Same shit different day.

I completely forgot about my last post. I really thought my last post was a reflection of my Ironman failure. I find this very interesting. I came back to this blog to focus on my next training adventure, on this, the Friday night before the Sunday race of the next Ironman in Tempe. I wanted to talk about my potential next adventure. Other shit takes the place though. . .

Interesting turn of events. Lil ole woe is me. I am not acknowledged at work for knowing more than the newbies. Woe is me. Or working more/harder than anyone in my department.  I now have a new role at work. People still talk shit. It doesn't matter. Who will they believe? The one who has dealt with the shit yet still tries to move up in the organization? Or the new one who has a 'great attitude?' F that shit. Tell the higher ups what they want to hear. I get shit done. Students graduate. Students are happy. I tell my coworkers what it is and like it is. It is no secret that the "new" team is not as invested as the "old" team. They come to work at 10 am and leave at 6. I arrive at 7 and leave when the work is as done as it can be for the day. It's for the students. They have no commitment to the organization. That was clear from the beginning. Who gets a merit increase? Not me. . . The ones who put in minimal time and effort do. Awesome.

I have a lot of things to feel down about in October and November. The anniversary of the Ironman failure of 2011; the failure of the 'relationship' of 2009; job failures; more race failures; more boyfriend failures-the list goes on. 

I really hate October/November.More on this later. I'm too annoyed to deal with it now.

Priorities

Tonight I am working on my employee evaluation. Again. This is a particularly interesting year since I have had four supervisors and have about 15 different jobs I've performed in the past 14 months that this evaluation covers.

How do I summarize how I've "met/exceeded" the "core areas" that my employer has defined in these circumstances. And why do I even bother? Does the rating even count? If I get a piece of that pie, does a 1.5% pay raise even matter? Sure I'm bitter, sure I'm angry. Every twist and turn of my employment has included "this policy applies to you negatively but no one else." From initial evaluation ratings to stupid things like flex time permissions.

I try every day not to think about it and just enjoy the parts of my job that I love. But, I allow the other bitter and angry folks in the unit in and they pollute my experience. Is it ok? No, but I don't know how to stop it. (I am open to suggestions. :) ) At the end of the year, IF I get a raise, I know others in the unit who have contributed much less but complain much louder and more often than me will get a bigger percentage of the "pie." And what do I do about it. Huff and puff on the inside but continue to slave a way year after year. I think, "next year it will be different." Well, here we are. It's next year. Will it be different? New leadership team? Will it be the same ole shit? History tells me yes. But how do I instigate change?

A better question is why do I let it get to me? What taught me to be like this? My Dad worked the same job for 42 years. His promotions included more vacation time. I don't necessarily have the example set for me that include exceed expectations=promotion. Dedication to the organization worked for him. At least he got more vacation time. I just seem to accumulate guilt. There is no appreciation for dedication or provided stability.

I want to progress. I want to manage. How do I get there? I ask these questions of my organization but there are no answers. I get the feeling recently that they tell me what they think I want to hear. Sure I want to hear that! Maybe this is a red flag. Maybe they don't want me. That's fine. Just tell me that. I'll move on. Be honest with me. Why waste our time? Oh wait, I'm a probably the most productive person on the team with the broadest spectrum of knowledge. That's why. I'm out of the country for two weeks and still have 10 hours of work per day while I'm away. Ten hours of work that I complete while I am abroad. There is no "you can do it without me." Yet, who is the lowest on the totem pole? Rhetorical question.

How can I make me happy? Will work "work" for me? A few weeks ago I placed 3rd in my age group for a local super-sprint triathlon. What would happen if I funneled a bit of my extra work time into my racing? Could I do better or would it be more heart break? I sit here typing next my sweet little punkin dog who was just diagnosed with cancer last week. He just wants to sit next to me as I type this because he is too tired to play any longer (I mean it is 1 am. . . way past his bedtime.). Anyway, is that extra email at work worth the extra few minutes to sacrifice the time with my lil dog? I watch mushy Hallmark Channel romance movies. Ain't no one have time for that lifestyle in my line of work. Work rules all my time.

