There are a lot of things that I dislike about the holidays (you can call me a Scrooge). I think the main thing that bothers me is that we use the holidays as an excuse to be our worst selves instead of our best selves (myself often included). We turn these holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Hanukkah), days that are supposed to be joyful celebrations of finding just enough when we thought we wouldn't have anything (finding some friends who will share their food, having light when it seemed there would be none, finding a manger when there was no where to sleep) into a free-for-all for inexpensive towels on Black Friday and a month and a half long sugar-blast. Every year around the holidays, Americans go into debt and eat ourselves fatter and sicker than we were the last year in celebration of holidays that are meant to remember finding just enough to get by on.
As I was on my way home from 14 degree run this morning (which was penance for too many cookies and bit too much punch yesterday), I was thinking that perhaps the holidays need a little more discomfort so we appreciate the comfort. One of my favorite things is having a well-earned breakfast and curling up into a warm bed after a nice cold twenty miler. The contrast between the cold and the struggle (and working up a genuine hunger) makes appreciation of the comfort of bed and the treat of warm food so much better than it could ever be otherwise. Practicing restraint and engaging in some mindful discomfort leads to so much more enjoyment on the rare occasions that we do indulge than when we shove things in our mouths with abandon and buy anything and everything just because it is on sale. When we have too much of everything, it gets really hard to appreciate any of it.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Struggling
We talked today in our English department meeting about how important it is for students to realize that there is value in struggle. Oftentimes, the greatest learning happens when children are allowed to struggle through a dense text, a complex math problem, or a difficult new skill . We don't learn by doing things that are easy, we learn by testing our limits. The key is learning that struggle is an integral part of this process; to recognize it, embrace it even.
The conversation about struggle was timely for me, because it is something that I have been thinking about since last weekend. I've been struggling in myriad ways in the past couple weeks with Ironman and this last weekend's workout only increased my frustration.
On one hand, I am at the point in training, and school (heck, and life), that it is a daily struggle to get everything done (yes, I should be pre-cooking dinner right now or folding laundry or putting away dishes or running, and instead I am writing a blog post. Sue me.). I have made and backed out of plans, eaten more frozen things than I would like to admit, realized that I had nothing to wear to work at the last minute, and driven an extra 3 hours in a morning so I could attend a wedding the night before a ride. It just seems like there is not enough time in the day to get everything that needs to get done done. Someone asked me if I had seen a new TV show today and I laughed in his face. Who has time to watch TV?
That struggle is compounded with the struggle that actually IS the process of training. I looked down at my watch at the beginning of my ride this weekend while pedaling and realized that I was going 12 miles an hour. That headwind continued for 3 hours. It gets frustrating realizing that your body isn't doing what you want it to do, that things hurt (always different things- why?!), that you aren't making the gains that you thought you would as fast as you would.
But if Ironman were easy, then it wouldn't be an accomplishment. If we didn't struggle through workouts, our bodies wouldn't get stronger (sometimes slowly, at their own pace). I know from experience that the struggle does make you physically stronger, and that all the mental struggle and the sacrifices are worth it come race day when you come cruising across the finish line and hear your own name, followed by "you are an Ironman". And...and...despite everything that is difficult (because of everything that is difficult), when I go to work on Monday, wiped out and tired and windburned and tan and I ask others how their weekends were and they say that they "watched the game" or "watched some TV", I know that I rather would struggle and ride my bike 12 miles an hour into a 30 mile an hour headwind than sit on the couch anyday.
“Struggling and suffering are the essence of a life worth living. If you're not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you're not 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
The conversation about struggle was timely for me, because it is something that I have been thinking about since last weekend. I've been struggling in myriad ways in the past couple weeks with Ironman and this last weekend's workout only increased my frustration.
On one hand, I am at the point in training, and school (heck, and life), that it is a daily struggle to get everything done (yes, I should be pre-cooking dinner right now or folding laundry or putting away dishes or running, and instead I am writing a blog post. Sue me.). I have made and backed out of plans, eaten more frozen things than I would like to admit, realized that I had nothing to wear to work at the last minute, and driven an extra 3 hours in a morning so I could attend a wedding the night before a ride. It just seems like there is not enough time in the day to get everything that needs to get done done. Someone asked me if I had seen a new TV show today and I laughed in his face. Who has time to watch TV?
That struggle is compounded with the struggle that actually IS the process of training. I looked down at my watch at the beginning of my ride this weekend while pedaling and realized that I was going 12 miles an hour. That headwind continued for 3 hours. It gets frustrating realizing that your body isn't doing what you want it to do, that things hurt (always different things- why?!), that you aren't making the gains that you thought you would as fast as you would.
But if Ironman were easy, then it wouldn't be an accomplishment. If we didn't struggle through workouts, our bodies wouldn't get stronger (sometimes slowly, at their own pace). I know from experience that the struggle does make you physically stronger, and that all the mental struggle and the sacrifices are worth it come race day when you come cruising across the finish line and hear your own name, followed by "you are an Ironman". And...and...despite everything that is difficult (because of everything that is difficult), when I go to work on Monday, wiped out and tired and windburned and tan and I ask others how their weekends were and they say that they "watched the game" or "watched some TV", I know that I rather would struggle and ride my bike 12 miles an hour into a 30 mile an hour headwind than sit on the couch anyday.
“Struggling and suffering are the essence of a life worth living. If you're not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you're not 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
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Boston
Running is where I find solace. It is my form of meditation, prayer, or what have you. It is, even when shared with friends, a deeply personal experience. It is a stripped down sport, with only your body, your limits, and your own perception of pain and time to manage. People who are runners innately understand this; people who are not runners ask "don't you get bored?". Running is somewhere that I turn when I am lost or confused or scared. I always feel better when I have run alone, but I have also forged many friendships (and a marriage) through running. Again, there is something about the sport that strips everything down, that allows you to just "be" in another's company.
The marathon is where this thing that is very private becomes public. There are only a few in any given race that are there to win, the rest of us are merely there to prove something to ourselves or to be recognized for those early mornings or late evenings spent in pursuit of what we love. If you've ever watched a marathon, you can witness pain, struggle, and great joy all in the course of one short afternoon. People wear these emotions on their sleeves in ways that you rarely witness in public. People often cross the finish line and cry.
The Boston Marathon is the most public of all. Almost everyone, even those who don't know that a marathon is 26.2 miles, have heard of the famous Boston Marathon. They know that it is a BIG DEAL. It is a place where otherwise normal people can feel like Olympians for a day. It is where many of us who toil day in and day out to run and run well (but who will never win a race) will recognize our greatest athletic achievement. It is a club that you join (much like Ironman) that can never be taken away once you are in. It is a race that the whole city (as well as all the surrounding communities) rallies behind and helps make a day so special, such a celebration, for everyone involved.
