Somebody pour me a drink

Sunday night found me tired and without a tv show to enjoy. What’s a girl to do? I popped in the latest movie from my Netflix queue: Finding Neverland. I’d heard the movie was good.

The movie’s okay, but it’s psuedo-based on the life of J. M. Barrie, creator of Peter Pan (and apparently also credited with coining the name Wendy. Crazy). Last night I decided to hit up wikipedia to read about how much of the movie was true.

Don’t do it. Don’t click that link. It’s effing depressing.

Barrie’s childhood sucked. The kids from the movie had really crappy lives. I wasn’t orphaned like the Llywelyn-Davies kids, most of whom met bitter demises. Oh god. I was so depressed I contemplated downing the huge bottle of Chivas Regal we have on top of the fridge in its entirety.

But I didn’t because, well, there are a lot of calories in about a half gallon of booze. Besides, scotch isn’t a taste I’ve acquired just yet. Instead I decided to look up Tasmanian devils to see if they’re really only in Tasmania. Why? Because the topic came up at brunch on Sunday, though I don’t remember how. At any rate I was sure those crazy marsupial pictures would cheer me up!

Don’t do it. Don’t click that link. It’s just plain sad.

Tasmanian devils are a protected species, partly because people killed most of them because they were perceived to be a threat to livestock (and maybe they were), then the remaining population is dying from devil facial tumor disease. Check out the picture at the end of the entry: the devils get these tumors that take over their faces until they die of starvation 12 – 18 months later. Every one of them. How awful is that?

(and yes, they’re only found in Tasmania).

Dude, knowledge sucks. I’m gonna go cry now.

I'm sore and I like it

Two posts today (you're welcome)-- I have to get them in now because my future mother-in-law (weird) is in town this weekend.

And it's my favorite kind of post: a training post.

It's my first week back after the marathon and so far it's gone great. I'm 12 weeks out from IM AZ. I'm keeping a food log. I bought an oganizer from IKEA for my training clothes on Wednesday. I have a training schedule. I'm in the gym just workin on my fitness (lifting). My knees feel awful but I'm pretending they don't. I'm learning to swim again but can still manage 50s of fly. I'm writing lots of simple sentences. I even did a long run on Wednesday... kinda. Want the story?

The plan was 12 miles at 9:50 pace in hopes of keeping up my running for my two back-to-back half marys next month. I've never said half mary before today, and I probably won't again, so savor it. Anyway, I thought the best approach would be three rounds of 4 miles on the treadmill with a gel and some strawberries during the two breaks. Like all my plans (ha!) it was a good one.

I started the first set at 10:15 pace for the first mile, then switched to 10:00 for the next 1.5, then 9:50 for the last 1.5. I was going to keep this pattern throughout the run because it usually takes me about 5 miles to finally feel good and accept the fact I'll be running for two hours, but then I'm rearing to go. Around 35 minutes in, however, I felt like I was going to hurl; to confirm my RPE wasn't a wussy manifestation I checked my heart rate.

168.

What? I checked again.

167.

Apparently it takes more than 10 days to get over a marathon (keep in mind I heard this on the heart rumor mill so it could be a lie). That didn't bode well for my evening plans though, because I was going to run 12 miles if it took all night. I ate my gel, got my heart rate in the upper 130s and started my next set of 4 miles. They weren't pretty. 2:15 after I started, however, I'd covered 12.1 miles and was satisfied. Slower than planned, but some days you just have to finish. The only concern I have is my foot-- it's bruised. I think I’m underpronating with my left foot, something I've never done before. It sucks because the outside of my left foot is not too keen on supporting my hefty frame. I'm thinking of actually going to a foot dude and getting the orthodics that have been recommended to me since I was 12. (Cheap much?) Hopefully that fixes my foot and helps my poor knee, my very weakest link.

Speaking of links, I want to buy a new heart rate monitor. A fancy one I can connect to my Mac (except none do... effing jerk fitness people). Does anyone have any experience with itrain or ismarttrain or whatever the heck it's called? I'm afraid to drop the dough on the HRM and the program without someone telling me it works for uploading data.

Other than that, no training drama. I did skip a swim last night, but I felt pretty gross and the Masters team was hogging the whole pool (besides, I schedule 7 days a week because I know I'm gonna wuss out one day). I'm doing my first long ride tomorrow (45 miles... I don't know where or with whom, but I'll figure that out), intervals and single side lifting (a new addition!) tonight, long swim on Sunday assuming I can do 1000s. No promises there. At any rate, life is good and it's nice to be unbelievably stinky when I get home. Funny how I forget how much I really love doing this stuff when I'm in lazy mode. It doesn't make any sense: why else would I do it?

"It's raining, It's pouring, Ice is forming"

So said the top news story last night. C couldn't get over the fascination with ice that this town has, and admittedly it's somewhat ridiculous. Still, I remember last year swimming at lunch in clear skies and 70 degrees, so having wintery weather is a little strange.

This morning I was hoping I'd wake up to snow and ice an inch thick; I was sorely disappointed. After checking the traffic (not bad... sigh) I hopped in the shower, dressed, and headed out the door. Given the weather I felt okay wearning fashionable sneakers and khakis to work. I took about 15 steps out my door to get to a 1/3 set of stairs-- and I promptly slid on my ass (luckily my work computer broke part of my fall) into the icy puddle at the bottom. So basically, after being sore from running forever for two days, I still get to walk like a gimp from my very sore-- and maybe slightly bruised-- hiney today. Life is funny sometimes.

This is what awesome looks like... next to my cat:

Tagging

I've been tagged. The rules:

1. Find the nearest book.

Incidentally, I "saved my legs" all day and read either on the couch or snuggled with my kitties in bed. All day. I got through The Virgin Suicides, pictured above, and William Goldman's abridged version of S. Morgenstern's The Princess Bride today; The Princess Bride is fabulous, especially with the 700+ pages of Florin historical bullshit Goldman cuts out; unfortunately, he effs it up by lots of self-indulgent babbling in the '98 version I read. [I highly recommend it if you want to get all pissed off this guy regularly gets paid (his screenplays include Butch Casidy and the Sundance Kid and the '75 version of The Stepford Wives. Take from that what you will.)] Anyway, dude is a total putz. It's a shame that such a douchebag is the guy that erected Mortgenstern's genius from the rest of his bitter satire to offer the world. Speaking of bitter, it sounds like Morgenstern and I would have gotten along just swimmingly. But anyway...

