tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9380079560778026112024-03-13T02:56:10.966-07:00The Uninspired TriathleteChristie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-27542437846965038412021-01-02T18:35:00.002-08:002021-01-02T18:49:54.036-08:00So, About Ironman...<p> In 2020, I swam 58 miles, biked 2374 miles, and ran 859 miles, and so what? I don't care anymore. </p><p>2020 has been a crazy year, not that it looks at least the first part of 2021 is going to be any less crazy. But one benefit of the craziness is that it seems to push people to examine their motives and think about WHY they are doing stuff. I have been doing that with triathlon for months now.</p><p>Training was going well. I was in good shape. I had a swim coach for one lesson and improved my swim time to 2:15/100, still a crappy time but hugely better than 2:30/100. Then I flunked a cardiac stress test, and all my training stopped cold until we could figure out why. </p><p>I hadn't really had any symptoms of any problems, but the older I got, the more it seemed like I should have a heart check-up if I was going to continue to do this extreme training and racing. So I talked to my doctor and she scheduled me for routine tests including a stress test. I was positive I would ace the stress test, with my superior level of fitness. Well, I did complete the stress test on the treadmill, even running in a mask. (Was it fun? No. But I completed it.) It felt bad, but no worse than any miserable run anywhere. I was shocked when they told me, essentially, that I flunked it. Well, they didn't say that. What they said was "significant abnormality." And no strenuous exercise until they could do a cardiac catheterization, which is a procedure where they run a tiny tube up your artery to your heart and look for problems. They couldn't schedule it until two weeks after my stress test, so that was two weeks of no exercise. They sent me home with blood pressure meds and nitroglycerin "just in case."</p><p>I absolutely did not expect to hear the words "significant abnormality." I've done 59 marathons and I-have-no-idea-how-many shorter races, and surely I would have had some inkling of trouble -- besides the fact that I hated them -- in one of those if something was really wrong? But every time something COULD be wrong, because I am a hypochondriac, the thing DEFINITELY is wrong until I have proof that it isn't. I learned a few things during this waiting period: </p><p>1) If they told me I had to give up Ironman training because of a heart problem, I was not going to miss it even a tiny bit.</p><p>2) Yoga, which I was able to do and which I did religiously every day, was not only an okay substitute for, say, swimming. It was exponentially better. I didn't have to leave the house to do it; it made me stronger; it was calming; I could do it while surrounded by dogs; I look way better in yoga poses than I do in the pool. I could go on but you get the point.</p><p>3) Not only did I not miss training, in my head I actually did have the thought that I would be grateful for an excuse to not think about doing Ironman anymore. (Of course, I mean I would be grateful as long as the heart problem was something that could be fixed somehow, not something that couldn't be fixed and would just be a time bomb in my chest. I would not have been grateful for that at all.) </p><p>Somewhere along the way, it occurred to me that if I was grateful to have a heart problem as an excuse not to do Ironman... <i>maybe I don't really need to do Ironman</i>, even if I don't turn out to have a heart problem. </p><p>Not that this thought hasn't occurred to me before (it has, on more-or-less a daily basis since the first time I started training for Ironman). I have just been too proud of being stubborn -- or, as I called it, persistent and goal-oriented -- to quit. It took the messed-up year that was 2020 to make me really, sincerely think that maybe spending your limited time on Earth messing around with things you don't love and taking time away from things you do love is, maybe, not something to be proud of. </p><p>But... but...</p><p><i>But I spent all this money already! </i>So what? It's just money. I'm lucky; I have enough money and no debt and, other than Ironman, no expensive hobbies.</p><p><i>But I spent all these years working towards it! </i>And I got an amazing body out of it, and excellent physical health, so it's not like I wasted my time.</p><p><i>But I told people I was going to do it! </i>As Will said, half the people I know probably think I already did one, and the other half don't care. </p><p><i>But I can't not accomplish a goal! </i>Sure I can. It will allow me to accomplish other more enjoyable goals, like dog obedience titles and writing classes. </p><p><i>But I won't get the experience of crossing the finish line after all this work! </i>True. But remember how NOT memorable it was when I accomplished my 50 states goal? Literally, my thought as I was finishing my 50th state marathon was, "This sucks and I want to stop running," along with, "Okay, what next?" The prize was the journey, not the accomplishment, which was meaningless almost as soon as I completed it.</p><p><i>But that nice expensive bike that I had to have...! </i>I can sell it. If anyone is looking for a nice red Pinarello road bike with disc brakes, size somewhere between 54 and 56 (Pinarello sizes are weird), hardly used at all, let me know! I'll give you a sweet deal. My favorite bike is and always has been the old steel Bianchi anyway. </p><p>So by the time I had the procedure and got the good news -- no blockages, healthy heart, exercise as much as I wanted -- I had pretty much decided I was not going to do Ironman. But I still wasn't quite sure, because this year has finally, finally taught me how to enjoy exercise. I have been marathon/triathlon training for over 15 years now and hated it for most of that time; I just liked not being fat and being able to eat essentially whatever I wanted. But this year was so stressful that eventually classical conditioning did its thing and the activity of running/biking/swimming became associated in my brain with the endorphins that felt sooooooo good after. So I didn't mind the training, not even the long workouts. What I minded was the thought of the race, and any extra effort I would have to put into getting race-ready, like trying different bike seats, learning how to do strength training, taking swim lessons, et cetera. I thought, maybe I will just keep doing the workouts and then do the race in April if I feel like it. That way I would be trained and physically ready for it, and I could do the training without pressuring myself too much. </p><p>I signed up for a swim lane at the Y for this morning. I woke up this morning and thought, "I do not want to drive to the Y." It was the first time I felt like I had to do something I didn't want to do since the stress test. It wasn't the swim I didn't want to do; it was the drive across town and back and the worrying about "how much of the workout will I get done before they kick me out of the pool when I reach the 45-minute time limit?" That little bit of stress was enough. 2021 Me does not want ANY stress, or at least as little as I can reasonably control. Instead of driving to the pool, I cancelled my Y membership. It felt so good. 2021 Me is only going to do things that feel good.</p><p>Then I bought two new pairs of running shoes. (New running shoes = good, because I FINALLY like running!) Then I came home and did 45 minutes of yoga, which felt amazing. Then I did an hour on the trainer, which I am NOT going to sell because it feels good. 2021 Me is, so far, an improvement. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-30705564243077897532020-10-25T12:41:00.002-07:002020-10-25T12:46:03.521-07:00Pandemic Training Update<p>I knew it's been a very, very long time since I posted any kind of update, but I didn't know it's been a year. Even now, I don't really feel like writing in this blog, but for some reason I still want a record of the triathlon journey, no matter where it ends up. </p><p>So last year, after doing a lot of thinking about what happened in Chattanooga, I decided I was going to make one more attempt, but not tell anyone about it and not bring anyone with me to the race. I know conventional wisdom says, "Tell everyone! That way you'll hold yourself accountable and do the training and get to the start line!" Well, making myself do the training is not an issue for me. I WILL do the training and I have at least gotten to one start line, so I presume I can get to another one. I actually felt all the people wishing me well were draining me psychologically and not helping me. Therefore, I would not tell anyone, except the very few people who need to know. And even those people weren't coming with me to the race. I don't really understand all of the tricks my mind plays on myself, but I think I may be more able to finish if I don't have what I seem to perceive as the pressure of someone watching me. </p><p>So I signed up for Ironman Texas because it meets all my criteria: flat bike, non-scary swim, practically zero chance of cold weather, drivable. (Sort of, on that last one.) Maybe it's stupid to try again, but I'm already $10,000+ into this stupid pursuit so I might as well keep going. Also, no one is as stubborn as me, and that is not really a compliment to myself although it's true that stubbornness has helped me to achieve a lot of other stuff. When I "officially" make something a goal, I'm not going to give up on it unless I die. Or, I suppose, if I become disabled somehow and physically can't do it. But sane reasons for giving up an activity like, "spending my time and money doing stuff I love instead of stuff I don't like" and "being more available for my partner" are not, to me, acceptable reasons for changing course. I had already deferred to Texas once when the hurricane cancelled IMFL, and then decided I didn't want to do it after checking out the swim course while I was there on a work trip and seeing that it ended in a narrow, gross canal with stagnant, green water and lots of ducks. However, Chattanooga has rearranged my priorities and I decided gross water is a fair trade for a flat bike. </p><p>So I was training for Texas, which was supposed to be in April, and training was going pretty well. Physically well, that is. Psychologically, I was still a mess because I STILL DIDN'T WANT TO DO IT. I couldn't shut off the voice in my head that said, "Ironman is dumb, triathlon is a stupid selfish hobby, I should be spending all this money making people's lives better somehow instead of on gear, I should be spending all this time training my dogs more or doing something Will likes for a change," et cetera et cetera. But I was still putting in the miles and turning out decent performance. I was hoping for some miraculous change in my attitude before April. </p><p>Then came March, and the whole world shut down.</p><p>One reason I haven't written this whole year is because I feel like focusing on exercise is kind of a shallow and un-interesting thing to focus on while the world goes crazy. But an alternative and equally true viewpoint is that anything that keeps a person mentally healthy during the time of craziness is TOTALLY worth focusing on. Somehow, working out gradually shifted from being the thing I dreaded to the thing I wanted over the last several months. This was especially true in the beginning of lockdown.</p><p>Judging from the various triathlon and running Facebook groups I belong to, there were two general reactions to working out during the pandemic: "There's no point since everything is cancelled and I'm not motivated to do any training at all" and "The endorphins from exercise keep me sane so I will look forward to them every day." Thankfully, I was in the second category. It was never, at any time since March, difficult for me to motivate myself out the door to train. My April race was cancelled? Yay! I mean, I'm sorry for the reason, obviously, but they will reschedule it, and in the meantime, the part of Ironman that I dread -- the actual event -- was far down the road. If I could run 9:00 miles in 90 degrees and 100% humidity, then obviously I did not have the 'rona though in my imagination I had it almost every single day from March till about, I don't know, July? August? (My power to imagine sore throats, coughs, and fevers is really pretty impressive.) I stopped thinking about the actual event and just looked forward to having nothing to think about except keeping my heart rate in the right zone. <br /></p><p>I went months without swimming while the pools were closed, but then when they opened I really hadn't lost much swimming fitness at all, which is both impressive and sort of demoralizing (why spend all that time in the pool if I can take five months off with zero regression in my technique, such as it is?). I bought an indoor smart trainer and, of course, then had to get a huge TV to go with it. We have not had a TV the entire time Will and I have lived together, and I didn't have one for almost 10 years before that, but I wanted one for the trainer. For my non-triathlete friends, a smart trainer is a machine that you mount your bike on and then use an app to ride any kind of course you want. The trainer sets the resistance. I use an app called Rouvy which has hundreds of bike courses from all over the world. Literally, I can ride Tour de France stages in the Pyrenees, or I can ride through Mexico City or Kona or even the same bike course in Chattanooga that defeated me! And I do ride Chattanooga, often. I perversely enjoy it even though the immersive experience is so real that I feel every bit of the discomfort I felt when I was there for real. But it's a lot better in the air conditioning with the fan going than it was on the road in the actual Chattanooga, a cool town that sadly is sort of ruined for me now. I enjoy riding on the trainer far more than I enjoy riding on the road. My expensive, practically brand-new Pinarello is sitting in the garage on two flats; I haven't touched it in months. I HAD to have that bike because my old one wasn't comfortable but, guess what, my old one is on the trainer and I ride 100 miles a week on it and it's FINE. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the bike that was the problem in the first place? (To be fair to myself, I also bought the new bike because I thought the disc brakes would help with my fear of downhills. They did, sort of, but the biggest help for my fear of downhills was deciding I'm never going to sign up for a race that has them. Problem solved!) </p><p>Right now there are still a lot of race cancellations, but there are other races, even big ones like Ironman Arizona, that are still going on. It's too early to say whether Texas will happen next year or not. I personally think it will, probably with some COVID-related changes that other races have had -- no big gatherings in the merchandise tent, no finish line crowds. Those things would be fine with me. The fewer people and the less spectacle there is, the more I will like it. I'm just going to train for it whether it happens or not, because one thing I'm beginning to understand is that I don't really hate the training. I hate thinking about the race. If the race doesn't happen, it's not the end of the world, it just means I can keep training longer with less pressure. Maybe what I really want is to spend 15 hours a week working out forever for a race that NEVER happens? Lots to think about. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-14509391601683572802019-10-01T18:15:00.000-07:002019-10-01T18:18:12.790-07:00Ironman DNF -- What Happened?I have been asking myself how this happened ever since the moment it happened. In case anyone missed it, I had to DNF (Do Not Finish) shortly after I got in the water because I couldn't breathe. Here is what happened on race morning:<br />
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Everything went fine with my gear, with getting to the start, with catching the shuttle bus to the swim start. No issues with anything, and no nerves. I can't say I was excited -- I was not. I can't say I was actively dreading any part of the event, although I certainly was not looking forward to it. (Especially not the bike -- I hate the bike. Even my new, faster, better bike. I hate it less than my old bike, but I still hate it.) At the swim start I hung out for an hour or so, then got in line. This swim start is self-seeded, meaning you put yourself in line based on your predicted finish time. I put myself in line at about one hour 45 minutes, even though I did this exact same swim at Tri Nooga camp a month ago in one hour exactly. No need to be at the front where I might get kicked in the face or have someone swim over me, was what I was thinking. I wasn't <i>afraid </i>of those things -- they both happened at Tri Nooga and neither one particularly rattled me -- I just thought why risk it if I could avoid it. It took a long time to get to the start line -- about 40 minutes. I was not nervous. I also was not feeling the energy that everyone claims is present at an Ironman start. I would describe my feelings as a combination of boredom and vague annoyance that I would be working so hard all day (the same way I felt before the start of every one of my long training days).<br />
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Slowly we all made our way down to the dock, our jumping-off point. The river was beautiful just like it was last month. I felt slightly relieved that finally I could start, because the sooner I started, the sooner I could finish and be DONE. I didn't jump in because I didn't want water in my goggles like I had last time I swam here. I sat on the edge of the dock and slid in. The water temperature was perfect -- cool and refreshing, not cold. I swam about 50 yards and couldn't get my breath -- this has never, not once, happened to me. I stopped doing freestyle and started dog paddling. The kayakers saw that I was in trouble and one of them asked if I was okay. I said yes and waved her away. She didn't believe me, and continued to follow me. She asked if I wanted to hang on for a minute. I said yes. You are allowed to take rest breaks on the kayaks as long as you don't make forward progress. My chest was still tight even after a couple minutes of hanging on, and I still couldn't breathe normally. In every way I felt fine. The water still felt comfortable. I didn't have any panicky thoughts in my head. I really thought it was impossible that I wouldn't be able to keep swimming no matter how I felt, so I shoved off from the kayak and started again. I told myself to just move my arms and breathe, the way I have done religiously three times a week since March and never once needed a rest break while doing it. I swam about three strokes, sucked in a little water, and started gasping and coughing. Another kayaker was there instantly. I grabbed onto his kayak and held on. "Take as long as you want," he said, so I did, about three minutes. I said I felt better and could keep going, but I could not -- I still couldn't breathe. The kayakers knew I wasn't in good shape and followed me as I swam a few more strokes with the same result -- water in, no air where I needed it. I had to stop and grab on again. I could see Will and my other Sherpa up on the river path watching me. I knew they would be worried about me. I didn't want to disappoint them. If I was riding or running I could force myself to keep moving even if I was slow, but if you can't breathe when swimming, you sink. I told the kayaker, "I might have to stop. I can't breathe." He said, "Let me know if you want to stop. You can come back and try another day." I thought about it for about thirty more seconds and then called it. I was in the water for eighteen minutes total and swam less than 200 yards.<br />
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I really wasn't that upset for myself, other than wishing I hadn't lost $800 AGAIN. I have never DNFd before in over 100 races, but I always knew I would do it some day if I did enough challenging events, and my ego isn't so fragile that I could be destroyed by a DNF. As I crawled onto my rescue boat, I was mostly sorry for my Sherpas who spent all this time and money to come up here and expected to see me finish. I thought my mom would probably be bummed for me but secretly relieved that I didn't die of heat stroke on the bike. Let me be completely honest here -- while my predominant feeling was feeling sorry for letting my Sherpas down, an EXTREMELY CLOSE SECOND was relief bordering on joy that I did not have to be out in the heat all day. God, what a relief. I was almost grateful to my brain for whatever trick it played on me by shutting down my ability to swim.<br />
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After three days of mulling over what could possibly explained what happened in Chattanooga on Sunday, I am almost sure I have the answer. I think that what happened had almost nothing to do with the swim. I think it happened because I didn't want to do the bike. Since I wouldn't decide for myself not to do the bike, my subconscious took over and made the decision for me.<br />
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Let me explain: I have not had one single good long ride this entire training cycle. Every single ride I have done that was longer than three hours (and plenty of shorter ones, too), I have spent miserable, uncomfortable, afraid of traffic, and desperately wishing for it to be over. This improved slightly when I bought the better bike, because it was more comfortable and at least I didn't feel like I was undergoing physical torture when I rode it. (Yes I had a bike fit, and tried multiple seats, but I never did feel comfortable on that bike.) The new bike is at least comfortable. I gave up on aerobars because I could never get comfortable riding in them (started practicing in October -- gave up in May). I could ride in that position for up to 40 minutes on the trainer, but on the road, every time there was a curve, or a car, or a hill, or a possibly uneven patch of road surface, or a gust of wind, I panicked and grabbed onto the regular bars and usually was so twitchy about it that my bike swerved. Also, I am just not a good cyclist. Despite 10+ years of riding on the road, much of it very long rides, I still can't descend hills without braking due to fear of losing control. This is a legitimate fear given how unsteady I am on the bike. I also can't drink or eat while still moving -- I swerve into the road and drop bottles. These things are the reasons I do not enjoy the bike.<br />
<br />
I did one 105-mile ride a few weeks ago, up in the hills of San Antonio. (Florida, not Texas. San Antonio is a town an hour north of me with a 52-mile loop course that has the same elevation gain as Chattanooga.) It was a nightmarish experience -- 94 degrees, 7.5 hours of overheating, hating the cars, hating the hills (downhills -- I enjoy the uphills), half an hour of lying in the grass trying to cool off. That ride was one of the most miserable experiences of my athletic life. I consoled myself after with these thoughts: I still would've made cutoff time (barely); I forced myself to keep going so I'm mentally tougher; I now have this ride in the bank so I'm stronger than I would have been without it; and the biggest thoughts -- it won't be this hot in Chattanooga and the roads will be closed to traffic. Those were the two thoughts I held onto throughout this last month of training, where I forced myself to ride hills every weekend. Each ride was slower and left me feeling more miserable than the previous one. But, I did them all and everyone says, "trust the training." I did all the training, without skipping any of it -- except for a two-hour run and a couple swims in the second-to-last week -- so I trusted it.<br />
<br />
As race day got closer, the predicted temperature kept going up -- 98 degrees was predicted on the 7-day forecast. That is hotter than I've ever worked out in in Florida, but I told myself, "It's fine, I like the heat, I'm acclimated, all my training was done in the heat." Secretly I was hoping they would cancel the race. The hurricane saved me from Ironman Florida last year; maybe the heat would save me from Chattanooga? But no. The predicted temperature dropped slightly, to 95. It felt like 100 when we got to Chattanooga on Thursday. I spent Friday and Saturday relaxing and spending as much time inside as possible. I did do a short bike and short run on Saturday. Both were fine. I was not excited about the race. I was expecting to feel inspired, but all I felt was hot and annoyed that all of the events in Ironman Village were outside. Couldn't they put them INSIDE? And why was the merchandise tent so hot? By the way, I could not find one single thing in the merchandise tent that I wanted. Was I thinking about not finishing? No way. I knew I might not make a cutoff, but I also knew (or thought I knew) that I would keep moving until they stopped me.<br />
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I got plenty of sleep the night before the race. No nerves, no tossing and turning. I wasn't anxious, but I wasn't excited either. On race morning, I methodically went through my checklist. I still wasn't excited. Physically I was fine, mentally I was blah. Here is a true statement -- I don't enjoy triathlons. I like what the training does for my body, and I am determined to be able to say "I am an Ironman," but the actual training and racing? I hate all of it. Unfortunately I want the Ironman just a little bit more than I hate everything required to earn that title. This is a problem with no obvious solution.<br />
<br />
All of this is leading up to my conclusion that my brain stopped me from doing the swim subconsciously because I wouldn't do it consciously. My brain was like, "You won't listen to me? Watch me take away your ability to breathe. Then you'll listen to me." And that is exactly what happened. I have swam 3500 yards three times a week -- in the pool and in the ocean -- for the past ten weeks. That's almost a full Ironman swim three times a week. I've never quit, I've never shortened a workout. I've never once been nervous in open water. I am not a fast swimmer, but I'm steady as can be. I had no hesitation when I swam in the Tennessee River a month ago -- it was a beautiful swim, and I was fully confident and swam like a machine. The swim was the ONE thing I never worried about, up to the second I got in the water. I thought it was going to be a nice way to ease into a long, crappy day. I had read about people panicking in the swim at all types of races and thought, at least that's one problem I don't have. Group start -- not scary. Not being able to see the bottom -- not scary. None of it was scary. It wasn't even like I was having a panic attack! I wasn't consciously scared at all -- just astonished that this was happening.<br />
<br />
So that's what happened. How to fix it? Good question. MAYBE more races at shorter distances, but I honestly don't think lack of race experience was the problem. I don't worry about shorter distances so I am nearly positive I wouldn't have the same reaction, plus I don't want to spend any more money than I have to, and race registrations are expensive (and I HATE RACING!). I will keep up triathlon training because it has given me the body of an Amazon warrior, but I really think I am not going to be an Ironman unless I have not only the easiest possible course, at least on the swim and bike, but also good weather conditions. I don't even know which one to aim for. Not Florida -- the water is too cold. Even with a wetsuit, I won't put my face in water that's cold. Nothing with hills unless I miraculously learn to have confidence descending. Nothing too expensive to travel to. Something that's warm but not as hot as Chattanooga. Something that doesn't sell out so I can wait till the long-range forecast to sign up (better to pay Tier 4 pricing than to lose the whole thing because I don't like the weather). I know a lot of people say that Ironman is about being tough and adapting to conditions -- well, for me it is about covering the distance in as near to perfect conditions as possible. I just don't want to do it any other way, and am not going to. That's what I'm thinking right now.<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-56523814232339298992019-09-22T04:36:00.000-07:002019-09-22T04:36:03.287-07:00Ironman in One WeekOne week from today, I will be standing on the banks of the Tennessee River (or more likely standing in a bathroom line), ready to start what is going to be a very long day of suffering. (Unless I don't make a time cutoff, in which it will be a shorter but still too-long day of suffering.)<br />
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Am I ready? This question has a complicated answer. Yes and no. I have done almost all of the training -- 95+% of it. I did skip a few workouts in the last week, but although I have a tendency to get paranoid about missed workouts, even I can't worry too much about missing these. Ever since March I have trained consistently and completed every single swim and every single long workout with the exception of one two-hour run I was supposed to do last weekend and did not. My training plan didn't call for any 100+-mile rides, but I did one anyway. My training plan also didn't call for any runs after my very long rides, but I did one of those anyway too -- just two miles after my 105 miles on the bike, but still, enough to prove my legs worked. (My legs were fine that day, but my "run" was still more of a run-walk due to extreme heat and the feeling that I was about to spontaneously combust from that heat.) I have done the training, although I think most people worry that they haven't done "enough" training no matter how much they've done.<br />
