Diary of an amateur triathlete

2012 Carlsbad Half Marathon Race Report

2012-01-23T14:32:00.000-08:00

I decided to do the Carlsbad Half Marathon at the last minute this weekend. I wasn't going to do it. I hadn't trained enough. Plus, I'm signed up for the Wildhorse Half Marathon next weekend. Two in two weekends? It felt like too much. Then, I agreed to let a couple couch surf the night before the race at my place. Afterall, the start was within walking distance of my front door. I knew I wouldn't be able to control the jealousy of watching others benefit from my awesome location without doing it myself. Without much thought, I went and found a bib.

I was a little wary. I hadn't been training. The longest run I logged recently was 8 miles. Furthermore, my week leading up to the race had been a zero week, due to a very hectic work week. I just hoped I could make it to the finish line! I don't remember ever being this undertrained for a half marathon before.

Race morning, I was relieved I had procured a bib. Below my balcony on the street, I watched masses of runners park and file down the sidewalk to the start. I dragged myself out of bed only an hour before the start, knowing I wouldn't have to battle traffic, fight for a parking spot, walk miles to the start, or stand in a long port-a-potty line. Star treatment! It's AWESOME living so close to a primo race!

The gun went off, and I started running for my life. I was seeded in the 2nd wave, and the crowd of speedsters swept me along breathlessly for the first 2 miles. Finally, I slowed and settled into a relaxed pace. It was so hard not to let the adrenaline push me to the max. I reminded myself to take it easy, and just aim on finishing the run. Trying to push it on undertrained legs was too high of a risk for injury. Nonetheless, I was clicking off 9:30s. Not bad for someone who hasn't been doing much!

I found my sweet spot, the pace where I float along above my legs and enjoy the ride. I watched surfers catching the waves, calm and peaceful, juxtaposed the the busy mass of runners toiling down PCH. Crowds of spectators and bands lined the street, cheering, singing, yelling, and urging us on. There were tons of motivational signs (including my favorite, the one that simply read: "Motivational Sign"). I had forgotten how infectious the energy of a large race is, spectators and participants combined. Running the course almost felt like cheating; I simply allowed everyone's energy to fuel my strides.

My hips started hurting at mile 9. Then, a hot spot developed on the ball of my right foot. Then, my calves began to cramp. At first, I scoffed at the aches and pains. I had felt pain much worse many times before. My body knew better than to whine. It started as a mild protest, knowing my legs wouldn't get much sympathy for me, much less mercy. It was only when my stomach started to churn that I begrudgingly slowed. The pain increased and subsided in mysterious waves. It was bearable at slower paces. It was hard to convince myself not to settle into a restrained run. Then, the pacer with the 2:00 sign started to pass me, and a jolt of determination burst through me like a shockwave. Grimacing, I flailed my arms and legs wildly, coaxing them into a faster pace. I knew I couldn't keep it up much longer.

All of a sudden, I was flying down the final hill to the chute. How had I reached the end so quickly? I didn't even remember battling last, dreaded uphill before the finish. How had it snuck by me unnoticed? I sprinted down the hill, blocking the screaming pain in my calves out of my head desperately. I had nothing left when I reached the finish but I felt victorious. An incredible training run, fully supported right out my front door. And lots of motivation and some speed work to boot. Not a bad start to the 2012 race season!

Squeezing in a Swim

2012-01-10T22:01:00.000-08:00

First off, I've begun officially doing Yoga again! Our school has a Yoga instructor so I asked if she would be willing to give me a private session after school Monday nights, and she said Yes! What a great way to finish a Monday! I had forgotten how wonderful Yoga feels for the whole body and mind.

This morning, I was supposed to wake up early to go for a swim. The plan was to wake up at 5 am, do my hour commute first, swim up in Mission Viejo (where I work), and then shower, change and go into work. I get home so late, and my planning for the next day takes so long, that I'm lucky to be in bed, lights out by 11:30 each night. I can skimp on sleep twice a week to wake up early but after that, I start to fall apart. There was no way I could get up when the alarm went off at 5. I readily traded the extra 1.5 hours of sleep and moved my workout to the evening.

All day, I was itching for my swim. As soon as my last class was out, I ran out the door and headed down the street to the Mission Viejo Rec Center (http://cityofmissionviejo.org/DepartmentPage.aspx?id=12474) for a swim. $8 to drop in, and the pool is open from 5 am until 8:45 pm. Nice hours! I got to the locker room and realize I had forgotten my cap, goggles, and suit. Doh! My heart sank. I dug around to the bottom of my bag and found a bikini and an old pair of goggles. I could make that work. I had a hard time tying up my hair so I didn't choke on it, and my goggles kept sliding down my head, cutting into my ears, but I made it work. I was going to swim, dammit!

It felt soooo good to jump into the water after a long day of work. So convenient too! Maybe it was the bikini, but the lifeguard, a cute, little teenage boy, kept chatting me up every time I rested on the wall. Questions like, "I haven't seen you here before. How often do you swim here?" It was kind of adoreable and definitely flattering but also a little creepy considering he was the same age as most of my students! I banged out 2400 very slow meters and spent 5 minutes in the hot tub with the jets massaging my sore lower back.

My New Years' resolutions continue to be a success. I love how it's all centered around 1 word: Balance. I've been drinking more water, eating in more, brown bagging lunch, and eating much more healthfully as a result too (not to mention saving a ton of moolah by not eating out). My body is thanking me. I have more energy, and my attitude is very positive. Go Me!

Today's workout:
200 free warm up
3x150 (50 breast-50 free-50 back)
500 free
3x200 free
5x100 free
100 cool down

The Workouts Continue

2012-01-09T21:32:00.000-08:00

My workouts are continuing to go well. I've noticed that as the week progresses and the responsibilities of work builds and takes its toll, I get progressively more tired. I've planned Thursdays as my regular rest day to try to compensate for this (I get Fridays off).

Last week started out great with Tuesday kicking off with a 5:30 am run and Wednesday with a solid hour workout on the trainer. Thursday and Friday, I crashed and burned, completely exhausted. Then, I dislocated my jaw. Ugh. It's the 4th time (although it's been 7 years since the las time). I had a ton of oral surgeries when I was a kid. As a result of multiple jaw dislocations during surgery to make my mouth open wider, I now am at risk for dislocating my jaw simply by yawning. Every now and then, I forget to yawn "small" and dislocate it. My jaw gets locked open, i can't swallow, I can't talk, I can't eat or drink, and a visit to the ER is called for. This Friday evening was no different, unfortunately. The agonizing hour-long wait in the waiting room was the worst, as I held my head up by my hands, catching drool with a Kleenex. I used mental toughness drills to block out the pain, learned well from many grueling races. All that suffering comes in handy in day-to-life situations! The doctor and assistant used lots of pushing and pulling, heaving and grunting, and finally cracked it back into place. No more yawning for me!

Saturday evening, I groggily hit the trails (Lake Calaveras http://www.carlsbadca.gov/services/departments/parksandrec/trails/Pages/lake-calavera-trails.aspx) in east Carlsbad for a 4-mile run (2 loops around the lake), much to Travis' delight. I finished up with weights. What a great way to spend a Saturday evening!

Sunday, I enjoyed an awesome ~20 miles of mountain trails on a borrowed bike around Lake Hodges (http://www.sdrp.org/trails.htm). It had been awhile but I was pleased to see I retained all my skills and could still navigate over rocks, through creeks, and up and down hills. Fun!

This morning, I dragged myself out of bed at 5:15 am to squeeze in a run before work. I did not want to get up. My saving grace was that I had laid out my clothes the night before. It seemed a waste not to use them, and I knew I would feel down all day if I skipped my one chance at a workout. I slipped into my running clothes, gloves, headband, headlamp, and warm-up jacket, braving the dark, early morning cold. Travis didn't seem to mind at all, even though he didn't have the benefit of any warm-up clothes.

I ran briskly, trying to warm-up. Man, it was cold. I know I'm complaining about upper 40s but it always feels coldest right behind the sun rises. I welcomed the long, steep hill I had to toil up right out of the gate. There would be many to follow. Carlsbad is riddled with hills. I felt good, however. I refused to walk, no matter how slowly I jogged, I forced myself to run up each incline.

I reached the ocean and felt so good, I decided to extend my normal 4-miler. Travis has been running better and better. I can see his fitness improve with each of our runs. I hope it's a reflection of mine as well. I paused at the ocean, and turned off the ipod, listening to the deafening pulses of the waves crashing into the sand. In between each wave was a perfect, peaceful stillness with silence so loud, it was all I could hear. During those moments of silence, I could feel my hearbeat and breathing slow, and for those brief moments, my thoughts became still. Even though the stillness was brief, I lived so completely in those moments, that they stretched on endlessly, as Travis and I watched for the next crest of wave emerging from the stillness to repeat the cycle. The swollen full moon glowed brightly in the northern sky as the southeastern horizon became a golden pink with the impending sunrise. I stood there, watching the waves for only a minute or two, but during those precious minutes, I was reminded of why I drag myself out of bed in the cold and the darkness each morning to squeeze in my runs. Those runs are some of the few peaceful moments of my day where I am free of all worries.

I continued on my run, heading back home. It must be getting late; I better hurry if I want to make it to work on time, I reasoned. I turned down a residential street, which wound around, and then turned into another street, and then another. I could see the ocean coming towards me again. Wait a minute. I need to be going east, not west! Suddenly, I hit Tamarack again. I had just added on an extra mile and made a full circle. Not to mention another unnecessary, extra, steep hill. (Never take a road called "Skyline" unless you want to climb). I started booking it, much to Travis' dismay. Not only had I run an extra mile, but the only way back now was the long way home. Time to suck it up. Finally, we made it home, 7.6 miles later. Oops! How did a 4 mile run turn into almost 8? Poor Travis!

New Year's Resolutions Underway!

2012-01-03T21:23:00.000-08:00

Today is Day 4 of implementing my New Year's resolutions. So far, it's going swimmingly (no pun intended). I've been more balanced, eating healthier, and working out every day. I feel more organized. more positive, and more energetic, despite my sinus infection.

This morning, I was able to successfully wake up at 5:30 am, and I am NOT a morning person! Not to mention that I slept like crap because I can't breathe through my nose. Ugh. Travis was surprised when I woke up and asked, "Run?" Despite his sleepiness, he couldn't resist the three-letter word. His excitment helped me follow as he bounded out of bed. He watched impatiently as I put on my running clothes (I couldn't find my damn cold-weather running tights! Grrr.) and fumbled around for my headlamp. Ick. It was still dark out.

Undeterred, we headed out into the early morning blackness. I braced myself against the cold. Travis didn't seem to mind at all. He seemed to keep up a lot better with me this time. I guess dogs build fitness too. My stomach was churning from the antibiotics for my sinus infection but I ran on. I carefully listened to my body, however, slowing my pace and walking the tough hills, guilt-free. I was just happy to be out of bed and mustering a run, no matter how slowly. Around the turn-around point, the burning in my stomach turned to nausea, and I was forced to walk. I remained totally positive. I felt very alive, and my sinuses had completely opened up. I ran whenever I could and walked when I had to.

My early morning workout paved the way for a successful day. I felt chipper and energetic all day, much to the annoyance of my co-workers. Tomorrow's workout? Hopefully, a bike on the trainer. The bike is all hooked up, the DVD is in the player, and my clothes are laid out. No excuses!

Another Workout Done--Swimming

2012-01-02T21:38:00.001-08:00

I've been off today. Some sort of sinus infection, blech. I started the Z-pack tonight. I was VERY tired today. However, it was also my last day of freedom. Tomorrow, I will resume my hectic teaching schedule. I didn't have a fever. I wondered if a workout would make me feel better. I had a swim and bike on the docket. The bike would have been fun but I knew I wasn't up for a double. I really needed to swim. It had been (gulp) 6 weeks. Oops.

I started by taking Travis for a brisk 30 minute walk. He appreciated it, at least. Normally, these walks help me loosen up and make it easier to transition to a workout afterwards. Today, I felt weak and winded. I knew I was under the weather. Yet, I really wanted to swim.

I headed down the street to the local pool. It had closed 5 minutes earlier. Blimey! Undeterred, I found another pool at the Y in Encinitas, using my trusty site "Find a Pool Anywhere in the World!" (http://www.swimmersguide.com/). It has yet to let me down.

After getting my bearings at the new pool, I found an empty lane and jumped in. Brrr! I hate that feeling when you first jump in, especially when you're sick! I took off sprinting, trying to warm up. Surprisingly, once I warmed up I settled into a relaxed pace and slowly but surely banged out 2300! I definitely feel better now that I swam. Great workout! Now, I just got to get better and FAST!

My Workout:
200 free warm-up
3x50 (back-free-breast)
Descending Ladder:
500
400
300
200
100
(50 breast ez in between)
Cool-down-100 choice

Tomorrow's Challenge: Will I be able to wake up at 5:30 to sneak in a pre-work run tomorrow? I REALLY, REALLY hope so! Stay tuned...

Working Out on a Low-Energy Day

2012-01-01T21:32:00.001-08:00

My plan was to go on a mellow bike ride this morning, down the coast. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, typical of San Diego. After breakfast and coffee, I committed the cardinal sin--I sat on the sofa to "relax" for 10 minutes. This turned into an hour. Which led to a nap. I woke up even more tired than before. Had lunch. Took another nap. It was one of my "low-energy" days. I wasn't depressed, just tired. I'm susceptible to chronic fatigue so I'm always taking notes of the patterns of these days, trying to determine the secret formula to prevent them. It's not as simple as it seems. (Yes, my thyroid and iron and wbc levels are all normal). However, I've learned to be patient on these days, as opposed to getting frustrated at how little I can accomplish.

After waking up for the 3rd time today, and enjoying my 3rd cup of coffee, I glanced at my "To Do" list. Surprisingly, I wasn't that far off. I realized I could at least try and work out. Feeling a slight peak in energy after a bowl of cereal and another cup of coffee, I knew this was my window. I hooked my bike up on the trainer, popped in a Spinerval DVD and hopped on. I was able to bang out 60 minutes on the trainer and follow it up with solid session of weights. I am SUPER proud of myself. I was able to work out despite myself! Plus, I'm hoping that the more and more I get used to motivating myself on low-energy days, the more the high energy days will be there.

Moving Forward, Moving On--Bring on 2012!

2011-12-31T22:07:00.001-08:00

I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year's. I've been a little envious reading some of your 2011 re-caps, filled with joyous race reports and smiling photos. I don't really have anything of note to mention for 2011. To be honest, it was a crappy year. Unemployment, failed relationships, and depression is what comes to mind, along with being laid up for a big chunk due to a lame foot injury. So I'm not going to do a re-cap because it's not something I want to focus on. The best parts of 2011? I got an awesome job the week of my birthday as a math/science high school teacher. Happy Birthday to me! And I learned how to mountain bike--even some of the scary, technical stuff. So I'm thankful for that.

One of the benefits to a crappy year ending is that it fills me with hope for a positive change. I'm looking forward to a much happier 2012. So this New Year couldn't come at a better time. I love the infectious motivation available to prod me off the couch and into action. I love my new job and am enjoying this new time in my life to focus on myself for the first time. I'm getting more comfortable in my skin and more excited about pursuing my personal goals. I have an Ironman to look forward to! I am currently working on my training plan for the year and am more excited than I have been in a long time.

As I said in my last post, my New Year's Resolution for 2012 can be encompassed in one word: Balance. This includes pacing myself, not working too hard, eating healthy, sleeping healthy, exercising regularly, and being better about self-monitoring my energy levels so I don't drain myself out (a bad habit I have). I've been using the past few days to implement my new plan. Little by little, it's going very well. It's amazing how little changes can make big differences in my mood!

These past two weeks, I've been on break. I've been so depleted from my new job that the break was a mixed blessing. I loved the opportunity to rest and relax but it came at the cost of depression. I was just too exhausted. Plus the holidays always make me a little blue. I always feel pressured to feel "happy" and ironically, this triggers a bad mood. However, the past few days have seen a change in the mood barometer, and things are looking up. I'm feeling better and better and able to be more pro-active about self-care.

I went for a run this morning with Travis. It was the first time in a week. My exercise has been so inconsistent, which I'm sure has contributed to my bad mood. My feet were heavy and awkward, my left foot continuously banging on my right ankle. I was slow, my breathing was labored, and I kept having to stop and wait for Travis to sniff and pee every 10 feet or so. The flabby, unused muscles in my legs ached and burned. Despite these discomforts, I felt something I had forgotten; something I hadn't felt in awhile: peace. My mind became still and my vision softened; I was exactly at the right place at the right time. I was living in the moment. And yet again, no matter how many times I forget, I remember why I run. Running is an act of meditation.

Checking In

2011-12-25T17:45:00.000-08:00

I know it's been awhile. To be honest, I've been going through a difficult time. Lots of transitions. My new job has swallowed me whole. I absolutely love being a teacher but these last 6 weeks haven't even given me time to breathe. I wake up at 6, drive 45 minutes each way, and work from 8:30 to 6 straight with only a 30 minute break. I have 8 different classes a day so when I get done, I'm often swamped until midnight preparing lesson plans for the next day. Not to mention grading and paperwork. On the other hand, getting to know each of my students individually and feeling like I'm making a difference has been awesome. Not to mention how smart I feel after teaching everything from pre-calculus to chemistry! But I know if I don't take care of myself, this pace will not be sustainable.

I'm currently enjoying my 2 weeks of winter break. I was planning on getting caught up on all sorts of exercise and catch-up activities. Except for painting some new art, I've been doing not much more than catching up on sleep. It's been weeks since I've gotten in a decent work-out. I've simply felt exhausted. This is going to change. After all, I have an Ironman I'm signed up for!

My New Years' Resolution is simple: Balance. It's all about balance. Taking care of myself. I am going to eat healthy (no skipping meals!), sleep 8 hours a day, and exercise daily. I'm going to revamp my training plan so it's hanging on my tried-and-true Excel spreadsheet above my bed, OCD-style. I'm going to sign up for lots of fun races. I'm not going to let my life be dominated by any one thing anymore, whether it's a relationship or work. It's all about balance.

Swimming in the Rain

2011-11-12T17:18:00.000-08:00

The weather was wet and gray today, perfectly matching my mood. I'm actually doing pretty good but there are considerable aches and pangs of misery. I jumped in the pool to drown in my sorrows. The water washed away my pain. Wet raindrops pelted my back and arms like soothing, icy missiles. The stinging sensation reminded me that even though I feel numb today, I am very much alive. I swam hard, until my chest ached and my lungs burned and I was gasping for air. Shadows on the pooldeck haunted me as I swam lap after lap, blurry in my peripheral vision. A startled glance revealed only the bleachers, a tree, a lamppost; my subconscious manifesting grim specters hovering over me. I focused on peace, letting the racing thoughts of anger wash over me, through me, and away into the water. I let the water wash out the unwanted memories that only bring me pain. I let the rhythm of my strokes bring peace within to replace the holes where the memories had been. The shadows retreated, and a strange calmness fell over me as I continued to swim. When I got out, a mere hour later, I felt transformed, like a weight had been lifted. Now, I feel strong and empowered. I chose to swim to begin the healing process. I choose happiness.

Bittersweet

2011-11-11T20:39:00.000-08:00

That's how this week has been. SO excited about my new job. Trying to be strong in other more difficult areas of my life. All I know is that I'm a very lucky person. I am lucky to have wonderful friends and family, my health, my strength, and the courage to follow my heart.

The heart was made to be broken.

- Oscar Wilde

Giving up doesn’t always mean you are weak; sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go. ~Author Unknown

Balance Midst Life's Chaos

2011-11-06T09:34:00.000-08:00

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving. -- Albert Einstein

For the first time in over five years, I feel truly happy. It feels like an enormous weight has been lifted. I'm filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. Ever since I turned 30, I've been remodeling my life, not wanting to look back later in life and be filled with regret. But after a divorce, job lay-off, and major career change, it's been hard to have faith that I've been making the right choices for myself. There has been a lot of doubt and second-guessing. Midst it all, I continued somehow to trust my gut, have faith, and keep on putting one foot in front of the other. Ironman helped immensely, giving me a sense of routine, normalcy, and incredible achievement when my life was everything but. There were times I felt like I'd lost all hope and faith. I'd look at other happy people incredulously, sure they were just naive and lucky to be so. I had gotten to a point where I didn't think there was such thing as happiness or true love. I'd lost my innocence.

Over the last few months, my life has begun to change. It's as if all my patience, perseverence and hard work has finally begun to pay off. I've fallen in love, despite myself. And for the first time in a long, long time, I believe in love again. I feel like I have my innocence and naiviety back. And it feels so good. At the same time, working towards my new career (from scientist to teacher), I begun applying to jobs all over the county. Since Blake lives up in O.C., I began to apply to teaching jobs there too. As usual, the job search was discouring. I heard nothing but jaded cynicism from others in the educational field, conversations laden with words like, "lay offs, budget cuts, and bureacracy". This was nothing new to my ears. I figured it couldn't be any worse than trying to find a scientist job. The only difference was that I actually wanted a teaching job. The universe must have known the difference. Amazingly, a few weeks ago, I landed an amazing teaching job only 10 minutes from Blake's house! I am a math and science teacher at a small, private high school in Mission Viejo.

I started my new dream job 2 weeks ago. For the first time in my life, I can honestly tell people that I LOVE my job. I can't wait to go in. I get in early and stay late. I work on lesson plans late into the night. I go to sleep thinking of ways I can help my students do well on their chemistry tests. I am brimming with ideas about school science projects. I love the other teachers at the school; I love the students; I love the atmosphere. It feels so good that I want to pinch myself.

Now I just want some traction and to settle into my new routine. It's been crazy living between Carlsbad and Orange County but despite it all, I actually feel more balanced than I ever have in my life! Somehow, all my errands are chores are up-to-date, I'm doing awesome at my new job, I'm happy in my relationship, and continuing to work out. I know it's only going to get better as I plan better and organize more in the future. Believe it or not, I've actually been swim/bike/running 6-8 hours a week, including a long run of 10 miles on the weekends! It's not perfect but definitely worth a pat on the back.

I used to say that I wasn't happy but hadn't given up on the pursuit of happiness. Well, for the first time in forever, I'm happy. Happiness exists. Don't ever give up the pursuit.

--Riding the 40 mile MTB race in Ensenada a few weeks ago.

Grandma in Memoriam

2011-10-23T17:07:00.000-07:00

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/mercurynews/obituary.aspx?page=lifestory&pid=154217994

I had a dream last weekend about my grandma. I had been meaning to visit one last time; I knew she wasn't doing well. In my dream, I was teaching at my new job when she came for a "surprise" visit. I was very surprised; afterall, I hadn't thought she was well enough to travel. We embraced, and with tears running down my cheeks, I told her how much I loved her. She said, "I know how busy you've been and how you wanted to visit so I came to you instead!" She reassured me that everything was fine. When I woke up, there was a voicemail from my dad with the news of my grandma's passing. Now I know she came to me in my dream to say goodbye.

My grandma was my hero. For the longest time, I didn't have a hero; I don't think I really knew what a hero was until I became an adult. Then, I realized that every time I looked at my grandma, she embodied everything a hero represented. I admired her, looked up to her, and wanted to be just like her. She had so many qualities I wanted to emulate. She was fiercely independent and not afraid to march to the beat of her own drummer. She was always positive and never scarce on smiles. When we would go out to eat, her upbeat attitude and high-energy would always astound us. We would joke to the water, "We'll have what she's having!"

She taught me to smile and exchange pleasantries with those around me. She taught me that you can live alone and not be lonely. She taught me that you should always be true to yourself. And she taught me that happiness isn't something that falls in your lap; happiness is a choice you make. I will miss her sloppy kisses. I will miss her redundant stories, retold so many times I knew them all by heart. I will miss her constant humming of old tunes, sung completely off-key. I miss Grandma terribly, but I will never forget the memories or the lessons she taught me.

MTB Baja UltraEndurance Race

2011-10-18T23:31:00.000-07:00

I did my first mountain bike race on Saturday. It was only the 2nd time I'd ever ridden my new mountain bike, Montana, and only the 10th time ever that I'd ridden a mountain bike. Luckily, I was too naive to be scared. I had no idea what I was in for. I had first agree to just go and support Blake, who rides the 100k annually. When he told me there was a shorter "fun" ride, I quickly piped up, "I want to do the shorter ride!" At first, he was very enthusiastic, saying how fun it would be if we both shared the experience together. As he studied the course, he furrowed his brow, realizing how hilly, difficult, and technical it was. He warned me, suggesting maybe I opt out and try again after I had more rides under my belt. I was stubborn, and refused to be steered off course. I was going to do it.
"Some of the hills are really steep. I know you don't like downhills, and this course has some nasty downhills," he warned.
"I'll can do it! And if it's too hard, I'll just walk," I retorted.
He sighed and shut his mouth. When he told his friends (mostly pros) that I was going to do the fun ride, their response was, "The fun ride is not fun."
I shrugged, protected by my innocence and stupidity. I was undeterred. The other riders were nervous. I was asked many times if I was ready. I couldn't figure out what the big deal was. Afterall, it was just a "fun ride", right?

Saturday morning, we woke up at the crack of dawn. Nervousness started to seep in for the first time. As we lined up at the start, I wondered: What have I gotten myself into?
The 100k riders took off, including Blake, and I was left alone with the 65k riders, one of the only females, and the only American. I suddenly felt very lonely.

We began riding, and, almost immediately, a young woman rode up next to me and introduced herself as Claudia. Relief washed over me. Her English was much better than my Spanish, and she clearly shared my desire for companionship on the ride. Although she claimed to be a beginner mountain biker, she was much stronger than me and started to zip off ahead as we reached the beginning of the first climb. I let her go, knowing this climb was going to last for about 8 miles. I watched her blue jersey become smaller and smaller, ever so slowly in the distance.

The going was slow but I was in good spirits. Eventually, the terrain steepened and became sandy and slushy. My wheels slipped and wobbled. This seemed like a good excuse to get off and walk. I had always thought the climbs on the road bike could be steep. Mountain biking climbs make the hills I've climbed on the road bike laughable. In mountain biking, apparently, it's not a hill unless it's over 20% and you have to lean all your weight over the front wheel to keep it from popping up. Ridunkulous. I pushed Montana ahead of me and slogged up the hill on foot. I'm not entirely sure this was much easier. The hill was so steep, its shadow cast me in darkness, as if I was walking up a skyscraper. Mountain bikers' favorite superhero must be Spiderman.

A cyclist rolled down the hill in the opposite direction. I looked at him in confusion. The fact that he had a familiar face didn't help my mental fog. My face suddenly broke into a wide grin. It was Blake's friend, Beto, whom I'd met the night before. He gave me some encouraging words and asked how I was doing. All of a sudden, all doubt was washed away. Infused with energy and renewed good spirits, I crested the first hill at mile 10. Although it had taken me an hour and a half to go 10 miles, I was sure the rest would be easier. Afterall, everyone had said the first climb was the toughest.

Then, I started the descent. Recent rains had cut deep rivets and trenches across the trail. Not to mention the hill was as steep as the one I had just climbed up. Only it was down. I took several deep breaths and tried to talk myself down, crouching into the descent position, weight back, chest down. Several nasty bumps, hops and skips later, combined with the sickening feeling in my gut that I was careening out of control, I slowly screeched to a halt and dismounted. Grumbling, I walked down the rest of the hill. I was not happy. I hate not doing something because I'm scared. I tried several different times to get back on the bike and resume course down the hill but to no avail. Unfortunately, once off the bike on a steep grade (up or down), it's difficult to get started again. Momentum and speed help stabilize the bike more than I had realized.

I finally reached the bottom of the hill, which matched my low morale. I looked desperately for a rock to crawl under and hide. How was I ever going to finish this thing? Was I going to be able to even finish? I remembered one of Blake's friends encouraging me at the start: "It will be hard out there. No matter what, you get to the finish, okay?"

I had looked at him in surprise, replying, "Of course." Now I knew what he had meant. It wasn't just me. This course was tough. I ignored the thoughts of despair floating around my head (a.k.a. "negativity drills") and, as I've done so many times before, kept on going despite myself.

The hillsides were gorgeous and serene. Unfortunately, not being familiar with the course (I hadn't even studied it on-line), I felt desolate and alone. There was a fork in the trail. I couldn't see another rider in front or behind me. Which way should I go? Suddenly, a rider appeared and zoomed down the trail to the left. The more technical, dangerous trail, of course. The timing was perfect as I had just turned the wrong way. I turned back and tried to follow, pulling up short in front of a sudden, enormous sink hole. Gulp. Cautiously, I walked through the obstacle, one of many.

The trail flattened out and became a well-groome dirt road. I breathed a sigh of relief. This I could ride! I flew through farmland, vineyards and small towns. It was like being transported back in time. A small white church dotted the horizon. Cows, horses, and donkeys grazed aimlessly throughout the countryside. I swerved around a few Holsteins and dodged a cocky rooster, strutting across my path.

Soon after, I reached another steep descent. The trail was sandy and soft as well as narrow, with several sharp turns. To make matters worse, the drop off on one side was steep and unforgiving. I tried, again, to urge Montana down the hill but he balked repeatedly. Disgruntled, yet again, I got off and walked down the entire dang thing. For a mountain bike race, I certainly was doing a lot of walking. I had to jump to the side of the trail several times to let other cyclists pass by. Watching them carelessly bounce and skid down the trail, millimeters from crashing or flying off the mountainside did little to boost my confidence or inspire me to follow suit. In fact, after watching them, trying helplessly to glean some last-minute tips from more accomplished riders, did nothing more than assuage my bruised ego and make me feel completely justified in walking. No way was I going to do that! Not today, at least.

