At first I thought it was because I had little experience. So I got more. Then I thought it was because I needed to lose weight. So I lost it. Then I thought, maybe I needed to train harder, so, harder I trained. And now, having exhausted all other possible explanations, I am forced to consider that perhaps I'm just inadvertently attracting obstacles by fearing they'll appear. By thinking for a split second, what if I can't... even though I know I can.

A few weeks ago I rode 70 miles in 4:15 at 80% of threshold. Keeping that up equates to just under a 7-hour Ironman ride. But I forgot this when entering the nearly deserted transition after the High Cliff swim, bruised-faced, busted-lipped, and ready to swing at the first person who looked at me funny. I should have thought, ...well, that was a hell of a swim; getting knocked all over creation like that, but I made it. Now I'm here, so let's go chase some people down. Because I can. And I should have. But I couldn't. And I've spent the last 48 hours trying to figure out why.

Photo courtesy of Michell Brost.

The Swim

I knew the water was disgusting before I ever set foot in it. The day before the race recreational swimmers were emerging carpeted in green film, but at least I had some time to prepare myself before it would be my turn to jump in...just don't swallow any water and you'll be fine... I repeated my coach's advice over and over again, especially on race morning when I saw an algae spore universe every time I put my face in the water. You know those science fiction scenes where the ships jet through space and stars whiz by? White particles against a backdrop of black? Substitute green against brown in exactly the same way. ...just don't swallow any water and you'll be fi-...

"Sorry!"

Wha..?

"Sorry, you OK?"

"Ye- hh- cough... yep..."

So much for not swallowing any water. At the time I thought the immediacy with which this cardinal rule was broken was ironic, but I look back on it now as evidence I likely made it happen because of fearing so much it might. A twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, and once the door of possibility is opened, well...

I didn't know at the time why the swim was so violent, but I soon learned it was because people just couldn't see where they were going. I couldn't see where I was going and ran into a few folks myself. I was able to apologize to one, but the other swam away too quickly. This bothered me for a while because it was the latter I'd hit the hardest, fortunately in the back and not the face like I'd just been hit, but I wanted him/her to know I hadn't meant it. That of course I hadn't meant it, and after receiving a few more apologies from blind swimmers who knocked into me, I realized that others felt this way too and managed to not let it get to me too much. This worked for a while.

See, I guess Latin blood is just Latin blood, and soon enough I found myself angry again at the people who clipped me and swam away without so much as an acknowledgment. I knew better of course, this is just how it goes with the open water swim, and drew to mind the last person I'd hit and couldn't catch to apologize. I reminded myself that sometimes hurt just happens unintentionally, that sometimes it's my fault and sometimes the fault of others, but either way if it's irreparable, the only productive thoughts are those in which you believe people understand you never meant to hurt them, and if you're the one hurt, the ones in which you refrain from fleshing out intent in order to better focus on just letting it go. This is the only way you get yourself to shore in once piece.

I knew this, but pain is a pretty slippery devil that's hard to catch once it breaks free of you're rational-thinking restraints, and by the time I got to shore I'd been swum over top of, kicked in the stomach and hit in the face more times than I can remember. Not to mention, the two big gulps of algae universe big-banging up solar systems in my stomach didn't help my peace and goodwill is the nature of humanity mantra much either.

I felt another kick to the stomach when I got to the top of the hill for transition, which, as I mentioned, was nearly abandoned.

"There are about 20 swimmers left in the water!" I heard someone say. Funny, because I swear I only saw 3 bikes. And one of them was mine. I guess you just can't defend when you're swinging with both fists, and since I hadn't yet chased down the devils running loose like trapped raccoons inside of myself, seeing that empty transition knocked the wind out of me good.

Standing at the top of that grassy hill I should have remembered that I've had rides on my TT02 that made me understand why it's called a Time Machine. I should have remembered how I've made it hum like it had rockets and how I've suddenly then found myself 20 miles up the road. I should have shaken off the swim and started out on a little mission to pick off some of those riders ahead of me. Confidently. But I couldn't.

I got on my bike and made my way to the road, fearing any racing I'd be doing for the rest of the day was in jeopardy.

The Bike

It was evident on the hill heading out of transition that I needed to have a conversation with myself.

...shake it off, get focused, you can still catch them...

But I felt used up, and I didn't know why. I drank some water and tried to clear my head, but I just couldn't seem to make my body work. ...OK, then just breathe and don't worry about them for a minute, get up the hill, settle down, then go chase them....one thing at a time...

