Faith, trust and pixie dust ... (ITU Lantau Asian Cup)

There’s something special about a Disney movie. It makes you feel happy, safe, and strangely carefree; essentially, just like a child again. On some level, every single Disney movie reduces us all to a simple life motto of “hakuna matata.”  That’s what I love about Disney even now and why, when I was younger, I would absolutely lose myself in Disney movies and books. Disneyland really is, possibly, the “happiest place on Earth”…..and why I was not going to miss the opportunity to race at Hong Kong’s Disneyland in the ITU Lantau Asian Cup.

So maybe it was all the “Disney” in the air, but something led me to be completely void of any nerves at all prior to the race. More realistically, it was because there were no expectations on me at all. You see, I’m an athlete that likes to go quietly, to simply do my thing, and with no bravado (no matter what place I finish). The fantastic by-product of this is that no one has any real expectations for you. In Hong Kong, I felt free, liberated, and like I had absolutely nothing to lose. It was great.  

The strength of the field at the top end was a step up on the two prior Conti Cups I’d raced. This field had a 2-time Olympian headlining it, followed by a breakaway swimmer in two World Cups this year, three other girls in the top 125 on the ITU points list and another who’d just raced U23 in London. Then there was the rest of the field, pretty much all of which were far stronger swimmers than I (but what’s new?!). It was an intimidating line up for me, but still, I simply felt like I just had nothing to lose. With a 4.3km bike loop, I was half expecting to be lapped out before even having the chance to put my running shoes on. I guess that assisted in my kamikaze game plan of swimming like there was no bike leg, and riding like there was no run leg. After all, that wasn’t far from being a very real possibility.  

Thus the journey began. A pontoon start next to the Disneyland ferry terminal and strangely enough, I found I had some friends for the first 800m. Predictably though, I was then on my own; Just me and the voice of Dory from Finding Nemo, begging me to “just keep swimming.” To be honest, every kayaker I swam past, I watched for an extra second, just waiting to see if they were following me in. Of course, that would mean I was the last swimmer. I hadn’t seen them coming in so I had a glimmer of hope. I was relieved then, when upon running toward T1, I got confirmation that indeed I wasn’t actually last out of the water or even close to.

The strangest thing then happened. I grabbed my bike, and could see girls that I most certainly did NOT expect to see, just leaving transition. To be in a pack on the bike where there were a few of us working hard, was exciting. You see, not only does being a weak swimmer mean you miss the front packs, but you also tend to miss the strong riders, thus you find yourself towing everyone else in your pack along. Here though, I had my first taste of riding with decent riders. Whilst our chase pack had two lazy (or smart, depending on which way you look at it) riders, there were three of us committed to holding off those behind and driving the pack closer to the leaders. Each lap however, we watched hopelessly as the two front pairs of two merged into a hard-working, organized group of four. The distinction going into T2 was clear: A front pack of four, our chase pack of five and others well behind. Conclusion: our pack was racing for the one remaining position that would earn a pay cheque (no matter how small) - fifth.

I usually find that within one or two footsteps on the run, I know if I’ll run well or not. It’s that quick, that instantaneous. I just know. Either I feel light and bouncy and find a rhythm instantly, or it’s a slog from the very first step. And so it is the greatest relief when you feel that “tap tap tap” of your feet straight out of T2. On Saturday, I found that “tap tap tap”.…. But at the same time, niggling away at my mind was the fact that I’d been on antibiotics all week for a brilliantly timed sore throat/sinus infection/head cold combo. Would it creep up on me later in the run? Paralyze me? Stop me dead in my tracks? The answer was; it might. But luckily, it didn’t….at all. I did have a fun encounter with my close friends, the ever recurring blister brigade across my feet (but I’m sadly getting used to that now). I managed to get fifth, my second top five in as many races, but arguably, given the field, my best result to date.

And what I am most thankful for is that very oddly, very strangely - on waking with a nasty chest infection the following morning - I realized that in the last couple of weeks, the closest I have been to 100% healthy was actually in just those two hours on Saturday. It was this mystic window, almost magical, almost “Disney-like”. When I look back, had the race been on any day earlier in the week or even the next day, I’d have quite literally not been well enough to race. But I make NO excuse because on Saturday, (blisters aside), there was no sense of being unwell AT ALL.
Of course, in line with the notion of cause and effect, I am now very sadly, out of the Noosa Triathlon. I clearly used all my lucky chips of dodging illness for those two hours last weekend. To look back though at this recent little race season, my first in Conti Cups, and to see how I ended it… well, it’s good enough for me.

