THIS was not your basic local youth triathlon race. The tension in the air was palpable, but I swear the majority of it was adult-driven (more on that later)...except for the bizarre but interesting psychological games eminating from Limine's friend and fellow 11 year old racer, S.
Limine first met S three summers ago at a race in GA, where they finished scant seconds apart. They bonded instantly after the race and kept in touch sporadically, and hung out for several days when both Matthew and S's father raced IMFL 2008, but had fallen out of touch since then as we hadn't made it to GA for any more youth triathlons.
When we decided to do Ironkids Alpharetta to try and qualify for nationals, I looked up the results for last year and saw that S had competed, and won their age group. I told Limine she would probably run into her at the race, which we did... and they hung out the entire time.
Now that everyone is 3 years older, they both have cell phones, and continued texting off and on in the weeks between Alpharetta and Nationals. The first hint of weird aura came one day when S texted Limine and asked how much she'd been training for Nationals. L answered "nothing, really, just swim practice" and S immediately responded "you're just saying that so I won't train and you can beat me."
That pretty much stopped L and me in mid-sentence, and L wanted to know how to respond. I suggested she say something about not being a game player and add a smiley face, and let it go at that.
We talked after that about being competitive with your friends, and what is good competitive and what is bad... and the fact that worrying about beating a specific person is the ticket to a bad race.
Fast forward to the days before Nationals. We had a swim meet Thursday, swim practice and a football game Saturday, and no particular need or interest in getting down to Clearwater at any given time. I had confirmed repeatedly that athlete check in would be both Saturday and Sunday, and bike check was not until Sunday, so why rush?
The text messages from S on Saturday were a strange mixture of wanting to get together with L when we got down and seeming attempts to undermind L's confidence and get in her head. Now, I have NEVER been that kind of athlete, so it is very foreign to me and actually makes me kind of uncomfortable. And a bit angry to see it directed at my kids.
S spent considerable time trying to convince L that she was a) late getting down, b) missing the only opportunity for athlete check in, and c) missing out on the important things like riding and running the course, which S and her brother were doing.
She then informed L that the course was easy so she, S, would be able to hammer L on the bike. (S races road bikes, along with her father and brother).
So, I spent some time discussing with L why some people feel compelled to ride the course before a race, and some people do not, and that there is no right or wrong.
Later, S asked L where L had eaten dinner, and when L told her Outback, responded "OH now THAT's a great pre-race meal" so... tapping into my inner snark and knowing S had eaten at Carrabas, I suggested L write back "I don't like to weigh myself down with a lot of carbs the night before a race."
(Sorry, couldn't resist).
The next day, at check in, L mentioned that she'd be riding a new bike next season, and S informed her "Good, then I can tell you your bike sucks."
At that point, I decided it was time for L to get away from S for a while before the race, and we had a nice conversation about how some people can be nice to have as friends but might not be capable of being a good friend with someone they are in direct competition with... at all. L, like me, is simply not like that, and would rather chew off her arm than, for example, criticize someone's bike.
In addition to the weird psych job going on with S, we encountered some absolutely over-wired, borderline psychotic parents while setting up transition. This race, unlike the qualifiers, had assigned bike spots (THANK GOD)... and each rack had probably half the number of bikes on a normal adult rack. I think they spaced them about handle bar width apart, knowing a lot of kids rack by hooking their brake handles over the bar since most of the bikes are too small to rack by the seat.
As we came to L's spot, a father and mother were helpfully spreading out a blanket -- a 3' x 3' blanket -- next to the bike next to L's rack spot. I tried to gently say "I'm sorry, but her bike has to go here, so you will probably want to move that over under his down wheel" and they were actually fairly receptive. BUT, the hyper-quasi-hysterical mother two bikes down from L's on the other side (who also had her stuff spread across a 3' wide swath with several bikes slated to be next to hers on both sides) was in full throated bitch, which caused the following exchange:
Bitchy psycho mom: "How on earth do they expect us to put your stuff here, there just isn't enough room!"
Me: "Actually, if you hook her bike like this and put her stuff under her down wheel, it'll be fine"
BPM (pushing other people's bikes around): "No it will NOT. They're crazy. There's not enough room here."
Me: "There's half the number of bikes on the rack as at an adult race!"
BPM (snarling): "Oh right, like you know everything. This is ridiculous!"
Me (laughing audibly): Alllllriiiighty then...!"
Wow. Mr. Race Director, can I get a valium on rack 22?!
Then there was the rugby scrum at the results posting area. There was nary a kid who actually raced to be seen within a 5 yard radius -- just desperately pushing and shoving parents, taking pictures of the results and analyzing splits etc. One "gentleman" walked up and, within :30 of waiting, bellowed "alright people, move along so other people can see" (which of course caused me to grow roots and analyze the relative bike speed of the average 6 year old vs the average 12 yo, as well as determining the median and mode of each age group's T2 times).
Then you had the parents loudly excusing or explaining their child's off-podium finish (in fact, the mother who I listened to ad nauseum in alpharetta was there, excusing her child's 11th place finish as if it was something to be ashamed of...) and citing everything from too much homework to too flat a course to too much heat. It really was funny, in a depressing way.
I actually saw parents shaking while reading the results and watching the awards. I saw kids crying, and kids getting berated by their fat, sweating parents for presumably not bringing sufficient glory unto the family name. I heard and saw people acting as if their child had just won an Olympic Gold medal because they podiumed. All in all, it was quite the people watching experience. I am assuming some or even most people managed to cling at least tenuously to their perspective, but they weren't the ones making a spectacle of themselves.
After the race, as L was standing in the shade trying to breath, S's older brother came over to congratulate her and we wandered over to where she was plopped on the grass next to her mom, visibly upset (she finished 14th). To S's credit, she pulled herself together and congratulated L and the two hung out for the next couple of hours until S's family gathered up to leave before awards. I do believe the girls truly like each other, and that S is in general a nice young lady, but that her hyper-competitiveness creates some disconnects at times. S mentioned feeling a lot of pressure, which I think is completely foreign to L, thank goodness... so who knows what she deals with and how that affects her when it comes to competitions.
All in all, the race itself was exciting to watch (even the little juniors) and I was very proud of L for how she handled herself with S and for how hard she raced... I admire her determination and will power at her young age. I just hope we can do a good job of (sing along here) helping her keep things in perspective -- success requires three things (as I rambled on about in my previous post) -- talent, effort/work ethic, and luck. Doing well in races like that at the age of 11 does not guarantee future success -- and it doesn't mean you are a failure if you DON'T keep placing or moving on to bigger stages as you get older. It just means that, on that day, in that race, you were one of the best on the course. It's something to be proud of, but not something to define you or your life in the future. May Lexi truly understand that, and may those other parents fill the valium prescriptions WTC needs to start putting in the swag bags.
05 October 2010
04 October 2010
The reality of dreams....
On the way down to the triathlon in Clearwater this weekend, the girls and I enjoyed a number of entertaining conversations. (Matthew was planning to come down Sunday morning so he could get some yard work done and we didn't have to pay for a dog sitter or boarding.) The one that stopped me in my tracks though began with a simple question from Bimini:
"Mommy, do you think I can make the Olympic Trials?"
Now, this didn't come out of the blue -- we'd been talking about a swimmer who has been practicing at EHS in hopes of getting back in shape and making the trials next year, and in discussing her I mentioned some of the Bolles girls I know who have made trial cuts in HS.
Now, this may not seem like a landmine filled question to answer to some, but to me it certainly is, because I'd always dreamed, as a young swimmer (and later as a water polo player), of making the Olympics but, as a swimmer, I had no idea the reality of the progression needed to actually get there and, as a polo player, the sport was admitted to the Olympics a few short years too late for me. I consider it landmine filled because I want to walk that fine line of emphasizing reality while at the same time encouraging dreams, and that sure isn't an easy line to walk.
"Um, no, not for the 2012 Olympics."
"MUH THER I don't mean next year, I mean SOMEDAY"
"Oh. Well then..."
And, I told Bimini that, in my experience, three things go into setting and achieving goals in athletics: ability, work ethic, and luck. (Interestingly enough, two days later when Matthew and I finally had a chance to catch up, he, without knowing how I had answered, said exactly the same thing).
I explained that, I believe she has an amazing amount of natural talent in swimming -- more than her biofather and I ever had -- and that I really did not know what the outer limits of that ability might be, BUT that those outer limits could only be reached through a LOT of hard work and dedicated training.
I told her that I, for example, worked my a** off from the age of 10 through college, but that no amount of hard work could take me farther in my swimming than I went, because I was limited by my ability (and luck, which was mostly bad). I'm a decent swimmer, but there was no training plan or effort increase that was ever going to land me at a big time DI school, no matter what.
Does she have that sort of ability? Only time and effort will tell, and all she can do is keep moving along the path by setting goals and laying the ground work now, at 13 and 14, for the effort required later to reach the more remote goals.
BUT, I also explained, the element of luck plays a big role in an athlete's ultimate "success" or attainment of certain goals - that even hard work mixed with ability does not guarantee you will meet your goal. You could get injured, or sick, or the year you swim a certain event it could be loaded (full of unexpected entrants), or your coach could leave, or any of a zillion other limiters-by-bad-luck could occur. We all know MANY athletes in a variety of sports who never quite achieved the potential they showed because of injury, or miss-steps, bad decisions, etc. Sometimes, it just isn't meant to be, unfortunately.
We talked about whether it would be better to, for example, qualify for the trials in HS but then flame out after a year or two, or less, of college swimming (like so many swimmers from a certain local program seem to do), or to come along a little slower and more deliberately and enjoy a four year college swimming experience. We agreed the latter is far preferable, in our opinions.
"But what if I made it next year, would you let me go?"
"yes, if you made it next year, you would go."
"Well then, what are the qualifying times"
"(telling her roughly the times)"
"Oh. That's fast."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm going to do that someday, but I'm not going to go crazy practicing all the time until 11th grade."
"O...kay...lol"
The conversation wound its way into discussing how the point really needs to be the journey itself -- that no matter what level of athletics they end up participating in, or what path they follow to get there, the important thing is that they learn about themselves and become stronger, more resilient people along the way -- and that meant understanding that not achieving a goal is not a personal failure if they use the journey properly. Without "misses" we can never truly appreciate the successes when they do happen, and sometimes all the effort, ability, and luck in the world is STILL not enough. And that is OK!
Hopefully some of that chat will resonate with the girls as they get older and the path gets more complicated and requires more time, effort, and sacrifice. I hope they both decide to set their sights on a challenging goal and GO for it... I hope *I* can handle the bad luck and obstacles that will surely cross their paths from time to time (they ARE my kids, therefore they are doomed in that respect, alas) and guide them in handling disappointment and rechanneling goals and energy to constructive places when it does happen.
And for now I'll keep trying to walk that path of perspective and provide encouragement and opportunity without getting caught in the minutiae or vortex of "must do" or "must be" along the path, because ultimately it is their journey, and all I can do is try to find the sweet spot of guidance without pressure and reality with just a touch of dream.
"Mommy, do you think I can make the Olympic Trials?"
Now, this didn't come out of the blue -- we'd been talking about a swimmer who has been practicing at EHS in hopes of getting back in shape and making the trials next year, and in discussing her I mentioned some of the Bolles girls I know who have made trial cuts in HS.
Now, this may not seem like a landmine filled question to answer to some, but to me it certainly is, because I'd always dreamed, as a young swimmer (and later as a water polo player), of making the Olympics but, as a swimmer, I had no idea the reality of the progression needed to actually get there and, as a polo player, the sport was admitted to the Olympics a few short years too late for me. I consider it landmine filled because I want to walk that fine line of emphasizing reality while at the same time encouraging dreams, and that sure isn't an easy line to walk.
"Um, no, not for the 2012 Olympics."
"MUH THER I don't mean next year, I mean SOMEDAY"
"Oh. Well then..."
And, I told Bimini that, in my experience, three things go into setting and achieving goals in athletics: ability, work ethic, and luck. (Interestingly enough, two days later when Matthew and I finally had a chance to catch up, he, without knowing how I had answered, said exactly the same thing).
I explained that, I believe she has an amazing amount of natural talent in swimming -- more than her biofather and I ever had -- and that I really did not know what the outer limits of that ability might be, BUT that those outer limits could only be reached through a LOT of hard work and dedicated training.
I told her that I, for example, worked my a** off from the age of 10 through college, but that no amount of hard work could take me farther in my swimming than I went, because I was limited by my ability (and luck, which was mostly bad). I'm a decent swimmer, but there was no training plan or effort increase that was ever going to land me at a big time DI school, no matter what.
Does she have that sort of ability? Only time and effort will tell, and all she can do is keep moving along the path by setting goals and laying the ground work now, at 13 and 14, for the effort required later to reach the more remote goals.
BUT, I also explained, the element of luck plays a big role in an athlete's ultimate "success" or attainment of certain goals - that even hard work mixed with ability does not guarantee you will meet your goal. You could get injured, or sick, or the year you swim a certain event it could be loaded (full of unexpected entrants), or your coach could leave, or any of a zillion other limiters-by-bad-luck could occur. We all know MANY athletes in a variety of sports who never quite achieved the potential they showed because of injury, or miss-steps, bad decisions, etc. Sometimes, it just isn't meant to be, unfortunately.
We talked about whether it would be better to, for example, qualify for the trials in HS but then flame out after a year or two, or less, of college swimming (like so many swimmers from a certain local program seem to do), or to come along a little slower and more deliberately and enjoy a four year college swimming experience. We agreed the latter is far preferable, in our opinions.
"But what if I made it next year, would you let me go?"
"yes, if you made it next year, you would go."
"Well then, what are the qualifying times"
"(telling her roughly the times)"
"Oh. That's fast."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm going to do that someday, but I'm not going to go crazy practicing all the time until 11th grade."
"O...kay...lol"
The conversation wound its way into discussing how the point really needs to be the journey itself -- that no matter what level of athletics they end up participating in, or what path they follow to get there, the important thing is that they learn about themselves and become stronger, more resilient people along the way -- and that meant understanding that not achieving a goal is not a personal failure if they use the journey properly. Without "misses" we can never truly appreciate the successes when they do happen, and sometimes all the effort, ability, and luck in the world is STILL not enough. And that is OK!
Hopefully some of that chat will resonate with the girls as they get older and the path gets more complicated and requires more time, effort, and sacrifice. I hope they both decide to set their sights on a challenging goal and GO for it... I hope *I* can handle the bad luck and obstacles that will surely cross their paths from time to time (they ARE my kids, therefore they are doomed in that respect, alas) and guide them in handling disappointment and rechanneling goals and energy to constructive places when it does happen.
And for now I'll keep trying to walk that path of perspective and provide encouragement and opportunity without getting caught in the minutiae or vortex of "must do" or "must be" along the path, because ultimately it is their journey, and all I can do is try to find the sweet spot of guidance without pressure and reality with just a touch of dream.
28 September 2010
Someone sold us snakeoil...
I'm not sure this will make any sense to anyone but me, but I felt the need to express it, so here it is... lol.
Someone, sometime, in the past forty years, successfully sold the female population snake-oil disguised as equality and freedom of choice. Drinking that snake oil has led to a generation or more of women who think we can and SHOULD be able to do it all -- equally to men, without additional obstacles or issues to handle.
They lied.
From the second women hit puberty we come to repeated forks in the road. One fork tends to be "the road less traveled" (thank you, Mr. Frost) and one tends to be the road most accepted by conventional wisdom and our peers. Although less prevalent than when I was beginning my teen years, the pressure on girls to follow social norms and fit in with accepted behaviors begins to grow. This pressure often takes the form of resistance to dedicated pursuit of athletics or any other time consuming interest (the arts, musical instruments etc). Instead, the subtle and not so subtle message is that focus on an activity will detract from your social life, inhibit your ability to get a job (de rigeur now for teen agers), and probably make you less attractive to the opposite gender (unless, of course, you are a cheerleader). It might even get you tagged as a lesbian, depending on your sport and your dedication to it.