Finally, I reached the bottom of the hill. I prayed that had been the nasty descent Blake had warned me about. However, I wasn't sure. What if it wasn't? I wasn't sure I could handle another nasty descent. As I rode easily through some more farmland, dirt roads, and beautiful orchards, I started to relax. Weaving through the bones of a massive bovine skeleton, complete with an intact skull picked clean, about 1/4 mile up the trail, however, I crossed my fingers and gulped. I hoped it wasn't an omen.

Soon, I was crossing some rocky creekbeds. Grumbling, I got off and walked. And then another. And another. Ugh. Are you kidding me? Suddenly, I was sick of walking. No more! I got on Montana, and with a burst of anger, fled through several creekbeds and deep patches of sand. Suddenly, I was laughing. I couldn't believe it had been that easy! Those loose rocks and slippery expanses of sand had seemed impossible to ride only moments before. Maybe I could finish this thing afterall.

I reached an aid station and stopped to refuel. I eagerly gulped down several orange slices and small, chocolate-flavored bars, reminiscent of Cliff bars. Quite tasty. I also slurped down several cups of some sort of carbonated soda/energy drink. Even though I had been eating and drinking, I didn't realized how famished I'd become. All of a sudden, everything was right in the world again. I zipped down the road with renewed energy. It was as if someone had brightend the color and wiped my lenses clean.

Until the climbing began. Again. No more, please. Uncle! I pleaded. My legs burned with lactic acid. Stubbornly, I climbed despite my quads protest. I focused on my form, breathing forcibly as I lowered my chest to the handlebars. My butt was so forward on the seat, I could feel the nose poking my tailbone. Fatiuged, I pedaled as slowly as I could, and surpisingly, discovered I could make my way to the top of the hill using this tactic.

All of a sudden, I was careening down the final descent. I knew I was close. My GPS read 38 miles. I could see the sprawling town of Ensenada rapidly approaching in the distance. Confidence building, I rode every hill, up or down, every rock, every bit of sand, refusing to get off and walk. I could do this. I was going to finish. I reached the dry wash that runs into town, the final stretch, and took off as fast as I could, zipping through shallow creeks and muddy patches. Droplets of muck splattered my face and legs. I started purposely careening through the mud and water like a kid splashing in puddles after a rain.

And then, I was at the finish, exhausted and exuberant. I had done it! My first mountain bike ride/race. 65km on a very difficult course, in another country no less. Tired, exhausted, and completely satisfied. Muy contento!

--The mariachi singers at the post-ride party. They were absolutely amazing. They actually did a stand-up job playing all sorts of rock. Here they are playing Pink Floyd!

--Our muddy and tired steeds, racked up and ready to go home. What a ride!

Links:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=231291220228358

http://www.bajadventours.net/

Best Birthday EVER!!!

2011-10-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my birthday isn't until the 27th. But my birthday came early this year. Last weekend, I went over to Blake's, only to find the most beautiful gift ever, waiting for me in the kitchen (see above). It's a Specialized Safire, full supsension, all carbon, with something called a "brain" that adjusts the shocks automatically depending on the terrain you're on. Bitchin'! Hmmm. My bike has a brain? Kinda scary. Wonder if it can help me with some of my physics lessons for teaching...Anyway, I named him "Montana" since I'm a 49'ers fan, and his colors are gold with some red.

I have been learning to mountain bike recently. The learning curve is pretty steep. I think the transition from road to trail is much harder than the other way around. Sure I have the endurance but I lack the technical skills. I have to accept that I will fall off the bike from time to time. And I lack the anaeorobic power bursts necessary to get up short, steep hills. But I've been bravely tackling my fears and doing it enough times that it was starting to get fun. However, I was riding an old Trek hardtail that I bought used for $200. Boy, did I get my money's worth on trusty ole' Rocky (that was her name).

Not knowing the difference, I thought feeling like you were atop a jackhammer on the downhills was normal. On the uphills, Rocky jerked, twisted, and bucked on every pebble like a frisky horse on a cool autumn day. We skidded all over the sand. Sometimes, we crashed. The back end was always swishing, sliding and slipping out from under me. Needless to say, not knowing if my bike was going to stay upright on some of the bumps was not good for my confidence.

I took Montana for a test ride. We rode a trail I had traversed earlier on Rocky. It included some of my infamous nemeses: rocky creekbeds, deep sand, water crossings, and downhill switchbacks. I had walked much of it last time, frustrated and nearly in tears. I winced as we careened down the switchbacks, sure that I was going to fall to my death. I carefully opened my eyes at the bottom. Not only was I still atop the bike, I hadn't even felt a bump. I was certain we had gone over some rocks.

Montana and I continued on. My eyes must have deceived me. Several largish rocks appeared in our path, yet they seemed to disappear under me as we rode through. I couldn't feel them at all. It was like riding a Cadillac. For the first time, I felt courageous on the trail. I trusted my bike. I started seeing how fast I could go down the trail, trying to see if I could catch up to Blake. I had never been able to do that before, always afraid Rocky would skid uncontrollably out from under me at top speeds. The faster we went, the smoother the ride. We blasted through water and soared through a dry creekbed, riddled with large boulders, piled atop each other like a 3-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. Somehow, amazingly, I didn't fall. Not even close. Montana just floated on top of them with something I discovered that had been sorely lacking before: momentum. What a concept.

On the way home, I finally got brave enough to jump a curb for the first time. I had never been able to muster up the courage to do it. I didn't let myself think about it for too long. I just pointed Montana at the curb, and pulled up the front wheel when we were close. And that was it. It was that simple. The rest of the bike followed easily.

This weekend, we're going to a mountain bike race in Baja. I'm just doing the "fun" ride (34 miles) but I'm super excited to get some one-on-one time with my new toy!

New Year's Resolution

2011-10-05T20:03:00.000-07:00

Rosh Hashanah was last week. It gave me an opportunity to reflect on what changes and improvements I want to start working on. The, when New Year's comes around on January 1, I can reassess. I feel like it's given me a head start.

1. Be on time!

I have a really bad habit of being late. Not only is it rude, but it causes me a ton of unneeded grief and stress in my life. I've resolved to not just be on time from now on, but to be at least 5-10 minutes early. Job interviews, tutoring, coaching Girls on the Run, appointments, and meetings with friends and loved ones--it's important to be on time! But how can a chronically late person achieve this? For one, I need to be realistic with my planning. I simply try to cram too much into one day. I've started streamlining more and being more realistic with my schedule. Second, I have a much more detailed daily schedule. I list what has to be done at what time, other things that need to get done, and less important things that I would like to done--in that order. Third, I work backwards from the time I want to get there. Then, I subtract 15 minutes for Murphy's law. I then add driving time, add an extra 10 minutes to that, then I figure out what time I need to leave my apartment...and add 10 minutes. For some reason, I go through a time warp when I walk from my apartment to the car in the parking lot, where I instantly lose 5 minutes. Go figure. That gives me the time I need to be leaving my apartment. Whallah! Guess what? It works! Since I've implemented my new procedure, I've been 5-15 minutes early for everything. (Okay, a few times I've been a few minutes late but that's still a vast improvement).

2. Wake up early.

I know, I know. I've had this on my list for New Year's resolutions for the last 3 years. I seem to make progress and move towards this goal, and then lapse back into my habitual, old night-owl schedule. Even though my circadian rhythm is programmed to be a night person, the truth is, the early bird does get the worm. I can't achieve #1 if I don't wake up early! Plus, I can be more productive. I've started setting my alarm (I know this isn't rocket science but believe it or not, I haven't been using one). Second, I actually GET UP!!! Having a morning workout planned at a set time with the clothes laid out the night before helps a lot. Having a loved one in bed next to you that wakes you up with a delicious, steaming hot cup of coffee also helps. The result so far? Vast progress! I've been waking up around 6:30 to 7:30 every day for the last week. Before? I'm embarrassed to admit, I would sleep until 9.

3. Avoid naps. Take only short naps, if absolutely necessary.

Sleep begets sleep. The more I sleep, the more sleep I seem to think I need. This has to stop. I simply have too much to do. Instead of taking a nap, I've been trying to do something productive. Planning a workout during these low-energy times revives me 10-fold more than a nap or cup of coffee does. The result? I've only taken 1 nap in the last week (which was only 1 hour).

4. Avoid planning too much.

I tend to overfill my plate. Then, I feel stressed and overwhelmed. I know when I start feeling that way, it's time to eliminate things from my to do list. It's better to prevent that overwhelmed feelign in the first place. Early this year, I decided to do some housecleaning. I streamlined by eliminating volunteering for animal rescue and riding horses. I miss it a lot but there will be other times in my life where I have more room for those activities. I've decided to focus on my teaching career. I still get to volunteer (Girls on the Run) but it's teaching-focused. I've also put my animal art business on hold. It was taking up a lot of time and money. I miss it a lot but I still paint and draw to relax whenever I have some down time. So, my focuses right now are teaching, training and my new relationship!

That's enough resolutions! I would rather have a few that I focus on and achieve than a million I half-ass.

Bonelli Olympic Triathlon Race Report--My First DNF

2011-09-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

http://www.trievents.com

I hadn't done a triathlon since March. I've been swimming, biking and running almost every day but I wouldn't go so far as to call it training. For some reason, I signed up for the Bonelli Olympic Distance Triathlon a few weeks ago. It was in a venue I had never raced before, and I wanted to brush off the cobwebs. As the weekend drew near, I began having second thoughts. I wasn't ready for this. Should I do it? I'm just getting over an injury. I rose one morning after having a very good dream of me racing and having a great time. I knew it was time to get back in the saddle.

We got there before the park even opened (thanks to Blake, the uber-planner). I've never had the luxury of VIP parking and picking my spot on the transition rack before. We were there so early, we had a hard time figuring out where to park. It's hard to know where the parking lot is when you're the first person there!

--setting up my transition

As soon as I checked in and set up my transition (and went to the bathroom 4x), I started to calm down. The pre-race butterflies fluttering in my stomach were like a long-time, forgotten friend. I was excited.

--Preparing for the swim

I headed down to the lake to warm up for the swim. The water was a balmy 78. Being a wimp, I was relieved not to have to deal with cold water. I jumped into the lake, and zipped around like a dolphin. I had forgotten how much like a rockstar your wetsuit makes you feel in the water.

--coming out of the water

The race kicked off with a woman singing an absolutely beautiful version of "The Star Spangled Banner". My wave was unusually small, a nice change of pace from previous races. As a matter of fact, the entire race was very low-key (albeit a little disorganized), but it was extremely beginner-friendly and welcoming.

The horn blew, and we charged into the water. I was nervous. I had done a 1500 yard time trial in the pool earlier that week. However, I hadn't been swimming much. And the last open water swim I had done was...June? Gulp. Surprisingly, I easily found a steady rhythm and glided through the water. I definitely wasn't speedy, but I was relaxed and comfortable. I was enjoying myself. What more could I want? Even though the buoys were far and few between (only 4 total), happily I nailed them. All of sudden, the swim finish appeared. Wow. That was relatively painless. Phew! What a relief. Most anxiety-induced part of the race over. Check and check.

--onto the bike

The bike was 3 loops around the park, offering some very scenic views of the neighboring hillsides and plenty of shade from overhanging oak trees. I had spent hours the days before cleaning Torch, putting on his race wheels and changing the tubular on the front (a flat from my last tri in March--about time to fix it!). I had double- and triple-checked the tires this morning. Torch was ready to go.

I gasped for air as I roared away on the bike, dripping with water and pulling slimy, green algae from my arms, acquired from the Puddingstone Reservoir. I was having a hard time catching my breath. Had I started to sprout gills on the swim? I had forgotten what a shock to the body the bike-to-swim transition can be. The pavement was rough, and I gritted my teeth as I bumped and jiggled around the potholes. Soon, it was smooth sailing, and I soared down a few descents, admiring the shady oaks lining the roads, with the large reservoir in the background. The sky was overcast and a light mist gently dusted my skin, refreshingly cooling me. Before I knew it, I had finished the first lap. The 8 miles had gone by in the blink of an eye. I caught sight of Blake snapping pictures, and cheering my name as I began my second lap. I smiled. I had forgotten how much positive energy is infused from a loving support crew.

During the 2nd lap, I started to find my rhythm. My legs felt like pistons, and my glutes were the engine. My breathing settled, and I began to feel strong and consistent. I was beginning to thoroughly enjoy myself. The course was so pretty. There was no one around me. I'm either doing really well...or really bad, I reasoned. Of course, I could just be somewhere in the middle. If it just weren't for those patches of rough pavement...

I made a right turn. My back wheel felt a bit funny. It must be the road. Thump, thump, thump. No, no, no, I pleaded. It has to be the road. It's so bumpy. I looked down at the back tire. It was difficult to tell. Was it...? I didn't even want to think the dreaded, four-letter "F" word. It wasn't. Couldn't be. No, please, no. I slowed to a stop. I'll just check it, and it will all be in my head. Then, I'll have peace of mind and can continue on my merry way. I slowed to a stop, and gave the back tire a tell-tale squeeze. It was flat. I yelled my own four-letter F word loudly in my head. Then, I got to work.

Okay, a flat. My first flat in a race. Everyone gets a flat in a race at some point. Guess it was my turn. I can deal with this. I flipped the bike over, taking care to remove the water bottle to prevent all its contents from spilling onto the ground. Unfortunately, I was riding on tubulars, which I have less experience changing. However, I had done it a few times. I had determination on my side. Plan A: Seal the hole with "Vittoria Pit Stop". The claim is that it fills the tire with a slimy foam that patches the hole as it reinflates it with CO2. A lot of my friends had sworn by it. I hoped they were right. I pried off the cap, stuck the nozzle in the valve, and breathed a sigh of relief as the cold hiss of compressed gas filled the tire. I removed the bottle and foam threw up all over me and the back wheel like champagne bubbles spewing from a newly corked bottle. I spun the wheel. And listened. A high-pitched hisssssss quickly replaced my relief with dread. I stared the puncture square in the eye. It just pffffffffted air on my cheek as if thumbing its nose and sticking its tongue at me. I rolled my eyes.

Okay, plan B. I removed the wheel, extracted the pocket knife I had stowed in my bag for just this ocassion and cut the tire off the wheel. That tire had been on that wheel for over a year. No way was I going to be able to successfully pry it off with my wimpy hands and a tire lever. I had prior experience with this part, and trying to salvage a punctured tubular that's over a year old just isn't worth it to me in a race. Nonetheless, getting the blade under the bottom of the tire and ripping the entire thing off was still a devil of a job. I thought of Norman Stadler on the lava fields in 2005: "Too much GLUE!!!" But although tossing the wheel into the rocks and bursting into tears was tempting, I focused on trying to get the new tubular onto the wheel. Except...it was a brand new tubular. And even though it had been prepped with glue and inflated at some point in the long ago time, I couldn't remember when that was (probably a year ago when I put this blated tire on). The fact was, it was a virgin tire and had never felt a wheel before. And it was the most doggone, stuborn piece of rubber I had ever encountered. Try as I might, I could not get the last few inches onto the wheel. I pulled and pulled. Pushed. I tried standing, sitting, using the ground and my knees for leverage, tire levers. Nothing. The only progress I could see were some bloody fingertips from trying to push the tire onto the wheel and bruises and cuts on my knees where the bladed spokes of the Zipp wheel had sliced into. Tire: 2; Rachel: 0. Thankfully, a very kind gentleman rode by at that moment and asked if I needed any help. I happily obliged. Within minutes, we showed that tire who was boss (although I have to admit, even he had trouble with that f*&#@n' thing).

He rode off, and I then popped my CO2 cartridge onto the valve to fill it up and ride off. I had lost 20 minutes but at least I would still be able to finish. Then, I realized the valve extender was completed effed up. I had only myself to blame. I hadn't put the daggone thingy into the right thingy. Stubbornly clinging to hope, I used both of my cartridges to fill the tire with air, following this procedure by holding my thumb tightly over the valve opening to prevent the mad hissing exodus of cold air right back out. I tried smothering the valve with GU, hoping in a last-ditch effort to gunk up the opening and seal it just long enough to ride back to transition, where I had back up clincher wheels ready to go. Maybe I could take off my bike shoes and run the last 2 miles back to transition barefoot with Torch by my side, replace the bike wheel with the training wheel, and then finish the last lap....

I shook my head. No, no, be reasonable now. It was time to surrender and live to fight another day. My CO2 cartridges empty and all resources exhausted, I gave up the McGyver tactics and sat down to wait for a ride. Thankfully, the SAG wagon drove by just then. I handed him my timing chip and happily accepted the ride back to transition.

Happily, the race organizers were very supportive in letting me continue on to do the run. I wouldn't get a finishing time but at least I could get in a good workout. Once back in transition, I put on my running shoes and headed out onto the run course. I was soooo glad I got to run. It was one of the most beautiful run courses I've ever experienced in a triathlon. The course wove in and around Bonelli Park and even took me off road on a few trails (my favorite!). I felt quick and strong (and well rested!) and flew easily along, my feet flying over the ground. I had been experiencing some recent flare-ups with my metarsalgia and after some rest, a visit to the podiatrist, and some forefoot gel pads, was itching to try out my feet on a 10k run. I was delighted. It was the first time that I had run that far pain-free since June. In addition, filled with adrenaline from other racers and cheering spectators, I pounded my feet down the course at race pace. Like a true test pilot, I was taking the good ole' feet through the paces. And my feet held up fine. More than fine, in fact. Much more than I can say for my fancy, schmancy race wheels!

--flying across the finish

I finished with a huge smile on my face. I may have DNF'ed but it was for mechanical reasons, and I still had a great time. I got in a fantastic workout and learned a ton about bike repair and prep for future races. In addition, after 8 years of racing, this was the first time I had ever flatted in a race. I would much rather flat in a small, fun race like this one than, say, an Ironman. Also, in 8 years of racing, this was my first, official DNF. Like the first scratch on a new car, it feels good to get it over with. I know now that it's not the end of the world. You do this long enough, and one of these days, it's going to happen. In every race, things happen that are beyond my control. Although I couldn't control the flat tire, I could control my reaction to the flat. Instead of losing it and sobbing in a pitiful heap on the side of the road (an alluring temptation), I chose to do the best I could with the situation. So what if I missed 10 miles of the bike? I finished the run and enjoyed a fully supported workout. I definitely feel like I got my money's worth.

(Note to self: I will definitely practice getting all intended spares on and off the wheel next time and test the valve extenders by inflating the tires through them after they're attached. Valuable tubular changing tips learned? Check!)

The Little Steamboat that Can

2011-09-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

I am slowly but surely getting back into shape. I need more recovery days than I'm used to and every little workout makes me sore but it feels good to be consistent again. Today, I jumped on the tri bike for a 1 hour workout. I wanted to test out the 'ole legs. Afterall, I have a race on Sunday! My first triathlon since...March?...of this year. Yikes!

This Sunday, I'm going to do the Bonelli Olympic Distance Triathlon (aka the "Steamboat Triathlon, and hence the cartoon at the top) in San Dimas (http://www.trievents.com), the LA area. Since I'm out of shape, I'm just doing it as a long, fun workout. I tried swimming 1500 straight in the pool on Tuesday. Except for being a little slow and getting out of the water with a sore shoulder (the mountain biking and weights didn't help for that either), I was pretty happy with myself.

Today's bike was great too. I headed out of my new apartment on a different route. One thing I learned today: Carlsbad is hilly. Hill after hill arose, and I diligently climbed each one. I've always been weak on the bike. My hope is that the mountain biking will make me a better climber. Don't know if that is working yet but it feels like it might be making things a bit easier. Even if it's the placebo effect, I'll take it.

Funny thing is, I hate climbing on the road bike but love climbing on the mountain bike. There is so much more to think about on the dirt than the agony of your heart bursting through your lungs and the lactic acid burning holes in your legs. For instance, the fear of falling, the fear that the bike might topple over backwards, or the fear of puking. Afterall, the hills are SO much steeper in mountain biking. I didn't realize this until I began running some of the same trails I had biked the week before. On the bike, I had chastised myself each time I failed to get up the hill, cursing each time I had to get off and walk. Then, after running it, or more like walking with my arms swinging, I didn't feel so bad. I mean, jeez, some of those hills are practically vertical. I didn't know I would need ropes and a harness!

Of course, on our last mountain bike ride, I made the mistake of cheerfully piping up and proclaiming, "I just love climbing on the mountain bike! I mean, I really LOVE it!" Two seconds later, I attempted to climb a hill that was so steep, it rose its ugly head before me like a sheer wall. I did the walk of shame to the top. Even the walk killed me. I was forced to rest, bent over the handlebars, catching my breath and trying not to hurl. On the next hill, almost as bad as the last, I valiantly struggle to keep pedaling, keep pedaling as Blake yells, "Lower your chest! Scoot your butt forward on the seat!" I want to yell back at him that I am doing those things, and I'm trying, and I'm doing the best I can, and to shut the F*#k up but I have absolutely no extra breath to do anything other than heave and gasp up the hill. At the top, I collapse to the ground. I wave Blake off. I just need to sit for a few minutes. It's been a long time since I've had to do that but I don't question what my body needs. I just obey. We both patiently wait. Despite a low level of self loathing, I am simultaneously proud of myself for having made it this far. After a few minutes, my breathing and heart rate lowered, we climb back on our bikes and continue on for a few more hours of glorious trails. Please, sir, can I have some more?

But I digress. This post started about getting ready for a race that I'm not in shape for and my most recent bike ride. The hills on the road, albeit boring, do seem a little easier lately. And then I hit the coast with the sparkling ocean and the smell of salt so pungent, it stings my nose. I can practically taste it. The 101 is fairly flat, and I'm zipping along now, despite a mild headwind. I may not be much stronger on the hills but I'm definitely faster on the flats, like a true triathlete. I come to a screaming halt back at my new apartment with a grin from ear to ear. Time to get ready for Girls on the Run.

Sunday's race should be fun. I like the "Steamboat" metaphor too. Kind of reminds me of the Little Engine that Could. That's me. I may not look tough but looks can be deceiving.

Girls on the Run

2011-09-21T21:30:00.000-07:00

Time continues to fly by. My life is full and busy, yet, somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, I realize I feel happier than I've been in a long time.

Girls on the Run (http://gotrsd.org/) started this week, and I'm head coach of the Carlsbad chapter. I meet with 15 other girls and (thank God) a few other assistant coaches 2x a week. Our 75 minutes together is way too short. It just seems meant to be. Here I am, triathlete and prospective teacher, in a position to positively influence young girls about the love of running, health, physical exercise, and self confidence. It's an amazing experience.

I'm still trying to get a substitute teaching position while waiting to apply to a teaching credential program next fall (I missed the deadline for this year--my decision to change careers was in April and the deadline was in March; ugh). It's tough out there! The pools are closed to many teachers with emergency permits (moh) because there are so many fully credentialed teachers who want to sub. Not a good sign. I refuse to become discourged! Meanwhile, I'm tutoring and applying for more volunteer positions in the classroom. This will be my year of volunteering. I love volunteering; too bad I can't get paid for it!

My foot continues to improve and I'm running more and more on it (after a $6.95 gel metatarsal pad from CVS--the miracle of Dr. Scholl!). I'm mountain biking a lot more and absolutely loving it. I'm starting to get less scared about going downhill. Expletives help a lot. I even went down some switchbacks on my last ride (my nemesis)! Every time I go over a bump, or rock, or creek, (insert scary obstacle here), I am overjoyed because I know just a few weeks ago, I would have stopped and walked over it. (I know this because the urge to stop and walk still enters my mind; I just work really hard to suppress it).

My sister is getting married! Blake and I are very happy. And the fact that his kids and pets (especially his little weenie dog, Oscar) are awesome doesn't hurt. Even Travis is doing great (although I wish he'd stop running into cacti off leash)! He's en route to become a therapy dog.

Ironman Wisconsin 2012!

2011-09-12T10:16:00.001-07:00

Guess what?! I signed up for Ironman Wisconsin 2012! Here we go again....

Can't wait to do an Ironman in the hometown of my alma mater.

Romantic Tahoe Getaway--An Adventur Seeker's Playground

2011-08-29T20:24:00.000-07:00

Blake and I headed to Tahoe last weekend for a romantic but active getaway. I had no idea Tahoe was such a fantastic place to visit in the summer. We will definitely be back! It was an endurance athlete's paradise!

The Range Rover loaded up with our mountain bikes, roadies, and kayak for a weekend of fun.

--View of Squaw Valley from our hotel. Not too shabby, eh?

The weather was very chilly in the mornings (upper 30s) with temps rising to a delicate mid-70s in the afternoon. The skies were a brilliant blue and the mountains were carpeted in a velvety green. I was reminded of Canada's B.C. in the summertime. Pristine lakes and hillsides. We were most struck by the delicious, cool, fresh tap water pouring freely from the sinks! I regretted not bringing huge jugs to take some back with us. None of the restaurants served bottled water. Instead, we reveled in the tap. It came from deep within the lake. Seriously, if I had needed to, I probably could have lapped water from the lake's edge like a deer.

Day 1: Mountain Biking the Emigrant Trail
http://arnica.csustan.edu/mtbike/Emigrant2/index.htm
http://www.singletracks.com/bike-trails/emigrant-trail.html

The Emigrant Trail in Tahoe is fantastic for beginners and extremely scenic. What's not to like? I was certainly challenged by rocks and some gentle climbs. On the way out, tense and cold in the early morning chill, I rode rigidly, staring at my front wheel as Blake "oohed" and "aahed" at the sights. I was too freaked to enjoy myself much. I was sure I was going to fall off and die. Every uphill I rode, I mentally made a note of another terrifying downhill with sharp jagged rocks that threatened to break my neck on our return. "Is this an out-and-back?" Blake said that it was, confirming my worst fears. Needless to say, by the time we reached the turn-around at Stampede Reservoir, I was a bit grumpy. I was certain I was going to be walking most of the way back. Plus, I was a little humiliated that the "beginner" rating of the trail was kicking my ass.

I stopped to rest, dipping my feet in the cool, gentle water before we turned back. Somehow, Blake convinced me to let him ride behind me to help coach me on the downhills. I was more than a little reluctant; who wants to let their new beau watch them make a spectacle of themselves as they splatter themselves in bright colors of crimson and splintered bone on the rocks? Letting him ride behind me (read: have front seats to the "Rachel is a Dumbass" show) was like pulling teeth. He mentioned that it would be safer. Afterall, who would take me to the hospital if I fell and he was way off the front? (But if Rachel falls in the woods and no one is around to see, did it really happen?)

So, I let him ride behind me. And the most amazing thing happened. I began to relax. I got up out of the saddle, pushed my weight behind the seat, and allowed my legs and feet to absorb the shock. Rocky, my trusty mountain bike, rolled faithfully over the rocks, and I, little by little, began to build confidence. I began to go faster, and it got easier. The rocks that had seemed like boulders just moments ago now seemed like pebbles. Despite myself, a smile began to spread across my face. I didn't walk once. I didn't even fall. For the first time, I stopped staring at the ground in front of me, and looked around. Pine trees densely lined the trail, spotted with occasional emerald meadows. A giant doe ran right by us, spooked by some other bikers. The trail was padded with a thick layer of pine needles, perfuming the air heavily with the pleasantly intoxicating scent. I was so overcome with elation, a few tears rolled down my dust-stained cheeks. It was definitely a break-through ride.

--Rocky and I successfully rolling down the Emigrant Trail.

--Look, Ma! No falling this time!

Day 2--Run/Bike and Paddle
As we were returning to our hotel on the first night, one of the valets mentioned that we were about 1/4 mile from the entrance of the Western States Trail. I looked at him stupidly. "Western States?"
"Yeah. In fact, there's a famous 100-mile race that begins here and ends in Auburn every year. Lots of runners stay here. I volunteer for it."
"Western States?"
He looked at me as if I was mentally challenged. It is my dream and destiny to do this race at some point in my life. I don't know why but this trail just calls to me. For some reason, I hadn't put two-and-two together. Even though I've read books on the trail, studied maps, and read the website studiously, it hadn't hit me until just now. Of course! Squaw Valley! Blake had booked our vacation from the steps of the starting point of my life's dream race!

Day 2, of course, began with my dream run on the Great Western States Trail. He negotiated the steep, slippery single-track on his mountain bike as I trotted alongside excitedly. The miles slipped away unnoticed as I breathed in the scent of pine and danced over rocks. The views over the valley and lake were stunning, as if we were in some remote place in Nepal, instead of just a few hours away from home.

Blake gently asked when I planned on turning around. I didn't want to turn around. I wanted to keep going and going and going. However, my foot was newly healed, and I've only recently returned to running. It wasn't wise to run more than 6. Begrudgingly, we turned around at the top of a very steep ski lift at mile 3 (but not before snapping some awesome pics).

http://ws100.com

--Exuberant on the Great Western States Trail

--Blake and his new studly mountain bike (Ghostrider) on the GWS trail.

