Short and Punchy

On the Topic of White

2010-03-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

This morning I realized I have not addressed my hair for months.
I am sporting a mop.
I like it.
It falls here and there and takes on a different look daily.
But today I realized I might be looking a bit too moppy.

"Is it professional?" I thought.

Umm, no.

When I talk to people, I notice their eyes drift upwards.
Actually,
specifically,
when I talk to women, I notice they are talking to the white strands in my hair. Taken individually, these white strands are rather pretty. They are pure in color and glisten when the light hits.

In 1995, I remember stopping at a store in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, and the proprietress was a petite, beautiful woman with enormous green eyes, fair unlined skin, and a mane of snow white hair. She stood out in that simple setting. In my mind the whiteness of her hair echoes the snow of the landscape, but it was summer, and the roads were lined with the pink blooms of the ubiquitous fireweed and the landscape was green.

Having white hair marks you.
It labels you as someone who you are and at the same time, as someone who you are not.
There is no white hair among the women I work with. Not a strand.
And yet, I am one of the youngest.
And when the eyes drift upward, it labels me.

I work with an elderly gentleman, a nonagenarian.
He thought I was 28.
I'll add 10 years for kindness. Another 5 for eyesight. A few more lighting. But then, I guess I'll have to subtract a few, because we work up close and personal, face to face--so I can give him the support and facilitation he needs to reach his goals.
When I told him my age, he smiled with delight and said, "Why you're middle aged!"
Which made me wonder if my age put me in the category of available women.
Especially when I asked him what he was going to do for his upcoming birthday and he said, "Start chasing women!"
He is very polite, doesn't have a mean bone in him, a great conversationalist, open-minded, makes me laugh, and always tells a good joke.
Not a bad catch when you think about it.

When I went to my high school reunion, the men looked twice as old as the women. They had gray hair and weathered skin. I came home and told T to start using face creme. Hah. He doesn't see the point. But, then what would you expect from a man who spends 10 hours riding over 100 miles "just for fun" on a mountain bike.

I haven't figured out the point of my white hair to me. Whether I should pay attention to the occasional white strand, knowing that proliferation is in my future. Or forget about it, as I usually do.

It's just when the eyes drift upward, and the subtle subtext of the interaction turns to what's on my head, that I remember I look a little different.

There's not a whole lot of white out there anymore.

(Note: This post is dedicated to Misty, who on her most recent birthday, reconfirmed herself as a brave and embracing woman.)

Lesson From A Car Break-In

2010-03-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

My car just got broken into, but it could have been worse.

I parked my car in the "secure" fenced and locked lot at work and was in the building from 4:30 to 5:20 pm and ‘they’ got my car. Smash and grab. Window gone. Left all my working files, fortunately.
This is what they got:
Very old cell phone that was a cast off from T and needed to be replaced--now canceled so you can't call me there.
My very new work phone--so, not my worry. I told work and they told me they would take care of it in the morning. T just told me he called my work number and someone answered so he said (in a deep voice), "This is __ (insert work name), we have cameras and we know who you are." Silly guy, but it made me laugh.
My credit card. I only carry one at a time, just in case. By the time I called the credit card company at 5:30 pm--there was a charge on it from KFC. Seriously, KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN??!! $20. At first I thought, “What a bunch of Brats!" Then, I thought, "Maybe it was some homeless, hungry person," and felt a little sympathy. I can be such an idiot sometimes.
My driver’s license. How is some Brat going to pass for someone of my age? But, who's to say.
My debit card. Cancelled.
A very old and fraying purse that needed to be replaced--I just hadn't gotten around to it.
Miscellaneous this and that: A hair clip, mirror, comb, lotion, Burt's Bees lip balm; water bottle; a compact and really cute pill dispenser for vitamins that I got at Run4The Zoo a few years back. A water bottle that I liked. All replaceable.
Keys, keys, and more keys. Lots of keys. Fortunately, I use a P.O. Box, so not traceable to my home. Fortunately, I have a partner who has duplicates.

I felt pretty naked without a mobile phone.
I had to wait by the car in this deserted parking area without a phone. Felt funny. Realized how connected we all have become. Everyone I called (to cancel cards, etc.) wanted a phone number.
Well, too bad.
I'm off the grid for now.

The police officer that came to take report got all of my info then walked me around the car. The first thing he said, after getting my info, was, "You can't be __ (insert age)." I was so startled I forgot how old I was, got confused, and almost said, "I'm __ (insert age 10 years older)." Don't ask me why. Why are we talking about my age anyway?

I keep trying to think if I've missed something. Something of inordinate value must be gone. I can't have been the victim of this somewhat violent event, with glass shattered everywhere, and gotten off this easily. My cycling shoes and favorite non-leaking goggles are still in my workout bag, along with one of my favorite workout outfits--replaceable, but still I'm hard to fit. My library card was on the dash and left behind. My car was covered in glass, but I actually use disposable liners for part of the car, to keep it clean for work related items, so rolling up the disposable liners and tossing out the glass was easy.

In the past, I would have felt devastated and violated. Of course, there was the initial shock. But, after I took stock, it really felt more like a dip in the fabric of life. T is more upset about it than I am. Wanted to cancel our upcoming trip (3 days, camping out, sleeping in, rock climbing by day, open air sunsets and a fire by night). Said, "We have things to take care of." For my part, I'm happy to duct tape a piece of plastic over the window and move on. My windshield needs replacing, so I guess now's the time.
Yes, it will cost me money.
But no harm done is priceless.
Of course it may be that I’ve just become inured from too many personal experiences, but what I really think it is, is that time and personal experience truly teaches us what is important in life.

I know I will go out tomorrow, and I will help a 92-year old man learn to walk again, and a 40-year old woman regain her strength after a month on life support. I will work with a man who is pretty far out on the fringe of acceptance, who will make me laugh, but then grab onto me for support when he loses his balance. I will rub the pain out of a foot that has multiple bone breaks after a motor vehicle accident. I will teach and encourage and give people hope and skills for a better future, even as they face loss of ability and a different future.

That’s what I do.

I only wish that the person who stole from me might know that the person he stole from could be the very person he might need, without bias or judgment, in the future.

But, then again, the person who stole from me is probably a Brat.

Long, Slow Training Day: The Duke City Marathon

2009-10-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

Today I did my first marathon.

T told me to go slow.
He signed us up by telling me that this was to be a training day. No racing, just training pace.
Ha.
That was easy to do.

I was so tired when I woke up this morning, that I was almost unable to get out of bed. As I reluctantly fought my way to wakefulness, I had this feeling of deja vu--then realized this was the same feeling I used to have when I was young and would stay up too late. As I gained consciousness, I realized I felt young again. How funny is that?

For a number of reasons, I haven't slept well in days.
Combine this with being ill last week, not giving myself enough recovery time so that I became ill again this week, 3 days of total rest this week (Mon,Tu, Wed), then working out Thursday, Friday, and Saturday--and, yes, I was tired.

Not only was I tired, but I woke up sore.
I had gone for an easy ride on the flats the day before, but the wind made it difficult. Plus, I had ridden low and aero for practice, and my hips were letting me know they could feel the difference.

So I groaned my way out of bed, telling myself that Time marches on and soon the day would be over.

I found it funny that at 6:00 am, as one of the first people to arrive, some yAhoo had to use his horn in the parking garage. How fast do you have to go to get to nowhere?

The race started at 7 am, so it was nice to be out of the cold in the "warm up" area in the large banquet hall in the convention center.

We picked up bags for the clothing drop off early, which allowed us to drop off our warm clothes fast 5 minutes before the start.

It was nice not to care where we seeded ourselves. Time didn't matter today--except in my case, I just wanted it to pass.

We started out slow and easy. T took off after a few blocks. I felt pretty poor for the first mile, then settled in. Sort of. I was far more hydrated than I realized, since usually I'm coming off a swim and a bike beforehand. I used every portopot available, and had some uncomfortable miles in between, eyeing every bush and wondering if I should use one. My hands were so frozen by mile 5, that "clothing management" was difficult and I couldn't get my shorts to "unroll" after clumsily trying to pull them up. I always think of Misty and her inhaler vs. the portopot incident, so I was slow and careful--even though I didn't have any pockets--so probably my brain was frozen, too.

The nutrition went easy. Water initially, with a little Gatorade for the first hour, a gel at the first and second hours, a 2X caffeinated gel at mile 16, and an extra sodium with no caffeine gel with 5 miles to go. I kept the fluids to primarily water, with some Gatorade as I neared the top of each hour. It worked well. What didn't work well was the banana that they had at the turnaround. Clunk. Like lead in my stomach. Brown and icky. Probably chopped the night before and left out on a counter somewhere. Really bad. So, now I know at least one of the reasons why people develop tummy troubles during big/long events. That one took several miles to get over.

I spent an inordinate amount of brain power trying to figure out what "training pace" was. All the way out to the turn around--when I finally got tired of the whole "slow and easy, I'm going to be out here for days" pace, and decided to pick it up a bit. The problem was I knew my training pace for an easy 9-12 miler, but had no idea what my training pace was for a marathon--since I'd never run the distance before--and especially not when my body was that tired.

So I booked it back in a negative split, passing all those poor people who'd gone out harder than me and were now walking, and trying not to be competitive, because 1) T told me not to, and 2) at this point, what would be the point? I knew I might pay for it later, but it felt good to stop worrying about my pace. My miles were completely consistent--same time for each mile (slow) all the way out, and same time for each mile (slightly faster) all the way back. Add in innumerable potty stops, and walking each aid station, and I had a finish time of 5 hours and change. The best part was finishing with a strong pace and finding out that running a marathon is doable. One day, I think I might actually want to run one for real and find out what my marathon time would be. But, for now, with no taper, sore, recently ill, and tired--it's 5 hours and change--and that's good enough for me.

Just a Thought

2009-10-04T18:54:00.001-07:00

Some years back I owned a tiny Toyota Corolla station wagon. Cute as a button. The engine came from a Corolla sedan that had been rear ended by a truck--engine good, rear trunk bad--and I found the body from the comment of a passing stranger who said his neighbor had a shell of the same kind of car sitting in storage in his garage --body only, no engine, perfect.

As an aside, and just in case your wondering, the sedan was $35, and the station wagon body cost $90.

I owned that car for several years. One time, I went out to the car and it had two flat tires, front and rear on the same side. Another time the engine died and I and a friend had to push it up a hill (it was a tiny car). By the time I was done with it, it had an over-heating problem, and I had to drive with the heater on (use the defroster if you have to do this, to keep the hot air out of your face), in the dead of summer, and keep the speed under 55 mph, just to cool the engine enough for a one hour drive.

The engine was simple. No computers, electronic ignition, or fuel injection.
I used to do my own basic work. Oil, filter, pan, wrench. Feeler gauge, distributor cap, rotor, etc, spark plugs, wires sometimes, wrench, and rag. Blow the air filter out with the compressed air at the gas station.

I remember one day doing a tune up.
Finding TDC and setting the timing.
Manually.
I mentioned this to a friend of mine.
A day later he showed up at my house with some electronic gizmo that I had never seen, heard of, needed, or wanted, to check my timing.
Me, being who I am, I let him do it. I remember thinking why does this guy have to rely on a machine to figure out if the timing is right?
He told me he was checking the dwell. Huh?
Then I remember him looking either surprised or sheepish, probably from relying on that unnecessary gizmo to tell me what I already knew, that my timing was fine--just a whisper from where that machine said it should be.

I was young and I thought my friend was kind of an a**, but not enough to do anything more than let his actions pass.

* * * * *

A few weeks ago, I started work with a new client. To get to his house you drive up a long, narrow easement, bordered closely by fencing on either side, past two houses, and park in a small space that doesn't allow for a turn around. The first time I got ready to leave, the men of the house came out with me and made several comments about people having difficulty backing up and running into the fence. Since I work from appointment to appointment, I was in a bit of a hurry to get to my next house. But the men kept hovering, commenting about the difficulty of backing down the long driveway. I tried to make placating, polite "I'm going now" noises, but then, as I felt pressed for time, and in an effort to move things along, I finally said, "Well, let's just see how I do" (an unexpected phrase for me), got in the car, and took off. At a fairly good rate of speed. Dead center. Nary a scratch. Backing up just a bit faster than expected, partially to allay their doubts but probably more just to show them.

* * * * *

Yesterday, T and I went for a bike ride. Somehow I dropped my chain going flat and slow over the Alameda bridge. So, I got off the bike, replaced the chain, and just as I was spinning the crank to make sure the chain was set, T pulled up and said, "Hey, that was fast." To which I replied, without thinking or hesitation, "You know, sometimes you guys treat us women like we're imbeciles." Really. I said that. And T laughed. Which is a good thing, because those words even surprised me.

But they got me thinking.
And I remembered years back to the car tune up.

And, after all these years, I finally wondered, do you think if I had been a guy doing the tune up, would this other guy have brought over his gadget, unasked, to check my work?

Elephant Butte

2009-09-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

Pack fill.
That's what T calls it.
I'd never heard the term before, but it's when you don't bring up the rear--and you're certainly not up at the front.
It sounds anonymous and generic. No recognition of the effort it takes to finish and no indication of place--just a space occupying reference, which is how I felt after finishing the race today. Pack fill.

Of course, I should know better by now. I'm not, and never have been, an athlete on the sharp end.
Meaning, I don't lead.
I plod, and work, and eke out every minute of gain that I make.
I am a model of economy of success.

Where I live, I sometimes have the opportunity to be a big fish in a little pond--but only because the pond is so small. The big fish don't show up to the little races, because they have bigger ponds to contend with--which makes it easy to forget who and where I am.

But not today.

Today was actually impressive because more big fish showed up to race at one time than I have ever seen in a local race.
What a reality check.
I had actually given up an earlier, smaller race to opt in on this event--the Elephant Butte Triathlon--in order to get more race time in the water, and because I wanted a free weekend for longer mileage just before our foray to Colorado for the Harvest Moon Half.

The Elephant Butte Triathlon is a sort of Olympic distance event with a swim that's longish at 1700 yards (almost Half IM distance), a bike that's 26.5 miles, and a 10k that's short 2/10's for a 6 mile run. Odd. I didn't know it was one of our premier local events. Nor did I know it was that hilly. Or that there was approximately a mile of sandy trail running involved. I was just focused on more swim practice and getting through the swim.

Which I did.
And with NO panic.
The first time this year that I felt OK in the water.

I did start off very slow, in anticipation of the onset of panic. And then every time I started to pull harder and settle into a rhythm, I would bring myself up short and worry that I might get carried away and tip myself into a panic, but in the end, it was just a decent, calm, but longish swim, with a bit of chop from passing swimmers, and some difficulty sighting due to the rising sun, and the lack of a buoy to mark the finishing chute.

I attribute the success of this swim to a number of factors--
-that I had just experienced a nightmare of a swim two weeks prior, and lived through it,
-that the water was exceptionally flat and warm at 74 degrees, which allowed for wetsuits without the corresponding coldness to take my breath away,
-that I took the advice of Shirley to heart about my sighting difficulties and did some preparatory scouting to help me find my way,
-that with T coming home at the end of summer, I've finally been able to get in some open water swim time on the weekends.
But most of all, I think my lack of panic had a lot to do with feeling surrounded by a group of understanding people--people who come in from all parts of the state who I've seen at these races for years; team members and training partners for those longer mileage rides we've been doing; friends who would come to my rescue in any way, shape, or form, if I really needed it. It was like I finally realized that if I didn't make the d*rn swim, it wouldn't matter and my friends (and fellow triathlon and exercise groupies) would be there to pick me up anyway.

It was a nice feeling, and I finished the 1700 yards successfully in a predictably slow time of 46:49, the 7th slowest out of a field of 80 women.

The outcome of the race was another story.

Because I have been doing longer distance training, I forgot that the Olympic distance is still one to be respected. I actually thought of it more as a "sprint" type race, because the distances were so much less than what I have been doing for training. Which meant that I went too hard on the bike and didn't eat or drink enough.

My time for 26.5 miles of some fairly decent hills was 1:23:58 or 18.6 mph, for the 9th fastest female bike. A good showing for the terrain, and I passed a number of people--many of whom passed me back on the run.

My run time for 6 miles of more hills was 1:00:14 hours, not bad for me, but oh so frustrating because I just don't see how people can run so smoothly and fast, passing me with ease, while I plod and fatigue. It was here that my "sprint" perspective came back to bite me--as I realized I had left my legs out on the bike course and I just couldn't pick up the pace the way I wanted to, which told me how tired I was. Several of my AG competitors passed me with ease. Somewhere between mile 4 and 5 I realized I was hungry and subsequently realized I might bonk before I got to the next aid station. It's bad when you're asking for gels to finish the last mile.

In the end I placed 9th in my Age Group. In any other Age Group, I would have placed 1st through 6th. But not my Age Group. Ahead of me were women whom I totally respect and admire and who compete on the sharp end at a level I can only dream of, and they are my age. That speaks volumes to me and on so many levels.

Still, I had a successful swim, which really was the whole point of the race, and most of all, I enjoyed seeing everyone and all the hugs. I can't say that I don't wish I was faster, and leaner, and taller--because I do--but in the end, it's really all about myself and what triathlon training and competition means to me--not how I compare to every other human out there. On another note, I can't believe I only earned 2 points towards the SW Challenge series, when Mark B so kindly pointed out before the race that I "only" needed 3 points to make the podium!

Harvest Moon Triathlon

2009-09-13T07:55:00.000-07:00

This year, driving up to Colorado, getting ready for our general annual long race, I felt like I didn't know what I was doing.

Like I hadn't done a long race in so long, I couldn't remember how to prepare or what to expect.

I couldn't remember what clothes I usually wear, or what nutrition to use, or how to pace myself.

My last long race was the Longhorn 70.3, a year ago in Austin. A long, hot, miserable affair with a mis-marked swim, a pretty but draft happy bike, and an unappealing run. I know others liked it, but it just wasn't the race for me.

This year, I haven't been racing much. Nothing longer than a sprint (except the F1 which was twice the distance of a sprint)--6 races spread out over 8 months.

We signed up for the Harvest Moon Half as a training race--just a day in between our other training days, to give us a benchmark in terms of our training for a race later in the year. We didn't taper or rest much--a day off for the drive, a light "lets check out the swim and pick up our packet" day, then the race:

Part 1: In which I can't swim.

You would think that I could by now, since I started swimming after a gymnastics injury in college, lived in Hawaii and swam almost daily before going to work, and have been doing triathlons fairly consistently since 2001.

You would think.

But, I can't.

During a triathlon event, the combination of a timed course, my own expectations and apprehensions, and what I tend to think of as a primitive psychological revolt against swimming out into the middle of a large body of water, all come together to make what is quite possibly the worst experience of my life--what I tend to think of as my own personal hell on earth--which I seem to do repeatedly, and by choice, year after year.

This year, in an effort to improve and mitigate the panic, I have spent more time in the water--ramping up the yardage since March, but being somewhat stymied lately by time constraints.

While my sprint race swims have definitely improved, and on these familiar courses, the panic has decreased, large bodies of water and open water swimming continue to throw me into fight or flight overdrive.

It is a truly grim experience.

For the Harvest Moon, I was in the first wave, with the pros, Athena's, and masters women. I felt fine during the warm up. Even the line of buoys looked doable--I could count 4 large orange buoys straight out into the lake to the turn around and figured I could just swim buoy to buoy and count them down without too much difficulty.
But then the gun went off.
I always wait a minute to let the roiling of the water from the other swimmers quiet down before I start. Then I start a little ways back and out to the side, so I am in the quiet water and the next wave doesn't mow me down. But those pros disappeared quick. And in a few strokes I was by myself, and suddenly those buoys looked really far away, and somehow I swam too far to the right, and I felt pretty isolated and tiny.

So I looked up, in my isolated, tiny state of mind, sighted, and tried not to panic.

I put my head down, and swam as slow as I could and took gentle, quiet breaths, to try and prevent the hyperventilation that comes with the panic. I started aiming at a leftward angle to get to the first buoy. I didn't want to take my head out of the water to sight, because once I do, there is this overwhelming urge to keep my head above water, and it is very difficult to start swimming again. Getting my head out of the water and into unlimited air feels good, but of course, it doesn't get me out of the middle of the lake. So, I swam and tried to control myself.

I continued angling slightly leftward--or so I thought. Instead, I made a 90 degree turn and swam parallel to the shore. I was still not lifting my head and trying to get my breathing under control. When I did lift my head, the Police boat was idling nearby, and I could see I was directly in line with the first buoy--I just hadn't made any headway out towards it. T tells me that initially, as soon as I swam off course to the right, the Police boat started following me. I was still feeling pretty tiny and isolated and a bit disoriented, but I was thankful the buoy was a straight shot in front of me, so I put my head down and started swimming directly out toward that large orange marker.

By this time, I'd spent the first 5 minutes of the race not going anywhere, and I was so close to shore that I could hear the verbal "go" for the next wave. Of course, all the good swimmers wanted the same line I was taking, and shortly thereafter, I was engulfed by large people, focused swimmers determined to give it their best, and the water got choppy and I got hit--all while still trying to get my breathing and panic under control. All I wanted to do was stop. I was still close enough to shore I could have sat up and breast-stroked back. I wanted to call it. Wave my arms in the air. Take my head out of the water. Stop the fright, turn off the alarm in my body, get a normal breath of air and stop the shallow panicked breaths which made me feel like I suffocating.
But I didn't.
And I still don't know why.
Some bull-headed part of me continued to lift one arm out of the water and then the other, while mentally, I fought a battle that felt like it's going to tear my head in two. Somehow, I didn't let myself stop.
And some how, I continued against every instinct and physiological signal from my body--waiting for that time when I would finally settle in and smooth out, and begin to swim in comfort.
But for this race, that never came.

I swam, using short breaths, short strokes, barely moving, just surviving. I watched the yellow swim caps go by, then the light blue, red, and bright orange. Every now and then I'd start feeling better, and then someone would nail me with a stray stroke, and I'd start all over again. At one point, after the turn-around buoy, I did another strange 90 degree left hand turn (which is strange since I always pull to the right), and I looked up to wonder why everyone was swimming in such an odd direction. I started to turn left to join them, then realized I had crossed mid line and was about to join the crowd still making their way out to the turn-around buoy. I had this image of being caught in this endless maelstrom of swimmers going round and round the course and never reaching the end. I almost smiled, but I was also getting tired, and the water was getting more choppy and I still had a long ways to go.

Two buoys out from shore, over 40 minutes into the swim, I just wanted out of the water. I was tired. The adrenaline has kicked my butt. I felt like I couldn't move well. I was swimming like a snail. Somehow, people kept passing me--although I was sure that by now I was the last swimmer--and the water never quieted down.

When I did exit, there was almost no one around. My fingers were so cold I couldn't get my wetsuit off. Literally, I couldn't get my fingers to close or grip. I asked a nearby person to give me a hand, not knowing if they had strippers at this race, but knowing that I was stuck. He pulled the suit over my shoulders and up around my head and left me to try to get if off. Now I was even more stuck than before, since my hands weren't working. He watched me for a moment, while I was stuck with this rubber strait jacket around my head, and then (finally) asked if I needed more help (you can laugh if you want, my sister and I were rolling when I told her). I walked up the longish hill to transition, exhausted. I have never walked a transition before. My swim was 53 minutes for 1.2 miles. 338 of 339.

Part 2: In which I pass 5 women minutes into the bike.

Which is a good thing, since it boosted my morale and brought my head squarely forward into the bike portion of the race.

The bike started out nice. An out and back spur which flew by despite rolling hills. I kept waiting for a headwind but it never came. After the spur the course had a 40 mile loop, so that I turned several corners, and still no headwind. I was wet and freezing when I first got on the bike and kept waiting to warm up, but even after I warmed up, I was only marginally comfortable. The cycling felt smooth and strong, and then I started to fatigue. I hit mile 39 in two hours and remember thinking, "I just have to do 17 miles an hour to make a 3 hour bike, so maybe I'll go sub-3..." and then I turned a corner and went headfirst into the wind--at 12 m.p.h. Along with the rolling hills. Some of which were real hills. It was brutal, and I started getting colder, and felt like I just wasn't going to make it to the end. My right adductor started complaining--which says something about my bike style--and I started surviving rather than pushing. In the end, I didn't drink enough, more than likely because I was so cold, and my stomach felt completely empty 4 miles out from the finish, so I ate half a protein bar, which probably wasn't enough. Despite the demoralizing wind, I still finished in 3:01:55 for 56 miles, which, despite hoping for a sub-3, still put me in the ball-park of a good finish.

Part 3: In which I replay Idaho over and over in my head, and wonder if I can still manage a 10 min/mile average pace even after that exhausting swim...

In Idaho, 2008, I ran a 2:12 half marathon, after a 3:04 bike. It was my best half Ironman half marathon time ever. At that time, the weather had been cool, and I was fairly fresh, because I hadn't done the swim. It was my first inkling that my half marathon distance running was starting to get better--and I'd upped my mileage this year so maybe, just maybe, I could pull off another good run.

But, I was tired and cold getting off the bike.

I picked up a caffeinated gel and headed out of transition wearing one bike glove. Luckily, I wasn't wearing my helmet--although I did feel on my head, just to make sure.
So the glove went into my back pocket, where it bounced around for the entire run, and I proceeded to try to get my legs under me. A real sweetheart of a runner, in my age group, tried to encourage me to get on her heels, but I couldn't do it. It took a couple of miles before I felt like I was moving well--and when I checked the watch I had 21 minutes including a quick bathroom break--so 10 min/mile it was. And that's the way it stayed. I had a few 9:40 miles, but those were followed by 10 plus miles, so it all evened out. The weather just got colder and colder, which made for good running weather, but then it got almost too cold. 9 miles in, I started to get tired. 2 miles out I just wanted the whole thing to be over. The last mile.1 seemed endless and I wanted to walk. Later when I looked at that endless time, it was 11:57, which wasn't nearly as slow as I felt. It felt especially cruel when the run went onto trail and uphill, but the finish was 100 yards of concrete, and it felt so good to be on solid ground, running slightly downhill to the finish, that I stretched out my legs and had a big smile on my face, and was just happy, happy, happy to be done.

In the end, the race was a PR at 6:16:28, by 17 minutes.
Which, is the same amount of time T took off his time to PR also at 4:55.
From last female out of the water and my worst swim time ever, to 8th in my age group, to a PR.
Not bad.
But it would feel a whole lot better if I didn't have to go through that terrifying swim.

Before the race, T checked the Duathlon participant list and there was only one woman in my Age Group--so I could have switched over, placed, gotten an award and a gift certificate AND missed the swim--but it wouldn't have been the same story, and I wouldn't have gotten my PR.

After the race, the rain started, and the temperature dropped, and even though we put on warm clothes, and were wrapped around each other, we couldn't stop shivering. So we bagged the raffle, went home, took a warm shower, and went to a family get together for dinner with T's grandmother, auntie and uncle, and cousins.
We had to--T's auntie makes the BEST home made pastries.

Warm, Fuzzy Car Breakdown

2009-09-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

My car stopped working today, and because of it, I ended up with a warm, fuzzy feeling. How often does that happen?

My car had been working fine, all day, all week, all month--zipping around Albuquerque neighborhoods to the tune of mucho miles each week.

Tonight, just after I thought, "What a nice evening with no overhanging commitments and I can do whatever I want," I turned the ignition in my car, felt the briefest of jolts, and then everything went dead.
Everything.
No sickly err-err as the car tried to turn over. Or lights dimly turning on.
I couldn't even get the car to shift out of gear--it's an automatic, and it was stuck firmly in Park.

So I called my car insurance in confidence, because I always carry Road Service--and was told that my other car was covered--but not this one. I am generally not a pushy consumer--and am, in fact, a pushover consumer--but the light was going fast, and I was stuck in the remote corner of a large parking lot, and my car was supposed to have Road Service. Why would I cover the car I am not driving, and not cover the car that I am driving? Which is what I patiently told the rep, as well as bringing up the fact that I had been a forever customer, and that I had been carrying Road Service for years--or so I thought.
After hemming, and hawing, and talking to supervisors, I got my Road Service--effective immediately. How cool is that?

Initially the wait for the tow was 45 minutes, putting my arrival at an auto shop at past 9:00 pm, but when I explained to the dispatcher that most auto shops were closed, and that I really did not want my car sitting on the street overnight, she empathised, and got the tow immediately.

When the tow truck driver arrived, he figured out that the terminal connector on my battery had cracked, so that I wasn't getting power, wiggled it, turned my car on, shook my hand and wished me a good night. Just a very pleasant, smiling man doing his job, and making my day.

Then, at the cusp of 9:00 pm, I drove over to Pep Boys to drop off the car for the night, so they could fix it in the morning (already planning on what car I was going to drive tomorrow)--but they said, "Pull it in, we'll fix it right now."

So after removing the offending part, stripping the wires with a razor, making my car good as new again, they comped the job and told me to have a good night.

