Slow Triathlon Person.

Camp Whitcomb Mason Triathlon--8/14/11

2011-08-24T10:52:00.005-05:00

The First Year was a whirlwind, chaos.

The girls arrived and we spent most of our brain- and bodypower trying to figure out how to fill and feed bottles, bathe, diaper, play, put to bed (them and us), put to nap, keep children out of dishwashers, and teach how to sit, crawl, stand, talk, walk, climb, potty, dress, eat...it takes a lot.

We bought the house, the first house either of us had owned and operated since childhoods. We spent any spare brain- and bodypower learning how and taking care of the lawn, gutters, carpets, air conditioning, water softener, tub, cracked door, backyard playground, drains....the house is by no means a money pit but still, it takes a lot.

Needless to say, 2010's training and race performance faltered. A lot.

I'm not in The First Year anymore. The girls are delightful and grow more independent each day (well, each month at least). The house is under control. I had a sanctuary for the winter months and some good time this summer to get out and train. So when my lobster asked what I wanted for my birthday, there was no question--Camp Whitcomb-Mason triathlon.

CWM is a small race to begin with and for whatever reason was even smaller this year. We drove right in and parked immediately about 20 yards from T2 with half an hour before transitions closed. Unheard of. I set up, got marked and chipped, and awaited the start.

I had decided not to use a wetsuit for this one; the water temps didn't require it and the swim had been shortened to 1/4 mile, lessening any advantage it may have provided. Frankly, I remembered how difficult it was to put on in Pewaukee and didn't look forward to that embarrassment again. Not until the baby weight was gone.

Wave 4 (a tiny wave of maybe 20) departed 12 minutes after the start. I got into a great drafting groove and kept right on target with good sighting. My split after the swim was a bit slower than I expected, though; perhaps the wetsuit could've helped with buoyancy after all.

As long as I've known this race I'd had a mental block about the bike route. Oh my goodness those hills. Just get through it. Try not to die.

Not this time. I had the opportunity a couple of weeks prior to bike the route and you know what? They weren't that bad. I even broke 17 MPH average on the training ride. I went into this bike with a smile on my face, feeling confident that I could do this.

And I did. 22 miles, 4 major hills, 2 gels and one lost water bottle later I pulled into T2 proud of my sub-1:15:00 bike time. A quick shoe switch and I'm running out of transition to the faces of my smiling family jogging alongside for a few yards. I began this race hoping to break 2 hours for the first time ever and I was on par to do it.

Not much to say about the run. I was on a mission and I stuck with it. I ended up besting my previous CWM times by 14 minutes and 6 minutes.

Just the boost I needed. Onto Devil's Challenge.

Lake Mills (6/5/11) and Pewaukee (7/10/11) Triathlons

2011-08-23T19:53:00.004-05:00

Last winter I built a sanctuary.

Now that both children were sleeping through the night I could retreat to the basement a few nights a week to pedal or run out the stressors of parenting, snow removal, idiot governors, what have you. And while the weight gain continued, I found myself building back a base long gone from a disappointing 2010 tri season.

So what will 2011 have to offer? The Devil's Challenge tradition in September was set in stone, but beyond that we were stymied by the newfound challenge of our two now-totally-mobile toddlers. Triathlons are the types of events where there's lots to look at but very little of it interests small children. This leaves them to entertain themselves by running out into bike traffic, throwing sand, or having a meltdown. Because races start at the ass-crack of dawn.

Not wishing the task of solo toddler management on my lobster, we decided it best for the time being to stick to relays; thankfully my good friends Ben and Liz were more than willing to comply. We excitedly agreed to relay Lake Mills first.

The night before a tri is a breeze when you're only doing the run. Lay out running outfit, watch, shoes, and number belt. Done.

That morning we pulled ourselves together, threw our diaper bag, snacks and wagon in the back, scooped up the sleeping children and took off. At the race I calmly discussed with Lydie what those people in black rubber eel outfits were doing in the middle of the lake while Ben set up his bike and accessories and Liz climbed into her own wetsuit.

During the swim I gave a kid a piggy back ride. During the bike I took one to the porta potty. I could get used to this relay thing. When Ben came back I was standing there in T2, vibrating with energy and ready for my turn. Bend over, rip off the timing chip, reapply to my ankle, take off. My run time was the second-fastest I've ever had in a race. (I guess it helps when you don't do the first two legs.) I longed a little for the whole experience, but cherished the relaxation and calm of this event. It was a stress-free entry to the next tri season.

Shortly after Lake Mills we three were itching to do another one. We settled on Pewaukee for its proximity to home, but Liz and I switched legs (of the race, not on our bodies) this time. This meant donning my wetsuit for the first time in months. After a gain in baby weight I can't even blame on pregnancy, it didn't go well.

This race had a first. I'd heard of people getting punched in the face, dunked, elbowed, etc. during the swim, but touch wood had never experienced more severe violence than incidental invasion of personal space. Not so this time. Twice in one minute and clearly by the same person I was grabbed in the ankle, and on the third time literally pulled backward. I was pissed. I doubt he heard me as a yelled back at him to knock it off (I considered but refrained from a kick to the face to get my point across), but the rest of the swim I seethed: What is the point of grabbing someone else's ankle and pulling them back? Does he honestly think it will give him the thrust he needs to make it the last 300 yards? A-hole.

On top of it, this race is not spectator-friendly. From our parking spot to the beach to the finish line we had trouble maneuvering the wagon; spectators blocked our little one's views with an air of entitlement; we even lost touch with the other 2/3 of the relay for a while. The playground near the finish line was a welcome site, for by this time both the girls and the lobsters were tired of wheeling them around Pewaukee in the wagon looking for a place we could be.

Lydie and I did manage to see Ben's bike finish and Liz's start, and it reminded me of how much I enjoy the triathlon experience--the whole experience. I know it made sense logistically to stick to relays this year, but damn did I miss doing the whole race.

As before it was fun spending time with Ben and Liz and much easier being together with the girls. We don't think we'll do Pewaukee again. But what's next?

Tri-ing for Children's--7/25/10

2010-08-23T10:03:00.003-05:00

A sprint tri is usually over and done in less than two hours. The elites, first-timers, recreational athletes, age-groupers, and anywhere in between race together in sprints.

Not so for an olympic. It's twice as long. Only serious trained triathletes do these. It's what they do at the Olympics, for pete's sake!

(Or so I kept telling myself the times I honestly thought I was going to finish dead last.)

My plan was to tool along at a pace that wouldn't hurt myself and finish the race eventually. My lobster and the girls' grandma were on hand, swingset in sight, to entertain themselves--I could take as long as I needed. And I did.

The two-loop swim was the largest question mark. Though I'm a solid swimmer, I'd been in a pool only once since High Cliff, and this swim was nearly a mile. By the end of Loop One, I was by myself. No one in sight. Did everyone leave this solid swimmer in the dust? I know I've lost fitness but really? What the?

The two-loop bike had much-appreciated rolling hills and I kept a moderate pace. When I turned right to start the second loop....crickets. Alone. No one in sight. This was the first time I really wondered. "Am I last?!" I shouted to the volunteer at the corner. He assured me I was not but what did he know? Halfway through that second loop I glanced back to see another cyclist about 100 yards back. No consolation--she was probably a faster runner.

Remember, you're just doing this to finish. It's okay if you're slow.

The (again with the loops) two-loop run afforded an interesting opportunity to view exactly how many (if any) people were behind me as I closed in on halfway through the second loop. There was a handful--spread out, lumbering along like me, may or may not be in my age group. As I approached the finish I could hear the race director on the mike, no longer announcing the names of finishers but announcing the names of the winners for the awards ceremony. The transition area was being torn down, most of the bikes had already been removed. I finished with little fanfare, grabbed a water, and went to find my four biggest fans.

They had to wait a long long time, but they stuck with me.

High Cliff triathlon--6/19/10

2010-07-17T15:05:00.005-05:00

With no authority whatsoever, I've assigned labels to my activity levels:

"Training"--I have a specific race for which I am motivated to perform well. I most likely follow a plan that dictates my workouts. My exercise regimen covers 5-6 days a week of solid, purpose-driven workouts. I see improvement in my speed and endurance.

"Working Out"--I exercise 3-4 times a week. I break a sweat from time to time. I maintain my current fitness level.

"Random Bits of Movement"--Once or twice a week I find a window of opportunity to get out and move and I take it. I am slower than before but there's not much I can do about it at this point.

Approaching this race I hadn't had a training week in over four months, and the Random Bits outnumbered the Workout weeks by far. But it was important to me not to DNS (Do Not Start) this race. Most DNS's are due to injury or illness, but a few people get the bug to do a tri and sign up for one, but race day comes and they don't feel ready or haven't trained enough and they DNS. I've had a lot of life changes these four months, but I wasn't ready to become the person who signs up for races and then doesn't at least make a fool of myself on that course by attempting it.

The swim was shallow and choppy--most of it could be waded. I hadn't donned a swimsuit since September so this leg became how most people view it--the part I just needed to "get through".

The bike begins with a steep lumber up the side of a massive hill (or "cliff", hence the name of the race). I knew it was coming from my study of the race map the night before, but that doesn't mean I was ready. Thank goodness for low standards.

T2 flying dismount--perfect! It all came back, like (no longer) riding a bicycle.

Now the run...and mymap didn't say the first mile went up the same cliff as before. Blast. I resorted to walking portions of the hill, something I'd never done in a sprint before. It was worth it. It made the rest of the very scenic trail run slightly more enjoyable and the final downhill even sweeter. I charged to the finish line, pleased to be upright. The triathlete of 2009 would have been disappointed in the final time, but in 2010 all that matters is no DNS.

Madison Half Marathon--5/30/10

2010-07-13T12:59:00.007-05:00

It was February and I was deep in off-season base training. I had my whole race season mapped out with a half-marathon in May to kick it off, four or five triathlons (mostly sprints, one olympic), and maybe another half or full marathon in the fall. I had my standard goals to push me:

-20 MPH average in a race (on the bike, of course. Only cheetahs run that fast.)

-Nail that pesky mount (see Bigfoot for what not to do.)

-9 minute run miles

-Assess potential for Ironman Madison in 2011

Then one night my lobster and I got the phone call we'd been waiting for, and three hours later we're raising two tiny girls, 17 months old and 8 days old.

I didn't get to my 4-mile run that night.

I didn't work out for over two weeks since that night, thus beginning the life changes--a new job for my lobster, a new house, a new minivan, and a new tri bike. (I felt I deserved the bike for being an instant mom instead of the goal-seeking triathlete I was before. I then stored the (unridden) bike in our apartment shower stall for the first month after I bought it. No time to ride. See "instant mom".)

Somewhere along the way I said goodbye to my old goals. I didn't have the time or fitness to achieve them anymore. I've now put new goals in their place:

-Get out of the house and do a run, a bike or a swim once in a while so I don't get fat

-Be a person who can roll out of bed and do a triathlon without much training

-Share with the girls the exhilerating atmosphere of a race day morning

-Role model an active lifestyle in hopes of motivating the same in my young 'uns

Despite cutting my workout regimen by 90% or so, I showed up to the first race on the schedule, the Madison Half Marathon.
I told my fan club not to expect much, and Lobster just asked that I not injure myself attempting to finish this thing. It's not easy to set aside speed for a finish. I was never that fast to begin with, but as I plodded along for mile after mile, I hadn't realized how slow I'd gotten. Nevertheless, I finished. And for the time being, that will have to be good enough.

P.S. I'd be more than happy to post pictures of my cute kids instead of my rode-hard mug, but alas...foster care rules prevent it. Soon, I hope.

Lakefront Marathon--10/4/09

2009-10-10T12:26:00.013-05:00

For every race up until this point, I was able to look back upon its completion and name at least one thing I should have done differently.

Lake Mills tri--Worn arm warmers

Camp Whitcomb tri--Hit the timing mat at T2 on the first try

Spirit of Race Half Ironman--Never eaten that Clif bar

Bigfoot tri--Never gotten out of bed

I look back on Lakefront and I'm convinced I did everything right. And that's never happened before.

For 48 hours beforehand I religiously monitored my intake. (My best friend got married two nights before the race and I didn't even toast her with champagne, for pete's sake.) The day before the race I swore off fruit, red meat, and peanut butter. Race morning was a very safe piece of very safe toast and a banana.

We arrived downtown with plenty of time to muse about funny things whilst waiting for our ride.

(A quick photo before my cheering section went to go park at Mile 7.)

I arrived in time to warm up a little, stretch generously, and line up at the start. In Chicago, I assumed to run a marathon you just keep running the whole time. Today I had a different plan. I'm attempting the Galloway method of long-distance running, where the athlete forces herself to stop for 1-2 minute walk breaks every 4-10 minutes. This will maintain endurance for the last miles of the race. My plan was to walk one minute every 5 minutes of running.

I carried water, gels, and electrolytes in my fuel belt--the perfect amount mathematically calculated based on a goal finish of 4:45, 15 minutes faster than Chicago 2003.

SIDEBAR: I knew zero about race nutrition in Chicago. I pounded the gels that tasted good and figured it was normal to have....ahem..."GI distress" three times during a five-hour race. I now use a more organic gel that sits better. And I wash them down liberally with water, a trick I learned from my freakishly athletic friend Matt.

Back to Lakefront.

The gun went off. People were buzzing with excitement, chatting nervously with energy. The 4:45 Pace Group nearby had started a ritual where the Pace Group Leader would emit three sharp whistle blasts and the group would echo a resounding RAAAWWWWRRR!!! Someone commented about two miles in that the fresh roadkill near the side of the road "probably won't PR today". And EVERYONE was running. No one was stopping to walk. Well then neither will I, damnit. I make an executive decision to run to the first water station.

Sixteen minutes later I began a regimen of 7 min. running and one min. walking, a compromise that felt safe enough. I put down a gel every 40 minutes and stopped for water at every station. My lobster Erika and our friends Ben and Liz were cheering wildly at Mile 7 and I was still perky enough to greet them with silliness.

I see them again at about Mile 15 and I'm less perky.

Whenever I mentioned I was doing Lakefront, someone invariably mentioned the "mostly downhill" nature of the course, as if this will make the entire run an absolute breeze. At this point, however, I'm thankful for the flatness. My 7/1 regimen is working, but I'm starting to feel the burn. So to speak.

It's been said that the race begins at Mile 20. Most marathon training plans max out with one or two 20-mile long runs, which means after Mile 20 it's all brand new mileage. Mile 20 is usually when the walking, the vomiting, the cramping, and the grimacing grow more and more common. My Mile 20 revelation:

I'm doing it. I'm really doing it. I'm going to hit my goal time, and I feel okay. I'll keep this up until the last 5K, then kick it out. No more gels, no more gatorade. Don't need them.

At Mile 23 I stopped walk breaks and ran through with as steady a pace as I could muster. I was passing people. Spectators were telling me I looked strong, and while they could very well have been lying I said "thanks" anyway because I felt strong. It hurt like hell of course, but I was doing it. The 4:45 Pace Group was completely out of earshot behind me, so I had a good chance of breaking my goal.

The last two miles were lonely. We're running along Lakefront path, sandwiched between a busy two-lane road and Lake Michigan. Very few spectators line the path; they're all waiting at the finish. I knew I'd be done in twenty minutes or so, but darned if that wasn't the longest 20 minutes ever.

I heard the finish line music, turned the corner and saw the crowd. The finish line arc was straight ahead. I gave it everything I had. Final time: 4:42:17. And my legs hadn't hurt like that since...well, Chicago 2003.

But I wouldn't change a thing.

Camp Whitcomb-Mason--8/9/09

2009-10-07T19:00:00.012-05:00

It's impossible to compare results from two different races--apples and oranges occur in course distances, terrain, transition area size, wave size...I could go on.

Not this time.

It's on.

Self 2008 v. Self 2009

At Camp Whitcomb-Mason, I return for the first time to attack a course again, with a very clear goal: Beat the first time by five minutes or more.

The score will tally in my head as I push to emerge victorious. Over myself.

