Generalization at its Finest: A Report on the Personality of Runners, Bikers, Swimmers, and Triathletes

When I was just running, I was absorbed in what I now understand as road racing/running culture. I love running culture. I feel very at home there. Recently, however, I have begun to define myself as a triathlete first and a runner second. Entering the world of triathlon has opened my eyes to the different personalities of each of the triathlete's disciplines. What follows are total hyperbolic generalizations. It's also a work in progress.  

The Runner Descriptive phrases and adjectives: More and longer is always better (you don't find "streakers" who do their discipline daily for years straight, for example, except in running), self-coached, self-reliant, stubborn, tough, hardy, uncomplaining (to the point of stupidity), constitutionally incapable of admitting injury, jovial (other than during races), consistent, unwavering.  

Sign: Capricorn, Virgo, Taurus  

Beauty factor: Male runners are often scrawny, bearded, geeky and frequently balding. Female runners (elite) are waifs, often pasty waifs. Female age-groupers can't be pinpointed, I don't think. They seem to come in all shapes and sizes. A shared attribute is a determined, stolid race face.  

Feelings about gear and fashion: Gear is for pretty boys. Give me shoes, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts and I'm good to go. On second thought, it's hot out--can I lose the shirt?  

Reasons/Thoughts on racing: To beat one's best friend so you can laugh about it over a beer after the race; because racing hurts and pain is good; the more races you do in a year, the better; racing twice in one weekend or day is dedication, not insanity; to get revenge on a course that shattered you in the past; to go the distance; so you can tell war stories.  

Training philosophy: Train hard, train long, train train train. Rest is for wimps. Speed work once a week even if you raced last weekend  

Why run in a group: So you can share war stories about past races, so you can forget the pain you are in, so you can hang with your buddies.  

Why run alone: Because you need to toughen up.  

Animal: A cross between a gazelle and a mule.  

Favorite beverage: Beer. Maybe wine, if no one is looking.  

Thoughts about food: Runners run to eat. Many began running to lose weight, and relish that running allows them to eat with abandon.  

Color: Navy  

Myers Briggs type: ESTJ or ESFJ  

Common jobs: Nurse, police officer, insurance 

Feelings about triathletes: Gear queers, pretty boys, Nancies, vain beauty queens  

Feelings about swimmers: What's a swimmer? Feelings about cyclists: Unsmiling, unfriendly, pig the road, spandex? you must be kidding me, too skinny, wussy  

Hogwarts' House: Gryffindor  

 

The Cyclist   

 

Descriptive phrases and adjectives: Move in groups like a wolf pack , lots of arcane hand signals for the paceline, fashionable and pretty, graceful, petite, don't sweat, smooth, Euro  

Male/Female ratio: Dominated by males.  

Sign: Leo, Aquarius  

Why train in a group: Drafting, because real bikers ride in a group, pace line, pace line, handling, pace line  

Why train alone: Real bikers don't train alone  

Animal: Wolf 

Color: Neon  

Myers Briggs type: ISTJ  

Common jobs: Engineer, bike specialist, musician  

feelings about triathletes: Can't ride in a group--beware! Have no riding sense, all show 

feelings about swimmers: Nice, if you like to move slowly and cover absolutely no ground.  

feelings about runners: On your left, frickin' caveman!  

Hogwarts' House: Slytherin  

 

The Swimmer  

 

Descriptive phrases and adjectives: Mellow, kind, wholesome, good  

Feelings about gear: All you need is a suit, a cap and a pool. Real swimmers use the pull buoys and kickboards provided at the pool. They know they'll be there.  

Reasons for racing: Exercise for life. Most swimmers raced once upon a time. They might do a Masters meet in the winter. Some have found their competitive spirits again by doing relays in triathlons.  

Sign: Pisces, Cancer, Aquarius 

Why swim in a group: Masters swimming rocks. Introverts unite! You never really swim alone. An empty pool is bliss, though.  

Animal: Fish, duh.  

Favorite beverage: Orange juice  

Color: Medium blue  

Myers Briggs types: INTJ, INFJ, INFP, ENFJ  

Common jobs: Teacher, artist, scientist  

Feelings about triathletes: Why do they bring so much gear to the pool?  

Feelings about runners: Sure, if you like back pain and dislike knee cartilage.  

Feelings about cyclists: I used to have a bike. I used it for my paper route.  

Hogwarts' House: Hufflepuff  

The Triathlete  

Descriptive phrases and adjectives: Ego, ADHD, intense, vivid, dynamic, alert, focused, TYPE A, vain, hot  

Beauty Factor: Triathletes, as a group, are a good looking crowd.  

Feelings about gear: Is there something I don't have? Maybe I can sell my old school books...  

Reasons for racing: Depends what race you're talking about. A races, B races, C races? They're each very different. You should know that. And if you forget, it's in my plan. Sign: Aries, Sagittarius, Leo, Libra  

Training mantras: Periodization, blocks, progression, histogram, phases, peak, purpose intentionality, hours per week.  

Why work out in a group: Because you can't always avoid it. Groups mess with The Plan. They don't respect your heart rate, your zone, your power, or your cadence. You can be social at Book Club.  

Animal: Eagle  

Color: Red F

avorite beverage: Fruit smoothie spiked with protein powder.  

Thoughts about food: God didn't make food for taste. Food is fuel. Good nutrition is essential for superior performance.  

Myers Briggs type: ESTJ, ENTJ, INTJ, ENFJ  

Common jobs: investment banker, venture capital, finance, physician...but often they're unemployed so that they can train more.  

Hogwarts' House: Ravenclaw

Nutrient Rich and Other Bad Words

I met with Jesse about optimal nutrition on Monday night. The guy knows his nutrition, I'll say that much. Lots of good advice. Hard to follow advice, but good advice.

According to Jesse, this is what is wrong with my current diet:

-too many carbs at the wrong times
-not enough protein
-not enough careful pre, during and post nutrition thoughtfulness
-too much of the wrong kinds of fats

And here I was thinking I wasn't doing so bad....

Well, actually, I knew I had a few major problems with my diet, but I was unwilling to think too much about it. Part of this has to do with my running background. Runners do fuel during workouts, but the ones I know and hang out with pride themselves about not getting too silly and persnickety about it. They love a post-run breakfast with greasy home fries, sausage and coffee. They like a good post-race beer (or ten) as opposed to Endurox. They drink regular Gatorade as opposed to the fancy sports drinks like Accelerade or PowerBar or whatever. This is the culture I come from, and it's also a culture I like and respect.

The problem is, I really want to kick ass in my training and racing. EVERYTHING I read talks about the importance of good nutrition. I felt it was time to start putting forth some effort in this department. Why train more than 10 hours every week if you aren't going to take something important like fueling seriously?

Am I starting to think this way because I'm becoming more of a triathlete than a runner? I think yes. This makes me a tad sad.

Anyway. As we chatted, Jesse ate his "dinner." I know he was going to have some yummy chili after I left (his wife was making it while I was there--made with lean turkey, of course, rather than what I would make it with, hamburger), but as we talked he ate cottage cheese, prunes and walnuts. All I could think was, I can NEVER do this. Kill me now.

In short, here are my must-dos:

• Fuel before I work out. Often I just jump in the pool or go out for a run in the morning not having eaten. This is bad.
• Fuel during my workout (esp. when biking and running). I do this, but I guess I have to start using "good" sports beverages as opposed to the Gatorade I buy from the grocery store.
  
• Fuel after my workouts, esp. if they last longer than an hour. Sometimes I do this, but not always. I own a big jug of powdered Endurox, but I'm not a huge fan. Guess I need to become one.
• Give up coffee in favor of green tea. (Yeah right. That one's not at the top of my list yet. Have I mentioned how much I LOVE COFFEE? Okay. I LOVE COFFEE.)
• More fruits and veggies. Less refined sugar. Easy to say, hard to do.
• More lean meat, fish and other high protein foods, and start using protein powder in my smoothies. Oh, and start drinking smoothies.
  
• No more dark beer. If I'm going to drink it needs to be Mich Light or red wine. Blek. Like with the coffee, I'm not committed to that rule yet. Life is too short to give up coffee and dark beer.
  

