Your Greatest Thief

Before I give report cards to my kids, I give them the schpeel.  (Insert teacher voice) “Avoid sharing and comparing your grades.  Some of you are fast runners, some of you are fast at math facts.  If we were all the same it would be … ?”  And they yell, “Boring.”

Yet it’s so damn hard. As we grow up, we are taught to measure just about everything. And as we enter adulthood, we are told that our goal setting should be measured (I have never met a SMART goal in my life). We measure this and we measure that and soon we are measuring how many Facebook friends we have compared to someone else (or am I the only person who has done this?) We stop looking in the mirror the same way. We stop seeing the person we are.  Instead we see the person we’re not. I am speaking of comparison, folks.  

When we use other people as benchmarks as to where we should (I hate that word) be, we lose. Period.  There is no winner. (Check out Sam in the pic above - rockstar)

I have been doing a lot of this recently. I see young 20-something women starting new businesses, becoming greatly successful, and I still have debt. I see fitness models with 6-packs and I can’t seem to plank for one minute a day. I see people writing, and writing, and writing, and every time I start to do the same, I think, f*%k it, no one wants to read that. I am in the comparison vortex. And it sucks.

When I look back on my life – even in the past year, I am really proud of the things I have accomplished.  And the year ahead is promising too. So why this struggle?  It’s what I am doing with my present (the majority of it) that is sucking me farther in. I am logged into the edited social media world – and I believe it to be real.  It’s not. Or at least it’s not the full monty. It’s all edited.  I am even backspacing and editing right now so that this sounds right – for you.  

So, getting back to what’s real.  Be curious about that.

I challenge you (and myself)  – just for this moment, right now – to drop comparison.  You can do that by telling yourself three things you love about yourself.  If you feel so inclined, share these in the comments.

I am grateful for inspiration (mine, yours, ours), for my body that has carried me this far, and for my ability to paint a bike, a Buddha and a zebra. (Coming soon)

Comparison stinks. So stop doing it.

Cheers.

the Moral of the story is ...

M DOT

a couple of Months ago i went to pick up a set of wheels at the cervelo shop south of where i live.  (the same shop that fixed My bike after it snapped off the roof rack while driving under an iron gate that was too short ... that's another story).  while there, i noticed these cute little ironMan keychains.  they were little plexiglass M DOTs.

M DOT

naturally, i bought two.  one silver. one red.

when i got home, i gave ricardo his, and i kept the silver (Mirrored) one for myself.

then one day, i snatched my keys to open a door, and there it was. DOT.  No M.  It was like the head of my little M DOT had been decapitated.  just the head.  so I discarded of the head, and thought little about it.  after all.  what good is a head without a body?

wednesday came (months after losing M).

i had just finished up a bunch of tests at the ABC hospital across from my school.  the walk to the metro is a little sketchy, so we teachers have free access to the ABC shuttle. i normally walk.

things just feel right.  life just feels right.  not as I would have ever planned or expected, but right.

the sun was setting and a light breeze was dancing across My skin. the shuttle roared by as i left the hospital, and i hoped this tiMe it would be there once i arrived to the shuttle stand.  sure enough. it was.  i climbed up the stairs and took my seat.  second back.  on the right.

M. on the driver's console.

i wondered if what i was seeing was true.  indeed it was. getting closer, I could see the ridged upper edge where the DOT had cracked off.  

perhaps the driver's name is Mauricio, or Miguel, or Martin, or Juan Martinez.  Perhaps he has a daughter named Molly.  Maybe he is an ironMan too.  for Me, what Matters is that it Mattered.  after all. everything does.

Moral of the story: you gotta get out of your head sometimes. 

If you get it.  Leave a comment.  If you love it. Share.

Peace.