Which I did. Compliments of all the people I interacted with tonight. Simple, I know, but what I great, big, wonderful world we have.

So, if you're going to have your car breakdown, then this is how to do it.

Magicians, Movies, and Mangoes

2009-08-30T20:33:00.001-07:00

Hurricane Felicia was on it's way, downgrading all the time, and scheduled to hit O'ahu as a tropical depression on Tuesday--so on Monday night when Mark and I went out for a movie, we had the entire theatre to ourselves.

Limited seating.

20 Barca-loungers.

When the lights go down, the usher tells everyone to please recline their seats--it's mandatory.

You can bring in food and drink.

And there's a different movie five nights a week: Old, new, foreign, indie, classic, any genre you can think of.

The woman at the entry took our money, and gave us two ripe Hayden mangoes, picked from the proprietor's tree, who's great, great, great grandfather just happened to be the one to introduce Hayden mangoes to the islands.

Here's Mark, getting comfortable--with his mangoes...

Those mangoes were 'ono!

(Good movie, too. Magicians, 2007, UK: A black (and entertaining) comedy.)

Bike Adventures

2009-08-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

Mark is having bike adventures in Washington.

On June 1st, one week after touchdown for a summer job in the capitol, he competed in the Clarendon Cup criterium in downtown Clarendon, a trendy suburb of DC.
Well, sort of.
I'm not sure he would call it “competed.”
I think for him it was more like “survived” 10 minutes on the course before being nearly lapped and pulled by the ref as the field containing the current national elite time trial champion and a former Iranian Olympian along with a coterie of 1-2 masters men who were added to Mark's wave at the last minute.
He went into the race knowing he would be lapped, but thinking he would be able to hang on for 45 minutes, get in a good high end work out, and eventually be lapped after about 25 miles.
This was before the 1-2 masters were added to his wave of Cat 3,4,5, Master's Men. On the day of the race. And, a criterium at that.
In the end, he was one of about 40 people lapped and pulled--2/3rd's of the initial field of 60—which, judging from the remainder of the summer, only served to whet his appetite.

The next day was a chipped and timed “non-competitive” ride with awards that was part of the Air Force Classic in Crystal City just before the UCI rated Pro race. 72 miles in three hours on a rainy morning. It hurt, but out of 2000 entrants, he was only one of two riders to do the highest number of laps—9--on the course. About 100 people made 8 laps. And the rest did what they could—or got smart and quit early because of the rain.

He's taken really well to Washington. Within the first week of being there, he’s already seen several familiar faces from last year's summer sojourn. Last year, Peter was kind enough to direct Mark to some of the local clubs, and this year he's already reconnected and riding and drinking beer with the boys (Peter is a dedicated DC runner—and enjoys 3k sprints on a regular basis).

Church Creek Individual Time Trial the next week, pretty much the same course and the day before the Eagleman 70.3. Hot, muggy, windy. 40K in 1:01, 7th out of 52 in category.

A few weeks after Mark's 10 minute foray into riding with the East Coast boyz, he went for a solo ride on a popular route along the WOD recreation trail—and broke a shifter cable 0 miles out, but too early for any bike shops to be open. Stuck in his 39-11, he prepared to ride his newly minted single speed, over hill and dale, 40 miles to Purcellville town, but (and this is the power of advertising on a mobile, human billboard), he spotted a rider in a “Bike Shop” jersey, flagged him down, and found a bike shop only 8 single speed miles away. Whew.

That same week he went for a ride around Haines Point, was 6 miles into it, did a nothing in particular pedal stroke—and pulled his shoe away from his cleat.
Since they were Mark's favorite cycling shoes, and a giveaway several years back from fellow Outlaw Bones—he mourned them.
But not for long.
There's nothing like a good excuse for new cycling equipment.

Next week was a DC Triclub training triathlon followed by a barbecue. 400m/26k/5k. Sold out at $5.00 and 200 entrants. Fully supported and marshaled. Definitely the right price and fun. Mark went home with a 7th overall.

After 4 weeks in DC, learning a new job, and getting into the swing of a new training routine, Mark participated in the Dextro ITU World Cup Triathlon. 100% closed course through Potomac Park, Downtown, the Mall, Capitol Hill and Penn Quarter. A great way to tour the city without the worry of traffic. Prior to the race, enough rain fell to warrant the title of DC as “the new Calcutta” (Washington Post). Rumors of strong currents, sewage run-offs, and cancellation of the practice swim lent an air of pre-race apprehension, but the swim itself turned out to be odorless and the water “tasted fine.” Mark characterized the swim as a constant stream of debris hitting him in the forehead, and the 1500 meter choppy and misty swim was impossible to sight, marked as it was by 5 buoys, with two of these obscured by a large stone bridge, and 1 buoy flagging the finish dock. It was this swim that likely cost Mark his goal of going under 2:20, but he did PR and rode his fastest 40k in a triathlon and ran his fastest 10K ever.

In July, he did the “Total 200” Double Century ride and felt good except for a lull at miles 125 to 150 and two flats during the final 8 miles.

The following weekend, was the Giro di Copi Road Race in Barnesville, MD. In his words:
“Three beautiful laps, 39 miles. Caught in a crash in the first mile, stayed upright, but then chased hard for the next five miles to catch the field. Made the selection of about 20 riders, but got dropped in a 150 degree corner, chased till eyeballs bled for about eight miles but caught the break. Cooked. Dropped on last hill, last rider shed from the finishing field. Fun.”

That same evening, he did the Rockville Twilighter 8K run in 35:07, followed by listening to a band, drinking too much beer, and getting home way too late. Recognized the name of former Texas/New Mexico runner and triathlete, “DeHeer,” as the 4th place finisher with a time of 24+, but did not locate him. After a late night, rallied the next morning to get up at 5 a.m. for an 83-mile ride.

The last weekend of his DC stay was a ride up Mt. Weather with members of the record setting RAAM mixed team. A punishing 55 miles. Followed by a very rainy Crystal City twilighter that evening. Heavy legs, but 20:52 for a 5k. Found DeHeer. Not as much free beer this time, and got back home a little earlier. 91 rolling and rainy cycling miles DC to Sugarloaf the next morning.

1500 cycling miles.
5 cycling events
2 triathlons
2 running races

That's Mark's adventures in DC.

Grumpish

2009-07-28T18:06:00.000-07:00

So, I finish my run tonight, and I am hot and sticky and grumpy.
The cloud cover that had deceptively intimated a coolish run had, instead, supported a scirocco-like wind.
I am tired of the heat.
And I am irritated.

There's a knock on the door.
This has been happening with increasing frequency in the evening.
The front lawn, which has been growing unfettered (sorry Muffin), is attracting all manner of itinerants wanting to make a few dollars.
Generally, I ignore the knocks.
But this time, I am on the phone with T, which somehow makes me a little braver, so I pull the curtain aside to look out the window.
There's a man standing there, white T-shirt, long, brown hair in a pony tail to his mid-back, sunglasses. He has a bag over his shoulder.
I say (grumpish) "Can I help you?"
He just stands there and looks at me.
I repeat myself.
He says he can't hear me.
I raise my voice and say, I don't want want anything, please go away.
He raises his arm and points above my front door and says he wants to know if I want (something unintelligible) stripped.
I say "What?" Because whatever he is saying makes no sense. And, besides, most people want to mow the lawn, and I wasn't expecting him to point above my front door. Then, I immediately say (remember I was grumpish), "Go away, I don't want anything."
He says, "Huh? I can't hear you." Just standing there and not moving. So, I repeat myself and he says he can't hear me again. And, again, not moving.
Since I am on the phone with T, I am only partially analyzing this conversation but somewhere in the back of my head I'm sure I've had conversations through this front window--and the recipient has been able to hear me.
A bit confused but tiring of this, I drop the curtain and turn away, feeling rude, to resume my conversation with T.

When I get off the phone, it dawns on me, that perhaps the man was trying to get me to open the front door.
Do you think?

Swim Thoughts...

2009-07-08T19:56:00.000-07:00

Having the nose piece to my goggles literally fall apart just as I touch the wall at the end of my last lap--must be some significance here.

Allergies in New Mexico--learning to sneeze under water.

Stretching my neck every chance I get--especially after hearing the story of the triathlete who damaged a disc in his neck after doing a 6000 yard session, resulting in weakness in one of his arms. Of course, I don't swim 6000 in a session...

Drills. Still feel as if I'm drowning.

Getting excited when I pass someone in the pool, then realizing that it's pretty pathetic to take satisfaction in passing someone slower than me. It's not that I'm any faster, it's just that some poor soul is caught in a time warp bubble and the slow swimming is really just a functional illusion caused by the expansion of the universe resulting in a relative decrease in velocity.... As a frame of reference, just know that everyone swims faster than me.

And, finally,
After wearing contacts for more years than I care to admit (I saved up and bought my first pair when I was 15), and wearing contacts in the pool under goggles for maybe half those years, and using them during triathlons in the early 90's and then again starting in 2001... I finally lost a lens during a race. Those goggles which broke (see above) did so just before a race, so I grabbed a pair of goggles I was unfamiliar with, squinched them on to my head and eyes so tight that there was TITANIC suction (really uncomfortable, but I'm paranoid of drowning, and felt safer keeping the water out...), so that when I pulled off the goggles, I guess a lens went with them. I didn't notice until half way into the bike when I realized I couldn't get my right eye to focus. C'est la vie. It was a lens that had been giving me trouble for a long time. Even though it was a gas permeable, permanent (not disposable), pricey little thing, I was almost glad to see it go. I went home, dug out my old contacts (dare I say, from 2006), cleaned, scrubbed and rinsed, and voila, I'm almost good as new. It's just that now, I might look at you sideways--you know, one eye popping out, angled and fractured, like Picasso in his Cubist phase....

NDT Certified!

2009-06-19T21:27:00.000-07:00

Graduation day!

These are the people I spent three weeks with,
in a dingy Norwegian dance hall,
learning a specific neuro-rehab approach to treating central nervous impairments (e.g., stroke, brain injury, cerebral palsy).

I am now a Neuro-Developmental Technique / NDT certified therapist.
Which, in my profession, is really pretty cool.

However, better than becoming NDT certified, is what I learned in the process-and how I am using what I learned to make improvements for the people I work with.

I wanted to take the course because I work with people with significant mobility deficiencies and abnormalities--some seemingly intractable and difficult to treat--and I wanted to make more of a difference, which I can truly say I do now.
I went to the course not really knowing what to expect.
If I had known in advance how difficult the course would be, and how it would tie up my life from February through early June--I might not have done it.

But knowing what I do now, how could I ever have gone without it?

The way the course was taught, it took a long time to pull all the pieces together, integrate the concepts and information, and finally understand the big picture.

After all of the angst, sedentariness, full days in the classroom followed by late nights doing homework (with pencil and paper), now that it's done, I wish there could be more. I miss the learning and the people--and the photo (above) makes me nostalgic.

I am a changed person.

p.s. I'm front row, third from right, in the white tank top--smiling!

Where's the O2??

2009-06-10T21:51:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you spend a week at sea level?

Breathless!!

Seriously, I can't seem to breath during exercise. I run taking, long, shuddering breaths in, and vow to myself that I will eat right, and train right, and do everything right, so long as I can get back to being able to BREATH again.

Oxygen is a beautiful thing...

I've spent 5 weeks total at sea level so far this year: 2 weeks in Florida, and 3 weeks in California. Not half weeks, or weekends, mind you, but FULL weeks. It doesn't seem like much, but the breathing part lets me know that perhaps it is adding up.

This time it seems a bit harder to recover from.
However, on the plus side, I seem to have avoided gaining too many extra pounds. Just a little spare tire around the middle (which, on someone my height, makes me look/feel like the Michelin man)...

But, I did find an article by Matt Fitzgerald that heralds a bit of weight gain as good for you during the training season.
Good for me.
I am obviously doing something right!

More weeks at sea level to follow.
This time in Hawaii.
Even if it does sabotage an upcoming race, well...
Who can blame me for going?

Sitting on a Park Bench

2009-05-31T22:10:00.001-07:00

"Sitting on a park bench..."

Remember?

Aqualung.
Base line.
Ba da da da DAH da.
Eww.
Yuck.

I hate that song.
Always have.
There was a boy next door who used to play it in his garage.
Every day.
Like it was the only song he knew.
Which it probably was.

Recently, one of my co-workers can't seem to get it out of her head.

A few months ago she asked me to help her find the lyrics (she's learning, but still a bit technically challenged). We retrieved the lyrics, and she then added them to her arsenal of one-liners that she belts out every now and then. Silly enough, but we periodically burst into song throughout the day. We're nothing like Snow White--more like the seven dwarves, Grumpy and Sneezy. Generally we sing 70's R & B and cheesy listening, Prince, doo-wop, Ramones, whatever, and now....Aqualung.

I'm a long way out of the office now.
Gone on another jaunt to improve the technical skill of what I do.
Far enough away to get that dreaded song out of my head.

I'm completing a course I started in February of this year.
2 weeks of in class coursework, 2 months of application and homework, 1 month of application and study. And, now for the final summation and education, followed, hopefully, by graduation and certification.
In February, when I attended the initial part of this course, I spent two weeks sitting.
I gained back fat and a level of decreased fitness which took a month to recover from.

This time around, on the first day, I took a walk during the break and found a bench to sit on for lunch. It was set back from the street, in a grassy little copse.
It was worn and warped and solitary.
A perfect back drop for tricep dips, modified push ups, planks, and various poses for abdominal strengthening.

I am such an exercise-geek.
Sitting on a park bench...
Now, I can't get it out of my mind.

My Stylist

2009-05-28T20:28:00.000-07:00

My stylist cut off over half a foot of my hair--just before he left for DC.

I told him to cut off 5 inches, then said, "No, better make that 4 inches just to make room for any mistakes."

What I really meant, was "Please cut off the damaged, dry straw at the end, but leave the good stuff.

Unfortunately, I didn't say so.

Then I pointed to some obscure place on my back--which was pretty silly on my part, since I don't have eyes in the back of my head.

So Mark, given those excellent instructions, went to work.

I figured cutting the ends of my hair would be a cinch--since by the time you get to the bottom of what I have, it's pretty thinned out and there isn't much down there.

So, after a few minutes, I got a bit impatient and said, "Aren't you done yet?"

I should have known something was up when he said, "Well, no, there's a lot of hair."

I'm not really that particular. I'd actually toyed with the idea of just clipping off the end of my braid. No matter where I go to get my hair cut, it always looks a mess, so I figured I'd just have Mark lop off the ends and be done with it.

Well, lop he did.

It took him a significant amount of time, mostly because he wanted to make sure that he did a good job, but also because he was square in the midst of the thickest part of my flowing locks--and there was a lot of hair.

When he was done and I turned around, I had to suppress my reaction at all the hair that was no longer on my head. It looked like yards, and ropes, and hanks were littered across the bathroom floor.

When we measured a random hank, it was 7 inches long.

I guess I should have known better--asking a man who seeks baldness as hairstyle.

Fortunately, hair is a renewable resource.

Better yet, I love my new hair cut.

DC Reiteration

2009-05-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

Mark is running around getting ready for Washington DC, packing and pensive about leaving for the summer.

In the past 4 days, he's been catching up on everything he's set aside for the past several months, trying to make up for being a distracted, busy student, and get the house, cars, and us in order.

He wants to make everything the best that he possibly can.
So much so that he is focused and distracted.
So much so, that he is in danger of letting the perfect get in the way of the good.

Part of his "I'm going to fix everything before I go away for the summer" mode is being fiercely independent--wanting to take the load on his shoulders, since I've been doing most of it while he's been squirreled away with his books.

When he packs his bike, I ask him if he would like the bubble wrap and scissors.
What I get is an explosive, "NO!"
(pause)
"Well, yeah...I guess I could use some..."

Then I ask, "Do you want something to eat?"
And there it is again, "NO!"
(pause)
"Umm, I guess I'm kind of hungry..."

Finally, we simultaneously giggle at the explosiveness of Mark's "No!'s" and at the same time, Mark says, "I guess I'm being oppositional."

The rest of the day is spent with Mark saying, No, no, I really mean it. No, I'm not just being oppositional. And me just ignoring what he says anyway (which would make anybody oppositional)....

When all is said and done, Mark has a personal bag (stuffed), a carry on bag (stuffed, books, heavy), a large wheeled duffel (stuffed), and a bike box (awkward). What a load.

Of course, I get irritated and ask him why he couldn't have packed everything during the week, while I was at work, so he could sweep me off my feet on the last day we had together--but that's what Hollywood movies will do for you--give you unrealistic expectations of relationships and romance. Neither of us expected the swamp cooler to take a dive the day before, the modem to go belly up, or for Mark to spend a good amount of time in front of the computer trying to get the darn thing back on it's feet...

And, who doesn't pack up until the last minute?

My favorite example is when I flew from Hawaii to California, just so I could join my sister for a turn-around flight going back over Hawaii to Japan, where we were going to travel for almost a month. Since I only had one day in the Bay Area, I asked her to get her packing done before I got there, so we could go out and play.

Right.

When I got there, she had a giant pile of maybe's, that she hadn't sorted out yet. Somehow the decisions and packing were so difficult that she (we) were up most of the night making it happen. I had flown 2500 miles and 5 hours out of my way to join her for an all-nighter of packing--just so I could turn around the next day and almost immediately get on a flight back across the Pacific.
Not fun, and I was fried by the time we got on the flight to Japan.
But that's life.
And that's family.
And that's packing!

Airport security didn't like Mark's carry-on, and removed all of it's contents, and proceeded to send each individual item through the X-ray.
As Mark says, "So much for early check-in."
But that's life.
And that's travel.

He should be in DC by the end of the day, but he won't be done yet.
The weather report shows it's raining there and he plans on hoofing it across town on the Metro with all of his bags.
Last year, his bike got stuck in the Metro door.

I'm guessing there could be more to this story...

Sitting on my Keister...

2009-03-29T19:03:00.000-07:00

D-r-r-at!

Just when it feels like my training is getting consistent,
and just when it feels like I am getting my fitness "sea-legs" under me,
and just when the weather is starting to get nicer (well, sort of...),
I am spending, what looks to be, about two weeks on my keister.

I spent two weeks on my keister in February.
I was in California in a dim and exceptionally drab Norwegian dance hall (think dark wood paneling, '50's style greenish linoleum flooring, and 25 watt light bulbs), learning advanced technique for neurological rehab.
I was in that room for just about 10 hours a day.
The rest of each day was spent doing hours of detailed homework.
Hours.
With a PENCIL and paper, because that's how they wanted it.

I could have done the course elsewhere, but I chose this location so I could spend time with my sister.
Hah.
She spent her time putting food in front of me, because I had so much homework each night, I couldn't take a break--and that's about all we saw of each other.

I have since found out that courses in other locations are not nearly as rigorous.
They are a week shorter and teach applied technique.
My course appears to emphasize the theoretical. By the time I am done, I will be able to expound on activation, alignment, and missing components of movement--and probably be able to propel a rocket to the moon.
But, I am not sure how my technique will be.

I sat for just about all of my waking hours.
I felt sedentary and awful.
I gained weight.
I even gained BACK fat.
It took a month of being home and getting back to work and training, to finally feel normal.

And now I am doing it again.
For the same course.
Which hasn't ended yet.
Now it's a 28 page homework assignment.
One page alone has 24 questions on it. And some of the questions have multiple sub-parts.
So, I am sitting on my keister again.
Trying to dig through and complete a massive pile of work.
All, so I can become better at what I do.

It's not quite as bad as it was in February, and I try to squeeze in what I can.

Yesterday, after a week of not running, I went out for a neighborhood jaunt from my house to the university golf course. It felt great, but my quads, suffering from dis-use, started to feel actively sore before I made it home.
However, I was OK until today, when I went for a bike ride.
Ouch.
I felt like I might not make it home, my quads were so tired and sore.

I have another 2 weeks of trying to balance homework and training.
Even though I am learning a lot, and I like what I am learning, I am frustrated at how lopsided and unhealthy my life is right now.
I can't believe I have another 2 weeks of sedentariness coming up. Plus, I have to go back for another week of actual hands-on course work.
Just thinking about it gives me traumatic stress syndrome.
I hope I come out on the other end OK.
At least, I hope I can keep off the back fat.

Spring Training II

2009-03-22T22:05:00.000-07:00

Home, sweet Home!

3 days in Tucson, sandwiched by 2 half-days.

Perfect weather.
Especially, as it appears, we missed the wind here (dust obscured the last stretch through Las Lunas, "Is that fog?" I naively asked.
And, dry, downed branches littering the street in front of our house...).

I think I came back with a tan.
But mostly, I came back with a case of "Oouf, are my legs tired."

We made it up Mt. Lemmon.
All 25 miles.
Mostly because, even though my legs were already so-o-o tired, I did not want to have to come back for a third attempt....and because, once I get into the grind, I tend to just keep going.... and, funny enough, I like hills (I think)....stubborn, I guess you could call it.

Although, I did yell out, "I'm dying," when T passed me 5 miles from the top.

This was after miles of relentless uphill, warm Tucson weather that turned into a frigid, cold wind, and me in my bailout gear most of the time.

T passed me because 25 minutes after I started up, he called from the bottom of the hill to tell me his seat collar broke and he was going to a bike shop to fix it. I have no idea what time he started, but it was quite a bit of time after me. Being passed just made me feel slower, colder, and more tired. I'm sure it made the wind blow harder...

But then, at the top, we had a HUGE slice of cranberry-apple pie and a mushroom, bacon cheeseburger--and I was OK again....

We swam in a wonderful, sun-warmed, 50 meter outdoor pool, and an older "I think the cement is disintegrating into the water" outdoor pool (at least the water smelled like cement...).

And, we ran in the desert, playing 'garden gnome' to a group of hard driving mountain cyclists.

Plus, we had camping adventures (we ended up at the Tucson Trap and Skeet club for an overnight...).

Read some great books (The $64 Tomato--William Alexander, and Three Cups of Tea--Greg Mortenson).

And replenished with some really good microbrewery food (that was one night--the rest was camp grinds).

We could have easily spent a few more days.

In fact, T wanted to "live like a pro, and write a book about it" until we realized the pro might not be able to afford the microbrew....

Now, it's time for some really hard training.
You know. The kind you have to fit in around your work/school schedule.
Now, that's hard.

But, it really does feel good to be back home again.

Moments

2009-03-05T21:30:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just have to let things go.

Like tonight.
Taking care of a client's last minute concerns, becoming late, rushing to join 5:oo commute traffic, catching all of the red lights. Then finding that a one liter bottle of water had emptied out into my purse, soaking everything, including the car seat underneath. Grabbing a paper napkin to soak up some of the mess--and leaving pilled up scraps of pulpy paper all over the cloth seat.

Well.
It's just water.

Besides, I just don't have time to deal with it. The clock's ticking, you know.

Rushing into class. Aggravating the teacher without meaning to. Doing the best I can, but feeling like, "Whoops, I made a boo boo," and imaging pulling my head into my shell.
Then, letting it go.

Into the locker room. Swim bag, bike bag. Draw cords catching on everything. Pulling my ugly black swim suit out with a twinge. Two days ago, I'd left my favorite, brightly colored swim suit in the locker room, and two calls later plus one lost-and-found foray (you don't want to see what gets turned in) had turned up nothing.
So, I had to let that go, too.

Rounding the corner toward the pool, and hanging at eye level--my suit. Someone had hung it up, and two days later it was still waiting for me.
Now, that's a moment you want to hang on to.

Catching Up (or hanging on by a coat tail): 2008

2009-02-11T19:28:00.000-08:00

I have been away from home for 4 out of the past 7 weeks.
This means that I've been living out of a suitcase, re-wearing the same clothes (mostly clean, of course), and eating a compendium of foods that I would never consider from my own dining room table.
In fact, if you are what you eat, than I am currently 58% white flour, white rice, morning breakfast pastries, insipid coffee with remarkably over-flavored hazelnut and french vanilla creamer, too-ripe bananas, and frozen this 'n thats.

4 out of 7 is just too many weeks.

I certainly hope this is NOT a prelude of things to come as a mimicry of the amount of travel that T and I did last year. (Hows that for future-past?)

In 2008 I kept wondering why I wasn't getting anything done.
I had "to do" lists that grew continuously--to the point where items came off merely by receding into the distant past,
house projects that received a little brain attention, but nothing actually hands on,
social contacts, work "extras," future planning--but that was just it--it was all planning, and that was as far as it went.

Then I did my year-end year-in-review.
Well, no wonder.

I went on 13 trips last year. T did 11.
California (3 times for me, twice for T)
Alabama (T for collegiate nationals)
Idaho (Idaho 70.3)
Florida (twice for me--work and play; once for T)
Washington DC (twice for me, an entire summer for T)
Rhode Island (T for the RI 70.3)
Texas (Austin twice for me--work and play, once for T; once each for Lubbuck)
Colorado
Arizona (three times for each of us--spring training, rock climbing and the Bisbee 1000)
and, of course, our '08 opener of spending a week on a beach in Baja, Mexico.

Interspersed with flying and driving across the states, T and I spent our "down time" participating in sprint races around the state for the SW Challenge Tri and Du series, triathlon training, working full time (me), and being a full time law student (T).

Some of this we made happen by doing silly things like returning home from Boise at 6 pm one evening, only to do an immediate turn-around and take T to the airport at 5 am the next day for his summer-time move to Washington DC.
Or, going to DC twice, California, then Austin--all in the space of 6 weeks.
Whew.

We made various high points and memories:
My birthday on Catalina island in California
Catching up with Katrina and Ben in San Diego.
Bioness L300 certification.
The Marathon Movie with the Outlaws in January.
Levi on the bike path.
2nd overall female at the Stermer Du
Sick X 10 days in February.
Sitting through that darn CPR certification
Stealth Du
Spring Training in Arizona
The Banff Film Festival at the Kimo.
AC separation March 29th with a long trip to the ER
MVTC
T's April highlights: Being able to compete in the Collegiate Triathlon Nationals after separating his shoulder and 3 weeks of physical therapy
and
being offered an internship in DC on April 25th.
Run 4 the Zoo.
Buffman & Squeaky.
End of school year BBQ with T's law school peeps.
Driving through a very green Utah to Idaho for the 70.3 June 1st.
Marketing, speaking, and spasticity clinic work.
DC fireworks for 4th of July.
Sailing on San Francisco bay in August,
Socorro Sprint,
Karaoke with the work peeps.
T came home on August 11th,
and I left the next day for a movement disorder and spasticity conference in Austin.
The F1 tri,
then the Record Challenge 40k on a miserable day.
September's weekends were Yucca Tri, Patriot Tri, Cotton Country sprint, then community outreach for a balance health fair.
October brought the Longhorn 70.3
a resumption of rock climbing and Jack's desert canyon solitude,
Yoko and Lenin,
and the start of the cyclocross season.
November we did the Bisbee 1000,
started yoga,
hit the climbing gym,
went to cyclocross races around the state,
had a coastal Thanksgiving,
then drove home in a new car.
We wound up the year with the Polar Bear Tri,
I won the SW Challenge Series for my AG,
T persevered through high-stakes final exams--one test determines your entire grade,
and then packed it up for Christmas in Colorado where we ate chlebicky and lots of other good food and I followed the conversations by immersing myself in the few Czech words I already knew...Ahoj! Jak se máš? (how are you?) Dobrý den (hello or good day). Dobrě ráno (good morning). Prosím (please). Babička (nana). Děkuji (thank you)--which, BTW, looks nothing like my mnemonic of "gecko-you."
We finished 2008 in the same way we started it--by traveling--and celebrated the New Year with dinner at Roys Hawaiian Fusion cuisine in Florida--now that was good food.

Through it all, and as always, my work was by turns unpredictable, consuming, and rewarding.

So, like I said, no wonder.

I am still recovering from 2008.

And looking forward to getting back home again...

Greeting the New Year, Florida Style

2009-01-09T13:19:00.000-08:00

We've just come back from two weeks of vacation.

Checked the house as we drove up to make sure all the doors were shut and no windows broken, unplugged the Christmas lights in the front yard as we walked in, found our plants alive, turned up the heat, turned out the "yes, somebody really is in the house" light, went through the mail, and have settled in.

Unpacking the truck can wait a few.

I'm eating my first real chocolate since we left--a dense, creamy truffle left over from holidays--breaking a healthy streak that would do my upcoming year of training proud, but, oh well, training allows me to (somewhat) eat this stuff.

These are my current, brief impressions:

It is truly nice to return to Albuquerque on one of those seeringly blue, sunshiney warmish winter days with little poofs of white clouds floating in the sky--instead of driving up into winter, like we did two years ago when we returned from a Texas Hill Country climbing trip.