One good thing is that I don't have much weight to lose. Maybe three pounds or so. My body fat is pretty low--something like 16 %--which isn't bad for a woman of my age who's had three kids rather recently. It could be better, but it's not terrible.

-------------------------------------
I had to go three and a half hours on the bike today. I wanted to go outside, but the hub. had a billion totally justifiable things he had to do (like getting the car inspected--that kind of stuff) so I couldn't get outside without the kiddos. I did the workout in three parts--two 1 hour 20 min. sessions on the trainer, and the last part I did at the gym so the kids could play there. (They have this really awesome rec. room with childcare. Gotta love the YMCA.)

Anyway, as I biked away at the gym, sweating everywhere and stinking up the room, I watched this boy. I think he had cerebral palsy, though I'm not sure. He was with two adults, one of whom I think was his dad because they had the same eyes. The adults were helping the boy to sit at the weight machines and lift a little weight. They would carry him from machine to machine. When the boy lifted he would make these very loud roaring noises. It was both distracting and interesting. I couldn't figure out what inspired the roars. Sometimes they were in conjunction with lifting, but sometimes they weren't. Anyway, at the end of his workout, one of the men placed him in a chair very near to my bike, which was at the end of a row, and then he watched him, holding his shoulder, as the other man went off to do something, I don't know what. The boy (he was in his teens--very tall) kept looking at me, but when I caught his eye he would look away. He didn't have control over his body, but his eyes he moved very clearly with purpose.

I know that people with cerebral palsy aren't necessarily mentally disabled. Think Mr. Hoyt's son, or that boy from My Left Foot. I began to wonder what was going through his mind. Was he used to being stared at by people--or by people looking away? Did it bother him that people make the assumption that he is retarded because he doesn't have control of his muscular system? As I thought this I finally caught his eye, and I smiled at him.

A few minutes later, the man came back and the two men together lifted him up. It was then that I noticed the boy had wet his pants. They carried him to his wheel chair, and they left.
And then I began to cry. Isn't that weird? I still can't explain it. I think it may have had to do with thinking about how my children are so healthy and able--how lucky they are and I am.... But it also had to do with my sadness for him, the boy. I'm sure it would be annoying to him that I felt pity and sadness. Was he humiliated that he had wet his pants? Did he know?

I'm so lucky that I can swim, bike, run--
and lift my children, and control my bladder, and everything else I can do that I take for granted every day of my life.

Time Flies

EASTER

2008
2007
2006
2006

2006
2005

2005
2004
2004

I Think I'm Covered

One thing I've been stressed about is how I'm going to get my training in this summer. 

I'm taking the kids to Maine for the summer because we are having an addition put onto our house here in MA. (All three kids are in one bedroom. You can see how an addition might be necessary...) 

Anyway. I'm taking the kids and we are staying at my parents'. I contemplated saddling my mom into watching the kids for the 15-20 hours I need to workout--but--well, frankly, that's a shitload of time. Too much time to ask for even from a devoted Gramma. It felt very wrong to assume she'd being willing or able to do that. The hub. will be up each weekend, and so I can get in some workouts then. But during the week it's all me, all the time. 

I put an offer out to my cousin, Lauren, who will graduate from high school in the spring, and to my two sisters and one of my sisters-in-law to see if I could get a bite. I offered a good chunk of change in exchange for 15 hours a week workout time. Lauren took me up on the offer. Thank God! She is a Texan (San Antonio) and she and her dad come to summer with us each year. She's so awesome with my kids and they totally love her. She beautiful, fun, and patient. I'm so psyched! Plus, she lives in the beach house with us, so there's no commuting etc. involved. I feel enormously relieved. My kids can hang at the beach when I'm out on the bike or the ocean or on a run--and I don't have to feel like a slime for sticking them in all day camp or forcing them to stay inside while I do a treadmill or trainer workout. _____________ 

I had an incredible week of training, and I'm SPENT. I've been building little by little, but this week I made a major jump in hours put in. I can't do a long workout on Easter, so I switched my long bike to Good Friday. For that reason the hours and miles are somewhat skewed. (I log from Saturday to Saturday.) I finished my long bike at like 5 p.m. yesterday, which I did it on the trainer because Friday was wicked cold and had gusts of wind up to 50 mph. Then I got up early this morning to do a 9 mile run. It was still cold and windy and my legs felt like absolute lead. I ran with a few friends who are training for Boston and who had to do an 18 miler today. Thank God they had to go long because the pace was slower than usual as a result. 

 By the end of this I felt like I needed to crawl to my car. In other news, my friend Michael, a runner, broke his running streak this week. He ran every freaking day for 6 years, 4 months and 3 days. That's 2,316 days in a row. He averaged 8.77 miles a day for a total of 20,230.5 miles. That's dedication, my friends. In my mind it's an accomplishment of mental and physical toughness that few of us will ever match in our lifetimes. He's the man.

Living in Zone 1

Our whole lives we are told that doing more, doing extra, working harder, will produce the results we want. It doesn't matter the venue. If you want to excel academically, if you want to become a master of chess, if you want to become a chef, if you want to be a writer, if you want to dance for the NYC Ballet--you must work unwaveringly hard. Nothing comes without hard work. 

Here's the problem. I think that as I have gotten older I have developed an anxious response when I'm not working really hard. I have achieved a few things in my life now--advanced degrees and accolades at work and a few good race times for a girl who genetically belongs in the middle of the pack--but none of these things came easy to me. 

 I remember studying for my GREs, for example, when I was applying to do doctoral work in English many years ago. I study relentlessly. I killed myself studying, taking practice test after practice for months and months. Then I took the test and I did really well. This showed me not that I was a smarty pants, but that if I worked like a dog I could do very well. I studied like a crazy woman because I was so anxious that I couldn't do it--that I couldn't score high enough to grant me entry into elite schools. Studying seemed to be the only thing that quelled the anxiety. When I did do well and did receive entry to do doctoral work, the anxiety continued, because if I didn't work my ass off, it would be revealed that I was actually very average under my high-scoring GRE veneer. 

So I'm anxious when I'm not working hard. Working hard quells the anxiety. It quells the fear that I will be discovered as not really good--just a person of average intelligence and athleticism who works her ass off. Do you see the problem here? You can't work insanely hard all of the time at everything you do, especially when you are a hard core triathlete, a mom of three little kids, and you work full time. You just can't. Or you will--what? I don't know. Lose your mind? Jump off a bridge? Never get out of bed because you just can't get up and do it again? 

All of this would be solved, I think, if I could just convince myself that it doesn't matter one iota what the rest of the world believes about me--about my ability to parent, to teach, or to be an athlete. Truthfully, the world doesn't give a fart about me, anyway, right? It is too busy trying to manage its own host of issues to concern itself with whether I am fraudulent or not. I need to let go of the anxiety that if I am not training all the time, really hard, I will still be a good athlete. I need to remember that quelling the training anxiety beast will just make me feel worse when I try to slay the bad mommy beast. I need to embrace that rest is good, and that if I do rest, I will still be okay. I need to allow myself to lead most of my life in zone 1, and save the high zone training for special times.

Crisis

It has come to my attention (courtesy of the hub.) that my bike is transgendered. Her name is the Black Stallion, but she is, of course, a lady. hmmmm. What to do? Rename her? Allow her to continue being this way? Not that I have a problem with it... I could change her name to Black Beauty. She could therefore still be nicknamed The Black and she would still be named after a famous literary horse known for her speed and grace. Of course Black Beauty was nicknamed Beauty, not The Black. Only the Black Stallion was called The Black. This is a problem.

Chipmunk 5k for ALS Race Report

The forecast the night before the race was not promising. Heavy rain and wind were expected. Argh. Still, it was a 5K, right? It only would last a little over 20 minutes. How bad could heavy rain for that amount of time be? (Don't answer that.) 

The truth is I was motivated to run this little race for two reasons: 1. It is a 5k. The only other racing option I had this weekend was a 5 Miler. I really wasn't feeling up for 5 miles. 3.1--much more appealing--and I had to race because it was on the schedule. (Never disobey the schedule.) 2. I thought the competition might be less fierce at this race than the 5 miler. I figured right. The Chipmunk 5K for ALS was put on by high school students, and the majority of its participants were, unsurprisingly, students, and the parents of said students. I figured, vainly, that I might win it. 

