(I wrote
this a month ago & paused to publish with so many unknowns, it’s a little
behind but still the obstacles are right in front of us)
I’m writing
to you from the confines of my own home.
I have traveled very far away from the Island of Liz, a quiet, isolated
paradise with very good coffee, and instead find myself in this new world where
boundaries blur, dinner needs to be cooked every day and chaos rules.
I’m
sheltering in place.
Correction:
we are sheltering in place, with we including myself, my husband, my 9, 5, 3
year olds, my grouchy 13 (13? We think he’s 13) year old chihuahua.
You could
say it has been, well, challenging.
Remote learning, constant food service, cleaning up the mountains of
mess, goddamn Legos EVERYWHERE, laundry so much laundry, having to make my own
coffee (the horror). threat of running out of coffee, being asked ‘what’s for
dinner’ at 2 pm, drinking a half a bottle of wine and the often understated introverted
struggles when one finds themselves surrounded by people and noise ALL DAY
LONG.
Yes, the
boundaries of life, school and work blend together in a messiness that even my
obsessive-cleaning-self cannot maintain.
HELP ME!
On the other
side, as a coach, I’ve watched athletes of all ages from all over the world work
through this experience. Also
intriguing. Some thrive, others
survive. Some mourn, others mount the
resources they have to make the best of it.
Which is right? Wrong? Not for me to say. But I will say that as coaches, we can learn a
lot about an athlete’s struggles and strengths by how they are responding
to our current “real life” endurance event.
Right now we
are getting a glimpse of what happens for most athletes at mile 18 to 20 of the
run of an Ironman. The beauty of this is
that none of us actually has to do the Ironman.
That saves
us a heck of a lot of money AND chafing!
If you’ve
been to mile 18 to 20 of the Ironman marathon, you know that it’s about that
time when the novelty has worn off – along with the adrenaline, caffeine and
good vibes from spectators. You’re tired. You’re mentally spent. And though you’ve done countless runs beyond
this point, you have no idea how you are going to make it the next 6 to 8
miles. You’re on the edge of entering a
very dark place.
Note: if you
are a spectator, this is the absolutely worst place to support your racer as
they will likely wave you off, requesting you leave them to die in that moment
and pick up their sweaty, blistered carcass at the finish line. As Sherpa Thomas told me along the Queen K,
circa 2008, watching a sunburnt and struggling Chris Waterstraat, best to
let him be now, Liz, he’s got to figure it for himself.
My “mile 18
to 20 of an Ironman marathon” moment hit me during my first Ironman – Kona
2006. Around mile 20. This is the point in the race where a few
things are certain; a) the Queen K is entirely uphill (not true), b) the water
isn’t cold enough (100% true), c) the last 10K might as well be 100 miles away
(arguable but probably true), d) though you realize the awesomeness of distance
you’ve come to get to that point, you have never been in such a soul-sucking,
quad-bursting, head-hurting kind of pain.
This is the
point where as a coach I wish I had could peek into an athlete’s mind. You see, there’s no magical training session
that prepares an athlete for this point.
Sure, a hit of 5 Hour Energy can help but even the most potent caffeine
runs out at some point when you’re out there for most of the day.
It’s at this
point where a shift can happen.
Upon
reaching this point, many athletes stay stuck in the dark place. They continue to look behind longing for what
they had (the energy, the freshness), narrow their focus inward (why is this
feeling so hard for me?) and worry about what lies ahead (how am I going
to make it? when will I feel good again?). They stay frozen in these fears and
feelings. They slow down, spin in
circles and lose momentum.
A smaller
group of athletes keep moving forward.
Note they were not any more prepared – they too are experiencing
hardship, worries and drastic change. They
too are in pain. However, they know that
the only way out is through and to get through you need to
keep moving forward. They maintain a
realistic hope about the situation. Yes,
it is dark and frustrating. But they
cling to the hope that good things are about to happen. They are not necessarily comfortable with
that uncertainty but comfortable with the discomfort they are
experiencing because they’ve faced it, head on, many times before, they’ve gone
towards it to grow and learn.
I crave the
dark moments in races. Not the victories
or the PRs – nah, I want to come into transition in a half Ironman and find
that someone stepped on my race belt which is now a gooey mess of bursted gels
and very happy ants (true story). That moment. What’s next?
