As I begin training for my 2nd Ironman, I am pondering this question: how much is too much? When have I crossed that line? Living in San Diego and belonging to Tri Club San Diego (www.triclubsandiego.org), I will always find peers that train harder and faster than I do. Every year, I get fitter, break down my boundaries, and can go harder. I never know where my limits are. Sometimes I feel like I'm Kramer, in that episode of Seinfeld, where he test-drives the car and sees how far it can go until it runs out of gas. I'm curious. How far can I go before I drop? Where are my limits? I'm beginning to realize, just because I CAN, doesn't mean I always SHOULD. There are always consequences afterwards.
I was so excited to get a borrowed bike up in NorCal; I rode that bike as much as I could. Why is it when I'm on vacation, I work out more? This was my week from Thursday on:
Thursday: hard, 6-mi track workout
45 minutes weights
fun 35-mile bike ride with rolling hills
1 hr stretching Yoga
Friday: very hard, 52-mile ride with 7,000 feet of climbing
Saturday: 17 mile run at goal marathon pace (negative split 2nd half of run)
Sunday: 4-mile road race @ 8 min/mi
I knew on Sunday, I shouldn't be running so hard. I knew I should be recovering. But I wanted to test myself. How fast could I run the day after a long run? It was like an experiment. Apparently, I can run pretty fast. But I paid the consequences later. As I boarded the plane to return home, I fell asleep in my seat instantly. I couldn't keep my head up. Exhaustion weighed on me like a clingy, baby elephant. That evening, despite massive amounts of sleep and food, I came down with a low-grade fever. Monday brought a minor cold with that nasty little fever still hanging on. I took a requisite rest day. Looking over my training plan, I realized I hadn't had a day off from training in 2 weeks.
Tuesday, I felt amazing. After a quick workout on the bike trainer, I ran down the 56-bike path for a run. I felt fantastic. Fatigue? Gone. Achiness? Nada. Effort? Easy. A complete 180. Rest days really do work! As I ran, I pondered, "Am I an addict?" I'm reading Drinking, A Love Story by Caroline Knapp, a memoir about how the author battled alcoholism. Sometimes, her description of her love and passion for alcohol sends shivers down my spine; it reminds me of how I feel about triathlon! Am I a "triathaholic"?
Lessons Learned:
1. I can't bike 4x/week on the same weeks I'm running 4x/week. (Well, I can but I'll pay for it later). Since I'm training for a marathon right now, biking 3x a week (~100 miles/week) is plenty.
2. I DO need 1 complete rest day each week. Yes, swimming and weights count!
3. I have a recovery week next week (my 4th week) but I need to watch my fatigue levels. If I get too tired as training progresses, I may move my recovery weeks back to every 3rd week, instead.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Special Offer for the 98th Annual ING Bay to Breakers 12k : May 17th, 2009
Hey Guys,
The organizers of Bay to Breakers (http://www.ingbaytobreakers.com/) e-mailed me, offering readers a 5% discount on this awesome race. I don't normally do this but I love this race, and it's a great opportunity for anyone interested. I raced it in 2006, and it was the most entertaining race I've ever done. It was more like a parade. There's no other race like it.
Link to 2006 Race Report
Special Offer for the 98th Annual ING Bay to Breakers 12k : May 17th, 2009
The organizers of Bay to Breakers (http://www.ingbaytobreakers.com/) e-mailed me, offering readers a 5% discount on this awesome race. I don't normally do this but I love this race, and it's a great opportunity for anyone interested. I raced it in 2006, and it was the most entertaining race I've ever done. It was more like a parade. There's no other race like it.
Link to 2006 Race Report
Special Offer for the 98th Annual ING Bay to Breakers 12k : May 17th, 2009
- You can get an additional 5% off the early registration price for this year’s race.
- Visit www.ingbaytobreakers.com for details about the race
- Register online by midnight on April 30th, 2009 to receive the early registration price with an additional 5% discount http://tinyurl.com/cy3vkw
- Enter this coupon code 5DAAT09 (case sensitive) and click ‘redeem’ before completing your registration
- This offer is limited to the first 100 registrants, so make sure to register as soon as possible!
- Please direct any questions to info@ingbaytobreakers.com
The Fine Print:
- This is an online offer only
- Discount is valid only for the registration fee. It is not applied to optional purchases such as the MUNI pass or packet mailing fee
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Enchanted Ride through the Redwoods
On a borrowed bike, I set off for a ride through the redwoods with the Almaden Cycling Touring Club (http://www.actc.org/). I was a bit nervous. The ride was 7,000 feet of climbing, and I was on Al, a borrowed (but nice) bike with standard cranks and a 21 cassette, not my plush 25 with compact cranks. Could I even do this?
Only 1 other guy, the group leader, showed up. Gulp. Maybe it was the rain in the forecast or the 3-miles of dirt paths we had to manuver on our road bikes, or the 7,000 feet of climbing. I just hoped I wasn't too naive to realize what I was getting into. On the other hand, I had my very own personal cycling tour guide!
I followed him onto the dirt trails on the road bike. I rode cautiously, thinking of my poor, dusty mountain bike hanging on the wall in my garage at home. I negotiated the particularly steep uphills by getting off and walking. My new cycling buddy patiently waited for me at the top of each one.
We finally hit the paved roads. And started climbing immediately. Not a gentle grade, either, but the grueling, gut-wrenching, stand up-out-of-the saddle, and grind-the-cranks-with-all-your-might kind of climb. It was steep. Sweat poured down my face. There was no room for chit-chat. My cycling friend mistakenly believed I was the quiet type. I was using every ounce of focus just to make sure I didn't take an embarrassing topple backwards off the bike. I began to worry. Could I do this? Was the whole ride going to be like this?
Just when my thoughts started to overwhelm me, we reached the top. I silently celebrated. We guzzled our sports drinks and slammed Cliff Bars. The view was spectacular. My ride leader put on his jacket, preparing for the 10-mile descent. I followed suit.
gorgeous view at the top of the first climb
We started zipping down, down, down. 10-miles is a long way. My fingers and toes were numb. Luckily, I had given my mom a pair of leg warmers and a cycling jacket for Xmas (she's getting into cycling). This was fortuitous since I had neglected to bring any of my cycling clothes. I've decided my mother needs full cycling gloves for Mother's Day. Just when my legs started cramping up, and I was chilled to the bone, thinking, "Is this downhill ever going to end?", it ended.
We went past a small, hippie town nestled midst the giant redwoods. 1 small organic grocery store, 1 family doctor, 1 coffee shop, and 1 massage therapist. It reminded me of Northern Exposure. Aching for quiet and relaxation, a part of me wanted to stay for 10 days right there and hole myself up in the woods. My tour guide showed me to a very hidden little park with a swimming hole, too cold to play in right now, but I imagined it, teeming with kids in the summer. A lone heron sat like a statue on a rock, searching for fish.
-the secret swimming hole
We turned onto Big Basin Way and began climbing again. The hills were shorter and less steep now. Just when my legs started to feel fatigued, a descent appeared, ready to save me. I enjoyed the rollers as we careened up, down, then up, then down again, winding our way through the massive redwood forests. The trees were so enormous, they had a mysterious aura about them. They are the largest trees in the world and can live for thousands of years. The forests were so dense, they blocked all sunlight. Moss and ferns thrived on the forest floor below, carpeting the ground in an emerald velvet. Mysterious wisps of fog and mist clung to the trees like dense cobwebs, giving the forest an enchanted feeling, and drenching me in a fine, rainless dew. A roaring sound filled my ears. Panic-striken, I turned my head, this way and that, frantically searching for the source of the noise. Is it a semi truck blasting bearing down on this tiny, narrow little road? Is there a freeway nearby? A roaring river down below? A chilling breeze pierced my thin jacket. Suddenly, I understood. It was the wind. The wind, ripping through the tops of the trees, so tall, I couldn't feel the strength of the wind, protected down below. The trees were roaring in unison. The redwoods were so massive, I felt a strange sort of reverence as I rode through.
standing at the base of a redwood in Big Basin Redwood State Park
http://www.bigbasin.org/
the top of the same tree (the 2 pictures of the middle part of the tree is missing)
We regrouped at the state park, giggling at the bear-proof (and human-proof) garbage cans before continuing off. We had reached the halfway point and prepared to climb the 2nd big mountain of the ride. I had been warned that the climb, though not as steep, was long, about 7 miles. I hunkered down, found a rhythm, and focused on maintaining a steady cadence. However, without a computer on my bike, it was agonizing. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? How much further? I had no idea. I zoned out, tried to ignore the aching pain in my lower back, in my calves, in my neck, shoulders, the numbness in my wrists, the hunger in my belly. I had eaten all I had brought with me, which wasn't much. Some Cliff Bloks, some nasty-ass Cytomax that I was having a hard time getting down, a tiny airline package of salted peanuts (yum!), some cinnamon graham crackers, and a piece of bread smothered in honey and butter (my parents didn't have peanut butter). That had been the best I could scrounge up from my parents kitchen that morning. I climbed and climbed and climbed. I began having doubts. I started feeling dull and sluggish. I knew my glycogen stores were being depleted; the endless climb after climb was scorching through my reserves. Could I do this? Somehow I reached the top. It was beautiful. My ride sherpa took one look at me and offered me a bar. It was an organic 250-calorie organic bar of nuts and honey and trail mix. I scarfed it down and felt instantly better.
breathtaking view from the top; it's all downhill from here
I started chatting away happily again. We started descending soon afterwards. Oh, sweet, wonderful, glorious downhills. I hunkered down in the drops, leaning into each turn aggressively. Going down never felt so good. We passed winery after hidden winery, nestled into the mountains. Suddenly, I recognized the turn for the barn where I had stabled my horse as a girl, the Japanese gardens where I had taken field trips with my school, the ice cream shop where I had ridden my horse, the streets where I used to go jogging, my elementary school; we were riding through the town where I had grown up.
We rode through Saratoga, and my ride leader turned up 6th. He gave me a malicious smirk. "One last hill just to see how fit you are", he said. It came as no surprise; I remembered this hill as a kid. It was very, very short, probably only 200 meters but damn steep. Like 13% steep. And I, after nearly 7,000 feet of climbing on a borrowed bike with standard cranks and a 21 cassette. However, I would not admit defeat. I charged the hill, standing up in the saddle and grinding on the cranks, giving it everything I got. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I leaned forward, pushing my weight down and forward. Just when I thought my heart was going to explode out of my mouth, I crested. I had made it.
The final 4 miles back to Los Gatos was a rewarding, gentle downward slope. A wonderful cool-down. I had done it! I was ecstatic. Just before I slammed down a turkey melt and a piece of apple pie (a'la mode of course), falling into bed for a deep, coma nap afterwards.
Route and Map:
http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/04/skylinehwy-9-scenic-redwood-loop.html
On Saturday, I rose early for my next training exercise on the docket: a 17-mile run. I won't get into too much detail, only that it went fabulously, and I was able to negative split the run and hit my target average pace for the run.
Hmmm. Why are my legs so tired?
Only 1 other guy, the group leader, showed up. Gulp. Maybe it was the rain in the forecast or the 3-miles of dirt paths we had to manuver on our road bikes, or the 7,000 feet of climbing. I just hoped I wasn't too naive to realize what I was getting into. On the other hand, I had my very own personal cycling tour guide!
I followed him onto the dirt trails on the road bike. I rode cautiously, thinking of my poor, dusty mountain bike hanging on the wall in my garage at home. I negotiated the particularly steep uphills by getting off and walking. My new cycling buddy patiently waited for me at the top of each one.
We finally hit the paved roads. And started climbing immediately. Not a gentle grade, either, but the grueling, gut-wrenching, stand up-out-of-the saddle, and grind-the-cranks-with-all-your-might kind of climb. It was steep. Sweat poured down my face. There was no room for chit-chat. My cycling friend mistakenly believed I was the quiet type. I was using every ounce of focus just to make sure I didn't take an embarrassing topple backwards off the bike. I began to worry. Could I do this? Was the whole ride going to be like this?
Just when my thoughts started to overwhelm me, we reached the top. I silently celebrated. We guzzled our sports drinks and slammed Cliff Bars. The view was spectacular. My ride leader put on his jacket, preparing for the 10-mile descent. I followed suit.
gorgeous view at the top of the first climb
We started zipping down, down, down. 10-miles is a long way. My fingers and toes were numb. Luckily, I had given my mom a pair of leg warmers and a cycling jacket for Xmas (she's getting into cycling). This was fortuitous since I had neglected to bring any of my cycling clothes. I've decided my mother needs full cycling gloves for Mother's Day. Just when my legs started cramping up, and I was chilled to the bone, thinking, "Is this downhill ever going to end?", it ended.
We went past a small, hippie town nestled midst the giant redwoods. 1 small organic grocery store, 1 family doctor, 1 coffee shop, and 1 massage therapist. It reminded me of Northern Exposure. Aching for quiet and relaxation, a part of me wanted to stay for 10 days right there and hole myself up in the woods. My tour guide showed me to a very hidden little park with a swimming hole, too cold to play in right now, but I imagined it, teeming with kids in the summer. A lone heron sat like a statue on a rock, searching for fish.
-the secret swimming hole
We turned onto Big Basin Way and began climbing again. The hills were shorter and less steep now. Just when my legs started to feel fatigued, a descent appeared, ready to save me. I enjoyed the rollers as we careened up, down, then up, then down again, winding our way through the massive redwood forests. The trees were so enormous, they had a mysterious aura about them. They are the largest trees in the world and can live for thousands of years. The forests were so dense, they blocked all sunlight. Moss and ferns thrived on the forest floor below, carpeting the ground in an emerald velvet. Mysterious wisps of fog and mist clung to the trees like dense cobwebs, giving the forest an enchanted feeling, and drenching me in a fine, rainless dew. A roaring sound filled my ears. Panic-striken, I turned my head, this way and that, frantically searching for the source of the noise. Is it a semi truck blasting bearing down on this tiny, narrow little road? Is there a freeway nearby? A roaring river down below? A chilling breeze pierced my thin jacket. Suddenly, I understood. It was the wind. The wind, ripping through the tops of the trees, so tall, I couldn't feel the strength of the wind, protected down below. The trees were roaring in unison. The redwoods were so massive, I felt a strange sort of reverence as I rode through.
standing at the base of a redwood in Big Basin Redwood State Park
http://www.bigbasin.org/
the top of the same tree (the 2 pictures of the middle part of the tree is missing)
We regrouped at the state park, giggling at the bear-proof (and human-proof) garbage cans before continuing off. We had reached the halfway point and prepared to climb the 2nd big mountain of the ride. I had been warned that the climb, though not as steep, was long, about 7 miles. I hunkered down, found a rhythm, and focused on maintaining a steady cadence. However, without a computer on my bike, it was agonizing. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? How much further? I had no idea. I zoned out, tried to ignore the aching pain in my lower back, in my calves, in my neck, shoulders, the numbness in my wrists, the hunger in my belly. I had eaten all I had brought with me, which wasn't much. Some Cliff Bloks, some nasty-ass Cytomax that I was having a hard time getting down, a tiny airline package of salted peanuts (yum!), some cinnamon graham crackers, and a piece of bread smothered in honey and butter (my parents didn't have peanut butter). That had been the best I could scrounge up from my parents kitchen that morning. I climbed and climbed and climbed. I began having doubts. I started feeling dull and sluggish. I knew my glycogen stores were being depleted; the endless climb after climb was scorching through my reserves. Could I do this? Somehow I reached the top. It was beautiful. My ride sherpa took one look at me and offered me a bar. It was an organic 250-calorie organic bar of nuts and honey and trail mix. I scarfed it down and felt instantly better.
breathtaking view from the top; it's all downhill from here
I started chatting away happily again. We started descending soon afterwards. Oh, sweet, wonderful, glorious downhills. I hunkered down in the drops, leaning into each turn aggressively. Going down never felt so good. We passed winery after hidden winery, nestled into the mountains. Suddenly, I recognized the turn for the barn where I had stabled my horse as a girl, the Japanese gardens where I had taken field trips with my school, the ice cream shop where I had ridden my horse, the streets where I used to go jogging, my elementary school; we were riding through the town where I had grown up.