Here, alas, I figured wrong. 

Back to the night before. I packed about a million different running outfits to be sure I had what I needed given the forecast--and also given that the forecast is nearly always wrong. This packing process took a long time. 

Andy was extremely annoyed at my need to have everything match. In his mind only losers match their running clothing. Humph. Well, he's not a chick. What does he know? The next morning I left the house too late. The kids wanted this or that, and I was already feeling guilty about leaving on a Saturday morning so I kept giving into their demands until I finally got totally freaked out that I could possibly miss the opportunity to warm up, or worse, miss the opportunity to get the all important coffee, so I took off. I

 got my usually DD coffee and my egg and cheese on an English and set out. Upton is a good 50 minutes away from where I live. It's very rural and pretty, but the drive out there left a lot to be desired. It was rainy, foggy, muddy and well--March. Just depressing. Still, I listened to my novel (Dark Angels, Kathleen Koen), drank my Java and was at peace. It took me awhile to find the Nipmuc Middle School. This was okay with me since it was raining and cold and I really didn't want to get out of the toasty car. I finally reluctantly found it. I got my number and visited the bathroom a few times. The cafeteria (were registration was held) was full of high school boys and girls and their parents. I saw very few road racing types. Good, I thought. Very good. I went to warm up and the rain, previously pounding like you wouldn't believe, let up. Very good again! 

As I ran I kept my eyes peeled for my competition. I spotted two potentially dangerous women. Rats. At around 9:55 I headed out to the starting line. There was only one person there. What? The race was supposed to start in five minutes! The lone person was one of the women I had seen running during my warm up. 

"Where is everyone?" I asked. 

"They don't want to get cold and wet," she answered. 

"Um, right. But this is a race," I continued. 

"Where's the race director?" 

"He's inside too," she said. 

 Oh shit. This could be bad. Maybe this race was a little too rural and noncompetitve? I made small talk with the runner woman for a little while and tried to figure out who she might be. The details: From R.I. Ran this race last year. Just coming off a foot injury. Not running Boston. 

"What are you planning to run for a time?" she asked. AhHa! So she was checking out the competition too! Should I tell her the truth, or freak her out with some outrageous time I could never really get? It is, after all, a little brazen to go right out and ask... 

"About 21," I said, deciding on the honest approach. 

"Oh, great,"she replied, relief clearly visible on her face. Fuck. I wonder how fast she is. I won't ask. She wants me to ask. Bitch. 

We chatted more. She has teenagers at home. Okay, so at least she isn't in my age group. A few minutes later another woman, also clearly a runner, ran up the hill. I got her chatting too. Then the brazen woman (woman number 1) asked this new woman what she's planning on doing for a time. "About 21," replied the new woman. Fuck again! 

Finally, at about 10 past 10, a large mass of people began walking up the hill to the starting line. A few cops appeared in their Upton police cars. The race director walked to the front of the crowd. The crowd was small--maybe 70 or 80 total--but still this guy couldn't command their attention. He shouted something and then smiled and went to the side. All of the high school boys crowded the front line. I chatted it up with two 13-years-old boys who by no means looked 13 (more like 10), but I didn't tell them this. I DID tell them they better not beat me, or they'd hurt my old lady's feelings. They seemed unmoved and unimpressed, and clearly hoped, for the sake of their fragile, underclassmen reputations, that I stop talking to them and shut the fuck up. sigh. Whatever, I thought. Little shits. I'm gonna kick your prepubescent butts. (Not that I'm competitive or anything.) 

The ineffective race director suddenly shouted "GO!" and I jumped. Then, after a moment, I figured out what was going on and began to run. The two runner women leaped out in front. So did the 13-year-old boys, and every other high school boy for that matter. I tried not to panic. I began sucking wind immediately. This, I suddenly knew, was going to be PAINFUL. Races are always painful, of course, but 5ks really hurt, and I always forget this until I'm in the midst of one. Mile 1: 6:40. Cool. Not too bad. But I was tired. Way too tired. 2.1 more miles seemed like an awful lot. I slowed. I began to get that "who cares" feeling. The two women were far, far ahead. They were still in sight, but basically uncatchable given my current level of fatigue and pain. Fuck. 

But then something fabulous happened. All of the high school boys began to slow. I began picking them off not one by one, but in large groups. As I passed each one I could feel each trying to stay with me, then, after a few moments, giving up and letting me go. Ha! Mile 2: 7:14. Okay. That's lame. I could run faster! I was feeling energized now; in pain and legs burning, but still energized. Maybe this race wasn't all lost. Maybe I would snag 3rd. Maybe I could pick off a few more of these h.s. boys. I charged on. 

With about .5 to go I passed two boys who really didn't want me to pass them. They stayed with me, let me go, then re-passed me. This happened a few times. Finally, they were toast. I sailed ahead in glory. I hit mile 3: 6:50. Only .1 to go. With about 200 yards to the end I began my kick. I felt strong. I wasn't going to PR, but I would place. Then those two evil boys I had passed earlier sprinted by me. I hate that! Little shits. I finished in 21:19, about 6:52 pace. I was 2nd in my AG (20-39) and I was the 4th woman. Turns out there was a h.s. girl ahead of me too, but I didn't know it. I don't begrudge her placing, though. I'm psyched she beat so many of those h.s. boys. And still, you gotta love the small, rural 5k. I placed well even though I didn't run my best race. The woman with teenagers at home won it in 18 something. The h.s. girl did a low 19. Woman #2 broke 20 by a few seconds. I did beat the two 13 year-old boys. The End.

suemtaemren

Yesterday I was helping Jordan with her homework. (Don't get me started on the fact that my first grader has homework.) We were working on the mystery word of the week, which turns out is measurement, and we were quite absorbed in the task. Basically you have to unscramble the word and also find as many words within the word as you can. I had just found mature and nature and I was pretty psyched. Nothing like Mom doing homework for her kid, eh? Okay, so here's the real story. As I am praising myself for finding mature (note the irony) Jordan says, "Mom, where are Noah and Lara? It's pretty quiet." (Nothing like the child doing the parenting, eh?) "I'll go check it out," she said, and she trotted away. I think I mumbled and continued my quest to find words out of the word. "Mom? I think you better come in here," Jordan said a moment later. My heart dropped. Shit. I raced toward her voice. They are in the bathroom. They are both totally naked. The handsoap and a cup of soapy water are on the floor. They have their toothbrushes in their hands. Water and soap are everywhere. "What are you doing?" I asked. Noah was gleeful. "We're washing our pees!" I'm incredulous. "With handsoap and a toothbrush?" "Yeah!" Lara cried, and proceeded to put the toothbrush between her legs and started to scrub. Noah followed suit, dipping his toothbrush in the water and using it to well, you know. Oh. My. God. _______________________ 

On a totally different note, I want to thank everyone for their responses to my last post. I guess I didn't realize how loaded it was, and how stressed, upset and most of all, guilty I felt until I wrote it. The strange thing is that the day after I wrote that post I got Triathlete Magazine in the mail. The editor's note was on sandbagging!

