I like to run. I know it sounds obvious - I do triathlons therefore I must like running. But seriously. At first I ran for fitness. Then I got addicted to the feeling of accomplishment at the end of every run. Now, I've learned to just like the exercise in itself. Through years of running, all the ups and downs of college, and months of ironman training, my mind has reached some twisted state where I actually enjoy the feeling of all my parts working together to propel me forward. I love that part of the run where it all starts to hurt.
In high school, I ran for distance. I had my easy three-miler, my regular ol' six-mile loop, and the ten-miler that always got in my head. Trail running was always bittersweet for me. While I got such a rush from being in nature and the constant challenge of the terrain, never knowing exactly how far I went ruined that joyous experience of adding up my weekly mileage every Sunday. When I was running, I would think about writing that number in the log book and that would keep me going. I never even liked to wear my watch - thinking about paces stressed me out way too much. At the end of a good run, I wanted to just feel like it was a good run, not look at my watch and define by a number that it was not a good run.
Triathlon gave me a new perspective, and ironman training really changed the way I saw running. Training became all about hours, not miles, so I started running for time instead of distance. I really took to it quickly. That six mile loop might take longer some days, but an hour always takes the same amount of time. It added some seriousness to my training. When I ran on roads I had mapped out, I always knew my pace. On days when I didn't run measured routes, I explored new places. Trail running became my new favorite activity. I didn't feel like timing was becoming any sort of burden, until today.
I'm in a strange place right now. Right before the end of my semester, I find myself on the tail end of recovery and the beginning of spring base-building. I'm not even sure what kind of workouts that entails. So today I just went for a run. I ran a five-mile route I used to run all the time as a freshman. Today was a rare gem where I found myself on no particular schedule until the afternoon, so I took advantage of the free morning to run errands then go for a relaxing jog. I know I left the house around 10:30... or maybe 10:45? And I know I got out of the shower at 11:45. But I have no idea what my running time was. I accidentally, and miraculously, left the watch at home.
At every stop light, I grabbed my wrist to press the stop button that wasn't there. I felt so naked. It was as though I was taking my first steps after a long bedrest or after losing twenty pounds. A weight had definitely been lifted. I didn't think about time. Or distance, really. I just ran. It ended when it ended. And without any sense of time, I just enjoyed running. Downtown LA did not provide me with clean air or nice scenery, but I literally just enjoyed the motion. And that's when you know you like running.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Down Time
I trained hard, raced hard, and celebrated hard. Everything went as well as I could have planned. That moment, crossing the finish line, was undoubtedly the best moment of my life - a moment that only happened with my own hard work and the support of people who genuinely care about me. The whole thing exceeded by expectations, and the high has been unreal. Now what?
Neglected group projects, essay due tomorrow, normal sized portions at meals, that's what. I totally get the post-Ironman blues now. With my schedule all opened up, I'm free to do things I normally wouldn't have time to. But guess what I want to do? Swim, bike, and run. That's why I started Ironman training to begin with - because I like to train for triathlons. It's kind of weird to just admit that. For so long, I've been able to pull the Ironman training card to justify my ridiculous workout schedule. Should I be embarassed to tell people that I just flat out like putting myself through all that? I mean I was only training for an Ironman because I wanted to do an Ironman, but somehow that's more acceptable. At any rate, right now, while I am most amped up about my sport, is when I really should be on the sidelines. School provides a somewhat unwelcome distraction, and as the end of the semester nears, it's much easier to get caught up in the projects and papers and not miss training so much.
When I'm forced to have down time, like I am right now, my favorite activity is planning what I'm going to do when I get back out there. Fortunately, I have a lot to look forward to. A month in New England for winter break will definitely have its perks. I have always loved winter running - there's something so serene yet badass about bundling up and pounding the pavement while snow is falling. Then there's the potential for some quality cross country skiing and the certainty of at least one trip up to Maine to just appreciate the vacation. Coming back to 'SC in the spring will bring a new level of intensity in triathlon training as the team gets ready for Nationals in April. Junior year in engineering also promises to continue to hold new challenges, and hopefully new opportunities to get a job. The more I think about it, there's going to be a lot going on very soon.
Maybe this down time is just the calm before the storm.
Neglected group projects, essay due tomorrow, normal sized portions at meals, that's what. I totally get the post-Ironman blues now. With my schedule all opened up, I'm free to do things I normally wouldn't have time to. But guess what I want to do? Swim, bike, and run. That's why I started Ironman training to begin with - because I like to train for triathlons. It's kind of weird to just admit that. For so long, I've been able to pull the Ironman training card to justify my ridiculous workout schedule. Should I be embarassed to tell people that I just flat out like putting myself through all that? I mean I was only training for an Ironman because I wanted to do an Ironman, but somehow that's more acceptable. At any rate, right now, while I am most amped up about my sport, is when I really should be on the sidelines. School provides a somewhat unwelcome distraction, and as the end of the semester nears, it's much easier to get caught up in the projects and papers and not miss training so much.