I begin the race in my birthday present--a full-sleeved sexy wetsuit, a master of buoyancy, the sultan of sleek, sure to chop time off my swim. And it does--about two minutes.

2009 Self--1

2008 Self--0

All summer I've repetitively hammered out the fine art of the "flying mount". Instead of bending over (or sitting down) and forcing dry bike shoes on wet feet, then hobbling like a duck out of Transition and mounting the bike, I now have my shoes clipped on the pedals ahead of time. I whip out of the wetsuit (thank you Body Glide), pop on the helmet, and run barefoot to the road, swing a leg over to mount the bike, pedal a bit to pick up some speed, then reach down as my foot slides into the shoe and fasten them shut. Minutes spared.

2009 Self--2

2008 Self--0

The forecast for the race was hot and humid. I came prepared. I had electrolytes tucked in my pocket, a little anti-dehydration trick I picked up in '09.

2009 Self--3

2008 Self--0

Turned out they didn't do much good. The heat had kicked in and I was dry from the swim by the second mile of a 22-mile bike ride. I had plenty of water and was taking electrolytes religiously every 15 minutes, but they weren't making a dent. Around Mile 10 I started to feel nauseous.

2009 Self--3

2008 Self--1

While the nausea subsided, it was clear by the 15th mile that I wouldn't hit my goal bike split.

2009 Self--3

2008 Self--2

T2 was a welcome sight. So welcome in fact that I overshot the timing pad and had to double back to pass my timing chip over it. Sigh.

2009 Self--3

2008 Self--3

I entered T2 just trying to stay upright. I was beat, mentally and physically. The rest of the race was just a 5K I had to get through.

I learned later that our friend Candice, spectating with my lobster at this race, commented upon my entry to T2 that "she doesn't look good". That was putting it mildly.

2009 Self--3

2008 Self--4

The run course did a very good job of providing cold water and sprinklers to run through for the athletes now competing in near-90 temps. I was just too far gone. I ran the best I could and it was all I had left, but in the end I finished about six minutes slower than last year. Chalk it up to weather, I guess. We'll be back next year.

Maybe.

Winner: 2008.

P.S. Or maybe not.

Every summer I worked at CWM, we eagerly looked forward to cheering Margaret across the finish line. She entered the race each year and finished last each year, but inspired us to tears nonetheless because of her spunk and vibrant optimism for a spry little woman in her 80s. This year I spied her before the race began and introduced myself, sharing with her what it's meant to us camp staff to watch her finish this race year after year. She finished last again this year, of course, but this time with the media attention and a full standing ovation of every athlete who had finished before her. Well done, Margaret. You win.

Spirit of Racine Half-Ironman--7/19/09

2009-07-26T21:20:00.015-05:00

We woke up at the usual 4:15 AM and followed the procedure--put on the laid-out race clothes, cooked the toast, and re-checked the bags. We drove off when the sun was beginning to rise.

An hour later we found a good-enough spot to park in Racine (Score!) and walked the five minutes to transition. My bike was racked yesterday in the best space I was allowed to take, so I simply needed to walk in and lay out my stuff. Towel down first, then running shoes in the back with my lucky green Wicked socks inside. Water bottle nearby to rinse off sand from the feet. Bike shoes in front, first two velcros open and ready to receive my feet. (Give the inside of each a quick dash of baby powder--helps ease of entry when feet are wet. From the water bottle.) A dozen gels and two energy bars split into two piles, one to pocket for the bike ride and the other to bring on the run. Bike pack attached to the back of the seat post and filled with electrolytes, one for every 15 minutes on the ride. Timing chip transferred to my ankle from the bike stem (placed there yesterday by the bike check-in guy so I wouldn't lose it), as it won't do me any good on my bike stem. The bag o' crap is now empty except for the stuff that comes with me--wetsuit, goggles, swim cap, and body glide, my saviour. Good thing too, as the loudspeaker has just announced that Transition will close in two minutes. What the? We arrived early! No matter. I exited just in time.

Body markers were standing just outside the exit--convenient, as I was not marked. With "264" on my arm, we began the walk to the starting line.

Twenty minutes later, I understood why they closed Transition early. (I'm a slow learner.) The swim is parallel to the shore and (thankfully) close enough to avoid large waves. If the swim is 1.2 miles and the end of the swim is at Transition, the swim start must be...about a mile down the beach. It takes a while to walk that far.

About halfway down the beach, I stopped to apply the Glide and don the wetsuit. It wasn't easy. Sand everywhere.

Erika stopped her walk there (I don't blame her--I would've too), so I hugged her goodbye and walked the rest of the way alone with my fears of the next seven hours. At the start I warmed up a little (a swim warmup and a pee-in-my-suit warmup) and chatted with some fellow triathlete friends I've made along the way. It's now time to line up.

My swim wave seemed big. Bigger than the normal 50 or so athletes surrounding you in a mass start, and it felt bigger when the horn went off. I had assured a friend a few weeks ago, worried about a mass swim start, that contrary to the horror story she'd heard no one will swim on top of you. In this mass start, I was grabbed, slapped, and actually swam on top of. The crowd thinned out a little after ten or fifteen minutes, to my relief.

I'm in a rhythmn and feel like I'm doing well. I was passed early and often, but now I'm doing the passing. No idea how long I've been going. Suddenly...the big yellow buoy was in sight. It was almost time to turn in.

Once on shore I started the cruelest part of the race--after a half-hour swim, they want you to run 50 yards across the sandy beach to get to your bike. In a wetsuit. I reached back, unvelcroed the wetsuit collar thingy, and pulled the cord to unzip it. Whip! Out came my arms. I heart Body Glide. I checked my watch. What the? The swim was about ten minutes faster than I planned! The wide-eyed look of shock on Erika's face as I jogged past her (wetsuit halfway down by now) confirmed it. Either the swim was measured quite short of 1.2 miles or I was having a rockstar of a day.

I reach T1, the transition area. Normally I'm in a frantic hurry to get in and out, but when the race lasts most of the day I don't feel as much of an urge to rush. Plop. Down I go. Zip! Out come my legs and feet. (A small catch on the timing chip, but nothing Body Glide can't handle.) Squiiiiirt! Extra water bottle=no more sandy feet. Gels in the pouch. Shoes on. Sunglasses on. Helmet on. I'm ready to go.

(I'm the one in the middle putting on the helmet.)

Erika and Greg watched the transition from beyond the fence. Apparantly Greg thinks I have a nice back. He should see my belly! (Oh wait...that's not right.)

Bike mount, smooth. Up the little hill. (I remembered to put my bike in a small chain ring before racking it yesterday. The worst thing in the world is setting off on a hill in a big ring. It feels like pedaling through cement and tipping over is a distinct possibility.)

I'd only done one 3-hour bike ride before today, and it was with a group of friends. We chatted, stopped for potty breaks, cracked some jokes, and overall had a nice leisurely time. This race was not like that. No one talks. We're in a constant state of passing and being passed. There's nothing rude or vindictive about it, it's just...boring. I looked forward to water stations just for the chance to talk to someone.

"Water?"

"Thanks."

About 2 hours in and my butt is sore from sitting. My neck is sore from looking up. I want it to be done. In a 56-mile bike ride it's encouraging when there's only ten miles left, until you remember that ten miles is still over half an hour with no TV and no one to talk to. Good news--my pace is smokin' (for me). I'll finish far before my projected finishing time.

T2 is in sight. I slip out of my bike shoes for the dismount. My mother-in-law is wildly jumping around and screaming, which was more a sight for sore eyes than I care to admit. I dismount on the wrong side of my bike, but I don't care. I'm in no hurry.

Into transition, and why won't my legs work? My jog is gimpy and fractured and I can only assume it won't stay that way.

Found my spot. Hang the bike. Pop off the helmet. Slip on the Wicked socks and shoes. Gels in the pouch. I'm ready to go. With my surprise, of course...

This was the first race in which runners weren't required to wear numbers--who knows why. I used the opportunity to make a sign for my Lobster. It read "For my Lobster". I wore it on my number belt to show her that I race for her. I couldn't be where I am today if it weren't for her undying support and encouragement. She's the best athletic supporter in the world.

My legs started working again and I'm thinking I can actually do this! I can finish a half-Ironman! I stick to my "take it nice n easy and walk through the water stations" plan and it's working. My stomach is revolting a little so I stay away from gels--nothing too serious, right? At the halfway point I see friends Candice and Matt with their young 'uns first, then a large posse of Erika, the in-laws, Greg, Ben and Liz closer to the turnaround. I whip around the curve, thinking an hour or so from now and this one's in the bag.

Oop! Not so fast. The mild uprising in my belly has turned into an all-out coup and stopping at the port-a-potty is inevitable. Three times. In an hour. Unbelievable.

Three miles left, and my legs are screaming. They wanna be done. Where the hell is that finish line?!!? They said I looked strong when I crossed, but it felt more like a lame hobble. I was done.

The medical staff approached me in the finishing chute and asked if I was okay. "I don't know". I really didn't know. She walked with me and suggested I stop off at the tent to be sure. By this point Erika had found me. Her job was to meet with me and walk me back to the group. I could handle that. I turned down the kind offer from Medical. (Ooh! Do you think they would've given me a ride in the ambulance if I amped up my pain? Or an IV?!!)

The walk back to my group was slow but rewarding. The medal hung heavy on my neck and my legs protested every step, but my friends and family collected there were proof that I had just finished the Racine Half-Ironman, my goal for over 5 months, my obsessive target, my dream.

Check!

Jitters.

2009-07-16T23:11:00.003-05:00

The other night at a gathering of friends I was talking shop with Matt, an experienced distance triathlete and a person I secretly despise because he's 3% body fat and he rolls out of bed ready to race on any given day whether he's been training or not. Matt suggested a new strategy for pre-race nutrition. (Difference #1 between devoted athletes and the normal world: What athletes call "nutrition", regular people call "food". Athletes literally plan ahead their nutrition intake for the crucial 48-hour window before a race. This is really just a fancy way of saying they watch what they eat.) Matt tells me that two days before the race, I should eat no carbs at all, then the day before the race eat as many carbs as possible. He backed up the claim with some bit I've already forgotten about the muscles' access to energy stores, or something like that. It made sense at the time, so I'm going to try it. No carbs at all tomorrow.

The point here is that my anxiety level about this race has risen to new levels. A list of anxieties I've been quietly harboring the past few days:

-The lake temperature last year was a face-numbing 55 degrees. This year it's currently mid-60s (quite manageable), but I worry anyway. You never know when Lake Michigan will plummet to its frozen depths again.

-The current forecast for the day is partly cloudy, high of 72 degrees, wind at 7 MPH. In other words, quite nice. But that could change at any moment. What if a hot front comes down from...Canada?

-My congestion has cleared, so I'm healthy as a horse. My taper week included 15-30 minute workouts per day, so I'm vibrating with excess energy. I'm guessing I'll either catch swine flu or pull something.

-My Lobster sent out an email inviting spectators to the race and five friends, two family, two toddlers and an infant are coming to cheer me on. That's a lot of athletic supporters. Or witnesses to my athletic demise. One of the two.

-I've been training for this thing for five months. That's a long time. Long enough? I've done all three distances separately but never together, one after the other, on the same day. It's gonna be a looooong day.

-And on top of it all, I emailed Matt tonight to remind me what foods are carb-less, because I'm pretty sure we don't have any.

It's amazing what the brain can make up to worry about when it faces a challenge.

Bigfoot Triathlon--6/28/09

2009-06-29T16:10:00.013-05:00

I started writing this post in my head during the run; that's how my day was going. I just wanted it to be over, because everything that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. I'm not berating my own abilities here, just acknowledging the middle finger that luck and circumstance had given me here at Bigfoot.

Weather.com had forecast calm, cool weather until noon, but the 5 AM whitecaps on the waves in Lake Geneva suggested otherwise. The half-mile swim tossed us all around like rag dolls and teased my tendency for motion-sickness. Thank goodness for my brand new full-sleeved wetsuit, right?

I love my wetsuit, and it loves me. A little too much. It wouldn't. come. off. I'm cursing under my breath in Transition as athletes fly by, whipping their own suits off while mine refuses to budge.

I'm finally free. I'm running to the road, ready to mount. My shoes are clipped into the pedals already so I step solidly on my left shoe, then knock my heel against the right to send it flying? What the? THAT'S not supposed to happen. A kind bystander retrieves both shoes for me (the left had managed to unclip itself somewhere in my "Son of a B****!!" moment) and I hunch over, embarassed, to put on the shoes and re-mount the bike.

The wind that caused the vicious lake waves continued. The bike route was a loop but somehow the wind was in my face the entire time. The entire experience defied physics.

Finally I've returned. The plan is a smooth-as-butter dismount, wherein I unvelcro my shoes and slide my feet out about 50 yards before the Transition gate, then swiftly sprint to my spot. Not today. The wind (again, that wind) off the lake, coupled with the only steep downhill of the ride, forced both hands to stay on the bars. I did manage to free one foot, but have you ever seen anyone run wearing only one bike shoe? It's not pretty.

I'm in Transition. Where's my spot? They all have blue towels, just like mine. (It was one of our goodie bag prizes.) But my wetsuit is inside out! I remember from when I was wrestling with it 46 minutes ago! Where's the inside-out wetsuit?! That one's not inside out. That one doesn't have a wetsuit. Wait a minute...
I'm in the wrong row.
I shuffle one row down, and my spot is there, laughing at me. I swear, I must've spent a good 45 seconds in the wrong row.

I'm off on the run now. It's almost entirely on a dirt/sand/rock/tree-rooted trail, so I'm pretty sure I won't be setting any records. At this point I'm nearly ready to give up and consider it a leisurely training run through the woods. I'm following the path by myself when I hear from behind,
"This way! This way!"
I'm running the wrong way. Another half a minute gone.

Now I'm writing the blog post in my head. And the rock in my shoe is cutting into my foot.

Thank goodness my lobster always knows the right thing to say. In the car ride home:

"At least you're really tan and your biceps are bulging and I can't even find your belly."

And she took some artistic liberties with her photography:

She got a kick out of this sign. I don't know why.

She may harbor some resentment for the exclusivity of the transition area. She likes to feel like she belongs.

I shouldn't say EVERYTHING went wrong. The port-a-potty line was amazingly speedy.

With the aforementioned biceps bulging, I attempt to don the new wetsuit.

Still working on it...(but look at those muscles!)

Holy crap this is hard.

My lobster snapped this shot to show my exit after a warmup swim. I included it to show the freakin' waves.

I love this one. I'm really just putting my hair in a ponytail, but don't I look like a model in a Pantene commercial?

This one pretty much sums up the day.

Post-race. Can you tell all we're thinking about is a hot shower and a nap?

And that's exactly what happened next.

2009-06-14T21:40:00.016-05:00

The Lake Mills Story:

Once upon a time a girl tried a new race--the Lake Mills Triathlon.

She brought Erika, her
Big Athletic Supporter.

Ben and Liz came
to see what the fuss
was about.

Even Mom and Dad came.
(Mom yells the loudest.)

They gave her a number and
drew on her arm.

She had trouble putting on her wetsuit.

And they're off!
She didn't want to come out of the water.
It was warmer than the air!

It rained the whole bike ride.

But the run was smokin' fast!

The End.

------------------

I was nervous coming into this one.

I heard rumors. The lake is 56 degrees! There's huge chunks missing from the road! The forecast is calling for thunderstorms! (That rumor was real.)

I was trying flying mount/dismounts for the first time. (Liz had some creative ideas for what these are.)

It was the first race of the season.

Can I do it?

The lake was chilly, but nothing a traditional pee in the wetsuit couldn't fix.

The rain and wind turned my bare arms to crimson, but my dismount was perfect. (I'll work on the mount for next time.)

The chunks were filled in.

The run was (BY FAR) the best I've ever had.

The moral of my Lake Mills story: When someone is cheering you on, telling you "You can do it!", the only thing stopping you is your own imagination.

Madison Half-Marathon--May 24, 2009

2009-05-25T12:43:00.004-05:00

(Alarm clock.)

