Elizabeth Waterstraat

On Swimming

2012-01-31T15:53:00.000-06:00

WARNING: If you find yourself at masters and the coach hints that tomorrow you’ll do the timed mile, when another swimmer suggests doing the timed two mile do not under any circumstances get a glimmer in your eye.

Because the coach will notice.

Before I break the suspense of what’s more torturous – banging your head against a wall for 45 minutes or swimming two miles straight in short course yards – let me clear the air: I love swimming. Not because I come from a swimming background. Actually I was 24 years old when I learned how to swim and will never forget what the swim instructor said to me: what I like about you is that you swim slow. I love swimming because somewhere around 4 years ago, when I decided to compete as a pro – it struck me that in order to be good at triathlon you have to love swimming. Because swimming is part of triathlon. For some of you, that is shocking. How many times have you heard – or said, admit it – that you hate swimming. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like driving to the pool, getting into the pool, walking out of the pool with wet hair or even getting wet at all.

But I do love to swim. And if you’re going to get good at triathlon, you have to.

There’s been a lot of chit chat lately about swimming. For good reason. Triathletes are notoriously poor swimmers. Accept it - it’s hard to get good at something when you’re splitting your time between three sports. Especially something as technical as swimming. Not only that but most triathletes do not have a background in swimming. It takes only a few minutes of watching a children’s swim team to understand the benefit of starting to swim as a child. Children are kinesthetic learners. They don’t think, they just do. Enter adults: they think, they hem, they haw, they question, they overthink and then…they do. For those reasons, swimming for the adult-onset athlete is complicated.

It’s hard to sort fact from fiction, theory from bullshit when it comes to swimming. In all honestly, there is no one size fits all training plan for any sport. Jokingly, someone the other day suggested that swimming 9,000 yards a week and expecting to get faster is like running 15 miles a week and expecting to get faster. I set my 5K PR on 15 miles a week proving that what works for one will not work for everyone. Often it takes trying a few different approaches before you find something that works for you. Recognizing what doesn’t work is as important as recognizing what does work. You might find pieces of several approaches that work. The point is to take the initiative to try something new, give it enough time to see if it works and integrate those pieces into your year-round swim routine.

When it comes to improving the swim, I’ve tried everything. From Total Immersion to swimming masters 5x a week, being videotaped by different coaches, swimming only easy, giving up swimming. The only thing that has gotten me better is me taking the responsibility to improve myself. Asking the questions, listening to the answers, accepting feedback, doing the work then reflecting on how it influences my swim/bike/run. No single coach COULD do this for me, no matter how much I paid them. There has been no magic bullet to improve my swimming other the continual process of looking to improve and then making it happen.

And this takes TIME.

When I started swimming I was not good. I’m still not good but for a triathlete I’ve kept getting better which is the goal – slow but steady progress. If someone finds the magic formula for fast progress, don’t send it to me. You’ll never realize (or respect) the patient, often B-O-R-I-N-G work it takes to improve yourself at something. There were several breakthroughs I had in the past few years to improve my swimming. Since you should be thinking swimmy things right now because really what else is going on in triathlon, let’s talk about things you can do right now to improve your swimming (that don’t involve catch-up drill!):

Breathe every stroke when you’re going fast. Most triathletes think they need to bilateral breathe for better swimming. No true! Yes, it’s good for balancing out your stroke, having the ability to breathe no matter where chop in the water is coming from and stretching yourself out but when you want to go fast – you gotta breathe! Like a (real) swimmer once told me: OXYGEN IS GOOD! Years ago, while watching me swim, Greg G. told me: when you go fast, breathe on your best side only. Breakthrough! The time difference is about 3-5 seconds per 100. I’ve never breathed both sides in a race since then.

EVF. EVF. EVF. If you don’t know what it is, Google it, YouTube it or ask your Facebook friends. Early vertical forearm is the optimal position for a powerful catch and pull. When most triathletes struggle with swimming, I don’t even need to look at their stroke. The answer is often: stop dropping your elbow! Learn how to position your arm properly in (and through) the water. Stretch cords (or Vasa Trainer in case you have a bunch of $$$ laying around and wondering just what else tri-related you can do with it) are a great way to develop the EVF motion.

Paddles – use ‘em. In my swim bag, I have 5 different pairs of paddles. I use them all – a lot. When we are doing sprint 25s, I use paddles. When we are doing a challenging interval, rather than not making it I put on pull buoy and paddles. For some reason, athletes are afraid of paddles. If you use them wrong, they should just fall right off or you should have the kinesthetic sense enough to fix it. Use a paddle just slightly bigger than your hand. My personal preferences: (green) TYR Catalyst or StrokeMakers. I take off all bands except for the middle finger (but this is a personal choice). Want to get really strong in open water? Put on paddles when swimming in open water.

I love something between my legs. That’s what my masters coach told me. It’s the pull buoy! Like my paddles, I can’t do a swim without pulling. No, it’s not cheating, it’s not “fake” swimming, it’s not making up for poor body position. Well, maybe it is. But it helps me to keep up with faster swimmers and get that “feeling” of faster swimming. Sometimes feel in swimming is more important than fitness. Sometimes not. The pull buoy is a great way to focus on your front end stroke, rotation, breathing, head position. Too often swimmers use a pull buoy for easy sets – try pulling a hard set (with paddles!). You’ll feel on top of the water, improved form and again get that feel of faster swimming.

I’m with the band! I’m a HUGE fan of the band, add in paddles and you’ve got yourself a great strength set to prepare for open water. Get an old bike inner tube, tie your ankles together and there you have it – the band. Most people give up with the band because it feels like your legs are dragging the bottom of the pool. That’s the point! The challenge is to figure out the changes you need to make in your body position, stroke and turnover to reduce that feeling. Hint: press your chest (HARD) and turn your arms over.

Swim with masters. I’ve been swimming with my masters team for over 10 years. You simply cannot push yourself as hard when you swim alone – doesn’t matter what intervals you are given, trust me. We are all competitive and when you swim with others, that switch flips and you’re an animal hunting down the feet of the swimmer in front of you. Masters is motivating, fun, social and ass kicking – plus, swimmers talk a lot more about beer than power to weight ratios. And every practice ends in the hot tub – can it get any better than that?

Become a swimmer. Wear an Ugli suit. Do a swim meet. Get a mesh bag and fill it with pool toys. Learn to talk the lingo (on the :30, send offs, hypoxic), join a team, dive off the blocks, swim all four strokes. Most triathletes have an aversion to swimming so it’s no wonder they aren’t good at it. They focus on the negatives: the black line, getting wet, being cold, it’s so boring! Embrace it all and make friends with it. Back when I started triathlon, my husband had me join a cycling team, do a bunch of criteriums, mountain bike races and group rides. The result: I "became" a cyclist and get better at cycling. Do the same for swimming.

Snorkel the shit out of that set. A swimmer’s snorkel is another way to mix things up in the pool. Without the distraction of rotating to breathe, you can work on head stability/position, catch/pull, balance, hip/hand timing. Snorkels go great with pull buoy, paddles, even fins. I also find I breathe a little more labored or differently which is great preparation for those moments in open water when your breathing pattern gets disrupted. For extra fun, bedazzle your snorkel with colorful tape and stickers. For extra cool kid points, learn how to flip turn with it.

Make an honest effort to improve your open water swim-ability. New Flash: To swim well in open water you need to SWIM IN THE OPEN WATER! When your training is specific to the demands of racing, you’ll see racing progress. Pool swim speed does not easily transfer to open water. What’s so different about open water? Besides no lines, wetsuits, chop, sighting, other swimmers - in open water you swim long, steady sets. When was the last time your masters team did tempo 1000s? You also get no push off from a wall so you need strength in your stroke – not in your legs/push off (enter paddles & pull buoy!). You also need to mental focus. The more you swim open water, the more you figure out what you need to do to swim better in open water. You cannot do this in a pool.

JFS. In other words: just fucking swim. No better way to state it. Triathletes have a tendency to talk about swimming, think about swimming, question their swimming, declare their hatred for swimming, justify not swimming, blame away their poor swimming but the one thing they will rarely do? GO SWIMMING! Sometimes, it’s that simple. If you want to get better at something, you have to do more of it. More is more (sort of). If it’s a form issue, spend a month doing short sessions of drill work with shorter, faster sets (25s, 50s) where you hold form while going faster. But if not – to breakthrough you *likely* need to swim more. Swim a few more times a week. Doesn’t have to be long, just get in the water & swim 30 minutes. Also, just as you do with your bike and run, include a weekly long swim. Get to the point where swimming 4K in an hour feels like nothing.

Did I make you feel like swimming? No? Just wait.

On weekdays, I swim at 10 am. This is a lovely mix of stay at home moms and men who either work from home, don’t work or work jobs where they can disappear for long periods of time with no one noticing. Among my lanemates is usually Tom who falls into a separate category of only working when it doesn’t rain (roofing business). I like Tom. Even appointed him my lane husband. Tom who once declared his best event as REST, who confessed that he used to swim his 500 in 4:48 in high school (why he is now swimming with me is a mystery). Tom who is not afraid to walk half of a kick set.

We are an unlikely pair – he, huge; me, small. My best open water preparation is swimming free in his wake of fly.

We work well together.

My latest Tom story: Just today we were cooling down with 5 x 100 on the 1:40 when I noticed Tom running in the lane next to me. If breathing with a snorkel is a challenge, laughing your ass off with one is downright hazardous. When I asked him why he was running, he said “because Gary wondered if I could run a 100 in 1:40.” The answer: he could. And just to prove the point, he did it again.

On Tuesday, we do distance free at masters. Long sets. It’s never a good sign when you come back to the wall after warm up to see three white boards, all turned around with the workouts hiding.

The coach tells us that today we get a choice of a mainset. She turns around the first board:

5 x 500

4 x 600

50 x 50 on the :50

10 x 100 + timed mile

Timed 2 mile

This is distance free, my friends. This is what most masters programs are lacking! If you’re going to excel at triathlon, you have to do long sets. It’s not even a matter of fitness (ok, it is), it’s a matter of mental focus and strength.

If you want to know how to immediately find yourself alone in a lane at masters, choose the timed 2 mile. When the coach asked our choices, I shouted TIMED TWO MILE, jumping up and down, giddy that I get to do something for the first time in my life. And my lanemate?

Crickets. Tom had switched lanes.

I had a goal and hit it. The hardest part? Counting that many laps. And with 10 to go, breathing to my right to see Marty waving at me, finished with his workout, as if to say you are about 1 lap away from being the only idiot left in this pool swimming on the clock.

And this is my final point about improving your swimming: you’ve got to do the thing you don’t want to do. I didn’t really want to count that many laps. Nor swim in a lane on my own. Or swim that long without my pull buoy and paddles (GASP!). But sometimes to get better at what you want to do, you have to do what you don’t want to do. Think about that. If you don’t want to make time to go to the pool another day or take the extra time to drive to masters or meet with a swim coach – maybe it’s time to do that and see what happens.

Yes, the pool is uncomfortable, inconvenient in terms of time, money (shall I go on?) and arguably even return on investment for actual swim splits. Yet the purpose of swimming more is not necessarily to swim faster. It’s to triathlon faster. You emerge from the water feeling better and you’ll bike/run better too. Triathlon – it’s one sport, folks. Learn how to weave 3 parts seamlessly, efficiently and you’ll go faster.

And what better time to try some new swimming things than early in the new year?

Moving Out

2012-01-17T12:25:00.002-06:00

I accidentally packed myself up and taped my lid shut for the past few weeks and labeled myself FRAGILE.

Kidding.

We’re moving! And why is it that moving sounds like a better idea than it actually turns out to be?

This past summer, searching for a new house became my part-time job. I’m sure you’ve heard that it’s a buyer’s market. Let me be the one to burst your realty bubble with shot of the reality I found. It is only a buyer’s marked if you are a buyer who:

1 – is able to pay in cash

2 – is willing to pay list price

3 – is interested in waiting a year for that foreclosure to get released from the bank

We fell into none of those categories and so it took many months to find the right house and actually get it. I became addicted to Redfin. I called my realtor about houses before she even knew they were listed. I saw dozens of houses. Good and bad. Going into someone’s home is strange – you get a glimpse of their personal space which at times is very inviting and at other times downright frightening. The worst? Short sales. You’ve got someone who is financially distressed and knows it’s just a matter of time before the bank takes their home. Put that together and you have someone who basically living in squalor and smoking a lot of cigarettes.

Selling a house is no easy task. We saw some nice homes in great locations but had to say no when we encountered any one of these things:

1 – Don’t smoke in the house. Ever. And if you still smoke, walk yourself up to a brick wall and bang your head into it.

2 – Don’t have cats. I have nothing against cats but will say that you walk into a cat home and you just know it’s a cat home. Also, if you have cats, change the kitty litter – oh, sometime in the past month would be nice.

3 – Don’t try to cover up the smell of cats or cigarettes with some nasty cheap plug-in because (news flash) it doesn’t work. At all.

4 – Don’t do anything to the house that is just for you or your hobby. For example, installing 6 different closets in one room in the basement because you have 6 different hobbies doesn’t make much sense for anyone else.

5 – Don’t install a pool. Most of the houses I saw that had been on the market for more than 100 days had a pool (or hot tub). In a place where we get summer for 3 months out of the year, a pool is not highly desirable.

I should also add that if taxidermy is your hobby, hide it. In your car or someplace potential buyers will not be looking.

We put 5 contracts on houses. Eventually we found and agreed on a house in north Naperville. It’s an older home, built in 1957, and the prior owners raised 6 children there – including 3 sets of twins. Yes, this house is fertile. Which might come in handy one of these days. What sold me was the updated kitchen, the spacious family room and the office. I will have a real office with a desk and – doors that I can close. No more working at the kitchen table!

Finding the house, agreeing on the sale was the easy part. Working with the bank – very difficult. A few suggestions on how to prepare yourself should you ever need to seek out a loan:

Start keeping records – now – of everything, including all purchases, all bank statements and every time you’ve taken a shit in the last 6 months.

Don’t go with a big bank, go with a smaller bank or broker. The process will be much, much quicker. And you will be less inclined to want to reach through the phone and slap the person on the other end.

Expect the whole process to be very invasive, slow-moving and frustrating. Also expect that you will go completely apeshit on the phone at some point. It won’t accomplish anything but you’ll feel a hell of a lot better.

Give yourself 8-12 weeks from the time you approach the bank to the time you will close. We’ve heard that it takes only 3 weeks. That’s an urban legend. Financial times have changed and it takes much longer now. We missed about a half dozen closing dates.

As the days count down in our old house, I’m getting a little sad. I really like our old house. There’s nothing wrong with it, we just wanted more space, a “real” backyard, better schools and to be farther from the train. Plus we wanted to own the property (we live in a townhouse). Our current house is literally 400 yards from the expressway and a quarter mile from one of the busiest rail lines in the country. Some nights it sounds like the train is running right through the bedroom. Our new house appears to be in a quiet neighborhood. That was until Chris spent the day there Sunday and reported that the neighbors to the east left their two yellow labs outside ALL DAY and dogs left outside all dog will bark nonstop when it’s only 15 degrees. The neighbors to the north? Have chickens.

The new house needs some work – we removed the carpet upstairs to find wood floors so we’re having those refinished. We’re repainting the house in “our” colors. I lost a little sleep last night trying to figure out what color to paint the laundry room – Pumpkin Butter or Autumn Maple? And what about cabinets in Thorny Branch? We’ve installed all new switch plates, outlet covers and door handles. These are all the little things that will make someone else’s home into our home. I spent most of Sunday in Home Depot and the rest of it wearing a tool belt. Replacing doorknobs I thought to myself – why did I choose an older home? I viewed countless newer homes that needed only half the work. But at the same time, something about this home felt like home. And something about making it into our home feels really exciting.

We’re still living in the old house (for another 2 weeks). It’s strange knowing that most of our stuff is in the other house and at some point we have to live there. We’ve lived in this house for 7 years and it’s become so comfortable. We have our routine. We know the neighbors. But the only things left in our house are clothes, furniture and dishes. We’ve got a limited supply of food. The other day I made a meal out of a piece of old bread, raisins and peanut butter. I’m getting anxious to get out, start a new routine and honestly eat normal food again.

On Saturday night, we raised our first glass of wine in the new house. I’m a little excited, a little scared. What if I don’t like it? What if Max doesn’t nap as well in the new house? What if Boss barks nonstop with the yellow labs? The cure? Shopping. Shopping for all new décor made me feel like I now have 3000 square feet of possibility – new colors, new linens, fresh paint.

Forget that I will have to clean those 3000 square feet and mow the giant lawn that surrounds it.

When it’s all complete, I’ll post pictures and invite you all over to the new house. Until then, I’ll be unpacking boxes. I should mention that before the whole process started, we packed up a lot of the house, including all of our wine. What was two boxes is now two bottles. So if you’re thinking of sending a housewarming gift, (red) wine would be lovely.

Why Wait?

2011-12-31T14:30:00.003-06:00

It’s New Years Eve, I was sitting on my bike with my veins running coffee, a million thoughts running through my head, when it struck me what an odd place the eve of new years really is. It’s like sitting on the edge of a cliff and below is a great unknown. We know we’re going over, we’re just not sure where we’ll land.

Perusing Facebook, most people were talking good riddance to 2011 and eagerly anticipating the good that would hopefully come in 2012. The new year is like opening a gift - the possibility of what could be makes us want to tear right in. With the risk of knowing it could be something we want to return. But we'll take the chance. It could be something great! Worth the wait of an entire year.

And then it occurred to me…why wait?

There’s something about the prospect of starting over – of wiping the slate clean, starting fresh, pretending like the past never happened to clutter our view of what’s possible in the future. I, myself, have written dozens of these start over lists, dozens of goals with the start date of Monday, next week, next month, next year. Sometimes we spend so much time waiting to start becoming the better version of ourselves and in that time, we keep on being the uglier version the self. We binge, we go overboard, waiting for that designated date to start over and feel good about ourselves again.

Think about how you feel after you write those start over lists. Empowered, pleased and in control. Lists make us hopeful. List take what seems intangible and puts it within our reach. Organizes us on how to take action. And action leads to change, results, improvements. If I do x, y and z; if I commit to this – what could I be? If I do all of my training sessions, eat well, get to bed early – could I set that new PR? Win my age group? Achieve that next big thing? For that, I sit down at the end of the year and make a list. Of where I want to be next December. Of my checkpoints along the way.

(but sometimes these lists just scream: I’m flawed. FIX ME! The list gets bigger. More things to work on. The pressure! Sigh. Accepting who you are – here, now, for better, for worse – should be a part of our new years resolution. #1 on the list. Here I am, with imperfections, things I could do better – all of these idiosyncracies making up the fabric of me. There is nothing wrong with me. If I was perfect, what would be the point of living? I would have mastered everything and had no more need to learn. Failing, learning, dreaming – these are all things in life that make it worth living)

Why do we wait until December to write our start over lists? Why not every Sunday before the next week? Better yet, every morning? This process of looking for more in ourselves, our goals and then setting forth and action plan on how to get there – why not spend more time on that? I know: we’re busy, we’re distracted, we’re waiting for the next start over date to be a kick in the ass.

