Dear Triathlon.....(the final triathlon post)

Dear Triathlon,

Thank you. Thank you for challenging me. Thank you for helping me grow. Thank you for every single experience you provided me; the people met, the places travelled, the accomplishments and the setbacks. Thank you for the friendships that will last long beyond triathlon. Thank you even for the injuries, and for the illnesses. Thank you for helping me find within myself, a strength to keep trying, in those moments when I didn’t think I could or didn’t think I should.

Thank you, triathlon, for surrounding me with amazing people; for my coach, Warwick Dalziel, and for the supportive and collaborative training squad that he fosters. Thank you, Warwick for treating all your athletes as people, realising that getting the best out of an athlete means understanding what makes them tick as people. Thank you for being an intelligent coach who taught me so many skills that I will rely on, well after triathlon. You taught me to roll with disappointments, to learn from them certainly but to continue with the process and to trust in it no matter the small knocks along the way. Nothing is linear. Those comforting words after a less than desirable result - “nothing changes”. Those same words too after a breakthrough performance because the reality is, we continue with the process no matter the outcome, always chipping away to be better. Your even temperament whether we win or lose (as long as we’ve done our best), is rare in sport, and it is a real gift for any athlete fortunate to be in your stable. Thank you. Thank you, Jarrod, for starting me in this sport of Elite triathlon back in 2012. Thank you for challenging me in so many ways, constantly forcing me out of my comfort zone. Our Endurance Team family was special and will always be a cherished first chapter in my pro triathlon journey.

Thank you to my training partners from all over the globe. To the ones I’ve trained alongside for years, and others for only a few sessions – you all brought something to my journey and for that, I am so thankful. Many of you are still close friends regardless of whether you are still in the sport, and I know these friendships will last long after I too leave the sport. To the younger girls in Warwick’s squad, keep being awesome, keep being supportive of one another. What you have as a group is something truly special and it will be your greatest asset on your path to reaching each of your individual potentials. Continue to push, encourage and support each other just as you have been doing and you will all continue to flourish; every single one of you.    

Thank you, triathlon, for the highs. Thank you for those moments – no matter how few and far between – when all the hard work came to fruition, when the result actually reflected the training. Thank you for my ITU Conti Cup win in 2014 even though I didn’t appreciate it at the time. If I could have my time again, I wouldn’t take it for granted like I did then. Thank you for teaching me that valuable lesson such that when I finished on the podium again in 2015, with the fastest run time of the day and my fastest 10km run time too, I was able to recognise it for the good day it was. Thank you for my 2^nd place in my third professional half ironman attempt, when I knew how special it was after a race setback only four weeks prior. Thank you for another podium, this time in Asia, where I placed 2^nd behind someone who had been such a good friend to me when I first started in international triathlon. The only thing better than a podium performance, is sharing those podiums with friends. And thank you, triathlon, for helping the little junior runner in me, achieve a childhood dream of qualifying to represent my country at a Professional World Championship.  

Thank you, triathlon, for meaning so much to me that you could also cause me such despair. I’ve shed tears for you in the Philippines, Japan and Spain when illness forced me out of key races at crucial times. You gutted me when I had ridden out of my skin into 3^rd place in Poland in one of my first 70.3 distance races, and a tack on the road pierced my back tyre at 83km (out of 90km). You frustrated me in 2014 when I gave my all to swimming but I felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall. You made me feel helpless and angry when I couldn’t race on my TT bike without debilitating pain in my lower back and left leg in early 2018. I’ve felt the heartache and agony of being cleared to run again post injury, only to feel the same excruciating pain after just 20 seconds of running again. I’ve driven home from the doctor in tears, and then agonised, waiting for a stress echocardiogram to determine the nature of a heart murmur. Every set back brought with it the question of whether I should keep going or return to the world of Investment Banking, but every time, I chose you, triathlon. I chose to keep going. Through all this pain, I feel so lucky to have found something that I have loved that much. Thank you, triathlon, for finding me, and for having on me, the impact that you have had.

Thank you for the corners of the world I’ve seen thanks to you: From the small fishing town of Gdynia on the Baltic sea, in Poland, to the remote lakeside community of Egirdir in Turkey where we feasted post-race on Baklava. I’ve fallen off a treadmill doing race preparation in South Africa, and battled airline staff regarding lost bikes in Mauritius. I’ve raced in a World Cup in the pristine waters of Cozumel, Mexico and have crashed my bike in torrential rain and flooding before a World Cup in Cartagena, Colombia. I’ve ridden back from a race in midday traffic through midtown, Manhattan. I’ve caught trains for hours through countryside Taiwan and Japan, en route to races. I’ve enjoyed post-race Rosé in Marseille, France, post-race wiener schnitzel in Zurich, Switzerland, and succumbed to post-race gastro in Liuzhou, China (twice!). I’ve bonded with friends and met new friends through the desperate rehydration process of post-race drug testing in far flung parts of the world. I’ve been fortunate to call Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain, home for 3 months of each year since 2014, and found a second home at Café Taza after long, hilly rides in the Spanish sun.

