“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” I ran across this quote a couple weeks ago and wrote it down and taped it to my computer. I love quotes and read a lot of them; the ones that stick are ones that resonate at the time because they have some meaning or relevance to what’s going on with me at the time. This one really struck a chord with me when I read it, because this spring and early summer I’ve really been struggling and when I was feeling at my worst, I kept telling myself “just get through this. It will pass.” I have a friend that I met on my trip to Peru 5 years ago, and we write letters to each other. Long and open letters. He’s 82 years old and is full of wisdom for me. I wrote to him that exact sentiment – “I’m in a bad period, and I am just focused on getting through it.” His next letter helped me alter the way I thought of this period. He wrote about his experience getting run over by a tractor on a cross Europe bicycle ride: “ I was in charge of the way I experienced all that I choose to experience – increased awareness of joy, playfulness, love and compassion rather than bitterness, and poor me and this choice is such a powerful, self-affirming choice.” What I took away from that was “you can sit around and feel sorry for yourself, anxiously awaiting the time when life will be better, or you can enjoy the hell out of it.
And so I did. And have been less focused on getting this phase of life over with and moving on to focusing on making the most of it. And then I ran across that quote, and there it is, scotch taped to my computer so I can remember that it’s about learning to dance in the rain.
I thought about this a lot in my “big two” events this summer – the MS150 and the Boulder Peak Triathlon:
My second Bike MS was less intimidating than the first as I knew what to expect this year. Oh, and I got a new bike for Valentine’s Day. Who would have thought carbon fiber was the key to reducing soreness in the butt? Last year’s ride was all about the hiney, and with my fancy new wheels, this year’s ride was all about the food and enjoying the experience. Last year I was watching my time, pushing for finishing as quick as I could; this year I watched the route map, looking for the next rest stop so I could eat and relax and meet new people. Last year I measured my “success” in how long it took me to finish, this year I measured my success in weight gained on the ride (yes, there is that much food to enjoy!)
The TriForMS team was 12 strong this year. It was a great group of people and I really enjoyed the experience. 2 of our team members have MS, 2 team members have spouses with MS, and most team members have a relative or friend with MS. Steve and I were honored by their commitment to the ride and the cause.
It’s an amazing event to experience. Over 3000 cyclists participated this year. For 150 miles, you ride and are surrounded by people riding to raise money and awareness for MS. I met one man riding a hand pedal bike; he was diagnosed with MS 18 months ago and can’t walk. I saw him in a wheelchair the 2nd morning; he wheeled himself to the bike corral, traded his wheelchair for his hand bike and started riding. We met up with him on the ride and heard his story. He has done the MS ride for 10 years, and once he was diagnosed with MS, he wanted to keep in shape and do something to help others with MS, so he started training on a hand pedal bike and there he was. I thought of him during the last 15 miles of the ride when I was tired and hurting; my pain would transition to mere fatigue once I finished, and I could get off my bike and walk to my car, he would get off his bike and get into his wheelchair. He certainly has learned how to dance in the rain.
The ride by the numbers:
Total Miles: 150
Total Ascent: 6863 feet
Highest Speed: 33.8 MPH (oh my gosh that is fast for me and laughable for the elite cyclists!)
2 weeks later, Steve and I did the Boulder Peak Triathlon. This race is an Olympic distance triathlon (1 mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run); the swim is in Boulder Reservoir, the bike is around Boulder and the run is an out an back around Boulder Reservoir.
I felt worse physically in this race than I ever have in a race, and I had a great day. First the swim; my age group (and the 30-35 year old male age group) was wave 6 at 7:00 AM (there are 3 minutes between the start of each wave). Picture this: there are about 200 athletes in the reservoir, suited up in wetsuits, like colored swim caps (each age group has the same color cap), and goggles each thinking about how far that first buoy is. We have 3 minutes to jockey for starting position – the fast people push their way up to the front of the group. I do ok in the swim, so I find a place behind the testosterone flooded men and in the middle of the women my age. Stretch, spit in my goggles again, adjust my cap for the 100th time, breathe, make nervous small talk with the woman beside me. I shade my eyes, look into the sun, and look for the far buoy once more. I’m sure someone has made a serious miscalculation because the buoy we have to swim around much too far away; I can barely see the yellow floating object! My mind is filled with all those swim workouts I cut short. I can’t remember that last time I actually swam a mile. They better get this going before I hyperventilate and drown on the shore. The horn sounds and we’re off, which means I dive into the dirty reservoir water where you can’t see 2 feet in front of you and I swam over a couple of people and try to find my rhythm. Since I never have to worry about being in the front of the pack, I don’t have to try to spot the next buoy while the sun is blinding me. Let someone faster than me do all the work is a strategy that works for me. OK, I’m at the first buoy and I feel like I’m gonna drown right there. I have to switch to a few strokes of breaststroke (an embarrassing admission to anyone who is a “real” triathlete), but my new motto of “learning to dance in the rain” is on my mind, and I’m just going to enjoy this race! If I had access to floaties, I’d have put them on right there. Shortly, I’m at the turnaround buoy and I haven’t drowned, nor have I had to find a kayak guy so I could hang on for a few rest minutes (though the thought occurred to hang on the kayak for other reasons). I’m feeling pretty confident now until someone swims over the top of me! They need to learn to swim straight! I think in my newly acquired confident state until I look up to spot the next buoy and see that I’m heading 90 degrees in the wrong direction. Man, my arms hurt. How far to the swim finish? I’ve swallowed enough lake water that I probably won’t need to drink a thing on the bike. 35 minutes after I started and my feet touch the bottom and it’s time to stand up and run to the bike transition area.
