Perspective

I went for an absolutely dreadful run yesterday. It was my long run day, 36 degrees and raining outside with wind whipping the rain into my face seemingly from every direction. I stepped in a puddle almost immediately and had wet socks, got a blister underneath my toe that split my toe open. I only discovered this later when I was scrubbing my foot with my lovely Grapefruit Chamomile sea salt scrub that I use after running and realized I'd just poured salt into an open wound - yeeeeow! Not recommended.

The run just never materialized into anything resembling fun, and I was starting to feel pretty damn sorry for myself when I passed this spot on the running trail, near the University football stadium and was suddenly taken back over twenty years to a November day when I was in college. On the way to classes in the nearby art buildings, I heard something that sounded like gunfire. We later found out that a student had taken up a position in the stadium with a sniper rifle and was firing at people. He shot and killed an Olympic runner who had also competed on the University Track team: Chris Brathwaite, near the spot I was running past yesterday.

I hadn't thought of that name in decades, but it came immediately to mind. He was a sprinter, originally from Trinidad & Tobago who had competed in two Olympic games. It's not unusual when you're out running on the paths in our town to be overtaken by Olympians past and present. I've been blown past by some of the best runners in the world out there: Marla Runyan, Alberto Salazar, and Mary Decker-Slaney to name a few. Twenty-three years ago, Chris Brathwaite was just out doing exactly what I was doing yesterday (only probably a good bit faster): going for a jog on the beautiful bark trails envisioned by Steve Prefontaine that pass along the river. He didn't know it would be his last run, and probably never knew what hit him.

From that point forward in my run, I vowed to stop whining and letting the weather get me down. I had let the rain bring my run down to a drudgery, but I squared up my shoulders, concentrated on my form, and tried my best to ignore the cold. A funny thing happened: my run got a whole lot better. It felt more like a gift to be out there running, even in the freezing rain, than a chore. As the legendary Prefontaine once said "To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift." I had definitely not been giving my best, but the memory of Chris Brathwaite's last run on that spot had brought back how precious it is to have this gift at all. As I've been struggling this last week with appreciating the gift of the last few days of my dog's life, this lesson seems to be one I'm destined to be presented with again and again.

This is not to say that I hope fervently that my next long run is not going to be accomplished in sleet and freezing rain, but even if that's the way the cards fall, I'll try to keep yesterday's lesson in mind.

Hanging In There

Thanks to all for the kind words and thoughts on my dog. He's still with us, possibly until tomorrow (the uncertainty is the worst part right now, trying to find a time when the vet can be here, my husband can get off of work, and the kids can have a friend's house to go to.)

In the meantime, my sister came to visit this weekend and we had a great time. I went swimming with her and realized again what a natural athlete she is. She hasn't swum in a year and she got in the pool and knocked off laps faster than many of the Master's swimmers and triathletes in adjacent lanes. Must be something in the ol' genes (and her feet aren't even a size 11 like mine)! She and I have done triathlon relays and triathlons together (including one notable one in Seattle with absolutely pouring down rain in August where we wore garbage bags around the race start for an hour or so.) and maybe we'll get to do that again, she's a bunch of fun to hang out with.

Saying Goodbye To A Good Friend (And Running Partner)

I used to have this great running partner, the best kind: energetic, fun, always up for a few miles no matter what the weather. He was young, just a teenager, and he could literally run circles around me, but he never minded that he was so much faster than I was, and I always felt great when I ran with him. Now he's an old man, almost 100, and he can barely limp around the block. His hearing is going, his eyesight too, hips are arthritic and mostly he sleeps. When he sees me pick up my running shoes, he sometimes gets momentarily excited, forgetting that he'd be wheezing before we hit the corner stop sign.

There are few beings on this earth as unerringly kind, forgiving, loving, protective, humbling, thoughtful, and faithful as my friend Sabre. I love him so much. The hardest thing about loving a dog though is that their life is lived on fast-forward. Just as you get used to their puppy antics, they're heading into middle age, and by the time you take for granted that they'll run another 10-miler tomorrow, old age is just around the corner. Then it's here.

Today we took Sabre to the beach for the last time. I have to admit that I've been secretly hoping he'd die peacefully in his sleep, because this is a decision I didn't want to have to make for him, but the time has come. My husband got him for my birthday the year we met, and that was fourteen years ago. We have had Sabre as our constant companion for our entire married life, and the kids have always known him as their friend and protector. If you ever wanted to see an agitated dog, all you had to do was have one kid running in one direction and one in the other. As a herding dog, Sabre's one life mandate was "look after your flock" and he would anxiously sprint from one to the other if they were ever separated. On family hikes with friends, he would constantly run from the front of the line of hikers to the back, ceaselessly ensuring that we were all safe and accounted for. Though he now walks with difficulty, he still followed the kids everywhere they went on the beach today, no matter how long it took him. Even now, I think it is his noble sense of duty that keeps him hanging on, long past when it seems that his body should be giving up. I'm pretty sure that in his doggy mind, he's convinced that he simply must look after us or some great harm will fall upon us. He has kept us safe for all of these years, and sometimes when I look in his eyes I know he will not let go, no matter how much pain he is in, if only for this reason.

