When I got home, I didn’t have time to sulk, because six days later I was to participate in an all women’s triathlon in Kansas City. My hosts were members of the TriKC triathlon club and they had invited me to race in the event as well as give a couple of motivational talks to the other participants. I wondered how was I going to motivate others, when I was carrying so much disappointment within myself.

I arrived in Kansas City on Friday, September 9th. From the moment I got there, the weekend was a whirlwind. In fact, so fast-paced I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself, even if I wanted to. Straight from the airport, I went to do a radio interview at KCTE radio with a lively DJ named Coach K.

Interviewing with Coach K at KCTE

Saturday morning I was up at 5am (which is late for me on triathlon day), and off to the race. When I got there it was so much fun. I got to be the celebrity “pro” and people were stopping by to say “hi”, get their pictures taken with me and I put my race numbers on my equipment. Racer #1. It was the first time I’d had that experience and it brought me back to feelings of gratefulness. Sometimes I forget why I race. I get caught up in what I didn’t accomplish, what I could have done better and compare myself to other racers. But, here at this triathlon, again I was reminded of just how lucky I am to be able to compete in sports at all. I saw women who were doing their first triathlon and who would be happy with just crossing the finish line. I saw the excitement and enthusiasm in their eyes. They were nervous, giddy. I watched those feelings intently and tried to bottle them up in an imaginary container, so that I have them on hand the next time I am feeling sorry for myself or when I need to psyche myself up for the next race.

The thing is, while people so often look to me and my experiences for encouragement, I have found that I need the same thing. I think sometimes we all need to look outside ourselves to finding inspiration and positive examples of motivation, perserverance and appreciation. I know that by being at the Kansas City triathlon, I found a renewed sense of admiration for my talents and abilities, my successes and even my shortfalls. I won’t always get to the finish line first, won’t always have my best race. But I can always be thankful for the experiences, the journeys and the physical ability to pursue athletics, whether I am following my dreams or just going out for a casual workout. So, while I was invited to KC to motivate others, I found instead that they were motivation for me.

Olathe Finish Line

The event began on Thursday, August 18th at the Rocky Mountain Village, just outside Empire, Colo. There were several advantages to this site over the previous years of Camp Discovery. Most notably was that all activities, lodging and meals were located inside the campus of the RMV, so that participants were able to get around easily, go back and forth as they desired and take advantage of a wide variety of activities. Secondly, since the RMV is owned and operated by the Easter Seals organization, accessible activities and facilities are a given. To find a location, especially an outdoorsy mountain location that’s fully accessible is not entirely simple, but the RMV made this an experience to remember for these women who are full-time wheelchair users and who don’t always find their surroundings to be easy to navigate and wheelchair friendly. The third thing that made this such an incredible experience is that all of the women stayed in the same lodge, giving them ample time to hang out in the common area, get to know each other, make friends and build support systems. And that is the fundamental goal of Camp Discovery—meeting other women who have had like experiences and to be able to learn, share and connect with each other.

Seventeen women participated in 2011 (up from ten in 2010) due to the generous support of Dodge, the Challenged Athletes Foundation, The Pioneer Fund, Craig Hospital, 180 Medical, The Melting Pot, and a wide variety of silent auction donors for our fundraising event.

The weekend opened at dinner on Thursday with a group meal in the dining hall at the RMV and a speaker—The Chocolate Therapist—who gave a hands-on and scrumptious lecture about pairing chocolate and tea. And with that, camp began and it was full of activities to help the participants learn new fitness activities, push themselves physically and to appreciate their talents, while raising self-esteem and creating a healthy body image. Along with rock climbing, the women were offered opportunities to learn scuba diving—with full gear and instruction in the camp swimming pool, tennis, yoga, horseback riding, strength-building exercises, handcycling, swimming and got plenty of exercise navigating the grounds at the RMV.

To say that the weekend was a success, would be an understatement. Here is what participants said about their time at Dodge Camp Discovery:

* My experience at Camp Discovery was awesome and definitely a blessing. It took me out of my element. I also made alot of new friends and I hope to maybe do it again next year.
*Camp this year was once again a growing experience! I loved that it was all accessible and gave me the chance to do things I haven’t done since my injury.
* Without this camp there are many activities I would have never tried, never or had the confidence to try. I didn’t believe in my self, that I might be capable of doing anything because of a spinal cord injury and being paralyzed from my waist down. Your camp offers opportunities in a very safe environment. No fears. Just women, and plenty of excitement and rewards for personal accomplishments.
* Before going to this camp I was very depressed and knew nothing about all the different activities that I can still participate in. But now since Camp Discovery I have realized that I am able to do anything I want too and am so grateful to have had the opportunity to participate and create long lasting friendships!

The program is truly taking off and after three solid years of planning, promotion and growth, the Dodge Camp Discovery is strong and steady and the organizing committee is already preparing for year number four!

However, I can’t say that my time in Slovenia was a loss. Yes, I am disappointed I couldn’t earn a slot for the U.S. at the Paralympics. Fortunately, there is another chance in Belgrade next May and I intend to make another run at my goal. But in some ways, I am glad that things turned out the way they did. Had I come in here and cleaned up or even been in the top six, I might wonder about the state of Paralympic rowing at the World level. Considering that I have been rowing for four months, to think that I should be on par with the top women here, would belittle the sport. But I can confidently say, that rowing is alive and well at the World level and will require me to put forth every bit of effort I can muster, in order to add up. And for me, that’s what makes sports worthwhile. It’s the journey, the challenge, and doing the things that you never thought possible. That is why I’ve been so addicted and dedicated to the Ironman distance of triathlon. It’s not the eight hour training rides I love (they are actually quite boring, if you want to know the truth), but it’s knowing that you can do something that few other people can do. It’s knowing that you laid it all out there in blood, sweat and tears to accomplish amazing things. And that’s what I want for my rowing. I don’t want to go out there and say I won with no effort. If and when I stand (or sit) atop a podium, I want to know that I earned every ounce of that medal. That I worked hard and reached deep.

