tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40210722589948489062024-03-12T22:26:31.330-05:00The Traveling TriathleteI swam, biked, and ran all over the world and now I'm livin' it up in ChicagoAmanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.comBlogger97125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-59010065664102992292021-07-02T14:18:00.000-05:002021-07-02T14:18:22.283-05:00Michigan Coast to Coast 2021<div class="separator"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, it’s been a minute since I wrote a blog (five years, to be precise), but finally I had an experience that was so different and so unique, and I spent so much time during it telling myself, “make sure you write this thing down so you remember it for next time,” that I figured it was finally time to get typing again, if only so I have a record for later. </span></span></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGSvBXRY2XpsWY5LUcw0WelDsYpx3Vm9_v2LZj88887OQgJrjgDjfDe0cuEdY1zBNa7lmbYMQyMosgIisEn-ukADm6wMA33S6_qddF2elBrJtdkmdqFda7fi1U2OEMZld0wtd7LF7q0Y/s2048/c2c5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGSvBXRY2XpsWY5LUcw0WelDsYpx3Vm9_v2LZj88887OQgJrjgDjfDe0cuEdY1zBNa7lmbYMQyMosgIisEn-ukADm6wMA33S6_qddF2elBrJtdkmdqFda7fi1U2OEMZld0wtd7LF7q0Y/w320-h213/c2c5.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoiler alert: I finished</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-21ebeed2-7fff-9842-addf-701b90b128b9"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last Saturday, I completed the 208ish mile Coast to Coast Gravel Grinder, riding from Au Gres, Michigan, on the shore of Lake Huron to Ludington, Michigan, on the shore of Lake Michigan. It was one of the more impulsive and it was crazy and I cannot wait for more.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Backing up -- for the past few months, I’ve been helping an athlete I coach, Jack, prepare for the Coast to Coast race, which he’s had his eye on since 2019. At first, I admired Jack’s thirst for adventure and desire to enter these crazy ultra endurance events, but thought it was a little crazy. But then, as I read more about the race, trying to figure out how best to help him prepare, I got more and more intrigued. I’d recently (like, late April) purchased a gravel bike myself, and was really falling in love with off-road riding. Still, I was a total rookie, hoping to jump into a gravel event at </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">some</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> point, but figuring that point was way down the line.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I kept reading about Coast to Coast, and the intrigue grew. I really don’t know why, but about 10 days out, I got an inkling of an urge to sign up myself. I was in Ohio, staying with family, so it was possible from a logistics perspective, but who knew if it was possible from a physical perspective. I gave myself a couple nights to sleep on it to see if it still seemed like a good idea, but as days passed I got more excited about the idea. Coast to Coast requires riders to have SAG support, or at least someone within range to pick you up if you decide to stop, so I threw the idea out to my dad, who also seemed slightly intrigued if not perplexed as to where this idea was coming from. One step closer. Finally, not wanting to steal his thunder by making his event about me, I ran it by Jack. He seemed pretty stoked by the idea. So on Sunday, 6 days before the race, I pulled the trigger and entered. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s hard to really explain how underprepared I was for this event. I’d had my gravel bike for 2 months, but could still almost count on 2 hands the number of actual gravel rides I’d done. My longest ride since last July was 5 hours (on roads), and I hadn’t gone longer than 40 miles at a time on gravel. Plus, perhaps more worrisome, my ability to deal with my bike mechanically was limited. Disc brakes and tubeless tires were new to me -- I had vague ideas of how to deal with a flat tire with a tubeless, but hadn’t actually done it, but really if something more significant happened to my bike (very, very possible over 200+ miles off-road), I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But at the same time, I had years of endurance training, coupled with knowledge of how to physically and emotionally manage long, long days. This was going to be way longer than any Ironman I’d done, but the basics were the same -- keep eating, keep drinking, pace appropriately for fitness, accept and manage the highs and lows, and just keep going. I was perhaps naively confident in my ability to complete the race, and was enough of a rookie that I was able to wrap my head around the idea that I wasn’t out there racing, I was just trying to finish. It’s been a long while since I was able to do an event with the simple goal of finishing, and it was refreshing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a lot of last minute shopping, both for gear AND food (we took SO much food), my dad and I took off for Michigan on Friday afternoon. For almost the entire 5+ hour drive, it poured rain. I occupied my time with repeatedly looking at every weather app I could find, and the conclusion was becoming pretty obvious -- after soaking rains across the whole course on Friday, we’d be riding in the rain for most of the race. The course for Coast to Coast actually isn’t much gravel-- it’s sand-based dirt. I got a little nervous. I was confident that I could ride 200 miles on gravel, but on wet, sloppy sand? I really had no idea what to expect. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhRKcSSy3A9tvsQohlTnCJKojnVBThNH9sCFU6jVYjcUP185h95xnj0-7J2sH7kNEQspP2jpF3gTTpB6_inINXVcGSdIIcx_iX8NRfPUKrKS5AlaqiiqYswVjXgXEi_4eObHPNX3ktcE/s2048/IMG_0656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhRKcSSy3A9tvsQohlTnCJKojnVBThNH9sCFU6jVYjcUP185h95xnj0-7J2sH7kNEQspP2jpF3gTTpB6_inINXVcGSdIIcx_iX8NRfPUKrKS5AlaqiiqYswVjXgXEi_4eObHPNX3ktcE/s320/IMG_0656.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food Prep - and this was only some</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We arrived in Michigan around 5:00, and met up with Jack and his crew (his wife Allyson and her BFF, Cami) for dinner. The nerves and excitement were pretty palpable -- Jack and I were both rookies at this sort of event, but so were our crews. We discussed logistics, the weather, and all of the rumors we’d read on the race’s Facebook page. Worried a little about how the bikes would hold up after riding through mud, my dad decided to stop in at Meijer and buy a fertilizer sprayer that we could fill with water and use at the Checkpoints to clean our drive trains. I think that decision saved our races. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pre-race meeting was pretty short and informal -- the vibe much more chill than the typical pre-Ironman meetings I’ve sat through, with the athletes a lot more “normal” looking than the “M-Dot head to toe” sorts that I see at triathlons. I dug it -- I liked this crowd. We all laughed early on when the RD stated the obvious -- that we’d better all adjust our expectations with the weather. “Maybe double your planned finish time,” he joked. But when he promised that they’d stay at the finish line until 5 AM if necessary, I had a feeling he wasn’t joking that much. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I headed to bed early after plugging in my many devices, with a 3:30 AM alarm set. Morning came quickly and it was absolutely delightful to wake up with a feeling of excited anticipation, instead of the crushing anxiety and fear I typically have before triathlons. I loved the feeling of being a total rookie with absolutely no idea what I was in for.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Race</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The race started promptly at 6:00 A.M. under clear, but somewhat ominous skies. I was really quite nervous about the mass start -- I don’t have much experience riding in groups of more than a few, and had heard that a lot of these gravel races are fast and furious at the beginning. I started heading towards the middle of the pack, then fortunately ran into Jack and his friend Kevin. The race started without much fanfare, and off we went -- a slow roll out for the first couple miles on a pretty beat up, technical road, then onto a bit of pavement where the race actually started and the pace got hot.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I told myself about a thousand times before the race that I needed to be smart and steady -- conserve energy, don’t burn any matches, ease into a very manageable pace. But when the race started, I couldn’t control those competitive urges. I saw a fairly large pack up the road, and I immediately switched into Zwift mode, hearing an urgent “close the gap!” in my mind and definitely wasting WAY too much energy trying to catch the group in front of me. But, I did what I did, and that group was pretty solid, with a couple strong girls in the mix. I hung with them for a while, doing some time on the front, some time on the back, through the early miles that were predominantly tarmac. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But then we finally hit the dirt, and I was a bit more tentative, not wanting to be too close to anyone, and struggling to find good lines through the wet sand. With the combination of stress from riding in the group and navigating the conditions, and the somewhat hot early effort, my heart rate was way higher than I wanted, so I dropped off a bit, and was shortly thereafter swallowed up by another, bigger pack of 15 or so, that I rode with for most of the first 50 miles. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jrfiv038sndwPR4M-wnAxVENzWYYYdHz-IUjLGPYaeGG88z6a6WEBZAUWCz38puHG1uSacF9_zmkbGAkSBe-vcwP0nNgdFvuPWWYeS7wd_IlRw5XARa3pqJXM3iAFzTy0RfuyONoU9M/s1420/IMG_0663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1420" data-original-width="640" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1jrfiv038sndwPR4M-wnAxVENzWYYYdHz-IUjLGPYaeGG88z6a6WEBZAUWCz38puHG1uSacF9_zmkbGAkSBe-vcwP0nNgdFvuPWWYeS7wd_IlRw5XARa3pqJXM3iAFzTy0RfuyONoU9M/w203-h327/IMG_0663.JPG" width="203" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical early roads</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not sure we were even an hour into the race when the torrential rain started. I’d made a rookie mistake of not bringing sunglasses with lighter colored lenses, so I’d taken my glasses off when it was still a bit dark and put them in my pocket. Now, with the rain, then were soaked and I didn’t even try to put them on. The terrain got super sloppy, wet sand kicking up from the riders in front into my face. I accepted the mouthfuls of sand but was so worried about my eyes and my contact lenses. I kept blinking as fast as I could, trying not to let anything stick in my eyes, and crossed my fingers that I’d make it through these sections. Anxiety was high, as was my heart rate, but I just kept trying to follow the other riders, observing the lines they were taking and trying to follow suit. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The first 54 miles to Checkpoint 1 were the least technical and had the most pavement. I gradually grew a little more comfortable with the pack riding but still didn’t fully give in. Every time we hit pavement, I went straight to the front of the line, into the aerobars, and pulled the group. I knew I was riding like a total idiot, putting in way too much effort and burning matches unnecessarily (I could hear the voice of my coach Tim, who DSed a lot of our Zwift races last year, saying, “get off the front!”) But it was my comfort place and what I knew, so I just kept burning those matches. I got lots of thanks and kudos for the pulls, but one (extremely nice) girl asked me at one point if I was a triathlete, so I have a feeling my lack of pack riding skills were coming through loud and clear:) </span></p><div><span><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>CHECKPOINT 1</b></span><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Quicker than expected, we rolled into Checkpoint 1, having averaged almost 19 miles per hour, which was great in light of the conditions. My dad had parked and set up shop. The wet sand was absolutely decimating the bikes (the sounds coming from them were so alarming), and priority #1 at ALL the checkpoints was cleaning as much sand off the drivetrain and brakes as possible. He went to work on the bike, using the sprayer to clear the cassette, while I bathroomed, inexplicably put on a new jersey and socks (I mean, it was raining and whatever I put on was going to get wet, but it seemed important at the time), switched hydration packs, and reloaded my bike with food. All my plans to “not race” had kind of gone out the door when the race actually started, which was Mistake #1, and when my dad told me I was 3rd or 4th woman coming through, I felt a bit more urgency than I should have. But we got the bike mostly cleaned, the chain re-lubed, and I headed back out for more. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Segment 2</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next portion of the race, another 50 miles or so, was more of the same. Wet, sloppy sand, plus a little more elevation change, minus the packs. I felt a sense of relief no longer being with the pack, but as the field spread out and most were riding solo or with one or two other, the miles ticked by slower. Every road was a different little puzzle - all were wet and sandy, but the line was different for each. Some were more dry on the sides, some more dry in the middle, some would start relatively dry and smooth, and then there’d suddenly be a wet and extra slow section. There were ruts from wheels and holes to dodge, so in addition to the physical difficulty of having all my watts getting sucked up by the sand, it was mentally exhausting constantly trying to figure out the line. I almost bit it a few times but stayed up, but as I saw riders on fat bikes seemingly float on by, I spent a lot of time questioning my own gear choices. Would wider tires have been better? (I was on 38s). Was my tire pressure too high? (I have no clue). Is that horrible metallic sound my brake is making bad? (yes, it was).</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdpnhIwMRItmU6MjkgMJckXhYvLDTrueFkORq6Ul7MlwtV50nFS8q1EMf2lrBAb873ykrE5Vze0YkEzPPraiXDhXoRVPJAKk0jkuc0NybTDmtwQRDOyEEuItCaRxA9wKAib87rf-Um7g/s2048/c2c2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdpnhIwMRItmU6MjkgMJckXhYvLDTrueFkORq6Ul7MlwtV50nFS8q1EMf2lrBAb873ykrE5Vze0YkEzPPraiXDhXoRVPJAKk0jkuc0NybTDmtwQRDOyEEuItCaRxA9wKAib87rf-Um7g/w266-h400/c2c2.jpeg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filthy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But there wasn’t much I could do beyond carrying forward, so I did, singing songs and chanting mantras in my head, putting my feedings at specific times so that I could look forward to a Clif Blok in 7 minutes if I just kept pedaling, etc. etc. I was generally catching people and not being caught by a lot, so I felt like I was riding decently, and rolled into CP 2 really wanting a fast transition to keep me in the race.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">CP 2</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I rolled in to Checkpoint 2, my dad said I was in 2nd or 3rd, which surprised me a bit, and probably contributed to me rushing too much here. Up to this point in the race, I’d been wearing my road shoes and road pedals -- I have gravel-specific shoes and SPD pedals, but the shoes weren’t well broken in and when I’d ridden in them on Friday, I had some odd ankle pain, so I’d opted to go with shoes that felt best for the first half of the race, knowing it wasn’t technical and I probably wouldn’t need to put my feet down or unclip. The plan had been to change pedals and shoes at CP2, as I knew the next segment was very technical and I’d 100% be doing a fair bit of hike-a-bike. But sand was </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">everywhere</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. We got the road pedals off, but the spindles were full of sand, and I couldn’t get the SPD pedals screwed in. I kept trying, growing increasingly frustrated and very, very aware of the clock ticking, and eventually just said, “forget it,” put the road pedals back on and rolled out, overly rushed and also forgetting my sunglasses and gloves. Major Mistake #2.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Segment 3</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At this point, we rolled into the Manistee National Forest. The hills truly started in earnest, and the wide farm roads turned into narrow multi-use trails under a canopy of trees. It was beautiful in there, but on the narrow double track, and then single track, I started to feel totally over my head, from a technical perspective. That together with the increasingly rickety sounding bike, and I was growing more and more concerned that getting to the finish line might not be as easy as I thought. Fortunately, I was going back and forth for a while with another gal. She was definitely riding stronger than me at that point in the race and I was duly impressed -- the only reason she was staying in range was because she was having issues with her chain -- but I’d also figured out by this point that highs and lows would hit each of us at different times, so I tried to motivate myself to stay close and hope that my next high might correspond with her low and I’d catch back up. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the meantime, the wet sand got deeper, and I started to lose it. The first very soft sand pit we hit, I tried to ride through, and I promptly toppled over and landed on a bush, slicing my hand up in the meantime (and kicking myself for forgetting the gloves that would have prevented that!). I knew a few steps in that crap in my road shoes would mean that I wouldn’t be able to clip in any more, so I took my shoes off, carried my bike through the sand in my socks, put my shoes back on, and rode on. So pro! </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGllAXN7nXyE42hp2AChxHGMT23OVTam8LOmHnY8vN9R8ZmKhDhi3gWGwWKJmC_xTJJJ6cYUc2vwe3ECJDJtwcR6XnSJjRpwpvKbUzR7MWdVfd-wJdZ-GnP9zPbVw-n85Lg0bqex9FLRY/s960/CP4deep.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGllAXN7nXyE42hp2AChxHGMT23OVTam8LOmHnY8vN9R8ZmKhDhi3gWGwWKJmC_xTJJJ6cYUc2vwe3ECJDJtwcR6XnSJjRpwpvKbUzR7MWdVfd-wJdZ-GnP9zPbVw-n85Lg0bqex9FLRY/w300-h400/CP4deep.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too much for me</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One time of doing that would have been OK, but those sandy parts kept popping up, so I went through that whole rigamarole over and over and over, growing increasingly frustrated by my lack of skills, improper shoes, and hemorrhaging time. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I rolled fast through a puddle for the sake of the photographer sitting right there, and a couple minutes later, realized my front tire was flat. Ugh. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJ3VcHx09r9bzOWvYoEz2CZE2_BeNWc9yqn7MLcqvk0NRB_N3K-IayXWw3lEY6G9jff1lIKDudXoTK8ja3Dx4L00yxbq52t1Hk16sm2YOYSPe_fLTtz0Un5BkhQfgDrLDUWeyN0AqH_E/s2048/C2C1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJ3VcHx09r9bzOWvYoEz2CZE2_BeNWc9yqn7MLcqvk0NRB_N3K-IayXWw3lEY6G9jff1lIKDudXoTK8ja3Dx4L00yxbq52t1Hk16sm2YOYSPe_fLTtz0Un5BkhQfgDrLDUWeyN0AqH_E/w400-h266/C2C1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The puddle that caused my flat</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m no stranger to flats and the guy at the shop had promised me that with his fancy plug tool, I’d be able to repair a puncture in 30 seconds, so I started inspecting the tire, looking for the hole. The tire was covered with sand, and my hand covered with blood, but I kept searching and could not figure out what had caused the puncture. You’re not supposed to be able to pinch flat tubeless tires, so I was totally perplexed. A kind guy stopped to ask if I needed help and I asked him if he could find the puncture. He couldn’t find it either, so he suggested just putting CO2 in the tire and hoping it’d hold. Either I botched that process or it was the wrong approach, but all the air quickly went out and I was minus 1 CO2 cartridge. Option 2 was putting a tube in the tire, so I got started on that process, and he carried on when I assured him I knew what I was doing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then, like a complete moron, I ended up blowing a second CO2 cartridge, and was now without any way to pump the tire. The field had spread out quite a bit at this point, so I had to wait quite a while for the next rider to come through. Thank goodness Jake was both very helpful and also carrying a hand pump. He helped me get the tire pumped up, and I was on my way, so very, very thankful for the kindness of this community, but also frustrated with the turn of events. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All in all, that ordeal took me about 28 minutes. That’s horrible! I saw at least 2 women roll by while I was on the side of the road, so at that point, I switched completely out of race mode, and just tried to get myself to the next checkpoint, at mile 173. In a way, that was a blessing, because mentally I was a lot happier dealing with the technical stuff when I no longer felt the pressure to go fast. I kept on keeping on, and after what felt like an eternity, rolled into the final Checkpoint at mile 173.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">CHECKPOINT 3</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was a bit shelled by the last 69 miles, which had taken so much out of me mentally and physically, so I was much less rushed when I rolled into CP3. I took time for the bathroom, realizing sand had really worked its way into places it never should have been, helped to clean the bike thoroughly, tried to clean myself up a bit, and had several sources of caffeine and a pop-tart. I think I spent almost 15 minutes there, the longest of my stops (aside from the mechanical) We were well into evening by this point, and while I actually felt OK physically, I was just mentally tired and a bit stiff. Hopping on the saddle again did not feel particularly good, but after 173, 34 miles felt very manageable. The rain had stopped and there were actually moments of sunshine. If the bike held up, I knew I’d make it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Final Segment</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last segment of the race started with some technical (to me) single-track, complete with climbing over logs and trees, and I grumbled a bit and took my time. The sounds of brakes squealing echoed through the forest -- our brake pads were all on their very last legs. I let faster people go ahead of me and just tried not to fall, and soon enough, we were back on wider farm roads. I started checking my watch and realized I was racing the sun -- there was a special award if you finished before sunset. I wasn’t sure exactly when the official sunset was, but figured it was around 9:30 P.M., and I was cutting it close. I’m thankful for that little carrot as it definitely helped me to push through the last 90 minutes or so, when it just seemed like every mile was stretching for an eternity. I never felt that bad, physically, but I just didn’t really have the ability to push anymore. My power had gotten lower, my heart rate had dropped. I was just pedaling it in, and willing myself to keep going. