Becoming a Try-Athlete

From zero to Ironman in 20 months

An Olympic triathlon.....just 'Fake it till you make it!'

In 2012, Amy Cuddy launched her Ted Talk 'Fake it till you make it'. 

Since then, the talk has been viewed more than 41 million times. About 3.7 million of those views came from me. 

Cuddy's research shows we can change how we think about ourselves by simply changing our body language and posture.

These 'power poses' trick the brain and leave us feeling bold, confident and in control, rather than inferior or timid. 

Inspired by Cuddy's research, I spent most of my 20's practising my Lady Liberty pose in the bathroom mirror at various agencies I worked at. Reenacting the power pose technique gave me the confidence that I'd make it in the Mad Men world of advertising. 

And it worked.

And it kept working.

In fact, it even worked when Covid hit 12 years later. 

See, when bad things happen, I have a tendency to run headfirst in the other direction. So naturally, I made a rash decision. 

I didn't run outside, didn't own a bike, and hadn't swum since school, but it made total sense at that moment to sign up for an Olympic triathlon. 

(To normal, non-triathalon folk, an Olympic distance triathlon equals a 1.5km swim, straight into 40km bike ride and finishing with a 10km run) 

All the while, I had Amy in my head telling me I could do it. In fact, the ultimate 'fake it till you make it' pep talk in my mind went a little something like this: 

'You go to the gym, you lift weights, and you've played netball! 'You can do this. This will work!'

In hindsight, it really didn't work like that. But it just shows that when you channel the right mindset and strike the ultimate power pose, anything goes!

Determined, I set my first goal. I would cycle 40 km on Saturday, then run 10km on Sunday, and if I survived, I would sign up. (Naively, I thought the 1.5 km swim would be ok.*)

So first up was the 40km cycle, and I was hit by my first challenge, a vintage, 61-inch bike that belonged to my 6ft 2in partner. At this moment, I knew exactly how David felt when confronted by the enormous Goliath. I had to try and figure out how I would control this oversized steel contraption and ride it around Centennial Park… eleven times. 

Centennial Park's cycle loop is a 3.7 km 'carousel' that gently undulates amongst mature trees and vast expanses of lawn. However, I had no time to enjoy the postcard view; I was too busy avoiding other cyclists, dogs, children, tuk-tuks, geese, runners, bladers, and not forgetting the intimidating 4x4s hunting for a parking space. But like an undeterred rabbit in the headlights, I dodged the chaos, eluded the iPhone strollers and managed to complete my 40 km target in just over 1 hour and 30 mins.

I was halfway there, and I felt good.

Next up was the run. I had run cross country, albeit poorly at school, but at some point in my twenties, I just refused to run outside, convincing myself I was safer on a treadmill in the gym. But when lockdown hit, gyms were closed, and the only reason to leave home was to exercise, I suddenly found the motivation to overcome my fear. 

Ready for my 10k run, I struck a faithful Lady Liberty pose, said a 'you got this' mantra and set out the front door. 

For those who lived in Sydney during last year's lockdown, you'll know there were a huge number of runners out in force, all pounding the streets in their own unique ways. This army of new and experienced joggers, dressed in all colours, came in all sizes and ages, and I blended right in amongst them. With my heart rate jacked and face flushed red, I clocked up my 10km. I had completed my longest run in 18 years. 

On reflection, the main issue wasn't the lack of fitness or pacing but the mental battle. When you've told yourself you can't do something for years, whether you are capable or not, it's tough to convince yourself otherwise.

And just like that, I signed up for my first triathlon.

This was also when the harsh reality set in; 'fake it till you make it' could only get me so far. As it turns out, you can't fake endurance fitness, bike handling or swim skills. In fact, waking up at 5am to ride is as real as it gets. But do you know what? It gave me the mindset I needed to jump in the deep end, hit the saddle and run across the finish line. And that's precisely what I did. 

In October 2020, 5 months after starting my triathlon journey, I not only completed my first Olympic triathlon in 2 hours 50 minutes, but I came second in my age group. 

With post-race euphoria still running high, I then did what every member of my tri club told me I would do, I signed up for another race, only this time it was a 70.3 Ironman.

Sometimes the journey sucks.

The saying goes, it's the journey that matters, not the destination.

I'd hazard a guess that whoever said that didn't learn to swim as an adult. 

The swim is the shortest part of the triathlon journey but don't be fooled, this seemingly small discipline is the most technically challenging. 

With my Olympic triathlon three months away, I joined a swim squad, and my training journey went from The Shire to Mordor in the blink of an eye.

Arriving an hour early to my first squad session, I thought I'd get some practice in...before the practice. 