So the time is upon us when we have to make the decision to say goodbye. There is not a dog on this planet who has had a better life, been more loved, gone to more beaches and forests and snowy mountains, camped with and been loved by more kids and adults, been cherished more by his family. If you look back through our family photo albums he is a constant, always by our sides. He's lying next to the kids as they read a book on the couch, he's next to the campfire or walking next to us, no matter where we are. Sabre's spirit has touched everyone he has met. Even walking him down the street, people would stop and comment on what a kind face he had, what a gentle spirit. If you are reading this blog and have a prayer or a good thought to send this way, let it be that I have the strength to say goodbye to a good friend who deserves an easy and peaceful end to a life well lived.

Mind Games

I did all the right things yesterday morning: ate a good breakfast and got my running gear together with plenty of time to spare. The weather looked terrible so I even took the time to hunt down my ear warmers and waterproof gloves. I dropped M. off at his friend's house and A. at her dance class. My usual Tuesday run is right from the dance studio parking lot because the bike path goes along the river there and it's a beautiful run. But it was incredibly cold out and the freezing rain was just pouring down. Thanks to a recent entry by J. at Ironmanlife, I also know that the Mind Chill factor was not to be discounted, it felt ten degrees colder than it probably was in reality. In short, I just didn't want to run.

This is a pretty unusual thing for me. As a person who treasures her time alone, my workout times are usually sacred. I don't miss one unless I'm on death's door or the sky is falling. But the yuckiness of the weather can't be minimized, it was really ugly out there. I knew that regardless of how much Goretex I stacked on, I'd be wet to the skin and freezing in minutes.

So it was time to bring out the mind games. When your brain is resisting doing something, you can often get yourself to do it anyways just by turning things around a little. I do this sometimes in the middle of a workout ("I'll just swim another 10 laps and then I can stop", repeat as necessary) but this time required some creativity. I decided to drive to my gym, where I could run laps inside or even just sit in the hot tub if I wanted to. Once I was at the big parking garage for the gym, I knew I still wanted to run, and a solution presented itself to me. After 9:30 and before the lunch rush, no one really comes in and out of the garage, so I decided to run laps up and down the circular levels of the garage. It was still cold, but at least I wasn't getting rained on, and I told myself I could stop at any time and go in and sit in the hot tub. It was actually kind of cool and novel, so I enjoyed the first 15 minutes or so. Just when I was getting bored, the rain miraculously stopped and I headed out on the streets.

Just a few blocks away on the north end of town, I discovered a trail up a small butte that I hadn't known about, with rock steps leading up to a great view out over the city. So I got a lot of unexpected hill work in between the parking garage and the butte, and ended up with an easy jog along the river. When all was said and done, a hot shower was waiting for me and as usual, I was glad that I'd taken the first step after all.

It's Just a Shirt

It's Friday night, the end of a long week. The stacks of clean clothes have gotten smaller, the laundry pile looms larger. I'm heading out to a volleyball game and go to grab a clean t-shirt. None of the nicer ones will do, I don't want to get those sweaty. None of the tight ones, I want to be able to move easily. None of the really ancient spotted ones, those are for gardening. My stack of loose, reasonably clean comfy t-shirts is down to one. The one I never wear. My Ironman finisher's shirt.

I don't fully understand why I don't wear it. Much of the time it's because it's a pretty ugly grey shirt with big black and orange words on it: not the type of thing I'd wear anyways, regardless of what it says. But tonight that really doesn't matter. Who cares about aesthetics when you're dripping sweat and diving to the floor? Tonight it's because of the what it says: those gigantic orange letters saying that I'm an Ironman Finisher. And while I'm very proud to have done an Ironman, I guess it's not something I feel all that comfortable proclaiming to the world like a big flashing sign that says Aren't I cool?. I have the same problem to a slightly lesser degree with my marathon finisher's shirt, which is at least quite nice looking. But every time I wear it, I get those "Wow, you finished a marathon!" comments which make me feel vaguely uncomfortable.

In a related incident, at karate the other day we sat down in a circle for one of our sensei's mini-lectures on the Theme of the Month. This month it is Fight. Not fight as in putting your fist through someone else's solar plexus, but fight as in fighting for your goals. Sensei asked us to raise hands and to tell about some goal that we really fought for. I never raised my hand. What can I say? I dislocated my foot in the first thirty minutes of a twelve hour race, and then biked 112 miles and ran a marathon. Finishing was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I smiled all the way to the line. That's fighting for my goals, but I am always cognizant of that feeling of one-upping when I talk about the things I've done. It's nothing new, I've spent a lifetime doing the things that many people dream of, and some things that most people would never even think of trying. I've been exceedingly lucky to have the opportunities I've had, to survive some of the crazy stunts, and I've also worked hard for many of the things I've really wanted. But in a group of people, I often keep my mouth shut until I know them well enough to feel comfortable sharing my experiences.

When it comes down to it, that's probably why putting on The Shirt is difficult. It's like shouting out to a crowd of people you don't know that you've done something so hard that most people find the thought of it intimidating. It makes you sort of intimidating yourself and perhaps unreachable. Yet in the end, I wore The Shirt, it being the only clean one in the pile that fit the bill for an evening of volleyball. I got a couple of double-takes from the opposite team and no comments whatsoever. After awhile, I more or less forgot I was wearing it and ceased to think about it. I probably ponder these things far too much anyways. After all it's just a shirt. Maybe I'll even wear it again some time.

