Random thoughts after happy hour. . .

Time and time again people (I know. . .) ask why I am doing what I’m doing. (Really? Read entry number two.) Sometimes I also wonder why. When the alarm clock rings at 4 am. When I really want to watch the new episode of How I Met Your Mother (but I’m at the gym instead.). When I’m not kicking balls/going to girls’ night/calling you back because I have to train or sleep.

I’ve learned there are other sacrifices too. There are the “friends” who don’t get “it.” (I’m sorry I can’t go to you party that starts at 9 pm. I’m a weenie and need to wake up to train at 4 am. And I need a full 8 hours of sleep in order to do this.) There are the guys who are intimidated by “it.” (Sorry, I’m pretty hard core, if you can’t accept that, you’re not worth it. I don’t NEED you to be hard core. Just accept that I AM hard core and support it.)

Yes, when my pool closes for a “who knows how long” amount of time (less than a month before the IM), I’m going to stress out. Yes, when my knee hurts, I’m going to stress out. Yes, when it is still 95 degrees at the end of October, I am going to stress out. Let me stress out. Listen to me stress out.

Accept that I am crabby. Do you know what I am about to put my body and my mind through? No? Then shut the fuck up. Listen. I have an idea of what I’m going to go through, but in all reality, I have no idea. I’m nervous. I’m scared. I’m terrified in fact. Unless you’ve been there, done that, shut up. Even if you have been there/done that, I don’t want to hear your bullshit. Give me information I can use.

Not one of you will know how I feel, what I’ve overcome to be here today. What I’ve gone through to get to the finish line in three weeks. That’s ok. I don’t expect you to. I ask that you empathize with what I go through. The sacrifices I’ve made. I’m sorry I can’t keep in touch as much or talk on the phone as long. I have to sleep. I have to train. If you can’t understand that, I’m sorry.

My eyes swell up with tears each and every time I visualize the finish line experience (and I’m a cold heartless bitch, this is a huge deal!). It starts as I make the final turn into the home stretch. I pause. I draw a deep breath. My eyes swell. I move toward the finish line. I find my family and friends (ideally, they’ll be on the same side . . . toward the bottom of the grandstands .hint. hint. hint.) I high five folks as I pass by. I cross the finish line (with a pose that is yet to be determined, but super awesome and by far my best finish line photo yet/ever.).

This is definitely one of the most important moments of my life. It’s interesting to visualize that moment and to think about who will be there. (Also, who won’t be there.)Who actually can’t be there vs. which folks just don’t ‘get it.’

Adventures in Swimming: Part III

I will start by saying that I would never be able to swim in the open water without wearing a wetsuit. I’m not a huge fan of the ‘open water.’ Family vacations back in the day included trips to the lake where we’d boat, jet ski, tube, water ski, etc. Once, we jumped into the lake from the boat. It was horrible. My heart immediately started pounding and I couldn’t catch my breath. I don’t like going into the ocean past my knee (Hawaiian coast not included). I’m not a fan of swimming around with plants and creatures and crawlies and grossness (I realize some of these exist in the pool too, but I usually can’t see it. Grossest thing I see in the pool-hair. Shiver. I hate wet hair. Gross.).

Tempe Town Lake (where Ironman AZ swims) is not open to ‘open swimming.’ You can only swim in the lake if it is a part of a race. This is quite unfortunate. I have spent some time getting used to the open water in one of the other local lakes. It is gross and disgusting. The first time I swam there, I maybe used one freestyle stroke before I freaked out and switched to breast stroke. It was rough. I was scared. I couldn’t see anything; I didn’t know what was around me. Thank goodness my lifeguard Kristin was around (and Becky and Karen at other times)!

I now have a wetsuit (last time I buy a used wetsuit on eBay. . .) which helps tremendously. It seriously has changed my life in the swim. I float with the wetsuit on. The anxiety of sinking to the bottom of the lake goes away. It’s too bad that there is so much debris and weeds and other creepies in the lake that freak me out. I’m able to swim pretty well while wearing the wetsuit. I just focus on my breathing and my form. Visibility in this lake is roughly twelve inches. I can’t see my hand the water is so murky. Swim swim swim in the little swimming hole swim swim swim. Until I notice I’m in a giant pile of weeds! Panic panic panic in the little swimming hole panic panic panic.

I raced in my first open water triathlon a couple of weeks ago in Tempe Town Lake. I was ready for the grossness. I have been running there for quite a few years. It smells, there is a film on the water sometimes. It’s gross. (One of the dams popped last year so the water is now relatively ‘fresh’ which is awesome. And I’ve now seen the bottom.) It was the end (according to the calendar) of a record-breaking-heat summer so the water was a comfortable 81 degrees. This meant the water was not cold enough for me to wear my wetsuit. I was nervous! My first open water swim race, without the comfort of my wetsuit! AHH.

