Mantra

What are the words or phrases that you repeat to yourself for encouragement or strength? I've never spent much time thinking about the mantras I have. But I do have them. We all do. In fact we all have those fabulous counter-mantras as well (is that a word?) I touched on that a bit in the last blog. But now, as I'm four days away from the event, I have to shift gears completely. I have to. Between 4:30AM and somewhere around 11:30AM, I'll have a lot of time to be inside my head. In the time before the race I'll eat twice; once at home and again something small before the swim. In that time I'll look around the crowd and see all the amazing people that are competing with me. I'll be more nervous about standing around than the event itself. I'll likely run through each part of the race in my head. I've done the course a million times. I know the turns, the bumps in the road, I know where I'll need the extra push. I know where I'll need that mantra to start working its magic. I won't have Pete or Molly or Marie next to me. Pete will be out there racing, but I won't see him. I'll see him at the finish line. Just that thought makes me so happy.

We'll enter the water one at a time. I think there is a one or two second delay between people. From the shore it will look like an ocean of flopping fish. I'll be in that ocean. My arms will move like wings, up and over my head, down through the water. I won't hear anything. I'll go into my head, the deepest part of my brain. "Easy" I'll say, "long" imagining my stroke "strong" I'll finish the stroke, breath and begin another. I'll find my rhythm. I'll look up every now and then to make sure I'm swimming in the right direction. Maybe every fifth breath, maybe more. But I'm focused, so calm. Another swimmer will pass me, maybe push me aside. I'll notice for only a moment that I'm sharing this space. This will be my favorite part of the race. I'm totally alone, completely connected to my body with my mind. Swim = 1.5K

As I near the shore I'll see people begin to climb out of the water. Half swimming, half running before their feet can clear the surface of the water. Some will dash up the shore to the sand and onto the runway. I'm still in my head, but its fading because I can see people now, I can meet their eyes. Look away, don't pay attention, focus on getting up to the transition area. Soaking wet, I'll pull my swim cap off. I can feel some tiny hairs being pulled out of my head. My hair is pulled back and matted down. I look across the sea of bikes to find where I left mine. Everything looks different than it did hours ago when I left my gear - set up all nice and neat. "Put your helmet on first" they won't even let you on the bike course if your helmet isn't on. Immediately disqualified. "Put your helmet on first." I can't get on my bike until I've exited the transition area. Right now, today, I don't know how far I'll be from that point. How far will I have to run before I can jump on my bike? This is where my brain becomes scramble. All the thoughts running fast and colliding. So fast that decisions aren't made, but rather instincts are followed. I've done this before. I've gotten through transitions in record time.

I sigh with relief as my ass hits the saddle and my feet click into the peddles. I'm on the bike. A couple of hard cranks to get up to speed and then into my head I go. I have no thoughts. I'm not feeling anything. I'll tuck down, gripping the bike to make it a part of me. Every muscle of my leg meets every turn of the peddle. My whole body is working. I am strong. At this moment the only thing in my head is "fuck yeah." I'll get passed and I'll pass people. I suddenly realize that I'm pulling up too close to a rider. I drop back. Don't get penalized for drafting. The song in my head is becoming my mantra. Eminen's Lose Yourself starts its repeat, "Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment would you capture it? Or just let it slip?..." Ride = 40K

The crowd becomes evident towards the end of the bike course. Clumps of people cheering me on. No wait, their cheering for the dude behind me. Someone will shout "Nice ink!" That was for me. I see the entrance of the transition area. I'm yanked back into reality. Thoughts enter my head again like an assault. "Get off the bike" Bam! "Take off your shoes" Bam! "Run to your transition spot" Bam! I throw my bike back up on the rack, it slips, I straighten it. Helmet comes off. I throw a Shot Block in my mouth. Tiny sip of water. I slip on my shoes. I smile because I love these shoes. Bike is done.

Time to run. I can run now but will my legs let me? I scoot out of the transition area. I can see people now. I see people that I know. They're cheering for me. Shit, I can do this? From this moment forward I will see people, make eye contact and for the next however long it takes I will be able to hear their words shouted at me, feel the pavement under my feet and sun on my head. New mantra. Where's my mantra? Where did it go? Back and forth looking around. "My legs feel heavy." NO! Delete, delete. "I'm thirsty." Wrong words. They're just words. "How many miles to go?" Find different words. Find a song. Think of Rocky. "Risin' up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive..." Shit I don't know all the words. Quick, something else. I think about my posture: String through my head pulling me straight, hips forward, shoulders back, pull with my arms. A mile or so in to the run I can feel my running legs again. "Look at what's happened to me, I can't believe it myself. Suddenly I'm up on top of the world, it should've been somebody else..." Yes I know this song. This doesn't suck too much. One lap down, one more to go. I cross into the second lap. I see all of the same faces again. I hear my name. I go back to the beginning. Pavement. Legs. Distance. Posture. Song. I need help here! Think about statistics. (CDC) In 2000, obesity-related health care costs totaled an estimated $117 billion. More than one third of U.S. adults—more than 72 million people—and 16% of U.S. children are obese. I am not one of them. I am not one of them. I tell myself that I've worked for this. I'm not special or different or lucky. It doesn't come easy to me. I've sweated so much that my clothing turns white from salt. I've worked for this. I've cried at the end of a workout because I didn't think I could do it or because I couldn't finish. I worked for this. None of its been easy, but all of it is mine. "This is mine." I finally find my mantra. I repeat it until it means nothing, but by this point I'm rounding the last corner. So many faces. It doesn't matter who they're cheering for because this was all mine. Run = 10K