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzZs3_3016PHLuFaDKXho3F98s-Z32pti0xF9LwyizADGMN4ady_bXKUY24xD6U3hOTK8kShdy0ifch0Gkvp7KXY-wJom6vxo1ic6lrj70h3G0BhRQX-WM2pjIvxYLhhmx1wrneUBN00/s960/CP3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="758" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzZs3_3016PHLuFaDKXho3F98s-Z32pti0xF9LwyizADGMN4ady_bXKUY24xD6U3hOTK8kShdy0ifch0Gkvp7KXY-wJom6vxo1ic6lrj70h3G0BhRQX-WM2pjIvxYLhhmx1wrneUBN00/w315-h400/CP3.jpeg" width="315" /></a></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we started getting close to 200 miles, I somehow had in my head that I only had 6 miles, and started promising myself that they’d be downhill! And pavement! They weren’t. And it was actually 8 more miles, which is not an awesome realization at that point in the day, but that sunset was approaching so I kept forcing myself into the aerobars. Eventually we did hit civilization, and pavement, and I counted down every last tenth of a mile, finally crossing at 9:23 p.m. with a huge smile and a very, very tired body. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Post-Race</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There wasn’t a huge crowd or anything at the finish line, but I didn’t need it. I was so overwhelmed with what I’d just done. On completely insufficient training, on a whim, I’d completed a race that was well over 4 hours longer than any Ironman I’d done…. My longest ride ever by a ton, my longest day of exercising ever, by a ton. When I got off the bike, things immediately seized up, specifically my upper hamstrings, and I was totally unable to lift my legs or bend over. Imagining if that had happened any earlier, I threw up a thanks to the muscle gods. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We collected my stuff, cleaned the bike a bit, and participated in a little awards ceremony (I ended up 6th overall but 1st in my age group -- actually second but the 1st place girl was the overall winner). While the others beat me in by a fair bit, I wasn’t too far behind 2th - 5th -- kind of leaving me wondering what would have happened minus that mechanical nonsense -- but I’m certain that EVERYONE out there dealt with their own adversity and issues. Mostly, I was super impressed by the strength and kindness of the other women (and men!), and motivated to maybe actually train for this gravel stuff and see what I can do with a little more knowledge and skill. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWi20li5nPaw5PQHcjONKog4ybcAPkqg6KWuxO1kFL-3FdcCFpGUjx9UYkPbF_3es8WpMdJM66L8S7ZHF3OB0uHguEsLaggDD094BZf__wFkE9NSbTMe9zGXkMV_DGrZDU95vVQDo9j7Q/s2048/IMG_0669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; white-space: normal;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWi20li5nPaw5PQHcjONKog4ybcAPkqg6KWuxO1kFL-3FdcCFpGUjx9UYkPbF_3es8WpMdJM66L8S7ZHF3OB0uHguEsLaggDD094BZf__wFkE9NSbTMe9zGXkMV_DGrZDU95vVQDo9j7Q/s320/IMG_0669.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many thanks to my dad for being an excellent support team with only a couple days to prepare; Epic Racing for putting on an awesome event; Paradise Garage Bike Shop for selling me my bike and giving me tips on how to survive this event; VeloScience bike shop for repairing my bike after it went through the wringer; Jack and his team for inspiring me to do this race and sharing the experience (and lending me aero bars); my coach, Tim, for not dropping me on the spot when I told him I was doing this the day before, and instead giving me some helpful hints; my friend Angela for inspiring me with her jaw-dropping performance at Unbound 200, sharing tips, and creating an awesome new venture, GirlsGetGritty, that I’m thrilled to be a part of; and my Zwifting besties for keeping my love for cycling going through a pandemic. Excited for more! </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nitty Gritty for Those Interested: </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rode: Cervelo Aspero GRX Di2, 2X 31/48</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tires: Panaracer Gravel King SK 38 </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nutrition: </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Total +/- 6800 calories over 15hrs</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most calories liquid - a mix of Gatorade Endurance, Skratch SuperFuel, Nuun Endurance</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Also had about 6 sleeves of Clif Shot Blox and 10 - 12 Gatorade gels</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Had Red Bull and Coke at all Checkpoints, and Starbucks canned Double Espresso at the last 2. ½ a Pop-Tart at the last CP but didn’t really want any of the other food I brought </span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbDMi2l7Rdqs6_SOnPCMAp-XLR4m1l_i-eRfESHwWQIddVqzw5fxorjyMRaGqgFd3I4Pmc9o9ZgUMrtinp8vPE-Se4ecJz7D3JoE8gKbrineg7Q0nsYRUVg7NQeiCrtQoexqr7lkPYQio/s2048/IMG_0671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbDMi2l7Rdqs6_SOnPCMAp-XLR4m1l_i-eRfESHwWQIddVqzw5fxorjyMRaGqgFd3I4Pmc9o9ZgUMrtinp8vPE-Se4ecJz7D3JoE8gKbrineg7Q0nsYRUVg7NQeiCrtQoexqr7lkPYQio/s320/IMG_0671.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRWSdt_EQTRxujbteZMtowbcs-tOWUwD4xALbTi2nB5SK9e9qfLi1z0Gp4UGdEC9B5o1lTWWIDLHhg2_9xJjx4ZyQo91MohI4Xm7PePNDYRjnbpGNWEsEWWsbRWKRdnaTGY4hXVb9htk/s2048/IMG_0676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRWSdt_EQTRxujbteZMtowbcs-tOWUwD4xALbTi2nB5SK9e9qfLi1z0Gp4UGdEC9B5o1lTWWIDLHhg2_9xJjx4ZyQo91MohI4Xm7PePNDYRjnbpGNWEsEWWsbRWKRdnaTGY4hXVb9htk/s320/IMG_0676.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The aftermath -- brake pads</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-26353892578755187802016-08-31T00:32:00.000-05:002016-08-31T08:08:11.517-05:00Race Report- Ironman Mont-TremblantWhoa! So, there went eight months. And seven races. <br />
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When I started racing as a pro this year, there were a lot of things I wanted to do. Buy recovery boots. (Fail) Stop eating cherry sours so often. (Fail) Keep my apartment clean and become a master of time management. (Fail) <i>Blog regularly. </i>(Double fail). But, we move on. <br />
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Backing up a bit-- I raced my first pro race, the San Juan 70.3 in March. Then I did five more 70.3s over the next four months - New Orleans, Chattanooga, Victoria, Coeur d'Alene, Budapest. It was an exhausting whirlwind of travel, learning new lessons, making <i>lots</i> of mistakes, but generally exceeding my own expectations for the season. Blogging just never happened. But Ironman Mont Tremblant was just too much of an experience not to share, so I'm wiping the slate clean and starting anew. Maybe I'll go back and review those six 70.3s later, or at least drop some pictures.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32OrmWEDeDBwPrJIWUHII-vuZoCIy8cnOLPmNb_Vnvfb0qjvo9KUnhZKmG4B95XF84CI2hfHJemaqpOWTwiC7Z_m7YK3bexe53mpp_IQ_2__dpnHabaiS58DWCVnXwPe2daVkRcqR2aI/s1600/IMG_1695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32OrmWEDeDBwPrJIWUHII-vuZoCIy8cnOLPmNb_Vnvfb0qjvo9KUnhZKmG4B95XF84CI2hfHJemaqpOWTwiC7Z_m7YK3bexe53mpp_IQ_2__dpnHabaiS58DWCVnXwPe2daVkRcqR2aI/s400/IMG_1695.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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It was after race #5, the Coeur d'Alene 70.3, and during one of the only good weeks of training I've had in the past eight months (racing has gone decently, training not so much), that I came up with the brilliant idea to throw an Ironman in the mix. Ironman was never part of the whatever plan I had, the focus for this year was always going to be the 70.3 distance. I don't really even like the Ironman distance, and I'm not entirely sure what motivated the impulse other than the feeling that as a pro, I <i>should</i> do one Ironman for the year. But, once the seed was planted, I scanned through the list of pro races and settled on Ironman Mont-Tremblant, six weeks later. And for good measure, I added on Budapest 70.3 right in the middle of that 6-week time frame because a family race-cation to Hungary was too good of an opportunity to pass up.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07OWtReCB24xVXaVWGqRGVsAjNJrsgN7mG6E6ldyJ8Jtp5PWEAr326Pctk3bQ-o4-wDwJE0aFUgzMb74URBwua0lYc4F9v66-6Gv8Hf4z303iX_SHgqPyjsi-lxAgP7oIMbut-flEvEI/s1600/IMG_1627.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07OWtReCB24xVXaVWGqRGVsAjNJrsgN7mG6E6ldyJ8Jtp5PWEAr326Pctk3bQ-o4-wDwJE0aFUgzMb74URBwua0lYc4F9v66-6Gv8Hf4z303iX_SHgqPyjsi-lxAgP7oIMbut-flEvEI/s400/IMG_1627.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not Mont-Tremblant, this is Budapest, which was stunning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I wouldn't change anything because the experiences were amazing, but those six weeks of panic training were really not good Turns out time-zone hopping and trying to train on the road isn't so optimal for building fitness, and I forgot to take this into account when I decided to do Mont-Tremblant. After getting back from Coeur d'Alene, I flitted all around the world, rarely home for much more than a day or two. I headed to Ohio for my sister's wedding shower, then quickly to Boulder for a coaching conference, then straight to Budapest for an unbelievable (but tiring) week but a pretty average race. Lots of workouts were missed, some due to circumstances I couldn't control, some due to circumstances I <i>could</i> control but didn't, some due to sheer exhaustion. My bike always came with me but didn't always make my flights, unnecessarily adding to the stress.<br />
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By the time I got back from Budapest, I had about 10 days to really prepare for this Ironman before heading to Canada. I did the best I could with that short timeline, but all the travel combined with the extreme dose of panic training meant that I arrived in Mont-Tremblant feeling pretty shelled, exhausted, unable to sleep, and very, very unsure of myself and my limited preparation. Confidence has never been my strength, but I think I reached a low even for me before this race. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYHoc_yZkELs10tS2OG2jHB9bs4GJ9BjmqjhZK52s1bBfmlPEAPzIjHkcXaYmcsXfye9DvWipWm42HWa-kJ7lbDCCtek5DIjxnkF1Gb9qKumZPTCx5LI90Qv7rDaVPZVRg6EEkdorFIM/s1600/IMG_2125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYHoc_yZkELs10tS2OG2jHB9bs4GJ9BjmqjhZK52s1bBfmlPEAPzIjHkcXaYmcsXfye9DvWipWm42HWa-kJ7lbDCCtek5DIjxnkF1Gb9qKumZPTCx5LI90Qv7rDaVPZVRg6EEkdorFIM/s400/IMG_2125.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Mont-Tremblant</td></tr>
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After we got settled in Canada, I rested as much as I could and just tried to soak up the atmosphere. No town loves triathlon the way Mont-Tremblant does, and the energy was palpable. I was lucky to have my mother along as Super Sherpa and she tolerated my grumpiness, indulged my pre-race meal requirements (well, pizza's not that hard to go along with), and tried to stay as calm as she possibly could be expected to be about the sub-optimal coffee situation we were facing (did you know there's not currently a Starbucks in the Mont-Tremblant pedestrian village? Did you also know that caffeine addiction is very much a hereditary condition??) Gradually, the fog lifted, my mood improving bit by bit every day and my body starting to feel a little more normal with every hour. By Saturday, I actually felt something like a full-fledged human being and ironically, the night before the race I had the best night of sleep I'd had in quite some time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race pro picture. They treat the pros so well in Mont-Tremblant</td></tr>
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We stayed at the Residence Inn right by the finish line and a mere five minute walk from transition (great call), which meant for the very first time in my life, I arrived at transition before it had even opened. With bike freakouts addressed quickly, and game-time costume decisions made after learning that for the pros, wetsuits would not be allowed (age groupers were allowed to wear them), I had plenty of time to chat, head back to the hotel for a real bathroom, make the long walk to the swim start, and warm up a bit before getting a serious case of the feels and tears-welling-up thing when a fighter jet did a fly over right after the Canadian national anthem started. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUZmRFtTADG4bL-GPNkw-tEfvxKtnsZMPNeBbJ9ApC_FpQcNRKYobHiEw2Hmy0-6L477_EqjF9zhigFslb4l78VZMcbIleCAHWMIAOajLw4yp-mS5xX8gxsvjGuXNBQcJld7T8ynIS6I/s1600/IMG_1697.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUZmRFtTADG4bL-GPNkw-tEfvxKtnsZMPNeBbJ9ApC_FpQcNRKYobHiEw2Hmy0-6L477_EqjF9zhigFslb4l78VZMcbIleCAHWMIAOajLw4yp-mS5xX8gxsvjGuXNBQcJld7T8ynIS6I/s400/IMG_1697.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely get a kick out of personalized bike spots</td></tr>
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<b>SWIM (1:05:51, 6th Pro)</b><br />
<br />
My game plan for the swim was simple-- don't swim alone. This is one big difference I've found between the pro and amateur race- the swim starts much faster and, with a smaller number of racers (only 10 female pros in this race) staying with a pack is pretty critical. <br />
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The horn fired, we ran into the water, I promptly slipped, belly flopped and then just started swimming while the women around me executed graceful dolphin dives and pulled ahead (great start).<br />
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The first few minutes were frantic and I could tell by the sound of my own gasping that I was swimming WAY too hard for an Ironman, but I desperately wanted to stick with the pack so I carried on, hoping the pace would settle. And when it finally did, I found myself right with 3 other women. From then on, all I focused on was following feet, but as the new kid, trying not piss anyone off by following <i>too</i> closely and actually hitting those feet too many times. And, one other thing I've learned about racing pro this year? Sometimes if you accidentally hit the feet of the person in front of you, they'll flip over and start backstroking, making you take the lead and do all the work (didn't happen here, thankfully). <br />
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For the next hour and 5 minutes (oof), Amber expertly led our little train through Lac Tremblant (thanks Amber!). Jessica hung right on Amber's feet, and I followed Jessica, swimming at a pace that felt manageable but required concentration. Any little lapse in focus and suddenly those feet started pulling away and I had to put in a little surge to catch back up. The male age groupers, wearing wetsuits when we were not and starting only 3 minutes behind, started passing us early, which was a new experience for me, but by and large, they were respectful and didn't swim over or interfere with our little train, which was very much appreciated.<br />
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The water was really choppy, especially at the far end of the lake, and without wetsuits, I knew the swim would be slow, so I didn't even bother looking at the clock as we exited. Turned out it was <i>really</i> slow-- a 1:05+, my worst Ironman swim ever despite feeling like I'd swum quite well. I'm actually glad I didn't know my time, because I got on the bike feeling pretty proud of myself for a well-executed first leg that put me in a decent position.<br />
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<b>Bike (5:13:21- 3rd Pro)</b><br />
T-1 was long and speedy, much, much faster paced than any transition I'd ever done as an amateur, but I didn't want to throw away all the work I'd done to stick with a pack in the swim by letting them leave me behind in transition (been there, done that) so I ran hard, transitioned fast, and was off on the bike right with Jessica, Amber, and Caroline. <br />
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Of those three, I was really quite happy to be starting the bike at the same time as Amber. We both raced the Chattanooga 70.3 earlier this year and had gone back and forth all day on the bike before she promptly dropped me like a bad habit in the first 200 meters of the run. Given that, I felt like our cycling abilities matched well, and she's a very seasoned and experienced Ironman racer, so I figured that if I could stay near her on the bike like I'd done in Chattanooga, I'd be doing well.<br />
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But then, maybe one mile in, Amber flew by me like a freight train. I tried to pick up the pace a bit to go with her but she was seriously hauling, I couldn't do it, and she quickly disappeared up the road as I grew quickly discouraged. Age group guys started passing regularly, more so than I remembered in other races. (Thankfully, there were officials on motos everywhere keeping the racing clean and the men were generally very respectful of not interfering with womens' race, a pleasant surprise). I was pretty sure that despite my power readings being right in line with what I'd planned, I was totally sucking. I started freaking out that something on my bike was rubbing despite no actual evidence to support this theory. Th<span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: black;">at</span> </span>freakout lasted for about an hour.<br />
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And then, it started raining-- several hours earlier than we'd anticipated (forecasts called for a 100% chance of storms, starting at 11:00 AM or so). In a way, the rain was a blessing-- it took my mind off of my perceived suckiness and put it more on trying to stay upright and ride safely. As the rain became more torrential and the winds picked up, I oddly felt better and better on the bike. At turn-arounds, I deduced that I was in 5th, and maybe not sucking all that bad after all. It was hard to see my Garmin with the rain pelting down, but it seemed that I wasn't losing much time on the girls ahead (except Mary Beth Ellis, she was in a class of her own) and actually seemed to be chipping away at 3rd and 4th. I felt strong on the climbs, nutrition was settling well, power and speed were on point, and all was OK in the world. <br />
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The last 12 miles is an out-and-back on Chemin Duplessis-- the punchiest and toughest part of the course. As we turned on to the road, I looked ahead a bit and was surprised to see both Amber and Amanda Stevens right ahead, riding in 3rd in 4th. I passed both of them and pushed the next few climbs-- ill-advised maybe, but I thought coming off the bike in 3rd would be pretty cool so I went with it. I kept pressing that section, feeling actually quite good, until the very last hill when I made a rookie mistake in shifting and dropped my chain in the middle of the climb. I hopped off, swearing under my breath, and then decided that trying to re-start on that hill in the rain wasn't going to work, so I<i> walked </i>up that hill like a total pro, fully expecting Amanda and Amber to pass me right back in the most embarrassing of situations and being pleasantly surprised when they didn't. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(And, to my athletes who have resisted my suggestion to walk up the new 18% hill at Ironman Wisconsin because it'd be "way too embarrassing"--- I walked up a hill in an Ironman while in 3rd freaking place and survived the shame-- you can too!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I rolled into transition in 3rd place, really, really pleased with a strong bike in challenging conditions and getting a little kick out of Mike Reilly announcing me in.</span> </span><br />
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<b>Run (3:41:39, 7th Pro)</b><br />
The run was absolutely the leg of the race that I was the most uncertain about-- my running this year has been sub-par to say the least, both in racing and in training, and I knew coming in I just did not have the preparation to have a strong marathon. But, I was intent on running as smart as I could and not making any stupid mistakes.<br />
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Starting in third, I got myself a bike escort and, nerve-wrackingly, a motorcycle with a camera filming me for the entire first 5K of the run. This was both incredibly awesome and incredibly not awesome. Last year, Ironman had live commentary going on all day for this race-- I recall watching the coverage while riding on the trainer. They didn't have that this year, the filming was for an after-the-fact production, but I didn't know that, and in my mind I was imagining myself as the subject of discussion on the live coverage. I imagined Lisa Bentley saying things like, <i>"we're not sure who this is, but she doesn't look so good."</i> I didn't feel horrible running, I actually felt OK, but I wasn't running fast at all, at least not by pro standards, and I knew this. I even apologized to my lead biker at one point when it seemed like he was having trouble going slow enough to stay upright: "I'm sorry, I'm just not a very fast runner!" For that first 5K, I felt like a total imposter, a shuffler who biked herself towards the front of the race, but didn't belong there. (Yeah, still working on that confidence thing).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading out with a camera in the face, soon to be joined by another</td></tr>
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After 5K, we got to an out-and-back on a bike path, and I started to settle the mind a bit, responding to cheers and telling myself to enjoy the moment instead of feeling intimidated by it. At about mile 5, Amber ran by me as I fully expected she would, and as the cameraman turned his attention to her, I breathed a sigh of relief and got friendly with my new 4th place bike escort.<br />
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But then, a couple miles later, there was Amber in sight again, and I passed back into 3rd place. Amber was in a terrible bike crash just a few weeks prior -- I knew she wasn't at her best and I think it's pretty amazing that she raced at all. However, regardless of circumstances, I felt like I was actually competing in the race, and that gave me a little boost. I trucked on forward, still not feeling very fast, but executing my plan quite well, weathering the highs and lows, and feeling cautiously optimistic that this was shaping up to be a good day. The volunteers and other racers were incredibly supportive and having a lead biker netted me a lot of cheers, each and every one of which I appreciated, even if not always capable of responding with much more than a half-wave or smile.<br />
