Race Report
Smelling the Flowers: Musings following a world record
Most triathletes are focused on getting faster. We are obsessed with splits (times, rather than actually doing the splits, which could cause all manner of groin injuries), PBs and finish times. We also have a tendency to rush from one activity to the next, determined to hit our goals and fill every waking moment with something we can write on Facebook. We have our heads down in our aerobars or focused on the black line of the pool. We might even do a run without truly seeing things along the way. I am no different. In fact, I am the proverbial Duracell bunny that can never sit still: I find it hard truly to just “be.”
Most sports psychologists can tell you how to motivate yourself and cope with nerves, but what if you also need to learn how to rest your mind, to be still, to slow down, to just be in the moment?
Here is my blog following Challenge Roth in 2011, when I reflected on my world record, the passing of time and the need to celebrate and smell the flowers each and every day.
I lie face down on the ground, tears of relief, pride and joy dripping on to the carpet, the clock above my head reading 8.18.13. I stand up, wobble, embrace those I care about most and prepare for the deluge of photographs and interviews. Cameras, microphones, Dictaphones, mobile phones and old-fashioned notebooks are thrust under my nose, and within seconds I’m asked the question: “Chrissie, can you go faster?” Part of me wants to respond with “There are always areas of improvement, so yes, of course!” but the other half thinks “Please, just slow down, let’s all sit back and celebrate this achievement.”
Time conscious, adrenalin loving, speed seeking; like many of us, I live my life at warp speed. I always have done since I was a small child. Why walk when you can run? Why chew your food when you can do the “snake swallowing a whole rat” trick? Why fold your clothes when you can simply throw them into a drawer? I was constantly thinking of the future, wondering what it may bring, impatiently planning what I would do next. And, worried that I wasn’t making the most of everything that was on offer, I spent years living in London frantically catapulting myself between work, the theatre, sports events, dinners, concerts and training sessions. And in my rush, I would fall over, break bones, slice my tongue (that’s another story) and cover myself in unsightly bumps and bruises. I resembled an Energizer Bunny—always running—figuratively and literally.
And, despite the passing of the years, not much has changed. I am still like a Formula 1 driver on amphetamines. My clothes are never folded and always creased, I still eat my dinner like the presenter of Man v. Food, shoving as much as I can into my mouth without it even touching my teeth (I make for a delightful dinner guest), I try to finish an Ironman distance race in 8.18, and afterwards I can’t even slow down enough to pour the huge vessel of beer into my mouth—instead sending it cascading over my head. (I smelt like a brewery at the press conference, but was as sober as a judge.)
Yes, I’m still racing through life like a frenzied bargain hunter at a jumble sale.
However, even I am starting to recognise the need to slow down, take a breath and to savour the moment.
When I sliced my hand with a knife four days before Alpe d’Huez Long Course Triathlon in 2007 (in a rushed attempt to hack my bike-computer zip ties off), Brett had no sympathy. His words: “You think things just happen to you by accident. They don’t. You deserve the misfortune because you are not methodical or calm in your body and mind.” Too true. He then imparted a few words of wisdom: “Learn to hurry—slowly.” More recently, in my boyfriend [now husband] Tom, I have seen calmness incarnate. He is still seven minutes faster than me in an Ironman, but he teaches me every day what it means to be unruffled, patient, orderly and, yes, how to fold clothes.
And so, post-Roth, I took a leaf out of his book and used that leaf to really smell the flowers. Instead of my long run I did a hike in the mountains around Boulder. I went on my own, with my water bottle and camera for company. The first few hours I spent climbing, rushing up the side of the hills as fast as my legs would carry me (not that fast, given post-race fatigue), but then I got to the top and paused, taking more than a moment to savour the spectacular view. I journeyed on and began to really look at my surroundings. Not just seeing, but soaking up the landscape and the amazing minutiae of the natural world—in particular, the plethora of flowers that were growing around me. I didn’t know their names, but the varied shapes and rainbow of colours amazed me. And instead of rushing past, I stopped, and photographed as many as I could. I saw butterflies flirting with each other, and being more measured, quiet and patient, I didn’t scare them off; instead they perched unperturbed on the purple petals, sampling the nectar. And as I descended into the forest I resisted the customary Chrissie urge to run—instead appreciating how the dappled sunlight made beautiful, intricate patterns on the ground beneath me. Gandhi was right, “There is more to life than increasing its speed.”
So, going forward, I am trying to incorporate a little of this experience into my everyday life. To chew my food; to avoid simultaneously watching television, surfing the web and talking on the phone; to rest and recover my mind as well as my body; to understand that I cannot do everything and must learn to say no; and to appreciate the moment for what it is, rather than what it is leading to.
Celebrations at the finish line of Challenge Roth, 2011.
Yes, I live my life for racing. But this doesn’t have to mean living my life like it is a race. 
