Ironman Race Report...and thanks.

So, I spent this weekend doing something crazy, maybe stupid, and definitely time consuming. Nine months ago, I started a journey to swim 2.4 miles, bike 112, and then run a marathon (26.2) in a single day.

I have to admit (and Brian can attest) that I was awfully nervous going into the start of the Ironman. I'm (ahem) not a very good swimmer and I get really anxious around a ton of people in the water.
I waded into the water right after the pros went off (10min before the age groupers) and tried to stake out a spot not too far from the first buoy, but with very few people around. Unfortunately, as the start neared, the spaces behind and in front of me started to fill in. The beginning of the swim could only be accurately described as "a street fight" (as coach K puts it). There were bodies everywhere. At one point I swam right up onto a guy's back. I grabbed for water and ended up with a handful of feet of the person in front of me. People kept grabbing my feet. Half the time that I raised my arm to take a stroke, I hit another part of someone else's body. It stayed that way until I managed to make it on the inside of the buoys. Once I relaxed a little bit, the swim felt alright. I had a lot of energy (and some excess caffeine in my system), and I felt strong. Everytime we got to a buoy the crowd would bunch up again (and there would be hitting, punching, and kicking) and then spread. After the first lap (of a two lap course) it started to seem like I had been in the water for a long time (it also seemed at this point that I had swallowed quite a bit of water due to the thrashing; I was a bit worried that this would upset my stomach on the bike). Eventually, I made it around the course (after getting jacked in the eye/goggle on the way in) and ran up the ramp to the wetsuit strippers. Let me say this: the volunteers at the Ironman are by far the best volunteers I have ever encountered at any race ever. I imagine that this is what royalty must feel like (you know, if royalty were dirty, smelly, and chafe-y). Anyway, I had my wetsuit stripped off me and ran up the helix (which is basically the circular part of the on-ramp to a parking garage [but helix sounds nicer]). From there, I ran inside to grab my bag with my change of clothes (conveniently numbered and ordered). Unfortunately, I had figured out where my bag was from the other side and so it took me a minute to find my bag (this, plus realizing that I had to go to the bathroom after changing made it an extra long transition). Once in the changing area, which was next to the bag area, I was pretty much given my own personal helper who literally helped me get dressed (again, awesome). A quick porta-potty stop and I was on my bike and riding out of T-2. I finished the swim in 1:25, which wasn't bad (for me) considering I figured that I'd do worse (or drown, which would be much worse).

The first couple miles on the bike were slow going due to all of the traffic coming out of T-2 and due to a crash (with full medical personnel) at about mile 2. Once I opened up on the bike, I realized that I felt pretty good. For the first 40 miles or so, I actually had to hold myself back. I had all sorts of pent-up taper energy (and probably a little leftover punch from the swim) and I just wanted to crush the bike, but I knew that I had to save some energy for the run. The bike was relatively uneventful, which was a good thing because I spent most of it paranoid that I was going to flat out or that something equally heinous but out of my control was going to happen. I hit a low point in the ride when I hit mile 56 and realized that I had a whole half the bike left and that it had just gotten windy and that all of a sudden I felt like I wasn't moving. A couple miles later I started passing people again, saw a couple people I knew spectating, and all was right in the world again. I made it off the bike in 6:42 which, frankly, I was a little disappointed with. I never fancied myself much of a biker, and I felt like I had made tremendous gains in my biking ability this year and would finish around 6:30. However, my Garmin went out with about five miles to go on the bike, so I didn't know what my split was until after the race was over and I looked it up. That is also how I came to run the marathon entirely watchless (that and the fact that my digital watch [er...Brian's digital watch] had conked out the night BEFORE the race). I eventually got off my bike, handed the bike to a volunteer, and...staggered. My brain was telling my legs to go one way but they were entirely working on their own. I tried to walk straight so no one would send me to a med tent (kind of like trying to look sober in front of someone that you don't want to know that you are drunk), got dressed in T-2 (with the help of another volunteer) and ran out and past the capital.

The first couple miles of the run seemed to stretch on forever. My legs felt okay once I started moving, but it was a little difficult to get my mind into the new task at hand. After a mile or two, I began actually feeling pretty good and made myself a promise that unless I started throwing up or cramping up (neither of which seemed to be an imminent problem) that I would run the whole way to the turn around point near the capital (which, cruelly, also happens to be the finish [meaning that you run right by the finish and then turn around and do another half marathon]). My legs felt really good at that point and spectators (and other competitors) started to yell out things like "nice pace 342" or "looking strong" (and I got the impression, although I might have been delusional, that they actually meant it). By the time that I made it to the turn around point, I was in really good spirits. The course had doubled back onto State Street where all the crowds were, and I saw some people I knew (Jeff, with his megaphone, Tory's awesome cheering section, and Brian, Tim, and Julie) who all seemed surprised that I had made it to the turn-around point so quickly. The rest of the marathon was a blur. My quads started to hurt around mile 18, but it was no big deal because as someone who has run several marathons, I knew that I could run through it (and I had been popping enough salt all day to stave off cramping). Around mile 20, my stomach (which had actually been sloshing most of the marathon) started to get a little queasy. I remembered what coach said and started drinking the cola that they had on the course instead of sports drink. The cola had the almost immediate effect of calming my stomach (I tried sports drink once more and the feeling of queasiness returned- that was all for the sports drink). Since I was no longer drinking salty sports drink, I doubled up on salt and kept running. All the salt taking and the cola drinking slowed me down a little at aid stations, but this was okay. Being that I didn't have a watch on me, I had no idea how long the marathon was taking me until I asked someone in the crowd what time it was about a mile from the finish. As I ran towards the finish, I started to choke up thinking about all the time and effort that I had put into this race and just the sheer length of the race itself. I managed to pull myself together to finish something that I had started almost a year ago (a race that, when I signed up, I honestly wasn't sure that I would be able to do) and cross the finish line ("Cindy Potocki, you are an Ironman"). I finished the race in 12:24:43 with a 4:02 marathon time.
I know that this year I have been extremely wrapped up in the completion of this one goal. I want to thank my family, friends, and especially Brian for all the love and support while I trained, and obsessed, and complained, and strategized for this one day. I appreciate everyone's understanding as I missed birthdays, baptisms, and countless other get-togethers in order to train. Even if you can't understand why I did this or think I'm crazy, let me tell you this: the sacrifice was well worth it.


“Most people never get there. They’re afraid or unwilling to demand enough of themselves and take the easy road, the path of least resistance. But struggling and suffering, as I now saw it, were the essence of a life worth living. If you’re not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you’re not constantly demanding more from yourself—expanding and learning as you go—you’re choosing a numb existence. You’re denying yourself an extraordinary trip.”
-Dean Karnazes

I'm the kid who cries at Disneyland...

So, I made it up to Madison in one piece (barely, considering my driving skills) and with everything I needed to pack (I think- I at the very least have my bike).
In a way, today felt more epic than Epic did. Everything about Ironman today was overwhelming...the packing, the drive, waiting in line for registration (nothing like waiting in line for an hour to get weighed in public), and the Ironman store itself (the Ironman store seriously could probably only be compared to something at Disney...everything is logoed, everything is overpriced, and people wait in line for an hour to buy stuff).
Anyway, sometime around 8:30 tonight, in the grocery store trying to pick out which type of Gatorade to purchase (and did I want a Gatorade Recovery drink for the finish line? They are pretty much the worst taste I've ever put in my mouth, but they say recovery...everyone likes recovery, right?) I hit sensory overload. Too many bright lights, and lines, and shiny (and yet indistinguishable) things all day. I needed to lie down. Immediately.
I'm excited for Sunday (and terrified, did I forget to say terrified?), but I already feel like I've run some sort of race today. Or been to Disneyland. Total sensory overload.