Embracing the Journey ... (Singapore and China Conti Cups)

“Someone in the world is training when you are not. When you race them, they will win.” This quote feeds the obsessive athlete, it torments the slightly less obsessive and niggles at the mind of the dedicated. Either way, as an Elite athlete, being told to take time off is cue for some form of unease. Being told to have a week off running and swimming, when you only have two weeks until your next international race, is not exactly a comfortable prospect for any type of athlete. Over my years of running, I have had instances of being sick before major competitions, or just generally, a plethora of instances where things have simply not been ideal. I can usually garner some memory of some event sometime in my history that can settle me, whatever predicament is thrown at me. The last two weeks however, was a new one for my record books but one I will cherish and remember, to be used again sometime in the future.

To cut a long, boring,(and after a decent result in China, largely irrelevant) story short, I ended my first of five A-races in six weeks, with foot blisters that rendered me completely unable to wear shoes for four days, forbidden to train for an entire week and not allowed to defend my overall female Victorian Duathlon Title. It wasn’t a stress fracture, it wasn’t a stress response, but the timing of it sucked. I left my race in Singapore motivated but unable to act on that motivation. I arrived in China two weeks later unsure whether I’d even be able to get around the run course. The ball of my foot takes the full brunt of my stride and to have a hole in it was not what I wanted playing on my mind. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was far from an ideal situation.

The ITU Singapore Asian Cup was a predictably hot and humid affair. It was a challenging weekend in many ways. Certainly one lovely thing to come out of the weekend though was that I got to meet some of the other Australian girls who showed me once again that you don’t have to be ruthless to achieve in this sport. It is possible, whilst also being a support to those around you. I thank them for that because those are the values I was always brought up with in athletics. Being a support to team mates is something I place great importance on, so it was not easy to see a team mate fall victim to an unfortunate flat tyre.
My own race was largely predictable. I’m getting quite used to my races becoming games of catch up… well hopefully only until I build some upper body strength and perfect my swim stroke. A lead pack of 8 formed, making it very tricky for our little chase pack of 4 to gain any ground. Instead, expectedly, we lost time over the 40km. My first 5km of the run was solid for me. Time splits called me as having made up one minute on the first girl…. But then the blisters came. Honestly, it wouldn’t have changed my placing, certainly no more than one or two places at the very best, so I’m most definitely not making excuses. It’s more that what ensued from km six was probably the biggest mental battle I have ever fought in a race. The problem with blisters is that slowing down doesn’t actually help. You do slow down because the pain instinctively makes you slow down and you naturally change your gait, but then in reality, that just makes the pain last longer. I wanted to stop more than I ever have. But I knew I was still hanging on for 8^th, I’d left the rest of my little pack behind me as well as the girls behind that, and I did not want them sneaking up and stealing valuable ranking points from me. I had to continue, albeit in a rather deplorable fashion. Thus my day naturally ended in the medical tent with a rather unnecessarily large contingent of medics working busily, selecting where to take skin off and where it was best to keep the blisters intact. The storyline of the following 2 weeks, in pictures, looked something like this…

 

Eight days later, another few plane rides beckoned and the ITU Meizhou Asian Cup was upon us. More fantastic people to meet, and another race to learn from. Whilst many curse the lack of social media in that part of the world, to me it was somewhat of a blessing. Meizhou presented a perfect location for an ITU race, even if the “flat” ride course included a steep incline that had some of the age groupers actually dismounting their bikes and walking! Again, my game of catch up eventuated. But I’m happy to say that I survived my first Elite pontoon start and actually did not get a) dived on or b) entangled in the arms of the girl next door mid-air.