<br />
I have had so little time for anything besides training and working that I haven't updated this blog in ages, so here's a quick summary of what happened since the beginning of August when I wrote last:<br />
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*I took my bike to Chattanooga the second week of August and rode one loop of the course. The hills kicked my ass. I have not ridden hills since I lived in Tucson. Uphills were no problem -- downhills are terrifying. I ride the brakes the whole way down. That's a problem because Chattanooga bike course is almost ALL hills, rollers of the type that good cyclists refer to as "fun" and I refer to as "torture." Based on my ride that day, I was not going to make bike cutoff in the race.<br />
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*There ARE hills in Florida -- I just have to drive over an hour north to get to them. Fortunately I discovered that I suck at hills with seven weeks of training time left -- and I have ridden hills every single weekend since then, including 105 miles of them on that one miserable occasion.<br />
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*I also bought a new bike. While a new bike doesn't make anyone a better cyclist, carbon frame compared to aluminum frame improves my physical comfort substantially, which means I will be less likely to quit when the suffering gets extreme, which it will because -- here is a truth I have discovered -- I just don't really like cycling that much, at least not when I'm trying to go fast. Also, I bought a road bike, not a tri bike. I never learned to ride comfortably and efficiently in aero bars if any of the following were present: vehicle traffic, curves, rough road surface, other bikes, hills, or wind. While I might have kept trying if I was doing IM Florida, which is straight and flat, I figured it was smarter just to get a road bike I liked for the hills of Chattanooga since there is no way I would be confident enough in aero bars to use them while descending all those hills.<br />
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*On Labor Day weekend, I attended an event put on by the Chattanooga triathlon club called TriNooga. It was a FREE event designed to familiarize race participants with the course, and included a swim, bike, and run. That was overall a positive event for me. The highlight was the swim. Longtime readers of this blog know that I have dreaded the swim for as long as I have been dabbling in triathlon. I worked so hard on the swim this time around. I have been swimming 3500 yards three times a week since June, with emphasis on intervals and drills. Still, I have only improved my time in the pool a little bit, so I was expecting a two-hour swim in the race. (Cutoff time is 2:20.) I was still planning on using a wetsuit until TriNooga. We swam almost the full swim (full swim is 4224 yards; my Garmin read 4056 yards), and my time was exactly one hour. This was the fastest swim of my life by over 40 seconds/100 yards, and I was in my tri suit, no wet suit. Talk about a confidence builder. Even better, I enjoyed the Tennessee River. It was pretty, the water was clear and clean, there was plenty of room for lots of people, and I knew approximately where I was on the course because of landmarks -- the island and the three bridges. The run course was also not so scary as people make it out to be. Yes it's hilly, with one particular hill -- the notorious Barton Hill -- that you have to do four times on the double-loop course, but I am not afraid of hills when running. And this particular hill is only 3/10 of a mile one way and half a mile the other way, so although it's a grind, it's not really that long. I have historically done well on hilly marathons (most people don't BQ in Atlanta, especially after training all winter in flat Michigan, but I did), so I am not too worried about the run. The bike is another story. Even on my new bike, I still suffered horribly on the downhills. I just hate them! I ride the brakes on every single downhill. I also do this when driving a car, and for the same reason -- fear of losing control. I still would've made the bike cutoff, but barely, and I only did one loop instead of the two loops I'll have to do in the race. That was the one bad thing about an otherwise confidence-boosting weekend.<br />
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All in all, though, I was feeling pretty optimistic about completing the race and meeting cutoff times. And then we got close enough to race day that we started to believe that the long-range forecast might actually be accurate. What's happening is that race day temperature just keeps creeping up and up. It was 96, then 97, now 98. Full sun (and that bike course is VERY sunny). Am I worried? YES. I'm good in the heat compared to other people. But even though I have done virtually all of my training in heat, I have never biked or run in anything over 94 degrees, let alone biked longer than I ever have in my life, let alone followed that with a marathon. I have always told myself after a bad training day (of which I have had several), "At least it will be cooler in Chattanooga." But now -- HOTTER? How is this even possible?<br />
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I know that I don't have a very good handle on my fluid/electrolyte intake. This becomes really important in a long, hot event. Not enough fluids and you get dehydrated, obviously. Too much fluids without enough electrolytes and you get hyponatremia. Either one can put you in the hospital or kill you. I have always just guessed at amounts and always survived, but often in pretty rough shape. I guess I'll be guessing again next Sunday.<br />
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There is also the possibility of the course being shortened or cancelled. There is precedent for this in all types of endurance events from marathons to Ironman to shorter triathlons. If the race directors feel that they aren't equipped to provide a safe experience for athletes, they can cancel the race. (I don't think shortening the course in this case would help. That would just put more runners out in the sun during the hottest part of the day. It's never really too hot to bike, but it is definitely sometimes too hot to run.)<br />
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So what is my plan? Keep going as long as possible on Sunday. What if I miss a cutoff? Undecided. I can't get it clear in my head whether, if I complete the course with an official DNF, I can convince myself that I "did" an Ironman or not. I'm not worried about whether I'm "allowed" to continue or not. It's on public roads and they can't stop me. I can just get Sherpa to bring me my wallet and I'll make my own aid stations along the way. Of course, if I get pulled off the course and forced into an ambulance, I guess I'm done for the day. So if I DNF for a medical reason, what then? Do I sign up for Ironman Florida? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. The Ironman itch will not go away until it's scratched. For now I am just planning on starting Chattanooga and going till I can't anymore.<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-76847246968874976242019-08-04T17:17:00.001-07:002019-08-04T17:17:15.456-07:00Tampa 70.3I have been registered for a 70.3 race -- 1/2 Ironman distance -- before. I backed out because I was afraid of the swim and because, deep down, I was afraid of the distance. That doesn't really make any sense -- I've done an Ironman-distance ride, plus added 8 miles onto it by biking to and from the start line, because 112 miles vs 120, what's the difference really? I've swum more than twice as far, I've "run" for 15 hours+ in ultras. But for some reason 70.3 combining all three sports was fearsome to contemplate. Nevertheless, it was a beast that must be slain before I could think I was worthy of taking on 140.6, AND it was on my training plan for this week, so I did it.<br />
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There are no official 70.3 races in Florida or anywhere in the Southeast, as far as I know, in August. Why? Well, duh, because this is weather that can kill people. Also because an 8-hour block in any day has a huge possibility of race-ending thunderstorms. Both of these were factors I had to take into consideration when planning my own personal 70.3. The location was a small beach off of the Courtney Campbell Causeway. The causeway has an 8-mile long bike path running between Tampa and Clearwater. The bike path is almost entirely unobstructed, with only a few parking lot entrances to be careful of, so it's a perfect place to just get miles without thinking too much. While the swim was definitely not going to be ideal -- bay water rather than ocean -- the other logistical advantages made it the best choice for a 70.3. The plan was to start my swim around 2:00 pm on Saturday IF the radar looked decent. If there were thunderstorms, I would reluctantly move it to Sunday morning. Why such a late start? Because if I started at the crack of dawn, I would be heading out on my run at midday, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to handle the heat.<br />
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There were a few big, dark clouds in the sky during the drive to the beach, but the skies were clear once we got a little farther west. I was running late, naturally, having worked that morning and also dropped off dogs at various places because Will isn't home and I knew it would be a long day. So I didn't actually get in the water till 2:30. It was a bright, sunny afternoon and the water felt like a hot tub. Also, this beach is apparently a popular place for jet skis. There were lots of them. The warm water was full of seaweed, jet ski fuel, and, probably, flesh-eating bacteria and brain-eating amoebas. (I feel fine today and none of my various Florida skin inflammations look infected, Mom, so please do not worry.) Nevertheless, I started my 1.2-mile swim. My plan was to go out parallel to the shore .6 miles, or 1075 yards, and then turn back and finish. After 300 yards, I swam out of the public beach area, dodging jet skis and rednecks on floaties drinking beers, and right into a huge seaweed forest. I had been swimming through seaweed the whole time, but the density of this was just too much. Also, I saw a large black swimming thing off to my right. I'm sure it was not a shark, but despite the fact that I had just bragged, "I'm not afraid of no sharks," as we parked in the parking lot, I realized that I was, in fact, afraid of sharks. So I turned around and swam back and resigned myself to the idea of making this an out-and-back, out-and-back, out-and-back swim, and that is what I did. Over and over again through the seaweed and jet skis and rednecks. You would not believe how hot ocean water can feel under direct sun. It felt like I was boiling. I felt like it was going quick, but actually it was 58 minutes. Longer than I wanted, but I knew all the obstacles and the disgusting water had slowed me down. I also knew that a wetsuit and a downstream current would be two huge helps in Chattanooga. So I was overall OK with my swim and just happy to be able to get started on the bike.<br />
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I ate a PB&J sandwich and sprayed myself with Tri Glide where I thought I felt a chafe under my arm. Then I put on bike shoes, helmet, and gloves and headed out. My T1 time was an unimpressive 7:25. I wasn't hurrying, but neither was I purposely dawdling. One thing I realized was that there were a lot of decisions I should have made BEFORE T1. Like, what do I need in my pockets? (Answer: a Gu, BASE salt, chapstick. I got the GU but not the other two, and was desperately wishing for the other two by the time I hit my first turn-around.) Also, it's really not a good idea to be hunting through your food bag in T1 deciding what to eat. I should have known that beforehand. But today was designed to be a trial prep day for race day, so I'm not getting mad at myself; I will just take that information and use it to do better on race day.<br />
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I set out on the bike at 3:33 p.m., and it was HOT. I knew it would be hot, but I did not know it would be this hot. Probably being boiled alive in the ocean previously was a contributing factor, but there were other contributing factors: 1) the causeway is in full sun, no shade at all, 2) it's August in Florida on an almost cloudless day, 3) I was starting dehydrated. Although I had eaten a sandwich, I just plain forgot to drink anything at all. That was stupid, and another mistake I hope not to make again next month. Nevertheless, I had a tailwind riding east, the views were new and gorgeous, there was just one climb -- a nice little bridge right in the middle of the 8-mile stretch -- and my legs felt totally fine. As soon as I hit the turn-around, though, it started to suck. I was now riding into the wind and into the ball of fire that was the sun. I was feeling chafing starting in both my other armpit, the one I hadn't sprayed, and both inner thighs, where my sleek wet trisuit was bunching up somehow. Ouch. Also, I had totally and completely underestimated how much hydration I would need. Normally on my long rides of around four hours, I can get by with one bottle per hour. Sometimes it takes me two hours to drink the first bottle if I start when it's dark and cool. This time I got through almost all of both bottles on the first 16-mile out-and-back. (One bottle of Tailwind, one of water.) I was dragging and burning up when I finished the first out-and-back. I probably lost 5 minutes refilling bottles, spraying Tri Glide everywhere, unzipping my trisuit and rolling it down so my upper body was uncovered except for sports bra, picking through the food bag looking for BASE salt and chapstick, and kicking beach sand out of my cleats so I could clip in again. <br />
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The tailwind on the way out, the relief from the TriGlide, and a little BASE salt revived me for the second out. But when I turned around, it was back into the blazing sun and headwind. I was very hot again, and again drinking almost non-stop. I tried riding in aerobars for a while, but I could not get up my speed even though I felt pretty comfortable using them. I thought you're supposed to be FASTER in aerobars, but I was not. So I gave them up. My speed on the first out-and-back was 16 mph, exactly one hour. The second time it was 15.3, so I was losing time. My legs really felt fine; I was losing motivation. I look at this picture and feel like I can see the redness emanating from my burning skin. (Another thing I forgot? Sunscreen -- leading to an extremely messed-up tan line on my back, ruining the perfection I've been cultivating this whole summer.)<br />
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Out-and-back number three. This time I was cheered by two things: 1) the sun was starting to go down, and it was slightly cooler, and 2) this was my last full out-and-back; my last one would only be a partial. The turn-around is just past the "better" Courtney Campbell beach, Ben T. Davis, and there were a thousand people out there drinking, blasting music, and generally having more fun than I was. I didn't know whether I should envy them or they should envy me for doing something badass and difficult. I never did make up my mind about that.<br />
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For my last out-and-back, I only had to go out four miles. I dropped two bottles of Tailwind at Mile 2 and a bottle of ice water at Mile 4. I was hoping it would motivate me to get through the run if I knew I only had to go 2, then 2, then 2.5, then turn around. That's how I break up distances in my head when it's a very long distance. I can't think 70.3 or even 13.1 or I will shrivel up with fear and drive to a movie theater instead.<br />
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I finished the bike in 3:43 with an average speed of 15.1 mph. I really wish I would've been faster than that. While it's still within the time limit, I had NO excuse for a slow ride today other than the heat. My legs weren't tired, my chafing was an annoyance rather than actual pain, I didn't have any street crossings or vehicle traffic to worry about, the course was flat other than the bridge, and I could use my aerobars relatively comfortably. I felt like I was in the right gear and everything. I really do not know why I am such a relatively crappy cyclist. Swimming I understand, but biking shouldn't be this hard. IS it my bike? Do I need a new bike?<br />
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I changed into running shoes, ate another PB&J and had a Dr. Pepper. I had no idea if I would regret that later, but the fizz and sugar were amazing right at that moment. Also, I had had to pee since T1. Amazingly, even after drinking almost 6 full bottles, I still only sort of had to pee, which tells you how much fluid I needed for this workout. There were two outhouses on this beach and both of them were occupied. I waited... and waited. Banging and thumping sounds were coming from the inside of one of them. Finally, after 5 minutes, the door opened and a guy came out. He wasn't carrying anything to give me any idea what all the noise was caused by. Because of the long outhouse wait, my T2 time was pretty terrible too -- nine minutes and three seconds. I comforted myself by thinking that if it wasn't for the line, I would have been under five minutes.<br />
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You know what you most likely DON'T want to do after an almost five-hour-long workout? Run 13.1 miles. There was some good news, though. The sun was fully setting and it was much, much cooler. Also, my legs still felt almost perfectly fine. My breathing was a little ragged and my heart rate was higher than it should've been, and I don't think I'll drink a soda on the start line of the marathon in Chattanooga (I'll save that for Mile 18 or so), but I did feel basically fine other than the usual "I don't want to be here doing this" feeling, which is present in all endurance events for me. So I set out knowing I only had to go 2, 2, and 2.5, then turn around and be done with all this. I kept 10:00 pace/mile till the turnaround, at which point I lost a lot mentally and was like, "I don't care if I run or walk. All I need to do is get back to the car." And although I had long stretches of decent running in the last 6.5 miles, by which time it was full dark and there were fireworks going off in Clearwater, I walked a lot and my performance was pretty unimpressive. I finished in 2:19 with a 10:40 pace which is not great but I guess is acceptable for my first stab at the half-Iron distance.<br />
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I felt really, really good after. No nausea, although I wasn't hungry either. Very little soreness. Not exhausted. No ill effects from the heat other than a nasty heat rash on my upper thighs that is still there today. No queasiness from jet ski fuel/Gulf bacteria. Best of all, I know the answer to the question, "Could you have kept going if you had to? Could you have run that distance twice?" Yes, I could. Nothing but my mind was stopping me. And although I wish my mind wouldn't stop me, and that I wouldn't let it, I also know that my mind is much more focused in the real event than in any training, no matter how "real-life" the training is meant to be.<br />
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So, was this event a success? Yes. I learned some great lessons for the real deal, and I added a layer of mental toughness just knowing I can finish within the time limits. Also, I got a medal so I know I did something. (This wasn't an official event; there is no 70.3 Tampa -- but I can tell you, if you're ever helping a friend with a really, really long training day in preparation for a big event in the future, and you see fit to make up a medal for them, they will think it is the coolest thing ever and you are the coolest person ever.)<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-48509442400920897682019-07-27T18:56:00.001-07:002019-07-27T18:58:22.826-07:00Ironman Training Journal, Fourth MonthI'm actually well into the fifth month, because this was a 30-week training schedule. In my head it's always been a six-month schedule, but six months would only be 24 weeks. Well, math was never my strong point.<br />
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Things are going... not too bad! I've made it into the third ten-week training phase, the peak phase, with two previous ten-week phases completed. This is when the workouts get longer. Still, I think I am in good enough shape to handle them. I have mostly good news to report on the training front:<br />
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THE SWIM: I'm getting better, slowly but surely. I started off at almost three minutes per 100 yards, which is a terrible pace and just barely under the cutoff pace for the Ironman swim. Yesterday, in my longest workout of this training cycle so far (3500 yards), my pace was 2:24 per 100. It had just recently dropped into the low 2:40's, but to have it drop to 2:24 on my longest workout yet was nothing short of amazing. (And I REALLY didn't want to go to the pool yesterday. I woke up dreading it, almost bailed on leaving the house, almost turned around and went home when I got to the Y at 5:30 a.m. -- but I stayed and had an awesome swim instead.) I've been watching YouTube videos, doing 600-700 yards of drills every time I swim, and even finally posted a video of myself swimming in the Pathetic Triathletes Facebook group. I got lots of helpful feedback, some of which I concentrated on implementing yesterday and some of which I have to go back and review a few more times. But I'm now feeling pretty confident about the swim. I will be swimming 3500 three times a week, and the Ironman swim is 4200, and it's downstream, and I'll have a wetsuit. So, can I do it? I think I can!<br />
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THE BIKE: No real improvement in speed, and I still can't ride comfortably in aerobars. But -- I CAN CHANGE A FLAT NOW!! I know people will find this hard to believe. I still need more practice before I can change it fast. But I have practiced quite a few times and now believe I could actually do it if I had to. Big and sincere thank you to the person who finally was the right combination of teaching me and pushing me to do it myself. As for improving my speed, one thing I will say is that all of my long rides so far have involved riding through places like downtown Bradenton, Tampa, and Palmetto, usually twice (out and back), and the traffic lights and stop signs inevitably slow me down quite a bit. Even so, I'm usually around 14-15 mph. A fast ride is 16-17 mph. I have promised myself that when my long rides get up over four hours, which is starting this week, I will go to more fun and bike-friendly places, like back to the Pinellas Trail and the Legacy Trail and Longboat Key. Hopefully I will be able to be just a little bit faster in those places, and hopefully I can get some decent practice with aero bars without having to worry about traffic.<br />
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THE RUN: Nothing really to report here. I'm anywhere between 9:00 and 10:00 miles depending on how hot it is. I'm still running well off the bike. I hope that continues. I mean, it's not like 10:00 miles is an awesome pace, but neither is it horrible in heat and humidity. Let me just say one more time -- it's easier to run well when you run in beautiful places. I think everyone has seen enough of my sunrises and sunsets and dolphins and palm trees and sea birds and beautiful, vacation-blue Florida skies to know that I live and run in a beautiful place!<br />
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My biggest accomplishments this past month:<br />
*Buying a trisuit. It fits me so perfectly it's like someone painted it on me, and like it isn't even there at all. Yes it was expensive, but what is it worth to find something that comfortable to work out in?<br />
*Finishing my solo Olympic tri in reasonably good shape.<br />
*Posting my video for critique. I know I suck, but it's never fun to find out specifically how and how much you suck. Still, everyone was really nice about it, and I got some good tips.<br />
*Learning how to fix a flat -- an accomplishment ten years in the making.<br />
*180 workouts done, 90 to go. Still haven't missed one and I'm still ahead of schedule by 3-4 days.<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-87943391745345014252019-07-11T19:19:00.001-07:002019-07-11T19:19:36.226-07:00Olympic Distance Triathlon -- Solo Today I had a new, fun adventure. I did an Olympic-distance triathlon by myself, before work.<br />
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My training plan calls for an Olympic distance race-- 1500-yard swim, 25-mile bike, 10K run -- this weekend. And I had originally planned to do one at Fort DeSoto. I thought I had registered already, but it turned out I accidentally didn't. Once I realized that I hadn't registered, I didn't want to spend the $150 to do a race when I could do it for free on my own. (Especially when I had just spent almost $300 at the triathlon store on a tri suit, a sleek new sports bra to wear under the tri suit, and a new swimsuit.)<br />
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I am not a planner, but I planned this out pretty thoroughly. While I still consider this a relatively short-distance triathlon, it would still take me at least three hours, so I had to start as soon as the pool opened, at 5:30 a.m. It had to be on a Tuesday or Thursday because on Monday, Wednesday and Friday a master's swimming group swims there at 5:30 and takes all the lanes. I couldn't do it on the weekend because the pool opens so late on the weekends that I would be doing my run in the midday heat. And Tuesday had bad thunderstorms in the morning. So Thursday it was. I measured bike mileage and planned my run route around water fountains in Lakewood Ranch. I was ready! I was out of my house at 4:50 a.m. At 5:15 a.m., I was in the parking lot of the Lakewood Ranch Y, finishing my coffee and relaxing. I went in at 5:25... and the woman at the counter told me the pool was closed. "They're rebalancing the water," she explained when she saw the look on my face. "Because of all the storms."<br />
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I was kind of a jerk. I turned around and walked out without saying anything further. All my planning... this was the only day I could do it... should I go back to bed? No. I was wide awake from coffee and dread and anticipation. There was only one thing to do -- drive all the way to the Bradenton Y, almost half an hour west. I don't like the Bradenton pool; there's no bike lane on the road the Y is on; there are water fountains but they aren't ice cold like the ones in Lakewood Ranch. Oh well. Part of Ironman training is being adaptable, right? So across town I went.<br />
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As I shoved my bag in a locker and rushed to the pool, half an hour past my scheduled start time, I thought vaguely, "Maybe I should pee?" followed immediately by, "Nah, only 1500, I can wait." Every time I've made that decision in any race, it's been the wrong one. Every time! From the time I started my swim till the time I got to 300 yards, all I could think was "Oh my God I love this trisuit so much and I'm the fastest one in the pool right now and I look like a triathlete and it was totally worth all that money." Then from 300 yards on all I could think of was, "I have to pee." I should have just done it in the pool like apparently everyone else in the Pathetic Triathletes Facebook group does with no shame, but deep down I still believe what I was told as a kid -- that if you pee in the pool a red ring will form around you and the lifeguard will know. I have never peed in the pool and probably never will. Instead I had a miserable -- but relatively fast -- swim.<br />
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This time around I had googled how to use my fancy triathlon watch for triathlon (unlike last time when I didn't bother). So I knew which button to hit to start and stop transitions. Walking into the locker room, I thought how great it was that I didn't have to change out of a swimsuit like I usually do, but quickly realized that getting a wet one-piece trisuit unzipped in the bathroom to pee was about as much fun as putting on a sports bra immediately after a shower when your skin is wet. 10-minute T1 -- shameful. And all because I couldn't pee in the pool.<br />
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I ate most of a Clif bar while putting on my bike shoes at the car. I had decided to ride out to Anna Maria Island and back for my ride. I was flying on the way out with a sweet tailwind. Something was rattling big time on my bike and I could not figure out what it was. I stopped riding and tapped on various parts of the bike and everything seemed tight. Oh well; I kept going and stopped worrying about the rattling. I had also been worried because the padding on the trisuit was so light and I have such a history of bike seat problems, but I had NO problem today. Everything felt exactly right. My ride was perfect until I got to my turnaround point on Anna Maria. Suddenly the tailwind was a headwind and I was staring into very dark clouds to the south. Uh-oh. The radar had been basically clear this morning except for a few very tiny dots of green. Those tiny dots of green are totally fine UNLESS YOU ARE RIDING THROUGH ONE OF THEM!<br />