Thank you, triathlon, for also showing me personality traits I hope never to see in myself. Thank you for exposing me to a sad, small number of people who opt for cutting others down rather than supporting and encouraging them – my biggest belief has always been that our competitors, our training partners and friends in the sport, are truly our best asset, as they are what will help us along the most, making us all better. We are each other’s best chance of reaching our own potential. Supporting and encouraging someone else will not hinder your own success at all. Some people unfortunately view their own success and the success of someone else as mutually exclusive events. They aren’t and you won’t be slowed down by helping and supporting someone else.

Thank you for lining up the circumstances that became the impetus for me to chase another childhood dream. I had dreamt of studying an MBA since I was in my mid-teens but when I began the triathlon journey so late in life, I believed that triathlon was my sabbatical from full time work, that I had made my choice and that it meant no MBA. Thank you, triathlon, for teaching me to control my own destiny, to channel my irritation at others into living my best life. Provoked, I ordered a GMAT text book in late 2017 and controlled that which I could control, beginning the path to MBA applications. Thank you too, triathlon, for giving me the courage to shoot for the moon, to apply to the business schools I dreamt of attending but didn’t truly believe I could get in to. Thank you for challenging me and my values so much over the last six years that I was able to write my admissions essays knowing exactly who I am, and what I stand for. Thank you for the hours on the bike in the Spanish mountains, giving me time to truly reflect and work out exactly what I want from life, and what my career and life ambitions are beyond triathlon.

Thank you, triathlon, for providing me enough setbacks that when I received offers of admission from both Cambridge and INSEAD, I was overwhelmed with appreciation. When both schools awarded me scholarships - the Forte Fellowship at Cambridge and an INSEAD merit scholarship – I was overcome by shock and disbelief. Thank you, triathlon, for ensuring constant humility, such that achievements like these are now truly appreciated, and not for one second, taken for granted.

Although I do have another partial triathlon season left in 2019, now seems like the right time to reflect on what has been, and to take the deep breath needed before launching into what will be a transition phase. I will be racing in 2019, and I will be racing hard, but I will also be making sure to enjoy the last part of what has been an unforgettable chapter of my life. At the same time, I will be preparing for what lies ahead: In September, I will pack a different set of bags. The bikes will be left behind, and in their place, will be textbooks, a pair of cross-country spikes and lots of winter clothing. For the first time in five years, I will have a winter and not just one but two in a row.  I will be bound for Cambridge University, where I will continue my life-long love for running but the focus will be on the academic. It will be the start of a new chapter. Like I did in July of 2012, I will find myself at the beginning again.

Thank you, triathlon, for the good, the bad, and everything in between.

Identity ... (First Half 2017 & Qualifying for Worlds)

Somewhere between the hours of slog and drudge of study, and amongst the many hours spent in front of a financial model, I unintentionally “found myself” this May. I discovered what really motivates me, and just like that, I discovered a clarity that I had thought I’d had, that I kind of had had but hadn’t really had, before now (still with me?). Sadly, I think this also means I’m officially OLD now.

I write this (belated) update from my home away from home, in Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain. I’ve now been here for four weeks with this, unbelievably, being my fourth summer here. This time though, I’m finding myself appreciating things I haven’t appreciated before. I marvelled at an old church the other day. What?! I’m finding myself chuckling over things that previously would have driven me nuts, and I’m even uttering a word here and there in Spanish – and attempting to bring back my long lost ten years of French by throwing words over the balcony at my poor neighbour, Luke. From a training perspective, I am, for the first time, feeling deeply settled and eager to maximise every single day (rather than to simply survive). The volume no longer daunts me and I’m finally “adventuring” on the bike. Like music to a former room-mate’s ears (Rebecca!), I am breaking free of my repetitive “out and backs” and finding roads and climbs never before travelled by me. It’s quite bizarre but my mind seems to have undergone some kind of tectonic shift the last couple of months.

