Naturally

With the discovery of my 2010 word, "True," I've also found a little more umph in my training. My guess is, without the worries of trying to just finish a race like IMUSA, I have gained some breathing room, allowing me to explore my limits.

For example, my rather bumpy history with running.

This normal childhood milestone seems to have alluded me. I've always been comfortable swimming in the water - no matter how slow. I've jumped crazy waves, barely panicking in riptides. And, in the past few years, I've learned that there is this amazing biking groove - where pedal stroke and power synchronize to meet happiness (as long as it isn't too hilly anyway).

But I have very few recollections of feeling "natural" when running. Glimpses of playing tag or other schoolyard games cross my mind, but are quickly replaced with the lumbering, breathless images that dominate my memories.

During this off-season - and my year of doing races that bring me joy -I've been revisiting running. In some ways - I am trying to relearn to run.

To do this, I've been spending lots of time on the treadmill. I don't really like running on the treadmill, but it has allowed me to set challenging paces while removing the thinking.

Yes, I have to "think" when I run, especially if I am trying to run fast (which really isn't very fast at all).

For quite a few recent workouts, I've let the treadmill think for me. I've set a pace and concentrated on form and relaxing my body.

So far it is working - at least on the treadmill. I've run my fastest 2 miler and 3K - and have come within seconds of my 10K PR.

I know that running outside is different, just like bicycling on the trainer doesn't compare to being on the open road.

But, I am hoping that my mind is working with my body to create a new imprint - one that will result in a very late bloomer learning to run -

...naturally.

IMUSA - Race Report - The Bike

I found a wetsuit stripper quickly - and did a much better job peeling it off than previous races. The run to the women's tent was fairly long, but gave me time to hear the cheers of sherpa friends and family.

The tent was packed - and I roamed around just trying to find an empty chair, resigning myself to the fact that no volunteers would be available to help me. I tried to change quickly, asking other racers to help pull down my sports bra and shirt (next time I will try TRIgirl CD's suggestion of stepping into them!). My transition time was pretty slow - 11:25.

My bike was in a convenient location to the tent exit - and I was practically at it when a volunteer pulled it off the rack. I jogged it to the start. There was a slight downhill with a u-turn right after the mount line - and I could sense people behind me crazed to jump on their bikes, so I walked it out of way.

Once on my bike, I noticed the weather. A hazy sun was peeking through and it was quite humid. After riding past the haystack turn and through town, I drank some water and Carbo pro - and took two slightly dissolved salt tablets, hoping to ward off any more calf cramps.

Thanks to many practice training rides and drives, I knew the course well. Soon I was on the rude first climb. Remembering to take the first loop easy, I focused on spinning up the hill in an easy gear. Most of the people with me seemed to have heard that advice too, as I only saw a few people slamming the hill. After about 5-6 miles, I was at my favorite part of the course, the newly paved rolling downhills leading to the descent. I flew along this stretch, trying to psych myself for the downhill. Seeing the first "truck low gear" sign, I knew the steep downhill to Keene was starting.

I was really relieved that most bikers seemed to be considerate. I passed many racers - and was also passed by many. Feeling more confident, I took advantage of the "free speed" hitting over 42 miles per hour several times.

The left turn after the descent started my second favorite part of the course, the mostly flat roads to Upper Jay. I spun as fast as I could, feeling good about some more fairly free speed. TRIgirl AM passed me, telling me about the flat she got, losing a half hour as she carried her bike to an aid station. She is one tough and fast girl!

So far, my nutrition was going OK. I was drinking, eating some of a sports bar and jelly beans. No cramps - which was a relief.

Occasionally, I'd notice that the toe from the swim incident was hurting, but the hard soles of my bike shoes seemed to protect it.

Unfortunately, the flat stretch did not last as long as I would have liked. Making the turn toward Wilmington, once again, I geared down low and focused on my "la de da" spinning. At one point, I felt a push on my back, and wondered if I was hallucinating SuperAnnn and JenBo from Richmond, but it was TRIgirl SK, rocking the hills after a tough year of injuries. The Haselton turn around seemed to pop up fairly quickly - probably my third favorite section of the course. I saw many familiar faces cruising along on the out and back, enjoying the rolling hills and shady roads.