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I made it over two of the three bridges leading back to Bradenton before it started sprinkling. Everything to the south and east was an angry dark grey, and the headwind was bending the trees and grasses in half. I kept riding; what other choice did I have? It sprinkled, then it dumped, a torrential downpour that soaked me in seconds. I rode through it and came out on the other side with 5 miles left to ride back to my car at the Y. At least there was no thunder and lightning!<br />
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Back at the Y, I put my bike in my car and was changing shoes when the downpour started again. I sat on my tailgate chugging Tailwind and looking at the rain. To run in it, or to go inside and do 6.2 on the treadmill? What the hell. I was already soaked. Besides, at least it wasn't hot, with all these clouds. I headed out with a T2 time of four minutes (would've been two-something if I hadn't sat there hoping for the rain to end for an extra two minutes)<br />
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I ended up having a pretty amazing run, 8:30 pace for the first couple miles and just a little slower after that but still well under 9:00 miles. The rain stopped and the sun came out and the humidity cranked up several notches for the last mile, but by then I was so close to being done I could taste victory and didn't care. My legs felt surprisingly springy. The trisuit was great -- the most comfortable piece of athletic apparel I've ever owned, like a second skin. I was happy with just about every aspect of my solo Olympic:<br />
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*I was able to change plans at the last minute and pull it together.<br />
*I rode and ran in the rain without too much bitching.<br />
*My trisuit fits!<br />
*My bike seat doesn't hurt anymore!<br />
*Despite burping coffee for my whole swim and almost peeing in the pool, I still had an OK (for me) swim time.<br />
*My legs off the bike felt way better than I could have expected.<br />
*I could use my fancy watch.<br />
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The ONLY thing I wasn't happy with was my T1 time -- but I will have no problem peeing in the river at my Ironman, so that should get better.<br />
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Up next -- my solo 70.3 in August.Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-7364809900624671392019-06-16T18:33:00.002-07:002019-06-16T18:33:27.607-07:00Ironman Training Journal, Third MonthAt the end of this coming week, I will be 50% through the 30-week training schedule for Ironman Chattanooga. The hardest training is yet to come -- those 5/6/7-hour bike rides that I learned to dread so much -- but I am happy to report that as of today, I still have not missed any workouts. In fact, I'm still ahead on workouts. I skipped a few rest days last month with the assumption that I would have to miss some workouts while on my 9-day Texas work trip. But what actually happened was that I worked out every day but one in Texas, and double workouts on some days. This is proof that saying "I don't have time to work out on work trips" is a lie. I DO have time, as long as I get an early start and prioritize workouts rather than doing touristy things or napping during the time in each work day that I'm not actively working. I still have one more Texas trip and one more Savannah trip before Chattanooga, but I am now confident that I can manage my time well enough to get workouts in. (As long as I have a sitter for Pip like I did this time. If I had Pip, I do not think I'd be able to get it done because I think I would feel too guilty leaving her alone in her crate in a hotel room.)<br />
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Things are going mostly the same in all three disciplines, with a couple of very small improvements.<br />
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SWIM: No improvement here. In fact my times are actually getting worse even though I am faithfully doing the 3000-yard workouts my training plan prescribes, three times a week, plus usually a bonus ocean swim on Sunday. The workouts are loaded with intervals and drills, which should be making me better, but instead my recent swims have all been at least 10 seconds per 100 yards worse than before. This is a little concerning when a GOOD 100 yard time for me is 2:35. Still, I've more or less decided that I'm not going to work that hard on improving my swim. I'm sure that with the down current swim in Chattanooga and with the wetsuit, I will be able to make the swim cutoff. I can't afford a coach and I still don't want to go to 5:30 a.m. master's swim class. The one thing I have left to do is get Will to video me swimming and post it in the triathlete group for feedback. Other than that, I will do the workouts but not obsess over whether I'm getting faster or not.<br />
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BIKE: I have really been trying to get a new seat. I've tried two loaner seats from Endurance House, but I absolutely can't get the right combination of perfect-sized cutout (big) and seat width (narrow). I tried both of the loaners on two short rides and one longish ride of 3-3.5 hours, and both of them were definite nos. I do wonder why I was able to ride on my regular bike seat for 7-8 hours last training cycle with no major discomfort. What has changed between now and then? Nothing that I can think of. It is totally a mystery. I'm really not sure what to do now. Endurance House is out of seats that might be comfortable for me. I guess I will either try a different bike shop or else order one of those crazy seats online -- the Infinity Saddle or the Bisaddle. The Infinity Saddle is basically just an outline of a seat -- it's practically all cutout. The Bisaddle is fully adjustable in front and back. The problem with both of these is that I would have to figure out how to adjust them myself, and as everyone knows, I suck at that. It's totally possible that I would think they weren't comfortable when actually they would have been if I had been able to adjust them properly.<br />
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Changing a tire... as of tonight, I have changed a tire, mostly by myself. It is the hardest thing in the world for me to learn, and I can still smell rubber on my fingers while I'm typing this even though I scrubbed my hands as soon as I was done to get all the mechanical ick off. It looks so easy on You Tube videos and when I watch someone else do it, but I am all thumbs with tire levers and tire beads. (Seriously. I am a person who never really learned how to cut things with a knife and fork. I'm pretty convinced there's a tiny hole in my brain where mechanical/spatial connections are supposed to be.) Nevertheless, I left for Texas with the wheel off the bike and the tire and the tube next to each other on the floor, and the wheel is now back on the bike and -- I think -- ready to ride. True, there is one little tiny piece of something that I couldn't remember how to put back on. I'm sure it's important, so I didn't throw it away. That's good, right? Anyone working on helping me learn to change a tire deserves a medal, that's all I have to say.<br />
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I have still not completely given up the idea of buying a different bike. Will it help me make the cutoff? Who knows? Part of me thinks I'm not a good enough cyclist to get my money's worth out of a better bike. The other part of me thinks that there has to be a difference between a 10-year-old bike that cost $800 new and a brand new bike that costs $2000 new. But do I have $2000? I don't know. Define "have." Could I come up with it? Sure, as long as I don't mind depleting emergency savings. Is a new bike an emergency? Maybe. What would I even buy? Tri bike or better road bike? Since Chattanooga has hills, would I be better off with a better road bike? These are the kinds of things that keep me up at night. (Not really. I work and work out for so many hours that NOTHING keeps me awake at night. It's great.)<br />
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RUN: Nothing new here other than that summer heat and humidity descended on me in Houston and I had a couple of slow, crappy runs. I had been at Zone 2 heart rate at 8:45 miles and suddenly 10:00 miles were Zone 2. I know that is just a thing that happens with extreme heat and humidity and I should just accept it. For the most part I am. I am still good at running off the bike, thank goodness. Considering all the things I suck at, I'm very glad to have one important thing that I'm good at.<br />
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One other piece of progress: I registered for an Olympic distance triathlon at Fort DeSoto on July 13. Olympic distance is 1/2 mile swim, 20-mile ride, and 10K run. This is a big step up from sprint distance, but still not big enough to be intimidating although I'm sure it will be plenty hot on the run. My goal is to have the bike seat, as well as the question of "should I buy a new bike," settled before that race, and also to buy a tri suit. I really need to get on that business of buying a tri suit. If I achieve no other goal before the race, I want to achieve the goal of buying a suit.<br />
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That's what's new in triathlon training land. Race report to come in 3 weeks.Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-85277931742999095582019-05-19T16:08:00.001-07:002019-05-19T16:13:05.127-07:00OMG, I Did an Actual Triathlon -- Dunedin Rotary Triathlon Race ReportIt was a beautiful, perfect morning for my first actual triathlon since 2011 -- the Dunedin Rotary Triathlon at Honeymoon Island State Park. I mean business this training cycle. I am going to finish that stupid Ironman in September or die trying, and therefore I am going to have to do some actual shorter triathlons in the name of getting ready. This was one I could drive to and looked really pretty in the pictures on the race website, so I signed up. It's a sprint distance -- 1/4 mile swim, 12-mile bike, 5K run, so nothing challenging distance-wise, but still a good opportunity to practice transitions.<br />
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Everything about the start line was well-organized. I picked up my packet, got body marked, put race number stickers on my bike and helmet, racked my bike in the transition area, and laid out my stuff on a towel for post-swim and post-bike. The day started with the realization that I had forgotten my bike shoes. Seriously? I have NEVER forgotten my bike shoes when taking my bike somewhere for a ride. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I didn't pack stuff up until 10:00 the night before. And did I make a list? No, of course not, because I was cocky, and the thought that I might forget something never crossed my mind. Lesson learned. For today I would be doing the 12-mile ride in running shoes.<br />
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I don't have a tri suit yet, and the water is way too warm for a wetsuit, so I was swimming in a regular swimsuit. I spent a lot of time debating whether I would need to change into a sports bra before the run. I decided I would not. One advantage of having a chest like mine is that I can run with hardly any support at all. I'm pretty sure I have actually run completely braless at least once, and I didn't die. I decided to try it again today. Just the swim suit, plus bike shorts for the ride. The shorts are necessary. That cursed bike seat and I are not on speaking terms. Oh, how I wish a new bike seat would descend from the sky and install itself on my bike!<br />
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I watched the swim waves before my wave go off, every 3 minutes. Each wave had a different color swim cap; we were purple. The swim was very simple -- swim straight out to a giant buoy, turn left, swim to another buoy, turn left, and swim straight in to shore. As the purple cap wave was standing in the water waiting to take off, we saw a silver cap from the wave before us coming back in from the ocean. The guy had a big grin on his face, and also a really muscular body. He did not look like someone who should have turned around so quickly. I still don't know what the story was with him. Scared of a first ocean swim? I guess that's a possibility. But the siren went off before I could see what happened with him, and I started swimming.<br />
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For being as lousy a swimmer as I am, I have remarkably little fear of open-water swimming or of mass-swim starts, of which this was my first one. I did get feet in my face, and I also swam on top of people accidentally. I swallowed a little bit of ocean water during the chaos, but that didn't bother me either. It took less than a minute for the swim to start feeling good. Water temp was perfect, the buoy was so huge it was easy to see so sighting wasn't even an issue, and best of all, I wasn't the last person in my wave. Every time I looked behind me, I saw plenty of people back there, and some were clearly less prepared than me because they were dog-paddling or even going inside the buoys to rest. As I always say, nothing makes me feel better in a race than seeing other people doing worse than I am. If that makes me a jerk, oh well. I finished the swim in just under 10 minutes and ran up the mat back to the transition area.<br />
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In transition, I found my bike, pulled on my bike shorts over my swimsuit, put on socks and shoes, buckled my helmet, and thought one more time that it would have been nice to have my bike shoes. Oh well. I decided I did not need my gloves for just 12 miles, and left them in transition. Then I ran with my bike to the mount line, with a T1 (first transition) time of 2:55. ("Mount line" sounds dirty, but it just refers to the designated line you have to reach coming out of transition area before you can get on your bike. If everyone got on their bikes at the places where they were racked, there would be collisions right and left, so it's mount line for safety.)<br />
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This would be a good place to say that my second big error of the day -- forgetting bike shoes being the first -- was that I never reviewed the "Triathlon" function of my Garmin. I assumed I would remember how to do it. I thought you just start it when you enter the swim, pause it when you leave the swim, start it again when you start the bike, et cetera. First of all, I forgot to pause it when I came out of the water. I remembered when I was running with the bike out of transition. I started it again when I got on the bike, but for some reason it was making the lap sound every 15 seconds. I had no idea why. I stopped it completely just because the lap sound was so annoying. Homework: learn how to use the Triathlon function.<br />
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The bike course was two loops of an out-and-back down the causeway, with gorgeous sparkling ocean on both sides. Although I was doing better on the bike than I usually do, I was still sucking compared to most people. I was being passed right and left -- sometimes by people with much nicer bikes than mine, but not always. There were two bridges on each out-and-back, so four bridges total on each loop, and even though they were very small, I was still sucking wind climbing them. Most people slowed on them, even the fast people. I have decided that Floridians just are not good at hills of any type. I have no complaints about the bike course. It was easy and beautiful. My only complaint is myself ON the bike. It took me 42 minutes to go 12 miles, not terrible but I definitely need to improve before September. The lack of bike shoes was annoying but I can't blame my slow speed on that, much as I would like to.<br />
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Back in transition for T2, all I had to do was rack my bike again and swap helmet for cap. Oh, and suck down a gel. I shouldn't really have needed any fuel for this short of a workout, especially considering I had McDonalds on the drive up, and a Clif bar at the start line, but for some reason I was hungry. I drank half my water and then ran out of transition and onto the run course with a T2 time of 1:26, not too bad. I did think one more time that I hoped I wasn't making a mistake by not putting on the sports bra.<br />
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Most of the run course was on trails, but the first part was on a section of beach. I HATE running in sand. It is my least favorite run surface. I was already out of breath, and the sand just made that worse. Still, everyone else was suffering equally. The sun was out, and it was, of course, hot, although not too bad for May. Everyone seemed to be gasping for breath. While breathing never got easier during the three miles, I was in better shape than most people around me. I tried to relax and enjoy what I knew to be one of the best parts of the race for me -- picking off people in front of me. I am a slow swimmer and a slow-to-mediocre cyclist, but I am a relatively good runner. I started counting the number of people I passed -- 41 total, in a race with 316 people. Not too bad! (Full disclosure, I was also passed by ONE person. Well, really two because one of the women I passed in the first mile kicked past me in the finish chute, darn it! And she was in my age group too -- double darn.) The lack of a bra was never an issue. My suit worked just fine. I was too busy watching out for roots and rocks to ever think about what I was wearing. I finished the run in 25 minutes. I think I would have been a tiny bit faster on pavement, but I'm OK with 25 minutes.<br />
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I finished with an official time of 1:20:55, 10th in my age group out of 22, 190th overall out of 316. I am overall pretty happy about the whole thing. I mean, that is not a great result but it could have been so, so much worse.<br />
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Things I'm happy about:<br />
*I have no fear of the mass swim start, even when someone else kicks me or swims on top of me.<br />
*It was easy to see the buoys.<br />
*I was pretty fast in transitions.<br />
*I still have my superpower of being able to run well off the bike.<br />
*My friend Nick took awesome pictures that make me look more or less like an athlete. I know my mom will appreciate those!<br />
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Things I need to improve: BIKE, BIKE, BIKE<br />
*I need to replace that seat. NEED to, cost/inconvenience notwithstanding.<br />
*Aerobars don't do me any good if I'm too nervous to use them in a race setting. Just because I can creep along in them when nothing else is on the road doesn't mean I actually know how to use them.<br />
*I might want to clean my bike some time. It has mud on there from a dirty ride a couple months ago. I've never cleaned the chain.<br />
*I need to do strength training for my legs. Chattanooga has HILLS -- not just causeway bridges.<br />
*Will someone just tell me to buy a new bike?<br />
*A tri suit is going on my to-buy list, sooner rather than later.<br />
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Overall, this was an excellent day and I enjoyed every moment of it. I am so lucky to live in such a beautiful place! Just look at the blue skies, palm trees, and ocean in the pictures! I don't think I would ever have been in such a good mood at any triathlon in Michigan. I'm happy to be excited about triathlon. That's sort of a novel feeling. I just assumed I would always hate it. Oh, and one more thing. When I first looked at the race shirt, I thought, "Meh." But then when I put it on when I got home, I realized that it has one very important, very rare, very valuable quality that ensures I will keep it and wear it often. This quality is very hard to find in race shirts. Because of the design... I DON'T HAVE TO WEAR A BRA UNDER IT. Yessssssssssssss.<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-13503272307315423232019-05-11T07:11:00.001-07:002019-05-11T07:11:29.288-07:00Ironman Training Journal, Second MonthThis morning I got the first half of my long ride done before the sun came up. My reward for that was that the rest of my ride was filled with sunrise over the Manatee River, song birds in the trees, pelicans soaring over the water, and, yes, even a dolphin. Lesson to me: get up early and get the long ride done, and do it somewhere pretty. It was so much better than my last long ride, which was 40-something miles of full midday sun on Highway 41 and a jersey splattered with dead love bugs, just like my car windshield.<br />
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I'm 10 weeks into the 30-week training schedule for Ironman Chattanooga. The thing I'm the most happy about is that I still haven't skipped or cut short a single workout. In fact, I'm actually ahead on my schedule and have put a few extra workouts in the bank. I did this because I assumed I would skip some workout days on vacation in Arizona and on my work trip to Savannah. Actually I ran every single day in both of those places, so I still have workouts in the bank! It's a great feeling to know that I'm at 100%, although I do worry a little about the psychological impact when life causes me to miss a workout. Oh well, cross that bridge when I come to it.<br />
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Overall, things are going... well. I'm afraid to be too optimistic. I've had this feeling before, where I was like, Ironman training is awesome and I never have trouble motivating myself to do workouts and I'm in perfect shape, et cetera, and then had it all tank to the point where I hated life, spent most of my time dreading workouts, and was miserable to live with. So that could happen again. At the moment, though, everything is good and I'm not complaining. Could it be better? Yes, and there are still some things I could do to make it better, which maybe I will do before the Third Month Update and maybe I will not.<br />
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SWIM -- There is one good thing about swimming and one crappy thing. The good thing is that, mentally, I don't really hate it. Partly I'm sure that's because the pool is back to feeling like a giant warm bathtub, just how I like it. I don't spend my whole workout dreading the next part of the workout and wanting to get out. All my swim workouts for the first stage of training have been 2500 yards; next week they go up to 3000 yards. The actual Ironman swim is 4200 yards, so I know I will be able to do the distance, and I SHOULD be able to do it in the time limit. The crappy thing is that I'm still a lousy swimmer. Not only am I not improving, I'm actually getting worse, despite religiously following the intervals and drills in the training program I'm using, and actually watching lots of swim videos on YouTube for the first time in my life. I have slid from 67 minutes for 2500 yards to 70 or 71 minutes, and it has been a very steady and consistent slide, where I literally watched my time going from 67 to 68 to 69 to 70 minutes over the weeks. I do not know the reason for this. I watch the swim videos and I swear I am focusing on every single element of the stroke and doing my best to make it look like it's supposed to. Full extension of arms, check. Rotate body, check. Keep head down, check. Keep one goggle in the water when breathing, check. Make sure angle of hand entry is correct, check. Bend wrist and arm the right way to pull, check. Pull all the way through, check. I mean, I know I have no kick, but lots of fast swimmers have hardly any kick. I'm not getting tired; my endurance feels limitless right now. So what the heck?<br />
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Somehow, my catch is bad. I know that's where the problem is, but I don't know why. You know how swimmers always say, "Feel the water"? I don't feel the water. I don't feel like I'm moving myself forward through the water at all. Is this because my upper body strength in general is so bad? Maybe. I mean, I can't even do a push up without using my knees, and I can't do a pull-up at all. Supposedly we use lats in swimming, but I am pretty sure I don't have those muscles. At least I have no awareness of them working, when I'm swimming or at any other time. I'm not really sure how to fix that, except... noooooooo... strength training. Which I SO do not want to do, and don't know where I would find time to do anyway. Maybe the answer is to reconsider my hard NO to 5:30 masters swimming classes? I'm now starting my swims at 6:45 a.m.; can't I just get up a little earlier? I don't know. Maybe.<br />
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One other good thing is that it's warm enough to get back to ocean swimming, even though I'm still wearing a wetsuit and will probably continue to until water temperature gets to 80, even if I'm the only person out there wearing one in those temps. Who cares? Comfort first!<br />
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BIKE -- As always, my biking is mediocre. But I do have a system that's working for me. I have three rides a week -- one long, one short (a little over an hour) following a swim, one brick (bike followed by run). I do my long one on the road, my short one in spin class, and my brick on the trainer in the garage. My mph on the road is never that great because there's really nowhere I can ride here without lots of stop signs and traffic lights, but I figure time in the saddle is most important. Some people think you should not train for an Ironman on a spin bike, but I disagree. One thing spin class is GREAT for is strength training for my legs. With loud pumping music, black lights, and an instructor going around the room checking your watts and yelling to ADD MORE LOAD if she thinks we're not working hard enough, my legs get a very good workout in spin class. They are usually shaking when I'm done, but boy are the big leg muscles getting BIG. On the road I listen to audiobooks and have a tendency to cruise along in Zone 1 heart rate; in spin class that is impossible. The trainer in my garage sounds depressing, considering the high heat and humidity with the door closed and the love bugs with the door open, but when I crank up the music I find I am able to enjoy the punishment. Plus it is rewarding to see the giant slippery puddles of sweat accumulating on the floor, and to watch the looks on my neighbors' faces when they walk by and look in.<br />
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There are two things that must be addressed with the bike in this next month. The first one is going to shock anyone who's been reading my blog for a while: I'm going to learn how to change a flat tire. I know, I know, I have always sworn I would not do this. But I truly believe I am going to be in shape to do this Ironman in September. And I do not ever want to do this training schedule again -- this will be my ONLY Ironman. And I just can't have my race end because I can't change a flat. I don't know exactly how I'm going to go about learning -- having guys at the bike shop show me once doesn't work (I go home and can't remember what they said); YouTube videos don't work (I need feedback if I have a question). Anyone who thinks they can teach me how to change a flat -- I'll take you out to dinner anywhere you want if I can actually change the flat after you teach me. Multiple times, if you also nag me to practice it afterwards.<br />
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The other thing is that damn bike seat. While it is tolerable in that it doesn't quite create open sores, it is a nagging discomfort that is definitely stopping me from getting anything like my best effort on the bike. As 50-mile+ rides start to become an every-weekend thing, I know I need to address this problem, no matter how expensive or inconvenient. In fact, wouldn't TODAY be a good day to look for a new bike seat? Why yes, it would.<br />
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RUN -- I am happy to say that I'm the fastest I've been since moving to Florida. I'm still not fast like I used to be. I remember when my marathons were always under four hours, and my pace on regular runs was always under 8:00/mile. Not anymore, but I am happy to say that unless I'm running in midday sun, I'm reliably under 9:00 pace. And the other day, on brick day, I ran my first sub-8:00 mile in Florida. It was on a very hot, humid afternoon AND right after 45 minutes of pounding my legs on the trainer. I am happiest of all with my running right now, and especially that I can run well off the bike, which has always been something I was relatively good at.<br />
