True or False: Running Causes Arthritis

We all love to run. How many of us have been enjoying a nice dinner with our grandma or grandpa when they pipe up, "You know, I knew someone who used to run. He's in a wheelchair now. Better be careful. You're going to ruin your knees!" Personally, I think they're just jealous of our fit, lean, muscular bodies. And although these comments are irritating, there's that nagging voice in the back of my head, "Is this true? Am I compromising my future ability to take a stroll down the beach?"

Turns out, scientists have pondered the answer to this question as well. Fortunately for all of us runners, numerous studies have found no correlation between running and the development of arthritis later in life. A study published in Arthritis Research and Therapy by Bruce et al (2005) compared senior runners averaging 26-miles away to a control group that averaged only 2-miles a week for 14-years. Surprisingly, the elderly runners reported less muscle and joint pain than the control group. An older study found similar results in elderly runners. In addition, the runners had a lower risk for mortality than the sedentary group. That running extends your lifespan has been further supported by other studies as well. A prospective study (2008) found no correlation between long-distance running and development of osteoarthritis in the knees. Scientists and medical doctors hypothesize that running builds up the muscle, tendons, and ligaments that support the joints, thereby preventing joint deterioration in the long haul. However, bad news for the sedentary--sitting on the couch and eating bon bons does predispose you to arthritis--extra weight is not good for your knees. In fact, numerous studies have shown that obesity is a high risk factor for the development of arthritis. Note that runners should take caution not to ignore pain or injury, however, because continuing to run on injured joints will lead to future joint damage (e.g. arthritis).

So run on folks! FALSE! Running is not bad for your knees. And, in fact, we may outlive our sedentary counterparts, who shook their fingers at us, warning that we would all end up in wheelchairs by age 50.

Links on running being a risk-factor for arthritis:
http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-241-285--9247-0,00.html
http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/03/23/hm.running.aging/index.html
http://runningtimes.com/Article.aspx?ArticleID=16646
http://walking-running-training.suite101.com/article.cfm/will_running_cause_arthritis

Fatigue--Walking the Line

Only 1.5 weeks left. Can I make it? It's like one, long Ironman to the finish, which is my taper. I can see the heavenly Taper beckoning me, just out of reach. Almost there...

I've been training harder and more than I ever have before. I've missed so few workouts, I can count them on one hand. The fatigue is building precipitously. I know I'm walking that line. If I cross it, I will be overtrained, get sick, or injured. If I am just below, I will rebound so strongly during my recovery that I will be fitter than ever before at the start line.

I took the day afer my Half Ironman Simulation off. Complete rest. I was annihilated. I think a lot of it was the heat. I felt terrific on Monday. Amazing what 1 little day of rest can do. I hit the weights hard Monday morning, following it up with a fairly slow 8-mile run. My feet were sore at the end; I need new running shoes...again. I wear through them so quickly! Lunchtime was a hard 3,000 meter swim with Terry at UCSD. I really pushed myself and was pleased to see my time drop about 5 seconds/100 (I've been trying to figure out why my swim time's have gotten consistently slower--about 7 sec/100m slower).

Yesterday (Tuesday), I swam (again) in the morning with Sickie. This time, I sucked. I was tired, sore, and cranky. Unfortunately, it was test set Tuesday. Sickie kept asking me for my times. I had to move over to the next (and slowest) lane during the warm-up. And I was still too slow! After our test 200, I almost burst into tears when Sickie asked for my time. Almost started sobbing, hopped out of the pool, and quit. I knew, at that moment, I was simply exhausted. I gave myself a break, and finished out the workout (2600m), accepting that my body just couldn't go any faster that morning. I was very proud of myself for sticking with it.

Later that night (after my brick--18 mi bike and 6 mi trail run in San Elijo Lagoon--so nice), as I was falling asleep on the couch after scarfing down my dinner, I asked Brent if he thought I had slowed down in the pool because of all the weight lifting I've been doing (which I still think is part of it). He raised an eyebrow at me and said, "You're tired! How else can I say it? You've been hitting it so hard. You're tired, you're tired, you're tired."
Hmm, I mused to myself. Could that be it? Nah.

Today is a little easier than yesterday. I had a solid bike workout on the trainer (Spinervals--Dropping the Hammer). Okay, the first half sucked, but I was able to produce some decent power in the second half. All I have left today is a trail run (5K of speed work). Then, nothing until tomorrow (and tomorrow is just swim and weights). One workout at a time. That's how I get through this.

We're driving up to Santa Cruz tomorrow for the Santa Cruz Mountains Challenge (http://www.santacruzcycling.org/scmc/). Because I've always wanted to know what 11,000 feet in 100 miles would feel like. I'm really excited. It will be beautiful. A little vacation. Plus, Thursday and Friday will be easier training days so I can rest up a little for Saturday's crazy ride. Yup, it's a workout so hard that I'm scared. I love those!

Half Ironman Simulation

With Ironman Canada only 6 weeks away, my key workout this week was a half-ironman simulation. I decided to repeat the Barely Legal HIM course that I directed last October. It's convenient, fairly safe, and full of rolling hills. Perfect.

The night before I was kind of nervous. I would be completely self-supported. No one cheering me on. No aid stations. No finish line. The task of going 70.3 miles for a mere workout seemed daunting. Frankly, it seemed like a lot of work. I hoped I could a) do it and b) do it with flying colors since I have to do 2x that in 6 weeks. Since I have been trying to plan key workouts hard enough to freak me out beforehand, I patted myself on the back for this one. Then, to make it harder on myself (because a 70.3 in itself isn't enough), I ate a really greasy dinner the night before: fatty ribs and a large fudge brownie, ala mode, of course. Oh, and lots and lots of corn on the cob. Following this, I went to bed late and didn't sleep well (probably because my stomach hurt from the fatty meal). After tossing and turning all night, I woke up at 5:00 am to realize my period had started. Whoopee. I tried to no avail to eat breakfast. After forcing down a banana, it was time to go. I packed several Cliff MoJo bars. I would have to try to eat more on the bike.

I arrived at La Jolla Shores, pleased to see that the water was silky smooth and glassy. I knew the swim would be wonderful. Fog was still clinging to the ground but I knew it would get hot, and fast, as soon as it lifted. It would be a great day for heat training. I met a small group of 4, and we headed into the water, shuffling our feet to avoid the rash of sting rays that had recently invaded the beach. I wasn't worried about the rays. I was a little freaked about the jumbo squid invasion, however. I knew they weren't particularly dangerous and more of an issue for divers than swimmers but during my tossing and turning the night before, I'd had a particularly vivid nightmare about getting dragged under by numerous tentacles from a massive, 20-foot squid who had decided to take up residence at the Shores. Shuddering imperceptibly, I shoved the goulish images out of my mind as I dove into the chilly ocean waters.

The water was in the low 60s, still a bit cold for July but I was donning my wetsuit, and as soon as we swam past the breakers, I felt fine. The other 4 guys were way faster than me (which I had been prepared for), and I let them zip ahead, focusing on my rhythm and staying in my zone. The water was very calm; it was almost like swimming in the pool. Sighting the 1/2 mile buoy (from the Cove, not the Shores--more like 3/4 from the Shores...give or take) was difficult since it was due west in the Pacific but since I was the slowest swimmer, no problem! I just sighted off the other guys. Hee hee! We reached the turn-around quickly. I couldn't believe how suddenly the buoy had popped up. I zipped around it and began letting the current take me back. I felt calm and relaxed. I was really enjoying myself. I even caught sight of a few (harmless) leopard sharks, the sunlight reflecting brilliantly off their rich brown and tan scales. I refused to touch ground until the waves washed me almost aground, very good practice for T1 but also, I was trying to avoid all the rays I kept spotting in the shallow water! I hopped up and ran over to the truck to get ready for the bike. I glanced at my watch; about 34 minutes. Not too bad! My stomach felt greatly improved. I used the few minutes of downtime to gulf down a MoJo bar (yummy!) and chase it with some water. This worked so well, I might try it on race day!

About 10 people joined me for the bike. It was kind of fun to have training partners for each stage. On the other hand, it was good for me to go at my own pace and practice swimming, riding, and running alone, since this most closely mimics race day. Turns out I was alone for each phase most of the day anyway. The bike was somewhat hilly with 3 prominent hills and rollers in between. Plus, we would be riding about 20 miles east, which in San Diego in July, translates to heat. It would be good practice. Canada can be hot, or so it's rumored, and I want to be prepared.

