Well shit

Warning: Entry might not be appropriate for people who don’t like to talk/read about poop.

What is the most common response when I would mention I’m training for a marathon (has not changed when I say Ironman instead of marathon)? “Oh, hey, great job!” “That’s quite the commitment.” “How do you find the time?” “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.” Hmm. None of these.

“You’re going to shit your pants.”

I’d rather have, “You don’t look like someone who can run a marathon.”

A little background: I’m not a runner. I’ve never been a runner. I’ve always been the big girl. I play defense. I shoot the ball. I don’t like to run. I don’t run. Long distance used to mean a quarter mile lap around the track to me.

Until I decided to attempt the Ironman. All of a sudden, I needed to be a runner.

When I decided I’d start this little adventure, I was roughly 40 pounds overweight and miserable. I joined Weight Watchers. I signed up for my first marathon (three years ago this week). All of a sudden, I needed to run. I needed to run regularly. When I get “in to something,” I really get into it. So I focused heavily on eating within my points and making sure I did not skip a workout.

There’s something about eating reasonable, healthy portions of food and increasing the amount you run. It really does a number on your digestive tract. All of a sudden I had these amazing poops. (My system had been a little “off” since I tried the yogurt with the ‘probiotics.’ Nothing really worked as consistently as it once had.) But man when I’d run, it’d get things going again. Sure exercise is supposed to help with those things anyway, but this was great. I knew once I returned home, I’d have a nice healthy shit. The running must have jiggled things loose or something.

Never while I trained for my first marathon did I have digestive tract issues. I take that back. Mile 23-ish: I saw the porta potty. I thought, “I kind of have to go, I should stop.” I didn’t’ stop. I knew if I stopped I wouldn’t get going again. So I kept running. The sensation passed. I knew the “you’re going to shit your pants” people were full of, well, shit. I made it through marathon #1 with no pooping of the pants issues.

There’s a different feeling when you poop because of running (or at least what I’ll blame on running) versus when you just have to go. It’s not an “it’s that time of day, I should go to the restroom” kind of feeling. It’s a sensation that starts in your side. It’s not really like diarrhea . . .where you can feel the pain scoot down your intestine, and you know how fast you should get to the restroom based on how fast the scoot is down your intestine. It’s not a “sit on the pot hoping something comes out” type of feeling. This is more of a sudden jolt in your side and you need to go now kind of feeling. Well, mine is anyway. My other “I’m not a runner” friends and I have discussed the running shits often (who else can you talk to about this?). The running shits are not always urgent. At the time, mine tended to be pretty urgent. Mine were pretty painful. I would cripple over in pain it was so bad.

I started training for my second marathon in August, 2009. I was going to run the Rock & Roll Vegas marathon in December. Training was going well. I felt strong, felt fast (for me). Then shit happened. My job cut back hours (and pay), more shit happened (yes, he’s an asshole). By the end of October, with no job duties on Friday, I was drinking a few too many shots of whiskey after Thursday night kickball. I told myself it worked out perfectly. My house was the exact distance to the bar (where my car was parked) as my Friday morning training runs were. Serendipity, right?

I didn’t really eat those few months prior to the Vegas marathon, I just drank. Heavily. There’s a different feeling when you poop because your liver is bleeding versus when you just have to go. All of a sudden, the “you’re going to shit your pants” line sounded like something that could happen.

The Vegas marathon was a horrible experience for me. The short story: it was too soon. I ran from porta potty to porta potty. I thought for sure I was going to shit my pants. It’s not like running produces a nice solid log coming out either. No, this is the runny, melted milkshake squirting out my ass.

I am pleased to say, I made it through the Vegas marathon without shitting my pants. I thought on at least three occasions that I would have to, but by the grace of God, I made it to the next porta potty each time.

Eventually I laid off the whiskey and my liver stopped bleeding. I worked full time again (with the full time pay, always a bonus). I still had cramping and pain when running, but it was manageable. The area I frequent to run my workouts is nice: I know exactly where the restrooms are and how long it takes me to get there.

A year later, my third marathon experience sucked for a completely different reason. But it seems that my intestinal distress while running has subsided. I now very rarely have intestinal issues. This morning I had the same pain, but nothing urgent. I know right now it has to do with the heat and my body working to keep cool enough.

I’ve always said that I’m not in these races to cross the finish line before anyone; it’s a competition against me. I will make time to stop at the porta potty if I need to. I’m not going to lose any money or anything if I do stop for a bathroom break. I’m not going to win the race, or win my age group because I shit my pants instead of stopping at the porta potty. Shitting my pants is not winning.

