Same shit different day.

I completely forgot about my last post. I really thought my last post was a reflection of my Ironman failure. I find this very interesting. I came back to this blog to focus on my next training adventure, on this, the Friday night before the Sunday race of the next Ironman in Tempe. I wanted to talk about my potential next adventure. Other shit takes the place though. . .

Interesting turn of events. Lil ole woe is me. I am not acknowledged at work for knowing more than the newbies. Woe is me. Or working more/harder than anyone in my department.  I now have a new role at work. People still talk shit. It doesn't matter. Who will they believe? The one who has dealt with the shit yet still tries to move up in the organization? Or the new one who has a 'great attitude?' F that shit. Tell the higher ups what they want to hear. I get shit done. Students graduate. Students are happy. I tell my coworkers what it is and like it is. It is no secret that the "new" team is not as invested as the "old" team. They come to work at 10 am and leave at 6. I arrive at 7 and leave when the work is as done as it can be for the day. It's for the students. They have no commitment to the organization. That was clear from the beginning. Who gets a merit increase? Not me. . . The ones who put in minimal time and effort do. Awesome.

I have a lot of things to feel down about in October and November. The anniversary of the Ironman failure of 2011; the failure of the 'relationship' of 2009; job failures; more race failures; more boyfriend failures-the list goes on. 

I really hate October/November.More on this later. I'm too annoyed to deal with it now.

Priorities

Tonight I am working on my employee evaluation. Again. This is a particularly interesting year since I have had four supervisors and have about 15 different jobs I've performed in the past 14 months that this evaluation covers.

How do I summarize how I've "met/exceeded" the "core areas" that my employer has defined in these circumstances. And why do I even bother? Does the rating even count? If I get a piece of that pie, does a 1.5% pay raise even matter? Sure I'm bitter, sure I'm angry. Every twist and turn of my employment has included "this policy applies to you negatively but no one else." From initial evaluation ratings to stupid things like flex time permissions.

I try every day not to think about it and just enjoy the parts of my job that I love. But, I allow the other bitter and angry folks in the unit in and they pollute my experience. Is it ok? No, but I don't know how to stop it. (I am open to suggestions. :) ) At the end of the year, IF I get a raise, I know others in the unit who have contributed much less but complain much louder and more often than me will get a bigger percentage of the "pie." And what do I do about it. Huff and puff on the inside but continue to slave a way year after year. I think, "next year it will be different." Well, here we are. It's next year. Will it be different? New leadership team? Will it be the same ole shit? History tells me yes. But how do I instigate change?

A better question is why do I let it get to me? What taught me to be like this? My Dad worked the same job for 42 years. His promotions included more vacation time. I don't necessarily have the example set for me that include exceed expectations=promotion. Dedication to the organization worked for him. At least he got more vacation time. I just seem to accumulate guilt. There is no appreciation for dedication or provided stability.

I want to progress. I want to manage. How do I get there? I ask these questions of my organization but there are no answers. I get the feeling recently that they tell me what they think I want to hear. Sure I want to hear that! Maybe this is a red flag. Maybe they don't want me. That's fine. Just tell me that. I'll move on. Be honest with me. Why waste our time? Oh wait, I'm a probably the most productive person on the team with the broadest spectrum of knowledge. That's why. I'm out of the country for two weeks and still have 10 hours of work per day while I'm away. Ten hours of work that I complete while I am abroad. There is no "you can do it without me." Yet, who is the lowest on the totem pole? Rhetorical question.

How can I make me happy? Will work "work" for me? A few weeks ago I placed 3rd in my age group for a local super-sprint triathlon. What would happen if I funneled a bit of my extra work time into my racing? Could I do better or would it be more heart break? I sit here typing next my sweet little punkin dog who was just diagnosed with cancer last week. He just wants to sit next to me as I type this because he is too tired to play any longer (I mean it is 1 am. . . way past his bedtime.). Anyway, is that extra email at work worth the extra few minutes to sacrifice the time with my lil dog? I watch mushy Hallmark Channel romance movies. Ain't no one have time for that lifestyle in my line of work. Work rules all my time.

