Race review: Buffalo Wallow 6k

I’d better get this race review off my chest before I’m two behind, huh?

Last Saturday I dragged B and E, master of the marathon and 50k running partner, down to the Buffalo Wallow 6k. For $11 we got to run a chip-timed event on the 2003 collegiate XC championship course. There were awards 3 deep but we knew beforehand we stood no chance of getting them. Before I saw the course, my goal was initially to break 35:00. Then it was to break 34:00. Then it was to run 8:30 miles (not too hard for me on a track) to end up under 32:00. E and I drove down in my stinky truck, parked with almost an hour to race time, and headed to the course.

It looked familiar. It was the last place I’d done hill training; one week I did the whole workout and nearly puked and was thankful that the second time I saw those hills I was tapering for Wisconsin and therefore got to cut out early. These were serious hills. Sure, they weren’t long, but they were steep. And muddy.

I changed my goal to back to under 35:00.

E and I walked the course while she made fun of the layout; the course was marked on either side with orange flags, something I considered adequate since XC races are often marked with cones, flags, or spray paint. The race consisted of 3 2k loops with about 4 very steep hills and one gradual one. As we finished walking the course, B showed up. He too made fun of the course (hello? Didn’t anyone run cross country at any point in middle school or high school? Didn’t anyone go to at least one race in grade school or college? Geez.) and expressed surprise that we were getting chip timed. To be honest I was too; I’d missed that part on the race description.

Anyway, after a few mins of stretching and putting on our chips (“Where are the plastic ties to hold the chip on? Ohmygosh I have to untie my shoes to put it on?”) It was time for the Open race. I was surprised when there were only about 40 people there because there had been a lot more the year before. Oh well. The gun went off and so did those crazy runners! Through the mud, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill and whew! I was pooped. Only 30+ more minutes! B and I were pooped within the first quarter of the first loop. We chatted for a few minutes, and then he ran off to chase some skank who’d just passed me. I never caught him again and he beat me by just over a minute.

With B and the skank gone so quickly, I settled into what I thought was a quick pace. I had my new HRM on (to be reviewed later!) but didn’t have the foot pod calibrated for my pace yet so I couldn’t gauge my speed with the hills and mud. I wasn’t feeling great and cursed myself for not warming up. How many times do I have to learn this lesson? Sure, an IM has a built-in warmup of a swim, but a running race doesn’t. By the end of the first loop (11:24 back to the start line) I was sucking wind. Get my lap time, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill, check heart rate. 165. Not too bad. I continued on my way and got passed by a frail looking man with bad form and Bill, a thicker 30-34 yr old in a marathon finisher shirt. I tried to keep up with them but failed. This race wasn’t fun at all! I resolved that I had to pass at least one person in the second half of the race--it didn’t matter if it was someone with a broken leg or an 8 year old--it just had to be someone.

75% through my second lap I saw my track coach sporting a HRTC sweatshirt. “You look like you’re having fun, girl” he commented cheerily. No I didn’t. “Welcome to cross country.” I don’t know if it was having sufficiently warmed up, wanting to impress my coach, or realizing I only had one lap, but I kicked it in gear. By the end of the second lap (11:47) I had passed frail man and was breathing down Bill’s neck. Bill and I joked back and forth about how much we sucked through most of the third loop, but on the last hill I destroyed Bill and never looked back. It was all downhill from there, just a few minutes from the finish. I’d also passed another man and another boy in the third lap and had another boy in my sights. Roar!

It was all well and good til we saw the finish line. Bill was about 4 yards behind me when he started sprinting the last 300m in, passing me and my new target. I tried to sprint but couldn’t... I was looking at a pukefest if I sped up at all, and while that’s always a sign of a well-fought battle, I wasn’t inspired to prove my effort. I came in at 33:34 (8 seconds behind Bill! If you can kick like that you’re just not racing hard enough), a decent effort and just over 9:00 pace. Considering the hills and my lack of spikes, I was thrilled.

I didn’t snap any pictures. Sorry. Here are some stolen one from 2003 though (it wasn’t that muddy last Saturday):
The first hill:

No, my ass doesn't look like this. But the hill did!

These pictures snagged at http://www.fast-women.com/photos/usaxc03/index.html.

