Hope Finds A Way
I have a triathlon to race this Saturday.
Ironman Oceanside, 70.3.
I am excited to race it, but that was not the case a mere 24 hours ago.
This will be my fourth time toeing the line at this iconic, early season kick-off race on the Ironman circuit. I raced it in 2009, (header photo), 2010, and 2019. It is a tough and gorgeous course that includes a lively ocean swim, a fast and hilly bike ride through Camp Pendleton, and a beachside run course that is stacked with intense and unwavering crowd support the entire thirteen plus miles.
I have had a blast every time I’ve raced it.
However, for the last five days or so, the last place on earth I wanted to be was zipped up in my new/yet to be broken-in wetsuit standing on the beach in Oceanside Saturday morning.
Ripping through the Oceanside, 70.3 bike course for the first time on my old Specialized Roubaix in 2009.
Throughout the last handful days of experiencing a rumbly stomach, pushing hard on the final workouts before the elusive taper begins, and spending my downtime strolling down memory lane of results pages of the past, I couldn’t shake the debilitating doubt, and inner chatter repeating, “Why am I doing this to myself?”
Back when they had us running on sand!! Oceanside, 70.3, 2009.
During the soul-searching mini-sabbatical I took last November from structured training, I decided that the biggest hurdle I wanted to clear this year was not succumbing to self-sabotage in the ten days or so leading up a triathlon race by inviting injury or sickness, and I am pleased to report that I have succeeded in that effort.
I three-stepped right over that hurdle on my way to Oceanside, 70.3.
I feel great. I am tired, but certain I am fit, and confident that the pesky fatigue from heavy Ironman St. George training will fade by race morning, if not sooner. Yet over the last few days there was still one teeny mental issue camped out on my path toward the starting line, the dread of not wanting to be there at all.
A few miles into the run course the last time I raced Oceanside, 70.3 in 2019.
But after soaking up some rest on a recent rare, and rainy Monday, and articulating my concerns to those I respect most, I cracked open a window in my stifling dungeon of self-doubt. Next, a draft of hope must’ve snuck in, because silently and slowly, the weight of expectations began to float off of my bones.
Hovering in a mask-free treadmill run euphoria moments after completing my workout last Wednesday.
True, I may falter somewhere along the course; swim, bike, or run slower than I want to, (or have in the past), but I’ve already won, because the dread is gone.
Furthermore, I have faith that I will wake up on Saturday morning ecstatic for the opportunity to push myself as hard as I can from sunrise 'til brunch, excited to experience every exhausting and exhilarating second of the race from start to finish.
The song and video choice this week is a wonderful tune from one of my favorite bands, Bastille, Shut Off The Lights.