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Coming through town at the end of the first loop, I was stoked and shocked to still be in 3rd place, but still not expecting it to last. I knew Amanda Stevens was right behind me and gaining, and while I felt OK and nothing was wrong, my pace was slipping a bit, so I started in on the Nectar of the Gods (Pepsi) with a Red Bull every now and then. <i>C'mon caffeine, keep me in this race</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Led through town by the 3rd Place bike</td></tr>
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Amanda passed at mile 14 (<i>oh, hi again 4th place biker</i>), but then she slowed, appearing in pain, and I passed her back in the next mile (like Amber, Amanda is twice the runner I am, but she came into the race fresh off a broken foot....that's the thing with pro races, it seems like most everyone out there is dealing with <i>something -- </i>coming off injury, illness, racing tired or racing undertrained.. .it's just the nature of the beast). So in third I remained, somewhat shocked that with a very average run, I'd stayed in this position this long.<br />
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Then, things just went downhill. Nothing went wrong, per se-- I just lost it. My legs hurt but I wasn't cramping, overheating, cold, or injured. I didn't make any mistakes and kept the calories coming in. I just got slow. My heart rate dropped, my pace slowed, my cadence fell. I puzzled over this after the race (<i>why did I get so slow when I executed so well??</i>) but the answer is simple- I just lacked run fitness. I didn't have the durability to run a fast marathon, I hadn't trained well, there'd been too many skipped runs, no long runs, lagging paces. I got what I trained for.<br />
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Jessica passed just after mile 20, and then Amber passed at mile 24. I had no response.<br />
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The last 6 miles were ugly-- head down, just shuffling slower and slower forward. I didn't walk a step, I may have been faster if I had! I was just in slow motion, like a wind-up toy that just wound down. My now-5th place bike escort was phenomenal, clearly recognizing that I was struggling and doing everything in his power to get me to that finish line. Seriously, every person should have their own personal cheerleader for the last 2 miles of an Ironman! He got the volunteers cheering for me, he himself urged me forward every 15 seconds, "<i>hang with me Amanda, you've got this, just keep following my wheel, you're doing great." </i>He took me all the way to that last downhill turn with one last, "<i>finish strong</i>,<i> enjoy it, you did it!"</i> I waved a weak thank you as we parted, and then let myself fall down that final hill, crossing the line in 5th in a time of 10:06, happy, but so very, very tired. <br />
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<b>Finish- 10:06:50, 5th Pro</b><br />
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I was happy that night and the next day. To finish 5th in the professional field at an Ironman was not something I would have envisioned at all this year, especially not for an Ironman that I hadn't really trained for. Standing on that stage the next morning with some legends was pretty awesome.<br />
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But, in the days that followed, disappointment seeped in, too. I feel like this sounds spoiled so it's hard to admit, but I found a million ways to minimize the result (small field, etc. etc) and felt worse and worse about it as time passed. Mostly, I was very disappointed with my run, which I didn't feel was at all representative of my ability. I was actually a little embarrassed- a 3:41 is not a pro-like marathon and won't cut it at this level-- I know this. <br />
<br />
The disappointment was a rooted a bit in anger-- at myself and how I'd trained this summer. Truth is, I just didn't prepare anywhere near as well as I could for this race, and hadn't really been training well since the spring. I've made lots of effort to set myself up to go "all-in" with this triathlon venture, but in my day-to-day choices, I haven't gone "all-in" at all. My execution of my training this summer was just not good- skipped workouts, shortened workouts, backed-off workouts- these were all the norm. Nor did I nail all the "extras" -- nutrition, sleep, recovery. I made a lot of excuses for these shortfallings. I said I was burnt out, tired from so much racing, a little depressed. I blamed the weather, I blamed external stresses in my life and really, I cut myself way too much slack instead of just getting the work done. In the end, it was that lack of preparation and attention to detail that really showed up in the last 10K of the run, as I slipped from a position firmly on the podium into 5th. <br />
<br />
The up-side: this was kind of a kick in the butt that I've needed for a while. After seven days of laying around, sleeping a lot, and moping a little, I had almost an epiphany, finally accepting full responsibility for the outcome and setting in motion a game plan for the next part of my season. I'm excited to finally have a nice big chunk of time to just <i>train</i> and get fit again and see what I can do if I do if I start acting like the professional I want to be.<br />
<br />
Of course, I need to thank all those who who have helped me get through this first phase of Pro racing. I'm so happy to be sponsored by Coeur Sports this year-- I truly believe not only in this company's products, but their entire vision and approach. I'm honored to be a part of the team. TriSports.com has supported me for years and I can't thank them enough. Liz Waterstraat with Multisport Mastery has coached me from the very beginning and really deserves some sort of special award for still putting up with all my nonsense. Thanks to my friends at Endure It! for getting the bike race-ready, Achieve Ortho for keeping me healthy, and Base Performance for introducing me to an electrolyte product that actually works for me. And last but not least, thank you to my family, who have been been so incredibly supportive in every way, every step along this way.<br />
<br />
And up next (I think)...I'm going to Miami!<br />
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<br />Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-74475320837796680552015-12-30T14:59:00.001-06:002015-12-30T22:53:16.441-06:002015 in Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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2015 came and went, and with one exception, I forgot to blog.<br />
<br />
But despite my silence, a lot went on that I don't want to forget, and I've enjoyed reading other's year-in-review posts, so I thought I'd put together my own "Best and Worst" of 2015 by AirDropping a bunch of random iPhone pictures to give a little snapshot of what went on this year, mostly in my training and racing life. The ordering is random and flighty ...but then, so am I. <br />
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<u><b>Best Training Spot</b></u><br />
Madison, Wisconsin. Always. The Wisconsin Love runs strong here. I spent almost as many weekends in Madison this summer as I did in Illinois. The memories are vivid - hill repeats in the rain with Nick. Getting dropped like a bad habit by Bob, and texting him from the gas station to "forget about me, I'm having a moment here." Suffering through the hottest and most humid day I can remember in Madison with Machee, Liz and Chris. Stopping with Kristy for cheese curds that were desperately needed. Chatting with Erin and accidentally extending my ride to 7.5 hours because the conversation was so good. Sliding out on freshly-chipped roads. I put in many, many, many miles on my bike in this town. My Kona race was made in Madison.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9nV5zDUnewcVtCQ63J3UcOQBY9iv5VzEWZBuMLyWeW6F8WDi5_sB1wMNMP7Gu5N-WOfGFUZ-k0LV3LolFkBzaC_puIRv0xTPdAPrP_o2lhm6FmvmUWzLdhgQeBTX80HA0DYfZKDb0D4/s1600/9A332CDF-AD66-4DCB-BC9F-B8F1818051AF.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9nV5zDUnewcVtCQ63J3UcOQBY9iv5VzEWZBuMLyWeW6F8WDi5_sB1wMNMP7Gu5N-WOfGFUZ-k0LV3LolFkBzaC_puIRv0xTPdAPrP_o2lhm6FmvmUWzLdhgQeBTX80HA0DYfZKDb0D4/s320/9A332CDF-AD66-4DCB-BC9F-B8F1818051AF.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many rides with Kristy, our bikes here at the Lion Water Fountain</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yB7wxiTUiXXi8jDik4ezNGxY_q7h-9d-JMb8RKOUzYhWYb8wlH1nG5QPA-h8TeuybJ5hBK4ZIlY-Un1QEONvIz-ox5dvXTcuG54fSw1tphETrsU6S0AnHd2wV1gRb-wvOjzF_eWMe-Y/s1600/IMG_0030.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yB7wxiTUiXXi8jDik4ezNGxY_q7h-9d-JMb8RKOUzYhWYb8wlH1nG5QPA-h8TeuybJ5hBK4ZIlY-Un1QEONvIz-ox5dvXTcuG54fSw1tphETrsU6S0AnHd2wV1gRb-wvOjzF_eWMe-Y/s400/IMG_0030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Alwa<span style="color: #0000ee;">ys<span style="color: #0000ee;"> (or, often) blue skies and puffy c<span style="color: #0000ee;">louds in Madison</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<u><b>Best New "Life" Development</b></u><br />
In January, I was
given the opportunity to start coaching runners and triathletes through
Multisport Mastery. I've done some coaching in my past (track, cross
country, swimming), so I knew this was an area I'd like to branch into,
but I had no idea how much it would add to my own life. It's been
challenging, no doubt, but ultimately incredibly fulfilling. My
athletes' successes have, on many occasions, been more satisfying to me
than my own, and going through the daily ups and downs with each
individual has added all sorts of new dimensions to my life. <b> </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_JXXXXvAGPx_xuPX6N5qfGzSKJIORt_jgSCTdla1rr9CsHSZpbsj_p1FR-w98HJ-8jK7YMgWjMv0F4lxzD48yuwRjsnVQEf2I8THAzb3nygHm2DQr7E0_KE_mMnZcHIWGd9bp3zUjvA/s1600/520E3A21-F828-4A0C-9078-5F2EDBD1C3F2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_JXXXXvAGPx_xuPX6N5qfGzSKJIORt_jgSCTdla1rr9CsHSZpbsj_p1FR-w98HJ-8jK7YMgWjMv0F4lxzD48yuwRjsnVQEf2I8THAzb3nygHm2DQr7E0_KE_mMnZcHIWGd9bp3zUjvA/s400/520E3A21-F828-4A0C-9078-5F2EDBD1C3F2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne's first race post-baby!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShJ5ve2yOKFmJHSTwjvPjMf5IQN4F0T6YW__ykfrH1PlXxpcAqX0ADVXZHdHR_5c8PBFHZofDZNYqpzFFliSSHaNDmNjuUDF54ytMBQiOaFcD_-5pFm0BFd6kdm1IPO5pewf9QMssV2k/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShJ5ve2yOKFmJHSTwjvPjMf5IQN4F0T6YW__ykfrH1PlXxpcAqX0ADVXZHdHR_5c8PBFHZofDZNYqpzFFliSSHaNDmNjuUDF54ytMBQiOaFcD_-5pFm0BFd6kdm1IPO5pewf9QMssV2k/s400/IMG_0077.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">The very first athlete to take a shot <span style="color: #0000ee;">with me, Rachel</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<u><b>Best Ways to Enjoy Triathlon without Participating</b></u></div>
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Sherpa-ing and spectating! Did you know being at an Ironman without actually participating in an Ironman is amazing fun? True story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QwwihhyZtUxHkdGBO8xL6SVRJjAyqqQzJfw0_RrkFbLHoDIibXKlgMfuhZhHN79Q2x05C5VnLRt7_vC8n_RXUhX5lIhDj91SfwiSKpBvf_vHCowYK6zwiAUCnJFNsuQtcm7zVhKbkXw/s1600/20037834-BD4F-4019-83F4-6697406E592F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QwwihhyZtUxHkdGBO8xL6SVRJjAyqqQzJfw0_RrkFbLHoDIibXKlgMfuhZhHN79Q2x05C5VnLRt7_vC8n_RXUhX5lIhDj91SfwiSKpBvf_vHCowYK6zwiAUCnJFNsuQtcm7zVhKbkXw/s400/20037834-BD4F-4019-83F4-6697406E592F.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrying triathlon bags is much like this</td></tr>
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I went to two Ironmans I didn't race. First, Ironman Texas in May. Liz brought me to Texas as her sherpa. In the days before the race, I tried to do my best to help her out and keep her company, and also fit in some of my own training. I absolutely loved the Ironman Texas course and would do this one in a heart beat if it wasn't always a million degrees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwt9RGlOsDCBaIu6GKEhMbOJywvl8oQQ3I_VCoQeBvPHQodkFJ3bhw80g-Wc7B_3DsDZMhxZ-AhQpSfLuBiNOV5GqWHJlecNrk5_mvzvCPqL1Q5QwOxszqJ_pVgs15hSqfkStYOvXTEE/s1600/115563E2-0C5A-4EC5-850D-5D8F52BA5D68.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwt9RGlOsDCBaIu6GKEhMbOJywvl8oQQ3I_VCoQeBvPHQodkFJ3bhw80g-Wc7B_3DsDZMhxZ-AhQpSfLuBiNOV5GqWHJlecNrk5_mvzvCPqL1Q5QwOxszqJ_pVgs15hSqfkStYOvXTEE/s400/115563E2-0C5A-4EC5-850D-5D8F52BA5D68.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Got my <span style="color: #0000ee;">swim mojo back in Conroe<span style="color: #0000ee;">, T<span style="color: #0000ee;">X, the best pool of 2015</span></span></span><u><br /></u></span></td></tr>
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I am not sure I ever fully understood how thrilling, but exhausting and nerve-wracking, it is to spectate and support someone with big goals in a big race. With a ground crew of multiple people, we tracked Liz's position all day, I rode my bike all over the course cheering and providing updates and occasionally stopping in at a bar to chug a beer and visit with the rest of the spectating team, before getting back on my bike to find Liz again. Ultimately, she won her age group and punched her ticket to Kona. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5f4FTMmqVu5O86vHsifsg97gZoPXLDhAluTdmnqIKH8bkiHiSlZvJfG1t_jXWWc6Zgo-0Gu3DFHWMwnWrPCI7ADJ1EFWcpFL8N16EgioabAiwoUw8LNoktrnsevFZ-BsFDSacIaZ9og/s1600/FullSizeRender+17.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_5f4FTMmqVu5O86vHsifsg97gZoPXLDhAluTdmnqIKH8bkiHiSlZvJfG1t_jXWWc6Zgo-0Gu3DFHWMwnWrPCI7ADJ1EFWcpFL8N16EgioabAiwoUw8LNoktrnsevFZ-BsFDSacIaZ9og/s400/FullSizeRender+17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Sherpa-ing <span style="color: #0000ee;">is even more sati<span style="color: #0000ee;">s<span style="color: #0000ee;">fying when <span style="color: #0000ee;">Sherpa<span style="color: #0000ee;">'d athlete kicks ass!</span></span></span></span></span><u><br /></u></span></td></tr>
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I think I was more exhausted than she was when the day was over, and had gained a serious appreciation for those who have served as sherpas and support crews for me in the past. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0iNIZ8nwbSsrUd_Tvo6E2rdqzqe1HXQvWrV1ntChN3n8FM9Zcd_Kw2uApCNAnz7P1FTxFMbRaOFBTGaYhV8PpRGfCuP3zpL-rAapnEOugtfiE1KrksNEU2HfQsf9FM8UCsvAJ0CrS6M/s1600/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0iNIZ8nwbSsrUd_Tvo6E2rdqzqe1HXQvWrV1ntChN3n8FM9Zcd_Kw2uApCNAnz7P1FTxFMbRaOFBTGaYhV8PpRGfCuP3zpL-rAapnEOugtfiE1KrksNEU2HfQsf9FM8UCsvAJ0CrS6M/s400/FullSizeRender+4.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spectating on the run course, look closely, bike grease ALL OVER my legs. Because I am me.</td></tr>
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A couple months later, I spectated Racine 70.3 one week after injuring my leg at mile 2 of the Muncie 70.3. I was in a lot of pain (even walking really hurt, I accidentally jogged for two steps while cheering for Kristy and almost screamed in pain) and I was pretty sure my season was over, so selfishly, seeing others racing a race that is very meaningful to me was emotionally difficult. To cope, I sat under a tent and drank a lot of beers and that made it better. <br />
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And then, in September to my favorite race in the world, Ironman Wisconsin. I've missed spectating this race for the past 3 years- racing 70.3 Worlds in 2014 and 2013, and racing IMWI myself in 2012. I had several athletes and friends racing, and it was good to be back on the sidelines acting like an idiot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaSqgEkyxK_LYeRi7i6iAGcqIF9hPG3Y5ZSit1zR2TmZLoBrBhqt8jTaiW8kr1-v-Zqkbi6z_REwrfkRF3vrbCtmvVV3o7w3l5Y2nfbNxYB2bOjfanc0iumpjOahZMfjwoBi6UXNmJAg/s1600/IMG_0057.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPaSqgEkyxK_LYeRi7i6iAGcqIF9hPG3Y5ZSit1zR2TmZLoBrBhqt8jTaiW8kr1-v-Zqkbi6z_REwrfkRF3vrbCtmvVV3o7w3l5Y2nfbNxYB2bOjfanc0iumpjOahZMfjwoBi6UXNmJAg/s400/IMG_0057.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor killing the swim</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-02MgwO7cfPRUUkra7DTpPrsQoesdFuGs4j5DLqe8BOFuxiS3Asqp0-ThQKInUhfk1jw3vvExtSTMfxX1jvoGtq7MMu0NI2X5JDRMzT2OGxrdzhuVUZFJLdlM4tjqmEyy-afe0gd6-Q/s1600/IMG_0061+2.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-02MgwO7cfPRUUkra7DTpPrsQoesdFuGs4j5DLqe8BOFuxiS3Asqp0-ThQKInUhfk1jw3vvExtSTMfxX1jvoGtq7MMu0NI2X5JDRMzT2OGxrdzhuVUZFJLdlM4tjqmEyy-afe0gd6-Q/s400/IMG_0061+2.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris, smiling through his first IM</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Cvoztz8h0gssxa1YN_JCa42Pt3eDPRJ9jW-QKYlBt_Hqk8QPmRW2M_JeDvDmDeqltqYLtL4-06otMBuACQeBI-Pgsq0KzbupqlwaQt1GRLjbe-HB5bcCmRpFt7ZRbqikFEU014TJqpI/s1600/IMG_0071.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Cvoztz8h0gssxa1YN_JCa42Pt3eDPRJ9jW-QKYlBt_Hqk8QPmRW2M_JeDvDmDeqltqYLtL4-06otMBuACQeBI-Pgsq0KzbupqlwaQt1GRLjbe-HB5bcCmRpFt7ZRbqikFEU014TJqpI/s400/IMG_0071.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Scary Clown- Left, 2015, Right, 2012</td></tr>
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<u><b>Best Gas Station</b></u></div>
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In response to all the triathletes out there posting pictures of their bikes propped in front of beautiful mountains and coastlines, we western suburban Chicagolanders had our own response- the CITGO in Morris, Illinois, a dumpy little town 30 miles from Naperville. Also known as the gas station that frequently saved my rides by selling me Five Hour Energy, Pop Tarts and/or Mountain Dew Code Red. But never live bait.<b></b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLp3VRKSCZK1SmT_isryE0og94W9VtWasgRHVZc2QW3rIY5-jWvgaAswlkJKjgYPILcrI_8NTp6Gn136DxKj_4sM8bZtToPiMnpYDG1eKiqlKXvYVLD4zOKSsOoiSRQDdjIFaUjQxxKE/s1600/C2A3A9E1-180B-4D13-8D7F-64C1863374E0.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsLp3VRKSCZK1SmT_isryE0og94W9VtWasgRHVZc2QW3rIY5-jWvgaAswlkJKjgYPILcrI_8NTp6Gn136DxKj_4sM8bZtToPiMnpYDG1eKiqlKXvYVLD4zOKSsOoiSRQDdjIFaUjQxxKE/s400/C2A3A9E1-180B-4D13-8D7F-64C1863374E0.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnN7zcxt3K73kAjWnB1xO7yd6FOsPac_aD14BloSFv72s6Ny3qEgKe4aBcwBKmiTAVARHhn59llpdKfeagpQO11uyeXFL3-eGTmInbSYTtsy0QWgM66UxLsaosapiLtTqMTgZMdapom5M/s1600/FullSizeRender+13.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnN7zcxt3K73kAjWnB1xO7yd6FOsPac_aD14BloSFv72s6Ny3qEgKe4aBcwBKmiTAVARHhn59llpdKfeagpQO11uyeXFL3-eGTmInbSYTtsy0QWgM66UxLsaosapiLtTqMTgZMdapom5M/s400/FullSizeRender+13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morris Cuisine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrkcF6FD-grmhyphenhyphenYbEZUqMV73A1z5tDEu46BfLaMOb5elWBBgYIKbakjVlbCalF4w_GjvoDig_Ag16a74N1bd4orJ_rPusUdDLRljQsY0GSeG_mPky0GXMNyD8M8JWXCtuYNhlF_YeRs8/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrkcF6FD-grmhyphenhyphenYbEZUqMV73A1z5tDEu46BfLaMOb5elWBBgYIKbakjVlbCalF4w_GjvoDig_Ag16a74N1bd4orJ_rPusUdDLRljQsY0GSeG_mPky0GXMNyD8M8JWXCtuYNhlF_YeRs8/s320/IMG_0035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">With Bob<u><br /></u></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxrzP6wiTJFQ1LAnkU03lnfqQxBzP4SXZm4bWE7nBVm0gjMB51GHcGqvBv5KdYI1Spf_yvbIPktOQsGKn3xx9BKUZtyBUu5d6SEkXFm_N4f_B4edERMwyHcQa6NnHRXCz5XgP6M_O1IpM/s1600/IMG_0042.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxrzP6wiTJFQ1LAnkU03lnfqQxBzP4SXZm4bWE7nBVm0gjMB51GHcGqvBv5KdYI1Spf_yvbIPktOQsGKn3xx9BKUZtyBUu5d6SEkXFm_N4f_B4edERMwyHcQa6NnHRXCz5XgP6M_O1IpM/s320/IMG_0042.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Kara</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxH904SClswpoM6q0Xs1bF-KF3MR-Cc-EBjzTZouatUTf7Ndb1AwE9KYgmKOyAZW4Wh-oYt9IRRqR5Nlagb9CfJLQN0N-mA6-eVOtBDwFhSNOauub3efZ5FUZEY3ByUAQ8h8WvIWa_Dog/s1600/IMG_0096.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxH904SClswpoM6q0Xs1bF-KF3MR-Cc-EBjzTZouatUTf7Ndb1AwE9KYgmKOyAZW4Wh-oYt9IRRqR5Nlagb9CfJLQN0N-mA6-eVOtBDwFhSNOauub3efZ5FUZEY3ByUAQ8h8WvIWa_Dog/s320/IMG_0096.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">WTF, who stole our spot?</span></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxH904SClswpoM6q0Xs1bF-KF3MR-Cc-EBjzTZouatUTf7Ndb1AwE9KYgmKOyAZW4Wh-oYt9IRRqR5Nlagb9CfJLQN0N-mA6-eVOtBDwFhSNOauub3efZ5FUZEY3ByUAQ8h8WvIWa_Dog/s1600/IMG_0096.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>
<u><b>Worst New Normal</b></u><br />
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Flat tires! Before this year, I'd never had a flat tire in a race. This year, I had SIX- two simultaneously at a small race in Terre Haute (completely my fault, in the moment I looked down at my bike computer, I slammed into a massive pot hole at 28 miles per hour, immediately flatting both tires....badly); one in Kona; <i>three</i> in Cozumel (more on that later). This is not a trend I wish to continue into 2016.<br />
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This ride in May should have been my warning of things to come: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqoGw09nt3O6Xl17fBuR5KleCsnq8p20_FhNkrB0gEoZokU82rhyphenhyphenOTCx3mRABsltlaPpASmfEmXjbQePybOL4ggndKyEnAAvb6JoTi1YQmuU7QZbOMsf9h4kiANafwC4_gzU_aiGwIp8/s1600/FullSizeRender+6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqoGw09nt3O6Xl17fBuR5KleCsnq8p20_FhNkrB0gEoZokU82rhyphenhyphenOTCx3mRABsltlaPpASmfEmXjbQePybOL4ggndKyEnAAvb6JoTi1YQmuU7QZbOMsf9h4kiANafwC4_gzU_aiGwIp8/s400/FullSizeRender+6.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>Liz's flat. "Did I hit<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u> somethi<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>ng<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>?"</u></span></u></span></u></span></u></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBXPigPDRkj4I-F_bTSDEa3tz-2NGQOeZBg2KZ2b0grkWf4tx10EY3tqOgqzVL7dUjRd_EX6hNV47wdL5cghTl6MvHSSwwK2-buq1HUEyr0BHZMJu7O6sWK-QzXyq2DdmLIeJjnSBtcs/s1600/Portable+Network+Graphics+image-BDA68BD8D96A-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBXPigPDRkj4I-F_bTSDEa3tz-2NGQOeZBg2KZ2b0grkWf4tx10EY3tqOgqzVL7dUjRd_EX6hNV47wdL5cghTl6MvHSSwwK2-buq1HUEyr0BHZMJu7O6sWK-QzXyq2DdmLIeJjnSBtcs/s400/Portable+Network+Graphics+image-BDA68BD8D96A-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And 90 miles later, my own flat, which ended with a ride home from a random stranger</td></tr>
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<u><b>Best Race Result</b></u><br />
In light of all the circumstances preceding, a third place at Kona was something I am tremendously proud of, but overall, I think the actual <i>best</i> race of my season was Ironman Texas 70.3 in Galveston in April.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrceBgpfez4I6xh-xO07rLG1g516cpcKB8OsziKz5HPqZQ1HYZRAE9R5uLd6-n-GbYsteZOcCf1TgFknk-cwwXqJE0QzJqNIGuGdUcRTpe8qaJ1UwYWFxFuIK_pahfs19viWJYx4RsMk/s1600/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOrceBgpfez4I6xh-xO07rLG1g516cpcKB8OsziKz5HPqZQ1HYZRAE9R5uLd6-n-GbYsteZOcCf1TgFknk-cwwXqJE0QzJqNIGuGdUcRTpe8qaJ1UwYWFxFuIK_pahfs19viWJYx4RsMk/s400/FullSizeRender+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am sorry, but Galveston is kind of a dump.</td></tr>