Running, Anyways

I spent the last weekend at my mom's house near where I grew up. When we visit, I usually bring at least my running shoes, and often my bicycle as well. She lives on the edge of the Rogue River Valley in Oregon and there are many beautiful places to bike and run around there.

So on Saturday, when I laced up my runnning shoes to go out, I was really looking forward to a nice medium-long run through the hills near her house. Although the weather had been beautiful all morning, some storm clouds moved in and a few sprinkles of rain had started falling. My mom asked me if I still planned on running, and I said of course. I live in the Pacific Northwest and if I didn't run when it was raining, I might not leave the house for months.

During the run, the rain came and went, sometimes lightly, and then one quick downpour. Eventually it went back to sprinkling and then disappeared entirely. A rainbow appeared over the oak trees on the hill, so dazzling that I stopped to take a picture. I ran by some goats who bleated and came to the fence to greet me, so I had to take another brief stop to pat their wooly heads and feed them some grass. The air warmed up and that feeling overcame me that happens on the best of runs. The French have the best phrase for it: Joie de vivre, joy of life. The feeling that all of life is flowing through you and it's all good.

I think that there's a fundamental change that happens when running (or bicycling or swimming or canoeing or skiing or whatever your sport of passion happens to be) becomes an integral part of your life. It's no longer something that you look for an excuse not to do, it's something you seek out and want to do. It's something you're disappointed if you don't get to do. There have been spates of bad weather where I didn't run. I won't run if it's icy and dangerous, and I did take myself to the indoor track at our gym one day to run dismal laps (sixteen of them makes a mile, so you can imagine how monotonous that gets) but even then I ran anyways. I ran because I always feel worse if I don't, because even when it's hard to get going, it always feels better to have finished. So yes mom, I'm going to run in the rain. See you somewhere over the rainbow.

To the Ones I Love

My husband knows just what this woman likes for Valentine's Day. No, I don't need a big bouquet of roses, no diamonds for this gal, chocolate - well, he went by my favorite local company and brought home truffles for all of us. But he knows what I really like. Like when he calls home and says "I noticed it was sunny outside and I have a few hours off. Why don't you get your bike ready and you can go for a ride before it gets dark." He knows how to get our kids to the right place on a course to give me a boost of cheering and enthusiasm right when I need it most. He has even learned to operate a camera in a reasonable manner and get some great shots along the way. He stands behind my dreams and aspirations, finds a way to make them happen. He was the one person who knew my dream was the Ironman, years before I would reveal that to anyone else.
My kids are the most awesome little things on the planet. Their smiles could carry me through anything, and they somehow never stop believing I can walk on water, even after they've seen me at my best and worst. They're willing to support me in my goals, just as I support and help them achieve theirs.

And I just spent this weekend visiting with both of my parents. Sometimes it really strikes me just how much I owe them, both what I learned from them and what I inherited from them. They're both such go-getters, dreamers, hard-workers, people who get enthusiastic about life and the endless possibilities it offers. My mom has done a half-marathon with me, she kayaks and walks and is never afraid to try new things. In the first throes of retirement, she's already got two trips planned and a host of activities lined up. My dad has an easy smile and a big laugh, I inherited my love of flying from him and probably a big sense of adventure (not to mention thrill-seeking - my dad took me on my first flight and gave me my first motorcycle). Both of my parents have gone skydiving with me. They're young at heart and still so youthful that I can't believe they're in their 60s and 70s already.
We're not big on Hallmark Holidays in our house, not a lot of fuss goes on with cards and presents and big boxes of chocolates. But where it counts, in our hearts, it's Valentines Day every day.

Now Here's A Sport I Can Really Suck At

Bowling. Yep. Bowling. My mom is in an organization that sets up a charity bowling event every year and this time around the kids and I joined her as a team. Let's just say that bowling isn't our forte'. I had the high score after three games: 111 (you can quit laughing now.) The kids beat their grandma in almost every game (bumpers helped) and a fun time was had by all. Sometimes it's nice to do something that is so ludicrous you really don't care how it all turns out.

I actually grew up just a few houses down from one of the greatest bowlers of all time (Marshall Holman), and he's probably part of the reason that my relatively small hometown has one of the best bowling alleys on the West Coast (complete with Marshall Holman trophy and photo corner.) and they now host the PBA tour there. I think I need to rent Kingpin again to round out my week - that slow-mo of Bill Murray bowling with his custom bowling ball and his comb-over flying up in the air is priceless.

Unfortunately, my right arm was really sore for swimming tonight, undoubtably due to flinging 14 pound balls down a lane for a couple of hours. So I don't think I'll be aiming for the PBA tour anytime in the near future.

Swimmer

My mom likes to tell a funny story about when I was born. I had such big shoulders that when I was about halfway out the doctor said "Look at those shoulders, this one's a football player for sure!". Except of course I was a girl. He was close though. Not a football player but a swimmer was born.

The water has always called to me. As a child, I dreamed I was a dolphin who'd been born into a human's body. I read Jaques Coustaeu and watched his TV specials, I cried when I listened (over and over and over) to John Denver's song "Calypso", the only song that moved me to tears. My parents knew that if I got into a pool, or river, or lake, or ocean, that they would have to drag me out by my heels to get me away from the water, and one of our most memorable family vacations was spent at a hotel complex in San Diego that had seven swimming pools. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

Unfortunately, I lived in a reasonably small town and there was only one swim coach for both the city team and the high school team. A grumpy man with a loud shout and constantly-blowing whistle, he did not so much inspire as berate his swimmers into performing. I dropped off the city team after than one season, tried it again in high school and only made it a week or two. I always swam for pleasure, but did not seem to be destined to become a competitive swimmer.