Florida water is swampish, Texas water is musty. By the second to last day of the trip I couldn't lift a swampy smelling water bottle to my mouth because the smell was almost nauseating. At a (nice) Texas rest area just outside of Quannah, Mr. T dumped out the Florida water and refilled my bottles, so I wouldn't dehydrate over the last 10 hours of driving.

Camp food is unappetizingly good for you. Quick, easy, low fat. I went through withdrawal for the first week, my body craving a sweet snack after ingesting all those holiday cookies and candies for the two months before we left on the trip.

I feel good. My body feels good. We had 8 days in Florida and exceptionally good weather, according to the locals. We used the time and weather to get in 6 sessions of swimming (all outdoor--3 in open water), 4 sessions of biking, 5 of running, plus two yoga classes, and two days of weights. We went to bed between 8 and 10 pm each night, trying to read before going to sleep, but generally only getting in a page or two before closing our eyes.

It was nice to have down time. Getting away from everything. Getting to bed early. No schedule. We've had a frenetic year. Can't say I've had this much sleep in a long time.

The internet is just completely cool. We used wireless access at Starbucks, Whole Foods, and the training center. Did not get caught up in the usual internet diversions, just kept in touch with community including work and school, checked emails, and looked up information.

People are really good. Kind and generous with their time and knowledge, we felt like we were welcomed into a community. We were sent in the right direction whenever we were lost, let in on the backyard secrets of an area we didn't know. We had use of some one's personal jetted outdoor hot tub and shower facility for several days, were escorted to the nearest Starbucks when we were looking for internet (not directed, escorted), given fresh picked avocados, invited to join the Masters morning swim workout, and received directions for several local rides--including Sugarloaf--the highest point in peninsular Florida at 312 feet (30 feet shorter than the high point in Florida, iconic-because it's the only one you ever hear of-and dreaded by Great Floridian triathlon participants).

Everything is relative. Our little house looked spacious--after spending two weeks in a truck and a tent. The wood floors were warm and inviting, the windows let in lots of light, the park across the street gives us open views. It's a nice place to live.

On the everything is relative front, I had the best birthday cake and ice cream ever, on the road before 10:00 am. Cake was a Starbucks cheese danish in Amarillo, Texas, and a lone Dairy Queen somewhere between Tucumcari and Clines Corner in New Mexico provided a vanilla-cone-dipped-in-chocolate for the ice cream. Today is my birthday--and it's been a nice one so far.

Finally, warm weather vacations in the middle of winter are good. We love them. They get us out of the rut of hiding under giant jackets and being cold all the time. It's a good way to greet and renew for the New Year.

Happy New Year, everyone.
And, as with every new year, more to follow...

Wrapping up a Loose End Before the End of the Year--Polar Bear Results

2008-12-27T11:16:00.000-08:00

Polar Bear results are posted and my blissfully ignorant "I think I did OK" is now "I wonder who just totally kicked my bootay all over the missile range?"

Sarah Crewe.
That's who.

I have no idea if this is the same Sarah Crewe mentioned in Don Fink's training book: "Be Iron-Fit: Time-Efficient Training Secrets for Ultimate Fitness."

Or, if this is the same Sarah Crewe with a sub 12 hour Ironman under her belt, and multiple Ironman results, including Lanzarote, Florida, and Placid.

Unfortunately, the Polar Bear results lack splits.
I came in 7th of 30 females overall, second in my age group, with a grievous mid-winter run, and a 20+ mph bike under windy conditions.
Sarah Crewe was 1st female overall, and first in my age group.
Yeay to my age group!

I would have dearly liked to see her bike split, as she was 3.5 minutes faster than me on the run, but 9 minutes faster overall. With a 5:32 IM bike, (if this is the same Sarah) then Sarah can ride a bike.
Plus, she uses a disc.
When will I ever learn?

I can see that Sarah Crewe has been showing up at the local races: Ruidoso and Santa Fe--all races I didn't do this year.

Whether or not.
Sarah of the IM results or a new face in the crowd.
Hats off.
And,
Welcome to the neighborhood.

36 degree early morning temps with a predicted 20 mph wind...

2008-12-15T19:18:00.000-08:00

T and I signed up for the Polar Bear triathlon before we knew it was actually going to live up to it's name and be a truly COLD race.

We signed up for it because we had earned a year end award for the Southwest Challenge Series (SWCS), and the awards banquet was going take place right after the Polar Bear race. The dedicated SW Challenge administrators (Flip, Mark B, Mariana, John and his wife) put a lot of time into the awards and food, and we felt if they were going to make the effort on their end, then we were going to make the effort to be there.

Each year, I kind of wonder why I sign up for a race in the middle of winter. I say "kind of wonder" because it's a legitimate thought that just barely makes it to the surface of my awareness before getting steamrolled by years of habit and thoughtless race commitments.

Thoughtlessly and based on habit, I signed up for this race in November, when I was a month out from my final '08 race and squarely ensconced in the "off-season."

A month off from triathlon training colors all things triathlon with a rosy glow.

I spent a few more weeks doing nothing and feeling invincible. After all, I was the '08 SWCS champion for my age group, so I must be doing OK.

Two weeks before the race, I started to get a niggle of worry.

From the depths of my not very attentive brain, I started to remember how difficult the race had been the year before. In particular, one memory stood out--me coming off the bike, fumbling through transition with virtually nothing left, feeling overcooked and feverish, holding onto my goggles and barely moving toward the pool, then looking up into the eyes of the number one guy, as he encouraged me--and how embarrassed I felt. I didn't include that moment in my race report, but I did include memories of how sore my muscles were after the race, and how ill prepared I was.

Flash back to 2003, when I had a very up and down year, and T named my training efforts, "The Eight Day Training Plan." That was the year I met Bones, who took me under his wing--and I believe it was the following year that TriTeam Southwest was formed, which eventually morphed into our current Outlaws triathlon team. In 2003 everything triathlon just seemed so hard. I couldn't run three miles hard without feeling wiped out, and I certainly couldn't swim. T was gone at the time and I had a hard time focusing on training but I still, somehow, made it to 6 races that year--all due in part to my 8 day training plan. This plan consisted of procrastinating for as long as possible, than galvanized by the specter of totally making a fool of myself, squeezing in a few key workouts before the impending event...

It was this memory that cropped up as the Polar Bear neared, and I realized I had done virtually no training, except for the very occasional run, since the Longhorn 70.3 on October 5th. My memory of the Eight Day Training Plan gave me some confidence--despite the fact that I also remembered how hard those races were. I had done it before, I could do it again.

Here's a brief summary of my calendar entries for the month before the Polar Bear race:

Week of Nov. 16: 2 days "Sickish," 2 days of rock climbing, 3 days of "no exercise."
Week of Nov. 23: 2 days "short run", 3 days "no exercise," 2 days of Thanksgiving hullaballoo.
Week of Nov. 30: 3 days of "headache," 3 days of "no exercise," 1 day of rock climbing
Week of Dec. 7th: This is where my EIGHT DAY TRAINING PROGRAM kicked in: 7-mile run, 29-mile bike ride, 1500-yard swim, 3-mile run, 1 hour indoor trainer ride, 2 days of rest, then RACE DAY.

Unfortunately, I can't report on how I did, because the results are still not up. However, I felt pretty good throughout the race--turned in a decent run, caught a bazillion on a very windy bike (OK-maybe only 20, since not that many people did the race), and didn't panic in the swim.

The best indicator of how my fitness has improved over the past year? Not one iota of muscle soreness, except in the back of my neck, from not being used to the aero bike position. The race was a 5k run, 40k (25 mile) bike, and 400 yard swim, and I finished in 1:59+, second in my AG. I'm sure when I see my times, I'll wish I had gone faster, but I right now I feel pretty good about the ability to push my limits--especially with the kind of prep I had.

Now, it's firmly back to the off-season for me--especially since its snowing outside right now...

Cyclocross State Championship racing

2008-12-06T12:08:00.000-08:00

On the way out the door this morning, for the State Championship Cyclocross race at Polk middle school, T almost didn't take his second bike. But since he's finished two races on his pit bike this year, and Murphy's law seems to be a theme for this season, he decided to bring it along.

Lucky for him, he didn't need it--except as a warm up on the mud, sand, and grass course. A clean bike is a faster bike, and when the sprinklers are on the night before (at this time of year?) it's nice to warm up on your 'other' bike, and save the real deal for the race. Apparently, the sprinkler water froze in the night, and the early racers had to race on icy grass. By the time T started, the ice had melted and the grass was wet. Riding through wet grass, then into a sand pit makes for an awfully dirty bike...

When I asked him if Murphy's Law came into effect today (since it has been a season of such) he said, "Oh no, but I over cooked a bunch of corners because I forgot my prescription glasses and I couldn't judge the distance." He ended up getting the course marking tape tangled up in his handlebars twice, lost momentum, and probably lost a couple of places, too.

In the end, he placed 5th in his Age Group.
Most of all, though, "it was just fun!"

Now it's time to put up the cyclocross bike (although sometimes it doubles as a commuter), and start studying for finals (T, not me, thank goodness!). The way law school works is that they give you a whole semester of education, then one "high stakes" test at the end, for each course. I expect T's nose will be buried in books for the next two weeks....

I, on the other had, will be writing cards, mailing out packages, and trying to think of the best present ever (!) for T and my sister.

After all the end-of-year fuss is over, we are both dreaming of a warm weather vacation...

Riding Circles in the Sand

2008-11-22T21:56:00.000-08:00

Murphy's Law reigns again.

There was a giant hole on the left side of the start line.
It was a ditch.
Hidden by a small berm.
When the gun went off, so did T.
Full speed ahead.
Then a frantic sudden hard-as-nails braking to a sudden stop just short of the ditch.
Leaving T in last place.
Not the best way to start a race.

It was a race of ditches.
Another ditch was not quite small enough to bunny hop, but not wide enough to ride easily. One foot drop off, two foot width, one foot rise. T hit this one full speed ahead, endo'd, came out of the pedals, and somehow landed on his feet running while his bike got left in the ditch. He said later at one point he saw 3 out of 4 riders go over their bars there. Eventually people just started hopping off their bikes and running it.

On lap three T got a flat.
Kind of the theme for this years 'cross season.
He finished the lap, grabbed his pit bike, worked hard, and ended up something like 14 places out of the money.
Not even a point-is-a-point-is-a-point (thanks DC) for this race.
But, as always, he had fun, "Riding circles in the sand at the Bosque school."

Next week is San Francisco for Thanksgiving and family, then the following week is the cyclocross state championships.

Tomorrow we're taking a break for some non-aerobic fun, rock climbing and cheering on the Outlaws at IMAZ.

Go everyone!

Cyclecross and a Veterans Day Salute

2008-11-14T21:08:00.000-08:00

Last weekend was a double header for T: A cyclocross race Saturday at Mesa Del Sol, followed on Sunday by a race in Santa Fe.
Even though it is the off-season, T puts out more excitement and verve for 'cross than he does for anything else.
As he puts it, "It's the most fun you'll ever have on a bicycle."
Although this year, his 'cross efforts are sharing the stage with our re-budding rock climbing skills, as well as jockeying side by side with school, life, and all that jazz....

Cyclocross racing is a little different than triathlon. Due to the nature of the beast, T always brings a second bicycle which he leaves in "the pit," a designated zone for changing bikes and wheels.

For the Mesa del Sol race, he pre-rode the course on his pit bike--and his pedals broke, allowing him to still clip in, but only if the pedals were in a certain position. Still, he placed the bike in the pit as a back up. On lap two of the race, he flatted and rode the entire 3rd lap with a flat. Here is the race in his own words:

"I flatted on lap two, rode the third lap with a flat, lost two positions, switched bikes in the pit, immediately made up two positions, crashed in a loose, sandy corner because my tire pressure was too high (it's the bike he uses for commuting), lost two positions, kept crashing and had a hard time clipping in while racing, barely hung on, and finished in 10th place--just inside the points."

With all of that, he actually did not finish last.
And, gained a point for the series.
Pretty big effort, if you ask me.

The next day, we drove up to Santa Fe for a late starting race at Fort Marcy.

As T was getting ready for warm up, we heard that a Veterans Day parade was about to start just up the street.

Since I had already planned on going for a short run before settling in to watch the race, I ran out to take a look.

This was the start of the parade.

I loved it's homegrown nature.

That was one heck of an organized fire crew.

The veterans bring tears to my eyes, for the stories they carry inside and the paths of their lives. Through work, I met one man who spanned 3 wars. He was 99 years old and had lied about his age as a teenager. He remembered the kindesses of an enemy boy who saved his life. Another spoke of hand to hand combat--and had bayonet scars to show for it. So many. WWII, the Bataan Death March, Vietnam, Korea, the Gulf and current war.

When T was gone, I received a home quilted Blue Star from the local chapter. For some reason it meant a lot to me, I think because of the historical context, the significance and recognition of family, as well as the link to so many others who knew what it felt like to have someone in combat. That blue star still hangs in T's study. It's a bit hidden, so I don't even know if he knows it is there...

This was my favorite. My camera stuck so, unfortunately, I didn't get the whole group.

I didn't know the police had a 'vette. Now, who do you suppose gets to drive that?

The end of the parade.

After the parade, I went for a short run, then settled in to watch T in action. This was the first cyclocross race to be hosted in Santa Fe. A lot of new and fast faces showed up. The competition was deeper than usual, the racing was hard, but the course was "really fun." This year, the race was a shot at a new venue, but, already, the Santa Fe Police Department has volunteered to sponsor the race for next year.

T leading a chase pack

Snaking through an S-curve in the dirt.

Taking it up the steps

Gaining speed and getting ready to jump onto the bike

A tired T at the finish.

T's comment at the end of the weekend was "that was an awful lot of effort for one measly point, but that was fun."

He's getting ready for another double header next week, one under the full moon in Tijeras, the other at The Academy. Meanwhile, we'll be hitting the climbing gym, and, oh yeah...more yoga!

How to Be Competitive At Yoga

2008-11-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, T and I decided to try a yoga class.

The yoga class came as an extra benefit for membership at the local rock climbing gym.

Since I am up for anything that is "extra benefit," and since we were planning on going to the rock gym anyway, we decided to give it a whirl.

When we got there, the gym was REALLY crowded. It looked like there were about 100 people. Every wall was taken except for the really hard stuff. The really hard stuff, is REALLY HARD, and has climbs where you hang up side down and traverse upside down under and across the roof of the gym--but even that had some people on it.

T and I were the only ones to show up for the yoga class.

The yoga room was brightly lit, compared to the relative dimness in the rock gym, and had a sheer glass wall (not "window", but wall) , that allowed for a very clear view, so that T and I felt just a wee bit exposed.

We told the teacher we were beginners.

So in this bright, bare room, with the floor to ceiling glass wall, and nowhere to hide, she was kind enough to give us a private class.

Let me tell you, that stuff is hard.

After the warm up sequence (in which I realized I wasn't limber at all), she had us stand in "mountain", "tree" or "stork" pose. I don't know which one it was, but we had to stand on one leg, while reaching over head.

I was thankful that I still have good balance from my younger days as a gymnast, and my current work, in which I stand on one leg all the time.

We stood in this one-legged pose for a while.

I was proud of T, who was standing next to me, and who I could sense was keeping good balance.

A year or so ago, I had told him that people start losing their balance sense in their 40's or 50's. He had quietly taken this to heart, spent time challenging his balance, and had made some noticeable improvements.

Now, in this yoga class, his balance homework was carrying over and paying off.

At first it was OK.
Then, my leg muscles started to feel a little tired.
Then I began to wobble a bit and had to make corrections.
Then my calf started to burn and I wondered if I was going to be able to climb after yoga.
We kept holding the pose.
And I mean for a long time.
Talk about Feel The Burn.

And then we FINALLY got to stop.
So we could do it all over again on the other leg.
I thought, "There is no way I am going climbing after this."

When we done, we politely asked the teacher how long she holds these poses. Her reply was, "For as long as people can hold them without losing their balance."

OK.
But we're beginners.

The problem, we realized later, is that T and I are both competitive people, plus we like to rise to the challenge. When someone gives us a challenge, we'll do everything we can to be as good as possible. So both of us attempted to stand on one leg for as long as we could--waiting for the teacher to call it--while she was waiting for one of us to lose our balance.
Whew! Was I thankful when she finally called it.
Were my legs POOPED!!!

We did end up climbing afterwards, but it was a short session.

I didn't like the yoga and thought it was hard and uncomfortable--which means I should probably keep doing it.
T liked it.
As T puts it, "Once a week is enough."
So, he is dragging me back next week....

The Longhorn 70.3 in Photos

2008-11-07T21:46:00.000-08:00

This is how we got ready for the race:

Mr. T carbo-loading on blueberry, strawberry, and walnut pancakes in the parking lot adjacent to the sponsoring Jack and Adams bicycle shop, the day before the race.

Then, we went for a swim in the local spring. Notice how clear the water is. It's a sinkhole, home to a rare, endemic newt, 68 degrees year 'round, and about 300 meters long. Very refreshing on an Austin summer day...
This is how we finished the race. Those are my shoes covered in muddy dust. We were given burritos with pico de gallo, red chile, and chile verde salsa, beer, a tall Longhorn water bottle, and Pickle Juice ("for the cramps"). Dessert was mint chip ice cream.

In between, the race looked like this:

T exiting the swim with a lot of helping hands.

Each of us on the bike.

T enjoying the run.

Life is sweet...

Off-Season Sport Climbing at Jack's

2008-11-02T18:51:00.001-08:00

More fun.

Another weekend at Jack's.

This time we had a new moon, flanked by off set planets on either side (which could have been Venus, Jupiter or Mars)--then as the sun set completely, a few hundred million stars.

In contrast to our previous weekend, there were other climbers--from Alaska, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and, of course, Arizona.

Dierdre Burton was there, one of the original route setters in the mid-90's.

We took it easy, yet pushed our limits.

On the second day, we actually got up early to make the most of our second day--and were the first one's into the canyon. VERY uncharacteristic of us.

We're regaining some of our former climbing ability.

This weekend included the following grades: 8(2), 9(1), 10a(3), 10+(4), and two 12a's for Mr T.
The climbs were steeper, edgier, with smaller crimps, more balance, smears, and power.

In comparison, our first weekend had softer grades: 6(1), 9(3), 10a(4), 10+(1), and a 10a, and 11c for T.

The highlight of my weekend was Dealers Choice, a thin 10c with a tips only layback at the bottom and which was my first 10+ clean in years.

The low lights included hanging on Genesis under the high roof and not getting the sequence for the second time, despite kibitzing from T, as well as the gusty high winds on the second day that blew dried seared leaves and dust in swirls around my eyes. (The canyon was very dry this year, and the vegetation looked like it had been crisped in an oven...)

T's highlight was working the 12's, especially Genocide (next to Genesis), his first 12's outside of the gym in years.

There were no lowlights for T.

Route Roll Call:

Second Weekend (November 1-2):
Fistful of Dollars 10a
Dealers Choice 10c--(clean for me)
Slots Full of Fun 10a
Edge Your Bets 9a
Genesis 10c/d (1 hang)
(Genocide 12a--T on TR, fun)
Last Episode 10d

Jackpot 5.8
Jack--5.8
Unnamed 10a
Total Lack of Jack 10c
(Jacking for Change 12a--T clipstick lead, then TR; sharp, steep with reachy bulge)

First weekend (October 16-17)
Progressive Slots 5.6
Unnamed 5.9
Fistful of Dollars 10a
Sports Book 10a
Genesis 10c/d (2 hangs)
Blackened 10a
(One Armed Bandit 10a--T rapped due to worn anchors)

Edge Your Bets 9
Slots Full of Fun 10a
You Don't Know Jack-- 9
(Jack the Gripper 11c--T clipstick lead)

The Bisbee 1000

2008-10-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

Imagine...
Running up 1034 steps.
Against the clock.
Just for the fun of it.

That's what T and I did last Saturday.

It all started with our annual 4-day Fall Break rock climbing trip......

Many years ago, T and I started out as climbing partners--T at the "rock royalty" level, myself at the "I'm just trying to figure out which end of the rope I'm supposed to use--it's the 'sharp' end, right?"

When I wasn't too busy studying for an exam, and when T was in-between climbing with all manner of cute girls from the gym--we would hold the rope for each other, and go on weekend trips around NM, AZ, CO, NV, and TX.

Since those days, we've migrated into the world of triathlon, but rock climbing has always been there, a simmering desire on the back burner playing second fiddle to our triathlon training. In fact, we haven't really been rock climbing in 3 years, except for a few sporadic climbing sessions and at least one annual trip. Climbing, like triathlon, takes consistent focus and training. We've missed our weekend trips, but haven't pursued the skill it takes, or taken the time, to really be good again.

This year we tried, once again, to tap into fall season rock climbing.
And for some reason, this year, it stuck.

Reveling in the freedom of the off season, we finished our last big tri-effort (Longhorn 70.3), took 3 days to recover (GI issues, sore muscles and all), and then Thursday, less than a week after the Longhorn race, went on our first rock climbing foray to the climbing gym in almost a year.

We had to get re-acquainted with the gym environment (now much more crowded than it was several years ago), our equipment, new people, finding different muscles, and using our bodies in an unaccustomed way.

We saw several old friends and familiar faces.

We had a great time.
And were pretty sore the next day.

Feeling like Newbies, we decided to go to Jack's canyon for a long weekend of relatively easy, fun Arizona rock. We returned to the gym 2 more times, climbing progressively higher grades, then, one week after our first foray to the gym and 10 days after Longhorn, we left Wednesday night for Arizona.

Serendipity.
Two days before the trip, I happened to glance at a magazine and saw a brief description of a running event in Bisbee, Arizona. The description went like this:

"Climb a Thousand Steps.
Put your quads to the test by entering the Bisbee 1000 stair climb. The race honors the heritage of the small Old West mining town east of Tucson--the stairs, built during the Depression by the WPA, follow old mule paths that once connected Bisbee's copper mines. The run is 5K and climbs 1034 steps and a few steep roads."

Since we were planning on being in Arizona, we didn't think twice.
"Looks like fun."
"We aren't strong enough to climb more than 2 days in a row anyways."
"Look, it says "historic" and it's about a WPA project."
"Lets bring our running gear, and see how we feel..."

And so we brought our run gear...

Jack's was absolutely beautiful and eerily deserted.
We were the only ones there--first time that has ever happened.
The full moon was gorgeous.
We picked a site, camped, and climbed for two days
Mostly 5.10, which was a grade or two higher than I had been practicing in the gym.
Two days was enough.

1. T at the top of a 5.11c ......... 2. Abseiling the climb (on rappel)

On the second day, as we headed out of the canyon, we ran into one other party who had just arrived. Turned out to be climbing friend "D" from NM, from days long past. Small world.

We then drove to Bisbee, about 5 hours across the state, near the southern border of Arizona.

Bisbee is a cute, historic copper mining town built into the side of Mule Mountain. Population: ~ 6000; Elevation: ~ 5530'
In the early 1900's Bisbee was the largest city in the Southwest between St. Louis and San Francisco with about 20,000 people.

We camped overnight, then arrived early for 7 am race day registration at the courthouse. By the end of registration there were almost 1500 people signed up; last year there were less than 800.

Town business was still pretty much closed so we hiked up the street for a Circle K coffee and egg muffin breakfast.

The run start was to the right (downhill) of the Ironman statue. T and I started up front, in the first wave, to avoid getting caught behind the walkers. Last year, there had been waits of up to five minutes at the bottom of the stairs due to the bottle necking of so many participants. Since everyone wanted to get to the stairs first, and the run started on a downhill going into a turn, the start was a bit of a wild free-for-all. You had to have your wits about you, and watch for flailing feet and arms. One person tripped and went down hard less than 50' from the start. T was elbowed hard enough to cause a charlie-horse for several days by "a large, chubby woman who looked like she shouldn't have been in the front anyway..."

By the time we got to the first set of stairs, T had disappeared off the front, and I was bordering on anaerobic due to the fast start and being swept downhill by the get-to-the-stairs-first fervor. T says he ran up the first steps without feeling a thing. I, on the other hand, attempted to run, but quickly backed off due to the feeling that I was pushing my max, and was probably going to kill myself. This feeling persisted throughout the entire event. I don't think my heart and lungs have ever worked so hard. After I got to the top of the first set of steps, I thought, "I can't believe there are still 8 more to go. I am never going to make it." The thought of running 5K up these stairs made the distance seem like an eternity. In fact, I was breathing so hard, I could do no more than walk up the remaining 8 flights, gulping oxygen and with occasional thoughts of what if my heart can't take this?
The course took us all around Bisbee, up steps, and down curvy roads, along main street, and through some kind of factory. After the 7th flight, we had a longish road run to the back of a valley, which should have allowed recovery and a resumption of pace, but which neither T nor I were able to take advantage of. My finish was characterized by passing two women who could have been in my age group, than pouring on the 'speed', as best I could up the last 2 flights of steps, to keep them behind me. T's finish was notable for being passed by a 13 year old boy just as he was flying downhill into the finish. The boy came up to about T's rib cage and he was being coached by a paternal figure who kept yelling "Get him! Get him!"

We had thought of the run as a fun way to see Bisbee, but neither T nor I remember much except for looking at the steps right in front of us. There was live music situated in drive ways and decks along the steps and lots of people cheering us on, just by stepping outside of their houses. The finish was a whole lot of fun, free samples of Xood, energy drinks, wine tasting, and cheese, crackers, bread, and meat tasting. While waiting for the awards, we stopped into the Made in Bisbee Marketplace for shredded beef burritos and tamales, and watched the Ice Man competition, which honors the history of the men who delivered ice before there was refrigeration, by having competitors climb 155 steps while carrying a 10 pound block of ice using antique metal tongs.

Despite how difficult the race felt, T finished 2nd out of 43 in his AG, in 37:40, earning himself some hardware and a spot on the podium with Smokey the Bear.

I finished 7th out of 69 AG in 48:44.

To give you an idea of how hard this 5K is, the fastest time was 29:48.
To give you an idea of the versatility this race attracts, the youngest competitor was 6 and the oldest 83.
As for talent? I was awed by Bobby Widhalm, who at 69 years young, completed the course in 40:08, and Don Branaman, at 70, winning his age group in 44:56

All in all, we had a great weekend, driving 1100 miles in 3 days, climbing, camping, and racing. The run was a huge effort, but a whole lot of fun, and we're thinking of going back.

In closing, here is an image of T perusing a rock wall....

Longhorn 70.3--after the race....

2008-10-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

T and I got back to the normal routine of things on the day after the race--stumping around at work on a level of soreness that T called "Worse than moderate," and that I defined as "Moderate?! I can't @#k&* move!"

I spent the day in a way that no one who has that kind of muscle pain should have to do, crawling around on my knees, stooping, kneeling, smiling and swallowing my "ooufs"--jealous of a fellow co-worker who had done the Xterra Championship race in Nevada the same day, and who had wisely taken Monday off...

Monday afternoon my tummy felt a little off and by that evening I was sure I had picked up some kind of food poisoning from workplace cafeteria food. A miserable night followed.

Then a miserable day.

Another miserable night.

And another miserable day.

Epidermal hypersensitivity.

Almost no food intake--a little broth, instant mashed potatoes, half a banana.

No one else at work had a miserable tummy, so on the second day it dawned on me that I might be ill from the water I had swallowed in the lake during my pre-race practice swim on Saturday.

It did cross my mind that I might have gotten ill from Austin tap water--which tasted like dirt and algae--just not quite as strong as the lake water, but nearly so--then realized that T wasn't sick. Only I.

I was sick through Wednesday. Fortunately, my tummy cleared on Thursday--the same day my legs finally felt good enough to allow T and I to truly start our "off" season with our first rock climbing session in almost a year.

After that, T and I were pretty much recovered--just continuing to allow ourselves to completely lose all muscle fatigue and regain our desire. 8 days after the race, the following Monday, I went for my first run, a brisk, at-tempo 5 miler, that felt fresh in a way I hadn't felt for some time. Triathlon training doesn't leave much time for "fresh, fully recovered legs" running, but this run felt just like that. It brought back the fun and made me look forward to more.

The bad part of this recovery was the several nights without sleep (unhappy tummy nights) combined with the poor nutritonal intake for several days after a big race effort for a definite double whammy to my system.

The good part is that I took off a few pounds--allowing me to feel confidant about fitting into my costume (built around a $3 find at the Kaimuki Goodwill a few years ago) for the upcoming Halloween bash in 2 weeks.

The moral of the story is be cautious when it comes to drinking Austin water--whether from a lake or the tap (it really did taste bad).

Walter E. Long Lake aka Decker Lake, Austin, TX

Austin in a Weekend: The Longhorn Ironman 70.3

2008-10-06T19:49:00.000-07:00

This was our PLAN:

Thursday: Work until 5, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Friday: Wake early, finish drive, start pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness.
Saturday: Finish pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness--THEN get race gear ready.
Sunday: Pre-race rigamarole, RACE, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Monday: Wake early, finish drive, then go to work.