What is the payoff? I genuinely enjoy what I do for work. But I work too many hours. And way more hours than my teammates. I'm not spending time doing what I need to do in my personal life.  How do I find that balance?

Sigh. What am I supposed to do? 

Ghosts

Tonight, I can hear the Ironman announcer from my house. He calls names and the words “you are an Ironman.” The phrase still haunts me. The phrase used to motivate me. Now it makes me want to eat. Or drink. Or both. I was going to swing by TTL today to watch a few moments of the race. Instead, I’ve organized my closet, organized my recipe collection, caught up on some DVR. My life has been full of “I was going tos” the past two years. 

I was going to air up the tires and take the road bike for a spin.  I was going to hop back in the pool. I was going to stop eating after the first serving. I was going to train for all of those races: the ultra ragnar, the marathons, the 50k, the half marathons.

Instead I’ve made excuses. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. My knees/feet/hips/shoulders hurt. I’m tired. I’m busy. It doesn’t taste good reheated. Work is too demanding. The couch needs some TLC. 

The funny part about the whole story is that I was able to finish all of those races. Not fast mind you, but I finished. I finished that 50k trail run after maybe running 20 miles total through the summer prior to the race. This has not helped my motivation. I can bust my ass for years prior to one race and I can’t even get 2 miles through. I can sit on my butt, watch TV and eat too much and still finish a 50k with a smile. 

I remember one of the ladies who also did not make the swim cut off. She was yapping about how she didn’t even train for that Ironman so she wasn’t surprised. Somehow that is the part of the race that ‘stuck’ with me these past two years. If I don’t train, I won’t get hurt (emotionally, of course it’s dangerous to run these ridiculous distances with no training.). If I don’t train and I don’t finish, it’s my fault for not training. I have a reason. There is a clear reason I didn’t finish that race. The whole, it just wasn’t my day’ thing still burns. 

I have a tremendous group of friends, colleagues, family who supported me while I was MIA during training and who have continued to support me as I eat every emotion on the planet since my epic failure. They continue to ask me to be on their running teams and participate in races with them. They ask what crazy race I’m doing next. At some friends’ wedding, I even sat at the “running” table a couple of weeks ago. Even after running marathon #5 this year, I still don’t feel I’m a “runner.” My friends push me when I thought I couldn’t be pushed. They believe in me more than I believe in myself.

Thank you for putting up with me and my Ironman ghosts. It’s time to get healthy. It’s time to live up to the potential they see in me. I will train for that next race. I will get back on the bike. I will get back in the pool. I will earn those happy hour cocktails.

I like to ride my bicycle. . .

I have left my exciting bike adventure entry as an afterthought, so some of you wouldn’t worry too much about me.

It can be pretty scary riding a fast road bike long distances, especially while attached to it. I am glad the roads, for the most part, are closed for the race. (At least one lane is closed) I would typically ride the course to train. This weaves me around streets and through intersections before I get to the interstate.

I cycle in the bike lane or in the shoulder of the roads (for what they’re worth). Arizona isn’t known for its especially good drivers. This makes for a pretty nerve wracking bike ride. I get to deal with people texting, running red lights, speeding, and the general assholery toward the cyclist from many an automobile driver.

I have a few favorite drivers. If there was ever a time I was going to pee myself on the bike, these are the stories. . .

-There was the jerk that, at first I thought was just not paying attention, and swerved over the rumble strips into the shoulder space roughly two feet in front of me. That was awesome. Jackass then proceeded to continue his little leapfrog around the cyclists further up the road from me too. Really punk? That’s funny?

-There was the stretch of road with no shoulder. It’s usually around 7 am when I would make my way out to the interstate. This is not a time for much congested traffic on this particular road on a Saturday morning. The DUMP truck dipshit refused to scoot over and give me three feet (it’s the law by the way). There was no traffic for miles in either direction and you can’t scoot over into the second lane to give me some space? He was so close and going so fast that the draft almost knocked me over.