I rode the entire bike solo, in the awkward position of missing the front pack but not wanting to slow down to join the group behind. With only 5kms to run, and me not being sure how my feet would hold up, continuing on solo was really the best option for the bike. Running the fastest run split by 40seconds, whilst pleasing given the blisters, was something of a frustration and very much a “false trophy”. As a wise man (my coach) once said, “there’s no point running the fastest run split from the fourth bike pack.” I wasn’t in the fourth bike pack but his words were still completely accurate (and are a constant reminder of what I need to work on). But thrilled I was to earn my first top 5, my first pay cheque and my first drug test….Even if the heat during our race meant a few hours of sculling a mountain of water bottles before being tested.

 

So here I sit, aboard another airplane, my seventh flight in two weeks, with the words from Up in the Air on repeat in my head: “All the things you probably hate about travelling -the recycled air, the artificial lighting, the digital juice dispensers, the cheap sushi- are warm reminders that I'm home.” In 8 days, I’ll be aboard again, returning for another Asian Cup in Lantau, HK.      

Getting Thrown in the Deep End .... (my first ITU Conti Cup)

Have you ever just had an urge to cry? No matter what rational thoughts are traversing your mind, you just want to cry? If, at the same time, you’ve had an overwhelming concern that you might simultaneously vomit, then you know exactly how I felt in the moments leading up to the start of my very first ITU Elite race in Osaka, Japan this weekend. These sensations were made even worse when I glanced at my team mate, fellow ITU debutant Chloe Butt, seeing too clearly that with every deep breath, she too was feeling exactly the same way.

Rewind 7 days. The temperature was struggling to break through 10 degrees, the wind was howling and the threat of rain was intensifying by the second. We were lining up for our last hit out, a duathlon, in Melbourne’s outer suburb of Altona. It felt like, and it was, the very depths of a Victorian winter. This was our last piece of preparation for Osaka, Japan, in the midst of a steamy Asian summer, the following week. When we lined up there, it was already 34 degrees …… at 9.25am, with the scorching sun emblazing a nice race suit tattoo across my back.

Race morning began much like any other race morning, plus a few (million) extra nerves. It was comforting having Chloe with me as we rode the 5km over to the race venue, nervously rabbiting on about absolutely nothing. We set up transition together, using the bike stands that I’d only ever witnessed the Elites use. Thankfully, they weren’t actually as complicated as I’d orchestrated in my mind. After that, it was simply a matter of trying to keep as cool as possible until race start. Not quite as easy as it sounds. At 8.45 we were permitted a swim warm up. The water was 26.5 degrees. At 9.00, we were ushered out of the water and ordered into our starting positions. For 25 minutes we waited, constantly dousing ourselves with the endless supply of bottled iced water. Then, at 9.25 the 43 Elite girls were announced and we were directed into the water for a deep water start. Honestly, from there, it was just like any other race. With the horn sounded, the enormity of the occasion went out the window and it was purely race time.

 

I had very low expectations for my swim. I absolutely expected the worst so when, at about 200m in, I could only see whitewash around me, I was rapt. I was actually around people!! The first buoy was situated 360m in, followed by a 90 degree turn and 15m across, before turning another 90 degrees and heading straight back in. Rounding the buoys was every bit as violent as Jarrod had encouraged us to simulate in training. I couldn’t believe how unnecessary it was what some girls were doing, but I’d had a reasonably easy ride to that point so I couldn’t complain. Coupled with the drowning around the buoy, fatigue set in and the swim home was far less inspired than the swim out. Nonetheless, I was NOT completely off the back as I’d imagined I would be. I was in a “pack”.

The bike course was interesting. For starters, it was the first time I’d raced such a small circuit. Only 4.5km for each lap plus a km out and back to the circuit proper. I’d had nightmarish thoughts of being lapped out prior to the race but on seeing the leading 2 packs only about a minute ahead at the first turn around, my concerns of that were alleviated. Each lap consisted of a long bridge over which you had to climb and descend twice on each lap. I guess I started the bike leg in maybe the fourth pack, but I didn’t take much notice as my eyes were firmly on the front 2 packs and seeing if I could close the gap. After 2 laps, it was clear that the first 2 packs would remain ahead, and I’d be left leading a pretty unmotivated third pack that I’d reeled in, with a couple of packs behind us. I actually wasn’t too concerned with how much work I was doing at the front of our pack as I liked being in control of the pace and knowing that I was doing everything in my power to minimize the gap to the leaders. It was quite awkward though when I began taking “breaks” from riding hard but was still sitting on the front. I was barely pedaling at one stage, happily taking in some water and still no one came around. I got very excited when, on the 3^rd lap, a Japanese girl actually tried to go off the front out of the turn. Sadly the excitement didn’t last though and we were back as a pack.

