Master plan gone sour

Sometimes training is hard, and it’s not when you’d expect it. I have no trouble gearing up and busting ass (literally) for a long ride or for intervals. My long run never gets skipped, and I not only show up to key pool sessions, I mentally prepare for them as well. There are 5 workouts I never miss: the long ride, bike intervals/spinning, the long run, real intervals, and speedwork in the pool.

Don’t think I only work out 5 times a week, though that’d be cool. It’s just that a lot of the rest of the stuff in my schedule feels like filler. It’s the sessions I call “working out” instead of “training” that I never want to get in. Long swims feel sooo much longer than they actually are, especially considering they’re usually shorter total yardage than other workouts. It’s just swimming 45 minutes straight is boring (at least for the first 10 minutes… and isn’t that the most important hurdle anyway?) Bike for 90 minutes on Tuesday? WHY? To eat up my social life and make me want to shoot myself in the face? Eek! Don’t get me wrong—even the filler workouts have a purpose and help prepare me for my race. I just have a tendency to miss about one a week.

Such a miss occurred yesterday. I had a master plan for the day: swim in the morning, lift at lunch, go home and mop/clean kitchen/maybe get upstairs ready for guests, go to a volunteer meeting, go spin for 90 mins (since it would be almost 9 before I got to the Y), come home, go to sleep, wake up Wednesday and get in a 4000 before getting to work early, go home early and meet the friend who’d just gotten into town. It was genius. Genius until it was raining til after 7 PM yesterday. I lifted at lunch, made it home to clean and realized our kitchen was really dirty. I reasoned that a meeting announced on Monday for a race a month away wasn’t high on the priority list (the real reason I wanted to go was because there was free Star Pizza. Good stuff.) and continued cleaning til I’d finished the kitchen and the floors. By then it was 7:30 and I decided I’d take a quick nap.

I could finish there, but what’s the fun in that? My 30 minute nap extended to almost two hours, despite my boyfriend trying to get me up every 15 minutes or so. Try as he might, he couldn’t rouse me from a dream I never remembered. Finally, when I got up there would only be time for 30 minutes on the bike, and I gave up on my workout. I decided I could get up early easily for a long swim today.

I woke up at 5:50 to rain and laziness. My plan for the day was shot, so I just went to work early (after a stop at the Y to pick up my bag from last night). In retrospect I realize I shouldn’t have even tried to go to the meeting; instead, I should have just gone straight to work out, then home to clean. I probably would have gone to bed early and, well, still gotten up to rain. But still—what if my being lazy this morning actually caused the rain? One never really knows.

Normally this break in the schedule would cause me to leave work early or something else drastic to keep me from “making up” the workouts this weekend, but it’s a recovery week. I should be resting, stretching, and preparing for the hardest month of my training. Instead, I’ve been sore and achy all week; I never fully “recovered” from my brick on Sunday before lifting Monday and doing some quality bike intervals Tuesday. As if to hit this point home even harder, I couldn’t give blood Tuesday because my iron was too low. What? Aren’t I the epitome of cardiovascular health? How could I possibly be low in iron? Maybe my body actually needs to recover during recovery week… I’m taking a couple days off (to entertain my guests!) to follow the lead.

Next week is a new month, and somehow the change in the calendar works wonders on my desire to train. I’m pretty stoked that the end is in sight—til after “the end” when I recover from Wisconsin and start training for Ironstar. Still, there’s an end to the 17+ mile runs, the many hours in the saddle over Texas (mole)hills. There’s a purpose to what I’m doing. Despite my having my longest hours ahead of me, I’m relieved it’ll soon be August and the race is so close at hand.