Luck was on my side though, because in college I took a swimming class for credit that was taught by the assistant University team coach. He convinced me to walk onto the swim team, and I met the head coach who would turn out to be the single most influential person in my life, outside of my parents. After taking one look at me, he said "Shoulders. Feet. You're going to swim butterfly."

"But coach, I don't really know how to swim butterfly!"

"That doesn't matter. With shoulders like those, you're a butterflier." And so I was. That photo is me at age 20. No kidding, those are butterflier shoulders.

My love for sport was born. My coach insisted we all do a triathlon as cross-training and I found my true passion there. But although I've had twenty years now as a triathlete, running and biking as well as swimming, I will always be first and foremost A Swimmer.

Some people say biology is destiny and from a sports viewpoint I can't argue with that. This year I'm trying to become a faster runner, but one look at my body and you can see I'm optimized for water, not land. For starters, I have an extremely short torso. I can stand with my hips level with a friend who is 5' tall and we're the same height, yet when I stand up I am 5'7". I pray that high-waited pants never come back in fashion, because my waist is roughly one inch below my bust and I look like a total gomer if I ever tuck a shirt in. When I was pregnant, I looked like I was carrying a missile silo because the baby had no place to go but straight out. Along with my lack of torso, I have massively long and flexible arms and legs, capped by enormous hands and feet. I wear the same shoe size as my husband, and a full glove size larger. I can span an octave + 2 easily on the piano. Hands like shovels, feet like flippers. I trip over them running, but I can kick 50 yards in 55 seconds. Couple those long arms, shovel hands, and flippered feet with the fact that I can rotate my shoulders 360 with ease and bend my arms around like a pretzel, and you've got one swimmer's body.

My children have inherited much of my physique as well. My son at age 10 can already borrow my shoes. Yep, never let it be said I didn't give my kids a solid foundation in life (that's actually my dad's joke, he used to say that when I'd complain about my big feet). My son's shoulders actually got...ahem.. stuck during childbirth. Luckily for him, he's a boy. Boys with big shoulders are complimented, punched roundly on the shoulder with a "he's a big tough guy" kind of bonhomie. Big shouldered girls are another story. Actually, I was fortunate to hit teenagerhood in the eighties. Those of you who lived through that era of big puffy-shouldered jackets and blouses know what I mean. I just took the shoulder pads out of every shirt and jacket I bought and was happily in style for a few years. But in general, shoulders like a linebacker are not what every girl dreams of. My daughter has inherited my shoulders and I am very cognizant of the words and messages she hears about her body.

It starts so young. Carrying around my solid bruiser of a baby boy, I got no end of compliments: "What a sturdy fellow you've got there.", "That kid'll be a bruiser for sure.". Carrying around my sturdy infant girl, I got "Aren't you concerned that she's a little too chubby?" I'm not kidding! The messages we get about big strong bodies start in infancy, and that to me is sad. So when my daughter mentions that she has big shoulders, I say "Yep, you've got a really strong body like I do, and I bet you'll be a great swimmer too!" (she already is, and I can't get her out of a pool without pulling her out by her heels like my parents experienced with me). I don't tell her "you've got a figure like an oatmeal box" , which is what I was told at a young age.

And truth be told, it's not a bad thing, these big shoulders, these long legs, the hands that span an octave+, the feet big enough to ski on. I know I will never break 6 minutes in a running mile in my life, but I'll see you on the other side of the lake in no time.

Killer Swim Breakfast

Here's my best breakfast invention for the cold winter months. This is great about an hour before a cold morning swim:

Cook up some steel cut oats, add chopped pecans, walnuts, raisins and dried cranberries. After the oats are cooked and slightly cooled, mix one raw egg and some milk, stir into oatmeal mixture and cook in pan or microwave until mixture custardizes (if that's a word). Add cinnamon and nutmeg to taste. It's kind of like rice pudding meets killer oatmeal. Yummmmm!

Karma's Kick and Life Lessons

So maybe I felt a little too sorry for myself over the last couple of weeks. Husband gone, one mom staffing this lone parenting outpost and urban farm by myself, trying to do it all, not exercising as much as I usually do, and that always puts me a little more on the edge. But underneath it all is the layer of knowledge that I have a good life, a wonderful life, a filled with abundance of family, friends, activities, good times, and yes all the things that make life easier (money, a roof over my head, healthy food to feed our kids, that kind of thing). But I was feeling sorry for myself, and that's probably why I got a swift karma kick to the rear this week.

In one day, an amazing number of things happened to remind me of all that is truly important. It started in the early afternoon. After our morning karate class, I stuffed my van full of 4 families' kids and took us all to the park to enjoy the sunny weather. We had so many kids in the van that my friend K. (whose kids were part of the menagerie) rode her bike and met us there. The kids ran around like crazed animals and a good time was had by all. On the way home in the middle of the road, an older gentleman had fallen out of his wheelchair, so we pulled the car into an alley and K. and I got out and helped him back in.