Paddling on Emerald Bay:
http://www.parks.ca.gov/?page_id=506

Determined to see as much of our new playground as possible, Blake and I grabbed a quick bite and drove to Baldwin Beach for a kayaking excursion. I was a bit nervous. I had kayaked once in my life and have been known to be prone to seasicknesses. I had nothing to fear. After some brief instruction, we set off in Blake's light-as-a-feather, two-person kayak. The water was deep blue, crystal clear and glassy smooth. After settling into a rhythm, the kayak sliced swiftly through the water. We kayaked about 3 miles to Emerald Bay so clear, we could see the bottom. Reflecting the dark green of the pines on the mountains, the bay is aptly named for its deep jewelled green color. Not only was it a great upper body workout, but it was incredibly romantic. I felt like we were on a gondola in Venice.

--Kayaking on Emerald Bay

--View of Emerald Bay from above.

Day 3--Leisurely Road Ride and Horsebackriding
We rose early and rode down the paved bike trail towards Tahoe City. Blake wore nothing but a sleeveless jersey and shorts. I wore a thermal cap, arm warmers, and used his arm warmers as leg warmers and still had to try to prevent the fits of shivering from shaking me off the bike. Deep patches of fog hung like thick cotton in the valleys. To occupy our frozen brains, we searched the sunny meadow pockets for bears, hoping to catch a sighting. We stopped for breakfast at FireSign, famous for their Huevos Rancheros. We didn't even mind waiting for 45 minutes for a table; it gave us an opportunity to warm up. After a hearty, fattening breakfast, we plopped back into the saddle and rode into town for some sightseeing. I removed my cold-weather clothes and stuffed them laboriously into the back pockets of my jersey. We stumbled upon an art festival and wandered through, taking in the sights. Before returning to our hotel for our obligatory afternoon nap, we stopped for lemonade. There is nothing better than a lesiurely, sightseeing tour of a new town. It's a wondeful way to get an intimate view of a new place, covering many more miles than you could do on foot, but much more organic and sensory than by car. Plus, free parking!

--Returning from our sightseeing trip in front of the Truckee River.

After our nap, we hitched up our britches and trekked on down to Alpine Meadows Stables for a trail ride by horseback. The horses were nimble and spirited, unlike many sour, burnt-out rental horses I've experienced before. Blake was paired with a speedy bay Thouroughbred mare, Erma, and I picked a laid-back chestnut gelding, named Kevin (we had just watched Up so we derived much pleasure from this coincidence).

Much to our surprise and delight, the trail guide took us back onto the Great Western States Trail! I couldn't believe how sure-footed our steeds were as they negotiated the steep, rocky terrain. Definitely not a beginner's ride! We saw several large claw marks etched into the trunks of trees left like trail blazes by native black bears. We also spotted a fallen tree, gnawed through by a passing beaver. Blake did amazing on his sassy mare, Erma, despite his inexperience, even when she tried to insist on going down the shorter trail to return home. We both had a lot of fun, although it made me ache for the good old days when I had a horse of my own to ride (miss you, George).

Before we knew it, it was time to go home. There was so much we hadn't seen. We hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of our new-found playground. Don't worry! We'll be back.

--Dessert at Jake's on the Lake. The famous Hula pie is shown on the left. Needless to say, our appetites didn't suffer during our trip!

Amateur Tri Girl Learns to Mountain Bike

2011-08-23T22:29:00.000-07:00

I've always loved triathlon because it forces me to continue trying new things. New things are scary! Change is uncomfortable. That is why I make myself embrace it; it keeps me young. I'm not an "adrenaline junkie" by any means; I just love that point when you become comfortable enough in a new sport/hobby/profession (insert favorite new thing here) to shift from "Oh my God, I'm going to die!" to "Oh my God, this is so fun!"

I've owned a mountain bike for a few years now (read: owned, not used). It sat for a long time in the previous owner's basement. After procuring my Trek (aptly named "Rocky"), she then continued to sit, this time in my garage. I continued finding excuses not to ride her. "I'm tapering," I don't want to get injured before my A race," "I don't know how," "I don't have anyone to go with," and then, "I don't have anyone to go with who isn't going to take me over some cliff and kill me." True, I took her out for a few measly spins on simple, flat pedals, jumping off and walking more times than riding. In the end, I preferred to hit the trails in my running shoes rather than on wheels.

Finally, I met someone who inspired me to get over my inertia and actually take her through the paces. My new bf, mountain biking expert and adventure racer extraordinaire (for those of you who don't know what adventure racing is, take Ironman and multiply danger, hardcoreness, and pushing your physical limits by a factor of 10).

I'm still in the steep learning curve part of mountain biking but I get a little better each time I go out. It's getting more and more fun as I gain confidence. Here's what I've learned so far:

1. It's a lot more technical than road biking. You shift your position around. A lot. Weight forward, back, side-to-side; all depending on the terrain.
2. Objects look bigger than they actually are. Usually, I freak myself out and either jump off or hesitate, resulting in a fall (normally without injuries). When I can actually relax and go over the rocks (or other obstacles), they're usually not nearly as big as I've built them up to be in my head. Hmmm. A perfect analogy to life here? 'nuff said.
3. You fall a lot. But unlike in road biking, most falls are at slow speeds and on softer terrain. Usually, I just pick myself and keep riding (unlike on the road where you end up in the hospital or worse).
4. You go a lot slower than in road biking but still get a great workout. I like to gauge my workouts by time out on the trail, rather than mileage. I still am gasping for breath and dripping with sweat at the end. It's great for building power, short bursts of speed, and anaerobic endurance.
5. Your cadence is much slower than in road biking and you rarely get out of the saddle to climb. (Instead, shift your weight forward and bend from the hips so your chest is almost touching the top bar. For downhill, shift weight back behind the saddle).
6. Relaxation is key. When I'm tense, every shock bounces me around, threatening to unseat me. When I'm relaxed, the shock is absorbed by the bike and not me. I can get out of the saddle and let my the vibrations transfer to my feet instead of my core. Then, my head is looking up and forward, where I want to go, instead of down, bug-eyed in widened fear at the huge rock I'm about to bounce over.

--proudly displaying my injuries after taking a tumble.

--bruises from my death-grip on the frame the day after mountain biking. Rookie mistake.

--Travis and Bandit (Blake's baby), exhausted after running alongside the bikes with us. Another bonus to mountain biking. You can bring the dogs!

There's a great instructional video on mountain biking by Ned Overand (http://www.amazon.com/Performance-Mountain-Biking-Ned-Overend/dp/B0002J8PME).

Other great sites for beginners:
http://www.outdoor.com/skills/mountain-biking-skills/basic-mountain-biking-skills/
http://www.extreme-adventure-sports.com/mountain-bike-technique.html
http://www.myra-simon.com/bike/trail.html
http://www.mountainzone.com/how-to-articles/category.asp?cid=100145

Life's Whirlwind of Craziness

2011-08-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

My life has been crazy; I know I always say this but it's been crazier than usual. I have a ton of posts to catch up on (mountain biking, Tour de Big Bear, training plan, etc.) but today's post is just a life update.

I've been going through a career change (read: unemployed). No, seriously though. After some soul searching, I decided to pursue a career in teaching. The goal? High school biology. I have been furiously trying to get teaching experience any way I can. Summer has been slow but I've managed to work for a tutoring company and have signed up to coach for Girls on the Run again this fall. This time, I get to be head coach for the Carlsbad group! Yippee!!! Meanwhile, I'm working on my teaching credential. I passed the CBEST, got fingerprinted for a substitute teaching permit, and am taking prerequisite classes to get into the program at SDSU. Now, I just need to land some sub teaching jobs!

Then, I got the notice that the house I was renting was being put on the market and that I had to move...STAT. Within 2 weeks, I had moved to a very cute apartment in Carlsbad. The landlord let me keep my dog and aquarium! It's been very hectic; I hate moving. I'm 99% in, including shopping at Target and hanging paintings (the fun part). The bunny, dog, frogs and aquarium are settling in well. I lost a fish and urchin due to the stress of moving but the aquarium is settling in well. Very soon, I hope to resume normal training.

I've also been crazily trying to market my animal art biz (www.rachelsanimalart.blogspot.com). Summer is in full swing so I've been manning a booth at several dog and art shows on the weekends. This weekend, I will be at the Cardiff Dog Days of Summer street fair on Saturday from 10-3 (off the 101). Be sure to stop by if you're in the hood! http://www.cardiffdogdaysofsummer.com

Finally, I've been volunteering at Hoofs 'n Woofs, a non-profit animal rescue organization in Valley Center that focuses on rehabilitating horses. I've been riding again! My "project" horse is Tonka, a recalcitrant Appaloosa, who needs a more experienced rider that knows when to push and when to back off. (Appy's are the Indian ponies with all the spots, known for being very hardy, tough and stubborn). Tonka and I are quickly bonding and having tons of fun on crazy trail rides.

Oh, and in between all those other things...I met someone (see below). He's been teaching me how to mountain bike. I knew that mountain bike I acquired years ago would come in handy someday! It's a ton of fun, although it can be a bit scary at times. So far, I learned that falling off on a mountain bike is par for the course (and usually not a big deal). Soon, I'll be learning how to kayak and stand-up paddle board as well!

Bambi (1942)

Flower: [about two birds fluttering around] Well! What's the matter with them?
Thumper: Why are they acting that way?
Friend Owl: Why, don't you know? They're twitterpated.
Flower, Bambi, Thumper: Twitterpated?
Friend Owl: Yes. Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!
Thumper: Gosh, that's awful.
Flower: Gee whiz.
Bambi: Terrible!
Friend Owl: And that ain't all. It could happen to anyone, so you'd better be careful.
[points at Bambi]
Friend Owl: It could happen to you...
[points at Thumper]
Friend Owl: ... or you, or even...
[Flower looks at Owl shyly]
Friend Owl: Yes, it could even happen to you!
Thumper: Well, it's not gonna happen to me.
Bambi: Me neither.
Flower: Me neither.

The Foot is Healing! Finally!

2011-07-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

Wow. It's been awhile since I've posted. How did that happen? Life has been flying by but I actually feel like I'm clinging on to the tail end of the meteor instead of watching it pass by idly this time. I had so many posts I failed to write and publish that I don't know where to began.

My foot has been a real pain in the arse. I was convinced my podiatrist had misdiagnosed my injury. It's been 10 weeks and only recently has it begun to heal. After missing Rock 'n Roll Marathon San Diego despite 2 cortisone shots, I grumpily headed back to the foot doc. He surmised I might be suffering from a neuroma and sent me home with new orthotics and a "wait and see" prescription. I waited and fretted and waited and fretted. Finally, despite my fear of needles, I went to the acupuncturist. She gleefully stuck needles into my feet, legs, hands, and who knows where else as I cringed, winced, and whined. After 2 treatments, the pain was gone. Excitedly, I hit the trails. Half a mile in, I was overcome with a moment of irrational exuberance, completely forgetting about my injury. It was bliss to run pain-free, something I used to take for granted. I plunged ahead on the trail, blasting through a rocky, dry creek bed. Seconds later, a large evil rock sharply stabbed my vulnerable, freshly not-quite-healed toe in the exact same place as the original injury. I screamed for my mommy and came to a crashing halt. Holding back tears of frustration, I hobbled back to the car on one foot.

I spent the rest of the weekend on crutches, cursing the doctor for what seemed like an obvious misdiagnosis. I was absolutely 100% sure my foot was broken. Immediately, I sought out a second opinion. When doc #2 said my foot was not broken, I insisted on examining the x-ray. He showed it to me, and I had to ask him if that was someone else's foot. Surely that gorgeous white seamless bone structure with ample bone density didn't belong to me! He confirmed the original diagnosis of metatarsalgia and sent me home with a prescription of RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation). Head hung low, I returned to the acupuncturist.

I was supposed to swim and bike and do weights while it healed. However, for some reason, when I can't run, I most often succumb to the depths of the comfy couch. Perhaps because running is my favorite sport. It's counterintuitive, I know. I would have felt much better and preserved what little fitness I had built if I had swam and biked but, alas, I vegged. Why is it when I run, I bike and swim but when I can't run, I do nothing? I guess it's my all-or-nothing attitude.

It's been a frustrating road of healing this summer but I can happily say that my foot is slowly but surely healing. I finally returned to the pool and took my bike on the road for a few spins. My foot started feeling better and better. I did a test run a few days ago, and I can happily report that I am running 4 miles virtually pain-free (about a 3 on the pain scale of 1-10). My plan is to continue to cross-train to build fitness and salvage my season by cramming in a few races this fall (sprint and olympic tris).

Foot injuries take forever to heal! However, I would like to report that time does heal all wounds. Little by little. Patience was never my strong suit but sometimes you don't have a choice.

Metatarsalgia--A Pain in the Foot

2011-05-26T20:22:00.000-07:00

I ended the last post with the protocol for an 18-mile run. I hypothesized that...if I could run 18 miles 3 weeks without getting injured before Rock n' Roll marathon, I would be ready for the race. The results were exactly what I hypothesized. Right down the injury part.

The 18-mile run went swimmingly, actually. I finished the run without incident, ate, took an ice bath and requisite nap. Tuesday, however, I went for a "recovery" run in San Elijo Lagoon. 7 miles of hilly, sandy trail. Not really ideal for a recovery run but I couldn't resist. It's my favorite trail, and I was in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, I also brought the run pair of running shoes, the ones without my orthotics. Looking back, I'm not even really sure I know why. All that damn "barefoot runing" talk. The hype had leaked into my brain, causing me to wonder, "Hmmm. What would happen if I ran without my orthotics? Do I really need them?"

I didn't mean to run 7 miles. I was only going to do 3 or 4 max. Besides, my legs were still trashed from the 18-miler 2 days ago. But after 2 or 3 miles, I started to feel better. And better. I decided to just do the whole trail. I allowed myself to run slowly, enjoying the view. I glanced at the GPS. Oops. Almost immediately after I hit 6.5, the ball of my left hurt started to burn. The burning sensation increased. It felt like my foot was on fire. To be on the safe side, I walked the final 1/2 mile back to the car. I must have bruised my foot, I reasoned. I figured it just a few days of RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) max.

Despite 2 ibuprofen, ice and a good night's rest, I couldn't walk without limping the next morning. Walking hurt. I tried stretching my calves and plantar fascia. Nope. Wasn't that. The ball of my foot hurt, right under my toes. Great. I probably have a stress fracture. A few days later, when I was limping around the Atlanta airport on an emergency trip to visit my ailing grandmother like Frankenstein's assistant, I started freaking out. I made a trip to the podiatrist and sat and fretted for the next 10 days waiting for the appointment, wringing my hands with my foot in an ice bucket.

The doc poked, prodded and X-rayed. "Not a stress fracture," he told me. I wanted to kiss him. He informed me I had Capsulitis, gave me 2 cortisone shots between the first 4 metatarsals (toe bones), and assured me I'd be running safely again in 2 days. A little bit overconfident, but, nonetheless, I was relieved.

What is "capsulitis"? It's inflammation of the joint capsule, and can occur anywhere in the body. This was specifically "capsulitis of the metatarsals", better known as "Metatarsalgia". It can be caused by wearing the wrong shoes, running, high-impact sports, or any pounding activity of the feet can cause it. The pain is on the ball of the foot, near the toes and is aggravated by pushing on this region or moving the toes (specifically during the push-off). The pain is very sharp and burning.

My symptoms were textbook. The doc gave me the cortisone shots to shut off the inflammation and gave me some new orthotics. He said to continue the ice and ibuprofen. I guess metatarsal pads would be another thing I could try.

The final result? One week later, my foot is 60% improved. It no longer hurts when I walk, a huge relief. However, the ball under my pinky toe still hurts while I run, although on a scale of 1-10, the pain has been reduced from a 9.5 to a 5. But I don't want to run a marathon with that kind of pain, mainly because it means my foot is still injured. I see the doc for visit #2 Thursday but I will most likely have to sit this one out. Which is a real bummer. This race was critical in training for Cuyamaca 3 Peaks 50K in July. If I can't run San Diego Rock 'n Roll Marathon Sunday, there's no way I should run a 50K a month later.

I'm most likely going to have to be conservative and start over...again. Building the mileage up slowly brick by brick. Perhaps I can have a late season come-back (Noble Canyon 50K is in the fall). Needless to say, I've been biking, swimming and doing weights a ton. Thankfully, I still have 2 other sports! Gotta love triathlon!

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/metatarsalgia/DS00496
http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/metatarsalgia
http://www.foot.com/info/cond_metatarsalgia.jsp
http://orthopedics.about.com/od/footankle/a/metatarsalgia.htm

Protocol for 18-Mile Run

2011-05-18T01:17:00.000-07:00

Note: This is the 2nd post I've had to re-create after the fatal Blogger crash a few weeks ago. I plan on getting everyone caught up this week. Enjoy and stay tuned.

5/8/11

Purpose: To prepare for the Rock 'n Roll Marathon on 6/5/11.

Hypothesis: If Rachel can run 18 miles without injury or illness, she will be able to do the Rock 'n Roll Marathon.

Rationale: After racing RAGNAR SoCal and the Painted Rocks Half Marathon the same weekend, my body was pretty wrecked. I ended up with a nasty virus/sinus infection that required antibiotics, 2 weeks of rest, and missing a key race (Wildflower Long Course). Nervous about the upcoming marathon, I decided to jump back into training and see if I could nail the previously scheduled long run on my plan, 18 miles. In hindsight this was make-or-break-me attitude was pretty stupid but you know what they say about hindsight...

Materials:

Running clothes and shoes (duh)

Fuelbelt with 4x8 ounce bottles of water or water+sports drink (diluted INfinit). (I refilled these bottles 2x, consuming a total of 94 ounces of liquid).

2 packs of Cliffblocks (1 pack of orange (caffeinated) and 1 pack lemon (non-caffeinated). Total calories, not including sports drink (400).

Baggie with salt tabs, tums, ibuprofen and Immodium (Just in case. Luckily, meds not needed on this run!)

Group of fun friends to run with

Perfect upper-60s running weather and lots of great trails

A pre-planned place for massive amounts of greasy food and friends afterwards

16 pounds of ice+cold water in a bath tub for afterwards (Brrrr!)

A heaping pinch of fear to motivate me to get it done

Procedure:

Meet a group of friends to run the first 9 miles with on the beach. They agree that my 9:30 pace is perfect and assure me I will have lots of company.

Breathlessly let them run ahead after struggling to answer their conversational questions beteween sharp gasps for the first 2 miles.

Hang on behind them as an extra challenge for another 2 miles. Glance down and realize an 8:50 pace for 18 miles after a lay-off probably isn't the best idea.

Admire the pelicans lazily flying their everyday 7:30 am "breakfast patrol route" in a v-formation overhead.

Zig-zag around a flock of fearless seagulls.

Zone out and curse as a wave sneaks up and attacks, soaking your shoes.

Curse again as you leap over one puddle only to land in another one up to your ankle. So much for the extra 20 minutes spent wrapping up your blisters left over from RAGNAR this morning.

Realize as you slog through deep sand and sink in soft wet sand mile after mile that 9 miles of sand running is hard no matter how you slice it.

Refill your bottles and head up the 101 in Solana Beach for the 2nd 9 miles in San Elijo Lagoon.

Become completely enchanted by the fireworks display of wildflowers exploding along the trail, surrounding me like a tunnel of soft greens, lilacs, sunburst yellows, crimsons and oragnes.

Exchange wide smiles as I side-step several families enjoying the trail on a gorgeous Mother's Day in San Diego.

Stare admiringly at several different species of water fowl as I run past, including ducks, coots, loons, snowy egrets, and a few great blue herons.

The miles fly by quickly and I'm running faster now, a horse running eagerly back to the barn.

Realize my foot is kind of itchy and block out the pain, knowing I'm developing fresh blisters.

Also realize that San Elijo Lagoon is not that flat and also very sandy.

Reach the finish in tribulation, hobbling back to the truck.

My lower back, hips and feet hurt. I will definitely need an ice bath.

Enjoy a hearty breakfast with my new ultra-running team for Vegas (October).

Also fill up on lots of fluids: water, coffee, and a mimosa.

Discover bloody socks and a giant hole in my foot after removing my shoes.

Enjoy a 15-minute ice bath followed by a well-earned nap.

Another successful long run!

My foot, immediately after the run.

24 hours later, after swelling has begun.

Painted Rocks Half Marathon Race Report

2011-05-14T17:26:00.001-07:00

http://www.dirtdevilracing.com/races/painted-rocks-half-marathon
4/17/11

Weary from finishing RAGNAR less than 24 hours the day before, I dragged myself to the inaugural Painted Rocks Half Marathon on Sunday morning. Everyone thought I was nuts for doing both races but I was like a kid in a candy shop. It's rare to find half marathons entirely on trails; I just couldn't resist. For some reason, Lake Hodges seemed an eternity away. I was pleasantly surprised to discover it was a short drive from my house. Bonus! New trails to train on!

At the start, I quickly bonded with other weary RAGNAR races, easily recognizable by our race shirts, proudly earned the day before. We exchanged furtive, shy smiles, embarrassed to admit that we were running junkies, yet secretly relieved to discover another fellow addict. The race was loosely organized with an approximate start time, no timing chips, no finish line, and a small number of entrants. I especially appreciated the race cap being set low, particularly for single-track trail. I loved the grass-roots feel and intimate atmosphere. It's rare to find a race with such a laid-back, relaxed feel nowadays; however, this attitude is particularly attractive to me.

The racers lined up, loosely staggered according to approximate pace (fast, medium, and slow). The whistle blew, and we were off! My quads were shredded from RAGNAR. I could barely pick up my legs. I resisted the urge to help my legs along by physically picking them up with each step by my arms. Instead, I shuffled along painfully, unable to hide the grimace on my face.

Soon, we were filing onto the single track trail. My focus blissfully shifted from the blinding pain in my legs to side-stepping other runners and avoiding a nasty fall from surprise rocks on the trail. The trail hugged the bank of the lake so closely that I nervously stepped over some precariously placed holes where the trail had eroded. I had a nasty vision of falling headfirst into the dark water below.

The trail briefly ended, and we spread out onto the road and over a fun suspension bridge spanning the lake. Surprisingly, my the pain had completely dissipated from my legs. I had fallen into an ambitious pace. Smiling, I decided to just go with it. I couldn't believe how good I felt considering what my body had endured the previous 24 hours. I passed a large number of runners before filing back onto the trail.

The trail was extremely rocky, and I winced, dancing my feet lightly over the sharp shards, which felt like glass piercing through my shoes. Soon, the trail evened out again, and I was surrounded by trees, grass, and flowers, a striking contrast from most of the dusty, dry scenery in southern California. I felt like I was back in Virginia, surrounded by greenery.

Near the halfway point, the trail narrowed, and I carefully avoided several runners racing back in the other direction. Many beamed grins from ear to ear as they passed. I returned their smiles. Soon, I too, was headed back. Had it been 6.5 miles already? Hard to believe. I felt so wonderful.

The weather was cool and foggy, warmed by the morning sun, peeking through the clouds. I was thoroughly enjoying the trail as well, particularly since my feet had never touched this soil before. Surprisingly, unlike most of the trails in San Diego, the route was forgiving and mostly flat. I was able to maintain my "blistering" pace, much faster than anticipated on tired legs.

Before I knew it, I was heading towards the finish. Spectators cheered me on. "Go RAGNAR girl!" one woman shouted. I couldn't mask the smile on my face. I reached the finish and threw my arms in the air. The post-race ceremony was the best, held a few hours later at a quaint microbrewery in Mira Mesa, Hess Brewery (http://www.hessbrewing.com/). The beer was delicious (although very potent)! One weekend, two short little days, two amazing races. I do not regret biting off more than I could chew. Race on everyone, race on.

Blogger Sux!

2011-05-13T09:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, I spent about 4 hours yesterday working on two blog posts: The Painted Rocks Half Marathon Race Report and a Protocol for my 18-mile run. Photos and all. Blogger pooped out and now the posts are GONE!!! Ugh. Stay tuned....

Spring is Here!

2011-05-01T22:11:00.000-07:00

Phew! Clearly since I'm back in training now, I'm going to have to return to more frequent updates. Spring is late in the season here in sunny San Diego. I've been soaking up the sunshine before "May Gray" sets in (or my version...Tourist Season). Everything is in full bloom (flowers and allergies, included), and the sky has been busy with circles of swallows making dizzying sweeps chasing insects in the sky. Anyway, A lot has been happening!

First off, congrats to everyone racing these past few weeks. The Boston Marathon was two weeks ago. Last weekend, Spring Sprint officially kicked off the season in San Diego in Mission Bay (if you don't count CA 70.3 and Superseal). Congrats to everyone who raced Wildflower as well. I'm envious of you guys. I was forced to sit this one out due to illness. Grrr. Finally, good luck to everyone doing Ironman Utah this weekend. It was my favorite Ironman. Don't let them scare you. The course is actually not that bad (snickering). No matter what, enjoy the course. It's absolutely stunning.

(Anyone interested in my Ironman Utah race report can find it here: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/ironman-st-george-third-times-charm.html)

On a personal note, I'm finally getting back into training after a 2-week layoff due to illness. Sound familiar? I found out, again, that I'm not Superwoman. (What? I'm not?) Apparently, I can't race RAGNAR and a half marathon the same weekend without paying the consequences. Although I had a great time at both races, I woke up Tuesday morning with an extremely sore throat. The ice 2 baths I had subjected myself to in the name of "recovery" had done a fantastic job in quelling the aching in my quads. However, it had done nada for my immune system. As a scientist, I had read the research revealing that a person is more susceptible to common colds 72-hours after a long run. (Part of me suspects the random water bottle I picked up by a public restroom in Spanish Landing Park during the 3rd leg of RAGNAR). Anecdotally, I can attest that this research is true.

The old me would have raced Wildflower anyway, irrespective of a full-blown sinus infection and antibiotics. But what would have been the point? I've done this before. I raced CA 70.3 in 2007 (my first half IM) with a bad cold and ended up with a sinus infection so severe that it took 8 weeks of antibiotics, prednisone, and misery to overcome it. I learned my lesson. It's better to lose the battle and live to fight another day. I have Rock 'n Roll Marathon and some 50Ks on the docket this season. Those are my A races this season. I decided to bow out of Wildflower (the race director gave me event credit for next year with a doctor's note). It was a very difficult decision for me. However, what would be the point of all my previous illnessess if I didn't learn from them? So, begrudgingly, I cancelled my plans and stayed in bed.

It took 2 weeks to fully recover but I feel 100% this week, and workouts are back in full swing. I'm working on my training plan. I've been flying without a net this season and feel sort of lost without my ole' trusty training plan. I can safely say that the Prep period is over. I'm ready for training. Rock 'n Roll Marathon is in a month (gulp). I have an 18-mile run Sunday. It will be the test of truth. Wish me luck.

Killing it on the bike at Superseal in March.

Having fun on the run at Superseal.

Team DNR after finishing RAGNAR SoCal.

Running the Painted Rocks Half Marathon at Lake Hodges 2 weeks ago the day after Ragnar SoCal.

And finally, a sample of one of my sketches from the Shelter Dog Project I'm working on.

"Stray Boxer" N681
copyright 2011 Rachel's Animal Art
(http://www.rachelsanimalart.blogspot.com/)
This sweet Boxer is one of the many great dogs available at the North County Animal Shelter in San Diego.

SoCal Ragnar 2011 Team DNR

2011-04-18T00:33:00.000-07:00

http://www.ragnarrelay.com/race/southerncalifornia

I saw an e-mail about a week ago on the tri club website searching for a last-minute runner to fill in for a random RAGNAR relay team. I'm not too sure what possessed me to say, "Yes," to fill in at the last minute. I wasn't too sure what RAGNAR stood for or even what RAGNAR was but running 200 miles non-stop from Huntington Beach to San Diego in about 30 hours? Hours and hours and hours of tired, cranky, stinky strangers crammed into a van? Sounds like a reality show! Rad! I'm in!

After saying yes I glanced at my calendar. I noticed I was signed up for the Painted Rocks Half Marathon on Sunday. Hmmm. What to do, what to do. One voice in my head said, "Whaaa? Are you nuts? You won't be able to do both. That's crazy!"
Another voice from my heart said, "I bet it would be awesome." Even though heart was not as eloquent or logical as head, she was much more convincing.

I glanced at the RAGNAR details. Wait, this race is 200 miles? How long would we be out there? That's a long way! Would I makeit back on time for Sunday's race? Worriedly, I sent a quick e-mail out to Liz and Cara, who I had never met. All I knew was that they had sent the original e-mail. They thought I was a bit (okay, maybe more than just a bit) crazy but it looked like I'd be back Saturday afternoon, just enough time to get my race packet and a full night's sleep. Phew! Perfect!

http://www.dirtdevilracing.com/races/painted-rocks-half-marathon

Contradictory to my traditional nature, I totally winged the planning for RAGNAR. I just planned on showing up with my running clothes. This could have been disastrous as the complicated RAGNAR logistics requires a high-degree of cognitive skill, perhaps more important than being in good running shape. I had no idea about any of this. I had glanced at the website but had stopped reading after a few moments, besieged with details. Thankfully, our team was very organized. Cara, our team captain, was a RAGNAR veteran. Just tell me what to do, where and when to be there, and I'll do it!

After I signed up, I discovered that one of the teammates was one of my old running buddies. I haven't been able to run with my old group in almost a year, and I can't tell you how much I miss our Sunday morning runs and post-social brunches. I couldn't wait to catch up with an old friend.