We rode through Saratoga, and my ride leader turned up 6th. He gave me a malicious smirk. "One last hill just to see how fit you are", he said. It came as no surprise; I remembered this hill as a kid. It was very, very short, probably only 200 meters but damn steep. Like 13% steep. And I, after nearly 7,000 feet of climbing on a borrowed bike with standard cranks and a 21 cassette. However, I would not admit defeat. I charged the hill, standing up in the saddle and grinding on the cranks, giving it everything I got. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I leaned forward, pushing my weight down and forward. Just when I thought my heart was going to explode out of my mouth, I crested. I had made it.
The final 4 miles back to Los Gatos was a rewarding, gentle downward slope. A wonderful cool-down. I had done it! I was ecstatic. Just before I slammed down a turkey melt and a piece of apple pie (a'la mode of course), falling into bed for a deep, coma nap afterwards.
Route and Map:
http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/04/skylinehwy-9-scenic-redwood-loop.html
On Saturday, I rose early for my next training exercise on the docket: a 17-mile run. I won't get into too much detail, only that it went fabulously, and I was able to negative split the run and hit my target average pace for the run.
Hmmm. Why are my legs so tired?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Adventures in NorCal
I was supposed to have eye surgery today. Turns out, I'm not a good candidate for LASIK. Which is why I flew up to NorCal in the middle of the week (plus, my mom's b-day is Sat). I was a little bummed, at first, but all that disintegrated when I got a hold of my parent's friend's road bike, Al, a beautiful, blue Cannondale. Fits me perfectly. It was meant to be.
First, I squeezed in a track workout at the local high school, a half-mile from where my parents live. School is in session. The track was empty. Perfect. As I arrived, I noticed a huge banner on the school building that some kid had hung. It read, "Jessica, ?PROM? --Salazar" OMG! How cute! I'll go to prom with you, Salazar! I eked out my 3x1 mile repeats. I felt tired and sluggish but I was able to hit my target times. Actually, even better. I wanted to do ~8-8:30...something conservative. I cranked out 7:50 each time. I was kind of proud of myself, especially beause I purposely held back. On my warm-up and cool-down mile, I did some calisthenics: sideways running with legs crossing over each way, sideways skipping/hopping, high-stepping, running backwards. I ran home (up a 1/2 mile hill, btw) and finished up with weights. No wonder I'm tired!
Then, I put Al in the car and headed out to Chain Reaction Bicycles in Los Altos (http://www.chainreaction.com/). Got a cool jersey and picked up some supplies. Then, I headed out to try the infamous "Loop" (http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/04/loop.html). I heard about it so much; I had to try it. When I was describing it to my mom in Whole Foods, this guy came up and started asking questions:
"Where are you riding?"
"The Loop"
"Oh, yes. Good one. Which direction?"
"Counterclockwise."
"Good. You'll love it."
I was salivating by the time I got on the bike. With a borrowed bike, helmet, and shoes, I headed out. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous. On some road I've never been on, atop a bike I didn't know. My worry was needless. Al took good care of me. The clouds rolled in, and a gusty wind began to blow but I didn't care. As soon as I turned onto Page Mill Road, the ride was so absolutely breathtaking, I forgot how hard I was working. A hill? Who cares! I have more time to see the horses! Wind? More time to gape at the backdrop of blue mountains, surrounded by fine mist.
I rode by a beautiful nature preserve, the Atascadero Land Preserve (http://www.supportalps.org/Welcome.html). Lots of trails and gorgeous, rolling hills. I rode past a horse and rider and breathed deeply the tantalizing aroma of sweat mixed with leather. Instead of the familiar sea gulls and roadrunners I'm accustomed to, robins and quail darted about. Leafy green oaks and tall, dark redwoods lined the road, offering generous portions of shade. Every now and then, a hidden vineyard would make a guest appearance.
I passed by several horse farms in Portola Valley, some of which I had ridden at when I was a kid. Suddenly, on Sand Hill Road, the Woodside Horse Park appeared on my left. I was overcome with emotion. I had ridden there, competed there, practically lived there as a kid. In a flash, I suddenly remembered every class that I had ribboned, every fence refused, and every fall I'd taken. The sparkle in my horse's eye when he stepped off the trailer and, upon recognizing the park, puffed up in excitement and anticipation about charging over the cross country fences. Endless hours of grooming every itch on his flank, brushing him until his soft, satiny coat gleamed. I remembered everything so intensely, so vividly; I ached. Distant memories, buried and sealed just under the surface, covered by a thin scar that could easily be scratched. A few miles later, I passed the Stanford Equestrian Center, where I had purchased my 2nd horse. I stared longingly at the horses in the arena, on the trails, and leaping over fences. I kept pedaling.
I rode through campus, passing by the nuclear particle accelerator where physicists release atoms at unfathomable speeds and then crash them to break them apart and analyze what new particles might form. I passed by a beautiful preserve with endless hiking and running trails, full of happy walkers and runners. A sign read, "The Dish". Why, the Dish? I looked it up. Stanford still uses this radiotelescope for research and educational purposes. But all I saw was a beautiful, ecological reserve. So many trails to explore!
http://dish.stanford.edu/
Heading out of the Stanford campus, I passed a guy on an old, beat-up mountain bike with what appeared to be a lawnmower engine hooked up to the bike. He zipped away when the light turned green, clad in wrinkled slacks and polo. Most definitely an ecentric professor. Ah, college campuses. I love it.
Tomorrow's bike ride is a crazy, hilly (6800 feet), 50-mile loop up Bear Creek, Skyline, and Big Basin. Lots of climbing, lots of windy, narrow roads, and lots of gorgeous views (ah, redwoods). Can't wait.
Scenes from today's ride:
.
First, I squeezed in a track workout at the local high school, a half-mile from where my parents live. School is in session. The track was empty. Perfect. As I arrived, I noticed a huge banner on the school building that some kid had hung. It read, "Jessica, ?PROM? --Salazar" OMG! How cute! I'll go to prom with you, Salazar! I eked out my 3x1 mile repeats. I felt tired and sluggish but I was able to hit my target times. Actually, even better. I wanted to do ~8-8:30...something conservative. I cranked out 7:50 each time. I was kind of proud of myself, especially beause I purposely held back. On my warm-up and cool-down mile, I did some calisthenics: sideways running with legs crossing over each way, sideways skipping/hopping, high-stepping, running backwards. I ran home (up a 1/2 mile hill, btw) and finished up with weights. No wonder I'm tired!
Then, I put Al in the car and headed out to Chain Reaction Bicycles in Los Altos (http://www.chainreaction.com/). Got a cool jersey and picked up some supplies. Then, I headed out to try the infamous "Loop" (http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/04/loop.html). I heard about it so much; I had to try it. When I was describing it to my mom in Whole Foods, this guy came up and started asking questions:
"Where are you riding?"
"The Loop"
"Oh, yes. Good one. Which direction?"
"Counterclockwise."
"Good. You'll love it."
I was salivating by the time I got on the bike. With a borrowed bike, helmet, and shoes, I headed out. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous. On some road I've never been on, atop a bike I didn't know. My worry was needless. Al took good care of me. The clouds rolled in, and a gusty wind began to blow but I didn't care. As soon as I turned onto Page Mill Road, the ride was so absolutely breathtaking, I forgot how hard I was working. A hill? Who cares! I have more time to see the horses! Wind? More time to gape at the backdrop of blue mountains, surrounded by fine mist.
I rode by a beautiful nature preserve, the Atascadero Land Preserve (http://www.supportalps.org/Welcome.html). Lots of trails and gorgeous, rolling hills. I rode past a horse and rider and breathed deeply the tantalizing aroma of sweat mixed with leather. Instead of the familiar sea gulls and roadrunners I'm accustomed to, robins and quail darted about. Leafy green oaks and tall, dark redwoods lined the road, offering generous portions of shade. Every now and then, a hidden vineyard would make a guest appearance.
I passed by several horse farms in Portola Valley, some of which I had ridden at when I was a kid. Suddenly, on Sand Hill Road, the Woodside Horse Park appeared on my left. I was overcome with emotion. I had ridden there, competed there, practically lived there as a kid. In a flash, I suddenly remembered every class that I had ribboned, every fence refused, and every fall I'd taken. The sparkle in my horse's eye when he stepped off the trailer and, upon recognizing the park, puffed up in excitement and anticipation about charging over the cross country fences. Endless hours of grooming every itch on his flank, brushing him until his soft, satiny coat gleamed. I remembered everything so intensely, so vividly; I ached. Distant memories, buried and sealed just under the surface, covered by a thin scar that could easily be scratched. A few miles later, I passed the Stanford Equestrian Center, where I had purchased my 2nd horse. I stared longingly at the horses in the arena, on the trails, and leaping over fences. I kept pedaling.
I rode through campus, passing by the nuclear particle accelerator where physicists release atoms at unfathomable speeds and then crash them to break them apart and analyze what new particles might form. I passed by a beautiful preserve with endless hiking and running trails, full of happy walkers and runners. A sign read, "The Dish". Why, the Dish? I looked it up. Stanford still uses this radiotelescope for research and educational purposes. But all I saw was a beautiful, ecological reserve. So many trails to explore!
http://dish.stanford.edu/
Heading out of the Stanford campus, I passed a guy on an old, beat-up mountain bike with what appeared to be a lawnmower engine hooked up to the bike. He zipped away when the light turned green, clad in wrinkled slacks and polo. Most definitely an ecentric professor. Ah, college campuses. I love it.
Tomorrow's bike ride is a crazy, hilly (6800 feet), 50-mile loop up Bear Creek, Skyline, and Big Basin. Lots of climbing, lots of windy, narrow roads, and lots of gorgeous views (ah, redwoods). Can't wait.
Scenes from today's ride:
.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
How do You Achieve Balance?
In response to Dr. John's question on his blog post:
http://coastalsportsmedicine.com/blog/2009/04/how-would-you-answer/
How do you balance family, career, and working out?
It's hard but so necessary. The harder I work on my career, the more I need to train simply for the stress relief. The harder I train, the more I need to recovery (sleep, eat, stretch, massage, etc). I am very organized. I have a lot of lists. I do a lot of planning for the next day at the end of each day. I also go to bed very early. I sacrifice a lot of wasted time, tv watching, and socializing. I get my social time in during workouts and sometimes even family time (my boyfriend and son often work out together--track workouts, anyone?). It's hard but I'm the happiest I've ever been and accomplishing so much more.
http://coastalsportsmedicine.com/blog/2009/04/how-would-you-answer/
How do you balance family, career, and working out?
It's hard but so necessary. The harder I work on my career, the more I need to train simply for the stress relief. The harder I train, the more I need to recovery (sleep, eat, stretch, massage, etc). I am very organized. I have a lot of lists. I do a lot of planning for the next day at the end of each day. I also go to bed very early. I sacrifice a lot of wasted time, tv watching, and socializing. I get my social time in during workouts and sometimes even family time (my boyfriend and son often work out together--track workouts, anyone?). It's hard but I'm the happiest I've ever been and accomplishing so much more.
Amazing Swim
I woke up at 5 this morning for 6 am swim. That's the 3rd swim in 3 days (tomorrow will be 4). I'm getting LASIK on Thursday, which means no swimming for 1 week. Just when I'm getting faster and LOVING the master's workouts too. Oh, well. It's just 1 week, right? I'm getting stronger in the water. Still slow, but better. I think the secret to getting stronger is to do it more. That's right: to get faster on the swim, bike, or run, the secret formula is: do more!
This morning, there were 7 people in my lane. I freaked out. No way I can keep up with them. We started swimming. I was in the middle of the pack. I swam as hard as I could to maintain an even pace with them. Afterall, that's what I'm used to doing when I swim in a pack that's not the slow lane. Only today was different. The people behind me weren't gaining on me. The swimmers in front weren't pulling away. All of a sudden, I felt bubbles. My fingers grazed the toes of the swimmer in front. I was catching up!
I swam consevatively the rest of the workout, afraid at some point, everyone would start racing ahead. Afterall, I need a good 1000 meters to warm up. It never happened. I got faster and faster, and everyone else got slower and slower. By the end, everyone else jumped up before the final set, and I finished the workout solo. Sickie said I should move up a lane next time. I feel fresh, my shoulders aren't sore, and I'm not tired. I feel incredible.
This morning, there were 7 people in my lane. I freaked out. No way I can keep up with them. We started swimming. I was in the middle of the pack. I swam as hard as I could to maintain an even pace with them. Afterall, that's what I'm used to doing when I swim in a pack that's not the slow lane. Only today was different. The people behind me weren't gaining on me. The swimmers in front weren't pulling away. All of a sudden, I felt bubbles. My fingers grazed the toes of the swimmer in front. I was catching up!
I swam consevatively the rest of the workout, afraid at some point, everyone would start racing ahead. Afterall, I need a good 1000 meters to warm up. It never happened. I got faster and faster, and everyone else got slower and slower. By the end, everyone else jumped up before the final set, and I finished the workout solo. Sickie said I should move up a lane next time. I feel fresh, my shoulders aren't sore, and I'm not tired. I feel incredible.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Rough Weekend and Sunset Ride
My swim went fabulously, especially considering the weekend I had. After 1,000 meters, I felt great. I was joined by several young, strange faces, all college age. Of course, a the start, everyone else zipped by, and I debated wondered to slip into the slow lane. As we began the main set, everyone seemed to lose steam. I started pushing the pace, ready to begin. One swimmer moved into the slow lane. I passed another swimmer. Another swimmer disappeared. I had been prepared to be the weakest swimmer in the lane. Now, I was basically leading. I'm still a slow swimmer but it's a good boost for the ole' confidence. At the end, I skipped the final set, happy to do only 2600 meters today. Afterall, it was supposed to be a recovery swim. I casually mentioned to my fellow, young swimmers (since when did college kids make me feel old?) that I was getting out early, "That's it for me. I had a pretty rough weekend." They all started chuckling and giving me an impressed, wide-eyed look.