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My last update for this month is that I finally registered for an actual triathlon -- a sprint next Sunday. I can hardly believe it myself, but I did. I am simultaneously looking forward to it, and dreading the inconvenience of packing up all that gear for a race that (hopefully) won't last more than an hour and a half. Stay tuned for a race report next weekend!Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-28047983873974322942019-04-08T04:56:00.005-07:002019-04-08T04:56:44.235-07:00Ironman Training Journal, First MonthHere we go again. In the time since I last posted, I officially decided not to do Ironman Texas, and officially registered for Ironman Chattanooga. It was for the reasons I mentioned in my last blog post -- I didn't like the swim in Texas or that part of Texas in general, and I especially didn't like the thought of driving to and from Texas again, ever. Let alone driving back tired and sore from an Ironman with my car full of dirty, smelly gear, especially if I missed a cutoff and didn't finish! That sounded like the most depressing thing in the world. It sounded more depressing than kissing my registration fee goodbye and coughing up another one. So that's what I did. I do not want to think about how much money I threw away for literally nothing, so I'm not going to. La la la la la, what money?<br />
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Chattanooga is a better race for me. It's still a drive, but not nearly as far as Texas. Will has friends there that we can stay with for free. Best of all, it has a downcurrent swim. I will need that. I haven't gotten any better at swimming and likely won't, now that I decided I'm not going to masters swimming at 5:30 a.m. I'm completely devoted to coffee and books and the cat in my lap at 5:30 a.m., and also to the sun beating down on me in a bathtub-temperature pool at noon. I haven't really given much thought to the fact that Chattanooga has a hilly bike and there aren't really a lot of hills here to train on, unless you like bridge repeats. (Anyone want to guess whether I like those or not?) I probably need to do something to make my legs stronger, but leg day at the gym is in the same category as masters swimming, in that it's something I've been talking about doing for a long time but made no steps toward actually doing.<br />
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In the meantime, I've done the first month of my six-month training plan (MY GOD, 6 MONTHS SOUNDS LIKE A LONG TIME!) and not missed any workouts. Even though it's just the first month, my shortest workouts are an hour and my longest are two hours, and that's six days a week. I'm doing OK in all three disciplines, stellar in none.<br />
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Swim: I'm doing the workouts, but haven't been in my wetsuit or in the ocean for quite a while. I bought a bunch of cold-water swim stuff -- the mask, the sleeves, the boots -- and then returned them because I don't want to swim in the ocean when it's cold, period. (And now that I'm training for a September race, I don't have to!) I'm doing swim drills regularly for the first time in my life. I suck at most of them and have made no real progress over a month. I watch the drill videos on YouTube and feel like I am doing exactly what the swimmers in those videos are doing, but somehow I do not look like those swimmers. This swim program has lots of intervals, which I guess is good, but now when I have to swim more than 200 yards straight I feel like I'm dying. I guess I will fix that when I get back to ocean swimming. I have arbitrarily set the acceptable ocean temperature at 75. It's 70 right now but should be warming up soon, I hope.<br />
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Bike: I still need a new bike seat, but haven't bought one yet. Buying a new bike seat is actually really complicated, at least it is if the bike shop doesn't have any of the seats I'm actually interested in available for demo. It's not like you can just buy one and return it if you don't like it, which is sort of ridiculous, because they're around $200. Everyone has their favorite bike seat to recommend, but individuals are so different that there really is no "best bike seat," kind of like there is no "best guide dog." There's only the best match, whether we're talking about the match between bike seat and ass or the match between person who is blind and guide dog. The bike seat I currently have is acceptable though I certainly wouldn't go so far as to call it comfortable. Oh, and I can ride in aerobars! That is the most exciting news on the bike front. I was afraid for months and then suddenly I was not afraid. Let me edit that to add I am not afraid as long as there's no wind, the road is perfectly straight, and there's no traffic in sight, bike or vehicle. Hey, I'm pretty proud of myself for that because I was pretty sure that I was going to be the one person who could not learn how to ride in aerobars.<br />
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Run: I'm running. I still can't seem to get back to the speed I used to have, even with watching calories and sugar and eating mostly healthy. I don't understand why I have lost hardly any weight. Always in the past, weight loss just happened as workout load increased, even if I was eating garbage, which I am not right now. Every bit of extra weight slows you down on the run, so I may need to explore more radical solutions soon. (And yes, I know I'm not FAT fat -- in fact I think I am extremely fit and healthy -- but I am too fat to run as fast as I want to, something I know runners will understand.) I'm actually running more than my training plan calls for because I'm still hoping to find an early summer marathon somewhere, just to prove to myself that I can still do one. We have had months of perfect running weather. Yesterday was the first run I did this year that was over 90 degrees. I did 12 miles in Tampa in the afternoon. Yes I should have joined Run Tampa in the morning for the group run, which would have been nice and cool, but I was busy. OK, I was reading and having coffee and then going back to sleep and then going to Sage Biscuit with Will for breakfast. My self-imposed punishment was 12 miles in the afternoon heat. I can't complain too much though, because humidity was under 50% and I saw more dolphins along Bayshore than I ever have. I live in a gorgeous place for running, there's no doubt about that!<br /><br />
<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-61237453596027521542019-02-10T18:02:00.001-08:002019-02-10T18:13:19.328-08:00Ironman Training UpdateI am so thoroughly sick of this subject. I feel like Ironman training is the most boring thing in the world, to hear about, to read about, and to write about. Nevertheless, in the interest of chronicling the Ironman journey, just in case I some day look back and find it fascinating instead of tedious, I'm going to keep on writing about it.<br />
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January 1 I officially started training for Ironman Texas, which happens on 4/27 in The Woodlands, Texas. I switched training plans, from an old free one I found online to the Intermediate program in Be Iron Fit. I thought this would be an improvement because it included interval swim sessions instead of just straight swimming, and because the run and ride sessions were based on time, not distance, so it made workout planning easier. I also thought it would be easier to train than it was last summer for two reasons: 1) I wouldn't be training in the heat of a Florida summer, 2) I make my own schedule at work, so if I want to do all my workouts in the morning (knowing that I will work several evenings each week), it's easy to just put them into my schedule like I would anything else, and 3) I borrowed an indoor trainer from one of my neighbors and set it up in the garage, so I don't have to worry about riding on dangerous Moccasin Wallow Road and I can still ride even if it's cold (cold, for purposes of outdoor cycling for me, being anything below 70 degrees). However, there are two big things that were different this training cycle than last. The first is Pip. Having to leave Pip alone for any extended period of time, especially on a day when I've already been out of the house for several hours, makes me feel terribly guilty. It did help that I could get Pip set up in the pain cave and that she, being a very patient and mature puppy, is tolerant of long periods of inactivity:<br />
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But I still feel guilty for not spending as much time as possible working with her and hanging out with her. The second thing that was different this training cycle was the very fact that I can make my schedule. Instead of a strength, it became a weakness. What happened was this: Pip could only make it about 4-5 hours at night without having to go out. She must have the tiniest bladder in the world. But once she got me up at 3:00 or so (which used to be my normal wakeup time when I went to the gym every morning in Michigan!), I felt awake, so I wanted to stay up and read for a while. "A while" = "until I got sleepy," at which point I wanted to go back to sleep for a couple of hours, until I had to get up to get ready for work. I have become completely addicted to this routine, to the point where I can't even imagine forgoing it to work out in the mornings. And I can't really blame this on my schedule when mental weakness is obviously the true culprit.<br />
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Even with those two things going on, though, I was following my schedule and not skipping workouts. I even bought my wetsuit and swam in it a couple of times, until the ocean water got so cold that I refuse to swim in it till it gets back to at least 70. I learned to tolerate the trainer with the help of Netflix. My performance was lousy for some reason. I had gotten faster at swimming and biking while training for Florida, but my speed both in the pool and on the bike has decreased and is now almost as bad as it's ever been. For the swim, I blame the fact that I seem to be unable to get up and go to Masters Swimming at 5:30 a.m., which is usually about the time I'm going back to bed. For the bike, I blame the fact that it really needs a tune-up and that something is wrong with the brakes. Twice after long rides where it was all I could do to maintain 14 mph, I have gotten home and found that the brake pads were rubbing on the rims. For 40 or 50 miles. I didn't know how to fix that, so it just kept happening. My bike also developed a squeak that was so bad I had to blast music on my earbuds. Netflix and audiobooks weren't loud enough; I could hear the squeak through them. Clearly, my bike needed some attention.<br />
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Nevertheless, when I started my two-week work trip to Texas, I brought all my workout gear including my bike and trainer with the thought of skipping as few workouts as possible. I knew I would skip a few, probably mostly swim workouts, because I didn't want to leave Pip alone in my hotel room. But I didn't see any reason why I couldn't bring Pip with me to the treadmill in the hotel fitness room, and ride my bike on the trainer in my hotel room. Sound plan -- it just didn't happen. First, I forgot how tiring work travel is. I love my job and I had a blast in Texas working with puppies and puppy raisers. But when I got back to my hotel at night, I had energy to shower and maybe read a book, and nothing else. I did try the trainer once. But 1000 miles in the car had not magically fixed the squeak. Instead, it was even louder, more like a squeal than a squeak. It was so dispiriting I knew that even if I had the energy, I wouldn't ride it. And as for the treadmill, the one in the first hotel was non-functional, and by the time I got to Week 2 in the second hotel, there was no way I was getting on that treadmill even if it was functioning. I did manage one swim in Dallas and one individual standard-distance tri in a Lifetime in Houston on a weekend pass. That went absolutely terrible -- my slowest swim in months and what felt like prolonged death on a spin bike, although I have to admit my 10K treadmill run felt unbelievably good. (One thing I have strong faith in is my ability to run after biking. I'm just <i>good </i>at that. If I make it through the swim and bike, I know I will make it through the marathon.)<br />
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Then, on my second-to-last day in Texas, I had a few spare hours and went to look at The Woodlands, the community just north of Houston where Ironman Texas is held. I didn't care about the run and bike courses, but I wanted to get a look at the swim, which starts in a lake and finishes, for the last half-mile or so, in a canal. I did not like the sound of "canal." That did not sound like a nice place to swim at all. But I suspended judgment and went to look.<br />
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As soon as I saw it, the first thing I thought was, "No." The canal is pretty enough to walk along if you don't look too close. It's in a nicely landscaped park, and lined with trees. But the water was a dark-green color and completely stagnant, with an oily sheen on top. The only time I saw any moving water in the canal was when ducks paddled by and disturbed the water. There were plenty of ducks. Maybe that's why the water was so green -- because it was full of duck poop? I walked the canal, and walked and walked, looking for the place where it joined the lake where the swim started. I couldn't find it. My shirt was completely soaked through with sweat, and it was 69 degrees and cloudy. I didn't know what the temperature would be in late April, but I was pretty sure it would be warmer than early February, and I was also pretty sure that the humidity would be higher, although it felt like it was already over 100%.<br />
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As I drove back to Houston from the Woodlands, I was thinking that I did not want to do this race. Not only did I think the swim was disgusting, I was worried about possibly not being able to wear a wetsuit. If the water temperature is warm enough -- somewhere around 84 degrees, I think -- no one is allowed to wear a wetsuit. With my lousy swim, I NEED the help from the wetsuit to make the time cutoff. But I also know that I would be very hot in a wetsuit if the water temperature was, say, 82 degrees. Starting a very hot bike ride already hot from the swim sounds like a terrible idea.<br />
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Then there is also the drive. I've always known I don't want to bother flying and shipping my bike. The Woodlands is about a 16-hour drive from where I live, so that means either two 8-hour driving days each way, or else busting it out in one day. I did the one-day version on my way home from Texas, and I do not want to ever do that again. I especially don't want to do it tired and sore after a 17-hour race, OR depressed and mad after not making the swim or bike cutoff. But I also don't want to use up vacation days recovering in Houston, or in any city between Houston and Palmetto, to be honest.</div>
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I do not want to do Ironman Texas. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to forfeit my registration fee and pay again to register for either Chattanooga or else Florida again. I am really torn between these two. Advantages of Chattanooga: downstream swim, happens in September instead of December so I can get it over with sooner. Advantages of Florida: swim is in the ocean and I can practice in the ocean, shorter drive (5 hours vs 10 hours), flat bike course compared to Chattanooga's hilly one. I really can't decide between these two -- any advice from anyone knowledgeable is appreciated! -- but I am pretty sure that Texas is out.</div>
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-90325163834722006252018-10-12T18:01:00.000-07:002018-10-12T18:01:17.913-07:00Ironman, Maybe NotAdmittedly I lost some steam in my Ironman journey this past month. Ok, I lost almost all of it this last week. I need a new bike seat because aero position makes this one painful -- don't care. I don't have a tri suit -- don't care. My rental wetsuit that I ordered two weeks ago has not arrived -- don't care. I said I would join Master's Swimming to keep my momentum going after swim lessons, but I haven't. Why? No motivation. I took my bike with my on my 5-day work trip to Savannah and never once took it out of the car -- don't care. In fact, I've ridden my bike once the whole month of October. Why? Because, back to my first point, the seat is painful since I had my bike fit, and made my position on the bike more aerodynamic but way less comfortable. I don't care any about of it.<br />
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The point of this blog post isn't to say "I ran out of motivation and quit Ironman training," though. It's to say "Ironman almost certainly isn't happening and it has nothing to do with my loss of motivation." This is not news to anyone who follows Ironman or triathlon in general on social media, but for my non-triathlete friends, the fact is that Hurricane Michael pounded Panama City but good this week. How extensive is the damage? No one knows for sure, but the Internet verdict is that it's way too extensive to even consider the possibility of Panama City Beach hosting Ironman in three weeks. Here are the main reasons the Internet says it won't happen:<br />
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1) There is all kinds of damage to hotels and other types of vacation rentals. There won't be anywhere for the Ironman crowd and all their people to stay.<br />
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2) Hotels without damage will be full of displaced people and workers repairing the damage.<br />
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3) The water system is all kinds of messed up and that will probably result in some unclean water being discharged into the ocean.<br />
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4) There won't be enough local support (EMS, volunteers) for Ironman to function because so many of those people will have been affected by the hurricane, and will be putting their lives back together instead of working Ironman.<br />
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5) Even if it was logistically possible to hold the race, it would be morally sketchy for Ironman to put on a giant event and parade thousands of people with, let's face it, lots of disposable income through a community where a lot of people have lost everything.<br />
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Ironman athletes are a fairly selfish bunch of people in my opinion. They have to be in order to be okay with putting everything and everyone else in their lives aside to undergo the massive amount of training required to finish an Ironman. However, even among this group of selfish people, the overwhelming sentiment is: cancel the race. We won't get our money back. We will have to do the vicious training cycle again (a thought that makes me want to curl up in a ball and die). We MIGHT get a bone thrown to us from Ironman in the form of a discounted race entry next year, or some other compensation prize that isn't much of a consolation because there's nothing they can do to give us the M-dot this year. Ironman Cozumel is still open, but then I would have to fly my bike there. Ironman Arizona is closed, but even if they gave some spots to Ironman Florida people, again I would not want to fly my bike all the way out there and pay all that money for a race I'm not even sure I can complete. Even knowing all this, I, and most other registered athletes, still think the event should be cancelled.<br />
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So now what? I've suffered through all this drudgery for nothing? I hated Ironman training so much through September and October that I can't imagine undergoing it again. I picked this Ironman for a lot of reasons. I didn't have vacation time because the job was new, so I knew I wouldn't be going anywhere and would be able to train on weekends. Next year I'll have more vacation time, plus I have to travel in my new position, which I didn't before. I wasn't raising a puppy this year, but I'm getting one in a few weeks and will have it till some time in 2020, so now we're looking at puppy PLUS Ironman training, which is going to be very difficult. I mean, really, how bad do I want this Ironman? (Answer, unfortunately, is that I want it VERY bad.)<br />
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There is one more local Ironman-distance (though not Ironman-brand) race that isn't full. It's called the Great Floridian, and it's less than an hour and a half from here. It's a lake swim instead of an ocean swim, so I wouldn't have the added buoyancy of salt water. It's a hilly bike course when I've trained for flat. It's October 20, and the race director has offered a discount for people registered for IMFL. I'm not going to do 140.6 on that course. I would be close to the time cutoff with an ocean swim and a flat bike, and I'm sure I would miss it with a lake swim and a hilly bike. It has a 2/3 IM distance and a 1/3 IM distance, though, and I'm seriously contemplating one of those two options. I mean, I should at least get SOMETHING out of all this training. (Aside from an amazing Amazonian body, which actually is kind of a big deal, and worth most of the pain.) Somewhere in the next few days I will decide -- Great Floridian, yay or nay?<br />
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In the meantime, we're all just waiting for official cancellation from Ironman.Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-35491011502206413142018-09-30T16:47:00.001-07:002018-09-30T16:47:55.711-07:00Ironman Training Journal, Third MonthStart with the good news, or the bad? The good:<br />
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*I finished my swim lessons, and joined U.S. Master's Swimming, which will allow me access to coached group swims as many days per week as I can get myself up in the morning to get to them.<br />
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*I got my bike fit and bought aerobars for my bike.<br />
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*I made hotel reservations.<br />
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*I ordered the rental wetsuit.<br />
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*I've done the full Ironman distance swim once and well over the full distance another time, and would have made the time cutoff in both. (That second one was on accident -- I was swimming in a 25-meter pool and didn't realize it was meters, not yards, so I swam an extra 400 yards. Oops. But good to know I could do it without stopping.)<br />
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*My running off the bike is pretty good. Even after a very long ride, I can still do around 9:00 pace. I don't know for how long, but I know I can finish the marathon if I make the swim and bike cutoffs.<br />
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Now the bad news:<br />
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*I still have at best a 50/50 chance of making the cutoff in the swim. The swim cutoff is 2:20, and when I swam the full distance I did it in a pool and didn't stop for anything and finished in 1:54 after my first swim lesson. I should be faster after a month of swim lessons and master's swimming; I should be faster because I'm always faster in the ocean than in the pool; I should be faster because I will be wearing a wetsuit which gives a lot of extra buoyancy. But there are any number of things that could slow me down in the swim. I could panic in the mass start. Unlikely because the swim is self-seeding and I will start in the back, but it's my first open water swim race, so there is an element of the unknown. I could panic in the ocean just because of nerves and because I've never swam that far in the ocean before. Again, unlikely, because I have never even felt close to panicking in the ocean -- I've always felt amazingly at home in the ocean, but there's that unknown factor. I would not do well in a rough ocean if that's the kind of weather we get on race day. I've swam in light chop once and was fine and even kind of enjoyed the "washing machine" feeling, but it threw my pace way off. I could end up swimming a few hundred extra yards due to poor sighting -- totally possible. I'm not good at sighting and haven't been able to practice because of the nasty red tide. All in all, there's a decent chance my race could be over before it's hardly even started.<br />
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*I HAVE aerobars; that doesn't mean I can USE aerobars. I tried them for the first time on my almost-100-mile ride last weekend. The best I could do was one arm in one aerobar and the other hand in a drop. Even then, I wobbled all over the place and was very erratic. I have a month to get used to them, and if I can't get used to them, they're not going to help me at all.<br />
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*I'm not fast on the bike at all. It's hard to know what my real speed is because everywhere I ride I have to slow or stop for so many street crossings that I always average out to 14-15 mph. On the few rides I've done at 3:00 a.m. with no vehicle traffic and thus no need to slow or stop, I've been comfortably around 17 mph. The bike and the swim (and the transition between the two) have to be completed in under ten hours. Say the swim takes two hours and the transition takes ten minutes. That leaves me 7:50 to do the bike. If I ride at 15 mph, that leaves me with a bike time of about 7:30. Is it doable? Maybe, maybe not. I will probably have to stop to pee at some point. (Some people pee on the bike. I seriously think I would be physically unable to. I may or may not have tried this on some of my long rides.) I will have to stop at aid stations. I'm not good at math, so this trying to predict time is starting to make me insane. Also, if I have any type of mechanical issue, my race is over. There is support for mechanical problems on the bike course, but my margin is going to be so slim that by the time they come up and help me, I would be missing the cutoff. I will not learn to repair my bike myself, so I have accepted that mechanical = out of the race.<br />
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*The black demon of Ironman training visited me over the last couple weeks, and I skipped several workouts after not skipping any at all for the first two months. It's the demon I remember from previous attempts at Ironman training. It comes when I realize how much fun I'm NOT having training for this stupid thing, and how many fun things I'm not doing because I'm doing this instead. It was also at least partly due to my new job. I love the new job, but there are so many things I want to do in it that I'm spending a lot more time on work than I used to. Let me be clear that I'm not complaining about the new job! I love it, and wish I could spend even more time on it.<br />
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A few days ago I was very seriously contemplating dropping the whole thing. I thought, I'm not ready for this, why not practice swimming for another year, do the 70.3 in Chattanooga in May then the full in Chattanooga in September (down-current river swim!), focus on my job now, do <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> in November because I know I won't be able to do it if I miss the first three days of November due to traveling to and starting the race, study Spanish and sit out on the lanai with coffee and read in the mornings instead of doing pre-work workouts? Yeah I know I spent the money, but that money is gone no matter what. I seriously had that conversation with myself and with Will. In the end I decided to try anyway, forget about my skipped workouts (probably not that big a deal considering how overall consistent I've been with my training), and do the best I can. Hey, maybe the stars will align and I will have smooth ocean and no mechanical problems on the bike, and then I won't have to spend the money and subject myself to this torture again next year. And even if I don't make the swim or bike cutoff, I will still have a good story! And next year the story would be "I failed the first time so I came back and tried harder!" And that's always a good story to tell.<br />
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So for now I'm going to do it, unless nature saves me by way of causing a red tide bloom at Panama City Beach that causes the swim to be called off. I will remain silent on whether or not I'm hoping that happens.Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-78424250720996080512018-09-09T14:18:00.001-07:002018-09-09T14:21:45.766-07:00Ironman Training Journal, Second MonthI am a little late in updating my Ironman training journal, and that is because I've been so busy training for Ironman that I have not had any time to write about it.<br />
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So how is it going? Well, it's going well, and it's sucking, both. It's going well in the sense that I have just finished the first week of my peak training month and I completed all the workouts and did reasonably well in all of them. This was my week last week:<br />
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Sunday: 11-mile run in the morning, where I was FINALLY under 9:00/mile pace for the first time on a "long" run in Florida, followed by a 2700-yard swim. Total time: just under three hours.<br />
