Numero Cinco. Definitely Not A Magic Number.

Well, my fifth Ironman is in the books.

I competed in Lake Placid in 2009, 2011, and 2012.

I competed in Coeur D'Alene in 2010, and Kona in 2011.

So, in short, I've competed at the IM distance five times in the last three years.

My results at Ironman have been quite consistent. I have never crushed a race at the IM distance. I have also never bombed one. I have raced between 11:13 and 12:02--in terms of time--for all five. My first IM in LP I finished in 11:45. My fastest IM was CDA, which I finished in 11:13. My slowest IM finish occurred yesterday, in my fifth IM, which I completed in 12:02.

I'm really disappointed but, honestly, not that surprised.

I have never put more time into my training than I did this spring. I went against Kurt's wishes every week, completing more in terms of volume than I ever have before. I wouldn't listen to reason. I knew I needed more – and I was going to do more.

Unfortunately, and perhaps as a result of adding this volume, I never felt praticularly good or strong in my training this spring, except in the swim. My swim seems to respond well to greater volume. Perhaps under the right circumstances, my bike and run would respond to greater volume, too. But they didn't this time. Instead, the greater, unprescribed-by-coach volume spun me into a physical and mental hole.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First let me say a little about yesterday's race. Ironically, in yesterday's race I did everything right leading up to the run. This made it all the more frustrating that my marathon was the slowest I've run in a marathon—ever.

Here is every little thing I did right:

Leading up to the race I felt pretty good. I got lots of sleep the preceeding week, I ate well, I kept the stress levels as low as I could considering I have three awesome-but-demanding kids. I went to bed by 8 the night before the race, got up at 2 to eat and again at 4, and made sure my stores were topped off in terms of hydration, calories, carbs and electrolytes before the swim start.

I got in the water early and swam to the center, front row of the line. I knew I would get crushed, but I've learned that it doesn't really matter WHERE you start the race—you're still going to get crushed—so I made the decision to go for it and deal with whatever came my way at the gun.

It was bad. But honestly, no worse than IMLP in 2009 and 2011. Mirror Lake is just too small to accommodate the number of people IM squeezes into it. I swam straight for the buoys at the gun (or tried to swim). I was pummeled with pretty much every stroke. But I stuck with it, and made the first turn RIGHT at the buoy (as opposed to taking it wide) something I've never dared to do before. By the second lap the slower-than-me swimmers had fallen back, and the speedier-than-me swimmers forward, and I was with my people. We all drafted off each other, bumping and hitting the whole way, but it was good—good because we were equals, working our way to our respective, one hour finishes.

I got out of the water at 1:01—my fastest IM swim ever. IMLP is a fast swim (when wetsuits are allowed). The whirlpool effect is huge. Even if you don't try to draft you catch the collective draft. Still, I am pleased because I was able to PR the swim without working hard at all. This was definitely my goal and I feel great about it. My approach to the swim was to not let my heart rate get high at any point. Any time I felt adrenaline shoot through me and felt the subsequent desire to gun it, I held back. I just swam. I enjoyed it (as much as you can enjoy a contact swim like that). I'm pleased about my swim. This is good, since at least it gives me one aspect of my race to feel really awesome about!

I was thrilled when I saw my time getting out of the water, but I kept my emotion in check and made sure to take the transition run easy—and then took my time in T1 getting ready for the bike. Out on the bike I stuck to my plan flawlessly. My VI was very good for both laps. My first and second laps were nearly exactly the same in terms of speed (the second lap a strong wind came up so the speed was a little slower) and my watts were identical each lap. I ate every 15 minutes, at the beep of my watch. I had a bottle of fluid every 45 minutes, like clockwork. I peed five times.

I felt strong and in control, and like I had a ton in the tank to give to the run.

My bike split was 10 minutes slower than in 2011. Part of this was the strong wind that came up this year that wasn't there last year. Part of it was by design. My goal was to have the run of my life off the bike, and so I kept my watts under what I am capable of doing—less than 70% of my FTP.

Because my bike split was so much slower than last year, I still didn't know whether I could PR the race when I got off the bike. But I knew I had done everything I could do to ensure a good run—and that includes doing much greater bike volume in my training leading up to the race.

But.

It was not to be.

This post isn't funny or chipper. I want it to be! I'm sorry.

I could tell you how I bonded with the two men I lined up with at the swim start –and how we put our palms together 30 seconds before the gun, and said May the Force be with you! And agreed to do our best not to pummel each other.

I could write about how proud I was to ride past my coach at mile 2 on the bike, knowing that he would realize what a fast swim I had had. I wanted to raise my arm in triumph, but I didn't because I knew I should stay aero. :)

I could write about how at one point I was sandwiched between two women on the bike, and we ALL started peeing at the same time. The spray got on my sunglasses, my kit. But I had to laugh! The timing was flawless! We all started peeing at once! The poor woman behind me got it just as bad as I did.

Or I could write about how my Powerbars melted together into one mass in my Bento Box so that they looked like a gigantic chocolate peanut butter turd. But hey! I still ate that turd!

I could tell you that TWO different people (who I had never met) rode up next to me to tell me they loved my blog. That was AWESOME! (Thanks to both of you.. you know who you are!)

But mostly—I have nothing fun to say. Because I never felt... fun. I never felt happy. I felt focused—I felt determined not to fuck up my plan—but I did not feel happy.

And in the end? It was THAT that did not allow me to have a good run. I wasn't having fun—I wasn't totally invested in my race—I wasn't willing to give it all I had.

Here is the thing about IM: You have to really, really want it. You have to want to do well so badly that nothing-- not nausea, not dehydration, not shitting your pants, not even vomiting all over yourself and in front of the crowds, will prevent you from continuing to give it everything you have. If you want to win—if you want to place well--you have to train and execute flawlessly, but you also must really want it.

Because no matter how well you execute, something—or many things—will not go to plan.

I ran out of T2 feeling pretty good... certainly better than I have ever before coming into an IM run. But within a ½ mile the nausea came up. And by mile 2.5 I puked for the first time. It was quick and dirty—and I kept running right after I finished.

But it was over for me right then. I simply did not have the heart or the will to get through another IM marathon throwing up. I wasn't willing to go there. I did not care enough. In fact, in the moment when I started running again--I did not care at all.

It didn't help that I knew that I must have been 8^th or 9^th AG coming off the bike. SO many women in my AG had passed me on the bike—way more than I had had thought would, even given my conservative wattage. It turns out I was actually 7^th coming out of T2, but it didn't matter, because in my mind I was already slightly convinced that I could not run my way up to a top three spot, which was what I had wanted going into the race. I wasn't gunning for Kona—and I have achieved a top five spot before at IM. I wanted more. And if I didn't get it—I simply could not muster the care that would've earned me a slightly more respectable place and time than I ended up with.

That is not good—or at least it's not good if you want to be able to tell yourself you left it all out on the course. I ran /walked a 4:44 marathon. What you need to know here is that I did not walk the whole thing. You can't actually do a 4:44 and walk the whole thing. I ran a lot--. I did not run fast. But I ran a lot. But every time a wave of serious nausea came over me I would slow to a walk. I chewed on ice, I tried to get down some chicken soup, or an electroylte tablet, or a part of a gel. I took in water at every stop, and sometimes Coke, too.

But I didn't smile and I did not fight the nausea by continuing to run. My friend Anne (from Mooseman? You may remember I drafted off of her and as a result had a kick-ass swim there... ) and I were out on the run course together for the first loop, and she kept trying to pull me along. And I would try to rally—but then I would fade again, and finally I let her go. Later we met up for a PowWow in the medical tent—both of us really dehydrated and puking. (Thanks, Anne. I was so happy to have you with me that first lap, even though I wasn't willing or able to show it. It was really the ONLY redeeming aspect of my run... having you there!)

I managed to run (as opposed to walk) by my friends, family, my atheltes on the course and my coach (except when he rode his bike with me for a longish stretch and I fell back into walking—cursing him and wishing he'd leave me alone to my walking ways.) And I waved to my friends! And I smiled! But I was unhappy. I had done everything right—and the run still had not gone right. I hadn't made mistakes. And I had still failed. And I did not care anymore.

I ran the last 1.5 miles of the race. It was not fast or pretty, but I did run it! I followed a girl in a blue Nytro kit that I realize now must have been Julie Dunkle. I tried like hell to stay with her—and then I was able to pass her toward the end. We finished close to the same time. Clearly she did not have a great day either—because she usually kicks my ass at the IM distance! (Sorry I didn't say hi, Julie! I was a little too depressed to make conversation.. and I also wasn't sure it was you...)

