This weekend, I completed my first triathlon. At 70.3 miles (114 km), I didn't cut myself any slack in choosing my first race. Was this a mistake? Well- we'll talk about that a little later. But when push comes to shove, I did it. I took on the challenge, I trained for it as effectively as I could, and I pushed through to the finish line. And I did it all while working/participating in a practicum, raising two young children and attending school full time.
And to that end, I am very proud.
Very tired, but very proud.
This post is just a summary of the event itself. I will do more that actually talk about my takeaways from the experience.
2 KM Swim: 41.26.9
This was not a great time for me. I expected to finish the swim in closer to 35 minutes. In my defense, my goggles got snatched off my face during the run-in, and tore the nose strap, so I swam the whole thing blind. I also stopped to help a struggling swimmer grab a boat, and checked in on many others along the way. Lifeguard Zita was in full "Oh my God this is so dangerous" mode, not race mode...
Surprises in the swim: People are *really* aggressive in the water. This was tough for me, because being grabbed at, particularly in the leg and hip area, is a serious PTSD trigger for me. I would pick my start placement very differently next time, knowing that I would be in the faster top third than the slower one. This would have saved me a fair amount of aggravation in terms of trying to get through the weaker swimmers, and probably would have shaved those five minutes off my time.
Goal for next year: 00:35:59.9 minutes or less.
Transition 1: 00: 07:29.4I had heard mumblings about these 'transition' things, and how they are black holes of time eaters, destroying your momentum and blocking your PRs along the way...but I'd never really believed them. Surely it couldn't be that complicated to get out of swim gear and into bike gear? I get dressed after showering every day...right?
Wrong. Transition 1 is no joke, kids. Getting out of a wetsuit, even with assistance, is a freaking pain- especially when you have an ankle bracelet you have to get back on you.
And then there is trying to get dry socks onto your still wet, dirty feet! Sunscreen, bike gear...the works. T1 is intense. And I lost about 80% of my time struggling with compression socks because I thought I'd be clever and wear my run socks during the cycle. Ha! Not clever at all. In fact, most of the elite level athletes didn't seem to be wearing socks at all. Some didn't even tie up their shoes. Apparently I have a lot to learn about how to navigate a successful transition. This one cost me a LOT of unnecessary time.
Goal for next year: 00:03:59.9
90 KM Bike: 3:17:37.6
Ok, so this is the epic victory of my day. In fact, this bike ride might be one of the crowning achievements of my life, so you are getting the full back story. If you aren't interested in it, skip right to the race section. :)
"Training" Season...or lack thereof
Let me be crystal clear: It is a terrible idea to decide to do a 70.3 mile triathlon if you don't know how to ride a bike.
It is not only arrogant (very arrogant), but foolish and dangerous. Kids, do not try this one at home. For real.
When I signed up for this race, I had not been on a bike more than a handful of times in over 15 years. I had never ridden a road bike. I had only ridden once on a highway (from my hometown of Falher, to Donnelly Corner gas station, roughly 7km away, and back) when I was about 12 or 13.
I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
Jason bought me my tri-bike as a Christmas gift. A 2015 Felt Ultegra 11 Speed beauty. I love my bike. It is lighter than most six month babies (8kg), and riding it literally feels like flying. I quickly discovered that I love everything about cycling, and I suspect that it is going to become my primary sport very quickly.
But a new cyclist shouldn't cycle alone- at least not without an emergency plan. This, plus really unpredictable weather, greatly limited my training opportunities. In the six months since we bought my bike, I have only been able to ride it 9 times (race day included).
And almost every time I did get out on it, I got a flat tire. I wish I was exagerrating, but my bike has now had flats changed by five different people, including Canadian IM Champion Jasper Blake (who was incredibly kind to me, despite my ignorance...) and two professional bike mechanics. So it wasn't a lack of skill at changing the tires. I truly started to believe that my bike was cursed.
Compound this with an extremely gruelling anxiety disorder and catastrophic thinking pattern, and the result is...well...predictable. The fear of getting a flat was paralyzing, and kept me home on plenty of beautiful afternoons when I should have been clocking miles. There were many days where I had plenty of time, but no one to come and get me if something went wrong.
