Mental Mush.
I know, I know.
You want photos of the carnage.
They're coming. Promise, promise.
Fortunately for me, my face is healing just fine. And fast, too (thankfully). I got my handlebar all taped up and ready to roll again.
I did the Iron-Cross on Saturday. And by "did" I mean suffered through it.
Not exactly the way I wanted my day to go. But I get credit for just getting it done, right?
I went out with the intent of just riding the course. I didn't care how long it took me, I just wanted to know what was out there so I could best gauge on how to handle the hills. Because as we've already established, home girl doesn't do hills...and when she does, she doesn't do them very well. It probably wasn't the best approach...but I felt that it was what I mentally needed to do. Looking back, I should've pushed myself harder physically...but I ended up with a different kind of push in the end...one I probably needed to get out of my system now, before race day.
I was fortunate enough to have one of the EnduraCamp coaches ride with me for about 20 miles. God love him. Pat would ride behind me and next to me and in front of me...all to help me pin point where my biggest issues were with gearing on the hills. And you know what? It helped.
Immensely.
He gave me so much incredible advice on how to tackle them. Ride over the hill...not just to the top....increase cadence at least 20-25 rpm's before starting the incline...drop to the small ring and crank up the back cassette as you're hitting the bottom of the previous hill.
I mean...how the hell was I supposed to know all this?
I'm just a girl from the city that boasts one of the the flattest and fastest marathons in existence. An ant hill is considered a mountain in this city it seems.
So that time he rode with me was beyond invaluable. He not only addressed my technical approach to it all. But my mental approach as well. Every grunt, sigh and proclamation of shit! was responded with a "that's a positive ugh, right!?!?" We named the worst hills after people I hate with the visualization approach that on race day, I get to make them my bitch.
Awesome.
I was feeling great when he left to go help some other athletes. I moved on to conquer the course on my own! Because I!AM!AWESOME! (exclamation point!)
Things were going well. Really well, actually.
And then it happened.
Somewhere around mile 41 I hit my breaking point.
I was in the midst of the worst hill on the hilliest leg of the entire damn course. It was one of those hills where you don't have the opportunity to gain speed leading up into it. The kind where you run out of gears and you realize you're not even a quarter of the way up the sucker. The kind where you want to give up.
And I did.
I gave up on myself that third leg.
It was awful. I walked up that nasty hill. And cursed myself during the entire process.
I haven't been in that horrible of a mental place during training in a really long time...possibly ever. I wish that feeling lasted only that one hill. But it didn't.
You see...when you crest that awful first hill of this leg, way off in the distance you see a water tower. I knew that the turn around was somewhere past that water tower. The stupid thing may as well have been three billion light years away. It didn't matter that it was only something along the lines of 5-6 miles.
Each time I came to the top of another hill, the water tower felt further away.
I walked up probably 3 of the hills in that last leg because I was simply hating myself. I got a case of the "I can'ts." I can't do a half ironman. I can't do hills. I can't race on a course that's above and beyond my physical ability. I can't...I can't...I can't...
I surrendered to the course.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I wanted to pack up and go home.
I thought about turning around and cutting myself short.
The coaches would never know.
Mike would never know.
But I'd always know.
And that was something I wouldn't forgive myself for doing.
I coaxed myself on my bike for another hill attempt. And I'd had it.
I couldn't turn over. I couldn't think. It was hot. There was no shade. There was a slight headwind...just enough to make that wretched water tower seem beyond my grasp.
I hopped off my bike in defeat again. I promised myself that as soon as I walked to the top of the hill, I'd call Coach Amy back in Chicago for a dose of tough love. I needed it. She made me program her number in my phone for this exact reason...these precise circumstances. As I'm walking up, wallowing in my self pity...a cyclist blows by me and tries to offer some encouraging words.
Doesn't work. (but thanks anyways, dude.)
As I'm cresting the top of the hill, I look out and see a series of rollers off in the distance, worse than everything I've just covered.
I sobbed.
Almost to the point of hysterics.
I couldn't take it anymore...and just let out a scream.
I can't call Coach Amy like this. I just can't. I must collect myself before I can even maintain a coherent conversation with her.
So I hop on my bike and enjoy the temporary downhill...make my way over a small roller...and then the guy who passed me is coming back towards me.
I had found the turn around. HALLELUJAH!!!
The horrendous series of rollers was beyond the turn around point. Somewhere in the midst of my teary-eyed meltdown, I failed to realize that I was right next to the ever-so-distant water tower.
And suddenly...
The negativity melted away.
There was no longer the feeling of "I can't go another 16 miles (nevermind the fact that I already had 40 behind me)." I was able to count down each of the last miles.
12 more miles to go I'd cheer to myself as I'd pedal up, up, up the hill....10 more miles to go...let's try and push it a little harder to that house up the road on the right...
And before I knew it...I was riding back down that nasty hill that made me hate life so much at the start of leg 3. And back into the Iron-Cross intersection I went.
I stopped to share the tale of my misery with Pat (I think he was pretty scared of my "dark place")...and then headed back into the transition area, rounding out the 56 mile ride.
