Kona!

The race sucked for me, tis true. I did not ever feel great, and I only felt good for one lap of the swim, and most of one lap of the bike. What's worse is that my feeling like shit and barfing didn't occur because I fucked up training, or pacing, or planning my nutrition. It was because when you have succumbed to a virus, it does not pick up and leave after 24 hours, even if you feel better. Its vestiges still lurk and fester. Your white blood cells have done their best to fight it off, but the fight has left you white cell deficient, weakened, and fragile. If you try to exert yourself in a serious way after having a virus a few days earlier, like say, by racing all day long, your body will do its best to shut you down. It's not ready to race. It is still recovering.

That is what I learned from this experience.

 Of course there is a part of my brain that insists I DID do something wrong; that if I had just eaten at the right time, or not gotten cold before the start, or if I had put just 2 scoops of EFS in each bottle instead of 2.5, then I might not have suffered so badly.

But mostly I learned that if you become ill during the week before an Ironman, you are likely in deep du-du come race day. Hence, the wisdom I leave you with is this: if you have an IM coming up within seven days, bathe in hand-sanitizer, do not leave your home, and do not get within five feet of your children or spouse or anything they touch. Got it?

I find it rather amazing that despite my rather shattered dream of breaking 11 hours--of holding my arms in the air in total glee while skipping under the IM arch and singing, I AM THE CHAMPION! Despite that.... I still got what I really and truly wanted: KONA.

For the first few days after the race I viewed this as a gift from a God I don't believe in.  But as the week progressed, I began to view it differently.
I now believe in God.
No. Just kidding. I'm still not sure on the God front.

How I feel is this:
My time was not what I wanted it to be. That's true. But it is also not a bad time. Is it Kona worthy? Oh... I don't know. But I do know that had I NOT had the fitness I had going into this race, I would not have been able to execute the way I did when things went wrong. 11:22 is not what I would've hoped for on a healthy day--but now that I have had time to gain a little perspective, I realize it's not a bad time considering I did it on a few sips of Coke and with frequent vomiting breaks. No, I wasn't able to be the speedy marathoner I know I can be, but hey, I'm pretty speedy for an undernourished barfer! And it's the training I did that allowed me to be that pretty speedy undernourished barfer.

I have ten weeks until I race in Kona. I can barely stand how excited I am to go there, and to see it all, and to race again.

I'm also really excited about the rest of my season. In a few weeks I will go to Burlintgton, Vermont to race in AG Nationals. That race is going to be FUN, mostly because I have no expectations and I really just want to go because all of my friends will be there. Then I race Pumpkinman Half, which I have always wanted to race, and which is in my very own favorite Maine.

Bust most of all, I'm excited to race in Kona. I plan to enjoy it. I plan to enjoy the swim in that warm ocean, I plan to enjoy that hot and windy bike, and I plan to enjoy dying in the sweltering heat as I run a sub -four hour marathon. (I do not care if it is 3:59:59--I just want to go UNDER FOUR HOURS GOD DAMN IT!) If I have to crawl on the swim and bike, that's fine with me. Because as I said, I plan to enjoy this race. I'm going to Kona!

I haven't said my thank yous yet.
Here they are:
TriBike Transport--my awesome sponsor
Ernie and Hazel: because they love me even when I am a pain in the ass, needy, stupid, sick, tired, angry, and wrong.
Jordan: because she gets the Kona thing. She gets it.
Jen: for laying the foundation
My mom: for being my practical, loving, generous mom
Ange, all this would not be fun without you
Alina. you know. xo
Kurt. I was able to pull that fucker off because you trained me so well.
Andy.  because you have always been there waiting for me outside the medical tent. and for other stuff, too.

I Wish I Could Make This Funny....

I pride myself on my entertaining race reports. This one is not entertaining, nor is it funny. If it seems to be tinged with sorrow and self-pity, it likely is. I just can't seem to make light of this one. I worked so hard, and I couldn't make use of that work come race day.

It's hard to suck that up, even though I am working on it, and even though I know I should, and even though I know I am hardly the first or last to experience dreaming big, and then crashing and burning on race day instead of realizing that dream.
 _____________________

There were no Tums in my transition bag. I must have only put them in my T2 bag, figuring I might feel sick after the bike... but not the swim.  Luckily I did have a few in my Bento Box on my bike. I ate three of them immediately with some EFS once I was safely astride Mrs. Z.

Then I waited.

Roil. Roil.

And I waited. and waited.

Roil.

And then I started to feel a little better. Time to really start biking!

My first loop I mostly felt good. I took in all of my EFS, all of my planned gels, and all of my planned salt tabs. I kept my watts exactly where Kurt and I had discussed, I stayed aero, and I rode evenly.

But then I started to feel sick. I was playing back and forth with this girl I can only describe as Aquawoman. She had a  lime green kit edged in black, and she had a lime green bike to match. I think if she had had a lime green cape and helmet it would've been the perfect look. Anyway, we were playing back and forth when I first started to feel queasy again.

I reached in my Bento Box and ate my final two Tums.
It did not help.

I decided to slow down, drink a little water, and sit upright. Being in aero was making me even more nauseated. Aquawoman rode off.
It was on my way back on the out and back that I knew I would be sick and it would be soon. My only question: Should I make myself sick or should I let the puke surprise me? I decided making myself sick would be safer.

I pulled over to the curb, slowed way down and let it come. I didn't need to put a finger in my throat; after I stopped fighting it just came up--quite forcefully--as puke often does.  I barfed over my bars, while riding (I am very proud of that even though I only was going about 3 mph). After I puked I did unclip and put my foot down for a second. I used some of my Ironman Peform stuff (I had no water at the time) to clean off the bars, and I tried to breathe deeply. Then I started riding again.

I was shaky. But I did feel tons better. Here is where I think I made a tactical error. I decided to wait before taking anything in again. I feared I would be sick again if I tried to drink or eat. In retrospect, though, I should have tried. I had thrown up a lot of what I had taken in on the first loop, and I was definitely down on calories and electrolytes. I AT LEAST should have taken some salt tabs. But I didn't. I got a bottle of water and sipped carefully until mile 95 or so. then I tried to take part of a gel. At mile 100 (roughly) just as I was turning the corner out of Hazelton, I pulled over again, and threw the gel and the water up. At this point my stomach was just totally used to rejecting things. Alert! Incoming! Incoming! Get ready--okay--here we go---- HURL!

focusing on not hurling

I took nothing else in for the final 12 miles of the bike. I just survived. I tried not to think about the run. I tried not to think about just calling it a day in transition. I could not give up on this race. I had worked so hard for this--and I had wanted to go to Kona so much. I was in such good shape; I was so ready to race!

My average watts for my second loop were about 10 watts lower than my first lap. I tried not to think about this as I handed off my bike to the volunteer. It had been a slow bike, but it was okay. It had to be okay. I ran to get my transition bag, and ran into the tent. My friend Stacey was there. You are in third, Mary, third! she cried.


Third? I was in third ? With THAT swim? With THAT bike?

Now I knew I couldn't give up. I got out of there fast, and began my run.
I felt stiff at first, but loosened up fast. My legs felt SO fresh--. I could do this!

But then, within about 30 seconds of that thought,  I had another wave of nausea. I took baby steps. Easy easy easy. Don't throw up yet. Don't throw up yet.

I saw Kurt on the way downhill, out of town.  I gave him my Garmin. It wouldn't catch a signal, and also, I just didn't want to know my pace. I just did NOT want to know.
Take in fluids, he said.
I've been throwing up, I whimpered  as a reply.

And then I kept running.
I didn't force myself to take in anything for miles one and two, but at mile 3 I decided I must try. A marathon is longggggg and cannot be run on will alone, especially after throwing up all morning. So I took some Perform. And then I ran another quarter mile. And then I stopped and puked that Perform right up.

I can't tell you what was going on in my head at that point, because I can't remember. I think I just turned myself onto autopilot and continued to run. I saw Brian, a friend who works at Fast Splits. He said, Looking Good, Mary. And I said, I just threw up.
I think that might have been the extent of my thinking at that point. I threw up. I threw up. I threw up. 