Now, I get it. You're all asking yourselves why I wouldn't just learn to change a tire so I wouldn't have to worry about it. Well, for the same reason that I still can't program the clock in my car or do basic maintenance work on my car. I have a learning disorder that greatly impacts my ability to process mechanical information. My brain can't handle directional concepts. I have no visual spatial comprehension, and I can't follow instructions unless they are written down and crystal clear. So learning to change a flat was no small feat. It took me four different people showing me how to do it, several hours watching youtube videos, and an entire evening (two days before the race) dedicated to practicing it.
But I can do it myself now, and I might actually be prouder of that fact than I am of my entire race.
Dry Land Training: Learning to 'cycle' off bike
Now, those who know me know that I am a disciplined student of the human body. I know that, in order to perform, the body must be trained. I knew this as an opera singer. I knew it as a swimmer. I know it as a personal trainer. One does not just jump into a sport and expect to perform well without training for it. I knew that I would have a very uphill battle when it came to cycling.
But I had this great bike I couldn't ride. So what is one to do?
Hit the books.
I did a lot of research on cycling mechanics, and began to train my body specifically to perform on the bike. My resistance training program was designed around building my cycling muscles. I learned about zone training, and used a spin bike to practice in both high intensity and low intensity settings. I performed 2-hour long rides at +85% of HRMax the entire time, and developed stronger heart and lung muscles than I ever dreamt possible. I built my core muscles and worked extensively on balance and core work to help give me the stability I would need once I hit the road.
I spent more time 'learning to ride' off my bike than many people spend on their bikes. And while it is an imperfect strategy, it paid off. I did not become a proficient cyclist- the fact is that you just have to get on your bike and ride in order to do that.
But I did become a very, very strong one. And I mean that literally. My cycling muscles are killer strong. And that's what got me through on race day.
Race Day: Come hell or high water...
Those 3 hours and 17 minutes on the bike were some of the greatest moments I have ever lived. Don't get me wrong. It was *hard*. So, so hard. And so damn awesome.
First of all- no flats. I saw many other people get flats, but somehow I got spared (ha!). But the time that I spent learning how to change a tire was definitely not in vain- it eased the anxiety a lot and let me focus in on the actual task at hand: peddling my damn feet and putting those muscles into action.
Based on my training, I had hoped to hold my own at a pace of 23-25km an hour, with a goal of doing the full 90km distane in less than 4 hours. That seemed reasonable to expect for a newish rider. I surprised myself when I was holding my own at 28-30km an hour- still not super duper fast, but- again- I'd only been on this bike 9 times, and I'd just done my first swim/T1 ever.
GWN is a relatively flat terrain, which actually kind of worked against me. I am super strong on hills. This might be because I didn't know that I had a whole set of lighter gears, specifically designed for hills. When Jasper explained this to me at training camp, he kind of broke my brain. I truly had believed that I had to do hills on the hardest gear, not the easiest. So I had spent months training that way.
I had most of my major gains on other cyclists on the hills- to the dismay of some, who commented on my "sheer strength" as I rode past them.
But they always flew right past me on the downhill sections. FYI, for those who have never done it, going +40km/h down a hill is scary. I did a lot of riding my brakes, costing me a fair amount of momentum, time and energy.
The first 60km were smooth as silk. Seriously- cycling feels like flying. Except for your butt. Your butt is very, very aware that it is absolutely not flying. But still, I felt strong, powerful and was holding my own against some much, much more experienced cyclists.
And then the wind came, and with it came the rain and hail.
The storm that we had been hoping would hold off until the end of the day was rolling in quickly. I had never ridden in poor weather before. The instability of it was shocking. I was able to hold steady, but it required me to dramatically change my riding approach, especially on the hills.
Fortunately, the rain and hail didn't last long.
Unfortunately, they lasted long enough to seriously derail me. Somehow, a hailstone got in through my sunglasses and lodged itself in my eye. The pain was excruciating. And, like the rookie that I am, my hand leapt up to protect my face...and that's when I crashed.
"Crashed" might be overstating it a little.
It's when I slid.
Very quickly.
Into the ditch.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with racing bikes, my bike doesn't really have the same kind of pedals as your run of the mill mountain bike does. They are specialized, and you were fancy shoes that clip into them. It's odd at first, but amazing once you get used to it.
Unless, of course, you are still clipped into them while lying on the ground, in the rain, with your bike on top of you.
Five cyclists raced past me without saying a word. Honestly, I imagine that they were probably as frightened as I was of the worsening conditions and couldn't afford to stop. But the 6th cyclist, a nice young man, stopped and offered assistance. We got me unclipped, and get back on our bikes.
