Michigan Titanium 2022: Victory

I haven't written about a triathlon since September 2019, so this is an attempt to summarize the pertinent factors leading up to this past Sunday. Very few of them were in my control, as are most things in life. But hopefully this story has enough relatable elements to get you through the end. Get comfortable. This is long even for me...

I have to say, no matter what the circumstances, it is so sweet to win. Sunday's win was extra sweet. Not because I didn't expect it, not even because I have been dealing with injuries for over 2 years. It was sweet, because in the middle of the run I remembered how badly I wanted to execute at Michigan Titanium (MiTi, henceforth). It's my favorite race. I discovered it in 2017 by choosing a 70.3 within short driving distance that was toward the end of summer. That was my first half ever, and it wrecked me. So, I signed up for another half a month later and won.

Small race, but, again, there's something about winning. And by that point, MiTi was tattooed on my brain. I had to have it some day.

This past Sunday I logged a 5:05:27 — not a PR (4:53:22), not the fastest time that a woman has raced the MiTi half, but the end of that race marked an apex in a chapter of my life that, I believe, warrants a little review.

Oct 1, 2021: 1 day after surgery and a few weeks before moving from apartment to house (note all the boxes ready to be moved)

After MiTi 2017, I became focused on doing well there, got invited to join a GR-based sponsored team, and then just could not pull out a good half at MiTi no matter how hard I tried or tried not to care. I wanted MiTi more than the 70.3 World Championship – my last triathlon until this season.

A foot injury sidelined me in May 2020. There was misdiagnosis and no diagnosis, treatment X Y & Z...and lots of pain. I gave up on Western medicine, then I gave up on Eastern medicine. The pain persisted. Finally, I brought myself to take the advice of Dr. Mike Fitz (a fellow triathlete friend) and saw Dr. Hearty who would seemingly instantly diagnosis me and at the end of last September, a month before we moved, do the cut / reattach surgery on my right peroneal tendon (removed 3 bone spurs from the area around the insertion point).

Then everything seemed to move in slow motion as I missed the timeline the surgeon gave me, dealt with plantar fasciitis, Achilles tendonitis, IT band syndrome, and a brain that only knew how to protect my body from pain. I wouldn't do a triathlon for 2.75 years.

February 20, 2022: The beautiful Pacific coast in Aptos, CA

This race season has been a mixture of low pressure, preoccupation, re-injury prevention, new injury recovery, uncertainty, and also enjoyment. I've had fun rides with my favorites like Adrienne, Jen, even ornery Miller. If I could keep up with Captain Matt, I'd list him here too. I consider Earl at HPC a friend now (check out Human Performance Collective). We've had great conversations, and he helped me work through my pain brain. I decided not to work with a coach this year due to the aforedescribed rollercoaster, but I got to see my coach, Mark Allen, at Fit Soul Fit Body in February, and I've had him, Brant Secunda, and their great lessons in mind all season. I managed to get through Steelhead (June 26) with a 5:09:15 due largely to a successful bike and average run. But I traded in my Achilles for an IT band and the latest training dip commenced. I wanted to be focused, but I also, secretly, wanted to allow for a little laziness and to keep things flexible, bereft of pressure. I wanted to protect myself from the low ROI pattern that seemed to be plaguing my athletic performance. With higher priorities than races covering most weeks and more stress than desired (that's another essay), flexibility was my plan — best exemplified by deciding to let Ironman have my money, skip Ohio 70.3, and go to the Roger Waters concert instead. Definitely the right decision.

Sylvania Triathlon (Aug 7, 2022): my hometown race and the first tri I ever did (in the late ‘80s!)

At Sylvania (Olympic) last weekend I got that taste of a win just out of reach. If only I'd done more swim workouts (read: gotten my lazy a** to the pool), more of those long rides, a run off the bike afterwards... maybe I would have been the 41 year old that beat the 24 year old up and comer. No, instead I got the opportunity to help out a struggling athlete when his goggles snapped right before he was about to enter the water. Empathy overcame me. I gave him my goggles and sprinted back to my bike and got a spare pair out of my bag, returning for my swim start just in time. This is another reason I do these races: the giving and receiving due to fine sportsmanship is always present, and it is very rewarding help someone solve a problem on race day.