I did not take in anything again until mile 8. Then I took some Coke. The Coke settled. It didn't come up. I would be okay! I could drink Coke! At mile 9 I took some more Coke--and I swallowed a salt tablet. Go me!
Then, just before mile 10, I pulled over to the side and puked up the Coke and the tablet. The salt was partially dissolved, and so my throw tasted very salty. And I thought, At least it is a new flavor of barf...I felt the roof of my mouth with my tongue and it was sore and raw. The acid from my throw up had burned me.

At mile 11 I saw Jesse. It was weird--I was running so slowly at that point--and I saw him in slow motion. He said, It's time to dig deep, Mary.
Did he know? Did he know? I wanted to cry. I wanted to just let go and cry and sink into the pavement. Did I look so bad already that he knew I was about ready to vomit, once again, on his shoes?

I saw Kurt on the way out of town again. He said, Do you have any salt?
I said, No. 
Here's what's weird. I did have salt. What I meant was that I could not take salt. I couldn't take anything. But I was too sick to explain that, so I just kept running.

At each water stop I would put ice in my mouth and squeeze a sponge over my head. I didn't try to take in anything else. I just sucked on the ice and let it cool my burned mouth.

I'm going to be honest. I don't remember the rest of this run except in a sort of weird slow motion movie kind of way.

People were cheering and sometimes said, Go Mary! but I didn't know who they were. I remember I tried to take a salt tablet and I chewed it; the salt spread throughout my mouth. It tasted good, but I spit out the rest. I don't remember why.

At mile 23 I was walking and I saw Kurt. You must run, Mary. You are still in this. You must run. There were red horns coming out of his head, his eyes were glowing yellow and I could faintly make out a pitchfork in his hand.
I can't, I said.
You have to run, Mary. Just keep shuffling.

I started to shuffle.
I couldn't keep my head up. It kept dropping back, jerking back, like it does sometimes when you fall asleep while sitting, only to be awakened by the jolt of your neck snapping backward or forward.
I had stopped sweating. I touched my face and it was was cool and dry.

Apparently I passed my family at mile 24. Noah held up the  poster he had made for me to see, and I did not look. I did not know he was there, even though I guess he was right in front of me. Later I found he had wept because I hadn't even looked.

Thinking about that makes me ache.

I ran all of the last mile, but it still took me over 12 minutes to do it. When I entered the oval, a girl in my age group passed me. She ended up beating me by 32 seconds. I could not catch her; I did not try.  My head was tilting backward, and I tried to correct it.
These pictures were taken in the oval.
And you thought I was exaggerating....

I really could not keep my head up.... it was very strange.


When I reached the IM finishing arch I did not smile. I took a few steps, and then, feeling happy I could do so, I let my knees go. Then volunteers picked me up and put me in a wheelchair. And then I lost consciousness. When I became aware again I was in the tent, and they were lifting me on a bed. Then they said, What's wrong? How do you feel? I just looked at them. I didn't know what to say. I feel sick, I whispered.

They put in an IV. They took my pulse. They took my blood pressure.

Later I found out the stats: 1.5 liters of fluid by IV. My pulse was 62. My heartbeat was irregular. My blood pressure was 80 over 60. When they weighed me, after my IV, I had lost 4 pounds since check-in for the race. Here is what I have to say about that: the number I saw on that scale I have not seen since I was 12 years old.

I finished the race in 11:22.
My swim was 1:07. My bike was 5:57. My run was 4:09.
I finished 5th in my age group. Number 4 passed me during the last three miles. Number 5 passed me in the oval.
To finish this race was the hardest thing I have ever done.
Bar none.

Game Changer

The morning of the swim it was announced that our swim would not be wetsuit legal. The recent warm weather brought the temperature of Lake Mirror above 76.1 (I think that's it...) and according to WTC rules, any swim over that specific temperature would not count toward earning a podium spot or a Kona slot.

Because Lake Placid is known to be wetsuit legal, this decision did not sit well with many competitors. The wetsuit buoys you up and makes swimming less tiring. Without it, many feared a challenging and slow swim at best, and a near-drowning at worst. The directors gave us a choice: wear a wetsuit and have your race "not count" according to WTC standards, or race without and remain in contention for awards and the possibility of earning  a spot to Kona.

Obviously Ange and I chose not to wear a wetsuit. We are both strong swimmers (ahem... with Ange being considerably stronger than me! ha!), and though we knew our respective swims would be slower, we also knew we'd be fine.  Still, there were many things that pissed me off about this decision by the directors. First, we would have no idea when racing who had worn a wetsuit and who hadn't. For those of us trying to get podium and Kona, this was an annoyance. Second, the actual swim would be conducted with a billion people safely in their wetsuits, while the rest of us swam practically nude beside them. Anyone who has completed an IM swim knows the intensity of the swim in terms of body contact. Being without a wetsuit when so many around us had them on was not fair, or safe. Third, the decision completely changed the allocation of Kona spots to each AG. The 40-44 AG for both men and women are the largest groups, and are allotted the most spots to Kona as a result. However, only the people who chose not to wear suits would count, so that changed--and it changed the MORNING of the race! Our group, 160 strong, was reduced to like 50, and we lost a slot. The 30-34 AG, with only about 80 competitors, were now awarded 5 slots. Why? Because WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG you make decisions differently than when you ARE OLDER. As my 40-44 year old friend Bob said, I based my decision to wear my suit on the basis that I was there to perform my best in the Ironman competition. Going without would have cost me 10 minutes minimum. Bob is an extremely strong athlete, and in my opinion had a shot at earning a Kona slot. Still, his maturity led him to put aside his pride and race so that he could have the strongest race possible--which is what he had set out to do. Younger athletes clearly viewed the race differently, as evidenced by their decision to race without suits. It wasn't so much about their own race as it was how they stacked up against others. This is most definitely an age thing... as you age you are more apt to race within yourself and for yourself--not for the glory of how you compare with Frank down the street. When you are in your 40s you simply have less to prove.


Okay. I'm done with my diatribe!


Here is the story of my swim.

I got in the water with Ange. She went to the front line, straight to where the melee would be. I went to the right and the front, where it would also be insanely combative, but less so. We got in the water with about 15 minutes to go time. The water was cool, and I was nervous, and the cold water and my nervousness combined, and I became chilled. Then I became very cold. Then I became very very cold. I was shaking and chattering and blue. I looked around for anyone I knew. Who could keep me warm? I needed a body--I was desperate. I could feel the hypothermia coming on--having had it so recently I know what it is and how it feels. I was about ready to ask a stranger if I could snuggle up next to him (there were no women anywhere to be found) when I saw Peter. 

Peter is a new friend. We attended training camp together a few weeks earlier. So I knew him, but not very well. I think he might have been slightly taken aback when I asked him if I could please spoon him and put my head under his armpit. But he was generous... Thank you, Peter! I hugged him from behind and kept hugging harder. I wanted to crawl INTO his wetsuit--and under his skin. I WAS SO COLD. A man next to me asked, Do you know him? I said between chatters.... Ummmm, sort of?

A few minutes before the canon went off I left Peter and headed to the front. Swimmers closed in around me and they all had wetsuits on... grrrr.... When the canon went off I got clonked on the head and body several times, but then I began to swim and I was okay! I stayed to the far right, and I swear I had relatively clean water for a very long time. Every once in awhile I would move closer to the bouy line, and then, suddenly, I would find myself being pawed and kicked and I would panic... and I would drift out to the side again. But mostly I felt even and steady and calm. I was having a good swim. 