I mourn above all for the loss of life and the tragedy that befell everyone who had a connection with what happened yesterday. I also feel, as a runner and as part of a community of runners (and someone in the Boston "club"), a connection to what happened yesterday despite being thousands of miles away. Lives were lost and something that was special and sacred to many of us, a public celebration of that private joy that we derive from running, was turned into a terrible tragedy. Despite running often being a solitary sport, we know that we runners form a strong community. So, together we will mourn. Together, we will help each other heal.
Together, we will run.
The marathon is where this thing that is very private becomes public. There are only a few in any given race that are there to win, the rest of us are merely there to prove something to ourselves or to be recognized for those early mornings or late evenings spent in pursuit of what we love. If you've ever watched a marathon, you can witness pain, struggle, and great joy all in the course of one short afternoon. People wear these emotions on their sleeves in ways that you rarely witness in public. People often cross the finish line and cry.
The Boston Marathon is the most public of all. Almost everyone, even those who don't know that a marathon is 26.2 miles, have heard of the famous Boston Marathon. They know that it is a BIG DEAL. It is a place where otherwise normal people can feel like Olympians for a day. It is where many of us who toil day in and day out to run and run well (but who will never win a race) will recognize our greatest athletic achievement. It is a club that you join (much like Ironman) that can never be taken away once you are in. It is a race that the whole city (as well as all the surrounding communities) rallies behind and helps make a day so special, such a celebration, for everyone involved.
I mourn above all for the loss of life and the tragedy that befell everyone who had a connection with what happened yesterday. I also feel, as a runner and as part of a community of runners (and someone in the Boston "club"), a connection to what happened yesterday despite being thousands of miles away. Lives were lost and something that was special and sacred to many of us, a public celebration of that private joy that we derive from running, was turned into a terrible tragedy. Despite running often being a solitary sport, we know that we runners form a strong community. So, together we will mourn. Together, we will help each other heal.
Together, we will run.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Decisions, Decisions...
It's almost spring break at school, which means that the students are getting restless as spring approaches. Restlessness means failures. More of my students are failing right now than I would like to admit. I usually let them flounder around until about now and then lay it on thick. I will pull a failing student aside after class and say the following: "I was just wondering why it was that you've decided to fail my class this quarter." Usually, if done right, it gets a pretty strong response. My students are still at a stage where they believe that a teacher gives grades rather than a student earning them. Usually, they try to protest: "I don't know why YOU're failing me!". And then I point out all the decisions that a student made before they got to that "F": (Have you decided not to do classwork/homework? have you decided not to come see me during lunch for extra help? have you decided to sleep in class? have you decided to chat instead of taking notes?).
Even as adults, we like to think that we have less agency in our own lives rather than accepting the decisions that we've made. We like to say that we don't have time to do certain things (like read, exercise, or cook), but what we really mean is that we've decided that those things aren't as important to us as other things. We say that we can't get along with another person when what we mean is that we prefer not to try to see that person's point of view. We say that we can't lose weight when what we really mean is that we've decided that we don't want to make the permanent change that it takes to drop the pounds. We say that we are too tired to finish the workout, or to pedal hard, or to run fast, but what we really mean is that we have decided not to try. We say "can't" sometimes when we mean "won't".
I've realized this: there are so many things that we can't control that we need to control the things that we can. Many times we can choose to be happy when we are not. We can choose to devote the energy to changing things we don't like. We can choose to try our best at every workout or we can say that we are too tired, sore, or busy to do it correctly. In the end, we can make excuses all we want, but that finish line still looms whether you try your best or enjoy the workout along the way or not.
Even as adults, we like to think that we have less agency in our own lives rather than accepting the decisions that we've made. We like to say that we don't have time to do certain things (like read, exercise, or cook), but what we really mean is that we've decided that those things aren't as important to us as other things. We say that we can't get along with another person when what we mean is that we prefer not to try to see that person's point of view. We say that we can't lose weight when what we really mean is that we've decided that we don't want to make the permanent change that it takes to drop the pounds. We say that we are too tired to finish the workout, or to pedal hard, or to run fast, but what we really mean is that we have decided not to try. We say "can't" sometimes when we mean "won't".
I've realized this: there are so many things that we can't control that we need to control the things that we can. Many times we can choose to be happy when we are not. We can choose to devote the energy to changing things we don't like. We can choose to try our best at every workout or we can say that we are too tired, sore, or busy to do it correctly. In the end, we can make excuses all we want, but that finish line still looms whether you try your best or enjoy the workout along the way or not.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
If it's not food...then what is it?
We are coming to the end of the two month vegan challenge. I've spent the last two months thinking a lot about food. I've talked to a lot of people (informally) about veganism and its benefits both health and performance-wise (side note: I got my lipids tested a week ago for a health initiative for work and was told that they were "perfect"). I've talked to some people who have started on the paleo diet and are having great results on it. I've read several articles about the relationship between chronic disease and diet as well as several articles espousing the so-called "Mediterranean diet". Then today I read this article in the New York Times which was adapted from a book (which is about to be released) called "Fat Sugar Salt" by Michael Moss: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/24/magazine/the-extraordinary-science-of-junk-food.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0
And I realized something (or I guess, was reminded of something). We, as a nation, are forgetting what food really is. The common denominator between all the "diets" (and I'm touching upon veganism here as a choice motivated by health rather than one motivated by morality, so bear with me) that I mentioned above is that if done right, they pretty much eliminate all processed non-food. Maybe, just maybe, it's not the fact that a vegan can't eat salmon or someone on a paleo diet can't eat legumes that make these diets successful, but that neither of them can eat powdered cheese food or Campbell's soup or flamin' hots. So much of what we see on our grocery store shelves is engineered (read the NYT article) in a lab, rather than grown in the ground. In other words, so much of what we're eating really isn't food in the strictest sense of the word.
Quick Story: When I taught writing two years ago, we read the young reader's edition of "The Omnivore's Dilemma". The other teacher that I planned with came up with a brilliant idea: we let the kids bring in their favorite treats and eat them in class as long as they did the activity that we planned first. Every student brought something in (sometimes when I assigned homework, only 10% of kids would actually do it, but every kid brought in a "treat" that day). The first thing that we did was to ask the students (without looking at the ingredient list) was what their "treat" was made of. The kids were perplexed. So we guided them a little bit. We asked them what part of the food pyramid it would fall into. They were perplexed. No one knew what was in a flamin' hot cheeto, and no one could come close to linking it to anything that actually constituted food without looking at the ingredient list. Even after looking at the ingredients, they were still confused..."well, what is all this stuff?".I didn't know what most of the things on the list were any more than they did (Michael Pollan did- it's corn!). We asked them how often they ate the items they brought in. Most of them responded that they ate things like this multiple times a day.