Last week when I got here, I was having a conversation with Natalie, who is here from England assisting the U.S. Adaptive Rowing Team. She came here, on her own dime, because she wanted to be part of our support team and coaching staff. And when I remarked on how much money she had to spend, just to volunteer her time to our cause, she told me that it was worth every penny. She said that she decided long ago that experiences, not things, were what life was about. She said that for her it wasn’t the absence of things in her life that would cause her the greatest regret, but the absence of experience.

When I look at my time at the World Championships in that way, Bled has been an absolute success. In the past ten days I have had the opportunity to wear the red, white and blue and represent my country; meet new friends from all over the globe and got to cheer for my competitor and new friend Moran, from Israel, who earned the bronze in our category; got to laugh with and spend time with great teammates and coaches; and gained more knowledge and skill in my event so that I can go home and know just what I want and need to accomplish in the coming months.

Some people will say that winning is everything or that it is the only thing. And don’t get me wrong, I LIKE to win. I WANT to win. But this time, experience is the teacher and I am the student. So I won’t leave here deflated, but rather renewed in my vision of the athlete I want to become.

There are so many things to write about my week in Slovenia, but we’ll see how long I can stay awake to report them. Needless to say, I have learned that rowing really takes it out of you. This week has been full of long days, time spent in the hot sun, frustrations getting my boat set up and training.

But now that training time is over, the 90-95 degree days are beyond us, the boat is dialed in and the training is in the bank, the second part of our journey has begun. Racing started yesterday and I have a very specific task in front of me. My job is to come in, in the top 8 in my classification in order to qualify the United States a spot for next year’s Paralympic Games. Should I do that, it will be one goal down. But that doesn’t assure me that spot for London next year. Just the United States. But if I don’t earn that spot, well, it’s just a disadvantage going into next year. There is still a chance to earn one in 2012 before the Games, but that would require the athlete attempting to earn it (probably me, but could be anyone) to peak three times by August. Not ideal for anyone. So, to do it here, is best case scenario.

I’m not going to pretend that I am a superstar rower .I am all accounts, a rookie. Probably been rowing less than all the other girls in my division, but I do have an athletic background, the desire and the understanding of what it takes to race at the top of your game. What I am still working on, is transferring all I know about training and competing to the sport of rowing. That will take time. I guess you could say, I am thankful to be here, but would have loved to have a little more time under my belt.

Because there are twelve women in my division, we started with two heats yesterday (Monday). I raced against: Russia, France, Brazil, Korea and Belarus. We had a little bit of information about most of the racers and from that we could surmise that I could probably comfortably beat Russia, but that the others were likely out of my reach. This was not my coach and I being pessimists, but rather realists. I did need to race my hardest though to see where I shook out with the rest and see where I would fall in the overall field. As it turns out, in my heat, I was 5th out of 6 (beating Russia) and 8th overall. That was great news for me, because in the end I need to be top 8. The bad news is that the gal who came in 9th (Portugal) was only a second behind. After that first race, the winners were moved automatically to the “A” final. The rest of us would race again.

Today’s results would send the top two from each heat directly to the “A” final and all the rest of us would go to the “B” final, which will be on Thursday. Therefore, no matter what I did, as long as I crossed the finish line, I would go to the “B” final (because clearly I was not going to be top two…again just being realistic…). With that in mind, Muff and I decided that my strategy would be to keep an eye on Portugal (my main competition for 8th place) and see how she raced and figure out how I am going to beat her on Thursday (should things play out the way we’ve figured based on the first day of racing times). I went hard the first 500 meters and pulled up a little the second 500 meters so as not to beat up my body. All went to plan and I ended the day with the 7th fastest time.

Tomorrow (Wednesday) is a rest day and then Thursday is the moment of truth. Can I end up in 8th place? I sure hope so, but it WILL be a race. And I know that on race day, anything can happen. The best can fall and those at the back of the pack can surprise you. Nothing is a given. That is why we race. That is what makes it exciting. THAT is what might make me lose a little sleep tonight. 

What I Have Learned About Rowing

As I sat in my boat at the launch yesterday and looked down into the turquoise water, I could see all the way down to the bottom of the lake. “I’m not in Oklahoma anymore, I thought.” Long gone is the brown Oklahoma river and replaced with this pristine body of water. In every direction you turn, all you notice is the natural beauty of Lake Bled. Surrounded by trees and mountains, there could not be a more amazing setting for this race. But, as Muff pushed me off the dock, my surroundings were little consolation for the anxiety that was building inside of me. But, strangely enough, those feelings didn’t have much to do with the actual competition, but more about would I do everything correctly and following procedure? There are traffic lane rules out on the course for warming up, pulling up to the start docks and getting there on time, getting into the best starting position and stroking off in a straight line. These are all things the newbie has to contend with and I was no different. But soon, each country and lane was announced, then the word “attention” and the red stoplight in front my eyes turned to green and we were off.