My group bobbed in the water waiting for our turn to go. There was a smidge of chaos for the first minute or so. I was prepared for this (I’ve been trying to mentally prepare for the group start of the IM. AHH). I started to swim. One, two, three breathe. One, two, three breathe. This wasn’t so bad; until I found myself in the shadow of the Mill Avenue bridge. I could not see a thing in the shadow. I started to panic. Where are the people in the handy dandy kayaks for my panic attack? No where near me (or the start), that’s where! But, I was ready, I expected to panic. I started my panic plan: breaststroke until I catch my breath then freestyle again. I never caught my breath. The attack got worse. There were no kayaks that were close! I felt each one I moved toward started to move away from me. I made the first turn around the buoy. I thought I’d free style after I turned the second buoy. Nope.

I make it back at the dreaded Mill Avenue bridge. I decide I will freestyle the rest of the race (roughly 300 meters or so). I suck it up and I try. I panic worse than I thought I physically could. My heart was about to pound out of my chest. I had to flip over to my back to try and catch my breath. So I treaded water and flailed my arms to move in a forward motion until I reached the end.

I reached the end (1500 meters), completely exhausted. I could barely pull my leg high enough to step out of the lake. It was ridiculous. But I did it.

I learned a few important lessons about open water swimming:
-Tempe Town Lake’s water is not near as gross as the other lake. There was a slight smell at one point, but had I been swimming normally, I’m sure I would not have noticed.
-Getting kicked around and dodging other swimmers is a nice distraction from the murkiness of the lake.
-Don’t rely on the people in the kayaks to help or be close at all when you need them.
-Praise and thank God for wetsuits.

Bike Fun

I don’t actually remember when I learned to ride a bike. I’m sure I was around four or so, whatever the ‘normal’ age is. I totally remember my first bike though. It was pink and purple and it had a matching bag that velcroed to the handlebars. I put some of those plastic dealies (the proper term, I’m sure) on the spokes so they’d click as I pedaled away. Unless I pedaled too fast and then the centrifugal force held the dealies to the rim (I think centrifugal force, it has been roughly 10 years since I’ve thought of physics, much less the correct vocabulary). I loved that bike!

One year, my sister and I both received shinny new 10-speed mountain bikes from Santa. It was awesome! The weather that day was perfect and we were able to give them a spin around the block on Christmas Day. I couldn’t believe how fast I could go on that bike. My friend Bryan and I would ride our bikes everywhere. What freedom we had. We had this really fun game (looking back now . . . really fun=ridiculously stupid) where we’d ride down the block as fast as we could. Once we got to my house we’d zip up the driveway into the yard between my house and the next door neighbor’s. We’d throw ourselves off of our bikes to see how far they’d go without us on them. I’d often find myself rolling into the brick house. It’s not like we wore helmets for this little activity. It’s a miracle we never broke anything! I do believe these dismount exercises will serve a good purpose if I ever need to ‘tuck and roll’ during a bike workout.

I remember how ‘cool’ I felt to ride my bike to school. I had this pretty awesome lock with the different number dials to turn that secured it on the bike racks. Eventually, riding a bike wasn’t as fun anymore. The bike was replaced with a car. Even when I went to college, I chose roller blades over a bike as my mode of transportation around campus. Once I lived off campus though, I purchased another bike. This served me well through my last few years of college. I would probably still ride it if someone hadn’t jumped my fence and stolen it out of my back “yard.”

Then I purchased my cheapo $75 bike from Target. I definitely got what I paid for! Others would ride it and wonder how I could get by. Each pedal stroke was a challenge. After over a year of commuting to work on that bike, it pooped out. I am lucky to have a friend sell me his really nice road bike. I have shaved my commute time from 17 minutes to 7 (if I hit the lights right). It’s crazy! It’s also scary that I can go so fast on that bike. I now wear my helmet every day. Helmet hair at work is definitely worth it!

I am also lucky enough to have a generous colleague who is loaning me her tri bike for the Ironman. In the nine or so months I’ve been riding it, I’ve become a much better tire changer and pedal clip in and outer. The aero bars also took some getting used to, but each ride I feel more comfortable and more in control. It happens to be pink, which is fantastic!

I’ve had a few adventures on the bike (details to come). I like to cycle the actual IM course, which is covered with debris and traffic flies by at high speeds. Dogs have chased me. I’ve had flat tires, tingly toes and numb girly bits. I’ve completed the bulk of my cycle miles in temperatures of 90 and up. So far, I haven’t had to use my tuck and roll moves. I hope I don’t have to!

Adventures in Swimming: Part II

As time has gone by and I’ve spent more time in the pool . . . I’m not as terrible a swimmer as I used to be. This is good news. While I don’t gasp for breath after a mere 25 m anymore, I still shake my head at some of the weird, weird people who I encounter.

The two middle aged men are still around. They still stare. There are more people in the pool these days, so I don’t feel as creeped out as I used to by them.

