Diggin' My Grav.

This past Saturday, I raced Multisport Canada’s Gravenhurst Triathlon.  It wasn’t my first time, and it won’t be my last.  This triathlon has become a family affair.  Four years ago, I raced the duathlon as I was still resisting my fear of the water.  Three years ago, I convinced my sister to race the try-a-tri, and my brother to race the Olympic with me.  And that was the birth of a family duel.  I would race my brother again last year, and again this year.  

My sister Caroline pre-try-tri

Triathlon is not always a race against an opponent.  Most often, I would argue, it’s a race against yourself.  Your last year self, your ten-year ago self, and your day-of-race self.  On Saturday, I was not feeling race-ready.

Excuse #1: After racing the Welland ½ Ironman distance on June 29, I have had a massive kink in my back.  (Shout out to John Salt, race director, who personally congratulates everyone after the race). That race killed me. (Or was it the heels I wore the night before?)

Excuse #2: It’s summer, and I am a teacher who lives in Mexico.  I come home and kind-of party like a 36 year old gal with no kids does.

Excuse #3: I have a nerve issue that I have self-diagnosed as trigeminal neuralgia.  When it flares up, I am rendered a teary mess that can’t even take off my shoes.  True story.

So Friday night rolls around and I decide to assemble my bike that has been disassembled since the ½ (3 weeks ago).  I hadn’t ridden since. I have a massive internal dialogue going on that ping-pongs from, you don’t have to do it Diane, to, face your fear Diane, to, discover your edge Diane, to, the pain in your ear will be gone tomorrow to it’s never been bad on race day.

And then I read in Baron Baptiste’s Being of Power: The ninePractices to Ignite and Empower Life:

“If what you resist persists, then learn to say yes! To every experience, as resisting nothing is the real secret to accessing ease and flow.”  (51% on Kindly version of the book).

I mull over the phrase as if it ‘s the first time I have been exposed.  But the truth.  I have heard this again and read it again, and spoken about it again, but this is life.  It’s the he practice of applying nuggets again and again, and maybe again, until the practice becomes a habit. 

So while I am habit forming, my sleep is rustled.  I toss and turn because I can’t sleep on my left ear, I can’t sleep on my right, and I can’t sleep with my forehead propped on a pillow. And I can’t sleep on my back.  I try every combination possible to a person in drift, and at 4:00am the alarm sings out as if I had actually been sleeping and needed waking up.  The best dreams happen when we are awake.

My sister wakes up and hasn’t yet decided whether she wants to come.  4:00 is early, and the drive is long.  At 4:25 she still hasn’t decided (but is fully dressed) and at 4:30, I see that it’s her who starts the car. That's dedication.

***

(I am experimenting with these little asterisks … kind of flash forward/back kind of asterisks)

We get to Gravenhurst and I check in with a lot of time to spare.  I meet up with a high school friend who says she’s not so nervous, but I see myself in her, so I know better.  And we ferry out to the jump.  I think I will keep my cap over my ear so that the water doesn’t aggravate it, but when I put it on, it pulls my skin, and the invisible needle (of ten years) jabs me hard.  I can’t do that. And I voice my dilemma so that everyone I am with knows.  Because speaking about it makes me feel like just in case I get pulled out of the water, they will know that I had a reason. An excuse. 

And up until this point.  I am unconvinced, that I could race this race.  Sound familiar?

But I had decided the night before that I was going to embrace this problem; and oh it has caused me strife. This ear whatever-it-is.

And I jump.  Come to the surface (my least favorite place to be in open water) and tilt my head from side to side.

Gone.  The pain is gone.  Completely.  I take a few practice strokes to confirm, and it is gone!

So the steam engine blows and that’s that.  Race anxiety dissipates.  It’s not anxiety anymore, it’s determination.  I was able to get behind someone my pace early on and as we rounded the first buoy, I feel good.  We are a pack of about six girls swimming together … completely off course.  So when I realize this, I go on my own and sight for the buoys ahead.  Shortly after, I am passed by a yellow cap. 