I went through the first loop in 31:45. Without a wetsuit... this was an AWESOME split for me. Wahoo! But at the start of the second loop my stomach started to feel just a bit queasy. I slowed a little to let it settle, but it got worse. I actually felt seasick, but there were no swells, so I figured it must not be the water that was causing me to feel so ill. I rounded the buoys to head back to shore, and it was just about then that I knew I was going to be sick. I stopped, but before I could get my head above the water the vomit rose through my throat, out my mouth and slowly mixed with the water around me.Without meaning to I breathed in the vomity water mix and began choking. Right then I thought I might drown. I couldn't breathe as I choked, I didn't have a wetsuit to help me stay up in the water, and my stomach was making another play at pushing out all I had had for breakfast. Somehow I kept the vomit in my throat though, and after a moment I felt it trickle back down into my belly. I stayed treading water for a few moments and tried to breathe deeply. I took a mouthful of lake water and swished to get rid of the taste of barf. Bodies hit me and swam around me. The slightly barfy water around me settled and floated away.

And then I started swimming again.


On the way into shore I decided that just because I had been sick did not mean my day was over. I would take it easy until then end of the swim, and then I would take a few Tums when I first got into transition.  It would be okay. It had to be. I was feeling better. I had just needed to get rid of a little breakfast.
But I was really shaken. It was not an auspicious start to the race. 


I got out of the water and saw the clock: 1:07 something. Well, that had been a pretty slow second loop, huh! But I wasn't disappointed; I thought it would be worse. My stomach felt pretty good now, and I was going to be fine.


 

Exposition

It was the best of races, it was the worst of races; I raced with wisdom, I raced as a fool; I believed, I was incredulous; it was the race of Light, it was the race of Darkness, it was my race of hope, it was my race of despair.

                -with best regards to my dearest bud, Dickens.

Here is the greatest aspect of my race: 

I stayed the course, and I am going to Kona! I did it!

Here is the worst aspect of my race.  

I trained consistently, intelligently, and hard. I was ready to execute a perfect race. But, as is frequently the case with IM, things went wrong and mistakes were made. And though I overcame what went wrong as best I could, I struggled. In fact, this race was the single hardest thing I have done in my 41 years of existence: harder than any training I have done, harder than my previous efforts at IM, harder than childbirth.  To finish this race I to go to a place I have never been—and it is a super bad ugly black mossy confusing icky place that I really don’t want to visit – like ever again.

The real story of my race began on Tuesday morning of last week. I woke up, ambled around a bit, and then suddenly and quite powerfully, I threw up on the bathroom floor. Lara had been sick with a stomach virus over the weekend, and so I knew – I knew what was happening and deep down, I knew what it meant for my race. I spent the morning hanging over the toilet.  At noon I felt slightly better and so decided I should attempt my run.  This was the first race mistake I made. The temperature was in the 90s, and my stomach was fragile. I made it 20 minutes, and then ,without much ceremony, I threw up on my neighbor’s lawn.

I got over the bug quickly. By Wednesday I was eating a little and sipping electrolyte-laden water, and by Thursday I actually felt pretty good. The only problem: I had lost weight and I felt weak. I knew I needed to eat, and I did try, but my stomach, though okay, was still unsure that consuming large quantities of anything was smart.  And…..okay, okay… I admit I felt pretty panicked about the fact that I'd been sick, which didn’t really help the nausea. I so so so wanted to be 100% for Sunday… and things were not looking good. 

I packed up the car and kids and set off for Placid on Wednesday afternoon.  Ange’s family, my family and Ange’s brother Jeff’s family had rented a big house together for the week. The one fear was that I would get Ange sick. I bought like 10 bottles of hand sanitizer and basically bathed in it, and had my kids do so too. Luckily, she did not succumb! Phew. That would be a special thing to have hanging over your neck, huh? 

Ange and I spent the next few days doing our best to lounge. We discussed the race over and over and over and over again. People around us were kind, but most likely so agitated with our slothdom and our race-obsessed banter that they wanted to throw us out a window. Kurt came by on Friday and Saturday to check our bikes and ease our pre-race nerves. His visits didn’t really quell my roiling my stomach, but it was still really good to see him. I appreciated that he didn’t roll his eyes (in my presence anyway) when I nosed around for reassurance just one more time… and one more time after that… and then just one more time and…..

Race morning Ange and I arrived at transition early. (with Ange there is NO arriving late. Trust me!)  We got body marked by Ange’s most awesomely awesome athlete, Marissa, and then we went into transition to do our stuff.  As the morning moved on Ange became more and more intense and focused. She was practically burning up she was so ready to race. I tried to suck up some of that heat for me.  Here we are ready to rumble. 

 I already look a little pale and sickly, but Ange is looking Goddess-like, don't you think?

Okay. More tomorrow.

Testing

In the last few weeks I've been tested.

There are some tests about which I can write, and some I cannot. I will say I survived most of this testing--sort of.
Pat on the back for me.
or not--depending on the test.

Anyway. Last week I spent in Maine, living at my parents' house (my parents are away) with Alina, my kids, and her kids. This is a ritual week for us; we put the kids into day camp, and then spend our free time swimming, reading, shopping, and lunching out. We joke that it's the best week of the year. It's really NOT a joke, though. It truly is.

The week is an indulgent one. On any day I have an extremely hard time saying no to treats, but this week I have a nearly impossible time saying no. An early morning swim followed by a margarita at lunch? Sure? Heavy cream and strawberries for dessert? Oh, but of course... A nap while the children go bananas downstairs--rocking out to blasting tunes while dancing in their underwear? Okay!  Allowing the dogs to swim in the ocean and eat seaweed and crab shells even though I know they will stink up the entire house.... Who could say no?

I also had trouble on the shopping front. I indulged by buying myself all sorts of goodies. Andy experiences constant disappointment in me because I fail to contribute to the design and decoration of our house. I want to... I just become paralazyed when faced with choices on the interior design front. I like what others buy--I like others' homes--but I don't trust my own decorative sense. BUT this week I decided I would buy something for our home.

When I showed him off I'm not sure Andy knew what to say or think.
Hmmmmm. Did I fail on this one?
Here is my other contribution (yes, it's possible I have only contributed two things independently)...

It's a theme--see?

I also bought Ernie a studded collar. I know you can't really tell in this picture, but he looks pretty studly, and with a name like Ernie, he has the whole package if you know what I mean.

Anyway. I was also tested in that I had to give up coffee this week. I am SUFFERING. On the second day of shopping I purchased this magnet:

This pretty accurately summarizes my response to a life without coffee.  One of the better aspects of racing next Sunday is that Sunday morning I can have more than one cup of java.

Still on the theme of testing, yesterday I drove to Billerica High School and took the MTEL English subject test. If I pass than I will be able to get a preliminary certificate in Massachusetts to teach high school English. I am certified as a middle school English and history teacher, but I need a different certification to teach at the high school level in public school. I signed up for the test in a moment of panic and whim in which I imagined I absolutely positively MUST get back to teaching this fall. I have since reconsidered; I will, perhaps, look to fill a maternity leave this winter or spring... or I may wait until next year to begin. This fall is too soon--and anyway, the high school English positions are few at this time of year, only weeks away from the start of the school year. But, in any case, my impulsivity is quite developed, and so I found myself in a sweltering classroom in Billerica yesterday afternoon facing a test which actually required me to THINK. (And this after a week of margaritas at lunch...)

I didn't plan well. I had a good breakfast, but unfortunately failed to consider I might become hungry during the test--or even before it started. We were asked to arrive early for a 1:15 start. Apparently, however, the test actually began at two; they simply wanted no one to be late so they essentially lied, saying we MUST report at 1:15 or we would not be allowed to take the exam. Hence the entryway and lobby of the high school were filled with prospective teachers at approximately 12:45. We were damp and stinky in the heat--grouchy and parched  and looking forward to sitting in a fan-less, stale classroom, sitting cramped at a graffiti-laden desk with an answer booklet and a few number 2 pencils.

And I was hungry. And the test, which I had assumed would be three hours max, was, in fact, to be four hours long. (Nice that I even looked at the information sheet, huh?) I did have a slightly curdled can of yogurt in my purse, but I had failed to remember a spoon. Should I eat with my fingers? I seriously contemplated it. But, much like deciding NO, I can hold it, I don't need to stop at the bathroom now... I soon regretted that decision. By four p.m. I was so hungry I contemplated eating my answer booklet. My stomach grumbled so loudly and consistently that other test takers began to give me at first sympathetic looks--and then simply dirty looks.

