New England Masters Swim Champsionships

Wanna be truly impressed?
Go read my friend Alina's report of this meet. She is scary fast. scary. She got first in her AG in like every event she swam. I've known her forever, and she still stuns me.

I signed up for this meet very late. It doesn't exactly fit in with my training right now. Still, I wanted to swim at a meet with Alina! She encouraged me to sign up with Maine Masters. So what if I am a MA-hole? I now belong to three groups: Greater Norwood Running Club in MA, Team Nor'Easter in ME (tri) and Maine Masters. I am just a Mainer at heart... I can't help it.

I signed up for the 500 free, the 100 IM and the 50 fly. I wanted to swim the 500, and those other two events immediately followed the 500, so I signed up for them too. I do love the fly and IM.

The pool, Blodgett Pool at Harvard, is gigantic and gorgeous. The water just feels fast. Alina let me borrow her fancy black skin suit for the 500, so I was feeling really fit and fast before the race even started. I did 1000 warm up and a few starts.

I was seeded 17th out of 25 in my AG, but oh well. The New England Championships bring out the best, right? I tried to swallow my pride. I found a new friend (Amy from Maine Masters) to count for me, and I headed down to the pool.

I was in a pretty early heat, given that I was so slow compared to the rest of these speed swimmers. This meet was so large that it was run like machine. As soon as the previous heat touched in, the gun went off for the next heat. No exaggeration. So, the girl in my heat touched, then the rest of the heat, and then BEEP! We were off.

I was like lightning.
For 100 yards.
1:11.
Then I felt it.
Barf.
Coming.
So I slowed down.
Next 100
1:24.
Okay!
I kept hitting 50s in like 41 or 42 and I finished the race in 6:48. I think that's like 1:21/1:22 per 100. I was pretty happy with it, especially given that after the first 100 I thought I might vomit my Gu into the pool. This seems to be a theme in my racing lately. I had to be in the top 16 to get a point for the team. I was 17th. Damn!

Alina showed up a little while later. Yeah! My friend! We hung out for a bit, and then she went warm up. I waited, but then, reluctantly, went to warm up too. I was tired from that 500! I didn't want to get wet and cold and tired again! I did another 300.

Luckily, the 100IM and the 50 fly are so fast that the hurt barely registers before the event is over.

I still had on Alina's snazzy suit for the IM, b/c she didn't need it until the 50 fly. I was in the 10th heat of 21 for this event. Not so bad....
The previous heat was on the last length of the pool and I stepped onto the blocks. They touched and BEEP! Off again.
I love the fly.
Especially when I only have to do one length of it.
I love the back.
I was smoking everyone.
Until the breastroke. Who invented the breaststroke? I hate it. And I suck at it.
Then bring it home! I could hear Alina screaming at me at the end of the pool as I turned and started the free.
1:17.42
Not so bad....
A four second improvement over the last time I swam the IM in Feb, and I got 13th place! That's 4 whole points!

After the IM I gave that great suit to Alina, and put on my super shiny blue suit. Would I suck now that I didn't have on that magic suit?
Apparently not!
I'm sick of writing, so let me just say I did it in 33.9. Not so bad! A 2.5 second improvement over last month. Wahoo! I was 10th in the race, so I earned 7 points!
FYI, Alina swam this too and won it in 27.8. Oh yeah.

Maine Masters won the whole meet. I think they had like 4000 points. But hey, 11 of those babies came from me.

It was a great time.

Think I'm happy about the PR? Thanks, Jen!

New Bedford Half Marathon Race Report

I had a great half marathon yesterday. It didn't feel particularly good, don't get me wrong. At mile 10.5 I seriously wondered whether I would make it to the end, or just collapse in a heap and start crying like a baby. It fucking hurt. It hurt, and today my body feels like it was hit by a truck.

I drove down with Kim and Paul (who has no blog, much to the confusion of Kim and me, right Paul?). I don't get to see them much (except for Paul at the pool, occasionally) so this was a treat. The conversation was lively and funny, and helped to keep my mind off the race. I always seem to do better if I don't over-think my racing.

This is a big race in terms of size. There were about 2,000 runners and the field was extremely competitive because it is the USATF New England Club Half-Marathon Championship. I actually like it for this reason. It's fun to see the elite runners come out in droves all sporting their club jerseys. I also like to see how I stack up against them big dogs. (Or little dogs. Runners are usually quite slight, if you know what I mean.)

One bad part about a large, competitive race is that the start is slow. In your everyday race I push right to the front. However, at a race like this it is downright insulting to the elite runners if runners like me try to start on the line. Plus, if you do start with the people aiming to do five minute pace, you get absolutely trampled. Of course, if you start too far back you also pay. It took me at least 30 seconds to get to the starting line, and once there I had to really wait and dodge until I could break free about a 1/2 mile into the race.

I took it out too fast, mostly because of the panic caused by being stuck in the cluster of runners at the beginning. First mile: 6:44. ummm. oops! Remember that the first half of this mile was pretty slow--so what was I actually running? I looked down at my Garmin: actual pace-- 6:22. Okay, then! (Little internal voice starts screaming--) Alert! This is a half marathon, and you are running 25 seconds faster than 5K pace! Slow down! Alert! Slow Down!

So I slowed down. A little. I just felt so sleak and good and fast, though. I am no longer Mary, I am SUPER MARY! I began to think it was a crying shame I didn't have a jersey that said Iron Fucking Matron on the back. But then, as I cruised along, I pondered whether people would think I was a Matron who fucked? Or whether they would realize I was simply using fucking as an expletive to emphasize my I'm going to kick your assed-ness? Should it be Iron Matron: Fuck Yeah? or just Iron Matron? or Fuck! There's the Iron Matron! Then I imagined someone stopping me on the course and saying, Hey, I read your blog!

Looked back down at the Garmin: 6:21 pace.
Fuck! Fuck ! Alert! Slow down!

(you are gonna pay, sister. no one gets away with running faster than 5k pace at the start of a 1/2. No one you, dumb fuck.
How about Iron Matron: Dumb Fuck who Took it Out Like A Cheetah?
Race. Race. Focus on the race.)

I knew I would pay, but I just couldn't convince myself that it was the right thing to slow too much.

I am happy to say that for once in racing life, my gamble paid off.

Obviously I did slow down some. Mile 2.5 took care of that with a big, beautiful, long hill. Then I began to clip off between 7-7:05. I could hold this. It was good.

I remembered this course as being really hard. Two years ago I ran in it freezing temps and with a wind that nearly lifted me off my feet and heaved me into the ocean. I kept thinking that I would get knocked down by a big hill, or by gale force wind. But it didn't happen. I just kept running along. Gorgeous day. Nice pace. In pain, but manageable.

At about mile 6 I saw my teammate, Maureen. I focused on her back and just kept trucking toward her. I knew I was having a good race if I was up to Maureen. The little fear that I was going to blow up began to surface again. I forced myself to stop thinking and just run--even, steady. I was all good.

