"The biggest lesson I learned from cancer was this, pain is temporary, but quitting lasts forever."
Lance Armstrong - Its Not About the Bike
Before I get into this past weekend's race, I think its important to make a few statements just so things are clear. This has not been, at least from an emotional and mental standpoint, a very good year. I'm not going to bore my 5 readers with what exactly that all entails, but the lessons I learned over the last 8 months away from training and racing, far out-weigh what I learned in riding and running. The most important lesson - if you truly respect and care for those closest to you, be most honest with them about everything. Thier love and understanding is deeper than I gave them credit for, and they are the last people I want to lose in my life.
With that lesson in hand, I travelled out to Ohio to tackle my first ever true long distance race. Yes, I have run a couple marathons, and I did the old Springfield Ironhorse race, but I've never done a long distance DU and this was going to be tough. I knew that back in February when I circled this race as one of my big goals, but with things being rocky in my personal life, I didn't realize how hard it would be. Leading up to the race, I knew I had done everything physically correct - long rides, long runs, worked on climbs, worked on pacing, (yes Greg, I did work on pacing) everything I thought would be critical for a good performance. But I never worked on the mental, and as the race got closer, I started to fall apart. Mentally, my confidence was shot, (due to my own failings) and my health had deteriorated. I got another ear infection a week and a half ago, and my hearing in my right ear was sketchy at best. This furthered my belief that I was not suited to race, and that thought crept into every thought I had about racing.
By last Friday, I was debating whether or not to even go. I still felt less than healthy, and I was still on antibiotics, another excuse to not race. But then I would think of guys who raced the Tour with colds, sinus infections, sore throats, everything and they went on to do extremely well. I've raced and trained with antibiotics in my body, so this was nothing new. So, I got home early from work Friday, and was ready to go. Then the sinus pressure kicked in and I freaked. Had I been more confident, I probably wouldn't have even noticed. But I ran to the health clinic again, and had the doctor check me out. She admitted I still had the ear infection, and fluid in the ear, but with a CT scan, my sinuses only showed a slight infection there. I asked her for a no-bs answer, can I race or not? She looked at me, and asked me to step into a room for privacy. Now, this isn't my GP, this isn't even my ENT doctor, this is someone I don't even know, and once the door closed, she told me the following:
"I see no reason why you can't race. There is no denying you are fighting an infection, but it won't hamper you much at all, if you stay hydrated and get rest. But your biggest problem is mental. Your head hurts, and your health isn't improving faster b/c you aren't wanting to get better. You are looking to stay sick so you can avoid something. I don't know what it is, but from a strict health standpoint, you can race. Maybe you should go and see for yourself."
With that, I went home, packed my truck and headed out. Saturday was much of the same, more anxious, wavering confidence, talking myself into and out of the race. But Sunday morning came, and there I was, warming up before the event. The "event" was a 5K run/56 mile bike/13.1 mile run. As I towed the line, my legs felt heavy. When the gun went off, I felt sluggish, and slow, almost in a daze. Coming to the bike, I thought, "I can drop out now, I'm sweating really bad and its not even hot out. It'll be cool, I can just go home and get sleep." But when I got to my bike, I grabbed my helmet and saddled up. I thought, maybe I'll feel better with some wind in my face on the ride.
The bike was a two loop course, which helped, b/c I could gauge my splits easier. The first 15 miles were agony. I felt like I was going no where, struggling constantly to get up to speed. Climbs started to come thick and fast, and every one of them hurt. I was pouring sweat, and my HR was above where I wanted to be. But as I got to mile 20, a good friend and excellent athlete, Brian Barker, doing the Olympic distance Tri, came up on me, and patted me on the back and told me "looking strong! Keep hustling!" I jumped out of the saddle and proceeded to re-focus. I stopped thinking about what hurt, and started thinking about getting in more fluids, getting in more fuel. I was starting to get hungry, really hungry, but I was determined to negative split that bike.
