Bouncing Back

Flat, flatter, flattest. I raced an olympic distance race on Saturday and that's the best description for the swim, bike, and run legs. There were some tell-tale signs that the day might not go so well: I slept horribly due to nightmares, I went to load my bike race morning and my rear tire had a puncture, I spaced out and missed the exit on the Bay Bridge meaning I had to go all the way to SF, and I forgot I had a gel in my back jersey pocket and laid down on it, squishing gel all down my backside (and of all flavors, it was mocha so imagine what others were thinking). I set a PR for the slowest olympic distance time and worst, I kept asking myself how could a race so slow be so painful? Post race, I was a bit of a headcase and spiraling downward. Somehow, I deduced that I was no good and not fit to race an ironman in three weeks. Oh, what nut jobs we type A, triathletes can be. But the Libster came to the rescue and composed a very thoughtful email, chalk-full of sane and useful advice. You're good Libby.

The following morning, I headed out for my last long ride, 135 miles and 9300 feet of climbing. The first hour was painful, not only for myself but for Jason, who accompanied me on the ride. When I'm in the hurt box, I go internal and do a lot of self-talk, which makes for bad company (sorry Jason, you want to ride with Bree next time, she's totally external when in the hurt box). Speaking of self-talk, here is an interesting article Jason sent me: Will I? But as the miles ticked away, my ironman fitness came through and I felt better and better. There were some challenges including a handful of wrong turns, attacking rottweilers, low-blood sugar, and a road closure that forced us onto a mt. bike trail. Three miles from the finish of the ride, I gazed at the thick fog rolling in and I thought to myself: WHAT AN EPIC DAY. This is what I live for.