When I crossed the finish line I smiled for the camera. I put my hands in the air. I hadn't wanted to do well badly enough, and I didn't push through it when it got hard—but I had still finished in 12 hours, and I know that that time is respectable—no matter what fool expectations I place on myself. I won't put that time down. I am proud that even when I didn't give it all I had, I finished in that kind of a time.

Some volunteers took my arms once I crossed. After walking a bit another wave of nausea hit, and I pulled away from the volunteers to puke. It was mostly dry-heaving, but the volunteers took me to Medical anyway. I am old hat at Medical now! Since 4 of my 5 Ironman marathons have been puke/shit-fests, I have spent some quality time with the wonderful people who volunteer there. There are no better people—I'm convinced. They weighed me. With my sneakers on I was down 3 pounds, but that's not SO alarming. They put me on a cot and I just lay there until I felt I was okay and could move on. They discharged me, and on my way out I saw Anne and went over to chat with her. Within a few minutes the nasuea came back in full force and I turned blue and started shivering. Re-admitted. They gave me anti-nausea medication and some fluid. Same old.

Usually in the Med Tent I feel grateful and so happy to be done and to be taken care of—finally. But not this time. This time I just felt sad. And done. I felt really done.

I felt no joy. I had finished my fifth Ironman event—a huge accomplisment no matter what the finishing time or place. But I felt no joy.

So there is the question...

What happened to that care when I was out there on the course? Where was my joy? Where was my love of competition? My verve? My fight? I have always been able to depend on my fight...

So where had it gone?

I had a lot of time to think about this—on the bike, and on the run, and in the last 48 hours since I finished the race.

And it's simple, of course. I'm just burned-out.

I have been chasing a sub-11 hour Ironman and a Kona spot since 2009. I got the Kona spot, but never felt I had really earned it. I wanted to qualify (still want to) for Kona by finishing at the very top of my AG. And I have not yet gone sub-11.

And I have worked hard—very hard—to get those two things. And I know so many of us work so hard—and so many of us don't always get the result we have worked for and deserve. I know I am not unique or special that way. Still, I'm slightly in mourning, so you'll need to cut me some self-absorbed slack.

Perhaps the saddest thing is that in working so hard, I let my joy for the sport waver—and then blow out—until I was operating only out of habit and fear. Who am I if not a long course, endurance athelte? What would happen if I finally let up on my goals—and let go? Would I still be me? Would I still be worthy of being a respected coach and athlete?

I didn't blow up on that run yesterday. I started slow, felt sick, got sick, got slower, and gave in.

The puking? Yeah, that's me. The giving in? No—that's not.

And so, I've decided, I am not signing up or competing in another IM until that –that desire and joy and that will to not give in--comes back to me.

So, unless I miraculously find my missing MOJO in the very near future, I'm not racing at IM Cozumel this fall. I am going to rest a bit, then race either one or both or neither of the 70.3 races I have on my racing docket for the late summer. Then I am going to rest a bit more.

And then I am going to focus on getting back the joy!

I have talked with Kurt a bit—and I think it will involve doing some things I haven't really done before. I may do some short course work—some track—some strength training (in earnest) and some shorter, but hard, bike workouts. And it will involve some shorter racing—and no plans for a full IM, as I said, for awhile.

Here is the really good thing. Having my time freed up slightly from training will allow me to focus more on my coaching, and my kids and Andy, and on having a garden, which I have really, really missed. (Hard to be an excellent gardener when you are training all the time, and coaching, and parenting.) I'm excited to coach my athletes who have signed up for IMLP next year to IM greatness. I'm really excited to go to IMLP next year and cheer them on—as a coach only, and not an athelte! I'm really excited to host a training camp for my IM athletes next spring knowing that I do not need to schedule my own IM training needs around that camp. I am really excited that Ironman is still mine to have—as a coach, and someday, when I feel it again, for me, as an athlete.

I had a bunch of friends and athletes who race Sunday.

My athlete, Kelly, who has been working so hard for months and months, had a really solid race. She had an AMAZING swim, a really solid bike, and never-give-in run. I am so proud! Other TM athletes, Marisa, Tammy and Mike, also swam really well, played it smart on the bike, and gutted out the run to finish strong. (I think a lot of people had trouble on the run yesterday... not sure why... ? A little heat—and the wind on the bike did not help much. Lots of vomiting and shitting on the course and in the med tent this year!) I also had a bunch of friends who rocked it. My friend Amy, a PBM coach, got 5^th AG group in 30-34 and had an awesome run that led to an IM PR. My friends Angela and Rob also had really strong race and placed well in their AGs. My Iron-virgin friends Marc, Melissa Caron and Anne (all PBMers) raced with patience and intelligence, and really excecuted flawless races and earned stellar times—a huge feat for any first timer. My friend Melissa B, who had never done a triathlon before Mooseman of this year, powered through the race—proving that hard work and determination does get you to the finish line—with time to spare.

I also had a few friends who, like me, didn't have great races. Most of us who did not have been around the IM block before. All of us who have been doing this tri thing for awhile have a slew of good and not-so-good races to our names. No matter how well you prepare, sometimes you have a great race, and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you can trace the reason why the race went sour. Sometimes you can't.

It happens.

My husband, Andy, has put up with me these last years as I tried again and again to get Kona and a sub 11 IM. I owe him the hugest love and thanks. Andy does not jump up and down when he is charged with picking up the slack when I train and race. But he always stands by me and takes that charge. I'm grateful.

I need to thank Kurt, who has put up with me these last few years, despite my constantly challenging him and messing with his plans. I know I am a difficult athlete to coach. Thank you, Kurt!

I also want to thank SO many of my athletes and friends for coming up to cheer me on this year, for texting and emailing and calling me this weekend. The support was huge and meant a lot, and I thank you all! I also want to thank Angela and Marisa for hanging with me all weekend... You guys are the best! Finally, I want to thank my athletes, who allow me to be both an athlete and a coach, and deal with it when I flake out for several days straight come race time! I also want to thank my sponsor, TriBike Transport, who has provided me with goodies and kits and free bike transport for several years running.

I haven't written a lot in the last year or so. Part of that has been my gradual move toward burn-out—and my unwillingness to write boring, tired, burned-out posts. I'm hoping that this little IM hiatus will fuel more writing verve, too. I need to get my humor back. It's gonna come—just like my verve for racing long. I know it. I just have to rest and wait.

Until then...

A Week Until Ironman

I recently read Marshall Ulrich's memoir, Running On Empty. For those of you not in the know, Ulrich is an ultra-endurance runner. He has done some SICK things... like crossing the Badlands four times in a row--RUNNING--and circumnavigating Death Valley while RUNNING--and climbing all seven of THE summits in fewer than three years duration. But the sickest thing he did was to run across the USA, in just 52 days, at 57 years old.  He averaged 400 miles a week. That's like running 2 marathons and a 10k EVERY DAY... for almost 2 months straight. And he didn't do it when he was some young buck.

Think about it.

Now that is sick.

Of course, in my opinion, it's sick in an awesome way. Whether you have any interest in endurance running or not, I highly recommend you read this book.

In his book Ulrich lists out his 10 commandants for endurance running.
I think they are perfect. Perhaps difficult to abide by... but perfect.
I have written a few down here... but I feel like I shouldn't list all of them because wouldn't that violate copyright? Hmmmm.
Here are a few of my favorites.  I plan to call on them during my IM next week.

Here they are:

- Focus on the present and set intermediate goals.
- Suffering is okay.
- Transcend the physical.
- Accept your fate.
- Have confidence that you will succeed.

I know you have heard variations of these pieces of wisdom before. But have you actually called on any of them during an endurance race? More often I, at least, start to feel sick, or overwhelmed, and then I allow myself to drop into what I call *race despair*. This is NOT to say I don't finish... or even finish well. But I think most often I do not call on commandments such as these and end up wallowing in my world of hurt instead.

For me, the first one is huge. I have the biggest problem when I come off the bike, and realize, within a mile or two, that I have 24+ miles to go. This is the WORST thing you can think when you have just biked 112 miles and you are... not very fresh. So far I have not had great success exorcising this thought --which attacks me every time with a strength I didn't realize was possible. The BEST thing to do in this case, however, is to turn off the brain and just run to the next aid station. And do that 24 more times.  I will attempt to do this. If I can, it will be my first time!