Lesson #1: Can you imagine how helpless you would feel if you fell out of your wheelchair in the middle of the road and couldn't even stand up to get back in? So Robin, you've been complaining about how hard your workouts were this week, how tired your legs were feeling. Don't you really think you should be appreciating your long, strong, healthy, go-the-distance legs?

Later I went to work at the pool with one of my coaching clients. After I was done with coaching, I donned my cap and goggles and settled in for a few laps. Because I've been a lifeguard and swimmer for more than half of my life, there's a third eyeball somewhere on my head that always keeps track of where people are in the pool area, especially kids and elderly people. A kid that was bobbing up and down in the hot tub disappeared from view and I stopped mid-lap. His mom was in conversation next to the tub, and I couldn't see his head. Turned the bubbles off in the hot tub and sure enough he was under water. There's a ledge that goes around the outside of the tub and he had probably just slipped off of it and into the water that was over his head. With the jets on, the water is so bubbly you couldn't see him at all. He was fine, just a momentary scare. I'm very grateful for that 3rd eyeball.

Lesson #2: Do you really take the time every day to appreciate your kids? I feel so lucky that in my unschooling life with them, we spend a lot of time together. I get to be involved in their projects and passions, watch them play and interact. But even so, in two weeks of solo parenting, I probably snap at them more, get irritated at the constant chaos and mess that is living with young, active, eager and curious kids. Every day is a gift. Even every mess is a gift. Every blob of toothpaste spilling out of a tube with no lid. Remember that, Robin.

After swimming I go into the locker room and shower. There's a wallet and keys on the counter when I go in, still there when I get out of the steam room and then the shower, still there after I get dressed. After calling around to everyone in earshot, I take them up to lost and found.

Lesson #3: Don't forget to be thankful for the life you're able to live and the money that makes it possible. You might be alone Robin, but it's because your husband is out there somewhere flying, making a living that enables your life to be relatively easy. You know what it's like to live with no money, and even with no house and no food other than some Top Ramen and government-surplus rice and cheese. Like that lost wallet, such things can come and go quickly in life and you know this too.

I ride my bike towards home, I stop at my friend's house to pick up my son. We start walking towards home in the dark. Up ahead in the round spotlight of a street lamp, a man staggers into an intersection, face bloody, and falls down in the middle of the road. We rush toward him, pulling out my cell phone and dialing 911. The man is about my age, crying, face a bloody mess, smelling of alcohol from 10 feet away. He's sobbing something about his wife and kids leaving him. I don't know how or why he's injured, or what his mental state might be (other than distraught). I move my son a safe distance away, and every time the man's hand goes toward a pocket, I tense. Another cyclist stops, then a motorist, three neighbors come out of houses, one goes back for some blankets. We use our blinking red bicycle lights to keep traffic away until the police and ambulance arrive.

Lesson #4: Tragedy and sadness abound in life. Everything we think we have is temporary. Today is what matters. Even in the face of tragedy, the kindness of people can become a healing balm. Feel thankful that you live in a city where people come out of cars, homes, off of bicycles to help a drunken bleeding man in the dark of night. Community and basic human kindess are the answers to many things.

It was a long day, and at the end of it my mind felt more blank than anything. The day swung from beautiful sunshine in a park to blood and vomit on a dark roadside. It has taken a couple of days for the lessons to be revealed to me. Today, I hope I can walk forwards with a new appreciation for all that I have.

Ready, Aim, Fire

My target this year is to become a faster runner. I know I've been a triathlete for 20 years, and have managed to avoid working hard while running for all those years. That's pretty impressive, no? Actually, that's not entirely true. In the last two years, I've been gradually changing my running style, based upon the book ChiRunning. I've been increasing my cadence, and changing my stride from a heel-striking forward-reaching one to a mid-foot striking stride that lands underneath me. While I haven't seen huge speed gains, I've seen my previous IT Band pains disappear.

So this is the year when I really need to focus on my run. It's frustrating to be out in front only to lose the lead time after time to faster runners. One look at my last few sprint triathlons shows a pretty dismal 8:30 - 8:40 pace on the run (you can stop laughing now), even with total times around 1:15, which is reasonable for my age group. In the last few weeks, I've been biting the bullet and working at my run, thanks to some excellent advice from the folks on the triathlon boards at Trifuel.com . I've been incorporating cadence work, strides, tempo runs, and trying to ease up the pace on my long runs. Today I warmed up easy for 15 minutes, then did 3 miles at a pace that felt like a sprint tri race pace. 8:32 miles made me pretty happy because I've never run that fast this early in the season before. I think if I keep at it, I might be able to take a minute or two off of my sprint times.

So here, I state it out loud: I'm making a commitment to becoming more of a runner, less of a jogger. I'm considering trying to qualify for the age group Nationals, so a faster run will be imperative!

Isn't It Ironic

Speaking of my iPod playlists, I get this grief from Divagirl (my 7-going-on-17 daughter) this morning. She comes out with my MP3 player on (she has her own, mind you, she's just always losing track of it) and says "Mom, you listen to some really inappropriate music. I have to skip, like, every other track." She says the word inappropriate one syllable at a time, as if speaking to an elderly, deaf person of questionable judgement.

