I swear doing a triathlon is like childbirth—you forget the pain and suffering you went through when it’s over. Otherwise, why on earth would you sign up for the experience again? In my case, I signed up for the notorious Wildflower Long Course (70.3 miles of pure triathlon “fun”) for the second year in a row as preparation for Ironman Lake Tahoe, which I will face down on September 22. My goal for this race, as it is for every other race, was to finish in a better time than I did last year. Despite the fact that I’ve been working my way back from a running injury for the past 4 months, I believed this was possible. Ha.

Wildflower swim start

Here’s how the whole thing went down this time around. It was my first race of the season, which meant my first time since last August that I put all three sports together. I was super nervous. I hadn’t practiced transitioning from one event to the next (mistake); due to my injury, I’d hardly done any running off the bike (big mistake); and in the week leading up to the race I had to pay a visit to the dentist for a sore gum and was experiencing major discomfort in my mouth. That discomfort turned into a full-blown abscess that I woke up to race morning. I was in pain as we made our way to the race site and found myself trying very hard to keep my mind from going to the dark side. Mental attitude is a huge part of making it to the finish line, and I knew that starting off that way could really impact my performance. Additionally, I had more than 2 hours to kill until my wave started—plenty of time to let the nerves and negativity consume me. Thankfully, I have awesome friends who helped lift my spirits and take my mind off what was going on inside my mouth.

The best way to quell your nerves before a race? Vogue!

My wave (40+) set off at 9:25 a.m. and I soon forgot about my mouth as I jockeyed for a clear line toward the first buoy. I felt good in the water, thankfully a lovely 72 degrees, and other than having to battle my way through a clusterf*&#! of people the last few hundred meters, I came out of the swim strong and ran myself into transition.

Note to self: Practice getting out of your wetsuit! I spent way too much time in T1!

I hopped on the bike and started pedaling. Within the first couple of miles of this bike course, before your legs know what’s hit them, you find yourself on Beach Hill (aka Bitch Hill), so I tried to keep my gears low and get my legs moving as quickly as possible. Big thanks to the topless woman on the side of the road on that ascent holding a sign that read “Hey Boys, my eyes are up here!” who made me laugh out loud. Once I settled into the bike, I felt pretty good. Frequent visits to Sufferlandria are paying off! Still, nothing can quite prepare you for 56 miles of crotch crunching, girl-part pulverizing, unforgiving bumpy road. But at least I was passing people. Then I hit Nasty Grade. My left inner thigh started threatening to cramp and I started to feel sick. I had only been taking in liquid calories, unable to eat anything solid because of my mouth, and the sweetness was getting to me. Did I mention it was HOT? The temps must’ve hit 95 that day. But I survived the climb and spent the remaining 11 miles preparing myself for what was to come—the run.

Note to self: Take the time to reapply sunscreen in transition! My poor shoulders!

Ah, the “run,” or the Death March, as my friend Peter so aptly put it. My intention to only walk the hills was quickly replaced with the sheer will to just put one foot in front of the other. In the first half mile, my heart rate spiked and I couldn’t quench my thirst, and it wasn’t until about mile 4 that I stopped trying to convince myself turn around and end the misery. At last, a voice inside my head yelled, “Girl, you’d better turn this frown upside down! Figure it out!” It was the first time in a race I had to Dig Deep to just not give up. Then I came upon a fellow LA Tri Club member at mile 5 and things started to look up. Shout out to the sweetheart at the aid station shortly thereafter who ran with me while peeling me an orange! So awesome. My Tri Club buddy Erick and I began run/walking together, creating little goals for ourselves like, “let’s run to that tree over there,” “let’s pick it up when we get to that sign just ahead.” We became those obnoxious people loudly cheering on our fellow racers, finding a way to transform a miserable challenge into a joyous one. By the time we hit the last mile, we were laughing, high-fiving, whooping, and hollering. I had a huge smile plastered across my face as I sprinted down the avenue of flags and across the finish line. I never felt better.

Heather Jackson -- female winner 2nd year in a row

I did not PR on Saturday. But I learned that no matter what happens out there on the race course, you have to find the joy. Triathlon is about testing not only your physical limits but also your mental limits. Once I pulled myself back from the abyss of disappointment of not achieving my goal for the day, I remembered why I really do this crazy sport—the camaraderie I feel with my fellow athletes, the beauty of being surrounded by nature, and the incredible high I experience when I cross that finish line!