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I trained like an animal in January, February, and March-- likely too much in light of things going on in my life at the time (I always need to throw in the disclaimer that I pushed <i>myself</i> well beyond what which was prescribed in my training schedule) -- but I was super fit in April and had a race to show for it. 4:23, a 10-minute PR, an age group and overall amateur win, the fastest female bike split (period, across <i>all</i> divisions, but to be fair, the winds shifted during the race and were much more favorable by the time my wave hit the bike course than they'd been for earlier waves). Just a great success.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNLev7ak0rBTcqJ5xxolr6mQPZxG_xnqSkWw_bBugu7rX06YvnPCfVNHuKX1seu_VO69JvQqTLGLAQRvi5pE7hyVIb4Ri7hxSURVwdOTYBPIn-4t5lgWpJT5l-nJw5b_ZLM4CEqQ7sFo/s1600/FullSizeRender+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNLev7ak0rBTcqJ5xxolr6mQPZxG_xnqSkWw_bBugu7rX06YvnPCfVNHuKX1seu_VO69JvQqTLGLAQRvi5pE7hyVIb4Ri7hxSURVwdOTYBPIn-4t5lgWpJT5l-nJw5b_ZLM4CEqQ7sFo/s400/FullSizeRender+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother came from San Antonio</td></tr>
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Why didn't I ever write about it? Frankly, I'd been teetering on the edge for some time going into that race, carefully walking the line between peak fitness and meltdown, and Galveston drained the tank and left me a little broken and not really in the mood for writing for quite some time. Lessons were learned:) <u><b> </b></u><br />
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<b><u>Most Meaningful Race</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
The Naperville Esprit de She Womens' Triathlon. I swim Masters with one of the funniest and most energetic women I've ever met-- Beth. Beth's daughter, Clari, tragically passed away last year at the age of 19. Clari had previously been a part of a relay team that won this race. The <i>day before</i> the race, Beth and I were talking at Masters and decided to enter a relay team to race in Clari's honor. It a matter of hours, we pulled together an "All-Star" team- Beth swimming, me cycling, and Amber, an Olympic Trials level runner -- and we raced in memory of Clari. We won, by a lot (but shout out to local stud Jenny Garrison, who still had a faster time <i>by herself</i> than our relay), and the sentiment behind it made it all the more meaningful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUeAur13K7sIVyd0FvHp6H5KVGP_F3c7cR4SBMJfHg3DTwYIXb4MX9iMCgJedopbNXn4a00_6bbMwCWJkuVmHH97qTDfBe4RcMnzSjAqxPbCvBmdWUVvoMz-Wjjp8BJ4RbS6X6vnRk-_s/s1600/FullSizeRender+9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUeAur13K7sIVyd0FvHp6H5KVGP_F3c7cR4SBMJfHg3DTwYIXb4MX9iMCgJedopbNXn4a00_6bbMwCWJkuVmHH97qTDfBe4RcMnzSjAqxPbCvBmdWUVvoMz-Wjjp8BJ4RbS6X6vnRk-_s/s320/FullSizeRender+9.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<u><b>Best (or Worst?) Pre-Race Accomodation </b></u></div>
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Muncie! </div>
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<u><b> </b></u></div>
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I should never have done the Muncie 70.3 in early July. I'd been fighting a knee injury for a few weeks, had just had an MRI that showed a lot of "stuff" going on, and every training run was like rolling the dice as to whether I'd be able to run or be doing the walk of shame home. </div>
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But I was stubborn and I raced, swimming well, riding <i>really </i>well, was leading my age group and the overall race by a good chunk of time when, 2 miles into the run, I felt something in my knee tear and the leg gave way.....multiple times (because, stubborn, I kept trying until succumbing and ending up in the ambulance). I was <b>certain</b> I needed surgery; luckily I didn't, but that race turned what was possibly a manageable injury into one that took me out for months. <u><b> </b></u></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgoHmWAj3SQSUjVa0aer1q_5EVUiI9CFUoM6csk2aIZzPlt8JJDdMP9yAsYF2wPM0GyNCFaXnJfSN0Q0FhMYYUoJToef0HqrMXCUdG4OW25Jz1CnuimXJ3QgWxsZGZTHeSvYvreiG_i0/s1600/92596359-1787-4C32-8708-07438238A1D1.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgoHmWAj3SQSUjVa0aer1q_5EVUiI9CFUoM6csk2aIZzPlt8JJDdMP9yAsYF2wPM0GyNCFaXnJfSN0Q0FhMYYUoJToef0HqrMXCUdG4OW25Jz1CnuimXJ3QgWxsZGZTHeSvYvreiG_i0/s400/92596359-1787-4C32-8708-07438238A1D1.PNG" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Text messages I should have listened to....with PT</td></tr>
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Anyway. I traveled to Muncie with Liz the day before the race and it took us almost five hours to get there from Chicago. Turned out the only hotel we could get was another hour away, we were tired of the car, so when we heard about a church a mile from the start that, for $15 a person, was providing cots and Sunday school rooms in which athletes could sleep, we were in. A quick trip to WalMart to get blankets and pillows and we were settled into our chosen room- the Sunday School Snack Room. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTn0XuUVT-BBcN0YGRQS7zH32uPTnVPXo-JZZ6MrxBFi7FlMNn9gOt84EQl1l63sljhgLco5CX-BPxb4olSWGa6Xqc-HflVKTwwhVJFsECN3AItKAdBfBHOXFjVtEb9-1vmSje61rGRA/s1600/FullSizeRender+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTn0XuUVT-BBcN0YGRQS7zH32uPTnVPXo-JZZ6MrxBFi7FlMNn9gOt84EQl1l63sljhgLco5CX-BPxb4olSWGa6Xqc-HflVKTwwhVJFsECN3AItKAdBfBHOXFjVtEb9-1vmSje61rGRA/s400/FullSizeRender+7.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The room door had a sign reminding us to "Bee Your Best"<br />
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The room was freezing, the cot was less than comfortable, and I slept approximately 20 minutes, kept awake by the cold, pain, and an impending sense of doom regarding the race the next day (I <i>knew</i> I shouldn't be racing).....but it was a memorable accommodation for sure!<br />
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<u><b>Best Random Midwestern Town in Which to Race</b></u><br />
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Hard to tell. In May and June, I raced several short course races, mostly in somewhat less than glamorous locations. None of the races were super stellar and a couple were downright bad, but I saw some great places like....<br />
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Terre Haute, Indiana! (I double flatted)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBlPF0PVT2rlWAYpfYEZZ0nEMh84Zsm36s7gXIYgbT7-QN17HOu6K0zYe_WkDUEbk9yjJp-utUQrdzOVxJp_XZMnwrcIyHtbPWijL-w2q8i92aYXdTadhrBcSJjvxyXT2CoF1KODhErE/s1600/FullSizeRender+12.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKBlPF0PVT2rlWAYpfYEZZ0nEMh84Zsm36s7gXIYgbT7-QN17HOu6K0zYe_WkDUEbk9yjJp-utUQrdzOVxJp_XZMnwrcIyHtbPWijL-w2q8i92aYXdTadhrBcSJjvxyXT2CoF1KODhErE/s320/FullSizeRender+12.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Ap<span style="color: #0000ee;">artments <span style="color: #0000ee;">next to our hotel, someone hoarding vacuums</span></span><u><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><br /></u></span></u></span></td></tr>
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Hammond, Indiana! (It rained, the course was delayed and shortened to a Super Sprint, I just had a terrible race...but got to wait out the storm with friends!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8S-lyz77Hk_Eb-ydVA7Fd6SPnjF-1krUxanePWfJU8oXT1FAwmbBKtDqELRXrmuZYjheOmqoMCkeeaes4IOpvljmScTMdv-kNRb5xIS42EQqMr6Ksb0VZnLmuaiVq0nhy3VpqSsRxng/s1600/FullSizeRender+24.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8S-lyz77Hk_Eb-ydVA7Fd6SPnjF-1krUxanePWfJU8oXT1FAwmbBKtDqELRXrmuZYjheOmqoMCkeeaes4IOpvljmScTMdv-kNRb5xIS42EQqMr6Ksb0VZnLmuaiVq0nhy3VpqSsRxng/s400/FullSizeRender+24.jpg" width="377" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Waiting out the pre-race stor<span style="color: #0000ee;">m</span> with Megan, <span style="color: #0000ee;">Jennifer, Karen, Jenny and Chris<span style="color: #0000ee;"></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin! (Actually went pretty well, 2nd overall to speedy Pro Jackie H., and taking home some dough)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWlN0aerfzOsbYd8lvRGx81V6QNfS3U3o0mHPFDHE9E_Wf29C6N5U_SIlpxBQnZFzJffdqjRCJmTFmmcboiyE0jR-yc1cr4tpdohD5n1VsbDqVJoJUxPaOL9KP3kAYslDMI99ZsluDL0/s1600/27EC80F0-3A9A-42EB-9631-FE3DF42945C2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWlN0aerfzOsbYd8lvRGx81V6QNfS3U3o0mHPFDHE9E_Wf29C6N5U_SIlpxBQnZFzJffdqjRCJmTFmmcboiyE0jR-yc1cr4tpdohD5n1VsbDqVJoJUxPaOL9KP3kAYslDMI99ZsluDL0/s400/27EC80F0-3A9A-42EB-9631-FE3DF42945C2.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">A decen<span style="color: #0000ee;">t and free r<span style="color: #0000ee;">un</span> picture!</span></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReI1I9Ozedx1BqKaS-ckI3WmY2kQ4EX-fvBj4Gfp81m7ngvIb90ayBVsXSmx2_DteBdHquXOpgNzfaGiGX8r1zPp45FdXDBrLmKEiQMS_qVhqIlT9ujlZyBzaeRbEoZhaCgwSa4oS9zE/s1600/FullSizeRender+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReI1I9Ozedx1BqKaS-ckI3WmY2kQ4EX-fvBj4Gfp81m7ngvIb90ayBVsXSmx2_DteBdHquXOpgNzfaGiGX8r1zPp45FdXDBrLmKEiQMS_qVhqIlT9ujlZyBzaeRbEoZhaCgwSa4oS9zE/s400/FullSizeRender+21.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">With Chris. And Chris. And C<span style="color: #0000ee;">hris</span></span></td></tr>
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<u><b>Best Food Place I Should Not Go To as Much as I Do</b></u></div>
Duh.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8rhVBq4lnFrzeOZcSdxkMz9C9FQsJgV81XHOs7x9lIpxleVJWToeJ6zeTaCPDKkKuuSgN8d5hdmIbZJ0d2Cg22FUkHaP_3F_C9GAWo7MSWbxB5K3-_jd3dt2o6BpK_9O-oOXeM48yu8/s1600/FullSizeRender+15.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8rhVBq4lnFrzeOZcSdxkMz9C9FQsJgV81XHOs7x9lIpxleVJWToeJ6zeTaCPDKkKuuSgN8d5hdmIbZJ0d2Cg22FUkHaP_3F_C9GAWo7MSWbxB5K3-_jd3dt2o6BpK_9O-oOXeM48yu8/s320/FullSizeRender+15.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<u><b>Best Month in Which to Race, if You're Midwestern</b></u></div>
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February! It was still snowing in Chicago. My Masters Swim Team did a training camp in Palm Desert, California, which happened to coincide with the Desert International Triathlon, a season kick-off race for the So Cal crowd. I was so nervous - big shots do this race, and I did not feel at all ready to be racing fast in February, but it went pretty well, second in the Elite division after a speedy Carly J. navigated the soft sand and ran me down like I was standing still. It rained so they cancelled the awards ceremony, because that's apparently how it goes in California.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgngpbfUpFZ52DrxoWO5gx1TQfsfBzWv1yawYzgHZjWipe37U4DU87SUeoNdQTcpFXgr6XWv4nXP_P8J2Wpo9mu_HquNisC8dHDvGsBzJUnWIP4HRjcWXS8UI2qJtuViROOANY-uFKjpo/s1600/FullSizeRender+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgngpbfUpFZ52DrxoWO5gx1TQfsfBzWv1yawYzgHZjWipe37U4DU87SUeoNdQTcpFXgr6XWv4nXP_P8J2Wpo9mu_HquNisC8dHDvGsBzJUnWIP4HRjcWXS8UI2qJtuViROOANY-uFKjpo/s400/FullSizeRender+18.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's fun when you're friendly with your competitors. Carly and Jen F.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpI0fP2Tjhb-uNoOUDXwhcoXq0CnjA-6pkAzNM4RxZUYvBtPUmlqJIQd20Y5xh9PSkyexBqX_htgS-Nf4qE_WZz0TQSBjeOOBwTAH3_q_96oPm5-7iML61tXOTaMN4qxEsS6PPo1AIck/s400/FullSizeRender+23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better scenery than Hammond, Indiana, for sure.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: white;"><u><b>Most Fun Non-Triathlon Race </b></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Jennifer Harrison and I teamed up the Endure It Team Time Trial in January. The "team" part of this time trial incorporates the "drafting" setting in Computrainer and we basically had no idea what we were doing or how to draft off each other. It was comedy of errors, but despite less than smooth transitions of the lead, we powered through for the female win and more importantly, coordinated our outfits quite nicely. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNQodmjqejkgadfQ-JR7yifuTUtoCh2HehTTu8BA9mZ4lXO5xaZ16zsbPqV31jvdTDxyHbVcnL9zgFagNYYBNUL8izW3IigJSrjNv7KRIL_o7anLCdmPihe8T557A4-UMHu4fX6UyhO4/s1600/FullSizeRender+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNQodmjqejkgadfQ-JR7yifuTUtoCh2HehTTu8BA9mZ4lXO5xaZ16zsbPqV31jvdTDxyHbVcnL9zgFagNYYBNUL8izW3IigJSrjNv7KRIL_o7anLCdmPihe8T557A4-UMHu4fX6UyhO4/s400/FullSizeRender+20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Runner- Up: The Well-Fit Beer Mile. This was more painful and uncomfortable than the TT for sure. I thought I'd sail through the beer mile because I like beer and I like running. In actuality, I kind of sucked. I broke 10 minutes, but barely, I almost DNF'd during Lap #2, and it was Beer #4 where I lost the race. Much more practice needed here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>Podium pic- </u></span>I'm in the skel<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>eton suit</u></span></u></span></td></tr>
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<b> </b><u><b>Best Pictures Covertly Taken by Others to Prove the Point that I Have a Phone Addiction</b></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6CZ9U18JFw1HhLppxw8Zp2G_AewB6nZXLSkGZaNEZM-nfivCiYd1zfoasl7XNOhJgEZvw3qBSk8a0Dy4iKcyh5PXpwFdpnF_IqoEiDAIvQcfdzSmG9mRp13GwevwpJiSPVa3ZfFFdS0/s1600/FullSizeRender+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpI0fP2Tjhb-uNoOUDXwhcoXq0CnjA-6pkAzNM4RxZUYvBtPUmlqJIQd20Y5xh9PSkyexBqX_htgS-Nf4qE_WZz0TQSBjeOOBwTAH3_q_96oPm5-7iML61tXOTaMN4qxEsS6PPo1AIck/s1600/FullSizeRender+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>At the Illinois State <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>Masters Swim <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>Meet</u></span></u></span></u></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj8S-lyz77Hk_Eb-ydVA7Fd6SPnjF-1krUxanePWfJU8oXT1FAwmbBKtDqELRXrmuZYjheOmqoMCkeeaes4IOpvljmScTMdv-kNRb5xIS42EQqMr6Ksb0VZnLmuaiVq0nhy3VpqSsRxng/s1600/FullSizeRender+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0NfpBDHkZof5bORQqt3JrQm9NjHjSkj8Ul-6JybG4tnk1Ts9jD2WQGnV7TN4fp5XXMpaIXzIWUTUUZimFi7erQGH4XUCNVE3vDcOIfQhrWerqULJ8HTNOjO-GFkD7rFbk210Mb9LP0E/s1600/IMG_0592.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0NfpBDHkZof5bORQqt3JrQm9NjHjSkj8Ul-6JybG4tnk1Ts9jD2WQGnV7TN4fp5XXMpaIXzIWUTUUZimFi7erQGH4XUCNVE3vDcOIfQhrWerqULJ8HTNOjO-GFkD7rFbk210Mb9LP0E/s400/IMG_0592.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">OK, actually staged<span style="color: #0000ee;">. We were<span style="color: #0000ee;"> prete<span style="color: #0000ee;">nding to be bored. W<span style="color: #0000ee;">e weren't<span style="color: #0000ee;">- the Bulls went to <span style="color: #0000ee;">Quad<span style="color: #0000ee;">ru<span style="color: #0000ee;">ple OT</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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<b><u>Best Lucky Charm </u></b><br />
It was New Years' Eve and there was definitely alcohol involved when a tiny, plastic yellow hanger came into my life. It became my good luck charm and I named it Baby Baby Hanger. <br />
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And then I lost it and things started to go downhill. </div>
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So I searched the internet to find more Baby Baby Hangers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBXPigPDRkj4I-F_bTSDEa3tz-2NGQOeZBg2KZ2b0grkWf4tx10EY3tqOgqzVL7dUjRd_EX6hNV47wdL5cghTl6MvHSSwwK2-buq1HUEyr0BHZMJu7O6sWK-QzXyq2DdmLIeJjnSBtcs/s1600/Portable+Network+Graphics+image-BDA68BD8D96A-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce4QdgLj0ul9rUHRsqd2oS0UorREAUMLcPwgVamnpWqrSo9oo82Q0XziSsLNIfDDVZ_HCTTSVYGCOgXdV048eZJVJSJql7Do9m7dYhyGlTBwZDb41XjNbSgXAHEBwLtoczKrVPRYrgvY/s1600/EDB44908-4C55-435C-885F-D4B6C9860ED8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce4QdgLj0ul9rUHRsqd2oS0UorREAUMLcPwgVamnpWqrSo9oo82Q0XziSsLNIfDDVZ_HCTTSVYGCOgXdV048eZJVJSJql7Do9m7dYhyGlTBwZDb41XjNbSgXAHEBwLtoczKrVPRYrgvY/s400/EDB44908-4C55-435C-885F-D4B6C9860ED8.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Several of the replacement Baby Baby Hangers were on my dining room table when US Anti Doping Agency officials showed up to my place on an August Wednesday morning at 6:30 AM to do blood and urine testing, and I had to push the BBHs out of the way when we used the table for sample sorting. I told the USADA folks the whole story I just told you about the Baby Baby Hangers, and they looked at me like I was bat shit crazy, because I probably am. </div>
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And, yes, that was my back-handed way of saying that as an amateur, I was tested out-of-competition. It was shocking (at the time, I'd never heard of amateurs being tested out-of-competition) but also encouraging, and I mention it here only because I think Ironman tested a small number of amateurs in part as a deterrent to clean up the sport, so it feels almost a bit like my duty to help create that deterrent effect. Race fair, folks.</div>
<br />
<b><u>Most Discouraging Months</u></b><br />
July and August. I was out with an injury that was unpredictable and kept re-inventing itself. <br />
<br />
I frantically texted my PT regularly to tell her where it hurt the most, today. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIaTTUO_01PRanIdgyQy8ini8gMkzIbAXvan-ftPf3tfAG0pSr5XQYE58Bo_cPkKh8wfx4sWw7h_YZuW3mL3WsYHPlh8xrhXtfPE3Gs06bsWcmg96Q9RiU31W0QhZtnPAPaQsL0fWSQo/s1600/C33CCEF4-1E11-4AA5-B811-297FE39D9059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIaTTUO_01PRanIdgyQy8ini8gMkzIbAXvan-ftPf3tfAG0pSr5XQYE58Bo_cPkKh8wfx4sWw7h_YZuW3mL3WsYHPlh8xrhXtfPE3Gs06bsWcmg96Q9RiU31W0QhZtnPAPaQsL0fWSQo/s400/C33CCEF4-1E11-4AA5-B811-297FE39D9059.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can you see the swelling?? Help!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And then I bought a waterproof iPod, a water running belt, and got to work water running while I couldn't run on land. It was boring, but I worked really hard, and was shocked when I returned to land running and actually found that my paces hadn't fallen far off. I'm a huge fan of water running now.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWS4-AhXAaHllSLI70xWlSoEUb16TozszuKMiyVHyO024efhe8A8J2AI_iZFqW4TDoH_L1bf8HG5bc0VAraiQf-gjme0aV67ffxkp9UIMH2nHeqqu6haFz7tBNVI7_gWhQ48AEi73Bvk/s1600/IMG_0018.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWS4-AhXAaHllSLI70xWlSoEUb16TozszuKMiyVHyO024efhe8A8J2AI_iZFqW4TDoH_L1bf8HG5bc0VAraiQf-gjme0aV67ffxkp9UIMH2nHeqqu6haFz7tBNVI7_gWhQ48AEi73Bvk/s400/IMG_0018.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It sucked but it worked</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><u>Best Moment Overall</u></b><br />
This one is pretty close: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4yB7wxiTUiXXi8jDik4ezNGxY_q7h-9d-JMb8RKOUzYhWYb8wlH1nG5QPA-h8TeuybJ5hBK4ZIlY-Un1QEONvIz-ox5dvXTcuG54fSw1tphETrsU6S0AnHd2wV1gRb-wvOjzF_eWMe-Y/s1600/IMG_0030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZj8VC99VbAsxRmUgsPs50zb5C_iyNf20VMQwZA14kG8a6_FRRyvnmcHC6DinjI9OtGQ_3JHkxY3iipkU20U4G-dcagPIwfCcNS-T_zfwxWCRHJiS77CiHbwITQgYt6mH5r0A4b1o10I/s1600/IMG_0234.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZj8VC99VbAsxRmUgsPs50zb5C_iyNf20VMQwZA14kG8a6_FRRyvnmcHC6DinjI9OtGQ_3JHkxY3iipkU20U4G-dcagPIwfCcNS-T_zfwxWCRHJiS77CiHbwITQgYt6mH5r0A4b1o10I/s400/IMG_0234.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b><u>Best, or Maybe Worst, Decision....We Shall Find Out</u></b><br />
<br />
This:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrNeV0fkETwZuaP38R7cogPJSpMu0F2z_THVfxYabnB_SOgkxdDmj1ivmBs78aZvSh3cqN7Ms-REax3oE5sIxWU6JDbR4SNzneIfLuz23qEB90zFYWYnaDYH2vYt1LtX7T0nDh7rxtdo/s1600/IMG_0402.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwrNeV0fkETwZuaP38R7cogPJSpMu0F2z_THVfxYabnB_SOgkxdDmj1ivmBs78aZvSh3cqN7Ms-REax3oE5sIxWU6JDbR4SNzneIfLuz23qEB90zFYWYnaDYH2vYt1LtX7T0nDh7rxtdo/s400/IMG_0402.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I took my Pro Card in November. I raced an Ironman as a Pro in December (or part of one, at least), I'll write more about that, but in short, Pro Debut was pretty much a failure. Debut #2 will be in 2016. So, that's where this train is going, and whether it was a smart decision, I can't yet say, but I am excited to find out. </div>
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<b> <u>Best Pictures Taken By Others</u></b></div>
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I have no selfie game. No GoPro game. But, I need to get better at this, I think. Here's a start.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcMvtrdPH90jia4_FGk5oMYCIn0uTtBE-dKYqyaiZZ1bae9E9TpbIKJAOfRZndIZKlOLvIxsWcaE_q0UWZG2aaXsVlZiThgDVGtEy7p4H5CGPmFt6-nZxXxlSOmLUsn3u4SSq5DUZeqo/s1600/IMG_0492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcMvtrdPH90jia4_FGk5oMYCIn0uTtBE-dKYqyaiZZ1bae9E9TpbIKJAOfRZndIZKlOLvIxsWcaE_q0UWZG2aaXsVlZiThgDVGtEy7p4H5CGPmFt6-nZxXxlSOmLUsn3u4SSq5DUZeqo/s400/IMG_0492.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">IM Coz practice<span style="color: #0000ee;">s<span style="color: #0000ee;"> swim with Maggie, C<span style="color: #0000ee;">hristine, and C<span style="color: #0000ee;">ris</span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIapLuuMa50RXIiXI64q_2w7KqU20JThFSBGQg35FNIkomHLcaiUf5Ki_bhroYYyG0A9K-FxiBppvf3Y78IyPbehEsc48x-Nq12aQPRk-sOzeE8pNH_L4tJ0SEizLG7HlO0HwSnluHGs/s1600/IMG_0493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIapLuuMa50RXIiXI64q_2w7KqU20JThFSBGQg35FNIkomHLcaiUf5Ki_bhroYYyG0A9K-FxiBppvf3Y78IyPbehEsc48x-Nq12aQPRk-sOzeE8pNH_L4tJ0SEizLG7HlO0HwSnluHGs/s400/IMG_0493.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfs on bikes (with Maggie)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y-CEvllCdlCF07rS2vaKRamLXcVzko5i36sMD-cPoVcJ-c3bHj2T82jp6GM0WKkCs91PXx-haQc7KCpjrqz7BTcS3farShZypTZ637T1c046ANL0bYcTGbMGoMhvnZzwQB07fnUeqsE/s1600/IMG_0614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y-CEvllCdlCF07rS2vaKRamLXcVzko5i36sMD-cPoVcJ-c3bHj2T82jp6GM0WKkCs91PXx-haQc7KCpjrqz7BTcS3farShZypTZ637T1c046ANL0bYcTGbMGoMhvnZzwQB07fnUeqsE/s400/IMG_0614.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off a kit from new 2016 sponsor, Coeur Sports!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmLoockvT7Ql5FLTW6CfFEQIiTjvKilXV9DNdDMraSZXRb017nz6VDgYraXkII63r8ZxuMnRJqEnnRaPfxs4t_1Otg1R354YT7L5DlH3et8n-mREjS5f9yGOOAG6tBqkRCnL1u87KwTA/s1600/Portable+Network+Graphics+image-91187286EF16-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJmLoockvT7Ql5FLTW6CfFEQIiTjvKilXV9DNdDMraSZXRb017nz6VDgYraXkII63r8ZxuMnRJqEnnRaPfxs4t_1Otg1R354YT7L5DlH3et8n-mREjS5f9yGOOAG6tBqkRCnL1u87KwTA/s400/Portable+Network+Graphics+image-91187286EF16-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Pre-race ride with Liz on t<span style="color: #0000ee;">he <span style="color: #0000ee;">Quee<span style="color: #0000ee;">n K</span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-DZ-ehpiKHO6uR0hibHDag6y_h5KzFjT_efXxTweK7WECitcurKqNt-4Cux5fa1Bw_5rHadQ8YYygXWM2OuFEzUgtp5ecgRQLdTSVYY0NzMWt8tFq8w8RPInyD6PauQOSEKKKfXnvwtI/s1600/35767A37-9E2C-4AA2-A0D4-E1599206A174.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-DZ-ehpiKHO6uR0hibHDag6y_h5KzFjT_efXxTweK7WECitcurKqNt-4Cux5fa1Bw_5rHadQ8YYygXWM2OuFEzUgtp5ecgRQLdTSVYY0NzMWt8tFq8w8RPInyD6PauQOSEKKKfXnvwtI/s400/35767A37-9E2C-4AA2-A0D4-E1599206A174.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>Me and Mack in <span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>FermiLab</u></span></u></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b> <u>Best End to 2015</u></b><br />
