On Imperfection (or not being able to do everything you initially imagined).

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

–Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

I’ve been training for my second Ironman for several months now– I did my first last year, and finished successfully despite rather dramatic (pun intended) odds, including getting knocked off my bike by someone passing me illegally and weather of truly Lear-like proportions. (And no, I’m not exaggerating. Ask me and I’ll tell you the whole crazy story sometime.) All of which is very satisfying, except in the places where it isn’t.

Yes, I can now point to that experience and say, “See that? If I can do that, I can certainly do whatever is being asked of me right now.” And that’s unquestionably a useful thing. But there’s no doubt that the experience was not what I had imagined, did not come close to what I could have done had circumstances utterly beyond my control not intervened.

Hence this year’s planned race: I’m on sabbatical, so I’ll have time to train,  I thought. This time I’ll get it absolutely right. This time everything will be dialed in. This time it will be perfect.

And Lear and the gods laughed.

I trained, just like the plan told me to. I did everything I was told to do. I worked hard, I ate right, I went to bed early.

And I got slower. My heart rate spiked higher, and earlier than it ever had before. I wondered what on earth was going on.

At first I blamed allergies– there’s no question that the trees on the east coast (where I spent most of this spring) were out to get me with their pollen. One weekend, my throat was so swollen with coughing that I couldn’t utter any sound at all. (Huge relief that I didn’t have an audition or acting workshop that weekend.) The planned marathon in May became a half-marathon with my sister, which was great fun because I love running with her, but very tough when I had to tug her sleeve at one point and gasp, “Stop. I can’t breathe.”

The moment passed, but it wasn’t fun. We kept on going, and finished in a respectable-for-us time, but I was wheezing and spent, wondering What on earth is wrong with me?

The litany of self-blame was endless: I’m fat. I’m horribly out of shape. The idea of completing a full Ironman is a joke. What on earth am I doing here? Round and round the chorus went, reinforced every time I went out for a run or tried to pick up the speed in my swim intervals.

I went and saw my doctor last week– initially to get a referral to an allergist, given the breathing issues earlier in the season. But I also mentioned the HR spiking and an article my mother had sent me about Paula Findlay (a fabulous Canadian triathlete whose heartbreaking difficulties at the recent Olympics became ultimately traceable to a serious ferritin-deficiency issue), so got a full CBC and ferritin test, just to be sure.

The very next day, the doctor called (note: when your doctor calls you the day after your visit, something’s likely to be wrong)– sure enough, I was anemic: the levels of iron in my blood are lower than normal, so not enough red blood cells can get made to distribute oxygen where it needs to go. And my ferritin levels (= the iron stored by my bone marrow) are particularly low. Hence (possibly) the high HR, difficulty breathing, and unexplained tiredness in the afternoons.

More tests are to come to make sure we know where the anemia comes from. But honestly, my first reaction was relief. Oh. So that’s what’s going on. It’s not my fault after all.

(Also, I admit that I thought, Hey, now I have something more in common with Paula Findlay besides being freckled female Canadian triathletes! Paula is, needless to say, vastly more talented and quick than I’ll ever be at this sport.)

There’s really something quite extraordinary about realizing that one really has done everything one could– it’s just that circumstances have intervened to put some parameters on what that means.

For the moment, for instance, that means that running is a run-walk proposition: run until my HR reaches the top of Zone 2 (out of 5), then walk until it drops about 20 beats, then run again. Repeat ad infinitum. Not only can I do this for a long time, I can now concentrate on form during the run segments, rather than on just hanging on for as long as I can. (That May half-marathon was mostly done in Zone 4, it turns out– one stage below flat-out. No wonder I was utterly spent by the end of it.)

So I’ll take my supplements, eat iron- and fibre-rich foods (though ideally not at the same time), and keep on training. Rather mundane, really. While the would-be-perfectionist in me is disappointed (dammit, the ideal plan eludes me yet again!), the rest of me is hugely relieved. I can still do the best I can– and that will be enough. It has to be, because that’s all there is. Anemia isn’t an excuse for complacency, but it is an explanation for exhaustion.

Similarly, I can give all I can to the students who need me at the moment, but that’s all– and that will have to be enough. They really can do the rest themselves.

None of it is perfect, or even what I could have imagined. But, like every different night onstage in the theatre, it is enough. It has to be– it’s all I have. And that has to be all right right now.

No more excuses…

It’s official. There simply are no more excuses for me not to get cracking on the various piles of work I have to do this summer (including regular posting here).

I was recently away for two months, and while I could have posted then, it was altogether too easy to say “I don’t have time,” or “I’ll wait until I get home and can use my home computer to write more fully.” That sort of thing. Plus, to be honest, days spent reading, transcribing, and otherwise staring at seventeenth-century documents are simply exhausting. (No, really. Remind me to show you what I mean sometime.)

Then I got back, and shortly after, my home computer gave ominous warnings of its incipient demise. (Nothing like NOT TURNING ON to send a clear message about impermanence.)

I can recognize a cue when it hits me over the head. So today I went out and splashed out on my new home machine, completing the transition from Windows to Mac (because I was sick of Vista and its stupidity– yes, my hardworking home machine was that old– and had heard very little to recommend Windows 8. Plus, I loved my traveling Mac that I used while away, and a beastie on my desk that makes me WANT to sit there for hours working? Made Of Win.).

Evidently, the beastie is now up and running, thereby remaking my portal to the Net and simultaneously whisking away any other weaselly whiny whinges about not working. (This thing is seriously sexy, in a WOW kind of way.)

Of course, the list of Stuff I Want to Write, Think, Opine, And Occasionally Rant About hasn’t gotten any shorter from being away from here either. Just so you know.

Let the type-fest of various sorts begin!