"Honey, it's time to get up."

"I'm not going."

"Honey..."

"I got three hours' sleep."

I decided at this point to leave well enough alone; she'll come around. I brushed my teeth and changed into race gear and sure enough, by this time the bed was made and my crunchy lobster was climbing into her own race attire. It was just 4:30 AM talking.

The plan was to meet at the flagpoles between the starting line and the parking lot at 6:15 AM, plenty of time for the 7:00 gun. But we were very very late. We didn't account for little delays, like the gas station stop to go "#2" on the way, or the 1/2 mile traffic jam on both of the exit ramps to the race. (Madison's Brat Fest was a coinciding event in the same location as the race, and traffic from both were causing the unplanned holdup. It's never too early to eat brats and drink beer in Madison.)

We pulled up and ran to the flagpoles at 6:55, where my mother-in-law sat ready to hand off my number and a "good luck" while I dashed to the starting line. She and Erika would race in the quarter marathon beginning 45 minutes later, so they had some time to breathe. I had time to pee behind a tree but not in a porta-potty (lines were too long) and when the gun went off, so did I.

The plan was to take short (20-30 second) walk breaks every 10 minutes or so, and I stuck to the plan. The weather was perfect, the crowd was jovial, and I was cruisin'. I saw my sister and her boyfriend at mile 6 and we chatted long enough for me to run by. With 5 miles to go I stopped walk breaks and at mile 10 I started a quicker 5K pace. Then the knee started. It was a strange pain, not bad enough to stop but enough to notice and wish it away. Near the end I must've been limping. Still, I finished with a Personal Record time and downed my celebratory chocolate milk. I stretched a little, and when it was time we drove back home.

After the three hour nap my knee was too stiff to bend. We spent the night watching a movie with an ice pack, then a heating pad, then a beer--the only pain remedies I know. I went to bed not knowing how big a deal to make this thing.

And now? I'm not able to exercise today but I think it'll be fine pretty soon. I just wasn't ready to cut 2 minutes off my half marathon time without paying for it. Next up is a good old-fashioned triathlon--enough of these "running the whole time" events.

Yay chocolate milk!

5'4" is my excuse.

2009-03-29T16:45:00.003-05:00

At the dawn of my running career I thought it was the simplest of sports--if you want to run faster, move your legs faster and take bigger steps.

Bad news: I've tried and I'm not very good at it. Good news: I can blame it on my shortness. Short people take small steps, after all.

Since beginning my tri career two years ago I've picked up a few more tricks along the way. For example:

-If your foot strikes the ground in front of your body it will act as a brake, screeching your progress nearly to a halt with each step. (So that's why I'm so damn slow!)

-A midfoot strike (as opposed to a heel strike) may be more efficient. (This habit took some time to undo.)

-Ugly shoes make you run slower. (I knew it!!)

I incorporated these new tidbits into my regimen and prepared to watch minutes melt off my times. I have seen progress, but I'm still painfully slower than most people. So I reached outside the box this weekend and attended a running workshop held by a local pro triathlete with whom I've shared a few races these past two seasons. (The difference, of course, is that she wins them, packs up her stuff, eats a snack and goes home. And then I finish.)

I wasn't sure what to expect. How does someone else make you faster? I pictured the lot of us running around a track or even outdoors if it wasn't a typical March in Wisconsin (snow and sleet, 32 degrees). She'd holler instructions at me about my gait or posture or arm swing or ugly shoes. I'd correct myself. Shazzam!! I'd be faster!

It didn't work out that way.

A trainer did briefly analyze each runner's gait to correct any major flaws and advise us on proper footwear to fit our style. I have an efficient midfoot strike and require a neutral shoe. The prettier the better.

A large chunk of time was spent in a "run circuit"--Take a few laps around the indoor track, then pull over and pick one from a list of strength exercises and do a few reps, with trainers handy to gently push your butt down if you stick it up too high on your prone leg lifts. (I learned that the hard way.) The goal is to energize the little-used muscles in running, which translates to more efficiency all around. It made sense. And I think I finally learned why my legs, arms and back are well-toned but my core isn't. It might be because I never do any core exercises.

After an hour of our run circuit I was sore. My total running time never exceeded twenty minutes; it was the circuit part that did me in. I left a little depressed. Does this mean I've amped up my training schedule to 7+ hours a week, yet I still don't do enough?

This was several hours ago. Since then I've showered, ate a delicious grilled cheese sandwich, and spent the rest of my dividend at REI on some hot biking shorts. I'm going to find a way to incorporate the exercises I need into the workouts I already do without adding any more. I'll train smarter, not longer. And someday I will be a faster runner, no matter how freakin' short I am. Faster and with pretty shoes.

Feelin' fine in '09.

2009-03-01T10:53:00.006-06:00

I haven't written in a while.

This is not for lack of news in our household, but I leave that to the eloquent stylin's of my Lobster. This is a blog about triathlon, and truth be told, the off season isn't very interesting. To prove it, I will sum up the last 3 months in one sentence.

A recumbent bike proves you can work out while sitting and a treadmill is boring no matter what bad 90s Saturday morning movie is playing but when your workouts are all either biking or running but no swimming because it's cold out and the pool is only open at 5:00 AM (forget that) it makes for really solid base-building in the legs but slow deterioration in the core and arms so it's a wonder I don't flop over at the waist sometimes but a new era starts tomorrow.

I've set my '09 race schedule. In the serious (obsessed) tri world some athletes have "A" races (the ones they focus their training around for which to achieve the optimal peak of fitness), "B" races (important enough but no "A" race) and even "C" races (expensive workouts with a T-shirt at the end). This season I proudly announce to all: I have an "A" race.

Here's the layout:

May 24th--Madison Half-Marathon. I learned from Tyranena that the half-marathon distance is a nice blend of "enough challenge to warrant a few months of training" and "offers bragging rights the next day" with "won't be stuck on the couch in pain for a week afterward". Madison is one of my favorite places in the world, so it made sense to do their race.

June 7th--Lake Mills Sprint Triathlon. Within a half-hour driving distance, we won't have to wake up at Oh-My-God-It's-Dark-Thirty for this one. The distances and course are reasonable and I've heard good reviews so it should be a nice way to kick off the tri season.

June 28th--Bigfoot Sprint Triathlon. This is the race I missed last year from the bike accident, but the race director kindly transferred my registration so I'm back in '09--single vision, scars healed, helmet replaced, and ready to go.

July 19th--Spirit of Racine Half Ironman. This is it. This is the "A" race. A HIM (Half Ironman) nearly doubles my previous long race and brings me halfway to the ultimate goal--the Madison Ironman. A HIM is a 1.2 mile swim (in this case, a parallel-to-the-shore swim in Lake Michigan), a 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1 (half marathon) run. I'm familiar with the area and the event's organization from doing last year's Spirit of Racine Sprint. It seemed like a good venue to attempt the HIM distance. Never mind that last year's water was a frigid 59 degrees. That won't happen again (right?). Never mind that 56 miles is from our apartment to Illinois. Never mind that the race will take me the better part of 7 hours to complete. This is my "A" race, and tomorrow starts the 20-week training plan to complete it. My base is built and I'm ready to go.

August 9th--Camp Whitcomb-Mason Sprint Triathlon. This is the first race I will repeat. It's easy to say you've improved when every lake, every hill, every transition area is different from race to race. Last year I was 5 minutes short of my goal (sub-2 hours) in this race, and I'm back to try again.

October 4th--Lakefront Marathon. Since college I wanted to complete a marathon--(certainly) not to change my lifestyle, but rather to say I did one and be done with it. While still a smoker and with no knowledge of proper training techniques (or shoes), I met the goal in 2003 at the Chicago Marathon in just under 5 hours. I thought, never again. I couldn't walk very well for days after and it impeded my smoking. My life is very different now--I know more things, I have better shoes, and I'm trying again--this time in Milwaukee. An Ironman closes with a marathon run, so if IM Madison 2010 is the goal I sure as shootin' better be able to run one.

The off-season continues, but the end is near.

Tyranena Beer Run--11/8/08

2008-11-10T18:08:00.008-06:00

Each race has its own obsession point. For the sprint tri's earlier this summer it was all about the double vision; for the oly, it was breaking three hours. The Tyranena Beer Run is a simple enough concept--run from start to finish, then sit and eat pasta and drink beer. What's to obsess about?

Three words: Ten day forecast.

For each of the preceding ten days I monitored the weather for improvement and didn't get any. Race day was a 60% chance of rain/snow mix, high temperature 39 degrees, with wind gusts up to 20 MPH to make it feel more like 30 degrees.

But every race is voluntary, and I'm choosing to put myself through this.

It'll build character.
If I can do this, I can do anything.
There's beer at the end.

Despite my motivating self talk, I was more than fretting as we stood outside pre-race shivering and debating if my layers would suffice.

And then we were off.

Miles One and Two felt like a moving cocktail party, as clusters all around me conversed about whatever. I heard a girl behind me announce that now she was warm (!) about ten minutes into the race and I wondered if she and her friend had stopped to cuddle.

At Mile Five we passed a farm, and a girl nearby began talking to the cows. "How ya doin', big guy? Just eatin' some grass?" (The cow moo'd back about 50 yards later.) "Oh, don't worry! I'll come back! We'll hang out!"

Mile Six was a staircase of wide open road--wind in your face, wind at your side, repeat several times. Thank goodness for my Wicked green gloves.

Miles Seven and Eight turned onto the Glacial Drumlin Trail, a wide compacted trail blanketed with damp leaves and surrounded with just enough treeline to block the wind. Conversations stopped. Runners seemed transfixed by the methodical crunch of shoes on wet gravel. It was peaceful enough to forget that your legs ached.

Mile Ten was a cruel joke, as the mile marker said "11", so for ten whole minutes I had no idea if the race was 13.1 miles or 12.1 miles.

Mile Eleven confirmed the race was 13.1, as that mile marker also said "11".

The last 5K was a mind game--a constant reminder to myself that I've run this distance a thousand times before, and it's almost over so pick up the pace, damnit. When I rolled across the finish line at 7 minutes faster than my goal time, I was hurting. It was a deep, aching, shooting kind of pain.

(Dan and I feigning joy to hide the pain.)

As it turns out, our anguish could only be relieved in one way:

Cold weather? Ha!

Shoe Karma.

2008-08-25T10:36:00.010-05:00

After a two-hour training run/walk resulting in the "it's painful to step, oh why can't I just levitate?" feeling, Erika and I decided that if we were going to train for this half-marathon, we both needed new running shoes. Off we go to Dick's Sporting Goods. (We were ready to graduate beyond the on-sale athletic shoes at Kohl's. Plus we had a coupon for Dick's.)

In the past, Erika always looked for only one thing in her shoes. Do they look hot? Are they cute on my feet? Am I stylin'?

(Erika's old running shoes: fashionable, but blister-inducing)

I told her this was an awful way to shop for athletic shoes. I told her it was unreliable, invalid, and cause for further future hot spots, blisters, soreness, or all of the above. I talked her into having higher standards, and with open minds and coupon in hand, we tried on New Balance and Asics, with a eye on Reebok, Adidas, and a brand or two I'd never heard of.

An hour later, we're elated with our choices. They're light as a feather and simulate running on pillows, as we learned from taking laps on Dick's 50 meter indoor track.

Now for the irony. Erika's are stylin'. She's a hip running chick.

Mine are...kinda ugly.

They're clearly the best shoe for me, but do they have to have metallic space suit stripes? And seriously...paisley? On a running shoe?

This is what I get for having higher standards.

Let us reflect...

2008-08-22T16:43:00.002-05:00

on the Olympics.

I believe "Rhythmic Gymnastics" is the Hallmark Holiday of the Olympics. Hm, what sports drive people to turn on their TVs and watch for hours on end? Gymnastics? Okay, let's make up a sport that looks something like it so we can double our coverage. Please.

Everyone loves Dara Torres for showing young girls that age doesn't matter, and I love her for it too. I also love the subtler, more powerful message she gives just by standing on a swimming block--I am thin because I am healthy and fast, I am not thin just to be thin.

A sport should only be in the Olympics if you break a sweat. Guns do not belong in the Olympics, unless the wielder is being chased by a bear.

I feel badly for Olympians whose experience boils down to one race. Four years of six-hour training days, lives and families on hold, and all their biggest dreams culminate in one day, one event. What if they get the flu? Some bad chicken in their lo mein? What if their bike gets a flat, or a runner cuts them off and they fall down and sprain something? On the other hand, what if a no-name from a lonely poor country has the perfect day, and everything comes together? I guess it goes both ways. Hats off to the marathoners, triathletes, road racers, and distance swimmers who pin all their hopes on one good race.

Fencing freaks me out a little. Here! Let me stab you with my pointer until your helmet beeps, and then we'll stop, take a break, then do it again!

We will never again see an opening ceremony like the one in Beijing. I think 2012 will look 180 degrees different, because London isn't even going to try to compete with that one.

It's tough to compete in a sport with judges. Essentially the athlete is pinning their hopes on the opinions of judges, and I wonder sometimes how often a fourth-place finisher feels jilted or robbed. How often do they blame the judges? Does that make it easier to lose?

Michael Phelps for President.

8/17/08--Pleasant Prairie Triathlon

2008-08-18T19:04:00.007-05:00

In the lingo, an "oly" (rhymes with holy moley) is an olympic-distance triathlon, and Pleasant Prairie was my first one. The near-mile swim, 25 mile bike and 10K (6.2 mile) run was twice my usual distance, and twice the lessons learned.

I obsessed about this race--was my training adequate? Why are my legs always sore? If I'm peeling off my wetsuit and it sticks to my feet, will I tip over? And the ultimate dwell: I want to finish this race in three hours. For the week leading up, I managed to turn conversations about politics or our checking account back to the race, and it was starting to take the fun out of the sport (and our marriage). Lesson Number One is to focus on having the best race I can have that day and let the rest take care of itself.

Lesson Number Two is to cut my toenails. I didn't fully realize until the race was over and the shoes came off how bloodied and wounded my toes had become, thanks to a rogue pinky toenail that had free reign during an hour-long run.

Lesson Number Three applies to the swim portion as well as real life--be careful who you follow.

Drafting is perfectly legal and very advantageous in swimming; simply sidle yourself behind a comparable swimmer (without getting kicked in the head) and ride their current. On the long side of our .9-mile triangle I did just that. As we were swimming directly into the rising sun and it was near impossible to see the buoys, I figured I would draft behind this kind lady and let her guide me to the next turn. A few minutes into it I stopped seeing others around us, and a quick look around found us in the middle of the lake, twenty yards from the rest of the pack. Drat.

After my post-race nap I checked the results online. I already knew from my own watch about how fast I had completed each leg, but the online version gives me my times compared to all other females age 35-39. Lesson Number Four comes here. My overall age group rank was 41st out of 58--not in the top half (as I'm accustomed) for any portion except the swim. But here's the thing--I finished in less than three hours. So I think I'm slowly learning (the hard way) that it doesn't matter how well I do compared to others, so long as I'm improving myself.

Yesterday was the last triathlon of my '08 season. I already have plans for the off-season; I know how I can improve. Lessons learned.

8/10/08--Camp Whitcomb-Mason

2008-08-11T18:13:00.011-05:00

Here they are, in arbitrary order: The top 10 highlights of the Camp Whitcomb-Mason Triathlon.

10. A chilly morning prevented me from arriving in my usual red sassy shorts. Instead I kept my ginormous blue scrub pajama bottoms until it warmed a little. I won't complain; a chilly morning means comfortable race weather, in this case sunny and 72 degrees.

9. Camp's bike route is known for its hills--big and small, steep and rolling, all adorned with the curse words of triathletes who just want to finish, damnit. I put my quads to the test in this race, and did okay.

8. At the lakefront some top 80s tunes were blaring from the sound system, so my warm-up turned quickly from a jog around camp to some dancing.

7. My father-in-law Dan braved the hilly bike course and trail run to make CWM his first triathlon. Here he is putting pre-race nerves aside to pose in his stylin' swim cap.