When I'm forced to have down time, like I am right now, my favorite activity is planning what I'm going to do when I get back out there. Fortunately, I have a lot to look forward to. A month in New England for winter break will definitely have its perks. I have always loved winter running - there's something so serene yet badass about bundling up and pounding the pavement while snow is falling. Then there's the potential for some quality cross country skiing and the certainty of at least one trip up to Maine to just appreciate the vacation. Coming back to 'SC in the spring will bring a new level of intensity in triathlon training as the team gets ready for Nationals in April. Junior year in engineering also promises to continue to hold new challenges, and hopefully new opportunities to get a job. The more I think about it, there's going to be a lot going on very soon.
Maybe this down time is just the calm before the storm.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Becoming Silver
I've been on about a month-long posting hiatus, and god was it an incredible month. It has just taken me a while to collect my thoughts to the point where I can put them in words.
My tapering period was uneventful, serving as just a short glimpse into life post-ironman. I was expecting it to be sort of a tease - a welcome period of no alarm clock on Saturdays and thirty minute runs. I had built it up in my mind as this magnificent three weeks that I had spent months working to earn. Honestly, it was a disappointment. Sure, it's easier to sleep in than go for a ride on the trainer at 5am, but what is there to gain from that? There's no test of character and commitment when I wake up at my leisure and do short, easy workouts. My whole training period has been defined by constant growth, and it all came to a halt during taper.
During the few days leading up to the race, taper all seemed to make sense. My legs were fresh and I was not mentally exhausted. By Friday, I finally felt ready and could envision myself succeeding. I drove out to Las Vegas with friends and just relaxed. Ironically, in the days leading up to the biggest triathlon I've ever done, the last thing I wanted to talk about was triathlon. I met my brother and on Saturday we picked up my Dad. All of a sudden, things got real and the race was actually about to happen.
Sleeping the night before the race was nearly impossible, but I managed to doze off for an hour or so at a time, and then wake up in a panic. I had been nervous about the hills on the bike for a long time, but the night before, I started to get nervous about everything - the swim start, the swim finish, maintaining motivation the beginning of the bike, getting spooked halfway through the course when I realized I still had to run a marathon. When the alarm went off at 5am, I was still in a frenzy. I hadn't bought everything I wanted for breakfast and I had forgotten to fix my bar tape. Little things I should have taken care of earlier were coming back to haunt me, so I found food and hastily made my way to transition.
Once I took care of my bar tape and pumped my tires, all that stress melted away and I was overcome with a total calmness. I chatted with other athletes getting ready for the long day ahead and basked in the moments leading up to my first ironman. My brother came down the hill and up to the fence of the transition area to see if I had figured everything out. I was just smiling, and told him that today, I was going to do an ironman. I felt incredible.
After getting my wetsuit on, I paddled around in the water for a few minutes and got acclimated. I treaded water at the deep water start line for five minutes or so while they played the national anthem and we all prepared ourselves. There was a bridge right over the start, and I looked up to see my family. Waving to them just seconds before the gun went off was so reassuring. From the moment we started, I felt great. I could not have imagined having a better swim. The entire course I felt relaxed and strong, trying to use only my upper body and save my legs for the long day ahead. I was out of the water in 1:18, the 80th fastest swim. I had expected closer to 1:30, so I was all smiles going into T1.
A quick transition and I was on the bike! I couldn't wait to get started on this long course, and I took it really easy in the first five miles to save myself for the next 110. Definitely a good decision. The first 25 miles were beautiful, rolling hills with breathtaking views of Lake Mead and I genuinely enjoyed every minute. I passed a lot of fast swimmers in the first ten miles, which was a huge boost for me. The next 87 miles were harder. The rolling hills miles 25-90 were much steeper and it was hard to maintain momentum. I would be spinning away in the little rings going up, then blasting down at scary speeds. There were some tough headwinds, but it seemed to even out more or less. I also had amazing course support. Between the USC Triathlon Team and my family, I saw someone at least every ten miles. Everyone else on the course was jealous of my rowdy fan club.
Had the last 22 miles on the bike been like the previous 90, it would be a hard course. But Silverman is a brutal course. At mile 92, we turned onto a desolate desert bike path - literally just sand and power lines stretching for miles and miles. I reached the dreaded Three Sisters - three consecutive 18% grade climbs, of 200-600 yards each - and was happy to put them in my rear view mirror. The next five miles were straight into a strong headwind and on a false flat path. It is incredibly demoralizing to feel like you're on flat ground but struggle to maintain 10mph. With 10 miles to go, we turned onto the road again and a few rolling hills later, made our way to transition. I have never been more ready to get out of the saddle. I had been hoping to be around 7:30 for this tough course, and I came in at 7:14, the 110th fastest split.