2. Name the book & the author.

The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides

3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.

In the car, however, beside the actual living girls, the boys realized the paltriness of these images. Inverse properties were also discarded: notions of the girls as damaged or demented (The crazy old lady in the elevator every day turns out to be, when you finally speak to her, perfectly lucid.) Something like this revelation came over the boys.

5. Tag three more folks.

Mmm, I'm not a tagger as such, but I'll offer it up to my victims:
Bolder, Craig, and Frankie, who just returned back to the blog scene.

Holy crap! I’m running a marathon on Sunday.

Must’ve slipped my mind what with all the bad Christmas gifts, cruises, and boyfriends-turned-fiancés falling 1/2 way over in front of me. I’m easily distracted.

I’m a little worried about the run this weekend, but not as worried as I was before I went on vacation. A story:

So I’ve established my supreme post-IM lazy fatness for 3+ months running. Judging by the other bloggers it’s not uncommon, but my misery having company doesn’t take the edge off my guilt. In my battle to extract the fat (and the lazy) from my system last month I hit the gym, my Mecca of inner peace. I started lifting and liking it—which is crazy—and trying to get in some decent long runs after the 50k. Unfortunately, "long" turned into 6 mile high-HR, sweating-like-a-pig torture sessions. I started to worry about my mental fortitude, the finest thing I have to offer triathlon and endurance racing. I’m not built. I don’t regularly coach. I’m not fast. I’m not thin. On the other hand I can do a long ride of 40 miles and eek out my first ironman because of my badassness, not my bad ass. I can make my only long run 10 miles the Sunday before and PR in a marathon because I’m young, strong, stupid, and good at racing. So what was wrong?

They say you forget the pain of long races because otherwise your body wouldn't be able to cope. Bullshit. I remember marathon pain, and it ain't pretty. To save myself just this once I decided December 30th was do-or-die. I was getting off work early and had time to get out one more long run before the marathon. Over 15 miles = doing the marathon. Fewer than 15 meant I was going to force myself to do the half instead, which would be sad because this is the only marathon I can do til I’m grinding one out in Tempe on April whatever-it-is. After the run I was heading out to Greyhound’s neck of the woods for a little flipturn fun and to meet Curly Su, who happened to be in town.

After work I went to the Y and hopped on a treadmill. My plan was a 60 minute run, a 4 or 5 mile run, then another hour if I was feelin it. I also opted to skip out on iPod usage, which I feel has run rampant in my life. I shun music because that’s what I was taught to do (George's weighty opinion doesn't help), and it was with great shame that I ever donned my armband when setting out to run.

60 minutes, 6 miles, gel. I felt good. 4.5 miles, 46 minutes, gel. I felt great, even ecstatic. I refilled my water bottle and prepared to run another 6 miles or 60 minutes, whatever came first. To celebrate, I popped on some Panic! At the Disco, the best teeny bopper stuff to come out since I was a teeny bopper (so... like last year). Then, 5 songs and 2 miles later, I started to die. I was miserable! I needed to stop, but why? My legs felt fine, I’d just gotten some nutrition, and I was finishing up the easiest leg of my run. I struggled mightily with my urge to press the STOP button but held back because of how ashamed I’d be to admit I only ran xx miles when I went to Greyhound’s. Instead, I took off my headphones with 1.5 miles left.

And suddenly I was fine. I left the Y having completed 16.5 miles in a comfortable 2 hours 47 minutes. But afterward while chillin in the pool with the likes of Grey and the Su, disappointment set in despite the lovely company. I really wanted to get in 18 miles for the day, so after driving home I ran around the block twice for a 1.6 miles. It wasn’t fast, but I finished my run with only light soreness on Saturday.

The moral? Music is the devil. May I never be tempted again*!

One last thing: marathon goal. The weather isn’t looking the best, but I think I can pull out 10:00 miles; after all, I have 3 whole long runs in the past 6 weeks, including that unhurried 31.1 mile jaunt last month. I’m hoping I hit the 4:15ish range, but I’ll take anything under my previous two years of 4:35ish. I’m not picky. If you want to track me via text message you can do so at http://www.activeresult.com/results/MSG-signup.tcl?sub_event_id=22484. My first name is Mishele and my bib number is 8636.

*Unless spinning, lifting, elliptical-ing, or stretching. Because that’s just different.

Roaches

Two posts from me today. You're welcome.

I know that there are roaches hiding in virtually any restaurant, especially in Houston. They're at Maggiano's. They're at Chipotle (perish the thought!). They're at NY Pizzeria and of course are making a fine living at Whataburger. Surely you know this too, right?

So what do you expect when you see a cockroach meandering across your table? I considered this after quite the breakfast experience (which I'll get to... slowly, as is my way). If I was at an expensive dinner and I came across anything of that nature I'd waste no time in standing up and waddling out of the joint. "Screw you and your $50/plate!" I'd yell. I'd be disgusted! I'd be horrified! But most of all, I'd never part with a dime.

But what about at a fast food place? I'd probably just shrug and walk out. Don't believe me? I present to you IHOP Breakfast of the 11th. This morning, after Craig and I had finished eating our eggs and french toast, a roach popped up beside my purse. This motherfucker was HUGE. And unlike the roaches I've seen on floors of apartments and parking lots he wasn't moving very fast. Nope. He just kinda strolled along with window pane above my purse, then along the top of the booth toward me-- kinda like he was thinking of buying me a drink or striking up a conversation. Instead of freaking out, Craig and I just kinda got up and said something so someone else could kill the bug.

I wondered what would happen when we got to the register. Would they give us our meal for free? I'd hoped not because I was here as a mystery shopper (seriously, why else would I be in IHOP in the morning?) and I needed to produce a receipt or I'd have to come back and eat there the next day. I needn't have worried because our waitress offered us 10% off the bill instead ("No" grunted the manager. "Give them 20%"). We left a large tip and we all kind of chuckled when they said, "Thanks! Uh, come back and see us!" as we walked out the door.

Four hours later I'm amazed that I don't care about a roach hanging out with us for breakfast. Have my standards dropped so low? Is it really because we were already finished eating, as Craig hypothesized? I'll let you know in two months when we hit the local IHOP again. Mmm!

It was a very good year

I'll be MIA over the next week because I'll be on vacation. Before you get jealous, it's supposed to rain during the meat of the cruise, so I'm not sure what that'll mean for our trips. No matter what I'm having fun though; I'm kinda glad I know about the potential crappy weather so I can mentally prepare to have an awesome time anyway. How's that for positive?