In my mind, I break my race into four 250m sections, so I don’t get overwhelmed thinking about the full 1000m. The first is for getting off the line and building power. The second is where I get into my rhythm, the third is a big test of how well I can sustain my chosen rhythm/pace and the fourth, if possible, I want to pick it up for the finish. During my first race, it went pretty well, except a few missed strokes and no pick-up in the end (because I was dead), but every race is experience and I felt good about my first effort. When I finished that race and was cooling down and heading back to the launch, I was assessing how racing in rowing was like or different than the sports I have competed in, in the past. For me, it’s nothing like triathlon, other than breaking the race down in parts and not thinking of the end while you’re some place in the middle. As in, don’t think about the run when you’re on the swim or don’t think about the 4th 250 when you’re on the second. Things like that. But in terms of how I feel when I am racing and when I am done, it reminds me of track cycling—specifically, the pursuit event. What I remember about doing pursuit races both on my single bike and as a tandem pilot, there was such a specific and intense mixture of pain and euphoria at the end of the race, that I have not felt since and definitely don’t feel doing triathlons. Part of it is that there is no coasting in rowing. No, let-me-take-a break-for-a-second-and-recover. It’s go, go, go once you start. I guess it’s the sprint kind of pain where your lungs burn and you’re muscles feel this gripping soreness, like you’ve pushed all of the power out of them and they just want to wilt. It’s hard to explain in words, but I loved having that feeling because it reminded me of being back on the track bike when all I wanted to do after the race was stop pedaling but you couldn’t ( because for one, you’d get thrown over the handle bars) because your legs would just seize up if you didn’t keep them moving. It’s a satisfying, if painful feeling and it makes you realize you put it all out there. And, not only was it satisfying, but I think that was truly the first moment in my rowing journey that I realized I could actually fall in love with this sport.

When I first learned that I had qualified for the World Championships at the Trials in New Jersey, I was asked to sign an “intent to compete” form which basically was my indication to US Rowing that I would compete on behalf of the United States at the World Rowing Championships in Bled, Slovenia. My first thought of course, was YES, I would love to compete, and my second thought was, where the heck is Slovenia? My only hope was that at least the airline pilot would know because I had no clue.

Turns out that Slovenia is an eastern European country bordered by Italy, Austria, Hungary and Croatia. The population of the country is approximately 2 million. Our competition is held at Lake Bled, which is in the town of the same name, and the US Adaptive team is staying about an hour away in the quaint ski town of Kranjska Gora at the Kompas Hotel.

But before I go into that, I have to talk about getting here. My adventure began at 4 a.m. on Tuesday, August 23rd. I had done most of my packing on Monday night, but I had some details to wrap up before my 10 am flight, so I got up before the sun because I had an important task that needed to be taken care of before I left.

Though I have navigated the Olympic sports world for a while, rowing is giving me some new adventures and experiences that I didn’t have through my participation in triathlon. For one, rowing is a Paralympic sport, which means I must adhere to the rules of the United States Anti-Doping Agency and become part of the National Testing Pool. I never had to do this with triathlon because it was not yet a Paralympic sport (it will debut in 2016), so drug testing was little, if any at all (I, personally, was never tested). So, before I left home I was required to log in and do a tutorial about the process, which covered what kinds of substances are illegal, how testing occurs and how to pee with an audience. Of course, I left this task to the very last minute and when I logged on, I realized that there was an hour worth of videos and quizzes that I had to go through and it was imperative I get it done before I went. I wasn’t sure what my internet situation would be here and it was due on the 26th. I rushed through what was mandatory and was able to do the rest with the assistance of my roommate, Jacqui, here in Bled. Basically, the way drug testing works, you have to supply your daily whereabouts each quarter because the drug testers can come at any random time to request a sample and you better be where you said you were going to be. They might find you at your home, when you’re on the road for work or competition, wherever. So you must be where you said you’d be or you’ll get a failed test. Two failed tests and you receive a suspension. Needless to say, it’s a big deal.

So…I got that completed packing, did a few work things and headed to DIA to catch my 10am flight to Newark. Again, the drama was little compared to triathlon, but I was a little nervous going into the trip because I was going the whole way to Slovenia by myself. My teammates had gone the day before.

From Newark, I flew nine hours to Munich and then was going to have my last 45 minutes on my third leg to an airport that I couldn’t for the life of me pronounce the name. Wanna try? It’s Ljubljana (Lou-blee-on-a). I learned this because the guy sitting next to me on the way to Munich inquired about the US Rowing shirt I was wearing and shared with me the fact that he was a masters rower and even though he was not on his way to Slovenia, he had been here before and knew about the rowing at Lake Bled. He enlightened me, though I immediately forgot and had to hear it a few more times before I actually got it.

Anyway…I was picked up at the airport with other racers by a driver from the local race organization, and taken to a hotel in Bled. When we got there, the other racers got off the bus, but I was told that I needed yet another shuttle to get to my hotel. So I jumped in the other van and headed off for an hour to the Hotel Kompas. Arriving at the hotel I was struck by the gorgeous scenery. The mountains are fully green and completely surround us. The view is amazing as we are literally across the street from the ski hill. The village here has shops, restaurants and is a nice location, all things considered.