(I never got his name. I forgot his race number. But, Whoever you are, thank you from the bottom of my heart.)
Within a few minutes, I was back up on my bike and racing onward. It took a few minutes for my body to register the searing pain in my knee. It didn't take much of my anatomy knowledge to figure out that I had sprained my ACL. :(
I made the decision at that point to finish my bike ride and call it a day. I had to get back into the town either way, and the skies were starting to clear up. But the pain was exhausting and it took everything I had to make it to T2.
Goal for next year: Try not to crash my bike. Try not to injure my body. Aim for under 3:00:00. Actually ride my bike as often as humanly possible. Learn how to change the back tire.
Transition 2: 00:05:59.7
Ok, so remember how I said that I was going to be done my race when I got to T2. Yeah- I meant that. I really did. I was in a lot of pain, and I firmly disagree with 'pushing through' when you have an injury. Pain is often the body's way of telling you that there is a problem. Ignoring that problem, even in the short term, can have catastrophic effects.
But then, I have only ever done three races before this one (5km, 10km, 1/2 marathon), and I am starting to wonder if running through pain during races is simply inevitable when you start to race more frequently. So that's a topic I will need to research a little more.
So, yeah- I was about ready to call it in when I got to the dismount line, which is where I assumed we were supposed to cross before dismounting our bikes (which, you know, would make sense given the chalk line that said "Dismount here"...)
But I have anxiety. Really bad anxiety. Anxiety that is compounded by stress and social situations.
And it turns out I had misinterpreted the meaning of that line. Turns out 'Dismount here' actually means "If you haven't gotten off your bike by this line, Angry Alberta Triathlon Official is going to start yelling in your face until you get off your bike..."
Huh. Definitely didn't see that one coming.
So she yelled. And yelled. And I panicked, and got off my bike as quickly as I could (which was not quickly at all with a knee that didn't want to bend...) and hobbled my way to T2. Once there, I was so scared that she would yell at me again that I didn't even stop to think. I just started getting changed. Also, Jason was there, filming me and I knew that dozens of my friends would see me quit if I walked away. So I dug deep, put my runners on and went out for my run.
Goal for next year: If I can cut this one down, great. But honestly, just making it past T2 was a victory for me. So my goal next year is to make it to T2 feeling strong and ready for the run, instead of crying and terrified of how terrible the next three hours were going to be...
Run: 02:30:23.2
I keep coming back to this number, because I am convinced that it was a mistake. There is no way that this run only took me 2.5 hours. I swear to God, these were the longest hours of my life...and I have lived some long hours in my life.
The run hurt. It just hurt. It hurts to think about it.
It hurt because I was injured. It hurt because it was hot. It hurt because I was under hydrated, under nourished, under prepared for the mental exercise.
But mostly, it hurts because I was under trained.
And I need to admit that myself, and to the world. I was not trained for this run. I focused almost all my energy on the bike portion, and only did one run that was over 10km in my entire training season. There are several reasons for this, and none of them are particularly good ones. I was very busy. Life interfered with long run days. I could only do so much, so often, so intensely...I was burned out....
And the truth is that all of these reasons are 100% true, and 100% valid. But they still don't add up to being prepared and well trained. They might explain why I wasn't, but they don't actually do much more than that.
When push comes to shove, I went into this race knowing full well that I had robbed myself of the opportunity to perform well on the run and that I had no one to blame for that but myself.
Now, 2.5 hours for a half really isn't that terrible. It's actually a great time for many runners. But it isn't a time that is consistent with my own performance standards. And it isn't a time that reflects what my body can do.
So, now I spend the summer training my run again. I have another half marathon in September (Canmore, Rocky Mountain Half) that I would like to take under 2 hours. It's a nice run, but lots of hill trails and not a particularly easy terrain. It will take me solid work if I am going to meet that goal. Looks like I have some work ahead of me.
As for #GWN2017:
Goal for next year: 02:14:59.9
Total time: 06:42:57.1
Not too shabby for my first ever triathlon. Lots of learning moments. Lots of digging deep and pushing through.
But it is definitely a time that I look forward to beating next year.
Goal for next year: 06:29:59.9
And with that, I guess I will address the elephant in the room- the question that everyone has asked me since I crossed the line: FULL IRONMAN NEXT YEAR?!?!