What is the payoff? I genuinely enjoy what I do for work. But I work too many hours. And way more hours than my teammates. I'm not spending time doing what I need to do in my personal life.  How do I find that balance?

Sigh. What am I supposed to do? 

Ghosts

Tonight, I can hear the Ironman announcer from my house. He calls names and the words “you are an Ironman.” The phrase still haunts me. The phrase used to motivate me. Now it makes me want to eat. Or drink. Or both. I was going to swing by TTL today to watch a few moments of the race. Instead, I’ve organized my closet, organized my recipe collection, caught up on some DVR. My life has been full of “I was going tos” the past two years. 

I was going to air up the tires and take the road bike for a spin.  I was going to hop back in the pool. I was going to stop eating after the first serving. I was going to train for all of those races: the ultra ragnar, the marathons, the 50k, the half marathons.

Instead I’ve made excuses. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. My knees/feet/hips/shoulders hurt. I’m tired. I’m busy. It doesn’t taste good reheated. Work is too demanding. The couch needs some TLC. 

The funny part about the whole story is that I was able to finish all of those races. Not fast mind you, but I finished. I finished that 50k trail run after maybe running 20 miles total through the summer prior to the race. This has not helped my motivation. I can bust my ass for years prior to one race and I can’t even get 2 miles through. I can sit on my butt, watch TV and eat too much and still finish a 50k with a smile. 

I remember one of the ladies who also did not make the swim cut off. She was yapping about how she didn’t even train for that Ironman so she wasn’t surprised. Somehow that is the part of the race that ‘stuck’ with me these past two years. If I don’t train, I won’t get hurt (emotionally, of course it’s dangerous to run these ridiculous distances with no training.). If I don’t train and I don’t finish, it’s my fault for not training. I have a reason. There is a clear reason I didn’t finish that race. The whole, it just wasn’t my day’ thing still burns. 

I have a tremendous group of friends, colleagues, family who supported me while I was MIA during training and who have continued to support me as I eat every emotion on the planet since my epic failure. They continue to ask me to be on their running teams and participate in races with them. They ask what crazy race I’m doing next. At some friends’ wedding, I even sat at the “running” table a couple of weeks ago. Even after running marathon #5 this year, I still don’t feel I’m a “runner.” My friends push me when I thought I couldn’t be pushed. They believe in me more than I believe in myself.

Thank you for putting up with me and my Ironman ghosts. It’s time to get healthy. It’s time to live up to the potential they see in me. I will train for that next race. I will get back on the bike. I will get back in the pool. I will earn those happy hour cocktails.

I like to ride my bicycle. . .

I have left my exciting bike adventure entry as an afterthought, so some of you wouldn’t worry too much about me.

It can be pretty scary riding a fast road bike long distances, especially while attached to it. I am glad the roads, for the most part, are closed for the race. (At least one lane is closed) I would typically ride the course to train. This weaves me around streets and through intersections before I get to the interstate.

I cycle in the bike lane or in the shoulder of the roads (for what they’re worth). Arizona isn’t known for its especially good drivers. This makes for a pretty nerve wracking bike ride. I get to deal with people texting, running red lights, speeding, and the general assholery toward the cyclist from many an automobile driver.

I have a few favorite drivers. If there was ever a time I was going to pee myself on the bike, these are the stories. . .

-There was the jerk that, at first I thought was just not paying attention, and swerved over the rumble strips into the shoulder space roughly two feet in front of me. That was awesome. Jackass then proceeded to continue his little leapfrog around the cyclists further up the road from me too. Really punk? That’s funny?

-There was the stretch of road with no shoulder. It’s usually around 7 am when I would make my way out to the interstate. This is not a time for much congested traffic on this particular road on a Saturday morning. The DUMP truck dipshit refused to scoot over and give me three feet (it’s the law by the way). There was no traffic for miles in either direction and you can’t scoot over into the second lane to give me some space? He was so close and going so fast that the draft almost knocked me over.

-This same road on the way back to my house . . . happens to be the road where one of our local casinos sits. Yay. Arizona is also the snowbird capital of the world. Gambling grandpa in his caddy practically shaved my leg for me he was so close as he sped by to beat the rest of his retirement community to the tables.