6. I also look cute in a swim cap.

5. I began working summers at Camp Whitcomb-Mason in 1996, and still have friends there today. This place holds a special spot in my heart--it was here at the fire ring, singing songs like "Princess Pat" and "Friends" that I began to learn who I am. I never in a million years thought I could finish the triathlon, though.

4. The delicious banana nut muffins were free to athletes after the race.

3. The lake was a bath-water 79 degrees, but the first and last 50 yards (not the middle) were marred with seaweed. I will use it as my excuse for the slow swim time. Yes. Seaweed.

2. Of course, my lobster Erika was on hand as my photographer and athletic supporter, as I am eager to point out in this snapshot.

1. The majority of volunteers in this race are camp summer staff. This means you will encounter twentysomethings at every turn singing "Boom Chicka Boom", doing the wave for you, or naively but supportively cheering "Almost there!" when you have four miles left to bike and a 5K to run. They're the best volunteers of any race I've done.

Next race--Pleasant Praire Triathlon, Olympic distance.

Single and Lazy.

2008-08-08T14:52:00.003-05:00

I have a race on Sunday, so no working out today.
Erika has been out shopping with her mother for the past four hours, so I have the apartment to myself.
Welcome to my life if I were single and lazy.
So how have I spent the day?

1. Drive to Half Price Books to buy a book Erika wanted.
2. Stop at GNC to pick up a multivitamin (we're both low in iron).
3. Stop at Target for sundries.
4. Swing by Good Harvest Market to get a post-race recovery snack and Erika's favorite cookie.

And once I'm home:
A. Disassemble the fan and air conditioner to wipe down each, as the dust is giving Erika headaches.
B. Clean out the dishwasher, because it's ready and I'm bored and Erika hates doing it.
C. Blog (about life without Erika).

If it isn't painfully obvious, 85% of my daily activities somehow involve my lobster, and the percentage jumps dramatically if she's actually with me. Which begs the question: What the hell did I do with my life before I was hitched?

Does anyone out there remember their single life?

I wish there were two of you, but alas...

2008-08-03T16:34:00.003-05:00

It's Friday night, my lobster and I have beaten off with sticks all incoming offers to hang out, so here we sit watching episodes of The West Wing on DVD.

She pauses midway to fix a snack and I'm reminded of recent advice from the eye surgeon: take the prism off your eyeglasses once in a while to test your progress and get your eyes used to working on their own again.

Why am I reminded of this in the middle of The West Wing? The truth is, with the TV on "pause", the room dark, I had nothing else to think about but how irritated I was with my one cloudy lens (the left lens with the prism on it gets cloudy from time to time). (Since we're on a truth tangent, Erika and I didn't beat off any incoming offers to hang out, either. We welcome them, if anyone is interested.)

Sitting in one place and watching TV seems like a safe way to experiment, so I go to the bathroom and take off the prism (it peels off like a thin rubber magnet). Instantly I'm back to double--two picture frames of Grandma Clare, two Erikas, two frozen images of the Deputy Chief of Staff. I think, it's too early. I'm not ready.

Fortunately, Erika takes a while to make brownie sundaes with strawberries. While I continue to wait, they continue to adjust. By the time she's ready, so am I. My vision has somehow become single and we watch the rest of the episode. Feeling like my lucky night, I go spend some time on the computer. At first, I'm feeling my eyes working--a strange sensation. Normally we go through day-to-day movements that our muscles never feel, like drumming your fingers or blinking. I could feel the muscles around my eyes concentrating on pulling it all together; they're like a tweezers we squeeze shut, and at any moment they could spring back open. But they never did.

Yesterday I put the prism back on for my bike ride. (I'm not crashing that stupid bike twice.) Hopeful and curious about last night's new territory, I peel it off once I'm home and get ready for a cookout with Erika's family. With no eye strain and good single vision, I drive us there. Talk about appreciating the simple things in life...Look at me, mom! I can drive with no prism! I actually choked up. The bright sun was brutal, but thankfully I only saw one of each relative.
Today I laid all my cards on the table. I woke up, put in my contacts...and went running. The ultimate test, running. Talk about massive unnecessary movement, not at all like The West Wing. The world was shaky, but now I'm starting to wonder if the world was always shaky when I ran and I never noticed. No double vision.

Here I sit, a nap and several hours later. A headache and some eye strain have forced my contacts out and glasses back on, but they are still without prism.

Nearly two months later, I'm almost better.

Can someone hand me my walker?

2008-07-26T22:23:00.003-05:00

I've decided that it's mostly true what people say about age being a state of mind and what matters is being young at heart and blah blah blah.
Mostly true.
Next week I turn 35, which by numeric standards is "middle aged".
Yet,
I run miles every week.
I bike even more.
I swam nonstop for an hour the other day.
Young at heart, right?

So how the hell did I pull a muscle in my back and resort to the use of a heating pad and Motrin just to be able to sit on my own couch and watch a rerun of The West Wing? In what insanely vigorous task was this young-spirited triathlete engaged to cause such an instant and painful reaction?
I was bent over the other day...

scrubbing the toilet.

You're only as old as you feel. Do I qualify for the Senior Discount now?

7-19-08--Spirit of Racine

2008-07-19T20:19:00.010-05:00

With every passing minute it seemed like Spirit of Racine, my first solo tri since the accident, was becoming less and less of a good idea. It was 6:15 AM and raining, and I wasn't keen on biking through puddles. (I still have an aversion to using my brakes, much less in the wet.) I had been obsessed for the last 48 hours about the water temperatures of Lake Michigan, which at last notice was 59 degrees. The race website had cheerfully reminded us athletes to "Bring your wetsuit!", but at this point it didn't look like it would make much of a difference. A damp and heavy fog had settled just beyond the shoreline where the athletes follow the buoys on the swim course, and we began to seriously consider if I would be able to physically see well enough to stay on track.
We were tired from our 4 AM wake-up call (Erika didn't sleep at all last night) and save the $80 registration fee I was more than half-hoping a single bolt of lightning would've called off the race so we could go home and crawl back into bed.
After we spent some time sitting in the car and grumbling, we made our way back down to the beach to watch the start of the Women's Triathlon, an hour and a half before mine. The fog had lifted and the rain was temporarily holding off. The horn went off for them and we watched as they high-stepped into the water and immediately began screaming four-letter words. The women in the front bravely dove in and we walked along the shore as the leader swam her route parallel. I can't explain fully what it did for my optimism, my attitude to watch her swim. It meant it was possible. It meant it wasn't the end of the world. She emerged 12 minutes later to cheers and applause, and by her not being dead it meant that I could do it, too. I was starting to change my mind about today.
The next half-hour or so I spent setting up my own gear. The rain stayed away and so I started to picture actually getting through the race instead of driving home. With time to spare, we were back at the Starting Line so I could acclimate to the water.

Fifty-nine degrees is cold. I'm talking burning, biting cold. I'm talking "I've been standing in this sh** for 30 seconds and now I can't feel my own damn feet" cold. I stuck my face in only because I was warned that if you're not ready for it, it will take your breath away. I should mention at this time that on BT, the website I frequent for triathletes, I've read a variety of advice in the discussion forums on handling cold water. Wear two swim caps instead of one. Check. Pull your caps over your ears to minimize dizziness from inner ear hypothermia. Done. Pee in your wetsuit. What?!
It's true. In all seriousness it's been suggested to pee in your wetsuit to warm up the material in contact with your skin. The advantage is that given the material of a wetsuit, you can be surrounded by hundreds of people and start peeing and no one will know it. So partly out of necessity to pee, partly to feel the affects and partly just for fun, I peed in my wetsuit about five minutes before the race started. My lobster was on hand for the picture.

There's not much to say about the swim part of the race. Lake Michigan was surprisingly clear and clean, but with my poor vision (and double vision) I was entirely too focused on heading in the right direction. I felt strong in the water, but I was still getting passed. It became in my head the part I just had to get through. I checked my watch when I was finally able to stand up again half a mile later--best swim time ever. Who knew.

Six minutes later I was on the bike, my least favorite leg of the race, but I felt cruisin' and I was making good time. It started to dawn on me--maybe this isn't a race you just need to get through. This could actually be a good race. Let's see what happens.

Now I'm running on a course I heard was "flat and fast", so what the hell is this hill doing here? A girl I stuck with on the bike was walking, and I passed her on the hill, only to have her pass me again when she started running. Stupid luck. But the cloudy sky and 70 degree temps were perfect running weather, and the end was in sight.

I raised my hands in victory when I crossed the finish line, not just for getting myself back in the game after the summer's events but for a personal best time by three minutes. Near the end of the finish line chute a young volunteer handed me a plaque--Third Place. What the? In each age group (mine being 35-39, even though I'm not 35 yet--bitches) this race gives out awards to the top five, and the plaque said Third Place. I'd never even come close to an award before. My lobster flooded me with praise and pictures, we sat and ate a post-race PB&J sandwich, scooped up my now-soiled wetsuit, and headed for home.
On the race website I checked my official times this afternoon. It turns out I came in 4th place, not third. But I don't care. It was a good day, and I'm back in the game.

Feels Like the First Time.

2008-07-17T16:39:00.003-05:00

Isn't there an 80s big hair ballad with that line ("feels like the first time") referring to love or smoking dope or something like that?
Anyway, this Saturday's triathlon, Spirit of Racine, is starting to feel like the first one ever. Let me break it down:
A. The forecast calls for rain, and races don't cancel except for lightning. But it doesn't call for lightning, it calls for rain. Like normal humans, I don't go outside in the rain, at least not to hang out.
2. The swim is in Lake Michigan--current temperature at location, 66 degrees. I'll be racing in a wetsuit for the first time ever, and how on earth am I supposed to show off my well-toned calf muscles in a wetsuit??
D. I started training again about a week and a half after the accident, but can't hit my pre-accident times. I'm just not as fast as I used to be, so I've affixed a small outboard motor to the back of my bicycle.
5.2 This is the first all-out, puke-at-the-end race since the accident.

So I'm a little nervous. If you happen to be awake and aware at about 9:00 AM on Saturday, send a good vibe my way? Reader?

7-13-08--Danskin Triathlon

2008-07-14T12:17:00.016-05:00

I had been to the Danskin triathlon last year, giddy with excitement but feeling like throwing up a little at the same time. But this year was different. I was there again, but not for me.
A while back my mother-in-law Tracy was deep in her new obsession with finding half-marathon races and walking them at breakneck speed. (Seriously, I've been out training with her--I have to jog to keep up.) We were comparing notes about our prospective athletics-of-choice, and from nowhere she had decided that with someone with her during the race as a guide (Tracy is legally blind) and with a whole lot of work (Tracy doesn't swim), she could do a triathlon too. She signed up for Danskin '08, which was yesterday.
We knew she wasn't the only first-timer; at the expo yesterday they asked for a newbie
show of hands and nearly every hand went up. It didn't matter--we could still feel the anxiety she felt as we walked to the transition area to set up this morning at 5:30 AM.

SIDEBAR: Triathlons are pretty short races overall--the winner is finished in a little over an hour. A person could complete a sprint and still have time in the day to go grocery shopping, meet a friend for a movie, cook brats on the grill for dinner, and finish a book. More importantly, there's time in my case to go back to bed for four hours, because the price you pay for your early finish is an early start. We live an hour from Danskin, which meant a 3:45 AM rise. That's freakin' early in the day.
We were in Wave 8 for the race, which (fortunately) meant not much time to get nervous. I requested a "swim angel" for Tracy. Swim Angels are volunteers with styrofoam noodles who accompany swimmers across the lake to offer support, encouragement, and styrofoam when needed. They were short a few angels, but gave me a noodle to use. I was her guide and her angel all in one. The countdown began and Tracy put on her Game Face.

I had told her all along to just "get through" the swim, and the rest will take care of itself. So here we were, in the middle of the lake, rotating between a made-up stroke on her back, a surprisingly strong sidestroke, and some kicking with the noodle. We saw swimmers cruise on by us, swimmers clinging to the rafts for a break, even a swimmer rescued from fatigue by a lifeguard, but mostly we saw a lot of women getting through the swim any way they knew how. We finished the swim 17 minutes faster than her estimated time. I think it's because she never stopped moving forward.

Our plan for the bike ride was for me to follow closely behind her so she could set the pace, and I would zoom ahead temporarily only if a turn or hill were coming. We scrapped that plan the moment we left the transition area; there were just too many bikers, spectators, cones, and volunteers. I led the way, looking back once in while to make sure we were still together.

SIDEBAR: My opthamologist prescribed a stronger prism for my eyeglasses this week--my double vision just isn't getting any better. The good news of this is that I'm now able to turn my head while moving; with the weaker prism I would've tipped over.

Many times I'd look back and hear a polite but chipper "I'm right behind you!" This was code for "C'mon Jenn move it, we can go faster than this." A few times I looked back and she wasn't there. This happened on steeper-than-rolling uphills, and her fat-tired bike combined with the 20 MPH headwind caused a few unannounced stops to walk the bike. I'd wait for her, we'd continue our trek, and before long I'd get another "Right behind you!" We finished the bike at the very beginning of our estimated range.

We already knew at this point that the race was hers. Tracy has completed three half-marathons in the past year, each one faster than the last. She was giddy with excitement in the first mile, chatting to no one in particular about how the day has gone so far.

Erika and Dan (Tracy's husband) had positioned themselves at several key points in our race, so we talked about the times we'd seen them and how surprised and excited they were at our progress so far.

Then it slowly dawned on her: If she buckles down and keeps a solid pace, she could beat her goal time...by twenty minutes. We stopped chatting. I can't walk at her pace, so I would jog ahead a little, stop to walk, and let her catch up to me. She jogged with me a few intervals.

When the finish line was in view we ran in with arms raised and big smiles. It was a victory for both of us. Tracy knew she could walk fast all day long if she wanted, but today she took a leap of faith and tried things she never thought she was capable of. And she succeeded. She felt on top of the world. For me, I got to run a race post-accident, without the pressure of beating my times or the girl next to me. I got to see if I would be able to get back in the game. And I did.

We crashed from our adrenaline highs on the ride home. Full of our post-race snacks (chocolate milk and a gluten free nut bar for me), Erika and I walked in the door and immediately sank into bed--for four hours.

Not a bad way to spend a day.

Vibrating stop signs can be cool!

2008-06-29T11:54:00.004-05:00

Normally I wouldn't blog about such a mundane experience as a 3 1/2 mile run, but yesterday was my first run outside since the accident and with my vision even a casual jog up the street becomes...trippy.
You know how your body bounces a little with each step as you run? (Duh.) What we never stop to think about is how all the other objects stay rooted where they are. Why? Because mailboxes and front porches don't move in real life.
Not for me. Within a few yards it became clear what this run would be like: My vision bouncing like anyone else's, and everything else around me bouncing too. I felt like I was on acid, watching parked cars and driveways jarring themselves loose from stagnation, sometimes bouncing into double images, sometimes staying together. The world was a Mexican jumping bean.
Before long I figured out what I needed to do. I kept reminding myself,
"Jenn, just remember that these things are not moving in real life. Just keep running. As for your inability to gauge if the sidewalk is sloping up or down, just try not to biff it. And if you do, thank goodness your lobster made you carry your driver's license and her phone number on a post-it because she doesn't let you to leave the house without them anymore."
Clearly, it was more an exercise of the mind than of the legs. Which is why I'm taking a rest day today.

Step One: Get back on.

2008-06-22T15:59:00.002-05:00

Today was my first workout since the accident. I went down to our building's fitness center and pedaled for an hour on a recumbent bike (sitting=safer).

TANGENT: I wear an eye patch (temporarily) to correct the double vision and rest the left eye in hopes of healing the broken nerves there. My sweet loving supportive lobster calls me a pirate and sticks random "AAARRR!!s" into conversations at least 18 times a day. Point is, a recumbent bike is a seated position and therefore more stable than on my feet. I went for a walk around the block yesterday, and in an experiment of curiosity removed the eye patch to test balance. I stumbled off the sidewalk and I'm pretty sure I trampled on my neighbor's flowerbed.