-This same road on the way back to my house . . . happens to be the road where one of our local casinos sits. Yay. Arizona is also the snowbird capital of the world. Gambling grandpa in his caddy practically shaved my leg for me he was so close as he sped by to beat the rest of his retirement community to the tables.

-I have to make a left turn onto McClintock on my way home. I can barely make it through the turn light before it turns red. I immediately merge into the bicycle lane. The BICYCLE lane. This isn’t another lane for motors to drive in. As I’m pedaling away, motorcycle meanie needs to hover on the bicycle lane line as he accelerates past me. Really, the entire lane you have isn’t big enough, you have to take my little lane as well? Sigh.

I can go on and on. There are the people in sports cars who get off racing me to the stop signs. There are the ones who honk and flip me off because I stop at the stop signs to give the folks who were there first the right of way. There’s the neighborhood shuttle bus driver who thinks it’s a good idea to speed around me and then stop in the bike lane, then honk at me because I made him stop so fast.

To all of you aggressive drivers who think these stories are funny? They’re not. You are jerks. I am not in a contest with you. As it turns out, I will not win. I know this. This is why I stop and the STOP signs and the red lights. This is why I obey the traffic laws and try to stay out of your way. Throw me and all of my gear and Gus on the bike and we weigh about 200 pounds. This is not a competition, I am trying to survive.

Ironman 1, Jeanne 0

The day after the Ironman is an interesting day. Well, the day after you are not an Ironman is an interesting day. I have had November 2011 written on my mirror for three years. The day I signed up for my first marathon, I wrote the words “Ironman 2011” in dry erase marker, under “Rock ‘N Roll, Jan 18, 2009” under my mirror. It was August 2008. It was the date I signed up for my first marathon. My deadline was November 2011 to finish my first Ironman, before I turned 31. 167 weeks to my first 140.6 mile race. The Ironman would snap me out of my funk. The Ironman would save me. I would look at that date every day I was home for 167 weeks.

Here I am 167 weeks and one day later. Where am I? Am I any better off than I was then? I’m almost drunk and I’m crying. I ignore the “what happened?” messages today instead of the “what’s wrong?” messages of 2008. Is that really the best thing to say? That’s almost as bad as the “I’m still proud of you.” Or the “you’re still my Iron*person.*” Or the “you are a winner once you cross the start line.” To be honest, no one who has prepared for yesterday for 167 weeks wants to hear any of that. Really, it’s thoughtful and I’m sure in a few hours to a few weeks, I’ll be ok able to talk about the situation without crying. But, it’s sort of like the, ‘It’s not you, it’s him’ breakup conversation.

My favorite question yesterday might have been “well, why COULDN’T you do it? It’s just 2.4 miles?” Interesting . . . my first thought: “Why the fuck are you standing here drinking the beer I bought for my friends asking me this question?” You are not my friend. Later this guy tells me, “I didn’t know the water temperature was 61 degrees.” Does that even matter? Hell no. Sure the water is cold. The water temperature had nothing to do with my inability to make the swim cut off. Sure it would have been nice to train in that sort of water or it would have been nice if race day water was 75 degrees. I also rode my bike in 115 degree weather. There are some things I can’t control. Unfortunately for me, weather/temperature/my body’s reaction to such is one of them.

It’s not like yesterday was the first time I tried to swim the distance either. From the beginning, my training plan hit the distance every single week. I was physically able to do the distance. The very day before I had a practice swim in the 61 degree water and felt great! I was mentally able to do the distance. I even thought about updating my facebook status with the words of a fun song from the 80’s, “. . . baby I was afraid before. . . I’m not afraid anymore!” (Heaven is a Place on Earth. . . Bueller. . Bueller. . .)

As hard as I have tried, I can’t predict how my body is going to react to different forces. Sure, my Saturday swim in Tempe Town Lake was great. I felt like it was a normal swim day in the heated, chlorinated pool. My breathing was easy and rhythmic; my stroke was smooth and long. I was happy to make friends with Tempe Town Lake. Frankly, there were more people around me in the practice swim than the swim start of the race.