By mile 10.5 I suddenly felt it. I wasn't just tired. I was really fucking tired. You know what I mean--the type of tired that means your body is getting ready to shut down on you and in a few moments you'll be running 12 minute pace and wimpering.

I ate a Gel. Who cares if there were 2.5 miles left? I needed something! Then I just talked myself through it. You are still keeping pace. You are not dying. You are keeping pace. Just keep pace. Shut up. Just keep pace.

Mile 11.5 to 12.5 is a long, rather steep uphill. I slowed and momentarily lost faith, until I noticed that I was passing people. I am in better shape than you. I am in better shape than you. Just keep running.

I felt a rumble in my stomach. I felt some bile rising in my throat. That Strawberry PowerGel was going to make a reappearance...

Just keep running. You've puked before in a race. Who cares. You are headed for a PR, so shut up and do it.

Ahead I saw another GNRC t-shirt. I realized it was my teammate, Tom. If I was running close to Tom, I was having a really, really good race. I just stared at his back and tried to draw myself closer to him. Close to the top of the hill I passed him. Was I actually going to beat him? This could NOT be real.

The last 1/2 mile is a downhill, and thank God for that or that Strawbery PowerGel bile would have just kept rising until....
As I turned the bend and began heading down the final stretch, Tom passed me back. I think I called him a fucker.
Hopefully he's not mad. Are you mad, Tom? Sorry. I didn't mean it...

Well, maybe I meant it just a little...

And then it was over. 1:33:37. My Garmin read 7:02 pace, but they had me had 7:09 pace. My Garmin also read 13.35 miles. Weaving. Gets me every time.
But who cares! Wahoo! That's a 2 minute 40 second PR for me!

After the race Paul, Kim and I got lunch and beers.
As we were eating, a guy came up to and said, "Hey, you're Kim! And you're Mary!" It was a weird moment until he explained he was SoloBreak--fellow blogger. So cool! Recognized! We're like, famous! Okay, not famous. Still, though....
Thanks for saying hi, SoloBreak. Cool to meet you in the flesh!

The End.
Pics to come.

Faith Proof Truth

I'm a woman with little faith.
I'm a woman who needs proof.
I'm a woman who believes that the most current proof is, in fact, the truth.

Whatever truth has just transpired, that is the one I believe. That truth is the truth. Last week's truth is not good enough. Last week's truth is no longer accurate.

This belief really isn't a good one to adopt, just in case you were thinking of doing so. Of course, if you are an OCD triathlete, and I know many of you are, then this thinking is familiar to you, I'm pretty sure.

You are only a good parent when the latest truth has revealed this to be so.
You are only funny, or interesting, or profound according to the last time someone else's response to you revealed this to be true.
You are only a good teacher according to the success (or not) of the last class you taught.
You are only as good an athlete as your latest performance revealed.

Show me the money, baby. The rest is bullshit.

The solution seems simple. If you have a good race, simply never race again. Then that truth, the truth that you are a superior human being worthy of worship for your athletic prowess, remains intact.

Alas, it doesn't work that way.
I think of it a bit like taking, say, a narcotic.

You race really well, or someone laughs when you are funny, or your child hugs you and says "You're the best Mom eva"--and in that moment YOU ARE. You get high with the truth of it. I really am! Proof! But then time passes and things get darker. You need another hit. You need more proof. You need to confirm that the last race, the last compliment, the last sign of affection from your little person was not a fluke. You stop believing in that last piece of proof. It can no longer be valid, because it happened too long ago--even if too long ago is only a few hours.

Unfortunately, negative proof works differently. Negative proof reinforces what you fear to be true, and that proof remains strong and fast until you can get a positive proof to knock it out of the way for a bit. Hence, proof becomes addictive. Hence, you workout 20 hours a week and do an Ironman. Hence, you are certifiably insane.

I know the real solution here would be to, you know, do some work on the old self esteem. When you figure out how to do that, let me know.

Luckily for me, I have a race this weekend. Let's hope I kick ass. I plan to kick ass. I need a shot of proof. I need it.

Lately, there appear to be recurring things from which I cannot escape, either in my mind or in actuality.

Alphabetically:

A: Ass. My ass hurts from too many hours parked on the bike. Also, I appreciate a nice ass.

B: Biking. Bacchanal. My destiny if things don't improve.

C: Control. I want more of it. Cleaning. I want less of it. Crisis. Enough already. Character. It appears mine is lacking.

D: Damage. I'm not going to explain that one. Dogs. My ancient Lab won't stop pissing on the floor. Desire for--see E.

E: Escape. Ennui b/c Escape is not--see F.

F: Feasible. Fortinbras. I remain hopeful he will show up. Fate. Lately, I've been a believer. FaceBook-- Fantastic and evil.

G: Guts. These are needed for a variety of reasons, the biggest of which is waking up and charging forth on July 26, 2009.

H: Hunger. Ironman training appears to be a bitch that way. So is mid-life.

I: Ironman. Irritable. I need to work on this. Internet. I spend the half of life I'm not training on it.

J: Jordan. She's the #1 bambino. No need to escape her. Jaded. It happens.

K: Kainotophobia. That would be the fear of change for those of you too lazy to look it up.

L: Lara. The #2 bambino. Ditto per J. Library. I frequent the place for numerous reasons.
Laundry. I really, really can't escape that one.

M: Matron. Mid-life. Magic. Don't believe in it anymore. MPH. MacBeth. I know I'm getting carried away with my Shakespearean references, but well, they work.

N: Noah. The #3 bambino. Ditto per J, L.

O: Outrage. Outrageous. Ouch.

P: Pushing. As in the envelope. As in the next interval. As in...(fill in blank). Piss. As in on the toilet seats and the floor, courtesy of men/boys in the house and previously mentioned old man dog. Parenting. of course. Power. See previous post. Peanut Butter. CRUNCHY peanut butter. I go through a jar a week. Pacing. Never been my strength.

Q: Questing and trying not to have Qualms about it.

R: Running. RPM. Rationalizing.

S: Swimming. Also Sex, of course. Swearing. It's a problem for me, as you all know.

T: Triathlon. Tiredness. That would be from the letter I, and also the letter C. Tedium.

U: Universal. I know it is, but it certainly feels Unique to me.

V: Veiled. Vo2 Max.

W: Water. We all need that, right? Want. We need that too.

X: X-Rated. I admit, it's all I could think of for X. But it's a good one, right?

Y: Yes.

Z: Zatch. This one you do have to look up--unless you already know what it is, of course.

