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.

Tri-ing for Children's--7/28/13

I had done Tri-ing for Children's once before.  I signed up for the Olympic distance in 2010 and a few weeks later my two biggest fans arrived at my doorstep and training came to a screeching halt.  Darned if I would DNS though, so we showed up and I came in about as close to dead last as one can come.

While "only" the Sprint this time, I came to Ottawa State Park this year with one word in mind:  Redemption.  In a new age group and the best shape of my life, I wasn't planning hardware like I'd managed the past few races but I did expect FOP (Front of the Pack) and maybe even a 20 MPH bike or a run PR.  Plenty to shoot for.

My athletic supporters stayed home again.  My Brave Bear was getting her tonsils and adenoids removed the next morning and we valued her sleep more than her presence.  I arrived, checked in, set up and waited the hour or so for my wave, shivering violently with chattering teeth.  Was it really the end of July?!  Cloudy, 55 degrees and breezy made waiting for the start the most difficult part of this race.

And then we were off.  The water is warmer than the air and my drafting is exquisite.  I'm sighting like a maniac (lesson learned from Rock Roll n Run) and even passing people.  This wasn't expected--my time in the pool this summer has been embarrassing and I'm surprised to say the swim has become my weakest leg.  But the stars aligned that morning and I finished a reputable swim.

Quick transition--I'm getting pretty good at those things--and I'm off.  Damn, I can't feel my toes. Why won't they go into those shoes?  Eventually we worked things out and I settled in for the bittersweet ambivalence of a mostly-flat course with a headwind.  I did what I could but settled for a 19 MPH average in the end.

Ready to run, but can't feel my feet.  The first half-mile was like running with rubber brick-feet, a most bizarre sensation.  But thanks to the looping run course I'm now seeing few if any females my age ahead of me.  Could I place after all?  Suddenly a runner with "41" (her age) whizzed past--guess not.  I was passed again by a "43" so with dwindling chances to place I focused on my best race.  Here I am getting the crowd riled up for my finish:

No idea why my face looks like this, and I really have to do something about those chicken arms.

When results were posted I took a gander:

3

Third in my (new) age group after all, which made up for the no-PR run and 19 MPH bike.




Next up, Waterloo Fit City.  

Capital View Triathlon--6/10/12

I have several ways I mentally approach an upcoming race--usually it's "PR would be great", sometimes "Do better than last year", maybe even "Get through it" or "Don't fall down".  I allowed myself for this one to be sucked into a new and quite dangerous thought--"I have an outside chance of pulling off some AG hardware here."

It all started when I was shopping around for races this season.  Proximity to home and participant number prompted a closer look at Cap View.  I checked out the results from last year.  Hm.  Not a very big AG.  That bodes well for me.  I look closer.  Hey, I could pull off 2nd or 3rd place with my bike time.  My run time would fit around 4th place.  Swim?  Who knows.  But my transitions are okay.  And so it began.  I trained in earnest with the goal/miracle wish of getting in the Top Three.

We arrived that morning bright and early.  The girls wanted nothing more than to frolic.  Way too much energy for bright and early.

I took one look at Transition and started to adjust my goal.  With a T area this large, how on earth could I place in the Top 3?  There's a lot more people here than I thought.  *Sigh*

No matter.  The weather and my spirits were good as I prepped for what I imagined to be a fairly quick and perfectly lovely race.

The wetsuit doesn't fit as well as it did two years ago.

With my wave starting over an hour after transition closed, we had plenty of time for sunscreen all around.

Finally, time to get the party started.  The swim was a very shallow rectangle--dolphin dives all the way out and back.  I kept my standards low from not being in a pool (or a lake) in ten months.  Luckily it turned out to be a FOP (Front Of the Pack) swim finish.  More importantly I still know how to swim.

Onto the bike.  I had practiced to near perfection the shoeless mount and here was my chance to show it off.  My goodness, feet are much stickier when they're wet.  Slow start.