Through all the hours of my head in the books in May, bending my mind around financial mathematics in the lead up to a six hour exam in early June, I caught myself actually really loving it. I was taking a study break with a friend one day – a walking lap of our neighbourhood - and I was having a massive vent about the nastiness of the exam I was preparing for, and the lottery it is to actually get through it… and then I stopped myself. After a solid fifteen minutes of ranting and raving, I ended with a “but”: “BUT I live for this”. The thrill of chasing a reward that mathematically speaking, “probably” won’t be achieved, is what I live for. I get bored with easy, and I get lazy. As one of my junior school teachers remarked to my parents at the time, I don’t try unless there’s a test, or a challenge. I am constantly searching for that level where I’m only just holding on (whatever that level may be), or I lose interest. It’s not the end result, but rather the pain and stress of chasing the result that I love. That’s one of the reasons why I race even when I’m not 100% fit (coupled with an intrinsic love of simply racing) and it is why I am Hell bent on trying to juggle study, some part time financial analysis work, and preparing for the 70.3 Professional World Championships this year. It’s when I’m almost (but not quite) drowning, that I’m actually most calm and happy, and I have finally, definitively, worked that out.

But I’ve digressed …       

So the year began for me after a far shorter off-season than usual. Five or six weeks of training and I was heading to South Africa for my first race of the season. I didn’t mind that I wasn’t super fit – I’m not an ego driven competitor. I had one goal for this year. I worked backwards from that and knew what I had to do in order to achieve it. Simple. The fact that East London (South Africa) is known as one of (if not THE) most challenging courses on the circuit, just made the challenge even more fun (read painful). I finished 8^th there, sunburnt, sore, a fungal infection in my mouth from the swimming water, but I had earned Worlds points to complement my second and sixth places from the second half of 2016. The job was done, albeit messy, scrappy and painful. Not all days at the office are under “ideal” circumstances. Of course my preference is to race fit, and to race well, but if the choices are either to not race, or to race under done, I will choose the latter every time. Little did I know though that this would become a common theme as I battled my body through the first part of this year.

In the interests of brevity, the months of February through the end of April can be summarised by the following ailments: a heart murmur that required investigating (and a temporary cessation of training until, thankfully, all was deemed A-ok by the cardiologist), an awful gastro from the swimming water in China (along with most of the pro field!), a nasty flu only a few days after the gastro, my ongoing back issues (actually behaving more than my immune system thankfully!), low vitamin-B and low iron. Amidst all this, I continued to race. Training may have been marred by inconsistency but racing is why I am a professional athlete so as long as I could be on the start line, I would be. For me, it was also simply a case of having to get on with it. I had no choice if I wanted to qualify for World Championships. I finished this period of racing with a fourth, a fifth, an eighth and an eleventh on the international stage and a first and second back home.

Finally, with one race left of the qualifying period – I was selling my soul to study and work for the month of May and thus shortening my window for World’s qualifying races – I was actually healthy. I had put together three full weeks of training, and I was excited to race. And then, mid race, my bike broke. Fifty kilometres into the bike leg in Vietnam, my entire front end dropped 90 degrees. I held it up for a few kilometres, attempting denial, and then realised that I was a bike crash waiting to happen. A thirty minute wait for a mechanic (that never showed) evolved into a slow roll back to transition. Slow (I mean really slow) and steady was the only speed at which I could keep myself from toppling over the front of my drooping handlebars. At no point was I not finishing though. With my total focus being on staying upright for the remaining thirty or so kilometres, it wasn’t until a few kilometres into the run that my human side came forward and I started to sook. I walk/jogged the remainder of the half marathon, trying desperately to take any positives from the situation – encouraging fellow athletes around me, assisting with passing drinks around at the aid stations and absorbing the atmosphere that you don’t often have the chance to do when fighting to the line. I also kept reminding myself that I am a professional athlete and thus need to conduct myself like one despite the circumstances. I was largely able to achieve this until the final straight when, in a state of hunger flatting (I’d been out on course for an hour and a half longer than normal!), I pulled my visor a little lower over my face and started to cry: the months prior taking their toll. I thought that because of this mechanical, I would fall out of the World’s top 40 – the level required for a round 1 invite to World Champs – and it was going to be because of an “uncontrollable”.

Within 48 hours, I was head in the books – another reason why I so strongly advocate some form of “balance” in sport – with my next task (this time an academic one) staring me right in the face and the events of the weekend buried in the past. When I received the email a few weeks later, saying that I had indeed qualified for World’s in the first round, it was a huge relief. And so, with certainty of the task ahead, I arrived in Spain in mid-June, able to sink my teeth into training for Worlds (starting with shedding some of that study weight!). With some “brain” work to keep me balanced, and some fun preparations for the next academic challenge, it all makes for a happy and excited Sarah.