On the drive up, worry started to furrow my brow. This race was complicated. In addition to the volunteers and race directors, I was depending on at least 11 other people to get me back to San Diego in one piece. Call me jaded, but I have found in my 33 years that people, in general, are not that reliable. And I was trusting perfect strangers? I guess it was a leap of faith but for some reason, I knew it would all work out.

After a restless night of no sleep, we got up at 4:30 am to get ready. Sleeping in a strange bed in a strange place the night before a race is hard enough. Add sharing a very small bed with another person that's not your significant other adds another layer to the challenge. Lauren, I love you, girl, but...you're a pretty violent sleeper!

We flopped onto the hotel lobby sofa at 5:10 to wait for Cara. Our start time was supposed to be 6:30. But we had freaked ourselves out the night before. Wait, is our start time or check-in at 6:30? Don't we need to check in at 5:30? Are we getting picked up at 5 or 5:30? We set 3 alarms and woke up extra early, just in case. Lauren and Liz snacked on clementines in quiet contemplation. I kept chirping repeatedly like a baby bird, "Where's breakfast? Where are we going to have breakfast? Does the hotel have breakfast? Will they have breakfast at the start? What about coffee? Don't you want coffee? Is there a Starbucks open now?" Smiling, Liz pleasantly gave me a couple of clementines to placate me.
Cara texted and informed us she was running about 20 minutes late. I struggled not to have a hernia. Admirably, the other girls shrugged. "Well, she's done this before. I'm sure it'll be fine," they reasoned. Liz gave me a few more clementines to enjoy. Suddenly, the DNR van appeared, and we were whisked to the start. We checked in and the race volunteers were relaxed and non-plussed about arriving 10 minutes before our start time. They simply moved our time from 6:30 to 7:00. What a great idea! Luckily, this is what Cara had been hoping for anyway.

Cara, our team captain, getting ready to start the race. This girl knew exactly what she was doing! Both of our vans were equipped via a carefully crafted checklist with duplicate supplies of orange safety vests, first aid kits, water, ice chests, and tons of food. And the most sacred item, the Race Bible, a 3-ring binder with laminated information about each runner's contact info, course info, and anticipated start and finish times, race rules, and course maps.

Van 1--The Girls--Sharon, Lauren, me, Liz, Cara, Beverly, and Becky (left to right)

Van 2--The Boys--Leon, Dave, Dan, Mark, Steve and myself.
Perfect strangers when we started, my new RAGNAR bruthas and sistahs by the finish!

Putting on our race numbers (Cara, Becky, Lauren, Beverly, Sharon, from L to R)

And we're off!

Cara kicks off the first leg (far center, in blue shirt and black tights)

"This way, right?" Cara points to the course. Although Cara didn't have a problem on her legs, staying on course would prove to be one of the challenges at several points during the race.

Lauren, Runner 2, gets ready for her leg with some dynamic stretches. (She's also a yoga instructor).

Cara runs in with the slap bracelet ready for the exchange.

Cara passes the "baton" (slap bracelet) to Lauren and Leg 2 begins...5 miles down, only 195 miles to go. Unbelievably, time flew for all of us.

Lauren takes off at a full sprint, moments after telling me she's planning on running 8:45s or 9:00s. Sandbagger!

Looking like a Runner's World model, Lauren races to the finish of Leg 2 at a blinding pace.

One of the best things about RAGNAR were the team costumes and van decorations. Some teams went all out! Next time, I definitely want to dress up. The mimes (below) rode in a van marked "SBD--silent but deadly". There were The Single Ladies wearing glitter and gold with "555-HOTTIE" on the backs of their running tops. At each checkpoint, all 12 girls would get together, pump up the dance music, and work the parking lot like a dance floor with impressive moves. I saw teams of nerds and scientists (as a fellow nerd and scientist, I particularly enjoyed these) with their vans decorated in equations. One showed an asymptope on the x and y axis with the phrase, “Can’t Touch This!” printed underneath.

The mimes, my personal favorite. (SBD--Silent But Deadly!)

The Biggest Loser even had a team with some veteran Biggest Losers as fellow teammates.

Meanwhile, Cara gets a call from the Boy Van. "Can Runner 12 switch with me? I only have 16 miles and I want more," Dan, Runner 9, asked.
"No! Don't do it! You'll have to ride in the Boys Van," the girls pleaded. A chorus of "No she won't," "Yes she will"s followed.
"Boys are gross and hairy! Don't go with them!"
I looked at Cara.
"What do you think?"
Cara laughed, "I don't care. You can do whatever you want. It's up to you."
"Can we even do that? Isn't it too late?" I asked. I didn't really care which leg I ran but I wanted to make the best decision for the team. I didn't have a preference; if another teammate wanted my leg, it made sense to switch.
"Nope. As long as that runner has started her first leg. You just can't switch once you've started," Cara assured me. Since she had most likely memorized the rule book, and didn't mind switching, I said, "Sure!"

In between the final leg of the Girls (Runner 5 & 6), we met the Boys van and made the switch. It was a little awkward. I'd had a few hours by now to get used to running around in a van with the Girls. After some quick photos of us standing stiffly next to the van, my backpack was squished into the back of the Guys minivan, and we piled into the noticeably smaller vehicle like clowns in the back of a Volkswagon Beatle. As we drove off to get ready for the next Boy's leg (Runner 8), I looked back wistfully over my shoulders, watching the Girls get smaller in the distance. Hmmm. I just moved from 6 girlfriends in a 12 person van to 5 strange guys in a minivan. Plus, the girls were now done with their first leg and off for some much-needed rest, which I later learned is one the smartest things you can do in a race involving sleep deprivation. While the Boys had slept in because of their later start time, I had woken up before sunrise after a night of getting kicked in the back in a tiny hotel bed. Not that I was bitter or anything. For some odd reason, I didn't really mind. I was actually excited about being able to meet the entire team. It was a unique opportunity to make 11 new friends.

(Mini)Van 2, the Boys Van, stuffed to the gills with our crap!

Meanwhile, Becky (Runner 5) passes the "baton" (a slap bracelet, which I quickly renamed--The Slappy) to Sharon (Runner 6).

And before I knew it, Sharon was passing the slappy bracelet to Leon. Van 2 had begun! Leon took off with blinding speed. I looked at the my other teammates. "Uh, how long is his leg?" I asked.
"7 miles."
"How much time do you think we have?"
"Less than an hour."
"Jeez. We better get going." I looked at my watch. As the day had progressed, more and more RAGNAR teams had started, staggered at different points. To try to encourage everyone to see the costume's on each other's teams and have a chance to interact with more people, the race directors had the slower teams start earlier in the day than the faster ones. Last year, there were 200 teams. This year, there were 500. I don't think the directors anticipated how crowded the checkpoints would become. The last mile of each checkpoint could be stop-and-go for several, slow agonizing minutes. Getting into the parking lots of the checkpoints could take 10-20 minutes. 7 miles wasn't much time.

Leon, fastest runner on the team, takes off with wings on his feet.

As we drove to the next checkpoint, Dan poked the Runner 8, the next runner, Dave. "Hey, man. Are you ready? Where are your shorts?" Dave was silent. He mumbled something inaudibly to Dan. There were several long tense seconds. The roar of the engine became steadily louder as the speed increase.
"Dave forgot his shorts. We're going to get some new ones." Dan spoke over his shoulder. We all sat there in a numb silence. I sat there befuddled, trying to process my emotions. First off, how can you forget your shorts? I mean, really. If I'm leaving for a race, I say in my head, "Shoes, shirt, shorts." The three Shhhs. I mean, basically, if I'm leaving the house, this is usually the bare minimum required so as to avoid getting arrested or stepping on a piece of glass and needing some unpleasant tetanus shots. I took a deep breath; getting angry right now wasn't going to help the situation. However, I was still greatly concerned. Anxiety began making me rock rhythmically back and foth. Finally, I began asking questions like rapid-fire, such as:
"Do we have time to get shorts? "Where are we going to get shorts? Was it far? Should we switch runners? What about supporting Leon?"
The Boys were very patient with me, reassuring me that, Yes, we had time. We would go to Dick's just down the road, and that Leon wouldn't need any help.
Good enough. I shut up, just in time to grab the armrest and clutch the side of the car as Dan (driver and owner of the minivan), threw the car into a hard left to avoid missing a sudden turn. He slammed on the brakes, apologized, and turned left. I slowly peeled my cheek off the side window, looked at him wide-eyed and mouth agape, and pushed my stomach back down my throat.

A mile down the road, Dan and Dave began discussing whether to turn left or right on the highway. Somewhere between Yorba Linda and Corona, Dan turned onto the toll-road. I was a little taken back.
"This way?" Dan asked.
"No." Dave replied.
"We go this way?"
"No. That's a toll-road." At which point, Dan turned onto the toll-road.
"This isn't the right way," Dan stated as he started down the on-ramp.
"No, it isn't," Dave replied. The van jerked sharply to the left, and I gripped the handrails and gritted my teeth, preparing for another adrenaline-packed ride. I was reminded of an incident while riding with my father on the backroads of Tennessee. Upon realizing he was going the wrong way, my dad U-turned on the on-ramp of the interstate, drove the wrong way back the rest of the ramp, and then nearly flipped the car in the dirt ditch between the on-ramp and the road he wanted to be on before miraculously ending up in the right direction. And, no, frighteningly enough, my dad was 100% sober.
Luckily, Dan was a much better driver than my dad. He continued down the toll-road, cursing under his breath.
"Why did you let me go the wrong way?" Dan asked.
"I told you it was the wrong way," Dave replied.
"No you didn't!"
"Actually, he did. You probably just didn't hear him," the Peanut Gallery from the back (okay, it was just me) piped up. Dave gave a peace offering of $2.50 for going on the toll-road the wrong way. The kicker? It was another $2.50 to turn around and go back the other way, despite pleading with the toll-booth lady.
"We're in a race and we went the wrong way and just paid. Do we have to pay again?" Dan asked. The toll-booth lady didn't budge. Without saying a word, she smiled, shook her head, and held out her hand for the cash. I looked for the horns on her head as we stonily gave her the cash and drove away.

Luckily, Dick's was on the way to the next checkpoint. (I was assured of this after I chirped out more questions and expletives about time). Before I knew it, we were in Dick's parking lot. Dave looked through the shorts, deliberating on sizes, prices, style. Dan hurried him along. Finally, Dave selected a conservative pair of black running shorts and proceeded to the dressing room. Let me say it again. He proceeded to the dressing room....to try them on. As we stood in the checkout line, I spotted some candy and piled my arms up with junk food. My breakfast had consisted of a bagel and a banana. It was 1:30, I was hungry, and I would need to run soon. Miraculously, Dave got to the next checkpoint in time for the hand-off. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. I learned early on that riding with the Boys was going to be adventurous!

Dave, heading off on his very hot, hilly challenging run in his brand-spankin' new shorts.

The scenery was nice but under-appreciated due to the sweltering hot sun. In addition, the course was extremely hilly. We stopped several times to support Dave with cheers, photos, and water. It was unseasonably hot and temps were quickly escalating deep into the 80s. Dave's course was the hilliest we had seen so far. Rolling and unrelentless, he was hit repeatedly with hill after hill. We drove up ahead and turned around, oohing and aahing at how steep the grade became later in the course. On the way back, we agreed to remain hush, hush about how steep the hills became. We jumped out of the van at the crest of one of the rollers to give Dave some water.

"Good job! You're doing great!"

"Hilly," Dave gasped, pausing to grab the water.

"You're doing great. Keep it up."

"Almost there!" we lied, jumping back in the van to drive up ahead to the next checkpoint.

"Almost there?" we whispered to each other. "He wasn't almost there! Why did we lie to him?"

"We don't want him to know how bad it gets. Poor guy! Don't want to scare him." It felt evil but he probably had a point.

I became gravely serious; I was the next runner. It was time for business. I was dressed and ready. I just needed to use the Port-a-Potty before I ran. Call it a prerequisite ritual to every run. Unwittingly, I must have asked several times if we were going to get there in time for me to use the lieu. As we pulled into the dirt parking lot for the next checkpoint, Steve, sitting shotgun called out over his shoulder to where I was sitting behind him, "Awwww. No bathrooms!"

"WHAT?!" I exclaimed. Steve and the Boys burst into giggles. I had fell for it hook, line, and sinker. However, secretly, I smiled. I enjoyed being the comic relief. It was like having 4 older brothers.

Running along my first leg (Leg 9; 6 miles). Phew! It was hot! I ran fairly well but was frustrated I couldn't push it a little harder. The heat held me back. As long as I ran slow enough not to spike my heart rate above a certain threshold, I was fine. I knew when I had pushed too hard because my stomach would turn and nausea rise in my throat.

"Whoo hoo!" The ice cold bottles of water delivered to me by the Boys was heaven-sent. I would drink some and pour a generous amount on my head and neck.

And then, somewhere between Runner's 11 and 12 (Mark and Dan), the van broke down. It was Dan's van. It simply died between the checkpoints. The rest of us agreed that Dan was suspciously calm about his van breaking down. Dan later admited that the van had "acted up mysteriously" the week before. I was stranded on the narrow shoulder of a highway in the middle of God-knows-where with 4 guys I had met only a few hours before. Within seconds, the guys were on their cell phones, making calls to the Girl's Van, AAA, and, fortunately, Steve's mother-in-law, who was volunteering up ahead. Within 5 minutes, we had Plan A (fix the van), Plan B (find another van), and Plan C (somehow cram everyone into the Girl's van).

First, we pushed the minivan into a parking lot off the road. After calling AAA and handing his license to Dave with instructions on what to do with the van when the towtruck arrived, we flagged down another RAGNAR van, easy to spot with all the team decorations. Afterall, they were going to the same place. Dan jumped into a strange van and headed off to meet Mark in time for Leg 12. I love the positive sportsmanship and comarederie between competitors on race day in endurance events.

Meanwhile, Steve's mother-in-law, Leanna, drove up in her minivan with a halo over her head. We all salivated over her minivan and she gladly handed it over. After moving all our stuff from Van 2 to Van 3 (easier said than done), we drove her back to her checkpoint where she called a friend for a ride home. Leanna, you saved the day! The new van was aptly dubbed "Van Version 2.1" or, due to the absence of decorations, "Stealth Van No. 3". The AAA towtruck hauled the van to the mechanic. We retrieved Mark and Dan from their respective checkpoints (11 and 12), where they were waiting, thirsty, hot and tired.

I'm cracking up as we push the van into a parking lot off the road. What are the odds? We enjoyed the extra challenge. It added to our adventure. (This may not have been my attitude if it was my van).

Team DNR (Do Not Rescusitate!) Van 2 on the tow truck. Time for Van Version 2.1!

We all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Suddenly, all of us were ravenous and exhausted. Dusk was falling. I couldn't believe how quickly the last 12 hours had flown by. As we headed to Souplantation to eat (where my finicky stomach immediately lost her appetite), the Girls headed out for their 2nd legs (Legs 13-18).

Lauren gets ready for her 2nd leg (14). Only Lauren can make a safety vest look cute! (Becky, Lauren, Shannon, L to R).

Lauren, setting off on Leg 14 as dusk falls.

Shannon, the comic relief of the Girls' Van, entertains her vanmates.

After Souplantation, we drove to the start of our next checkpoint (19) to maximize sleeptime. All of us were spent. Silence hummed in the van as we wearily made our way to a dirt field somewhere in Fallbrook. I tried to keep talking to keep Steve, the driver, awake. This wasn't much of a problem. I found I had a lot to say to everyone over the weekend so there was rarely a quiet moment (this gave the guys lots of good teasing material too). In the end, this may have worked out to my advantage. While the Boys lugged their sleeping bags and pads onto a cement landing strip to sleep, I stretched out with my pillow and blanket on the seat in the back of the van. I was warm and comfy.

The Boys, sleeping on the tarmac. (Dave left, Steve right). Note the eyemask. Amazingly, the Boys proclaimed that it was actually pretty comfortable. You'll sleep anywhere when you're tired!

Meanwhile, more drama unfolded back in the Girl's Van. The severe heat of the day was taking its toll. Beverly started to feel sick. She developed the tell-tale signs: splitting headache and severe nausea. She was getting a migraine. Thankfully, she was close to home, and the Girls dropped her off so she could get well. Later, she admitted to discreetly throwing up in the bathrooms at one of the checkpoint. Stoically, she remained mum until later, not wanting to concern her teammates. Just as the Girls were deciding who would sub for Beverly, Cara's phone rang. Beverly had made a miraculous recovery (thanks to her migraine meds). Amazingly, just in time to run her 2nd leg, she rejoined her team to have a great leg. You're a superhero, Beverly!

Shannon (left) and Beverly (right) getting ready for their night runs (2nd legs).

Shannon, finishing up her leg to wrap the end of the Girl's 2nd stint (leg 18). Competing in RAGNAR only 4 months after having a baby, she was a trooper after learning her leg had been changed at the last minute from 5 miles to 7. Refusing to switch with another runner, she stuck it out, and even added an extra mile after missing one of the turns!

Because Shannon decided to do extra credit, we were somewhat worriedly glancing at our watches when Shannon came running in, a smile from ear to ear. Leon took off on his leg, while Shannon took off a mile a minute, telling us excitedly about her run. She obviously had a fantastic experience. Later I learned she had tried her first caffeinated GU at some point on her run. Shannon had a total cafeine/runner's high!

Our 2nd legs were shorter and we were rushing to each checkpoint, trying to fight traffic with every other RAGNAR van. As Dave waited in line for the Port-a-Potty, Leon nearly ran into me and Mark, stumbling towards the checkpoint in the dark.

"Leon!"

"Dave!"

"Dave! It's Leon!"

Dave left the Port-a-Potty line and ran over to recieve the Slappy Bracelet from Leon. Equipped with only 1 real running safety vests (the others were bulky and heavy), Leon and Dave awkwardly exchanged their nighttime safety running gear (required by RAGNAR authorities). We somehow managed to hurriedly equip Dave with reflective vest, headlamp, and blinky light, and he was off.

I prepared for my leg, donning the huge, bulky safety vest. Since my stint was only 2.4 miles, I was going to pace for a bit. I wanted some extra miles. Steve and Mark had been complaining about lack of training and cramps.

"I'm going to go slow."

"I'm probably going to walk the whole thing."

"I only trained 1 day."

Dan pulled me aside:

"I'm worried about Mark and Dan. Why don't you run with them on this leg?"

So I strapped on the bulky vest, leaving the lighter running vest for them. I stuffed my pockets with GUs and CliffBloks. I was going to act as a moving aid station.

I got ready for my leg. Nighttime had fallen, and the air was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the brutal heat of the day, just a few hours earlier. The heat had slowed me down. I was excited to give it a 2nd try.

"How fast do you run a 5K?" Leon asked.

Hmmm. I wonder how fast I can run a 5K, I wondered. The gauntlet had been thrown.

"I know I can do at least 8:00s," I mumbled. It must have been loud enough to hear.

"C'mon! How about 7:50s!" some random guy from another team goaded. Oh, no you didn't. Now it's on! Dave ran up, slapped the bracelet on me, and I took off.

My strategy was simple: to run as hard as I could for 2.4 miles. I sprinted down the dark neighborhood streets, dimly illuminated by my headlamp. I stumbled precariously several times over broken potholes in the pavement. My ankle twisted sharply to the ground on one invisible hole. Thankfully, I recovered, somehow uninjured. Frustrated, I slowed. I may have flexible ankles but I didn't want to injure myself. Given my track record (I fall about once or twice a year, often mysteriously resulting in a concussion), I didn't want to take unnecessary risks. 2 miles had now passed, and I was gasping for air. Sweat dripped down my cheeks. It was the longest 2.4 miles ever. I'm not much of a sprinter, and now I remembered why. It's painful to run fast.

I reached Steve, gave him the bracelet, and he took off. I struggled to keep up. What happened to, "I'm going to go slow,"? I had been running my 5K pace, not realizing I would have to continue pacing at that rate. I somehow managed to cling desperately to Steve for a mile. A stitch started to grow from both sides. I gasped out encouraging comments in between sharp breaths. Then, I realized that Steve was wearing headphones. My words were falling on deaf ears. At which point I heard something about an M&M.

An M&M? What on earth does that have to do with the price of beans? Maybe he ate M&Ms before his run? Maybe he wanted M&Ms? The bulky safety orange vest I donned suddenly caught my eye. Wait, was he calling me an M&M? After all that I was trying to do to help him? Screw this! Anger started to rise in my chest. At which point, I stumbled over yet another invisible hole and gave up. I slowed to a walk to let Steve go, clutching my sides and gasping for air.

I managed to quell the stabbing pain in my sides by jabbing my thumb sharply under my ribcage and exhaling sharply. A searing pain exploded under my big toe, followed by a squelching, wet sock feeling. A blister had popped. As I struggled to maintain a running rhythm, I spotted a stray dog, slinking into the middle of the road. My heart went out to the poor animal. He looked mangy, scared, and hungry. Even though it was 1:30 a.m. and the streets were quiet, I didn't want the dog to get hit by a car. As I neared the animal, it shrank away from me, and slinked away. Upon closer inspection of the bushy tail, furry coat and fox-like ears, I realized my stray dog was not a dog at all but a coyote. "Here, puppy, puppy, puppy!" Under the light of a full moon, I smiled, taking the coyote's greeting as a good omen.

Finally, at an agonizingly-slow 9:30 min/mile pace, I hobbled to the next checkpoint, where my teammates were waiting to pick up the pacer. Steve had handed the bracelet to Mark several minutes ago. That was a much tougher 2nd leg than I had anticipated! I excitedely told the Boys about my coyote sighting.

The response was typical:

"How many GUs did you eat?"

"Oh, sure. A coyote."

"You know, the whole world looks different through coyote eyes."

Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.

After we finished our legs, sometime around 4 am, we headed to my house, only minutes from the Gliderport, site of our next exchange, about 6 hours later. The Boys got their own bathroom, spare bedroom, air mattress, or sofa, and I got to sleep in my own bed and use my own bathroom. I slept like the dead for the next few hours. The 6 of us awakened to daylight and birds chirping, feeling surprisingly refreshed and renewed. It's amazing how a few hours of quality sleep can make all the difference in energy during a long adventure race.

While we slept, the Girls ran their 3rd and final legs during the wee hours of the morning. (Liz left; Becky right).

"How long can I hold my breath?" Beverly goofs around as she heads down the coast in North County San Diego.

Becky, skipping for joy on her last leg as the sunrise casts a pink glow over the horizon.

Shannon hands the bracelet to Leon at the Gliderport, and we begin the last set of legs. It's only 10 am, and we're already sweating. Prepare for another hot day!

Leon, running his final leg, an envious 8 challenging miles through scenic La Jolla.

Whoo hoo! Leon at pumps up the jam at the end of his final leg.

Dave takes off on his final leg. "Are those the same shorts you've worn for all 3 runs?" I asked.

"No. Only for 2," he replied. It took my a moment.

"Ha, ha, ha...smartass," I sneered jokingly.

I get ready for my final leg as Leon recovers from his hard run through La Jolla.

"Go, Dave!" I cheer, pumped for my final run.

Dave snaps the bracelet onto my wrist, and I take off down the street. I'm all business. It's Game Time!

My last run, Leg 33, was listed as "Very Hard". I glanced at the map. I wasn't sure why it was considered hard. Most of it was flat, winding by the San Diego Bay and Harbor. I did notice a sharp, steep hill during the first 2 miles. The length, 8 miles, was perfect, one of my favorite distances.

I ran through Ocean Beach, a boho, hippie beach town, near downtown San Diego. I dodged lazily turning cars, pedestrians aimlessly walking their dogs, and leaped nimbly over steep curbs and torn up pavement. I weaved in and out of clusters of transients, armed with musical instruments in poorly formed drum circles. They looked at me with surprise. People in OB are very laid-back. It's not normal to see someone in a hurry. Most likely, they carefully scanned the direction I was running from to assess whether or not they were in danger.

Soon, I was heading through the residential streets of OB. A man picking up the morning paper in his front yard called after me,

"What race is this?"

"It's RAGNAR! We're running from Huntington Beach to Coronado, 200 miles," I explained. I didn't have time to stop and explain that it was really me and 11 other people splitting the 200 miles into pieces but no one was around to translate. Besides, what was the harm in letting this guy think I was running the entire way?

I started feeling fresh. I had found my rhythm and my legs felt light and snappy. I turned and started heading up Narrangansett. For those of you who don't know about Narangansett, it's the steepest street in OB, separating the beach town from downtown. At the crest, there are breathtaking views of downtown, San Diego Bay, and the Coronado Bridge. To get there, you have to run up a steep, unforgiving hill for about a mile. I've done hill repeats on this hill on my bike. Standing in the saddle for the hill's entireity is a requirement for successfully biking up Narrangansett. I needed to now run up it.

I sized up my enemy. The hill rose up in front of me, towering into the sky. I couldn't see where the hill ended. I focused on the ground in front of me and found a steady running rhythm. It wasn't fast but it was more efficient than a walk. I felt great! I was going to run up Narrangansett in its entireity! I watched other runner's team vans stop and cheer on their runner. I crested the hill and looked for my team. I had just rocked that hill like a superstar! I wanted to throw my arms in the air and get a lil' recognition!

As I began negotiating the steep descent on the other side (grimacing, my quads were on fire from the mad sprint the night before), I paused momentarily at the breathtaking view of the skyline. I could see Spanish Landing, downtown, and the Coronado Bridge. I suddenly realized I was the first runner to be able to see the finish in sight. That bridge has never looked so beautiful to me than it did that morning. We were going to make it!

While I'm rocking Narrangansett, Mark goofs off for the camera.

A few more turns, over the bridge, and all of a sudden, I know where I am. Spanish Landing Park, the site of the San Diego International Triathlon. I had run this route many times before. From here on out, I knew it would be very flat. I took off.

It wasn't hot but the sun was bright, and I was becoming increasingly thirsty, especially after my struggle up Narrangansett. Enviously, I watched the runners on other teams around me get water. I was kicking myself for not bringing my fuel belt. I spotted a drinking fountain by one of the park public restrooms. I strained to satiate my thirst, thwarted by the low flow of the fountain stream. I spotted a 3/4 full water bottle resting on the wall next to the bathroom. I crossed my fingers, grabbed the bottle, drank a swig, and took off. I was hoping it had belonged to another RAGNAR runner. However, there was also a good chance it belonged to one of the many homeless people that lives along the harbor. It was cool and deliciously refreshing. I decided to chug it, figuring that if it was contaminated with germs, I wouldn't get sick until after the race. (This is true; I didn't get sick until Tuesday.)

About half a mile down the course, the Boys appeared with heaven-sent, ice-cold water. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life! I grabbed the water and with no time to explain, tossed the old one before continuing on my way. There was no time to waste. It was game time!

Receiving much-needed water from the Boys along my route. Yay for team support!

Another half mile down the road, the Girls appeared out of nowhere and formed a bridge for me to run under. It was so nice to see them again. Thank you so much for cheering me on! I ran faster than ever to finish the last 2 miles.

The last 2 miles proved to be much more difficult than anticipated, due to lost tourists wandering off cruise ships, street performers on unicycles, swallowing swords, and standing like statues painted in silver, and children running in random, unpredictable trajectories somewhere in the orbit of their usually-large parents, most often stopped suddenly in front of a hot dog, nacho, or fish taco stand.

Oh, no. Not today. I'm racing, I thought. I ran through the parking lot whenever I could to avoid the crowd, forced back in, at the last half mile. I resorted to elbows and shouts.

"Racers coming through! Racers coming through!" I shouted, not caring if the pluralized form referred to only me. Nonetheless, it was effective. I weaved my way through a courteous path. Other runners stayed close to follow my wake, there being strength in numbers. Gasping and out of breath, I gave the bracelet to Steve and walked to cool off. I had given it everything I had!

"No more running for me today!" (until tomorrow morning)

Catching my breath after my last leg.

Steve, having waaay too much fun on his final leg.

Steve high-fives Dan, exuberant to finish strong as he hands the baton off to Mark.

It was only Mark and Dan to go now. It was time to start preparing for the finish. The finish? Already? But the time had gone by so fast! The rest of us changed into more comfortable clothes and spent a few minutes lying in the grass under the delicious sun. It felt good to relax as a team.

Lauren, getting excited about the finish.

The beautiful chimes of an ice cream truck sounded, jerking us from our reveries in the grass. We jumped up and ran over, like excited children, eager for a treat. My stomach, which is finicky anyway, had pretty much shut down over the weekend, making it difficult to eat much more than bagels and bananas. Dave bought me an ice cream to thank me for letting them crash at my house. Thanks, Dave! It was the most delicious ice cream I've ever had. That's the best thing about endurance races. You learn to appreciate what you have and not take so much for granted.

We somehow managed to negotiate through a ton of traffic filing it at a snail's pace to the overcrowded Silver Strand State Beach, the finish line. We gathered a few hundred yards from the finish to wait for Mark. During those few quiet moments, before it was all over, I was flooded with mixed emotions. Besides being hungry, tired, and wondering how on earth I'd make it in time to pick up my race packet for tomorrow's half marathon, I also couldn't belive how much fun this experience had been. The 30-some hours had flown by at a blinding pace. 11 strangers when I had started now felt like 11 new best friends. I was a little saddened at our sudden parting. It seemed like it was ending almost as soon as it had started.