It all comes down to...well...this.

I realize that I have been extremely lax in blogging, and for that, my three readers, I apologize. Brian keeps bugging me and telling me that I've missed documenting the most important weeks of training, but everything lately has really just been such a blur (Verona...Mt. Horeb...School...chores...Madison...bike...swim...run...laundry...laundry...laundry [there really has been a ton of laundry]).
Even Epic weekend seemed uneventful. It rained. I got a flat. Other than that I rode my bike. It hurt less than I thought. I got more bored than I figured. I never want to eat another shot blok again. (On a side note, I did get pulled over somewhere in Wisconsin for speeding and got out of the ticket by telling the officer that I was training for Ironman all day...).
I should be sleeping right now but I'm up. I just spent a couple of hours packing, but I still feel like I'm not going to end up bringing something that I really need. I guess that worrying that I won't have enough Blistex to fill all the special needs bags is better than worrying about all the other things that might go wrong on Sunday.  I go back and forth between being really proud of myself for not freaking out yet and then freaking out a little that I'm not freaking out yet (somehow I blame Catholic school for this).
I'm leaving for Madison tomorrow morning so I should probably get some sleep. More updates to come.

Raaagggbrrraaaaaiiii

I woke up this morning in A/C with no tent to take down and no line for the bathroom. Magic.
As far as Ragbrai goes what can I rightfully say about a week spent in the blazing sun, sleeping in a tent [that was on average 90 degrees at night and frequently bombarded by the sounds of trains about five feet away (why are all campgrounds located directly next to train tracks?)], doing what basically amounted to a four-plus hour training ride a day (but with stops for fried food and beer), sweating, sweating, sweating (before showers, after showers, especially in the tent [but not during showers, which were frequently ice cold and which you also had to wait in line for, since everything about Ragbrai is essentially a wait, and also (as a side note), contained a lot of women who apparently come to Ragbrai sans towel]), going swimming in bike clothes in the local pool, drinking beers at the local Eagles lodge with the locals, and riding, riding, riding the great flat (what a lie, there were hills everywhere [also a lot of debates on which was worse, the hills in Madison or the hills across the great state of Iowa]) state of Iowa for 454 miles, 435 of which tore up my quads and made me think that I could never sit on bike seat quite the same way again (every morning back on the bike being a shock to the system and the butt), with all of the towns blending together eventually (where's the firehouse? the Legion hall?), with different bands each night, but all of them blending together in a Coors-Light haze?
It was more fun than I thought. And harder.

Racine 70.3 Race Report

I think that at some point this weekend I realized how long a full Ironman is. Brian says I still don't get it, but I'm not sure. There's something about finishing an event- a long event- in 93 degree heat and then realizing that you have to do what you just did- but twice- that puts things in perspective a little bit.
Overall, the race went fine. It was hot. I raced fine for the heat, but not phenomenally. I missed my time goal by about 10 minutes, but I know that I can't be too upset, given the conditions.

The swim is definitely my biggest weakness. I am a not a good swimmer. I'm not exactly sure why, I have strong arms and legs and I go fairly fast at other things. I've been told that my stroke is "not bad'; however, the net result of my swimming is. This year my main goal was just not to freak out in the swim. Last year I got kicked in the face within the first couple of minutes (Racine has a wave start, but I was still stupid enough to start near the front despite my heinous swimming [read this to mean that I then had the majority of my age group swim right on over me- not a pleasant feeling]). While I still got out of the swim with an embarrassingly slow time, I at least managed not to have a panic attack in the water this time (it's the small victories, right?).
The bike is where I started to make some decisions. I stayed within my comfort zone due to the heat instead of pushing. I ended up beating my bike time from last year by only a minute, which was pretty disappointing. Despite the fact that I know that I still have a lot of things to learn and a lot of places to grow, I feel that I've become a much stronger cyclist in the months of training so far. Despite playing it a little safe, I figured that I would shave at least five minutes off the bike, not just one.
The run was fine. I've been slowing down since Ironman training started (and running in 93 degree heat isn't easy), so I'm not surprised that the run was slower than last year. Despite having some initial doubts during the first two miles (after which my legs recovered from the bike and I managed to shove two cups of ice into my sports bra), I settled into a slow run pretty easily (slow is relative here, despite the fact that I was running a relatively slow pace, a 93 degree race looks like quite the death march in places), and managed to hold it pretty steady until the end. I never hit that dark place where you start bargaining with yourself (or god or the devil), which either means I raced smart or that I didn't leave enough out on the course. Who knows?
All I know is that when I finished, I was happy to be done. I would not have wanted to have done twice that race Sunday.

Less than two months until race day.

Racing Racine

I hate racing.
I know that sounds counter-intuitive or downright crazy (especially for someone who keeps signing up for races), but it's true. Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited to race for the first time this season (Racine 70.3 half Ironman) and I, much to their surprise, keep replying "no" in such a way that one would think that they just asked whether or not I was looking forward to a colonoscopy.
So why do I do it? I'm not sure. 
I enjoy the training, there is no doubt about that, but the race itself leaves me nervous and anxious and nauseous. I just can't seem to get out of my own head on race day (or the day before, or the day before...). While racing drives me near-crazy, I will admit that enjoy the end result. But then again, I also enjoy walking out of the dentist (but I'm not going to go back unnecessarily just to get that feeling).
I know I'll sing a different tune when the race is over (you know, provided it goes well), and I have another medal to my name. But for now I'm just going to pace around my house, hoping that I didn't forget to pack anything, Googling "how do I swim 1.2 miles?", and pining for that bottle of wine in the fridge (which is strictly forbidden until after the race, coach's orders).

The Fast Drag

I know that it's been awhile since I've updated, but that's because I've been really busy being lazy, going out of town, and keeping up 14-15 hour workout weeks.
I've managed to reach the same point in Ironman training and in summer vacation at the same time. It is what I call the fast drag (a fabulous oxymoron, much like being lazy while working out all the time). The fast drag is something that happens when individual days (or workouts) may seem to drag, but at the same time you seem to be hurdling head-first towards something rather unpleasant for which you don't quite feel prepared (the Ironman race [God help me] and the beginning of the school year [I'm pretty sure even God isn't interested in intervening in that one]).
I'm at the point in training where instead of thinking that there are endless long rides left and ruing that fact, I am counting them up with fear ("only how many chances to ride the Madison course left?" or "Only how many days in which I can learn how to swim?"). While recently doing a hugely mentally painful 80 miles (2.5 miles...over and over and over and over... [or 32 times past the roadkill chipmunk] nursing poison ivy and about 85 discreet bug bites), I spent half of the time counting down the time remaining (only 10 more times I have to look at that chipmunk) and the other half panicking that the completion of this workout meant that I was one long ride closer to the race (of which, I hate to say it, I am terrified). Thus, the fast drag.
Never mind that I am racing for the first time this season this weekend (only about 107 hours left- eek!).

Horribly Hilly

Last Saturday, by the numbers...7 total hours in my car, 250+ miles driven, 5+ hours on my bike, 80 miles ridden, 2 cups of coffee to make it up to Wisconsin awake, 1 tank of gas at $3.87 a gallon, 32 oz of diet mountain dew consumed on the way back to make it back to Chicago awake, 2 scoops Culver's frozen custard eaten, at least 15 times questioning own sanity.

Horribly Hilly is aptly named. It is pretty damn hilly. One might say Horribly so. Rather than expounding upon how much that course sucked, I will continue the list theme started above and share the iron-randomness that I came up with on 80 miles of hilly-suck.