Off for a quick run. The first six miles were very smooth – I stopped at every other aid station and maintained a decent shuffle up and down the hills. I saw Kevin around mile 5 and I was still smiling – “There’s something wrong with you! You shouldn’t be smiling” he yelled. But I felt great, at least for a little while. The sun was setting and the magnitude of the twenty-six mile run hadn’t really sunk in yet. But I knew that in a few miles, I would be digging really deep, and I would have to find that strength in me to finish even when it hurt a lot. Knowing that there were tough miles to come, I focused hard on eating a Gu whenever I could and having Gatorade at every aid station I could stop at. I was tackling hill after hill, wondering when they would end. By the time I reached the eighth mile, I realized that there were going to be no flat parts. I hadn’t really been sure about the run course before since I hadn’t had time to drive it. This was a depressing realization and I hit a wall. I walked for maybe 100 yards then told myself to just make it to the halfway point then reassess. I saw the whole fan club and got a huge rush of adrenaline. Get through Mile 15. Then you can walk. I kept powering through and met up with a running buddy for about a mile. He was walking when I caught him, so I pushed him to run. When we reached a hill just after Mile 15, he started walking again, so I did too. It only took a few strides for me to realize that if I started walking I would never stop. By this point, it was completely dark and I really had no perception of where the course, went. I was just following the cones and trusting the mile markers.
By the end of an ironman, going down hurts more than going up. I saw my team every single mile, which provided a lot of motivation. With five miles to go, I realized I would definitely make it, and I started to get emotional. Unfortunately, I couldn't sustain the faster pace I started running at Mile 21, so I had to slow down for the last 2.
In the pitch dark, with only a glowstick for visibility, having exercised for 13 and a half hours, I saw the finish line. I had been in a good mood all day, always smiling for my team and family, but my happiness was literally unbounded as I ran my final meters to the chute. Crossing the line, breaking the tape, throwing my arms up in victory, I couldn't help but cry. 13:34:08. 1st Female 20-24, 6th Female Overall, 84th Overall.
Hugging my brother, my dad, and my amazing teammates, and crying to my mom on the phone, I could feel the shared joy of the moment. I can say without any hesitation that that was the best moment of my life. I took a risk last Sunday. I have never worked so hard for something in my life, and yet I still went in not knowing if I could do it. Six months of training preceded this. There were a lot of sacrifices in those months, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of prioritizing. I don't think I have ever put six months of my life into anything like this. I know it's sickeningly cliché, but it's true - nothing worth having every came easy. Nobody can ever take that day away from me. Last Sunday, I became iron. No... SILVER.
Last Sunday, I went 140.6 miles and learned that people don't have limits.
My tapering period was uneventful, serving as just a short glimpse into life post-ironman. I was expecting it to be sort of a tease - a welcome period of no alarm clock on Saturdays and thirty minute runs. I had built it up in my mind as this magnificent three weeks that I had spent months working to earn. Honestly, it was a disappointment. Sure, it's easier to sleep in than go for a ride on the trainer at 5am, but what is there to gain from that? There's no test of character and commitment when I wake up at my leisure and do short, easy workouts. My whole training period has been defined by constant growth, and it all came to a halt during taper.
During the few days leading up to the race, taper all seemed to make sense. My legs were fresh and I was not mentally exhausted. By Friday, I finally felt ready and could envision myself succeeding. I drove out to Las Vegas with friends and just relaxed. Ironically, in the days leading up to the biggest triathlon I've ever done, the last thing I wanted to talk about was triathlon. I met my brother and on Saturday we picked up my Dad. All of a sudden, things got real and the race was actually about to happen.
Sleeping the night before the race was nearly impossible, but I managed to doze off for an hour or so at a time, and then wake up in a panic. I had been nervous about the hills on the bike for a long time, but the night before, I started to get nervous about everything - the swim start, the swim finish, maintaining motivation the beginning of the bike, getting spooked halfway through the course when I realized I still had to run a marathon. When the alarm went off at 5am, I was still in a frenzy. I hadn't bought everything I wanted for breakfast and I had forgotten to fix my bar tape. Little things I should have taken care of earlier were coming back to haunt me, so I found food and hastily made my way to transition.
Once I took care of my bar tape and pumped my tires, all that stress melted away and I was overcome with a total calmness. I chatted with other athletes getting ready for the long day ahead and basked in the moments leading up to my first ironman. My brother came down the hill and up to the fence of the transition area to see if I had figured everything out. I was just smiling, and told him that today, I was going to do an ironman. I felt incredible.
 |
| Deep water swim start |
After getting my wetsuit on, I paddled around in the water for a few minutes and got acclimated. I treaded water at the deep water start line for five minutes or so while they played the national anthem and we all prepared ourselves. There was a bridge right over the start, and I looked up to see my family. Waving to them just seconds before the gun went off was so reassuring. From the moment we started, I felt great. I could not have imagined having a better swim. The entire course I felt relaxed and strong, trying to use only my upper body and save my legs for the long day ahead. I was out of the water in 1:18, the 80th fastest swim. I had expected closer to 1:30, so I was all smiles going into T1.