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Monday: OK, I didn't do anything on Monday. I embarked on a two-hour bike ride in the morning, since it was Labor Day and I didn't have to work, but I rode over a piece of metal three miles in that shredded the sidewall of my tire. Luckily I was on my old bike and was wearing running shoes, so I left the bike hidden in the bushes outside a bank and ran the three miles back to my car. Then I drove me and the bike back home and went to Kanapaha Botanical Gardens with Will instead of working out. Total time: about ten minutes.<br />
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Tuesday: I now had the previous day's two-hour ride PLUS a 1.5-hour run to do. I planned to do them after work, back-to-back, in the heat, but Florida's reliable afternoon thunderstorm, complete with lightning, forced me inside. I gritted out two hours on a crappy spin bike in the crappy Parrish YMCA's crappy (and empty) spin studio, forced myself upstairs for 45 minutes on the treadmill, then raced back to my neighborhood in time for the 6:30 brewery run where I finished the other 45 minutes of running. My legs were completely trashed but I still managed to be under 9:00 pace the whole time. Total time: 3.5 hours.<br />
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Wednesday: an hour swim at the YMCA, followed by another 1.5-hour run. The swim went well but the run was terrible due to my amateur mistake of drinking like two swallows of water after the swim and then going out for a run where there were no water fountains and not carrying any cash to stop and buy something. That was stupid, and I had a lousy time to prove it. Total time: 2.5 hours.<br />
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Thursday: an hour and a half ride before work, which meant I had to get up at 2:45 a.m. Luckily Will gets up and follows me on his scooter when I do these rides, so at least I had company, increased visibility, and a rescue plan in case of a flat. I was exhausted all day at work and completely relieved when lightning cancelled my planned swim lesson after work. Total time: 1.5 hours.<br />
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Friday: My schedule called for a 45-minute swim followed by a one-hour ride followed by a two-hour run. I showed up at the Y only to find the pool full of high school swim team. I decided to do the ride first, but once again, the lightning started in force and so it was back to the spin bike. Fortunately this was at the nice Y in Lakewood Ranch, and they have a beautiful spin studio although it was also empty. The pool was closed for lightning by the time I got off the bike, and the violent thunderstorm was still happening outside, so it was back on the treadmill again. I told myself I would do an hour and then go outside and finish the rest if possible. After an hour, the storm was still going strong, and the radar showed waves of red and yellow sweeping through for the next couple hours. I finished the second hour of the run on the treadmill and the pool was still closed. There was literally no way I could do the swim, no open pool within an hour drive from me, lightning and red tide at the beaches. I moved the swim to Sunday, not ideal but the best I could do. Total time: three hours.<br />
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Saturday: the first of my REALLY LONG RIDES -- six to seven hours, the schedule says. I did six hours, 92 miles, on the Pinellas Trail in St. Pete, followed by a 10-minute run. The first three hours were great! The air was cool and fresh, there was plenty of shade, my legs felt powerful. I was totally confident that I would be able to finish the bike portion of the Ironman, no problem. When I got to the turn-around, I ate a PB&J sandwich and then set off for home, and then realized that I had had a tailwind the whole way out, which meant I had a headwind the whole back. Not strong, but strong enough, especially when combined with the fact that the sun was out, my water was now warm, and my iPhone died so no more audiobook to help the miles pass. The first five miles were okay and the remainder sucked. Still, I finished, and I managed to get off the bike after six hours and run a mile in under 9:00 pace, even though it felt terrible and my breathing was so ragged it drew concerned stares from passersby. Total time: six hours and ten minutes, making a total time for the week of nineteen hours and 20 minutes.<br />
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The other good news is that I did get a swim coach, although between the Mexico City Marathon and the damnable afternoon lightning storms I have only had one lesson. That one lesson made me feel a lot better about my swimming, and I expect it should only continue to improve with more lessons. Also, I scheduled a bike fit, which should give me a tiny bit more efficiency on the bike. We'll see.<br />
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The best thing about Ironman training is the feeling of power I get from being able to force myself to do things that suck. Basically everything except ocean swims, group runs in Tampa in the (relatively) cool mornings, and brewery runs sucks. Things that definitely suck: long bike rides (whether on a spin bike or on the road), treadmill runs, pool swims (especially now that I'm forced to do intervals, which I hate because it's hard). There's a feeling of determination and resolve that comes from deliberately saying NO to what I want to do with my free time (read, study Spanish, hang out with Will) and taking the first step into something I know I will not enjoy (sliding into the pool, climbing onto the spin bike, hitting "Start" on the treadmill). Strengthening this "resolve muscle" is a worthy goal.<br />
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The second best thing about Ironman training is what it's doing to my body. All those grinding hours of doing things that suck is giving me the body of an Amazon warrior. It's not that I have no fat anywhere, it's that I have the exact right amounts of fat and muscle. No matter how unpleasant the process of getting this body is, the result is pretty amazing. The feeling of marveling at your own body in the mirror is, I think most people will agree, pretty close to priceless.<br />
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Now, on to the negatives. Brace yourself!<br />
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First of all, I am tired of this schedule dictating my life. No one but a person who has absolutely no life at all when they sign up for an Ironman would enjoy the training schedule, whether they enjoy individual workouts or not. I have lots of interests, of which endurance sports is only one, but it's completely dominating everything else right now. If you asked me what I would like to spend my free time doing, I would say reading, studying Spanish, exploring Florida with Will, and writing in my blogs. (And wasting time on the Internet, if we're being honest.) I can do small amounts of those things, but not nearly as much as I want to, because there's always a workout looming. And if I skip today's workout, I know there will be TWO workouts looming tomorrow. I don't want to STOP working out -- I want to be fit, and I love to eat too much to do that -- I just want to be able to do the workouts I feel like doing, when I feel like doing them.<br />
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Second, as I mentioned in my last Ironman training journal, Ironman training has made me into a terrible girlfriend. It is selfish, selfish, selfish. My weekends revolve around my training schedule and, therefore, so do Will's. Yesterday I was out of the house before he woke up, and I didn't drag myself back into the house till mid-afternoon, too tired to do anything other than stumble into the shower and then lay around moaning about how sore and sunburned I was. Oh, and also my cell phone battery died mid-ride. Not only could he not track me on my ride, but also it just happened to die when I was crossing over a giant intersection. So on the map on his phone, it showed me in the middle of a giant intersection not moving for two and a half hours. Would you worry if that was your partner? I would, but also there was nothing I could do about it other than try to ride faster (yeah right) and text him as soon as I could plug in my phone back at the car. Today I had to do an ocean swim, and because of red tide I had to drive all the way up to Clearwater, almost an hour north, to find swimmable water. He came with me for this one, and swam and I hope had a good time, but once again, by the time we swam and ate brunch and stopped at Costco on the way home, much of the day was gone. I really don't see how people with partners less patient and supportive and accommodating than mine train for Ironman, and I REALLY don't understand how anyone with kids manages to do it.<br />
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Third, everything costs a lot and everything requires planning. My swim coach costs $60 for a one-hour lesson (and is worth it if I continue to improve like I have after just one lesson), and I need at least three or four lessons. After that I'll join Masters Swimming, which costs, I don't know, $30-$40 a month or something like that, on top of the $33 a month I already pay for YMCA membership. My bike fit is going to cost $150; if I buy aerobars those will be another $100+ or so (I really don't know how much, but everything seems to be over $100). I need a tri suit (clothing that I can wear under my wet suit and on the bike and the run), and that is also in the $100-$200 range or possibly more. I decided not to buy a wet suit because I found a place that rents them -- thank goodness! -- but even renting one will be another $100. I need new running shoes -- $130 or so. And that doesn't even count things like bike repairs, gels and salt tabs, and gas to drive to Clearwater or whatever other faraway destination I'm swimming or running or biking in because I happen to live in a triathlon dead zone. And the planning that is required! I feel like I never leave the house without an overstuffed gym bag full of towels, swim gear (fins, paddles, buoy), bike shoes, two frozen water bottles (which then have to be transferred into another freezer when I get to work so they will stay cold for my run or ride), snacks for during the workout, snacks for after the workout, a hat in case it rains on my run, an armband and ear buds for my phone, clean clothes and shower stuff for after the workout if it's a gym workout. Hardly a day goes by that I'm not pumping up my tires and moving my bike lights and Garmin from charger to bike. Also, it seems like I hardly ever pack for just one workout. I always bring stuff for two workouts, sometimes because I have two planned and sometimes because there's a chance weather will cancel one. Running was so simple -- put on your shoes and go. I miss that.<br />
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Fourth, I just don't like triathlon. I like individual triathletes, but overall I feel like triathlon as a sport takes itself too seriously. Things like heart rate training, intervals, obsessing over numbers of calories needed per hour and what form to take them in, telling other triathletes that they shouldn't -- you name it -- listen to music while running/riding, swim/ride/run alone, ride/run after dark, sign up for a long race without first having proven themselves in multiple short races, train without a coach, bike only on a trainer because it doesn't allow them to get used to the road, bike on the road because it's dangerous, ride without having had a bike fit, train without a heart rate monitor, rely on other people to fix mechanical issues on the bike, you name it, someone is telling you not to do it. Did runners do this when I was "just" a runner? I don't remember, but I don't think so. Running seems to attract people who shrug and say, "You do you!" where triathlon seems to attract people who say, "Do this! Don't do that!" whether you ask them or not. That is a huge reason why I don't belong to a tri club. (Also because I hate group rides and will never go on another one.) I may BE a triathlete, but I don't really think of myself as a triathlete, the name of this blog notwithstanding.<br />
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So, overall, a mixed bag, but the bottom line is swimming is improving, running is getting back to good, bike's going okay. I have reached the point in my training schedule where I really believe if I was going to quit, I would have done it. That would have been right after the Mexico City Marathon. I took a week off from everything but the pool and remembered how fun it was to do what I wanted with my free time instead of what I felt like I had to do. I thought about writing and studying Spanish and volunteering to teach English to Spanish-speaking immigrants. I did not get up for one pre-work workout. But in the end I can't stop thinking about how much I want to be able to call myself an Ironman, and how much I've already invested in it, and how much I do not want to do this ever again, so I might as well finish it now.<br />
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One of the four worst weeks is done, three more to go. I can do this!Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-61083862577629764452018-08-28T17:28:00.000-07:002018-08-28T18:17:12.373-07:00Corriendo en México -- Maratón Ciudad de México Race Report I think everyone who knows me knows that I am a little obsessed with Mexico. Maybe it started when I lived in San Diego and made the association between Mexico and legal underage drinking, or maybe it was because Mexico is a big part of the desert Southwest that I love (or, to be more accurate, the desert Southwest that I love used to be a part of Mexico), or maybe it's because Mexico has a gritty authenticity about it that is appealing when compared to the U.S. and Europe. For whatever reason, everything to do with Mexico is very interesting to me. So I always knew that I would do the Mexico City marathon some day. My original plan was to combine the marathon with a week of Spanish immersion school, but when I made that plan I didn't know I was going to change jobs and lose much of my vacation time. I decided that Mexico City for a weekend was better than possibly Mexico City never. It's not really that far away, and it's not very expensive to fly there, so I made up my mind and signed up.<br />
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I speak enough Spanish to communicate, although my vocabulary is limited and my ability to conjugate verbs is questionable, so I knew I could get by on my own if I had to. Luckily I didn't have to. I have a friend in Mexico City, Gerardo, who was my interpreter in last September's international class at Leader. He is one of the coolest people I know, and he pretty much gave up his whole weekend to help me get around and show me the city. It's a good thing he did, because the only thing I really did to prepare for this trip was find an Airbnb in a safe tourist area that was walking distance from the marathon start line. Things I didn't do that I would do next time include talking to Verizon and finding a way to use my phone in Mexico, and learning something about Mexican money. As it was, I could use my phone only occasionally, sometimes when I got a wifi connection and sometimes randomly when I shouldn't have had any service at all. And when I arrived in Mexico and went to take cash out of an ATM, I had no idea how pesos compared to dollars. In my head, 1800 pesos could have been $20 or $1800 or $5000. I just randomly chose 1800 pesos to withdraw because it was the middle selection in a row of choices on the ATM screen, like where $100 would be on a U.S. ATM. (And as it turned out, that was almost exactly what it was -- $94.)<br />
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Gerardo picked me up at the airport and drove me to the Expo, which wasn't that far but took us forever to get to because of traffic. Let me say here that I love how people drive in Mexico City. A lot of roads don't have lane lines, so there might be two lanes, or three, or four, it just depends on how much room there is and how many cars are on the road. Drivers sort of make their own lanes. Rolling through stop signs seems to be totally okay, as I saw it happen at almost every stop sign even when there were cops around. Every driver seems to be a distracted driver, with sudden veers, unsignaled turns, and jamming on the brakes for no obvious reason all being very common. Pedestrians cross through moving traffic whenever they want, and cars and people just somehow avoid each other. Drivers honk their horns even though surely they know it has no effect whatsoever on whatever has made the cars in front of them stop. It's not uncivilized exactly, just casually sloppy, exactly how I would like to drive if it weren't for traffic laws and cops in the U.S.<br />
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The expo was huge. It might have even been the biggest expo I've ever been to. It felt like we walked a mile between the entrance to the sports venue where it was held and the place where I finally picked up my number. It was packed, too -- shoulder-to-shoulder people the whole way. I ate a couple of snacks including the driest protein bar I have ever tasted. It tasted like a piece of cardboard and was the same consistency. Other than the size of the expo, this was exactly like an expo at any large marathon I've ever done.<br />
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We spent the rest of the day driving, walking around, and eating. We ate at a vegan restaurant that would not have been out of place in any trendy, urban neighborhood in the U.S., and I had black bean tacos and a giant bowl of oats, chia seeds, and fruit. All of the food was excellent. It started raining after that and we drove around looking at monuments. There are a lot of grand, impressive monuments in Mexico City, a lot of them right in the middle of giant traffic circles. I was glad I was with someone who knew the stories behind them and could tell me what they were.<br />
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I slept badly because I wasn't sure exactly where the start line was. I knew I had to leave my building and turn right, then walk until the road ended at the Zócalo, but since I hadn't actually seen the start line the night before, I was paranoid about screwing something up, so I left earlier than I needed to. The temperature was perfect for a marathon, 58 degrees with a predicted high of 67. Skies were overcast, but it wasn't raining anymore. It felt strange but undeniably pleasant to breathe air that wasn't humid. The elevation of Mexico City is 7300' (I thought it was 5000' when I signed up for this marathon, and only found out a few days ago that I was off by over 2000'), so it definitely didn't feel like Florida. I wasn't overly worried about the elevation. Throughout my running life, I have found that there is generally a positive correlation between difficulty with elevation and amount of time spent worrying about difficulty with elevation. Personally, I prefer to not think about it.<br />
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I didn't need to worry at all about not finding the start line. With over 30,000 runners registered, there was a steady flow of runners from the moment I stepped out of my building. I walked around like a tourist, staring at all the old, grand buildings. This has to be one of the most fabulous marathon start lines in the world.<br />
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I did run into a couple of small complications, and the first one was that there was a corral system. I shouldn't have been surprised -- with the size of this race, how could there not be? -- but I was. I had not read anything about the corrals on the website, but then I'm not really in the habit of reading race websites. Most U.S. marathons that I sign up for flood my inbox with emails containing race information, so I have gotten used to sitting back and letting race information come to me, not seeking it out. I realized for the first time that there was a blue square on my bib, and that each corral had a color. I kept walking and walking further and further back from the start line and saw that the blue corral was way in the back. I must have predicted a really slow finish time when I registered, even though I couldn't remember predicting a finish time at all. As I listened to the race announcer, I thought I heard him say that the blue corral was starting at 7:45. I hoped I just misunderstood since the official race start was at 6:45, and when I told Gerardo when to meet me at the finish, I picked the time based on a 6:45 start. Since I couldn't use my phone, I had no way of telling him my start time was an hour later than I thought it was. Oh well. In situations where you can't do anything, it's better to just accept it and move on.<br />
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The other complication was that when I went to get into my corral, the guard said "Brazeleta?" I just stared at him blankly. He pointed at his wrist and then at the other runners entering the corral. Every one of them had a blue bracelet. I was mystified. The guy that gave me my number hadn't said anything about a bracelet. And I know it wasn't in the envelope my bib was in because I had upended that one and dumped out all the safety pins, then looked in it again to make sure it was empty. I have never had to have a bracelet in any other marathon unless I was using race transportation or there was a beer tent at the finish. I told him I didn't have it. He waved me on into the corral. I still do not know what the purpose of the bracelet was, but apparently it wasn't critical because I did get an official finish time.<br />
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I stood in the corral for over an hour while the wheelchair racers started, then the elites, then, one by one, the faster corrals. Finally the runners in my corral were allowed to start walking towards the start line. I was cold by now, and glad I had, for once, brought a throwaway long-sleeved shirt. (So long, Pocatello Marathon shirt.) The race announcer counted down, the gun went off, and we were released!<br />
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This is a very, very beautiful course. It is one of the best courses I have ever been on. <a href="https://youtu.be/WmM0P8JWZ2w" target="_blank">Here is the video</a>, in case anyone familiar with Mexico City is curious. The course is mostly flat except for a couple of bridges (thank goodness, with the elevation), and, almost without exception, is nearly all on beautiful streets that really show off the city to its best advantage. Two things I noticed right away. 1) The course was extremely congested with runners. I expect to have to do a lot of weaving around other runners the first couple miles, but this one never let up all through the race, even in the last few miles. I'm sure I could have finished at least 15 minutes faster if not for the amount of time I spent looking for a way around other runners and turning sideways to squeeze through very small spaces. If I ever do this race again, I will definitely predict a faster finish time so I can be in an earlier corral. 2) The crowd support is unbelievable. It's like Boston or NYC -- wall-to-wall spectators almost everywhere, yelling, "Sí se puede!" and "Venga!" the whole way. I had the thought several times that if I were going to throw up, it would be hard to find a place to do it without hitting a spectator.<br />
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I felt generally good for most of the race. I didn't have any injuries, I wasn't too hot, I was enjoying the scenery, and the huge amount of food I ate the night before didn't seem to be having any adverse effect on my stomach. There were plenty of aid stations, and they alternated between Gatorade and water. The Gatorade was served in cups and the water was served in little sealed plastic bags. The bags were the ideal size for stuffing into my sports bra in case I wanted one later, and were also ideal for spraying myself down if I got hot: just open the bag and squeeze it, and voila, my own personal fountain. Also, I discovered that I prefer kilometers to miles. Yes, there are more of them, but they go by so quickly. Practically as soon as I passed one marker, I could start looking for the next one in the distance. And it's much easier for me to think of eight 5k's (plus a little extra) than to think of a full marathon.<br />
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The last few miles were a straight shot up Insurgentes. Spectators were everywhere, screaming encouragement and offering food and drinks. I ate some of just about everything I could get my hands on -- mango, watermelon, beer, a handful of little curly brown fried things that looked like chicharrones but curlier, a little baggie (think poop bag) of candy-flavored orange liquid tied in a knot. I figured it was too late in the race for what I ate to affect my stomach, and spectators got really excited when runners took what they were offering. The finish line was in Estadio Olímpico Universitario, where the 1968 Summer Olympics was held. It was an epic finish. We ran down into a tunnel and then out of the tunnel onto a track, and then around the track to the finish line. Even on the home stretch, the track was crowded. I finished with a time of 4:26, about typical for my last several marathons. I simultaneously would love to be under 4 hours again, and don't really care if I ever am or not. The only food at the finish line was bananas. Someone also gave me a bottle of the nastiest Gatorade I have ever tasted -- strawberry. I took a few swallows of it, thinking I needed to get my electrolytes replenished since my skin was powdered with salt like it used to be in Arizona, and that tiny bit of Gatorade almost made me throw up everything else I had just eaten. I threw away the bottle and decided my electrolytes would just have to replenish themselves.<br />
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I spent my last few hours in Mexico visiting the Blue House -- I may be bored by art, but Frida Kahlo was such an interesting person that even her art is interesting -- eating, and walking around an indigenous market and eating more. I ate vegan nachos, vegan lasagna, some kind of fermented corn drink that tasted like yogurt, and greasy street tacos with beans and potatoes. I changed into clean clothes but didn't make it into the shower until after 10 p.m. I was not going to waste my precious few remaining hours in Mexico by taking a shower!<br />
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My flight out Sunday morning wasn't till noon, so I got to sleep in till 7, a total luxury. My trip to the airport was mostly uneventful other than that my Uber didn't work -- it insisted my payment method was invalid, and wouldn't let me add another one -- so I had to take an expensive hotel taxi from the Hilton. (Even an expensive taxi was only about $15 -- try getting to any U.S. airport via taxi for that price!) The driver spoke about as much English as I speak Spanish, so we talked the whole time, in both languages. I asked him if he drove a lot of American tourists. He said no, and that he thought Americans think Mexico City is dangerous. I agree, based on the reactions I got when I told people I was going. Here's what I think: Mexico City is NOT dangerous in the parts I was in, or at least no more dangerous than any other big city. There are police everywhere. I didn't visit any bad neighborhoods, but I wouldn't visit those neighborhoods in an American city either. The parts of Mexico City I saw, which were admittedly only tiny parts of the city, and only the nicest parts, looked completely modern. Even if I didn't speak any Spanish, I still would have felt safe there. I hope no one lets fear keep them away from a place as incredible and impressive and interesting as Mexico City! I'm glad I got to go, and feel like I made the most of my very short trip there. Am I still planning on going there for a week of language school? Um, yes. Duh. As soon as I bank a little more vacation time, I will be back there the first chance I get.<br />
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In the meantime, I may or may not have typed this question into Google: "How many Mexican states have marathons?"<br />