Mark came cheering out of the tunnel, running under the bridge the Girls had formed. We all hugged before running across the finish. And, just like that, it was over. But now I have a new RAGNAR family. And guess what? We're already planning teams for future RAGNAR's!

Shannon, posing by her stick figure on the DNR van.

Cara, our team captain.

Liz, jumping for joy by her stick figure.

"Ready, set, go!" Lauren, posing by her Running (Wo)Man cartoon.

Becky, striking a running pose by her sketch on the DNR van.

"I heart RAGNAR!" Beverly joyfully throws her arms in the air.

Impromptu Heavy Training Weekend No. 2

2011-04-11T15:48:00.000-07:00

I recently started training again after 6 months of burn-out. I haven't wanted to say anything for fear of jinxing myself. After all, I had several false starts. I would sporadically become active for 1 or 2 weeks before needing another week of hibernation. But then, slowly, steadily, the active weeks began to increase and the inactive weeks retreated. The tides were turning. Spring (which came early this year--March) was the final burst of fuel needed to jumpstart the engine. With daylight lasting late into the evening and group workouts resuming, I began daily workouts again with a fervor that had eluded me for months.

After 4 unfaltering weeks of training, and even racing, I can finally safely proclaim that I have returned. I recently realized that I'm doing the Rock 'n Roll Marathon in June. Counting on my fingers, I realized I didn't have that much time left to get my running miles up. To run a marathon, I need to be able to log two back-to-back long runs (1 week apart), an 18 and a 20. Sounds simple until I realized if I didn't do the training leading up to those 2 runs, I could get injured. After my 16 mile train run last weekend, I'm relieved to know I'll be able to do it.

With building confidence, I set out for a "mere" 14-mile trail run on Saturday. Unlike last weekend, I started late (noon), ran solo and hit the trails. Penasquitos Canyon, which can be unforgivably hot in the summer, was a rare, delightfully warm spring day, requiring nothing more than shorts, running shirt, shoes (and Fuelbelt). The rain the night before deterred many hikers and mountain bikers, and I set off, relishing the privacy. Normally, Penasquitos is littered with mountain bikers so thick, I often have to stop, pull off the single-track trail and let them by (only to pass them on the next hill). I kept my fingers crossed about the mud. I was betting that the heavy rainfall the night before (which had seemed torrential on my metal roof to my sensitive, dry San Diego ears) had not made the trails too muddy. Secretly, I was skeptical. The big sign on the trailhead that read "Park Closed During and 24 Hours After a Storm" didn't help.

As I jogged off to test the terrain, I was pleasantly surprised. Although there were some extremely sticky spots of clay and slippery patches of mud, most of the trail was composed of damp sand. It felt like running just past the water on a wet beach. My feet enjoyed the spongy traction.

I pulled off the trail about mile 3 to take care of business. Carefully watched for snakes and picked my way through the meadow to scope out a poison-oak free bush to hide behind (not an easy task). Even though I was embarrassingly close to the trail, I knew I didn't have to worry. I could see 1/4 mile down the trail in both directions, and the air was thick with a comforting blanket of silence. Courting birds' melodies and the steady humming of bees were the only sound to reach my ears. I took my time returning to the trail; I hadn't heard silence that peaceful in a long time, and I wanted to enjoy it. Small yellow, white and purple wildflowers burst through the lush, green meadow like fireworks. The hillsides were blanketed in a soft green velvet. I drank in the view, slowly turning my head to get the full panaromic view. I don't think I've seen this canyon so lush since I first moved here 5 years ago. It's been a wonderfullly wet winter.

As I continued onwards, I discovered a few more hikers, some dog walkers, and another 2 lone runners. Everyone smiled pleasantly and were unusually talkative. Mostly "Nice day!", "Muddy spot up ahead," and "Any snakes?" but still, everyone was an especially good mood, drunk on sunlight and the sweet smell of lilacs.

I turned off the north side to wind my way to the south side, knowing I'd have to eventually since the main trail to cut all the way west. The trail got muddier and muddier, and I slipped and slid my ways around the sides of the path, avoiding a creek that was getting fuller and fuller every footstep. I narrowly avoided plunging headfirst into a vibrantly full and not-quite-roaring creek by grabbing onto a dead tree root sticking up from the ground at the last second. Aha! There's last night's rain. The water was wide, reaching about 15 meters across and engulfing the trunks of several scrub oaks in its path. I scanned the banks of both sides of the trail, searching for a way across the "raging river". I found staring directly into 2 pairs of eyes on the other side, a father and son with their mountain bikes, also searching for a solution. I shrugged and began quickly untying my shoes. I was running and wanted the quickest way to get across and continue on my way before I lost too much time. Afterall, I still had a long way to go.
"You going to go across?" the dad asked with raised eyebrows.
"Yup. No other way!" I answered back.
"Is that the trail on the other side?" I nodded. They watched me skeptically as I felt my way barefooted through the water. The rocks were coated in a slippery coat of oily slime and moss, and my legs plunged into the water up to my hips. My shorts were soaked. The current tugged softly at my shorts as I waded across, seeking out branches of nearby trees to steady myself. A smile broke out all over my face. The cool water felt good on my hot sweaty skin. Once again, I was a kid riding my horse on the trails in the Santa Cruz Mountains. On hot summer days, we would wind our way to the creek that fed into the Stevens Creek Reservoir. I would dismount and wade in the creek to cool off while my mount, Topper, sank into the water, rolling over onto his back to cool off. I reached the other side, shook the water droplets off my feet, and quickly laced my shoes back up.
"How was it?" the father asked.
"Not bad. Actually, it was quite nice," I replied. Father and son nodded and smiled. The kid looked quite exuberant to be given permission to plunge into the creek. They both proceeded through the water in opposite directions. We nodded once more to each other before continuing on our paths. I kept on running.

I reached the turn-around by surprise and headed back. I hadn't expected to reach it so quickly. I was in the zone. I headed back on the south side to give my eyes and mind a new path to enjoy on the return. I had forgotten about the hills on the south side. Small, but steep, and one after the other, I was met with a roller coaster of sharp ascents and descents, one right after the other. There were four. I counted. Feeling zippy, I forced myself to maintain a running pace up each of them, even if it was a sluggish shuffle. I zigged and zagged between sharp rocks on the descents, focusing on my footwork.

Before I knew it, I was back in the lush, grassy valley, running between patches of mud again. I leaped up onto the banks along side the rocky creek bed. The narrow trail was obscured by arcing bowers of lush green grass, forcing me to high step to feel my way carefully on the path. I stumbled a few times as my foot found a ditch or rock. Once, I fell, headfirst into the grass, clutchig fistfuls of weeds in each hand. Only faltering a step or two, I quickly resumed my original running pace, glancing furtively in each direction, embarrassed that someone had seen me stumble. Luckily, I was alone.

Up around the bend, about a mile down the path, I came across two hikers with huge backpacks (unusual for Penasquitos--it's not that expensive that backpacks are required) bent over the path, stopped suddenly in their tracks. I immediately sensed what the problem was and stopped to peer at the object of their attention. It was a snake. However, upon closer inspection, I saw it was a pale green, either a gopher snake or someone's escaped pet python. Nonetheless, the absence of a rattle on its tail immediately assuaged my apprehensions.
"Not a rattler," I proclaimed. The hikers nodded, and I quickly stepped between them, leaped around and over the lethargic snake stretched across the path and continued on my way. April is snake season in San Diego; it's best to keep your eyes sharp; however, no need to go nuts. If it's not a rattler, there's no need for a detour. I kept on running. At this point, I had been running for over 2 hours. I was only 2 miles from the finish and ready for it to be over.

Before I knew it, I was running alongside soccer fields infested with families and kids in weekend Little Leagues. I picked up the pace; I was almost finished. Finally, I reached the finish: my truck, conveniently next to the drinking fountain. There was no crowd to cheer me on, no sympathetic support crew to blanket me in sympathy and congratulations. Nonetheless, I was victorious. I had run 14 miles. I headed over to the drinking fountain to slowly drink my fill of cool, fresh water. Heavenly. 14 miles. Not too shabby.

Sunday's ride was 60 miles of the Gran Fondo in San Diego. I'll have to save the ride report for a 2nd post (the run post ended up being WAAAY longer than I anticipated!) http://granfondousa.com/sandiego/

First Ice-Bath Worthy Workout of the Season

2011-04-07T13:00:00.000-07:00

I finally feel like I'm gaining ground on the whole getting back in shape thing. I signed up for Wildflower (gulp, guess I'm doing a half Ironman at the end of the month!) and am continuing to train for the Rock 'n Roll marathon in June. Last Saturday, I was invited to do the "train run" with a group. Basically, you ride the train up to Oceanside and run back to Solana Beach along the coast, a mere 16 miles (the word, mere, here is said sarcastically). My training plan called for 12. I had only run 10 the weekend before. 16? Sure! Why not?

When I woke up at 5:00 am on Saturday morning, I had lots of doubts. What had I been thinking? 16 miles is a long way. I hadn't run 16 miles in.....I couldn't remember the last time I had run that far. Could I even do this? My old friend, fear, set in, the same friend that had motivated me to train through lots of crazy-hard workouts and complete 3 Ironmans. Fear is the best motivator. I realized this was the first workout of the year that I was afraid I couldn't finish. This, for some weird reason, excited me.

I chatted up some new friends on the train to Oceanside. By the time we set foot along the coast, we were like old buds. This had been my main reason for seeking out a group of running friends. Running alone is nice but can get lonely. I had resolved to take it slowly, not sure if I could even complete the distance. The group had reassured me they were going to take it slow as well. They had sandbagged right out of the gate and started clipping off down the road at 8:30s. I shrugged, maintaining my pace. I had no problem getting left behind. Simply being motivated to get out of bed and put my running shoes on was all I had needed. I paced behind them, maintaining an even 9:00 min/mile pace. I wasn't sure I could maintain that but it felt good for the moment. I decided to go with it.

The coastal cities flew by, I fell into a zone and focused on spacing out for endless stretches of time. As I ran through the RV campground in south Carlsbad, the tantalizing aroma of bacon, sausage, pancakes and eggs cruelly tempted me. I salivated enviously watching families gather round for a Saturday breakfast feast. The group I had selected to run with was quite organized; they set up a few aid stations. By the time I reached their van in Leucadia, I was almost out of water. I hadn't realized how hungry and thirsty I was until I stopped, refilled, gulped down 10 ounces of water, refilled again, and scarfed down a few orange slices and pretzels before continuing on my way. Their van was like a little heavenly oasis along the 101. It may not have been pancakes and bacon but it was just what I had been craving.

We started up again as a group. There was only 10K left to go, and I could tell the others were hurting. I was hurting too but it was very superficial--mainly blisters and tender callouses on my feet, easy enough to ignore. In some perverse way, I almost welcomed the pain; it was good practice for what I would feel on longer runs. One toe kept hitting the front of my shoe. The pain was sharp and stabbing; I had a hard time not altering my gait to favor the toe. But I only had a few miles left to go. I focused on telling the others my sudden proclamation, "Only 2 miles left!" I'm not sure they were grateful for my announcement but it certainly made me feel better. Seeing the others in pain somehow minimized mine in a sadistic manner. Runners that had passed me earlier were now walking. I focused on maintaing my pace. I was still going 9:00 min/miles. Steadily, I passed some faltering runners (not that I'm competitive or anything). When I reached Solana Beach, I knew I only had 1 mile left to go. I was thankful for this fact, pushing aside creeping thoughts that on an ultramarathon, I would just be getting started. I will cross that bridge when I get there. I crossed the invisible "finish" and threw my hands up in the air in celebration. I had done it! Not only had I been capable of running 16 miles but I had run much faster than I thought I could. Thank you new running group for motivating me!

Upon returning home, I took my first ice bath of the season. After a run like that, I knew I needed one. The toenail that had been hitting the shoe was a rosy purple. I sank into the ice water and started the timer, welcoming the cold like an old friend. It feels soooo good to be getting back into training again.

Amateur Tri Girl Officially Gets Her Mojo Back--Superseal Triathlon

2011-03-27T20:34:00.001-07:00

It's been almost a year since I last raced, 11 to be exact. I was too burned out after Ironman Utah to race for a long time. I lost my motivation to work out, let alone train. Sometime this fall, I committed to working out again...about 3x/week. Slowly, slowly, I started to get back in shape. I signed up for Superseal, an International Triathlon near the Navy Base in Coronado, a ways back with good intentions. But as race day approaced, I felt sorely undertrained. My heart just wasn't in it. Like the countless other races I had signed up for and bailed on this summer, resulting in a privately shameful handful of DNSs (Did Not Starts), I had no problem shrugging off this one too. But a little part inside me was sad.

With the change in daylight savings, Tri Club (http://www.triclubsandiego.org/) workouts resumed full-tilt last week. With renewed energy, I started training and seeing old friends again. I kicked off last weekend with a very chilly 58-degree swim in the Cove, followed it the next day with a zippy 50-mile ride, and finished it off the third day with a 10-mile trail run in Penasquitos Canyon. I realized I had absolutely no excuse to bail on Superseal the following weekend. I guess I could do it. It's at that moment I realized I had cold feet. I love nothing more than facing my fears. All of a sudden, it was on! Plus, I would get to put on my race wheels and go super fast!

I spent the night before getting Torch ready, freezing my water bottles, and packing my bag. I whistled as I carefully put on the race wheels, oiled the chain, and put baby powder in my bike shoes. It was just like old times. Amazingly, I slept like a baby, awakening a minute before the alarm went off at 5:00 am. Feeling well rested, I eased into my race clothes in minutes. I had plenty of time to enjoy some tea and a nice breakfast as well as walking the dog, making the bed, and washing dishes. Who wants to come home to a dirty house after a hard race?

As I racked my bike in transition, I felt strangely calm. I had expected nerves but there were none. It was like returning home. It was warmer than I had expected, both air and water. The rain that had been predicted was not to be, and the clouds that hovered over the early morning gray skies would quickly burn off with the good ole' San Diego sunshine. I slipped into my wetsuit and made my way to the water. I kept bumping into old friends, chatting away, until suddenly, my wave was lining up. I jogged over to the middle of the pack and quickly put on my Neoprene cap, silicone cap, and goggles. I noticed everyone around me was stone-faced, pale, and eeriely silent. Oops! Wrong place. I slipped towards the back of the pack until I was met with more (predominantly female) smiles, "Good lucks!", and sandbagging discourses: "No, you go ahead. I'm slow." "Oh, no. I'm slower than you!" The 10-second countdown began, I started my watch, and then the horn blew and my first official race of 2011 began.

I swam easily to the first buoy, pulled by a strong draft. Surprisingly, there was no kicking or jostling. Finding my way was easy. Thank you, back of the pack! The water was cold, but warmer than I had predicted. My face only burned for the first minute or two. About 60. In addition, swimming in the bay offered, slippery calm waters. I easily found my rhythm, sighted every 10 strokes, and circled the buoys. My sighting was dead-on. I had been mentally prepared for the swim to be a struggle. Afterall, I've only been swimming about once a week. I had forgotten much fitness adrenaline can compensate for. On the return, I started to tire. My arms didn't get sore, and I couldn't feel myself slow down but my thoughts were distracted, it took more effort to swim the straight line, and I swallowed a bit (just a bit) of water twice. However, I could see the final buoy in the distance, and this motivated me to push and maintain my pace. My lungs heaved in sharp gasps with each stroke. Suddenly, my hands hit earth once, then twice. I pulled myself to my feet, trotted up the ramp, and undid my wetsuit. A quick glance at my watch showed only a few minutes slower than my best possible predicted time. I smiled.

In T2 I checked my front tire for pressure with a quick squeeze. I had needed to pump it up significantly again this morning, and I anxiously pondered about a slow leak. Careful inspection earlier revealed a significant gash. Did my fingers detect slightly more give now? I would keep my fingers crossed and pray that it held. I trotted over to the mounting line, clipped in and was off.

I settled into a comfortable 19 mph pace almost immediately and enjoyed the ease at which this was maintained as Torch zipped across the smooth, pancake-flat Silver Strand Highway. I sipped on my sports drink and popped a few cafeinated Cliff Blocks. It had been a long time since I had done an Olympic time trial, and I found my mind wandering, bored with the flat course. I guess I like hills afterall. I increased my focus, concentrating on the circular rhythm of my pedal stroke. Consciously relaxed my shoulders. Relaxed my wrists. I played mental games with myself, breaking the course up into pieces, and setting little time goals for each section. 3.5 miles to the first turn-around, then 7, then 5. The course was two loops. The mental game trick worked. I actually enjoyed myself more at the same speed on the 2nd lap. However, I was ready to rack my bike in T2. What I wanted most was yet to come. I wanted to run!

I zipped out of T2, relieved that my stomach felt great. I had been predicting a pit-stop at the Port-a-Potties but after zipping onto the run course, decided against it. I felt fine! My legs felt a little leaden the first mile. I concentrated on my stride, pretending I was landing on hot coals. This encouraged me to step lightly on my toes and spring quickly off again. My turnover increased, my feet landed solidly under my hips. The first mile flew by. 7:30. Wait. Was that right? Maybe I had miscomputed. I could never trust my math skills when blood flow was being shunted preferentially to my legs. Lucky for me, the first 3 miles were sand and dirt trails. I love trails! The trail was flat and well-groomed and I skipped lightly past 3 bulky male runners, their large biking leg muscles no help on the run. I felt wonderful, and I continued focusing on that springy feeling. I grabbed water at aid stations, gulping down large mouthfuls, spilling half down my tri top. The miles flew by, and suddenly, I was turning around and on the return.

3 miles back to the finish, a straight, paved bike path along the highway. There was nothing to look at but it wasn't necessary. I zoned out, focusing on landing on my toes, springing off, over and over. I focused on my breath, finding a pace where my breathing was heavy but rhythmic. In every 2 strides, out every 2. Over and over. It was like being rocked into a trance with a lullaby. When my mind strayed, I changed it up, and played games. Can I catch the person in front of me? What about the person after that? A few guys that I passed certainly didn't appreciate my new game but the more they hated me passing them, the more I ate it up. I was now on the final mile. Only one more to go. I picked up the pace, pushing myself. My breathing was more rapid now, in 1, out 1, in 1, out 1. The finish line was now in sight. I picked up the pace even more. My legs felt like rubber. I was gasping for air. I tried to smile for the photographer, as the crowd cheered me on, running down the chute. Unfortunately, the best I could manage was a contorted grimace stretched ear to ear. The second I crossed the finish line, the grimace transformed to a big smile.

Needless to say, I had a great race and finally feel that I have my mojo back. Bring on the rest of the season!

Postscript--Oh, and the front tire? It was flat when I came back into transition after the race. Phew! The Fates smiled upon me today!

Spring is Here!

2011-03-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

Spring has always symbolized new beginnings for me. With the start of daylight savings, I already feel more enthusiastic, motivated, energetic, and positive. I've been working out a lot more. My body is quickly getting back into shape, and I finally lost the final 3 pounds needed to reach race weight. Now I just need to put on muscle...

I'm signed up for the Superseal Olympic Triathlon this weekend on the Coronado Navy Base (http://www.superfrogtriathlon.com/). I wasn't going to do it. I haven't been training and exercise has been minimal and sporadic. After this weekend, I've decided I have no excuse not to do it. And now I'm excited.

This weekend, I joined the tri club (Tri Club San Diego--(http://www.triclubsandiego.org/) for the first cove swim of the season. It was 57 degrees and choppy with a big swell. In addition, it was the first time I had been in the ocean since.....hmmmm.....July? It was fantastic! I banged out 0.7 miles and felt wonderful. Saturday, I joined the Chula Vista Trek Store for their 53-mile ride. All guys. Great, I'm going to get dropped in the first 5 miles. It was not to be. I was able to hold my own, thankfully, as we rode up to the Cabrillo National Monument and back. Thankfully, the ride was mostly flat with a few small, forgiving hills. Sunday, despite ominous gray skies and chilly winds (okay, it wasn't that bad folks but for us pansies in San Diego, it seemed threatening), I had an awesome 10-mile trail run through Penasquitos Canyon. Because the skies seemed like they were about to open up and dump rain any moment, I had the canyon mostly to myself. Luckily, the rain held off until later that night.

I'm sore, yes, I'm sore. But my muscle memory can get me through half-ironman length workouts. I have absolutely new excuse for not racing an Olympic. Plus, I get to put my race wheels on! I realized I've been scared to race. I have cold feet, so to speak. Now, I can't wait to get my feet wet (literally) on Sunday! The excitement has returned. The hunger is back. Finally.

Pound Puppies

2011-03-08T18:34:00.000-08:00

I've been busy lately working on my art business. It's great because 10% of the proceeds goes to a local animal shelter. I've been volunteering a lot; I love it. I bring my camera when I go the shelter and sketch them when I get home. I'm going to do a series of paintings, make a collage, and give it to the shelter.

"Terrier" 2011

"Pound Puppy" 2011

"Dr. S. Weenie" 2011

"Chiquita" 2011

No images may be reproduced without permission of the artist

www.rachelsanimalart.blogspot.com

rachelsanimalart@hotmail.com

Better

2011-03-05T17:44:00.001-08:00

As promised, today was a better day. I didn't make it to my group run. I decided to sleep in. After moping around the house for awhile, I reluctantly gave in to Travis's pleas for a run. We went to our favorite, easy trail and enjoyed a 4-mile simple run. It was just enough to make me feel better without killing myself. I just didn't have it in me to do more today. Too emotionally exhausted. But that's okay. I'm so grateful to Travis for getting me out! We have such fun together.

This Too Shall Pass

2011-03-04T18:21:00.000-08:00

It was a low-energy day. Actually, it's been a low-energy week. I guess my irrational exuberance overexerted my physical capabilities this weekend (10 mi run, weights, 50 mile hilly bike, and 5 mile snow shoe). The mind was willing but the body not. Needless to say, I've taken a recovery week.

Today was the week's low point. Everything that's happened to me these last few months just sucker-punched me, knocking the wind out of me. A deep, heavy loneliness settled in around my head like a thick fog. I had things I needed to do but absolutely couldn't find the energy to get them done. I'm hanging in there. I'm fighting the heaviness pressing in against the emptiness inside. Days like this are inevitable.

I took a hot shower, breathed deeply and slowly in and out a few times and reminded myself, "This too shall pass." I am reminded of moments during my Ironmans. Each one required me to pass throught the deepest and darkest chasms to reach the finish line. Each time, blinded with agony, too exhausted to continue, I faltered in disbelief. Reaching the finish was impossible. I momentarily gave up.

Somehow, each and every time, something inside picked myself up and gave me the will to continue. Even when I had the stomach flu in Ironman Canada. Each time, I looked at my watch and gave myself 5 minutes. "I just have to endure this for the next 5 minutes, and then, it will be better." And it worked every time. Numbness followed the pain, encompassing me in a comforting blanket of relief giving me respite. Endorphin-induced euphoria inevitably follows, making everything better again.

During days when I'm feeling low, like this one, I reflect back on these moments. "Just 5 more minutes, just 5 more minutes." It helps. I know this too shall pass. Yeah, I'm having a bad day but I'm okay. I'll get through it. I always do. Besides, I have a long, group training run tomorrow morning. And, I'm actually really looking forward to it.

On Suck-Ass Runs

2011-03-02T16:11:00.001-08:00

I didn't want to run today. Or do anything. Maybe lay on the couch all day. It was a low-energy day. I loathe low-energy days. By now, you'd think I'd be able to at least predict, if not prevent, these doldrums. They inevitably always follow a string of overly productive days. I just can't help myself. I love wearing myself out but hate dealing with the consequences. Maybe it was the 10-mile run in the rain on Saturday. Or the weights that followed. Perhaps it was the 50-mile hilly bike ride Sunday morning. Or the 5-mile snowshoe afterwards. For some odd reason, I've been uncomfortably tired this week. Nothing breeds depression more quickly than lethargy.

After taking a much-needed rest day Monday and then another unintended rest day Tuesday, I knew I needed to get out to quell the blues singing in my chest. I so did not want to work out. I woke up and put on my running clothes, trying to make it easier to get out the door. Sipped my cup of coffee and sunned myself while doing a crossword puzzle, trying to wake up. Nope. Went back to bed for a 2-hour, fitful nap. Woke up feeling worse than ever. There was no way I was going to run.

I was muttering my list of things to do softly to myself. Travis, with his incredible, super-power, dog hearing, overhead me breathe the word, "run". He perked up his ears, wagged his tail, and started towards the door, softly whining. "Alright, fine," I muttered. If not now, then when? On days like today, there's never a good time to do it. I decided to get it over with.

We headed out on the trails, Travis smiling the whole way. I decided to go a way we usually don't, adding interest the route. My legs were heavy, and I forced myself to ignore my snail-like pace. I shuffled over the rocks, through the muds left over from the recent rains, occassionally jumping over eddies of trickling creeks. I rolled an ankle, cursed, and continued on my way. Every hill was a mountain. I didn't even pretend I could fake a shuffle up them. I simply walked. My mind was numb, and I kept on going.

Luckily, the miles flew by. I had promised myself 4 but ended up doing 5. My despondency was somewhat distracted by an exuberant black dog, bounding ahead, bunny-hopping into the bushes, jacknifing over trenches, and plunging into every stagnant pool of water he could find. At least someone was having a good time.

I got it done. That's all that counts. My body is trying to tell me take it easy. Maybe I should listen. I've never been a very good listener though. However, even though it was a suck-ass run, I do feel better.

Lucky

2011-02-23T15:12:00.000-08:00

Last night, I laid in bed awake, thoughts racing through my head like sugar plum fairies, as usual. I'm unemployed and single (again, not that I'm advertising). Certainly this is not what I planned. Many friends and acquaintenances have offered their condolences. My mother even said I deserve a little good luck because I've had such bad luck the last 3 years. Each time, I'm taken back. Bad luck? Me? Funny, I'm the last to know.

On the contrary, I actually feel extremely fortunate. Maybe it's the massive doses of antidepressants talking but it could be so much worse. I have a wonderful family who supports me and lots of friends to turn to. I have amazing dogs and wonderful pets that keep me company. There are definitely pangs of loneliness that shoot through my chest, mostly late at night, but really, I'm never alone. I'm extremely lucky to have a family supporting me during this period of no income. I have food on the table and a roof over my head. I'm healthy and active and enjoy going out each and every day and getting my heart rate up, feeling the burn in my legs, and the sweat dripping down my forehead. I get to spend extra time romping through crests and canyons with my dogs. In addition, I get to use this time to invest in some of my other interests (which I have several), including volunteering at the animal shelter, painting, and writing. True, this isn't exactly what I want but I'm making the most of it. In no time at all, I will have that new dream job and enviously reflect on this downtime when free time was plentiful.

And when in doubt, I go for a run.

Pick Me Up

2011-02-22T13:34:00.001-08:00

Going through a lot of s*it right now. Needless to say, this was timely:

"Hello Rachel,

I'm writing this because I thought you and your readers might want to check out our article "Top 50 Inspiring Blogs by Athletes", wherein Diary of an amateur triathlete is listed at #28 ( http://www.sportspsychologydegree.org/top-50-inspiring-blogs-by-athletes.html#28). Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you have any feedback. "

http://www.sportspsychologydegree.org/top-50-inspiring-blogs-by-athletes.html

Yippee!

Finally, my massage therapist and friend, Jaclyn (http://www.elite-bodyworkers.com/), invited me to be one of the workout models for Channel 5 News' "Beach Body Abs" segment this morning. Look, Ma! I'm on TV!
http://www.fox5sandiego.com/videobeta/273b2f8b-6ee0-4769-b3e2-3d8e4d0b6e87/Health/Secrets-to-Beach-Body-Abs

Biking with Dad

2011-02-21T19:39:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I visited my family in NorCal. Even though my dad and I both bike, we had never actually biked together. I planned a fairly flat, 16-mile ride in Los Altos (difficult to find a flat ride in NorCal!). It was a trip down memory lane as we rode past stable upon stable where I used to ride as a kid. Can't wait to do it again soon!

Saddling up.

Getting started.

Horses!

Go, Dad!

A very tame herd of deer grazing in a secluded valley.

Taking a break.

Get up that hill!

Perfect weather, gorgeous mountains, and great company.

Happy Friggin' VD Day

2011-02-15T10:01:00.000-08:00

Can I just say how much I hate Valentine's Day? For couples, there's pressure to be "romantic". There's nothing more un-romantic than a Hallmark holiday and marked up prices at crowded restaurants for luke-warm, mediocre food. Second, I hate roses. They've never brought me anything than bad luck (remind me to tell you the story of the day of the black roses). Anything laden with thorns sharp enough to draw blood should be warning enough to stay away. Has anyone ever tried to grow their own roses? They're pest magnets! Finally, chocolates are irresistable but they also make me fat. And I eat chocolate all the time. In fact, I'm trying to stay away from chocolate. Isn't it a little perverse to feed my addiction? In some circles, the romantic wooer might be labeled an enabler.