Afterward there was quite the surprise for me. Bottled water--cool. Bananas, oranges--better. Clif bars--superb. Kolaches--holy shit this is the best $11 I ever spent. B and I waited at the finish for E, who’s not as much into the speed running... especially considering she ran six miles before I picked her up. Why I’ll never understand. We ate, talked about how great of a time we had, and left after the Masters race began and before the awards ceremony.

So you can imagine my surprise when I found out I came in third. Sure, there were only 4 women in my age group, but there are also all those invisible entries who never even got out to the race. I’m happy. Besides, it was a great race, very cheap, and super fun. Hills are good for me, right?

Afterward I dropped E off and hit the Y for a power lifting session, my first one. It didn’t go well considering I pulled a muscle in my neck doing some back/tricep machine. I don’t care if I’m boring my acclimatized muscles--I’m sticking to my normal routine of lifting Monday and Wednesday and doing single side exercises on the weekend! After lifting I ran out to Memorial, did a loop, and ran back to the Y to give me about 14 miles for the day. Not too shabby. After peeking in the pool to look for K, I decided to go home and take a nap.

Funny story about my run. Saturday was the second time I used my HRM. As I left the Y, my HR crept up from 144 to 150, and I decided I’d stay there the entire run. Sometimes I ran faster. I stopped at red lights. I got water. Never ever did my HR move from 150. “Wow my ticker’s a consistent mofo” I thought. But as I headed home I got mad. I was pooped! This was way harder than it was when I started, and my HR should reflect that. I started doing sprints between telephone poles (bad idea). 150 HRM. This blasted thing doesn’t work!!

Then I realized I had it on avg hr the whole time. I clicked it over and my heart was chugging along at 157--no, now 156--like I’d expect from a sprint that wasn’t very sprinty. I’m an idiot.

Next stop: Surfside half marathon!

A nightmare

Last night I fell asleep thinking about my IM AZ marathon splits. Should I go out easier than last year? Could I really pull off a 4:40 marathon? It seemed doable on paper, especially since I'm about 7 miles ahead of myself from this time last year in terms of my long runs. Yes, I could do this...

I was on the run of some ironman somewhere. The Littlest Hoebag (TLH), my college roommate, and another friend had decided to race with me. I'd had a spectacular swim (1:03) and a decent bike for me (6:53). All I needed was a sub-5 hour marathon to break my goal time of 13 hours. It was all happening.

Around mile 16 I fell apart. TLH and this mystery friend forged ahead without me and I struggled to finish my second of three laps (Apparently this course was similar to the Great Floridian, which has an out-and-back before running three loops.) As I reached the beginning of this third lap at mile 20 my marathon time was 4:52. I had to be on my third lap by 5 hours even, so things were looking good--until I reached some volunteer at the third loop start. "Sorry" he sighed. "You missed the cutoff time. I'm afraid you can't continue." I was one livid little girl--this lazy S.O.B. just didn't want to volunteer and that's why he was making me quit 8 minutes before I had to(You get to know these things when it's your dream. Did I mention said volunteer looked a lot like Topher Grace?). Indeed, a group of three others had taken him at his word and walked off the course (though they didn't seem too upset). After fighting for 3 minutes with this guy he finally let me through, and I got through the loop in under an hour to finish in 13:43. As I went through the finishers area (which was kind of like a house party with lots of models in bikinis... crazy. It also had two full size pools--like Keating Natatorium set up for short course if you're a Cinci swimmer), I found an official to lay into about this crappy volunteer. He listened attentively then said, "Well he let you finish, didn't he?" Roar! I was furious.

I woke up sweaty with a sour stomach. How awful!

Interestingly enough, in real life some folks were also turned away after finishing the bike leg of the Great Floridian in 2005 (I think it was the total bike cutoff time, not the cutoff for the second loop. Since I wasn't stopped I'm not sure). We'd started 30 minutes late because the race officials refused to start with about 3 parked cars in the parking lot that we biked into and out of. After waiting around with their thumbs up their asses, they finally let us start. The cars never moved the entire race. Anyway, the city of Clermont refused to extend the road closures 30 minutes to give the racers the same elapsed time cutoffs, and as folks came in from the bike they were told they could not continue. What sucks is they had the time wrong by about 15 minutes (I was perilously close to not being allowed to continue though I'd beaten the original elapsed time cutoff by almost an hour. Good thing that didn't happen to me or someone would have lost his eyeballs.) AND once off the bike there was no danger to the racers since we were running on pretty desolate streets.