1. There is a time and place for Ke$ha. I thought this was never, but it is actually a useful tool in staying awake behind the wheel. So is a test of the emergency broadcast system. But they play Ke$ha way more often.
2. There is a time and place for Big-Gulps of Diet Mountain-Dew. See #1
3. Driving past bars that are still open on the WAY to my workout makes me vacillate between feeling super lame and really superior over and over again. 
4. There is something about a hill that goes on for a mile straight that will make you question the existence of a benevolent god.
5. The most useful advice I was given on Saturday: "When you ride past roadkill, you're gonna want to make sure to keep your mouth closed for a little bit before and a little bit after."
6. It took me four hours to realize that Blue Mound State Park is actually really pretty (and it had to be pointed out to me). I was too busy swearing under my breath to notice.
7. There is something about a bad day cycling that makes me want to throw my bike and scream. Why is this? I've never had a tantrum in the middle of a long run.
8. Ending a long hilly ride with a super steep mile-long hill is just cruelty.

Break

I am a teacher, which is why that it is especially interesting that my mother asked the question that she asked me today. She didn't ask me what I was going to do this summer (I think she knew the answer, to be fair, which is to journey long and far to the exotic lands of Wisconsin and Iowa), but what I was going to do with my time after Ironman. Since it's a rest week and I already have more time than I know what to do with ("only an hour workout and only a few papers to grade? What am I going to do with the rest of my evening?"), I've been pondering what she asked.
This is an interesting question for a couple of reasons. First of all, I know that a lot of people in my training group are already thinking of doing another Ironman next year (I got an e-mail from a friend today that said " I'm so confused as to what to do when Ironman madness is over!"). I'm not going to lie, the thought has flit through the transom of my mind, but I don't think that I can justify spending all the money again (I know I'm supposed to be saving for something), nor do I think that I can justify dropping out of life for another year.
The second reason I find this to be interesting is that, as school winds down and I go into rest week mode, I've started to wonder what other people do with their free time. Without something to train for (or a job where you bring home up to five hours of work a night), it seems like one would have a ton of free time- what are people doing with all this free time (I would ask people at work this question, but I already know the answer- grading, planning, calling parents- teachers don't really have all that much free time)? I like to think that everyone is learning how to knit a sweater or cooking their way through Julia Child's cookbook, but somehow I doubt this.
So, to get back to my answer to my mother's question: I'm not entirely sure. I'd like to do another Ironman, but I don't think that that's a healthy option for me right now for a lot of reasons. I'm thinking that I'll probably concentrate on marathoning. I might hire a coach and see how fast I can go (and if I can widen the gap between my PR and Brian's) if I actually really work at it. I might do a half-iron after I'm through with that. I'll probably do another marathon next year just for fun. Who knows? Maybe I'll cook my way through Julia Child's cookbook for a year and blog about it.
Been done?
Hmmmm....maybe I'll try ultras...

Mc200

This weekend, instead of following the regular training block, I ran the Mc200. The Mc200 (which isn't really called the Mc200 anymore since it was taken over by Ragnar) is a relay that runs from Madison, Wi to Chicago, Il. Typically, the teams are made up of twelve people in two vans. At any given point during the race, your team has a person running with your baton (which is actually a reflective slap braclet). The vans follow the runners, provide support when needed, and stage the next handoff. Each runner runs somewhere between 15-20 miles total, broken up into three different legs. I've done this race before, although not quite in this setup. Last time I did it (with Brian and some friends) we did an ultra group, which means that instead of having tweleve runners, you do the same course with six. It also means you run a hell of a lot more.

This year, I did the race with eleven other girls. I knew about half of them before the race started, but didn't know the other half at all. There are several interesting aspects to doing a relay like the Mc200. The first is that you spend almost 24 hours in a van with half of your team. The second is that, in order to have a runner running at all times, you run through the night (which typically also means that you don't really sleep [and when you do, much of it is in your van- see Billie, the pink unicorn van above]).  This means that not only do you have to run your distance, but you have to run it on tired legs, oftentimes with little to no sleep.  It also means that those in the van have to coordinate pick-ups of the other runners and figure out how to keep hydrated and fed with little to no sleep. 
All in all, the race was super fun. Everyone ran strong and we only had one logistic snafu (in the middle of the night, of course): we went to the wrong exchange station at about 1 am and waited and waited and waited for our runner while she stood at another exchange station and waited and waited and waited for us. We eventually solved the problem and got back on track.  The rest of the race was a blur of running, trying to naviagate, annoying people with our megaphone and loud cheering, trying to sleep in the van, and meeting (and tagging vans of) other runners from all over the country in the exchange station. Despite the fact that I know that I personally didn't run my absolute best on tired legs from ironman training, this is the kind of thing that reminds me why I'm a runner in the first place.

Ironman is Sexy

This weekend marked another decent ride (I rode 80 miles of organized ride in Illinois feeling pretty good the entire time). I've been following coach's advice: I took a couple of workouts easy and have been trying to eat more (anyone who knows me well knows that eating more than I already do is a feat of epic proportions [I may actually eat myself out of house and home]). Since then (despite a really hot, humid run where my heart rate was 165 the whole time [translation: I was running sloooooow, my heart was beating like I was running a 10k faaaast]), I've been feeling a lot stronger: my heartrate has been down a bit, my bikes have been strong and fairly fast, and I've been feeling much better in general.
I spent the last couple of days feeling pretty good about feeling pretty good. And then some weird stuff started happening today. One of the teachers I work with commented that I looked "really toned", which was fine, until a student mentioned that my calves "looked huge today" (On a side note: I usually deflect these types of comments by asking "would you like me to point out the parts of your body that I think look funny"? That usually quiets everyone down pretty fast), and then another student told me that I "used to be pretty when [I] did [my] hair" (it's been in a pony tail pretty much everyday since February).  That's when I realized: I work out tons (which should mean that I look better, right?) and all of a sudden my hair is a chlorine-y mess, I have sunglasses and bike short tan (nothing like that first day in a bikini with bike short-tan: tan legs, white thighs), and apparently my calves are now "huge" (frankly, I think I might be developing Popeye arms as well), and I'm pretty sure that I now own way more athletic clothes than real clothes.
Oh well, at least I feel good. And, in the long run, I guess I'd rather be badass than look good (or so I need to keep telling myself for the next three months).

Progression

There's something really exciting about the first time you train for a marathon.  I would guess that for most people, the longest that they've ever run before completing a marathon training program is somewhere around 13 miles (in my case, the soldier field ten miler right before the beginning of the season was my longest run ever before my first marathon training program [I never said I was smart]). That means that almost every long run that you run, you've run a new distance, that you've conquered something that you've never done before. After a couple of marathons, the joy of being able to say "I can't believe that I just propelled my body 20 miles" wears off a bit (I am not as crazy as most and I've run 20 miles or over around 20 times). Running a 20 miler becomes commonplace. Unimpressive. Normal (I imagine that it is this that makes people do stupid s*** like Ironman).
I went up to Madison this weekend to ride the course. After a fairly heinous ride last time (during which I also figured out that I don't have enough gears on my bike [a problem that still has not been remedied]), it felt good to get back on the course and ride it like I knew what I was doing (at least a little bit). I had a fairly good ride and finished feeling strong (despite getting a little lost around the beginning of the loop) despite the hills and despite not having enough gears (still [I never said I was smart- take 2]).  After I finished, feeling pretty good about myself, I looked down at my watch and realized that this four hour ride was the furthest I'd ever ridden my bike before. And then I got a little excited. I remembered what it felt like to do that 14/17/20 mile run for the first time and I got excited about riding 100 miles for the first time ever, or about swimming 2 miles in open water for the first time, and after a frustrating couple of weeks got excited about progressing through training again.
So, I end this training week excited about conquering new distances again (and wondering what in the hell I will do with myself when I've conquered all those distances... ultra running? [scary]).

