Deep Fried Triathlete : An over training story (Act II) : How did I get myself into this mess?

How did I get myself into this mess?

The answer to that rather simple question, when viewed through the omniscient lens of hindsight, likely lies in my swim upbringing. Growing up we (swimmers) would perform countless hours in the pool, everyday thrashing ourselves and then coming back for more later in the afternoon or the next day. A work ethic is ground into you at such an early age that rather than it being something that you do; it is something that you become. Countless numbers of youth across the country do this everyday. Up early to swim before school, classes, and then back in the water in the evening. Freaks, straw-heads, chlorine brains, and yet many are also the best students sitting in the class. It is a culture of excellence and anything less than perfection in either arena is to fall short of expectations. Sure this sounds cliché, but unless you’ve lived this life day in and day out for ten or more years you cannot begin to grasp how entrenched in your psyche this behaviour becomes.

Fast forward to my leap into racing triathlon at the professional level (2008). Having been removed from high performance sport by six years of athletic drifter-dom, I needed a kicker and found it with my full and absolute commitment to sport (once again). Prior to turning professional my training was haphazard. Doing what I felt like doing and if I was tired I would rest till I felt good to go again. Simple, right? The results that I wanted (needed?) were going to require far more dedication, pain and commitment than that which I had thus far given. I dove in head first to the training plan doing everything I received exactly as it was dictated, but more than likely at intensity zones one notch above, always. Greedy for more I maxed out every session. Even when I felt bad I still went out and did. Improvement in one’s abilities requires the feeling of death, no?

I got a little faster, and mostly more durable at the longer tests. I lead Ironman Canada for six-and-a-half hours, cracked 4 hours at Longhorn 70.3 and knocked 35min off my Ironman run split from the year before… progress. All good. I continued to bury myself with each session, full and absolute thrashing was the order of business every time I set out on the bike. I had my spate of unfortunate events and crashes. I took the punches and rolled with it.

In May and June of last year I had an absolutely incredible string of training weeks. I also raced 6 times in the span of 6 weeks with the culminating 3 races taking place in a span of seven days, the best of all performances coming in the final event. As July became August and Canada again drew nearer, I was beginning to lose it under the gun of more of the same over-zone training, unfailing dedication to feeling like death every day and knowing that that’s what it took. Wash, rinse, repeat. I also had a new adversary in the form of life events. I needed to move, find a new place, be happy and ready for my brother’s most awesome wedding plus all the family associated with it. The pressure cooker was coming up to steam. IMC came and went. I did not have my best day but did secure a position in Kona. The trip itself was a huge relief given everything I had been though, my travel mates were awesome and I had a great time.

Back home and back on the gas. Kona swim course record and TIMEX bike prime the goal. I fell back into my routine and quickly found myself overwhelmed again, but determined that this was the way it was done.

It should also be noted that in all this time I was continually trying to be that 165 pound athlete that I’d been in Kona 2007 (and in prior years before). Skimp on food on long rides, pass on extras, eat less carbs, salads only for dinner, etc. In the end it was this cocktail of no recovery, constant bodily stress (cortisol demand overload) and excessive training for the conditions that had me primed and ready for the final death knell.

Kona. Ali’i. September 28^th. Motorcycle vs. Bike. I lose. Broken hand. Trauma. Mental and physical overload. This is the type of event that nails the coffin shut on what can be termed an adrenal episode. Your system has become so fragile but is still hanging on by a thread when along comes such an event of this magnitude and destroys everything. You spiral. Everything feels off, a very twighlight zone existence.

Tomorrow… “from then to now” and the diagnosis I have been saddled with.