Life is full of decisions. Some easy some not. My husband came home from a ride with his crew of crazy fellow bike enthusiasts, and put forth the question, "Since we're not doing California anymore, do you want to do Smith Mountain with our friends instead?" I, as always warily asked, "When is it?". It winds up being the weekend we were leaving for Spring Break.
Since our whole California adventure was nixed, we have decided to go to Florida and hit Universal Studios up instead. It should be fun, and we had planned on leaving the Friday the girls got out of school. Turns out the race is on Saturday. So we would have to leave on Sunday. Seeing the indecision in my eyes, he threw in the laundry list of who would be there. Of course I LOVE the people mentioned. They are more fun then a barrel full of monkeys, not the Midlothian kind mind you, to hang out with. We all banter and have fun, it is a genuinely good time. Still, it's Spring Break, the kids are sort of smarting from not being able to go to California and doing everything we planned there, although Florida was an acceptable substitute for them, and I wanted to be home for Easter. Plus we have tickets to the Frozen Four the Saturday before Easter. What to do, what to do? Brad still, sensing my indecision tosses one more bone out for me, Deb is letting us take the Magic Bus and Jim is making a trailer for it for our bikes...The Magic Bus was the best part of the Bear Creek 10 miler we ran how many freezing weekends ago? A bunch of adults crammed into a day care bus with food and drink galore. It was more fun then I remember being allowed to have on a bus. And the driver was a nice lady to boot!
So there's the rub, what to do, what to do? I thought about it a bunch yesterday. Brad tried to ply me with it's only a 300 meter swim, it's only a 12 mile ride, it's only a 5k run. You could do that with your eyes closed. Yeah, my eyes closed as I am being carried away on a gurney by some nice paramedics who found me passed out on the side of the road. Could I do it, absolutely, do I want to? Well duh, what's the name of my blog? It's not Dee-the-triathlete-that-does-every-triathlon-willingly-triathlete or Dee-the-rush-into-every-tri-with-a-happy-heart-triathlete. it's Dee-thereluctanttriathlete. I have a name and image to live up to or I would have to change my blog name. Then where would I be? Doing more triathlons then I should, with a happy heart, and having nothing to write about so the frustrated writer in me would be extremely unhappy...Then what would I name my blog???
Ack! That would lead me to another decision I just don't want to have to make. My life is full of too many decisions, now what was I trying to decide on again??
Monday, March 9, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A great, big swim clinic, salsa dancing, and an almost disastrous 3 miler
This past weekend was a busy one for me. We virtually never have plans, but this weekend was perfect storm of activities for us. It was my husband's birthday on Friday. We went out to dinner. A place named Texas de Brazil. We had heard nothing but stellar things about this restaurant, a sort of steak house with this gourmet 21 item salad bar with everything from seared tuna, to Italian cold cuts. Then there are these guys dressed as Gauchos carrying spits of chicken, ribs, sausage, filet Mignon, Parmesan encrusted pork, a veritable meat lovers paradise and PETA nightmare for sure, to your table, slicing the meats fresh from the fire onto your plate. Anyway, it is supposed to be so fabulous, that we decided to go. I guess with such high expectations being let down shouldn't have been a surprise. They didn't have the tuna I had heard only amazing things about on the salad bar, the sushi was terrible, the rice was crunchy and undercooked, the fish in it flavorless. The Lobster bisque was really good though, I will give that props, and the prosciutto which was sliced whisper thing, just perfect! Our waitress was the absolute pits. I cannot tell you how poor our service was. I heard the wait staff at tables around us and was disappointed we got such a dud. She made no offer of sauces for our meats, like the other staff members did for our neighboring tables, it was difficult to get her attention or to have her come back in a timely manner.
The gauchos were fantastic, very attentive. My husband tried the sausage, lamb chop, which he said tasted blech, a chunk of flank steak, a piece of chicken breast wrapped in bacon, ribs and his favorite the Parmesan encrusted pork. I had ribs, which usually I love, but liked so little here I barely ate one of them, a piece of the Parmesan encrusted pork, which was good, a bit of steak, literally they shaved a small slice off and gave my husband a six ounce serving at least, that was too heavily seasoned with salt for me, a bit of the chicken with bacon which I cut in half and gave the other half to my husband, and I decided I was done. To my disappointment the filet mignon, which I was really looking forward to, never made it around to me, then after my plate was taken away, out comes a gaucho with, what else, the filet mignon. I liked the salads I had made, I had two servings of them and my half bowl of the lobster bisque that I was filled up on that.
At the beginning of our meal our disappointment of a server asked whose birthday it was because she was supposed to bring a slice of cake with a candle in it, which never happened. But I did order the creme brulee, which was another disappointment. I am a creme brulee fanatic, the dense creaminess, the crunch and bite of the burnt sugar carmelization. There was barely a sugar crust and the custard was almost whipped in texture. No denseness, no creaminess, just fluffiness that was oddly out of place in a creme brulee. I will have to mention that the company was to die for though. Definitely the high point of my evening.
On to Saturday. My husband signed us up for The Great Big Swim Clinic. It was three hours of learning what a horrible swimmer you were. I liked the underwater swim analysis, I learned that essentially, I suck as a swimmer and am incredibly inefficient! And let me tell you the guy who critiqued us, whose credentials are without a doubt most impressive, was brutal! I did get him to laugh though before he was done critiquing me, or letting me critique myself. His catch phrase after all was said and done was "At least my stomach looks flat" because after I was done beating my swimming to death on the video of me, I had to finish with something nice or I would have been crying. So I piped up with "but my stomach looks flat, so there's something good right?" At first, the swim instructor, I mean this guy has a swimming pedigree like a Grand Champion in the Westminster Dog Show, looked at me like I was a dope, but then his dour and business like face cracked into this grin and he had to chuckle. I kept checking in as we rotated through stations to see how we were all doing and if anyone had good form in his eyes. He said No, but some of us did have flat stomachs and that's all that mattered. Then I had to laugh, because I was taking a beating ego wise as I kept hearing all the things I needed to change, his little bit of humor got me smiling and ready to go get beat up some more. All of the instructors were truly amazing, but there was so much to remember! And trying to put it all together is going to be nothing short of a miracle for me. I keep trying to pick one of the many things I am doing wrong to concentrate on, but like I said, there are just so many things that I am not doing right, I don't even know where to start!! Then trying to do it all together, ugh, I am totally overwhelmed by it all. Here I thought I actually was at least a mediocre swimmer. I am a legend in my own eyes!
Okay done in the pool, time to shower, dress and get over to the dance studio where we were invited to a salsa/swing dance party for two hours followed by dinner with our friends. I have to say, salsa dancing is tough. To see all of our triathlete friends trying to salsa dance, when a majority of them had done Ironman Triathlons, and the pained expression on their faces. Surely this wasn't as tough as an Ironman was it?? But we managed, after some beer, Patron Gold and munchies to muddle our way through, all the while laughing at ourselves and teasing each other, and having a really good time. The two hours flew by, it went way faster to me then the three hour swim clinic we were just at and off to a Vietnamese restaurant with the 9 other couples we had just danced with.
Conversation was lively, the food fantastic. I had never had Vietnamese cuisine before so it was a real treat. I got thinking that we had that 3 miler in the morning and decided that abstaining from the Damnation beer everyone was chatting about with it's 14% alcoholic content was in my better interest. It was supposed to be ugly in the morning and I told Brad, if it is 35 and raining, like it was forecast to be, don't wake me up. Our evening ended around 10, all of us agreeing we needed to get together again very soon, and out to our cars in the pouring down, very cold 34 degree rain we trudged. I was fairly convinced I wouldn't be getting my morning wake up call for the race.