Now...the whole time in motion (including walking my bike) was an embarrassing 4:40. This time will not get me to the bike cutoff (unless I miraculously has one of the first swim waves, which I won't since it's reverse age order). I don't have much room for error...so if I get a flat or crash or blow up somewhere on the course...then I'll likely have three unwanted letters next to my name.
I'm hoping that come race day, I'll be able to race within my own head without letting the demons get the best of me. I know that somewhere between miles 38 and 43...I'm going to be in a REALLY HORRIBLE PLACE. The 40-mile range seems to be my happy mental threshold on the bike. And now that I know all the crap that the third leg has in store for me I feel a little bit better prepared.
Not confident.
Just better prepared. I know that I can do the course. Whether or not I can within the designated time remains to be determined.
Kansas 70.3 will bring two very different types of battles.
me vs. the clock...and me vs. me
We'll see how this all pans out in 12 days.
You want photos of the carnage.
They're coming. Promise, promise.
Fortunately for me, my face is healing just fine. And fast, too (thankfully). I got my handlebar all taped up and ready to roll again.
I did the Iron-Cross on Saturday. And by "did" I mean suffered through it.
Not exactly the way I wanted my day to go. But I get credit for just getting it done, right?
I went out with the intent of just riding the course. I didn't care how long it took me, I just wanted to know what was out there so I could best gauge on how to handle the hills. Because as we've already established, home girl doesn't do hills...and when she does, she doesn't do them very well. It probably wasn't the best approach...but I felt that it was what I mentally needed to do. Looking back, I should've pushed myself harder physically...but I ended up with a different kind of push in the end...one I probably needed to get out of my system now, before race day.
I was fortunate enough to have one of the EnduraCamp coaches ride with me for about 20 miles. God love him. Pat would ride behind me and next to me and in front of me...all to help me pin point where my biggest issues were with gearing on the hills. And you know what? It helped.
Immensely.
He gave me so much incredible advice on how to tackle them. Ride over the hill...not just to the top....increase cadence at least 20-25 rpm's before starting the incline...drop to the small ring and crank up the back cassette as you're hitting the bottom of the previous hill.
I mean...how the hell was I supposed to know all this?
I'm just a girl from the city that boasts one of the the flattest and fastest marathons in existence. An ant hill is considered a mountain in this city it seems.
So that time he rode with me was beyond invaluable. He not only addressed my technical approach to it all. But my mental approach as well. Every grunt, sigh and proclamation of shit! was responded with a "that's a positive ugh, right!?!?" We named the worst hills after people I hate with the visualization approach that on race day, I get to make them my bitch.
Awesome.
I was feeling great when he left to go help some other athletes. I moved on to conquer the course on my own! Because I!AM!AWESOME! (exclamation point!)
Things were going well. Really well, actually.
And then it happened.
Somewhere around mile 41 I hit my breaking point.
I was in the midst of the worst hill on the hilliest leg of the entire damn course. It was one of those hills where you don't have the opportunity to gain speed leading up into it. The kind where you run out of gears and you realize you're not even a quarter of the way up the sucker. The kind where you want to give up.
And I did.
I gave up on myself that third leg.
It was awful. I walked up that nasty hill. And cursed myself during the entire process.
I haven't been in that horrible of a mental place during training in a really long time...possibly ever. I wish that feeling lasted only that one hill. But it didn't.
You see...when you crest that awful first hill of this leg, way off in the distance you see a water tower. I knew that the turn around was somewhere past that water tower. The stupid thing may as well have been three billion light years away. It didn't matter that it was only something along the lines of 5-6 miles.
Each time I came to the top of another hill, the water tower felt further away.
I walked up probably 3 of the hills in that last leg because I was simply hating myself. I got a case of the "I can'ts." I can't do a half ironman. I can't do hills. I can't race on a course that's above and beyond my physical ability. I can't...I can't...I can't...
I surrendered to the course.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I wanted to pack up and go home.
I thought about turning around and cutting myself short.
The coaches would never know.
Mike would never know.
But I'd always know.
And that was something I wouldn't forgive myself for doing.
I coaxed myself on my bike for another hill attempt. And I'd had it.
I couldn't turn over. I couldn't think. It was hot. There was no shade. There was a slight headwind...just enough to make that wretched water tower seem beyond my grasp.
I hopped off my bike in defeat again. I promised myself that as soon as I walked to the top of the hill, I'd call Coach Amy back in Chicago for a dose of tough love. I needed it. She made me program her number in my phone for this exact reason...these precise circumstances. As I'm walking up, wallowing in my self pity...a cyclist blows by me and tries to offer some encouraging words.
Doesn't work. (but thanks anyways, dude.)
As I'm cresting the top of the hill, I look out and see a series of rollers off in the distance, worse than everything I've just covered.
I sobbed.
Almost to the point of hysterics.
I couldn't take it anymore...and just let out a scream.
I can't call Coach Amy like this. I just can't. I must collect myself before I can even maintain a coherent conversation with her.
So I hop on my bike and enjoy the temporary downhill...make my way over a small roller...and then the guy who passed me is coming back towards me.