Power

Yes, I know. I had a different post up. Now it's gone. Ho Hum. I've been thinking about power. I like power. I don't wield much power in my life, though, and it's high time I began wielding more of it. There is power in words, but sometimes there is power in silence. Have you noticed that? It's an interesting thing. I talk too much, confide to much, put too much out there. On the one hand this is good: when you are out there, people respond to you and befriend you and relate to you. In fact, by putting myself out there I made a great connection just yesterday. However, sometimes just keeping your trap shut has enormous power. You can bend people to your will just by being remaining quiet. Really! I've never done it, but it's been done to me. It's an interesting phenomenon. On to triathlon and power. I need more power there too. I need the power to believe that all my crazy training will translate into finishing IM. I need the power of will to get me through the next few months as I journey toward IM, and as I journey toward figuring out some pretty complex personal stuff. BUT most importantly, I need power in these quads. I need the numbers on the power meter to stop mocking me. I need to push more watts than my dead grandmother (rip). I need to do this or I'm going to be dead fucking last on the bike at IMLP. I know I'm little, and I know about weight to power ratio etc. blah blah. But my numbers are really quite embarrassing, still. My awesome coach, (jen), has me doing some great bike workouts that I know, eventually, will help me to increase my wattage output. But the journey is a slow one, and I've been wondering if a little person has a shot in hell at ever getting really, really good on the bike. Are there enough muscle fibers in my itty bitty quads to ever really put out serious POWER? That is the question. More importantly, if I can get some power in these little quads, if I can make them bigger out of sheer work-out will, will that power float through my body, into my brain, and make me a more powerful, not to be fucked with person?

Triathlon and Looks: A Mid-Life Reflection

I appreciate the male triathlete body.

I appreciate it on many levels. A body that's been working at triathlon for several years is generally quite taut and sports a nice ass, it generally belies its years, and it generally performs exceptionally well no matter what's thrown its way. A male triathlete body can often negate other, less desirable characteristics (in terms of looks) like an average face, thinning hair, too much hair or nasty feet. A really smoking triathlete body can even negate icky personality traits like vanity, smarmyness or geekiness.

This is all true of the body of the seasoned male triathlete.

Many of these things are also true of the seasoned female triathlete. She will likely have a taut body with a nice ass, she will often look younger (at least her body will) than she is, and she often will kick the ass of any non-triathlete male that challenges her. All good.

However.
Unlike the male triathlete, the female triathlete still doesn't necessarily come out on top in the world of desirability. I try to explain this to my non-triathlete women friends who will not shut the fuck up about how nice it must be to be thin. Yes. It is nice to be thin. But that still doesn't mean hotness. This is why:

One, female triathletes are too busy working out to do anything but maintain their bodies
and two, the body of the female triathlete, unlike the male, actually takes a few hotness hits by training too much.

Let's start with the latter. Unlike males, whose chests get bigger when they train in the right way, female chests get smaller and muscular. Female triathletes often have no tits and the tits they do have are on top of rather strong pectoral muscles. Likewise, the curvaceousness of the female body is often lost with a loss of body fat. The really super fit female triathlete often looks more like a very strong pre-pubescent boy than a woman. In short, the really fit female triathlete would not make the cut in the song Baby Got Back.

Like most of you, I spend, right now, between 8-14 hours a week training. As I get closer to IM, that will increase to as much as 20 hours a week. Also like you, that means that I spend every waking moment that I am not working or taking care of my kids at the gym, the pool, on the bike or out running.

This leaves no time for the following things that women my age in my world take the time to do:

get a
manicure
pedicure
wax
shave well and consistently
shop for flattering and fashionable clothing
get a
hair cut
hair dyed or foiled or whatever they do nowadays
wear a watch other than an Ironman Timex.

Further, all of the female triathlete's extra money is spent not on
cool clothing
cool shoes
cool purses
hot underwear
nice jewlery
all of which could make her look hotter

but on

work out attire
running shoes every three months
energy gels, drinks, bloks etc
swim suits
triathlon accurtrements
bikes
wheels
race entry fees
triahtlon camps
coaching

I would not change a thing. I like my pre-pubscent boy body and my hang nails and my totally nasty toes.
And I love my body because it allows me to do something I love.

I don't work out a billion hours a week so I can be hot. Working out a billion hours a week does not make a female hot. I may be shallow, but I'm not that fucking shallow.
The women who I want to read this will never read it.

There's the rub.

Watch Mary Kick Her Own xx

On a run last week I talked with a friend about training--and its pull. The gist of the it was that we (as in the people we train with) need to train to live and keep sane. That sounds dramatic, I know. Of course we don't really need to train to live. We need food, water, home and safety. I recognize that we are a privileged lot that can train and feel that we need to train. I get that.

However, what I need to get out is that on many days I feel that training is the only thing that can ground me. The more challenging life becomes, the more I want to train because it is raw, and basic, and releases me into a physical world of rhythm and sweat in which I can let go for a bit. It's a pain you can manage and control. This last week I had more than a few workouts during which I pushed so hard I thought I might be sick. It felt good to hurt that much. It feels good because I'm in control of it. I can make me hurt--instead of outside, uncontrollable forces which may make me hurt, or may just make me nutty, frustrated, isolated, angry etc. etc. I know some of you get this, and I'm glad that you do. I realize what I just described is pathological. People cut themselves or throw up or don't eat for the same reason I just described. I know, I know.

There are other things about training that make it a refuge too, of course. It's a magnificent social outlet if you make it so, it provides you with a goal--a goal that though arbitrary still holds within it purpose for living and moving, and it can be a game for those of us who love to play. It makes you feel good, it makes you look good, and it adds years to your life.

The problem is that training, like any other obsession and/or addiction contains, within it a vicious cycle. You feel like you need to train, so you train more. More is always better in my small world, a core belief which has gotten me into great trouble of the years. The trouble comes when you wake up one morning and realize that you are trying to train for an IM while you parent three little kids, maintain a home and a marriage, and work. And the IM is winning over the other things. Then it's really not good.

Okay ho hum. Enough on that. This last weekend I spent in SURPRISE! -- Maine. Had a great bike class early, early early on Sat. morning that ended in a great run, on which I unfortunately got lost. Still good though. Spent Sat. night with Ange, Alina, Mike and the families. There were nine kids and 7 adults. Crazy and fun. I drank and ate too much.

Saturday I ran 13 in the cold mist of my hometown in Maine. It made me feel alive, and sad, and desperate to get back there--to my friends, my family, to the ocean and the quiet roads.

The only other workout of note was my Tuesday battle with the treadmill. I won. I did 7 miles with 5 at threshold. I actually was quivering when I finished. Ahhh, nothing like beating the old body into submission. No creepy men this week watching me from behind, so that's good.

_________________________ A few videos from the Wilson files:

.Cape Swim Meet
Alina doing the 50 Fly. Note how she is ahead of all of the men.


Here Ange does the 50 Fly. Beautiful, huh?


Noah. That's my boy.

I put this on purely to show how Alina poses for pictures. (Obviously the video part was a mistake.) It makes me totally crack up to watch her!

Guess what?
This week I trained.

Hard to believe, I know.
What actually is hard to believe is that I did NOT race this past weekend. I was scheduled to, but I didn't think it was in my best interest if I wanted to keep my marriage intact. Too many weekends racing in a row makes Mary absent too much. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder in certain cases--especially in the case of the married couple with three little kids. So I didn't race.