Sandbagging

How secretive are you about your training? Do you tell the truth when someone (a NON triathlete) asks you how much you train or what you are doing for training? Who do you downright lie to about your training? I ask because I find myself lying about my training -- a lot. A colleague asks me where I'm going after work and invariably I'll say to run errands. I am never running errands. I am going to the gym. Or I am going running and I'm changing into my running garb at Starbucks. When my mother-in-law asks if I have been running lately I will tell her no, life is too busy. I have laid off the training. I don't want her to know. I think she thinks I'm sick. If my BEST friends (who don't train) ask me about my training I may not lie, but I will blow it off. Oh, it's fine. You know. I love it. I've been trying to get in the workouts I feel I should. So how are you? I don't mention I have a coach. I don't mention I just dropped thousands on a bike. I don't mention that I think about racing and training when I'm alone in the car, or when I get bored at work, or in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I don't mention how much I want to KICK ass this season. I don't mention that on my bookshelf I have about two dozen books on triathlon, sports nutrition, mental training, running, swimming technique, biking workouts, strength training etc. I don't mention that I have a blog. I only have one non-training friend who knows about my blog. She only knows be/c I can trust her to still love me. My parents don't know. My siblings don't know. My neighbors don't know. My friends don't know. Only you know. And worst of all, maybe: When I work out after school I never go home first and park in my driveway. I change at the gym or at Starbucks or in my car and do a workout from some random parking lot somewhere so that the mommies in the neighborhood won't see that I'm running instead of picking up my babies from daycare in a timely fashion. ________________________ 

Why? Why do I do this? I don't really know. Here are some possible reasons: 1. (the biggest.) It's selfish. I'm selfish. I don't want people to know I'm selfish. Every moment I'm training or thinking about training I should be spending with my kids or thinking about my kids or loving my kids or working with my kids. 2. Because they don't get it. They meaning everyone who doesn't run, bike or swim or all three--for fun. And I don't want to explain. 3. Because I want people to like me. ____________________ 

Most of the time I feel like I am hiding who I truly am. This is the end of my confession.

Forward March

March isn't one of my favorite months. It's still cold and snowy here in New England, and when there isn't snow on the ground it's muddy and brown. This year March arrived like a lion with snowfall all morning of the first. Today, though, it's more lamb-like. For my run this afternoon it was 48 degrees. I could've worn just a light long-sleeved shirt and shorts. But I didn't. This is another thing I don't really like about March. The weather is so variable. You think you'll need your winter garb, but then you sweat to death in it, or because yesterday was balmy you are fooled into dressing too skimpily and freeze your ass off. March is also a very LONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG month in school. Here in Boston we joke about getting up March Hill--an illusion, of course, to the infamous Heartbreak Hill (which isn't really that bad, I must note). 

The good thing about March, though, is that by the end of the month the nice days start to outnumber the nasty ones--and before you know it, it's spring. And I absolutely love spring. I begin to ache for the site of a blooming crocus at this time of year. Do crocuses grow in other parts of the country or are they just bulb/plants for northern climes? This weekend I spent quite a bit of time training. Can you believe it? 

On Saturday I rode for three hours on the Felt/on the trainer. I'm a little bruised. But it's okay. Really. I forgive The Black because it's not really her fault. My crotch just isn't broken in yet. Know what I'm saying? The ride went faster because I decided to go to Fast Splits to ride with some people there. I met a few people I hadn't before and had a good time chatting with everyone. The only downside was that the consensus was that 80's music wasn't acceptable listening fare, so we listened to the radio. Blek!  

On Sunday I did a super hilly 9 mile run--this time listening to my cheesy 80's tunes the whole way. Then I had a long 1.5 hour recovery bike. I understand the logic behind recovery bikes, but I LOATHE them. Recovery, in my mind, is a nap--not spinning for 1.5 hours! This weekend I also got my hair colored. I decided against the blond streak, and just went dark. The hub. thinks it looks a little Joan Jett-ish--but I like it. It can't be all that different than before because my kids didn't even really notice. Either that or they are so used to me changing my hair color that they longer even blink when I do so! 

 This is what the kids do when I'm blogging! Observe Noah's purse. He's going to love these pics when he's older. They are all going to the ball, I was told. I'm boring tonight. I'll try to be more zippy tomorrow. Ciao!

Effing High Schoolers!

It is between seasons for the high school boys and girls. They are currently gearing up for their spring seasons. The gym is a MOB SCENE. You must remember that I do one of my workouts in the hour following school before I get my kids. We're talking about 3:15-4:15. Prime high school hours.

You may recall that I have started strength training. I basically like strength training. I like the idea that I'm getting more buff. Nothing says "I'm going to kick your ass" like a few muscles. But I digress. Back to the high schoolers.

The girls are harmless enough. They get on the ellipticals or stairmasters and rock out to their tunes. Some are clearly runners and kick my ass on the treadmill. Mostly they are benign.

Not so the boys--.

Here are a few things that annoy me about high school boys lifting weights in my gym:

• They HOG all of the equipment.
  
• They act as if they own the place.
• The leave 100 lb discs on the squat machine that I can't lift off on my own.
• They high five each other and are really loud and like to grunt.
• They smell. Sometimes like sweat, but mostly of cologne and sweat combined.
• They won't look you in the eye if you are a middle-aged woman. They pretend you are invisible.

Those are the major things. Mostly I just don't like that I'm the only woman invading "their" space.
These boys also make me wonder. I wonder things like--

• How many of these kids are on the juice? Call me crazy, but if my son was benching as much as some of these guys bench and had zits all over his back and was big as a truck, I'd be raiding his bedroom for the hypodermic.
• What sport are these guys playing? Can't be track--they're too big. Can't be lacrosse--these aren't pretty boys. Is it baseball? Why do you need to be big as a truck to play baseball?
  
• What do they think of me? Do they know I'm a serious athlete, or do they just see me as yet another middle-aged mom? and more importantly, WHY DO I CARE?

Okay. My rant is over.

I'm very sore from lifting. I wonder if it will really help and I will really look and feel stronger when all is said and done.

The one thing I really dislike is the whole waiting 3 minutes between sets thing. Argh! I don't have three minutes to be hanging out picking my ass! So I never wait that long. Not even close. This makes me wonder if I am effing things up so much that the strength training won't work.

I'm done now!
_________________
In other news, I printed out a few pics of Angelina Jolie because I like her hair. I wanted to show them to Martha to see if she could cut and color it similarly. My hub finds the pictures and what does he say?

and I quote:
"Do you think your hairdresser could give you her body too?"

I kicked him. jerk.

When it's Time to Change

you've got to re-arrange. 

Sha-na-na na na na na... na na na na naaaaaaaaa. 

I'm feeling it. It's time for a new DYE JOB! 

You may remember that I mentioned that I have had many a different shades of haircolor in my years on this planet. I have an appointment this weekend with Martha, my fabulous stylist who I've been seeing for years now. I think I'm going to keep it long, dye it a darker brown without any red in it, and add a blond streak to the front. Maybe something like this: The hub. will groan, of course, like he usually does when I do something different with my hair. He especially dislikes it when it looks fake. In my mind the point isn't to look natural, though. Snorefest. The goal is to doing something fun and fake, because soon I will be wrinkly and hunched over, and what fun is it to have dark hair with a blond streak then? Can you say AGE CRISIS??? 

I've been in one for a year now, ever since I stopped nursing my youngest little cub. I feel like I'm on top of the hill looking down, and soon I will start skidding down uncontrollably until I hit, well-- the grave. Okay. A little morbid. On that note, I will bring up the other thing my husband hates me to talk or think about it: getting a tattoo. I want one. I plan to get one. Why not? When you're married to a guy you know you want to be with forever and so you'll never scam again and you know you aren't having more kids, and you know that you're just getting older every day, why the hell not? What's stopping me? Propriety? Image? Who cares? I've got nothing to lose. The hub. points out that our kids as teenagers will likely not want a mom with crazy hair and a tattoo, but really, my kids as teenagers likely will not like anything about me, right? So what does it matter? The question is--what kind of tattoo? Well an M-Dot, of course! (**note: I mean only after I actually complete an Ironman. That won't be for another year or so...) Here's the hub's objection to the M-Dot. It's a logo. It's a company logo. It's a company that makes money. Do I want to be an advertisment for Ironman? My feeling is that everyone in the know KNOWS what an M-Dot means, so does it matter that it's a corporate logo? And if I didn't get an M-Dot, what should I get? And where? 

 I'm interested in all thoughts. I know some of you have an M-Dot tattoo, and some (many) of you have completed an Ironman or two or three and did not get one and never would.

Spendthrift

I love the Felt. But it's going to take getting used to. I was way more spread out on the road bike. The aerobars were pleasantly far away, and it was comfortable. With the Felt I feel all bunched up. My knees are really close to the aerobars when I pedal. It's strange. Also, I need to break in the new seat. Also, I'm chafing in all sorts of new ways. 

