There's Pain, There's PAIN, and There's Absence of Pain

Now I know that you people out there in blogland are probably tired of reading about my Toe. You're probably saying to yourselves "It's a toe already, get over it!" To which I say you have no idea how important one toe is. Really. When you can't run (and you triathletes should understand that one!), can't swim much, can't bike on anything but a trainer, when you can't walk to the store, can't stand in the kitchen baking pancakes for your kids, well you start to realize just how important one toe can be.

Heck, you can't even have a little marital fun without The Toe becoming a problem. Think on this: you can't kneel, you can't lie on your stomach without hanging your foot off the edge of the bed. That limits things just a little. And then, if you manage to successfully block out the cattle-prod-like zings of pain that occasionally just randomly shoot through The Toe, and get into things a little bit, you come to a moment of toe-curling ecstasy and WHAM, The Toe sends you a pain message that causes you to catapult your partner across the room and clutch your foot in agony. Hardly conducive to happy marital relations.

But that's just regular old pain with a lowercase "p" that I've been living with since the Ironman. Yesterday in my karate class, I got to experience PAIN with all capital letters. We were trying a new sparring technique in which my partner was supposed to step past my right foot, except that she stepped right into it, clubbing The Toe with the side of her foot in full swing. Blammo, there was a Pain Explosion that almost knocked me out. Now, I'm no stranger to pain. For one thing, I've had two babies: 'nuff said. For another, I've broken numerous bones, had hundreds of stitches, and dislocated a few random limbs. Other than my twice-yearly trip to the dentist where he has to peel my fingertips out of his chair, I more or less laugh in the face of pain.

But this was like a pain bomb went off in my head, totally unbelievable. I instantly felt like I was going to both throw up and pass out at the same time. My sensei asked me if I was okay and I couldn't even talk. My friend Kay said that my entire mouth turned green, in the way that it does when people suffer a serious shock and are going to lose consciousness (and she, being a nurse, would know this). I valiently struggled to not barf in the dojo and eventually managed to say that I was okay. For about two hours after this incident, my foot hurt bad.

Then, to my utter amazement, it all went away. Totally and completely away. My foot doesn't hurt. The Toe has been demoted to just a toe again. I swam 4250 yards last night and kicked. Just before swimming, I told Kay in the locker room that I had two theories. One was that the Pain Explosion temporarily knocked out all of my pain receptors and I was just experiencing a brief reprieve from the sensations down there. The second theory was that, contrary to what my doctor thought after looking at the x-rays, my foot really was dislocated after all, and my karate partner managed to kick it back into place.

At this, Kay said one of her classic Kay lines: "I think we should always go with the theory that we like the best, even if it's not based on any reality at all." Except you've got to say it with her lovely south-ish of England accent and awesome laugh, which makes almost everything coming out of her mouth sound extremely witty. Seriously, she could read you a shopping list and you'd smile or outright bust up. So that's why I swam and actually kicked, hell and bad toes be damned. But the real kicker is that this morning it Still Feels Great!

So keep your fingers crossed that my second theory is it, and that this is the end of my Toe troubles for good. If not, well at least I'll enjoy my reprieve.

The Writing On the Wall

I was at the pool on Friday and it's up on the wall already: the New Year's workout. It's something I usually look forward to with only small amounts of trepidation, our Master's team always does the year in 50's, so this year it will be 107 fifties, leaving on the :45 (a few swimmers lobbied when we rolled over from 99 to 100 to only do the single digits, but somehow that didn't stick). The bummer is, this is the first year I'm not sure if I'm going to make it. The Toe (I'm giving my injury a capital letter, now that it's decided to make itself at home for awhile) is sitting here flaring like it's got electrical current running through it every now and then, and I still can't kick much when I swim, not to mention my ridiculous single-leg flip turns.

I tried my hand at about 40 fifties on the :45 all by myself, and managed to come in to the wall in time to gasp a few breaths before heading out again. Not Good. I had to alternate between swimming with only one foot kicking (an exercise in ridiculousness if I do say so), and using the pull bouy. As I probably mentioned before, I'm not much use with a pull buoy, much of my formerly reasonable stroke was in my legs. I think I'll have to pick a place at the back of the pack, preferrably behind a very nice swimmer we have knicknamed "The Barge" for his lovely draft, and hope that the pull from enough big boys in front of me just sucks me along.

Wish me luck.

Cool New Coaching Toys

The pool where I coach just got a video camera system, something I've been wanting to use with my swimmers for awhile. If I had a digital video camera myself, I would've brought one in to use, but we sunk our money into a digital SLR this year (which I am, of course, overjoyed over!).

I'm really excited to try this out, since it's often hard to explain to swimmers exactly what they're doing and what it looks like. This will be really useful. Of course, I'd love to get my hands on something really sophisticated like this Dartfish system that Drew posted about on his blog , but in the meantime, I'm just happy being able to show people what their arms are actually doing, as opposed to what they think they're doing.

A Slap on the Wrist

Okay, so maybe running wasn't such a good idea after all. My foot hurts, and now my legs hurt too. Geez, ya'd think a gal who could run an Ironman without too much trauma could run one mile without her legs hurting like someone in a bad mob movie just got done hitting them with baseball bats or something. Maybe it's latent trauma re-surfacing or something, but I swear my legs feel worse than they did after the Ironman or my marathon last year! Maybe I ran on them funny in an effort to baby my injured toe, I don't know. I just know it's Not A Good Thing when you can't go down a flight of stairs without looking like your grandmother.

On the other hand, being as I now have to Sit Some More (otherwise known as resting and healing), I went to go see the new James Bond movie this week with my husband and son. I tell you what, looking at this sure took my mind off my hurt foot. I mean, look at those trapezius muscles, of course. Any swimmer would envy those, for sure. Yep. Seriously though, I give a double-thumbs-up to the new Blonde Bond. A much more physical Bond, one who definitely does not look silly or like a total wimp while throwing punches at the bad guys.

My Christmas Present to Me

I pretty much blew my triathlon budget this year with IMFL and all the accompanying expenses (who knew you could eat hundreds of dollars worth of pre-packaged gooey sugar!) but I created a couple of cool triathlon chick designs and I think at the very least I am going to treat myself to an Ironmom shirt! Yes, that's my shameless advertising plug there, though I could really not give a rat's arse if anyone else buys them, I just made them so I could get one! There's not enough fun triathlon wear for us girlz out there as it is.

If You Want to Kiss The Sky

One whole month without running. It's one month to the day since Ironman, and voila! I ran! My toe's feeling better, and I made it through my karate belt test this weekend without further injury so I think I'm good to go. Now I just need to remind myself to take it slow and easy, one mile at a time.

It's almost like not having run at all, it's almost ludicrous how quickly fitness in any one sport can disappear - the old "use it or lose it" adage seems to hold fairly well. So now, after one mile pounding the pavement, my legs are... well... sore! But it was a great day for it, the sky clouded over and held a tiny bit of heat to the earth, there were great flocks of geese in the sky, and I had loaded U2's Achtung Baby onto my iPod, perhaps one of the best whole albums ever recorded. Their line "If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel" especially resonated with me today. I've done my penance, now it's time to get off of my knees and back onto my feet.

The Ironbug Bites

My husband has been my constant companion for fourteen years, almost all of which I have done triathlons. Yet even with trucking me around to races, watching me train, and standing by the finish lines, he has only been tempted to try a race once. That was about five years ago when he did the Blue Lake Sprint distance tri, and that has been his first and last triathlon. I'm sure it didn't help that what was supposed to be a half mile swim got mismarked into the Olympic course and came out at almost a mile, and that swimming is his least favorite sport among the three. More than one sprint triathlete came out of the water sputtering and cursing that morning! But it's just never been his thing. Until now.

The other day, I caught him watching the St. Croix half-Ironman on TV (or, as we now apparently call it, an Ironman 70.3 - ah, marketing!). Then he was surfing on the Ironman website, looking at 70.3 races. And suddenly over dinner one evening it was "I think I might like to do a half-Ironman for my 45th birthday". The Ironbug bites.

I'm not sure exactly why all of the lovely Olympic and Sprint Tri's here in the Pacific Northwest have never beckoned to him, but suddenly the prospect of going over twice that distance does. Perhaps it's the gigantic challenge of it all, or watching the throngs at IMFL, the race week enthusiasm, or just having a big goal out there to mark an age milestone (for his 40th birthday, we biked a 100 miles to the coast with a group of friends), but all of a sudden he's in the pool a couple of times a week and talking of biking back and forth to work when the weather warms.

I'm ecstatic of course. For one, because I've always longed to share this sport together (we met when we both were deeply immersed in skydiving, something that's been impossible to keep up as parents, but was great fun to do together), and for another because it'll be nice to have him as a training partner some of the time, and also maybe he'll get what drives me a little better, especially once he tackles the 70.3. And of course, when the Ironbug bites me again, he'll understand!

A Sunny Day

We've had an interesting amalgam of weather this week: sleet, snow, hail, rain, sunshine, more sleet... Needless to say, I haven't been outside on my bike, and my stack of DVDs from the library is getting thin. I did hear that a local bike store has indoor BYO Trainer workouts in the evenings, and I might have to go do that just to keep from going insane! But today, the sun is shining and I have a free hour while my daughter is ice skating. I think I'll throw on every available leg and arm warmer and head out the door, remembering the warm days and endless miles of summer...

Practice Success

Someone recently asked me some questions about how I got through the Ironman mentally. I typed up a relatively long answer for her, and decided it's probably worth sharing here. These techniques can be used for any kind of sport or life situation (I used the same techniques in childbirth and with clients I assisted as a childbirth doula that I did in training for the Ironman).