We rolled out and were hit with La Jolla Shores hill right off the bat. It's not very long (about 1 mile, 7%ish grade) but it is steep and my right hamstring has been a little off. After a day of rest, it felt very stiff. Climbing with no warm-up was not fun. Luckily, the no-bullshit hill right off the bat, also forced my hammy to warm up more quickly. I didn't hear a peep out of it for the rest of the ride after that. Hammer it into submission, I say!

We reached the bike path and I "oohed" and "aahed" at the baby ducklings with Mama Duck at the pond, much to the amusment of everyone else in the group. They were probably the highlight of my ride. The heat was rising steadily; I just focused on my hydration and used mental imagery to block the heat out of my head. It's mostly mental. By the time I reached Black Mountain Road, I was riding solo. The front pack had pulled away and the back pack was somewhere behind me. I was stuck in the middle. Story of my life. However, I valued the opportunity to simulate what I would experience in race day. It didn't bother me at all. What did bother me was when the pack behind me caught and overtook me at mile 22 on Camino del Sur, a road that is nothing but up and down rollers. As I struggled to maintain a decent pace while fighting the heat (and keeping in mind I had a half marathon to run afterwards), the back pack took off. I didn't attempt to try to chase them down. They had mechanical issues earlier, and I knew that was what had prematurely slowed them. In reality, those riders are normally faster. I had to let them go. Still, it was a big piece of humble pie I was forced to swallow, and I wasn't all too happy about it. Probably karma after my gloating for chicking that guy up Torrey Pines the other day.

I spotted a park on the left and stopped to refill my water. I couldn't believe how much fluid (and calories) I was putting down. It was HOT! And I was on top of it. I quickly continued on my way, patting myself briefly on the back for such a quick and efficient stop. I spotted Brent climbing up San Dieguito as I zoomed down; he blew me a kiss. I glanced at my computer to track how far ahead he was, just for shits and giggles. Previous rides where I had paced myself quite conservatively and taken my time at stops, I had been up to 40 minutes behind him. Today was different. I reached the turn-around and began climbing San Dieguito. I was only 4 miles behind him, about 15 minutes. Quite an improvement! I smiled inwardly. I've noticed my performance improves when I think I'm doing well. However, when I think I suck, my performance really suffers. It is SO mental. I think I'm awesome; therefore, I'm awesome. Seems simple. The trick is to not let the blows to your ego (there will be many) affect you inwardly and to find little boosts throughout the day that lift you up and carry you forward.

As I reached the crest of San Dieguito (where it was particularly hot and miserable), the pack with initial mechanical problems passed me for a 2nd time. Where did they come from? Wasn't once enough? Ugh. How humiliating. Turns out, they had stopped at a gas station for a water refill before starting up San Dieguito, and I had ridden ahead during that time. At least I wasn't too far back. I kept them in my sights this time, only 1/4 mile behind, until a red light sealed the deal, and I had to reluctantly let them go...out of sight AND out of mind.

I headed back to the coast, relishing the cool westerly breeze coming off the ocean. Yes, it was a headwind (not a wimpy one either) but it felt soooo good. I reached the base of Torrey Pines and diligently climbed up the inside. One last mean pitch before I could cruise downhill back to transition...I mean, er, the parking lot. I glanced at my computer. I was 1.2 mph over what I thought I could do on such a tough course. Whoo hoo! Not too shabby. And on top of it, I felt fresh. I hadn't hammered; I had stayed within my limits. I hope I can get that kind of performance on race day.

My parking spot was highly coveted, and I waved dozens of frustrated drivers on as I changed into my running shoes and downed another MoJo bar. I was doing awesome on calories! For the whole day, I took in about 1200, about 2x as many as I managed in CA 70.3 in early April. And I felt awesome!

I was worried about being able to run 13.1 miles after all that, and in this heat. My legs didn't fail me. Glancing at my GPS, I realized I was running waaay too fast. I kept having to slow down, sloooow down. It was a good feeling. I reached a trail that wound its way to the Cove and was awestruck by the obscenely gorgeous views of the ocean. I had no problem slowing to gawk at the ocean as I trotted by.

The Cove was a zoo. Running on the sidewalk was a joke as I elbowed and shoved families and strollers aside. I guess I was a little pissed that they all got to go to the beach while I had to run a half marathon (after the swim and bike). Finally, I ran in the street, deciding this was a better option. There were so many cars looking for places to park, I was moving faster than traffic anyway! Ugh. Beach traffic in San Diego in the summertime drives me bonkers. It gets so crowded July and August!

Soon, I was in the residential section of La Jolla, running by smaller side beaches and surfing beaches like Wind 'n Sea. My blood pressure dropped two notches from boiling again. My legs felt awesome. The run course is littered with small rollers the whole way, making your body work extra hard. The bonus is you never get bored, and my legs love rollers because I'm constantly using different muscles. I was very pleased with my pace and how my legs felt on the hills. I felt amazingly strong.

I reached the turn around in Pacific Beach and refilled my bottles. I had already gone through all 4 (32 ounces total)! Man, it was hot! I normally go through 4 in only 13.1 miles. Today, I was drinking 2x what I normally do. Probably explains why I felt so good all day. The return home was faster than the trip out, as is always the case for me. Around mile 8, I hit a runner's high. The miles were elapsing so easily. My legs ran under me effortlessly, and I relished the cute little houses, tiny gardens, and numerous, private, tucked-away beaches (with their deliciously cool breezes).

I reached La Jolla Shores again. My watch hit 13.1 miles. I had done it! And I was 30 seconds/mile faster than my goal pace! There was no finish line. No one cheering my name. It was a little anticlimatic. But I was very proud of myself. Doing an unsupported half ironman workout is WAY harder than doing a half ironman race. I grabbed some water and ice cream from the local market before heading back down to the Shores for a dip in the ocean with Brent and Alec. Afterall, I had an awesome parking spot. I couldn't let it go to waste without some beachtime!

Chick That!

So I'm finishing up my hill repeats last night on the inside of Torrey Pines. I selected Pandora (Look 585 Elle Road Bike) instead of Torch (Kuota K Factor Tri Bike) since I'm taking her on the century ride next weekend. She's a dream to climb on. Anyway, I'm cooling down on a final, mellow climb on the outside of Torrey Pines (longer but less steep), and this fit, muscular guy blows past me on his sweet-lookin', black-and-yellow Specialized Transition. I am temporarily humbled and my ego gets knocked down a few pegs. No biggie, I tell myself. You did a good, solid workout today. Just focus on the cooldown.

Then, a 2nd guy on a tri bike passes me. Only he's got skinny, hairy legs and is riding a Fuji. Now it's getting downright humiliating. But wait a minute....he's slowing down. The dude used all he had to pass me, and now he's slowing down! I'm gaining on him. I take my time, slowly reeling in my prey. We still have 3/4 of a mile to the top. He's clearly struggling, weaving all over the road, shifting awkwardly, as if uncomfortable with the TT bike. He stands up out of the saddle to climb for a few jerky pedal strokes, then plops back into the saddle, weaves, repeats. Standing to climb on the outside of Torrey Pines? It's only a 4% grade. Wasted energy, wasted energy.

Then, I realize I'm going to pass him. I take my time, savoring the process, a cat playing with an injured mouse. I'm closing in on him, evaluating him closely. Did I err in my judgement? Is this guy saving a burst for the top? I'm on top of him now, practically breathing down his neck. Because I've taken my time closing the gap, I'm well-rested, my breathing is calm and slow. I make my move with efficient, calculated pedal strokes, forced to call, "On your left!" since he begins weaving erratically all over the shoulder again. He pulls to the right, and I blow by him, shifting to a bigger gear as I pass. Click! My speed increases by 2 mph, and I drop him. I'm on the final third of the hill and the steepness begins to level out. Instead of slowing and beginning to recover as is the instinctual tendency, I increase my power and intensity to finish strong, leaving him in my metaphorical dust. Maybe I sound a little harsh, maybe I was a little too mean but I have never, never, ever been able to pass people climbing hills before. The victory is glorious. I resist the urge to throw my arms in the air and blow kisses to the crowd. I feel like I've just won an Alp stage at the Tour de France. I can almost hear the guy's friend (on the Specialized), who is waiting for him at the top, "Dude, you just got totally CHICKED!"