I did not have that same experience yesterday. Most days, I put my wetsuit on and it turns into a magic cloak. I feel like I float along the water’s top. I don’t struggle, I loved being in the water (such was my experience during the practice swim on Saturday). Sunday, it felt like I wasn’t even wearing a wetsuit. I felt a drag and almost like someone was pulling my magic, graceful cloak back. With each breath I took in, I inhaled an ounce of water. I could not find a rhythm and I could not catch my breath. With each attempt, I thought I would find my stroke. I never did.

This is the perfect time in the race to work on the mental games I practiced throughout the training season. I wrote the words, “YOU WILL DO THIS” on my thumb knuckles so I could see the message on the bike ride. I didn’t realize at the time that I would see it every time I grasped onto the kayak to catch my breath. I had rough days in the pool while training. I used these days as growth opportunities. “You never know what the race day will bring Jeanne. Push though it” I’d tell myself. So I did. It was hard and there were days I didn’t think I’d get through the swim workout plan, but I did it. I knew the swim was going to be the hardest part for me. I made it through the star fish level of swim lessons back in the day. Basically, I could float in a pool at age 4 if I needed to. This does not mean I am an efficient swimmer at age 30. But I worked and I worked hard every week. I was able to swim the distance before the race.

The nice fellow who said his name was Mike was my rescue kayaker. I surely would have been in worse shape if he had not been right beside me the whole time. I won’t say that I would have drowned, as I was wearing a wetsuit and that provides a certain level of buoyancy. However, he provided the additional words of encouragement as I grabbed the nose of his kayak every 25-50 meters in the race.

It was really a bizarre experience. I would swim along, Mike would tell me how awesome my stroke looked, very long and clean. My lungs would not agree. They gasped for air. My body could not get enough oxygen to continue for more than 25-50 meters. I maybe made it 100 meters without stopping at the most at one time. Mike asked what my number was. I knew why he wanted to know. It took me an hour and ten minutes to make the turn around. Sure, this was the half way mark; I could still make it within the cutoff. The other kayak was telling us the current would help sweep me back. Mike and the other kayak kept telling me there was plenty of time.

Bullshit. I was exhausted by that time. There is something about not being able to breathe that sucks the life out of you. I didn’t give up. I kept swimming. I would hold on to Mike’s kayak until I caught my breath and then I would swim until I could swim no more. At one point he turned me over to another kayak because he needed to ‘go to the shore for a quick moment.’ I knew he was giving the folks at the shore my number to prepare the rest of the race officials for the non-finishers. I did not give up. I would once again swim until I couldn’t swim further. I grabbed the other kayak and gasped for air. Each time I started to swim again the family of five at the shore line would ring their cowbells and cheer in joy and excitement for me. I felt like it was the first time I tried to swim. I couldn’t swim for 25 meters without gasping for air. I had come so far. I had overcome my worst fears. Why couldn’t I just swim? Why wouldn’t my lungs work? I tried to swim again. And I continued to try to swim. My arms ached. My legs cramped. My lungs burned. I didn’t have time to cry.

What are the thoughts that enter your mind at this point? The biggest day of your life? The day that has been written on your mirror for 167 weeks? The day that your work colleagues say they know you by? Is it the words of the friends who mentioned, “you’ve got this” or “you’re an inspiration for me to do something today,” or even “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” No, it’s the ones who say, “just getting to the start line is a win,” or “you’re crazy” or “you don’t need to prove anything,” or “why? It’s not a big deal.” Who the fuck are you? Do you even think of the impact of your “words of encouragement?” How is it that a complete stranger who just happened to be the closest volunteer near me is more encouraging to me than you? As I look around, the only people around me are the swimmers who are floating on their backs gasping for breath and the clean up crews in the jet skis and the motor boats. (This doesn’t help either by the way.) All I can think about is the words from those who “mean well.”

