Next stop?

Thanks to everyone who wrote such great comments last week. I needed that. I mean, I knew it was the right decision, but it's nice to have two dozen internet friends confirm for you that, no indeed, your mama didn't raise no fool.

Whew.

Even my Dad stepped up and sent me a note about being very proud of me and how this will be a great decision for our future.

Which, of course, means that he read that part about 'sucking monkey balls.'

And likely my in-laws did, as well.

Oh. My.

___

Now, to put your fears at rest, I will not go quietly into the night of triathlon moderation.

NO!!

I warbled around the house for about 2 days, getting all weirded out by not having anything to do at 7:00 at night. Asking whether I could go to bed that early. Sleeping so much I woke up feeling (gasp) rested. And generally feeling completely unmoored from my roots.

Because I didn't have a plan.

People, I NEED A GOAL.

I know this much is true. I always need a goal. I need something to look forward to, to plan for, to get ready for, to just plain have in my sights.

I don't fare well bouncing around the house.

So, I'm off again. Next stop? Diamond in the Rough -- an olympic (yeah!) tri that's under an hour (yeah!) away from my house. It's affordable and close. So close, in fact, that my future mother-in-law is coming to see what all the fuss is about (yeah!) and it should prove to be a fun day.

I read "technical" and "hilly" in the bike course description. Bring. It. On.

I've reached back into my library for a new plan to get ready. Honestly, I feel much more at ease with the advanced plans now that I've spent 6 months working with a coach. She forced me to test my boundaries, so I'm a little more at ease with complicated plans.

I just have to make sure I'm not SO at ease I just start skipping my workouts. Um...cause I've never, ever done that before. Neeeeevah.

So.... I'm back on the training tip and have a double session waiting for me tonight. And another two singles tomorrow. And a full week of intervals and base swims and fartleks and short rides and long runs and (of course) a brick for good measure.

Oh, and some core work. Because this little chica has her first wedding dress fitting over the weekend.

I know.

I peed myself just a little, too.

Plus, I'm going wedding shoe shopping with said FMIL tomorrow night...and we're going to bust out all girlie like and try on veils and tiaras and pretty things in the name of matrimony. And being girls.

I just hope they don't mind me showing up in training gear.

(wink)

Me, We, Three

I’m going to make light of this, because it’s the only way I can come to terms with it. I’m disappointed. Very disappointed.

So, last year I decided that it was about time I buckled down and got serious about this sport. A new bike, a new coach, a new attitude, and a lot of great races on the horizon. Soon I added a nutritionist and an ART therapist, piles of gear, and lots of traveling.

And it was a good. I was happy and wise. But somehow not so wealthy.

Seems that when you spend all of your free money on training and racing, there’s no money fairy that replaces it in your wedding savings fund or the ‘I’ve gotta move out of this dang neighborhood’ bank account.

Like, seriously....where is the freaking fairy?

Two nights ago, Mighty M and I had a heart to heart. He’s a man of few words, and being that man of few words, I know that when he says something in one of our “grown-up” conversations, I should listen.

We talked about our wedding. And our mortgage. My student loans and his outstanding obligations. We talked about needing to move before making babies (thankyouverymuch) and how much house we could afford. And when we could afford that.

And it was scary and a reality check for me. You see, all Mighty M needs for entertainment is an Xbox and zombie movies. Seriously. I wouldn’t joke about this.

Me? I’ve picked up a habit that’s a wee bit more pricey. And it’s not totally fair, you know.

And every husband or wife out there reading this probably remembers the moment the “me” became the “we.”

Well, we just had a moment.

So, I decided to pare down. EVERYTHING. And it was hard. Being responsible sucks monkey balls.

Of course, the Elf understood when I explained it all to her, and was more gracious than anyone I know. A consummate pro, in more ways than one. And you’ll see my race schedule has DRASTICALLY changed on the sidebar. I’ve pared it down to just some local races that I want to keep so I stay motivated and in shape, but won’t break the bank. I’m going to skip the rest of the halves this year and, instead, continue to build my own fitness with lots of cross training.

