Sick, Fuzzy, Down for the Count

Woah Mama.  

Gastroenteritis is so fun.... 

Noah, my five-year-old, gave me a special present: his absolutely VIOLENT stomach virus. I don't need to go into the graphic details (although you all know I'm not above such things) however, suffice to say that my stomach and colon have been cleaned out completely in the last 12 hours. ___________ My last day of work was Wednesday. Childcare ended yesterday, Friday. TWO WHOLE DAYS!!! Thursday was sort of a wash. It started out great, with a final trip into work to clean out my desk and a fantabulous run, but then I had to get my sweet little son early from daycare because--well--he was puking. 

From the moment I cleaned up the first pukey mess I began to pray: Just let me get it after my long ride tomorrow. This is a key ride--I have to go--just let me get it after....Please God. Please. Well. God complied. I made it through my ride on Friday. But I was not off the hook. Oh no. I had planned to attend a dinner party at one of my good college friend's houses with Andy last night. This woman can host, man. Mojitos, awesome apps, fish tacos.... and best of all, great company. 

Within a 1/2 hour of arrival I knew I was in trouble, though. There was no powering through it. I had at best 15 minutes before I was going to be talking to God via his porcelain connection. I grabbed Andy, who at that point didn't realize the gravity of the situation, got a bucket from Court (the bestest hostess), gave my hugs and told my friends to wash everything I had touched really carefully. I made it down the driveway and into the car before the puking began. 

Puking when you're drunk really is the worst. I haven't experienced it for years, but I experienced it plenty as a young lass, and I remember. Worse, though, is puking when totally sober. It's especially fun when you're puking up Endurox. I hadn't had much more than PowerBar Endurance, gels, a few bars and Endurox all day, so there wasn't that much that could come up. My stomach was insistent, though, and found a way to allow me to continue puking long after the contents of my stomach should have been empty. And then my colon kicked in to make sure I was completely cleaned out in every way... Okay. Enough! haha! And here I said I wasn't going to give the gruesome details! I just couldn't resist. 

Anyway, back to the ride and before I got sick... As you may be aware, it's been raining here in New England--for like forever. When it's not raining it's overcast and muggy. My bike shoes absolutely reek. I have forgotten what it's like to feel sun on my back. I have contemplated creating and marketing glasses that have windshield wipers. But Friday morning it was NOT raining. The weather called for thunderstorms, but whatever. I could deal with that. I was psyched and ready to roll. Mrs. Zebra was loaded up like a pack horse with drink, gels, bars, phone, money, ID etc. etc. etc. I dressed all in black so I could take on my bad ass persona and match Mrs. Z in style. Life was good. I dropped off the kidlets, explained that if someone was to start, say, puking, they'd have to call Andy, because I was going for a long, long, ride and it would be tough to get back in a timely fashion should such a crisis arise. The only problem I had was that I was riding alone. For like seven hours. That's kind of a long time. But I do most everything workout-wise alone these days, so I knew I could handle it. The plight of working out alone... Interesting topic for another post. 

I had decided to ride to Mt Wachusett, a mountain/national park about 50 miles away. Unfortunately, I've never done that ride, and anyone who knows me knows that this is a problem... I'm just not super when it comes following a cue sheet. Additionally, I didn't have a formal cue sheet, just my own sloppy instructions and my IPhone. The IPhone is awesome--it can get me anywhere. The problem was how much I had to use it. After two hours of riding I had already spent at least 20 minutes off the bike trying to figure out where to turn next, and I was super irritated. Finally I decided that this ride just wasn't going to happen today. I will find a friend who has done that ride and force him/her to go with me to show me the way. Until then...I hightailed it back to an area I know well, and set out to do the remaining 4 hours on the bike. 

The route I chose was super hilly. My mph were super slow. And it started to rain. This was no thunderstorm. This was just -- rain. For 2.5 hours straight. I felt so unbelievably pissy--really, it's a blessing I was alone. Additionally, I didn't want to stop at all because I had wasted so much time off pedal early in the ride. Today would be the day I did everything while riding: peeing, refueling, refilling. I even ran a few stoplights so I could keep motoring along. The good news is that I have discerned that I have no problem peeing on the bike. The key, I discovered, is that you can't be pedaling. You just need to pause and let it go. Another key: pee often. That way you don't have a massive wet that streaks down your legs. Grrrrrossss. 

As I peed away I couldn't help but think in my mind about how when your baby is little, daycares and doctors refer to peeing etc as BW or SW or BBM or SBM--standing for BIG WET or SMALL WET etc. As I peed I'd think to myself, Oh! BIG WET! cause you know--it's a bit like filling a diaper. God, I'm just gross today, huh? 

Interestingly, I never really got super tired. I got bored. I didn't want to be out there anymore. I wanted to go home and take an ice bath and chill. (haha.) But I didn't get tired, really. I felt like if someone had a gun to my head and told me I now had to run a marathon, I could. Somehow I'm going to have to muster up the umph to run that marathon without a gun to my head, though. Maybe I could imagine I have a gun to my head? I had to spend so long out there to get in my 116 miles that I had to ride straight to daycare to get the kids. (It's up the street from where I live.) I showed up looking just nasty: dirt everywhere, even up my back (remember it rained), sweaty, salty, and just in general looking like I was in dire need of a shower. I walked in with my bike shoes and helmet on and tried not to act as if anything was out of the norm. Surely they had seen a MOM enter in such garb before? And I wonder why I have a reputation in this town as the psycho triathlon mom who abandons her kids to ride, run and swim....

Random Shit

I went into work to clean out my desk, clean up, and bring my files/desk shit etc home.
I am no longer a teacher. At least for now. I'm taking a break.

This is weird for me. I have been teaching since I was 22 years old. Before that I was a swim instructor and camp counselor. Before that I taught ballet. I've spent my life in khakis and clogs--in dusty classrooms with middle school kids. Since I began teaching I have taught at least 1200 hundred kids--more if you count the kids I taught when in grad school as a TA or before I started formally teaching in a classroom. My first sixth grade class of kids are now 27 years old.

I've always taught. It's what I do. I'm not sure I know how to do anything else.

Which is why, in part, I had to stop teaching.

Here I am at 39. I'm not sure what the hell I'm going to do next. The mid-life crisis continues....

Well, actually, I do. Next I'm going to do IronMan. Someone I was just chatting with about IM recommended that I focus on it--and it alone-- from now until L.P. Training for an IronMan has both psychological and physical repercussions. In short, you get a little fucked up when training for an IM. Hence, now is not the time to contemplate the next step. I'm going to take that advice. I have 4.5 weeks until the race. I can focus on just my kids and my training until then.

