Modern Athlete Magazine Issue 120, July 2019 | Page 59

MULTISPORT
(Not) Caring About Opinions
Over the next few months, I spread the news thick and fast of my latest challenge,
but was unpleasantly surprised by some people’s reactions. I was met with
eyebrow raises, forehead furrows and the doubtful, “Ooh, that’s gonna be tough.”
I found myself thinking, “Are these people really so pessimistic, jealous or bitter,
or are they actually right that I will not be able to do this?” One day, I even got a
“You’re crazy,” which, of course, immediately brought to mind Serena Williams’
show-stopping line, “So if they call you crazy, show them what crazy can do,” in
Nike’s #DreamCrazier series.
People have so many opinions. When you’re taking a rest day, it’s “Oh, you know
it’s Ironman soon?” And when you’re training twice a day, it’s “You know burnout
is real, don’t you?” There are only two things you should listen to; your coach and
your body. What I learnt very quickly is that it is my ability, not anyone’s opinion of
my ability, that will get me over the finish line.
What Life Throws at You
In the two months after registering for the race in January, I was promoted at work,
then given the news that my direct manager would be heading off to our London
office, and then flown to Berlin for a high-paced week-long Management Summit. I
was ecstatic about finally getting the promotion I had been working so hard for, but
it also meant my workload doubled overnight, as well as months of late nights in
the office, a lot more to learn very quickly, and work pressure both during and after
office hours. That’s great, it’s what I live for, but training suddenly proved much
more difficult to squeeze in.
What I’m really glad about is that I registered in January – admittedly, it was on a
hungover whim after a crazy New Year’s Eve celebration, and the registration fee
was going up the following day, so obviously it was meant to be – because if I’d
waited until I was ready, I never would have registered. (A week before the race, I
was freaking out because I “wasn’t ready!”) And if I’d waited until “the right time”
at work to register, I never would have either. Training for an Ironman and doing
anything else simultaneously, is never going to be a smooth ride. The “right time”
is a myth that your subconscious tells you to justify your laziness. Do the thing and
do it now.
Franziska Blöchliger; and Hannah Cornelius, and I thought of the victims of the
Rhodes Memorial rapist, and every other woman and girl out there that didn’t make
the headlines. I remembered I was doing this for something bigger than myself,
and it was more than just a physical challenge of my own. I was doing it for these
women. I was doing it for every victim, and every survivor. I was doing it for every
person who’d shared their story with me, and every person who is still too scared
to tell anyone. I was doing it for every donation that came through my campaign,
and every message of encouragement that I’d received.
When I felt low again, I scrolled through my Backabuddy campaign page – now
my RCCTT highlight reel on Instagram – and remembered. This carried me straight
through those bad days.
What Gratitude Really Feels Like
In the months I spent training for Ironman, I came to realise how grateful I was for
my body, and how comfortable I was feeling in my own skin – something that has
been quite rare throughout most of my teenage and adult life. I felt immense pride
in myself for pushing through tough workouts, beating my time trials, feeling myself
becoming faster and fitter. I even felt proud of myself after a workout that I’d had
to drag myself out of bed at 5am for, or for getting into the pool on a rainy day after
work, because that shit is hard!
The feeling of beating my PBs, flying through spinning classes and gliding through
the water made me feel really, truly grateful for my body. And it was putting me on
a high. My first thought every morning and last thought every evening was gratitude
for being able-bodied, free from injury and illness. Then, a couple of months into
training, I began noticing a baby ab here, and a baby bicep there, and that was
just the cherry on top. (Oh, who am I kidding? I got so over-excited that I ran into
my boyfriend’s flat, lifting my shirt and flexing as hard as I could, shouting, “Look!
Look! I have an ab!”) I was simply feeling good, the strongest, fittest and healthiest
I’ve ever felt.
Handling the ‘Bad Days’
I don’t have a single OCD bone in my body, but boy, a few weeks before race day
and suddenly everything had a meaning. I was counting everything from the steps
I took to the number of light bulbs in a room, and if it were an uneven number, this
meant bad luck. I made sure not to step on the cracks of tiles on the floor, and was
keeping myself up at night stressing that it meant bad vibes if I didn’t fall asleep
straight away. The extra, unnecessary anxiety was exhausting.
A particularly rough day was the Sunday before race day – exactly one week to
go – when the realisation set in that there was no more training that I could do to
improve my fitness by next week. This realisation sent me into a mild panic, where I
convinced myself that I would not be able to finish the swim, and wouldn’t even get
to cycle or run, let alone finish the whole race. (When I did get out of the ocean on
race day, 10 minutes quicker than I’d expected, I ran to the cycle station cheering
loudly, arms swinging wildly above my head like a rhapsodic Neanderthal. “It’s not
the finish line, darling, still got two more legs of the race to go,” spectators offered.
“I know! I didn’t drown!” I screamed back in blind euphoria).
I also had a string of bad days just after the race. In hindsight, I was probably
feeling some post-race blues, missing the hype and the adrenaline, but my immune
system was crashing, and soon I was woman-down. I soldiered on, with what felt
like every bug in me, for the next two weeks in which my calendar consisted of
friends’ birthday parties, company recruitments and a business trip to Nairobi that
saw me getting sick in between meetings and conferences. It was a nightmare, but
I packed my toothbrush and travel-sized perfume in my laptop bag, tied my hair
up, put my lipstick on and pushed through.
I’ve had more bad days in the last six months than the rest of my existence
combined. I’ve wallowed in self-doubt and nauseating anxiety. There were many
times I wanted to throw in the towel, both in the office and the gym. But I have
also consistently repeated my morning mantra: “You are strong, you are bold, you
are capable.” Even when I really didn’t feel it. I’ve learnt to handle a bad day like a
damn boss!
I remember one particularly tough workout; it had been a long day at work, I was
tired, and I wanted to cut my training session short. Something made me think of
59