Vacation... Free at Last!

Lara came with me on my transition run yesterday. She was pretty happy about it! Usually I have two in the stroller, but my older two were at wilderness camp for the morning. They looked at budding leaves and found salamanders and turtles. They loved it, and I got a few hours with just my baby (okay, I know she's not really a baby anymore), which is an unusual occurrence!

Today I swam before the kids got up. 3000 yards. It was a hard workout, but I'm really psyched about how much stronger I am in the water than last year at this point. I did 3 x 400, descending, hard--ending with a 5:44, which is good for me, and faster than my TT time of a few weeks back. Then I did 6 x 200 alternating IM and free. The IM's were hard, because my fly is only sub par and it really tuckers me out.

When I got home from the pool the kids had just gotten up. I fed everyone, endured the wrath of the hub. who had missed his train b/c I swam so long (oops), and then packed up the kid and went to the gym. I put them in the daycare there, which they (fortunately for me) really like, and then went out for a run with my cell phone. It was 82 degrees out! It was really nice to be outside in just shorts and a top. I was only supposed to go a 1/2 hour, but who runs for just a 1/2 hour? So I ran for 50 minutes and went inside to do a few sit-ups.

I love vacation!

__________________

Here are a few jobs I would like to try:

• Animal trainer. I'm particularly interested in training dolphins or maybe working with polar bears.
• Writing. I don't know what I want to write, though, or for whom. And I don't want any due dates.
• Professor of the 19th English novel. Maybe teach a course on the novels of Edith Wharton. Get paid a huge salary, offered tenure, and not required to publish at all.
• Professional triathlete.
• Coach.
• Sports nutritionist.
• Researcher on personality theory, with special focus on Myers Briggs Typology.

Unfortunately, barring I win the lottery and can pursue whatever I want without causing my family total financial disaster, none of these job ideas are actually possible.

More likely I will do one of four things next year:

• Elementary librarian in a school setting. This I'm actually applying for, but I am not certified as a "library media specialist", and so this may prevent me from getting the job. We'll see.
  
• Part time English teacher. I'm not seriously considering this opportunity. I'd have to convince them I really want to teach 8th grade (which I don't) and that I am up for another year of teaching (which I'm not).
• Stay home mom. Here I become a slave to laundry, dishes and housecleaning. I'm actually already a slave to this stuff anyway, though, so who cares?
  
• Tutor. I really don't like tutoring, so I'm not seriously considering this either. It pays well, but the hours don't work. I need to be home when my kids get home from school, not tutoring other people's kids.
  

Stay at home mom appeals to me the most. Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's a true possibility. The hub. can barely contain his panic every time I bring it up.

____________________

I'm getting really psyched about my first tri, which is coming up in 2.5 weeks. It's just a little sprint, but I'm still really focused on it. It marks my one year anniversary of becoming a triathlete. I did well last year given I had only been riding a bike for 6 days prior to the race and I was terrified I wasn't going to be able to unclip when I needed to. But it went well, I placed 6th in my age group and I was hooked! Anyway, I'm so excited to do this race again. I want to see how much better I can do with a year of experience and training under my tri-suit.The only problem is that I have to wear my QT2 uniform, in which I look a little like a sausage.