But the truth is, I like taking these types of tests. And I liked this one. The questions were challenging, but by process of elimination I was able to nail most of them, I'm fairly sure. I would have benefited from a little review, of course. I felt slightly stupid when I saw that some test takers had whole books on what to study and how to take the test. I didn't even know what the test included.

The essays were the most fun. They essay topics are so general you can really take the question any way you want. One question asked us to reflect on a passage by Jamaica Kincaid and the other to discuss quest in a particular novel. EVERY novel has embedded within a quest... so I could chose to write on what what I wanted. I wrote about Lily Bart in The House of Mirth, because she is one of my favorite characters; beautiful and tragic,and fatally flawed.

My final test is that this week I tapered, and next week I will continue to taper. I do. not. like. taper. It makes me feel helpless. My runs and bikes have felt sluggish, and though Kurt assures me this is normal--and in truth I assure others it is normal too--I just can't stand it. It makes me lose confidence in all I have done.

And on that note, I will go out on my meager little ride and run, and hope that the hay which I have accrued is enough, and that next Sunday I will reap the benefits of placing it there.

I'm not really sure I could get any more cynical.

I think everyone's motives are based in self interest. I think people's passions often mask deep personal issues they are trying to bury or destroy. I think nobody actually gives a shit about anyone else outside of their small sphere of people they rely on for love and care, and when that love and care is withdrawn--for whatever reason--they smart for awhile and then abandon their care in kind.

I also don't believe that people change except in small ways. In fact, as we age I think we become even more exaggerated versions of the people we once were.

Ironically, I read with vigor novels of the Bildungsroman genre. I love watching a character struggle, mature, and then find his place within himself and society. But then, soon after I finish such a book, I (not ironically) feel hollow. We grow, but arrive nowhere. We grow. Then lose anyway. We grow, but as Estella says at the end of Great Expectations, “Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching. . . I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a better shape.”

A better shape. Is there such a thing? Can something bent and broken BE a better shape?

Yes, given that my life view is such a -- well, a downer--you'd think that I would not become victim to hope and the romantic. But there's the irony! I am! It's like this vestige of youth I can't shake... the idea that I can be a more perfect version of myself--that I can love perfectly--that I will be loved perfectly--that around the corner is peace, happiness, true, pure love....
etc.
Seriously. What the hell is wrong with me?

The answer to this is to do an Ironman. Doesn't that make sense? Can't you see it? I'm moving forward--toward something big and great. Sure, it gets me nowhere except another 140 miles down the road. But nothing gets us anywhere... so why not swim, bike and run my way to nowhere? At least my bike is inanimate. I can love her and I can create that she loves me back unconditionally. At least the open water gives me stillness and peace. At least I can lose myself temporarily in the pounding of pavement.Swim, bike, run. It's all good. And more of it is even better.

Which is why I am going to crush this race.

Lemons

The last few weeks have been on the rough side  for moi.
I'm struggling. I'm under a rather severe lemon attack. These lemons are pummeling me; burying me. I can't seem to escape and come up for air--and I feel very bruised.

The timing off this is not auspicious. In three weeks I plan to compete in Ironman, and my plan is to do well. The lemon problem has sidelined me a bit.
This is not to say I haven't been completing the prescribed training. Oh! But of course I have! It's more that my head is in cloud-ville... I'm not focused as I should be. And I'm sad. Generally I don't write when I am sad. Forgive me for not updating my blog -- like at all -- in the last few weeks.

_________________________________________
Enough on that.

I went to a training camp in Lake Placid last weekend. We rented a gigantic house. It was awesome. Being away from home helped me to focus on my workouts--and WORK OUT WE DID. On Thursday night we went for an hour swim. I love Mirror Lake--especially when it is not thick with Ironman competitors, but placid and serene instead. Then we went out to eat and I had a big yummy beer--I think it was some sort of brown ale--and this sweet potato burrito thing which was scrumptious.

The next morning we rose early so we could ride 112 miles of the course and complete a transition run. For the first loop I rode with Ange. We chit-chatted the whole way, and drafted off Kurt for most of it.

The second loop we separated so that we could each ride at our own IM watts and practice riding well--low VI, in aero, focused. Ange rode away from me in a matter of minutes (no shock there! ha!) and I was on my own. I managed to ride quite well. I kept to my watts and tried to ride smoothly. I find the LP course a challenging course on which to ride well. The first part is slightly up, but then DOWNNNNNN for so so so long, and you average like 50 watts. Then it is rolling for quite a long time and then UPPPPPP for 11 miles or so. On the 11 mile stretch it's hard to ride within your prescribed watts because of the constant climbing.  Getting off the bike I was MUCH more shot than I had hoped to be. I did manage to run for a bit, though, even though it was not as fast or quite as far as it should have been. 

We went out to dinner again that night and I again had a tasty beer. I allowed myself a beer every night of camp. YUM.

On Wed. we did a swim time trial in Mirror Lake. Kurt divided us into two groups--those who swim slower than 30 minutes for a half, and those who swim faster than that. I didn't know with whom to go. I swim just about exactly 30 minutes for a half. I decided to swim with the fast group so I could practice trying to stay on their feet at the GO! and so I would have people to chase throughout the swim. Well, let me just say... that was a flop! the fast group went off and I only hung on for about 5 seconds before I was toast and they were gone in a flurry of splash! I still had a good swim, though.

After the swim we rode one loop of the course easy, and then did a transition run. Even though the ride was easy, I was still totally pooped. I wanted a nap, not another ride! When we got home I disobeyed the recovery protocol and jumped in the hot tub. That was heavenly....
We then went out to eat and I had the yummiest Oatmeal Stout. I'm fantasizing about that beer right now....

On our final morning we ran 20 miles of the course. The first ten were to be easy, the second ten much harder. I must admit  I did not feel too chipper at the start of this run. 20 millllllessssssss owwwwwwww. But it was fine. I ran with Amy, a PBM coach and a great runner, and we chatted most of the way, which made the first 10 miles fly by. Thanks, Amy. The second ten we picked up the pace considerably, and there was no more chatting! I stayed with Amy until mile 18. Then my right knee, which has been a little sore lately, started to really hurt. I think it's tendonitis of some of the tendons surrounding the knee. A doctor at our training camp (Peter) thinks it bursitis. Whatever-- it hurt, and it slowed me way down, and I had to let Amy go. I've been babying it, and I think it will be okay. (I hope.) Stupid overuse injuries. Humph.

I followed up this weekend with a pretty substantial week of training. Until now, I had never completed two centuries + in one week. I've also never run two 20 milers in a week. Suprirsingly, the old body held up. Now I'm letting her rest a bit.

Send me good loving and hugs to get rid of the lemons, okay? Thanks.

You Say It's Your Birthday!

It's my birthday too, ya!

Okay.. what's weird about today is that I know many many who share this b-day. One is Molly. If you get a chance go and say Happy Birthday on her blog, and also wish her the best at IM CDA this weekend!

So, I continue my trend of not posting often.

I think you might be actually grateful about this if you knew how boring the contents of my brain are of late. Mostly I think about the cracks, and how many things are close to falling through them. The minutiae one must remember come the end of the school year (especially when one has three elementary kids) is quite astounding. Field trips for which one must prepare bag lunches, sunscreen and a water bottle for field day, the piano concert, the band concert, the final soccer game to which you must bring Popsicles, thank you cards for teachers, teacher gifts, bus driver gifts, birthday parties galore (for which you must get presents), end of the year poetry readings, or book sharing, or the end of the year class party to which you are invited! Man, it's relentless and intimidating. I feel at any moment I will forget something.... and appear the negligent parent with the poor, lost neglected child.

Then there's Lara's bday, my mom's bday, Father's Day, my sister's bday, my bday... training camp next week -- must pack! and then train train train train ... the hours are UP THERE as I move toward the final build for IMLP. And the dogs have kennel cough, and Hazel ate a plate of brownies and was literally up ALL night barking and going bananas, as if she had just snorted Coke or something.... etc etc and so on.