After Haselton came the 16ish miles of mostly uphill. My legs felt pretty good on the climbs and I continued spinning. But I did start really feeling the humidity - and was sweating profusely. I began drinking more - so much so that I did my first "grab and go" at the next few aid stations for more water. (I even filled my bottles on my bike).

I thought about breaking another barrier - peeing on my bike. But I didn't have to go. So I drank more and more, finishing the loop - and seeing Skirtboy and his friends on the last little uphill back into town.

My fabulous husband, family, hometown sherpas and Ironwoman Canada were perched right near special needs station. I pulled over waving to everyone between giving the volunteer a run for his money with my indecisive back and forth with my special needs bag. Deciding on a new Carbo pro bottle, small Snickers and half a sandwich, I clipped in to start the second loop.

If only my bike could have ended here...

Hot and thirsty, I forced the PBJ down - and drank more and more liquids. Passing an aid station, I figured I must need to go to the bathroom - though - nothing. Back on my bike, I started to wonder what was going on. I took two more salt tablets and drank some more. My stomach was starting to feel sloshy and bloated, but I was still sweating like a pig.

Hitting the descent the second time, there was a slight headwind, I hit over 40 mph a few times near the beginning, but it wasn't as easy. About halfway down, I saw volunteers standing in the middle of the road. Then I noticed the racer they were redirecting traffic around. He or she did not look good - and it sobered up most of the riders I was with, as we all seemed to finish the downhill a little more conservatively.

I was still feeling pretty good on the flat stretch . I ran into TRIgirls SK and CD and found out they had not only seen the fallen racer, but, in their awesomeness, had also stopped to help him. TRIgirl SK is a nurse - and the injured racer fell right in front of her.

Starting the climbs again, I really started to feel worse and worse. My legs were fine - taking the first loop easy had worked in that department. But my stomach felt woozy. I was constantly thirsty, grabbing water at every aid station, yet still no sign of needing to go to the bathroom. I hadn't taken any more salt tablets, thinking there was too much sodium in my system. I felt like if I ate anything, I would spew. The only things I could get down were SuperAnnn's magic Swedish fish and the Snickers.

My feet were going numb, especially the left one with the hurt toe. When I tried to squeeze my left toes, I would feel a sharp stab of pain. The realization I may have broken it started to sink in.
During the last ten miles, I couldn't wait to get off my bike.

Finally, after a long 7:35 on the dot (which was within the wide range I predicted, so time wise I was OK), I pulled up to the mount line, climbed over my bike and landed on feet stinging with numbness and pain.

I waddled into the transition tent, feeling the worst ever before starting a run.

And this one - was 26.2 hilly miles.

Thank You

Thanks so very much to all who commented, privately or publicly, on my last post. You've helped me get through a tough week.

A week full of digging deep for positive thoughts - and making peace.

Peace with:

1. This race is not Florida. From the course, to the training, to the general mood. Last weekend's workout deflated my spirit. I will never conquer hills - there will always be bigger and more challenging climbs. (Tipping my hat to my talented, tough and inspiring Wintergreen training mates.)
   
2. Balance is important. Training hard and playing hard both have their place. (Hugs to my Wintergreen rescue crew.)
   
3. There are times when my body will benefit more from rest than additional miles. Especially on the run and especially when the left side of my body has rebelled against all recent hill workouts. (Thank you, Ironwoman Canada.)
   
4. I have asthma. It isn't severe, but I haven't outgrown it and it isn't going away. Recent changes in my meds are not working and can't be ignored. (Please let my old meds still exist.)
   
5. Though I've said this many times, in my heart I've truly had to accept it. IMUSA will be, once again, just about finishing. The course, as beautiful as it is, requires different strengths than the few I have. (Sweet sherpas, get your cowbells and markers ready!)

It is time to concentrate on reconnecting with my workouts - maybe with a little less confidence, but with a bit more realism.

