Adult Onset Athleticism

The gift of Ironman: a sort of race report.

2011-11-23T11:14:00.001-05:00

Our story so far:

The heroine/protagonist hastrained diligently. A winter spent on high volume running has resulted in astress fracture, but, her cycling speedis up, she’s no longer afraid of swim starts and she knows she can go easy onthe run training with such a great aerobic base. Oh, and did she mention thatshe was 6^th in her age group in a bike race in April and 4^thin a du in June? (‘cause she’s happy to tell you yet again, and again) She isan endurance rock star!

The morning of the race looms. Mostly the iron husband and Ihave been anxious. I know that I’m ignoring the fact of the race hoping thatarriving in Tempe, at the expo, will put some fire into my iron heart. I does,a bit. It’s great to see Molly, Ms Speedy Gonzalez again, to meet MrGonzalez and to get some dog time withMax, Stanley, and Puck. Such good boys all of them.

I had 3 realistic goals this race.

1. No backstroke, face in water, front crawl thewhole way

2. Honestly, finish in under 17 hours

3. Eat the post-race fries and eat at Denny’safterwards. This implies a GI tract that was un-ravaged by the race.

I won’t leave you in suspense. Goal one was achieved. Theswim was a constant of beer bottles falling, and alternating views of green/yellowwater and blue sky. Temple Town Lake was rumoured to be 61 degrees but I wasn’tat all cold like last time. I pick up a few minutes over 2009 and head to thechange room – which is packed, no chair, no helpful dresser. I’m playing withthe main pack this time and it feels good to have to sit on the grass and getready for the ride.

Ironman is about dealing with boredom, managing nutritionand overcoming pain. As the day progresses the boredom declines, nutritionbecomes more and more critical and pain becomes the dominant feature of yourday.

Arizona is a flat course. In some ways a flat course can beseen as deceptively easy. Those of you who ride, pick your poison, hills with arest on the way down or a flat course with wind and no real chance to give thelegs a break. The swim finds an anxious mind that can go to scary places in theabsence of stimulus but the boredom on the bike leads to a lessening of effortas the mind wanders. As well, no climbing gives you no natural need to get outof the saddle and the body tightens up and pains sets in.

So, I’m sure you can appreciate how happy I was to handDoris Day over to a stranger and head off for that little marathon thing.

How am I feeling at this point? So kind of you to ask. Well,I’m pretty sure I smell, my new racing skirt (same size as 3 others from thesame company) feels too small, and my shoes are unhappy with their arrangementof arch support.

As an aside, I had agonized about how to best manage mystress fracture. I had gone back to neutral shoes from the minimalist ones Ihad been wearing, only to find out my orthotics were too short for the newshoes. A gap between the tip of the orthotic ended at the mid-point of my toe padsand that was a recipe for disaster. Too late to get new inserts I took verygood advice and cut the orthotics off to the arch support and put a thin Dr.Scholls over it. The problem with the Dr. however was that he was a slipperyfellow and as the run went on more and more energy went to stabilizing my footin my shoe.

New things on race day are always a good idea!

But, all things considered, I run most of the first of threelaps and I assume I can continue at a decent pace.

But, here’s the kicker, I just don’t have that iron fire andI’m having a tough time, quite honestly, getting motivated. Lap 2 of 3 finds mebonking physically and I decide to concentrate of getting food in, absorbingall that water, sugar and salt, hoping to find myself re-energized. I knowpeople have often found the middle of the marathon to be the toughest with atriumphant return at the end.

I eat, my stomach pops outs and I know I’ve taken in morethan I can process. I skip a couple of aid stations, gut happiness returns. Thefire doesn’t show up however and I’m in a pretty dark place when a strangeryells out “Susie”. The Arizona run course has several places where you arerunning one way on an upper trail around the lake with others on the lower. Ilook for Alex at all these places but I’m not looking any more when he sees meand the aforementioned stranger between trails acts as a go between calling out tome. I tell Alex that I can’t bear the heartbreak of worrying about making themidnight cut off and we both agree that we just don’t want to go long everagain. We part and I continue to the end of lap two.

Ahead, at the end of the lap is the left turn to thefinishing chute and everyone else, seemingly, is finishing. I’m congratulatedon my finish by spectators, I look finished after all, but another 14k waitsfor me out on what I know is a dark and lonely pilgrimage. I break down on abench just after the turn off and an aid station volunteer hears me sobbing, “Idon’t know if I care” over and over again and asks me if I need a hug. I do, ofcourse, she sits down beside me and tells me that I can turn my chip in at anyaid station and get a sag wagon back but she wants me to be sure of my choice. Itell her I had seen my husband and he told me to keep going so I will. I’lldecide again, I say, at the next aid station. I’ve come to the conclusion that thisis my last Ironman but I’ll finish. I stop at special needs and get my food andmy envelope that I put together for inspiration. In it is a picture of me at myfirst try-a-tri and my finisher’s picture from 2009. The change in my body isvery apparent, you can’t picture the change in my mind but I can see it. I alsohave a picture of the finishers’ chute and a copy of a letter from a new friendthanking me for inspiration. I sit and sob some more.

I go forward working on changing my mindset from defeat toappreciation. I decide I’m ok with walking because that gives me a chance tolook around, take in the atmosphere, and connect with people.

And what wonderful people there are around me. These aren’tthe $10 000 bike people, these aren’t the egos that filled the expo, these arethe midnighters giving it all just to make 17 hours. I meet one man who missedthe cut-off and is trying again, a woman with Team in Training who has multipleribbons attached to the back of her jersey representing those she has lost toblood cancers. I think often of Jerry F, and Jon Blais, the Blazeman. My feethurt more than I think they have ever hurt but my stomach is happy and Icalculate and recalculate that I can make midnight by walking. I hand thepicture of the finish line off to someone struggling.

At last, and honestly after a seemingly short walk, I cometo the finishers’ chute. A young, impossibly perky guy with a big M-Dot on hischest grasps my hands, congratulates me and reminds me that this is my momentand I should enjoy it. I walk into the chute and connect hand on hand with thespectators. I think, this is the last one, the last Ironman chute, this chuteis the gift.

I am wrong, the gift is still waiting. I finish, I don’teven know my time but I have the French fries and a sprite and look at mywatch. It’s 7 minutes to midnight. We can see the final athletes; we canexperience a midnight Ironman finish line. We work our way over to thebleachers, climb up and see the impossibly perky young man signal to theannouncer that there are 4 athletes still to come in. To come home to thefinish. Time seems to stand still, we all stop breathing and they start comingin. It is incredible, the last woman is supported by the announcer - assisted forward motion rule be damned. I loveIronman all over again because the impossibly perky young man was wrong. Itwasn’t my moment, it was ours, athletes and spectators.

What does it all mean? Well, there is no one more alive thanan Ironman finisher or spectator. Those of us in the back, I think, bothreceived the gift of the crowd’s support and gave the gift back to them of anaffirmation of life, of living.

Ironman 2.0 was so tough because I forgot that endurancesports are a team effort and I tried to go it alone. My ego wanted to go under15 hours, physically I should have been able to but Ironman wouldn’t let me.Not because Ironman is cruel, but because the race calls us all to participatein order to educate us. The heartbreak of struggling to make midnight reallywas the gift of that struggle and the more I slowed down and connected with theother midnighters the more I received the gift of Ironman.

The clock strikes midnight, Ozzy sings Ironman, “Is he aliveor dead”, and I, very much alive, throw my hand up in the air in a devil’s hornon the walk to the car.

And then we go to Denny’s.

Later:

Apollo Creed “Ain’t going to be a rematch”

Rocky “Don’t want one”

But then they did go on to make all those movies.

Thanks for asking, trainings going great.

2011-11-02T18:37:00.002-04:00

Having disappeared into the black hole of a new job, a weird virus that robbed me of my voice for a week, and left my eyes infected on and off for 2 weeks, as well as that little thing called Ironman training I see that I haven't posted for 3 months.

This time around I'm less exhausted, far less hungry (pout) and struggling a bit to find some ~~inspiration motivation~~ meaning, yes meaning, in it all.

I knew the second time wouldn't be anything like the first - nothing ever is. We're both faster in everything but somehow feeling less confident. We know that it's a very long day and a very tough race and we both want so much to take a couple hours off our time, that, well, the fear of failure at that goal can be overwhelming some days.

Well today a whole bunch of us runners/triathletes/endurance freaks got a kick in the pants that made the meaning in everything so very clear.

This is when the unspeakable sadness starts fogging my brain.

Race director and running cruise director extraordinaire Jerry Freisen died this morning, suddenly, from a heart attack on his morning run. Jerry touched so many lives that there are hundreds if not thousands of us wandering around stunned today telling all who will listen that we've lost a friend, and what a friend he was.

Jerry was the host to us on two Cruise to Run cruises, a race director at what I call the donut half-marathon (Tim Horton's as sponsor, a winter race with donuts waiting at the end - perfect), and a smiling face at a triathlon series that we participated in yearly.

The memory of Jerry that can to mind to me when I heard he had died was a run/walk I had done with him on our last cruise. I was a little pissy for a few reasons and not enjoying the run through the wilds of Antigua, Jerry, recently out of hip surgery, was thrilled to be able to move around without pain. He couldn't run again yet but that didn't dampen his joy at moving his body. I'm not sure how the conversation started but I remember very clearly his incredible comfort in his life and his role as a race director in changing people's lives for the best. He knew that he had an impact on the running community and was justifiably proud of it. I envied him that sense of a life well lived.

So really, I ask myself - who are you to struggle to find "meaning" in your journey to Ironman this year. I always known that I am privileged to have the health, wealth, and support of friends to allow me to take my body and mind as far as I can in the water, on the road, and even that last painful bit on the run. I do remember my last Ironman as a celebration of what 2500 people can do with their bodies and their minds and, whatever time the clock shows when I cross the finish line, I know I will appreciated the opportunity to get out there.

It's time to quit whining and start appreciating. And also, to HTFU and make it hurt. It wouldn't be Ironman if it was easy.

How to get your bike down from the car roof rack.

2011-08-08T18:44:00.000-04:00

Simple edition.

Open passenger door, retrieve key from door pocket, open trunk, get milk carton and position at side of car. Climb on milk carton. Unlock rear tire rubber do-hicky, insert keys to front lock. Pull lock towards you and release bike. Lift bike down, insert front tire from trunk and roll along sidewalk to home.

Deluxe edition.

Follow steps above to the point of releasing the lock. When lock will not release, open back door and climb on back seat for better leverage position. When lock will still not release begin profanity. Pause profanity when you realize you could kick the lock open. Realize that involves climbing on top of the car. Climb on top of car. Kick lock open. Realize you are *&^%$#@ because you are now on top of your car with your bike falling out of the rack. Attempt to lower bike to sidewalk. Realize it won't reach the side walk. Increase profanity. Hear "do you need a hand" from a tall blonde running god. Say "yes please". God takes bike and puts on sidewalk.

Coming soon. How to install the *&^%$# undercounter light bulbs. Deluxe edition only.

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Permission to be extraordinary.

2011-08-08T18:41:00.001-04:00

Hello, (tap tap tap), is this on? Anybody out there? Sorry, you may have all left by now, I'm a little late and all.

Been busy, training and stuff. It's been pretty awesome getting back into everything, getting the old iron fitness cleaned and pressed. And I've been thinking, of course, about the nature of extraordinary.

Now, if you didn't know me from this blog it might take me a couple of minutes to get around to the fact that I'm an Ironman. It's not that I'm looking for reasons to bring it up it's just that it's such a part of my life and who and what I am that it would be like not mentioning my husband, or my dog, or my love of cake. So, it comes to pass that Saturday I'm out on our raft at our cottage with our neighbours and their guests. We're all hanging out, 5 adults, 2 kids, and 2 dogs really enjoying the water and sun. The subject of Ironman comes up, naturally, as I chat with the guest about summer, our property, etc.

He's impressed and full of a dozen questions as we tread water, cooling off while I answer them. I try to be humble about the whole thing (hard for me 'cause I'm awesome) but I do imagine him expressing amazement to our friends and their (good natured) rolling of the eyes..."yeah, they're Ironman but did you check out the plywood on their deck, a little less Iron a little more deck building please", they would say.

So, back to the title of the piece. I didn't forget it. What was going on there on the raft and in the water was permission to be extraordinary. I'm proud of my accomplishment and I don't downplay it. I believe by acknowledging other people's interest and amazement I both honour their compliment and also put into their heads the fact that they too can be extraordinary.

I had already been extraordinary myself that day. We were doing a double race weekend with a sprint distance on Saturday and an Olympic on Sunday. Getting off the bike that morning I set out singing 99 bottles of beer on the run. I had gotten to about 35 bottles when I realized that I hadn't even thought about walking. I have never run the entire run course in a race. Granted, it had been a few years since I only had 5 k to run but, whatever the distance, I suddenly realized that I had to give myself permission to be extraordinary. I spend time giving others that gift so why didn't I deserve the same treatment?

I vowed to run the course, aid stations excepted, and I found in the end, it was much easier to do that then to play the mind games of when to run, when to walk, along with the physical agony of going from one mode to another. The idea that I could also run the 10k in the Olympic, the next day, started to form in my head and, well, you guessed it. I ran that 10k after a surprisingly tough 40 k on the bike. My stress fractured toe wasn't a big fan but if Jens Voight can tell his legs to shut up I can tell my toe to quit bitching as well. I also promised just 5 k running this week vs 65 last. And cake, I promised my toe cake. You do what you've got to do on your Iron journey.

Today’s food related blog posting

2011-06-09T18:36:00.000-04:00

I had told a friend that the worst thing about the job related stress was that it had been interfering with my sleep and also, most horribly, was causing some stomach pain that interfered with my appetite. Ask me what I like most about heavy training and I’ll tell you that sleeping like a baby and eating like a teenage boy are pretty much the high points of the day.

Absent the stomach pains I’ve been finding that this time around I’m not so ravenous and that’s a good thing. I will confess that around 4:30am Monday morning I was coming down the stairs silently hoping there was yogurt in the house as I couldn’t sleep for the hunger. There was and I went back to sleep for a couple hours and dreamt about mac & cheese. So, naturally, after the bowl of fruit first thing I had the homemade mac & cheese that I decided had to be made. And you know what – IT WAS FREAKING THE BEST MAC & CHEESE EVER. I was stuffed for hours.

I’m trying to eat as my appetite demands but I still worry always about too much or too little. I left a falafel ball at lunch on Wednesday but then worried that half way through my swim that night I WOULD NEED THAT FALAFEL BALL – STAT.

I didn’t.

I am the supplement queen. Omega-3 is a big one for me, extra vitamin C when I’m training hard, vitamin D in the winter, a B complex capsule for stress, flax oil for breast health (so said the doctor) and now evening primrose as I approach THE CHANGE. I am in complete denial about it however, anything I’m experiencing is as a result of stress – damn it.

I find that I naturally gravitate towards lots of maligned “white” carbs, pasta and sourdough bread especially but that also seems to naturally fall off when the training is lighter. Rice is always brown, however, and unless it’s summer, breakfast is a cup of whole grains, wheat, rye and flax. I eat a metric ton of fruit yearly, always know I should up my vegetables and avoid pre-process grocery story food (food should not come in boxes) as much as I can. Without thinking about it I’m usually at 60% carbs, with fat and protein bringing up the difference about 20/20 on average. I did try deliberately bringing my carbs down to 50% after Ironman last but found I felt unwell the whole time. I didn’t lose any weight and I didn’t enjoy my meals.

Ultimately, enjoying one’s meals is the key. We are very lucky to live in a time and a place in which hunger is virtually unknown (if you have the cash) but what we’ve done with that surplus is to stuff our bodies with more than we need given how little we use them. I like food, everybody does. So, for me the only thing to do is work on the energy out equation. And that, my dear readers, is as much fun as the energy in. Good energy out this morning on a hill workout and now I’m thinking of what to have along with the lettuce growing in my secret garden. Nothing is coming from a box tonight. It’s all sacred..

2011-06-08T15:38:00.003-04:00

It’s been awhile my faithful readers. Since my triumph at the St. George snud-fest (snow+mud=snud, brilliant, I know) I’ve been diligently working the plan for the planned triumph at Ironman Arizona. Triumph right now is being defined as feeling well enough to hit Denny’s afterwards.

My focus and energy has been sucked into the void called career far too much over the last few months. Not that I’ve been burning the midnight oil, quite the opposite. This blog is not about work but it is about positivity, teamwork, and integrity, all sadly, things lacking in my current work team. The mismatch between how I live my life and what I’ve learned to value and how the others I work with see their reality has become too great and I’m in the midst of moving to another, yet unknown, position in the same organization. That’s exciting but also scary, as all change is. What I have been overwhelmed with is the support and genuine admiration that I’ve felt from the co-workers that I’ve just picked up in the last 3 years after our independent company was sold to the bank.

I will say that I’m so much fitter than I was 2 years ago. I’m really keeping an eye on the fatigue factor. My new rule will be that if I’m not recovered after a day off then I drop optional workout(s) to get a second rest day. By the last cycle in September and October there aren’t actually optional days and the fact is that you do get tired from the training so I’ll play it by ear then. So far, however, Mondays off has left me super happy to get back on Tuesday.

Diet/nutrition is going to continue to be a focus. I dropped the WW after I dropped the 10 lbs because I was no longer logging my intake and I was starting to get the food crazies, the cravings for things that I wouldn’t even ordinarily want to eat; so, off the program and on to just eating smartly. However, I’ve adjusted to the new size and now, like a WW junkie I want more – or actually, less. I’m debating doing another 3 month stint. It did work very well with 50 miler training so I think that I could make it work at least until September.

I think that real effect of those kinds of diets is the novelty. With WW you become very aware of what you’re eating as you journal everything that passes your lips. It’s a great system that, if I’m going to journal my calories in and calories out, works very well and is simple to use.

On the other hand, I’ve been warned, quite rightly, that my goal now is not to lose weight, it’s to train for a faster Ironman and mentally and physically the two might not mesh so well. I have to refuel my body for the next work out and the next until that fabulous cold plunge into Tempe Town Lake starts it all again.

Hmmm…

Lastly, Ironman Poutine (IM Mont Tremblant) has me in a bit of tizzy – 2013???

Please ignore bullshit in previous post - time does matter.

2011-04-24T08:58:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, at approximately 2:30 in the afternoon, in the midst of light hail/snow I found myself wandering the Ancaster Community Centre with one shoe on, one shoe off and wearing only my bike shorts and jersey. And I also found myself with about a 15 minute PB on the race and 6th place in my age group, 20th overall in women. I was somewhat pleased. But I still couldn't get my shoe off, glued on with mud as it was. It was that kind of day.

I'm not sure if there is any other race like the Paris to Ancaster (long course) or St. George to Ancaster (short course). It's billed as a mountain bike race but most years it's really made for cyclocross bikes and my sweet Specialized tri-cross Trinity and I are made for that race.

I first did it 4 years ago on an over sized heavy mountain bike during the early years when I was so determined to embrace this new lifestyle and so devastated by recurring anxiety and panic attacks. The race just ended up being one horrible long attack, I was terrified by the gravel trails, the endless stream of riders behind me, and the bike was so heavy to drag through the mud slides. I hated the day.

The next year I skipped and Alex raced without having to worry about me. Alex spend too many years and too many races worrying about my mental health and it's so wonderful to be over all that and know that he can depend on a very happy smiling wife running/riding across the finish line. Mostly.

Well, I am, if nothing else, ridiculously persevering so, armed with my new bike and new brain I towed the line a couple years ago on the same course and I loved it all so much that, yeah, I did want to marry it. Oh, and I finished 10th. That was pretty much unheard of in my athletic life to date.

Last year I graduated to the long 60k course and thought I'd stick with that one. I like playing with the big boys after all and, sitting her now, I'm still thinking I love to start out in one of three waves with a whole bunch of boys trying to out man each other. I liked slipping into the cracks wearing my helmet and tiara to chick the slow ones. Plus they have bagpipes to start the waves off and I loves me those bagpipes.

This year however, the consensus was that the 3 of us, crazy English friend Dave and husband and I, would do the 35 k route. Dave wanted to race the short course with the guys he competes with in other races and I have to admit that you do get all the fun and mud with 35 k and that might be the choice going forward. Alex, after a winter of too much work travel and too little training though the short course would be challenge enough this year as well. This year's weather was so nasty that 60 k would just have been a suffer-fest and another friend dropped down from the long course to the short to round out our group.

So, on to the race. We set off into a blinding snowstorm - no exaggeration. I found myself 5 k in at the 60k half way aid station, on the side, checking my fingers for frostbite. I also started to wish I had a mountain bike as the route was so wet that there were 2-3 inch deep furrows through the grass of the parkette hosting the station. I just decided then and there that it was a mountain bike race this year and Trinity and I would just do the best we could. Not much later, when the race went through a farmer's field my aborted 50 miler training came in handy as I jogged across the field faster than most mountain bikers were riding it. At that point I reconsidered my earlier call and decided the race was back on.

There are 2 official mud slides on the route, steep narrow valleys that require most riders to dismount and trudge through. They are truly the highlights of the whole day. This year, in addition to those two there were 2 or 3 other spots that were by and large too muddy to get much riding through. If the boys on mountain bikes were off their rides then I didn't worry too much about walking those spots. I was pretty sure my competition was also on foot.

There is a spot, about 2k or so long I think, when the race takes us to a double track trail with steep sides. The first year I just about exploded on that portion, there was too much gravel, and I was sure that I was going to slide down the side, clipped in, to my death. The last couple years found me very comfortable in the right hand, less gravelly track but this year, this year, baby I was the one in the rough left hand side passing everyone as fast as I could. Once we got to the rail trail portion I was back on in passing mode - after a rest behind a couple big guys on mountain bikes I set off to say hi to every guy on a cross bike that I could catch up to. Lots of conversation there, if you know what I mean.

The last approach to the finish line is a portion of torn up road that I usually walk, not feeling very technically gifted. I always worry that I'm losing time at that portion but this year everyone was walking it as well. The mud was so thick that I was more slamming than rolling Trinity along the road and at some point something caught her back end and I continued to slam. A very hot tear hit my right wrist and I knew that I'd done something very unhealthy to myself.

Somehow I managed to get back on my bike for the ascent but was pretty handicapped by my wrist. At least that's my excuse for not being able to ride up the whole hill. Not that I've ever made it before. The weather kept sightseers at home it seems as the hills surrounding the last road are usually covered with people with cow bells and horn. Usually at that point in the race they look to me like vultures waiting for the inevitable but this year, I kinda missed them.

Back on my bike for the finish line and no one was waiting for me. At that point I realized I had a 15 minute PB and no one was there because I wasn't yet expected. That was a pretty nice feeling.

I freaking LOVE that race.

By the way, all the guys were in the top 10% of their age groups. Nice riding guys!

St. George to Ancaster Popsicle Pedal

2011-04-19T19:44:00.002-04:00

I'll be back to share just how freaking awesome that race was, how freaking awesome I was, and how freaking awesome the weather wasn't but right now my race/war wound of an injured wrist impedes my awesome typing.

Keep your knickers knot free - I'll be back.

Drama Queen - usually I leave that up to Alex

2011-04-05T20:48:00.001-04:00

I’m fine, really I am. I had such wonderful feedback from so many people from the DRAMA post. Going into work the next day I was happy to see someone who had returned from an extended maternity leave, having been off on sick leave with a high risk pregnancy and then on Canadian maternity leave of a year (yes, that’s right, it’s almost civilized isn’t it). Well, don’t you know the first thing she said to me was, “congratulations on finishing Ironman, Alex (her husband) is doing Lake Placid this year because of you”.

Holy crap, he’s going to hate me several times that day.

The same day as Around the Bay, my Alex (husband) showed me a message he got from an old high school friend who had found his previously elite swim body 40 lbs too heavy and his self esteem fading. He told Alex that his Ironman finish had inspired him to get back into shape.

So, I guess it’s ok not to be fast. The time on the clock is not the only measure of worth – but, I’m not going to lie, I’d like to be faster and I still have lingering moments of thinking that I’m not going to get those 2 hours off at Ironman. And, you can quite rightly ask, as JohnP did, who cares what time I did it in as long as I finished. Well, I’d like to try some tougher courses and 16.5 hours at Arizona is probably 17+ at Ironman Wisconsin.

I went into Around the Bay training for long races, didn’t do a lot of 6 min/km pacing so why did I think I could pull that off on race day? I realized race week that I hadn’t actually done any dedicated hill workouts. I’m not strong on hills so, perhaps that wasn’t the best of plans. I did put in the hours but, and this is what I’m not sure of, were there too many junk miles? Without a coach I relied on a general training plan that modelled the ultra plans that are fairly ubiquitous on the internet. Generally they were 3 runs a week, shortest on Wednesday longest on Saturday with a medium one on Sunday. I know from Ironman training that going long doesn’t necessarily mean training long and, without any calls for interval runs, speed runs or cross training it was also freaking boring. But, first ultra and all, I didn’t want to screw with the formula.

So what does this mean for the 50 miler. Well, I’m not going to continue on the plan, I’ve started in on week 5 Ironman training this week (only 32 weeks to go) and I’m looking forward to the cross training. The pool is closed for another month and the change rooms at the community pool by work are stinky and the showers suck, so, there might not be a lot of swimming but by Jove, there will be riding. Especially with the Paris to Ancaster short course (St. George to Ancaster) a week Sunday. Time to take Trinity, my cyclocross bike out, put on the tiara (tutu this year?), and become a dirty grrrrl. I’m still up for the Sulphur Springs race day, might be 25k, probably 50k, but I can’t see doing 50 miles at that point in Ironman training.