Everyone is so different, so unique. Some thrive on having one focus, and I’m in awe of those people, but that’s not me. To ignore my academic ambitions is to ignore a key part of my identity. With a heightened focus on academic endeavours, I find myself more focused on my sporting ones too. I’ve finally, definitively worked it out. For me, it’s not “all in” to one thing, it’s “all in” across academic and sporting endeavours and striving to achieve all that I can in both, that truly makes me happy and makes me who I am.      

2016 ... (My debut long course season)

I am an analyst: by nature, by training, and by profession. So, when my season is complete – the only way I find to adequately dissect my year and move on is by some clean and simple analysis with some quick and dirty facts and figures. Given my four year ends in this sport have not quite ended on my preferred terms too (what I now call the curse of the final race), it is so important to remember the good that has come from each season and to be able to head off on break able to actually celebrate the good. 

My “curse of the final race” theory started in my first year racing as a professional (then an ITU athlete) in 2013 when I was forced to withdraw from Noosa in the preceding week due to a chest infection I’d picked up in Hong Kong the previous week. 2014 saw me crash my bike while riding in a torrential downpour and flash flooding the day before the Cartagena ITU World Cup in Colombia. In 2015, I slipped two discs in my back ending any chance of a finish in Noosa or a start at Challenge Shepparton. Today, I had a slow leaking flat tyre. The circumstances have certainly been varied.

Under the above circumstances, amidst the disappointment, it is so easy to forget anything good that has come before it. If the final race is a bust, then the whole year has been too. Right? Of course not! That’s completely irrational. But I think I’ve mentioned in a previous post – possibly when trying to extrapolate the “good” from a previous year – that athletes tend to be quite irrational when it comes to our approval of our own performances. The reality is this: I started my season – and quoting my very words – wanting “consistency.” I even ventured on to request that this be the “ultimate word that I hope to attribute to 2016 come its end.” I didn’t say anything about podiums, or places, or results at all. So how did my year go from that, and being happy just to be training again (post a potentially career ending injury), to being happy with a top 10 (9^th female overall) in my first Professional (and first ever) attempt at a 70.3 distance race, to being thrilled with a 6^th place in my second race, and from there only wanting more and more. Once I stepped on my first Professional long course podium in July, I wanted every race to end with flowers and champagne. “Just” a top 10 suddenly looked so inferior. My perceptions had changed and a 7^th place in Zurich was deemed somewhat of a disappointment (the race was won by Nicola Spirig!). God forbid, a 9^th place in Slovakia at the end of August! And when another podium came in Korea, I could argue that it wasn’t as good as my podium in July because I wasn’t happy with my finishing time or my bike time and the field wasn’t as deep. Gosh, we ARE a hard lot to please we athletes. And when I pulled over today, 40km of riding on a slow leaking tyre later, well that just apparently made my whole year a total disaster and left me feeling totally undeserving of a break because ONE out of my eleven races this year ended in disappointment (well actually three out of eleven had – still not bad odds though in reality) but this just happened to be the last race of the season and so deemed every race before it, good or bad, irrelevant…. In my irrational athlete mind.  

So going back to my original words from April this year: “consistency. The ultimate word I hope to attribute to 2016 come its end.” Did I achieve that? Yes.

And the quick and dirty race figures for 2016, after which I hope to prove to myself that 2016 was, despite today, a pretty satisfying debut long course season:

·       11 international professional start lines toed (2x Olympic distance and 9x70.3 distance events), of which 3 were DNF’s (2x punctures and 1x sickness all at 70.3 distance)

·       Of the 8 races finished, 2 were podiums (2x seconds over the 70.3 distance), and 3 more top 6’s (a 4th and 2x 6ths), making 5 out of 8 top 6 results (overall and within the pro fields)

·       In no race was I outside the top 10 overall female (pro and age group)   

So why am I not happier right now? Even putting to bed today’s disappointment, it’s probably attributable in at least some part to these other “quick and dirty figures” for my 2016 race season (current BEFORE I venture home tomorrow):

·       60 flights

·       17 countries

·       242 hours spent on a plane (not including transit in airports)