Ironman Brasil part II: The bike and peeing my pants

I really had to go to the bathroom during transition but I held off because I told myself I was going to do it on the bike.  Literally, do it on the bike.  Pee my pants on the bike.  This is what Ironmen and women do!  In Cozumel I stopped at the port-o-potties four times to relieve myself; but this time, I wasn’t giving my time to the sh*%ter.  No pun intended.  No.  The problem was however, that people and cars surrounded me for a long time at the start of the bike.  Even though I was dying to go, I couldn’t. So, I pedalled on.

The bike course in Brazil is pretty flat with the exception of a few hills.  Us Clements have been blessed with claves (we call it calfitis) that have abnormal wattage potential.  I am a solid cyclist on flat, but in reality, my strength lies in the climb.  It would be the hills that gave way to passing, and passing many.  Pass the guy in the blue, pass Humberto, pass the big guy in black.  Hey that guy’s name is Ricardo. Smile. Diane passes Ricardo and many others. Yes. Yes. Yes. This is not to say that they didn’t come back and pass me on the flats, a few of them did, but I ate the hills. 

The water stations were set up every 5km or so and you could get Gatorade and water.  The Gatorade was given in plastic Gatorade bottles (that you would buy in a store) so they rattled around in your drink cage, and the water was given in a tall, green “Gatorade” bottle.  These bottles would be used to fill up the aero bottle at the front of the bike.  The problem with these bottles, was that the stream of water that came out (when any came out at all) was minimal.  It felt like you were squeezing the water through a hole the size of a syringe.  I squeezed, and squeezed, lifted and adjusted the bottle, and squeezed 45 more times until my bottle was full.  Really?  Who thought that was ok?

Km 56.  I really have to pee. By this time I had probably already had a solid 2-litres of liquids.   Just stand up Diane.  This is what people do. It will just fly off the back as you are going so fast.  Don’t slow down though.  Diane looks around. No cars. Diane looks behind. No one behind.  I stood up and let it go.  I will spare you the details but yes, I laughed at myself.  Out loud.  When are you allowed, and encouraged, to pee your pants as an adult.  I mean really?  I had to seize the moment.   Would you?

The bike was going seemingly perfectly and as I entered town for my second loop and heard, “Diaaaaaanee!”  It was Karina cheering me on and I loved the spirited scream.  That girl has lungs.   I smiled and cruised over a speed bump when my Nutella sandwich jumped out of my little bento box taking my little bag of Advil and Amodium with it. Should I stop and get them.  No.  Don’t stop Diane. But the Advil?  No Diane.  I was a little devastated with the loss of the sandwich, I am not going to lie, but more with the loss of the Advil.  My knees started hurting early on in the bike and now knowing I didn’t have any pain relief meds they really hurt.  Totally psychological. 

This was an unusual knee pain.  It felt like there were bruises behind my knee caps.  Anyone? Buler? I considered the height of my bike seat and thought for a second that maybe I should get off and raise it. Don’t get off your bike Diane.  I have become very good at listening to my race voice.  In Cozumel this voice instructed me through the marathon without a glitch, so I know it’s reliable.  I didn’t get off the bike for the entire 180km but by the end, my knees would be feeling a lot of wear.  What if I didn’t put Advil in my bike-run transition bag?  Will I ask people in the tent for Advil.  I am going to need something.  What is this pain?  What does this mean?  (Imagine double rainbow video here)

As I closed in on transition, I checked my leg to see what my lack of sunscrean had cost me by lifting my shorts.  I was surprised with my ol’ Canadian skin.  I wasn’t burnt.  A per Chrissie Wellingtons tip #35, I increased my cadence in the last 500m and started to take my feet out of my shoes.  This was the first time I ever rode 180km without stopping at least once to stretch the legs.  I didn’t know what I was up against.  As I stepped off and gave my bike to a racking volunteer, I managed an “Oh my…”  “Ooooooooh.”  “Ooof.”  Those were the only sounds/words I could make.  My legs were J-E-L-L-O.

Bike time:  5:53:32

Transition 2 (T2): Advil. Advil. OMG there’s Advil in the bag.