-I have to make a left turn onto McClintock on my way home. I can barely make it through the turn light before it turns red. I immediately merge into the bicycle lane. The BICYCLE lane. This isn’t another lane for motors to drive in. As I’m pedaling away, motorcycle meanie needs to hover on the bicycle lane line as he accelerates past me. Really, the entire lane you have isn’t big enough, you have to take my little lane as well? Sigh.

I can go on and on. There are the people in sports cars who get off racing me to the stop signs. There are the ones who honk and flip me off because I stop at the stop signs to give the folks who were there first the right of way. There’s the neighborhood shuttle bus driver who thinks it’s a good idea to speed around me and then stop in the bike lane, then honk at me because I made him stop so fast.

To all of you aggressive drivers who think these stories are funny? They’re not. You are jerks. I am not in a contest with you. As it turns out, I will not win. I know this. This is why I stop and the STOP signs and the red lights. This is why I obey the traffic laws and try to stay out of your way. Throw me and all of my gear and Gus on the bike and we weigh about 200 pounds. This is not a competition, I am trying to survive.

Ironman 1, Jeanne 0

The day after the Ironman is an interesting day. Well, the day after you are not an Ironman is an interesting day. I have had November 2011 written on my mirror for three years. The day I signed up for my first marathon, I wrote the words “Ironman 2011” in dry erase marker, under “Rock ‘N Roll, Jan 18, 2009” under my mirror. It was August 2008. It was the date I signed up for my first marathon. My deadline was November 2011 to finish my first Ironman, before I turned 31. 167 weeks to my first 140.6 mile race. The Ironman would snap me out of my funk. The Ironman would save me. I would look at that date every day I was home for 167 weeks.

Here I am 167 weeks and one day later. Where am I? Am I any better off than I was then? I’m almost drunk and I’m crying. I ignore the “what happened?” messages today instead of the “what’s wrong?” messages of 2008. Is that really the best thing to say? That’s almost as bad as the “I’m still proud of you.” Or the “you’re still my Iron*person.*” Or the “you are a winner once you cross the start line.” To be honest, no one who has prepared for yesterday for 167 weeks wants to hear any of that. Really, it’s thoughtful and I’m sure in a few hours to a few weeks, I’ll be ok able to talk about the situation without crying. But, it’s sort of like the, ‘It’s not you, it’s him’ breakup conversation.

My favorite question yesterday might have been “well, why COULDN’T you do it? It’s just 2.4 miles?” Interesting . . . my first thought: “Why the fuck are you standing here drinking the beer I bought for my friends asking me this question?” You are not my friend. Later this guy tells me, “I didn’t know the water temperature was 61 degrees.” Does that even matter? Hell no. Sure the water is cold. The water temperature had nothing to do with my inability to make the swim cut off. Sure it would have been nice to train in that sort of water or it would have been nice if race day water was 75 degrees. I also rode my bike in 115 degree weather. There are some things I can’t control. Unfortunately for me, weather/temperature/my body’s reaction to such is one of them.

It’s not like yesterday was the first time I tried to swim the distance either. From the beginning, my training plan hit the distance every single week. I was physically able to do the distance. The very day before I had a practice swim in the 61 degree water and felt great! I was mentally able to do the distance. I even thought about updating my facebook status with the words of a fun song from the 80’s, “. . . baby I was afraid before. . . I’m not afraid anymore!” (Heaven is a Place on Earth. . . Bueller. . Bueller. . .)

As hard as I have tried, I can’t predict how my body is going to react to different forces. Sure, my Saturday swim in Tempe Town Lake was great. I felt like it was a normal swim day in the heated, chlorinated pool. My breathing was easy and rhythmic; my stroke was smooth and long. I was happy to make friends with Tempe Town Lake. Frankly, there were more people around me in the practice swim than the swim start of the race.