As girls get older the pressure still remains to find a guy and put his interests and job choices ahead of your own. Rare indeed does it seem to be the female in a serious relationship who continues to pursue, at a high level, a sport past college. The pressure to choose a career, settle down, and enjoy a social life remains constant as women graduate and move into the "real" world.
As our 20s and early 30s pass, the choices move to kids or career, or husband's career vs own career, etc. If she is blessed enough to still be a competitive age group or elite level athlete, the choice becomes if or when to start or add to a family. Once you have a family, the split in the road carries you towards your own goals OR towards your childrens' -- and sometimes the roads overlap, or are close enough together you can drive back and forth between two points on them on the same day (lol), but a lot of time they seem to just meander off on their own, far out of sight, and reach, of each other.
I've been thinking about this topic a fair amount lately -- both in the context of my own world AND that of some of the wonderfully talented ladies I am blessed to know and compete with here in Jacksonville.
In my own world, as we juggle this falls' events as a family (swim meets, triathlons, etc) and I think ahead to coming seasons (both my triathlon and the girls' swim seasons.... plus any other sports Limine picks up along the way, plus kids' triathlons as well...) the split in the road becomes readily apparent.
Events like IMFL probably come off the board for the next 6 years, as IMFL falls on one of the three days high school region meets can be scheduled, and IMFL requires registration LONG before the dates of the meets are actually announced (and $550 is too much money to play russian roulette with in hopes of getting lucky). Events like IM70.3 Worlds also become very iffy -- not just from a qualifying perspective, but because WC are the same weekend as High School States, and it is only through luck that I can compete in them this year (the girls' classification swims Thurs this year, and it is in orlando, so I can make the drive back and forth between prelims and finals to check in... but in future years the location AND the day they swim will change, so...).
Training and competing in IMKY this year taught me that the window during the year to do an IM is much narrower than I originally thought, and if I want to compete in one again I need to fit it in between March and late May, or not at all, because juggling kids' events and training and school and traveling about put me over the edge this time around, and it will only get worse as they progress through HS.... and even if I wanted to, or ever COULD, qualify for Kona, the event falls right. in. the. middle. of. high. school. swim. season. SIGH.
So, for me, picking goal races is getting a little harder for the next few years. Any races requiring traveling have to be vetted according to swim schedule (and perhaps soccer/track as well), school schedule, custody schedule, and any other events the girls want to participate in (ie kids' triathlons). Any races that qualify for other races have to occur when I have enough schedule knowledge to commit if I am lucky enough to qualify, or I have to be willing to pass up a slot... and this will be so for probably the next 6 years, and perhaps beyond that if anyone ends up competing in college.
I don't HAVE to make that choice, of course. That's the point of the fork in the road -- you get to choose your direction. I'd venture to say that most women agonize over the choices, and some end up regretting whichever choice they pick... and I bet we ALL wonder "what if" or "if only"... But, ultimately, WE are in control of our own choices and how we react to them.
And then, of course, there are the people who don't understand your choice(s) and feel free to verbalize that to you without your expressed desire for their opinion. Everyone knows exactly how he or she would handle something "if I were you" etc. It's easy when you don't have to deal with the nuances, the emotions, the frustrations, or the expectations. It's a lot less easy when you are actually wearing the shoes that have to walk the path.
I haven't discussed this particular topic with some of the younger ladies who are so gifted in the triathlon world, but I suspect they feel, or think they should feel, the pressure that comes with being so talented AND a female. This is a pressure wholly different than any similarly situated male will ever feel. Imagine being close to the top of your sport, and still drawn by the challenge of seeing how far you can go -- yet having others point out your "ticking clock"... Imagine having to decide when to walk away, at least temporarily, from something you love -- with no idea of whether you will get it back all the way, or even WANT to if you have a child. Training to be a serious athlete is a very selfish existence, in a lot of ways... being a mother is, by definition, not - or, at best, it's a desperate juggling process of selfish and selfless, as you assume responsibility for another life while still clinging to the shreds of your own, lol... (although some people never seem to get that memo and have no business being a parent, but that's another blog).
When you are young, making the choice to stay focused on a goal involves some forms of sacrifice -- maybe missing the big party, or hanging out with friends less, or doing a race-destination vacation instead of a big Las Vegas blow out weekend, just to save money. As you get older, the stakes get higher, and the decisions more personal, and the helpful input from everyone around you more according to their own agendas and experiences... and it can be a lonely path to walk. Making a choice for the wrong reasons, or because of external pressure, can cause everything to sour -- resentment to bloom and a half-assed effort to be had all the way around. Making a choice and giving into the natural urge to second guess it will have the same effect.
I love men, but I don't think men have to go through the same agonizing choices that face certain women (whether gifted athletes or gifted career-women)... and yes, men have their own issues and struggles to deal with... but, since my experience is strictly female, lol, I'm writing about our gender's travails.
I think the key to chosing the path at each fork is allowing yourself to be ok with who you are -- not falling prey to the expectations, or social mores, or "conventional wisdom" of the people around you. It's to weigh which choice feels better, or which pain of loss hurts least, or which path gives you the chance to have as much of both worlds as you can possibly scrabble together... and then deciding if that is enough for you. It really does boil down to setting your priorities and being comfortable with what you have set -- and being aware of what you may be giving up or risking... and being ok with the worst case scenario, because you cannot assume it will all come together in the end -- sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but at that point it is usually too late so you'd better be ready to accept it either way.
So many women hit their 30s and 40s feeling a vague emptiness... and I think that is because we were sold a false sense of reality -- the snake oil I wrote about above. We cannot do it all. We cannot have it all. There is no way to be 100% committed to a career AND a family AND a sport. Something has to give somewhere, and someone's picture of how things are supposed to be will be shattered. We can't be Holly-homemaker AND Chrissie Wellington AND the CEO of a fortune 500 company and do all three to our fullest potential -- we can make our own comfort level in whatever combination we decide to mesh those worlds, but to be happy we have to accept that there are limits, and then do our best to accept those limits.
Now, if anyone knows how to do that, feel free to send me a guest blog, because I'm 42 and have not come close to figuring it out... I just blunder along picking the path that feels correct based on my own priorities and expectations.... and sometimes I wonder what that path would look like if I'd been wearing my Garmin the entire time, lol.
Someone, sometime, in the past forty years, successfully sold the female population snake-oil disguised as equality and freedom of choice. Drinking that snake oil has led to a generation or more of women who think we can and SHOULD be able to do it all -- equally to men, without additional obstacles or issues to handle.
They lied.
From the second women hit puberty we come to repeated forks in the road. One fork tends to be "the road less traveled" (thank you, Mr. Frost) and one tends to be the road most accepted by conventional wisdom and our peers. Although less prevalent than when I was beginning my teen years, the pressure on girls to follow social norms and fit in with accepted behaviors begins to grow. This pressure often takes the form of resistance to dedicated pursuit of athletics or any other time consuming interest (the arts, musical instruments etc). Instead, the subtle and not so subtle message is that focus on an activity will detract from your social life, inhibit your ability to get a job (de rigeur now for teen agers), and probably make you less attractive to the opposite gender (unless, of course, you are a cheerleader). It might even get you tagged as a lesbian, depending on your sport and your dedication to it.
As girls get older the pressure still remains to find a guy and put his interests and job choices ahead of your own. Rare indeed does it seem to be the female in a serious relationship who continues to pursue, at a high level, a sport past college. The pressure to choose a career, settle down, and enjoy a social life remains constant as women graduate and move into the "real" world.
As our 20s and early 30s pass, the choices move to kids or career, or husband's career vs own career, etc. If she is blessed enough to still be a competitive age group or elite level athlete, the choice becomes if or when to start or add to a family. Once you have a family, the split in the road carries you towards your own goals OR towards your childrens' -- and sometimes the roads overlap, or are close enough together you can drive back and forth between two points on them on the same day (lol), but a lot of time they seem to just meander off on their own, far out of sight, and reach, of each other.
I've been thinking about this topic a fair amount lately -- both in the context of my own world AND that of some of the wonderfully talented ladies I am blessed to know and compete with here in Jacksonville.
In my own world, as we juggle this falls' events as a family (swim meets, triathlons, etc) and I think ahead to coming seasons (both my triathlon and the girls' swim seasons.... plus any other sports Limine picks up along the way, plus kids' triathlons as well...) the split in the road becomes readily apparent.
Events like IMFL probably come off the board for the next 6 years, as IMFL falls on one of the three days high school region meets can be scheduled, and IMFL requires registration LONG before the dates of the meets are actually announced (and $550 is too much money to play russian roulette with in hopes of getting lucky). Events like IM70.3 Worlds also become very iffy -- not just from a qualifying perspective, but because WC are the same weekend as High School States, and it is only through luck that I can compete in them this year (the girls' classification swims Thurs this year, and it is in orlando, so I can make the drive back and forth between prelims and finals to check in... but in future years the location AND the day they swim will change, so...).
Training and competing in IMKY this year taught me that the window during the year to do an IM is much narrower than I originally thought, and if I want to compete in one again I need to fit it in between March and late May, or not at all, because juggling kids' events and training and school and traveling about put me over the edge this time around, and it will only get worse as they progress through HS.... and even if I wanted to, or ever COULD, qualify for Kona, the event falls right. in. the. middle. of. high. school. swim. season. SIGH.
So, for me, picking goal races is getting a little harder for the next few years. Any races requiring traveling have to be vetted according to swim schedule (and perhaps soccer/track as well), school schedule, custody schedule, and any other events the girls want to participate in (ie kids' triathlons). Any races that qualify for other races have to occur when I have enough schedule knowledge to commit if I am lucky enough to qualify, or I have to be willing to pass up a slot... and this will be so for probably the next 6 years, and perhaps beyond that if anyone ends up competing in college.
I don't HAVE to make that choice, of course. That's the point of the fork in the road -- you get to choose your direction. I'd venture to say that most women agonize over the choices, and some end up regretting whichever choice they pick... and I bet we ALL wonder "what if" or "if only"... But, ultimately, WE are in control of our own choices and how we react to them.
And then, of course, there are the people who don't understand your choice(s) and feel free to verbalize that to you without your expressed desire for their opinion. Everyone knows exactly how he or she would handle something "if I were you" etc. It's easy when you don't have to deal with the nuances, the emotions, the frustrations, or the expectations. It's a lot less easy when you are actually wearing the shoes that have to walk the path.
I haven't discussed this particular topic with some of the younger ladies who are so gifted in the triathlon world, but I suspect they feel, or think they should feel, the pressure that comes with being so talented AND a female. This is a pressure wholly different than any similarly situated male will ever feel. Imagine being close to the top of your sport, and still drawn by the challenge of seeing how far you can go -- yet having others point out your "ticking clock"... Imagine having to decide when to walk away, at least temporarily, from something you love -- with no idea of whether you will get it back all the way, or even WANT to if you have a child. Training to be a serious athlete is a very selfish existence, in a lot of ways... being a mother is, by definition, not - or, at best, it's a desperate juggling process of selfish and selfless, as you assume responsibility for another life while still clinging to the shreds of your own, lol... (although some people never seem to get that memo and have no business being a parent, but that's another blog).
When you are young, making the choice to stay focused on a goal involves some forms of sacrifice -- maybe missing the big party, or hanging out with friends less, or doing a race-destination vacation instead of a big Las Vegas blow out weekend, just to save money. As you get older, the stakes get higher, and the decisions more personal, and the helpful input from everyone around you more according to their own agendas and experiences... and it can be a lonely path to walk. Making a choice for the wrong reasons, or because of external pressure, can cause everything to sour -- resentment to bloom and a half-assed effort to be had all the way around. Making a choice and giving into the natural urge to second guess it will have the same effect.
I love men, but I don't think men have to go through the same agonizing choices that face certain women (whether gifted athletes or gifted career-women)... and yes, men have their own issues and struggles to deal with... but, since my experience is strictly female, lol, I'm writing about our gender's travails.
I think the key to chosing the path at each fork is allowing yourself to be ok with who you are -- not falling prey to the expectations, or social mores, or "conventional wisdom" of the people around you. It's to weigh which choice feels better, or which pain of loss hurts least, or which path gives you the chance to have as much of both worlds as you can possibly scrabble together... and then deciding if that is enough for you. It really does boil down to setting your priorities and being comfortable with what you have set -- and being aware of what you may be giving up or risking... and being ok with the worst case scenario, because you cannot assume it will all come together in the end -- sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but at that point it is usually too late so you'd better be ready to accept it either way.
So many women hit their 30s and 40s feeling a vague emptiness... and I think that is because we were sold a false sense of reality -- the snake oil I wrote about above. We cannot do it all. We cannot have it all. There is no way to be 100% committed to a career AND a family AND a sport. Something has to give somewhere, and someone's picture of how things are supposed to be will be shattered. We can't be Holly-homemaker AND Chrissie Wellington AND the CEO of a fortune 500 company and do all three to our fullest potential -- we can make our own comfort level in whatever combination we decide to mesh those worlds, but to be happy we have to accept that there are limits, and then do our best to accept those limits.
Now, if anyone knows how to do that, feel free to send me a guest blog, because I'm 42 and have not come close to figuring it out... I just blunder along picking the path that feels correct based on my own priorities and expectations.... and sometimes I wonder what that path would look like if I'd been wearing my Garmin the entire time, lol.
16 September 2010
On parenting and perspective...
We traveled to Alpharetta, GA, last weekend (after a swim meet Saturday morning) for a Youth triathlon. We did this because LM has wanted to participate in an Ironkids event and try to qualify for IK nationals, and they were not with us the day of the IK event held in Orlando in May... leaving Alpharetta as the only viable option.
Now, this is not our first rodeo as far as Youth triathlon is concerned. The girls competed in their first ever triathlon in May, 2008, at the Meek and Mighty race (also the weekend I competed in MY first Olympic distance triathlon and the dawn of Team DiPaolo in the triathlon world) and have competed in 3 or 4 each summer since.
In the 3 summers since our first exposure to the sport, I've noticed a distinct trend appearing -- the pushy parent with the stressed out kids. Amusingly enough, we've anecdotally noted that a LARGE (pun intended) percentage of these pushy parents appear to be overweight mothers (similar to the one's you might see on those kiddy beauty competitor shows, lol).
LM has enjoyed some success in triathlon. That success can be attributed to one thing - she is a tough as nails competitor. However, I've found myself questioned on a fairly regular basis as to her "training" schedule (competitors seem to be evenly divided between the ones who make no attempt to hide that they train and borrow their parent's aero gear, lol, and those whose parents tell everyone they have "not trained at all" yet the kid is on a road bike team, a swim team, and school track team, lol), and I get the distinct impression that many parents do NOT believe me when I say "she doesn't have one".
Before the start of the IKAlpharetta race I spent some time standing next to, and hence both talking to and listening to, the mother of a girl who turned out to be in LM's division. This lady, who fit the description above, went on and on... and on... and ON... about how triathlon is her daughter's passion and all the training and her goals and how good she is and her swimming prowess and how focused she is and how she wishes the daughter had done ALL the events in a tampa youth series because she'd be highly ranked etc etc... followed by many questions about LM's training, preparation, dedication to the sport etc. THEN she was on the phone with her husband crowing, loudly, about how her daughter planned to follow the bike marshals to know the way on the bike course (because she'd be so far ahead of everyone).
Let me carefully articulate the two thoughts I had: First "THESE KIDS ARE ELEVEN FOR GOD'S SAKE!" and, second, "I bet LM can kick her ass." (Sorry, I thought it, I'll admit it... and for the record, I smiled to myself when I ran by the Mother as the girls headed out on the run and heard the Mother on the phone lamenting that her daughter was not racing well enough to win...)
I suppose some people probably think, based on my running at top speed to various locations on the course, that I am a pushy parent. (In that case, I am also a pushy wife and friend, as I ran and drove all over the IMFL course when Matthew raced it, and will do the same this year for H and K... and when I coached swimming I ended every swim meet soaked in sweat and SORE from being a VERY active coach on the deck... it's who I am when I can't be the one racing, lol.) I also surmise that people think, based on how hard I push myself, that I push the girls hard as well...