Kind of like taking the red-eye Sunday night, back from Hawaii, so you can get to work on time in NM on Monday morning.

OR, kind of like a whirlwind race weekend--only with a 70.3 thrown in and a destination in another state...

This is what WE GOT:
A deep blue quiet night on the edge of a lake, complete with Milky Way and the distant light of large trucks.
A city with wall to wall traffic--even during non-commute hours.
A blueberry, walnut, and strawberry pancake breakfast--hand cooked in individual skillets--with like minded pre-race focused tri-athletes
A cool swim in a 300 yard long crystal blue sink-hole--chill enough to take your breath away, but refreshing on a warm 94 degree day.
A drive by Mellow Johnnies and Juan Pelota.
The Whole Foods mothership. Man--that was a LARGE and temptacious store.
A race day saved by partially cloudy conditions.
Pleasant lake water that you could actually see your feet through.
A run course that caused both of us to dig deep.
Some new PR's.
And a TON of cool schwag--including race towel, long sleeve tech T, mesh hat, pound of coffee (each), swim bag, race nutrition samples (notice the pleural), almond butter and sunscreen samples, the ever-present Longhorn water bottles, AND
burritos, tacos, beer, and ice cream.

This is what WE DIDN'T ANTICIPATE:
Getting lost.
Downtown traffic.
Lightning from one side of the sky to the other, and non-visibility conditions.
WIND.
4 hours of sleep, followed by a 4 am alarm, and the mesmerizing sameness of the open road.
Sore, SORE muscles--the kind where you can't take a step, much less get into and out of the car without groaning....

Fun. In spite of it all.

AND, the happy surprise of seeing an Outlaw uniform on the course (even if you did call the guy by the wrong name, so he didn't even know you were there...)

The SWIM:
The magic of the swim was me JUST DOING IT.

A bit of a big deal, because I was sure I was going to DNF, but secretly hoping I wouldn't.

T was so concerned for me, that the first thing we did when we got to Austin--during the afternoon commute traffic hour--was seek out the lake, so we could jump in and check out my panic factor.

It was pretty much a given that the water would be too warm for wetsuits, same as the year before. But when we got in the water, the coolness of the water didn't jive with the 88 degree temps noted for the week before. We did a small out-to-the-buoy-and-back swim in which I felt fine, and we exited ready to get to check in. It wasn't until the next day practice swim, when the wind came up, and I swallowed water, then went into a panic and had to hang on a buoy, that I became concerned about another DNF.

I hung on that buoy (200 yards off shore) and wondered if a boat could come out and rescue me.
I started envisioning how when I got old, that I would look back and remember all these DNF's.
I started making plans for my future in meditation and yogic body control.
T hung with me and stabilized the buoy, especially when I yelped, "Why is it moving?"
He said, "Because it's not anchored," so I promptly envisioned floating further out into the lake while hyperventilating and clutching this bobbing, floating, slippery, uncontrollable object that I had THOUGHT was put there for my own safety.
It was a bit disconcerting to look up and see all the super-fit, lean, shaven athletes congregating on the shore for their practice swim.

Fortunately, I was able to get my breathing under control and swim easily back to shore (so no boat needed), but my confidence was beat up.

T decided to bring the wetsuits on the chance of a chance that it might be wetsuit legal--and at the last minute, word came down that the lake was 77.8 degrees. Phew! What a way to save my sorry, sinking, non-swimmer swim.

Still I was concerned.

DNF'ing a large race doesn't go away easily, and I'm obviously still traumatized by the DNF in Idaho (even if T does tell me that Idaho was the "perfect storm" of cold, wind chop, and noisy, overstimulating conditions).

But the EndorFun way of doing the race just made everything so easy, casual, and yet, really well organized. Which kept me relaxed. And made it a whole lot easier for me, then being corralled in a pen and being limited on my warm up....

As per Ironman 70.3 organization, my wave started after the pro men and women, and the 50 plus men. Once again, I got lucky, as the swim course was changed to allow the initial swim leg to parallel the shore. I knew this would give me confidence and allow me to warm up and get going before the middle of the lake swim started. My plan was to step into the lake and start all the way to the right, so as to avoid the pack, and be closer to the shoreline. Seems like most of the women had the same plan also. Instead of being out to the side and isolated, I ended up standing in a large group--so I quickly made my way back toward the shore, and waited for the pack to go without me.

You feel pretty exposed when you're the only one standing in the shallow water, as your age group peeps swim away from you, and there are at least 2000, if not more, people standing behind you on shore--all looking at your back and feeling sorry for you...

This is what happens when you wait for everyone else to swim first.
That nice clear water gets churned into a brown muddy mess.
All the plant life growing on the lake bottom gets broken off and you end up somewhat clawing through large handfuls of floating greenery.
The kayakers think you don't know where you're going and try to herd you onto the main swim path, which you are emphatically trying to avoid.
Since you are the only swimmer, you can hear what's going on around you--and suddenly you hear this ever-growing wall of noise, as the 35 -39 year old men come charging (swimming) from behind.
Near panic sets in as the noise grows louder.
I made a hard turn to the right to get out of the path of the focused, PR seeking men, then asked a kayaker if he could paddle along next to me "not too close" for a little while.
How nice to have my own guardian angel in a red kayak.

By the first buoy turn, I was comfortable enough to pick up the pace.
By the second buoy turn, I got too warm in my wetsuit.
But, voila, it was a triangular course, so at this point I just finished up the swim, and got the heck out of dodge...i.e., I ran up the long grassy hill to transition.

The BIKE:
Since T and I hadn't previewed the course, I had no idea where I was going.
Rolling hills to start, followed by stretches of relatively flat, curving road.
Wind. Lots of it.
Bumps and cracks everywhere.
The bike course was crowded. 2000 participants.
You had to have good bike handling skills and be polite at a fairly high rate of speed, while trying not to draft.
Lots of chatter to let people know where you were in relation to them, since there was so much passing going on.
Eyes focused on the bikes constantly jockeying for position around you, and not the surrounding countryside--which could have been pretty, but I never noticed.
I received the comment: "N! I guess we're going to get to know each other, since we're passing each other so d*mn much!" (Our names were on our bibs).
My problem was that I would slow down on the uphills, than regain speed on the downhills.
That bike course just seemed to go on forever.
I literally wanted to fall asleep on the bike.
I felt like I couldn't keep my eyes open.
A reflection of the sleep deprivation I obviously had.
By mile 40 I had a thought which I have never had before in a race, "Just get me off this d*** bike."
The last section went hilly again, which was just plain cruel and tortuous.
But I survived it with a 2:57 PR--wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all.
Which, what with all the wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all, probably meant I had gone out too hard...

The RUN:
Ugh.
A hilly and unaesthetic course.
Hot.
By the second mile I knew it wasn't going to be a good run.
I felt encased in a sticky, sweaty layer that wouldn't let my skin breath.
Elvis, Batman, the Joker, and the Pusherman lightened the day.
The Pusherman made me laugh, by whispering sweet enticements into my ear--which meant, obviously, that I was walking.
But it was a good laugh.
The 12 bands advertised turned out to be 5 or 6 bands, but each was welcome, and I wished there were more.
I poured ice down my shirt and under my run hat. Sponges for each shoulder and the back of the neck. Water, Gatorade, Coke. 3 gels.
Eventually, I did another first. I walked for several short distances.
The downhill into the bat-zone was too painful for my sore quads.
Funny enough, I actually ran the Quadzilla hill.
On the second lap, when I asked someone the time, I realized that I had a slim chance for a PR, so suddenly, and from somewhere deep, I picked up the pace, up the hill, through the dry, dusty forest, and around the corner to the finishing chute. I have no idea how I was able to run so fast for that last 1.5 miles, and conversely, why I had been running so slow previously.
My finish was a PR by 7 minutes.
Just think, I could have jogged in that last mile, and still PR'd.

What a painful day.

The after race festivities were characterized by live music, lots of food, a lot of wandering around, and a previously grassy transition area now turned to dust.

When we were ready to pack up, we found that the roads were still closed for the final racers, and the shuttle buses weren't going to start running until 5 pm. This meant we had a 3/4's of a mile walk to get to the truck.

Since my quads were so sore, I was happier to walk than ride my bike.

At the truck we did a quick clothing change, packed up, and headed out of town.
Our drive was delayed by a HUGE lightning storm with downpour conditions between Fort Stockton and Sheffield in Texas.
By midnight, we were in NM, setting our alarms for 4 am, and laying down for a few hours sleep in the deep quiet by Brantley Lake.
Daylight brought another few hours of driving, and a happy arrival at home.

What a weekend.

Cotton Country Sprint

2008-09-20T17:34:00.000-07:00

Sam McGlone is a pro triathlete I admire. She's a long-course racer. She came to my attention at the Honu 2007, the most recent year that T and I did the race--and the year she chose to jump up to the full IM distance after her impressive 70.3 wins, including the 2006 70.3 championship in Clearwater, Florida, which qualified her for Kona in '07.

In the 2008 October issue of Triathlete magazine, Sam wrote about the difference between pros and the "average Joe" triathlete: "A common problem among triathletes is training way too much and not racing enough."

This sentence jumped out at me.

Earlier this year I mixed up my season by taking a 3 month hiatus from racing, with only a fairly recent return to the circuit. I tend to train long, as this is the most comfortable distance for me. But starting in August, I've been sprinkling in some weekend sprint competitions--with progressively improving results. I've never been good at threshold efforts--they hurt too much, and my threshold is disappointingly slow--but these sprint races have served a purpose and challenged my capacity. Sam's words have helped me to realize that rather than wallowing in the self-absorption of my points standing in the SW Challenge series, these races have built on my early season base, extended my skill level, and touched up my speed. I have never been a "sprint" type athlete, but coupled with the external reward of placing on the podium, and the internal reward of pushing my limits, I now call these weekend forays, "fun" (whodathunk?), functional and applied interval training.

Yesterday, T and I decided to drive south to Levelland, Texas for the SPC Cotton Country Sprint Triathlon: 5K run, 13 mile bike, 300 yard pool swim. Since I work until 5 pm, and the drive is 308 miles, we broke up the distance by spending the night in Clovis (clean, new, unused (!) Comfort Inn), got up early, and finished the final 87 miles by watching a pastel sunrise across wide open Texas fields of cotton.

Cotton Country is a small race, which has grown every year to now having about 100 participants. T and I registered in a matter of minutes, set up our transitions, had about 20 minutes for warm up, then gathered in the street to get ready for the start. I hadn't recognized any of the 3 (!) names listed in my age group category, but one of the women happened to announce her age loudly while we were waiting at the start line, so I immediately honed in and marked her as someone to keep an eye on.

The Run:
The men started two minutes in front of us.

Due to my generally poor running performance, I seeded myself at the back of the pack, started at a steady pace, then found my stride and gradually made my way up to the 4th place position--right behind the woman who had identified herself as my competition. She ran well, and kept me on the edge. Another young, blonde woman passed me, and she and my competition spent the next two miles testing each other and surging ahead--which meant I spent my run playing keep-up and hoping I wasn't going out too hard.

Since the run is an out and back course, and the men started two minutes in front of us, we could see the men on the return as we headed for the turn-around. Bobby Gonzales looked up at me as he came flying by. T says that I was breathing so loud he could hear me across the road. He couldn't hear anyone else. Was I making such a ruckus that I disturbed Bobby's run concentration? I was merely trying to make sure I had enough oxygen, but probably sounded like I was drawing my last gasp.

The two women kept up the pace, but at 2 miles started to flag, and definitelylooked tired when they picked up water at the aid station. I went by without pausing for a drink, still worried that I was over doing it, and expected them to match me, but they fell off the back. Instead two other women passed me, neatly, like I was running my standard slow slog. Still, I managed to keep up the pace, reduce the damage, and pass one in transition, while the other disappeared--probably a team. Cotton Country doesn't take splits. I finished 5th on the run. A rough estimate of my time was 26:50, on a course that Muffin thought was longer than 3.1 miles.

The Bike:
The bike was well protected this year, including the turn-around which had both a volunteer and police officer. Even the sandy corner had been swept--or just hadn't gathered sand this year. The course felt a whole lot safer, even if the large trucks on the road certainly had no idea what we were doing...

After reviewing two race reports, 2007 and 2006, I thought I was going to fun on the bike with one humdinger of a tail wind. Instead we had a crosswind, so that after working hard to get to the turnaround and my headwind reward, I found I had to work even harder--and battle thoughts of "there's only 3 in my age group, so why am I working so hard?"--until it suddenly struck me--I could go for the overall, instead of age group, win. Since it was a bit late to suddenly realize I might have a shot at the overall, it was a bit like blowing air into a leaky balloon, but the thought still worked enough to pick up my sagging-in-the-wind bike effort and overtake more men, and one of the females in front of me, to bring me up to 3rd overall on the bike. A rough estimate of my bike time on the 13 miles course was 35:30.

The Swim:
In transition, one of the women I had passed on the bike caught up to me. I was busy trying to get my bike shoes off, so I said, "Don't worry, I'm not in your age group," then looked up and thought,"Uh-oh, did I just lie to that woman?" I felt so bad about unintentionally misleading her that when we got to the pool, together, and she motioned for me to go first, I said, "No, you go." She took off, with me right behind her--and I'll be darned if I didn't pass her within 25 yards, without even trying. T said we both lost time with our polite sillyness.

The swim was down and back in the same lane, for another thrashfest. However, this time, I didn't hover on the edge of panic, just kept on warming up to the water and gradually, opening up my speed. Unfortunately, in a deja vu moment, a large guy passed me--then couldn't keep up the speed. He blocked me from passing, and couldn't negotiate the turns, so as I found myself having to slow down my swim, I got worried that the woman behind me was catching up. I also, now, had no chance of catching any woman in front of me. It was very frustrating, since this was one of the only swims this year where I wasn't panicking. I thought about passing hiimon the right, but there wasn't quite enough room. By the finish, I was pretty irritated, but T, who had watched the whole thing, immediately spirited me away from the pool, which gave me time to pack up my gear, put my irritation behind me, and enjoy the lunch and awards that followed.

T and I both did well.
I love it when we have dual-twin finishes.
He was 3rd place Overall male, I was 3rd place Overall female.
Unfortunately, T had tummy problems on the bike, and ended up placing 2nd in his age group--first in the pool off the bike, but with not enough lead to hold off his competition.
I won my age group.
The woman I passed in the pool was a couple of age groups behind me, and won her age group.
Here is how T congratulated me: "Do you have to keep hogging all the national championship slots?"
Which is how I realized I had qualified again.

The best part about this race, is feeling that I was able to push my pace on the run, and not panicking in the pool.

Sam's advice about training too much, and not racing enough seems to be working for me. Every race brings up my skill--and this year, I'm enjoying it.

We broke up the drive home by stopping in Santa Rosa for a half mile swim in Park Lake, a sink hole 200 yards across with relatively clear water (like Bottomless Lakes in Roswell), large fish, and coolish temps. Lightning came up from the east and cut our swim short, but it was a nice interlude, and made us feel we had done more than "just" a sprint distance work out for the day.

A Good Day: The Patriot Triathlon

2008-09-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

When I finished the Patriot Tri I thought "It figures. I'm having a really bad day."

This was because a number of events leading up to the race had been auspiciously adverse.
Not that I'm superstitious, or anything like that.
It's just that when enough things go wrong, you start to wonder if maybe the universe is trying to tell you something....

It all started when I tried to sign up for the race, on the day of the deadline--and I couldn't get Active to give me anything past the waiver page. Signing up for the race was pretty important to me, but as it was a race I really wasn't sure I wanted to do, I'd left it until the last minute. I'd already completed my 8 races to qualify for the SW Challenge Series, and was really looking forward to a change in focus--but during my 3 month hiatus, unbeknownst to me, a rival Age Grouper had taken my absence as a sign that maybe she could take the prize--so she'd turned up the heat by participating in a number of races, and was fast closing in on my first place status.

I had to find another computer to get Active to allow me to register, but not before I had a momentary panic and internally berated myself for waiting until the last minute....

Then, I went to pick up my packet.
I call this section "LOST IN RIO RANCHO."
Seriously.
It took me two hours to get my packet.
I could have just about driven to Farmington, which is on the northern border of this state. Instead, I spent 2 hours in a neighboring suburb.

It all began when my excessively literal self read the race brochure which stated that packets could be picked up at the sponsoring bicycle shop OR at the race site.

I thought it was odd that there were two packet pick up sites, but thought maybe they had some kind of computer system that would cross check...or...err....something like that.

So, I plugged in my address to the "map" link on Active, got my directions, and proceeded to the race site. I figured I might as well kill two (or three) birds with one stone: pick up my packet, figure out the location of the race site, as well as take a look at the course.

Trouble was, the directions dead-ended in dirt. So, I drove around a bit and, fortuitously, found my way.

Trouble was, there was no packet pick up at the race site.

And, without a packet, I couldn't scope out the course.

So I left the race site and immediately got lost. I thought I knew what direction I was going in, but after a while it became painfully obvious, I didn't have a clue. I tried going a different way, but ended up dead-ending into dirt roads. I thought, "No wonder they come out here to film movies." There's this vast dirtness in Rio Rancho. Skyline that just goes on forever. Sparse vehicles. Occasional cacti. And no traffic on smooth, wide, sweeping roads.

Which was my undoing.

I got stopped for speeding 55 mph in a 45 mph zone.
Truthfully, I hadn't seen a sign, so I didn't know what the speed limit was.
The officer was polite but firm.
I ended up parked for an extended length of time in direct sunlight magnified by the windshield, while she checked for priors. I was dripping sweat by the time she came back. Cooked, and getting browner by the minute.

Then, I couldn't find my insurance card.

Even though I have an envelope with insurance stubs going back 5 years, it was the most recent one that was missing.
I have this memory of tearing out the perforated card and walking out to the car with it.
But, obviously, I didn't.
I think that insurance cards should be mandatorily delivered directly to the vehicle they belong to--just to prevent the number of forgotten insurance cards that get left at home.

So, even though the officer was very nice, and gave me a warning for the speeding infraction, I now have a court date in Rio Rancho at 8:00 am on a weekday morning. Before I left, she warned me that if I got stopped again, I would get a ticket.

So, after my run-in and sauna with the law, I proceeded at a very sedate pace to the actual packet pick up site.

Well, no, actually I didn't.
First, I got lost again.
You see, after the officer left, I realized that I hadn't asked her for directions.
So, at this point, I wisely decided to back track everything, and eventually, finally made it out of the maze.

Then I proceeded to the packet pick up.
Where I was told, "You know, there was this woman who wanted to know if you were doing the race. I mean she really, really, really wanted to know. It was kind of funny."

Which immediately told me that the rival Age Grouper was here, and that she had me in her high beams--which made me feel under the gun.

The funny thing is, any time we've had a head to head competition, I've always buried her. But, you never know. Plus, she's moved up (elevation -wise, about 2300' above my home) to Los Alamos, and is training with the Tri-atomics, who seem to turn out nothing but utterly awesome athletes.

So, race day morning, I drove out to the race site at the Rio Rancho Aquatics Center, anticipating a smack-down show-down--and really not too happy about it.

The race itself had a festive, chaotic atmosphere:
Lines for packet pick up
Lines for bodymarking
Lines for chip timing
A live military band played some fun rock 'n roll.
Loud PA announcements.
Parking was in an adjacent lot a little ways up the street, so you had to pack up your items, and ride your bike to the transition--if you had a pack.
There seemed to be plenty of room on the racks.
There were a lot of first timers, which was nice.
Someone told me there were over 300 registered.
In the end it looked like there were more women participants, than men (Can you believe it? Remember those races when it was 80 men to 7 women?).

Remember what I said about auspiciously adverse events?

I got myself set up at an ideal spot, helped the new girl next to me, got chipped and body marked, ran to the bathroom a few times, went out for a warm up run, returned with minutes to spare for the 8:00 am start, THEN noticed that my bike number and run number did not match.
Aw, gee.

Since this race was important to me, I went to the poor overworked race director to make sure my race effort would be recorded correctly. She probably saw me as a giant irritation that wouldn't go away, since yesterday I had told her they probably needed to tweak the wording on the race brochure to make it correct for their future races. She determined my correct number and assured me my chip would time me just fine. Than, handed me my correct bike number.

I couldn't help myself.
The time was 8:04 am.
The race was supposed to start at 8:00 am.
I looked at the number and said, "I'm not going to put this on my bike now."
It just came out like that. I didn't mean to come off as rude, and I certainly hope I didn't. But I couldn't understand how they could think that I was going to take the time to undo my current number, and a-fix a new one--after the start time for the race--and when I didn't have any twist-ties or tape with me, as it was all in the car in the parking lot that was up the hill across the dirt field....

So, I left everything as it was, and decided just to have faith in my chip.

The Swim:
A time trial start for 400 yards, 8 laps in an 8 lane pool. That means down and back in the same lane. What a splash fest.

I had put my estimated swim time as 9:25. Which is right on par with my best pool practice times. Ha. I always go in with this wide eyed expectation that this time I'll have a smooth controlled strong swim in which I'll just sail over the water without a hint of panic. I guess hope springs eternal.

When I stood in line, I realized I was surrounded by large human beings with huge limbs--and they all looked FAST. Then, I got a glimpse of the pool. It was so splashy, you couldn't even really see the people--at least that's what it seemed to me. Then the guy behind me in line said he usually swims a 400 in 7 minutes. WHAT?! What are you doing behind me? I realize I am going to get mowed down like Muffin's lawn, so I helpfully tell him he should make his way to the front and get in the pool with his own kind. But, by now, I'm getting nervous.

I actually didn't have a bad swim. I hugged the lane line so close, to allow others to pass, that I hit my left goggle, which dislodged and filled with water. My panic didn't tip over into hyperventilation--but it did hover just on the brink. A breast stroker passed me, then slowed down, so his large, paddle like feet and enormously long limbs kept waving back and forth just in front of my nose--so I tapped him a few times to get him to move along--and he did. My swim time, including getting out of the pool and running outside across the timing mat, was 9:46.

Swim note to remember: Running from the pool, outside and around to the front of the building, on cement, was dangerous in wet feet. One person slipped and fell running across a metal plate. It would be nice to see some old indoor/outdoor carpeting laid along the runway to make the transition run safer.
Also, the swim started late. There was some confusion regarding the start order.
So, eventually, people just started to line up and enter the water, according to a hazy "What's your swim time?" question to the person standing next to them.

The Bike:
4th female bike split all age groups included. Need I say more?
Actually, I didn't know I was having such a good bike.
In fact, it seemed pretty poor at the time.

I knew when I exited T1 that Age Group Rival was in front of me. I had seen her enter the pool, and didn't think she could be too far ahead. However, I also remembered that at the F1 in Roswell, I hadn't caught up with her on the bike until the latter 3/4's of the bike, so I knew she could put the hammer down when she needed to.

The bike was an immediate hill that just kept on going. It was one of those days when the wind just seemed to come from the front--no matter what direction you were going in. I picked off 35 people, then stopped counting. No matter how hard I looked, or how many people I passed, I couldn't spot the bright orange of the Triatomic uniform that Age Group Rival had been wearing at the start of the swim. I started calculating--if the pool entries were 10 seconds apart than passing 6 people meant I had made up a minute. But what if they had telescoped the time trial start, and the pool entries had been 6 seconds apart? Then 10 people equaled a minute--and I had only made up 3 minutes so far on the bike. Pretty poor. Why hadn't I seen her yet? Could I really be that far behind? She weighed more than me, so I bet her downhills were screaming. Living up in Los Alamos meant she must be riding hills. Had she gotten so much better since the last time we had raced?

Not catching up to her was demoralizing.
By the end of the bike I had all but conceded.
I started to let up a bit, than thought, you never know.
Lance's mantra--every second counts--came into my head.
In a time trial every second does count.
How awful would it be to let up, just a wee bit, then find I had lost by mere seconds.
So I resumed the hammer once more.
Even though the hills were starting to get to me.
And the headwind just never let up.
And the traffic.
At one point, a large truck passed me on a downhill, than took the right turn at the bottom of the hill at the speed of molasses: Hey--you're slowing me up. Please move!

Crossing Unser was the only dangerous intersection. Otherwise, the route was well protected.

And even though it was remarkably hilly and windy, it was fun. And pretty. Even if it was in the vast open dirtness that is Rio Rancho.

Bike note to remember: The bike is HARD. Have faith in oneself and practice more hills. In the wind.

The Run:
Not much to say here. The run was just a never ending hill also. Then it went onto sand.
Soft sand.
I kept looking for water.
There wasn't any as I exited T2.
And there wasn't any at the bottom of the driveway before the left turn and the sustained up hill.
I asked a volunteer, and he said he didn't think there was any.
More demoralization.
I had a real need for water.
Even if I only needed to take a sip, and then toss the rest over my head.
And I still hadn't caught up to Age Group Rival.
So my run was one more of resignation than of smack down.
It was kind of a trudge.
With a lot of out of hard breathing.
Is Rio Rancho at elevation?
That's what I started to think.
Finally, at the mid way point, there was an aid station.
But not enough volunteers.
I needed 3 cups of water at this point. And there was only one person holding one cup out and the other I kind of snatched from her other hand.
I took what I could get.
I finally started feeling good on the during the last half mile of the run.
Then I went up the driveway to the finishers shoot.
A lot of people were there cheering. I heard my name. I heard a number of "good race" type comments. Since I was sure I had just had one of the worst days of my sprint tri career, I thought, "Wow, everyone is so nice. They say the nicest things, even when it's obvious your just trudging along."

As far as I could tell, I hadn't caught up with Age Group Rival.
To not catch up with someone on the bike is always demoralizing to me. And I really didn't think she had been that far ahead.

Some time ago there was a debate in which one side asserted that you can't win a triathlon on the bike. I think Norman Stadler put that opinion to rest.

I'm one who does best on the bike.
I can't run and I can't swim.
But I can ride a bike.
Today, I placed 10th female overall out of 140 women.
I had the 4th fastest bike out of 140 women.
Right behind the first place woman (who had an amazingly fast swim and who, I was told, is on a swim scholarship), the second place woman, and the third place woman, Tove Shere, holder of a number of national cycling awards.
I was first out of 21 women in my Age Group.
That hasn't happened to me before in these larger races.
I buried my Age Group Rival.
I have no idea when I passed her, but I must have.
Even though I felt like I was having a bad day, I really wasn't.

I had a really nice time. Met some of the newer Outlaw triathletes, including Cindy, who recognized me, and one of the Kathies. Saw H., Miguel and Lorraine, Lazy Mike and his girlfriend, "Trouble," and my partner in pace, Kenneth O'Conner. Michi was volunteering.

"Trouble" made it fun by doing the race in a pink shower cap, arm floaties, and a hello kitty theme, on a 3 speed child's cruiser bike. I wonder how she did on those hills?

So, what do you do after an effort like that?
T and I had a nice afternoon swim, 2300 in an outdoor pool.
What a good day.

p.s. This post is dedicated to Mr. T, who when the alarm went off, and I could barely open my eyes, got himself up to pack my bike in the dark, brew coffee, make sure I was awake, wish me well, and then return to bed. He's had to miss a lot of races this year, but always supports me in mine.

A Race and a Run: The WSMR Yucca Triathlon

2008-09-07T15:52:00.000-07:00

Today I ran way too far on too little sleep, food, and drink, and on not much in the way of legs.
My quad muscles didn't start hurting until mile 11.
Then they gave me a lactic acid burn as if I'd been lifting in the gym.
Before that, they had felt tired and slow, but pretty unremarkable.
I ate my gels (miles 5 and 10), drank my water (miles 4, 5, 7, and 10).
Re-filled my water, but couldn't re-fill my gels.
Then, I REALLY got hungry, like there was NO food left in me.
I walked the last 3 miles and the last mile was a real doozy.

Of course, I thought, "Maybe my legs will lose weight."
This was after a not very happy moment two nights before between a hotel room mirror and myself.
I think they make those mirrors intentionally to bring out the worst in you. Kind of like the Fun-House mirrors at the used-to-be Playland at Ocean Beach in San Francisco. Although those actually let you play around with your size.

Then, I got home and ate a giant pot of macaroni and cheese--with extra cheese.

Mr .T said, "I told you so."
ok-ok-ok-ok-ok.
So, sometimes, I just don't listen.
Like maybe a lot of the time.
He said, "You can't do runs like that when you're getting ready to do a race."
ok-ok-ok-ok-ok.
Mr. T was right.

My legs were tired because yesterday I had done the Yucca Triathlon at White Sands Missile Range. I had driven down after work, stayed at the Super 8, on the Bataan Highway (where I encountered the mirror), not gotten enough sleep, and hauled myself over to the race start in time to arrive at the gate at 6:30 am. Contrary to the usual scene at the always popular Polar Bear Triathlon in December, this morning I was the only car around. It was so quiet I thought maybe I had driven to the wrong location for the race. Or that the race had been cancelled.