Man that race sucked. They ran out of water, volunteers abandoned their posts (and took all the nutrition and cups with them), and much of the run course was dark. But hey, at least I had exactly 8 fewer flats than this guy, right? Besides, I was the 2005 USAT national long distance runner-up for the 19-24 chicks. There's a silver lining.

Speaking of ironmen, this morning some BMW was being impatient behind me, switching lanes and driving aggressively. As he passed me I noticed he had a "140.6" sticker on his car.

If you have one of these on your vehicle, you might consider scraping it off. Why?
1) No one knows what the heck it stands for,
2) If they do know there's a 60% chance they're not impressed because they've done it too, and
3) Can you think of a more pretentious way to announce your ironmanliness? Oh please. If you must, stick the free "FORD IRONMAN FINISHER" sticker--or even an m-dot!-- on your bumper and move on with life. I don't want to detract from the greatness of the IM accomplishment, but you gotta be careful with the presentation: after all, isn't it bad enough you're sporting a nice butt, toned (and shaved?) legs, and killer abs? Enough already!

I apologize if you're sporting the 140.6, but that doesn't stop my disliking them. How 'bout an "I brake for bikers" or "Share the Road" bumper sticker instead?

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--

The Swim

The course: two loop, wade start. The day before I’d hesitated mightily to get in the water, but found I was being silly—despite the chilly air, the lake was very comfortable, almost warm. The water wasn’t especially clear or cloudy, just a normal lake. Like I mentioned yesterday, I don’t care much for double loops, but the water itself was a-okay with me. On race day I found George and Ben on my way to the water, and we laughed and joked while we waded out to the start. It was relaxed, fun--like college but with wetsuits and better bodies. I opted to start about 10 feet in front of them, and we started drifting apart. We wished each other luck and I tried to put my game face on.

I like to start swims on the front line and out to the side; it’s worked for me so far in these things. The canon boomed and the melee began. I’m used to getting the “swim beating” for about 5-10 minutes, then having the place clear out for the most part. While I started this race in the same spot, I never cleared the water traffic. Most of the thrashing and punching was accidental, but it never seems that way when you’re the one who was punched in the face. There are people who do that crap on purpose, and I’m ashamed to say it occurred to me at one point to deliver a well-timed jab. Of course, my jabs wouldn’t be well timed, and my one attempt to intentionally push someone ended up reaching only water. I took it as a sign I wasn’t meant to be a swim brutalizer and should just keep moving.

At the first turnaround buoy the water got rougher. Since I haven’t open water raced since June I forgot that you can’t take your breaths for granted, and this is especially true in choppy water. I tried to keep my cool, swim straight, and work with the waves, but I had a sinking feeling my swim would be bad. The second loop was more of the same: struggling bodies and waves. I emerged from the water at 1:09:42, 4 minutes after my original (silly) goal. While this isn't a time to be proud of, I did beat 2 female pros-- kinda cool.

T1

Though my time doesn’t show it (7:45) I had a great Mishele T1. I got my wetsuit stripped by an efficient stripper (tee hee), got my stuff together, thanked at least 3 people for their help, and headed out. What took so long? Running up that parking helix, running into the building, then running down a very long transition. Again, I lucked out because my bike was right near the mount line, so my time should have been way worse. I really liked changing indoors because the carpet was so warm and soft under my bare feet; it was also nice knowing my clothes weren’t getting soaked in the rain, which came later. The only bad thing I guess I’d add is my cap got lost in the shuffle, and I really like the IM caps b/c they’re the original small Speedo ones--the best for training unless you have 12 feet of hair to tuck under that cap. Oh well... no sense in lamenting over a $1.50 cap that I got for free.

