INF

I've never been a risk taker.

I like the expected.

I am happiest in my comfort zone.

But when I entered this world of Triathlon, I left my comfort zone on the shore of the lake and began to experience what it felt like to push my limits a little at a time.  With each race came a new challenge--a tougher course, a steeper hill, a longer distance--and as these challenges increased, so did my comfort and my desire to push further, go faster, and take risks.  On August 31, 2012, I took the biggest risk of all since I started this crazy journey in 2009--I registered for a half-iron distance race.  In triathlete speak, this is known as a "70.3" race meaning that it consists of a 1.2 mile swim followed by a 56 mile bike ride and a 13.1 mile run (When you add all those distances up it totals 70.3 miles).  I remember the sense of bewilderment I experienced after entering my credit card number and calling the hubby to confirm that he had registered, as well.

Nine months would pass from the day I clicked "register" until race day.  Nine months of training that would include hundreds of miles of cycling and running, countless laps in the pool, endless hours on the bike trainer, multiple trips to the lake, and nightly stretching and foam rolling, all while carrying on with the daily responsibilities at work, keeping our household running, and supporting the hubby during his training, as well.  There were road blocks along the way including several visits to the Sports Med Doc for knee pain and foot pain which led to my first pair of custom orthotics in April, as well as an 8-week hiatus from swimming due to impingement syndrome in my shoulder that only went away after a cortisone injection.  Along with the physical toll that training for longer distances can bring, emotional and psychological challenges can be just as tough.  For every runner's high, there is doubt and questioning.  For every great workout, there is a challenging one that tests you to find the good and learn from the bad.

However, no amount of training can prepare you for the heartbreak that happens when things don't go as planned on race day.  On June 2, 2013 I stood in the water as the gun went off for my swim wave and I began the 1.2 mile open water swim in Jordan lake to start what I thought would be my first 70.3 distance race.  One hour and twenty minutes later, I completed the swim and emerged from the water, only to be informed that the course had closed five minutes prior and I would be unable to complete the race.  My timing chip was removed and I was instructed to remove my items from the race venue because I was no longer able to move forward in the race.  I sat in the parking lot in my wetsuit crying (and screaming at times), feeling crushed, heartbroken and sick.  Along with several other swimmers who did not meet the "cut-off time", I finally gathered my things, with the help of two amazing friends, and made my way to a friend's vehicle to make the long, sad ride back to Raleigh to retrieve my other belongings.

Meanwhile, my hubby was somewhere on the race course after a fantastic swim, thinking that I would be behind him on the bike course.  It wasn't until he pushed his bike into T2 (transition from bike to run) that he learned that I was no longer in the race.  His face fell when our eyes met, but we both knew he was there to race and finish strong--which is just what he did.  The remainder of the day was bittersweet.  As I cheered him on and waited nervously at the finish for him to cross the line and receive his medal, I fought back tears of disappointment (for me) and joy (for him).  The flood of tears and emotions repeated as each of our friends crossed the finish line and I looked on, no longer a participant, now a spectator.  My heart ached from the emotional toll of the day, but my body ached because I didn't have the opportunity to do what I had trained long and hard to do.

Monday morning I woke up, not only sad but angry.  As much as I wanted to move on, something lingered in the back of my mind that I could not let go.  I knew several weeks prior to the race that my age group of women would be entering the water to swim in the next to last swim wave (wave 20 out of 21).  Race policy states that the swim course closes one hour and ten minutes after the start of the last swim wave.  In essence, the earlier you get in the water, the more time you have.  In fact, I looked up race results and saw that women (and men) in earlier swim waves had swim times 2 minutes, 8 minutes, even 18 minutes longer than my time.  Anger rushed over me as I read through the results.

My results for Raleigh 70.3 read 0:00:00 for my time across the board in all areas, indicating that I did not complete any areas.  But the truth is, I did complete something on June 2.  I completed an Open Water Swim (which has always been my most difficult discipline both physically and emotionally).  And, if given the chance, I feel that I could have completed the remainder of the race.

So, I'm choosing NOT to see this race as a DNF (Did Not Finish), but to see it as an INF.

INF?

What?

Yep.

I'm Not Finished.

Not even close.