I keep telling myself, just keep swimming. The adrenalin will kick in and I’ll find my rhythm. I still have X minutes. Mike is still encouraging but a little more forceful. “You’ve got to get going if you want to make the cutoff.” So I do. And my calf cramps. I’ve been in the 60 degree water for about 1:55 now. Of course my leg is cramping. If I had been in the pool (I would have been finished with the fucking swim by now) but I surely could have finished the remaining 750 meters or so until the finish line. So I tried. I continued to swim. I couldn’t extend my left foot because the cramping was so bad. I knew there were people who completed the swim without a leg or two, so I continued to kick. Damn, my other leg cramps.

At 9:28, Mike told me I had to stop. The guys with the motorboat who had followed us for the last 45 minutes had to take me to shore. I pulled myself onto the boat because I knew I would pull the guy into the water if he tried to help me. The last bit of energy I had I used to pull myself into that boat. (That’s all I’d need, to be known as the girl who pulled the rescue guy into the water. . .) I knew it would end like this . . .45 minutes into the swim I knew. Today was not my day. Once you’ve trained for an event like this, you know your body. Mine was not able to complete the challenge today. I wouldn’t give up though. I couldn’t. What if I was wrong?

Although I could not hear the announcer, I knew what he already said. I heard it last year. I tried not to think of it every day since I signed up one year ago. It was my worst nightmare coming true. It was the reason I would not go out with my friends. It was the reason I resisted eating fast food. It was the reason I worked so hard every day yet I couldn’t bear to hear the words.

The announcer said, in front of my family and friends that day, I would not be an Ironman.

And on that day, 11/20/2011, number 224’s heart, MY heart broke.

It's in the stars

-"Tremendous internal changes, intense effort, relentless determination, compulsive and irrational drives, and strong assertion of your will are the key issues during this time period. "

-"Balance your aggression so that you don't take your frustration out on others. Focus it on your goals."

Horoscopes make me laugh. I don’t “believe” in them, but I enjoy reading them. These particular two in the past week have made me chuckle.

I especially love the “compulsive and irrational drives” part of the first one. Ha. Indeed. All of my compulsive behaviors are pretty irrational anyway. I sure do love to organize things (even more excited when I can organize by color!) and I need things to be clean and orderly or I have a hard time functioning and focusing. Checklists and I are good friends.

Intense effort and relentless determiniation. Yup, all folks training for the IM have these too. Every time I hope in the pool I think about my own effort. I didn’t swim until January, now I’m about to tackle 2.4 miles. Determination to drag my behind out of bed at 4 am so I can train before the temps hit 110. I’m not sure what I did to piss off Mother Nature so much. Temps soar toward 100 through the end of October and then the first weekend of November, temperatures are in the 40s when I wake up to train? Not ok!

I’m the first one to admit I have a hot temper. Focus my aggression on my goals? The 6-7 hour bike rides have helped with that. It’s a lot easier to push those pedals up the hill if I’m thinking about the bazillion of things that piss me off. ;)

What do the stars have in store for tomorrow? Oh geeze. . .

-"You might focus on romance today, but it's possible that you're having problems figuring out a way to express your feelings. There's power influencing the scene, and certainly no shortage of passion. You might find that there's a bit of superficiality to the situation that makes it hard to commit with all of your energy."

Well there is certainly no time for this silliness! Back to my color-coded checklist to organize my gear and day-of necessities.

This time, in two weeks. . .

This time, in two weeks, I hope to be nearing the finish line. THE FINISH LINE.

I can’t believe the Ironman is less than two weeks away. HOLY COW.

One after another my friends and family members ask if I’m ready. I DON”T KNOW! My answer is yes. Yes, I am ready. I have no choice but to be ready.

Sure, if I had more time I could be more ready. If I had more time, I would spend it swimming around in the chilled open water (with and without a wetsuit). If I had more time, I would make better nutrition decisions and be 20 pounds lighter. If I had more time, I would run faster and longer. If I had more time, I would sleep more. If I had more time, I would continue to find something else I could do to be more ready.

But, I don't have more time. I have to be ok with what I have done to this point and what I can do to finish out the training. I can't think about a few of the crappy workouts or the poor food choices. I can't think about how the lake was closed AGAIN and I have yet to swim in Tempe Town Lake wearing a wetsuit.