And speaking of training.....
It has been really intense lately. I am flipping tired. I've been tired before, but this is different. This is like--will I ever be fresh again? kind of tired. Bed always looks inviting and gettting up early again and again and again is just about killing me.

But you know? It makes me happy right now. It's predictable, it's tough, it's rewarding. Most importantly, it feels good to have months and months of hard, long training under my belt. Money in the bank for IM. It's there. No one can take it away.

Tomorrow I ride for 115. It will be the longest ride I've ever done (the previous high being the 112 I did at camp a few weeks back.) I'm psyched. But wary. I'm tired going into this ride. It will be a true test of my physical and mental toughess.

Kurt put the idea of making an M-Dot cake into my mind. I am SO going to do that, in addition to getting my tat--whatever form that takes. I'm going to make that cake, get a few kegs and have a party in Maine after L.P. is over. You're invited.
I can't wait for L.P.

Cakes, Kids and too Much Rain

This is the castle cake Jordan (7) and I made for Lara's 4th birthday party. It's quite the masterpiece. It turned out much better than the fire engine cake I made for Noah's 2nd birthday--which looked as if it had gotten into a crash.
I am generally quite happy with my cake making skills, however. For example, I am especially proud of:
The mermaid cake--for Jordan's 5th. That was a real beauty.
Noah's 3rd bday cake was a train. I liked this one too, but it not looking like it's ready to take off at any great speed. Moving vehicles are hard to achieve in cake making land.

Another one I really like was simple, but good. The cat cake is easy to achieve, and very fun. This was for Jordan's second.I especially like the cupcakes I made to go with it. Actually, I think the coolest cupcake, the open-mouthed scary kitty, was made by my older sister Laura, who is only slightly better than me in cakemakingville.
One of my biggest failures was for Lara's second birthdy. It was supposed to be a dog. Not good to start with, it was made worse by the fact that my REAL dog bit off its right paw. I had no more white frosting to make another paw, so I had to make it with red frosting. It is remembered as the Dog Cake with the Bloody Paw.

One of my all time favorites I can't take credit for. The pigeon cake, straight from Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems, was made by Alina for her daughter, Maria. It was a keeper, except that we ate it, of course.

At any rate, the fiesta for Lara's 4th was a success. Here she is with her cake.

And here are all three of my beauties post-party after destroying the remaining water balloons created for Jordan's roll the water balloon down the slide game. (The game was a hit, btw. Leave it to the second grader to come up with the most entertaining games...):
_____________________________________
Enough of kids and cakes.

Onto training.
Wow. This weekend was freaking tough.
On Friday morning I swam more than 2 miles in the open water with Melissa. We didn't stop, like AT ALL. It was impressive. It took forever. We were proud.
(and tired.)
In the afternoon I had a short, easy run.
BUT THEN on Saturday I went for a three hour run. I was supposed to go for three hours or 20 miles, whichever came first, but I had my heart set on 3 hours. (sorry, Jen.) So I ended up going 22 and a tad. The last 10K I did at a faster clip, and I was TOAST when I was done.
But then I loafed around all afternoon with the kids, and I felt better.
I got up at 5 am this morning to go on my ride. It was wet. I need windshield wipers for my biking glasses. Will it ever stop raining around here? God! Anyway, I went for a little over 80 miles in the spitting rain. UGH! But it was fine. I tried to stay on top of my nutrition, but I still didn't take in enough fluid because it was so cool and I ended up hundreds of calories short. grrrr.

Yesterday Andy did a 160 mile ride called the Brewery to Brewery Ride or B2B, as it's known around here, which goes from MA to VT. He had fun, and now I want to do it, of course! Someday, someday....

Happy Father's Day to all of you dads out there.
And happy being-a-mom day too because moms rock the house. and make cool cakes. and stuff like that.

Lake Placid Training Camp with Team Nor'Easter

First: A few Mooseman Pictures





In all of my run pictures at Mooseman I have that same worried expression. I'm pretty sure I was wondering, as I often do during the run portion of triathlon, 1. whether I will actually make it to the end, and 2. What was I thinking when I signed up for Ironman????

But onward.

Last weekend I drove myself to Lake Placid, NY to train with a few of my Nor'Easter Team triathlon friends. The trip took close to six hours including stops, but I have to admit I didn't mind the trip in either direction. I listened to a book on tape (Jane Green's Second Chance--somewhat cheesy middle-aged woman lit). I identified with several characters in the book, who were all women of 39 going through various mid-life crises. Loved it. Identifying with characters as they evolve and figure out their life transitions is satisfying.
This is me at the end of the race. I like this picture because I look like I have long legs, which let me tell you, I don't.

On to the weekend!
Ange and I shared a room.
We had like 20 bags of shit between us, plus our bikes, plus I don't know what. It was pretty amazing. We even brought a coffee maker. You can't risk such things as not having coffee when you need it.

On our first night we went out for a run. I dying to run because I had been basically resting since the Half Ironman last Sunday. We went out with a group that I thought would be too fast for me, but the group swore they were going easy, and so I went too. Turns out they weren't lying. One thing I'm learning is that the best athletes really do work out at all different speeds and intensities. You can't just look at someone's race times and determine whether you could train with them, or not. Often people with slower times will push you, and people with faster times will go surprisingly slow. I know this observation is rather obvious, but I have always been very black and white about training. You are better than me, or you are not. I will hold you back, or I will be frustrated by having to move too slowly. Sometimes these things are true; sometimes they are not. But you can't know by assumption.

New friends. This run was the beginning of it. Have I mentioned I love new friends? Several people--actually more than several--turned out to be remarkably funny and cool. Being remarkably funny and cool myself, I am immediately able to identify such characteristics in others. That night we went out to a pub for dinner and a beer. I love beer almost as much as I love making new friends. The combination of the two? Perfecto.

The next morning we got up and -- slugged.
Wow. I haven't done that in a really long time. I felt as if we should be doing something, and after a longish diner breakfast and way too much coffee, I became genuinely fidgety. Finally we we packed up and went for a ride. It was slow and comfortable, and only lasted for 20 miles. Still, it was something.

And then we went swimming! Yeah! We swam the two laps of the LP course. It was great the first lap. Then I got bored. That's a long time to just, well, swim. I finished her up in like 1:05. I kind of dislike myself for allowing myself for to get bored, lose focus, and loaf. The lake is awesome, though. The area is just beautiful.


Then Ange and I went for a brisk run around the lake. Ahhhhh.....

