This post originally appeared in the Instagram feed of Liz Waterstraat, a longtime heart-rate and triathlon coach in our Train Like a Mother Club, and a frequent co-host of Another Mother Runner podcast. It is used with permission.

My 2024 local sprint triathlon world tour is complete:

Pioneer🥇overall

Fox Lake🥇 overall

Pleasant Prairie 🥈overall

Door County🥇AG / 4th overall

Naperville 🥇overall

The final race was my favorite. It was my first triathlon in 1999, my hometown race. I’ve won it 2 times prior. I felt pressure but mostly excitement. I couldn’t wait to see what I could do out there.

Race morning, @liz_rod4 said “you’re going to win today.” I wanted to win. But my stomach sunk walking around transition seeing the local kids elite team, some former winners, and over 530 women racing. I told her a lot of things needed to happen for it to be my day.

I positioned myself to ease into the swim, to coast by the scrum, and then sit on someone’s feet for a faster pull to the exit.

I cranked up my effort into transition, I couldn’t wait to start riding. I raced a few young gals. I put out the highest watts and speed I’ve seen in years in a sprint. Mostly it felt like playing.

At the start of the run, there were two young women ahead of me. I didn’t feel light, effortless or any of those things we think we need to run well. I got to work, a sweaty mess huffing on the edge until the last half mile when I moved into first place. I cruised to the finish line (and my fastest time ever at that race).

“Liz, you nailed it.” (@christianwaterstraat)

Whether it’s the local sprint or a national championship, I’ve learned to stop minimizing the outcome—like “it’s just a sprint” or “only ____ showed up today.” It all takes the same effort to win your day and vulnerability to even put yourself on the line to start the race. Be proud of your accomplishments.

A few weeks ago, I turned 49. As we get older as women, we wait for that wall of slowness to hit us, to say goodbye to our speed and our body, and all those other things we clung to in youth for proof that we were worth something.

In some ways I’ve slowed down. And my race kit is much snugger. Oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️ None of it matters. If my local sprint world tour taught me anything it’s to show up as you are, give it the best of what you have, and let yourself RACE.

You might just surprise yourself.