Here's my answer to her:

I'm curious if you've seen Kay Porter's book The Mental Athlete. Kay is a friend from my writer's group and I think her book is an excellent resource on this subject. By the time I read it, I was already using many of her techniques myself, but I would recommend it to anyone looking to improve their mental game.

Personally, I think it's really important to "train your brain" and not just your body. In the last two hours of the Ironman, it's pretty easy to tell who has a mental plan and who does not. There is a big difference between pain and suffering. Almost everyone in the Ironman feels some pain, but it doesn't have to be suffering. There are people in those last two hours whose sole focus though is suffering, and man does that look like a hard way to go! Instead of suffering, there's a lot of mental techniques that you can use that help you work through the pain and feel positive and strong.

I have always used visualization and other mental tools in an almost unconscious way, but about twelve years ago I became much more conscious about using them in training and in my races.
Here's an overview of my mental plan for the Ironman.

Positive Visualization: Before I go to sleep at night, particularly as race day approaches, I visualize the entire course of the Ironman, seeing myself moving confidently and smoothly with power and grace through all three sports and the transitions. At the end, I see myself crossing the finish line, feel myself smiling, exhausted and happy.

In any moments during the day when I feel myself becoming anxious or nervous about the Ironman, I replace those thoughts immediately with a mini-visualization. Perhaps I just focus on whatever I'm nervous about, or perhaps I just see myself crossing the finish line. Basically, I practice success. Incidentally, I used this technique during pregnancy with each of my kids, and my first birth went *exactly*, and I mean minute-by-minute exactly the way I visualized it.

Visualization In Action: When I'm training, I use any difficult times to visualize myself overcoming obstacles in the race. As an example, in one of my long bike rides this summer, it was unexpectedly very hot. By coincidence, the road I had chosen to finish my ninety mile ride on was hillier than I remembered it (or at least, I had never ridden it at the end of a ninety mile ride before!), and the hills were all facing the late afternoon sun. I was exhausted, overheated, and definitely hurting. So at that moment, I chose to visualize myself in a difficult moment in the Ironman. I saw myself in the heat, with a large hill in front of me. I focused my mind on believing that making it up that hill meant I would finish the Ironman. So I powered up that hill. I did the same with the next hill and the next hill, and then I was up and over the last hill. In the actual Ironman, I could call on that ability to work through a difficult patch by recalling that I had faced down difficult obstacles in my training and overcome them.

Specific Distraction: I had decided ahead of time on a race day plan for the marathon. I divided it into four quarters of 6 miles each (I left out the first and last miles, because I figured the excitement and crowds at the finish line would carry me through those). I decided that I would take a mental journey across my home state of Oregon. The first quarter of the marathon would be the Eastern Oregon high desert. The second quarter would be the Cascades down the center of Oregon, the third would be the Willamette River valley, where I live, and the fourth would be the Oregon coast. At any point, if I felt my concentration or physical abilities faltering, I would focus on memories from my life that occured in that section of Oregon. This was extremely helpful to me in the last half of the marathon when my foot injury was more or less excruciating. I called up camping trips I'd taken as a child, college road trips, watching my own kids at the beach, running with my dog on trails, anything and everything to fill my body with happy memories and positive feelings. It really worked!

Energy Visualization: I have some visualizations surrounding energy that I find helpful. I can visualize a golden light above my head, and my breath drawing in the light and when I exhale I send it to all parts of my body. This light carries with it a sensation of healing and peace. I can't really use that one during the race, but I use it when I'm relaxing after hard workouts to help my muscles heal and relax. I know it sounds really woo woo, but it works so who cares :-)

During the race I focused on the energy that all of my friends and family were sending me. I knew a lot of them were tracking me on Ironmanlive.com and were following my progress on the course. I would concentrate on feeling their good wishes and their prayers and energy and let that feeling buoy me up and give me strength. I also visualized my husband and kids waiting for me at the finish line, and how great it would be to see them as I came in. They supported me so much through the whole training process, so I dres on that during the race.

In the tough parts of the race, I also called up memories of other extremely difficult times in my life. Times when I faced large obstacles and worked through them. I remembered how strong I'd been in childbirth, how I summited Mt. Kilimanjaro when I was so affected by the altitude that I felt sick. I remembered the time I almost drowned while surfing, and just kept coming up for air between the waves. All of those things are part of my strength, and I can call on them (incidentally, during childbirth I called upon memories of triathlons I had done to get me through!). This is another form of drawing energy for me - drawing energy from past accomplishments and challenges.

Affirmations: I have several phrases that I use as affirmations that help me keep my mind and energy focused in the right place. They are almost like mantras in a way, and I will sometimes use them repetitively if I am in a tight spot, or I can use them as something to muse on or think about. One of my affirmations is "It is a privilege and a gift to be on this road today." There's also things like "I feel strong. I am committed. I will finish this race." Things like that

The Next Ironman

Almost the first question you get after doing an Ironman is "So, do you want to do another one?" I have to admit, that even as a swim coach who has trained people to do the Ironman, I never fully understood how people could get bit by "the Ironman bug" and want to do more of these super-intense, super-long races. Now that I've done one, all I can say is I Understand. For me, the answer to that question is yes, but it's a qualified yes.

Yes, in a world in which I had no commitments and finding the time to train was easy and painless, and the massive cost of registering and traveling to an Ironman was not an issue, I would do them all the time. But I don't live in that world. I live in a world in which, as a homeschooling mom, my children have a reasonable expectation that I will actually be around. Now, instead of dropping them at classes, activities, and friends' houses and jetting out the door with my running shoes or bicycle, I can actually hang out and watch them dance or ice skate or work with the robots. Admittedly, I feel a bit twitchy while doing so. As Maureen said in a comment below, my injured toe is probably a good guarantee that my body will get the rest it needs. I can tell that without it, I'd probably still be out there putting on the miles. It's hard to go from really ramped up to regular without feeling a little let-down. It's good for my kids, our budget, my spouse, my house (ah, the stuff that piled up while I was training intensively) to actually have me around. And, as my husband says, "Now we don't have that fifth mouth to feed either." I can't believe how much I was eating, now that my appetite is pretty much back to normal. Amazing! I don't wake up at 3:00 am completely ravenous. I don't think about food 24 hours a day.

But all that being said, I would love to have another Ironman date out there on my calendar, would love to sustain this incredible level of fitness, this feeling that my body can do anything I could throw at it. Would love to get on my bike and ride for hours and hours without fatigue, to regard a six mile run as a "quick lunchtime jaunt." It's all very appealing. And truth be told, I loved the Ironman. I really loved it. I loved all the stuff leading up to it, the travel and excitement, the other athletes, the feeling of doing something truly amazing. And other than my injury, I had a fun day out there on the course. I was really trained up just right, had put in the miles but not overdone it. I hit my peak and felt great.

Maybe it's crazy to expect that it would be as much fun the second time around, though I met athletes who were doing their third, fifth, or seventh Ironman and still seemed to be having a good time. I have a sneaking suspicion that one of the reasons I enjoyed myself so much this time is that I had very few expectations. I wanted to finish. I'm used to being competitive in triathlons, often placing in my age group or even overall. Before a race, I look at who is entered, at previous course times, I try to estimate what time I might hit, where I might end up. I set no such goals for this race. In a way, it really reminded me of my first triathlon 20 years ago. Though that race was a sprint, I had no idea if I would be able to finish it. It seemed like a big, and possibly unachievable goal. The Ironman was much the same, and similarly I just enjoyed myself, especially once I knew I would make it to the finish line.

Looking back over 20 years of triathlons, though, I can honestly say that I've enjoyed almost every one (well, there was that one in the Columbia Gorge where it was 104 degree with winds of 20+ mph and I actually cried during the run). Whether my goal was to finish or to compete, each of them has lived up to Richard Bach's prophetic words in the book Illusions: There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts. In reference to triathlons, I would replace the word "problem" with "challenge". The Ironman was the biggest challenge of all, and I appreciate its gifts.

Why I Love Doc Martens, Reason #101

I've been wearing my Docs for the last week or so because the sole is really stiff and keeps my toes from bending when I walk. Of course, they also keep my ankle and toes from bending while I drive, which is not ideal, but overall they've been very helpful on my injured foot. My husband thinks they look way dorky, my friends drool over them (I got them at Goodwill, brand new!), and my kids' teenage friends think they are pretty damn cool.

But mostly right now, they feel great on my feet. I put my hiking boots (all steel shanks) on yesterday and hoofed it up a local climb with my husband and kids, and my foot feels okay today, but it still hurts if I don't have it taped up or if I have flexible shoes on. No running in my near future, wah!

Now, I'm pretty sure that if I had this pair, my toe would feel even better...

The Journey Begins: Everymom

When most people say "I'm training for the Ironman", they mean the Ironman this month, or maybe this summer, or at the most next summer. When I started training for the Ironman, I was talking seven years down the road.

When I started training for the Ironman, I had just had a baby, I weighed over 200 pounds, and couldn't run a mile. In short, I was Everymom, not Ironmom. No one would've believed me if I told them what I was doing, so I just chugged along with the support of my husband who bought into this crazy dream of mine.

I had trained for the Ironman once before, in a former life only vaguely remembered through a haze of all-night nursing sessions and laundry baskets full of diapers. In that former life, I was much younger, much fitter, but far less sensible. I had decided to do the Ironman mostly on a whim. The guy I was dating was doing it, and I had done plenty of triathlons, so why not? I sent in my check to Ironman Canada, got my packet in the mail, and that was that. I started ramping up the mileage, doing "daily doubles" and swimming with a group of uber-competitive Iron athletes.

