Tyranena Beer Run (Half Marathon)--11/8/14

I love this race. The people are friendly, the course is varied and interesting, the post-race food and drink highly motivating, the weather is...weather. I've done Tyranena in bitter cold and bitter colder. I've shed and re-applied and shed layers again. You just never know.

This one was mid-high 30s and partly sunny, which is darn close to my optimal running weather. And the elusive PR was the only thing on my mind. Nutrition dialed in, save a bonus cup of coffee on the drive there. How much damage can it do?

Mile One: 8:45 pace. A little fast, but it'll be fine.

Miles 2-6: Comfortable 9:00-9:15 miles. I'll get this PR if it kills me.

Miles 7-11: Hanging around 9:15--not enough for the Golden sub-2 hours, but plenty of PR cushion.

Mile 11: Cramp. Not a run-through-it cramp. Not a Start-to-limp-a-little cramp. Not even a Stop-to-stretch-it-out-for-a-few-seconds cramp. This was a You're-not-running-anymore-for-awhile cramp. Stretching didn't help. Walking didn't help. The PR was slipping away.

An angel of a spectator offered me her water bottle when she saw my pain. I slammed it and it was just enough to hobble through the final two miles.

I missed the PR by a minute and a half. Bitch.

The spaghetti wasn't even as good as I remember.

On my car was a flyer for Last Call Half Marathon in Waukesha a month later. You better believe I signed up for it.

AG Nationals (Sprint)--8/10/14

The recurring lesson of the summer came to a head at this race--my feelings of competency in the sport are currently based on the company I keep. During the school year (off-season) I'm with my friends and colleagues at work, where I can claim best triathlete, second-best cyclist and top-3 runner status. I don't mind this status one bit.

My ego started its beating this season with the Aquathon series, where I repeatedly exited the water in the bottom third of the pack. It continued at the Masters swim classes where four lanes of swimmers do 100s on 1:50 or better. And it culminated at AG Nationals, where the hard-core and the gifted converge to remind me that I have plenty of work to do.

I kept expectations low. While many participants were aiming for a spot at the World Championships I would be satisfied to finish in the top half. I set up transition as always and wandered like a fish out of water waiting for my wave to warm up.

I had a few acquaintances racing as well but didn't feel close enough to them to "hang out" pre-race. There are many benefits to having a strong support system in the tri community and passing time together before a race is one of them. For whatever reason I've stayed on the fringes of tri communities. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Finally it came time to warm up. I had heard the Lake Michigan water temp was in the 60s and we all know my dislike for cold water. It turned out to be quite pleasant (thank you wetsuit).

The horn was off and I gave it what I had. At one point I felt a bit flooded but eventually settled into a groove. I checked my watch upon exit and it was still at zero so I'd have to wait to see how it went but it felt strong and somewhat fast.

Wetsuit removal was just okay. I think I want a new wetsuit. My old one doesn't fit well and has some tears in it. Or maybe all wetsuits are hard to get off. The real frustration was buckling the helmet. For some reason I couldn't line it up and I lost at least 30 seconds on it. Boo.

Mount was uneventful and I was off on the bike. It was now cloudy and breezy but I was already feeling fatigue. After all, it was the first time I biked after swimming all season. I kept up a race pace throughout the mostly flat course but my 18.4 MPH final average was disappointing.

T2 went well thank goodness, and the run began. Wow, do my legs feel heavy. And plodding. Cumbersome. Slow. I was doing 9-minute miles and not feeling like I had anything left. These were not the times I was putting out last year--further evidence of plateaued fitness.

Disappointment rose when I checked online results a few hours later. Swim time was acceptable, but the other times (not to mention the soreness the rest of the day) wasn't what I had hoped, and the top half of my division didn't happen.

But I have a plan. I'll consult with a coach to get a strength training regimen started in the off-season. I'll read up on Ironman training and nutrition. I'll scale back on bike-run workouts to give my body a break.

As for my sense of competency, I figure I have three choices:

-Compare myself only to the people in my life who don't do what I do

-Compare myself only to the people in my life who do what I do

-Compare myself only to myself

I'm working on Option #3.

Lakefront Marathon--10/6/13

My second attempt at this marathon, I felt extremely confident.  On the heels of a surprisingly successful race season my training was solid, my form lithe, my spirits high. 