Tap, tap, tap...Hi honey, are you going to run this morning? I crack open one eye and start to try and focus my world around me. Hmmmm, am I going to go? My stomach feels queasy, not nice. Why I wonder. I didn't drink but a beer last night, made sure it wasn't dark to avoid any headache issues, but my stomach was lurching around like a kid playing blind man's bluff who is it. I stayed in bed while my husband showered, yes he showers before and after he races, can you say Howard Hughes?? Swing my legs over the edge of the bed, put my feet on the floor and hoist myself up. There, that's a little better. I guess I feel okay. I sort of drag myself through things getting ready and I decide to go. I don't know why, I really don't feel all that great. Maybe trying a new food before a race wasn't a good idea. I do love trying new stuff though, what we ordered only one dish was semi-spicy and differently spiced then what I am used to eating. Brad finally admits on his way there that he feels not so great too. I will not go into the undignified details of what happened to me when we got to the race after packet pick up, it wasn't the worst thing, but definitely not the best way for my innards to react before a race. So I get back to the car and complain about how miserable I am. I keep lamenting the fact that I am going to get killed in this, a RRRC sponsored race where everyone there is a pure runner and that's all they do. Brad pipes up trying to make me feel better, you will beat that old lady in purple there. Then there was a man, with a really red face and a snow white beard and snow white hair sticking up everywhere, who comes walking out of packet pick up just then that I point out looks like a howler monkey or a macaque or some other simian, and Brad tells me I will definitely beat the Midlothian Monkey.
Strange, if I am remembering correctly, I told my husband to not to wake me up if it was 35 degrees and raining. There I am, standing with 150 other people waiting for them to yell start in 34 degree weather and misting. OHHHH! That's different then 35 degrees and raining. Now I know why he woke me up! Anyway, they yell go, and off we go. I am tra-la-laing along, feeling sort of miserable and at mile two of this delightful three miler, my stomach starts to do all sorts of goofy things. I sprinted ahead to a place on the trail where no one can see me and worry about what might come flying out of me. I start walk/jogging again and another wave of stomach yuck hits. It's cramping, and queasy and just plain awful. I slow down, a lot, and wait for the yuck to pass. It does and I see I am pretty close to the end. Maybe 600 meters, so I pick it up a little, then a lot when I see the finish is actually near the tennis courts as opposed to out in the parking lots where I think they are. Yay! That's wayyy closer! I hear a pack of kids, and yes they were kids from a nearby school behind me, and since it wasn't a chip start I figured it would be a cluster F**k at the finish trying to note every one's bib numbers there if I let them pass me, so I run faster, my final kick and hoof it to get to the finish like. It took me 27 minutes to run :( I think I was getting lapped by old ladies with walkers but whatever. I am done. I find my husband, get my perfunctory bottle of free water, look for a bagel but they have donuts instead, grab a plain cakey one hoping to settle my tummy, meet a very nice running friend of my husband, look at Brad and say, take me home. I came in fifth in my age group and 96th out of 150. Those weren't old ladies in walkers whizzing past me, that was the old grape lady in and the Midlothian Monkey, both of whom beat me. Oh the indignity...
Serves Brad right to wake me up and run in that weather. He was so looking forward to races in his new age group, 45 to skeleton in shoes, and even though he ran a blistering 20 minute 3 miler, he came in 6th in his new age group. He would have come in fourth if he decided to do the Peter Pan thing and never grow up. Aging up is usually a good thing, it's how I plan on getting on the podium someday :) Not so good with these mid-life men looking for their fountain of youth.
I went home, showered, put on my sweats and rested the rest of my day. They rest, as they say, is history...
The gauchos were fantastic, very attentive. My husband tried the sausage, lamb chop, which he said tasted blech, a chunk of flank steak, a piece of chicken breast wrapped in bacon, ribs and his favorite the Parmesan encrusted pork. I had ribs, which usually I love, but liked so little here I barely ate one of them, a piece of the Parmesan encrusted pork, which was good, a bit of steak, literally they shaved a small slice off and gave my husband a six ounce serving at least, that was too heavily seasoned with salt for me, a bit of the chicken with bacon which I cut in half and gave the other half to my husband, and I decided I was done. To my disappointment the filet mignon, which I was really looking forward to, never made it around to me, then after my plate was taken away, out comes a gaucho with, what else, the filet mignon. I liked the salads I had made, I had two servings of them and my half bowl of the lobster bisque that I was filled up on that.
At the beginning of our meal our disappointment of a server asked whose birthday it was because she was supposed to bring a slice of cake with a candle in it, which never happened. But I did order the creme brulee, which was another disappointment. I am a creme brulee fanatic, the dense creaminess, the crunch and bite of the burnt sugar carmelization. There was barely a sugar crust and the custard was almost whipped in texture. No denseness, no creaminess, just fluffiness that was oddly out of place in a creme brulee. I will have to mention that the company was to die for though. Definitely the high point of my evening.
On to Saturday. My husband signed us up for The Great Big Swim Clinic. It was three hours of learning what a horrible swimmer you were. I liked the underwater swim analysis, I learned that essentially, I suck as a swimmer and am incredibly inefficient! And let me tell you the guy who critiqued us, whose credentials are without a doubt most impressive, was brutal! I did get him to laugh though before he was done critiquing me, or letting me critique myself. His catch phrase after all was said and done was "At least my stomach looks flat" because after I was done beating my swimming to death on the video of me, I had to finish with something nice or I would have been crying. So I piped up with "but my stomach looks flat, so there's something good right?" At first, the swim instructor, I mean this guy has a swimming pedigree like a Grand Champion in the Westminster Dog Show, looked at me like I was a dope, but then his dour and business like face cracked into this grin and he had to chuckle. I kept checking in as we rotated through stations to see how we were all doing and if anyone had good form in his eyes. He said No, but some of us did have flat stomachs and that's all that mattered. Then I had to laugh, because I was taking a beating ego wise as I kept hearing all the things I needed to change, his little bit of humor got me smiling and ready to go get beat up some more. All of the instructors were truly amazing, but there was so much to remember! And trying to put it all together is going to be nothing short of a miracle for me. I keep trying to pick one of the many things I am doing wrong to concentrate on, but like I said, there are just so many things that I am not doing right, I don't even know where to start!! Then trying to do it all together, ugh, I am totally overwhelmed by it all. Here I thought I actually was at least a mediocre swimmer. I am a legend in my own eyes!
Okay done in the pool, time to shower, dress and get over to the dance studio where we were invited to a salsa/swing dance party for two hours followed by dinner with our friends. I have to say, salsa dancing is tough. To see all of our triathlete friends trying to salsa dance, when a majority of them had done Ironman Triathlons, and the pained expression on their faces. Surely this wasn't as tough as an Ironman was it?? But we managed, after some beer, Patron Gold and munchies to muddle our way through, all the while laughing at ourselves and teasing each other, and having a really good time. The two hours flew by, it went way faster to me then the three hour swim clinic we were just at and off to a Vietnamese restaurant with the 9 other couples we had just danced with.
