Over and Out ... (for 2014)

Despite the timing of posting the chapter below, it was actually written a couple of weeks ago. It was a Saturday night. My second World Cup was the following morning. I had attended briefing a few hours earlier like we do at all ITU events, but this time was different;  rather than then returning to my hotel room  to ready myself for the events of the following morning, I was collecting my luggage and heading to the airport. Writing this, I was sitting at Cartagena (Colombia) airport, awaiting a flight to JFK. I was raw with disappointment following a bike crash that had resulted in my having to withdraw from my final race of the season and my second World Cup start that I’d worked so hard to earn.

It’s important for me to write this. Mainly because it is a vehicle by which I might be able to remember all the good that has come out of 2014, the memories of which seem to have fallen into the crevasse in the middle of the road in Colombia, disguised by dirty brown flash flooding, that I too fell into, off my bike, and out of my last race of 2014.

2014 was my first full season racing as an Elite on the ITU Circuit, and it was a big year. Geographically speaking, I’ve raced in eleven countries across five continents:  Asia, Africa, Europe, South America and Oceania.

Starting triathlon so late, I feel a constant need to accelerate the process and 2014 really does feel like it’s been a microcosm for a far bigger phase in my career than just one season. And I’m not talking about results, but rather experiences – learning experiences.

My only ever HP triathlon coach left Australian shores mid-year and with it, the ability to coach Australian athletes. It was a fantastic opportunity for him, but naturally, at the time, it presented huge uncertainty for the athletes involved as Jarrod had been the cornerstone of everything our squad had accomplished in the preceding twelve months. I feel so hugely fortunate to have subsequently found the perfect coach and the perfect, most supportive squad for me. After a stressful month, I felt so lucky to have been guided to Warwick by Darren, and for Warwick to be willing to coach me. I fell on my feet and I am so thankful to Warwick and Darren for that.

And so my 2014 ITU race season began all the way back on the first weekend in February. I ventured beyond my safety net of Asian Cup racing for the first time since I began racing last July and threw myself into Oceania Championship racing and Oceania Cups. I managed a top 10 at the Oceania Sprint Championships in New Zealand and learnt from some of Australia and New Zealand’s best across a variety of distances and formats in Oceania Cups. Then, I escaped over to the unknown waters of an African Cup where I stood atop my first ITU Elite Podium at the African Cup in Mauritius. From there, I embarked upon the intimidating journey to Europe for a series of European Cups and then ended my season with the most nerve-wracking of all – two World Cup starts in an Olympic Qualification period.

From a personal best perspective, I managed two top ten results in European Cups (out of three) and a top ten at a Continental Championship. I ran a 3k track PB this year and my two fastest ever 5km runs off the bike. I’ve made swim sets I never thought possible for me (although swimming is still clearly a huge thorn in my side). I earned two World Cup starts and won my first ever Continental Cup. I guess it’s not been a bad year at all but, by nature, we athletes are a self-punishing lot. And sometimes, in the depths of disappointment, it’s hard to see the achievements. Despite how this year ended, I have to remember all these positives.  

Of course, there were also the disappointments/hiccups along the way (or rephrased; “learning experiences”): two races where a bad flu at exactly the wrong time resulted in a poor performance in China and a DNF in the Czech Republic. There too was the ear infection only two weeks out from a World Cup. There were the travel mishaps: missed flights, delays, lost luggage (and bikes), broken bikes and in one instance, terrible itinerary planning on my part (trying to combine a race in Mauritius and China within six days of each other - terrible judgment on my part).

Along the way, through all of this, I’ve further clarified in my mind what I want from this sport and possibly more importantly, it’s become clearer the level of commitment that sport at the top level requires. I’ve met so many athletes along the way and learnt so much from each and every one of them. I’ve picked the brains of highly respectable and professional athletes, and, of course, endured the company of the rare melodramatic/crazy ones. Both the good and the bad have provided me the opportunity to learn and to grow.

It’s been a big year, that’s for sure! After a ten day break in New York, the passport has now been safely tucked away for a few months respite, readying itself for an even bigger 2015.