So it’s back to the grind, the gears and the chlorine. This winter’s training hasn’t been a waste, I’m lighter and smaller already that when I crossed the line at Arizona in 2009 and following (and continuing to follow WW) was great for tracking calories in and out and how to not end up getting over hungry and trying to cure that with eating too much sugar. But let me just say publicly - I freaking LOVE sugar.

2011-03-29T19:34:00.002-04:00

Personal day from work, 2 naps, blt sandwhich, and some movement on taking care of the black cloud problem (will disclose later). Oh, and totally overwhelmed by the support here and especially on Facebook. "You like me, you really like me".

Valley Inn Road Existential Crisis

2011-03-28T13:23:00.001-04:00

Valley Inn Road is the notorious hill on the notorious and “Older than Boston” Around the Bay Road Race (30 k) – always the last Sunday in March before shipping starts to the reference bay. I have done this race 6 years in a row now. There is no other race that I have committed to on a yearly basis since THE CHANGE (lifestyle, not hormones), and every year, it kicks my ass at the 20 k mark when the hills start. It kicks everyone’s ass but my ass seems to be more bruised than anyone else’s. Now, I find hills hard and perhaps that has to do with my complete lack of flexibility in my calves; Alex, he’s nothing but flexible calves and up he goes with his heels actually still making contact with the road. My heels, when climbing hills, seem to be hovering somewhere around my ears. I think this might be a disadvantage but, can’t blame it all on the heels. Today, the only reason I can see is that I just suck.

Pity party at 8pm, casual dress.

I kept up a 3 hour pace until the hills kicked in. My awesome running partners, including my pilates instructor who was running her first race ever, were great in letting me catch up, reeling me in and pulling me along but after 20k they couldn’t help but drop me if they wanted their 3 hour time so I put the music in the ears and chugged away on my own. I had thought that the 4^th in our group had also dropped me, and finding out later that I actually pulled ahead of her, I regretted not stopping to let her catch and because I think that would have helped both of us. I should have been more giving instead of assuming that I was last.

So, onwards, upwards and downwards I went feeling more and more tired and just emotional about it all. I tossed down some lovely Clif blocks to see if sugar would make my brain happy but just found it hard to chew with a chocked up throat. A little bit of asthma came to the party as well, ‘cause, hey, why leave that out. But the time I got to the top of the last hill with not much more than 3 km left to go I had lost it. All those weeks that Alex has been working out of town all week only to return on weekends when I did nothing but run, well, they just started to become too high a price to pay for such a crappy time. I became the crazy chick crying behind her sunglasses. Every freaking positive song on the ipod just sounded like it was mocking me and I just turned it off and went into survival mode. I stopped looking at my watch and calculating my finish time. I didn’t give a crap any more.

And in the end, here’s the thing. IT’S ALL SO FREAKING HARD. It is. I’m fitter than the average 47 year old for sure but it’s been hard fought. Getting to Ironman was the hardest thing that I think I’ve done as an adult. It was also the most rewarding but…damn it…it took me 16.5 hours. On a relatively easy course. In perfect weather. I want to take 2 hours off the thing this year but after yesterday’s performance I’m just not sure. I’m not sure of anything.

Hollywood has sold us all this fable, 3 acts to greatness, underdog gets an idea in her head, trains for the big day and triumphs over all adversity and adversaries. But it’s just a lie. If you sucked in sports in high school, you will suck at sports in your 40’s and nothing seems to change that. Nothing. I know that the fast ones, the elites, they work hard, they train, they sacrifice, they believe in themselves but they don’t bring up the rear. The rear is ugly. Glory is thin on the ground by then.

I just don’t know what to do about my 50 miler. I have 2 months, we have so much work to do on our northern cottage estate (ha) and I really just want to get started triathlon training. I want to mix it up. I’m so sick of just running and running and running. It all just hurts now.

I look back at what I’ve written lately and it’s all so negative. I don’t seem to be having fun and I know that a non-sport related part of my life has to change and has been a darkness on everything for a while, but, it’s also hard to think about that when I run, I’m tired, I run, I’m tired...

Gotta go pick out an outfit for the pity party. I’ll be serving sour grapes and a lot of whine.

Your 17 year old daughter can post where she "likes it" or what colour her bra is and that's ok, 'cause it's for breast cancer awareness! WTF!

2011-03-24T19:23:00.000-04:00

I've gone and taken my ultra-bitch, ultra-tired, ultra-hungry self to the doghouse by replying to a group spam email that presented yet another one of those stupid breast cancer awareness games. I don't regret the thinking behind my reply, but, I didn't realize that I had replied to the whole group. Then again, I bet someone else on that mailing list had a second thought about the dumb idea and maybe another women realized how demeaning it was to women with cancer.

Because it was associated with a part of a woman's body that was sexual and therefore was shameful, breast cancer was not checked for, not researched, not treated. Because of that it was deadly. With a lifetime occurence rate of about 1 in 8 women that was a lot of women who died needlessly. A wonderful campaign created an awareness that made it ok for women to check their breasts for lumps, made it acceptable for men to talk about lumps they might have felt in their partner's breasts and gave rise to fundraising opportunities that have led to research and treatments so that 80-90% of women survive a breast cancer diagnosis.

So, why are we re-sexualizing it? Breast cancer treatment is not about saving breasts, it's about saving women. It's about saving mothers, wives, sisters, friends, triathletes, runners, cyclists, your co-worker.

Somehow we women have gotten caught up in this sisterhood so much so that if someone suggests we post the colour of our bra, the place where we put our purse (and therefore, "where we like it") and whatever the newest thing is, well, we just go ahead and mindlessly do that. We don't question what any of that has to do with breast cancer awareness (which is pretty freaking high in the developed world), and we don't question why we want, yet again, to associate breast cancer with sex.

I think about women who come from cultures that are more modest about the body and sexuality and I wonder how a "save the titties campaign", or an aweness campaign that is sexually related is going to help those women, and men touched by breast cancer. How are those women going to be conscious of changes in her breasts if she feels being caught up in some movement that offends her.

I don't have a teenage daughter but if I did I would be horrified if she was posting "where she liked it" as part of some bogus awareness campaign. I would however make her aware that breast cancer can be a lifestyle disease and her best defence, other than good genes, was to stay at a healthy weight through proper nutrition and lots of fun physical exercise. And if she wants to tell some boy where she likes it, well, don't do that in front of me 'cause that would freak me out. And use a condom. Actually, teenage boys should wear two. You know what I mean.

Hey, just a thought, why not start a testicular cancer awareness campaign that has boys and men posting "left" or "right" - you know, what side they shoot on. Would that be offensive or would it be ok because cancer awareness is so important we should all demean ourselves.

Ladies and Gentlemen: We have a plateau.

2011-03-24T16:53:00.000-04:00

The fast weight loss has stopped.

Let's all wave good-bye to it. And log the points from that activity.

So, what to do. Well, I was pretty run down by the weekend, got a 4 hour run in Saturday and a 3 hour run/bike on trainer workout on Saturday. Then, as it was my birthday, I went out and consumed vast calories in the form of prosecco and edamane, wine and pork stew, dessert wine and an incredible sticky toffee pudding, and then, as I recall, another glass of prosecco for the road - which, being both and urbanite and responsible, just meant I was sloshed for the cab.

So, the weight is remaining stable, and happily below Ironman 09 weight. The running was taking a toll on my legs and ankles so it's time to shake up the diet and the workouts. Spring is coming so cycling will be starting up very soon and I'm planning to get in the long days via some brick work. That will spare the legs the pounding but still get me adept at running on tired legs. I'm a triathlete after all, and "runs on tired legs" is my middle name.

For the diet, I've given myself a couple wild cards this week for birthday dinner and recovery week. Week after week of caloric deprivation is never a good idea and many seem to think shaking it all up every once in a while and having a bit of a feed is the route to giving the fat a boot. I also think that losing more than a pound a week probably didn't help the energy levels and recovery from the training.

Up next, Around the Bay for the 6th year on Sunday. 30 km of second hand smoke, drunk spectators, an older little person who plays "We will rock you" at the bottom of the biggest climb of the race, and finally, Death, whose son appeared one year as well. Death waits on the last few kilometers as you run by the graveyard alongside the road. Then, you get to run into the colliseum like a rock star. It's all pretty much horrible up to the rock star moment. This year, however, has the biggest turnout yet for friends, possibly because I'm adding so many to my friend list. There will be an estrogen feed-up afterwards that I'm looking forward to.

I have a goal, set earlier this year of taking 12 minutes off last year's time. That was based on 10lbs being +- 6% in energy expenditure and therefore race times. I think I am down 10 pounds over this time last year so, we'll see how it all goes. I can't show up without a goal. I can leave without reaching it, but, without a goal, why get out of bed?

An Open Letter to the Creep at the Red Lobster Bar

2011-03-11T20:32:00.002-05:00

Dear what-ever-your-name-was,

When we both found ourselves at the bar at the Toronto Eaton Centre Red Lobster it must has seemed like kismet to you. As we sat to the side, hoping for service, you glanced at me in what was, in retrospect, an inappropriate number of times. I though you were commiserating on our wait for adult beverages but apparently you were checking me out. I would not have half smiled back if I knew what was going on.

But, you see, I'm trying to live this life of positivity and joy and connection so, "yeah", (half smile) "gosh it would be nice to get some service."

Now, having more initiative than you, or perhaps, as became clear, the one who had not yet had a drink yet on this Friday night, I move to a main part of the bar and order a glass of wine and a dinner menu.

Well, goodness, suddenly, there you were beside me asking if you could join me and ordering a double scotch on the rocks. Scotch on the rocks - people actually drink Scotch on the rocks. I was starting to feel like I was somehow morphed into "Anchorman". I'm nice, I can't really keep you from the seat beside me, and honestly, I though you might be good for a laugh so, "yeah" I say, "have a seat". We chat for a bit, I ask if you are in town for work as most at the bar seem to be or are you meeting people? You tell me that I keep myself nice. CREEP ALERT AMBER

You stare. At me. And not in the good romance novel, Fabio ripped shirt off, undressing me with your eyes way. No, I feel dirty and the hot water heater at home is broken so I can't have a shower.

I should have shut you down right there but, what I do is conscientiously switch to using my left hand to drink thereby directing you, on my left, to my wedding band and the diamonds in it that should be fairly obvious. I figure you will notice and make a hasty but polite retreat.

You don't.

Am I single, you ask. "No", I say, tapping the ring. "Very much not". "Sorry?"

"Are you up for something" you say. CREEP LEVEL AT RED

"No" I say.

"Am I bothering you" you say.

"No" (blatant lie) I say but at this point I'm aware that you are slurring your words, that you have pimples on your forehead (how old are you??) and I'm thinking I really don't want to have the restaurant to worry about a scene in the bar. It's Red Lobster for god's sake. It's just all so weird.

I tell you that I've come for dinner and to catch up my reading and so get my Kindle out. You continue to stare. I've turned away from you but you are sitting, staring. There is no other word to sum you up but "staring".

I go to the hostess area and tell the staff that I have a super creep in the bar and, I know that they have a wait going, but please, could they find me a table away from the bar. The staff is incredible, they find a booth immediately, I go back to get my things.

"My table has come up", I tell you.

"Where are you going", you say.

"None of your business" I reply.

Later, after dinner, the staff tells me you have gone so I head out into the mall. I don't see you so I think it's fine to walk down Dundas St. It's a major street, lots of people, lots of open stores, and bars and restaurants. It's my city and I feel safe in it and I know everyone around me will have my back if you appear. I also know that I have an umbrella in one hand and new Weight Watcher's body fat scale from Sears' in the other. And I'm an Ironman and if you try to fuck with me I'll introduce you to both of them.

March may not be the cruelest month, but it's not invited to my next party.

2011-03-11T13:42:00.001-05:00

My friends, my dear dear internet friends. I have spent the last couple of days struggling. Not with the ultra training – I’m getting that done and although there have been times of absolute boredom when I can’t stand to hear Muse on the ipod even one more time, the body is holding up, the scale registered a number that I hadn’t seen in since my 30’s, and I’m really remembering how great sleeping is when hard training.

What I’m struggling with lately is just a general sense of annoyance with my fellow man and woman. I'm at an age when I'm not sure if I should blame it on PMS or menopause but I do know that the seemingly endless alternation of snow and rain, interspersed with both snow and rain at the same time, and the grey, grey sky sure doesn’t help. This has got to be the gloomiest March in years. I should be taking more heart from seeing everyone's Facebook statuses - the weather isn't keeping anyone from training and I'm happy to know such a bunch of men and women with such great endurance (insert gender specific reproductive organs).

Finishing up my long run last Saturday on the work treadmill I paused at a walk break to pick up a 10 pound weight and then a 20 to get a feeling for what I've done and where I hope to end up. That was nice. It made up for a really crappy half-marathon that I ran the previous weekend. The race wasn't crappy, it was well organized and ended with donuts, but ugh, running on snow is getting SO OLD. I had added my prescription insoles to my trail shoes (always try something new on race day) and I ended up getting a blister about half way through. I was totally over that race before it even felt like it started. But then, I met an Iron-newbie who is signing up for IMLP this summer. She was fantastic getting me through the last third or so. I gave up all my extensive Ironman tips in exchange for her efforts in dragging my butt to the finish. The camaraderie in this sport can be the saving grace in some events.

Otherwise, the ultra training goes on. I really need some new music, I actually glimpsed into the husband's play list for some stuff that wasn't too weird and I'm thinking of doing a Thievery Corporation themed run on Saturday. I think I have about 4.5 hours of that and I can just do a trance sort of thing. Having read Dread Pirate's latest race report I think I need to practice some "mindless" running for the upcoming 50 miler.

.

Thoughs on Ultramarathon Training

2011-02-21T18:05:00.001-05:00

1. I'm up to almost 10 hours of running a week and compared to 10 hours of triathlon training I would say that just running hurts much more immediately after the workout, 4 hours on the bike doesn't leave me limping, you can believe that 4 hours of running does, but, the next day I feel as fine as possible. No more tired than if I'd been swimming, biking and running. So, I got that going for me.

2. I was starving, ravenous, hunger at a 10 from Friday night until today, Monday, after breakfast. I'm definitely going to be over a bit on my points this week, but, truth be told, I've been over 5 to 33 in the past 7 weeks and I'm losing over a pound a week so I'll be fine with that.

3. You can conjugate "to bonk" in French if you've been running for 3.5 hours and you stop to get some chocolate milk to get you home that last, unexpected half hour. I came out of the convenience store, opening my carton of the nectar of the gods and found myself doing just that. You know, je bonk, tu bonk, nous bonkons, vous bonkez. I then tried it in German, which you would think would work better but French won. I then ran down the road singing "bonk, bonk, bonk" to Deadmau5' "Ghost n Stuff". It works well, try it.

4. I just debated the grammar of making Deadmau5 possessive. I don't remember the rule for the use of a 5 for an S. Mr. Fraser, you taught me the semi-colon but neglected that one.

5. I just have 21 k to run Wednesday night, an hour interval workout Thursday night and then I"m off to run a half marathon Sunday. Then, depending how I feel I might not run again until my long run on the following Saturday.

6. I miss my pool. I made it to the community centre by my office on Friday and found that 20 minutes fixed so much. Alex was flying in early so I didn't want to stay too long but, if he's as late as usual on Friday this week I'll get a full workout in with drills. I never thought I'd like doing drills. I never thought I'd like running on the treadmill. If there is anything you don't think you'd like, try it. Except liver and brussels sprouts. Only freaks like that kind of thing.

7. I'm still at the "doing the race to see if I can" point. The knowing is going to take a couple more months. I'll tell you when I get there.

Let's leave it at lucky 7.

2011-02-12T16:57:00.000-05:00

Oh sacred Starbucks, supplier of clean, large washrooms and tasty hot tea lattes I sang your praises today on the 26k odyssey of urban delight i.e. no freaking snowy trails of horror, just a long run across the city and back.

Went to start the run from the house today but, Alex, hearing me lament the fact that my sport sunglasses were in my bag at the office, mentioned that he had to swing by the office at some point today so he'd drive me over, I could get the glasses and head out from there.

It started snowing hard on the drive. By the time we got there the promised sunny blue sky day was deteriorating into something decidedly less perky. I considered doing the run, or a portion of it, on the office treadmill. Freudian slip there, I should have said the office gym treadmill, we all know the office treadmill doesn't exist - no one spends there time bored going nowhere with the view never changing in an office, do they? (bitterness sets in...) Where was I? Oh yeah. I was debating whether to jump on the dreadmill and slog out some or all of the workout. I farted around a bit changing designated pouch pocket assignments of sugar, kleenex, Starbucks' card, TTC token, key, cash, and inhaler. You'd think that I was heading for the steppes of Russia (east Toronto, hmm, not too far off). Well in that time the sun started to come out so I grabbed the gear and headed down to the street.

I exited the building, hit shuffle on the playlist and Bittersweet Symphony came on. The sun was shining, the day was ripe with possibility, and I looked awesome in my running gear. I felt like I was in a freaking Nike commerical.

Off I went. It wasn't too bad, not one of those transcendental runs when you begin to truly believe that the human race was built for running but definitely not an "I hate everyone and everything" run. Chindi was left at home as she just is too anxious running through strange neighbourhoods without the Alpha Male. Chindi doesn't get the whole Helen "I am woman, hear me roar" Reddy thing. Feminism seems to have missed the canine population.

Just as well as I couldn't have been constantly hitting up Starbucks if I had her in tow. My lovely, petite sized running tights from REI in Scottsdale needed constant applications of water to make them stick to my body. I got them last fall and considering my old ones had drawstrings (clearly a 20th century technology vs the new ones that are just supposed to "stick" to you) I was pretty happy for the upgrade. The problem is that I find I have to prime them with water on the waistband before I run, and, if, like today, I'm not particularly warm then there is nothing supplied by my own body for them to stick to. Hence 2 stops at Starbucks and one back at the office to prime the pump. Hmm, Prime the Pump, the new pioneer porno.

I also suspect, given my awesome 6 pound weight loss, that they might be on the large side.

So, loving the Starbucks. The last Buckstop, hahahahaha, was at the one the end of our street for what I have now decided is the perfect tea latte - tall, one pump each vanilla, hazelnut and cinnamon. Trust me. Heaven.

80 k right now seems like an impossiblity but Ironman was too, and look how that turned out. The thing is, I've been to the dark side of fear and anxiety and disbelieve in the power of my own mind and body. My reward for that journey was a finish line that showed me how awesome I truly am. The awesomeness was so thick that night that it's what really brought me in. I left some of my own for those for whom 17 hours and midnight really loomed. I accessed my awesome organ while I was out there (located just below the heart) and managed to actually negative split the out and back.

The super bad, horrible awful run.

2011-02-05T16:53:00.000-05:00

Got your attention?

So, (sigh) they can't all be winners and sometimes all you get out of your workout is mental training, as in the training makes you mental.

It was supposed to be 26 km of fun, with dog, sunny skies, feeling super duper, top of the world, all that good stuff. It happened right after a wonderful swim at a very swanky downtown club courtesy of the wonderful woman who puts needles in me. Now, in hindsight, and truth be told, also at the time, I should have had lunch before the run. Breakfast of champions, Red River cereal and fruit was at 8 am - run started at 12. Too much time and not enough calories. With the WW I'm running about 500 calories short a day (giving me my 1 lb a week loss) and I have to realize that that level of deprivation is going to lay a very thin line in the sand between happy fun run and depleted sad slog.

My best girl (dog Chindi) by my side, I set out with a great play list on the ipod and high expectations. My goal was Victoria Park, 13 km away up a lovely trail beside the Don River. The same trail run last weekend, twice, with happy dog and sunny skies. Chindi is not fond of the initial part of the run, we have to start off from my office on a busy street that smells like dogs she doesn't know, then she has to go down metal stairs that she can see through and she's stuck on leash until we get to the less used part of the trail. But let me tell you, she remained a sullen teenager for the entire run. I let her off leash to frolic only to have her sit down on the trail and refuse to move. Back on the leash until we got to a very wonderful part of the trail, with the river running right beside us. If you're a water dog that's got your name all over but this water dog continued to pout, tail down and more trail sitting.

Now, I felt guilty. I knew she was upset that Alex wasn't with us, she was worried that without the Alpha male we'd get ourselves into trouble and also, since he's been travelling so much, I think she just missed him. I considered turning back to find him on his shorter run and letting him take her home with him but I kept thinking she'd perk up. No perking happened just 25 lbs dragging behind me.

So now I'm getting sad and depressed, the snow is warm enough today to get sloppy with big divots that threatened to twist my ankle. Fast skinny guys kept running past me. I poured all 200 calories of Clif blocks into the stomach but got no sugar love.

THIS IS GETTING HARD

But not in a good way - not in the "I'm becoming a better fitter person" way.

I have no watch on today but I'm guessing that if I turn around at about 16 and then add a run home from the office I'll have gotten in 21k today - about 3 hours at the speed I was able to go. I turn us around and Chindi, naturally, gets a second wind and finally starts contributing to the cause by pulling me along the trail. We exit the trail early to get on some snow free city sidewalks and the two of us fly down the road to the office, me dreaming of coke, Chindi dreaming of rancid fish wrapped in mouldy bacon (there, just turned myself off bacon - handy).

The security guard at the office tells me Alex is still around (aside, we work in the same building, it's a small one so everyone is well know, esp as the only married couple there). I call him and catch him for a ride home. I'm stinky, still in workout clothes, and I'm out of control, blood sugar crashing, hungry. An attempt is made to purchase back bacon sandwiches at the farmer's market on the way home but they just take cash. I stagger off to find Alex and further the meltdown. At that point I was the total Zombie runner, can't think, can't run anymore, possibly decomposing, stumbling around just needing brains, tasty tasty brains.

Made do with very tasty egg wrap created by he who is so good at taking care of me in Zombie mode. Tomorrow's another day and perhaps I can get that extra missed 10 km in. No trails unless it's colder and the snow sets up. There is a shovelling by-law and I intend to enjoy the results.

2011-02-02T15:57:00.000-05:00

Into week 6 of both the ultra-marathon training and weight watchers and the two continue to complement each other.

Nitty gritty on the WW - I switched my weigh in day to Fridays because I found that I was hoarding points for the weekend and going too hungry on Mondays. Traditionally training has always left me tired and hungry and grouchy on Monday so I wanted to try and work on that issue. Now, if say, I have a party to attend on a Thursday the only worry is having enough points left for a few drinks and that, if I'm serious about training and making a good weight for races, well, that my friends can be missed.

Last week's volume was about 50k, 35 of it on Saturday and Sunday so having earned the lion's share of my activity points I proceeded to have lion portions of food, including dessert both nights. Result - Monday saw me feeling great, no fatigue, no hunger, I felt like I hardly needed the rest day.

So, I continue to be an ambassador for the program, it's really working with my training and my life. I suspect that by end of March, when things start to really pick up, I might have to add a few more calories/points to make sure I'm recovering from the big weeks but, after the 50 miler, and the 2 week orgy of caloric consumption that results from these events, I'll have another window before Iron training gets crazy in September.

Weight loss has been steady, I should be down about 5 pounds this Friday which brings me back to Iron weight. After that, I'll feel like I'm actually losing something - well, actually gaining something.

Saturday’s long run, or, why I’m better than all of you

2011-01-18T13:31:00.001-05:00

The thing about doing a spring race is that you have to train during the winter. For many that’s a pleasant little jaunt in California surrounded by green and sun. We hate them.

For the rest of us it’s running in the snow. Running in the snow is all about attitude – you expect the worst, you prepare for the worst, and as you run you work on your justifications for shortening the training session. Timed runs are better than mileage runs as there is at least an end to the horror – 20 km can be pretty open ended in a storm. Happily Saturday was a timed run of 2 hours, out and back along the waterfront from our house.

I will take this moment to praise the city of Toronto for keeping the Martin Goodman trail maintained in the winter. The joy of a ploughed and salted trail just a couple km from our house can not be underestimated. I can’t wait to get into some of the city’s ravine trails and back to Hamilton for forest trails but for the next couple months as the snow piles up I’m thinking the waterfront will work just fine.

I started out with the required attitude. I got down to the lake, into the driving snow just as Fatboy Slim’s “Right here, right now” came on the shuffle. “Yeah”, I screamed (inside words, not outside – that was later) “this is how PBs are made baby. Sub 14 hour Ironman come to me honey”. I turned into the wind, appreciating the plowed route, put a stupid smile on my face and headed out. For a bit. The snow was picking up as I came across the city workers at the end of the plowed portion. I stopped and thanked the perky guy running the plow noticing that I’d run out of pavement before my hour was up. But I’m a Canadian, an Ironman, a woman, so there’s nothing to do but suck it up.

It was only about a km to my turn around point and I figured the snow would just force good form on me as I’d have no choice but to keep my knees up. Besides k-os appeared on my playlist and if he could get out of Somalia and make a career here well then I think I could run through a little bit of snow. (NB, k-os isn’t K-Nan but I didn’t clue in at that time, I'm pretty freaking white after all.) Didn't really matter in the end as whoever I was listening to didn't last as long as the snow drifts did.

I did get to the bridge only to turn around and see my night in shining armour astride his plow. Yup, city employee boy had caught up to me and laid down some lovely pavement for my return trip. Off I went smiling and happy and very much premature.

I don't know why I expected that the plow could keep up with the snow - it clearly couldn't and I was back in the drifts. I considered cutting up away from the lake to a major street that would take me home faster. It wouldn't have plowed sidewalks but at least the wind would be less nasty. But, it was a 2 hour run, damnit, and there was not going to be any cutting it short. It's only week 2 - there's plenty of time for that coming.