Dinner, chit-chat with good friends, bed.
_______________

I slept well.
I got up. We made coffee. We drank coffee. We ran around like crazy women getting ready to bike. and then.
I was ready--ready to bike the course.
The plan was to take the first loop slow, ride with the group and not do anything stupid.
This is what we did. The first loop we took really, really, really, really slow. sloooooooooooow.
It was cool, so I was inclined not to drink, but I forced myself to. I also forced myself to eat. People looked at me funny when I took my first gel in at 35 minutes, but I really wanted to test out my race day nutrition--and this was my big chance. I am happy to say--I officially have my bike nutrtion plan. It involves lots of PowerBar Endurance (5.5 bottles), water, lots of salt, lots of gel (one every 40 min or so), one yummy Lara Bar, one Peanut Brittle Clif Bar, and one bag of pretzel cracker- peanut butter sandwichs. My stomach is pretty tough; I think I'll be able to handle the bars. Plus, I plan to be conservative on the bike. I want a good run.

I rode with Ange the whole way. Sometimes we were close to the group, sometimes ahead. It was solid. It felt good. It wasn't as hard as I had feared it would be. I love riding with Ange. Hell, I just love Ange!

After the ride Ange and I went on another brisk run. Too brisk, in fact! We were both SOOO hungry and so ready for the work to be over that we hammered. Ange's heartrate monitor was beeping out of control because we were way above what we should've been for heart rate. (I don't have mine set to beep--or mine would have sung right out too). We ran about 6 and then called it a day, struggling up that last hill coming in town. Wahoo!

The next morning was my daughter's 4th b-day, so I got up super early and got my long run in starting at 5 a.m. so I could leave Lake Placid by 7 and be back home by noon. God it's beautiful out there. You don't notice it so much when you're cruising along on your bike and riding with friends, but when alone, running in the early, cool morning, it's just--amazing. What a great run. (Amazing except for the mother of a hill coming into town: that SUCKS. Can't wait to do that on race day 2x.... That will be wicked fun.)

This week has been CRAZY. It's the last week of school, it's a big training week, it's my daughter's b-day party tomorrow. Jordan (oldest daughter and chef extraordinaire at age 7) will help me make the cake. We're making a castle cake-- (b/c it's a princess party, of course--4-year-old girl = princess obsession.) I'll post a picture of it when we're done.

I loved camp. I love my tri friends (and those tri friends not at camp--and my other friends, too!). I love training. I love that school is ending and I'm not teaching next year--finally. I love that things are changing--and that these changes are going to be good in the end. I love Andy. I love my kids. Those of you with kids--you now how much.
I feel thankful today.

Mooseman Half Iron RR or Mary Makes Damn Sure Her Hard Work Pays Off

First.
I have some great friends. I arrived on Friday night despondent and sad because of other yucky stuff going on that just sucks sucks sucks --and did I mention sucks? And they brought me up.
They made this weekend. And right up front I want to say thank you for that.

Friday night:
Ange (DrivetoTri), Mike (Sandbagger MacDonald--haha jk!) , and I had dinner at our inn. It was a German inn, and I just need to say that the woman who served us had the biggest knockers I've ever seen in my life, and they were pushed up in such a way that she could have stacked plates upon them and served us that way. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. It was truly amazing.

That's the only interesting thing to report about Friday night. After dinner we went to bed.

Saturday:
The next morning we got COFFEE! of course. And then we went to watch Steve (MaineSport) and Kim (Teta Equals Booty) and other very special people that we love dearly but who don't have blogs so I'm not going to mention them by name.

It was fun to watch everyone. The best moments of the day:

1. Mike is going to send me a pic of the guy who left the swim holding a GIGANTIC dead fish in his hand that he preceeded to swing around and around. I kid you not. You're sending that pic, right Mike? Get a move on there, brotha. (Mike sent it to me. Thanks, Mike!)


2. When we saw one of the first women pass on the bike Ange shouted, "Go Woman!" It was really funny, but I think you had to be there to appreciate how funny.

3. Ange and Mike are super prepared people, so I was well fed. I am chronically underprepared, so this was just a special treat for me. Thanks for letting me eat all of your food, guys.

4. Seeing all of our friends on the course. I missed some after the race, though I looked EVERYWHERE for EVERYONE (esp. Kim) so I don't get how this happened. It was good to see Steve. He did wicked good and we were very proud to know him.

We racked our bikes and tried to calm Ange down, and I chatted with new friends and old friends and in general just felt all warm and friendly.

For dinner a bunch of us went to a sweet little dive and ate pizza etc.

And then we went back to the inn and tried to sleep.

Sunday:

OKAY!
We got up. We didn't leave early enough. This didn't bother me that much b/c I never leave early enough, which is why, I suppose, I am always late. Ange is not, though. She is always the first person in transtion at like 3 am. But she handled our lateness really well. She is making real progress and we are all very proud of her.
jk.

When we got there I hooked up with Melissa, who I had been eager to see all weekend. After a bit of pre-race getting ready jitters, we headed down to the water.

I went to this race to take risks.
I did take risks.
Taking risks seemed to work out quite well.

The SWIM:
As per usual, I loved the swim. I felt strong. I found a good rhythm. I was loving life and working hard. It is SO unfortunate that the swim portion of any triathlon has to end. It's over so fast. I found two other pink caps my pace and we took turns drafting throughout the swim. I think we were 3/4/5 out of the water in our wave.
29:10. PR swim for moi. Most importantly, I kept up with Ange for at least 25 yards. That might be a record for me.

T1. I feel like a drunk when I get out of the water. But I stumbled to the strippers, got stripped, and found my bearings.
1:40 Not bad for me.

*** Best moment of my day****
While leaving transition the announcer shouted, And we have our 3rd female Age Grouper of the day heading out on the bike course! or something like that. SO COOL! Of course I didn't have the third fastest swim time of the 35-and-up-ers. I think I may have been 4th or 5th. But I got out of T1 faster. So there.
Also cool: So many people I knew cheered me on as I left T1. Thank you, people. You know who you are, and I love you for cheering for me even though I'm now donning a Nor'Easter uniform. Means a lot to me.

The BIKE:
I went really fast. I was like lightning. I had Smash Mouth's "Hey Now, You're a Rock Star" blaring in my head. I was passing people left and right--and all men--because the rest of the chicks weren't on the course yet. A few hills brought me down a few notches. But I still felt great. I was taking risks, man.
And then a girl passed me. AND SHE WAS FROM THE WAVE BEHIND ME! Oh dear.... Still, I kept up with her the whole way and never let her go. She was like my inspiration, and I even began singing that Chicago song to her under my breath, "You're the meaning in my life, you're the inspiration." I was sucking too much wind to sing in more than a whisper, though. I kept thinking, "Yeah, but I'll get you, woman! I'll get you on the run!" But alas, it turned out this chick ended up 2nd OA. So I guess I didn't beat her on the run. Damn.
The best part of this ride? I didn't FLAT. Thank God above. I was prepared to flat, though. I really was.
2:44:45. Not as fast as Clearwater.
But Clearwater didn't have you climbing Devil's Hill twice at 4 mph.

