July 24, 2012

I really hate running.

I think that I have done enough whining about running that there is probably no friend, no acquaintance, and no resident of my home town who does not know how much I hate running. They also probably know that I love bicycling.

Some people, otherwise normal people, have told me that they love running, I strongly suspect they may be lying — if not to me, then to themselves. I have evidence to support this claim. Michigan has lots of paved trails for bikers, runners, roller-bladers and in the winter, cross country skiers.  When we ride our bikes the Pere Marquette Trail, or the Saginaw Valley Rail Trail, or that especially beautiful trail that runs for miles and miles along Lake Michigan, we see lots of other people out exercising. And there is a very noticeable difference in the demeanor of the bikers and the runners.. When we see other bikers coming towards us, they smile broadly and exclaim, “Hi! Great day for a ride, isn’t it?” When we see runners coming, their faces are contorted into a grimace, they never smile, they don’t even make eye contact. They seem to be genuinely miserable. But, hey, I guess some people like misery.

Despite my hatred for running, I have long had the goal of completing a triathlon.  It goes back to high school when I read about the Hawaiian Ironman. Those Ironmen are some tough cookies;  they complete a grueling course which includes a 2.4 mile ocean swim, a 112 mile bike ride and then, to top it off,  they run a  full 26.2 mile marathon.  I was probably 15 when decided that I wanted to participate in an Ironman competition.  This was clearly the folly of youth.  I was not at all athletic. While I have always loved swimming, I did not take up bicycling until my mid-twenties and as for that running… well, as I have lamented numerous times… not so much. But as a teenager, the allure of the Ironman was so compelling that I resolved that at some point in my life, I would complete a triathlon.

Of course, I was also going to be an Academy Award winning actress.

Clearly, not all my high school ambitions would come to fruition.  Nor should they.

But that triathlon stuck with me.  Even through the soft years of my 30’s and 40’s.  Even now.   There is something that compels me to push myself to do this, and I promised it would be by the time I was 55. That would be next January.

I really had good intentions of completing a mini-triathlon this summer.  But I have been traveling so much.  And my job kept me busy between trips. And it has been hot.  And the kids were here. And ….

The reality is that I have run exactly twice, and that was back in April.  I have ridden my bike a bit more, but not much.  I brought my swimming gear to work with the intention of going to the university pool after work, but my office is as far as it got.

Without explicitly saying it, I clearly had given up on my promise to ‘do’ the triathlon this summer.  Does it really matter if I do it before my 55th birthday?  Wouldn’t doing it at 55 be just as good?  I mean, it is the difference between being less than 55 and  being less than or equal to 55.  Small detail, no?

But last Friday at work, I heard, “Hey Deb! September 8.  Tawas.  You in?” Josh called to me.

Tawas is a lovely community on Lake Huron about 90 minutes north of here.  It is a beautiful place to go boating, or have a picnic, or a beach party, or a dinner on the lake.   However, I was not being invited to go boating, or to a picnic, a beach party, a dinner on the lake, or anything civilized like that.

Instead I was being goaded into participating in a sprint triathlon by an actual athlete and a faculty member in the Kinesiology Department who is at least 20 years younger than me. I must have casually mentioned my triathlon ambitions to him at some point, and now, he was holding my feet to the fire.

“I don’t know,” I relplied, “I haven’t had time to train for it and…”

Josh told me that he plans to compete in the Tawas event in September and may have ever so gently suggested that I might be making excuses. Plus I knew my friend Elizabeth would be up for the challenge if I invited her to join us.

The idea took deeper root in my mind, and I began the irreversible process of convincing myself I could do this.

After all, it is only a 5 K (3 mile) run, a 20 K (12 mile) bike ride and a 500 m swim, dramatically scaled down from the Ironman competitions that inspired my goal.  We routinely go on much longer bike rides than that- even without training. And I can certainly WALK 5K without any trouble. Swimming 500 m is not so bad either. With a little training, I could do a triathlon, right?  I never said I want to WIN a triathlon.  I said I wanted to COMPLETE a triathlon.  I may crawl across the finish line on all fours but….

July 31, 2012

The deed has been done. I registered for the Tawas Sprint Triathlon.