The (Spanish) Hills are Alive... (Euro season no 1)

Spain isn’t Austria. It’s not even a neighbour. The language is different, the history is different, and the food is different. But despite all this, as I lay in bed on my second last night in Spain for this year, and reflected on my time there, I had images from the Sound of Music dancing around in my head. Clearly I had stayed up past my bedtime of precisely 10.20pm - no doubt having been peer-pressured into yet another round of Uno - and thus was slightly delirious. But nonetheless, it was the backdrop of the rolling green fields, the cute little villages we’d cycled through, the laughter (and pain) of a refreshingly cohesive and fun training squad, that had my mind replacing the hills of Spain with the hills of Austria (complete with the Von Trapp family).

I guess then, that on reflecting on my first European summer season, training and racing in Spain, it would be somewhat (oddly) appropriate to touch on a “few of my favourite things” from my time there.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens:

I didn’t know it at the time, but racing Elwood earlier in the year in conditions resembling the Apocolyspe, was actually the perfect preparation for this year’s Holten Premium European Cup. The torrential rain certainly made it a race to remember - possibly even more so for the spectators forced to make the 6km journey from the swim, to the bike and run loops in town, on foot. At least we athletes had bikes, and the distraction of racing. But combining that rain with cobblestones and tight (dicey) 90 degree turns onto speed bumps meant a challenging but fun entrée into racing in Europe. The weather was so dire that we didn’t even escape the athlete lounge for any form of jog warm up. The only way we braved the rain pre-race was in wetsuit, for a sneaky paddle in the water, before quickly retreating back to the relative safety of the athlete tent. I was satisfied with my performance there, but aside from that, it was a great week of exploring the Netherlands, running and cycling through the picturesque countryside, plotting how to sneak a baby horse back to Australia and witnessing a LOT of raindrops on roses. It was a fantastic ten days of eating far too much cheese and yummy Dutch breads, swimming in a pool with no lane ropes (which threw my backstroke “lane-rope pulling” plans into disarray), and having our squad very generously hosted for an afternoon run and dinner, by Rachel Klamer and Richard Murray.

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Destination next was another chilly location, way up in the far north of Europe in Tartu, Estonia: The preceding events of which I have already blogged about and subsequently repressed. Notable mentions however for this trip include the stranger that actually handed in (and didn’t pocket for themselves), Vicky’s engagement ring that had fallen out of her bag in a supermarket. Coming a close second is Ron for racing whilst in the grips of gastro, Nick for succumbing to the gastro mid-way through dinner post-race (and then returning to finish his meal), and Luke for avoiding the gastro altogether and securing an ITU senior podium as a junior.   

Brown paper packages tied up with string

Following a stint of training back in Spain to top up the miles, I headed to Istanbul for the European Cup there. Unfortunately, as is the way with these events, dates and locations changed a few weeks out from the event and sadly, after I had already booked my flights and accommodation. Long story short, I ended up in Istanbul on my own for a few days before any friends arrived, and on the complete opposite side of town to the race site with my view being of a concrete highway and tankers resting out at sea: Not great on a normal day, but kind of sad that my birthday (my first away from home) landed on one of these days. Not to let the event go unnoticed though, my beautiful training squad threw me a surprise little birthday party the night before I left, complete with ice cream cake, Haribo lollies and balloons.  

Cream coloured ponies and crisp apple streudels

One of the indisputable perks of a) training hard and b) training hard in Europe, is undoubtedly the bakery stops. Whether it’s “Ramon’s” after a brutal morning heart rate swim set, or ending our Sunday long ride in Vitoria’s Old Town square bakery, one thing is for certain: it’s tortillas and café con leches all round…. Or hot chocolate, by which I literally mean chocolate that is hot and melted.

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

And not to stray too far from the theme of food – it was, after all, our second favourite pastime, (after training, and before sleeping) – dinners at Wok, Vips, Brazilian, Ginos and (never again) Frescos. The Wok novelty wore off, but not before I engulfed my body weight in all-you-can-eat French fries, and ice cream. Vips, on the other hand, provided a sight to behold: the cookies and cream milkshake. This treat, only consumed on one occasion, was worth every cent and every calorie.