Alex and Mad-Dog Englishman Dave were doing an hour run and as I had left the house about an hour earlier I started to look for them at their turnaround point. Dave appeared, swearing, which is ok as he is English and they did invent profanity after all. He screamed something about L3 above the wind, I smiled and didn't make eye contact. Dave's off alcohol for the month and there's no telling what might happen. Alex, who most assuredly isn't off the alcohol, pulled up in a considerably less than L3 speed. Alex had 2 social occasions on school nights the past week and wasn't enjoying running on that. I pretended to do an interval with Dave but secretly just turned around and headed back with Alex. I'm not going to say it was anything but a tough slog through snow, the music kept playing, probably perky little happy songs. It finally ended at home with chocolate milk.

No pictures, we all know what white looks like.

Why do we accept so little for ourselves.

2011-01-13T13:44:00.001-05:00

The Canadian government just lowered current recommended physical activity standards to 150 minutes a week. HUH??

I’ve read over and over again how that the three factors most important in maintaining a healthy body weight are:

breakfast every day

a low fat, high carbohydrate diet, and

7 hours of exercise a week, equivalent to walking.

Why has the Canadian government accepted such a lesser standard for our citizens?

Growing up in Canada we always knew that we were thin and Americans were fat. Then we got fat, but, Americans got fatter. That was kinda the deal, right. Now we’ll all fatter and south of the border they’ve progressed to obese and I have noticed now that when I leave the city, even in Canada, I see obese people. If that sounds like “I see dead people”, well, that’s pretty close to the truth. Obesity kills and before it kills the body, it kills quality of life. We should all rise up in spandex to kill obesity before it kills us. We can take it, it gets short of breath so quickly after all.

For some reason people my age (40’s) accept that activities like shovelling snow will result in them being physically wiped out for a couple of days. Why does this not trigger an alarm?

I think that we have, as a society, completely lost a sense of what our bodies were made to do. When 150 minutes a week of exercise is published as an acceptable standard then we have some pretty short memories. How is that “normal” for bodies that a scant couple generations ago grew their own food, carried water, and hunted long distances from home without an ATV?

I walk 2 hours a day, to and from work. That doesn’t wipe me out, I hardly notice it. I’m pretty sure that in the developing world, that’s a regular commute to school or work. If I want to take transit to work, at rush hour, I would have to leave the house at about the same time as I do to walk. Coming home, I can get the streetcar and be home in 30 minutes. It takes 50 minutes to walk so that extra 20 minutes in the evening is not a big deal and it gives me half of the 60 minutes that I need to maintain a healthy weight. Mornings don't cost me more time to walk so why not do that and save the $2.50 fare. Starting out years before I even knew what Ironman was, I could have, like so many others, assumed that I didn’t have time to walk to or from work but, looking into it I discovered that I did. We can all find those opportunities if we start looking – but nobody looks.

We all moan that we haven’t got time but can recite 2 hours worth of TV plot points and contest results watched the previous night. We moan that we’re getting older ignoring all the people around us who haven’t accepted the idea of killing our bodies off prematurely. People treat me like I’m some sort of super human because of what I do. Pleeeease. I was never on a school sports team, I usually didn’t even get a bronze in fitness testing, I’m scared of any game that involves balls; volleyball gives me the whillies. Actually I’m scared of any team games because I know I can’t keep the rules straight. But, I would not accept physical weakness and ill health so, I ask, why does anyone else? I just don't get it.

The point of the whole thing

2011-01-11T10:59:00.000-05:00

I’ve been having pretty good success incorporating the new WW program into my lifestyle. After a week on, (down 1 ½ lbs) having eaten all my daily points, my extra points and my activity points I did find myself going to bed hungry Sunday night. Not optimal as I woke up at 3 am hungry still, and possibly a little annoyed with snoring husband. I headed downstairs and had a bit of chocolate milk (recovery food of champions) which took away the edge and got me to morning’s breakfast. The hunger continued through the morning at work. Breakfast filled me but there was still this little voice asking for more food please once the stomach was no longer filled with fruit and whole grains. I ignored the voice and made a far too small lunch of chicken, brown rice, chick peas and tomatoes. It was tossed with a lovely cilantro pesto but, I think I didn’t add enough fat to make it satisfying and I ended up sitting at my desk an hour later realizing that I really needed a cheese sandwich. Sigh, not a great choice, the cheese sandwich, but, there was no sense in continuing to get more and more hungry.

Dinner was a very hearty serving of pot roast, mashed potatoes and green beans and this little Ironman went to bed with a very happy body.

Lesson learned, even though last weeks training was minimal for me, Mondays are always a hungry day when training so, there is no sense in trying to conserve points for later in the week. I have plenty to eat, almost 100 extra this week from the walking to and from work, 3 hours of running planned, half an hour (min) of swimming, and a pilates class.

True confession, I was met by a co-worker this morning with a container of brownies. He makes his own, he’s a very good baker, two were consumed and duly noted in the log. Je ne regrette rien. (9 years of French, don’t like to brag or anything – of course, the husband, a product of French Immersion schooling weeps when I try to speak it).

Snow Run

2011-01-08T13:38:00.000-05:00

Out today for the inaugural 2011 long Saturday run. 2 hours of alternating between my dog pulling me forward to catch up with the guys, pulling my dog along as she got tired and bored, and bursts of off leash fun in the snow. It was hard to get a picture of her as she didn't sit still for long. You wouldn't sit still for long either if your bare ass was hovering above a foot of snow. Setting out was great, the snow was coming down but it was fluffy and light and easy to run through. Coming back as the day warmed the snow got heavier and I ended up that cursed "running on sand" terrain. There were a few walk breaks but not too much potty mouth, except from the dog, of course. Tomorrow a swim is planned in the morning to loosen out all the bits that got worked today.

The WW plan is just fabulous so far. I'm loving the iphone app, it makes staying honest very easy, and the program has not left me feeling hungry. I spend a lot of time thinking about the finish line next November and what I have to do to get there earlier. Mostly though I just enjoyed the waterfront on a snowy day.

Well now I've gone and done it.

2011-01-06T20:16:00.000-05:00

Yes I have. Thirteen years after my first successful run at it I'm back with Weight Watchers. So, you say, quite rightly, gosh, if you were successful then isn't needing to go back the definition of unsuccessful? And no, it's not. To begin with, although clearly far away from optimal racing or modelling weight, I'm still within single digit jeans and I don't get breathless bending over to tie my shoes (true story-that's what took me there the first time) but I am far away from where I need to be to be faster. I'll look better for sure, and that's not trivial, but, damn it, mostly I love endurance sports and I want it all to be more satisfying and nothing would be more satisfying than a sub 14.5 hour finish next November.

I'll be back in a minute, I'm right now indulging myself and seeing the finish line with, say, 13:41 on it...hmmm...sub 14 hour finish...

Little plug for Weight Watchers here - they've changed the program to, in my eyes, make it much more doable for serious amateur athletes like yours truly. There are more points credited for working out so that, whereas previously, I would get only about 50% of the calories expended for extra food, now, I get close to 100%. Now, if you're just starting out on your life change, and you are getting yourself up to say a 30 minute walk most days, sorry, I don't think you need, or should, have those extra calories, but, if I'm training 10+ hours a week then, damn it, I WANT DESSERT ON SATURDAY NIGHT AND I DESERVE IT.

So, it's public, it's on a blog that a couple of people might actually read. I really am not setting a goal weight since body composition is what's key, but I want to be at least one size smaller by my 50 miler in May. If I can only maintain that with the 3500 calorie gorge-fest that is Iron training then I can live with that, but, I'm going for 15 pounds, 2 sizes, sub 14 hours.

and so it begins again...

2010-12-17T15:05:00.000-05:00

It’s a really strange time of the year you know. I’m totally over the not training for an event thing, but it’s still 3 weeks before the formal training plan for my 50 miler starts. I’m getting in about an hour a week of running, mixing up high and low intensity on the treadmill, getting to the pool once a week and just enjoying my 9 km (round trip) walking to and from work. But I’m preparing for the battle(s). I’m thinking about projected times for both the 50 miler and Ironman. I’m thinking about what music I want on my journey. I’m thinking about whether or not I can do it. Because, it’s not a given you know. You have to respect the distance. At the longer races finishing is always the first victory, the first goal. Over the course of 50 miles/80 km on a trail, ankles can be rolled and the race over, GI issues can flare up that can’t be ignored until later. Oh, and the agony of blisters. The distance left can be just so long that it’s not a matter of mind over distance; it becomes very much a physical wall that you might not be able to climb over. There’s a good reason “the wall” is the perfect metaphor for the point in the marathon when you run smack up into a very physical barrier. It’s not all mental.

I’m researching and preparing to practice blister prevention and learning about the wonders of the GI tract and what happens after hours and hours of physical effort. Knowledge is power and I’m trying to become powerful.

The imagination needs training too and along with post it notes with my “achievable time” and “ideal” times on them I’m also collecting snippets of inspiration, great writing from people’s blogs and, of course, some Steve Prefontaine quotes. This stuff really helps me, it reminds me of the commonality of endurance athletics, of Steve P’s “guts” in racing, of the journey that we all take on this earth to be fitter, healthier and therefore happier.

There are so many reasons to be doing what I’m doing. I was able, for instance to run a trail in Sedona that left me breathless with beauty along with the elevation. I think when I listen to U2’s “Elevation” as I train this year, I’ll remember the glow of the red rocks against the blue sky and the feeling of moving over the landscape at just the perfect pace, at a pace that felt very human and very ancient.

Contrast that with how we felt watching this year’s race as some many at the peak of their fitness moved over the course in Tempe. I really missed my Iron fitness that day. I missed the feeling of endless possibility that my training had given me. I’m not unrealistic, I knew last year that I wasn’t going to beat 16 hours by much, but gosh, to move across 140.6 miles in less than 17 hours fuelled only by my body, how awesome was that?

So, right now I’m at the first stage – “can I”? Can I finish in 12 hours in Ancaster next May? Can I finish in 14.5 hours in Tempe next November? Can I do better? I don’t know right now. I do know that the next stage is “I think I can” and, most wonderfully, the third stage is “I know I can”. I love that stage.

And then “I’m doing it”, and the most beautiful place in the world is laid out before me and I complete a 50 miler, and I’m an Ironman again.

Thanks to Molly for this spectacular picture of the IMAZ finish chute. It’s currently my desktop at work and I know I’ll return to it many many times in the 11 months to come.

Niche Construction

2010-11-08T17:03:00.000-05:00

Helloooo, anybody out there? I know I’ve been away for a bit, but, truth be told, I’m pretty boring when I’m not training. I had a cold that got better and then got worse. I watched my husband continue to install solar power at our not so new sleeping cabin up north. I ate too much and then not enough as the lack of training corresponded to a lack of appetite. Also, see cold above.

And I got grumpy. Not training meant that I also haven’t been sleeping very well which left me tired not feeling like training, which left me not sleeping very well etc. This cycle was ended yesterday as my husband told me to get my butt to the pool for a swim. So, I did. 1000 metres, nothing extraordinary but I did feel better, and today, I did a short run ladder on the treadmill at lunch. That killed me. Damn I miss last year’s Iron fitness.

So all this has me thinking about something that I’ve been reading about lately – niche construction.

It’s out of a book,Adam's Language, on language development which I’d really recommend if you’re into evolution and history.

The compelling argument of altering your environment at the same time as your environment alters you is a perfect analogy of understand what happened when we decided to change our life and our destiny with the purchase of ridiculously overpriced, skinny little shiny road bikes.

Inevitably when someone starts to get active they seem to start with the “reward” stage. You remember that stage – if we walk to X we can get Y, Y being a big ice cream cone, a moccachino, an entire rash of bacon – that sort of thing. We have all done it. We did it. 20 km runs got cake. 20 km runs get nada now unless they are matched with 90 km bike rides.

I don’t think that this stage is all bad because it’s the beginning of niche construction. Let’s say that normally you’d still have the rash of bacon but now, instead of driving to the restaurant you decide to walk or bike. Wham – big environment change. Alex and I used to ride to a restaurant (about 1.5 hours) and eat fish and chips. Now, before the bikes we still ate fish and chips but after the bikes we rode there. We changed our environment and in turn the environment started to change us. We looked around at the other people at the restaurant and realized, bike or no bike, we just didn’t want to live like them, or, most importantly, look like them. They were unhealthy. The fish and chips started to taste worse and worse. We grew conscious of how our stomachs felt riding home. We stopped going there. We had changed part of our environment, adding exercise, and the rest of the environment, greasy food, no long fit.

So, we started racing. And continued racing. That changed our social environment as we started to find ourselves with less and less in common with many of our friends. That was sad but inevitable. We still have friends who don’t race, they look upon our lifestyle with tolerance and compassion and don’t always call us crazies, but, it’s pretty nice to meet up with people that you don’t have to explain yourself to. People who just get it. That’s another bit of niche construction. Our social life changed from staying out late at bars to getting up early and going to races.

As an aside, I still get the feeling at races that there was this whole parallel world populated with crazies in Lycra and we had NO IDEA it was all going on. Still. And I’m wearing Lycra.

So, we started eating better because we knew what it was like to feel good physically, we started meeting and spending time with other crazies in Lycra and we created a new environment for ourselves. It acts on us, we act on it. I remember worrying about taking some time this year, after Ironman, to just chill out, get flabby, and have a life. I realize now that I really didn’t need to worry about that. I’m so pumped to get training for my 50 miler, I still have no desire to eat junk food (I retain the right, however, to define “junk food”), and having taken a few weeks off I can feel what I’m missing. And, I hope, that part of the environment that I’m affecting (and that definitely affects me) is the social environment where I meet people who are thinking they’d like to join the crazies. We always need new crazies, Lycra is not an endangered species, and there is still lots of room on the roads and the trails.

Two kinds of mud

2010-10-04T20:08:00.000-04:00

There are two kinds of mud in Paris Ontario. There is the suckin' mud, the mud that grabs onto your foot like a crazy boyfriend and you have to scream at him "no I won't bear you 12 children and live in a shack in the woods" as you pull yourself out of the muck. That's the kind of mud that the Paris to Ancaster cross country bike race specializes in. Crazy boyfriend mud. Harmless really. Just don't return that mud's calls and he'll suck in someone else.

The mud on the trail at The Toad didn't look all that bad at first. Not suckin' mud. Just a couple inches on the trail, nothing you can't run through, walk if you have to, but easy peasy and you're on your way. Mud that you think resembles more the guys you met in bars at University. Sure they were grabbing their crotches as they offered to buy you a drink but you and your girlfriends had a laugh at their pickup lines -"so if we went for breakfast tomorrow, would I nudge you or call you?"- but in the end, you all went off for pizza - sans boys.

But you know, that mud in Paris on the The Toad trail, it didn't take no for an answer. It was stalkin' mud. You try to avoid the mud on a flattish portion of a trail and you find yourself slipping down the modest sideways incline. You think you'll just slide down the hill like skiing on butter but the mud has another idea. The mud takes you and won't let you go. The mud found out where you live, where you work and it's waiting for you. The mud was my enemy - I didn't like it, it didn't much care for me, but I kicked it's brown, slippery, stinky ass.

The Toad was my second trail race, the first ending in a very long walk in the woods. You might remember my helpful medic from the Limberlost race. Well, he was at the Toad, running the 25k and introduced me to his family as "The Ankle", we shared a moment laughing at the tree that almost took us both out and wished each other well. It was nice to see a friendly face because, although there was plenty of evidence of triathletes, and indeed Ironmen wandering around the race, I didn't see anyone else that I knew at all.

The race locale was really quite lovely with a rainbow over the lake and a wonderful fall feeling in the air. The weather report had switched over from massive deluge to light rain all day so there were no anxious moments rainwise.

Off we went on a 12.5 k route that varied between some paved road around trailers and tents in the park, a lovely meadow with rolling green hills, lots of nice wooded areas and one monster, I'm guessing 30 degree 30 foot high hill with a delightful skeleton at the top - drinking a cup of Tim Horton's, natch.

Considering the lack of actual ultra-marathon, or even marathon training I felt pretty good heading out. I took an easy pace, barely elevating my heart-rate reminding myself that the speedies around me were probably only doing the 25k and also, probably, getting themselves into trouble later. I'm not fast, I know I'm not, but I am ridiculously persevering. I honestly think it goes back to my years working in food service. 10-12 hours shifts create a certain work ethic and mentality. Work hard, drink beer, do it all again, don't whine, everyone else is tired too.

The second lap was challenging mentally because many of those 25 k runners were running out of steam. I tried to focus on how good I felt and tried to not get sucked into the negativity that many were falling into. Not so much a feeling of superiority as a sense that I have been at this long enough to know that I can do anything. As the 25 k runners picked up the pace in the last 3 k I hung back and though about how glad I was to be doing the 50 as I really felt I had it in me. I was pretty pumped.

There were only about 150 of us doing the 50 k and as I headed out on the third lap I could feel the energy change.

Sadly it seemed to really change for the worse. I tried my best with a couple of women who were really feeling it but, honestly, I just didn't have the energy for them so I picked up the pace both times and dropped them. The third lap was inspired entirely by my desire to not be lapped by my ride, the two fast women discussed in the earlier post. I'd look behind from time to time certain that I would see the two of them coming behind me like the hounds of hell. I was pleased to make the start of the next lap without them catching up.

Or so I thought. They had actually dropped out, the mud had just become too ridiculous for them. You see, the rain, although not a deluge was enough to loosen up the dirt portions of the trail creating the above referenced stalking mud. And it was bad. The only trees to grab onto seemed to be prickly bushes, the 30 degree hill in the meadow gave you the choice of all mud on the mowed portion or prickly plants on the perimeter. It was stupid hard for about 5k per 12.5 k loop.

I love stupid hard. Why the hell do you think I did Ironman. That course was not going to defeat me, I wanted that medal more than I remember wanting any other one during a race. It's funny, at Ironman I wanted the finish line, I wanted Mike Reilly to tell me I was an Ironman, I wanted the crowds, Saturday I wanted the medal. It was that tangible.

So, with a very guilty heart, I declared my intention to finish the race. I felt awful keeping them there but I just had to finish.

And then, my new friend Cathy appeared. We were to meet before the race but lost cell numbers etc thwarted that but there she was, Boston finisher's jacket, glowing face, and big, big hug. I took that energy on offer and set off. Now, the fire under my ass was running as fast as I could on the runable parts of the trail to make up for the mud and to finish as fast as I could so my chauffeurs could go home to well deserved beer.

And damn, I moved. I've said it before but it's true - Ironman training showed me how much endurance I have in me. There is no tired until the legs wobble and drop below you. Until then, suck it up buttercup. So I ran and ran, and slipped and slipped and broke the loop down into parts, 3 k to the aid station, 3 k to pass it again, 2 k to the massive hill, but then, only 1 k to the end. And the end, it was glorious, the medal is delightful (althought it doesn't say 50 k).

And now I have a hankering for a belt buckle.

2010-09-23T16:43:00.002-04:00

Muskoka 70.3

It was hard.

The end.

How’s that for an epic race report?

This was my third time that I had done the race, previous report here and I was just not feeling the love. See previous post.

The summer has fallen apart on race goals but I’m good with that. I am, after all, not a pro, not an elite, not even a FOP (front of packer). It's not like it's my job.

Ironhusband was injured so was not up for the race, a friend from Cruise to Run arrived, also injured, and, along with her new boyfriend, proceeded to run interference on any plans to avoid the adult beverages before the race. Short story on that – I had a lot of fun Friday night but I think it came back to haunt my stomach on Sunday. I’m just not a spring chicken anymore.

Now, generally, given my pre-disposition to THE CRAZIES, I don't tend to even take a look at the swim course until it's basically too late. This year, so certain was I of kicking THE CRAZIES to the curb I actually I shoved myself into my wetsuit and hit the lake the day before the race.

It was cold.

But, other than the fact that my new women's specific goggles were constantly leaking (always try things out before a race!), I was very calm just swimming around the water toys at the beach, talking to others in the lake, and generally proving to myself that I was going to be great tomorrow.

And it was.

I'm going to cut to the chase and just go by the numbers. Absent transition times (boring story - honestly on why they were longer), I was actually 2 minutes faster than last year, and more importantly, moved way up in ranking. My bike was almost the same as last year to the minute, my run sucked at + 4 minutes but, wait for it:

I took 8 minutes off the swim and only back stroked to, well, belch a couple times. I didn't even have any asthma problems. I freaking rocked.

I did feel the lack of training. The bike started out great and then I faded large on the last third or so, same story with the run, but it was just great to be able to complete a very tough half-ironman on what is now my general fitness level.

Right now I just have the Run for the Toad a week Saturday. I'm still registered for the 50K but I'm sure it will be just 25k for me. And that's ok. It's all ok. I'll just run the trail, maybe hug random strangers, and eat the great food waiting for my ride. Alex can't be there so I'm going with a couple of very fast women (and no, I don't mean what you think I mean) - hmmph - a couple of very speedy women (not much better) - what I mean is, they are doing the 50k and I don't imagine that I'm going to be waiting very long for them. I'll have a lawn chair, a book, an iphone, and a big plate of food. And, a new friend to get to know who is running it as well. We've been fixed up on the date by a mutual friend from the cruise. I'll be sure to shave my legs.

Anatomy of a Burnout: Incorporating many metaphors that don’t particularly go anywhere

2010-09-02T11:08:00.000-04:00

We’ve all been there – suddenly the things that used to be bring you joy, the obsession that once bored everyone around you, and, let’s be honest, the vast money pit that you threw all your ill gotten gains into, well, it’s just not so interesting anymore. And that hurts.

At first I thought that the metaphor of hurting would lead to a conclusion that it hurt like falling out of love, but, it’s not that. You know the love will be back. You’re just not ready for that much love right now.

The winter run season started out with a greatly reduced desire to do much of any kind of training. I just wanted some time to myself to do some interesting things that I hadn’t had time for before. What I really wanted was to learn to make cheese, although amount of cheese made was something very close to zero. But, to that end I created and embraced a super low volume training regime that somehow took me to a bunch of PBs. I got an ego burst from the PBs, no doubt but I should have listened to that cheese maker in my head and should not have signed us up for two half-ironman races.

But it’s scary you know. Triathlon saved us from a future that I know would have seen both of us obese, unhealthy and, regardless of what Ironhusband often says, very much unhappy. Physical fitness is happiness. So, to take off time from training is a little bit like being surrounded by your drug of choice when you’re newly out of rehab. We’ve been 5 years “fitness-sober” but that doesn’t mean deep fried cheese sticks and the couch don’t look awfully tempting. As well, we’re doing Ironman again next year and we didn’t want to lose too much fitness.

But you know what – we’re good around the cheese sticks and the couches. I know we would have gotten out on the bike, on the trails to run, and maybe even into the lake for some laps around the bay. Mostly because, for us, physical fitness is happiness and we really dig the happiness.

So, I’ve got two metaphors going right now, the idea of love that hurts and the metaphor of drug addiction. I’m not saying I’m a professional writer so stay with me as I work that out in my mind.

Most of the time I love triathlon. I do. I love the three sports and the wonderful way that one rejuvenates the body that is exhausted from the others. A swim after a run is wonderful, stretching out all the muscles that just took a pounding adding further quiet, contemplative time to the workout. Getting off the bike and starting a run is tough, that’s why we practice it but, you get to slow down and feel the nature that you’re running though at a speed more favourable to noticing the details. Then, if you’re lucky, you get back on your bike, cool yourself down with the wind and experience the speed that allows you the fantastic sensation of flight.

And the races…all those people with all those body types, everyone excited, nervous and very much proud of themselves and each other. And everyone wearing spandex. Oh the glories of spandex. We should all wear it more, especially since it seems to alarm the non-sporty types.

So, back to the narrative. This year we actually DNS’s a race. (DNS = did not start) The saying is that DFL (dead f&^%ing last) is better than DNF (did not finish) is better than DNS so there was some dishonour in that for us but, well, we DNS’d. The weather was calling for a 90% chance of 10-15 mm of rain for our Bracebridge half-iron distance and, although we wasted a perfectly good Saturday night on nothing more adult than San Pellegrino mineral water, (not wanting to make the call not to race just in case the weather changed), it was a good call as the heavens opened up right at the 8 am start time and didn’t stop all day.

Now, we are very close to our last race, our A race of the year – the Muskoka 70.3. Alex can’t do it, he’s had a shoulder injury that just isn’t getting any better and that keeps him from being able to swim. Me, I’m just not so excited about the race but we have a non-refundable hotel reservation at the host hotel so, although that’s a sunk cost we might as well enjoy it.

So, how to turn the attitude around and enjoy this race. It’s a tough bike course and I’m massively under trained for it. But, I’ve made great strides in my swimming so I’m looking forward to testing that out in the swim. I will get through the bike because I’m an Ironman and I can’t let the tattoo down. Some of the big hills might be walked but that’s not my plan. I’m debating whether to not wear a watch to take off any pressure of worrying about a PB and that idea sounds good right now.

I am excited about my 25k trail race the first Saturday in October. I signed up for the 50 k but I know I’m just not ready for that. After that, it’s 6 weeks off, vacation in Arizona with bikes, volunteer at Ironman and sign up for next year. I’m still thinking 50 miler next May but, if as it approaches I think 50 k is a better bet there is no ego on the line and I can go for the shorter distance.

Hmm, ego, now there’s a third leg to triathlon table. (warned you on the metaphors!). When I started this journey 6 years ago I knew that part of the motivation was to get people in my life to perhaps pay some attention to me. What I’ve come to realize is that those people won’t suddenly be impressed by something they don’t understand, and something done by someone that they don’t particularly respect because, well, why would facts change an opinion they have based on anything but facts.