Unseasonably warm temperatures and outdoor riding in December. While home for Christmas, I made Rathbone, Ohio, my new Morris, Illinois, so of course, there was a picture of a bait sign. Of course. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9Qbv9Y7OvOMy88Cs4BZB3D9U9xoahABLxRf_Hy1_gJhrdnn6_DWLDEl4D5ltjv_YYQKXrMgCoQsUFDkU33DeQNjMUWAsXLRg_fZC_LObIipNdDLqBGuK6D-oO77B8wZqIQ1CJrR3QV8/s1600/IMG_0635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9Qbv9Y7OvOMy88Cs4BZB3D9U9xoahABLxRf_Hy1_gJhrdnn6_DWLDEl4D5ltjv_YYQKXrMgCoQsUFDkU33DeQNjMUWAsXLRg_fZC_LObIipNdDLqBGuK6D-oO77B8wZqIQ1CJrR3QV8/s400/IMG_0635.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5AtAlAjnwUv8q7RwhSeudMNVir-NsPRJhIL1PYdmrtAAR4PBLi2EAd1v0NHSLZ7u08XsaszCAmuGowBk35LWbLlwEJBpE2z4AzSfxwcdvustaW4Cd1m9oP136owCdjyAApyd-ul6Ju0/s1600/IMG_0668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5AtAlAjnwUv8q7RwhSeudMNVir-NsPRJhIL1PYdmrtAAR4PBLi2EAd1v0NHSLZ7u08XsaszCAmuGowBk35LWbLlwEJBpE2z4AzSfxwcdvustaW4Cd1m9oP136owCdjyAApyd-ul6Ju0/s400/IMG_0668.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They have bait but not sure if Live</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-10436064663987722242015-12-15T18:56:00.000-06:002015-12-15T23:01:18.343-06:00Ironman Kona 2015 <div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-156fb65a-a76d-aa8b-9e66-c53e2ce81da7" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Last
year in Kona, two days after the World Championship that I’d started
but not finished, I went for an easy swim at the Kona Aquatic Center. While taking a break between intervals, I had a long chat with
Karlyn Pipes, a Kona resident and pretty famous and fast masters’
swimmer (although I didn’t know it at the time) </span></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichx4HdVathHdxW7xmzDaaU6aiI7F9h_Ict11riIOUm5-yDJG_H2FhkCTlhIXBp8zxJDk4Dkti-P0tsLRNB7TmrcbFkmIXXaGw5XJ9aRhv7iEQlQcH5sFCpNXsmkXtPlrS41bFdu_esyk/s1600/Kona+Aquatic.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichx4HdVathHdxW7xmzDaaU6aiI7F9h_Ict11riIOUm5-yDJG_H2FhkCTlhIXBp8zxJDk4Dkti-P0tsLRNB7TmrcbFkmIXXaGw5XJ9aRhv7iEQlQcH5sFCpNXsmkXtPlrS41bFdu_esyk/s400/Kona+Aquatic.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>At Kona A<u>quatic Center- this year</u></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-156fb65a-a76d-aa8b-9e66-c53e2ce81da7" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Karlyn was friendly , and eventually I spilled my whole story --how I’d
started the race fit and ready but eventually collapsed 15 miles short
of the finish line. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I just don’t know what happened</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">, I told her. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I honestly don’t know what went wrong, I don’t know what I could have done differently, I don’t know how to fix it.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">She shook her head, having heard it a million times. This island, this
race….. it’s like no other and it can take the best down with no
warning. She shared some stories, she gave me some tips, she helped me
with my “butterfly”, and as I was getting out of the pool she said, “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">the most important thing to know if you want to beat this race ….</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">you’ve got to respect Madame Pele, and you’ve got to find a way to make peace with her."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Madame Pele, if you don’t know, is the Hawaiian goddess of fire and
volcanoes. She’s said to be ill-tempered and “wickedly playful.”
Madame Pele is the one that kicks your ass with headwinds, crosswinds,
pelting rain, oppressive heat, mechanical bad luck…you name it, she’ll
serve it up. She’s fickle and terrifying, and she’ll curse you if you
don’t respect her, or the Island. So they say.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kpQ_MQlgxxf16Xty3mhr4kQ-YZZwiB4ILc7Hvd2rwnGB5I5usfKgauA_THBDvEeSzqR__f5oVkt-0EnO9_bpU3VKnO12YcS7oO78tmwWCkClueYxGdnDsBUzeXVFRUjGQ3uacM9qzkw/s1600/volcano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0kpQ_MQlgxxf16Xty3mhr4kQ-YZZwiB4ILc7Hvd2rwnGB5I5usfKgauA_THBDvEeSzqR__f5oVkt-0EnO9_bpU3VKnO12YcS7oO78tmwWCkClueYxGdnDsBUzeXVFRUjGQ3uacM9qzkw/s400/volcano.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m not usually one to get superstitious or overly spiritual, but Karlyn’s
words resonated with me. The day after I’d collapsed last year, I was
adamant: “I’m not coming back to do this race again. It’s stupid, it
doesn’t suit me, it’s not worth it, and I’m done.” One day later, I was
silently committed. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
need to come back, I need to treat this race and this Island with the
respect it deserves, I need to make peace with Madame Pele, and I need
to finish what I started</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
am not lying or playing small when I say my primary goal in Kona this
year was simply to finish the race. I think I was too afraid of Madame
Pele to hope for much more. I wasn’t thinking about umeke bowls, I
wasn’t thinking about times, I was driven solely by the desire to
actually cross the finish line on Ali’I Drive this time around.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">There
might have been a time, earlier this year, when I wanted more, but
things hadn’t necessarily gone smoothly in 2015. I made a lot of
mistakes – it’s really not worth dwelling on them at this point – but
long story short, I’d already been struggling pretty mightily for a
couple of months before I injured my knee/ hamstring insertion point in
late June/ early July. The injury lingered, worsened and re-invented
itself, keeping me from running in July and August before </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">finally</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> starting to improve enough around Labor Day that I was able to get through a much abbreviated Ironman build. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
spent a lot of time and energy this summer stressing and crying about
my injury and the related struggles that had preceded it. For a while
early on, I stayed in denial, insisting that I still wanted to do
“something special” in Kona, but as the days went on and I just didn’t
heal, that “something special” outcome seemed more and more unrealistic.
I think it was in mid-August, during a snotty, sweaty meltdown on my
kitchen floor following a discouraging bike workout (honesty), that I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">finally</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> came to terms with my situation. After shedding probably 2 pounds in tears, I took a long breath, and remembered </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">why</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
I initially signed up for this race—to make peace with Madame Pele and
to finish what I started. I recommitted -- to simply finishing the damn
thing. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No matter what.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At
the time, I couldn’t even jog a step, and there was a fairly high
probability that finishing meant a long, 26 mile walk over the lava
fields. I was completely at peace with the possibility of that outcome. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I am prepared to walk the marathon</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">, I told anyone and everyone who would listen. I absolutely meant it. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then, I started to heal. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Those
last six weeks before the race, my short little Kona build, they went
about as well as I could have hoped given where I started. But, I was
extremely cautious in acknowledging any hints of optimism that I felt,
because on the whole, I just knew I was going into the race short on
training. And, I knew Battle #1 was with Madame Pele – dealing with
her winds, her fickleness, her </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">heat </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">(by </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">far</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
my biggest worry). So I clung to my initial goal—simply finishing on
my own two feet – and never really allowed myself to envision or believe
that I could do any more. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Pre- Race</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We
arrived in Kona the Saturday before the race, which to me, was perfect
amount of time to both acclimate and unwind from the stress of regular
life. My entire immediate family came this year, which pleased me to
no end. We stayed in mansion up in the mountain off of Hina Lani Road,
about a 15 minute drive to the swim start but enough removed from the
craziness of town that I could actually relax a bit. It had a hammock,
an outdoor shower, a pool, a hot tub, and a Vitamix, and really, that’s
just about all I needed. </span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsxu62gwIRK90ucv_OxF97FGgGae3bzOkVRVnWVzw5X-PDwER-kjcAGFOUJjUrl1ftOo9pU0BJ4mgrU0HipPXSFHvN7ptzJ791Cp8ngSOyF_iS_fgPrO0B7d3MGE9vj3Sgrp4o8POR6U/s1600/house+back+yard.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsxu62gwIRK90ucv_OxF97FGgGae3bzOkVRVnWVzw5X-PDwER-kjcAGFOUJjUrl1ftOo9pU0BJ4mgrU0HipPXSFHvN7ptzJ791Cp8ngSOyF_iS_fgPrO0B7d3MGE9vj3Sgrp4o8POR6U/s400/house+back+yard.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>Ou<u>r back<u>yard</u></u></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We
paid our respects to Madame Pele, all week long. There was even a
small ceremony on a beach-- the return of a piece of lava that had been
accidentally taken from the Island last year. We took our shoes off
inside, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">always</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">,
we tried to pronounce all the street names right, I made a point every
day to eat or drink something uniquely Hawaiian (mostly POG juice). I
obsessed about the weather forecasts, the wind predictions, of course I
did, but I also accepted them. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It could be windy, it could be hot, it could choppy, but this time I’m ready for whatever Madame Pele brings.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Race Day</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">With
all the fear and the anxiety I had leading into this race, it amazed me
how calm, at least in comparison to years past, I felt race morning.
Race number tattoo application, bike tire pumping, bento box
stuffing—I breezed through it all without really feeling the
butterflies. I found my family and Liz and Chris in the King K hotel,
we posed for pictures, I gave my good-bye hugs, and we headed out for
battle. As I was leaving, my mother reminded me…..”no matter what, be
safe, be smart, and just keep moving forward.” The mantras of my day.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA38SE_wQNbZFVZfPubplKWGcCDPyVZaqno9DVK6SuUUVIMwMfPAnZlR_Do8oiXSyJbNA-ZJshUCZST-SqVO__AdMzaAZ3Zv1nk6jZirnoi0VyGyF9AbAKoy4Mf6rjG6H0RCDAlLhNnCY/s1600/Pre-Race.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA38SE_wQNbZFVZfPubplKWGcCDPyVZaqno9DVK6SuUUVIMwMfPAnZlR_Do8oiXSyJbNA-ZJshUCZST-SqVO__AdMzaAZ3Zv1nk6jZirnoi0VyGyF9AbAKoy4Mf6rjG6H0RCDAlLhNnCY/s400/Pre-Race.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother was more scared than me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">The Swim</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Liz
and I hung around behind the King K for a while, trying to stay calm,
but when we heard the cannon go off for the men’s start, 15 minutes
ahead, we pushed our way through the crowd to get into the water and get
to the line. After a short 100 meter swim or so, we reached the start
(front and left) treaded water for 10 minutes or so, trying to save
energy, trying to stay calm. We said very little to each other, there
wasn’t much left to be said. But having my coach, my good friend right
next to me in the moments before the race was tremendously comforting.
I/ we were ready. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0Fd0w0_OG2BRnwDnvoZEOKzeug60s2fFoDZY-wK0fyx_0MorjpBp9581e_sOrdKUh3sfukYi9bYMRxPJESl4W3WOrIlXSreaCEckkqx3H68HIEqrrUL6Qpi62_hW4HyITCz4qieT4fg/s1600/MSM+PreRace.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0Fd0w0_OG2BRnwDnvoZEOKzeug60s2fFoDZY-wK0fyx_0MorjpBp9581e_sOrdKUh3sfukYi9bYMRxPJESl4W3WOrIlXSreaCEckkqx3H68HIEqrrUL6Qpi62_hW4HyITCz4qieT4fg/s400/MSM+PreRace.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Multisport Mastery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
cannon fired with no warning and I took off, at a near sprint for at
least the first two minutes. I had a clean and fast start—a couple
quick glances to my left confirmed that there was no one there, and the
women to my right were fairly spread out and swimming in a civilized
manner. I gradually angled myself towards the buoy line, and
just….swam. For the next hour. If I thought about anything, I thought
about not swallowing salt water, which I suspected had started my
problems last year. </span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMSNu8P0A9lFhstNYund-g5bFl23r1apAmMiqxJQ-sbg4K6jJNefQtBAT51rvig3HMHrBL4FowhV5FeahoQq0RqzO-neSksds2kzYaESRFPmw9MMMTSOB10bJxw7DJbwnSI4ilVDvhn0/s1600/Rough+Swim%252Cjpg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMSNu8P0A9lFhstNYund-g5bFl23r1apAmMiqxJQ-sbg4K6jJNefQtBAT51rvig3HMHrBL4FowhV5FeahoQq0RqzO-neSksds2kzYaESRFPmw9MMMTSOB10bJxw7DJbwnSI4ilVDvhn0/s400/Rough+Swim%252Cjpg.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sea was angry, my friends-- All good pics on here courtesy of Liz Wendorff- thanks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
got out of the water around 1:04 – my second slowest Ironman swim ever–
but I was determined not to let a slow swim ruin my day the way it had
last year. When I got to the change tent, I recognized a couple faces,
very fast swimmers, so I was relieved. Turns out, the swim was slow
for everyone, and based on many reports, about 400 meters long. I got
out the water 2</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.6px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super;">nd</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> in my age group which, honestly, for a World Championship, kind of blows my mind. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">T1</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Botched.
Forgot race number (tattooed on my arm) and couldn’t find my gear bag.
Couldn’t get Castelli Jersey on over my wet body (</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">great</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
call to wear it overall but a pain to wiggle into). Pretty much par
for the course, for me. My lack of thinking ability post-swim was
almost comforting in its familiarity.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Bike</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I got going on the bike, ignored the hard-charging riders around me (</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">it’s a long day, guys</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">),
and settled into my own, very conservative pace, drinking a lot, and
trying to bring my heart rate down. The first 10 miles or so are an
out-and-back on Kuakini—it’s crowded, it’s frantic, and it’s dangerous
in a lot of respects. Goal for the section was to just get through—I
did—and before I knew it I was spinning easily up Palani, and onto the
Queen K. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
felt slow in those early miles. I don’t mean me personally … my body
felt good, my power output was on point, I’d gotten the heart rate down
to where I wanted it … but I just felt like my bike wasn’t rolling fast.
On silky smooth roads, I was feeling every small bump and undulation
in the road. I started to worry that I had a flat tire. I bounced a
little on my rear wheel, but it felt fine, so I carried on, trying not
to be too concerned. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Just keep moving forward.</span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then, mile 28, on a fortunately flat stretch of road with no one around me, my front tire exploded. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Good one, Madame Pele</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Immediately, I pulled over, flipped my bike over, got out the tools and started the fix, repeating over and over, “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">stay calm, you’ve got this, stay calm</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">.”
I thought I stayed pretty calm; my heart rate file suggests otherwise
and it’s kind of funny to see. Really, I was worried because I had no
idea what had just happened that caused the blowout. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Maybe
Madame Pele was just having some fun with the day, I don’t know, but
within 30 seconds, the most unlucky part of my day became the luckiest
when the neutral tech support van pulled up and two bike mechanics
walked over and took over the repair. I wanted to kiss them. They were
amazed by the condition of the inner tube, which was completely
shredded but fixed everything up quickly. They inspected my tire (all
good!) and reassured me that I’d be fine going forward -- “you probably
had a slow leak all day, and then it just blew.” I don’t understand
the physics of it all, but that made me feel OK. </span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGEIk2Ae4rPngaFtmw0v9Nt0Bmw6bUynwS36FGD9hYiKQLIJfbGZMwl5z2cbYyZ3BthtVexzWdu7aECOaQ-h8YjiJtnXY-HpnkJBz6Vl43JTbOG8zQWjKho4bDFpzrsQ_g9OeMLlWii4/s1600/bike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGEIk2Ae4rPngaFtmw0v9Nt0Bmw6bUynwS36FGD9hYiKQLIJfbGZMwl5z2cbYyZ3BthtVexzWdu7aECOaQ-h8YjiJtnXY-HpnkJBz6Vl43JTbOG8zQWjKho4bDFpzrsQ_g9OeMLlWii4/s400/bike.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To cheap to buy official pictures, so here's my bike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">All
told, I stood on the side of the road for 5 minutes—it likely would
have been much longer without tech support. Looking at my power file,
I’m estimating I lost an additional 1:30 to 2 minutes in the first 28
miles with the slow leak. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Madame Pele 1, Amanda 0.</span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Getting
back going, I had no idea how many women had passed me but I was pretty
sure the answer was: a lot. Results show that I was riding in 3</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.6px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super;">rd</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> in my age group, close to 2</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.6px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super;">nd</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">, when I flatted, and then fell back to 9</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.6px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super;">th</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> or 10</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 9.6px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super;">th</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> while on the side of the road. Oddly enough, I wasn’t concerned, upset, or even all that shaken. My day wasn’t over, I was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">moving forward</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> again, and that’s really all that mattered in the moment. I just set out to continue my ride, hoping for the best. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Aside
from that, the bike was uneventful. Extremely aware that the success
of my day was going to be based on keeping myself cool and hydrated, I
slowed for every single aid station (about every 7 miles) and got two
water bottles—one for drinking, and one for spraying all over myself.
I ate, I drank, I looked around a little, I rode incredibly
conservatively, all day long. We got pelted with rain on the way up to
Hawi (</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">bring it, Madame Pele</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">), but it felt good, really cooling me down, and just as quickly as it had started, it stopped as we started to descend. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
did not have one low moment all day. I wasn’t affected by the winds,
and only really felt hot in the last 10 miles or so. It felt like a
training day, and to be honest, it felt a lot easier than any of my big
training days. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Most comfortable 112 miles of my life. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">T2</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I felt like T2 took </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">forever</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
because I had so many tasks to take care of. A wardrobe change—off
with the Castelli top, on with the TriSports jersey. Sunscreen
application. Arm coolers on, cooling towel soaked in peppermint oil
around the neck, snacks shoved in pockets, hand held bottle, downing
lots and lots and lots of ice water. It felt good to sit in the shade
but I hustled on out, taking one last look into the tent as I left and
seeing Jana, a super talented racer who I knew was gunning for the win
in our age group, about to head out too. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Run</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was hot this year. It’s always hot in Kona, and to me, there’s not a huge difference between hot and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">really</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> hot, I struggle either way, but this year was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">really</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
hot. As I was heading out in that first mile, the race announcer was
giving a bit of commentary of the Pro race going on miles up the road.