What I discovered is that even young, fit bodies don't respond well to rapidly increasing exercise loads, without a good solid basis of long-distance work. I suffered from shin splints, knee pain, a lot of stress, bleeding ulcers, and anemia. My doctor threatened to take a baseball bat to my bicycle if I drove up to the Ironman, telling me I was so anemic that if I fell and scraped my knee I'd bleed to death. My friends drove away with bicycles festooning the tops of their cars, and I stayed at home in crushing disappointment, consoling myself with the idea that there was always next year.

But next year brought relationship turmoil and breakup which I solved by immersing myself in the adrenaline-soaked world of skydiving. There I met my husband-to-be, and life spiraled away from the Ironman. Though I still did some shorter triathlons here and there, I had too many other things occupying my time to train so intensely again.

So it came to be that eight years later I was sitting on a park bench in the early spring sunshine with a three year old on the playground and an infant in my lap and it hit me that the Ironman dream was not one I was willing to give up on. Motherhood was wonderful, but triathlon was a part of me that I was not willing to relinquish, and the Ironman is triathlon's penultimate challenge. Though I wouldn't mail in an entry form for six years, from that moment on I was training for the Ironman.

I Solemnly Swear I Will Never Take My Toe For Granted Again

My toe/foot is finally starting to mend. Today, I swam a thousand yards kicking lightly with my right foot and it felt pretty much okay. I managed to do flip turns too. It felt so good I wanted to kneel down and kiss my toe for getting better. I remember breaking my little pinky toe when I was in college and how surprised I was that I couldn't do anything until it mended. It's amazing how something so small can be so vital to everything we do, everything we take for granted.

One of my mantras when I train and race is "It's a gift and a privilege to be running (or biking or swimming) on this course today." Now I know how true that is. I vow to appreciate the gift even more, now that it is coming back to me.

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' She chortled in her joy...

Lo, even though the rain fell upon her

and the wind beat at her face,

Even though the air was chilly

And the pavement threw great stripes of mud up her back

The water pouring off of the overpass

Dumped a chilly Niagara down her neck

Still she rode

Her own bicycle

Outside!

And all the world was good,

and she smiled as she rode

My Enemy is Now My Friend

I used to hate using the pull buoys when I swim. A lot of my swimming stroke is in my legs, with a very efficient and strong kick, and as a woman my upper body strength can't match that of the guys I swim with in my Master's group, so whenever the pull buoys come out, I fall behind. When I first started swimming with them, I couldn't go more than a couple of hundred yards with a pull buoy before the men lapped me or my arms gave out.

Then I started training for the Ironman. Swimming for a prolonged period of time in a wetsuit in open water is different than swimming in a pool. The wetsuit gives you buoyancy, and also takes away some of the leg and ankle flexibility that makes for an efficient kick. So when you swim with a wetsuit on, you rely on your arms much more than you do in your regular pool stroke. In short, it's a lot like pulling with a pull buoy. I started increasing the amount of pool yardage that I used the pull buoy for, until I could easily pull over 2,000 yards without my arms getting tired. In retrospect, given the wild waves of Ironman Florida, that was a very wise move. After that first leg of the Ironman I didn't feel like I'd swam 4,000 yards, instead I felt like I'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. It really took a lot of arm strength to muscle your way through all those waves and chop, so I was grateful for my time with the pull buoy.

Now, of course, the pull buoy is my friend. I still can't kick or push off of the wall with my right foot, so the pull buoy lets me swim when otherwise I'd be grounded. Since I can't run and can barely cycle, the pull buoy is saving me from complete and utter madness. And I think those guys in my Master's group are in for a surprise when I finally get to return to practice. They won't be lapping me again!

When Being Good To Your Body Feels Right

One of the greatest paradoxes of modern life is that we've reached a place where treating our body right feels wrong. Our culture and our media epitomizes exercise and eating right as the things we "should" be doing, but they make it sound like a difficult, and almost unattainable goal, one we will struggle to meet and perhaps never entirely achieve.

The question I hear asked most often when I talk or correspond (email, bulletin boards) with others about health and exercise is "How do I get to that place where doing the right thing feels right? How do I get to where I want to do it?"

Here's an answer I wrote recently for a discussion on a Health board. I thought it might be worth sharing:

I think the single biggest key is this:

Meaningful Change is Slow and Incremental

I think when we look for big, immediate change, we set ourselves up for disappointment. Our entire culture points to immediate change as the path of success, but instead it is most often the path of at the very least failure, and at the worst self-destructiveness.So when we immediately embrace (or think about embracing) some new diet or exercise regime, we are either in that place of euphoria, where we are actually doing it, or we're in that place of despair where we can't keep up with it, or we're euphorically planning the next big change. These steps both work against us and keep us from dealing with the real day-to-day issues that our thoughts about food and our thoughts about our bodies are hiding.When we throw this whole notion out the window that change will be immediate and all-encompassing, we begin to live in the here and now. We begin to have to exist and deal with whatever is happening to us now, today, this moment. We can also begin to make small, incremental changes that will carry us on a path to health and wellness and emotional stability (instead of the wild rollercoaster).

One of my mantras is "Walk in the Direction You Wish to be Going". Every day, we're faced with lots of choices. Which direction do we wish to be walking? In the direction of health? Or the direction of unhealth? Personally, I would divorce this decision-making from any notion of fat/thin. Thin is not necessarily healthy, fat is not necessarily unhealthy. Instead, think of good health.

So if I'm facing the refrigerator with an overwhelming desire to eat something sugary and fatty. Where does the desire come from? What will I gain from eating it? What thoughts am I trying to avoid by focusing on the notion that this food will make me feel better? What is the healthy choice, right here and right now? Sometimes the healthy choice might just be the piece of cake on the bottom shelf. That's okay, it's not a loaded gun. It won't kill you to eat a piece of chocolate cake if the rest of your steps that day are toward total body and mental health. If you can examine what is going on, and start to make choices toward health, if you can stop beating yourself up when you make a choice that takes you in an unhealthy direction, but instead just make the next choice for health, you will be walking on the path of health.

If you take one step today toward health, and if you don't beat yourself up for any other steps you take, if you can stop thinking in terms of fat or thin, stop making everything a loaded weapon to shoot yourself with (metaphorically), if you do those things, then I will bet that the next step you take toward health will be easier. And the next even easier. And some time in the future, probably not today or tomorrow or the next day or even the next week or month maybe, it will be easier to take a step toward health than a step toward unhealth. The healthy choices will become the ones you want to make. I am 100% convinced of this.

Be gentle on yourselves. The path always has detours and setbacks. Just start choosing health, because you deserve it, because it will feel good, and don't be harsh with yourself if you don't think you've chosen right. Remember that making yourself miserable is also a step toward unhealth, even if you eat carrots instead of cake.

Oh Happy Day

My bicycle is home. When I saw the state of the shipping box, I was afraid to even open it. This is one of seven holes and rips in the box. Fortunately, all is well (I'm thanking my choice of titanium over carbon fiber for my bike right now) and nothing was damaged. My foot is still not capable of riding outside or taking much pressure (like hill climbing), but I can spin on the trainer and that will have to do for now.

You can bet someone will be getting a letter over this one! I was glad to have the ability to have my bike packed and shipped home directly from the Ironman, and not have to disassemble it in my hotel room, or ship it on the airlines - I saw two TSA employees literally sitting on some poor athlete's bike trying to jam it back into it's case! But this packing job was ridiculous.

Nevertheless, all is well. If the sun shines for a few moments this weekend, I might even try taking it out on the flat bike path. Oh happy day!

A Glossy Lie

Nine years ago, I was standing at the finish line of the Portland marathon, waiting for my husband to run across the line. Now, he's a pretty fit guy: at the time of the marathon he was 32 years old, 5'9" and about 170 pounds and one could easily picture him on the cover of one of those glossy sports magazines that always seem to feature buff youngish people looking vibrantly athletic.

The eye-opening thing that day though was the people who crossed the line in front of him. People of all ages, shapes, and sizes, people who ran faster than my fit poster-boy husband. There were dumpy grandmas, gangling teenagers, middle-aged executives, and a notable woman with a bust so big that it made me uncomfortable just to watch her run. That day, a realization dawned on me, something that had been kept from me all my life, something that is largely kept secret from all of us:

You don't have to be thin or buff or athletic-looking to be incredibly fit.

I know it sounds simple, but this one piece of information keeps so many people from believing that they are athletes, that they even could be an athlete. The fact that this concept is kept from people means that so many don't step out the door, don't even try. This idea affects even the lives of real, true athletes every day. I remember my neighbor once said to me, after I lost about 5 pounds (my usual amount) in the final stages of training for a half-Ironman "Wow, now you are really starting to look like an athlete!" Yes, starting to look like an athlete. Despite the fact that I had been running, and often placing well in triathlons for 17 years at that point, I was starting to look like an athlete. Why? Because I got a bit skinnier.

I am used to this, of course. I'm a big girl. I've always been a big girl. I was "a fat kid" in school, though looking back at photos, I was far from fat. I was stocky, big-shouldered, big-boned (much like my own children). I was also muscular, but that doesn't count if it means your waist or hips are bigger. So I did not self-identify as someone who could be an athlete, nor did others see me that way. I have always loved swimming, so I tried out for the swim team. The coach said I was "lazy" and would never be a good swimmer (there's also this myth out there that chubby or fat people are lazy, which is often far from the truth).