Breaking Away

To Cindy my meme not easy ___________________ Racing me versus time 37th lap ___________________ Though I really liked this tag I will not tag others who might curse me times ten for doing it to them again, again ____________________ Last night the hub. and I watched Breaking Away, the 1979 classic, after putting the kids to bed. I had never seen it before. Saying I really loved the film doesn't really do justice to how I actually felt about it. I connected to many parts of the movie. The part that I felt was most poignant came after David has been knocked off the road with a spoke stick by the Italian racing team. God my heart broke! And then the exchange with his father: "I didn't know that everyone cheats." (David) "Well." pause "Now you know." (father) I've always connected to the whole shattering of idealism thing--which seems to happen again and again throughout our lives in different ways. We suffer the same (slightly varied) wound of learning that the whole world cheats until we wake up one day totally embittered. We fight to not sink into quiet desperation. We take anti-depressants, have children who allow us to relive what we have lost, we get divorced--marry again--forever hoping that some of that early, untarnished joy might be recaptured. It's why we do triathlon. _________________________________________ Onto other news. I'm actually going through a job crisis. Just thought I'd let you know. It's a pretty bad one. I have been teaching for 16 years--since I was 22 years old. I had verve. I was inspired. I was alive. I was GOOD. 2008: I am burnt. When I was younger I used to look at veteran teachers who were clearly burnt out and who had become dead wood with such disdain. Why didn't they just get out? Clearly they disliked the kids, they disliked the job, they never stopped complaining and they had lost all vestiges of inspiration. Teaching doesn't really pay well. Why not just get out? Yeah. Well, younger self. You don't know SHIT. What about that pension you are going to get if you just stick it out for another 15-20 years? What about the seniority you've built up? The respect? The clout? The safety? What about the fact that the only f-ing thing you know how to do is teach? What about the fact that you have more than 60 credit hours of professional development under your belt and multiple degrees--all in literature and education--and who the hell cares about those degrees outside the world of school? What about the fact that you are at the top of the pay scale and you are pretty sure there is no way in hell anyone will pay you what you make now given that you have no qualifications to do anything other than to teach? What do you do then, huh? Sink into despair because you are slowly and surely turning into the despicable dead wood you so vehemently hate? Any of you who have survived this kind of mid-life crisis--I'm open to any and all advice. Those of you under the age of 30--I love you. But you ain't there yet. Talk to me in ten. ______________________________ Okay. Finally. the good stuff. Triathlon. My love. My savior. My Calgon Take Me Away! My Breaking Away! I went out for a grueling hill bounding workout on Thursday morning at 5:00 a.m. I had finished my repeats, and I decided I wanted to run to the very top of this hill (about .25 miles of super scary steepness) before I ran home. I reached the top. I'm panting. I'm ready

to walk. And then I see out of the corner of my eye, this: We looked at each other for a moment, and then he did this: I didn't have a camera, so these pictures are obviously not the same peacock I saw, but you get the idea. It was neat. I watched him for a good five minutes, and then he walked slowly away, and I started my slow recovery home. On Saturday I went for a 50 mile ride with my friend Petra. Petra is pretty much a tri goddess (e.g she did a 2:35 bike split at Clearwater 70.3, Worlds, last fall) , so I was intimidated, but excited for our ride. I got the Black all ready. (I decided to call her Black Beauty, btw. I do realize, for all you lit. buffs, that Black Beauty was a boy. I know!) Anyway, Black Beauty was looking fine. I was going to look like a tough, hip tri girl even if I did suck on the actual ride. It was a beautiful morning, it was all mine and I was PSYCHED. (and scared of sucking, too. definitely scared.) One interesting note: Petra and I kinda, sorta look like twins from a distance. We are both 5'2". We are the same weight (to the pound), we have similar body types, we both have the same color, same length hair, blue eyes, etc. Anyway. Close up we don't look that much alike, but from a distance we are clones. When she showed up she had on her red biking jacket, her black shorts, her blue/silver helmet, and a long pony tail in the back. um . that is exactly what I had on. exactly. We were like the Doublemint commercial--only without the skates, the boobs and the blond hair. It was kind of scary. Okay, I digress. The ride was amazing. It was a great day to be alive. We averaged about 16 mph with stops, which wasn't fantastic, but also not totally shitty given it was my first real, long, substantial ride outside this spring. I know I held Petra back, but she was very patient and didn't make me feel bad at all. To round out the weekend this morning I went out for a 10 mile run. I hammered it. I just felt so strong and alive and ready to take on the world. (I am also feeling a little upset and icky about the job thing--and I just wanted to hammer it all out.) During the last mile "Add it Up" by the Violent Femmes came on my playlist, and I went nuts and did a 6:30 mile. Wish I coulda done that two weeks ago in that shitty race... oh well. Tomorrow I take the kids out to watch the Boston Marathon. It's my hometown race, and it makes me sad that I'm not running it this year. But we can't have every race we want every year. Or maybe we can and I just haven't figured that out yet. ______________________ It's the NEXT DAY: Just wanted to give a shout out to all my buddies who kicked butt today! Rose, Michael, Maureen, David, Claire, Tom, Zac, Tim and Mike (a 2:41--holy shit!)--you all Rock! I'm so proud to know you! Here we are getting properly fueled to cheer everyone on at the Boston Marathon. What a fantastic race! What a great day!