·       167,398km travelled by plane

To those people who smirk and say how lucky we professional athletes are to be “living the dream,” ponder for one moment please, the toll we choose to take on our minds and bodies in doing this – the above should shed some light. Don’t get me wrong though; To me, I AM living MY dream. I’m pursuing something I love to do, and giving myself the chance to reveal my true potential. I’m representing my country at an Elite level – something I only ever dreamed of as a junior runner. But I’m no fool. The way this phrase is intended by those who say it, is not the same as that which I have just said. It is intended as a dig, a negative remark that totally discounts the trials and tribulations that we as professional athletes subject ourselves to on a daily basis. Not to mention that we totally put ourselves out there to have every single result judged. We spend the above number of hours on planes each season, navigating airports and battling airline staff (with bikes) for 11 months of the year while our friends and families are carrying on with life without us. Forget NOT also, that many professionals are also studying and/or working in some capacity. I, myself, included. Because in order to live "the dream” as so many say, I had to temporarily give up living my other “dream” of being a mining analyst with a Wall Street Investment Bank that I worked so hard to achieve throughout my five year university degree. I am fortunate, but I’m not lucky. I, like all other professional athletes, work so hard and sacrifice so much to be in this position. Like other jobs, there are good days, and there are bad – only our bad days are fully observable by others. There are sacrifices and there are also huge thrills. This may be MY dream, but not THE dream.

And with that, I will later this week embark upon my two weeks of “annual leave” a year, fully cleansed and reasonably satisfied with the season behind me. On the other side of those two weeks, season 2017 begins in earnest. There’s a lot of work to be done. My body is exhausted for now, but my mind can’t wait. Thank you 2016; for the good, the bad and EVERYTHING in between!       

More than a Simple Result... (The other factors)

Last weekend I crossed the line second in the Ironman 70.3 Gurye in South Korea. It was just my fifth race over the distance, my second podium for the distance and my first in an Ironman branded event. I was more than satisfied with that result. After all, I had gone into the race thinking third or fourth would have been my eventual finishing place. So a second place was above expectation and a result with which I was more than happy …. But a few people close to me remarked over the following 48 hours that I should have been happier than I appeared to be. It wasn’t that I was sulking around but rather that I should have seemed happier. Even a training buddy and close friend of mine said he’d been slightly annoyed with how not overjoyed I had appeared in the afternoon after the race. I knew inside that I was more than content with the result, but the observers were right; I wasn’t feeling the way even I would have expected following such a result. It made me realise that results and performances are so much more complex than a simple finishing number. So much more. You can still be absolutely thrilled with a finishing place (an outcome), but there are so many more variables at play when you finish a race than just what place you have finished…And this became an interesting train of thought that nicely occupied me over the 36 hour journey home.

Sunday was a battle for me. One of those races that are just tough. We’ve all had those days. In over four and a half hours, I didn’t feel any form of rhythm. Not even once. I was fighting the pedals all day on the bike, constantly getting out of the saddle just to try to increase the momentum. My Di2 was jumping constantly, leaving me only two gears to ride in safely. It frustrated me. But on I battled. It was just a long, tough day out. I applied every mental game I’ve ever played on myself to get through. Make no mistake, this description is the furthest thing from an excuse (remember, I am actually thrilled with the finishing place), but rather an explanation for a battle weary athlete crossing the line.

Reason number one for a lower than expected level of joy and excitement: I was oh so battle weary.

There was also a hint of disappointment in my own personal performance, falling short of prior performances, especially on the bike. This disappointment was completely and utterly, 100% independent from the finishing place because a personal best performance still wouldn’t have changed the end result, or even come close to it. It is the distinction between a “performance” and a “result”. I was thrilled with the “result”, but disappointed with my “performance”. That actually IS possible. Remember, it’s not black and white. It’s not simple. And it shows how much athletes are often driven more by personal bests than by results.

Reason number two for a lower than expected level of joy and excitement: I was somewhat disappointment in my own personal “performance”

The journey to and from Gurye in South Korea was nothing short of epic. It was a beautiful place, but to achieve such beauty, it really was quite isolated. There was only a limited number of shuttles for the four hour bus trip to/from Incheon airport so flights etc had to be planned around a very set bus timetable. This meant that we actually had to be on a bus within five hours of finishing the half ironman on Sunday. In that five hours, we had a soft presentation, waited for our bikes to be released from T2, returned to our accommodation (10km away) to pack our bikes, returned to the race venue for the official awards ceremony, and returned again to the accommodation in time for the four hour bus trip back to Incheon. Arriving at our airport hotel at Incheon at midnight, and being up for morning flights the next morning back to Hong Kong to then endure a seven hour layover before an overnight flight back home to Melbourne. You can understand then that upon finishing the race, my thoughts were not so much with the result but rather the mammoth task ahead to get back home. There was no nap time, no time for substantial food – just a few ice creams from the convenience store. By the time I boarded the shuttle that evening, I was sore, hungry and exhausted. Good result or not, nothing would change that. This is often the life of a pro athlete: finish a race, and get going …although I usually depart the following morning which is at least long enough to have an afternoon nap and some good food the evening post race. Unless generous flight and race schedules allow, there is rarely time to bask in the glory of a race well done. It’s pack up and move on home, to recover and prepare for the next job. The demanding nature of this particular journey home however, was the most dramatic example of this that I’ve so far encountered.    

