Triathlon Roadmaps

It's a Tuesday night and I am sitting here in a hotel room in Boston, MA, half listening to Man vs Food, eating a salad and longing for my running gear. Boston is such an awesome place to run. Little more than three blocks away from my hotel is a wonderful trail that runs along the river. Lots of runners, walkers and cyclists weave their way around each other on the tiny paved path in a dance of the fitness determined. Tonight, I wish I could count myself among them. 

SIGH.

I am here for the bi-annual Sales Meeting that my company has every year. Today I had to present my product and product updates for all the sales folks. It was nerve-wracking but fine. I don't like public speaking but it's a necessary evil in my job. Typically, all of the presenting participants are invited to dinner to mingle and press the flesh of the revenue generators they hardly ever get to see. Let's face it, they have better things to do than hang out with a bunch of product folks. Because of this, I decided not to pack running clothes or shoes because I figured (as has been the case in the past) that I'd go straight from the meeting to dinner. But this time, that was not the case. I ended up dateless for dinner with nothing but time on my hands.

UGH! I could have gotten a nice, long RUN in. 

Oh well, I guess there are just some things you can't account for. Not being "required" at dinner is one of them. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. I like our sales folks. They are fun, positive and vibrant. They keep the faith and add cheer to a company that sometimes has trouble seeing the opportunities for the risks. I love them for that. They believe!

So my thoughts turn from technical product roadmaps to the triathlon off season, my lackadaisical training regime as of late (sorry Coach Liz) and what the next season will hold. I have pondered another 70.3 race and when it's all said and done, I don't wanna. AND, I feel GUILTY about that. I did not have what I would call at GREAT race this year. I trained, stressed and really put the time in only to have it not work out on race day. STILL, I feel some sort of odd obligation. So as I sit here sort of pouting and pondering next year's race calendar, I realize that putting together next year's roster of races is not unlike certain aspects of product management. 

As a product manager, you consider your buyer and/or user (me), what characteristics, abilities and limitations she has and build a product that meets her needs or addresses her pain points. As the "user" I've had some good training experiences and some not so good ones this season. I have sensitive feet that need constant monitoring due to past injury and a longing to get more than two rest weekends of my summer back from relentless triathlon training. I love to train and combine my vacations with training and/or exercise (there is a difference). If I had a wish list for swimming, I'd swim in the sea every. SINGLE. day. Rivers freak me out and there are always those damn jellies! I am very busy with the day job and really need to race in events that "sharpen the spear" instead of build toward something big. 

When I consider myself as the "user" of my race season, the complexion changes. I become less emotional and more logical about what's best for my body, mind, spirit and life. 

I ponder the requirements list for a good race calendar:

• Not so short that's it's boring (sprint) but not so long that I am panic stricken if I miss a long brick (70.3 or over)
• Breaks the monotony
• Fewer jellyfish stings
• Allows for more pure run races
• Keeps my weekend training down to less than three hours

If I were to try to design a schedule for the me tri user based on these requirements I would choose Olympic distance tris and/or duathlons. And you know what else? I would NOT feel guilty. I would feel like I'd MET the requirements and answered the pain points. 

So as I sit here and type instead of run, maybe the best way to think about the new season and assuage my guilt is to see it through the lens of a product manager. Internalize what the requirements are instead of what I feel on emotional level is "not enough". I can then choose races and set goals around the time for those races that make me feel proud for having made the effort. 

The product approach, who would have thought?

The Finish Line

Running has always been a sacred space for me. From the time I ran around the block for the first time, I was hooked. I remember the first time I ran 8 miles. It was on Christmas Day and the trail was empty. Just me, what wild life was left and a forest of hibernating trees. I could see my breath and feel my heart beat as my legs moved me effortlessly forward. I felt joy rise up and fill my heart as I ran the last hundred yards to the car. I'd never run farther in my life before that day. There would be longer distances and many more days but for some reason, that eight mile run really stands out. I felt like I was one with the Universe.

Running is my moving meditation. My opportunity to leave the mind behind and really focus on being in the moment.

Running is the great equalizer. It does not care how much money you have, how influential you are or whether you are grouchy or kind. It treats everyone the same - you get from running what you give. That fairness, that equalization, is also why running is the great connector. It galvanizes communities, families, friends and causes. It inspires others to come out and cheer and selflessly celebrate the accomplishment of another. Running draws people together in warmth and celebration. It is a exercise in hope and goodness. Or it was. 

Watching the terror at the Boston Marathon was one of the most difficult things I've witnessed. I watched as the carnage of runners, friends, family and spectators of all kinds lay strewn near the finish line. Tears stung my eyes as I heard that a little 8 year old boy was killed. WHY?!? I kept asking. Who would want to blow up a marathon?!? And worst of all, why blow up the FINISH LINE?!

The Finish Line. The most sacred place in any race. I thought about how many times I've crossed a finish line. At least 30 times and each and every one of them was a celebration. Sometimes I saw someone I loved patiently and eagerly awaiting my arrival. Almost always there were volunteers and other spectators cheering me on to the finish. Many times, athletes who'd finished earlier in the day had returned to keep cheering for those of us who were mere mortals. The finish line is a place of celebration, hope, encouragement and love. It is also a place of remembrance. 

Those last 100 or so yards before you cross the finish line, when the crowds are cheering and the end is quickly approaching is surreal. Every sacrifice no matter how small passes through your mind. Every painful training run; early morning or late night workout; every frustrated tear or small victory; every missed happy hour and all those times someone called you "crazy" or "obsessed". All of those memories remind you how you came to be 100 yards from a sign that reads, "FINISH". I can't tell you how many times I've had tears in my eyes crossing that line. The Finish Line is the one place where joy and turmoil are not at cross purposes. Where the sweetness of perseverance and determination is rewarded with those last precious strides. 

By blowing up the finish line at the Boston Marathon, those terrorists raped all runners of the bliss we feel crossing over that sacred spot. Many of us will run again and will cross many more finish lines, but we will never be as innocent again. We will have a twinge of fear for those who wait for us and so selflessly cheer us on and wonder if they will be safe. We will be looking around to see if it's safe to cross - like we would if we were crossing a dangerous street. Yes, we will pick ourselves up like runners always do but we will never be the same. 

The Finish Line will still be my place of hope, truth and satisfaction. I will never let those bastards have that. But I will never again be the same. I will never be able go back to those days of fearless innocence - blissfully gliding across the line without a care in the world.