Conversation was lively, the food fantastic. I had never had Vietnamese cuisine before so it was a real treat. I got thinking that we had that 3 miler in the morning and decided that abstaining from the Damnation beer everyone was chatting about with it's 14% alcoholic content was in my better interest. It was supposed to be ugly in the morning and I told Brad, if it is 35 and raining, like it was forecast to be, don't wake me up. Our evening ended around 10, all of us agreeing we needed to get together again very soon, and out to our cars in the pouring down, very cold 34 degree rain we trudged. I was fairly convinced I wouldn't be getting my morning wake up call for the race.
Tap, tap, tap...Hi honey, are you going to run this morning? I crack open one eye and start to try and focus my world around me. Hmmmm, am I going to go? My stomach feels queasy, not nice. Why I wonder. I didn't drink but a beer last night, made sure it wasn't dark to avoid any headache issues, but my stomach was lurching around like a kid playing blind man's bluff who is it. I stayed in bed while my husband showered, yes he showers before and after he races, can you say Howard Hughes?? Swing my legs over the edge of the bed, put my feet on the floor and hoist myself up. There, that's a little better. I guess I feel okay. I sort of drag myself through things getting ready and I decide to go. I don't know why, I really don't feel all that great. Maybe trying a new food before a race wasn't a good idea. I do love trying new stuff though, what we ordered only one dish was semi-spicy and differently spiced then what I am used to eating. Brad finally admits on his way there that he feels not so great too. I will not go into the undignified details of what happened to me when we got to the race after packet pick up, it wasn't the worst thing, but definitely not the best way for my innards to react before a race. So I get back to the car and complain about how miserable I am. I keep lamenting the fact that I am going to get killed in this, a RRRC sponsored race where everyone there is a pure runner and that's all they do. Brad pipes up trying to make me feel better, you will beat that old lady in purple there. Then there was a man, with a really red face and a snow white beard and snow white hair sticking up everywhere, who comes walking out of packet pick up just then that I point out looks like a howler monkey or a macaque or some other simian, and Brad tells me I will definitely beat the Midlothian Monkey.
Strange, if I am remembering correctly, I told my husband to not to wake me up if it was 35 degrees and raining. There I am, standing with 150 other people waiting for them to yell start in 34 degree weather and misting. OHHHH! That's different then 35 degrees and raining. Now I know why he woke me up! Anyway, they yell go, and off we go. I am tra-la-laing along, feeling sort of miserable and at mile two of this delightful three miler, my stomach starts to do all sorts of goofy things. I sprinted ahead to a place on the trail where no one can see me and worry about what might come flying out of me. I start walk/jogging again and another wave of stomach yuck hits. It's cramping, and queasy and just plain awful. I slow down, a lot, and wait for the yuck to pass. It does and I see I am pretty close to the end. Maybe 600 meters, so I pick it up a little, then a lot when I see the finish is actually near the tennis courts as opposed to out in the parking lots where I think they are. Yay! That's wayyy closer! I hear a pack of kids, and yes they were kids from a nearby school behind me, and since it wasn't a chip start I figured it would be a cluster F**k at the finish trying to note every one's bib numbers there if I let them pass me, so I run faster, my final kick and hoof it to get to the finish like. It took me 27 minutes to run :( I think I was getting lapped by old ladies with walkers but whatever. I am done. I find my husband, get my perfunctory bottle of free water, look for a bagel but they have donuts instead, grab a plain cakey one hoping to settle my tummy, meet a very nice running friend of my husband, look at Brad and say, take me home. I came in fifth in my age group and 96th out of 150. Those weren't old ladies in walkers whizzing past me, that was the old grape lady in and the Midlothian Monkey, both of whom beat me. Oh the indignity...
Serves Brad right to wake me up and run in that weather. He was so looking forward to races in his new age group, 45 to skeleton in shoes, and even though he ran a blistering 20 minute 3 miler, he came in 6th in his new age group. He would have come in fourth if he decided to do the Peter Pan thing and never grow up. Aging up is usually a good thing, it's how I plan on getting on the podium someday :) Not so good with these mid-life men looking for their fountain of youth.
I went home, showered, put on my sweats and rested the rest of my day. They rest, as they say, is history...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Riders, Elitists and Snobs, Oh My!
If any of you know me, and I think like three of you do, you will know Bonnie Blue Bell (my bike) and I have a tenuous relationship at best. We were okay in the beginning, BC, before clips. Those cages I had at first were a little difficult to get used to at first. But get used to them I did, and that lead to some blazing fast transitions when I competed in tris. I didn't have the shoes to clip in and out with, run through transition in, then switch to my running shoes. I had my sneakers on, slid into my cages, and slid out when I was done riding, dropped my bike and my helmet, no shoes to have to change. It was pretty, it was the only tri associated event which I did faster then my husband and irked my father in law silly when he saw I transitioned faster then Brad. Hahaha, that will be the only time I am faster then Brad unless they do a tri where you have to talk, iron and use the loo. I would whoop the hell out of him then!
Anyway, all I kept hearing was how your pedalling was so much better and stronger with the clip less shoes. Okay, lets try it. That's when Bonnie and I started to not like each other much. The first time I fell and hurt myself with shoes that clip in, it actually wasn't on Bonnie, but I fell on a mountain bike because I couldn't unclip one of my shoes. I really walloped my head on the retaining wall of my driveway, smashed my husband's new cell phone in my bike shorts, plus totally tore my legs up on a plethora of bike parts from chains, to cranks, to pedals. REALLY, I am supposed to do better with these stupid shoes? Brad even got me a nice pair of Shimano cycling shoes to ride in, they made things a bit easier, they were new and fit well. I did notice a difference in my up and down stroke. Way stronger. So I kept trying to get comfortable with my feet stuck to my pedals.
Then we went for packet pick up one day for an upcoming race. While we were nosing around 3 Sports, one of my favorite shops to nose around, after we picked up our packets, I saw THEM. A pair of Shimano Triathlon shoes (different from cycling shoes because cycling shoes have two or three straps to triathlon shoes one big strap that looks like they strap the wrong way). Girl triathlon shoes and they were pretty, all white pearlized leather, with pretty light blue accents and catch this. They matched Bonnie! With a name like Bonnie Blue Bell one can guess my bike isn't red right? Sah-weet!!! Brad saw me looking at them and handling them with care so he had the guy he knows over there bring out a pair in my size. Darn if they didn't feel and look perfect. So Brad bought them for me, I am not going to say what he dropped on them, but he got them in the hopes I would want to wear them and that I might learn to love Bonnie and riding her with him someday while wearing them. I laugh every time I tell people my bike and shoes had to match so I can look good because Lord knows I am never going to place in a tri compared to some of the fabulous ladies I compete with, so I might as well look good while I am out there.
Okay, back to the present, yesterday my husband convinced me to ride with a bunch of cyclists who do the Rocketts Landing course. Rocketts is an Oly distance triathlon that Brad and I doing this May I think it is. He knows how shy I am about riding. I get scared of cars hitting me, scared of getting dropped by the pack, scared of getting lost. But he convinced me only after he promised he would ride with me, however slowly that might be. So we went. Thankfully the first person we met up with is this nice guy named Craig we know. Next Laurie, who organized the ride, pulled in. I really like her, she is such a mellow soul, nice to be around. There were a few other people I knew, and before you know it we are all hopping on our bikes and getting ready to go. There were a few people there that Brad had spoken pretty highly of from the last week. I guess they brought some of their cycling buddies with them and boy were they snobby. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to sound like sour grapes, but the way they looked at the slower of us in this group, and I mean we were most definitely slower, was reminiscent of how you look at what you just scraped off of your shoe that you shouldn't have stepped in. Truly, maybe that's why I prefer doing triathlons, because you don't get many elitist snobs.