And even to this day, I deal with surprise, even from other athletes, that I am as fast as I am. I stood on the beach of a triathlon start one day and listened to three athletes behind me malign the Athena category (the female equivalent of a Clydesdale race category - to enter as an Athena, a woman has to weigh more than 150 pounds) as the "fat chicks division". They probably didn't know that the athlete in front of them (me) was registered as a bona fide fat chick. In fact, I beat the weight requirements for the category by a good 10 pounds. And that was also the last they ever saw of me, except on the run, coming toward the finish line, I spotted all three of them still heading out. In another race where I was entered as a Pro, one of the other Pros caught me just before the finish line and said (really!) "I can't believe you're this fast." In the Ironman last week, a couple of fit and hardy male athletes that I had met earlier were out on the run course when I caught up to them. We chatted for awhile and then I prepared to move on. One of them grumbled about having three hours left. When I said I was on my second loop of the run course, their jaws all but dropped.

Now I tell all of this because I think it's a vital message for people out there to get. So many people don't start exercising because they think they can't. Maybe their body type will never be thin, maybe they'll never get rid of that post-baby tummy or heavy calves or thick chest, or whatever their natural shape may be. I've seen plenty of people cross finish lines with those things. All of the fitness magazines out there give us a not-very-subtle message: if you look this way, you're fit. If you don't, you're not. I call it the Glossy Lie. Some of those people in the glossy photos are probably fit. Some of them are taking steroids and EPO and all kinds of other drugs in order to get that way. Some of them are starving themselves or throwing up or taking laxatives to look that way. Some of them are not fit at all. Some dumpy middle-aged woman out there crossing the finish line at the Portland marathon may be fitter than all of them.

Insult to Injury

I had expected a sort of post-Ironman letdown, as happens when you plan and prepare for any great event. And I had expected a difficult time transitioning from huge, huge workouts to a much smaller amount of time spent biking, swimming, and running. But this foot injury (from the race) has quintupled all of this. I can barely exercise at all - I can swim with a pull bouy, and without really pushing off of the wall, I can bicycle with my foot taped up and my cycling shoes keeping my toe straight, and I can't run at all, and can barely limp along walking. This weekend, I tried to walk to the store with my husband and kids and only made it 1/4 mile.

I went and got an X-ray on Friday. My doctor seems to think I have pulled the tendon attaching my toe to the rest of my foot, and possibly it has pulled some of the bone away on the bottom of my toe bone (the bone there looked "fuzzy" where the tendon attaches). He seems to think it will heal itself if I stay off of it.

Apparently, it might take months.

Ack! Death Sentence! I don't think I can do this, so closely on the heels of the Ironman, and in the middle of Oregon's rainy, rainy November. I am going to go stir crazy. And I am the world's worst patient to start with. My husband lives in fear of anything truly bad ever happening to me and having to deal with me (I was bad enough after the kids were born, popping out of bed to do things almost immediately). I am not good at sitting still and healing.

I'm off today to find a toe splint of some kind. I think if I can keep it stationary, it will make letting it heal easier while still being able to get around. Wish me luck!

Thoreau Said it All

The quote in the journal that I've been using all year to record my training and experiences:

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.

Reading that today as I wrote down my race splits and then closed the cover, I realized how important that quote was to me every day as I trained, and how true it rings now.

Here's to everyone out there, putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of your dreams.

Ironman Dream #3

The race is over, the equipment neatly stowed, the dreams of next Ironman (probably 5 years down the line - Ironman Brazil and Japan look intriguing!) are on a back burner... So why am I still having these crazy dreams? Here's last night's installment:

It's the bike-to-run transition, and in my gear bag I don't have my running shoes. Instead, I have my husband's old beaten-down favorite leather deck shoes. Having no other option, I put them on and start running, with their worn soles going flap flap flap on the pavement.

After the first mile marker is a special area where all athletes have to stop. Part of this race is that you have to put on a costume from a play, and you are judged not only on your finish time, but how well you stay in character during the race. I pick out a raven costume with feathered wings and put it on. I start running, remembering to let out a realistic "caw caw caw" every time I pass a judge's stand. A couple more miles into the race, I begin to regret my choice, because the feathered arms are very hard to keep up and look bird-like while I'm running. My arms start to get really heavy and tired, and I begin to lose my voice. I wake up while worrying if I'll have enough voice left by the time I reach the final judge's booth to still "caw".

Analyze that one, I dare you!

A Day in Pictures

Here's a few from raceday that my wonderful hubby took. My official finish picture is pretty good, I'll have to try and scan it in at some point.

I took the first one in the hotel bathroom, just after eating breakfast, 4:00 am.

Wayne took this when I was coming back on the bike course. Looking happy and feeling strong!


At the run turnaround, around 4:30 pm. Feeling no pain, yet...


Exhausted and ecstatic, with the kids at the finish!

Ironman Race Report: Waves, Wind, and Wounds

What an amazing experience this all was. By the end of the day, I could hardly remember how it all started. We had to be there by 5:00 am, so I was a bit bleary. A couple of athletes from our hotel gave me a ride to the race start, which was really nice.

Standing on the beach with 2,500 athletes was incredible, and just a bit scary. I decided to stick with my usual policy, based on the principle of the hypoteneuse not being all that much longer than the long leg of a right triangle - I started all the way to the right of the big group of people and swam at an angle to the first buoy. This was great, since I wasn't in the thrashing mob for the whole first quarter mile. By the time we got out towards the first turn, however, it was really clear that his was going to be a Tough Swim. The waves were really big, plus a lot of chop on top of that. Couple that with so many swimmers, and it was like a mosh pit out there, with people getting picked up and dropped on top of other swimmers. After rounding the first corner, you couldn't see the second turn buoy unless you were up on top of one of the waves. Apparently, they pulled one drowned athlete out and resuscitated him on the beach, and some of the pros were asking them to cancel the swim (and a couple did not start the race, or dropped out in the middle). One guy I talked to on the beach had come with a group but the rest of them decided not to even start! Talk about your tough conditions.

The nice thing was that people were generally very polite about it all - far from the image of athletes swimming over the top of each other, people generally just tried to hold their course as we all got bopped around into each other. One unfortunate and notable exception was a swimmer behind me who grabbed the big toe on my right foot going by (maybe hanging on for dear life?) and pulled it going by! That hurt like @#$!!, and I felt a pop sensation which really worried me. Not much to do though but soldier on. I came out of the water in 1:03, which was reasonable but about 6 minutes slower than my estimated time. Probably in about the first 100 swimmers out of the water.

My first transition was basically a debacle. I was queasy from the swim (remember, I get seasick very easily!) and slightly dizzy, and my foot hurt like nobody's business. Toe sticking out at an angle, that's not good! Luckily, as one of the first women swimmers, the changing tent was pretty empty and I had a personal volunteer to help me. I had first-aid stuff in my T1 bag, good forethought there. Pull toe until it pops back, tape it up tight, stuff ibuprofen in my pocket. Then I managed to put on my arm warmers (remember the unusually cold temperatures!), then remember I had no sunscreen on my arms, strip off the arm warmers, apply sunscreen, then realize that it is almost impossible to pull on tight lycra armwarmers over newly gooped-up arms! It would be funny to watch the comedy of errors from the outside, I'm sure. But I finally made it out of the tent and grabbed my bike.

The race announcer had said before the race that the seas were calm (a lie!) and that the wind on the bike course died down to nothing after 7 miles (another lie!) The bike course was quite windy, with the whole first half of the course straight into a headwind. I tried to hunker down and remember all of my windy rides at home, and how coming back I would make up the time if I didn't struggle to go too fast into the wind. The hardest part of the bike for me was feeling my toe throbbing and my whole foot swelling up, not knowing if I was even going to be able to run, walk, or hobble through the run course. It was entirely possible that I'd get through the whole bike to find that I just wouldn't be able to finish. Mentally, that was tough.

The second most frustrating part of the bike course was the appalling state of the race officials and their lack of penalties. I had fortunately been warned about this, so it wasn't a surprise, but huge groups of drafting cyclists came past, doing a good 4 miles an hour faster than I was doing without drafting. For those of you who don't know, you're not allowed to draft in the Ironman and are supposed to be time-penalized and even disqualified for drafting violations. It was hard to watch so many people choosing to essentially cheat, and knowing that by not doing so I was basically handicapping myself against all these athletes whose times would be so much faster. The officials just rode on by and did nothing, and the penalty tents sat absolutely empty. Completely ridiculous!

Other than that, the course volunteers and cheerers were great (my favorite was the family all dressed as superheros, handing out food and drink) and the bike went well for me. I had no flat tires or technical problems, and my heart-rate monitor kept me from over-amping and chasing the faster cyclists. I stuck with my nutrition plan and felt good when I got off the bike. I averaged 19.6 mph, but with the 6 portapotty spots (after drinking all the salt water from the ocean waves!) retaping my toe since it swelled so much, and retrieving my special needs bag for more medical supplies, I came in at 6:05, not much over my 6 hour estimate. I got to see Wayne and the kids cheering for me both coming and going, which was awesome. About two hours before the run, I popped the last ibuprofen, crossed my fingers, and prayed I'd be able to run on my injured foot.