I naively thought I would be ok, it was only swimming, I'd had lessons at school, how hard could it be? I was soon faced with the harsh reality. I actually wasn't very good. In fact, the swim squad experience was so awful it nearly made me quit triathlon altogether. 

Let's talk time because swimming is all about pace and timing. 

Sarah Sjostrom holds the Women's 100-meter freestyle record with a jaw-dropping time of 51.71 seconds. I started with a not-so-impressive 2 mins 40 seconds per 100 meters and was out of breath after 2 of those minutes. By comparison, I was a veritable sea slug.

Starting on the back foot, my first session was only to be made worse by winter and the pool heating deciding to fail, the water was freezing.

An hour later, my triathlon comrades turn up. 

Swim squad is like a computer game; 20 players are divided across 6 lanes or 6 levels. The quicker, more efficient and better at unleashing your swim superpower, the easier it is to get to the top. Go slow, and you tumble down to level 1. And unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a shortcut.

So, cold and miserable, I started on my own in lane 1. 

After 15 minutes and umpteen laps of unsuccessful stroke correction, I was so cold I called it a day. Like a Shih Tzu that just undertook the ice bucket challenge, I scrambled out of the pool, blue, shivering and thought, 'What the actual fuck was that!' In fairness, it was probably the same thought my patient and fantastic swim coach had in that first meeting.

Nevertheless, I persisted. It took months, not days, of turning up to swim squad 3 times a week, still in the cold and the dark of Sydney's winter, to see my times improve and move up the levels. My 100m average time slowly crawled from the high 2:40s to low 2:20s… I'd made it to level two.

Then one day, after weeks of persisting, it was game over. I had no lives left and was done with swimming, this game was rigged, and I wasn't having fun. 

After a few weeks of cutting myself some slack and realising I didn't want to throw it all away, I gingerly returned to the water.

Months later, my fitness was improving, and my 100m went sub 2 minutes. I was ecstatic, Level 3 - achieved.

And actually, sub 2 mins for 100 meters had been my secret goal. This was huge, and I was ready to retire on top. But my coach had other ideas' wait 'til you get into the 1:30s,' ha! not possible, I thought.

See, here's the thing, goals are never that set in stone. They're on a horizon line. And as we get closer, we think we're there, but suddenly, the horizon looks different. Without realising it, we've achieved what we set out to, and a new goal is waiting for us. 

From then on, my times tumbled. I dropped to 1:50, 1:40 and, after months of what felt like unrewarded effort, I finally reached the thing that I never thought possible, a 1:31 for 100 meters. This was huge. I had reached the Final Zone, collected all the gold coins (Sonic the Hedgehog 1991) and completed the game. 

It took 3 sessions a week for 9 long months, but eventually, I shaved a whopping 1 minute 10 seconds off my 100 meters time, and most importantly, I fell in love with swimming. And this love has lasted. 

The saying goes: 'It's the journey that matters, not the destination.' But honestly, I hated the journey, but the destination is pretty awesome. 

Make the uncomfortable, comfortable.

A friend once quoted David Goggins, 'Find uncomfortable and stay there.' The premise being, that if you want to improve or change something, you have to step out of your comfort zone and push past the limitation you set for yourself. 

Having only just taken up triathlon, feeling uncomfortable wasn't difficult; I was uncomfortable with the bike, the swim, and the run. I was even more uncomfortable doing all of it at 5am. 

There's something about waking up early that strikes absolute fear in me. The idea of not getting enough sleep ironically prompts not enough sleep. It's a perpetual cycle associated with performance anxiety, and this spiralling insomnia plagued me for weeks.

10 hours of sleep in my twenties was standard, and anything before six-thirty was a significant challenge… unless it was for an international flight, of course. So the idea of getting up to a number starting with 'five' just to ride a bike was unfathomable. But with a triathlon looming, membership paid, and training beginning at 05:45, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 05:10. 

It was grim. Standing alone in my dark kitchen with severe anxiety, I was not only terrified of riding but exhausted from the lack of sleep. I think during those first few months, I was surviving on four hours of sleep.

It was official. I had found uncomfortable! 

As I nervously headed out my front door, the 8-minute ride to Centennial Park felt like miles. I was battling imposter syndrome and riddled with self-doubt. I was exhausted before I had even begun. 

But arriving at the meeting spot, I was greeted by a roaming community of friendly cyclists. (Circa 06/20 - pre latest lockdown.)

Dressed in pink lycra and resembling a flock of exotic birds, we headed off in a migratory pattern, hunting out the best hills to get the most power.

Riding along Sydney's well cycled bike paths, we swooped down the backstreets of Maroubra as a pack. We worked together as a team. "Hole left" one shouted before another cried "car up!" as we navigated the traffic with me neatly tucked behind the group, clinging on for dear life.

