Kona reflection - The conversation I didn’t realise I needed.

It’s sometimes hard to put into words how you really feel about a race that meant so much but didn’t go to plan. You tell yourself it’s just a race at the end of the day; it’s not life or death. It doesn’t mean much, but in reality it meant quite a lot. When you put a lot of your life into training for an event this big and it doesn’t go to plan, then what? How do you process that? Do you just accept and move on, or do you try and sift through the emotion?

It’s easy for people to say you smashed it because on paper it was decent… but what do you say? “Thanks” and move on. Or do you try and explain that it didn’t reflect what you know you’re capable of? I never want to come across as negative, but I’d be lying if I said I was completely happy with how the race went. Yes, it was a big improvement from last time, but I hoped for more and I know it is in me.

The reason for me writing is I had the amazing opportunity to sit down and speak with Freya (Psychotherapist @ Reframe) to debrief the race, and to be honest, this was one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time. I thought I had come to terms with the disappointing side of the race, but turns out I hadn’t. I’ve realised that if I don’t leave space for myself to grieve, emotion builds in me and can spill over at any moment. This used to happen when I was younger. I told myself I was fine until I really wasn’t. That’s what happened during our session. I hadn’t given my sadness regarding the race the space it needed.

Turns out there were many components to this session that I never saw coming.

I started the session describing the happy parts of the race, the pride in my ability to finish given the fact that my gut was not playing ball. Even weeks before the race I noticed I wasn’t finishing meals as I didn’t feel hungry, which was completely unlike me. Something I’ve never experienced. This clearly left me in an under fuelled state, and even a few days leading into the race I had tummy ache. On race day I was dry retching my breakfast. Nerves? I don’t think so. I always like to think of Ironmans as another big training day to take pressure off. I felt good and relatively calm. Who knows what was going on, and I guess that’s something I need to explore.

I learnt to view this side of the event as grit, self belief, and pure mental strength. Years of swim training, not just triathlon, shaped this resilience. The isolation you feel when staring at a black line is something else. I felt that isolation in Kona, coming out of the water first, no one around me. A handful of women went past, but I couldn’t stick with them which left me very alone. Was this my previous life testing me? I was only 40km in. Fuel not going down. Tummy aching. Power going down. I was never going to stop. It wasn’t an option. I called this my “almost redemption race”. I just couldn’t reach my fifth gear, which is frustrating to say the least when you’ve put not months but years of work into this.

However, Freya helped me view this as not only a race but as a chapter or block in my life. It was one of the most enjoyable Ironman blocks I’ve ever done even though I had some monster solo sessions. This came down to some of the most influential people in my life, and whilst I won’t mention them, they know who they are. Their presence in my life made some pretty big impacts, as I can now see on reflection.

One thing that stopped me in my tracks was when Freya said "what does the other part have to say?". That’s when the tears started to fall and I couldn’t make them stop. And you know what, this wasn’t drawn from this single race result. This was following years of crafting my body from chronic fatigue that I never thought I’d get out of. I was really allowing the sadness and disappointment to settle in. I was given a safe place to process everything. I came into this session thinking I knew how I felt, and how wrong I was.

Yes, I finished the race, but the time wasn’t reflective of what I trained for or what I knew I was capable of. I’ve now learnt that those pent-up emotions are better spoken in a safe place than bottled up. Doing so helped me process the wins and disappointments of this race. This doesn’t mean I’m weak, it means I care deeply. The caring is part of what drives me forward, both in sport and in life. This block has reminded me that even in isolation, I’m never alone. The people that have been there for me know who they are. I carry their and my own support into this next chapter, whatever that might look like.

Freya suggested I write a letter to my two-years-ago-self in order to honour the distance I’ve come. In the end this is not just about the race day, it’s about the journey to get there too. Here’s a glimpse into that letter:

“Dearest Sal,

You are right on the brink of making a breakthrough that will change your life. You’ve been stuck in a cycle of nervous system overload and you’re about to break free.

Treat your body and mind with kindness and compassion. These will be your best friend to calm and settle your nervous system as you rebuild. You’ve been through a lot - it’s okay to be sad and not know the answers right now but rest assured good things come to those who wait. Trust the process ahead of you because it’s taking you to some pretty special places.

Not long ago, you could barely walk up the stairs without your legs feeling like you’d run a marathon - soon and I mean just over a year away, you’ll be taking the tape at Ironman Busselton. Your arms go up with the tape, body fully exhausted at its absolute limit. 

How incredible that in 14 months, that’s what you were able to achieve. It’s something that will stick in your memory for a long time. The prep was by no means perfect but you navigated it beautifully, pulled back when you needed, pushed when you needed.

You break free from chronic fatigue, you create your own business, continue helping others and build powerful friendships that will last a lifetime. You don’t just sit back and watch; you thrive.

This is just a message to say you are incredible. You have a power like not many others. That is all. X”

I often judge my performances on the finish times and in doing so I deprive myself of seeing the journey. After writing this letter I was able to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. That’s when I truly saw how far I’ve come, regardless of the finish time. I saw the growth and it hit me how lucky I am to have a body that allows me to do what I want it to now.

If you’ve ever struggled to find peace with a performance that didn’t go to plan, maybe this is your reminder to give that feeling a bit of space too.

Sal x