I couldn't say the same for Lydia, shown here in true pre-breakfast mood.

My lobsters dropped me off about half an hour before the gun.  I figured that was plenty of time for a pre-race photo, a warm-up/stretch, and a trip to the port-a-potties.

It wasn't.  With three minutes to the start of the race I was still (last) in line at the potties, and hopes of expelling, ahem, everything were dashed.  A quick pee, then the gun went off.  I felt the need to nearly sprint to the start, strip off my outer layer, and dash off at a 10K pace even though my timing chip would prevent a late start penalty.

My start was rushed and a bit frenetic but I soon settled into a rhythm.  I forced my first walk break at 30 minutes and then forgot to walk again for another 20 minutes.  Feeling strong, I chose to extend the breaks to every 8-9 minutes instead of every seven as planned.  Perhaps that was the start of the demise.  The soreness kicked in around Mile 9, and the GI issues (relieved at Mile 11 with a three-and-a-half minute delay) meant for a more challenging race than expected.  Luckily I had my cute athletic supporters.

Even with soreness and GI it brightens everything to see your athletic supporters.

Here I am saying something unintelligible:

And blowing kisses:

It turns out that Erika contacted the friends we have in the area seeking more spectators.  I have awesome friends.

My girls remained chipper.  Frequent snacks helped.

At Mile 15 I veered off the path to give some kisses.  I was in so much pain I just needed to stop for some lovin'.

I finished in 4:26, about 16 minutes faster than my previous marathon time and four minutes faster than my goal pace.  I don't recall ever being in that much pain when I finally stopped running.

After a chocolate milk and a beer I felt more like myself and we posed...with smiles this time.

Devil's Lake Triathlon--9/18/11

You wouldn't know it from reading here, but I've done Devil's Lake twice.  The first was in 2010, the Fall after the girls had arrived.  Training had dwindled to one or two short workouts per week and sleep was still in fits and starts.  But I'd signed up for it long ago and damned if I would DNS.  So we spent the night before with friends Nancy and Superstar Chris, whom I believe rolled out of bed that morning, registered for the race and finished in half the time.  Good thing he's a nice guy or I'd be really jealous.  

My abysmal performance in this race wasn't all my fault.  The course is a challenge.  That lake was super hilly.  Or so I tell everyone.

The reason there are no other triathletes in sight in this photo is because I am most likely dead last.

Onto the bike.  No kidding, this leg actually does kick one's ass.  I had prepared for this.  (And by "prepared", I mean mentally.  I mapped out the bike course online to view the grade of hills.  It's the closest I could get.)  But it wasn't enough.  Two or three times I did the unspeakable:  I dismounted and walked up parts of the hill.  The end result was a second-to-last-in-my-division bike time and an embarrassing MPH-average barely in double digits.  I think my athletic supporters had assumed I got lost out there.

The run was redeeming, but only slightly.  I maintained a pace I could live with, but unfortunately so did everyone else.  End result:  17th in my AG.  Out of nineteen.  But I finished, dammit.  I never got around to writing the post however; it fell by the wayside along with my training.

The next year I was back, ready to reclaim some pride.  I knew what to expect this time and was relieved that it was literally impossible to do worse than 2010.  We began the day with a contender for the website "Awkward Family Photos".

Is that me, with an actual smile and a wave as I dash to T1?

T1 time was lengthened to add a layer--it was a chilly drizzly day--but not enough to offset the bike ride nominated for Most Improved.  Not once did I dismount, already a bonus.  Better mental strength and more experienced strategy resulted in shaving a full 15 minutes off the bike split.

And this run meant more than just "do better than last year".  For a few years I've wanted to break 9' miles in a race and this run course provided the best opportunity to get it.  I gave it everything.  My face here shows it:

The run was nearly a 3 1/2 minute improvement and clocked in at 8:37 per mile.  

I'll take it.

I'm not planning on Devil's Lake in 2012.  I wouldn't want to push my luck.  I'll just let this one sit for a while and bask in the glory.

Camp Whitcomb-Mason--8/9/09

It's impossible to compare results from two different races--apples and oranges occur in course distances, terrain, transition area size, wave size...I could go on.



Not this time.



It's on.