So, there you have the contents of my brain.

Last weekend we went to Maine to celebrate my mom's birthday. I will add here that she is basically the hottest 70-year-old you will meet. Really. She's always been pretty, but she is also in shape and sharp, and just all around amazing in the smoking grandma department.

Here are a few photos from the weekend. I'm a little dismayed at how my super cool empire waist dress makes me look slightly pregnants. But other than that, these are some good pics of the Holts.

Andy and Lara

Noah and my nephew, Sam.

Alanna, my niece, and Finn, my nephew

Andy and Me

Odessa, my brother Jordan, and my nephew, James

Jordan and me

AJ, my brother, Jordan, my brother, Dad, Mom, Laura, my sister, me, and Christina, my sister

Noah, Jordan, Mom, James Alanna, Dad, Finn, Sam, and Lara

We had a nice little party for mom, and took pictures to document how awesomely cute all of our children are...

And I had a nice run up in Maine. Nothing like the smell of honeysuckle and salt water. Just awesome.

In other news, I dyed my hair brown. It was blondish/gold for a long time, and the thing is, I was just sick of it. I figure I'm nearly at the time when I can no longer just have BROWN hair, b/c I am just starting to find white hairs here and there (okay FINE, I have been finding them for quite awhile now!). Soon, I will have to highlight to hide all of the white. You know?

These are the kinds of things I think about... 

truly vacant.

And now, it's time to finish drinking my burnt coffee, and then get my ass out on the bike before the half day bus roars to a stop in front of my house and lets off my little wonders. 

One last thing, Hazel's licking Ernie's privates as he lies there in ecstasy. Seriously, he is lying on his back, paws in the air, head back and mouth open. She's literally slurping. This is disturbing to me.

I figure I should leave you with at least one distinct image before you click on out of here... :)

And Happy 41 to me!

This Won't Be Long

I keep going missing.
I have an excuse. I'm training. And when I'm not training I'm thinking about training, or planning someone's else training, or re-planning my own training, or questioning my coach about my training, or reading about training.


I'm an extremely interesting person, don't you think?

I remember a long, long time ago I thought it was an amazing achievement to run 20 miles in one week. This really was a long time ago... like when I was still in college. I remember I kept a log of my running, and I distinctly remember hitting 20 miles one week and being in total awe. I had run 20 miles IN ONE WEEK.  ME! 20 MILES! ONE WEEK!

And now, at 40, I think I'm lame if I only run 20 miles, swim only 7500 yards, and bike only 120 miles in one week... which is what I did last week when recovering from Mooseman.  I was glad for a recovery week. But I still feel lame.

The next three weeks constitute the big push toward IMLP. Putting in big hours and big miles make me tired, but it also make me feel safe. What else can I do but log the time and distance? It's the only control I have over my performance in this game. I must do the work and I can do the work. I can't control anything else.

I have thoughts in my brain, but I'm simply not sure they are worth putting to paper. (or computer screen.)
Here are some anyway:

I've been thinking about how it's crazy that they assign The Sun Also Rises to high schoolers. I'm quite sure it's been awhile since you read it, and I'm quite sure you don't remember what it is about, because, well, you read it in high school. I will just mention, then, that it is a novel thematically appropriate to those older than 16. Most of the characters spend the novel wasted. Seriously, it seems that living as an expatriate post World War I in Paris was about -- drinking. Drinking and searching for passion in a world in which ultimately you are nothing more than a speck in the scheme of things. So you should get drunk. Then Drunker.

I've also been thinking about freedom and control, mostly because I am reading Franzen's Freedom, which is both good and depressing, though not as depressing as The Corrections. We both want control and to be controlled, and then we feel suffocated by it and can't escape it.
Maybe Hem was right and we should just drink...
Except, well, he shot himself in the end.

You can tell I've been spending long hours on the bike, eh? I'm so far into my head I can't find my way out.
4.5 hours on Mrs. Z tomorrow! ueueueu!

Mooseman: The RR

This weekend I traveled to Newfound Lake with my family and competed in the Mooseman Half Ironman. I raced Moose in 2009 and had a super race, so I looked forward to returning and doing it again. Alas, the Moose I knew and loved was changed! Changed, I say! The swim was the same... maybe a little closer to being legit 1.2 miles, the run was the same, but was definitely made legit (was 12.9--now your standard 13.1) and the bike course... oh MAMA! New and Harder!

But let me start at the beginning.
In the beginning God created....

me.
Okay. What next.....
Saturday was the usual blur of pre-race stuff.... eat/register/eat/rack bike/eat/stress out/eat/stress out more etc.
I did have a lovely breakfast at the 50s Diner in Tilton which consisted of pancakes, eggs and a plain bagel, and for dinner a lovely time at Uno's during which I ate chicken parm and a big beer. (I know--sacrilege to drink before a race. But I like a good dark beer the night before, which is interesting since I actually don't drink often at all.)

On Sunday morning Ange and I met in the lobby of our hotel very very early (like 4:20 a.m.). We wanted to park IN the park, and to achieve that we had to be the first ones there. We got our coffee, got in the van, and drove. When we arrived a half hour later, the policeman on duty informed us we were too late, there was no more room in the inn. (I'm just full of biblical reference today...)  But just like the Mary of yore, I did not give up... no, I pleaded...(so did Ange)-- Isn't there anything for us? Oh please? And then he melted b/c Ange and I are so sweet, cute, and lovable, and he told us to go on in. Really! No lie! That's how we got into the park!

It was an auspicious beginning.

After parking we puttered around in transition, got everything all squared away, and then pretty much stayed in the porta potty line until it was time to don our wetsuits. One not so auspicious thing... I was on the rag. And not just on the rag... I was on day 2, the dreaded day, the d-day, the day you feel like you might bleed to death. I know not everyone has periods so heavy the amount of blood lost could fill a huge sink... but oh yes, I know some of you do. And you know what I'm saying here...Being on day 2 the day of a race that will last 5 hours... not good.  So I walked around all morning with super plus tampons in my hand, hoping I could put one in as close to the swim as possible... not that it would really make a difference.The tampon would last what, an hour?

I let the whole I will likely pull an Uta thing go while we headed to the lake for the swim start, though. All was good. I was psyched TO RACE! But maybe not so psyched to get wet. The air was cold, and the lake was cold, and I was cold. I really x 5 billion did not want to warm up for the swim. The thought of that cold water slithering up my back was almost unbearable.

But I sucked it up. I got in. I swam about 10 strokes. Then I got out. That was my warm up.

At the cannon for our wave, I dove and started hammering. Cold cold cold! Then I clocked a girl in the head--very hard. And she was pissed. She clobbered me back. Then she pulled my wetsuit from the back and dragged me down under the water.
Great start.
I don't blame her. I call it race rage. I get it too.

But it did throw me a bit. I caught my breath and began to swim again. I had to breathe every stroke and I felt lightheaded and weak. I began to wonder whether I could even finish the swim. I was so. so. so tired....
But then, after about 500 yards, I started to come around. I still breathed every stroke, but I became less desperate to breathe, and the rhythm returned to my stroke. Still, I mentally noted: must practice hypoxia at beginning of open water swims... must practice immediately!

The swim went on. I turned around some buoys. Then I panicked. Wait, was I going the right way? Was I following the buoys in the right order? Then I realized the sun was on the other side of my face, so I must be returning to shore. That was right, wasn't it? I looked around me--mostly blue caps, the wave before us... this must be right. So I just kept swimming. and swimming. Just keep swimming! That damn saying of Dory's (from Nemo) always go through my mind when I race.

I finally got close to shore, swam until my hands reached the bottom, and then stumbled out of the water. I clicked my watch. 29:47... okay! Not bad! I heard Andy yell, Go Mary! Then I began to peel off my wetsuit. Except... it wouldn't come off my left arm. I struggled and struggled and finally got the wetsuit strippers to pull it off. Ugh.

The rest of transition was -- transition. I moved fast. I probably could've moved faster.