Needless to say, I have a lot of sh*t going on right now. As usual, this isn't the venue to discuss it (that's what my journal is for...and my memoir...check back in a year). Anwyay, as always, when the going gets tough, yadda, yadda, yadda, I go for a run. Last night was no different. I brought the dogs for company; we were all emotionally distraught (they feeding off me, of course). We all needed it. The cool, damp air smelled faintly of lilacs. Spring comes early in San Diego. The nighttime darkness encompassed me in a protective, hidden blanket. And so I rqan. I thought it would be more difficult. My head felt heavy and my mind was so clouded I couldn't see straight. But my feet remembered how to run so the rest of me went along for the ride. With each footstep, my thoughts slowed. Although my chest was burning and my legs pounding the pavement so hard, I had to pull on the dogs' leashes to encourage them to keep up, my mind went silent and still. Everything around me might be a whirlwind but at least I found a way to create stillness inside.

2010 Year in Review

2011-02-06T10:39:00.000-08:00

This year's analysis will be slightly different from previous years. No data crunching, no comparing total miles to previous years, no analyzing whether or not I've gotten faster. Sorry to disappoint. Why the change? To be honest, I just don't care. It's just not important to me. The thought of doing all that number crunching is no longer exciting. Just more busy work. Yes, I do still follow a training plan (albeit less structured), and I do keep track of my volume but becoming faster so I can move up a few slots in my age group just doesn't matter to me anymore.

I used to care about that stuff. I would say I didn't but inside I secretly craved faster times. What happened? Well, after a 6-month lay-off and serious burnout, all I care about right now is being involved in something active and healthy that I love. I still have a passion for swimming, biking, running but for me, it's more the act of doing those activities than winning a race. I still plan on racing, don't get me wrong (I just signed up for the San Diego Rock 'n Roll Marathon, btw). It's just that instead of training to race, I now race to train. I simply love the training more than racing. There's nothing better to me than a relaxed group ride through the San Diego's back country, a long, solo trail run, a swim in the ocean on a calm day when the water is smooth as glass. These experiences are what keep me going. And to top it all off, I get to blog about it afterwards!

But let's return to 2010. The year was pretty dismal. I had my heart broken and was stuck in a job I hated with a lay-off date looming in the not-so-distant future. To top it off, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a new job (still can't, actually). All I can say is, thank God for triathlon! It got me through (as always). I did Ironman Utah (my 3rd) and had the best Ironman race of my life. In addition, I actually trained for this race less than previous years and did better. Groundbreaking. Sometimes less is actually more, especially for the chronically overtrained triathlete. (I also PR'ed at CA 70.3 so I got faster without training as much or trying as hard. Bonus!) In addition, I tried new things. I climbed Mt. Baldy (actually, Mt. San Antonio, the highest peak in the San Gabriel Mountains at 10,000 feet), my first experience with mountaineering. And it was amazing! I did my first ultramarathon (Oriflamme 50K), and it was fantastic! These experiences were instrumental in healing my wounds. Not only that, I can look back on 2010 and realize there were a lot of good events, hiding in the shadows of the bad ones.

Unfortunately, instead of spreading out these events over the course of a year, I did them all within a few months. The perfect storm. I crashed and burned harder than I ever have before. I learned (yet again) that I'm not Superwoman (I'm not?). After Ironman Utah, I couldn't get off the couch due to severe burnout. This is the first time I've experienced burnout, and let me tell you, it SUCKED! I think I'd rather have an injury! After working out only a handful of times in 6 months, I finally sucked it up and began the long road back to fitness.

And now, it's 2011. I'm moving forward (slowly) after my 6-month stagnation. I'm slowly and tediously climbing back onto the wagon. My fitness isn't what it was but it is coming back. After completing a VERY hilly trail half-marathon 2 weeks ago (Buffalo Run in Catalina), I finally feel like I got my mojo back. I'm doing lots of trail running and setting my sights on an ultramarathon. With my confidence building and the realization that I'm not going to train if I don't have a race big enough to scare me into it, I signed up for the San Diego Rock 'n Roll Marathon (http://san-diego.competitor.com/). Who's with me?

2009 Year in Review
http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2009/12/2009-year-end-review.html

Rachel's Animal Art

2011-01-26T18:25:00.000-08:00

I'm really behind on posting. First, I never did a year-end recap. It took a little while to see how I was going to post it. Instead of numbers and data (like I've done every other year), it's going to be a little more qualitative. Stay tuned...

I've been trying to invest a lot of time in the job search. I've also been spending some time doing things I've never had time to......writing. I'm working on a Triathlon Memoir. We'll see. I'm on Chapter 4. It'll be neat to see how it turns out.

And...painting? Yup, been doing that too. I like doing it to relax. Plus, it satiates the animal lover in me at the same time (I paint animals). Well, after painting some of the dogs at the animal shelter, I realized another way I might be able to give back. So, in addition to walking dogs at the local animal shelter, I've decided to try to use proceeds from some of my paintings to help local animal rescue groups. Check it out!

Rachel's Animal Art
http://www.rachelsanimalart.blogspot.com/

Buffalo Run 1/2 Marathon

2011-01-24T12:21:00.000-08:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Catalina_Island,_California
http://www.ecatalina.com/

We spent the weekend on Catalina Island, only a 45-minute ferry ride west of Dana Point. Bustling during the tourist season in the summer, Avalon, the tiny town of Catalina (pop ~4,000) is a relaxing, quick get-away in the dead of winter. Sailing, scuba diving, and hiking are popular activities on the Catalina. We enjoyed clear, sunny skies, mid 70-temps, friendly locals, and a fantastic tour of more remote areas of the island while treating ourselves to the Buffalo Run 1/2 Marathon.
Catalina is a small, mountainous, and rocky island, 8 by 22 miles (highest point, 2,000 feet). The island is fiercely protected by the Catalina Nature Preservancy. No cars are allowed on the island and most of the island is an undeveloped nature preserve. The water surrounding the island is crystal clear and teeming with fat and happy fish. Catalina has a rich and interesting history. Some odd tidbits? Mr. William Wrigley Jr. (yes, the rich CEO of the Wrigley corporation, as in Wrigley gum and lifesavers) owned the island. He built a lavish mansion, country club, and baseball diamond and fieldhouse. This is the same Mr. Wrigley who owned the Chicago Cubs (at the time, 1914). The Cubs then came to the island for ~7 weeks during spring training during the 1920s-1950s.

These were the views we were greeted with as we ferried in from Dana Point (a quick 45 minute ride; 20 miles):

Avalon's harbor of boats lined the dock us as we pull into the pier. The shadows of the late afternoon sun grew long on the dark green hillside.

The narrow, hilly streets were lined with Old English-style cottages brightly colored in pinks, yellows, and greens, reminiscent of San Francisco. This one was our favorite, clinging precariously to the edge of a seaside cliff.

Race Day:

About 300 of us lined up on race day. The sun was out, and all of us shared the same uniform: a simple t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes.

Greg, somewhat tense (and rightly so) before his first-ever attempt at a half-marathon (and a mountainous, off-road one as well!).

Me, not knowing how to pose for the camera.

The first 2-miles, although on road, were very slow. We quickly exited Catalina and wrapped up and around the southeast side of the island. I tried my best to settle into a slow jog or shuffle but the ascent steepened almost immediately. I was forced to slow into an awkward "jog-walk", unable to find any rhythm. Luckily, I had brought my camera. I had glanced at the elevation map before we started. 1600' of climbing (all in the first four miles) translated to "4 miles of walking" for me. I started to snap pictures pass the time.

Somewhere between a shuffle and a jog (aka "slogging") up the first two miles.

Greg, running in somewhat smoother of a rhythm up this beast of a hill.

I was so thankful I had brought my camera. The views were spectacular. Here, we can see the town of Avalon from the road above.

It was a gorgeous day, and the ocean was no-less brilliant. Avalon's boats docked at the harbor. In the distance is the historical Wrigley Casino, the cylindrical, white building.

The smell of the recent rains hovered richly in the damp soil. Emerald green leafy boughs surrounded me in a cool, comforting shade. The sun danced and glittered over the ocean, like blazing coals of fire.

We reached the trail and continued our ascent. All of us were walking now, some more vigorously than others. I shook my head in disbelief. How could some people run this? Besides, I was having too much fun!

Above us, the trail zig-zagged up to the summit.

Up, and up, and up.

A "topographical" view of the first 4 miles of the course from sea level.

Either up or down, the only thing this course lacks is flat!

(Wo)man versus hill.

Never give up.

Are we ever going to get to run? At mile 4, I'm pretty cranky.

The Summit: Our Reward.

Lush grass, velvety vallies, it was straight out of an episode of Lost.

Relieved, we take a minute to pose for the camera before enjoying our descent.

Tantalizing expectations of a relaxing descent were smashed by a sudden out-and-back, 4 miles total, the first two, of which were entirely uphill. More uphill? There was a striking juxtaposition in runner morale depending on whether they were an "out" or a "back" runner. Using some mental strength, I quieted the disgruntled voice inside who continuously repeated, "Are we there yet?"

Finally, we reached the turn-around. A wide smile beamed across my face, as I upgraded to a "Back" runner. I began to run.

Greg, enjoying a downhill after the out-and-back.

Whee!

Downhill is better than uphill!

Finally, all this run training I've been toiling through can be put to use! I was warmed up (after 7 miles), and well-rested. My feet danced quickly over the well-groomed trail. The final 3-miles were a blazing whirlwind. My legs felt good, and I felt like I could go much farther.

--Greg crossing the finish line.

We spent the rest of the weekend walking around, shopping, dining, chatting it up with locals, and just relaxing. We'll definitely be back!

Oh, and if you've made it this far, here's a fun tidbit:

Why is it called "The Buffalo Run"? Although we didn't see any buffalo, there are buffalo that live on the island. Buffalo were released on the island in 1924 for the filming of a movie, "The Vanishing American". Now, they are maintained by the Catalina Nature Conservancy to prevent overpopulation.

We had so much fun!

Avalon Pier

http://www.pacificsportsllc.com/buffalo-run-event-information/
http://www.pacificsportsllc.com/storage/BR11_Map.pdf

Stagecoach Century 2011 (1/2)

2011-01-18T18:21:00.000-08:00

This was my 4th year riding the (Stagecoach Century), and as always, I was not disappointed. Greg and I rode the 50 (I was so relieved not to be riding a full century!). The weather was perfect (low 80s), and I felt awesome. This was a relief; I've been focusing more on running lately, not biking. It was a gorgeous day in the desert; I didn't need any more motivation than that! Plus, I got some awesome pics. This year's ride re-cap is a photo gallery (in sequence) of the ride.

Mountains surrounded us in the desert valley of Anza-Borrego.

Most of the ride was flat (although the first 26 were a false flat--grrrr!). However, there were some hills. (We lucked out too--no winds--unheard of for the desert). Here's Greg battling one of the smaller hills.

Gorgeous mountains in the background.

Ah, finally, a downhill.

Whoo hoo!

Greg and I at the first rest stop.

Gorgeous view of the desert. Rocky!

Drink up! I couldn't feel myself sweating but must have been doing double-duty on this warm day; I drank 6 bottles!

Breathtaking.

In good spirits despite all the miles.

Wow.

Cacti pepper the hillsides like tiny skeletons.

Are we there yet?

At the 2nd rest stop (and turn-around). Don't worry! The entire way back (except for one major climb) is downhill!

Clumps of cacti like statues posing for a painting.

We flew back towards home at 25 mph (the group of riders we sucked wheel from for 5 miles didn't hurt).

View from the top after climbing Sweeny's Pass. I can see the road spiraling below, where we just came from.

We made it!

Happy New Year!

2011-01-09T19:17:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm still here. Gosh, I had no idea being unemployed would dictate such a hectic schedule! I've been running around like mad, trying to get a paper published from my postdoctoral work, going to networking meetings, going to interviews, and signing up for some courses to help my resume. However, I feel very positive and have no doubt that my first job in the biotech industry is only a stone's throw away.

Happy New Year! What are your resolutions? I only have 3 but I feel super motivated to achieve them:
1. Exercise consistently.
2. Eat healthfully by preparing meals at home, planning ahead, and counting calories to lose about 5 unwanted pounds.
3. Go to bed early and wake up early. (Gee, this was on my list last year).
These resolutions are all about health this year. I'm already off to a good start.

With the New Year, I've had a lot of motivation. I completely spring-cleaned the house and re-vamped my finances, mapping out my 2011 budget. Now, I feel clear-headed and ready to tackle the enormous project of finding a job.

I slacked off quite a bit on working out over the holidays. (Okay, really, who didn't?) With a (challenging) half marathon only 2 weeks away, I began to freak out. Today, Greg and I logged a very tough 10-mile trail run at Black Mountain Park. Nailed out! I felt great and could have gone farther!!! I have the confidence I need to know I can survive the race now. Personally, I think my Xbox Kinect's Dance game totally helped me maintain fitness while slacking off. Kinect is an AWESOME cross-training tool. Who knew? I'm totally hooked on the dance game. Very addictive.

Finally, since it's the New Year, and we are all striving to adhere to our resolutions, I'll leave you with this:
What motivates you?
Is it health? Fitting into those skinny jeans? A PR at your next race? Let us know!
Personally, I'm motivated to train, race, and simply be active because it's part of my identity. It's part of how I see myself. When I'm sick or injured and unable to train, I feel lost. In addition, I love the positive boost in mental health!

6 Weeks; It Takes 6 Weeks

2010-12-23T21:53:00.001-08:00

How long does it take to see a difference in fitness upon commencement of regular workouts? 6 weeks. A full 6 weeks. After 6 months of vegetating, it has taken me 6 weeks of struggling, toiling, sweating, pain and agony to get to the point where it's not so hard anymore. I'm not any faster, and I can't go much farther but at least it feels easier.

I ran 8 miles on Sunday, and, for the first time, my long run went well. I felt strong the entire way, maintaining a consistent pace. Also, it's not taking me as long to recover after each workout. I also find that it's easier to get out the door. I'm beginning to look forward to the workouts and have more energy for them. So that's the good news. I still have a long way to go but at least it's getting easier!

I've been struggling for 6 weeks. I've gotten this far; I'm certainly not going to let it go easily again. I had a terrific 4 (slow) mile run this morning and had enough oomph to swim this evening. Yay me! Just in time for the holidays! Of course, I picked a terrific time to get into shape. Argh.

Happy Holidays!!!

A Good Run

2010-12-16T09:55:00.000-08:00

Right now, I need some good, confidence-building workouts. It seems like I've been slogging through each and every one over these last 5 weeks. Last night, I may have had a breakthrough.

I came home from work completely exhausted. Granted, I had an interview earlier that day, which are always draining. (It went very well, and I would love this opportunity so I'm keepign my fingers crossed!) I immediately plopped onto the bed, surrounded by dogs, and fell asleep. When Travis woke me up at 6 to be fed with a few gentle woofs (and 50 lbs jumping on my chest), I groggily stumbled downstairs. After feeding myself, the dreaded yet familiar feeling of apathy began to build in my chest. I knew my odds of working out were becoming slimmer and slimmer as the evening elapsed. However, every time I stirred, Travis jumped up, ran towards the door and turned back towards me with begging eyes, tail wagging. He knew it was time for his walk. Shoot. If I'm going to walk them, I may as well run them, I reasoned. "Do you want to go for a run?" At the word, "run", both Travis and Floyd began panting and furiously tail-wagging. Their excitement rubbed off on me, and I used the energy to quickly change into my nighttime running clothes, headlamp and all. As we headed for the door, Floyd jumped up and down whining loudly while Travis did a few 360s and "woofed" a few more times. Talk about great training partners!

The first mile with the boys is always awkward. Unable to contain their excitement, they always sprint down the street for the first 1/4 mile, dragging me behind them. Then, Travis has to stop, sniff, and take care of business. After that, they're good (actually, Floyd keeps an even pace pretty much the entire time--I think it's the herding breed in him).

The miles floated by with the dogs trotting at a steady pace beside me. As a pack, we ran in sync, a unifying flow of energy tying us together. It was a magical moment, sort of a running mediation. It had been months since I've felt that sort of quiet, peaceful mind, which I used to get easily every time I ran. When I sit and try to practice meditation (which I actually am trying to do for a few minutes a day), it takes a lot of effort to quiet my mind. When I run, it just happens. Time stopped, and all I was aware of was the rhythm of my feet and the quiet euphoria that filled me. It felt wonderful. I didn't want to stop. When we reached our usual turn-around, I pushed on, deciding to add an extra mile. Again, this is the first time this has happened since I started training again.

The extra mile was tough, probably because it was mostly uphill. The dogs gently tugged at the leash, urging me not to slow down. With their four legs and low center of gravity, they glanced back at my labored footsteps and heaving gasps for breath questioningly as they easily loped up the hill. I welcomed the assistance they gave me up the hill. At the same time, my lungs were screaming as I allowed them to push my pace. Their speed and endurance always amazes me, especially since I train much more than they do!

At the top of the hill, we turned around and headed back towards home. They weren't sprinting but they definitely picked up the pace. I could have insisted that they slow down. But I secretly enjoyed the push they gave me. Left to my own demise, I would not run that fast. They urged me to quicken my footsteps, and I obeyed, my breath coming comfortably but rapidly. This was a tempo run. The combination of running past my comfort level so soon after dinner forced me to dash into the bushes for an emergency stop only a mile away from home. Ugh. Travis and Floyd, confused yet always obedient, followed me into the bush and waited patiently.

Afterwards, we continued the final mile home. Our pace had dropped off but I was thankful to settle back to my happy space. The final quarter mile had to be traversed on a sketchy section of the road where the bike lane is narrow and there is no sidewalk. Travis instinctively hugged the shoulder but I had to keep yanking Floyd back into the safety of the bike lane as he kept jutting out into the middle of the street. Paying close attention to Floyd, I didn't see a bush up ahead, crowding the bike lane. Travis ran around the bush, accidently colliding with me. I spilled to the ground on my hands and knees. For a split second, panic ensued as I pictured oncoming cars hitting Floyd, who was now sprawled in the middle of the street. The whites of Travis's eyes flashed as I crouched vulnerably on the dark road. I leapt back to my feet, took a second to assess the damage (little to none), and we cautiously trotted the remaining few yards back to the sidewalk. Luckily, no one was harmed, save for a scraped knee and hole in my running tights. However, I will make sure to take the long way home next time to avoid that section.

All in all, I was extraordinarily happy with this run. I realize my primary goal is to be able to enjoy my workouts again. I don't want each one to feel like so much work! I want to use the workouts to relax, rejuvenate, and attain that moving meditative state. That comes with fitness. And it will come...

Travis by the xmas tree.

Another Travis pic.

Regal Floyd posing by the tree.

Getting both dogs together for the camera. Travis is doing his best pouty face to beg for a treat.

How Long is This Going to Take?

2010-12-14T10:43:00.000-08:00

We've all heard about how quickly you lose fitness once you become sedentary. As a rule of thumb, the old adage says that it takes twice as long as the layoff period to return to your fitness peak. But will it really take 1 year to return to where I was? After these last 4 weeks of slogging through workouts, I beginning to think that maybe it will.

The last issue of Triathlete mag (Dec' 10) gave me some hope. Dr. Jeffrey Sankoff wrote a little blurb on "Memory Muscle" addressing exactly this question. Have I lost everything after my 6 month layoff despite 7 years of previous hard work? Scientists from Norway found that muscles in previously trained mice remained "primed" to return to fitness after a layoff, despite a loss in muscle mass. It seems that muscles do have a memory, and this may help seasoned athletes regain fitness faster than untrained ones after a sedentary period. I can only hope this proves to be true for humans!
http://www.doctorsolve.com/blog/2010/08/a-new-kind-of-muscle-memory.html

So what is detraining and how fast does it happen? Detraining is the loss of fitness due to inactivity, occurring in as little as 2-3 weeks. First, our VO2 max decreases, or to put it simply, cardiovascular fitness. You start huffing and puffing. Then, you lose muscle mass. In addition, your body is less effective at fat-burning and stores less glycogen. It can take up to 6 months to regain fitness after a long layoff. Easy come, easy go.

From what I've read, it's always better to reduce training than stop altogether. This prevents a dramtic reduction in fitness and also allows athletes to bounce back faster. And when returning to training after a layoff, always start slow. Consistency, not intensity speed or distance, is the key.

Links on Detraining:
http://www.roy-stevenson.com/retraining.html
http://pfitzinger.com/labreports/detraining.shtml
http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-238-267--13390-0,00.html
http://www.vermontfit.com/?p=detraining

Week 4: Recovery--Crash and Burn

2010-12-12T19:25:00.000-08:00

The 8 (Oops, I mean 11)-Mile Run:
Last week, I finished out my training with a long trail run at Penasquitos Canyon. The weather was deliciously perfect, high 60s to low 70s. I had my Fuel Belt, Cliff Blocks, and GPS in tow. This doesn't seem remarkable but it was the first time I had used this equipment in over 6 months. This realization filled me with some anxiety of what was to come: 8 miles of slow and painful slogging on trails. Greg and I headed out in good spirits. Our pace was perfect for a long, slow run. The trail was fairly forgiving, mostlly flat and well-worn. My legs are still not used to running but I could coax them into a consistent rhythm with little effort. We reached the 4-mile mark and turned around, feeling good, full of confidence. We chomped away on our Salt Tabs and Cliff Blocks, chasing them with slugs of water. Everything was going according to plan.

Then, I decided to take "the scenic route" back. We headed north to circle around the waterfall. So far, so good. The water trickled and beckoned to us beyond some rocky crags. How I wished we could plunge into the icy waters. Shortly after, we branched left. I was sure both trails returned to the start. A mile later, we began climbing up some very steep, very rocky terrain. I was forced to walk. Huffing and puffing, a sinking feeling plummeted in my gut. In the back of my mind, I knew we were going the wrong way. Stubbornly, I plunged onwards. The trail started heading sharply north and up towards a residential area. We doubled back. We took the next fork in the road, which suddenly began heading west. Our truck was east. Ugh. We doubled back again.

Finally, we headed down the east trail again. Our only other option was to return the way we had come. Of course, in hindsight, this would have been the smartest but it was over a mile away, and that seemed like an eternity. In the end, a 2 mile addition would have been better than the 3 hellaciously mountainous ones we added on. The rocky hills, I mean, mountains, appeared out of nowhere. Mutely, we climbed up each one and staggered down the next. At the top, I could see the trail we needed to get to in the distance to the south. How on earth were we going to get down? The trail was so rocky at this point that we were walking. My spirits were low, knowing I had screwed up.

At long last, the trail began heading down towards the trail home. I was immensely relieved but I had to get down first. The trail was almost steep enough to warrant crab-walking on my ass. I bent my knees and side-stepped down, avoiding tiny rockslides as I timidly traversed the cliff's side. My quads were trembling and screaming by the time I reached the bottom. We finally reached the trail that would take us back to the truck. I coaxed my tired legs back into a run. We were completely out of water, had run 8 miles (including mountains), and still had 3 to go. The situation was grim. I fell silent and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, stumbling back towards home. We finally reached the truck, completely spent. Greg had done awesome, his first 11-mile run (and trail run at that). Somehow, he had managed to maintain a much more positive attitude than I. We rushed to the local 7-11 to down some water, Gatorade, chocolate milk and Corn Nuts.

Recovery Week:
Although I had promised myself not to just veg all week during my recovery week, it was not to be. Work was crazy busy, and I simply felt exhausted. Nonetheless, I wished I had done more than sit on my butt Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday-Friday. By Friday, I could feel the depression creeping back in. I paid for it my slothfullness dearly on my warrior weekend.

Camp Pendleton Bike Ride:
Saturday, we set out for a leisurely ride through Camp Pendleton, one of my favorite local San Diego rides. The ocean, low-traffic roads, mostly flat, and no stops. What else could you ask for? Unfortunately, I felt groggy and sluggish for the entire ride. C'mon! At what point will I start seeing the rewards from my hard work? Afterall, even though I took 5 days off, I did put in 3 solid weeks of hard work. Argh. We had planned on going 40 but I quickly realized I had bitten off more than I could chew. 10 miles in, I knew the smart thing to do would be 30. I slogged away down the road, beating myself up for how slow my progress was. Every little bump in the hill was an immense mountain. I thought this was a flat ride! To add insult to injury, I clearly remembered zooming down the same roads on many rides before, thinking the ride was "easy". Not today. Of course, the false flats and headwinds didn't help. I had no idea what an impact those factor made until the turn-around. Once heading back home, on a gentle descent with a tailwind, we sailed at breakneck speed. I felt amazing! Funny how quickly things can change on the bike. All of a sudden, I noticed the deep blue ocean, the sweet songs of the meadow larks, and the wildflowers starting to peek through in the fields. Everything was just sweeter. We made it back to the truck, and I was relieved we had only done 30. When did 30 become such an effort?

8-Mile (I Mean 7) Trail Run:
The temps soared on Sunday. Knowing it would be in the upper 70s, we headed towards San Elijo Lagoon since it was on the coast. This was a smart decision. Water followed us for the entire trail, which was often shaded and cool. It was delicious. 1/2 mile in, the overwhelming need to pee brought me to a screeching halt. Damn pre-run coffee. I veered off the trail to take care of business. Greg suggested I find a more secluded bush since my bare ass would be in plain view to anyone coming up over the trail. I looked around and saw no one. I decided I couldn't wait. I did my thing, thankful as I really had to go, pulled up my shorts and jumped back onto the trail. At that exact moment, two male runners came up over the trail. Had I been 2 seconds longer, I would have been caught red-handed! We giggled for a few minutes before continuing.

Unfortunately, my legs were shot from the ride the day before. I silently vowed not to ride the day before a long run anymore. Afterall, I'm not training for an Ironman. Why beat myself up needlessly? My pace was agonizingly slow but I forced my legs to keep turning over, ignoring the embarrassing pace on my GPS. At mile 3, we reached the turn-around. I hadn't expected to reach the end of the trail so quickly. Our run would be short. No matter, we could always add on at the end. We slogged our way back, trudging over long stretches of deep sand and lumbering up steep steps made of logs. Somehow, I managed to maintain a run (maybe "shuffle" is more accurate) the whole way. The trail glittered with tiny fragments of shells washed up from previous week's high tides.

Greg saw the ocean and took off, clipping away at 8:30 min/miles. The trail was very friendly at this point, packed with a hard sand and sloping gently downhill. I took off in hot pursuit, dancing over boulders and logs. He reached a steep hill and slowed to a walk. Chomping at the bit, I refused to walk, zigging and zagging my way to the top. I plowed through a bunch of confused bird watchers with telescopes at the top, refusing to lose my rhythm, crying, "Coming through!" I didn't mean to be rude but their sense of time was simply elapsing at a slower pace than mine. We reached the road and plowed onward for a final mile. At mile 7, we reached the ocean. Spent, we both agreed 7 was enough (especially on a recovery week!), and we plunged into the icy, cool waters of the ocean. The water rejuvenated our legs and we basked in the surf until our feet had gone numb before slowly trudging back to the car.

After a much-needed nap, I am tired but recovering quickly. Ready for the next training block!

Week 3: Are We There Yet?

2010-12-02T15:02:00.000-08:00

Week 3 of working out again has been going very well. I'm getting used to the daily workouts mentally. However, physically, this week, the fatigue is taking its toll. My muscle memory can get me through the workout, albeit at a slower pace, but boy, do I pay for it the next day! I'm trying hard to stay positive. I know this is normal but it sure is humbling. I feel like I have such a long way to go. Will I ever regain my fitness? How long is this going to take? I sound like an impatient child: "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" That's okay. It's all about the journey, right?

After Saturday's run in the rain, Greg and I went out for a hilly 30-mile ride in San Diego. The sun was out but the temps were still brisk after the evening rainfall. With arm warmers, gloves and a vest, I was uncomfortably cold. To make matters worse, we left in the afternoon. As the shadows grew long, the temperatures began to fall. At least we had lots of hills to climb! We toiled up Del Dios Highway. I had been prepared for this one. I was very proud of myself; I kept a consistent pace and didn't try to push it, knowing there would be more hills to follow. Unfortunately, my legs thought otherwise. Shortly after Del Dios, exhaustion set in. I ate, ate, and ate some more, which helped a little. But when you're out of shape, all the Cliff Bloks in the world won't save you. I fell silent for a long stretch, turning my focus inward, allowing my mind to quiet. The hilly ride had turned into a quiet, chilling hell, one I had brought on all by myself. Afterall, I had planned the route. That 30-miler felt like 50. I used to ride 80 miles of hills every weekend. How the hell did I do that? I had no IDEA what fantastic shape I used to be in. Too bad I had to lose it all to appreciate it. I'll keep plugging away at it. Soon, I hope my 50-mile rides feel like 30.

Monday, I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a bus. Accordingly, I took a rest day. Tuesday, I wearily dragged myself out for a sluggish 4-mile run with the dogs, followed by a solid session of weights. Wednesday, miracle of all miracles, I woke up early. Maybe it was the sun shining so brightly through the large east window of my bedroom. Regardless, can I do that more often? Greg and I bundled up in as many biking clothes as we could find and braved the cold for a brisk, 18-mile am bike ride. It was exhilarating and exhausting. I still felt pretty sluggish and was ready to get off at mile 12. I can't believe how tough these bike rides are! Nonetheless, I keep getting back in the saddle; I have faith that they WILL get easier if I keep doing it.

I felt so gung-ho Wednesday evening that I doubled-down with a rad pool session, pumping out 2,000 yards. Unfortunately, it's waaaay too early in my training to be doubling down, let alone with 2,000 yards in the pool when my last swim was 2 weeks ago. Whoops. The swim felt amazing; it's just that I didn't. Especially this morning. I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a train. Today's Thursday, and, yup, I'm forcing myself to take a rest day.