Suffering is okay.
I know this... but in IM I think I have trouble KNOWING this. If I suffer (in what I consider) too early in the race, I start to worry about the suffering. My thought process goes something like... OMG--it's 10 minutes into the swim and I'm tired! or worse, when I'm 70 miles into the bike. I will think... Oh Dear God-- I hurt--and I have 40 more miles and a marathon! I'm screwed! Better is to think... suffering is okay. Expect it. You will feel it at different points all day--sometimes when you least expect it and sometimes in a really deep way. Deal.

Transcending the physical is something I have yet to achieve, but I am hopeful that I someday will. I am capable of continuing to put one foot in front of the other for quite a long period of time, but I note my pain every. single. step. I imagine transcending the physical to be like floating inside the pain and continuing to move as opposed to fighting with the pain--or worse--lamenting it.

Accept your fate. This goes along with suffering is okay, I think. The thing is, it's going to be hard until it's not hard anymore. So just let it be. If you are experiencing a killer headwind going up through the gorge at mile 95...Well, accept it. If you are barfing... well you are barfing. Accept it. Continue on and accept it.  You will keep going until you are able to stop--which is not until you finish. So just accept that.

Have confidence that you will succeed. I'm not too awesome at this... but I just read a GREAT post on it by the all-knowing Liz.
Here it is:
http://elizabethfedofsky.blogspot.com/2012/07/thehardest-part-of-my-job-isnt-getting.html

I have a few to add to this... but they aren't so wise as they are practical.

Here are a few of my personal commandments:

1. When you think, drink.
This does not mean to go get hammered. This means that when riding or running, if you think you should drink--like the thought crosses your mind--then take a sip. It's kind of like a college drinking game... only ... in an Ironamn and with EFS.

2. Nausea means slow down.
If you feel like you are going to barf, it's LIKELY because you a. are going too hard and 2. you are not eating, drinking or both. and 3. you are short on electrolytes.
So, the answer to nausea is to ACCEPT YOUR FATE and slow down. Then eat and drink. Then take a salt tab. Don't speed up again--or at all. If you do, then you will spend the whole race puking. Trust me.
I know.

3. If you keep running, the race will end sooner.
This is kind of obvious and stupid, but at mile 18, trust me, you fight this logic.

4. If you want to chase that girl--do it when you hit mile 20. NOT NOW.
I have thought this repeatedly in my IMs so far. So far I have hit mile 20 and been able to actually take myself upon the adage once... and that is because I obeyed number 2. (unlike other IMs...)

5. Much like the case with child birthing plans, your plan will not work come race day. Or at least it won't work the whole day. It might work for a few hours. Accept your fate. (thanks Ulrich!) and adapt. Your plan should be to have a really good plan--and then to adapt it when that great plan fails.

I will do my fifth Ironman in a little over a week.
I plan to follow these commandments.
(even though the plan to do so will need to be adapted....for sure) ;)
and I accept that fate.
Bring on numero cinco!

And Speaking of Reading...

Before I talk books, I want to just make clear that although I am truly sick of being told I think and read too much, and that that fact is to my detriment as an athlete, the coaches I have had (and still have) have dealt with me... really well. I am exasperating. Hell, I wouldn't want to coach me! I know I am difficult. I know I challenge way too much. I know I rarely follow directions--and that must be infinitely annoying to those who have worked with me. So--in short--I know I am not easy (to coach ;). I have loved my coaches. Both Jen and Kurt have been awesome to me. Kurt--still my coach--still is. Just saying.

ONTO BOOKS!
I don't devour books like some people I know, like my mom, who makes it through 2-3 books, if not more, within a week, or even like Alina, who doesn't really profess to be a reader, but every time you say something like, Hey! I just read this great book, she responds by saying.. OH right! I read that one. She reads so much she often forgets the books she's read, and upon picking up a "new" book discovers a few pages into that she has, in fact, already read it.  She is also one of the only people I know who actually reads The New Yorker--cover to cover--every issue. Now THAT is a reader.

Anyway--I'm not really like that, exactly, but I'm pretty steady. Recently I have been on a biography / memoir featuring endurance athletes binge. The binge continues because so many of these books I've read have struck a deep chord with me. (I say so far because I am still in the midst of the binge...)

In the last month I have read:

A Life Without Limits, Chrissie Wellington

Finding Ultra, Rich Roll

Beyond the Iron, Wayne Kurtz

Running on Empty, Marshall Ulrich

The Thrive Books, Brendan Brazier

I'm in the midst of Eat and Run, Scott Jurek

and I have on my bedside table:

Running With Kenyans, Adharanand Finn

14 Minutes, Alberto Salazar

I think to talk about each of these books in depth would be laborious for me and boring to you... so I'm going to write on what STUCK with me in each of these books (that I have read so far). Here goes.

Wellington's book started my kick.

I like Wellington. Really, how can you not like her? She's an amazing athlete, but also quite humble while still being super confident, and she is giving--like, to the world.
That said, I know I would not be good friends with her. She would intimidate me way too much, and not because she is so good at Ironman.

In short, as I read her words I puzzled less about her meteoric rise to greatness under the tutelage of the controversial Brett Sutton, than about how she traveled the world as a younger person--alone--with seemingly very little fear. Sure, she is World Champion 4 times over., but way more astounding to me is her fearless world traveling.

I, by contrast, am really quite terrified of traveling alone, let alone living, to/in foreign countries. 

I don't want to be this way. I am in awe of people who travel alone consistently, as a way of life. Wellington spent her young adulthood traveling and working in South Africa, vacationing in New Zealand and Australia, traveling alone across Asia, and biking, climbing, and working in Kathmandu. She did not require companionship to make these travails. In fact, her writing conveys that it has perhaps not even occurred to her that such solo traveling and living might scare the shit out of someone else. I find her fascinating and awe-inspiring and extremely intimidating because she has lived, and continues to live, this way. She is independent and courageous in a way I have always desperately wanted to be--but have not had the courage to become. 

Somehow--and I'm not sure I can articulate how or why--but I believe her courage in being able to travel and live like that is connected to her success at Ironman. If she has fear, she apparently rolls over it in favor of doing, seeing, and accomplishing what she wants.  People like that achieve their dreams.

Of course, it does help that she is clearly insanely gifted when it comes to endurance racing. That also has helped in achieving her dreams.

The other aspect of the book that stuck with me is the idea that one might be able to "train" something out of oneself. Chrissie describes herself as clumsy and accident-prone. She likely is. But Brett Sutton told her to simply train this "undesirable" trait out of her--especially when training and racing.
This made me wonder--what do I want to train out of myself?

Well, fear of traveling alone would be one such thing.
But I'm not sure that is what others I know and love would like trained out of me as much as a few other things...
And anyway, is it really an achievable thing to train out a trait?
_______________________________

I loved the Rich Roll book.

I need to start by saying that the book is part biography and part training and eating guide--and the two parts by no means flow together seamlessly. This is a flaw in the book for sure. But I still liked it.

One thing I noted is that basically all of these endurance memoir type books start in the same way: in the middle of a race in which the athlete is struggling.  It works fine as a device, I suppose. Perhaps readers do need to be hooked in at book's beginning.
But I found each of these beginnings cliche. Just saying.

Okay. Onward. Rich Roll is interesting because he was quite the athlete as a kid (as opposed to Wellington, Kurtz and Jurek who describe themselves as more average as athlete children.) He swam Division 1 at Stanford and was really very good. The unfortunate thing here is that he also discovered alcohol during his college years, and descended into full blown alcoholism pretty darned quickly.  A lot of the first part of the book describes this descent, and then his slow climb out of it into sobriety. That was the most interesting part of the book, I thought.

He had another epiphany years after he got sober, during which he decided he was basically fat and out-of-shape, and would die young if he didn't get his shit together. So he decided to get fit and get healthy.  BAM. After a bumpy start, he moved to an entirely plant-based diet and signed up for his first real endurance event (not including an early-on, half-hearted stab at the half IM). He signed up not for an Ironman, but a DOUBLE Ironman.

Fascinating.

He trained for the ultra--and completed it--in like six months. And he did it while eating only plant-based food. No sport drink, no synthetic gels, no protein recovery beverages out of a can. Just a lot of avocado sandwiches and super green smoothies. Sure, he had been doing some solid training, with a coach, prior to taking on the training for the ultra. And sure, he pretty much eats perfectly (minus the usual fare one USES to train for such events.) But still!