However, I was in the right place and 53 people had signed up, so the race was a go.
10K run, 48 K (30 mile) bike, 400 yard swim.
Unfortunately for me, I had seen the "400 swim" on the brochure, and had just assumed I was doing a short sprint race with an extra long bike. Not a good "whoops" for me, since I don't run very well.

There was a very fast contingent from El Paso.
9 women were present, each distributed one per age group--except for the 34-39 and 45-49 age groups.
Of course, my AG was the only competitive one. Age-Group-Nemesis was there. Checking out what colors I was wearing so she could track me, and subtly dropping a number of tri-excuses to tell me she "wasn't really going to race." We finished 2 minutes apart. She's a runner. Three marathons under her belt so far this year, and training for a 4th. She got me by 7 minutes in the run. I took back 6 minutes on the bike. It would have been closer, but when I realized I wasn't going to catch my competition, I thought, "why push it for second place?" and took it easy for the last leg in the pool.

The run was a mile of gentle downhill and flat, then a good, steady 2 mile uphill on pavement, with the remainder on moderately soft dirt roads. As Age-Group-Nemesis says about herself, "I'm the queen of dirt." And she certainly was.

The bike just seemed hard. A head wind all the way, even though we first headed out south, then west, then north. I felt like I couldn't get any speed on the downhills. About half way into it, I got a headache. The rhythmic bump-bump-bump of the rough roads turned my head into agony. I ate a Gu Roctane, which may have been the reason my headache went away. Yeay for sodium, potassium, calcium, amino acids, and caffeine. When my head was hurting, I thought, "I am never doing another race on these roads again." The wind just never let up. I was exhausted by the last leg of the ride, and barely hung in for the final up hill. I kept wishing for the pool--which truly isn't something I usually do.

The swim was short and sweet. There were so few participants that no one was around me and the water was smooth with no splashing or passing.

Age-Group-Nemesis made sure I didn't hit my head on the water slide.
We had lunch together.
We talked about "bad" mirrors and unhappy mirror moments (she thought the WSMR pool mirrors were bad).
She invited me to stay at her house next time.
She really is the better athlete than me.
Darn.

I made 4th out of the 9 women total, 2nd in my AG, and earned another 9 points towards the SW Challenge annual AG competition. Trying to win it, but I suspect Age-Group-Nemesis may have her eye on the prize, too.

So.
Yesterday really was a pretty good, sustained effort.
And.
Running extra long today probably really wasn't the best thing to do.

The Paula Higgens Memorial Record Challenge Time Trial: 40K on a National Record Setting Course

2008-08-31T13:34:00.000-07:00

This is what we forgot today:
*Rain jackets
*A portable waterproof canopy
*Plastic bags for wet, muddy clothes and wet muddy tarp
*Newspapers or cardboard for the floor of the truck
*Two sets of warm, dry clothes--one to wear before for walking around in the rain and warming up, and one for after, to take the place of the first set of clothes that got wet during the warm up, and
*Two sets of shoes--for the same reason listed above.

A portable heating device would have been nice.

Especially while waiting in our "dry" clothes for the results after the race.
The organizers provided good eats during the wait, plus beer and fizzy fruit juice. And good, cycling-devotee company. But that wind still had a bite to it.

What we did remember is just how good the conditions had been the previous year: Perfect temps, dry weather, NO wind. A lot of people showed up last year.

This year, we saw people leaving without unloading their bikes.
Maybe 40 people did the 40K distance. Maybe.
The race still drew people from around the U.S.
The winner came from Colorado.
49:27.79
30.14 m.p.h.
Two minutes behind the record holder, John Frey.
Martha Hansen, the 85 year old who set a National Record last year, didn't show up.
But a man in the 70-74 AG set a National Record in the 20K at 29:08.21
That's 25.6 m.p.h.
So, T and I really have no excuse.

We had a nice day and put in some good effort--it's just remarkably disappointing to put in all that effort for a slo-o-o-w-er time than the previous year.
Even with Bones' disc AND a different gear ratio.
Which, incidentally, I had fun maxing out in the tailwind.
It just wasn't enough to make up for the beating I took going into the headwind.

This is how I feel right now:
*2:36 slower than last year REALLY STINKS,
*I know I'm being a whiner,
and,
*I am glad it's over

Part of me feels that I didn't push hard enough. And that's probably because I didn't. I started with a poor, not long enough warm-up and possibly too much caffeine--even though I only had one cup of coffee. T adjusted my bike the day before, and since I hadn't been able to check it out, I was NERVOUS. Hyperventilatory-from-the-cold-and-unknown nervous. I couldn't get my breathing right. There was mud everywhere, and the roads were puddling wet. Rain, cold, poor warm-up, hyperventilation, am I going to slip on the road? my wheel feels too narrow, what's that funny noise?, stop-adjust-ride-stop-adjust-ride, DID I MISS MY START TIME?!?

Not a good way to start a Time Trial effort.

So the initial part of my ride was slow, while I hyperventilated and went into O2 debt. I finally got myself under control, settled in, and battled a headwind for out to the turn-around speeds of something like 19 mph--I just couldn't get myself go any faster. I passed my 30-second and minute-man (woman), but didn't make up anymore ground. Laurie Mauderly passed me like I was standing still--and from her perspective, I probably was. She won the women's division in a time of 57:50.78, which comes out to 25.77 mph. At the turn-around, I was able to bring up my speed to 24.5 mph with occasional forays up to 25 and down to 23 mph. I didn't see another female because unknown to me, they were all in front and rapidly riding away from me. I think 8 men passed me.

So it goes.

There were only two women in my Age Group. A Cat 1-2 racer and myself. Once again, I came in 7 minutes behind for second place.
21.095 miles per hour.
I should be grateful, I know.
But.
Ick.

Things I learned from today:
*Number one and most importantly: IT WOULD BE HELPFUL IF I WOULD TAKE THIS RACE SERIOUSLY AND ACTUALLY TRAIN FOR IT. I only rode 187 bike miles this month, none of which were race specific.
*I need a longer warm-up time
*My computer calibration is in error--the read-out showed that I had averaged well over 22 mph.
*I can ride without slipping on wet road in slick rain and wind conditions.
*For some reason, that darn clock means an awful lot to me--I need to re-balance my perspective,
*I definitely have improved in my focus and concentration, and
*Despite my slo-o-o-w-er time and all my complaints, I really do like the feeling of tapping into that deep internal force of will that makes for a good Time Trial effort.

After it's all done and I get warm, of course.

T says I need to remember that it's usually the hard-core that stick around for a race in these conditions--which is why I placed 9th out of 11 women.

I can't say I'm hard-core--but I do look forward to riding more TT's.
Just, hopefully, not in the rain.

What's This About An Internet Push-Up Challenge?

2008-08-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

I did 55 push-ups yesterday.

I started by thinking I would do 3 sets of 10.

On a Bosu ball.

Then, I figured, why not add a few. So, I brought it up to 3 sets of 15.

Good push-ups, with plank like form, and deep elbows to bring my rib cage all the way down to the ball. NO bend at the hips. Head, neck and back all in good alignment. Breathing deep.

That's because the guys at work are always checking out my form.
They can't help themselves.
It's their job.

And it keeps me on my toes.

My co-worker, S. (of course, checking out what I was doing) came bounding over with two bolsters in this hands. "Have you tried this?"
He said I looked bored.
So, he set me up with one palm on each bolster, laying lengthwise, parallel to me, and had me simultaneously push each bolster laterally away from me as I lowered, then pull them in until they were under me as I pushed up.
Boredom hadn't really crossed my mind, when I was doing the initial push-ups.
In fact, I thought I looked like I was concentrating on my form and breathing--and making it to the last push-up of the last set.
But these new push-ups were fun.
And challenging.
So, I did 10, then ran out of time.

Good thing I was saved by the bell.
My pecs and delts (anterior) are remarkably sore today!

A (wandering) Race Report: Socorro and the F1 '08

2008-08-23T16:34:00.001-07:00

Usually T and I do a lot more SW Challenge Series racing, but this year we've both taken a several month hiatus.

T--because he was in another state.

Myself--because, well, just because. I felt a need to get away from the numbers and competitiveness that sometimes can take on a life of it's own. In my last race (April), I found myself wishing everyone in the event would just go away--so I could focus on bettering myself against my own personal times and records, without thinking about if someone was in my age group--and if they were faster than me. It made me realize why, sometimes, I like the anonymity of racing in another state. Here, even though I'm not a stellar or star racer, I sometimes feel like I have a target on my back. More than once, women in different age groups have aggressively taken me on as a project to beat--physically communicating their intentions by brushing against me at high speed on the run, attempting to pass and re-pass me on the bike (I dislike leap frogging--if you're going to pass, make sure you have the strength and endurance to maintain the pass. I had to pass "Texas" 3 times today, before he gave up the ghost and I finished decisively in front of him), and in general, focusing a beam of competition in my direction. I expect it from my AG competition, but still, one of these moments occurred earlier this year while finishing the final swim leg of a race--dripping, out of breath, refocusing from the pool environment to land, climbing the ladder to get out of the pool and having Mary (my AG) standing over the ladder as I'm climbing out and saying, "Dale (my AG) wants to know how old you are." No small talk like, "Great race, " "You flew by me on the bike," "Whew, glad that's over," etc. Just pure, high-beam, competitive focus. Since I'm not good at screening out the external competitive pressure, and it was interfering with my own internal focus, I took some time out.

Earlier this month, I returned to the local racing scene, by attending the Socorro Chile Harvest Sprint Triathlon. I had a great race--for someone who hadn't been training or racing sprint for the past 3 months. There were some quirks, of course, and some of those "I wish..." thoughts, but overall, I took two minutes off my previous PR, came in 5th of 16 in my age group, and was 32nd out of 148 total women.

The quirks and "I wishes...."

The swim was a Time Trial start--every 15 seconds according to the flyer, but it seemed like a 5 second interval to me. As soon as I jumped into the water to get ready for the start--someone said "Go!" Taking off so suddenly, and as per my usual, I went into a respiratory panic and hyperventilated the first 50 meters. It took a lot of self-talk to continue swimming, when every survival fiber in my body wanted to stop and stand up. The next 100 meters were a cautious progression to prevent another episode of panic, and then I eased into my rhythm, and completed the swim feeling good. The man who started right behind me, passed me at 50 meters (I smunched into his legs as he attempted to pass me on the left and cross in front of me to the right to make the turn into the next lane), but didn't gain any ground after that first 50. Several months earlier, I had predicted my swim time at 9:35. My true time was 9:59.

The bike was just a heck of a lot of fun. I felt good, but could feel the weakness in my legs from not sprint racing, especially on hills, for several months. Since I'm a slow swimmer, there are always a lot of people to pick off on the bike, which is entertaining, and gives me an external measure of progress along the course. My wish, of course, was to not feel the weakness in my legs, and to be able to ride faster. I averaged 20 mph on a moderately hilly course and was 17th out of 148 women on the bike.

My transition was quirky in that I racked my bike on the wrong rack, and didn't realize it until I looked down, and didn't recognize my clothes. Since I have a small bike, and the racks were high, I actually grabbed my bike, dipped under the rack with it, and ran forward to my rack. Definitely a bit of time loss there.

The run was what it always is--an effort to pick up the pace and not give in to fatigue and the heat of the day. I started too slow while my legs un-wound themselves from the bike, and ended at a good pace, for an average of 9:10 miles.

T didn't attend this race. He was camping in the mountains near Washington DC, with members of the DC Tri-Club. The trip was actually a two day training fest with 88 and 37 mile hilly bike rides, followed by runs. He said by the end of the second day, everyone was cooked.

As for today, "Texas" and I were dueling it out at the Formula-1 (F1) draft legal triathlon in Roswell, the story I started to write about, but obviously went in a different direction.

Another time.

Suffice it to say, it was a fun race, I finished as "female champion" in first place--out of 3 female entrants, had more fun catching up with the Outlaws, met some new people, was very grateful for the endless support and encouragement, and as always, enjoyed a beautiful venue and the cool, clear waters of the lake. And, even though my overall win was due to the small field, as T reminded me, "everyone is invited to the dance..."

Late, Late Entry: Why My Training Went South in May, or A Tri-Excuse at the National Level

2008-08-21T16:42:00.000-07:00

Mark and I eat a lost of salsa, and we go through it pretty fast, so I like to stock up.

In late May, I bought 4 jars.

Due to the ongoing salmonella mystery, these jars went uneaten, and in June, realizing I wanted to avoid anything associated with tomatoes, I decided to return them to the place of purchase.

This didn't go over too well with the clerk at the return counter.

I had my receipt, the jars had obviously been untouched, and I told her that, what with the ongoing tomato associated cases of salmonella, plus a recent history of weeks of unexplained lower GI distress in my household, we would not be using the salsa.

This didn't make her very happy. After fussing with the jars, she informed me that food could only be returned within 24 hours (pause), "because we just have to throw it all away, anyway."

Since I really wanted her to take the salsa back, I didn't return with the obvious--that if she didn't take the jars back, I was just going to have to throw them away myself. And, since I had purchased these jars from this particular vendor, plus the fact that nobody in their right mind was eating tomatoes, especially since New Mexico was at the top of the list for the highest number of salmonella cases, AND that salsa contains uncooked tomatoes, that these jars really should be thrown out, and that I shouldn't have to pay for them....

After fussing a bit more with the jars (while I tried to be polite and understanding but persistent), she agreed to refund my money "just this once!"

Well, time has passed, and recently the mystery of the salmonella tainted tomatoes has now spread to include jalapenos and a briefly mentioned possibility of cilantro.

Hmmmm.....tomatoes, jalapenos, and cilantro--sounds like a jar of salsa to me.

Smiley Post...This Time, My Face Didn't Stay Pink for 8 Hours

2008-08-19T05:27:00.000-07:00

I did it again.

Managed to take a good chunk of time off my long distance run.

Of course, the clouds rolled in and provided respite from the sun, so my "cooler temp" reasoning must be true

It's been an awfully busy month. A 3-day weekend in DC, a 4-day weekend in CA, two days in Austin, then the Socorro Sprint Triathlon. So, the training has suffered (what training?), and I haven't done my long training run route since July 13. That was the day I took a solid 30 minutes off of my usual 3 hour time.

Bones said,"Maybe you've broken through to a new level!"

I said, "I think it's because I actually got out earlier and the temps were cooler..."

Maybe it was a combination of both.

Sunday, I decided to get up early and go for a medium (6-7 mile) run, since I hadn't been training consistently and wanted to healthily ease back into it.

I didn't do either.

Instead, I got up a little later than I should have, got caught up in puttering around the house, hoped for more of the recent cloud cover we'd been having, but really didn't stick to my plan and left after 8 am when the sun was high and the UV was on it's way to contributing to a 10 plus day.

I was rested (from not training) and I felt pretty good.

So, I started at a good pace on my neighborhood run.

Then, I just kept on going.

Clouds rolled in briefly, and the dip in temperature gave me the extra impetus to continue the pace.

I kept rationalizing, "I'll turn around here. Nope, I'll turn around here."

Finally, I just kept on heading out. Already resigned to the massively sore legs I was going to have the next day. My long run course is the only one in which I have a set of past times for comparison, and I was feeling pretty good.

I hit the turn around (it's an out and back route) in 1:09.37

On the same course that I usually do in 3 hours.

Since I haven't been training endurance, I pretty much fell apart on the way back.

The sun came out even stronger than before.

I pretty much cooked.

So, my total run time was 2:41

Still faster than the usual 3 hours.

Or, maybe, I shouldn't consider 3 hours "the usual" any more.

Late Entry: A Visit to the ER

2008-07-30T06:22:00.000-07:00

For various reasons, I've been off line for several weeks.
It didn't stop me from writing, though.
So the next few posts are "late," "late, late," and "late, late, late" entries.
It's a good excuse for catching up--as some of these entries are far later than just "a few weeks."
Hope you enjoy.
________________________________
July 30th

Went to the ER last night.
In fact, just came home from the ER and it's 6:15 in the morning.

It's not something I wanted to do.

Going to a Level 1 Trauma Center late at night, gumming up the works, when what the Trauma Center really needed from me was to stay away, so they could do their real job.

I went because somehow, while eating / slurping a brothy noodle bowl, I swallowed something that lodged in my throat.

It's a strange feeling, to be thinking, "Uh-oh. Something hard and not noodly is in my throat, And I can't cough it up and I can't move it down."

I tried.

At first it just felt funny, but there was no pain. But when I swallowed, it went deeper, and my throat started to hurt.

Since it was 10:00 at night, and I was home alone, I started to worry.

What if this worsened, and I got into real trouble or incapacitated. Then, what would I do?

I didn't think the object in my throat merited an ER visit, but where else was I supposed to go?

Meanwhile, the pain was getting worse.

I stopped swallowing because each swallow HURT.

I figured if nothing else, I could sit in the waiting room (since I knew it would be an extended wait), try to swallow, and hope the object would work it's way down--with emergency services nearby, in case of a bad outcome.

By this point, I'd become fairly paralyzed from the neck up, afraid to swallow—almost afraid to move in any way. So, I mobilized my legs, got myself dressed, and drove myself to the ER. Which, despite the continued increase in pain, and my rising hypochondriacal concerns about what the heck I had swallowed and what kind of damage it could cause (read "perforation"), made me feel better.

You know something is not right when sitting in an overcrowded ER waiting room, with the clock approaching midnight, makes you feel better.

The ER was a slice of city life in the middle of the night. Fluorescent lights eliminated the dark. It was crowded, but surprisingly quiet, except for the loud blare of the TV and miscellaneous coughs, sneezes, and muted conversations. Those in most need were already laying in an ER bed. Those of us in the waiting room were low on the triage list—with a long wait in front of us.

It turned out that, on this particular night, the hospital was under a "code purple." All hospital beds were full, and new admissions were being lodged in the ER, reducing the number of ER beds available, and increasing the wait time in the waiting room.

My x-rays were done before midnight.

My complaint was listed as "minor soft tissue trauma".
Minor soft tissue trauma? I was definitely pretty low on the triage list.

The wait continued AND my pain increased.
A lot.
Swallowing was excruciating, and sent my throat into spasm. The pain would increase in waves after each swallow. When I turned my head to the right, it hurt more. I clutched numerous wadded-up damp-with-spit tissues and tried to avoid swallowing.

The worst was a minor post nasal drainage that I couldn't control, leading to several involuntary, painful swallows.

Sometime after 2 am, I swallowed involuntarily, and something moved, painfully, lower into my throat. And then stuck. Or, so it seemed.

I considered going home, but since they had already taken x-rays, I figured I should see if anything showed up and, besides, I was still having excruciating pain with each swallow. I was getting tired..

At 3 am I got a bed. My resting BP was 150/90. Heart rate 55. My normal BP is something like 117/70.
I propped up the bed, so I could sit up and close my eyes without saliva running down my throat.
I still had an extended wait, so they turned out the lights, and I actually dozed a little.
I think this allowed me to finally relax, because when the doctor came in, the pain, although still strong, had eased a bit.

Dr. C. had a great bedside manner, especially after a night treating life and death and now being tasked with treating a "minor soft tissue trauma." He said my x-rays were clear, but he still wanted to take a look.

By inserting a scope.

Up my nose.

This is what I learned: When you're in a whole lot of pain, you will do anything on just the promise of making it stop.

He said he would insert a numbing gel into my nose, then a numbing spray into my throat.
I tried to sound like this was OK with me.
But what I was really thinking was of the story of a friend, who had been in a terrible hang gliding accident (now recovered), and who had told me that having an "NG (naso-gastric) tube" dropped down her nose while she was conscious, was one of the most awful experiences she could remember.

Dr. C began squirting all kinds of things up my nose and into my throat. Gel and Liquid things. He was extra solicitous—making sure I felt no pain: nose-throat-nose--uh oh—better have you gargle. Those of you who know me, know I panic in water. Having all this liquid inserted into my breathing pathway was getting in the way of oxygen acquisition. The amount of gel and liquid going into the back of my throat made me swallow, which hurt. I started to tear up, which, of course, further clogged up my nose with mucus, so that when Dr. C sprayed liquid into my throat, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

It was not a happy time.

Then, Dr. C showed me a narrow black instrument, with a lo-o-ng tube, and said he would put it up my nose.

I immediately closed my eyes.

Even with all of the numbing gel, getting that tube up my nose still hurt. I didn't feel the part where it dropped into the back of my throat. Dr. C could only insert it so far and then directed me to make certain noises to open my larynx and improve the view.

The view was obscured by "a lot" of mucus.

Dr. C said I must have an irritation in the area with all the mucus.
My take on it was that 7 hours of swallow avoidance coupled with allergies and post nasal drip had allowed a pile of mucus to build up—(hypochondriacally) maybe even on top of whatever it was that was in my throat.

When the smoke cleared, Dr. C said he couldn't see anything, but thought that whatever had been in my throat was gone—and gave me a prescription for narcotic pain killers, lidocaine numbing gel, and anti-reflux medication The pain was so severe I really didn't believe that whatever was in there was gone, but once the doctor said there was nothing as far as he could see, I felt I could go ahead and REALLY swallow.

I left the hospital at about 5:30 am, picked up a large cup of coffee, headed for home, made cheesey toast for breakfast, swallowed through the pain, and fueled by the pseudo-adrenaline of an unusual experience, went to work. All the cheesey bread swallowing must have done the trick, because by this time my throat wasn't hurting so bad, and in fact, less than an hour later the pain was essentially gone.

Initially, I didn't talk about my night, but wondering how I might appear, asked a co-worker what I looked like. She said "Great! You're wearing makeup today."
When I looked in the mirror, I realized that the rosy red lipstick she saw was really the raw bloody skin of lips that had been roughed up by spitting into hospital paper towels all night long.

I made it until 2 pm then, tired of looking good at work, caved into an impossible fatigue, went home and slept.

I didn't fill my prescriptions. I've had too many close encounters with people addicted to narcotic pain medication to ever think of these as anything but a last resort. The doctor assured me that everyone has reflux, and that I would feel pain from it--but I didn't. The lidocaine numbing get? Well, I immediately thought, "Would this be good for sore muscle recovery?" and stashed the syringes in my fridge.

Over the next few days my lips progressively scabbed over and peeled.

I chalked up my NG tube experience to learning something new: one last thing I would worry about if it ever came up in the future--and a whole lot of empathy for those who have one.

You know what they say—I'll try anything once.

Chiaroscuro

2008-07-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

It's 11:00 Saturday night, and I'm standing in the dimly lit, cavernous, cement underground tunnel of the DC metro.
I'm by myself.
A few moments before, Mark had been next to me. Now he's just a shadowy figure back lit against the solidly shut doors of a train, receding smoothly into the distance at an ever increasing rate of speed.

I imagine an expression of whoops!-amazement on his face, which now I can no longer see.

There's a blank pause as the world slows down and I take it all in--then an uh-oh, now-what-do-I-do moment, as I realize my guide is disappearing down the tracks, I don't know where I'm going, and I'm alone, late at night, left behind in the DC Metro.

I think about calling him on the phone, but at almost the same time, realize I don't have service in the semi-bowel's of the city ("semi" because I'm sure there's another shadowy layer beneath me, peopled by who knows what).

I wander over to the direction sign, and realize it was a good thing I had pestered Mark so much on the way out about where we were going. I recognize Metro Center, the name of the station where we transferred earlier and reason that Mark will either 1) get off at the next stop, and come right back for me, or 2) wait for me at Metro Center.

Well...maybe.

What if he comes back, and I've already gone?

His phone doesn't get reception in the tunnels, either.

A few people start to trickle in to catch the next train, and that isolated feeling of being in the underworld starts to abate.

I just have to have faith that he'll do the right thing.

And so I sit and wait for the next train, and almost begin to laugh.

The movie scene pathos and poignancy of it all.

We had run down the steps trying to catch a train before it pulled out. The train was sitting there with the doors open, and as Mark leaped through, one step ahead of me, I thought "uh-oh, how long have these doors been open?" What flashed through my mind was Mark's story of his first day on the Metro, shoving a large bike box ahead of him through the open door of the train--and having the doors close and clamp halfway down on the box. He said the feeling was one of "horror and embarrassment," as he envisioned the train leaving and taking his bike, so he frantically pulled, and hauled, and tugged to get the box back (it was commute hour and people on the train were watching--hence the embarrassment). What he marveled at was how quick and hard those doors closed--and wondered if anyone ever got caught in them.

And so, as Mark leapt onto the train--thinking about what he had said about the doors, I may have hesitated for a moment--and the doors closed.
Just like that.
Mark turned, saw me, and reached for the door. I reached from my side. And for a long moment, we were a tableaux, he in light, me in shadow, reaching, yearning, on either side of this immovable barrier--then the train began to move.

Later, at Metro Center, disembarking into a sea of people, Mark found me, relief in his voice, and we continued home, together.

You never know when you'll have a movie moment,
and,
it might not be the movie moment you want.

Finally,
what do you do when the cell phones don't work?

post script
The thought of Mark running around looking for me on the railroad tracks reminded me of an early sci-fi short story from my father's bookshelf, "A Streetcar Named Desire," about a ghost car that ran the tracks and would disappear, than reappear. I believe it was the D line. And it ran on a mobius. I tried to locate the story online to share with Mark, but couldn't find it. Not sure if I have the correct title. Anyone familiar with it?

post, post script
The post title is dedicated to Mark.

What The Doctor Would LIke For Christmas

2008-07-23T17:54:00.000-07:00

I hate going to the doctor.
I always feel that I'm whining about what's wrong with me.
Someday, it would be nice to go in and give the doctor a break.

"L! I'm feeling great, and I just wanted to stop by and tell you the good things!"

I'm sure the doctor would appreciate it.

Instead, we took care of my unexpected belly button puka, then went over all the numbers:

Cholesterol is looking good in the 130's:

HDL running happily high in the 60's
LDL happily low in the 60's

Triglycerides are a trace in the 40's.

As L. puts it, I don't have a trace of carbs left over in me.

If that's the case, then why do I keep packing on a pound a year?

Green It Is

2008-07-20T19:49:00.000-07:00

Put "driving green" to the test these past few weeks.

Fill-up today told the story.

10.28 gallons

411.9 miles

40.07 m.p.g. !

Since I already get something over 35 m.p.g., the jump up isn't nearly as significant as it sounds.

Still, the last time I got 40 (actually 44) m.p.g. was last year, when I incidentally drafted a large truck to get out to the Gallup Triathlon. It was night, and I was using the tail lights as a driving guide.

Today was a surprise.

But that driving green, sometimes, just takes the fun out of things...
I never thought I'd feel guilt for driving 70 m.p.h.

What, again?

2008-07-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

Killer swim.

Still would be considered slower than a floating iceberg by some of my triathlete compatriots.

But it felt good to me.

I didn't feel draggy and didn't waste energy side to side while wrastling an alligator.

I didn't have that dead in the water moment with each stroke.

I felt aggressive and strong.

I was able to dig in, raise my torso, follow through with acceleration.

All week I had felt tired.
Last weekend's unexpected killer bike and run left me with oh so sore leg muscles. I didn't realize how hard I had worked and didn't eat enough to recover and felt tired all week.

Took rest days on days I normally don't take a rest.

My legs felt heavy.

My brain felt heavy.

My sore muscles hung in for most of the week.

Wednesday, I stopped by the store and bought meat. This is what I do when I'm feeling run down. The meat is a psychological magic pill to help me get back on my feet.

I took way too many rest days, so of course, along with feeling heavy, slow, sore, and unmotivated, I started to feel that universal (at least in my household) I'm-used-to-being-active feeling of "I'm getting fat" and "I'm not doing enough", but I still stuck to my rest, because it does no good to train when I'm not feeling well---it just exacerbates and extends my malaise.

On Friday, I toodled around at work. Wasn't motivated. Didn't have any plans. Stayed late and was the last to leave.

On the way out the door, I figured, even though I didn't feel like it, I should try going up to the pool and do a few short, easy laps. I bargained with myself: 10 lengths would be OK, maybe 20, well that would be 500, so look at doing 400. Pause. Or maybe 800. 800 is a metric half mile, so why not round it up to 1000 like you used to do. No, the way I feel that might be too much, and I don't want to do a swim just to tick off the distance when I'm not feeling good, so maybe 800.
Or 400, to make sure I don't over extend myself and feel draggy.

Etc.

In the back of my mind, I gave myself permission to do nothing. To lazily, languorously move slowly and just enjoy the water. Because what was really getting me up to the pool, when I didn't feel like swimming at all, was the thought of how good and cool and refreshing the water would feel for those first few laps.

So that's how I got myself to the pool.

But, then, what a swim.

The Beauty of an Unripe Pome

2008-07-14T18:25:00.001-07:00

I hate fruit.

But, not really.

I love kiwi's, unripe nectarines, cantalope melon, apple bananas, and wild-picked blackberries and raspberries.