But why wait?

If you took action now – if you let go of that bad habit now, if you started over now, if you dreamed big RIGHT NOW – where would you be? Next week? Next December? Does your “list” contain things that you were supposedly working on last year? What happened? Why do you keep waiting?

I think in life, far too often we “wait” to press the reset button. We get trapped in our bad habits, losing sight of the fact that every day we make choices. We get caught up in the busyness and messiness of life. Distracted. We put off the big things (change) to complete the little things (grocery shopping – again?). You choose to be who you are and do what you do. Food doesn’t control you. Other people don’t control you. Life doesn’t control you. You create it. Things happen to us but you always choose your reaction.

15 miles have gone by. I’ve pedaled 15 miles and gone nowhere. Sadly, sometimes an analogy for life, isn’t it? But in that time, I’ve thought a lot about the new year. How we need to take all of that hope and enthusiasm for our own possibility in the new year and spread it more evenly throughout the year. Heck, every day. Start each morning with #1 on the list: I’m not perfect, but I’m ok. I’m a work in progress. And the rest of the things on this list, I will work on them to make that progress. And if I do a little bit of work every day, next December I’ll be in a better place – I’ll know more, I’ll have lived more, I’ll have taken action more. That will make me a better version of myself.

Sometimes all we need to start over in life is remind ourselves that every day we have the control, power and ability to take action. Here, now it begins. It starts now. And if not now – then when? And why? Whatever you want to change or do, it can happen. No need to wait until tomorrow or the next year. Start now, take a little bit of action every day and over time – how can you not get there? How can you NOT consider your effort, your self, your year a success?

It’s December 31, 2011. You’re sitting on the edge of the cliff. And the good news – you know where you can land. Things will happen along the way, some good, some bad but you’re always in control. You make choices. You take action. You set goals. You write lists. The new year doesn’t have to be a mystery, a place where we “wait” for good things to come to us. Go out and make them happen. A little bit every day. You’ll get there.

The Debate

2011-12-14T14:51:00.002-06:00

There’s a debate in triathlon that will probably rage forever.

It’s the one question we all want the answer to. We know the answer is out there – or at least, we think we know. Once we know the answer, it will all make sense, we’ll all be fast and we’ll all start winning.

Right?

It’s the intensity debate. Lately, I’ve gotten a lot of questions about this: training approach. Which is best? High intensity/low volume, low intensity/high volume?

The answer is not a clear one. In other words, it depends. It depends on who you ask. It depends on who you are. It depends on your goals. I don’t think there will ever be research, data or experience to support that one works better than the other because there are so many other factors that go into success.

So which is the best? It’s the one that works best for you. How do you know which approach will work best for you? Consider your age, your experience, your background, your goals and your ability to recover. Most importantly, look back at your history. Look at that approaches you’ve followed. To determine which was the most successful, consider a few things:

1 – Performance. It’s stating the obvious but under which approach did you perform at your best? Be careful to avoid race placement as a criteria – look at raw performance – numbers, data – and compare what counts.

2 – Repeatability of performance. Was half your season a bang and the other a flop? Were there more hits than misses? What you’re looking for is repeatability, the ability to turn out consistently strong performances.

3 – Health. The most important factor upon which nothing else exists unless you have it. Were you healthy? No colds, sinus infections, no injuries, no missed days/weeks because of illness/injury/aches/mental burnout. Look at the whole picture of health – physical, psychological.

This brings us back to the debate: which then is better? The high intensity/low volume program of the low intensity/high volume program?

The program that works best is the one that allows you to do the most work consistently over time. One thing we cannot deny in sport: work = work. More is more. Therefore: more work is better. Yet the problem is that most athletes apply this concept incorrectly. More does not mean going out and hammering 3 workouts a day while living on bagels and 5 hours of sleep. If you’re doing more work, you’ve got to give that much more attention to the peripherals that allow you to integrate that work: sleep, nutrition, etc. In other words: RECOVERY. For every 1 more hour of work you do, you’ve got to give your body 1 more hour of recovery.

Yet most of us cannot do that. We have jobs, kids, spouses, commutes and other obligations. We can’t take a nap after a workout because we’ve got to get right back to whatever it is we do when we’re not training. Which is typically what pays the bills. And so enter the high intensity/low volume approach. More bang for your buck. Less is more. Sounds like the answer, right? I don’t disagree with this approach but I do feel you need to be careful with it. I often call this the “give ‘em what they want” approach. We all want to hear that we can do more on less. Why?

1 – Our brain. The brain is always trying to find shortcuts to complete future work faster and with less effort. We are looking for the most efficient, least energy costly way to accomplish something. If less is more, we want to know – our brain wants to know. Not only that but it’s the attractiveness of getting what we want on as little as possible. Our society is obsessed with this notion. Ever seen Six Minute Abs?

2 – The ego need. There is something quite ego-satsifying about going hard. A hard workout makes us feel like we did something and that feeling gives us confidence that we are prepared and ready for something “hard” like a race. It’s fun to win the workout or go to the group workout to smash it. But be careful of the ego need – falling into this trap can often lead to leaving our best races in training. Carefully use your mental and physical energy at the right place and right time – in key workouts and races – not in day to day sessions.

3 – Cultural Work Ethic. There is a value attached to hard work that is deeply ingrained in the history of our society. In most areas of life, the harder we work, the farther we go. We put in extra hours at work, we get a bigger bonus. We study harder, we get better grades. As such, we believe the harder we work at sports, the faster we will be. Though in sport working too hard can lead to the opposite result which you are seeking.

So is less more? Is more less?

Work is work. You can’t deny it. Whether you do a lot of it or a little of it you’ve got to do it to get faster. So, my answer to less or more: do work. Do it consistently. Recover well from it, wake up tomorrow and do it again. Repeat that process over and over again. Whether during that process you do fast work, long work, slow work, short work – whatever allows you to wake up day after day motivated and healthy enough to get the work done is what works for you. After all, what we are seeking in this sport is repeatability – repeatability of pace, repeatability of strong performance, repeatability of the ability to train day after day.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Aren’t there magical workouts? A certain number of hours to train each week? Often times the best approach is the most simple. Simple is easy on our body and mind. Sometimes we create more stress worrying about our training approach than the training approach itself creates on our body. We all know these athletes; classic overthinkers. They get so lost in overthinking the details of the plan that they lose sight of common sense. You get faster by doing work, recovering and then adding more stress. You don’t get faster by adding more stress, underrecovering and then adding more stress. What you get there is injured, sick or plateaued.

See how that goes? It’s not in the details, it’s in the big picture. Whatever allows you to do the most quality work over time is the best approach. It’s really rather simple. I’ve often said this about coaching: it’s not rocket science. No matter what a coach tells you, they do not have their PhD in triathlon. They don’t need it. It’s the art of applying science. The science is rather simple. It’s more about taking that science and fitting it into someone’s life, their mindset and their ability to recover.

And here's another secret: want the biggest bang for your fitness buck that has nothing to do with less or more training? Seek out ways to improve your recover-ability. Eat the right things at the right time. Sleep. Fuel/hydrate well before, during and after workouts. Train your brain. Stretch. Do your strength training. Learn to compartmentalize – when you’re doing the sport, focus on it. When you’re not, focus on something else! Pay attention to your body – then, listen to it. A little more recovery goes a long way.

So which approach is right for you? Some athletes need more intensity, some need more volume, some need those long rides/runs/etc every week. Some need shorter workouts with more frequency. Some athletes can handle multiple intense sessions a week. Some can only go easy. Whatever approach is applied to them, it has to be one that allows them to work consistently. Which works for you? Look back at your history and honestly assess what works for you. And know that often what we want to do and what we need to do – are two different things. What we want to do is often driven by our insecurities, our fear, our obsessive tendencies. What we need to do is driven by our goals, our body, our experience, our recover-ability. It might be wise to ask for help in figuring out what’s right for you.

More or less? There are still some athletes who will not let this question go. Even when an athlete has bought into a particular approach, it’s not uncommon for them to still have questions, to wonder if there is a better way. Is it insecurity? Hard to say. More likely that it’s our inability to ever be satisfied. It’s the paradox of choice. We have so many choices that we are rarely content with the one we’ve chosen. What if there’s something out there that’s better?

Bottom line: consistency is all that counts. Whatever you choose to do, do it consistently. Make sure it works for you and your life. Then - give it time to work. Along the way, enjoy yourself, maintain good health and reap the benefits of improved performance. Can you check of each of those three things off with your current training plan? If so, you’ve found your answer. You’ve chosen the right plan.

The Club

2011-12-06T22:56:00.002-06:00

You’ve officially joined the club of parenting when you find your backseat covered in Cheerios.

I swore to myself it would never be happen. A few years ago, I remember looking in the backseat of a friend’s car – a very nice, upscale car – and noticing the backseat was a sea of baby toys, blankets, crumbs and Cheerios. Disgusting, I thought, why don’t they clean that shit up. Why? Because every time they clean it up, someone sits back there snug in their carseat throwing Cheerios to pass the time.

What you don’t know is that this club of parenting is only for the cool kids. I know, you think you’re cool because you have a social life, you washed your hair this morning, you can go to a public restroom without shouting GET AWAY FROM THAT TOILET SEAT.

No.

Cool is driving around in a minivan and feeling a strange sense of connection when your friend posts a picture of their new minivan on Facebook. You’re gonna love it! Cool is standing outside in the dark, 38 degrees, at a parade (let it be told that I HATE PARADES),screaming when Curious George walks by, picking up candy canes off the ground, freezing your ass off all because you are waiting to see Santa at the end of the parade. He’s not even real! And even though one day I know my children will tell me – repeatedly – how uncool I am, I’ll know otherwise. Because you cannot survive this parenting thing without the belief that: I am absolutely bursting with cool.

The other day we were at the library. The kids section has a wonderful play area filled with letter magnets, toys and puppets. We go there because (a) it’s free, (b) there are other children Max can interact with, and (c) I don’t have to clean up after him. Another couple was there with a child around Max’s age. The dad was lying on the ground behind a wooden puppet theater putting on a puppet show while the child watched, mesmerized. I walked by this scene, while toting my own child away from his latest obsession – the drinking fountain – and thought to myself: we used to be cool.

Remember that? We used to go out. We used to have a social life. We used to have adult conversations. We used to have days that weren’t centered around trying to keep the child as busy as possible so they will take their afternoon nap. Now, we lay on the library floor putting on puppet shows talking in funny animal voices.

Friday night, Chris and I made a date to go to The Great Indoors. I waited for this all week. If this is marriage at year 6, can you imagine year 20? Let’s go to the Chik-Fil-A for a nice sit-down dinner. I shudder. Anyhow, we were looking for things for our new house. An organizational system for our laundry room. It gets better. After this, I wanted to go to the Home Depot. Friday night.

Enough said.

I walk in and immediately tell Chris that I HAVE to have the inflatable Santa sitting in a helicopter with an actual rotating blade. I just feel compelled. We don’t have any Christmas yard art and I HAVE to beat our neighbor who has his front yard decorated with bizarre Christmas shit. My favorite was the year he tried to dye the snow red. Turns out red snow quickly fades. And that’s how you have a front yard full of pink snow. When Chris reads the 90 dollar price tag, he says I can’t have it. I almost tantrummed but then figured there was a 99 percent chance that another Waterstraat would tantrum in the store within the next 30 minutes so why steal his thunder.

We looked at some paint. Ceiling tiles. Cabinets. Then Chris told me we had to find a new toilet seat. Because mine was worn out. Think about that what you wish. Next we looked at lighting. And then Chris said he wanted to find a toolbelt.

And zip your trap about any Schneider comments.

So Schneider and I headed over to the aisle with the toolbelts. Have you been? It’s more than you think. At least two dozen options.

It’s Friday night, we’re at the Home Depot looking at toolbelts.

And it was more than just us. Quite a few couples with small children pushing around the mobile child prison cell – the cart, do not under any circumstances take the child out of the cart – looking at … tools. Screws. Hardware.

How and when did this happen?

Chris tries on a few toolbelts. Yes, tries on a few, and then settles on the cheapest one. Goes to put it in the cart with Max who throws it right back out. As if to say: you guys used to be cool. Fuck this Scheider tool belt fashion show (and how awesome would it be if he actually said that?). By the way, we have just reached the point as parents when we realize that we need to install a filter – ON OUR MOUTHS! As my brother once told me, there is nothing funny about a 2 year old saying “crap” when they drop their cookie!

Chris looks around for a few other things while I take the opportunity to update my Facebook. One can never have enough displays of shameless narcissism and what better place to display it than on Facebook. I tell the world I’m at Home Depot. But what I failed to mention is that I also looked fabulous!

Obviously.

The responses come in. I find out – I’m not alone. Thank god for Facebook, it makes me feel…..loved in this lonely world. What I learn is that other married couples also go to Home Depot on a Friday night. Makes me think that if you’re married and you haven’t been to a Home Depot – you might just have a marital problem. Maybe this is love or just real life. It’s functional, it is not sexy and at times it involves hardware.

A friend with a newborn asks if there are crying children at the Home Depot because if not – it sounds like a glorious place. Crying children? None, unless you count mine. Who attempted to climb a bamboo flooring display and fell off. I would have saved him but was too busy looking at backyard design books. Another reason to nominate me – Parent of the Year, folks.

Right on cue, laying somewhere near the bamboo flooring display, Max has a meltdown. Full-blown tears, wailing. And let me tell you – the Home Depot echoes. There’s nothing quite like having an exploding child in a store. It completes the awesome circle of parenting experience. Right up there next to blowouts when you forgot the diaper bag. There’s something that should be absolutely embarrassing about this moment, forcing you to abandon a cart full of items to exit the store immediately to save the rest of the world from your child. Because before you had kids, that’s what you wished those parents would do. But then you realize you are officially in the club when you pick up the child and go wait in line for the register. Why? Because you’re in the club. And on your card it says: if you don’t like my crying child, I don’t give a shit!

(oops, I mean crap. Oops….WHERE IS MY FILTER!?)

Why? Because at some point in life, no matter which path you have chosen – to have dogs, cats, plants, friends – whatever – at some point YOU were that crying child. You embarrassed your parents. You had a meltdown. You were the loudest, most obnoxious thing around. You were THAT child. And what I’ve learned in parenting is that there is a good chance that in any given outing your child will become THAT child.

I’ve had to remind myself of this a lot. I spend every day with Max. We go out into the world. We go to the post office and if I want to do anything like – say, take out a credit card, sign for something – I have to put him down. And in doing so, I assure myself that he will remove a half dozen cards from the card display, run around the post office until the polite lady at the counter says: he has a card.

I had no idea.

It would be much easier to stay at home. It would be a lot less embarrassing. I would spend a lot less time picking up random shit off of store floors (my child once disassembled an entire display of Via and all the barista could say was: go ahead and keep what he’s holding).

But as you can see – membership into the club often has benefits.

Who couldn’t use some free Via?

(which incidentally goes great with Cheerios)

(PS: as you can see, I'm going to try to redesign the blog!)

Unmuted

2011-11-21T15:36:00.006-06:00

Psst….

I’m here.

Turns out I’ve been here the whole time – blogging, talking. But it seems that someone pressed my mute button. I’m not pointing fingers but I know a certain person in our household who loves remotes. Might just call operation of said remote a certain person’s savant skill. Or that’s what we thought when it took us a few days to figure out how to turn off the subtitles whereas it took that certain 16-month hold person the press of one button.

So that explains where I’ve been for the past few weeks. And in case you’ve come here today in search of something poignant, scholarly and life changing – you’ve come on the wrong day. This might just be one of those posts where I ramble on about poop.

But I’ll spare you that. For at least a few paragraphs. An update - on the past few weeks. Yes, I am fully recovered from Kona. I felt fine about 1 week after the race. Yes, I made a few meals out of wine in that time yet I look back on it now and think I did not nearly spend those post-race weeks drunk enough. Yes, I ate a lot of whatever I wanted in the weeks after the race. How I then dropped below race weight is one of those universal mysteries. Kind of like how you can train for an Ironman and actually gain weight.

Huh?

Since triathlon is less of a focus these days, I’ve decided to focus more on the social life. For both me and my child. Max and I have become storytime groupies. It’s not that I’m interested in hearing yet another rendition of I’m Not Sleepy it’s just that it gets us out of the house and for 30 minutes my child gets to run around a room where I don’t have to clean things up. Same reason why we sometimes go out to eat. You mean he gets to throw food all over the floor and it’s not my problem? In parental currency, that’s priceless.

Storytime is entertaining – if not for Max who insists on spending the entire time running back and forth between the ONLY two outlets in the room that have not been covered – for me as I try to remember the names of about half the girls in the room who I know I went to high school with. Or to figure out if the old guy who’s always sitting in the back of the room – if he’s actually there WITH a kid.

Fear not, storytime is not the only time I get out of the house. If it was, I’d be writing in rhyme, telling everyone to clap their hands and asking how many turkeys rolled under the bed. (at one point in my life, I actually spoke in normal educated-adult sentences about normal educated-adult things. I swear) This past weekend, I took my social life to the next level by attending a friend’s birthday party.

As the designated driver I successfully refused the bottle of wine that someone’s boss brought back from France. Along with the Limoncello that someone else brought back from Spain. And when someone walked by waving a jello shot on a fork in front of my face? I also turned it down.

Though sober, it took me about an hour to realize that there was something standing out in the living room. One of those – I know I’ve seen that thing before but I’m not sure where. That’s when I had to ask another friend: is that a stripper pole?

Friends shouldn’t let friends pole dance in their living room. But if it’s their birthday - I learned – they’ll pole dance if they want to. It just so happens that this friend is taking pole dancing classes. Why? When you’re in your late 30s and you have a kid – things like this need no explanation. You have to have only lived that life to get it. Not saying that I’m taking up pole dancing any time soon but…does it get me out of the house? Away from my kid for an hour?

Where do I sign up?

Chris and his sister asked me the last time I saw a stripper pole. It didn’t take me long to answer: Ottumwa, Ragbrai 2009. It was then that J.R. and I got to answer a more important question in life: is it worse to go into a strip club with your brother or your husband? Don’t answer that.

The athlete in me was impressed by the amount of core strength you need to dance around a pole. I also had no idea you could do so many things with it. Like climb it upside down. Or do a move call the flag where your entire body sticks out like a flag on a pole. And you thought pilates was hard? I did take a whirl on the pole and confirmed what I’ve suspected all along: I’d make a really bad stripper. So I did what I know I could be good at: I climbed the pole all the way to the top (and felt like there should have been a bell there for me to ring or something).