I think I was struck by the way he just took on the ultra because we advise that triathletes take their time getting to Ironman. One needs to build up gradually in order to be able to absorb the heavy training that a SINGLE (let alone a double) Ironman requires, we argue.

And this dude just goes out there and says, HEY! I'm going to do this, and I'm going to do it on this plant-based diet. Just see if I can't. And he did! And he did it well! A few years later, looking for a still greater challenge, he describes how he and a friend completed five-iron distance events in seven days--each one on a different island of Hawaii.  And again.. he did this basically while eating like 1000 avocado sandwiches a day and drinking coconut water.

What I find fascinating is that we have these ideas about how the body should be trained, and how much it can do, and what the body needs as fuel in order to do those things. But it can do much more than what we believe, and it can do it on avocado sandwiches. Should it? Oh, I don't know. But the body can. That's what's cool. The mental hurdle of believing it's possible is insurmountable to most people, but it's not actually insurmountable in a physical sense.

That said, there are some nasty things that happen to you mentally and physically when you do push the envelope so far. Reading about the feelings/emotions and physical effects of doing something so extreme helped me to make light of the Ironman. Not that the IM SHOULD be made light of. It is a very difficult event. But it did put into perspective some of the things I have experienced in endurance racing and training, and put them into perspective. Barfing? Pretty darned common. Extreme chafing and saddle sores--yes. Totally normal. Seeing double--having hallucinations and visions--transcending the body? Par for the course if you do that ultra stuff.

Last year I was so dehydrated after barfing throughout the bike and the run at IMLP that I experienced some of that weird out of body, double-vision, hallucination stuff. I wasn't frightened when I experienced it, but after the fact, looking back, I became pretty freaked out. Was I about to pass out completely? Was I about to go into cardiac arrest?

Yep. Probably not. I was just messed up and needed a few bags of fluid via IV. And I wonder, now, how long could I have gone on before actually expiring for real? 10 more miles ? 20? 1? 100? I asked my body to make it 26.2.... and even though it didn't do it very quickly, and even though I couldn't hold my head up and I couldn't see straight and I didn't recognize my own son when he was waving in my face... my body still did it.

Fascinating. And kind of cool! (in a really twisted kind of way.)

Okay. I can't wait to talk about The Ulrich book and the Kurtz book. You think 5 IMs in seven days on the  5 different islands in Hawaii is bad ass?
Just wait!
But enough for now. I have to make some avocado sandwiches for dinner.

Reading: It Does an athlete..... ?

Those who have coached me (namely Kurt and Jen) have told me I read and think too much. Obviously they were not referring to my reading novels and thinking about what to serve for dinner, but about reading too many triathlon-related blogs, too many swim/bike/run magazines, and too many books on training. I counter that I am not just an athlete, but a coach, and I need to be current and well-versed in all recent literature on our sport.

Which is true. To an extent.

But mostly I read such things because I really enjoy thinking about how to train and about those who train all the time. I actually can't get enough of it. I get giddy when I find a new swim/bike or run training book I think might be a worthy read.

As a coach, I can vouch that it is easier to coach one who does not read and think about our sport. Athletes who read and think want to know why you have assigned what you have assigned. This desire to know why makes the coach accountable for what he/she assigns, which isn't a bad thing in my opinion, but it's also a major time suck for said coach--who must constantly explain and justify his/her coaching to the thinking/reading/questioning athlete.

The best athletes (to coach--and also, perhaps, in general) don't think so much as act. They get out there--and they do it. I'm partially convinced it is not so much how they train (as in what methodology their coaches are using)--but the fact that they JUST train. They look on Training Peaks, do what it says, recover as instructed, report back in, and then go about the rest of their day. The don't fret. They don't question. They always trust. They don't do more or less than asked. They do as told. They are, in short, "good soldiers." (FYI, this is Kurt's favorite phrase to describe this type of athlete--a gem if you get one on your coaching roster.) And the same thing happens when they race: these athletes don't over -think it. They just do it.

I know I'm better suited to being a coach than an athlete. This isn't to say I don't consider myself an athlete, or that I don't love to train and compete. I do. It's just I enjoy the reading more than the training--(maybe not more than the racing). I enjoy the planning more than the training as well. And most of all I enjoy debating and talking about training with other coaches more than almost anything.  I think these facts make me quite suited to coach others.

Unfortunately,  these facts also make me extremely difficult to coach. And unfortunately, the coaches I have had (or still have in the case of Kurt) become exasperated by me pretty much on a daily basis.  I read and think too much, they say... but the thing is... that ain't gonna change, even if it does hinder my progress as an athlete.  I don't want it change. It is, at the very core, who I am: a reader, a thinker, a debater, a planner, a writer.

I write all that out because I'm really quite tired of being told I think and read too much, and this is my response. (Kurt and Jen--I know you both love me anyway.. admit it!) I feel better now. Thank you.

Also, if you are a thinker who is reading this blog, than perhaps you, too, can relate to this reader/thinker conundrum:  how does one act the "good soldier" and also manage to be the person she *actually* is?

---------------------------

Training in Placid

Last Monday I headed to Lake Placid, NY for a few days of training and a few days of IM camp.

I had a good trip.
I am sad the trip is over.
And I am astounded that IMLP is only 25 days away! HOLY MOLY that seems impossible.

My kids got out of school on Monday, and as soon as they were off the bus I piled them in the car to make the journey to New York. They slept. I tried to stay awake. We stopped at Friendly's outside of Albany for dinner.

Andy met us up there. He had left straight from work, and still beat us there. (This could be because of my Granny driving, or it could be the Friendly's adventure.) Anyway, we squished into a little hotel room and hunkered down for the night.

The first day I got up early to run on the course, and then went back to get the kids so we could some chillaxin'.  (A dumb word. I definitely have been hanging with my 10-year-old excessively lately!) We ate ice cream, played in the lake, and I forced them to watch TV in the hotel room for a bit while I worked on athlete schedules. This is just before getting ice cream--cruising along Main Street.

Meanwhile, Andy rode the course and did some swimming. I also squeezed in an hour swim in the serene Mirror Lake. No one was there (on the swim course). It was truly bizarre to swim the course without even a few athletes about. It was quite warm on Tuesday, but I didn't think much of it. I generally like warm temps, and I wasn't about to complain about a purely sunny day when spending time in the fickle climate of Lake Placid!

This is Lara hanging on the beach by Mirror Lake.

The next morning I got up and prepared for my 112 solo ride on the course. I thought it quite interesting that when the hotel doors opened I was blasted with very warm air--at 7:30 a.m.

Hmmm.

By 8:00 a.m. I was on the course and already regretting my choice to wear calf compression socks and a dark shirt. It was H.O.T. I wasn't sure how hot... which is probably better--since little did I know it was already in the upper 80s... at 8:00 a.m.

I finished the first loop in good shape, but knew I would need a great deal more liquid to make it through the second loop in one piece. I stopped at the hotel room and stood for several minutes dripping in front of the AC. I chugged water and then restocked my bike and headed out again.

I checked the temperature at the front desk.
96 degrees. 11:00 a.m.
Oh boy. This second loop was going to be FUN.

I decided to try to embrace the heat. It could be hot on race day, right? So I kept on the dark compression socks and the dark jersey, and I tried not to focus on the fact that every blast of wind felt like air coming straight out of an oven. 20 miles to go I literally think my brain started to melt. I could not focus at all. All I could think about was getting into the lake or a cold shower... or even just dumping cold water over my head. There was NO ONE out biking. I saw a total of 3 bikers the whole day! In Lake Placid--on the course--in late June. 3 bikers total.

I finally crested Papa Bear and circled around to my hotel. When I got inside I just stood in front of the air conditioner and tried to breathe. My lungs hurt and I couldn't get a deep breath. I felt asthmatic. I changed into my run clothes and after responding to a text from my coach telling me to get off my ass and run, and after returning said text to tell him I would rather eat shit than go run in that heat, and further that I hated him and he could screw etc and so on, I managed to get out the door for ..... 2 miles. Then the lure of the lake become too much. I ran straight into the lake--stopping only to yank off my running shoes before I did so.

Later I checked my Garmin file and noted that the average temperature during my second loop was 97. The max temp was 102.2.
That is just freaking hot.