And maybe I’ll start needlepointing again.

Cause I have no idea what I’m going to do with all of this free time.

….

So.

I’m sad, but I know it’s the right decision. I’m part of something bigger than just my own wants and needs, now. And for that, I’m very lucky. So it’s time for a little sabbatical from my favorite hobby so, one day, Mighty M can carry me across the threshold of our brand new house and we can start making the “we” the “three.”

And that is worth it.

I came, I saw...

I came, I saw, I did not conquer. Or did I? I guess it depends on how you define conquer.

A full race report to come -- because this one deserves the full treatment -- but it was a hard day for Able out there yesterday. Actually, it was just a hard run. The swim was strong, the bike was okay, and everything crumbled at mile 7 of the run.

Sigh.

But I finished, through sheer grit and determination. They were going to have to pull me kicking and screaming. I was not stopping no matter what. And thanks to thoughts of fellow bloggers (Megan, Monica, and Meggan...to be precise) and my unwillingness to live an unfinished life, I managed to cross a nearly vacant finish line hours after when I planned to.

DFL. Again.

Double sigh.

There were some very funny moments to the day, I promise. And some really thrilling parts of the day that remind me why we all train and work so hard to do this. So when I have a little time and can manage to move without pain, I'll write it all down. Because seriously, when you have a police escort for a pee break? You just have to write it down. Somewhere. Anywhere.

For now, pass the Aleve and my coffee. And maybe a cane.

De Plan, Part I

Okay...time to start thinking ahead to this weekend.

Here's the coach approved nutrition and hydration plan for Sunday. Since we've been practicing, I've learned that (a) solids early is better than solids later, (b) I'm a salty sweater, so I need tabs, (c) I dehydrate before I realize it, so I need to be better about drinking, and (d) accelerade, beans, and bloks are my friends.

I need to get some equipment fixed up (my aero bottle needs a new straw and brace) and I need some tubes for insurance. So, there might be a lunch trip to Performance Bike in my future. I'm also considering a hotel room for the night before, since a 2 hour trip to the site eats into my sleep schedule and sleep is goooood. Still not sure if it's worth the extra $100.

HIM Nutrition/Hydration Plan

Devilman

Pre-Race

Plain Bagel, Tbsp Peanut Butter, Tbsp Nutella
30+ oz Water
Coffee

Pre-Swim

1 ripe banana

Swim

n/a

T1

1 GU

Bike

@ 0:10 – ¼ power bar + 2 salt tabs
@ 0:40 – ¼ power bar
(1^st hour: 20 oz accelerade, sip water)
300 cals

@ 1:20 – ½ bag beans + 2 salt tabs
@2:00 – ½ bag beans
(2^nd hour: 20 oz accelerade, sip water)
280

@ 2:40 – 1 bag clif bloks (w/sodium)
(3^rd hour: 20 oz accelerade, sip water)
380

In case of exceeding 3 hours…
@ 3:00 1 GU + 2 salt tabs
@ 3:40 nothing
(4^th hour: 20 oz bottle exchange sport drink, sip water)
200

Calories per hour average: 290 (320/hr for first 3 hours)
% from food: 45%
% from fluid: 55%

Need on bike: 3 bottles Accelerade (rear cages and aero bottle), 1 large water (bike cage), ½ power bar, 1 bag beans, 1 bloks, 2 GU’s, 6 salt tabs (min)

T2

1 GU + 2 salt tabs

Run

@ 0:30 – 1 GU
@ 1:00 – 1 GU + 2 salt tabs
@ 1:30 – 1 GU
@ 2:00 – 1 GU + 2 salt tabs

(Hydration – sports drink on course, water on course)

Need on run: 4 GU’s, 4 salt tabs (min)

A special hell

There is a special hell that comes in the form of event planning. It's filled with late rsvp's and indecisive diners, missing tables from the floor plan and sponsor ads that have outdated CEO info on it. For those who do it full time, I salute you. And want to pass you some Prozac. You must need it.

Thankfully, it only comes as part of my job, otherwise I'd have committed myself long ago.