T2
I FINALLY DID SOMETHING NEW RIGHT!
I wore NO socks for the bike. I put on socks for the run. In the past I have put on socks in T1. I then preceed to sweat for 56 miles, and my socks get wet. Then I don my running shoes, and preceed to blister on the run. Not this time! Ahhh.... nice dry socks in t2. No blisters for me. Sure, my bike shoes now smell so bad you want to vomit when you get too close. But whatever.

1:20 Not bad for putting on socks.


The RUN:
The first two miles I was in control and felt fine. Better than fine. Then I didn't feel fine anymore. Then I hit this one monster hill that left me totally deflated. And as I ran up it I remembered I had to run up it again b/c this was a two loop course. Oh dear God, I thought. I am going to DIEEEEE.
But. I got over the hill.
And then I reminded myself I was meant to suffer-- I loved to suffer-- suffering makes me Master of the Universe.
The second loop I really did suffer. And I slowed down. and down. But I was still within goal range--still turning out miles between 7:30 and 7:40. And then that stupid fucking hill came and I nearly dropped to my knees and began to cry.
The last few miles I was super out of it. You know when you get all spacey and light and you feel like you are sort of swimming through air really slowly?
I was SO out of it that when I got to the end and had to choose whether to go back on the course for another loop or whether to go down the finishing chute, I WENT TO START THE COURSE AGAIN.
It took me a good 30 seconds to realize I was not in the right place. I began screaming Fuck! at the top of my lungs. I really hope there weren't any kids around. I was too hysterical to notice. I made my way back, and finally finished. Yahoo! Happy!
1:39:30

Final Time: 4:56:26
2nd AG (but they give me 1st AG because my bestest friend Ange got third! so I moved up a spot)
6th female OA.
I'm pretty psyched that Ange and I went 1/2 in our AG. We had planned on it--but you know--you never know. The next 35-39 woman finished 15 minutes behind me and 27 behind Ange. Oh yeah.

And what I have to say about that is--Thanks, Jen.

The Chase, The Pass, The Line

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt". - Measure for Measure (Act I, Scene IV).

I want to get to Kona before I turn 43.

So I'm just going to go there. And soon.

A lot of life is like that: you must decide you're going to get something, and then act as if it's yours to have. The conviction alone will get you nearly there.

Nearly is not there, though. It isn't yes. And unfortunately, nearly to Kona, but not all the way there, will place a person treading water somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. And treading water isn't the idea. Neither is swimming desperately to the shore seeking safety and penance for the want we tried at and did not achieve.

I-like many- am attracted to those people who make me feel alive and ready to take on the world--those who live close to line--playing and pushing and participating in life without the fear they will end up having to swim to the shore after coming up short. I love those people and I hate them, because they intoxicate me with their desire and passion, and remind me that I'm, perhaps, not fully following my own. These are the people that just do it--hell be damned--and I want that too.

But pushing so far that you don't heed the line has its consequences. It's easy to see when those who live hell-by-damned end up winning the slot, but we fail to see that those who live this way actually do come up short a ton of the time--ending up in waters that are usually not ideal and often unsavory. We envy, but we aren't willing to put it all--meaning our hard earned stabs at stability and safety--on the line. We see their insouciance, and we want it, while simultaneously wanting to stay home and watch another episode of House. We long to eviscerate the feeling that we are not living life to the fullest; that somehow we are squandering time and will end up at our grave pissed that we didn't make more of it all.

This is why I do sport. Sport creates a playing field that is real, but not real; a field chock full of competitors who double as friends, a field on which we can place a dream and know that its fulfillment or lack thereof will not really jeopardize life as we know it. In short, in sport we can chase adrenaline within the confines of something that is bound and appropriate. We can emulate those that put it all on the line and really live--while staying safely behind the line and only crossing it at the end of a race.

This is not to say that I don't/haven't crossed lines other than the finishing lines in a races. I do and I have. I am, unfortunately or fortunately depending on who you ask, rather insouciant myself. But I know the costs of acting that way; I've suffered consequences both painful and humbling. Sport can dole out pain and humility--but it usually does so without taking life and limb. And so sport works for me. And if you're reading this, it likely works for you too.

I've always loved to play and compete and I've always loved the chase of a goal, an idea, a person. The ways I've managed my desire to chase has shifted over the years, but the rush of establishing a goal and seeing it through to its respective Kona has always been with me. I see a competitor in the distance and I place a target on his back. I can feel my body shift into a different gear and a surge of energy course through me. This is the best part; moving closer and closer but not yet signifying to the target that I'm about to make the pass.

Soon the pass must be made though, and herein lies the risk and the rush. It takes courage to make the pass. By passing you are calling the shot, making your intentions known, and issuing a challenge. You never know how the competitor will react, and so often the feeling at that point changes from pure adrenaline rush to pure adrenaline fear. The person could call you on it, match you, pass you back; the person could let you go "for now" only to crawl up your back and make the pass later, or the person could simply be in awe of your speed and not take you up on the challenge to race. In any case, if you pass, you are vulnerable to the possibility that you misjudged your competitor and yourself. You've made public your belief that you've got what it takes to beat said person, and that person could respond to you by making sure he makes it to the line before you. And that can feel -- really bad. It's tough when you make a break and it doesn't turn out the way you had planned. In short, chasing the adrenaline that comes with putting yourself on the line can fuel you to greatness--or it can cause you to crash and burn.

Of course, only chasing and passing in sport isn't enough to make a life fulfilled. Right? We need to chase and pass in real life too. The effect of taking risks in life, I believe, is that it forces us to move to a different place--to something unfamiliar. Such places foist on us wisdom and experience. Armed with this, the small, stable places we have built for ourselves stop feeling confining--and instead just feel like coming home.