One absolutely awesome thing about the hub. is that he likes to do things "right." When we got the computrainer I knew he'd want to be able to hook up the lap tap and have it near by, but I had no idea how he would achieve this. This, my friends, is what he came up with.
Lest you think he purchased the stand, let me correct you. He built the platform out of some spare wood he had (he's a woodworker, among other things) and then went to Home Despot to purchase the piping. He even placed a handle on the upper end so we can easily move the platform around. I realize the laptop looks rather precariously held up there, but he attached rubber type things to the bottom of the laptop so it would be totally secure.

Now the only chore will be to keep the kids' paws off it...

__________

Yesterday Lara made herself a high carb snack right before dinner. Check it out:

She was pretty proud of herself.

LP 2009 or Do I Really Want to Do This?

It was supposed to pour today. It did pour this morning. There was lightning and thunder and everything. I felt it was a good move, therefore, to stick with my plan of going to Fast Splits to train with a few of my teammates on the trainers there. The trainers were set up such that we could all ride the Lake Placid course at the same time. Three hours on a trainer goes faster with a group, and I figured the course terrain would provide me with additional distraction.

When I arrived at Fast Splits the weather was staring to clear. I began to feel pangs of regret. I really, really times eight billion need practice outside on the bike. She's new, and frankly, I'm still new to biking. I lose a lot of time worrying I'm going to topple over when I ride outside.

Anyway, our coaches got everyone set up. I got on the bike, shifted, and my chain dropped. I got all greasy trying to put it back on until Tim took pity on me and put it on for me. (Yes, Tim from "Hi, I'm Tim.") I don't appear to be recovering well in the loser department from his perspective, I'm sure. I then took a look at the big screen from which I was going to view the "course."

You know that game at a carnival where each person takes on a plastic horse and you squirt some sort of water gun to move the horse forward? On this screen you could view the elevation profile of Lake Placid, but you could also view which rider was where on the course, and therefore who was ahead and who (soon to be my case) was behind. Oh joy. Each rider (horse) had a column with his/her name, wattage output, calories burned, pace and power to weight ratio on it. While I was eager to view this info for me, I was not so eager for my compatriots to view it. Sigh.

We calibrated the trainers. Mine was set to 2.4. What does that even really mean? Rainmaker, if you read this, can you please explain to me why computrainers need to be calibrated? I don't get it. And if a trainer is calibrated to 3 instead of 2, what difference does that make to the rider?

I digress. sorry.

We started. The Lake Placid course is pretty hilly, as I'm sure you know. What I didn't know was how UPHILL it is at the start. Holy shit. I thought I was going to die. I didn't have a gear that was low enough to deal with the hills. (Rainmaker, again, if it was set closer to 2 would this have made a difference?) Immediately upon starting my heart rate shot up well beyond my "zone" and my power output was up in the high 100s. Didn't I just establish that 165 was thresh for me? I began to panic. I was NOT going to survive this ride.

To make matters worse my "place" was soon established. Out of eight riders, I was sixth. One rider, Michelle, was not working it b/c she's doing Boston next weekend. The other rider "behind" me was Maureen-- who is 52.