But then you had my husband, who could totally be a snob if he wanted to, telling me how proud he was of me. That was after he showed me I was in the wrong gear going up that big ol' hill when we first started, kept pushing me onward and encouraging me, telling me I could ride the 20 plus miles. I fell in with two really great riders, Ruth and a guy named Brad of all things. When I did, I encouraged Brad to ride with the fast cyclist. He didn't want to, but I asked him to make sure and let us know if we were going to miss a turn etc. With his promise, he took off to catch that fast pack, all by his lonesome. Catch them he did, because he is good like that.
My newly formed trio took turns doing our own little pace line. Okay, maybe not at the 22-24 like the "fancy pants" riders were riding, but 18-20. We each took turns pulling and dropping back, and I really started to get comfortable with my gears. My Brad doubled back at one point to let us know there was a left we needed to make, and I started drafting on him from there. I was actually drafting at Brad's pace, I was in the twenties. WOW, this is what it's like to be fast. I drafted on him going up hill too, and I was never off of his wheel for the last 5 miles of that ride. Brad said I looked like a different rider who first started with a struggle with her gears.
I was so pleased with myself! I kept pace with one of the big boys. My big boy, who isn't one of those snobs, and who couldn't have been more pleased that I was there unlike the fast and furious riders. I chatted with my two new cycling buddies for a bit after we were done. Very nice people indeed!
Will I go back next week? I don't know, even though I am an adult, it still kind of stings when you stink at something and there are those who want to make sure you know it, but I will never get better if I don't keep going. Ah, there's conundrum...
Something to think about for sure, I want it to be someday that the only things that sort of smarts after a ride is my behind and not my ego...
Anyway, all I kept hearing was how your pedalling was so much better and stronger with the clip less shoes. Okay, lets try it. That's when Bonnie and I started to not like each other much. The first time I fell and hurt myself with shoes that clip in, it actually wasn't on Bonnie, but I fell on a mountain bike because I couldn't unclip one of my shoes. I really walloped my head on the retaining wall of my driveway, smashed my husband's new cell phone in my bike shorts, plus totally tore my legs up on a plethora of bike parts from chains, to cranks, to pedals. REALLY, I am supposed to do better with these stupid shoes? Brad even got me a nice pair of Shimano cycling shoes to ride in, they made things a bit easier, they were new and fit well. I did notice a difference in my up and down stroke. Way stronger. So I kept trying to get comfortable with my feet stuck to my pedals.
Then we went for packet pick up one day for an upcoming race. While we were nosing around 3 Sports, one of my favorite shops to nose around, after we picked up our packets, I saw THEM. A pair of Shimano Triathlon shoes (different from cycling shoes because cycling shoes have two or three straps to triathlon shoes one big strap that looks like they strap the wrong way). Girl triathlon shoes and they were pretty, all white pearlized leather, with pretty light blue accents and catch this. They matched Bonnie! With a name like Bonnie Blue Bell one can guess my bike isn't red right? Sah-weet!!! Brad saw me looking at them and handling them with care so he had the guy he knows over there bring out a pair in my size. Darn if they didn't feel and look perfect. So Brad bought them for me, I am not going to say what he dropped on them, but he got them in the hopes I would want to wear them and that I might learn to love Bonnie and riding her with him someday while wearing them. I laugh every time I tell people my bike and shoes had to match so I can look good because Lord knows I am never going to place in a tri compared to some of the fabulous ladies I compete with, so I might as well look good while I am out there.
Okay, back to the present, yesterday my husband convinced me to ride with a bunch of cyclists who do the Rocketts Landing course. Rocketts is an Oly distance triathlon that Brad and I doing this May I think it is. He knows how shy I am about riding. I get scared of cars hitting me, scared of getting dropped by the pack, scared of getting lost. But he convinced me only after he promised he would ride with me, however slowly that might be. So we went. Thankfully the first person we met up with is this nice guy named Craig we know. Next Laurie, who organized the ride, pulled in. I really like her, she is such a mellow soul, nice to be around. There were a few other people I knew, and before you know it we are all hopping on our bikes and getting ready to go. There were a few people there that Brad had spoken pretty highly of from the last week. I guess they brought some of their cycling buddies with them and boy were they snobby. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to sound like sour grapes, but the way they looked at the slower of us in this group, and I mean we were most definitely slower, was reminiscent of how you look at what you just scraped off of your shoe that you shouldn't have stepped in. Truly, maybe that's why I prefer doing triathlons, because you don't get many elitist snobs.
But then you had my husband, who could totally be a snob if he wanted to, telling me how proud he was of me. That was after he showed me I was in the wrong gear going up that big ol' hill when we first started, kept pushing me onward and encouraging me, telling me I could ride the 20 plus miles. I fell in with two really great riders, Ruth and a guy named Brad of all things. When I did, I encouraged Brad to ride with the fast cyclist. He didn't want to, but I asked him to make sure and let us know if we were going to miss a turn etc. With his promise, he took off to catch that fast pack, all by his lonesome. Catch them he did, because he is good like that.
My newly formed trio took turns doing our own little pace line. Okay, maybe not at the 22-24 like the "fancy pants" riders were riding, but 18-20. We each took turns pulling and dropping back, and I really started to get comfortable with my gears. My Brad doubled back at one point to let us know there was a left we needed to make, and I started drafting on him from there. I was actually drafting at Brad's pace, I was in the twenties. WOW, this is what it's like to be fast. I drafted on him going up hill too, and I was never off of his wheel for the last 5 miles of that ride. Brad said I looked like a different rider who first started with a struggle with her gears.
I was so pleased with myself! I kept pace with one of the big boys. My big boy, who isn't one of those snobs, and who couldn't have been more pleased that I was there unlike the fast and furious riders. I chatted with my two new cycling buddies for a bit after we were done. Very nice people indeed!
Will I go back next week? I don't know, even though I am an adult, it still kind of stings when you stink at something and there are those who want to make sure you know it, but I will never get better if I don't keep going. Ah, there's conundrum...
Something to think about for sure, I want it to be someday that the only things that sort of smarts after a ride is my behind and not my ego...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
10, 11, 12, 13, 14, how many races am I doing, and why Chipotle isn't training food...
First off I was going to blog about this hellacious track work out my husband had us do, and regardless if 4 hours past since lunch, a carnitas Chipotle burrito isn't good food to eat before you run it. More on that later...
Last night my husband was stuffing more races in his calendar then George Costanza had papers and all sorts of ephemera stuffed in his wallet (does anyone remember that Seinfeld episode besides me?) and said, "I am stopping at 20 that's a nice round number". Turns out he really had 21 races on his calendar, a not round number, but what's one race amongst friends right? I laughed and told him I wasn't doing a crazy amount of races. That I would be okay with a few and training, that was all I wanted to do. It feels good to be comfortable with just wanting to train and do a few races, not anything long course. He agreed with my strategy, no long course races for me this year, and a lighter schedule. But you know, it's hard to keep your schedule light when you wake up, open your email, and get notifications saying you registered for yet another race you had no flipping idea about. This morning it was the Whistlestart 5k. What the heck? It was like the Sweetheart 8k. I know I didn't register for it, but like a robot I woke up, stumbled out the door and ran for 46 minutes of my life to finish it. So now I have a 5k to run on March 14. Uhm Yay? I was hoping to do around 0 races this season, that's a nice round number, but no, as it stands right now, barring any more surprise races that I register for amnesiatically, I am running in 14 different races this season. Yes, 14. 14 isn't a nice round number to start, it's all edgy, to end, 14 is way more then a few.
