Perspective for the People

When I started this blog three years ago, at the outset of my first Ironman season, I knew I’d name it 3-P’s, as a tribute to my trusty carbon race horse, a P3. Power. Performance. Possibilities. That’s what I settled on. But truthfully, I really wrestled with the words because I wanted Perspective to be a P word too. (But we tri geeks all know the P4 was a flop and anyone who bought one got rid of it right away.) So perspective never made the title cut, but it’s something that has come up as a theme before. Not just on my blog, but in my Facebook musings. Once again, today it’s all about perspective.

In 2013 I did my first Ironman in Lake Placid. In 2014 I battled the wicked weather that was served up in Lake Placid for my second. What the hell, may as well go for the trifecta…. 2015 and Ironman #3. To know me is to know I LOVE Lake Placid for all its history deep seeded in athletics. The energy, the chiseled bodies, those glorious rolling hills, and the way the sun heats you up and the wind tunnels try to cool you down. Some people only know me as a competitive athlete. It is the biggest and loudest of my personas. Is that all about to change?

As spring threatens to be sprung, the days of winter cling in Vermont. They always do… My winter was highlighted by a 60 day run streak, a serious commitment to winter bike training via Computrainer training, and the wanderlust of another glorious winter skiing the hills of Vermont. I made my home at Stowe this winter. Unlike triathlon where I am committed to the lifestyle fully, when it comes to skiing I’m more of a weekend warrior. I logged more days than most weekend warriors and in March limited myself to one day of skiing on the weekend because bike and run durations were getting longer and longer. March 29^th I was skiing with friends; Steph who I skied with a lot early in the season and my co-worker Ben and his buddies. Suffice it to say I was skiing with the boys and leading the pack. They spent all morning trying to catch me. Finally they caught me around 11:30 when near the bottom of the hill they came upon my crumpled body on the side of the trail. Like a hot shot, I was skiing fast, in a tucked position, and caught an edge on frozen surface. There was nowhere to go but down. I hit hard. Tumbled a bunch. And before my body came to a stop I already knew my right knee was in trouble. I tried to get myself off the mountain, but in the end I just couldn’t. (I always try to get my money’s worth and a ride on the toboggan is one way! Remember when I got the free tire race day in Lake Placid last year?!?!)

Always time for a sled selfie!

Long story short, I annihilated my ACL, have a low grade tear of my MCL, a couple of bone fractures and enough swelling and bruising to scare any insurance company. On that day, March 29^th, my entire triathlon season ended before it had even begun. Nosedive. That’s the name of the trail where it all happened. Really.

Treatment began immediately following my crash. On a Sunday. I was evaluated twice, had xrays and an MRI, and was doing surgical consultations before most people even get an MRI. How is that possible? Because I have Carol Blattspieler on my team! She’s a leading Ortho Nurse Practitioner in Burlington and a fellow Ironman. We stick together. She took control of the situation and made $hit happen. (Have I thanked you yet today, Carol?) Surgery is scheduled. May 15^th at the University of Vermont Medical Center with an up and coming hot shot sports medicine specialist. The same one that put my best friend and training partner back together after a bike crash last May.

My job right now is to rehab my body so that I can have surgery. Physical therapy two times a week and lots of exercises to improve range of motion. In two weeks I’m traveling to Italy. While you all get caught up in the images Italy conjures up, the harsh reality for me is that I was traveling to Italy to race a Half Ironman. I will be making the trip, but I will not have my bike in tow. I’m sure I’m not prepared for the roller coaster of emotions that will present. I’ll be there with good people and I hope the trip will mostly be therapeutic. (Yes please, more wine.)

Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation & Garth!

The colors of the back story get boring, so I’ll get to the lesson here. Perspective. It’s easy to be sad and dwell on the fact I’ve cancelled all my races. But I find myself saying, “at least it’s not cancer.” Yes, thankfully it’s not cancer. We already went to that party and it was no fun. But here’s the thing…. Just when we think life as we know it is over….a whole new world is exposed. I sit here today (leg elevated) knowing the only reason I am an Ironman is because cancer entered my world and threatened to knock me down. So while I sit here once again with thoughts of life as I know it being over, I am reminded that is far from the truth. With a strong mind and body, there is no end to the possibilities that sing and dance on the other side of this. I know I will return to Ironman, but who knows what other discoveries I’ll make along the way. The next 7-10 months will be very different for me. They will not be highlighted by 100 mile bike rides and 20 miles runs. (For my Facebook followers, there won’t be daily pictures of me and my bike. What ever will you do?) But other experiences will unfold and new practices will take shape. And eventually I’ll pedal a bike. Really pedal a bike. And I’ll run. And the me that will come out the other side stands to be even greater than the me that went into this. That’s kinda cool.

My first full revolution. My bike hates me for those flat pedals.

I haven’t fully dealt with the emotional blow of cancelling an entire race season, but….Nope, life sure ain’t over. Not mine….and probably not yours either. So if things aren’t going the way you want personally, professionally, athletically…I encourage you to get some perspective in your diet. It’s rather tasty and can cure common ailments. Chin up, kids; you gotta lift your head to see the good stuff. When I forget (and I will), please remind me.

Then and now....