Self 2008 v. Self 2009






At Camp Whitcomb-Mason, I return for the first time to attack a course again, with a very clear goal: Beat the first time by five minutes or more.





The score will tally in my head as I push to emerge victorious. Over myself.



I begin the race in my birthday present--a full-sleeved sexy wetsuit, a master of buoyancy, the sultan of sleek, sure to chop time off my swim. And it does--about two minutes.



2009 Self--1

2008 Self--0





All summer I've repetitively hammered out the fine art of the "flying mount". Instead of bending over (or sitting down) and forcing dry bike shoes on wet feet, then hobbling like a duck out of Transition and mounting the bike, I now have my shoes clipped on the pedals ahead of time. I whip out of the wetsuit (thank you Body Glide), pop on the helmet, and run barefoot to the road, swing a leg over to mount the bike, pedal a bit to pick up some speed, then reach down as my foot slides into the shoe and fasten them shut. Minutes spared.



2009 Self--2

2008 Self--0





The forecast for the race was hot and humid. I came prepared. I had electrolytes tucked in my pocket, a little anti-dehydration trick I picked up in '09.



2009 Self--3

2008 Self--0



Turned out they didn't do much good. The heat had kicked in and I was dry from the swim by the second mile of a 22-mile bike ride. I had plenty of water and was taking electrolytes religiously every 15 minutes, but they weren't making a dent. Around Mile 10 I started to feel nauseous.



2009 Self--3

2008 Self--1



While the nausea subsided, it was clear by the 15th mile that I wouldn't hit my goal bike split.



2009 Self--3

2008 Self--2



T2 was a welcome sight. So welcome in fact that I overshot the timing pad and had to double back to pass my timing chip over it. Sigh.



2009 Self--3

2008 Self--3



I entered T2 just trying to stay upright. I was beat, mentally and physically. The rest of the race was just a 5K I had to get through.



I learned later that our friend Candice, spectating with my lobster at this race, commented upon my entry to T2 that "she doesn't look good". That was putting it mildly.



2009 Self--3

2008 Self--4





The run course did a very good job of providing cold water and sprinklers to run through for the athletes now competing in near-90 temps. I was just too far gone. I ran the best I could and it was all I had left, but in the end I finished about six minutes slower than last year. Chalk it up to weather, I guess. We'll be back next year.



Maybe.



Winner: 2008.





P.S. Or maybe not.

Every summer I worked at CWM, we eagerly looked forward to cheering Margaret across the finish line. She entered the race each year and finished last each year, but inspired us to tears nonetheless because of her spunk and vibrant optimism for a spry little woman in her 80s. This year I spied her before the race began and introduced myself, sharing with her what it's meant to us camp staff to watch her finish this race year after year. She finished last again this year, of course, but this time with the media attention and a full standing ovation of every athlete who had finished before her. Well done, Margaret. You win.

Bigfoot Triathlon--6/28/09

I started writing this post in my head during the run; that's how my day was going. I just wanted it to be over, because everything that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. I'm not berating my own abilities here, just acknowledging the middle finger that luck and circumstance had given me here at Bigfoot.

Weather.com had forecast calm, cool weather until noon, but the 5 AM whitecaps on the waves in Lake Geneva suggested otherwise. The half-mile swim tossed us all around like rag dolls and teased my tendency for motion-sickness. Thank goodness for my brand new full-sleeved wetsuit, right?

I love my wetsuit, and it loves me. A little too much. It wouldn't. come. off. I'm cursing under my breath in Transition as athletes fly by, whipping their own suits off while mine refuses to budge.

I'm finally free. I'm running to the road, ready to mount. My shoes are clipped into the pedals already so I step solidly on my left shoe, then knock my heel against the right to send it flying? What the? THAT'S not supposed to happen. A kind bystander retrieves both shoes for me (the left had managed to unclip itself somewhere in my "Son of a B****!!" moment) and I hunch over, embarassed, to put on the shoes and re-mount the bike.

The wind that caused the vicious lake waves continued. The bike route was a loop but somehow the wind was in my face the entire time. The entire experience defied physics.

Finally I've returned. The plan is a smooth-as-butter dismount, wherein I unvelcro my shoes and slide my feet out about 50 yards before the Transition gate, then swiftly sprint to my spot. Not today. The wind (again, that wind) off the lake, coupled with the only steep downhill of the ride, forced both hands to stay on the bars. I did manage to free one foot, but have you ever seen anyone run wearing only one bike shoe? It's not pretty.