So, knowing that, I am always checking myself to see if that is true. Do I push too hard? Do I lose perspective? Do the girls feel pressure they don't need to feel?
I am pretty certain the answer is "NO" -- I do not push them too hard etc. But that's not what I am here to write about, lol.
The most important element of those questions is: perspective. Do I, as a parent, keep it, and do I, as a parent, help the girls find it? (Matthew is, of course, the most grounded and unflappable human I know, and never has problems with perspective. I on the other hand...) More and more I am coming to believe that a BIG key to parenting is the concept of perspective, and that losing that element sets your children up for a battle against over-reaction, anxiety, and "end of the world-itis" that can be truly debilitating. Finding that fine line where you encourage passion and caring and setting goals that matter (and pursuing them) yet you still accept that, well, sh*t happens sometimes, and sometimes it becomes more about how you deal with that sh*t than anything else... finding that line is a challenge, but one worth striving for, in my opinion.
In my own distant childhood, perspective was greatly lacking. A missed swim practice, a bad swim, "failing" to make the A team, injuries etc -- all end of the world stuff. Yes, getting back to swim practice shortly after breaking ribs at age 11 is a sign of toughness -- but it was also a sign that I truly thought my swimming career would never recover from missing a month of swimming. That lack of perspective became ingrained in me throughout my athletic career. If I missed a day of working out, I'd get fat. If I missed a day of training, I'd get slow. If I had an injury (like tendonitis in my shoulder) taking time off to let it heal would be the death knell of my swimming career.
It's taken me a LONG time and plenty of reality checking, as well as coaching experience of my own, to realize that none of the above was true.... but I still fight that panic sometimes (in my own athletic career as well as watching my daughters). One of the biggest influences I credit with giving me a modicum of perspective is one of the families I coached and became close to while coaching HS swimming. Their daughters, both gifted swimmers, did not swim year round. They battled through injuries/illness that required time off, surgery, and even a missed semester of college. They did NOT follow the path everyone says has to be followed for athletic success -- yet they both swam, very successfully, in college and they both continued to improve until the day they hung up their goggles and graduated.
There are other examples I've noted, but the G family is the best example and the one I think of the most as I pick my way through the minefield of parenting two talented children.
BiM is the wildly gifted swimmer -- already, at the age of 12, swimming faster than I EVER SWAM IN MY LIFE, even after 15 years of year-round swimming. And, she's doing that on very, VERY little practice. Of course, that very little practice is because of a continuous stream of illness and injury, lol, and, early on, a reluctance to work very hard or very consistently. Initially, when she started swimming a year ago, I felt the tug of the past -- and every missed swim practice stressed me out. Conversations with the G's about the kind of practice and yardage their daughters swam at that age helped, and seeing the BiM miss months of practice due to her wrist injury and then swim for two weeks and immediately throw a 25 in the 50 free pretty much extinguished the spark of the "no perspective" monster.
LM is an athlete. She is a strong swimmer and a gifted runner, but more importantly she has drive and desire and an indescribably competitive streak. She loves swimming and she loves triathlon and she is the kid who, absent a parentally mandated governor on her motor, would be barreling down the path I see some of the other gifted Youth triathletes heading -- dedication to training for the sport, trips to Elite camps, tryouts and races around the country for Elite and Junior National type teams, etc. (One mom talked happily about her 12 year old daughter running her first marathon. MARATHON. Sheesh.)
Just as with the BiM and swimming, it is easy to start thinking BIG and plotting how to get from here (talented 11 and almost 13 yo) to there (college swimming scholarships and elite or pro level triathlete). It is easy to slip into the "end of the world" mindset -- the one dominated by the pressure to push them to train and to successfully navigate down some ill-defined path that "everyone" who is going anywhere is following. It is easy to look around and see what "everyone" is doing -- the Bolles swimmers who are dominating JOs or Seniors or HS states... the triathletes with Team USA gear and their names on their singlets.
But then I think of my own experiences... and look at the path followed successfully by the G's and some of the other swimmers I had the good fortune to coach. And I think to myself, "self... if the girls ramp up their training now... start doubling in swimming (as if, lol... Christi can't go 4 weeks of singles without getting sick, lol), lifting weights and doing serious dryland... start training with the road racers, and running mileage each week... where do they go from there?"
I think of some of the stud swimmers, and even my own experiences -- where they hit the top at 12 or 14... and every tenth of second improvement after that has to be scrapped for and appears months or even years apart... I think of what you need to do when you are ALREADY taxing your body to its max -- do you add hours of training? Increase intensity? Both? When you are already red-lining at 14, where do you go from there? There's a reason why the UF swimmers ring up 15 and 20k of yardage a day in search of those tiny improvements - because there IS nowhere else to go now.
And, when your world and that of your children narrows down to a tiny point of focus, and your identity and sense of self becomes enmeshed with that pursuit at the age of 12 or 15, what happens when life interferes? What happens when you tear a labrum in your shoulder, or get mono and miss a semester of swimming/school, or you stop seeing the improvements you want to see, or someone younger and studlier comes along and your flash in the pan is replaced by another, flashier one... how do you get, and keep, perspective on what your value is and what truly matters in life?
So, see, I take the parenting part of this pretty seriously. I want my girls to have goals and pursue them. I want things to matter to them. But I ALSO want them to realize that, sometimes, the journey IS the point, and not every goal is meant to be achieved. The glory is in the effort and the personal challenges you set and meet as you strive for that goal.
So, as I sit on the couch writing this next to a hacking 12yo who has missed 3.5 days of school and four (FOUR!!!!!!!! sound the alarm!!!!) days of practice, and who will do the completely unthinkable and NOT swim in a HS swim meet today (seriously, it would have been the end of the world back in my day), I find some small sense of satisfaction in knowing that, not only does BiM know this is not the end of the world, but so do I. Is she frustrated by the interruption in her training? Very. Does that frustration make me happy? Very, because it means it matters to her. Do I think she is going to have her season ruined by missing a few days? Nope. Does SHE? Nope. I think it is what it is, and her progression as a swimmer is going to follow the path it follows... and stressing out or stressing HER out about things we cannot control is utterly pointless.
Of course I want the best for my girls... I want them to enjoy the most success they can achieve and realize as much of their potential as they possibly can... but I want them to keep that journey -- which will be full of ups, downs, side trips, segues, road blocks, power outages, successes and unfulfilled hopes-- in the perspective it belongs. In the end, all you can do is the best you can do at that moment and all you can control is your own attitude and reaction and effort level, and if you can keep that perspective you WILL be successful, no matter what.
Now, this is not our first rodeo as far as Youth triathlon is concerned. The girls competed in their first ever triathlon in May, 2008, at the Meek and Mighty race (also the weekend I competed in MY first Olympic distance triathlon and the dawn of Team DiPaolo in the triathlon world) and have competed in 3 or 4 each summer since.
In the 3 summers since our first exposure to the sport, I've noticed a distinct trend appearing -- the pushy parent with the stressed out kids. Amusingly enough, we've anecdotally noted that a LARGE (pun intended) percentage of these pushy parents appear to be overweight mothers (similar to the one's you might see on those kiddy beauty competitor shows, lol).
LM has enjoyed some success in triathlon. That success can be attributed to one thing - she is a tough as nails competitor. However, I've found myself questioned on a fairly regular basis as to her "training" schedule (competitors seem to be evenly divided between the ones who make no attempt to hide that they train and borrow their parent's aero gear, lol, and those whose parents tell everyone they have "not trained at all" yet the kid is on a road bike team, a swim team, and school track team, lol), and I get the distinct impression that many parents do NOT believe me when I say "she doesn't have one".
Before the start of the IKAlpharetta race I spent some time standing next to, and hence both talking to and listening to, the mother of a girl who turned out to be in LM's division. This lady, who fit the description above, went on and on... and on... and ON... about how triathlon is her daughter's passion and all the training and her goals and how good she is and her swimming prowess and how focused she is and how she wishes the daughter had done ALL the events in a tampa youth series because she'd be highly ranked etc etc... followed by many questions about LM's training, preparation, dedication to the sport etc. THEN she was on the phone with her husband crowing, loudly, about how her daughter planned to follow the bike marshals to know the way on the bike course (because she'd be so far ahead of everyone).
Let me carefully articulate the two thoughts I had: First "THESE KIDS ARE ELEVEN FOR GOD'S SAKE!" and, second, "I bet LM can kick her ass." (Sorry, I thought it, I'll admit it... and for the record, I smiled to myself when I ran by the Mother as the girls headed out on the run and heard the Mother on the phone lamenting that her daughter was not racing well enough to win...)
I suppose some people probably think, based on my running at top speed to various locations on the course, that I am a pushy parent. (In that case, I am also a pushy wife and friend, as I ran and drove all over the IMFL course when Matthew raced it, and will do the same this year for H and K... and when I coached swimming I ended every swim meet soaked in sweat and SORE from being a VERY active coach on the deck... it's who I am when I can't be the one racing, lol.) I also surmise that people think, based on how hard I push myself, that I push the girls hard as well...
So, knowing that, I am always checking myself to see if that is true. Do I push too hard? Do I lose perspective? Do the girls feel pressure they don't need to feel?
I am pretty certain the answer is "NO" -- I do not push them too hard etc. But that's not what I am here to write about, lol.
The most important element of those questions is: perspective. Do I, as a parent, keep it, and do I, as a parent, help the girls find it? (Matthew is, of course, the most grounded and unflappable human I know, and never has problems with perspective. I on the other hand...) More and more I am coming to believe that a BIG key to parenting is the concept of perspective, and that losing that element sets your children up for a battle against over-reaction, anxiety, and "end of the world-itis" that can be truly debilitating. Finding that fine line where you encourage passion and caring and setting goals that matter (and pursuing them) yet you still accept that, well, sh*t happens sometimes, and sometimes it becomes more about how you deal with that sh*t than anything else... finding that line is a challenge, but one worth striving for, in my opinion.
In my own distant childhood, perspective was greatly lacking. A missed swim practice, a bad swim, "failing" to make the A team, injuries etc -- all end of the world stuff. Yes, getting back to swim practice shortly after breaking ribs at age 11 is a sign of toughness -- but it was also a sign that I truly thought my swimming career would never recover from missing a month of swimming. That lack of perspective became ingrained in me throughout my athletic career. If I missed a day of working out, I'd get fat. If I missed a day of training, I'd get slow. If I had an injury (like tendonitis in my shoulder) taking time off to let it heal would be the death knell of my swimming career.
It's taken me a LONG time and plenty of reality checking, as well as coaching experience of my own, to realize that none of the above was true.... but I still fight that panic sometimes (in my own athletic career as well as watching my daughters). One of the biggest influences I credit with giving me a modicum of perspective is one of the families I coached and became close to while coaching HS swimming. Their daughters, both gifted swimmers, did not swim year round. They battled through injuries/illness that required time off, surgery, and even a missed semester of college. They did NOT follow the path everyone says has to be followed for athletic success -- yet they both swam, very successfully, in college and they both continued to improve until the day they hung up their goggles and graduated.
There are other examples I've noted, but the G family is the best example and the one I think of the most as I pick my way through the minefield of parenting two talented children.
BiM is the wildly gifted swimmer -- already, at the age of 12, swimming faster than I EVER SWAM IN MY LIFE, even after 15 years of year-round swimming. And, she's doing that on very, VERY little practice. Of course, that very little practice is because of a continuous stream of illness and injury, lol, and, early on, a reluctance to work very hard or very consistently. Initially, when she started swimming a year ago, I felt the tug of the past -- and every missed swim practice stressed me out. Conversations with the G's about the kind of practice and yardage their daughters swam at that age helped, and seeing the BiM miss months of practice due to her wrist injury and then swim for two weeks and immediately throw a 25 in the 50 free pretty much extinguished the spark of the "no perspective" monster.
LM is an athlete. She is a strong swimmer and a gifted runner, but more importantly she has drive and desire and an indescribably competitive streak. She loves swimming and she loves triathlon and she is the kid who, absent a parentally mandated governor on her motor, would be barreling down the path I see some of the other gifted Youth triathletes heading -- dedication to training for the sport, trips to Elite camps, tryouts and races around the country for Elite and Junior National type teams, etc. (One mom talked happily about her 12 year old daughter running her first marathon. MARATHON. Sheesh.)
Just as with the BiM and swimming, it is easy to start thinking BIG and plotting how to get from here (talented 11 and almost 13 yo) to there (college swimming scholarships and elite or pro level triathlete). It is easy to slip into the "end of the world" mindset -- the one dominated by the pressure to push them to train and to successfully navigate down some ill-defined path that "everyone" who is going anywhere is following. It is easy to look around and see what "everyone" is doing -- the Bolles swimmers who are dominating JOs or Seniors or HS states... the triathletes with Team USA gear and their names on their singlets.
But then I think of my own experiences... and look at the path followed successfully by the G's and some of the other swimmers I had the good fortune to coach. And I think to myself, "self... if the girls ramp up their training now... start doubling in swimming (as if, lol... Christi can't go 4 weeks of singles without getting sick, lol), lifting weights and doing serious dryland... start training with the road racers, and running mileage each week... where do they go from there?"
I think of some of the stud swimmers, and even my own experiences -- where they hit the top at 12 or 14... and every tenth of second improvement after that has to be scrapped for and appears months or even years apart... I think of what you need to do when you are ALREADY taxing your body to its max -- do you add hours of training? Increase intensity? Both? When you are already red-lining at 14, where do you go from there? There's a reason why the UF swimmers ring up 15 and 20k of yardage a day in search of those tiny improvements - because there IS nowhere else to go now.
And, when your world and that of your children narrows down to a tiny point of focus, and your identity and sense of self becomes enmeshed with that pursuit at the age of 12 or 15, what happens when life interferes? What happens when you tear a labrum in your shoulder, or get mono and miss a semester of swimming/school, or you stop seeing the improvements you want to see, or someone younger and studlier comes along and your flash in the pan is replaced by another, flashier one... how do you get, and keep, perspective on what your value is and what truly matters in life?
So, see, I take the parenting part of this pretty seriously. I want my girls to have goals and pursue them. I want things to matter to them. But I ALSO want them to realize that, sometimes, the journey IS the point, and not every goal is meant to be achieved. The glory is in the effort and the personal challenges you set and meet as you strive for that goal.
So, as I sit on the couch writing this next to a hacking 12yo who has missed 3.5 days of school and four (FOUR!!!!!!!! sound the alarm!!!!) days of practice, and who will do the completely unthinkable and NOT swim in a HS swim meet today (seriously, it would have been the end of the world back in my day), I find some small sense of satisfaction in knowing that, not only does BiM know this is not the end of the world, but so do I. Is she frustrated by the interruption in her training? Very. Does that frustration make me happy? Very, because it means it matters to her. Do I think she is going to have her season ruined by missing a few days? Nope. Does SHE? Nope. I think it is what it is, and her progression as a swimmer is going to follow the path it follows... and stressing out or stressing HER out about things we cannot control is utterly pointless.
Of course I want the best for my girls... I want them to enjoy the most success they can achieve and realize as much of their potential as they possibly can... but I want them to keep that journey -- which will be full of ups, downs, side trips, segues, road blocks, power outages, successes and unfulfilled hopes-- in the perspective it belongs. In the end, all you can do is the best you can do at that moment and all you can control is your own attitude and reaction and effort level, and if you can keep that perspective you WILL be successful, no matter what.
07 September 2010
Post-IM lull? Where do I get one of those?
So we rolled back into Jacksonville around 10p the night after the race. I'm guessing Matthew and I split the drive 50-50 thanks to his sore knee and my sore everything. We got home to a fairly organized house, thanks to our dog sitter, but still had the insanely happy 300lbs of canines bouncing around and the entire truck to unload... and boy did my gear STINK. Wow. YUCK.
By the time we got everything unloaded, laundry started, dogs to quit levitating, and clean sheets on the bed it was pushing midnight, and thanks to my still revved up brain and aching body I was awake at 5a (and typing my race report, lol).