And wow...these hills are steeper than I thought.  I envisioned similar grades to the ones I practice on, maybe a bit steeper but also shorter.  "Yes" to the steeper, "Doesn't feel like it" to the shorter, and to top it all off a fair number of the downhills ended in a 90 degree turn on the road, thereby requiring brakes and losing the full effect of the downhill.  Frustrated.  The MPH average I was hoping for on the bike--the one I can pull off in training rides--didn't come.  Still FOP, barely.

Off to run.  The first half was compacted dirt trails with tiny but steep up- and downhills in (mostly) shade.  Tolerable.  Second half:  It's getting much warmer now, and the novelty of the trail has worn off.  All grass, glaring sun.  No. Way. I will pull off a run split to write home about.  Thankfully (but not in a heartless way) the others are suffering too.

In the end I'm in 6th place for the AG out of 20.  No hardware, but a good start to the season.  Next up:  WI Triterium.

Camp Whitcomb Mason Triathlon--8/14/11

The First Year was a whirlwind, chaos.

The girls arrived and we spent most of our brain- and bodypower trying to figure out how to fill and feed bottles, bathe, diaper, play, put to bed (them and us), put to nap, keep children out of dishwashers, and teach how to sit, crawl, stand, talk, walk, climb, potty, dress, eat...it takes a lot.

We bought the house, the first house either of us had owned and operated since childhoods. We spent any spare brain- and bodypower learning how and taking care of the lawn, gutters, carpets, air conditioning, water softener, tub, cracked door, backyard playground, drains....the house is by no means a money pit but still, it takes a lot.

Needless to say, 2010's training and race performance faltered. A lot.

I'm not in The First Year anymore. The girls are delightful and grow more independent each day (well, each month at least). The house is under control. I had a sanctuary for the winter months and some good time this summer to get out and train. So when my lobster asked what I wanted for my birthday, there was no question--Camp Whitcomb-Mason triathlon.

CWM is a small race to begin with and for whatever reason was even smaller this year. We drove right in and parked immediately about 20 yards from T2 with half an hour before transitions closed. Unheard of. I set up, got marked and chipped, and awaited the start.









I had decided not to use a wetsuit for this one; the water temps didn't require it and the swim had been shortened to 1/4 mile, lessening any advantage it may have provided. Frankly, I remembered how difficult it was to put on in Pewaukee and didn't look forward to that embarrassment again. Not until the baby weight was gone.

Wave 4 (a tiny wave of maybe 20) departed 12 minutes after the start. I got into a great drafting groove and kept right on target with good sighting. My split after the swim was a bit slower than I expected, though; perhaps the wetsuit could've helped with buoyancy after all.

As long as I've known this race I'd had a mental block about the bike route. Oh my goodness those hills. Just get through it. Try not to die.

Not this time. I had the opportunity a couple of weeks prior to bike the route and you know what? They weren't that bad. I even broke 17 MPH average on the training ride. I went into this bike with a smile on my face, feeling confident that I could do this.

And I did. 22 miles, 4 major hills, 2 gels and one lost water bottle later I pulled into T2 proud of my sub-1:15:00 bike time. A quick shoe switch and I'm running out of transition to the faces of my smiling family jogging alongside for a few yards. I began this race hoping to break 2 hours for the first time ever and I was on par to do it.

Not much to say about the run. I was on a mission and I stuck with it. I ended up besting my previous CWM times by 14 minutes and 6 minutes.

Just the boost I needed. Onto Devil's Challenge.

Lake Mills (6/5/11) and Pewaukee (7/10/11) Triathlons

Last winter I built a sanctuary.

Now that both children were sleeping through the night I could retreat to the basement a few nights a week to pedal or run out the stressors of parenting, snow removal, idiot governors, what have you. And while the weight gain continued, I found myself building back a base long gone from a disappointing 2010 tri season.

So what will 2011 have to offer? The Devil's Challenge tradition in September was set in stone, but beyond that we were stymied by the newfound challenge of our two now-totally-mobile toddlers. Triathlons are the types of events where there's lots to look at but very little of it interests small children. This leaves them to entertain themselves by running out into bike traffic, throwing sand, or having a meltdown. Because races start at the ass-crack of dawn.