"Yeah, so did we." I realized "rough weekend" might have a double meaning depending on your age and environment. I cracked up and laughed with them, not bothering to correct them.
This evening, I hopped onto Torch for one of my favorite workouts: Racing the Sunset. Basically, you pick a target mileage to complete, say 20 or 30 miles, get on your bike with limited daylight to spare, and pedal as fast as you can in one direction until you reach half the distance. Then, glancing at the sinking fireball into the Pacific, you pedal home as fast as you can, half-panicked because you refuse to put lights on your bike. Also, put a nice, long hill between you and the end (Torrey Pines). It's a terrific workout! I went much faster than normally. Not a moment to spare! Motivation is a great thing.
P.S. I can't stop eating. I'm ravenous! It's ridiculous.
"Yeah, so did we." I realized "rough weekend" might have a double meaning depending on your age and environment. I cracked up and laughed with them, not bothering to correct them.
This evening, I hopped onto Torch for one of my favorite workouts: Racing the Sunset. Basically, you pick a target mileage to complete, say 20 or 30 miles, get on your bike with limited daylight to spare, and pedal as fast as you can in one direction until you reach half the distance. Then, glancing at the sinking fireball into the Pacific, you pedal home as fast as you can, half-panicked because you refuse to put lights on your bike. Also, put a nice, long hill between you and the end (Torrey Pines). It's a terrific workout! I went much faster than normally. Not a moment to spare! Motivation is a great thing.
P.S. I can't stop eating. I'm ravenous! It's ridiculous.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Victorious 15-Mile La Jolla/Pacific Beach Run
I hit the snooze not twice, but three times. The damn alarm kept going off. I wanted sooo much to shut it off for good and sleep in. Afterall, it was Sunday. Frantically, I wracked my brain for alternate ways out of my early morning long run. I could run later, I could run with a different running group at a later time, I could run shorter, I could skip it all together..... None of these options were a good substitute, and I knew it. It was going to be hot that day, and my running group was running early and on the coast to avoid the brutality of the heat. It was my best choice. Grunting, I somehow got out of bed. Luckily, my "night self", forseeing that my morning self would have trouble, had laid out my running clothes already and made a pot of coffee. I eased into my clothes, slipped downstairs, and had breakfast. Brent groaned and rolled over, snoring away. Bastard.
As I drove to La Jolla Cove, I gulped. I was nervous. I had biked Palomar yesterday, and even though I wasn't sore, I knew my legs would be tired. 15 miles seemed like a long way. It had been a long time since I had run that far.
I met my running group, and we started off as the temps began to rise. I let the speedsters go ahead and chatted away with my good friend B., who I hadn't seen in awhile. We talked non-stop (I guess I should clarify: I talked non-stop while she listened). We talked about the economy, our jobs, training, self-confidence, life philosophies, and world peace. Well, okay, everything except for that last part. I glanced at my GPS and noticed I was going verrry slow. I didn't care. I wanted to start conservatively. I wanted to finish strong.
We regrouped at mile 5. I gave everyone a brief hug, and we parted ways. I felt like I was going on a long trip and wouldn't see them for a long time. They headed back and I plodded onwards. Afterall, I wasn't turning around until mile 7.5.
I struggled to transition into my new solo rhythm that first lonely mile. I was still going verrry slowly. This sucks, I thought to myself. I tried to speed up. Too fast. Then, too slow. I was having a hard time pacing myself. Was I going so slowly because that's what I was used to doing or because I really needed to? I decided to test myself. I forced myself to speed up to my goal marathon pace and hold it for half a mile. If it felt too strong, I would slow down. But, guess what? It didn't feel too fast! It felt rhythmic and easy. My breathing was still relaxed and calm. My feet felt peppy, snapping like rubber bands off the ground. I had found my stride.
I started taking in the scenery as I ran south along the Pacific Beach boardwalk. The cement path was crowded with dog walkers, strolling lovers walking hand-in-hand, other runners, surfers, moms with strollers, and lollygaggers on beach cruisers, weaving all over the path, as if they were still drunk from the previous night's festivities. It was too early for the party-goers. They wouldn't surface until noon, at the earliest. Plenty of time.
I hit the turn-around. I couldn't believe how fresh I felt. My legs had over 100 miles in them for the week but they felt springy and bouncy as a spring chicken. As I headed back, tantalizing aromas of breakfast burritos and omelettes from adjacent diners wafted through the air. I side-stepped a dried puddle of puke in front of neighboring bar, which quickly quelled the growling in my stomach. A distant fragment of an ancient memory tugged at me, reminscent of my college years, days long ago, lost and forgotten. Two young men, clad in black leather jackets and black jeans, with chains and hoops dangling from various holes in their skin, sauntered past menacingly. I smiled at them. Maybe I'm just too old to be intimidated anymore. Or maybe I am reminded of when I was young, tattooed, pierced, and a rebel without a cause. I avoided a used condom, discarded onto the boardwalk. Okay, that was just plain gross. Hence, I only run in PB 2 or 3 times a year, mostly for entertainment and amusement.
At this point, my stomach had started giving me some trouble. I needed a bathroom. Quick. I knew there was one at the Crystal Pier. Could I make it? I slowed, focused on relaxing, and used all my concentration to prevent discarding something disgusting of my own on the boardwalk. There were no bushes and no bathrooms in sight, and I didn't think the vacationers would appreciate me using their potted palm on the patio as a toilet. I didn't think I was going to make it. Finally, the bathroom came into view. I sighed a huge breath of relief. I did my business and continued on my way, lighter and SO much happier. I resumed my "speedy", marathon pace.
I headed back towards La Jolla. The roads became windy and very hilly. I high-stepped up all the steep hills and flew down the downhills. My legs felt fantastic. I picked up the pace. I zig-zagged around all the tourists flocking to see the seals at Children's Pool. I saw the park by the Cove up ahead. I was going to make it. I was going to do it! I imagined people lining the sidewalk as I sprinted, all cheering my name. A big grin spread across my face. I resisted the urge to throw my arms up into the air, shout "Whoo-hoo!", and run a victory lap around the park. I had run 15. As always, what seemed daunting at the start, became very doable once I started, one step at a time. Not only that, I felt fantastic, despite the killer week and weekend. In addition, I had pushed the pace and achieved my goal speed. Maybe I'm strong enough to work on speed at my long distances now!
After a latte and bagel and lox, I slipped into the Cove for a relaxing 1-mile swim with a group of friends. The ocean waters felt so soothing. It should have been called the "Seaweed Swim" instead of the Cove swim, however. I discovered it's much more efficient to slip in and out between the giant kelp beds, instead of trying to bulldoze my way through the middle. Who knew?
I type this in my compression tights, after some Yoga to stretch everything out, and a good, long ice bath. I will sleep well tonight!
As I drove to La Jolla Cove, I gulped. I was nervous. I had biked Palomar yesterday, and even though I wasn't sore, I knew my legs would be tired. 15 miles seemed like a long way. It had been a long time since I had run that far.
I met my running group, and we started off as the temps began to rise. I let the speedsters go ahead and chatted away with my good friend B., who I hadn't seen in awhile. We talked non-stop (I guess I should clarify: I talked non-stop while she listened). We talked about the economy, our jobs, training, self-confidence, life philosophies, and world peace. Well, okay, everything except for that last part. I glanced at my GPS and noticed I was going verrry slow. I didn't care. I wanted to start conservatively. I wanted to finish strong.
We regrouped at mile 5. I gave everyone a brief hug, and we parted ways. I felt like I was going on a long trip and wouldn't see them for a long time. They headed back and I plodded onwards. Afterall, I wasn't turning around until mile 7.5.
I struggled to transition into my new solo rhythm that first lonely mile. I was still going verrry slowly. This sucks, I thought to myself. I tried to speed up. Too fast. Then, too slow. I was having a hard time pacing myself. Was I going so slowly because that's what I was used to doing or because I really needed to? I decided to test myself. I forced myself to speed up to my goal marathon pace and hold it for half a mile. If it felt too strong, I would slow down. But, guess what? It didn't feel too fast! It felt rhythmic and easy. My breathing was still relaxed and calm. My feet felt peppy, snapping like rubber bands off the ground. I had found my stride.
I started taking in the scenery as I ran south along the Pacific Beach boardwalk. The cement path was crowded with dog walkers, strolling lovers walking hand-in-hand, other runners, surfers, moms with strollers, and lollygaggers on beach cruisers, weaving all over the path, as if they were still drunk from the previous night's festivities. It was too early for the party-goers. They wouldn't surface until noon, at the earliest. Plenty of time.
I hit the turn-around. I couldn't believe how fresh I felt. My legs had over 100 miles in them for the week but they felt springy and bouncy as a spring chicken. As I headed back, tantalizing aromas of breakfast burritos and omelettes from adjacent diners wafted through the air. I side-stepped a dried puddle of puke in front of neighboring bar, which quickly quelled the growling in my stomach. A distant fragment of an ancient memory tugged at me, reminscent of my college years, days long ago, lost and forgotten. Two young men, clad in black leather jackets and black jeans, with chains and hoops dangling from various holes in their skin, sauntered past menacingly. I smiled at them. Maybe I'm just too old to be intimidated anymore. Or maybe I am reminded of when I was young, tattooed, pierced, and a rebel without a cause. I avoided a used condom, discarded onto the boardwalk. Okay, that was just plain gross. Hence, I only run in PB 2 or 3 times a year, mostly for entertainment and amusement.
At this point, my stomach had started giving me some trouble. I needed a bathroom. Quick. I knew there was one at the Crystal Pier. Could I make it? I slowed, focused on relaxing, and used all my concentration to prevent discarding something disgusting of my own on the boardwalk. There were no bushes and no bathrooms in sight, and I didn't think the vacationers would appreciate me using their potted palm on the patio as a toilet. I didn't think I was going to make it. Finally, the bathroom came into view. I sighed a huge breath of relief. I did my business and continued on my way, lighter and SO much happier. I resumed my "speedy", marathon pace.
I headed back towards La Jolla. The roads became windy and very hilly. I high-stepped up all the steep hills and flew down the downhills. My legs felt fantastic. I picked up the pace. I zig-zagged around all the tourists flocking to see the seals at Children's Pool. I saw the park by the Cove up ahead. I was going to make it. I was going to do it! I imagined people lining the sidewalk as I sprinted, all cheering my name. A big grin spread across my face. I resisted the urge to throw my arms up into the air, shout "Whoo-hoo!", and run a victory lap around the park. I had run 15. As always, what seemed daunting at the start, became very doable once I started, one step at a time. Not only that, I felt fantastic, despite the killer week and weekend. In addition, I had pushed the pace and achieved my goal speed. Maybe I'm strong enough to work on speed at my long distances now!
After a latte and bagel and lox, I slipped into the Cove for a relaxing 1-mile swim with a group of friends. The ocean waters felt so soothing. It should have been called the "Seaweed Swim" instead of the Cove swim, however. I discovered it's much more efficient to slip in and out between the giant kelp beds, instead of trying to bulldoze my way through the middle. Who knew?
I type this in my compression tights, after some Yoga to stretch everything out, and a good, long ice bath. I will sleep well tonight!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
From Palm Trees to Pine Trees in 11 Miles
(The title was suggested by my friend Randy; it was just too perfect).
Today, I climbed Palomar for the 2nd time. Over 5,000 feet of climbing, 60 miles, hot, windy, and good old-fashioned fun. I've decided I have to do this more. I did this ride 1 year ago, my final peak ride before my taper for IMAZ. Dean (may he rest in peace) rode with me the entire way. How time flies.
I reached the parking lot in Kit Carson Park and was greeted by about 20 other cyclists. It was awesome to reconnect with old friends and make new ones simultaneously. I could tell it was going to be a hot day. We headed out and were hit with a false flat almost immediately. Cars honked as they tried to get around (we were riding single file). This would be a common theme for the rest of the ride. Motorists out in the Escondido, Valley Center, Rincon area just 'aint too biker friendly. Sucks.
We climbed up to Lake Wohlford, the first "bump" on the route. It was nothing to sneeze out. The lake was vast and sparkling as the sun's rays played upon the surface. I resisted the urge to take a dip to cool off. We passed by several farms. I loved the goats, the llamas, the cows, the buffalo, but not so much the chickens. They stink! The baby donkey with his big long ears and furry head was by far and away absolutely the cutest thing I've EVER seen. He was very tiny, only a few weeks old, and totally adoreable.
We regrouped at the Taco Shop, at the base of the mountain. I was hungry so I gobbled down a Drumstick ice cream cone. Delicious, refreshing, scrumptious! We began working our way up the mountain. Everyone else hammered away. I maintained my conservative pace, keeping the long climb out of Rincon back up to Lake Wohlford at the end of the ride, in mind. A cool breeze relieved me as I climbed, like natural air conditioning. Gorgeous wildflowers lavishly bloomed in the valleys alongside the mountains: yellow daisies, golden California poppies, lavender lupine. The hillsides were covered in a lush, velvet, green grass. Climbing on Torch is no easy feat. I realize now that climbing on Pandora is cheating. But Torch will be my trusty steed in IM-Canada. So, I plunge into my climbs now on Torch.
We reached the 4,000 feet sign, and I rejoiced. Only 1,000 feet more to go. Of course, the last 1,000 feet is the steepest. And the hardest. And took the longest. I toiled to turn the pedals over around switchback after switchback. My knees were puffy and swollen from Thursday's fall and didn't enjoy the grinding of the gears so much. Especially standing climbs. Seated climbs, ok. Clipping in? Not so much. Ugh! I worry about tomorrow's long run. I spotted my friend, B., on the side of the road. He had flatted. I stopped to help. He was toiling away with his mini pump. I gave him a CO2 cartridge. I hate those damn pumps! He was very thankful but I was relieved for a little break. Little did he know....
We climbed back on and continued our struggle. He was grateful for the cartridge (and some water since he had run out), I was grateful for the company. We reached the 5,000 feet sign. Are we there yet, are we there yet? The climb is supposed to be 5,200 to the top but I the last couple hundred feet are always the worst. Some tourists, stopped at the top to enjoy the view, called out to us as we passed, "You guys are crazy!"
"Thank you!" It seemed like a compliment to me. Finally, we saw the crest, and I secretly rejoiced.