So there's the rub, what to do? You have my husband looking up races and then asking, like he did last night, "Hey you want to do an early season tri with me? There's one, the Rumpass in Bumpass at Lake Anna." All snickering aside, I refuse to do anything that sounds like I have a Rump-ass and someone will be bumping my ass. Sorry, it's a matter of principal. It would be like doing a You'll-be-fina in Vagina race or something. I can't do it based on the name and because it will be an open water swim that was described as having water warmed up by 4 or 5 degrees by the nuclear power plant there. Hmmmm, having a race named after a heinie and the possibility of a third eye or being able to be used as a nightlight when I get out of the water, uhhhh, no. Not me. And again, I wanted a light season, so really 15 would make things so not light for my schedule. But then I wake up to this new 5k in my mailbox. At least it's not named a 5k Ditty in Ti....oops, I digress...
Granted some races are 5ks or the Muddy Buddy, which is just a fun race. When I met the guy who organizes it, I told him we'd be there, like he's really going to remember me if I'm not there, but I need to redeem myself after that wicked spill I took last year. I need to do better, if I don't Brad might get a new buddy to get muddy with...So really, they're not all A races. Some are just to do and to keep me training. But 14, that's way more then I had considered. I just got done telling a friend my race season would be light, okay, totally lied about that.
Back to my burrito. Brad had a track workout with this group he has been training with for the Ukrops 10k. He has a goal of Kenyan proportions as far as time goes in my eyes, but he couldn't make the track work out due to work. I always step in when he can't get out there with his group. So we bundle up, it was colder then cold and windy, two of our girls wanted to go with us and we head to the track. He tells me it will be an easier workout then he thought and easy is good in my book. We had Chipotle burritos for lunch. They are the size of nerf footballs, and I love mine with that mega spicy sauce on it. I always get the same, carnitas, black beans, rice and spicy sauce. No cheese, no guacamole, nothing else. Just meat, beans and spice. We needed something to eat, we had been dealing with a major ice catastrophe at the rink, our Olympia died in the middle of cutting the ice and that lead to ice damage, all the way down to the sand beneath, paint gone etc. and a patch job in addition to cancelling public sessions and free style. By the time we were done with all of that, we needed quick eats and I had to go get the kids. I figured our track work out would be cancelled, I had kids to pick up, Brad had meetings at 7:30p. But as luck would have it, Brad figured out a way for us to do it. My stomach did a flip thinking about running with a burrito sloshing around in it all the while. Where was I again, oh yes, easier workout...So we warm up for a mile. Nice easy 10 minute per mile pace. It was lovely, then the clouds parted and lightning bolts started shooting at me, not really, but that's what the work out was like. We had 3 sets of 1200 meters. I had to do mine in 5 minutes and 45 seconds. Ready, set, go and we start the first one. I did the first lap okay, I was at a minute 30, on pace for hitting that 5 minute 45 second goal. I didn't look at my watch for the second and third lap. I was concentrating on keeping that burrito to the confines of my stomach...ugh, it wanted to make a guest appearance. DONE with the first 1200 and I did it in 5 minutes, 45 seconds. Still gulping for air and trying not to barf, I settle enough to try another. I make it, but in 6 minutes even. Still, Senor Burrito is knocking on the back of my throat, begging to say hi to everyone outside my lips. I calm down and do the third set of 1200. This one, once again is in 6 minutes. When I was done, I had to walk over by the woods just in case. I didn't want to leave my calling card where people might walk, but the urge to wretch passes and here comes my mentally unstable husband with that crazy smile on his face I have come to love for some reason saying, Now we only have 2 sets of 800 and we're done! This wasn't so bad was it?? I am afraid to open my mouth and say anything, just in case. Thankfully it was darkish and Brad couldn't see the look I was giving him. Okay two sets of 800 meters, I can do this, I can do this I am thinking. We start the first set and by the middle of my first 400 meters, I am thinking this is it, I am going to be doing a Mexican technicolor yawn, insert hat dance music here. I had to stop at the end of that 400 and walk over to my place near the woods that I was before. I get myself settled down and actually decide to try the last 800. My husband's enthusiasm rubbed off on me, either that or he beats me about the head in my sleep and I am slightly brain damaged and don't know it yet. I start my last 800 and realize I am only going to be able to do another 400. See, when I get sick, whatever comes up I can't eat again for years, ask Brad how long he went without a Pizza Margherita from the last time I was sick. I LOVE Chipotle burritos, I didn't want to live without them for 5 years so I sacrificed my work out to a degree.
But I did learn a valuable lesson from it this, and that is SKIP the freaking track work out after you have ice problems and sit home with a glass of $2 buck Chuck in your hand instead. Then sit and laugh at races like the Rumpass in Bumpass and be glad you ate that burrito for lunch! Not at all what you were thinking was it ;)
Last night my husband was stuffing more races in his calendar then George Costanza had papers and all sorts of ephemera stuffed in his wallet (does anyone remember that Seinfeld episode besides me?) and said, "I am stopping at 20 that's a nice round number". Turns out he really had 21 races on his calendar, a not round number, but what's one race amongst friends right? I laughed and told him I wasn't doing a crazy amount of races. That I would be okay with a few and training, that was all I wanted to do. It feels good to be comfortable with just wanting to train and do a few races, not anything long course. He agreed with my strategy, no long course races for me this year, and a lighter schedule. But you know, it's hard to keep your schedule light when you wake up, open your email, and get notifications saying you registered for yet another race you had no flipping idea about. This morning it was the Whistlestart 5k. What the heck? It was like the Sweetheart 8k. I know I didn't register for it, but like a robot I woke up, stumbled out the door and ran for 46 minutes of my life to finish it. So now I have a 5k to run on March 14. Uhm Yay? I was hoping to do around 0 races this season, that's a nice round number, but no, as it stands right now, barring any more surprise races that I register for amnesiatically, I am running in 14 different races this season. Yes, 14. 14 isn't a nice round number to start, it's all edgy, to end, 14 is way more then a few.
So there's the rub, what to do? You have my husband looking up races and then asking, like he did last night, "Hey you want to do an early season tri with me? There's one, the Rumpass in Bumpass at Lake Anna." All snickering aside, I refuse to do anything that sounds like I have a Rump-ass and someone will be bumping my ass. Sorry, it's a matter of principal. It would be like doing a You'll-be-fina in Vagina race or something. I can't do it based on the name and because it will be an open water swim that was described as having water warmed up by 4 or 5 degrees by the nuclear power plant there. Hmmmm, having a race named after a heinie and the possibility of a third eye or being able to be used as a nightlight when I get out of the water, uhhhh, no. Not me. And again, I wanted a light season, so really 15 would make things so not light for my schedule. But then I wake up to this new 5k in my mailbox. At least it's not named a 5k Ditty in Ti....oops, I digress...
Granted some races are 5ks or the Muddy Buddy, which is just a fun race. When I met the guy who organizes it, I told him we'd be there, like he's really going to remember me if I'm not there, but I need to redeem myself after that wicked spill I took last year. I need to do better, if I don't Brad might get a new buddy to get muddy with...So really, they're not all A races. Some are just to do and to keep me training. But 14, that's way more then I had considered. I just got done telling a friend my race season would be light, okay, totally lied about that.