Reason number three for a lower than expected level of joy and excitement: I could think of nothing but the mammoth task ahead of being ready for that evening’s bus ride, and the long, fiddly journey home. Add to that increasing exhaustion and hunger…

You see, a result itself is just an outcome. It’s one cog in a massive wheel – arguably the most important cog, but just one nonetheless. There is so much more to a day out racing. It is so much more complex, and we as athletes are also complex creatures. A great outcome can be brought about by a less than ideal “performance”, while a personal best performance can yield an - on paper – less than impressive result. Other factors too come into play: exhaustion, tiredness, hunger, stress. All these too can cripple excitement upon achieving a sought after outcome. Over time though, these other factors do fade, and the one thing remaining is the result. It’s through this process that I’m probably now feeling the way I “should” have on Sunday – it just took me a number of days.

        

Riding Rollercoasters.. (the ups and downs of pro sport)

I was aimlessly standing on a travelator in one of Hong Kong Airport’s numerous wings, letting it carry me nowhere. I had a number of hours before my flight, and I was in a fog. People were rushing around me, and normally I’d be the first one to push back. Usually, I’d be so eager to get to the gate, the airline lounge, anywhere as quickly as I possibly could no matter the collateral damage along the way. I have never been known to actually move slowly (or not at all) in an airport. I was travelling alone, returning back to Australia from a disappointing outing in Japan. Disappointing because I felt I’d let myself down. Yes, I was unwell - I had woken the day before the race with a sinus infection. But whether or not I was weak in a moment kept haunting me. Could I have kept going? And why had my illness not waited just two more days to rear its ugly head? So here I was, amidst the emotion and fatigue of a long travel day, being unwell, being disappointed, and honestly, I really was in quite a funk as I rode the endless succession of travelators.  

“This is SO cool, this is SO cool. How cool is THIS?!” – Far from articulate but genuine excitement rarely is. I was trying valiantly to capture every second. I wanted to bottle this feeling. I had never seen nor heard crowds like this. And I had most definitely not ever had the privilege of them cheering for me. Not even four weeks since my pity party on the travelator in Hong Kong, and here I was on cloud nine, in Spain, approaching the finish line for my first ever long course international pro podium, in my third ever long course event, and finding myself ahead of girls I’d only feared when I’d stalked the start list the day before. Could any two consecutive races more perfectly represent the rollercoaster that is professional sport?!

But how did I get to these two races, from my first 70.3 outing in April….

April to the beginning of June is a tricky time for southern hemisphere triathletes. The weather gets colder, the days shorter. Winter exit strategies feel a little too far away to lighten the mood and each day – each session even – becomes a metaphorical (and literal) case of one foot in front of the other. It’s the day in, day out slog that those outside of our sport don’t see.

I chose to add a little sprinkling of summer to my taste of winter this year, firstly with the Noumea International Triathlon, and then two weeks later, with my second ever 70.3 attempt in Vietnam. Both races were satisfying days out. I finished 4^th in Noumea on tired legs, and in a field where I’d expected to be around 3^rd or 4^th. It was nothing amazing, but not at all bad either; just a day out where the job was done, some money earned …. Oh and it was a rather nice island to spend 5 days on, “working”. Result aside, the event itself was fantastic, and one to which I will most certainly return (despite the 5m draft zone).

Vietnam 70.3 had me again questioning why on Earth I seemed so obsessed with making these first attempts at the longer distance so much harder than they already would have been, adding stifling heat to an already daunting challenge. Fast forward 8 weeks to athletes complaining about the 30 degree heat during my race in Spain, and then I realised the benefit of being exposed to such ridiculous climates in my first two outings. The weather in Spain didn’t cross my mind once during that race… but back to Vietnam and whilst more tolerable than Malaysia had been, the aid stations were still my best friend with the repetitive routine - water, Coke, water, sponge – at every single one of the twelve aid stations along the route. I was proud of my more disciplined approach to my running pace this time, even negative splitting my last 5km. The overall time was an improvement on my first 70.3 outing and my finishing 6^th pro was also progress: job done, a couple of boxes ticked, but now I was starting to itch for that next step up and onto the podium.