Now I’m going to go “recover” with my college roommates who are coming to visit. :)

Flushed

Yesterday Floyd Landis blew his load on the last ascent of the stage 16 and what seemed like his chances to be on the podium. I thought about that a lot during my long run (16 miles of SUCK in the Houston heat... it shouldn’t be over 100 at 6:30 PM, and it shouldn’t be 90 at 9 PM either... okay, I’m finished whining) and decided I’d write a post about it. Why? Because I was heartbroken. I don’t follow cycling too much (except in 2002 when I lived in Amarillo and had nothing else to watch), partly because I strongly dislike Lance Armstrong and partly because the big names of the sport don’t seem to change year to year. And let's be honest: it's been pretty boring the last 6 years (the first year I hear was good, but I didn't watch. And neither did you, so don't lie). This year, however, was different. Outside magazine ran a few articles on American cyclists last month, the main one about Landis and how he was a 100% manly man badass warrior who could win the Tour. I bought it hook, line, and sinker--here was a man after my own heart, not some selfish fake prick in the sport for the wrong reasons (ahem, Lance). It also helps he and Lance used to have an open rivalry, one that I hope is just a secret one now. Anyway, I eagerly read my daily stage results and looked for Landis’s name, and was overjoyed the first time he took yellow. When he reclaimed the yellow jersey a couple days later, I was ecstatic and was sure he’d keep it. Needless to say, yesterday was a very bitter disappointment. In my mind I could see Lance watching the stage (he arrived at the Tour yesterday with French papers headlining “Welcome in France, Asshole.” Were there ever truer words spoken?) and saying something offhand about how Landis just wasn’t the man. How he’d cleaned up at this point in the tour year after year. The timing of Armstrong’s arrival just made it even bitterer for me. I finished my run even more sullen than I began it.

Today I wasn’t looking forward to the email detailing the stage results, but I had to see this thing through. “Maybe he could make up a minute or two,” I thought. “Maybe he could have the most amazing time trial in the history of the Tour on Saturday. Maybe everyone in the top 10 would crash.”

None of those things happened.

Instead, Landis blew everyone out of the water and took the stage, 5+ minutes over his next contender and 7+ minutes (with the bonus) over Pereiro, launching himself into 3rd place, 0:30 behind Pereiro and 0:12 behind Sastre. Holy crap!

Regardless of what happens in the rest of the tour, Landis is my hero. I like how he loves the sport, needs a hip replacement, and is kind of awkward in interviews. I like that he doesn't whore himself for endorsements and that he looks like a cyclist and not like a Hollywood wannabe. He epitomizes what I think athletes should be like. He went out today with a hero’s will and accomplished the impossible, and what’s even better is he did it alone. There was no one to draft part of the time, no one to silently (or not? Hell, I don’t know) suffer with--it was just him and his bike. A man like that is the kind that I want to be like, or at least look up to.

I can’t wait til the time trial Saturday. Go Landis!

Like everyone else

I don’t think we realize how connected we are. Too often we insist on feeling isolated, different, special--as if being distinguished from the crowd makes us better, happier. It doesn’t. The truth is we’re interwoven more than we allow ourselves to realize. Support from friends and strangers alike allow us to tell ourselves we’re unique, and we take it in like it’s the air we breathe. I don’t think we need to cling to special anymore. Isn’t it better to be loved, encouraged, able to flourish to your potential than to pat yourself on the back for staying your course alone? It sounds so conceited it’s laughable, but we all do it. My tri friends do it because they bust their asses hours a day. My smart friends do it because people are dumbasses. My engineer friends do it because most people are absurdly frightened of numbers or have no sense at all. Of course, I’m included in every one of those groups... I wish I could say I’ve always considered that being distinctive was the biggest lie we tell ourselves (it probably is by the way), but I just thought about it today. We all have scars that define us, distance us from others—but we all have them. And isn’t that my point?

The guy in charge of my freshman year dorm said something similar to me 6 years ago, but I wasn't quite ready to hear it. I was fretting about my cramped living quarters and lifestyle clashes with one of my roommates, and he listened attentively. After we dealt with the problem he said something along the lines of "It amazes me how many experiences we all share, but we feel so alone. Maybe if we were more open with each other we wouldn't have to make the same mistakes over and over again." I nodded and left because I wasn't really listening-- I was getting a new room when I returned from winter break! When I got back though, J.T. was gone... a huge bummer because not only was he a great asset to the South 40, I'd also never thanked him properly for his support.