At the top of the hill my hands were shaking and I was distracted. My heart was racing and I tried not to look at my watts or any other indicator of how fast I was - or better said, was not - going. It felt like one of those dreams where everything is in slow motion in a bubble around you and everything outside of that bubble is going at warp speed. I turned a corner and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I still don't know what happened, sand? Gravel? I don't even remember the fall, just the blades of grass poking me in the eye and tickling my nose.

...holy $*#%...

Zrrrrrrrrwhoosh........"You Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?"

"Yeah, Yep!" I heard myself say.

...OK, man...get up before anyone else comes by... I was embarrassed and tears started burning my cheek. I checked my bike and it seemed fine, but when I got back on and started riding there was an incessant squeak, which didn't impair the bike as far as I could tell, only my concentration.

It was a long straight flat, some headwinds, but nothing I hadn't made it through a million times before. I looked down at my PowerTap and expected to see watts in the 170s like I normally would in headwinds like this, but instead I saw 105.... 98... What!? 9 mph. On a flat.

...squeak...squeak...

Oh something has to be stuck... jammed...

I searched, took off wheels and put them back on, checked breaks, cogs, my chain, but the only thing stuck and jammed was me. It wasn't the bike that wouldn't go. Proof of this would come on the second loop of the ride. For the remainder of the first loop I got on and off my bike a few more times until I just accepted the fact that the squeak was apparently in my head. My watts were never over 120 when I looked down, and pushing 13 mph felt like 20. After about 10 miles I had to stop for a minute. I was going as hard as I could and felt as if I'd already ridden 100 miles. I was baffled and just couldn't stop crying...omg you need to get it together...come on.... turning away from the road, I did something I've never done. I called home and said it all out loud.

"I don't want to do this race anymore. I just want to come home. Something's wrong and I don't work. I don't work today and I don't know why..."

"What do you mean? What's wrong? Stop crying, it's OK. It'll be OK just calm down..."

Whooosh.........whooosh ... whoosh whoosh.................

"I just can't go. My body isn't working, I don't know, nothing works, I have no energy at all..."

"You'll be OK, just relax and calm down first..."

Whoosh........whoosh... whoosh...........

And then I couldn't stand it anymore. Where the hell did they come from? Maybe... I'm not last.... I took a deep breath.

"OK... ok... I will. I'm gonna go, like 800 people just passed me. Thanks...sorry. I'm OK...I'll be OK...."

And I was fine for another 10 minutes, but when I didn't see anymore riders I started crying again. WTF!? Stop it! Out of frustration and exhaustion that had no explanation, I couldn't shut it off for the better part of the next 20 miles. I was sure I was dead last and just stopped looking at my power. It was pointless, as I was going as hard as I could but still seeing unbelievably low watts. It didn't make any sense to me and only fed the frustration fire that was causing my multiple meltdowns.

Between everything hurting, my face, back and stomach with aches and cramps (and no, not the kind e-caps can fix. Sorry, yeah forgot the five second warning for the too much information alarm), and the disorientation with myself, I really had to pull it together...OK you have to find something good to focus on or something...training ride, it's a training ride... I tried to look around at the scenery in order to break out of this fog I'd somehow let myself slip into. And almost instantly, things changed.

Soon I noticed rolling corn and soybean fields, silos and Clydesdale horses, this was my country, my hometown no matter the 400 miles difference. Finally there around mile 23 I stopped crying, really stopped, and stopped caring about how not fast I was going. I started to feel like I worked again, and as soon as I acknowledged this I saw another rider about a mile in the distance. I was instantly next to her, and noticed she was on a mountain bike that was about a size too big for her. She was smiling, and you know so was I.

Now, as much as I'd love to tell you I saw her and purity and goodness abounded as my soul was filled with the true reason for tri - to get out there and do it just because you're able - the truth is, out of the whole Hoyt presentation from the night before I specifically remembered his half-kidding comment, "...we finished next to last, but not last, and that was enough." At least now I knew I wasn't last, and that was enough to pull me the rest of the way out of the mud. Suddenly I felt a lot better, and at mile 25 I looked at my PowerTap once again amazed. It read 1:45. What!? That's almost the same as my Wildflower ride! Maybe I'm not too far off... The next time I looked it read 170-odd watts, 21 mph, and 90 cadence. Things were turning around. Finally.