Here’s the 2006 list of Shele schtuff. Lists are easier than actually thinking about the ending year and what it means to me. Or whatever. Here goes...

Kittens acquired: 1
Jobs lost: 0 (count your blessings, eh?)
Moves: 0!
Pounds gained: 11 (ew!)
Months without candy: 1
Trips taken: 12
06 World Series won by the best team ever (in my heart at least): 1
Totally sweet sponsorships acquired: 1
Watches purchased: 1
Watches broken: 1 (curses!)
Marathons: 1
Tri Sprints: 2
Half IMs: 1
Ironmans (ironmen? Irondistances?): 2
Ultradistances: 1
DNFs: 0
PRs: 3 (10k, sprint tri, ironman)
Bikes purchased: 1
Bikes owned: 2.1

Not a bad year if I may say so. I've made some new friends—in fact, all my non-work friends are brand spanking new thanks to triathlon; Houston Racing changed my life, and blogging has been surprisingly encouraging. Who knew? May I keep my new buddies in the next year despite being a grumpy ol’ fart. What next year will bring is still more of a mystery than I'd like (case in point: no tris planned after Arizona. What shall I do? Where should I go? I can't decide!), but it's pretty exciting nonetheless. Life is good.

Happy new year to you guys! Go 2007! Woo!

If I’m even doing it, what’s your excuse?

Did I mention I’m going on a 7 day cruise through the Caribbean starting December 30? Well, I am. Originally I thought this would exclude me from partaking in the GYGO Virtual Tri-Geek Challenge, but no. Meet Mishelek, race #60. If I beat everyone else out of bed (I know, I know unlikely) I can get a mostly empty pool to swim 200 yards. Then I can hit the gym’s stationary bikes for the 15 mile bike ride and run the track for a 4 mile run. Then I can shower and get off the boat to enjoy Mujahual. If I can do it, you can too (except that last part).

I don’t expect to go fast because I very much hope I’m nursing a slight hangover. But it’s not about my speed or race distance—it’s about moving my ass at the first opportunity of 2007. I think. It could also be about burning off the night before’s calories... and of course that hangover.

Holiday funnin'

Here's our pretty tree:


And here are the gingerbread and sugar cookies (tantalizing little men!) that E, K, and I made on Sunday while moaning and groaning-- and celebrating-- our 50k completion:


Neat, huh?

I'm full of crap: Sunmart 50k review

If you're expecting a post about my ultra distance race this weekend you certainly won't be disappointed. If you're expecting a post about poop, you certainly won't be disappointed.

Friday lunchtime. My friend E and I went out to packet pickup out by the airport during lunch. Since I was coerced by K into running Sunmart I passed on the idea to her, another ultra newbie. I had good reasons for selecting her: I wasn't sure I wanted to run with the friend who coerced me, E had some trouble in last year's marathon that I believe could have been avoided if she'd had a longer run, we were similarly paced, and this 50k was reportedly "laid back and fun." Note: "fun" should not be associated with any run over 15 miles. There is nothing fun about running for several hours. Anyway, E bought what I was selling and here we were, picking up some packets.

I took a picture of our race goodies (at the end of the post), and for an $80 entry fee we made out like bandits. Here's what we got on Friday:

• A huge gym bag
• Polo shirt
• Long sleeve dri-fit race shirt
• dri-fit hat
• sunglasses
• gloves
• nice socks
• a teddy bear (DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS proudly sewn on his back)
• a portfolio
• a manicure kit
• a bandana
• a poncho
• a logo-ed water bottle
• 2 running magazines
• a nice race program
• 2 Hammer Gels

Can you beat that with a stick? For our entry we also could have gone to the pasta dinner on Friday night (and bring a guest), but we opted to skip out on fighting traffic on 45. Instead, it turned out E and I both ate pizza for dinner and met up at 5ish the next morning.

The plan was for me to drive to her place, then take her car to K's house; K was driving 5 runners and a husband up to Huntsville because, well, that's what you do when you're nice and you drive a Tahoe. At E's place I was shocked at how little she brought: her fuel belt, an ID, and a Clif bar. Meanwhile, I had my T1 bag stuffed to the brim with a camelback, extra clothes, extra shoes, Gatorade, bars, gels, first aid, bodyglide, and some lubricating jelly I keep for emergencies (wink wink) (just kidding... it's for long bike rides) (um, awkward!). Anyway, we set off to K's place with E realized she didn't have the bottles for her fuel belt. "No biggie," I said. "I'll call K--she has tons of stuff like that." A short call later K was getting out her 10 oz bottles for E and all was well. 30 seconds later E realized she hadn't brought her number. "Surely you can get a replacement" I thought. Then she realized she had no chip. No chip? Okay now we were in trouble. We were already running a few precious minutes late and I was afraid this current setback would leave us driving ourselves up to Huntsville, not a pretty picture. E frantically called her husband--who never picks up his cell phone--and told him to meet us at K's right away. Somehow we only waited 5 minutes for him before we were off.

E trains like you're supposed to train for a marathon: she owns a fuel belt and does her long runs with HoustonFIT (two things I'll never do). I am not so much into marathon training because I have no respect for the distance even though it's big, and I train out of fear of race failure and a smaller desire to do well. I race to train. I'm cool with that. E is quite the opposite, and this is what I attribute to a non-flaky chick forgetting her race essentials on race morning. Anyway, no harm no foul right?

Huntsville is about 70 miles north of Houston, and I wasted no time in sleeping on my camelback wrapped in my coat (a very comfy pillow) on the way up. Before I knew it we were piling out of the car. While I put on my coat in the chilly 40 degree air I snagged my watch on my sleeve and broke the wristband. Crap. I sulked (I don't do mornings) while we set up camp, headed to breakfast, and watched the 50 mile race start 30 minutes before we were set to go. The breakfast buffet had kolaches, biscuits, sausage, ham, french toast, and a few other goodies for the crowds. I took a biscuit, kolache, and a cup of coffee to top off my 5:30 breakfast of Gatorade AM (ha! I know, I know), a Snickers Marathon bar, and a banana.

Let's pause for poop story #1. E was very concerned about needing to go on the trail, so K suggested taking some Imodium to quiet the crowd, if you know what I mean. I made a big stink about this (being anti-pill except for the occasional Tylenol PM), saying that she just needed to relax and get a good dump in her morning routine and then she wouldn't have to worry about it. I took some coffee to ahem, keep up with my pre-race morning routine. I thought all would be well since it always is. I was wrong.

