Alone With My Thoughts: What My First Olympic Triathlon Has Me Thinking

This past weekend, I completed my first Olympic-distance triathlon in Chicago and I didn’t have my headphones in once. (It was not allowed, LOL)

Not during the swim in beautiful Lake Michigan at 6:00 a.m., watching the sunrise over Montrose Harbor. Not during the 24-mile bike ride along Lake Shore Drive and through Lower Wacker, where I genuinely felt a little like Batman. And not during the six-mile run past Soldier Field and the Shedd Aquarium, yearning to catch a glimpse of the beluga whales along the way.

No music. No podcast. No distraction. Just me: my thoughts, worries, doubts, mantras, wandering mind, and attempts at mindfulness. I thought about how far I had left to go, what I was going to eat afterward, and, more than once, when I would see my cheer squad again.

It was a strange feeling to feel so alone with my thoughts while also feeling incredibly supported. I was swimming, biking, and running on my own, but I was surrounded by other athletes, volunteers, the SuperTri team, my brother and sister-in-law who signed up to do the race with me, and my cousin, who has been an inspiration and mentor throughout my athletic life. She mailed me her old Garmin, gave me training tips, and quite literally held my hand across the finish line during my first few sprint triathlons.

I kept coming back to the fact that both things could be true at once. I could feel alone and supported. Nervous and excited. Confident and doubtful. I think we sometimes expect ourselves to choose one emotion, when in reality, being human and being an athlete means holding many feelings at the same time.

Throughout the race, I also thought a lot about the athletes I support as a mental health therapist. I used them as motivation and thought about the conversations I've had with athletes around resilience, self-talk, visualization, mindfulness, and navigating discomfort. But my competitive side showed up, too. There was a voice telling me I needed to do this well because I work with athletes. I needed to practice what I preach. I needed to demonstrate resilience, mental toughness, and all of the skills I encourage my clients to develop.

I'll admit that was part of my motivation. But another part was much simpler: I wanted to feel proud of myself.

Somewhere in the middle of the race, I realized something that felt surprisingly freeing: I was going to be proud of myself no matter what. No matter my time, my place in my age group, or whether every part of the race went the way I wanted it to. As a former Division I athlete, I'm annoyingly familiar with having achievement tied to a result. Even when you know your worth isn't determined by performance, it can be difficult to separate the two after years of competitive sport.

This experience reminded me that I can still care about performance, want to do well, and be competitive without making the outcome a measure of my worth.

Not having headphones also gave me an unexpected opportunity to practice what I often talk about with my athletes: being present with what is actually happening. My mind wasn't always calm or focused. Sometimes I used a mantra. Sometimes I focused on my breathing. Sometimes I noticed the city around me. Sometimes I worried about my pace or how much farther I had to go. Sometimes my mind wandered completely.

And maybe that is mindfulness, not having a perfectly quiet mind, but noticing what is happening without immediately needing to change it.

This race reminded me that mental toughness isn't about never doubting yourself or always thinking positively. Sometimes it is simply noticing the doubt and continuing anyway. It is allowing yourself to be uncomfortable without deciding that something has gone wrong. It is hearing your inner critic without letting it have the final word.

Crossing that finish line was something I had to do myself, but I certainly didn't do it alone. And maybe that's what I'll remember most: we can have deeply individual experiences while still being surrounded by support. We can care about performance without making it our identity. We can push ourselves without punishing ourselves.

And sometimes, the most meaningful finish line is the one where you realize you are proud of yourself before you even know your time.