PS--Jumbo Humboldt squid have been washing up at La Jolla Cove. I just love new swimming partners, especially when they have tentacles!

Gorillas from Rwanda (and Final Push Thoughts)

Wow, it's been a great week. Lab has been uber-hectic but I've managed to stay on top of it (thank God last week was a recovery week). Now that the PI's grant has been submitted, I can resume my final block of Ironman training full-tilt (well, I was before anyway but at least now I'll feel less guilty about it).

Each of these final 3 weeks leading up to my taper has a different theme, giving the training a whole special purpose and sense of excitment. This is Final Push, Week 1: Speedwork. I'm maintaining a heavy volume by doing more frequent but shorter and faster workouts, ending with a Half Ironman Simulation this weekend. Instead of my usual 4x bike, 3x run, 3x swim, 2x weights, I'm doing all 3 sports 4x (well, maybe not the swim--we'll see if I can make it to 6 am masters tomorrow--but wouldn't it be awesome if I did?). Sounds crazy...but remember I'm doing all 3 sports in the same day on Saturday. I alternate heavy days with easy ones to give my body a break and do active recovery on my rest days (easy swim, weights, or easy bike) instead of doing nothing. This helps me actually recover faster and sneaks in an extra workout!

Monday:
am--Swam 3,000 meters (long course) at lunch time with Terry (who's actually a little tougher than Sickie, which I like, and more triathlon specific). Plus, since I swam at lunch, I got to sleep in!
pm--Got a massage that evening, which I thoroughly enjoyed. This was a recovery day.
Tuesday: Tough day!
am--Started out with 1 hour of hard free weights (with a mat and exercise ball). Followed it up with a hard 1 hour Spinerval session on the trainer. Dripped sweat everywhere!
pm--Ran a hard, super hilly (and sandy) 6-miles on trails in Torrey Pines. Forced myself to run the whole way (careful not to sprain an ankle on the way down) even though I swear I could taste my lungs going back up. Those hills are crazy steep (lots of stair running as you hop from wooden step to step embedded in the side of the cliffs)!
Wednesday:
am (okay, noon)--Swam 3,000 meters (long course) with Terry again (she's killing me!). Very sore from weights the day before. I had no idea you use your chest and back so much to swim (I did lots of bench press, push ups, and rows the day before; ouch!)!
pm--met a group for a 5K run, cross-country style to do some speed work. Warmed up with 2 miles beforehand. This workout kicked my ass! I had no idea a 5K race simulation could be such an incredible substitute for a track workout. Much more fun too. We all went out to eat afterwards--bonus. I especially loved the Peanut Butter Mousse Dome I had for dessert (Leucadia's Pizza).
Thursday:
am--weights and run. Pretty hard weights again but slightly easier than Tuesday. 6-mile easier run on the 56 bike path. Very hot and humid though. Good heat training! Legs a little tired at beginning but worked out of it.
pm--Can't wait for tonight's hill repeats on Pandora!

Tomorrow is a rest day (optional masters swim) and then Saturday is the big day: Half Ironman Race Simulation! Sunday will be an active recovery day (bike). Next week, (Final Push, Week 2) is all about the bike, ending with the Santa Cruz Alpine Challenge...because I always wanted to know what 11,000 feet of climbing in 100 miles feels like. Final Push, Week 3, will be all about the run, ending with a 20-miler (the day after a 60-mile, hilly bike...Palomar one final time?). Then, a recovery week to rest up (ending with Camp Pendleton Sprint to get my race juices flowing) and a proper 3-week taper with a measured 25%, 50%, and 75% reduction in training volume (based on my average volume during the Final Push Block). These workouts will be short...but hard. Because, remember, taper does not equal recovery.

Observations:
1. It takes more to make my body tired. Plus, my body is adapting to doing workouts (at a lower intensity) even when I'm fatigued. A big bonus for race day!
2. My swim has slowed down. :( At first, I thought it was a fluke. I noticed it during my recovery week and chocked it up to fatigue but it has persisted through this week. I am consistently 5 seconds slower per 100 meters. It starts out that way during the warm up and lasts through the entire workout. I don't feel particularly tired (although I am sore from weights) but no matter how hard I try, I'm stuck at the same pace. Could it be:
a) Too many ocean swims at base pace have slowed me down?
b) The fatigue from Ironman training is starting to take its toll?
c) I'm swimming larger volumes (last week I swam 10,000 meters, and I've been averaging 3,000-4,000 per swim instead of the old 2,500)?
My guess is (c) but who knows? I just hope it goes away in a few weeks and all the hard work begins to pay off during my taper.
3. My bike has gotten faster, especially on the hills. Yippee! I've been working SO hard on the bike. My strategy, this year, was to focus on a specific sport during each block leading up to the final push while maintaining the other 2 (not your typical IM race plan so a little risky but at least, a lot more fun!). Since running was my strongest, I worked on it first (farthest out from race day), knowing it would be easier to maintain while I worked on my limiter (the bike). My last block was bike-specific: I biked 4 times a week (trainer, tempo, hills, and long ride) while running and swimming 3x (weights 2x).
I was so tired by the end of that 3-week block, I had no idea if I'd improved or not. At the end of my recovery week, I went for a 50-mile, fairly flat, group ride through Camp Pendleton. I started out very easy; I was just getting over a cold and had a hard time finding my rhythm after not riding all week. Plus, I was chatting a lot. Hey, it's a recovery week! After the turn-around, our group picked up the pace, peloton-style. I practiced my group riding skills and was surprised at how hard I had to work to maintain our increased speed. Once back on base, the group splintered, and I settled into my aero bars. We hit a few minor hills, and I spun up them, passing the group! This has never happened to me before. Me? A climber? I was super stoked! Of course, I had to hammer after that, especially on each little hill that challenged me subsequently. I rode out in front the rest of the way home, elated. I guess my bike training block worked! Apparently, to get better on the bike, ride more!

And I leave you with gorilla pictures from Rwanda, courtesy of my Dad and sister (who are on safari in Africa right now. Jealous much?)

Chomp, chomp. Gotta increase my fiber intake for regularity.

Yes, I'm young and fluffy and adoreable. Wanna make something of it?

Man, that was a hard track workout . I need some recovery time!

Beginning the Final Push

Gulp. Can I make it through these next 3 weeks? If I can, I will be more than ready for Ironman Canada. I can't believe it's less than 2 months away. I thought it might be challenging to find the same amount of enthusiasm and motivation the 2nd time around but I was wrong. If anything, I've been more disciplined and more excited. My body is stronger than last year, and I can handle larger training volumes. My training plan has more intense (and hillier) workouts. I've been able to eat healthier and do more weights and Yoga. I need less sleep and less recovery. It will be interesting to see how race day pans out.

I don't know why I'm more excited. I think it's a spiral effect. Every time I think I can't do something, I go out and do it, and impress myself. Nothing is impossible. I didn't think I'd be able to improve, to get faster, to handle larger volumes...but I proved myself wrong. My training is hard enough to scare me. My long workouts on the weekend give me semi-anxiety attacks beforehand. I can't possibly finish this. And then, amazingly, somehow, I do. 80-mile rides up Palomar in 93-degree-heat. 14-mile hot runs in Penasquitos Canyon. Then 100-mile hilly rides in 90-degree heat. And 17-mile runs in Black Mountain Park. And 2.5 mile ocean swims. How did I do that? I'm not sure. But it feels wonderful. The incredible sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, after crossing that finish line. That superhuman feeling that, yes, little ole' me, I can do ANYTHING. That's why I do this.

These next 3 weeks will be the toughest. The most exhausting. They will push me to the breaking point. But they will also be the most rewarding. And the most important in preparing me for race day.

Is Cycling Bad for Your Bones?

Some recent studies indicated that too much cycling might cause bone loss (see NY Times synopsis below). Since we spend more time on the bike, as triathletes, than any other sport, I found this very alarming. Could this be true? In one study, competitive cyclists had less bone density than controls (men who were active but not competitive). Some even had osteopenia, the early stages of osteoporosis. These men were in their late 20s, not 70s! The 2nd study found that a different group of competitive cyclists lost a significant amount of bone throughout the race season (although, luckily, they regained some of it in the off season). A third study compared bone density between weight lifters, runners, and cyclists. Guess which group had the lowest? Yup. The cyclists. However, in another study, triathletes gained bone density throughout the race season. Huh? (But, yea!)

