Hashtag Road to Platinum... (the other part to professional triathlon)

As I stood in yet another line, in yet another lounge, in yet another airport, perspiration pouring down my face, and my anger and frustration rising with every tick of the airport clock, I questioned whether it was all worth it.

The road to platinum I mean.

I had just missed my connection from London to Madrid and I was now being lied to by airline staff about which flights operated.... Despite my having flown on the exact flights in question only the previous week. Tell me they're full - fine. Don't say the flight doesn't and hasn't ever existed!
No matter what onlookers will tell you, the road to platinum is paved with hard work, frustration, and exhaustion. Just as the other, less thought about side to the supposedly "glamorous" world of professional sport isn't exactly glamorous.

Rewind

It was just over two months prior to my frequent flyer anniversary date. I was at our training base in Spain and logged on to my frequent flyer account for a routine check. I knew I'd comfortably retain my gold status but until that day, that warm summer's day in Spain, I had never thought of the “#roadtoplatinum” as possible. With a small hint of potential, I set about routing, calculating and re-routing and re-calculating my remaining race travel for June/July and August. I could really do this. I could feel the black card in my hands, I could smell the envelope in which it would arrive. It was decided. I was going for it.

But no matter what anyone thinks, whilst this is a story that ends well, it was not an easy path I chose to take on that fateful Spanish summer's day in June. Just as travelling as a professional triathlete is not as simple, carefree and joyful as the beautiful, scenic photos you’ll see posted on Instagram. This is the other side, the side that doesn’t make for happy photo moments.

Being a cost conscious triathlete, I naturally limited myself to Oneworld airlines that did not charge for bike handling. Thus, Iberia (the Spanish home airline) was out. Thankfully, British Airways are more welcoming of the notion of traveling with bikes, and thus, it was decided that every race would need to be arrived at via London Heathrow: Cheaper AND maximal status credit earning potential AND reasonable connections to most European destinations (when things run on time!). Strategy number one applied. Although easier said than done. In ten weeks, I have transferred between Heathrow’s Terminal 3 and Terminal 5 eight times!

Many might think that I chose an affluent path to take in chasing platinum status, and in my choice of airlines. Quite the contrary. Travelling for triathlon races requires more strategic thinking than it appears on the surface to outsiders. So much more

Stage one: the booking process

Sometimes it is actually cheaper at the end of the day to pay slightly more for a higher class of travel or for what is perceived as a premium airline. If bikes travel free as a result, then it may actually be the cheaper option at the end of the day. Some airlines will charge north of $100 per bike, per flight. I ask you, what is the point in paying $100 less for a return ticket on a cheap airline to then be charged multiples of that at the airport for bike handling? Then, we need to look at the aircraft size for certain legs for certain airlines. If there is a choice between a little “propeller job” and a B737, then the B737 is clearly the smarter choice – more space for bikes in the hold - even if it comes at a small price premium. What’s the real price of the trip if the bike doesn’t even arrive for the race and you can’t race?! These are things that we triathletes have to take into consideration every time we travel.

To arrive at the best possible outcome, this job is not as simple as heading to Skyscanner, finding the cheapest ticket and clicking “confirm”. Connection times at stopover airports must also be considered (less than an hour and your bike probably won’t make the connection). My journey through Heathrow, (whilst exhausting when things didn’t go to plan), at least enabled me to fly on an airline that does not charge for bicycles, that has decent connection times (sometimes too long), and flies aircraft of a large enough size to all my required destinations around Europe. They also have a flawless system in place when bikes don’t arrive: frequency of flights means your bike will have sufficient options for eventually getting to you more quickly and are more likely to arrive before the race.

Are you exhausted? Well you’re not even at the airport yet!