I used to like mangos, but have had rather too many of these to like them anymore. When they're ripening and dropping everywhere, and there's that sweet, mushy smell, and swarming tiny, ripe mango loving fruit flies are subtly flitting around, and you can pick and eat just bags of them...well, at some point, you finally have enough. Still, every year that we go back to Hawaii, I'll eat a few--but only if they're tart and almost unripe.

Same goes for papaya's. Mmmm--firm, not mushy, with lime. Yum!

And, I love avocados.
Did you know they are a fruit?
We used to pick bags of these, too.

I guess I don't really hate fruit, I just don't like soft, ripe, mushy fruit textures (think mealy, mushy red delicious apples -ugh!).

I don't know how people eat mushy banana's, mushy grapes, or mushy cherries.

And, since it is extremely difficult to find fruit just at that peak that I like.
And, since I generally don't like fruit and am just not in the mood.
And, since if I do like fruit, it might just be for a fleeting moment--so that a bag of apples ends up sitting for 6 months in the fridge.
I generally hate, and generally don't eat, fruit.

But, this summer, I'm practically drowning in it.

1 green apple, 2 nectarines, 1 cantelope melon, and 5 bananas so far.

I have a small watermelon in the fridge.

And, today I bought raspberries and blueberries (along with a lot of vegetables--because that is what I really do like).

Fruit.
Regardless of what appears to be a genetic component to my dislike (shared emphatically by my sister).
Or, the plethora of soft, mushy fruit choices in our food markets.
Or, that it just might be the anti-oxident secret ingredient to last week's run.
For some reason, this summer, I like what I'm eating.

I never thought I'd say this, but...

... fruit just might be here to stay.

8 Hours Later and My Face is Still Pink...

2008-07-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

What a run.

I have no idea how long it is, but it's become my regular weekend route.

3 hours out and back, through the neighborhood, past the university, across Menaul and Candalaria. The turn around is at Montgomery.

I started June 15th, taking the levee paths along the arroyo, seeking extra mileage.

Whew (!)--were my legs sore after the first day, so I decided to keep on doing it.

I went again on the 22nd and 29th of June, and this morning was my fourth time.

I'm consistent at 3 hours--almost right to the minute.

But today, I reached the turn around in an hour and 11 minutes, and sailed back home for a total time of 2:29. That's 30 minutes faster than my regular pace. Over (what used to be) a 3 hour run, that is pretty significant.

I'm not sure what was different today, but it's probably a combination of multiple factors:

The weather was certainly cooler. After many a Sunday morning returning hot, sweaty, and cooked, today was a delight.

I decided to use my new shoes. They're Asics. I've been wearing this brand for a long time and they always work for me. I transfered my orthotics to a brand new, unused pair, and took them on a 2 and one half hour first time break in run. That's how much confidence I have in them--and, of course, they did the job.

Finally, I only had 4 hour of sleep two nights ago, so last night I went to bed early, slept deep, and woke up feeling great.

But the real kicker, at least to me, is my unconstructed, do-whatever-I-feel-like brand of training these days.

Unless the streets are shape-shifting.

Shhhh...

The Unplanned Athlete

2008-07-12T11:19:00.000-07:00

A raucous and rollicking karaoke dance party, followed by 4 hours of sleep and a killer ride up Tramway--

(--mostly because I wouldn't let the cyclists that passed me on the hill go by without a fight--I was just in that kind of mood. I dogged one poor guy all the way up, and he kept working harder because he didn't like me there (which made for a great sub-anaerobic climb), then caught up with another on the flats who did everything he could to drop me, which of course he eventually did. I can't figure out if these guys drop anyone who comes up behind them, or if they see a little female, so they try extra hard. I mean, initially, they're obviously not going that hard because I catch up to them...in all my years here, the only one who ever sat up and beckoned me up to say hello and give me some good advice was a former pro member of the Shaklee team--a very nice guy.)

A perfect cap to an unprogrammed but spot-on "my-muscles-are-sore-but-I'm-feeling-stronger-every-day" training week.

Now, its time for a nap.

Happy sigh :)

Swim Session

2008-07-07T21:58:00.001-07:00

I swam for an hour and fifteen minutes today and my nose won't leave me alone.

I am stuffed up, sneezy, and runny.

The skin under my nose is sore.

I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to sleep tonight.

The water was cool and mildly murky.

Some giant guy got into my lane and kept hitting me.

The little girl in the next lane swam by me like a mermaid.

The guy next to her just about emptied the pool with his 'fly.

I pooped out in the middle, but picked it up when the water got choppy and to try to get out of the way of the flailing limbs in my lane.

I think the little girl may even have kicked me.

When I exited the pool, I ended up in a conversation with the little girl's mom who told me about her 30 pound weight gain after a car accident two years ago, and a sad-eyed pregnant woman who said that all the women in her family had a hard time losing the weight after the baby was born...

Once I extricated myself, I ran out the door, went home, and stretched.

It was a good swim.

But my nose still won't leave me alone.

News...

2008-06-25T21:36:00.000-07:00

I ate an apple today.

It was so good,

I'm thinking about another one.

I do like green apples.

Still,

the end of the year sounds about right to me.

22 Million Pages of Evidence...'Nuff said.

2008-06-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

After the initial getting-to-know-the-office introductory period,
Mark says he likes what he's doing.
That's a good thing.
I certainly don't think I would know what to do with 22 thousand pages of evidence--much less 22 million.

In other news, I'll be watching fireworks from the heart of our capitol this year.
As well as kayaking the Potomac, seeing the second longest running play in the U.S., and generally running amuck (def'n: a state of extreme activity) among the monuments and museums.
Should be a good weekend.

Welcome to DC Redux

2008-06-04T18:23:00.000-07:00

It's still raining hard.
Mark now has an umbrella.
Plus an unspecified amount of work to do at home,
after his work day in the office.

Welcome to DC

2008-06-03T21:36:00.000-07:00

Mark just arrived.
It's late.
P*ssing down rain.
And he doesn't have an umbrella.
He'll be walking to his first day at work tomorrow, in new suit and good shoes, with a newspaper over his head...

Summer Camp in a Suit

2008-05-14T19:16:00.000-07:00

Mr. T is spending the summer in another part of the country.

As a 1-L, first year student, he spent a good part of this year wondering if he would get a summer position.

The change in the economy added an element of uncertainty to the tradition of gaining summertime hands-on experience.

Initially, he verbalized his worry.
Then, he got down to business and started getting his name out.

He applied for a number of positions--many in New Mexico, as well as several out of state.

Some applications consisted of just signing up for the initial interview.

One application for the federal government was convoluted and took a full day to complete.

Sometime later, he received an email stating he was eligible for the job.
Then, he received an email stating he was not.
Sometime after that, he was interviewed by conference call--in between classes on a cell phone, with poor reception and no privacy.

His comment afterwards was that he didn't think it went so well.

He put this option on the back burner, and continued seeking opportunities, mostly in the area of child advocacy and, desirably, in New Mexico. He was offered more than one position, all of them unpaid.

Then he received a call from the federal government--with a contingent offer.

The contingency went on for a little while, as the ponderous wheels of governance sorted itself out. He didn't receive confirmation of the job until 3 weeks before the projected start date. This hasn't left us with very much time.

On the plus side--all the details are rushing at us so fast, we've had little time to think about the reality of absence.

Mr T is going to Washington.

As always, my imagination has been running rampant, and I have visions of going to the Media Museum (the Newseum) and seeing the cherry blossoms at the Capitol (even though they are long gone).

The reality, is that Mark will be gone all summer.
Already, this year has been a change for us.
He hasn't had time to do much more than study.
The lawn has grown up around our ears (sorry Muffin), and my former training partner and motivator is generally planted on his seat at a study desk for more hours than any seat should have to handle.

When Mr. T asked around, he heard that Washington internships weren't all nose-to-the-grindstone.
That's good.
He's been working hard all year.
A summer party in a suit is just what he needs.

(Actually, we're pretty sure he's going to be working hard. Just hope he gets some fun time in, also.)

Riding with Mark

2008-05-05T05:12:00.000-07:00

Mark bought me a cookie this weekend.

After almost 30 miles of riding hills he was feeling bonkish, passed a bake sale, stopped for a treat, and got me one also. This was his first long ride in more than a month—since he hit a pothole, went down on his bike, and separated his shoulder on March 29th.

The bake sale was located after about 7 miles of sustained climbing, on the inside curve of a short, flat area, just before the road banked right for a turn onto a steep uphill.

I was a half mile behind Mark, struggling after another week of yet again being sick—a “spring cold” as my sister put it—and still having difficulty with my lungs due to a lingering congestion in my chest and a cough that just won’t go away.

Coming up the hill, going into the flat, right-banked stretch of road, I always move into my big ring to gather momentum for the next (steep) uphill stretch. I was exceptionally tired. Too many workouts missed due to illness, too many hours on my feet at work, feeling drained, I just wanted to get as much speed as possible, and get up that last, danged hill—so I flew by the bake sale, and just as I was passing I heard a chorus of children’s voices, “Naomi? Are you Naomi? Mark bought you a cookie!”

Huh? It took a moment to process all the yelling. Are they talking to me?

I was already moving into the uphill stretch, and just wanted everything to be over (even though I was only half way through the ride) and didn’t want to stop.

So, I didn’t.

But I also didn’t to want to disappoint Mark.

And, I couldn’t stop thinking about that cookie.

So on the way back down, I stopped, and picked up TWO cookies.

And 20 miles later, I was glad I did. Sun-burned, wind-blown, struggling with fatigue, concentrating to just keep turning the pedals--one of those sweet, chocolate laden confections of sugar, flour, butter, and eggs, got me through the last 8 miles of riding.

AND,

I still have another left,

For whenever I need a boost,

And a really nice memory.

On the flip side of this weekend, I did the Run 4 The Zoo 10K on Sunday. It was another struggle-fest due to the muscle soreness I could feel with each step--but it was over a whole lot quicker. 56 minutes and change quicker. Bleah. Not my best, but certainly an exercise in pushing through fatigue.

In a nutshell, the morning temp was extra cold, my legs hurt and my hands felt like ice until mile 2.5, the mile 4 split was too short, so I felt like I was on target for my estimated time--only to find out later that I wasn't, it was very nice to see Pirate, Bones and his main squeeze (thanks for the hug!), and Miguel but the large crowd was disconcerting, and I followed the 10K with a slow 5K without replenishing myself after the 10K, and ended up super dehydrated.

Still, it's nice to have a 10K benchmark, since I haven't done one for awhile.

And, my legs are now super sore this morning.

I feel like I had a good weekend.

A Stalker On A Bicycle?

2008-04-19T18:10:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I got to thinking about trust and the cycling community.

Why would I get into a truck with two men that I don't know, except that they had bikes in the back of their truck--and I was pretty much in a bind at the time.

Or,

What is it that would allow me to ride out into an unpopulated area with two strangers on bicycles?

A couple of years ago, riding back from Tijeras, a lightning storm erupted in front of me. I could see multiple strikes hitting the hills at the mouth of the canyon. I remember stopping the bike and feeling exposed and scared, almost naked on this piece of metal I was riding. Standing at the side of the road, I debated if I should knock on a strange door, or crawl down into a drainage ditch, when a truck, seeing my predicament, pulled up, bikes in the back, and offered a ride. Two of the nicest guys, and a whole boatload of relief.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a great ride up Tramway, caught up with a couple of guys, and asked them if they could take me through the large multi-lane intersection at Tramway and old Route 66, figuring that 3 bicycles were a whole lot safer than one lone, tiny female. I ended up meeting two of the nicest guys, Tony and Joseph, and we rode 20 miles out together. Both men had an extensive bicycle history. Tony used to do triathlons, Joseph was (obviously) a former bicycle racer (what a spin!).

When they invited me to continue with them, a part of me thought about riding so far out on these country roads with people I didn't know. I turned around because I was at my distance limit, but as they continued on, I returned alone, and thought about trust.

I wondered if cyclists are just a special breed of people,

or if having this same passion brings us all together,

or if everyone just seems nice on a bike, but some could really have another side to them that I don't see--

or if there are some really bad people out there on bikes, and I just haven't met them.

Knowing my naivete, I wondered if I could end up riding out with some really bad person and get myself into a bad situation.

Today, I was riding on Tramway, a slow, easy, spinning-the-pedals kind of ride, when a man rode up along side and told me that my seat was too high. I laughed and gave him some rationale. He then told me that I was not pedaling correctly. Again, I laughed, and gave him a rationale. He then made a comment about my hips not rocking on my seat, and I thought, "What? Was he riding behind me and checking me out? And, what's he doing talking about my hips!"

He asks me about a cycling event, and I tell him I don't do bicycle racing.
"Oh," he says, "You're a tri-ath-ah-lete."
It's an almost belittling comment, and I think about the ridiculous cyclist vs. triathlete perspective that some people have.

He keeps riding beside me and he never stops talking.
I hear a whole litany of medical woes.
I hear about his difficulties with weight gain.
I make a couple of gentle suggestions regarding habituation to exercise and the benefits of weight training to raise his basal metabolic rate. They are simple and effective, but he shrugs them off. At his age, and with the medical aspects that's he's enlightened me with, he can't afford to--but I don't push it.
He drops names and seems to know something about everyone we pass.
He used to ride with a local group.
He talks about endurance events.
He brings up some couple that rides tandems.
He talks and talks. He's a large man, with a big voice, and he talks until I can't hear myself think anymore.

He moved here a couple of years ago.
The altitude is still an issue.
He can't breath.
I hear about the places he used to live, and the break up of his marriage.
He asks me if I'm married.
He asks me my history of marriage.
He asks me if I'm a lesbian.
Questions that I find invasive and repulsive, and information that I generally don't impart within 6 miles of riding with someone I don't know (if at all).
But I continue trying to be polite.
Then he mentions how he met two lesbian riders a few weeks ago.
And then he starts talking about how it's easier for him to think about two women being together, than two men.
At this point, the repulsion factor has escalated about a hundred fold, and I just want to get away from him.
At the same time, he also seems like a sorry sort of fellow.

I don't really know how to tell him to go away, because I think about all the people who've let me ride with them, and I think turnabout is fair play--but by now he's impacting my riding line, and it's driving me a little crazy. He doesn't adjust his riding position based on road conditions, but just sticks right next to me. On one side of me is traffic, and on the other side is him. And, he's a BIG man. I feel hemmed in. I think about how the local boys, when I was younger, would never let me be the one closest to traffic. By this time we're on Old Route 66--and I want to be able to move away from traffic if I need to.

As we near Tijeras, I realize I don't want him riding with me up the hill. There's a lot of gravel and scree on the shoulder, and the way he rides feels unsafe. Plus my normal m.o is to ride up the initial hill in my big ring. So, I drop it in, and take off.
He sticks with me.
Coughing and struggling, but he makes every attempt to hold on.
At least he's not talking anymore.
Near the top I pull over at my usual rest stop. It's a small guard rail that I usually sit on to eat a bar and enjoy the view. I'm so worried about this guy, that I don't enjoy the view, and I realize my lone, meditative ride, which is so much my style, is anything but.
I root around in my pocket to pull out my cell phone--and realize I don't have it with me. Not good.
Meanwhile, I think he's gone, but then he circles around, goes back down the hill, comes back up and passes me. OH no.
I think he keeps on going, but that's just my own stupidity, because then I hear, "Are you going up or heading down?"
"What?" I look up startled and I don't know what to say. He's standing right there. This is the second time that he's asked me where I'm going. Why doesn't he have his own itinerary?
He repeats his question, and I find that I can't lie, and I tell him I'm continuing up after my break.
Fortunately, he continues without me.
I wait awhile, then get on my bike. I'm happy he's gone, but the thought crosses my mind that he might wait for me at the top of the hill. I can't believe that he would really do that, but obviously, in the back of my mind, I'm seeing another side of a cyclist.
As I head up, I see him riding down with someone else.
At the top, I continue out on South 14.
The road is broad and open and it's a relief to be alone again.
A few miles out, he pulls up alongside me from behind.
Where the heck did he come from?
Ohhhh.
I groan aloud.
I can't help myself.
I snap and tell him to leave me alone and go away.
And, I'm lucky that he does.

Back at the car, I call T in Tuscaloosa to find out how his race went.
I tell him about this man who was so determined to ride with me, and the things he said to me.
I'm remorseful for snapping at a stranger for an unconstructed reason.
I ask T "Was he a stalker or just socially disoriented?"
I can tell from T's response that I will probably never ride outside of town, alone, again.
T's radar is WAY better than mine.

Spring Break Training Camp

2008-03-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

I went for a swim in an Albuquerque pool today and it was nothing like swimming in Arizona.

For one, the pool was a lot cooler, and it took me several laps to feel OK about the temperature of the water, instead of just plain feeling cold. The water felt "thinner" and I couldn't feel the catch and pull of the water as well--making for what seemed like a whole lot more effort for less result. I was also swimming indoors, at night, after a 10 hour work day, in a large, windowless enclosure, under bright, artificial lights.

In Arizona, we swam outdoors, during the day, in sun-warmed water. We were in a pool, with cement decks and a fence around us, but the sky was a brilliant blue above, the water sparkled, and there were palm trees and green grass nearby. During the week, we swam two to a lane, but on weekends, the pool was exceptionally crowded and there was movement, splashing, and color across the board.

What a difference.

Spring Break.

A pre-scheduled week off that T and I try to take advantage of, not nearly as often as we'd like, and in the past few years, somewhat hit and miss:

2001 I start new job. No vacation.

2002 We spend a week in Joshua Tree for warmer weather rock climbing, desert camping, running, and a brief foray into mountain biking.

2003 T is overseas

2004 We spend a week in Arizona for warm weather rock climbing at Cochise, Mt. Lemmon, and Queen's Creek. We did a little running and found an outdoor pool for lap swimming. Almost no tri-training to speak of, but lots of rest. Upon our return we participate in the Defined Fitness Duathlon, and put in a decent showing, despite the week off.

2005 T in the Czech Republic to visit family.

2006 T spends the week with his Dad who is ill.

2007 Vacation plans scuttled by my illness. T visits family instead.

2008 This year, we anticipate having a week off again. We toss around ideas for a while, knowing that we both want warmer weather.

Hmmm......

Mt. Lemmon.... outdoor lap pool.... camping in the desert....

I think what cinched it for us was an article noting that all new developments in Tucson were mandated to include bicycle lanes. We decided that spring break this year would include our home away from home (on the back of the truck) and a new large tent for camping, which would allow us to bring our bicycles, as well as running gear, swimsuits, goggles, and of course, loungy chairs, good books, and a DVD player.

Instead of the usual week, we shortened our vacation to 5 days (to allow us to do useful things with the remaining days--like homework, and me not using all of my vacation days near the start of the year).

On Wednesday morning, March 19th, we went out for a morning bike ride in Albuquerque, then packed up the truck and drove I-25 to I-10 to Tucson. T drove while I provided read aloud entertainment from "C.C.Pyle's Amazing Foot Race: The True Story of the 1928 Coast-to-Coast Run Across America," an event spawned during the era of endurance dance marathons and flagpole sitting, and which involved running average daily distances of about 40 miles (give or take 20), to cross the country in 84 days. This was before there were specific running shoes, and people would run all day without drinking water.

In Arizona, camping was first come, first serve, and it turned out that the camping area we had hoped for was booked solid--and had been for the previous six weeks. This turned out to be fortunate because we found that the campsite was at a lower elevation and consisted of flat grassland with naked, burnt-looking mesquite trees, little privacy and no imagination.

Instead we found another area located at about 3000' elevation in the middle of the Saguaro National Monument--a heterogeneous landscape of cacti (saguaro, ocotillo, prickly pear, barrel, cholla), desert flowers in all colors (poppies, lupine, daisies, penstemon, globemallow, primrose, heliotrope), bushes (mostly larrea tridentata), and stumpy trees (palo verde).

It was a full moon vacation.

Coyotes yipped every night.

We worried about snakes and small rodents, but didn't see either.

The bird calls were piercing and unique.

No insects to speak of.

We saw bicycles everywhere.

A large number of entrance/exits to the I-10 highway were closed due to a highway widening project, so we made our way using back roads, and discovered Gates Hill road, which is a beautiful, steep, curvy road through a pass between the Saguaros and old Tucson. We were concerned at the narrowness of the road with no shoulder, steep drops, and lots of cars due to the detour, but saw plenty of cyclists. Later, we found out that this is a favorite bike ride.

We saw numerous "Share the road with bicycles" signs, and "Tucson is a bicycle friendly city," and realized that the cars expected to see bikes on the road.

We loved our new campsite, surrounded by bushes, trees, and desert flowers.

On Thursday, March 20th, we decided to ride Oracle road for a 30 mile round trip of gentle uphill outbound with a tailwind, followed by a gentle downhill return into a headwind. We made the day into a brick by doing a short, hilly four mile trail run on Romero Springs trail in Catalina State Park. After lunch and a rest, we found the outdoor pool from our previous visit, and did 1500 yards in sun warmed water under a blue sky. We returned home to our campsite, happily sated, and tired.

Friday, we creaked out of bed, and stayed close to home to ride a loop road, with no traffic, smooth pavement, and fun, rolling hills. The landscape was green, with lots of new desert growth and flowers. The weather was warm. The sky a piercing blue. T raced and dropped a tri-guy, but was in turn dropped by a roadie. It was nice to see all the cyclists on the road, and nice to know that the cars were expecting cyclists. After lunch, T did homework, I siesta'd in the shade of the truck, then we returned to the pool for more outdoor laps.

Saturday, tired from our previous 3 days of riding, and not accustomed to hills, we woke up with sore legs, but opted to stick with our plan to ride up Mt. Lemmon. After several days of vacationing without a clock, and letting the days follow their own rhythm, we were pretty relaxed--to the point that we didn't plan well for the climb, but just (lackadaisically) grabbed a few gels and took off. We underestimated our fatigue as well as underestimated the sustained, unprotected climb. We started at the Safeway on Tanque Verde Rd, and headed out on a wide road with smooth pavement and a good bike shoulder. The road narrowed a bit, but there was always a nice shoulder, good pavement, stellar views, and plenty of cyclists--kitted and fast -looking. All the way up, we could see a black line of tar paralleling the painted lane line. Finally, we realized that the previous painted line denoting the edge of the original wider lane had been tarred over and re-painted as a narrower lane--in order to create a wider shoulder for cyclists.

18 miles into the ride (for me), I was bonkish, cooked by the sun, and my fear of heights was starting to kick in. The descent did not include a bicycle lane--probably because it wasn't necessary. All the way down, there were plenty of pull outs, signed well ahead of time, for a downhill wuss like me to pull over, pause and collect myself. The downhill wasn't nearly as bad as anticipated and I was actually able to let go of the brakes and enjoy myself (unlike during the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic in Colorado, where the un-guardrailed outside corners made me feel that I just might sail out into space). It was nice to recognize and pass by the climbing areas we had gone to in 2004 and see the road from a different perspective. T went further, but also turned around early, feeling bonkish. We didn't make it to the top this time, but we'd already been there. In 2004, we had driven up to the top on the paved road, "snuck" past the fire station (they didn't care), then descended the back side on an empty dirt road through broad, nearly uninhabited countryside.

Once again, after our descent, we opted for more outdoor laps in the pool. On this Saturday, the pool was filled to capacity, "there's a lot of triathletes here," was what they told us, but we managed to squeak in and circle swim--T in a lane with four remarkably large men, I with some fast tri-women. Back at home, we had dinner under the stars, then the full moon rose, and we retired to bed in what seemed like almost full daylight. We were tired and happy.

Sunday, we said good bye to our campsite and to Arizona by doing a 10 mile run in the desert, initially following a bushy, green arroyo, then branching off and further afield. As we descended the arroyo, a steadily escalating sound came from behind, momentarily making me wonder if a large wave was catching up with us. Mark had already stopped off the trail and I jumped sideways into some bushes, where we both ended up waving to the passing mountain bikers in partially hidden bush-gnome fashion. It was good for a laugh.

The drive was uneventful and we traveled on $3.05 per gallon gas to arrive in Albuquerque the same night.

We found out, after the trip, that Tucson is a prime winter tri and cycling camp area, and that we had hit a number of the popular bicycle routes. It just seemed like the perfect vacation for us. As with so many of our trips, we'd like to go back. We're hoping we can make Spring Break happen again next year.

P.S. Mark looking like he's having a great time after 5 days in the desert...

Yes, we definitely want to go back.

2008-03-16T16:45:00.000-07:00

Dust storm in New Mexico.

Normally, New Mexico is "Big Sky" country.

Big, blue skies and grand vistas out to the horizon, distant mountains, volcanic formations, red and brown rocks and scrubby brush stretching as far as the eye can see.

Today, however, our visibility was reduced to the countryside just around us. At some points, we actually drove into a wall of dust and couldn't see the car in front of us.

The wind whipped sideways constantly. Tumble weeds were impelled sideways--they didn't roll and skitter, but flew--across the highway.

My eyes have been watering, nose plugged, lungs wheezing.

Right now, the wind is recorded at 28 mph with gusts up to 35 mph in Alamogordo, New Mexico.

Imagine riding 18 mph into 20 mph headwinds.

Pushing the biggest gear you can.

Trying to catch that one woman who runs better than you, and who seems to be slicing through the wind like butter (later you'll find your bike speeds were comparable).

Today, T and I participated in the Stealth Duathlon at Holloman Airforce Base, Alamogordo, New Mexico. 5k run, 30k bike, 35k-but-feels-like-70k winds. Dust, dust, and more dust.

T had an excellent race, despite a wrong turn and multiple episodes of emesis during the bike.

His legs felt good on the run. When I first saw him he was in 5th place on the return, while I was still making my way out. I was huffing and puffing and wheezing. It's unfortunate that I realized there was no one else in my age group--as this allowed me to ease up slightly. As I finished up my run, I saw T making a sudden, discombobulated turn on the bike. He had zipped past a silent volunteer who allowed him, and the man behind him, to turn in the wrong direction. It was the returning runners who yelled to alert him of his mistake, but he lost precious seconds, and in the end, it cost him the fastest bike split.

On the bike, feeling in my element, I surged and took advantage of the tailwind, short lived, which rapidly turned into a crosswind, and then, at the turn-around, became a relentless barrier to forward movement. I was chasing the young, blonde woman who was at least 3 minutes ahead of me after the run (no surprise). I saw T in 4th place, chasing Jason. He had forgotten his water bottle, and was vomiting repeatedly, a welcome moisture to his dehydrated, parched mouth. I don't know how he made up two places, but he did. As I approached the turn around, and spotted my competition, I realized I wasn't gaining ground, but as with every race, "it's not over 'til it's over," so I optimistically continued to bull-head my way through the wind in the biggest gear I could turn efficiently.

Both the run and bike course were slightly long (the run turn-around aid station was situated beyond the turn around for protection from the wind). I had a remarkably slow run with T telling me he could hear me wheezing, but was happy with an average 20.6 mph on the bike in the wind.

In the end, T finished second Overall to Jason (who looks even faster with his new haircut!) and I finished 2nd female overall to the blonde woman.

Lunch was fun with an Outlaw turnout in which each one of us medaled:

Carl: 1st 50-54 (wry, dry humor and the fastest helmet around)
Greg: 2nd 45-49 (nice to see the Candy man after last years break)
Cody: 3rd 30-34 (an impressive FIRST TIME racing as an Age Grouper and not Clydesdale)
Karen: 1st Athena (happy to pass 7 people on the bike)

The improvements to this race are measurable.

Passing through the entry checkpoint was rapid, with one guard checking our names against a list and refusing T's insurance card, saying he didn't need to see it. The bathrooms were unlocked at a decently early hour to allow us access while setting up transition (unlike previous years). At 7:00 am, the doors to the fitness center seemed to burst open as a legion of volunteers in yellow T-shirts exited to join us in the parking lot. The race started on time. There were 7 aid stations on the course. Volunteers were stationed at just about every intersection. A car was parked across one of the dubious "Y" intersections to prevent erroneous navigation. A complementary lunch was held in the Officer's Club, and the results were tabulated early. The race director is obviously dedicated to making improvements.

There was a small turnout today, probably due to the predicted high winds, but it's a good race, and appears to be overcoming past difficulties. I never thought I'd say this, but I actually had fun challenging the wind. Now, if they could only re-pave that road...

Sleep-Eat-Work-Train

2008-03-12T02:32:00.000-07:00

Domestic diva

HARD-working full time employee,

and

...IN TRAINING.

There's not a lot of leftover time.

I try to fix good, healthy, recession economy, rising oil prices food every night.

Most recent dinner was a mixed greens and hearts-of-Romaine salad with sauteed Portobello mushrooms and zucchini, Roma tomatoes, diced celery and peas with home-made Balsamic vinegar-olive oil-lemon-dill and basil dressing.

This takes time.

I've gone from voracious reader, to dabbling a few pages here and a few pages there.