Today was one of those really special days. After the marathon, I met a woman in line at the bathroom at Ye Olde Kings Head who told me she was there cheering on her niece who had been on the course for more than 6 hours and was at that moment 3 miles from the finish. Her niece, who was not a runner, had decided to run the race just two months earlier in memory of her close friend who was killed in a car accident. Her friend had been 27 and a marathoner. When I asked my bathroom line companion if she ran, she said no but that she was planning to take on the marathon next year. Her niece’s sheer determination had inspired her and many others to set their sights on the 26.2 mile goal. We then started talking to the woman behind her in line, who said she had run the race in 4 hours 10 mins, but was disappointed because her goal had been 4 hours. And right there is a cross-section of what you see on a marathon course. There are people running in a loved one’s memory, people running for a cause, for a personal goal, to qualify for another race, to cross an item off their bucket list, because it’s St. Patrick’s Day, whatever. So many different faces, ages, colors, all a part of the tribe of runners. What an amazing, inspirational community it is.

Paul & Monica looking good at Mile 13

Our little cheering squad.

I got to be a spectator and witness it in full glory today while cheering for my sister and husband along the course. My cheering buddies and I stood at mile 13 for 2 hours and shouted encouragement to as many runners as we could until Monica and Paul ran past. Then we made our way to Brentwood to catch them and everyone else at mile 22, where you could see the pure expressions of resolve, defeat, joy, frustration, focus, resignation, and pain passing by. Everyone was digging deep as they prepared for the last four miles of their journey. We hustled to the finish line next and watched the victors hobble their way back to reality after accomplishing what they set out to. Hey, I even achieved my goal today of losing my voice!

Mile 22. Paul's face says it all.

The start of our third Commit to 5K session is around the corner and I can’t help but think back to when I took my first steps as a runner just three and a half years ago. I remember feeling so apprehensive about even starting because I was afraid it would be too difficult and I’d give up. I was also worried my knees wouldn’t handle it. But I faced my fears and hit the pavement anyway. Those first few weeks of easy intervals were hard. My heart felt like it was going to leap from my chest and bounce down the road ahead of me. My face turned bright red from the exertion and my knees did hurt. Still, I kept going. Before long I discovered that I wasn’t going to die and that, to my pleasant surprise, my body could adapt to the effort. I learned that aches and pains are a part of life as a runner, but with the help of massage, a foam roller, and regular stretching, I could navigate (read: poke and pressurize) my way out of the discomfort. I learned that finding a running buddy could make all the difference to my success. I learned that pain is temporary, but the triumphant feeling of crossing the finish line stays with you forever. I learned that feeling strong is better than feeling skinny. And I learned that I must never stop learning about what my mind and body are KapaBle of.

As we now get ready to work with another fabulous group of women toward their goal of not only running their first 5K race, but making a commitment to their own health and well being, I remind myself that the destination is but a motivator, while each step we take to get there is a step toward strength, self-confidence, and personal growth.

I’m starting to feel like a triathlete again this week. After enjoying a bit of an off season, I’m back in the pool and on the bike, and feeling good. I’m still dealing with a foot injury (posterior tibialis tendonitis), which has prevented me from running since Thanksgiving, so I guess I’m more of a duathlete at the moment, but hopefully my PT will have me back on my feet before long. The week started off with me making an ass of myself at a yoga class. (What is it about embarrassing stories and the need to share them?) In an attempt to maximize my time better, I decided to try out a new class closer to home than the one I usually go to. I found an Ashtanga class right in my neighborhood and, remembering how much I used to love that particular yoga style, went along to check it out. I chatted with the owner before the class and let him know that it had been several years since I had last done Ashtanga, but that wasn’t a problem, and he directed me into the class. I laid my mat down and noticed that everyone was already moving through poses. Figuring they must be warming up, I proceeded to do the same. Then I realized it was a self practice class. That’s all well and good if you can remember the sequence of poses, but for the life of me, I could not. At that point, I probably should have just left, but I was determined to at least get some yoga in, so I started doing sun salutations. Eventually, a woman set up her mat next to mine and began the sequence. “Finally!” I thought, and started to follow her. I know, I probably should’ve said something like, “Do you mind if I follow you?” but the room was so quiet and I didn’t want to disturb her focus. So instead, I quietly mimicked her every move. We continued that way for a while until, clearly annoyed with me, she moved her mat to the other side of the room. That’s when I decided to roll up mine, tuck my tail(bone) between my legs, and call it a day. I felt like such a ding-dong. I don’t think I’ll be heading back to that class anytime soon; besides the fact that I embarrassed myself thoroughly, if I’m going to pay $20 for a class, I’d like to actually be taught what to do. So that’s how my week started. The rest of it looked like this:

I miss running. But at least I have views like this one to keep me company on the bike.