Four weeks till taper.

There are Times

...when I feel like I have no business doing a race like Lake Placid.

Just going to focus on building up some strength during the 5ish weeks of training coming up before the taper.

And cross my fingers to hope for the best.

It Is What It Is

Coach M has uttered these words many times.

And I've thought I understood.

You can't change who you are.

Your abilities.

Your talents.

Your training.

What you've done.

What you haven't done.

Recently these words have been rattling around in my brain.

A month ago, I felt strong - I was having some awesome workouts.

Since then, I've been putting in the hours.

The last few weeks have been a struggle.

Sometimes more mentally than physically.

I've worried about missing some key training - due to work, travel and hurricanes.

I felt stale and cranky in the water yesterday after not swimming for a week.

Not exactly what you want before your taper begins.

Today's bike and run felt better.

Not my strongest.

But stronger.

Am I ready for MightyMan?

I hope so.

Ironwoman Canada says I am.

I trust her.

And also realize.

With a new appreciation.

It is what it is.

The Funk Is Lifting?

I think I've been more in a funk than I realized since losing my mojo a few weeks back.

I'm usually a "glass half full" kind of girl (and make it a big one for my vino, please). But, the last few weeks I've been a bit less positive than usual.

Nothing seemed good enough. The 4.4 swim was not what I expected. I didn't love riding the Blue Ridge as much as others did.

Then a few things happened today. I read a few wonderful blogs and caught another version of the Hoyt video posted on the TRIgirl forum. I pushed myself for the first time in weeks during today's run.

And I realized I've been neglecting some key components to training.

Like TRIgirl CD's word - appreciate.

Appreciating I am fortunate enough to complete any 4.4 mile swim - to literally swim across a bay - no matter how hard it was or how long it took. To run - as labored and painful as my running is. To be surrounded by wonderful, fabulous, strong team mates and friends.

And - challenge.

It can't and probably shouldn't always be easy. I think I'd reached a comfort level with a few gains I'd made and forgot the fear, pain and struggle it has taken me to achieve even the smallest improvements.

And - perspective.

Perspective that this first Blue Ridge ride didn't have to be about loving the crazy long hills. When your history includes jumping off the bike at the sight of much smaller inclines than this weekend's challenging climbs, maybe "not hating" the Blue Ridge for my first outing was good enough.

And my own word - believe.

Kind of tied to the challenge word above - letting go of the fears and doubts that can so easily provide the excuses to not try something new or that squelch the opportunity to rise above preconceived ideas about limitations.

And TRIgirl SQ's word - joy.

Triathletes can get so caught up in training - the equipment and the gadgets and the nutrition. Sometimes adjusting a workout - to take advantage of a kayaking or hiking opportunity may do more for the mental spirit than any prescribed training. Or letting a friend's happiness in a bike ride (that still seem unfathomable) or another's progress in overcoming the fear of open water - touch the soul and inspire you to remember...

Why you really do this crazy thing called triathlon.

Two Weeks

It is two weeks (and a few hours) till White Lake.

Buzzing around me, I can sense the charged atmosphere – the apprehension, anxiety and excitement - of some of my team mates.

I can so relate. As crazy as it may sound, I was more nervous for my first ½ IM than I was for IMFL.

Sometimes I think it was because IMFL was incomprehensible – that I just sunk into a “one stroke/pedal turn/step at a time” mode.

Other times I wonder if my nerves were somewhat calmed before Florida because I had an inkling of what to expect from doing two ½ IMs.

A bit of a paradox, eh?

I’d be lying if I said there haven’t been a few twinges of uncertainty as the clock ticks down to White Lake. Didn’t I swim harder, bike further, run more for Eagleman? After a couple of deep breaths – and checking my logs – I am reassured. If anything, I’ve actually trained a little more this time. Barring extreme or unforeseen circumstances, physically, I should be ready. I am…for the most part…calm.