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

Before anyone gets the idea that in fact food came before training on my list of favourite things, I’ll provide some comfort by presenting perhaps my absolute favorite feature of Vitoria-Gasteiz. I’d give everyone three guesses but I know for sure, my training squad would need only one: for me, the BEST part is all the grass and soft trails to run on! Never have I been so spoiled for choice like I have been in Vitoria, for places to run. There were places to do our hard run sessions that provided that perfect combination of flat, fast AND soft under foot. For long runs, there were endless trails that you could (literally) get lost on for miles and miles. I’m fairly sure this beautiful city has only acted as an enabler to my absolute disdain for running on concrete!

And the “not so great at the time but really good afterwards” things

When the dog bites

Mendi swimming pool. Whether it’s a morning or afternoon set, those first moments upon arriving are always the same: The whole-body lean into the door to open it, as if to withhold from using any unnecessary energy. That first inhale of Mendi’s air, strangely resembling strawberry lip gloss. Then there were the stairs - the two flights that would determine your immediate future. I realized quite early on that there was actually zero correlation between how my legs felt going up those stairs, and how I felt in the pool, yet every day it felt like the same stair climb of death and the same dread that I’d therefore feel awful in the pool. Of course, on leaving the pool following a hard and rewarding swim set, they became the stairs of freedom, of satisfaction and of accomplishment.        

         

When the bee stings

Hill reps on the bike are always a brutal affair, but when you can share that burn, that sting, with someone else, it always makes it that little bit easier. Vicky was the perfect little hill buddy, pushing me every pedal stroke of the way and sharing my same dislike of turning left at the U-turn. My first ascent, I literally went onto the wrong side of the road to be able to perform my U-turn the “correct” (Australian) way. And the greatest perk of Spain, riding these hills at any time of day, without the constant concern of traffic. How I will miss the relative safety of riding in Spain.

The truth is, the last couple of months have truly been the best fresh start I could have ever hoped for. The camaraderie amongst the training squad, with Warwick at the helm, has been an absolute dream environment in which to train hard, improve, and have a lot of laughs along the way too. So with the next block of training and racing looming on the other side of two weeks recovery, I’ll end with my last “3 and 3” for my time in Spain:

Accomplishments:

1.    Swimming time cycles I’d never been able to prior to coming to Spain

2.    Running the two best 5kms off the bike that I’ve ever run

3.    Despite the above being solely outcomes, I’ve learnt to appreciate the HUGE benefit of a total shift in mindset to focusing on process rather than outcome (and then low and behold, the outcomes happen)

Areas of development:

1.    My skills – a safety jump in Tartu between swim laps? Ohhhhhh AWKWARD

2.    Fear – fear of failure, fear of pain, fear of anything. It must all GO

3.    Learning patience – improvements happen a little bit at a time, not suddenly all at once

A Thousand Mile Journey ... (my first European Cups)

Transitions in life are usually marked by major events: Birthdays, graduations, weddings. But the greater transitions often come out of smaller moments, when we stop and look at where we are. Because each time we see how far we’ve come, we also see how far we have to go.

I crossed the line in Tartu, elated with a top 10 position (9^th) in only my second European Cup ever (also my second within a week), and with it, my first (teeny tiny) Euro pay cheque. But with the pain of the race slowly diminishing and post-race reflection trickling into my mind, I was confronted by the same game of tug of war that I seem to be experiencing almost daily at the moment. It’s the tug of war between the figurative pat on the back I give myself for coming as far as I’ve come … clashing mightily with the reality that simultaneously smacks me in the face, reminding me where it is that I need to get to. Some days, I finish a training session, unable to believe what I’ve just done. It’s times or distances that I never thought I, myself, could achieve… But then, in the blink of an eye, I know how far I have to go. Because sometimes, even when you think you’ve come a long way, it feels just like the beginning. And that’s exactly how I feel here in Spain; That everything before now was a prologue (a necessary and vital one at that) but that what lies beyond, is an epically long (but forever rewarding) journey.

Back track 48 hours prior to Tartu and what ensued was 24 hours that really could consume an entire blog post in itself. I will cut the dramatics short however, touching solely on the more poignant moments of that “from bad to worse” Thursday. We were travelling from Holten in the Netherlands to Tartu in Estonia. A simple hour and a half drive to Amsetrdam, followed by a simple, two hour flight to Estonia followed by a simple two and half hour drive from Tallin to Tartu. Estimated time of arrival at our accommodation in Tartu was a reasonable two o’clock in the afternoon. We ended up arriving at four AM the next morning!