I'm in Transition. Where's my spot? They all have blue towels, just like mine. (It was one of our goodie bag prizes.) But my wetsuit is inside out! I remember from when I was wrestling with it 46 minutes ago! Where's the inside-out wetsuit?! That one's not inside out. That one doesn't have a wetsuit. Wait a minute...
I'm in the wrong row.
I shuffle one row down, and my spot is there, laughing at me. I swear, I must've spent a good 45 seconds in the wrong row.

I'm off on the run now. It's almost entirely on a dirt/sand/rock/tree-rooted trail, so I'm pretty sure I won't be setting any records. At this point I'm nearly ready to give up and consider it a leisurely training run through the woods. I'm following the path by myself when I hear from behind,
"This way! This way!"
I'm running the wrong way. Another half a minute gone.

Now I'm writing the blog post in my head. And the rock in my shoe is cutting into my foot.

Thank goodness my lobster always knows the right thing to say. In the car ride home:

"At least you're really tan and your biceps are bulging and I can't even find your belly."

And she took some artistic liberties with her photography:






She got a kick out of this sign. I don't know why.












She may harbor some resentment for the exclusivity of the transition area. She likes to feel like she belongs.











I shouldn't say EVERYTHING went wrong. The port-a-potty line was amazingly speedy.












With the aforementioned biceps bulging, I attempt to don the new wetsuit.













Still working on it...(but look at those muscles!)












Holy crap this is hard.

My lobster snapped this shot to show my exit after a warmup swim. I included it to show the freakin' waves.











I love this one. I'm really just putting my hair in a ponytail, but don't I look like a model in a Pantene commercial?

This one pretty much sums up the day.












Post-race. Can you tell all we're thinking about is a hot shower and a nap?











And that's exactly what happened next.

Madison Half-Marathon--May 24, 2009

(Alarm clock.)



"Honey, it's time to get up."



"I'm not going."



"Honey..."



"I got three hours' sleep."



I decided at this point to leave well enough alone; she'll come around. I brushed my teeth and changed into race gear and sure enough, by this time the bed was made and my crunchy lobster was climbing into her own race attire. It was just 4:30 AM talking.



The plan was to meet at the flagpoles between the starting line and the parking lot at 6:15 AM, plenty of time for the 7:00 gun. But we were very very late. We didn't account for little delays, like the gas station stop to go "#2" on the way, or the 1/2 mile traffic jam on both of the exit ramps to the race. (Madison's Brat Fest was a coinciding event in the same location as the race, and traffic from both were causing the unplanned holdup. It's never too early to eat brats and drink beer in Madison.)



We pulled up and ran to the flagpoles at 6:55, where my mother-in-law sat ready to hand off my number and a "good luck" while I dashed to the starting line. She and Erika would race in the quarter marathon beginning 45 minutes later, so they had some time to breathe. I had time to pee behind a tree but not in a porta-potty (lines were too long) and when the gun went off, so did I.



The plan was to take short (20-30 second) walk breaks every 10 minutes or so, and I stuck to the plan. The weather was perfect, the crowd was jovial, and I was cruisin'. I saw my sister and her boyfriend at mile 6 and we chatted long enough for me to run by. With 5 miles to go I stopped walk breaks and at mile 10 I started a quicker 5K pace. Then the knee started. It was a strange pain, not bad enough to stop but enough to notice and wish it away. Near the end I must've been limping. Still, I finished with a Personal Record time and downed my celebratory chocolate milk. I stretched a little, and when it was time we drove back home.



After the three hour nap my knee was too stiff to bend. We spent the night watching a movie with an ice pack, then a heating pad, then a beer--the only pain remedies I know. I went to bed not knowing how big a deal to make this thing.



And now? I'm not able to exercise today but I think it'll be fine pretty soon. I just wasn't ready to cut 2 minutes off my half marathon time without paying for it. Next up is a good old-fashioned triathlon--enough of these "running the whole time" events.



Yay chocolate milk!

Feelin' fine in '09.

I haven't written in a while.