The NYT article on the Mediterranean Diet pointed out something that should be obvious to us: that real food should be a treat and not a punishment (think about your best meals ever: did they involve processed cheese or breaded chicken nuggets? probably not). We, as a culture, like to convince ourselves that we are being deprived if we choose a salad over a Quarter Pounder with cheese. (There's even whole lines of "I'm depriving myself with non-food" food in the way of Lean Cuisines, Snackwells, those 100 calorie packs of things that resemble cookies, etc.). Marketers have led us to believe that the way to happiness is through our stomachs and that we "deserve" to eat desert with every meal (or supersize our meal, or that we are bad parents for not buying our kids food that is shaped like animals). I would like to make some sort of comment about how I believe in personal responsibility here, but I'm not sure that we, as Americans, have any sense of that anymore (certainly when it comes to food, debatably in other areas as well). Perhaps Michael Bloomberg is right to want to regulate what people eat. When my students ask me why I make certain rules, sometimes I am brutally honest: "Because I don't trust you yet to be in control of yourselves." If we don't learn to control what we eat, the government might be telling us that very thing more and more (and they might not be wrong).
And I realized something (or I guess, was reminded of something). We, as a nation, are forgetting what food really is. The common denominator between all the "diets" (and I'm touching upon veganism here as a choice motivated by health rather than one motivated by morality, so bear with me) that I mentioned above is that if done right, they pretty much eliminate all processed non-food. Maybe, just maybe, it's not the fact that a vegan can't eat salmon or someone on a paleo diet can't eat legumes that make these diets successful, but that neither of them can eat powdered cheese food or Campbell's soup or flamin' hots. So much of what we see on our grocery store shelves is engineered (read the NYT article) in a lab, rather than grown in the ground. In other words, so much of what we're eating really isn't food in the strictest sense of the word.
Quick Story: When I taught writing two years ago, we read the young reader's edition of "The Omnivore's Dilemma". The other teacher that I planned with came up with a brilliant idea: we let the kids bring in their favorite treats and eat them in class as long as they did the activity that we planned first. Every student brought something in (sometimes when I assigned homework, only 10% of kids would actually do it, but every kid brought in a "treat" that day). The first thing that we did was to ask the students (without looking at the ingredient list) was what their "treat" was made of. The kids were perplexed. So we guided them a little bit. We asked them what part of the food pyramid it would fall into. They were perplexed. No one knew what was in a flamin' hot cheeto, and no one could come close to linking it to anything that actually constituted food without looking at the ingredient list. Even after looking at the ingredients, they were still confused..."well, what is all this stuff?".I didn't know what most of the things on the list were any more than they did (Michael Pollan did- it's corn!). We asked them how often they ate the items they brought in. Most of them responded that they ate things like this multiple times a day.
The NYT article on the Mediterranean Diet pointed out something that should be obvious to us: that real food should be a treat and not a punishment (think about your best meals ever: did they involve processed cheese or breaded chicken nuggets? probably not). We, as a culture, like to convince ourselves that we are being deprived if we choose a salad over a Quarter Pounder with cheese. (There's even whole lines of "I'm depriving myself with non-food" food in the way of Lean Cuisines, Snackwells, those 100 calorie packs of things that resemble cookies, etc.). Marketers have led us to believe that the way to happiness is through our stomachs and that we "deserve" to eat desert with every meal (or supersize our meal, or that we are bad parents for not buying our kids food that is shaped like animals). I would like to make some sort of comment about how I believe in personal responsibility here, but I'm not sure that we, as Americans, have any sense of that anymore (certainly when it comes to food, debatably in other areas as well). Perhaps Michael Bloomberg is right to want to regulate what people eat. When my students ask me why I make certain rules, sometimes I am brutally honest: "Because I don't trust you yet to be in control of yourselves." If we don't learn to control what we eat, the government might be telling us that very thing more and more (and they might not be wrong).
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Do you want the good news first...or the bad news?
Starting training this week with a good percentage of people who had never done Ironman before, I couldn't help but feel a little wizened. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still can't swim and at times my bike handling leaves plenty to be desired, but I know enough to laugh at the guy on the trainer next to me (nicely, of course) when he says that he already has a bike and so he doesn't plan to spend that much money on Ironman. So, here is a compilation of stuff I know. Some of it is good, some bad, some of it...well, some of it just is. In no particular order.
1. You will spend a zilliondy dollars before you cross the finish line. You may be the type of person who needs every new gadget out there or you may be a strict minimalist (or fall somewhere in between). You WILL spend a zilliondy dollars. You will spend more money on gas, sports drink, race entries, tire tubes, tune-ups, groceries, hotel rooms, and new shoes than you think you will. Yeah, that number in your head...double it. Triple it if you're that guy that was on the trainer next to me.
2. You will have a meltdown. At least one. I don't care if you're a dude. You will get off your bike and threaten to throw it. You will sit down in the middle of a run and refuse to get up. You will bang your head against the steering wheel in your car after a ride when your legs would barely move or you got 3 flats or it was 100 degrees outside or a combination of all three. You might even cry. Even if you are a dude. It will be epic, but it will be okay.
3. You will feel great when you start getting into shape and then your legs will feel terrible pretty much until you taper.
4. No matter how much of an athlete you feel like today, you will feel like a major badass by June.
5. By June, you are also going to have nothing to talk about other than your training and will have spent enough time in the sun to think that it's actually interesting to people who aren't training with you. It's not. Stop talking about it. Trust me.
6. You are going to meet some badass MFers. You may even think right now that you fall into the badass MFer category. You don't. Trust me. No matter how badass you think you are, you are going to meet some guy or some girl who is so badass that they make you feel like you are riding a pink huffy. ("oh, you're training for your first Ironman? I've done twenty" "Ah. Ironman, I did those before I got into ultraman." "Yeah, I got sick of riding my bike, so I'm training for Leadville"). Be wary of these people. If you listen to them too much, they start sounding less crazy and you might even start thinking that some of their ideas seem like good ones. And then all of a sudden you are flying to Antarctica to run a marathon wearing a snow suit.
7. When you tell people that you are doing Madison, they will mention the swim start. They will show you this picture or one that looks just like it. They will use adjectives like "washing machine". It will scare you. For good reason. But it will be okay.
8. By May you will want to eat everything. You will. With Abandon. I remember e-mailing coach something close (seriously) to the following: "I just ate a whole cake. I mean a WHOLE cake. I'm still hungry. What's wrong with me?". She told me to eat more avocado and nuts. To her credit, I didn't eat a whole cake again.
9. If you are a man, you will do #8 while losing tons of weight. If you are a woman, you will stay the same weight while your waist whittles down and your butt and thighs get bigger. Invest in a pair of comfy yoga pants that stretch now. Sorry, but it's the truth.
10. By August, you will most likely be questioning your own sanity as you miss birthday parties, baptisms, and weddings to go ride your bike. Sometimes alone, sometimes in heat. You will pee in cornfields and talk to cows on the side of the road instead of doing normal-people things. You will feel abnormal because, well, you are abnormal.
11. That sexy hint of color you got from marathon training? With Ironman training, It will be a full-on suit of too-tan and white even if you wear SPF 100 every time you leave the house.
12. If you follow the training plan, you will be ready. Seriously. No matter how crappy you feel through training, you will be ready. The race is just preparation + heart + a hope that your digestive system holds up.