Matthew headed off to Mayo at 7a for his wrist xray (to make sure the bone has not moved and that he continues to avoid surgery) and follow up with Dr. Montero, who promptly escorted him to an imprompru meeting with the knee surgeon. I, still at home doing laundry and other exciting chores, was not expecting the phone call from Matthew that went something like:
"Hi. They have an opening for surgery on Friday, will that be ok?"
"THIS Friday? As in, in three days?"
"Yes"
Alrighty then. So, the pre-op scramble began (luckily shortened dramatically by the recent blood work and physical Matthew had already done) and I continued to gingerly do my chores. No, I did NOT swim or work out Tuesday, lol.
We got the girls back Tuesday night, which is akin to drinking from a firehose while juggling knives and driving a car. Homework, projects, swim practice, swim meets, sore shoulders, physical therapy, siblingus argumentativenessus... all spewing in a steady stream. Did I mention that somehow we got conned into planning and hosting a murder-mystery birthday party/sleepover in two weeks for the BiM's 13th birthday? 17 squealing pre-teen/teenage girls.... (pause)... Yeah. That's what I thought too when I realized what we had agreed to...
So, Wednesday I got back in the morning rodeo routine AND the pool. Thursday the girls had their first swim meet of the season -- vs. Bolles. LM, a 6th grader, lined up next to defending state champions and seemed completely unphazed by it.
Both girls swam quite well, but the best part of the whole meet was when they came running up to me afterwards and informed me that "Benji (their coach) wants to know if we can stay for the Bolles Invitational next weekend because he is missing a bunch of swimmers who are taking SATs."
Sigh. We had been planning for months to leave Saturday morning to drive to Alpharetta, GA for the Ironkids triathlon race the next day. That's about a 6 hour drive, give or take. We are driving to Alpharetta so the girls can take a shot at qualifying for the Ironkids National Championship to be held in Florida Oct 3rd. The girls were, ahem, "unable to attend" the Ironkids qualifier race held in Orlando in May, so driving to Ga was our only practicable option if we wanted to give them a shot, which we did and do. Swimming a LONG meet before leaving for GA was NOT on the agenda.
Needless to say, we are staying for the meet, and will leave for the hotel as soon as the last swim for the girls ends and I can toss them, sopping wet, into the truck.
So, Friday morning dawned bright and early, and I drove a very nervous Matthew to Mayo (he'd never been under anesthesia before and was fairly convinced he would die on the operating table as punishment for being happy) and dropped him off at 6a.... then zoomed home to wake up the girls and take them to school before heading back over to Mayo to wait for Matthew to come out of surgery.
I wish I'd had a video camera to catch Matthew in the recovery room. Goofy and doped up is an understatement. He was so cute, in a vvvveeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyy sllllllllllooooooooowwwww moving way. When we were finally allowed to leave (he was NOT pleased to have to ride out in the wheel chair, but...) we stopped by Starbucks to get him some caffeine and headed home, where I set him up on the couch with a blockade to keep the sheps from "helping".
The rest of that day is a blur. Lot's of help for Matthew, picked the girls up at practice, grabbed some barbecue for M for dinner (he might be dopey, but his appetite remained intact, lol), endured a class A temper tantrum/meltdown/hissy fit from the BiM, and finally got the minis to bed and M and I set up for the night on the couches downstairs.
A long night of either be awoken by curious dogs (Mom?! MOM?! Whatcha doing Mom?) and Matthew needing help to pee or get pain meds etc bled into the morning, and the weekend flew by with a mishmosh of planning birthday parties, cleaning the house, helping Matthew hobble, and other administrivial goo, including the construction of a popsicle catapult for Christi's science class.
The girls returned to the other place Sunday night, and Matthew and I spent Monday catching up on yard work and errands (he's moving amazingly well).
Matthew's birthday looms large on Thursday, lol, and Friday sees swim practice, hair cuts for the girls, a birthday dinner for BiM's friend, packing for the swim meet and Ga, and hopefully some amount of rest. Saturday we swim at Bolles starting at 730a and leave from there for Ga... Sunday the BiM races at 7 and the LM at 830, followed by the return drive home and lots of homework in the truck. Next week features several follow up doctor's appointments, open house on Tuesday, a swim meet on Thursday, LM's first football game on Saturday, and the invasion of the screeching giggling locust-like teenagers on Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I spent the end of last week and the weekend swimming and easy stationary biking/elliptical-ing. Today I did my first real trainer video and "run" brick, and the rest of this week will see some more ramping up for time and intensity. Just over 8 weeks until Ironman 70.3 Worlds, which means 6 weeks of training. And the next 8 weeks only get busier than this past week has been...
Wheeeeeeeee... ;-)
By the time we got everything unloaded, laundry started, dogs to quit levitating, and clean sheets on the bed it was pushing midnight, and thanks to my still revved up brain and aching body I was awake at 5a (and typing my race report, lol).
Matthew headed off to Mayo at 7a for his wrist xray (to make sure the bone has not moved and that he continues to avoid surgery) and follow up with Dr. Montero, who promptly escorted him to an imprompru meeting with the knee surgeon. I, still at home doing laundry and other exciting chores, was not expecting the phone call from Matthew that went something like:
"Hi. They have an opening for surgery on Friday, will that be ok?"
"THIS Friday? As in, in three days?"
"Yes"
Alrighty then. So, the pre-op scramble began (luckily shortened dramatically by the recent blood work and physical Matthew had already done) and I continued to gingerly do my chores. No, I did NOT swim or work out Tuesday, lol.
We got the girls back Tuesday night, which is akin to drinking from a firehose while juggling knives and driving a car. Homework, projects, swim practice, swim meets, sore shoulders, physical therapy, siblingus argumentativenessus... all spewing in a steady stream. Did I mention that somehow we got conned into planning and hosting a murder-mystery birthday party/sleepover in two weeks for the BiM's 13th birthday? 17 squealing pre-teen/teenage girls.... (pause)... Yeah. That's what I thought too when I realized what we had agreed to...
So, Wednesday I got back in the morning rodeo routine AND the pool. Thursday the girls had their first swim meet of the season -- vs. Bolles. LM, a 6th grader, lined up next to defending state champions and seemed completely unphazed by it.
Both girls swam quite well, but the best part of the whole meet was when they came running up to me afterwards and informed me that "Benji (their coach) wants to know if we can stay for the Bolles Invitational next weekend because he is missing a bunch of swimmers who are taking SATs."
Sigh. We had been planning for months to leave Saturday morning to drive to Alpharetta, GA for the Ironkids triathlon race the next day. That's about a 6 hour drive, give or take. We are driving to Alpharetta so the girls can take a shot at qualifying for the Ironkids National Championship to be held in Florida Oct 3rd. The girls were, ahem, "unable to attend" the Ironkids qualifier race held in Orlando in May, so driving to Ga was our only practicable option if we wanted to give them a shot, which we did and do. Swimming a LONG meet before leaving for GA was NOT on the agenda.
Needless to say, we are staying for the meet, and will leave for the hotel as soon as the last swim for the girls ends and I can toss them, sopping wet, into the truck.
So, Friday morning dawned bright and early, and I drove a very nervous Matthew to Mayo (he'd never been under anesthesia before and was fairly convinced he would die on the operating table as punishment for being happy) and dropped him off at 6a.... then zoomed home to wake up the girls and take them to school before heading back over to Mayo to wait for Matthew to come out of surgery.
I wish I'd had a video camera to catch Matthew in the recovery room. Goofy and doped up is an understatement. He was so cute, in a vvvveeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyy sllllllllllooooooooowwwww moving way. When we were finally allowed to leave (he was NOT pleased to have to ride out in the wheel chair, but...) we stopped by Starbucks to get him some caffeine and headed home, where I set him up on the couch with a blockade to keep the sheps from "helping".
The rest of that day is a blur. Lot's of help for Matthew, picked the girls up at practice, grabbed some barbecue for M for dinner (he might be dopey, but his appetite remained intact, lol), endured a class A temper tantrum/meltdown/hissy fit from the BiM, and finally got the minis to bed and M and I set up for the night on the couches downstairs.
A long night of either be awoken by curious dogs (Mom?! MOM?! Whatcha doing Mom?) and Matthew needing help to pee or get pain meds etc bled into the morning, and the weekend flew by with a mishmosh of planning birthday parties, cleaning the house, helping Matthew hobble, and other administrivial goo, including the construction of a popsicle catapult for Christi's science class.
The girls returned to the other place Sunday night, and Matthew and I spent Monday catching up on yard work and errands (he's moving amazingly well).
Matthew's birthday looms large on Thursday, lol, and Friday sees swim practice, hair cuts for the girls, a birthday dinner for BiM's friend, packing for the swim meet and Ga, and hopefully some amount of rest. Saturday we swim at Bolles starting at 730a and leave from there for Ga... Sunday the BiM races at 7 and the LM at 830, followed by the return drive home and lots of homework in the truck. Next week features several follow up doctor's appointments, open house on Tuesday, a swim meet on Thursday, LM's first football game on Saturday, and the invasion of the screeching giggling locust-like teenagers on Saturday night.
Meanwhile, I spent the end of last week and the weekend swimming and easy stationary biking/elliptical-ing. Today I did my first real trainer video and "run" brick, and the rest of this week will see some more ramping up for time and intensity. Just over 8 weeks until Ironman 70.3 Worlds, which means 6 weeks of training. And the next 8 weeks only get busier than this past week has been...
Wheeeeeeeee... ;-)
31 August 2010
This one I had to earn...
At 7a the first swimmers hit the water, entering off two docks, four swimmers at a time. From our vantage point up one ramp level, we watched the scrum And chaos and waited nervously for the line to begin moving.
By the time we got down to water level, the people in front of us were jogging, so I carefully juggled jogging over a dock with scanning the crowd fruitlessly for Matthew etc. Before I knew it, I was on the dock and leaping into a tiny opening in the water amongst the mass of flailing arms and legs. Almost immediately I regretted being too chicken to start up front, as I swam over, around, and through people all the way to the turn around past the island, upstream.
Finally on the way back for the longer swim downstream I got some clean water (well, as clean as the Ohio gets, lol)... Right up until some older guy kept shouldering into me as I tried to pass him. After the third time he hit me, he reached out and grabbed my right shoulder and yanked me back, then resolutely continued his purposeful swim - almost exactly perpendicular to the direction we were actually swimming in, lol. I have to admit, I got a good laugh when I saw him stop, confused why a kayaker was in front of him and everyone else was heading at a 90' angle away from him.
I felt very strong on the entire swim, although my shoulder hurt a tad after the yanking incident. It was fun catching people and actually gave me something to do and think about besides how long a day it was going to be. I did not particularly enjoy the taste of the river, and my non-water absorbing speed suit apparently DOES absorb silt, as evidenced by the tub load of brown muck that emerged when I finally washed it out. But, I digress, lol.
Matthew got a great picture of the overall swim winner:
Yes, that is a beaver, although what most people don't know is, he actually was a WHITE beaver until he spent an hour in the Ohio, at which point he became the color of a chocolate labrador.
When I hit the exit stairs the volunteers hauled me out and I trotted up the (always) uphill path to T1. For those non-triathletes among you, let me just say that climbing a set of wet stairs after an hour of swimming is not conducive to grace or speed. Nor is running up a long chute through screaming, cowbell ringing people as you fumble for the back zip strap of your speed suit, chuckle to yourself at how funky your hair must look after you rip off your cap, vaguely try not to beef it on the uneven ground, and hope the snot flowing freely from your nostrils isn't too noticeable, lol.
The gear bag volunteers found my bag and handed it off to me as I trotted through on the way to the almost empty changing tent. The volunteers helped me into my bike jersey (I swam in a sports bra and suit bottom and speed suit) and I struggled into my bike shorts and socks, while the volunteer sprayed me with sunscreen (apparently we did a better job with the bodyglide since the sting of sunscreen hitting rub marks on my neck didn't make me squeal as loudly as IMFL). I stuffed my uncrustable and extra bag of fig newtons and salt tablets into my jersey and "ran" out the door. A quick stop to pee and I grabbed the Bee and walk/jogged/wobbled my way down the chute to the bike mount area, and off I went.
About a minute later I saw a sight that caused me do a double take and almost crash my bike- Heather decked out in a crazy bumble bee outfit.
If anyone has any ideas for a Minnow outfit for IMFL so I can return the favor and test Heather's bike handling skills, let me know. At that point, I changed my "spectator recognition" paradigm from looking for M's safety yellow shirt to looking for the crazy nut in a bumblebee costume running around the race course. Needless to say, I found them easily each time I passed them, lol.
I waved to Matthew and the G's and settled onto the aero bsrs for the next 6 hours of fun.
The cautionary words of many, especially Matthew, echoed in my foggy brain as I set out on the course -- do NOT give in to the adrenaline and take it out too fast. So, I resorted to my IMFL tactic of just spinning -- basically using my body weight to turn the pedals and not exerting a lot of power. The first 15 miles were relatively smooth and flat, as I'd been warned they would be. A fair number of testosterone fueled "sure Kona slot" guys went ZOOMING by, their disc wheels making that disc wheel whir and sweat already dripping off of them. I figured, rightly so, that I'd probably see a fair number of them again on the run, and was correct. In fact, I saw a surprising number of them again on the bike as they lay sprawled in what little shade they could find, blown up from their early efforts and melting in the 97' heat.
I felt reasonably strong, and tried to stay on top of my water and food intake - a fig newton or two every 30 minutes or so, and a salt tablet or two to go with it. I don't know if the latter actually do any good, but they didn't hurt so I figured I'd use them. We triathletes will try almost anything if someone tells us it might help (witness the increasingly required sporting of compression socks/tights, which I will freely admit I have lived in for almost a week now).
And then... I made the right hand turn onto the dog leg that, thank God, we only had to do once. It started out with a lovely downhill. Of course, as our side of the course whizzed along at almost 40mph, the leaders of the race coming back the OTHER side were climbing that same hill. Slowly. (including the legendary Nina Kraft, who, at my age is still a wildly successful pro and one of the favorites to win the race -- she DNFd, quitting after the bike!) I tried not to think about the fact that going down equals climbing up, but...
The downhill led to, shockingly, a decent uphill and 40 turned into 10 and the Bee got to use ALL of his gears on the two rings. Maybe I should have put on a third, but I seldom stood on any of the hills and when I did it was usually to stretch, and I don't know that I would have done anything differently anyway. The Bee did not care for the easiest gear, making some whining, grinding noise every time I used it. Guess I should have shifted through ALL the gears a few weeks ago to make sure he was running smoothly.
After the 1st real uphil I knew that it was going to be a LONG day. My right quad was already starting to twinge and my legs felt pretty heavy. I think I actually peaked LAST week, as I had several days of training where I actually did NOT feel like each leg weighed 75lbs. Oh well.
The uphill became a downhill, and somewhere in there we turned around and came back and undid the pattern. At one point some impatient redneck almost took out a biker coming down the hill. I think I heard my first ambulance siren on that segment as well, which seemed awfully early on for that to start.
The allegedly rolling hills continued on the way to the first loop going through La Grange. In the first 40 miles I drained three water bottles full of Gu2O and took two plain water bottles at each aid station (on the fly, without killing anyone, yay!) to stick in my jersey and mix with my super-charged Gu2O mix in my last water bottle (carried so that, when you drain your other bottles, you can add water to the aero bar bottle and then squirt in a few squirts from the super charged bottle, thus making your mix without slowing down or stopping). I also started squirting myself liberally, thus beginning a long day of sodden, dripping clothing and soaked socks and shoes.
We entered La Grange for the first time -a TINY little town in the middle of no-where that, rather than fight the traffic snarl and inconvenience of having 3000 people ride through your town, twice, over the course of 8 hours, decided to throw a party. They run shuttle buses for spectators from near the swim finish out to the town, and back, all day long, and M and company had hopped one immediately after I passed them coming out of T1 on the bike.
