buoy. Stayed pretty close and on the course so I kept going. I felt sorry for all those suckers to the left of me that had to swim extra. After a couple of strokes the red turn was no longer in front of me, but to the right of me. Okay, no problem. After a few more I noticed I had to do a complete 90 degree turn towards the red buoy.... uhhhh what? I swam a couple more minutes: nice, easy strokes, sighting a couple times. Red buoy wasn't getting any closer and that's when I really stopped and noticed caps of every other color around me flipping on their back and asking for help.

Now if you think open water swimming is scary, or swimming in a current is scary, try swimming in open water, against a current, with everyone around you yelling for help. I grabbed onto a kayak not really sure what was going on. He told me the current was too strong and to take a break. I did and after a minute I went back out again. Swim, swim swim, still didn't get any closer.  I stopped and grabbed onto another kayak. He said the water was going at 3+ knots. I had no idea what that meant.

Original drawing of the mystical red buoy not getting closer

 After swimming and stopping a few more times, everyone to my left and right were getting pulled, calling it quits. I asked if it would get better. No. I asked what would happen after I rounded the buoy. The current is still there for another half a mile. I asked if I could still bike and run. Maybe. I knew I had to make a quick decision. The longer I held on and asked questions, the further I was getting pushed back and away from the crowd and now very distant red buoy. I could keep trying for ___ more minutes and finish or just to get pulled later, or I could cut my losses now and still have a good bike and run.

And then a familiar feeling I had two days ago sank in. My gut told me to stop. It wasn't worth it and it's not like I had anything to lose. I had done this before, I can do it again another time. I gave it my all, but I knew instead of ruining the whole race I could still have a good bike and run. I didn't want to be a wimp. I didn't want to quit. But I knew that at that moment, whatever was going on, was not right for me.

I climbed on a boat and saw several other colored caps, many with tears in their eyes, sharing their battle story, how hard they trained, and how badly they just wanted to finish. I wish I had something encouraging to say but at the moment felt nothing but sadness and failure. They dropped us off close enough to shore to walk back so they could go back for more struggling swimmers. I took a few steps off the boat and felt a sting under my foot as I walked to shore. I dropped in my chip, gave them my number, then snuck back into the crowd of swimmers to run into T1. I got to transition and looked at my foot. I had cut the bottom of my left foot right at the arch. It stung a bit I figured I would be okay on the bike. I frowned at my sherpa glancing at me from outside the transition. "I didn't finish the swim. I got pulled in by a boat. I cut my foot. Should I quit?" After a few words of encouragement, I decided that I already quit once today. I couldn't do it again. I will keep going.

Ouchies. Two days after the race.

I would be lying if I didn't say I questioned my athletic ability hundreds of times on the ride. Why wasn't I good enough? Am I really a quitter? Could I have finished? I distracted myself with the view of Williamsburg, nothing incredibly interesting but I knew the chances of me coming back (ha!) and ever riding in Williamsburg was slim. It was a rare opportunity and I had to take it all in.

Right after mile 40 was the biggest (and only) climb of the ride. As I was going up, a woman in front of me had dropped her chain. I knew she was going to fall any second, so I tried to avoid her on the left. She kept falling to her left, and I kept going to my left, until we both crashed and ended up on the other side of the road. (Talk about the universe not wanting me to race that day). I knew it was going to happen so the impact was mild, but something in my rear wheel began to click and brake with every rotation. I didn't have time to fix it so I hopped back on (after walking up the rest of the hill grrrr), unleashed the back brake and promised myself to get to T2. I had to keep going.

I finished the bike in great time (around 3:10) and continued onto the run. The out and backs on the run allowed me to see and high-five many friends on the team. The pressure was off and it turned into a training run for Florida. For the first time in a half ironman, I tried to enjoy the run instead of counting down the miles of torture left. My cuts started to hurt more through the run and the narrow running lanes and uneven pavement made them worse. The day was no longer about finishing with a great time, but about being mentally strong and not-quitting-after-already-quitting-once.

Are we having fun yet?

I'll never get 100% assurance that I made the right decision to quit, but as I had more time to think about it, I know my instinct will not and did not fail me. Success and failure should always be defined in your own terms. Success to me was overcoming 3 obstacles in one day and still finishing 69.1 miles of biking and running (plus 0.4 miles of swimming). Failure would have been giving up the rest of the race, being depressed for the rest of the day (it was not even 8 am for goodness sake), and brewing jealousy for all those who made it past the swim (why not me?).

I still wish I could have done it and it did bruise a little bit of my ego and confidence for Ironman Florida. It was definitely a learning experience and a reminder that you really can't have it all and be a rock star at every single race. But if I could go back on the boat and look everyone with tears in their eyes, I would tell them that if they were quitters, they would have never left the beach to begin with. I believe every single one of us at the race that day gave it their all. Nobody signs up for these and put in the training miles to half-ass the day when it comes. There's always another race, and another day, and as long as those who loved me before the race still love me after, everything will be okay. 

Great TeamZ friends

"Would you like a massage Auntie Michelle"