 But I still love the Black. She's just so hot! In other news, I continue to SPEND. I just got a new pair of racing shoes. I had an old pair of Adidas--can't remember the name--and they are just about kicked. I raced in them for over 250 miles! It sort of amazes me that I raced that many miles in just the last few years. My new shoes are the ASICS Speedstar. I like them. I race in a couple of weeks, so they will be put to the test then. They aren't exactly flats--there's more to them than that--but they still only weigh a little over 7 oz. Pretty good! I also just got a Computrainer, although it hasn't arrived yet. I'm pumped! 

My husband really spearheaded that effort because he's taking a class with DeDe Greisbauer at Fast Splits. They use the computrainers and she (DeDe) uses their power thresholds to prescribe their workouts. He scouted out EBay for several weeks, and made a move yesterday. Yeah! Of course, we will probably end up bankrupt.... This extravagant spending spree must come to an end- _________________________ 

Yesterday I was a bad. I know you, the tri blogger community, will understand what I mean by this. I didn't skip a workout. That's not bad in my book; it's maddening. Usually it occurs as a result of life getting so in the way that the workout must be rescheduled or canned all together, which gets me infuriated and righteous and basically unbearable to be around. No. Yesterday I didn't skip the workout. I just did it way, way too hard. As you all know because I complain about it unceasingly, I am supposed to do all of my workouts right now in zone 1--which is to say they are to be done at a steady, but relatively easy pace. 

Yesterday I was supposed to run a bit over an hour. I picked out one of my favorite 8 mile loops and headed out. It was a GORGEOUS day: sunny, bright, cold, but not too cold. I was jamming to my 80's tunes, fresh with a few new good ones like I Love Rock and Roll by Joan Jett. Love her! Anyway, I just got fired up. I started pounding. I knew I was out of zone 1, actually out of zone 2, but I just didn't care. I felt awesome and strong and with each new song I thought, Fuck it! Run on! So today I'm a little bit sore. Or maybe alotta bit sore. My swim this morning was actually fine. I'm having fun working on the barrel thing. However, I also had to run after school (work). Well, actually, my bad again. I had to reschedule a (this coming) Wed run for today because I have a meeting after work on Wednesday. So I went out for another seven today. I was really, really, really tired on this run. I was so tired I had trouble getting my heart rate up, which is really unusual for me during a run. Oops. Anyway. Every once in awhile you need to do that, right? right? right? Can I hear you out there? My coach, Cait, kicked serious, serious ass this weekend at the Hyannis Half Marathon. She won it for women in 6:10 pace. That's 1:20, folks! Sick! Her boyfriend, (remember Tim --from "Hi, I'm Tim?") came in third in 5:39 pace, Jesse Kropelnicki (Coach Jesse-founder of QT2, my coaching group/team) was sixth in 5:53 pace and his wife, Chrissie, went under 1:34 in 7:10 pace. I'm so impressed and so proud of my team!

Over the Barrel

Today I went to Fast Splits for a swim analysis session with my coach. I've been convinced that there are great things to be changed about my stroke; things that when corrected will make me super, super fast.

I got to Fast Splits and walked in. Two men were talking at the desk, one of whom I know but don't know (as in I don't know his name, just that he works there) and the other I immediately recognized as Tim Snow, Cait's boyfriend. Tim is a pro triathlete in the area, and I've seen him compete, so naturally, I know who he is. Naturally he does NOT know who I am. Introdcutions were in order.

So I stuck at my hand and said enthusiastically, "Hi! I'm Tim!"

Moment of silence. "I mean, oops. You're Tim. Hi, I'm, I'm, I'm, Mary."

What I should have said is I AM SUCH A LOSER.

There was really no way to recover. I just looked like such a tool. Argh.

Anyway. He told me Cait was in the next room, and I slinked away.

I've seen Cait race, but we haven't met before. Actually, that's not true. I met her at a race last year, but again, she's locally famous, and I'm a tool, so I know her and she doesn't' know me.
This time I got it right and actually introduced myself like a normal human being.
She's very pretty.
She's very young.
She's very strong and thin.

Okay. Onward.
I got changed and came out to the little Endless pool thing. I've never been in one, and honestly, I was a little nervous. What if Cait put on the force field too strong and I blasted into the back of the pool while trying to swim? I'm not sure I could take another moment of total embarrassment.

Embarrassment. right. So I started to put my cap on, and got half of my hair up when Dave, the owner of the store and an old friend, walked in. I haven't seen the guy for like six years. He's the X of one of my best friends, and when they split we didn't keep in touch. I like him, and I wish we had, but it was one of those things... You know how splits go. We were couple friends. Then we weren't. Now both he and my friend are married with kids. Time has passed. It's all cool.

Anyway, after not seeing him for eons, I saw him while dressed only in a bathing suit, while putting my hair in a cap, while all pasty and wintry white, with no makeup, and shivering from the cool air in the store. Nice. LOSER again.

He gave me a hug and we exchanged niceties, and he was very sweet about not mentioning that I was half naked and a little scary with my hair only half in my cap.

Then I got in the pool.
With Tim, Cait and Dave watching, I got in.

Silently I prayed-
Dear God do not let me make an ass of myself any more than I already have.

Cait turned on the power thing, and it was like the strongest jacuzzi jet you've ever felt. I began to swim, and it wasn't so bad! A bit hard to breathe with all of those bubbles blasting at you, but basically okay. There was a mirror on the bottom of the pool, which was fascinating. It was so fascinating that I kept forgetting to breathe because I was so busy looking at myself and thinking, "Cool! That's how it looks when I blow out my nose! Cool! I'm really rotating! Cool! That's me! Look! That's me!"

The good news (or bad news, depending on how you look at it--very bad stroke means room for major improvement which means more speed potential relative to where I am now etc. etc.) is that they convinced me that my stroke is good and it just needs to be "tweaked." That said, they found several things for me to work on.

Apparently I have good balance and rotation, but I over-rotate when I breathe. Also, I don't breathe enough. (I didn't want to explain that it was really my self-fascination that was causing me not to breathe, but whatever.) My kick is fine, my hips are up, my stroke is even. The one thing that is really wrong is that when I put my hand in the water after recovery I let my elbow drop. I have to keep my elbow up, like I'm lifting it up and around a barrel.

They had me do a bunch of drills to try to get me to do this, but I guess my whole dropping the elbow thing is pretty ingrained, because I didn't really get it before our session was over.
I see this as a good thing, in a way, because it gives me something to really work on in the pool.
I'm little and I'm short. Little, short people can't swim as fast as bigger, longer people. I need all the stroke perfection I can get.

Swim on.

My B12 Shot : Performance Enhancement at its Best

Meet the Black Stallion. She's a 2008 Felt B12. She's my shot in the ass. 

The Black and I met this weekend at Fast Splits. It was love at first sight. Andy and I stopped at Fast Splits just to look. (of course.) We had just dropped off the kids at the grandparents so we could get a day and a night away. We were feeling pretty good. The day was before us, we were staying at the Westin in town, and we had nothing on the agenda except for eating and sleeping. 

When we walked into Fast Splits I saw her immediately. We pulled her off the rack and looked at her tenderly. She's so small she looks like she could be made for a child. I've wanted a tri-bike for exactly this reason. Road bikes are never made with 650 c. wheels; only the tri-bikes can be. When you are only 5'2", having a road bike is therefore problematic. I currently have a 47 cm Cannondale R700 road bike with 700c wheels, and she's not really easy for me to handle because of her wheel size. The Black is 46 cm, and has the smaller tires. I anticipate being able to handle her better. Plus, together I know we will be blazing fast. She's all carbon fiber. She's got fantastic components. She's very beautiful. I have even saddled her up with a new Butterfly seat. I get to take her home on Saturday after a fitting. I'm one happy girl. __________________ 

 Our night away was awesome. I didn't realize how much I needed sleep until this weekend. We went to bed at 8:30 on Friday night and slept until 8:00 the next morning. The kids got up a 6, of course, so we feel lucky that the house wasn't burned down when we finally woke. I got up, shoveled in some breakfast and rode Little Red 70 minutes on the trainer. It was a very groggy 70 minutes. We showered, packed up the kids and the dogs, and soon, we were temporarily free! 

