I struggled this morning a bit in my duathlon. Without the swim, I tend to get hot and more tense physically and also am not in the front of the pack because I come from a swimming background and it is so easy for me, which leaves me plenty of energy for the other events. I wanted to beat last year's time at this race, but I didn't. I took 3rd in my age group, though, and last year didn't place. That's because you don't control the other people who enter a race. You can only control your own performance, and even that is limited.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. From first pedal stroke to the kick to the finish line, I felt a blissful peacefulness that I almost always get from racing. It is why I am tempted to race too often, and also why I do not taper or take time off as much as I should. Racing is the best, but other exercise will do the same thing for me. I don't think about other things. I don't wonder how the kids are doing, or if my career is stalling, or if my friend is mad at me about the last time we talked. I don't think, really, at all. Or if I do, it is a different kind of thinking.

I focus on this moment, and on the one coming up. I think about getting to that rise over there, and on how my legs feel right now, if I can push harder or if I am at maximum. I feel how fast I am breathing and how the wind feels in my face, or how badly I need to blow my nose and if there is someone behind me who is going to get covered in snot if I do. I feel how the pavement strikes my feet, and I listen to the sound of the person who is breathing behind me. Sometimes I know they will pass me, but they are going too hard and I will pass them back. Other times, there is no chance. There is the sound of Zipp wheels going by, and today, there was the sight of a Buffalo coming within about five feet of the racer ahead of me, then stopping and turning back.

No, I don't take it easy and enjoy the sights much. I was racing on Antelope Island, which is right in the middle of the Great Salt Lake. It stinks, and I noticed that when I first arrived, but I stopped even noticing it within a few minutes. There were few cars and a long line of white on the right side of the road. One hill and then another. The beat of my heart as it slowed and quickened. The man ahead of me who I could just barely pass, and then would pass me again, when we went by the official who was counting if it took more than 15 seconds or not.

Is this what people mean when they say that they are in "the Zone?" If so, it is a place that is very small, but clean. It is safe and empty of anyone but me. Quiet in a way that is not marred by passing sounds. Beautiful, but not because of the scenery without. It is the intensity of what goes on within that I love. It is not a time for reflection and decision. And sometimes I admit that I do simple math, counting steps to one hundred, or re-calculating my speed based on the mile markers I have passed. But I like it.

A friend asked me if what I liked best about racing was being finished. No, definitely not. When I am finished, "the Zone" fades and real life returns. I have to think about getting home and filling the car with gas and making sure I eat enough to finish the rest of the day's activities. I don't know if I feel more pain afterwards than before, but it is only the pain I feel when I am finished. And so I know that this race was a success, whether I bettered my time or not. I spent two hours either not myself or most fully myself. Maybe both.