Not wishing the task of solo toddler management on my lobster, we decided it best for the time being to stick to relays; thankfully my good friends Ben and Liz were more than willing to comply. We excitedly agreed to relay Lake Mills first.

The night before a tri is a breeze when you're only doing the run. Lay out running outfit, watch, shoes, and number belt. Done.

That morning we pulled ourselves together, threw our diaper bag, snacks and wagon in the back, scooped up the sleeping children and took off. At the race I calmly discussed with Lydie what those people in black rubber eel outfits were doing in the middle of the lake while Ben set up his bike and accessories and Liz climbed into her own wetsuit.



During the swim I gave a kid a piggy back ride. During the bike I took one to the porta potty. I could get used to this relay thing. When Ben came back I was standing there in T2, vibrating with energy and ready for my turn. Bend over, rip off the timing chip, reapply to my ankle, take off. My run time was the second-fastest I've ever had in a race. (I guess it helps when you don't do the first two legs.) I longed a little for the whole experience, but cherished the relaxation and calm of this event. It was a stress-free entry to the next tri season.

Shortly after Lake Mills we three were itching to do another one. We settled on Pewaukee for its proximity to home, but Liz and I switched legs (of the race, not on our bodies) this time. This meant donning my wetsuit for the first time in months. After a gain in baby weight I can't even blame on pregnancy, it didn't go well.

This race had a first. I'd heard of people getting punched in the face, dunked, elbowed, etc. during the swim, but touch wood had never experienced more severe violence than incidental invasion of personal space. Not so this time. Twice in one minute and clearly by the same person I was grabbed in the ankle, and on the third time literally pulled backward. I was pissed. I doubt he heard me as a yelled back at him to knock it off (I considered but refrained from a kick to the face to get my point across), but the rest of the swim I seethed: What is the point of grabbing someone else's ankle and pulling them back? Does he honestly think it will give him the thrust he needs to make it the last 300 yards? A-hole.

On top of it, this race is not spectator-friendly. From our parking spot to the beach to the finish line we had trouble maneuvering the wagon; spectators blocked our little one's views with an air of entitlement; we even lost touch with the other 2/3 of the relay for a while. The playground near the finish line was a welcome site, for by this time both the girls and the lobsters were tired of wheeling them around Pewaukee in the wagon looking for a place we could be.




Lydie and I did manage to see Ben's bike finish and Liz's start, and it reminded me of how much I enjoy the triathlon experience--the whole experience. I know it made sense logistically to stick to relays this year, but damn did I miss doing the whole race.

As before it was fun spending time with Ben and Liz and much easier being together with the girls. We don't think we'll do Pewaukee again. But what's next?

Lakefront Marathon--10/4/09

For every race up until this point, I was able to look back upon its completion and name at least one thing I should have done differently.



Lake Mills tri--Worn arm warmers



Camp Whitcomb tri--Hit the timing mat at T2 on the first try



Spirit of Race Half Ironman--Never eaten that Clif bar



Bigfoot tri--Never gotten out of bed



I look back on Lakefront and I'm convinced I did everything right. And that's never happened before.



For 48 hours beforehand I religiously monitored my intake. (My best friend got married two nights before the race and I didn't even toast her with champagne, for pete's sake.) The day before the race I swore off fruit, red meat, and peanut butter. Race morning was a very safe piece of very safe toast and a banana.


We arrived downtown with plenty of time to muse about funny things whilst waiting for our ride.




(A quick photo before my cheering section went to go park at Mile 7.)

I arrived in time to warm up a little, stretch generously, and line up at the start. In Chicago, I assumed to run a marathon you just keep running the whole time. Today I had a different plan. I'm attempting the Galloway method of long-distance running, where the athlete forces herself to stop for 1-2 minute walk breaks every 4-10 minutes. This will maintain endurance for the last miles of the race. My plan was to walk one minute every 5 minutes of running.