The answer here is pretty clear to me: No. Not next year. At some point, yes. But not next year.
I have young children. I have a new career. I still have school for another six months. I have husband that I miss, and family and friends and neglected housework.
Will I do a full 140.3? Yes. I imagine that I will someday. But for now, I want to really let the major lesson of this adventure sink in: The journey isn't about the race itself. Pushing yourself to always go further and longer and harder is all well and good, but it isn't if costs you the pleasure and enjoyment of simply loving what you are doing.
Goals are important. They really are. Set goals that are ambitious. Push yourself to the limits. Reach your full potential. Be daring, take risks, be brave...do all those things.
But you don't have to do them all at once. And when you try, you sometimes wind up missing the little things that make the journey worthwhile.
Next year, I will learn how to really ride my bike. I will learn how to excel at my run, both in improving my mechanics and my actual training technique. I will do more open water swimming because it is my favourite thing in the world. I will savour every training session and remember that the real clock that I am racing against is the one that is ticking by the remaining seconds of my life. I will try to make every one of those seconds count.
In the great race of life, we all reach the same finish line. It's not when you get there that matters; it's the how you got there that defines how you'll be remembered.
Goal for next year: 00:03:59.9
90 KM Bike: 3:17:37.6
Ok, so this is the epic victory of my day. In fact, this bike ride might be one of the crowning achievements of my life, so you are getting the full back story. If you aren't interested in it, skip right to the race section. :)
"Training" Season...or lack thereof
Let me be crystal clear: It is a terrible idea to decide to do a 70.3 mile triathlon if you don't know how to ride a bike.
It is not only arrogant (very arrogant), but foolish and dangerous. Kids, do not try this one at home. For real.
When I signed up for this race, I had not been on a bike more than a handful of times in over 15 years. I had never ridden a road bike. I had only ridden once on a highway (from my hometown of Falher, to Donnelly Corner gas station, roughly 7km away, and back) when I was about 12 or 13.
I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
Jason bought me my tri-bike as a Christmas gift. A 2015 Felt Ultegra 11 Speed beauty. I love my bike. It is lighter than most six month babies (8kg), and riding it literally feels like flying. I quickly discovered that I love everything about cycling, and I suspect that it is going to become my primary sport very quickly.
But a new cyclist shouldn't cycle alone- at least not without an emergency plan. This, plus really unpredictable weather, greatly limited my training opportunities. In the six months since we bought my bike, I have only been able to ride it 9 times (race day included).
And almost every time I did get out on it, I got a flat tire. I wish I was exagerrating, but my bike has now had flats changed by five different people, including Canadian IM Champion Jasper Blake (who was incredibly kind to me, despite my ignorance...) and two professional bike mechanics. So it wasn't a lack of skill at changing the tires. I truly started to believe that my bike was cursed.
Compound this with an extremely gruelling anxiety disorder and catastrophic thinking pattern, and the result is...well...predictable. The fear of getting a flat was paralyzing, and kept me home on plenty of beautiful afternoons when I should have been clocking miles. There were many days where I had plenty of time, but no one to come and get me if something went wrong.
Now, I get it. You're all asking yourselves why I wouldn't just learn to change a tire so I wouldn't have to worry about it. Well, for the same reason that I still can't program the clock in my car or do basic maintenance work on my car. I have a learning disorder that greatly impacts my ability to process mechanical information. My brain can't handle directional concepts. I have no visual spatial comprehension, and I can't follow instructions unless they are written down and crystal clear. So learning to change a flat was no small feat. It took me four different people showing me how to do it, several hours watching youtube videos, and an entire evening (two days before the race) dedicated to practicing it.
But I can do it myself now, and I might actually be prouder of that fact than I am of my entire race.
Dry Land Training: Learning to 'cycle' off bike
Now, those who know me know that I am a disciplined student of the human body. I know that, in order to perform, the body must be trained. I knew this as an opera singer. I knew it as a swimmer. I know it as a personal trainer. One does not just jump into a sport and expect to perform well without training for it. I knew that I would have a very uphill battle when it came to cycling.
But I had this great bike I couldn't ride. So what is one to do?
Hit the books.
I did a lot of research on cycling mechanics, and began to train my body specifically to perform on the bike. My resistance training program was designed around building my cycling muscles. I learned about zone training, and used a spin bike to practice in both high intensity and low intensity settings. I performed 2-hour long rides at +85% of HRMax the entire time, and developed stronger heart and lung muscles than I ever dreamt possible. I built my core muscles and worked extensively on balance and core work to help give me the stability I would need once I hit the road.