Not that I’ve been thinking about getting one, but we asked our friend how much a pole cost. 400 dollars. And you thought triathlon was expensive. Could you imagine taking that thing on a plane to the next pole dancing competition? You can convince the desk attendant that your bike box is “equipment for a presentation” but what would you say about the pole?

It’s a really big cane.

So I’ve been doing some pole dancing. And I’ve also been hunting for houses. Which means I’ve been shamelessly addicted to Redfin for the past 6 months. The good news is that we finally found our dream house. But it was not easy. I’ve seen everything from impeccable to squalor. And if you’re wondering what squalor looks like – take a taxonomist, add a burnout unemployed cigarette smoking son, the fur of 12 cats that you have not vacuumed up for the past 10 years, mix it amongst 3000 square feet and you get: squalor. With a poor attempt at being covered up by Febreze. After walking into so many houses that felt and looked wrong, we knew our new home was ours because we walked in and it felt right. We’ll be moving later this year and we’re very excited.

I’m not too excited about packing but I’ve got it down to a system. If I pack one box a day, in about a month I’ll be ready to move. Packing, however, is not easy when you have a 16-month old walking around. For every step forward I take, I take two steps backwards when Max is involved. He gets into everything. And this explains why I find my personal possessions all over the house. It seems like every time I clean up one mess, he’s made another. If not on the floor then on himself. There are some days my life literally is shit – see, I told you I would give it a few paragraphs and here it comes….

A few weeks ago, I had the stomach flu. I would like to publicly apologize to Whole Foods because I mistakenly blamed their salad bar on what I thought was food poisoning. Though this doesn’t mean I’ll be visiting their salad bar any time soon. Hard to after I saw it all come back into the toilet. Two days later, Chris had the same thing. Two days later, it hit my sister in law, then her husband, my other sister in law, her husband and finally Max.

Max is always sick – he’s been sick with one thing or another since we went to Hawaii – but most of his illnesses last a few days and then he either gets better or catches something new. That was not the case with the stomach flu. He not only caught it but kept it. And from it has been producing something so wretched and foul that many times I have gagged. We’re talking 6 to 8 times a day of this.

I called the nurse and in her ever so everything will be ok in a few days voice she told me to feed him a bland diet, give plenty of liquids and ride it out for the next few days. When it didn’t go away, she told me it could run its course for up to 3 weeks. After 3 weeks, I was ready to cry uncle and drop him off on the doorstep of the local fire department. A quick visit to the doctor instead and I learned that it could really last for 5 to 6 weeks. The flu killed off the enzymes in his intestines so anything he eats goes right through him. By the way – if this sounds like a good diet plan, let me send you one of his diapers. Unfortunately, the only cure is probiotics and time.

5 to 6 weeks of Vesuvius level epic blowouts that require a fully clothed into the bathtub cleaning. A few times a day.

This is the fun side of parenting that they don’t tell you about when you sign up. Kids should come with a warning label. Or an encyclopedia-sized manual containing all of the fine print: will shit self at moment you are about to leave house in a hurry, will fall asleep in the car cancelling out entire afternoon nap because you woke him up to get him out of the car, will break one dish a week, will take any chance to steal your toiletries to try to eat them. That’s just page one, paragraph 6, line 8.

But I wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world. Parenting completes me in a way that nothing else can replace. It took me a long time to believe that but once I had a kid, I can’t believe I waited so long. I’m not sure what I was doing that was so important or couldn’t wait. Nothing is better than the feeling of being with my kid.

(except bacon, maybe red wine and just a little part of me thinks it’s in a close tie with ice cream)

Speaking of parenting, it’s almost the end of the year. Which means you have a little over a month left to send in your ballot to cast your vote for Parent of the Year. I’d like to put in a shameless, narcissistic plug for you to vote for myself: today I came out of the shower to find Max walking around my bathroom holding a razor. It gets better. We went to Starbucks and after Max insisted on sitting in the chair, and I let him, he fell out of the chair while I was texting. Liz Waterstraat, Parent of the Year, everyone.

If I go missing again for a few weeks, someone check my mute button. And if you can't find the remote in its usual place, check the cabinet with the waffle maker. He's got a system.

The Power Of Stillness

2011-10-24T13:04:00.002-05:00

You are now entering...

The off season. Or, the place where you magically lose what feels like a year’s worth of fitness and gain a shitload of weight in less than 2 weeks.

I’m kidding. I think. It’s been nearly 2 weeks since Kona and so far….please please let’s not say this too loudly…I feel good. Doesn’t mean I’m going to go out and race any time soon (though I did have thoughts of competing in the local cyclocross race this past weekend until I figured it would probably be much more fun to heckle – drunk – instead) and doesn’t mean I’ve ramped back up my training (unless you call 2500 yards of swimming in the past week “training”). I’ve been enjoying lighter activities and taking a nosedive into anything that has calories (the more, the better!).

We’ll see how long this lasts.

In years past, I’ve felt absolutely wrecked from Ironman. As in, needing to take 2 to 3 weeks off to regain my desire to do anything swim, bike, run again. This year that did not happen. Perhaps it was better fitness going into the event, better recovery after the event, the IVs or just that I’m not as psychologically wrapped up in the results of sport. Don’t get me wrong: I love the sport and it’s a big part of me. But not the only part. It took me a long time to reach that level of clarity.

Once you let go, you find the freedom to reach peak performance. Clarity makes everything seem simple. It’s funny how much we can overcomplicate the easiest things. The best races come from executing your plan, going on “autopilot.” In other words, trusting your stuff. The more demanding the event, the more this freedom and trust is required. Without it, you just don’t see things for the way they are and get easily distracted.

I read a lot of race reports – both from my athletes and just randomly on the internet. Something I’ve noticed is the difference between satisfied versus dissatisfied athletes. When an athlete has a satisfying performance, the report is often about them – their execution, their confidence, their joy. It is very free. When an athlete is less satisfied, they recount a lot of distraction, worry and things beyond their control – other competitors, weather, terrain.

A few months ago, I found a quote that resonated with me is: our mindset in the moment creates our experience. It’s no secret that one of the hardest things about training and racing is weathering the long miles in our head. 100 miles is a long way to ride. Worse yet – 20 miles is a really, really long way to run. I’m not sure I will ever love running long though I absolutely love running. During that time, you have hours upon hours of time to fill in your head.

Or should you?

Earlier this year I found a great blog and the author wrote an even better book, Stillpower by Garrett Kramer. The idea is that rather than forcing your “will” upon the outcome of events, you need to be more “still”. In other words, quieting your mind and letting things be. Stillpower. I practiced this approach on every single long workout and let me tell you – the difference was amazing.

What is stillpower? Kramer explains it in a recent teleseminar:

Stillpower is the opposite of willpower. Most of us are taught that the road to success is based on how hard we work, how much we grind, how much we exert our force of will. The opposite is actually true. The more quiet, the more still we are, the more success we’ll have. This does not mean effort isn’t a good thing. Stillpower is the psychological perspective from which the effort comes. When a child runs around, it looks like they have unbounded energy, that they are exhibiting effort but in truth – they are just playing. They are just free. That’s the source of success. That’s the answer to following your passions. The opposite of what most teachers/coaches think - they want us to work, the only thing you can control is your effort but that is not so. You cannot control your effort nor would you want to. The more you try to work through the lows and control your effort, the more revved up your thinking gets and the more failure you find. Stillpower is a simple word that says the more clear we are, the more still we are, the more success we’ll have.

How did I put this into practice? How many times have you been out on a long ride hating yourself. Your coach. Your bike. Your head is filled with negative chatter about everything. You start writing the bad story about yourself. About how you’re too ____ for this (tired, busy, old, detached) for all of this triathlon bullshit. What you need at that moment is your coach to step out from the shoulder, slap you and say “get over yourself.” Unfortunately, us coaches don’t get paid enough for that. You just have to find a way to get over your own bad self.

I used to be one of those people that was always trying to turn every negative into a positive. Think positive thoughts! Focus only on the good things! You know what – when I’m out there and the winds are gusting to 30 mph, I’m ready to lick my own arms for salt and my legs shout NO with every pedal stroke, the last thing I’m thinking is positive sunshine, cupcakes and puppy thoughts. And when I did try to fill my head with positive, it felt like I was fighting myself. I felt even worse. If I’m not supposed to fix it, what was I supposed to do with my head instead?

Nothing.

That’s right – nothing

Accept that negative thoughts are just that – thoughts…that will pass. The same strategy is true for “time” in Ironman. Whenever I’ve felt like I was going to be out there forever, I snapped myself back into reality – no one really rides their bike forever. At some point it will end. I always tell myself: the time will pass, it always does. That brings me back to reality! So too shall negative thoughts pass. Just give them time.

The difference in doing this was immediate. No longer was I having long, overdramatic battles with my head. I was just letting things be. Rolling with the punches. Let things pass in and out of my head. Telling myself, that’s just a negative thought. I don’t have to accept it or believe it. I don’t have to do anything.

Kramer said it best in a recent teleseminar:

Negative thoughts are just that – just thoughts. Negative thoughts are productive. They are our body’s built in defense mechanism that tells us we’re not seeing life clearly. Those thoughts are telling you that you need to pull back; you don’t need to act from that place. When you try to over-ride and fight through the negative thoughts, that’s when you make bad choices. You don’t need to control or fix negative thoughts (you can’t). If you’re thinking negatively, let it be. What you think is not necessarily so. There is no reality to them. They are an instinctive sign you are not seeing clearly, just look in a different direction.

In doing this (or not doing anything!), I can’t say that my head ever filled with positives but what it did was empty. It was not uncommon then for me to go on a long ride and honestly – think about nothing. There is great freedom and pleasure in going out for 100 miles with a quiet mind. We live in such a world of clutter and distraction that for a few hours on a Saturday, having peace and quiet – especially as a parent! – was a luxury. I didn’t have to make every training ride an exercise in thinking positive. No longer was my mindset a factor in determining if the workout was a success. Did I hit my watts? How was the execution of my fuel plan? All that really mattered was what really, truly mattered. Following my plan. Getting the work done. Not waging a battle in my head.

The result of this is freedom and clarity. You start to see things for what they really are. That wind in your face – it’s just wind. Not a deal breaker, not something which will last forever. It’s wind. Let it be. See how that works?

A funny thing happened in Kona. When I was on the ride – I didn’t think about anything. The only word I can think to describe what was going on in my head was: stillness.

It was awesome.

Whereas in the past I needed mantras, mind tricks and “crisis management” plans to manage my head during the ride – this time, I just let my mind be. I didn’t even need to do that – I was riding along and was already there. I was surprised at how quickly the ride passed, how effortless it felt. Not once did I have a thought about it’s long, hot, windy. When it mattered most, my mind was quiet and free.

I had a stillness about the entire race experience. Because of that, I don’t feel the need to jump back in to do anything, fix anything or prove anything because the race was what it was supposed to be. I always feel like a weeks after Ironman should be a “no-zone” – no puppies, no haircuts, no babies, no race registration, no major life decisions. For a few weeks, just let yourself be. Let the dust settle and then once you’re in a state of clarity figure out the next big thing.

Until then – my “big” things are active recovery, enjoying the weather and trying new things. A local yoga studio has a free week of yoga deal that I've been trying. And the idea of "stillpower" is carrying over. In the past, I've deplored yoga for all of its "quiet the monkey chatter" uppityness. What if I like chatter? What if I like freakin' monkeys!? Nowadays, my mind in yoga is more still and quiet. I can even fall asleep in shavasana. This is a big step!

Other "big" things I'm tackling: eating bad things and drinking good wine. Yes, for a few weeks each year, fun Liz emerges from deep within her cave and her power animal is…wine. My new iPhone just told me there are 13 wine bars nearby my home. Siri even sorted them by rating. (by the way: it’s nice to finally be able to talk to something in my house during the day and have it talk back to me in logical, complete sentences) Looks like I’ve got some off season training to do – visit all 13 bars and confirm the ratings.

I’m going to need more down time.

Kona 2011

2011-10-15T17:16:00.013-05:00

Ironman Hawaii is complete – and I’m not exactly sure where to start. So I’ll go back to the beginning…

It started with a song.

An entire collection of songs that Bree sent me from Hawaii. 15 months ago, in our first days home from the hospital, as I tried to figure out what to do and how to do it with a newborn, Max and I listened to the songs. I thought about Hawaii. I thought about Kona – specifically treading water waiting for the start cannon. That moment seemed a million years away as I sat there sore and heavy while caring for an infant. Listening to those songs made the impossible seem possible. They gave me hope that I could be what I once was.

Now after a season of competing, I’ve since learned that I cannot go back and be that athlete.

I can be better.

Arrive at Kona. October 2011. Long story (actually 10+ hour story) short, I executed my race plan. I did what I set out to do. There were no low moments, no epiphanies, no life changing realizations. Rather it was a culmination of knowing what I could do, going out there and doing it.

Simple.

The long version. Warning: it’s long but then again – so is Ironman.

This is my third time racing on the Big Island. This year, Kurt got me ready to put together my best Ironman. His training was simple, consistent and effective. I did not swim/bike/run one more mile than I needed to. I did 2 x 20+ mile runs, 3 x 100+ mile rides and oodles of 4000+ yard swims. The focus of training was repeatability – to work at race pace, recover and then a few days later – do it again. I stayed ridiculously healthy – not sick once since Max was born. How? Appropriate training, attention to recovery (nutrition, sleep, maintaining low stress) and keeping it all in perspective. I don’t sweat the small stuff and I don’t do the big stuff. No monster epic weekends/hard core intervals/big miles – no time, no desire. I’ve also learned it’s not necessary. I believe if you can achieve optimal performance on less training – by all means, do it. You’ll have better health, better recovery and longevity.

As such, I arrived at race week feeling fit, fresh, tapered and ready. I reached race weight. I survived 9+ hours of air travel with 3 children and 8 adults. If you’re wondering how, let me just say that I packed 25 pounds of snacks and toys, of which only Mr. Potato Head kept Max entertained for a few minutes before he realized that throwing his pacifier over the seat and pulling the hair of the woman in front of us was way more fun.

Race week was like being in the eye of a storm. A storm of 14 members of my support crew including 10 of my in-laws, my husband, my kid, my mom, Dr. Nuts (yes, he is real and is really a doctor) and Sherpa Thomas (to clarify: not a real Sherpa, but a real person indeed) – all staying in the same house. With no air conditioning.

The days leading up to the race went by quickly. Each day, I did my workouts then spent very little time in town mingling or at the expo. The “scene” of Kona is an energy drain. Plus, you risk illness when you spend time around 1000+ athletes on edge. I washed my hands a lot but also mentally prepared for the craziness of Kona, the chaos of my family, the “stress” of doing a world championship. To help, Chris graciously took over 99 percent of the Max responsibilities. I slept in my own room. I also didn’t put much emphasis on the label of Kona as a world championship. Like Kurt told me, it’s an Ironman that you’re doing in Hawaii. Enough said.

Two days before the race, I eliminated all fiber. My biggest fear in Ironman was what happened on my last trip there – poop. Lots of it throughout the marathon. No one knows specifically what causes this but risk of poop can increase due to overheating (the skin being the largest organ requires a lot of blood for cooling; more blood to the skin, less blood to digestion, possible hypoxia in the large intestine which then leads to poop), jostling of items in the intestines, dehydration or too much fiber in diet leading up to the race. Dr. Nuts said that 48 hours of reduced fiber was sufficient.

The day before the race, I ate a large breakfast then tapered calories throughout the day. I ate one of the smallest pre-race dinners ever. Afterwards, Dr. Nuts painted my feet in Dermabond – a skin seal used after surgery. I don’t wear socks when racing (ever) so wanted to be sure I limited the risk of blisters (and yes, it worked). Once it dried, I was in bed by 7:30 pm.

Race day started at 3:30 am. Sherpa Thomas dropped me off in the darkness of early morning at the King K. I dropped off my special needs bags before getting my numbers painted on at body marking. Next, I got weighed. Before I stepped on the scale, I made an emphatic plea: DO NOT TELL ME HOW MUCH I WEIGH. I knew I arrived at race weight and didn’t need to hear the consequence of heat-induced edema (hello cankles!) and carbo-loading for 3 days. When transition opened at 4:45, I was one of the first in there. It was an amazing feeling, even the empty transition area was buzzing with energy. And so was I – today I get to do an Ironman!

After getting my bike ready, I tucked myself away behind the King K, hiding behind headphones. Music pumped through my ears while I did some stretching. A lyric pops out: take control of your now. A perfect mantra for the day.

Before I knew it, it was time to get into the water. My plan was to start far left by the Ford inflatable. Treading deep water for 20 minutes was tiring so I hung off the inflatable until foam chunks started coming off and the paddlers told us to back up. At a certain point, we stopped listening. Kurt warned me that within 1 minute of the start, the “creep” would begin – the point at which everyone starts swimming before the cannon goes off. Sure enough, within 1 minute, everyone starts creeping. By the time the cannon sounded, athletes were already swimming.

The swim start in Kona is one of the most aggressive, frenzied starts out there. Throw world championship in front of a race name and you get nearly two thousand top notch athletes swinging punches without holding back. Everyone is good at Kona. Everyone has nearly won something to get there. If you don’t go with your big girl panties on, you’ll get eaten alive and find yourself with a mouthful of DNF. Grace under pressure is critical. Within seconds, I was getting pulled at, swatted, swum over and hit. A few times, I actually had to stop to “gather” myself. I looked behind me to see a giant swarm of angry blue and pink caps with arms like chopping blades. Keep swimming!

Every minute of that swim was fierce full contact. Some people call this poor sportsmanship but really it’s just fear. Most athletes in Kona are blatantly nervous and afraid. You can read it between their lines, see it in their face. Everyone is swimming, biking and running scared – of the pressure, the risk of failure, the reality of just being “good” amongst a field that is “great”. If you go to Kona, you must go accepting that everyone is fitter, leaner and faster than you. Get over it then focus on yourself and manage your own race.

Finally, the swim exit. Climbing the stairs, I see 1:06 on my watch. A two-minute PR but initially I was disappointed. Then I looked around me under the freshwater hoses: Rachel Ross and Lisbeth Kenyon, both women who have won their age group before in Kona. I turned my disappointment into excitement.

My plan for transition was to be assertive and quick. A volunteer appears and the first thing I said (shouted) was: SUNSCREEN. She smeared me with a white mess and I shouted MORE. She did it again and I shouted MORE! Dr. Nuts told me that sunscreen would be imperative for my day. As soon as your skin starts “feeling” hot, you risk overheating and then gastric shutdown. I came out of that tent looking like Casper.

The run out of transition is long. Once on my bike, I was surrounded by a thick clump of men that didn’t shake apart until the return trip on Kuakini. The pace was fast and we had tailwind.