The last few days I have really worked the old body to shreds. It started on Saturday when I realized that since I wasn't racing, I really didn't deserve to rest. I decided to get my non-biking ass on the trainer and put in some good, hard, deathly boring trainer miles. I survived for 2 hours and 30 minutes, and I didn't even watch TV while doing it. Instead, I parented perched on top of the bike, and I listened to an excellent playlist I just made which includes such goodies as Back in Black (ac/dc, of course), My Own Worst Enemy (this is an appropriate Mary song, alas), Last Dance (I adore Donna Summer), Flashdance (I'm just dancing through my life), and Add it Up (Violent Femmes--lyrics hold a special place in my depraved heart.) So the ride wasn't so bad.
When that was done I went for a short run. I love transition runs, especially when they are wicked short.

On Sunday I felt like toast, but I needed to get in at least 12 running miles b/c that's how long I would've been running had I raced. My goal was to do the whole thing like it was a race. Right. Me vs. the road. Didn't work. I did choose a wicked, wicked, wicked hilly route though, and I forced myself to keep a good pace, if not exactly race pace. I had my trusty playlist with me again. I replayed Baby Got Back several times to keep me entertained, and sang aloud very loudly to I Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore (Reo Speedwagon--an old fav.).

On Monday I was feeling rather pooped, which irritated me because I am supposed to do a fucking IronMan in five short months, and a mere 2.5 hours on the trainer and a little 12 mile run shouldn't render me useless. So, I headed to the gym to whoop my own butt. I also went to the gym because the gym has childcare, and this is school vacation week. Me + kiddos - work -school = good, but longngngnggng week.

At the gym I ran for 30 minutes just to prove that I wasn't too tired to do so, and then I lifted and worked my core. I pushed a little too far for a little too long, I'm afraid. I'm sore everywhere--but especially in my shoulders and lats. Oops.

The fact that I am so sore did not prevent me from moving onward to my swim this morning (Tuesday). I was surprised that despite being so sore I swam pretty well. My 100s are getting faster. This morning I did four 1:19s in a row, and then a 1:18. That's good for me. I swam 3000 yards and after my shower I pulled on my running garb.

Off to the gym--where I would tussle and defeat the treadmill. It was a great day to run outside, but alas, kids are with me--need childcare to run! So the gym it was. My problem with the treadmill is not that it can be boring (and it can be), but that I get into a competition with my inner critic, who is a downright evil mother fucker, when I'm on it. The thing is that there is not escape from the DATA--bleep bleep bleep--right in front of you, staring you in the face. I started out at a nice 8:40 pace/slight grade to warm up. But it felt hard. Hard! 8:40 should be easy! So I pushed to 8:30s, then 8:20s, just to prove to that asshole the critic that I wasn't really tired. I was wiped before I even started the hill workout which was on the docket. Jen's plan said shoot for a moderate effort on the hills. Okay. Moderate. I can do moderate. I pushed it up to 6.0 grade and kept my pace. My heart rate shot through the roof. I slowed down, but then speeded up again. My critic starting using really foul language to describe me, and I couldn't take the heat. I had to do this.

At about this time, maybe 35mintues into the workout, a middle-aged man walked behind my treadmill. He walked back and forth several times, and I thought, hmmm, does he work here? He then parked himself directly in back of me. He proceeded to stand there STARING AT MY ASS for the next half hour. I thought about turning around and asking him if the view was good enough and should I drop trow now, or what? But I was too scared. So I just kept running. It was freaky though. He stayed there until I finished my workout a half hour later. Wow. That's all I have to say. That takes balls. I tried to give him a dirty look when I got off, but I just managed to look at him and then my eyes dropped to the floor. I'm not sure what I should've done. I kind of wished that Judi or Claire with there to give me power. They would know just what to say.

At least it took my mind off the pain!
I was supposed to go an hour, but I continued, because another problem I have with the treadmill is that I can't end when the numbers aren't even. And they're never even. 6.86 miles? Of course I need to stay on until 7miles! 1:01:20--well of course I need to stay on until 1:02!--7.08 miles--well of course I need to stay on until 7.1 miles! It never fucking ends. Am I crazy? (Don't answer that. I know it's some form of OCD.)

So, that's my training week thus far. This weekend I'm taking the kids and the hub. to Maine to see Ange, Alina and the gang. These are Alina's and my children at Christmas time. We have children who are exactly the same ages and exactly the same genders. We planned it. We have an in with God. (It's the swearing--he secretly loves it...)
Mine are all to the left of the pic, Alina's to the right.

Cape 10 Miler Race Report and Maine Masters' Swim Meet Report

Cape Mid-Winter 10 Mile Classic

I love this race because it's in my hometown in Maine. This year a whole troupe of my runner/tri friends were running it. I know I always say it, but this group of friends is a good one. I love coming home to them.
This is the beginning of the race. We were all clustered together and it was impossible to really run. It took at least a minute to get out of it and run free.

I am in the center in the blue jacket. Behind me in blue is Tim, a tri friend, and to his left is Mike, another good tri friend. Both are doing IMLP this year. Just behind Mike is a tall man in red; that's Ange's husband, Mark. Ange is right beside me, but it doesn't look like her in this picture. In the colorful jacket and hat just behind Mark is a friend from high school and a fellow triathlete and swimmer, Steve. Missing in this picture, but close by, are Stacy, another good tri friend, and Jeff, Ange's little brother. Every single one of us finished within two mintues of each other. Neat, huh?

The first half of the race is very hilly, especially mile 2. Still, this part is fast because the downhills are as steep as the uphills. Despite being in that clusterfuck of people in the beginning, I managed to take it out in 7:02. The first mile is largely downhill, so I wasn't too alarmed, even though I was aiming for a 7:15 pace. My big goal was to stay ahead of the men--all named above--until the very end. I knew I wouldn't beat Ange, so I let her go in the first mile.

Here is Mike (in the red) just after the first mile. Doesn't he look fast?? And, yes, importantly, I am ahead of him. Ba haha.

When I was just about at mile 2 I looked at my watch and realized that I had pressed stop instead of lap. Damn! So mile 2 pace was a mystery. I turned back on the watch. Damn. Damn. Damn.

I knew I was keeping a fast pace (for me)--between 7:10 and 7:20 per mile. I worried a bit that I would crash. I haven't done any tempo or speed work, and so therefore didn't feel it would be right if I could hold 7:15s, which was my goal. But I figured if I crashed, I'd crash. Better to be aggressive and try to hold on, than to hold back and not be able to make up for lost time.

Miles 7-9 of this race are just torture in my opinion. They gradually go uphill and it's just unrelenting. Plus you're out on a main strip, and there are no twists or turns to look forward to. I was still holding just under 7:15s, though, so I began to have faith that I could finish up this baby with strength and style. None of the men had passed me. I was all good.