Non-Absorption

So, I ended up taking the bike test that I had missed during our Turkey trip this past Wednesday. It did not go well. My heart rate shot up almost right away, I only "improved" by a few watts, and I felt like I was going to die pretty much the entire time (you're really only supposed to feel like you are going to die most of the time, not ALL of the time- the concept behind the bike test being to go as hard as you can go for twenty minutes without actually dying [I'm pretty sure that if you die at the end, your results are invalid- but it is triathlon, so who knows?]).
I e-mailed coach about the whole situation and told her that I was really frustrated with my results (and the way that my runs have been going lately too).  I'm just not seeing the improvement that I expected to make, and it's driving me crazy (on a side note, the whole thing reminds me of AP Chemistry in high school...I studied and studied and studied...and still got a C. In the same way that my brain appears to be Chemistry resistant, my body is being ironman resistant right now...I work out and work out and work out and still get a C [or a six watt difference, the computrainer version of a C-]). Coach wrote back and told me that my "body isn't absorbing the workouts" (!!!! that's the last thing I want to hear. Does that mean that I could have been sitting on my butt this whole time and be in the same place?). Apparently, I am too stressed out (no kidding), not getting enough sleep (obviously), and not eating enough (seriously? wow. I mean, wow) and am therefore not recovering enough to get stronger. Bummer.
So, I have to take it easy for a couple days, eat more, and try to get more rest. If only that formula had worked for AP Chem.

Balance

Life, according to all the women's magazines that I read in the checkout line at the grocery store, is all about balance. Balancing work and social life, balancing friends with family, balancing your diet, balancing yourself upside down (yoga magazine- Whole Foods check out lane). Triathlon is about balance to a great degree as well: balancing the three sports, balancing nutrition, etc. The problem is: Ironman leaves little time for balance. There is something, I guess, that is not very balanced about spending most of your weekend working out. In some ways, I've come to grips with it. I understand that I've made a choice to do Ironman, which is going to take a lot of my social life away from me. I'm fine with that.
The problem lies with balancing Ironman with the rest of life. I've somehow been managing to work out AND do my job (anyone who thinks that teachers work a six hour day can try doubling that). It is the rest of life that is turning out to be tricky. It is not until one is extremely pressed for time that one realizes how much maintenance life requires: it is not until one wakes up one morning and realizes that one has nothing to wear that is clean, that there is no food in the house, that there is a stack of unread papers on the floor by the door (when was the last time that that floor was mopped? or the carpet vacuumed? or anything dusted?), and while running to the car (in an outfit from three years ago, gnawing on an apple that one found [?!] in the crisper) realizes that all the gas in the car was used up on that trip to Wisconsin but never replaced. The hardest thing about Ironman might not actually be the training (although I'm not going to lie, it hasn't been easy and doesn't appear to be getting any easier), but keeping a hold on continuing to be a functioning adult capable of feeding, cleaning, and maintaining oneself while training for Ironman.
Thank goodness for summer vacation.

Humble Pie

So, I rode the Madison course for the first time this past weekend. I didn't ride all of it (all of it would be 112 miles), but I certainly rode enough of it. I've been told in the past that the course is hilly. Let me tell you this: the course is HILLY. I spent much of the ride cursing the great state of Wisconsin, much of it trying to catch up with the others, and the whole of it questioning my sanity in signing up to do this thing.  Unlike the Boston Marathon course, the downhills do not make up for the uphills. 
Long story short, I made it. In one piece. On race day, I just have to do that again. Well, and then again right after that. 
I have a newfound respect (read: fear) of the course and what it is going to do to my legs (should make for an interesting marathon). Where at one point I felt like I was working out a lot (two hours! on the bike trainer!), I'm now fearing the opposite.
It was a brutal ride but on the bright side, I got a six pack of New Glarus out of the deal. On the downside, after coach made a comment about it "not being part of [my] fueling plan", I'm now afraid to drink it.

So it begins...(or ends)

I was looking over my schedule for this week earlier today. There was nothing really out of ordinary about it: regular work, running over to see a friend's new apartment, grabbing dinner with another friend, a third friend's birthday celebration, mother's day. A little busy, but surely nothing that I can't handle...you know, until you add thirteen hours of working out to that.
I was talking to someone this weekend who replied, when told by a friend that I was doing an ironman, "I thought all you people did was train and stuff." Well, I think that this week is the week that that statement becomes true. The week when I finally have to start saying "no" to behaving like a normal person who has friends, and start saying "yes" to driving somewhere that no one's ever heard of every weekend to ride my bike for six hours, and then spend all the rest of my waking hours talking about those six hour rides with people who were there anyway, and saying stupid words like "HR zones", "Gu", "Nutrition Plan", (and probably "Bonk") over and over again.
So, this is my farewell letter to the rest of humanity until September 12th. I hope that you all will come support me even though I missed (fill in the blank) _______________ (game night, girl's night out, that fundraiser you organized, your birthday, the birth of your first child, your wedding)!

(Easter) Confession

So, it's Easter and Catholic guilt means that I have to admit something: I did not really workout while we were in Turkey. I definitely walked a lot (and much of it up hill- Istanbul is a very hilly city [who knew?]), but didn't do any formal workouts (I am praying my coach isn't reading this right now). I kept planning on going for a run, but we were getting up around eight every morning and going to bed around midnight (and walking somewhere between 5-8 miles a day) and I was just entirely wiped (and yes, I know that is a lame excuse and yes, I know that I could have/should have gone). So there, I admit it: I didn't work out. Part of me feels really bad about it (especially when I went for my jet-lagged run today and ended up panting and clutching my chest while running 8:45 pace) and the other part of me is a bit defiant. I really really needed this break (not from training necessarily, [although training didn't help] but from work and life and training all wrapped up into one). I needed a rest week (from life more than anything else) and I took it.
I promise that I'll update soon and post some more photos and the details of our trip as I get some things uploaded, I just needed a few paragraphs to clear my guilty conscience.

Rest Week- American Style

The end of the current week marks the beginning of our third rest week (and thus the end of our third training block). Perhaps I am taking rest week too far, because I'm not sure exactly how many workouts I'm going to get in due to the fact that Brian and I are going to Turkey for a week.
Unfortunately, this rest week is one of those fake rest weeks that I talked about earlier- it says "rest" and you get to decrease the volume a great deal, but you also have to do tests in each sport. So you get to trade time and volume for three twenty minute tests that you are supposed to do at such a level of intensity that you lose bodily functions as you go (yes, triatheletes are so type A that apparently they mistake this for rest).
So, I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to do about the bike test, but apparently I'm doing the run test somewhere in Turkey. I e-mailed coach today telling her that I was sure that I couldn't do the bike test (no bike) and was a little worried about doing the run test because of jet-lag. I'm not going to lie to you here: I sort of expected her to tell me not to worry about it; I sort of wanted her to tell me not to worry about it. Instead of telling me not to worry about it she told me to do it anyway and to make sure that I wake up with sunrise to help get rid of the jet lag. Now not only am I running, but I'm waking up with sunrise. Some rest week.
So, I'll be the idiot American tourist, drooling on myself and grunting as I race down the streets (dirt roads? gravel paths?) of Selcuck, Turkey because I'm too afraid of coach not to. I'm sure Brian will snap a few pictures before he rolls over and goes back to bed...

On Turning 30...