<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-75699923170280266622018-08-05T14:28:00.002-07:002018-08-05T14:28:52.584-07:00Ironman Training Journal, First MonthThis was the scene a week ago. Tampa, 11:30 a.m., hot and steamy like the jungle. I was sitting in my car in the shady parking lot where the Upper Tampa Bay Trail -- 7-something miles of paved bike path -- starts. I had a minimum-3-hour bike ride looming, followed by a 2-mile run. I DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS, not at all. I had just come from the airport, a quick work trip to Kentucky. Before I left for the airport, I did something my pre-Ironman training self would not have done, and put my bike in my car so that just in case I felt like getting my long ride out of the way on Friday instead of doing it on the weekend, I would be ready. I changed into bike clothes in the airport and filled my water bottles with water from the airport faucets. Then I drove to this parking lot where I sat thinking about the temperature -- 89 -- and the humidity -- high -- and what both of those things would be like in three hours when I was ready to start my run -- worse. I have bailed on plenty of workouts in my life. Sometimes even when I left my house in Michigan at 3:30 am, I drove right past the gym to the donut shop and then slept on the couch at Leader until work started because I couldn't face the thought of getting into that cold pool. I sat in my car and thought about my 11-hour work day the day before, my 3:30 alarm to get to the airport earlier that day, my cool house and comfortable bed. Then I got on the bike and headed out. I told myself I could have a crappy slow ride or I could decide to enjoy it, but either way I would be on the bike for 3 hours and then I would run after that. And somehow my crankiness mostly evaporated and it turned into a pretty good ride and a pretty decent run, and that is what's happened for every single workout I've done so far.<br />
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I've registered for, and bailed on, two half-Ironman distance races in the last 10 years. One was the Soma 70.3 in Arizona, which I quit because I didn't want to work on my swim, and the other was the Steelhead 70.3 in Benton Harbor, Michigan, which I quit because I started to dread the training schedule so much that the dread took over my life. Plus, I didn't like the thought of swimming anywhere in Michigan. The Lifetime pool was always too cold, lakes are gross and also too cold (except for maybe a few minutes in July) to swim in without a wetsuit, and wetsuits are expensive. There was nowhere to ride my road bike except Stoney Creek and Kensington Metroparks, nothing pretty to look at, and for more than half the year I was freezing anywhere except the gym. I thought some of those things would be fixed by moving to Florida, but in all honesty I wasn't sure I wouldn't grow to hate the schedule just as much as I did in Michigan. Even if I did, though, I was pretty sure that the OVER $900 REGISTRATION FEE would keep me from bailing on the training.<br />
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I have now finished 7 weeks of the 20-week schedule. Although there is still a lot of time left for things to go south, I am happy to say that I haven't missed a single workout so far, and am thriving on the schedule. I'm not always dying to start every workout -- see above -- but it's never THAT hard to just do it. I've learned a few things along the way too.<br />
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*I can swim in the ocean! I have played in the ocean before, but swimming in it was a completely new experience. I really didn't know what to expect. A lot of bad swimmers are terrified of the open water swim (OWS), and some people even get nauseous in the waves. From the moment I started swimming in the ocean, I loved it. It is like a giant, bath-temperature swimming pool where you never have to worry about getting a lane and the lanes stretch out to infinite lengths. Some oceans might be cold and rough and intimidating, but MY ocean is warm, calm, and beautiful. (Okay, not so beautiful today with the algae toxins causing my lips and tongue to burn during and for a couple hours after my mile swim, but I'm sure -- I hope -- that will go away soon.)<br />
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*I MUST get swim lessons. Even though the thought of paying for one more expensive thing related to triathlon is one that I dread, it simply has to be done, and soon. The swim is my biggest weakness. Honestly, it has always been the possibility of not making the swim cutoff that has kept me from signing up for any triathlon other than a pool sprint. I am a slow swimmer, even though I can swim for a very long time without getting tired. I am pretty sure that a good coach would be able to help me speed up my swim just enough that I don't have to sweat making the swim cutoff in the race. The swim is 2.4 miles and the cutoff is 2 hours and 20 minutes, which is 3 minutes and 19 seconds per 100 yards. My swim pace right now is between 2:45/100 (ocean) and 2:55/100 (pool, probably because I'm so inefficient at turning at the wall that any momentum I gain from pushing off the wall is erased by the time it takes me to reverse direction and push off). While on paper it looks like I should make the swim cutoff, that does not allow for anything to go wrong, like choppy water or swimming extra yardage due to poor sighting in the water. If I could get it down to 2:20 or even 2:30, I would be happier. But just spending more time in the pool doesn't improve technique any. It just locks in poor technique. I will have to get a coach, and I sincerely hope that in my next Training Journal I will be able to report that I have one and am improving.<br />
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*I still hate everything to do with bike mechanics and maintenance. I still don't know how to change a tire, I still couldn't tell you how gear shifting works if someone offered me a million dollars to do so, I still freak out if I get a speck of grease on my hands, and I still have absolutely zero interest in getting better. BUT WHAT IF I GET A FLAT TIRE IN THE IRONMAN?!?! Well, then my race is over. I would rather lose $900+ than spend time learning to do something I hate when there is not even close to enough time in any day. Or, to put it another way, it is worth $900+ to me to give myself a pass on learning about bike maintenance. <br />
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*I really need a professional bike fit. My bike does not fit me. My position on the seat feels wrong, the pedals feel too high, the seat itself sucks, and I should be going 1-2 mph faster than I am. I am going to pay for that too rather than continuing to suffer through very long bike rides in discomfort.<br />
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*Getting comfortable riding on the road with traffic is a hardening process. I used to ride everywhere in Tucson. I was hit by a car once and almost hit a handful of other times, but I was still very confident riding in traffic. When I started road riding here after a break of several years, I was terrified for the first week or so. Terrified as in my heart was up in my throat when I heard a car coming from behind, even when I was on a wide road with plenty of shoulder. I am happy to report that that has almost completely gone away. People here think that I am nuts for riding my bike on the road because the bike lane in a lot of places is really, really narrow. In some places it's nonexistent, and I have to share the lane with cars. (However, I don't ride roads like that unless they are A) very lightly trafficked and B) have great visibility so cars can see me from far off and pass me.) A thousand or so road bike miles have convinced me that riding on the road is, for the most part, safe. I have never felt like an accident almost happened because a driver didn't see me. I have had drivers be rude jerks, and ride up on my ass and honk at me because they had to wait two seconds to pass due to another oncoming car, but if they honk at me, they aren't going to hit me. Too much paperwork. Let 'em honk. Sure I could be hit by a drunk or inattentive driver at any time, but ANYONE COULD. That's part of the risk of going out on the road. True, the consequences would be worse for me on a bike, but that is the kind of risk I'm willing to take in exchange for being outside and getting legs of steel and feeling the wind in my face. Helmet, lights, smart choices about where to ride, and yielding to drivers if I have any doubt as to whether they see me or not make me as safe as I can possibly be on the bike.<br />
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*A bike ride immediately followed by a run is called a BRICK. I don't know why. Some people say it's because bike+run=ick, some say that it's because you're stacking workouts together like you're building something out of bricks. I don't know the real reason. Bricks notoriously suck. Somehow my bricks have always gone really well. Despite the initial shock to the legs as they switch from one grind to another, I have never had a bad (as in slow) brick run. On Friday I rode 60 miles and then got off the bike and ran three miles. OF COURSE it sucked a little bit -- how could it not? -- but on the other hand, I knew those three miles were the only thing standing between me and an evening of rest and snacks, so I was highly motivated to get them done.<br />
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*Training for an Ironman has a huge impact on your significant other. This is my schedule for this week:<br />
Monday: 2-hour swim<br />
Tuesday: 1.5 hour bike ride, 1 hour 15 minute-run<br />
Wednesday: 1-hour swim (my easy day!)<br />
Thursday: 2-hour ride, 1 hour run<br />
Friday: long bike ride -- 4-5 hours, followed by 3-mile run<br />
Saturday: 2-hour run, 1 hour ocean swim<br />
Sunday: 2.5-hour ride (and I will probably add another swim, just because I suck so bad at it)<br />
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That is over 20 hours of training per week, like taking on a half-time job. And it's not like that is all the time it takes. I also have to drive to all these things, assemble gear for the bike and swim, and clean gear afterwards. Naturally I have to start all my weekend workouts very early before it gets hot. (Not that anything could make the long ride not-hot -- unless I did it at midnight.) So the answer to "What are we doing this weekend?" is always, "working out then sleeping." Ironman training is profoundly selfish. I am very, very lucky to have Will. When he's home, he helps me as much as possible. He will drop me off or pick me up somewhere so I don't have to ride a boring loop. He packs his Yeti cooler with fuel for me. He never complains about the fact that we never get to watch a sunrise together or have a lazy Sunday morning sleeping in. I'm always too tired to do anything fun when I'm not working, and I never have extra money because all of it goes into this insanely expensive and stupid hobby that I wish had never ended up on my bucket list. I feel very sorry for anyone whose partner decides to do an Ironman. In fact, if I were dating, someone training for an Ironman would probably be disqualified just for that reason! I really appreciate Will, is what I'm saying.<br />
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I'm eager to see how the next month of training goes. Hopefully I will open my next training journal with "I got a swim coach and I got a bike fit!"Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-91963212791627142302018-06-12T17:15:00.001-07:002018-06-12T17:15:30.687-07:00The Uninspired Triathlete in FloridaA little over five years ago, I wrote a blog post called <a href="http://blog.uninspiredtriathlete.com/2013/03/the-uninspired-triathlete-in-michigan.html" target="_blank">The Uninspired Triathlete in Michigan</a>. At the time I wrote that post, I actually liked Michigan, although I had already given up on swimming and was disgusted with road biking there. Looking back, of course it was predictable that Michigan would smother what little desire I had for triathlon training. The six-month-long winters! The terrible potholed roads with no bike lanes! The cold swimming pools! (Indoor or outdoor, summer or winter, they were 100% too cold for the uninspired triathlete.) Even a luxury gym, which Lifetime Fitness definitely was with its complimentary towels, soap, locks and blow driers and its eucalyptus steam rooms and its Zero Runners and its sexy spin class instructors, was not good enough to keep me happy as an athlete there. So I moved to Florida, and now everything is better and I want to be a triathlete again!<br />
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Let's start with running. Of course, Florida in June is hot as hell, although not as hot as it will be in July and August. That is difficult to imagine while running into the blazing sun at 3:30 pm, pouring sweat and feeling like my whole body is going to spontaneously combust, but I know it's true. I don't have to run at 3:30 pm, of course. I could run after it gets dark or in the early, early morning like most sane people do. But the truth is that I like running in the sun. I like it even though I am currently terribly bad at it. I used to run after work in Tucson when it was well over 100. The hottest run I ever did in Tucson was 12 miles across town from the V.A. to Tim's house when the temperature was 113. That was a miserable run, complete with a stop every mile or so to go inside some air conditioned store and get a drink, but I loved that run too. Nothing makes me feel more Amazonian than running in extreme heat, while everyone else hides from it in their air-conditioned cars. I am slower than I've been in years, but that's because I need to keep my heart from exploding, which it often feels like it's going to do.<br />
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Besides the heat, the other thing I love about running in Florida is beauty. Beauty is all around me here. I don't live on the beach, but there are world-famous beaches less than half an hour from my house, and the not-world-famous but still really cute Bradenton Riverwalk just fifteen minutes from my house. And even when I run around my house, there are palm trees, giant old oak trees hung with Spanish moss, exotic birds, sunsets that rival Tucson's, a sky full of giant, boiling clouds, and always the chance of seeing an alligator in a roadside ditch. Much of the landscape around here looks like Jurassic Park. I always expect to see a brontosaurus standing in the swamps, calmly eating ferns, or a pterodactyl soaring overhead. I missed beauty so much while I was in Michigan! The landscape and scenery were so Midwestern-bland. I never thought I would think anything was as beautiful as Tucson, and to tell the truth Florida is not QUITE as beautiful as Tucson due to the absence of mountains, but it is close enough.<br />
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I will admit that the part of Florida I live in is not the best for biking. My side of Palmetto (the interstate side as opposed to the beach side) is mostly rural, with very narrow roads and absolutely no shoulder. If I'm lucky, there are a few inches of grass I can hop onto when I'm running on the road and need to dodge an oncoming car; if I'm not lucky, there's just a ditch and I have to balance on the edge of the ditch and hope I don't fall in on top of the alligator that is probably there. This is not a great set-up for biking. Our development is off a narrow two-lane road that is also the only road in a 15-mile stretch of I-75 with an on-ramp and an off-ramp, so there is a steady flow of traffic from 75 to the coastal highway 41. I have found all the back roads anywhere near our road, Moccasin Wallow, and ride them as much as I can, but still, if I ride from home, I always have to ride on Moccasin Wallow at least some of the way. I have gotten serious about visibility. I have two front bike lights and three in the back, plus a reflective vest. They are generally effective; people see me. The good news is they never have to wait very long to pass, because there isn't THAT much traffic. The bad news is that they are sometimes assholes about it, like the trucker who barreled up behind me blaring his horn when there was obviously NOWHERE FOR ME TO GO BUT INTO THE DITCH and when he only had about 1/8 of a mile till he got to the on-ramp. Or the trucker this afternoon who was making a left turn in front of me while I had a green light and he had a blinking yellow arrow. He looked right at me riding towards the intersection and casually turned right in front of me, like he was saying, "Yeah, I know you have the green light and I don't, but what are you going to do about it?" The answer is obviously that I was going to slow down and stop, which is what I did. I don't really care if they're jerks as long as I know that they see me.<br />
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Although my area isn't great for biking, the Tampa/St. Pete area is really great for biking. There are bike paths all over the area. I rode 50 miles on one of them, the Pinellas Trail, last weekend. It was great. I didn't like driving my road bike somewhere to ride it in Michigan, because there were basically only two safe places, Kensington and Stony Creek, and neither one of those were exciting at all. But Tampa is a cool city, and I look forward to exploring its bike paths at leisure. Oh yeah, and I can do it year-round, too! Except for the very little bit of cold that comes along every once in a while.<br />
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I even like swimming here. I have been to three different pools -- two outdoor, one indoor -- and liked all three of them because they were warm! 82 degrees, 83 degrees, and one 86 lovely degrees. THIS is how pools should feel, not 72 spine-chilling degrees, Michigan! No wonder I never warmed up even on long swims! No wonder I always felt like I couldn't breathe! Getting into the pool in Michigan was like jumping into a sea of a million tiny knives stabbing at me. Getting into the pool in Florida is like slipping into a warm bath. "But it's supposed to be cool for competitive swimming!" people insist. Maybe so, but then how come I took 17 seconds off my 100-yard time, I ask? And it has happened every time, not just once. (Amazingly, 17 seconds off 100 yards on all three of my swims. It's like when I got marathon finish times of 4:14 three times in a row last year. I couldn't do that if I tried.)<br />
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I will admit that it gets warm in the pool. My hair under my swim cap feels like it is about to burst into flames when I take the cap off, my skin sizzles even when I put sun screen on, my throat dries out so much that I want to drink the pool water just to cool off, and I feel like I'm going blind despite dark-tinted goggles. But even with all of that, I like the feeling of being slowly boiled in warm water. It suits me.<br />
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And it's a good thing it does, because I am going to do Ironman Florida. Yes I am. I decided. I have decided before, but I have never registered before, and I registered. It is so ridiculously expensive that if I don't do it, I will have to live with the knowledge that I threw away a huge sum of money. I just figured now is the time to get that item off my bucket list, for the following reasons:<br />
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1) Ironman Florida is first-timer friendly.<br />
2) I can drive there, so no worries about shipping my bike. I can even drive up there to practice.<br />
3) I have no vacation time at my new job, so I know I will be here on the weekends to train.<br />
4) I'm returning Sonora and won't have another puppy for a while.<br />
5) Florida makes me want to train in all three disciplines, the opposite of Michigan.<br />
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I am still in shock at what I paid to register, and I will also have to pay for a wetsuit and some kind of swim lessons, since I still don't think I swim fast enough to assume I can make the swim cutoff, but those are small hurdles, and totally able to be overcome. I will be excited to add Ironman to my list of lifetime accomplishments. And hopefully I will savor it more than I did my 50 states finish, which was sort of cool but which mostly just left me asking, "What's next?"<br />
<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-40823039980938417542018-05-02T19:03:00.002-07:002018-05-02T19:08:59.577-07:00And 50 States Are Done -- New Jersey Marathon Race Report<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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THANK GOD I bought the K-tape, that was my prevailing sentiment after completing my 50th state marathon in New Jersey.<br />
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Let me back up. My hip is messed up. Does everyone know that? With the help of Dr. Google, I diagnosed myself with bursitis. One of the reasons I thought "bursitis" is because it's worse, much worse, when I run hills, like I did last weekend at Garmin. I destroyed my hip at Garmin. I felt like someone pulverized it with a hammer. I hadn't run since then, and hadn't walked much, either. Mostly I sat on my ass in the car, road tripping between Kansas City and New Jersey and eating out for every meal. Poor nutrition and weight gain did not help my hip at all. It was so painful that I was still gimping and wincing the day before the race every time I had to walk.<br />
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The night before the race, we stopped at Target to pick up more road trip snacks. I had the idea to look for K-tape. They had some. It was $16 and I wavered over whether to buy it or not because $16 was a lot. Finally I bought it and pulled up a You Tube video back at the hotel. I followed the directions, and WOW. K-tape with me is hit or miss. With some pains it doesn't work at all, and might as well be snake oil, and with other pains it is like a miracle cure. It was a miracle cure for my hip pain. Talk about instant relief! I had been living with this pain for long enough that the removal of it was exquisite. Now that my race is done and my medal is safely in my possession, I can confess that I wasn't sure I could complete that race right up till the time I put the tape on. I remembered how much pain I was in at Garmin and wasn't sure I could stand another 26.2 miles of that, even with the stakes as high as they were. But now that you know how it ended, let me present my race report.<br />
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All right. New Jersey as #50. Why? I'm not sure of exact statistics, but I know a lot of 50-staters finish in Alaska or Hawaii, for obvious reasons. Those are exotic places, and marathons in 50 states is a big deal, so why not finish in Alaska or Hawaii and celebrate? I totally understand that, but I picked New Jersey for a couple of reasons. One is that I actually lived in New Jersey when I ran my first marathon, Chicago, in 2006, but I had never run a marathon in New Jersey. But the bigger reason was that I thought finishing in New Jersey would be funny. New Jersey is good for two things, and two things only, in my opinion: #1 -- It is the home of The Seeing Eye. #2 -- Over the past five years of living in Michigan, New Jersey has served to remind me that there is at least one place worse than Michigan. New Jersey has all of Michigan's climate problems but, unlike Michigan, it is also really expensive and full of rude people. Even on the worst days in Michigan, I could be glad I wasn't in New Jersey. Finally, I just enjoyed the look on people's faces when they asked me what would be my last state and I answered, "New Jersey." It was always the same -- their faces would kind of wrinkle up a little, and then they would say, "Why New Jersey?" That was more interesting than the generic "awesome!" I knew I would get if I answered "Alaska" or "Hawaii."<br />
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Will and my mom were there to help me celebrate. For once, race weather was predicted to be nice, sunny and cool with temps in the 50's all day. That is perfect marathon weather. Finally! But when I woke up on race morning, blessedly pain free, it was raining. The rain got harder as we drove to the start line at Monmouth Park racetrack. Optimistically and foolishly, I had not brought any type of rain gear at all, not even a trash bag. I will never learn, apparently. How hard is to stuff a garbage bag in your suitcase? Obviously too hard for me. I sat glumly in the car listening to the rain drum on the roof until I couldn't wait any longer to get in the Porta-potty line, and then sucked it up and got out. I hid under my umbrella while Mom and Will got wet. (I offered it to them, but they declined.)<br />
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Luckily, the rain lightened up and then stopped completely by the time the race actually started. I was shivering while waiting for the gun to go off, but I still knew it was going to be perfect temperature for running. It is pretty reliably true that chilly at start line = perfect during the race and comfortable at start line = hot during the race.<br />
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The New Jersey Marathon is actually a pretty cool race, much better than I was expecting. It starts at the race track in Oceanport, and then weaves around through affluent communities in Long Branch and Monmouth Beach before turning onto Ocean Avenue through Deal, Allenhurst, and Loch Arbour to Asbury Park for a long semi-out-and-back. (I say semi because there are little detours off Ocean Avenue, especially on the "out" part, random loops through neighborhoods to get to 26.2.) This course is flat as a board. Thank goodness for that, because hills are hard on my hip, and would have been even with the K-tape, I bet.<br />
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The race was also bigger than I expected. I confidently told Mom and Will that the crowds would thin out once the half-marathoners split, so that they could easily find me, but that didn't happen. I ran with a crowd nearly the whole way. There were also quite a few spectators. Weather was perfect -- sunny and breezy. I was never cold and never hot.<br />
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At Mile 10, right after I saw Mom and Will the first time, and had just started to settle in and enjoy myself as I realized my hip was not going to give out, I had a little problem: my earbuds stopped working. One second I was happily listening to Eminem screaming, "Oh wow, boo that pow, ooh ow I need a cigarette now! Oh I'm so fucking hot, and you're so fucking hot--" and the next second there was silence. What the...? I pulled the earbuds out and looked at them. The blue power light was on. I pressed Play again and heard a strange beep from the earbuds. I took my phone off my arm and checked Bluetooth. Earbuds disconnected. I turned them off and on again, and pressed Connect again. A turning circle and then "Unable to connect" was all I got. These things last for eight hours sometimes; no way was it a dead battery. Oh well; I couldn't mess with them all day. I shoved them in my waist pack and got going again, but slower and with less motivation.<br />
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It was a long seven miles from the spot where my earbuds died to Mile 17 where I saw Mom and Will again, right by the iconic Asbury Park Tillie mural. Tillie is this creepy dude here:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdiE7Nrc_5k5qB__ZYCERvj7nz83lmm0RCg9pPwcBsHR3LNC8VWoq74lG5odghtUeBCfcEKoKw3q_Kh0dC2qGFyjLmAJQcOEDp978noX6Kb9jFn88wmaLPn9jzi7Ibg105dJ7WDRlQUU/s1600/tillie.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdiE7Nrc_5k5qB__ZYCERvj7nz83lmm0RCg9pPwcBsHR3LNC8VWoq74lG5odghtUeBCfcEKoKw3q_Kh0dC2qGFyjLmAJQcOEDp978noX6Kb9jFn88wmaLPn9jzi7Ibg105dJ7WDRlQUU/s400/tillie.jpg" /></a><br />
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After Tillie, the course went onto the boardwalk, where it mostly stayed until the turnaround between Mile 18 and Mile 19. Then we returned on almost the same path we had taken out until we got to about Mile 25. There we moved onto the Long Branch boardwalk for the last mile. That was probably my favorite part of the course. It was beautiful, with blue sky and the ocean looking stunning directly to my right. I watched the waves rolling in and the big ships out on the horizon and almost forgot that there was a headwind and I was tired and a little bit queasy from swallowing too much air. I did manage to run all the way to the finish even though I really wanted to walk. One does not finish one's 50th state marathon at a walk, especially not when it is being videoed and will be broadcast on Facebook. I finished in a mediocre (chip) time of 4:26 or so; I still haven't looked at my official results. Will and my mom were there with posters and roses, and that was better than anything I got from the race, which had really lousy finish line food and NO CHOCOLATE MILK! Come on. Everyone knows that chocolate milk is the best recovery food ever, right? Get with it, New Jersey Marathon.<br />
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Before I finished 50 states, I thought it would feel like a momentous accomplishment. Certainly people treated it as such on Facebook. But the truth is that it really doesn't feel like anything much. I wasn't thinking, "I'm finishing 50 states today!" during the marathon; mostly I was thinking, "This sucks and I want to be done," just like I always do during every marathon. At the end, I wasn't contemplating the enormity of what I had accomplished; I was thinking about driving back to Michigan, packing the house, and moving to Florida. I think the loudest thought in my head was, "Now what?" Ironman? Finish the book? Vanity MFA in creative writing? This is further proof, if proof was needed, that the pleasure in the journey, not in the achievement.<br />
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Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-41415345562462697042018-04-23T18:23:00.001-07:002018-04-23T18:23:45.959-07:00"Running" in the Land of Oz -- Garmin Marathon Race ReportKansas City is one of my favorite metro areas in the U.S. I'm not kidding. It has beautiful rolling hills, expansive views, cool pioneer history, lots of hip little neighborhoods, gorgeous parks, delicious food, and I could go on and on. It is a runner's dream -- unless, of course, you're running a marathon when you come from a flat place and you haven't trained hardly at all and you're tired of running marathons.<br />