I did not have that same experience yesterday. Most days, I put my wetsuit on and it turns into a magic cloak. I feel like I float along the water’s top. I don’t struggle, I loved being in the water (such was my experience during the practice swim on Saturday). Sunday, it felt like I wasn’t even wearing a wetsuit. I felt a drag and almost like someone was pulling my magic, graceful cloak back. With each breath I took in, I inhaled an ounce of water. I could not find a rhythm and I could not catch my breath. With each attempt, I thought I would find my stroke. I never did.

This is the perfect time in the race to work on the mental games I practiced throughout the training season. I wrote the words, “YOU WILL DO THIS” on my thumb knuckles so I could see the message on the bike ride. I didn’t realize at the time that I would see it every time I grasped onto the kayak to catch my breath. I had rough days in the pool while training. I used these days as growth opportunities. “You never know what the race day will bring Jeanne. Push though it” I’d tell myself. So I did. It was hard and there were days I didn’t think I’d get through the swim workout plan, but I did it. I knew the swim was going to be the hardest part for me. I made it through the star fish level of swim lessons back in the day. Basically, I could float in a pool at age 4 if I needed to. This does not mean I am an efficient swimmer at age 30. But I worked and I worked hard every week. I was able to swim the distance before the race.

The nice fellow who said his name was Mike was my rescue kayaker. I surely would have been in worse shape if he had not been right beside me the whole time. I won’t say that I would have drowned, as I was wearing a wetsuit and that provides a certain level of buoyancy. However, he provided the additional words of encouragement as I grabbed the nose of his kayak every 25-50 meters in the race.

It was really a bizarre experience. I would swim along, Mike would tell me how awesome my stroke looked, very long and clean. My lungs would not agree. They gasped for air. My body could not get enough oxygen to continue for more than 25-50 meters. I maybe made it 100 meters without stopping at the most at one time. Mike asked what my number was. I knew why he wanted to know. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make the turn around. Sure, this was the half way mark; I could still make it within the cutoff. The other kayak was telling us the current would help sweep me back. Mike and the other kayak kept telling me there was plenty of time.

Bullshit. I was exhausted by that time. There is something about not being able to breathe that sucks the life out of you. I didn’t give up. I kept swimming. I would hold on to Mike’s kayak until I caught my breath and then I would swim until I could swim no more. At one point he turned me over to another kayak because he needed to ‘go to the shore for a quick moment.’ I knew he was giving the folks at the shore my number to prepare the rest of the race officials for the non-finishers. I did not give up. I would once again swim until I couldn’t swim further. I grabbed the other kayak and gasped for air. Each time I started to swim again the family of five at the shore line would ring their cowbells and cheer in joy and excitement for me. I felt like it was the first time I tried to swim. I couldn’t swim for 25 meters without gasping for air. I had come so far. I had overcome my worst fears. Why couldn’t I just swim? Why wouldn’t my lungs work? I tried to swim again. And I continued to try to swim. My arms ached. My legs cramped. My lungs burned. I didn’t have time to cry.

What are the thoughts that enter your mind at this point? The biggest day of your life? The day that has been written on your mirror for 167 weeks? The day that your work colleagues say they know you by? Is it the words of the friends who mentioned, “you’ve got this” or “you’re an inspiration for me to do something today,” or even “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” No, it’s the ones who say, “just getting to the start line is a win,” or “you’re crazy” or “you don’t need to prove anything,” or “why? It’s not a big deal.” Who the fuck are you? Do you even think of the impact of your “words of encouragement?” How is it that a complete stranger who just happened to be the closest volunteer near me is more encouraging to me than you? As I look around, the only people around me are the swimmers who are floating on their backs gasping for breath and the clean up crews in the jet skis and the motor boats. (This doesn’t help either by the way.) All I can think about is the words from those who “mean well.”

I keep telling myself, just keep swimming. The adrenalin will kick in and I’ll find my rhythm. I still have X minutes. Mike is still encouraging but a little more forceful. “You’ve got to get going if you want to make the cutoff.” So I do. And my calf cramps. I’ve been in the 60 degree water for about 1:55 now. Of course my leg is cramping. If I had been in the pool (I would have been finished with the fucking swim by now) but I surely could have finished the remaining 750 meters or so until the finish line. So I tried. I continued to swim. I couldn’t extend my left foot because the cramping was so bad. I knew there were people who completed the swim without a leg or two, so I continued to kick. Damn, my other leg cramps.