So maybe that’s why I’m a little wobbly right now. Tables need 4 legs for stability. So far I’ve build the ego leg, the love leg, the fear of fat leg – I’m missing a leg.

Off to find that leg – talk to you soon.

I'm here

2010-08-26T13:12:00.000-04:00

I'm training, kinda. I'm really finding that without THE BIG GOAL it's hard to get motivated this season. I'm already planning on a 50 miler next May and going into Iron training next July and that is what's keeping me buzzed. The Muskoka 70.3 that I have coming up is, truthfully, kinda freaking me out. I'm not sure if I might clock the 50k trail race in October down to the 25K distance. I'm just not feeling the training love. After Ironman next year I wonder if we might just take the year off racing.

But I'm buzzed about starting 50 miler training at the end of November and then going into Iron training again with a great run base. I'm just about 2011 right now.

Bala triathlon 2010: Now with less crazy

2010-07-27T15:55:00.001-04:00

Sunday morning found me in the car, music on, driving to my first triathlon since Ironman and I was just plain happy. That's all. No anxiety, no underlying fear of a panic attack, just a sense that I was so lucky to be able to do what I was about to do and gosh, I was going to do it well.

This is unheard of.

I've struggle with swim panic almost since I started racing. I spent 12 weeks with a therapist to overcome the anxiety, gave up chocolate and coke for a while (they're back baby!), and lastly got needles stuck in my sensitive skin to treat the anxiety.

Bingo needles. The rest worked to lessen the level of anxiousness but it never really went away. Having done the swim portion of Ironman as back stroke I was actually starting to feel like that was just who I was and as long as it was manageable then I'd just consider that my invisible handicap. Well, this summer I've been our open water swimming 4 times - real open water, not just swimming around our bay - and I can tell you that I'm a different person. I'm really enjoying it and feel a little sad on those weekend days when I can't get in the water.

So, back to the race. It was what I think of as a long sprint, 750m swim, 30 k bike and 7.5 k run. It was the third time that I'd raced this one and the first time that I didn't panic. I actually swore off sprint races as the atmosphere was too tense with tri newbies hanging around talking about how nervous they were but, given my complete and total, almost unnatural relaxation in swimming this year, well, I signed up to face my demons.

Demons stayed home that day. What am I saying - demons have been kicked to the curb and left to rot.

Absent of the mental panic I can now see that I do get a little asthmatic for the first portion of the swim and I did resort to some back stroke to get in some shallow breathing to calm down my lungs. That worked fabulously and I was back on with front crawl for the rest of the race. After the 3.8 k Ironman swim 750 m was such a delight.

Also delightful was the 30 bike ride. The road is closed to all but local traffic making for a very safe atmosphere and the hills on this course are just perfect. Lots of rolling fun and decent pavement.

The competitors were also very much different from Ironman and longer races, lots of mountain bikes and hybrids. I really had to laugh as I passed a guy on his mountain bike (that's fine), wearing his Crank the Shield jersey (famous MTB race, that's fine too) and wearing a Camelback (not so triathlon, but that's fine) but the very ancient aero helmet that he had on just set me off.

I laughed less when he passed me on the last 5 k. Guess I couldn't compete with the helmet.

I was hoping to hit a new record for the bike portion but ended up about the same as last year.

The run was much easier this year - I've always hated the course, it's very hot, there are a bunch of little out and backs that screw with your head and there is a big hill right near the end that sucks out the happiness in your soul.

This year, pacing with my new friend Nancy, I felt strong and steady and took off over a minute over 2009. Not stellar but I'll take it. With the swim and better transition times it all added up to 4 minutes less than last year which, for the first time in my life, put me in the middle of the pack at a triathlon.

Perhaps I'll do more sprints after all. I'll have to take off an hour at my upcoming half-iron to move up from last in my age group and that's just not going to happen this year. There are some seriously fast women out there.

The most groovy thing, I think, that came out of the race was the announcement that the top 5 men and women in the race were all over 40. I love triathlon for setting examples of how incredible the human body is if we just take care of it. I passed women in their 30s and in turn was passed by those in there 50s. I've got lots to look forward too it seems.

Recovery, however, still seems to follow age and Monday was a tough day to get through.

As an aside, the ankle held up but then seized up about an hour after the race. No track workout this week and the only running for the weekend is the 3x3k runs that match up with our 3x25k bikes for Saturday's brick workout. Just open water and a 60k hill workout on the bike for Sunday. Just...it's good to be fit. (insert happy face!)

'Cause everyday should start with a lube up in the bathroom at Walmart

2010-07-22T13:51:00.006-04:00

A few months ago, probably before summer training started, and therefore feeling full of vim, vigour and unrealistic expectations, I signed up for two trail races - one 28 k and one 50 k. They would open and close my season with the 28 k in July just before triathlons began and the 50 k 3 weeks after my A race, the Muskoka 70.3. They would be fun, a change and a challenge.

My husband thought I was being an idiot. Post 28 k evidence seems to support him somewhat, but, there was a mitigating circumstance to Saturday's DNF race.

Which takes us to the bathroom at Walmart approx 7:30 on Saturday morning as I whip in to buy generic Vaseline for immediate application to all know hot zones on my body. That would be pretty much 99% of the body, I've yet to chafe anywhere on my forearms but, well, time will tell.

So, off we go, me delightfully greasy in my Skirtsports running dress, Alex packed for his planned double brick that should correspondent, time wise, with my trail race. He's sceptical that I'll be done in 3:30 hours but he's not wearing the dress so what does he know.

Like so many other Saturday and Sundays in our life, we wind up in a field praising the practicality of our Subaru and look around a perky, fit, excited people in various stages of preparation for the race.

I'd like to take a minute right now to pass on some advice to buddy seen lubing up the boys in public - there was a change tent, perhaps you could use it next time. Just sayin'. Anywho...

This is no triathlon, there is something decidedly low key about the event. The athletes look scruffy, a little wild and there certainly isn't that undercurrent of materialism that permeates a transition zone full of bikes that cost more than my first car.

There is also no chip timing! This takes a moment to comprehend. I'm a little thrown; how am I to validate my existence without that reassuring buzz from timing mats? Further evidence of the downhome feeling is the fact that the race simply starts with a countdown from 5 to "go" led by one of the race directors.

We're a mixed group, 14k, 28k and 56 k racers and I remind myself to run my own race since there is no use keeping up with the 14'ers. It's tough going, a real black diamond trail and I try to settle in at a steady run/walk pace so I can still have juice left over for a bike and swim the next day.

It's also just so beautiful in the woods and I was really enjoying the shade and cool and the camaraderie of a group of 56 k runners when suddenly, at about the 5 k mark I painfully went over on my ankle.

I saw stars. I did. Truly.

The 56 k crazy people stopped with me commenting on how bad it looked and said they'd report it to the next aid/medical station. I sat at the side of trail, overlooking a wonderful lake thinking that my race was over and feeling so disappointed. The pain subsided however, and I ran to the next check in feeling pretty good. I told the med station that I was continuing and confirmed it again at the next turn point.

Shortly before the 14 k turnaround at the start/finish line I went over again but managed to grab a tree to stop the twist and felt that the run was still doable.

As a side note, ultra running events appear to be all about the food and I was very tempted by the pancakes and bacon that I saw on the buffet and looking at at 2:15 time for only 14 k I really wondered if I should continue or just scratch myself from the 28.

Alex thinks that given my ankle I should have quit at the time and if he was there I'm sure he would have convinced me of the merits of that decision but, he was off running and riding his own black diamond course and having spent the last 5 years learning how to run through pain and having never not finished a race I was unable to really contemplate the possibility so...off I went.

I got into trouble pretty quickly, my left foot screaming every time I was jostled by rocks or roots and the trail was nothing but rocks and roots. I considered dropping out at the first aid station at about 4 k but the presence of people and sugar gave me a boost and off I went. I considered dropping out again at the last aid station at 9.5 k but some crazy shirtless guy handed me some magic balm that made my ankle feel loose and happy just long enough for me to get away from the station.

The magic balm then ricocheted however and the tightness that I was feeling for the second loop just got worst and worst and it wasn't long before I was on my third loosening of my shoelaces.

Every race has a low point and mine came as I tried to climb up a steep hill when I was passed by a grey pony tailed crazy man, who, and I can't make this up, actually passed wind as he overcame me. I was very sad about just about everything at that point.

By the 11 k point I was reduced to using a stick as a cane and discovered that there were 3 types of people on that course. A minority went wizzing by me focused on their race. I have no problems with that as they knew the majority of runners would stop to give aid. Another minority stopped long enough to make snarky comments like "it's tough out here isn't it". Karma's a bitch however and I'm sure they will get bitch slapped.

The majority, however, were wonderful, offering water and Gatorade (note to self, it takes a long time to walk out on an injured ankle, take the water), an unbelievably cute couple in matching shirts took Alex's description and found him to update him on my progress (apparently I was injured but in good spirits). Countless stopped to assure me they would get medical in to help.

I walked on to the 12 k mark with no idea of what time it was only that I was very thirsty, very hungry and the Deep Woods Off was wearing off. Around this point my saviours started appearing - saviour on a mountain bike who assigned me saviour number two, one of the young people from a fantastic program that runs in the reserve. James served as my crutch but it was his incredible attitude that took what was at that time a really horrible day and turned it into just another wonderful experience of being the recipient of another's good will.

The saviours were coming fast and furious at this point, Lowell, the chief medic for the day, ran around the corner and introduced himself and took over a chief crutch as James went back to his volunteer station. Actually James tried to go back but at that moment we were shocked by a very loud bang, akin to thunder, and we all looked up in terror as the top of a very tall tree collapsed and started to fall. I'm sure Lowell was weighting the options wondering if he should just leave me and bolt but he might have been as shocked as I was, unable to move. Yup, a tree fell in the forest and we all heard it. We all saw that it blocked the trail as well and the detour that presented itself was straight through a bog. Good times!

The last saviour to present himself was Alex who seemed to appear suddenly as soon as the tree settled on the trail. The cute runners had found him and he started the hike in to fetch me. Having felt so alone on the trail for so long it was wonderful to have everyone, especially Alex, show up. I was helped out to the road, and then ferried in Lowell's car to the finish line where everyone came together to get me water and pop and ice for my foot.

So, my first trail run, my first DNF, and the first race I couldn't finish just through sheer force of will. That alone was a pretty humbling experience for me. It's not so much that I've built up any sort of outrageous ego from my journey from couch to Ironman but that I've really come to the conclusion that we are all capable of so much more than we think and suddenly, well, I wasn't.

I'm still on for the 50 k next October - the trail will be much less rugged and I'll be that much fitter but I'm certainly carrying my own water and I have a new appreciation for trail running and the hazards so I'll be doing some serious off roading to prepare this summer.

The pit of despair

2010-07-06T13:46:00.000-04:00

These are trying times to be in the investment industry and we are dealing with a couple of irresponsible pet owners whose dog is attacking and threatening ours so I've fallen into a bit of a funk lately.

I'm still getting in the workouts and in fact, I've picked up 2-3 km/hour in speed on the bike over this time last year but although I'm pretty stoked about making my 7 hour half ironman race times this year, it's recovery week and I'm feeling the heaviness in my legs which also makes it hard to get terribly positive. But, I'm trying. I'm focussing on that 7 hour mark in my workouts much like I kept the idea of the Ironman finish line in my head last year. By the way, anyone thinking about the Iron route, that finish line is a thousand times better than you can ever imagine. Get off your butt and get there.

To recap the race schedule, I have less than two weeks to my 28 k Limberlost challenge trail run and I'm really not sure what to think. I'm pretty sure that my Skirtsports running dress in the Endless Summer print will be perfectly appropriate (ultra runner females seem to put a lot of emphasis on cool outfits for the race) but the question of course is, will the legs be appropriate. Mostly I think that I'm Iron, I can do anything, but, training is making it clear that although speed has improved, endurance is lacking. I may have to race my endurance back that day.

The following week is a sprint triathlon in Bala, very close to our cottage. The absolutely unbelievable Gord Pauls will be there on his way to his triple Ironman this August in Penticton. Gord will be completing the Ironman Canada course on Friday and Saturday before racing Ironman Canada on the Sunday. He's doing this to race money for micro credit in Haiti. I'm so honoured to know Gord and his wife Esther (who did Ironman Arizona with us last November). The Ironhusband saw Gord on Saturday when we were out riding. Gord was in the middle of an epic training weekend and was actually on the way to have a hamburger in the middle of the workout to fuel the second half. Gord clearly also has an Iron stomach.

First half iron distance race is the second Sunday in August and second, and last, is the second Sunday in September. Then it's 3 weeks off before my first ultra marathon in Paris Ontario. When you can't get to France, there's always Ontario. Paris, Ontario is also the site of the Paris to Ancaster cross country bike race that saw the debut of the Ironprincess tiara last April so, if, as planned, I don't race again until that bike race next spring I'll have done a nice little Paris, Ontario race bookend.

In the meantime the appetite has increased with the training increase and I'm trying to fulfill my vow to not spend the summer mainlining sugar. I'm having fair to good results on that as Ironhusband continually rebuffs my suggestions of buying cookies. Of course, then I find chocolate bar wrappers in the car.

Finally had a chance over the last day or so to catch up on everyone's blogs. Dennis have patience you'll be running soon, in the meantime enjoy the pool, Big Clyde, have patience too, slow weight loss is the best, Barbara, don't force yourself to race if it's not in your heart this year, don't ruin the sport for yourself. Duane, you have come so far, you inspire me, keep it up, and Mike, wow, you are so close to the adventure, get lots of sleep and know that you can do it. Finally, Molly - please use your science skills to bottle your energy and enthusiasm and ship some to me. In the meantime, lots of video of Stanley on the course barking and barking. That always cracks me up.

Yours in health, happines and raw nuts and dried fruit (in lieu of ice cream - sigh)

Ironsusietri

2010-07-05T14:39:00.001-04:00

Too many things trying my positive nature right now. I write these "go get 'em grrrl" postings for myself as much as others and I'm going to have to work hard on focussing on what's good in life right now. I'll get back to you on that.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

2010-06-21T16:31:00.001-04:00

If you've read much of my ramblings you've probably figured out that open water swimming and I are not the best of friends.

The thing about taking on something when you're older is that you never get to get used to the activity during those wonder years of complete ignorance of your own mortality. When my friend Allison and I decided to trick out my wagon to make it into Snoopy's Sopwith Camel with me in the Snoopy role wearing an old football helmet, we never thought it would be anything but really really cool to fire the wagon downhill on our quiet residential street because the street ended in a T where the wagon could, I don't know, just quietly disgorge the occupant into the grassy field at the end, having avoided any traffic on the cross street during the trip as well. Quite a few things could have gone wrong but the adventure never happened and I'm not sure if we were found out or if some inner adult spoke up to me and said it was a bad idea. i just know that when I first started triathlons I so wanted to be that girl in the wagon again - focused only on the adventure, relying on a grassy field to provide the safety net.

So, what have I done to take care of the swim anxiety.
1. Gave up caffeine - and yes, chocolate does contain caffeine and yes, I really freaking missed it.
2. 12 weeks of anti-anxiety therapy with attendant changes in relationships that were making me crazy
3. Total immersion swimming lessons, looking like a goof starting all pool workouts with bobbing. I LOVE BOBBING by the way, makes me feel like a kid again.
4. The latest, having needles stuck into me, by a professional who will read interesting things for me off Wikipedia to take my mind off the needles that are making me anxious, in the treatment for anxiety that involves needles.

My acupuncturist, as above, keeps asking me for any feedback on whether the treatment seems to be working for the anxiety. So far she's loosened up my back, my right ankle and hip flexors but, it was hard to gauge mental changes. Well, Kris, here's your mental change.

On Saturday, just for fun, I leap out of a moving boat into the mouth of a river and swam up it. And I didn't freak out a bit. My heart rate was elevated from the jump but I just had fun. I bilateral breathed in open water. For me that has been the holy grail. I have never been comfortable enough to keep my heart rate low enough to support that level of relaxed breathing.

I am so pumped for more open water adventures this summer. I have an island to swim around, that river to do again and again, and, perhaps this lovely lake that is the centre of a park that we visit to hike. No boats, calm, small enough to swim across. Open water swimming envisioned as trail running.

I'm going to kill those races this year.

Oh, and later that day I tried to climb up a cliff to grab a suspended rope that would catapult me into the lake. Couldn't quite make it but it's early days.

Bikes vs cars, cyclists vs drivers, courtesy vs anger

2010-06-03T14:22:00.001-04:00

We're all seeing the stories about crazy cyclists taking on drivers, crazy drivers running cyclists off the road and ensuing assaults, those of us who ride have been told to "get off the road", I have told cyclists riding on sidewalks to "get on the road", and then there is the helmet vs no helmet issue as politics.

What is going on?

What strikes me is that there are two types of cyclist presented in media stories.

There is the urban cyclist who is seen as holy than thou, non polluting, an outlier of society - an old fashioned outlaw, someone outside of the protection or control of the law. Certainly the majority of urban cyclists I see on my daily walks to work obey the laws of the road, wear a helmet, and are generally considerate of both the potential dangers around as well as allowing cars to move efficiently on the road. But, and it's a big but, there is a very flamboyant, very noticeable minority that flouts the law, rides on sidewalks and seems to delight in giving drivers a heart attack as they run red lights and swerve in and out of traffic. They are generally called "couriers" regardless of whether they actually work as one.

The other kind is me - we're the ones on road bikes told to "get off the road". We're hassled for wearing spandex shorts for goodness sake. We ride in packs, which really upsets people for some reason, although not nearly as much as the spandex does. There is always some element of classism in the encounter - packs of triathletes (an elitist sport) having a run in with someone in a pick up - good honest working man who hasn't got the time for 100k rides in the sun.

For some reason it seems, the act of getting on a bike seems to be taken as an insult by those who aren't on a bike. When I'm out riding in the country I'm not making a statement about the ethics of driving a car, I drove a car to the country to ride. When I walk to work no one driving thinks I am making a statement that I am "greener" than they are. We drive to work every once in a while too.

Now, am I fitter - probably but I can't make a judgement that the overweight driver in the car that passed me isn't working hard to change their life. If they came within a foot of me I'm pretty sure they aren't but, tomorrow is another day and another start at things.

One thing I do know is that we have to get to the root of what's going on. People are dying.

The 7% Solution

2010-05-28T13:51:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night I ran 5k in a charity relay on a team that Ironhusband's company put together. It was my third time I was included in the event and, occurring after work, in an unseasonably hot May - it was challenging. The only chip is on the final runner so I've never had a time before for my laps but this time I used my Ironman watch to get an approximate lap time. Comparing that with 2 chipped races on our running cruise in Barbados I found I have pb'd by 2 minutes or so. It was about as hot and both courses are flat so I think they are comparable. That 27 minute 5k came out to be a 7% improvement. And that 7% improvement is about what I have been wanting to do this year in my two half iron races. 7% at the Bracebridge half iron distance takes me from 7:33 last year to 7:01 (and I'm going to run myself to the med tent to pick up those 2 minutes for a sub 7), 7% at Muskoka 70.3 takes me from 7:53 in 2009 to 7:20. If I was doing Ironman this year that would put me with a 15:20 goal.

Assuming I do 7% again next year that puts me at a 14:16 Ironman Arizona in 2011. Feels unbelievable for me right now but after I did my first half Iron in Bracebridge in 2008 at 8:11 I never thought I could make the 17 hour cut off at a full.

So, these are the goals. It's going to take all my awesomeness and a lot of vasoline. And my new Skirt Sports workout wardrobe, especially the hot pink running skirt.

Postscript:

While I have your attention the very awesome Bart and Laura Yasso (whom I am proud to call friends - I'm not sure what they call me) are running the Comrades Ultramarathon on Sunday in South Africa. Bart and others have paired up with World Vision to promote child sponsorship in Africa. Using a race like this to promote such a great program and give a hand up to some wonderful needy kids, well, it feels like a great investment in the human race. Check it out.

Triathlon: A post modern, deconstructionist, feminist analysis incorporating chaos theory and linguistic analysis.

2010-05-18T14:02:00.000-04:00

Actually no. Don’t worry – I’m just the product of a 1990’s art degree program. If I couldn’t get all the above into one of my papers then there just wasn’t any sense in handing the thing in. As an aside, during my time at university I determined that 2 beers was the perfect alcohol consumption level for me to illuminate my thoughts on anything while still able to include the above. Less than two and I could realize how silly it all was, more than two and I had a hard time getting chaos theory in there.

But, a little of the skill and desire to break things down and look at them in a different light seems to have be retained.

When I was growing up in the wilds of Canada, small town Canada, there was just one sport. Can we guess what that was? Yes - it was all about HOCKEY. I hated hockey. Hockey to me was an endless punishment – as the youngest with 4 older brothers I had to accompany everyone everywhere for tournament after tournament. I can still smell hockey arenas – I can still hear the sound that the bleachers made as I ran endlessly around and around in absolute mind numbing, resentful boredom.

As a girl I could, and did, take figure skating but figure skating was all about pretty outfits, pretty girls and a lot of money for coaches. It was, and I still think is, the sport of cliqued femininity. (Although I love to watch ice dancing still, my post modern, deconstructionist, feminist education has slightly ruined it all for me.) There certainly wasn’t any cash left over for coaches for me, even if I had shown any talent, which I didn’t, and I never looked pretty in any of the outfits that I ever got my hands on. So somewhere around 14 or so I stopped skating. That was the end of my athletic life. That, after all, was the end of my parent’s athletic vision for girls. I think I was expected to then learn to cook and sew so I could get me a good husband; I just got a job and started working.

Now, in small town Ontario, there was an endless succession of young men from other small towns who were signed up for the local Junior A team – their proving ground for the NHL. If I could sum up these boys in one word that would be – sleezy. Actually I need a second word – violent. Sleezy and violent. Most probably just needed to grow up and missed the firm hand of their parents. They were, after all, only 16 years old, living with foster families or in local small motels, playing hockey, partying, and passing a select few girls (often figure skaters) around. I was smart enough to stay out of that scene and combined with a far too intimate knowledge of the habits of my youngest brother’s hockey friends it left me with a distinct disgust of team sports – especially hockey.

Which was too bad because that meant that I wasn’t open to the joy of sport.

My journey into individual sport started in 1981 with Terry Fox’s Marathon of Hope. Inspired by him, a friend and I started running in the morning. I have a vague memory that some sort of run was held but no memory of actually doing a formal event. I do remember the training and how much I enjoyed it. Yet somehow, even though my best friend in high school ran on the track team, I never even considered doing that. I won’t lie, I would have sucked but that’s not what kept me from it. That, very simply, was because no one ever said, “hey, why don’t you try running on the team”.

Fast forward through a montage of me running on and off through time at school and work. Slow down the camera as you get to my husband and I dragging our fat slow bodies through life. Zoom in on his pack a day smoking habit.

Somehow we made the connection and started to get active again. I took us on death marches all over the city. We bought a cottage and started to swim. We bought a house close to a pool so we could swim there. Alex quit smoking. We started running. We bought bikes. We started racing. We never looked back.

So, where’s the post modern, deconstructionist, feminist analysis incorporating chaos theory and linguistic analysis of triathlon you ask. Well thanks for sticking around this long. That would be a whole bunch of BS and my sport deserves better. The reason I love it - short and sweet. Men and women race the same distances. Men and women race the same events. There are no enforcers, no goons, and no swim/bike/run bunnies. It’s not a male sport, not a female sport, and you can spectate and participate at the same time. It’s not cheap either financially or in terms of the time it asks from you but the payback is priceless.

Total Immersion Swimming

2010-05-11T15:43:00.000-04:00

Back in February I had a private Total Immersion lesson with Karin and promptly didn't get into the pool enough to really remember all the tricks. She was great in leaving me with diagrams outlining the drills to do (and also a fair amount of confidence) but getting back into it I needed a refresher of what we had talked about. Below is the text of an email I sent her with questions and her responses in blue. I know that I'd read a great deal about Total Immersion but didn't really get it until I was in the pool with her. You might, however, find this helpful.

Hi Karin, thanks so much for doing this update/rehash of the great swim lesson that you gave me. I know that I had read a lot about Total Immersion and seen some videos but until that lesson I didn’t understand what a difference could be made. What I really like was the emphasis on relaxation in the water – I know all triathletes could use a little more of that come race day. So, I wanted to just go over the drills that I’m doing these days. I had told you that I’d been maintaining about 21 strokes per 25 yards and that seems to be stuck there. I was finding that frustrating as I hit 19 with you and you are targeting 15 for me (based on my height of 5”4”: remember this is a target for a comfortable swim, as your increase speed your stroke count should be higher than 15) but, as I started with 27 then I’m half way there. (that is awesome!)

First Drill – The Lengthen Vessel

This one has me on my side with the lower hand relaxed below the water in about a 45 degree angle, the upper hand in my imaginary side pocket on my thigh and, unless I’m breathing, my head is positioned down and my eyes are on the bottom of the pool. So, along with trying to ignore anything strange floating around down there, what exactly is this trying to accomplish? Head position! Body position! This position is to try and maintain a horizontal position and find a balance with your head position, your arm angle and your hips. If the head is too high, the hips will drop, if the head is too low, the hips have a tendency to come up. If the arm is too high, it affects the body position! You want to find your balance with the least amount of resistance.

I’m finding that I’m really sinking down in this – is that correct or am I too relaxed in my core stability to bring myself up? Depending on your body density, you might find yourself partially or completely submerged. I'd have to watch you to help answer this one!