I didn't try any hills or any speed intervals today. My RPMs and my pace were off. I didn't feel as strong.

I was slow. But I'm comin' back.

Venting.

2008-06-18T18:58:00.003-05:00

The doctor yesterday said I should take my progress "one week at a time".
It's been a week since the accident and I'm officially ready to vent.
I'm depressed. My eyes don't work together, so blurry-and-double vision means mild throw-up feelings unless I'm napping or I shut one eye (doesn't matter which eye). It's sunny and 75 degrees but I can't go for a run. My pool ID is ready to be picked up but I can't go for a swim. My helmet is cracked so I can't go for a ride. Words jump around the page when I read, even straight hallways swerve, and my only reprieve is my afternoon 3-hour nap. I can't even sip a beer on my balcony to celebrate summer vacation.

"It could be worse", they say.
"It'll get better."
"This is normal."

Yeah, I get that. I can still be pissed about it for a day, right?

P.S. The traumatic brain injury specialist guy rated my cognitive ability in the "high average to superior" range. I'm going to paraphrase it to mean I'm the smartest person he's ever met.

Recovery--the Bright Side.

2008-06-16T13:05:00.004-05:00

I haven't written in forever, and when I do write it's not very often about training or races. I was going to change all that with a sneak peek into next week's race (the first of the season, mind you), when "the accident" happened. Now there is no race next week, nor is there training planned until the brain injury specialist tells me I'm safe to go out by myself. So here I sit, a weird combination of double vision and cabin fever, trying to look on the bright side:

-The Bigfoot Triathlon was a half-mile swim in Lake Geneva: Current temp, 63 degrees. That's cold enough to numb your girl bits, I'll tell you what.
-Like my athlete blogmate Krista, I'm a late "Lost" bloomer. Look who has time to catch up on the first two seasons now! Take that, mysteriously elusive plotline!
-All school year I lamented at my inability to take 3-hour mid-afternoon naps. No more.
-My lobster waits on me hand and foot, and she feels good about doing it. "Note to Recovery: Take your Time."
-Everyone I hang up the phone with ends with an "I love you". If you need a self-esteem boost, go for the sudden head injury/hospital stay and watch the affection pour in. (To the "I love you" senders reading this, I love you too.)

Time for a nap. Training will have to wait.

Note to self: Run faster today.

2008-05-10T21:28:00.005-05:00

It's kind of funny (but not that much) that it's been six months since my last training- or race-related post. I figured it just wasn't that interesting.

Nevertheless, here goes:
I'd never given much thought to running style. The goal is to put one foot in front of the other real fast; how many different ways could there be? By the end of last season I was tired (no pun intended) of being slow, so I began my search for the Holy Grail of running advice. Maybe I could find a little nugget of wisdom to transform me.
I found such a nugget. Apparently my legs were not moving fast enough. Seriously. It sounds so simple, but in essence it is much faster and easier over the long run (seriously, enough with the puns) to shorten your stride and quicken your step, minimizing the amount of time your feet spend on the ground. They say to aim for 90 steps per foot per minute. Picture one of those little desert lizards with short little legs, scuttling along on the sand.
And how do I run? I lumber. My feet land like dead weights on the pavement and don't pick up again until I'm about to fall forward. My stride isn't long, but that's only because I'm 5'4". My steps per minute were only about 80.
Like the elite athlete I am, I tried out this new technique, improved a little, and then got lazy and forgot about it. I was reminded by a post on Beginner Triathlete this week, describing his massive improvements once his stride count was up to 90. "Oh yeah! That's supposed to work!", I remembered.
I went out and tried it today. And I felt like a fool. Ninety steps per minute are some short-ass steps, I'll tell you what. I didn't know my stubby little legs could rotate that fast. But at the end of the run, my heart rate was down and my time was decent. So I'll try it again and see how it goes.
That is, until I forget.

It could happen.

2008-04-20T18:03:00.003-05:00

Today I test my newfound gun strength in the push-up challenge. So after ten days of 100 push-ups, what's my magic number?

Zero.

About halfway through the ten days I started feeling a nagging twinge of pain in my right shoulder. I attributed it to my growing muscle; why my muscle was only growing on the right side, I didn't bother to figure out. By Day Seven it had developed from the "phone-rings-when-you're-on-the-can" kind of annoying to "asshole-just-cut-you-off-because-he's-on-his-cell-phone" pissing-me-off kind of pain. But like a stubborn ox I befriended Advil and ice and kept going. By the last day it's obvious that I'm hurt; muscle aches don't stab you when you throw a tennis ball. So today I play it safe and forego the final push-up test.
The good news from all of this is that I can estimate my push-up number instead. And I'm guessing I can do...

112.

Fast Food crisis.

2008-04-13T14:42:00.004-05:00

Last Friday I'm in a 5th grade class teaching empathy. We'd just completed a hands-on activity that pumped up the message, and now we're processing to drive it home. The class is silent, mesmerized. Suddenly, without warning or a raised hand, a boy in the front announces:

"You have something black in your teeth!"

Instant mental rewind to an hour an a half earlier--I'm late for my first class, dashing out of the office, shoving a handful of trail mix in my face in an attempt to stave off hunger until my 11:00 break. Peanut skin, surely the guilty culprit.
And then it dawns on me:

You have had this black object in your teeth for the last hour and a half. You've taught 3 classes with it. At least three teachers and nearly 75 students have seen this foreign atrosity and said nothing.

I laugh it off and continue processing the activity, purposely calling on the long-winded students to buy time to dig it out. No luck. The class ends ten minutes later, I beeline for the bathroom and take a look. It's the size of a bus and right in front. My worst nightmare realized. Everyone has their little self-conscious quirks, and food in teeth is one of my biggest. I scoop it out (it takes several attempts).

Stupid trail mix. Next time I'm grabbing a banana.

Blue Stuff (an update)

2008-04-08T16:51:00.004-05:00

You know that blue stuff they gave you in elementary school to help you learn how inefficiently you brush your teeth? You swish it around after brushing and it shows up on all the places you missed that are rotting of plaque as you stand there staring in the mirror at your blue teeth?

I think push-ups serve the same purpose. For I have done my 100 yesterday and 43 so far today and I'm feeling muscles I didn't have last week.

Did you know that we have muscles on the sides of our boobs?

Yay, push-ups--the blue stuff for muscles.

Onward and Upward!

2008-04-06T12:08:00.003-05:00

About a month ago I embarked on a twice-a-week 7-exercise core workout to try and minimize my floppiness. Each exercise involved 2-3 sets of unique body contortions, one of which defies gravity in ways no human with knees is able. It's true--they call it The Matrix. I'm glad to report that after four weeks, I do notice a difference; not in the mirror, but in my posture and in my ability to do said gravity-defying acts. There's only one problem. I am now bored with them and I'm going to cut them off. But it's okay, because I have a replacement challenge. I stumbled across Krista's push-up throwdown challenge the other day and it sounds right up my alley. Buff arms? Yep, want 'em. Solid core? Need it. Short enough time span to keep my interest? Two weeks should do it. The basics, straight from Krista:

ODD days - Do 100 push ups in as few sets as possible in addition to your regularly scheduled workout of cardio exercises. You can still do upper body workouts on these days if you are already on a program. This is a supplemental 100 push-ups using maximum repetition sets (2 x 50, 4 x 25 … it’s your choice how you get to 100).
EVEN days - Do 100 push-ups throughout the day. This can be little sets of ten done every half hour or fifty push-ups done twice times throughout the day.
How it Works - Today, see how many push-ups you can do in one try. Then starting tomorrow, repeat the ODD/EVEN routine for a total of 10 days. Then take three days off from push-ups. On day 14, give yourself the push-up test and see how many you can do.

So it's on. After I vaccuum (because I've put it off long enough and Erika is starting to get irritated), I'm doing my push-up test today. I'm so excited I could pee.

UPDATE: I did it! Twenty push-ups. I can only get better. I wonder what it would have been if I hadn't vaccuumed...

Self-Aware and Diligent.

2008-03-29T16:08:00.004-05:00

Peg's comment on my graph post prompted a long conversation today with Erika, complete with defensiveness, tears, and my fair share of introspection.
Peg says " I'll take you as you am" (sic, I love this girl) and she means it. So the question I grappled with is why the hell I'm so obsessed? The obvious answer and the one I fear the most is that society demands us to fit into a Barbie-doll mold and there's something wrong (with us, of course) if we don't. But I've always told myself I don't give a shit about society's opinion of my belly! So today I had to ask myself for real--are you really that shallow that you're watching every little thing you eat and when you eat it and working out ad nauseum to fit some standard of society??
God, I hope not.
As we probed further (hee hee, she said "probe") I defended myself with what I believe are the two reasons I really do care so much:
A. My father died at age 46 of cardiac arrest, exacerbated by high blood pressure. My grandmother, mother and sister have struggled--really really struggled--most of their lives with the same issues. My mom has tried every diet and exercise plan out there just to maintain a weight healthy enough to see her grandchildren, but the fact is we are fighting an uphill battle. We weren't blessed with freight train metabolisms. My point is that I watch very carefully what I eat and I work out because if I don't I will start talking myself out of workouts ("my eyebrows need waxing") and into brownies ("I need to celebrate, I made it to Wednesday!"). And if I stop being diligent, really diligent, I don't have genes on my side and I will slip and I am afraid of that.
2. I have goals. I have goals for myself and for my family, some of which include 4-6 triathlons per summer (including an Ironman before I turn 40), fun runs and bike rides for charity well past retirement, and going rock climbing and hiking and swimming with my kids. I watch what I eat and I work out so I can meet my goals.
Those, I tell myself, are my real reasons. Should this translate into watching every pound and graphing my eating habits? Probably not. So I will change "shallow and obsessed" to "self-aware and diligent", and I will spare blog readers the self-deprecating whining from now on and stick to glorifying myself after killer workouts and awe-inspiring races.
Done.

A Man and His Apartment.

2008-03-28T08:34:00.005-05:00

My lobster has been offered a very unique and privileged opportunity with the internship of her choice for next year, and therefore we are relocating (again) to even out our commutes. After a slew of phone calls and searches on Craigslist, we went on five showings yesterday afternoon. Our first was far and away the most interesting, hands down because of Paul. Paul is in love with his properties. He has more pride in his properties than any landlord we've met. Paul dares us to find anything better than his.

(For the record, I'm not ripping on Paul. I'm in awe of Paul. He's...eccentric.)

"Are you ready to see a great apartment?" he asks as we walk up the front stoop.

Our hopes are high. He lists tons of great features in his ad and boasted quite a bit on the phone, so I'm ready to see his great apartment.

We walk in the door.

Everything is blue.

The carpet is blue, not just in the front room, but in the living room, the hallway, and both bedrooms.

The kitchen countertops are blue.

The toilets are blue.

The bathroom sinks are blue.

But we continue with the showing, and Paul continues with the showing off.

Early on, I make the mistake of asking how old the building is.

Paul: "How....?" (looks at me quizzically)

Me: "I mean, how young is the building?"

Paul: "That's right. None of my buildings have the look of any wear and tear at all. Nothing about them suggests that they're old. This building was built in 1990, which makes it 14 years young."

Erika noticed very few pictures on the wall. We pride ourselves in our artwork and well-framed photographs, and asked if we're allowed to put them up.

"I'd like you to only use 15 nail holes in the walls. The reason I ask is because of ____ (gives first and last name of previous tenant, apparently the scourge of the earth) who left the bedroom wall with 280 nail holes. What's worse, she pounded the nails all the way in before she left. I had to pry them out."

(Fifteen? Uh oh.)

Paul: "I want to show you this furnace. It's a Lennox Pulse 22. That's top of the line, it's 98% efficient. I paid $2600 for this furnace. Landlords are only required to pay for the bare minimum, but I went ahead and bought the best to save my tenants money. I'm the only landlord that'll do that. Go ahead and ask them when you see other places, ask them what kind of furnace they have. Ask why it's not a Pulse 22. They'll tell you, 'it's too expensive'. Tell them, well Paul bought one for me."

Me: "I bet they'll like that."

Paul: "No they won't."

Me: "I know, Paul. I was being facetious."

"Look at all this overhead lighting. In the kitchen alone there's five overhead lighting fixtures. Well, one of them is in the closet, but it totals five."

(I should point out that they were among the ugliest lighting fixtures I've ever seen.)

"All of the sink fixtures are Koehler and the countertops are updated."

(Yeah Paul, but they're blue.)

"The bathroom floors are Armstrong in-laid vinyl. That means they crush little pieces of vinyl directly into the concrete. That way you won't ruin the floors with high heels or something like that."

(Two points: A. Do we look like the kind of girls who wear high heels? and 2. When is the last time any of you walked with high heels on your bathroom floor and the stiletto poked a hole right through it?)

"See these windows? Look at all the glass on these windows. Most landlords will put in window frames but skimp on the glass. You know why? Because glass is expensive. These windows have more glass than required."

(It's true. Those windows did have glass.)

Erika is terribly allergic to cats, and we noticed the tenant had two of them. I asked if there was a chance the carpets would be cleaned after she left.

"Oh, there's no chance of it. It's deliberate. I make all my tenants clean the carpets upon their move-out. By a professional. And show me proof they've done it. If they don't then I do it. And charge 'em for it."

(Paul--the long arm of the Carpet-Cleaning Law.)

I had to call Paul this morning and let him know that we were "going with a different property". He received my voice mail and called me back 25 minutes later to ask me why. I think he was genuinely flabbergasted as to how on earth we could choose anyplace else. I mean, the furnace! The glass! Just look at the in-laid vinyl! I was honest--I told him it was all the blue. He said he does that for variety and that the place across the hall has neutral colors.

Damn. So close.

The Power of the Graph.

2008-03-26T09:15:00.009-05:00

As most of the last posts have insinuated (or yelled outright), the last few months have been frustrating on the body-sculpting front. Peg says I shouldn't look for flaws and she's absolutely right. My self-esteem is not the flaming abyss it sounds like, either. I'm just sayin'. Some background:

I put on ten pounds after my wedding, ten pounds I'd rather not carry around in next summer's races. So I made some modifications, as any normal person would if they wanted a change (hear that, federal gov't?). Numero uno is my workout schedule, which previously had an "off-season" of about six months. I've now been base training about five times a week since November. But exercise is only half the battle, and nutrition (a triathlete's fancy way of saying "what ya shove in your face hole") is my weakness. So I've eaten gluten-free for about four months now, I eat out about three times a year, I never eat fast food, and I have 2-3 beers a week and very few desserts. Voila. All the magic ingredients. Except nothing was changing. I was doing all the right things I could think of, and damned if I was going to turn my life into a miserable pile of veggies and no beer. What was missing?

Yesterday it dawned on me what I needed.

A graph.

My lobster is far and away the creative one in our duo; for lack of a better explanation, I think like a man. I fix things (problems and toilets) like a man. I needed a graph.

So last night I wrote down 3-4 common variations of all of my meals, calculated accurate amounts, checked labels for calorie counts, and used the internets for the missing info. I plotted it all on a graph that showed both the time of day I was eating and the range of calories I was shoving into my face hole at each of those times. I colored the ranges in yellow. Here it is:

A-ha! I had found the answers I suspected all along but could never fully grasp until I could look at it in graph form. I had two problems going on here. Everyone knows the most efficient nutrition plan for anyone who wants to lose weight is to eat fewer calories more often. If Jillian says it on The Biggest Loser, it must be right. I needed to move my daily calories around from my three-massive-meals-and-two-tiny-snacks to three moderate meals and three slightly moderate snacks. The second problem was the amount of calories I shoved in each day, which varied widely from not enough (1600) to way way way too many (2900). I've learned along the way that for a person my size and activity level to reach my goal weight I should be consuming about 2000 calories per day (calculate your calorie count here). I need to watch my portion sizes and spread the calories out throughout the day so I don't feel the need to gorge myself on a plate of spaghetti that could drown a small child (860 calories per plate, thank you very much). Hence, the purple line on the graph. The purple line is much closer to what I need to stick and what I will aim toward. It's amazing how weeks of screaming at the scale and pouting and whining did very little for me, but a simple graph can do so much. I deserve a beer.