Upon checking in at Amsterdam airport (one of the first in line I might add), Estonian Airlines informed us that there mightn’t be room for all our bikes on the aircraft – I guess fair enough, it’s been known to happen before. But then we were told that the people accompanying those bikes would therefore not be allowed on the flight either – first time I’ve heard THAT. Completely at random, they then selected three of the six of us to travel. The remaining three were left behind in Amsterdam –annoying but not completely dire. But then we were told by the airline that WE would have to pay to change the tickets to the next flight, twelve hours later. WE pay? Under what IATA rule does that fall?! Not only that, we were also told that there was no guarantee that our bikes (and therefore we as people too, under their apparently made-up rule), would be on THAT flight either. Protesting the few hundred Euros we were up for for a non-guarantee, what ensued was not unlike a scene out of the Amazing Race as we strategized and researched every conceivable way of getting to Tartu earlier, with bikes and in a more financially viable way. Trains, cargo, and every air route possible was considered before we gave in, ultimately then retiring to a hotel for our twelve hour wait, and rotating through the beds so each of us got a decent nap time in. At 8pm, we once again braved the uncertainty of flying with Estonian Airlines, only this time check-in was a breeze. What a relief?! Our flight was then delayed an hour – we accepted this minor frustration given our bikes had been checked in and we safely had boarding passes in hand. When we landed at 12.30am, it was all meant to be over…. Until our bikes didn’t arrive. So, according to the airline’s rule that had caused the circus that morning, had we just committed some terrible crime by flying without our bikes?!! Fairly ironic that after all the pain of being booted from the morning flight, to avoid the situation of flying without our bikes, we ended up doing just that! Another hour passed as we tried to convince ourselves that the luggage crew knew where they were to deliver the bikes (if they ever made it to Tartu, since the three remaining flights prior to race start were all the same aircraft). By the time we fell into the team van, it was 1.30am and we still had two and a half hours to drive to Tartu. At this point, the epic heroics of coach Warwick were what got us safely to Tartu. He had been on that morning flight but waited at the airport all day for us and THEN drove us to Tartu between the graveyard hours of 1.30-4am whilst we three athletes passed out – well props to Nick for doing a good job trying to stay awake in the front seat most of the journey. Thus we ended in Tartu at 4am, sans bikes nor any kind of confidence that our bikes would make it with only 48 hours until we were to race.

But the bikes arrived with a day to spare, we loaded up on food, sleep and before we knew it, the events of that Thursday were behind us. It was race time, with the past in the past. Travelling will always throw up unexpected events and really, if you do your best to take the events in your stride, your race really won’t be affected. There is no such thing as an “ideal set of circumstances” leading into a race, especially when travel is involved! I store each and every “less than ideal” situation as a memory for the future: If “that” happened and I still raced well then “this” will be fine too. I basically have a memory that can be tweaked and applied to almost any situation now.      

And so, with Tartu declared a successful starting point, I’m now back at our squad’s training base in Vitoria, Spain. Here, I will continue to face my fears in the water, developing a close friendship with chlorine and finding peace with the pain that comes from learning to swim hard. The first step in all this though, is a complete shift in mindset, discovering a love for the water and most importantly, an enjoyment in the process – MY process, unique to ME – of moving forward, no matter how small each step is, and with no constant comparison to others.      

They say the only way to conquer your fear is to face what you fear most. You must walk into the belly of the beast, and risk the possibility of failure. But try to hide from your fear, and you risk it swallowing you whole.     

The End of Chapter One ... (And another New Beginning)

What has ensued since my last blog post has been the highest of highs (so far in my short little Elite career) ... And a fairly challenging slump in there too. If there was ever a four month window that perfectly represented the yin and the yang in unison, then the last few months has been just that.

On a perfectly still, crisp Autumn night at the end of March, I came surprisingly close to running a time over 3km that I always truly believed was reserved only for female runners far quicker than I, and certainly in a whole different league to me. Some felt bad for me that I was just two seconds off breaking such a significant barrier - so agonizingly close - but for me, being that close, it was enough. It was an eight second PB (run only 5 months earlier) and gave me a belief in my running that I had previously lacked.