As I came in for my first loop, I felt better, my HR dropped and my legs started to feel fluid. My pedaling cadence wasn't labored anymore, neither was my breathing. I hit the second loop, and started to go. The climbs I was jumping out of the saddle on in the first loop, I was seated and going strong. I wasn't thinking about anything but keeping the gas on. I was still hungry, and I kept taking in gels, but I dropped a bar I had, and I knew that would be an issue. Still, I thought with my body relaxing into the ride, I should be ok. As I prepared to enter T2, my body wasn't happy, and it let me know. I turned my head and vomited still maintaining my speed. This run was not going to be pretty.
I got into T2, my stomach a bit of a mess, and I thought again, "look you can quit now. You did the bike, you rode well, let's just go home. You got in a good workout." But once I got off the bike, I went off of instinct. I put on my shoes and headed out, half wondering what the hell I was doing. The first loop of the run wasn't pleasant. I was trying to take in fluid every aid station, only to throw it right back up a few minutes later. I couldn't increase my speed, b/c my stomach would revolt, so, I just kept my head down and started to grind. As I started my second loop, I heard myself say out loud to spectators "I'm hurting". It was both humbling and freeing at the same time. Yeah, I was in a bad way, but I was no longer ashamed to admit it. And again, the idea of quitting, with the finish line so close, sounded great. But I pressed on, as I heard the words, "Don't quit, you can do this." Again, head down, grinding out miles.
The second loop was a blur of pain and vomit. I threw up 2 more times, but as I neared the finish I stopped caring about my time, and just wanted to finish. I couldn't even pick it up to cross the line. But an odd thing was happening - I was alone. My competition wasn't around. As I crossed, I could barely stand, or move, as the volunteer took off my chip, I was relieved and thankful I didn't quit. I had finished, and I was still standing.
As I stumbled to the lake, I tried to walk around in the water to cool off my legs. That would have worked, if the water wasn't warmer than the air, but still it felt good. I had signed up for a massage, and as I laid on the table, waiting for results, I figured I would get this massage and get on the road. Then I heard something that I couldn't understand at first. A woman's voice saying, "Overall Male Elite Winner for the Half Iron Du - Guy Petruzzelli". The massuesse stopped working on my back and tapped me on the shoulder asking, "Isn't that your name?" I honestly had no clue what she was talking about. Next thing I knew I looked up and there was my award, I had won the Overall Elite title. As I type this right now, I'm still stunned. I knew I was hurting, but I discovered so was everyone else, and I guess I just gutted it out a little better. I started laughing, thinking it was a joke, but everyone kept assuring me it wasn't. I was the champ for 2009.
A lot of people I have talked to about distance racing say that many thoughts go through their head when going long. Disassociation. I tried that but all I could think about was pain and finishing. But now, another thought has entered my head, and has me energized - I want to do it again. Talking with my coach, Jen, she pinpointed pretty quickly the nutritional mistakes I made, and nothing seemed to difficult to fix. The great thing is, there are a few more long course DU's, like American Zofingen in October, where I can try this again. But I think the lead up this time will be different. I did more than shed water on Sunday, I shed a ton of emotional baggage and doubt. I'm not going to say I'm totally confident now, and think everything is roses. Actually I believe I have a lot to learn and even more healing to do. But, yes, I want to do it again.
This race, I can't take credit for much. I owe so much to Jenny Garrison, my coach and friend who stood by my when others told her to bolt, and she had every right to, Greg, who also stood by me and reminded me of what a true friend is, Sheila, who, without her, I wouldn't have even made it to the race, and to my 5 year old niece who always sees the best in me, every time I see her. And a big thanks to Rich and the boys from the Bike Shop, they provided a lot more than just equipment. They had my back, and reminded me of it everyday.
Thanks also to my sponsors who sent me good vibes and had faith.
I know this is a long blog, but I want to say one more thing - the minute you give up on yourself, its easy for everyone else to do the same. The people who I mentioned above reminded me of that and b/c they never gave up on me, even when they should have, I made it. I don't know what the future holds, but I know its going to be better b/c of the people in my life.
Guy