 

With Jarrod’s voice in my head, I dismounted my bike at the front of our pack and made sure I was on the correct side of transition that housed my running shoes. Onto the run and I have never struggled so much. If it weren’t for my running through people, I’d have felt in even worse shape. I felt like I was running in quick sand. The run leg was 3 laps, with basically no protection from the 34 degree sun. It was simply a hill out and a gradual downhill back. It was tough, and it was slow. Realistically though, I knew the harder it was, the better for me as a runner. I just had to endure it and run through as many as I could. I have to say, particularly as the sun bore down, it was really nice having a team mate out on course, as we encouraged each other throughout the entire race. I ended up exiting T2 in 23^rd and running my way to finishing 17^th, all far beyond what I had envisaged going into the race. To be able to take home my first ITU ranking points by finishing in the top 20 was something I had definitely hoped for, but hadn’t imagined would actually eventuate…particularly with Olympians in the field.

As is the case with this sport though, each race fast becomes yesterday’s news, and so after a few days down time, it’s now back to a nasty 9 weeks leading into our next challenge. Onward and (hopefully) upward.

 

 

Market Highs to Market Lows to Recovery ....(the offseason)

The underlying mentality of the stock market is simply to buy low and sell high. Well, if as an athlete, I were a company’s shares, and you were an investor with a 12 month investment horizon, your most profitable transaction would have been the following: you would have shorted me at the end of March, and bought me back at the very end of April. If you were a long-only, I would like to think that my current value also represents a good buying opportunity, with plenty of upside over the next 12 months… but the greatest gains would definitely have come from buying at the bottom, which hopefully, will not be revisited until the inevitable lows of my next end of season break.

The above analogy represents what has been the last couple of months and aligns basically with my level of fitness: the conclusion to my summer season at the end of March, and consequent end of season break, followed by the steady recovery and build back into the offseason. As a result, in just a few short months, it feels as though my fitness went from its peak, to the absolute depths of… well… it basically ceased to exist in any form, and finally now, I am starting to see signs of it re-emerging.

The end of season break is a sacred affair. In one sense, it is the key to your upcoming season. Initially, it presents a detox from the season that came before it. And then, in its second phase, it refreshes you, equips you with the mental and physical strength to face the demands of the season ahead. What you do with your break determines how useful it is. I take my break very seriously! And to that end, I thought of no better place to spend my break than my favourite city on Earth – the concrete jungle where dreams are made of that I WILL call home one day – Manhattan. What better place to escape the triathlete in me than the home of high fashion and fine dining. And then, as if to say “enough now”, I returned to the West Coast in time for the San Diego ITU World Series, to snap back into “triathlete” Sarah and remind myself that the 3 weeks prior were now over. It was time to ease back into it.

Audrey Hepburn once said the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears or the way she combs her hair. Whilst this may be disputed on some level, I took comfort from this quote as I returned from my New York holiday, only to be greeted with a seemingly-eternal “swim block”. The accompanying scent of Eau de Chlorine, awful goggle marks and perpetual frizzy hair are always, sadly, collateral damage of needing to work on my swim. This year is arguably my first proper swim block, having only commenced full time training mid-way through last year’s block. For me, with my newly diagnosed “abnormal” shoulders, this swim block also demands weekly physio treatment as we progress my poor, pathetic upper body into one that can form an actual streamline position and ultimately, catch the water effectively. As our coach reiterates almost daily, swimming is a skill. It takes time to learn and it takes an absolute eye for detail. Just as Giorgio Armani preaches, to create something exceptional, your mindset must be relentlessly focused on the smallest detail. – And who said fashion and sport don’t mix?...............Well, certainly not Funkita swimwear!