Back to my burrito. Brad had a track workout with this group he has been training with for the Ukrops 10k. He has a goal of Kenyan proportions as far as time goes in my eyes, but he couldn't make the track work out due to work. I always step in when he can't get out there with his group. So we bundle up, it was colder then cold and windy, two of our girls wanted to go with us and we head to the track. He tells me it will be an easier workout then he thought and easy is good in my book. We had Chipotle burritos for lunch. They are the size of nerf footballs, and I love mine with that mega spicy sauce on it. I always get the same, carnitas, black beans, rice and spicy sauce. No cheese, no guacamole, nothing else. Just meat, beans and spice. We needed something to eat, we had been dealing with a major ice catastrophe at the rink, our Olympia died in the middle of cutting the ice and that lead to ice damage, all the way down to the sand beneath, paint gone etc. and a patch job in addition to cancelling public sessions and free style. By the time we were done with all of that, we needed quick eats and I had to go get the kids. I figured our track work out would be cancelled, I had kids to pick up, Brad had meetings at 7:30p. But as luck would have it, Brad figured out a way for us to do it. My stomach did a flip thinking about running with a burrito sloshing around in it all the while. Where was I again, oh yes, easier workout...So we warm up for a mile. Nice easy 10 minute per mile pace. It was lovely, then the clouds parted and lightning bolts started shooting at me, not really, but that's what the work out was like. We had 3 sets of 1200 meters. I had to do mine in 5 minutes and 45 seconds. Ready, set, go and we start the first one. I did the first lap okay, I was at a minute 30, on pace for hitting that 5 minute 45 second goal. I didn't look at my watch for the second and third lap. I was concentrating on keeping that burrito to the confines of my stomach...ugh, it wanted to make a guest appearance. DONE with the first 1200 and I did it in 5 minutes, 45 seconds. Still gulping for air and trying not to barf, I settle enough to try another. I make it, but in 6 minutes even. Still, Senor Burrito is knocking on the back of my throat, begging to say hi to everyone outside my lips. I calm down and do the third set of 1200. This one, once again is in 6 minutes. When I was done, I had to walk over by the woods just in case. I didn't want to leave my calling card where people might walk, but the urge to wretch passes and here comes my mentally unstable husband with that crazy smile on his face I have come to love for some reason saying, Now we only have 2 sets of 800 and we're done! This wasn't so bad was it?? I am afraid to open my mouth and say anything, just in case. Thankfully it was darkish and Brad couldn't see the look I was giving him. Okay two sets of 800 meters, I can do this, I can do this I am thinking. We start the first set and by the middle of my first 400 meters, I am thinking this is it, I am going to be doing a Mexican technicolor yawn, insert hat dance music here. I had to stop at the end of that 400 and walk over to my place near the woods that I was before. I get myself settled down and actually decide to try the last 800. My husband's enthusiasm rubbed off on me, either that or he beats me about the head in my sleep and I am slightly brain damaged and don't know it yet. I start my last 800 and realize I am only going to be able to do another 400. See, when I get sick, whatever comes up I can't eat again for years, ask Brad how long he went without a Pizza Margherita from the last time I was sick. I LOVE Chipotle burritos, I didn't want to live without them for 5 years so I sacrificed my work out to a degree.
But I did learn a valuable lesson from it this, and that is SKIP the freaking track work out after you have ice problems and sit home with a glass of $2 buck Chuck in your hand instead. Then sit and laugh at races like the Rumpass in Bumpass and be glad you ate that burrito for lunch! Not at all what you were thinking was it ;)
Saturday, February 14, 2009
A Sweetheart 8k with my Sweetie
Happy Valentine's Day!! Now that I got that out of the way on to the blog....You know, I didn't want to do this race. I hated the thought of doing this race, I hated the training I was trying to do with my chest feeling cement filled. But I did run this week to try and prep me.
Fast forward to this morning, it's 6:30AM and I get out of bed. It was so warm and felt so good in there. I didn't want to get up and put layers on to run an 8k I didn't even sign up for, WTF??? But I got up and started the shower. I hadn't showered from my 2950 yard pool swim yesterday, I should have blogged about that, it was a fabulous work out and the longest I had ever swam. I couldn't stand the chlorine smell in my hair. I went and had a yogurt and granola for breakfast, got my coffee, went back and hopped in the shower. It takes that long for the water to get hot in my bathroom on cold mornings. I am almost done when my husband comes in and he is in a total frenzy. "I wanted to leave already, I wanted to be there now". He is on the verge of losing it so I get out in a hurry and go to get my running layers on. As luck would have it, I couldn't find a running bra. I tore my closet apart and threw on one I finally found at the bottom of a heap of running stuff. I went downstairs to get my heart rate monitor, my hat, my gloves, my sunglasses and my favorite jacket. Couldn't find my jacket, had to substitute another, okay, I can deal. Where are my gloves, I have one pink and one black one that I run with, can't find those. Got my heart rate monitor and strap and here comes Brad, still in a frenzy. "Let's roll", it's what he always says when we get ready to leave for a race.
Just as we are leaving I hear the pitter patter of little feet coming down the stairs. It's my 6 year old, "Mommy, I don't feel good". At this point I am ready to say I am staying home. Too many little things going wrong, I can't stand it, and now Heather doesn't feel good. But she gives me a hug and tells me she's going back to bed, Brad in the meantime has headed out to the car. What to do, what to do? My race season ended with me not racing my last 2 races due to illness, is this how my season is supposed to start??? Okay, I will go.
I get in the car and we drive away, that's when I realize I don't have my sunglasses and I don't have my heart rate monitor with me. Looks like I am racing natural today. I hate that though. One of my favorite noises in a race is every one beeping as the hit their monitors at the start. And I need my sunglasses, contrary to the weather report, it is not cloudy, but vibrantly sunny and cold. This is going to stink, my eyes will be watering the whole way, which they did.
We get to the race and I realize how hilly this is going to be. It is worse then running in my subdivision, which is really hilly. We go on a warm up jog to get the blood flowing and our heart rates up, plus to warm us because gone are the 50 degree mornings we have been enjoying.
We get in line for the port-a-potties. There are two for around 350 racers. Brad looks at his watch, HE didn't forget his monitor, and says, "we will never make it, the race will start before we get to them." I tell him we will and we do. As we are waiting on line we always play this game, which port-a-potty door will open first. We bet on it and every time, regardless of what kind of race, I always win. Today was no different.
After that it was time to line up. There was no wave start, no corrals, just a mass of runners milling and waiting for the start noise. Can't describe the noise, it's one that the megaphone makes, but there's the noise and off we go. I grab Brad's arm, tell him to run his race, and that I will meet him on the other side, which, if you read this blog, you know is my standard line when we race. He smiled at me, and went ahead. That's where we hit the mother of all hills, I swear the thing was like a 45 degree angle and it lasted for the first 5 minutes of the race. By the time we hit the top of that hill my heart rate is soaring, but I couldn't tell you what it is because I DON'T HAVE MY HEART RATE MONITOR! We hit a nice downhill for a bit and then I see the first mile marker. I thought to myself, I thought we had run further then that, but okay, one down 4 more to go. The course went looping around this water hole of some sort and up through a neighborhood. Did I tell you this was the hilliest darn course I had ever run. I mean seriously we were up and down and up and down and uuuuuuuuuupppppppppppppppppp and down. Those hills would come when I thought I could least handle them. I had seen the second mile marker, but darned if I could find the third one. I must have passed it without noticing. We make our way through a nice neighborhood, come to this little foot bridge and there's a sign that says "Mile 4". I could barely contain myself, actually I didn't. I yelled for every one's benefit, MILE 4!!!! To which we all whooped a collective cry of relief was it?