I officially began training, swimming a slow, steady arm-aching 600 m swim in the university pool. Yes, I have some work to do before I’ll be ready for that triathlon, but it was ok, even pretty good, once I got my goggles to stop leaking.

August 26, 2012

The tri is in 13 days. I have been training for nearly a month now and I’m making progress. The biking is no problem at all. 12 miles is a short ride by my standards, and I really love those training rides. The swimming has become easy in the pool and is only slightly harder in the local lake. I have learned that without lane lines to follow I swing far to my right and can get pretty far off course. But I am not too worried—I’ll just follow the other swimmers and I’ll be fine.

But that running…

I went out for a 5K training run early this morning. The sun was already hot and the route I chose had little shade.  Physically, I was doing all right- I was huffing and puffing a little, and yes, it was hot- but really I was fine.  I knew it too, but nonetheless, I really wanted to stop.  I wanted to walk.  I wanted that run to be over. It was really hard for me to just keep running.

I know I am not a good runner and my twin internal critics, Agnes and Agatha, regularly remind me of that fact. They are loudest when I am running. “What are you thinking? You’ll never do this. You’re going to embarrass yourself.”  In truth, I am not fully confident that I CAN complete the triathlon, and it is the running that worries me most.  It is so very hard to persist at something when faced with feelings of incompetence and insecurity.  There is a mental resistance that makes every step difficult, like running through quicksand.

I tried to silence the critics and think about other things.  My mind shifted to the new academic year, which formally begins tomorrow.   I had the opportunity to meet a bunch of new freshmen and their parents during the move-in days last week.  The students are both excited and nervous.  Excited, because they have been waiting forever to be on their own and make their first foray into the adult world.  Nervous, because they are worried about social adjustments and the intellectual demands of higher education.

As I struggled to keep running, I thought about these students, recognizing that many will struggle academically as they adjust to the rigors of university work. Nonetheless, we expect them to attend classes, listen to lectures, solve problems, write papers, do projects, read and analyze difficult texts, have insightful discussions, and study for examinations.  We tell them they should expect to spend about 10 hours per week on each course they take, and if the subject is difficult for them, it will require more time. Yes, the harder they find it, the more time they will need to endure that same horrible feeling of incompetence and insecurity that I feel while running.  Like me, they will want to stop and spend that time doing something – anything- else.  Of course, as educators we know that there are no shortcuts; if they are going to be successful, they have to stick with it and push through that resistance.  It is a steep learning curve, but as educators, we know that once the students have some level of competence, it gets easier and they sometimes even start to enjoy the subject.

I have a general rule that I don’t ask anyone to do anything I won’t do myself.  So, I will not ask students to face their challenges with persistence unless I can face my own with that same persistence.

My head filled with these thoughts, I kept running.  I finished my training run and did not give in to the temptation to walk or rest.  It was all right.  Not so bad, really.  Maybe, if I keep at it, like with many difficult things, I will reach a level of competence where I can actually enjoy it.

It is possible you know. Athletic endeavors are not my natural strength, although stubborn persistence might be.  I don’t expect to get an “A” in triathlon, but I do plan on passing the course on September 8.

September 8, 2012

The day finally arrived. Josh, Elizabeth and I were all competing in the Sprint Triathlon in Tawas, Michigan. The morning of the event was quite chilly, probably in the low 60’s and cloudy as we waited for the event to start. A few hundred people were gathered on the beach and I noticed with bemusement that Elizabeth and I were among the few swimmers without wet-suits. A few friends who had previously competed suggested that we wear them, but it seemed silly for a 500 m swim- 15 or 20 minutes at most. How cold could it be? “You will be glad for the extra flotation,” they said, but I laughed—I have enough natural flotation!

The event was started in waves- first the young men. Then the young women. Then the 30-40 year old men. And so on. Being a 54 year old woman, I was in one of the last groups to be called. Maybe the absolute last group.