13. It will be worth it when you cross the finish line.
1. You will spend a zilliondy dollars before you cross the finish line. You may be the type of person who needs every new gadget out there or you may be a strict minimalist (or fall somewhere in between). You WILL spend a zilliondy dollars. You will spend more money on gas, sports drink, race entries, tire tubes, tune-ups, groceries, hotel rooms, and new shoes than you think you will. Yeah, that number in your head...double it. Triple it if you're that guy that was on the trainer next to me.
2. You will have a meltdown. At least one. I don't care if you're a dude. You will get off your bike and threaten to throw it. You will sit down in the middle of a run and refuse to get up. You will bang your head against the steering wheel in your car after a ride when your legs would barely move or you got 3 flats or it was 100 degrees outside or a combination of all three. You might even cry. Even if you are a dude. It will be epic, but it will be okay.
3. You will feel great when you start getting into shape and then your legs will feel terrible pretty much until you taper.
4. No matter how much of an athlete you feel like today, you will feel like a major badass by June.
5. By June, you are also going to have nothing to talk about other than your training and will have spent enough time in the sun to think that it's actually interesting to people who aren't training with you. It's not. Stop talking about it. Trust me.
6. You are going to meet some badass MFers. You may even think right now that you fall into the badass MFer category. You don't. Trust me. No matter how badass you think you are, you are going to meet some guy or some girl who is so badass that they make you feel like you are riding a pink huffy. ("oh, you're training for your first Ironman? I've done twenty" "Ah. Ironman, I did those before I got into ultraman." "Yeah, I got sick of riding my bike, so I'm training for Leadville"). Be wary of these people. If you listen to them too much, they start sounding less crazy and you might even start thinking that some of their ideas seem like good ones. And then all of a sudden you are flying to Antarctica to run a marathon wearing a snow suit.
7. When you tell people that you are doing Madison, they will mention the swim start. They will show you this picture or one that looks just like it. They will use adjectives like "washing machine". It will scare you. For good reason. But it will be okay.
9. If you are a man, you will do #8 while losing tons of weight. If you are a woman, you will stay the same weight while your waist whittles down and your butt and thighs get bigger. Invest in a pair of comfy yoga pants that stretch now. Sorry, but it's the truth.
10. By August, you will most likely be questioning your own sanity as you miss birthday parties, baptisms, and weddings to go ride your bike. Sometimes alone, sometimes in heat. You will pee in cornfields and talk to cows on the side of the road instead of doing normal-people things. You will feel abnormal because, well, you are abnormal.
11. That sexy hint of color you got from marathon training? With Ironman training, It will be a full-on suit of too-tan and white even if you wear SPF 100 every time you leave the house.
12. If you follow the training plan, you will be ready. Seriously. No matter how crappy you feel through training, you will be ready. The race is just preparation + heart + a hope that your digestive system holds up.
13. It will be worth it when you cross the finish line.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
An epic journey...
Welcome back to "I am a Masochist", the Ironman blog (redux). We'll see if I can come up with some new jokes the second time around.
Today is the first day of official Ironman training. I went to the gym today and did the prescribed workout. While I did the strength workout, I stared in the mirror, and looked at my soft, pale arms, and thought, "this does not look like a body that can cover 140.6 miles." Well, and that's the truth...it doesn't look like a body that can cover 140.6 miles because it is not.
My freshman English class just finished reading the Odyssey. One of the things that we talked about a great deal in the study of the Odyssey was the power of journeys. Our hero (no, I'm not saying I'm a hero for doing masochistic things, but stick with me for the rest of the analogy please) starts out unwilling, unworthy, or unable. Somehow, however, through the power of some sort of journey, the hero is transformed. He ends the journey as someone different and is able and worthy to do things that he was unable to do at the beginning of the story. The hero couldn't, I tell my students, have faced the challenge that he faces at the end of the story at the beginning of the story- it wouldn't make any sense- he wasn't fully realized. It is the journey that makes him into a hero, not the other way around.
Here's to the beginning of the journey (again).
Today is the first day of official Ironman training. I went to the gym today and did the prescribed workout. While I did the strength workout, I stared in the mirror, and looked at my soft, pale arms, and thought, "this does not look like a body that can cover 140.6 miles." Well, and that's the truth...it doesn't look like a body that can cover 140.6 miles because it is not.
My freshman English class just finished reading the Odyssey. One of the things that we talked about a great deal in the study of the Odyssey was the power of journeys. Our hero (no, I'm not saying I'm a hero for doing masochistic things, but stick with me for the rest of the analogy please) starts out unwilling, unworthy, or unable. Somehow, however, through the power of some sort of journey, the hero is transformed. He ends the journey as someone different and is able and worthy to do things that he was unable to do at the beginning of the story. The hero couldn't, I tell my students, have faced the challenge that he faces at the end of the story at the beginning of the story- it wouldn't make any sense- he wasn't fully realized. It is the journey that makes him into a hero, not the other way around.
Here's to the beginning of the journey (again).
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The vegan challenge
It's only a month until Ironman training really starts. Which means that I've been working out countless hours to get back in shape in order to get back in shape. Oh, wait. That's not what's been happening at all. With all the events leading up to the wedding, the wedding itself (yup, I managed to make it down the aisle without Brian killing me with one of his crazy schemes), the holidays, and our honeymoon (in South Africa- I chased after a giraffe and petted a penguin- check out the photos...), I've been eating pretty much anything and everything. And drinking anything and everything. Which was fine until my pants had started to hurt me. Yes, hurt. I don't know as much as I probably should about nutrition, but I know this much: pants aren't supposed to hurt you. Pants are supposed to be your friends. When your clothes start to hurt, you are too fat (and chances are you are too fat because you have been a pig- I know it's not pretty, but it's the truth).
So, when Brian suggested that we go vegan for two months, I agreed (what I thought was an elaborate scheme to make sure I wasn't eating crap and he wasn't thus doomed to life with a very large bride, was actually an elaborate scheme to make me his personal chef- but more on that later). While I'm no animal activist by any means (I love my new leather boots!), I don't eat a ton of meat (I generally stay away from anything with a viable nose), and figured that challenge would just serve to make me a more mindful eater.
Thus far (third week in), it has been decently easy for me: I've been cooking a whole lot more, eating much more mindfully, and each week have managed to (with Brian's help) consume about five bags of produce without letting any go to waste (OK, full disclosure #1: I threw out one really icky avocado). What has been difficult has been social situations(full disclosure 2: I cheated once, I was at The Girl and the Goat and had had too many glasses of wine...). There are very few vegan choices on any menu, and as someone who was formerly in food service, I don't want to bug wait/kitchen staff by making a whole bunch of insane demands ("Can you make a vegan chicken fettuccine Alfredo? What? Why are you giving me that look?"). I don't necessarily see this as a terrible thing though. I'm not saying that I'm going to stay vegan after these two months (I'm not), but I think that I've learned some important lessons even in this short period of time:
-Good, wholesome, and whole foods beat processed foods every time (with the way that you feel, with the way that they taste, with the environmental impact of your choices).