The next 15 or so miles went well thanks to a tailwind that enabled me to speed up without as much effort, and I thought I might still have a chance to get at least somewhat close to my goal time. Things started to make sense again, and though I still wasn't riding as strongly as I knew I could, at least I felt like I had some control over myself back again.

At this point it was hard to know what to do: continue to stabilize in the last ten miles and prepare for the run, or try to surge to make up time. Honestly I was a little afraid to push my luck as volatile as I'd been thus far, so I just tried to maintain. I don't know if that was the right call or not, but it's what felt right at the time, and I suppose more often than not this is all we really can decide.

The sky was hazy and strange over the lake that, to me, may as well have been an ocean for as big as it was, and approaching transition, I tried to remember the way that horizon looked behind the tree line.

The Run

Back in transition. A city block of bikes.

Uggggggggggggh. All right well... just get this over with.

No runners. Anywhere. I wanted to go home again and was angry and frustrated at my own attitude and apparent inability to keep it in check. Man, just keep moving and forget about it. Just not your day but oh well.

I followed the orange cones up the huge hill I'd ridden earlier, and then made my way into the woods. As it 'wasn't my day', I immediately slipped on the gravel going up yet another hill. You gotta be kidding me… I shook my head, convinced someone somewhere was having a really good time pulling me up then pushing me down throughout this race. I just had no idea at the time it was me.

At the top of the hill I walked about 25 feet still disgusted and confused. I have to stop this. I have to stop thinking like this…all right, find something decent...at least it's shaded now…there, at least that. Apparently cracking that 'one decent thing' door was enough because then, like decent things were Dominoes, I noticed the trail was cool and canopied. I heard the breeze through the branches and felt my feet pounding against the ground like a heartbeat muffled by knitted layers of twigs and leaves. Suddenly I was very happy to be alone, and I felt the grip of the earlier obstacles slip away. For the first time in over an hour I didn't notice my head throbbing or my stomach and back hurting or my jaw aching, I didn't feel frozen. I worked. And I ran.

Every several steps something scurried into the underbrush, and I was instantly eight years old again curiously exploring the wooded world behind my house. Back then I pretended I was entering Narnia or Wonderland or Oz and like all little girls do, went searching for something I didn't know I already had until I found it.

It smelled clean and open and earthy as I noticed a distant rustling that soon revealed itself as a grazing fawn, which I actually stopped cold to watch for a second because I just couldn't believe my eyes. There were no cars. No train whistles. No loudspeakers. No other people except me, until suddenly there were voices. The second aid station was just a few hundred feet away, and that meant mile four was close. Mile four? …already!?

On the other side of the marker the woods ended and the sun came out. It was hot. Equator hot. And I started seeing other runners on their no doubt second loop. There was a brief bit of road running in full sun, but I didn't mind. I felt good and was happy. I didn't know how long the road running would last, but it didn't matter as long as I knew I'd get to go back in the woods before all was said and done for the day, and this pulled me forward.

The next few miles passed very quickly and I was amazed to see that I'd covered about five miles in 47 minutes. In fact I actually thought maybe I missed a mile marker or something, ...did I go down the wrong trail? But everything was on track and I felt strong. I thanked the volunteers who all just seemed extra nice, and realized if I kept this up I could still come in very close to seven hours. About 45 minutes past my goal time, but for all that happened that day I'd take it. I could still finish well. And then I let it drop.

...You've been here before though, it was going so well then too, remember? And then it all fell apart... I don't know why just then I suddenly started thinking about the back half of the Steelhead run, but I did know by this point in the race I didn't have the energy to waste on thoughts like this, so I tried to chase it off. Apparently not soon enough, however. I suppose once you open the door to possibility, it's hard to hold back what you've summoned in.

Over the next few feet there was an odd quarry sort of path just before reentering the woods for the second loop, and a bit of a precarious downhill. Within minutes of my negative thinking, I hit the ground for the third time that day. But this time I wasn't angry, I wasn't vengeful, instead I felt betrayed somehow. I'd just started to trust the race again, and felt all of the confidence I had regained in the woods spill out of me and pool all around.

I sat at the bottom of that hill for a good long while trying to make sense of things, but between the adrenaline and the disappointment and the brewing paranoia, not to mention the physicality of the day so far, I was too wrung to see anything very clearly. I just knew in a few hundred more yards I'd have a decision to make. Go on for another loop, or turn and head to the finish line, leaving the last seven miles out there for another day. Then it hit me and I closed my eyes, rested my forehead in my arms over my knees and laughed at the irony.