The Bike

The bike started by riding down another parking helix, which was way funner than running up one. I felt really good but was determined to go very easy til the second loop. Despite my efforts I was riding really fast for me, and I can only assume it was a tailwind helping me along. The drizzle that had begun when I got on the bike never let up, but it was still feeling like a beautiful day. I decided I’d be positive for the first 60 miles no matter how I felt; if I could do that, I could endure another 52 with some semblance of joy. So yeah, the ride out was fast and lots of people passed me, as always. I kept waiting for George and Ben to whoosh by since they are both strong cyclists, and finally Ben pulled alongside me at mile 24.9 (couldn’t he have waited til 25? Sigh). I saw him again at 30 because he stopped to pee. We chatted about the upcoming “hilly part” (funny because a lot of it is hilly) and I told Ben I had yet to see George... strange. He continued on his badass way and two hills later I met up with George. I never saw the two again til the run where they were kicking some serious Ironman booty--it was very inspiring. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The course was as hilly as it had been the day before (I hit a new high speed of 42.8 mph-- while braking!), though it was a bit less scenic due to the dreary weather. Still, it was a nice trip out to the country, and locals lined the roads with cow bells, radios, and lots of enthusiastic cheering. At the top of one especially long hill there was even a guy handing out sausages, and while I knew it was a bad idea I simply couldn’t resist. That sausage tasted so good! I also got lucky and didn’t suffer any consequences for letting my bravado control my nutrition. Speaking of nutrition, I did okay with the eating on the bike, but wasn’t very thirsty; when I stopped at 56 and 80 miles to pee what seemed like gallons, I finally decided that I wasn’t drinking unless I was thirsty for the rest of the ride.

At mile 62 my back started to feel crummy. It was unexpected since it normally doesn’t bother me too much, but I was hardly surprised--it’s an ironman, right? Earlier in the day I’d grinned at the thought of getting a “hard” race to do: rain, cool weather, and a tough course. It would be a day I’d have to earn my stripes. By my pit stop at 80 I wasn’t feeling the challenge, but I was lucky to still be riding... All day ambulances screamed down the road with regularity. Chilling, especially when I thought how it could just as easily be me skidding off the road with my numb hands and feet controlling my ride.

Though I hadn’t worked hard in the first loop at all, I barely survived the second one. The wind picked up and my emotions went all crazy-haywire, and it was with great relief that I turned to head back to T2. In the last 5 miles about 30 people passed me, but I my ego wasn't engaged enough to try to stick with them. Finally I got to the parking garage helix I would have to ride up; I wondered briefly if anyone had walked up it so that I'd be excused if I had to. I thought it would totally suck riding up that thing, but there was no wind or rain on most of the ramp, which was really all that came to my mind when I got to climbing. Finally, I dismounted (clumsily) and gratefully met an indoor T2 after 7:33:06 in the saddle.

T2

I ran into the building, got my bike to run bag, and hit the ladies changing room. Then I started to cry because that’s what I do. After about 10 seconds I got hold of myself, but didn’t make much progress changing with my cold fingers. About that time a volunteer came over to help me put on my clothes. I felt like so helpless and lame before her--and grateful for her help. While we negotiated my running top and mittens she told me with a touch of worry that her son was still on the bike course. Let me pause to say how much I love people who will sacrifice the 7 seconds they’ll see their loved one at some point on the course just to volunteer to help miserable strangers like me--I’d truly have been a mess without her. I hope her son finished okay.

The Run

The run
Out of T2 (a sluggish 10:06) I started worrying about my time, but what could I do? I was going as hard as I could. As I left Monona I watched the winner come through the chute, which strangely inspired the thought, “26.2 miles isn’t that far.” Clearly I’m on drugs. I shuffled along for a few miles, seeing George and Ben going the other direction and looking pretty cheerful. I got excited; having friends on the course is really nice, and though I didn’t like the out-and-back format, it allowed me to see my buds twice each despite their awesome performances (George finished in 11:45 and Ben in 13:30!).

The only reason I got through the run in less than 6 hours is because of Diane from Chicago. We met walking up a hill around mile 5 (where she’d already made up over 5 minutes on me). We chatted and I decided to shed my lazy pace to stay with her. At mile 8 I started slowing down again and thanked her for running with me, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Running is like dating,” she replied. “You just gotta make sacrifices.” We slowed a little but stayed together. Later when she started feeling like dog poop, I was more than willing to walk for a bit... even so, she definitely sacrificed minutes of her time to stay with me. Our time was slower than we both wanted but I was grateful to share the experience with someone.

The run was basically cold and dark and nothing earth shattering happened. Things of note could be running on the UW football field and my extreme chafing that would have forced me to take off my shorts had I been wearing underwear, but neither truly stuck out in my mind. Ultimately it was a long, slow 26.2.