After another semi-frenzied change in the tent, and a few more ibuprofen, I was out on the run course and my questions were answered - I could run! I really appreciated having my name printed on my race number because everyone along the course cheered each athlete by name, which made such a big difference. The ibuprofen played havoc with my stomach though, and I had a lot of abdominal pain and a hard time taking any food and drink. I've never done well taking ibu in the best of times, and the IM marathon is not the best of times for a stomach. I did my best though, and the chicken broth on the course really saved me, it was pretty much the only thing I kept down. I was feeling really great at the run-turnaround, right on my race plan of 10:15 per mile pace, including :30 of walking through each aid station. I gave a double-thumbs up to Wayne and the kids and told them to meet me about 7:00 at the finish line.

It got dark and a huge gorgeous full moon came out. At somewhere around mile 15, the ibuprofen wore off and I was in trouble. My foot started throbbing and swelling up, I started doing this weird hobble-limp run, and everything in my legs started cramping up from that. I began to take longer and longer walking breaks. The pain was intense every time I took a step. I really fell back on my mental race plan which helped me a lot. I had divided the run course in my head into four segments, a mental trip through Oregon. The first quarter was the Eastern Oregon high desert, then the mountains, then the valley, and finally the coast. I called up memories from those places, and that helped to keep me going. I alternated this with thoughts of all those supporting me: friends and family, and also the things I've accomplished in my past that were difficult. At some point though, the pain was too much and my brain just checked out. I have a big blank spot in my mind for about two hours of the marathon. Except for throwing up, I can remember every place I threw up. By this time my stomach felt completely wrecked and nothing stayed down. Somehow, I just talked myself into putting one foot in front of the other for those last 11 miles. Although my pace must've slowed dramatically, I  somehow made it to the finisher's chute at 12:21, still within my estimate of somewhere between 11:30 and 12:30.

To my surprise, Wayne and the kids were waiting in the chute to run across the finish line with me! I was thrilled, because the race rules had said they wouldn't allow that, but they changed the rules and did. I couldn't believe that I was really crossing after all these years, the training, the time and effort and travel and everything. I was so excited and grinning from ear to ear.

Through the chute it was a total zoo. I got photos taken and a metallic space blanket, and started walking around. Pretty quick, I was dizzy and very nauseous. While hanging my head over a handy railing by some bushes, Wayne noticed I was getting very unresponsive, and the last thing I heard before losing consciousness was him yelling "get a medic!" and my daughter asking "is mommy dying?". Into the medical tent I went, where I posted a blood pressure of 88 over 50, very dehydrated. A couple of bags of IV fluid later and my blood pressure was better and I came around, but the cold saline fluid and my wet clammy clothes, combined with the plummeting temperature made me start shaking so hard I couldn't talk. They took my temperature and found it to be 96! In the meanwhile, Wayne was trying to get my dry clothes from the transition area, but they wouldn't let him in with the kids. Finally, we got it all sorted out and I was dry, warmer, and standing up without the world swirling around. It started to sink in then, I'm an Iron(wo)man!!

Now, I'm stiff and sore from the weird limp-run and my stomach's a wreck. Everyone here is hobbling around and grinning congratulations at each other. We packed off my bike, picked up my gear, and tomorrow we head out for home. If you've been following this saga, I appreciate all of your support and good thoughts. It's been a long and tough journey, and I was tested to my limits (it's more than a little scary to think how my brain managed to hold my body together through the finish when I was obviously so close to breaking down!). I'm just ecstatic at finally completing my Ironman.

Weather, or Not

Well, here goes. Everything's checked in, and all I have to do is figure out a way to fill the next 10 hours that I won't be sleeping, until 4:00 am tomorrow when I need to get up.

Everyone here is busy speculating about tomorrow's weather. When we hit the bike course, the temperature outside (after figuring in wind chill) is supposed to be about 35 degrees F (!!!!!), but by the afternoon, it will be in the low 70's, thus leaving everyone with the dilemma of what to wear, and what to bring, and where to put it on the course so that we don't either freeze or roast, or both.

I'm glad I brought my armwarmers and my head wrap from chilly old Oregon, but truth be told I was really looking forward to biking in shorts and a jersey and not feeling all bundled up like the Michelin man. Well, somehow I will muddle through and hopefully remain relatively comfortable.

So, I know you'll all be with me tomorrow in spirit, and I appreciate the calls, emails, and good wishes from everyone. Hopefully my next post will be titled "I am an Ironman"

Snapshots

I haven't had my camera with me whenever I've been out biking or running, or today while signing in and checking my bike and bags. If you know me, you know I'm rarely without my camera! I've seen some great Ironman snapshots, but you'll have to use your imagination, since I don't have visuals.

I've seen a half-dozen high-end race bikes leaning against the wall of a bright yellow Waffle House restaurant. A never-ending line of runners and bikers coming past the hotel down the strip, a 77 year old man getting his gear ready, a room full of Iron-athletes, cheering a man who lost 140 pounds this year, in order to come here and go 140.6 miles. It's really inspirational being here, I wish I could share it with all of you!

I'm Either Very Brave or Very Stupid

Maybe a little bit of both, LOL. The winds have really picked up here (supposed to be 17 mph sustained, gusting to 20 tomorrow) and the ocean looks like some evil witch stirred it up with her broomstick. I went down to the Ironman course this morning to swim. The beach looked like a scene from my favorite movie City of Angels, with all these people in black standing and looking out to sea at dawn. Out on the course, it was, well ugly and a bit frightening. Somehow I think this will not be one of the fastest swims of my life. The swells and chop out there are pretty intimidating, and I really feel for the people who are not strong swimmers. If the conditions are similar on race day, I think more than a few people will not meet the swim cutoff time of 2:20. Myself, I am adding 5 - 10 minutes to my estimated swim time, for sure! I think the winds will make the bike course tough too, but the cool air will feel great when I'm running, compared to yesterday's heat.

I also wonder if I'm the only person out there in the middle of the ocean with the theme song from Jaws running through their head. It's funny, because I've got hundreds of hours scuba diving under the ocean, many of them spent in the company of sharks (including, on one memorable occasion, a real live feeding frenzy), but somehow that is not as scary as being on top of the water, not knowing what might be lurking beneath you. I guess the comfort is that with 2500 people in the water, it's highly unlikely that any ocean life will want to be anywhere near the Ironman.

Flat Tire Bugs

I made an important discovery about Florida wildlife today while riding my bike. After about 8 miles on the road, I heard that sound that all cyclists dread, that rythmic phhht phhht phhht sound of a tire going flat. But when I stopped and examined my tire, all looked well. When I started cycling again, it sounded fine. That is, until about 5 miles down the road, when I heard that sound again. Repeat stopping and examining tire. Nothing. Again, sound is gone. Repeat this one more time, but this time as I was standing there scratching my head, I heard the sound again. Only this time, I wasn't even moving, and the sound was coming from a tree. Apparently, there is some cicada-like bug here that makes a sound remarkably similar to a bicycle tire in the process of going flat. Joke's on me!

Earlier today, I went through the registration tent and got all of my wavers signed, timing chip bleeped, weighed in (so they know on the course if you are seriously dehydrated, I'm guessing) and picked up my packet. We looked around the rest of "Ironman Village", and got to meet some very nice athletes (including one woman who is doing her 6th Ironman, and gave me some great tips). The kids got to make signs that will go out on the run course for some inspiration when it will be most needed!

Then we came back to the hotel for a nice afternoon swim. Lots of dolphins swimming off of the beach today, we watched them for a long time. Very cool!

The Bike is Back

My bike arrived today, all in one piece and looking very welcome! More and more athletes are arriving and it seems that they've all cycled past our hotel at least a dozen times. I was feeling really antsy, wanting to get out there too. While waiting, we drove the course today. It was really quite lovely, with nice-looking road surfaces (except for one stretch near the turn-around), and much more rolling and curving roads than I had expected (I wasn't looking forward to 112 miles of flat and straight). The biggest hill is a bridge over the bay, but hopefully my hill-trained legs will still serve me well on all that mostly flat ground.

I picked up my bike late in the afternoon, and got to take it out for a short spin down the first part of the course. I was passed just outside the hotel by two serious-looking dudes who obviously thought I was slow-enough looking to dart drastically around me into traffic. For the next dozen miles, they kept looking over their shoulders to find me (apparently disconcertingly) still there, just spinning along behind them (politely far enough back not to be drafting). Ah, I just love being underestimated. Sadly, they treated the motorists around them with equal disdain, riding side by side well into the lane and blocking up cars behind them. No wonder half the drivers want to run all lycra-clad two-wheelers off the road.

This morning was a nice two-mile ocean swim, with schools of fish surrounding me and dolphins just out to sea a little ways sending larger fish leaping out of the water into the air. The water is a gorgeous turquoise with incredibly white sands. Wish I had my camera cables, I'd share a photo or two. It's just heaven to swim out there. And I'd forgotten how buoyant salt water is, it makes swimming almost effortless!

Tomorrow, Ironman Village opens. Whee!

Dispatch From Florida

After grueling day of transit yesterday on Bankrupt Airline (read: no food service other than "snacks", ancient seats that kill your back), I was more than ready to take a swim this morning. It's beautiful here and we're right on the beach. The ocean had more than a few wetsuit-clad swimmers churning along this morning. It was a bit colder than I thought it would be, especially when you get out past the shallows, and I think I'll be wishing for a full wetsuit instead of a farmer john style. But the water is really beautiful and it felt great to swim out there.

I have to admit, I get major butterflies every time I think about Saturday morning and standing on the beach with all those people. Heck, I get butterflies every time I see the Ironman logo on the back of another shirt (apparently, it's mandatory that if you've done an Ironman before, you buy enough Iron-logo'd apparel to wear for the whole Ironman week. It's only Monday, but the Iron-logos are walking around everywhere already.)

Tomorrow I'll hopefully get to pick up my bike and check out the rest of the course.

