I'd rather be dumped

I've decided that if I had to choose between being injured and getting dumped by a boyfriend, I'd choose the latter.  Not that anyone's giving me that choice... I'm just sayin'.  I was reading some articles on dealing with injuries this week, and one of them talked about the grieving process that athletes go through when they get injured. It made me feel slightly less crazy and more normal.  At least there are other athletes out there who have as much trouble with this emotionally as I do!

I'm now at 6 weeks of PT, with no running, cycling, walking, elliptical, etc. You get the picture. So I've been swimming with the pull buoy and doing lots of core and upper body weights.  I'm still having a LOT of low back pain, and long with pain in the right hip area.  So, so frustrating.  Some days it's better, some days it's worse, and I can't seem to figure out the pattern.  Back to the doctor next week. 

Everything I've read says staying positive helps you recover faster, so I'm TRYING with all my emotional might to stay positive.  It takes a lot of effort sometimes!

Lessons from an Injury...

So, the last time I posted I was headed for hip surgery.  Things took another turn, and instead I was told no exercise from the waist down and sent to six weeks of PT.  I'm now three and a half weeks into this recovery journey, and I can feel a huge improvement in my hip.  I still have residual soreness in the piriformis and low back that won't seem to go away.  Not sure what's going on with that. 

I am such a dork, but PT is one of the highlights of my week.  I get to do lower body exercises there that strengthen my glutes, quads, hamstrings, and hip flexors.  My PT has me do a 10 min. warm up on the stationary bike, so I've started taking my ipod and pretending like it's a mini spin class for me.  Pathetic, I know - but hey, I'll take what I can get.  ;)

The Hungry Runner Girl recently wrote a post about self worth, and how for athletes it's often tied to our ability to perform.  I could totally relate.  I was not aware how much my self worth was tied to my ability to do long bike rides, run and swim, and overall work towards higher levels of fitness. 
 
The first two weeks of no exercise were super tough.  I kept seeing the flowers blooming outside and the spring breezes blowing the trees, and I longed to be out on my bike experiencing it with my cycling friends!  And then there was the "now what do I do with all this extra time I have?" question. 

So after 24 days of resting, I've learned som lessons.  Lesson 1 - I've learned that when I'm depressed, the absolute best way to deal with it is to find ways to serve other people.  Not rocket science, I know - it was just something I have really lived and experienced these past couple of weeks. 

Lesson 2: I push too hard. I ride too hard, swim too hard (not run too hard because i haven't done that for several months), and don't rest enough.  I LOVE going anaerobic on workouts... but apparently one is not supposed to do that 5-6 days a week.  :p

Lesson 3 - I've experienced more of God's love and grace these past weeks.  I wish I leaned as heavily on Him when everything is great as I do when I'm hurting, but I'm not that spiritually mature yet.  

Lesson 4 - the ability to be active is a HUGE gift that I too often took for granted.  Having it taken away from me for a little while gives me a new appreciation.  I intend to give this more respect and gratitude in the future.

So, bottom line - until I can get back to being super active, there are many, many other ways to enjoy the time, to find meaning in life, and to invest in others.  "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."  Rejoice and be glad - ok, Lord, I'm ready!

Change of Plans

For the past two months, since Ironstar, I've been telling myself that I'm "recovering."  "Recovering" from the run in which what I thought was my IT band began hurting at mile 3 and never quit.  The past 10 weeks have been full of physical therapy and functional exercises.  The theory was my right hip pain is the result of weak hip flexors, lack of core strength, and weak pelvic floor muscles (who knew there was such a thing as a pelvic floor muscle?).  My wonderful therapist has me doing exercises on the bosu ball that earn me pointed stares at the gym.

But last week, the diagnosis finally came back: femoral impingement and labrum tear.  I haven't met with the surgeon yet, but my online research indicates the best remedy is surgery ... assuming I want to keep biking, swimming, and running. 

Surgery.  It's the word every athlete dreads hearing.  It means weeks, maybe months, of inactivity, losing fitness, and starting from scratch.  I worked so, so very hard to build my mileage up to a half marathon... and now I'm going to have to start all over.  It seems so unfair.

The past week have had several moments of insight, though.

Last Sunday while riding with a good friend, we approached two athletes cycling in what looked like recumbant bikes.  As we got closer, we could see that neither man had legs.  They were out riding, using only their arms.  Thank You, Father, that I have two functional legs that let me walk wherever I want.