What can I say? Girlfriend, I want to tell her, I've partied with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, discussed Henry Miller with Henry Rollins, my band opened for NOFX, I'm not going to be listening to the Princess Diaries Soundtrack, okay?. Overall, I think I'm a pretty good mom, I strive to be an awesome mom. But sometimes my past catches up with me. I grew up an utter rebel, and have had to learn to be responsible and selfless as I've gone along on this wild parenting ride. This is the same daughter who has cured me of my sailor mouth. She "hates curse words", and also tries to give me fashion tips (see above photo for why I don't usually take them). She's probably going to be a Republican, and a CEO. My husband and I joke that the best we can hope for is that she turns out to be a benevolent Dictator of the Universe.

As it turns out, I saved the day by finding her MP3 player and even having a battery for it. So she's rocking out to the Ella Enchanted soundtrack, and I'm off to rip my old X, Live at the Whisky CD for tomorrow's run.

Toasted

So, do you think it's a bad omen when this is what happens to your morning breakfast? When I was a kid, I read some article or book about Spontaneous Human Combustion and was terrified for at least a year or two that I might suddenly burst into flames. Especially since my feet have always been very hot, so hot that I went barefoot for most of my childhood (a fact that my mom attributes to me having been born in Oklahoma, but that I think has more to do with an efficient heart or fast metabolism or something a bit more scientific.) So this morning, I look over at my toaster and flames are shooting out of the middle of my toast, like a model of Spontaneous Bread Combustion, resembling something from an episode of Mythbusters. Couple that with the fact that my cat barfed all over my bed last night, necessitating a midnight duvet and pillowcase changeover, and the fact that I turned my ankle stepping out of the chicken coop, and I'm beginning to think (as the Mary Chapin Carpenter song goes) "the stars are stacked against you girl, get back in bed".

I didn't, and the day has gone relatively smoothly ever since, so I hold out hope that I'm not going to have another terrible workout when I go to swim this evening. I actually had a very nice run yesterday, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, it was only marred by the fact that I loaned my backup MP3 player to my mom and before doing so I took all the good music (read: music my mom would not listen to in a million years) off of it: Bye bye Eminem, X, Social Distortion, Fort Minor, Green Day. But I had forgotten this fact when I realized my iPod was out of juice and I grabbed my old MP3 player and headed out the door for my run, only to find that there was only violin music on the dang thing. At first, I thought I was somehow stuck in replay of one album, so I pushed buttons and selected menus for the first 8 or 10 minutes of my run. Then it sunk in that I had actually removed all of my rockin running tunes, and this is what I was left with. For my long run. And now I was too far to go back to the house, and my iPod had no battery left anyways.

But other than that, I had a nice run. Actually, looking on the bright side, the mellower music helped me keep from over-amping my long run and I ended up with a nice mellow 9:40 pace. Sometimes if you just roll with the rhythm of the day, it all comes out just fine. That's what I'm hoping anyways, since my breakfast went up in flames, my cat is giving me the evil eye for being out all night, and my ankle feels like mischievous elves with small mallets have been working it over. Oh well, onwards.

Get Ready Little Lady, Hell is Coming to Breakfast

That line from The Outlaw Josie Wales seems very appropriate right about now. Sometimes you have a week where every workout hurts, your muscles feel fatigued, your soul unrevived, your splits slow, your technique heading towards hell in a handbasket. It's not surprising that it's this week, I guess. My husband is out of town all week (perils of marrying a pilot) and I never sleep well when he's not here. It's like my entire body system goes on Ultra-High-Alert and I wake up when the house creaks or the guinea pigs breathe a little too loudly. Normally, I don't think of myself as a woman who clings to my man for protection like Sondra Locke in a Clint Eastwood Movie, and with several years of martial arts and some hours on a firing range, I'm probably about as prepared to defend the fortress as anyone, but I have to admit that I sleep easier when The Man is around.

So I'm tired, for starters. And when you're a one-woman household with six animals (two of them geriatric) and two homeschooling, energetic kids (along with the accompanying chores), there's more to get done then there are hours in a day. Fitting in the workouts requires a lot of hoop-jumping, transportation, and an awesome network of good friends. One kid goes to a friend's house, the other to a dance class, and I jet out the door of the dance studio in my running shoes for a quick 6 miler before I have to pick her up. Ignore incredulous stares of sleek moms with coiffed hair and actual outfits (not thrown-on athletic clothes), take a quick spit-bath in the dance studio bathroom and we're off to violin lessons. Later on it's a DVD for the kids and I head to the basement and my bike trainer with the latest installment of 24.

The advantage of having done this training thing for more than a few years is that I know the slumps come and the slumps will go. I know if I go a little easier on myself (instead of freaking out and pushing myself harder as I might've done a decade ago) that I'll get through this, I will no longer feel like I'm swimming through molasses or running with a ball and chain attached to each foot. When the going gets tough, the triathlete still heads out the door, and eventually the going gets easier again.

In the meantime, I'm off to eat some breakfast with Hell.

Tri Tag

I was recently tagged on my Urban Farm blog (6 Weird Things About Me), and thought it would be fun to do a game of Tri Blogger Tag. I'm going to tag the people in my Favorite blogs list: TriGirl40, J. at Ironmanlife, Hakado Ru, Flatman, TriSaraTops, TriJack, Sheila at Mind & Body of Iron, and the Iron Kahuna himself.

If you've been tagged, answer these six questions, then tag six more folks.