We regrouped at Mother's Kitchen, an awesome diner at the top of Palomar. My brood didn't look so good. They were laying down in a patch of grass by the diner.
"C'mon!" I urged. "Let's get lunch!" Reluctantly, they followed me inside. I bought an awesome club sandwich and a coke, splitting it with B. I gobbled down the food, satiating my grumbling tummies, which was now sloshing with sports drink and Cliff Blocks. After a long, restful break, we climbed back on our bikes and headed down.
11 miles, and 5,200 feet down. Sounds incredible. In actuality, it's a bit harrowing. My wrists ached from squeezing the brakes and my hands went numb. It was difficult to navigate the tri bike around the switchbacks. The road is narrow and motorcycles zoom up and down as fast as they can, leaning their "bikes" (not a real bike) over as far as they can until their knee almost scrapes the pavement. Seems stupid to me but I guess climbing up and flying down with nothing but 15 pounds of carbon between your legs probably seems stupid to them. I took in the view as I spiraled down whenever I could. I could see fog covering the tops of distant mountains, multiple cities far down below, and in the distant west, the Pacific. It was an incredible view. We reached the bottom, and I yawned several times, trying to get my ears to pop. I looked up and gasped. It always amazes me to see this giant mountain I just climbed up on my bike. It's always better to marvel at the mountain after I've climbed it though.
We began climbing up towards Lake Wohlford. The road was narrow, there was no shoulder or bike lane, and angry cars zipped inches from our knees. Not fun at all. Plus, I couldn't help but notice dried boquets of flowers placed on the guardrails around particularly nasty switchbacks. Doesn't exactly give me the greatest confidence biking on roads where I know someone tragically ended their life at that very same place. The temps had soared into the mid-80s, and I could feel my skin baking. I hydrated very well and actually needed to pee by mile 50. Only 10 more left to go, I told myself. I'm holding it. I felt cool internally, as if the hot sun's rays were bouncing off of me. I was immune. I had super-cooling powers. Yippee! We passed by a beautiful herd of horses grazing in a field. Their bellies were plump and their coats were shiny and sleek. A paint laid down in the grass, rolled vigorously to scratch an itch on his back, and laid on his side, grunting, as he closed his eyes to take a nap. He looked exactly how we felt. As we passed by Lake Wohlford, I rejoiced again. I knew the worst was over. We were going to make it.
63 miles and 6 bottles of water later, we made it back to the parking lot. It had been a hot and hilly ride. We all conquered Palomar. Even though I rode most conservatively, I think I felt the best at the end. I ate and hydrated well and kept a slow pace. I think my run tomorrow will go well. I do know that I will be climbing Palomar more frequently. I'm thinking every 2 weeks? Park at the taco shop and go up the South Grade. Now that daylight is getting longer, this is a doable mid-week workout. Awesome!
Today, I climbed Palomar for the 2nd time. Over 5,000 feet of climbing, 60 miles, hot, windy, and good old-fashioned fun. I've decided I have to do this more. I did this ride 1 year ago, my final peak ride before my taper for IMAZ. Dean (may he rest in peace) rode with me the entire way. How time flies.
I reached the parking lot in Kit Carson Park and was greeted by about 20 other cyclists. It was awesome to reconnect with old friends and make new ones simultaneously. I could tell it was going to be a hot day. We headed out and were hit with a false flat almost immediately. Cars honked as they tried to get around (we were riding single file). This would be a common theme for the rest of the ride. Motorists out in the Escondido, Valley Center, Rincon area just 'aint too biker friendly. Sucks.
We climbed up to Lake Wohlford, the first "bump" on the route. It was nothing to sneeze out. The lake was vast and sparkling as the sun's rays played upon the surface. I resisted the urge to take a dip to cool off. We passed by several farms. I loved the goats, the llamas, the cows, the buffalo, but not so much the chickens. They stink! The baby donkey with his big long ears and furry head was by far and away absolutely the cutest thing I've EVER seen. He was very tiny, only a few weeks old, and totally adoreable.
We regrouped at the Taco Shop, at the base of the mountain. I was hungry so I gobbled down a Drumstick ice cream cone. Delicious, refreshing, scrumptious! We began working our way up the mountain. Everyone else hammered away. I maintained my conservative pace, keeping the long climb out of Rincon back up to Lake Wohlford at the end of the ride, in mind. A cool breeze relieved me as I climbed, like natural air conditioning. Gorgeous wildflowers lavishly bloomed in the valleys alongside the mountains: yellow daisies, golden California poppies, lavender lupine. The hillsides were covered in a lush, velvet, green grass. Climbing on Torch is no easy feat. I realize now that climbing on Pandora is cheating. But Torch will be my trusty steed in IM-Canada. So, I plunge into my climbs now on Torch.
We reached the 4,000 feet sign, and I rejoiced. Only 1,000 feet more to go. Of course, the last 1,000 feet is the steepest. And the hardest. And took the longest. I toiled to turn the pedals over around switchback after switchback. My knees were puffy and swollen from Thursday's fall and didn't enjoy the grinding of the gears so much. Especially standing climbs. Seated climbs, ok. Clipping in? Not so much. Ugh! I worry about tomorrow's long run. I spotted my friend, B., on the side of the road. He had flatted. I stopped to help. He was toiling away with his mini pump. I gave him a CO2 cartridge. I hate those damn pumps! He was very thankful but I was relieved for a little break. Little did he know....
We climbed back on and continued our struggle. He was grateful for the cartridge (and some water since he had run out), I was grateful for the company. We reached the 5,000 feet sign. Are we there yet, are we there yet? The climb is supposed to be 5,200 to the top but I the last couple hundred feet are always the worst. Some tourists, stopped at the top to enjoy the view, called out to us as we passed, "You guys are crazy!"
"Thank you!" It seemed like a compliment to me. Finally, we saw the crest, and I secretly rejoiced.
We regrouped at Mother's Kitchen, an awesome diner at the top of Palomar. My brood didn't look so good. They were laying down in a patch of grass by the diner.
"C'mon!" I urged. "Let's get lunch!" Reluctantly, they followed me inside. I bought an awesome club sandwich and a coke, splitting it with B. I gobbled down the food, satiating my grumbling tummies, which was now sloshing with sports drink and Cliff Blocks. After a long, restful break, we climbed back on our bikes and headed down.
11 miles, and 5,200 feet down. Sounds incredible. In actuality, it's a bit harrowing. My wrists ached from squeezing the brakes and my hands went numb. It was difficult to navigate the tri bike around the switchbacks. The road is narrow and motorcycles zoom up and down as fast as they can, leaning their "bikes" (not a real bike) over as far as they can until their knee almost scrapes the pavement. Seems stupid to me but I guess climbing up and flying down with nothing but 15 pounds of carbon between your legs probably seems stupid to them. I took in the view as I spiraled down whenever I could. I could see fog covering the tops of distant mountains, multiple cities far down below, and in the distant west, the Pacific. It was an incredible view. We reached the bottom, and I yawned several times, trying to get my ears to pop. I looked up and gasped. It always amazes me to see this giant mountain I just climbed up on my bike. It's always better to marvel at the mountain after I've climbed it though.
We began climbing up towards Lake Wohlford. The road was narrow, there was no shoulder or bike lane, and angry cars zipped inches from our knees. Not fun at all. Plus, I couldn't help but notice dried boquets of flowers placed on the guardrails around particularly nasty switchbacks. Doesn't exactly give me the greatest confidence biking on roads where I know someone tragically ended their life at that very same place. The temps had soared into the mid-80s, and I could feel my skin baking. I hydrated very well and actually needed to pee by mile 50. Only 10 more left to go, I told myself. I'm holding it. I felt cool internally, as if the hot sun's rays were bouncing off of me. I was immune. I had super-cooling powers. Yippee! We passed by a beautiful herd of horses grazing in a field. Their bellies were plump and their coats were shiny and sleek. A paint laid down in the grass, rolled vigorously to scratch an itch on his back, and laid on his side, grunting, as he closed his eyes to take a nap. He looked exactly how we felt. As we passed by Lake Wohlford, I rejoiced again. I knew the worst was over. We were going to make it.
63 miles and 6 bottles of water later, we made it back to the parking lot. It had been a hot and hilly ride. We all conquered Palomar. Even though I rode most conservatively, I think I felt the best at the end. I ate and hydrated well and kept a slow pace. I think my run tomorrow will go well. I do know that I will be climbing Palomar more frequently. I'm thinking every 2 weeks? Park at the taco shop and go up the South Grade. Now that daylight is getting longer, this is a doable mid-week workout. Awesome!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Battered, Bruised and Bloody
It's been a good but tiring week. I hope I do okay on my crazy hilly 60-mile ride up Palomar tomorrow. I have to run 15 on Sunday. Gulp. I hope to jump in the Cove afterwards for a relaxing swim. Water is about 60. I managed to hit almost all my workouts this week. I decided to take Friday off since this weekend is so killer. I was feeling tired. Maybe biking 4x AND running 4x a week (in addition to swimming 3x and weights 2x and Yoga and oh, btw, I have a full time job too....) is too much? Hmmmm. It's a running-focused block. San Diego Rock 'n Roll Marathon is 6 weeks away. Maybe biking 3x/week right now is okay so I can get my runs in. There will be time for a bike block after this. Gotta follow my plan....
Thursday, Brent and I went for an easy-paced 6-mile run at Black Mountain Park (http://www.sandiego.gov/park-and-recreation/parks/blackmtn/index.shtml).
Brent was relying on me to lead the way. However, I hadn't run there since my race. Apparently, I don't think about where I am at all when I race. It was tough; I didn't recognize anything! The map I had printed didn't show all the alternative trails criss-crossing every which way. It was a fun, exploratory run. We ran down one way, then back-tracked. Finally found a tiny little sign that read "Trail". Maybe that's a clue? Headed down the for a bit, winding over a narrow dirt path littered with rocks. Turned down another wrong path and ran that way for a bit until the grass grew so long and thick, I felt like were bush-wacking our way in the outback. When I finally reached a dry creekbed, I knew we had gone the wrong way. Back again and finally spotted another "Trail" sign. It was like a treasure hunt!
We managed to stay on the designated trail after that. Up one hill, then down the next. I thought Black Mountain Park was supposed to be kind of flat? Nothing but! After 3 miles, we turned and headed back. I felt much more relaxed now that we knew where we were going. I chatted easily, huffing and puffing up yet another hill.
"You're kind of quiet," I commented to Brent.
"I'm concentrating."
"On what?"
"The trail. You have to be careful."
"But we're not going that fast!"
"Well, you also happen to talk a lot more than me." Ha ha. Touche! I have been known to talk to myself when no one is around. I can carry a conversation with myself. You could leave the room, and I wouldn't even take a breath (or realize you had left). But I diverge....
Brent headed up ahead. I knew the final turn towards the car was near; we were about a mile from the start. Like horses smelling the stable, we started to pick up the pace. Suddenly, Brent heard a kerbloop! I tripped on a rock, and in slow motion, realized I was going to fall. I stopped trying not to fall and began preparing to fall. I relaxed and dove forward, doing the Superman belly flop onto the trail. Of course, all of this complex planning happened in milliseconds. I groaned and rolled over to assess the damage. Although it was a dirt path, apparently there were a lot of rocks. I had scrapes all over my wrists, forearms, and left hip. Both knees were badly scratched and bloody. Luckily, my knees broke my fall.
I got up and brushed myself off. The urge was to keep running but Brent convinced me I should walk for a few minutes, at least, to make sure I was okay. I was a bit shaken, bruised, battered, and bloody, but otherwise okay. I had been lucky. My knees didn't feel too great when I ran. I guess I banged 'em pretty hard. Within 5 minutes, I was able to jog without any pain. I knew I hadn't done any major damage.
Once back at home, I cleaned up (after lifting weights first, of course) and took an ice bath to dampen any swelling. The knees look much better today but are a little sore and swollen. It hurts to kneel, making it very hard to pet the bunnies! Some ibuprofen and ice should make me right as rain. I usually take one fall a year (always from running; guess I'm kind of a klutz). I hope this was my one fall!
On that note, remember when we were kids? We used to fall down ALL THE TIME! It was never a big deal. We would get up like nothing happened and keep on playing. We never got HURT! Now, when we fall down, it hurts a lot more. What's up with that?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Recovery Week Madness
Another recovery week, survived. Actually, this one went really well. I rested some, worked out some, played some. Isn't that what a recovery week is all about?
I had a great little run on Wednesday. Felt great. Allowed myself to sprint, just a little. Why not? I got such a runner's high that I picked wildflowers from the side of the road as I ran and tucked them behind my hair, eliciting curious smiles from passing cyclists. I blasted back into our neighborhood and down the hill to our house. I saw our neighbor out front, playing with the kids. I waved and ran even faster.
"Look at me! I'm such a super-fast badass, huh?" I said to myself, showing off. Later, our neighbor asked Brent if I was injured. He thought I was favoring one side. Can it get any more embarrassing? That's what I get for showboating.
Saturday, Brent, his brother, and I all did the club race (www.triclubsandiego.org). Believe it or not, it was my first club race. His brother, Brook, had never done a triathlon (he's training for the Nation's Tri in D.C. in Sept. (an Olympic)). I don't think he realizes what he signed up for! I put him on my commuter bike (Specialized Sirrus) since it didn't require clipless pedals and was faster than a mountain bike. Then, I dug up a wetsuit from a friend, which he somehow squeezed into with great difficulty.
On race morning, we woke up in what should have been plenty of time.
"Aren't the club races at 7?" I asked Brent, sleepily. He insisted they were at 8. Well, he should know. He does them all the time, I thought. He decided to check the website, just in case.
"You're right! It IS at 7!" he exclaimed. We all scrambled to get to the start. Where's my helmet? Where are my tri shorts? Ack! I'm usually so prepared! I can't believe I didn't forget anything (or any of his brother's stuff). Poor Brook was scared enough already, and now we were rushed on top of it all.
I got to the transition area, Body Glided myself and Brook and helped him into his wetsuit. The, it was time to get into the water. Not a minute to spare! Brent swam with his brother the whole time. I guess I had a bunch of pent-up energy from the week's rest. CA 70.3 just didn't leave me feeling that fatigued. I decided to race. The horn blew and we plunged into the murky waters of Mission Bay. After the cold, Oceanside Harbor the week before, the Bay felt warm and comforting. I swam as hard as I could, quickly disorienting myself. Bam! Whack! Slam! I got pummeled in the face and jaw a couple of times by elbows, fists, and feet. I was seeing stars. Why are the club races always the most aggressive? Finally, I reached the turn-around and started heading back. 800 meters for a sprint? Sheesh! Game on!