30 minutes of shivering nervously on the shore of Lake Huron in only a bathing suit on a cloudy day did nothing good to prepare me for this event.  I was tense.  I was cold. My muscles were tight.  Finally they called our group and we ran to the water.  I have no idea how many of us there were, but it seemed like a swarming mass of humanity, splashing water in my face and crowding me.  I had heard that if you are not worried about your time, the best thing to do is to hold back and let the chaos go ahead of you. I tried to do this, but as I began to swim, I was still being bumped and kicked in the face.

I was once a lifeguard and swimming teacher.  My mother claimed that I was a fish from the time I was a little girl. On this day, however, on my triathlon day, I felt like I was going to drown.  The water was cold.  There were undifferentiated masses of legs, feet, flailing arms and bobbing heads in my lane.  I tried to do a clean efficient free style, but my body would not cooperate.  The rhythmic breathing that I had long, long ago mastered failed me that morning and I simply was gasping for air.  I tried to relax. I did an easy breaststroke trying to regain my wits, but as soon as I began that rhythmic breathing, my chest felt tight, my muscles tensed and I was gripped by panic. This was the only time in my entire life that I was terrified in the water.

I realized the only way I would swim the 500 m was using that nice easy breaststroke with my face out of the water. That was actually fortuitous for two reasons. First, because I could see exactly where I was going, I stayed directly on course. Second, because when we were about half done with the swim, I saw another participant struggling and waving to the lifeguards who were patrolling the course on surfboards. I don’t think they saw her, but I was able to get the attention of one of them and he paddled over to help her.

I certainly did not set any records, but I did complete the swim and lived to tell the tale. As I pulled my gasping, freezing self out of the water, Josh’s wife called to me and took my photo with her cell phone, which I threatened to throw in the lake. I was only sort of kidding.

I ran to the bicycle staging area, pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt over my wet bathing suit, and put on my cycling shoes and socks. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I began the 20 K bike ride. The sun had come out by then, and although the air was still brisk, I began to warm up with the exertion.

Most of the real athletes had already left the bicycle course and the organizers has re-routed car traffic, so the road was pretty empty. The ride was great—one long shallow hill at the start, but a beautiful easy ride. I began to relax and enjoy myself. Finally working up a bit of a sweat, I reached down for my water bottle and took a big swig. Leaning over to put it back in its cage, I dropped it and it rolled down the slight incline. Deciding not to chase it, I rode on.

Coming back into town, I encountered a wave of riders returning their bikes to the racks to begin the run. I had shaken off the anxiety of the swim and felt really good about my cycling skills, I confidently rode with the group, and as I neared the staging area, I squeezed my brake a bit too quickly and started to lose my balance. I tried to catch myself by putting my foot on the ground, but I couldn’t get my clip-in cycling shoes out of the pedal fast enough and l fell over. So much for my cycling abilities. I was embarrassed, but not hurt.

Quickly brushing off the sand from my fall, I switched to my running shoes for the long-dreaded 5K run. I jogged to the starting gate, hoping that the ‘bricks’ that triathletes feel in their thighs when they go from a brisk ride to a run would not be too bad. If I had actually trained by doing a some rides followed immediately by a run, I might have known what to expect. I did intend to do so, but never quite got around to it. Sigh.

About 100 yards from the starting gate, I heard a voice, Al’s voice, saying “Hi Debs! How are you doing? Was the swim fun? How about the bike ride? Are you tired?”

I turned and Al was running beside me. I sort of grunted at him and he said,”I thought I run with you. Is that ok? “

Once again I grunted.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t. Do you want me to run with you? I thought I could keep you company.”

Once again I grunted.

“Do you want me to stop running?”

I grunted no.

“Do you want me to stop talking?”

I shrugged.

“Are you going to respond?”

I grunted no.

“Ok” he said, cheerfully enough.

So we ran along. Well, we did something that was a little closer to running than it was to walking, because while Al was chatting away, I was thinking “One and done. If I stop or walk, I will have to do this all over again. One and done. One and done.” Thighs burning, it became my manta.

One and done until I was nearly done. Once he saw the finish line in view and was sure I would be able to cross it, Al vanished. I crossed the finish line by myself. I certainly did not get an “A” in triathlon, but I did pass the course. I earned that medal that was placed around my neck

Hot damn! I did it! I was 54 years and 237 days old. I finished with 129 days to spare. Stubborn persistence. That’s all.

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