But when it comes, it swallows your life whole. Your personal life, your sleep, your training, your everything.

Remember that scene from Men in Black, when the alien spits Will Smith out and he's covered in gastric alien slime, but terribly proud of himself?

Yeah. The event is now done. I've been slimed.

The great news? Our sponsors are very pleased with the result, people enjoyed themselved and connected with our mission, and nobody barfed on the dessert table. The good news is that I'm finally out from under the constant pressure of endless details that don't care that you have a swim planned or a brick to finish. Key or not key. No event? I'm in the pool at 7 am. Event? I'm on the phone with board members at 7 am.

Sigh.

I slept most of the day today. Literally. Mighty M let me sleep in (love him) until 10 (good grief!) and we noshed on some breakfast together. Watched tv and then napped.

For 4 hours.

Seems I was tired.

Finally around 8 I realized I should return to the land of the living and actually do some training, so I completed a bike session on the schedule. This event has pooped all over my taper plans for the half next weekend, but I don't think I've completely killed my preparations at all.

Now I'm packing a bag for tomorrow's return to the pool and will be thrilled to be doing a smooth set of 4 x 500 rather than trying to convince resistent board members that really, no really, I actually do need the final text for the program. Like yesterday.

All I have to say is...it's nice to be back.

I'm totally effed

I just discovered this.


I blame Nicole.

Yes you, Nicole. I blame you.

And my sister.

Nobody warned me.

I fear the worst.



(wanna be my friend?)

What? Who...me?

That's pathetic.

My last post was like eleven days ago. And it wasn't even a FUNNY post. I've been giving you NOTHIN' recently, friends.

Nothin.

But, it's only because I've been pulled in seventy different directions from all the things I love (and hate) in the world. Lots of it has been good, some tiresome, and a shred (an important shred) barely tolerable.

BUT

I'm still in the midst of this joy.

So, in bulleted form, a summary:

• I rode my bike outside this weekend. Like for 4 hours. Somewhere around 57 miles and 3,700 feet of climbing. And it was good.

• I now have some basic bike handling skills. Seems riding a bike is exactly like riding a bike. Who knew?

• In mile, say, two during this epic ride, I managed to pinch a nerve in my forefinger of my left hand. Still have a bizarre pins and needles effect all the way up the finger. Don't worry, I still managed to waggle it at Might M more than once or four times this weekend.
  

• I've finally used my nifty little Profile aero bottle for my bars that I bought somewhere back in the 70s. Seems it helps to not cut the straw quite so short. Also seems it makes for a nice, refreshing shower every time you hit a bump. Good to know.

• If you've had that lovely shower of fruit punch flavored Accelerade for about 25 miles and choose to stop at the local Gas'n'Sip for some supplies, don't be surprised by the swarm of bees. It's your fault for coating yourself in crack before you got there.
  

• I'm a salty sweater. Gross if you know me. Grosser if you live with me and I make you touch it.
  

• I have a tiny little race coming up in a week and a half. It's a half ironman. Yeah, I know. 70 miles or something like that. It just occurred to me how freaking close it is. I panic on the inside.

• I have finally found the perfect pair of cycling shorts. And the perfect top. And in case I forget which ones they are when dressing in the morning, I can just line them up with the ridiculous tan lines I got last weekend. Also good to help position my Garmin on my wrist. In case I, you know, forget.

And here are the things that made it 110% necessary for me to blog the lazy man's way, through bullets.

• My fabulous job, at my fabulous nonprofit, is hosting its annual gala this weekend. The board of directors, me, and my crack team of... well, just me. Typically a three ring circus that makes oxygen deprivation days in the pool look like recess.
  

• Between now and next Tuesday -- in addition to hosting our big fundraiser -- I will write a grant request for $5,000. And another for $15,000. And, for kicks and giggles, a third for $20,000.

• If you didn't already know, writing that many grants in that period of time sucks monkey balls.

• I owe a race report for the local cycling club from a race that was over two weeks ago. That's a long time for a race report. I'm a total turd.