Why would cycling cause bone loss? Some have postulated it's due to the non-impact nature of the sport. Perhaps. It is known that weight lifting and running increase bone density. But that doesn't explain the net loss of bone. I think these studies have to be taken with a pound of salt because they were all done on competitive cyclists, a group of athletes known for not making the healthiest choices for their bodies (doping, anyone?). The amount of stress they put on their bodies in a season is extraordinary. In addition, extreme weight loss is known to cause bone loss (leading to osteopenia and osteoporosis) in people with eating disorders, especially anorexia. Competitive cyclists are notorious for starving themselves into an unhealthy "race weight", believing it will lead to faster performances (which is wrong--it depletes the immune system and causes fatigue, actually slowing you down). I would hypothesize that the competitive cyclists used in these studies suffered from bone loss due to their low weights and not the cycling itself. It would be interesting to repeat these studies in non-competitive cyclists.

That said, the study that looked at triathletes reported an increase in bone density over the season. Could it be that triathletes participate in more impact sports (e.g. running)? They have higher percentages of lean muscle mass? Or were they at a healthier weight?

Some food for thought....literally


http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/07/01/is-bicycling-bad-for-your-bones/

A 3 Day Weekend: A 3-Part Tale

Hope that everyone had a holiday weekend. Mine was pretty intense. I'm actually relieved to go back to work today so I can recover! (I need a vacation). You know you're a triathlete when...you use national holidays to fit in as many workouts as possible as your idea of fun.

Independence Century:
Friday, we kicked off the weekend with a century ride: The Independence Century. I did a little research and came up with a 1-loop ride in north county that included some hills and heat but ended with the flat, refreshing coast. I also gave riders shorter options so there was something for everyone. About 25 people showed up, which was awesome. I love using long rides as an excuse to meet new people and catch up with old friends. My hamstring and knees were still shredded from Palomar the weekend before, especially when climbing, but oddly enough, everything seemed to warm up after mile 25.

The heat began to escalate when reached Escondido, and I forgot to drink between the first and 2nd rest stops, getting myself good and dehydrated. Everyone reacts differently when they're dehydrated. I get very cranky. After forcing down a sandwich, Coke, and copious amounts of water (after snapping at everyone first), I felt much better. I was ready for the famous climb up Lilac (which isn't that bad, guys, really). It looked intimidating because it was long and you could see it coming forever as it snaked up and around and around. Plus, it was hot. Stifling hot, which always makes everything harder. But once we started going up, I realized it wasn't that steep and could sit and spin.

Somehow, we made the wrong turn at the Lilac-Lilac-Lilac intersection. Is this the nexus of the universe? Did they run out of street names? I mean, c'mon! Anyway, we inadvertently started riding west but were supposed to be riding north. I knew we had gone the wrong way, 10 miles later, but after all the ups and downs, we weren't about to turn around and head east again, back into the blazing heat. Each 5-miles west we rode earned us a degree cooler (it had been 100 on the Lilac climb); I had ridden parts of the roads before so I forged ahead, trying to get us back while creatively adding miles to make up for the ones we had missed. No one knew where we were, and I was only pretending. Inside, I was panicked. What if I lead everyone astray? It's one thing to get yourself lost. It's quite another to organize a ride and get everyone lost. Argh!

We continued riding north on beautiful back roads, winding past gorgeous, tucked away farms and avocado groves. There was no traffic, and all was serene and quiet. All of a sudden, I recognized the street name. It was on my original map! I called a quick regroup, showed everyone where we were, and, relieved, led the way confidently after that. The new route had missed our 3rd rest stop. Thinking fast, I found a 7-11 at mile 70 (about the same mile as the original route), and we all rehydrated. We reached the San Luis River Rey bike path, and I celebrated, pushing hard into the head wind for the next 10 miles. Brent and I took turns pulling. I felt wonderful! Guess it takes me 70 miles to warm up.

We hit the coast and were instantly amazed at how packed the streets were. Beach cruisers, walkers, dogs, cars, everywhere. All roaming aimlessly about. Angry cars, searching for a parking spot. Surfboards, blindly flying out into the bike lane. It was mayhem. Why would anyone want to go the beach on the 4th? It's SO crowded. Yuk! It was tense but somehow, we made it back to the start. My computer read 93 miles. Stubbornly, I continued south. The group followed reluctantly. Hey, they could stop if they wanted to! But inside, they were all mileage junkies like me. We turned around and head back to the start (again). We reached the light to turn into the parking lot but were still 0.4 miles short. I stubbornly rode north to the next light before turning left. Everyone groaned...then followed. We reached the parking lot, and my computer read 100.1 miles. I'll be damned if I plan and century and my computer doesn't read 100 miles. Obssessive?

The Suck It Up Run (17-mile Black Mountain Park trail run):
Saturday, I woke up early to run to Black Mountain Park. I needed to run 16; Brent wanted 10. The trail in the park is a 10-mile loop. Simple, I would run to the park. However, when I mapped it out the night before, I would be 3-miles short so I headed in the opposite direction first for 1.5 miles before turning around and heading towards the park (first mistake). Second mistake--I left my fuel belt with Brent, thinking: I don't need water for the first 6-miles. You do if you're running 10 hilly hot ones after! Doh! My legs were heavy from the bike the day before but I could crank out a good pace on the roads if they were flat. Unfortunately, the entire route to the park was uphill. The entire way. I was feeling very cranky. It was very humid too, and sweat dripped down my forehead and cheeks. Ugh. I was feeling pretty miserable. I'll warm up out of it. Just give it time, I coached myself.

I reached mile 6. No park. I still had a good mile to go. WTF? I didn't want another mile! Something inside me snapped as I realized it would be a 17-mile run. For some reason, 16 was okay but 17 seemed unfathomable. Out of the question. I finally reached the park, hot, cranky, dehydrated, and with an extra mile under my belt. I slammed the extra bottle of water Brent had brought, snapped on the fuel belt, and we set off.

The trails were hot and hilly and the going was agonizingly slow. I was cranking at Brent. Why did you have to pick this run? Why are you making me do this? Why couldn't we do something easier? He just kind of raised an eyebrow at me. He tried chatting about how fun the bike ride was yesterday and what a great weekend he was having but was met with only silence. It just seemed like too much energy to reply. I was hitting the wall. Every little hill we met, I had to walk. It was such an effort to resume running again. I couldn't. I just couldn't.

Only 1-mile in (8-miles for me), I asked him for the keys to the car and turned around. He hesitated, then waved goodbye and trotted off. Miserable, I sat down on the side of the trail and started crying. Brent was already out of earshot. I cried louder. Looking around, I saw I was alone. No one was there to take care of me or make me feel better. Except me. I fell silent and took several deep breaths. I didn't want to go back to the car. I didn't want to surrender and only do 8 miles of a 16-mile run (okay, now 17). I was halfway there. I didn't want to have to make it up later or bail on it completely and worry about what skipping it would mean for my Ironman preparation this close to the race when every workout counts. There was nothing wrong with my body. I was just tired. The urge to quit was 100% mental but physically, I knew I could get through this run. I took a suck-it-up pill (as David Goggins would say), picked myself up, and started running.

I ran fast, feeling fresh and energized. I tested myself. Could I catch up with Brent? Clipping away at an 8:30 pace, I saw him a mile later. Whoo hoo! I was overjoyed. He was surprised but happy to see me. I told him I'd had an attitude adjustment and we toiled onward. It didn't really get much easier. The sun was blazing, there was no shade, and the rising heat was stifling. The hills were numerous, steep and mountainous, and I practically had to crawl to reach the top of each one. My legs were tired and my pace got slower and slower and slower as the miles got longer (and hillier). But I didn't really care. I wasn't giving up. I wasn't going to quit. And that's all that mattered.