I spent more time 'learning to ride' off my bike than many people spend on their bikes. And while it is an imperfect strategy, it paid off. I did not become a proficient cyclist- the fact is that you just have to get on your bike and ride in order to do that.
But I did become a very, very strong one. And I mean that literally. My cycling muscles are killer strong. And that's what got me through on race day.
Race Day: Come hell or high water...
Those 3 hours and 17 minutes on the bike were some of the greatest moments I have ever lived. Don't get me wrong. It was *hard*. So, so hard. And so damn awesome.
First of all- no flats. I saw many other people get flats, but somehow I got spared (ha!). But the time that I spent learning how to change a tire was definitely not in vain- it eased the anxiety a lot and let me focus in on the actual task at hand: peddling my damn feet and putting those muscles into action.
Based on my training, I had hoped to hold my own at a pace of 23-25km an hour, with a goal of doing the full 90km distane in less than 4 hours. That seemed reasonable to expect for a newish rider. I surprised myself when I was holding my own at 28-30km an hour- still not super duper fast, but- again- I'd only been on this bike 9 times, and I'd just done my first swim/T1 ever.
GWN is a relatively flat terrain, which actually kind of worked against me. I am super strong on hills. This might be because I didn't know that I had a whole set of lighter gears, specifically designed for hills. When Jasper explained this to me at training camp, he kind of broke my brain. I truly had believed that I had to do hills on the hardest gear, not the easiest. So I had spent months training that way.
I had most of my major gains on other cyclists on the hills- to the dismay of some, who commented on my "sheer strength" as I rode past them.
But they always flew right past me on the downhill sections. FYI, for those who have never done it, going +40km/h down a hill is scary. I did a lot of riding my brakes, costing me a fair amount of momentum, time and energy.
The first 60km were smooth as silk. Seriously- cycling feels like flying. Except for your butt. Your butt is very, very aware that it is absolutely not flying. But still, I felt strong, powerful and was holding my own against some much, much more experienced cyclists.
And then the wind came, and with it came the rain and hail.
The storm that we had been hoping would hold off until the end of the day was rolling in quickly. I had never ridden in poor weather before. The instability of it was shocking. I was able to hold steady, but it required me to dramatically change my riding approach, especially on the hills.
Fortunately, the rain and hail didn't last long.
Unfortunately, they lasted long enough to seriously derail me. Somehow, a hailstone got in through my sunglasses and lodged itself in my eye. The pain was excruciating. And, like the rookie that I am, my hand leapt up to protect my face...and that's when I crashed.
"Crashed" might be overstating it a little.
It's when I slid.
Very quickly.
Into the ditch.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with racing bikes, my bike doesn't really have the same kind of pedals as your run of the mill mountain bike does. They are specialized, and you were fancy shoes that clip into them. It's odd at first, but amazing once you get used to it.
Unless, of course, you are still clipped into them while lying on the ground, in the rain, with your bike on top of you.
Five cyclists raced past me without saying a word. Honestly, I imagine that they were probably as frightened as I was of the worsening conditions and couldn't afford to stop. But the 6th cyclist, a nice young man, stopped and offered assistance. We got me unclipped, and get back on our bikes.
(I never got his name. I forgot his race number. But, Whoever you are, thank you from the bottom of my heart.)
Within a few minutes, I was back up on my bike and racing onward. It took a few minutes for my body to register the searing pain in my knee. It didn't take much of my anatomy knowledge to figure out that I had sprained my ACL. :(
I made the decision at that point to finish my bike ride and call it a day. I had to get back into the town either way, and the skies were starting to clear up. But the pain was exhausting and it took everything I had to make it to T2.
Goal for next year: Try not to crash my bike. Try not to injure my body. Aim for under 3:00:00. Actually ride my bike as often as humanly possible. Learn how to change the back tire.
Transition 2: 00:05:59.7
Ok, so remember how I said that I was going to be done my race when I got to T2. Yeah- I meant that. I really did. I was in a lot of pain, and I firmly disagree with 'pushing through' when you have an injury. Pain is often the body's way of telling you that there is a problem. Ignoring that problem, even in the short term, can have catastrophic effects.