Jan Frodeno, the eventual winner, was apparently stopping at the aid
stations to dunk his head in buckets of dirty ice water. It was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">that</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> hot. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
extreme hot probably should have totally psyched me out, especially
after my melt down last under much more favorable conditions, but
somehow, this twist from Madame Pele almost empowered me. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Thanks, Madame Pele….You’re not going to make it easy for me to get through this race</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> … </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">, but maybe that’s the fun of this whole thing.</span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
was happy out there because I was on my own two feet and I knew I could
finish that way, no matter what. For the first 9 miles, I tried to do
two things—stay cool, and smile. Spectators on that first out-and-back
of Ali’I were armed with hoses and I ran under every single one
gratefully. I shuffled through each aid station like a greedy hungry
ice hippo, using both hands to grab as many cups of water (3 to 4 per
mile) and ice (as much as possible, dumped down my top, shorts, under
my hat, in my hands). Each aid station was an oasis. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
saw my family multiple times out there on Ali’i, and in every one of
those instances I did my best to smile, give a thumbs up, do whatever it
took to let them know that I was OK and I was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">doing this thing</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">.
They needed that, especially my mother, who’d witnessed pieces of the
downward spiral last year. And I needed it too….I’ve always found
that nothing can pull me out of a moment of misery in a race quicker
than a genuine smile. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
was getting place updates - third in my age group off the bike, and I
knew I’d passed into second a couple miles into the race – but my
reaction to that news was never much more than “Cool, thanks!” and then
forget about it. It’s a long race, anything can change, and I honestly
wasn’t thinking at all about umeke bowls or places or anything like that
as much as I was just trying to stay cool, do everything right, and
click off the miles successfully. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYBbXEi3JoGgWt0_VzSjGQtHY-K0dVSa8S7dsC1YjOu-TrgFwoy4hi3X6HSgMirrqMqAS1AAQNkqdNxVnuxje1gENjszZvwX2Hxz9gCZy7MJpgN-HLlNLAC2CRssR_TdAjMzHzuO8GnI/s400/meandbud.JPG" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>H<u>i family! I'm OK!</u></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
shuffled up Palani although everyone around me was walking, made the
turn onto the hot, exposed, desolate stretch of the Queen K, and trudged
on, still not fast, but still not caring about anything except forward
progress. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Passing
mile 11, where I went down last year, it was like a massive weight
lifted off my shoulders. From then on, every mile felt like a bonus.
Every time my watch buzzed (every half-mile), I had a little internal
party -- </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m doing this thing!”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">
It hurt, it was hot, my quads started threatening to cramp at mile 10
(thanks Base Salt for being out there!), it was lonely (no spectators
allowed between miles 13 – 23), </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">so many </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">racers
were giving in and walking, but I was doing it! But then I’d get back
to work, over and over and over, doing that internal checklist - eat,
drink, check heart rate, relax arms, run tall, turn it over, etc. etc.
etc. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLKP9wXdEZTyWGIO5Uc94qYGY-vaEmH8k7B68LmGojeAXjKakrNRIDKTnmbe9aXDKmw8Rnmi0qvX6p1w929LEWVwg1YTg0cv3CRa0e9fWgMVzZJv4ogGADXoeM_OTj1g7-d886blNUpo/s320/runsmile.JPG" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u><u>Head <u>do<u>wn, ju<u>st get it done</u></u></u></u></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
what about the race? You know, the reason I was there? Umeke bowls,
all that jazz? Honestly, I can’t say I thought about it much. I knew
I was in second place in my AG for the vast majority of the run, and
I’d certainly scoped out the competition at the turn around in the
Energy Lab, but it didn’t change anything and it didn’t feel real—I
think I was so focused on the goal of simply finishing that I never
really thought to think of anything else. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Until
those last few miles. It got really hard. My legs were absolutely
feeling my lack of run training. I had to make a couple emergency
port-o-pot stops as things stopped settling as well. It became one foot
in front of the other, let things go dark, focus on the stretch of road
4 feet ahead, just soldiering on, pounding coke and Red Bull at the aid
stations, anything to keep going. Every muscle in my body was
screaming to walk--- and that’s when I finally dug into the “race”
reserve. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> Keep running. YOU CAN GET A BOWL if you just keep running. </span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So
I did. Those last two miles or so, they’re mostly downhill, including a
steep descent down Palani. I’d probably have paid money for those to
be uphill instead, as my quads screamed and cramped with every downhill
stride. I wanted to turn it up and go faster, but my legs couldn’t do
it. We turned onto Kuakini, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">SO CLOSE</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">, and I was in a bit of panic mode. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m not moving! I’m so close! This is taking so long! </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But I kept running because—bowl. Finally, it inspired me. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s within the last third of a mile or so that you turn onto Hualailai Road, and again, go downhill. Quads: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">no, no, no</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">. Mind: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">go, go, go</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">.
I kept trying, feeling like I was running in slow motion, but then,
right before we turned onto Ali’I Drive, Jana, who’d been within a
minute or two of me all day, flew by, taking over second place in our
age </span>group. I had no response – she was absolutely hauling and
eventually finished 30 seconds ahead of me-- a ton of time to accumulate
in a quarter mile, so hats off to her! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMara2TXxL4sjp7W3QlTH_YKhTLofpfYqEQ4L3edIJ5V9lHtwI94dNqeVNWKoL4eASoXmlZLvxXZgoMGhKXC_9_YfHOT6jGbJ8o7uOuFeCUuAuKFMp4k3TZiSU7IgeCagLJvmjJD6FZE4/s1600/finishline5.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMara2TXxL4sjp7W3QlTH_YKhTLofpfYqEQ4L3edIJ5V9lHtwI94dNqeVNWKoL4eASoXmlZLvxXZgoMGhKXC_9_YfHOT6jGbJ8o7uOuFeCUuAuKFMp4k3TZiSU7IgeCagLJvmjJD6FZE4/s400/finishline5.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost there </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Yes,
It’s hard to deal with a pass like that, so close to the end after
140.3 miles and 10+ hours of racing, but the disappointment lasted
probably less than five seconds before the elation of Ali’I Drive took
over. The emotions hit - as much as they could when your whole body is
cramping. I soaked it all in – the best finish line in all of the
sport. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWRB6X5mHM6n_kZE7vl8WW56cLZOK2rFl6StyrsDHvD7MxMJh5SUSOUIjlzGuG0eS-JYG0WixNo7JpdpEm7KkaqUEZhp-x-vulG3AUroxBuf01OYjD4z-HkYA4998nW7bibHPKnrp9gQ8/s400/crazyface.JPG" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So happy, so tired, so everything.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My
time- not my best. Not even my best in Kona. But on this day, it was
enough. It was more than enough. Yeah, there have been what if's--
what if I hadn't stood on the side of the road for 5 minutes with a
flat? What if the two bathroom stops I took had been one, or zero? But
I've yet to have an Ironman go flawlessly, and when I do, maybe that's
when it's time to hang it up. I spent next to no time dwelling,
because at bottom, I was so, so happy, so, so relieved, and in so, so
much pain. </span></div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGuEBYC_YBtY5SiTsQmxFa-MTpGM44YaTIR7c7_-n_ivOg0Pd25JRavMjClLVJFcKhtM5E4ddfyUvp0mPpINWjWE0JrPoQI0jQ_yFSY9L741p2f8Zkfwei6vrZdEHK1cCSkuIBv71PYs/s1600/SLUMP.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGuEBYC_YBtY5SiTsQmxFa-MTpGM44YaTIR7c7_-n_ivOg0Pd25JRavMjClLVJFcKhtM5E4ddfyUvp0mPpINWjWE0JrPoQI0jQ_yFSY9L741p2f8Zkfwei6vrZdEHK1cCSkuIBv71PYs/s400/SLUMP.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really, truly needed my "catchers." Nothing left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The After</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Once
I could kind of move, the celebration started. For days, I alternated
between thrilled, and shocked (this race, after this season? Me?).
With my family, I relived every moment, every detail, every up and down.
I giggled through the award ceremony, as I tend to do, celebrated my
birthday by hiking through a volcano, and just felt so incredibly
happy, all the way until my plane touched down in Illinois, when I felt
still happy, but maybe a little deflated when greeted with the start of
winter. <i>Whomp, whomp. </i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yx1OgZPDO-hnFifTHdVE9FHEiWgTtoTk5QVVGtIj00Z2KB31NiyF4DtL-LTzHPcAHAArJTHacW664GrPr8bgy3GdYPRO5LqeXIgCbkt4MimYip4E9HnQFd-bvveNMTJ6L71YLZd4DW4/s1600/superhappybow.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yx1OgZPDO-hnFifTHdVE9FHEiWgTtoTk5QVVGtIj00Z2KB31NiyF4DtL-LTzHPcAHAArJTHacW664GrPr8bgy3GdYPRO5LqeXIgCbkt4MimYip4E9HnQFd-bvveNMTJ6L71YLZd4DW4/s400/superhappybow.JPG" width="400" /></a> </i></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW17JwBuFRv7SLN5EttqBkmBuVn419hbdu5u3BMWUvkH3-gTubAYjZL1sWN0UKgF5c2ultlrj9BPEFEZoGR9j3eBlbA-VT3BnpQebDoQKHaJL_OZkFlIT4QlvjBJWej7yewhJvx0QZYQ/s1600/podium1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW17JwBuFRv7SLN5EttqBkmBuVn419hbdu5u3BMWUvkH3-gTubAYjZL1sWN0UKgF5c2ultlrj9BPEFEZoGR9j3eBlbA-VT3BnpQebDoQKHaJL_OZkFlIT4QlvjBJWej7yewhJvx0QZYQ/s400/podium1.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW17JwBuFRv7SLN5EttqBkmBuVn419hbdu5u3BMWUvkH3-gTubAYjZL1sWN0UKgF5c2ultlrj9BPEFEZoGR9j3eBlbA-VT3BnpQebDoQKHaJL_OZkFlIT4QlvjBJWej7yewhJvx0QZYQ/s1600/podium1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BtOS0BTOeD2fGCcmxkAvHLgjnGBtrpiqedTmLU4ZfGyL6UEp6RYUntYc4FjdyuLe9vcS8hbdN5A2aFdAy1h3wsd9ew3SFs-U7w9t4U35BkLeB1q0TmuMdk89o4ZH0RjZGCB30LJBeZY/s1600/bowlup.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BtOS0BTOeD2fGCcmxkAvHLgjnGBtrpiqedTmLU4ZfGyL6UEp6RYUntYc4FjdyuLe9vcS8hbdN5A2aFdAy1h3wsd9ew3SFs-U7w9t4U35BkLeB1q0TmuMdk89o4ZH0RjZGCB30LJBeZY/s400/bowlup.jpg" width="400" /></a> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then…. it was on to the next adventure! Yes, I’m way behind on blogging! It’s coming soon☺ </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Of
course, I have so many people to thank. First and foremost, my family,
for being there, all of you. Your cheers on the day, reassurances in
the days before, celebration afterwards-- it was so incredibly special
to me. Thanks to Liz Waterstraat of <a href="http://multisportmastery.com/" target="_blank">Multisport Mastery</a> for getting me
physically ready for this race despite less than ideal circumstances,
and always believing, even when I didn't, that a good result was
possible. Thanks to my training buddies and friends, especially Kristy
and Jason, who offered their spare bedroom for several training weekends
in Madison, and several others who not only pulled and/or pushed me
through tough training days, but also talked me off the figurative ledge
many a time when things weren't looking good. Thanks to TriSports for
taking a chance on me several years ago and for your continued support.
To the various medical professionals who got me through injury,
including Achieve Ortho and Dr. Steven Mayer- I'm so appreciative.
Thanks to Gloria Petruzelli for helping me get my head in the right
place, and Heather Fink for the nutrition help. It takes a team-- and
I'm so happy with mine. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And of course, thanks to Madame Pele--- for helping me to search for, and find, something great within.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Final Results</span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Swim: 1:04:18</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Bike: 5:29:49</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Run: 3:39:54</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Total 10:21:32/ 3rd in 35-39 Age Group</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_QW2Hr9V-t148WDunYyDwSsXHMOAuksGJJ1KD1VKVp4TdtJnRZdH8aD6U9hRaVCaQONeMDg_c7F4hYZBjWbpdbjb4IiBHGAwKu1W6D3BPf43_Ji0kAAXVg65s21QeXohdfeT7ED5RHQ/s1600/%2521%2521awards.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_QW2Hr9V-t148WDunYyDwSsXHMOAuksGJJ1KD1VKVp4TdtJnRZdH8aD6U9hRaVCaQONeMDg_c7F4hYZBjWbpdbjb4IiBHGAwKu1W6D3BPf43_Ji0kAAXVg65s21QeXohdfeT7ED5RHQ/s320/%2521%2521awards.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciwDRyqv7YadmaAAIP4o_axIOXK6-LCNWwB2Nm8NJI0xnmgqzSpFj3BRmh0preikoO8LXJTN6dW1I4DbeGmxOtAeZ4OaVfGEnqJp2JGc0dLsdoxVQLon31LAyWsx1N5NNzIsJcr16JlE/s1600/%2521bowl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgciwDRyqv7YadmaAAIP4o_axIOXK6-LCNWwB2Nm8NJI0xnmgqzSpFj3BRmh0preikoO8LXJTN6dW1I4DbeGmxOtAeZ4OaVfGEnqJp2JGc0dLsdoxVQLon31LAyWsx1N5NNzIsJcr16JlE/s320/%2521bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-46481959040490002422014-11-23T22:34:00.000-06:002014-11-23T23:53:30.340-06:00Ironman Arizona 2014- RedemptionDespite having to really drag myself through several weeks of literal and figurative darkness and fear and all that stuff prior to Ironman Arizona, by the time we arrived in Tempe, I was actually in quite a good state of mind. I knew (I'm learning!) that in order to have a successful race, I needed to do whatever I could to keep the pre-race anxiety very, very low. My method of doing that? I made the trip short and sweet, not flying into Phoenix until Friday morning. I kept my head down, focused on myself, and tried to stay away from the noise, popping in to Ironman Village only to check in and handle the necessities but hustling out of there and staying away from the buzz as much as I could. I mostly did my workouts away from the race site, skipping the pre-race practice swim in favor of the local Y and riding/running from my hotel. And mostly, I surrounded myself with close friends and family and people who could keep me laughing<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhHWGA7J3Fd3iWDFvxnrQ9DKXHn4R3AFh3Ys369I-6Kbvdcxv3QIJxUr58l9Ckft9AE05qvUnz57xNbZc9sk8h0xqm0YKIOqbpmeFHrl3IbRd9vc3FpTT4Dql7EWPDvtWRK83fqfvKXU/s1600/arbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwhHWGA7J3Fd3iWDFvxnrQ9DKXHn4R3AFh3Ys369I-6Kbvdcxv3QIJxUr58l9Ckft9AE05qvUnz57xNbZc9sk8h0xqm0YKIOqbpmeFHrl3IbRd9vc3FpTT4Dql7EWPDvtWRK83fqfvKXU/s1600/arbs.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Spotted on pre-race ride. I k<span style="color: #0000ee;">new it'd be a good day.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My mood the day before the race and the morning of was ridiculously good, almost to a bizarre extent. The pre-race mishaps, of which there are <i>always</i> some, were significant this time (among other things, I forgot all of my bottles of nutrition, not noticing until we'd already parked, and had to send my dad back to the hotel for quick retrieval) but for whatever reason these things barely raised the stress level. It was quite strange, really. The fear I had of this race was so substantial that I had anticipated being near tears with nerves beforehand. Not so much. I got my bike set up, I joked around with <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Karin</a> and <a href="http://dustynabor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Dusty</a> (who had all-access passes as they were handlers for a physically-challenged athlete), I celebrated when my wetsuit, which I hadn't put on in two months, still fit, and most of all, I just felt happy and excited. Was it my lowered expectations (I truly, truly just wanted to finish)? Was it excitement of being able to "redeem" myself? I have no idea, but if I could bottle up that good mood for future races, I would.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Swim </b></u><br />
<b> </b> <br />
Headed out of transition, I found training buddy <a href="http://kristy-juno.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kristy</a>, which was good, as we had planned to swim together. The line to get to the water was huge and I just wanted <i>in</i>, so I pushed and elbowed my way up to the front of the line with Kristy following closely behind and apologizing to everyone for my rudeness. We jumped into the dark and murky water, swam the 300 meters right to the front line, towards the right but not all the way. And wouldn't you know, with 3,000 starters, I ran into a familiar face treading right in that space-- Jerome Harrison, Jennifer's husband, who made me feel a little better about not having swum a single stroke in my wetsuit in 2 months when he confessed that he hadn't been in his for <i>three years</i>. The three of us chatted and joked and observed that the race was starting <i>way</i> late. The nerves never came. <br />
<br />
Without much warning, the cannon fired, I put the head down and churned out a good 60 hard strokes, then took the effort down, lifted my head to look around, and practically cheered out loud upon realizing that somehow, I'd managed to find myself almost entirely in open water. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIdK3W8TNzzBHgvxdOCO6Rz1y2dgHTZPvjCfY2d6w5JVLKvi4ZQ2uxkJpDotdmmi8EhLQp18QlFaojdYRVVPZeSXNO5oWoKleuZ2dH0QLj1ez5koKris8Uj4ykY9hnOZIZyT07m5lCJs/s1600/TTLake.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiIdK3W8TNzzBHgvxdOCO6Rz1y2dgHTZPvjCfY2d6w5JVLKvi4ZQ2uxkJpDotdmmi8EhLQp18QlFaojdYRVVPZeSXNO5oWoKleuZ2dH0QLj1ez5koKris8Uj4ykY9hnOZIZyT07m5lCJs/s1600/TTLake.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was about this dark when we got in</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd heard talk on Slowtwitch, and gotten confirmation from male amateur champ <a href="http://www.darkhorsetriathlon.com/" target="_blank">Steve Johnson</a>, that the best line in this swim was <i>not </i>along the buoy line, but farther right, as the course curves a bit ("it's kinda like a banana," said Steve). With this knowledge, I aimed myself wide right towards the shore, settling in maybe 10 or 20 feet right of the sea wall, where spectators were walking along. And then, lo and behold, there were my parents, walking right along with me. This made me almost giddy. I kept waving at them as I swam and at one point they waved back. Three cheers for my extremely "distinctive" (or ugly, whatever) straight-arm swim style that made me recognizable in a sea of black wetsuited competitors! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUden089kqLcIU5uRABMv9-X1pftbNDcETfnjpdb7bn8nkE_jleadNryFcdXXHTuqdxQ7BXwKyxkkWHr4dtmexlLoMop2TwnkpxqHScni0dZPn70qooBG6d3Xolu8W_YRguGp0zXAhRoQ/s1600/IMAZ+swim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUden089kqLcIU5uRABMv9-X1pftbNDcETfnjpdb7bn8nkE_jleadNryFcdXXHTuqdxQ7BXwKyxkkWHr4dtmexlLoMop2TwnkpxqHScni0dZPn70qooBG6d3Xolu8W_YRguGp0zXAhRoQ/s1600/IMAZ+swim.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love the mass swim starts. Really</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a little of that, I realized it'd probably be smarter if I stopped waving at my family and smiling like a dork and got to work, so I spotted a couple green caps swimming close by, adjusted my angle, and hopped into their pack, riding the draft as much as I could until the turnaround.<br />
<br />
Coming back in, I continued to blindly trust the advice of bunch of strangers on Slowtwitch and stayed far right, way out in no man's land, swimming alone. I felt good and strong but I was <i>so</i> isolated out there that I feared I was way off course. Yet eventually, the course curved out to meet me, I celebrated the smart line I'd taken, and enjoyed the easy effort all the way in and out of the water.<br />
<br />
<b>Swim: 59:02/ 5th in Age Group</b><br />
<br />
<b>T1</b><br />
I didn't see a clock getting out of the water and hadn't started my watch, so I had no idea how the swim had gone. A very helpful spectator shouted "you're under an hour!" which widened my smile as that is always the goal. T1 has been a weakness of mine this year, I've gotten lost so many times, so when I arrived to the bags and a volunteer already had found my bag amongst the piles and was holding it out for me, I was perhaps overly thankful ("<i>thank you, thank you, so much for not making me find this on my own!")</i>. I got through the transition pretty quickly and then was happy to see All-Access Karin as I exited the tent to find my bike. "<i>I found my bag!!!" </i>I yelled to her. Small victories. She jogged behind me as I turned down the <i>correct</i> row for once and ran straight to the volunteer who was holding my bike. "<i>And I found my bike!!!,"</i> I continued to narrate. Has there ever been anyone so damn happy about getting through transition? I am not so sure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tv6fh-X0f5mnV7TShTLxIgUUHmnYvR7jBLYrdvEzPBRBwqTwFI_sg37iahK-UqJgtM6TOOcE2cPnjuOuzvo_STel9BmOamcAxnIRhPXKW9ISXIn0MpMLWf6i8h13NZ542fwwQvqef_0/s1600/langertweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tv6fh-X0f5mnV7TShTLxIgUUHmnYvR7jBLYrdvEzPBRBwqTwFI_sg37iahK-UqJgtM6TOOcE2cPnjuOuzvo_STel9BmOamcAxnIRhPXKW9ISXIn0MpMLWf6i8h13NZ542fwwQvqef_0/s1600/langertweet.jpg" height="400" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mutual Friendly Feeling Friend Livetweeting My Success</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Bike</b><br />
If there's one word to describe my plan for the bike it was: <i>conservative. </i>I had power targets, but after the Kona meltdown, my primary goal was to ride as easily and in-control as possible so as to give myself the best chance to digest my nutrition properly and to set myself up to have a good run, which I have never been able to do at the Ironman distance. This was not, in any way, a day to take anything even remotely resembling a risk.<br />
<br />
Once I started rolling, it became immediately apparent that this was going to be a much tougher day than anticipated. The wind was already gusting strongly, and I knew it would only get worse. So I hunkered down, prepared myself mentally, and set out at a sustainable pace, repeating over and over "<i>easy, easy, easy." </i>I settled in, tried to take it all in, had a little Fan Girl moment when I saw World Champ Mirinda Carfrae out doing a training run along the Beeline, laughed at how pretty much every guy that passed me was wearing the same <a href="http://shop.pearlizumi.com/product.php?product_id=1644423&outlet=" target="_blank">damn race kit</a>, and just had a grand ole' time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsCfeTx1ebmfAr9bBtbd8QztaA846H9XkdxLLUSHj55yVK58rrVjX1xbZ4kr9kmtZ_vlBqdBTgPR4T-OAU6bB1H3rjn4zphrDN_iOqoPcjKaPgKPIszwOtGO7N2W38kTtpu_vYoDj0TQ/s1600/bike2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsCfeTx1ebmfAr9bBtbd8QztaA846H9XkdxLLUSHj55yVK58rrVjX1xbZ4kr9kmtZ_vlBqdBTgPR4T-OAU6bB1H3rjn4zphrDN_iOqoPcjKaPgKPIszwOtGO7N2W38kTtpu_vYoDj0TQ/s1600/bike2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who wants to help me get aerodynamic before next season???!! Yikes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the turn-around for the 1st of 3 loops, an amazing spectator let me know that I was the third female amateur coming through, about 1:50 down from the lead, which was good news but didn't change anything-- I was still trying to be conservative and do my own thing. At this point, the course was still quite empty, with only<i> much</i> faster guys flying by me from time to time, so I let it rip on the downhill, staying as aero as I could and trying to get the speed up. I passed Girl #2 pretty quickly and figured <a href="http://trigirlcathy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cathy Yndestad</a> was the leader. I've never raced Cathy before or even met her, but if you race in the Midwest you know Cathy. She's been tearing it up for years and by all accounts is a really, really nice person, too, and those are the sorts of individuals who people just <i>know</i>. She's also a very strong swimmer, it was no surprise that she was leading the race, and as I told someone the day before, "there's a good chance I won't see Cathy all day-- she'll be off the front from the gun."<br />