At mile 8 I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Mark, Ange's husband. Rats! Could I hold him off? I managed to stay just ahead of him until about 9.5, which is when he made his move. Double Rats! Not only that, Jeff, Ange's brother was with him. Triple Rats! Beat by two of them! Argh! Mark shouted at me to stay with them--but they were sprinting and I was just toast. Don't you hate it when people tell you to come with them? I was like--well, yeah, I WOULD come with you if I COULD. What-you think I WANT you to beat me??? (kidding. I still love you, Mark... :)

I picked it up as best I was able, and hoped to God the others weren't close behind. They were....

Ange finished up first, of course. Here she is, all in black, storming into the finish. Next was Jeff, her brother, and then Mark.

Here's Jeff, in the shades, finishing up in just over 1:12.
Mark was only a few seconds behind. He's in the red and blue. Next I came in, flipping exhausted, but totally excited that I had held off the other men. I crossed the line, hugged Ange, and then turned to see that Mike and Tim were just behind me! The six of us all finished within one minute of each other. Crazy. Mike is in the red, and Tim was just barely behind him in the blue. Also pictured are Stacy (smiling!), Steve, and my new friend Erin in the red.

After the race Ange and I showered in the locker room of our old high school, and then came out to discover that we had placed 2nd and 3rd respectively in our AG! Yeah! This race is notoriously competitive, and neither of us has placed in the past, even with faster times than we ran this year, so this was a pleasant surprise.

After that, Ange and I got lunch. That was the best part of the day of all. Thanks, Ange.
____________________________________
This last weekend I went to a Maine Masters Swim Meet. What a trip! What I have to say about the meet is this: wow. swim sprints hurt. I had forgotten what it's like to go into anaerobic debt like that! My longest event took just under three minutes, but each event, no matter how short, flipping hurt like hell!

Once again a whole bunch of my Maine tri/runner friends were there: Ange, Jeff (Ange's little bro), Steve--and this time Alina, too and my new friend Ted. Mark (Ange's husband) and Mike were there too with kids in tow, to cheer us on. Mike is a God with the camera, and he took a billion pictures, so this post will be rich with photo!

First off, you should know that I wore the most ballsy blue, sparkly suit. Swimmers aren't a showy lot, that's for sure, so I stuck out completely. My thinking? If not now, WHEN. It's all apart of the mid-life crisis. I'm almost 40. How many more years will I be able to wear a shiny blue suit with pink straps? Not many, my friends. Not many.

Here I am, shiny and proud:
Right after the meet I shot a rock video.

I warmed up for about 800 yards. I felt pretty groggy. The day before Ange and I had taken a bike class with our tri friends (Tim, Mike, Stacy, a bunch of others we knew) and rode for 2.5 hours on Peak's trainers. Then we ran 3 miles. Later that day, Alina and I went out to eat and had an amazing feast at Street & Co in Portland--we're talking apps, dinner, dessert, several glasses of wine, coffee... the works. It was awesome. (Thanks, Bean.) Anyway, after our feast I went home to my parents' house, where I was staying for the weekend, and went straight to bed. It was like 8:30 p.m. (You must remember I had no KIDS with me. Time to catch up on sleep, baby!) I slept until 7:15 the next morning--so we're talking close to 11 hours.

In short, I wasn't feeling too perky.

Add to my lack of perk a big dose of paralyzing fear.

I was not scared of the pain, or of swimming, or any of the events. I was scared of diving off the blocks. I haven't been in a swim meet since I was seventeen years old. That would be -- ummm -- 21 years ago. Diving off the blocks isn't something you do unless you're in a meet, so that's right, it had been 21 years since I had stood on a block and attempted that kind of a dive. Those suckers are really high up. Am I getting wimpy in my old age? BLAHH!

I dove off the blocks a few times in warm-up. The first time I went so deep I could have licked the bottom of the deep end, and I didn't come up for like a half hour. Not pretty. By the third or fourth dive I was doing slightly better. Then I found out that for the backstroke competitors are no longer allowed to put their feet in the gutter to push off on the start. DOUBLE BLAHHH! I tried a few back starts, and frankly, I know I looked positively demented. I did a back flop each time. So not smooth.

Okay! The meet! I've blathered on for so long now, I think I will just say this:
I did seven events. That was way too many. I was really tired. duh.
I loved watching my friends swim. Ange swam a billion events and did things like swim the 100 fly in 1:12 and the 50 fly in 30. My friend Alina did a 1:07 in the 100 fly and she broke 30 in the 50 fly. My friend Steve did a 53 in the 100 free and a 24 in the 50 free. Jeff, Ange's little brother, did a 52 in the 100 free and a 23 in the 50 free. Do you HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FAST THOSE TIMES ARE?

Wicked, wicked fast.

My times were not so fast. Still, I pretty much think I am a swim goddess worthy of worship.

Here are my times:
200 IM-- 2:50
100 free -- 1:10
100 back --1:19
100 IM --1:21 (that's kinda lame)
50 fly --36
50 back --37
50 free --32

None of those times compare to what I did in high school. But whatever. They're fast for a 38 year old mom of three! Plus, I was wearing a shiny blue suit with pink straps. Nothing could keep my mood down.

After the meet we all went out to lunch at some super yummy organic sandwich place in Portland that Steve suggested. I love Portland. I love Maine. I love swimming. I love my Maine buddies. I am lucky to have these things--even if I can't live in Maine, my true home.

Here are a bunch of cool photos from the meet. Thanks, Mike!

Boston Prep 16 Miler Race Report

That's the actual course, btw. It's a keeper.

The short version of the RR:
Man, I just love racing.

The long version of the RR:

The Boston Prep 16 Miler in Derry, NH is legendary around here. Anybody who's anybody has done it, talks about, compares notes about it. I love races like that. Nothing better than bonding over the stupidity of running 16 hill-laden miles in snowy NH in January with single digit temps.

It is a tough course; there's no arguing that. Miles 9-11 are a bear. But there are a lot of downhills, too, of course, so truthfully I think there are courses that are harder than Derry--like say running straight up a mountain or something like that. I also believe that Stu's 30K is harder. Locals will know the debate I refer to.

The day began when I met a bunch of my GNRC compadres so we could carpool to the race. This is one of the benefits to being in a club, I think. Every race is a social event. I like that. Our poor teammate Tom got stuck driving the girls--Rose, Maria and me. Poor guy. We chit-chatted all the way to NH, every once in awhile allowing Tom to pipe in. And then we were there.

One thing I've noted about long distance winter racing in the north: only the really dedicated, psycho, crazily fit and fast runners do it. Everyone was this race was a runner. Everyone was small. Everyone looked ready to rumble. Still, runners are a laid back crowd. They looked fast and mean, but everyone was warm and friendly when you talked to them. I love runners.