I'm wondering when my recovery week was. I'm sad to say I'm going to need a recovery week next week, even though this month has been all "Prep" work. But, I have to listen to my body. And it's screaming for recovery. On the other hand, I'm hoping to maintain my workouts during the recovery week at a lower volume (with one extra rest day) so I don't lose my momentum. Maybe by listening to my body, I'll be able to take a recovery week the way it should be taken: a 50% reduction in volume (as opposed to my normal 80% decrease or in other words, veg on the couch all week).

Relished Run in the Rain

2010-11-27T14:00:00.000-08:00

I woke up to wind and torrential rain. Okay, okay, a steady rain. To me, a wimpy San Diegan, almost any rain is torrential. Grumpily, I resolved to run, no matter what. Rain or shine. Running is the one thing I don't mind doing in the rain. In fact, I daresay that I actually like it. You can't overheat and you don't really need to hydrate!

My dad made pancakes, and as we dined, the sun emerged. Ah, perfect weather for a run. Nice, cool and damp. I couldn't wait. I sipped my coffee and changed into my running clothes. Just some shorts, shirt and arm warmers. As I stepped outside, raindrops pelted my arms. Huh? I looked up. The sky was completely gray, and the sun had disappeared. Tricky! I was undeterred. In fact, in retrospect, I had been a little disappointed when the sun had emerged earlier. I guess I just prefer running in the rain. The Los Gatos Creek Trail was quiet and empty. I had the whole place to myself. I exchanged smiles with a few bedraggled runners and cyclists. They all donned raincoats and wet weather gear. They must have thought I was brave in my bare-bones outfit. I thought I looked especially tough in my "Out 'n Back" ultra runner tee. Of course, it's all front. That's all I had brought from San Diego. If I'd had rain gear, I would have worn it too.

I settled quickly into a relaxed pace, relieved I didn't have to push myself today. I really ran hard at the 10K Turkey Trot! It was nice to run at whatever pace I felt like. A gi-normous puddle appeared from nowhere. I tried to no avail to leap over it, completely soaking my right shoe. Did I say I loved running in the rain? Hmm, right back at ya'. I ignored the annoying squelching sound my footfalls made and continued onwards, enjoying the new playlist on my shuffle. Very appropriate songs kept popping up, "Evening Rain" (Moby), "Caught in the Rain" (Preston School of Industry), "November Rain" (Guns 'N Roses). The pungent potpurri of wet eucalyptus, mint, and wild rosemary deliciously filled the air, energizing me with nature's aromatherapy. I gave plenty of free smiles to anyone I saw, especially those walking with their drenched, happy-go-lucky mutts. There were definitely a handful of mudders like me out there. Small, unnamed warblers flitted across the path, displaying striking bars of gold, black, and white on their tails. The creek raged and frothed below. Well, maybe "raged" is a bit strong but it was much more than a gurgle.

I finished completely drenched but toasty and warm inside. Followed up with some weights. The sun is shining now, of course. Time to go back to San Diego where the storm is predicted to follow me for tomorrow's bike ride!

The Mystery of the Unexplained Grogginess

2010-11-26T23:54:00.000-08:00

I was going to swim today. Just swim. There are 2 pools near my parents where I can "drop in" for a small fee and use their pool and gym. I was supposed to wake up early and go. But I just couldn't. I tried, believe me, I tried. It was like rising from a coma. I was sooo tired. Besides, it's the day after Thanksgiving. What other day can I sleep in guilt-free? I groggily stumbled into the kitchen at 10:00 am. No one else was up yet. Sleeping in runs deep in our family. If sleeping were an Olympic sport, my whole family would have multiple gold medals by now.

I sat in front of the t.v., trying to no avail to wake up as I waited for the coffee to brew. As I sipped on the delicious coffee and downed some Raisin Bran, I killed some brain cells, succumbing to the most awful reality show on t.v., Jerselicioius. I'm sure there's worse trash on t.v. nowadays but I just don't watch that much t.v. Hey, it's the holidays! Give me a break.

My family soon joined me, and we made our plans for the day. Our mission, should we choose to accept it: procure, capture, and bring home the family tree. It's a tradition. As I stuffed my face with pecan pie in what my sister aptly named "2nd Breakfast" (after Lord of the Rings), I decided to forgo my swim until after the tree business had been completed.

The grogginess that had I had woken up with remained wrapped around me like clingy cobwebs as we drove to the nearby xmas tree lot. I tried not to take out my foul mood on those around me but my fam could tell something was off. Afterwards, they dragged me grumpily to lunch. I'm not hungry, I whined, as I downed my turkey and avocado sandwhich (although I only ate half). Upon returning home, my parents gently suggested I take a nap. It didn't take much convincing.

3 hours later, I woke up for the 2nd time that day, feeling very unrested. However, I didn't want to miss dinner! More turkey, stuffing, and sweet potatoes? Of course! Don't forget the pumpkin and apple pie! I've been stumbling around all evening and am ready for bed again. Oh, and I'm SORE from the 10K yesterday. The mystery of the unexplained fatigue was suddenly solved. Out of shape, race a 10K, and whallah! You get a sore and tired Rachel. Little races are going to take more out of me right now than I'm accustomed to. At least I had a good recovery day. Needless to say, I didn't swim. There's always tomorrow, right?

Silicon Valley Turkey Trot Race Report

2010-11-25T14:29:00.000-08:00

After only two weeks of training, I decided to enter a 10K race. Normally, this would be a poor idea. However, this was an exception. What better way to enjoy Thanksgiving than to bang out 6 miles before stuffing myself with comfort food? Turkey trots are so laid-back, I knew this "race" would be a good idea. Except for me, it wasn't a race at all but an excuse to get out of bed and get workout in on the laziest day of the year.

Thursday morning in San Jose was freezing. This isn't just the wimpy, extra-sensitive, San Diegan in me. It was 30 degrees when I woke up. That's officially cold, especially for California (even though it is NorCal). Plus, my parents had killed the heat to save energy as they slumbered, dropping the temp in my tucked-away room to a frigid 56 degrees. Who wants to get out of bed at 5:30 am on Thanksgiving morning to that? I seriously debated canning it and plunging back into the depths of the blankets. Excuses ran through my head. I could run later. It's Thanksgiving! Shouldn't I get to sleep in? I hadn't even registered yet. However, I have fewer weeks of training behind me than not, making consistent workouts even more critical during this period. Why did I pick the holidays to get started? When everyone else is taking some well-earned time off and relaxing, I'm beginning training. Smart, Rachel. Real smart. I knew I would never live down the internal guilt if I skipped this workout. Plus, there was this strange foreign feeling inside me. Was that, could it be...excitement?

Donning ear warmers, gloves, a long-sleeved technical tee with a vest, and running tights, I got into my parents car to drive to the start. After fumbling around for several minutes before my dad showed me how to start the damn thing (stupid keyless cars), I was off to the start. The temperature was 34 degrees, reminding me of my Wisconsin days. Luckily, the sun was out, and even more suprising, I actually didn't feel that cold. Yea for appropriate-weather clothes! I registered and retreated back to the car to stay warm until it was closer to gun time. No sense standing out there shivering.

We huddled at the start, crowding together for warmth. Somebody reeked of B.O. Can't people be polite enough to smear some deodorant on their armpits in the morning? What does it take, 3 seconds? I pinched my nose in disgust. After the race, I couldn't believe how ripe I smelled. When I got home, I realized it was I who had forgotten the deodorant in my early morning haze. The gun went off and we slowly crossed the start, all 15,000 of us. Oddly, it didn't seem like that many people. Many racers were dressed in costumes, including a myriad of gawky turkeys, drumsticks, a plate of food, and a poor, very cold, skimpily-clad Sacagawea. I coaxed my legs to turn-over, reluctant in the stiffening early morning cold. The route wasn't very exciting. Just a maze of confusing turns through the streets of San Jose. I looked wistfully at the Guadalupe River Parkway Trail beside us, where the race course had taken place in years past. Now, I guess there's just too many people to safely squeeze onto the trail. Oh, well. I was still getting a great workout in.

Even though this was a "workout", my competitive spirit kicked in. Based on my burning lungs and heaving chest, I was definitely running at race pace. I felt like I was kicking butt. I passed mile marker 1 and checked my watch. Oh. My heart sank. I couldn't believe how slow I was going! Just a year ago, when I had done this very same race, I had PR'ed, exerting the same exact effort. What a difference a year (and 6 months of not training) makes. I guess training really does help. Maybe mile 1 was just a slow split. I checked my watch again at mile 2, 3, 4, 5, and, yes, 6. Nope. I was consistently slow. A year ago, I could bang out sub-8s. Now, I was happy to be just below a 10-minute mile. Boy, do I have my work cut out for me! Before I could start beating myself up, I reminded myself that this was not a race but a workout. I patted myself on the back just for showing up, just for being brave enough to subject myself to this, and for pushing myself through the entire 6.2 miles. Originally, because my running mileage has been so low, I was only going to sign up for the 5K. But the 10K was the same price! Free miles! I just couldn't resist. However, this was the first time I had run 6 miles in 6 months. I was just happy to be able to get through the damn thing without pooping out!

After putting things into perspective, I sat back and enjoyed myself. I pushed myself just hard enough to make it what felt like "race pace" on that day. However, I stopped caring about time. I was thankful to be out there just doing it. Thankful to be healthy enough to run and to have the motivation to push myself through it. I crossed the finish line just under an hour, feeling deeply satisfied. I may have my work cut out for me but this will be a great baseline to start from.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE!!!

Previous Silicon Valley Turkey Trot Race Reports:
2006: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2006/11/silicon-valley-turkey-trot.html
2009: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2009/11/silicon-valley-turkey-trot-race-report.html

Overcoming Monday Doldrums

2010-11-23T10:25:00.001-08:00

Monday's workout almost didn't happen. My dad was in town. Family always throws things for a loop. ;) We were starved by the time we got lunch (first obstacle) so of course, we gorged ourselves on cheeseburgers, fries, rootbeer, and polished it off with a huge brownie a la mode. I felt so bloated and sluggish afterwards. We walked around Del Mar but all I could think about was a nap. My swim bag was in the truck. My plan was to stop at the pool after dropping my dad off at the airport. By the time I dropped him off, I could barely keep my eyes open, negotiating rush hour traffic as my chin kept dipping to my chest. Mysteriously, the truck automatically drove home instead of the pool. I didn't care. All I could think about was bed. I crawled under the covers and fell into a deep sleep at 4:30. It's a cardinal sin to nap anytime after 3 pm. I didn't care. It felt forbiddenly delicious. I woke up in a dark room at 6:30, groggy, hazy, and grumpy. I staggered downstairs in my red terrycloth bathrobe and flopped miserably onto the sofa. How could I possibly workout now? I felt so groggy! I made myself a cup of Earl Grey tea (British style, with milk and sugar) and contemplated my options as I resuscitated my energy, sip by sip. I thought about how miserable I would feel if I didn't workout. I knew how much better I would feel if I did. What the hell else was I going to do with my time this evening? Sit around and watch crap on t.v.? Pick my nose?

I grabbed Torch and latched him onto the trainer. Popped in a Spinerval DVD and changed into my bike clothes. After a few nauseating moments during the warm-up, I was ready to go. I banged out a great, heart-pounding session on the trainer and followed it up with 30 minutes of weights. I love having a home gym, btw! It's so easy to squeeze weights into my routine. Anyway, I'm proud of myself for getting off the couch and onto the trainer.

Battles of Rainy Day Weekend Blahs

2010-11-22T11:24:00.000-08:00

Well, I have a workout plan written up for the "Prep" period and am logging workouts again. Which means, I'm officially back in training. It feels great but not every day, as we all know, is easy. After only 1 week of training, it feels a little bit easier to work out almost every day. I'm not as tired and sore after each session. And it's only been 1 week!

I actually had some cumulative fatigue by Wednesday of last week (see previous post). It took a lot of self-motivation to get out the door. Thursday, it just didn't happen. I wanted it to. However, by the end of the day, I let it go. I had worked out 5 days in a row after months of idleness. A day off was okay. Friday was another evening run with the dogs. Saturday? Oh, Saturday had such good intentions.

We were supposed to bike Saturday. The long rides on Saturday are some of my favorite workouts. Unfortunately, we woke up to cold and rain. I rolled over and went back to sleep. In San Diego, it rains so infrequently, there's just no reason to torture yourself. I resolved to either ride the trainer later, or wait out the rain and go out later. The rain was relentless that day. Unfortunately, the trainer never made it out of the closet. It was as if the chill and dampness outside infected my bones, making me feel moldy and miserable. I sat inside all day, feeling bleak and bleary, my mood matching the weather outdoors. Needless to say, Saturday was an unintentional rest day.

I woke up to more rain on Sunday. Why does rain suck all the motivation out of me? After a noon pity nap, I woke up to sunshine. Eureka! My inner storm blew away as well, and I quickly changed into my running clothes, the dogs whining and jumping with anticipation. I loaded them up and drove to a nearby paved bike path. The dogs were besides themselves with excitment, having been pent up the day before. We charged down the path exuberantly, pounding out 4 blissful miles. All 3 of us felt so much better by the end. I followed it up with weights as Travis let me know how happy he was by barking, sprinting around the room (with his butt tucked in a posture we call "Scoochie Butt", and shaking my dirty socks in his mouth.

All in all, it was a great first week back. I worked out 5x, including 3 runs, 1 swim, 1 bike, and 2 sessions of weights. I'll take it. Onto week number 2!

The Workouts Continue...

2010-11-18T12:14:00.001-08:00

I'm on a roll! On Tuesday, Greg met me at work for a simple, 1-hour bike ride up-and-back on the coast. I kicked myself for not putting on my arm warmers as we rolled off. It was windy and cold! My arm warmers lay forgotten in the front seat of the car. I felt good on the mostly flat ride and quickly settled into a nice pace. Until Torrey Pines hill, the final obstacle between me and the end of the ride. I used to be faced with this hill on every ride, and it would kill me every time. Seems like this pattern continues. Greg sped away as I toiled laboriously upwards. I climbed tediously for what seemed like an eternity before reaching the top. Ah, Torrey Pines, my good old friend. However, in the end, I was victorious. I reached the car, put my bike away, and returned to work with a smile on my face.

I was exhausted the rest of Tuesday and pretty much all day Wednesday as well. My body is just not used to working out...yet. Wednesday evening came and as darkness fell, I decided to put on my running clothes. Greg and Travis were at the skate park but I still had one running partner left, Floyd. I put on a long-sleeved technical tee that aptly read, "My running partner has four legs", grabbed Floyd's leash and my running shoes, and out the door we went. Floyd was whining with excitement. We charged through the neighborhoods, stopping only to wait for the light to turn green. A large shadow flapped overhead. I caught a glimpse of an enormous white barn owl, lazily moving from the telephone pole to the top of the lamp post. He's a regular in these parts. I hadn't seen him in awhile and took it as a good omen. As we reached a small trail that wound behind some houses, I took off Floyd's leash. Relishing in the freedom, he cavorted in the adjacent fields, stopping to sniff every now and then but always a stone's throw from my feet. At the end of the path, I called him and he quickly and obediently returned to my side. I snapped the leash back on and we continued without hesitation. Floyd, at 7 years old, is a natural runner. Part cattle dog, part border collie, he has innate endurance and a born passion for running. I almost forgot the leash was there; he was so expert at keeping a consistent pace and constant light tension on the leash. It almost felt like reins connecting me to a horse. We reached the turn-around and I signaled to Floyd to double back. Even though he seemed like he could've gone farther, he instantly made a u-turn, and we headed home. Tantalazing aromas of dinner wafted through the air as we ran through the neighborhoods. Terriyaki chicken, grilled salmon, stuffed turkey, and the pungent but unmistakable odor of...spam? Okay. Different. We returned to the front door, and I covered Floyd with pats and kisses. Both of us were exuberant. Floyd didn't even seem out of breath. He's amazing! I followed up the run with 30 minutes of weights. Boy, am I sore today!

Back in the Pool!

2010-11-16T10:35:00.000-08:00

I was tired Monday but I wearily resolved to go for a dip. Swimming is such a great recovery workout. I had my doubts. Afterall, I was so sore and tired from my bike and run over the weekend that I had to rest at the top of the stairs after climbing them gimpily like an old lady. I was so tired. Sore. Achy. Wah, wah. Off to the pool I went.

I had no expectations. My goal was to try to keep my heart rate up in the water for at least 30 minutes without drowning. I jumped in. BRRRR! The initial chill of the water was like a cattle prod. I took off, zipping back and forth for 100 yards. My arms felt leaden and my stroke felt awkward but I was able to get through my warm-up without much struggle. Then, I began my 500 yard free swim. I incorporate this with every workout. It's so great to prepare for long distance swims required in triathlon as well as a good test to see where you're at. It wasn't pretty. I got to 300 yards and wanted to quit. I kept slogging through the water. I reached 500 and took a well-deserved breather. The rest of the workout flew by. Yes, I was slow, and my arms were heavy and my stroke clumsy. But the half moon glowed in the sky overhead. It was gorgeous. That alone was well-worth the trouble.

I only swam 1500 before treating myself to a dip in the hot tub. I patted myself on the back for simply getting through it. Then, I went home and planned out my race season for 2011 (see sidebar). The excitment is building!

Back in the Saddle...Again

2010-11-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

"It's not the number of times you fall that matters but the number of times you get up."
--Confucius

I've had a lot of false starts. I'm hoping this one is for real. Greg and I woke up "early" (6:30) on Saturday morning to join the tri club for a little 30-mile ride on the coast. I was a little anxious. How slowly would I ride? Would I be all by myself? Would I be laughed at in front of my peers? My fears were unnecessary. As I rolled up, I was warmly greeted by many smiling faces, familiar faces who I had not seen in months.

As we headed down the coast, I chatted happily with long lost friends. I felt absolutely fantastic. I hammered down the hills and began thinking about what an awesome cyclist I was....until I hit a hill. Cyclists zipped past me as I toiled slowly up each little mole hill on what is typically considered a "flat" ride. Oh, well. What can I expect? Nonetheless, my spirits were soaring the entire time.

About mile 20, Greg and I started to feel it. The last 10 miles were a struggle but I put my head down and pushed, hard, finishing strong. I felt wonderful. We grabbed some coffee and joined some friends for a relaxing, post-ride chat. I got to reunite with so many friends I hadn't seen in months! It was a blast. Just what I wanted.

Sunday, Greg and I took the boys (Floyd and Travis) for a leisurely 4-mile run. Except my body doesn't know the difference between leisurely and annihilating anymore. The simple act of moving is a lot of work for me right now! Unfortunately, we waited until 10 am to go (so I could have a big breakfast, yummy!), and it was pretty hot. Okay, like upper 70s but enough to make it uncomfortable. I was a bit concerned, especially considering how sore I was after the ride on Saturday. Luckily, my muscle memory kicked in, and I quickly settled into a slow but steady jog. Of course, it's pretty easy to keep the feet turning over when you have two excited dogs chomping at the bit. Extra motivation! It's pretty easy to run when you can soak up the oozing happiness of two trotting pups with grins from ear to ear on their faces. The run was tough; I'm not going to lie. But I refused to walk, not even once, even when I toiled up the hills where I've humbly walked over the last few months. But not today! Walking was not an option. As my heart rate soared, I slowed my pace but maintained my rhythm. It was a tough but rewarding run.

Afterwards, I was pretty beat. My body felt like I had ridden 60 and run 12. I took a long nap and laid around the rest of the day, simply recovering. Right now, I can get through a small workout but every little bit of exercise makes my muscles ache and scream. It's definitely a reality check. I'm sore today. Very sore. And it feels great.

I Miss Training

2010-11-11T11:23:00.000-08:00

I have been dreaming about triathlon. Every night. That and horses but I always dream about horses (I miss riding too). I miss how I used to feel. I miss how it structured my life. When I was training, and in shape, I felt on top of the world. I felt healthy, energized, and alive. Now, I'm simply existing, just focusing on getting "through" this difficult time of my life. But I'm not living. I could waste my entire life, stuck in this rut, just getting through. But it's not enough. I'm deeply dissatisfied and restless.

I miss how training used to structure my life. I was so damn organized. I had a training plan, I packed my workout bags the night before, I went to bed at 9. I woke up at 6. I woke up and worked out, warming my body up, gently awakening to the day. I went to work feeling energized and positive. I was so productive during those times. Not a minute wasted. Everything was planned out in my routine. I miss the security and comfort of my training routine.

I miss what triathlon used to do for my confidence. Yes, it made me feel better about my body image but it was more than that. I felt like I could conquer anything. No task was too big. I could move mountains, although I discovered upon trying to move heavy furniture up stairs by myself resulted in muscle strains. Just because I felt like I could move mountains, didn't mean I should. But it was a great feeling. That superhero feelilng.

I miss the release I used to get during and after a workout. Whatever I was fretting over seemed like less of an ordeal after a good, hard run. Problems were always smaller after a workout. Sometimes, I even solved problems simply by forgetting about it for an hour and going for a mind-numbing swim.

I miss the pure and simple enjoyment of feeling my body move and sweat and struggle. The labored breathing, the grit and grime caked on my skin, the dirt in my eyes. The sunshine browning my legs and painting rose on my cheeks. The wind in my face as I screamed down a hill at 40 mph. I've never felt so alive. I miss running most of all. When I would run, my mind would quiet and settle, content to just watch, observe, and take it all in. It was completely freeing. During those times, I would relish every footstep, every breath. I wanted to draw out the seconds of float between each footfall and make it last forever. There was no place else I wanted to be, nothing else I wanted to be doing. I was happily immersed in the moment, even if it was an 8 hour grueling bike ride in the mountains.

I miss the complete and utterly exhausted feeling deep in the bones of my body after an 80-mile Saturday bike, followed by 20-mile Sunday run. Sunday morning, my alarm would go off and I would think, "There is just no WAY I can do this." My mind numb and fuzzy with fatigue, my body sore and aching, my head screaming from being in the aero bars for an eternity just a few hours ago, I focused on the simple task of strapping my running shoes to my feet and lacing up. One foot in front of the other, I began to shuffle. A few miles later, the shuffle became a jog. And then a run. My body warmed up, the stiffness evaporated, and my mind filled with a gentle elation that would stay with me like a dear old friend for the next several hours. I learned that nothing is impossible, even if it seems that way. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.

I learned a lot of things during training and racing. I learned no matter how bad it gets, no matter how much you're suffering, it always passes. Always. Sometimes, you just have to accept the pain and the suffering and wait it out. These devils on my shoulders never failed to leave after a few minutes. I learned patience. Both with myself and in pursuit of my goals. I learned to be gentle with myself and my body. Speed doesn't matter. Long-term health and happiness always takes precedence. Triathlon gave me a simple rewards: put the time in, get the results you desire in return. Consistency, doing a little every day, and just putting one foot in front of the other will get you to your goal. Every seemingly insurmountable mountain can be broken down into smaller hills. I miss learning the never-ending life lessons triathlon taught me.

I miss the deep satisfaction of finising a week's workouts. There is nothing more delicious than laying on the sofa in compression tights, eating pizza and being a couch potato on Saturday evening, resting up to prepare for Sunday's run, recovering from Saturday's ride, with the sole purpose of R&R. I felt like I had earned it. For the first time, I could rest without feeling lazy. And the Sunday post-run ice bath and nap was especially delicious. I earned those breaks. It's one of the few times I could truly rest and goof off without feeling guilty about not being more productive.

Since I've become sedentary over the last few months, I've noticed more aches and pain. More headaches. Less energy. Not to mention a deep feeling of apathy. I feel dusty around the edges. I want to begin training again. I need a goal. Maybe a half-Ironman to sign up for? A marathon? An ultra-marathon? Something big enough to scare me into training. To be honest, I miss Ironman training and racing. Looking back over the last couple of years, I was happiest and healthiest when in training for Ironman races. Why not do that again?

Happy Birthday To Me

2010-11-04T12:49:00.000-07:00

I haven't been posting much lately. You've probably noticed. Meaning....I haven't been doing much working out. I feel like a blob. My birthday was last week (on the 27th). I turned 33. Doesn't get much more uneventful than that. Birthdays are pretty much meaningless after you turn 21. Except maybe once a decade. But that's it.

I haven't given up on the working out scene. Quite the contrary. It just hasn't been easy since I lost my mojo. I've been painting a lot. Writing some. Volunteering at the dog shelter. Looking futilely for a job. Yes, it's been quite an exciting time in Rachel's World.

First Cold of the Season

2010-10-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

Well, that's no fun. After being off to a great start of workouts, I came down with a cold. Not enough to be serious but just enough to make me feel crummy, warrant rest, and fall out of the routine of working out again. Two steps forward, one step back...

The most interesting part is how the cold commenced. After feeling very hyper, I zipped around on Torch, flying up hills tirelessly around Rancho Santa Fe on an impromptu afternoon 30-miler. I came home only because the sun was setting. I felt fabulous. The sniffles started almost immediately after my shower. Strange. No sore throat. Nothing. Just a fabulous bike ride, and wham! A cold.

Oh, well. I feel better. Time to start again.

The Comeback Kid, or Comeback, Kid?

2010-10-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

--At Tour de Poway this weekend--

I'm trying so hard. Actually, I've been doing pretty good. If it weren't for my depression, I'd be the fittest chick in town. Ironically, it's the exercise that helps the depression anyway. So why is it so hard to work out when I'm blue? It just sucks the energy out of me. Despite a very difficult time in my life (mainly due to my flop of a career), I've been making some progress on the triathlon front. Slowly, little by little, I'm clawing my way back onto the wagon again. And slowly, little by little, getting my body back into shape, whether it wants to or not. On the flip side, all of this will make for great story fodder in my triathlon memoir, where I can divulge more than I can here.

I'm not following a training plan. My goal is to workout every day, 6 days a week, and simply get back into shape again. I've even signed up for a few races! My long term goal is to (gulp) do an ultramarathon. But we'll see....slowly, slowly. The great thing about this blog is that it keeps me honest. If I don't post it, it's like it never happened. So when I work out, I get to post it! It's like my reward.

I've had a lot of false starts. The 2nd week in September, inspired by Rosh Hashana, I officially started working out on a regular basis again. I did great for about 10 days. Then, after some devastating news at work, I fell into a rut and went into hiding for 2 weeks. Now, I'm back at it. I may fall down a lot, but I usually don't stay down for long.

I started missing the workouts. The fresh air, the sunshine, feeling my body work and sweat, huffing and puffing, getting dirty...I just missed it. I missed how relaxed yet energized I felt afterwards. How all my worries were put to rest. How soundly I would sleep. I knew it was time to get back out there.

My first comeback workout was a run. It always starts with a run. Simply because I just love running. I love how all I need is a pair of shoes. I can throw myself out on the road and just go. Whatever pace I want. Of course, I took my favorite running partners: the dogs. I love running with my pack. They don't care what pace I pick. I can even walk up a hill if I need to; they won't tell. The run sucked but I loved every minute of it. Whenever my lungs felt like they were going to explode, I walked. After about 20 seconds, I would run again. No questions asked. I have to be careful around Travis now. He knows the word, "Run".

The run was followed up with weights. I swam the next day. Only 1500. Speed wasn't bad but it killed me to maintain it. The following day? A bike of course. I was very tired and didn't feel like it but I jumped on the trainer, popped in a Heroes DVD, and I was off. After a brief warm-up, I enjoyed a good episode, zoning out as I did 5-minute steady effort repeats. Huh? Did I just say that?

The day after, I ran again. This time, 6 miles of hilly, sandy Torrey Pines trails. It was in between thunderstorms, and the humidity was as thick as pea soup. Greg and I salivated at the sight of the ocean at the bottom of the trail. We reached the beach at the halfway point, threw off our shoes, and dove in for a refreshing, 60-degree dip. Soaking wet, we put our shoes back on and ran back. It was one of the most fun runs I'd had in a long time. (Especially the random straggler from Black's Beach on the side of the trail, wearing nothing but torn black stockings and a body suit. Greg looked at me and said, "We can talk about that later." We both burst into hysterics.)

Last Friday, I kicked butt. I felt good, and I was on a roll. I joined a friend for a swim at the pool. That's 2 swims in one week! Whoo-hoo! I did a great workout, knocking out 2200 yards, and leaving on a good note. I wanted more! My pace was a bit slow but I felt like I could go forever.
(Swim workout:
Warm Up: 3x thru: 50 free/25 breast/25 back/25 breast/25 back
Main Set: 500, 50 breast, 400, 50 breast, 300, 50 breast, 200, 50 breast, 100, 50 breast, 50, 50 cool down)
Later that same day, I lead Greg on a bike ride through Rancho Santa Fe. He complained about the hills. Heh, heh. It was only 15 miles but it felt great. I didn't want to overdo it. We had a big bike ride on Sunday!

Saturday, I rested, in preparation for Tour de Poway (http://www.tourdepoway.com/50Mile09RouteSheet.pdf).
http://www.tourdepoway.com/default.asp
It had been a loong time since I had ridden 50 miles. I wasn't sure I could do it. In fact, the last time I had ridden 30, it had almost killed me, tricking me into thinking I was completely out of shape. I was shaking in my cleats. I readied Pandora, took a deep breath, and we started off in the early morning fog. There were thousands of other riders with us. We immediately began climbing. Up, up, up. Having ridden this course 2x before, I was prepared. I settled in and zoned out, toiling up for 5 miles, a mixture of fog and sweat dripping off my forehead.