The last couple of months have seen me formally align myself with a small but vital group of brands that I have come to love and rely on. Funkita Swimwear is one of these brands. I am completely obsessed with their amazingly extensive range of feminine and fashionable bathers and am loving being able to swim in them every day. Of course, triathlon is (luckily for me) not just swimming, and so, I also have tried and tested (and fabulously colourful) running shoe brand, Saucony on side. The third and final leg of a triathlon, cycling, finds me recently teaming up with 99 Bikes, Malvern (there is also a store in Port Melbourne). I am not one for passing on praise unless it really warrants it, but the team there certainly does warrant it. I have been so impressed by their pure passion for the sport of cycling and their eagerness to learn about and support my triathlon endeavours. Customer service here: A++. Throw in being fuelled daily at training and in competition by Dextro Energy Nutrition (I swear I’m actually eating a cheesecake when I have their lemon cake bars – serious yummmmm), and I think I’m definitely in very good hands for the season ahead. Thus concludes my shameless plug for four brands that I really am quite chuffed to represent.

For now, it’s a gentle nudge on the accelerator, slowly but surely increasing the hours and the kilometers. It’s focusing on the one-percenters that often get neglected in the craziness and intensity of the racing season. It’s the discomfort of focusing on your weak points. It’s the constant battle against the winter weather, the war against the alarm clock at 5.15am for swim squad. But it’s also the satisfaction that every day is another day further away from that dreadful day, your last on break, that you hit the absolute depths of unfitness. Every day is another step forward…..even if some days it feels like ten steps backward. My stock very much remains in its development phase, and it may or may not outperform the market this year. But on an absolute valuation basis, only one month back into training, I can already say that there is a lot of hard work that’s going to be invested, hopefully leading to as much capital appreciation in my stock as is possible over the next 12 months.               

A Lesson in Sticking with it... (where it all began)

My first running race was our school’s house cross country. I was 7 years old, in grade three and was faced with the epic task of running 1.5km. I did win, but in fairness to the other competitors, I had technically been training for three years without even knowing it. Throughout my first three years of junior school, before cross country races were even known to exist, I found myself strangely obsessed with the game “Cops and Robbers”. I remember so clearly just loving running around, and add to that the competitive aspect of chasing people and I had absolutely found my calling. I just loved it.

After a bit of pestering, at the age of 10, my parents relented and signed me up to the local Little Athletics Club, Camberwell/Malvern. There, I found what can sometimes be a rare thing in sport: a training circle, a friendship circle, that could compete against each other AND could be the most amazing supports to one another. After we outgrew Little Athletics, we all went on to the same senior athletics club, “SSH”, in Hawthorn. Our close friendship still remains 17 years later.

It was quite poetic therefore that I should line up in my first track race for this season, wearing the same club singlet I wore in my very first race for SSH when I was 12. No, it was not a sentimental thing. I actually haven’t got around to purchasing a new singlet in 15 years of racing. It must have been quite the large singlet back in the day… hopefully. To have my running coach there who coached me from the age of 11 until last year was also something quite special. After all, it was him that had had to deal with the torturous years of teenage-hood and training a group that would not stop chatting through sessions. He had been there since the start and despite my stepping up to high level triathlon and therefore evolving to a purely triathlon based program, he remains very much a part of this journey.

Long story short, whilst I had broken 18minutes for 5km a couple of times over the winter “off the bike”, I was yet to record an official track time for the season. Before this past year, mid 18 minutes to low 19 minutes had been the norm on and off for the best part of a decade as I focused on the shorter 1500m/3km. Whilst I was now a dedicated triathlete with ultimate goals and needs of running high 16 minutes to low 17 minutes for 5km, this race wasn’t about that. It was about where I’d come from and it was about fulfilling a once highly unrealistic dream of running 17-something. When I saw 17.44.3 on the official results, it was surreal. The triathlete I am now, of course wants more…but for the runner I was, the highs and lows I’ve been through, for her, running this time was something I’d only ever dreamed about. Of course, it was then back to business and subsequent races through the season were more about getting lower in the mid 17 minutes range…. but that first race, that first official track time of 17.44.3, will always remain a treasured accomplishment. It highlights one old and trusted, but rarely adopted truth: if you find the love for something and you stick with it long enough, you WILL succeed.