A few minutes after we arrived Claire came bounding up to me, seemingly out of nowhere, and wrapped me in a bear hug. It was evident she was really hyped up. Then she admitted it: a cup of Joe from Starbucks was the culprit. Her little Claire body just couldn't take the caffeine hit. From an experienced coffee drinker's perspective, it was little pitiful. (kidding, Claire). Anyway, she was either going to race like a jack rabbit or crash hard. I also got to re-meet Claire's friend Anne, who had traveled up with Claire. She was a little concerned about going 16 given that she'd never run that far before. Turns out this wasn't a problem at all. She and Claire (who ran the Goofy Challenge down in Tampa just two weeks before) both finished up with ease.

It was cold--maybe 10 degrees at the start.
But you know, it's been so freaking butt cold here this winter that it actually seemed okay. I had had on my really warm, really ugly Elmer Fudd hat, gigantic mittens, and then just regular tights, jersey and a jacket, and I was positively warm! Of course, it helped that the first few miles are a steady, hard uphill. I was out of breath within 30 seconds of the race starting.

I ran that whole damn race with people-- but alone. It was great. I love running with people but not actually talking with them. Kind of like how I love to make friends on FaceBook, but I don't actually talk to people on FB that frequently. Anyway, during the race I just watched people, watched my pace, watched a few excellent male runner asses in their little black running tights. It was very pleasant.

Unfortunately, about six miles into the races, I felt that familiar I need a bathroom break feeling. Now, let's be clear. I have no beef with dropping trow in a race. I've done so at virtually every marathon I've ever run. However, in all of those situations (okay, except for Chicago) there was a least a little leaf coverage--AND, importantly, I only needed to pee. Alas, not the case this time. Fields of white snow and occasionally a bare tree dotted the farming, Derry landscape. The snow on the side of the road was several feet deep. In order to take a crap I'd have to stop, sink deep into the snow with my little, still-dry shoes, dig a hole, drop trow in front of a gazillion peaceful runners and well. You get the picture.

And I had 10 miles to go.
10 miles of steep, steep HILLS to go.
Party on.

The picture says it all: Please God, get me a fucking porta-potty right now! I focused hard. I focused on the runners, the next water stop, the beginnings of the achy feeling in my feet and quads. I focused on how I only had ____ more miles. It was, to say the very least, a bummer.

But it turned out okay. I really wasn't supposed to race this race--and well, I guess I really wasn't going to! I did still work as hard as I could without incurring any dire consequences-- like say, shitting myself.

The race ended rather unceremoniously. I had seen not one person I knew while I was racing, and there were quite a few people out there I knew! The last mile was downhill, and I was grateful to just let my body move as best as it was able to under the circumstances. I was thrilled to see that finish line. Bathroom, here I come!!

Final time: 1:09:33. 8:06 pace.

I saw many of my friends at the end--who had finished ahead of me, of course! Rose had absolutely crushed the course and ran a 7:43 pace. Really, that's amazing. The course has some serious ascents, and keeping the pace is extraordinary. Plus, her splits were really even. Impressive.

Okay. I'm sick of writing this report. Maybe I'll finish her up tomorrow.

Frostbite 15k Race Report

The race that wasn't.

Eight of us piled into one big truck and headed down to race on Sunday morning. Sure, it had been snowing, sure we could barely drive the snowy roads, sure they weren't expecting the snow to end any time soon.

But we are New England runners--hard core and determined. (and also maybe stupid?) We were sure that any race set for mid-January would go off no matter what. Why else hold a race in January, after all? Of course there might be a little chill in the air, a little snow on the ground, a little ice here and there! But what's 10 inches of driving snow among friends?

Apparently the Rayhnam police did not concur. They shut the race down. We were deflated.

Fuck them. We decided to run the race anyway. We found a few runners from other clubs and set out. The footing was, well, not very good. We were determined, however. We may be running 9 minutes per mile, but we were going to run, damn it!

It was actually very beautiful outside. The snow was the heavy, wet type, and it covered the tree branches in thick clumps. I tried to appreciate it, and the company of other, like-minded crazy people who think it's normal to run 10 + miles in a snowstorm. The snow had really accumulated by the time we had run about 7 miles. It became increasingly difficult to getting footing, and most of us stupidly didn't have yaktraks on (or whatever those things are called). We slipped all over the place, tried not to curse, and finally made it back to the race start.

It was a disappointment not to race. I was feeling the need to suck wind violently and really hurt. However, even had the race gone off I wouldn't have been able to really race it. sad, sad, sad.

I've never wanted to move to the south more than I have wanted to this winter. I'm a Mainer, born and bred, and a little wintertime weather doesn't usually affect me that much. But it's been a bitterly cold and snowy winter so far in New England. And it's only mid-January. We have a long way to go.

Next up: Boston Prep 16 Miler. I haven't run more than 11 at one time since--- ummmmmm. Since a long, long time. This race should be interesting! I'm hoping to finish with my chin up. That would be good.

Oh, it's so hard to be good....

I've been chastising myself quite a bit lately. I swore after Worlds I would just chill for awhile and not worry about progress. I convinced myself that progress would be made if I just gave myself a break, both physically and mentally.

The problem is, it's been a real struggle to get back to the mental state that allows me to focus completely on my goals in triathlon. Of course there is daily fare that doesn't allow me to focus completely. I work, I have three demanding (but lovable, OF COURSE) little cherubs and also a spouse (cherub 4), and I do have a house, though I would be lying if I said I keep it tidy. But outside of those things I have been very good in the past 3 years of just devoting everything else to my athletic pursuits.

Right now, though, I am struggling. I still do the workouts, but my mind is in outer space. I'm distracted. I'm distracting myself. It's almost as as if my brain is refusing to hunker down and focus exclusively on one thing. It's gotten a taste of the rest of life, and suddenly it wants to do other things-read, write, plant, stare at the wall and think.

This week I was quite good. I ate relatively well, I completed nearly all of the workouts I was supposed to. But relatively well is not going to bring me the season I want. I know that. Each morning I wake with the idea that THIS will be the day I fully commit. But then by noon I've had a handful of chocolate chips, a slab of coffee cake, too much coffee, and I contemplate going out to dinner with xxx friend instead of getting in that second workout.

It's not too late. And I'm pretty good about forgiving myself and moving on. But I've got to get my act together, because one's base DOES count. Late January to Late July is not that long a stretch of time. I need to get it done.

I need some MOJO. If you have any--please send it my way.

My Dog Does This Thing....

I think my dog is a perverted old man.
In dog years he between 91-98 years old if you use the old seven years = one human year thing.
So he's old.
He smells.
He has rotten teeth.
He hobbles around pathetically. He has trouble getting up and down stairs. It takes him a half hour to sit down.
He sleeps all day.
He's deaf.

So you'd think his, um, sex drive would be turned off, right? Done? Finito?

Catch this. Every time I start riding the trainer he gets a hard on. He's fixed! He has no scrotum! And yet there it is.
Yep. The hum of the trainer does it every time. He gets up on all four and starts humping the air. He moves closer to the trainer and tries to thrust into it like it's a young virgin pup. He humps across the room, crashing into his sister, and lifting her legs to check out her smell.
It. is. repulsive.
It is also hysterical.