Open Water Morning

First, I just wanted to point out that I basically agree with everyone's comments on the Effort post. It occurred to me that I was speaking to the wrong audience in writing it. WE are not full of shit. WE all try our little tushes off, failure or success by damned. WE work hard because we know what it means and what it should mean to work hard. WE teach our kids that hard work is worth it, because hard work, in the end, brings satisfaction, joy, and a transcending of the fear of failure. I guess I was really focused on society at large--and what our nation/culture appears to value, which is talent + hard work. I feel saddened when a kid is convinced it's not worth it to try because he could never really be "good" -- and I get equally sad when I see a kid forced to compete in soccer when it's not her passion--even if she is really good at it. Comments like Dwight's, "I sure hope you're good b/c it would suck to work so hard and not be good," send the message, perhaps not even subtly, that we shouldn't work hard unless we have a gift. This is crap, of course, but it's an amazingly common attitude held by adults--by teachers-by coaches-by parents--and it's absolutely toxic. That's what I was trying to say, anyway. Loved your comments. Thanks. On to new things!I got into the open water for the first time this morning. I met a friend at 5:30 am, and the lake (Farm Pond in Sherborn, pictured above--my fav. place to swim around here) was so calm, so gorgeous. At first I didn't even want to get in; I just wanted to stare at the lake and be peaceful. But get in we did.... Amazingly, the water was not cold at all. I think I could've even gone sans wetsuit. That said, I'm glad I had my wetsuit. I love the way it buoys me up and helps me to glide through the water. Rob, the friend I was with, decided to wear FINS, so I was concerned I wouldn't be able to keep up, but he kindly didn't really start cruising until the end, so it was okay. We swam around the pond, stopping a few times to catch our breath and to just look. I had forgotten how much I love swimming in the open water. I had several moments this morning during which I felt so grateful to be alive--to be in the water--to be experiencing the early morning on the pond. Fantastic. I love triathlon for giving me those early morning moments. Without triathlon, I would've been snoozing away this Memorial Day Monday morning. Enough said.

Joesph & Rose Gilio Mem. 5k Race Report

The Kids' Race
Jordan (7) in the green shirt, Noah (5) in the yellow, Lara (3) in the white (not the pink pants)

My kids love coming to this race. It's run by my good friend Michael Gilio in honor of his parents. Mike has kids, and he makes sure this event is kid friendly. This year he had a jumpy castle, a gigantic slide and a popcorn machine. He also runs a kids' race 15 min. before the start of the event. Every kid gets a medal.
It's the best.

I won this race for women.
And where were my little tots when I crossed the line in triumph?
The jumpy castle.
Ha!

I honestly can't believe I won this race. The field was small (about 120 or so competitors) but there were some really strong women runners in that field including a whole bunch of my GNRC clubmates: Maureen, Maria, Tracey and Meredith--to name just a few. These are women I always have to work really hard to beat--and often don't beat-- so I knew I'd have to run run run my butt off to even get in the top 3.

I hadn't planned on running this race, but I thought perhaps it might be good to use it as the tempo part at the end of my weekly long run. Jen kindly agreed. Right after this was settled I wondered what I had just done. I can't just run a race. I must race it. And so this was gonna really hurt.

Jen divided my long run into two 90 minute parts, one to be done Friday night after 5 pm and one the next morning. The last 20 minutes was to be the 5K. Her notes were very clear--do not dip into zone 3 during the first first 110 min. of this run. Do, and you will pay. Fair enough.

I admit I'm not really good about zones. My intentions are good, but I am competitive with myself (aren't we all?) and sometimes the competitive side of me gets hold and hammers the patient, be smart, follow the directions side of me. For this run though, I admit I was pretty darn careful. I'd speed up when I saw my pace was slowing up a hill and then I'd check my heart rate and actually slow down. That takes discipline, I tell you. I chose a very hilly route on Friday night, and it was discouraging to watch my pace slip as I trudged up and up, but couldn't push because the heart rate number was also trudging up.

But the 5K. I was worried about that damn 5K.

I took an ice bath after the 90 min run on Friday night and sipped Endurox while chilling. For a workout that short I wouldn't normally be so recovery-focused, but again, I was scared. The next morning I got up and packed my fuel belt for my 75 min. run. That's right: a fuel belt for an hour and 15 min run. I was being uber careful. No need to get dehydrated before the race.

It has occurred to me that perhaps I should end all of my long runs with a race. I don't think I've ever been so careful about drinking and eating on the run, and recovering after it. Fear is a great motivator. I also noted that running purely in z2 with no z3 exceptions even on hills (okay maybe I dipped there a few times) is rather relaxing. I really got some good thinking done on both runs. Usually I am hyper-focused on my body, my pace, and my level of discomfort. Running in zone 2 allows for some spaciness. It's kind of nice.

I timed my run so I would arrive at the race with 10 min. to start time. I quickly changed and got my number, changed into my racing shoes (which are still trainers, but lighter than my actual trainers), and sucked down a gel. I said hi to the Andy and the kids. Andy was the only one who really acknowledged me because the kids were already partaking in Jumpy Castle fun. I said hi to all of my GNRC comprades, and headed to the line. Let's go!

I had no idea what to expect. So, I expected nothing. The race starter said Go! and I just ran. My legs actually felt fresh--which was weird. I felt ready to run hard. I felt warmed up and strong.
hmmmm.

The first mile has an early bump which makes your heart rate shoot throw the roof, and then a long flattish/downhill stretch. There was a young woman running right beside me for the first mile. She was my main competition, it was pretty clear. However, I also know that my GNRC women friends pace well, and any of them could catch me in the second or third miles. I also was running alongside two of my male GNRC buddies, Jeff and Mike (the Mike who runs the race). They were really pushing the pace, but I felt strong and so I thought, well! Why not? Just go!
First mile: 6:31.

The next mile is flat for the most part. I decided to just try to hold my pace. I edged ahead of the girl next to me and Mike and Jeff. Mike would have none of that, though! He kicked it up a notch and passed me right back. And I passed him back. And he passed me back. It was fun.
Mile 2: 6:35.

This is an out and back course, so the last mile is a gradual uphill, with a downhill bump in the last tenth. I knew this is where I could lose my lead. I knew the girl was only about 5 seconds behind me because I had seen her on the the turn around. I also knew there was no one ahead of me (women, I mean) because a spectator had shouted, There's the first woman! as I ran by the mile 2 mark.

My legs still felt strong and fresh though. The only thing that really hurt was my lungs. I was really sucking wind and my brain kept trying to talk me into slowing down. You've just run 20, just let it go. You are going to barf. You still have another 3/4 mile. Slow Down! But I silenced the brain.
SHUT UP BRAIN.
It shut up.

Mike was still right with me, and I decided to pull away. With a half mile to go I heard very heavy breathing behind me. I was going to be passed. Was it Mike? Was it the girl? Nooo.... this was heavy clomping--the clomping of a person with very long legs. And then the mystery person appeared at my side. Jeff. Well, that makes sense. He's well over 6 ft. Where did he come from? He passed. I passed him back. He passed again and started his kick.
Fuck!
I went for it, but I just couldn't get him. He crossed the line a second ahead of me. I didn't care. I had won, and he had helped me do it!