 I need not say I love my babies, but you know, when you have three of them you just don't get away that much... We didn't buy the Black on Saturday. We thought it best to "think" about it. Well, Andy thought it best. I would've bought her right then had I had my way. Anyway, after Fast Splits we drove into town, did a little window shopping at furniture stores, checked in, went to our room and TOOK A NAP. That's right. After sleeping nearly 12 hours the night before, I wanted a nap. I was still queasy. (Okay, really I am STILL queasy--it's the sickness that will never go away--and no, I'm not pregnant. absolutely positive.) 

After our nap we went to dinner at a little restaurant down the street. I had swordfish and wine. Very tasty. It would've been even more tasty if I had felt 100% better. We then went to the hotel bar, had another drink, and then... etc. :) We were asleep by 11 and didn't get up until 8:30. I know you young ones sans kids out there are thinking we are super lame, and we are, but all of those with a few rugrats at home know what I'm talking about! Sleep, baby! It's better than a night on the town! Sunday morning we went to the gym in the hotel, ran for a little over an hour, had a HUGE brunch, and then WENT BACK TO BED for another nap! 

On the way home I convinced Andy that the Black needed to be purchased that minute. I was beginning to fear someone else might take her home. I know that there is more than one Felt B12 in the world, but she was MINE, you see. She had to be mine. So we went back to Fast Splits. And I test rode her. And we got her. And now she's all mine. Can you believe it? Now if I could just get rid of this lingering nausea...

 The benefit of being sick to your stomach for over a week is that although I have not confirmed this, I think I've taken off a few pounds. I imagine this will be temporary, because my body really likes to be a very specific weight, and she always kind of GOES there. You know? But it's nice for today. 

I got on the trainer for 2.5 hours this morning. I was supposed to do that workout on Saturday, but it didn't figure into the whole weekend plan. My kids played at the foot of the bike while I rode endlessly, and kept bugging me to try the Nano. It's 2:45 p.m. and my son is still in his Cars pajamas! I love holidays. Hope yours was good too.

Out of Commission!

I've been sick all week. On Sat. I was feverish and throwing up, but on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday I was just feverish and had a horrible sore throat. On Thursday the throat finally got better, but I became queasy again. For the last two days I really haven't been eating and I have wanted to sleep all day. Nevertheless I haven't missed a workout (go me!) and I didn't take time off from work. This is good in some respects--. I'm pretty tough about soldiering on when I am sick, mostly because when you are a working mother you just learn to deal. You often have to take days off from work because your children are sick, and you never want to WASTE a day being sick yourself, so you just suck it up and go. Teaching is not a great profession to have when you're sick, though. You can't hide. You can't put your head on your desk and rest. You must be in front of the class, and you must perform. Really teaching is a bit like acting on stage. You must take on a certain role and stick to it. If you don't, there are consequences. Perhaps this is just true of middle school teaching, but somehow I doubt it. Kids need to know you care about them and they respond to you if you are warm and enthusiastic. However, they are also savvy and demanding: if you are inconsistent or appear to lack total and complete control, they will eat you alive. In short, it was a tough week in the old classroom, made more difficult by the fact that I really didn't want to miss any scheduled workouts. I had doubles this whole week. They were short workouts for the most part, but like the kids, they were relentless. My swim workouts seemed to suffer the most. I just had no gas in the pool and the nausea doesn't seem to abate when swimming like it does with running and biking. The only good thing about being sick is that I think I may have taken off a little weight! Anyway... It's Friday afternoon, the kids (MY kids) are eating popcorn and watching a Aladdin, and I am thanking God that next week is vacation. _____________________________ In other news, last week I was tagged by AtlantaMom. Here goes! Seven Random or Weird Things about Me: 1. My hair has been most colors of the rainbow. I've been a blond, I've tried brown (current), black, fire engine red, black and blond in chunks, auburn, and purple. When I began teaching at 23, so long ago, my hair was purple. The kids loved that. I think my real hair color is mouse brown, but I haven't actually had my natural hair color visible since I was 13. 2. Before I was a runner or triathlete, I was a dancer. As a girl I danced with The Maine Ballet Co. in the corp. As an adult I became a really good Lindy Hopper. I even did crazy things like go to Lindy Hop camp! 3. I am addicted to peanut butter. I put it on everything, even pancakes. 4. When I was an eighteen-year old, after I stopped dancing, I weighed 30 pounds more than I weigh today. 5. When I was a young girl I was an angel--a teacher's pet--a goody-two shoes. When I turned fifteen something went terribly awry, and I became a total rebel. I did a lot of really stupid things for a number of years. I feel so lucky when I think back that my friends didn't desert me, I still managed to do okay in school, that I didn't get pregnant and that I didn't die of a drug or alcohol overdose. Them were scary times.... 6. I love all things made for adolescents: movies, music, and especially BOOKS. I am the lone adult scoping out the YA (young adult) section of the library and taking out all of their novels. (Guess it makes sense that I spent time as a middle school librarian and that I'm a middle school English, teacher...) 7. I was so terrified when I was taken into have an emergency c-section with my first child that I couldn't stop crying and shaking. I held the anesthesiologist's hand so tight that I bruised him. Meanwhile, my husband was fascinated with the surgery, and kept saying, "Wow! that's so cool. Mary, you should look at all of the yellow stuff in there. I think it's fat!" It was very special. I remember after it was over and we were talking, I asked him why the nursing staff kept counting during the surgery. He told me it was because they had to count the many, many surgical towels they used to sop up the blood: they feared they would leave one inside when I was sewed up. Pleasant, huh? C-Sections 2 and 3 were scary too, but not like the first. On that note, I'll tag a few more bloggers! 1. Ange: Ange's Drive to Tri 2. The Lazy Triathlete 3. Tri Guy J.T. 4. Michelle 5. D.C. Rainmaker 6. Locked and Loaded 7. Who in their right mind... Here are the rules: The rules are as follows: # Link to the person who tagged you # Post the rules on your blog. # Share seven random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog. # Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs. # Leave a comment on their blogs so that they know they have been tagged. Signing off.

Snacks, the Dogs, and Nutrition

I packed better snacks today.
I gave up my good intentions as soon as I got home (see last post) and had access to food that actually satiates hunger.
Just so you know, though, when I was discussing my snacks yesterday I meant that they were exactly that, snacks. Some people asked me if that was all I ate at work for the whole day. I was like, Are you kidding me? That doesn't include breakfast or lunch! No way could I go all day just on raw veggies and cottage cheese! That's like scary and insane. No, my friends, I'm just talking SNACKS. Anyway.

I'm not working out this week, as I mentioned in my last post, and as a result I'm feeling punchy, out-of-control, and irritable. I really have nothing interesting to say. I felt like posting anyway.

I'm gonna tell you about my dogs.
They are old. They are smelly.

Linus is the yellow one. His breath could kill you. I'm not lying. He opens his mouth, and you could be like on the other side of the room and you have to ask, Did someone just fart? You start accusing everyone, and then you realize it's just Linus's breath. His teeth are rotting inside his mouth. That's the problem.

Linus is also completely deaf. He hasn't always been deaf. It's a recent development that has to do with his being ancient and the fact that there is so much brown shit in his ears that you can't dig it out. It's kind of neat. You can shout right into his face and he doesn't even blink. Speaking of not blinking, Linus can beat all humans and dogs in staring contests. It's actually quite creepy. He stares -- a lot. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night, turn over, and he'll be sitting there, just staring at me. I think he might be losing his marbles.

Minna is the chocolate one. She is a royal P.I.T.A. When we let her into our fenced yard she becomes Houdini and escapes--every time. We think she might be magic as well as a P.I.T.A. We can never figure out how she actually gets out. Another way in which she is P.I.T.A. is that she steals the kids' food. She has no mercy. If you leave the kitchen for a minute the food will be gone. She also has a really unattractive wart on her head that is growing larger everyday. It's really nasty. Despite all this we still love her. She's very affectionate when she's not being a P.I.T.A. and she's quite a handsome lab if you aren't skeeved by her wart.