- You can eat wholesomely and whole on about the same budget that you were spending on processed food crap if you shop wisely and plan well.
- Food is not entertainment. This one is hard for me. As an athlete, I should (and do) know that the purpose of food is to properly fuel your body and keep it functioning. I don't think there's anything wrong with treating yourself once in a while, but (I need to keep reminding myself this) that's supposed to be the exception, not the rule. Which is not to say that you can't eat things that taste good and are good for you, it's just coming at it from the opposite angle.
-There is a great deal of pleasure in doing things purposefully. Sometimes we move so fast, that we forget to be purposeful. Eating purposefully, exercising purposefully, planning our time purposefully give us a sense of control and make the mundane meaningful.
So, overall, it's been a good experience and a relatively sustainable one.
(Guest Commentary from Brian: Going Vegan is much more challenging than I originally thought it would be. When going to a restaurant, often times the only vegan item on the menu is Chips and Salsa. Not exactly the healthy food I'm looking to replace my meat/dairy with. Needless to say, over the last 3 weeks since we started going vegan, we have gone out to eat much less. We have planned our meals much more. And obviously, consumed a significantly larger amount of fruits and vegetables. Well, at least I have. Apparently, Jolly Ranchers don't count as servings of fruit in Michelle Obama's new food pyramid/plate thingy...who knew? Anyway, 3 weeks in, am I'm down about 10 pounds, and have probably spent a couple hundred bucks less on food and alcohol than what I normally would be doing right now...and my energy levels have been pretty good as well. No caffeine over that same time period!
However, I need to give credit where it is due. I couldn't have done this without Cindy. She literally packs my breakfast/lunch/dinner for me on the 3 nights a week where I have class and am gone from 6am to 10pm every day. When I lose all my post-wedding/honeymoon/holidays/laziness fat, it will be 90% because of her. Hopefully I can keep up with her on the bike a bit during her Ironman training over the summer to push her and help her out as a thanks for helping me out with the vegan thing.)
So, when Brian suggested that we go vegan for two months, I agreed (what I thought was an elaborate scheme to make sure I wasn't eating crap and he wasn't thus doomed to life with a very large bride, was actually an elaborate scheme to make me his personal chef- but more on that later). While I'm no animal activist by any means (I love my new leather boots!), I don't eat a ton of meat (I generally stay away from anything with a viable nose), and figured that challenge would just serve to make me a more mindful eater.
Thus far (third week in), it has been decently easy for me: I've been cooking a whole lot more, eating much more mindfully, and each week have managed to (with Brian's help) consume about five bags of produce without letting any go to waste (OK, full disclosure #1: I threw out one really icky avocado). What has been difficult has been social situations(full disclosure 2: I cheated once, I was at The Girl and the Goat and had had too many glasses of wine...). There are very few vegan choices on any menu, and as someone who was formerly in food service, I don't want to bug wait/kitchen staff by making a whole bunch of insane demands ("Can you make a vegan chicken fettuccine Alfredo? What? Why are you giving me that look?"). I don't necessarily see this as a terrible thing though. I'm not saying that I'm going to stay vegan after these two months (I'm not), but I think that I've learned some important lessons even in this short period of time:
-Good, wholesome, and whole foods beat processed foods every time (with the way that you feel, with the way that they taste, with the environmental impact of your choices).
- You can eat wholesomely and whole on about the same budget that you were spending on processed food crap if you shop wisely and plan well.
- Food is not entertainment. This one is hard for me. As an athlete, I should (and do) know that the purpose of food is to properly fuel your body and keep it functioning. I don't think there's anything wrong with treating yourself once in a while, but (I need to keep reminding myself this) that's supposed to be the exception, not the rule. Which is not to say that you can't eat things that taste good and are good for you, it's just coming at it from the opposite angle.
-There is a great deal of pleasure in doing things purposefully. Sometimes we move so fast, that we forget to be purposeful. Eating purposefully, exercising purposefully, planning our time purposefully give us a sense of control and make the mundane meaningful.
So, overall, it's been a good experience and a relatively sustainable one.
(Guest Commentary from Brian: Going Vegan is much more challenging than I originally thought it would be. When going to a restaurant, often times the only vegan item on the menu is Chips and Salsa. Not exactly the healthy food I'm looking to replace my meat/dairy with. Needless to say, over the last 3 weeks since we started going vegan, we have gone out to eat much less. We have planned our meals much more. And obviously, consumed a significantly larger amount of fruits and vegetables. Well, at least I have. Apparently, Jolly Ranchers don't count as servings of fruit in Michelle Obama's new food pyramid/plate thingy...who knew? Anyway, 3 weeks in, am I'm down about 10 pounds, and have probably spent a couple hundred bucks less on food and alcohol than what I normally would be doing right now...and my energy levels have been pretty good as well. No caffeine over that same time period!
However, I need to give credit where it is due. I couldn't have done this without Cindy. She literally packs my breakfast/lunch/dinner for me on the 3 nights a week where I have class and am gone from 6am to 10pm every day. When I lose all my post-wedding/honeymoon/holidays/laziness fat, it will be 90% because of her. Hopefully I can keep up with her on the bike a bit during her Ironman training over the summer to push her and help her out as a thanks for helping me out with the vegan thing.)
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Because my Husband is a Sadist
Here's the video!
I know that I haven't posted in a while (that seems to be a refrain here- sorry), and a lot has happened since I last wrote. I got married (see title of post and notice that I said "husband" instead of fiance- fancy!), and did some fun trail marathons and things. My tri season was, admittedly, a huge disaster (huge disaster here being synonymous with non existent), so I decided that since I didn't want to do triathlon at all last year, that the best thing to do to fix that would be to sign up for another Ironman this year. (I didn't say that my logic actually makes any sense). So, that means, that being that this is an Ironman blog, and I'm doing another Ironman, I am back full-time (you're welcome! I know some of you have desk jobs and feel like you reach the ends of the Internet on a daily basis- fret not!).
Anyway, that is all well and good, but the REAL point of this post is to tell you about the most (ahem) interesting thing that I did athletically this summer (or in general).
After I did Ironman, Brian got a little athletically antsy. He decided that he needed some sort of new challenge and that it needed to involve running because "who has time to do all that biking anyway"? So, instead of doing something normal like a run through Death Valley, he decided that he wanted to run down the Grand Canyon and up it again. and then back down. and then back up. all in one day.And since there was a very good likelihood that he would die, he wanted to drag others down with him. Since there was a very good likelihood that it would be awesome, he wanted to share that with his friends (love you Brian! Thanks for reading!). I was a little convinced that he actually trying to kill me before our impending nuptials. And since I was about to be his wife, he obviously also wanted to share the experience with me. He also invited some of the other biggest suckers we know. Since we know a large community of runners, it wasn't hard finding other people to join us. I thought that this was a horrible idea from the start. I was really excited to get started on this adventure. Well, the summer flew by, and before we knew it (after countless planning meetings- which mostly involved drinking and calling ourselves "badass"), it was time to fly to the Grand Canyon.