Anyway, we got to the starting line, the gun went off, we started running, la la la. Since we were about to run 31.1 miles we were in no hurry to push the pace; we were running maybe 10:30 miles. Before too long we were on the out-and-back stretch of single track. E and I were behind these 4 annoying women who kept talking loudly and stopping to take pictures. Cute, huh? Except the entire field was single file on this damn trail and they were holding everyone up. The whole way out I made hand gestures while E laughed behind me. Is there anything funner than making fun of people? I think not. Anyway, we hit the 5k at around 39:00. 39? Holy jeez! The way back wasn't much better as we started our first 12.5 mile loop at 1:17, 15 minutes slower than our expected pace. I kept thinking we'd have plenty of time to make up that first 10k, but the truth is 15 minutes is a lot to make up, especially on trails. Our goal of 12:00 pace wasn't looking bright, and my secret goal of breaking 6 hours (11:35 pace) was even bleaker. Oh well. We were having a good time passing folks and enjoying the aide stations, which had Pepsi products (Mt. Dew was so good), PowerAde (mmm the blue so good), candy of every type, pb&j, energy bars, potatoes, pretzels, peanuts--you name it. We charged the hills on the first loop even though our plan was to walk because we were behind pace and wanted to make up some ground. I was a little grumpy about this hill running, but E kept pushing the pace and I got tired of saying we should slow down-- I felt wimpy. Anyway, around mile 13 I started, well, feeling somethin' heavy while driving in my Chevy. The next aide station I had a private party in the porta-potty that was quite smashing. Post poo we jetted off again to our longest leg without and aide station, 3.22 miles. Man were they the worst miles of my life. The next leg--the 2.79 mile one to the 2nd loop/finish line-- was the second longest pair of miles of my life. Finally we rounded the timing mat for our last 12.5 mile loop at 4:00:00 even... nowhere near our goal, but my consta-pooping hadn't helped matters. We ran in awkward silence for awhile, each assuming the other was mad at our pace till we broke the ice with the "I'm so glad we're doing this" chat. The air was clear for us to enjoy the rest of the race.

Till I had to poop again. This time it was so bad I had to stop and walk for fear of shitting all over the course. I barely made it into the porta-potty, which I sat in so long that someone started asking if I was alright. "No," I thought. "I'm not alright. I'm shitting my brains out and I'm 10 miles from the finish." Finally I took one of E's Imodiums so I could quit the shit. Though my stomach hurt for the rest of the race I didn't have to go to the bathroom, so I guess it worked. Anyway, post poo we continued along at a similar pace we'd held on the first loop, just under 11:00 miles. At 8 miles to the finish E got excited and started 10 minute pace, and I kept up with her for 3 miles. Finally she took off like someone had lit a fire under her ass that was similar to the one lit in mine. In the five-ish miles we were apart (on the worst mental part of the course, too, remember) she gained a nine minute lead on me, and I wasn't even going that slow (I'm thinking near 12:00 pace--it was hard to tell with no watch and no partner with a watch). Okay, maybe I did go slowly after I landed face-first in the dirt, but only for a minute! E finished in 6:48, and I rolled in at 6:57, an hour after I planned and with a 13:26 min/mile average.

Afterward I collected my sweet Sunmart afghan (see the pic) and my finishers medal before hitting the barbecue line. E's husband was there for the finish (and, unexpectedly, to have some of the barbecue) and to drive us home. I was feeling ashamed of getting my ass kicked by E, but I was also very pleased she'd done so well and finished strong... she has potential to be way faster than she is. I also had no room to be competitive at all considering I'd done but one long run of 13 miles when she was grinding out long runs every weekend for the past 2 months. Ya gotta earn it, ya know? Besides, this meant she'd conquered her mental demons; I think she'll have a great marathon next month.
Sunmart goodies:


What was most surprising for me about this race was that my muscles were not my limiting factor--it was my aching feet and grindy knees. I wasn't sore at all on Saturday except for joints, and Sunday I was pretty good except for on stairs (ha! Till I tried running to my car--not my most graceful moment). Monday and today I have a little bit of tightness, but I feel ready to hop into training again. I'm lifting today and continuing a pretty regular training schedule starting tomorrow. If I drop dead soon I'll let you know.

My thoughts

Trail running is way better on my body than the roads, though it's hard to keep a good pace. We probably never ran slower than 12, maybe 13 minute miles in really hilly spots, but breaking for my crappiness and for aide stations really jacked up our overall time. I wish I'd had my own watch to just time how long it took us to just run the distance, but oh well. I went in saying I just wanted to finish and I meant it--what a great experience. I also have a newfound respect for the ultradistance events; I'll never dare try a 50 miler without serious training under my belt. Now that I'm unsore again I'm considering doing the 50 miler next year...

This was also my first race running with someone except for IM WI. Even though I was with someone I liked/respected (and who giggles at farting like I do), I'm still not keen on running with others. I don't need the company to push myself, and I really like the peace you can only get paying attention to your steps alone. It's kinda like my running is my secret I don't want to share with anyone. See how antisocial I am? I want to run for 7 hours by myself. That's just wrong.

I can't figure out what sent me into shitting overdrive. I stuck to peanut butter and bread, gum drops, GUs, and PowerAde for the most part. The only thing I can figure upset me was the soda; I drank it at about every other aide station and I wasn't burping like normal. Next time I'll stick to water and Gatorade to see if my theory holds true--but I'm bringing my own Imodium. I guess.

Reason #87 my brain thinks it's 87

years old that is. Anyway, on my way to the bathroom today I thought, "Man, I really need to buy some knee-high stockings for these shoes."



Does anyone wear knee highs over the age of 12 and under the age of 60? I don't think so.

Oh bother

Let me take a moment to tell you about my Thanksgiving Day Race, which I entered as an Athena thanks to some non-holiday second helpings of late. In years past, a finish of 59:00 in this 10k would result in a top 10% finish among Athenas, so my goal was to break an hour since I haven't been running much. My last 10k was 50:04 in February but that was because I was doing a lot of speedwork and in full IM AZ training mode-- not a reasonable goal for my recent activity. Besides, ConocoPhillips is pretty flat with only 2 hills while T-Day had one steep short hill and three bridges to cross. How can a race cross the Ohio three times and still end up on the Ohio side of the river? MAGIC!