1. Describe a memory from your first triathlon ever

2. Describe a memory from your most recent triathlon

3. What's the most embarassing thing that has ever happened to you in a tri?

4. What's the most thrilling thing that's happened to you in a tri?

5. What is something you discovered about yourself by doing triathlons?

6. What is The Big Goal that you're working towards?

My answers:

1. When I did my first triathlon, it was 1986 at Forest Grove, OR. My main goal was not to walk on the run, but my memory is of the bike course. It wasn't well marked and I don't remember any marshalls, just some chalk on the pavement. Several people got lost. I was biking along just looking at the pavement for arrows and almost ran into a cyclist ahead of me. It hadn't dawned on me that I might catch someone, so I wasn't even looking!

2. My most recent Tri was IMFL 2006. I had read in the race brochure that they wouldn't be letting anyone in the finisher chute but athletes, so when I came up the ramp and saw my husband and kids standing there, I just about burst into tears. We ran across the line together. The kids kept trying to stop and talk to me, and I said "We've got to run now!"

3. Hmmmm, that's a tough one since I've fallen over my own untied shoelaces before (I've gotten quick ties since those days). But it's probably the time I got passed in the run by a pregnant lady. I mean really pregnant. Did I mention I'm a slow runner??

4. Other than crossing the Ironman Finish line, I think it was a couple of years ago in the Hagg Lake Enduro Tri. I was coming out of T1 on my bike and there's a real steep upgrade out of the parking lot. This damn truck was in my way and driving very slow, I guess I thought some spectators or something. Then it stayed ahead of me driving very slowly and I was a bit annoyed. Until I realized it was the pace vehicle and I was the Race Leader! I've never come out of the water ahead of all the women and men before. I kept the pace truck through the whole first bike lap. Now that was a thrill!

5. Another tough one. I've been doing triathlons for half of my life now and I think so much of what I know about myself I've learned during training and racing. I guess the most important discovery for me was that I could change myself a little at a time. That big change doesn't have to happen immediately. In a society focused on instant gratification, this is such a huge thing to know and understand. I see it in training all the time, what is difficult today becomes easier tomorrow. But it has unending ramifications in all areas of life.

6. The Big Goal. I think I would like, someday, to qualify for Kona. I was only an hour and change away from the last qualifying spot in my age group at IMFL, my first Ironman. And with the dislocated toe and all that limping and my almost 5 hour marathon, I'm guessing I could be a whole lot closer than that. I think it's within my reach, one of these years. I'd probably wilt in the heat on the Kona course, I'm notoriously bad in the heat. But it would be cool to be there.

Why Cheat?

I'm just wondering what goes through the mind of someone who crosses the finish line at the Ironman when they know they did this at the first swim buoy (photo from here) or this out on the bike course (photo from this blog):

Why train for months or years for an Ironman, only to not go out and do an Ironman? Are people so wrapped up in the time flashing over their heads in their finisher photo that they've lost sight of what it really means to be an Ironman? How could you look yourself in the mirror wearing your finisher's shirt if you knew you'd cut time off of your swim or bike by cheating? I don't know the answers to these questions, but I do know that they make me mad for the sport that I have loved for over two decades.

Frankly, I was really really surprised to see the blatant cheating going on in IMFL. Maybe I haven't done enough big races lately. The half-IMs that I have done have not been official Ironman courses, so they don't attract as many people hoping to gain that coveted notch on their belt. I think I could've happily gone on not knowing that this kind of thing was happening. The races I've done lately, people will snap at each other for not falling back quickly enough, and the race officials come by slowly on the motorcycles and estimate bike lengths, so it's better to be safe than sorry and stay far enough away.

Sometimes it's hard. Yeah, it can be really hard. Sometimes following the rules can mean losing time, even when you know you're doing the right thing. As a faster woman cyclist, I'm all too familiar with The Passing Game that some guys will play. That's the one where you come up on a male cyclist, gaining on him over the course of time, but when you pull up beside him while passing, he pours on the heat and you have to drop back. As soon as you're behind him, he slows down again. You try again, same thing happens. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. I've had it take four or five tries to get past a guy who is determined that the ladies are not going to get past him, and yeah, that's frustrating. But it's also playing by the rules in an individual sport.

I recently got an opportunity in email to give feedback to Ironman Florida about the race. I minced no words about the blatant drafting going on out on the bike course, and the lack of officials doing anything about it (despite lip service at the pre-race banquet). I hadn't even seen the swim photos at that point (though I wish I had!) I urge anyone who is concerned about this sport to do the same for any race that doesn't put a priority on enforcing the rules. There's a great article here about this issue, on Michael McCormack's site, and the author gives several suggestions for changing this aspect of our sport:

• make staging a clean race a priority
• supply sufficient number of officials to cover the course
• ensure that officials are more than window-dressing and will actually enforce the rules

I have heard excuses such as "it's impossible for the officials to cover the whole course" or "there's too many cyclists", but I think that's BS. It would only take them cracking down on a few to make the rest of them break apart in fear of being caught. Just seeing 5 or 6 cyclists sitting in the penalty tent would probably put the fear of God into people. And those kayaks out there near the swimmers cutting the buoy - they could get in people's way, turn them around. I've seen it happen in other races, when people tried to shorten the swim course. That won't happen though until we, the athletes, speak up and make it a priority.