Everyone else kicked my ass--.

I'd like to say it was because I was staying in zone 1--except that zone 1 wasn't even a possibility for me. My average hr was well into zone 2 for the ENTIRE ride. I'd like to say it's because I'm little, and so therefore I was at a disadvantage compared to those with more weight, but each rider's weight was entered and calculated for, so this was not the case!

This week I have been lamenting my lame ass performance in a variety of arenas. Today, however, I'm not going to lament how bad I suck. I actually thing I did wicked awesome today. The thing is, it's not that I suck, it's that my teammates are AWESOME. I am in awe. And that includes you, Kim--hello! Number 3! Sweet Jesus. I'm never listening to you bitch about being slow ever, ever again. Bah! You go out next weekend and kick some ass!

I would also like to say that I have a sweating issue. I'm just acknowledging, that's all. My teammates were dry. I had to wring out my top ever few minutes and I couldn't see for the sweat dripping and stinging my eyes. Yep. Such a lady.

I was able to ride next to Maureen, the 52-year-old woman I mentioned, who is, by the way, just an amazing athlete. (I hope to be doing half what she's doing when I hit 52.) She was so funny--told me a thousand stories to keep me entertained throughout the ride. At one point she was talking about how hot men who do triathlon are--especially the young ones--and how they (the young ones) don't suspect that we old ladies are completely in awe of their hotness, as if grandmas have lost their sex drives--or maybe never had them. She was so funny about it, I almost wet my biking shorts I was laughing so hard. I couldn't wet, though, because I was putting out all of my body's water stores via sweat.

I went for a short transition run after the ride and though it was slow, it felt great. The weather had turned warm and bright, and I was high from having worked my ass off for three hours. I really feel like the season is about to begin.

The end.

Green = Spring = Tri Season Coming = Happiness

Green is my favorite color. I feel better today, so I will write in green.

I grumbled about the race for days, and the hub. was nearly ready to rip out my vocal chords so I would just shut up. Luckily, on Tuesday afternoon I had a new focus: the RAMP test on the bike. We just got our Computrainer up and working, so it was time to measure my power at threshold and my power to weight ratio.

The hub. conducted the test.

The testing atmosphere wasn't the greatest: my dog kept farting, my kids were fighting and kept getting close to the rear wheel of the bike causing me to scream in rage and panic, and the hub., God love him, wasn't very encouraging and warm about the whole thing (could've been the farting dogs and wild kids-). Finally he let the dogs out and settled the kids in front of Angelina Ballerina. I watched Angelina too as I warmed up and he fiddled with the computer. Re-cap: Angelina's buddy Thom, a ballet dancer, was getting bullied by the jock mice who like football (soccer). In the end, Thom proves that he is MAN by teaching them all to dance.

Bah! Get real.

I digress.

We got it all calibrated and decided failure would be the point at which my cadence fell below 80 rpm. We started with a power of 80 watts and moved it up 10 watts every minute. I was hoping to go to like 300.

That turned out to be a little out of reach...

I lasted 13 minutes. Andy put lots of comments in the chart he made like, "sweating like a hog", and "turning red and panting." Nice. For those of you not computing in your head, that means I failed at about 210 watts. That makes my threshold something like 165. Hello, sucky! Andy did point out that my weight to power ratio isn't actually very bad...

In short, I am short, little and don't have a whole lot of power in these here legs.
At least I don't have to carry a lot up hills.

I looked up my power/weight correlation in this book I have on using power as a measuring tool on the bike. On a scale of non-athlete (sucks ass) to Pro athlete, I was GOOD. Not shitty, not awesome, not even very good, but GOOD. Basically my biking power is very middle. I don't like middle. I like very good, or awesome, or holy shit, I can't believe it!