From there I returned to Port Arlington for the Gatorade Triathlon where I had finished second last year, coming a mere 30 seconds short of running down first place (after being 2 minutes down off the bike). Suffice to say, I had unfinished business this year. Feeling good, and posting the day's fastest run, I finished as the fastest female overall, turning the tables from last year.

And so things were going along pretty well..... But as my favourite Youtube video describes, "momentum is a cruel mistress. She can turn on a dime with the smallest mistake". From there, I endured a string of three very disappointing races. I'm not talking about places, times or outcomes really, but more that I felt I was underperforming my abilities and my level of fitness at the time. Each of the three races knocked another dint in my rapidly increasingly fragile confidence. I had a shocking swim at our season ending Gatorade triathlon, leaving me to ride solo and run, what I believe, was far from my best. From there I went to Queensland to race the Luke Harrop memorial. My swim there was ok, but then my bike was deplorable. I had nothing. For the first time in my short career, my legs just would not ride. I lost time I should not have lost, but it was more that I just felt terrible. Strangely, I managed to then have one of my best runs to date, running within ten seconds of one of the best runners in Elite International triathlon. A small glimmer of hope but it couldn't make up for such a disappointing bike leg.

As they say, bad things come in threes. And so I went to China for my first ITU Conti Cup of the year. The day started with a deplorable swim, where I just couldn't get my heart rate up. I couldn't push. It was odd. The bike, I rode my guts out, but started feeling very strange by the end, shaky and just not right. My run was sub par, and more of a formality to get me to the finish line than being anything special at all. Again, I couldn't push, I just felt off. I was strangely relieved then to be engulfed with a bad flu within hours of the race, vaguely consoling me that my performance was therefore not a fair reflection of where a healthy body was at. And then, to add to training and racing not going all that well, I had found out amongst all this that my coach would be leaving us to take up an amazing opportunity with another federation. Absolutely so well deserved but it obviously threw up a bit of uncertainty and a lack of direction, and adding to the wavering confidence from a few bad races. Obviously, none of this was dire but it wasn't an easy few months.

I'm fast learning that this sport is a roller coaster, even more so, I feel, than other sports. Maybe it's because it's a juggling act of three sports, all of which need to be “on” for a good performance. Or maybe it's because triathlon is an endurance sport and as such, we train so hard that we're always an inch away from either being great or over-trained and sick. Either way, I'm learning that prospects in this sport change very quickly. You have to appreciate the good days, and similarly, know that bad days won't last.

From three of my worst races ever, I hit "take two" on my ITU season and headed to Mauritius for the ITU African Cup there. And, I won! My very first ITU Gold Medal (well, my first ITU medal of any colour), my very first national anthem (which they initially couldn't find because they assumed the top ranked South African would win), and my first champagne popping (which I failed miserably at). Poetically, the win came on my last day with my coach Jarrod Evans and my last day with Endurance Team. A perfect bookend for the journey and progress we've made as a team, Jarrod and I: From a runner and nothing more, to a Conti Cup gold medalist. Chapter one in my triathlon story coming to an end in the most perfect possible way.

 And so brings me to the end of my time with my Endurance Team family. The family unit is quite a unique concept. You're all different, you squabble at times, and get irritated at other times. But above all, it's a family, and everyone has their place in that family and makes it what it is. To break up a family unit creates a sense of grief no matter the day-to-day relationships within it. Our little High Performance Team at Endurance Team was a family, and I will miss each and every one within it. But what looms ahead is very exciting, and I couldn't be more keen and motivated to get to Spain and begin a new, challenging and rewarding journey with a new family, under the excellent tutelage of Warwick Dalziel. Onward and upward.

Bottling the pain ... (my battle to become a swimmer)

We’ve all had that moment, that sudden shift once a race is over, when our bodies recover and forget just a little too quickly the dire depths of pain we’ve just been in in the moments before. That shift then brings with it those begging questions: could I have gone a little harder, given just a little more? The pain, once diminishing, is so hard to fully comprehend. More than once, I’ve wished I could somehow bottle the pain. If I could fully remember it, would I have a greater appreciation for my own performances? Well, in a somewhat broader and greater sense, that is exactly what this blog post is aiming to capture.