I ran out of water at mile 14 or 15. Brent saved me by offering me some of his. Next time, I'll have to drop a bottle at mile 5, where there's another trailhead. The temp was in the high 90s. The sound of rattling tails from nearby, hidden rattlesnakes in the grass reverberated in the canyons. I sharply scanned the trail ahead of me, watching my step. The last 2 miles were the hardest (and hottest and hilliest). I was having a hard time just walking. At the top, a cool breeze deliciously teased me, and the sound of a bubbling creek below refreshed me. "Do you hear that? It feels wonderful!" I commented, not realizing I was mixing senses. Still, I think my core temp dropped a degree or two. Somehow I made it up the next hill, and the next. I was wobbly and tired. So tired. There was a little patch of shade offered by the massive electrical tower perched at the top of the hill (okay, mountain). I asked Brent if I could lay down to take a little nap. "Just a little one?" I pleaded. He shook his head no and urged me onward. (Later he would tease me that I wanted a power nap under the power tower).

I saw the baseball fields at the park where the car was and rejoiced. We had made it. Barely. He drove to a nearby gas station so I could grab 20 lbs of ice (ice bath), chocolate milk, orange juice and water. I was quite a sight as I wobbled around in a disoriented manner, barefoot (there was no way I was putting my running shoes back on again). I was so happy to be done with that run. But in the end, it was great mental training.

Laps in the Cove:
Sunday, I squeezed in an hour bike and 6-mile run before meeting my group for an ocean swim at La Jolla Cove. I was short on workouts for the week and stubbornly wanted to get them in. Also, I wanted a redemption run after the day before's horrendous one. Surprisingly, the 6-miles were wonderful. I was fast and quick; my confidence was quickly restored.

I met my group and we set off for the half-mile buoy. I needed 2.5 miles. My plan was to go 3 laps: 2 to the 1/2 mile buoy and 1 to the 1/4 mile buoy. Everything was smooth sailing until I reached the 1/4 mile buoy. After that, the water got really choppy. A large swell was coming in, and I kept getting buffeted up and down. It was hard to feel like I was making forward progress.

After finishing my first lap, I headed back out alone. Everyone else thought the water was unpleasantly rough (it was) and 1-mile was enough for them. There were a lot of other swimmers out there, and I felt safe and secure between the 3 buoys to my east and 3 to my west (the 1/4 and 1/2 mile buoys are between the 6 cylindrical ones). Unfortunately, in the ocean, the shortest distance between 2 points is not always a straight line. I swam too far east on the first half of the 2nd lap and had a rude awakening when I turned west to reach the 1/2 mile buoy. I was swimming directly against the swell. Somehow, I didn't swallow water or even get seasick. I just kept swimming. I reached the northwest cylindrical buoy and had a moment of total disorientation. How did I get here? Luckily, I wasn't in a hurry. I stopped and looked around, realizing I had overshot the 1/2 mile buoy. Sometimes, stopping to collect yourself can save you time and prevent disaster in the long run, especially in the middle of the ocean. The return back on the 2nd lap was a snap since I had favorably placed myself in the current. Whoo hoo!

I was feeling kind of tired and sour as I headed out for the 3rd lap but I only had to go to the 1/4 mile buoy this time, and the ocean was much calmer until that buoy. Still, I stopped several times to readjust my goggles, more to look at fish and look around than to fix a real leak. I circumvented several snorkelers and scuba divers as I returned. An airplane roared overhead, and I stopped abruptly to see what the noise was. It was pulling a banner advertising Cheetah's, a strip club. Really? I'm in the middle of the ocean, and I still can't escape that kind of stuff? Ugh. I returned to shore for the last time, exuberant. I had done it! All of it. Then, I realized I was ravenous and, after seeing a friend up on the grass, proceeded to scarf down a ton of food in his cooler (turkey, salami, cheese, cherries, trail mix, granola bars), until he snapped the cooler shut, cutting me off. Thanks, TJ! It was delicious. You're a life saver!

Thank God it's a recovery week!

Slacking Off

The Hellhole Ride (see post below) left me completely toasted. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever be recovered. I took Monday completely off, something I hadn't done in 2 weeks. No weights, no swimming, nothing. I felt like absolute crap Tuesday, leaving me wondering if days off are a bad idea. Maybe swimming and/or weights on a day off isn't such a bad thing? Helps move blood to the muscles? I'm only sort of joking here. I hate days off.

I swam Tuesday morning. The first half was crap. So much so, I almost got out and called it quits. But after 1,000 meters or so, I suddenly felt wonderful. Feeling wonderful after feeling awful spirals on itself, making you feel even more wonderful. Like a superstar. First, the mindset is: I suck, I can't do this, this sucks, I hate this, I want to give up. But you stick with it. It starts getting easier. The time/lap starts shrinking. Then, the mindset shifts: I'm AWESOME. I'm a SUPERSTAR! I'm swimming like AMANDA BEARD! This is SO MUCH FUN! I want MORE! Complete opposite. Again, I'm reminded of the highs and lows you go through in an Ironman. Yet another reason to keep on pushing when you feel pain...the exquisite wonderful ecstasy that follows when the pain subsides and numbness sets in.

Tuesday's night workout was a spin session on the trainer. Time Trial Special 2.0 a'la Spinerval DVD. I got on Torch. Ouch. I started warming up. My legs hurt. I started doing the workout. Waiting for my legs to feel better. They felt like cement blocks. Coach Troy was yelling to "Push it! Harder! Harder! This is an ALL OUT!" I shouted at him to go *F* himself. I HATED him. Stupid Coach Troy. What did he know? Stupid Spinervals. Stupid trainer. It had been 20 minutes. My body wasn't responding, and the all time mental dive wasn't worth it. It was time to call it (gulp) quits. Reluctantly, in full pout mode, I got off the trainer, went inside, doled myself out a huge sundae (Dreyer's Peanut Butter Cups---OMG--It is SO GOOD!), and sulked.

Today, I'm still sore and tired. But I was able to do my workouts. I was actually looking forward to doing them, and after a looong warm-up, able to produce some good quality power. I did some light weights, taking care of my flared-up knees and laying off my aching hamstrings. Followed it up with an 8-mile (hot and humid) run. Was pretty slow but felt good to get it done. Tonight, round 2 on the trainer. This time, Rachel and Torch won the battle against Coach Troy. Take that! Sometimes, it's smart to surrender one workout to come back the next day and actually recover.

I leave you with this:
Chip--the rapidly growing wild baby bunny that visits our backyard every evening. I discovered him while I had my biblical sinus infection, and he's been my guardian angel ever since. And, yes, he's adoreable.

The Hellhole Ride--Character Building

I've decided every Ironman is like a two part play: the training and the race. The training takes much longer and has less action but is the most important. It's the character building phase. The race, of course, is the plot. Keep in mind, however, that even the character building phase can be peppered with excitement. Single, traumatic, impossible workout feats that define who you are as an athlete. Those are the "breakthrough" workouts, the events that convince you that, no matter what God hands you on race day, you'll make it to the the finish line. If I hadn't had these "character building" workouts, I doubt I would have finished Ironman Arizona last April in those hellish conditions. I can remember a difficult 3-mile ocean swim from the Cove-Scripps Pier-back to the Cove that helped prepare me. And a crazy weekend in Borrego Springs (100 mile ride Saturday in the desert, followed by a 20-mile run on Sunday) that simply defined me.

Lately, I've been on fire. I've been really revving up the workouts, very focused, and I can feel the fatigue starting to challenge me during these final weeks of Ironman training before the taper. I only have 4 more weeks of training. This week will close up the final week of bike-focused training before I start my "final push." The excitement is palpable.

I've been kind of lax on posting on my epic weekend rides. Last one came close, especially when we renamed "The Spirit of TCSD Ride" the "No Mercy Ride", after I forgot to include the left-hand turn onto Mercy Road on the route slip. After hand-correcting all the route slips, we promptly missed the turn onto Mercy, adding an extra 3 miles to a 70+mile (hilly ride). By the end of the ride, after everyone was exhausted from all the climbing, it definitely was the No Mercy Ride!

This Saturday's ride was one of my defining moments that I will remember when it gets tough on the Ironman Canada course. Maybe I should have given it a more exciting name than the understated "80-mile Palomar Ride". I knew it would be hard. 7100 feet of climbing and the forecast predicted heat. This ride is included in many pro's training schedules around here and was made famous by the final stage of the Tour de California. The mountain was calling me.