Whether it’s mile 18 of an Ironman or 5K into a 40K Olympic bike where
my legs are burning and protesting every pedal stroke: I learned that success
comes from looking at that moment and saying I’ve been waiting for you. I’m ready.
That edge is
where you learn the most about yourself. If you can tolerate the discomfort and keep
pushing, on the other side I’m not saying that it gets any easier but you find
a flow, a courage, a confidence. When
I’m out there racing and in that moment, I’m not racing anyone but myself. I’m chasing the best version of Liz, I’m
taking all of that negative chatter and daring it to continue to run in my mind
as I run towards the finish line. Keep
up with me, I say to it.
Life puts us
into situations like that every day (like every day for the last 42 days but
who is counting?). Around here, we reach
a point every day around 4 pm when one kid is demanding dinner (9 year old),
another one is melting down in a desperate heap on the kitchen floor (3 year
old) and the 5 year old? She’s on outfit
number number 356 with a wake of tutus, princess dresses and fairy wings behind
her. Yes, it will be like this every day
until possibly they go back to school FOUR MONTHS FROM NOW. Deep breath.
One foot in front of the other.
Each day like this we build our tolerance for pain, waiting and all of
those uncomfortable things that come with finding our best reality or
self.
Right now
none of us are racing. But we have an
incredible opportunity to work on what is required for race success. We are at mile 18 to 20 of the marathon. Legs are cramping. Stomach gone south. Hottest point of the day. Every athlete, regardless of age, ability,
local triathlon or world championship, reaches this point at some point in the
race. A pivotal moment where challenge
reveals character. There is no other
secret to choosing wisely in those moments other than the choice to keep moving
forward. To view said challenge as an
opportunity and not a threat. To put one
foot in front of the other and do the very best you can with what you
have.
Given our
current reality/situation/call-it-what-you-want-to-make-yourself-feel-better,
I’m not suggesting that everyone simply pulls up their race shorts and gets on
with things. This stuff is hard. We are all struggling in some way;
financially, emotionally, physically, socially.
It’s easy to fall into a trap of ranking who has it worst, who has no
right to complain but I have to ask myself – does any of that make us or this
situation any better? Have compassion
for yourself and empathy for others. One
day at a time. Don’t look too far back
or ahead. Stay in the moment and savor
it.
So now what?
I’ve read a
lot of talk about our new normal. I
challenge you: what is normal?
How do we know that normal, or what we had, is something even
worth lamenting?
What if
things can be better?
Somewhere in
early March, as we were shuttling our kids from activity to activity, being
stalked by an aggressive teenager (another story for another day), feeling like
I was in a relationship with my phone, disenfranchised by the daily slog of kids
plus work plus kid plus chores plus rinse and repeat again every single day…at
some point I reached an existential crisis.
That feeling of is this it? Is
this what life is all about? Do I go
through these motions day after day until one day I wake up, I’m too old to do 90
percent of what I enjoy, the kids are gone and we are by ourselves again? THIS is IT?
Perhaps my
midlife crisis #198 (there have been a few, trust me), I can’t help but think
the universe steps in to recalibrate us when we need it most or when we’ve
stopped trusting our ability to fix things for ourselves.
Here, let
me help you, universe says.
And
now? I can’t say that I’m missing our
prior “normal” or my former “life” or even swimming at this point (and it
really pains me to say THAT!). In the
last few weeks, I’ve grown stronger by adding in new activities; lifting and
rowing. I’ve had the opportunity to get
back to something that brought us together in the first place: riding and
running with my husband. I’ve watched my
kids show incredible creativity and cooperation as they’ve realized they – each
other – is all they have (and all they NEED).
Perhaps
things are … better now?
Maybe the
path is the path? In the middle
of our path, with a giant obstacle, we respond or retreat. Our reaction IS our responsibility. What to do.
Don’t run from it. Don’t go
around it. Don’t sit back and do nothing
at all. Run toward it with cautious
curiosity. Lean in. Explore it.
Learn from it. Breathe in the
experience. When you focus on what you think
you’ve lost, you lose sight of the possibility of what lies ahead: a new
calibration of normal, refreshed hope, loads of possibility coupled with the
wisdom of your experience.
There, or
rather, right here is where true learning and progress lie, in life and
as an athlete.