So then, Japan happened, and we will leave that one floating along the travelator in Hong Kong. Enough said. Enough learned.

And so now I find myself five weeks into my European summer and two weeks post my “cloud nine” race experience in Spain. In those five weeks, I have survived the worst gastro I have had since I was ten years old: vomiting every hour, on the hour, for ten hours straight. Contrasting that, not two weeks later, I achieved the above mentioned podium in the Triathlon Vitoria Half Ironman – a career highlight. A week after that, I was on antibiotics for another sinus infection. But before that had time to strike me down, I snuck in two swim sets in a row on time cycles I had never before achieved. You see, as the first two paragraphs of this blog post show, and as the events of these past five weeks have highlighted, the life of an athlete is a constant up and down rollercoaster. But what I’m slowly developing is an ability to smile through it all, to follow that annoying cliché of “enjoying the journey”, to not get too caught up in the bad (but rather, to learn from it), and as a teammate said to me following my “good” day in Spain, to also soak up the good days. The one guarantee with professional sport is that there will be both kinds of days, and plenty of them.    

Patience & Consistency... (the beginning of my 70.3 journey)

Here are some truths; for the month of December, my average weekly bike volume was 72km. In January, it was 158km. February came and went with an average weekly bike volume of 148km and in March, I clocked an average 201kms per week. This is what a sensible return from injury looks like. With only these numbers in the bank, I lined up on Sunday for my first 70.3 (and simultaneously, my first long course professional race) with my best strategy not coming out of a fabulous preparation, but rather trying to apply the “ignorance is bliss” and “fake it til you make it” mentalities. In the end, I largely did fake it, finishing my first 70.3 and surprising myself to finish 9^th female overall and in a pro field in which I was the only athlete to have never raced the distance. Indeed, I felt like a school student at a new school with a field full of seasoned 70.3 champions and medallists suddenly all around me. People may baulk at my lack of volume. Indeed I’m not deluded enough myself to think of it as anything close to what I need to be doing for this distance, but the other truth is that I sit here today, with my back letting me fight another day. It was worth the cautious build. The build that I don’t anticipate nearing an end until much later in the year. “Consistency” – The ultimate word that I hope to attribute to 2016 come its end.  

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that I decided to do a 70.3. I definitely remember declaring numerous times over the past few years that I would never “go long”. But when did that change? I really can’t remember. I think it was a gradual process. I remember entering Challenge Shep at the end of last year, but that was simply as an “end of season why not little fun challenge”. I subsequently pulled out pre-race with injury but how did that then become entering for Geelong 70.3 in February this year – and subsequently withdrawing pre-race due to the same injury. And when did that turn into my whole year now becoming solely about 70.3 racing and not ITU? These questions suddenly sprang to mind, quite inconveniently as I dove into the 31 degree waters of Lake Putrajaya on Sunday. How did I get here?!

 

With the race underway, I bluffed my way through 90km of hard riding. I rode an average of 36km/hr on a very lumpy 45km x2 bike course which is what I usually average for an Olympic non-drafting race. I had no bike computer, no power data, but just focussed on the girl ahead and making sure I maintained a legal distance (probably being overly cautious on that front in hindsight and sitting 15-20m back) whilst totally entrusting her to pace the entire 90km. I simply would have had no idea myself.

 

Come the run, I couldn’t quite bluff my way through. A half marathon in searing temperatures that had many of the pros walking (myself included) is a totally different beast to a 10km off a 40km bike in “everyday” conditions. With temperatures up to 39 degrees, and high humidity, it was quite simply a death march. The run was where I saw the eventual 4^th place getter slip away from me. I ran the first 7km like an ITU race and found myself in 6^th place after dismounting the bike in 8^th …. And then, like the flick of a switch, I was walking by 8km. At around 8.5km I decided to try walk/jogs. By the time I discovered my team mate and good friend, Will, sitting by the path at 11km (his day sadly over when he had ended in an ambulance a few kms earlier), I was sure my day too was done. To his credit, he got up and attempted to get going again himself, providing me pivotal support as I considered whether I truly could make it around another 10km. The problem was, I only had two gears: ITU pace and walking. It was only when we began to jog with the approach of “this is my warm down”, that I was able to find something sustainable to get me to the finish line.