I Have a Number!

For those of you who have said you'd look in on me at Ironmanlive.com on race day, I have my bib number: 2323. That feels like a good number to me (though I am not normally a superstitious type), another good omen.

I went and had my last back-cracking yesterday (oh do I wish I could pack my chiropractor in my suitcase!) and a good massage, and slept so wonderfully last night as a result. I also had my fastest long-distance swim ever, doing the last 1,000 of my 4,000 in 14:20, for about a 1:26 pace. I am feeling good and ready, and we leave tomorrow morning! Now all I have to do is finish packing, ha. The list from the Ironman website of what I need to bring includes such items as "bike pajamas" (I wonder if I should also bring my bike a teddy bear in case he gets lonely in that transition area overnight), and reflective tape which is supposedly mandatory - great, one more thing I have to somehow find in all my spare time.

We're bringing a laptop along, so hopefully I will be able to update this blog while we're in Florida.

Bye Bye Bicycle

The UPS man came took my bike yesterday, the next time I see it will be in Florida! My sweet husband let me borrow his bike, which I actually used to use for a year after I wrecked my last one. Dang, it makes me appreciate my own bike so much. And it totally shows how much fit matters. I took his bike for a ride and it isn't quite fit to me, though he and I have about the same length legs, so I thought it would be fine. Now I'm sore everywhere, and my shins really hurt (a lesson in what not to do right before a big race!). I also really miss my Terry women's saddle with that lovely cut-out in the middle. Really, really miss it. 'Nuff said.

It's also suddenly gotten cold here (finally, though we've had a really lovely warm October so far), and biking means completely bundling up with leg warmers, arm warmers, ear warmers, full gloves, the whole mummy deal. It will feel so great to be back on my own bike, in the warmth with just some shorts and a short-sleeved jersey. I can't wait!

Good Omens

When our daughter was about two, she used to call almonds "omens". I would always ask her "are these good omens or bad omens?"

"Good omens, mommy," she would say with the utmost toddler seriousness, my humor flying over her head.

Today, the first week of my taper, I had a handful of good "omens" before setting out for a semi-long bike ride of 4 hours, with a half-hour run as a follow-up. The weather was stunning: Oregon autumn beauty at its finest. Vine maples and oaks turning brilliant red, and maples, walnuts, and alders turning gold, set against a blue sky. I biked up through the broad Willamette valley, picking as flat a course as possible to mimic Florida. Into the teeth of a typical north wind, I was only doing about 16 mph, but when I turned around, I flew home at 20 - 25.

All along my route, people kept giving me thumbs-up. Truck drivers, farmers, field workers, moms in minivans. It was as if I had a big sign saying "almost at the Ironman, cheer me on!" I'll take that as a good omen, and maybe when I'm out there slogging away in the Florida wind, I'll remember all those cheery Oregonians wishing me well.

Peaking

So this is it. I've peaked, I'm in the home stretch, in the taper, heading toward the starting line. I've done my last long bike, last long run, it's all downhill from here (well, until race day, that is). It hit me today when I was thinking about all of this that this is probably the peak of my life's fitness as well. I will never be as fit again as I will be in when I walk to the beach on Ironman day.

Sure, I trained for the Ironman once before, even had my entry number and hotel reservation. But that was when I was 25, young and impatient and too driven for my own good. By this time, three weeks before race day, I was a wreck. Overstressed, underslept, having been through a bout of shin splints, and suffering from ulcers and severe anemia, my doctor actually threatened to take a baseball bat to my bicycle if I dared to head off to the Ironman. So my race number has sat in the bottom of a drawer all these years, mute testimony to the fallacies of blind ambition, and a challenge to me to find a smarter way to train.

So at 25, I was not nearly as healthy, fit, and strong as I stand today at 40, mom of two (though I looked a damn sight better in a bikini back then). This, then, is it. The zenith of my power in this human body. A resting heartrate of 48, and more strength and endurance than I've ever experienced. I'm not planning on training for the Ironman next year, or the year after, or the year after that. It's too much of a time and resource drain on my family. Though I have thoroughly enjoyed the journey, it's not something I could put them through on a regular basis. I may revisit the Ironman again, perhaps at age 45 or 50, but the aging process will take its toll on me between now and then. Perhaps not much, but it will be there. I'll be a little stiffer, a little slower to recover, my muscle mass will be a little less, my endurance slightly reduced.

Yes, today I stand on the peak, and it is both exhilarating and slightly scary. But it's a damn fine view.

Why Ironman Blogs Always Stop About Now

Who has time to write? In the last week of peak training before my taper, I'm trying to get double workouts in every day. With the kids' homeschooling schedules, this gets mighty challenging. Up in the morning, go to Karate with the kids, son goes to friend's house, daughter goes to soccer. Bring bike along. Bike 1:15 while daughter is in soccer. Pick up kids, eat early dinner. Take kids to robotics team meeting on the tandem bike. Ride home by myself, ride my own bike down to work (coaching swimming). After swimming, get in 4,500 yards. Bike home. Collapse. Get up tomorrow. Do it all again.

Is it any wonder that most Ironman bloggers just stop posting right about now?

The Flesh Is Strong But the Stomach is Weak

I feel like I'm in tip-top form, all the muscles firing nicely. I can ride six hours, start running, and my legs hardly feel fatigued at all. I can picture myself making it through the Ironman without actually sitting down in the middle of the road and crying now.

There's only one major weakness that I'm worried about. My stomach. I guess I didn't encounter this particular bugaboo when I trained for the marathon and half-Ironman, because they don't last this long. Somewhere about 5 1/2 hours, my stomach just up and quits functioning, folds up shop, throws in the towel. I'm worried. I don't really want to crawl across the finish line, heaving my guts up. And I definitely don't want to DNF because my alimentary system is in shut-down mode.

So this week's long ride, in addition to being a gear check, will be to try a new policy: no solid food on the bike whatsoever, and I'm going to try taking a Dramamine before heading out. After reading about IM Florida seasickness issues on the BBS, I was going to try that out anyways. I'm notoriously green around the gills in the slightest oceangoing vessel (odd for someone who has flown in aerobatic airplanes without a hitch, but there you have it). So we'll see if the dramamine has the added benefit of quieting the queasies.

I Eat. I Sleep. I Train.

Well, yeah, I also homeschool, shuttle my kids around to various activies, attempt to cook meals and keep the house clean (it's much harder to cook when you're always hungry, however) and keep a few minutes a day to connect with my hubby, but all extraneous activities have gone by the wayside. Forget renting movies because I fall asleep before watching them. Books? Haven't cracked one in a month or more (and that's an anomaly for me). Internet use is down to a few minutes here and there. I am loving this whole Ironman process, but I'm realizing that it's a sport for people who don't want to do anything else, and that's just not me. So while it is fun right now, and I can't wait for race day, I also can't wait for the day when my six year old doesn't have to say "Mom, you're going biking again???" as I head out the door, and I don't have to squeeze in a run while the kids are in their robotics team meeting, I can just hang out with them again and enjoy. And maybe pick up a novel or two...

The "Day Off" aka God I Must Love This Dog

Like every good athlete who doesn't want her joints and ligaments to tear themselves to shreds, I take at least one day off every week so that my muscles and stuff can recuperate. This week, a friend and I took our kids hiking to one of our favorite lakes, and as I have on every hike before, I brought my wonderful and faithful dog, Sabre. Except that Sabre is no spring chicken anymore, he's 13 1/2 years old, which in big dog years is very very old. About 95 I guess in people years. Although last year, he hiked with us just fine, now he can hobble about 1/2 mile down the trail and then he's just done.

So I did what any dog-loving nut would do, I decided to bring my Burley stroller, and when the old pup pooped out, I thought, I'd just push him along. That was the plan anyway. As it turned out, I took a slightly different trail than the one we usually take, because it looked flatter and less rocky. Which it was, except that it was also about a mile and a half longer! And while I was busy going on this trail, my friend and the kids backtracked to take our usual route. Except that they got lost and when I got to the peninsula where the kids like to play, they weren't there. Which meant that I more or less sprinted back to the parking lot, insanely pushing my dog over roots and rocks in the stroller. At 6000+ feet of elevation! And when they weren't at the parking lot, I pushed him back. Finally, we met up at the appointed spot.

Yep, my day off. Pushing a dog in a stroller for 5 miles on a bumpy trail at over a mile of elevation. Phew. Now I'm really ready for a day off! I might be tired, but they just don't make dogs better than this one.

Things I Didn't Need to Know (But Am Glad I Do)

Who knew that they made organic toaster pastries?? These things are awesome for long bike rides. Organic whole grain flour and organic real fruit filling, but they taste like those yummy Pop-Tarts of youth gone by. Now that's nirvana!

One Hundred Miles Down Memory Lane

My longest bike ride in over a decade was yesterday - 100 miles! About thirty miles of it was on this gorgeous bike path that skirts a lake, one of the many Rails to Trails conversions that have turned old, unused railroad lines into wonderful paths for biking and walking. As I was riding along, enjoying the amazing vistas out over the lake to the mountains beyond, I was struck by the fact that I had taken a train ride here on these tracks when I was a kid.

I thought back to that younger me, and pictured myself riding along in the railroad car, looking out at the scenery rolling past. That 11-year-old me in the train car was chubby, spectacularly uncoordinated, and the least likely person to become an athlete in my grade school class (I finished dead last in the 400 meter walk/run that year, if I remember correctly). I could not have predicted that almost 30 years later, I would be powering my bicycle along the path of those rail lines, mucles working smoothly together to travel over 100 miles under my own steam (don't you love how many of our cultural idioms still come from the time when the world was powered by steam?).