I mounted the bike and took a deep breath. Calmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Here is the thing about the bike course. It is actually really really fun. Unfortunately, it is also really really slow. You basically ride a few miles, then go up a mountain for 6 miles (Kurt kindly corrected me--it is only 3.47miles... though I beg to differ... It just HAD to have been longer than that! :) (and it was a  mountain which ends with a 16% climb). Anyway, then you go down the mountain (soooo fun) and then you ride on a boring highway which rolls a bit. Then you do the whole thing again. I liked the climbing and I loved the descending.. and well, it was also nice to just ride in between at an even pace. The only problem was that it was a hard course to ride evenly and well--and also that it was a slow course. The top female bike time, done by pro Lesley Paterson, was 2:40+, if that gives you an idea. I think the top guys-- Maxim Kriat and Paul Ambrose--rode it in 2:20.

I saw Kurt both times I began to climb the mountain. That was a boost. Thanks, Kurt!

The only bad parts of the ride were in order: 1. The second time around the loop that 16% climb really did suck. 2. I felt kinda crampy (period, mentioned earlier). 3. I got a little wild on a descent and cornered (or didn't corner) onto the sandy shoulder of the road and almost flipped off my bike. But I recovered (miraculously). 4. I never caught up to Ange, which was a motivator and I was disappointed not to gratify that motivation by ride's end. I did ride with another woman in my AG, though, named Anna, who would later run me down and place 2nd AG to my 3rd.

I happily report that I dismounted by swinging my leg over the bike rather than stopping, un-clipping, and then carefully stepping off my bike. It's the little things. I clicked my watch... and noted that I had finished in 2:56, so under 3 hours, which had been my goal. Yes!
In transition I remembered to take off my helmet but not my sunglasses. Sunglasses are fine, but I do look very dorky in them. I also forgot to pick up my Garmin. So I was running blind, and with sunglasses. Not good.

I saw Andy and the kids coming into T2, and again when I left. They cheered wildly and I was psyched. I exited transition with Anna, and we climbed the first little hill together. But then she sped by me like I wasn't even moving. Have I mentioned that Anna ran a 1:25 and finished first at the  Quincy Half Marathon last month? Unfortunately, I did know this going into the run...and I let her go.

I felt good running. And then it hit me...
Hey! I felt good running! First mile was 7:20. Second was 7:10. Not so bad! Of course it didn't STAY not so bad... of course not. But I felt good for a long time. At mile 5 I started to drag a bit and tried to sip some gel. My stomach was having none of that, though, so I decided to stick to water. As an additional bonus it did not appear that I had yet pulled an Uta. I had on my black TriBike shorts, but nothing had gone beyond said shorts. At mile 6 I saw Andy and the kids. Here I am running by... this video courtesy of Ange's dad.
Jordan wants to know where I put the keys to the car, which was why she keep screaming at me, Where are the keys?  (I had left them in my transition bag after saying I would leave them by the car. oops!) Later she would accuse me of ignoring her... Ummm. Right. I was in a race, Jord?

Andy shouted to me that there was a girl only about a minute and a half ahead of me that was fading.  I nodded. Got it. At mile 7 I saw Kurt and he said the same thing... only now she was only 35 seconds ahead. Had I really closed the gap that quickly? Turns out they were talking about two different people! Andy was talking about Anna, who I knew was ahead, and Kurt was talking about Becky (who would finish fourth) and who was fading slightly and only about 30 seconds ahead, but I did not know this at the time.  Still, both Andy ad Kurt had confirmed there was someone I could run down, so I decided to just move it, and run down every girl I could until I found her. It took until mile 8, but I did find her. She had a bright yellow hat and a Team Psycho shirt and a 43 written on her calf. There she was! I made the pass. Phew.

But then I was tired. And running scared. And I still had 5 miles to go. Oh boy... now it gets FUN!

I began drinking Coke at mile 9. I think it helped, even though it also made me feel slightly ill. I kept turning to see if Yellow Hat (aka Becky) was there, but I couldn't see her. Did this mean she had hung on and was right on my ass? At mile 11 I was reaching delirium, and once again I turned to look, but this time I saw.... something yellow. OMG! Yellow! I began to run as hard as I could. I had to get third! I would not get passed! I tried to keep my pace... ouch ouch ouch ouch. After what seemed an eternity, I found Andy and the kids at mile 12.5, and Kurt a little while later. Kurt said, You got this... 

by which I hoped he meant yellow hat girl could not pass me now. But I wasn't sure, so I kept running as hard as I could until ahhhhh...... over!

I ran a 1:36 high, which is the fastest 1/2 marathon I've had off the bike. My time for the race was 5:06:54. I finished 3rd in my AG so I got myself some syrup! I finished 16th overall for women, and 10th overall for women not including the pros. Ange won our AG in just under five hours, and Anna beat me by about 2.5 minutes in 5:04. 

It was a solid race for me. I'm psyched to take on Placid.

Thanks to Andy for being there and supporting all this shit, and thanks to Kurt, too.

And thanks to Ange, Anna and Becky, who made this race an incredibly fun competition for me.

Hola

Yes, well. It's been a long time since I last posted.

There should be some great reason for it. But there isn't. I've been busy coaching. I've been busy parenting. I've been busy training. I've been busy playing with and walking and not training my dogs. I've been busy reading... some books with literary merit, some books with little; I've been busy cruising Facebook. I've been busy cleaning this shit hole of a house.

Oh wait... scratch that last one. I guess I haven't been doing too much cleaning--that would be why this place is a shit hole.  We even have rodents. I discovered a mouse taking up lodging in the dog food container. The little dude scared the piss out of me. He looked at me with those pools of big black, innocent eyes....and I screeched.

Since I have taken such a long blogging hiatus,  I feel it important that I provide a truly insightful, interesting, illuminating post.  Alas, I'm not sure I'm capable of doing so. My tiny brain appears to be vacant, even in its far reaches.

One thing on the busyness front: I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time preparing. I prepare lunches, I prepare meals, I prepare for my workouts, I prepare for the breakfast the evening before... If I added the time I spend each day in preparation, I believe the amount would be shocking to both you and me.

Add to this that I believe I might have a slight OCD issue going on with certain types of planning.

For example, I could go out Saturday night (let's just pretend for a moment that actually ever happens) get completely lit, arrive home at 3 am stumbling, and I guarentee I would still set up the coffee machine so all I have to do is press ON in the morning, place my vitamins and other supplements in my cereal bowl, take out a coffee mug and put it next to the coffee machine and the sugar bowl, take out my cereal (Grape-nuts and Go-Lean), my box of golden raisins and a banana, and place them next to the cereal bowl (with vitamins/supplements stored neatly in it).

Exhibit A:

I do this every night. Sometimes I even prepare for breakfast the next day directly after I finish breakfast. I kid you not.

Breakfast preparation is not the only obsessive preparation in my daily existence, either. I must make the kids lunches for the next day as soon as they arrive home. I must lay out what I'm going to wear the next day even though I work from home and wear sweats.
And I spend incredible amounts of time preparing for workouts.

• I get on Gmap pedometer and prepare my route.
• I make the bottles. I make extra bottles just in case.
• I prepare the fuel belt. I put the water and/or sports drink in the little 8 oz flasks and store them in the fridge, and I make sure the fuel belt has the necessary gels in its pocket and is placed next to my running gear.
• I put all bars/gels/food to be taken on route for a ride in a cereal bowl which I place in the cabinet to keep it safe from dogs (and mice).
• I charge the iphone and use an elastic hair band to attach my license and bank card to it
• I lay out every item of clothing I will need, including matching socks.
• I pump my bike tires.
• I put the aero bottle on the bike.
• I put the Garmin computer on the bike.
• I put my gloves and sunglasses in my helmet.
• I place my bike shoes next to my helmet.
• I lay out transition wear including my little Nano and my Garmin and my untied sneakers with fresh socks in them.
• I pack my swim bag making sure I have two clean suits, two fresh towels, my workout written out and stored in a zip-loc bag, my pool ID card, toiletries, a razor, extra caps and goggles (I have about 20 caps so I can always match my cap to my suit) and a gel and water bottle just in case I need it.