But I was tired, and the little man in my head hadn't made an appearance yet. Where was he, I needed him to talk to me, because I swear, I wanted to walk, I wanted to give myself just a little break, but I told myself I couldn't. Could I be the little man?? Nah, I'm not that mean to myself, anyway, I trotted on through the neighborhood the race started in, hey, this is all familiar to me I got thinking. I come flying down the bottom part of the hill we ran up, we intersected the road at a halfway point, thanked two police officers for blocking traffic and wished them a good morning, got to the intersection where the race started and I am looking for the finish. This is good, I am done, NOT!!!!!!!!! The signs show we need to run around this lake in the middle of the subdivision. I can see the finish sign looming on the other side. What the heck?? What masochist thought this course up? But I can't stop now, can I? That's what those sneaky so and sos want you to think. So I run, I hit the little hills, increase my turn over, start pounding away, the finish line is closer, I see my Sweetheart waiting for me, I am running faster, imagining this is that road the leads to my street. The one I always try to sprint after a long run, the one I check and see if there is any fuel left in my tank. The light is on, I might only have a bit left, but I am flying on those fumes....I fly past Brad, through the chute and I am done!!!!!!!! Woot Woot! I look to see my time and it was 46:35. I broke that 50 minute mark I had hoped to break without breaking anything on me.
Maybe I need to not be able to find my running bra, or gloves or favorite running jacket. Maybe I need to forget my sunglasses and my heart rate monitor next time. I still think I would have preferred a box of chocolates...maybe next time.
Fast forward to this morning, it's 6:30AM and I get out of bed. It was so warm and felt so good in there. I didn't want to get up and put layers on to run an 8k I didn't even sign up for, WTF??? But I got up and started the shower. I hadn't showered from my 2950 yard pool swim yesterday, I should have blogged about that, it was a fabulous work out and the longest I had ever swam. I couldn't stand the chlorine smell in my hair. I went and had a yogurt and granola for breakfast, got my coffee, went back and hopped in the shower. It takes that long for the water to get hot in my bathroom on cold mornings. I am almost done when my husband comes in and he is in a total frenzy. "I wanted to leave already, I wanted to be there now". He is on the verge of losing it so I get out in a hurry and go to get my running layers on. As luck would have it, I couldn't find a running bra. I tore my closet apart and threw on one I finally found at the bottom of a heap of running stuff. I went downstairs to get my heart rate monitor, my hat, my gloves, my sunglasses and my favorite jacket. Couldn't find my jacket, had to substitute another, okay, I can deal. Where are my gloves, I have one pink and one black one that I run with, can't find those. Got my heart rate monitor and strap and here comes Brad, still in a frenzy. "Let's roll", it's what he always says when we get ready to leave for a race.
Just as we are leaving I hear the pitter patter of little feet coming down the stairs. It's my 6 year old, "Mommy, I don't feel good". At this point I am ready to say I am staying home. Too many little things going wrong, I can't stand it, and now Heather doesn't feel good. But she gives me a hug and tells me she's going back to bed, Brad in the meantime has headed out to the car. What to do, what to do? My race season ended with me not racing my last 2 races due to illness, is this how my season is supposed to start??? Okay, I will go.
I get in the car and we drive away, that's when I realize I don't have my sunglasses and I don't have my heart rate monitor with me. Looks like I am racing natural today. I hate that though. One of my favorite noises in a race is every one beeping as the hit their monitors at the start. And I need my sunglasses, contrary to the weather report, it is not cloudy, but vibrantly sunny and cold. This is going to stink, my eyes will be watering the whole way, which they did.
We get to the race and I realize how hilly this is going to be. It is worse then running in my subdivision, which is really hilly. We go on a warm up jog to get the blood flowing and our heart rates up, plus to warm us because gone are the 50 degree mornings we have been enjoying.
We get in line for the port-a-potties. There are two for around 350 racers. Brad looks at his watch, HE didn't forget his monitor, and says, "we will never make it, the race will start before we get to them." I tell him we will and we do. As we are waiting on line we always play this game, which port-a-potty door will open first. We bet on it and every time, regardless of what kind of race, I always win. Today was no different.
After that it was time to line up. There was no wave start, no corrals, just a mass of runners milling and waiting for the start noise. Can't describe the noise, it's one that the megaphone makes, but there's the noise and off we go. I grab Brad's arm, tell him to run his race, and that I will meet him on the other side, which, if you read this blog, you know is my standard line when we race. He smiled at me, and went ahead. That's where we hit the mother of all hills, I swear the thing was like a 45 degree angle and it lasted for the first 5 minutes of the race. By the time we hit the top of that hill my heart rate is soaring, but I couldn't tell you what it is because I DON'T HAVE MY HEART RATE MONITOR! We hit a nice downhill for a bit and then I see the first mile marker. I thought to myself, I thought we had run further then that, but okay, one down 4 more to go. The course went looping around this water hole of some sort and up through a neighborhood. Did I tell you this was the hilliest darn course I had ever run. I mean seriously we were up and down and up and down and uuuuuuuuuupppppppppppppppppp and down. Those hills would come when I thought I could least handle them. I had seen the second mile marker, but darned if I could find the third one. I must have passed it without noticing. We make our way through a nice neighborhood, come to this little foot bridge and there's a sign that says "Mile 4". I could barely contain myself, actually I didn't. I yelled for every one's benefit, MILE 4!!!! To which we all whooped a collective cry of relief was it?
But I was tired, and the little man in my head hadn't made an appearance yet. Where was he, I needed him to talk to me, because I swear, I wanted to walk, I wanted to give myself just a little break, but I told myself I couldn't. Could I be the little man?? Nah, I'm not that mean to myself, anyway, I trotted on through the neighborhood the race started in, hey, this is all familiar to me I got thinking. I come flying down the bottom part of the hill we ran up, we intersected the road at a halfway point, thanked two police officers for blocking traffic and wished them a good morning, got to the intersection where the race started and I am looking for the finish. This is good, I am done, NOT!!!!!!!!! The signs show we need to run around this lake in the middle of the subdivision. I can see the finish sign looming on the other side. What the heck?? What masochist thought this course up? But I can't stop now, can I? That's what those sneaky so and sos want you to think. So I run, I hit the little hills, increase my turn over, start pounding away, the finish line is closer, I see my Sweetheart waiting for me, I am running faster, imagining this is that road the leads to my street. The one I always try to sprint after a long run, the one I check and see if there is any fuel left in my tank. The light is on, I might only have a bit left, but I am flying on those fumes....I fly past Brad, through the chute and I am done!!!!!!!! Woot Woot! I look to see my time and it was 46:35. I broke that 50 minute mark I had hoped to break without breaking anything on me.
Maybe I need to not be able to find my running bra, or gloves or favorite running jacket. Maybe I need to forget my sunglasses and my heart rate monitor next time. I still think I would have preferred a box of chocolates...maybe next time.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Okay, so I lied
I don't lie frequently, but I did today. I didn't do a 30 minute recovery run, just like I knew my husband wouldn't take it easy on his bike ride. I got running, I did warm up for an easy 4 minutes while I rearranged my molecules and got everything, Ipod, sunglasses, running belt with phone in it, set just so. Then I started to run. It was a glorious day to run, a beautiful 60 or so when I went out, and it smelled so good. Fresh and spring like for a day in February....I trotted along and kept catching my heartrate in the 190 range. I don't do that unless I am sprinting. I wished I had my husband's Garmin on, it tells you how fast you are pacing yourself, although it looks like a laptop computer on my chicken wrists. You know, no matter how heavy I ever got, my wrists and ankles were always teeny tiny, I digress. But I was like, how come I breathing like this? I sounded worse then an obscene phone call....But when I saw on my heart rate monitor that I was beating at 190+ a minute, I knew I was busting it too hard. By the time my 28 minute run was done, I had run a 5k. Including my 4 minute walk warm up, I'd say I was running like Paula Radcliff. One can dream...