I carried water, gels, and electrolytes in my fuel belt--the perfect amount mathematically calculated based on a goal finish of 4:45, 15 minutes faster than Chicago 2003.

SIDEBAR: I knew zero about race nutrition in Chicago. I pounded the gels that tasted good and figured it was normal to have....ahem..."GI distress" three times during a five-hour race. I now use a more organic gel that sits better. And I wash them down liberally with water, a trick I learned from my freakishly athletic friend Matt.

Back to Lakefront.

The gun went off. People were buzzing with excitement, chatting nervously with energy. The 4:45 Pace Group nearby had started a ritual where the Pace Group Leader would emit three sharp whistle blasts and the group would echo a resounding RAAAWWWWRRR!!! Someone commented about two miles in that the fresh roadkill near the side of the road "probably won't PR today". And EVERYONE was running. No one was stopping to walk. Well then neither will I, damnit. I make an executive decision to run to the first water station.

Sixteen minutes later I began a regimen of 7 min. running and one min. walking, a compromise that felt safe enough. I put down a gel every 40 minutes and stopped for water at every station. My lobster Erika and our friends Ben and Liz were cheering wildly at Mile 7 and I was still perky enough to greet them with silliness.

I see them again at about Mile 15 and I'm less perky.

Whenever I mentioned I was doing Lakefront, someone invariably mentioned the "mostly downhill" nature of the course, as if this will make the entire run an absolute breeze. At this point, however, I'm thankful for the flatness. My 7/1 regimen is working, but I'm starting to feel the burn. So to speak.

It's been said that the race begins at Mile 20. Most marathon training plans max out with one or two 20-mile long runs, which means after Mile 20 it's all brand new mileage. Mile 20 is usually when the walking, the vomiting, the cramping, and the grimacing grow more and more common. My Mile 20 revelation:

I'm doing it. I'm really doing it. I'm going to hit my goal time, and I feel okay. I'll keep this up until the last 5K, then kick it out. No more gels, no more gatorade. Don't need them.

At Mile 23 I stopped walk breaks and ran through with as steady a pace as I could muster. I was passing people. Spectators were telling me I looked strong, and while they could very well have been lying I said "thanks" anyway because I felt strong. It hurt like hell of course, but I was doing it. The 4:45 Pace Group was completely out of earshot behind me, so I had a good chance of breaking my goal.

The last two miles were lonely. We're running along Lakefront path, sandwiched between a busy two-lane road and Lake Michigan. Very few spectators line the path; they're all waiting at the finish. I knew I'd be done in twenty minutes or so, but darned if that wasn't the longest 20 minutes ever.

I heard the finish line music, turned the corner and saw the crowd. The finish line arc was straight ahead. I gave it everything I had. Final time: 4:42:17. And my legs hadn't hurt like that since...well, Chicago 2003.








But I wouldn't change a thing.

Jitters.

The other night at a gathering of friends I was talking shop with Matt, an experienced distance triathlete and a person I secretly despise because he's 3% body fat and he rolls out of bed ready to race on any given day whether he's been training or not. Matt suggested a new strategy for pre-race nutrition. (Difference #1 between devoted athletes and the normal world: What athletes call "nutrition", regular people call "food". Athletes literally plan ahead their nutrition intake for the crucial 48-hour window before a race. This is really just a fancy way of saying they watch what they eat.) Matt tells me that two days before the race, I should eat no carbs at all, then the day before the race eat as many carbs as possible. He backed up the claim with some bit I've already forgotten about the muscles' access to energy stores, or something like that. It made sense at the time, so I'm going to try it. No carbs at all tomorrow.



The point here is that my anxiety level about this race has risen to new levels. A list of anxieties I've been quietly harboring the past few days:



-The lake temperature last year was a face-numbing 55 degrees. This year it's currently mid-60s (quite manageable), but I worry anyway. You never know when Lake Michigan will plummet to its frozen depths again.