Where’d all this come from? Oh, a little thing called fundraising. Right now I’m raising money for the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund via the Janus Charity Challenge. The JCC is a program for Ironman competitors to race for something besides hardware (and let’s face it: my AZ age group finish will be the last for a long while). I initially set what seemed like a lofty goal of $2,000 and was afraid to ask anyone if they’d donate. Why? Because I felt alone. Why would anyone care about my cause? Their moms probably weren’t dead from ovarian cancer. When I did finally bite the bullet and send out some emails (what could it hurt?) I was astounded at the response. People whose lives have been touched by ovarian cancer donated. Friends of mine--and friends of friends--who don’t give a rat’s behind about what I’m promoting gave money, and people I don’t even know donated because they appreciate what I’m doing or why I'm doing it. My family expressed utter surprise I’d even finished ONE ironman, let alone was training for my third—I never tell them stuff like that because I assume they wouldn’t care. It turns out they do. It’s been amazing, and great motivation... something I need in the sweltering Tropic of Houston.

If you’re feeling generous, here is the link to my fundraising site:
http://www.januscharitychallenge.com/wi06/mishelek
You can read my story and help out if you want—and I urge you to. Gosh it is SO MUCH EASIER to fundraise when you care about what you’re doing! I want to raise as much money as I can because I believe strongly in the OCRF objectives. More importantly, I don’t want to let my mom’s memory down, and those are the best reasons I can come up with.

You want to know something else? Only about 30-50 athletes of the 1800+ in the race choose to participate in the program...and being a part of a group that small makes me feel downright special.

Best 4th of July ever

I've been too lazy to recount my superfun Tuesday from a couple weeks back--I'm sure you're heartbroken about that. Well, the title says it all! I had the best day ever.

My holiday started at 5:20. I wanted to run the Freedom 5k in Sugarland because I haven't run one since I was in high school (I think). Why did I pick this race over the one that started down the street from me? Because it was sponsored by the Kolache Factory, my favorite place to eat. Anyway, it was super muggy and looked like it was going to rain the entire time. I was decked out in my Snickers goodies-- my hat and tri top-- and decided that I was too cool to warm up (you just look so silly and it was just a 5k). It was a mistake I won't make again. Anyway, the run was a pleasant little loop through cute suburban streets. I realized at the mile marker that I wasn't going to make my 24:30 goal, but I hung in there and ended up with nearly perfectly even splits on my miles. At the 3 mile marker I felt like I was gonna heave and didn't get to finish quite as hard as I wanted to. Well, it turned out to not matter since I barfed at the finish anyway (not a lot... mostly water really. Still, very gross). It was like HS cross country all over again, only without the eating disorders! :)

After the race (and getting kolaches and pilfering Snickers Marathon bars even though I get them for free) I headed to the Y for a swim test set-- and I rocked it. What a workout! I was feeling fine by the time I got home around noon and joined my roomie in preparing for our holiday festivities.

The plan was to grill out on our new baby grill and play beer pong because the couple coming over had never played. We even bought a table dedicated to the great game! We had hot dogs, ground beef, veggies, chips, s'mores supplies, a 12 pack of Shiner to enjoy, and a 24 pack of Miller Lite to play with. It was a nice spread. Our friends arrived soon after I got back (with corn and sausages!), and we ate chips, veggies, and shot the breeze while a World Cup game was on. Shortly thereafter we began playing beer pong on the porch and it was a HIT! We played til most of the night. We never got around to grilling, but it was a great day. The best day, really. :)

Of course, I took the next day off from working out; roomie justified it by saying that my 4th festivities between workouts and intense pong competition was a lot on a body and I shouldn't push it. I agreed.

If I had my way all the time I'd have a great workout, pick up the house, and play drinking games every weekend. If that's not balance I don't know what is.