I was so relieved to finish. I’d picked it up at mile 25 but when I made my last turn my heart sank a bit. In front of me was a man running with his small son to the finish, and I thought I’d have to walk across the line since there was no way I was ruining their moment just to knock a few seconds off my time by passing them. I jogged behind them for a few seconds, then realized we were just getting to the 13.1 turnaround--the finish was still beyond! I carefully passed them and crossed the line with a 5:25:22 marathon.

The Aftermath

At the finish they always hold up a banner for you to cross to make your moment and picture that much cooler, but I always feel silly; my photo shows this with my rolled/half closed eyes and drunken smile on my face (at 14:26:01). Diane crossed a few seconds later, and we thanked each other for the run company. I got my medal, bag, etc (and got to keep my timing chip bracelet thingy, which was cool and unexpected) and met with my roommate. Did I cry? NO! I didn’t do lots of things well this race but I did do that. After snagging some pizza/Diet Coke we headed to the car. That basically ended the glamorous part of the night... I went home to really bad chafing and lots of wet stinky clothes. Roomie was great about dropping off my bike with Tribike Transport and general assistance with my junk, which made this trip a lot easier than Arizona. Friends are nice to have around.

Overall, Wisconsin was many times harder than Arizona--the weather, the hills, and the lines. Maybe it’s not fair to compare the larger IM WI to IM AZ, but I just wasn’t impressed with the former’s facilities or organization... one day once I’ve gotten to all the North American Ironman races I’ll have a better sample to compare this place to. And though I swore on Monday I’d never be back to IM in Madison again, I knew I was lying; I’ll be back for this course, just not next year. Heh, maybe I’ll wait til I move somewhere with a fall, winter, and hills before I do so, but I’ll be back. And I’m bringing arm warmers! :-)

Wisconsin: the second state in the Union in which I refuse to live

Hey! I’m alive... barely. My race--the whole trip--did not go as planned, but I made it. I had a nice little race report on my laptop last night, but managed to run out of batteries while insisting on not saving; you’re going to have to wait a day to hear about the race. But you can hear about the pre-race activities and my overall impressions of Madison, Ironman WI, and the great cheese state itself. Neat, huh?

I arrived in Milwaukee on Friday morning to dry weather and the mid 70s. I shivered getting off the plane. My roommate and I got our luggage, hopped in the rental, and drove the 75 or so minutes to Madison. Before we entered Monona Terrace in Madison so that I could register, we were definitely in the top 5% of the thinnest people in the state. Wisconsin seems quite, um, pale and heavyset. Once we walked into Monona Terrace, however, we became just about the fattest people in view. Of course, we’re kind of used to that at these races. We found a restroom, then hopped in a reeediculously long line for registration. While stuck in the line for about 1/2 hour (til we got a sheet of paper, then moved to another reeediculously long line), we were subjected to the conversations of those around us.

I’m not sure I’ve made this as clear as I could, but I utterly dislike Ironmen. And their conversations in line. So, roomie and I made fun of the jerks around us (and those wretched WI accents) for a good 90 minutes before I finally got my wristband and freedom. Next we went up to Inside Out Sports to buy some CO2 cartridges and look around (and stand in another unbefreakinglievably long line). After that we headed to the expo, which was the worst expo ever. PowerBar wasn’t even there, and Clif wasn’t handing out packets of their drinks, only teensy samples. I was annoyed; here I was, wasting a day of vacation, paying for parking, and did I get to score some recovery drink powder samples? Heck no. After I checked in for the Janus Charity Challenge (I raised over $5600! Thanks to everyone who donated! There’ll be a special party in heaven for you!), we headed down to pick up my bike from TriBike Transport--who, by the way, I’d recommend 100 times over. Very friendly, very easy, and I got a free Headsweats visor. Woohoo!

The rest of Friday was spent unpacking, eating dinner with friends, and organizing my crap for what looked like a chilly race day. The prediction: 62 with 30% chance of rain. 30% isn’t much, right? Right. So it was okay I didn’t look for arm warmers til Saturday when they were sold out all over the city because 30% rounds down to 0, and if it did rain even 30% of the day, it’d only be 7.2 hours. Right? Right.