P.S. If you've made it this far, congratulations on forcing your way through the most boringest blog post in the world to everyone but me. This one's more for my own accountability than reader interest, so please come back in the future. I'm not always this way.

Small and White, Clean and Bright

2008-03-22T20:56:00.006-05:00

Last night my lobster and I sat down to watch a movie. Finally, after 15 years of owning it on VHS and knowing most of the words to all of the songs but never actually seeing it, I convinced her to devote the next three hours to The Sound of Music. I had seen it annually from ages 5-17 of course, but with my Music virgin at my side, it brought out a whole new side. (I should mention that I had two very potent beers and she had a zinger of a Malibu and Coke for the film.) Some highlights:

Near the beginning Maria is coaxing herself into bravery with "I Have Confidence". As her list of things about which she feels confident grows, she begins to swing her guitar case wildly about. We both decide that if we could effortlessly run at a full sprint down the sidewalk whilst swinging about large stringed instruments we'd have a hell of a lot of confidence, too.

About halfway through, we stopped for a pee break. I had the terribly morose "Edelweiss" in my head, and decided to replace it with a more upbeat tune. I began to sing out loud:

I am sixteen

Going on seventeen...

And that's it. That's all I knew, even after just watching it. Honestly, does anyone ever know any more of the words to that song than those six? Go ahead...try it now.

Erika: Rolf ends up being a Nazi, doesn't he.

Jenn: Yeah. How did you know?

Erika: Earlier. He did the "hail Hitler" thing.

As we're listening to the Captain sing about Edelweiss ("Small and white, Clean and bright"), Erika asks what edelweiss is. I tell her it's a flower, but it prompts us to think of what else it could be.

A well-kept, intelligent child?

That little pill he takes every morning to control his blood pressure?

(A background choir sings "How Do you Solve a Problem Like Maria?" as she is walking down the aisle on her wedding day)

Erika: My God, what an awful song for the processional. Way to take a swing at her on the happiest day of her life.

(Max announces the winner of the festival--"The Von Trapp family singers!" [applause] "The Family Von Trapp! [applause] Spotlight on the empty corridor. Long pause. Soldier runs through the hallway, appears at the entrance and shouts "They're gone!" Nazi man stands up in horror.)

Erika: A little slow on the uptake, isn't he.

This movie is a classic. It has its moments of hilarity and absurdity, but in the end I think we can all agree...

It would make a great drinking game.

Spot Removal.

2008-03-20T22:36:00.003-05:00

The other day (in February) I was vaccuuming. I had some extra time, so I decided to once and for all tackle the high-traffic grayish spot on the carpet that had developed slowly over the course of the last four months. You know, the one for which our leasing company will charge us exactly $536 for creating. I took out our free sample of spot remover that we were given when I accidently got Vaseline on the ottoman and had to call a professional, and I went at it. Voila. Spot gone. (Or at least faded enough that said leasing company won't notice.)

Then it occurred to me--what if we could do that with our bodies? How cool would that be?? I suspect we all have spots that we're unhappy with. For me, the sections fall into three categories:
A. Lookin' good for now but most likely will go downhill if I don't watch it;
2. Tolerable; and
D. Oh my goodness that just isn't right.
Sometimes I envision taking a sharpie to my body and outlining the three sections like a topographic map, just to see where I need to concentrate. I picture a short man with messy hair and round spectacles describing the landscape to an eager note-taking audience.
"Hmm...this ridgeline seems to extend beyond the valley and plateau in the nether regions."
(Hand shoots up)
"Professor, is it common in this type of terrain to see a mound like this fluctuate so freely in size?"
"Good question. A small amount of fluctuation is common, except in this case (uses pointer to poke my belly), the mound seems to only get larger. A unique phenomenon indeed."

Alas, we cannot "spot fix" our bodies. I've tried. I had a killer workout tonight in which I felt strong and svelt in almost every way, and then passed a mirror in my swimsuit and my heart shriveled at the uneasy landscape before me. I can only take comfort in assuming other people out there have their troubled spots too.

You do, don't you?

P.S. The carpet stain is starting to come back. Maybe it'll go away for good if the spot remover is alcohol-based; the same treatment I'm applying to the topographic map of my body.

The many faces of congestion.

2008-03-13T21:33:00.005-05:00

I'm continually baffled by congestion. There's so many kinds, how can someone keep them straight? There's the "who snuck in my sinuses and filled them with concrete?" congestion. There's the floodgate of oozing watery mucus. Or the scary kind, when you blow your nose and chunks of strangely colored blobs force you backward. And I've never understood how each nostril seem mutually exclusive sometimes. Lay down on your left side, and the masses hunker down to the left. Lay a finger on your right nostril and close your mouth, and you're asphyxiating yourself. Switch the same finger to your left, and you now breathe freely. And don't get me started on sneezing.
(Sidebar: Sneezing is funny. Everyone has their own version. I'm a furious sneezer; I gear up for it with an arched back and outspread arms, then let it rip in one fell swoop and I'm done. My aunt has dainty sneezes that come out as high-pitched "eh-chew!" spurts, and twenty or thirty later she's free and clear.)
Back to me. I have the irritating kind of congestion right now. My sinuses feel boulder-like, clogged with a fury only Afrin can tame.
(Sidebar: What the hell is Afrin? If you're a fan of nose spray you know what I'm talking about; a couple of squirts in each nostril and you have instant and total relief of the unnatural kind. It doesn't seem right, but I just can't stay away. My brother was addicted to Afrin for several years. He popped a few squirts every half hour, I kid you not. And the generic kind didn't do it for him, it had to be Afrin. Finally he, with the help and support of his girlfriend, weaned himself off. They found a website that taught them how to properly dilute the Afrin in stages so eventually his tolerance would fade back to normal. To this day I don't know what he does about congestion without Afrin.)
Anyway, back to me again. My sinuses are boulders, but it doesn't stop my nose from running. Mind you, it's only the right side; the left is bone dry. And it's the annoying amount of nasal drip where I feel like blowing my nose every 4 minutes. My nosetip is slowly (i.e. every 4 minutes) being ground down to the bone by Kleenex. The tissue could be lotioned with the softness of an angel's ass and it would still feel like a 10-year-old carpet at this point. So I've done what any nose-respecting ill person would do. I've forgone the blowing and just shoved Kleenex up my right nostril and left it there. Erika says it looks like I have half of Wilford Brimley's mustache. I'd like to see how she deals with this kind of congestion.
It's truly a bitch.

Derail me, please.

2008-03-09T16:21:00.005-05:00

I'm sitting in a coffee shop with my decaf mocha and my laptop alongside my Lobster, whose nose is buried deep in her homework. The scene is almost identical to last Sunday. My life has gone like this for quite a while lately--sailing along uneventfully, predictably, smoothly. Perhaps that's why I feel so bleh.

On the other hand, others around me have endured the Life Disruptions we don't care for. You know the kind. The ones that come suddenly and abruptly, demanding time and resources you don't have because your life is a moving train and derailing it ain't easy. My Lobster missed 3 days' work last week for a "viral sore throat" (or something like that; she just calls it "swallowing 2X4s with rusty nails jutting out of them"). One of our Kindergarten teachers was out all week for Influenza A. A friend of mine had his car broken into and radio bashed in. Another is having surgery on her sinuses next Wednesday. No one looks forward to these kind of interruptions.

As winter drones on, it's becoming clearer to me why I love Spring and Summer so much; the outdoors and the free time are conducive to creating Life Disruptions that erase the winter blehs. This summer two good friends are getting married, and it will be the first gay wedding we've attended besides our own. I have five triathlons lined up, each one promising to be a fresh jolt of life. A trip to the Badlands with three dear friends awaits us in August if we can only get our calendars to line up. It all can't come soon enough.

I guess I should count my blessings; I've been tooling along without any major Life Disruptions for a while now. And the flip side? I've been tooling along without any Life Disruptions for a while now.

I have no core.

2008-03-02T13:49:00.004-06:00

Don't worry, my beliefs are firmly intact. My support system is resounding and loyal. I'm not talking about those kinds of core. I'm talking about my actual core--the midsection of my body that holds me up. My arms are pretty well toned, I have runner's legs and a nice neck, but my torso is floppy and flabby and unable to hold me up most of the time. My posture is terrible as a result. I fold in half like a gummy worm if I'm not propped up somehow. And worst of all is the belly. Ah, the bubble-like belly. I complain about it all the time to anyone who will listen, perhaps too much because last Friday my Mother-in-Law handed me (as a joke, I hope) a copy of "Women's Health" magazine with the cover story announcing that I, too, can have the flat belly I've always wanted. It's easy! they say. Yeah, right.
Well, I'll show her. I looked up the program they designed for me and my future six-pack. They claim that I will see results after only(!) thirty days, so that's how long I will give it. I will follow her program and get my perfectly flat belly and toned abs one 20-minute workout at a time. And if it doesn't work, then I guess I wasn't meant to lose the jiggle--or stand up straight.

I'll keep you posted.

And now, live from Pick N Save...

2008-02-27T21:19:00.002-06:00

E: "Okay, what's next..."
J: (pointing down the aisle) "Juice."
E: "Honey, you're not supposed to point at people and announce their ethnicity to them."
(Pause)
J: "No no...not Jews....Juice."

You know you've got one too.

2008-02-27T20:17:00.003-06:00

Everyone has the phrase that makes their skin crawl. For some it's too dorky ("Catch ya on the flip side!"), too dated ("word to your mother"), or just plain overused ("OMG!"). My skin-crawler is arrogance.

If I've just finished telling a story, whether it be for conversation, humor, empathy or whatever, please please please do not respond with "I've got one better", "That's nothin', listen to this", or any derivative therein. Basically what you're saying to me is "I don't care about your story. It does not push my buttons. Now I, on the other hand, have a story that tops yours in every way. Be my captive audience while I share it with you, and by golly you'd better get your hugely animated reaction ready because I've already told you that this story is the end-all-be-all of verbal commentary so I know you'll agree!!!!!"

Lucky me.

Just once I'd love to get a response like:

"I can't top that."
"That is the best story I've ever heard in my entire life and I will never hear one better."
"I'll comment now for the sake of continuing our conversation, but it won't be nearly as good as what you've just shared."
"Can I write that down?"
"I have one similar, but it's slightly worse."

Now those are some idioms I could grab on to.

I don't get it.

2008-02-16T10:37:00.003-06:00

I fully admit that I don't follow baseball. And perhaps the answer I seek is obvious to someone who does, and I'll be happy to hear it if anyone out there can explain it to me.

The first national news story the other night was about Robert Clemens' testimony before Congress on his alleged juicing. The coverage included footage of his comments as well as those of his accuser and personal trainer, with color commentary from another former baseball great. I understand that steroid use is illegal. I also happen to think the use of performance-enhancing drugs in professional sports is weak and cowardly. What I don't understand is why this is the concern of the U.S. Congress.

First of all, Major League Baseball is a corporation not controlled by the U.S. Government, right? If any other private company has scandal or legal troubles our government doesn't step in. Why now?
Secondly, if a federal law against doping has been violated, wouldn't it be addressed through the judicial branch, not the legislative branch?
And finally....in a time of two wars, no health care, recessive economy, broken educational system, stolen civil liberties, lost jobs, etc. etc., doesn't Congress have anything better to do?

Free Day.

2008-01-30T14:54:00.000-06:00

I got the call at 5:55 A.M. today that there was no school day due to cold temps. Since then I have:
-Blogged about my Lobster
-Savored a bowl of hot cereal in front of the Today Show
-Re-read from Dan Savage's tongue-in-cheek rendition of gay adoption, "The Kid"
-Took a nap
-Started my tax return online
-Changed my entire blog template and color scheme
-Called about getting the chip in my car windshield repaired
-Blogged about my progress thus far

All in my pajamas.

Erika wants me to go out and get some Advil Cold and Sinus and tea from the store. But I feel there's so much more to be done here...

In my pajamas.

Is it summer yet?

2008-01-06T18:41:00.000-06:00

So far the 2008 season is shaping up nicely. I've registered for nearly all of my races and my training plan is in place. Yep, I know every single workout from now until August 17th, but I'm trying not to be obsessive about it. Here's out it (should) all play out:

The first tri will be Bigfoot (Sprint distance) in Lake Geneva on June 22nd. I'm excited about this one for several reasons: a.) It's a short distance from home and in familiar surroundings, so no waking up at ungodly hours of the day (like 4:00 a.m.), and 2.) it looks like a pretty small race (I was the 26th person to register), so I may have a shot at breaking out from the MOP (Middle of the Pack) to the FOP (Front of the Pack). I'll definitely have to ramp up bike training to do that, so I'm thinking of hitting up my friend Candice to do the Trek 100 on June 7th for some extra motivation. We won't do the 100-mile distance...heck no. There's a 33-miler that I think I could handle.

P.S. What IS that thing on the bike in their picture??

Next up is the Spirit of Racine on July 19th, also a Sprint distance. I don't know much about this race except that it came recommended from the "regulars" on Beginner Triathlete. They call themselves donkeys (the regulars from Wisconsin) but I don't know why. I wanna be a donkey...

The Camp Whitcomb-Mason Sprint triathlon is August 10th this year, and while it is a relatively small race, it holds special significance for me. I worked at CWM the summers of '96-'00, which entailed volunteering at the annual triathlon. It was a highlight for me each and every summer. I body marked, I flagged, I cheered, I swept roads, and I remember the energy and enthusiasm of the event vividly. I also remember thinking to myself each time I volunteered (which included several years beyond my employment): "I could never do this race. Maybe--maybe as a part of a relay, but by myself? No way." This year I intend to do it. By myself.

The "A" race will be the Pleasant Prairie triathlon on August 17th, and this one will be an olympic-distance event. I'm nervous but excited for the challenge. I'm hoping it'll be a stepping stone to the ultimate goal someday, Ironman Madison.

So as my anticipation has grown it's been a bummer lately to look outside and see piles of snow and people bundled head to toe. But I've got all these exciting races coming up in a mere...five and a half months.

Sigh.

To end on a lighter note, I happened to look back at my training log for last year at this time and was amused to see 24 minute walks, three times a week. I scoff at that now. Now hand me another brownie and a beer.

By the way...

2007-10-17T20:39:00.000-05:00

I signed up for my first '08 triathlon!

The Spirit of Racine Sprint triathlon on July 22, referred to on triathlon websites as SOR.

Shall I "SOaR" to victory?

Yeah. Right.

Meet my friend.

2007-10-17T20:33:00.000-05:00

Whilst experimenting with her new digital camera, Erika took a picture of my childhood friend, Theo. This tattered old bear was given to me in 1980 as a Christmas present, and I promptly named him Theo (you know, because it's another nickname for "Theodore", just like "Teddy", which is what he is). Over the years, he has been stained, picked at (see nose), cast aside, I pierced his ears, and more, but he has followed me to the countless places I've lived since I was an 8 year-old girl, and now he's followed me again...to my blog profile.

Welcome, Theo.

My third week gluten-free update

2007-10-06T11:27:00.001-05:00

I've completed week three out of four in my miniature experiment with going gluten free in an attempt to reduce my pooch. (I know the real word is "ponch", but to me the perfect word to describe my belly is "pooch".)

Friday morning, before leaving for work and undergoing my "Friday morning weigh-in" in the nurse's office at my school, I asked Erika for a prediction. She was noticeably reluctant to do this, as last week she predicted a two-pound drop and I had done no such thing. (I broke even, which I feel very even about.) She chose the safe route: "Well, I don't think you gained any weight". I agreed with her.

Alas, we were wrong. I gained a pound. The following are possible reasons why:

-I had three beers the night before, then promptly went to bed.
-I eat brownies every day in my lunch, and justify it by saying they're gluten-free.
-The hour and a half of working out I had done this week has created yet another pound of muscle on my already ripped body.
-A pound is no big deal; a person can sneeze and lose a pound.
-My flip-flops were deceptively heavy.
-The scale was off (my favorite excuse, as it can apply to anyone at any time).
-I gained it all in my boobs, which frankly were lacking lately anyway.
-Erika lost another pound (because she can look at a treadmill and lose a pound), and instead of floating aimlessly in the universe it landed on me.
-It's just a freakin' pound, and sometimes there is no reason why.