On to the rowing. Fortunately we got here several days early—especially lucky for me because we’ve had a lot to do to get my boat ready. Since I haven’t had as much time in Oklahoma City with my coach and figuring out the best rigging for my boat, it’s continually a work in progress. My first day out on the water, was horrible. I thought it was me. And part of it probably was. I have been dryland training but not on the water for the past two and a half weeks, but this was really bad. I was so frustrated when I came in, but I had not been feeling well from the flight and was fatigued, so I let it slide. Thursday wasn’t much better and I was starting to get REALLY frustrated, to the point that I couldn’t keep my mind focused on what I was doing. The problem is that when you come to a competition so far away, you are in a completely new boat with a different rigger, different oars, everything. There are formulas and measurements that you can use to set the boat up and you (or in this case, my coach), tries to make it as close to your setup as possible, but it takes a fair amount of adjusting and figuring things out. Finally, yesterday (Saturday) we started to make some breakthroughs. We lengthened my oars, and made a few changes to the rig. Still, at the end of practice, Muff said I wasn’t rowing like I had been in Oklahoma City and I agreed. I’m just not in my groove. The problem is, I don’t know enough about how to problem solve my setup. Fortunately, I can explain what feels different or any observations I make on the water and Muff is good at making the translation to what needs to happen. He’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve, so we’ll try them on the water today. I hope they work because tomorrow is race day!

In a nutshell, here’s the deal:

Rowing made its debut in the 2008 Paralympics in Beijing. It was a relatively small sport and the U.S. had a full team, which was competitive, but not deep. Now going into London, U.S. Rowing is taking a proactive approach to building the team so that we (as a country) have increased medal opportunities in 2012. Some of the athletes have retired since the 2008 Games and U.S. Rowing is rebuilding. So, through this talent identification program (see my previous blog) I have been presented with the opportunity to test my abilities in this new sport.

It has been, and continues to be a learning curve for me, but I love an athletic challenge. My job in today’s race was to show the promise and potential I have to be competitive Internationally. Even though the Paralympics are next year, the United States must compete on the world stage to qualify boats in each of the classifications for next year’s Games. The best and most efficient means for doing this is to send a full team to the World’s this year and place in the top 8 in order to earn those slots. My goal today was to be one of the lucky athletes to be named to the World Championship team to help the U.S. earn a slot in the women’s AS division.

That’s what brought me to New Jersey a week ago today. For those of you who have read my Ironman reports, this one has significantly less drama. First of all, I didn’t have to travel with any equipment, which made the trip much less stressful. Getting the boat to the competition site, seems to be the responsibility of the coach. In my case, Coach “Muff” aka Matt Muffelman, a 2008 World Champion gold medalist and 2009 silver medalist in the men’s lightweight eight. My teammates and I are also learning, that he is somewhat of a rock star as he seems to know absolutely everyone and everything to do with rowing. In that case, a good guy to have coaching you.

And although I had a lot of work to do on the water this week, it was Muff who spent hours getting my boat dialed in so that it would not only be set up legally, but also efficiently. So while I sat around socializing and watching, he was busy at work tweaking this and that, and working his magic so that I could have the best race possible. Then he, and whoever else was coming along for the ride, would follow me on a motorized boat to watch my practices, critique my technique and make sure I was doing what I was supposed to. Usually when we practice in OKC, there aren’t too many boats on the water at a time, but here the lake was really jumping with action. The seven lanes were set up when we got here and so I learned the traffic pattern and when to stay out of the way of the fast guys or when to tell them to move around.

I had two teammates here with me, Jacqui and Tony, who also train at OKC, and they row in the TA classification. Just for a little background, here’s how the adaptive division shakes out. There are four classifications:

1) ASW1x: Arms and Shoulders Women Single. This is my classification. What this means, is that I have no core strength/function. I row on a fixed seat, not using my legs, and I wear a chest strap around me and the back of my rowing seat so that I literally can only row with my arms and shoulders. The type of rowing I do is called sculling. My division also rows with pontoons on the boats because of balance issues.

2) ASM1x: Same thing for the men’s side

3) TA Mixed double: TA stands for trunk and arms. These athletes can have a variety of disabilities from a low spinal cord injury, to amputation, to who-knows-what. But they have use of both their trunk and arms. They do not row using their legs. Also, they row sculling. (If they were to row what’s called ‘sweep’, they would each use one oar and would be called a pair. But they are a ‘double’, which means two people rowing with two oars each.)

4) LTA coxed four: This is a boat with four rowers, is mixed gender, each rower uses one oar, (which is called sweep) and they have a coxswain (the person who steers and coaches the boat). LTA stands for legs, trunk and arms.

OK…so to the race. My event was just a time trial. Me against the clock. Looking for a race of seven minutes. I raced alongside Ron Harvey the men’s AS rower and he was doing the same. Having raced many cycling time trials, I knew what I needed to do, but my main worry was rowing out to the start which was 1500 meters away, and then getting backed into the dock and not miss my start time. As it turned out, that was all fine and good. We got the two minute warning and, to be honest I was getting a little dizzy as I was trying to hold my boat straight at the dock and having the waves rolling underneath me. Then the starter got on the microphone and said, “Mr. Harvey, Ms. Downing” and I freaked out a second because I had thought we’d get a one-minute warning, but now it was time for the start. As soon as he said, “Ms. Downing” he followed it with “attention” and then the buzzer and we were off. Of course, Ron’s start was like lightening compared to mine, and that was the last I saw of him. Since in rowing you are moving with your back forward, you only see your other competitors when you are in the front, or winning. Unlike in cycling or triathlon, when you’re winning, you’re competitors are behind you and you have little or no idea as to what they’re doing. But, I tried to watch the buoys and meter markers, my stroke coach (the computer that tells you your strokes per minute), my time and my technique, all while concentrating on the job I had to get done. I was shooting for a seven-minute race and when I finally crossed the 1000-meter mark, I had done a 7:04. Good enough to show that, with a lot of hard work, I should be able to be competitive internationally. Now, I have my work cut out for me. I have only two months until I travel with the World Championship team to Bled, Slovenia, to place in the top eight and earn a Paralympic slot for the U.S. (this, by the way, does not qualify ME for the Paralympics, rather the U.S. I will still need to race for a Paralympic berth next year at the Trials). It is not a given that I can or will do it. I have watched past World Championships videos and those girls look like animals. However, I will spend as much of the next eight weeks as I can in OKC and when I’m in Denver, it means all the hours I put into Ironman last year, will now be spent in the gym lifting weights or rowing on the ergometer. I know I have the talent, it’s just a matter of time. I think you could call this getting thrown into the fire, but I am lucky to have a great coach and training center and plenty of race experience to get through it without getting burned.