La Grange may be small, but they sure know how to make an athlete grin. Fans and towns people lined the streets, the smell of bbq wafted over us (BLEAH, but cool for everyone else) and it seemed like thousands of people were packed in a town of maybe 1000 residents. The noise was defeaning, and as I spotted the crazed 4' tall bee (ok, she's more like 5', but still) and M and the G's, it gave me such a great boost... and I immediately started looking forward to the second trip through town, 30 miles or so ahead.
And then the race got hard. The heat picked up, the hills (sorry, "rollers") never stopped "rolling"... did I mention the heat? Everyone was struggling to stay hydrated, with a frenzy of bottle grabbing occurring at each aid station. It would have been helpful if there were some signs indicating how far to the next aid station etc., but...
I finally had to pee around mile 50. Now, I had already passed one guy peeing himself on the bike and been splashed by another (how DO they do that), but I am not able, or willing, to pee myself... so I hit a portalet at mile 56 or so (almost literally, as the legs were not sure exactly what I expected from them, as first I swim then I wobble to T1, then I bike and then I expect them to WALK?) and, after briefly contemplating the sad fact that I was only halfway through the bike, remounted and set off again.
That part of the ride seemed interminable, and I was getting VERY concerned about the run. I was really starting to feel the effects of the heat -- jumping vision, head ache, small signs of cramping in the quads and MAJOR cramping in the shoulders and biceps. More ambulances starting whizzing along the course, and I started to see some of the studs who had blown by early on -- some were slowing down a LOT and some were collapsed on the side of the road, head in hands.
We finally reached the beginning of the second loop and began merging with 1st loopers. That created complete chaos at the water stations, as the 1st loopers tended to slow down or stop completely while the 2nd loopers, on a somewhat different time schedule, tended to drop speed only as much as necessary not to blow out a shoulder grabbing bottles. I almost died once when someone dropped a perform bottle right in front of me and I narrowly missed it with my front wheel -- the first of several near death experiences that I somehow avoided through luck, not skill. At that point in the race it was all I could do to coordinate drinking and pedaling, lol... and the drunken weave that marked the 2nd loopers climbing up the hills was beginning too.
I started to feel hungry and wolfed down my uncrustable (eternal thanks to Freddy for turning me on to those!) and, of course, immediately started burping up a lovely burning mixture of Gu20 and peanut butter. A couple of peppermint lifesavers later and I felt a bit better, lol.
At some point a flying creature flew into my chip band and stung me. I vaguely noticed then, but the welt and sting hurt now, lol. It wasn't a bee, so I killed it.
The second trip through La Grange was equally amazing, and seeing the Bee costume and the Gs there with M gave me such a boost. I don't know if spectators realize how important their role is -- whether we know them or not, the cheers and words of encouragement keep us going, and knowing people you care about are waiting for you somewhere is a powerful motivator... Ironman is such an amazing, intense journey, and I truly believe it is meant to be shared with your family and loved ones. Having them there helped take the sting out of the girls' absence... and it meant the world to me, as did all the support from my triathlete friends and normal friends as well.
And then... around mile 70, the heat really hit. And the death march began. When you start to feel woozy and nauseated, and you've been sitting in that damn saddle for 4 hours, and the heat is hitting you in waves from the ground, and every bump rattles through your entire body... and you still have 40+ miles to go (never mind the marathon)... things can feel pretty bleak. That's when you break, or chose not to break. There were a lot of broken people. I did NOT want to be one of them. When you have three people travel 13 hours to see your race, you REALLY REALLY don't want to DNF voluntarily, lol.
The fact that I ran out of water, completely, and was actually sucking the final dregs of 97' muck out of the water bottles I'd finished 3 hours before, did not help. There was a HUGE gap between the last two aid stations, with the last one being maybe 5 miles from T2. Apparently those two stations ran out of water later in the day, which doesn't surprise me. I don't know how a race committee could anticipate the sheer amount of consumption -- I've never seen anything like it, even at the FL 70.3, which was hotter than hell (but not hotter than IMKY).
The last 20 miles are a blur of cramping and a grim resolve to get off the damn bike. I tried not to think about how on earth I was ever going to walk, never mind run, a marathon. And, in the back of my mind, I also knew that I was probably in the top few of my age group, which meant a decent run could bring a Kona slot, which, while not a goal necessarily sure would be pretty cool.
One of the few packs of drafting boys I saw all day came by me in the last ten miles, which of course was into a headwind. I realized I'd stopped taking in calories and forced myself to choke down a couple of fig newtons. My feet must have swollen because I had to loosen my shoes, and I had a very close brush with what would have been an ugly crash when my front tire narrowly missed getting caught in one of the MANY ruts on the road back into town.
I am pretty sure I saw the cheering section on the way into bike dismount. A gal right in front of me and I chuckled when the guy just in front of her did a running dismount and barreled into T2 at full speed. We, on the other hand, gingerly put first one foot, then the other, down on the ground, summonsed up the last ounce of balance and kicked a leg over the bar, and then began what must have been a hilarious to see wobble walk with the bikes to the helpers, who took my only means of balance away to put it on a rack -- leaving me to find my own, almost incoherent way to T2.
For the first time EVER in a race I had two volunteers ask me if I was ok. I felt coldish hottish and my eyes could not focus. It was fairly entertaining trying to get out of my absolutely disgusting biking gear (at least I hadn't peed on it!) and into running gear. A change of socks and into my sneakers and off I went, stopping to get sun screen slapped on my shoulders and neck and to pee.
And, as I jogged gingerly through the LONG chute out of T2 onto the road, I realized that there was probably a 50-50 chance of me passing out and/or not finishing this race. I could tell I was dehydrated and way overheated. My body felt tingly and numb and the heat was... oppressive. Painful. Hard to breath in. Demoralizing.
I passed by the crew and, from later reports, did not look very good. The course helpfully took us right up a small bridge IMMEDIATELY, which was not how I intended to try and warm up my legs and slow down my heart rate. So, several hundred yards into the run, I walked. Along with 95% of the runners around me. And I felt fear. 26 more miles. Uh huh.
So, I thought back to the ONE run where I'd felt like I actually handled the heat -- several months ago on an 11 mile run (the longest training run I did, sigh) when I had been smart enough to back off in the first few miles and acclimate, and ended up descending the mile times nicely the rest of the way. And I decided that, if necessary, I would swim in every bucket of ice water sponges at every rest stop in order to get my core temp under 150'... and I'd hit the flat coke immediately.
At the top of the bridge was the aid station, and I drank water and perform AND coke, and took sponges and stuffed them everywhere. And I made a deal with myself to run through the next aid station. So, down the bridge and past the crew I came, and off out of the city I went. Mile 1. Woohoo. Let's see. 26-1 = 25. Oh yeah, we're cruising now.
The heat was... impressive. If you stopped to walk it was almost worse, because you didn't cool down, and you were actually IN the heat longer between aid stations. The 3 mile stretch right out of town (and then returning TO town... so we went through it four times) seemed to be the worst. Runners were zig zagging along from tiny spot of shade to tiny spot of shade. MOST of the runners were actually walking.
The ambulances became more numerous, as did the carnage along the road. Mostly men, incidentally, thanks not only to their much higher numbers in the race but also to their stubborn insistence on "racing" rather than being smart.
I walked EVERY foot of EVERY aid station. I stopped at the 3rd one and took two puffs from the inhaler I was carrying, which seemed to lessen the leaden chest feeling slightly. I drank water and either flat coke or perform (the Gawd Awful mango flavor, but at that point it could have been sludge and I would have chugged it) and took sponges at the beginning of the aid stations and swapped them out for fresh ones at the end of each aid station. Then I'd count to three and start the Ironman shuffle... a slow forward motion vaguely resembling running that eventually loosens up, if you're lucky, into a running stride of sorts.
My right quad was now painful to the touch, but only 22 more miles to go, lol. I started mentally calculating how long it would take to walk most of it. I debated whether I could legally get a bag of fluid while on the course and continue. I kept reminding myself that, the farther I ran, the less time I had to spend walking and the sooner I'd get done. And, slowly, the aid stations ticked by. I knew I'd probably lost my shot at a podium spot (which I never seriously thought would be possible anyway, but...) and was hoping I could hold onto a top ten finish. I saw pros walking, which made me feel disconnectedly better in a way (including the one I took to the front of the potty line so many long hours before).
I never did see Churchill Downs, although the course insists we ran by it twice. I thought about beating up the cop who was smoking, but decided it would take too much energy. I winced every time I passed a body or heard an ambulance (especially the guy who must have passed out in mid stride and was lying in a heap on the course with blood all over the road). I heard people throwing up as they were running. I thought about throwing up as well. I took a bite of sugar cookie and tossed the rest, and tried a grape or two and almost hurled. I couldn't swallow any more salt pills either, so it was liquid or nothing.
I was on the run course for 4:35 and drank cups of liquid at every rest stop, but neither peed not felt any need to pee until 2 hrs after the race ended.
As we came back into town for the turn-around at mile 14, the energy from the crowds was simply amazing. People lined the blocks and horns and cowbells rang -- the din was incredible and echoed off the buildings downtown. When the course turned the corner to put us on the road that would later lead to the finish line, I knew I was going to finish. It might take a LONG time, but I was going to finish that race -- and I was VERY proud of myself for making that decision. I kept looking for the crew and finally spotted them where the turn for the 2nd loop veered off to the right, one tiny block short of that finish line.
I slapped high fives with all five of them and wobbled on my way, back into the furnace of those 3 miles out of town. It helped to know the second loop was shorter. At that point, both quads were in full cramp, and it hurt just as much to stop running as it did to run. I could no longer run downhill without risking falling on my face, and I didn't even bother trying the few gentle uphills. I admit, I broke a few times in between rest stops and walked a hundred yards or so, before commencing the awkward motion that is an Ironman competitor trying to change motions or speeds on the run course. All I knew was, I was going to keep moving forward, even if I had to roll.
As I started to catch and pass some 1st lappers, I struck up conversations with a bunch of people. Later I want to write about the comraderie on the course, but suffice it to say that the support of the competitors you see on the course can carry you a long way, and vice versa. My favorite gal was a 48 year old who was an absolute dead ringer for my friend Kellie, right down to the braids and the rippling muscles on petitely statured body ;-) She was fighting cramping and a stomach issue (causing her to visit every portalet on the run course) and we kept passing each other depending on who could actually run at the moment. I could tell she was probably a Kona-level racer and felt terrible that she was having such a tough time. BUT, she was enthusiastic and positive the entire time and when I saw her later after the race she was STILL happy, even though her marathon time was 30 minutes slower than usual (I felt her pain, believe me) and she'd finished 4th.
Somehow I got through miles 20-25, and at the last rest stop before entering the area full of spectators on the way to the finish, the gal next to me said that we were on course to break 12 hours. That was the first time since 7a I had ANY idea what time it was, lol.
The finish was everything everyone says it is... so much better, imo, than IMFL was last year. IMFL had a weird turn around right before the very short finish chute, thus giving you very little time to soak in the atmosphere or accomplishment. Not IMKY -- it had to be at least a half mile run through streets lined with cheering people and clanging cowbells. I stayed as far to the left (2nd looper! me!) as I could, and, as I approached the spot where the finishers stay straight I waved up the crowd to ramp up the cheering, which they did... off to the right I saw the crew and gave them a grin and a fist pump or two, and then I ran down the chute high fiving everyone who stuck a hand out. This finish I will remember. "Sara DiPaolo, from Jacksonville, FL, YOU are an Ironman" Final time: 11:51 and 7th age group (damn there are a bunch of fast old ladies), 44th women age grouper overall and 344th overall finisher. This one made me earn it.
By the time we got down to water level, the people in front of us were jogging, so I carefully juggled jogging over a dock with scanning the crowd fruitlessly for Matthew etc. Before I knew it, I was on the dock and leaping into a tiny opening in the water amongst the mass of flailing arms and legs. Almost immediately I regretted being too chicken to start up front, as I swam over, around, and through people all the way to the turn around past the island, upstream.
Finally on the way back for the longer swim downstream I got some clean water (well, as clean as the Ohio gets, lol)... Right up until some older guy kept shouldering into me as I tried to pass him. After the third time he hit me, he reached out and grabbed my right shoulder and yanked me back, then resolutely continued his purposeful swim - almost exactly perpendicular to the direction we were actually swimming in, lol. I have to admit, I got a good laugh when I saw him stop, confused why a kayaker was in front of him and everyone else was heading at a 90' angle away from him.
I felt very strong on the entire swim, although my shoulder hurt a tad after the yanking incident. It was fun catching people and actually gave me something to do and think about besides how long a day it was going to be. I did not particularly enjoy the taste of the river, and my non-water absorbing speed suit apparently DOES absorb silt, as evidenced by the tub load of brown muck that emerged when I finally washed it out. But, I digress, lol.
Matthew got a great picture of the overall swim winner:
Yes, that is a beaver, although what most people don't know is, he actually was a WHITE beaver until he spent an hour in the Ohio, at which point he became the color of a chocolate labrador.
When I hit the exit stairs the volunteers hauled me out and I trotted up the (always) uphill path to T1. For those non-triathletes among you, let me just say that climbing a set of wet stairs after an hour of swimming is not conducive to grace or speed. Nor is running up a long chute through screaming, cowbell ringing people as you fumble for the back zip strap of your speed suit, chuckle to yourself at how funky your hair must look after you rip off your cap, vaguely try not to beef it on the uneven ground, and hope the snot flowing freely from your nostrils isn't too noticeable, lol.
The gear bag volunteers found my bag and handed it off to me as I trotted through on the way to the almost empty changing tent. The volunteers helped me into my bike jersey (I swam in a sports bra and suit bottom and speed suit) and I struggled into my bike shorts and socks, while the volunteer sprayed me with sunscreen (apparently we did a better job with the bodyglide since the sting of sunscreen hitting rub marks on my neck didn't make me squeal as loudly as IMFL). I stuffed my uncrustable and extra bag of fig newtons and salt tablets into my jersey and "ran" out the door. A quick stop to pee and I grabbed the Bee and walk/jogged/wobbled my way down the chute to the bike mount area, and off I went.
About a minute later I saw a sight that caused me do a double take and almost crash my bike- Heather decked out in a crazy bumble bee outfit.
If anyone has any ideas for a Minnow outfit for IMFL so I can return the favor and test Heather's bike handling skills, let me know. At that point, I changed my "spectator recognition" paradigm from looking for M's safety yellow shirt to looking for the crazy nut in a bumblebee costume running around the race course. Needless to say, I found them easily each time I passed them, lol.
I waved to Matthew and the G's and settled onto the aero bsrs for the next 6 hours of fun.
The cautionary words of many, especially Matthew, echoed in my foggy brain as I set out on the course -- do NOT give in to the adrenaline and take it out too fast. So, I resorted to my IMFL tactic of just spinning -- basically using my body weight to turn the pedals and not exerting a lot of power. The first 15 miles were relatively smooth and flat, as I'd been warned they would be. A fair number of testosterone fueled "sure Kona slot" guys went ZOOMING by, their disc wheels making that disc wheel whir and sweat already dripping off of them. I figured, rightly so, that I'd probably see a fair number of them again on the run, and was correct. In fact, I saw a surprising number of them again on the bike as they lay sprawled in what little shade they could find, blown up from their early efforts and melting in the 97' heat.
I felt reasonably strong, and tried to stay on top of my water and food intake - a fig newton or two every 30 minutes or so, and a salt tablet or two to go with it. I don't know if the latter actually do any good, but they didn't hurt so I figured I'd use them. We triathletes will try almost anything if someone tells us it might help (witness the increasingly required sporting of compression socks/tights, which I will freely admit I have lived in for almost a week now).
And then... I made the right hand turn onto the dog leg that, thank God, we only had to do once. It started out with a lovely downhill. Of course, as our side of the course whizzed along at almost 40mph, the leaders of the race coming back the OTHER side were climbing that same hill. Slowly. (including the legendary Nina Kraft, who, at my age is still a wildly successful pro and one of the favorites to win the race -- she DNFd, quitting after the bike!) I tried not to think about the fact that going down equals climbing up, but...