I reached shore and hopped onto my bike. All I wore was a singlet and tri shorts. As I started my 5 laps around Fiesta Island (12 miles), it started to drizzle. I just hammered harder, trying to keep warm. It was fun to put the pedal to the metal for once. I was able to eke out ~19 mph average (with race wheels). Oddly enough, I wasn't cold at all, and the typical gusty winds felt very mild to me. I cheered on Brook as I finished up, slipped into my running shoes and took off running.
After 1/2 miles, my legs found their rhythm. I was huffing and puffing and a stitch in my side wouldn't quit bugging me. I had forgotten how hard sprints can be! But I felt so good! I ran harder. On the final 2-mile lap (4 miles total), my legs became springy and bouncy, and I settled into a 10K pace. The final 400 meters approached. I caught sight of a thin, fit older gentleman in CAF (Challenged Athlete's Foundation) garb. Bob Babbitt (founder of CAF and Competitor and the sport of triathlon itself, in my opinion; plus, he's just an all-around great guy)! Could I pass him? Poor guy, running along, enjoying himself. He didn't know he had a HUGE target painted on his back! I started sprinting. It was going to be tough. As the finish line emerged, I blew by, panting, "You're hard to catch!"
"Go get 'em, kid!" he yelled back. I blasted through the timing mats, exhilarated. Afterwards, I tried valiently not to puke from going all out (and succeeded). Thanks, Bob, for making me push so hard!
I cooled down with Brook and Brent for an easy-going 2 miles. Afterwards, we enjoyed the awesome food all the volunteers had brought. Brook did his first tri and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He also realized he has his work cut out for him in September!
On Monday, Brent and I hopped into the pool for a UCSD masters workout. I was feeling particularly stressed out from work. Then, Brent pissed me off by making some rude comment about some young college girl. I started swimming, H-A-R-D. We started doing sets of 500s (meters, long course), my favorite. Terri, seeded us, and I remained the last swimmer of the group. As we all took off, she looked at me and said, "Okay, now you can mow them all done." As if this were my assignment, I took her very seriously and pushed off from the wall. My goggles were leaking so I took the first 100 easy. Then, I began picking them off. Swim, swim, swim, bubbles....bubbles? Excitement began to build. Draft, draft, touch toes once, twice. Ooops. Sorry. At the wall, quickly go around. One swimmer down. Next length, 2nd swimmer down. Next length, oops she didn't want to let me go. I checked ahead, all clear. I swam hard to the left and went around, squeezing in between her and the final front swimmer. Touched his toes. Hit the wall, and quickly took the lead. The gap between me and everyone else widened. I finished the 500, exhilarated. Terri smiled at me, "You did it!" Everyone else looked a bit pissed because of my aggressive swimming. I quickly apologized, and they all forgave me, just as quickly. I lead the rest of the workout. The pressure was on, now. I had to maintain my lead. I couldn't slow down now. I had half a length between me and the next swimmer behind me for the other 500s. I had a great swim! Plus, I got all my negative emotions out. Swimming angry is the bomb!
I had a great little run on Wednesday. Felt great. Allowed myself to sprint, just a little. Why not? I got such a runner's high that I picked wildflowers from the side of the road as I ran and tucked them behind my hair, eliciting curious smiles from passing cyclists. I blasted back into our neighborhood and down the hill to our house. I saw our neighbor out front, playing with the kids. I waved and ran even faster.
"Look at me! I'm such a super-fast badass, huh?" I said to myself, showing off. Later, our neighbor asked Brent if I was injured. He thought I was favoring one side. Can it get any more embarrassing? That's what I get for showboating.
Saturday, Brent, his brother, and I all did the club race (www.triclubsandiego.org). Believe it or not, it was my first club race. His brother, Brook, had never done a triathlon (he's training for the Nation's Tri in D.C. in Sept. (an Olympic)). I don't think he realizes what he signed up for! I put him on my commuter bike (Specialized Sirrus) since it didn't require clipless pedals and was faster than a mountain bike. Then, I dug up a wetsuit from a friend, which he somehow squeezed into with great difficulty.
On race morning, we woke up in what should have been plenty of time.
"Aren't the club races at 7?" I asked Brent, sleepily. He insisted they were at 8. Well, he should know. He does them all the time, I thought. He decided to check the website, just in case.
"You're right! It IS at 7!" he exclaimed. We all scrambled to get to the start. Where's my helmet? Where are my tri shorts? Ack! I'm usually so prepared! I can't believe I didn't forget anything (or any of his brother's stuff). Poor Brook was scared enough already, and now we were rushed on top of it all.
I got to the transition area, Body Glided myself and Brook and helped him into his wetsuit. The, it was time to get into the water. Not a minute to spare! Brent swam with his brother the whole time. I guess I had a bunch of pent-up energy from the week's rest. CA 70.3 just didn't leave me feeling that fatigued. I decided to race. The horn blew and we plunged into the murky waters of Mission Bay. After the cold, Oceanside Harbor the week before, the Bay felt warm and comforting. I swam as hard as I could, quickly disorienting myself. Bam! Whack! Slam! I got pummeled in the face and jaw a couple of times by elbows, fists, and feet. I was seeing stars. Why are the club races always the most aggressive? Finally, I reached the turn-around and started heading back. 800 meters for a sprint? Sheesh! Game on!
I reached shore and hopped onto my bike. All I wore was a singlet and tri shorts. As I started my 5 laps around Fiesta Island (12 miles), it started to drizzle. I just hammered harder, trying to keep warm. It was fun to put the pedal to the metal for once. I was able to eke out ~19 mph average (with race wheels). Oddly enough, I wasn't cold at all, and the typical gusty winds felt very mild to me. I cheered on Brook as I finished up, slipped into my running shoes and took off running.
After 1/2 miles, my legs found their rhythm. I was huffing and puffing and a stitch in my side wouldn't quit bugging me. I had forgotten how hard sprints can be! But I felt so good! I ran harder. On the final 2-mile lap (4 miles total), my legs became springy and bouncy, and I settled into a 10K pace. The final 400 meters approached. I caught sight of a thin, fit older gentleman in CAF (Challenged Athlete's Foundation) garb. Bob Babbitt (founder of CAF and Competitor and the sport of triathlon itself, in my opinion; plus, he's just an all-around great guy)! Could I pass him? Poor guy, running along, enjoying himself. He didn't know he had a HUGE target painted on his back! I started sprinting. It was going to be tough. As the finish line emerged, I blew by, panting, "You're hard to catch!"
"Go get 'em, kid!" he yelled back. I blasted through the timing mats, exhilarated. Afterwards, I tried valiently not to puke from going all out (and succeeded). Thanks, Bob, for making me push so hard!
I cooled down with Brook and Brent for an easy-going 2 miles. Afterwards, we enjoyed the awesome food all the volunteers had brought. Brook did his first tri and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He also realized he has his work cut out for him in September!
On Monday, Brent and I hopped into the pool for a UCSD masters workout. I was feeling particularly stressed out from work. Then, Brent pissed me off by making some rude comment about some young college girl. I started swimming, H-A-R-D. We started doing sets of 500s (meters, long course), my favorite. Terri, seeded us, and I remained the last swimmer of the group. As we all took off, she looked at me and said, "Okay, now you can mow them all done." As if this were my assignment, I took her very seriously and pushed off from the wall. My goggles were leaking so I took the first 100 easy. Then, I began picking them off. Swim, swim, swim, bubbles....bubbles? Excitement began to build. Draft, draft, touch toes once, twice. Ooops. Sorry. At the wall, quickly go around. One swimmer down. Next length, 2nd swimmer down. Next length, oops she didn't want to let me go. I checked ahead, all clear. I swam hard to the left and went around, squeezing in between her and the final front swimmer. Touched his toes. Hit the wall, and quickly took the lead. The gap between me and everyone else widened. I finished the 500, exhilarated. Terri smiled at me, "You did it!" Everyone else looked a bit pissed because of my aggressive swimming. I quickly apologized, and they all forgave me, just as quickly. I lead the rest of the workout. The pressure was on, now. I had to maintain my lead. I couldn't slow down now. I had half a length between me and the next swimmer behind me for the other 500s. I had a great swim! Plus, I got all my negative emotions out. Swimming angry is the bomb!
Monday, April 06, 2009
2009 CA 70.3 Race Report
Waking up the morning after a half-ironman is a bit like waking up after a hard night of drinking. You lay in bed and feel fine. Maybe you're body has escaped the vengeful curse of the alcohol. Then, you get out of bed. YEOW!!! You hurt in places you didn't know you had. You have strange cuts and bruises you can't seem to remember incurring. Your stomach hurts and your pee is a funny color. Maybe the solution is the same as it is for drinking--tri more?
Actually, I'm not that sore. But I do have strange, minor cuts and bruises. Probably from the rough swim. Afterall, I always like a good fight. I am, however, tired. Good thing it's a recovery week. But let me start from the beginning...
Race week went well except I could have used more sleep. My front tubular was flat and had been glued on 1 year ago for IMAZ. The desert heat must have created an industrial-strength bond because, try as we might, Brent and I could not get the damn thing off. I finally wedged a kitchen steak knife between the tire and rim and started sawing away at the bond. The knife suddenly slipped upward, cutting the tire from the bottom. So much for trying to use it as a spare. I swiftly cut the entire thing crosswise with a sturdy pair of scissors and peeled the whole thing off like a banana. There goes $100. However, I learned an important lesson: old tubulars will not come off. I now carry a pocket knife with me in my flat kit. Additionally, I will be freshly re-gluing my tubulars before IM-Canada, just in case. At least I got my flat issues over with before race day!
My poor tubular after I'd had my way with it.
We picked our packet up on Thursday to avoid the crowds. I spent waaaay too much money at the Expo, including an extravagant pair of Zoot recovery compression tights that makes me look like a superhero (Ginormica from Monsters vs Aliens, anyone?). A windy system started blowing through, bringing a worrying chill in the air. The forecasters promised perfect weather for Saturday, however.
Brent posing in front of the road closure sign on Thursday. So cute in his work clothes!
Pre-Race:
Luckily, the weather forecasters were accurate this time. Saturday morning broke with a peaceful silence, peppered by the beautiful voices of mating spring songbirds. I sipped on my coffee and slipped a pair of tights, sweats, thermal undershirt, sweatshirt, jacket, gloves, and ear muffs over my "racing silks" and we were off. I was prepared for the early morning chill (mid 40s). The transition area was teeming with activity. I had to wait to get to my rack similar to waiting to board a plane. How come it was so crowded? How come my rack was so full? My wave didn't leave for another 2 hours! Jeez, people! My friends spotted me in my heavy winter gear and a rumor quickly sprouted that I wasn't racing. I helped Brent zip up his wetsuit, and he was off (40 minutes before my wave). I felt calm and relaxed. A few butterflies but mostly just excited. I opted for my arm warmers under my wetsuit to save time in T1. Grabbing my 2 caps, goggles, and ear plugs, I lined up in the chute. I felt toasty because I had been clever enough (actually, it was Brent's idea) to wear "throw away" socks while waiting for our wave to start.
Swim:
Suddenly, it was time for our wave to take the plunge and make our way to the start. The 60-degree water wasn't that bad. I had taken 2 practice swims in the Cove the last 2 weeks, and the 57-degree temps had more than prepared me for race day. I seeded myself in the middle of my pack. I felt strangely calm. Confident. The gun went off, and we started swimming. There was a lot of scuffling and scrambling as we all rallied for the best position. Wham! An elbow to the ribs. Bam! A fist in the eye. Slam! A kick in the back. WTF? I started kicking and pushing and hitting back. Thus, the cuts and bruises. But you should see the other guy. We started evening out, and I quickly found my rhythm. I felt so calm and relaxed. The chop hit me like a ton of bricks at the turn-around, where the ocean water fights against the harbor water, creating strange and fierce mini-currents and waves. I had to fight hard to ward off sea-sickness. I will not swallow water, I will not swallow water, I repeated over and over. Luckily, I had popped to pre-emptive Tums right before, just in case. I lurched and bobbed my way back towards the protective waters of the harbor. Suddenly, swimmers from the wave behind (Men, 20-25) tried aggressively to swim over me. I fought back viciously, and the perpetrators quickly retreated. You want some of me? You want some of this? All of a sudden, the swim was over. That's it? That's all there is? I couldn't believe it. I've never had a 1.2 mile swim go by so quickly. I glanced at my watch--40 minutes, right on target (and 10 min faster than 2 years ago!). I was happy.
T1:
I peeled off my wetsuit as I ran and felt the gentle warm sun on my arms. I wasn't cold at all. I wouldn't need my bike jacket! Yippee! All I needed was my sunglasses, helmet, race belt, and shoes. I ran to the mounting line with shoes in hand. Why run in my bike shoes? I slipped them on, mounted Torch, and we were off.
running out of T1, happy and in good spirits.
Bike:
My goal was to pace myself well, hydrate and eat well. I immediately popped 2 Tums to settle my finicky stomach. It worked. I was ravenous. I ate and drank and drank and ate. The first half of the bike was flat and fast. I drank in the gorgeous ocean views along the way. The sun was out and temps were in the low 60s with almost no wind. I spun at a conservative effort, which ended up ~18 mph (thanks Torch, Zipps, and aero helmet!). About mile 30, the hills began. I saw the first and steepest climb, dotted with athletes struggling up the ascent like ants. Many were walking. I felt calm and relaxed. I focused on maintaining a steady effort up the hill, alternating comfortably between seated and standing the whole way up. At the top, I quickly geared up and enjoyed the screaming 38 mph descent on the other side. I didn't have to take one pedal stroke (and it was a good opportunity to pee--apparently, I had been drinking too much). The rolling hills in Camp Pendleton were a soft, velvety green. Cannon fire ricocheted from the nearby artillery fields. Songbirds were having singing duels with each other. It was too beautiful not to notice and was an especially nice distraction as I battled yet another hill. The race director had promised there would be 3 major hills but I knew from last time that was a lie. There were more like 5 or 6. I was so glad I was prepared. I didn't feel flustered or worried. I did catch myself talking to myself at one point, however, questioning my sanity.
"I think this is the final hill," I muttered.
"I think so too," I answered back.
Okay, fine, we all talk to ourselves. But do you answer back? Who the hell answered back?
I turned down Vandegrift for the final 10 miles, expecting a wicked headwind. I heard a whistling wind but my speed was still holding steady. Hmmmm. Must have lucked out and gotten a crosswind. On Torch with my wheels and aero helmet, I zipped easily past several other athletes. As I neared T2, I felt victorious. I had consumed 750 calories (my goal was 250/hr) and 72 ounces of water. I felt fresh. I could have gone another 56 miles. Hmmm. Maybe I didn't push hard enough?
T2:
However, when I rode into T2, my elation plummeted. Torch was one of the last bikes to return to the rack. I know it shouldn't have mattered but it did. I know I should have been happy about my personal improvement but it was tough. Very tough.