• Apparently "taper" in the real world is not like "taper" in my imaginary world. Seems I have to train this week, too. Bloody hell.

• Incidentally, training this week will be the only thing that gets me through the stress. That, a ton of Dunkin Donuts, and some sleeping pills.

Last year, I had heart palpitations and night terrors from this month of deadlines and responsibilities. So far, neither have crept in.

But it is, of course, only Monday.

Keeping healthy

Y'all know how much I love my coach. She's changed the sport for me and opened me up to a million new skills, angles, insights, and abilities. And it's only April.

If you didn't know, in addition to her faaaahbulous blog, she also has a website devoted to her coaching business, Multisport Mastery. She posts really helpful things on training, recovery, and the head games that triathlon can plan on even the most unassuming of athletes.

Take, for instance, this week's article on staying healthy. Some excellent advice. Check it out.

* * *

You all know how happy I've been working with the Elf -- it's all chronicled here. So you already know I'm very, very biased. But I just wanted to nudge those of you who read my little blog here, who don't already work with someone, to consider hiring a coach. I cannot say enough how I have progressed leaps and bounds with my coach's help. I approach my training and my racing with more confidence and my fitness has never been so strong.

Since the season has just started and you're likely refining your schedule for the year and, maybe, searching through online training plans for justtherightone (dude, you know you're doing it!) ... just consider coaching. It's an investment in yourself that pays great dividends. And you already know, of course, who I would recommend. (wink)

What 700 miles in the basement is *really* good for

LEST y'all think I'm poopoohing the benefits of my trainer sessions in the basement, I'm going to share a little nugget with you.

Yesterday I walked up the stairs. Normally. As in not hunched over, stiff legged and awkward. Just a normal, lahdeedah pace up stairs. Lots of stairs. All day long.

Normally, two days after a hill-filled race I would be all bent over and old lookin'. But not now.

Why?

Because I worked my a** off in the basement this year. And while I didn't smack the hills around on Sunday as secretly hoped, I certainly didn't need a week to recover from them either.

How about one day to recover.

And THAT, my friends, is a good thing.

So don't start worrying that this complicated relationship you've developed with your trainer in the belly of your home is for naught.

It's all good.

***

In only marginally related news, I was out looking for a "flat" course last night to do a recovery ride on. And since I can no longer claim frostbite risks for outdoors riding, I was on the road. And within a half and hour, I got an industrial sized staple directly in my back tire.

And what did I do?

I promptly called Mighty M.

I know, I know. I could have changed it, but it already needs to go into the shop because the tire isn't sitting properly in the wheel, so it goes thunkthunkthunkthunk the whole time I ride. Like a flat tire when I don't have one.

Until, of course, I did.

Rather than get greased up and dirty changing a tire that was going into the shop the next day, I decided for the rescue call instead.

Oh, and since you asked, lazy is spelled a-b-l-e.

Race #1: Brandywine Valley Duathlon

Ah...let's see. The race. Shall we talk about the race?

Shall we?

Let's.

Sunday was the first race of the season. I was excited. Nervous. But more so stupid excited. I didn't realize how much I missed lining up at the butt-crack of dawn to run/bike/swim or any of the above. I LOVE tethering my bike to the roof when it's dark and setting up transition when the light is peeping out.

Love it.

Anyway, the race. So I went in with some expectations. And, in my typical fashion, I had reasonable ones that I shared with everyone and patently unreasonable ones I kept tucked under a fold of my heart, out of sight. It's the later that usually makes me cry after races. It's all good. I wouldn't trade the secret goals for anything, even when they mean a few tears.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, no?

The night before I was UNCHARACTERISTICALLY organized and together. No, seriously folks. I had my bags packed, bike de-wheeled and waiting by the door, b'fast made in advance, and directions written out for me AND Mighty M. I even had his camera ready. All by 8:00.

I know. It was like aliens had inhabited my body and brought good judgment and forethought with them.

(Don't worry, they have since left.)