The morning of Rim to Rim to Rim, we woke up around 3am, packed the car and drove as close as we could get to South Kaibob Trail. After a few potty breaks, Jeff, Jessica, Tim, Brian, Monika, and I started down the trail. We had headlamps, but I think it was darker and harder to navigate than we all thought that it would be at the start. We didn't run much at that point, not for fear of wasting our legs going downhill (oh no, that would come later), but because it was really just that hard to see and navigate the trail properly. We hiked/jogged in almost complete darkness (save for the moon) for over an hour (as you will see from the beginning of the video, which I suggest that you watch). We were getting close to the bottom and the river (Phantom Ranch) by the time that we could actually turn off our headlamps and see the trail properly. At this point, we all refilled our water, took another bathroom break and got ready to go up the North Rim. We were all together and all felt pretty good. It was starting to warm up, but there was a cloud cover (which in the end pretty much saved our asses).
We took off from Phantom Ranch at a pretty decent clip (we had been jogging down to Phantom Ranch and across the more flat areas as the light had gone up) and still all together. After a while of running with some other R3ers that we had met, a few of us started to fall behind the pack a little bit. I started to hike a little bit on a flat and Brian (who was behind me) told me to pick it up. I did and started to run again. And then hit the gravel...hard. And skidded. I fell on one of my hands and my arm/elbow. It was bloody and filled with gravel. Brian was the only one who saw me fall and therefore who stopped when I fell. I had a first aid kit and I wasn't dead, so I told him to go on and catch up to the others (Implied message here: go catch up to the others, and tell them to slow down so that they can wait for me to catch up-I'm scraped and bleeding! Message Brian heard: go catch up to the others and continue running with them without telling them anything. It's fine to leave me bleeding and alone at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.). So I cleaned myself up and I ran. and ran. and ran. I ran by myself for just over an hour. In that time, I got plenty worked up. Luckily, Jeff was nice enough to cut the part where I met up with everyone again out of the video or I would be unable to send it to my family (um, or anyone else for that matter- Thanks Jeff!).
Up until I caught up to everyone we had had sort of undulating hills. After this, we started going UP. At this point, I wasn't sure that I was even really interested in making it to the top. It was getting warmer, the sun had peeked out a little bit and frankly, I wasn't really that interested in telling people that I had completed R3. But, as we went up, Brian started looking really shaky. He was pale and his shirt was all caked with salt. He wasn't keeping pace with everyone else and was falling behind. So I decided to stay with him to make sure that he was okay. So, slowly, and behind everyone else, we hiked up to the North Rim together. At this point, I was fine. I wasn't really in any pain. I had been keeping up with my hydration (we were all carrying camel backs) and salt intake. I hadn't really overheated. I was actually having to stop and wait for Brian quite a bit on the way up. We finally got up to the top (20 some miles later) and took a short break and some pictures (notice how happy we both look).
On the way down, Brian started feeling much better. We weren't exactly bombing down the trail (because you couldn't or you would fall) but we were going at a pretty steady pace. For awhile. While we were going downhill, I kept having to stop and empty out my shoes. The vents in them were filling with dirt and sand (which I assume was there to reduce erosion). I'm not sure if it was the sand or the downward motion or both, but after a while going down my feet started to blister. badly. By the time we got halfway down the North Rim, I was hobbling. Every step in a downward motion caused my feet to slide forward and rub every single blister. It was unbearable. Ironically, my legs felt fine at this point. When we hit the flat part near where I had fallen, and I realized that at the speed that we were going it was going to be awhile (read: an hour) before we got to Phantom Ranch, I cried. Tears. For about an hour. While hobbling. To his credit, Brian stayed with me the whole time and just let me limp behind and cry while feeding me shot blocks and letting me drink his Gatorade.
When we finally got to Phantom Ranch, realizing that we had at least another 6 hours of hiking left (We had been moving pretty much non-stop for 11 hours at this point), I tried to bargain with the woman running the kitchen for a burro ride back up the South Rim (seriously. I did this). No luck. So, Brian and I refilled our packs, ate the sack lunch that we were very late to pick up (as it was dinner time) and I sat down and popped the horrible blisters on both feet with the post of one of my diamond earrings (diamonds truly are a girl's best friend).
The way up, to be honest is a blur. My feet felt better as we hiked up and with my blisters popped. We met a few gentlemen who were coming up from Phantom ranch and talked to them several times as we leap-frogged back and forth. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. We turned on our headlamps again as we saw darkness again. We got our feet wet in rock run off. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. My hands swelled up into sausages. We took turns feeling nauseous and being cheerful. We told stories and were silent. It. was. dark. We hiked. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. We stopped and refilled water and talked to the two other guys who were hiking. They were from Jersey. Their wives thought they were nuts. I started a running commentary on how much longer we had with two hours left to go in 15 minute intervals. I ended up being off by about a minute and a half. Brian used a bathroom 4 miles from the top and had a mouse run out of the trash can at him. A mile from the top we ran into really stoned kids who were "super hungry" and Brian unloaded what he didn't need from his pack with them. And then, all of a sudden, we saw the lodge and the huts and we were at the top. And that was it. We hobbled to the lodge and ate around all the normal people (and the rest of our friends) who weren't covered in blood and dirt and caked in salt and who had normal-people fingers and weren't limping around. And that was it.
I was going to post a cellphone picture of the one blister that I got a shot of that was on my big toe but about the size of my little toe, but I'm technologically challenged. Lucky you. I had five blisters that size on each foot. Ow.
I know that I haven't posted in a while (that seems to be a refrain here- sorry), and a lot has happened since I last wrote. I got married (see title of post and notice that I said "husband" instead of fiance- fancy!), and did some fun trail marathons and things. My tri season was, admittedly, a huge disaster (huge disaster here being synonymous with non existent), so I decided that since I didn't want to do triathlon at all last year, that the best thing to do to fix that would be to sign up for another Ironman this year. (I didn't say that my logic actually makes any sense). So, that means, that being that this is an Ironman blog, and I'm doing another Ironman, I am back full-time (you're welcome! I know some of you have desk jobs and feel like you reach the ends of the Internet on a daily basis- fret not!).
Anyway, that is all well and good, but the REAL point of this post is to tell you about the most (ahem) interesting thing that I did athletically this summer (or in general).
After I did Ironman, Brian got a little athletically antsy. He decided that he needed some sort of new challenge and that it needed to involve running because "who has time to do all that biking anyway"? So, instead of doing something normal like a run through Death Valley, he decided that he wanted to run down the Grand Canyon and up it again. and then back down. and then back up. all in one day.