There’s a young fellow, maybe 30, maybe 35, maybe 20, I really have no idea. I’m quite sure he is a compulsive exerciser (or a triathlete). ((I say compulsive exerciser only because I hardly ever see men do this much cardio in the gym. Sure I see them spend hours and hours lifting weights, but not hit all of the different cardio machines in one day!)) No matter what time I get to the gym in the mornings, this kid is working out. He is on some sort of cardio equipment (usually the treadmill). I honestly didn’t know the treadmill could go as fast as this kid runs on it. He’s ‘that’ guy who makes all sorts of racket with his heavy breathing and elephant-heavy stomping. But he’s fast. Eventually he heads to the pool. His swimming style is not too different than the treadmill. He slaps and pounds at the water. Not graceful at all, but he’s fast. Sometimes I race him, just for funzies. I can usually just beat him, or keep up with him for the 25 meter length of the pool. He then flips around and keeps going, I gasp for air. I’m not sure how many laps he does. I’m sure it is at least twice what I do and he beats me out of the pool too.

There are three swim lanes at my LA Fitness. The two lanes on the end are pretty wide could easily be divided into two additional lanes. I don’t mind sharing a lane, especially one of the large ones. I do, however, get annoyed when I’m in the middle, narrow lane and end up sharing a lane because the dipshits in the wide lanes are too bullheaded to volunteer and share their lanes. I feel bad if I swim 50 or 100 meters and the other folks don’t ask the poor person lurking about if s/he’d like to share a lane. There is a certain etiquette when it comes to sharing pool lanes and ideally, you would share with someone who swims at about the same rate as you do. I am not fast, so slow swimmers are my ideal lane sharers.

There is one lady I absolutely will not share a lane with (not that anyone else wants to either or can for that matter). I will call her “lady who should learn how to swim.” I totally understand the people who need to do workouts in the pool. . . the water is easier on their joints. .. rehab . . . blah blah blah. There’s a whole other group of people (lady who should learn how to swim) who just make up their own little swim stroke and call it a workout. Boy is this an annoying workout! If she can’t get into a lane right away (she won’t share with people) she grunts and talks loudly to the folks in the hot tub about how annoyed she is about having to wait for a lane. Once she does get her own lane (she prefers the double-wide lanes) she doggy paddles a few times down and back as a warm up. A part of the stroke she uses for her ‘workout’ I’m sure does actually exist. . . for the two year old swim class where the kiddos are just learning how to float on their backs. She uses the frog kick of the breaststroke. Her arms then start in with some sort of chopping motion while her mid-section gyrates up and down. When I first saw it, I thought she was drowning. Not so lucky. She does this regularly. I thought it must be a good workout, otherwise, why would she do it? So, I tried it (in my own little pool, no one around. . .). It was awkward and not at all a good workout. Why wouldn’t one just learn how to swim properly? And above all, don’t bitch and moan because your ridiculous acrobatic trick in the pool does not allow you to share a lane with other people. You can wait your turn for such ridiculousness.

Recently, there has been this other guy at the pool. If I had to guess, I’d say grad student in the school of engineering. He saw that I had my workout written down and asked what I was doing. I told him I was training for a triathlon. He then proceeds to tell me that he has never swum before. Ever. This was his first time in the pool. He runs but he’s looking to do triathlons too. Good for him. He then proceeds to tell me what is wrong with my swim stroke. My hand enters without slapping the water (hmm) and I’m not kicking. A of all. . . did you not just tell me you have never swum before? B of all, I’m doing a drill where I don’t kick. I thanked him for the feedback. Explained I’m doing a drill where I’m not supposed to kick to help build arm strength, etc. He goes on to critique my form, as he takes his swim cap out of its original packaging.

There is an older woman the following week who I am sharing a lane with. She came in talking to her friend about how much fun she had with a triathlon she finished in New Mexico over the weekend. She also had feedback for my swim stroke. She started by asking if I am a total immersion swimmer. I said I don’t have any of the books or videos about it, no. She said the same thing about the way my hand enters as the other guy and that it follows the total immersion style of swimming perfectly. Hmm. Interesting. She then pointed to the water slapper next to us and compared the styles. Thank you lady for the productive feedback on my ‘more efficient’ swim stroke.  She also gave me some additional technique pointers.

Every day is a new lesson in the pool. I sure hope I’m doing enough. I hope I’m fast enough. My swim continues to be the source of the most race anxiety. I’ve been working on some open water swims with the wetsuit. So far they’ve been ok. I still get freaked out by the random gross things in the lake. I really wish I could give it a whirl in Tempe Town Lake where the race will be. I am racing the Nathan Tri at the end of the month. I doubt the water temperature will be low enough for wetsuits. How on earth will I survive the open water swim without a wetsuit?! AHHH! I’m trying not to think of that too much. AHHH!

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.