I was more than delighted to find Advil in the transition bag.  Along with it, two more gels, fresh socks, my shoes (Asics Kayano 18), a visor and compression cuffs (for my calfitis).  I got myself all set and slopped some sunscreen on my shoulders for good measure.  Off I went, not knowing what to do with these legs of mine.  I wanted to take an Advil right away.  But where would the first water station be?  I decided that washing the pill down with a gel might have dire consequences so I held the little guy in my hand as the sweet-sugary coating bled all over my hands. Where would the water station be?

T2:  4:51

Valle de Bravo Triathlon, March 3, 2012

The sun still hadn’t crawled over the horizon when the alarm rang at 5:30am.  We woke up and of course, the mental “to do” list began churning.  Stick number on helmet, remember toilet paper, put spare tube on bike, breathe, put chip on ankle, coffee or no coffee? My gels have caffeine, what’s the swim going to be like? How is the nerve in my jaw?  These are the regular morning of race thoughts.  My heart rate was probably at a stead 80bpm and it wasn’t 6:00am yet.

We made our way to the race site and the promotional tents were being set up.  People were making their way into the transition area and preparation took form.  I had my bag of items I would need, and items I might need for the day.  This is what my typical triathlon set up goes like.

Socks go inside bike shoes (I still don’t keep my shoes clipped in for transition) and helmet goes on shoes.  Sunglasses go in helmet with bike gloves.  Running shoes are placed behind bike shoes with race number on belt.  Gel is placed in shoes.  This time, I raced with shorts and a shirt, so I also had to place the shirt on my shoes as well.  Gel is taped to bike, water is filled, bike is put into proper gear and tired are inflated.

Forgotten item: small towel to dry/clean my feet

Solution: I used my pants instead

Items to keep out: Wetsuit, goggles and swim cap

Race start was 9:22 so I spent the next hour or so talking, reminding myself to breathe and taking some fun pictures of athletes preparing for the race.  Taking pictures allowed me to chill, and not focus on my swelling nerves. 

At 9:00 (on the dot), the juvenile race started and the energy soared.  Young athletes were out giving it their all, and we were waiting to become part of the action.  Shortly after, groups of athletes were signalled by the triathlon, each of us beginning our respective race; 1500m swim, 40km bike and 10km run; the standard Olympic distance triathlon.

I am sure that by 9:15 my heart rate was thumping at a steady 120bpm.  I gave a wave to Ricardo and assured him with a thumbs-up, that I was good to go.  I think I even convinced myself for a micro-second that I was totally cool.  Excitement, anticipation were competing  against fear and anxiety; a battle field inside my chest where victory would be crowned to the emotion last standing.

Totally masking my fear.  I think I might consider trying out for a play this year.

At about 9:20 the girls were motioned to enter the water and with a splash, I was in.  The horn. 

100m – 300m: I am ok, I am ok.  Keep swimming.  She looks to be about your pace.  Try to draft.  I don’t like drafting.  Don’t draft. Find space.  Stop thinking and glide.  Stretch your arm.  Don’t stretch your arm, your shoulder is weak.  Am I going off course?  I am. Where is the group. Where is the buoy.  I am getting tired already. Am I tired.  I am breathing heavy.  Thump, thump, thump.

300m – 500m: Oh shit! The swell is coming.  Don’t focus on it, don’t focus on it.  What you focus on grows, Diane.  What’s the worst thing that could happen?  I stop and call for help.  Someone comes to rescue me.  Hey, I see people ahead of me.  Glide Diane. 

Stage directions: Tidal wave enters stage and knocks Diane off her feet.  She us upside down and unable to gain control.  She tosses and turns and doesn’t know what way is up or down. 

What you focus on grows.  Stop focusing on this swell and swim, Diane. Glide!

Stage directions: Tidal wave leaves.  Sun appears.

With that, the swim became the swim, and only that.  No drama, no fear, no inventing a horror story, no panic.  A few gulps of water here and there, the odd person swimming on to my feet, the typical me swimming far to the left of the course, but a finish; a solid swim, and in my best 1500m time; a whopping 33:42. 