And with that, a new adventure begins…

Last October, when I pulled into transition at the Hawaii Ironman after riding 112 on my handcycle, my shoulder was on fire. No telling how many rotations it had made over the previous nine and a half hours, but suffice it to say, it was a lot and it wasn’t happy.

That wasn’t the first time I had ridden that far or the first time my shoulder hurt after a ride, but it was the first time that the pain did not subside, even after massage and rest. Two MONTHS of rest, mind you. Usually, if I got a massage and took it easy for a day or two, any soreness from a ride would go away. But this was consistent, continuing and just plain painful! So I finally visited my doctor at the end of November and she sent me to physical therapy. My therapist had a lot to say about my shoulder and what could and should be done, but after all of the poking, prodding and testing he determined that my problem was not unusual for someone who uses a wheelchair for mobility—athlete or not. The front of my body—mainly my chest and shoulders was overbuilt and over strengthened compared to my back. This made me off balance and was the main factor in me straining my rotator cuff. But it’s not like I hadn’t worked at all on my back. I worked it plenty in the gym, but three months of two times a week lifting through the winter, was no match for the hours and hours I spent on the handcycle; sometimes eight hours in a day as I got ready for Kona. As a result, my shoulders are rounded, off balance and prone to ending up in serious pain.

So, what to do?

The therapist’s suggestion was to make some changes to my bike, but also to my routine. Stop with the bench press and work on the rows. And so I did. I followed his program at home with the therabands, and hand weights. I tried to think of other exercises or sports I could do that would cause less stress on my shoulders or at least build them in other ways. And since the rowing exercises were on the top of the therapist’s list, I decided to look into doing the real thing.

Now, there are a couple of things about rowing that make it difficult. First of all, I live in a state that has little water. Second of all, the equipment is specialized, expensive and giant. I thought it was difficult lugging around a handcycle and a racing chair, but it’s not exactly like you can throw a row boat over your shoulder and off you go.

Luckily, I did some investigating and found out about the US Rowing training center located in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. And what was great about my timing was that just as I was looking for a new sport, they were looking for new rowers through a talent identification program. I filled out an application in just a couple of days, I heard from Jeremy, the coach who was in charge of building this adaptive program. He told me he was in search of experienced and accomplished athletes in other sports to turn them into rowers. He liked my resume and my six-foot wing-span was an added bonus. He invited me to the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic training center in OKC to see if it was something I wanted to pursue.

My first visit there was four days in which we worked both on the water and in the gym, to assess my ability to pick up the technique as well as my fitness and potential with the demands of the sport. At the end of my time there I got the green light from both Jeremy and another coach, Matt, who would end up working with the adaptive team. They invited me to come back (and come back soon) to train, as there were immediate opportunities for me to contribute to the U.S. team. At first, I was skeptical about being able to get up and running so quickly, but they assured me that I had the background necessary and I was picking up the skills I needed quickly. The fine-tuning would take time, but I was off to a strong start.

As a result, I am off and running! This summer will be full of training, but of a new kind and I couldn’t be more excited. Not that I have sworn off triathlon, I do still have a couple on my schedule and still hope to go to duathlon Worlds, but I will be doing more cross training and focusing on rowing. I will commute back and forth to Oklahoma City where Coach “Muff” resides and will prepare to represent the U.S. later this summer.

So, I’m off on a new adventure! Not sure what lies ahead, but I am ready to jump in and steer my passion for sports and competition in a new direction. Stay tuned for more race reports of a different kind! The adventure continues…

Camp Discovery Participants

Melting Pot Fundraiser Event Details

CAMP DISCOVERY FUNDRAISER

When: Thursday, July 28th^th—5:30 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Where: The Melting Pot of Littleton, 2707 W. Main Street, Littleton, CO 80120

What: A fun evening on the patio, including a four-course fondue dinner (cheese fondue, salad, entrée and chocolate fondue), and silent auction

Cost: $62/person (alcohol not included, + soft drinks, tea and coffee are included)

To Register:

Advance ticket sales only. Only 80 spots available…register soon, as this event will sell out!.

Ticket purchases are tax-deductible. 
All donations will be made to Camp Discovery via the 
Challenged Athletes Foundation (CAF)

Visit my Race for a Reason fundraising page. It will prompt you to enter a donation amount. Please enter $62 per ticket you are requesting). I will follow-up with you via email to confirm your donation.