My current book is: "Whatever You Do Don't Run: True Tales of a Botswana Safari Guide."

It's written in short story format which works for me, right now. A few pages every night--complete with a laugh.

Most recent patient: global expressive and receptive aphasia (difficulty with communication) status post severe stroke, with mobility impairment.

Most recent training: Never ending swim-bike-run.

Plan to get back here when the creative bug hits me, but don't seem to have much time for that now.

Sleep-Eat-Work-Train.

Spring training is full speed ahead...

Human Cells are ~ 65-90% Water

2008-03-02T12:54:00.000-08:00

Recently, I have been thirsty all the time.

I have a dry-sucking, bitter-tasting, gummy, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, inside cheeks stuck to my outside gums feeling that I can’t seem to get rid of.

I try to drink a lot, but I’m not getting enough. I can tell because no matter how much I think I am waterlogging myself, I keep peeing dark.

Part of this is being ill. My body doesn’t know how to regulate itself when it lies in bed for several days in a row.

Part of this could be the medicine I’m taking.

Part of this just might be a subtle loss of my brain’s ability to accurately determine how much water I need when I’m thirsty.

Now that I’m starting to feel better, we went for a run this morning. Instead of carrying water (like we knew we should) we opted to aim for the university campus and stop for a drink there.

Our mistake was running on Sunday.

The campus was locked up tight.

There wasn't an outdoor fountain to be found.

I didn’t feel too bad because the temperature was dropping and the wind was picking up--nice coolish temperatures which kept me from over heating—but I did start wondering if I would get an irregular heart beat from the stress to my system due to a lack of blood volume and lack of rehydration to my steadily shrinking cells.
Now, that’s a bit of insight into my hypochondriacal side.

Lucky for us, Taco Bell opens early.

At 6 miles, we stopped in and asked for a cup of water.

I have to give props for the attendant’s adherence to fast food service soft drink rules, attention to detail, and customer service. Instead of the little, flimsy plastic throw–away cup filled with tepid tap water that I expected to receive, she gave us a tall, sturdy, heavy-duty paper, filled-to-the-brim-with-ice cup, topped with a snap on lid.

Filled-to-the-brim-with-ice.

Not much water in there. A few sips and I got an ice cream headache. But that was OK, because those few sip used up all the water and there was no more ice water left to make the headache worse.

Plus, I immediately felt that I was going to live.

To top it off, it looked like snow over the Sandias—and the wind felt like snow on the street.
So, who wants ice water with that?

The rest of the run was finished in high form: T ran away from me (can you blame him?), I wondered how someone who’s been sick for as many days as I had been could think a nine mile run was feasible, the temperature kept dropping, and the return was all up hill--
but I knew that I was going to live.

It’s amazing what a little water can do.

I think I’ll try and drink more of it.

An Early Season Training Day

2008-02-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

Today is one of those days when everything goes right.

The day dawns with heavy cloud cover from an overnight storm, but within hours the sky begins to clear, and pieces of bright blue New Mexican sky, so much the norm here, begin to show and bring promise of a perfect training day.

Its one of those days that leaves you feeling tired, but refreshed by your own accomplishments.

One of those days where you find yourself breathing in a little bit deeper--just so you can sense that worked-out, expanded lung feeling that comes with taking yourself further than your body is accustomed to.

One of those days where you persevere--
--and then you lay on the couch and eat ice cream

This morning we took a 9 mile run from the door step of our house. It was a somewhat early morning run. We bundled up against the winter-thin air and bright, cool sunlight in tights, thermal tops, gloves, and sun screen. The run was familiar--a route used during the winter for short runs squeezed in after work, hurriedly running out the door with the temperature dropping and the skin freezing on our faces.

Today we started on the same route, but kept on going, cornering smoothly on carless roads, picking the best line from the entire width of the street, ups and downs with brief rests at intersections, breathing hard, pounding a tempo to promote leg turnover.

"Go," I'd tell myself, "go."

"Pick up those legs."

"In a race, you can't go slow. Feel it."

Most of our long runs are done in other locations. We eat a good breakfast and drive. Once we get to where we're going, I can almost feel myself sinking into that long distance, tired legs torpor, even before we begin. When we start, I go slow, gasping for air while my body adjusts to oxygen debt and elevation, taking miles to warm up, barely moving uphill, unable to pick up speed on the downhill.

Today, however, we're running on familiar ground--familiar for running hard and quick--and our pace picks up from long slow distance to tempo, pounding rough, gray pavement underfoot, breathing hard, eating up the distance instead of barely slogging through. What we're doing here is modeling. In this place, we run fast. That's the model. So, today, even though it's a long run, fast it is. In the end, we're running a negative split. We finish happy, out of breath, and tired, flopping into the house for calories and the couch. Our lungs feel used and a little stretched out.

We take the break, gather ourselves, and head out for a long distance swim. It takes a little convincing to ourselves, but we end up at the pool. The water feels good, and it feels great to float prone, rather than standing on our feet. We start easy, feeling good in the water, but end (again) with a negative split. Midway through, after warming up for a good half mile, we feel strong enough to stretch out and pull hard--then hunger appears and our pace picks up for another reason. In the end, we're pulling hard and breathing hard, panting when we stop at the end of the pool. By the time we're done, we're ready for lunch, and more time on the couch.

Ice cream, it is.

As I said, today is one of those days when everything goes just right.

A Little Ingenuity

2008-02-16T11:17:00.000-08:00

You've been doing race events for several years now.

After a 4 month break, it's time for the first race of a new season.

So you mark the date on your calendar, send in some money, and make a hotel reservation.

When the date arrives, you pull out your race kit from the previous year and pack up the truck.

You savor the familiar feel and routine of getting ready, while at the same time feeling the unfamiliar--it's been awhile.

Each year, the first race of the year is held at White Sands Missile Range. This year the race runs into some glitches. You end up leaving your truck outside of the base gate, and riding in with your race gear on your back. The delay at the gate means there is less time for pre-race prep.

So with minutes to spare you hurriedly rack your bike.

Then.

You pull out your racing flats.

As your shoe leaves the cloth storage bag that it's been in since the last race of last year, you suddenly get that sinking deja vu, "oh yeah, didn't I use that shoe lace for something?" feeling... and your left shoe makes it's appearance--naked and incomplete.

Then you remember: That sudden stop on the I-25 on-ramp when 3 dogs decided to cross just as you were starting to accelerate to merge onto the highway. You avoided hitting the dogs, but the person behind you made a remarkable dent in your rear bumper (fortunately, no injuries), and you tied on your broken and bent license plate with... your shoe lace.

Now, the race is about to start.

So you dig out two plastic zip ties (one white and one black) and attempt to close the shoe gap.

Then, your girlfriend donates the shoe-string-like lanyard from her key ring.

The result looks like this:

The system is adequate, but loose.

So, you dig one more time into your race bag.

And you end up with this:

The race goes as well as can be expected after a 4 month hiatus.

You don't even notice the duct tape and plastic on your left shoe.

It's your RIGHT shoe that becomes untied, which requires a stop to re-tie.

Still, you enjoy the competition and finish 5th place overall.

There's something to be said for a roll of duct tape

and

a little ingenuity.

...in which I receive THE Wave...

2008-02-02T20:58:00.000-08:00

Waving during a cycling ride, that sometimes imperceptable acknowledgment, meted through the nod of a head, the lift of a finger, or an actual wave of the wrist, has sometimes been a question mark for me. In Hawaii, I waved at just about everyone I saw--and knew just about everyone I saw. It was small town cycling on limited roads in limited time frames. The sun set at almost the same time year round, and in order to get that 20-miler in after work, everyone had to leave at the same time. There just wasn't much leeway. The main body of cyclists in the part of town where I lived started from the same point, rode the same road, and we all waved hello--even across 4 or 6 lanes of traffic.

Waving in Albuquerque has been a little different. Here, I'm waving at strangers. There's a larger variety of cyclists. On the bike path I see families, recreational cyclists, mountain bikers, commuters, and dedicated racers. A lot of people don't wave back. Instead of the larger hand-off-the-handle-bar wave, I've recently settled into a flick of my fingers, an acknowledgment of the "we're all in this together," without the actual commitment of a true wave--which, on some days, can be ignored a lot.

On this morning, a beautiful, sunny, leisurely day, perfect for the bike path, I resolved to wave to everybody, rain or shine so to speak, regardless of make, model, or apparent creed. The wave, of course, would be the 4-finger flick--acknowledgment without commitment. Perfect for me.

The ride started slow. New Mexico wind gusts and riding into a head wind made spinning difficult. I couldn't get moving. After what seemed like a long warm up, I gave up on feeling good about my ride performance, and settled into a slightly less than acceptable pace--only to be taken over by a tandem pair, singing "hello-o-o" as they went by. The pass went like this: female voice first, pause as I see the woman pull up along side, than the baritone of a man singing out, pause as I realize it's a tandem, then the man passes by.
For some reason, it seemed like a long pass.
And for some reason,
probably the length of the pass,
it got under my skin.

Even though I was supposed to be riding light--
Even though I knew that a 2-person engine is stronger than my single pair of winter legs--
Even though 1/2 of the pair on the bike was a solid looking male with strong leg muscles--
I subtly turned up the pace a notch--almost trying to hide it even from myself--for a steady, gradual chase.
Easy.
The tandem blocked the wind, and I came up from behind in no time.
Then I noticed the male, the stoker in the back, turning his head form side to side, ostensibly sightseeing, but I guessed that he was checking me out.
And he was.
The pace increased.
I actually stayed several bike lengths back, and off to the side, knowing that the 2-person engine in front of me had the advantage.
But at one point, unintentionally, I pulled up to the man's rear left. I stayed out to the side, but probably closer than he wanted me to be. In fact, he probably didn't want me to be close at all. But I stayed there--choosing not to pass, because I didn't want to play leapfrog--but not dropping back either.
And I waited.
To see if I'd hear it.
And I did.
The "click" of the shift as he moved into another gear.

Now it gets harder.
We've been going for several miles like this
I haven't been able to breath well, ever since we went to sea level on vacation, and I can really feel it.
But I keep trying to hang on and minimize the "damage" which, as defined by me, is not letting him get too far away.
I've been riding the hoods the entire time, but now decide to get to business, and drop down into a TT position. I'm feeling on pace, getting aero, breathing hard. The tandem has opened up a gap, but it's not too far out, although I'm essentially on my own. I'm as low as I can go and feel like a little gnat trying to mimic a racer.

Throughout all of this, I've forgotten to wave.

Coming towards me is a man in a blue kit.
He's lean and pale.
I don't see much except for paleness.
He looks at me.
And he waves.
He takes his hand off the handle bars and gives me a wave. A real one. Hand in the air. It's the biggest gesture I've seen all day.
He see's what I'm doing, and he gets it.
From one cyclist to another.

I don't catch up with the tandem, partially because a family shows up in front of me, and I slow down to keep the kids safe.

Mark catches up with me on the return trip.
"Did you see Levi?"
"Huh? What color was he wearing?"
"Blue"
"Baby blue and white?"
"Yup"
"Clear glasses?"
"Yup"
"Pale and white?"
"Yup. He has that red headed complexion."
"Are you sure it was Levi?"
"Yup"
"HE WAVED AT ME!
HE TOOK HIS HAND OFF THE HANDLE BARS AND HE WAVED AT ME!"
(pause)
Then I ask him, "Did he wave at you, too?"
"Nope"
"You sure?"
"Nope. He just rode by, and I recognized him"

I wallow in it.
Levi Leipheimer waved at me.
America's other Tour de France rider and last year's third place finisher, winner of last year's Tour of California, now training to defend his title, and the U.S. national road race champion, all rolled into one, waving at me.

Now, he could have waved at me because I was riding so demonically fast.
Or, because I looked cool in my best TT position and he thought I was a fellow pro.
But then I remember the silly, purple bandana I have tied around my neck, and I realize that Levi was probably just acknowledging the odd juxtaposition of a southwest accent on a cycling kit. The wave could just as easily have been a "what the heck is that" gesture.
Still.
He waved at me.
And, regardless of the reason, like all good fans, I've suddenly fallen in love.

2008-01-23T05:50:00.000-08:00

Markee in more carefree times....clamming at sunset in Baja just after the New Year.

Back-to-law-school-man has been a bit absent minded lately.

Yesterday we couldn't find the large tub of french vanilla yogurt used to make a homemade kefir drink the night before.

After a fairly involved search including his study desk and the bathroom (don't ask me why--we were just going room to room), it turned up in the dish cabinet, with the glasses and mugs.

Understandable. Large tub of yogurt, large coffee mug--it could happen to anyone.

Today I found a toothbrush in the utensil holder.

And utensils in the toothbrush holder.

I'm seeing a theme here.

I'm getting ready.

We have two and a half more years to go.

Baja, Diego, Catalina , 2 viajeros, and a trusty truck

2008-01-11T21:12:00.000-08:00

3000 miles of driving

10 nights of camping, 2 hotels, 4 restaurant meals, one ferry express ride, and a midnight hike

5 whales + a calf, 2 dolphin schools, 7 clams, a few sting rays and legless starfish, uncountable seals sunning and jumping, plovers, sandpipers, herons, pelicans, frigatebirds, cormorants, and ospreys

a blue bay and empty beach

sand and seashells

wind and sun gentle on our skin

the coolness (shocking) and clarity of the water

the sound of the incoming tide lapping at the sand

a million, billion stars.

2 weeks of...
bottled water, watchless days, velvet nights, clothing re-runs,
rural roads, grand vistas, wandering cattle, and cultural eye openers.

Living on the beach and in the best way possible.

Baja California, Santa Catalina Island, and San Diego.

We're home now. Just got in the door after an all day push from California to New Mexico. Our first meal is green chile stew from the Frontier restaurant. Crazy Baja Driver Man has finished wading through his email--140 messages from UNM alone--and has moved on to Cyclocross scores (very important!).

I'm happily organizing entropy--and delighted at the state of our house. Our kitchen jungle plants didn't die, the furnace turned on (after a breathtaking delay), we didn't leave dirty dishes in the sink, nothing moldy is growing in the fridge, and the car started on the first try.

Happy, happy New Year.

Spain in '04

2007-12-23T18:41:00.000-08:00

Ran into Lazy and Rick today. Really nice to see some tri team faces I haven't seen in a while.

Might be because I'm feeling better, and getting out of the house more.

Still no stamina, though.

But I'm working on it, and am definitely on the upswing.

In November, 2004, Mr. T and I went to Spain for a rock climbing trip on the southern Costa Blanca coast. We hadn't seen each other in almost a year, so we spent 3 weeks in Europe getting re-acquainted. My sister just happened to have a conference in Madrid and arranged to stay longer to meet us on the coast for a family vacation.

We stayed in the cutest little finca, in an agricultural valley lined with groves of orange trees, little towns, and meandering water ways. The driveway up to this place was flanked by large stone lions and had a huge gate. We had a private tennis court. T was enthralled by the olive trees and tried to eat an olive fresh from the branch. Something he won't repeat again.

Our first night we went to get something to eat. We walked into an entirely deserted restaurant, resplendent in white linen and crystal wine goblets. At 6:00 pm we were terribly gauche, but didn't know it. As T puts it, we must have been having an early evening snack--Spain custom doesn't even consider dining before 9:00 pm

We had home made antipasto plates everyday--olives, cheeses, good crusty bread, narrow, hard salami's, ai'oli, and red wine. We bought the wine at a mercado called "Mas-y-Mas,"--after becoming unintentionally tipsy in their wine tasting room. Mas-y-Mas is really just your typical supermarket, but with a better meat/seafood counter--and a wine tasting room, unattended, lined floor to ceiling with wooden casks, spigots, and little plastic cups.

We were so enamored of the olives, that we bought 2 pounds of assorted types from a street market vendor--only to find that they were marinated in a biting, astringent vinegar. We still ate them, but in small doses.

One evening we stopped in for tapas in a large bar, hidden behind thick stone walls and large, solid wooden doors. Older, grizzled men sat around wooden tables playing cards. The air was thick with smoke. We found kidneys, curdled blood, and very large, intact sardines. I don't recall eating anything--and think stateside tapas may be more appealing to me than the traditional fare.

We celebrated Thanksgiving, thankfully with my sister, in the small moorish village of Parcent, built on a hill. We toured on foot, walking small, narrow, crooked cobbled streets up to the top of the hill, then down the other side, and back again. Dinner was a large platter of seafood paella, bread, more red wine, and fruit.

One day, we climbed up the Penon de Ifach in the town of Calpe near Alicante. November is the off season, so the beach was entirely deserted and the water was COLD. Mr T dove in, and then just as quickly ran out. In the summer it's quite the beach resort and is elbow-to-elbow people--which accounts for the high rise condos lining the beach.

This photo is a shot my sister took on the climb up. She just found and sent it to me, which brought back memories, so I thought I'd share.

A L'il Bit of Grump

2007-12-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

I am still sick.

My body feels like it's going through an inactive taper, achey and uncomfortable.

I tried to go back to work yesterday, but had to leave before noon.

Sitting still, I felt fine.

Being active (running around the gym) unexpectedly stressed me to the point where I felt worse than I had for the prior few days.

As I was leaving, I could hear a cacophony of coughing, sniffling and sneezing all around me. I'm almost glad I'm still sick, so I don't have to be around, well, all that sickness.

One of my co-workers said that he doesn't take time off, he just takes ibuprofen.

He said this at the top of his lungs while almost simultaneously sharing the factoid that one person can infect ten other people --and hacking and blowing into a tissue.

The altruistic side of me sends him best wishes, and hopes that he, and everyone else, gets better soon.

The grumpy, whadaya think your doing side, thinks he needs a swift kick to the dark side, where all the little hobgoblins can hack and spit on him. He probably wouldn't get it though, and would think it was some great new game where everybody hacked and spit on each other. Then he would just join in.

Maybe he could get buried by hacking goo, and just disappear.
Yup.
That's what I wish for him.

People who don't go home when they're sick, deserve to buried by hacking goo.

Tagged for 5

2007-12-17T23:02:00.000-08:00

I have been tagged by GG.

I didn’t pick up on it at first, as I have been lolling around in bed, trying, and I mean TRYING, to get myself better as fast as I can by doing absolutely nothing and laying around in bed in a stupor.

Having a fever, with all over skin hypersensitivity, a mushroom sized headache, deeply aching eye sockets, swollen neck lymph nodes, and a complete lack of appetite has helped the stupor immensely.

I’ve been stuporing for several days now.

I did rouse myself (before my symptoms increased) to attend my company’s annual Christmas party, where I joined a conga line (T did too), then fell into a chair with fatigue. Since I normally can be a dancing fool, this was not like me. I’m not sure if the $25 in movie theatre coupons I won were worth the increase in illness I felt the next day--which is when my stuporing began in earnest.

T “I’m So Glad I’m Done With Finals and Now I’m Enjoying My Time Off” was tooling around on my website and yelled “Hey! You’ve been tagged. What does that mean?”

Ummm…I’m not sure. But then I tooled around and found he’d been tagged, also. Kind of like 6 degrees of separation, you can follow the thread backward: GG, EPT, Cody, Mike Lovato—not sure where it will go from here, but can I tag someone twice? Well, I don’t see why not.

I have to write 5 unusual (?) or interesting (?) things about myself—I’m not sure which.

As I can be a bit wordy, be patient with me—or blame GG for the infliction.

So, here goes:

1. I fall under the definition of a “Little Person” which is 4’10” or under. When I came to the mainland after living in Hawaii, I was stricken on the first day of school at how large everyone was. I knew I’d picked the wrong career. How in the world could I be a physical therapist among all these large people? I was scared silly. Fortunately, after years of trial by fire, I’ve learned my craft—but it took a long time to get used to how BIG people are over here. I still think Big people use more resources than little ones....

2. When I was contacted by the Forest Service to work as a seasonal firefighter, I said everything I could to convince them that they didn’t want me. It was like talking to a blank wall. The person at the other end of the phone would politely listen, than continue on with the hiring spiel. What they didn’t say was: I was a desirable double minority (female and Asian), plus I’d been putting myself through school by working outdoors and was sharp with a chainsaw and whatever other tools (Pulaski, etc) that were required. I finally figured what the heck, I could try it, and if I failed, I would just bow out and return to normal life. I was so scared (again). I made sure to take the fitness exam at sea level, before I drove up to the mountains, because I knew I wouldn’t pass at elevation. I still don’t know how I passed. The examiner's heart-rate count was about ½ of what I counted. When I got to the station, none of the Nomex clothes fit, and I spent the first night taking in inches all the way down the sides of both pant legs and the sides of my shirt—all hand stitched—I was up late. Because of my light weight I crewed on an engine but was placed on helitack as an alternate. On my second day as an alternate, I was sent up—but that’s a whole ‘nother story (scrambling into orange helitack coveralls, I found they didn’t fit either…)

3. To get through my initial years of college I lived for one especially cold (it snowed on the coast) winter in a trailer with broken rear windows and no heat. I remember one night when it got so cold I could barely move my fingers to type. My thoughts were going at normal speed, but everything else was in slow-mo. I remember thinking “this must be what it feels like to be old.” In those days I slept fully clothed under a cotton and nylon sleeping bag. One morning I woke up to a positively luxurious warm feeling—and found it was 36 degrees, instead of below freezing. That was a really good feeling.

4. I was introduced to Jimmy Riccitello in 1987 (or thereabouts) at the Hawaii Ironman. I wasn’t there to do the race, just provide support and a cheering section. Jimmy had these riveting light eyes that looked directly into mine, and the kindest voice. I never forgot that moment. Years later, when I was re-visiting the sport after a ten year hiatus, I picked up a magazine, and was surprised to see an article with his name on it. I didn’t know he’d progressed into Officialdom with the USAT. In 2005, while doing the Honu Half Ironman, Mr. T dumped off his bike and ended up with a right side quad cramp. At mile 54 he literally fell over on his bike while climbing a hill because of the cramps. The head referee pulled up, got off the motorcycle, and rubbed the cramps out of T's leg. This enabled T to finish his race, albeit painfully. Imagine how envious I was, when T told me that Jimmy had rubbed out his thigh. Sigh…

5. One time I went through a hard break-up with a boy and lost a lot of weight. The result was that I became a really good rock climber. The moral of this story is that good things come in strong packages…no, light weight makes strong hands…no, I mean, just go out and live your life no matter what. It will all come out good in the end.

And that’s just what it has.

Thanks Mr. T

PS: I think everyone I know has been tagged so far. Still, I’d like to tag Bones (love to see it, Bones, love to see it), Al, Cindy, and Muffin.

Polar Bear Triathlon

2007-12-12T21:55:00.000-08:00

The hard part about racing a race that you hadn't planned on racing is not how hard it is to push when you haven't been training--that parts easy, because you're usually nice and rested--the hard part is just how sore you feel the next day.

The day after doing the year-end, first-race-of-the-year, Polar Bear Triathlon (Dec. 8), I had a nice case of DOMS--delayed onset muscle soreness--a soreness that not only was delayed, but continued to progress as the hours passed. By that evening, I was barely able to mobilize my quads to allow me to step down two steps into the garage--a good excuse as any to NOT do the weekly laundry.

The Polar Bear triathlon is one of those events I used to avoid due to the possibility of the inclement weather that the name implies. For some reason, I went with T last year, and now I guess it's become one of our standards--at least this year it was just assumed that we were going and I went went with the flow, not thinking about what doing a race event, when I hadn't been training, might entail.

We drove down the night before. T set up everything, including a portable dinner for on-the-road feeding, so that I only had to wiggle my way out of work (5:10 "early"), grab my already packed bag, and jump into the truck. I always look forward to driving trips. They remind me of the years we spent driving out of town each weekend for camping and climbing trips. We'd pack the car with music, food, good books, and our coziest comforters. We'd drive away from the bright lights of the city and into skies that went on forever with an unbelievable number of stars and clean, crisp air. Even though I know that the drive down to the race is 3 hours of endless, gray highway, I still look forward to it. The feeling is that ingrained in me.

Race day morning, we headed to the White Sand Missile Range checkpoint/gate. Unfortunately, we ran a little late by somehow dropping our keys under the truck, and were unable to locate them in the dark. The gate at the base is notorious for bottle-necking the entire field of entrants, so our slightly late gate arrival at 6:25 am put us about 7 cars back in line, but about 40 minutes away from reaching the gate. By the time we reached the gate, we'd started grousing--only to have the security contractor find that our car registration was expired--and turn us back from the gate (T had moved recently, and his registration notice must not have been forwarded). This could have been grounds for more than "grousing" but as I had car-pooled in a vehicle the year before that did not have current car insurance (with the three "M's"), I was familiar with procedure and knew that we only had to park outside the gate, and ride in with all of our gear--which we did.

Somehow, there is a continuous disconnect between the private contractors hired to secure the gate, the current Threat Level ("alpha" in this case), and the race director and staff who are trying to get the race started on time. As was usual, a number of event participants don't make it through the gate on time, and the race director, caught between a military procedure that he has no control over, and expectant participants (many of whom had driven some distance), opted to start the race on time, and then allow the late arrivals a late start.

Due to gate delays, we barely made it to the 8:00 am start on time. Finding that I needed to hit the restroom just as they were calling the pre-race meeting, I ran to the nearest single stall toilet, which was occupied, and informed the occupant that the race meeting was being called--a gentle hint for her to galvanize herself and exit quickly, so that I could use the facilities myself-- a bit self-serving, but not outside the truth of the matter.

T's pre-race set up was occupied with creating a shoelace for the shoe that he brought that didn't have one. A key chain cord, plastic zip tie, and duct tape did the trick...

Even though the day was cold, and windy, I wore a sleeveless skinsuit. The wind, which had been gusting hard earlier that morning, dropped as soon as the sun rose and it was nice not to be wearing long sleeves. I actually wished the sun would go back behind the clouds.

The run was tough. Without training, a sprint race can really take it out of you. John L. passed me on mile 2 and was kind enough to say hello, then excuse me with a reminder that this is the off season. Thank you, John!--there's a reason for my huffing and puffing...

I did a lot of thinking during the start of the run, assessing myself, and mulling my options, and decided to run "for myself." I didn't want to focus on how others were doing, and decided not to look up to see where or even if my competition was present. I wanted to see how I would do compared to previous times and check on my early season fitness. I even fooled myself into thinking that I could just settle in, gauge my fitness, and enjoy the pre-season push.

Part way through the run, Eddie passed me. Eddie is significant as the partner of Mary, my Age Group Nemesis, so when I saw him, I knew SHE must be here, too. Thus, began the "I'm only racing for myself" vs. the "I need to go faster" internal dialog that pushed my untrained legs for the run and the bike. Still, I continued to opt not to "race," and pushed myself, but not too far.

The run was a relief to finish. Because I had missed the pre-race meeting, I thought is was a 5K, so the 7 K distance was unexpected and I lagged for the last mile.

The bike was WINDY through the first 20K, and the challenge was to continue to give my best without becoming demoralized. With 10K to go, my rear wheel felt slightly mushy, but I figured I was just imagining the loss of air. The tailwind for the next 5K was great, but the last section into the gate seemed the windiest and hardest of all. At the end of the race it turned out that I did have a flat, and, as T put it, he pulled out the "mother of all goatheads" from my rear tire.

When I hit the pool, I was tired, and concerned that I might panic, as I hadn't been in the water except for one session since August. I walked the transition, despite the encouragement of a fit looking finisher. When I reached the pool, I swam in a rather befuddled, tired, tentative way--looking so bad, that T said he didn't yell encouragement because he didn't want to overwhelm me. My fingers didn't thaw out until the third lap, and Cody swept by me in a tidal wave on about the fifth. When I finished I was happy to climb up the ladder, and into the waiting towel that T held out for me--but then noticed a bevy of people watching by the side of the pool--my Age Group Nemesis among them. Drat, yes, she had finished ahead of me, but then again, did it matter? I was happy just to be done, and to be there.

As I toweled dry, Age Group Nemesis came over to say hello (surely), but the first words out of her mouth were "Dale wants to know if you're 45," and thus, just like that, my warm fuzzy pre-season feeling disappeared, and the Age Group gauntlet for the 2008 season was laid down.

Age Group Nemesis, Dale and I finished 1-2-3. The unofficial results show that I was somewhat over one minute behind first place. Dale is the new-comer to the group, and if this race is an indication of things to come, I expect she'll add an element of spice. Judging from our finish times, if I choose to follow the challenge, this will be one heck of a triathlon season.

On a brighter (less competitive) note, I had a great lunch with Eddie and Age Group Nemesis, then headed over the to the year end award ceremony to collect my giant hand-painted and personalized Magnum of Champagne for being last year's Age Group champion. The best part of an already great day was seeing so many familiar faces and saying hello to so many people. Our series sponsor put on a great party with good eats. A HUGE thank you of appreciation goes out to all who made it happen.