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This marathon has a Wizard of Oz theme. That was just about the only thing I knew about the marathon before stepping up to the start line, other than the fact that it is sort of known for iffy weather. April marathons! They are not for the faint of heart. Think of Boston this year, or that dreadful Oklahoma City Marathon last year. The forecast for race day consistently said rain and temps between 47 and 55 in the week leading up to race day. That is dreadful weather, but also no surprise. My good luck with marathon weather ran out a long time ago, and I no longer expect good race weather. Therefore, I was surprised on race morning when it was warmer than expected and not raining.<br />
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My friend John was pacing this race for 3:45, and also finishing State #50 in his 50 states quest. He beat me by a week. Way to go, John. I am going to mention here that John finished every one of his 50 marathons under four hours. I finished almost half of my marathons in under four hours, and the other half... not in under four hours. Anyway, John is impressive.<br />
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The start and finish lines were at Garmin headquarters in Olathe (pronounced Oh-LAY-thah, which the race guide had thoughtfully put in writing because no one from out of town would be able to pronounce it otherwise). Being at Garmin headquarters was pretty cool. I have spent thousands of dollars on Garmin products, and this is where they come from! I had a brief flash of sentiment about standing outside Garmin HQ, but it went away pretty quickly when the cranky security guards told us not only to get outside of the building but also AWAY from the front of the building. Like we were a bunch of bums instead of the people whose disposable income built this building.<br />
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The race started precisely on time at 6:45. We had rolling hills from the beginning -- big, gradual climbs rewarded by big views of the big, big Kansas prairie. Remember my hip injury that I got back in November? Well, that injury, after being quiet for months, flared up again on my very last pre-marathon run, which was a piddly three treadmill miles on Thursday. It was so painful I had been limping ever since, but I actually didn't worry about it because I was convinced it was one of those phantom injuries, the kind manufactured by my imagination in the days preceding a marathon just because I want to make sure I have an excuse ready if I suck. If I ignore those things, they generally go away once the race starts. This one didn’t go away. Instead, it hurt from the first step and got worse from there. The pain peaked at about Mile 3. I slowed down because it hurt to run. I thought about the cold and how much I didn’t want to run a slow marathon and be out in the cold for five hours. Did it even matter if I finished fifty states this month or not? Couldn’t I just come back and do Kansas and New Jersey at some later date?<br />
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At Mile 4 I passed a guy who had slowed down to a walk. I heard him say to a police officer, “How do I get back to the start? I don’t want to do this.” That guy was clearly in worse shape than me – mentally, physically, or both. He wasn’t going home with a red slipper medal – but I was. I’ve noticed over the years that seeing other runners suffering worse than me somehow gives me a boost. I don’t know why. Because I’m a terrible person, maybe. Anyway, the pain gradually dulled and became bearable after that, and I had a more or less steady pace up until the half.<br />
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Just before Mile 9, we turned onto a bike path, and right after that, we passed mile marker 15. Oh, no, that indicated my very least favorite feature on a marathon course – the out and back on a bike path. But I was going to try not to think about it because I was so relieved my hip was tolerable. I kept going, noticing how much of the path was downhill. That was fine and good for the “out” part, not so much for the “back” part.<br />
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At the turnaround, I was still ahead of the four hour pace group, but not by much. Everything got worse from there. I had to stop to fix my insert. (Somehow it had slid forward in my shoe, something it has never done before.) Then I got hot and took my shirt off entirely. Then I got cold and put it back on. I complained to myself about how there was no one out here and the aid stations were too far apart and this felt like a supported training run because there were no spectators and blah blah blah. But I finally passed the Mile 15 sign and knew I would be getting off the bike path soon.<br />
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Only I didn’t! Instead of returning to the road that we had originally been on when we entered the bike path, the course went under that road. More bike path. Oh, I was mad. This section of path sucked too, with lots of very nasty, short but steep hills. I walked all of the uphills, and didn’t even walk them fast. The 4:15 pace group passed me and I didn’t care. There were about three more “bonus” miles of bike path than I was expecting, but we did finally get out on the road again.<br />
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We had a long slog up a hill. It seemed like almost a mile, though I can’t be bothered to look at the course map and check. At the top was one of the few interesting things to look at on the whole course – a woman standing outside the Mahaffie Stagecoach Stop holding two goats on a leash. I love goats! That was, seriously, the best thing I saw that whole day.<br />
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The rest of the course is a blur in my head of neighborhoods, light rain, hills, and general suckiness. I seriously don’t remember anything about it other than that the last mile was a tiresome uphill slog through giant parking lots and the Garmin driveway. I felt pretty nauseous at the end, which was surprising since I usually only feel that way when I worked hard, and I definitely did not in this race.<br />
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I love Kansas, but I didn’t love the Garmin Marathon. I can’t say that it wasn’t well done; I can just say that there was too much bike path and too few spectators. Oh well. One more week and 26.2 more miles to struggle through and then I will be done with the quest!<br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-28548972733127838012018-03-10T10:25:00.001-08:002018-03-10T10:34:21.576-08:00I Did Not Rock Little Rock, But I Finished It -- Little Rock Marathon Race ReportI have put off Arkansas for a long time because I couldn't make up my mind about Little Rock. Let me explain. There are a few good marathons in Arkansas, but Little Rock is the most popular and the biggest. Most people who do it really like it. So why did I hesitate to sign up for it? The medal. Little Rock is known for giving giant (think dinner-plate size), glitzy medals. For many people, this is appealing. For me, it's tacky. A medal the size of a dinner plate would not fit with the rest of my medals. On the other hand, I really, really wanted to do the marathon itself. So I went back and forth -- Little Rock, or Fort Smith or Hogeye? Finally I decided on Little Rock, figuring I could always hang the giant medal on the rack behind the others so it didn't dominate too much.<br />
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Because it was almost $500 cheaper, and because I like to drive, I flew to St. Louis instead of Memphis or Little Rock. It's only five hours from Little Rock, what the heck. I have never driven through that part of the country, and always enjoy a chance to see somewhere new. Missouri and Arkansas are both really, really pretty, with beautiful rolling hills and scenic river valleys. I got to downtown Little Rock where the expo was being held. Parking was easy. The expo was good-sized, but I didn't linger. I didn't need anything, and the thing I wanted most was to get to my hotel and sleep.<br />
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There were plenty of cheap hotels, another plus for Little Rock. My cheap hotel was about five miles from the start/finish, and it was fine until 9:30 at night when my heater blew up. Seriously. I was reading in bed when there was a pop, flash of light, and smell of burning from the heater. It was completely dead. I had to switch rooms, but not until I waited half an hour for the maintenance guy to come, pull the heater out of the wall (which allowed cold air to seep into the room while I sat in my T-shirt and running shorts and waited for him to be done), and finally tell me he couldn't fix it and I had to change rooms. Perfect night before a marathon! Not really.<br />
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I woke up dreading the marathon. It has been a very long time since I looked forward to any marathon. I only have to do two more, and I am very happy about that. At least the weather was good! It was 49 degrees and clear when I left the hotel. There was a high temperature of 60 and light rain forecast. I don't mind light rain with those temps; it was much better than the sizzlefest at A1A.<br />
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There was tons of available parking by the start/finish line, and -- another bonus -- runners got to hang out in the convention center. That means two wonderful things: indoor bathrooms, and protection from weather, not that we needed the second one this time. An indoor start area improves marathon mornings by at least 50% if not more.<br />
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The sun was rising over the Arkansas River when the race started at 7:00 a.m. Temperatures were perfect -- low humidity but not cold enough to need gloves. I started with the 4:00 pace group. The leader was a local Maniac, and it seemed like he had a friend on every street corner. The course went over the Arkansas River and did a little loop through some neighborhoods before coming back over the river and out to an industrial area. Miles 6 to 9 were a little out and back, followed by more industrial area. There were a lot of rolling hills, but nothing major in the first half. (This race saves those for the back half.) The rain started at Mile 6, but it was gentle as predicted -- at first. Then it became not gentle, and it started to feel a little like Mississippi River. The two pace group leaders noticed this too, as they had also both been at Mississippi River. It still wasn't cold, but it was starting to feel miserable. I wouldn't have brought my phone if I knew it was going to rain this much, and I would have worn a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes.<br />
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I was still with the 4-hour pace group at the half, but I knew all along I wouldn't finish with them. The pace felt too hard from the beginning, and also I had the same old feeling of "I don't want to be here running this race." I don't really care what my finishing times are anymore. Maybe some day I will care again. The only thing I really cared about was finishing in good enough shape to make my 5-hour drive back to St. Louis without having to pull over and rest too much, because I hadn't really given myself a lot of extra time when booking my flight.<br />
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Once we got past the half, the rain slowed down a little, but it was replaced with a lot of climbing. "At least it's not hot and sunny, at least it's not hot and sunny," I kept telling myself, like it was my mantra. Before the pace group disappeared into the distance, I had heard the pacer talking about how he had started fueling with beer because one time it was the only thing available on the course when he was thirsty. He had discovered that it was a perfect fuel because it was carbs, it was fizzy, and it wasn't sweet. I was just thinking about that while I was climbing up and up and up a never-ending hill through a neighborhood that I think was called (appropriately) Hillcrest, when there was a neighborhood aid station with little cups of beer. Why not? I thought, and grabbed one. Oh my GOD. I didn't smile a lot on that hill, but I smiled there after drinking that little Dixie cup of beer. The carbonation was like little tendrils of energy reaching down into my legs, and it got me up that long, long Mile 17 hill almost painlessly.<br />
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The uphill was followed by an equally long downhill that was almost enjoyable except that I knew what it was doing to my legs. What feels good now will feel very bad later, I knew, remembering those couple of spikes in the last mile or so on the course elevation map. But before we got to those, we had a long out-and-back along a bike path. The"out" part was about Mile 19 to 21.5, and the "back" part was 21.5 to 23.5 or so. This out and back wasn't as unpleasant as they usually are, although it was a little dispiriting to see how far ahead of me the 4-hour pace group was. Oh well. I never had any intention of pushing hard enough to finish in four hours, not that I could have if I had tried.<br />
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There was another beer stop at Mile 24, right before a nasty steep hill. I figured since it was a good idea the first time, it would be a good idea the second time, and took another one. This time it didn't work so well. My stomach was not pleased, and I walked the steep hill. By the time I got to the top, I was able to run the downhill and most of the next nasty uphill. My stomach still wasn't great, though, so I walked a good part of the last half mile and jogged the rest.<br />
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The finish was in the same place as the start. The first thing I did was pick up my medal. The medal is not QUITE as big as a dinner plate. It is by far my biggest medal, though, at least the size of my face. It's in the shape of a dragon, since this race was medieval themed. The dragon is black with glitter. It is not the sort of medal you want to wear after running a marathon -- it's heavy, and has many sharp points. So many sharp points that I worried about taking it through security in St. Louis. (I got through OK, although the TSA person checking bags did make a weird face and say, "Is that a DRAGON?" when my suitcase passed through. And it did have to get inspected, by a guy who said, "Wow. Did you win the race or something?" And when I told him no, everyone got one, he smiled and said, "Have a blessed day.") The Little Rock Marathon has a great spread of food like a marathon should. The best thing of all was a giant paper cup filled with pasta in marinara sauce.<br />
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Two of my least favorite things after a marathon are having a long drive to an airport and not being able to shower post-race, and I had both of those things this time. I cleaned up in the convention center bathroom -- fresh clothes, a wet washcloth, and deodorant did wonders, especially since it had rained so much that all I had to do was unbraid and rebraid my hair to look like I had just stepped out of the shower (even though I did not smell that way!). Since I hadn't pushed hard in the marathon, I felt fine for my 5.5-hour drive back to St. Louis. (Although I still hate the feeling of having to make a post-race flight that's a long drive from the race. So many things can go wrong!)<br />
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48 states are done and I'm down to just two -- Garmin Marathon in Kansas and the New Jersey Marathon in Long Branch, one week apart at the end of April. As long as I stay injury-free, I will be MISSION ACCOMPLISHED as of April 29!Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-88040397696275291532018-02-25T05:46:00.002-08:002018-02-25T05:46:16.461-08:00Well, I Wanted a Warm Race, Didn't I...? A1A Marathon ReportI have been complaining non-stop about the terrible cold in Michigan for months now, ever since that awful moment when I returned from my Christmas trip to California -- where the weather had been California-perfect -- at midnight to clean eight inches of snow off my car and then scrape the ice off the windshield. That was one of the most depressing experiences of my life, and it was followed by a six week cycle of extreme cold then a big snow dump. (Okay, I admit there was ONE nice week in there somewhere, but even the nice week resulted in a huge snow melt which resulted in mud. So it still sucked.) The A1A Marathon in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, had a forecast of 80 degrees and sunny. While I knew I was not acclimated to those temperatures, I didn't care. I was just excited about feeling the sun on my skin again.<br />
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The Fort Lauderdale/Miami area was pretty much the last large metro area in the U.S. that I had left to visit. It didn't disappoint, especially Miami. I suspected I would like it because it's hot and people speak Spanish everywhere, and sure enough, I did. I met my marathon friend Dennis at the Fort Lauderdale airport and started our adventure. First stop was a Cuban restaurant for breakfast. Obviously people who know me can take one look at this place and know I would love it, and I did:<br />
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I had eggs and peppers on Cuban toast, which is like Texas Toast on steroids, and Cuban coffee, which is a little bit of coffee on top of a layer of sugar. SO GOOD. While we were standing in line, a guy with a big pack walked up and stood next to us. At first I thought he was a homeless dude who was going to ask us for money, but then I noticed that his gear was Deuter and North Face and he was clean, so I figured there was another story. When I asked him, he said he was hiking from one end of South America to the other, and came back to the U.S. in the middle for a family thing. It turns out he has a blog that is full of gorgeous pictures of South America, so if you like looking at those, check out this <a href="http://www.polloalgringo.com/" target="_blank">blog</a>.<br />
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After the Cuban restaurant, we went to the expo and picked up our bags. The T-shirt is just OK -- one that I'll wear to a couple of upcoming spin classes solely to advertise "I just did a marathon" and then dispose of. The expo was good-sized. And the sun was HOT. I mean, it felt good, but my clothes were soaked with sweat and I felt like I was sizzling just walking around outside the expo. I realized that tomorrow's race was not going to be enjoyable, even though I liked the sun. I was totally unaccustomed to running in anything other than the 65-degree gym weather at Lifetime, AND I didn't feel like doing a marathon when I just did one a week ago. Oh well; all I had to do was finish and bring home the medal.<br />
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We drove to Miami in search of the Bay of Pigs museum only to find it was closed, but, hey, we were in Little Havana, which was where I wanted to go anyway. We stopped at a Cuban bakery -- just as good as a Mexican bakery -- and then walked around Little Havana for a while, just long enough to even get a little bit of an appetite for dinner. Verdict on Miami: I liked it.<br />
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Back in Fort Lauderdale, we found an Italian restaurant on Yelp and it was SO GOOD, one of those places where every bite is its own amazing experience and even as you're getting full, and then stuffed, you're wishing the experience wouldn't end. Way better than Shoney's in Greenville last weekend.<br />
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This race had an early start, 6:00 a.m., totally necessary because of the heat. I was up by 3:30 because I had to go to McDonalds. There were two cars in front of me in the drive-through line and the driver of the one in front of me laid on his horn and yelled out his rolled-down window, "Hurry up! I don't have time for this social shit!" I guess in his opinion the person at the window was talking for too long. This would be a good place to say that Florida has the worst drivers I have ever seen. The stereotypes are true. I remember thinking this on my trip to Jacksonville a year ago too. The two annoying things I saw the most often were driving too slow in the left lane and passing at excessive speed on the right. These were probably two related problems -- the old people with the mindset of "I'm going the speed limit and no one has any right to make me go faster" and everyone else with the mindset of "Get out of my way, old people!" who step on the gas with extra frustration as they zip by on the right. However, I also saw every other kind of assholery behind the wheel, and my conclusion after my time spent in Florida was that you should always expect a Florida driver to do something unpredictable and jerky if it's possible. If they can refuse to let you merge, swerve into your lane without signaling, or slam on the brakes with no warning and for no reason, they probably will; if they don't, let it be a pleasant surprise.<br />
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Anyway! Back to the race. The start and finish lines are about four miles apart, and the race gives the option of parking in either place, since they shuttle from both ends. The race website claimed that there were 13 shuttles and that they would run continuously from 4:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. We decided to park at the start because we thought the finish would be more congested. If you ever do this race -- PARK AT THE FINISH!! Parking at the start was a big mistake. More on that later.<br />
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It was very hot and humid at the start line. The day was bad even from the start because a runner collapsed while waiting for the race to start. I don't know what happened to him, but whatever happened to him, at least he did not have to do the race. This race started downtown and went three miles out to A1A. A1A is an iconic beach highway. (If driving it on a sunny weekend day, you can move at approximately three miles per hour through Fort Lauderdale due to congestion and beach party traffic.) It was tolerable as the sun was rising. Sunrise over the Atlantic is pretty, no doubt. At Mile 4-something, we turned into Hugh Taylor Birch State Park for a 2-mile loop. Many people enjoyed this part of the course; I did not. I was already hot and cranky and didn't feel like running, and I knew that the best parts of the race were almost over.<br />
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Around Mile 6, we were back on A1A, for a tedious out and back. Our route took us past lots of beach condos whose residents appeared to be mostly still asleep, or at least they were not out cheering us on. Then we left the beach and A1A turned into just a tedious highway past office buildings and shopping plazas. Thankfully, there was cloud cover for almost the whole race.<br />
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At Mile 13, there was a Marathon Maniac handing out popsicles. She had also been at Mississippi River Marathon the weekend before, and I had heard her talking about the popsicles. I just hadn't introduced myself because I had a spot under a tent where I wasn't getting rained on, and she was standing out in the rain. The popsicle was one of the few highlights of this race, both going out and coming back. Mostly I was just saying to myself, "I hate this race, I hate this race," for most of the 26.2 miles.<br />
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Around Mile 14, we did a loop through a neighborhood and then headed back. The scenery had not improved between the "out" and "back" portion. This really is a tedious course, even if I had been in a good mood and it hadn't been a million degrees out. The sun came out for real at Mile 23 or so, and those last three miles were endless. I walked... a lot. There was full sun and only occasional palm-tree-shadow-width strips of shade. My time was going to be disastrous and I didn't care. I knew I would be lucky to finish under five hours.<br />
<br />I did finish under five, but not by much. The medal was a blue jellyfish complete with plastic tentacles -- unique, but not one of my favorites. The finish line food was unimpressive, not that I could eat it anyway. I was way too nauseous to want to eat. When Dennis finished, we went to wait for the shuttle, and this was the final crappy thing about the race -- the shuttle took 45 minutes to arrive. What happened to the "13 shuttles running continuously" that we were promised? I don't know. Once on the shuttle, it took over half an hour to creep four miles in traffic. Some people on the bus were worried about getting to the airport on time. Thankfully, I wasn't late for a flight, but that didn't stop me from being annoyed.<br />
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Florida was State #47 and even though this race was fairly well-done, except for the shuttle issue, I can't recommend it. The pretty ocean sunrise didn't make up for the boring rest of the course. There's got to be a better Florida marathon than this one. Then again, most of the reviews are good, so maybe I was just cranky because I ran a marathon the weekend before, who knows?Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-90733186923985645572018-02-25T03:01:00.002-08:002018-02-25T03:07:14.100-08:00Mississippi -- Completed at LastI was pretty convinced that the universe did not want me to finish a marathon in Mississippi. The Mississippi River Marathon was the fourth Mississippi marathon I'd registered for. I'd missed all of the first three due to combinations of not enough money, injury, and weather, and I almost missed this one too. My flight to Memphis was cancelled on Friday because of a winter storm. I am now down to the home stretch of my 50 states goal, and I CANNOT miss a planned marathon between now and April 29 or else my elaborate finishing plans will be derailed. So I decided to drive to Mississippi. I had time off from work because I just finished class, and I like long drives, and Will was home to watch the dogs, so why not?<br />
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This was a new record in the "total number of hours spent driving for a marathon" category -- 28. Yup, 28 hours in the car through Michigan, Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Mississippi, approximately half of that through terrible weather -- relentless rain in the south; snow, ice, and sleet back in Ohio and Michigan. But it's worth it because Mississippi is done and now I never have to return!<br />
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The biggest thing that surprised me about this marathon was not how depressing Greenville, Mississippi was -- I knew that already. It was that this area could somehow produce people who were able to put on an event of this quality. They have almost zero to work with, and yet I have ALMOST NO complaints about the marathon! (I have <i>one </i>minor complaint that was not the race's fault -- you'll hear about that one later.) It was perfectly organized from start to finish. Communications were timely. Race instructions were clear and accurate. Shuttle buses were organized. The finish area was streamlined for runners' comfort. Every single thing was good except for the course and the weather.<br />
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Let me back up just a little and say that the Mississippi Delta is a depressing place. It's one of the poorest parts of the country, and it looks like it when you drive through. It was a warm, rainy, overcast day, and I drove for miles past swampy cotton fields, rusty trailers that looked like they had already been hit by hurricanes or tornadoes, stretches of empty store fronts with broken windows, overgrown cemeteries with headstones half-submerged underwater, empty lots serving as garbage dumps, and people walking along the side of the road in raggedy clothes, oblivious to the rain. I actually like swamps and think they're pretty, especially with all the cool birds that live in them, but overall this was one of the most depressing landscapes I've ever seen. Driving through it brought to mind all the bad images of the Deep South that lurk deep in my American psyche -- slaves in cotton fields, overseers with whips, people living in falling-down shacks with nine children and no electricity, bodies dumped in swamps and being eaten by alligators -- all of it.<br />
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I was hoping for better in Greenville, but Greenville wasn't better. It's right on the Mississippi River, reached by a state highway that runs through a few miles of strip malls and fast food restaurants before reaching downtown. Downtown is a Main Street with mostly-empty storefronts and broken roads. There wasn't really an expo, just packet pickup in one of the storefronts and a couple of vendors. People were nice and packet pickup was easy. I stayed in a hotel a couple miles from the start line and my pre-race meal was Shoney's because it was right across from the hotel and I was tired.<br />