I nearly passed out on the run (heat) and figured MiTi a week later wasn't going to be anything memorable. I was going to enjoy my favorite race and some solid solo time. My husband wanted me to mention here how grumpy I was on Friday. Have to admit, that's a fact. But by Saturday, I was generally relaxed. I was enjoying my solo time and having little agenda. Due to weather, I didn’t get to swim or do much of a pre-race exercise of any sort. Whatever. I dropped my bike off in a downpour, got my nails done (second time this year!), and forgot about the things I forgot to pack, figuring improvisation was part of my flex plan.

The next early morning was just plain smooth. No traffic, no time crunch, no rain, and no pressure. Plus I had a luxurious amount of space on my transition rack since someone didn't show up. We started an hour after the full distance athletes, and I called up some very fond memories of 2018 when Frank did the full and Chris, Christina, and I all stuck around for him. I would once again miss the podium, as I did the next year too...then there was the 2020 virtual which I deferred because of injury, and would downgrade last year for the same reason (opted for full distance aquabike, actually a great alternative and not a downgrade). I still didn't think anything of my potential performance. On the bike I got into a horse race with a guy that had OT on his back. Eventually I realized he had a ZOOT kit, but the mystery kept my brain occupied for a little while.

There was a significant head wind on the way out, and I wasn’t feeling fast. The course is subtly hilly, and there is more climbing on the way out. So on the way back, I was trying to kick my own ass and make up ground. I pushed then realized I didn't have an excuse to take it easy on the run, so I tried holding back ever so slightly. Extra stretching out of the saddle, bouts of coasting to breathe, and thinking about what I'd need to do in T2 before trying my hand at an actual real run this time – not a 'welp, I hope I don't hurt something else' run, but a 'I might place this year; I need a strategy' run.

A sit, a stretch, and a breath, and I left T2 pretty clueless what was going to happen. I've been here too many times and have shot out like I was fleeing a burning bike scene, only to melt down, take on pain, suffer, and lose whatever I had when I started. Yes I've had good half marathons off the bike, but I always knew I could tighten it up. And after this race, I got confirmation.

It wasn't until I hit the button on my watch and heard the announcer say 'We're seeing our top females in the half leaving transition now, getting their paces for the run" that the thought whizzed through that I could be a contender. He said "females" right? Was there someone ahead of me? Or did he say "female", and I'm in first? The old feeling of wanting this race crept in then started to grow. I was looking for the leader. I got some nice cheers; an Olympic distance female going back the other way said "You're awesome" in a loud, serious tone. Does she know? I just wanted to ask her: "Am I in first?". I couldn't figure it out myself, but I could determine that there were a few women behind me and close enough to feed that burn for the win. I was almost in disbelief as my legs just ran. It dawned on me that this wasn't the same undoing I was used to on the MiTi run.

My focus turned to active recovery from waves of exhaustion through little chunks of nutrition and breathing. Oxygen to muscles. Oxygen to muscles. I stopped about 4-5 times — a dead stop — to simply breath deeply and try to get my heart rate down. The passing thought of how I'd feel had I trained more certainly crept in: What if I could go faster and tolerate this better? Why didn't I train harder? Shit. Oh well. I kept both the urge to slow and urge to surge at bay. If I slowed I could enter a pace and cadence that would be permanent. If I sped up, I could burn out and watch the win blow by in minutes. So I stayed steady, slowing for the uphills, then attempting to gain it back on the flat and downhills with a focus on my breathing. The feeling of being able to push through dizziness, fatigue, depletion, and get a new wind is what most triathletes covet on the run. I knew something different was happening today.