As a side note, several wonderful movies were filmed along this rail line, notably at the trestle that used to cross the river before it was dammed to form the reservoir that is now there. Here's an article about the filming of Buster Keaton's The General, in which a real steam locomotive was crashed off of the trestle (no CGI or special effects, they had only one take to do it in). The 1986 movie Stand By Me (rent this if you've never seen it, it's excellent) was filmed there as well. Here's one bridge that was in the movie, and here's a photo of it as a trail today. Emperor Of the North with Ernest Borginine was also filmed on this railroad line.

All of this proved a most welcome distraction from a pretty difficult ride. I think my legs are still recovering from last week's race, although I was able to ride two of the main big hills on my route staying seated, when just a few weeks ago I had to stand up to make it up and over. I love seeing all the incremental improvements that a body makes when it keeps adjusting to increased distances!

Who Knew??

I've been looking over my heart rate data for the race last weekend. Not having had a heart rate monitor ever before, I've never seen just exactly what a heart does in those kind of circumstances. Who knew that you could keep your heartrate about 160 for 2.5 hours!!! You'd think it would blow up or something. It's really pretty amazing. I know I'm supposed to be getting all technical about it, but I find myself using the monitor more like a fun toy. Hey look! My heart is beating! Amazing.

Ironman Stress Dream #2

I am taking my bike to the transition area (for some reason, it is race day morning) when I realize that I haven't put the pedals on yet. They're not in my race bag, nowhere to be found. So I go back and look in the car for them. The car is full to the roof with our camping gear, however. I am still frantically plowing through sleeping bags and flashlights when I wake up...

So Much For a "Practice Race"

I don't know how people do that "Practice Race" thing anyways. All the books and articles say that as you move toward your "A" race, you should do several practice races. Supposedly, you just "train through" these races and don't go as hard. I just don't seem to be able to do that. This does not bode well for the Ironman, I'm afraid. I need to figure out how not to let all the energy and excitement and all those swimming arms and zooming bikes go straight to my adrenaline glands.

On the bright side, I did the Black Hills Triathlon in Washington last weekend. It's one of my all-time favorite races, one of the oldest in the Northwest (this was the 27th year), and it's just a beautiful race. It's especially good for strong cyclists because it has a long bike relative to the swim and run (distances are 3/4 m. S, 30 m. bike, and 5 m. run.). It's also great for not-so-strong runners like me, because all of the run is on trails through the forest. The beautiful scenery is a terrific distraction, and all the ups and downs and rocks and roots means that those jackrabbit-fast runners can't get quite such a leg up on me.

Overall, I had a really strong race, placing first in my age division, and 3rd woman overall, with the 2nd fastest woman's bike time (remember I said I couldn't keep myself from over-amping and going fast!). I think I beat my old bike time by 4 or 5 minutes (I've been doing this race every couple of years for 16 years now). It rained the night before, and it was windy on the course, very similar to the omnipresent headwind that we often get in my area (all the valleys and hills make the winds swirl, so just when you think you'll be getting a tailwind, you don't!)

I had the worst swim I'd ever had in a triathlon though. One of the bouys was right in the sun, and by unfortunate coincidence, there was a swim area in the lake on the left, also with bouys. So I ended up headed toward the wrong bouy and found myself in the swim area. I heard several folks talking about this after the race, so I guess I'm not the only misguided swimmer to end up over there. But it blew my swim time, which is usually my strongest, and by the time I was out of the water, there were several women from my wave/age group out ahead of me.

The bike course ended up being my saving grace though, because with all the miles in for Ironman, I had strong bike race. By the time I neared the end, the course marshalls told me there were only two women ahead of me (from my wave and the waves in front of me). I managed to pass one of them in the run (a first for me! people are usually passing me on the run), and one woman from behind me passed me, leaving me still in 3rd at the end.

All in all, the strongest finish I've ever had on this course, and a good race. Just not a "practice race".

Ninety miles. Ninety degrees. Ninety hills

Well, maybe there wasn't really ninety hills, but it sure felt like it by the end!! I don't know how I managed to forget exactly how many hills were on those last few roads I took. I rode part of that route three years ago, surely the hills haven't grown since then?

Seriously though, it was a beautiful ride. It's a blessing to be able to ride here in this most lovely corner of the world. I started out rambling through some rolling hills in the foothills of the Cascades. All felt well, it was cool and breezy and the forest smelled refreshingly sweet with the morning dew. The first big hill, one I go up regularly, I just cruised up (usually I have to start standing and huffing and puffing halfway up). A good omen.

About 35 miles in, I turned away from the forest and headed west across the Willamette Valley. Into the wind. Of course. A few more hills along the way and then I was out into the flatlands of the valley. I took some new backroads, past fields of mint, head-high corn, and hay waiting to be baled. At about mile 45, there was a standoff with a great horned ram of some variety of extremely curly-haired sheep. I wish I had my camera (and some good Western showdown-at-main-street music for the background). Fortunately, as I had no intention of slowing down, he ambled off to the side of the road.

On the other side of the valley, it was starting to heat up. I called my support crew (aka husband and kids) and put them on standby to head out to meet me (I just love not always having to bike in loops or turn around and come back the way I went out). Now the hills started getting big again, and numerous. I was in the foothills of the Coast Range now, and I stair-stepped up and over one big one and then rolled down into Oregon wine country. If I had been a little less hot, I would've appreciated the scenery more. A few trees were dropping golden leaves around me as I wove around the hills, but there was scant shade out on the blacktop. My heartrate pushed over 150 and wouldn't drop back down, even on the flats.

Finally, at 89.5 miles, my crew rolled up in the minivan. I told them to park a half a mile down the road and I'd meet them. Then I ran for a mile or so, just to feel how wonderful the first mile of the Ironman will feel (ha ha). Actually, not too bad! That was encouraging after the heat and the hills.

I wound down the afternoon by hiking up a local peak with my hubby and the kids. A run the next morning revealed very little soreness and tiredness, so I'm thinking that I might actually be close to ready to do this Ironman thang after all.

Open Water Swimming: Tougher Than It Looks

I did my first open water swim competition yesterday, a US Masters event. The lake is about 30 miles from my house, so like a true Ironmom, I decided to get up early in the morning and bike up there in my tri suit to do the swim. Unfortunately, I didn't take into consideration the fact that the sun is rising later and later. It didn't get light enough to set off until almost 6:30, and the registration closed at 8:30. The lake is up in the hills a bit, so that gave me about 1:45 to make 30 mostly-uphill miles, with a climb up and over a local ridgeline to start off. I really had to hoof it to get up there in time, and I pretty much toasted my legs even before the swim.

I've never done an open water swim that wasn't at the start of a triathlon before, so this was all new to me. At first, it felt pretty much the same. I got in the water, scoped out which set of feet I wanted to follow, and we took off at the horn. I got a good draft for awhile behind a fast guy built like a tank, but he was zig-zagging too much and so I took off on my own. As I rounded the last buoy, with about 500 yards to go, that's when things got strange. As a triathlete, I'm used to cruising in to shore, trying to relax and warm up my legs for the bike, and stretching out my arms and back. But in an open water swim, things are different. People started speeding up, really speeding up. The realization slowly dawned on me. This it it! There's no bike or run coming up. I have to finish strong. I started to kick it in. Then that bike ride came back to bite me. I had no kick to kick in. A woman passed me, leaving me 3rd woman back. Then another passed me, leaving me in 4th. That was too much, so I tagged onto her toes and did the old Nascar slingshot maneuver at about 75 yards out, swam all the way up the ramp (as other people got up to run/slog through the water) and beat her out at the finish line. So I was 1st in my age group and 3rd woman overall, with no legs to speak of.

A couple of hours later, a memorial race was held for a local woman triathlete who was killed by a logging truck earlier this year. She had a terrific sense of humor, and was a super strong butterflyer, so they put on a 500 yard open water IM (medley of all the strokes) in her honor. I don't know about you, but swimming 125 fly in the pool is tough. Swimming it in open water, in the afternoon when the waves have started to kick up. Damn near impossible! After drinking half the lake, in the first 50, I started alternating one-arm fly so I could breathe to the side. Then, the backstroke was hilarious. We are all over the pond on that one, with people swimming breaststroke back from the second buoy weaving around the backstrokers. It's hard to laugh while swimming, you get water up your nose. All in all, a great time, and a great way to remember a friend and fellow triathlete.

80 Miles!!

That's my long bike ride for the week. 80 miles is a long ways to ride by yourself, I'm just saying. Fortunately, I always seem to find a person or two at the right pace somewhere out on the backroads. Last week's 67 miler, I ran into a guy training for Ironman Canada. This week, it was a couple who like to do centuries. So I get 30 or 40 miles of companionship at the least. I would schedule rides with some of my biking friends, but with my husband's sporadic schedule and my kids' commitments, I just squeeze my rides in when and where I can. Fortunately, I live in an area with lots and lots of backroads cyclists, so I frequently get to bike with some very nice strangers.

When God Tells You to Go Home

Oh yeah, it was one of those days. One of those runs. The kind where God himself (herself?) tells you to just Go Home. Well, I didn't hear the big thundering voice or anything, but it couldn't have been more obvious. I started out on my long run yesterday. At about 4 miles in, a hornet hit my face and somehow got trapped under the brim of my running hat. As I did the Crazy Hat Dance trying to get the thing off, it stung me several times above my right eye. Now I'm always out and about in nature, so I get stung a few times a year and have not had any bad reactions to bee stings. So I didn't think much about it other than "Damn, this hurts like hell!" and I kept running. Maybe I shouldn't have cursed. Maybe I could've avoided what came next...