Now, lest you think this is just a classic case of OCD, I should point out that this obsessive preparation does not extend to everything in my life. For example, I don't plan my meals except breakfast, and I don't plan my family's meals either. I don't plan when I'm going to the grocery store--I just go when it is clear that the family will soon starve to death if I don't make a trip. I don't plan to go the library, yet I find myself there at least two times a week. I'm often late for appointments, and my system for remembering what I need to do on a daily basis is on a rudimentary desk calendar underneath my computer (this strange and antiquated method left over from my teaching days), and frankly, is not consulted nearly enough.

So why the obsession with preparing for breakfast, what I will wear, my kids' lunches, and workouts?

I think I know the reason. Do you know the reason?
Hint: the reason is not that I am simply obsessed with food and working out (though I am admittedly and obviously obsessed with those things....)

Next post: in which I congratulate you if you figured it out, and I enlighten you if you did not. (And I enlighten you even if you could give a rat's ass... :)

Sudbury Spring Sprint Race Report

I love this little race.

It's super short. (400 yards in a pool, 7 tame miles on the bike, and 2.2 flattish miles on the run.)
It's close to home.
It's the first triathon I ever did.
What's not to love?

It's also a race at which I can measure myself from year to year. Because it's a pool swim the course is literally exactly the same every time I race it.  And so..... drum-roll...... I present my Sudbury Sprint Stats from 2007-2011.... tad-dah!

Note: They don't separate out transition times in this race, so each split appears a little slower than it actually was b/c it includes some transition time, too.

2007: 48:11
swim, 6:22, bike, 25:16, run 16:33
6th AG

2008: 44:56
swim, 6:02, bike, 22:33, run, 16:30
2nd AG


2009: 42:06
swim, 5:42, bike, 20:51, run 15:33
2nd AG, 2nd woman

2010--Didn't race. Did Florida 70.3

2011: 41:11
swim, 5:47, bike 20:06, run 15:13
1st AG, 2nd woman, 10th overall

In 2009 I came in second (barely--my friend Tracy was right behind me by like two seconds...) This year I came in second again. But I lost to different women. In 2009 I lost to a woman in my AG. This year I lost to an up and coming 19-year-old ITU girl. Grrrr.

I did have a great race, though and a big P.R. (Thanks, Kurt!)

The swim:

Okay, this didn't go so well, I admit. I felt that totally hypoxic I am going to die I must slow down right now feeling just 75 yards into the swim. Not Good. Then a guy passed me. Also not good. Then another guy passed me. Really really also not good. The second guy (both were teenagers) splashed water in my mouth as he passed and as I tried to take a breath. Not his fault, but I inhaled water and had to stop momentarily as a sputtered and coughed. That sucked. 

I will add here that because it is short and a pool swim, many high school swimmers seem to do this race. And high school swimmers are faster than me--by a lot--as evidenced by the two young boys whose bubbles I ate.

After I got my sputtering under control I continued to chug along, praying no teenaged people would tickle my feet again. Finally I reached the last length, and I dragged myself out of the water at the end, clicked my watch, noted it was a 5:29--which was slow, but not so slow considering I had stopped and choked, and then hauled ass as fast as I could to get to the timing mats outside so my swim time wouldn't appear to be pathetic.

The Bike:

I still can't get on my damn bike well. I'm sure it's painful for onlookers to watch. I run like the wind and then come to a dead stop to get on. Once finally on I clicked my watch and began to push. WOAH. Why were my legs on fire?    Oh! Right. I'm racing! I looked at my Garmin to check my watts, but I couldn't even see the numbers because I was moving and working so hard. I passed a girl. I passed a guy. I turned a corner. My quads burned. I tried to keep my panting under control. Then a guy passed me.
Ummm. What? No. Nobody in this race can pass me. This is a small town race. I. will. beat. you. in. the. small. town. race. MUST.BEAT. MAN. ON. BIKE. GET. EVIL. MAN. ON. BIKE. GET. MAN. GETTTTTT. MANNNNNN. It took me a few minutes but I passed him back, and didn't see him again. I passed a girl. I passed another girl. I passed a guy. etc. And then it was over.
My watch read 22.5 mph, 18 minutes and something. Okay.
I'll take it.

The Run:
I also don't get OFF my bike well in case you were wondering. I stumbled off the bike and ran to the timing mats. I noted my hands were shaking in transition and I had trouble unbuckling my helmet and putting on my shoes. Go Go Go! my mind reeled. Go! Go! Go!

I ran out on the course and heard my kids and Andy scream my name. oh! Hi! Hi!

I hurt. And I coudn't run fast. GO LEGS! COME ON LEGS..... GO! They sort of went. How come running off the bike feels so GOOD in practice and feels so HARD in a race? (Ummm... maybe b/c you are going all out in the sprint, I know, I know.) My legs really did feel like bricks. And my breaths came in sharp, painful little gasps. Every person I passed must have thought I sounded on the verge of collapse.

At about mile 1.75 my legs finally started to come around. I had .4 miles to go at that point.
There is a reason I seldom do sprints.....

I saw Andy and Jordan on the sidelines cheering as I ran in. Go Mommy! Go!
I clicked my watch and saw the 41:11. I did it! A PR! Even with that crap swim!

Hours later I found out I was second. I had hoped for first....and RATS. I had lost it to the 19 year old... all in the swim. :( But I did have the fastest bike split for women. That felt good. :)

I collected my award (a Fuel Belt which I gave to Jordan--and she was so excited. She always wants to use mine for her one mile runs around the block), and watched my friends get theirs.

A great Mother's Day for me.

Drive

I got up this morning to go swimming.

I didn't sleep well last night. I don't know why. I felt absolutely exhausted, but my mind raced.  Unfortunately, my mind didn't race with interesting thoughts--just thoughts like... Why can't I sleep? I've been lying here at least an hour. Why can't I sleep? I've been lying here at least one hour five minutes. Why can't I sleep? I've been lying here an hour and a half! Why can't I sleep? I'm so pissed I can't sleep! etc. etc.

So. Again. This morning I got up to swim.
And I felt tired. And unmotivated. And kinda pissed.

I did make it to the pool. I did get in the water. I did do a little over half the swim I had planned to do.

But it was one of those mornings during which I wondered, irritably, why do I do this? I've heard a zillion times.... It's not as if this is your job. No one is paying you to do this.

I know that. My teaching, for fifteen years, was my job. Ten years ago my job shifted and divided into two: a teacher and a mom. Now my job is to be a mom, take care of this house and its dogs, and to be support and coach to adult triathletes and runners. Those are my jobs.


Triathlon is not my job.

Except on most days, I treat it that way. My workouts are priority. I may push "work" duties aside, but I rarely shift a workout unless parental duty forces my hand. I work at triathlon on average more than 12 hours a week, year round. I force myself to complete my workouts, even though 50% of the time I really really don't feel like doing so. My thoughts gravitate to triathlon most of the day, every day. A central goal of my life is to make it Kona, to be in the top 1% of women in my AG nationally, to win local races.

Triathlon is not my job.

So what is it? To say it's a hobby trivializes it at best, but to say it's more than that risks making me appear misguided; a fool. What's worse is that I'm honestly not sure why I do it.

I don't always enjoy it, that is for sure. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I feel so strongly that I don't want to get my body wet in the pool, or make my lungs ache when running, or make my crotch burn after too many hours, too many days in a row, on the bike. Sometimes is even an understatement, actually.

But then sometimes, when swimming, I feel smooth as my hips rotate and I cut through the water and I think, I love the feel of the water against my body.

But then sometimes, when running, I descend a hill after climbing and climbing and I feel high, crashing down the road on my strong legs--legs that only get this strong if you work as hard I have worked, for years. and years.