I've seen many able cyclists hitch a ride home and turn back early after bonking halfway up the mountain. I had ridden the 64-mile version 3x before in cooler weather. Now, it was time to challenge myself a bit. Could I do it? Could I make it the whole way? I had my doubts, especially after feeling the fatigue creep into my legs after a tough 2-weeks of workouts.

I met the group at Kit Carson Park early Saturday morning before 7 am. The final, cool wisps of fog were clinging to the ground. We took off, heading north, and I did my best to stay in the middle of the pack. It was a great group, and we exchanged funny stories about the obsessive-compulsive habits of triathletes as we warmed up. Before we reached the first climb, the sun melted the final remnants of fog away, and the temps began to rise. The sweat began to drip like a leaky faucet down my cheeks. It was going to be one of those days.

We began climbing up Lake Wohlford, the first major climb, and the group splintered. I rode alone between the fast group and the slow group. Great practice for Ironman race day. I found my rhythm and toiled up the hill slowly but steadily on my tri bike (Torch). This ride would have been so much easier on my road bike (Pandora) but that's not who I'm riding on race day! The road snaked narrowly up and around and up and around. I clung to the shoulder, lined with broken pavement and glittering with the glass of a million broken bottles carelessly thrown from drunken gamblers driving back from the casinos or countless pickup trucks, indigenous to the area. A few large semi trucks carrying loads of dirt squeezed past me on the narrow road. They were loud and large but at least they were slow and somewhat considerate.

I finally reached the top of Lake Wohlford, and feeling fresh, cruised down the descent to try and catch the group ahead of me. Farmland surrounded me, and I drank in the scenery. Ponies and horses with shimmering summer coats grazed contentedly in the early morning sun, still pleasant and comfortable. The silver leaves of an olive tree orchard contrasted starkly against the lush, velvet green grass carpeting the lawn beneath. All of this beauty was instantly broken by the overwhelming stench of a chicken farm. I suppressed the urge not to retch as I rode by. I cruised by Valley View Casino, a huge concrete complex in the middle of nowhere. At the bottom of the giant hill lay an even more massive Harrah's Casino, in an even more desolate location, surrounded by nothing but vast, vacant brown desert. I pulled into the taco shop at the base of Palomar to regroup. We had made it over the first "speed bump".


Still in good spirits, we all headed east on Hwy 76 to the South Grade Road of Palomar. We still had 5 or 6 miles before reaching the bottom of Palomar, and the entire thing was uphill. In addition, the sun was now beating down on us with incredible intensity, and we were fully exposed with absolutely no shade to protect us. The entire time, as I crawled to the base, I stared in awe to my north. This enormous, 5,000 beast of a mountain rose up before us. I was completely intimidated.

We finally reached the South Grade Road, and I silently rejoiced. I'm not sure why. Yea! 7-miles of 7% grade up a mountain! I think I was happy to finally be officially on the mountain. Plus, there were patches of refreshing shade along the way up. We started climbing (for real now; hadn't I already been climbing the entire 25 miles before?), and I made note of what my mileage read so I could count down the miles. Even though it was only 7 miles to the top, I knew it would be over an hour before reaching the summit. Luckily, I had plenty of fluids and food. The motorcycles were out in full force. These adrenaline-junkies love to race up the narrow, windy road of Palomar, occasionally wiping out. That's all fine and dandy, as long as they don't take me or one of my friends with them. I nervously clung to the shoulder.

Halfway up, I found Brent, struggling with a flat on the shoulder. I'm surprised more of us didn't get flats. Afterall, I think we rode the entire way on broken glass. I silently celebrated. Now we would get to ride together! He was starting to look a little miserable. Of course, he was out of water, not bothering to refill at the Taco Shop at the base. I gave him a bottle, and we continued up. My right hamstring began to cry out in pain. Well, first it was my knees. Then, my feet, as the heat made them swell. Then, my stomach began to bloat and fill with nausea (my sports drink was too concentrated). Then my wrists and hands from riding in the non-rideable hoods of a tri bike for so long, slippery with sweat. Different body parts took turns complaining. Thinking the hammy pain was a cramp, I popped some salt tablets. I counted down the final mile, blocking out the pain. It crept by at an agonizingly slow rate. I, too, was out of fluids now, and had been purposely undereating to let my stomach empty. I could choose between nausea and hunger. Hunger had seemed better but now I was getting dizzy. I warned Brent not to come up beside me, in case I toppled over. At least, in that case, I wouldn't take both of us out. I saw the 5,000 foot sign and rejoiced. We were almost there. The final 200 feet took an eternity. I almost cried when I saw the top.

--almost there

--view from the top

We refueled and rehydrated (club sandwich and Coke anyone?) at Mother's Kitchen, an angel of a restaurant at the top, nestled snugly in the shade. The top of Palomar was much cooler than the base, and it was actually pleasant in the shade (70s). Brent had another flat, and I helped him pry the tire off to see what the culprit was. Only after cutting my thumb did I find the invisible sliver of a metal staple wedged solidly on the inside of the tire. Eureka! It took the sacrifice of all of my fingernails and about 10-15 minutes to pull out the metal splinter. However, I was confident he wouldn't flat again. I reapplied sunblock, using some I had found. It had citronella in it, which I thought was supposed to be an insect repellent. Within seconds, 3 bees were chasing me around the summit. I was squealing and circling and gesticulating wildly like a madwoman, much to the entertained curiousity of several onlookers. Red-faced from the sun and embarrassment, Brent and I climbed back on our beasts of burden and headed down the East Grade. The rest of the group, wary of the heat and time, went back down the much steeper South Grade, which would get them back to the car in a total of 64-miles. Obstinately, I continued on my foreplanned 80-mile route.

We descended, and it was oh-so-blissfully sweet to spin and sit and cruise at 34 mph. About halfway down the mountain, 5 fire engines screamed past. Uh oh. Shortly after, we were stopped by a crew of firemen. A line of cars and cyclists sat and waited. A Ferrari racing up the East Grade had overheated and caught on fire. It was going to be awhile, we were warned. Climbing back up the mountain to go down the South Grade was out of the question. Recognizing some of my buddies on bikes, we snuggled in a scant patch of shade on the side of the mountain, ignoring the fire ants and prickly oak leaves biting into our asses. The heat was beginning to get to me, and my temper began to flare. After sassing off to the Fire Captain, an old geezer on a motorcycle came over to tell me what I big mouth I had. I glared at him and told him it was hot. He told me it was 93 degrees, and that it was perfect, and that I was a complainer.
"Guess I should have brought a sweater!" I exclaimed.
"This one's got a mouth on her!" he retorted. There was a lot more I wanted to shout back at him but I knew it would be a waste of precious energy; energy I needed to get home. I rembered Life Lesson #2: Don't Argue With Idiots, and bit my tongue. He kept on prodding me with mild insults. I looked at him with the biggest smile I could muster and dripping with sarcasm, shouted, "This is the best day ever!"

Luckily, the fire was put out quickly, and the cyclists were given a headstart down the mountain. Around the next bend lay the corpse of what had been a Ferrari. In it's place lay a pile of smoking, melted metal. Huh. Guess it really had caught on fire. But it's not hot or anything.

We reached the bottom and headed west on Hwy 76. The road was narrow, cars whizzed past, and the shoulder was unrideable. Hmmm, is this a theme? It was now 1:30 pm and unbearably hot. The sun was beating down on us relentlessly, and there was no shade. If there had been shade, I would have gotten off and laid in it. I began wondering if I could make it. My quit-o-meter was at an all-time high. But how would I feel if I quit? What would I do on race day if it got tough? I had ridden all this way. I couldn't quit now. I had to make it back. I didn't care how long it took. We passed the Taco Shop in silence, refusing to stop. Both of us knew if we stopped, we would try to bum a ride. I was on a mission. I wanted to make it back.

We turned by the giant casino and began the final, yet hardest climb back up to Valley Center. The casino climb--since it goes between 2 casinos--was the hardest part of the ride. It's hot, it's long, and I was beat up from all the other climbs (um, Palomar?). My right hamstring was now crying for mercy, and I realized I might have strained it. I found I could maintain a rhythm if I focused on exerting more force with my left pedal stroke but the ascents were particularly tough. We climbed up and up and up on a narrow, windy road with no shoulder as cars whizzed by. Ugh. We passed countless crosses decorated with dead flowers on the side of the road where other motorists and presumably cyclists had lost their lives. Not a good omen.