Later on Sunday, the teacher talked about God's reckless love for us.  "And we know that God works all things together for good, to them that love Him, and are called according to His purpose."  Rom. 3:23.  It's easy to believe that when life is going the way I want it to.  But what about now, when I'm facing weeks, probably months of not being able to do the things I most love to do?

 To be honest, when I first got the diagnosis, I thought maybe God was punishing me for spending too much time training.  Maybe he was upset with how I spend my time.  Maybe He didn't like me doing triathlons.  My best friend reminded me that God created me to love sports and being active, and that He is not capricious or angry.  So on Sunday, I decided I would choose to trust Him with this.  I don't have to like it, but I can rest assured that He is not surprised, and He already has a plan to bring out of this.  I can't see it now, but that's where faith comes in.

 I've asked God for healing.  Sometimes He heals; more often He does not.   Either way, He is good.

So for the next couple of weeks, I'm going to fully enjoy the time I have left to ride and swim.  There may not be many races for me this year.  But when I'm on the other side of this, I'll be riding and swimming again.  And for that, I am thankful.

Pedal Party

On Saturday, I did my first 200k ride.  126 miles.  And that was the short route.  The other routes were 400k and 600k.  I met some friends for breakfast at Denny's at 5:45 a.m., and we were on our bikes by 7 a.m.  The weather was perfect - in the 60s as we rode out, and warming into the 70s.  We rode out of Brookshire, up to Belleville.  From there we headed out to Burton.  There was a rather nasty crosswind that made holding a straight line difficult.  We arrived in Burton around 11 a.m., which was almost the halfway point. 

From Burton, we rode to Brenham, and then to Blinn, and then back to Belleville and back home.  By the last 25 miles, I was ready to get OFF the bike.  I wasn't bonking, I was just tired.  I was proud of myself, though.  By setting my watch to go off every 30 minutes to remind me to take a salt tab, I was able to stay on top of the electrolytes.

Two of the older guys in the group were in their mid-60s.  By the end of the ride when the rest of us younger ones were slowing down, they were still out in front, pulling strong.  That's one thing I love about cycling - you see people of all ages and stages of life doing it. 

Sunday was the Pedal Party.  I didn't quite know what to expect. I was told we were going to ride a 16-seater bike on the streets of Houston.  BYOB.  I brought root beer.  ;)  The owner told us the bike was built by two Dutch guys in Holland.  It literally sat 14, with room in the center for the bar tender.  We pedaled down Washington, averaging 4 mph.  At one point, with everyone cranking as hard as possible and a slight downhill, I think we hit 8 mph for a few seconds.  After my epic century plus the day before, I was quite happy to find one of the seats over the wheels that had no pedals and enjoy the ride.  All up and down the street people were staring at us and taking pictures.  One fellow quite driving and let his car coast while he held his camera up through the sunroof to take a picture!  The funniest comment came from a police car - as he passed us he used his megaphone to say, "Pedal faster!"  Definitely a memory I won't soon forget.

Perspective

Yesterday, I complained.  I complained inside, I complained to God, and I complained to my best friend on the phone.  I was complaining about the fact that my hip still hurts when I run, about work, about being tired, and about being irritated with a myriad of minor inconveniences.

And then last night, I ended up sitting across from a woman who spoke little to no English.  She was attending English classes to help her learn the language.  In her broken English, with some help from the students around her, she told me she works 6-7 days a week, cutting hair.  She lives alone.  Her husband abandoned her two years ago, and she finally started coming to the English classes just to do something new and try to get away from her sadness.  Looking at her, she probably has no health insurance or savings. 

I went home thankful for my job, my health, and my friends and family.  And that I speak the language of the country in which I live.  Sometimes it's just a matter of perspective

Multi-Tasking at Its Finest

I just have to share the funniest story one of my ironman friends told me.  She recently did a local ride, called the Tour de Donut (you can subtract time from your ride time for each donut you consume).  Before the ride start, she happened to meet a small family who was apparently doing the ride for the first time.  The wife kept asking my friend if she--the wife--rode her bike for 3 hours a day, if she could eat whatever she wanted and be thin.  My friend responded that no, probably not - you still have to eat healthy to be healthy (or something to that effect).  The ride started, and my friend took off to do her 50-something mile ride.  As she neared the last rest stop, she saw the family again.  As she passed by, she turned to say a few encouraging words to the wife.  The wife was calmly riding her bike... and smoking a cigarette at the same time. 