Once we reached Ramona, I felt nice and warmed up. I had forgotten that there were lots of flat and downhill sections on the course. It was actually pretty forgiving! I ended up having a blast. My favorite part was when I started serenading some strange guy behind me, thinking it was Greg. I was feeling pretty loopy and blabbing/singing away until I heard, "Um. I'm not him. He's back there a bit." Lots of shared laughter over this goof.

I got done with the bike and felt...great. I'm ready for more. I took a day of rest and went for a run with the dogs. This time, I didn't even have to walk! I'm feeling stronger already. I just have to keep plugging away at it. I'm even signed up for a few little races (see below)!

1. San Diego Women's Triathlon, October 17th (http://www.uswts.com/)
2. Light the Night 5K, Balboa Park, October 23rd (http://www.sdcrimestoppers.com/lightthenightagainstcrime.html)
3. Tour de Julian, November 6th (http://www.julianactive.com/tour%20de%20julian.htm)

Hmmm. What else? Lots of fun trail races coming up. Maybe a trail marathon? We'll see, we'll see.

More awesome dogs for adoption!

2010-09-22T10:38:00.000-07:00

The pics of these guys on the website look so sad, almost like "Wanted" pictures. I tried to capture their happiness during my 20 minutes with them. They absolutely LOVE attention!

Sparks, a very sweet, shy German Shephard puppy. I think this boy will get BIG. He was very gentle on the leash!

Howdy, he has lots of love to give. He just wants to run and play. Lots of puppyish energy. My sister called me on the phone while I was in the playyard with him. He wouldn't have it. He insisted I give him all the attention! I realized he was right. Afterall, my time with these dogs is 100% for them. I told my sister I would have to call back because he was insisting on a belly rub.

Boris, my all time favorite! A 5 year-old German Shephard/Aussie mix, he looks like an accident of breeds but his personality can't be beat. Plus, with his long fur, crooked ears, and lolling tongue, you have to admit that he's adoreable in a way that can't be beat. He never barks and is always happy, even in the kennel next to shrill, howling and whining dogs. He's extremely gentle on the leash despite his large size. He's very easy going and laid-back. He's happy to be doing whatever you're doing. Dogs like this are hard to find.

Duncan, resting for a moment before returning to play. He loves to play! Very rambunctious but settles down quickly after a little jog. Full of love, he wants you to play with him and then follow up with lots of belly rubs. Just a sweetie.

Duncan playing with a toy.

This guy (tag 701) had just come in and was pretty skittish. He seemed to be very thankful for some time out of the kennel. I gave him a walk and some playtime with lots of attention. Don't know his breed. Maybe lab mix? Very sweet. What name should this guy get? Banjo?

This cutie doesn't have a name yet. He's a terrier/Border collie mix. Loves to play and very gentle on the leash. Here he's saying, "Rub my belly!" His tag number is N691. What should his name be? How about Archie?

http://www.sddac.com/north.asp

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

2010-09-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

Travis sleeping

Floyd sleeping

She's At It Again! (Day 5)

2010-09-09T10:51:00.000-07:00

Another day done, another workout in the bag. My legs are s.o.r.e....and it feels nothing short of awesome. The four of us hit the road for a mellow 4-mile run last night. Who needs a group run or running buddies when you have dogs? We quickly fell into a synchronized rhythm, sharing an alternate realm of existence where only the fortunate are allowed to go. Travis turned his head back at me, mouth open, tongue hanging out, in a big grin. "This is fun, Mom!" Floyd ran alongside, grinning from ear to ear. I never used to believe that dogs have facial expressions but they really can smile! Side by side we ran, down the path, in rhythm, enjoying our shared experience. We're getting in shape together, one pack at a time.

New Year Continued....Trainer Workout!

2010-09-08T10:44:00.001-07:00

Yes, I rode the trainer last night. Why? Because I wanted to. It was dark, and I didn't want to go more than one day without working out. I hooked Torch up to the trainer, popped in a Spinerval DVD, cranked the tunes, and I was off. It was fantastic. I loved the feeling of working hard, sore muscles, sweat, lungs burning, legs screaming, and huffing and puffing. I followed it up with 25 minutes of weights. Travis wasn't too happy about all the noise (plus, he really wanted to play ball) but he got lots of love afterwards. I'm off to a good start!

P.S. The reef aquarium is really taking off. You can catch up on it's adventures at www.reefaquariumtrials.blogspot.com.

New Year; Day 4

2010-09-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

Little by little, I'm gaining back my energy. I miss the way I used to feel when I was in shape. I'm tired of the sedentary lifestyle. I'm eating better. And I'm working out every day. Well, almost every day (and it's only day 4).

The Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) begins at sundown tomorrow. More than ever, I need a new start, a new beginning. I'm more than ready to say goodbye to last year and start fresh. What perfect timing! I need this motivation. My goal is to a) workout every day (it doesn't matter what) and b) eat healthier by cooking more. I went to the grocery store and stockpiled the fridge with lots of fruits and veggies. I love snacking on these goodies at home!

I've been running with the dogs; they love it. I even did weights for the first time in 3 months! I'm craving a bike ride. Saturday, I took the dogs for an off-leash 4-miler on the trails behind the house. Even though I was huffing and puffing up every hill (and even had to take a few walk breathers), I loved every minute of it. It felt so invigorating. The only part I didn't like so much? Leaping over a 3-foot rattlesnake in the middle of the trail. Yikes!

Here's to a new year and a fresh start!

Volunteering at the Animal Shelter

2010-08-24T10:33:00.000-07:00

I began volunteering at the Animal Shelter this Sunday. I spent 5 hours in the blazing sun, sweating as I walked hyper, pulling dogs. I picked up poop and came home exhausted, sore, and covered in slobber, fleas, and God know what else. And I absolutely LOVED it. I can't wait to go back next weekend. It was one of the most gratifying, rewarding experiences I've had in a loooong time.

After I got Travis in October, I wanted more doggie time. And then when Floyd joined our family this spring, I realized the only way to get more doggie time would be to volunteer. I couldn't wait to give back to the other dogs at the shelter. After all, Travis has turned out to be such an exceptional dog. If I could help bring some joy and happiness to the other shelter dogs and somehow help them get adopted, well, words can't explain how good that would make me feel.

--Travis, the day I brought him home from the shelter.

--Floyd and Travis, bosom buddies; these guys are now inseparable!

I learned a lot about dogs on Sunday. 99.9% of dogs are joyous, love people, and just want a little love, attention and exercise. Although I could only spend 20-30 minutes with each dog, they relished every second. Dogs know how to live in the moment. Also, since the majority of the dogs at the shelter are pit bull or pit bull mix, I'm quickly learning that the bad rap these guys have is undeserved. I haven't met a pit bull I don't like. Contrary to popular belief, instead of being aggressive, these guys are huge sweeties! They loooove people and attention and are mostly low energy, easy-going and mellow. Of course, since Travis is half pit, I know this from personal experience as well. Can't wait to go back next week!

Please, please, please, if you are thinking of getting a dog, cat, or bunny (or most any pet--the shelter has reptiles, birds, mice, hamsters, roosters, and even a few pigs!), look at your local shelter. There are so many loving animals there that desperately need a home.

Some of the dogs I walked on Sunday:

--sweet, young and plaful

--one of my favorites! Great with other dogs, easy on the leash, affectionate. Loves belly rubs!

--Very polite and mild-mannered. This gal LOVES walks. Who can resist that face and floppy ears?

--Look at that beautiful steel gray coat!

--The first guy I met. Handsome, polite, and very affectionate.

Thanks! I Needed That.

2010-08-11T10:53:00.000-07:00

I've been battling with some depression lately, evident in my last post. Needless to say, it was quite the timely e-mail that I got the other day:

"Hi Rachel,

We just posted an article, “50 Informative & Inspiring Blogs for Triathletes” ( http://www.physicaltherapyassistantschools.org/50-informative-inspiring-blogs-for-triathletes/ ). I thought I'd bring it to your attention in case you think your readers would find it interesting.

I am happy to let you know that your site has been included in this list.

Either way, thanks for your time!"

Thanks so much for the shout-out!

Reunited with Torch

2010-08-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

--Spring Sprint '08

I'm almost too embarrassed to admit this but yesterday was the first time I rode Torch in 3 months. Ironman Utah really took it out of me. I've never experienced this before. I simply had no interest in Torch after Utah. Of coures, the 6-week-long period of physical chronic fatigue didn't help. Every now and then, I'd take Pandora out for a ride, hike or do a leisurely run with the dogs, and maybe pop into the ocean for a dip. But even that was becoming more and more infrequent.

I would be lying if I said everything was fine. Work is tough right now. Very tough. I'm actively searching for my first "real job" at the age of 32. I have a PhD in Cell & Molecular Biology, and I can't find a job. The economy is shit. I keep getting turned down because I'm overqualified or don't have enough "biotech" experience. It's frustrating. What I need right now is an outlet.

I wrestled with Torch for about half-an-hour, replacing the race wheels with training wheels. Undoing the aero bottle from the bars, still half-full of dirty Ironman Utah water. Slapped a spare kit in a bag under the seat. And took off.

I was a bit worried. The one thing I didn't need right now was a bad ride. A bad run a week ago had popped the last little bit of wind out of my sails. How would I feel on a 16-mile ride? I feel like I'm starting all over again. It's just been too long.

I quickly settled into the aero position. It was like putting on an old pair of your favorite jeans. Like walking by a bakery and reveling in childhood memories of your mother's chocolate-chip cookies. It was like, well...it was like riding a bike. You never forget. I remembered all those hours, all those hills, all the bottles of water, the eons of time riding next to friends in idle conversation. The long, endless Saturdays of starting out with the group at the crack of dawn and riding non-stop until mid-afternoon. The feeling that there was nothing else but that moment. Nothing else existed. The ocean stretching endlessly to the left. The bright sun in the cloudless sky, cooled by a soft, mist breeze, carried from the waves crashing on the shore. I felt strangely free and at peace. The knowledge that you had nothing else planned for the rest of the day, and the only thing that mattered was finishing that ride. Afterwards, a hot shower, lots of comfort food, and lounging in front of the t.v., gleefully weary and totally satisfied. Then, going to bed early to get ready to wake up early on Sunday and do it all over again (this time on foot).

This ride, in and of itself, was uneventful. I rode on the path I had ridden on hundreds of time before. But I relished in it. Appreciated the sleeping power in my core and glutes. Took advantage of the knowledge of every turn and bump in the road. Enjoyed the predictable westwardly wind. I loved the familiarity of the ride. Something within me stirred.

BAD DOGS!!!

2010-08-02T12:03:00.000-07:00

Bad Floyd:
What was supposed to be a relaxing, mellow late-night walk turned into an anxiety-ridden, harrowing 9 mile rescue search. Friday night, Greg and I decide to go for a night walk with the dogs. We trekked along a dirt path in one of the plowed fields behind the house, illuminated only by moonlight. About halfway out and 3 miles from home, Floyd disappeared. One minute he was there, and the next, POOF! Gone.

We speculated on the rationale for his absconding into darkness without warning. What was going through his little head? Did he get spooked? Took one path, and we took the other? Chased a rabbit until we got separated? Or did he simply get bored of the walk and decide on his own to take off? In the end, it was just Greg, Travis, and me, searching endlessly for someone who was no longer there.

Amazingly, Travis, usually quite mischievous about coming when called, came straight away in response to my whistling. He actually seemed somewhat worried. He put his head into the leash as if to say, "Okay. I'm done with this game. Let's go home." I gave him some water and lots of pats.

We walked back and forth in search of Floyd. Traversed the path to the point where we had seen him last. Went to each fork in the road. We went back and forth like that for awhile until we were quite disoriented. Luckily, I noticed that whenever we turned down one path, Travis surged ahead. When we went down the other, Travis obediently followed but more sluggishly at our heels. Hmmm. Let's go down the one where Travis pulls ahead. Just like horses, dogs seem to have an incredible honing instinct for sensing direction of home. We decided to let Travis lead us home and prayed that Floyd would be there waiting for us.

When we got a call from my housemate, we were both instantly relieved. He confirmed our suspicions: Floyd had been waiting on the front porch when he had come home from the pub. Little bastard had gotten tired of our wanderings and taken upon himself to steal away silently and go home. We took our time walking home after that, knowing Floyd was safe and sound. I stood for several minutes, gaping in awe, when we passed directly underneath a giant, great-horned owl, swiveling his head this way and that, in search of prey.

Bad Travis:
We went for a run Sunday evening. We waited until the sun was setting and the temps had cooled off. As the shadows grew long, we took the dogs off leash and set off on a familiar trail, aiming for 3-4 easy miles. The dogs were always better at staying with us when we were running; I had no doubt we would run together as a pack.

The dogs darted in and out of the bushes, stirring up critters and cavorted in the fields. They seemed so happy. About 2 miles out, Travis darted into some thick shrubs alongside a narrow creek. Oh, Travis, I thought. I whistled and waited for him to come out. I heard jingling and rustling. He was taking his time. I ran up ahead and whistled again. He never failed to follow. Except for today. Several minutes elapsed. I whistled repeatedly. I doubled-back on the path, whistling. When I returned to where I had last seen him, only 50 feet back, I was met with nothing but silence and a family of red-tailed hawks, excitedly flitting about in the trees as the field mice skittered about below. A horrible sinking feeling tore through my chest. Travis was gone.

I had no doubt what had gone through Travis' head. It was dusk, when the rabbits, his most favorite thing to chase in the world, were most active. He had seen rabbits! and taken chase. Now he was gone and completely disinterested in returning. I was pissed. Greg, Floyd and I ran along the trails snaking through the fields and creek in a futile search for Travis. Travis had no interest in listening to our calls and whistles. Darkness was only minutes away from encompassing the land, and I knew it would be pointless to search for him after the sun set.

Frustrated, I took Floyd and set off for home. Greg refused to surrender. He set back out at a mad sprint to find Travis. I scoffed, thinking it was impossible. It was a long walk/run home. I was relieved to be in the company of Floyd. In my head, I was already putting together the "Missing Dog" fliers, thinking of the best places to hang them, and calling the local shelters. By the time I got home, I was shaking and almost in tears.

Just a mere 5 minutes later, Greg burst through the front door with an exhausted, panting Travis at his heels. I stared in disbelief, overcome with conflicting yet simultaneous emotions of immense relief and fury. I took Travis out back to check him for wounds and hose him down to cool him off. He's a bit tired but doesn't have a scratch on him.

Needless to say, it will be awhile before these guys go off leash again!

Stan has a new home!

2010-07-29T19:11:00.001-07:00

Check out Stan's new home: www.tongueincheekfunnies.blogspot.com

Check out my new blog!

2010-07-22T19:54:00.000-07:00

These are my new pets, Bonnie and Clyde, a pair of baby clownfish. I'm the proud owner of a young 75-gallon saltwater aquarium. Check out the successes and failures of my new mini-ocean.

Trials and Tribulations of a Reef Aquarium

Stan's Precarious Return from TJ to Tucson

2010-07-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

Science Thursday: Exercise Physiology--Women vs Men

2010-07-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

Intuitively, we know that women respond differently to exercise, training, and nutrition than men. Men are faster due to bigger hearts and more muscle mass (among other things). Women tend to recover faster from workouts, however, and may also have more endurance in ultra events. Also, women rarely get calf cramps while men succumb to these crippling stabs of pain. Men tend to lose weight faster than women; women hang on to body fat and have higher body fat percentages. Obviously, these are trends and observations. Surprisingly, little research has been done on the specific physiological differences between men and women during exercise.

Sidenote:
Women can be faster than men? There have been several instances of some women kicking men's asses, especially at the ultra endurance events. Check out Gertrude Ederle) who swam the English Channel faster than the 5 men who had done it before her. Lynne Cox , who swam in Antarctic waters, completing ultraswimming events where men who had tried before her died. Seana Hogan, ultracycling legend (yes, even better than men), and Pam Reed, bad-ass at Badwater and overall winner (several times!).

Back to the main story:
Recently, an article in the New York Times highlighted some of the differences in the physiology between men and women. We've all been hearing the hype about protein and muscle recovery after a workout. The idea is that muscle is made of protein. Working out breaks the muscle tissue down. It then recovers and rebuilds, coming back stronger than before. Studies have shown taking in a certain amount of protein within 30 minutes after a workout speeds up the recovery process, presumably by helping the muscle rebuild. That's why we've all been slugging chocolate milk after a good training session. Or at least, that's the excuse we've been telling ourselves for all the chocolate milk we've been guzzling (yum, yum). This study was first published by Rowlands et al., 2008 in Appl Physiol Nutr Metab.

Unfortunately, this study used all male subjects. Almost as an afterthought, Dr. Rowlands conducted a follow-up study, this time focusing on female subjects. Surprisingly, females did not respond like the males to ingesting protein after a cycling workout. They had no measurable benefit to the protein (Rowlands et al., 2010. Med Sci Sports Exerc). This may be due to the higher amounts of estrogen and lower amounts of testosterone in women vs men, although this is probably only a part of the total complex number of factors in the end equation.

This is not the first time gender differences have been observed with respect to physiology and training. For instance, studies have indicated that females do not respond to carbo loading like males do (See Tarnopolsky et al., 2001 J Appl Physiol). That well-intended, detailed meal plan you bought from the nutritionist to carbo load the week or two before your A race? If you're female, you may be simply wasting your time. The benefit of carbo-loading was not as great in women. For whatever reason (blame it on estrogen), women are not able to utilize the greater percentage of ingested carbohydrates to restock their glycogen stores, compared to men.

Finally, the heart-rate training you've been doing? If you're a woman, you may be using the wrong formulas. All those detailed books with numbers and percentages you're supposed to be a slave to in training were calculated based on studies using male subjects. Not to mention treadmill and their automatic heart rate programs. The ole' 220-age is not accurate. Apparently, this is about 8 beats too high for women, which may lead to premature fatigue and frustration if you're trying to adhere to a heart rate plan. Honestly, I think it's better to train based on feel and breathing anyway (I love the talk test but maybe because I love to talk). Researchers from the University of Colorado devised a more accurate formula for both sexes: 208-0.7*age (Tanaka et al., 2001. J Am Coll Cardiol). For more information, check out this article in the Times.

Basically, women should be wary when new recommendations arise for training, fitness, exercise and nutrition. Check out the source of the study. Was the gender of the subjects all male? If so, any conclusions should be taken with a pound of salt when it comes to changing up your program. Reynolds states in her article, As Dr. Rowlands says — echoing a chorus of men before him — when it comes to women, there’s a great deal that sports scientists “just don’t understand.” Afterall, women are not men. Thankfully.

Bay to Breakers Continues...

2010-07-14T12:06:00.000-07:00

Most of you probably know this but just in case...

Bay to Breakers (http://baytobreakers.com/) is one of the oldest traditions and largest running races in the world. Held in San Francisco each May, tens of thousands of people show up, dressed in costume (or none at all) for the infamous 12K race through the streets of San Fran. Unfortunately, ING, the main sponsor of Bay to Breakers pulled out after this year. Was Bay to Breakers to go bankrupt as it's 100th anniversary approached? I did this race with my dad and sister in '06 (http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2006/05/good-bad-and-ugly-bay-to-breakers-race.html) and had more fun than I've ever had running before. I was actually sad when I reached the finish line at the Golden Gate Bridge. It was like a running party. So I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I received this e-mail:

Bay to Breakers 100th running announced for May 15, 2011
Cooperation with City and Neighborhoods will result in improvements for 100th running of “Civic Treasure”

San Francisco, July 7, 2010—The organizer of the Bay to Breakers road race confirmed that the 100th running of the venerable 12k race will take place on May 15, 2011. The race, a unique celebration of San Francisco and its culture, will institute new measures this year as part of its centennial celebration.

“We cherish the fun aspects of the race that have made it unique worldwide--runners dressed in costumes, centipedes, group running--that add to the excitement of a professional internationally important 12K footrace,” said Angela Fang, general manager of the Bay to Breakers race. “In the coming months we will be announcing a number of compelling programs to enhance the race and the racing.”

Fang said the race has been meeting with residents, neighborhood associations, race participants and representatives of the City and SFPD and that they have collectively highlighted a number of changes which are required to make the race a fun and safe event that can be enjoyed by everyone--runners, walkers, families, children, neighbors and the City as a whole.

Concerned about threats to public safety, particularly as it relates to illegal and excessive alcohol consumption, Fang stated the race is working with San Francisco Police Department officials, the Mayor’s Office, neighbors and neighborhood associations to enforce public alcohol consumption and public drunkenness laws at the 100th anniversary of the event.

She said this year’s 99th running of the race on May 16 had more than 30 ambulance transports, the majority of which were alcohol related. Bay to Breakers had many times the number of ambulance transports as other comparable races in the United States.

Alcohol consumption and its negative impacts garnered the attention of civic leaders, many of whom want to see a positive change. “Another of San Francisco's cherished special events is being threatened by people who consider bad behavior a good time…There is no "right" to party when the party turns into destroying or defacing the property of others, threatening the safety and lives of those around you or leaving a trail of debris…behind you,” wrote Joe D'Alessandro, CEO of the San Francisco Convention and Visitors Bureau, in the aftermath of the race this year in the San Francisco Chronicle.

“The illegal and dangerous abuse of alcohol must stop if the race is to continue as a fun and safe event that can be enjoyed by everyone—runners, walkers, families, children, neighbors and the City as a whole,” Fang said.

"Drunkenness, and drunks, take away from the individuality and creativity that make the Bay to Breakers a unique and compelling civic tradition” Fang said, adding that these individuals will be arrested, cited and fined by SFPD next year.

“We are concerned for public safety, for the participants, for spectators and for neighborhood residents,” said Jeff Godown, San Francisco Police Department Assistant Chief of Police. “We want to help everyone safely enjoy a wonderful tradition.”

A large crowd is anticipated for the 100th anniversary of the event, which was established in the aftermath of the 1906 earthquake by civic leaders who wanted to boost morale and promote the image of the recovering city. In 1964, the race was dubbed ‘the Bay to Breakers.’

The first annual Cross City Race, held Jan. 1, 1912, was won by student Bobby Vlught, who crossed the finish line with a time of 44:10. By contrast, this year’s women’s winner, Lineth Chepkurui of Kenya, made world history finishing in 38:07 and the men’s winner, Sammy Kitwara of Kenya, became a back to back winner at the race with the time of 34:15.

“The Bay to Breakers is a San Francisco civic treasure,” Fang said. She added that the race will also make other changes to the 100th anniversary event, including:

--Allowing only registered participants on the race course will reserve the right to fence the course and to remove non-registered “bandits.”
--Working to have all streets opened by noon.
--Eliminating floats, which have to an unacceptable extent become alcohol delivery vehicles and magnets for unacceptable behavior
--Limiting the number of registrations for the 100th anniversary.

“We are making these changes so that neighbors, the community, registrants, and spectators alike can enjoy the event in the spirit in which it was founded. We want our 100th anniversary to be a shining success for San Francisco and its residents,” Fang said.

She said the race is “working closely with SFPD to ensure that there is a sufficient police presence to enforce the law, including arrests” and will make a significant investment in advertising and promoting the rule changes so that the public will know that there are serious legal consequences for abusing alcohol and defacing the neighborhoods. She said that irresponsible individuals who have taken advantage of a fun civic event to trash San Francisco’s neighborhoods, homes, parks and streets and endanger themselves and others with reckless behavior “are not welcome at future races.”

About Bay to Breakers 12K

Bay to Breakers 12K is one of the world’s largest and oldest footraces, held annually in San Francisco, Calif. The name reflects the traditional course which takes tens of thousands of participants from the northeast end of the downtown area near the Embarcadero (the “bay” side of the city) to the west end of the city and the “breakers” of Ocean Beach. The 7.46 mile (12 kilometer) race features world-class athletes in addition to costumed runners and ‘fun-loving’ folks out for a great day of running and walking through San Francisco. For more information, visit www.baytobreakers.com.

My Annual Fall

2010-07-12T20:46:00.000-07:00

For the past 3 years, like clockwork, I take a fall while running. Not sure what happens but my feet trip over some mysterious object, I flail my arms wildly taking giant, heavy steps to try to futilely regain my balance and...then BAM! Tri Grrl go down; go boom. Those who have witnessed my annual elusive fall claim I fall with style. I think I look a bit like Superman. My arms shoot forward and I tip forward like a chopped-down tree, performing a not-so-graceful belly flop on the ground. This time would not disappoint...

I've been trying desperately to get back into shape. No upcoming races, no goals, just working out. It's fun and freeing. So relaxing. Back to basics. Unfortunately, I've been having a monster of a time waking up early. Sunday morning, I woke up at 6:30 am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which would probably be the first and last time my physiology would support this energy state in about 5 years, past and future. I jumped on the opportunity.

I got up, showed my running shoes to the boys (Floyd and Travis), who immediately started salivating and doing mini-360s. We grabbed the leashes and set off down the trail. Travis sprinted out the gate, pulling us along at a impossible, blistering pace. Floyd, like me, takes awhile to warm up. We slogged along, wearily following eager Travis.

Finally, after a mile or so, Floyd and I started settling in. Travis, like clockwork, slowed and matched our pace. The pack was in sync. I loped along easily, my breathing settled, and, for the first time since I've started working out again (a few weeks), I started feeling good. Ah, the elusive runner's high.

Just when I was starting to really enjoy myself, reflecting on past fuzzy memories of 20-mile trail runs and marathons, my toe caught a rock. I stumbled, trying to catch myself. For one fleeting moment, I thought I had it, as I took several clodhopper steps to try and save myself. But, alas, no, it was not to be. Down I went. My hands flew forward but the momentum was too much. I landed knees, thighs, stomach, hands, and then, smack!, chin. Blood gushed onto the rocks and dirt beneath. A sharp stinging sensation pulsed on my chin, my jaw ached, and my head pounded. Shit!

Two years ago, I had continued a run like this with a concussion, only to deeply regret this rash decision later. I would not exhibit such silly bravado today. Using my running tee (sporting an ultra runner logo "Out 'n Back") to stop the bleeding, I held the cloth to my chin as I walked gingerly back towards home, head hung low, run stopped short.

Once home, I assessed the damage. I was relieved to see that the cut had already stopped bleeding and would not require stitches. All my teeth were in place. Although tired, ice and ibuprofen stopped much of the pain. Thankfully, I have no serious injuries. So I survived my requisite annual fall without too much drama or inconvenience. I'll try again tomorrow.

Previous Years' Falls:

2009: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/battered-bruised-and-bloody.html
2008: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2008/08/sidewalk-broke-my-fall.html
2007: http://amateurtrigirl.blogspot.com/2007/09/war-wounds.html

Amateur Tri Girl Battles Burnout

2010-07-07T11:37:00.001-07:00

For the first time in 6 years, I've been experiencing burnout. Back-to-back Ironmans, including an Ironman, an ultra, and a half IM in 6 weeks will do that. Ironically, I thought I was immune to such folly things as "burnout". That only happens to the weak-minded, right? Wrong.

I was budding with enthusiasm and forget to pace myself. I felt great, my body was able, so why not? Unfortunately, being in great shape can get you into trouble. I used my body as a playground and almost broke my favorite toy. I know I will get through this, but how?, you ask. It certainly has been challenging.

For one, I've been going easy on myself. I've been pushing myself to go farther and faster for the last 6 years. It's okay to take a break. First, I allowed myself time off. I know I was supposed to be cross-training. Stuff like surfing, mountain biking, and hiking. But to be honest, I just couldn't bring myself to get off the couch. I slept a lot. Watched a lot of movies. Started a salt water aquarium. Did some cartoons. After 2 months of this, I realized something was wrong.

That brings me to step #2. Make sure there's nothing physically wrong. Turns out, I was suffering from chronic fatigue. I coudn't even work a full day. I was sleeping 16-18 hours a day. I had some bloodwork done, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to predict it was low thyroid (since I've suffered from that before). After much-painful tweaking to my medication (first it was too high, and then I suffered from migraines. Yay), my energy started returning. I also began focusing on healthy lifestyle habits such as eating regular meals full of greens, fruits, and whole grains.

Step #3. Begin doing something active but without purpose. For me, this basically meant getting out with the dogs. Hiking, walking, running, playing fetch at the beach, and even biking with the dogs. And my favorite...roller skating. Although the punishment for screwing up on this one is quite severe; I have several painful deep bruises to my tailbone that have taken weeks to heal. Sitting for long periods is quite painful but, hey, that's an even better excuse to get movin'! It felt good to just move, even though it was at low intensities.

Step #4 has been to reintroduce myself to exercise again. I don't have any race goals. I just want to be healthy and get into shape at this point. And have fun. Most of my friends are through the tri club so that's how I get my socializing done. Yet another excuse to get moving. It's been slow, and I have lots of false starts but little by little, I'm starting to work out again. I'm trying to do something every day. A short ocean swim, a run with the dogs, a fun little bike ride. I even signed up for a few races. Some sprint tris. The Carlsbad Tri is this Sunday. I'm not going to race it. Just use it as a workout.

Step #5 will be to fall in love with the sport again. I'm hoping to get my body back into shape and ease back into it. I really love trail running and am hoping to feel well enough to run a hilly, trail marathon this November (Catalina). I know from past experience that it gets easier with time. I just have to be consistent, take the pressure off myself, and get out there and move!