The downhill led to, shockingly, a decent uphill and 40 turned into 10 and the Bee got to use ALL of his gears on the two rings. Maybe I should have put on a third, but I seldom stood on any of the hills and when I did it was usually to stretch, and I don't know that I would have done anything differently anyway. The Bee did not care for the easiest gear, making some whining, grinding noise every time I used it. Guess I should have shifted through ALL the gears a few weeks ago to make sure he was running smoothly.
After the 1st real uphil I knew that it was going to be a LONG day. My right quad was already starting to twinge and my legs felt pretty heavy. I think I actually peaked LAST week, as I had several days of training where I actually did NOT feel like each leg weighed 75lbs. Oh well.
The uphill became a downhill, and somewhere in there we turned around and came back and undid the pattern. At one point some impatient redneck almost took out a biker coming down the hill. I think I heard my first ambulance siren on that segment as well, which seemed awfully early on for that to start.
The allegedly rolling hills continued on the way to the first loop going through La Grange. In the first 40 miles I drained three water bottles full of Gu2O and took two plain water bottles at each aid station (on the fly, without killing anyone, yay!) to stick in my jersey and mix with my super-charged Gu2O mix in my last water bottle (carried so that, when you drain your other bottles, you can add water to the aero bar bottle and then squirt in a few squirts from the super charged bottle, thus making your mix without slowing down or stopping). I also started squirting myself liberally, thus beginning a long day of sodden, dripping clothing and soaked socks and shoes.
We entered La Grange for the first time -a TINY little town in the middle of no-where that, rather than fight the traffic snarl and inconvenience of having 3000 people ride through your town, twice, over the course of 8 hours, decided to throw a party. They run shuttle buses for spectators from near the swim finish out to the town, and back, all day long, and M and company had hopped one immediately after I passed them coming out of T1 on the bike.
La Grange may be small, but they sure know how to make an athlete grin. Fans and towns people lined the streets, the smell of bbq wafted over us (BLEAH, but cool for everyone else) and it seemed like thousands of people were packed in a town of maybe 1000 residents. The noise was defeaning, and as I spotted the crazed 4' tall bee (ok, she's more like 5', but still) and M and the G's, it gave me such a great boost... and I immediately started looking forward to the second trip through town, 30 miles or so ahead.
And then the race got hard. The heat picked up, the hills (sorry, "rollers") never stopped "rolling"... did I mention the heat? Everyone was struggling to stay hydrated, with a frenzy of bottle grabbing occurring at each aid station. It would have been helpful if there were some signs indicating how far to the next aid station etc., but...
I finally had to pee around mile 50. Now, I had already passed one guy peeing himself on the bike and been splashed by another (how DO they do that), but I am not able, or willing, to pee myself... so I hit a portalet at mile 56 or so (almost literally, as the legs were not sure exactly what I expected from them, as first I swim then I wobble to T1, then I bike and then I expect them to WALK?) and, after briefly contemplating the sad fact that I was only halfway through the bike, remounted and set off again.
That part of the ride seemed interminable, and I was getting VERY concerned about the run. I was really starting to feel the effects of the heat -- jumping vision, head ache, small signs of cramping in the quads and MAJOR cramping in the shoulders and biceps. More ambulances starting whizzing along the course, and I started to see some of the studs who had blown by early on -- some were slowing down a LOT and some were collapsed on the side of the road, head in hands.
We finally reached the beginning of the second loop and began merging with 1st loopers. That created complete chaos at the water stations, as the 1st loopers tended to slow down or stop completely while the 2nd loopers, on a somewhat different time schedule, tended to drop speed only as much as necessary not to blow out a shoulder grabbing bottles. I almost died once when someone dropped a perform bottle right in front of me and I narrowly missed it with my front wheel -- the first of several near death experiences that I somehow avoided through luck, not skill. At that point in the race it was all I could do to coordinate drinking and pedaling, lol... and the drunken weave that marked the 2nd loopers climbing up the hills was beginning too.
I started to feel hungry and wolfed down my uncrustable (eternal thanks to Freddy for turning me on to those!) and, of course, immediately started burping up a lovely burning mixture of Gu20 and peanut butter. A couple of peppermint lifesavers later and I felt a bit better, lol.
At some point a flying creature flew into my chip band and stung me. I vaguely noticed then, but the welt and sting hurt now, lol. It wasn't a bee, so I killed it.
The second trip through La Grange was equally amazing, and seeing the Bee costume and the Gs there with M gave me such a boost. I don't know if spectators realize how important their role is -- whether we know them or not, the cheers and words of encouragement keep us going, and knowing people you care about are waiting for you somewhere is a powerful motivator... Ironman is such an amazing, intense journey, and I truly believe it is meant to be shared with your family and loved ones. Having them there helped take the sting out of the girls' absence... and it meant the world to me, as did all the support from my triathlete friends and normal friends as well.
And then... around mile 70, the heat really hit. And the death march began. When you start to feel woozy and nauseated, and you've been sitting in that damn saddle for 4 hours, and the heat is hitting you in waves from the ground, and every bump rattles through your entire body... and you still have 40+ miles to go (never mind the marathon)... things can feel pretty bleak. That's when you break, or chose not to break. There were a lot of broken people. I did NOT want to be one of them. When you have three people travel 13 hours to see your race, you REALLY REALLY don't want to DNF voluntarily, lol.
The fact that I ran out of water, completely, and was actually sucking the final dregs of 97' muck out of the water bottles I'd finished 3 hours before, did not help. There was a HUGE gap between the last two aid stations, with the last one being maybe 5 miles from T2. Apparently those two stations ran out of water later in the day, which doesn't surprise me. I don't know how a race committee could anticipate the sheer amount of consumption -- I've never seen anything like it, even at the FL 70.3, which was hotter than hell (but not hotter than IMKY).
The last 20 miles are a blur of cramping and a grim resolve to get off the damn bike. I tried not to think about how on earth I was ever going to walk, never mind run, a marathon. And, in the back of my mind, I also knew that I was probably in the top few of my age group, which meant a decent run could bring a Kona slot, which, while not a goal necessarily sure would be pretty cool.
One of the few packs of drafting boys I saw all day came by me in the last ten miles, which of course was into a headwind. I realized I'd stopped taking in calories and forced myself to choke down a couple of fig newtons. My feet must have swollen because I had to loosen my shoes, and I had a very close brush with what would have been an ugly crash when my front tire narrowly missed getting caught in one of the MANY ruts on the road back into town.
I am pretty sure I saw the cheering section on the way into bike dismount. A gal right in front of me and I chuckled when the guy just in front of her did a running dismount and barreled into T2 at full speed. We, on the other hand, gingerly put first one foot, then the other, down on the ground, summonsed up the last ounce of balance and kicked a leg over the bar, and then began what must have been a hilarious to see wobble walk with the bikes to the helpers, who took my only means of balance away to put it on a rack -- leaving me to find my own, almost incoherent way to T2.
For the first time EVER in a race I had two volunteers ask me if I was ok. I felt coldish hottish and my eyes could not focus. It was fairly entertaining trying to get out of my absolutely disgusting biking gear (at least I hadn't peed on it!) and into running gear. A change of socks and into my sneakers and off I went, stopping to get sun screen slapped on my shoulders and neck and to pee.
And, as I jogged gingerly through the LONG chute out of T2 onto the road, I realized that there was probably a 50-50 chance of me passing out and/or not finishing this race. I could tell I was dehydrated and way overheated. My body felt tingly and numb and the heat was... oppressive. Painful. Hard to breath in. Demoralizing.
I passed by the crew and, from later reports, did not look very good. The course helpfully took us right up a small bridge IMMEDIATELY, which was not how I intended to try and warm up my legs and slow down my heart rate. So, several hundred yards into the run, I walked. Along with 95% of the runners around me. And I felt fear. 26 more miles. Uh huh.
So, I thought back to the ONE run where I'd felt like I actually handled the heat -- several months ago on an 11 mile run (the longest training run I did, sigh) when I had been smart enough to back off in the first few miles and acclimate, and ended up descending the mile times nicely the rest of the way. And I decided that, if necessary, I would swim in every bucket of ice water sponges at every rest stop in order to get my core temp under 150'... and I'd hit the flat coke immediately.
At the top of the bridge was the aid station, and I drank water and perform AND coke, and took sponges and stuffed them everywhere. And I made a deal with myself to run through the next aid station. So, down the bridge and past the crew I came, and off out of the city I went. Mile 1. Woohoo. Let's see. 26-1 = 25. Oh yeah, we're cruising now.
The heat was... impressive. If you stopped to walk it was almost worse, because you didn't cool down, and you were actually IN the heat longer between aid stations. The 3 mile stretch right out of town (and then returning TO town... so we went through it four times) seemed to be the worst. Runners were zig zagging along from tiny spot of shade to tiny spot of shade. MOST of the runners were actually walking.
The ambulances became more numerous, as did the carnage along the road. Mostly men, incidentally, thanks not only to their much higher numbers in the race but also to their stubborn insistence on "racing" rather than being smart.
I walked EVERY foot of EVERY aid station. I stopped at the 3rd one and took two puffs from the inhaler I was carrying, which seemed to lessen the leaden chest feeling slightly. I drank water and either flat coke or perform (the Gawd Awful mango flavor, but at that point it could have been sludge and I would have chugged it) and took sponges at the beginning of the aid stations and swapped them out for fresh ones at the end of each aid station. Then I'd count to three and start the Ironman shuffle... a slow forward motion vaguely resembling running that eventually loosens up, if you're lucky, into a running stride of sorts.
My right quad was now painful to the touch, but only 22 more miles to go, lol. I started mentally calculating how long it would take to walk most of it. I debated whether I could legally get a bag of fluid while on the course and continue. I kept reminding myself that, the farther I ran, the less time I had to spend walking and the sooner I'd get done. And, slowly, the aid stations ticked by. I knew I'd probably lost my shot at a podium spot (which I never seriously thought would be possible anyway, but...) and was hoping I could hold onto a top ten finish. I saw pros walking, which made me feel disconnectedly better in a way (including the one I took to the front of the potty line so many long hours before).
I never did see Churchill Downs, although the course insists we ran by it twice. I thought about beating up the cop who was smoking, but decided it would take too much energy. I winced every time I passed a body or heard an ambulance (especially the guy who must have passed out in mid stride and was lying in a heap on the course with blood all over the road). I heard people throwing up as they were running. I thought about throwing up as well. I took a bite of sugar cookie and tossed the rest, and tried a grape or two and almost hurled. I couldn't swallow any more salt pills either, so it was liquid or nothing.
I was on the run course for 4:35 and drank cups of liquid at every rest stop, but neither peed not felt any need to pee until 2 hrs after the race ended.
As we came back into town for the turn-around at mile 14, the energy from the crowds was simply amazing. People lined the blocks and horns and cowbells rang -- the din was incredible and echoed off the buildings downtown. When the course turned the corner to put us on the road that would later lead to the finish line, I knew I was going to finish. It might take a LONG time, but I was going to finish that race -- and I was VERY proud of myself for making that decision. I kept looking for the crew and finally spotted them where the turn for the 2nd loop veered off to the right, one tiny block short of that finish line.
I slapped high fives with all five of them and wobbled on my way, back into the furnace of those 3 miles out of town. It helped to know the second loop was shorter. At that point, both quads were in full cramp, and it hurt just as much to stop running as it did to run. I could no longer run downhill without risking falling on my face, and I didn't even bother trying the few gentle uphills. I admit, I broke a few times in between rest stops and walked a hundred yards or so, before commencing the awkward motion that is an Ironman competitor trying to change motions or speeds on the run course. All I knew was, I was going to keep moving forward, even if I had to roll.
As I started to catch and pass some 1st lappers, I struck up conversations with a bunch of people. Later I want to write about the comraderie on the course, but suffice it to say that the support of the competitors you see on the course can carry you a long way, and vice versa. My favorite gal was a 48 year old who was an absolute dead ringer for my friend Kellie, right down to the braids and the rippling muscles on petitely statured body ;-) She was fighting cramping and a stomach issue (causing her to visit every portalet on the run course) and we kept passing each other depending on who could actually run at the moment. I could tell she was probably a Kona-level racer and felt terrible that she was having such a tough time. BUT, she was enthusiastic and positive the entire time and when I saw her later after the race she was STILL happy, even though her marathon time was 30 minutes slower than usual (I felt her pain, believe me) and she'd finished 4th.
Somehow I got through miles 20-25, and at the last rest stop before entering the area full of spectators on the way to the finish, the gal next to me said that we were on course to break 12 hours. That was the first time since 7a I had ANY idea what time it was, lol.
The finish was everything everyone says it is... so much better, imo, than IMFL was last year. IMFL had a weird turn around right before the very short finish chute, thus giving you very little time to soak in the atmosphere or accomplishment. Not IMKY -- it had to be at least a half mile run through streets lined with cheering people and clanging cowbells. I stayed as far to the left (2nd looper! me!) as I could, and, as I approached the spot where the finishers stay straight I waved up the crowd to ramp up the cheering, which they did... off to the right I saw the crew and gave them a grin and a fist pump or two, and then I ran down the chute high fiving everyone who stuck a hand out. This finish I will remember. "Sara DiPaolo, from Jacksonville, FL, YOU are an Ironman" Final time: 11:51 and 7th age group (damn there are a bunch of fast old ladies), 44th women age grouper overall and 344th overall finisher. This one made me earn it.
The build up...
Saturday was a blur. I think we woke up, wandered down to Panera for breakfast, and meandered back to the expo to do some shopping for the Gerdemans to say thank you (for giving up their football tickets to their beloved Ohio State Buckeyes and scheduling their trip north to coincide with the race) and for their daughter and maybe someday son-in-law for treating us to a wonderful dinner when we arrived Thursday.
A trip to the local CVS revealed that Floridians' hoarding of water when under hurricane warning has nothing on triathletes' hoarding prior to a big race - the shelves were almost barren where the water and gatorade type drinks had lived.
I spent a while getting together the gear bags and checking over the Bee, and as noon arrived and passed and the stream of athletes walking to bike check in began, we got in line to wait for the elevators, many of which looked like clown cars as a freakish number of athletes and bikes would emerge from each car as it reached the ground floor.
As a side note, by the time the weekend ended the elevators had this bizarre funky smell to them -- sweat, sunscreen, and anxiety all mixed together to create eau de triathlete (Peau de triathlete?).
Unlike IMFL, where you are pretty much on your own for check in, IMKY sent a volunteer with each athlete to walk us to our bike rack, and then through the changing tents and to the gear bag area. They explained the transition areas and routes and answered any questions, which was cool. As I walked out from bag drop to re-find my bike (since we had to unrack our own bikes, which meant it behooved me to actually pay attention to where my bike actually WAS, lol) I overheard another volunteer say to an athlete "since this is your first Ironman, and your first triathlon..." which caused me to squeak audibly and the volunteer to laugh and say "you didn't just hear that".
We walked back to the hotel and I painted my nails in 'bee war paint and stretched out to rest. Matthew grabbed a workout and we met Heather for dinner (grilled chicken and rice) before I set my alarm for 3:45a and crashed, hard.
I actually slept reasonably well.... Right up until the bachelorette party came back bellowing in a drunken stupor at 2:30a and waking everyone on the hall up. By the time I fell back to sleep it seemed like the alarm went off 5 minutes later and I woke up feeling noodly and woozy.
Matthew got ready and began the long walk to swim start to get in line for me while I choked down a cold bagel and chocolate milk and got my water bottles ready. When Matthew texted that swim start was a LONG way from transition, I moved up my target departure time, gathered my special needs bag and swim stuff, listened one last time to 'Till I Collapse, and got in line for the elevator.
A quick spin through transition to check on the Bee and chat with my rack mates, and a quick pass by the gear bags to toss in an extra uncrustable, and I joined the long line of shuffling triathletes and families walking to swim start. And walking. And walking. And walking. We joked that, not ony did it kind of suck to have to walk that far, now we had to SWIM back... And that it should be the Ironman Louisville 142.6 rather than 140.6 because of the walk.