Ironstar 2010 Race Report

I drove to Conroe on Saturday afternoon with girlfriend Susan, and my mom, in tow. We checked into the race site hotel, found the mini race expo, and then headed off for a carb dinner.  I think I was more excited about Sunday's race than I have been about anything else for a long time.  I loved seeing all the athletes come in with their decked out bikes and support-crew/ family.  I like the buzz of excitement, seeing the TA all set up for the next morning, and thinking about the fact that I'm going to be out on that race course tomorrow morning.


While getting ready for bed and putting together my race stuff for the following morning, I realized I had no spoon with which to eat my oatmeal.  Without blinking an eye, Susan picked up the phone, called the front desk, and asked if we could "please have a plastic spoon delivered to our room, right away."  Within minutes a girl from the front desk arrived with our spoon.  I sheepishly accepted the spoon and avoided her questioning gaze.  That, people, is the kind of support crew you want with you!


There was only one king size bed in the hotel room, and I'd brought my camping air mattress, intending to sleep on the floor.  However, I did not count on the fact that mom and girlfriend were not amenable to the idea of sleeping together, so I found myself in the bed with mom, while Susan toughed it out on the floor.  I think I got maybe 4 hours of sleep that night.  I was just too amped up.


Susanand I got up at 4:30am Sunday morning (mom slept in). Susan made my coffee and filled my water bottles while I got dressed and ate oatmeal.  (Again, take notes all you future support crews out there - Susan set the standard.)  We headed down to body marking, me ignoring the 37 degree chill in the air and trying to convince myself the water would feel warmer.

this pic shows the craziness of the swim start

After warm up run and stretch, we waited in the (warm!) hotel lobby for the race to start.  Mom joined us in time to see me off.  My wave entered the water at 7:20a.m., and boy, was that water COLD.  The website posted 76 degrees as the water temp., but I think it was more like 67.  The steam rising off the lake was so thick we couldn't see the next buoy.  I found myself stopping at each kayak and lifeguard to ask directions, and saw other swimmers doing the same.  The swim felt like it took forever, what with all the stopping and asking, but I later found out that I came out of the water in 34 minutes flat.  A PR!


I wasn't too cold running to the bike, so I ditched the jacket I'd planned on wearing and just grabbed my full fingered gloves instead.  The bike was a little cold with the wind, but what really bothered me was my legs were so cold I felt like I didn't have the normal climbing power I usually have on hills.  The course was all hills, with a few false flats.  As the miles ticked by, a headwind sprang up.  I kept thinking we'd turn around and head back to the TA and get a tailwind, but somehow that never happened.  I was aiming at less than 3 hours on the bike, but towards the second half of the bike leg I began to fatigue, and lost some speed.  Awesome Susan found me around mile 40, and holding up her monstrous sign shouted for me until I rounded the curve. 


I backed off a little on the last 16 miles, so as to have something left for the run.  I came back to the TA, changed into my running shoes, and took off again.  The run course was three loops, all within the resort there on Lake Conroe.  Half of the loop required running on uneven gravel and sand, and when your legs are already tired from swimming and biking, this was not a welcome challenge.  But the benefit was my cheering section set up camp along the route, and I got to see them several times while we ran our crazy loops. And I would be remiss if I did not mention Susan's crazy sign: "RUN JOCELYN RUN!!" 

I don't remember much else from the run, except that it was a haze of pain.  My right IT band started hurting (at the hip) around mile 3, and the pain intensified over the distance. I kept shifting my foot strike position to try and alleviate the pain, but nothing seemed to help.  Finally, I gave up and decided the final 13 miles were just going to hurt like hell, so I needed to suck it up and just do it. Once I made that decision, I just put my head down and ran. 

I crossed the finish line with a time of 5:46.  I was pretty happy with that, and even happier when I found out I placed fourth in my age group!  Breakdown was swim: 34 min., bike: 3:15, run: 2:08.  I don't broadcast this in person, but I'm going to add here that I was first out of the water for my age group. 

So placing fourth in my age group - what's the big deal?  I'm not a pro, I don't get any money or recognition for it.  It doesn't determine my future, or anything dramatic like that.  But in a way, it was so much more important.  So many times during training when I would miss a workout due to fatigue, or see someone who was slim and looked fit, I would feel like a poser.  Like someone who claims to be something they're not.  I think in some ways I still struggle to know, and like, who I am.  Much of this triathlon journey has been about me learning to listen to, and respect my body - a body that I spent years hating and trying to change.  So when I crossed the finish line and saw my results, I knew that I wasn't a poser.  I knew that my body had performed amazingly.  And most importantly, I knew more about who I am.  I am a triathlete.