Last mile 6:40
last tenth: 5:27 pace

That's a PR for me!
I've decided that perhaps running 20 miles before a race is the key...

I want to give a shout out to Mike, for always running an awesome race. The kid stuff rocked, the management and timing perfect, the food really good, and the prizes.... Did I mention I got $50 bucks! Wahoo! Thanks, Mike. And thanks for letting me beat you by a few seconds. :)
Also a shout out to all of my club mates on GNRC. There were many PRs (yeah Tracey and Mel B!) and the competition was great. I love my club.
And thanks to Jen. As always.

The Right to Work Hard--or Not To

All we care about, Sweetie, is that you put in your best effort and you do your best work.

Right?
________________________
Last week when I was getting into the pool for an early morning swim, I had a quick exchange with my swimmer friend, Dwight. He was already in the pool, kicking, and we shouted our hellos.
When he got to the wall he added, "Man, you work hard."
"Thanks," I said. "Yes, I do."
"You never miss a workout."
"Right," I said. "I try not to."
"I sure hope you're really good," he chuckled before pushing off the wall.

hmmm. What do I make of that?

Later, resting between a set, he explained. "I just hope you're good because you work so hard. It would suck to work as hard as you do and then to still suck. You know? All that hard work for nothing..." he smiled, conspiratorially. "But I know you're good. You're good, right?" chuckle chuckle.

hmmm. How do I respond to that?
Do I chuckle too?
"I'm okay. Sometimes I place."
"Oh good," he said. "Good to hear." and he swam on.

_____________

Interesting.
At first I didn't even question this little conversation. It WOULD suck to work really hard and then to suck.
Wouldn't it?
Isn't that why I work hard? To win? To qualify? To make it to Kona? To prove to the world that I am exceptional, a winner, to be envied, the best?

I would be a liar if I said I didn't work hard so I can have a shot at winning. I am competitive. Of course I want to win! But, does that mean if I really don't stand a chance of winning I should not compete? That I shouldn't even try? Do you have to be a certain level of "good" to justify working hard?

Well, you think. Of course not.

But.... after thinking about it I began to realize the ways in which we embrace this thinking.

I have an image in my mind.
It's of a little tyke who works his butt off in Little League, but he's still the worst one on the team. Moms are on the sidelines whispering to each other about how sweet the boy is, how sad that he is just so-- bad. Fathers, perhaps, are less chatty about it. They are just glad it's not their kid.

Another image.

It's of a little tyke who is a rock star on the baseball field, but he just doesn't work at it at all. He's lazy, the moms say. What a waste of talent. The fathers just shake their heads. They are just glad it's not their kid.

So the tenets here seem to be:

It's a waste of talent if you are good at something, yet you don't choose to work hard at it.

and conversely,

It's pathetic when you work your ass off, and yet you suck.

And what is the best type of tyke? The type of tyke we want our kids to be--the type of tyke we want to be? He is the one who has talent and works hard. You need both. Nothing else is worthy.

We believe this about ourselves; we believe this about our children; we believe this about our peers who are working hard next to us in the pool.
______________________________________

Of course, talent and hard work is a good combination. There's certainly nothing wrong with it.
But, I wonder, what do we do to our own psyches and those of our children by embracing this as the only way worthy of being?

Here are a couple of possible conclusions one might draw based on such thinking:

1. I should only try hard at something if I have potential to be very good at it. If it appears I cannot be good, I should quit.

2. If I don't love to do something, but I have a natural talent for it, I should do it and work hard at it despite my dislike of it.

3. If I work hard at something and it is revealed that I am not good at it, I will be pitied and mocked. Therefore, I shouldn't try at all. It's too risky.

4. If I love to do something, but I am not inherently good at it, I still should not pursue it. I should pursue those things at which I have obvious talent.

I'm sure you can think of a few other conclusions, too.

We spend a lot of time blathering on to each other and to our children about how the most important thing to do is to work hard. Just do our best work. Just put forth our best effort. That it's okay if we fail, it's the effort that counts.

I think maybe we are full of shit.

We are disappointed if our best effort (or the best effort of our children) doesn't produce a win, an A, an AG placing, or a Kona slot. We will be disappointed because this is what is valued by us, and it is in the way we speak, move, and live.

Not a word about learning for the joy of it.
Not a word about playing/competing for the love of it.
Not a word about how the effort we put into something is worthy -- just because to put effort into something is to participate in and engage in life.

I still want to win.
But my effort, and yours, means more than that.