Stage two: Check in

Arriving at the check in desk, already sweating from dragging a bike through the terminal (for me, sometimes two bikes!), what potential issue do you sweat even more on first? Is it the weight of your bike when you weigh it at the counter? Or even better, whether the airline will accept your bike at all. At least once, this year and last (when I faulted and chose an inferior option of airline and one with which I had no status), I was told at check in that my bike may not be accepted and if not, then I would not be able to board either. Thirty minutes of arguments later, I succeeded this year but last year was left in an airport terminal for 12 hours and carrying a 500 euro bill for a change of flights (despite it not being my fault at all). With airline status, these debacles become (largely) redundant and can, in itself, entirely justify my journey to platinum.

I choose to be a professional athlete. I choose the lifestyle it entails. And I love it. TRAVELLING as a triathlete IS tough. BEING a triathlete is amazing. I am thankful every day for this opportunity but when I’m dragging a bike bag (or two) through an airport, arguing with airline staff and simultaneously missing a connection, it is still tiring. So when you see me flashing my platinum status card in the next twelve months, know that there was a clear motivation behind choosing that path. It was a clearly thought out, strategic plan requiring plenty of hard work. The motivation wasn’t simply the feel of the black card between my fingers, nor the lure of the First Class Lounge over the Business Lounge. On the contrary. Platinum can help minimise (nothing of course can fully eradicate) the everyday stresses of travel. It means I can arrive at airports later, I can travel with a significantly higher baggage allowance (of particular economic benefit when you have two bikes), my bike (is meant to) have priority for making flights, and I have the luxury of fast tracking queues and lines at airports. This all minimises external stresses arising from travel that could impact what I am actually there to do: race. PLUS, at the bottom line, it saves tangible dollars.

Maybe there is a little George Clooney from “Up in the Air” in myself. I may squeal like a little child when the envelope arrives in the mail. I may stare at the black card for a full minute, marveling that after six years of gold status, I finally made the step up. I may have become slightly obsessed with my “#roadtoplatinum” so much so that my training squad were the ones that arrived at the “#roadtoplatinum” Insta/Twitter tag for me. BUT, beyond that does lie a very deliberate plan to make travelling as a triathlete easier and cheaper. For those wasting their time, energy and money on what they don’t realise are complete false economies, do not think of my “#roadtoplatinum” as one of affluence. With some smart thinking and planning, you too could make life a little easier (and cheaper) for yourselves at airports. And for those outside of our sport, do not be misguided. We may smile in our Instagram photos but that’s because we love what we do, not because it’s easy.

Searching for Simplicity .... (first half of season 2015)

I’ve been teased. I’ve been mocked. I’ve been laughed at. Indeed, I love to watch the cartoon, “Bob’s Burgers!” And I’ll tell you why. It’s simple. In such a complex world, is it really that bizarre to crave a little simplicity?! It’s simple and it’s funny, enjoyable entertainment. What you see is what you get. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes it would be nice if life was a little like Bob’s Burgers. The last few months have been challenging. Life has been far from simple. Not much has made sense…. Until finally (spoiler alert) last Sunday, at a 5150 Triathlon in France, something uncomplicated and “good” happened.

The months of March to May were marred by illness for me. Gastro ended my day early in Mooloolaba. I never get gastro. It was odd. And then a nasty flu (complete with vertigo, dizziness, headaches and ultimately, on returning to Australia, a complete inability to stand up) ended my day early in the Philippines.  In between these mishaps, I managed some flashes of brilliance but they were in training so, at the end of the day, fruitless. Randomly, one Friday evening in April, I performed a set of 10x1km reps at a pace >5secs/km faster than we had expected or that I was meant to. And it felt so easy. This was perfectly timed, two weeks before the race in the Philippines - the race where sickness prevented me even getting to my running shoes in T2. I was then just getting back on my feet physically and mentally when a nasty sinus infection hit and I was put on a month long series of various antibiotics. Despite still being somewhat under the weather, I headed to Mauritius for the African Cup, desperately searching for some confidence. A top 5 finish and the fastest run time, whilst good on paper and a small semblance of a return to form, still ate away at my fragile confidence. Based on my performance there last year, my expectations leading in to the race were far higher than what eventuated. No matter how much of a forward step on the preceding few months, it still did not reflect where I knew I was at, or had been at in training. And so the rough patch continued.

