Filling in the Blanks

Well, I suppose I'm slightly overdue for another blog post - like almost 2 years! Truly, writing is therapeutic, so even if no one reads this, at least I get to hash things out on "paper".
As I re-read my "virgin" post, I can help but be amazed at what I've been through and where I've come over the last year and a half. Once again, life and triathlon - the two intertwined- have brought their little ups and downs and steamrolled me into a heaping mess. But I'm picking up the pieces and filling in the void with happiness. Or at least damn well trying to.
2014 started off great. I had a new coach, Wendy Mader (www.t2coaching.com), who seemed to really understand my needs as an athlete but also a human being. I'm highly sensitive and emotional and am a slave to my own female hormones. She understood that my goal for the year was to qualify once again for 70.3 Worlds. We launched right in, I was running long runs in February, more than the "slow and steady" or "hurry slowly" than I was previously used to and I was in the groove.
In March I'd finally received my much awaited and overdue Stages crankset and powermeter. Within a week of installing the shorter crank length (and conversely raising my saddle height to accommodate) I tweaked my hamstring pretty badly. Despite my injury, within days I ran a 7.77k race for St. Patrick's Day and placed second in my age group.

Besides the hamstring injury, I was feeling ridiculously cold ALL THE TIME! Like if I ran 4 miles at the track in 40 degree weather, even with full deep winter weather running gear donned, I almost got frostbite. I started to feel tired more frequently. Must be a case of Seasonal Affective Disorder.
In late March, my friend Amy Becker and I traveled to St. George for a training get away to prep me for my race in May. What a beautiful place!

Snow Canyon was no joke as is the running course. The nerves started acting up. Could I even complete this? This 70.3 was going to kill me! By that Sunday I had given the "camp" everything I'd had. I was done. The following weeks were pretty tough. It almost seemed like I started to snowball out of control emotionally. I didn't want to train anymore. My husband and I took a road trip to Arizona and I did absolutely no training whatsoever. It was a great trip but yet I felt tanked.

By April I was trying to get back to training knowing that I had St. George coming up, but I had already done the damage psychologically. I'd mentally mind screwed myself that the course was going to kill me. Little did I know that this anxiety and emotional turmoil was seated in another issue.
As days went by, I went further and further into a very dark place. Not because I was anxious about my upcoming race. I was stressed. I couldn't seem to balance a part time job, training at any kind of intensity, maintaining my household and my marriage. Thoughts of ending it all crossed my mind countless numbers of times. It was bad. So bad that I quite my job working for the best boss and chiropractor ever so that I could figure out what was going on. I even considered checking myself into a mental health rehabilitation center.
In May, I completed 70.3 St. George. I went into the race actually in a pretty good mindset. I tried to just have fun. I walked a LOT of the run course. It's no joke, that course! Somehow I managed to finish 8th in my AG. Finishing the hot day laying in the fountains of downtown St. George, Utah is an amazing experience and entirely worth the pain.

 

Meanwhile, back in Colorado I'd seen my doctor (a ton) and pretty much cried every visit. I was an emotional mess. He decided to check my TSH (thyroid) levels and noticed after a series of bloodwork that the levels were increasing, meaning I was slowly acquiring hypothyroid - finally an answer to my craziness, chronic fatigue and depression!

In June I raced Kansas 70.3. I was out of the water in 6th (what??!!) and was first in my age group off the bike. Yay! I was still elated even though I was passed on the run and ended up finishing in 2nd place. My first 70.3 podium! Leading up to that race I was 100 percent positive I did not want to take my slot to Worlds. I'd already cancelled Racine 70.3. I was done. Somehow, though, I was convinced by Amy to take it and go. I caved and signed up.

Training continued, I was still feeling blah, but it was summer so Vitamin D levels were probably helping out a bit. On July 4th, my husband and I and our beloved cat set out on a road trip to see my parents in Wyoming - a 6 hour drive away. Half way there, Shades the Cat started to get very anxious about being in the car and suddenly cried out and collapsed in my arms. I tried to give him CPR any way that I knew how, but he ended up dying in my arms. He was my baby and it still brings tears to my eyes to think about it.
Everything shattered. I know he was "just a cat" but to me he was a family member yanked out of my life so very unexpectedly. I felt horrible guilt. I should have just left him home. I was so cheap to not hire a pet nanny. Crying became my new favorite past time. I cut off contact with my friends, tried to get counseling. Nothing was filling in the void.

In August we adopted a bonded pair of cats whom we named Puddles and Chubbers. They were cute, but they weren't Shades, though they would become new snuggle bears. I just needed a fur baby to love on. Meanwhile, my doctor was still not happy with the TSH levels so he upped my dosage of thyroid hormone replacement.
Knowing that I had registered and already forked out the money for 70.3 Worlds in Mont Tremblant, Canada, I struggled to return to semi-fitness. I pretty much had done nothing all of July, mourning for my lost one. The hamstring niggle returned. I could not run more than 8 miles before my hamstring felt like it was going to tear. I was also having horrible sciatica pain shooting from my low back down the back of my right leg that left me awake at night.
As a venue, the World Championship in Canada was spectacular. The scenery was absolutely stunning and the events leading up to the race were memorable. The best memory I have is riding the gondola through the village listening to a U2 cover band belt out Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, followed by a dramatic fireworks display. Awesome!

On race day, I woke up at 4, ate breakfast at 5 in order to leave by 5:30am so my housemates could get to transition by 6. My wave did not start until almost 9am. I PR'd my swim (yay me!) but my usual powerhouse on the bike faltered on the intense hilly course and lack of fuel and fitness and a niggling injury that wouldn't go away left me off the bike in the same place where I'd started. No gains. I knew going into the run that it was going to be a struggle. I was definitely not in the "zone". Every hill felt like my leg was going to rip in two. Still I just put one foot in front of the other. I suffered an anxiety attack midway and almost pulled out because I could not breath. My throat was closing. What was I doing? This isn't fun! I should have trusted my gut and not taken the slot in Kansas. The mental demons were again doing their damage.
I crossed the finish line nonetheless, with a cartwheel to boot (though I almost fell off the platform) and immediately started balling my head off in absolute disappointment. I'd finished 86th out of 117 in my division. It was the worst performance of my triathlon career and I couldn't help but think it was going to be my last.
Fortunately, as time will tell, I couldn't give up the sport that had become to define a piece of me. But I'll save you that one for another night's worth of sleepy bedtime reading. Thanks for enduring a full year's worth of my life crammed into one long blog!