My second 5km attempt came on a blustery summer afternoon at Athletics Victoria’s Shield competition. Unfortunately, due to large numbers they decided to split the race into 2 heats: sub 18mins and above 18mins. For the first time in my history, I took the more intimidating option and self-nominated for the faster heat. 3km whizzed by in 10.25, only 5 seconds off my 3km personal best. From there, I was in a world of hurt. I actually felt nauseous from the early pace, and I just wanted it to be over so badly. The last 2km was a battle. My cadence dropped, and I felt like I was running on the spot. I was unable to hide from the wind on any of the laps with the race now strung out and my concentration started to lapse. I achieved a personal best of 17.40 and therefore, another club record for that distance, but I knew I was capable of more. Falling asleep in the last 2km cost me dearly….or was it the pace of the first 3? I had one more chance to find out and to make it right.

My final 5km of the season was a complete misfire but (thankfully) I had a second chance two days later. What is usually a race known for fast times, the Milers’ Club 5km presented a perfect final hit out for the season. What had earlier in the day felt like hurricane winds were, by race time, maybe closer to a typical Melbourne Autumn day but still no one wanted to take the lead. I found myself at the front but didn’t want to be there either.  I stalled, waiting for someone to come around me but no one did. I was almost at a standstill before another runner finally took over. What I hoped would be a “fast” race had now become a tactical one and it showed at 3km as we went through in a relatively pedestrian 10.30. Having been lulled into a repetitive 3.30/km plod for each of the first 3kms, I had no change of pace to go to and stepped off the track at 3.2km, resolved to try again on Saturday. Try, I did. I went out with the boys in a blistering pace (for me): 2.35 for the first 800m and 16.20 5km pace for the first km. The second and third km were absolutely deplorable as I overcorrected following the first km. As I entered km four, I started to lap the girls and this helped. It gave me a target each straight and took me out of the pain I was in, focusing my mind on something external. I finished with a 17.44 so not the final time we were after but I was satisfied that I’d gone out and taken a risk. One day, the risk will pay off. At the very least, I’d managed 3 from 3 sub17.45 5km for the season - a time barely imaginable 12 months earlier.

From the age of 14 to 18, I did not run a single personal best time on the track. That’s a long time to go PB-less…..But I didn’t stop, I didn’t quit. It actually didn’t even cross my mind. I loved it too much. I loved my training group. I loved our ritual of buying lemonade icy-poles at Richmond train station following our afterschool training sessions at Olympic Park. I loved our little competition to NOT be the fastest runner on the sixth run-through of our warm up. I also loved the feeling of racing even when it wasn’t coupled with the feeling of winning. Peter fostered a training environment that whilst targeting high performance racing, was equally focused on longevity in the sport. For juniors, I believe this is vital. Each member of our squad competed at National level but of paramount importance at training was that we trained hard but sensibly… and we had FUN. Testament to this is where I am now, still loving running as much as I did at the very beginning.

My junior days are now well and truly behind me. I am now a triathlete (well trying to be), not a runner. I am in a new, but equally supportive and brilliant triathlon (not running) training program. But none of these facts stop me from remembering where I started. Nor do they make it any less exciting when I run a personal best time, break an athletics club record or achieve a National athletics ranking. I found the love for running and I stuck with it. It’s as simple as that.   

How Perceptions Change... (the season that was)

It was the evening before the final Xosize Triathlon Series Race of the season and I found myself nervous. I had started the season, my first racing as an Elite, also nervous. But there was a difference. I hadn’t minded what place I came in those first few races, I was simply desperate to justify my place in the Elite field. That meant finishing within a respectable margin to the leaders. That was all. But here I was, now finding myself nervous about who was my greatest competition for the win. I had experienced what a good race felt like, and secretly I wanted more.

My first season competing in triathlon “properly” can essentially be divided into 2 chapters: Before FC and after FC. Of course, FC stands for Falls Creek. When I look back at the season that was, THAT was when it all changed. I’m not just talking about my end results, but it was how the results manifested. I was racing with a completely different attitude. I was no longer racing defensively (my only concern being hoping not to humiliate myself), I was actually starting to believe I belonged (somewhere) in this sport. Something in my mindset had evolved, and without me even realizing it.