Once on to the Queen K, I settled in and focused on holding my power range. The first aid station was about 15 miles into the ride where I grabbed water – something I would do at each aid station every 7 miles from there. The day was warm but then again when you’re riding on black pavement that extends what looks like forever and surrounded by fields of black lava – you’ve got to expect it’s going to be a little toasty.

I sailed through the first hour in 22.7 mph. Tailwind is a glorious thing. Up to Waikoloa, the miles clicked off quickly. The ride simply became all about executing my plan. I controlled the controllables: my hydration, salt tabs, nutrition, my pacing, my mindset. Mostly, I found my mind empty - not negative, not positive, just still. Not once did I hit a mental low or wish I was somewhere else. How would you feel if you got to do everything you loved for a day? You would embrace every moment, you would enjoy it. I took the time to look at the lava and ocean. With all of this beauty and opportunity, how could this not be my day? Soon enough, I found myself at the turn off to Kawaihae.

The entire course is a series of long, gradual climbs with a mixed bag of winds but once you turn at Kawaihae, the climbs are more prominent and the wind seems to always be in your face. I got the sense that it was windy at Hawi based on how the pros were riding back down from it – Kurt told me to be aware of this. The climb to Hawi is about 7 miles long and today the winds were gusting around 30-40 mph. I held on firm to my bike. Everyone was sitting up. A lot of bigger girls were passing me. At one point, I think it took 6 minutes to cover a mile.

At mile 60, we hit the turnaround and started to sail effortlessly. I made a quick stop at special needs then cruised down from Hawi. According to my power file, I coasted easily for 38 minutes. Thank you, tailwind. Tailwind turned into a pretty calm wind once back on the Queen K. Towards Waikoloa there were a few who opened the oven door moments of heat but other than that, the ride felt fairly easy. From Waikoloa to the airport, there was significant crosswind and the crowds had thinned out. Yet in the last 20 miles, I was on top of my power range and my legs felt amazing.

Coming into transition, one of my athletes yelled my name and caught my bike (thanks, Kris!). I shouted YEAH! I knew from training that I could ride 5:30-5:36 and did 5:36 exactly. But more importantly: my big goal was to break 10:30 for the day. I dismounted the bike at 6:46 and at that moment got a little giddy: for sure I would break 10:30 today.

In transition I assertively shouted SUNSCREEN and dumped my bag. In doing so, my salt tab container opened up. And there went 16 salt tabs all over the ground. I shouted at the volunteer, PICK THEM UP! I was loud but Kurt told me not to be afraid to gently “boss” them around – that’s why they are there (and of course I said THANK YOU!). I ran out of transition with a face full of sunscreen and zippy legs.

Never look at the whole of the marathon – it’s too long! Instead, I ran aid station to aid station. I was told to keep the first 5 to 10 miles very easy and when I hit the first mile in 7:06 I had to remind myself that easy meant nose breathing. It’s hard to go slow along Alii Drive – it’s lined with spectators and along the ocean. I yanked myself back and told myself sustainable. Hold a pace that you could sustain all day no matter how hot it is out there.

And it was hot. I took advantage of any shade I could get. At each aid station, I grabbed a sponge, dumped two cups of ice in my bra, grabbed two cups of water and then (as needed) grabbed gel. This year, I decided to rely on the course for gels and almost regret it – every gel was my least favorite flavor and caffeinated!

At mile 10, you make a right turn up Palani which always feels 10 times longer than it actually is. I wanted to keep my effort low so slowly chugged up it before making the left on the Queen K. Shortly thereafter, I hit the half way point at 1:43 – and knew I was on track to have a strong run. Just another 13.1 miles to hold it. Mentally, I broke up the Queen K with landmarks. I clicked off a few faster miles, passing some women in my age group before getting to the Energy Lab. Chris was all over the course telling me where I was in my age group, how long to 5th place. I got off the bike in 13^th place and made my way to 7^th by the Energy Lab.

The Energy Lab goes by quickly. I was passed by one woman but kept moving at a consistent pace. Out of the lab, I had 10K to go. I was given specific directions to pick up the pace at this point but I couldn’t make it happen. Maybe because I missed about 5 months of running in late pregnancy and even before that had about 6 months where I wasn’t running long miles. To excel at this distance, you need an extensive base of miles and strength.

Not only that but I think I settled. When I qualified for Kona, I told Kurt I wanted to break 10:30. Yet in training, I got the sense that based on fitness/data, I could break 10:20. For whatever reason, I didn't commit to it. I settled for sub 10:30. Next time, I will dream bigger - no, BIGGER - and then commit to it. So much of long course racing is how bad you want it. At a certain point, fatigue is a choice. You choose your outcome out there.

The last few miles were a series of thoughts running through my head about just wanting to be done but at the same time being sad that I only had a few miles left. I heard Chris shouting but wasn’t listening – I was quietly retreating into that place in my head where I go to hide from pain. Nothing else mattered but seeing the next mile marker. The next aid station. I couldn’t drink enough water or get enough ice. I got passed by another girl in my age group bumping me down to 9^th place. Each street passed slowly – Henry, Kalani, Hualalai and finally: Alii Drive.

Any regret about the last 10K fades as I approach the finish. There is nothing like running the final ½ mile down Alii Drive. The crowd is lined thick and makes a tunnel towards the finish line. They are all shouting my name, clapping, the cheers are deafening. I cross the line in 10:22:02 and 9^th in my age group. Arms up and a giant smile spreads across my face. It was the only thing I could think to do and was 100 percent genuine. It was a year’s worth of work, sacrifice and making it happen day after day – no matter how many times I was woken up during the night, how many people told me I was crazy, how many pounds I still had left to lose. I did it.

After the race, I am greeted by two catchers. I was thirsty, hot and wanted to sit down. A woman pours cold water over my head. Finally the catchers pass me over to Sherpa Thomas. He takes me to the back to sit down. I can’t do it – he has to assist me. Dr. Nuts appears soon after to take me to the bathroom. I considered it a huge victory that I did not poop all day. But after the race – that’s a different story.

My feet are throbbing and I cannot walk by myself. Dr. Nuts piggy backs me to my family. I tell my mom that I never want to do another Ironman. She reminds me of a photo I took 4 years ago saying the same thing. Using the stroller as my walker, I make my way back to the car. The short walk feels like forever.

That evening, Dr. Nuts pumps me full of two IVs and a bag of dextrose. He tells me not to drink water or else it will cause my intestines to spasm. I eat 2 pieces of pizza which pretty much have the same effect. I spend a lot of time in the bathroom hating Ironman. Chris spent a lot of time holding my IV bag while I was in the bathroom. Pretty sure he was also hating Ironman.

The next day, I woke up feeling ok. I was slightly tired but the IVs seemed to help with recovery. Dr. Nuts said that could be psychosomatic. I tell him to shut his overeducated medical yapper. My feet, however, were killing me. My big toe bunions were badly chafed. I had no appetite. And I got a nasty case of edema that lasted the next 5 days (Nuts said it’s from the trauma of Ironman – the only “cure” was time and wearing compression socks).

I spent the next few days on the island – visiting beaches, shopping. I ate Haupia ice cream (coconut pudding – delicious). I did not eat vegetables. I drank porter at the Kona Brewing Company. While overlooking the ocean, I had a few Mai Tais. I laughed with my friends and family. I did absolutely nothing. It's called recovery.

When I started training again after having Max, I set big goals. Make the impossible possible. Take control of your now – don’t wait! I took it one day at a time and never doubted myself. So many people tried to pass their doubts on to me: you’ll never have time, you won’t want to leave your child, you’ll never run the same again. In the end, I achieved what I set out to do – I broke 10:30 at Kona, I set a 10 minute PR, I finished top 10 in my age group at a world championship. Now I have the confidence of knowing I have what it takes and because of that, a door has opened. A door of possibility. Where it goes? Well, that’s for me to decide as I plan out what to do next….

It goes without saying that a lot of people contributed to this accomplishment: my husband, my child, my family, my coach, my babysitter, my friends, my lanemates, my athletes, my sponsors. You know who you are and know what you did for me. Thank you!

Counting Down

2011-10-02T21:13:00.010-05:00

Right now I’m writing to you from under several thick layers of bubble wrap.

Seeing that my child woke up this morning with a cold, I’m also breathing through a mask laced with Vitamin C and wearing plastic gloves.

I’ve made it this far. This far. I’ve survived months of training with no illness and no injury. For crying out loud, I arrived at race weight! Have you any idea how difficult that was? Wine has not touched these lips for many weeks and all I can say is I AM THIRSTY!

All that stands between me and the Ironman start line is a few days and 9 hours of air travel. Last night I did some online research on how to handle a long flight with a young child. After finding some great ideas on a forum, I am now equipped with crayons, a roll of scotch tape, a wallet with old cards, a lock with key, a Magna Doodle, paper, stickers, magnets, trucks and enough snacks to feed the entire plane. All of that will keep my child entertained for roughly 30 minutes until he realizes that hitting the seat in front of us is way more fun.

In addition to sending me your prayers for that flight, you can send me your ideas on Ben & Jerry ice cream flavors I must try after Ironman. I’ve been working on a list of things to do when I get my life back. Most of them include riding my cross bike to/from an alcoholic establishment. To clarify: I don’t race cyclocross, I just ride my cross bike to get drunk. I’m pretty sure that makes me a winner in a very special category. Other things I want to do include eating things in the food group of sugar, fat and coffee. And at least one line item contains the idea that I just want to NOT eat at all. Like skip a meal and not worry about the implications. Maybe wake up and not eat breakfast for – oh – an hour? One of the most challenging things about Ironman training is that you are always eating. Not because you’re hungry but because you need it for recovery. Trust me – this is not a dream come true. You don’t recover by eating crap. You have to eat good stuff – lots of good stuff.

This gets old after about 2000 calories.

In some way, preparing my family for travel has distracted me from the fact that I am doing an Ironman in less than a week. Packing probably should have been a workout scheduled in Training Peaks. My entire bathroom countertop was consumed by piles, baggies and lists. By the time I had counted out enough salt tabs, packed for the race, gathered my own clothes, got together Max’s clothes and assembled a bag for the flight – at least 4 days had gone by. And Chris? Tonight he walked into the bedroom, dumped a small pile of clothes on the bed (pile under one arm, beer in the other hand) and said “I’m packed.”

Oh, to be a man.

While Max was sleeping last night, I spent some time putting together my race plan. Before every race I write everything out – a timeline for the week, my fuel plan, my pacing, my mindset. The one thing that kept coming back to me was: keep it simple. Racing 140.6 miles is a very long way. There is a lot of room for extra “stuff” to enter your head, your body, even your race bags. I’m keeping it simple. I’ve got three things I’m going to use to focus (and refocus) myself. Beyond that, I am going to enjoy the opportunity to do what I love for nearly an entire day. By myself! When I think of it like that – WHAT is the rush to get the finish line and back to real life? Wait…when is Ultraman? You mean I can disappear from parenting, responsibility and the world for more than an entire day!? After going through the past week, which I shall label “the week of no naps”, SIGN ME UP!

Life after Ironman. I’ve got ideas. And goals. BIG things. I will find a way top myself. That is the goal of life – to continually challenge yourself and grow. I’ve got a life list of things I want to do and that list is always in front of me. Do you have a list? Where do you see yourself in 5 years? One of my list items is Rim to Rim to Rim. Another is a specific time in a marathon. I’d like to take one triathlon season and just focus on short course. I want to get more into weaponry. Dork moment alert: one of my favorite shows is Top Shot. I watch it and I want to shoot something – gun, bow/arrow, cannon. Chris told me to not say a word about this to his father or else I might find myself boar hunting in Hawaii.

I also want to get into competitive parenting. Yes, be one of those. I’ve been seeking out classes and storytimes where I can show up, be the pushy parent and talk my kid up as the smartest and fastest prodigy. Just as long as no one finds out that he spent nearly 30 minutes today crawling around the house while carrying 3 small packages of dry active yeast. Why? Ask him. I have no idea!

In other taper-worthy news…wait…you mean I’m STILL tapering? It’s been what – 6 months? Feels like it. I’ve done my taper workouts which honestly feel like going to school and the teacher gives you..a worksheet. That’s it? I showed up to fill in the blank?

Anyways, my mom got an iPhone. We kept joking that if she ever did send a text, she would have to get a cord to plug in to a giant detachable keyboard that she'd keep in her purse. Except there’s no way that would fit in her purse so how would she ever send a text? Somehow, I just got one:

I’ve got Mr. P. Can bring him later.

A cryptic way of saying: she has the Mr. Potato Head! He’s another one of the toys that will guarantee me at least 10 minutes of silence on the plane.

This morning I went for my last run at home on one of my favorite paths. The temperature was perfect, my legs are rested and I have the one thing I’ve been chasing after all season: fitness. Fitness is that feeling of ease and lightness when you go running. Fitness is hitting all your landmarks in some of your best times ever. Unfortunately, fitness is always fleeting. And I know the next time I run on this path, it won’t feel so easy and I won’t be as fast. The feeling of fitness you have before a peak race is amazing, isn’t it? Something you want to just bottle up and hold on to. But part of becoming a better athlete is using up that fitness, letting it go and then rebuilding it.

I am confident that letting go after Ironman will not be difficult. Done properly, Ironman purges you of the need to do anything triathlon for at least 4 weeks. Looking forward to that. Also looking forward to testing my theory that the only thing that gives cankles worse than childbirth is Ironman.

Note to self: pack compression socks.

The final countdown has begun. I'll wake up in my own bed two more times before I wake up in Hawaii. One thing I love about waking up in Hawaii is the sound of the birds in the morning. I think it's a type of dove. Whatever it is, it reminds me that I'm on island time.

Can't wait!

Are We There Yet?

2011-09-27T20:45:00.004-05:00

Somewhere between training and racing this is a place called tapering.

A place where you find yourself cage pacing back and forth in a series of shorter than usual workouts with an appetite larger than usual while you incessantly think to yourself…

ARE WE THERE YET?

Not yet. Less than 2 weeks. According to Inigo Mujika (who wrote a scintillating book on peaking and tapering), it takes approximately 14 to 28 days to fully shake out fatigue and create the physiological (and psychological) changes that accompany tapering. During this time you can expect to feel grumpy, punchy, fussy, tired, hungry, fat, heavy, slow … you get the point. If you really want to know what happens when tapering, ask the spouse of any Ironman triathlete. I’ll ask Chris on your behalf:

You’re punchy and in a bad mood.

Right on schedule with tapering.

Last week, I spent most of Monday through Thursday recovering from my last big workouts. Big as in a 115 mile ride, a 3 mile run followed the next day by a 25 mile ride and a nearly 22 mile run. As you can imagine, during the last 5 miles of my long run my legs felt roughly 1 gel away from…death. Monday was bad. Tuesday was worse. By Wednesday I was still having trouble walking. Long runs after childbirth leave me walking around like I’ve been riding a horse all morning, feet splayed and knees bent.

I looked like a geriatric cowboy.

After those peak workouts, I had a peak moment of parenting. Max had gotten hold of Boss’ kibble, was putting it in his mouth then spitting it back out piece by piece on to the floor and Boss was there eating it. Tired from training, all I could do is sit there and think to myself: at least I don’t have to clean it up!

By Friday, though, I started to feel human again. The fog was lifting. This process of shedding fatigue to arrive at a race not only fit but fresh enough to properly use that fitness is the art of tapering.

People keep asking me if I’m ready. I got the same questions in the final weeks before having a baby. Like baby, is one ever truly ready for an Ironman? You know that no matter how much you plan, no matter how many hours it took to write that birth/race plan and what your doula/couch says, baby/race day will come out the way it wants to.

Racing an Ironman is very much an unknown and that's what I enjoy most about it. You have to be in the moment and ready to respond. It is like a test of everything you've ever learned from training and in racing. Can you execute your fuel plan, can you troubleshoot it, your stomach is sloshy - now what, it's headwind - now what. It requires constant attention and action. That's what makes it so exciting to me.

Soon enough it will all be real and I'll be treading water around 7 am next Saturday. NEXT Saturday!?! How did THAT happen. Until then, I'll just continue to taper and tell Kurt I'm bored of tapering. I think this is called "waiting". And resisting the 1000 temptations that seem to be popping up everywhere. Why is it that when you can’t have something, you crave it the most? We went to the Farmer’s Market on Saturday. I swear every vendor was selling cider doughnuts, pumpkin bread, crumb cake or taffy apples – all staring directly at me. I found myself craving beer. I don’t even drink beer. I want wine, I want ice cream. Of course the novelty of all of these things will wear off in 1 week post-ironman but during that week it is safe to say I will fall off the wagon. Hard. And I’m taking all 4 wheels with me.

With all of the extra time that I have while tapering I decided to sneak in some secret heat acclimation training. I started in the dry sauna. Our gym’s sauna is kept at a comfortable 184 degrees. I brought my iPhone, a few towels and made a little nest on the bench. When I hit the 20 minute mark, I thought I was all hard core. Then the girl in there with me – wrapped in a head and body towel – goes into plank position. While reading. Folks, we’ve got an overachiever here. I met her with another 20 minutes of determination to sit there. And sweat. A large man joined us and started doing tricep dips off the bench from a squatted position. He’s either a Cross-Fitter or about to give birth in the corner. I sweated it out for 40 minutes. The girl was still laying there – fully toweled and reading. I waved my white sweaty towel. I give up. But only because it’s dinner time and I left my husband at home with 2 small children (we didn’t have another, we were just watching one).

The next day I was determined to go 50 minutes. Brought some magazines, electrolytes and even more towels. A sign on the door reads: OUT OF ORDER. Only one other option: the steam room.

I have never, ever been in the steam room. I don’t fully understand what goes on in there mostly because through the glass door all I can see is something steamy. I know you can’t read, can’t shave and can’t sit in there naked. I decide to risk being caught by the Gym Popo and….brought in a magazine. Come on, did you really think I would sit in there naked? That place is as clean as licking the inside of my cycling shoe.

The first 5 minutes were tolerable once I got past the fact that it smelled like I was sitting right next to a giant pile of used socks like a high school boys locker room. I was speed-reading the latest issue of Lava while the pages were literally melting in my hands. About 10 minutes into it, I almost broke unposted but assumed rule #4 of the steam room: never take a crap in it. As a giant surge of steam comes blowing out from a hole in the wall for 30 seconds straight, I nearly shit myself. I told myself to keep breathing and actually put the magazine in front of my face to keep stop the steam coming full speed at me. There went another few pages of the magazine. I’ve never suffocated but I think this is how it feels. I lasted 20 minutes before I needed a break. Stood outside the room to cool off and then went back in for another 10 minutes. I drove home and my face was still red.

Tomorrow I have one final moderately long ride with a short run. The forecast tells me I might be on the trainer. I’ve been riding the trainer without a fan and to really kick things up a notch, I might ride tomorrow in my wetsuit and fleece balaclava. Laugh at me all you want but I’m racing on a volcanic island. I might just put my trainer in front of the oven. On broil.