What is up with THAT?

____________________

What else do I have to say?
I need to become perfect.
I need my life to become only about the following things:
1. family.
2. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
3. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
4. bike, run, swim, weights/core. in that order.
5. no more junk food. no more drinking.
6. no more staying up late.
7. no more sleeping in.
8. no more messing around.

Game on.

It would be lovely to have a Friday night glass of wine and some pizza, though.
haha

Wrentham Lions' 5k Race Report Etc

I did not wet myself or barf, so that's good.
I did suck some serious wind, though, and running in the horrible conditions of New Year's Day triggered a sinus infection.

But I won the race for women, and that's what counts, right?

This was a really small, low-key neighborhood type race. I'd estimate maybe 100 came out to run it. The timing was done by stop watch, and the course was closer to 3 miles than a 5K. Still, of course I had fun. I love to race. I love to race especially when there's a chance I might win.

A bunch of my teammates from GNRC came out to run the race. I warmed up for 20 minutes with my friend Maria. It was both good and bad that we got out there before the start. It was good in that I knew what was coming. It was bad in that I knew what was coming. It was about 5 degrees. It was windy. It was bitter. There was snow thickly covering the roads, and literally no traction was possible. It was, ummm, not a great day to race. Or maybe it was. I suppose it depends on how one views it....
In my mind it was a great day to race. Every day is a great day to race.

The start was extremely informal. We lined up, the director said, GO! and we were off. I went out fast. I knew there was traction for the first mile or so, and I figured I should take advantage of it while I had the chance. For about 10 seconds I even led the race. This was a first for me. I had a moment of panic realizing if I led, I'd have to know where to go. Then some guy passed me. Worry gone! voila!

The first mile I was quite fast, but I don't know how fast because there were no mile markers. There may have been markers at some point, but they were either buried in snow or blown away. I didn't have my Garmin on because I had stupidly left it in Maine the week before. I did receive it via UPS on Friday--. oh well. Anyway, I bet my first mile was under 6:30 pace. Then things got ugly. The last mile and a half of the race was pure torture. We hit the snow--deep enough so that you couldn't get your footing--and trudged on. I bet my pace slowed to nine minutes miles, if that. I simply couldn't run fast! It was like running on the beach--only with 5 degrees temps. By this point at least ten guys had passed me, including my teammates Tom and Michael, but a woman had yet to track me down. It occurred to me. I could win it.

I tried to push. I turned a corner and peered back to see if I could spot any female competitors. I saw Maria's tell-tale yellow jacket. How far was she behind me? fifteen seconds? twenty?

I did my best to hammer the last 1/4 mile. Basically I just violently sucked wind and spun my wheels. And then it was done. I was the first female! Yeah! Maria came zipping in behind me, only about 15 seconds behind. A little while later my friend Melissa came in. Our club took the top three spots for females! I placed 14th overall.

My time was only a 22:20--and I know it wasn't even a 5k. The winning time was only a 20:20, though, so I didn't feel too terrible about the pace. Later my friend Tom told me that the man who won it had gone under 19 the week before in a 5k. So our times were off by at least 1:30. A 22:20 is slow, but a sub 21 I'd take for sure.

We hung around in Tom's Tavern after the race eating the pub breakfast and waiting for awards. It was fun.
Good to start the year with a win.
Good to start the year feeling strong.
Good to start the year knowing that I can take it. I can take the cold, I can take the heat, I can take what life hurls at me, or what I hurl at life. I can and I will.
________________________________

I followed up the race by doing a tough bike workout the next day with squats and lunges and jumps interspersed. It was a Jen special. I had no idea how much I'd pay.
I cannot walk.
I have never had such a sore ass in my life. really.

My next race is a 15k in a few weeks. I'm not ready in terms of mileage, but I'm ready in my heart.
Life is short.
I'm not young. But I'm not too old yet.

I want to run hard.

It Needs to Be Fun

It's no secret, since I constantly blab about it, that this year I have been sort of in a mid-life crisis. These last few weeks the crisis has been rather acute. I feel like a teenager--and, well--I've sort have been acting like one. But one good thing about the teenage years is that the desire to live life to the fullest and have fun is sort of a constant. I want to tap into that more. I know it's the reason I train and do triathlon. Triathlon is a game. It's play. It's a social outlet. It's a release. It provides me with a goal and a purpose.

However, triathlon can become, like everything else if you let it, a chore.

For me it becomes most chore-like when it's all about the training and the end result of one big race. It's generally fun to get caught up in the how-to's of training and the big race. We work on nutrition, on mindset, on the key workouts, on racing at the right time, for the right reason, at the right intensity-- all in service to the mother fucker of all goals that particular season--the A Race.

And that's fun.
Until it's not.
I believe I am a great athlete with a huge appetite for hard work and an ability to excel. (Well, I believe that usually. or maybe sometimes. okay, in theory I believe it.) I believe that if I execute my season as I should I will come out on top--whatever that may mean for me.

But I won't/can't/don't want to totally sacrifice the fun for the ultimate goal. I love to race, and NO, I'm not going to give that up because I may be a 1/2 hour faster at IM if I do. I also love food and drink (like cake, and pizza, and beer, and a nice stiff drink every once in awhile), and I also love to just take the day off sometimes and sit on my ass, and I also love to chit chat in the pool sometimes instead of moving on immediately to the next set, and sometimes I'd rather just run with my buddies at an average pace then do the workout as prescribed.

But here's the rub.

I need to have fun. I deserve to have fun.
I can't be a total and complete slave to a goal that doesn't allow me to suck joy out of every part of life--the training buddies, the racing, the food and drink, the party, sitting on my ass watching movies with my kids...

Working hard and committing to a killer goal like doing IM and doing it well is a form of sucking joy from life. But if you let it, I believe it can also suck the joy from you and leave you empty.

This is what my mid-life crisis has taught me so far.
Among other things.

2009 Racing Schedule: Approved Version or.... Yeah, Baby!

I have consulted with Jen, and I have a pretty solid race schedule set up for 2009. It includes plenty of winter road racing, plenty of room to become a zombie without racing during high training before Lake Placid, and a few end of the season races. I'm. wicked. psyched.

First I want to say that this season I'm running with/ for two teams--the Greater Norwood Running Club and Team Nor-Easter. GNRC includes some of the best running companions anyone could ever find, and Team Nor'Easter (a tri team associated with Peak Peformance In Portland, ME) lets me connect with all of my new, awesome Maine triathlon friends. It's going to be a great season. I know it.

And now....

2009 Racing Schedule

Jan. 1: Norfolk 5K
Goal: To not barf or wet my pants. To get my HR max for Jen. To not allow my heart to explode. To not hate myself for how slow I will be.

Jan. 18: Frostbite 15K
Goal: To win the top spot in our club. Two of my teammates who have outraced me here in the past cannot race that day... so maybe I have a chance. You never know. Right Mel? Right Maureen?