When it comes down to it, I can’t pinpoint why I was so stressed for my first half IM. And I don’t know what, if anything, could have calmed me. Seeing the questions and worries surrounding my totally trained, strong and ready training buddies, I wish I had the right words to quell their fears and doubts – (Check out some great nuggets of wisdom, though, from TRIgirl CD).

In retrospect, I can say that my Eagleman fears had little to do with the physical – my body was trained.

As it is now – along with those of about thirty other girls ready to turn White Lake pink.

Believing

Yesterday was Masters swim class.

For several months now, I've been arriving to Masters class and Ironwoman Canada has pointed to the same lane. I've longingly looked over at the lane where I used to swim. Where I wasn't always the slowest. Where I'd sometimes find familiar and kind faces. Where there'd be people who would be less concerned about intervals and would want to chat and catch-up between sets.

For several months now, I've swam in the Lane of Dread. With swimmers who'd be so far ahead, they'd lap me on a 200. With several folks who'd strictly adhere to their assigned intervals and had no interest in waiting for the rest of the group (aka, me) to catch-up. With a few guys who can be pretty darn competitive - and have thankfully tolerated me - probably because I've immediately moved over anytime they have come close to my toes.

Every once in awhile, Ironwoman Canada would shift over the superfast people into the next lane, but I would almost always still be the slowest with the swimmers that remained.

So, yesterday, I plopped myself in this lane with my normal sigh of resignation. We started our drills. I was still falling behind, but the gap didn't seem quite as large.

Then we started the first of a bunch of sets of 100s and 200s. I wasn't being lapped. I was finishing close to or before the person in front of me started their next split.

With the next few sets, I decided to try to reach the person in front of me. I'd never been able to draft off these swimmers before. But, somehow, I was doing it - I was keeping up enough to draft.

I'd finish a set and wonder when I'd tire or when the other swimmers would kick into their normal speed. I found myself huffing and puffing, but still hanging on. Even when we went to the 300, the pull buoys or the modified IMs, I was within a respectable distance.

When we ended the class, the guy who I had been drafting off of all night, joked with me and said "Next time, you'll need to lead a few sets." I think we both knew I won't be ready for that for long while, but it was still an indirect compliment - you're doing better.

As everyone began leaving the pool, I walked out with Ironwoman Canada. Around this time I was starting to wonder, maybe these guys were injured or sick or Ironwoman Canada had told them to go easy and let me draft. As I started to voice these thoughts, Ironwoman Canada cut me off.

She told me they weren't true.

She told me she'd been putting me in this lane for a reason - for a day like today to arrive.

She told me I needed to be less timid.

She told me that I had more ability than I thought I did - and that I needed to push myself.

And she told me that one of my biggest obstacles has been just believing in myself.

I'm still a little skeptical about what next week's Masters class will bring, but am mulling over these few new ways of thinking. For trying out a few revised self-definitions.

For wondering what could lay ahead by just believing in myself.

No One

It hit me the past few days.

I've heard the stories. I've read the blogs. A recent post by Tea really pointed it out.

The many triathletes or runners who have been told by others that they may not reach their goals.

And I realized, one again, how lucky I am.

The chubby grammar school kid occasionally excused from gym class due to asthma who wanted to ride bikes with the neighborhood kids. The pre-teen non-athlete who had kind friends when picking teams during those challenging adolescent years. The girl with just a smidge of dancing background, spending weeks practicing kicks and splits for the high school kickline squad try-outs.

No one ever told me "You can't."

No one.

I was occasionally made fun of. Which may have lead to feeling a bit embarrassed about how slow I was.

But no one ever said "You shouldn't."

I occasionally surprised everyone, mostly myself. I made that kickline squad and became the captain three years later.

And now, as this woman approaching middle age who signed up for some ridiculous sounding race.

No one has said "You'll never."

Over the past year, I've shared my IM goal with friends and family. Along the journey, a tiny few have mentioned their concerns (is the human body made to do this, why would you want to?). But mostly, they've been incredibly supportive. They've checked in on my training and progress. They've cheered my accomplishments, no matter how small.

They've never said "You can't."

They've never said "You shouldn't."