Thirty Day Run Streak....Math Does Not Compute

Hi. Remember me? I launched this blog in January 2013 as a way of chronicling my Ironman journey. I promised I’d only write when I had something meaningful to say and that it would never be a boring account of my training. I learned a lot and shared some things throughout that training cycle. And then I went silent. Writing nothing throughout my 2014 season. Why? Because I didn’t think I had anything to share. I had learned a lot in my first go at Ironman and was quietly doing the work. You may recall my mantra for 2013 was #doepicshit. In stark contrast, 2014 was simply the year of #dothework. I did the work. There are some parts of the season I'd like to erase. I took some time off. And the truth is, I’ve been back at it for the 2015 season for some time now.

On December 1^st I committed to a month-long run streak, whereby I would run every single day in December, ending with a hurrah with First Run on New Year’s Day. This was undertaken as a means to jumpstart my pre-season, establish some routine, and build some durability. Which is really all a diluted way of saying I needed to drop ten pounds. Well….we don’t always stick to the plan and one thing I’ve learned in training and life is you have to allow yourself some latitude to modify the course.

Nope. I didn’t do the 31 days of running I committed to. I did 60. You see…on December 3^rd (just two days after my streak began), one of my closest friends put his entire life on hold so that he and his wife could take up temporary residence in NYC. Lucky them, right? Not so fast. They were making this move to seek out the best cancer treatment in the world. <Gulp.> My friend John has been battling thyroid cancer for over five years. He has undergone four surgeries and countless blood tests, xrays, poking and prodding, and constant surveillance since day one. All while that fucking disease continued to proliferate and take over healthy cells. 

Thyroid cancer is rare and makes up only 1% of all cancers, although it is one of the fastest growing cancers and the rate of growth in Vermont far outpaces the national average. No one knows why. John and I are part of the 1%. Lucky us…..or something like that. Anyway, I’m getting a bit off topic here. The run streak….we were talking about the run streak. On December 3^rd, John and Shosh moved to NYC and on December 6^th he began seven grueling weeks of daily radiation and weekly chemotherapy. The day he moved, I dedicated my streak to John and agreed to streak until his treatment was over. December 1 to January 23…54 days. So why 60? Well, I am an Ironman after all and when you’re that close, we tend to go for broke. Not to mention, John’s fight was far from over just because the treatment ceased. So I continued to streak, no matter what life or Ma Nature threw at me.

Is this safe to run on?

Maybe you know I live in Vermont. Maybe you know we’ve had some extreme weather this winter. By extreme I do not mean snow (which I would LOVE). It has been brutally cold and icy, with wind that rips through you, blows the tears out of your eyes, and then freezes them to your face. Every day I was out there. Running for JT. Outside. When it was bliss…I ran for JT. When it hurt….I ran for JT. When I didn’t want to….I ran for JT. In the dark….I ran for JT. Every. Damn. Day. Because no combination of outside elements and residual fatigue in my world could compare to the barrage of hellfire he was under. I ran. Because I can. JT came home Saturday having endured the treatments with courage and strength. He did it while inspiring us, always keeping a smile, and often making us laugh. He is a truly remarkable human being and I am lucky to have him in my inner circle. While he thanked me profusely for streaking on his behalf telling me he would draw strength from me as he became weak, the truth is, it is I who drew strength from him. Thank you, JT. I love you so much.

A little back story on JT and I….we first met in 2010 when I started a new job at the company where he works. He had heard about me and sought me out to introduce himself. JT was in the midst of his first year of treatment and I was barely a year post treatment. I didn’t want to talk about cancer. JT took a very public approach to his journey, whereas I kept mine secret. Maybe if I didn’t talk about it, it would go away….I don’t know. I just know I never talked about it. I gave JT the cold shoulder (as I probably often do when people rock me outside my comfort zone). He came back a week later. Secretly I was annoyed. I made it very clear I did not want to talk about cancer. JT played by my rules for a while, but before I knew it, we were talking openly about it. The similarities and differences, strategies for coping, and at some point the realization JT was one of the most influential people in my life. 

You’re reading this blog so you know I do triathlon. You might even think the only persona of Nancy is that of triathlete or Ironman. JT gets some serious credit for inspiring me to give it a tri, I mean try. He encouraged me to learn how to swim and connected me with my first swim coach. He took me on my first bike ride on the open road. He accompanied me on all my long runs when I trained for my first marathon…16-18-20 miles. He took me on my first trail run. He taught me that running was a year-round sport…even in Vermont! John was there in Lake Placid in both 2013 and 2014 cheering me on. Shoshi too! (He made me cry. Both times.) So yup, this guy is pretty important to my program.

JT and I at Run Your Can Off

My program….The run streak may be over, but I’m carrying with me a level of fitness it took until March to achieve last year and a refreshed attitude for what it means to tackle the hard stuff. Base Building Phase 1 is for building durability. Did that. And so much more...

I shared this with you to honor John, but also as a harsh dose of perspective. If your life is sucking because you hate your job or you’re sick of being cold or your car won’t start or your co-worker is being a douche bag, maybe you should put things in perspective and reflect on what real pain and suffering might be. I believe real pain and suffering looks like radioactive frequencies beamed into your body and toxic juice pumped into your veins….all of which renders you sicker than the cancer you’re trying to cure. Other things too, but most will never know true pain and suffering. Lucky you. The rest, mere inconvenience. Perspective people.

Friends have encouraged me to re-launch this blog. They say I’m an inspiration. I say I’m just an ordinary girl tackling the extraordinary. We’re all capable of it. What’s your extraordinary?

The 2015 season is sure to include some excitement. More about that another time. Off to go ride my bike…