When I finally made it to the swim start area, it was a madhouse of athletes and families and had the atmosphere of a camp-out line waiting for tickets to a concert or sporting events. People had lawn chairs, air mattresses, cards, sleeping bags etc and the line stretched on and on. Oddly enough, the swim line intersected with the porta potty lines, causing an interesting tap dance for the people stuck there. Shortly after I arrived, the announcement came out for all nonathletes to leave the line, resulting in the immediate formation of a parallel line as all friends and family took two steps to the left and stopped, thus forming a line of family mirroring the line of athletes.
Some later arriving athletes apparently missed the many mentions of the swim line in chat forums and the athlete guide, and appeared quite shocked to discover a)the line existed and b)a line of almost 3000 people gets rather long.
I decide at 6 to wait in the portalet line. By 635 I was still 8 people from actually getting to pee, and the pro lady behind me was panicking as she was 5 minutes from being called into the water to line up. Being the shy person I am, I grabbed her arm and marched her to the front and asked the guys if they minded her jumping line since she was a pro and had to go, literally and figuratively. Of course no one could say no to that, and in she went. Of course the second the pros went in the water they moved our line as well, causing me to ditch my spot in line and dash, trying to find Matthew and my place in line.
At that point I ran, literally, into the Gerdemans, told them to follow me while I looked for M (I'd run right by him, somehow missing his safety yellow dayglo shirt). Finally M appeared and I hopped in line, gave him a quick kiss, waved to the G's and down the ramp we went. Somehow my spot around 200 people back had turned into being more like 400-500 back, but it was better than being a mile away like some people. Even as we stood on the ramps, people just meandered down and jumped line, knowing no one would stop them.
A hard to hear trumpeteer from Churchill downs played the post-time call, and the cannon sent the pros on their way. The trumpet player delivered the national anthem and My Old Kentucky Home, and we watched the clock tick inexorably towards 7a. Apparently, this was actually going to happen, lol...
A trip to the local CVS revealed that Floridians' hoarding of water when under hurricane warning has nothing on triathletes' hoarding prior to a big race - the shelves were almost barren where the water and gatorade type drinks had lived.
I spent a while getting together the gear bags and checking over the Bee, and as noon arrived and passed and the stream of athletes walking to bike check in began, we got in line to wait for the elevators, many of which looked like clown cars as a freakish number of athletes and bikes would emerge from each car as it reached the ground floor.
As a side note, by the time the weekend ended the elevators had this bizarre funky smell to them -- sweat, sunscreen, and anxiety all mixed together to create eau de triathlete (Peau de triathlete?).
Unlike IMFL, where you are pretty much on your own for check in, IMKY sent a volunteer with each athlete to walk us to our bike rack, and then through the changing tents and to the gear bag area. They explained the transition areas and routes and answered any questions, which was cool. As I walked out from bag drop to re-find my bike (since we had to unrack our own bikes, which meant it behooved me to actually pay attention to where my bike actually WAS, lol) I overheard another volunteer say to an athlete "since this is your first Ironman, and your first triathlon..." which caused me to squeak audibly and the volunteer to laugh and say "you didn't just hear that".
We walked back to the hotel and I painted my nails in 'bee war paint and stretched out to rest. Matthew grabbed a workout and we met Heather for dinner (grilled chicken and rice) before I set my alarm for 3:45a and crashed, hard.
I actually slept reasonably well.... Right up until the bachelorette party came back bellowing in a drunken stupor at 2:30a and waking everyone on the hall up. By the time I fell back to sleep it seemed like the alarm went off 5 minutes later and I woke up feeling noodly and woozy.
Matthew got ready and began the long walk to swim start to get in line for me while I choked down a cold bagel and chocolate milk and got my water bottles ready. When Matthew texted that swim start was a LONG way from transition, I moved up my target departure time, gathered my special needs bag and swim stuff, listened one last time to 'Till I Collapse, and got in line for the elevator.
A quick spin through transition to check on the Bee and chat with my rack mates, and a quick pass by the gear bags to toss in an extra uncrustable, and I joined the long line of shuffling triathletes and families walking to swim start. And walking. And walking. And walking. We joked that, not ony did it kind of suck to have to walk that far, now we had to SWIM back... And that it should be the Ironman Louisville 142.6 rather than 140.6 because of the walk.
When I finally made it to the swim start area, it was a madhouse of athletes and families and had the atmosphere of a camp-out line waiting for tickets to a concert or sporting events. People had lawn chairs, air mattresses, cards, sleeping bags etc and the line stretched on and on. Oddly enough, the swim line intersected with the porta potty lines, causing an interesting tap dance for the people stuck there. Shortly after I arrived, the announcement came out for all nonathletes to leave the line, resulting in the immediate formation of a parallel line as all friends and family took two steps to the left and stopped, thus forming a line of family mirroring the line of athletes.
Some later arriving athletes apparently missed the many mentions of the swim line in chat forums and the athlete guide, and appeared quite shocked to discover a)the line existed and b)a line of almost 3000 people gets rather long.
I decide at 6 to wait in the portalet line. By 635 I was still 8 people from actually getting to pee, and the pro lady behind me was panicking as she was 5 minutes from being called into the water to line up. Being the shy person I am, I grabbed her arm and marched her to the front and asked the guys if they minded her jumping line since she was a pro and had to go, literally and figuratively. Of course no one could say no to that, and in she went. Of course the second the pros went in the water they moved our line as well, causing me to ditch my spot in line and dash, trying to find Matthew and my place in line.
At that point I ran, literally, into the Gerdemans, told them to follow me while I looked for M (I'd run right by him, somehow missing his safety yellow dayglo shirt). Finally M appeared and I hopped in line, gave him a quick kiss, waved to the G's and down the ramp we went. Somehow my spot around 200 people back had turned into being more like 400-500 back, but it was better than being a mile away like some people. Even as we stood on the ramps, people just meandered down and jumped line, knowing no one would stop them.
A hard to hear trumpeteer from Churchill downs played the post-time call, and the cannon sent the pros on their way. The trumpet player delivered the national anthem and My Old Kentucky Home, and we watched the clock tick inexorably towards 7a. Apparently, this was actually going to happen, lol...
27 August 2010
An Eminem kinda mood.
In the eternal search for inspiration and mental peace, lol...
I saw an Ironman video set to an Eminem song a few months ago, and it really stuck:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnqpYKx8Fvk
It's set to the song "Till I collapse" by Eminem. (warning, he is foul mouthed but, imo, quite talented).
'Cause sometimes you feel tired,
feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
and just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up
and not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse.
and
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
I saw an Ironman video set to an Eminem song a few months ago, and it really stuck:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnqpYKx8Fvk
It's set to the song "Till I collapse" by Eminem. (warning, he is foul mouthed but, imo, quite talented).
'Cause sometimes you feel tired,
feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
and just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up
and not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse.
and
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out - am I high? Perhaps
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can’t shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
The wa ai ting is the hardest part....
Wednesday morning we loaded up and headed out for the long drive to Louisville. We hit the road a good 90 minutes later than planned due to unforeseen circumstances and a generally slow moving approach to the day, lol.
We'd decided to head up via a route that took us through Asheville, NC, aka our happy place. Although it supposedly would be slightly longer, we thought it would be worth it for the enjoyment of the beauty of the ride. And, it was. We stopped for the night just north of Knoxville (and took the Gator magnet off the truck to be safe, lol), found a good local restaurant, and crashed. The drive through Asheville and on to Knoxville was filled with stunning scenery and very relaxing. I did most of the driving since Matthew's torn meniscus does not like driving very much these days, and between that and his broken wrist he is a little, well, broken. Thanks to my new Zoot Compression pants I felt pretty good.
When we stopped in Columbia SC for gas we ran into a local athlete named Mark who was heading up Friday with some friends for the race, and enjoyed a chat with him about the conditions and course. Small world, random encounter.
Thursday we slept until almost 8:45 (!) which is like three full nights' sleep for me, grabbed some breakfast, slowly loaded up and meandered off for the final 3.5 hours of driving. The drive from TN to KY was absolutely beautiful, but we could definitely tell when we entered KY. I'm not sure what it is, but everything seems more... run down. The roads are not as well kept, the per capita immediately appeared lower, and the number of teeth in each smile flashed definitely dropped too. We stopped for gas and a smoothie and Matthew could not stop giggling at the guys in the car at the gas station -- a beat up, broken down old chevy with two shirtless guys dressed in baggy jean shorts, both of whom looked like they'd swallowed a fully inflated beach ball.
We finished up the drive and, as we exited the interstate to our hotel, I looked down and saw the transition area, all set up and waiting for the bikes and every hair on my arm stood straight up and screamed.
Our room in the hotel is on the 16th floor. Actually, our first AND second rooms have been on the 16th floor, as at 6 this morning I wandered down to the desk and wheedled my way into a different room. Apparently there was a Veterans association gathering here last weekend, and membership requires a blazing smoking habit, which some of them chose to feed by smoking in their (smoke free) rooms. I woke up with puffy eyes, stuffed up nose, and a tight chest and decided I did not want to try and race breathing that crap for four days. So, after the desk clerk helpfully took me up to perform a sniff test on the second room (not kidding) I got the keys and, after I worked out, we loaded our stuff and moved down the hall.
I don't know how other athletes like to spend their days leading up to this sort of race, but I prefer to NOT be around other athletes. It's one big muscular meat market in terms of everyone checking everyone else (and their bikes) out. It's bad enough we all have to weigh in on a scale (sigh. 125lbs, aka 5lbs less than IMFL) that supposedly can determine your hydration level (53%, right in the middle of the range for women) and your body fat percentage (22?! Seriously?!) but then you walk around feeling like EVERYONE else is fitter, leaner, and probably faster than you are, even the fat balding guy helping with the luggage.
I also don't like to have to watch the zillion people heading out on their bikes or for a run, or listen to the chattering about the course etc. It's the same reason I did not do lamaze class before the girls were born -- the dang baby is coming out one way or another, and I really don't want to hear horror stories or do mental gymnastics planning for things I cannot predict or control. Just surprise me, and I'll deal with it when it happens.
So, I grabbed an early elliptical "run" and Matthew and I went to the local Y and swam, then stopped at University of Louisville bookstore to see if they had any Louisville swimming shirts (denied).
After we got back I immediately called the front desk and had a conversation that went something like this:
Me: What is that GAWD AWFUL noise?
Desk: Weyahl Maam, that noise is the (some stupid name of some stupid ship docked right next to the hotel).
Me: Will the awful noise end soon?
Desk: yes maaaaam, it will end at noon.
Me: AND, does the awful noise start again?
Desk: yes maaaaam, the same time tomorrow (11a)
For the record, the awful noise was some sort of horn ensemble, or bell, or cacophony of out of tune, tone death music blaring at a decibel level I can only describe as painful.
Later, Matthew met our friend Heather (her bike, Minnow, rode up with the 'bee and she needed to retrieve him) while I went to an Ironman focus group thingee. Twelve female racers answering questions about performance enhancing services (VO2 testing, lactate threshold testing etc). Not my thing, exactly, but I wanted the $50 gift certificate to the Ironman store, lol.
The focus group was interesting in that it revealed that 3/4 of the attendees have triathlon coaches, and most of THEM have nutrition plans and training plans and plans of plans etc. I and another fairly vocal (and younger) gal eschew the coaching thing completely, and I am somewhere between proud and embarrassed to admit that, not only have I never been VO2 tested, I don't even know what a lactate threshold is and I use neither a heart rate monitor OR a power meter. Sacrilege!
We shared some good laughs in the focus group -- primarily at the testosterone driven preening going on amongst most of the males. When walking around this hotel you would SWEAR by the demeanor, posturing, impatience, and general overall attitude of the men that at LEAST 95% of them are plausibly gunning for a Kona spot. The women, on the other hand, generally seem to carry themselves a bit differently (no comparing of body fat percentage going on in OUR focus group, lol, although a consensus agreeing that the numbers were WRONG) and you really can't tell who is a Kona-slot possibility and who isn't (strangely enough, body type is no predictor for women). The men are all running around in their bike shorts and race shirts with "get outta my f***ing way I'm important and you are not" looks on their faces. These are many of the same guys who will come SPRINTING out of the transition area after the swim and leap onto their bikes and barrel along for the first twenty miles, only to blow up their legs and flounder on the run. But, I digress.
After the focus group we spent the gift certificate, found a restaurant to get some dinner (grilled chicken, green beans, and a few red potatoes), and are back at the hotel relaxing for the night.
One more day of waiting (bike check in, maybe a mani-pedi to get my bumblebee colors on, and nothing much else) and it's. finally. almost. over.
And I can start training for Clearwater, lol.
We'd decided to head up via a route that took us through Asheville, NC, aka our happy place. Although it supposedly would be slightly longer, we thought it would be worth it for the enjoyment of the beauty of the ride. And, it was. We stopped for the night just north of Knoxville (and took the Gator magnet off the truck to be safe, lol), found a good local restaurant, and crashed. The drive through Asheville and on to Knoxville was filled with stunning scenery and very relaxing. I did most of the driving since Matthew's torn meniscus does not like driving very much these days, and between that and his broken wrist he is a little, well, broken. Thanks to my new Zoot Compression pants I felt pretty good.
When we stopped in Columbia SC for gas we ran into a local athlete named Mark who was heading up Friday with some friends for the race, and enjoyed a chat with him about the conditions and course. Small world, random encounter.
Thursday we slept until almost 8:45 (!) which is like three full nights' sleep for me, grabbed some breakfast, slowly loaded up and meandered off for the final 3.5 hours of driving. The drive from TN to KY was absolutely beautiful, but we could definitely tell when we entered KY. I'm not sure what it is, but everything seems more... run down. The roads are not as well kept, the per capita immediately appeared lower, and the number of teeth in each smile flashed definitely dropped too. We stopped for gas and a smoothie and Matthew could not stop giggling at the guys in the car at the gas station -- a beat up, broken down old chevy with two shirtless guys dressed in baggy jean shorts, both of whom looked like they'd swallowed a fully inflated beach ball.
We finished up the drive and, as we exited the interstate to our hotel, I looked down and saw the transition area, all set up and waiting for the bikes and every hair on my arm stood straight up and screamed.
Our room in the hotel is on the 16th floor. Actually, our first AND second rooms have been on the 16th floor, as at 6 this morning I wandered down to the desk and wheedled my way into a different room. Apparently there was a Veterans association gathering here last weekend, and membership requires a blazing smoking habit, which some of them chose to feed by smoking in their (smoke free) rooms. I woke up with puffy eyes, stuffed up nose, and a tight chest and decided I did not want to try and race breathing that crap for four days. So, after the desk clerk helpfully took me up to perform a sniff test on the second room (not kidding) I got the keys and, after I worked out, we loaded our stuff and moved down the hall.
I don't know how other athletes like to spend their days leading up to this sort of race, but I prefer to NOT be around other athletes. It's one big muscular meat market in terms of everyone checking everyone else (and their bikes) out. It's bad enough we all have to weigh in on a scale (sigh. 125lbs, aka 5lbs less than IMFL) that supposedly can determine your hydration level (53%, right in the middle of the range for women) and your body fat percentage (22?! Seriously?!) but then you walk around feeling like EVERYONE else is fitter, leaner, and probably faster than you are, even the fat balding guy helping with the luggage.
I also don't like to have to watch the zillion people heading out on their bikes or for a run, or listen to the chattering about the course etc. It's the same reason I did not do lamaze class before the girls were born -- the dang baby is coming out one way or another, and I really don't want to hear horror stories or do mental gymnastics planning for things I cannot predict or control. Just surprise me, and I'll deal with it when it happens.
So, I grabbed an early elliptical "run" and Matthew and I went to the local Y and swam, then stopped at University of Louisville bookstore to see if they had any Louisville swimming shirts (denied).
After we got back I immediately called the front desk and had a conversation that went something like this:
Me: What is that GAWD AWFUL noise?
