Perspective.

In the endurance running world, there is an age old conversation among marathon runners about non-runners and how they just don't understand what we do exactly.  This particular conversation can present itself in several different formats; either the non-runner in particular doesn't understand what the numbers mean, or the non-runner is becoming a runner (rock!) and doesn't understand what the numbers mean, or the non-runner throws the numbers around...because he/she doesn't understand what the number mean. 

Basically, the common thread of the varying forms of this conversation comes down to people verbally throwing around numbers without knowing what they mean.  What does this mean exactly?  Essentially, it's easier to say something about running 26.2 miles, than to actually do it.  This seems intuitive, but when the numbers that were once sketched in charcoal verbally become permanently painted in acrylic by physically running the distance, it means something BIG.  Suddenly the miles in between 1 and 26.2 materialize and exist physically, where in conversation, it's easier to skip numbers 17, 19 and 22.5.  When these in-between numbers began to mean something to me years ago when I started running marathons, I developed a deep respect for them - it's a feeling that one just simply cannot understand on their different, subtle levels until they are physically beneath one's feet. 

This concept is similarly applicable to triathlon, although I was both humbled and reminded of this yesterday; a concept respected, but also easily forgotten now that I've mastered the marathon.  My first Half Ironman is in five days, and up until this point, it had been easy to throw around the numbers in conversation without giving them much more thought. 

Sure, I can do that, no problem!  1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike and then a 13.1 half marathon run?  Hell yeah!  And if I get through it, I'll try for a full! 

Yesterday I biked 55 miles and then promptly ran 13.1 to try it out, to see how I'd fare, to calm my own neuroses.  Although this type of workout (the actual race distance) is typically not recommended this close to the actual race, I've never been a by-the-book athlete, and need to have peace of mind about my capabilities before attempting the race.  Yesterday I made these numbers mean something to me as a test run, to see how I'd feel. 

Conclusion:  Triathlon. Is. Hard. 

I'm worried about my upcoming race, and it's because of the swim, actually.  I'm a slow swimmer and am seeded in the last swim wave (Women 39 and under) and there is a one hour time limit to cover the 1.2 miles.  Based on yesterday's experiment with covering 68 miles of biking and running, I think I can do it, I think I can finish, but it all depends on if I can get out of the water in that hour.  I did have some major technical difficulties on the bike, but those can be fixed this week with the help of my local bike shop.  Fueling is going to be interesting, however, the swim, challenging.

When marathoners get into that old conversation about covering 26.2 miles, I've noticed that they tend to smirk and laugh off the non-runners not understanding what the numbers feel like.  There's a bit of surly attitude about them that I usually just brush off.  Triathletes, I'm slowly learning, just don't have time for that conversation or mentality, and I think it's because running is simply the chaser after the physically brutal concocted shot of the swim and bike first.  The run is simply the after burn at that point. 

In five days, I hope to cover my first 70.3 miles in under 7 hours.  Depending on how this goes, I may simply just maintain the marathoner label when I do my twelfth 26.2 just 6 days later.  Or, maybe I'll adopt that triathlete label too; regardless, that's a lot of numbers.