Big, Fat, Failure
Here’s the thing…I hate to fail. Don’t get me wrong, I make mistakes all the time…parenting teenagers, recalling song lyrics, age-appropriate outfit choices, etc. I tend to study, plan, and practice so as to avoid failing whenever possible. That has worked for me for decades… until now.
I have trained for this triathlon for almost 13 weeks… 5-6 days per week. I can now swim ¼ of a mile in a pool, run/walk 3.4 miles on a treadmill and bike 15 miles in almost an hour. These were the requirements of the Triathlon. I thought I had met the requirements. Then the game changed.
Actually, the environment changed and that changed the game for me. This is a lesson I’ve been teaching corporate executives for years…context matters. Period. Unfortunately, I forgot to reference my own notes for this little project.
Team Phoenix has a Facebook page where at any given moment you can get equal doses of inspiration, practice instructions, and cancer updates from a teammate. Coach Kim posted a message announcing that we were less than 4 weeks away from the event day. It was meant to be a motivational post…but I must admit that it made me throw up in my mouth a little bit.
According to our schedule, the final four weeks of our training would be done in the context of the event itself: outside, on public paths, and in open water. “Ok” I thought…no biggie. Only to find out that this is indeed the biggest of biggies.
Biking is my comfort. I’ve been biking outside on the gorgeous trails of southeastern Wisconsin for several weeks now. I loved to bike when I was younger and even did a few longer treks with friends. I know how to anticipate hills, play in traffic, dodge toddlers on trikes, and navigate the ground (stone, mud, pavement, wet leaves, etc.) I have the protocols down: a nod to oncoming bikers and yell “on your left” when passing on the path. Thanks to Team Phoenix and the Wheel and Sprocket folks, I can change a tire, grease a chain, and select the right type of chaffing cream. I anticipate absolute success based on the comforts of padded bike shorts and my Pulse radio station. Biking, I can do.
I was gaining confidence in my swimming and running as well…up until the moment they closed the pool and unplugged the treadmill. Drats.
Our first open water swim was held at the same lake as our planned triathlon. We gathered for instruction on how to design a swim-to-bike transition station and were offered bright pink balloon buoys to strap to our waists… just in case. These devices are meant to signal to those in the vicinity that a swimmer is below the surface. Upon closer inspection, I saw that “If found please return to…” was written in large handwriting across the balloon. I am now convinced that the lettering was referencing the swimmer attached to the buoy more than the buoy itself. It might as well have said, “If body found, please return to Coach Kim.”
Coach Kim started practice in her optimistic way with a lovely speech about the beauty of being in nature and sharing that nature with creatures big and small. Aaaaaaand, I’m out. I’m not a good sharer of liquids. I can barely share my Diet Coke with my favorite hubby, Bob…much less share my swim space with turtles and trout. Shit’s about to get real.
I grew up in one of the most beautiful parts of the country (Wisconsin) where there are lakes-a-plenty, but I wasn’t a lake-kid. I was a city-kid. The only water found in our gathering spaces were from bubblers. We were all invited to enter the lake to learn the swim route. This was uncomfortable for me. Large red buoys were positioned in the water to help guide ours and the turtles’ paths. Upon scanning nature’s pool, many of us had a full-on violation of the senses. The smell of chlorine was replaced by the smells of nature (draw your own conclusions now), the water looked different as it was a greenish yellowish color with floatie things (draw your own conclusions now), and the feeling…the feeling was the toughest for me. This lake was full of seaweed. Stepping on it took some getting used to. I know I’m in ‘their’ home, but their home needs new carpeting. Me no likey.
When Coach yelled ‘Go’, the Mermaids and Bass bounded into the water. I instantly knew I picked the wrong time to start binge-watching Stranger Things. I and my pink buoy did our best to cooperate with one another but quickly became a sight to see… like a scene from an old Laverne and Shirley episode. My new pink BFF and I were in a complete and utter power struggle. My balloon got tangled in the lake’s safety rope before we even got to the designated starting line. This balloon wanted me to swim in a very particular way…and only one way… so that it could do its job and float on the water’s surface. I, being the bad-Bass that I am, needed choices… options for survival. I might do the breast stroke for a bit, then flip into the backstroke, and sprinkle in a doggy paddle as needed. This swim practice was miserable. After struggling for what seemed like a weekend, I lost my confidence and am doubting my sanity at this point. If it weren’t for the fact that they already bought me a damn team shirt…I’d be bailing.
The next day, I saw a Facebook post for another optional practice later in the week. Coach was offering to do a ‘minitri’ with anyone who wanted to join. Not one to give up easily, I knew I needed more swim practice and thought it would be great to do it with others in the same position. When I arrived Friday morning, I quickly realized that I wasn’t about to practice with fellow Bass needing more survival techniques. No, I was about to go swim cap to swim cap with four Mermaids! What the duck? My goal has been loftily set at ‘not to be last’ in this triathlon. These gals are different. They want to place in this race. That’s right, they are gold-medal-bound. Well … I let that mess with my head and proceeded to have a full-on panic attack right there next to buoy #2. Thus, while the Mermaids finished their swim and strutted toward their bike transition spots like Baywatch babes, I’m violating all sorts of Aurora HR policies by groping Coach Kim with the hopes of catching my breath. It was not pretty. She was as incredible as everyone has come to expect and escorted me out of my own head. Once I reached the shore, I marched out of the water, (less like Baywatch and more like Golden Girls) and immediately went from anxious to flat out furious with myself. It took me the really long bike ride that followed and an impromptu game of chicken with a semi on Hwy 67 to recover.
Now here’s the embarrassing part, the water was only 6 feet deep. I could have easily stood up and saved myself, but instead I got so caught up in competing with the Mermaids and getting thrown by the new environment, that I lost my sensibilities and forgot all of my training.
What. A. Waste. Anxiety is the most unproductive emotion ever, isn’t it? Nothing that happened was logical. I can swim. I know how to float when I don’t want to swim. I definitely know that I don’t need to keep up with the Mermaids. I put so much pressure on myself… for nothing.
Humor usually gets me through the toughest of times, but I found nothing about this to be funny. This kicked my soggy Bass. I’ve reflected all week on those 4 minutes in the water: how hard I was on myself, how long it took me to recover, Coach’s supportive words, how miserable I was when I got home, and my husband’s loving patience. I wanted to quit…. 3 weeks to race day and I was considering leaving a cowardly voice mail message for the Director. “Er, hi Ilka, this is Kimberly. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to continue on with Team Phoenix and compete in the triathlon… the cancer has spread to my ego.”
THAT …would have been my Big, Fat, Failure….not those 4 minutes in the water. Enough was enough.
To get myself out of my funk, I decided to focus on what I could do well…biking. I set out on Saturday morning with the intention of doing 17 miles. Around mile 3 I felt sprinkles and by mile 5 it started to pour, but I didn’t stop. At mile 6 I received a call through my headset from my husband. Our conversation went something like this…
Bob: “Hey, I’m on Hwy 18 looking for you. Where are you?”
Concerned Me: “I’m biking…is something wrong?”
Bob: “No, it’s just that it’s raining and I was worried so I was coming to get you.”
Lucky Me: “Hun, I’m an athlete now. Coach says we train in the rain.”
Bob: [chuckling] “Ok Baby, you keep on then.”
Determined Me: “I’ll be home in another 12 miles.”
…and within moments, my fear evaporated, my anger subsided, my confidence returned....and the rain stopped. Bottom line, I know that I will finish this thing. I also know that I have people on that course and in my life who will love and support me through this. That, my friends, is my Finish Line.
[Dedicated to Bob - xoxo]