The final countdown (do do do doooo do do do do dooo ) Part I

Tomorrow I start the “Ironman-Specific Base” of training. AHH. Week 13. Half way through the training program. AHH. I’m totally not ready. The swim workouts are still a challenge. I am just not fast. What if I’m not fast enough to make the cutoff? AHH!

I’ll start doubling and tripling up on workouts in this phase. Some of them are optional, so we’ll see how I feel. AHH. I don’t want to overtrain, but at the same time, I don’t want to get to the start line grossly undertrained either. AHHH.

I signed up for a local Olympic distance that takes place at the end of September. According to the race website, race day weather tends to have lows in the mid 60s and highs in the 90s. I can’t even imagine what this feels like right now. I run in the mornings, starting before the sun rises, and it is 92 degrees outside. Is it really going to cool down 25 degrees in a month? I sure hope so. I don’t know how much more of this training in the heat crap I can take!

I know what you're thinking. . . "Why don’t you run on a treadmill?" Treadmills are all well and good for people who run 30 minutes at a time and/or don’t sweat. I need to run longer and I need a giant fan to blow on me or I sweat worse than I do outside. The treadmills at the gym I go to have fans in them, sort of. The fans don’t adjust up, so my boobs get a nice gentle puff of air.

As long as I hit the pavement before the sun is too intense, I’ll run outside. There is hope for a gentle breeze and at least I’m going somewhere. I don’t hear the thump thump thump of my body bouncing around on the belt. I don’t worry about my neighbors hearing me gasp for breath. Running outside allows me to just run with no auto shut off after 30 minutes.

I feel like I’ve been struggling with the workouts lately. Yay, the excessive heat warning has been extended another day. I’m quite sure I suffered some minor heat stroke on Saturday after my run. I get disappointed when I don’t run as fast as I normally do (I know I shouldn’t expect to in the heat, but I still want to!) and can’t make it as far.

The bike ride isn’t as bad, since I create my own “wind.” This morning was particularly nice. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, so I wasn’t as scared for my life as I normally am. There weren’t too many cyclists out either. Seemed like just me out there. Me and the random coyote crossing the highway, and the rabbits who thought it was fun to run along the shoulder next to me, and the other stray dogs I carefully passed as I biked through the Res. Good times dodging all of my furry friends. The view was awesome though. There was a slight haze right after sunrise. It cast a nice view in the early morning desert this morning. The haze burned away by the time I turned around to come back. I was nice and drippy by the time I got home. All of this sweat is cleansing in some way, right?

Anyway, I have three weeks of the Iron-Specific Base (which seems to mean longer & harder weekday workouts) then I move into Race Prep (which means super long rides & runs). AHHH. Then three weeks of taper. I can’t believe we’re only 12 weeks away from race day. AHHH. And by race day, I’m sure I’ll be complaining about how it’s too cold to work out outside.

Cold Heartless Bitch

I am a CHB: Cold Heatless Bitch. For many reasons, but mostly because I don’t have many emotions. Annoyed and really effin pissed off are the two that seem to show up the most often (and this is why I run long distances).

Needless to say, I don’t cry often. I try not to let the random shit that happens in my life have any sort of crying affect on me. There was a brief time I would shed a tear or two when drunk (or not drunk enough), but that time has passed. I really only cry if someone close to me has passed away. (Most recently, my Uncle Don in April.) I do empathize (on occasion) with people who have feelings. I just don’t let their situations get to me.

Until today . . . today I cry. Now I know what it feels like to have my heart break in complete disbelief and disappointment.

I was told today, “don’t count on us coming out in November.”

"What?"

“Well Dad doesn’t think he can switch vacation around.”

"Well, you can still fly out."

“Well, I don’t know what my physical therapy schedule will look like.”

"I think you can miss one day of physical therapy to come support me in something I’ve been working three years toward. People from all over the country are coming out, but not my own parents? Really?!"

Rob Thomas said it best, “This is how a heart breaks.” Indeed, this is how a cold and nonexistent heart breaks.

Double Digits & Hitting the Wall

Less than 100 days away. AHHHH!

This past week I did zero training. I had grandiose plans of working out after work (new student orientation=early early mornings). Yeah, didn’t happen. Now I feel behind. Really behind in my training.