The morning of Rim to Rim to Rim, we woke up around 3am, packed the car and drove as close as we could get to South Kaibob Trail. After a few potty breaks, Jeff, Jessica, Tim, Brian, Monika, and I started down the trail. We had headlamps, but I think it was darker and harder to navigate than we all thought that it would be at the start. We didn't run much at that point, not for fear of wasting our legs going downhill (oh no, that would come later), but because it was really just that hard to see and navigate the trail properly. We hiked/jogged in almost complete darkness (save for the moon) for over an hour (as you will see from the beginning of the video, which I suggest that you watch). We were getting close to the bottom and the river (Phantom Ranch) by the time that we could actually turn off our headlamps and see the trail properly. At this point, we all refilled our water, took another bathroom break and got ready to go up the North Rim. We were all together and all felt pretty good. It was starting to warm up, but there was a cloud cover (which in the end pretty much saved our asses).
We took off from Phantom Ranch at a pretty decent clip (we had been jogging down to Phantom Ranch and across the more flat areas as the light had gone up) and still all together. After a while of running with some other R3ers that we had met, a few of us started to fall behind the pack a little bit. I started to hike a little bit on a flat and Brian (who was behind me) told me to pick it up. I did and started to run again. And then hit the gravel...hard. And skidded. I fell on one of my hands and my arm/elbow. It was bloody and filled with gravel. Brian was the only one who saw me fall and therefore who stopped when I fell. I had a first aid kit and I wasn't dead, so I told him to go on and catch up to the others (Implied message here: go catch up to the others, and tell them to slow down so that they can wait for me to catch up-I'm scraped and bleeding! Message Brian heard: go catch up to the others and continue running with them without telling them anything. It's fine to leave me bleeding and alone at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.). So I cleaned myself up and I ran. and ran. and ran. I ran by myself for just over an hour. In that time, I got plenty worked up. Luckily, Jeff was nice enough to cut the part where I met up with everyone again out of the video or I would be unable to send it to my family (um, or anyone else for that matter- Thanks Jeff!).
Up until I caught up to everyone we had had sort of undulating hills. After this, we started going UP. At this point, I wasn't sure that I was even really interested in making it to the top. It was getting warmer, the sun had peeked out a little bit and frankly, I wasn't really that interested in telling people that I had completed R3. But, as we went up, Brian started looking really shaky. He was pale and his shirt was all caked with salt. He wasn't keeping pace with everyone else and was falling behind. So I decided to stay with him to make sure that he was okay. So, slowly, and behind everyone else, we hiked up to the North Rim together. At this point, I was fine. I wasn't really in any pain. I had been keeping up with my hydration (we were all carrying camel backs) and salt intake. I hadn't really overheated. I was actually having to stop and wait for Brian quite a bit on the way up. We finally got up to the top (20 some miles later) and took a short break and some pictures (notice how happy we both look).
On the way down, Brian started feeling much better. We weren't exactly bombing down the trail (because you couldn't or you would fall) but we were going at a pretty steady pace. For awhile. While we were going downhill, I kept having to stop and empty out my shoes. The vents in them were filling with dirt and sand (which I assume was there to reduce erosion). I'm not sure if it was the sand or the downward motion or both, but after a while going down my feet started to blister. badly. By the time we got halfway down the North Rim, I was hobbling. Every step in a downward motion caused my feet to slide forward and rub every single blister. It was unbearable. Ironically, my legs felt fine at this point. When we hit the flat part near where I had fallen, and I realized that at the speed that we were going it was going to be awhile (read: an hour) before we got to Phantom Ranch, I cried. Tears. For about an hour. While hobbling. To his credit, Brian stayed with me the whole time and just let me limp behind and cry while feeding me shot blocks and letting me drink his Gatorade.
When we finally got to Phantom Ranch, realizing that we had at least another 6 hours of hiking left (We had been moving pretty much non-stop for 11 hours at this point), I tried to bargain with the woman running the kitchen for a burro ride back up the South Rim (seriously. I did this). No luck. So, Brian and I refilled our packs, ate the sack lunch that we were very late to pick up (as it was dinner time) and I sat down and popped the horrible blisters on both feet with the post of one of my diamond earrings (diamonds truly are a girl's best friend).
The way up, to be honest is a blur. My feet felt better as we hiked up and with my blisters popped. We met a few gentlemen who were coming up from Phantom ranch and talked to them several times as we leap-frogged back and forth. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. We turned on our headlamps again as we saw darkness again. We got our feet wet in rock run off. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. My hands swelled up into sausages. We took turns feeling nauseous and being cheerful. We told stories and were silent. It. was. dark. We hiked. I counted down the hours until we could stop hiking. We stopped and refilled water and talked to the two other guys who were hiking. They were from Jersey. Their wives thought they were nuts. I started a running commentary on how much longer we had with two hours left to go in 15 minute intervals. I ended up being off by about a minute and a half. Brian used a bathroom 4 miles from the top and had a mouse run out of the trash can at him. A mile from the top we ran into really stoned kids who were "super hungry" and Brian unloaded what he didn't need from his pack with them. And then, all of a sudden, we saw the lodge and the huts and we were at the top. And that was it. We hobbled to the lodge and ate around all the normal people (and the rest of our friends) who weren't covered in blood and dirt and caked in salt and who had normal-people fingers and weren't limping around. And that was it.
I was going to post a cellphone picture of the one blister that I got a shot of that was on my big toe but about the size of my little toe, but I'm technologically challenged. Lucky you. I had five blisters that size on each foot. Ow.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
On Joy...
I know that I promised that I'd start writing again and haven't, but I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off lately. Everything has had that sort of rushed, joyless feeling that you get from eating fast food in the car...you don't really have time to taste anything and the whole ordeal just makes you feel nauseous about an hour later.
Unfortunately, this is sort of where I am with my training right now too. I'm not sure what it is, but I just don't really have any motivation. I haven't been enjoying training at all lately; it's just another one of those things to fit into an already too-packed schedule. I'm not sure what it is that's doing it, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Perhaps it is that too-packed schedule that is making everything seem like a chore; Perhaps I should have realized that with everything that is going on (wedding, moving, work, etc) that it would be hard to make training seem like a priority; Perhaps it is that I'm not exactly sure what I'm training for right now (I'm running a marathon in three weeks, but I'm doing a whole lot of swimming and biking that don't relate, I'm doing a couple Olympics, but those are too short for me to compete...I'm doing a 70.3 at some point...I guess that's my "A" race?); Perhaps it is the lack of spontaneity that is ruining it. Maybe it's a combination of all of the above.
Although I guess I might sound like I'm complaining, that isn't really the intention. I guess I'm just trying to work through my motivation issues a bit, trying to find a solution because I miss the joy that comes with training and competing. I miss the joy the rest of the week that I feel when finishing a CARA long run. I guess I just am trying to figure out how to make it fun again.
