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From Spain to Transylvania - the hardest journey
27th Apr 2016
I've just got home from my first race of the season - European Cross-Duathlon Championships in Transylvania. I can't believe how quickly this came around, when I hadn't been expecting to race this year at all. Even two days before the flight, I was kinda keeping my fingers crossed I wouldn't be getting on it...
So, this isn't going to be one of my standard race blogs!
Romania was lovely, the organisers very helpful and friendly, the race location stunning. I was honoured to be invited and considered one of the best shots to take on reigning champion (and convicted EPO doper) Fullana for the European title. I'd finished only 2 minutes behind her last year after all! But few people outside my close friends knew the full story of my winter, and that realistically I had little chance of a medal. But as an experienced athlete, I've got good at positive self-talk! Anything can happen in racing and I was damn well going to give my best, whatever that might be...
So what happened since my silver medal in Spain last year? I have umm'd and ahh'd about writing this blog for a long time. It has taken a few months to reach a point where I am even ready to put pen to paper. Then I wasn't sure whether I was going to publish it. But f*** it - nobody talks about these issues. If it can help someone else to read this and know they are not alone, then it will be worth sharing. I'm also tired of explaining my performances / absences with euphemisms like "setbacks" or "family/health issues"!
So here goes...
After Spain, I took an end of season break, returned to my office job, and started training with my new coach, Mark. Only 3 weeks into the program, we had a mini camp in Loughborough so he could see me train - a great way to accelerate the learning process! I was feeling a little unsettled as my period was a week late - and although Simon and I had decided to stop "preventing" now I'd turned 35, surely it couldn't be...? But the day after camp I took a pregnancy test. Positive! Not quite believing the result, I took another one. Definitely positive. Shit! But in the best possible way - neither of us could have been happier with the news.
It was a bit of a curveball to throw at the coach I had only known for 4 weeks! But immediately we revised the plan. I was no longer intending to race in 2016 so the focus turned to 'exercise' rather than 'training'. My instinct was to keep fit so I had the option to come back in 2017, but not to push myself, as triathlon was no longer the key priority in life!
Sadly, it goes without saying that things didn't work out. Only a few weeks later I started seeing blood. I tried to pretend it wasn't happening and went out anyway on the TVT Christmas social ride. But I felt awful, and struggled to keep up on what should have been an easy spin. I made some excuse about wanting to keep my HR down and took a shortcut home. I felt sick with dread that this couldn't be happening... it had to be a nightmare, I had to wake up...
We had to wait until Monday for a hospital scan, but the ultrasound only confirmed what we already knew - we had lost this baby. I couldn't even look at the screen as I knew it would be blank. I went back to work, numbly wondering how to explain my 3-hour lunch break. I couldn't look at anyone, just stared blankly at my screen thinking "don't cry in front of everyone, pull yourself together..."
It was pay review day, and when my turn came, I was called into the interview room. I couldn't care less about the envelope, and the moment my manager asked if I was OK, all my defences crumbled. I literally couldn't even get any words out, just cried for about half an hour while he wondered what on earth to do! I was relieved for my long hair and glasses to hide behind for the rest of the day, and so many days thereafter...
The next couple of weeks are a dark haze. I got through work on auto-pilot, somehow grateful for the routine and distraction instead of being alone with my thoughts. I wasn't able exercise, let alone train, so work was my only escape.
Christmas was the most depressing time ever. I couldn't even spend it with Simon as I needed to be in Dorset with my family, while he spent Christmas Day in hospital in Reading with his dad. Apparently it never rains unless it pours - his dad had been admitted on the same day as our fateful scan. He would not come out for a month, and at times we thought he was not coming out at all.
Although I was finally able to get out on my bike, I wasn't ready for structured training. It all seemed pointless anyway, I wasn't supposed to be racing, this wasn't how things were meant to be...
I literally couldn't imagine how I could ever feel happy again. How is it possible, when the one thing that could make me, seems impossible - outside my control? I wanted to try again straight away, but biology doesn't allow that, and patience has never been one of my virtues!!
I spoke with Andy, my sport psychologist. I spoke with Mark. I spoke with my best friends. I cannot thank them enough for putting up with me, crying down the phone for hours on end, coming out with all these irrational and negative things and making no sense. I tried hypnotherapy - anything that might help. I spoke with Simon, but I was mindful how much he already had on his plate helping to look after his dad.
I struggled to accept that there was nothing I could do about the thing I cared about most. The only way to alleviate this feeling was looking for things I could control. Anything, however small, to feel even slightly better. And what was my default turn-to? The only thing I could think of - training and getting fit again. So in January I asked Mark for a new program.