So Erika and I have this gift for occasionally getting down about things in our own lives but always remaining optimistic about each others; her response to the news was, "so now if you factor in the pound and a half you lost two weeks ago, you've nearly broken even!"

So true.

WARNING: Non-Triathlon-Related Post

2007-10-01T20:30:00.000-05:00

So my dear friend Elizabeth "tagged" Erika and I, and now she's not our dear friend anymore.

Just kidding.

THE RULES:
1. Post these rules before you give you the facts.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) someone and list their name (linking to their page).
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged!

EIGHT RANDOM FACTS.
1. I don't normally participate in these types of activities, but there is thawing chicken in the kitchen waiting for me to cut into serving sizes, saran wrap (with a layer of tin foil on top to prevent freezer burn) and store in the freezer betwixt the beef and the turkey servings. I hate wrapping the chicken, so I'm putting it off.
2. I eat left-handed. No big deal, except that my spouse, whom I've known for nearly three years, casually interjected a "you eat left-handed?" into our dessert conversation last night. Never stop learning about each other.
3. I never eat popcorn. I don't like it. When I tell people this they usually respond with shock and disbelief, like I just told them I'm the second coming of their personal Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. But it's true, I just don't care for it.
4. I'm fluent in Spanish (speaking), but only half-fluent in understanding it and barely a Kindergarten level in Spanish reading.
5. I can't write poetry to save my life. My cover is my "Roses are Red" poems that I'll insert in friends' birthday cards, in which the last line rhymes with nothing. Example:
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Walt Whitman is over my head
Why doesn't he use capital letters ever?
6. My favorite T-shirt of all time is a memento from a mountain biking trip in Bolivia in which the slogan on the back is "Going down has never been better". It has holes dotting every seam (and some in random spots as well) but I don't care--I'll never give it up.
7. My best leg of a triathlon is the swim.
8. I am choosing to tag Scott and Greg!

Post topics for the triathlete in the off-season.

2007-09-26T11:49:00.000-05:00

-I polished my bike the other day...

-Let's go to the bathroom mirror and watch me get larger!

-Why do these 8-pound weights feel like Toyotas?

-Stupid stairs...

-Do you think the local high school will let me use their swimming pool to try out this wetsuit I bought on clearance?

-Running in a parka is NOT the same.

-Only 241 days until my next race!

-Do these socks make me look fat?

-When Race Day becomes Packer Sunday

Sigh.

Type O Eating: An Update

2007-09-23T16:50:00.000-05:00

I know you're all on the edge of your seats. What's her progress? Where's she at? Did she stick with it? These are the questions on the minds of all (read: both) of my readers.

As a quick recap... I went gluten-free on the advice of my passionate new-age mother-in-law who insists that eating for your blood type will shed pounds you've had since birth.

So what have I learned so far?

Gluten free hasn't been too difficult so far overall, only because our kitchen is 80% gluten-free already. I switched my milk and my bread and went from Lean Cuisine's to Amy's frozen dinners and that's been about it for changes. There's a wealth of information out there, especially at http://www.glutenfreeforum.com/ and http://www.food4celiacs.com/.

There's a children's cereal with a koala on the box that tastes remarkably like Cocoa Krispies. Totally delish.

If I'm going gluten-free, I'm certainly not going to give up desserts on top of it. I've taken to putting my homemade allergen free brownies in every lunch, must to the disdain of my spouse who seems to think that the brownies belong exclusively to her even though she couldn't name two of their ingredients beyond "sugar" and "chocolate goodness".

Going out to eat when you're gluten free kinda sucks. We went to Saz's the other night and my menu options included shredded chicken with bbq sauce in a bowl, a plain baked potato, and steamed veggies. I live for buns, my version of potato consumption is a pile of seasoned french fries, and steamed veggies are not a part of my dietary repertoire. So I ordered my fair share of wine and muscled through the chicken (actually quite good) and baked potato (much better with butter, salt, pepper, and the aforementioned wine). I think people take for granted how easy it is to "grab a bite to eat", and even moreso the hundreds of menu selections they have to choose from.

If I continue gluten-free eating beyond the 30 days, we will have no money for frivolities such as new triathlon gear or rent. The gluten-free s*** is expensive, I'll tell you what.

So after six days of this experiment, do I have anything to show for it?

I lost a pound and a half. In that time I've barely exercised and reintroduced desserts to my daily consumption, and I've still lost weight. This is comparable to the weight loss rate I experienced at the peak of my triathlon training.

The experiment continues.

So what's an O supposed to eat, anyway?

2007-09-16T16:51:00.000-05:00

Erika and I were hanging out with her fam before Al's Run yesterday when Tracy (the mom) casually says to me:

"You're type O, right?"

By this, she means Blood Type O. We know this because we are very aware of the fact that she has found a new book, "Eat Right 4 Your Type", that theorizes that there are "highly beneficial", "neutral", and "avoid" foods for each blood type depending on how easily digestible they are. Furthermore, the book postulates that sticking to the good list and avoiding the bad list will metabolize the body into a fat-burning machine and losing weight will be easier than ever. But anyway, back to Tracy:

Me: "Yes..."

Tracy: "Well, I read in my Eat for your Type book about Type O's and how they generally have issues with retaining and losing belly fat."

(Erika has now formed a sly grin, as she has listened to me complain for years about my stupid belly and how my boob size has halved itself but my belly remains constant.)

Tracy: "Anyway, the book says there's one thing that Type O's should cut out of their diets to make belly fat come off."

(Erika is now grinning. It is clear that they had just had this very conversation and she knew exactly where it is going.)

Me: "Oh yeah? What's that?" (I say reluctantly. I'm expecting her to say the one thing I'd never ever want to live without, like pasta, red meat, or beer.)

Tracy: "Gluten!"

She goes on to say that gluten seems to have the opposite effect of fat-burning on Type O's--it will actually slow your metabolism and cause fat storage. She says that some Type O's who have changed nothing else in their diet or exercise regimen except eliminate gluten still watched weight come off.

Hm. I have mixed feelings.

On the one hand, since it's been nearly a year since Erika was diagnosed with gluten intolerance we are both extremely well-versed on gluten-free products, recipes, and alternatives already. In fact, most of the dinners we share are gluten-free as it is, and I prefer them. On the same hand, I hate my belly fat. I've struggled with it for years and I'm sick and freakin' tired of trying everything in the book to get rid of it.

On the other hand....Starbucks Mocha Frappuccinos. Subway (eat fresh). Beer. (Well, there's gluten-free beer, but it's harder to find and rarely in bars.) Convenience. Easy eating.

After much deliberation and a little research (I read the section of Tracy's book on Type O's), I decided it's worth a shot. Starting today I'm going to eat and drink gluten-free for one month to see if I notice a difference in my weight and/or belly.

I'm sure you're on the edge of your seat.

Brigg's and Al's Memorial Run for Children's Hospital

2007-09-16T11:48:00.000-05:00

I know it's not a triathlon, but it's not like adultery to do other events, is it?

Al's Run has become a fall-time tradition for me. I've run it with friends, by myself, and (this year) with my new in-laws. Erika, her mom and brother did the 5-mile walk (mom is training for a half-marathon, so this was literally and figuratively a walk in the park for her), while my new father-in-law Dan and I did the 5-mile run. The weather was perfect for running with temps hovering around 50 degrees, but it made for an amusing pre-race dilemma: should I wear pants? Shorts? Shorts under pants and then take them off? Honey, will you carry my fleece? Why didn't I bring mittens? My, that breeze is crisp!
I love the entertainment along the route for Al's Run. There was a choir or two, several groups of high school cheerleaders enthusiastically cheering in formation, some bagpipers, and quite a few 2-3 person bands playing inspirational cover songs by Survivor or Fleetwood Mac. The volunteers are all so upbeat and supportive, the water stations are well stocked and well staffed, and overall it's a very organized race given the fact that tens of thousands of participants flock the Milwaukee streets to run, walk, or push their strollers every year.

If you can, I recommend runninng or walking for Al.

Lake Geneva Triathlon--9/8/07

2007-09-08T14:25:00.000-05:00

I just woke up from my nap, the race fresh in my mind. What better time to record it in the archives of history for both of my readers?

Swim *** Geneva Lake is a crystal clear lake and the temperature was very comfortable. I found a dude swimming at about my same pace and I rode in his current the whole way. Overall a very nice swim. So why not five stars? Because either I became the Bionic Woman of Swimming overnight and shaved a full 8 minutes off my 1/2 mile swim time, or the distance was not the advertised half-mile distance. Given my time (8:23), I'd put it at closer to 1/4 mile.

Bike *** The roads were a nice balance of hills and flat along scenic back roads. The route was well-flagged and (mostly) closed off to traffic, but no mile marker signs. Not that this is a testament to the bike course itself, but with plenty of shade the temperature stayed a very cool and comfortable 70ish degrees. I did not care for the bike finish, however, as the course narrowed to one lane so we could be herded back into transition like cattle. I had to slow to a near-stop a good 50 yards before the bike ended just because of the backup.

Run *** The run course advertises "Frank's Killer Hill", and they mean it. At least half the runners were walking up, and I may as well have been for how slow I was moving. I thought I was smart and trained for hills beforehand, but nothing like this one. Of course, the upside is that on the way back you can recover nicely for a strong finish because of the downhill. Sidebar: The water in the aid stations tasted like sewer.

Staff/Volunteers/Spectators *** Nothing much to say here. There were enough staff and volunteers, and they were plenty nice. The problem is that they didn't have a well-organized race to work for/watch. See category below.

Overall Race Organization * There were a lot of flaws in this race.
-In the transition area there were no assigned bike rack spots--it was a free-for-all put-your-bike-anywhere. I ended up getting a great spot that wasn't really a spot leaned up against a garbage can, but I didn't feel too guilty about it because others had already been creative with their racking.
-To get into the transition area in the first place, you must walk through the Bike In/Out area. If you step on the (already activated) chip mat, as I did, you screw up your time.
-The Bike In/Out area and the Run Out area were marked with manilla envelope-sized signs at eye level. Up until racking my bike in T2 and following another athlete out did I find out for certain where Run Out was.
-The layout of the race put the T1/T2 area right up on the beach where Swim In/Out was, which meant athletes were milling around all over the transition area, physically getting in the way of athletes attempting transitions. Thanks to my garbage can bike-racking spot I didn't have too much of a problem with this, but I watched others deal with it.
-In an attempt to increase bike security they said "no spectators allowed in transition" this year. However, when I arrived in T2 after the bike, Ma and Pa Spectator were standing next to my garbage can, watching me transition whilst waiting for their athlete. Not only did it feel like an invasion of privacy, but a breach of security as well. Erika said there were plenty of spectators roaming the beach (in the transition area) after the swims ended.

-To end on good notes, there were plenty of potties, the race started on time, they give out sweatshirts beforehand and medals to finishers, and the sunrise over the lake was beautiful.

If you're ever considering doing a first triathlon, don't make it Lake Geneva.

It's Official...

2007-08-24T19:20:00.000-05:00

I was browsing the glossary of terms on www.beginnertriathlete.com and I came across this one:

Tri-Geek--One who is obsessed with triathlons and all the toys that go with it. He/she lives for the sport, loves to talk about triathlons, loves to train for triathlons, and is involved with anything having to do with the sport. Cyclists love to call triathletes this name -they often call this out as triathletes pass them on a training ride.

And I thought to myself...

That's me.

Oh dear.

In other news, on my run today I clocked the second half of the run at 14 seconds faster than the first half. I now know that this phenomon is called a negative split because I am a

TRI-GEEK.

Oshkosh Triathlon--8/12/07

2007-08-22T11:31:00.000-05:00

Before I begin...big shout-out to my beyonce', who bought me the registration for this race for my birthday. Thanks honey!

Swim route **** A simple out-and back swim in pretty warm water. I liked how the swimmers stayed to the left of the buoys; a simple thing, really, but this way I see the buoys every time I turn my head (to the right) to breathe, and it really helped for swimming in a straight line. This was also the race where I learned that sliding yourself directly behind the swimmer in front of you (without getting kicked in the face) really helps. Having his/her current to help pull you along is a nice little perk.

Bike route ** The route itself was alright hill-wise. There were no mile markers along the route--not one--so I had no gauge of how well I was doing except that it seemed everyone in the race was zipping on past me. It turned out that my bike time was okay, but I didn't know that until the very end. Likewise, there were about half a dozen spots on the route where the road made 90 degree turns--no big deal, except that half the road was blocked off so I needed to brake on several turns (not necessary if I'm able to make a wider turn) and once or twice got cut off from other bikers (unintentionally, I'm sure). It disrupted my "race chi". Or something like that.

Run route *** A normal, flat loop on roads; two water stations provided.

Staff/Spectators/Volunteers * This race was strange (and Erika and her parents will concur) in that the workers as well as spectators were eerily quiet. There were times when I passed whole packs of people just hanging out and watching athletes go by without saying anything. And the volunteers/workers were diligent at the water stations, but there simply weren't enough of them.

Goody Bag ** I know this sounds superficial, but I was disappointed that I didn't receive a finisher's medal! I LIKE MY BLING!! And I was surprised to see that this was the first goody bag with no water bottle and no swim cap. I have enough of both, but I like them as keepsakes, you know?

Accomodations/Parking *** Parking is on the street, anywhere you can find it. We got lucky and found spots relatively close. I collected my packet, got body marked, and picked up my chip within five minutes on race morning, so that was nice.

Overall I clocked a good time (for me), but it's probably not a race I'll do again.

Onto the Lake Geneva triathlon!

As Billy Crystal would say...

2007-08-21T11:15:00.000-05:00

It is better to look good than to feel good.

Yesterday Erika and I were at REI, looking for a new bag for her. I found myself wandering into the bike shorts area, thinking that if I could find a pair that could double as my swim bottoms, I could save time in T1 (Transition #1, swim-to-bike) by not having to put on shorts. I tried on a few pairs that went to about mid-thigh (or just-above-the-knee for one pair), and even though they were good quality I chucked 'em.

Why?

I wish I had a scientific, practical, or experienced reason to give, but the truth is...

They didn't flatter my butt.

But then...I found a pair, much shorter, rested nicely on the hips.

Could I swim in them? No idea. They were a poly-spandex blend.

Could I run in them? Probably, but then again there's always the risk of chafing with a new article of clothing. To attempt to find out, I ran a little. In place. Right there in the dressing room. They rode up a little on my legs, but otherwise the jury was still out.

Could I bike in them? I didn't see why not, except there wasn't much extra material in the, ahem, crotchal area. That could cause problems.

Did I get them? You bet I did.

Why?

My ass looked hot.

Cool quotes

2007-08-20T12:14:00.000-05:00

I found these quotes on another triathlete's blog. I have no idea who these people are (well, except for Albus Dumbledore, of course), but I liked the quotes.

If you can't learn to do something well, learn to enjoy doing it poorly. - Trixie

Do all you can with what you have in the time you have in the place you are. - Nkosi Johnson, age 12.

"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." -Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Ten Tips for the Amateur Triathlete

2007-08-19T15:51:00.000-05:00

10. Buy a swimsuit that you can run in. The last thing you want to deal with is a sports bra that will soak up water and make your boobs feel like lead weights. If you find a swimsuit that's comfortable and also has enough support to hold the girls in whilst running, stick with it.

9. Believe it or not, running in water (unless it's below your knees) is not faster than swimming. Once I was in a race where the girl next to me decided to stand up in the thigh-deep water and start running to the finish, whereas I chose to preserve my leg strength for the bike ride and kept swimming. I monitored her progress as I turned my head to breathe, and she and I stayed neck-and-neck until I stood up a few minutes later. So unless you absolutely abhor swimming and want it over with as soon as possible, I would recommend swimming as soon as possible after you start and as long as possible before it gets too shallow. You'll save leg strength and not go any slower than the runners-in-water.