I have one further musing, I think I have finally decided what to do with my racing this season. I had an epiphany, more out our necessity then anything, but why was I going to drive myself into the ground with racing races I couldn't get ready for? After I finally admitted out loud that the Half Iron wasn't something I felt like I could do with my lack of training, I felt liberated, I felt honest, it felt good, especially after lying like I did today. But here's the rub, does that make me less an athlete? I want to do a Half Iron someday, I want to do a full Iron someday, I might even be brave enough to get a the tattoo after that, but does it have to be a year after I started racing? Me thinks the answer is no, at least for me. Maybe someday if I can do a sprint in an hour and ten minutes, heck why not shoot for an hour and five, or an oly in 2 hours and a half, maybe then I should look at upping the ante. Maybe then I will need the challenge.
As for now, call me Short Distance Shirley. Someday, maybe when I'm 50, maybe when I'm 60, you can call me Long Course Louise. And maybe then, I'll even have a shot at placing....
I have one further musing, I think I have finally decided what to do with my racing this season. I had an epiphany, more out our necessity then anything, but why was I going to drive myself into the ground with racing races I couldn't get ready for? After I finally admitted out loud that the Half Iron wasn't something I felt like I could do with my lack of training, I felt liberated, I felt honest, it felt good, especially after lying like I did today. But here's the rub, does that make me less an athlete? I want to do a Half Iron someday, I want to do a full Iron someday, I might even be brave enough to get a the tattoo after that, but does it have to be a year after I started racing? Me thinks the answer is no, at least for me. Maybe someday if I can do a sprint in an hour and ten minutes, heck why not shoot for an hour and five, or an oly in 2 hours and a half, maybe then I should look at upping the ante. Maybe then I will need the challenge.
As for now, call me Short Distance Shirley. Someday, maybe when I'm 50, maybe when I'm 60, you can call me Long Course Louise. And maybe then, I'll even have a shot at placing....
Faster then a speeding slug, more powerful then a bowl of jello
As of my run yesterday, that title about sums things up. I hate getting sick, I hate training some days, I hate missing the days I hate training because I am sick.
I forgot about this Sweetheart 8k Brad signed me up for. I love when I get these email updates about races I have registered for, that I haven't really registered for, but my husband thought I might like to do it with him. He's been training hard to have an amazing Ukrops 10K, the Sweetheart 8k is part of his running plan. I had been training, just hoping to shave a few minutes off of my 10k..but wouldn't you know my kids had other plans for me. We all got sick, so training came abruptly grinding to a halt for a week and a day for me. I did NOTHING, except take care of sick people, while trying to make myself feel better.
As we were getting ready for the Tri Club banquet on Saturday night, me still all hacky and miserable, Brad brings up the Sweetheart 8k. "You realize it's in a week right?" Uh, no, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I was concentrating on the tuberculosis/typhus like atmosphere in my house and didn't really think about my race schedule. I guess there's that darned Mom gene in me. It took every ounce of energy, plus all of my stage make-up knowledge to get me to look even part way presentable to walk out the door for the banquet. I have no superhuman makeup skills when it comes to my racing, no smoke and mirrors for that!
Geez, a Sweetheart 8k on Valentine's Day, imagine that! Who was the marketing genius who thought that one up?! So I drag myself out on Monday for a run. Yesterday, I told myself I had to do the 5 miles that race covered, regardless of time, and I did it, running the first 5k in a great time, then having to walk during one of my coughing sessions, running again, then walking every time I started to hack a lung up. It took me all of 53 minutes to do, so I guess I accomplished something.
Today, I am taking it easy. I am doing a nice, 30 recovery type run. I think I did a nice, easy 53 minute recovery run yesterday. Whatever, in the immortal words of my teenager. I did it right?
Tomorrow, I will run another 5, just to show myself I can make the distance again. There is absolutely no chance of coming close to any of the other runners. This is a RRRC event. It's not like you get a great cross section of people at one of their events. You get runners, most seem like they have been runners for a long time. Most who will be done with a measly 5 miles in 30 minutes, while the likes of me will be slogging along, trying to finish in under 50.
My running friend Tom said to me at the banquet, "But you're a fast runner!" Yeah, for short bursts, I can run like a Kenyan once around the track, but ask me to keep that pace up and I will be hurling on the side of the road. Is there a Sweetheart 400M to sign up for??
I need to remind myself though, that I haven't trained for this so well, I had 5 sick people to look after, me not included. And I can cover this distance, so there's something. Still, Saturday is looming and I feel all unready and unsure of myself, boo.
I wonder if there are any snails looking for a Sweetheart on Saturday?
I forgot about this Sweetheart 8k Brad signed me up for. I love when I get these email updates about races I have registered for, that I haven't really registered for, but my husband thought I might like to do it with him. He's been training hard to have an amazing Ukrops 10K, the Sweetheart 8k is part of his running plan. I had been training, just hoping to shave a few minutes off of my 10k..but wouldn't you know my kids had other plans for me. We all got sick, so training came abruptly grinding to a halt for a week and a day for me. I did NOTHING, except take care of sick people, while trying to make myself feel better.
As we were getting ready for the Tri Club banquet on Saturday night, me still all hacky and miserable, Brad brings up the Sweetheart 8k. "You realize it's in a week right?" Uh, no, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I was concentrating on the tuberculosis/typhus like atmosphere in my house and didn't really think about my race schedule. I guess there's that darned Mom gene in me. It took every ounce of energy, plus all of my stage make-up knowledge to get me to look even part way presentable to walk out the door for the banquet. I have no superhuman makeup skills when it comes to my racing, no smoke and mirrors for that!
Geez, a Sweetheart 8k on Valentine's Day, imagine that! Who was the marketing genius who thought that one up?! So I drag myself out on Monday for a run. Yesterday, I told myself I had to do the 5 miles that race covered, regardless of time, and I did it, running the first 5k in a great time, then having to walk during one of my coughing sessions, running again, then walking every time I started to hack a lung up. It took me all of 53 minutes to do, so I guess I accomplished something.
Today, I am taking it easy. I am doing a nice, 30 recovery type run. I think I did a nice, easy 53 minute recovery run yesterday. Whatever, in the immortal words of my teenager. I did it right?
Tomorrow, I will run another 5, just to show myself I can make the distance again. There is absolutely no chance of coming close to any of the other runners. This is a RRRC event. It's not like you get a great cross section of people at one of their events. You get runners, most seem like they have been runners for a long time. Most who will be done with a measly 5 miles in 30 minutes, while the likes of me will be slogging along, trying to finish in under 50.
My running friend Tom said to me at the banquet, "But you're a fast runner!" Yeah, for short bursts, I can run like a Kenyan once around the track, but ask me to keep that pace up and I will be hurling on the side of the road. Is there a Sweetheart 400M to sign up for??
I need to remind myself though, that I haven't trained for this so well, I had 5 sick people to look after, me not included. And I can cover this distance, so there's something. Still, Saturday is looming and I feel all unready and unsure of myself, boo.
I wonder if there are any snails looking for a Sweetheart on Saturday?
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