-The current forecast for the day is partly cloudy, high of 72 degrees, wind at 7 MPH. In other words, quite nice. But that could change at any moment. What if a hot front comes down from...Canada?



-My congestion has cleared, so I'm healthy as a horse. My taper week included 15-30 minute workouts per day, so I'm vibrating with excess energy. I'm guessing I'll either catch swine flu or pull something.



-My Lobster sent out an email inviting spectators to the race and five friends, two family, two toddlers and an infant are coming to cheer me on. That's a lot of athletic supporters. Or witnesses to my athletic demise. One of the two.



-I've been training for this thing for five months. That's a long time. Long enough? I've done all three distances separately but never together, one after the other, on the same day. It's gonna be a looooong day.



-And on top of it all, I emailed Matt tonight to remind me what foods are carb-less, because I'm pretty sure we don't have any.



It's amazing what the brain can make up to worry about when it faces a challenge.

5'4" is my excuse.

At the dawn of my running career I thought it was the simplest of sports--if you want to run faster, move your legs faster and take bigger steps.

Bad news: I've tried and I'm not very good at it. Good news: I can blame it on my shortness. Short people take small steps, after all.

Since beginning my tri career two years ago I've picked up a few more tricks along the way. For example:

-If your foot strikes the ground in front of your body it will act as a brake, screeching your progress nearly to a halt with each step. (So that's why I'm so damn slow!)

-A midfoot strike (as opposed to a heel strike) may be more efficient. (This habit took some time to undo.)

-Ugly shoes make you run slower. (I knew it!!)

I incorporated these new tidbits into my regimen and prepared to watch minutes melt off my times. I have seen progress, but I'm still painfully slower than most people. So I reached outside the box this weekend and attended a running workshop held by a local pro triathlete with whom I've shared a few races these past two seasons. (The difference, of course, is that she wins them, packs up her stuff, eats a snack and goes home. And then I finish.)

I wasn't sure what to expect. How does someone else make you faster? I pictured the lot of us running around a track or even outdoors if it wasn't a typical March in Wisconsin (snow and sleet, 32 degrees). She'd holler instructions at me about my gait or posture or arm swing or ugly shoes. I'd correct myself. Shazzam!! I'd be faster!

It didn't work out that way.

A trainer did briefly analyze each runner's gait to correct any major flaws and advise us on proper footwear to fit our style. I have an efficient midfoot strike and require a neutral shoe. The prettier the better.

A large chunk of time was spent in a "run circuit"--Take a few laps around the indoor track, then pull over and pick one from a list of strength exercises and do a few reps, with trainers handy to gently push your butt down if you stick it up too high on your prone leg lifts. (I learned that the hard way.) The goal is to energize the little-used muscles in running, which translates to more efficiency all around. It made sense. And I think I finally learned why my legs, arms and back are well-toned but my core isn't. It might be because I never do any core exercises.

After an hour of our run circuit I was sore. My total running time never exceeded twenty minutes; it was the circuit part that did me in. I left a little depressed. Does this mean I've amped up my training schedule to 7+ hours a week, yet I still don't do enough?

This was several hours ago. Since then I've showered, ate a delicious grilled cheese sandwich, and spent the rest of my dividend at REI on some hot biking shorts. I'm going to find a way to incorporate the exercises I need into the workouts I already do without adding any more. I'll train smarter, not longer. And someday I will be a faster runner, no matter how freakin' short I am. Faster and with pretty shoes.

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.

Shoe Karma.

After a two-hour training run/walk resulting in the "it's painful to step, oh why can't I just levitate?" feeling, Erika and I decided that if we were going to train for this half-marathon, we both needed new running shoes. Off we go to Dick's Sporting Goods. (We were ready to graduate beyond the on-sale athletic shoes at Kohl's. Plus we had a coupon for Dick's.)

In the past, Erika always looked for only one thing in her shoes. Do they look hot? Are they cute on my feet? Am I stylin'?