So take the time to let race organizers and officials know that you want a clean race. And then put on your finisher's shirt, look in the mirror, and be proud of everything you've accomplished, on your own.

Why I Love Running Here

It's not just because we have such a great variety of trails to choose from - I've run on forested paths, gravel walkways through the wetlands, bark trails through parks, and paved bicycle paths all in the course of a week - but also because there is such a great array of wildlife here. Even in the winter time, when there are fewer birds, the butterflies aren't out, and you mostly see fat squirrels running around, you can still catch a glimpse of something breathtaking. Today it was two bald eagles in a tree by the river. Another runner told me he's seen the two in that location lately and it looks like they're a pair. Of course, my silly little camera in my phone couldn't capture it at all, but that blob in the tree is a bald eagle. It was actually close enough I could see its white head and yellowish beak. Very beautiful! I wish I'd had my telephoto lens and my good camera, but I might have to return with the kids later this week if the good weather holds out and see if I can snap a few better pics.

Where Ironman Meets Mozart

When I was a kid, I had this unfortunate tendency to quit when the going got tough. Plenty of things came easily for me, so when things didn't go quite so smoothly, I guess I just made the assumption that it wasn't something I could do, and I quit. Even within subjects that were normally straightforward, if I struck a snag, I just gave up. Being a perfectionist didn't help, because if something didn't come out just right, I threw up my hands in frustration and walked away.

Sports changed my life. I know lots of people say that, to the point that it is a cliche. But more than changing my life in a broad sense (which also happened), becoming first a swimmer and then a triathlete began to change my essential approach to almost everything. Before that, I had always had an image in my mind of perfection, and if what I was doing, whether it was playing Mozart or painting a landscape didn't match that perfect image, my frustration became overwhelming and I would stop. In sports however, I learned that nothing is perfect. There is no perfection, there is only better. You can never run a perfect race, something can always be improved. Once you know this essential truth, you can accept that the only thing you can do is to make yourself better, in all aspects of life.

The other more critical thing I learned from sports was the principle of Incremental Change. You don't have to make yourself instantly better, you only have to try just a little harder today, and tomorrow your "normal" will be where "harder" was yesterday. Over a matter of time, once can go from barely being able to run/walk a mile to crossing the finish line of an Ironman. It's amazing how many implications this has in our lives. Whether it be work, hobbies, relationships, eating habits; once we know that the only change we have to worry about is a small and incremental one, then overwhelming problems stop being overwhelming and start to be manageable.

So the other day I was sitting at the piano facing a Mozart concerto that I want to be able to play fluidly. It's not there yet. But, unlike 30 years ago, I have the ability to take it one day at a time, to make each segment better in incremental ways. I now know that when I sit down a week from now, provided I've put in some diligent work, it will sound much better than it does today. I don't have to throw up my hands with an internal "I suck! I'll never be good at this!", but instead can tell myself "Just play the left hand three times, then play them together. It will be better. Tomorrow you can work on the right hand." I know this doesn't sound like much of a revelation, but to this perfectionist it's solid gold.

Passing these hard-won obvservations on to my kids has been a challenge as well. My kids have, quite unfortunately, inherited my perfectionist tendencies. Some lessons, however, are hard to put into words that don't sound trite and lecture-like. So more than anything, I've tried to provide opportunities for them to discover this themselves. Taking Karate together has been a place where both of them have had the chance to make this discovery. Things that were hard a few months ago come more easily now. And once a kid has had success in mastering one thing, they can take that observation to anything they want to tackle in life.

More than anything, I'm grateful for my college swim coach, who provided both the opportunity and the lessons that I needed to learn in order to be able to face my perfectionism bugaboo. Without him, and his edict that I tackle a triathlon, something that I thought I could "never do", my Mozart book might be slammed shut, my piano silent, and I surely wouldn't have crossed the finish line of an Ironman.

Now That's Something New

When I looked out the window this morning, it looked like typical PacNW winter weather: cloudy, a bit rainy, some fog thrown in for good measure. What it didn't look like until I was actually out the door in my bicycling gear was cold. Although it wasn't actually snowing, it somehow felt colder than snow. A peek at weather.com shows it was only 34, but it was that damp kind of 34 degrees that chills you to the insides of your molecules.

So I was biking down the street and ran into a friend of mine. We stopped to chat and that was when I realized that my face had gotten so cold I couldn't speak. It was like I had been to the dentist and gotten twenty shots of novocaine or something. The muscles around my mouth were completely numb. My friend and I had a few giggles at my hysterical drunk-sounding slurred speech, and I was off and on my way to the pool. I've done a lot of cold weather biking, but I don't believe I've ever actually frozen my mouth before. Time to pull out the balaclava I guess.

All I can say is thank heavens the pool has a hot tub. After biking there in the winter, my standard warmup is a good 5 - 10 minute soak before I even hit the lap lanes. Which is good, because this is week 2 of Tough New Coach, and the workout this week wasn't any easier than last weeks. This guy has a penchant for sprints and breathholding laps, and with my chronic anemia, it's one thing that I really stink at. Worse still, I got bumped up to the fastest lane, which meant I was hanging on by my fingernails and trying to just Stay In the Bubbles.

By the time I biked home, the sun had come out and it's simply gorgeous today. My face didn't freeze again, though my body was thrashed. And now I've got a cord of wood to move (thankfully I didn't have to split it), so I should fall into bed tonight without a peep.