So Sunday brought an excellent night of sleep, totally organized little Able and THANKFULLY no rain. Cause there had been rain in the forecast and there had been rain on the streets when I woke and there had been a fear that I wouldn't be able to stop my bike on my new tires in the rain. Apparently, no worries.

The duathlon was held at Hibernia Park, a mere 20 minutes from my house. Which meant time for coffee. Which brings up this important question -- how come the Dunkin Donuts on Rt. 30 cannot EVER seem to make my coffee right on race day?? Huh?? (Which, of course, begs the question of why I keep going back there on race day. I guess it's my faith in humanity. Or something like that.)

Mighty M joined me a little later (I graciously let him sleep in) and we got the transition set up properly, met some fellow racers, and M and I did a warmup together.

(As a total aside, Mighty M is getting back into running. NO JOKE. He is hell bent in not doing it even close to the way I would (do), instead opting for the purist route. Did he buy a new outfit? No. Did he use it as a reason to upgrade his shoes? No. Does he even write down his training? NO! He doesn't even keep track! I know. Blasphemy. But he just wants to run. Damnable purists.)

By the time we lined up for the race I was super excited and just happy to be there. HAPPY TO BE THERE. Take that, life!

First 5K went totally fine. Took me a little while to get my heart rate down to something resembling normal, but the route was through some wooded areas and the first half was soft dirt, a godsend for my knees.

Transition was totally uneventful and lots of fun. Michael was right there chatting with me, taking pictures. He's a peach, you know. I love seeing him when I race -- keeps me centered.

I mounted without any embarrassing falls (WHEW!) and hit the road. And, may I remind you, this was my first time with the bike out on the road.

FREAKING LOVE IT!!

Just love my new bike. A little squirrely, yes. MUCH lighter, yes. Totally different experience, yes. Best way to spend money I didn't have? Totally.

The ride was uneventful and I had a smile plastered all over my face the whole time. Talked to volunteers, talked to fellow riders, was a wee bit surprised at the hills, and generally had fun.

And a note about the hills. I had a little edumacation this weekend. Here it is: 700 miles on the trainer in the basement is NOT a viable replacement for training outside, on the hills. I was under the illusion that my intervals downstairs would get me up and over these little nuggets with ease. Ain't happenin'. No way.

In order to do well on hills, you have to ride hills. Period.

Excellent lesson, no? I thought so, too.

Okay, back to the Race. Came into T2 well over my estimated time, so I knew I was blown. I was happy with the bike, but my mph was seriously lower than I had hoped for. (You know, those hopes tucked up in hiding.) But, I was ready for the last leg of the race.

Or so I thought.

About 100 yards into the second run my left leg started barking at me. YES, YOU HEARD RIGHT. LEG. NOT KNEE. LEG.

My knee (outside and underneath), the outside of my leg, my butt, and the top of my hamstring. A chorus of pain. Screaming at me from below the border.

Sigh.

Knowing my finishing time was already blown, I decided to just run through it and get to the finish line. And I did. There was much more walking than I ever do, and some bad words. And lots of frustration.

But I finished. I hobble/ran across the finish line in 2:19. Not my best performance by far. But, as I later realized after much drama, it was fine for the beginning of the season. I have lots of room to grow this year and I'm not going to reach my goals in April.

Right now, I'm sore but my head is in a good place. I have an appointment with an ART therapist next week to literally pay for pain. I'm hoping she'll be able to help me with this so I can keep plugging along.

In the mean time, I have a race to look forward to in under a month. Another one, I know. I'm spoiled.

And it's a half.

And it's flat.

I know you're jealous.

It's okay, I'm used to it.

(wink)

One sure sign you're hitting the road for the first time since, like, October

You approach the intersection for a right hand turn.

You unclip your right foot and place gently on the pedal.

You look to your left, right and ahead for oncoming cars.

You check over your left shoulder for additional traffic.

You lightly apply the brakes, and...

...reach for your turn signal.

Cha-ching

Done!

By way of numbers...