Linus is almost 12 now. Minna will be 10 this June. They were my first babies. They were my first running partners. It will be very hard for me when they are gone.

--------------------
Okay. Enough about dogs.
Back to food. I could do nutritional counseling with Jesse. If I do, however, I might have to give up things like the sausage, egg and cheese on an English, or the cup of sugar I have in my coffee each morning, or the Guiness I treat myself to-- well, a lot. That would be no fun. But is my current "body composition" and my eating habits having a negative effect on my training and racing? That is the question. Is it worth the sacrifice? I'd be interested to hear all input. Who out there is trying nutritionally and seeing benefit? Who is trying and feeling no benefit? Who thinks when you start obsessing about food you've gone too far? (me.)

Just curious.

Very Grumpy

I am at work. I should be working. But I just want to say this: I don't want to work. I

 don't want to work because I am grumpy. 

 These are the reasons I am grumpy: 

1. I have lame snacks today. Lame! Usually I bring a variety of sancks, most of which are pretty good for me, but which also make me happy, like trail mix with chocolate chips mixed in, or fruit yogurt with lots of sugar, or a Luna bar. But yesterday I decided that I need to start being better about my eating. First of all, I'm still carrying a little extra around my belly. I notice this mostly when I put on biking shorts. Biking shorts are so, so very unflattering because of the muffin top factor. I need to get rid of my small but lurking muffin top. So, today I packed an apple, carrots, raw cauliflower, cottage cheese and a Pria Bar, which I told myself I'm not allowed to eat until this afternoon's snack. I have eaten the apple, the carrots, the cauliflower and the cottage cheese. OH MY GOD. I am STARVING. I feel like I'm going to swoon for lack of energy and food. 

 2. I'm supposed to be taking a week "off" according to my training plan. Yesterday I did run slowly for 20 minutes and this morning I went to the pool and did 30 minutes of slow swimming and drills, but I am basically going sans working out this week. I hate not working out. I feel lost and out of control. I think I may have a problem. This makes me grumpy, too. 

3. It's gray and rainy. 

4. Have I mentioned I'm hungry? 

5. Having gotten a little taste of racing on Sunday I want MORE. I have to be calm calm calm. I have to follow the plan. But I want to go out and run hard, not rest. I want to feel in control by proving to myself that I can still run fast and long. I am doubting myself. I am grumpy for doubting myself. 

6. I hate correcting and I'm buried in sixth grade papers. 

7. It looks like Clinton might be it--and I'm scared she can't win it. 

8. I miss my kids. Tri-Boomer wrote this great post on the why of triathlon. I've been stewing about it. 

Next post I will focus on that and stop being a whiner. promise. Have a good day full of good snacks.

Mid-Winter 10 Mile Cape Classic Race Report

I rose early and kissed my hub. and kids goodbye while they slept. I went straight to Dunkin' and got a large coffee and an egg, sausage and cheese on an English. Call me crazy, but I find those sandwiches excellent fuel for a race if you have enough time to digest before-hand. I made good time to Maine. The roads were clear and my mind was at peace as I listened to the end of Through A Glass Darkly, the epic story I have been "reading" in the car. 

After a two hour journey I arrived at the Cape high school. I found Ange and we got our numbers and chit-chatted about what to wear and what to eat and when and all that pre-race stuff. Her very cute boys (ages 8, 6 and 3) were there and her hub, Mark, who was also planning on running, and her parents, who came to care for the boys and cheer Ange and Mark on. About a 1/2 hour before the race I found Speedy with her Bob Rocks shirt on (very nice, I might add!) and introduced myself. 

She had been sick all week, and within a minute she let out the most painful sounding cough. I was like, "Whoa, should you be doing this?" She brushed it off, saying it sounded it worse than it was. Right! Then Mindy found us. She's tiny! Both were really nice. 

We talked a bit and then Ange came over to meet them as well. Ange and I were getting antsy about getting in a good warm-up before the race, so we excused ourselves. I was bummed I didn't get to meet Nistrik. Next time... 

Ange, Mark and I went for a warm-up around the school for a couple miles. I felt great. The air was cool, I was in MAINE, (I love Maine) and I was gonna race! I scarfed down a Gu, went to the start, and after chatting with a few runners, we were off. 

Ange, Mark and a new runner friend, Robin, shot ahead immediately. Yikes. No way could I keep THAT pace. I tried to hold back, knowing I didn't want to crash and burn like I had at the Frostbite. Still, the first mile was mostly downhill, and I took it out in 6:58. Oops. I slowed down, hit a big hill, and the next mile was more reasonable: 7:31. I had my faithful Nano, and I tried to focus on my stride and jamming to Prince instead of observing Ange , Mark and Robin move farther and farther ahead of me. People passed me for the first miles of the race. That was discouraging. Usually I do the passing because invariably I take out races too fast. 

I continued to try to keep an even pace, though, and that meant not going out too, too hard. I did a few 7:20s and a few 7:25s. The second half of the course is harder than the first half. It's a gradual uphill from mile 6 to the end with only a few life-saving dips. I slowed to 7:30s and held on. By mile 8 I was toast. I held on to my pace, but I was dying. I didn't have any kick at the end, and about 10 people passed me in the last quarter mile. That was a bummer, but I hurt, and there just wasn't any gas left in the tank. When I finished my Garmin read 10.1 miles, 7:23 pace. I don't know if the course was actually long, or if I was just really inefficient and did a lot of weaving. Either way, the Garmin doesn't lie, and I DID run 10.1--a whole extra tenth--which made my pace 5 seconds faster per mile than they had me down for. You can be SURE I put 10.1 and 7:23 pace in my log! :)
 

Ange cheered me when she saw me coming down the road to finish. She and Mark had run most of the race together and finished in 7:00 pace. Man, she is just so FAST! 

At lunch after the race she mentioned that in May she is going to be Triathlete Mag's Gatorade Athlete of the Month. That is so cool! You all must check it out. Anyway, that just proves she is a total goddess. She's famous. Or soon to be famous. :) The picture is of Ange. The race was hugely competitive. The first three females to finish were under 6 min. pace. The first four females will compete in the marathon Olympic Trials in April. Ange was 8th in her age group, and I was like 12th, I think. You know it's a tough crowd when a girl who finishes 10 miles in 7:00 pace doesn't even come close to placing in her age group. Both Ange and I placed higher than that at Timberman 70.3 last year for crying out loud!  

So that was the race. Even though it was tough, I still loved it. That's me to the right, in the red, behind two of the men who out-kicked me. I look a little concerned that I won't finish! I'm so sore and tired today. I'm wiped, and I'm going to bed. Thanks for reading!

Just Saying...

Great Things About My Race:

• I got to hang with Ange and Alina (h.s. friends). Ange is a rock star. She did a 7:01 pace. She is my idol.
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• I got to meet (if too briefly) two new blogger friends, SpeedRacer and Mindy.
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• I got to ride all the way up to Maine and back all by myself, with my book on tape, my DD coffee and my own thoughts.
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• The weather was really mild. It must have been at least in the low 40's.
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• I didn't run that badly! I definitely ran better than I did at the Frostbite. I finished in 1:14:27, which is 7:27 pace. It's a far cry from the 7:11 pace of last year, but I've been running 15 miles a week in zone 1 for the past two months. It's not bad for that, right?
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• I had a really nice, warm shower after the race in the high school locker room.
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• I got home and my kids were so happy to see me, and my husband had cleaned the kitchen, cleaned my car, and gotten groceries. I almost cried. His actions made me that happy. Take note, husbands!
  

A Couple Bad Things:

• I'm really sore.
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• I got outkicked by like 10 people in the last quarter mile.
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• I didn't get to meet Nitsirk because I was so antsy about warming up.

• The Patriots lost. (I know this doesn't have to do with the race, but you know, it's part of the day. I don't care really, I kinda of like it when the underdog wins, but the hub. is really sad.)

I will provide a more entertaining and detailed race report very soon!

Tomorrow I Race!

Last year I ran the Mid-Winter 10 Mile Cape Classic up in Maine. 