The race was at 9 on Thursday morning, and race day registration (what? haven't seen this recently since tri's sell out and long road races don't offer it), the post party, restrooms, etc was in Paul Brown Stadium, where the Bengals play. This totally rocked because you could warm up/relieve yourself in the comfort of a warm toilet-filled restroom rather than a cold dirty port-a-let. I got there early (free parking too!), goofed off for awhile, and then headed to the start line. I was about 5 feet behind the 9:00/mile sign, thinking that 9:30 or so wasn't out of my range. After standing there for 20 minutes the race started right on time. My first mile felt awful since my feet had gone numb in the shadows of the other folks waiting at the start line. I also got really hot and removed my gloves, headband thingy, and rolled up my long sleeves within five minutes. I don't run in much more than a cotton tee and running shorts til it gets below 40, but I was afraid I'd become a cold runner wuss. I hadn't. Anyway, my first mile was a painful 9:45, so I decided I was just going to have a nice comfy slow run the rest of the way. Then my mile splits got awesomer: 9:00, 9:24, 9:24, 8:58, and 8:30. I finished up in a respectable 56:37 (and with a nice negative split), 175th of 750ish 25-29 year olds. And in the Athenas? I'll never know. I thought it was weird I didn't get to weigh in when I picked up my packet, but I expected to still have an Athena division considering there were 12,000 competitors out there (and the guy I started with had registered as a Clydesdale). I was wrong. The results came up with me in my age group and the awards list contained no weight divisions. I think there's a valuable lesson to learn there: lose weight.

After I finished I headed to the post race party. I finally took off my hot wind pants (which I had over my tights), tied off the ankles, and got in the feast line. First I got an ice cream cone, a bottle of water--then I got to work collecting sunflower seeds, apple dippers (McD's was a sponsor) cookies, string cheese, granola bars, and orange juice. There were also bagels, but I really don't care much for them (especially because I'd had one for breakfast). I left with carrying my booty-stuffed pants and feeling good about my run.

So if you're ever in Cincinnati on Thanksgiving, well, I'm sorry about your luck. But if you can dig yourself out of your dismay for being here, head out to the Thanksgiving Day Race. It's cheap (you don't HAVE to get a shirt, which is a relief to anyone with 183,307 race t-shirts), fun, accessible, and has a killer buffet of food afterward. Hard to beat that with a stick.

Now I'm gonna go hit Donatos like it's going out of style-- which you could argue it is since I can't find the stuff anywhere but the 'Nati. :)

D4: My PR

They say ("they" being tri bloggers. "They" know everything) that there are 4 elements of triathlon: swimming, biking, running, and taking good race pictures.

I have not mastered the elusive 4th discipline.

No matter how great I'm feeling, how fresh my stride, how aero I go my pictures suck. I look like a lazy, fat power walker on training wheels. Oh! And while you're at it, throw in some water wings. It's ridiculous how horrible I usually look. Remember my IM AZ finish pic? I looked high as a kite (and no, I wasn't). I'm as anti-tri photogenic as you get.

Ironstar, however, was a different story. Despite my not training and not going fast I looked like a real athlete. Here, see for yourself:
(They're links because I don't know how to make the photographer's online pictures show up in my blog... I'm pitiful at this "technology" stuff.)

Emerging from the water

Up close & personal-- note the Athena double chin

Aero baby!

T2-- I swear I'm running. Kinda.

Best running shot ever-- note that both my feet are off the ground :)

Finishing hard

Finish

Priorities: 1) finish, 2) dick around with watch stoppage

The other day the links were different, so these may not work for long. In which case, uh, tough nuggets. :) Enjoy!

Wetsuits are for wusses

Ironstar 2004. My first triathlon. I arrived too late to drive the course the night before, which horrified the soon-to-turn-pro Matt McCurdy, my dinner mate at the pasta dinner. It also horrified him I was riding a $600 bike I’d owned all of 10 days with aero bars that had been installed the night before. Indeed, I was a little horrifying. It’s how I roll, SON!

After dinner I headed up to my hotel room, organized my things and checked out my first race packet. I read through all that stuff I now throw away, intrigued by the newness of it all. As I was getting ready for the race I realized I’d forgotten socks; despite the fact there was a Wal-Mart 2 miles away, I opted to race without socks. No biggie.

That night I had trouble pulling myself away from the television because the Red Sox were playing the Yankees (back when I hated the Yankees and didn’t hate the Red Sox. Times have changed). I’m pretty sure that was the night that Curt Schilling played superhero with his bloody sock. Still, I turned off the game in the 7th or so inning and slept like a rock, as always. Baseball will go on whether I’m watching or not, but my sleep will not.

The next day I woke up, got my gear together, and stood nervously on the beach during the National Anthem. I spoke to some women standing around about how to approach the open water swim. They squealed with delight at my newbie-ness and offered me good advice about getting out in front early if I was a strong swimmer. They both passed me on the bike, but I was king of the world in that lake.

The race went really, really well. I was 3rd out of the water in my heat; unfortunately, 1 and 2 were also in my 20-24 age group, and I never caught those ladies. My transitions were slow, but I didn’t know that yet. On my bike, I tried to get down in aero and ran myself off the road into a ditch, but still managed to come back to pavement unscathed (sadly, I did this on a flat 2 mile stretch of road so EVERYONE whose ass I whooped in the swim could seem me. Sigh). I didn’t get in aero for months after that. Before I knew it I was on the run, rockin’ and rollin’ like a true champ. I don’t have my mile splits because I was wearing a crappy watch, but I ran the whole way. My ankles stung a bit from the rub they were getting for going sockless, but it wasn’t too bad. At mile 10 I was pumped—a 5k left! Child’s play! At that water station, two ladies I’d been back-and-forth with the entire run asked me if my feet hurt. “Why?” I replied. One pointed to my shoes, which were red with blood: my avatar was born. The sight of my feet almost made me puke instantly. After a few woozy seconds I continued on and finished in 6:32:25… not bad for my first half. I got a massage, a beer, some pizza, a mug, and a 3rd place plaque for my efforts. Go me!

Ironstar 2006. 7 weeks after Ironman Wisconsin found me in my normal post IM state: fat, happy, and living on beer and cheese (how Wisconsin appropriate). After such a crapass race I wasn’t interested in jumping on the training bandwagon except for my celeb ride with Greyhound and of course, the beerathon. But I wanted to do this race for old time’s sake, and dammit if I wasn’t going to finish.