But then, I have only ever done three races before this one (5km, 10km, 1/2 marathon), and I am starting to wonder if running through pain during races is simply inevitable when you start to race more frequently. So that's a topic I will need to research a little more.
So, yeah- I was about ready to call it in when I got to the dismount line, which is where I assumed we were supposed to cross before dismounting our bikes (which, you know, would make sense given the chalk line that said "Dismount here"...)
But I have anxiety. Really bad anxiety. Anxiety that is compounded by stress and social situations.
And it turns out I had misinterpreted the meaning of that line. Turns out 'Dismount here' actually means "If you haven't gotten off your bike by this line, Angry Alberta Triathlon Official is going to start yelling in your face until you get off your bike..."
Huh. Definitely didn't see that one coming.
So she yelled. And yelled. And I panicked, and got off my bike as quickly as I could (which was not quickly at all with a knee that didn't want to bend...) and hobbled my way to T2. Once there, I was so scared that she would yell at me again that I didn't even stop to think. I just started getting changed. Also, Jason was there, filming me and I knew that dozens of my friends would see me quit if I walked away. So I dug deep, put my runners on and went out for my run.
Goal for next year: If I can cut this one down, great. But honestly, just making it past T2 was a victory for me. So my goal next year is to make it to T2 feeling strong and ready for the run, instead of crying and terrified of how terrible the next three hours were going to be...
Run: 02:30:23.2
I keep coming back to this number, because I am convinced that it was a mistake. There is no way that this run only took me 2.5 hours. I swear to God, these were the longest hours of my life...and I have lived some long hours in my life.
The run hurt. It just hurt. It hurts to think about it.
It hurt because I was injured. It hurt because it was hot. It hurt because I was under hydrated, under nourished, under prepared for the mental exercise.
But mostly, it hurts because I was under trained.
And I need to admit that myself, and to the world. I was not trained for this run. I focused almost all my energy on the bike portion, and only did one run that was over 10km in my entire training season. There are several reasons for this, and none of them are particularly good ones. I was very busy. Life interfered with long run days. I could only do so much, so often, so intensely...I was burned out....
And the truth is that all of these reasons are 100% true, and 100% valid. But they still don't add up to being prepared and well trained. They might explain why I wasn't, but they don't actually do much more than that.
When push comes to shove, I went into this race knowing full well that I had robbed myself of the opportunity to perform well on the run and that I had no one to blame for that but myself.
Now, 2.5 hours for a half really isn't that terrible. It's actually a great time for many runners. But it isn't a time that is consistent with my own performance standards. And it isn't a time that reflects what my body can do.
So, now I spend the summer training my run again. I have another half marathon in September (Canmore, Rocky Mountain Half) that I would like to take under 2 hours. It's a nice run, but lots of hill trails and not a particularly easy terrain. It will take me solid work if I am going to meet that goal. Looks like I have some work ahead of me.
As for #GWN2017:
Goal for next year: 02:14:59.9
Total time: 06:42:57.1
Not too shabby for my first ever triathlon. Lots of learning moments. Lots of digging deep and pushing through.
But it is definitely a time that I look forward to beating next year.
Goal for next year: 06:29:59.9
And with that, I guess I will address the elephant in the room- the question that everyone has asked me since I crossed the line: FULL IRONMAN NEXT YEAR?!?!
The answer here is pretty clear to me: No. Not next year. At some point, yes. But not next year.
I have young children. I have a new career. I still have school for another six months. I have husband that I miss, and family and friends and neglected housework.
Will I do a full 140.3? Yes. I imagine that I will someday. But for now, I want to really let the major lesson of this adventure sink in: The journey isn't about the race itself. Pushing yourself to always go further and longer and harder is all well and good, but it isn't if costs you the pleasure and enjoyment of simply loving what you are doing.
Goals are important. They really are. Set goals that are ambitious. Push yourself to the limits. Reach your full potential. Be daring, take risks, be brave...do all those things.
But you don't have to do them all at once. And when you try, you sometimes wind up missing the little things that make the journey worthwhile.
Next year, I will learn how to really ride my bike. I will learn how to excel at my run, both in improving my mechanics and my actual training technique. I will do more open water swimming because it is my favourite thing in the world. I will savour every training session and remember that the real clock that I am racing against is the one that is ticking by the remaining seconds of my life. I will try to make every one of those seconds count.
In the great race of life, we all reach the same finish line. It's not when you get there that matters; it's the how you got there that defines how you'll be remembered.
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