Those of you who know me know that I have long been freaked out about the prospect of turning thirty. Those of you who know me well know that that is a little bit of an understatement.
It's not entirely the prospect of getting old that bothers me (runners live forever, right?), it's more that I thought that I'd have everything figured out by now. When I was younger, I thought thirty was some sort of benchmark, that when I turned thirty I would feel, somehow, more adult than I do right now.
I thought that I would suddenly be able to do math, that I would never go to the gym and forget which locker I left my clothes in, that I would not be such a regrettably terrible driver anymore, that I would stop forgetting where I put my keys, that I would be cooking dinner every night instead of ordering takeout, and that I would miraculously stop burning rice (I turned thirty yesterday; not one of those things has changed- although I haven't tried to make rice yet...). I thought that by now I would be at a place in my life where I could tell you exactly where I would be in five years.
I guess, in some ways, turning thirty has just made me realize that the journey is never really over. Maybe I'll never really have it completely figured out (and I'm pretty sure my driving skills aren't going to improve), but maybe that's okay.  It certainly makes things more interesting.

Mindfulness vs. Mindlessness

I was at class on Tuesday, in the middle of a butt-kicker of a workout (coach was walking around making sure that our legs were burning because otherwise we were "doing it wrong"), when I realized that I wasn't sure how long our workout was that day. Coach had said that we had three minutes left for the set, but did that mean that that was all there was left total? All of a sudden, I had to know immediately. I started asking people, looking around for the white board (with the workout written on it), and trying to catch coach's eye so I could ask her. In retrospect, I'm not sure why I decided that I desperately needed to know, and I'm not sure that knowing would have changed anything anyway; it's not like I was going to stop trying (or that my legs were going to stop burning) if I knew that we had thirty minutes left instead of three. If anything, finding out that we had a ton more time left (thankfully, we didn't) would have just discouraged me.
One nice thing about having a coach and a well-written training plan is the ability to be mindless sometimes. That's not to say that I'm not mindful during the actual workout, or that I don't concentrate on the specific skill that I am drilling, but that there are some things (particularly the amount or duration) that will drive me crazy if I think too much about them. I've never, for example, admitted to myself while running a marathon that I had to run 26 miles. I pace myself for 26, sure, but if I start thinking at mile 5 that I have 21 more miles to go, I'll go crazy. So instead I concentrate on my foot strike or my breathing or think about the half marathon mark because that seems close enough (sometimes I also try to calculate my pace based on distance and time, which given my ability at math usually takes me a couple of miles).
In the same way, for all the intense concentration during some workouts, I think that part of training has to be mindless. If I start thinking about the duration of the workout, or the number of hours a week I am going to spend training, or the number of miles that I expect my body to cover on race day, I'll go crazy. Because running 26 miles is crazy. Even crazier is swimming 2.4, biking 112, and THEN running 26 miles.
So, I've resolved to stop thinking about it. I'm not even looking more than a day ahead in the schedule anymore because it just doesn't matter. Everyday I get my workout, and everyday I'll mindlessly follow it- mindfully.

Lameness

I used to be fun. I know that it is hard to believe, but I swear that it is true. I used to stay out late, go to parties and bars, and generally be a good time. No more.
Anyone who knows me now knows that I am more likely to be found asleep at 10pm on a Friday night than out (or getting ready to go out as I usually was at that time in college).
While marathons made me lame (or perhaps allowed me to indulge in my new found lameness), Ironman is already bringing me to a new level of lame. Whereas I used to fall asleep drooling on myself at ten pm, now I am fast asleep by nine.
So, now I am both working out two hours a day, and am pretty much incredibly wiped every day by eight o'clock; unfortunately, that's not the worst of it. I realized how completely lame I am when I checked my summer schedule and figured out that my summer looked essentially like this:
-Run 200 miles from Madison to Chicago in a relay, sleeping in vans and on church floors
-Ride across Iowa for a week while sleeping in tents and trying to avoid eating pork on a stick (don't ask)
-Half Ironman in Racine, WI (5.5+ hours of racing)
-Madison "training camp"
- Course rides for both races, maybe a sprint or an Olympic distance tri thrown in
Lamer than the fact that essentially every weekend of my entire summer is planned out (and that I will be pedaling away like the wicked witch for almost all of that), is the fact that I am excited about all of this (but yes, I will still complain about it when the time comes).
I was thinking about all of this as I got in the pool this morning before work (at 6am). While I know that I am becoming lamer and lamer, at the same time there is something in me that believes (that has to believe) that this is what I need to be doing right now. There is something in me that believes that discipline is better (or that I desperately need it) than doing whatever you want whenever you want and that running Boston or doing an Ironman is worth giving up a night (or two, or thirty) at the bar.
As of the schedule right now, I am still able to have a tiny bit of a social life. Please remind me that I said all that this summer when I have NO social life at all (I'm counting on all three of you who read my blog!)

Stuff

I have a confession to make: I own a $350 running watch. This probably shocks people who don't run ("$350 on a watch!"), is not surprising to people who do run ("yeah, that's about what my Garmin cost"), and probably also shocks triathletes ("they still make watches that only cost $350? Mine was $500...").
Despite this, one thing that I appreciate about running is that for all the dry-fit, GPS-enabled, i-pod ready nonsense, all you really need to run is a pair of shoes. I can pretty much run a marathon with only the clothes on my back.
The problem with triathlon is that there is way too much stuff. Then there is the stuff to make your stuff better, or fix your stuff, or tune your stuff, and then the extra stuff that you might need, but then again might not (seriously, I've never seen a sport with so many accessories for its accessories). As I rode this weekend (and yes, I did end up riding outside despite the cold), I made a mental list of all the stuff that I should probably buy. I mean, I have bike shoes, but not the little booties that go over my bike shoes to keep my feet protected from the wind. I have a long-sleeve wetsuit, but everyone in class just bought a short-sleeve one too. I have a bike, but it needs a tune-up, a new tube, one of my water bottle cages is broken, and I don't have a bike computer (I've been using my $350 watch, silly me). I have biking gloves for cold weather, but not the ones for warm weather because my hands don't go numb when I'm in aero...but then again, I might crash. You need a van (and a credit card with no limit) just to get to the starting line. I know that several people I know routinely lie to their spouses about triathlon purchases (no honey, this is the old wetsuit...no, I always had Zipp wheels...), and it's easy to see why...triathlon is the endurance addict's gambling habit.
Despite the fact that I'm excited about racing this year, and despite the fact that I really enjoy triathlon so far, there's something that seems sort of impure about going faster because you spend more or have more stuff. There's something that seems wrong about buying accessories for things that are essentially accessories (and about owing a whole slew of really expensive workout clothes that I can't even wear down the street to Starbucks). There's something that is primal about running...no stuff...just two men (or women) seeing who can go faster using only their muscle.

On joy

I've been ruminating for a couple of days about something that Brian said to me. I was complaining (as I have been lately) that heart rate training has taken the "fun" out of running. He told me that I should just be glad that I am healthy, able to go outside, and able to run. Essentially, that I should find joy in the very act of running because I can, no matter how slow I have to run.
As one of my new year's resolutions was to be more joyful, I've been thinking the last couple of days about how this particularly relates to sport. I think sometimes that I forget (although I am trying to be conscious) that I push running (or biking or swimming) into the realm of another thing that I have to do (I have to do laundry, I have to finish this grading, I have to run ten miles). In relegating running  into the realm of "I have to do", the joy is taken from it.  Sometimes (when I get into the have to frame of mind) I forget how much sport adds to my life. I forget to remind myself, after a long day at work, that I get to run. I treat it like another punishment, instead of the reward. I forget that the fact that just being able to go out the door on any given day and easily run ten (or more) miles is a pretty decent feat.
Therefore, I'm trying to spend this week reminding myself all of the little (and big) ways that sport makes my life better. I'm going to stop treating things that I choose to do, things that are a gift, like a chore. I'm going to keep reminding myself that there was a time, not that long ago, when I couldn't run a mile and remind myself of all the ways my life has improved (and all the journeys that I've taken) because I decided to try to remedy that. This week, I'm going to be more joyful.