But first I had to get there on time. After dawdling all Saturday I found myself going 85 all the way up to Conroe to make in time to get my packet before it was sold to the bloodthirsty hordes of people who didn’t register in time. I made it by 15 minutes. This year I skipped the pasta dinner so I could catch a meal with my two tri friends K and T, the girlfriend of T, and the parents of K. We had a great—though slow—Italian meal and trip to Wal-Mart (though I didn’t need anything) before turning in to our cabin. We talked, laughed, and got ready for the next day. This year there was no baseball to watch because my Cards took home the gold the day before (how thoughtful of them!). At 10 (9 PM after the fall backing) K and I turned in.

The next morning we woke up to air temps in the mid-40s and a water temp of 70. I’d been unsure about whether I should wear a wetsuit the night before… um, the next morning I wasn’t! I packed my sweet T1 bag from DeSoto—including wetsuit—and ate my breakfast of a Snickers Marathon bar, banana, and 8 oz greatorade before heading to transition.

The morning quickly warmed. After getting body marked (“I swear it looks pretty” said the body marker chick after putting an A on the back of my calf. Um, okay… do I look like the type of ho who would be annoyed if it was ugly?) and setting up transition, I stood around on the beach with K and her mom waiting for our heats to come up (she was at 7:20 and I was pulling up the large rear at 7:25). I decided that I should at least wade in the water before swim and hopped in the water up to my thighs. The water was downright pleasant! I went back and forth about taking off my neoprene beauty b/c I was afraid the water in the open lake—as opposed to the cove in which we start—would be significantly chillier. About 7 minutes before my wave I finally unzipped it and wiggled out to meet the swim with bare arms and legs. It was a good move.

I started in the front row of girls for my wave, a good positioning judging by the number of silver caps by me as I finished. Next to me was a girl in just a swimsuit who’d written my post title “Wetsuits are for WUSSES” on her cap… to be honest I happened to agree—the water was 70, and after a minute or so it felt really nice. Of course, that minute was a little shocking since I hadn’t warmed up, but still.

Before I knew it we were off. Though normally I would have gone out a little fast to get warmed up and away from the flailing dumbasses around me, I took it easy the entire swim. Within 7 minutes I’d come up on girls from the heat in front of me-- pretty cool. I felt wonderful in the water…smooth, long, efficient. I had to keep reminding myself I was doing this for fun and wasn’t going to blow my load in the first half hour of this ditty so I didn’t speed up. The swim was mostly uneventful despite my ending up in the middle of the bleeping course due to the sun and my difficulty sighting with freaking buoys the size of my freaking head. But I’m not bitter or anything. I cruised out of the water next to the girl I started beside at 33:07. Not my best, and way slower than the 30:34 from ’04. Oh well.

T1 was AWESOME (for me): 2:10, way faster than the 3:00 from ’04. The only thing I’ll mention here is that the Clydesdales/Athenas were on the last rack, which meant they had to run the farthest with their bikes. Does anyone else find this really funny? I did.

The bike was better than I expected. I felt strong and avoided the coasting I normally do on downhills (“What would Greyhound do?”). Nothing really out of the ordinary here except I actually PASSED people. I also was passed, but that’s no surprise; however, I did get passed by a dweeb in an aero helmet about 40 mins in. First of all, dude passed me on a downhill, then quit pedaling so I had to brake to avoid his draft zone. Turd! Not only did he get a 20 min head start on me, it took him another 40 minutes to get by me on the bike with an aero helmet. I swore to loathe this guy the entire race which worked out for me: I passed him 4 times, and he only caught up 3. I blew him off the road on the run. The lesson? If you’re going to pass me, you’d better do it right the first time. I came in at 3:32:41 (16.6 mph pace), not far off the 3:26:27 I posted in my first tri. Sometimes I want to punch 2004 Mishele in the stomach.

T2: 2:11. Smokin! 04’s time? A wussy 3:55.

The run was long, slow, and hot. People quickly trotted past me out of T2, but by the end I caught most of them. My secret? Never stop running, even if some folks are walking faster than my “run.” I only stopped to walk half of the only real hill on the course and each water station. I felt bad, but I was really enjoying the race… I think that might make me creepy. Anyway, I must’ve done something right because check out my last 6 mile splits:
12:30 (hey, I walked to chat with a friend)
11:31
11:26
11:13
10:57
10:20
How cool is that?! I finished the run in 2:30:01 (11:28 pace :-/)a mere 90 seconds from the 2004 posting of 2:28:31. My total time was 6:40:08 compared to the 6:32:25 from my first tri. Considering my training, my pacing, and my initial attitude I did really well. This might be the race I’m most proud of this year behind IM AZ. Sure, it’s kinda slow and I’d expect to have improved in two years instead of slowing down, but I had fun, paced well, nailed my nutrition, and came in 2nd in the Athena division. Yowsa! I was also sore but not handicapped the next day; today I feel like I could do another HIM. Basically it’s the best recovery ever.

And finally, my favorite: the injury report. I’m sunburnt, have 2 chafed underarms, and NO blisters. Not one. The funny thing about this is I brought my new running shoes with me to the race thinking I’d already run in them. I hadn’t. Apparently Mizuno Wave Riders are so awesome they don’t even need breaking in.

Mishele K, welcome to your REAL off season.

D Race comin up this weekend!

Eek! I've been gone too long. Sorry 'bout that. Now to play catchup.

In my last post I mentioned that I was going to ride the Ironstar course and decide from the experience if I should "participate" in the race, which is this weekend. Well, 2 Saturdays ago I met up with Greyhound to take a ride for what I thought would be law school + tri chats and 59 smooth miles under overcast, cool skies. What I didn't know is the harmless looking Greyhound was trying to kill me.

We started out fine, not really pushing my pace (because we all know he's considerably faster than me). He casually mentioned adding a few miles to the route that would include the most monstrous hills that the area could boast, and I agreed. After all, I am an Ironman, even if an out of shape one. Post-superhills I was still feeling quite smug, so the next route change Greyhound suggested I also agreed to. Then he suggested another. I let my ego and fear of looking like a wuss take the reigns most of the ride, but I didn't feel unusually crappy til we were about 9 miles from home; at that point, I decided that my large chainring would take a union break the rest of the ride, and I spun like a grandma. After a pretty nice 70 mile ride, we turned back into the resort-- Greyhound had failed to kill me on the bike. I win!