2 bottles of Fruit Punch Accelerade consumed
2 bags of Sport beans consumed
2 gels consumed
1 frantic bathroom trip, 3 stories up
4 fast transitions
0 wasted time
4 times I wondered why I was watching Keeping up with the Kardashians
2 episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians watched in the entirety (chickens? like, really?)
3:10 training in the bank
1 Lance Armstrong movie watched
2 times the remote fell to the floor and split open
1 time I came deese close to falling off the back of the treadmill
12 cuss words spoken at Z4 run interval, a mere 2:25 into the brick
2713 calories burned
0 shortcuts


which leaves us with...

... 1 well earned burger and monster salad to be consumed by yours truly.

Peace out, girlscout.

Dream a little dream

I'm not dreading today's workout, but my subconscious is.

Today I have the last big prep workout for the big duathlon next weekend. It's a Du Brick of the likes I've never tried before. All my bricks have been in the bike to run format...worked pretty well for me. This one, is different.

45 on the bike with increasing levels of HR
30 minute run with increasing levels of HR
45 bike repeat (build, build, build!)
30 minute run repeat (build, build, build!)
30 minute bike spin out

Gah.

That'll be new.

And my knee has been flaring again. All the way up to the hip. My new fancy refreezable icepack and I have become close friends. My roller and I are in an intense lovehate relationship and DEESE far away from an ex parte restraining order. It's been fun at my house this week.

Last night I had a dream I was down at the local university's athletic center and had lost a chunk of my left calf and (much more recently in the dream) lost another huge chunk of muscle out of my right calf. I was climbing endless stairs with the swim team, trying to find the upstairs exit. (Huh?) Once I did, I had a long hill to climb to get back into town and it was the slow trudgery that only a dream can bring you. Heavy legs, walking through molasses, cant. walk. faster. At the top, I ran into my hockey coach from high school who was at the finish line of a running race that I had missed. She was decidedly not impressed with my chunked out calves.

Sigh.

So, if I don't get my butt in gear and down into the basement for this brick my subconscious will have some more to say about it, I'm sure.

Damnable Freud.

I gots potential, beebie

Guess what, guys?

Guess what I get to do next weekend?

Huh? Huh?

Yeah...that's right, baby...

I GET TO RACE!! Wahoooo!

No joke -- race season has finally begun and not a moment too soon. I was totally enjoying my time in the basement, but it will be seriously fun to take these legs out on a real course and see what they can do.

I literally have no idea what times to look for. LITERALLY. I've spent the whole winter inside working on cycling efficiency and running form and keeping things within proscribed heart rate zones.

Not complainin' in the least bit, either. I think I'm MUCH stronger today than I was this time last year. No joke.

But your mph on the trainer really doesn't give you an accurate idea of your real potential out there on the road. I've seen it creep up and up in the same HR zone, but the true power is still yet to be translated.

Same with the run. With the exception of one really, really stupid run I did last week wherein I spent (no joke) 25 minutes in Zone 3 and AN ADDITIONAL 25 minutes in Zone 4 (!) .... I have yet to let lose on my run.

Next Sunday is my first Duathlon.

5K, 13.5 mile, 5K

Spells FUN in my book.

Bring on the pain people. Bring on the pain!

Viscious Torture Device Available at Target, Suburban Shoppers Unaware

Just patiently waiting there for its next victim. A mere $22.24 for a world of hurt.

Who knew?

How to completely mess up a rest week AND blow your knee, all in one easy lesson.

Sometimes, training isn't great. Sometimes you don't get to daydream about strong finishes and hear your own soundtrack in your head, urging you forward. Sometimes you don't get what you want, and sometimes you probably should have stayed home.

Yup. Sometimes it just sucks.

And such is life.

From whence this melancholy come? Last week. Or, more specifically, 1:15 PM last Saturday.

Here's the deal. My coach dialed me back for the week for a couple of reasons. First, I have a build coming up for a STUPENDOUS EARTH SHATTERING PEAK for my first race of the season. Okay, I kid a bit with the shattering stuff, but there will be a peak involved I'm told.