Jan. 25 Boston Prep 16 Miler in Derry, NH
Goal: To not allow myself to give into my extreme need to race and just allow myself to do this as a training run. I've never been able to achieve this, but I will really try, because the week after that I want to really kick butt.

Feb. 1 Cape Classic 10 Miler, Cape Elizabeth, ME
Goal: To PR. This is ambitious, but it's my goal. To outwit, outpace, and plain outrun people who think they have a chance at beating me, but who are downright kidding themselves.

Feb. 8: Back to Maine to compete in a Cape Masters Swim Meet
Goal: to enter every event, and to PR in every event. This is possible since I haven't done a swim meet since I was 17 years old.
Me versus 17 year-old-me. The lowdown-
She was a wimp. I am not.
She was heavy and lazy. I am not.
She was young. I am not.
She was nubile, fresh, alive and held hope for a perfect life. I am over that.

I think the current me has a good shot to smoke the past me.

Feb. 15: Foxborough Flat 10 Miler, Foxborough, MA.
Yes, I know you are realizing that I'm racing every weekend. Exactly. Perfect.
Goal: to PR at the 10 mile distance. I think this is possible given the only other 10 milers I've done are the Cape Classic 10 miler and the Apple Harvest 10 miler. Both are really hilly, and this course, as stated in its title, is flat.

March 15: New Bedford 1/2 Marathon, New Bedford, MA
Goal: Okay, I really dislike this course. My goal here is to make up with it. Last time I was there I swore I'd never return. However, it's a Grand Prix event, and I plan to be a contender this year in the Grand Prix, so it's a must.

June 6: Lancaster Half Iron or the the New Revolution 1/2 Iron in CT. Not sure which yet. Certain friends want to know, though, right Mel? So I better decide.

Maybe a Sprint or an Oly between June 6 and July 26. Not sure yet. It depends on how much of an energy hole I am in given my training for L.P. I've been told I won't be able to/want to do much. I've been told I will be miserable, exhausted and dead. Am I twisted in that I can't wait for this?

June 25-28 Lake Placid Training Camp with Team Nor'easter--and with Ange! not a race, I know, but I'm really excited about it.

July 26. IM Lake Placid
Goal 1: to finish.
Goal 2: to finish running as opposed to crawling
Goal 3: to finish up with a strong marathon--under 4 hours.
Goal 4: to go under 12 hours
Goal 5: to go under 11:30
Goal 6: to go under 11 and qualify for Kona

Goal 6 is more than a little bit of a stretch, but it's the off season, and I'm dreaming big.

Sept. 12 Pumpkinman Half Iron
or
Sept. 20 Lobsterman Olympic
No goals here at this point-

Oct 25 Marine Corp Marathon, Washington D.C.
Goal: Sub 3:20.

I still have to flesh out the fall schedule. You never know--big things could happen (like Kona??? haha--you know you have to dream...)

I want to know who's joining me at each of these races. Hmmm?
Can you hear me best, dearest, local running buddies?

Yesterday I finally pulled out the weights and the bosu ball.
My upper body is so sore today I can barely lift my arms. Makes me think that -- yes, it's true -- I am super duper out of shape.

I have a long way to go before I become the buff, superstar Mary that I plan to be -- someday. It's that someday that keeps us (well, okay, me--and maybe you-- I don't know.) going.
Thank God for it.

Forgive Me

Blogger friends. I have been absent for a long time. I had a little blog vacation. But I'm back, better than ever, ready to blog my little tush off and respond to all of your posts asap.
I've been busy dealing with you know--stuff. Stuff happens and you have to deal with it. I dealt. Actually, I'm still dealing, but I miss you all, so I came back before all messiness has been ironed out. And actually, the messiness will never get completely ironed out, right? enough said.

Let's talk racing.
I am ready to race.
I know I will suck, but I am ready to race.
I. miss. it.

So what's on the docket?
A quick New Year's 5K at which I will likely suck wind so violently and die so completely that I will wet myself, or throw up or both. Bring it on.

A little 15k in mid-January. I will still likely suck at that point, but hopefully it will not be as ugly as the 5K.

Then, if coach approves, I plan to travel with my club to Derry, NH in mid-January to do the legendary Boston Prep 16 Miler. I've done it before, and it is truly an ass-kicking adventure. I love, love that race.

Next--a Feb. 1st 10 miler up in my hometown that is lovely and cold and hilly. I haven't missed running this race in years. I even ran it once when pregnant (well, barely pregnant, but still) and I ran it three months after giving birth to my second baby.

The following weekend I am off to Maine again for a swim meet at the Cape Elizabeth High School pool! Wahoo! I'm a little nervous about the diving off the blocks, I must admit. But I'm still so excited. A swim meet!

Finally, again if coach approves, I will run Stu's 30K in early March. This is also an ass-kicking adventure--probably even hillier and tougher than Derry, which as I mentioned earlier, is legendary for its hills.

I don't plan to go all out for all of these races (Derry/Stu's not all out; Frostbite & Cape 10 miler, definitely all out.)

I don't know after that. As I get close to IMLP I know I will have to really hunker down and just focus on my workouts. I'm prepared for that. But early on? I want to play--just a little.

I am completely unprepared for Christmas. I have been squirrelling away a few gifts for the kids, but other than buying scooters for my youngest two and a Simon for my oldest, I haven't been very focused in my shopping. I am really excited about that Simon, though. Did you have one as a kid? I loved that toy! I know I will steal it from her and get obsessed with playing it.

I just ordered two awesome Splish suits for myself for Christmas.

Alas I don't have the boobs to fill them out. Nevertheless, I'm so excited. They are both fun, and right now I am feeling I need a little fun.
Okay, okay, I always feel like I need fun.

The fun helps to smooth the messiness that never goes away.

blah blah blah

So this was supposed to be my first week back at REAL training. But I'm still sort of in lala land. Jen gave me a few good swim workouts, and it's been fun to be in the pool, see all of my swim friends, and try to swim a pace that is not too upsettingly slow compared to where I was a mere three weeks ago.

Man, fitness goes fast. I was a rockstar just three weeks ago! Now I am wondering if I will ever be fast again....
Of course I will be.
It's good to be slow right now. It's good to be slow right now. It's good to be slow right now.
BLAH BLAH BLAH

This is why I dislike taking time off from training. It's not that I dislike the time off. I've been living it right up in my time off! Who can argue with sleep, wine, and good food? No, it's that after time off you have to kick your own ass BACK into shape, which is an extremely trying and somewhat disheartening project.

But it's a project. And the thing is, I adore new projects.

Although my racing schedule hasn't been completely developed (or approved) yet, I have it in my head that I will get in a few good road races this winter. I also have certain little rivalries (most of which are in my head) which are getting me fired up to kick some ass this winter.

I've just put the followers tool on my blog and I am so psyched about it. I love finding out who actually reads my drivel! I know I've been very lame about posting, and also that my posts of late have been less than inspiring, but if you read me, add your blog to my followers list. Please. It makes me feel good.