This is not for lack of news in our household, but I leave that to the eloquent stylin's of my Lobster. This is a blog about triathlon, and truth be told, the off season isn't very interesting. To prove it, I will sum up the last 3 months in one sentence.

A recumbent bike proves you can work out while sitting and a treadmill is boring no matter what bad 90s Saturday morning movie is playing but when your workouts are all either biking or running but no swimming because it's cold out and the pool is only open at 5:00 AM (forget that) it makes for really solid base-building in the legs but slow deterioration in the core and arms so it's a wonder I don't flop over at the waist sometimes but a new era starts tomorrow.

I've set my '09 race schedule. In the serious (obsessed) tri world some athletes have "A" races (the ones they focus their training around for which to achieve the optimal peak of fitness), "B" races (important enough but no "A" race) and even "C" races (expensive workouts with a T-shirt at the end). This season I proudly announce to all: I have an "A" race.

Here's the layout:

May 24th--Madison Half-Marathon. I learned from Tyranena that the half-marathon distance is a nice blend of "enough challenge to warrant a few months of training" and "offers bragging rights the next day" with "won't be stuck on the couch in pain for a week afterward". Madison is one of my favorite places in the world, so it made sense to do their race.

June 7th--Lake Mills Sprint Triathlon. Within a half-hour driving distance, we won't have to wake up at Oh-My-God-It's-Dark-Thirty for this one. The distances and course are reasonable and I've heard good reviews so it should be a nice way to kick off the tri season.

June 28th--Bigfoot Sprint Triathlon. This is the race I missed last year from the bike accident, but the race director kindly transferred my registration so I'm back in '09--single vision, scars healed, helmet replaced, and ready to go.

July 19th--Spirit of Racine Half Ironman. This is it. This is the "A" race. A HIM (Half Ironman) nearly doubles my previous long race and brings me halfway to the ultimate goal--the Madison Ironman. A HIM is a 1.2 mile swim (in this case, a parallel-to-the-shore swim in Lake Michigan), a 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1 (half marathon) run. I'm familiar with the area and the event's organization from doing last year's Spirit of Racine Sprint. It seemed like a good venue to attempt the HIM distance. Never mind that last year's water was a frigid 59 degrees. That won't happen again (right?). Never mind that 56 miles is from our apartment to Illinois. Never mind that the race will take me the better part of 7 hours to complete. This is my "A" race, and tomorrow starts the 20-week training plan to complete it. My base is built and I'm ready to go.

August 9th--Camp Whitcomb-Mason Sprint Triathlon. This is the first race I will repeat. It's easy to say you've improved when every lake, every hill, every transition area is different from race to race. Last year I was 5 minutes short of my goal (sub-2 hours) in this race, and I'm back to try again.

October 4th--Lakefront Marathon. Since college I wanted to complete a marathon--(certainly) not to change my lifestyle, but rather to say I did one and be done with it. While still a smoker and with no knowledge of proper training techniques (or shoes), I met the goal in 2003 at the Chicago Marathon in just under 5 hours. I thought, never again. I couldn't walk very well for days after and it impeded my smoking. My life is very different now--I know more things, I have better shoes, and I'm trying again--this time in Milwaukee. An Ironman closes with a marathon run, so if IM Madison 2010 is the goal I sure as shootin' better be able to run one.

The off-season continues, but the end is near.

Vibrating stop signs can be cool!

Normally I wouldn't blog about such a mundane experience as a 3 1/2 mile run, but yesterday was my first run outside since the accident and with my vision even a casual jog up the street becomes...trippy.
You know how your body bounces a little with each step as you run? (Duh.) What we never stop to think about is how all the other objects stay rooted where they are. Why? Because mailboxes and front porches don't move in real life.
Not for me. Within a few yards it became clear what this run would be like: My vision bouncing like anyone else's, and everything else around me bouncing too. I felt like I was on acid, watching parked cars and driveways jarring themselves loose from stagnation, sometimes bouncing into double images, sometimes staying together. The world was a Mexican jumping bean.
Before long I figured out what I needed to do. I kept reminding myself,
"Jenn, just remember that these things are not moving in real life. Just keep running. As for your inability to gauge if the sidewalk is sloping up or down, just try not to biff it. And if you do, thank goodness your lobster made you carry your driver's license and her phone number on a post-it because she doesn't let you to leave the house without them anymore."
Clearly, it was more an exercise of the mind than of the legs. Which is why I'm taking a rest day today.