They've never said "You'll never."

I am so fortunate - and so grateful - for their support.

Why Do I Do This?

Saturday morning, the alarm rings too soon - 5:15 in the morning. There is no padding with the time set, as I need to meet a bunch of TRIgirls at 6:00 at a Wal-Mart parking lot about 20 minutes away. I sigh, get out of bed, and have my first "Why do I do this?" moment of the day.

Moving quickly, I dress, grab my bags and cooler packed for the day's training. I load up the car, driving in the still darkness. Trying to fight the sleepy feeling that wants to win so badly - I grumble to myself - why do I do this?

At Wal-Mart, many TRIgirls are congregating. I start to feel a little better, but envy TRIgirl KO's ability to fit in time to make a cup of coffee. After Coach G and Coach B arrive, the caravan heads off to Naylor's Beach - for an open water swim practice and trial bike for the Olympic race on September 30th. Which will be the warm-up for the day's goal of a 90 mile bike ride. It is going to be a long day.

We pull into Naylor's Beach an hour or so later. The air is chillier than back home - so I am happy to have the new TRIgirl hoodie sweatshirt that Coach G hands over to me. While preparing our bikes, I hear a few TRIgirls echoing my same thought - "Why do we do this?"

As the coaches set up the swim course with Ironman JW (big thanks to him and his family for coming out on their boat to set up the course and watch us) - which turns out to be a little less than 1/2 the distance than the race swim - we put on our wetsuits and wait. The skies that just saw a sunrise begin to darken again. A morning storm is predicted and seems to be looming right over the Rappahannock River. And the river confirms, with choppy waves and even a few whitecaps. Several more "Why do I do this" type of comments can be heard.

Then it is time to start swimming. The water is warm; the the first leg is rough. Waves slap me in the face when I try to sight. I get to the first makeshift buoy and begin to turn around. TRIgirl MS, who has kindly volunteered her time to kayak to also watch over us (another big thank you!) calls out my name and points to an orange flag quite bit further out. Oh. Grrrrr. "Why do I do this?"

As I battle the water to get to the orange flag, I realize that I am more relaxed with swimming through the choppiness.

I do this because it makes me overcome my fears.

After the first turn, we are moving more with the current - and the swim becomes enjoyable. I pull up on the beach with the first wave of TRIgirls coming in - and we watch the rest of the group. They are finishing strong and come out of the water with smiles.

I do this because I have the honor of being a part of a great group of women that makes sharing the challenges, pains, nerves and accomplishments all the more special.

The skies begin to lighten again as we head off on the bike. I'm wearing a sleeveless shirt and tell myself that I won't be so cold once we start moving. We ride the Naylor's course - and I remember quite a bit of it from last year. Other than one long climb I despise - and still can't ride up all the way - the course has many pretty spots. Tree lined quiet streets, rolling hills, water views.

I do this to be outside and enjoy nature.

Per our coaches' directions, I am not pushing too hard on the bike. We have another 64 miles to do after Naylor's. I finish in the back of the first wave of cyclists and begin loading my bike on the car - the IMFL folks will be heading back to Ironman JW's neck of the woods - the lovely Route 14. I am a little jealous of the girls packing up to go home - their workout is finished for the day. Another "Why do I do this?" tries to sneak in, but there isn't enough time to dwell on it - we are on the road again.

The sun grows stronger, drying up the humidity as we start on Route 14, dappling the streets with shadows. I feel so strong as we start the first "out and back" - only to later learn how much of that was because the wind was with me. Yes, we'd be facing major wind on both of the 17ish miles that make up the back loop.

Everyone finds their own pace - though occasionally we catch up at a turn around to refuel and can ride together for a little while. Ironman JW, Coach B and TRIgirls KB and SK do a few extra miles, being the overachievers of the group. At one point Ironman JW rides with me before passing me again - and tell me he thinks I win the award for most improved cyclist. Coach G had also commented during the ride how impressed she was with my improvement. While I know a big part of it is Patriot Sangria, part may actually be me, too.