Speaking of that island – we leave in less than a week and there will be 11 of us on the plane. If you have any tips for how to survive a 9 hour flight with 3 children under age 3, we are listening. Aside from: don’t, ear plugs, get a seat reassignment, wine and Benadryl. Can you tell, I am bringing an entire Waterstraat entourage. Now that Normann is retired there is plenty of room on the island for an entourage. Why not Waterstraats? Someone will be wheeling my bike along Alii Drive and we’ll all be wearing matching shirts and talking a foreign language – which is a mixture of English, baby talk, Tagalog and Spanish. If you hear us and don’t understand us, it’s because we’re talking about you.

The race will be exciting. So will the entire week with my family. But perhaps most exciting? After the race I’ve decided to make a change. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Something is missing in my life and it’s time to make some change

I’ve decided … to become addicted to coffee again.

And with that, I’ll let you talk amongst yourselves while I go back to tapering.

What Happens In Vegas...

2011-09-13T16:18:00.009-05:00

This past weekend, I competed in the 70.3 World Championship.

Let me start by saying how wrong it felt to arrive in Vegas for…racing. I love Vegas for all of its sinfully unabashed overindulgence; a place you go to drink, eat, spend and live in excess. It starts the moment you get on to the plane – a jet full of on-their-way-to-drunken chatter, the lights that jump out of the dark desert as you come in for the landing, the freakshow at the airport where you’ll see everyone from high rollers to hillbillies. Give yourself 24 hours in Vegas and you’ll get a lifetime of memories. It doesn’t take more than that.

Alas I went to Vegas for none of that. No buffets No gambling. No watching old people wheel their oxygen tanks from slot to slot while smoking cigarettes. *sigh* We flew in late Thursday night, myself and Kara – an athlete, friend, training partner whom I can convince to ride 90 miles with me at any time. Thursday night we stayed with Stef, one of my first athletes, so good to finally meet her in person. The next morning we had breakfast at The Coffee Cup, a place featured on Diners, Drive Ins and Dives. Dining with a giant picture of Guy Fieri hanging on the wall behind me was a little, well, off the hook.

Thursday was a day filled with about 1000 u-turns as we navigated our way around the streets of Henderson. We saw every highway once, twice – oh, about three dozen times and learned to tell direction by either “towards the Fiesta” or “past the Whole Foods”. By the way, I’d say the Whole Foods in Henderson probably had their best week of sales ever. The store was completely overrun by compression gear and out of bananas. I overheard the woman restocking the salad bar saying oh my, they are eating all of my noodles. Our bad.

Kara brought along about 10 of her friends and family so we stayed in a house that was something straight out of Keeping Up With the Kardashians with a hot tub, pool, waterfall, view of the mountains, one of those fancy “rain” showers. Unfortunately, we stayed in the “casita” which is really Spanish for the small hut where those who can have no fun in Vegas will stay for peace and quiet while everyone else eats full fat muffins and drinks Jack and Cokes.

The race took place at Lake Las Vegas, a beautiful oasis set against the burnt red mountains. The day before the race, we did a short run then went for a swim. For safety reasons, we had to wear our timing chips into the water and then were only permitted to swim one-way 650 meter loop - no shortcuts. The lake was what you’d expect from a body of water that bakes in the 100+ degree desert all year long – warm and a bit smelly. Later in the day, we checked in our bikes at transition along with our bike and run gear bags.

The days before the race I felt ok but not GREAT. I can always tell when I’m coming into form – it’s a feeling of fitness and freshness that almost jumps out of your body. Kurt gave me a few days to rest into the race but warned me that Kona was the big picture. This was just a stop along the way. The sign of a good taper is that you feel fat, sassy and achy. My legs felt good – almost too good, I always feel fat but I definitely wasn’t sassy enough.

Race morning was early – transition closed at 6 am and my wave went off at 7:20. The temperature was actually cool and I found myself wishing I had a jacket. I was hoping for a desert scorcher but it never happened. I came to Vegas to burn, baby, BURN! The sun was out for most of the race but it never felt warm. Dry heat is definitely milder than the heat we have in the Midwest. The dewpoint on race day was 37, I ran all summer with a dewpoint of around 77. That’s like the difference between eating dry toast or smothering it in a stick of butter.

I set up my nutrition on my bike and then we all sat in our respective waves on some carpet laid along the top of the lake. The water was 80 degrees so I shoehorned myself into my speedsuit then tried not to exhale for fear I would bust the zipper off again. I felt like the morning moved fast – each time a group got into the water, our entire wave would have to move up so the whole morning we just would move, stop and then stand around with the other competitors. Either a great way to make friends or psyche yourself out.

The woman wearing full make up complete with berry colored lipstick was totally psyching me out. I guess everyone has their own idea of what it means to put on their game face. Sidenote: I saw her in Whole Foods after the race and she still had on the lipstick.

Before I knew it, I was standing by the ramp that led into the water. At 10 minutes to go, they let us into the water to warm up and once in – we had to stay in. That meant treading water for 10 minutes. Some athletes were hanging by one arm off the wall under the bridge. I swam around a little, then hung, then swam up to the start line.

I chose to start right next to the right buoy. It seemed like the most obvious place to swim yet I was mostly alone. We got a one minute warning and then the horn blew. This had to be one of my favorite swims ever in racing. The waves were very well spread out so we had plenty of space in the water. I had a super clean line and about 500 yards into the swim found a set of feet and I knew exactly who they belonged too. I recognized the Mark Allen Online uniform and knew it was Kelly, a competitor in my age group who had been talked up as one of those to watch in F35-39. I got right on her feet and enjoyed the ride.

I exited the swim with a few girls from my age group then began the long run to transition. It was a point to point swim (sort of, more like a point – turnaround – to point) so we had about a 400 meter run to transition on carpet and then slippery grass. Once into transition, I grabbed my bike gear bag, headed into the changing tent, a quick grab of what I needed then got to my bike before heading up the hill out of transition.

The bike starts out with a long climb. I resisted the urge to gun it and instead just climbed it knowing that if I blew myself in the first10 minutes I might hate myself in the next 2+ hours. The first few miles were fairly flat then we turned into Lake Mead. Let me press the pause button here: I was expecting epic hilly, leg churning, pieces of my quads flying off steep inclines that wouldn’t relent for 3+_ hours. This was not the case. While it was hilly, it was just a series of long gradual uphills followed by long fast downhills. In fact, I felt like I descended more than I climbed. I spent most of the time geared out, tucked and watching men fly by me. The scenery while climbing, however, was spectacular. The background looks a lot like Kona – expect turn black lava into reddish brown in the desert.

I was passing a few women in my age group but also getting passed. I’ve never been passed that much and the speed at which I was being passed – I could not even respond! Instead, I focused on what I could control: me and my plan. Ride my race, ride within my power limits and get ready to run down as many as I can. The bike went by quickly. There was one hill that was challenging but I felt out of gears only once for about 30 seconds (I used 12-25). Once outside of Lake Mead, the course turned towards Henderson. This part felt flat, fast and narrow. There was also a lot of drafting. Ironically, the race came to this venue to avoid drafting. I just think it’s the nature of triathlon now. It’s competitive, it’s different.

The run course (located about 15 miles away from Lake Las Vegas) was like a Figure 8 which you completed 3 times, situated around some shopping centers. Not exactly scenic but easily filled with spectators. It was also very crowded. With 1500 runners on a 3 loop course I felt like I was running around or into someone constantly – especially at the aid stations. I may have been responsible for knocking a few cups of Perform or Coke into a volunteer – and I apologize!

The first mile was mostly flat and downhill. I had no idea what position I came in off the bike but I assumed somewhere around 15^th in my age group. I took off at a zippy pace – my legs felt great and I figured I would make up as much time as possible on the downhills because then the course went uphill for about 2 miles. It wasn’t steep – just gradual and enough to slow you down by 30 to 60 seconds per mile. I was hoping the day would cook my competition but the temperatures were far too mild and the course was far too shaded for that.

I was picking off women in my age group little by little though it was hard to tell where I was. I caught sight of Jessie coming back the other way, and I assumed she was leading my age group since she was talked up as one of the women to watch in F35-39. From there, I counted that I was either 5 or 6 places behind her. The day before, I looked in the race guide and noticed that all the women in my age group were between numbers 1041 and 1137 – this was probably the most useful thing I did because I could see race numbers as women ran towards me and you can’t count on looking at calves these days when a lot of people wear compression socks!

My pace was fairly consistent though I got slow going up the last 2 miles uphill. I didn’t know who I was chasing or where they were I just kept telling myself – what if she is the difference between the podium or not, what if she’s right up there. It was right within the last mile where I saw 3 women in my age group clear as day coming down the other way within about 2 minutes of me. Unfortunately, I was running out of run course.

I crossed the line, Kara met me and told me I was 7^th in my age group. My instant reply was something like – dammit, I wanted to be top 5. I was less than 2 minutes off the top 5, and over the course of 5 hours, that isn’t that much. Maybe if it was hotter, maybe if I was more rested, maybe if I had quicker transitions – I could come up with a dozen ways I could have easily gotten those 117 seconds back but at the end of the race, I didn’t do it. When you show up at a world championship, you have to be ready to turn yourself inside out for it.

After the race, we went to Whole Foods (again), Kara fed me her secret glycogen replenishment mix and we did some wine tasting. Nothing spells awesome recovery like sipping Pinot Noir wearing your still wet race kit and calf sleeves. I spent the rest of the evening online, incessantly tracking my athletes and the Well-Fit athletes at Ironman Wisconsin. I tracked them until Keith sent me the email at 11:40 pm CST telling me that every one of them made it across the finish line.

The 6 am flight out of Vegas wasn’t much fun for me but I imagine even worse for the group of women sitting on the floor who declared “of course we’re still drunk!” The next time I leave Vegas, that’s going to be me! On the plane while everyone else slept off whatever they did for the weekend, I thought about my race. For every race, I list out 2 things: what worked and what needs work. Even if you’re disappointed, always take time to review what you did well. And then before your next race, go back and review what needed work so you don’t repeat it. I’m disappointed that I didn’t perform up to podium level but at the same time this was my highest placement ever at a world championship. I set very high expectations of myself and sometimes have to be reminded that to be among the top 10 in the world is good enough – for now.

And now, I get a few days to rest before I jump back into the final hurrah of Ironman training! Less than 4 weeks to go until Kona where I get to put myself against the top women in my age group in the world. Fired up? You bet. Ready to put on my game face? Don’t expect me to show up at the start line with Cover Girl Temptress lip color but do expect me to be slightly foaming from the mouth.

IRONWARD!

Commitment

2011-08-31T13:28:00.001-05:00

A few days ago, someone asked if I would be willing to talk to a high school girls swim team about commitment.

It’s the perfect time of the year to talk about commitment. For many athletes, the end of summer signals the end of their 2011 season. The buzz about next year has already started. The emails pour in, the “I just signed up for Ironman what have I done” posts on Facebook, the phone calls about this is what I want to do now what do I have to do to achieve it. Everyone is dreaming big, throwing it out there and serving up big helpings of pie in the sky.

Dreaming up the goal is the easy part, writing it down is even easier but actually getting there?

Enter commitment.

Commitment is one of those terms loosely thrown around in sport when talking about goals. Just like dedication or desire. We know we need it but we’re not exactly sure how or why it relates to our goal. Or what exactly it is. If you show up for practice every day, are you showing commitment? If you sign up for the race, are you committed? If you do some of the workouts, is some good enough to equal commitment?

I thought a lot about commitment. It’s hard enough to spell, can I really explain it to high schoolers? I started with the definition of the word: something pledged, an obligation, dedication, an agreement to do something in the future, the state of being emotionally impelled, engagement, involvement, a promise that restricts one’s freedom of action.

Commitment implies there is something in the future that we dedicate ourselves to achieving. We feel impelled to engage ourselves in doing these things. Why? Because what we are committing to is of deep importance to us – so much so that we have to get involved. It becomes an obligation. At times is might restrict our life and actions. But we feel so strongly about it that we are willing to make the sacrifices believing our commitment is worth it. Which means we must really care about the end result of our commitment. And if we are willing to make all of those sacrifices, we have a strong belief that we can get there. So much so that we commit ourselves every day, consistently, to fulfilling our obligation.

Then it hit me. Three things that make up commitment: care, consistency and confidence.

If you’re going to make the commitment, you’ve got to care about what you’re committing to. You’ve got to possess it for yourself. It can’t be something your coach, your team, your sponsors or any external source wants you to do. This has to be for you. When you care about something, you value the outcome, you place meaning on it. When you personally care about something, you do things because you want to not because you have to. You do things because not doing them disappoints yourself – not someone else.

When you don’t care, you do things half-heartedly. You skip things. You find better things to do than what you’re supposed to be doing. Your practice becomes half-assed. We’ve all been there. Whether it’s because of burnout, a goal that we set too high, or something we’re just not that into, if you don’t 100 percent care about the goal and outcome, you won’t make the commitment.

When you do care, you’re unstoppable. No morning is too dark, no day is too cold – you’re up and at it. The other day, someone asked me why I was doing Ironman. They gently reminded me that I don’t have million dollar contracts. This is true. But I’m doing it because I set a goal a year ago, one that I care about and I won’t be satisfied until I either achieve it or finish knowing that I’ve given it my best. It doesn’t have to bring me fame, money or anything external but intrinsically it means something to me. It makes me want to stay committed.

Part of commitment is consistency. It’s day after day, mile after mile, doing it when it feels good and when it doesn’t. Doing it when everyone else is doing something else. The cornerstone of commitment is sacrifice. To get something you have to give something. Whether it’s giving it your best, giving a lot of your time or giving up _____, this type of day after day sacrifice and practice is the consistency it takes to stay committed.

After years of competing as an athlete and working with other athletes, I have uncovered only one secret: the only thing that matters is consistency. Without it, you will not gain fitness, you will not make progress, you will not gain anything from what you do. Read that again. To get to where you want to go months from now, you need to be putting in the day to day work right now. No shortcuts. The week before the big race is too late. The month before the big race is too late. It starts now.

When you are committed, you are saying that you will be consistent. To be consistent you have to stay healthy. This means paying extra attention to your diet, health, recovery, sleep and stress. Each can influence your consistency. A week of poor eating, catching a cold, an injury, unnecessary life drama – all of this interrupts your consistency. True that it takes a lot of time, money and energy to give each of these things proper attention. But the meaningfulness of your commitment impels you to do so. To keep yourself in balance and healthy. It’s worth it.

When you make a commitment, you do so with the underlying certainty of yes you can. That is confidence. Confidence is what sparks us to think – I can do this – and then empowers us to get it done. Confidence is the bottom line with any commitment. If you think you can or you can’t – you’re right. If you’ve committed to something, you know you can – so honor yourself and do it.

In life, you will encounter many people who try to take away your confidence. People say all sorts of stupid shit to make you feel less able, guilty, weak or less confident. Understand that you have no responsibility to believe any of what they say. Know who to listen to. Listen to yourself, listen to the opinions of those who mean something to you (your parents, your coach). Don’t place value on anything else. The best piece of advice I’ve ever received: don’t change who you are for anyone else.

If you made the commitment for a goal, you are confident. You know you can. You care about this goal and believe you can do it. It will take consistency in your practice and habits to follow through. So, when you think about what commitment means – it’s about setting a goal you care about, it’s about acting consistently to do the work required to achieve that goal and it’s letting your own confidence carry you through.

So ask yourself: what am I going to commit to this coming season? Is it a personal best? Is it winning my division? Is it showing up to every morning practice? What will draw you out of bed each morning when the big event is months away, when the water is cold or it’s the dead of winter. The beauty is that you decide about your commitments – you make the choice. Which means the process of commitment and achieving things is entirely in your control.

Go on now and set your season goals. Commit!

No Need For Patience

2011-08-15T10:41:00.005-05:00

And on the 7^th day of rest week, she rested.

No, she RACED!

When I planned out my race schedule this year, one that I could not resist was a local sprint. There's nothing better than sleeping in your own bed the night before a race! The Naperville Sprint is a huge race (over 1100 competitors!) with a lot of energy, local support and a beautiful venue along the river.

The day before the race, Kurt sent me a text asking if I was ready. I told him if I wasn’t ready for a 65 minute race then I’m screwed come Ironman! A chuckle back and a direction to change from the long course mindset: no need for patience. I can do that. My usual sprint strategy is simple: if at any point it feels good, you are not going hard enough!

The race starts in the quarry which makes it a popular race for beginners. You’ve got to love the energy of a race filled with beginners. Nervous, frenetic, a naivete that we all had the first time around – I walked to the race site and the place was buzzing. A quick stop at body marking and the high school volunteer said: you look like you’re ready to kick some ass.

OMG! I came here to kick some ass!

Quickly my gear was set up and then I had about….90 minutes to stand around and wait. I actually stood around to make sure my bike – which looked like it was dangling from a 50 story ledge, does anyone else with 650s get really uneasy about hanging their bike by the seat – did not fall off or get knocked off. Meanwhile, I drank myself to 110 percent caffeinated by way of Peaberry, which I had discovered weeks earlier had the power to rend me caffeinated to the point of the shakes.

A light jog, a short swim and before I knew it I was at the start line. Unique start format: they sent off groups of 4 every 3 seconds. Chris did this race last year and advised me to start in one of the top 4 groups. I looked around at the start and knew I was sorely out of place – I was not wearing a high school swim speedo and I was not wearing a collegiate race kit. But behind me stood over 1000 people that were going to swim in a quarry designed not too many more than that. If I waited for a later wave, it would be a mess. So I stood right next to the guy in the speedo and together we took off!

Of course he dropped me before I was even swimming. I was still running INTO the water. I felt like everyone was swimming over me. Ever have one of those days where you just feel like you don’t have any feel for the water? That was today.

Before I had time to fret about that, I began the long run to transition. Chris told me I was the 3^rd woman out of the water and 25^th overall. Nice counting, husband! I think last year I was so sleep-deprived and shell-shocked while spectating with a 3 week all that I was lucky to even notice him out of the water.

Some fussing around with my shoes (both before and after the bike - which cost me .5 mph, mistakes are costly in a sprint), then I was off. No need for patience - bolt NOW! I won’t lie. For most of the time, the bike effort felt violent. I started chasing the kid in the speedo and a few other men. The course is a few turns and two loops. I looked at NOAA that morning and knew with a northeast wind, I’d be working for half the bike. The first part was with the tailwind so I set out to take advantage of it. I flew through 4 miles in under 10 minutes – fun!

About half the way through the loop, I got out of the saddle and hammered on to 75^th Street. The night before at dinner, Chris gave me some strategy. I love when our dinner conversation contains words like “gun it” and “chicane”. I knew I had to gun it through the chicane and, in Chris’ words, “trust the police” to be controlling the turn and intersection. I approached the turn and said to myself trustthepolicetrustthepolice! I turned left so fast and low I thought I was going to lay my bike down!