I had an awesome race, finishing in 1:11:4something/ 7:11 pace. I felt so strong. I remember it was bitterly cold that day. I had the beginnings of Achilles Tendinitis, but I was ignoring it. In the next week it became full blown and I had to take a full week off from running and enter physical therapy. 

This year's race will likely not go so well. I'm not in the rocking shape I was in at this time last year. Still, I'm so excited. I'll get up early and drive the 2.5 hours to the start, drinking my coffee and listening to the end of Through A Glass Darkly, the somewhat cheesy novel I'm listening to in the car. I'll see Ange and some new blogger friends like Mindy and Speedy and Nitsirk, and after the race I'll have lunch with Ange, her family and my good friend from high school, Alina. I hope it's a good day, and I hope I will allow myself to be proud and happy with my pace/time, no matter how much slower it is than last year! 

I have to remember that not being super fast right now is a part of the master plan. I need to peak in August, not January. Right now I'm just building an aerobic base. Remind me of this when I lament my race time in my report. 

 I don't know if you all do this, but lately I've been having massive delusions of grandeur. Winning races and heading to Kona just don't seem impossible right now. This could be because I'm in a rest week. Whenever I'm resting I feel so full of energy that I start imagining that at my next race it will be revealed that I'm as good as Kate Major or Michellie Jones. Sponsors will knock at my door and offer to get me a new Tri Bike and coaches from all over the country will contact me hoping I will allow them to coach me. I spent a lot of time figuring out who will be some of my main competition in my age group at Timberman 70.3 this year. There are at least four women I know of who are returning to compete this year who posted faster times than me last year or the year before (not including Ange, who will likely beat me, but who isn't a "threat" because she's Ange!) My current plan is to smoke everyone in my age group,including these women, but except Ange, who will also smoke everyone, and go under 5 hours. I'm dreaming big. 'Til Tomorrow.

Just for the Record...

I thought "We Built this City" was a good idea. And it was at first. It brought me back to my sophomore year in high school. It has a good beat. etc. But now I can't get the f-ing song out of my head. It's torturing me. I'm convinced this torture is divine punishment for allowing myself to indulge in such incredible cheese. --------- So the only thing better than actually getting a mammogram is getting called back by the radiologist and being told you have to come back and do it all over again. More slides needed--now not later--no, not next month--NOW. Here's the thing. My boobs are so, so, so small. They basically don't appear to exist, which is astoundingly ironic to those who have known me my whole life. Right, Ange? Currently it is my assessment that I look like a boy. Only my long hair and the crow's feet around my eyes reveal my sex and age. How could these microscopic boobies harbor anything suspicious and terrible? I digress. Today was the special day I was assigned to have my boobs mashed again. Actually, just my left boob. Apparently the right one is in the clear. I took Advil before I left this time. I've been told it would help. It didn't. After the torture of the boob mashing was over, I was asked to wait. The doctor wanted to look at the slides immediately. Don't move. Don't take off that hip mammography cape. Sit. Stay. I sat for a long time. Then I sat for more time. and a little more. I watched the news and heard all about Britney and the weather and how to cut children's hair without them freaking out and I got to pore over the new issue of Triathlete Magazine that had come to my door just the day before. It wasn't so bad. Better than working, right? Finally, I fell asleep in the waiting room, mouth open and drooling, my cape falling every which way. I'm sure my non-existent chest was exposed to the world. Finally they called me in. Nope. You can't go home. Come here, my child. Time for an ultrasound. The ultrasound made me feel very sad. The last time I had had an ultrasound was when I was pregnant with my third child, Lara. How could I be here under these circumstances? How is it possible? The technician did her thing, and then called the doctor in for a look. The doctor wasn't sure. It looked like a cyst, but not a normal cyst. It must be a COMPLICATED cyst, I was told. She would need to consult another physician. The physician was called. More waiting. The physician came. Yes. It did indeed look a very COMPLICATED cyst. Biopsy needed. Let's to it today. Now. This hour. Mary, can you stay? I say, "You know, I don't know if this makes a difference here, but right where you have found this COMPLICATED cyst? That's the place I always had a plugged duct when nursing my children. Yes, right there. I had a number of mastitis over my nursing years, the last just a year and a half ago, all with their origin right there. Yes, there. Exactly there." "Hmmmm. Well. Yes. Actually, that's interesting. Maybe it isn't a COMPLICATED cyst. Maybe it isn't a cyst at all. Let's look again. "Yes, see how it's elongated, kind of like a, um, mammory duct? Yes, and see how there's DEBRIS moving inside it? Hold your breath for a minute, Mary. Breathe in and hold. That's right. pause. pause. hmmmm. pause. "Yes. That's a plugged duct. With debris. Do you concur doctor? When did you stop nursing, Mary?" And that was that. All that panic. One technician. Two doctors. It's a duct still clogged, one year post nursing. And there's still some DEBRIS in there. That's very pleasant. What the hell is debris? Really sour milk? Yummy. Aren't I HAWT? Me with my boy chest and mammary ducts with ancient DEBRIS inside? I must return for yet another ultrasound in three months, just to be sure. Perhaps by then the DEBRIS will have moved on. But I celebrated my presumably clean bill of health by skipping the rest of school, getting a facial, buying myself a new shirt and a pair of dark purple pants and having a latte and two chocolate cinnamon cookies at Starbucks. Sigh. Aging. It ain't pretty.

Weekend Training Review...

This morning I had another slow swim. I am not getting any faster. I think it may have to do with the fact that I swim on my own, without a team. This morning the pool was packed. We had to circle swim. Argh. I hate that. I found one of the morning regulars, Dwight, and hunkered down in his lane. Dwight and I have about the same pace, so I figured it was a good choice. However, a NEW guy, a super athlete NEW guy, joined us. You could tell he was of the Total Immersion camp because he took like five strokes per length and was still wicked fast. Anyway. I was doing a set of 150's at a too leisurely pace. Just like last week, I couldn't muster the umph to really push. That is , until NEW fast guy leaves the wall like two seconds after me on my fourth interval. He wasn't close enough to pass me, but I had that fight or flight feeling, like Shit! He's closer--move-- MOVE or he will be tickling your toes! I did that repeat in 2:09. All of my others were 2:20.

In short, I think I need to work out with people who will push me. I'm stagnating. I have a hard time pushing when it's just me and the clock. I need to find out if NEW guy is coming back, and if so, if he will be my training buddy. Unfortunately, my pool doesn't have a Master's team. I have talked to the director a few times about forming one, but she just keeps yes-ing me and nothing happens.

After my swim I jumped in the shower and thought, man, the only thing I do almost as much as work out is to shower. My hair is brittle and orangey from all of the washing. My skin is parched and rough.
Anybody have any solutions to this problem? I am assuming you all have a similar showering overload conundrum.

On Saturday I went running in our temperate 20 degree weather with my friend Petra, who is in so much better running shape than me it's sick. I tried to stay in zone 1, but I kept checking my watch and was like whoa! I'm not only out of zone 1, I'm outa zone2! It was a killer. But it was still awesome to see her and get caught up. She's a sick athlete: case in point--she did a 2:35 bike split at Worlds. That's right--2:35. She then follwed it with a 1:40 half mary. The girl is awesome. Petra's husband is equally awesome. He ran the Master's mile at the Reebook Indoor Games in Boston on Saturday night and did a 4:40. At age 45. Unbelievable.

Anyway. Back to my weekend training ramble...
I biked the next day for three hours on the trainer. It was TORTURE. I have tried watching TV, reading cheesy mags, blasting music. It's still a killer. I can't focus on other media when I'm focusing on keeping my heart rate down and my cadence up. My kids were like, "When are you getting off of that thing, Mom! You've been on it all day!" And they were right. I didn't fit much in on Sunday: laundry, trainer, Candyland and a quick visit from my brother and sister-in-law. I didn't even leave the house.

In order to reward myself after my run on Saturday I had two Guinness, calamari, and a huge cheeseburger. And I puzzle as to why I have not shed any weight....

I also rewarded myself by purchasing a few more 80s cheese-a-rama tunes for the Nano. My husband threatened to divorce me when he discovered I had bought "We Built this City." I know you're all cringing. It really is shameful...but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Adios!