And second, I had a 2 hour run on the schedule for Saturday. It's my longest so far on deck since last season and a source of a little consternation about being properly rested and whatnot. But *I* was confident that it would be *just dandy* and *don't worry* about me because 2 hours sound *peachy.* I can do it in my sleep.

Ah, bravado. How did I make it through my 20s without you?

So (warning: admission coming ahead), I'm not really - um - all that great at the rest week thingy. Actually, I'm pretty craptastic at it. Here's why.

"Rest week" in my world (apparently) is translated "everything is optional week."

(Sigh.)

(I know, I know.)

My poor coach. I should have warned her that I have two speeds -- training or sittinginbedwatchingtveatingbonbons.

(no, not really bonbons. maybe berry gelato. but that was just ONCE.)*

I was peachey for my swims, but that quick run on Tuesday? My headache had an easy time of convincing me otherwise. The bike on Wednesday? Notsomuch.

AND WHAT WAS THE RESULT???

Huh? Huh, genius?

That would be knee pain. AND YES, I know, it has happened before. Um, can we say the 2006 Philly Marathon? Yeah, my ITB hates trying to throw out there a 2 hour run when I haven't given it the time of day for a week.

So, Saturday was a day of no lollipops and nary a rainbow. Just one p-ed off runner walking dejectedly home an hour early. And in pain. And really angry with the world (read: myself and my knee).

I iced and I moped and I complained and moped some more. And this tempermental triathlete tantrum didn't end until I finally got on the bike on Sunday to finish up the week's plan.

And you know what? That. Sucked. Too.

(Sigh.)

It can't all be lollipops and rainbows, I guess. Sometimes it just doesn't work. Sometimes I've gotta just remember the good runs and shut up and move on.

And for right now, I've gotta find a local place that sells foam rollers. Because I needs me one. Pronto.


* okay, twice.

PSA

Effective, no?

http://www.dothetest.co.uk/

(don't worry -- okay for work...I mean, not that you'll be blogging at work...or surfing the internet...OF COURSE NOT...cause I'm not, you know. ah, sugar.)

Every Last Minute

"I can do anything for 5 minutes."

That's how it started. I was reaching the end of a gut wrenching, find the wizard, leave your guts on the floor bike test and there were five minutes to go. So I decided I could finish this if I could convince myself I could do anything for five minutes.

"I can do anything for 5 minutes."

I said it outloud. I had no reason to trust it. I just wanted it to be true enough, so I forced its existence.

And I could. Managed my focus, kept my form, found some patience and gave the test a little bit more. And I finished and was fine. No blood, lots of sweat, and only a couple tears. I really could do anything for five minutes.


I didn't really think about it until a few weeks later and I was in the pool and desperate to be done with the swim. I was tired and cranky and I still had 15 minutes to go. Only 7:45 and no excuses to get out of the pool. More intervals and a cool down, and I wanted out. But, I decided I could do anything for 15 minutes.

And I did. And I was fine afterwards. And my trust in this little process was growing a little.

Fast forward to that same week on the bike. My toes on my right foot were cramping from my too-tight shoes and I still had 15 minutes to go. Again with the intervals. Again without excuses. But I can do anything for 15 minutes, including that.

So I did.

And now I've come to trust this little tool. I really can do anything for these little periods of time. Even with the pain and the effort and an intense desire to get the hell out of there, I can do this training thing if it's broken up into trusted increments.

I whip out the rule on longer runs, when I'm far enough away from home to want to walk but too close to let myself. I really can get home in one piece because I can do anything for 5 more minutes.

In the water, on the bike, on the road...I've taken the concept out a million times now and it holds up each time. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, another 1/2 hour and those last three miles home.

And yesterday, during my 3:15 on the trainer, I pulled it out one more time. It was well over 2 hours into the ride and my coach put in 2 minutes standing @ 60 rpm, 3 minutes seated @ 70 rpm. Big gear. Zone 2. Repeat.

The first one I cracked at 1:30 and sat down with a thud. Ground my way through the next 3 minutes and stood again. This time at 0:55 my quads were shaking and I leaned into my aeros for support. I sat at 1:30 again. But then I remembered.