I do this because it gives me something to work on to improve myself (quite a few things, actually!).

The ride is long. I dread the last stretch into the wind. My legs don't feel that bad, but my shoulders and neck are very uncomfortable. My butt can't wait to get off the bike seat. I am tense and stressed from dealing with the gusts. TRIgirl KB takes pity on me and lets me draft off her for awhile. She is so fast and I know I am holding her back. I tell her to go ahead, but she says the company is nice - talking makes the miles go by more quickly. Soon we just have a "West Creek loop" remaining.

I do this because it reminds me I am stronger than I think I am.

Ironman JW's house is in sight. I end up doing somewhere around 95-96 miles - 5 hours and 45 minutes riding time. (I took a nice little 20-25 minute break for lunch at the country store - only to find out, the riders I'd been waiting for had turned around a few miles earlier to try to hit 90 exactly). I get off my bike, and though I can't picture running a marathon, my legs feel strong enough to run a few miles anyway. The overachievers and several other TRIgirls are pulling in, too. For many of us, we've just finished another distance PR.

I do this because of the sense of accomplishment with hitting new goals.

And like so many other triathletes have said.

I do this because I can.

Relativity and Reality

Recently, I checked out a few of my old blog entries, including one where I predicted an upcoming tough workout would seem less so a few weeks (months) out. I am not sure how much I believed it at the time, but yes, that workout would be a little less daunting now.

And sometimes I'll be hanging out with friends or neighbors who'll be asking me questions about my training - as if it is something special or as if I know what I am doing. Which I find so funny, because I am still such a fumbling back-packer most of the time - one who has, thankfully, learned a few tricks along the way.

But Eagleman is quickly approaching. I told myself, don't really worry until it is a month away. OK, so the counter shows a zero in the month slot, no biggie until the race is two weeks away. My latest rationalization is convincing myself that the race won't be close until we hit single digits in the days column (which will be, oh, tomorrow). I've got my back-up plan ready - one week will be the next procrastination marker before panicking.

My body is trained to do the distances. My mental outlook concerns me more. My competitive spirit will not carry me through this race, as I really don't have much of one. More likely, sheer determination will be the emotion that gets me through the tough moments. And remembering to breathe.

I'm focusing on the positive during these last two weeks of workouts. Like forcing myself to run 6 miles in the heat of the day Monday. While I can't say I enjoyed it - I wasn't quite as miserable as I normally would be. Today's Masters swim had a few encouraging moments. Longest distance completed to date in the hour class - 2600 meters. A few fastest 100s - somewhere between 1:45 and 1:47. I am still the slowest in my lane, but sometimes I am almost keeping up (until we go distances beyond 100s).

Relatively, I am still slow and not quite aggressive enough.
Reality, I will never place in my age group (unless I am doing triathlons at 90).

No wait, focus on the positives...

Relatively, I am going further, sometimes even faster, than I ever have in my life.
Reality, finishing Eagleman, hopefully with a few minutes to spare, is really my goal.

Things That Go Bump

Reoccurring themes. A few months ago, I struggled with taking two steps forward, one step back (or sometimes one step forward, two steps back) with training after a bout of stupid little ailments.

Those feelings are skulking back in, though they are more psychological rather than physical this time.

After Smith Mountain Lake, the doubts about Eagleman started to creep in. I was happy with my SML swim time, but was queasy thinking that the Eagleman swim would be about three times longer – a distance I can do easily in the pool, but in the open water with tons of people more aggressive than I am? I pictured myself pulling off to the side to let everyone pass. One step back.

Last Sunday, the Richmond Triathlon Club offered an open water swim clinic. The river was noticeably warmer than SML or the TRIgirl swim practice. The warmer water really made a difference in my comfort level. We practiced drafting, which reassured me about swimming in close proximity to other racers (in most races I look for a space cushion – and will swim away from other racers to stay in it – though drafting can save up to 30% in effort). I also tried out a long john wetsuit – liked the extra freedom around my shoulders. The clinic helped me gain some confidence for Eagleman – I can do this! One step forward.