Sudbury Sprint Sprint RR-- or Man, I am a Rock Star

Lately I've been really into the double title. Have you noticed that? So, first I must say that my last post was freaking brilliant, and yet most of you failed to comment on it. Did you notice all of my keenly placed literary references? All of my wit entangled with clear, logical thought? Humph. It must be that I'm so right and so brilliant that you have nothing to say. Or that it was way too long to read. Or that it didn't make as much sense as I thought it did. Or that I got a little to heady on you. Or that you just only like posts about pap smears and tats and other unsavory things. Yeah, I know it. You all have your heads in the gutter. Luckily, I'm a fan of the gutter. My mind actually spends most of its time there. So, back we go. I have a RR to write. I had a really good first race of the season for the most part. The good: 1. I looked super cool in my shark Splish suit and pointy helmet, and Mrs. Zebra (Mzzz Z) (my bike, renamed because she's a Mrs. and she is all black and white) was looking sharp with her spiffy new 404 race wheels. 2. Even though I only wore a swim suit, my privates remained intact when on the bike, and in fact, did not even hurt a smidgen! I am thoroughly broken in and tough as iron down there too. (Sexy, I know.) 3. I beat all of my splits from last year by a lot. I PR'd the whole race by almost three minutes, and it's such a short race that that's a pretty big deal. (Thanks, Jen.) 4. I was the second (I wish blogger would let me make that word blink) female and 15th OA out of a big field. Not sure how big. Maybe 350? Anyway, so cool! I'm very excited about that. Some of the big dogs didn't come out for the race this year (like Jarrod Shoemaker, Alicia Kaye, Ethan Brown and local great Jesse Kropelnicki--who were all there last year) -- but even compared to LAST year's results I would have been the third female according to my time. So yeah me! The bad: 1. I cannot mount or dismount without looking like a tool. This is especially bad because Mrs Z is a cool bike with pretty wheels and I wear a pointy helmet. People with these things should be floating onto their bikes at top speed like witches atop broomsticks. Not me. I stop. get on. get my left foot clipped in. push. roll. get my right foot clipped in. and on and on and on and on. Getting off is even more embarrassingly slow. 2. I had to breathe almost everything stroke toward the end of the swim. I think I kept my pace, but I got sloppy because I was sucking wind so violently. 3. I ran out of T2 WITH MY HELMET ON! Dear God how embarrassing. A nice woman took it from me during the first 10th of a mile of the run course. Duh. Running with a pointy helmet. Can you say, LOSER? 4. I only beat the 3rd place finisher by 3 seconds. That's not really definitive, you know? Overall, though, the race was a huge success. This picture sums up my feelings about the race. If it were a better picture you could seem that I'm like--gleeful. It was taken right after I got on my bike, so I wasn't suffering YET. I really, really do love racing. In this picture, I am, however, suffering. That's pretty clear. At least my suit is cute, right? I honestly did NOT pass out after this shot was taken. I know it looks like I'm about to swoon. As it should be, yes? I'm really catching on to this suffering thing. Here is a brief summary of the race. Well, not brief really. I don't really do brief. Arrival: I lurv my new I-Phone. Got me there without a hitch. Listened to tunes, ate a banana and drank some Powebar Endurance as I drove there. Got there, got my packet and all that jazz, set up my stuff in transition. Naturally I felt the need to chat up everyone in transition. It's what I do. I can't help it. One cool thing: a random woman introduced herself to me and told me she reads my blog. Made me puff up like a peacock! She was very sweet and we talked about TNT, the organization I'm running for this fall in the Dublin Marathon. Warm up. Uneventful. I ran 20 minutes and did a few strides. Then I got in the pool and did a few hundred yards. Then I got out. Then I fucking froze. I was chattering and turning as blue as my shark suit. Finally I went into the locker room and got my sweatshirt, even though the race was about to begin. Everyone kept asking me if I was okay. You know that your lips are blue, right? I have this thing called Raynaud's Disease. Part of it is that I turn blue kinda easily. It's really pretty. I'm sure I looked like a grape with my blue face, lips and blue suit. If you click on the link you can see some cool pics of what happens to my fingers and toes (and other parts of me too, unfortunately) when I get cold or stressed, or in this case, both cold and stressed. The Swim Luckily it was very soon my turn to swim. In this swim you get it in at one end of the pool and zig-zag across eight lanes and under lane lines, completing a 400 by the end. Last year I had a horrible swim during which I had to pass a bunch of people, and I ended up doing a flip turn and pushing off of someone's stomach who was hanging on the wall. I kid you not. It was ugly. This year, though, despite a messed up seed time, things went swimmingly. I got close to the toes of the guy in front of me on the last length, but I did not need to pass him and the person behind me was well behind--. All good. My time was only okay. I stepped out of the pool at 5:29. I think I can swim faster than that, and I'm blaming my slower time on trying to flip turn successfully under the lane lines. It's kinda tough. I worked that swim, hard, though. I was breathing VIOLENTLY when I got out. But at least now I wasn't blue, but red. I ran out of the pool and heard my kids shout GO MOM! Oh, I love that. T1 I was slow, slow, slow. I was all shaky The pool had been warm, and outside it was only in the high 50s with a strong wind. The Bike After an awkward mount I zoomed off on Mrs. Z. We were hauling serious ass. I passed zillions of people. Toward the end of the first loop, though, a woman passed me on a decked out Cervelo and a pointy helmet. Alert! Alert! Do not let her get you! I dropped back and then put down the hammer. It was a seven mile bike. There will be NO passing of moi. NONE. I passed her back and stayed ahead. The only bad part of the ride was that the wind was so strong. It really almost blew me off Mrs. Z a few times. I finished in 19:30 for 7.3 miles. Not too bad for me.... T2 Slow dismount. Slow transition. And I ran out with my helmet still on. Need I say more? The Run After getting rid of my helmet, I began to focus on turning over my legs. I know they call the bike to run a brick for a reason--but MAN--this time my legs really, really felt like they were full of bricks. I was tired! And slow! Ouch! Ouch! After a few minutes I quieted my brain and just focused on turning over my legs as fast as possible. My pace increased. This is a flat run, and I had planned to be totally zippy. I can't say zippiness really occurred. I did manage to average 6:45s, which is not what I had wanted, but was still respectable enough. I finished the run in 14:30 for 2.2 miles The end: 42:06. The hub, the kids and I went out to Dunkin Donuts to celebrate. They had donuts (gross) and I treated myself to a latte and a bagel, which these days, is definitely a treat. Then we came back and I got my award. Yeah! It was a great Mother's Day gift to do so well. Thanks to Jen, my fantastic coach! (By the way, she just wrote a great post called Heart, and you should read it.)

Models, Measures, Performance and Passion--or, How to get Susie to Harvard

When competing in endurance events--against others, against the clock, against ourselves--it's sometimes hard to know what trajectory to take. Aim too high and you'll crash and burn. Aim too low and be filled with the worst kind of shame: knowing you could have done better. Icarus knew the former, and I'm sure all of us have silently suffered the latter. Quite simply, there's a fine line between challenging yourself and fooling yourself. As competitors, it's our job to find this line and get as close to it as we can. As athletes, it's our job over time to push this line forward. In fact, it's the battle between being realistic and pushing that line that forms our motivation and inspiration. This battle can be highly toxic and it can be extremely powerful.

Different people take different approaches to finding the line. On one end of the spectrum are the total agnostics. Agnostic translates literally from the Greek to "without knowledge." These are the people that just do it: let's go out there, bang heads, and see what happens. On the other end are the cognitive determinists: based on hitting certain points in training, we can know exactly what to expect on race day--one determines the other, completely. Most of us find our place somewhere in between.

I admit to erring on the side of agnosticism, if only slightly.
Consequently this post is written in response to a certain cognitive determinist. This guy is one smart dude, a fantastic coach, and a person for whom I have great respect and admiration. Still, I take issue with his determinism. This is why.
______________

Numbers are objective. Numbers speak reality, not magic.

Yes.
The problem is that to make predictions we have to interpret these numbers using models and, as any good modeler will tell you, "all models are wrong, but some are useful" (George Box--statistician). Add to this the problem that the numbers we use for performance are typically measures of something and all measurements are subject to error and our uncertainty increases. But forget that latter part for now; I'm more interested in models and model error as it has to do with how we predict and perceive our performances and athletic potential.

We can use objective information (or information that is almost free of error and therefore really close to being objective) to predict performance, but how we use it (our model) is always subjective. The very choice that we make to select or create a model is subjective.
In short, we must interpret numbers--they do not speak to us without interpretation--and interpretation is fallible.

Having established what I think can reasonably be treated as objective (numbers, aka model inputs) and what has to be considered inherently subjective (model outputs, predictors of performance and potential), I want to get at the latter, or how we interpret our models.