I may be a masochist but....

I consider myself to be a fairly badass runner. This is not to say that I'm super fast (I'm not) or that I win a lot (I don't...I win never). This is merely to say that I know how to get it done (Let me stop right here and say [to address what I already know Brian is thinking] that this is not to say that I don't complain- I do... a lot...but I still get it done and I still manage to bring it on race day [this year's Chicago marathon being the exception...ugh]). I will run in negative degree weather if I have to to get a run in; I will run in blizzards (for those of you who were with me, again, I didn't say that I didn't complain); I will run in rain.
Despite considering myself a badass runner, I am not at all a badass biker. Last week, several of my classmates (teammates? fellow-insane-people?) started a really excited e-mail chain about an outdoor ride they found for St. Patrick's day. There are so many things wrong with this that it is hard to start counting.
One: St. Patrick's day in Illinois generally averages snow and about 32 degree weather. While that would actually make a fairly comfortable run, biking tends to create a little wind. That means that the ride is basically -32 degree windchill. If I have to put booties over my shoes so my shoes stay warm, I'm not going, let's put it that way.
Two: Now that I am almost 30 and get four day hangovers from drinking an O'Douls, there is a good chance that even a modest amount of green beer on Thursday will still have me hungover for this Sunday ride.
Three: (and I realize that this one is no one's fault but my own) I am clumsy. The chance (CHANCE) that there MIGHT be ice SOMEWHERE is too big of a risk to take. I have crashed running on ice (three times last year, to be exact); I certainly don't need to crash my bike on it (despite the fact that coach claimed on the first day of class that you are not a true ironman trainee until you've crashed your bike into a ditch [like one of her 2010 trainees who shall go unnamed in this blog]).
So, have fun on your ride, guys! I'll be the one who is warm and cozy (and without road-rash) watching Glee on my trainer.

Go Slooooooowww....to go fast?

So, this marks the end of my first week with heart rate training.  I've never used heart rate training before and I'm understanding what people mean when they say that it can be "frustrating". Apparently, while I am in good enough shape to run 8 min/miles, I am not in good enough shape to run 8 min/miles without my heart rate going sky-high.
This means that to follow the heart rate training that my coach insists upon, I have to shuffle. Pushing at this stage, according to coach, will only lead to fatigue, illness, and burnout. Shuffling will lead to getting faster.
As my coach says: "Many of you are fit enough to run races and get the workouts done.  However, most athletes without a history of HR training have poor aerobic function.  While you are fit, you are not aerobically fit.  What this means is that your heart works too hard for the work you are doing.  The result - fitness plateau, injury, illness, burnout.  If you've ever experienced any of this, you need to improve your aerobic capacity NOT work harder to go faster."
So, instead of training to go fast by pushing and hurting, I'm training to go fast by shuffling and walking. I was on the path last night wearing my Boston Marathon jacket and wishing that I weren't as runner after runner after runner passed me (I hate being passed on the path!). A friend from my old running group (who I can beat on a good day) zoomed past me and did a double-take, then looked confused as realized that I was not, in fact, injured. I made some lame excuse about being sabotaged by my coach and told him to zoom off (at 8:30s probably), so he didn't feel bad about not wanting to run so slowly with me.
I'm pretty sure that there's a lesson to be found in this...something about patience...or enjoying the journey...or something like that. I'll have plenty of uninterrupted time to figure it out as I run 11 min/miles for the next month. Be sure and wave as you pass me.

An Open Letter (#2)

An Open Letter to the Girl in the String Bikini (white and green, with what looked like hibiscus [?] on it, with string ties on both the top and the bottom, I would guess from the Gap, perhaps...) who at six pm on Monday (which happens to be the busiest time at the pool: usually all of the lanes are full at this time; in fact, there are often people waiting at this time) asked me whether (as the person next to me had just gotten out and all the other lanes were full of people doing laps as it is, as is detailed very clearly on the schedule [and very clearly by the people doing laps] lap swim) I might possibly not mind (mind? Why would I mind?) sharing (at this point I notice that you have neither goggles, a hairtie for your long blond hair, nor a kickboard [so I'm guessing that either the hair is going in the water or you really aren't]) a lane with you (at this point I am really curious, but also have to rinse off, change clothes, and go lift, so I tell you that the lane is all yours and hop out...never to find out what exactly you were doing in the pool in a string bikini with your hair down during lap swim):
Seriously?

Test Week

Well, today ends test week (rest week).
Long story short: I am humbled. It's one thing to start marathon training knowing that you are a little out of shape and to feel it on some of your long runs, it's another thing to prove it to yourself in each sport and have the data to back it up (Do I really need data to tell me that I'm fat and out-of-shape? Stupid triathletes).
I'm pretty sure that I'm supposed to see this "as a motivator to improve", but really, I just find figuring out that I am horrendously out of shape very discouraging.
At one point during my run-test (which went terribly, thankyouverymuch) I started wondering if maybe the cough that I have had had turned into pneumonia. Ummm...yeah, I'm pretty sure that not being able to hold a sub-seven minute mile is not a diagnostic tool for diagnosing any kind of illness (and if it is, I'm sure about 98% of Americans have that disease).
I guess that the lesson to be learned here is that I need to take charge of my training and really embrace the workouts and enjoy the journey and improvement. But right now, I don't want to. Right now, I'm just feeling bad for myself and feeling like training is going to be impossibly long on such poor base fitness.
Perhaps I shouldn't have rested quite so hard this winter.

Rest Week?

I went out for a six mile run today per my training plan and was surprised that my legs felt as good as they did. Despite the relatively light training in the last couple of weeks, one thing that I've noticed is that on runs, my legs have felt a little heavy (I've been told to get used to this- heavy legs IS Ironman). I was also surprised to note that I felt so good that I was having trouble keeping the pace at "easy" (it did also help that this is the first time that I could breathe in two weeks).
Then I remembered. It is a "rest" week. The reason that I put rest in quotes is that I have a hard time calling any week that involves workouts called "tests" that can make grown men cry a "rest week". The whole idea of the rest week is ironic (in that Alanis Morisette calling things that aren't really ironic ironic kind of way). You always reduce volume periodically in training to gain fitness and assure that one is not over training. Runners leave it at that (Rest= Rest). We, however, are reducing volume and checking fitness at the same time. So, our rest week now contains three different fitness tests. The tests are only 20 minutes (reduced volume) but are extremely high intensity. You basically go as hard as you can for 20 minutes (the longest 20 minutes of your life will either be "going as hard as you can" on a bike, or in my 7th period journalism class).
 At the end of the bike test Tuesday, I was covered in sweat, felt like I was going to throw up, was literally drooling on myself, and may have cried a little bit. And then my coach came over and said that she thought I could go harder. I guess there were several bodily functions at the end of the test that still worked, and that was a problem.
Tomorrow is the swim test. I guess no one has ever drowned during it, so that is a good thing. Losing bodily function in the pool seems a bit more dangerous than on a bike hooked into a computrainer, but whatever. It's the run test that really worries me. I know I'm not a good biker, and I have no idea what to expect from the swim, but I know where I am with running. I know that I'm not fit enough to run where I should be even though my legs felt fresh today. I also know that I will probably run too hard too fast and blow up on the path like I have in every 5k I've ever run.
Hopefully, as a more experienced runner, I somehow manage to drool less than I did on the bike. I guess that's where we are as far as measuring success right now.
It think tha,t for now, I'm going to have to be okay with that.