Yesterday, Triathlonmom shared she’d found great tips on Desiree Flicker’s triathlon site. I dug around for awhile and found her 2006 Eagleman race report.

Jellyfish wrapping themselves around wrists.
A strong voice inside yelling get out of the water.
Punishing waves.
So glad to hit land.

Not exactly the account you want to read – from a pro no less.

As "girly" as it may sound, I'm freaking out more about the jellyfish than the rough conditions. Where I come from, you don’t have to deal with jellyfish until late July or August. Gross! I’m thinking carefully about the wetsuit deal. The full sleeve would protect me more from these blechy creatures.

One big step backward. Until I can find jellyfish repellant.

Ahas and Breakthroughs

This past week may have marked a breakthrough or two – or if not quite breakthroughs, maybe at least a few “Aha!” moments.

Earlier this year, I had a gait analysis – remember? For the past few months I’ve been feeling all proud of myself for keeping my elbows behind my waist. Well, until I saw pictures of myself from the Monument 10K where I appeared to be doing a great impersonation of Rocky Balboa – except I looked like I was punching myself in the head.

Hmmm.

So, I decided more intervention was required. I read the Chi Running book TRIgirl CD recommended (she found her chi and has become quite a gazelle). Last Monday, I went to a guppy run – and – of all things – Ironwoman Canada brought her video camera to record our running.

It wasn’t pretty. Well, actually it was kind-of pretty. It was like a super slow motion sprinter. Other than the elbows flying all over the place. I’ve got this “stepping in front of me” thing going on. At one point on the video – a bunch of guppies passed by – and it was so noticeable that my cadence was too slow and my stride was too long.

For the rest of that day – and Tuesday’s brick run – I focused on kicking behind me instead of stepping forward. Yes, different, but the motion seemed to require less effort. And whatever was keeping my legs behind me also made it easier to keep my elbows back. Aha!

Flashback to Wednesday morning – what the heck is wrong with my calves? What is this weird cramping, tight feeling that is painful to the touch?

I could hardly stand when trying to get out of bed. I walked around like Quasimodo until – yep, until today. To put it mildly, the 12 mile run on Saturday was pure misery. I had to stop every few miles to stretch my rebelling calves.

And at the suggestion of several coaches – I’ll be making smaller adjustments between now and Eagleman as obviously my running is so pitiful, it is going to be a bit of a haul to get my form corrected for what comes so naturally to nearly every first grader.

A few less painful ahas…

Before the torturous 12 mile run, I practiced drinking on the bike during the 28 mile ride. A bit wobbly, but I was able to splash enough fluid in my body to get by. Coach B even noticed and gave me a few words of encouragement while riding by. Maybe not quite an aha yet - but progress.

Last Wednesday morning, I had a private lesson with Ironwoman Canada (thanks to a super thoughtful birthday gift!). First, I tried my wetsuit out for the first time in the water. Better than the Big Nut experience. I realized there was hope that I just might be able to swim in this ridiculous contraption. Aha!

Then we worked on my form a bit. For months, I’ve heard Coach S and Ironwoman Canada talk about making a paddle with your forearm and hand. But something clicked after some drills with real swim paddles and a few tips. Aha! And while I don’t think I am faster – I am definitely more comfortable at a “pushing it” pace.

And the big breakthrough…

On Sunday, Coach G and TRIgirl LS coordinated an open water swim practice in the James River. What a beautiful location – from the long drive down to the river to the airy field near the dock. We put on our wetsuits and headed out into the water. Coaches G, M, S and B shared a bunch of great information on what to expect during all aspects of an open water swim. Wading through mud that was seriously like eight inches deep at some points, I was grateful that the wetsuit protected me from the slime, in addition to making it easier to enter into the chilly water. Coach M told us to huddle close to simulate an open water blender start. We swam upstream first for five minutes. I was not happy. My breathing was off – visions of the Big Nut clouded my mind. Finally it was over and we could turn around. Thank goodness, I just wanted to get back to the dock.