Second Drill – Underarm

This one takes the Lengthen Vessel position and adds a movement to the top arm. I find I think of it as bending my elbow to bring my hand up to my face, as if I’m bringing a mirror up to check myself. Have I got that right? Yes

What should I be thinking about doing this – how does this action extend into the long relaxed stroke I’m trying to achieve? Maintaining head position, body position, careful to how you "breathe"... as your head + body moves, it affects your horizontal position.

Third Drill – Underarm Switch

I take the Underarm drill and when my hand is at my face I swap my arm positions. This actually feels very elegant when I do it but as all the action happens under the water I’m left wondering again what I should be thinking about achieving in it. Distance per stroke+ body rotation... always thinking about your head position and body!

Fourth Drill – Zipper

This is, to my mind, the old fingertip drag and I’m easily able to see it’s connection to a full stroke. Careful, finger drag is different than the Zipper, the Zipper drill you literally pretend there is a zipper on your body, high elbow, your body is on its side.

Fifth Drill – Zipper switch

Building on the Zipper this has my arms switch position when my hand passes my head. I know I should be thinking about pulling all the way at this point. Anything else I should keep in mind? Always remember, correct your head position, your body position (you want a nice rotation creating the least drag possible)

I’ve really enjoyed starting my workouts with the bobbing as you suggested. I’m absolutely going to do that when warming up for races this year. It gets me into the mind set of relaxed breathing that you emphasized. I’m also working on not deliberately/forcefully inhaling and exhaling as I can feel the tension that it creates. Good! You want to breathe as normal as possible!

Help me plan our vacation

2010-04-28T15:13:00.000-04:00

In November the Ironhusband and I will return to the scene of the crime in Tempe to volunteer and sign up for Ironman Arizonia 2011:Once Is Not Enough. We're taking extra time this trip to see the sights and we're thinking of taking our cyclo-cross bikes to do some driving and day riding. We'll have 2 half days to begin and end the week of riding and 5 full days and we need ideas. I'd love to be able to ride some dirt roads and easy trails through some of the desert parks and possibly stop by the Grand Canyon for a day hike. Thoughts??

The Paris to Ancaster “Psycho” Cross Country Race: A tale of the triumph of the Iron Princess containing within it an ode to boys.

2010-04-26T13:41:00.003-04:00

The course consists of 20km of gravel and dirt roads, 18km of rail trail, 13km of singletrack (1-3km sections), 8km of paved road and about 3 tons of mud – give or take a ton. It ends with a climb up a dirt hill surrounded by more hills on top of which are perched, like vultures, various onlookers cheering you on (not so much like vultures, that part). On the side of the road are the fallen warrior men (never a woman) screaming in pain at the cramping of their quads. If someone would just play Ride of the Valkryies over a loud speaker, the scene would be complete.

In short IT IS FANTASTIC.

It is also very very male. Really male.

Now, I like males. I really do. They have within them such a core of self-assuredness that they will show up at the above race with a piece of crap bike that looks like grampa used it during the Second World War. This is admirable, but stupid. I’ve elected to be in the third of three waves and it is by far the most unattractive group of bikes I’ve ever seen. There are kickstands, fenders, handmade whatchamacallits and doohickies. One guy is wearing a golf style wind breaker and a pair of pants. People are massively overdressed as newbies always are.

Off we go and within a few kilometres the side of the trail starts to be littered with mechanical breakdowns. Clearly, male self-assuredness, absent of bike tune-ups, is actually highly overrated by the self-assured males.

But you know, you’ve got to love them, when they aren’t parked in the left track of the rail trail holding you up.

I’ve decided that what this race needs, to offset the testosterone, is a dollar store tiara on my helmet. It is brilliant. I knew that the women out there would love it, it’s so very Barbie, but the men are having a good laugh as well. And there is something about wearing your own personal crown jewels that gives you that perhaps unfounded belief in your ability to ride a ridiculously varied course on whatever 2 wheels you have lying around the house. Ah ha, so that’s it – my dollar store crown jewels gave me the same abilities as those crown jewels that the men though they too were wearing, snuggled up in their bike shorts.

As we whip throught the Ontario spring countryside I point out to my fellow competitors all the pretty flowering trees so they can tell their wives about them later. As I past them of course.

I LOVE CHICKING GUYS. Is that wrong?

I pop out of a mud trail onto a road I recognize as the start of the short course race and, checking my watch, am dismayed to see that it took me 1:35 to ride 25 km. Given that I finished the next 35 km (the short course) last year in 2:27 I’m feeling a little down that I’m going to be over 4 hours. I honestly thought it was doable in 3:15 which would have put me in about the same placing as last year’s short race. This year I absolutely refuse to not PB every single race I do. I just refuse, so clearly I need to somehow PB this one somehow.

I’m mentally kicking myself for walking so much of the mud in the first portion but I know what’s ahead of me and, except for the formal mud hills, the trails are pretty much going to be dry. Riding a cyclo-cross bike also gives me an edge on the portion left as it’s not quite so technical. Mental readjustment and it’s back on.

So, I start sailing past those boys, down in the drops to fight the wind, cursing the fact that I’ve dropped behind and I’m now faster than everyone so I can’t find anyone to draft off of. Not that I don’t receive some drafting attention, notably from a guy who tells me he’s never done it before but can he draft off of me. Sure I say but then proceed to put the hammer down to shake him off. I just didn’t want any newbies with kickstands taking me down. Sure the scars would look impressive but I might ding up my tiara.

On we go, over hill, dale, farmer’s fields, rail trails and fast happy pavement. Two guys on a tandem go down behind me as we struggle through muddy tractor tracks and I watch the process of remounting before seeing them take off yelling in tandem as they tackle the ruts. I do a bit of my own self encouragement a little later on as I get to the top of a forest trail hill that suddenly seems to end in an awful lot of loose dirt.

And then, the mud, the famous part of the race. We are all corralled into a steep little valley not much more than maybe 10 feet wide with mud oozing over our shoes. The husband, having seen someone loose one of their shoes last year, counselled a tight fit. I’ve ratcheted them on but I can still feel them slip around in the suction. The other key to success is to carry your bike so as not to gather up 5 pounds of mud on your frame. Another bonus of the cross is that it’s much lighter than the mountain bikes around me and I manage to carry it all the way to dry land.

After the mud is a brief respite of pavement and hard pack dirt roads. And then there is more mud. It was so much fun the first time that the course steers you into another mud valley. Same routine, carry the bike, hold onto the shoes, scrape off the cleats, remount.

I’m getting tired here but I’m pretty sure that the race is almost over and when I see the “chewed up” dirt road I know that we’re starting the uphill slog to the finish line. All I can do at this point is to stay on my bike as much as possible as I work my way through massive ruts and small ponds. Then, the final ascent has me off my bike, calves burning at the angle and I walk to the top. You can’t walk the finish line however – that would be shameful so it’s back on and I ride across the mat.

So, how about the personal best dream. Well, I sailed through the second part of the race over 20 minutes faster than last year so I’m taking a PB both on the 35k route and the 60k. I may not have placed as well as hoped on the 60 but it’s always a PB for the first time.

Can't let down the tattoo.

2010-04-14T16:12:00.002-04:00

Pants that used to be too big now fit and new pants seemed to have fit for only the briefest of moments. This Iron(wo)man has been letting herself down. Life just got in the way but, exam is over, kitchen is so clean you could eat in it, basement still mouldy but Ironhusband has made great strides in destruction preparing for anti-mold fogging so, it’s back to what now passes as life. As an aside, in the midst of Iron training last year the back half of our basement began to harbour another form of life on the walls – so, of course, we just shut the door, waited for it to dissipate in the fall and then, since it wasn’t visible any more, well left it until this spring. Then I got the brilliant idea that since I’d like a cold room, the easiest thing was to strip the walls of the mouldy drywall and insulation and get instant cold room. Apparently the devil is in the details and the husband is worrying about this and that – heat to the kitchen just above for instance – he’ll figure it out.

Triathlon training is slated to begin gently the first week of May but that doesn’t mean that I can’t get into more activity before that. I know I do much better with a formal schedule but I need to make the effort to get into the pool, back on the treadmill at lunch a couple times a week and, most pleasurably, the bike on weekends – both days! I know that all that activity, coupled with journaling my food, and those too big pants that were on the list for charity will be gone and I will be able to do cartwheels in the new ones. Not that I don’t want a cookie right about now…ugh!

Absolutely pumped for Paris to Ancaster, a point to point cyclocross/mountain bike race – I’ve never done the full 60 k but I’m ready for it. Well not quite. I decided that such a macho, manly, muddy race needs a tiara for my helmet. If I can find one that will fit on the helmet then I will be Iron Princess, slayer of boys on bikes. A tutu was suggested but that just isn’t aero you know. That’s Sunday. Look for race report of great glory and awesomeness next week.

Pass

2010-04-13T12:13:00.001-04:00

Back to life as I wish to know it.

2010-04-07T19:27:00.001-04:00

So, second attempt at the exam is tomorrow and I think that success is at hand. I went back to basics and worked my way through all the problem areas, trying not to think I was too smart to start with 1+1=2. We can get into a lot of trouble thinking we are too smart to start with the basics, with the structure of whatever we are trying to build - a garden shed for example, or the risks and rewards of option trading, or gosh, a banking system. So I took my conservative Canadian banker self to the desk and did the grunt work. Please feel free to plead on my behalf to any deities. I'm a great fan of deities.

In addition to my scholastic awesomeness I also obtained great glory on the streets of Hamilton during the annual running of the Around the Bay Road Race - tagline, older than Boston. Makes you feel older than Boston anyway.

Like all great human athletic endeavours this one started with a drunken pledge between 2 newbies, 1 junior runner and 2 sceptical Ironmen. The sceptical Ironmen (husband and I in case you're not getting it) were really looking forward to a winter off formal training but the drunk newbies were so cute, well, we agreed to sign up once the drunk newbie names appeared on the confirm list. Weeks went by, no newbies on list but then suddenly the junior signed up and changed the game. I really couldn't let such a trusting soul down and so entered Ironhusband and self.

Twelve weeks before the race I get a 12 week half marathon plan and proceed to modify to cover off a 30 k race. We started out on the program with just one newbie (almost puppy like in his energy and enthusiasm) and the junior who is moving up to the big times with her first full marathon, one Ironhusband and self. And gosh, we have fun. When we started out this journey it was just the two of us training and I'm so happy that as time has gone by we've managed to gather up a crew of like minded fools for this ship. We run the trails that have opened up the ravines of Toronto, we spend time on the waterfront following the Humber River north past very lovely homes that will have to wait for our next life, we exhaust ourselves and the resident Irondog. But still, I just can't get into the long weekday runs and I decide to lower my expectations and add in 2-3 lunchtime treadmill workouts alternating between 30 minute hill workouts and 40 minute run ladders.

One benefit of all this rest is that I arrive at the race for the first time in 4 years with no injuries whatsoever. None, nada, rien, nichts. Honestly. Winters traditionally have been spent battling IT band issues, Plantar Fasciitis, Irritable Wife Syndrome, all the stuff you read about in the running magazines. I've always found that triathlon training with limited running and lots of cross training to be considerably easier on the body so I'm pretty stoked to feel so good.

None of that changes the fact that THIS RACE IS A BITCH - and not in a cute cuddly new female puppy way. The first 19.5 km is lovely, if you consider running past drunks and a very smelling water treatment plant lovely. If you do, you should move to Hamilton. It's very affordable.

Oh now I've gone and slagged Hamilton which is not fair, I love Hamilton. We train there, the Maple Leaf Pancake House rules and our house would be about a quarter of what it costs in Toronto. If we didn't like walking to work so much we might be tempted.

Right, so back to the race. Alex had come down with a nasty stomach bug, combined with too much travel and decided that he really didn't have anything in the bank so race morning found us with his cyclo-cross bike strapped to the Subaru for Sherpa and cheerleading duty.

Newbie and junior were pumped. Oh, maybe that was me yelling "RACE DAY" just as they sat down in the car but well, they were pumped after that.

The weather was perfect, just slightly overcast, about 4 C, the promised rain holding off for the morning. Newbie, being young and male, seeded himself well ahead of junior and I. Junior looked me in the eye and assured me that 3:15 was absolutely obtainable given the paces we had been running on Saturdays and I believed her and shoved myself in just in front of the 3:15 pace bunny. We took off and it felt great. Now, the ugly truth is that races can be boring so the first 20 km were really just about monitoring how the body was feeling (awesome), was I too hot (off with the arm warmers), what flavour of Gatorade did the aid station have (pleasantly varied amongst all the colours of the Gatorade rainbow), what kind of pace booty was ahead (sorry but triathlon has the best looking men), you know, all the sort of stuff.

So, around 20 k the hills start and happily that's about when I saw Alex. That was also the last I saw of Junior until post finish line. But that was ok, she got me to 20 k in 2:06 and I felt lots left for the hills. I had worn the Ironman finishers shirt that I bought and I've got to tell you it's not conceit that had me choose it but both the opportunity that it gives in terms of opening up a dialogue with people in the race about what I truly believe we are all capable of and also, reminding myself of what I can accomplish. That second purpose really came in handy as I pushed myself beyond what I think I would have done had I been wearing a generic shirt. I was very publicly an Ironman and had to make sure the brand was well represented. The shirt and I dug deep and I came in sprinting (cause that's the way I roll) and in the end I took about a minute off my best time ever, and more importantly, placed well beyond what I had done in the past.

So, here's the dilemma - that was going to be my last Around the Bay road race for the foreseeable future, but, well, I PB'd large on minimal training (and not much later it became obvious that I had also picked up Alex's stomach bug and presumably been working on that during the race)...damn, I'm so going to have to do it next year.

PS - Junior and Newbie rocked the course. Unbelievable!

Back on the horse.

2010-03-26T14:23:00.000-04:00

"Just because we are not so good at something the first time doesn't mean we can't teach ourselves to do it. It just might take a little more time and practice. Break it down and reward youself for baby steps."

And so I shall. Next exam booked for April 8th.

I did Ironman I can do anything.

What do you do when you fail?

2010-03-25T18:14:00.001-04:00

I've failed a work licensing exam that I never wanted to take but was pressed upon me. I've given up Sunday riding in the first winter ever that one could actually ride most weekends. I spend one day a weekend at the office studying the other weekend day was our long run and errands.
So now I'm back studying when we absolutely have to strip the drywall and insulation from our basement to get rid of the black mold that sprung up last summer while we were training for Ironman. Everything that was put on hold for Ironman now weights heavily upon me and I feel overwhelmed and resentful and actually, very very stupid. Everytime I think I've made progress on the material I self test and it's lost. I've told the portfolio manager I work for that the only way I will be able to pass again in 2 weeks is to take time during the day to study because, well, my personal life just has to go on.

I'm trying so hard not to throw a pity party and invite everyone to it but I'm tired and sad and frustrated. I'm human I guess.

My positivity sponge has been wrung dry.

Life Lessons at Agility

2010-03-19T14:01:00.002-04:00

Being inspired by Molly, I enrolled my 5 year old springer spaniel/miniature poodle cross at the local agility hotspot in Toronto. We've done 5 weeks now and I think she's clueing in to the fact that it's a place we go to work, and more importantly, get treats. After all every dog loves a job and Chindi sure likes the pay. I was thinking about the class as I walked out with another dog owner and her greyhound. Our dogs were as different as could be, the greyhound sleek, mottled brown, built for speed whereas Chindi white and fluffy with Snoopy inspired black patches, is very muscular and a wizz at endurance. She's 25 lbs and has run as far as 29 k with us - pound for pound, or pound for kilometre, she's an ultramarathoner. The webbed feet and her amazing stroke make her a master swimmer as well. If we could just get her a bike that fits...

The thing was, Chindi excelled at everything the greyhound didn't, and, you probably also figured out that the greyhound rocked the stuff Chindi just couldn't get. I think you know where I"m going but here goes.

Top 5 things we can learn from dogs at agility.

1. Give yourself an out. The instructors keep emphasizing that this is for fun, if your dog balks at running up the ramp or jumping on the table, that's fine. Just keep up the energy and try again, it will happen. And when it does, there is no such thing as too much praise.
2. We should try scary things because they can be fun. Chindi was not going to go through the barrel last night but then she did and it became her favourite of all time.
3. Just because we are not so good at something the first time doesn't mean we can't teach ourselves to do it. It just might take a little more time and practice. Break it down and reward youself for baby steps. Chindi can't do four weave poles right now but she can do one and sometimes two and she gets just as much praise on the one as she's going to get on the four.
4. Little dogs get different sized equipment than big dogs. Big dogs aren't better or worse than little dogs, they're just a different size.
5. There is nothing wrong with doing things for treats. Just don't let anyone give you the cookies that give you gas.

And yes, that's Chindi leaping from a diving board up north. Fearless and having the time of her life.

Actions speak louder than words

2010-03-12T14:48:00.001-05:00

The title above refers to a mysterious comment I got on my last post. Now I’m a curious person so I can’t figure out why a poster with Chinese characters for a name has such a good handle on English vernacular and if they’d like to introduce themselves I’m sure they are a very interesting person. But, in the meantime I deleted the post and set myself up to approve all future posts because although I can take the implied sarcasms and negativity in the post, well, I don’t think it’s very sporting and therefore has no place on my blog. And I also don’t think it’s at all true.

I think words can speak very loudly when we say them to ourselves and to others. Actions follow words but actions also reflect words. If I say that I’m a bad swimmer, a slow cyclist and I hate running then on race day I will be a bad swimmer, slow on the bike and cursing the run. And it doesn’t matter if I say those words to others or just to myself – that language becomes part of my brain.

Everything is possible if we just find the right words.

Ok, now, I admit, that is just bull shit. I’m never going to qualify for Kona, there are no words that can take me there but, actually, maybe there are words that could - I just don’t know what they are. Maybe I just have to start with the small words, that ones that say that I’m not a bad swimmer, I can get faster on the bike, and truly when I’m fit for a race, I love running. Those are my small words. The words that would get me to Kona are big words like, lose 20 pounds, spend a lot of money on a coach, devote your life to triathlon. Quit drinking wine! Those are words that I just don’t want to say so, I accept not receiving the prize of Kona qualifying. But, that doesn’t mean that that language is outside of what I’m allowed.

I think maybe the first words we need to use are the positive small ones that replace the big negative ones. We need to replace words like, I don’t like exercise, I don’t have any time, I don’t know how to cook healthy meals, I don’t have enough money, I’m too old or I’m too heavy to start now.

When someone tells me I’m an inspiration, I’m heroic, I’m a good role model, I want to take those words, wrap them up and give them back to them to use for themselves. I want everyone to inspire themselves, to be their own hero and to try to live up to the role model they see in themselves. If we all do that then there just won’t be any room anywhere for those bad words that are filling up too much space.

Here is my manifesto to you: fill up the space around you with only those words that you would give to others. Turn the golden rule on its head and do unto yourself what you do unto those you admire.

Especially if you’ve been stalking anyone.

On a lighter note

2010-03-09T13:31:00.002-05:00

Wow, I have been so freaking introspective the last few posts. I blame that on my husband travelling so much lately. I end up sitting and thinking too much.

Regardless of anxiety and bad family mojo, life for me really is all about the laugh. And lasers, life should have more lasers. And perhaps also robots. I'm thinking of a fantastic show by Muse that we saw last night. I'm tired from not enough sleep and too much wine and I made a very tasty but bad choice at lunch which my body somehow thought would make it all better. I think I could, however, sell it as sacred; the burger was home made.

On a triathlon note, I had a Total Immersion lesson on Saturday that has left me feeling like I might actually be able to get to a point in which I can really enjoy the swim and come out refreshed and ready to race rather than drained. It's all about relaxation you know and that's a pretty good way to head off any panic attacks. As well, it was nice to hear that I wasn't actually a bad swimmer. Going to be better however.

That lesson felt like the beginning of training for IM 2011. There are so many things I want to work on to take 2 hours off my time. That's an ambitious target but I think it might be doable. To get there I want to take half an hour off my Muskoka 70.3 times each of the next years. I'm a consistent 2:45 half marathoner in a half ironman but a 2 hour stand alone runner. I really think I should be able to get that down to 2:30 this year and 2:15 next. I've come so far in cycling that I know I have it in me to get 15 minutes off my time this year and next. Getting out of the water with more energy conserved, if not faster, is the key.

And lasers, lasers that I would use to slay my opponents.

What we talk about when we talk about anxiety

2010-03-05T20:15:00.002-05:00

Let's talk about anxiety and panic attacks. I'm so thrilled for Athena Diaries latest family additions and I'm not surprised that she said her panic attack was stopped by her one of her fabulous new puppies. I have a very sweet springer spaniel poodle cross sitting on my lap right now telling me how much she loves me. If only I could have her with me during swim starts I'd be the most relaxed triathlate every. But she's not and anyone who knows me know how much I have struggled with panic and anxiety in my fabulous triathlon life. But of course races don't happen in a vacuum and that wasn't the only place I had panic attacks.

You know I really hate how we don't talk about mental illness. So here goes. When I was 10, in 1974 my oldest brother shot himself dead. I can't say shot himself it has to be shot himself dead. He did it and that was the result. DEAD. SUICIDE. It was a time when cancer would still be whispered so I'm making up for that with all caps - no whispers. This is what we should talk about when we talk about mental illness, when we talk about anxiety, when we talk about depression but mostly when we talk about suicide. And it hasn't stopped. Walter Koenig and Marie Osmond have just lost children. We've all seen the news but we haven't seen the news about someone I know whose beautiful 22 year old daughter gassed herself a year and a half ago. No one ever saw the news of my brother's death, or the other brother up the street or the attempt by the very cute friend of my youngest brother. Or the co-worker of Alex. Or, or , or...

And we need to talk about how mental illness makes those who suffer not terribly pleasant to be around. And how it makes families not function and how that carries on for years or even generations after.

Wow, that moved off a tangent. But here is what I talk about when I talk about anxiety. Panic attacks in the middle of the night when I would claw at the door trying to figure out where the doorknob was so I COULD JUST GET OUR OF THE ROOM. I remember a panic attack at the side of the road on a ride with Alex and 2 friends. One friend made the mistake of coming up behind me and slapping me on the back to say hello. I'm sure that as he held my hands on the side of the road he wondered exactly where it all came from as I HAD TO JUST GET OFF MY BIKE AND OFF THE ROAD AND MAYBE EVEN OFF MY MISERABLE LIFE.

Panic attacks for me meant that I was in a war zone not knowing where the bullets were coming from. No use taking shelter the snipper was just as likely to be behind the wall I crouched behind.

So that's what I talk about when I talk about anxiety. But I also talk about the effect that omega 3s have had on my brain. How last year I did a cross country bike race that I had panicked in 2 years earlier and how this time I alternated between singing "keep the car running" and "I am the greatest man that ever lived" as I swept over all the gravel and single track that left me gasping for breath just two years earlier.

So when we talk about mental illnes, and we should, we should also talk about what we can do to allow us to do what we want to do. Little things like Ironman.

Gratitude part deux

2010-02-26T13:16:00.003-05:00

I think it's probably just the time of year but I've noticed a few blog posts from people who really want to take control of their body weight. It's keep them from feeling good about themselves, or it's keeping them from being as physically active at a level that had hoped to achieve, and finally, because their body weight is going to shorten their life expectancy.

That got me thinking about the loss of any sense of sacredness in food. Nothing is sacred about deep frozen cheese stuffed pizza crusts that need a ridiculous amount of sugars and salt to make them palatable to us after sitting in boxes for so long. But fresh pizza dough, the yeast living inside, adding flavour to the wheat, the physical act of stretching the dough to develop the gluten and add texture to the whole... and then baked fresh with vegetables you cut yourself and cheese (oh the glories of cheese)...That is sacred, that is living food giving its life to you.

What would happen if, instead of counting calories and watching portions we just stopped to ponder whether that which we were about to put into our bodies was indeed, sacred. What would happen if we paused and asked ourselves if we could be truly grateful for those calories.

The cheese I drooled over above is a perfect example. Last year, in the midst of the economic system seemingly falling down around me, I got into a project trying to get Alex and I more self sufficient in terms of what we ate. It was aided by the books on food politics that I was reading, Michael Pollan, The End of Food, Mark Bittman, etc. Having read Barbara Kingsolver's book about her family eating local food for a year I decided I could move us more towards that in our own lives. Enter the the cheese making kit. Enter much frustration and very little actual cheese. But, the cheese I produced was sacred. I made it. I was grateful for it. There was no way I was going be glutinous with that cheese. Cheese stuffed pizza crusts - gluttony pure and simple and there is no way that any sacred cheese, your own homemade or a small dairy's handmade product, would ever end up stuffed in such an almost undignified manner.

You see what I mean?

Diet coke is for me another example of a food that is not sacred. Now, I used to drink a lot of diet coke. I lived on it when I was a waitress, when I studied and wrote papers, and when I, in my early thirties, was on Weight Watchers. It was perfect, zero calories, zero points, fizzy sweetness. The fact that it tasted like battery acid was not apparent as yet. So, what made me quit the habit. Plain and simple I just began to be aware how obscene it was to have to continue to consume food long past the point when my body needed those calories - to have a product that was created solely for the purpose of consumption that was not required. No benefit whatsoever. Children are starving in the world and I was so overfed I had to have a calorie free beverage to "treat" myself. I'm pretty sure not starving would be a great treat for those children.

Stopped it cold.

You see what I mean?