<br />
Making the turn-around to start Lap 2, I was still in an awesome mood, smiling and waving when I saw first my parents, then Katy, Carolyn & Bill, then Jennifer Harrison, then Karin & Dusty, then my parents again, with my dad now yelling out "P-2, P-2" which has become a joke between us ever since <a href="http://swimbikeruntheworld.blogspot.com/2014/09/ironman-703-world-championships-mont.html" target="_blank">Mont-Tremblant</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LW75P4xYrRHQwF7bg-VyBBv4R4TpF9W-0FBAakx0wmuDEQKskg_gX1MqSLncj6tgzcCU3SQIQvap_aMvZU34vNu94VUvEKfNZwy6yAGCHZorqq2Be89DVWiJgDkcCb3HpHY6MwYHeMg/s1600/bikeride.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LW75P4xYrRHQwF7bg-VyBBv4R4TpF9W-0FBAakx0wmuDEQKskg_gX1MqSLncj6tgzcCU3SQIQvap_aMvZU34vNu94VUvEKfNZwy6yAGCHZorqq2Be89DVWiJgDkcCb3HpHY6MwYHeMg/s1600/bikeride.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grand ole time. For now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Lap Two was harder, with the wind picking up and things getting a bit more crowded as I caught up with the back-of-packers starting their first loop, but I kept to the plan, still felt decent, and was surprised that it wasn't worse. <br />
<br />
Lap Three was even worse, with the headwind making the gradual 18-ish mile climb feel like one of the mountains I tackled while r<a href="http://swimbikeruntheworld.blogspot.com/2012/11/adios-vamos.html" target="_blank">iding in Spain</a> in 2012 and sucking all of my will to live. My power dropped, my whole body ached from trying to steady my bike in the winds, and that climb to the top seemed like it would never, ever end. I started watching the pro race coming back down, just really, really wanting to see people I knew descending back into town because it would mean I was at least getting closer to the top. I knew <a href="http://maggierusch.com/" target="_blank">Maggie</a> was ahead, racing in her first pro race and wearing a bright pink helmet and at moments, all I wanted to see in the whole world was that damn pink helmet because it'd offer tangible proof that this stretch would, in fact, end at some point and I wouldn't be climbing into that wind for the rest of my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSOT722UnK4ft7rS5usPJlh6HTuCzXrC2yCAao5Z4oyuGSAQr-mjRNV2vivFCP8r_bZDkW2kQ2HMWRNNc8AlY3hSh52DNpinYjpVenUKdnxQW7wJ6f7P9D-IIL2cIKnzNa1AZC-8cf2s/s1600/bike1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSOT722UnK4ft7rS5usPJlh6HTuCzXrC2yCAao5Z4oyuGSAQr-mjRNV2vivFCP8r_bZDkW2kQ2HMWRNNc8AlY3hSh52DNpinYjpVenUKdnxQW7wJ6f7P9D-IIL2cIKnzNa1AZC-8cf2s/s1600/bike1.jpg" height="400" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did buy the pictures and will replace this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Close to the turn around, I looked ahead and spied a girl wearing a black Lifetime Fitness kit (with a guy riding just inches of her back wheel). It was Cathy. That moment shocked and excited me, as I thought I was going so slow that there was no way I was making ground on anyone. I took a minute to let the guy that was clinging to her wheel know that it was pretty pathetic to be blatantly drafting off a girl (I'm not usually confrontational like that at all, but....it was pretty pathetic), and passed, knowing that Cathy was a great racer and there was no way she'd just let me go.<br />
<br />
We turned around finally and as we got a tailwind combined with a downhill, it's like the whole world shifted. My will to live immediately returned, but that last climb had taken so much out of me that I decided that I needed to take the last 18 miles nice and easy. I settled in, taking in nutrition and trying to relax. Cathy flew by, at which point I reminded myself not to relax <i>too much</i>. I hung a legal distance back from her for a few minutes and then passed again, half expecting that leap frog game to go on for the rest of the ride (it didn't). By the time we reached town, I thought I'd dropped Cathy, but as I getting off my bike slowly and like a total rookie, she rolled right past with an expert flying dismount, got to the line first, and bolted off to transition. <i>Game on.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Time: 5:19:07</b>, 1st in Age Group, 2nd off the bike, and about a million (or 10-15) minutes slower than anticipated due to the wind <br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
Entering transition with Cathy and knowing that we were both 1-2 in the Amateur race and 1-2 in our age group certainly lit a fire under my ass. We both transitioned in under 90 seconds, no messing around. I'm pretty proud of that one, especially because that included actual tying of shoe laces for me (no speed laces in this race, the first time I've ever done that). <br />
<br />
<b>Run</b><br />
As Cathy and I headed out for the run right with each other, part of me was excited (this is <i>real</i> racing and it's what I live for), but a bigger part was absolutely terrified.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8yHrlOItQrYLW5F4O1U_V2KG2LOcCmimwziwcEszWxC7iiaLYlx2FxCSdsltqxKlv5E31-HJZUFUh_3Xn9drsRmUaG5BaTpdDwSCRdZ02SRjw79IFupGSM8NPuZZRlwYhxCgHfTHgUU/s1600/start.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8yHrlOItQrYLW5F4O1U_V2KG2LOcCmimwziwcEszWxC7iiaLYlx2FxCSdsltqxKlv5E31-HJZUFUh_3Xn9drsRmUaG5BaTpdDwSCRdZ02SRjw79IFupGSM8NPuZZRlwYhxCgHfTHgUU/s1600/start.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Kerry Yndestad. Right out of T2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With Kona fresh in my mind, and with a history of pretty epic blow ups in Ironman marathons, it's fair to say I was confronting some serious demons during this race and especially this part of it, and I absolutely knew that the only way I was going to successfully fight this battle was to start slow, <i>so very slow</i>, manage my emotions, and put the blinders on. I knew that's what I needed to do. But given where we were, running right together in first and second place, putting the blinders on was way easier said than done. Honestly, at first, I was just saying over and over in my head, "shit, shit, shit." I didn't want a race like this, and I was panicking, knowing that starting neck-and-neck with my closest competitor and getting involved in a "race" with 26 miles still to go, could very, very easily cause me to make huge mistakes that would ruin my day. <b> </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4ITT4FYXWcneJBB-Q0zJhyphenhyphen-AGyrGPTOuAK5sC0l9xQih9d5PZ4jABubg713ow5z3K6Gq9teP_558tDJ2Egcv-i2KCPHpuXhyphenhyphen60aXsmQAW8-VCmCPHwKhqvFohtymnKtIBSFr0JX7hpA/s1600/closerun.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4ITT4FYXWcneJBB-Q0zJhyphenhyphen-AGyrGPTOuAK5sC0l9xQih9d5PZ4jABubg713ow5z3K6Gq9teP_558tDJ2Egcv-i2KCPHpuXhyphenhyphen60aXsmQAW8-VCmCPHwKhqvFohtymnKtIBSFr0JX7hpA/s1600/closerun.jpg" height="386" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We ran this close for a loooong time</td></tr>
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Shortly into the race, we ran past <a href="http://gosonja.com/" target="_blank">Sonja</a> on the sidelines, who I've raced but never actually met. I knew her as pretty much one of the top (and certainly most experienced) amateur Ironman racers<b> </b>out there, and she had simple words that really resonated (and I'm paraphrasing because I don't remember the exact quote): "<i>this is the front of the amateur race here, but just settle in, take it nice and easy."</i> I started repeating those words in my head. <i>Just settle in. Nice and easy.</i> <i>Stay calm. </i>Then I saw my parents, who reminded me of the exact same things, "<i>find your own pace. Just run your own race."</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
That's what that whole first 4 miles was, as Cathy and I ran step for step<i> -- </i>doing whatever it took to settle into a sustainable pace and stay calm and happy. At one point I started talking to Cathy, chatting really, telling her she'd killed the swim, commenting on the windy bike. She wasn't much in the mood for talking, I get that, and after the race I sent her a note to apologize for what may have been perceived as playing head games (I absolutely wasn't, I just was trying to find some way to distract myself from what was really going on). I gave the thumbs up every time I saw my parents, waved at <a href="http://multisportmastery.com/" target="_blank">Liz,</a> Chris, Jennifer and Karin when I passed them at mile 4, I thanked almost everyone who cheered for me, I chatted more with other runners I encountered, and I smiled and smiled and smiled until I could smile no more. In hindsight, I did overcook the first 10 miles a bit and I could have paced better, but I felt really, really good, and I just went with it, stretching the lead to about 2 minutes or so in that first 10 miles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglE244howohXezHNBEkk576-tqYbOhvbi4vOp_tRm5_j7NYAwVdP_u9vvP9smhteCcg5jE9DclFI3X9NpIUQ_zt38KDRKHR6zVTTtzS_nCInPP-4StKASMac2ZxymITD2F_bF8iHZQkkY/s1600/IMAZ+run.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglE244howohXezHNBEkk576-tqYbOhvbi4vOp_tRm5_j7NYAwVdP_u9vvP9smhteCcg5jE9DclFI3X9NpIUQ_zt38KDRKHR6zVTTtzS_nCInPP-4StKASMac2ZxymITD2F_bF8iHZQkkY/s1600/IMAZ+run.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still lovin' life at mile 4</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At mile 13 or so, as I started the second loop, things started to hurt. It's hard to explain, but suddenly I just felt tired, slow, and like something wasn't right. My pace slowed, my mood plummeted, and frankly, I freaked out. This was a very familiar feeling for me, and I just knew it was happening again. I was melting down. I was losing it. AGAIN. Just like every other Ironman. I started having those horrible thoughts, wondering if I was going to finish or if I'd have to walk it in. I could feel myself starting to give up, to give in. I almost cried. At mile 14, I ducked into a port-o-pot, took a really long time contemplating life, contemplating Ironman, and trying to convince myself to hang in there and to ride it out.<br />
<br />
Once I got going, I saw my parents (they were everywhere), and again, they knew exactly the right thing to say: <i>hang in there. Keep moving forward. Just get to the next aid station</i>. And so I did, moving slowly, my head filled with cranky thoughts, but moving forward, nonetheless.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspeZJGuqYO6NYuqoQ-BhFwRM48-vfeJ4xhGnyf0Uh1hpEcPmCO0r56a7NtjiYO776zZOnh1jar2mZKxBUrbHgMWj3IbhysPtPkUWNzIMusYOqzJsIqnAYHu9BrViMbzd5u-OiwfrvRGU/s1600/aid+station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspeZJGuqYO6NYuqoQ-BhFwRM48-vfeJ4xhGnyf0Uh1hpEcPmCO0r56a7NtjiYO776zZOnh1jar2mZKxBUrbHgMWj3IbhysPtPkUWNzIMusYOqzJsIqnAYHu9BrViMbzd5u-OiwfrvRGU/s1600/aid+station.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhat less happy (Photo by Kerry Yndestad)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My low stretch lasted for several miles, and it was a huge mental battle between the voice saying,"<i>yup, you ALWAYS melt down in Ironman racing and you're doing it again</i>," and the voice saying, "<i>this doesn't have to end badly just because it always has. Problem solve. Figure out what you need. You can do this.</i>" As this battle raged on, I just kept moving forward, at moments feeling cautiously optimistic that I could pull through, but at more moments feeling on the brink of defeat. When I saw Liz at mile 18, she was cheering loudly and telling me I looked great, and my response was to give a big ole thumbs down.<br />
<br />
Shortly thereafter, I passed my friend AJ, who was starting his first loop. He asked how I was feeling, I either said "<i>bad</i>" or "<i>horrible</i>" or "t<i>his totally sucks</i>," I can't remember, but he offered me a container of<a href="http://www.baseperformance.com/" target="_blank"> BASE Performance</a> Salts, assuring me that he had plenty. I know, I know, I know, nothing new on race day, but I was pretty desperate at that time, had dropped my own stash of salt at some point, and had heard good things about this product, so I took the chance and started using it.<br />
<br />
Maybe it was the BASE, maybe it was the Coke that I'd just started taking at every aid stations, maybe it was the short walk breaks I'd started to take <i>as </i>I was drinking that Coke, maybe it was just seeing AJ, but starting at mile 19, everything turned around. It was like some miracle from the Ironman gods. For the first time ever for me, I managed to pull myself out of an Ironman run funk. My pace picked back up, my mood improved, the smile came back, when I saw my parents again they said, "<i>oh, you look so much better."</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjW6muFdtxA7dTP3OSg62SW6IogpXcB_17jz-MdZGGxt_v8QtsdIxQ4kkuUdaSGovrlgUQ8hezyZ5ODL4tOAVQXmxP2oWGzz9oQhtn7eSQ_qeGUWBcXCRsN9h4BO0DdEw9B1RXTkQ2BM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-23+at+9.15.03+PM.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjW6muFdtxA7dTP3OSg62SW6IogpXcB_17jz-MdZGGxt_v8QtsdIxQ4kkuUdaSGovrlgUQ8hezyZ5ODL4tOAVQXmxP2oWGzz9oQhtn7eSQ_qeGUWBcXCRsN9h4BO0DdEw9B1RXTkQ2BM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-23+at+9.15.03+PM.jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drama on the Ironman Blog (which is so cool!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I spent that last 10K thinking of nothing more than continually moving myself forward and staying smooth. I'd been cautious all day, to be sure, but after that low, low several mile stretch, I was now downright scared, acutely aware of the little "Black Cloud of Failure" that was hovering over my head. Even though I felt pretty good, I held back hard, anticipating and expecting another low that could be even worse. I was getting updates that my lead was extending, but at that point, I really didn't care. I wasn't racing anyone else anymore, and in a way, I'm not sure I really was, all day. I was battling myself, my own demons, my own fears, and my own past, and while I was winning that battle, it just wasn't quite over yet. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx2Q_TGrpeaQZkVRipfpmc-CstMeMHUIml4erXC6ycaWSmkoY2LH0DXJWBNfgfqwr0zOYbJ-zylWO-9TaUOk4KU3giIiq-RazkBAhR0n_oAxNlF2ippveeUHgJxVbQOzNNloAUxlGfiY/s1600/head+down.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx2Q_TGrpeaQZkVRipfpmc-CstMeMHUIml4erXC6ycaWSmkoY2LH0DXJWBNfgfqwr0zOYbJ-zylWO-9TaUOk4KU3giIiq-RazkBAhR0n_oAxNlF2ippveeUHgJxVbQOzNNloAUxlGfiY/s1600/head+down.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Head down, grinding it out (Photo by Kerry Yndestad)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It wasn't until mile 25 that I truly believed I was going to finish. I did pick it up at that point. I ran through the last aid station instead of walking, I let myself really work. All day long, I never let myself think about the sub-10 goal that had been the original impetus behind doing this race. I didn't have a watch with my total time running, I never calculated my splits, I never asked anyone if I was on track....that really wasn't what today was about. But as I approached the very end, maybe 100 meters from the last turn that would take us to the finish line, I saw Liz on the side of the road, jumping up and down, as excited as I've ever seen her. "<i>You are so close to ten hours!" </i>she screamed. <i>"You can do it but you have to go! Go now! Go!"</i><br />
<br />
I had a moment of shock but then I took off like a bat out of hell, recalling my days as an 800 meter runner and countless quarter and half mile repeats I'd done on the track this year. I took that last corner hard, I got up on my toes and pumped my arms, seeing 9:59 on the clock and sprinting, sprinting, sprinting as fast as I could, eyes glued to the clock, watching the seconds tick by, sprinting more, not even pausing long enough to remember to fist bump or raise my arms or jump or do any sort of celebration whatsoever, but just trying to cross that line before it clicked over to 10....<br />
<br />
And, nine hours, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty-four seconds after I'd started, I crossed that line, grinning ear to ear, thrilled about the time, thrilled about the win, but so much more than anything, thrilled that I'd defeated my own demons, that I'd hung tough when the fears threatened to defeat me, and that I found the strength to fight and to bounce back from the lowest of lows, not just today, but in all the days before.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQytnLTuh8hRYdIoBOcbP9Ah_Q45VeABLuHzt33DIfwC5JRdiEeBzlz2Nkzmm-daGnCl8ZM9ApNmVjx92eMs1YLX2CPLMI346Pvyp2lgxX183tEr4BWElJOt9y2GWCohJMorgdbxW8vG4/s1600/finish.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQytnLTuh8hRYdIoBOcbP9Ah_Q45VeABLuHzt33DIfwC5JRdiEeBzlz2Nkzmm-daGnCl8ZM9ApNmVjx92eMs1YLX2CPLMI346Pvyp2lgxX183tEr4BWElJOt9y2GWCohJMorgdbxW8vG4/s1600/finish.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus points for both feet off the ground (Photo by Kerry Yndestad)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I don't know who it was (and if you're reading, please tell me) but seconds before I crossed that line, I heard someone yell out, clear as a bell, "redemption!" And really, that's what this was for me. Sweet redemption. I couldn't be happier. <br />
<br />
<b>Run: 3:36:20</b><br />
<b>Total: 9:59:34, 1st in Age Group, 1st Overall Amateur</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwTbEQV6RQluRON9mtKkepk6C9cCPau0AQ05sv4A7iNjg6gUyIPCA3ms6aZiGO3YCe8Ag50iLkI9vlMwzTPhkzu_iwizZhbLm23h-4bSBvpNYkhYpUa8ua9r_i8cE8olfIM4MLVSeQR0/s1600/finishclock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwTbEQV6RQluRON9mtKkepk6C9cCPau0AQ05sv4A7iNjg6gUyIPCA3ms6aZiGO3YCe8Ag50iLkI9vlMwzTPhkzu_iwizZhbLm23h-4bSBvpNYkhYpUa8ua9r_i8cE8olfIM4MLVSeQR0/s1600/finishclock.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too happy to remember to pose</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>The After</b><br />
And that, <i>finally</i>, is a wrap on 2014. As for 2015, I have new ideas almost every day but am leaving a lot of question marks on my calendar for a while. I'm too busy eating pizza and drinking wine. With the extent to which I've been gorging on pizza, you'd think it was a food I'd deprived myself of in some way during the season-- not so much. Pizza was my night-before long ride dinner all season long. What can I say, I just really like pizza. <b> </b>Kristy said it best when she wrote that she'd be taking a "fat and happy offseason." Indeed. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorvZyEhsLytcuLVEY_85BEig3a-YMf4RgMn7lfPZHfkMqyFtDYF7Kebaoit36p48tpD-GEG30FYG19TkUxLrPGDZpNJ8vOiYF-uCAn03FyIXZFiR6aTEjXxW8elE1wiKMomrffiN2Vos/s1600/pizza.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorvZyEhsLytcuLVEY_85BEig3a-YMf4RgMn7lfPZHfkMqyFtDYF7Kebaoit36p48tpD-GEG30FYG19TkUxLrPGDZpNJ8vOiYF-uCAn03FyIXZFiR6aTEjXxW8elE1wiKMomrffiN2Vos/s1600/pizza.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Speaking of Kristy, who has been a great training buddy this year, she won her age group by <i>over an hour</i>, and will be heading to Kona next October. And.....after a little hemming and hawing (the memories are still a little too real), I decided to take my slot, too. <b></b>At least I have one training buddy lined up (with more likely to come)! So, ALOHA!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjWX4PlUXn_rVAp6E_xjrrkaV-GJtjfxs_Akm42Mg4yt25Ojm_uOZiFiGRPbA5Ep7xWQ11xrJr1uLiolCSKGPFwWMFqLOhP2tHroCliIRIyetO3i6VX83yE_R9OUBGRVvpapie1yRDhs/s1600/awardsAZ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjWX4PlUXn_rVAp6E_xjrrkaV-GJtjfxs_Akm42Mg4yt25Ojm_uOZiFiGRPbA5Ep7xWQ11xrJr1uLiolCSKGPFwWMFqLOhP2tHroCliIRIyetO3i6VX83yE_R9OUBGRVvpapie1yRDhs/s1600/awardsAZ.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcWQ5jElQGWnBUUSxdPJqo9uhs150g72tIA9exim_cEVpGB1lCGPgNFsvRN6EvxLxvZa4LR1-fldbrNUYillIOKmZ-YwuEktZjOtaf_UY6Ckw_f4QLtzEHww6Ne657dkBSZn7KjWn14/s1600/trisports.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrcWQ5jElQGWnBUUSxdPJqo9uhs150g72tIA9exim_cEVpGB1lCGPgNFsvRN6EvxLxvZa4LR1-fldbrNUYillIOKmZ-YwuEktZjOtaf_UY6Ckw_f4QLtzEHww6Ne657dkBSZn7KjWn14/s1600/trisports.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzEDNYnjLoR4WB78erYx5cKxmSeF97n3c0CUNaJql56yG1M4ebHwmbwtlDUk6TRmLKuLCannV_zHOGq7yeJaBG-0BRz5PRk6HHU5vGsKKjztn1BMwB2Eq6wWNC7j-QevLeok7W383DTI/s1600/KonaKristy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzEDNYnjLoR4WB78erYx5cKxmSeF97n3c0CUNaJql56yG1M4ebHwmbwtlDUk6TRmLKuLCannV_zHOGq7yeJaBG-0BRz5PRk6HHU5vGsKKjztn1BMwB2Eq6wWNC7j-QevLeok7W383DTI/s1600/KonaKristy.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-82376112798712918062014-11-21T13:39:00.002-06:002014-11-21T14:55:17.010-06:00Ironman Arizona- The Weeks BeforeI am the kind of person who needs instant gratification and for that reason, haven't always been the biggest fan of Ironman Race Reports that are split into parts. The cliffhangers leave me twitchy....I start enjoying the story and just want to know what happens next! But, I'm also the kind of person
that is apparently unable to write in a cogent or concise manner, and I
have so much to say about the time<i> before</i> Ironman Arizona. So, I'm going to go ahead and write a separate pre-race blog. It's not the first time I've been a bit of a hypocrite and it certainly won't be the last. <br />
<br />
Last year at Kona, Timex put these cool magnets in the race goody bags:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwYX4_L4PWCFkcO21RDKGAyRAPpLC3Er0wg-b-KN9oqXyEKhqomqpvaS1nvIFFKikWp3du4Ux-H2znuQqtNEgJKt-G9aeUUg0z-I_JN2QaIreNbjgwCkj7KH_Xyv4Gfdiz6PwOrkXj1o/s1600/magnet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwYX4_L4PWCFkcO21RDKGAyRAPpLC3Er0wg-b-KN9oqXyEKhqomqpvaS1nvIFFKikWp3du4Ux-H2znuQqtNEgJKt-G9aeUUg0z-I_JN2QaIreNbjgwCkj7KH_Xyv4Gfdiz6PwOrkXj1o/s1600/magnet.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a> </div>
<br />
The idea was that you'd rip out the pieces of the magnet to reflect your actual finishing time in the race, and it'd serve as sort of a souvenir of the day. I, obviously, did it differently. Instead of punching out the pieces to reflect what I <i>had </i>done, I punched them out to show what I <i>wanted</i> to do, and then I stuck that magnet on the refrigerator where I'd see it multiple times a day. And THAT, that sub-10, was my loftiest and possibly least realistic goal of the 2014 season.<br />
<br />
It obviously didn't happen at Coeur d'Alene because I didn't finish the race (nor would I have been anywhere near 10 hours on that day, even if I had). Realistically, I didn't think sub-10 was likely at Kona, either. So at the end of the summer, I put the sub-10 goal aside for 2014 and ignored my little magnet for the rest of my food-consuming days.<br />
<br />
Then Mont-Tremblant went down and I spent the next week+ with my head in a cloud of delirious happiness, feeling an intense love of all things triathlon, floating through my workouts, and feeling invincible. It was while riding that high that I learned that Adam Zucco and Training Bible Coaching had a slot available for the long sold-out Ironman Arizona, and I jumped at the opportunity so quickly I'm not sure I ever had the opportunity to actually think about what I was doing. The goal, when I signed up, was that sub-10 finish. The goal was <i>not</i> a Kona slot for 2015-- I had decided that I wanted to go in different directions next year and Kona didn't fit into those plans. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytSar9QjkmNNHnMfZWpV0jmEAeoFh_emy2AlaXNDObO-C6kcXwc3RFCm1EuiWzvlQ-rvKweMDsREJM2B0UtmCn7X3PRDhHEMqAnfuhr7mHsxLDqINpmQpBeVDwSrmE9eo1QeMyAmep3Y/s1600/zucco.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytSar9QjkmNNHnMfZWpV0jmEAeoFh_emy2AlaXNDObO-C6kcXwc3RFCm1EuiWzvlQ-rvKweMDsREJM2B0UtmCn7X3PRDhHEMqAnfuhr7mHsxLDqINpmQpBeVDwSrmE9eo1QeMyAmep3Y/s1600/zucco.jpg" height="400" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fast track wheeling and dealing for a IMAZ slot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But then there was the DNF in Kona, and everything changed. Suddenly Ironman Arizona took on a whole different meaning. It became about redemption and about <i>finally</i> finishing what I had started. Sub-10 went out the window. Goals with respect to place-- out the window. I wanted, no, <i>needed</i> to just finish the damn thing. <br />
<br />
So I became, in some ways, frantic-- I had only five weeks to solve the
mystery of Kona and get ready to try this distance again. I called in all the troops.
