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.

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.

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.

Ironman Race Report...and thanks.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Raaagggbrrraaaaaiiii

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