What can I do in the next two weeks to make sure I am as ready as possible? I’ll finish out my training plan of course. I am going to make more nutritious food choices (it’s written here, I must do it!). I am going to print out my check lists and get all of my gear in order. I will let people help me (this might be the hardest one of all!).

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.

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.

Nutrition

I’ve entered the part of training where I am hungry all of the time. It may not even be the training. I am trying to choose nutrient filled foods to fuel my workout. This is different than my normal eating where I choose foods to satisfy some other sort of “hunger” (I’m bored, I’m stressed, I’m happy, I’m sad).

I am trying hard to eat when my body is physically hungry and needs food. I am trying really hard to choose snacks and meals that are nutrient-dense to make sure I have the energy and power to get through my work day in addition to my workouts.

So far, I’ve been successful.

It’s been three days.

I’m starting to worry about the ‘fourth’ aspect of the Ironman triathlon: nutrition. There is a delicate balance of energy my body needs to complete this thing. Believe me; I have PLENTY of “energy stores” packed away in my body. It’s really unfortunate that they aren’t as readily available to burn off as I’d like. Where is the button to push to get immediate access to that “energy.” “Oh, I’ve been running for four hours, I could use an energy boost. How about this inch I can pinch here? Yes, done!”

That would be so nice. Instead, I munch on a serving of almonds.

My normal pre-marathon breakfast is something like this: 1 c oatmeal, 1 banana, 1 c coffee, 1 GU packet. This is after a full night’s sleep. This is not the best option for my pre-marathon meal during the Ironman. The logistics behind having hot, fresh oatmeal on the bike are tricky in itself. I need to replenish my depleted energy plus get a little excess fuel to survive.

I guess I will be drinking a lot of “stuff” on the bike. I need to find something that I can enjoy at mile 25 as well as mile 105. It needs to be enough to refuel and store but not too much to cause GI problems (another blog about my experience with this soon, aren’t you excited?!). I have started experimenting with what to consume on the course. I was not at all impressed with my recent product at first. By the end of the two hours on the bike it wasn’t so bad. I suppose it is better that it got better as the ride went on instead of getting worse?

Choosing the right foods includes getting the appropriate carb/protein/fluids balance from my food. Carbs to replenish my glycogen stores, protein to build & repair muscle, fluids to hydrate. I’ve been doing a little research to see what this should look like for me. In my three days of serious focus, I can tell I need some work in the protein department.

I will burn upwards of 10,000 calories on race day. I need to make sure my glycogen stores are fully loaded. I’ll carbo load for a few days prior to the race. According to some basic math from one source, I should eat 832 g of carbs to carbo load (in one carbo loading day). This equals about 3,330 calories from just carbs. (YES! How many carbs are in Kraft’s Deluxe Mac & Cheese? Oh wait. . .back to that nutrient dense thing. . .)

This time, in five months. . .

Today is 6/20. This time in five months, I will Ironmaning away. Every time the 20th of the month rolls around I think of this. Each Sunday, I think of how many Sundays away it is until I compete. Then I panic. Only five months away. Only 22 Sundays away. Deep breaths.

I’m sure after the Ironman I will think, “this time last week/month, I was swimming/biking/running/hobbling/hallucinating.”

Some days I’m super excited. Some days, I’m super scared. Today I’m terrified. I’m doubtful. I’m wondering what the hell I was ever thinking to sign up for the Ironman. I struggled just putting air in my bike tire today! For crying out loud!

I didn’t drown in the pool this morning. That’s always a good thing. It was actually one of the best swim workouts I’ve had in a long time. Each workout makes me stronger (or something like that). I learn valuable lessons even if I have a “bad” one. I am confident tomorrow will be better. I will at least workout the anxiety, frustration and stress of today on the bike. That’ll be fun.

And when my alarm rings at 4:55 tomorrow morning, I can think, “this time in five months, I will be sleeping in!” (Hopefully not at the hospital!)