Four days after returning to Australia from Mauritius, I boarded a plane to Spain and thirty three hours later, my triathlon slump was suddenly and unexpectedly put majorly in perspective. The world, and our family had lost an amazing man just as I had landed in Spain. It highlights how fickle life can be. It also made my triathlon dramatics seem so small. I was out there doing what I loved, and that should have been all that mattered. Life is short, life can change in the blink of an eye, it can even disappear altogether. Enjoy what you do.   

And thus it was time to find the enjoyment again. To make life simple again. Simple enjoyment. I went to New York to race the New York Triathlon with only the simplest of orders from my coach - “enjoy yourself”. And I took him at his word. But 8km into the bike, with each revolution of my rapidly flattening tyre, the task of enjoying myself became a little more difficult. And then, with each step of the journey back to T1 to get my runners (dragging my un-rideable bike in tow), and then the next mile to the finish line to collect my clothing bag, and then the next mile back to my hotel, a positive attitude was getting harder and harder to muster. “How long do I have to keep being resilient for?”

But hello, I was in New York City. The city wasn’t going to keep me down for long. Some supportive words from home and a fabulous afternoon spent exploring New York, ending with a yummy dinner at the Gramercy Tavern, was the best possible cure for my blues – thank you, Caroline! And slowly but surely, with New York City flowing through my veins, I started to rebuild mentally. I flew out of JFK the next day with a tiny voice in my head urging me on. It told me to keep life simple. To get back to Spain and to simply keep turning up. Eventually the tide would turn.

I didn’t have to wait long to give it all another shot. 48 hours after landing in Spain from New York, I was boarding a flight back to London, en route to France for the 5150 Triathlon in Marseille. With a consistent message from all in my support network, I went to Marseille to have fun. With team mate and friend, Will C in tow, that wasn’t a hard task. Race morning came, and the still and hot conditions had given way to a typical Melbourne morning. The winds were blowing a gale, and the water was grey and choppy to the point of completely swallowing the massive yellow buoys. But for some reason, I didn’t worry. In my mind, I was standing around at Williamstown beach in January, waiting for the start of a 1500m open water swim in what were just everyday conditions back home. Mental hurdle number one successfully navigated. The next came in the way of a mountain. Literally. The bike course included roughly a 10km mountain climb – ascending and descending obviously – and on TT bikes given this was a non-drafting pro race. My TT bike and I had never encountered a mountain together and so, with the words of one of my training partners from my last squad ringing in my ears - “it’s just a bike. Ride it!!!” - I faked it. I pretended I hadn’t just missed three weeks of bike training. I pretended I could ascend and descend mountains on a TT bike (although I obviously wasn’t too successful at faking the descending part given comments by a German competitor of mine post race – oops). And the run, I just ran. Simple. Every time I started to hurt, I told myself to look around at where I was racing. Enjoy it. Those were the only orders. Simple. Enjoy what you’re doing. I finished third pro female and third female overall with the fastest female run split of the day (36.20 for the 10km). I crossed the finish line, and smiled a sigh of relief. Finally.

I may be slowly learning how to make life simpler. Some things may slowly be starting to make sense. But I’ll never grow out of Bob’s Burgers. I’ll never stop loving the simpleness it represents. It’s light, it’s simple, it makes me laugh and I think everyone needs a little bit of that in their life.

The Penrose Staircase ... (Season 2015 begins)

When Lionel and Roger Penrose created the Penrose Staircase in the late 1950s, finding its parallels with how we feel during many of life’s challenges was certainly not their intended purpose. However, the optical illusion provided by this impossible object, is exactly what springs to mind when I view the journey of an Elite athlete.

Visually, the Penrose staircase presents a staircase with four 90 degree corners. The stairs form a continuous loop. In effect therefore, you can continually climb the stairs only to appear right back at the beginning. But it’s important to remember that the Penrose staircase is just an optical illusion, it’s an impossible object. In reality, progress is made, times do come down, and athlete evolution does take place. But in stepping up to racing the best girls in the sport, sometimes this progress can be disguised, masked, and lost amidst expectations and perceptions that too are evolving. It can seem like you’ve climbed so many stairs, only to be starring once again at that optical illusion, feeling like you’re simply right back at the beginning again…. But of course you’re not.