Bike Class

So, I've explained that one of the two group workouts that I do is our "bike class". Several people have asked me questions about what bike class looks like from a practical standpoint (thanks for reading mom & dad!). I have been asked questions like "do you ride outside?", "You bring your own bike?", and "you realize that this is the stupidest thing you've ever done, right?" (although that last one doesn't really have much to do with bike class, it is a contender for most asked question, so I thought I'd throw it in).
So, to put it simply, here is what happens at bike class:
Yes, you bring your own bike. You set it up on this thing that is called a computrainer (which is really expensive, because unlike runners, triathletes aren't happy with something unless it costs at least a thousand dollars. And then they find more stuff to add to it until it costs two thousand dollars [but that is another post entirely]). The computrainer does two things: like a regular trainer, it holds the back wheel of your bike in place so you can ride your own bike without going anywhere; however, it also contains a computer (that's the compu- part of the computrainer). The computer does a whole bunch of things. It measures your power output (watts) and it also puts pressure on the back wheel of your tire at appropriate times to simulate hills, etc (they can program whole course rides into the computer, so you can ride inside and it's just like riding outside but without the nature). All the bikes are lined up facing the computer screens, kind of like a spinning class, but with real bikes. While all this is going on, the coach walks behind, giving advice, answering questions, and calling out the work-out changes. Like a spin instructor, she wears one of those cute little headsets that amplify her voice. Unlike a spin instructor, however, she can kick your ass: I mean, really kick your ass (honestly, I'm terrified of her).
So, basically, you come in, set up your bike and sweat for an hour (or two, or three) while staring at a flat-screen and listening to really loud pop music.
It's not actually as bad as it sounds.

Geek Love

What you see above is my Valentine's day gift from my beloved. No, he did not get me a semi-automatic weapon (even better!). The gift, for those of you who do not recognize the picture, is a dual bike rack. Most women, I am guessing, might not consider this a romantic gift. I, on the other hand, do. The bike rack basically means that I can now fit two bikes on my car instead of just the one in my trunk. It means that we can spend a few more weekends together (riding, yes) than we would be able to otherwise. Some women got earrings. I got a bike rack. I think those of you who have spouses who don't participate in your hobbies can appreciate the romance of a shared interest. I would expect no less from someone that I met during a 20-mile run.
(Let me add as a post-script that both of our V-day gifts last year were purchased entirely from Fleet Feet...Great minds...).

Sick (again)

Today marks day three of missing a workout.
One of the unfortunate aspects of being a teacher is that you are around kids all day. One of the unfortunate aspects of being around kids all day (other than the name-calling and the hair-pulling) is that kids (especially sophomores) lack the proper hygiene to know when a tissue is necessary; hence, they are always sick; hence, I am always sick. Case in point: I have been so sick, so often, this year that I was recently given the "Sneezy Seven-Dwarfs" award (really?) at school (if you don't understand what this means...good, it's better that way). At least being sweaty and athletic is gross but cool. Being sick is just, well, gross. So, as far as the workouts this week go, there is nothing to report.
One of my (three) readers exclaimed that he wanted my entries to "pop" more...that he really wanted to "feel the pain". Well, the pain this week has been (thankfully) mitigated by Advil, Sudafed, Mucinex, and some sort of over-the-counter nasal spray that's been in the medicine cabinet for god-knows-how-long (maybe since before we moved in, actually). I assume that sinus pain doesn't really "pop". Hopefully by next week, I'll be able to share some pain that is unrelated to a cold, a sinus-infection, bronchitis, p-neumonia, or whatever else is currently taking residence in my lungs. Fingers crossed.

Today's blog is brought to you by Puff's plus and a myriad of other medications (which, now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't have combined).

The First Week...

All in all, I would have to say that the first week of training was relatively anticlimactic (you know, other than being stuck for a marathon stint [ha] in my car).
I guess I expected something to happen- to feel more badass, for one of my legs to fall off...something. The only thing that really happened from all of this was that I have already begun to miss running. This whole week, I've been driving to work with my swimsuit (or bike) in my trunk, feeling jealous of those suckers who are dressed all in spandex (sometimes reflective spandex), getting in a run before the crack of dawn. There's something about braving the cold, and about getting in a really hard workout outside, that just can't be beat in the pool or on the bike trainer. Kristin Armstrong said in her Runner's World blog recently:
"In the midst of regular life, running is the touchstone that breathes adventure into my soul. I can feel the trail under my feet, the press of the hill, the gallop of the track, the burn of my lungs, the stir of wonder and possibility. Running reminds me that there is more to me than what is readily apparent much of the time."
I guess what I'm saying, in a round about way, is that the beginning of this grand adventure is feeling...well, less than adventurous right now. The bike trainer is not exactly sexy (and you're talking to a girl who would argue that mile repeats definitely are...), and the I'm having a hard time letting my pool workouts help me feel "the stir of wonder and possibility". I know that I'll feel those things when I get outside (really, it's the outside that does it...no one ever has an "adventure" at the gym [except maybe in the locker room at Bally's but that's another story...]), but I'm having trouble equating my indoor life right now to the pull of adventure and possibility that got me into this whole mess in the first place. 

Mental Toughness?

While the first workout of Ironman training was relatively uneventful (a fairly easy swim, followed by a quick strength session), I was excited (and scared) for my first bike class. The bike class is the thing that really holds the Ironman training together; it's when you, as an athlete, have the most chance (at least until the outside rides) to interact with your coach and your fellow trainees.
So, I packed my bike into my car Tuesday morning with excitement and a bit of trepidation. Around 3pm, my coach e-mailed to say that bike class was cancelled. I was disappointed, figuring that I would do the first bike workout on my own and that I would have a rather anticlimactic first week of training.
I loaded myself, bike still in trunk, into my car for my trek home.  I figured that since I got on the road right around 3:45 that I would have a fairly long ride home, but make it in a reasonable amount of time. Unfortunately, this was incorrect. What should have been the first day in my bike training quickly turned into more than a half-ironman spent in my car. I got onto Lakeshore drive around 5pm after spending over an hour on 90/94. I got off of Lakeshore drive around 12pm (and then had a rather epic drive home in whiteout conditions- I ran at least one red light right in front of CPD for fear of stopping and ending up stuck in a snowdrift) after two police officers helped me turn my car around and literally pushed my out of the space that I had been occupying on LSD for the past 5 hours. During the course of the night, I made friends with a couple people in cars around me, had a woman try to sell me a baggie of oreos through my car window, and had a guy in complete ski gear ask me for jumper cables (thought to bring snow pants and goggles but no jumper cables, huh?). I listened to the radio for nine straight hours. I used up my laptop and my blackberry batteries. I read a young reader's version of a book that I had already read. I graded three papers, but then I realized that if I died, I didn't want grading papers to be one of the last things I did. I went back and forth wondering if I should try to stay hydrated or try not to make myself have pee. I contemplated running home at one point. I contemplated biking home at another. I stayed put.
So, what should have been my first bike class, turned into an adventure of a completely different kind. Perhaps there's something in common between sitting in your car for nine hours and an epic endurance event.
Perhaps not.

Last day of Freedom...Before the First Day of the Rest of the Year...