Q: Is that a laugh line, and why do my goggles leave a mark for such a long time? A: 35-39

Swim pictures: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.333534926696754.86701.258866570830257&type=3&l=6b04ecfa7f

Transition 1 (T1):  3:01 = one word; ridiculous

I ran to the bike mount line and hopped on.  I had heard that the roads were “bad” on the course and that I would have to take care.  I also knew that there were hills, so I set a lofty goal of finishing my bike in 1:15.  I rode aggressively, flying down the hills without breaking for speed bumps and happily pumping lactic acid into my quads on the climb.  I didn’t get passed, not by girls and not by guys. This, I like.  There was one girl that I passed on the first loop (I though her name was Gina) and we rode together for a bit.  On the second loop however, I let Gina go as I hunted riders from behind, pegging them one by one.  I loved hearing “Go Keaton!” as Ricardo snapped pictures of not only me, but of every rider that whizzed on by. 

Something about the clothesline in the background that I just love.

Bike pictures: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.333928059990774.86795.258866570830257&type=3&l=a286ba2014

Bike time: 1:13:25

Transition 2 (T2): 2:23. 

There is a restaurant in Brazil called Cervantes.  You could order and steak, pineapple and cheese sandwich there, and they will take the order, make the sandwich on a toasted bun, serve you with spicy mustard, smile, take your money and give you change in less time that it took me to get off my bike and put on my running shoes. Not to mention, the sandwich is AMAZING.

Vegetarian wouldn't be vegetarians if they knew about this.

By the time I started running, the sun was out in full force.  I was feeling ok, but just ok.  During the run, I usually lose some time, and this is where I normally get passed.  Here in Mexico I have had a hard time adjusting to the altitude.  I can’t seem to run my pace, but slowing down allows me to avoid the dreaded runners stitch.  The run organizers did a great job of providing lots of water and Gatorade along the course.  The volunteers (mainly kids) were so great with holding out bags of water, many yelling “Water for your face! Water on your head? Water?” With that, people lined the 5km loop cheering us on. One girl passed me with a "Q" on her leg.  "Q" is my category, and I am embracing my second year in age group 35-39.  Her pace was just a bit too fast for me (or was it?) to keep up with, so I let her go on, and I resorted to opening a package of Gu Chews that I had gripped in my hand.  When I chopped trough about 8 or so, I offered them to the dude who was slushing his feet hot at my heals.  “Quieres?” I asked. He accepted them graciously and I felt good having shared. The second loop was a lot better than the first as I knew what to expect in terms of hills.  One climb on the out, descent on the back.  This meant I got to finish the race with a down hill. 

I don't carry peanuts on my run.  In hand - Gu chews.

Run time: 55:06

Run pictures:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334121796638067.86838.258866570830257&type=3&l=6408f1c719

Finisher shots:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334172513299662.86850.258866570830257&type=3&l=46efda7e9e

Race time: 2:47:37       Category: 5/19        Female: 13/63          Overall: 154/407

I don't race to win, I race to maintain a steady chocolate intake.  Today I earned 300g of Cadburys mini-eggs.

This isn’t a PB for my Olympic race, but it was my favourite Olympic race so far.  I have come a long way since I got pulled out of the water by the rescue boat in Colombia; and 35-39 is young yet. 

Race highlights

• Fastest 1500m swim
• Fastest 40km bike
• Corona and little pools to sit in at the finish line
• Down hills thinking “I can’t believe I haven’t flatted … these roads are brutal!”  But not easing up
• The cheering on of spectators
• Bagged water

Race lowlights

• Late start time so HOT run
• I forgot to lock my port-o-let (a few people may have seen a flash … and by “may have”  I mean “definitely, positively" saw a full frontal)

This remains, my favorite outfit of all time! 

I will most definitely do this race again.

Swim.Bike.Run.Peace

D.