The second loop was exciting – someone who I swim masters with passed me and I made it my goal to keep him in sight. It was mostly a blur of ON YER LEFT as the course was now scattered with the bulk of the race. As I got close to the end I thought to myself – my legs are going to be wrecked off the bike! As far as rides go, my variability index on this one was out of control. And I have the power file to back up that statement! But as got near the dismount line I reminded myself it’s only a 5K. This entire race will be over before I know it. And, if I have the coherence to think right now I am not going hard enough!

Off the bike and…drumroll please…I had the fastest T2 in the entire race. I WIN! Well, not yet. I still had 5K to go. Despite my highly variable power output, my legs felt amazing! I zipped right on to the run course and got news that I was the first female.

Bad news: the time trial start means that every seconds counts! No backing off – full speed to the finish line!

I hit the first mile in a pace that shocked me. These days with Ironman training, I’m lucky if I break a minute per mile slower than that. On a COLD day. The next mile was a battle of can't we back off - no keep pushing - can't we just ease up a little bit - no they could be right on your tail! As I got on to the path to finish the last mile, I got my own personal bike escort. I have the lead female, he radioed. Sounded daunting. What are they going to do with me!? A hundred yards later, he slowed, turned to me and said “so how is your day going?” In between grunts and huffs, I think I said OK!?

The last ½ mile took approximately forever but it was worth the wait. I got to break the tape and hold it! This was better than doing Pigman a few years ago and holding a MEGACHECK for 3^rd place. Immediately cameras were on me and I felt like J.Lo! I’m a celebrity! Except my husband is much better looking. And I’m not divorcing him.

I crossed the line and waited for my friends and family. In the meantime, a camera kept filming which I found a little unsettling. Should I do something? Talk to myself? I found my friend Mary’s dog and started petting and talking to him. I’m sure this was riveting footage but I've decided because of it I would make a terrible reality tv star.

My entourage arrived soon after. It was great to see my friends, husband, mom and Max out on the course today. I got scooped away by a local television station for an interview. Next time would someone please tell me my hair was frizzing all over the place! He asked me a bunch of questions – one being about what it was like to get into racing after having a baby. My reply was something I think about all the time: I forget how fun this sport really is! It’s what I thought to myself in my first race post pregnancy (last September) and every race since then.

Something that I couldn’t stop thinking about today is the goal I set at the beginning of the year. I set goals for every race and my goal for today’s race said: top OA. That means win. When I was walking around transition today, I noticed the back of someone’s t-shirt.

It's Here

It's Now

It's Me

I wanted to rip that t-shirt off the guy’s back!

I was reading a book recently (Go Girl by Natalie Cook – a phenomenal book about one woman’s passionately intricate quest to achieve Olympic gold in beach volleyball) and she said that inspired people don’t wait for it. They are always open to and seeking inspiration. They walk around open to hearing it or reading it in unsuspecting places. In the past two days, I have received a lot of inspiration. I drove down a road that I always drive down and noticed in someone’s front yard that they have a totem pole with this saying carved into it: Don’t ever give up. I was picking up my race packet and noticed on the back of a volunteer’s t-shirt it read: Without struggle there is no satisfaction. Inspiration is everywhere – whether it’s on a t-shirt, from your friends/family, in a book – it’s out there. You just have to be open to finding it and then receiving it.

I thought about that t-shirt for the entire race. At the race it was here, it was now, it was me. I arrive at each race knowing it’s an open opportunity for me to make it what I want. When I got distracted, when it started to hurt, I used that shirt to bring myself back to the race. Here, now, ME. It’s the idea of racing in your box, controlling the controllables (you and your actions). It’s more than putting on the game face. It’s knowing that behind that face is razor-sharp focus and in that mind is a constant assessment of what do I need to do know – hold form, give it a little more, hold that guy off. I love the outcome of a well put-together race but I love the process even more. It’s so much more than going through the motions. And what I’ve also found this year is that the process must first be fueled by passion. You’ve got to want to be out there and feel like if you had the opportunity, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

And now - it's back to the iron grind of training. Given a sprint or Ironman, I choose Ironman pace. Sprints are short, fast, hard, no patience just go. Ironman is long, slow, like patiently tolerating a whining child (I can do that!). All joking aside, the excitement about the end of my season is building, so much that I can hardly contain myself! But I suspect that might be because my veins are still running Peaberry.

Less than 8 weeks to go!

From The Land of Iron

2011-08-11T13:26:00.009-05:00

Fear not: I don’t need to be revived from the iron-dead.

Yet.

It’s been a few weeks since I last blogged. I keep meaning to sit down and write but every time I do I end up reading OMG! Hey, there’s a lot of important celebrity gossip out there! Last week, on the floor with my laptop, ready to write, I got sucked into Jersey Shore instead.

I’m still shaking that one off.

It’s not that I don’t have material. I’m training for an Ironman and I have a one year old. I've got plenty of material. It’s just that: my life has become increasingly ironed out. There is work, home, childcare. These are things I need to do. Any extra time that I do have is consumed by preparing for the next day’s workouts, eating or sleeping (or when you have a one year old, trying to sleep).

Yes, I’m officially training for Ironman.

I know this is true as I often find myself shifting between feeling Iron Fit and Iron Fat. If you’ve ever trained for this, you know what I mean. You feel fitter than ever. On days when the temperature is below…90….you are easily hitting paces that used to take effort. Yet at the same time you feel fatter than ever. It is the mathematical impossibility of burning 3000+ calories in a long workout yet getting on the scale the next day to find you’ve gained 7 pounds.

I woke up this morning and grumbled to Chris that I was sore, tired and feeling fat. His reply:

Sounds like you are training for Ironman.

You just can’t hide from it. Take life, mix in work, add many hours of training, a small child, domestic responsibilities (if I’m not training, there’s a good chance I’m folding towels in the laundry room), toss together, serve at what has been a consistently hotter than hell temperature and you get…

Iron Liz. A salty, sassy version of her former self. I’d like to say smaller but…see above.

All of this explains why I caved and bought tickets to Ale Fest on Saturday. I don’t drink beer. I actually don’t drink much at all and definitely never drink before 5 pm. Ale Fest was the exception. Two streets blocked off, 200 different types of beer, one pint glass. And that is how you find yourself drunk at 3 pm on a Saturday. The worst part?

We got there at 2:30.

The best part about drinking before 5 pm? You are sober by 5 and ready to resume your sadly iron-ated life by going to bed at 8:30 pm so you can wake up at 4:30 to drive to Madison to ride over 5 hours and run 40 minutes.

One word for that: ironrific!

My life has become measured in the number of workouts each day, the number of gels consumed and bottles of salt tabs. Speaking of salt tabs, you know you are having a moment of iron-desperation when you turn around to pick up the 6 salt tabs you dropped in the middle of a county road and then – knowing you will need all of them at some point during the day – eat two of them.

After one had been run over.

The other night it struck me that my life just might qualify now as Iron Lame. It was Friday night. I was doing a little online shopping. For Zym. I then composed an email to a friend to talk about the aerodynamics of my current hydration system. I was in bed by 9 pm so I could wake up early the next day to run long.

Week upon week, the iron work piles up. And the miles. The grocery bill. And the laundry. This week I am resting. The past 3 weeks I put in some solid work and I survived. The last day was a little shaky. I was up in Verona to ride the loops of the IMWI course. I’ve been riding the course with my Ironman group. They – because they have to. Me – because it builds character. Seriously. I forgot how truly nasty that course is. The first loop was a little rough. The second loop almost broke me. I had the brilliant idea to ride the loop in reverse. If you ever have the opportunity, take my word for it: don’t. By mile 80, I had quit the run off the bike. By mile 95 I had gotten over myself and put on my running shoes. I started the negotiations. One of those runs where first you say – I’m not doing it. Then you say, I’ll go 1 mile out and back. Then you say, ok, I’ll do 30 minutes. And before you know it all 40 minutes are done and you get that feeling of giving it a complete effort, the euphoria of finishing what you started. And then the reality that it’s 5 pm and you haven’t eaten real food yet.

The weather cracked recently which means it is finally below 90 degrees. Nothing feels better than a dewpoint of 55. The few days where it was 78 degrees with a dewpoint of 73 and a 15 mile long run? Sponge. You could have wrung me out. There was another long run when it was a 112 degree heat index. I now refer to that as the run that may have taken a year off my life. Swimming in 85 degree water, biking through humidity so thick it takes zone 3 power to cut through it. Summer this year has been challenging. I told myself at the start of the summer that I would not complain about the heat because 1 – I am training for Kona, 2 – on race day you cannot cut the course short, move the day of the race or change the weather so you might as well get used to it, 3 – no one would listen (or care) anyways. In other words, get over yourself and do your workout. That mantra has worked pretty well for me so far in training.

Something that I forgot in the past 4 years since I last trained for an Ironman is how there are actually 6 parts of long course triathlon. There is the swim, bike, run. And transition. And nutrition. And your mind. Most athletes make a good effort at preparing the first 3, faking number 4, loosely planning for number 5 and skipping number 6. When it comes to Ironman, I actually think you should work that list in reverse. Learn to manage your mind. Have a well-practiced fuel plan that you execute, avoid spending 20 minutes of your race in transition (for a lot of reasons beyond the PR – you’re losing momentum, you’re not fueling…), run frequently, bike quality miles at a realistic pace and swim for efficiency.

Kurt is helping me assemble the swim, bike, run. The workouts are simple, consistent and effective. He gives me the work, I get it done. Transitions – over a decade in the sport and still can’t do a flying mount/dismount. But I also haven’t practiced. Nutrition – I’ve used the same plan for years because it works. And the mind? As I get out there, I notice my mind is much easier to manage now. I don’t doubt myself, worry about what others think, obsess much about the paces/watts I hit (or miss). Most of the time I am just happy to have made it out of the house dressed for the correct sport. Motherhood is wonderful for your mind. Very freeing. Sometimes I have negative thoughts but I’ve learned to distrust them. Honestly, out there, what could happen that I can’t handle? Maybe motherhood makes you more confident. Or maybe after so much cage-pacing crazy each day you don’t care WHAT you're doing, you’re just happy to be out of the house and not needing to spend another 10 minutes cleaning up the high chair.

I hate that thing. When Max is done with it, I’m throwing it into the creek behind my house. Or rolling it into the middle of I-88.

I looked ahead on my schedule today. Why? As if I would be scheduled for a week of wine, those chocolate-covered English Toffee things from Trader Joe’s and naps. I noticed an upcoming week where I run for 6 days. The seventh day? That would be the day I call up the podiatrist and ask him to reattach my foot. And..this just in….is that a run twice in one day? I slowly backed away from my laptop, hands over my eyes while telling myself it will be ok. What I like most about long course training is that even as an adult you experience as “first”. I’ve never ran that much before. It strikes a little fear in me but also a little excitement about the challenge of something new. We as adults adapt very well, our body is efficient and looks for sneaky ways to conserve energy in what we typically do. Throw a new demand at it and you force a new adaptation. This is how you learn and grow. This is what I love about endurance sports!

These days I enjoy all of my swims, bikes and runs. No, really. It's amazing. Every workout is an adventure – can I make it to White Willow Road, how many different ways can I swim around the quarry, where will I run today. This is the fun side of sport that I forgot about as I made it more about performance. Sure, I still have performance goals. But at the end of the day/race, no matter what happens, I’m still me, I’m still a mom, I’m still a complete person. I strive for my performance goals to prove to myself that even as I get older, I can still make gains. Even as my life is more complicated, I can still find focus and channel into my personal goals. And even though a little over a year ago I felt like I would never reassemble my body/my life into a machine that can do all of this, I can.

When I finished Ironman 4 years ago, I remember all that passed through my head from mile 22 onward was yes I can. It’s funny what you find on the other side of iron. I never forgot that lesson. When someone tells me you can’t (gosh, how many people said I would never find time to do any of this after Max), it makes me want to prove to them that yes I can. Maybe that’s what this year was all about. Not necessarily proving it to myself but to everyone else that we all have excuses, rationalizations and reasons. I’m too busy at work, I have a child, I’m too old. Keep thinking long enough and you’ll come up with a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t do anything.

Max turned one year old on July 23 at 5:43 pm. I’m pretty sure it was 5:44 pm when I thought to myself – giddy up, game on, doctor, how long until I can run again? 24 hours later, when they would finally let me out of bed, I could barely walk 5 minutes down the hall. My still gigantic stomach jiggled like jelly. I didn’t care. I didn’t listen. As soon as the pain meds wore off, I took the upcoming year by the balls (yipe!), looked it directly in the eyes and said yes I can.

I’m going to enjoy the next few days of rest before I jump feet first back into the land of iron again. And with all this extra time I have, I’ll probably drain all of the blisters on my feet and reorganize my Bento Box. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a high chair full of waffles and applesauce to hose down. I'm going to resist the urge to throw that thing into oncoming traffic and feed my child from the kitchen floor for the next few years. And the towels in the dryer begging to be folded for the 239404th time this week? Yes I can. YES I CAN!

Hot Stuff

2011-07-17T21:06:00.010-05:00

News flash: I had the entire weekend to myself. Alone. No, really. Not even the dog was around. Chris took Max up to the family home in Michigan and Boss spent the weekend at Shangri-La. What’s a girl to do with herself? Some women might go shopping, take a trip to the spa, spend the weekend with girlfriends. Not this girl.

This girl’s gonna race!

(I should add that within one hour of getting on the road, Chris had already called me to report that Max had pooped himself up his back, out of the diaper and into his shorts. Is it wrong that I could only laugh?)

On Saturday, there was a race about 2 hours south of here that I’ve always wanted to do. It’s fairly competitive, has an elite wave and a prize purse. I traveled solo to the race with a feeling of freedom that I don’t get too often anymore. Just me, in the car, windows down, driving west on 80, miles of corn with the music turned up loud.

I checked into the race site and found two of my athletes. We had a quick dinner and then I headed out to my luxurious hotel. All that I will say is that when you pay $53 for a room, you get a room that’s worth 53 dollars. But it had a bed (may I add a really REALLY hairy bed) and I was in that bed at 7:30 pm. My rule is that even if you don’t sleep for 8 hours straight before a race, you should give your body a rest in bed for at least 8 hours.

I woke up way too early but ready to go. I arrived so early at the race site that I was able to park right across from transition. After making a very girly stop at the bike mechanic tent to have them put air in my tires (I never pump my own tires on race morning – it’s a superstition), I found my rack amongst the elite/collegiate wave. Once again I could have given birth to my entire rack. I have GOT to stop doing these races that mix me in with collegiate athletes. This sport is not making me feel any younger!

I connected with a few of my athletes then got ready to warm up. The water was 83 degrees – no wetsuit. I had used my brand new TYR Torque at Eagleman – it looked fast and felt fast. Yes, I need a shoe horn and some Body Glide to get into the damn thing but once it gets over my hips it fits very well! (I swear, some sports gear makes me feel like I should be nicknamed Jumbo) I put it on right before my warm up and asked some guy to help me zip it up. He tells me the zipper is caught in the fabric. Knowing that a good tug can fix anything, I give the zipper a good tug. And then in a moment of OH CRAP THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN, I am standing knee deep in water with a zipper plus cord in my hand.

File that under things you never want to happen 15 minutes before the swim start.

And now on to plan B. There really was no Plan B. I never anticipate my $250 piece of equipment will completely fall apart at the race start! But the first thing that popped into my mind was something I always tell my athletes: No wet/speedsuit, no problem. I swim open water twice a week at the quarry with nothing but a swimsuit. The tri top and tri shorts which at times can feel like one of Max’s diapers after he wakes up from a good night’s sleep wasn’t ideal but would have to do.

The elite field was pretty small but the collegiate field was big. After each college did a team cheer (which reminds me, I really need to put together my own cheer AND come up with a theme song), we all started together. I expected to be pummeled by a dozen overzealous youth who would fizzle in 100 yards but instead I found myself just swimming along with them. Where is the brutality! Can someone please throw a punch? Rip at my goggles? There was one guy who I couldn’t shake off and then found myself waiting for him to get away from me. Then it hit me – how about YOU get away from him?

So I did – I took off and then found myself swimming from group to group, right up to some feet, riding it for awhile then making a move to the next group. The water was calm and felt just like the quarry. After the last buoy, I ran out of groups to catch, sat behind two other collegiate swimmers and swam into the shore.

The bike course was just like any other course I ride at home – mostly flat with lots of corn. In the background, there were giant windmills spread through the cornfields. Not exactly something you want to see on a race course but today they weren’t moving (kudos to the race director for turning off those giant fans!). There was hardly any wind. But sometimes these days are the hardest to ride – the humid days with no wind. I can’t say that I like headwind but I’ll never turn down tailwind. Humidity doesn’t move though. You just grind your way through it.

I passed a few collegiate athletes but rode the course mostly alone. It was one of those rides where I found myself thinking – is my rear brake on? Is my rear tire flat? I had the feeling that I was moving but felt slow. I was passing no one which made me wonder if I had gone off course. Is there really a race going on here? It was one of those rides where 40K felt like 100 miles.

In a few weeks, I’m hoping my 100 mile rides feel like 40K.

The run course was flat. Historically this race has been a cooker but today it was overcast and tolerable. A few out and backs so I could see how I was doing – I was 2^nd elite and held that until the end of the race. My goal was to place top 3 overall (check), took home 500 bucks (the salt tabs are on me!) and 2^nd in the Best of the US Illinois ranking.

(interesting side note: the woman who won the race was the pro who also went on to win Racine 70.3 the next day)

The next day I decided to head up to Racine 70.3 to spectate. Between my own athletes, the Well-Fit Ironman group and all of the other people I know/have met/stalk from racing over 10 years, it’s safe to say I could identify 99 percent of those on course by name.

I found a few of the old IronCrew and we walked over to the run course. Racine is actually a beautiful course – it’s set against what is a strangely majestic beach along Lake Michigan. But with beaches come sun and very little shade. I found the one sliver of shade along the course – the shadow of a lamppost, stood by it and shouted for the next 4 hours.

It was hot. Brutally hot. Around 98 degrees. I think the heat index was 115. Yet even in the roughest of conditions, there’s always something inspirational (and yes, easier!) about being on the other side. You can’t stand on the sidelines without getting a little fire in your belly for your next race. You connect to what you’re seeing, what they’re feeling, you see them hurting, sweating, suffering and what is wrong with us….why do I find myself thinking I wish that was me! And the most inspirational – the girl from Dare2Tri with one leg, the man doing the entire bike and run in full firefighter gear (and you thought you were hot in your tri onesie!) or Bob Scott – 81 years young, recently qualified for Kona at Eagleman – yeah, he finished.

(incidentally, I was running at the Arboretum a few weeks ago, 91 degrees in the shade as I ran to the top of a big hill, Bob was out there, picked up the pace to beat me to the top of the hill and then said “come on, Elizabeth.”)