To close the day, T slept all the way home, so he could return to his studies once we arrived, while I swigged diet caffeinated drinks and ate deep fried crunchy food to keep my sagging self awake. From such lofty heights to such nutritionally icky depths! Still, the caffeine did the trick, and 3 hours of grey highway somewhat sailed by.

BTW, T placed second in his Age Group, and collected a bottle of champagne also.

There's an awful lot of champagne in this house--

Now for some celebrating.....

Gel'ing

2007-12-10T20:40:00.000-08:00

5 cases of gels, for a discount plus free shipping.
What could be better than that?

I didn’t have to make an extra trip to the store—although a trip to the store might be good for me, as I haven’t started my Christmas shopping yet.

The price per gel was less than at our local outlets—although I do feel guilty for not supporting local business.

And now I don’t have to worry about making that last minute run to the store when I find out that we’re out of gels on the eve of some important race next year--although the way Cranky "Shh, I'm Studying For Finals" Law Student Guy uses gels, we may run out before the year is through…

So, here’s how it goes: 24 gels per case yields 120 for the year. That’s 10 gels per month, divided by 2 mouths, for a grand total of 5 gels on average per household person, per month.

Now, here’s the rest of the story—Cranky "Shh, I'm Studying For Finals" Law Student Guy did 28 races last year—10 triathlons, including a half Ironman and full Ironman, and 18 bike races. I did 12 triathlons, including 2 half Ironman races, and 1 cycling time trial. The household total for 2007 is 41 race events. 120 gels spread over 41 race events is pretty thin.

And that doesn’t include training nutrition.

I'm thinking...

I probably should have ordered more gels.

'tis the Season

2007-12-07T23:00:00.000-08:00

Kind of like

when you see early department store christmas decorations

you know triathlon season is

"just around the corner"

when 5 cases of gel arrive on your doorstep.

Sometimes I Wonder

2007-12-06T21:13:00.000-08:00

Reflection.

How early did the world of arts and letters touch my life?
I have a photo of me as an infant, with Henry Miller's personal assistant, a writer and artist in his own right, tickling my tummy with a delighted smile on his face.
Emil White.
A force of personality.
A man my sister and I have great and fond memories of.

And regrets,
at not seeing him towards the end of his life.
My sister thought he would not remember her, years later, when she was driving through Big Sur. But he did, and was disappointed that she did not stop to visit.
She had mentioned her early association with Emil to someone in the area, and word got back to him.
She told me this later, when I told her that I had not seen Michael McClure for the same reason, when he toured here several years ago.
Regrets and memories.
Another life and time.
I remember the feel of metal roller skates on the rough cement sidewalk in front of the McClures house on the hill.
The adults were inside on a weekend afternoon.
Down the hill, the local laundromat advertised 10 cent wash, 5 cent dry.
The Coppertone billboard with the little girl hung over the city.
Sometimes I imagine Jane and see that blonde, blonde, blonde head of hair, here comes the sun...
Sometimes I wonder.

I would like to go to the Henry Miller Museum, housed in Emil White’s home. My hope is to see the photo of a younger Emil, peering from the side of a woman’s hips, gleeful, mischievous eyes, black and white.
It was my favorite when we used to visit.
Somewhere I have a Henry Miller signed hard cover copy of Tropic of Cancer.
It’s somewhere,
and that’s where I think it will stay.

Literary License

2007-12-03T21:31:00.000-08:00

In August of this year, I wrote a brief essay - summation - thought about the death, and life, of Michael Reardon. It was a piece of writing that came from the heart and poured out as a single piece of celebration and anguish. It was one of those pieces of writing that form themselves, with a minimum of contrivance, adjustment, or editing. It was a piece that started with a great introduction (kind of my signature), went a bit downhill from there, but still included a facile use of words, with attention to the juxtaposition of this with that to add poetry and prose to what was a painful wrench of a subject.

Sometime later, I received a copy of ROCK and ICE, a rock climbing magazine "built by climbers", which 1) addressed the death of Michael Reardon, and 2) offered a pair of climbing shoes to a letter selected as the lead-off for their letters section.

So, I sent them a copy of what I had written.

I was already a bit incensed that they had not featured a photo of Michael on the cover of this particular issue, and wanted to give them a lay persons perspective on this larger than life man.

As well as the fact that a free pair of rock shoes is nothing to sneeze at--especially for this household.

Then I forgot about it.

Until the January '08 issue arrived.

Today.

In my mailbox.

I turned to the letters section first, because it's one I like to read for the various input and feedback from the community.

A letter caught my eye.

Gee, this one sounds familiar.

Could it be that essay that I sent in? Naw--can't be--reads like just about some of the worst writing I've ever read--but still--Nope--I would never have said that--plus some of it doesn't pertain at all--Wait--WHAT?--that's my name printed at the end of it--OMG!!! --who the heck changed around what I wrote then attached my name to it?--It's so awful, they should have put their own name to it--better yet, they should have just burned their creation in some eternal fire somewhere--plus whoever added in all that awful English, also added some things that I didn't write and are strictly UNTRUE--

Does writing a letter to the editor allow for literary license? Falsehood? Extremely BAD writing (or extremely bad editing)??

After making a considerable amount of noise around the house,
disturbing my bear of a patient man,
re-reading the worst parts at the top of my lungs,
and re-living the embarrassment of having my name attached to the "thing,"
I am considering asking for a retraction.

Finally, distrust worms its way through my vocal outburst, and I wonder --what else is being changed by this magazine (in the interest of bad editing or self promotion)?

2007-11-29T19:54:00.000-08:00

T looking awfully relaxed the day after Thanksgiving...

Sisters...Giant Hachi photos from October Reunion weekend:

Looking over the top of the fence...

Playing with Bob...

Two smiles (sort of)...

Thanksgiving in NM with T and Ra

2007-11-27T20:10:00.000-08:00

I started to write about Thanksgiving, but realized I couldn't really delve into the why's and wherefores.

So, instead, I just want to say that my sister flew in this past Tuesday and stayed through Saturday. She telecommutes, so she spent her first day working from the back area of Flying Star cafe until her 2 pm cut off time and then did some casual window shopping at Nob Hill. That evening we went to an actual movie theatre and saw Into the Wild, which was shot beautifully and much better than I thought it would be, but could really only be as good as the actual story iself (true tale that it is).

For the rest of her stay, T took a hiatus from studying and we tramped around for 3 days. We potlucked an "orphan" Thanksgiving dinner with a co-worker who lost everything in Katrina, her mother visiting from Biloxi, Mississippi, and a friend, also new to the area.

After watching a CRAZY movie, called "Crazy Love," we opened our curtains to a white world, as the first snow of the year fell, blanketing everything.

The next day we drove up to the Ojo Caliente hot springs for a few hours of soaking, had dinner at Rancho de Chimayo, and stopped in Santa Fe for an acrobatic circus a la (junior) Cirque du Soleil.

Ojo was nice, but I realized it really wasn't for me when my favorite part was the large, clear, cool temperatured pool that you could actually swim in. Sitting and soaking in murky, alkaloid, iron, and arsenic waters, with the possibility of bacterrhea (sic), didn't really appeal to me. The lithium spring tasted BAD, and Ra and I spit for a long time afterwards.

Rancho De Chimayo is cute, affordable, big on New Mexican atmosphere, and the food is good, but could use a little more seasoning /spice/chile to add panache the to the New Mexican mexican menu.

The circus started slow, but took off with fun and high flying acrobatics on trapeze, bicycles, curtains, and ropes. It was whimsical and athletic. Parts were absolutely astonishing. If you've seen Cirque du Soleil, than this is where those performers start out.

Our final day was spent breakfasting at The Grove, then scanning a lifetime of our childhood photos onto CD, so that Ra could take them back with her.

The trip was too short, too fast.

I've been lucky enough to see my sister this past August (Barb's race), October (high school reunion), and now in November. Plans are to meet up in January (southern California or Baja), but it never seems to be enough. As T says, we never stop talking. I think if we lived near each other, we'd have nothing but fun. Still, it's nice to show each other a different part of the world.

She's been a part of my whole life, except for the first year and 4 months. She is a remarkable, outspoken, smart, funny, and beautiful person, and I am truly lucky to have her in my life.

Snow Under a Full Moon

2007-11-24T22:17:00.000-08:00

Holy Potato--(that’s Muffin’s eruditism that I’ve pirated as mine) –it is cold out there!

Mr. T – ostensibly attracted by the siren seduction of a possible cash prize, but secretly probably just jonesing for the novelty –raced cyclocross this evening.
That’s right—
I said “THIS EVENING.”
As in night
After the sun goes down
And the light of day turns into the depths of night,
And the temperature turns itself upside down
And NO LIVING CREATURE should be stirring about.

The event was called the KHS Night Cross New Mexico.

It was held in Tijeras, a scenic little town that is at 6300’ ELEVATION (colder temps), inside a NARROW ROCKY CANYON (even colder temps), with SNOW on the ground (coldest temps of all).

Combine this with a recent cold front --28 degrees at 5:00 pm, plummeting to 16 degrees at 7:00 pm.

The race started at 6:20 pm.

Crazy-Crosser-Man-With-Gonads-Of-Pure-Ice drove out to the race before me so he would have time to “warm up.”

I got myself dressed, stepped outside, and immediately returned indoors to put on more clothes.

I layered doubley well. The whole kit and kaboodle. Wool socks, extra long underwear, sweater, fleece top and bottom, down jacket, gloves, hat, boots.

And I STILL FROZE everywhere.

The full moon, however, was not to be missed.
Nor the flat blackness of the rocks silhouetted high against the moon-lit black sky.
The crispness of the clean, still air.
The absence of light-pollution from the nearby city.
Trees lit only by moonlight.
The brightness of the snow.

Neither was the race, but I’ll let Crazy-Crosser-Man-With-Gonads-Of-Pure-Ice tell you about that.

It was amazing to see how much community support an atypical event like this could generate: 10,000 watts of flood lights donated by a local construction company, the venue donated by Los Vecinos Community Center, KHS New Mexico designed and implemented the course as well as provided a warm, heated tent, and a surprising number of spectators provided enthusiastic encouragement complete with cowbells and cameras. Cash prizes went 20 deep for the “A” race. Once the race was over, local cyclists donated plenty of hot eats: hot chocolate, hot cider, coffee, brownies, cookies and chile.

The first ten minutes of spectating were fun.

The rest was just hanging in there, while the pain of intense cold seeped into various body parts.

Still, just to be there,
Under a black sky,
Deep shadows among trees garnished with snow,
The bright light of a full moon
Set square between the tops of the canyon walls,
Luminescence.

And to breath.

WRAPPING IT UP FOR THE SEASON

2007-11-12T20:18:00.000-08:00

Southwest Challenge Triathlon & Duathlon Series Age Group Champion here.

Finally.

At least I think I am.

I worked hard enough for it.

I even got into the water more than once a week.

Now, that’s a biggie.

I can’t seem to access the Southwest Challenge points page, so going on my (somewhat biased) recollection, here goes:

OVERALL FEMALE WIN (I’m proud of this one)(Plus I got shwag—or whatever you call it)
Stealth Duathlon (Fastest female bike!! –what I live for)

SECOND OVERALL FEMALE (Proud of these, too)
John Stermer Duathlon (Fastest female bike – yup, I’m livin’ large!!)
Sully Super Sprint A.K.A. Alpine Triathlon

AGE GROUP WINS (First, first, first among women my age!)
Stealth Duathlon
Alpine Triathlon
F1 Triathlon (swim-swim-bike-run-bike-run)
Cotton Country Triathlon

SECOND PLACE AGE GROUP (Drat—there really are people better than me…)
Polar Bear Triathlon
John Stermer Duathlon
Atomic Duathlon—the FAT BOY (l-o-o-o-g version) (pg. 2)
Gallup Triathlon (inaugural)
Bottomless Triathlon

MISC FINISHES (OK, I know, I know, I really do need to work harder…)
Mesilla Valley Track Club Triathlon – 4th AG
Jay Benson Triathlon—6th AG
Grady Williams Memorial Triathlon (Olympic) – 3rd AG

PLUS, TWO HALF IRONMAN RACES (travel, friends, and good fun endurance--love this stuff):
Ford 70.3 Half Ironman Honu—June 3rd, Hapuna Beach, Big Island, Hawaii
Barbs Race – August 4th, Guerneville, California (flat tire, 5th AG)

BEEN WORKING TOWARD THIS FOR 4 YEARS.

I've finally progressed past the 8-Day training program I used to use just prior to a race event in 2003, my year of Tri-Team Southwest training where I got left behind a lot in 2004, my very haphazard training program in 2005 (just do what feels good, and be grumpy when you don't get results), and my "off year" of next to no training in 2006 (try doing a Half Ironman off the couch...ooh, my knees...).

Along the way I shed a job that was taking Way, WAY, WAY too much of my time.

I had a great training year in 2007, bettered myself, and earned the trophy.

Looking forward to unknowns and betterment next year.

See y'all at the races.

Now-- Back to the off season

Swim

Bike

Run

DONE!

Flying In From Dallas-Fort Worth, TX

2007-11-11T22:12:00.000-08:00

Ooooef!
Waiting for the airline to find my lost luggage.

Ouch!
So far it hasn't been "located."

It was a direct flight. We checked in an hour and a half early.
We had time to do all kinds of good airport things:

eat french fries
peruse entertainment/gossip/relationship magazines
discuss clothing
dissect our current relationships in good girlfriend fashion
tell old dating stories (now that was funny)

We were good airport people.

And BOTH of our bags got lost.

How in the world am I going to get around the house at night without my (Magoo) glasses?
Or my favorite pajama top?
My too cute Zoot capri workout leggings?
Or my all important electric toothbrush?

"24 hours" the website says.

Well, I hope so.

I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

'OHANA AND HULA

2007-11-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

At class tonight, I danced solo.

Not only that, but I had to improvise, AND "work the stage."

Imagine doing this to a Tahitian beat, when you've only participated 4 times, and at the back of the class, which consists mostly of 20-somethings, who have been dancing since they were small children, and who move really well, are more flexible and sway a whole lot better.

I on the other hand barely hang in, can't hear the count,
lose the "bump" over and over again, and have shadowed thoughts of joint damage.

Hip circles at high speed are hard.

Hip circles at high speed while traveling by yourself around the room with an audience that is LOOKing at you, is really hard.

The hula solo went a whole lot better, although I did get a little nervous, distracted by the eyes of the audience, and lost the movement by "thinking too hard."

Since I tend to panic in public, hyperventilate or get flushed at just the thought of speaking up in front of a group, this could have been a really stressful evening.

Instead I didn't panic, and only felt mildly foolish.

Mostly, I was surprised at just how comfortable I felt, and how, in this environment, there was no judgement of quality or performance.

Just a wide eyed expectation that you loved the dance as much as they.

In this cement floored garage, tinged with the stink of cigarette smoke, flanked by a vehicle in repair and shelves of miscellaneous storage boxes, Auntie R and Auntie T passing the culture to the next generation, appreciation of dance and movement, a family collective to make it better for all, no competition or rating scale, 'ohana and hula in a high-desert, land-locked state, truly blessed to be there, I found that I did.

My only real concern? I may get sick more often this cold season--I must get, and give, 10 hula-sister and hula-bro hugs every night I go to dance.

Notes:

Photo #1: Tahitian dancers

Photo #2: Keiki (child) hula

Photo #3: Kahiko (ancient) hula

Photo #4: Auana (modern hula) grace at sunset

I Had So Much Fun...!

2007-10-30T21:45:00.000-07:00

I went to my high school reunion, and found I was beautiful.

Also, optimistic, and highly enthusiastic.

I found I could walk into a room crowded with people I really didn't know, start up a conversation, and enjoy myself.

I had so much fun!

Well, to some extent.

There were those awkward moments.

The Kava champagne and white wine probably helped a bit in this regard.

Ohhh dear....

I hope I didn't have "too much fun."

Lately, though, I 've been walking on air.

The mean man at work barely even phased me.

I feel beautiful.

Inside and out!

Wow! Kapow! People Are Great

2007-10-29T22:35:00.000-07:00

So, here I am blogging in the company of my dedicated team member triathletes. Feel like a square peg in a round hole, but that’s me—I take the off-season OFF—and do everything else instead. Trust me-- it is nothing but fun.

First, I would like to congratulate each and every one who toed the starting line at SOMA. You did it. Trained, planned, sacrificed, focused, made adjustments to family, work, and mental status, dug down deep when you had to, groaned and moaned for that last ounce of commitment.
You.
(Yes, you)
MADE. IT. HAPPEN.

Congratulate yourselves.

As they say—everyone is invited to the dance.
The kicker is --not everyone makes that choice to get out there and do it.

Pirate: BUMMER and MORE! I am so sorry about the mechanical. I would have felt the same way, but not have acted with such grace. How absolutely and utterly frustrating, especially when it was beyond your control. Having the support of so many people who cared—now that is irreplaceable. Finishing a half? Yes, you can replace that one. Loved your post.

Hartley: Congratulations on your first half. I know that not finishing must have really been difficult. Taking care of an injury is priority, and you did right, by not pushing yourself beyond what your body was telling you. I know there will be other half’s. Even though you didn’t finish, I’m guessing you learned some valuable lessons that will only make the next one better. My first was an experiment, my second was a race!

GG: Kudos for listening to your true self and not bowing down to ego or perspectives outside of yourself. You probably avoided some real damage to yourself both physically and mentally. I think what you did was the strongest choice of all. You will get your heart again and that will be the best race of all. I know you know this. We’ve both been there when it all comes together. Now, that’s having FUN.

SWTrigal: Congratulations on the race of your triathlon career. Wow. Breaking your PR by 27 minutes. Finishing in the top third (give or take a hair) of your age group. GREAT bike time. I see Age Group accomplishments in your future. Go out and get ‘em—I know you can do it.

Mr. S. Baboo: Great PR time! Looks like a great race. Way to allay the demons of IMAz. Think a PR more than makes up for the upcoming loss of your Clydesdale status? Bet you do! Looking forward to the race report.

Now, as I said, I’m kind of a square peg in a round hole. Always have been. My time is complete with hula and Tahitian dance, rock climbing, reorganizing my body (working on healthy joints and tissue), reorganizing my mind (yup, need to grind it up now and then), reconnecting with old friends, supporting my forever T on his journey through law school (YES—HE POSTED!!!) living the life of a domestic diva to the extent that I am able, cooking (a lot) and, as always, figuring out “there” from “here.”

I don’t have a minute to spare.

Recently, and briefly, I did attend my 30-year high school reunion.

There was so much energy, I didn’t want it to end

It was poignant and fun.

Disconcerting and life affirming.

There were only a few people that I recognized outright—the rest had “changed” enough that I had to look at their nametags and ask questions.

I didn’t have enough time to meet and talk with everyone.

Unfortunately, I limited myself, by being too shy to approach those that I didn’t know at all, and intimidated by a few others.

Funny enough, I was snubbed by a few—but maybe they were too shy also (OK-- I really don’t believe that…)

I missed the picnic the next day and I’m sorry I did. My sister had house pipe plumbing problems, Hachi the giant dog had to be walked on a beautiful wooded hilly trail, and I hadn’t gone to bed until 4:30 am the night before—bad planning on my part.

I wish we all could do it again next year. Really.

This—coming from the one who didn’t “know” anybody, and who had a heck of a time in high school.

The best part of all? Reconnecting and connecting with some of the greatest people: Charlie and his wife Karrie, Lisa, and Karen Q—thank you for such a warm, funny evening—rescuing me over and over again…. Mike B. (Charlie’s friend), Christine, April, Tim A., Aneeta, Scott and Denise, Iana, Tori, Nicole V., Robt T from NJ, and the RN whose name escapes me, and everyone else I talked to. Gillie--you get honorable mention.

YES, I had fun.

Life IS fragile and brief.

Make the most of it.

And,
WOW (kapow!),
people are great.

High School Dress Anxiety Revisited

2007-10-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

I love those mornings when you jump out of bed, and the sun is coming in through the windows at a slant, making the room light and white, the wooden floors are soft underfoot (not too cold yet, because winter is only just around the corner), the jungle of green that you have jumbled up everywhere (because you just took in the plants due to the impending winter just around the corner) looks healthy with sunlight interplaying through the leaves, and the radio (satellite) plays just about the best songs to jump and sing out to.

I love those mornings.

Of course, I hate the Bruce Cockburn remake. But it’s only a temporary set back. And then I get to jump and sing again.

The best part about this particular morning is that I finally figured out what I am going to wear to my high school reunion and I don’t have to go shopping. Since I haven’t bought anything dressy in about ten years, and still seem to have a lot of my ‘80’s wardrobe, I’m concerned about the large-flower print filmy almost mini -skirt, but think I can pull off retro chic with my “lean” (hee hee) tri legs ensheathed in sheerness of some sort and a fitted mature-yet-sexy (meaning “not too tight”) top.
Dress code?
Haven’t received one yet.
Anyway. I love those mornings.
Now I’m off for a run.

IMPORTANT UPDATE TO POST (in honor of the wishes of others…)

The patients I work with are more excited than I am about this reunion thing. I mean, they are really excited. “Have you gone shopping yet?” was the question of the day. Hour after hour I received advice.
“You have to be sexy.”
“Wear something tight with a push up bra.”
“You need a sparkly mini-dress.”
The ever present, “With a figure like yours….” Which was nice to hear, but I’m pretty much disguised at work—lots of loose PC clothing, that I almost get lost in. Someone twice my size could probably fit into what I wear. How could anyone know what I really look like?

Frannie, the mother of one of my patients, waved at me from across the gym, then heaved up her blue eye-shadowed, bouffant hair-do'd, 60 plus year old, non-active body to “dash” over to me. She looked so anxious, I was sure she wanted to talk about her daughter, who’s impending discharge, initiated by the insurance company, brings tears to her eyes. You have to go to “Ritzy Rags!” she tells me, breathless from her 30 foot maneuver across the gym. It's nice to see her smile with the conviction of having given me good advice.

I feel like I should get dressed up for them.
Tell them that I wore that sparkly mini-cocktail dress, walked in and wowed the whole room.
I’m not sure a filmy retro large-flower print skirt that must be 15 years old is what they’re envisioning for me.
(Sigh)
I guess I have to go shopping.

James Quinn: The Death of a Cyclist

2007-10-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Mr. T volunteered his time to drive support for the James Quinn Memorial Bicycle Ride. He packed up his truck with extra wheels, tubes, tools, and pump, and rode as sweep and mechanic at the tail end of the ride.

He fixed innumerable flats.
He saw bikes of every age, model, and level of decrepitude—from department store mountain bikes with rotten tires and fraying brake cables, to high-end road models that hummed up the hills.
He saw people of every ability, including the woman who looked as if she had never ridden a bike in her life trying to go up Tramway with her hands in the air (?), and the man who tried to go up Tramway by zig zagging across the yellow line in the center of the road—until he was told him that if he didn’t stop doing that he would be pulled from the ride for endangering himself and others.
Nob Hill Velo showed up, including their juniors, as well as Sports Outdoors, KHS, BikeABQ, UNM Cycling, and the New Mexico Velo Sport.
83-year-old Gus the Pig Farmer came out because his wife saw it in the newspaper and made him do it, pacemaker and all.
The Bernalillo County Sheriff Department sent 5 cars, and the Albuquerque Police Department sent 3. There was police escort front, side, and back—every which way you looked.
The ride attracted at least 200 cyclists.
All riding in tribute and in support. As a way to raise awareness, some in anger and protest, and as a way to show a recently widowed young woman and grieving family how much they cared.

James Quinn arrived in New Mexico less than 2 months ago. He came with Ashley, his wife of 15 months, to attend the UNM Law School. On September 15th, he was riding with his wife toward Tijeras on Old Route 66, when he was hit by car and killed. He died at the scene. He was 28 years old.

The outpouring of support on this recent Saturday morning was overwhelming. James Quinn’s wife, sister and mother were present. There is still a lot of anger and controversy over this most recent cycling death. And concern over the increasing number of bicycle deaths and injuries. The accident occurred on a straight stretch of highway that each of us has ridden innumerable times. It’s a reminder to please be careful.

My heartfelt condolences to the family and friends of James Quinn.

The Barkley "Hosts" Two of Our Own

2007-10-12T21:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I've been gone for two days, and someone's been dipping their hand into the cookie jar--not once, not twice, but three times over. Pirate is fascinated. And funny! And, I can't blame her.

Meanwhile, after further reading and research, I stumbled across two of our own.

Two of our own New Mexicans, that is.

New Mexicans that run Ultra's.

Actually, I found a whole host of New Mexican's that run Ultra's.

Ultrarunner's with incredible accomplishments.

But it is these two who I want to mention.

Randy Isler is an acquaintance of ours from the rock gym, a quiet, whip-thin, dark complected man, who we see in the gym sporadically, probably when he's not running/training for an event--and when we happen to be in the climbing mode (which hasn't happened much in recent years due to our focus on triathlon).

Coincidentally enough, Bearded Cross Guy With Impact Tattoos and A Black Eye and I were in Arizona these past few days, on our first climbing trip in a year, when we came across Randy in the literature.

IN THE BARKLEY no less!

Yes, talk about coincidences.

He was mentioned in an essay by Blake Wood, who wrote the story about one of his years at the Barkley. He titled it: Going Nowhere Fast on Fatal Terrain at the 2000 Barkley Marathons.

Randy and his big white dog, Argus.

"I know Argus!" Says Bearded Cross Guy with Impact Tattoos and a Black Eye.

Unfortunately, Randy did not finish the Barkley that year due to a wrong turn and ending up miles off course.

He did go on to finish the Barkley "fun run" in 2001. Randy is an accomplished Ultrarunner. In 2006 he completed his 10th Hardrock 100 Endurance Run. The Hardrock is considered the pinnacle challenge of the 100 mile trail races (I don't think the Barkleys are included in this assessment) and advertises itself as a "post graduate" trail run that consists of 11 peaks over 12,000'. Imagine running over the Sandias 11 times, and then add a bit of elevation. People get pulmonary edema while doing this run. And, in 2006, Randy was one of only six people who had done it at least 10 times. Wow. (Actually, 3 of those 6 were from NM--are we crazy or what?)

Blake Wood is from NM also.

Blake Wood is a physicist at Los Alamos National Laboratory. In 2001 he partnered up with David Horton to complete the Barkley for the second and third finishes ever. They both completed the race in 58:21, just under the cutoff time of 60 hours. Ultrarunning magazine called it the most significant achievement of that year.

Remember how the RD is a s*distic mother? After these two finished the Barkley together, he changed the rules so that each runner has to alternate direction on the loop course--so no one can team up like that again. But they did it at the time, and became the first American finishers, and one of them is from New Mexico. How cool is that?

I am very impressed with these two, both from our home state.

Next time I see Randy, I will know that underneath that mild mannered exterior lies an existential, tenacious, and competitive Superman.

And I will know that we New Mexicans are certifiably nuts!
(Ok, that comment is courtesy of T, who is sporting more impact tattoos than I want to think about--now, who's nuts here?!)

You MIGHT convince me to try it...on second thought, "No!"

2007-10-06T17:31:00.000-07:00

I stumbled upon the Barkley Marathons when I picked up a book on Ultramarathons. The essay I read started with the words:

"No American had ever finished the 100-mile Barkley Marathon.....I had been there eight times, and I wanted it bad."

This made me pause.
Did I read that right? No American?
The race was held in Tennessee. How could that be?

I re-read those opening words to make sure I was reading and comprehending correctly. And I was. A quick internet search became an extended visit to various blogs and web pages as I read about this unique event. Bit by bit, I pieced together what this race was about, and along the way I learned some intriguing facts:

The Barkley Marathon was conceived in the 1970's after James Earl Jones, the assassin of Martin Luther King Jr., escaped from the Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary in Tennessee, ran for 55 hours, and was captured just 8 miles from the prison. A local ultramarathoner thought that this was pathetic, "I could have gone 100 miles in that amount of time," he thought, and ultimately came up with this course

The current incarnation of the event is a 100 mile course with a 60 hour cut off time. That's 36 minutes per mile. A pace of less than 2 miles per hour.

Only six runners have ever finished the 100-mile course since it's inception in 1986
The entry procedure is secret. You have to know someone who has run it before. Cost of entry has been listed as $1.60

35 runners are accepted annually, based on an application that includes an essay, "Why I should be allowed to run the Barkley."
The race fills up quickly, in a matter of hours. In 2007 there was a 20 person waiting list.

People come back for a repeat--year after year after year.....
The race director appears to be a sadistic m*ther.

Below are links with photos and stories.

The slide show with narration and sound effects gives a nice feel for the race.

Enjoy in astonishment.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/photo/gallery/070420/GAL-07Apr20-71745/index.html

http://blog.washingtonpost.com/why-we-compete/2007/04/curiosity_1.html

http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/2003.html

Now, admit it. Isn't there a small part of you that wants to give it a try?