(Erika's old running shoes: fashionable, but blister-inducing)

I told her this was an awful way to shop for athletic shoes. I told her it was unreliable, invalid, and cause for further future hot spots, blisters, soreness, or all of the above. I talked her into having higher standards, and with open minds and coupon in hand, we tried on New Balance and Asics, with a eye on Reebok, Adidas, and a brand or two I'd never heard of.

An hour later, we're elated with our choices. They're light as a feather and simulate running on pillows, as we learned from taking laps on Dick's 50 meter indoor track.

Now for the irony. Erika's are stylin'. She's a hip running chick.



Mine are...kinda ugly.

They're clearly the best shoe for me, but do they have to have metallic space suit stripes? And seriously...paisley? On a running shoe?


This is what I get for having higher standards.

8/17/08--Pleasant Prairie Triathlon

In the lingo, an "oly" (rhymes with holy moley) is an olympic-distance triathlon, and Pleasant Prairie was my first one. The near-mile swim, 25 mile bike and 10K (6.2 mile) run was twice my usual distance, and twice the lessons learned.



I obsessed about this race--was my training adequate? Why are my legs always sore? If I'm peeling off my wetsuit and it sticks to my feet, will I tip over? And the ultimate dwell: I want to finish this race in three hours. For the week leading up, I managed to turn conversations about politics or our checking account back to the race, and it was starting to take the fun out of the sport (and our marriage). Lesson Number One is to focus on having the best race I can have that day and let the rest take care of itself.

Lesson Number Two is to cut my toenails. I didn't fully realize until the race was over and the shoes came off how bloodied and wounded my toes had become, thanks to a rogue pinky toenail that had free reign during an hour-long run.

Lesson Number Three applies to the swim portion as well as real life--be careful who you follow.

Drafting is perfectly legal and very advantageous in swimming; simply sidle yourself behind a comparable swimmer (without getting kicked in the head) and ride their current. On the long side of our .9-mile triangle I did just that. As we were swimming directly into the rising sun and it was near impossible to see the buoys, I figured I would draft behind this kind lady and let her guide me to the next turn. A few minutes into it I stopped seeing others around us, and a quick look around found us in the middle of the lake, twenty yards from the rest of the pack. Drat.

After my post-race nap I checked the results online. I already knew from my own watch about how fast I had completed each leg, but the online version gives me my times compared to all other females age 35-39. Lesson Number Four comes here. My overall age group rank was 41st out of 58--not in the top half (as I'm accustomed) for any portion except the swim. But here's the thing--I finished in less than three hours. So I think I'm slowly learning (the hard way) that it doesn't matter how well I do compared to others, so long as I'm improving myself.



Yesterday was the last triathlon of my '08 season. I already have plans for the off-season; I know how I can improve. Lessons learned.

Feels Like the First Time.

Isn't there an 80s big hair ballad with that line ("feels like the first time") referring to love or smoking dope or something like that?
Anyway, this Saturday's triathlon, Spirit of Racine, is starting to feel like the first one ever. Let me break it down:
A. The forecast calls for rain, and races don't cancel except for lightning. But it doesn't call for lightning, it calls for rain. Like normal humans, I don't go outside in the rain, at least not to hang out.
2. The swim is in Lake Michigan--current temperature at location, 66 degrees. I'll be racing in a wetsuit for the first time ever, and how on earth am I supposed to show off my well-toned calf muscles in a wetsuit??
D. I started training again about a week and a half after the accident, but can't hit my pre-accident times. I'm just not as fast as I used to be, so I've affixed a small outboard motor to the back of my bicycle.
5.2 This is the first all-out, puke-at-the-end race since the accident.

So I'm a little nervous. If you happen to be awake and aware at about 9:00 AM on Saturday, send a good vibe my way? Reader?