 But then sometimes, when riding, I experience a moment of bliss. It's beautiful, I get a whiff of the pungent, spring earth; I discover a tree, isolated from the main roads, dripping and fragrant with lush, pink cherry blossoms. I take a wrong turn and realize I have opened the door on a whole new area to ride; I come across a pasture ripe with the smell of manure, and see a donkey, his head giant atop his wiry gray, furry body, and he looks at me, and his large, brown watery eyes connect with mine as if to say, How did you find me?

And it's those moments that I know why, but mostly I don't know why.

I remember reading in some tri magazine once that you need to spend time figuring out why you do triathlon. You'll need to call upon that reason when you don't want to get up in the morning to swim, or when you go for a ride, and are two hours from home when the skies open up and soak you, and you have no where to go except through it, or when you are in a race and you are falling apart and just want to crumple to the ground and weep.

What I find interesting is that I really, truly don't know why, and yet I force myself to get up to swim, I force myself to ride home instead of calling a cab, and I push through the race, hard, and I don't cry. I never cry.

In 1997 I ran my first marathon. I remember when I decided I would run it. It was just before Christmas, in 1996. I had run with a friend that morning, and she planned to run Boston. We ran ten strong miles together, and she questioned why running a marathon seemed so out of reach to me. I remember thinking that if I could run a marathon I would be a different person: the kind of person who ran--who could run-- a marathon. I longed to be that person. That person was stronger than me, fitter, a true athlete, truly worthy (of what, I am not sure).

I trained that winter using Samuleson's Running for Women as a guide. I did all of my training alone, fearful that I would reveal I wasn't truly a runner to anyone I ran with. I needed to get through the training on my own... in my own private world of pain and triumph. After long runs I could only get through the day if I took a three hour nap following the workout. These were the days before gel--and I did my runs with water and determination, and that's it.

BUT WHY? I had to slay that proverbial dragon, that is true. I wanted to prove to myself that I was not lazy, not a slug, not fat--that I was the kind of person who ran marathons. I believed, somehow, that I would be transformed by running a marathon.

The funny thing? I was transformed. I thought of myself differently after I finished that race. I didn't have to fear that I couldn't run a marathon... that I wasn't the kind of person who could run one. And that was enough for quite a long time.

But then it wasn't anymore.

And now, I am forty... forty-one in a few short months. I have run 8 marathons. I have run a marathon in 3:15... and Boston at that. I have completed two Ironmen, both in respectable times. I have ranked as an All-American in triathlon for the last two years. I have won a few 5ks; I have won a few local triathlons. I coach others to do the same.

And all of that feels good to say, to write, but I know you don't really care. It doesn't affect who you think I am. So why do I do it? Why do I keep getting up to swim when I really don't want to?
Is it the fear that I will undo all that I have done if I stop?
Will I not be the person I created anymore?

And is the person I created really any different than the girl, single and alone with her dog, who trained for the marathon in 1996?
I think so. I also think maybe not.

We are Insane

Today I rode outside.

It was really fucking miserable outside.

The start of the ride was okay. It was raw, yes, but it wasn't so bad. I had on wool socks. I figured I'd be okay.

An hour into my ride the skies opened and it started to pour. Ten minutes later sleet began hammering against my helmet. Ten minutes later I began to fantasize about getting windshield wipers for my sunglasses. The icy rain drove against me. It. sucked.


Soon my wool socks weighed about 500 pounds. My hands (in cotton gloves, yes cotton) were frozen and I couldn't shift. I rode in one gear for the final 10 miles of the ride. That was fun.

I didn't exactly feel sorry for myself. Honestly I just felt like an idiot. I could've completed the ride on the trainer, but I didn't because I felt so sick of the trainer that I thought (stupidly) that anything would beat it. I spent the remaining time of the ride contemplating how I must certainly be the only one dumb enough to be out on a day like today. I did see a few runners out, but nary a cyclist. Of course I didn't see a cyclist. Only someone who is borderline insane, like me, would ride in this.

By the time I got home I was so cold I could not remove my clothing. Andy had to pull it off me before I got in the shower. Fortunately he remembered how to do this. When I got in the warm shower my hands and feet started to throb. Thawing hurt. It hurt very very much.

But finally I did thaw. Then I toweled off, dressed and went to log into Training Peaks to admit what a fool I had been to ride outside.

Minutes after I logged in to report the workout Kurt emailed back to say that he had been riding in the rain, too.
He had?
Really? In that cold rain?
And he had been out there longer than me.
And he was talking like it was no. big. deal.

Then Ange emailed to say she had just experienced the worst ride ever... that she couldn't even undress herself she was so cold upon finishing it. It was driving snow the whole time.... she could barely make it home. But unlike me she had STILL gone on her transition run whereas I had selected to strip and get in a hot shower.

AND then, a little while later, I learned that my  friend Mike had been out riding too, along Sebago Lake in the driving snow.

Wow. I'm definitely not the only insane one.

I didn't think I was a bad ass, really. I just thought I was crazy for even thinking of riding in that kind of weather. (Of course I am just coming off a case of hypothermia, but still.) But the truth is most of my friends are as crazy as I am. They really are. In fact, they are sometimes more crazy than me.


And I guess that's the rub, isn't it? You don't get good in this sport by deciding it's too wet and cold, that getting in the ride outside is not worth the risk of dying from hypothermia. You get good by training insane amounts in sometimes insane conditions. If I was the only one crazy enough to ride in shit weather like today, then I would probably be winning race after race. But I'm not. I'm not because Kurt, and Ange, and Mike....
are out there training in that shit, too.

Let's Get This Part-A Started!

Yesterday I had the most indulgent day ever. It's vacation week, so I have the kids home all day, but yesterday my in-laws took them. They did wholesome things like play charades, and then they went to the library. I kid you not. They really did both.

Anyway. While they were being treated to wholesomeness instead of another episode of Good Luck, Charlie, I was out spoiling myself. First I got a really good massage from my masseuse, Margaret Karg. She is the BOMB of sports massage. She stands on you and uses her feet using this technique called Ashiatsu Oriental Bar Therapy. After my massage I got a pedicure and manicure. My feet are nasty on a good day: post-marathon they are nasty squared. I'm always grateful when the pedicurist even agrees to deal with them at all. Now my toes are painted grape, and so are my short fingernails. I feel very.... grape. I then went to my very favorite consignment shop and bought several stylish, adorable, inexpensive used items of clothing. Oh, and I also bought a funky pair of jeweled flip-flops and some cool earrings. I then trotted off to Starbucks and had a large hazelnut latte. I then went home to finish a super book I was reading (The Paris Wife--a story narrated by Hemingway's first wife. Absolutely brilliant. So good. Made me want to go to Paris and drink and write.) Finally I took the dogs for a very long walk in the woods.

WHAT A PERFECT DAY.
The only bad part was that it ended, and the kids came home.
That was a bummer.

After my perfect day I decided I was ready to face the music:

It is time to focus on IM training. Bring it on, Baby!

I got up this morning and had a decent swim workout. I was slow, but at least I completed it, which is more then I can say for my swim workouts in the last week as I anticipated running Boston. Then I had kids over all day b/c it's school vacation week and they BEGGED to have friends over and well, I caved. By the time said kids had gone home (actually one was still here) I finally got on the bike for my second workout, and did... oh..... not quite the whole thing.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat start.

Sigh.
Okay.... so maybe I start TOMORROW.
That's it. Tomorrow I will execute it all perfectly. I know it.

I leave you with a few Boston Marathon pics.
What have I to say about these pictures?
(Other than, yes, I know I stole them and they say proof all over them as a result.
Naughty.)

But really, my first thought upon seeing them?

Dear GOD I need a dye job. My hair looks like shit! As soon as I saw the pics I scheduled a hair appointment for a cut and color. It's orange for crying out loud! When did this happen? How long have I had horribly disgusting orange hair????
Also, I think it is very curious that my lips appear to already be BLUE. Remember the hypothermia? What was going on? Had my body temp. already dropped? Very very very interesting, I say.
I know I am not smiling in any of these pictures. Frankly, I was working too damn hard to smile. Frowns and grimaces are much more becoming, anyway, don't you think?