The next day I was supposed to run long.
I got up earlyish, headed out the door, and then turned around and went back inside. Too hot. I would run later in the day. This was a really brilliant idea, by the way. Can't you see the logic? Too hot at 7:30 a.m. I should go at noon instead. Very very smart.

At  noon I tried again. I lasted 31 minutes. My average pace was 9:20.
It was a really successful long run. I was proud to fill in my Training Peaks log. Fucking awesome.
_____________
My family took off for home on Thursday afternoon, and the IM "campers" begin to show up. I had rented a house out on 50 acres of land, 2 miles out of town. The house itself was just awesome. Here it is from the outside:

Unfortunately, it was only able to be reached after ascending many very long, steep hills. oops.

But it was still a cool house.

Campers showed up gradually, and then Kurt arrived, too. (co-captain of camp). I tried hard to shift from Mom in Training mode to Camp Director mode. 

After arrival, we drove out to Mirror Lake for an hour swim. I was still a little brain-baked from the hot weather, and there was no way I was putting on a wetsuit for the swim! No more heat! So while our 15 campers donned wetsuits, I just stood in my bathing suit and got ready for that nice cool water!

Honestly, I really just enjoyed the coolness of the water on my body for this swim. I love feeling hot and then swimming in cool water. Nothing better. I did a lot of backstroke and looked at the sun and clouds and just felt relief and peace.  I feel really fortunate to love the open water as much as I do. I know so many people struggle with panic and fear in the water. I'm lucky enough that swimming backstroke in the open water--looking at the sky-- is one of my absolute favorite things in life to do.

After our swim we got dinner (which took way too long--I don't care if Mr. Mike's has big tables, I'm not going there again!) And then went back to bunk down and get ready for the big ride the next day.
______________________

Luckily, I did not have to do the big ride. I had already ridden the 112+ in Wednesday's oven-like conditions.  But these girls hadn't!

Pictured are Katelyn, Linda, Patti and Pam.

Saturday I played the role of halfway point saint... with open trunk filled with cold bottles of drink and fuel etc and so on. I sat atop Papa Bear and waited for my people to cycle through. Except I missed Marc because he was so fast that he got there before I arrived! I say it's his fault for being so fast, though. The guy only stopped to pee like once for 30 seconds and he was focused and fast! 

The day was in the mid 70s and cloudy--perfect riding weather. (Okay, I may have been a little jealous of that!) Everyone made it back to the house in one piece after those 114+ arduous miles and each athlete only cursed me for a few minutes straight about the monster hills they were forced to climb after leaving the course and heading back to the house. 

Kurt ignored their complaints, and hustled them out the door for their T-runs. (I'm not so good at the forcing to hustle part...) Everyone seemed relatively chipper and ran quite well off the bike! I was impressed. 

That night we went out to a local pub and relaxed over a few pints of good beer. I'm pretty sure the laughing over a few pints of beer was my favorite part of the weekend. (But wait, should I admit that??)

I think this was taken Saturday night... and yes I stole this picture from Mel C's FB page! I think this was taken from the deck at The Dancing Bears. I love that restaurant.... 

an aside: 

I totally regret not taking pictures this weekend... so if you are one of the campers reading this will you send some to me? I am especially sad about not getting a good shot of Marc, Kurt and Angela as they "self" massaged with Kurt's massage cream/oil. That would be great blackmail material!

Pictured are Kelly, Mel B, Katelyn, Linda, and Mel C.

When we got home from the pub on Friday night, Marisa, Tammy and Angela surprised me with chocolate cake and three kinds of chocolate ice cream--because Friday was my 42nd birthday. Of course, there is not much to celebrate when turning 42-- but I was still very very touched and even more excited to eat the chocolate cake! (I'm not sure Kurt was thrilled about this, however...)

On Saturday we had a timed swim in Mirror Lake. I swam out about 1100 yards and then floated there --so I could be the turn buoy. I found I quite like being a turn buoy. It was fun to be right there in the water cheering people on! I also just liked bobbing there in the bright sun as everyone swam on by. 

When everyone had come through I swam back to shore, peeled off my wetsuit, and swam another lap of the course at IM race pace. That was fun. I felt strong, and I absolutely LOVE swimming in open water without the damn wetsuit. Swimming was absolutely the highlight of the weekend for me- (aside from the cake and the beer and the really good company, of course...). I feel strong in the water right now after a hard winter of pool swimming.  I figure open water swimming is the reward I get after a year of being inside in a pool!

Later we rode the course again--except we were hit by thunder and lightning half way through the ride. This is not unusual for Lake Placid. One minute the sun is shining and the next you are being hailed on. Some of the campers who had started the ride early (or earlier than the group I was with) came back to hunt down the stragglers on the course and drive them back to the house, out of the storm. I admit I was a tad grateful for the ride! I don't mind rain--or, I should say, I really dislike rain but I ride in it, but climbing big hills in the gorge with lightning and thunder crashing about wasn't my idea of a good time. 

Sunday we ran long. There were three camps out on the course at the same time for this--ours, a Qt2 camp and a Spinervals camp (I think that's what they were...) so the course was packed! It actually sort of felt like race day! Unfortunately, it was race day without the aid stations. We did put a cooler out with bottles and fuel at about mile 4 on the course, so our people could grab what they needed as they went out and back along the course. Unfortunately, some disgruntled townie stole the cooler and chucked our bottles everywhere. NICE! Not sure that all the townsfolk of Lake Placid like people training in their town. This baffles me since IM is a huge source of revenue for the town--and also Lake Placid is a vacation spot. Aren't they used to out-of-staters coming in and trampling their roads? And even if it is annoying, aren't they moved by the fact that the town would not be well-off at all without the out-of-towners skiing in the winter and the IMers training in the summer? Am I missing something here? 

I should probably acknowledge that I am positive not ALL townies want us out of there....

But I digress. 

It was really sad to pack up and leave our big-ass house. 

I have already decided that if we run a camp again next year I am making it such that the workouts end in the afternoon, and people are then forced to stay the night and leave the next morning. I wanted to celebrate the hard work of the weekend, and everyone had to take off! It was such a bummer!

Next time.

Big hugs and thanks to all the TriMoxie and PBM athletes who came to camp, and thanks to Kurt for being my co-pilot. Now starts the planning for next year! Training Camp 2013!

Or wait.. I guess I should plan for the 2012 race next? 

Mooseman 70.3 Race Report

There are things I love about Mooseman 70.3.

Por ejemplo:

• I've always raced pretty well at Moose. (2nd AG ('09), 3rd AG ('11), 1st AG ('12) )
• It's the smallest IM race I know... and I like that. It is a big deal race with big deal pros, but it feels like just a local, season opener.
• Because it's local to me, I usually know many people racing and so there is support both in the crowd and on the course itself.
• The Tilton Diner is close by. I love the Tilton Diner. 

There are ALSO things I don't like about Moose, however.

Por ejemplo:

• I really detest the new (as of 2010) bike course. 
• The weather is extremely unpredictable.  (2008, 95 degrees and sizzling; 2009, 70s and dry; 2010 POURED; 2011, cool and dry; 2012 low 50s and rain.)

 Let's start by discussing the bike course.

It is tame.

Except for the 3+ mile ascent which culminates in a short stretch during which no matter what gearing you have, your are standing, grunting, weaving, and have a cadence of like 5 rpms. Either that or you're off your bike and walking. The backside of this "hill" is equally treacherous in its descent. There is one nasty turn in particular, that as you approach it, doesn't seem it will be too bad. Then you take the turn a touch too fast, and you fly off the road into gravel, guardrail and/or grave.

And this ascent /descent is done twice.
I believe there were only two crashes on that corner during the race this year. Two crashes and three hospitalizations. 

The descent is so dangerous they have imposed a speed limit all three years since the bike course was implemented--a limit of 30 mph. It is nearly impossible to adhere to that speed unless you  literally white-knuckle your brakes the entire way down. I actually appreciate the speed limit. No one really adheres to it, but at least, because it's there, some people, including me, sort of try to slow down.
But here's the thing--You should not have a speed limit in a race! IT IS A FREAKING RACE!!! Are you kidding me? Many of us are out there to win, and you want us to adhere to a speed limit?

If the descent is so dangerous that you need impose a speed limit, then CHANGE the damn course.
I am not out there to see if I can complete the distance. I am not out there to have fun. I am out there to GO FAST AND WIN and I do not want to be asked to slow down!
Okay. End of rant.