7-13-08--Danskin Triathlon

I had been to the Danskin triathlon last year, giddy with excitement but feeling like throwing up a little at the same time. But this year was different. I was there again, but not for me.
A while back my mother-in-law Tracy was deep in her new obsession with finding half-marathon races and walking them at breakneck speed. (Seriously, I've been out training with her--I have to jog to keep up.) We were comparing notes about our prospective athletics-of-choice, and from nowhere she had decided that with someone with her during the race as a guide (Tracy is legally blind) and with a whole lot of work (Tracy doesn't swim), she could do a triathlon too. She signed up for Danskin '08, which was yesterday.
We knew she wasn't the only first-timer; at the expo yesterday they asked for a newbie
show of hands and nearly every hand went up. It didn't matter--we could still feel the anxiety she felt as we walked to the transition area to set up this morning at 5:30 AM.



SIDEBAR: Triathlons are pretty short races overall--the winner is finished in a little over an hour. A person could complete a sprint and still have time in the day to go grocery shopping, meet a friend for a movie, cook brats on the grill for dinner, and finish a book. More importantly, there's time in my case to go back to bed for four hours, because the price you pay for your early finish is an early start. We live an hour from Danskin, which meant a 3:45 AM rise. That's freakin' early in the day.
We were in Wave 8 for the race, which (fortunately) meant not much time to get nervous. I requested a "swim angel" for Tracy. Swim Angels are volunteers with styrofoam noodles who accompany swimmers across the lake to offer support, encouragement, and styrofoam when needed. They were short a few angels, but gave me a noodle to use. I was her guide and her angel all in one. The countdown began and Tracy put on her Game Face.


I had told her all along to just "get through" the swim, and the rest will take care of itself. So here we were, in the middle of the lake, rotating between a made-up stroke on her back, a surprisingly strong sidestroke, and some kicking with the noodle. We saw swimmers cruise on by us, swimmers clinging to the rafts for a break, even a swimmer rescued from fatigue by a lifeguard, but mostly we saw a lot of women getting through the swim any way they knew how. We finished the swim 17 minutes faster than her estimated time. I think it's because she never stopped moving forward.

Our plan for the bike ride was for me to follow closely behind her so she could set the pace, and I would zoom ahead temporarily only if a turn or hill were coming. We scrapped that plan the moment we left the transition area; there were just too many bikers, spectators, cones, and volunteers. I led the way, looking back once in while to make sure we were still together.

SIDEBAR: My opthamologist prescribed a stronger prism for my eyeglasses this week--my double vision just isn't getting any better. The good news of this is that I'm now able to turn my head while moving; with the weaker prism I would've tipped over.

Many times I'd look back and hear a polite but chipper "I'm right behind you!" This was code for "C'mon Jenn move it, we can go faster than this." A few times I looked back and she wasn't there. This happened on steeper-than-rolling uphills, and her fat-tired bike combined with the 20 MPH headwind caused a few unannounced stops to walk the bike. I'd wait for her, we'd continue our trek, and before long I'd get another "Right behind you!" We finished the bike at the very beginning of our estimated range.

We already knew at this point that the race was hers. Tracy has completed three half-marathons in the past year, each one faster than the last. She was giddy with excitement in the first mile, chatting to no one in particular about how the day has gone so far.

Erika and Dan (Tracy's husband) had positioned themselves at several key points in our race, so we talked about the times we'd seen them and how surprised and excited they were at our progress so far.

Then it slowly dawned on her: If she buckles down and keeps a solid pace, she could beat her goal time...by twenty minutes. We stopped chatting. I can't walk at her pace, so I would jog ahead a little, stop to walk, and let her catch up to me. She jogged with me a few intervals.

When the finish line was in view we ran in with arms raised and big smiles. It was a victory for both of us. Tracy knew she could walk fast all day long if she wanted, but today she took a leap of faith and tried things she never thought she was capable of. And she succeeded. She felt on top of the world. For me, I got to run a race post-accident, without the pressure of beating my times or the girl next to me. I got to see if I would be able to get back in the game. And I did.


We crashed from our adrenaline highs on the ride home. Full of our post-race snacks (chocolate milk and a gluten free nut bar for me), Erika and I walked in the door and immediately sank into bed--for four hours.

Not a bad way to spend a day.