How Not to Coach - The Art of Listening

Listening is a wonderful thing. If you do it right you can learn things, become aware of opportunities, avoid problems... the list goes on.

Last year, in an effort to achieve my peak peak potential, I decided I might have to stop listening to myself and pay a coach to get me there. I submitted to the plan and 'the process' (a triathlon phrase that has become synonymous with the lengthy pursuit of physical  improvement) and went about 'getting it done' (another triathlon phrase that is often used in a self-congratulatory manner to emphasise the completion of a potentially mundane/boring training session in the face of great adversity). 

This post was inspired by my good friend Lawrence Cronk and his honest account of being quick, but not rapid.

It will be a brief journey through my 2018 season, the impact of not listening to myself or being listened to and what happens when the machine you spent years building, falls apart... AND so its not all negative and downhill, the story of the biggest come-back story since Rocky 3.

2018 Season

So 2018 was to be my second year of seriously trying to do well in long distance triathlon. As all of you will know, holding down a full time job, a relationship, and the training schedule required to be able to race an Ironman, is no easy task. I agreed with my partner Jo, if I was going to do it all over again then I would do it properly. I knew that I had the power on the bike and the speed on the run but I needed endurance, a lot more endurance. I needed to be more hammer and less scythe, so sought out the best coach in the business. After some exciting chats about what might be possible I began ticking off the sessions set for me.

As the sessions kept coming and coming and I kept going and going, there was no doubt over the fact I was getting fitter and faster. The other thing that was apparent was growing tired and increasingly more bored. I was unwilling to admit that I was struggling... Not listening to myself perhaps? Training because less of a joyful escape but more of a chore. Although I've never been the social butterfly, I watched my diary slim down to nothing more than key birthdays and my Training Peaks itinerary. I kept telling myself I had to see this through...It will all be worth it on the Ironman Wales finish line i'd say.

Cracks started to appear a few months. I'd put together 2-3 weeks of good training, show signs of improved numbers on the bike and run but would then end up with a cold or a mouth full of ulcers and spend the following week where I should have been enjoying recovery, laid up feeling like crap.

This cycle continued until I got to my DIY training camp in August, still a month away from the race that I just wanted over and done with.

I put together 3 days of good quality sessions before I hit the wall, a mental wall. I remember banging my head against the the living room wall, bib shorts in hand just thinking I can't get back on the bike, I was way too burnt out to go for a run and there was no way I could face staring at the black line at the bottom of the pool. I was saturated with boredom and needed a break. The allure of achieving my dream sub 10 hour finish time at Ironman Wales seemed completely pointless.

From that day on I stopped getting motivated by seeing a full sweep of activities completed on Training Peaks and I started missing days. If the growing number of missed/ incomplete sessions and repeated bouts of illness weren't enough of a message, the concerned messages about feeling battered and needing a break should have been. But was it listened to?

More unplanned recovery days and incomplete sessions started to creep in as my body and mind took turns in deciding which couldn't take it. When the body was playing ball, I could perform at a level I only dreamed of before... but the sad fact of it was, I didn't really care.

Ironman Wales

So the big day rolled around. The excitement I felt the previous 3 times I've toed the finish line were non-existent. There were no nerves, no worries, just this numbness.

Race morning arrived and still numbness. I put on a bit of Elder Island, set up my bike in transition and made my way down to the beach. Photos with the family and a good bye and good luck from everyone. No tears were shed when the 10,000 people sang the Welsh National Anthem on the North Beach of Tenby, I just looked around, followed the group and dived into the murky water.

Swim banked in 62 minutes. The endless hours doing drills in the pool seemed to have paid off. Out onto the bike, not before dropping it and losing a bottle of nutrition in the process. This was to be the mistake which defined the day... Freshwater West bound and the power felt good as I moved up to 26th overall. The endless hours riding to race power had made this kind of output feel easy. As I passed Tenby the first time, despite riding an even flat power (1.02vi) on the hilly course, the lost nutrition bottle which I failed to stop and replace caught up with me. I bonked my way from miles 85-100 before stopping at the top of the climb in New Hedges. After inhaling what felt like 20 energy bars, pieces of dried mango, coconut cake and a coffee (kindly provided by one of the amazing Ironman volunteers) I headed off into Tenby.

My heart was low as I descended, I could see the time on my bike computer showing 6 hrs 55 minutes elapsed. I had a bit of a reflective 5 minutes. I questioned what it was all about, what I was chasing and why I was here. Yes, I dreamed of the sub 10 but I knew to achieve that I was going to need to run 3:00 flat on the marathon; a time I was more than capable of. I started wondering what that would prove, what Ironman was all about and what it would mean to me when I finished.

As I racked my bike I considered how much I was willing to hurt myself to achieve that run time. The answer that came back was one I had already asked 3 weeks prior to Ironman Wales. On my final big training weekend before the taper I ran what I can only describe as a crazy run session; 2hrs 30mins duration made up of half marathon pace work then marathon pace with repeated surges to 10k pace for the remainder. This pushed me to the point of collapse and I promised myself I was done.

I ran around Tenby on a victory lap. Not a victory because I'd done especially well in the race but because I'd finally remembered to listen to myself and trust my instincts. Jo was cheering from the side of the road cheering me on shouting out time splits to the leaders of my Age Group. I just replied "I can't wait to finish, I'm done" as I continued jogging around... I wasn't prepared to give any more of myself to it.

I crossed the line in 10hrs 34mins 18seconds with a smile on my face and a sense of peace.

The Big Crash

In the weeks that followed the race I felt crap. I hadn't achieved the dream sub 10. I hadn't even come in the top 10 of my age group. I wasn't annoyed or disappointed because I didn't have a flash time to band around, I was disappointed because I knew that I wasn't hungry on the race day. I think I could have hit my desired finish time if I'd been 10-20% less fit but 50% more hungry for it.

I was deeply over-trained and run down by the time the race came around. In retrospect, something I feel was obvious had the signals been listened to.

Four weeks post race I started feeling dizzy and a constant niggling headache. I had zero energy and couldn't walk up the stairs without reaching for the handrail. This carried on for a few weeks until I was sat in work and the right side of my face dropped. Sat there petrified because I couldnt feel my cheek I had the harsh reality that I might be having a stroke hit me. After numerous trips to the doctors and the neurology department I was told that I'd had a mini-stroke and was suffering from an inner ear virus that was giving me constant vertigo.

After nearly 3 months off work with endless days stuck on the sofa, the dizziness stopped. I started to feel more normal and less like I'd never ride my bike again. At the lowest point I couldn't walk up a set of stairs without needing to take a break so the prospect of going on a long ride felt a million miles away.

The reason I've chosen this picture for the blog is because like Sisyphus, the man who became famous for deceiving the Greek Gods to cheat death and invariably ended up with a worse punishment, I too failed to see when it was my time to stop...

I too ended up with a worse punishment as I learned about over-training and not listening to myself the hard way.

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