Breathe In, Breathe Out & Move On

Ironman World Championships Swim Start, Kailua Pier, Kona, HI

To #beresilient today, I'm anchoring in the word

Exhale.

I've heard it, seen it and "been it" throughout this week - we are all going emotionally stir crazy after over four weeks of COVID 19 life change. "He's driving me crazy." "I'm driving me crazy." "This is driving me crazy." Protecting our physical selves is taking it's toll on our mental and emotional selves.

Personally, my chest feels like I've been holding my breath way too long. Similar to the memory of sitting at the bottom of the pool as a little girl, criss-cross applesauce, counting seconds (NOT minutes!) to see how long I could hold my breath. My chest would feel pressure, weight, and compression that resonated through my entire torso. I'd scrunch my face, wince my eyes and keep holding the pressure. Then, BAM, extend my legs, push off the bottom of the four foot "deep" section and skyrocket out of the water with my mouth wide open gasping for precious air.

Exhale.

As an adult, I felt similar pressure in my chest when staging for half and full Ironman events. Sprints and short distances, not so much - but in particular full Ironman. Staging for the swim is more like a death wish. A couple thousand of your competitor's, dancing atop the water, sometimes for ten to fifteen minutes, especially in Kona. Off Kailua Pier. Filing in like a cattle herd, to funnel the couple thousand competitors down a five foot wide staircase to begin the float, flutter and fret as everyone awaits one of the most distressful time periods of the day - and perhaps your life. You kick, tread, try to hold place against the moving tide, stay behind the start buoys, dodge the safety team on long boards, attempt to hear at least your inner voice above the helicopters swirling above, the loud speaker screaming commands to "get back behind the buoys"! Don't they realize the tide and people continue to pull, push, and drag everyone in front of the buoys? 

As more swimmers enter the water, jockeying for position begins. Pushing, swimming over, under, into. I've been hit in the head more often during a triathlon swim start than I can count. But at Ironman, it's legit - and with intent. Every iron man and "woman" for themselves. Survival of the fittest. There are not flotation devices to rely on. Just you at this moment in time, doing your best to not hyperventilate, suffocate, get knocked out, pulled down, have a heart attack - or drown. It all starts feeling the same as you're not just waiting, but trying to survive treading and holding place in anticipation of the cannon booming to start your 140.6 mile day, of which 2.4 of it is an ocean swim with two thousand people starting at one time and vying for position.

Exhale.

I am not a swimmer. Yes, I'm a water girl but I never "swam" as a kid. My mom and dad put us in swim lessons summer after summer because we lived on the lake - and even though our area was not too populated, my parents had friends and friends of friends, plus a neighbor, that lost young children to drowning incidents in this tiny community. So my mom and dad sent us to Austin's infamous and finest, Hank Chapman, at the notorious Crenshaw Athletic Club, for swim lessons. He was quite terrifying, actually - all swim and no play. But his reputation was as good as his record and almost every kiddo growing up in Austin in the late 60's was taught to swim by him. We didn't learn stroke in our classes, but we were skilled enough to become proficient and trusted to gain full use of our lake front yard and awarded autonomy to play at and on the lake alone. 

Thus, taking on the swim leg of a triathlon was definitely my weaker event. I could power through on shorter distances to hold my own for placing, but don't let that fool you - it was never a pleasant experience. Each time the gun would go off and my arms would begin their freestyle turnover, it felt like every ounce of air was sucked out of my body. That same feeling reminiscent of the little girl sitting at the bottom of the pool forcing myself to misery so I could be "the one" to stay the longest.

Exhale.

It was pretty early in my triathlon career that I knew I had to conquer the "flight or fight" start of triathlons. Either that, or truly, discontinue this recreational sport. Not worth the morbid feeling, or forbid, the grave consequence. So I created my own "survival skill" to conquer it. To be in charge. Control what I could control. Find triathlon "resilience". I referred to it "horse breathing". Could be my country girl roots, or the love I still have for horse smells, nudges and kisses. But you know it - that vibrating, reverberating snort a horse makes when they pull their head up, shut their mouth and flutter through their nostrils. 

Well, I taught myself this horse skill at the start for the start of triathlons as a premeditated, well-needed parasympathetic nervous response. The "flight or fight" sympathetic response had about killed me numerous times, so creating a skill to calm myself down was imperative. So I'd imitate that horse breath through a long, belly exhale and let the air flow out my mouth like a horse snort. The first few times it seemed a bit humorous and I was quite glad no one could hear the noise among the hands, arms, legs and bodies flailing to start the swim. But I quickly realized that taking control of my breath delivered a much more relaxed mind, body, and breathing pattern. And consequently, a more managed, productive and successful self.

Exhale.

So this week, I pretty much hit my four week C19 mental and emotional "wall" - and resorted to horse breathing. I can hear my future grand kids now, "How did you make it through the Coronovirus Pandemic, Grams?" "Well, I horse breathed." WTHeck. Now there's something to add to our Present Family COVID 19 Chronicles. But truly, it's not really about the horse breath. It's more the fact that when that tightness sets into my chest or the frustration creeps into my response, I'm pushing pause. I'm calming. I'm resetting to release the tension before replying, retorting, or reacting

The space between an action and reaction is growth.

Exhale.

"Breathe In. Breathe Out. Move On."

~Jimmy Buffet