This week brings both the last day of freedom and the first day of the next seven and a half months of my life. In other words, tomorrow begins Ironman training.
I'm not so worried about tomorrow, per se, as it is actually a swim on my own (as long as no one actually sees me drowning, it's fine). I am however, slightly worried about Tuesday (my first bike class) and Friday (my first swim class with the group [and with the potential for 16 other people to witness my drowning]). If my 13-miler yesterday was any indication (although, admittedly, the hacking cough didn't help any), I am in for a bit of a challenge to get back into shape this next month or so.
All fears aside, however, this is the beginning of a long journey of my own choosing. I'm excited to push my body to new limits, meet new people, and to become a better cyclist. At the same time, I'm worried about managing my time both at work and at home, and getting injured (I mean, with running I usually just have to worry about overuse, with biking I also have to worry about my own clumsiness [yikes]).
All that said, we'll see how I feel come next Sunday, but the schedule doesn't look that punishing for the first week at least. I'm sure that I'll be singing a different tune soon.

Sans Concussion

So, instead of attempting (once again) to run in below zero weather, I spent the (long) weekend on the ski slopes of Breckenridge Colorado instead.
There are several reasons that this is a notable occurance:
First and foremost, as the title of this post would indicate, I did not give myself a concussion (please note super-lame looking helmet in above photo). I guess that NOT giving oneself a concussion shouldn't be something noteable, but when you add snowboarding and me into the mix, it pretty much is. Snowboarding is actually the cause of my one and only (knock HARD on wood) sports injury to date (yes, a concussion). In other words, as much as I fear being doored riding the city streets, or getting a stress fracture somewhere, the only true sports injury that I've ever had is from snowboarding.
That leads to the second reason that this snowboarding trip is notable:
Brian totally (admittedly by him) would not have gone snowboarding before Ironman training last year. He would have been too worried to get injured before he even began. He also wouldn't have spent one of the last weekends before training began drinking beer at altitude. Maybe I'm just cooler than he is (which may go without saying)...Perhaps I am not taking this seriously enough (I would have been seriously pissed off had I actually injured myself)...or maybe I'm just a hell of a lot more badass.
I figure I've got about six months to assume the latter before I need to really start worrying about beating a 12:36 for real.

An Open Letter to Bally's Total Fitness

Dear John...[ahem]...I mean, Bally's,
It's not you, it's me. Well, no. Mostly, it's you. I know that we've been together since college (8 years now!), but I think that it might be time to say goodbye. It's not the smell; really, I'm not that sensitive to it and it gives me the feeling that I'm really "working out" when everything smells bad. It's not the fact that you don't have any towels (or really any amenities at all- including soap dispensers with soap in them), I understand that this is part of the reason that you can give me a membership for only $20 a month (although a friend of mine claims he pays $8- what's with that?). It's not even the locker room (although I am confused as to why the same naked old lady is always sitting [and sometimes eating] in there).
It's not the fact that you wouldn't let me out of my three year contract when I moved to Scotland, despite guaranteeing that you would (I mean, I had a letter from my employer, a stamp in my passport, an electric bill, a check stub, and a cashed rent check- what more do you want to prove I live somewhere?). It's not the fact that someone suckered me into a three year contract (Three years! That's longer than most relationships last).
Really, at this point it's the pool. There's a couple things about the pool that I just can't do. First of all, I am a little concerned by the hairy men with gold chains who sit in the hot tub and ogle the swimmers (who are mostly older ladies with sagging speedos...). They never leave. Just like the naked-locker-room-eating lady. They're not the major reason we must bid ado, however. It is your general lack of hygiene these days. There are...um (how do I say this politely)... things floating in the pool. Things that should not be floating in the pool. Also, when the water gets cloudy, it's time to add some chlorine. Not a lot, but some.
I hope maybe you've learned something from our time together. I know I have learned at least one thing: it's worth a couple extra bucks to pay for a grown-up gym that actually cleans up after itself.

Soooo...I'm lazy

A friend of mine once called me "the laziest marathon runner" that he knew.
Some colleges claim that they work hard so that they can play hard.
I work hard so that I can rest hard, I guess.
In other words, while many of my colleagues have been in pre-season training working their non-existent butts off, I have been eating pie (and cake, and candy, and Christmas cookies...) and drinking beer.
On one hand this worries me a little bit: the fact that I haven't been in a pool since July, the fact that I can no longer button my jeans without sucking in (and then can barely breathe while wearing them), the fact that every time I get on the bike trainer I try to ride hard, but the antics on Glee just get so distracting (teenage drama! set to music!) should all be worrisome to someone about to embark on Ironman training. On the other hand (or so I keep trying to rationalize to myself), I spent the past year training for three different major races and I'm about to give up 2011 to the triathlon gods as well, so I deserve that last slice of pie (and the one before it, and that tray of cookies, and the doughnut...).
All kidding aside though, everyone needs a break once in a while. Is it my fault that I rest harder than most?

What IS Normal?

The title of today's post was the subject of my zoning-out-in-traffic pondering today.
As a result of doing stupid endurance sports, I know quiet a wide range of people who others, outside of the endurance community, might think of as crazy. I have a multiple friends who have run marathons, several friends who have run multiple marathons, and live with an Ironman finisher. I have friends who are runners and runner-friends. A lot of these people have done things that I would never care to attempt like 50 mile races (hallucinations anyone?) and trail marathons (I trip over the same power cord in my classroom everyday and I KNOW it's there...I can't imagine what would happen with a tree stump that I didn't). I now, thanks to the running community and Brian, know a bunch of people who have completed at least one (some mulitple) Ironman triathalons. For the most part, I would consider the vast majority of these people "normal". The more I run, and the more I meet runners, the more that crazy-distance races begin to look blase'. For example, when I venture out into the endurance community and mention the Ironman or my running goals, I feel that I get responses like this a lot:
"Oh, you've run 5 marathons? Yeah, I did a bunch of marathons in my twenties too. I tried ultra marathons after that, but decided on doing an Ironman after my knees started giving me trouble. After that one I just got hooked."
Or "Oh, you're doing an Ironman? That's cool. I might do one in the future, but now I'm concentrating on running a faster marathon..."
When I venture outside of the endurance community, I feel like people look at me cross-eyed when I tell them that I even run on a regular basis...let alone run marathons...let alone think that a good way to spend a summer is on six hour rides. 

Happy New Year!!

Happy New Year!
While I don't usually buy into New Year's resolutions, I guess right now is as good of a time as any to take stock and resolve to do a couple things a little differently this year.
So...call them what you like...but here are mine.  I would call these workout resolutions, but I'm not sure that that would be entirely accurate. I think that any good resolutions will probably carry over into the rest of life as well.

1. Be more joyful.
Despite having a pretty amazing year in 2010, I feel like I spent much of the time complaining: about my workouts, about the weather, about my times, about my job. So much of what I complained about this year were things that I did out of choice (seriously, no one is holding a gun to my head at 6:30 in the morning and forcing me out for a 20-miler), but a lot of the time I forgot this and grumbled my way out the door anyway. Therefore, I resolve this year to find more joy in everything I do: to remind myself that I am lucky to be healthy and fit enough to get up and run 20 miles, to remind myself that I teach because I love it (even if I am having a terrible day), to remind myself that in everything I give up for sport, I am gaining so much more in health and fitness and experiences (and that being able to run a marathon or do an Ironman is well worth a couple of missed bar nights).

2. To not procrastinate and to finish the things that I set out to do.
Oh, how I love to procrastinate. Procrastination is my undoing. I've learned over the years that no matter how daunting a 15 mile run or 3 hour bike seems at 6am, it will only get more so, not less, as the day wears on. Therefore, I resolve to stop being so damn lazy and just get whatever needs to be done done (please hold me to this people).

3. To be more organized.
I spent a half an hour this morning looking for my cold-weather running jacket and my facemask.
I never did find the face mask. Enough said.