Most of the problems in the heat were remedied by one of three things; slowing down, popping a salt tab or switching to Coke. Remember that, folks! I had more than a few sweaty hugs, wet-handed high fives, cups thrown my direction and even some tears. I wanted to give a big mom-hug to some random guy who was walking up the hill saying to me “but my nutrition plan has never let me down.” This whole spectathlon (and now sunburn) experience made me think: they’ve got to start doing 70.3s in the winter.

The rest of Sunday night – I didn’t feel so well. I think I ate too much kale in the past 24 hours or had too much triathlon. My stomach felt off. Probably should have popped a salt tab. And looking at the forecast for this week – I’m going to need that. Triple digit heat indexes ahead.

Hot stuff? You bet. But I never expect anything less of the midwest in summer (but as I ride two loops in Verona this weekend I have the right to curse the midwest, for at least 4 hours).

Catching Up

2011-07-08T08:23:00.010-05:00

Because someone to me to stop neglecting my blog.

Unfortunately, given the choice to neglect my child, my business, myself, my husband, my house or the 1000 fruit flies and ants that have recently taken up residence – I’ve had no choice but to neglect the blog. If only there were another 3 hours in every day.

Put that on the list of things to request when I finally get time to write the letter to god.

Catching up...

Eventually I emerged from recovery week.

Like two weeks ago.

Since then I’ve had some epic moments in both parenting and training.

According to the most recent polls, I am still in the running for Parent of the Year. Not an easy award to win. It requires a fair amount of negligence (we showed up at the family Fourth of July party with no shoes, no food and no extra outfit for Max – we couldn’t find his shoes before we left, but we found them when we came home, in the street at the end of our driveway), a fair amount of recklessness (his favorite toy is the dishwasher, and when I found him with an old onion in his mouth I thought…that’s awesome) and a fair amount of “if he needs me, I’ll hear him” (we don’t use a baby monitor, honestly if they need you, you’ll hear them – through the door).

Our approach to parenting is not exactly conventional. Nor careful. Nor approved by the grandparents. We don’t walk around armed with a baby wipe to keep him clean. We don’t always put shoes on him (mostly because we can never find them) and sometimes we highly encourage nudity (though this is never advised around carpet, it only takes one time to learn this lesson).

The other day, someone was asking me what you really need to register for when you have a baby. Ah, the baby registry. Horrific, nightmarish memories of walking circles around BuyBuyBaby with one of those scanners that always seemed to freeze after three items. How do you choose amongst 20 different types of baby bottles? Are they really all that different? I registered for all sorts of stuff, most of it which you don’t really need. In fact, I’ve boiled it down to three items that you must have with a baby:

1 – Diapers. We go through $80 worth of diapers a month. There’s this urban myth out there that the cost of diapers will eat into your savings fund and leave you broke on the side of the street. I’m not sure what these people are feeding their kids. Some people spend 80 bucks a month on coffee. Diapers are really not that expensive.

2 – Boobs. Because they are the best and most convenient source of food for your baby. And, they are free! Unless you factor in the aftermath of what’s left of your boobs after nursing. In that case, the cost is about 4 to 8 grand for a new set. Yes, I’ve done research.

3 – Old towels. About 100 of them. Forget registering for all those cute blankets and washcloths. You need old ratty towels to clean up anything – the highchair (I have literally spent 30 minutes a day cleaning that thing), the water from the dog bowl that just got dumped for the 100^th time (you’d think I learn already), dirt from plants and other “things” (see a few paragraphs below).

You also need a cooperative spouse. And when I say cooperative, I really mean a spouse who will say ‘yes’ to anything. A cooperative spouse walks in the door and takes over. No questions asked! In that regard, I have the world’s most cooperative spouse. Soon to be parents, if you are reading this, go to the nearest mirror and repeat this over and over again “Ok”. Can you take out the dog? Ok. Can you cook dinner? Ok. Can you pick up more bananas? Ok.

Though Chris might need some gentle reminders (Chris are you watching him – yes – as Max climbs into the kiddie pool, Chris are you watching him – yes – as Max grabs a fork), we mostly agree on parenting. And so when he had the idea to let Max “air out” on the deck the other night – meaning, crawl around with no clothes on – I had to agree (in my free time, I stand in front of the mirror and say “ok” – I have freetime for approximately 32 minutes a week). In theory, it was a good idea because Max has a raging case of diaper rash.

And so Max crawled around, naked, free, happy. There is nothing more happy than a naked baby. Also, nothing more loaded and dangerous.

What’s on his leg?

There are few times in life when I have almost shit myself. This was one of them. If there was any doubt in the polls as to whether we should win Parent of the Year, this definitely pulls us ahead. Our naked and happy son just took a massive crap in the corner of the deck.

How you go about cleaning this requires a lot of…you got it – old towels.

(how you convince the dog to stay away while you’re cleaning it is an entirely different story)

I’d like to say my training has gone better but some interrupted sleep has left me feeling a little like that pile of poo on my deck for a few days. Three weeks ago, Max started getting two new teeth. Why on earth we painfully cut a whole mouth full of teeth only to lose them is beyond me. I’ve been meaning to write a letter to god about it. But I just haven’t had time. There were a few nights in a row where he kept waking up. Which meant I kept waking up. And thus my body adopted a new circadian rhythm; middle of the night, WAKE UP!

So, about training…

On Saturday I went out for a moderately long brick. I didn’t realize the challenge of the weather until I got a text from a friend that said something about the wind, like “get out there soon because the wind is already blowing”. Before 8 am. Never a good sign. The temperature was climbing into the 90s, the dewpoint was 78, and I was surrounded by corn that was pointing in the direction of west wind – stiff and dehydrating.

You know you’re being beat by the training on a ridiculously hot day when you find yourself riding by a cemetery and thinking “that would be a great place to take a nap.” I had about a dozen or so moments like this on my Saturday workout. Out there in the middle of nowhere when I just wanted to crawl into the corn for some shade. All 1 inch of shade that you get from the cornstalk. At one point, I noticed a bizarre path that something had made into the corn. Either from a corn bear or a very desperate cyclist.

It was one of those rides where I found myself 20 minutes away from the car and it might as well have been 2 hours. The last few miles where you start to fantasize about water – cold. Where you start to come up with plans of how you will find more water. You see a kid with a garden hose watering flowers and wonder if it would be too awkward to ride up to him, sweaty and sunburnt, begging to fill your bottles. You get to the car 5 miles later and you’re like – were you really on the edge of death there, Fedofsky? You could have ran the 5 miles back to the car wheeling the bike next to you. It was that bad?

But somewhere around 50 miles into the ride I reached that point. The point of negotiations where it’s you pitted against yourself. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. It’s not like this workout was hard, it’s just that it’s been a long time (uh, 3+ years) since I’ve gone someplace terribly uncomfortable, moderately long and very very hot on my bike. This is one of the reasons I love training for long course triathlons. You go to places in training and racing that you simply cannot replicate in any other area of life. It becomes almost like an animal survival. Water – I need water, NOW. It’s very raw. Sometimes I think endurance athletes are people who have come to feel unchallenged by daily life. They seek something bigger to overcome. The biggest thing you can overcome is yourself.

Near the end of the ride I found myself thinking, wow I’d really like to get off my bike but once I do I’m going to have to run so maybe I’ll just stay on my bike instead. Eventually, by miracle of tailwind, I got back to the car. The only thing waiting there for me was a Garmin and a pair of running shoes. I then began what’s becoming a pattern of slow runs in oppressive heat. At this point I am convinced if only the temperature would drop 40 degrees I would be really, really fast.

But it’s all good training. Good because I’m doing this little race in October which promises 10+ hours of oppressive heat. Speaking of which, at some point in the next 4 weeks I will begin training for Ironman. I’ve seen the plan ahead, I looked once then slowly backed away from it with my hands over my eyes and butterflies in my stomach. I saw something like “52 miles of running” on one week in September and almost shot myself in the foot just to get it over with more quickly and painlessly.

Fear not, come late July I suspect I’ll have many more stories about training. And speaking on late July - we are fast approaching Max’s first birthday. It’s hard to believe a year has gone by! Ok, that’s bullshit. I still remember being up at all hours of the night for months on end, sitting in the rocking chair, wishing people would update their Facebook more often so I had something to read during late night feedings. Each day seemed like forever! I don’t know how I did it. But you quickly adapt and it becomes your new normal. In fact, I think that is the key to making progress after pregnancy. You accept that you have a new normal and you work with it. When you continually lament for what you once had, you get stuck and go in circles. There are parts of me that will never be “normal” again. That is ok. Even if it’s not ok, you just learn to move on and put your focus on something else. It’s is like endurance racing – keep moving forward.

There has been much talk about Max’s first birthday. I put my foot down at moon jump and clowns. Max might enjoy a clown but clowns scare the shit out of me! Someone asked what types of toys Max enjoys, so here’s a list: spoons, large household appliances, cords, the dog’s bone, remote controls, coffee cup lids, magazine pages. Don’t register for baby toys – babies don’t need them. If you’ve got a wooden spoon, you’re set! I’m pretty sure that Max will also enjoy a birthday cake (maybe not, but I will). Cake thick with frosting and I don’t care what it says – happy birthday Max or congrats mom for surviving one year of limited sleep and hips that never stop aching.

So when’s the happy first year of parenting party? The party where we do a shot for every diaper we changed in those first few weeks – I remember 18 in one day. The party where we learn that this was the easiest year – they don’t really move and they don’t talk (yet)!. The party where we get so drunk we risk creating #2 - public service announcement: when going out for drinks on a weekday night, never ever bring a pen…there’s a list they pass around where you sign up for parenting if you’re not careful!

Now that I’ve written a blog, I’ve spent the past 15 minutes neglecting my child. He’s currently in his crib throwing all 6 of the pacifiers I put in there with him (I just gave you Awesome Parenting Tip #107 right there). Where they land is anyone’s guess. I suspect only when we move will we find the other dozens of pacifiers that have gone missing. Just yesterday one completely disappeared while Max was playing in my closet (Awesome Parenting Tip #108 – the contents of your closet are 100 times more entertaining than any toy chest). If I don’t get up there next 5 minutes, he’ll go into full blown YOU’VE LEFT ME IN THIS WILDERNESS mode.

In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1….yup. Wilderness, people. The nonparents reading this are mortified by my (lack of) parenting skills; can you believe she left him awake and alone in the crib for 15 minutes? The parents reading this are thinking she could probably milk that freetime for another 5 minutes before he moves into hysterics.

In 5, 4…waiting….

Recovery Week

2011-06-18T15:18:00.010-05:00

Ah, recovery week. Like a refreshing gulp of icy cold water while your ass is baking in the hot sun sitting atop a saddle as you pedal your way across a volcanic island.

Did I really sign up for that thing?

I made it through the week. At times I wondered if I was really, truly enjoying my recovery week because I found myself busy (and sober) for most of it. The best recovery weeks tend to be complete falls from grace. If you’ve gotten through the week eating one vegetable and sleeping in until 10 am, you’ve done it right. Unfortunately I need to poop and I have a child. The week wasn’t quite as lazy and wild as it could have been. There were, however, moments of recovery-week greatness, like going to bed at 8 pm two nights in a row and waking up at 6 am. I think in my former non-parental life that would have qualified me as “lame” but now as a parent I’m pretty sure that qualifies me as “legend”.

In order to avoid spending too much energy while thinking during recovery week, I spent weeks before the race thinking about it. Being a goal-oriented person, I set some goals.

Goal #1: Eat Dairy Queen for dinner.

Checked this one right off the list the night of the race. Why wait? We were at the race site until 4 pm so this may have been the first thing I put into my mouth after racing aside from a recovery drink. In case you ever race Eagleman, be warned, unless you want to eat McDonald’s or Dairy Queen for dinner, there’s slim pickings. Rather than fight it, I headed straight to the DQ and ordered a large – yes LARGE – Blizzard with peanut butter cups and cookie dough. Nothing like fighting inflammation with inflammation!

You know, that cookie dough has trans fats in it.

That was from my husband. The irony is: THAT WAS FROM MY HUSBAND. I didn’t care much about the trans fats. What’s life if you can’t eat a meal that’s 50 percent trans fat and 50 percent sugar every once in awhile?

This dinner, though, had been a long time coming. For 6 weeks I gave up pretty much everything – no sugar, no cheat meal, no dessert on the weekend because it’s the weekend, no WINE and in the last week to make a final push towards the finish line – no cream in my decaf coffee.

Because drinking decaf isn’t sad enough.

Goal #2: Eat wine for dinner.

Hey, you don’t live on turkey, carrots, sweet potatoes and quinoa for weeks on end without having very specific plans for how you’re going to exorcise all of your junk food demons so you don’t want to see them for another 8 weeks. Wine is sometimes my junk food. A glass here, a glass there.

But on Thursday I knew I was going to eat wine for dinner – not counting how many glasses just enjoying every last sip. We went out with some friends. I was expecting it to be about 2 hours. Roughly many (but who's counting) glasses later, we rolled in around midnight. I learned a very valuable recovery week lesson: I am too old to be drinking until midnight. It’s a lot more fun when you’re younger and you don’t have a child who wakes up at 6 am.

I’m just glad I didn’t get talked into the shot of tequila (cough, ahem, er, Chris Waterstraat).

Goal #3: Eat crumb cake for breakfast.

I saved this one for Saturday. On my schedule was a 2-hour ride that read “for fun.” Hey, if I’m going to pay my coach to write workouts, I’m going to take them seriously. No pace, no watts. This is “fun”. And drafting? Highly encouraged and a smart way to conserve energy for consumption of pastries and coffee.

I had tapered all week for this event. Thought about it for weeks. Every Saturday there’s a “French Market” in Wheaton. I’m not sure what makes it French, it’s a bunch of vendors, some farmers selling organic from the farm produce, some nuns selling baked goods, some people selling flowers. There’s also crumb cake from a local bakery. Giant squares of moist sugar and crumbly goodness.

I may or may not have been dreaming about it for weeks.

The plan was to gather up the entire family and pedal 10 miles north to Wheaton. The entire family being my two sister-in-laws, both of their daughters, my brother-in-law, father-in-law, Max and Chris. If you were on the Prairie Path on Saturday around 11 am, you may have been overtaken by what felt like a whole lot of Waterstraat. But I don’t apologize.

My in-laws front yard quickly turned into a scene from Ragbrai morning – a mess of wheels, helmets and other stuff you need to ride 20 miles with 3 small children. I’m pretty sure we violated some code of coolness by carrying diapers on a Surly.

We headed out to the path. The pace was relaxing. Not slow, I mean, I’ve ridden slow before – once on Ragbrai, Tim and I maintained a 4.4 mph paceline, two women passed us (“on your left”) with one saying to the other, “what are they on?” Today, we were cruising along, chit chatting or just letting the mind get lost in its own thoughts. You don’t get many opportunities in life like this. Our world is full of so much stimulation and static. It’s good to quiet the mind and slow things down.

By the first hill, my FIL had dropped us. Had to feel a little sorry for my younger SIL who was on a single speed. And then there was Chris hauling the kids in a Burley attached to a mountain bike. As we climbed the first hill, Chris told us to go around him.

As if you any of us had the balls to pass a guy wearing an Ironman Hawaii finisher’s jersey pulling a Burley with two children up a hill.

We actually did get passed by a lot of people but collectively as a group passed a dude on a horse. I’m pretty sure we all got a little ego boost out of that.

Some of the family took energy conservation seriously. Drafting? Your call.

We arrived at the market and I made a quick beeline to the crumb cake. Not wanting the pressure of having to choose which type of crumb cake I wanted, I bought a piece of all three and threw in a brownie just because. You never know when you’re going to crave chocolate.

The bakery staff assured me that none of these pieces contain trans fats.

Much food was bought, some lemonade, coffee. We sat, we talked, we listened to the music.

Here Aubrey eyes the box of cake with stranger danger to her left and a cup of hot coffee to her right, Maeda sits with a damp cheesecloth on her head (my SIL calls this sun protection) and Max plays by an electrical outlet. This photo is like something straight out of Safety Town.

I left Max with Chris while I did some shopping, came back to find him covered in dirt, strawberries and eating wood chips. Combine all that dirt with the heat and it seemed the appropriate time then to do a very Ragbrai-esque hose shower at a nearby fire hydrant.

On the way back, we were all pumped full of sugar and caffeine so we took the extra long way. The weather was beautiful and it was one of those priceless family adventures we won’t forget. There was conversation, someone was singing the ABC song. If the backdrop were the mountains, I’d say we could have been mistaken for the Von Trapp family. Minus the matching curtain outfits.

What always surprises me about recovery week is that I basically spend a week living like the general public – doing nothing, riding 11.8 mph, eating junk, boozing on a Thursday night. I have no idea how people do this. It’s fun for a few days but then I start to crave something green and a workout lasting longer than 35 minutes. By week’s end, if I’ve done it right: I cannot wait to return to my usual routine.

So, next week I’m back on the wagon. As far as recovery weeks go, this one was pretty tame. I still fit into the wagon. The wagon still has all 4 wheels. I’ve had some classic recovery weeks where I’m pretty sure I lost a wheel. Or might have eaten it. Those weeks are called “epic” and I’m saving one like that for the week beginning October 10th.

Yeah, I’m feeling mostly recovered and excited to tackle training again. I think that means I’m ready. Well, ready or not. You can’t ever be truly ready for Ironman or even Ironman training. You just take it day to day. And, fake it ‘til you make it. Or until you get a really painful saddle sore. Then, you call Dr. Nuts and stay off your bike for a few days.

It’s all coming back to me…

A Girl Can Dream, Right

2011-06-13T21:40:00.006-05:00

Fear not, I will not tell you how many grams of carbohydrate I ate in the days leading up to the race (lots), how many salt tabs I consumed (11), how many gels I ate (7), how much I drank on the bike (72 ounces), how many times I compared the pain of racing to the pain of labor (once, at mile 50 of the bike), how many times I peed (once, while standing in T2), how many times I ran 13 miles before the race (none) or how many parts of my body are now painfully chafed (many).

I will tell you how I went from a year ago being hugely pregnant – and that’s me putting it politely – to being on top of my age group at a competitive 70.3 less than 11 months later.

For nearly 11 months.

When I wrote my race plan, those were the first words. When I stepped into the water, before the start of my wave at Eagleman 70.3, those were the first words I said to myself.

For nearly 11 months I’ve waited.

I couldn’t wait.

Within weeks of giving birth, I was already dreaming. Of where I wanted to go athletically. Starting over. Where would the story end? You always write your own ending. Mine ended in Hawaii. Why? Dream big. And a very hormonal, post-partum girl can dream, right? Someone told me, the year after pregnancy go big. You’ll need something wow to motivate you, something big to make the sacrifices worth it, something out there that seems so impossible that you, as a driven athlete, will be compelled to work hard to make it possible.