Overall my bike was 3:24 (16.5 mph) and 6 minutes faster than 2 years ago. Even if it was only faster due to my fancy equipment (helmet, bike, wheels), my perceived effort was much lower. I think my only mistake was not going hard enough. I went at my IM pace, not HIM pace.
I slipped on my shoes and socks, grabbed my visor, tampon and Fuel Belt (stowed in a cooler with ice packs) and ran off to the Port-a-Potty. It was disgusting but that's okay. I didn't have time to sit down anyway. I had to pee like a racehorse. I can't believe how much I overhydrated. WTF? Feeling much, much better afterwards, I trotted off to begin the run.
The Run:
I had written my splits on my arm to prevent myself from running the first half too fast. My legs felt stiff and heavy and for some reason, it makes me run the first few at waaaay too fast a pace to sustain. Right off the bat, I had to battle the deep sand. 1/4 mile of deep sand at the beginning and end of each lap (1 mile total). I thought it would be horrible. Everyone was walking and griping. It actually wasn't too bad (thanks, trail running!). I focused on picking my feet up high to avoid getting sand in my shoes and maintaining a rhythm. I zipped in and out of people and was back on the concrete in no time. Yes, concrete. Ugh. That was by far the worst part about this race. 12 miles of pounding on concrete. Not even asphalt. My knees were not happy on Sunday. Reached mile 1 in 8:45. Too fast, too fast.
At the TCSD "Love Stop", Darrell ran with me a bit. He really pumped me up. Such a nice guy. It was soooo wonderful seeing all my friends out there on the course or cheering me on from the sidelines. At no point, did I feel lonely or unsupported. One of the perks of racing in your backyard. I was so busy looking around for all my friends, I didn't even realize I had to run! Great distraction. It really took my mind off the pain. The run was almost like a social hour for me (okay, 2 hours). Every time I spotted another athlete in a TCSD singlet, I cheered them on. This made it really fun. Mile 2 came and went. 9:00 on the money. I did a silent, internal victory dance.
Stomach vs legs--Who will win? 
--down the chute, happy to be nearing the end.
--final kick. I'm not going to let that guy in red pass me!
Actually, I'm not that sore. But I do have strange, minor cuts and bruises. Probably from the rough swim. Afterall, I always like a good fight. I am, however, tired. Good thing it's a recovery week. But let me start from the beginning...
Race week went well except I could have used more sleep. My front tubular was flat and had been glued on 1 year ago for IMAZ. The desert heat must have created an industrial-strength bond because, try as we might, Brent and I could not get the damn thing off. I finally wedged a kitchen steak knife between the tire and rim and started sawing away at the bond. The knife suddenly slipped upward, cutting the tire from the bottom. So much for trying to use it as a spare. I swiftly cut the entire thing crosswise with a sturdy pair of scissors and peeled the whole thing off like a banana. There goes $100. However, I learned an important lesson: old tubulars will not come off. I now carry a pocket knife with me in my flat kit. Additionally, I will be freshly re-gluing my tubulars before IM-Canada, just in case. At least I got my flat issues over with before race day!
My poor tubular after I'd had my way with it.
We picked our packet up on Thursday to avoid the crowds. I spent waaaay too much money at the Expo, including an extravagant pair of Zoot recovery compression tights that makes me look like a superhero (Ginormica from Monsters vs Aliens, anyone?). A windy system started blowing through, bringing a worrying chill in the air. The forecasters promised perfect weather for Saturday, however.
Brent posing in front of the road closure sign on Thursday. So cute in his work clothes!
Pre-Race:
Luckily, the weather forecasters were accurate this time. Saturday morning broke with a peaceful silence, peppered by the beautiful voices of mating spring songbirds. I sipped on my coffee and slipped a pair of tights, sweats, thermal undershirt, sweatshirt, jacket, gloves, and ear muffs over my "racing silks" and we were off. I was prepared for the early morning chill (mid 40s). The transition area was teeming with activity. I had to wait to get to my rack similar to waiting to board a plane. How come it was so crowded? How come my rack was so full? My wave didn't leave for another 2 hours! Jeez, people! My friends spotted me in my heavy winter gear and a rumor quickly sprouted that I wasn't racing. I helped Brent zip up his wetsuit, and he was off (40 minutes before my wave). I felt calm and relaxed. A few butterflies but mostly just excited. I opted for my arm warmers under my wetsuit to save time in T1. Grabbing my 2 caps, goggles, and ear plugs, I lined up in the chute. I felt toasty because I had been clever enough (actually, it was Brent's idea) to wear "throw away" socks while waiting for our wave to start.
Swim:
Suddenly, it was time for our wave to take the plunge and make our way to the start. The 60-degree water wasn't that bad. I had taken 2 practice swims in the Cove the last 2 weeks, and the 57-degree temps had more than prepared me for race day. I seeded myself in the middle of my pack. I felt strangely calm. Confident. The gun went off, and we started swimming. There was a lot of scuffling and scrambling as we all rallied for the best position. Wham! An elbow to the ribs. Bam! A fist in the eye. Slam! A kick in the back. WTF? I started kicking and pushing and hitting back. Thus, the cuts and bruises. But you should see the other guy. We started evening out, and I quickly found my rhythm. I felt so calm and relaxed. The chop hit me like a ton of bricks at the turn-around, where the ocean water fights against the harbor water, creating strange and fierce mini-currents and waves. I had to fight hard to ward off sea-sickness. I will not swallow water, I will not swallow water, I repeated over and over. Luckily, I had popped to pre-emptive Tums right before, just in case. I lurched and bobbed my way back towards the protective waters of the harbor. Suddenly, swimmers from the wave behind (Men, 20-25) tried aggressively to swim over me. I fought back viciously, and the perpetrators quickly retreated. You want some of me? You want some of this? All of a sudden, the swim was over. That's it? That's all there is? I couldn't believe it. I've never had a 1.2 mile swim go by so quickly. I glanced at my watch--40 minutes, right on target (and 10 min faster than 2 years ago!). I was happy.
T1:
I peeled off my wetsuit as I ran and felt the gentle warm sun on my arms. I wasn't cold at all. I wouldn't need my bike jacket! Yippee! All I needed was my sunglasses, helmet, race belt, and shoes. I ran to the mounting line with shoes in hand. Why run in my bike shoes? I slipped them on, mounted Torch, and we were off.
running out of T1, happy and in good spirits.
Bike:
My goal was to pace myself well, hydrate and eat well. I immediately popped 2 Tums to settle my finicky stomach. It worked. I was ravenous. I ate and drank and drank and ate. The first half of the bike was flat and fast. I drank in the gorgeous ocean views along the way. The sun was out and temps were in the low 60s with almost no wind. I spun at a conservative effort, which ended up ~18 mph (thanks Torch, Zipps, and aero helmet!). About mile 30, the hills began. I saw the first and steepest climb, dotted with athletes struggling up the ascent like ants. Many were walking. I felt calm and relaxed. I focused on maintaining a steady effort up the hill, alternating comfortably between seated and standing the whole way up. At the top, I quickly geared up and enjoyed the screaming 38 mph descent on the other side. I didn't have to take one pedal stroke (and it was a good opportunity to pee--apparently, I had been drinking too much). The rolling hills in Camp Pendleton were a soft, velvety green. Cannon fire ricocheted from the nearby artillery fields. Songbirds were having singing duels with each other. It was too beautiful not to notice and was an especially nice distraction as I battled yet another hill. The race director had promised there would be 3 major hills but I knew from last time that was a lie. There were more like 5 or 6. I was so glad I was prepared. I didn't feel flustered or worried. I did catch myself talking to myself at one point, however, questioning my sanity.
"I think this is the final hill," I muttered.
"I think so too," I answered back.
Okay, fine, we all talk to ourselves. But do you answer back? Who the hell answered back?
I turned down Vandegrift for the final 10 miles, expecting a wicked headwind. I heard a whistling wind but my speed was still holding steady. Hmmmm. Must have lucked out and gotten a crosswind. On Torch with my wheels and aero helmet, I zipped easily past several other athletes. As I neared T2, I felt victorious. I had consumed 750 calories (my goal was 250/hr) and 72 ounces of water. I felt fresh. I could have gone another 56 miles. Hmmm. Maybe I didn't push hard enough?
T2:
However, when I rode into T2, my elation plummeted. Torch was one of the last bikes to return to the rack. I know it shouldn't have mattered but it did. I know I should have been happy about my personal improvement but it was tough. Very tough.
Overall my bike was 3:24 (16.5 mph) and 6 minutes faster than 2 years ago. Even if it was only faster due to my fancy equipment (helmet, bike, wheels), my perceived effort was much lower. I think my only mistake was not going hard enough. I went at my IM pace, not HIM pace.
I slipped on my shoes and socks, grabbed my visor, tampon and Fuel Belt (stowed in a cooler with ice packs) and ran off to the Port-a-Potty. It was disgusting but that's okay. I didn't have time to sit down anyway. I had to pee like a racehorse. I can't believe how much I overhydrated. WTF? Feeling much, much better afterwards, I trotted off to begin the run.
The Run:
I had written my splits on my arm to prevent myself from running the first half too fast. My legs felt stiff and heavy and for some reason, it makes me run the first few at waaaay too fast a pace to sustain. Right off the bat, I had to battle the deep sand. 1/4 mile of deep sand at the beginning and end of each lap (1 mile total). I thought it would be horrible. Everyone was walking and griping. It actually wasn't too bad (thanks, trail running!). I focused on picking my feet up high to avoid getting sand in my shoes and maintaining a rhythm. I zipped in and out of people and was back on the concrete in no time. Yes, concrete. Ugh. That was by far the worst part about this race. 12 miles of pounding on concrete. Not even asphalt. My knees were not happy on Sunday. Reached mile 1 in 8:45. Too fast, too fast.
At the TCSD "Love Stop", Darrell ran with me a bit. He really pumped me up. Such a nice guy. It was soooo wonderful seeing all my friends out there on the course or cheering me on from the sidelines. At no point, did I feel lonely or unsupported. One of the perks of racing in your backyard. I was so busy looking around for all my friends, I didn't even realize I had to run! Great distraction. It really took my mind off the pain. The run was almost like a social hour for me (okay, 2 hours). Every time I spotted another athlete in a TCSD singlet, I cheered them on. This made it really fun. Mile 2 came and went. 9:00 on the money. I did a silent, internal victory dance.
Thanks, Darrell!
Miles 3-4, I hit at 9:10s, 5&6 were 9:20s. I'll take it, I'll take it. I'm slowing down, but I'll take it. I focused on drinking a shot of InfinIT from my Fuel Belt, chased by a cup of water at each aid station. It was getting harder and harder.
Mile 6.5, the turn-around for the 2nd lap was my low point. I was prepared. It's always deflating to watch other athletes run off for the finish line (and their pizza) while you still have another lap to go. Bummer. Miles 7-10 were by far my hardest. My stomach started acting up. I should have popped more Tums right from the start but I had been lazy. Now, my stomach was rebelling against the InfinIT. I was down to just a cup of water at the aid station. That wasn't easy either. I think the only reason I convince myself to take the water was because I got to walk through the aid station and rejuvenate a bit. Walk for water? Sure! You bet! I wasn't eating enough now, and I was starting to feel tired. Shooting pains were stabbing through my knees and a blister had risen between my toes. My legs felt dull and heavy. Caffeine, I need caffeine. Mistakenly, I grabbed a Coke from the next aid station. A very bubbly, very not flat coke. Isn't Coke at races supposed to be flat? My stomach protested dangerously but my re-energized legs fought back. Once that dangerous moment had passed, I swore off Coke for the rest of that run. I found that if I slowed down, I could still run. I was now struggling to run 10 min/miles. Argh.
Stomach vs legs--Who will win?
I battled with my demons. I'm so slow. I'm no good. I suck. Why do I waste my time on this? This time, talking to myself came in handy.
The other voice talked me down: Can we talk about this later?
"No!"
"Is this train of thought helpful right now? Are we worrying about something we can control or can't control?"
"Can't control," the demon voice whimpered.
"Okay, then it's wasted energy thinking about it. What can we think about that is within our control?"
"Eating, drinking, pace, running form."
A strange calm came over me. I thought about nothing else but eating, drinking, pace and running form. One leg in front of the other. I broke up the course into half-mile sections: half mile to the next aid station, half mile to the next mile marker sign. My mind quieted, my body relaxed, and the pain subsided. My rhythm returned.
Mile 10 came and went. I started feeling better. 3 more miles, I can run 3 more miles. Mile 11--20 more minutes, I can run for 20 more minutes. At mile 12, I wanted to do a little dance, I was so happy. I ran through the sand one last time and headed down the cute. I picked up the pace, my legs catching sight of the finish. With a final kick, I zipped in and out of a few stragglers and blasted across the finish line. I had forgotten how tough half Ironmans can be!
--down the chute, happy to be nearing the end.
--final kick. I'm not going to let that guy in red pass me!
At the finish, I couldn't eat or drink anything. Typical. I was tired. Very tired. I had only consumed 125 cals on the run. Oops. I was soooo tired. It took me forever to get back to the car. I kept having to sit down to rest. I don't think I would have made it if it hadn't been for the Ensure. Ensure, it's not just for old people anymore.
I felt/feel very deflated. Still battling some of those demons. However, deep down, I'm happy with my race. It went about as well as it could have gone. When it was all said and done, my run was 5 minutes faster than 2 years ago. T1 and T2 were both over a minute faster too. Overall, I shaved 25 minutes from my 2007 race, finishing in 6:19:30. No, it's not 6:00, yet. Stress the yet. However (big however), it's a PR by 25 minutes!!! Why can't I be happy?
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Game On!
Here I go again.
This was my first half-ironman (2007). I had a nasty cold and was doped up on cold medicine (from overtraining). I had a terrible swim and swallowed a ton of nasty harbor water. I didn't pace, eat, or drink well on the bike (or the run) and got off feeling tired and bloated. Started the run at my 5K pace until I got to 3 miles and realized, "Shit! I have 10 more miles to go." I almost panicked. At mile 6, I still had one more loop to go and wasn't sure I was going to make it. Of course, I hadn't been drinking or eating anything on the run. I started feeling dizzy, disoriented, and naseous. At one point, I tried to put one of the cold, wet sponges distributed at the aid stations in a mailbox (I thought it was a trash can). When I finally finished, I was exhausted but victorious. Subsequently, I suffered from an 8-week long sinus infection (a.k.a. "The Beast") due to overtraining and racing with a cold. The following week, I signed up for Ironman Arizona.
--Duking it out on the hilly CA 70.3 bike course on Bluebell in '07
You can read the original race report here:
Now I'm back, 2 years later, with another half-ironman (Soma 2007), an Ironman, and a marathon (Nike Women's San Fran 2008) under my belt. I'm still slow but I'm stronger. Plus, I have my tri bike with Zipp race wheels (speed weaponry, ha!) and an aero helmet. I'm pulling out all the stops. I don't feel like I've training as hard but at a closer look, I've actually done more this year than in preparation 2 years ago, including ocean swims, a century ride, a half marathon, and several 15K hilly trail runs. I think I'm ready.