You can also pay by check (made out to CAF)—please contact me if you would like to mail your payment

Questions: Contact—Tricia Downing, ladyterp_td@hotmail.com, 303.358.2768

Getting ready to head off on the run in the Redman Ironman

The other day I shared my motivational speaking program, Reaching Your Finish Lines, with a group in Denver. In my hour keynote, I share with the audience my life as an athlete, subsequent accident, recovery and return to sports as a wheelchair athlete, competing in national and international competitions and completing two Iron distance triathlons. After my speech a woman came up to me to tell me that she was inspired by all I had done, and she said, “I can’t believe you can do an Ironman with just your arms! I would never be able to do a triathlon.”

It wasn’t the first time I had heard a statement like that and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But every time I hear it I begin to wonder. I think some people make that statement because they know they could never do a triathlon, and for no other reason than they don’t want to do a triathlon. They know it takes work, effort, dedication, motivation….all those things that it takes to accomplish any goal and if it’s not something that you’re truly invested in, then of course, you will never be able to do it. Just like I watch my husband tinker with his motorcycle and think, “I could never fix a motorcycle.” Not because I’m not capable, but because I don’t have interest in investing the time and energy in learning how to do it. But then I think there are those people who just don’t know their own greatness. They think they can’t, so they don’t even try. How many times do we talk ourselves out of things because we are afraid to try, afraid to fail or just don’t have the gumption to put ourselves out there?

I remember when I first decided to do an Iron distance triathlon, there had not been a female paraplegic wheelchair racer who had completed the distance before, so I didn’t think it was even possible. When I brought it up to my coach though, he didn’t wince, or shake his head. He simply told me it was going to take a lot of training and we needed to have a plan so that I could complete 2.4-miles of swimming, followed by 112-miles of handcycling and 26.2-miles in the racing chair.

I remember saying to him, “Well maybe I could just do the swim and 80-miles of the bike for the first attempt.” He looked me questioningly, wondering why I was shooting for half a race instead of the whole thing. But the truth was, I had already determined in my mind that I wasn’t capable of making the 140.6 miles.

Worries aside, we made a plan and I began working out. I started out with modest distances and added a little more each time I went to the pool, rode the handcycle, or pushed the racing chair. When I first started 60 miles on the handcycle seemed like a major undertaking. Little by little though, I increased the distance until I was riding 80, 90, even 100 miles. It took a lot of time. I spent up to 10 hours on the handcycle in one workout. I still wasn’t sure I could do it, but I also wasn’t ready to accept defeat.

Finally, after months and months of training, hundreds of miles swum, ridden and pushed, I arrived at the start of my first Iron distance race. Even that morning, as I sat at the edge of the lake, I don’t think I believed I was good enough, but I knew I’d never make it, if I didn’t get in the water and take the first stroke. And even then, the race handed me challenge after challenge, but eventually I made it through 18 hours of competition to find myself raising my arms as I crossed the finish line.

I dug deep that day and realized that ultimately greatness doesn’t come overnight. It comes one step at a time. And in the beginning, it’s easy to talk yourself out of really going for it. But if you don’t allow yourself to begin, to try, or to dream, it will never happen at all. So the next time you think to yourself, “I could never…” Take a minute to think before you complete that sentence. Does ‘I could never’ mean I just don’t want to, or does it mean, I don’t believe in myself. If you don’t want to, move on. If you do, but you don’t know if you can—start small. Do a little more everyday. Be patient with yourself and don’t give up. Whether you believe it or not, greatness does reside within you. You just have to be willing to look for it, embrace it and finally, believe in it.

Following is an excerpt from my memoir—Cycle of Hope: A Journey from Paralysis to Possibility. It is my race report from my first Iron distance race, the Redman Triathlon in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

To purchase Cycle of Hope click here

In 2005, I decided it was time to step up the racing. My life seemed to be falling back into place after the accident and I was ready to challenge myself. I had a new coach named Neal and he was so encouraging and positive that he made me feel like 2005 was going to be an exceptional year. As I sat in his office discussing my training plans and the races I wanted to do, I listed off the marathons, the Olympic distance triathlons, and then I blurted out, “And maybe I’d like to do an Ironman triathlon!” I said it quickly and then held my breath, waiting to see if he was going to laugh me out the door. But he just looked at me, processed what I had said for a bit and then said, “Okay. You’ll have to train a lot, but I think you can do it.”

An Ironman, or Iron distance, is the granddaddy of all triathlons. It’s the biggest, baddest race you can do and all my triathlete friends seemed to be doing them. Not one to be left out, I decided that it was time I try one, too. I had completed a half Ironman in 2004, which is, as it implies, half the distance of the Ironman race. The Ironman consists of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride and a 26.2-mile run. Aside from the 26.2-mile marathon run, I had never done those other distances since my accident. In fact, the longest I had ever even ridden my two-wheeled bicycle was 107 miles and I remembered how much that had worn me out. I couldn’t imagine doing all that all with my arms, but I wanted to try. Neal told me to get online and find a race I could do and he would put together a training plan for me.

It didn’t take long before I found a small race, called the Redman, in Oklahoma City. Neal gave me my workouts, which consisted of a steady increase in hours on the bike and the racing chair, and more yardage in the pool. At one point, he told me I was going to have to train for eight to ten hours at a time on my handcycle. I could feel my eyes popping out of my head as he said it, but I wasn’t going to give up without giving it my best shot. He taught me how I needed to eat to sustain such a long effort and I did what he told me. I would wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning, eat breakfast, ride all day, come home, eat and go to bed. My house turned into a pigsty, my social life came to a halt and Steve had to either endure long, slow, boring rides with me, or meet up with me on the couch, when I was beat down and exhausted, to watch movies. He was a great sport even when I offered ideas that were less than appealing.