Desk: Weyahl Maam, that noise is the (some stupid name of some stupid ship docked right next to the hotel).
Me: Will the awful noise end soon?
Desk: yes maaaaam, it will end at noon.
Me: AND, does the awful noise start again?
Desk: yes maaaaam, the same time tomorrow (11a)
For the record, the awful noise was some sort of horn ensemble, or bell, or cacophony of out of tune, tone death music blaring at a decibel level I can only describe as painful.
Later, Matthew met our friend Heather (her bike, Minnow, rode up with the 'bee and she needed to retrieve him) while I went to an Ironman focus group thingee. Twelve female racers answering questions about performance enhancing services (VO2 testing, lactate threshold testing etc). Not my thing, exactly, but I wanted the $50 gift certificate to the Ironman store, lol.
The focus group was interesting in that it revealed that 3/4 of the attendees have triathlon coaches, and most of THEM have nutrition plans and training plans and plans of plans etc. I and another fairly vocal (and younger) gal eschew the coaching thing completely, and I am somewhere between proud and embarrassed to admit that, not only have I never been VO2 tested, I don't even know what a lactate threshold is and I use neither a heart rate monitor OR a power meter. Sacrilege!
We shared some good laughs in the focus group -- primarily at the testosterone driven preening going on amongst most of the males. When walking around this hotel you would SWEAR by the demeanor, posturing, impatience, and general overall attitude of the men that at LEAST 95% of them are plausibly gunning for a Kona spot. The women, on the other hand, generally seem to carry themselves a bit differently (no comparing of body fat percentage going on in OUR focus group, lol, although a consensus agreeing that the numbers were WRONG) and you really can't tell who is a Kona-slot possibility and who isn't (strangely enough, body type is no predictor for women). The men are all running around in their bike shorts and race shirts with "get outta my f***ing way I'm important and you are not" looks on their faces. These are many of the same guys who will come SPRINTING out of the transition area after the swim and leap onto their bikes and barrel along for the first twenty miles, only to blow up their legs and flounder on the run. But, I digress.
After the focus group we spent the gift certificate, found a restaurant to get some dinner (grilled chicken, green beans, and a few red potatoes), and are back at the hotel relaxing for the night.
One more day of waiting (bike check in, maybe a mani-pedi to get my bumblebee colors on, and nothing much else) and it's. finally. almost. over.
And I can start training for Clearwater, lol.
23 August 2010
Making a choice...
Since I can't write specifically about some of the situations that are on my mind, I'm going to write in generalities, so this post may or may not mean much to anyone else, lol.
Writing about my friends Kelly/Kellie and thinking about the situations of friends and family, and how they've chosen to handle them, brought me to the question of "why are some people survivors/thrivers and other people victims"?
There are the people who COULD get away with feeling sorry for themselves - life has handed them a plate load plus seconds to handle - yet, while open and honest about the obstacles in their lives, they come across as in control (sometimes teeteringly, lol, but in control) and grounded. And, even when reeling and overwhelmed, as they have every right to be, they never come across a a victim - just as a dusty, worn out survivor.
Then there are the victims. I mean, really, if you think about it, we all know a person, or people, who spend life feeling sorry for themselves and expecting everyone else to as well. The people who almost seem to look for reasons to feel sorry for themselves. The ones who take everyday events and occurences and personalize them. The ones who pick arguments just to show how mean someone is being to them. The ones who take a trauma or tragedy from someone else's life and make it their own. The ones you hesitate to share things with because they will assuredly find some way to turn it around and make it all about them, and their pain. They are the ones you can (and will) have the same exact conversation with, over and over and over again, as they talk about how terrible things are at any given moment, seek advice, resolve to take steps to change things, and then go right back to the way things are, either unwilling or unable to make an effort to change their attitude or behavior. And two weeks or two months later you find yourself following the same script of "woe is me" all over again. And again. And again.
The culture of victimhood is a particular "nails on the chalkboard" issue for me. I've been burned a fair number of times by "victims" and had my battery drained nearly dry by them as well. I've found that victims will turn their wrath upon you faster than a rattler strikes if you cross them -- and by cross I mean "fail to pay appropriate attention or homage to their many problems, needs, and issues." (I can name several people who, if they happened to read this blog would assume immediately I am writing specifically about THEM, which I'm not, and take great offense, thus immediately proving my point, lol). So, in dealing with people like this I've spent time trying to determine how to ensure my children don't end UP like people like that.
The LM had an interesting encounter with a bonafide "victim" last week in her first week of school. The girl, "E" apparently wouldn't leave her mother the first day, so missed that day, and then was sporadically at, and away from, school for the next few days. The 3rd day at lunch, LM saw E standing off to the side, alone, as the kids got their lunches, and LM asked her if she was ok. E responded that she had no friends and didn't want to be there (note that E had made no effort to make friends and had, in fact, effectively ostracized herself by willfully missing school). LM invited E over to sit with her and her friends at their lunch table, and after some persuading, E joined them. LM reported that E eventually loosened up at lunch, but then disappeared shortly after the kids all went outside to run around for the last few minutes of the period.
When LM and her friends got back to class after lunch, the teacher called LM aside and asked who had sat with E at lunch, and LM got the distinct impression they'd been accused of being mean to the girl somehow. Later that afternoon, E came back and proceeded to be passive-aggressive towards LM and another girl during a class exercise, and did it in a way that really irked LM -- to the point she referred to E as a "bitch" during the tale telling.
E didn't show for class Thursday or Friday, and by Sunday was out of the school online directory. Reading between the lines, this girl clearly viewed herself, and encouraged her mother to view her, as a hapless victim. Reality, though, suggests that the girl sought out failure, and created her own drama and issues - and without even really knowing her, we are relieved she is gone given the brief interactions she had with LM last week.
How does an E happen? From personal experience, I can say it takes a concerted effort, over time, to allow and eventually encourage (even unwittingly) a negative, yet extremely self-centered viewpoint of the world. A victim must learn to view everything as a personal affront or attack or criticism -- to see the world as the enemy, and to look through a paradigm of oppression and opposition, even where none exists. A victim learns to take the most innocuous action or word and turn it into an issue, and to use that issue to seek sympathy, or assistance, or whatever form of negative attention possible. Ultimately, a victim uses a paradigm that guarantees perpetuation of his victimhood, and nothing anyone else can say will change that status OR that paradigm.
As I've written before, so much in life boils down to how we think about things, and how mentally resilient we are in our day to day lives. I suppose the part of psychology that made the most sense to me back in college was the study of the relationship between cognitions (thoughts) and behaviors. I believe that certain thoughts trigger certain emotions (chemicals, really) which then trigger certain behaviors -- so the key to changing an unwanted or unproductive behavior lies in understanding the origins -- the thoughts. And, the key to understanding the thoughts is to understand the framework of experiences those thoughts travel through.
So, to change a behavior, you have to reformulate the thoughts that preceed it. In E's case, rather than feeling sorry for herself because she had no friends or because LM and her table of buddies knew each other a bit better than E did, E (with her mother's help) could have been taught to look at the positive of other kids including her, and to look at the fact that being absent for a few days meant she didn't know everyone as well - YET. She could have seized on the reaching out of the kids and used that to build a different experience upon. But, she didn't.
Unfortunately, it takes a whole lot longer to unravel the path to victim hood than it does to travel down it, which is why we see so many kids turn into teens turn into adults waving the victim banner. And as adults, coming to terms with our own weaknesses, changing cognitions, and riding herd on emotions we are used to giving into and wallowing in requires far more effort and energy and resolve than most people possess. Being a victim rather than a survivor is easy, and alluring in a way. Why take personal responsibility for our actions or words when we can blame someone else? Why look at our own weaknesses or personal shortcomings (because we ALL have them) when we can blame someone else for the problems we cause ourselves? Why give up all that negative attention and run the risk that no one will notice us if we aren't victims?
As a parent I can attest that it can be difficult not to reward the negative attention seeking behavior -- not to give in to a child feeling sorry for herself. It's tough to point out cold reality to an upset daughter or help a child look at what role she played in the situation. It's even harder to do that in a way that allows the child to feel empathized with but not in a way that excuses her own role -- in a way that gives the child ownership and control without blame and belittlement. And, given the rising tide of helicopter-parent-itis, where parents do not want their children to have to deal with ANY negative experiences and so swoop in to fight their fights, defend them, or demand different treatment (regardless of the cause), it is even MORE difficult because your kids see permissive, hovering, mindlessly comforting parents all around them and, on first glance, you can look pretty hard ass in comparison.
But, I have to think the effort will be worth it, if we succeed in steering the kids even a few degrees away from the direction of pure victimology. I laugh at the phrase "teachable moments" but... we really do need to seize those opportunities when they present themselves, and plant the seeds that will, hopefully, be cultivated into a strong core of personal responsibility and resiliency down the road.
Parenthood really does feel like one gigantic experiment with no control group sometimes... but I've realized that, when "they" say "be consistent", it doesn't just mean on a short term basis - it means long term. If you don't lay the groundwork consistently and repeatedly from pretty much the time they hatch, you can't build upon that groundwork as they grow up and the issues become more complicated. It's a lot easier to do it from the start than to suddenly try and do it when they are cruising into teenagerhood. Raising kids is kind of like teaching math -- if you haven't taught them the basics of addition and subtraction, good luck getting them through algebra and calculus.
End of Ramble.
Writing about my friends Kelly/Kellie and thinking about the situations of friends and family, and how they've chosen to handle them, brought me to the question of "why are some people survivors/thrivers and other people victims"?
There are the people who COULD get away with feeling sorry for themselves - life has handed them a plate load plus seconds to handle - yet, while open and honest about the obstacles in their lives, they come across as in control (sometimes teeteringly, lol, but in control) and grounded. And, even when reeling and overwhelmed, as they have every right to be, they never come across a a victim - just as a dusty, worn out survivor.
Then there are the victims. I mean, really, if you think about it, we all know a person, or people, who spend life feeling sorry for themselves and expecting everyone else to as well. The people who almost seem to look for reasons to feel sorry for themselves. The ones who take everyday events and occurences and personalize them. The ones who pick arguments just to show how mean someone is being to them. The ones who take a trauma or tragedy from someone else's life and make it their own. The ones you hesitate to share things with because they will assuredly find some way to turn it around and make it all about them, and their pain. They are the ones you can (and will) have the same exact conversation with, over and over and over again, as they talk about how terrible things are at any given moment, seek advice, resolve to take steps to change things, and then go right back to the way things are, either unwilling or unable to make an effort to change their attitude or behavior. And two weeks or two months later you find yourself following the same script of "woe is me" all over again. And again. And again.
The culture of victimhood is a particular "nails on the chalkboard" issue for me. I've been burned a fair number of times by "victims" and had my battery drained nearly dry by them as well. I've found that victims will turn their wrath upon you faster than a rattler strikes if you cross them -- and by cross I mean "fail to pay appropriate attention or homage to their many problems, needs, and issues." (I can name several people who, if they happened to read this blog would assume immediately I am writing specifically about THEM, which I'm not, and take great offense, thus immediately proving my point, lol). So, in dealing with people like this I've spent time trying to determine how to ensure my children don't end UP like people like that.
The LM had an interesting encounter with a bonafide "victim" last week in her first week of school. The girl, "E" apparently wouldn't leave her mother the first day, so missed that day, and then was sporadically at, and away from, school for the next few days. The 3rd day at lunch, LM saw E standing off to the side, alone, as the kids got their lunches, and LM asked her if she was ok. E responded that she had no friends and didn't want to be there (note that E had made no effort to make friends and had, in fact, effectively ostracized herself by willfully missing school). LM invited E over to sit with her and her friends at their lunch table, and after some persuading, E joined them. LM reported that E eventually loosened up at lunch, but then disappeared shortly after the kids all went outside to run around for the last few minutes of the period.
When LM and her friends got back to class after lunch, the teacher called LM aside and asked who had sat with E at lunch, and LM got the distinct impression they'd been accused of being mean to the girl somehow. Later that afternoon, E came back and proceeded to be passive-aggressive towards LM and another girl during a class exercise, and did it in a way that really irked LM -- to the point she referred to E as a "bitch" during the tale telling.
E didn't show for class Thursday or Friday, and by Sunday was out of the school online directory. Reading between the lines, this girl clearly viewed herself, and encouraged her mother to view her, as a hapless victim. Reality, though, suggests that the girl sought out failure, and created her own drama and issues - and without even really knowing her, we are relieved she is gone given the brief interactions she had with LM last week.
How does an E happen? From personal experience, I can say it takes a concerted effort, over time, to allow and eventually encourage (even unwittingly) a negative, yet extremely self-centered viewpoint of the world. A victim must learn to view everything as a personal affront or attack or criticism -- to see the world as the enemy, and to look through a paradigm of oppression and opposition, even where none exists. A victim learns to take the most innocuous action or word and turn it into an issue, and to use that issue to seek sympathy, or assistance, or whatever form of negative attention possible. Ultimately, a victim uses a paradigm that guarantees perpetuation of his victimhood, and nothing anyone else can say will change that status OR that paradigm.
As I've written before, so much in life boils down to how we think about things, and how mentally resilient we are in our day to day lives. I suppose the part of psychology that made the most sense to me back in college was the study of the relationship between cognitions (thoughts) and behaviors. I believe that certain thoughts trigger certain emotions (chemicals, really) which then trigger certain behaviors -- so the key to changing an unwanted or unproductive behavior lies in understanding the origins -- the thoughts. And, the key to understanding the thoughts is to understand the framework of experiences those thoughts travel through.
So, to change a behavior, you have to reformulate the thoughts that preceed it. In E's case, rather than feeling sorry for herself because she had no friends or because LM and her table of buddies knew each other a bit better than E did, E (with her mother's help) could have been taught to look at the positive of other kids including her, and to look at the fact that being absent for a few days meant she didn't know everyone as well - YET. She could have seized on the reaching out of the kids and used that to build a different experience upon. But, she didn't.
Unfortunately, it takes a whole lot longer to unravel the path to victim hood than it does to travel down it, which is why we see so many kids turn into teens turn into adults waving the victim banner. And as adults, coming to terms with our own weaknesses, changing cognitions, and riding herd on emotions we are used to giving into and wallowing in requires far more effort and energy and resolve than most people possess. Being a victim rather than a survivor is easy, and alluring in a way. Why take personal responsibility for our actions or words when we can blame someone else? Why look at our own weaknesses or personal shortcomings (because we ALL have them) when we can blame someone else for the problems we cause ourselves? Why give up all that negative attention and run the risk that no one will notice us if we aren't victims?
As a parent I can attest that it can be difficult not to reward the negative attention seeking behavior -- not to give in to a child feeling sorry for herself. It's tough to point out cold reality to an upset daughter or help a child look at what role she played in the situation. It's even harder to do that in a way that allows the child to feel empathized with but not in a way that excuses her own role -- in a way that gives the child ownership and control without blame and belittlement. And, given the rising tide of helicopter-parent-itis, where parents do not want their children to have to deal with ANY negative experiences and so swoop in to fight their fights, defend them, or demand different treatment (regardless of the cause), it is even MORE difficult because your kids see permissive, hovering, mindlessly comforting parents all around them and, on first glance, you can look pretty hard ass in comparison.
But, I have to think the effort will be worth it, if we succeed in steering the kids even a few degrees away from the direction of pure victimology. I laugh at the phrase "teachable moments" but... we really do need to seize those opportunities when they present themselves, and plant the seeds that will, hopefully, be cultivated into a strong core of personal responsibility and resiliency down the road.
Parenthood really does feel like one gigantic experiment with no control group sometimes... but I've realized that, when "they" say "be consistent", it doesn't just mean on a short term basis - it means long term. If you don't lay the groundwork consistently and repeatedly from pretty much the time they hatch, you can't build upon that groundwork as they grow up and the issues become more complicated. It's a lot easier to do it from the start than to suddenly try and do it when they are cruising into teenagerhood. Raising kids is kind of like teaching math -- if you haven't taught them the basics of addition and subtraction, good luck getting them through algebra and calculus.
End of Ramble.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)