I remember my first ride at Falls Creek. The ‘coach’ had described what our first morning would entail the previous night. He made it sound so easy. An ease in to camp if you like. My naïve interpretation couldn’t have been more wrong. And what I didn’t realize that morning was that this feeling would be revisited almost daily. As awful as all these reality checks were, it made me realize something. It made me realize exactly how “green” I was in this sport, but most importantly, it made me realize that I had so much to learn and, hopefully therefore, so much to improve on. I realized too, that I was maybe capable of more than my mind had previously allowed me to believe. If someone had told me prior to Falls Creek that I could sit on my bike for 5 and a half hours, including an ascent of Mt Hotham, I unequivocally would have laughed it off. My first Falls Creek experience had been nothing short of an enormous eye opener and, therefore, it had been a resounding success.

Whilst Falls Creek instilled a small sense of “self-belief” in me, I certainly wouldn’t go as far as saying I was now a “confident” athlete. I don’t believe it’s in my nature to really be “confident,” and I actually hope that never changes. In any case, I was quite surprised to be able to string together 3 straight wins in the Xosize Triathlon Series for the Elite category upon returning from Falls Creek. Each of the 3 races gave me some encouragement but the encouragement came not at all from the end results themselves.

The first win came on very tired legs following Falls Creek. I went into the race having spent the entire prior afternoon in bed and had woken with a bit of a sore throat. I showed myself that less than ideal preparations CAN be overcome. I had a mental victory that day. It was one baby step in the right direction.

The second win was an all-out bike race. I had exited the water ahead of arguably the strongest rider in Victorian triathlon (and I would seriously vouch for her strength against any short course triathlete in Australia).  Essentially, I waited for her. I knew she’d come past at some point, and quite honestly, I needed to be ready to get on her wheel when she did. Her strength was such that I knew we could reel in the rest of the field and fend off any attacks from behind. But any weakness and I’d be dropped instantly. I drank up, spun the legs, and primed myself for the attack. From 5km when she caught me, to 15km, I was attacked over and over again. It was more brutal than any crit race I’d done, but if I could just hang on and take some turns myself (to preserve the friendship), I’d be over the moon..…….and luckily I did. We dismounted our bikes in perfect unison next to one another and ran into T2 side by side. For me, that was enough of a victory there and then. The cyclist I was 8 months ago would have been absolutely decimated, and the fact I wasn’t, well that was a win for me (and, quite possibly, a small miracle).

The third win came about following my best swim of the season. Normally the fields are relatively strung out and you see maybe 2 athletes, then another 2 etc. exit the water. But this time, there were about 5 of us out within 2 seconds of each other. For me, this was huge. I was actually in a full-on drafting RACE.    

Finally, my last main race of the season came at Port Arlington in arctic conditions. Training had entered the ‘maintenance’ phase signaling the wind down to the season end and I was fresh. I was too fresh and I felt flat and unfit (irrational after really only a week of wind down, I know). If I had taken 2 steps forward in my swim the previous week, then this felt like 100 steps backwards. BUT, I got on my bike and played whatever mind games I could to drive myself through the roaring headwinds and down the wide, baron (slightly boring?) country roads with barely a soul in sight. Dismounting the bike, now in second place, I gave 2 and a half minutes to an absolute class act of an athlete ahead. I was sure that’s where the margin would remain. To my surprise (and apparently the officials too who were quite perplexed as to where I’d appeared from), it didn’t. At the finish, I came within a slightly frustrating 30 seconds after an hour and a half of racing. But, at this stage, whilst I love to be able to stand on a podium after a race, it really is the little things in a race that excite me …. Or irritate me. To have such an underwhelming swim was a disappointment, but to not fall off my bike on the seriously intimidating hill out of T1, was a huge relief.

Medals and podiums aside, I am just so excited to finally be able to sit in packs on the bike, find feet in the swim (on good days) and to be able to use my run from near the front rather than playing catch up from behind. Things are slowly, slowly, slowly, starting to fall into place. But I’m under no illusions that there remains a long, long road ahead. This season has simply been a prelude to the hard work ahead, and I know that.      

A New Beginning (the intro post)

The first day of my new life as a triathlete began on an icy morning in the middle of winter last year. A count down from 5 – 1 signaled the start. I was standing pool deck, fully clothed and completely bewildered by the mass of 12-16 year olds who apparently knew what this count down represented. As time would tell, whether you were in the pool on 1, or out, was the only thing that mattered at 6am, 5 mornings a week. A gesture of leniency given it was my first day and I was soon enough amongst the other swimmers…. Who were at least 10 years my junior!

