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.      

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.