In The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan talks about visiting corn silos where the corn was spilling out onto the road only to be crushed under the tires of trucks. He contrasted that with the pre-Columbian Meso-Americans for whom corn was sacred. It was life itself and gave life itself to those people. Now, we take it, industrialize it and make corn syrup for frozen, cheese stuffed pizzas that we eat without really tasting and without really requiring.

You see what I mean

Gratitude

2010-02-23T20:32:00.002-05:00

I don't know about you but sometimes at the end of a full day of work and then workout sometimes I just don't get the chance to actually just sit and think about how lucky I am to be able to live my life the way I do. I am financially stable enough to afford races, training equipment and, well, time to train. I have a job that challenges me intellectually and in the good old days was pretty lucrative. More filthy lucre should be coming my way as the stock market and our accounts regain equity. I truly believe that we can do anything we put our mind, time and body too and our culture too often promotes an idea that exercise is boring and our bodies are fail. I don't think fail people walked the circumfrance of the globe to settle every continent but Antartica so I'm not sure why we think we'll expire if we try to run but, well, perhaps we've just forgotten how to use our bodies in the pursuit of a living, and therefore, forgotten the power in us.

So, sitting here at the kitchen table having a solo dinner, Alex not home until later, I got that moment to pause and be grateful.

2010-02-17T19:14:00.000-05:00

Blast from the past.

2010-02-17T18:06:00.000-05:00

I'm setting up a vegetable garden blog and thought I'd check to see if my original blog was still around - below you find race reports from the early days. Full of adventure and anxiety. But, they show the road I had to take to Ironman - no experiences are unimportant.

I Taper with Pie

Chugging Along

2010-02-17T15:27:00.000-05:00

Since everyone around me is probably sick and tired about hearing how tired I am I thought I'd share with all of you. The good news is I'm no longer sick, but, well, it's hard to tell myself that when I'm dragging my butt here, there, and yonder. I've got a draft of the next part of our cruise but can't seem to summon up the energy I felt while on the trip, so, that makes it tough to sell it to my large internet audience.

I know that when I'm off training, for injury or illness, I always feel like I'm losing fitness on a minute by minute basis. Respiratory infections, not surprisingly, leave me winded when I try to head upstairs and that reminds me too too much of being fat and unfit, getting winded bending down to tie my shoes. The difference for me now, between feeling ill and being well, is so profound that I just don't deal with it very well. When I was fat and unfit I suspect that the difference between sickness and wellness was too small to really notice.

So far, not back to training except for Pilates last night where I felt my legs tremble under the lightest of pressure. It did get the body moving, however, which is all I need to be doing at this point.

It's funny, training now for Around the Bay I was thinking that I'd be happy with a 3:15 finish - given already planned easy training. Well, it's good to check out one's previous times before setting goals. I actually shocked myself to find out my best time so far has been 3:20, so, maybe 3:15 on an off year is stretching it a bit.

I've been a bit burnt out, which, I suppose is not surprising the year afer Ironman. In a way, no training we do this year is going to compare with last year's, physically or mentally, and I hope that training for IMAZ again next year gives the same joy and sense of accomplishment as 2009. I'm lacking that joy right now.

In the meantime, I'm going devote some mental and physical energy to vegetable gardening. I really should tell the tale of last year to make you understand the leap of faith this is going to require but short story - 24 Amish Paste tomato plants, nurtured from seed, yielding approx. ZERO tomatoes. But, you see, I've just read the most incredible idea about
growing potatoes in laundry bins and I JUST CAN'T WAIT.

And now, since Big Clyde so enjoyed the cute bear - here's another one. He's so adorable in that year or two before he starts hunting you.

Day 5 Tortola - Challenge the Mountain

2010-02-13T19:39:00.000-05:00

This is the mountain.

This is the view.

I remember last time the mountain smelling of wild thyme. I thought it was the most unbelievable experience to be in this wild country side looking down on the beautiful Caribbean, smelling thyme. This time wild sage was growing in massive bushes. I have never grown sage in a bush that size. I just love the top of Tortola.

It was the usual (well after 2 times, usual) slow determined run up, for about 10 minutes. When people are walking past you it quickly becomes apparent that "running" really isn't the best plan.

Then, of course there is only one way down - quickly. I ran the whole way down, laughing the whole time and thinking about how much that was going to hurt. It was so much fun, and truthfully, I wasn't sure I could stop. Then, at the port, there was an impromptu sprint run off that I won, mostly because I surprised the other athlete. Must figure out how to use the element of surprise in Ironman. Maybe lots of "hey, look over there, what's that". Should work.

So, having had a fantastic walk up and run down, we heard the plan was to head to Virgin Gorda, via the ferry. A quick breakfast was had and Alex and I packed up and headed out for the 10:30 ferry. It was pretty tight and we actually had a movie worthy moment of jumping from the dock to the departing ferry.

Last time we were on the cruise I decided that we should move to St. Lucia but I'm pretty sure now the winner is the Virgin Islands. The ride over to Virgin Gorda was spectacular. Sailboats swooshed between islands, the water was that almost unbearable blue and every piece of coastline was picture worthy. There are no pictures however as I just let the wind blow and the scene unfold.

No one told me that the route to the beach involved a tunnel worthy of Hogan's Heroes. Honestly. There as some who were in attendance who would say that one simply had to duck under some boulders and take a few ladders. They weren't the one muttering, "it's all right, it's all right" over and over again and a belly-down crawl, battling fearsome sea animals all the while, was undertaken.

It had to be at least an hour of said crawling, battling and muttering but, admitably, it was worth it. This had to be the most beautiful beach in my own, admitably limited, history of beaches.

And there were freaking chickens. (picture blurred, sorry). I love chickens.

After a suitable ocean frolic we headed back. I had heard a rumour of a trail that circumvented the whole tunnel thing but, there really wasn't any time to try and find it. Returning on the somehow suddenly greatly shortened tunnel I was able to actually get a few shots.

After a nap we went to see the first of our three speakers for the cruise. Dick Beardsley's story wasn't really known to me except that I knew that he was a fantastic marathoner with a history of substance abuse. That's the Coles notes.
Dick's story of seemingly endless accidents and a resulting addition to pain killers is the kind of thing that shows just how the human spirit can truly triumph over anything. What got to me the most however, was his description of the podium after his 1.6 second lose to Alberto Salazar at the 1982 Boston Marathon. Salazar, upon having his arm raised in victory, took Beardsley's arm and raised it as well. Truly an example of the greatness that sport can bring out in people.

And now a message from our sponsor

2010-02-12T18:32:00.000-05:00

I'm not doing justice to our cruise and have run out of energy to get the rest of the days up right now. I've been laid low by a cold, an Iron cold I think. Please bear with me.

Day 4 St. Thomas USVI

2010-02-11T18:20:00.001-05:00

We blew off the prediction run because we really wanted to do a kayak, snorkel hike in a red mangrove preserve on the island. No regrets on that at all - the excursion was really great. This is the kind of thing I really wanted to spend our money on. We've come into these islands, changing the geography of them with the necessity of ports for the new monster ships, and we've also, I imagine changed the culture of the towns. So, if someone wants to set up a business telling me about the natural topography of their island, put me down for the tour. Beats a t-shirt.

So, we learned that the mangrove preserve functions on St. Thomas as a hurricane hole for the protection of ships, that it functioned as a fishery and protection for small fish and a habitat for birds. A pretty good point of the economic value of preserving ecology was made when it was explained that during the last hurricane the very important sailing industry sheltered their boats in the preserve and lost only one or two boats - contrasted with a hurricane prior to that when all but a couple boats were lost. Below is my visual representation of the mangrove.

There was a hermit crab race, hermit crab represented below, picture fuzzy due to my inability to stop laughing as it travelled over me.

I took a lot of pictures while snorkeling that really don't show anything but, at the time, while snorkeling, seemed like they might be cool. There were a lot of fish feeding which thrilled Alex. If you look closely you can see a school below.

Th first questions about Ironman popped up as the group had mini snickers before the kayak back to the home base. In retrospect, I have to quit telling people that "anyone" can do it - it's hard enough to get into a race right now.

That night's evening programing was a cocktail party. We had a wonderful dinner out with two couples and went to bed early to prepare to challenge the mountain in Tortola, the next day.

Day 3 San Juan and Caribbean Princess

2010-02-11T18:12:00.000-05:00

The next day, Sunday we were to board the ship and I have to say that Alex and I were sad to leave San Juan. I love my country, I love Toronto, I love our place up north, I love the changing of the season, blah, blah, blah, etc, etc, etc, but, truth be told I really am hankering some desire to live in a warm climate and just visit snow. I really think Canada should start some sort of annexation to get us a Caribbean island, I mean, other than Cuba.

What a life, we spent the morning on the public beach, our fabulous cheap hotel having stored our bags, and then had the most incredible pizza at a little restaurant right at the beach. About champagne sangria, I will say this - I LIKE.

We started on the vacation sun burn/tan, having cast aside all Canadian pragmatism by neglecting to apply sunblock. Those tan lines haunted us all week but happily it didn't put a damper on the holiday.

We were sad to have to board at 3 but had the runner's meet up party at 5. It was fun to gather with everyone and get our race kit and t shirts. Kudos to Cruise to Run for really great women's shirts. The week was off and running .

Cruise to Run - Days 1 and 2

2010-02-07T17:39:00.001-05:00

Before I begin let me be clear. I love San Juan. I hate the Coral Princess boutique hotel. In fact, I'd like all of you to hate the Coral Princess boutique hotel with me, indeed I wish to talk about how much I hate the Coral Princess boutique hotel lots and lots so that anyone thinking of staying at the Coral Princess boutique hotel will google the Coral Princess boutique hotel and find this blog. But, we'll get back to that in a bit.

Vacations and races all start the same way. Days of frantic packing followed by worrying about the alarm going off, which it does, after a crappy night sleep. We set two alarms for races and vacation, the regular household one purchased over 10 years ago for less than 10 dollars, and Alex's Blackberry. The last time I had heard Alex's Blackberry was 4:30 in the morning in Scottsdale on or about November 22nd of last year. Yup, Iron morning. I confess that the sound makes me a little nauseous.

Up we got and started the layering required to go from winter in Toronto to sun and fun in San Juan, Puerto Rico. It's a little bit like being a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis - generally the emergence happens in the washroom at the first stop - Miami in this case.

We fly about 6:30 and get to San Juan mid afternoon, get a cab and set out for the Coral Princess boutique hotel, which, I may have mentioned, I hate. The Coral Princess boutique hotel was good from far but far from good, it was the sizzle without the steak, it was mutton dressed up as lamb. Our room, or cell as I think of it, was barely large enough for the double bed. There was really no room for the suitcases but, inexplicably, there was a clothing steamer taking up very precious, and expensive, floor space. That was all good, however. Alex expressed reservations but I was still taken in by the pretty veneer of the hotel. Alex spends a lot of time in hotels, Alex knows what is up.

Now, I am a little jaded I admit by my stay at the Fairmont Scottsdale Princess, in a suite no less. I may actually never get over that. Alex flies business class and I know that our flights on points have been hard on him. He doesn't let it show, except for muttering something about "steerage" the whole time. Actually the muttering starts as soon as we book the flights. We booked the flights months in advance so you have an idea of what my life is like.

Having checked into the hotel from hell, the Coral Princess boutique hotel, we asked for a recommendation for dinner. About dinner, I shall say this. Mofongo is an acquired taste, but then again, the Coral Princess boutique hotel recommended the restaurant.

We had an early dinner and then walked the beach and checked out the neighbourhood. The area of San Juan that we were staying in, Conado district, affectionately known as zone 3 in the taxicabs, reminded us so much of the neighbourhood we live in in Toronto, except of course, that is really warm. We are about a kilometre from the lake front in Toronto but there is no way that Sunnyside beach comes anywhere close to the lovely public beach in San Juan.

Having been up far too long we headed back to the hotel, the Coral Princess boutique hotel, for an early night. It very soon became clear that, with one window that overlooked the 24 hour lit up lobby, with a locked lobby door that guests had to be buzzed into, and with the whole floor being one big piece of terrazzo with no soft surfaces to absorb any noise, well, the Coral Princess boutique hotel was not set up for the actual act of sleeping. At 10, when I got up to see what could possibly be making all that noise I also discovered that the room kitty-corner from us also substituted as a storage room and office for the front desk clerk. When she wasn't buzzing guests in she seemed to spend her time going in and out of this room wearing stilleto flip flops, slamming the door.

Not surprising a very bad sleep ensued. This is where my complaint with the Coral Princess boutique hotel comes in. Having asked for a quieter and darker room that night and being shown a room just down the hall with light from the garden area pouring in, I asked the clerk if we could check out in the morning, not owing any money. She assured me we could but I'm still waiting for the Coral Princess boutique hotel to give us our money back. Actually, I'm still waiting for the Coral Princess boutique hotel to acknowledge my emails to them. I'm also waiting for Expedia.com to earn their money for the booking by helping me out in this situation. But, I'm an endurance athlete so, as soon as I can, I'm starting the phone call campaign.

Trusting the evening desk clerk, however, we got up very early, had breakfast and set out to find another room. Saturday in San Juan is booked solid but we lucked upon

The, albeit somewhat dated hotel personified the idea of hospitality however. We were offered a room on the top floor with immediate occupancy, the booker of the room having not shown up the night before. It was $100. We were more than ready to give anyone anywhere $100 to get some sleep and finding this hotel gave us a morning AND afternoon nap for the cash. It was furnished in early thrift shop but we were very pleased by the comfortable beds and quiet corridor.

Nap, lunch, nap and off we went to walk to old San Juan. The old part of the city is really beautiful although pretty touristy with a general feeling of a fool being parted from his money.

We cabbed back and hit the public beach.

After dinner, we headed back to our wonderful $100 room but a few cracks where appearing in the quiet facade. We were treated to very loud Spanish TV and inexplicable furniture draggin. But, alcohol, and our favourite over the counter drug Gravol, left us coasting the dream waves. Alex said it was 3:30 when the furniture started moving again. But I was just fine with that.

A Kodak Moment

2010-02-07T17:29:00.000-05:00

I was kicking myself today for forgetting to take the camera down to the dog beach. We arrived to see that the bay had started to freeze up and there were these wonderful ice floes gathering topped with big water dogs patiently waiting for spring.

But that was nothing compared to the scene awaiting us when we popped into the Shopper's Drug Mart store. It's situated in the bottom of a condo building and supplies a number of the building's parking spaces for customers. Having parked we took the stairs down one level to the store marvelling at the story behind the personal lubricant box disgarded on the staircase.

Wished I could have immortalized for you all. You'll have to be satisfied with this.

What was I going to do?

2010-02-04T19:27:00.001-05:00

So, yeah, the blog post outlining our most fabulous recent holiday is forthcoming but we are having technical difficulties. We have this nifty new Acer mini computer box thingy. Well it has a slot for camera memory cards. It, however, has no button to eject said camera memory card. So, the husband informs me that the pictures didn't actually get downloaded in the panic of how to get the card back out. Tweezers in case you want to know - girls can be handy to have around sometimes.

So, yeah, where was I? Oh, right, cruise blog posting waiting until the husband returns from the frozen prairie to tell me where the camera cord is so the pictures can get posted. Facebook is waiting too. Everyday I see more fellow cruisers uploading pictures while I twiddle my thumbs. What is twiddle of thumbs anyway. Must google.

So, yeah, where was I? No pictures right now. Actually having just gone downstairs to get something for dinner and having then spend a minute or so just staring at the laundry room I'm probably lucky I'm back upstairs at the computer. So much stuff crammed into my 45 year old brain it just all gets lost.

So, yeah, where was I? Right, when I was downstairs looking at the washer and the freezer and the bikes and the out of season clothes I had a brilliant idea for a blog post. I seem to have left it downstairs but if I go down to retrieve it then I'll just leave something else down there, like my car keys.

My car keys have been missing for months. We just use Alex's set and living and working downtown, if he goes out west for work and takes them with him, well, I really don't miss the car. I generally walk or transit to work.

Ah, the TTC, Toronto Transit Commission. Here's my theory. Everyday they take half the employees and put them in a room with donuts and give them hugs. The other half go into a room where they are beaten. So, board that streetcar and play the game of which driver you get.

Right now my satellite radio is playing the Clash and I'm lost in the memory of being an exchange student in West Berlin in 1982, where I alternated between listening to The Clash and Pink Floyd's The Wall. It's been an interesting life even if I can't find my car keys.

And now I"ll have to explain to that younger husband of mine who The Clash was.

I'm Baaaacccckkk

2010-02-01T13:49:00.000-05:00

Wow, what a blast. Got a write up and pictures coming. Too much to catch up on right now but watch this space.

Cruise to Run - part 1

2010-01-21T13:25:00.000-05:00

Alex and I are embarking on this weekend a wonderful running cruise this Sunday.

We went on it a couple years ago and had the best time since our days wandering around Vegas and the Southwest on our honeymoon many many honey moons ago.

What I really love about the concept is the idea that running can be recreation, not just a "workout" that you have to do and the pace is wonderful for really experiencing the countryside.

Inevitably, we will be sharing the ship with an awful lot of people who are there, it seems, just to eat themselves to death. Last year, on one of the afternoon sail and rum excursions (we are not, after all, immune to the delights of sun and rum) another women from the cruise and I started up a conversation with a brother and sister from the States. The family had decided, after the death of the last parent, to take some of the estate and go for a holiday together. Great idea. Unfortunately, it also looked like the family ate together as well - a lot, and often.

In speaking to them I was amazed to see the brother's facial expression change from from one of utter amazement that beings such as our self existed (and were drinking rum) to thinking that he could also do it. I know it was the alcohol talking on both sides but by the end of the conversation this guy was ready to start walking with running in the future. I hope he made it.

There are runs organized on Tortola (race for King and Queen of the Mountain), a 5 k on Barbados, on St. Lucia to a lighthouse lookout, another race on St. Thomas where you predict your finishing time and, by far my favourite, a run on Antigua to a colonial fort via a lovely dirt road through a village with the friendliest people I've ever met.

You get instant friends that you don't have to explain yourself to - many are inspirations in their level of fitness, many will look up to Alex and I as role models, and everyone is just so much fun.

So, off we go to the charms of the Caribbean.

Postscript

I'm not forgetting about the horror of Haiti right now and the controversy relating to cruise ships stopping for BBQs on the island. The problems in Haiti go back so far and, as I understand, the loss of stable family structures, and corrupt political and administrative issues aren't at all aided by environmental degradation. I'm not sure what it's going to take to keep this planet habitable for all life, including ourselves but, I can't help but think that getting handle on how much we consume, most especially including calories, well that might help out a lot. The majority of the cruisers seem to travel to eat and then shop at the various ports. I like supporting those economies but, endless landfill sold in endless port stores isn't good for anyone. Strapping on your shoes, really seeing how people live, interacting with them - that's a start. Money can be exchanged for local services as well as goods.

And yes, I know that the best choice for the planet would be to just stay home but, I'm just as human as anyone and I struggle with my choices all the time. No answers here, just observations.

Treadmill Dancing

2010-01-15T13:40:00.000-05:00

So my day started with my day by almost applying toothpaste to my face in lieu of moisturizer. They both come in tubes of course, but, happily the more sticky and well, minty consistency of the toothpaste gave it away and I stopped short of a cleaner, whiter complexion.

Next I notice a bit of, shall we say smeg on the inner elbow of my sweater. I’m sure the directive to sneeze and cough into your elbow has gone worldwide but has anyone thought of the consequences from a laundry perspective. If said elbow material is not put through a washer but is hand washed instead the hygiene ramifications are immense.

So, onwards and upwards to the day. Training notes for the week. Enjoyed, yes E.N.J.O.Y.E.D. a treadmill workout even matching my co-worker the super sprinter’s pace at one point. While on my recovery break. Really enjoyed the workout ending in 55 minutes and actually I thought that was sweet but the next day a track workout was only 30 minutes. This is nuts, crazy, absolutely welcome. I forgot just how much time Ironman training takes and by the end, if you remember, wasn’t having any fun with any of it. So, the joy in movement is back.

New jeans fitting me today. Very nice. A massive wardrobe appears to have been acquired up the upcoming running cruise holiday. With the market crisis and attendant income crisis new clothes have not been prioritized for a couple of years and with no Iron training this summer I might actually need more than one t shirt and one pair of shorts to wear in the rare non-training off work hours.

Next thing that needs to be replenished is music. I have wrung my Itunes collection dry. I don’t need any more “gosh, you’re just super, gosh, you just have to give it a try and you can succeed, gosh you can make to the end” music. I crossed that line. I need Boogie Woogie and some is coming to me.

And so it begins afresh,

2010-01-08T13:01:00.000-05:00

So, last night I venture back to the home of our Ironman training, the rec centre at Ryerson University. The first thing that struck me was that I wasn’t absolutely bagged. It was so strange, the place smelled like fatigue to me but it just wafted over and didn’t cling. (strange metaphor I know). Next thing that I thought of with giddy delight was how my first track workout was only 5 k. And no swim after. (thank you new tattoo).

So, if you are a Facebook friend you know that I went there with my finisher’s shirt and tattoo glowing underneath it simply to bask in the well deserved accolades that were sure to come my way. Of course, as a university rec centre there aren’t a lot of middle age crisis types with dreams of Ironman so, well, neither seemed to make an impression. I did get the feeling that 2 runners on the track did a double check, but, really, when you are hot as I am – that just comes with the territory.

It really didn’t matter anyways. I was just so pumped to be back at workouts. I admit I like the discipline of a training schedule and, yes, I learned to love track and treadmill workouts even more than random running around the city. I guess I’m just becoming very goal oriented and I hope to work that to my advantage in the coming years.

So, in the coming year, what do I hope to accomplish. Well, I learned last year that I can’t lose weight during heavy training but I am going to work on that goal this year with reduced training loads. Triathlon has not taken much off me in pounds but I have gone down 2.5 sizes in years in the last three years; just need that last half size to fit comfortably into the jeans I picked up the other day. I don’t usually buy goal clothing but I just refused to buy another pair of jeans in the same size so 2 pairs sit in my drawer at home waiting for the magic moment when I can get them on without a horizontal surface cheat. To get there right now I’m using my fabulous new iPhone with a food journaling app and trying to drop 250 calories a day for a good slow loss. I have also ordered Metabolic Efficiency Training to get a handle on a more athlete friendly diet for Alex and I. During Ironman training I WAS STARVING and I’m pretty sure that we took in a lot of crap that didn’t contribute to the cause. Next time planning meals is something else I’ll be better at.

This year we’ll have to decide what race to do in 2011 so we can sign up. Alex really wants to do IMAZ again and, well, since he never reads this, I’ll admit that a very big part of me also wants to revisit Scottsdale, Tempe, and that course. The area will always be special to us so maybe, that might be a good choice. But, 2013, we need to try something else like IMWI.

Otherwise looking ahead we have a our 4th running of Around the Bay at the end of March, the mad, crazy, muddy Paris to Ancaster Paris to Ancaster cross country race ,on our fabulous cyclo cross bikes, in April Sportinglife 10 K in May, as well as a women’s only half marathon for me. Looks like Steelhead 70.3 and Muskoka 70.3 are the only triathlons on the slate for me. Alex thinks he will do a sprint in Bala but I’ve discovered that the energy at those short events is too stressful for me. I really don’t enjoy them. It’s half iron or longer only going forward.

I want to continue to leave pieces of my life behind me everywhere I go in order to feel the sunlight. I want to continue to motivate others to work towards their fitness goals, actually coming up with some fitness goals if necessary, and to always remember to take seriously the role of an Ironman finisher. It’s intimidating out there and we’ve created this stereotype of athleticism as something that is out of the reach of ordinary people. I’m as ordinary as they come and I’ve run across that finish line. Finish lines are the happiest places in the world and the more people who run/ride/walk/stumble across them the happier and healthier our society will be. Oh, and throw in some yoga or Pilates some times too.

Shameless plug for the very fine people at Imprint Pilates.

Toronto Ink

2009-12-31T09:40:00.000-05:00

Over the past year or so I've been waffling on the whole Ironman tattoo issue. Alex was always very certain that he would get the M Dot on his right (passing) calf. I started out also certain that I would bear the mark of my journey for all to see as I passed them in races. Gradually, however, I began to change my mind.

In a way my decision process on this has mirrored my triathlon and fitness journey. There is no doubt in my mind that when I started I was not necessarily doing all this for myself, as much as to reach some very tangible goals that would be apparent to people who, in my life, had been too dismissive of my abilities. I wanted to get fit for sure, I remembered what that had felt like when I was in my twenties and really missed the easy physicality of walking for hours, lifting heavy things, and even just dancing at a wedding. Fitness is freedom and as I became less fit I got stuck in a smaller and smaller box of what I could do on a daily basis. I'm not much for boxes.

The funny thing is, the ones who I wanted to watch, well, they weren't looking. The journey then became a struggle to let them go from my life and fill the void that was left once their criticism was gone. That was hard. Those holes were accustomed to being filled with negativity and disdain and I found myself filling them back up that way. Especially during swim starts. But negativity and disdain weigh an awful lot and that all just made me sink in the water and lag behind on the bike and run. I always thought I was outrunning my demons but, in actuality, I was carrying them with me.

If Ironman was going to happen, well, I had to get lighter and freer and the engine for the journey had to be me.

The next stage involved anything and everything to banish anxiety from my life - no caffeine, 12 weeks of therapy, no speaking to others before races... But, I missed chocolate and pre-race camaraderie; I liked my therapist very much but it cut into training time.

It worked, however, I could get through swim portions with a mixture of backstroke and freestyle with a relatively happy brain. It was great to get out of the water with the majority of racers rather than at the back of the back of the pack. Races were much less lonely.