I wasn't going to taper but a sneak attack from a stomach bug sort of forced me into it. I had a massage this week. And acupuncture to help my stomach relax. And I saw the podiatrist about the lingering niggle left in my foot, a remnat of the plantar fascitis. Turns out, he thinks I partially tore it on the track 10 weeks ago. No biggie, it has mostly healed on its own (and they treat PF by tearing it in surgery anyway so I kind of underwent self-surgery). Now, there's only one thing left to do--sleep more! I've been guilty of trying to work too much in lab this week as a substitute for not working out. Doh! I know on Saturday, all the pieces will have fallen into place. But can I puh-lease get my period on Sunday, not Saturday? I'm in total PMS mode this week, complete with acne, fatigue, moodiness, bloating, and a sensitive tummy. All I can say is: NOT FAIR!!!
My overall goal for Saturday is to have fun and make it a good training day. I also want to race smarter, pace well, hydrate and eat accordingly, and finish feeling a lot better than I did before. But, just between you and me, deep down, I would love to smash my time from 2 years ago. Yes, that's right. Deep down, I harbor a dark, hidden secret: I want to KICK SOME ASS!!!
Game On.
Btw, my number is 2026 if anyone is following this weekend. Hope to see some of you guys out there with me!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Are Triathlons Deadly?
Ironic that only 24 hours after I posted "Is Too Much Exercise Bad For You?" that the Associated Press came out with an article "Triathlons Pose Deadly Heart Risks" . The media is swarming all over some recently released research studies, warning that triathlons cause a higher risk of a fatal heart attack than marathons. Obviously, this warrants a closer look.
First, the studies found that newbies (aka weekend warriors) were more at risk. This makes sense. Your body isn't used to the demands of your new training program. That's why doctors always recommend getting checked out before starting new exercise. Exercise is only good for the heart after several months of consistent, frequent training because it strengthens the heart. The heart is a muscle--aerobic exercise is like weight lifting for the heart. But just like doing bicep curls, you have to break down the muscle a little first before it builds back up and gets stronger. So to make your heart stronger, you have to stress it. Meaning that if you're new to triathlon or working out, and you have an underlying heart problem that hasn't given you symptoms yet because you've been a sedentary couch potato, and you suddenly start running 10 miles, the chance of your heart going "WTF?" and conking out is much higher.
Secondly, probelms usually occur at the very beginning of the triathlon, in the water. The shock of cold water constricts blood vessels, stressing the heart, not to mention all the adrenaline from the thrill right before the start of a race, causing the heart rate to skyrocket.
Finally, on a blog post by Dr. John Martinez at Coastal Wellness, he takes a closer look at the study:
"Do Triathletes Have a Higher Risk of Heart Attacks?"/
First, note that it's a "retrospective" study, meaning that the researchers tried to make sense of an occurrence after it's happened (usually not very meaningful on it's own but can lead to the design of future, better studies with hypothesis-driven questions).
Second, the study looked at "all deaths" not just cardiac-involved ones. Of the 14 deaths included, 1 occurred due to a bike accident, and autopsies were only performed on 6 of the others. Of these 6, 4 showed signs of underlying heart disease. Since I study heart disease, I wonder how many of these patients with heart disease were age-related. I highly doubt triathlon caused the heart disease. As a matter of fact, triathlon (or any exercise) can delay or reverse the damage caused by heart disease (usually caused by sedentary lifestyle and poor diet resulting in high blood pressure, triglyceride and cholesterol). Second, there is no evidence the deaths occurred because of heart problems (heart disease can be asymptomatic for a long time).
Dr. Martinez says,
"However, the reality is that these individuals that did have cardiac events during the triathlon probably had significant cardiac disease despite their triathlon lifestyle..."
--and I have to concur.
Here's a great article
that looks at the cause of cardiac-related deaths during exercise:
"Exercise-associated acute cardiac events generally occur in individuals with structural cardiac disease."
Here's another article
taking a look at the risk/benefits of marathon training:
First, the studies found that newbies (aka weekend warriors) were more at risk. This makes sense. Your body isn't used to the demands of your new training program. That's why doctors always recommend getting checked out before starting new exercise. Exercise is only good for the heart after several months of consistent, frequent training because it strengthens the heart. The heart is a muscle--aerobic exercise is like weight lifting for the heart. But just like doing bicep curls, you have to break down the muscle a little first before it builds back up and gets stronger. So to make your heart stronger, you have to stress it. Meaning that if you're new to triathlon or working out, and you have an underlying heart problem that hasn't given you symptoms yet because you've been a sedentary couch potato, and you suddenly start running 10 miles, the chance of your heart going "WTF?" and conking out is much higher.
Secondly, probelms usually occur at the very beginning of the triathlon, in the water. The shock of cold water constricts blood vessels, stressing the heart, not to mention all the adrenaline from the thrill right before the start of a race, causing the heart rate to skyrocket.
Finally, on a blog post by Dr. John Martinez at Coastal Wellness, he takes a closer look at the study:
"Do Triathletes Have a Higher Risk of Heart Attacks?"/
First, note that it's a "retrospective" study, meaning that the researchers tried to make sense of an occurrence after it's happened (usually not very meaningful on it's own but can lead to the design of future, better studies with hypothesis-driven questions).
Second, the study looked at "all deaths" not just cardiac-involved ones. Of the 14 deaths included, 1 occurred due to a bike accident, and autopsies were only performed on 6 of the others. Of these 6, 4 showed signs of underlying heart disease. Since I study heart disease, I wonder how many of these patients with heart disease were age-related. I highly doubt triathlon caused the heart disease. As a matter of fact, triathlon (or any exercise) can delay or reverse the damage caused by heart disease (usually caused by sedentary lifestyle and poor diet resulting in high blood pressure, triglyceride and cholesterol). Second, there is no evidence the deaths occurred because of heart problems (heart disease can be asymptomatic for a long time).
Dr. Martinez says,
"However, the reality is that these individuals that did have cardiac events during the triathlon probably had significant cardiac disease despite their triathlon lifestyle..."
--and I have to concur.
Here's a great article
that looks at the cause of cardiac-related deaths during exercise:
"Exercise-associated acute cardiac events generally occur in individuals with structural cardiac disease."
Here's another article
taking a look at the risk/benefits of marathon training:
Monday, March 30, 2009
Forced Taper, Chasing Phantoms, Soccer Lessons, and a Trip to the Flower Fields
CA 70.3 is next weekend. I did this race 2 years ago. It was my first half. To say I was scared shitless is the understatement of the year (until I did my first IM). This year, I'm so focused on IM Canada, I wasn't even planning on tapering for California. Afterall, CA 70.3 is a tune-up race for me this year, a training day, an indicator of whether I'm on track or not for Canada. I really am not thinking about it as a race. I didn't want to take 2 weeks of taper and a 3rd recovery week for this race. I was stubborn. Too much time off! To compromise, the plan was to take 1 week taper (race week) and then 1/2 a week off afterwards.
Only problem is, my recovery weeks have been nil lately (see "Training Data" in sidebar). I haven't taken them because I didn't feel like I needed them. I wasn't tired. I guess the season is too early still for my body to have a lot of fatigue but I've been silly in protecting myself against late-season fatigue by skipping R&R weeks. I spent about 10 weeks at the beginning of the season in "Prep" phase, just getting my body used to consistent triathlon training after a 2-month hiatus (or "Off Season" if I don't want to feel guilty). Then, after 2 mild colds, I started feeling g-r-e-a-t and bumped the training up to 10 hours a week. After 4 weeks, I simply bumped up again to 15 hours a week. Still feeling great? Actually, yes, thank you. Tapering for CA 70.3? Of course not, don't be ridiculous.
So when Brent started tapering last week, I pooh-poohed him and went to master's swim. But, gosh, my stomach didn't feel so hot. I kept having to stop and rest in the pool because of very uncomfortable gastro-intestinal discomfort that I won't get into. Thinking it was an IBS flare-up, I started popping antacids. 2-days later, the stomach pain had gotten worse...and worse...and worse. I felt like I had swallowed a balloon and someone kept pumping air into it. I got no relief from Pepcid, Zantac, Tums, Immodium, GasX, BeanO, Tigan, Bentyl, and some heavier Rx drugs. Instead, I spent my evenings curled up in a ball with a heating pad and whimpering. Work outs? Nil. I was pretty pissed off. Thursday evening, the pain started to subside. I began to hear about friends and coworkers suffering from the same symptoms. Yup. It was a stomach bug. So, basically, my body forced me into a taper. CA 70.3 next week? It's a race, baby. It's on! I'm in full taper now.
Friday, feeling better, I tried a 4-mile run. I had a terrible side-stitch the whole way, a painful reminder of my GI bug but if I kept the pace at 9:30s, I felt okay. We finished up the evening with a delightful 1-mile Cove swim. Brent didn't have to wait for me at all like last week. Guess the swim clinic paid off! Plus, I wasn't at all sore afterwards! Could it be possible? You can swim faster without more effort? Who would've thought?
Saturday, I decided to try a new bike group training for Wildflower. I opted for the "Olympic" training ride. A short (26-mile) but hilly ride would be a perfect taper ride--short but intense and simulating race day. I rode to the start (only 3 miles away), hammering because I was running late (like always). I reached the parking lot exactly at 8, when the group was supposed to depart. I was hoping to make it since I had told the ride organizer I would be joining them. Plus, my ride to the start was the reverse of the actual ride so I figured I would see them.
Just as I arrived, I saw a group of about 15 cyclists toiling up Black Mountain Rd. Dammit! Hopeful, I pedaled into the parking lot anyway but didn't see any stragglers (the parking lot was HUGE). I noticed a parking lot in the distance towards the back but decided to turn around and catch the group I had seen. That must have been them, I figured. Besides, if it wasn't, they'll catch me. I'm not that fast. So I turned around and started hammering. It was hard, getting up Black Mountain all-out. My stomach made some nasty lurches, reminding me that it wasn't 100% yet.
I hit the 56-bike path and started really hammering. I knew this route like the back of my hand. Afterall, it was in my backyard. I reached the coast in record time. Still no sign of them. Where could they be? I can't believe they left early! I told him I was coming! How rude! I ranted internally. I guess rage riding is becoming a nasty habit. I spotted a guy with a Solvang jersey, and we started a conversation. I tried to hide how out of breath I was as I gasped out broken sentences up another hill. He wasn't out of breath at all. We rode together for about 7 miles. Later, I met his girlfriend, who joined as at Del Mar Starbucks. Funny how even when you're riding solo, you're never really alone. I began to relax a little.
I broke off at Via de la Valle and waved goodbye to my new friends. I began hammering again. When I turned onto El Camino Real, any last remnant of hope that I would catch the group dissipated out of me. This was the point where the long ride broke off from the short ride. I swallowed, resolved to finish the ride I had set out to do. It would be great training. Afterall, you have to ride alone on race day.
I hit San Dieguito and began the long climb up to El Camino del Sur. I had always wanted to climb up this hill. I had zipped down it many a time but never the reverse. Plus, riding in Rancho Santa Fe is always delightful. The street was lined with leafy green trees offering large refreshing patches of shade. Lush patches of colorful flowers dotted the landscape. The honey smell of jasmine hung so thickly in the air that I could taste the sweet aroma on my tongue. I reached the top and began pedaling north towards Rancho Bernardo. The trees disappeared, the street widened and fast-moving traffic increased. I suddenly realized I was hot. I was also cranky. Glancing down at my computer, I realized I had already gone 26 miles. The entire ride was supposed to be 26 miles and I still had a long way left to go. I was pissed. LIAR! I was lied to!
The hills kept coming at me, one after another. The bike lane disappeared, road construction began, and the traffic became more dangerous. I suddenly realized I hadn't been eating (because of my stomach). I ripped open a package of strawberry Cliff Blocks and downed 4 of them. Ahhh. That's better. I finally turned onto Bernardo Center Dr. The hills kept coming. I was worried because I had never ridden this section before, and on GMaps, it looked like the road dead-ended. Although I was climbing a lot, I was also descending a lot. I was not going to be a happy camper if I had to turn around and retreat back UP all the hills I had come DOWN, undoing all my hard work and progress. All of a sudden, I was at Black Mountain Park, where I had run the Xterra Trail Race the weekend before. I had a serious case of deja vu, or more like, I-don't-know-how-the-hell-I-got-here-and-I-don't-think-I-could-get-here-again-if-I-tried-but-I'm-sure-glad-as-hell-to-be-here-now feeling.
I zipped down Black Mountain Road back to the bike path. My entire ride ended up being 41 miles. I got great practice for race day, that's for sure! Plus, I had to battle my mental demons a bit, something that always makes me stronger. Later, I e-mailed the ride coordinator to figure out what had happened. The large group of cyclists at the beginning? Wrong group. My group hadn't even left yet. I had been chasing phantoms the entire time. I guess I'm faster than I thought because no one caught me from behind (I had pretty big lead).
Saturday's Bike Route
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=2683135
http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/03/wildflower-ride-in-sd.html
Alec got to learn some mental toughness this weekend too. At his soccer practice on Sunday, he was playing really well until the other team scored. He sort of fell apart after that and stopped trying. When the other team scored again, he walked off the field in tears. We convinced him to give it one more shot. "Alec, it's not about winning. You're doing a great job. Don't give up! You're team needs you!" we encouraged him. He got back onto the field, and the coach let him kick the ball in from out-of-bounds. I guess he was kind of pissed at himself because he ran at the ball and gave it a huge, powerful, angry kick. It flew through the air and miraculously landed squarely in the net, about 20 yards away, resulting in a goal for his team! We gave him a HUGE amount of praise. "See Alec? You wouldn't have gotten that goal if you had quit. When the other team scores, you just have to try harder." I was so glad we had that opportunity to teach him that believing in yourself goes a lot farther than natural ability.
Take home message?
Never give up! Because you are AMAZING! Kids teach us a lot, huh?
Alec playing soccer.
Afterwards, we went to the in Carlsbad Flower Fields, home of the Ranunculus flower (Persian Buttercup). They were gorgeous and actually pretty fun.
Only problem is, my recovery weeks have been nil lately (see "Training Data" in sidebar). I haven't taken them because I didn't feel like I needed them. I wasn't tired. I guess the season is too early still for my body to have a lot of fatigue but I've been silly in protecting myself against late-season fatigue by skipping R&R weeks. I spent about 10 weeks at the beginning of the season in "Prep" phase, just getting my body used to consistent triathlon training after a 2-month hiatus (or "Off Season" if I don't want to feel guilty). Then, after 2 mild colds, I started feeling g-r-e-a-t and bumped the training up to 10 hours a week. After 4 weeks, I simply bumped up again to 15 hours a week. Still feeling great? Actually, yes, thank you. Tapering for CA 70.3? Of course not, don't be ridiculous.