I had a great long run on Saturday morning. It’s amazing what cloud cover can do for your morale. I still did not run fast, but I did run for a solid 105 minutes. It felt great. I had zero pain (except the burning from the sweat dripping in my eyes). The clouds did provide some protection from the sun’s direct rays beating down upon me, but they also provided me with some thick humidity. I felt like I was running in a steam room. It was gross, yet cleansing. Every outdoor workout I have I think “there’s no way I could sweat more than I am right now.” Hmm, until the next workout. It’s freakin gross. There was not a single dry spot on my entire body. My hair was wet like I just jumped in the pool. I could squeeze sweat from my little wristband that I use to wipe the sweat from my face. Disgusting! I also need to run on Sundays. The run really zaps my energy for anything I need to do the rest of the weekend.

Biking in the heat isn’t as bad for me. I create my own “wind” on the bike, so I don’t feel drops of sweat pouring out of every pore on my body. It’s not until I stop at a light or have to change a flat or something before I realize how hot I am. I do need to wear a different color shorts. My ass is on fire when traveling west back toward my house at the end of the ride. Speaking of ass on fire . . . how the hell am I supposed to sit on that bike seat for hours on end anyway? Good grief! The little tiny pad in the tri shorts does nothing. It’s like sitting on a Kleenex. Why bother really? My friend Colin has told me about some special cream that the ladies in his tri club use. I need to try that stuff out! I guess the pain is a distraction from the cars whizzing by going 80 mph. The only thing that separates us is the white line painted on the road. Is it really necessary to cut it that close? Three feet folks, give the cyclists three feet. PLEASE.

It is going to be a miracle I even make it to race day. I have my first official injury today. I wasn’t even doing anything related to training either. Frustration! For some weird reason, when the lock in the back door of my car is flipped to “lock,” it locks all of the doors. Is this safe? What if some baby in a carseat locked the door accidentally (or grown adult)? Anyway, I somehow locked the door while vacuuming at the carwash. Inside is my purse, my phone and of course and my keys. Uhg. Do I know a single phone number? (No, especially not in a time of panic.) So, I had to go home and hop the fence in my backyard. I’m sooo glad I had my HOA add that extra foot. Yay. The stucco is especially fun to climb over as well, in 106 degree temps and zero shade (totally could have been hotter today though, lucky it wasn’t). It would have been much easier had I been wearing tennis shoes, but NOOO, I’m in some rinky dinky flip flops. Yay. I’m glad my neighbors were in the pool. They were able to give me the broken plastic chair to prop myself up with as I tried to hoist my body over the fence. My neighbor didn’t find it amusing when I asked if I could borrow his kid to crawl through my doggy door and let me in my house. “Well you have that barbed wire on top.” (Insert hick accent while dragging on a cigarette.) A. I do not have barbed wire around my fence, it is wrought iron. B. I was clearly joking, as your five year old is larger than I am and my dog is a dachshund.

And now the chair is broken in two places and my right side has a few gashes and bruises. Skin grows back right? Right. Now, I’m in decent shape. I mean, we’re 98 days from the Ironman. I do need to work on two things. Upper body strength and stretching. Had my hammies not been so stinking tight, I could have bent my leg up that high a little faster and I would have made it on attempt number one before the hot stucco burned my skin and the chair gave way. Had I been wearing appropriate shoes, I could have taken a running start and hoisted myself (although, also risk impaling myself on the “barbed wire”). Or, if my upper body strength was half of what my leg strength is, I could have held on to the “barbed wire” and pulled myself up. After a few more tries, I was able to get over my fence. (As my neighbor and his kids watched by the way. Could they maybe offer a step stool or anything to help me over? No. Assholes. I always knew they were, but this just confirms my own stereotyped opinions of them. My back yard faces the pool. They watched the whole time. It was awesome.) I retrieved my secret key from my secret hiding spot (that has since been moved so you can’t rob me) and hopped back over.

The bleeding has now stopped and the bruising is looking pretty cool. One bruise runs all the way down my forearm. My wrist hurts a lot. I hope it doesn’t affect my swimming. It happens to be in the perfect spot for rubbing the wrong way on the aerobars on the bike. Yay. At least my feet & legs are ok. I have a big gash on my toe and another near my knee (darn you stucco!) but, ‘tis just a flesh wound (with some deep bruises).

I guess this injury makes for a better story than “I’m over-trained” or “I was hit by a car” or “I drowned.” I hope this is my only injury too . . . when I literally hit a wall. It should be relatively quick healing (hopefully, my luck with bruises. . .) A bonus too. . . it’s not an overuse injury, so I have no excuses to skip out on training this week. Back to the grind! It’s safer out on the roads anyway. I wear protective gear and there’s no broken attack chairs lurking about.