Numbers and models can lure you into a false sense of determinism; that is, if your numbers and inputs are objective, then the prediction you spit out must also be objective. If so, then we could easily predict beforehand, based on our training, what we will do in the coming race.

But you know by now that I don't believe this.

Even if the numbers were perfect, a model is just a simplified way of describing how things work and therefore spits out predictions that are imperfect. Just as there are more things in heaven and earth than our philosophy can hold, Horatio, no model can perfectly contain all that goes into determining performance. Even if the person who made the model is wicked smart.

So what does determine performance? Or, more practically, what are the most important influences on performance? I know where you think I'm going--that heart is most important thing-- And you're somewhat right, but not really.

I believe in educated predictions. I really do. It's just that our knowing has its limitations, and this is my first beef. Our predictions can be based on the facts, and yet still be wrong. This is includes knowing how a given athlete will perform on race day when solely using numbers as performance potential.

It also includes knowing how an athlete will react to a numerical analysis of her performance potential, and that's my second beef. I believe the emotional/mental effect these numerical/modeled predictors has on an athlete is variable and affects performance, positively or negatively, depending on the personality of the athlete. I would argue further that female athletes become vulnerable to psychological defeat when a coach makes sure she understands her limitations based on the evidence that has been presented by her current performance indicators. Said female athletes become discouraged, maybe even despondent. They began espousing how they are not innately athletically gifted, and how they feel that perhaps they should just throw in the towel. Their hard work cannot translate into the dreams they had for themselves, at least not in the short term--all is lost--they are not worthy--coach doesn't believe they can make onto the podium, or to Kona, or wherever they aim to go.

This is not the intent of the coach, of course. It's the coach's job to help the athlete find the line--to make sure she is both challenged and not fooling herself. The coach wants to make sure the athlete is being realistic about her potential performance. But the thing is, the cognitive deterministic coach doesn't actually know an athlete's potential, within a reasonable band of expectation. He can make an educated guess at it using the models he's created, but as we've determined, those models can be flawed. Additionally, he hasn't taken into consideration so many different variables of athletic performance: the conditions on race day, the competition present, how the athlete reacts to competition, whether the athlete is able to digest enough in terms of fuel, the way an athlete reacts to the pressure and pain that racing presents, and finally, and importantly, the feelings the athlete has about herself and her performance potential come race morning.

These last two variables, an athlete's reaction to pressure and pain and her believe about herself and her potential on race morning can be coached, but it can be a challenge to do so. Athletes must believe they can endure pressure and pain. I'm very interested in how coaches/we can train our brains to interpret extreme pain differently so that we can race through it. However, that's not what I want to get at here. What I want to get at is that other variable: how an athlete feels about herself and performance potential.

One thing I learned in my 15 years of teaching is this: tell a child she's not going to make it to Harvard--her IQ (a fantastically subjective model, I will add) just doesn't support it--and she won't. Oh, every once in a while a child (usually with amazing parents) will say FUCK YOU and prove you wrong, but usually this isn't the case. When a kid works hard, despite what her IQ or intellectual testing may indicate, she needs to be told she can go anywhere, do anything. She's smart, she's hot, she's got the world in her hands. She needs to be told this ESPECIALLY when her testing reveals that her performance needs some major improvement if she wants that Harvard degree. She is already worried that she sucks. Part of a coach's job is to coach her out of this belief--which will only hold her back. She does not need to be told her goal to get to Harvard is unrealistic. She needs to be told that she is worthy, she is smart, and that she should hold fast to that dream. As a bonus, once she believes this, going to Harvard doesn't really matter.

So this is it:

Girls/women beat themselves almost every moment of every day. Most of us totally fear we suck--some of us downright are convinced of it. We are ready for you to say we can't make it. If you confirm the fear that our goal is not achievable, we just may believe you and we just may limit ourselves to the numerical expectations you put forth. This is not solely an argument against model accuracy. The greater enemy is the self-fulfilling nature of deterministic thinking to which you don't want us to fall prey. Instead, if you hold your tongue about those numbers and don't allow subjective objectivism to get in the away, we may just move beyond the doubt in our minds and move to another level in our performances--a level you never would have predicted. If you remind us we rock, and have the potential to rock more, if you voice your pride and your belief in us, while simultaneously focusing on getting us to do the day to day work that will get us the slot and asking us to stay tough, continue to work hard to improve on our performance indicators, and keep the faith, then we will achieve our dream. And if we don't? Who the fuck cares at that point? We held fast to the dream and at least we had a chance to fly.
----------------
Last summer I competed in two 1/2 Ironman races. My performance indicators were the same for both events. I weighed the same, the hours I had put in were the same, my speed potential and durability as measured by my workouts and racing were the same. The two courses (Timberman and Clearwater) were very different, of course. At Timberman, my performance indicators put me at a 5:25. At Clearwater my performance indicators put me at a 5:06.

The model I used (some of you are familiar with it ;) made it appear that my training for each race was nearly the same. Yet it neglected some key factors. For the second race I had more intensity and speed work and I had a different psychology going in. But the model didn't capture these variables--it didn't cover all the important aspects of the physical training and it didn't include what I believe to be crucial difference between the two races--the psychological preparation. But how could it? One model can't measure everything. One model can't be solely accurate. One model can't solely capture the sum total of an athlete, her training, her mindset, and therefore her performance potential.

I completed Timberman in 5:21.
I completed Clearwater in 4:55.

In both performances I out-raced my indicators, but with Clearwater the difference was eleven minutes as opposed to four. Why?

I believe it's in the words my coach spoke to me in the days leading up to Clearwater and the day before the race. She didn't analyze my numbers. She knew them, but we didn't discuss them. She knew that what was holding me back was my fear--especially blowing up on the run if I went too hard on the bike, or telling myself I went too hard on the bike and so I couldn't run. She told me to race without fear--to just go. She believed I could do it. This would be the race of my life. I needed to continually tell myself while competing that I was having the race of my life.
Low, when I got on that bike and I began to back off, thinking about the run to come, I picked my pace up again. No fear. My bike split was a 2:34. When I got onto the run and my pace started to slow I pushed the thought that I had worked too hard on the bike out--and I ran a 1:44. It was my psychology that got me those 11 minutes. My. psychology.

To sum this marathon of a post up:
"The purpose of computation is insight, not numbers." (R.W. Hamming, mathematician and computer scientist). How insightful is it to rely solely on numbers, take passion for granted, and neglect psychology in assessing what we will do and how far will we go? Maybe as important, how fun is it?
The answer is, of course, subjective.