Here is the course elevation profile.
Even this chart doesn't really do it justice, I don't think. Sure it looks bad. But the thing is... it really, really IS BAD.

Some people like a challenge like the one the Mooseman bike course presents.

I am not one of those people. I like a hilly course.. I do! I'm little and because of that I race better on hills than flats. But this course isn't "hilly." It's HILL. singular.
BIG SUCKY HILL.


I think my dislike stems from the fact that it is difficult to ride Mooseman WELL--as in, intelligently. In an endurance event I aim to spin up the hills and mash down them. On this course your are forced to mash up the hills, and you're forced to coast and pray on your way down. I think what often separates the wheat from the chafe in endurance biking is the cyclist's ability to ride the given course intelligently. This course frustrates me in that no matter how "even" I try to be, my V.I. is not going to be swell -- at all. And I like to have a good V.I. Among the many important things Kurt has taught me--shooting for a good VI when racing long is at the top.

The variable weather is my other beef with this race. My athlete, Paul, from Ontario, asked me last week what to plan for in terms of weather in prep for the race. What to say? It could be super hot. It could be in the 40s. It could be sunny. It could be pouring.  Sorry... anything is really possible.

This year, up until about Friday, it looked like we might enjoy good racing weather--cool and dry. But by Friday afternoon that had changed to a forecast of freezing cold and monsoon like conditions. 

I do not like cold when I race. I especially do not like cold and pouring rain. And I ESPECIALLY did  not like the idea of cold and pouring rain while attempting to descend  that bad-ass, 3+ mile mountain--TWICE!

Okay, I suppose I should write the damn race report now, huh?

I had an okay race. There you go!

No, really.

 I placed well--1st in my AG, 7th amateur woman, and 17th woman including the pros. This was a smallish race, but still, this is pretty good placing for moi. I did not let my coach down, I did not really let myself down, and I have a big bottle of maple syrup as proof of that. Also, I PR'd the swim by 16 whole seconds. So that's good!

But it also wasn't the race I had planned for -- or hoped for-- based on how my training has been going so far this season.

The day before the race I had a grand old time, except for the fact that I was bundled up like an Eskimo, already cold, and except for being worried about the conditions I would race in the following day, in which Eskimo attire would not work well if I also wanted to go FAST, which was, of course, my big goal.

A bunch of our TriMoxie athletes were racing, in addition to many of my PBM friends. The day before the race I had breakfast and dinner with a bunch of these people--most specifically Paul and Katelyn, both of whom I have been coaching for awhile, but had not yet met in person. So that was fun! They are as awesome in person as I figured they would be...

My family was also with me, and I loved that too, except when the kids would not stop hounding me to take them to the hotel pool--and I just wanted to snuggle under covers and read. But mostly I loved having them there, especially when I got Jordan to rub my feet. Right, Jord?

Race morning. It was cold. But not raining! YEAH!

I did the things you do on race morning. I ate. I peed. I drank coffee. I pooped. (Thank God... always a big downer to start a long race not have taken an adequate dump, huh?) I ate more. I peed more. I hovered in the transition area checking and rechecking things.

The transition area was a gigantic muddy swamp. It was so bad that some people had to rack their bikes in a separate, newly created section because their transition spot was submerged in ankle deep water/mud. I had a nice spot--wet, but not a puddle, so I was mostly pleased. The only bummer was that there was ankle deep mud puddles surrounding my nice, UN-submerged spot. To my great distress, there was not a way to get to the bike start without running through this ankle deep mud. This necessitated that I carry my shoes to the start line (even if they were clicked into my Speedplays the shoes would have dragged through the muddy water, Kurt--just saying), and put them on there. This was not good. Upon arrival at the bike mount, I stopped short and tried to get in my shoes while holding my bike. But I am not that coordinated... and I let my bike clang to the ground. This not only made me look supremely stupid, it also got my poor bike totally dirty, and also my rear brake cable got loosened. Really loosened. Like no more rear brake for Mary loosened.

But I am getting ahead of myself...

After puttering in transition, I headed to the swim start with Tammy and Marisa (two friends/TM athletes).  I warmed up a bit in the water. I then found my wave, moved to the front of my wave, and had a big pang of I miss Ange. Then the race started.

For me, the best part of my race was the swim. Of course, had you mentioned to me as I swam that this would end up being the best part of my race I would've have been very, very worried, because, in truth, my swim wasn't that great. The best part of it was that I found my friend Anne, who is a great swimmer, early on and I drafted off her and another woman (I later learned her name was Elizabeth) for the whole stinking 1.2 miles. Thanks Anne. You are exactly the most person perfect for me to draft--just enough faster than me so that it pays off to draft off you, but not so fast that I can't stay on your feet. So...... I think maybe you should come with me to every race so I can use you to draft???? Huh? What do you think?
:)

I exited the water in 29:44, just behind Anne (29:37) and Elizabeth (29:42). Once again I say... Thank you, compadres! Did you know we were the first women (not in relays) out of our wave?

I then got stripped by a stripper (she was AWESOME--totally ripped my suit right off.)

Then I got to my bike and stared.
I had too many options! Arm warmers? Gloves? Jacket?
OMG! My little brain was overwhelmed--still addled, perhaps, from the swimming.
The sky was dark, but it wasn't raining. I felt pretty warm.

So I just put on the helmet, snapped that belt, grabbed my shoes and bike and headed straight into the mud puddles that lay between me and the mounting line.

Once on the bike, I took a deeeeeep breath. Then I looked at my Garmin 500 mounted between my bars. No GPS signal! Awesome. (It did come on eventually.)

Then I felt a slight chill...

and then.
Then I started shivering. And then SHAKING. Then the drizzle started. And then my Raynaud's made a violent, quick arrival. My fingers turned corpse white, then my hands, then my wrists. I had no feeling in either upper limb.

This was going to be very, very ugly ride, indeed.
Ugly--corpse white ugly and deep prune purple ugly--and fucking COLD.

But I chugged along... working, perhaps, a bit harder than I should have been in an effort to give myself a fighting chance at quelling my violentl shaking, which was really NOT helping my balance on the bike.

At one point I had to hit the brake a bit.

Or... I pushed the brake. I pushed the brake all the way back to the handlebars... I pushed some more.. and AWESOME, dude! I had no rear brake! None at all! NO FUCKING REAR BRAKE!

sigh.

I tried to stay CALMMMMMMM.
(not a strong suit.)
I had no rear brake. And I was gonna descend that mother fucker of a hill? PANIC!!!

Soon I arrived at and started pushing up the big-ass three mile mountain. I got warmer. Relief!

As I weaved my way up I thought ... hmmm... I think MAYBE I need a compact? Is 5 rpms a little too slow on the turnover? OH MY my quads are feeling that BURN! And look! I am just barely 25 minutes into the race! Yikes.

Finally I finished grinding up the hill, and then I started to descend. My hands were not working, my brake was not working, and my hands kept sliding forward on the slippery, wet grips when I held myself up on the bars. PANIC!!!!!  I was going to DIE! HELP! HELP! HELP!

Stay calmmmmmm. Ohmmmmmm. calmmmmmm.....FUCKING OHMMMMMM... please God do not let me die!!!OHMMMMMM!!

Luckily I didn't die. You'd be surprised... If you just lean gently on your front brake for the whole time and you do not let up, you really can reduce your speed enough to not fly over your handlebars...

Of course you also can reduce your speed enough to destroy your bike split and ruin your chances at a freaking PR.

But I was, between my shivers and corpse-white hands, staying positive. (Can't you tell? ha!) I ate gel after gel. Drinking wasn't happening b/c I did not have the dexterity with my numb hands to remove my water bottle from its cage or collect one at an aid station.

I saw VERY few women on the bike. No idea where they were. Probably they were simply smart enough not to race in the low 50s and drizzle?  I passed a few young women from the swim wave ahead of mine. That's it. I kept wondering Where is Anne? Why isn't she here to push me?

Later I found out she was about 30 seconds behind me the whole damn bike. Our swim split--the same. Our bike split was the same too. The only thing different between us was the few seconds I got on her in T1 when I stupidly did not take the time to put on gloves and a jacket.
Anyway, I was lonely and cold and really needed someone to motivate me. I wish I had known she was right there. I was so puzzled by it I thought she may have dropped out!

Okay... I finally finished and got off the bike. I was still extremely cold, and honestly, quite fuzzy in the old noggin. My hands and my brain weren't working right, but I DID dismount quite well and only yelped a little when I landed on my Raynaud-affected feet. I splashed through the puddles, found my shoes, struggled to put them on with numb hands, and then left.
I had stumpy feet. You know when your feet are frozen and it feels like you are running on stumps?