Still, however, it was a little bit about externalities. I hadn't yet totally finished the journey to training and racing just for me.

This past summer, however, Ironman training took me to that place. These races are selfish. When you are training you are completely self involved with how the workout is going, what you've been eating, how much sleep you are getting. Even doing the sessions with Alex I will say that we were by and large in our own worlds. Spending so much time in my own head, watching my own progress gave me a good look at my strengths and a real appreciation for my tenacity.

Which brings me back to the tattoo. By the summer I knew I wasn't going to get one. I didn't need to. The journey was mine, the glory was mine, the satisfaction was entirely for myself. When I crossed that finish line I knew then that there was nothing I could ever not handle. No tattoo, nothing external for other's consumption was required.

So, five weeks later, why am I getting a shoulder M Dot? It was actually something Alex had said a couple weeks ago. We had gone out for dinner and the waitress had this very beautiful cherry blossom tattoo on her forearm. Alex had asked where she got it as he had reached a significant life goal and wanted a tattoo to commemorate it.

I've been mulling that over the past few weeks and realize that the idea of a tattoo to remind me of where I came from and how far I went is perfect. It's not something that I will ever regret - I will never regret Ironman Arizona, nor Ironmans still to come. My right shoulder will always remind me of what I can accomplish, and of the lifestyle I want for the rest of my life. If anyone asks what it is I will tell them and hopefully pass on a vision of life as one only of potential not of limitation.

And, as lovely as the cherry blossoms were they didn't commemorate anything other than a love of cherry blossoms, tattoo as art form only. If you want to permanently mark your body with art, well, art is fundamental to humanity so I really can't fault that in the least but, when I'm old, getting my diapers changed I rather tell whoever is doing that that the symbol on my shoulder represents a life long journey to fitness and mental health than to say that one summer, I really was into cherry blossoms.

Shiny medals and participation ribbons

2009-12-03T18:44:00.000-05:00

When I was young it was found that a 60 year old Swede was in better shape than a 30 year old Canadian and the powers that be decided to take that out on the kids. As a young, pudgy, unathletic, un-coordinated and very much uninterested girl this was a horror to me. Generally I wanted to live in the woods somewhere, adult free and subsisting on bologna sandwiches and Pop Shoppe black cherry pop when I wasn't trapping my own food and foraging for things to round out the meal. I really just wanted everyone, adults and children, to just go away so I could figure the world out on my own. But I digress...

So, standardized fitness testing came to my small town. I failed. Unless you are dead and buried you really shouldn't fail a fitness test. There is something you can do if only to wash yourself with a rag on a stick; that should rate somewhere on the scale, but, clearly they were up for higher standards. Our very sweet teacher had made ribbons for all the kids who didn't get a bronze, silver or gold level reward. I hated those ribbons. I know she was just trying to have something for us but to me, those were loser ribbons. Given the choice between being a loser with a keepsake or without a keepsake I wanted to remain ribbon free. I didn't think my mediocrity was anything to celebrate.

So, begs the question - what about all those medals now piling up in our third floor "workout room" - what do they mean to me. I had to get to the half iron level to get a triathlon medal. It was smaller than the medal I got for my first 10k. That half iron medal meant the world to me; the 10k I took to be polite.

In the end, I suppose, if civilization as we know it falls apart, Alex and I have a pretty good supply of weapons. Those Sporting Life 10k medals would really hurt.

Things I am unable to do right now

2009-12-02T15:24:00.000-05:00

1.Drink fizzy water with snorting it up my nose.
2.Eat a hamburger without the bun getting stuck in the pit under my tongue.
3. Walk through a revolving door without tripping.
4. Walk over a railway overpass without whining about how tired I am.

THUD

2009-11-30T16:05:00.001-05:00

That's the sound of post-Ironman depression. Woke up with a stiff neck that hasn't loosened up and the day has progressed to encompass a ridiculous tit for tat at work that I've been dragged into, I'm trying to cut out those extra training calories from my diet and I'm starving, and I'm just left thinking that my time was too slow, that Alex, Esther and Zdenka had their own party around the 14 hour mark and I was too slow to attend. I feel like I'm reliving the loneliness of that last lap again.

This is just not acceptable - I was so privileged to be able to have a body that I could take around and around that course.

Back to the rest of my life

2009-11-30T12:52:00.001-05:00

The recovery continues, I'm tired for sure but mostly I'm a little bored to not be training. I got used to a regimented life - every day, every week, every month I knew what I was going to be doing. It's good to get away from that and I need to understand that 2 naps, Wii playing and minimal housework this weekend is quite acceptable. Alex and I will be doing Arizona again in 2 or 3 years. We loved the area and want to test ourselves against the same course again. I know that with greater fitness and a tri bike I should be able to get some time back. If I can get through with out GI issues that should be an hour better.

I'm going to keep thinking about adult onset athleticism so keep looking for posts. Big Clyde has me thinking about medals and trophies and the role they play in childhood and now in my triathlon life. I'll get back to you on that.

Postcript: In which I answer Ironman

2009-11-24T23:37:00.000-05:00

Sunday, while Alex and I were racing, Stella was preparing to be born and Mike was preparing to die. The two of them haunted my thoughts all day. Mike's death was incredibly unfair, an avid outdoors man, athlete, teacher struck down by cancer almost before he and his family could absorb the situation. Stella's birth, the first grandchild on both sides - another girl/woman born into a family of legendary, strong, independent women. Coming in and going out.

What did an artificial event set up for privileged, pampered humans matter really in the end? But there you see was my answer for Ironman. Why did I deserve that medal, those bragging rights? I got the medal for embracing life as Stella embraced her life with her first breath, as Mike embraced his everyday that he taught, parented, canoed, and kayaked.

I've come to believe that the very essence of our humanness is found with endurance sports. They are seemingly solitary, self absorbed pursuits but those of us who take that route to life know, perhaps more than others, that we are a team out there. We are all Iron, those who swam, biked and ran, and those who encouraged and supported.

Please take your life and use it up, wear it out, get blisters, chafe and sunburns. If you choose triathlon, and I hope you do, I wish you well on that journey. You will take on a lifestyle that is unparalleled. Either way, drop me a line, tell me your story.

Episode 3: In which I roam the streets of Tempe looking to score some coke

2009-11-24T23:10:00.000-05:00

Right, run next. Getting tired just thinking about it but that might be the first full meal that I’ve been able to eat in a few days combined with “champagne” and wine. Oh yeah, and it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve slept through the night. People, I’ve said it before and I’ll say again, it’s not normal, it’s not sane, it’s probably not healthy. But you’re waiting to hear what it’s like to run a marathon after a 180 k ride and a 4000 metre swim.

IT.WAS.FANTASTIC. for a bit. Then it sucked, it sucked so much my Dyson bowed down to the sheer suckage of it all, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Second dresser was no Gwen but I managed to get changed, pockets loaded with sugar and set out into the setting Arizona sun. My plan was to walk 100 steps and run 100 steps. The plan worked brilliantly. I felt strong, powerful, dare I say, iron-liscious as I set out on the first of 3 loops around Tempe Town Lake. It is a crazy weird rambling route and I’m still now sure how it worked even having run it 3 times so, for those who also attained Iron status on Sunday, bear with me as the chronology might be off. I doubt you guys knew what you were doing too. Things I remembered from the first two loops:

1. Janus charities had sponsored a tent for spectators to make signs for their athletes. Anita and Andreja made the best sign for Alex and I and I spotted that on my second time past. I saw so many signs with so much love and support that I found myself slowing to read them all.

2. Any race with a pirate aid station, (pirates direct from Tuscon) a Wizard of Oz theme station, a western theme aid station, complete with mock saloon store fronts and Johnny Cash on the sound system, is pretty much all right with me.

3. The Jon Blazeman foundation had a station. Jon died of ALS but not before he completed an Ironman, with swim fins strapped to his hands as he had no longer any control over them and rode his bike barely able to change gears or brake. The next year he was in a wheelchair watching. That was his last Ironman. Every time I saw them it put it all in perspective.

4. There are a billion bridges over Tempe Town Lake and I was never sure which one I was one.

5. I can’t go from metric to imperial without losing my mind.

6. Seeing Anita, Andreja, Faith and Sedona on the run meant more to me than I can ever express.

7. There is a very bitter 7 time Ironwoman out there – she’s lucky he dumped her for that 27 year old and I’m glad she’s still in touch with the step-kids, they sound great.

So that takes me 2/3 of the way through the marathon.

As I passed the finish chute heading out to lap 3 I distinctly remember looking back at it and imprinting that image on my mind. I wanted that chute so badly. I had, I figured 2 hours to get back to it taking me to 16 hours. Not fast but within the 17 hour time limit.

The last lap for back of the packers like me is lonely and dark. Unbelievably there are still people out cheering you on, and, as it was 9 pm some of the university students were out wandering the streets looking for whatever it was we looked for back then. I was still feeling wonderful and thinking that I’d switch it up to 200 paces run/100 walk somewhere around the lap half way mark. That might allow me to make my goal of a sub 16 hour Ironman.

About 1 mile into the race you come across a fantastic aid station with massage tables. 500 metres or so before that I came across my Iron challenge. Standing on the sidewalk on a dark stretch of Tempe my gut exploded with cramping the likes of which I haven’t experienced since my wedding day. (great story there, if you’re not the bride or groom).

Now, it get’s graphic – look away if you want but this is the reality of pushing your body to the limit.

I stood there clenched, sweating, desperate. I had to make the aid station but I wasn’t sure if I could walk. We had been warned about public urination etc. at the race meeting. Tempe is beautifully clean and wants to keep itself that way. I had to make an aid station for the sake of all that is holy and beautiful in Arizona.

Something got me that 500 metres to that lovely, now mostly deserted aid station. Porta potties were right at the edge. Oh sweet sweet porta potty. We need not go into details. I had a small container of Vasoline in my pocket to speed my journey but I was starting to worry about how it was all going to hold up.

I grabbed some chicken broth and coke – I did not dare any food at this point. I had 3 hours to make the cut off and those 180 minutes suddenly weighted heavy on me. Regardless of GI issues I was still feeling strong when running. This was still doable.

What wasn't doable was a 17 hour finish for the ones just going out. I had no idea what to say to them. I as counting to 100 over and over again as I ran/walked, raced my plan. I could see my shadow as I went and I knew I was listing to the left and suspected I may have been foaming at the mouth. People yelled encouragement and I tried to wave my left hand to acknowledge the gift. I had no encouragement for the others.

As I ran/walked on the chaffing quickly became unbearable. I can’t even begin to describe it but next time a baby cries from diaper rash, he/she has my full sympathy - and baby isn’t running a marathon. The race became an agonizing trip from aid station to aid station looking for vasoline. I still don’t know where the vasoline went and I’m worried that it might suddenly reappear. I am a vasoline sponge.

The whole imperial measurements thing was confusing the hell out of me – I had no idea where I was and everyone who told me I had X miles and X minutes until midnight was, in my deluded mind, liars. I had no idea if I could walk it in with 2 miles to go and one hour – I had no idea what a mile was. The pirates were drinking beer and eating hamburgers.

My low point came about 2 miles, or 2 km from the end. I have no idea what time it was, I’m not even sure where I was but I was crying to a wonderful grandmotherly woman who led me to the porta potty and left the jar just outside the door. I was certain I couldn’t make it, they were certain I could.

Actually, I thought that was the low point. It wasn’t. The low point came just a little later when one of the many blisters that had formed on my feet broke. I could hear the finish line. I was broken, battered and so determined to get there that I thought about crawling the rest of the way. Sheer force of will somehow got me down the path and around the corner. At one point I could hear the finish line, hear Mike Reilly announce Ironmen in and I stopped and just took the moment in. Then I started to sprint and I rounded the corner and saw the lights and the hands reaching out to slap mine and I ran screaming “yeah, yeah, yeah” slapped hands, heard Mike say “Susan, you are an Ironman” and, best sight of all of the day, saw Alex wearing that damned grey sweater with the hood over his head. He was waving and came over and gave me the hug of a lifetime.

Episode two: In which I pick pieces of Tempe Town Lake out of my teeth

2009-11-24T20:07:00.000-05:00

So, right, off to the bike. Like most sane, rational would be Ironmen , this was the part I was most looking forward to. Only a freak would enjoy the swim and anyone looking forward to a marathon (I’m talking to you Molly) well, they are in serious need of some mental examination. Since getting my beautiful Doris Day last spring I’ve been really enjoying riding a bike again. Doris was preceeded by The Gold Child, a fine bike but a bike that never fit me properly. Doris is female specific, I am female, Doris is short, I am short, Doris is white, I am white… perhaps that’s reaching.

So, as I was saying, the bike was going to be my time to get nutrition and liquid into me, to enjoy the desert, to think about all the wonderful people and experiences that got me to this point.

Alex and I, along with never getting into Tempe Town Lake, also never got a chance to check out the bike course. It’s a 3 loop that runs into town and out into the desert on a highway with pavement like buttah. Arizona doesn’t get frost heaved roads. We love Arizona pavement.

I’m heading into the wind, staying in my little girl gear on the front, spinning at 90 RPMs cursing the wind but absolutely stoked that I’m on the bike, racing an Ironman. I feel great. A fellow competitor summed it up perfectly as she rode by me and said “isn’t this amazing”.

It was tough going into the head wind but I was thinking about the ride coming back down after the turn around. Coming back down also gave me a better look at the length of the false flat I had come back on. This was fun, I was in the drops and remembered to shout “weeeee” at one point.

The only annoyance was the groups of drafting athletes moving through the race course. I honestly don’t understand why I was passed on so many occasions by riders moving as a pack but I never saw more than one athlete in the penalty tent. If you showed up with your buddies, drafted off them and qualified for Kona then I hope some Hawaiian god gets wind of your cheating and smites you well and good.

Otherwise the first 2 laps were a joy. Riders passed energy and encouragement back and forth. My bib was on back with my name on it and it was wonderful to hear someone take the time to use my name and wish me well as they passed me. There are some great riders out there and I’ll tell you when ever some young (good looking) athletic (good looking) probably type A took the time to speak to me I found myself just a little lighter on the pedals.

One aid station was manned/womaned by young fit people and I’d like to thank the topless men wearing hula skirts. One seemed to be only wearing a leaf of some sort but, damn, I was moving too fast to really assess the situation.

The only problem I had run into at this point was asthma. I don’t generally get asthmatic on a ride, and only notice it once I finish a run or a race but starting on the 2nd lap I found myself choking and coughing when I tried to speak to volunteers. I wasn’t too worried as I didn’t want to get my heart rate and respiration up to a point of deep breathing but it worried me enough that I started on my puffer. I’m not sure if I overused it (probably), if the Cliff bar I got from special needs was a bad idea (maybe) or if my body just decided that it wasn’t happy with the situation but my stomach rebelled and blew up into a good big distended organ. Rule number two was “don’t puke” but there were times heading up for the third lap when I thought I was going to pull a Norman and give it a go on the bike.

I started to head from aid station to aid station looking forward to the run so I could stand up like a proper homo sapien and let all my organs find their proper place. I struggled to get into the drops to make the most of aerodynamics on the final head down the highway back to transition.

Episode one: In which I nearly drown

2009-11-24T15:01:00.000-05:00

The swim is the part of triathlon that always seems to freak people out. Those people are on to something, the swim is horrible. You are encased in a wetsuit that when you are starting out feels like a coffin but then after a few races, starts to feel like your savior. People are peeing in the water all around you in an attempt to warm up their bodies. When the horn goes you know you are going to get jostled, maybe kicked, you will be groped. It’s really a very stupid idea.

I’ve never seen an Ironman swim live; I’ve just been in one. I know that it’s a fantastic scene as the water itself seems to take on a life of its own as it moves forward. I would love to have seen the Arizona start from the bridge above the lake but I have to say it was pretty cool down on the water too.

To get to the swim start all 2500 competitors had to first be channeled through the swim start entrance and then mass on the sidewalk that runs along the lake. Gradually everyone gets pushed to the water’s edge were we were all admonished to not hesitate and just get in. Alex and I hadn’t participated in either of the swims that were held as we thought that would actually give us concrete proof of how cold the water was and therefore leave us with something to really worry about.

In a word – cold, too cold for 4000 metres.

The swim start was about 200 metres away and I flipped onto my back to do the backstroke to the start. My plan was to start in the centre towards the back and I thought that that I could hover by one of the bridge piers to wait out the 15 minutes or so until it all began. I was feeling great. My mind had been so calm the past couple days and I was pretty sure that the day was going to be everything I had wanted it to be. First Ironman, what did I know.

I ended up hanging off a kayak with a few others talking to one of the lifeguards as we waited. The atmosphere was so positive, so festive, I’ll admit, I teared up in my goggles. The choice of ACDC’s “For those about to rock, we salute you” blaring out of the sound system struck me as perfect. The American national anthem started and I was surprised that everyone around didn’t start singing it. Americans are so gloriously patriotic I was certain this would be a big moment for them. I know that if I ever do Ironman Canada I will be sobbing through the anthem. As it was I was pretty choked up for someone else’s. Then, for the last part suddenly everyone around me started singing and the energy surged, the horn/cannon/gong, something went and we were off.

I started out doing back stroke cursing the cold water, singing 99 bottles of beer. The plan was to get through all 99 bottles and then alternate backstroke with crawl every 10 bottles. That was the first plan that crashed and burned in the reality of Ironman. I could not keep my head in the water, it was just too cold. Backstroke also gave me a wonderful view of the race. The race site is directly under the flight path of the airport and a plane went over every minute or so. There was a helicopter hovering, I could easily turn my head and see all the spectators on the sidewalk around the lake. A group walked as we swam, keeping pace, holding signs. It was incredible. The plan to freestyle went out the window.

I sighted off the bridge and buoys behind me pausing occasionally to stare into the rising sun trying to get sight of the red, turnaround buoy. In driving beside the lake the buoy appeared to be just past the second bridge. From water’s level, NOT SO MUCH. I was starting to get rather angry at the buoy – my love for the colour red was waning, I started to worry about finishing the race. My emotions kept flipping from absolute desperation to unbelievable joy. Generally the odd number bottles of beer were happy, even bottles mocked my efforts. 20 bottles of beer, oh my god, what was I thinking I can’t do this, 19 bottles of beer and I was finishing in 15 hours easily. It was that fast. I’m pretty sure that people have been committed to mental health facilities with more stable emotions than I was experiencing during that swim.

The great part about my number three rule for the day (don’t stop), is that eventually you get there. The red buoy appeared I turned directly left, swam to the next red buoy, turned left again back to the bridge where it all started.

That was my 2000 metres, the longest open water swim I had yet done. My body was great for 2000, the next half started to become a struggle.

Did I mention that it was cold? My feet were numb, odd number bottles weren’t giving me any love and I stopped several times to find shoreline landmarks to concentrate on. Swim to that set of stairs into the lake, good, now to the light pole, guy in blue volunteer shirt, next guy and so on. I started to feel the water slip over my head (remember I’m on my back), took in some too many times, spoke to a few kayak lifeguards as I got my bearings and just kept swimming.

I started to understand how people drowned. It did cross my mind a few times for the first time ever. My panic attacks in the past never actually focused on anything that concrete – it was always just an overwhelming need to get out of the wetsuit, out of the water, out of the race. This was a very rationale, intellectual mental journey. The cold was sapping my strength and it became difficult to keep my mouth and nose up out of the water. I was very close to kayaks the whole time and I don’t think anyone has drowned at an Ironman without a heart attack preceding it but, wow, that was a dark place to go.

Happily, just keeping swimming got me back to the start, back to the future, back to the rest of the race.

I expected some disorientation when I came out of the water, I had swum the race distance a couple times already in a pool and it does take a moment to get your land legs back. That, however, was in a warmer pool with a much shorter duration of swim. I was dizzy, to volunteers took me by the arms and walked me to two more young women who peeled my wetsuit off. Another volunteer walked me over to my ride bag pickup and I managed to grab my bag and head inside to Gwen, dresser extraordinaire. Gwen had my socks rolled down for me, my arm warmers also preprepared, shorts out, jersey ready, sunglasses in helmet and I still couldn’t have told you my name. I don’t know how I put it all one but I did and ran off to find Doris Day – all pretty and shiny in the Arizona sun.

It's game on

2009-11-21T19:58:00.000-05:00

November 21 2009, T-1

The past few days have been a crazy ride. We landed Thursday afternoon and got to our absolutely fantastic suite shortly after. Scottsdale impressed us so much right off the bat. It’s clearly a very fit and wealthy town (sadly the two often are mutually inclusive) and we set out that night to find a spot for dinner.
Ironman keeps you busy before the race. Friday you venture to the race site to get registered during the day only to return at night for the pre-race meeting at the side of Tempe Town Lake. 2500 plus people sitting on folding chairs and sloping lawns all trying not to freak out. Friday night I felt great – I got to meet Barbara and Molly briefly but it was nice to recognize them and get a hug. The internet is so wonderful for allowing these connections with people I’m am just sad that the schedule has made it impossible to spend much time with them yet. Perhaps Monday while I suck back wine spritzers and talk about my incredible race prowess.
Today we dropped off our bikes and filled our 5, yes 5, bags. Bag 1 is for morning, and then evening, clothes. It’s got our swim stuff as well with lots of Vaseline for lubrication in the wet suits. Neither of us has swum more than 2000 metres in a wet suit so we need to remember to lube our necks up well. Bag 2 has the bike stuff, shoes, helmet, shorts, jersey, small bag of meds for bad stomachs, nutrition (about 1600 calories for the ride) and a letter or two from friends. Bag 3 is the bike special needs bag that you get half way through the ride. It’s got more nutrition in case you’ve lost yours to the road at some point. Bag 4 has run stuff, another pair of shoes, running shorts, new socks, new top, arm warmers and for me, a change of sports bra. I hope I get a very large matronly woman to help me into that – I’d like her to call me honey a lot. I draw the line at lubing up the twins however. That’s my special job. Bag 5 is the run special needs, available half-way at the 21 k mark. It’s surprisingly cold down here so we each have a shell in that along with another bag of meds. It’s all a big exercise in organization and, also in marriage as we “discussed” the whereabouts of everything and the schedule of events. Let the record stand that I was right about everything.
I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I do wish I was sleeping better but my mind just won’t shut off these days. It’s not a case of anxiety as much as rehearsing everything over and over again.
I’m so lucky to have Alex to train and race with and I’m thrilled that with 3 loops on the bike and run I will see him and Esther, Zdenka, Barbara and Molly as we each move forward on our journey to the finish line.
Expected time is 15-16 hours for me, Alex will be a couple hours faster and is threatening to be drunk by the time I finish.

When Ironman asks

2009-11-13T18:51:00.000-05:00

When Ironman asks why I am in Arizona I have to have an answer.

Ironman is the gatekeeper to lifetime bragging rights and you don’t get them if he’s not satisfied with your answer.

So, why am I in Arizona?

The easiest answer is because it is the next step in the ladder of fitness that Alex and I started climbing a few years ago. We started with try-a-tri’s, graduated to sprints, olympics and then last year to the half Iron distance. With the next double in distance available we had to step up to the challenge.

This is the right answer for Iron training, training Ironman was pretty satisfied with it – you go the distance, you double the distance, you progress along the way. The common saying is that if you can do the training you can do the race but although this answered the questions during training real Ironman, race Ironman won’t be satisfied with any wussy little next step of the ladder crap. He’s out for more blood.

Ok, so, next answer.

How about this? Fitness is the route to health and health is the first pre-requisite of happiness. I’ve borrowed that from Joseph Pilates but I hope he’ll lend it out. He hit the nail on the heat I think. The human body was made to move, not to sit endlessly typing, watching, clicking away the hours. We’re smart so we’ve gotten ourselves a pretty cushy deal with our sedentary jobs but we’ve let that drift into the rest of our waking hours. We’re not so smart now are we?

This works a little better. I’ve been at this enough to know how good this all makes me feel and I have no desire at all to stop. I want to be the old broad passing the youngsters at races, being the role model of a life lived well. I want to be the ordinary woman out on the streets showing other ordinary women that this is what we can do, that although modern professional sports may seem often to be the preserve of men only, there is a whole other side to athletics that can and should welcome everyone in to its lifestyle. That will, I know, keep me going when things get tough. Somewhere in the crowd will be someone who needs to see me going the distance to realize that what ever distance she can imagine is doable. I am woman, see me roar, and all that.

This will come a time however, when I won’t give a damn about who is out there watching. I will be tired, depressed, sore, hungry, and my clothes will itch. The finishing line will be a long way away and there will be no friendly faces. It will be dark for body and soul.

What will my answer be then?

I don’t know.

We're all normal

2009-10-22T19:11:00.000-04:00

Alex and I feel like our child has gone to kindergarten. With a recovery week and then 4 weeks of taper to the race we are starting to regain our previous life. Dinner hopefully will no longer be a rotation of omelets, spaghetti and meatballs and steak sandwiches.

I’m tired, not doubt, but, today I’m feeling pretty good about the race. I love the level of fitness that I’ve brought my body to, I feel honoured by the people who I know that are finding inspiration in what we’re doing and not matter what happens on November 22 I know I’ve become a better person on this journey.

This was the weekend of the big ride. Saturday, at Duke’s cycle I picked up what I presumed to be chamois butter – let’s not mince words, it was butt butter. Sunday morning I applied said butter to my riding shorts. I pulled said shorts up. I experienced a sensation not at all like the cooling feeling that butt butter gives. My first clue should have been the distinctly mentholyptus smell but, it was really early. I wasn’t smelling yet.

Having been overly warmed by what was indeed warming balm, I decided a quick shower would take care of matters. In case you’re wondering applying hot water to warming balm is counter productive unless the effect desired is more warming.