So when Brent started tapering last week, I pooh-poohed him and went to master's swim. But, gosh, my stomach didn't feel so hot. I kept having to stop and rest in the pool because of very uncomfortable gastro-intestinal discomfort that I won't get into. Thinking it was an IBS flare-up, I started popping antacids. 2-days later, the stomach pain had gotten worse...and worse...and worse. I felt like I had swallowed a balloon and someone kept pumping air into it. I got no relief from Pepcid, Zantac, Tums, Immodium, GasX, BeanO, Tigan, Bentyl, and some heavier Rx drugs. Instead, I spent my evenings curled up in a ball with a heating pad and whimpering. Work outs? Nil. I was pretty pissed off. Thursday evening, the pain started to subside. I began to hear about friends and coworkers suffering from the same symptoms. Yup. It was a stomach bug. So, basically, my body forced me into a taper. CA 70.3 next week? It's a race, baby. It's on! I'm in full taper now.
Friday, feeling better, I tried a 4-mile run. I had a terrible side-stitch the whole way, a painful reminder of my GI bug but if I kept the pace at 9:30s, I felt okay. We finished up the evening with a delightful 1-mile Cove swim. Brent didn't have to wait for me at all like last week. Guess the swim clinic paid off! Plus, I wasn't at all sore afterwards! Could it be possible? You can swim faster without more effort? Who would've thought?
Saturday, I decided to try a new bike group training for Wildflower. I opted for the "Olympic" training ride. A short (26-mile) but hilly ride would be a perfect taper ride--short but intense and simulating race day. I rode to the start (only 3 miles away), hammering because I was running late (like always). I reached the parking lot exactly at 8, when the group was supposed to depart. I was hoping to make it since I had told the ride organizer I would be joining them. Plus, my ride to the start was the reverse of the actual ride so I figured I would see them.
Just as I arrived, I saw a group of about 15 cyclists toiling up Black Mountain Rd. Dammit! Hopeful, I pedaled into the parking lot anyway but didn't see any stragglers (the parking lot was HUGE). I noticed a parking lot in the distance towards the back but decided to turn around and catch the group I had seen. That must have been them, I figured. Besides, if it wasn't, they'll catch me. I'm not that fast. So I turned around and started hammering. It was hard, getting up Black Mountain all-out. My stomach made some nasty lurches, reminding me that it wasn't 100% yet.
I hit the 56-bike path and started really hammering. I knew this route like the back of my hand. Afterall, it was in my backyard. I reached the coast in record time. Still no sign of them. Where could they be? I can't believe they left early! I told him I was coming! How rude! I ranted internally. I guess rage riding is becoming a nasty habit. I spotted a guy with a Solvang jersey, and we started a conversation. I tried to hide how out of breath I was as I gasped out broken sentences up another hill. He wasn't out of breath at all. We rode together for about 7 miles. Later, I met his girlfriend, who joined as at Del Mar Starbucks. Funny how even when you're riding solo, you're never really alone. I began to relax a little.
I broke off at Via de la Valle and waved goodbye to my new friends. I began hammering again. When I turned onto El Camino Real, any last remnant of hope that I would catch the group dissipated out of me. This was the point where the long ride broke off from the short ride. I swallowed, resolved to finish the ride I had set out to do. It would be great training. Afterall, you have to ride alone on race day.
I hit San Dieguito and began the long climb up to El Camino del Sur. I had always wanted to climb up this hill. I had zipped down it many a time but never the reverse. Plus, riding in Rancho Santa Fe is always delightful. The street was lined with leafy green trees offering large refreshing patches of shade. Lush patches of colorful flowers dotted the landscape. The honey smell of jasmine hung so thickly in the air that I could taste the sweet aroma on my tongue. I reached the top and began pedaling north towards Rancho Bernardo. The trees disappeared, the street widened and fast-moving traffic increased. I suddenly realized I was hot. I was also cranky. Glancing down at my computer, I realized I had already gone 26 miles. The entire ride was supposed to be 26 miles and I still had a long way left to go. I was pissed. LIAR! I was lied to!
The hills kept coming at me, one after another. The bike lane disappeared, road construction began, and the traffic became more dangerous. I suddenly realized I hadn't been eating (because of my stomach). I ripped open a package of strawberry Cliff Blocks and downed 4 of them. Ahhh. That's better. I finally turned onto Bernardo Center Dr. The hills kept coming. I was worried because I had never ridden this section before, and on GMaps, it looked like the road dead-ended. Although I was climbing a lot, I was also descending a lot. I was not going to be a happy camper if I had to turn around and retreat back UP all the hills I had come DOWN, undoing all my hard work and progress. All of a sudden, I was at Black Mountain Park, where I had run the Xterra Trail Race the weekend before. I had a serious case of deja vu, or more like, I-don't-know-how-the-hell-I-got-here-and-I-don't-think-I-could-get-here-again-if-I-tried-but-I'm-sure-glad-as-hell-to-be-here-now feeling.
I zipped down Black Mountain Road back to the bike path. My entire ride ended up being 41 miles. I got great practice for race day, that's for sure! Plus, I had to battle my mental demons a bit, something that always makes me stronger. Later, I e-mailed the ride coordinator to figure out what had happened. The large group of cyclists at the beginning? Wrong group. My group hadn't even left yet. I had been chasing phantoms the entire time. I guess I'm faster than I thought because no one caught me from behind (I had pretty big lead).
Saturday's Bike Route
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=2683135
http://sdbikeroutes.blogspot.com/2009/03/wildflower-ride-in-sd.html
Alec got to learn some mental toughness this weekend too. At his soccer practice on Sunday, he was playing really well until the other team scored. He sort of fell apart after that and stopped trying. When the other team scored again, he walked off the field in tears. We convinced him to give it one more shot. "Alec, it's not about winning. You're doing a great job. Don't give up! You're team needs you!" we encouraged him. He got back onto the field, and the coach let him kick the ball in from out-of-bounds. I guess he was kind of pissed at himself because he ran at the ball and gave it a huge, powerful, angry kick. It flew through the air and miraculously landed squarely in the net, about 20 yards away, resulting in a goal for his team! We gave him a HUGE amount of praise. "See Alec? You wouldn't have gotten that goal if you had quit. When the other team scores, you just have to try harder." I was so glad we had that opportunity to teach him that believing in yourself goes a lot farther than natural ability.
Take home message?
Never give up! Because you are AMAZING! Kids teach us a lot, huh?
Alec playing soccer.
Afterwards, we went to the in Carlsbad Flower Fields, home of the Ranunculus flower (Persian Buttercup). They were gorgeous and actually pretty fun.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Is Too Much Exercise Bad For You?
My sister writes for Scientific Blogging and wrote this post back in November but it's too intriguing not to respond:
She writes,
"There are a few things that are a given when it comes to understanding the human body. Long periods of stress are bad. We all know this. Stress from relationships, work or other causes are bad for us. We get less sleep, eat worse and we get sick more often. We also know that exercise is good for us. This is also a given.When we exercise, our hearts get stronger, our muscles get more efficient, our metabolism is balanced and we protect ourselves from complications like high cholesterol, high blood pressure, heart disease and diabetes. But these two assumptions are contradictory. When we imagine chronic stress it is always psychological stress, but that is not the only kind. Physical stress also triggers release of corticosteroids (our family of stress reducing hormones). Therefore, can exercise actually impair our immune function?
The answer is not just a simple yes or no, and requires some careful evaluations. The immune system is made up of many types of cells and supporting systems, all which have complex relationships to other signals, such as hormones acting within the body. Research tells us that regular moderate exercise is not only good for our muscles and hearts, but also for our immune systems. But can you have too much of a good thing and exercise to the point of immune suppression?
My sister is one of the most athletic people that I have ever met. She rejoices at a chance to do a “century ride” where she and a group of other likewise insane people take their bikes on Amtrak up to around Irvine, California and bike 100 miles back down to San Diego, CA. As someone who regards exercise as a necessary evil, it gets kind of irritating when she tries to get me to go on a “ short run” with her at 8:00 AM during Christmas vacation. To date, she has completed an Iron Man, a half Iron Man, a full marathon and countless other races, rides, swims and other combinations of the three.
Taking to heart the research on exercise (of which she does plenty), you would think that she would have the immune system of a brick wall, that nothing could possible make her sick. However, this is not the case, and more often than not, she is afflicted with some illness or another. Most noticeable is that she gets sick after a period of intense training. After completing her Iron Man, she immediately got sick and took weeks to recover.
It is more and more likely, that she is not an isolated case, and demonstrates a clearer picture of the relationship between exercise, stress and immune system function. In a study, published in the August issue of Medicine and Science in Sports and Exercise, 1995, Dr. J. Duncan MacDougall and colleagues at McMaster University in Ontario investigated this same phenomenon. They examine the effects of exercise training on the immune systems of long distances runners and uncovered some interesting results.
His study looked at immune system functions in response to increased training volume and/or intensity as separate variables as well as both immediate (acute) and long-term (chronic) stressors of the body. Results showed reductions in the ratio of immune helper cells to immune suppressor cells in both the increase of volume and intensity of exercise. This ratio is indicative of normal immune function, and its decreases shows a likewise depression of immune function. This means an increased risk of infection and illness due to immune suppression.
The study also found that increasing the intensity of the training suppressed immune function more than increasing the volume of exercise training. Another study, published in this month’s issue of Brain, Behavior and Immunity, lead by researchers at University of South Carolina’s Arnold School of Public Health showed that stress from exercise causes an increased risk for developing upper respiratory tract infections, while moderate exercise, causing less stress on the body, decreases the risk of developing such infections.
Their results demonstrate that stress from exercise caused increased vulnerability to infections from HSV-1 viral respiratory infections as well as from certain strains influenza viruses. However, even though significantly suppressed, the immune system showed a rapid adaption to the increased training. MacDougall also found that the immune systems of his patients were modulated and adapted to the added stressors during the rest of the 10 day training period. Immune systems were shown to recover back to normal rates by the next day following a workout. This suggests that you are most susceptible to contracting an illness due to incomplete immune protection in the hours following a hard workout, but that your immune system will recover quickly to the added stress. But what about long term exercise? Can our immune systems recover as quickly after a marathon or a 14 hour Iron Man? According to a study done by David Neiman, PhD. and colleagues at Loma Linda University, some elements of our immune system may take longer to recover.
Examining 2,000 runners after completion of the Los Angeles marathon demonstrated that immune systems may be suppressed enough to significantly increase our chances of contracting infections and developing illnesses. The study found that 13% of the runners who participated in the marathon developed an illness in the following week. The combination of increased volume and intensity of the exercise left an significant impact on the participants and as a result, many of them contracted infections as a consequence of impaired immune function.Neiman suggests that over-exercising, which is 90-plus minutes/day or running upwards of 60 miles/week can increase vulnerability to illness. His study shows that marathon runners are six times more likely to become ill after a race due to excessive exercise impairing their natural immune function.
So what does this all mean? Exercise is not only good for us, but is absolutely essential to maintain a healthy lifestyle. For those of us that wish to get in shape, moderate daily exercise will give the most benefit and cause us the least amount of cost. Since the increase of volume or intensity will suppress immune function the most, aim for gradual increases in exercise training and your immune system will adapt quickly enough to avoid most illnesses.As for those budding or seasoned marathon runners and triathletes, intense exercise training is part of your lifestyle, so paying attention to other aspects of life which can cause illness are key. Getting enough sleep, eating healthy and avoiding other forms of stress can bypass other avenues of contracting sickness. Allowing enough time for recovery and care in avoiding injury are also essential to continue a strenuous exercise regimen. Like a double edged sword, exercise can be our greatest protection against a host of illnesses and infections, but if over-done, we can leave ourselves defenseless from invaders normally caught by our immune systems. So get out there and work up a sweat and feel the burn, just don't overdo it."
For more detail, go to:
http://www.scientificblogging.com/erin039s_spin/too_much_exercise_bad_you
My Response:
Since I am used as an example in this post, I would like to clarify a few things. First, I was not deathly ill after my Ironman as implicated, just tired, which is to be expected. In fact, I flew thousands of miles the very next day to give a talk at a national meeting for my job, which would have been impossible if I had been very sick. Also, the record-high heats (97+ degrees) I experienced during my Ironman was a contributing factor to my fatigue, separate to the high volume of exercise demanded of my body.
Yes, it is true that the immune system is depressed for 72 hours after a long endurance event, such as a marathon or Ironman. Many athletes suffer a minor cold (note—minor) after undertaking such a feat. However, it is important to note that most of the effects experienced from this dampening of the immune system are mild and reversible. Even athletes suffering from overtraining do not exhibit symptoms similar to patients afflicted with an immunosuppressive disease, such as AIDS.
Second, although long-lasting, negative effects to the immune system can occur in endurance athletes over time (called overtraining), resulting in injury, illness, and chronic fatigue, precautions are taken to avoid this from happening. For instance, a “recovery week” is taken every 3rd or 4th week of training for a long endurance event, where the athlete drastically reduces his training volume to allow for rest, repair, and rejuvenation, thus allowing the immune system to recover. In addition, most athletes take a 1-2 month “off-season” after their final big race of the year to fully recover before starting a new season.
Finally, an amateur athlete undertaking a marathon or Ironman for the first time is much more susceptible to negative effects on the body and immune system than an experience pro-athlete because their body has not yet had a chance to adapt to the high volume of training necessary to prepare for such an event. Over time (years), the body slowly adapts and becomes stronger, enabling it to withstand high volumes without negative effects. In fact, Dean Karnazes, famous ultrarunner, can run a marathon every day without negatively impacting his body. Surprisingly low amounts of inflammatory markers were observed in his plasma while running 50-50-50 (50 marathons in 50 states in 50 days) (http://www.sheboyganpress.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081024/SHE02/810240726&template=printart). I would be very interested in the results of a study that investigated the effects of a marathon on a group of professionals, as opposed to age-groupers running a marathon for the first time.
It is also important to note that many factors can contribute to suppressing the immune system, and that these factors become critical in restoring the body during periods of high exercise volume. For instance, proper nutrition and adequate sleep are key in allowing the body to recover from heavy training. Although too much exercise can suppress your immune system, there are a myriad of studies that show the serious adverse health effects from not exercising enough. In fact, I would argue that not enough exercise is probably worse than too much. My overall point is that, yes, exercising too much can hurt you but, done properly, your body can adapt, and you can prepare and train for a long endurance event, like an Ironman, without hurting yourself. In fact, you may actually enjoy a wide range of positive health benefits instead.
Your thoughts?
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