" . . . because I will be an Ironman."

Welcome to my life:

A whole lotta random!

Holy cow, I can't believe it's August!

Actually, July, 31. But close enough. Holy cow! Can time slow down just a smidge please?!

I have completed eight weeks of my “Start to Finish: 24 Weeks to an Endurance Triathlon” training plan. I feel like it’s going pretty well. I work hard during my workouts. I complete them: at ridiculous hours of the day where no one should be awake, much less working out. But, I drag my butt out of bed and hit the pool/pavement/weights and get my workouts in. I am still doing the weights at home. I will overcome my gym weight room anxiety by the end of week 10! Yes I will!

Actually, I very rarely feel like I’m dragging anything out of bed to work out. M-F, the TV in my bedroom clicks on at 4:40, at this time I know I have five minutes to lay in bed and think about how lucky I am to be able to train for this event. 4:45 comes along and my phone alarm goes off. I mosey out of bed, brush my teeth, toss on my workout gear, feed & medicate the dog, eat a little snack and I’m out the door anywhere from 5 to 5:15, depending on what I feed myself and if I’ve prepared my workout beverages the night before.

I am not a fast swimmer, so I swim as much of the workout as I can in the 90 or so minutes I’m at the gym. I usually come within 500 m of the entire workout and according to the coaches, I *should* be able to add or subtract 1000 m of the workout and be ok in the pool for 60-90 minutes at a time for now. *Should.*

Side note: Who the hell can add 1000 m to the workout? And finish it in 90 minutes?! Holy hell! That’s almost a 5000 m workout right now! Good grief. Clearly someone who has been swimming a lot longer than I have!

Anyhow, I finish the bike workouts and run workouts. I moved the bike to the gym this past week. Frankly, it’s easier to complete the mid-week bike workouts on the spin bikes at the gym than it is on the trainer at home or outside. The runs are not bad. I now have a heart rate monitor so I can gauge my level of exertion (and calories burned) more accurately. It’s pretty much amazing. I do need to try and position it in a bit of a different spot, as my left boob gets a lil more action than it should from it. At least, I assume it’s the HRM rubbing a hole in it. . .

Each marathon I have trained for, I run laps around Tempe Town Lake and I start running these laps in August. How much worse can it be running laps around Tempe Town Lake in June & July? I really need to stop asking questions like this. It is absolutely ridiculous in June in July. I may have one drop of moisture left in my body by the time I get home. I wake up and it is 89 degrees. At 4:40 in the morning! My Thursday runs are only around 70 minutes. I wake up at 4 on the weekends to try and squeeze as much time before the sun rises as I can. I sweat like no person should ever have to sweat. I don’t sweat as much sitting in a sauna as I do on these runs. Thank you monsoon season for bringing humidity which equals early morning clouds; even though it is harder to breathe in the thick ‘humid’ air of the desert.

I choose to run outside. I could run on the treadmill at the gym. I find it incredibly frustrating though. The max is 30 minutes at a time and it is not fun to restart the workout twice. I also sweat just as much inside. At least there is no one else around (who else is crazy enough to run outside this time of year?) to see my “cleanse” when I run outside, plus I can work on my tan. . .

Occasionally I have a fast run. (Fast for me is not fast for a runner, by the way. Fast for me is less than a 10 min mile.) Two weeks ago I was almost giddy when I clocked an 8:55 pace for the T-run off the bike (sure it was only 3 miles, but still!). That same week I ran a 9:45 for my average pace on the Thursday 70 min run. I was stoked! I was then super sad this last week when my fastest time was 10:40. WTF?! So I’m pissed off at this point.

Well shit. Now that I type this out, I realize how important what I put in my mouth is to my training.

About five of the eight weeks, I’ve been super focused about what I eat. Week 1, and weeks 4-7 I wrote down everything that went in my mouth. I tracked calories, protein, carbs and fat (well, my handy dandy app tracked it.). I wanted to make sure I was eating the right foods to fuel my workouts. Imagine my frustration when I bust my ass working out and eating right and see zero budge in the scale. Ahh, take that back. I see an upward swing in the scale. Holy cow I was pissed.

So, entering week 8, I’m pissed. Screw you food. And I do what I do when I’m pissed: I eat all sorts of emotions and don’t care about what I’m putting in my mouth. I wrote nothing down. I ate whatever I wanted, not paying attention to the quality of food I’m swallowing. (Still no fast food though!)