I have one pair of 7 hour shorts. They were now tainted. Quick thinking had me add a pair of compression shorts as a base layer to put a firewall between heat and tender bits.

So, off we go to met up with our local IMAZ posse to do our ride. Three loops were planned with a Subaru aid station. When we left Toronto, as I recall, it was 2 degrees Celsius. When we arrived in Hamilton it was 1. But, it was clear, sunny and the leaves were glorious. I piled on the short sleeve jersey I had brought over my long sleeve, added arm warmers and a quilted wind stopper top. Three layers on the bottom completed the overstuffed package. The temperature was invigorating.

After two laps we met up with a couple of friends of our IMAZ peeps. One, who we had met briefly before, had brought doughnuts. DOUGHNUTS. Ah, sweet sweet sugar. After the required time to have introductions I started eating expressing my love of sugar, my realization that Iron eating had to end soon, and my most profound thanks. This appears to have been the right thing to do as, unknown to me, one of the friends had been literally sick worrying about riding with us. “You’re normal” she said and then gave me a hug. I told her I remember so well starting out and going for rides with people with Ironman tattoos. It WAS intimidating but, now, on the other side, I can say that triathlon is about inclusion and welcome.

The last lap was tough, my Garmin ran out of battery but I had nothing to prove. I saw, for the third time, the pretty little cat hanging in the ditch at the side of the road, I turned for the last time onto what I now think of as Dead Raccoon Road and I rode past a white domesticated turkey that looked to be just the tiniest bit lost. I did resort to some 99 bottles on the last 10 k but I felt strong and alive. Alex had added larger front rings and new crank to Doris Day the day before and I loved having those extra gears to push.

Now, with a week off for recovery and then the four weeks of taper I know that I’ve done everything I can to prepare. I am looking forward to a less time intensive off season but there is no way that I ever want to change this lifestyle. Ask me again November 23rd but I really think that I want to go Iron again. In a couple of years.

6 weeks to go.

2009-10-11T18:55:00.000-04:00

So, with one more week of build, one week of recovery and a 6 week taper left I’m addicted to Iron fitness. Alex and I did a triple brick yesterday – 30k ride/10 k run times three. It was incredible. The feeling of flying along country roads then running steadily down the rail trail through farmers’ fields was about as serene as I can get these days. At one point I had a goose flying at my speed beside me along a stretch of road that is lovely and smooth and virtually car free. I could almost feel the sensation of flight.

It’s funny, having just written that I now remember how Alex and I are finding the workouts actually kinda boring. The short ones don’t challenge and the long ones are just so repetitive. Yet, I’m left with that image of the bird.

I think that maybe, like flight, fitness is freeing. There is nothing right now that I can’t do physically. Having just seen Zombieland, for instance, I’m pretty sure I can outrun the living dead.

Back to boring. Right. The truth is that races can get boring and the ability to transcend that will really help me through Ironman. Right now 99 bottles of beer on the wall is my friend. Alex tells me that he doesn’t think about anything on the run, that he just zones out chalking it up to evolution of hunting men. I remember reading that Peter Reid would count to 20 over and over again during the marathon. There is no doubt that arithmetic makes the brain happy. For me it’s those endless bottles of beer.

I’m getting excited about the race. There seems to be a big crew of family coming down with our co-racers. One of the women racing with us is the mother of our Pilates instructor/friend and she and her sister are coming, more family with the other athlete and there is a rumour that the friend who started all this will be flying in from California where he lives now. As well, I hope to get to meet my new Facebook pen-pals.

A couple of years ago I had the year of the blog. I was throwing myself into racing and dealing with the anxiety that I was suffering through. I knew that fitness and triathlon was the way to a better life but with panic attacks in races during the swim, on the bike when training and horrible claustrophobic heart pounding episodes in the middle of the night, I wasn’t sure that I had the strength of character to overcome what, for me, was a terrible barrier to joy. I came across countless personal accounts of the journey to sub 12 hour Ironmen while mourning the death of a beloved wife,, to escaping a past of childhood abuse, and also to a man who summoned up the courage to stand up and declare himself an tri-athlete when most would have laughed him off a course. I hope to shake that man’s hand in Arizona. We all carry a cross and it’s only when we lift up someone else’s that we realize how light our own is. Triathlon introduced me to so many people with heavier crosses to bear.

It’s Thanksgiving weekend and I’m so very thankful for fitness, for a calm mind, and for my wonderful husband. What I don’t have really doesn’t matter. Family is what you define for yourself and my connections to others deepen every year that I’m involved in this wonderful community.

How do I hold onto this fitness?

2009-10-02T13:50:00.000-04:00

I love getting through training sessions that I couldn’t even contemplate a couple months ago. I love feeling like I’m 25 again. (I’d really like it if I had the body I had at 25 but I’m willing to trade wisdom and serenity for that waist of old.) I love how great food tastes and deep deep sleeps.

The thing is, I don’t think this level of fitness is very much outside of what my body considers its normal operating standard but I’m not sure how the heck I’m going to be able to keep it up, little less improve again for next year’s session. At some point I’m not going to want to be exhausted at 9 o’clock every night. I don't want to be missing friends’ baby showers because I have a 6 hour workout that day. There is some television that I think is worth watching and I have to be awake and on the couch to see it.

In the meantime I’m eating whatever I want, not worrying about making what I though would be race weight. I can get through the next 7 weeks, 2 days with fall’s new shows piling up on the PVR. The storage room at work is adequate for my lunchtime napping needs. I can do all this because I AM GOING TO BE AN IRONMAN

Muskoka 70..3 – what a difference a year makes.

2009-09-16T13:30:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I wouldn’t have understood the attraction of passing the day swimming, biking and running. Now, I understand endurance to be the very essence of what we, humans, are built to do. We are the only animal that can run prey to exhaustion. I think that’s pretty cool. And we do it together, in packs – that’s also pretty cool.

So, on Sept 13th if you consider a finisher’s hat, t-shirt and medal as good as an antelope, my pack of about 1500 and I pretty much ran that prey to exhaustion.

The chase started for me, as for everyone, at water’s edge. I was in the last wave with men over 50 and watched as everyone else started their races. Warming up I kept noticing that the right side of my lenses kept filling up with water. I’d stop, give them a snap to clear but the problem kept happening. Taking them off for inspection I saw that near catastrophe loomed. The gasket around the eye piece was off its tracking and as someone with no hand eye co-ordination or fine motor control (who else needs to wear a helmet when running) I knew that I couldn’t fix it myself in the next minute or so. Standing on the beach I yelled out “anybody know how to fix a Sable goggle?” in my best not freaking out voice. A woman called out that her friend did and the friend showed up and fixed it for me in her best not freaking out manner. Thanks pack.

I have determined this year, in both half Ironman races, that, if need be I can backstroke the entire swim in not much more time than freestyle would take me. I settled into my new approach of backstroke to about the halfway point to a buoy (I find it very comforting to watch the last one recede) then switching to crawl to watch the new one approach. I’m singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall the whole time and keeping the brain full of happy thoughts.

Whereas last year was wet and warm this year was cold. I had my wetsuit stripped but regretted not wearing it the 10k or so to the transition area. (that’s an exaggeration, Muskoka has a long swim to bike transition route but it’s really only about 5 k).

There was no picknick in transition, I was on the bike pretty quickly and took off like a very old, cold, possibly rheumatoid bat out of hell. This was a low point. Last year I remember flying out of transition hardly noticing the hills. Now, being in the last wave, the road was empty and I chugged along in my small gear with about 4 others. My muscles just felt so cold and unresponsive and I just felt so tired and depressed. My race plan would have me hold off on nutrition until I was throught the first technical 10k but my brain needed happy sugar and so I started in on the Cliff blocks. With my heart rate elevated, however, I just ended up with a big gluey block sitting in my mouth. I did spend some time wondering if anyone had died chocking on a block in a race. Not a lot of dignity there.

The ride went on cold, depressed, lonely. I was slowly but surely bringing up my average speed but not being in the main mass of racers it was hard to monitor progress. I did get out of the group I started with and managed to pass at least one or two more mini pelotons but it wasn’t until the sun came out that I really started to get my groove on.

Last year I think I walked about 4 hills. This year, coming out of Dorset towards the first of them I told myself that to just stay calm and wait and see THE HILL. Perhaps the road crew had levelled it over the winter – you never know. I rode the course a total of 3 times last year and never made that hill. This year, two young girls were at the side of road cheering and I called out to them that I had always walked that hill but I thought I could make it this time. Their dad pointed out my great pace and the girls said they’d run it with me. And they did. Do you think I could have gotten off my bike and let them down. Not a chance. With their help THE HILL will forever be just the hill now. Thanks again pack.

The Muskoka course is tough. The first and last 10k or so is the same road – you are either going up or going down and it really seems to nail you just when you are the most vulnerable. The other 3 hills were waiting on that final 10 k – no kids around this time but Susan 2008 is last year’s model, Susan 2009 pressed on and made it over all of them feet firmly in the pedals.

Back into transition I declined the second picknick and slapped on the runners for the half marathon. I decided to not make the same mistake as I did at Bracebridge in August and I resolved to walk all hills setting aside any thoughts of heroism. Combined with walking only the water stations that plan worked extremely well and I found a running buddy Allison who was also on the same plan. Some more great kids got me through the tough times running with me and telling me how awesome I was. Pepsi and discipline on the run/walk structure fuelled the last 10 k and Alex was, as always, waiting at the finish line. It was a personal best for the course and I feel some definite progress on the mental work I need to do to just get through a long tough course.

Ironman looms large in my mind but I mostly can’t even begin to think about it – I can only trust the training and focus on that one week at a time. The Susan who can complete Ironman Arizona doesn’t yet exist but I am creating her.

2009-09-01T20:16:00.000-04:00

I had a bit of a pre-Ironman anxiety moment today. I had to hit the pool after work for an endurance swim and I suddenly couldn’t remember why I enjoyed that sort of thing, why the hell I was doing it, and how I was going to traverse 140.6 miles in less than 17 hours.

It doesn’t help that I hadn’t swum in a couple weeks. Last week was recovery week and I didn’t crack the ice at the cottage to get in that water on the weekend – even for fun. The previous week had the two aborted outdoor swim attempts with tornado accents. The joy of swimming had, as a result, been completely forgotten by my mind and body.

I dutifully got to the pool and started the workout. As I was working through my first few laps I found myself swimming next to someone doing the backstroke. That brought back memories of racing. Backstroke is my warm up stroke, my rest stroke, my anxiety stroke, but never my practice stroke. I put in lap after lap of freestyle, bilateral breathing from end to end. In races, when I’m not backstroking I’m single side breathing doing the front crawl. Why, I ask myself, don’t I actually practice what I seem to do in races?

I think it’s because, although one nice effect of backstroke in a race is to see how far you’ve come, the past should never be a reference. I am looking forward to a race that I can bilateral breath and swim fully immersed in the water and that’s what I’m training for. I had a taste of that last year at Muskoka 70.3 and hope to replicate that feeling a week from Sunday when I do it again.

I left the recreation centre at Ryerson University listening to a frosh week orientation party going on in the quad. Took a moment to remember my own frosh week all those years ago and take a quick look at how far I’ve come.

Fat and Happy?

2009-08-26T19:40:00.000-04:00

Whose fault is it really, that we’re all fat? I read Trigreyhound’s blog with interest, not because of the discussion of US health care – that I will leave to US citizens - but because he implied that the good health that anyone can obtain with proper diet and exercise was entirely within the control of each and every one of us.

I’m not so sure I agree.

Three things I know about humans, we are social animals, we are profit motivated and we are survivors (so far) in the great game of evolution.

The food industry that churns out fat, sugar and salt laden products is really just responding to a very real human desire to have fat, sugar and salt. These desires are intrinsic to survival; any proto-human (any animal) that didn’t show the desire to obtain them didn’t live to reproduce. Cinnabons puts a lot of research and development into producing the smell that permeates a mall and renders me incapable of thinking about anything except how fantastic one of their buns would taste right now, with cold milk.

Am I eating one right now, no, I’m snacking on plums. I don’t actually have any idea how much a Cinnabon bun is but 3 plums just cost me $2 – and the very ancient survivalist brain of mine knows that the per calorie expense of the Cinnabon is considerably less than the per calorie expense of the plum. Having had the smell turn on the hunger urge in my brain (lots of R&D) the brain makes the rational choice for the most calories in the quickest fashion. And then, hey, we can all get together and have a Cinnabon at one of those tables in the food court. And then we’ll all go to the Gap and get something new. Gosh, somehow I’m heavier than I was in 20 years ago but I still take the same size. Looks like I can still have my Cinnabon and size 6/8/10/12 jeans just like when I was 23. I’m sure it’s not that the clothing stores have inflated sizes giving me an inaccurate method of determining whether I’m gaining weight or not.

Bingo, I’ve just fed my body lots of calories because they were available right now and I’ve shared with others of my species in consumption of food (very big culturally) and by shopping together (more socialization) at a store that supports my increased girth without making me feel bad about it.

And let’s just say I’m tired of being the size 12, I realize that I’m really a 16 and probably bigger since the pants don’t do up very comfortably these days.

How do I even start? What do I wear? Athletic clothing hasn’t got the comfort fit that I’m used to. A small is really small. I can’t buy the XL; the Gap doesn’t have me in XL. Everyone working in the store is so fit they must be laughing at me. Smell those Cinnabons?

There is an average size at races and I’m probably it. Whenever I see anyone, man or woman, larger that me out running, riding, swimming, I try to take what I went through to change my life and my relationship with my body and magnify that by the extra pounds they are carrying over what I started with. I usually want to hug them but I’m pretty sure that would be considered assault so I just smile.

We created a society that, in catering to the most basic instincts of our species, has created a toxic environment that has so permeated all our lives that we can’t even begin to see what it is doing to us. We pride ourselves that we are thinner than our friends without realizing that our friends are obese and we are very fat. Restaurants serve us enormous portions with calorie counts that defy belief.

Last Saturday my husband and I had a 120k ride/5k run brick. We were up north at our cottage without power after the massive storm that hit Ontario Thursday night. I insisted that we go out for dinner rather than trying to cook on a BBQ that is on its last legs augmented only by a side burner that is capable of boiling water only on a completely still night. I had just had a 5 ½ hour workout, I wanted pasta.

We went to Boston Pizza and I asked for a nutrition guide. If I was an average person going to the restaurant the staff would be primed to sell me as many calories as possible. The nutrition guide request probably shut that down. I’ve done that work in corporate restaurants, and got rewarded on our average cheque – ie the more items I could sell in additional to the entrees the more prizes I would win in contests, the happier management would be with me, the better shifts and sections I would get. So, you walk in and I’m working at Boston Pizza and I’m going to sell you everything. I don’t give a damn about your health; I just don’t want to have to work Sunday lunch next weekend.

Well, the spaghetti and meatball dinner has 1800 calories with the other pasta dishes falling downwards from there to a minimum of 670. Main entrees also fell in the 700+ range. Add in an appetizer (wine or beer and maybe a dessert because I deserve it) and I can hit more than my basal metabolic rate pretty quickly. I rode 5 hours and ran 30 minutes to burn up enough calories to spend on a Saturday night splurge.

People do eat that much, I know they do. And the skinny happy people in the commercials encourage them in it. You have friends, food, laughter, and more than 2000 calories. But you deserve it, right?

The food makes me feel loved, the staff is happy to see me, and the skinny women in the sports store are long behind. I don’t know how good a 5 ½ hour workout feels, I don’t know anymore what real muscle in my body feels like, and I sure don’t know how much fun triathlons can be. I know change is hard and I’m just not up to it right now. I’m still a size 12 after all, even if I have to unbutton my pants after dinner.

It was supposed to be lovely and wonderful, instead it was ugly and disturbing. And I'm pretty sure something is going to end up infected.

2009-08-19T19:15:00.000-04:00

I feel like we're getting down to crunch time. For Alex and I this is our last week of the 3rd last training cycle. We get next weekend off, then it's 7 weeks on, 1 week off and a 4 week taper. Consequently missed workouts start to prey on the mind. Today I decided that, nothing venture, nothing gained, so I would try the big outdoor pool down at the lake for my 3300 metre (pls help me) swim workout.

I don't know about you but I find the whole idea of going to a new pool to be really difficult. I think it's because you are barely dressed and your hair is going to get wet - both those things leave me pretty vulnerable. So, this was a big step for me but I didn't get into triathlon to work out inside and the summer has finally warmed up so - off to an outdoor pool. It sounded romantic. The staff promised all day lane swimming in one section of the pool.

I should have asked about the floating filth.

After a ridiculous, hot and long drive - transit to the lake not being a priority of the city of Toronto - I paid my $3 for parking and walked into the pool building. It was promising, it was clean, it felt like the right thing to do. The lockers were ridiculously small but I had two quarters.

First problem was the sudden failure of the spandex in my bathing suit. (see above) I have boobs, this is an issue.

Feeling very much let down I proceeded to the pool area only to find the "lap swim" area populated by young men with more testosterone than swimming ability. Heads up, arms flailing, zigzagging at warp speed to one end with a long breathless wait at the other.

In my peer group I'm a crappy swimmer - here I was that chick with the great body and all the gold medals. I swam one lap, decided that manslaughter might be a charge if I stayed, and had a ridiculous long and hot drive home.

So now I sit, having missed a key workout, contemplating a course of intravenous antibiotics, debating whether to try the swim again tomorrow or just move on to the bike interval workout. On my trainer, in a hot house...choice made. A lovely wonderful indoor pool. A supportive bathing suit. But still 3300 metres.

Bracebridge Half-Iron Distance

2009-08-11T15:54:00.000-04:00

I used to write race reports on a blog that has since been sent to blog heaven but I stopped a couple of years ago. I felt that I had created for myself this blog personna of little Susie, the loveable loser, having panics in the swim, pushing her bike up hills, triumphing at the end only because she actually finished the course. After my olympic distance year I stopped writing. A few people who had enjoyed the tales asked me about it but I told them that the whole process had become so personal that I just didn't feel I could do it any more.

Two years later, having gone through 12 weeks of therapy to deal with the swim panic, little Susie, the loveable loser is no more. Not that I'm winning. To cut to the chase, last year I did Bracebridge in 8 hours 11 minutes - last in my age group. This year I did it in 7 hours 33 minutes, and guess what - yup, last in my age group.

I will not discuss the swim as I've dwelt too much on that and its emotional impact on me in the past - the new Susie ignores the time between the horn going off and getting out of the freaking wetsuit. I will thank John Salt and Multisport for getting last year's water treadmill (i.e. an open dam up river) turned off.

In the morning's briefing, John, the race director said that their reports indicated that the rain would hold off until about 2 pm. Most of us, he said, would be pretty much off the course by then. I knew I wouldn't but with only an hour or so left on the run I didn't think the rain would bother me a bit.

My only comfort with the weather prediction was that John was doing the bike this year as part of a relay team. I know, therefore, no matter how fast he was, he was stuck in the same biblical level downpour as the rest of us. At one point, having taken off my glasses (Oakley oranges lenses to add detail to the road on overcast days -HAH), I was heading downhill in excess of 50 k per hour on a frost heaved road. I alternated right then left eyes closing against what felt like wet bullets on the face and considered that this was not exactly a wise thing for a 45 year old woman to do on a Sunday. Then I let out yet another "whoo hoo" and sang made up words to the Blur song.

Doris, my new women's specific Specialized performed admirably - I did the bike 2 km/hour faster than last year and, without the rain, might have pushed it a bit more.

The run started out really well. I felt so strong that when I saw Alex, with 5 km or so to do on his run, I told him I was up for a 7:15. Somehow, around 10k I lost my mojo and the last half was a struggle. I ran for a bit with Nerina - famous to all by the signs her friends had left on the road in chalk, with Cherith, who ships out to Afghanistan next year, and with Steve, who agreed with me that 1964 was a great year.

It's a very small race and you are with the same bunch of people for most of it so it just felt right at the end to shake each other's hands and wish them well. A slice of pizza and a cooler to sit on almost got the body right and we headed home after seeing our Ironman Arizona friends - who all won in their age group.

Now with a week of vacation at our cottage to recover and looking forward to matching my PB at Muskoka 70.3 in September I'm excited about increasing my fitness to get through that half marathon with a little more energy. Then, of course, on to the biggy. I know it won't rain in Arizona.

2009-08-06T19:41:00.000-04:00

Walking home from work tonight I got to a busy corner very near where I live. The sidewalk was narrowed from scaffolding set up and we were all trying to finish crossing on the light and rushing to catch the green. The downtown hipsters were dressed in downtown hipster fashion including one woman with great red hair (a red not seen in nature), high heels and the newest fashion accessory, a bike. Coming the other way was a man in a wheelchair who was long past his hipster days and probably just one level up from living on the street. We all made way for him to get by first but he offered the sidewalk to all of us. We thanked him, moved forward and I though that he had the most incredible dignity in his manner. There was nothing handicapped about him; he was equal to any of us, including the bike woman who then thanked his for his "gentlemanness". Freaking triathlon making me in touch with my emotions - I almost cried at her wonderful grace. But that wouldn't be hip.

2009-07-28T16:10:00.000-04:00

What a difference a month makes - I feel tired, beat up, and depressed.

Had a mini panic at a race on Sunday, ended up doing the whole 750m on my back. Did the same race last year with a full on panic and the same energy seemed to hit me. I ended up having to listen to women discussing their nervousness while waiting for the deep water start. Didn't warm up enough, and, forgot to start in singing "99 bottles of beer on the wall."

Bracebridge half iron distance is a week Sunday. Very difficult up river swim last year that I totally rocked on the mental side. Must go forward on an assumption that that will hold for this year.

I don't feel trained for it at all.

2009-06-26T14:17:00.000-04:00

Training has been going well - peaking at about 9 hours a week right now and about to go do into recovery week.

I'm feeling so strong that I have revamped the race goals that I established for myself in the winter. Last year I completed the Bracebridge half iron distance (no registered trademark) in 8:11. Just over a month later I did the Muskoka 70.3 (definitely trademarked) in 8:05. Bracebridge was a beautiful sunny day on a considerably easier course but I wasn't as focused on the racing. Quite honestly I was just glad to do it before the cut off. Muskoka was rainy, hilly, nasty but I was fitter and took off more time. I'm not even sure if I really had my race head on any better so I think a lot of the pickup was actually physical.

Originally I thought I'd do the Bracebridge race this year in 7:15 and Muskoka in 8 hours but, with my new faster bike and fitter body I'm calling 7:00 for Bracebridge and 7:30 for Muskoka.

The plan has me doing lots of intensity work that I would normally have slacked off on. But Ironman has a way of terrifying me into following the workouts to the letter. Gosh, who would have thought that training would actually work.

Around and around we go

2009-05-29T13:33:00.001-04:00

Had the chance on Wednesday night to run with a team of my husband's co-workers for a corporate YMCA fundraising 5k relay. His company of about 200 workers got 40 odd people out to walk or run. One guy ran his first 5 k ever, another co-worker, having lost quite a bit of weight ran his first race as well with a very respectable time.

The most fun had to be watching the 2 very competitive teams (4 person each) keeping tabs on the other teams times. I'm not sure how much cash was riding on the results or if it was just bragging rights but it was intense.

Race ended with beer and dinner in a pub. Adult onset athleticism washed down with red wine.

2009-05-14T13:50:00.001-04:00

Might as well jump in. I've been checking out the other members of Ironmanarizona2009 and see what Molly posted. I'm going to start with the 8 things.

8 things I'm looking forward to:

1. Joy Division/New Order themed spin class tonight
2. My husband returning on Friday from out west
3. Seeing my dog tonight and everynight
4. Poached eggs on toast with a side of rappini for dinner
5. My first triathlon of the year in July
6. Surprising an old friend at her first duathlon in June
7. The experience of completing an Ironman, the training, the races leading up to it, meeting people, the extra food I get to eat
8. The rest of my life.

8 things I did yesterday:

1. Ran 10 k
2. Swam 1050 yards
3. Got a great night sleep
4. Laughed with co-workers
5. Talked gardening with my neighbour
6. Cleaned the bathroom
7. Cleaned the kitchen
8. Felt happy to be alive.

8 things I would like to/will do:

1. Loose 15 pounds training, keep off 10
2. Go sub 16 at Ironman Arizona
3. Run the 50k race in Iceland
4. Sell our used bikes soon.
5. Get back to being paid performance for our accounts because our clients will have their portfolios restored - a win/win situation
6. Grow a bunch of our own food this year
7. Finish our new cabin at the lake, see #5
8. Continue a life of triathlon combined with adult beverages.

8 shows I watch:

1. Nature
2. Nova
3. John Stewart
4. Anything with Anthony Bourdain
5. Torchwood
6. Battlestar Galactica
7. How I met your mother
8. The news

Don't know anyone really to tag yet, but if you've read this leave me your blog address and alway we go.

2009-05-14T13:38:00.000-04:00

Quick bio - 44 years old (45 on the 20th - new age group), married 10 years to Alex with small hairy child subsitute dog named Chindi. Alex also does tris and is doing Arizona with me. If we could get a bike for Chindi she'd be all over racing too. She swims like a fish, runs like Lisa Bentley.

We live in downtown Toronto, I work in an investment dealer and Alex works for a large software company.

We both came late to athleticism starting with a tri a try in 2005. I've been through the wringer with anxiety and panic attacks in training and racing (esp in the water) but have come out the other end a better person. If anyone is going through that with open water I'm happy to pass on my experience and the tips that work for me.

Outside of racing and training I'm getting into vegetable gardening and cheesemaking. We like eating - hence the training and racing.