Today was the day, Eagleman 70.3. One Kona slot available in my age group. One chance – here, now. I don’t chase, I won’t chase. If it happens, I go. If it doesn’t, I get over it and move on to something else. There’s a handful of 70.3s where you can qualify for Kona, age group winners get the slot. The goal was set:

*Win my age group at Eagleman*

Despite a few setbacks, despite carrying a few extra pounds – I never once doubted I could do this. I didn’t know who else was racing, I didn’t look, I didn’t care. All I knew were my abilities and my preparation. As I got closer to the race, I got more prepared. As I got more prepared, I got more confident. Confidence is that firewall that makes thoughts of “maybe I can’t” stop before you have time to notice them. I started to notice only the reasons why it would be me. I wouldn’t think of anything else.

Race morning couldn’t arrive quickly enough. For months, I’ve watched this race, all of its 70.3 miles worth of moments, play out in my head. Along the way, sacrifices made to make sure I arrived at the start line as ready as I could be. I gave up coffee. I went to bed early. I woke up early. I ate clean. I took supplements. I never, ever missed the recovery window. I arrived at goal weight. I compartmentalized my training. I brought in the babysitter. I balanced between my workouts, my work, my husband’s workouts and my child. I committed only to what it would take to achieve this goal. I listened to my body. I had a race plan. I wrote it out. I read through it over and over again. I worked my mind’s eye in overtime, going through the race. I arrived at race day not wondering what would happen but knowing how it could happen. And then ready to make it happen out there. I focused only on where I wanted to go. I focused only on my successes. I forgot I ever had failures. I found only proof for success. I searched through my race history and reconnected to every race I won. I went back through my notes. I made myself read and absorb. This is what I’ve done. This is what I can do. This is what I will do. I found my confidence by building it. And once I built what I knew it would take, I found a calm in my confidence. More importantly, I trusted myself, faith in knowing that I wouldn’t set the goal if I couldn’t do it. Trust is confidence.

11 months of waiting comes down to ten seconds to go, standing neck-deep in water. The buoy is right next to me with only a few other girls. In front of me is what looks like an endless row of buoys leading to the bridge. The river looks calm but the Choptank is always choppy. The water is 82 degrees, no wetsuits. Five seconds to go. And just like that, it begins.

I cruised the swim. For most of it, I hung on someone else’s feet. In the past two weeks, I’ve done nothing but swim open water to get ready for this. Half way through, we made a right turn and I lost the feet in front of me. I noticed two other blue caps around but mostly I got mixed in with men from waves ahead of me. The swim felt long but eventually I saw the shore and started thinking about transition.

A long run, grab-and-go at the rack, then out on the bike. The first few miles were congested with a lot of men from the earlier waves. Within 30 minutes, the traffic thinned out and the road rolled along. As aero as possible, low head, tuck, don’t ride into the wind, ride right under it. I ride courses like this all of the time – relentlessly flat, smooth pavement, wind, no coasting, very few turns. It doesn’t let up but I’m used to it. In the weeks before the race, I focused on how half IM watts felt – I knew when my legs started burning, I was going too hard. I knew if it felt like I could hold the pace all day, I was going too easy. I kept it somewhere in between.

I passed a few women in my age group early on but beyond that had no idea how I was doing. A few women from F30-34 passed me but no F35-39. I was either ahead or behind. Does it matter? Keep pedaling! The time passed by quickly. I kept waiting for that lull around 90 minutes but it never came. I felt good and speed was looking strong. Until mile 50. At that point, every time I tried to go aero, I got nauseous and my quads felt on the edge of cramping. When all else falls in long course racing, pop a salt tab. So I did. The pain didn’t go away. I almost cried at how bad it hurt. Then I thought of labor and said shut up, this is nothing. I rode the last 6 miles sitting up and watched my speed fall. I’ve never felt so out of control in a race. It was frustrating and for a half mile thoughts of HOW AM I GOING TO RUN LIKE THIS snuck up but I quickly swept them away. It’s a long day. Anything can happen. Let the race come back to you. You prepared too hard and long for this to give up on yourself.

Coming into transition, my legs were in incredible pain. It was the slowest run through transition ever. Once I got to my rack, I didn’t even notice that I was the one of only two bikes there. All I noticed was that I could not bend over to get my shoes. I bit through the pain, got my shoes then noticed my elastic lace had gotten under the tongue in my left shoe. Then a spider crawled out of that shoe. Then I figured since I’m standing here fiddling with my shoe I might as well take a pee. Why is it that when you’re in the biggest hurry you have the slowest pee? 2 minutes and 51 seconds later, I exited transition.

I had no idea how I would run on these legs.

Then one mile later, those same legs felt like amazing.

And that is half ironman racing. You never know. So until you know, you don’t give up. You keep going like everything is going according to plan. And the plan was that the first 6 miles of a half marathon never feel good. The day before the race, I read through my 2007 race report. What in my mind became stored away as an effortless day of perfection was actually a 4 and a half hour affair with extreme pain. I needed to remind myself that when you’re truly racing a half Ironman – it doesn’t feel good or easy.

Back to today. It was hot – 88 degrees and no shade. The aid stations seemed too far apart and too crowded. The course was cluttered with men. But where are the women? I passed a few younger women early on but still had no idea where I stood in my age division. My legs were feeling fresh and though the splits were not great today – given the weather conditions, compared to everyone else I was flying.

And ….. we’ve just been chicked. BAD.

(from a group of guys running 3 across the road when I passed them)

I learned a few tricks about cooling when I was at the OTC in April and they were working. Water, ice, I flew through the aid stations leaving a mess of cups behind. Once out on the straightaway, I knew there were only 2.55 miles to go to the turnaround. The pace was locked in and I was hunting. Where are those darn women?

After mile 5, I noticed Beth coming the other way. A few women from her age group followed, but I still couldn’t see anyone from my age. I was so busy looking across the road that I barely heard a women say to me “you’re in first now” when I passed her. I gave her a thumbs up but didn’t believe her. There had to be more women ahead of me. The other part of me didn’t want to accept that maybe she was right. When you find out your leading halfway into the run, you still have halfway to go!

So I kept running the pace. Around mile 7, it hit me – I was in the zone. That feeling in a race where you don’t even recognize the pain, the heat, all you feel is tunnel vision for your effort toward the goal. Such tunnel vision that I ran right between a man and a volunteer handing him a cup of Coke. And that is how I ended up with Coke all over my face. But I had somewhere to go. The whole day I just kept saying to myself FOCUS ON WHERE YOU WANT TO GO. I’m going to Kona, people, CLEAR THE WAY!

Around mile 8, I told myself I could sustain the pace a mile longer. What’s one more mile of this pain? In fact, I was so excited and ready to be there that I thought – I’ve waited months for this….I want this feeling to last forever! I might have been delirious from the heat. I got the sense that indeed I was leading my age group because I didn’t see any other women. But what if one more is up there? Would I be satisfied knowing I eased up on the pace? Could I live with that?

I held the pace through mile 9. Finally, I hit mile 10. Mile 10 is the moment of truth. Will you hit the wall as you run out of fuel or will you run right through it knowing you are only a 5K away?

For the last 3 miles, you HTFU and hurt yourself.

Advice from my coach in the days before the race. I could ease it in the last three miles or get over the pain and hurt myself. Mile 11. And then I saw it up ahead – the fence. When I previewed the course the day before, I told myself, no matter what, at the fence you go. I went.

Eagleman has what is perhaps the longest mile of your life from mile 12 to the finish line. At mile 12, you can see the finish line…across the river and down the road. The extra .1 mile when you are in the finish line chute is insult to what feels like full body injury. Finally, I crossed the line. 17-minutes slower than I did it 4 years ago (ah, youth) but good enough today for what I think is a win in my new age group.

I found my phone. A few texts. Please tell me I won my age group.

YOU DID.

With over a 5 minute cushion. I found Chris, I cried. Not because I would have to go to Kona again – you mean I have to train for this thing? – but because I set a goal at a time when it sounded impossible and I did it. Nothing – no drug, no experience, no ice cream flavor, no amount of coffee – will ever replace that feeling for an athlete. Ever.

Any time you qualify for Kona, a few hours later you get that feeling of waking up in the middle of the night after getting a bad haircut. You sense you’ve done something bad but can’t pinpoint what until you remember.

Oh god. I just signed up for an Ironman.

Why?

Someone asked me why. Why are you doing this again? You’ve been there twice before, had solid times, no complaints – why revisit it? Because it’s a race that rewards patience, strength, heat tolerance and endurance. And if any athletic woman ever wonders what she can accomplish in pregnancy, well, she need only waddle around at 36 weeks to know she is engaging in secret training. Heat tolerance? Try being 38 weeks pregnant and 35+ pounds heavier in the Midwestern July. Endurance? I wake up after 4 hours of sleep now and feel ready to tackle the day. Strength? I do at least 20 intervals up and down the stairs while carrying a 20 pound baby, every day. And patience? I’ve been training for this for more than 11 months. Try 21 months. I’ve waited. And when I finally get to race day, I’ll be ready.

Five years ago, someone suggested I started this blog to chronicle my first trip to ironman. Along the way, I’ve dreamt big many times. I’ve succeeded and failed but never regretted dreaming. If you never thought you could fail, what would you dream? That’s what I asked myself 11 months ago. I hadn’t run for 5 months, I just had a c-section, I was still carrying 20 extra pounds and I had a newborn. What on earth was I thinking! I wasn’t thinking, I was dreaming. Dreams can be anything. Go create one for yourself. No matter where you are, put the impossible into your realm of possibility. Why? Why not. Why not you, why not now. Go stand on the edge of your own greatness and take a leap of faith. Who knows where you might land?

(in my case, smack in the middle of 2000 other people either crying or crapping themselves while treading water and waiting for the sound of a cannon…I paid how much money for this? Next time I should just go get a haircut)

Until then, I’m going to eat a lot of Cheez-Its, put a lot of salt tabs in button baggies, cry at least once, throw my bike into a ditch and break out in hives for no apparent reason at mile 96.

Yes, friends, I’m going to be training for Ironman.

Thanks to TriSports.com (supported me in success, and failure, small-me and pregnant-me), Power Bar (addicted to the recovery bars), Recovery e21 (send more, like LOTS), mom (for watching Max), Chris (thanks for giving me “the speech” before the race), Jennifer (who helped me lay the base), Kurt (who made me race specific ready), Jenny the babysitter (for all the early mornings) and all of you for reading (you’re still here? Seriously, don’t you have jobs or spouses?! PETS?! Go home already!)

Racing Age(d)

2011-06-01T22:03:00.007-05:00

Memorial Day weekend came and went.

We headed up to Michigan for a weekend away. The in-law family has a summer home in Michigan. It’s about a 2 hour drive away from our house but once you arrive there it’s as if you have driven hundreds of miles away to the one remote place in this county that does not have access to the internet.

Yes, I found myself a slice of America where AT&T does not get service.

Chris’ purpose there was rest and relaxation. Maybe eat a little pork. Sit in the backyard with giant bonfire while burning things like twigs, hot dogs and marshmallows. Take a few naps. Play with the son. Do monster brick workout on Sunday. You know, husband stuff.

My purpose there was to race a little triathlon. Yes, it’s time to relearn how to be a triathlete. Maybe put on some Body Glide. Drink some lake water. See if the wetsuit still fits.

Saturday night I was “that” girl. The girl that had to be in bed by 8:15 pm. In other words, the life of the small family party that was taking place on the back patio. In bed by 8:15 pm Michigan time was actually 7:15 pm Chicago time. You can only imagine how well that went. May I also add that it does not get dark in Michigan until 9:45 pm? I didn’t fall asleep until 11!

The alarm clock went off at 4:50 am – and the usual ritual began. The oatmeal. The coffee. I almost had a small heart attack when I realized that there were no travel coffee mugs in the house which meant I had to down fully leaded Starbucks Via in an 8 ounce coffee mug before I left at 5:40 am. Being completely wired that early in the morning when the race starts 3 hours later is not necessarily a good thing.

I spent the next 80 minutes in the car talking to myself.

The race was a bit of a drive from the home. 80 minutes. Not necessarily a problem unless you get stuck behind a pick up truck within the first 3 miles. Needless to say I would not be passing a pick up truck from Michigan while driving a mini van with Illinois plates. This Illinois girl knows better than that!

It was a long drive but a lot of talking to myself, singing and yes, I arrived at the race ready for a nap. I had wore myself out!

I was doing a low key race. One that has been around for over 20 years. In fact, it was something like 10 years ago that I first did this race. What I love about this race is that it really hasn’t changed much in all those years. Years ago it was known as the race that advertised a 1.5 mile swim but when you got out of the water in 18 minutes you thought to yourself – huh. My swim training is going really well! Back then, no one had a GPS – you didn’t run to your friend after the race and say “was it long?” You swam, biked, ran the distance. Heck, we didn’t even have timing chips. Someone stood in transition with a clipboard and wrote down your time. Paper and a pencil.

Can you believe that?

The car was packed full of anything I could need for the race except…my race sherpa. You mean I have to carry my own gear? On race morning that is a risky thing. I forgot 3 things in the car on 3 separate occasions. I did a lot of walking. Finally I had my gear and rolled up to registration then rolled into transition.

The first thing I noticed was that I was the oldest person in my transition row by about 20 years. Turns out the local high school has a triathlon class. And the entire class was there. Along with the majority of the University of Michigan triathlon team. Between doing this race 10 years ago and being old enough to give birth to most of the athletes in my transition rack, I was wondering if I belonged in the grandmasters division.

Not only did I feel out of place but my bike looked ridiculous. A sleek, aero snob hanging out with a motley crew of mountain bikes, hybrids and the bike you borrowed from your parents when you told them you were taking a triathlon class.

Lucky for me – being solo and completely out-aged – one of my athletes was at the race. John, from Michigan, was a welcome face. While standing in transition, an out of breath, overexcited youngster runs up to us.

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO USE THIS THING?

He shoves a Garmin towards me. I explain to him that it first needs to locate satellites. Then you use it just like a watch.

I WANT TO USE IT SO I CAN HOLD A 6-FLAT PACE.

I tried to tell him that holding 6-flats on this course would be challenging. Then I remember I was talking to youth. They see no challenge. They are invincible. My mortal words were not even heard.

I’M FROM KALAMAZOO, I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING.

Oh, to be 22 again.....

Thick fog on the lake left us delayed for about 30 minutes. In that time, John and I got into the water for a warm up swim. The water was a brisk 60 degrees. Which required about a 10 minute warm up to warming up. My first time in open water each year I have THAT moment. The moment of what the hell am I doing? How am I going to put my face into that? What if I drown/die/choke on the water that is …dip….ASS COLD! WHY DID I SIGN UP FOR THIS? Shortly thereafter I got over myself and swan back and forth a few times.

We waited what felt like forever. First they sent off the Olympic race. Then the duathletes. Then finally the sprint women. I lined up right at the front, next to the buoys. The gun went off.

And about 6 women bolted hard ahead of me.

YIPES!

It’s on! This is triathlon, wake up Fedofsky, WAKE UP! I keep the women in sight and somewhere around the second buoy, two of them fizzle and I pass them by. The other four women are a distance ahead but I just keep my eyes on them. The water – cold? – as often is the case, I didn’t even feel it. Once I got going I was so distracted by the effort I couldn’t even feel anything.

I exited the water, a long run into transition and then ready to bike.

The first 6 miles of the bike course were mostly downhill. I didn’t realize this at the time, I thought perhaps I got really fast in the last few weeks and could now sustain 28 mph. Alas, all downhills eventually flatten out and you realize you are not superhuman. You were just going down a really long hill.

The next 6 miles were mostly uphill. That might explain why I was going about…15.

Right when I got warmed up, the bike was over and I found myself again in transition. I had passed all but one woman on the bike and there she was. In transition.

She bolted out ahead of me and you know that moment when you get off your bike, start running and think: holy shit. You mean I have to run on these legs? Didn’t have it. All I saw was the girl. And I started hard charging for her.

As I inched closer to her, I noticed the age written in black Sharpie on her calf:

20.

Look again.

20.

There comes a moment in every aging triathlete’s life, when they find themselves chasing what feels like a younger version of themselves. When they find themselves running behind a young girl, fresh, looking fantastic in a two piece race suit, a suit you wouldn’t even wear into the shower these days unless you first covered up the bathroom mirror. And in that moment, I did what any racing-age-36 woman would do.

I passed her. I let her dangle there for a bit. And then about 20 seconds later, I surged going uphill.

Yes, folks, I am now among the racing aged. Yet somehow this elderly body was able to keep pulling away on a course that can only be described as Xterra after a night of heavy, steady rains. Over hills, roots, trails, branches, through mud, stairs, bridges, singletrack, dirt road, pavement until finally at 3 miles into the run, when I looked over my shoulder and so no one for a really long way, I eased in the last .4 miles.

Winning is always a good feeling. But not as good as this kid was feeling. Remember the kid with the Garmin? He was in transition while I was cleaning up so I asked him how he did. He told me he had the race of his life. He finished second overall. He was only a few seconds behind first place. He had qualified for Nationals. He needed to find a phone so he could call his mom to tell her about it. He said this with so much excitement in his voice that it reminded me of why I love this sport again – because that moment, when you have the race of your life, you know you are hooked for life. We all remember when it happened to us. And I was watching it happen to this kid.

After the long drive home, this time talking to myself so I could stay awake, I arrived to find Chris geared up for his monster brick. I took over Max duties and while Max napped, I laid in bed trying to get my email to load. If I stood in the far east corner of the room while pointing the phone toward the sky I could actually get one bar of reception.

About 40 minutes later, the sky erupted in a violent storm. I went on a search and rescue mission for Chris and found him about 12 miles away riding in the pouring rain. I commanded him into the van. But the one thing I’ve learned about Chris is that if I hadn’t driven up, he probably still would have been riding. He would have done out and backs on a one mile stretch of road to get his ride in. There’s committed, there’s crazy and then there’s Chris.

About an hour later, I had a food meltdown until someone basically hand-fed me beef brisket until I stopped my whining. Here’s what I’ve learned about myself: I need food. I need meat, I need carbs, I need food. After I was sufficiently quieted by beef, the inclement weather caused us to head back to Chicago early but not without me demanding a stop at the Bass Pro shop in Portage, Indiana to get some fudge. Bass Pro has amazing selection of hunting gear but also delicious fudge. I’m not sure what those two things have in common but the fudge is so good I don’t need to ask.

Unfortunately, the fudge stand was closed on Sunday.

Back at home. A few more pushes until my next big race. I’m glad I raced this past weekend, I learned a few things: 1 – 60 degree water is really not that cold, 2 – my wetsuit still fits, 3 – these old legs still got it, and 4 – I wish I could still wear a two piece during a race.

But the wisdom of my old age has taught me to know better than that!