The last few months have been some of the toughest of the last 15 months – my first 15 months as a proper triathlete. I returned from my end of season break in November, expectedly unfit and accompanied by a little extra “buoyancy.” The perfect start I suppose, to dive straight into my first real swim block. For six weeks prior to Christmas, I hit the gym and lived at the pool. I was forced to leave my security blanket of running fitness at the door, or rather somewhere in the distant past, probably hiding out back at the Lantau Asian Cup in October (my last race before break). This was hard. Not only did I feel like I was repeatedly banging my head against a brick wall every day at the pool, but I couldn’t even feel a sense of confidence or even control that is usually brought about by just knowing that at least I had my run. Eventually, my time cycles in the pool slowly started coming down and coupled with that, I could hold them for longer. Then, as if it just wasn’t quite right to let me build any small semblance of self-satisfaction, I hit the open water and was decimated. The mental leap of faith of letting my running fitness dwindle into nothingness, the physical pain of dragging myself back to the pool for sessions often multiple times in a day, the constant stench of chlorine and the early morning alarm clocks for squad …. NONE of it had been worthwhile. Well, that’s arguably an irrational overstatement but when your afternoon naps are in the car in the pool car park, you can be excused for, in a state of overtiredness, jumping to perhaps a slightly extreme disappointment when it doesn’t translate to the open water. A month on, I can feel tiny steps edging forward, but it’s definitely a long road and not one for the impatient.

Christmas time for triathletes generally means gorging on food and then heading to Falls Creek to burn it all off. For me, this year also meant a two week intermission to my swim block. As I’d learned in my first year the previous year, the Endurance Team camps always commence with the Benalla Triathlon. This year, being my first summer to be in “off season,” I opted to do just the run leg as part of a relay. Was I actually thinking that running hard for the first time in months would somehow miraculously see me back trotting around 5km in 17minutes?! Admittedly, I didn’t quite appreciate what a proper swim block and therefore minimal run training actually meant in terms of racing ability. Needless to say I had a deplorable performance, and thus, came another nail slammed firmly in my already fragile confidence. What relief I then felt that by the second week of camp, I had shed some “buoyancy” and felt light on my feet again. We introduced some intensity and I was able to comfortably sit on paces faster than I’d raced at Benalla and more in line with what I am capable of. To arrive back from Falls the evening before the Gatorade Olympic Distance with zero taper, it was honestly just such a relief to feel like I was simply jogging around the 10km and still manage the fastest Elite girls’ run split.

But, they say this sport is a juggling act. It’s a constant tug of war, forever battling against the notion of equal and opposite reactions. Falls Creek brought about a sense of peace in my mind. I was brought back together with my old mate, running. We were friends again, and I was feeling strong on the bike again too. Brilliant! But the truth is, to enable this, we didn’t swim as much. You simply can’t swim huge volumes on that type of camp. It’s not the goal of the camp. But no logic or sound reasoning could console me after, by all accounts, I had the most dismal swim I have ever completed in the Gatorade Triathlon on our return. It was another nail, this time pushed, twisted and bent on its way in. I’m back to the drawing board this week, back to the pool, driven by the underlying truth that I just have to persevere with my swimming. One day… one day… maybe…

We live in a world hastened by impatience, dogged by constant comparison to others and falsely driven by the notion that if we put in, we will get back….. straight away. I am completely guilty of all these qualities. The word I have been told, texted, emailed constantly over the last few months by so many people, has been “patience.” That to me means that I should be able to swim, roughly, maybe, sometime.. NOW. Well, I can kind of swim, just not as fast as I’d like or need to be for top ITU level racing but I am improving. The improvement certainly isn’t as fast as I would have liked but I also know that the girls I am comparing myself to didn’t learn to swim the way they can in just a few months either. It’s hard, and I need to remember how hard this journey is. If I can, then one day hopefully, I can open this bottle of pain, read this blog, breathe it in, and give myself a little pat on the back. I’ll know then, that I DID give it everything and no, I could not have gone a little harder or given just a little bit more.