 

This recent Australian summer was only my second off season as a triathlete and certainly my first covering as many miles as I did, and working as hard as I did. Honestly, almost every day started with the same irrational fear that I might not make it through the day, and then almost every day would end with the same sense of disbelief – did I really just survive that?! As far as likening this experience to a staircase, well I felt like I’d basically spent 10 weeks climbing all 163 floors of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. And so, eager to start the season and allow myself the rewards of all this hard work, to apply all those personal best training sessions to a competitive environment, I went to New Zealand for my first ITU race of the season. And it was a total debacle. I was devastated and I truly felt that I had fallen victim to a Penrose staircase. I had climbed, I had endured, I had surprised myself day in and day out with my performances at training, to only end up right back at the beginning. In effect, that’s honestly exactly what it felt like. In reality, that was a ridiculous conclusion to come to. One race does not erase all the personal best times in the pool and on the bike. It doesn’t deem the competitive results at local events, against Olympic and World Championship athletes, irrelevant. Especially when on watching footage, it’s quite embarrassingly obvious that there were some serious navigational issues in the swim which contributed to the debacle (including, at one point, swimming frantically in the opposite direction to that which the rest of the field were heading). Once I stepped back, and saw the failure for what it was - an optical illusion - only then was I ready to move on.

The very next week, with some extra fire in my belly and something to prove, I went to the Caloundra Gatorade triathlon. Despite the local nature of the race, it was very much an international level field, highlighted by the Commonwealth Games silver medallist no less. There too were no less than seven girls who’d raced World Cup level. It was the perfect low profile, but competitive environment in which to truly file the previous weekend away as an aberration. I came out of the water within a stone’s throw of girls that had decimated me a week earlier. I could have stopped right there. I’d just shown myself that I had improved over the summer. The hours in the chlorine had made a difference. This was no Penrose staircase. Compared to my first off season, I had climbed to a higher level. I finished the race in 5^th, with a run split only 6 seconds shy of that run by first and second. The race had served its purpose and it was a relief.

And so I was beginning to see through the optical illusion. I was starting to see that the Penrose staircase was penetrable. And lucky that, as the Oceania Elite Olympic Distance Championships loomed not quite a fortnight later. As is fast becoming a pattern, the fields this year are a whole lot stronger compared with last year as Olympic qualification points are up for grabs. There’s a clear desperation this year, with even Olympic medallists racing wherever they have to, just to get the points they need. Devonport was no exception, especially with the double points on offer from it being a Continental Championship. The composition of the field coupled with it being Olympic Distance (1500m swim) had the potential to leave me very exposed, and potentially in for a pretty rough day. I knew this going in though and I was prepared for it. The relief and excitement then when I managed to pull out my best swim ever, providing me the opportunity to not just time trial my way back into the race but actually work with a pack from almost the very beginning of the bike. As someone used to bridging on the bike and running through the field for my results, this was a huge step in the right direction for me. I surpassed my expectation in finishing 13^th, and within the all-important 8% threshold to take home a valuable parcel of ITU ranking points. There is a long year ahead and this is only month one of ten on the road, racing. There is a lot of work yet to be done but what Devonport represented for me, was progress. It proved myself wrong to think that I’d gone forward over summer, to simply only arrive back at the beginning. And it proved my coach right, that I just need to trust the process and keep at it.        

Elite sport isn’t easy. It can, at times, feel like ten steps forward, twelve steps backward. But no hard work goes unrewarded at the end of the day. Additionally, even a bad day can provide its own form of progress. It may feel like we’re continually stuck in a loop, continually climbing a Penrose staircase, but that’s only because we’re athletes. By nature, we’re irrationally negative on the slightest hint of a bad race, or a bad session. But get over that, see the bigger picture and suddenly, you’re starring down the staircase, way down, at where you actually, truly, once were.

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.