I felt okay during the first miles except for the stumpy feet. I must have been dehydrated, as I had only had half of my aero-bottle for the whole ride. (The other half had spilled out when I dropped my bike in T1.) But I did feel okay... so I decided not to stress about it, and just take in drink when I could. It is not like a sweat a lot on that ride, after all...

The first thing I noticed when I got out on the run course was that it was almost empty. It was like a weird dream. Had I gotten off the bike too early? Where was everyone? There were some men... (there are always men) and then there were the pros swiftly finishing their first loop of the course. But there were no women other than the pros that I could see.

I was baffled.

Upon further thought (later on, when my small and frozen brain could think again) I guess it makes sense. My bike split was truly not fast--but it was a lot faster than most of the women I was racing against (which speaks to the caution riders used when riding, I think, rather than the competitiveness of the field itself), and I had been faster than all of the women from my wave. So I had gotten off the bike ahead of all my people (which I find really shocking) and I guess I must have passed quite a few of the young women on the swim and bike? Because there were very few ahead of me on the course. After first thinking I must have gotten off the bike too early--I began to wonder.. am I just really far ahead?

I know now I was not really far ahead. Just a little. Everyone was behind me, yes. But not far behind me. At the turn around I finally saw Anne.  Finally! There she was! This made me both nervous and relieved. I have no idea why I was so focused on finding her ... but it relieved me to know she was there. But, naturally, I wanted to beat her, so I also worried that she had some gas and might get me.

But at the next turn around she was further behind, so I got kinda complacent again. You know I have to say that I think I am a chaser... by habit. I am NEVER at the front, and I simply did not know how to motivate from that position. The chase... well, I get the chase. I spend a lot of time in Chase land. Lead land? Not so much.

So I ran. and ran. And drank some Coke and TRIED like hell to focus on MOJO! and not the fact that my hands were still corpse-like and I still hadn't truly stopped shaking. Finally, by like mile NINE (no lie) I felt somewhat warm. And then it happened. At about mile 10 a woman with a 44 on her calf BLASTED past me at warp speed. Yikes!

I picked up my pace but she was gone! Later I learned that in that final 3 miles she had put 2:30 on me. Nice. Her run split was super fast--a 1:33. But later I also learned that she was 44...... but would turn 45 this calendar year. So not my AG. That was nice! Interestingly, she is one of Anne's good friends!

So- end of boring story, I finished. My friend Marc bumped me from behind as I crossed the line and we finished together. That was fun. And I smiled!

And then I frowned. 5:14. Seven minutes slower than last year.
grrrrr....

In that moment, I vowed never to race in 50s and rain ever again. And I also pinched myself. Where was my MOJO???????? Why hadn't I made that run hurt more? Sure, it hurt. But it didn't HURT. You know?

About an hour later I learned I had won my AG by a few minutes, so that made me happy, and made up slightly for the fact that I had not raced with verve.

I hung out with my friends and family as I waited for the awards to start. I kept kept asking my friends--So are my face and lips still purple?
To which the answer was .... yep.

I have no pictures yet of my purple face. It was really really purple. Kinda creepy, really.
I will post when I do.

Next race:
IMLP. I am going to crush that mofo of a race.
Then I am going to turn my back on Moose and IMLP and sign up for some races in the tropics, so I can bitch about being hot instead of cold. ;)

Sudbury Spring Sprint Race Report

Yesterday I competed in my 5th (not quite consecutive) Sudbury Spring Sprint. I do this little race every year if I can. Sudbury was the very first triathlon in which I competed, and so racing it feels like anniversary of sorts. This year my oldest daughter, Jordan, also competed in the race. She did awesome.

Jordan and I left for Sudbury in the wee hours of the morn. We stopped at Dunkin' Donuts where I got a large coffee, and she got some super greasy bacon and egg sandwich. I guess you can do that when you're 10! I would have hurled the half digested remains of that sandwich all over someone while biking--I just know it.

When we got to Sudbury the place was already buzzing. I found a few of my athletes (Jen and Kim) checking in, and I started to feel that excited, nervous, pre-race energy that both tortures me and also feels exciting and good. Jordan and I set up transition. She was convinced she would want to put on shorts, shirt, socks, gloves after the swim. I told her she certainly could, but if she wanted to just race in her bathing suit, that was fine too. I would be racing in my bathing suit, so she certainly wouldn't be the only one.

The swim at Sudbury is a pool swim. Swimmers are organized according to the 400 yard seed time they put in their race application. I had put 5:15 for a seed, and I had put Jordan at 6:15. Both times were fairly accurate for us. This put me at number 56, meaning there were 55 people in this race who thought they'd swim faster than a 5:15 for a 400. Hmmmmm..... Jordan was number 157. So 156 people out of the 426 competing thought they could swim faster than a 6:15. In case you are having trouble doing the math in your head, that is an average 100 yard pace of roughly 1:33. Very interesting. It appears there are quite a few hidden swimmers out there! Either that or people lie, or have no clue, or figured they would become magically faster on race day--or all three.

Anyway.  The only bad part about the seed times for Jordan and me is that it meant I had to leave her when the line to start the race began to form. I think this panicked me way more than her. I kept looking for numbers 156 or 158 so I could instruct them to watch her and make sure she was okay. Never did find them. Jordan later reported that number 156 was a middle-aged woman--very nice, somewhat rotund and motherly. Phew. Thank you number 156!

The race began and we all watched the fastest swimmers in the race glide (seemingly) effortlessly through their 400s. The fastest person of the day swam a 4:18. That time INCLUDES running to T1!  So... we are talking a 4:05 maybe? That is 1:01 per HUNDRED. Dear God.

Anyway, finally it was my turn. I vowed NOT to take it out way too hard. My friend Tracy who is a very experienced and awesome swimmer (number 24 in this race) explained that the totally hypoxic exhaustion I feel at 75 yards in basically every swim race I do is likely because I take it out too hard and don't breathe enough early on. So I vowed to take it out hard, but not too hard, and to breathe more than I felt I needed to for the first 100 yards. It worked. I felt awesome! I also felt annoyed. At the 75 I had to pass the swimmer ahead of me. At 125 I passed the next swimmer. This is what I mean by the lying that goes on with seed times in a race like this. Having to pass another swimmer when there are swimmers going up and down lanes is inefficient, scary, and difficult, and most of all it slows you up! I was pissed! I wasn't the only person who this happened to:

After trying to pass the woman in front of her (yes, the nice motherly woman, #156) for 200 yards,  Jordan finally resorts to diving and swimming UNDER her to get ahead:

I finished my swim in 5:19. Jordan finished in 6:17 according to Andy's watch. (This doesn't include our runs to T1.) Anyway... I had the 36th fastest swim of the day; Jordan had the 95th fastest swim. That means that I was faster than 20 people who claimed to have a faster 400 seed time than me, and Jordan was faster than 62 people who claimed to be faster than her!
(Yes, I am a little preoccupied with this... ) haha!

Onto the bike. My transition was pretty fast (for me) given that I did not have to strip off a wet suit. I just put on my shoes and helmet and went. The bike was just 7 miles. Because I am endurance athlete, 7 miles is barely a warm up for me. I find it hard to go from 0 to 22 mph in like a milli-second. But I tried, and so within a milli-second I was breathing so heavily I thought I might have a heart attack. I pushed. I tried to keep my cadence up. I pushed more. I tried not to stop pedaling when I cornered (failed at that, though, I stopped pedaling for part of every corner I encountered!), I pushed and stayed in aero and pusehd some more.

All that is well and good. It still does not make me a sprinter. Why do I attempt races this short when they are CLEARLY NOT what I a) like or b) am naturally good at? Oh well. It was still fun in a twisted kind of way. I finished the 7 mile bike in a little over 19 minutes. In this race they add your transition times into your s/b/r--so it's hard to know how fast (or slow) transition was for me, and also hard to know where I really fell in terms of competition, since my bike could have been faster, but my transitions slower, or vice versa... compared to another.  I will say I successfully took off my shoes while riding and dismounted onto bare feet. Go  me! Okay, so maybe I had to slow way down to do it... but I did it!