Sigh. Back to nutrient-dense foods I go. Maybe I secretly knew this earlier today when I bought my groceries for the week. The most “exciting” item I purchased was a package of English Muffins. My cart was full of fresh fruits and veggies and lean protein. I suppose this should be my ‘exciting’ when it comes to food anyway.

I think I will always be frustrated by food and my weight. I have been able to lose over ten pounds in one week (and keep it off). I’ve also been known to gain ten pounds in a week. I wish I could find that balance that would help me reach and maintain a healthy weight. Each time I get down where I want to be I think, “I’m going to keep this up, I feel awesome.” It usually doesn’t last long. I try not to live by the scale, but it is sooooo hard! Uhg. I want to be the girl who just wants to fit into a size yadda yadda and it doesn’t matter what I weight. But it does. I’ll always qualify as a heavyweight in races. I’ve accepted that. I just don’t want to be the one crossing the finish line and folks say, “well, I don’t know how she trained for this and still looks like THAT.”

Well, this is my super random post of the journey (drink!) of my training and weight struggles/frustrations. I’m off to bed. The pool and I have a date in the morning.

Adventures in Swimming: Part I

I may have mentioned a time or two that I am not what you can consider a strong swimmer. I’m not so comfortable in the pool for many reasons: swimming is hard; I don’t like wearing a swim suit; people are idiots.

Swimming is getting a little easier for me. Yay. I finally do not feel like I’m flailing about all the time in the pool. Every once in a while I find myself in a rhythm and I feel like I can go forever. . .or at least 2.4 miles. . .in a 3.5’ deep pool with a line on the bottom and no people near me.

I tend to work out first thing in the morning. I usually don’t have an excuse to miss an early workout. By the time I’m finished with work, I do not want to head to the gym. There is a different type of person who works out after work than before. It may just be the particular gym I go to, but it seems to me the folks who go to the gym after work are the ones looking for a date more than a good workout (sweeping generalization, I know.). There are people socializing and talking to each other while they work out. The folks who are around at 5, 5:30 in the morning are there to get down to business. They don’t really make eye contact with anyone; you don’t see women backcombing their hair and touching up their lipstick before hopping on the treadmill at 5:30 am.

I like to hit the pool by 5:30. Any time before 6 is great as I am usually the first one in the pool. By 6:15 people start to shuffle in to swim or to hop in the hot tub. There are these two older middle-aged men who get in the hot tub for at least 30 if not 45 minutes. It was weird to me. My very first swim workout, one guy left the hot tub and headed to the locker room. His friend hopped into the lane next to me. He waited for me to stop (which, to be honest was not long, again, not a strong swimmer). He then decided he needed to talk to me. Seriously? I’m in the pool. Do not talk to me. I am gasping for breath. “You just started working out here?” (Gag.) “Uhm, no. I’ve just started swimming here though.” “Oh, I like to swim. (Gag.) What’s your name?” (Gag.) “Jeanne.” “My name’s yadda yadda. Nice to meet you.” (Gag.) I clearly need to swim. “Well, I’m going to continue my workout now.” I continued with my workout. This guy barely doggy paddles half way down, turns around and goes back. “Well, I’ll see you next time. If you have any questions about the gym, just ask me.” Seriously? I felt like this guy and his friend watched me from then on. They still creep me out.

That same day another guy gets in the pool. I’m still gasping for breath at the end of each 25 m swim. “You sure are a good swimmer, can you coach me?” (Gag) “I am not a good swimmer. I took lessons from Tempe Parks and Rec. You should check them out.” He continues to tell me how he has to swim because he’s a runner and he has an injury and blah blah blah. Who are these people!? It’s not like the lap pool is the place to strike up a conversation. This isn’t some pool party where we all have cocktails and we’re lounging around the pool. I am trying to workout! The pool is not like the treadmill or the bikes at the gym where you can easily have a conversation and still do something. In the pool, you’re either swimming or you’re not. I try to be friendly. I don’t want to be perceived as the bitchy girl at the pool. But geeze! I go to the gym at the crack of dawn and I really don’t want to talk to anyone (Unless I’m asking, “would you like to share my lane.” More on that later.).

I am now a better swimmer. Thank goodness! I no longer have to stop every 25 m (unless I’m doing sprints) to catch my breath. Those of us who are regular swimmers in the pool don’t need to talk to each other and we rarely do. It is fabulous.