At 9:28, Mike told me I had to stop. The guys with the motorboat who had followed us for the last 45 minutes had to take me to shore. I pulled myself onto the boat because I knew I would pull the guy into the water if he tried to help me. The last bit of energy I had I used to pull myself into that boat. (That’s all I’d need, to be known as the girl who pulled the rescue guy into the water. . .) I knew it would end like this . . .45 minutes into the swim I knew. Today was not my day. Once you’ve trained for an event like this, you know your body. Mine was not able to complete the challenge today. I wouldn’t give up though. I couldn’t. What if I was wrong?

Although I could not hear the announcer, I knew what he already said. I heard it last year. I tried not to think of it every day since I signed up one year ago. It was my worst nightmare coming true. It was the reason I would not go out with my friends. It was the reason I resisted eating fast food. It was the reason I worked so hard every day yet I couldn’t bear to hear the words.

The announcer said, in front of my family and friends that day, I would not be an Ironman.

And on that day, 11/20/2011, number 224’s heart, MY heart broke.

It's in the stars

-"Tremendous internal changes, intense effort, relentless determination, compulsive and irrational drives, and strong assertion of your will are the key issues during this time period. "

-"Balance your aggression so that you don't take your frustration out on others. Focus it on your goals."

Horoscopes make me laugh. I don’t “believe” in them, but I enjoy reading them. These particular two in the past week have made me chuckle.

I especially love the “compulsive and irrational drives” part of the first one. Ha. Indeed. All of my compulsive behaviors are pretty irrational anyway. I sure do love to organize things (even more excited when I can organize by color!) and I need things to be clean and orderly or I have a hard time functioning and focusing. Checklists and I are good friends.

Intense effort and relentless determiniation. Yup, all folks training for the IM have these too. Every time I hope in the pool I think about my own effort. I didn’t swim until January, now I’m about to tackle 2.4 miles. Determination to drag my behind out of bed at 4 am so I can train before the temps hit 110. I’m not sure what I did to piss off Mother Nature so much. Temps soar toward 100 through the end of October and then the first weekend of November, temperatures are in the 40s when I wake up to train? Not ok!

I’m the first one to admit I have a hot temper. Focus my aggression on my goals? The 6-7 hour bike rides have helped with that. It’s a lot easier to push those pedals up the hill if I’m thinking about the bazillion of things that piss me off. ;)

What do the stars have in store for tomorrow? Oh geeze. . .

-"You might focus on romance today, but it's possible that you're having problems figuring out a way to express your feelings. There's power influencing the scene, and certainly no shortage of passion. You might find that there's a bit of superficiality to the situation that makes it hard to commit with all of your energy."

Well there is certainly no time for this silliness! Back to my color-coded checklist to organize my gear and day-of necessities.

This time, in two weeks. . .

This time, in two weeks, I hope to be nearing the finish line. THE FINISH LINE.

I can’t believe the Ironman is less than two weeks away. HOLY COW.

One after another my friends and family members ask if I’m ready. I DON”T KNOW! My answer is yes. Yes, I am ready. I have no choice but to be ready.

Sure, if I had more time I could be more ready. If I had more time, I would spend it swimming around in the chilled open water (with and without a wetsuit). If I had more time, I would make better nutrition decisions and be 20 pounds lighter. If I had more time, I would run faster and longer. If I had more time, I would sleep more. If I had more time, I would continue to find something else I could do to be more ready.

But, I don't have more time. I have to be ok with what I have done to this point and what I can do to finish out the training. I can't think about a few of the crappy workouts or the poor food choices. I can't think about how the lake was closed AGAIN and I have yet to swim in Tempe Town Lake wearing a wetsuit.

What can I do in the next two weeks to make sure I am as ready as possible? I’ll finish out my training plan of course. I am going to make more nutritious food choices (it’s written here, I must do it!). I am going to print out my check lists and get all of my gear in order. I will let people help me (this might be the hardest one of all!).