***

In Gravenhurst there are four heats.  Each has a different colored cap.  So first went the white caps, then red (my brother’s heat), then pink (my heat) then yellow. 

***

Revelling in the fact that I don’t have pain in my ear, I enjoy the swim, feel no panic, and finish in a reasonable time.  I even pass two red caps.

As we exit the water (I come out with a yellow cap), the crowd cheers and we run (or leap) our way up to T1 (transition one).  

I rip my wetsuit off, put my glasses on (as per Chrissie wellington’s race tips), put my helmet on (if you unrack your bike before you put your helmet on, you get a penalty), put my race belt and shoes on and run for the mount line.

***

The bike in Gravenhust is amazing.  You work you way out of town and then climb and roll, climb and roll.  It’s an out and back, so you get to see everyone ahead of you, and everyone behind you.  This matters.  You get to cheer people on face to face.  Words of encouragement are precious gifts that you can give and receive along the way (race or not).

***

I take my feet out of my shoes and run my way in and out of transition in 1:04 flat (my fastest transition ever).  As I stride onto the run course, I ask my sister who was marshalling at an intersection, “How far ahead is he?” 

“About 10 minutes,”  she responds.  And I know I have to run hard.  Ron, my brother started the race in the wave before me.  He had a five-minute advantage, which means that he was five race minutes ahead.  

That is definitely me yelling ...

 

***

Last year, Ron started five minutes in front of me as well.  When we finished the race, and eagerly awaited the results, I sat and reflected on the race itself.  During T2 I gave myself 30 seconds to find an Advil.  When I couldn’t find it, I gave up and set on my way.  Now, below are the results from last year. 

I am sure people thought we were a married couple racing together.  Nope.  Totally in it to win it.

Ron beat me by 22 seconds.  And although I don’t race against others in all races, I definitely do in some.  This was one of them. 

***

Hense, the 1:04 transition. 

I work my way to the first water stand and feel pretty good.  There is a bounce in my step and I am not cramping like I do in Mexico.  I start to pick up my pace and when I hit the 3km mark, I begin to do the math.  If Ron is 10 minutes ahead of me and we were running at a pace of about 5:30/km, I would see him at about 750m before the turn around.  So when I approach that point, I am happy not to have seen him yet.  This means I am gaining on him.  About 200m before, I sight him (like a hunter would it’s prey) and yell, “How far ahead are you?”

His reply, “You’re probably going to beat me.”

We take this race seriously.  He can’t even answer my question.  So I speed up. At about 7km I can see him walking up ahead in the distance (insert Hotel California Lyrics here).  I speed up even more, and at around 8km I make the pass grinning, and singing, “This magic moment …”  It’s all I have, and it seems perfect for the occasion of brotherly-sisterly combat.

He gives it one last burst, but that was it.  

Pretty rockin' attitude for a loser. :)

 Feeling elated again, I slow up to get some water from the last water stand.  Instead of making a clean break, I trip on my foot and start lunging for the ground, shit, I am going to break my wrists, don’t break with your hands.  I quickly (like Matrix mid air kind-of-quickly) twist my body and manage to pull off a stunt-woman worthy shoulder roll.  I pop up and assured the volunteers, “I’m ok!”  And I truly was.

A gal behind yells out, “Don’t worry, your brother didn’t see that!” 

“He would have loved it.” I holler back. 

With a scratch on my knee and a laugh in my belly, I set off for the finish line.

The race clock is always a mystery in heated waves because you don’t know when it was actually started.  As I made my way into the chute, I saw my other brother and my niece.  It’s always great to be cheered in.

***

Gravenhurst is am amazing triathlon and Multisport Canada does a fantastic job of organizing.  From the steamship jump, to the swim in.  The hilly and scenic bike, and challenging run, the course is designed to challenge and inspire. 

I questioned whether I could do this race right up until I took the plunge (literally).  And what a lesson it was.  I took myself to my edge (of the boat) and I jumped.  And that was all I needed to do. 

We'll be back!