But he didn't stop there. Oh no! As I clipped out of my left pedal when I neared my car, I leaned right... and crashed. Not only did I hurt my arm in such a way that I thought I may have broken it (lamest accident ever), but I'd fallen most ungraciously. Let me tell you, there's nothing like looking like an a-hole in front of someone you don't know very well. Still, I had survived what was certainly the result of a certain person putting a certain something in my Gatorade. But I’m not one to point fingers.

After the ride and my klutzy crash we went for a nice baby run; it was starting to get hot, so I was pretty stoked to be finished. We stretched, had a non-brew brew, and continued on with our Saturdays. Despite my arm throbbing, I was still alive and it was a beautiful day. But while on the highway on the ride home, traffic came to a dead stop. I stopped with it with no problem, but as I looked into my rearview mirror I saw some idiot in a Cherokee with her head FACING her daughter. On the highway. In traffic. Going around 40 mph and not far from my non-moving bumper. I’d had enough sense to have stayed in gear, so scooted up and veered out of her way just as she realized the sluttiness of her ways. She missed my car by inches-- and once again an agent of evil for Greyhound failed to snuff me out. I am not to be trifled with.

The rest of my Saturday was pretty fun, so I'll continue sharing. I went home, napped n stuff, then my boyfriend and I had folks over for a pseudo-family friendly Halloween party. The 5 of us made Halloween hats,




carved pumpkins,


and dipped some totally sweet caramel apples. We also watched The Grudge (um, could I have a side of plot with my scary movie PLEASE? I don't think it's asking too much) and downed some Skyline dip (if you don’t know what it is you obviously didn’t have the artery-congesting pleasure of growing up in the ‘Nati. Go Bengals!), beer, and mimosas. It was once again a nearly perfect Saturday.

Sunday I woke up stiff, but not sore. I signed up for Ironstar, but as an Athena (I know, I know... I'm barely there but dammit, there's a weight limit for a reason) and immediately regretted the decision. I vowed to train smart the next two weeks.

One week and three days later I’ve swum exactly once. Crap! In my defense, I was out of town all this past weekend hittin the ‘Lou (Go Cards!) and a wedding. Oh! And work is really busy. And I spent most of the past two weeks holding my breath over my LSAT and the rest of the time scrambling to get my applications ready for the early decision deadline on November 1st. Those are good excuses, right? Besides, this race is my kick in the ass to get training for the off season. Six weeks of sloth is enough, even for an over-consumer such as myself.

I’m off! Perhaps to continue blog updates, finish my personal statement, or keep a lookout for the sly Greyhound...

Help a brother out

I’m in a pickle.

17 days from now there’s a race in which I’ve planned to compete all season: the Ironstar half iron. Ironstar was my very first triathlon two years ago, and the bike course is sorta my home course after all the hours I laid on it this summer while training for Wisconsin. Add to this that “all my friends” (except for greyhound of course) will be racing up there two Sundays from now (AND I need to get in an October race for my Snickers Marathon sponsorship) and I find myself seriously pressured to hop on that bandwagon and race my little heart out. I should sign up, right?

I think so. My boyfriend disagrees, saying it’s “dangerous.” I don’t know why... he is a thenthitive boy after all, and everyone knows thenthitive boys tend to be (over)protective. I’m sure his concern is based in emotional overreaction and not the fact that until Monday’s beerathon I hadn’t run since that pesky 26.2 in Madison. And of course he’s not taking into account that my bike hasn’t even been cleaned from the ravaging it suffered a month ago (though I did ride it once... for 7 miles). Yes, my hunney-punkin is just being silly. Normally I’d just ignore him, but this week I’ve had a revelation that makes me think he may have more sense than me.

I went home last weekend to bring all my junk to Texas (it’s been in storage for the past two years), and the reunion with my stuff got me reflecting on, you know, my life. I noticed that the common denominator in a LOT of my decisions in life--from doing well in high school so I could get the hell outta Dodge to doing 3 marathons without training--has been defiance. I only seem motivated by proving others wrong. That’s how I ended up at Ironstar the first time: some lame-ass friend told me I couldn’t prepare for the HIM distance in 6 weeks. Clearly this boy is dumb, and I had the time of my life and my fastest bike split to date despite doing some sprints this year (sigh... I’m slow). Moving on-- The point is, I’m stubborn and maybe I shouldn’t be.

The realization that I sorta only do stuff to prove others wrong is making me doubt myself. I really really wanna do the race--I don’t even want to go fast. I just want to participate. Of course, there’s the remote possibility that maybe my boyfriend is right. As if to echo his words, I was a teensy weensy bit sore on Wed after a 3ish mile jaunt on Tuesday (Of course, if you’d dared me I could have pulled another 10ish from my hiney, especially if there was anything over $1 on the line). SO, in an attempt to be a rational, safe adult I am riding the Ironstar course on Saturday at a modest pace. If I feel okay I’m signing up for the race (and I’m racing as an Athena to minimize my “24 in the 25-29 age group” bitterness. Oh, and if there was any Athena doubt on the scale a month ago, there isn’t now). If not, I’m going to get off my fat ass and get to work on my running/off season training.

Any words of wisdom from the crowd?

P.S. Yes, I participated in a beerathon on Monday night. One beer to chug, one mile run, one chug, one mile, one chug. There’s no official award, but the crowd tells me I was the best chugger there. Now if I can get that silly “run” part of the race under my belt I shall rule the beerathon world in 2007! Still, my mile splits were 7:50 and ~8:20... not embarrassing.

P.P.S. Who puts on such a wonderful event? Oh, only the coolest tri club in the country. Eat your heart out distant triers!

Hair-brained idea

I got a hair cut last week. Now I’m writing about it. “Lame!” you’re probably yelling. Indeed, it is a lame blog post. Of course, if you don’t like it you’re welcome to leave my virtual dump spot in the woods of the internet. Shyeah.

Anyway, I went to get my rat’s nest chopped because I’ve had it with my gross hair. After complaining for months I finally broke down and shelled out some dough to go to my friend’s hair dresser at some snooty salon because said friend told me this girl was good; citysearch confirmed this. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough, but this salon also served wine, and I’m not one to resist positive hair transformation + an alcoholic beverage. 30 minutes before my appointment I hopped in my truck, arrived at the salon, and I took pictures for my “before” shot. Sure, I could have asked someone at work or asked my new best friend the hair dresser to take them for me but I would have felt silly (incidentally, I also felt silly for taking pictures of myself in the parking lot).

After documenting my vanity on film I headed in, put on the shirt/smock they gave me, and got my hair washed. So far so good. Next I got in the chair, ready to get my hair hacked off. The conversation with the dresser--let’s call her Gertrude from now on--didn’t go as expected.