Seven miles? Seriously... unbelievable.

Remembering Ironman was sobering. I sat for a few more minutes like that and thought hard about what I was doing, about all I had done to get to this point, and I started doing the math. All right, when did things start going bad... the lake... the algae... I was sure it would be radioactive waste or something and then there was transition, and then the crash! And it all just got worse from there... OK, until what...until ... the silos and horses... and then the rider and then the time check and it all was getting better... and then what turned it...what happened... ah transition again...then the fall again... and watching the woods made it better... and then the time followed... omg it's me. It's me, I'm making it happen...all of this is me...so...I can change it?...I can change it....

I decided to test my theory. I got up and started moving, and when it came time to decide to either go straight ahead for seven more miles or turn and head down the hill for just one more, I went back into the woods; through my rabbit hole in search of the thing I needed to find in order to prove I already had it.

Soon I came to the climb where I fell the first time. At the top I remembered the deer, the alone sound, as well as all the scurrying and rustling and took a deep breath. ...it's working...

I was tired and mentally exhausted, but I didn't fall anymore that day. Nothing else bad happened at all. The woods were quiet. Some of the water stops were abandoned, but some weren't, and I found myself grateful for all of them. At mile eight I stopped and talked with the very motherly volunteer.

"Honey! You've had a race huh?" I smiled, and she handed me a wet paper towel as I poured water over my scraped and muddy legs.

"Yeah, hehe, it's been a pretty decent adventure."

"Well you're almost there. Keep going, kiddo." Another runner came up to the stop behind me and smiled in disbelief.

"Hey! I thought I was the absolute last one out here."

"Yeah, me too... guess there are a few of us."

I smiled and wished the runner (whom I presumed to be last) well, thanked the volunteer again, and ran on with a smirk that I hid because I knew I couldn't explain.

The woods ended very soon thereafter, mile 10, mile 11... the sun came out and the rest of the water stops were abandoned but I didn't mind. The ice left out wasn't completely melted yet, and I knew it wouldn't be long now. Soon I heard the announcer at the finish line, there were no crowds, barely any cars in the parking lot, things were being packed up everywhere, but I saw my friends. I wasn't last. And that was enough.

"And there she is! Tracy Korn makes her way in...welcome home!"

At the finish line after a very long and surreal day.

It turned out two people finished after me, one woman and one man. The woman danced a jitterbug with her husband and posed with him smiling ear to ear for pictures, and I couldn't stop watching her. My face started burning again, and that meant I was crying...again, but I wasn't particularly sad or upset or frustrated anymore. I suppose I just felt so much I didn't know what to feel as my friends gathered around me and asked what had happened. But I couldn't tell them because I had no idea where to begin.

They helped me pack my gear and clean up, they showed me the right highway to get home, and for the next six or so hours I tried to understand where I'd been and why I had to take the roads I'd taken. I thought about the events of this race, the gains and the obstacles, and I thought about all of the struggles I've encountered throughout my entire life... did I do all that too?

For as long as I can remember I've always had to fight for every scrap of success I've had, and I've taken pride in being able to outlast and overcome things that would have broken others. Though, I guess this is a natural reaction considering the only other option is self-pity and a woe is me mentality. Needless to say, it wasn't long before I came to define myself by struggling like this; there's something a little freedom fighter romantic in it, after all. Little did I know however, that this sort or mentality only perpetuated the struggling; a twisted sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.

As I drove and the sun set and the miles passed, I sat in awe of the possibility that all this time I've been the pen that's written all the ups and all the downs of my days. My doubts have drawn in the monsters that have risen up, and my fears have fleshed out the antagonists who've plagued my way. In consciously overcoming and defeating them, I've subconsciously defeated my doubts and fears. Well, I suppose in a way then I haven't really lost touch with that eight-year-old in the Narnia/Oz/Wonderland woods after all.

I'm no psychological expert, I just know how my mind works, how I deal with trauma and stress and difficulty. I write stories and find a way to work my way through. It sounds crazy that we as human beings can attract happening based on nothing more than our beliefs, but I can't argue with the 70.3 miles of proof I encountered.

I have to say it's possible. And I suppose once you open the door to possibility, it's hard to hold back what you've summoned in.