I had found the turn around. HALLELUJAH!!!
The horrendous series of rollers was beyond the turn around point. Somewhere in the midst of my teary-eyed meltdown, I failed to realize that I was right next to the ever-so-distant water tower.
And suddenly...
The negativity melted away.
There was no longer the feeling of "I can't go another 16 miles (nevermind the fact that I already had 40 behind me)." I was able to count down each of the last miles.
12 more miles to go I'd cheer to myself as I'd pedal up, up, up the hill....10 more miles to go...let's try and push it a little harder to that house up the road on the right...
And before I knew it...I was riding back down that nasty hill that made me hate life so much at the start of leg 3. And back into the Iron-Cross intersection I went.
I stopped to share the tale of my misery with Pat (I think he was pretty scared of my "dark place")...and then headed back into the transition area, rounding out the 56 mile ride.
Now...the whole time in motion (including walking my bike) was an embarrassing 4:40. This time will not get me to the bike cutoff (unless I miraculously has one of the first swim waves, which I won't since it's reverse age order). I don't have much room for error...so if I get a flat or crash or blow up somewhere on the course...then I'll likely have three unwanted letters next to my name.
I'm hoping that come race day, I'll be able to race within my own head without letting the demons get the best of me. I know that somewhere between miles 38 and 43...I'm going to be in a REALLY HORRIBLE PLACE. The 40-mile range seems to be my happy mental threshold on the bike. And now that I know all the crap that the third leg has in store for me I feel a little bit better prepared.
Not confident.
Just better prepared. I know that I can do the course. Whether or not I can within the designated time remains to be determined.
Kansas 70.3 will bring two very different types of battles.
me vs. the clock...and me vs. me
We'll see how this all pans out in 12 days.
Labels: Enduracamp, Ironman Kansas
posted by Iron Jayhawk at 2:10 PM
12 Camper Comments:
You can do it. I think everyone has that dark place (the long dark teatime of the soul, so to speak), but the real test is how you handle it. I have every confidence that, no matter what, you would have talked yourself back up onto that bike, clipped in, and started riding again.
Sometimes it takes a visit to that very dark place to make us realize all that we are capable of.
I like making hills your bitch. I may have to use that theory for my next race.
Ride on, Jayhawk...
beat me, and by me i mean you, and you beat the clock. way to stick with it. later.
Barb that is a lot of mental anquish, good job pushing through. That will help in the future. Regardlss good for you, be proud 56miles in the bank.
On a side note, bonking is to me physical first, but it can really mess with your head. I read nothing in your post about nutrition. How are you fueling your body to keep going, what is your nutrition plan? Now it's just a thought but perhaps you need to dial that in to push past that 40 mile barrier.
It is true that things are often more mental then physical but I think good nutrition can keep your head clear and you feeling strong. And when you feel strong it is easier to make those hills your bitch.
Good luck!
I too am doing IMKS 70.3.
I too am worried to death about the bike. I was out there in May to ride the course but I never did the last part of the cross. Now I think I should have! Maybe not.
Here is what I found on the website though:
Course Cutoff Times
You will need to complete each leg of the course within the designated cutoff time listed below, or you will be disqualified from the race.
Swim: 1-hour & 15-minutes from the start of the last swim wave.
Bike: 5-hours & 15-minutes from the start of the last swim wave.
Run: 8-hours from the start of the last swim wave.
So the time for the bike course starts with the last swim wave. Hopefully buying us a little more time.
I feel unprepared. I know this won't get too much better before race day. I guess the only thing we can do is dig deep and get it done! And hope we make the cut off so all of this crazy training isn't thrown out the window!!
Good luck out there! I'll be the girl who is bringing up the rear!!
You can do it!!! Rock it Jayhawk!
Hey don't get down on yourself, we all have those days. Just make sure before you hit the tough section you suck down some calories for an extra boost and really hammer all those downhills!
Good luck I am sure you will beat those cutoffs!
You'll do great! Your training has been awesome and you ARE prepared! I do want to see a pic. ;-)
You will do great! I can't wait to read how you kicked butt!
Training rides and runs don't just make your legs and lungs stronger for race day. They also prepare you to push away the "I can't" demons when it really counts. You are going to be so ready for the race that we soon will be calling you the Iron Jayhawk. Hang in there.
That last "arm" of the cross is the worst! The WORST! It's hard for everyone - not just you.
The good thing is just by riding the course, you will have so much more confidence on race day. Plus, you will have tapered, be rested and the race day excitement always gives you a good push and will make you faster than you were in training.
I agree with triserverance, you need a nutrition plan so you don't bonk! Get that nailed down and half the battle is won.
god its funny we really DID have the exact same kind of day that weeekend.
that 3rd leg is SUCH A BITCH. omg. oh. my. GOD. so just remember, after you get done with your swim, and your feeling good, and you want to fly through on the bike...
hold back.
cuz you'll need that energy on that last section.
and then of course to hop off and go run!
ugh.
its gunna be rough. but that just makes the finish line SO MUCH SWEETER!
Post a Comment
<< Home