Just 3 days earlier, I had been sitting at my desk on the top floor of 101 Collins Street – also known as the hub of finance and Investment Banking in Melbourne. Now I was swimming in a lane with 12 year olds, in Geelong, Victoria with no desk job to attend to. It was a weird feeling. There was no client in London hastily requiring an update of our BHP model, or research sales in Hong Kong needing a sensitivity analysis done pronto. It was definitely an odd feeling and to be honest, I still feel like I’m simply on annual leave… a really long annual leave. Morgan Stanley had been as supportive as an Investment Bank possibly could be of my outside endeavors and for that, I thank them. If it weren’t for that, I would have had to make this tough decision earlier. That, or I possibly never would have been able to achieve what I did whilst working, which then would never have prompted the cross road that it did. Either way, I owe a lot to Morgan Stanley and the close knit team in Melbourne in particular. Maybe it’s separation anxiety (that remains 7 months later?) but I am convinced of returning there one day. Yes, the hours are long, 80+ hour weeks are not out of the ordinary, but the work is fast-paced, fun and rewarding (yep, I’m a finance nerd)….. But nonetheless, I found myself sans Blackberry, and my corporate attire had been replaced by bathers and running gear. My “gap”  year/s had begun….

Fast forward 7 months and I sit here having been through the most amazing journey, and one I hope will continue. I certainly miss my ‘other’ career but do not regret for one moment, the decision I have made to give myself every chance of reaching my triathlon potential (whatever that may be). I can ‘work’ the rest of my life, but for now, it’s all things triathlon…with my Chartered Financial Analyst (CFA) study on the side.

There have been a plethora of awkward, embarrassing, EPIC fails along the way and I know there are so many more ahead. Make no mistake, I am every part a total rookie as I sit here writing this 7 months down the track….which makes what I have been prior to now….well….a complete and utter…RUNNER!

There was my first group ride, which included “efforts” in which we had to stay in a line behind none other than super triathlete, Pete Kerr. Seriously! At that point, I had barely ever ridden more than 60mins, and was not known for anything even close to a strong bike leg. Naturally, I was dropped within about 30 seconds and given my shocking sense of direction, got lost and sat, peeling grass somewhere between Geelong and Torquay….for 30 minutes! I ride by that patch of grass at least weekly now, and silently salute the girl that sat there 6 months earlier. Everyone has to start somewhere. It’s remembering that starting point that makes me appreciate so much more when I don’t get dropped by known cyclists, whose mission it is to drop “the runner” in draft-legal races.  

There was my first crit race. I got dropped on the neutral lap, not realizing that we rolled through into the race itself. I had just sat happily off the back for the entire lap, thinking we’d regroup before setting off for the race. That was awkward, but my lesson was learnt and NOT repeated at the following race.

There was the time I put a rib out whilst diving in at a swimming carnival in Colac…against 10 year olds. That was embarrassing, and I couldn’t sleep for 2 days due to the extraordinary pain. A chiro visit later, and I was back on track…and working on my dive starts.

Then, there was my first ‘elite’ Gatorade triathlon. I solo’d the entire bike leg and I have no shame in saying that I was solo off the back, and ultimately, 3 minutes down into T2. Luckily, I ran the fastest time by a few minutes and recovered what would have otherwise been quite a memorable entrée into elite racing. It was, at the very least, a perfect example of draft legal racing and the huge importance of swimming well. I had only been 15 seconds down out of the water but whether it’s 1 second or 1 minute, if you miss the pack or even a wheel, it makes for a tough tough day!

Thankfully, despite the above, my general trajectory is definitely up. I am learning so much every day, and it’s starting to come through in results. I’ve been fortunate enough to get a few podiums and even a few wins this season in my first as an ‘elite’. Essentially, this is representative of the amazing training environment I’m part of down in Geelong, and the expert guidance of Jarrod Evans. If anyone can turn a ‘runner’ into a rookie triathlete, and then a rookie into (hopefully) something better, it’s him! Here’s hoping the improvement continues at the same rate.

S