Then, like an infantry of soldiers heading back from the battlefield, we wearily headed home...via the coffee shop to spend 9 unquestionable dollars on a flat white and pastry. And let me tell you, it's $9 well spent.

After 6 weeks of this routine, my discomfort around the early mornings changed. Riding and the obligatory coffee with this community of cyclists made training not only bearable but eventually enjoyable. 

We tell ourselves we can't do this or that, but the reality is, we can. The greater truth is that we don't like being uncomfortable.

So rather than tolerating the misery of discomfort, we should find a way to make it comfortable. I looked for a reward in all that discomfort - and I found it. Once I had pushed past the limitations I'd put on myself, I'd found a community of likeminded people just doing their thing. I'd also found the most rewarding cup of coffee and croissant ever. Not to mention a community of loveable crazy cyclists to do it with.

The pain of doing hill repeats at 5am never goes away. It's always grim. And up until 5 weeks ago, coffee and my teammates are my rewards.

But with the latest lockdown, there is a new uncomfortable, we are coming up against 'languishing.' 

No more group rides, catching up with friends or lingering coffee mornings and no real end in sight.

So my alarm still rings at 5am (well, truth be told, 5:50am now we are in lockdown). I still begrudgingly unfold the duvet with added CBA, because really, who can't be arsed at the moment. But once I'm out there riding/running/swimming with my one other exercise buddy, I'll still think, 'I'm so glad we did that.' And how lucky we are to do so. 

I hope, however uncomfortable this lockdown has made you, you find a way to make it as comfortable as possible. 

COVID Identity crisis

COVID hit, and so did redundancy. Having moved from London to Sydney the year before to make my mark on the Australian advertising scene, the anger and frustration were overwhelming. I felt stuck, like my career down under had truly gone under before it had even begun. 

Missing the gratification of long hours, being part of pitch-winning teams, finding opportunities in nearly every brief and the camaraderie of creativity, I found myself in a place I hadn't been before, I was jaded, lost and fed up. And for the first time, I declared, 'I'll never work advertising ever again!". And to my surprise, especially considering the lack of running, swimming and cycling in my life, I cried, "I'm signing up for a triathlon!"

Ten months later, I still work in advertising, have completed my first Olympic Triathlon and signed up for a 70.3 Ironman.

And as it turns out, the Art Director doesn't fall far from the proverbial tree. Advertising and Triathlon might seem like two very different beasts, but they're really quite similar. Here's what I've noticed. 

The love-hate relationship. 

You swear you should be doing something else. You see Greta saving the world whilst you're on round 4 of a client battle about the colour of a mug. The frustration is too much. But then you pitch, nail the brief or win that war, and suddenly it's the best thing ever. It's the thing you were meant to do. You feel the rush of instant gratification, and all is forgiven. 

It's the same with training. 

You question your choices when the alarm rages at 5 am, it's chucking it down outside, and everything is hurting from the day before. But when you get out on the road and have a great training session, you get that same rush. And you know you're on the right track. It's love-hate whether you like it or not. 

It's never good enough. 

As a creative, you never settle. There's always another idea waiting to be explored or a better brief to be had. 

It's the same with training. You feel like you should be going further, faster and improving your skill at every point. You always want more. 

Imposter syndrome is still here.

Whether you're in an office or on the bike, the same fear's there; Everyone else is more talented and generally way better, fitter, stronger and faster. 

You need to work longer and harder; otherwise, you're going to get found out. 

The women.

Female CCOs, ECDs and even CDs are rare, but they exist, and for the most part, they are formidable. The same goes for women in triathlons, women who defy age and gender, placing in the top ten, giving every man a run for their money. It's 'This Girl Can' in lycra.

The testosterone. 

Patronizing comments, exclusion, an old boys club. Tick, tick and tick. But there are those golden guys out there, the ones who don't see gender and are willing to share knowledge, experience and encouragement.

The team.

There's a particular bond in creative departments; you're in it together, the late nights, the ideas, we bounce off each other. And the same can be said for triathletes. You're in it together, the 5am wake up calls, riding as a pack, pushing each other. Celebrating the wins and coming together during the lows. 

The main difference?

After years of late-night pitching and Friday afternoons in the pub, I had become a hardy drinker, now one whiff of Rosé, and I'm on the floor. It's true; the world of triathlons is a much healthier place. 

Whilst Triathlons aren't going to improve my book, win me any kind of award or help me get a promotion, they've taught me a lot. And whether it's in a pack or on a pitch, nothing beats being in it together. 

So however you are getting through the COVID crisis; sourdough, yoga, pottery or unprecedented Netflix binges, I hope it helps you get back to you.