At about 12 miles in, a woman with one of those little punter dogs on the 89 foot extendo-leash lets it run right in front of my feet. I swerve left to avoid it, run off the path and straight through a stand of waist-high nettles. Did you hear me screaming in your town? I wouldn't be surprised. Wow. The Pain.

Surprisingly, that still wasn't enough to convince me to Go Home Now. So God decided to send one more little messenger. At mile 16, I was running under a big horsechestnut tree. If you don't have these in your town, let me explain what they are like. Horsechestnuts look a lot like chestnuts, except on steroids. They're big and round, and they come encased in these extremely sharp spikey things that look a bit like land mines. Here's a great photo of one.. So I'm running under a big horsechestnut tree, and these things start dropping on my head like spikey bombs.

That was when I turned for home. Yep, God, you're right. I shouldn't be running today. By the time I got within a mile of my house, my right eye felt strangely puffy. When I looked in my bathroom mirror a few minutes later, I was starting to resemble Rocky Balboa, and within several hours (even after a dosing of Benadryl), both eyes were swollen shut.

Over the next few days, I've gone through some really interesting facial incarnations. At first, I couldn't even go out of the house. The worst thing about your eyes swelling shut is that you can't even read a book or watch a movie. You just have to sit there. Fortunately, my friend took pity on me and came and picked me up and took me to her house for tea and conversation.

By day two, my eyes were open somewhat, but looked strangely slanted and without signifigant eyelids. My lower face had turned puffier. Since I'm a homeschooling mom, I don't really get time off and so I had to be out and around town doing errands. Apparently, I looked enough like I had Down's Syndrome to cause several people to treat me really strangely. I wonder why people think if they Talk Really Loudly and Slowly that it helps anything at all.

On Day 3, my eyes were mostly open, but my lower face was still puffed, giving me a vaguely Godfather-like look. I couldn't smile, and the slight puffiness above my eyes made me look continually angry. A driver who swerved close enough to my kids while we were walking to make me turn around and look at him suddenly shouted at me: "You don't have to give me that sourpuss scowl, missy! I was just avoiding glass on the street." I want to tell him, in my best Vito Corleone voice, that I'm going to send him to swim with the fishes. So many people turn to stare at me that I vow never to give even a second glance to anyone who looks out of the ordinary, ever again.

By Day 4, I look almost normal, but with a more round face and some eye puffiness. Basically, I've turned into my mother. I return to running. It's amazing to me that even with this slight facial distortion, it effects how people treat me. Normally, other runners smile or act friendly toward me. Now, they turn their heads away. A guy who normally flashes me a grin on every lap suddenly finds interesting things in the distance to look at. Apparently, just the appearance of being a weightier, older runner is enough to put me into the "not cool enough" category. This makes me feel really sad, and I vow to smile doubly brightly at every old or chubby runner I see. I guess I always assumed that runners were just friendly to all other runners, but now it feels like more of an "in club".

So I guess, not only did God tell me to Just Go Home, he gave me some things to think about, and maybe even a homework assignment. I certainly learned something about how others are treated, and have a lot more compassion now for those who look even slightly out of the ordinary.

How to Train, Get Filthy, and Have a Good Time

A friend and I have been planning a week's camping trip to the area around the John Day Fossil beds with our kids for months now, and we finally got the time to do it. The kids had a blast digging thundereggs and finding fossils, and we all got very dirty, dusty, hot, and tired. It would have to be the hottest week of the year (106 in the shade, of which there is not much in the desert).

But, like the faithful triathlete I am, I took my bike, wetsuit, and running shoes along. Unfortunately, I didn't take into consideration how many gravel roads we'd be traveling on. My bike got more than filthy, and there just aren't that many bike shops in the middle of nowhere. Or, 50 gravel road miles from the middle of nowhere, which is where we were. I did stop in a small store and get some WD-40 and clean up my chain and cogs as best I could. The nice part is that I got to swim in the John Day river and in beautiful Walton Lake, at the top of the Ochoco mountains (4500 feet of elevation does something to your breathing in your stroke though!). I had also forgotten the wonderful hospitality of Central Oregon drivers. Almost everyone who passed me gave me a wide berth on the road, and most waved or tipped their hats to boot. I got to run by all of the fire crews and helicopters (much to my husband's distress, since we were out of cell phone range, we were camped in the middle of several big fires), and take a bike ride to the Ochoco summit. It doesn't get much better than that (even if I was beyond filthy by the time I got home).

Ironman Dreams

Yep, they've started. The Ironman stress dreams. The first one was last night. I'm in Panama Beach, Florida and the Ironman is about to start. For some reason, it's in a lake in the middle of the city. The streets are warrens, like something out of a medieval European town but with skyscrapers thrown in for good measure, and I can't see the lake anywhere. When I finally find it, I realize that I've left my wetsuit at home. The race officials tell me that wetsuits are required, and I have just enough time to go and buy one before the race start. So I walk back through the maze of streets and shops, but all of the sporting goods shops are closed. The only shop open is a lingerie shop, but they do have a wetsuit in their window. It is light pink neoprene with ruffles all over the sleeve and leg cuffs. I fret that the ruffles will cause lots of drag, and ask for some scissors to cut them off.

Just then, I hear the horn signaling the start of the race. So I got into a dressing room and change into the wetsuit, throw my Visa card at the cashier, and run out the door through the narrow streets to the lake and jump in with the rest of the triathletes. I am the only person in a pink ruffled wetsuit in a sea of black, and all the other triathletes are looking at me like I'm a crazy person. I wake up just as I realize that the ruffles on the pink wetsuit are causing me to swim so slowly, I'm barely at the back of the pack.

Oh, I can hardly wait to see what I dream as we get closer to race start!

On My BookShelf

I'm reading two Ironman training books right now. Be Ironfit by Don Fink and Going Long by Joe Frield and Gordon Byrn. Each of them has some really good stuff to offer anyone training for this kind of distance. The Ironfit book is much more readable and usable though. I like the training schedules, and I'm basing my own schedule loosely on the ones in the book, from here on out. The book is very straight-forward and includes almost everything you need to do to get from triathlete to Ironman.

Going Long has some genuinely great nuggets of information, but you have to plow through pages of acronym-infested, almost-undecipherable text to get to them. The authors have the unfortunate habit of acronymizing too many real words. Do we really need to call "breakthrough" workouts "BT" workouts? And what about ATP, ME, LT, TT, and all the other acronyms? By the time they're done shortening everything, I keep having to page back and forth while reading to remember what everything is called. Couple that with many nearly-incomprehensible tables of data (and this is from a former engineer who loves her Excel spreadsheets and tables of data!) and the book becomes signifigantly less useful than it should be. It's worth a read though, or at least a skim, for the good information that's buried beneath the chaff.

Training on Vacation

If there's one thing I love, it's training whenever we travel. It's always so cool to go running or swimming someplace new, and on this trip I managed to bring my bike as well, so I got to experience some of Canada's back roads and bike trails.

We took last week and went on vacation up to Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. Spent several days camping and then a couple of days in Victoria. The weather was beautiful, and apparently Canadian schools let out a week after the U.S. ones, so the campgrounds were empty, and Lake Cowichan was devoid of speedboats and waterskiers. Unfortunately, it was also devoid of enough degrees fahrenheit for me to swim out very far. Near shore, it was just barely warm enough, even with my wetsuit on, for me to stop hyperventilating enough to swim a couple of thousand yards, back and forth along the shore. When I attempted to swim out further (I just can't resist the pull of an empty lake!), my lungs felt like they were being crushed by the cold, and I had to turn around.

Fortunately, my daughter spotted this gigantic crawdad, right before it was about to attack my foot. I swear, this thing was like 8 inches long. Like a little lake lobster or something. I've never seen a crawdad this big - they grow them big up north, I guess!
I got in a nice bike ride on Cowichan River road, although from our campground it was seriously uphill, right off the bat (nothing like a 15 percent grade on legs that aren't even warmed up yet!) and a run on trails by the campground.
In Victoria, I took a run on the Galloping Goose trail, along the riverfront out of town. The dragonboat teams were all practicing, so I got to run to the accompaniement of beating drums and the slap of oars in the water. I also took a really nice bike ride along the waterfront and around the tip of the island. With views like these of the Olympic mountains, the miles just seem to roll on by. I will say though that the drivers were less than bike-friendly. I think I had more near-misses in 25 miles of Victoria's roads than I've had all year here in my bike-friendly town. Still, it was a great vacation and a great opportunity to train in some really beautiful countryside.

No Acronyms Here

I've been reading other Ironman blogs (suprisingly, there aren't many) in hopes of finding inspiration, humor, etc. in this crazy plan. But everyone else seems so serious, not to mention, so acronym-filled, they're darn near unreadable. Most blogs go something like:

Did 70 km LB today. 5 rps 3 min Z2 with 2 min spin @ 45 min. HR output 125 av. peak 152
Pool intervals 10 x 100 yd @ 1:35, 5 x 250, 20 sec r. Peak HR 160, av. 135

Meanwhile, I'm just going on a bike ride, and maybe a swim. Yeah, I do intervals, and I even bought myself a heart rate monitor, but mostly I train how my body feels and try to just enjoy the experience. My long bike this week was 2:20, but my Ironman race is late in the season (Nov 4), so I've got plenty of time to ramp up those distances. Summer is here and the warm weather feels great for biking.