Right after the chicken-shit farm, we passed a sign with an arrow pointing left to "Hellhole Canyon." Hellhole? We were actually near some place legitimately called Hellhole? You have to be kidding me! It stuck, and the ride was christened "The Hellhole Ride." Somehow, we made it to the top of Lake Wohlford. Brent was out of water again but I refused to part with what precious little I had remaining. A fisherman took pity on us and gave us a bottle of water. Angels in disguise. We began descending back towards Escondido, and the temperature dropped a degree or two. I realized we were going to make it. I became overjoyed. We made it back to the car, and I hugged Brent. He proclaimed that the ride was completely miserable. I, however, think it was great character building.

Shoe Review--Asics GT-2140

I normally don't do this. However, I recently had the unique opportunity to do an Asics Shoe Review for Online Shoes.com so I decided to give it a go. Afterall, I've been wearing Brooks for years and never had the courage to try anything different. What better chance to brave new territory.

I selected the Asics GT-2140. I have a narrow foot and was very pleased that Asics actually offers 2A (most don't, drastically limiting my selection). I have an odd running style too--even though I have high arches and land on my toes, my arches collapse, causing me to pronate. Thus, I need motion control and stability. The GT-2140 promised to do all those things. Plus, it was rated very highly in Runner's World .

When I first pulled them out of the box, I was pleasantly surprised. Most women's running shoes are offered in a single color, usually something naseating like pink or purple. The GT-2140 had 4 or 5 different color choices, none of them too girly. So they get a thumbs up on aesthetic appeal.

I walked around in them for a day, just to see how they would feel. They were very light and cushiony, fitting like a glove around the bottom of my foot. There was more room in the top of the shoe than I'm used to. I think it would prevent metatarsal nerve pain that often occurs after a mile or two of running when the foot starts to swell.

I took them out for a 6-mile test run. The run had a mix of roads, trails, flats, and hills. Immediately, the first thing I noticed was how light the shoes were. My turnover was sharp and quick, allowing for a faster pace. Bonus! On the flats and the roads, the shoes were perfect. Very comfortable, light, and cushiony. However, on my foot, they didn't do so well on the trails when my feet needed more support in the sand, around switchbacks, and up and down steep hills. I'm used to a much more supportive (and heavier) shoe. By the time I reached the road again, the muscles in my feet were sore. In addition, the extra room in the top of the shoe allowed too much movement for my very narrow foot. I think if Asics offered a 3A size (instead of 2A), I might do better.

Overall, I think this is a great shoe for neutral runners who are looking for something light with a little support. I love the lighter feel of the shoe and might be able to get away with them for shorter, flatter runs or even track workouts. However, for those needing a little more support and motion control (i.e. me), the GT-2140 may not work, especially for very long runs.

Btw, Onlineshoes.com has a large selection of shoes and gear to choose from, and they do free shipping. Bonus! They also have a variety of women's specific run gear. Be sure to check 'em out.

What's your favorite running shoe and why?

OnlineShoes.com Women's Shop

OnlineShoes.com Asics Shop

Speed: is it all in my head?

I've been known to beat myself up about how slow I am. I get frustrated because I work so hard and have very high expectations so it's disappointing when I fall flat. I've decided to reevaluate.
1. Expectations & Comparisons:
This is like a bad word to me. Living in San Diego, I train amongst some of the most talented triathletes in the world. In fact, I saw Kate Major hop into the fast lane at my master's swim class. People from our club qualify for Kona at a higher rate than anywhere else in the country. It's daunting. I forget to focus on myself. I get into trouble when I start comparing myself to others. Although it's natural (we are competitive, afterall), it's a mistake because we can't control how fast others are. I conducted a retrospective analysis, using my race data to see whether I have, in fact, improved since I started doing this 5 years ago. Although difficult, since race conditions vary, and every race was different, I was pleasantly surprised. I was happy to see drastic improvement in the sprint- and Olympic-distance races (I don't have a high enough sample number to evaluate my performance for Half- or full- IMs....yet).


2. It's All in My Head:
I was watching a show about George Hincapie http://www.georgehincapie.com/ (one of the best cyclists, period). It struck me as odd that he thought of himself as a poor climber. His mental coach simply instructed him to stop thinking negatively, and instead, to think of himself as an awesome climber. Sometimes, I wonder if it's not the self-fulfilling prophecy. I think I'm a poor cyclist; therefore, I am a poor cyclist.

I've decided to stop it. No more excuses. The bike is my limiter but not because I'm not built for it, it's not in my genes, or I'm just no good. It's all in my head. It's also the sport I have the least experience with. I've never done a simple bike race but I've done plenty of running races and even some open water swim events. I'm great at sitting on the bike and going for 100 miles. But speed? Nah. Why? Never worked on it. I lollygag on the bike. Afterall, I've always had to think about a run afterwards. To get faster, you have to go faster. Seems deceptively simple but it actually makes sense to me. I've had it. From now on, I'm not holding back on the bike. It's go time. A few weeks ago, using this mentality, I increased my speed on the bike for a 60 mile ride. I had to push myself to keep up with the faster guys in my group but I did it. For 60 miles. I was very proud of myself. It IS possible.

So as not to get too discouraged, I mapped my bike speed (mph) for the bike leg of different triathlons. Yes, for the most part, my speed HAS increased. Odd that my sprint and Olympic pace aren't too different. This probably reflects my hard work in the endurance section of the sport, but not the speed part.

3. My Strengths are Strengths because I DO Them More:
Seems obvious in retrospect. I've always thought of myself as a runner. Turns out, I've logged countless running races over the years. But much less so when it comes to biking and swimming. My swimming has started to improve because of the work I put into Master's classes. Maybe if I applied myself to the bike, and put in more fast miles, it would show. My limiters are only limiters because I've done less miles at that sport.

Obvious improvement in my swim pace (min/100 m). Yippee! My IM and HIM swim pace is faster or the same as for some sprints. Weird!

Below, shows my running pace for all the different running races I've logged, 5K all the way through marathon. I didn't realize I had done so many half marathons! Because I've worked on endurance so much, my speed hasn't improved that much. This also explains why my half marathon pace is so similar to my 10K pace. I can hold that pace for a longer distance. I just have a hard time holding a faster pace, regardless of the distance (yes, I know, track workouts--if only I didn't have an Ironman fast approaching!)


Finally, on a curious note, I can run faster off the bike in an Olympic triathlon than in a 10K alone. Weird! (5K was about the same speed as the run leg of a sprint tri--also weird). Only thing I can think of is my endurance isn't yet tapped (not until HIM when my run is slower than half marathon pace), and my adrenaline gets going higher in a triathlon, so I run faster because I'm more excited.

What? I Can't Eat Whatever I Want?!

I used to think since I'm training for an Ironman, I can eat whatever I want. Afterall, I'm constantly burning calories, and I'm ALWAYS ravenous. (I call my appetite "The Beast"). However, this year, I noticed after countless milkshakes, cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate croissants, I had gained a few pounds. "Ah, it's muscle," I convinced myself. But I couldn't deny that my waistband had grown more snug.

Finally, I couldn't ignore the simple fact any longer (afterall, I work in the obesity field; it's kind of hard not to notice when you gain fat around here). I decided to buckle down and get to work. What? I have to worry about nutrition? The OTHER 50% of the equation. Oh, yeah. That.

Last year, I went to a nutritionist who specializes in triathlon training (http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2008/02/tri-girl-goes-to-nutritionist.html). However, I was more concerned about race-day nutrition than day-to-day stuff. BORING! Now, I pulled out her detailed notebook, with a customized Ironman nutrition plan, just for moi. Second, I began keeping a food journal. I added up the calories at the end of the day, and figured out my net total (calories in-calories out). I was looking for a negative number. I remembered to include my workouts! (http://www.caloriesperhour.com/ is great for this but there are many calorie-tracking websites out there). I didn't get too discouraged when my net number wasn't 0 or negative every day. Instead, I focused on overall changes for the whole week. For instance, after a heavy training weekend, it takes 3-5 days for the body to reover and replace the glycogen stores. Therefore, the calorie intake may exceed calorie output over the next few days but by the end of the week, the body should have regained homeostasis.

