Overwhelming Fears Produces a FIRST!

Arriving at work Friday morning, Dave was no longer wearing the suit he was sporting the past couple of days, suits are an unusual attire for Flagstaff's casual mountain fashion,  rather he was wearing running garb and approached me with a disappointing look.  "What happened to the suits Dave? Looks as if you took Casual Fridays in a direction."

"Yea, I went for run before work. The knee is still tweaked. Don't know if I can do the triathlon this week-end."  Dave replied.

"Better get some ice on the knee, right-away. Have you checked with a doc or have a buddy who is Physical Therapist who can check you out?"

"Naw, not yet."

"Well, don't push yourself for this race. There will be others.  Remember, there is the Vegas Rock-n-Roll coming in December."

"I don't know if I'll be ready for that, either."

With those words, I immediately believed that Dave's already checked himself out of both races. Later Friday, near close to the end of the day, I stopped-by for a last minute encouraging word, yet gave him an out. "Tomorrow, if your knee is still bothering you, don't push yourself. Surgery is not worth the price. Just give me a call tomorrow morning, to tell me if you're making the trip or not"  Deep down, I wished Dave, my training cohort would go because I am nervous about this race, my first triathlon. He would be someone available to alleviate my nervous energy and fears -- a sounding board. 

Brian, a co-worker, co-worker enthusiastically proclaimed, "Looks like whiskey tonight!"

At that point, I knew Dave would not be making trip.  The next morning, I received the anticipated phone call.

Joining us though on this trip was Flat Stanley, a character out of children's book, who according to my nephew, enjoys photographic trips and adventures.  Hence, if you see a crayon drawn character in a photo, it's Coach Stanley.  Confirming our directions, Coach Stanley proved useful outside Kingman, AZ on our way to Parker, Arizona for Mountainman Event's Bluewater Triathlon!

After registering, I found myself standing upon the shore shore surveying the Long swim course marked with colorful, pyramid green bouys which appeared to be miles apart.  My inner pirate reached into my breast pocket retrieving the telescopic, monocular exclaiming doubt, "ARRR....you up for this matey?"   My pulse quickens as my training required many laps in a small  25 meter pool but I have never seen how all these laps add up to .62 in the water.  Swimming in the open water is far more intimidating than the pool when one doesn't have the option to stand when tired or rest against the wall.  Sure, I've run 26.2 miles many times, it seems almost easy now, however, the shorter.62 miles seemed like 100 marathons combined into one event!  Wisely, I switched from the Long Course to the Short Course.  Rather than swimming along the far shoreline in the picture below for .62 miles, I only needed to swim to the far green buoy and back, yet this may even prove difficult.

Learning my lesson from, "There Is A Reason They Call It The Buddy System" when I nearly drowned, I decided my practice swim should be parallel to the shore and to boost my confidence exit at the boat ramp where the swim portion ends.  As my wife ran from the shore across he boat docks, little did my wife know that I had a panic attack behind the weeds as I couldn't see the bottom of the lake causing me to swim to shore and stand by the weeds, hidden from view.

Exiting the water, my confidence felt further from the goal than ever before. "What the hell are you doing? You just turned 43! You should be on the couch or taking up a sedate hobby. Look how pathetic your training was. You didn't follow a plan. You're doing this by the seat of your pants! " The thoughts continued.

Fear was on my face.

"When you first looked at the long course, I thought something was wrong. If you wanted to turn-around and leave, I was ready to go."

I came clean. "I had a panic attack when I couldn't see the bottom in the boat channel. I don't think I can do it. I'm afraid I'll drown as swim out towards the middle of the lake, like I did this last summer."  Karen, a former therapist, tried to diagnose the trigger points and my feelings at those times.

As we were walking back, a woman sitting on her porch patio inquired about the water's temperature and if I was swimming the race.

"It's about 10 degrees colder than what I'm used to and took my breath away. By the way, do you know how deep lake is? I'm having panic attacks."

"You too?! It's only 6 to 8 feet deep. You won't have a problem though, this is one of my favorite lakes because you swim along the shore and can step out if you have a problem."  Later I learned of her full-on panic attacks before a race consting of vomiting, crying and so forth.  I felt comfort in that someone else had these very same fears, yet her's was to a greater extreme than mine.

Karen stated, "I know you can do it. Why don't you give it a try, again? Go back and swim towards the middle"

Returning to the water, I stood alone in contemplating the swim, the green bouy in the distance and confronting my fears -- the swim either goes well and I succeed or we leave and I give-up the sport. It came down to this moment.