 

My lack of volume going into this event was in no way born out of a lack of respect for the distance. Quite the opposite. I understand what it takes all too well, and that is a fully healthy body that can withstand all the mileage. So to that end, I wont be lining up for my next 70.3 with a sudden increase in mileage following a sudden realisation that I need to be riding 300-400km a week. I do know that’s what is ultimately needed, but I’ll be taking the sensible approach, progressing slowly and gradually. Consistency: That is what 2015 lacked and is my only focus for 2016.

Oh and I’m NEVER doing a full ironman ;)

That Rough Year... (The rollercoaster that was 2015)

I tend to disagree with the phrase "things happen for a reason". Funny, because it used to be one of my favourites. But sometimes, things don't happen for a reason. Sometimes, whilst you may be able to grow, learn and become stronger, and even see some positives through an experience, it is still just brutally unfair, painful and without reason.

Loss is one such experience. It sucks. Pure and simple. Even for the most optimistic and positive of us, the feeling of loss can be hard to shirk off. Sadly, my family got to experience this feeling twice this year. Finding positives in such a situation is a decision, it's in the head. It doesn't make you feel less sad no matter how much positive self talk you do - trust me, I've tried! 2015 will be filed away with the title "that rough year".

But...Even the steepest and deepest dips on a roller coaster also have their ups.

As an athlete too, this year was a tricky one to navigate. Illness marred the first half of my athletic season but even within that I need to remember that I did manage to pull out some performances with which I'm satisfied - A podium at one of Melbourne's largest fun runs, Run for the Kids (32,000+ competitors in total); a training session of 10x1kms in times I still don't believe I actually did; my best swim of the first half of the year perfectly timed at the ITU Oceania Championships where I finished 13^th Elite (and taking home important ITU ranking points); a couple of Gatorade Elite podiums and scoring valuable ITU points at Oceania Cups....

The second half of the year was a lot kinder to me as an athlete. It too was the most difficult though on a personal level. In June, loss number one occurred, just as I had landed in Spain for three months. In October, loss number two occurred, two days before the Noosa Triathlon.

But.....

Whilst nothing can offset the gravity of grief, again I need to extrapolate the positives from this year. I need to focus on those and use them as the building blocks for 2016. 2015, whilst having the lowest of lows, did have some very satisfying high points too.

I surprised myself to finish on the pro podium (3rd) in my first non-drafting professional race at the 5150 in Marseille, France with the fastest female run time of the day (also my best 10km run off the bike of my life).

I finished 7th in the ITU European Cup in Turkey (within the all-important ITU points threshold) and had a top 5 run time at the ITU European Cup in Latvia (riding and running my way into 14th after being almost 30th out of the water).

Closer to home, I was happy to win the overall female Victorian Duathlon Title, and be in the middle of two World Champ representative athletes on the podium at Raby Bay. An 8th place (7th Australian) at Australia's richest triathlon, the Nepean Triathlon, in an intimidating pro field, was my last race this season that I finished.

Uncharacteristically, my body started to cave in Sept. The long haul flights and thus sitting and sleeping in odd positions, probably just catching up with me. A niggle in my back since the last week of September seemed to ease and was managed through the State Duathlon Champs, Gatorade Triathlon and the Nepean Triathlon. But at some point, you've got to be realistic, smart and know when to call it. And so, with an irritated back turning into an angry back, over and out to 2015 one race sooner than hoped was the only smart choice.

Throughout this debacle of a year, my coach, Warwick Dalziel has been exceptional. He has coached me this year as a person, not as an athlete. In a year that has thrown at us what it did, that was what was needed, but it's what many coaches would fail to do. In high performance sport, it's so easy to forget that we athletes are people first and athletes second. Warwick recognized this and it needs to be acknowledged. Thank you.

To my sponsors - Funkita Swimwear, Merida Bikes, Fitzroy Cycles, Injinji, Asics, Pure Sports Hydration, and Melbourne Sports Hub – thank you! You probably have no idea just how truly thankful I am for your support, particularly this year.

With all that has happened this year, on and off the track, I keep forgetting how new I am to this game. After all, it was just two and bit years ago that I started this crazy journey of a professional triathlete. My first little parcel of ITU racing was Sept/Oct of 2013. I did 3 Asian Cups in 5 weeks, had a break and hit Oceania and European Cups for the first time just last year. Wow, these two years have included so much more than it feels could happen in just two years. 2016 can't come around soon enough.


So to 2015 I say "good riddance" but I also say "thank you". Thank you for challenging me in ways I've never before been challenged. Thank you for making me stronger. Thank you for teaching me more about myself as an athlete and a person than I thought possible in just one season. And thank you for some surprise good performances (amongst the disappointments), that showed me what I'm capable of in 2016.

Onward and upward.