Gertrude [lifting my hair about 3” higher around my face]: Is this what you were looking for?
(Keep in my I asked to “cut it all off,” which to me means, well, cut all my hair off.)
Me: Um, shorter.
Gertrude [frowns]: How tall are you?
Me: Um, 5-8.
G [with a tsssk noise of uncertainty]: You see, with your height and your long neck I wouldn’t cut your hair any shorter. Otherwise, your head might look too small in proportion to your body.

Let’s pause. The bitch basically told me I’d have a pinhead if I didn’t keep my hair longer than chin length. What she should have said was “Oh, with your graceful neck and lovely face you’ll look 15 pounds lighter than you do now. Really, you are quite model-esque. I simply must see if you can be in our salon ads.” But she didn’t because Gertrude is a bitch. I’ll continue.

Me [obviously offended and rightfully so]: Well I’ve had it short before and no one’s ever told me my head looked too small. I, um, look good with short hair.
(“Good” might be an exaggeration but I’m pretty freaking sure I don’t look pinhead-y)
G: Oh, I just want to be sure I know what you want since it will be so drastic of a cut. [big fake smile]

Man, what a ho. So she cuts my hair, which is still a smidge (sp? I so do not know how to spell smidge) longer than I want it, but it looks good once she’s finished. I’m happy, and I somehow don’t notice that I failed to see how she styled it (since she blew my contact out of my eye but continued drying/styling my hair anyway... we both finished our activities at about the same time) nor what product she used. It’s possible I would’ve remembered to ask if the hair washer and the hair-sweeper-upper weren’t commenting on how much younger and better I looked (the hair sweeper upper remarked in Spanish to Gerty, not to me--which makes me think her comment was more truthful). As if I walked in there looking like an old hag or something! Honestly, how does a 24 year old girl look OLD?? I still don’t know if I should be offended at their “before” comments or pleased with their “after” ones.

While Miss Gertrude is chopping my frizz ‘fro off, she commented ~4 times about how I needed some “paint on my face.” After my cut she led me to the makeup girl so she could “make me look really pretty.” By this point I’m more than a little peeved because I’m pay $8 million to endure comments that are genuinely tearing down my self esteem. What hell kinda salon is this? Anyway, makeup girl basically just throws some blush, lip gloss, and mascara on me and I pay, leave a tip I begrudge, and leave. But despite the experience, I look pretty and am relieved to look different. Oh, I again take pictures, but this time I take them in the mirror of my apt despite the fact that Craig was home and could much more easily have done it.

So here’s my 43 year old before:

And my 24 year old after (remember it’s a mirror image in our warm bathroom lighting):

The haircut isn’t 100% what I wanted, and the next day I made the mistake of “fixing” it myself. It therefore looks worse now than it did then. I’m awesome. But more importantly, having not-disgusting hair has been a true wake-up call for me. I pride myself on being very natural, having no fashion sense, and saving my money to splurge on $200 SIDI T1 cycling shoes, not a hot pair of pumps. I like being plain because the others’ expectations are so low, but I still have the potential to doll up, making the effect much more dramatic. That said, I realize that I’ve taken it to too great of an extreme and it seems like I don’t take pride in how I look. A mistake! So I started wearing some makeup some days and--next month when I again have money--will buy clothes that are a little newer and more flattering than the shirt I have on today, which I purchased when I was 19. Mishele K, it just might be time to grow up... and let your hair grow out so you don’t look like a pinhead.

I have recently come into a large sum of money

And when I say "I" I really mean the OCRF. We're tight like that. Okay, maybe we're not but that's my post title, dammit.

I started this post on Monday, the day our air conditioning hadn’t been working for about two days. I was miserable--as was our whole apartment, which was a roasting 85 day and night. Bummer, I know. To cheer myself up, I decided to post my final race report from Wisconsin: my Janus Charity Challenge numbers. Much to the disappointment of my dramatic side, the A/C was fixed long before I finished this, so I abandoned the effort. I know that doesn’t make logical sense, but that’s just how I work.

With the help of my family, friends, and amazingly supportive tri community here in H-town I raised $5635 plus a match from Janus for $750--bringing the total gift to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund to $6385. Holy shit!

I loathe fundraising. I hated selling calendars for Girl Scouts, and I ate more candy bars for school sales than I dreamt of selling. In college I’d pay to get out of Thurtene fundraising even though I was broke. Selling stuff I didn’t like and asking people for money felt dirty, and the feeling is compounded by my hating to ask for any type of help. For this particular round of fundraising I felt a lot less bad about asking, but also wanted to give people the opportunity to donate in hopes of getting something in return; the raffle was born, and I decided to write the Houston businesses I loved to see if they could donate anything. Of the 75 letters I sent out, I only received maybe 12-15 positive responses, but the prize pool ended up being around $700 worth of stuff. Apparently all you have to do is ask.

Anyway, here are some neat numbers I found:
$ from family-- $1400
$ from friends-- $1962
$ from Houston Racing Triathlon Club-- $1216
$ from Texas-- $2860
$ from non-TX-- $2775
$ from folks I’ve never met-- $1301
$ from work-- $1156
$ from the raffle ~$775

Clearly the numbers overlap in some places, but that’s a lot of money from a lot of different folks. Some donated because I did an Ironman, and some people just wanted to support me. Others knew my mom or my aunt (who also died of ovarian cancer), and still more lost someone they loved to the disease. No matter what the motive it was very touching, and more than one training session found me thinking about how lucky I am to be surrounded with such caring people. I don’t do much sap, but I’ve been a total baby about this from day one... thanks guys.

I know you're not supposed to get competitive with this kind of thing, BUT I simply can't help my nature. :) I'm pretty proud to have been ~15th of the 50+ athletes in the Janus Charity Challenge at Wisconsin when ranked by how much moolah raised (NOT finishing time). I wish I could get the exact number but they pulled the search for WI 06 athletes after the race and don't publish such things (besides, what kind of self-involved prick would care about a charity ranking? Besides me of course). What's important is the effort, right?

Okay, no more WI stuff. And no more excuses for my recent fusion to the couch and cheese. I'll start training again... this weekend. ;-)

Race report

So here’s the report. In case you’re wondering I made none of my time goals, but I held it together pretty well with most of the other ones (except the pics... they’re awful). I also placed really poorly in my age group, but I was okay with it—those girls were fast and weren’t messing around. Anyway--