Race day nerves.
Know thy enemy.
In most cases it will always be the face staring back at you in the mirror. The voice that tells you that you aren’t enough and the doubt that inhibits you, and all that you could become. Sometimes however it can be the voices of those that you surround yourself with. The voices that they listen to can change you in ways that you could never really anticipate. This weekend has been illuminating for me. I now know that my greatest obstacle on the half ironnman will not only be that little voice in my head but the collective voice of several women. Once you take a group of people and put them in a room all types of hang ups and insecurities breed and fester. What was once a doubt suddenly becomes a fear and barrier.
I have driven seven hours away from home and surrounded myself with three other very serious and dedicated athletes. They speak of nutrition like its an art, religion or a complete way of life. I have found myself admiring and fearing their dedication. I know that I can be like them, that I can easily turn carb into a four letter word. I know that I can choose that life, but I also realize that it scares me. To me they are nearly perfect physical specimens. They work really hard for that, they sacrifice and portion and avoid. They know their plates, their palates and quite frankly I feel guilty around them. I feel like I should be so much more. These feelings, albeit self imposed have negatively affected the way that I feel about my race on Sunday. I have given myself the belief that I am less than them based on diet, exercise and a myriad of other things.
I am human. I like carbs, I sometimes sleep in and I don’t always floss. I fart and I swear and holy fuck I like chips. I also like swimming, biking and running. Athletics are not my whole life, thankfully neither is nutrition. I slip up sometimes. I like to think of my life as this continual game of falling on my face and getting back up. I always dust myself off and learn a few things in the process. This weekend has already taught me that getting to the race with a positive attitude might be the best type of training around. I cannot control the thoughts of the other girls, lord knows we all have our hang ups. I can learn to listen to the voices in my head and try to make them work with me rather than against me. I need to run my own race, because I will be the one needing to find the motivation to finish when the end seems so far and I alone will have to provide it.
My training hasn’t been perfect, which means that I did it right. I found a balance between training, and all of my other obligations that come with being an adult. Yesterday on my drive out of town I found out that I got that promotion that I was after. On Sunday I will swim, bike and run. I will get a medal, shotgun a beer and learn that dealing with my own demons and voices far outweighs the voice of anybody else.
Things that piss me off.
Me telling somebody that I am heading out of town for a half ironman. Having to then answer 15 questions about my upcoming marathon.
Race day highlights.
There are a few moments that I adore about race day:
The moment that the gun goes off. The nervous energy carrying us the first hundred meters until our bodies realize that we have trained for this.
The moment that you realize that you are finally doing it. You put in the work, and for better or worse you have made it to race day. Lessons have been learned, re learned and you have come out a slightly different person.
The moment that you can see the finish line, your loved ones and the food table.
The moment when you take the medal in your hands and know that you did what it took. Yes, that moment.