I can do anything for 2 minutes.

And I did. I shook and dripped sweat all over the floor and cursed my bike and I wanted to stop at each second that passed, but I made it through the full 2 minutes.

Because I believed that I could. Because I knew that the pain of those two minutes would dissipate soon after and I would be left with a lingering trust of my body and my instincts. The pain always feels like it will stay forever and is larger than you are. And you always have the choice to sit down, cry uncle and give up.

But the pain never really is larger than you are and it's never better to sit down. Because you always can finish if you trust your guts. If you prove to yourself each day that you can do anything for two minutes, it's only a matter of time before that two becomes five, which becomes 90 and then 200.

And then, you're free to do it all. Every last minute of it.

We're gonna need a bottle of peroxide, some gauze, and a lot of duct tape.

Last year, I gots me a bike.

A fancy, dancy bike.

With bullhorns and bar-ends and a cut out...OH MY!

Not only is she FREAKING GORGEOUS, she's wonderful to sit on, shift on, and stand next to.

And she and I have already spent over 700 miles together, me in her somewhat uncomfortable seat (I didn't want to mess up the fit I got by messing around with putting my Terry saddle on...so I've learned to just deal) and her propped up on the trainer.

Yes. You read that right.

I have a new bike that I've logged 700+ miles on...in my basement.

What does that get me? Season 1 and 2 of Rescue Me and the knowledge that interval training and reading subtitles do not play well together.

What does it NOT get me?

Um...yeah, BIKE HANDLING SKILLS.

So, there you have it. I'm not sure I can ride my bike. With all the ass kicking my coach has been handing me in the name of "you're the one who signed up for an early season half, remember?" I know that I'll be stronger going up all those hills out there.

If I don't fall off on my way to them, that is.

BUT.

Here's the good news.

This week it broke 50 degrees. It felt like bathing suit weather. Bad news was it did this lovely feat while I was at work and recovering from a throat infection. (Yucky. I know. It's over now...let's not discuss it.)

But hand-to-God, the first time it breaks 50 and I'm not at the office, I'm dropping everything and heading out on the road.

You know...to see if I know how to work my breaks. And turn corners.

Watch out, world. Get the peroxide ready.

[Update: You know what? I lied. It's more like 550 miles. Not so good with math here. But that's still a LOT to do without touching asphalt.]

Oh no...

...I did it.

I went there.

I blame it on Mighty M. It's his fault.

Two weekends ago, my friend Nicole was in town for a visit and we took total advantage of it as an excuse to sit around in the living room and gab. Like girls. For as long as the boys tolerated us.

(it was about 2 hours before M broke and claimed exhaustion. dad only made it 1 hour, mumbling something about being too old for this on the way up the stairs.)

One of the long list of things that makes Nicole one of THE most interesting people you'll ever meet is that she's a marathoner. And a spin instructor. And a new kick-boxing convert. And a bazillion other interesting things.

She always picks such great things to try and then she goes 110%.

So, clearly, I'm going to try to convince her to do a triathlon.

Clearly.

And, of course, I'm going to encourage her to do one with me. Wouldn't that be fun?

Of course.

And Nicole never goes small and she's already a killer runner and strong on the bike. Just a little time in the pool and I have a(nother) partner in crime.

(rubbing hands together with glee)

And then Mighty M -- amidst all this fun talk of what race to do -- mentions the Ironman.

And I, like, do a double take. Wait, I think, he looks all casual. The word just tumbled out of his mouth. Must be careful at this juncture...

"An Ironman, M? You're crazy. You mean next year?"

His response: "Of course. I figured that would be the plan for next year."

(gulp)

And you know what? He's totally right. We will have all the wedding (and wedding planning) behind us. I will be coming off of a solid year with 3 half irons and over a half dozen other races. And I have found the perfect coach. And we already know we want to wait for a little before starting a family, and moving from our current house. And if I were to wait until the following year, I would have other issues to contend with...like house hunting and baby making and those kinds of things.

Oh my.

OH. MY.

OH. MY.

Is it time for some...gasp...Iron?