“Since I’m a little nervous about the Redman, I thought we could drive to Oklahoma for Labor Day weekend and check out the course,” I mentioned off-handedly one day.

“Wow. That sounds like…fun,” he said with a sarcastic tone.

“Please?” I gave him my best puppy-dog look.

“Um. Well…okay, but only because I love you.”

“You love me and you want to go to Oklahoma for a romantic Labor Day trip? This is my lucky day!”

The description on the Redman website said that bike course was flat. When we arrived in Oklahoma City, we found something completely different: rolling hills that felt like mountains to me. It did nothing to calm my nerves, but at least I knew what I was up against, so when September 24, came around, I was as ready as I could be.

There are a few things you should know about an Iron distance triathlon. There are these pesky things called time cutoffs. In other words, you can’t take two days to do the race. And although the time cuts are basically arbitrary numbers, if you don’t finish an event in a certain amount of time, you are taken off the course and not allowed to finish. Most Iron distance races stick to the following cutoffs: two hours and twenty minutes for the swim, 10.5 hours for the swim and bike combined and 17 hours for the entire race. Going into the Redman, I was more confident that I could finish the distance than I was that I could actually make the time cuts.

Because triathlons involve so many details and logistics, there are often pre-race meetings the day prior to the event to make sure that everyone is on the same page. The Redman meeting did a lot to calm my nerves. Roger, the race director, shared with the racers his philosophy about the race. He said there were many first-timers registered and we had all trained hard to be there. He didn’t want a time cut to stop the race for anyone. He was not going to stick to the 10.5-hour bike cutoff or even the 17-hour race cutoff. He said if we were still out there and we were going to come in at 21 hours, he would be there at the finish line waiting for us. That was a big relief to me because it meant that the times wouldn’t be an issue. Instead, it was up to me and my physical condition as to whether I would cross the finish line or not.

The next morning, my alarm went off at 5 a.m. When I opened my eyes and my brain kicked in, I realized I was about to begin one of the longest days of my life. Looming ahead of me was a 140.6-mile day.

I had all kinds of questions and doubts in my mind that morning. I had never swum a full 2.4 miles in open water. Nor had I ever ridden a full 112 miles on my handcycle. I wasn’t sure I deserved to be at the race and my ability to finish was anyone’s guess. But, as always, I reminded myself that I needed to remember where I had come from if I was going to be able to appreciate this race, no matter the outcome. I had to remember lying gasping for breath on the pavement after the impact with the car. And remember the day the physical therapists sat me up for the first time in the hospital—the pain, nausea and the lack of balance. That day, I wondered if I would ever be able to sit up again by myself. And I remember when a long ride was four miles through a local Denver park. No matter what happened at the Redman, I’d be miles ahead of where I was five years prior.

As I sat under the moon on the shore of Lake Hefner, in Oklahoma City, Okla., I pulled my wetsuit onto unresponsive legs. With every tug of the neoprene, my thoughts turned to the seemingly insurmountable task in front of me. What am I thinking? Can I really do this? Steve kneeled behind me and rubbed my shoulders, whispering encouragement in my ear.

At 7:00 a.m., we got in the water in the dark under the moon. Neal was swimming with me as my guide, but I could barely see him through my goggles because I had dark lenses. I figured the sun had to come up eventually, so I didn’t worry too much. When the mass start began, I thought we had gotten mostly to the back, but I found myself running over other swimmers and not being able to find a good space in the pack. I had previously been used to having a lot of room as a back-of-the-pack swimmer, but this time, I was keeping up and even passing quite a few people. Finally, I settled into the swim and tried to concentrate on Neal’s hand signals. I was shooting for a 1:40-1:45 swim time, so I knew I would just have to settle in for the long ride. The good thing for me is that I pretty much only have one swim speed. So in this long race, I didn’t have to worry if I was going too hard or too slow. I just put it into gear and went. I was almost at the end of the first lap when I felt my neck muscles go. Usually, I swim with my head up just a bit so I can see my guide as I swim backstroke, but I knew there was a good chance my neck muscles wouldn’t hold up for that long of a swim, so I just put my head back—often, with my face totally underwater. I figured if Neal really wanted me to make a direction shift, he’d find a way to get his hand right in my face to point which way to go. I was surprisingly relaxed and kept remembering in my head the little blue fish, Dory, from the movie Finding Nemo…“just keep swimming…just keep swimming.”

Finally, we hit shore at one hour forty-five minutes, and Steve and Roger rushed in, picked me up and took me to my chair. I had a group of people gathered around me to take my wetsuit off and then I was pushed into the changing tent. I was so lightheaded and foggy at the time that it took everything I had to stay balanced in my chair and not fall over. I had two women take off my tank swim top because there was no way I could hold myself up and change at the same time. The flaps of the tent were partially open and one woman said to me, “I don’t think you’re flashing too many people,” as she took off my top. I told her I was pretty sure I didn’t care. Then they threw on my cycling jersey and I was on my way. I got in my handcycle, got my food and drink and I was off.

The course began by following the dam road that surrounded the lake, and was the only truly flat part of the course. That lasted about three miles, and then the fun began. Heading out to the turnaround wasn’t such a bad ride. It was hilly, but there was an overall elevation loss. As I was going out, I averaged well over the twelve miles per hour that I needed to go to stay close to the time cut, so I was feeling good. I had a guy pass me who said, “You’re awesome and you’re beautiful!” It made me smile, and I kept pushing. But as I hit the turnaround to come back, the breeze kicked in and I began climbing. By the time I got to the “Igloo Church”—(there were about nine churches on the course, so we referred to every part of the course by religious landmarks) about 9.5 miles from the transition, my average speed was dropping quickly and I instantly got discouraged. The bike course was a 28-mile loop that you had to do four times, and I was thinking that on lap one I was already down to an 11.9 average, and I still had three more laps to go.