Unfortunately, this is sort of where I am with my training right now too. I'm not sure what it is, but I just don't really have any motivation. I haven't been enjoying training at all lately; it's just another one of those things to fit into an already too-packed schedule. I'm not sure what it is that's doing it, but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Perhaps it is that too-packed schedule that is making everything seem like a chore; Perhaps I should have realized that with everything that is going on (wedding, moving, work, etc) that it would be hard to make training seem like a priority; Perhaps it is that I'm not exactly sure what I'm training for right now (I'm running a marathon in three weeks, but I'm doing a whole lot of swimming and biking that don't relate, I'm doing a couple Olympics, but those are too short for me to compete...I'm doing a 70.3 at some point...I guess that's my "A" race?); Perhaps it is the lack of spontaneity that is ruining it. Maybe it's a combination of all of the above.
Although I guess I might sound like I'm complaining, that isn't really the intention. I guess I'm just trying to work through my motivation issues a bit, trying to find a solution because I miss the joy that comes with training and competing. I miss the joy the rest of the week that I feel when finishing a CARA long run. I guess I just am trying to figure out how to make it fun again.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
I'm back...sort of.
As this blog was originally intended to encompass all things Ironman and I am no longer training for an Ironman, I took a little break from updating it. However, I realized that tri season is quickly approaching and I need a good kick in the ass to get going again. Perhaps updating my blog more frequently might be that kick in the ass I need. Don't worry...I have plenty of masochistic things planned this season to detail (some perhaps even stupider than Ironman...yes, a Grand Canyon run falls into that category).
While I'm not doing an Ironman this year, in addition to tri training and a race schedule that is quickly turning insane, I'm planning a wedding. Which, in a lot of ways, is just as masochistic (some might say more) as Ironman, but far less badass (you only get a medal at the end of one. And no one gets "just married" tattoos. I'm just sayin'...); however, there are myriad similarities between the two:
1. Everything is overpriced. Fact. $50 for a race shirt made in Taiwan in a sweatshop? $200 for a veil made of a cheap comb, fake pearls, and some fabric made in Indonesia? Plenty of people willing to pay regardless? Yes.
2. Once people find out you are doing it, it's all they ask you about. "How far did you run today?" " Do you have a photographer yet?" I do like to pretend that I have other interests. Like watching old Kona reruns on my DVR on the trainer while flipping through bridal magazines...
3. You find, after awhile, that it is all you CAN talk about. "OMG, my quads are killing me". "So...I've decided on save the dates, but not on invitations..."
4. There is a lot of technical terminology that I still don't understand. Seriously. I still don't know the difference between a Zipp 400 and 800 (those are the right sizes right?). I still don't know what "picking your colors" means. What exactly is supposed to be this color? Is EVERYTHING supposed to be the same color? And what everything does this encompass? Seriously, if anyone has an answer to either, please post in comments. I'm so confused.
5. What you wear doesn't really matter all that much, but people act like it's the most important decision you're going to make. I mean, tri shorts are tri shorts are tri shorts, right? and a dress is a dress is a dress. Both are made in China in mass production. Let's be real. And let's also be real that by the end of the event, you are going to be none too comfortable anyway...something will be cutting in somewhere unpleasant, you will most likely have chafe marks no matter what, and damn it, your feet are going to HURT.
6. You have to drop weight and obsess about food to do either. Brides-to-be and triathletes are perhaps the two most weight obsessed groups of people on the planet. Somehow both getting married and being a recreational athlete gives people the idea that they can talk about weight ad nauseum and have it be socially acceptable. "race weight", "dress weight", I don't really see that much of a difference.
There are more, but I'll stop here. I mean, there are other things to think about other than tris and wedding stuff. Like yoga. And dropping this last five pounds before the (wedding, tri) season starts.
While I'm not doing an Ironman this year, in addition to tri training and a race schedule that is quickly turning insane, I'm planning a wedding. Which, in a lot of ways, is just as masochistic (some might say more) as Ironman, but far less badass (you only get a medal at the end of one. And no one gets "just married" tattoos. I'm just sayin'...); however, there are myriad similarities between the two:
1. Everything is overpriced. Fact. $50 for a race shirt made in Taiwan in a sweatshop? $200 for a veil made of a cheap comb, fake pearls, and some fabric made in Indonesia? Plenty of people willing to pay regardless? Yes.
2. Once people find out you are doing it, it's all they ask you about. "How far did you run today?" " Do you have a photographer yet?" I do like to pretend that I have other interests. Like watching old Kona reruns on my DVR on the trainer while flipping through bridal magazines...
3. You find, after awhile, that it is all you CAN talk about. "OMG, my quads are killing me". "So...I've decided on save the dates, but not on invitations..."
4. There is a lot of technical terminology that I still don't understand. Seriously. I still don't know the difference between a Zipp 400 and 800 (those are the right sizes right?). I still don't know what "picking your colors" means. What exactly is supposed to be this color? Is EVERYTHING supposed to be the same color? And what everything does this encompass? Seriously, if anyone has an answer to either, please post in comments. I'm so confused.
5. What you wear doesn't really matter all that much, but people act like it's the most important decision you're going to make. I mean, tri shorts are tri shorts are tri shorts, right? and a dress is a dress is a dress. Both are made in China in mass production. Let's be real. And let's also be real that by the end of the event, you are going to be none too comfortable anyway...something will be cutting in somewhere unpleasant, you will most likely have chafe marks no matter what, and damn it, your feet are going to HURT.
6. You have to drop weight and obsess about food to do either. Brides-to-be and triathletes are perhaps the two most weight obsessed groups of people on the planet. Somehow both getting married and being a recreational athlete gives people the idea that they can talk about weight ad nauseum and have it be socially acceptable. "race weight", "dress weight", I don't really see that much of a difference.
There are more, but I'll stop here. I mean, there are other things to think about other than tris and wedding stuff. Like yoga. And dropping this last five pounds before the (wedding, tri) season starts.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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 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
Friday, September 9, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 1, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, July 15, 2011
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).
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).
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
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!).
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!).
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
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$ha way more often.
2. There is a time and place for Big-Gulps of Diet Mountain-Dew. See #1
3. Driving past bars that are still open on the WAY to my workout makes me vacillate between feeling super lame and really superior over and over again.
4. There is something about a hill that goes on for a mile straight that will make you question the existence of a benevolent god.
5. The most useful advice I was given on Saturday: "When you ride past roadkill, you're gonna want to make sure to keep your mouth closed for a little bit before and a little bit after."
6. It took me four hours to realize that Blue Mound State Park is actually really pretty (and it had to be pointed out to me). I was too busy swearing under my breath to notice.
7. There is something about a bad day cycling that makes me want to throw my bike and scream. Why is this? I've never had a tantrum in the middle of a long run.
8. Ending a long hilly ride with a super steep mile-long hill is just cruelty.
Horribly Hilly is aptly named. It is pretty damn hilly. One might say Horribly so. Rather than expounding upon how much that course sucked, I will continue the list theme started above and share the iron-randomness that I came up with on 80 miles of hilly-suck.
1. There is a time and place for Ke$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.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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...
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...
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