A quick transition and I was on the bike! I couldn't wait to get started on this long course, and I took it really easy in the first five miles to save myself for the next 110. Definitely a good decision. The first 25 miles were beautiful, rolling hills with breathtaking views of Lake Mead and I genuinely enjoyed every minute. I passed a lot of fast swimmers in the first ten miles, which was a huge boost for me. The next 87 miles were harder. The rolling hills miles 25-90 were much steeper and it was hard to maintain momentum. I would be spinning away in the little rings going up, then blasting down at scary speeds. There were some tough headwinds, but it seemed to even out more or less. I also had amazing course support. Between the USC Triathlon Team and my family, I saw someone at least every ten miles. Everyone else on the course was jealous of my rowdy fan club.
 |
| Big desert, small triathlete |
Had the last 22 miles on the bike been like the previous 90, it would be a hard course. But Silverman is a brutal course. At mile 92, we turned onto a desolate desert bike path - literally just sand and power lines stretching for miles and miles. I reached the dreaded Three Sisters - three consecutive 18% grade climbs, of 200-600 yards each - and was happy to put them in my rear view mirror. The next five miles were straight into a strong headwind and on a false flat path. It is incredibly demoralizing to feel like you're on flat ground but struggle to maintain 10mph. With 10 miles to go, we turned onto the road again and a few rolling hills later, made our way to transition. I have never been more ready to get out of the saddle. I had been hoping to be around 7:30 for this tough course, and I came in at 7:14, the 110th fastest split.
 |
| Out of T2 |
Off for a quick run. The first six miles were very smooth – I stopped at every other aid station and maintained a decent shuffle up and down the hills. I saw Kevin around mile 5 and I was still smiling – “There’s something wrong with you! You shouldn’t be smiling” he yelled. But I felt great, at least for a little while. The sun was setting and the magnitude of the twenty-six mile run hadn’t really sunk in yet. But I knew that in a few miles, I would be digging really deep, and I would have to find that strength in me to finish even when it hurt a lot. Knowing that there were tough miles to come, I focused hard on eating a Gu whenever I could and having Gatorade at every aid station I could stop at. I was tackling hill after hill, wondering when they would end. By the time I reached the eighth mile, I realized that there were going to be no flat parts. I hadn’t really been sure about the run course before since I hadn’t had time to drive it. This was a depressing realization and I hit a wall. I walked for maybe 100 yards then told myself to just make it to the halfway point then reassess. I saw the whole fan club and got a huge rush of adrenaline. Get through Mile 15. Then you can walk. I kept powering through and met up with a running buddy for about a mile. He was walking when I caught him, so I pushed him to run. When we reached a hill just after Mile 15, he started walking again, so I did too. It only took a few strides for me to realize that if I started walking I would never stop. By this point, it was completely dark and I really had no perception of where the course, went. I was just following the cones and trusting the mile markers.
By the end of an ironman, going down hurts more than going up. I saw my team every single mile, which provided a lot of motivation. With five miles to go, I realized I would definitely make it, and I started to get emotional. Unfortunately, I couldn't sustain the faster pace I started running at Mile 21, so I had to slow down for the last 2.
 |
| Trying to keep up with my running buddy Jason |
 |
| Into the chute! |
In the pitch dark, with only a glowstick for visibility, having exercised for 13 and a half hours, I saw the finish line. I had been in a good mood all day, always smiling for my team and family, but my happiness was literally unbounded as I ran my final meters to the chute. Crossing the line, breaking the tape, throwing my arms up in victory, I couldn't help but cry. 13:34:08. 1st Female 20-24, 6th Female Overall, 84th Overall.
 |
| Kevin and I at the finish, on the phone with Mom |
 | |
| The proud father |
Hugging my brother, my dad, and my amazing teammates, and crying to my mom on the phone, I could feel the shared joy of the moment. I can say without any hesitation that that was the best moment of my life. I took a risk last Sunday. I have never worked so hard for something in my life, and yet I still went in not knowing if I could do it. Six months of training preceded this. There were a lot of sacrifices in those months, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of prioritizing. I don't think I have ever put six months of my life into anything like this. I know it's sickeningly cliché, but it's true - nothing worth having every came easy. Nobody can ever take that day away from me. Last Sunday, I became iron. No... SILVER.
 |
| Joy. |
Last Sunday, I went 140.6 miles and learned that people don't have limits.
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