So I got even more pissy and angry and swore even more for a whole night (if that's humanly possible--I realize I swear like a sailor. I can't help it; swearing is just so much more colorful than benign talk. I digress again.) The hub. had to give me the "You love triathlon--don't ruin it with an obsession with being the best" lecture I need to hear every few days or so.
I agreed. I whimpered a bit, ate some chocolate and then I did my best to let it go. (Alas, the quart of Haagen Dazs wasn't available. )

This morning I got up and swam before work. I had to do the "BIG SET". Kim (aka Locked and Loaded) has described this in her blog before. You do an 800 warm up with some pulling and kicking and stuff. Then you do a 400 time trial, rest 2 minutes, do 2 x200 time trials, then rest two minutes, then do 5 x 100--first steady, second with one 25 hard, third with 50 hard, fourth 75 hard, and the last at full speed ahead on all 4 lengths. Then you add the times of the 400 the 2 x 200 and the final 100 together to get a score.

I kicked some ass! The only part that sucked is that I hit my heels on the wall on one flip turn. I hate that. It really hurt. The only thing worse is missing the wall. I did that once too.
Anyway--
I did the 400 on 5:45
2 x 200 on 2:46 and 2:45
and the final 100 on 1:18.
My score is 12:34.

That's better than I was last month. FINALLY, I am better at something than I was last month. I needed that.

All day I felt more chipper and not like such a lame ass, and after work I had a peaceful, easy run without my Garmin in the 55 degree weather we had today. Awesome! I wore shorts and a t-shirt outside for the first time this year.
Hello tri-season, here I come!

RJ Crowley's 3 Mile Run: Mary Gives it All up in the Last 1/4 Mile

This race report won't be long. This is because I ran LIKE EFFING SHIT yesterday and I would prefer not to dwell on it. However, it is time to own up to my lame ass performance, so here goes. 

I drove there. I warmed up. During warm up I felt slow and heavy. This was not good, but I figured it was because it was drizzly and cold and after I got warmed I'd get my legs. Wrong wrong wrong. I ate some GU. I went to the starting line. Like usual, my warm up was soon all for naught b/c the race director felt the need to start the race a good ten minutes past the hour it was supposed to start. I was chilled and grumpy. I looked around at the field. It seemed large, but mostly nonthreatening. I chatted with my friend Barbara-- who asked what I'd been doing for training and raised her eyebrows a bit when I admitted that I had only been running 3x a week. 

The race director gave an uninspired "go"--and we set off. Within about 300 yards I knew it wasn't going to be a good race. I just didn't feel zippy. But, I reasoned, better to stay strong and upbeat. It could be okay. The first mile I was the second woman. 6:46. I was too tired, though, and I knew I had to scale back. Second mile: 7:15. Strange. That is the EXACT splits of the first two miles of my last race. Interesting--and depressing. At the start of mile 3 I was passed by another woman. Okay. Third. I can deal with third. I just had to hang on. I did my best to pick up the pace and stay strong. 

 A quarter mile to go. A little (and I mean little) girl zips by me. I found out later she was 11. Okay--4th--but hey--at least I knew she wasn't in my age group. ' Last 1/8 of a mile--I get passed by not one, but two women. FUCK! I try to kick, but I have nothing. There's one more girl on my tail. I hold her off just barely for 6th--3rd in my age group. A shitty time (21:09) and a lame ending. I felt bad. Really bad. I also felt angry. 

Why did I run like shit? Enough of this running 3 x a week in zone 1! If you want to run fast, you have to run fast when you train. I felt pissed. I still feel pissed. I get home and check the results. The fucking bastards (who were writing down who came in where--no chip in this event) REVERSED me and the chick who I held off. So she got 6th, I got 7th, and she took my 3rd in AG. I was seething. I still am. It's bad enough to have a shit race, but to be denied the only good thing you did in it--to hold someone off--that just SUCKS. The only thing to do now it train like a mad woman and smoke everyone, everywhere from this day forward. Watch out ladies, I'm running you down. Sincerely, pissed in MA.

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.