Wrong... but that’s another story. Onto Saturday. I got up (alone... my roommate stayed out with his college buddies), ran and rode around the hotel, then headed back to Monona for a quick dip in the lake. The water was warm, and my swim out was smooth and quick; the current was obviously pushing me along. I decided to cross the swim course and head back so that I could feel the water from every angle I would the next day. When crossing the course I got pummeled. Crushed. The waves were rocking and punching, but when I turned to finally head back I was greeted with an easy swim again. I could handle the thin sections of the course being rough, I thought. After my swim I ran into George and Ben at the expo/transition (I was on a rack right next to the pros and with only 3 bikes! How awesome!), and we hung around and decided to drive the bike course together in the afternoon. We parted ways, I farted around the next few hours, then met up with the guys again to see what I’d be facing on two wheels on Sunday.

I mentioned last post I’d watched Simply Stu’s videos of the course. Due to the speed required to get the entire thing in 30 mintues, the bike one is not representative of the actual course--even though it is the actual course. I'd advise driving the course before deciding what you can actually do on race day. George and I got the Basically Ben tour from our favorite local, which gave us insights into when to eat, what corners to watch, what roads were crappy (think ~80 miles of them... grr), what hills were tough. I knew my goals were screwed by the time I dropped them off--the swim was looking to be choppy, the bike challenging, and the run boring. This wasn’t a PR race situation, but I tried to stay positive; after all, I wasn’t even at the starting line and I disliked the race site, avoided most other competitors, and feared the wretched weather. If I kept being Negative Nellie I wasn’t going to finish.

But I did finish--in 14:26:01. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. My original goal was 13:40 or so, and my during-the-race goal was to break 15 hours. I landed somewhere in the middle, and that’s okay. Maybe if I’d gotten my dry 90 degree day rather than the upper 50s with constant rain I could have done all I’d hoped for. As it was, I did my best. Am I embarrassed? A little, but only at my time. I couldn’t ask for anything more from my body, nor could I have trained any better (well, except maybe that weight training regimen... next year!).

Now I’ll skip to my impressions of the race. I hated it. The swim is a two loop course, and while you don’t have to actually get out and run on the beach after your first loop, I don’t like double loops. They’re too congested. The bike course had a lot of turns and a lot of bumpy roads, and my crotch would like to personally give the finger to whoever planned the course. The run is dull dull dull--out and back twice over an uninspiring, but largely contained, path. I mentioned the long lines, the lame expo, and the parking... we had to pay for parking every damn time we were in town, including race day. Honestly, for $450 I can’t get one freaking day of free parking? I have to send my friend hither and thither to get the car so I don’t collapse after the race? You stink, Ironman Wisconsin. You’re a not-as-good-as-you-should-be race. And Madison? It’s about as big as an almond. The hotels aren’t as close to the race site as I’d expected and there’s not a lot to look at there; I don’t know why this was such a shock to me but it was. I’d cut off a toe before I moved there, though there were some yummy restaurants, pretty town square, and cute college kids (if you could ignore that accent...*shudder*).

Yet despite my strong disappointment and my pledge to not do an ironman next year ("law school"), I had to resist registering for the 2007 race on Monday morning. I couldn’t help it--I wanted to do better on a challenging course. I wanted to be in that selective group again that got to compete in IM WI. It was my pride speaking, not my heart--and haven’t I listened to that enough?

I don’t want to sound bitter about the race, so let me go through the positives. The crowds on the bike course are great, as are the volunteers. While I could have done without the sausage my pride forced me to accept at the top of one hill--and I definitely didn’t need to be peer pressured into running up one hill instead of staying seated--the people added that spark that is essential at an ironman. The bike was challenging but pretty (if it hadn’t been raining and folks hadn’t been crashing or spitting mud from their tires straight to my face). The run was also nicely contained and allowed family and friends to watch at the turnaround/start/finish as well as the halfway turnaround at mile 6-7 and 20-21. It was also pretty flat, which I definitely needed. Finally, it was nice to be able to ask for directions from people and to not get honked at when I failed to pay attention to traffic lights turning green; Wisconsin isn't all bad. See? I’m not totally negative.

I’m off to swim--and I’m actually excited about it! Woo hoo!

Ironman Wisconsin: will she be my, um witch?