Stand up and RUN? To the bike area? HA! Have you ever swam a mile in a reservoir and then tried to stand up? Think back to your college days and one too many drinks…. I finally stand and walk / jog to my bike.
And here is the very distinction between me, a recreational athlete, and the competitive athlete (say, someone like Steve…) I get to my transition spot which is where you prepare to get on the bike – wetsuit off, helmet on, bike shoes on, sunglasses on. And the woman who has her bike next to mine arrives (yes, I beat her out of the water!!). And I have some nice spray on sunscreen and I see she doesn’t have any, so I kindly offer to spray her down with sunscreen so she wouldn’t get sunburned. She accepted and thus gave me the most convenient of excuses of why she beat me in the bike portion.
Off I go at an astonishing leisurely pace. The first 6 miles of the bike ride are uphill, with the conclusion of the climb of 2/3 mile of a mile climbing at a 15% grade. Trust me if you don’t know what a 15% grade looks like when I say it looks like the famous streets of San Francisco. One of my goals this year was to ride up the hill and not get off and walk my bike (I was able to ride up it last year after all….) I was doing ok and using all the mental techniques I had in my arsenal “You’ve got it! This is your hill! Don’t give up! One foot in front of the other!” Combine that with all the incredibly nice people on the side of the road cheering and yelling supportive statements and I was able to get to about 50 yards from the summit. At that point, my legs were screaming so loud the cyclists passing me gave me a wider berth, my heart rate monitor wasn’t registering any longer, and I was going so slow I looked like a child first learning to ride without training wheels. It was either unclip from the pedals or fall over, so I made the very wise decision to unclip, get off and walk my bike to the summit. I had good company though, as another biker and I pushed our bikes uphill and made the expected remarks about what a killer hill Old Stage Road is. Once at the top, I gasped for more air (it’s not easy getting oxygen at 7500 ft elevation!), got back on and off I went. With every climb comes a descent and this one is a blast. They even have a strictly enforced speed limit on this hill (not that I would ever be in danger of getting disqualified for exceeding it). The rest of the bike ride was pure pleasure. The scenery around Boulder at the foothills of the Rockies is something to experience.
As I finished the ride, the pros were just leaving on their bikes. All decked out in the latest gear, riding bikes that cost more than my car and wearing helmets that make people mistake them for aliens, they fly by so quickly they are just a blur, and remind me why my calling in life was not to be a professional athlete.
I ride into the transition area and there is Steve! He’s already finished his race and is ready to do the run with me – now that’s support! I have to pee like crazy, but opt to skip the porta potties in the transition area because surely no one would have a race without potties on the run course. I’m questioning my sanity as I start the run and tell Steve “this is going to take a really long time”. As I leave the run area, I pretend that I’m a strong, fast runner and have plenty of energy to zip through the 10k run. I’m not about to admit to all the spectators that I drank too much Gatorade on the bike and feel like throwing up before I’ve even run a mile. Once we get through the crowded area and are on the dry, hot, desolate run course around the reservoir I ask Steve where the next porta potty is. “Uh, there aren’t any on the run course. “ I gaze into the distance looking for any semblance of cover; where is a tree when you need one? Steve let me know there were trees about 2 miles in, so that was motivation enough for me to run, not walk, to the trees. I’m not embarrassed to say I did take a side trip into the trees… On we go. At this point, I feel terrible – it’s hot, I hurt, I feel like throwing up, I have lactic acid cramps, and I’m having a great time. Steve is running beside me taking photos and keeping me company (I made him promise not to take photos of me walking so there wouldn’t be any evidence). Finally, the half way point and we get to turn around. I passed an 80 year old man (hooray for him!) that we joked with, I jogged as much as I could, and then we got to the 4 mile mark which is where the pro athletes turn around. Our pro friend Amanda Stevens was running the other way and we got to cheer her on and see the other pro athletes (I can’t even ride my bike as fast as they’re running!). As I ran the last 2 miles, we watched for Amanda to come up behind me so Steve could get a photo of me and Amanda running together! She zoomed by me at her turnaround as I made my final sprint to the finish. (She placed 2nd in the pro women’s division). I was so tired, I couldn’t take my chip off but wow that cold wet towel they threw over my shoulders at the finish was heaven!
Now that the race was over and I burned a whole lot of calories and energy, I immediately started contemplating all the sinful foods I can eat guilt free the rest of the day. Some people do races for the competition, some for the glory of standing on the winner’s podium, some to achieve their personal best… me? I do them so I can eat.
We stayed for the awards ceremony because my amazing husband placed 3rd in his age group and got an award. Watching the awards ceremony, I momentarily lapsed into a string of excuses of why I didn’t do better than last year:
1. I didn’t buy a cute new Tri outfit to wear
2. Steve made me get up at 2:30 AM so he could get his bike in the best spot in the transition area
3. I took time to spray down the racer next to me with sunscreen at the bike transition…
But then I remembered that my race was exactly the outcome that my training created. And I focused on how lucky I was to be able to even complete the race.
As we packed our gear I realized that packing the car for a triathlon is a lot like packing the car to go grocery shopping with an infant. We left and headed to the first 7-Eleven we could find – Steve for his beloved Mtn Dew and our friend Chuck and I headed for the ice cream and candy bars.
I was very happy with my race. I knew I hadn’t trained hard this year. Some days, my workout consisted of getting out of bed, on the better days I was able to make it to the gym for a 15 minute swim or 10 minute walk on the treadmill. Occasionally, my hormones were kind enough to be present, and I’d have an exhilarating workout and it was enough to refresh my enthusiasm and keep going. My race was a “learning to dance in the rain” race this year. My health is what it is right now and while I can’t say I enjoy the hell out of it every day, I can say I’m learning how to be where I am and discover the wisdom in it.