A lot can be gained and lost on the run. I don't usually gain, despite my being a seasoned runner with good form. I usually just suffer and wish I'd never signed up. Then like a good triathlete, I keep signing up for the next event. Why are we so insane? Oh wait... because some day you'll have That Race. Some day you'll knab the carrot you made up in your mind. That wanting MiTi was driving me to be focused, determined, and smart. Around mile 7, I went into beast mode and took every setback in energy as a piece of a puzzle I was most definitely going to finish putting together. Getting those 9th, 10th, 11th winds will boost your confidence like nothing else. I was experiencing endurance. When I couldn't swallow the bite of energy bar, it was another puzzle piece down. When I hobbled up a steep hill, another piece. When I turned my hat around, another piece. When I almost regurgitated my Gatorade, one more down. When I surged on a flat, a few more pieces were put in their places. When I logged a 7:20 mile 8, when I told exhaustion to stay down, when I hit mile 11, I started to see something solid form.

At mile 12, I knew it was mine. The last half mile is slightly downhill, and it makes for a great finish. You speed up, feel relief, and look for the Chase Bank which is essentially the end. I formed a 1 with my right index finger and kept my hand close to my body. There are so many other racers out there and their supporters that you kinda blend in, even as the front person. When I made the turn into the park and into the chute I held up my 1 finger like Macca then started cheering with my hands and lungs.

"YEAH!!!"

I saw the ribbon over the line and practically lunged into it I was so excited. I probably looked like a total freak to some people. Not only did I win, but I had a good race marked mainly by a really good run, the pieces for which only I knew that well.

A feeling like no other. I will never forget this moment.

For my entire life I've been an athlete and for most of that I've had wavering confidence in myself. I traditionally beat myself up when I fail (by my definition) and find areas of improvement when I succeed. Most of us competitive athletes (people) are like or can relate to this. I'll always be that kind of athlete (person), but as I've gotten older, I've balanced that out better — often because it's the mature thing to do but sometimes for shear survival. It's not good to be down on yourself. It's not healthy to look back and allow guilt. And I'd done a lot of that in silence leading up to the 2022 season. At some point earlier this year, I figured out various ways to come out of the fog of chronic pain. I know my trip out to California and Dance of the Deer gave me a boost. A new job gave me some breathing room. My patient husband listened to my bitchin' and gave me some needed straight talk. My friends' successes (and their struggles) have gotten me out of my head, and my love for MiTi shifted me off a stressful week and onto a pleasant trip. I made room for the solid, grown-up athlete in me to show up.

After I got my medal and gained a little composure, I went to my transition bag and pulled out my phone to call Chris. He said he was worried a couple women were going to catch me on the bike but somehow their gap stopped shrinking. Same thing on the run. I heard the race announcer mention my name and say "She was soooo stoked!". Yep, that's the word.

I managed to rendezvous with Mr. OT and have a nice chat about our little duel. I love meeting people after a race. The guy two bikes down from me in transition will be in my tracker for 70.3 Worlds in October. And I may have given a couple useful Tri tips to a woman from Kansas City who waited with me for the awards and took my picture.

So is the trick flying solo to the important races? Not sure. I did miss seeing friends race too, and we usually help each other with various things prior to race day, not the least of which is distracting each other from our nerves. Should I train on some flex plan without pressure? Probably not. Should I take the wheel and not work with my coach? Definitely not. I need a triathlon coach if I'm going to get the most out of myself, if, that is, race success is what I really want.

Enjoying a Zombie Dust IPA in Dexter with Chris

So, what have we learned? Mostly that no two races are alike. As humans, we will always have to leave events in life to a little bit of mystery. We will never know it all, and because we're not machines, we can never perfectly reproduce our actions, circumstances, or feelings. Everything is a piece of a puzzle. And solving problems is what most of us thrive on. So I don't know — I think continuing to grow, show appreciation, and find contentment along the way to finishing up this fun (?) little puzzle is all I can ask of myself right now. But I did reaffirm that I still have it in me. I can still derive something out of my training. I can still heal. I can still endure. I can still taste the sweetness of winning. It's still possible to get That Feeling. It's still fun.

What can I say, I guess it's Still Dre Day.

An Introduction

Courtney Kistler | Ann Arbor, MI