I have a number (I’m 45!! Don’t ask me why I’m 2000 lower and the only non-consecutive number of the W18-24s). It’s 5 days away. It’s time to reveal some goals.

As always with these races, my hopes and dreams are tiered. Here they are in increasing order of difficulty:

1) Finish (of course)
2) Finish in under 17 hours-- to be official
3) Finish in under 14 hours
-- Swim of 1:05:xx (previous swim was a 1:06:12, but I did a crappy job sighting)
-- T1 under 6:00 (previous T1 of 6:28, but I have new sock-less cycling shoes and am swimming in my cycling stuff)
-- Bike at 15.1 mph/under 7:30 (previous bike was 15.1 and 7:25:06. This course is hillier but I’m 13% more of a badass on my sweet new ride and serious biking legs)
-- T2 under 7:00 (previous was 9:04, but that’s because I was brain dead)
-- Run at 10:58 pace or 4:48 marathon (previous was 11:09 pace and 4:52:30
-- Total time: under 13:40:00
This is a reasonable though still challenging goal. And I’m down with reasonable.

4) Finish in under 13 hours (Superchick goal)
-- Swim of 1:04
-- T1 under 6:00 (no need to get carried away here… I still have a wetsuit to take off and a fair distance to jog)
--Bike first lap in 15.7 and second at 16.0 mph for a time of 7:04
-- T2 under 6:00
-- Run at 10:40 pace for 4:40 marathon
-- Total time: under 12:59:59
Sub goal: if I break 13:00, I’m going to try hard not to soil myself in disbelief at the finish
5) Finish in top 8 (top 20%) of my age group. I don’t have much control over this one since I probably can’t convince any of the girls to slow down. Still, a good (and lofty) goal.

I’m really afraid of this race, and I keep thinking my goals are too challenging; I think I might be afraid to set the bar high enough so that it’s really a challenge. And I’ve only done this twice before with VERY varying results--how can I be sure I can do this? And what if I DO break 13? The implications are too much to consider, though fortunately it will be very difficult to do.

Anyway. I also have some quality goals--not independent of the times above, but certainly distinctive enough to merit their own section:

1) Holy crap you bonehead, get your bike nutrition executed. I’ve never done this one (and I’m just a little bitter about it), so now’s a good time to start. This could be the reason I’m so slow in the saddle, eh? I pledge to drink a bottle of fluid an hour, take a salt tablet every half hour, and try to eat every 30-45 minutes, depending on how the tummy’s faring.
2) Negative split my ride. If I take it easy on the first lap like I’m supposed to, this is a very real possibility. Scary!
3) Don’t walk any hills on the bike. While at first I thought this would be difficult, after seeing the course video on Simply Stu’s site I’m feeling a lot better about being able to keep my butt glued to my saddle the entire time.
4) Don’t go out too hard the first 10 miles of the run. Easier said than done, especially when “hard” is still relatively slow.
5) Don’t finish so fast that I catch someone at the end of the race, making my picture at the finish line suck due to the overzealous turd in front of me. Is it wrong to call someone a turd for being “too excited” for finishing an Ironman? Well I’m doing it anyway.

And here are some non-athletic goals that I’m also aspiring to achieve, in no particular order:
1) Do not lose my bike in transition
2) Don’t look like I’m drunk or high in my finisher’s pic
3) Find the cameramen on the course and smile! Never mind I feel absurd doing so--it’s important for my legacy (ha).
4) Do not cry at the finish line
5) Enjoy the visit with some awesome college pals: hero George, pledge daughter Adrienne, and genius Ben (who’s doing his first IM)
6) Snag an unbelievable amount of samples of powerbar’s electrolyte drink and clif’s recovery drink. Okay, also attempt to score the powerbar recovery stuff and the clif electrolyte stuff... beggars can’t be choosers.
7) Be nice to C
8) Look for a $370 bill on the ground so I can make my fundraising goal


Okay, I think that’s enough. If you want to watch me finish on Sunday or want to follow my progress just type in 45 for bib number or my last name here under “The Latest” in the upper right corner. If Arizona was any indication I’ll start to cry every time I think of you folks watching—which happened to be at every single timing pad on the course. I’m a sucker for support, especially when I’m exhausted and hormonally unbalanced.

See ya later!