Guest Blogger!

My swim coach and good friend Erica did a duathlon last weekend after a long, hard winter fighting a mysterious illness and struggling emotionally and physically with her identity as an athlete. 

We were talking about her experience (it was a tough one) and thought it might be worth sharing. 

She's a total badass no matter what kind of shape she's in, and has been the source of such inspiration and motivation for me over the years. Happy to debut her as my first "guest blogger." (Turns out she can write on top of all the other things she's so freakin' talented at: swimming, graphic design [her day job], coaching, etc.)

Enjoy!

"You Just Have to Keep Moving"

They're laughing at me, I think, as I walk my nice, light bike up the hill.

Then it happens.

The first-timer passes me.

On her mountain bike.

We'd had a nice chat during the beginning of the run; she'd mentioned this was her first race and her only goal was to finish. She'd asked if I'd done this before. I told her that I'm a swimmer by trade, but that I started doing multisport events a few years ago. I'd joked about how much I miss the water on the first leg of a duathlon. She'd asked about my uniform; I happily explained that I'm fortunate enough to be sponsored by TriSports.com, an amazing company and the best online retailer of all things swim/bike/run. She seemed impressed, then mentioned that she didn't want to hold me up. I wished her luck, told her to have fun, then felt slightly pressured to power on ahead.

"Awesome job! Way to get up that hill!" I shout to her as she's powering past with this great look of determination. I genuinely mean it, but part of my heart kinda sinks.

This is where you're at, I tell myself. You have to be ok with it. You have to accept it. 

Good for a few moments, until I think, But they're still probably all chuckling at me in my fancy sponsored-athlete suit and my nice bike. I shouldn't have let Craig (my husband) talk me into using my race wheels.

I'm only at mile 7 of the bike. Nearing the top of a climb around the 5 mile mark, my right calf cramped so badly I nearly fell over. It would be natural to think I might've pushed too hard on that initial 5k run. But for me, the time was slow. I was able to shake the cramp out just enough to climb back on and coast down the other side of the hill. Soon after, another climb. Another cramp. I get off and start walking. It is at this point that the first-timer passes me.

You told her to have fun, I remind myself. You need to do the same. Make the most of it, because this is where you're at.

I can tell that there are a few people behind me walking. I find comfort in knowing I'm not alone, so I turn around to smile. The man is mentioning that this is the worst of it; after this climb it's all downhill back to transition.

"I'm gonna hold you to that!" I jokingly remark. He laughs. More importantly, I can tell he's laughing with me. We get to the top of the long, steep climb, hop back on our bikes, and finish the 14 mile journey back to our running shoes.

As I dismount, I shout a sarcastic remark about how I'm doing to Craig (who's already finished with the race). Sarcasm has always been my best way of dealing with failure or disappointment. He reminds me that it's "just a training race." I run in to rack my bike and switch my shoes. Another cramp. This time, I do actually fall over, luckily onto the grass instead of pavement. I yell to Craig, hoping he still has his emergency Cramp911 on his bike. No such luck. I feel paralyzed, and for a split second I give up hopes on finishing.

Then Craig tells me, "You just have to keep moving."

And I know he's right.

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I started writing this post as a "guest-blogger" for Leah about how we view our competitors in a race. When I reviewed the events of the race with her, I had a lot to laugh about. But I also couldn't shake the thought of how other people perceived my effort at this event. I said to her, "They were probably all laughing at me, but I did what I could. They don't know what I've been going through. They don't know that I haven't been able to train for months. They don't know how much fitness I've lost. They don't know how many blood tests I've had done over the past few months. They don't know that a month ago I couldn't walk down stairs without having to focus on each individual step. They don't know that I had a brain scan for MS. They don't know how scary it's all been." We agreed that, in a sense, it's always easy to judge. However, you never know what someone's story might be. Because everyone has one. It might be short, it might be long; it might be about a walk in the park, or it might be about a mighty climb. But everyone has a story.

As I kept reminding myself throughout the race, this is where I'm at. Not too long ago, I was given a working diagnosis of hypothyroidism and fibromyalgia (a few lab results are still pending). Each day, I take a cocktail of vitamins and minerals to help help my body function better. I have good days and bad days, but at least I'm getting out there. I can't expect to pick up where I finished off last year. It doesn't matter that last July, I swam 10 miles. It doesn't matter that last September, I did the swim and bike legs of an iron-distance relay. It doesn't matter that I concluded the season with a 30k trail run. Winter was rough. I would get in the pool and struggle to make it over a half mile. I would be tapped out after a half hour on my bike. One day I felt ambitious enough to make the one-mile walk to work, and I had to rest halfway there. It didn't matter how mentally determined I was; winter was not kind.

So, this is where I'm at. I look back on the weekend and care less about what people thought, I care less about what I thought and expected of myself, and I now care more about the fact that I didn't give up. I'm proud that I crossed that finish line. It matters more that I made it through. It's a starting point. As I said to a friend not too long ago, it's like making a fresh start. Having a clean slate.

That clean slate is the start of a new chapter in my story: "You Just Have to Keep Moving."