I felt half-hearted at first, and emotionally very up and down. The smallest thing could unsettle me and disrupt the training. Not least the sight of pregnant women everywhere - why had I never noticed them before? Why were they ambushing me everywhere I went? The swimming pool was the worst, if one got in my lane I could feel like I was having a panic attack or wanting to have a confrontation and scream "Why?" Usually I'd simply cry into my goggles and not be able to concentrate on the session.
Fitness gradually came back though, and somehow I even won a Gorrick MTB race. I booked on the IntelliTri training camp to Lanzarote, as I definitely needed a holiday! Thinking of camp was all that was keeping me going at times. But the week before flying, I came down with the office virus, and couldn't seem to shake it. I flew out still feeling awful, but praying a few days of sun would do the trick. Every night I went to bed hoping to wake up feeling better, but every morning I woke up disappointed and coughing up more crap than a chain smoker. I was absolutely gutted. Not only to miss the training opportunity at such an awesome base (TriSports Lanzarote) but I felt like an outcast and a leper that no-one wanted to be around... even though I don't blame people for trying to avoid me!
I came home feeling more depressed than ever, and after a course of antibiotics, it was March before I felt well enough to train again. Another month lost. I felt like I couldn't deal with this shit anymore. There was still no light at the end of this apparently infinite tunnel. I went to my GP, expecting he would just refer me for counselling (which he did), but I was still barely able to speak about the miscarriage. I pretty much cried for half an hour, wondering why I hadn't moved on from this? Why is it affecting me so much? People have miscarriages all the time. I am supposed to be a tough athlete. Round and round in circles.
I was diagnosed with moderate to severe anxiety and depression and advised that I needed time away from work. Initially I said "no" - I felt too guilty to take more sick leave. But after a second appointment I was convinced. And it felt like a massive relief to accept the time off. Depression is just an illness like any other, and I why wouldn't I take the doctor's advice to address it?
I ended up being signed off for the whole 6 weeks leading up to Romania. Total focus on recovery and getting healthy again has been a long road. I wish I could say it has been a 6-week training camp, but like any illness, the body doesn't have the same capacity to recover from training. I was not able to train any more than I normally would while working, but it was still much better than anything else I'd done all winter!
Another step I had to take was hiding virtually everyone on Facebook - seeing other people's baby photos was not helping, and pregnancy pictures / baby scans - were particularly difficult! Even though I am pleased for my friends who deserve happiness, at the moment I don't want to see it all on social media.
It's still hard to get rid of the anxieties when the two things that mean most to me in life - having a family and elite racing - are both time limited and mutually exclusive. I felt like I had 'wasted' this winter by not moving any closer to either. I was stressing about why it had not been possible to get pregnant again. Looking back it's obvious I have not been in a state for that to happen, but as anyone who's been there will know, it's so hard going round and round the monthly cycle of hope and disappointment. Even up to the days before flying to Romania, I remained in denial about racing this season, still hoping this would be the month...
But my period arrived; I would be racing after all. Once I accepted this, I could move on. I got on the flight, got into my usual pre-race routine, and felt comfort in the familiarity of it all. I was back in the world I knew. I had prepared as best as I could, given all the factors outside of my control...
Before I knew it, here I was on the start line. No pressure, no expectations. You realise that ultimately these come from inside yourself, not from other people! The gun went, and I knew from the first 500m of running, this was not going to be a great day, even on current form. My legs felt flat, not what you want on such an unforgiving course! On the bike I felt much better, moved up a few places, and was enjoying flying down the descents. But by the 3rd lap the steep climbs were taking their toll - I couldn't hide from my absolute lack of race conditioning. Cramp started to set in - first in my calves, then adductors. Then quads, then hamstrings... until I had no functioning muscle groups left! By the final climb I could barely turn the pedals! I had to dismount twice to stretch out, but it didn't really help. I knew I would struggle to run off the bike at all, but I would walk if I had to. There's no way I'm not going to finish...
I had mixed emotions when I finally crossed the line. My performance was nowhere near what I know I'm capable of, but 6th in the European Championships is still respectable. A year ago I would have been far more distraught, and found it harder to accept a disappointing race. But perhaps the best thing the last 6 months has taught me is perspective. It's just a race after all, there will always be another!
I'm really happy that I went to Romania - it felt like a holiday chilling out with Flo, supporting each other in the build-up and the race itself. For the first time I felt almost like my old self again. It's still a road to recovery, but finally I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
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