Blue Stuff (an update)

You know that blue stuff they gave you in elementary school to help you learn how inefficiently you brush your teeth? You swish it around after brushing and it shows up on all the places you missed that are rotting of plaque as you stand there staring in the mirror at your blue teeth?

I think push-ups serve the same purpose. For I have done my 100 yesterday and 43 so far today and I'm feeling muscles I didn't have last week.

Did you know that we have muscles on the sides of our boobs?

Yay, push-ups--the blue stuff for muscles.

The many faces of congestion.

I'm continually baffled by congestion. There's so many kinds, how can someone keep them straight? There's the "who snuck in my sinuses and filled them with concrete?" congestion. There's the floodgate of oozing watery mucus. Or the scary kind, when you blow your nose and chunks of strangely colored blobs force you backward. And I've never understood how each nostril seem mutually exclusive sometimes. Lay down on your left side, and the masses hunker down to the left. Lay a finger on your right nostril and close your mouth, and you're asphyxiating yourself. Switch the same finger to your left, and you now breathe freely. And don't get me started on sneezing.
(Sidebar: Sneezing is funny. Everyone has their own version. I'm a furious sneezer; I gear up for it with an arched back and outspread arms, then let it rip in one fell swoop and I'm done. My aunt has dainty sneezes that come out as high-pitched "eh-chew!" spurts, and twenty or thirty later she's free and clear.)
Back to me. I have the irritating kind of congestion right now. My sinuses feel boulder-like, clogged with a fury only Afrin can tame.
(Sidebar: What the hell is Afrin? If you're a fan of nose spray you know what I'm talking about; a couple of squirts in each nostril and you have instant and total relief of the unnatural kind. It doesn't seem right, but I just can't stay away. My brother was addicted to Afrin for several years. He popped a few squirts every half hour, I kid you not. And the generic kind didn't do it for him, it had to be Afrin. Finally he, with the help and support of his girlfriend, weaned himself off. They found a website that taught them how to properly dilute the Afrin in stages so eventually his tolerance would fade back to normal. To this day I don't know what he does about congestion without Afrin.)
Anyway, back to me again. My sinuses are boulders, but it doesn't stop my nose from running. Mind you, it's only the right side; the left is bone dry. And it's the annoying amount of nasal drip where I feel like blowing my nose every 4 minutes. My nosetip is slowly (i.e. every 4 minutes) being ground down to the bone by Kleenex. The tissue could be lotioned with the softness of an angel's ass and it would still feel like a 10-year-old carpet at this point. So I've done what any nose-respecting ill person would do. I've forgone the blowing and just shoved Kleenex up my right nostril and left it there. Erika says it looks like I have half of Wilford Brimley's mustache. I'd like to see how she deals with this kind of congestion.
It's truly a bitch.

Derail me, please.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop with my decaf mocha and my laptop alongside my Lobster, whose nose is buried deep in her homework. The scene is almost identical to last Sunday. My life has gone like this for quite a while lately--sailing along uneventfully, predictably, smoothly. Perhaps that's why I feel so bleh.

On the other hand, others around me have endured the Life Disruptions we don't care for. You know the kind. The ones that come suddenly and abruptly, demanding time and resources you don't have because your life is a moving train and derailing it ain't easy. My Lobster missed 3 days' work last week for a "viral sore throat" (or something like that; she just calls it "swallowing 2X4s with rusty nails jutting out of them"). One of our Kindergarten teachers was out all week for Influenza A. A friend of mine had his car broken into and radio bashed in. Another is having surgery on her sinuses next Wednesday. No one looks forward to these kind of interruptions.

As winter drones on, it's becoming clearer to me why I love Spring and Summer so much; the outdoors and the free time are conducive to creating Life Disruptions that erase the winter blehs. This summer two good friends are getting married, and it will be the first gay wedding we've attended besides our own. I have five triathlons lined up, each one promising to be a fresh jolt of life. A trip to the Badlands with three dear friends awaits us in August if we can only get our calendars to line up. It all can't come soon enough.

I guess I should count my blessings; I've been tooling along without any major Life Disruptions for a while now. And the flip side? I've been tooling along without any Life Disruptions for a while now.