Anyway, keeping a food diary has kept me honest. I think twice before putting something into my body, knowing I have to document it. I plan ahead of time so I can eat 5-6 smaller meals frequently throughout the day. The key to eating healthy is to never get too hungry. I eat every ~2 hours. My body is very high maintenance! Since I've started doing this (about 5 weeks ago), I've lost 5 lbs and gained a lot of energy. Plus, my sensitive tummy is feeling 100% better. That's worth healthy eating any day!

Finally, to make sure my focus is on the right track, I leave you with this:
"If it was all about weight then there'd be a scale instead of a finish line"
-- Scott Molina

My Previous Posts on Nutrition:
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2005/03/help-im-famished.html
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2005/04/my-favorite-healthy-foods-for-week.html
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2005/04/more-healthy-yummy-foods.html]
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2005/05/food.html
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2008/02/tri-girl-goes-to-nutritionist.html

Other Resources:
http://www.infinitnutrition.us/library/THE%20BEGINNER.doc
http://ezinearticles.com/?Triathlon-Training-Nutrition-and-Proper-Fueling-For-Beginners&id=2235350
http://www.trifuel.com/triathlon/nutrition/the-triathletes-kitchen-000465.php
http://www.fuel-factor.com/founder.html

Taz Turns 10!

"What do you want?"

"Mmmm. This backpack is SO tasty."

Ten years old. That's basically 100 for a rabbit. He's my first rabbit. I got him when he was only 4 weeks old. From a petstore. An impulse buy. Exactly the opposite of how you're supposed to acquire a pet. I was tired of fish. They always died on me and weren't very cuddly. I'm allergic to cats, and dogs aren't good for an apartment. I saw the bunnies at the pet store, and they, of course, were ridiculously adoreable. All of them but Taz were Dutch bunnies (black-and-white; they look like they're wearing a tuxedo). Taz sat quietly in the corner and looked up at me with his large brown eyes. He's a mini-Rex, with luxuriously, soft brown fur that feels like a combination of down and velvet. I picked him up and held him, and that was it. He was coming home with me.

I knew nothing about rabbits. Taz was a great teacher. He taught me that he craved playtime. He could leap up on the table like it was nothing. His legs were like little springs. Nothing in the apartment was out of reach. He ran circles around the kitchen and living room, making endless loops. He circled my feet in tight, little spirals. He leaped in the air, kicked out his legs, and did 180s and 360s around the living room. His energy was endless. He was also extremely mischievous. He grabbed all sorts of precious trinkets off my desk and carried them off to his "burrow" under the couch where he could chew them into smithereens in private. He chewed through electrical wires (never once getting elecrocuted, luckily; I learned to cover them with plastic tubing), blankets, upholstered furntiture, table legs. Nothing in our apartment remained without teeth marks. His devilish-like energy earned his name, after the Tasmanian Devil (the Loony Tunes character).

Taz was bonded with Babs when he was 2-years-old. She bosses him around a lot, but he enjoys her protection, especially on car trips to the vet (she lays on top of him, and he hides underneath). The two are inseparable and are often found licking, snuggling, and grooming each other. Taz has moved from Wisconsin, to St. Louis, and now, San Diego. He is a well-traveled bun. He licks more than any other bunny I've known. He also has no clue how to bite. He loves to take turns "grooming". Basically, I pet, then he stops me with a nudge and licks me--wherever he can reach: my hand, nose, or eyelids. At 10, he's doing fantastic. The vet said he was could stand to gain a little weight (no problem! Eating is his favorite pasttime) but other than that, he's in great shape. He still lives with Babs; they have the entire upstairs to themselves where they roam free. When he's not eating or getting petted, he can be found sleeping under the bed. That's where he spends his afternoons, and he grunts annoyingly at me if I try to disturb him (even for food!). At night, he coos contentedly and LOUDLY. It's so loud, we have a hard time falling asleep but neither one of us have the heart to tell him to stop.

Taz--you've taught me everything I know about bunnies, and then some. I will never tire of your coos or your licks or running my cheek along your impossibly soft fur. Here's to many more wonderful years!

The Meaning of Tri

http://www.mindsettriathlon.com/product_info.php?products_id=1236&it=1

I was invited to enter a triathlon essay writing contest a few months ago, and lo-and-behold, my essay was selected! It's now available in the anthology, The Meaning of Tri on Mindset Triathlon (http://www.mindsettriathlon.com/index.php). My essay is the 4th one listed: "Steps between the Swim Start and the Finish Line." Check it!

Picking Up the Pieces

I think I'm getting better (fingers crossed). As I came down with my "plague", I was devastated, at first, that I couldn't do the marathon. Then, I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to get better, get back to training. Then, I just wanted to be able to leave the house, the bedroom, the bed, have some semblance of a life again. Then, all emotions vanished, and I was simply existing. After 2 weeks of the most wicked, diabolical sinus infection ever concocted (except for the one I had 2 years ago, only because it lasted 8 weeks instead of 2), I seem to be doing better (please let this be true), thanks to 10 days of Cipro (at a whopping dose of 1 gram a day) and Prednisone (that's right, folks; I'm on the 'roids).

On missing the marathon:
I had done all the training. All of it. I was completely devastated. I kept thinking up until Friday night (for a Sunday marathon) that there was still a chance I could do it. Nevermind I hadn't slept in a week because of the cement truck dumping yellow gunk in my sinuses. Nevermind I had lost 8 lbs because I couldn't taste or smell and thought I was going to choke every time I swallowed. I was in denial. When Brent told me I shouldn't do it, anger followed (more like rage--tears, throwing stuff, the works). Then--bargaining: "Please, God, just let me be well enough to jog it slowly. Run-walk. I just want to participate." And of course, depression; that was Sunday, the day of the marathon. Acceptance came pretty quickly after that when I realized, in the bigger scheme of things, I just wanted my health; marathon be damned.

A year ago, I would have done the marathon. Or, started it and then get carted to the ER on a gurney. I've come a long way since then. Some days, you have to admit defeat. So you can come back another day to fight again. For the Rock 'n Roll Marathon, I knew it was time to fold 'em. And I'm so thankful I did.

On the Other Side:
Now that I'm starting to feel better again, I'm shaking off the cobwebs. Tomorrow is my last day of the 'roids and antibiotics. I can't wait. The side effects were just as bad as the infection (extreme fatigue, muscle cramps, muscle weakness, dizziness, jitteriness, insomnia, stomach cramps and GI upset--I could barely get out of bed). I tried to go for a run the other day but it was too soon. The first 2 miles were great, and then the stomach cramps, muscle cramps, and extreme muscle weakness (I felt like my legs were going to give out) kicked in. It was a dreary walk home. Afterwhich, I flopped onto the bed and promptly passed out, sweaty running clothes and all. However, as disastrous as that run was, it still felt great to get outside and pump the blood through my veins again. At least I got my fix.

Today was the first day I felt like me again. High energy, enthusiastic, happy, full of life. Brent, Alec, and I had a blast: we went out to breakfast, checked out a festival in Solana Beach, dipped our toes in the water at the beach, went to Alec's soccer game, went out to lunch, I went on a bike ride, we went to the pool, and we ended it with a pizza dinner at sunset outside to a live band (Alec and I boogied down after eating our pizza). It was a fantastic day. In addition, I squeezed in an hour bike ride on the bike path. More like a test ride. I'm still fighting my stomach, muscle weakness and muscle cramps but overall, I felt pretty good. I know all those side effects will subside once I'm off the drugs. I just hope my infection is gone for good.

I hope I feel as good tomorrow as I do today. My high energy level is the quality I value most about myself. It's my life force; I just can't do without it. I hope I can get back to normal this week. I'm a little freaked about missing 2 weeks of training. Ironman Canada is right around the corner. But, maybe this is a good thing? Maybe I would have been too overtrained and burnt out to hit my key workouts (which always happens when training for an Ironman). Maybe this illness will actually make me stronger. Maybe, just maybe, it gave me the forced rest I needed. Now, I can ease back into training and come back even stronger than before. At least, that's my hope. But in all honesty? I really just want to be healthy (#1). And number 2? I really want to do Ironman Canada--just do it and have fun with the experience. I don't really care how well I perform. It would be nice but that's just the icing on the cake. Here's (glasses raised) to racing just to finish, and finishing with a smile on my face!