Meanwhile, Jordan was just exiting the swim.
Here she is getting on her bike:

How cute is that? Okay, maybe I think it's so cute because she is my little daughter..... :)

Onto the run. Because I had removed my shoes on the bike, I just had to take off my helmet and put on my run shoes and belt when I got to T2. Then I was off! And I felt like shit! Holy mother there was some serious LEAD in my legs!
Again, sprinting just kills me...

But off I went. I decided to just use cadence to propel me forward. I probably looked so stiff and stupid... with a little dancing of feet to get my body moving, but I wasn't sure what else to do. My quads were burning, and a fast cadence was the only "speed" I could muster. Luckily, I had had the good sense not to carry my Garmin with me, so I had no idea how slowly I might actually be going. I focused on passing people. There was a woman ahead of me who looked like she could be competition, so I did my best to catch her and run by her with some umph. As soon as I got beyond her (later I learned her name was Brooke.. she was super nice) I just felt this crushing blow of I DON'T CARE JUST LET ME STOP. I pushed that little demon out of my brain as far as I could, but he kept coming  back at me. YOU ARE NOT A SPRINTER.STOP TRYING TO RUN FAST YOU LOSER. YOU ARE GOING SO SLOWLY THAT A LITTLE MORE SLOWLY WILL MAKE NO DIFFERENCE. And so on.
I passed a few more people, and then just did my best to shut off my obnoxious brain. When I saw Andy very close the end he screamed, Use your arms! Oh ya! My arms! Forgot about those things. I imagine them now, flopping loosely at my sides as I attempted to kick. So I pumped my arms, finished, and then stopped short right after the finish, about ready to puke.

Sprints just suck, I tell you.
But they are also great, because unlike puking in a long race, you are fine in like 2 seconds after a sprint. Your body just really wanted you to stop.. and you did, so it forgives you and lets you go on with your day.
And then I looked at my watch. 41:16. I had missed a PR by 5 seconds.
Damn.

But on the other hand, I had only missed my PR by 5 seconds! Not so bad! I had a great race last year when I got that PR. I had felt pretty good and raced confidently. Today I was less confident and felt less good, but I was still only 5 seconds off that time!

It's all perspective.
Right?
That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

I chatted with my good friend Tracy and with Brooke (new friend who I valiantly passed on the run), then I found Andy and my two younger kids, Noah and Lara. Andy was congratulatory. Noah and Lara were less congratulatory, and more just "eager" for me to get them a few brownies they had been ogling at the athlete table.

Jordan was still on her second loop of the bike, so I went to change into dry running clothes so I could run with her when she started her run. She had an awesome second loop and got off the bike all smiles.
Here she is BOOKING it out of T2.

I began to run with her and she was so fast I could barely keep up! Some warm down for me! Soon she slowed slightly, though, and even though we were moving at a good clip it felt okay. She told me all about her ride and her swim, and kept saying, I'm thirsty! At mile 1.5 there was a water stop and she got a drink. Then we trucked on. Her pace slowed quite a bit for the last 3/4 of a mile, but she was still running well and only expressing a desire to stop every 10 seconds or so... :) Then she saw that the finish was close. I pointed to all the adults ahead of her that were jogging to the finish line. You can take them all, Jord! Go for it! I peeled off so she could finish alone, and she sprinted! It was awesome!
Here she is sprinting to the finish:

She did pass every adult her in path. It was quite entertaining. People cheered and screamed for her--this little peanut finishing her first real tri!  She finished up her run in a little over 19 minutes for the 2.25 and her overall time for the race was a 58:56. She placed 7th in her AG (0-19). She didn't really care about that, though. She was mostly just psyched that the race had been so fun!

It turned out I placed third overall so we decided to stay for the awards. The two girls who beat me were young... one was 20 and one just barely 30. Grrrr. But hey, I'll take it. These girls were much bigger and taller than me, and the winner was 22 years younger!

It was a great race. I'm so proud of Jordan (bet you didn't figure that one out....)
And now, back to our regularly scheduled endurance training. Mooseman 1/2 Iron up next!

I Need Yet Another Cup of Joe

Yesterday my daughter, Lara, left open the door to the closet in which we store the dog food. She was busy skulking away after stealing Pirate's Booty for a snack, and it must have slipped her mind to shut that door.

And of course, enter Hazel, my food obsessed lab. She downed quite a bit of dog kibble before I caught her. She looked up at me when I found her, paws neatly pressed down on the shredded Purina dog chow bag, her lips and nose covered in bits of kibble-laden saliva. Then she stood, with difficulty, and slunk guiltily away, her larger-than-I-have-ever-seen-it belly swaying morbidly from side to side.

She has since shit and burped dog kibble non-stop for 16 hours straight.

And so, here I sit, the smell of kibble vomit and doggy burp enveloping me like a blanket. Except not a warm blanket. To boot, it's fucking cold in this house. The furnace began emitting a quite nauseating burnt-oil smell a day ago. Andy turned the furnace off much to my chagrin. I would most definitely tolerate the smell of burnt oil if I could just stay a little warm. Alas, he fears we will be poisoned by the fumes wafting from the basement. But what's a little poisonous air? I'm so cold! It's 55 degrees in  here! And sure, it's MAY, but it's New England. It's raw, drizzly and cold outside... and that raw cold has seeped, now, into my bones.

A big cup of Joe is not really helping, though I feel it should. I need the warmth, the caffeine, and the smell of coffee to overpower Hazel's lingering barfy, burpy, farting stench. (As I write she lies sleepily at my feet, letting slip noxious farts that are certainly more poisonous than the fumes from the furnace...)

But onto more savory topics.
I'm in a recovery week.
I  have some observations to make about the recovery week.

The first is this:
Fatigue and hunger seem to have a delayed onset for me, making their most pronounced appearances just when I feel I should be feeling sharp and satiated.
So, strangely, it's not following the big rides and runs that I feel ready to crawl into bed and never come out again. Instead, that desire comes when I don't expect it, days, sometimes a week later.  So, for example, despite that I have been doing light workouts for a few days, I am craving a nap, I want to consume every morsel of food that comes into my field of vision, and a 4 mile run seems like the ultimate test of torture.

Why is that?
So, it's day 4 of my rest week. I *feel* I should be *feeling* peppy. Instead I am feeling like a would like to eat huge breakfast and then take a long nap (as opposed to executing the 2.5 hour ride on my schedule). Sigh.

Another observation about the recovery week:
I find it hard to shift gears.

When I am working hard day in and day out I just get it done. I put my head down, try not to think too much about how a 16 mile run or a 90 mile ride will feel, and I, in the immortal words of Nike, Just Do It.

It takes me a few days into the recovery week to settle into not having to spend my entire day working out. Suddenly I have time. My athlete schedules are done for the next few weeks, and it's Wednesday! (Ask any of my athletes and they will tell you that lately I have not had them done in quite so timely a fashion.) And here I am--writing a post, *gasp*, which hasn't happened in quite some time. And the laundry is not exactly done, but it's also not piled so high it's being pushed out the basement windows, and the house, though freezing cold, is not in the disastrous state in which one usually finds it.

And that feels good.

I guess this is why I find it hard shifting BACK into workout mode. Suddenly that 2.5 hour ride seems extremely inconvenient. And yet, in a build week a 2.5 hour ride on the schedule would seem gleefully short.

I finish off this recovery week with my first tri of the season, The Sudbury Sprint. This race is shorter than short: a 400 yard swim, a 7 mile bike, and a 2.3 mile run. I'm definitely excited to race, because I love racing. But I am also uneasy: I haven't "made it hurt" in the sprint tri sense of what that means in quite some time. Sprinting is going to be quite the shock to the system! But it will be a nice little wake up in a twisted sort of way. I know that.

A bunch of my athletes are racing, and so is Jordan, my daughter. Can you think of anything more fun that that? My 10-year-old is racing with me! My hope is that I finish early enough to go back and find her on the run so I can run with her a bit. I know it's not technically triathlon-legal to run with someone... but she's 10... and it's a mini-sprint... and it's a small race. I'm pretty sure they won't throw me off the course if I jog with her (or walk... wherever she might be at if and when I find her). Aside from the swim, Jordan has not trained at all for this race, and she also still doesn't really get shifting on the road bike. So there may be some walking involved. But who cares! So much fun! Her first tri! I hope she loves it.
I know she will love it.
(I just hope she doesn't beat me in the swim. Is it wrong to hope that? Maybe when she is eleven I won't mind so much...? )

HAPPY TRAINING to you all.
The season is here! It's finally time to race! YAHOO!