As I got to transition, Steve and Neal were waiting for me, so I smiled as I passed and tried to get psyched for a second lap. I felt okay going out, but coming back, I was starting to not feel so well. My stomach was killing me from all the PowerBars, gels and Gatorade that I was ingesting, it was getting super hot and I was tired of wind and climbing. My average had dropped to just over ten miles per hour.

I pulled into transition the second time not feeling so chipper. I was trying to figure out if it was time to call the race. As I was heading out on the third lap Neal and Steve were standing by the side of the road and I stopped to share with them my thoughts on quitting the race. It was just past 3:00 p.m. and I was thinking that two more laps were going to take six hours or more and it would be past 9:00 p.m. by the time I started the run. I pulled up and shared my time dilemma and asked what they thought I should do. Neal said, “Well, you still have sunlight…” which I gathered meant “stop worrying and keep going.” With an accomplished distance athlete as your coach, a little pain doesn’t get much attention. So I asked that they keep the van close to me, especially because at the time I felt like throwing up and thought I was going to collapse at any moment. They told me they’d pull ahead and get Steve’s bike out so he could ride with me and make sure that I was physically okay. I started feeling more positive about things when Steve was riding with me. (Technically, that’s against the rules, but as the only wheelchair racer in the event, it worked out okay.) Besides, at that time, I was one of only a handful of racers left on the course. When Steve was riding with me and I was going back and forth between whining and crying, he said, “If it’s your body that’s telling you to quit, go ahead, but if it’s in your mind, you need to keep going…otherwise, you’ll regret it.” He was right. I didn’t go there to be a quitter and I had to take advantage of the fact that the race director was offering to let everyone finish if they could.

When we arrived in transition at the end of the third lap, Roger was there and I knew we were going to have to have a talk. Time for the sixty-second pow-wow. “Are you sure you want to keep going?” he asked me. Everyone was off the bike course at that time and the road was beginning to open up again, and I would be riding with traffic for my last lap. “Plus,” he added, “It’s starting to get dark.” I was beginning to feel his doubts about me finishing and decided that that was not okay. I can have doubts about my own abilities, but I hate to have other people doubt me, so that got the fire started. I told Roger we’d be fine and said to Steve and Neal, “Let’s go!” The guys took a minute to paint the words “Race Support” on the back window of the van and we took off with Neal driving while Steve and I rode. Neal stayed right on our tails as Steve and I watched the sun set and rode along at the best pace I had been on all day. The air got cooler and the sky got darker. Neal drove between 8-16 mph as we climbed and descended the rolling hills, following us with headlights glaring so that we could still see. The bugs were so thick we had to keep our sunglasses on even though it was dark out. At the intersections, Neal would check with us to see if we needed water or Gatorade or gels. My stomach was so mad at me at that point I felt that all I could handle were gels.

We passed the Igloo Church (9.5-miles down), and then we passed the Baptist Church. Thankfully! That meant the turnaround was near. Neal stopped the van with Ozzy blasting from the speakers. We put on headlights, taillights, made a few adjustments and we were off on the last leg of the bike. Steve kept telling me, “You’re home free now!” You know you’ve had a long day when finishing a marathon is the least of your worries. I knew that it was far from the end, but at least I could get my head around that and I knew I had it in me to push through.

We pulled up to the Methodist Church, which meant we were almost there. A quick pit stop and one last gel, and we started toward transition. Roger met us as we pulled into a nearly empty transition. Most people were done with the race and probably asleep in their beds, but it was 9:30pm and I was ready to do a marathon. My transition was quick and I was off in the racing chair. Steve led me through the race because it was on very dark and windy paths through a big park at the edge of the lake. It was a little dangerous because of the lack of visibility in the dark, but we both had our headlights on and we just put our heads down and were quiet. We were exhausted. I couldn’t believe that he had ridden with me the whole time. His jumping on the bike during my ride was an impromptu gesture—he hadn’t eaten much before his ride or planned to ride in excess of 80 miles that day, but that was a big sign to me that no matter what, in our lives together, he would go the distance.

When we hit the turnaround, one of the volunteers told us we were on a three-hour pace. I was thinking, You have got to be kidding! Three hours? I have been going since 7a.m.! Finally, the mile markers started getting in the twenties and I knew that I was going to be an Ironman. The time was ticking away and I was going to be over the usual seventeen-hour cutoff time, but I was going to make it. Everything I had been through during the day was going to pay off in a completed race. When we saw the big spotlights ahead, Steve pulled off the path and said, “It’s all yours.” I pushed as hard as I could into the finish. Not that it was a grand finish with hundreds of people watching—there were only a handful of volunteers left—but when I crossed the line at 1:03 a.m., eighteen hours and three minutes after I had begun, I became an Ironman. And there at the end, true to his word, was Roger, waiting to put the finishers’ medal around my neck.

I thought I might doubt my status as an Ironman, having missed both the ten-and-a-half and seventeen-hour cutoff marks. But then I remembered the one other runner we passed at midnight. In the pitch black and stillness of the night, I heard his labored breaths as I passed. I could feel the determination oozing out of him and knew that I had the same resolve. I realized then that life is not measured in hours and minutes, but in heart. Right then and there, I knew I had the heart of an Ironman.