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On race morning, it was pouring outside. I could hear the rain as soon as I woke up, and it was going to rain all day according to the forecast. That meant no phone and no music on a course that, by most accounts, was pretty boring. Oh well; it least the temperature was pleasant. Earlier in the week the forecast had said a low of 39, which would have been miserable in the downpour, but actual temperature on race morning was 56, which felt like summer after the terrible Michigan winter. I even decided to forego gloves -- totally not needed.<br />
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We boarded the shuttles in downtown Greenville for transport to the start line. This race had the best shuttle system I've ever seen -- all the buses loaded between 6:00 and 6:30, and they all left at 6:30. It probably would not be practical in bigger races or races in more urban areas to do it this way, but it worked perfectly here. The ONE thing that was even slightly unpleasant on race morning was that when I asked the shuttle driver if this bus was for the marathon or the half, she responded with, "What that sign say?" I hadn't even seen a sign, but when I looked, there was a small sign taped to the side of the door (on the opposite side from where I approached), that said "Marathon" (if I bent down and looked hard in the dim light from the street lights). If I were her, I would have just responded with, "Marathon," but whatever.<br />
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There were lots of 50-staters doing this marathon, and most were in the 40's like me. A lot of people leave Mississippi for the end, both because it's not a very exciting state and because it's not easy to get to. The shuttles drove us across the Mississippi River to the start line in Arkansas. This marathon is split between the two states, and 50-staters can use it for either state, but not both. The start line was a big empty lot, and it was a muddy swamp this morning. I sank into the red mud while standing in the Porta-potty line and was grateful these weren't new shoes. There were a few tents to stand under, but there were still a lot of people standing in the warm rain while they waited for the start.<br />
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The Arkansas part of this marathon starts in Lake Village, Arkansas, and goes along the shore of Lake Chicot, an oxbow lake (formerly a loop of the Mississippi River, now cut off from the actual river). There were very few spectators, and the town was quiet except for a few early-morning fishermen. It rained. I was bored. I practiced picking a target in the distance, like a house or a dock or a tree, and making myself run till I reached it. I was undertrained for this marathon, with no real long runs since the Honolulu Marathon in December and one pathetic 12-mile double loop around Stoney Creek in wind-chill-zero temps that were so depressing I walked a lot of it. I no longer really care about pace, especially not in this marathon when I knew I had another one the following weekend, and my chief goal was injury prevention. I am so close to finishing 50 states that I can't do anything to derail my finishing plans. So I trudged through the depressing fog and drizzle, ticking off miles, waiting to see something exciting, or really just anything that wasn't crappy.<br />
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At the half, we crossed the Mississippi River, but there was so much fog I could barely see the river. The bridge had about a mile climb followed by a two-mile descent. The bridge is supposed to be one of the highlights of this marathon -- face it, there is absolutely nothing else to see that's even remotely interesting, and no spectators, so the bridge was THE ONLY highlight -- but because of the fog, I thought the bridge was boring too.<br />
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After the bridge, we ran on a straight-as-an-arrow state highway for a long, long time. Trucks whooshed past us. Nothing to see but mile posts. I will say that the aid stations were perfectly organized. They were at every mile just past the mile marker, and each one had a Porta-potty. Not that I needed one, but it was nice to know they were there. And if this small race can put a Porta-potty at every single mile marker, why can't the bigger races do it? Who knows. This was also the only marathon I've ever been in where there was a person controlling traffic at every single street crossing, the whole race. I wondered again how a race in this part of the country managed such excellent organization. It just doesn't look like the kind of place where anyone competent would choose to live.<br />
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Around Mile 23, we took a turn through one of the "nice" neighborhoods of Greenville. It was a gated community, although the gates opened for any car, and the houses were large and set back from the road. Even the nice neighborhood was depressing. The road was in bad shape, and all of the front yards were submerged in water. When we came out of that neighborhood, we headed into downtown again to the finish. The 4:15 pace group was right behind me and I beat them in by a minute or so, giving me my fourth 4:14 in a year. At least I'm consistent!<br />
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I got my medal inside the same building packet pickup had been in. Post-race food was good -- pizza and everything else you could want after a marathon. I ended up getting an age group award -- second place -- despite my crappy time, and unlike every single race I have participated in, I could pick up my award and leave rather than waiting for an awards ceremony. I just printed a ticket at one of the computers they had set up, handed it to the person monitoring the awards table, and walked out with my award. Again, organization that far exceeded my expectations for this race.<br />
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I stripped out of my soaking clothes in a boat launch parking lot by the Mississippi River. There was no one there to notice except other runners doing the same thing. Then I started the long drive out of the South and back to civilization. I admit to having negative feelings about most of the South, and especially Mississippi. Not so much Jackson, which is an actual city, but most of the rest of it. Other than the race itself, I didn't see anything that made me change my mind. I'm glad to be finally done with Mississippi, and just being able to mark it off my map finally made the long drive, all 28 hours of it, worthwhile.Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-14075334104662013672017-12-17T05:33:00.001-08:002017-12-17T05:33:58.367-08:0026.2 Miles in Paradise -- Honolulu Marathon Race ReportFor 50-staters, Hawaii and Alaska are the big ones. Many people save those two for the home stretch because getting to them takes a lot of money and planning. Now that I've completed Hawaii as my 45th state, and also did Alaska back in July, I finally really believe that I'm going to finish.<br />
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I had never been to Hawaii and truthfully never really wanted to go. Palm trees are nice, but if I wanted to see those, I would just go to Tucson. I am not a fan of the beach at all. I lived near the beach the whole time I was in undergrad, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I went to the beach (and still have fingers left over). It seemed ridiculous to fly all the way to Hawaii when I could be in Arizona in half the time and with half the cost. Well, I admit I was wrong about Hawaii (although my feelings about the beach are unchanged -- and I never went in the water or even put on my bikini the whole time I was in Honolulu). <br />
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First of all, Hawaii doesn't quite feel like it's really part of America. All the roads have names that are definitely not English, and the whole place feels more like an island kingdom than like the 50th state. Second, although the beaches are beautiful, the rest of the island is even more beautiful. I have never seen mountains so green and steep, and the mountains come right down to the beach. The houses are built up into the mountains from Honolulu, but only a short way, so at night when they're lit up the lights look sort of like lava flowing down the hillside. The weather also is not like anything I've ever seen. The clouds hang really low over the mountains and down into the valleys between them. It rains on one mountain while the one next to it is in full sun with no rain.<br />
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Will and I arrived on Wednesday for a Sunday race and checked into our Airbnb, which was in Waikiki a couple of blocks from the beach. We were total tourists on Thursday and Friday. We went to a luau at the Polynesian Cultural Center, the Dole plantation, Pearl Harbor, and the Kamaka ukulele factory. Then we spent Saturday relaxing and getting ready for the Sunday race.<br />
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Race morning was warm and humid. Now that we were sort of adjusted to local time, the 2:30 wake up was a little bit early. (Race start was at 5:00 a.m.; last shuttle bus from the zoo parking lot, which was four blocks from our Airbnb, left at 4:00 a.m., and I wanted McDonalds before that.) This would be a good time to say that Will had registered for the marathon back when I did, with plans to walk it. The Honolulu Marathon welcomes walkers. There is no time limit (this year's last finisher, an 81-year-old woman, took over 16 hours to finish), and thousands of people walk the course. But Will had decided months ago that he wasn't going to do it because he didn't want to train for it. Then when he got to Honolulu, he decided he would start walking it just to get some exercise and give him something to do while I ran, but he would bail and call Uber when he was tired of walking. So he was on the shuttle with me. The shuttle bus had no air conditioning and all the windows were closed, giving me unfortunate flashbacks to my worst marathon experience ever, that 26-mile shuttle from finish to start in Lehigh, Pennsylvania (in hotter weather, in full sun, standing room only). Fortunately this shuttle was only three miles or so, and even though we were drenched in sweat when we got off, it did make the outside air feel fresh and cool, which it definitely had not when we left the hotel.<br />
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I had read that the Honolulu Marathon is a hugely popular destination event for Japanese tourists, and that turned out to be true. Over 14,000 of the 27,000 (or so -- exact stats have been really hard to find) participants were from Japan. This has been mentioned in a lot of reviews of this race as a negative, usually phrased something like this: "Beware the thousands of Japanese who have no idea how the corral system works" or "You have to dodge tons of Japanese tourists walking and taking videos." This is sort of true... but so what? I mean, seriously, so what. Everything about Hawaii is <i>relaxed</i>. That includes the marathon, I say. Let those who care about a marathon designed for runners go to Maui, and let those who want to enjoy a relaxed Hawaiian event go to Honolulu. I have no idea why there were so many Japanese walkers in the front corrals. I know it's not from lack of instruction -- the announcements in both Japanese and English advising people to line up in the correct corrals were non-stop. Did the Japanese not care? Had they been advised to ignore the corral system? Don't know, don't care.<br />
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It was, of course, full dark when we started. The race start was accompanied by a most excellent fireworks display that went on for several minutes. The first six miles was a big loop through downtown Honolulu, bringing us back to the start point before heading through Waikiki and then out to Diamond Head. It was very warm and humid, and I was soaked with sweat before I even finished the first mile. It was also very crowded, and I spent the first several miles dodging slower runners. I didn't care; I knew from the start this would not be a fast race for me, even though I always want to be under four hours just in case I ever decide to try for 50-under-4:00. I had decided I was just going to take it easy and enjoy Hawaii, so I wasn't bothered by the fact that I wasn't feeling fast.<br />
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Once we passed Waikiki, we began the climb towards Diamond Head. This was a two-lane road that had one lane roped off for runners. The rope was held by volunteers, and these were the most enthusiastic volunteers I have ever seen. I don't know where they got all these people to not only hold over a mile's worth of rope, but also scream and cheer and otherwise motivate the runners up that climb. When we reached the top of the hill and began to descend, the sun was just coming up. After a nice downhill, we began the long out portion of the out-and-back on Kalanianaole Highway. This was a mostly-flat four-mile stretch, followed by a loop through a residential community called Hawaii Kai and then a return to Kalanianaole Highway. It was misting heavily when I started on the highway, and that mist changed to a steady rain after about two miles. I didn't mind the rain; it cooled me off. Plus, there were incredible ocean views to the right and incredible mountain views to the left to distract me.<br />
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Once I finished the loop around Hawaii Kai and started heading back down the highway, the sun came out and the temperature slowly started to climb. I loved the back portion of this out and back because we passed so many other runners. At Mile 21 for me, Mile 12 for him, I saw Will! I admit, I was surprised, and even more surprised that he was feeling good and wanted to keep going. Unlike me, Will does not like heat and sun, and there was now plenty of both. But, good for him!<br />
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The course went through another residential neighborhood before beginning the climb back up around Diamond Head. This was a pretty rough slog, but mitigated by the stunning views of the ocean (I hadn't seen them the first time around Diamond Head because it was still dark) and the volunteers handing out ice water sponges along the last few miles. Once we got to the top of the climb, we had a mile of downhill to the finish.<br />
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I barely made it under 4:20, but I felt good when I picked up my medal and my lei. The one criticism I have of the Honolulu Marathon is their finish area. Not only did I have to walk forever and have to ask a lot of people to find the finishers' shirts (could they not put up a giant banner? I mean, <i>really...</i>), but they also had the very worst finish line food I've seen in a long time. The ONLY things they had were water, bananas, and malasadas (a kind of fried Portuguese donut, which was delicious and everything but not what I wanted after a race). They didn't even have bagels and peanut butter! Maybe I've been spoiled by recent marathons with buffet tables (flashing back to all-you-can-eat grilled salmon in Alaska), but they really ought to do a little better with finish line food.<br />
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I walked back to the Airbnb and showered and then walked back to the finish line to wait for Will. He finished in a little more than 7 hours, which is not a bad time for walking a marathon, especially for someone who didn't train for it! I was very proud of him for completing his first (and he says his last) marathon.<br />
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Overall, my 45th state was a thoroughly enjoyable one. I had never wanted to go to Hawaii but now I can't wait to go back. It was definitely the most relaxed marathon I have ever done. Would I ever do this marathon again? Probably not, but I still think it was a solid choice for Hawaii. It was a huge and exciting event, the 4th largest marathon in the U.S. Maybe next time I go to Hawaii I'll do Maui (as all the running snobs say I should do anyway), but that's more because I want to see another island than because I was displeased with Honolulu. Anyway, I have five more states to go and none of them are states that I like (Mississippi, Florida, Arkansas, Kansas, and New Jersey) and then I will be done and looking for a new hobby.<br />
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Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-938007956077802611.post-68282986879589031272017-10-22T09:28:00.001-07:002017-10-22T09:28:57.918-07:004:45 is Easy, Right? Wrong. Baltimore Marathon Race ReportThe Baltimore Marathon was my first marathon since July. My training had been pretty lackluster and my diet has been disastrous for months, but I wasn't really worried about anything because I was pacing this race. I was even less worried when I got moved from the 4:30 pace group to the 4:45 pace group. (Not because the pace group organizer knew about my mediocre fitness level or my daily junk food consumption, but because someone else dropped out of 4:45.) I knew Baltimore is known for its challenging hills, mostly because they appear so late in the race (miles 16 or so through about 23), but at that pace, I was not worried about hills.<br />
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Every pace group does things a little differently. In this pace group, for each goal time, there are 3 pacers. One of those is designated the lead pacer. The lead pacer is someone the pace group organizer knows well who has paced this race several times. The lead pacer is in charge of setting the pace. There is also a designated "Plan B" pacer, who will take over if the lead pacer can't continue for some reason. Because I was one of the (few) pacers new to this race -- most others are locals and had paced Baltimore for years -- I was the Plan C pacer, which to me meant that I was just going to get to cruise along behind the other two -- the rules explicitly said that I was not to get in front of the lead pacer. I was just there in case of emergency. Fine with me! I like pacing a lot, but I was in Baltimore to get another state done, and if I had an excuse to be slow and lazy, I was going to take it.<br />
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Weather for the race was predicted to be very sunny. There was a lot of discussion about this at the start line among the locals. They knew the course and were worried because not only would the uphill miles be a grind all by themselves, they would also be pretty exposed with not a lot of shade, and of course they would be warm since the race had an 8:00 a.m. start, which meant that the 4:45 pace group would finish at 12:45. I still wasn't worried. Temperature at the start line was perfect, and I was just a little chilly in short-sleeved shirt and shorts. I like running in the heat and was ready for a warm day.<br />
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We had a pretty big group of people with us at the downtown start line, a nice mix of first-timers and experienced runners. Everyone was friendly and excited to be running. (I was notably not excited, although I professionally faked it pretty well for the people in my pace group. I also have not been excited at the start lines of my last several marathons. I actually think I am getting a little tired of running marathons. Well, six more and I don't ever have to do another one if I don't want to.)<br />
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The first three miles of the course went pretty steadily up, up, and up. It was never a steep grade, more of a tiresome slog. I was sucking wind at 10:45 pace, never a good sign. We went through several cool neighborhoods of row houses, where a lot of residents were lined up to cheer us on. At the top of the hill, we turned into the Baltimore Zoo and got some nice downhill. There were also some zoo employees standing on the side of the course holding birds. There was a raven, a kookaburra, and, coolest of all, a penguin. A live penguin is something I have never seen before in a marathon. There was also a guy holding an animal I could not identify. I would have guessed maybe porcupine, or hedgehog? One of the guys in our pace group said it was a lionhead-something. I still don't know what it was, but I was happy for the downhill, the shade, and the diversion the animals provided.<br />
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We ran out of the zoo but were still on a nice downhill in Druid Park. There was a guy in our group who had run every single Baltimore Marathon since the first one. He was a local and had an endless supply of trivia about the buildings we were passing. The second-in-command pacer was also a local, and he seemed to pass someone he knew about every other block. This was clearly going to be the kind of day where any distraction from how much I didn't want to be running was welcome.<br />
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After Druid Park, there was a short uphill to the Johns Hopkins campus. This is a famous university but I have never actually seen it because I have never once had a reason to go to Baltimore. This might be a good place to say that while there are definitely some cool neighborhoods in Baltimore, and the Baltimoreans running the race were all great, I am still not a fan of the city of Baltimore. Literally every single place I went other than the race course I felt like I had to be looking over my shoulder with every step. I am not used to feeling like I have to be on guard all the time anywhere. People have so much to say about how crummy Detroit is; well, I can say I have never felt the vague but present threat in Detroit that I felt in Baltimore. Maryland has a serious shortage of good marathons and Baltimore is really the only choice for Maryland if you want any kind of interesting race at all, but even though the race organization was impressive, I doubt I will ever go back to Baltimore unless I have to.<br />
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After Johns Hopkins, we had a long, gentle downhill run back downtown and onto my favorite part of the course, past Federal Hill and into a long out-and-back on the Key Highway along the waterfront. We ran past the Baltimore Museum of Industry, and we could see the Domino sugar plant across the water. I like urban industrial areas, and this stretch was fully satisfying in that regard. The turn-around was at the Under Armour Headquarters, where there was a big aid station complete with confetti cannon. Then it was back up to downtown again, and along the other side of the waterfront. (I never did learn the difference between the Outer Harbor and the Inner Harbor when I was there, although looking at the map I could take a pretty good guess.)<br />
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I had been running slightly behind the other two pacers this whole time, not even looking at my watch. I had two jobs: chat with the other people in the pace group, and stay behind the other pacers. They were talking to each other in low voices but I didn't really know what they were saying. Then gradually I became aware that Pacer B was telling Pacer A about which streets she could take to rejoin us later if she could. I realized that Pacer A was going to be leaving us. I didn't know why, but I did remember that we had been instructed that if we couldn't keep the pace for some reason, we had to be very discreet about it, fade to the side, and take off our pacer sign. Pacer A pulled off and Pacer B said to me, "It's us now, keep me honest," and just like that, I was Pacer B. Hmmmm, time to pay attention to my watch.<br />
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We ran through the cool, hip neighborhoods of Fells Point and Canton, and then took a left and headed uphill to Patterson Park. At Mile 16 the long climb began. I was not by any means feeling great, but I was feeling steady. It was really heating up. The temperatures weren't that high but the sun was intense. Luckily the humidity was low and there was a nice breeze coming off the water to make up for the lack of shade. Pacer B told me, "I'm not going to lie, this part is a bitch," and he wasn't lying. All we could see in front of us was a long climb in full sun.<br />
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We got a little break at Mile 19.5 when the course turned off the main road for a mile-long loop around Lake Montebello. Here we picked up another pacer from a faster pace group. Another rule of this pace group is that if you couldn't keep up with your own pace group, you not only had to take your pace sign off your back, but you also had to wait and catch up with the pace group behind you. This was to try to make the pace team look professional and not have someone wearing a pacer shirt coming in at, say, 4:52 when the goal times were 4:45 and 5:00. I don't remember which group this guy was from, but he ended up having to drop from our group too. Overall, it was just a rough day in Baltimore. I saw runner carnage everywhere -- people puking, people being taken off in ambulances, people sitting on the side of the course with their heads in the hands. It really wasn't that hot -- only low 70's -- but I think it was the combo of late-in-the-race hills plus full sun. I was drinking about three times what I usually drink on course, and by Mile 20 my stomach was full of liquids and sloshing around but I still felt terribly thirsty. This was a bad combination.<br />
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We finally made it around the lake and back onto the main road. We had a short but nasty out-and-back -- steep downhill, then steep uphill, then the reverse of that, then we had a grueling mile-long climb up 33rd Street (after which we had been promised mostly downhill for the last three miles). 33rd Street was awful. I barely made it. My stomach was a mess and I was grimly drafting off the other pacer, grateful that we had a couple minutes in the bank because I was pretty sure we were going to lose them here.<br />
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Finally we got to the top of the hill and got some downhill. I had felt okay up until now but suddenly my stomach was a real problem. I told the other pacer I might have to drop back. He told me to do what I had to do. I was trying to swallow my nausea back, and was doing okay until suddenly another ridiculously steep hill loomed up in front of us. That was it; I was done. I told him, "I'm out," and he wished me good luck and kept going. We had lost literally every single person in our group on 33rd Street, so we didn't even have to be discreet.<br />
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I stepped up onto the sidewalk and ripped my 4:45 tag off my back and threw it in a trash can. I walked for several minutes. My plan was to wait for the 5:00 group and finish with them. At least I would leave here with a state finished, even if I had to suffer the shame of not being able to finish in 4:45. Then I looked at my watch and my pace bracelet and saw that I had over four minutes to make it 2/10 of a mile to the next mile marker. I had no idea how we'd gotten so far ahead on such a grueling mile. I briefly felt bad for the people in our pace group, who we had probably screwed by going too fast up that hill. Then I saw the other pacer's bright green shirt not too far ahead and knew I could catch him since we were now at another downhill. I burped and felt better, and took off.<br />
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I caught up with him. Short story -- we finished. There were several nasty uphills in this "downhill finish," and most everyone was walking them. I did the same, falling behind the other pacer on the uphills and catching him on the downs. It was terrible pacing, but by now there was no one running with us so I didn't feel that bad. My stomach was still bad, but not urgently so. I knew I could make the 4:45 finish.<br />
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In fact, we ended up finishing in 4:44:27. We had to burn up a little time in the last quarter-mile by slowing almost to a walk. We really screwed up by having those couple extra minutes at the end -- it would have been smarter to use them on 33rd Street and slow down on that hill. This was my personal worst pacing performance yet even though my finishing time was reasonably accurate. (I wanted 4:44:30, but I guess I won't complain about 3 seconds.) It was a pretty terrible race performance too.<br />
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In summary, it was a good course in terms of showing off the city, but it was a TOUGH course. As I said, there really is no other good choice for Maryland if you're a 50-stater, but I'm glad I didn't set out with hopes of getting under 4:00 here. I don't know, maybe on a cooler day it would've been fine. Anyway, State #44 is done and I'm glad I don't have to go back to Maryland ever again. I'm looking forward to State #45, Mississippi, next month. <br />
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<br />Christie B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05813848034370886243noreply@blogger.com0