8. (ANOTHER swimming tip??) On the swim, find someone in front of you, position yourself directly behind them, and stay there. This is called "drafting"--using another person's air or water flow to your advantage to "pull" you along. In cycling it's illegal and most races will have Draft Marshalls on the route ready to arrest you or push you off your bike if you draft (just kidding, of course. But you will get a warning or time added to your bike split). In swimming, it's perfectly legal and even encouraged to draft. And if your "draftee" swims too fast and you can't keep up, find another one. If you're faster than your draftee, pass him/her and find another one. It's worth it.

7. Drink lots of water (and gatorade too, if you can swing it) while on your bike ride. I know, reaching down for the bottle can disrupt your rythmn, or you may not feel you have the energy to let go of the handlbars at all. Do it anyway, because the more you drink on the bike, the less you'll feel like passing out on the run.

6. Eat a big carb meal both the night before the race and the night before that. All those extra carbs will be coupled with the fact that they have no outlet because you've been resting your body for two days before the race. By the time the race begins you'll literally be vibrating with energy.

5. Whatever you eat the morning of the race, make sure it's the three Ms--Mild (nothing too crazy or eccentric), Moderate (don't eat too much), and Me-Tested (you're familiar with how your body reacts to it). Race Morning is no time to try that fancy new flavor of Gu gel or to see what kind of boost you can get from the product sample you found in your goody bag. I eat the same exact thing before every race--a bagel and a banana--and it's never failed me.

4. Learn the difference between "Hydrated Pee" and "Adrenaline Pee". Hydrated Pee is when you're sufficiently hydrated to the point where you legitimately have to pee. I usually pee at least twice before a race for this reason. Adrenaline Pee is when you're so psyched for the beginning of the race that you feel like you need to pee. The big mistake here is to run off to the port-a-potty and risk missing the start of your race, or at least missing out on those few minutes right before your start where you can stop, look around, soak in the energy of the day, and enjoy it. If you just peed, the race is nearing time to start and you feel the urge again, it's probably just adrenaline.

3. Have all your stuff laid out beforehand in the transition area. Put your helmet right where you can grab it, shoes and socks easily accessible (shoes opened up and ready to slide your foot in), your shirt with number attached (or number clip-belt thingy) laid out, etc. etc. Basically, after climbing out of the water, the last thing you want to do is rummage through your bag looking for your left sock, or dig under your shorts and shirt to find the towel you're using to wipe off your feet. Walk yourself through the transition beforehand and put everything in its place.

2. If you're not about to have a heart attack and/or you're not completely out of breath, try to say "thank you" to the people who hand out water, gels, gatorade, or medals or the people who flag, direct, cheer, etc. Most of these people are volunteers, and just like their presence keeps you motivated, your smile or "thank you" makes their experience enjoyable too.

1. Have fun! Salute the crowd. Pump your fists in the air when you cross the finish line. Give a thumbs up to the photographer. Say something funny as you pass some spectators. High five a child as you run past. Give a "keep it up, you're doing great" to a cyclist you pass. Pour a water over your head. You'll probably have the chance to do most of these things during the course of a race, and this is what makes it worthwhile. On a similar note, don't worry about your final time. Soak in the sights and sounds of the day and take those with you when you drive home, not the number on your watch.

Door County Triathlon--7/22/07

2007-08-18T19:39:00.000-05:00

My swimsuit was barely dry from Danskin when my mom called me, letting me know that in a casual conversation with a friend of hers, it came up that her friend's son signed up for the Door County Triathlon but now couldn't participate, and did I want to take his spot? I knew I wanted to do another one, but only two weeks later? I debated about half an hour before deciding to do it.

Swim Route--**** A quarter-mile out-and-back in Green Bay, well marked,guarded with a fleet of lifeguards and boats and such, and clear, (relatively) calm water. I will say this: COLD. On race day the Long Course (Olympic length) athletes were required to wear wet suits for their swim; we (the Sprint length athletes) were not, for our water was a balmy 68 degrees. But hey--after the first 20 yards or so you can't feel your arms or legs anymore, and then you're just on numb autopilot anyway. And we live in Wisconsin--we've been cold before, right?

Bike Route--**** This was a very pretty, tree-lined route hugging the Green Bay shoreline. The road was flat and smooth, and I especially appreciated the bottle exchange about 3/4 through, in which I grabbed a new bottle of Gatorade. I'm all about free stuff.

Run Route--**** 1/2 Also very flat, this was an out-and-back on a road (mostly) closed off to traffic but with no shade. Two water stations were posted at miles One and Two.

Goody Bag--**** Nice T-shirt, great hair ties, cool medal at the finish, and a nice scented Door County candle to boot!

Accomodations/Parking--***** Very easy to park, and the walk to the race was less than a quarter mile.

Volunteers/Staff/Spectators--***** Great energy up there.

I really enjoyed Danskin, but I really enjoyed Door County. It helped that I had a better race in D.C. too; I hydrated better on the bike and therefore didn't feel vomitous on the run. It's nice to see real improvement in your time from race to race, so of course I was growing increasingly motivated for another one. Look at me! I'm getting better!

Danskin Triathlon--7/8/07

2007-08-17T09:52:00.000-05:00

Below is my assessment of Danskin, the first triathlon I did. Each category gets a rating of *s, five *s being the highest.

Swim Route--**** 1/2 The water was warm, the swim a straight shot across the lake (a man-made lake no less, so no huge waves or current), and Danskin provides "swim angels" for the less confident swimmer. A "swim angel" will literally swim with you the whole way holding a noodle, ready to hand it to you the minute you need it. The swim is a 1/2 mile, which is on the longer end for a sprint triathlon, but I enjoyed it.

Bike Route--**** A few monster hills (but then again, every hill to me is a monster hill) on this 12-mile route, but the roads are completely closed off and smooth and the course is relatively straight, so no worries of getting cut off by other bikers or inattentive drivers. There was one water stop along the bike route, but I didn't use it. I like to think I was going too fast, but the truth is probably more like I was too tired to reach out for it. Very little if any shade that I can remember, so hydrate hydrate hydrate.

Run Route--**** VERY flat; a nice little jaunt around the (man-made) lake and into a residential neighborhood on paved sidewalks. There was NO shade on this route and the first water station was at the halfway point (the run is 3.1 miles, like all other sprint triathlons), so that was a little grueling. But they made up for it in the second half of the run with a spray hose and a fire hydrant to run through, which on that (mid-80s) day was well needed.

Accomodations--** Parking was a mess. There was no designated parking on-site; you were supposed to park at a mall about 5 miles away and shuttle in, but from what I heard the shuttles were late and there were problems. We got as close as we could before the roads were closed off and parked at a Culver's and walked the mile or so to the race, which worked out much better. The day before was also very crowded (the line to rack bikes was enormous), but then again, it also added to the excitement.

Goody Bag--***** Lots of great free stuff! And my Danskin shirt is far and away the best race shirt I've ever received. It's a tank vs. a T-shirt, which is a nice variety, and it's a poly blend vs. cotton, so I can work out in it! (The little things get me excited.) I still use my Sport Beans water bottle, too. Oh, and I forgot to mention the stylin' medal they put around your neck when you finish! I felt like a rock star.

Volunteers/Staff/Spectators--***** Very enthusiastic, fun people watching and working the race. Being an all-female race, there was an atmosphere of pride and support all around. Overall it was the perfect triathlon to start.

Sidebar: Erika told me this story after the race was over. She was camped out at the Run Out area (the place where athletes run out of the transition area to begin their run) waiting for me to come through, when an athlete walked by. This wasn't unusual, as many women walk the run part of Danskin. The woman then pulled out her cell phone and dialed. "Yeah, hi, how are you? Yeah, I'm just starting the run part" she said, as she strolled on by. Obviously, Danskin is a very low-stress, low-pressure race.

Wisdom I Gleaned: In the course talk (the talk on the day before the race where they give you little tidbits of info and experience to take with you on race day, not to mention the rules), if they tell you it'll be a hot day and to hydrate, THEY MEAN IT. I kept telling myself I'll start by 8:00 a.m. and be done by 10:00 a.m., so it won't be all that hot yet. That was stupid. I didn't drink enough before the race nor did I drink enough on my bike, and by the time I got around to running I felt like I was going to throw up. I think I was worried about needing to pee, but the truth is, I was so dehydrated that peeing was the furthest thing from my mind. Now I'm all about the hydrating.

So what did I take away from my first triathlon? The bug. I HAD to do another one. This whole time I was training for this one race, never considering that it would be my "first triathlon", not my "only triathlon". But I knew when I crossed the finish line that it was something I'd be doing again.

A Pool is Not a Lake

2007-08-16T11:45:00.000-05:00

For several months I did my swim training in a pool. It was a comfortable 82 degrees, flat as glass, and there was a wall to hang onto every 25 meters.

Then a friend of mine informed me of the cute little lake a couple miles from her condo that I could come train in for free. I thought I'd come give it a try.

Beware. Except for the fact that I was wearing the same suit, cap, and goggles, very little was the same. The water was colder (luckily, this really was a "cute little lake", so it's probably no less than 78 degrees). Even though I swam in the No Wake area, there were still waves and a slight current that tosses you around a bit. If you're not careful, a mouthful of lake water is always a possibility. There's no walls to hang onto, which is a strange sensation to get used to--the fact that you are in (what feels like) the middle of a lake, and just getting to shore requires at least 10 minutes of real effort. But here's the biggest difference: in a pool, with your fancy schmancy goggles, you can see all the way to the bottom, all the way to the wall, and every muscle or fat roll on the swimmer next to you. In a lake, your visibility is zero. You can't see your hand in front of your face; it's all a hazy green and brown cloud. So you have to get used to the "turn your head to breathe, then lift and look straight ahead to make sure you're still headed the right way" technique. And you'd be surprised how easy it is to get off course when you're swimming and there's no lane lines to keep you straight. One time I ended up literally in the middle of the lake where boats drive because I forgot to check where I was periodically. So lake swimming...

Not quite the same.

The Training Schedule

2007-08-16T10:37:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I've committed to do a triathlon. And now I have options:

-Find a training schedule on the Internet that won't put me in the hospital and doesn't contain "advanced triathlete" terms like "Brick Bike-Run Stagger 40/60", OR

-Make up my own training schedule.

The key here is self awareness. Some people can design their own workouts, stick to them, and train really well. They appreciate the freedom in their working-out regimen. But I knew that if I made up my own schedule, it would look something like this:

MONDAY--Run 20 min
TUESDAY--Bike 20 min
WEDNESDAY--Sit on the couch
THURSDAY--Go to the gym with every intention of swimming half a mile; end up in the hot tub instead
FRIDAY--Have a few beers with friends because "it's been a rough week"
SATURDAY--Attempt to recover from the few beers I had on Friday
SUNDAY--Feel guilty for all the slacking; vow to do better next week

And that would never do. I needed the structure of a schedule printed out in front of me that I couldn't negotiate with or compromise. So instead of justifying all the slacking, my inner dialogue would instead say:

"Time to go work out."
"I don't wanna."
"The schedule says 'Bike 30 Run 30'."
"That's a lot."
"But you have to do it."
"Why?"
"It's on the schedule."
Sigh.

And away I go to work out.

Fortunately, I knew just where to go for the kind of schedule I needed--Hal Higdon. Hal Higdon posts training schedules mainly for marathons and half-marathons, but I found one for triathlons as well. I like his schedules because a.) they're free; and 2.) they cater to all levels, especially the beginner. I found his Tri-Fast training schedule and began following it to the letter. Only 8 weeks of this and I'll be a triathlete!

How it all Began

2007-08-16T10:08:00.000-05:00

In my mid-20s I worked summers at a camp for kids, and their main fundraiser was an August sprint triathlon we were all required to work at. It was the most fun weekend of the summer, but precisely because we were working--not participating. Whenever I had the fleeting thought that I maybe could do a triathlon, I remembered the story of one of my camp worker friends. She was flagging and cheering on the bike route when she encountered an especially surly athlete who responded to "You can do it!" with a growly "Damn you straight to hell!!". We laughed at the anecdote, but I secretly decided that any sport that prompts you to spontaneously wish a total stranger to Hades was not for me.

Fast forward eight (or so) years. This whole time my main (and only) form of exercise was running. I even trained for and completed the Chicago Marathon in 2003.

(Sidebar: There are several different types of Marathon runners out there. There are the kind who run marathons over and over and over. Those people are crazy. On the other end are the kind who want to say they did a marathon, so they train for it, they do one, and then never do it again. That's me.)

Besides the marathon and a few 5-8K "fun runs" here and there, I ran in an attempt not to wax. As you may have read from the previous blog entry, it wasn't entirely working. It was a slow waxing, but waxing nonetheless. So that discouragement, coupled with the fact that running (by itself) was starting to get boring, prompted an exercise change.

Enter Candice. Candice and I worked at the kids' camp together, and had both been lamenting for a couple of years about our waxing bodies--hers because she had recently given birth (twice), and mine because I liked beer and cake. So Candice announced one day that she was doing a triathlon to help motivate her to get back in shape, and asked if I wanted to do it with her. She had already picked out the Danskin Triathlon in Pleasant Prairie, WI on July 8th--plenty of time to train (it was winter at the time).

I thought of the woman who damned my friend to hell.

I thought of my waxing body.

I thought of my need to have a Motivator (i.e. a race looming in the horizon), or I'll never get out there and put in the miles.

I thought of the fact that I do not own a bike, and have not swam competitively in sixteen years.

And I told Candice I'll do it.

What's in a name?

2007-08-15T20:45:00.000-05:00

For the longest time I could never remember the difference between "waxing" and "waning". I knew one meant getting larger and the other getting smaller, and I knew the moon was always doing either one or the other, but I could never remember which was which.

I now, finally, have my means for keeping them straight.

We (and by "we", I mean my beyonce' Erika and I) were discussing waxing and waning with an astronomy enthusiast one night. He attempted to explain it in a way I would remember, but it wasn't sticking. But when Erika commented that "waxing" was exactly what I've been complaining about my body doing too much of lately, it stuck.

Waxing=Bad. Waning=Good.

About me:

I was one of those people who had a nice (not great, but nice) body in college that I took for granted. When older friends and family members would warn of the ever-slowing metabolism as you approach your 30s, I scoffed. That won't happen to me, I thought. I'm special.

Over the course of the past eight years or so, my body has indeed waxed, but slowly enough that I always convinced myself I could lose it if I really tried. But "really trying" meant giving up things like beer and cake, and I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.

Ten or twelve pounds later, I found myself inadvertantly telling Erika how bulbous my belly was, or how much I resembled an orca. (Ten or twelve pounds may not sound like much to you, but I'm really short so it was enough to notice.) I exercised regularly but ate like crap and didn't have the motivation to do otherwise. That is, until the fateful day when I proposed to Erika and it sunk in that there was going to be a wedding and I would have to fit into a pretty dress and be photographed.

My life changed.
My diet changed.
My exercise regimen changed.
And my new motto is...tri not to wax.

How much for a bike accident these days?

2006-06-11T09:56:00.001-05:00

The bills are rolling in!

Have no fear: my district's health insurance plan is very complete so I suspect not to have to pay out of pocket for most if not all of this. It's still very interesting to see what is being charged nowadays. This is a running list of the bills that have appeared in our mailbox since the accident.

1. NEUROSPYCHOLOGIST--This doctor spent about 20 minutes with me quizzing my short- and long-term memory, eye-brain coordination, recall, and knowledge of farm animals.
Charge--$345

2. AMBULANCE--The ambulance was called on my behalf, it arrived promptly (I assume), checked vitals on an unconcious victim, strapped me to a backboard, and drove me 10 minutes to the hospital. I hope the lights and siren were on, because then I would be important.
Charge--$591

3. HOSPITAL STAY--That's what it says under the description--"Hospital Stay". I think it's just the charge for one doctor to come in and ask how I'm doing. More to come.
Charge--$358