I swam -- out there.  The cold water took my breath away again but this time, I forced my face back into the water.  I found my stroke noting six strokes between breaths, rather than three like practice sessions. I was gliding through the water when the lake's bottom appeared, disappeared and reappeared.  Half-way between the bouy and shore, I turned around and emerged with the possibility that I can.

Walking back to the hotel room still dressed in my wetsuit, we met a Race Manager who inquired as to which race I as paricipating: the Long or Short Course.  I explained my need to switch to the short course then he reminded me that I had nothing to fear as it was only 600 meters!  "Remember 600 meters, only 300 out and back. You've swam more than that many times while practicing."

At the pasta feed, I received additional advice from Steve, a sixty year-old triathlete with 300 races under his belt and who looked as if he were in late 40's. (amazing what exercise can do) "Just finish the swim and concentrate on your strength - running. Leave nothing out there and if you get sick at the finish, you succeeded!"

From 2 a.m. onward, I didn't sleep but tried visualizing the race and my new mantra, "300 out and 300 back!" In the morning, I sought a quiet place to stretch while contemplating the distance, only 300 meters to the green bouy in the middle lake -- annoyingly taunting and tempting me to conquer it.

Nothing seemed to help.  Just prior to the race, I finally came to conclusion, I just had to race.

Prior to the horn I asked a few twenty-somethings standing behind me, "Are you guys rock stars? If you are, you might want to line up in front of me."

"NO! We all thought you were the rock star.  That's why we're behind you."

The horn sounded and we were off. I didn't notice the bottom of the lake as I was concentrating on following the kicking feet in front of me.  Behind me, occasionally I felt my feet being touched but at no time did I feel that the race was chaotic mess as often described in articles about a triathlon's start.  I didn't get kicked in the face but did have a good nudge by a guy next to me at one point.  

The water current pushed us but my alignment was spot and accounted for drift purshing me towards the green bouy.  I made the turn!  "First 300 done! Now, the last 300!" I thought. Not too many people were around me and I could calmly get into my groove, and was, until I became cognizant of the bottomless lake. Panic! I flipped on my back and began to backstrok as I caught my breath.  This struggle lasted for three minutes as people passed me.  I could see the Rescuers watching me: concerned that I would put them into action. A couple times, I flipped-over to resume the free-style stroke until I could faintly see the bottom.  When I did, I felt secure and could resume my race.  I saw Karen, my wife, standing on shore looking beyond me deep in the pack and I called-out her name to gain her attention which surprised her. Finally, with the swim leg over, my fun began!

Although my transition to the bike must have taken five minutes, I managed to push myself despite the front brake grinding against the wheel -- either the brakes were not adjusted correctly or a speedbump dented the rim. I found that I even had to pedal downhill when others were able to coast.

The run transition was a piece of cake as I bolted off my bike, racked it and was on the course again.  With Steve's advice, I pushed hard on the run and hoped to spill my guts  at the finish. 

With my breakfast bagel still in my stomach as I crossed the Finsih, according to Steve, I didn't succeed but in my mind, where the true battle was, I did! 

Seeking conversation and be emersed in the event over a beer, we attended the awards ceremony with no expectation other than to enjoy a few stories,  drinks and perhaps nachos.  We did and when the Race Director posted the results I said, "Well, I might as well go see how I did."  Finding the age group results, I scanned the middle portion and was somewhat disappointed that my name wasn't there. Next, I searched the bottom names because, afterall this was my first race what should I expect?  Still no "Bob" listed.  Finally, I looked at the top of the results and my heart lifted into my throat!  I rushed back to the table and my wife and spoke in disbelief, "I think, I won my age group. Go see and tell me!"

Karen's mouth dropped in disbelief too at the thought. She rose. Walked to the board and quickly returned, "I think you did, too!  Your name is at the top!"

Still in disbelief, "Maybe, the list was in alphabetical order. I gotta go back and look."

Sure enough, under the "Place" column a number 1 appeared next to my name!  Imagine, if it weren't for the woman I met who expressed the same fears; the Race Manager reminder of a mere 600 meters for the swim; Steve's advice to let it all out on the run; the twenty-somethings perception of me as a "Rock Star"; and, my wife who spoke her confidence in me, "You could do it",  I may have gone home without even racing all because of groundless, baseless fears!  Instead, I learned more about myself than I ever could on this 43 birthday!

First place: 40 to 44!

The Running Bob