A few minutes rest, and then Coach M suggested another attempt at a three minute upstream swim. This time, my breathing started to settle down. There were a few moments where the water smelled like sewage and sticks and debris floated by – but I wasn’t panicking anymore. We turned around – and I started to enjoy the swim. By the time we finished, I wanted to go out again.

A handful of swimmers decided to give it one more go. Early on, I started to feel comfortable. I hit a groove and was even able to begin concentrating on my form. I picked up my head at the landmark where I had stopped at the three minute point during the last attempt, but kept going when I saw others behind me still swimming. A little bit later, a few IM folks passed me and were turning around. I almost didn’t want to stop. The final home stretch felt wonderful – a big relief.

A breakthrough.

I think I CAN swim in a wetsuit.

A Conundrum of Feelings

In a recent post, Triathlonmom summed it up perfectly – sometimes it comes down to training – or blogging about training.

This week, I’ve been adjusting to our April schedule – of increased quantity and duration.

Physically, my body has made it through the workouts. Part of me has enjoyed the challenge. Part of me feels like my calves are going to explode.

For example, on Wednesday, Ironwoman Canada decided it was time for another graduation – to the third Masters lane. While I knew it meant being the slowest swimmer in the new lane – I also recognized that it would be an opportunity to grow. Her encouragement helped me realize that the challenge of keeping up with faster swimmers would be the right motivation to try harder – to push beyond my comfort zone to draft off stronger swimmers – like Coach B (who has kindly tolerated my efforts).

Or this morning, when I could have so easily justified (yeah – to myself) skipping the planned six mile run. Hey – I did some crazy speed workout on Monday with the Guppies (uh – lesson learned – ask about the goals for running quarter mile repeats before giving them your all) and I made it through Tuesday’s scheduled two hour bike/run brick workout. (Thank goodness for recently recommended muscle gel.)

So back to this morning – I dragged my sorry body out of bed to turn off the alarm. I completed the mileage – thanks to Coach G’s timely push to get my sluggish self moving during the first mile at the VITA course.

I almost started to feel a little proud of myself. Even if I rest tomorrow, after Saturday’s workout – I’ll have trained for 12ish hours this week. Look at me – isn’t that impressive?

Then I realized – under the best circumstances, I doubt I could ever complete Ironman Florida in less than 15 hours in ONE DAY. So, I have a loooonnng way to go before the 12 -13 hours expended THIS WEEK could even compare.

Waaaah!

Hang on, keep trying, don’t give up…

Fezzy vs. the Steps - by Fezzy

I have been a bit annoyed at Mommy recently.

After being gone all day at work and workouts, she finally comes home. She gives me a little bit of attention and then it is time to go upstairs to bed.

She used to scoop me up and kiss me all the way up the stairs. I would try to bite her nose or lick her ears in return.

But lately, she calls Buttercup and me, and says "Upstairs!"

Then she is gone,

WITHOUT ME,

and Buttercup gives me a sideways glance as she follows Mommy.

I would do a little tap dance, tilting my head ever so cutely. I would bark to remind Mommy that she forgot me. And up until now, Mommy would eventually come down to carry me up the stairs.

Well, today, Mommy isn't coming back down.

I see her peeking around the door and I hear her saying "Come on, Fezzy!"

I am waiting for you to come and get me, I bark at Mommy.

"Come on, Fezzy!"

Mommy seems very far away. I am so little. The stairs are so tall and scary.

But I know how to jump up one step - I've been doing that ever since I was a puppy to get into our playroom with all my toys.

I can even go up four steps. I learned that trick on our front stoop.

But, there are many, many steps to get to Mommy. I prop my front legs on the bottom step, but don't know what to do next.

OK, maybe I will try just a little push. Up go my back legs.

Hmmm - let me try that again. Front legs, back legs. I am past the second step!

I suddenly have momentum and am flying up the rest.

Before I know it, I am dancing in front of Mommy.

She scoops me up, gives me kisses - and I lick her ears.

As long as I don't have to go downstairs, I'll be OK. For now, I am tired and ready for bed.

Zzzzzzz.