I went to doctors and had lots and lots of tests, not fully committing
to Arizona until after I'd gotten the "all clear" that my blood work,
kidney function, and heart tests were all OK. I enlisted the help of
<a href="http://www.trimarnicoach.com/" target="_blank">Marni Sumbal</a> to help me adjust my pre-race and race-day nutrition and sent email inquiries to all sorts of other people I thought might have insight. My
free time was filled with reading studies about fluid-electrolyte
balance. I was a busy bee, trying to find all the answers. <br />
<br />
As the race got closer, and the "answers" still weren't totally clear, I just got scared. Scared of the distance, scared that maybe I just wasn't physiologically made for Ironman, scared that we hadn't had enough time to make the changes that needed to be made, scared for my health, and scared that I'd fail again, for the third time this year.<br />
<br />
That fear really weighed on me. My training block between Kona and Arizona was, without a doubt, the absolute worst I have ever completed. I was so mentally exhausted and unmotivated. Usually, I would <i>never</i> skip a workout or cut it even a minute short. This time around, cutting corners became the norm. It was so dark, so cold, so windy, and I was so tired of it all. I found ways to drag myself through the "key" workouts, mostly by enlisting company (thanks to Bob, Kristy, Nick, Andrea, Taylor, and Liz for joining me in workouts at various times and not throwing things at me as I continued to complain about how <i>so, so very tired</i> I was, how much I was <i>running on fumes</i>, and how <i>all I wanted in the whole wide world was just to drink lots and lots of wine</i>), but it was very, very ugly. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAf9Kaci62Uw4NF5sO8XQx3hEsILdpEeGHC65LZjshE-LwKvf5X8O5Q0YpJ_T2QwfU2jkF1iIH53PsQvA_JJTGoTS2boKY3aiFyTGMX-hQg4sIEurM1JEbxjMAvhKMtN4Phm3AS8tCfro/s1600/arb.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAf9Kaci62Uw4NF5sO8XQx3hEsILdpEeGHC65LZjshE-LwKvf5X8O5Q0YpJ_T2QwfU2jkF1iIH53PsQvA_JJTGoTS2boKY3aiFyTGMX-hQg4sIEurM1JEbxjMAvhKMtN4Phm3AS8tCfro/s1600/arb.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least the post-Kona training allowed for these sorts of scenes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Fortunately, <a href="http://multisportmastery.com/" target="_blank">Liz</a> knows me well enough to be able to objectively look at the data and how I was performing in my workouts and to remind me, repeatedly, that although I was clearly emotionally exhausted, my body had recovered nicely from Kona and was doing just fine. We made adjustments to the training and cut the volume, knowing that the mental stress of too many hours of training would do a number on me at this point, but we never fully shut down the intensity of my workouts because we didn't have to. My body was working fine. My head less so. <br />
<br />
One week out from the race, I really had no idea how I was going to do it. I was so negative, so tired, and so scared. I worried I hadn't had enough time to test my new nutrition plan, that my complete inability to eat cleanly after Kona had vaulted me up into a new weight class that was negatively affecting my chances (I did the, "I'll start eating well again <i>tomorrow"</i> thing over and over and over and never really did, whoops), and that I wouldn't have the mental toughness to keep pushing when it got tough. I'd never been this negative going into a race, at least into a race that went decently. Things just weren't looking good. <br />
<br />
So why am I writing all this and sharing how much my life sucked from the end of October to mid-November? For a couple reasons.<br />
<br />
First, being able to have a strong race after going through all this possibly taught me the best lesson I have ever learned in triathlon (and frankly, one that I'd learned before but just needed reminding) .... you don't need to <i>feel</i> it, or have everything go perfectly in the lead-in, to have a great day. I started to turn around, mentally, during the days before the race, and it's because some key people got me to realize that going into a race terrified and without a ton of confidence was perfectly OK and that I should accept those feelings instead of fighting them. <a href="http://lifewithnolimitscoaching.com/" target="_blank">Gloria</a> reminded me that fear and doubt was just part of the process, that it was perfectly normal for me. Liz had similar insights. <i> "You have a right to be scared, anxious, and anticipating failure....you don't need to have a positive attitude about this race, you just have to set yourself in motion and do it."</i> She told me to be prepared to feel the fear all day, that it'd be like a little black cloud following me the whole way. <i>"Expect it. You don't have to eliminate it. Just keep up with it." </i><br />
<br />
Which is exactly what happened and what I did. And once I accepted that the fear was OK, I felt a million times better.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2a5sRWjPXRtvnVyaSVafQJrLx45V38BHnPOlopaBxf442dMy14FixnfjASFHDvx7S_xSJ9WGmvb0rIN8Y0IFOmbPLvp-eTKSeVYxWFzZz0gXoDVkWSnkl2cCRwUnKgUPbsh4GMdsgBk/s1600/!!!eeyore.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2a5sRWjPXRtvnVyaSVafQJrLx45V38BHnPOlopaBxf442dMy14FixnfjASFHDvx7S_xSJ9WGmvb0rIN8Y0IFOmbPLvp-eTKSeVYxWFzZz0gXoDVkWSnkl2cCRwUnKgUPbsh4GMdsgBk/s1600/!!!eeyore.jpg" height="400" width="393" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Racing with my Little Black Cloud of Fear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Second, I need to specially thank the many people who helped me get through the rough patch after Kona and kept me moving forward. To my family and so many friends who let me talk it through and just <i>listened</i>, whether over glasses of wine, while riding bikes, while running, over text messages or G-Chat, while sitting in the hot tub after swimming...thank you, thank you, thank you....you know who you are.<br />
<br />
And finally, to explain a little my secretiveness before this race. I had told a few people about my plans to do Ironman Arizona before Kona, but afterwards, I was really very quiet about it, telling only a few close friends that I was racing. I realize this was sort of silly but it was important to me. A couple people called me on this afterwards ("<i>uh, how secret did you think it would be when your name was on the starting list?"</i> -- OK, fair point) but with the fear of failure looming so strongly, the possibility of having to take to social media, <i>again</i>, to fess up to failure, <i>again</i>, was daunting. Plus, my goal, truly, was to just <i>finish</i>, if it took 13, 14, 15 hours, whatever. I wasn't trying to sandbag or play games...I just really wanted to fly under the radar, eliminate all pressure, and quietly do my thing. So, to the few people that I kind of lied to when they asked why I was still training-- I wasn't just running for the ability to eat more pizza, I was on a super-secret redemption mission, and sorry for the evasiveness:)<br />
<br />
Part Two, coming up!Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-87497132253228720952014-11-11T16:27:00.000-06:002014-11-11T16:53:57.932-06:00Kona 2014<br />
I didn’t really want to write this blog….which is why, for four-and-a-half weeks, I didn’t. Why dwell on failures? Why relive the pain? <br />
<br />
But, there was something in the back of my mind that said that it was important to be honest, to be real, to get it out there, to process it. And I had enough awkward conversations involving tentative “so…..what happened in Kona?” questions that I figured I might as well get my story out there. So here we go. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8fipRViB4iwPdg-ZZFXxsdb-vEgvFNT-Nwv7skgyGsPKfHJzXjaMHgrB7h52zpaMyclVWnNOwvhASgVsEtjftwyj0c8rwxtqS56Zw_dfubtd7ZwUmrrc0KjBTY07KThhr9elAmX1woE/s1600/KONAbeach.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8fipRViB4iwPdg-ZZFXxsdb-vEgvFNT-Nwv7skgyGsPKfHJzXjaMHgrB7h52zpaMyclVWnNOwvhASgVsEtjftwyj0c8rwxtqS56Zw_dfubtd7ZwUmrrc0KjBTY07KThhr9elAmX1woE/s400/KONAbeach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-Race Swmming At Dig Me Beach</td></tr>
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I went to Kona with high hopes, fantastic fitness, near flawless preparation, and riding a wave of confidence after having the race of my life in Mont-Tremblant in early September. And I got there, and…..I failed. I know that’s a word that tends to make people flinch a bit, to say <i>“oh, but you tried your best, it’s really all about the journey, you didn’t fail, it just wasn’t your day,”</i> etc. etc. etc., but I refuse to back away from the “f” word because it’s accurate. My day ended with me lying face-down and semi-conscious on the Queen K at around mile 11. 15 miles short of the finish line. That’s a failure, no other way around it. <br />
<br />
Talking about October 11 isn’t easy because after weeks of re-thinking and recounting every minute of the day, visiting multiple doctors, asking anyone and every one with some semblance of expertise in this area for their opinion, I’m still not entirely sure I know “what went wrong.” I cannot point to a single decision I made that, doing it again, I would have made differently. I had a plan for the day and for the week before, I had several very smart people behind me who helped me put that plan together, and I executed it almost flawlessly. That’s what’s so mind-boggling, so frustrating. I wish I had over-ridden, or botched my nutrition, or done something stupid, because then I could say t<i>hat was a dumb mistake, live and learn, do it differently next time.</i> But I didn’t, and I can’t. Instead, I’m left with the very same sentiment I had in the med tent, once I’d come back to life and was able to talk: “<i>But….I did everything right! How could this happen?</i>”<br />
<br />
That, I suppose, is the mystery of Ironman. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2rdHhWDfmpqvGt51qWY5b2BlEe37chVE2myrLh0PKcFI0vf-ym5WW8Tpsa5hq5ZJNJjuD6uUSBlQZRLmA4ZDV300sb_GvDs9s48oPfA9S3DvYFLIaKCTYUmww77HB2VFq4meuWJqg1jY/s1600/DSC_8366.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2rdHhWDfmpqvGt51qWY5b2BlEe37chVE2myrLh0PKcFI0vf-ym5WW8Tpsa5hq5ZJNJjuD6uUSBlQZRLmA4ZDV300sb_GvDs9s48oPfA9S3DvYFLIaKCTYUmww77HB2VFq4meuWJqg1jY/s400/DSC_8366.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike Check In </td></tr>
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<br />
Until mile 8.5 or so of the run, when things spiraled downhill very quickly, my day in Kona was unfolding fairly uneventfully. I was having a day that definitely was trending more towards mediocre than magical, but I was getting through. <br />
<br />
The swim this year was split by gender, with the age group women starting 10 minutes after the men. From accounts I’ve read, the other women seemed to mostly appreciate this change. I wasn’t a huge fan. I actually don’t mind mass swim starts, and I loved my swim in Hawaii last year, when I just tucked into a pack of men of the same speed and chilled out, barely sighting and just going along for the ride. This year, I never found that rhythm, I never found a draft, I just felt sluggish, and every time I sighted, I saw lots and lots of pink caps pulling ahead. The water was choppy, I swallowed a ton of salt water, and I could tell the swell was slowing progress. But, I told myself to <i>relax, be patient, the first hour of a ten+ hour day means nothing</i>, blah blah blah. I tried to look around and take in the natural beauty of the Pacific. I saw a good-sized manta ray swim right beneath us and squealed a bit….there’s truly no place I’ve swum as beautiful as Hawaii and it gets me every time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gM3GgZxN1oc7coonHqb_Jo6hP91XIrpT3OTVhQXYDySz_xCBvjC-3y3e1a9tnYGy9v7IgjbwTDpS3ftXVgCuwZJkl9SV9paDR7MdxEfKM2a_tpzr0rmIBeOTevc2NOWUyR3D7rTS9dk/s1600/DSC_8433.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gM3GgZxN1oc7coonHqb_Jo6hP91XIrpT3OTVhQXYDySz_xCBvjC-3y3e1a9tnYGy9v7IgjbwTDpS3ftXVgCuwZJkl9SV9paDR7MdxEfKM2a_tpzr0rmIBeOTevc2NOWUyR3D7rTS9dk/s400/DSC_8433.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women AG Start</td></tr>
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Getting out of the water, I knew it wasn’t good, but I didn’t expect my time to be so far off what I had hoped for -- 1:05, a good 4 minutes slower than I’d ever swum in an Ironman swim. Running through T1, I did the pep talk: <i>the swim was probably slow for everyone, conditions were bad, it doesn’t matter.</i> But then I arrived to find the change tent completely packed with women who had out-swum me, so many that for the first time for me in an Ironman, there were no volunteers left to help me get changed. That wasn’t a big deal in and of itself, I didn’t need the help, but mentally, I was shaken. Everyone may have been a little slow, but I was way farther back in the field than I had been last year. Not good. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKuXM89l_MpQS2T_nEl8-v3BoEQH1BKx-5z2_gW649vXJdO-wliKp4_5g0qS1iWGhEx0NWcBRVTwOxd73ceXcUYW7tFkg_GGPJbP9_-UZFa1dhWL3kG_jTw41a5APVwGlsr_NG-sjzYLE/s1600/DSC_8454.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKuXM89l_MpQS2T_nEl8-v3BoEQH1BKx-5z2_gW649vXJdO-wliKp4_5g0qS1iWGhEx0NWcBRVTwOxd73ceXcUYW7tFkg_GGPJbP9_-UZFa1dhWL3kG_jTw41a5APVwGlsr_NG-sjzYLE/s400/DSC_8454.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Palani</td></tr>
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I wish I could have shaken off the disappointment about the swim and moved on as soon as I got on my bike, but truth is I pouted a bit for the first 20 miles, and then pouted a bit more between miles 20 and 30 when I was passed by a few big pelotons of riders, often with a couple (familiar) females tucked right in nicely. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrd6nhTrw9cMVsGRFsECChIdi3U0gIuhfzBJWiMdg84iB7FbYJabZ7_KG1KHp_tRwqgsOvWPUQwLh6cnv0O4awoWKFrUmhvKG8nx-K0o8pEUqriIGQyNaOzgetd0Np2JQ6gvfFnFS3xg/s1600/DSC_8149.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrd6nhTrw9cMVsGRFsECChIdi3U0gIuhfzBJWiMdg84iB7FbYJabZ7_KG1KHp_tRwqgsOvWPUQwLh6cnv0O4awoWKFrUmhvKG8nx-K0o8pEUqriIGQyNaOzgetd0Np2JQ6gvfFnFS3xg/s400/DSC_8149.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Favorite Sign on the Queen K</td></tr>
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Then, the wind started picking up…big, huge gusts of wind that scared the crap out of me and forced me to expend all my mental energy on not getting blown over. Oddly, as the ride got tougher and the winds more daunting, my mood improved. Eventually, I realized I was enjoying myself. Unlike last year, this year the island was <i>bringing it.</i> The winds were relentless, and it was hot. It was shaping up to be an epic day, one that people would talk about for a long time, and I was bizarrely happy to be experiencing the gnarly conditions I’d always heard so much about. <br />
<br />
I never felt great on the bike, or really even good, but getting off, I was very happy with my effort. I’d managed the winds. I’d paced properly and stayed within myself. After being in a bad mental state for the first section, I’d pulled it together. I’d followed my fuel plan and done everything I could to keep myself cool. As I dismounted my bike, I took a quick look at my average power for the ride and found that it fell exactly where we had planned. “Perfect,” I said, possibly out-loud. I really couldn’t have done anything better. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEB_3i0ZLsXR5EeeYbAObQIjOtXrrBiq1YiL0FpxJajirOSEYX2mWczLKbbknJmmfAqQZY0DT_ojs0hwJgzK5YqIBsv-fqONbtkNHqNy6W2U5H3JjpGN2PWoeCW8XL7s70f4dvTMTDyM/s1600/KonaBike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEB_3i0ZLsXR5EeeYbAObQIjOtXrrBiq1YiL0FpxJajirOSEYX2mWczLKbbknJmmfAqQZY0DT_ojs0hwJgzK5YqIBsv-fqONbtkNHqNy6W2U5H3JjpGN2PWoeCW8XL7s70f4dvTMTDyM/s400/KonaBike.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love this picture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Except….I never pee’d. I didn’t count precisely, but my educated guess is that I took in 18 to 20 24 oz. bottles of fluid during that bike ride….and never pee'd. In the back of my head, I knew that was bad news. But I tried to ignore it. <br />
<br />
It didn’t take long on the run for me to realize where all that fluid I’d drank on the bike went….it was simply sitting and sloshing around in my stomach. My gut had shut down. I looked several months pregnant, totally bloated. This was not good. <br />
<br />
I ran OK for about 8 miles. Not fast, but I was trudging along, trying to problem solve, trying to stay positive. I stopped at a couple port-o-pots, I took Tums, I walked through aid stations and filled my top and shorts with ice, trying to find the right solution but not succeeding. My stomach just kept expanding and expanding. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7js8u0jI9MRO1WGwakjfIyoF_kTdDS9mNfKP-MVOMfEe1ijb_uhnDE6LEiStVFuRbjT7VBaVqVgkRewZA9TgSRQsWT0u7NI-Dhi8guijVjCRTer7WfP7xMQlj-DpCkIgweEwr3GH9bn0/s1600/DSC_8570.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7js8u0jI9MRO1WGwakjfIyoF_kTdDS9mNfKP-MVOMfEe1ijb_uhnDE6LEiStVFuRbjT7VBaVqVgkRewZA9TgSRQsWT0u7NI-Dhi8guijVjCRTer7WfP7xMQlj-DpCkIgweEwr3GH9bn0/s400/DSC_8570.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not feeling good but still running OK</td></tr>
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Then, something switched. Mile 8.5 or so, I started to nod off. Suddenly, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt like I was falling asleep. My mind clearly wasn’t working right and instead of stopping, walking, doing <i>something</i> to fix this, I just kept running, eyes mostly closed, swerving around and bumping into things. This went on for 2.5 miles…. I have no idea how. Rational thought had gone out the window, and although I was clearly in a bad, bad place, I just kept running. I blew through aid stations without taking fuel. I ran into things and fell a couple times. At mile 10, I think (just after somehow climbing Palani with my eyes shut), I ran into a mile marker sign, wiped out, and laid on my back for a bit, vaguely hearing some Aussie spectators telling me as they poured water on my face, <i>“just stop, it’s not worth it, you don’t have to run yourself into the ground, wait a bit and then try again, you have until midnight to finish</i>.” But then I got back up and started running onward. <br />
<br />
Out on the Queen K, I swerved along, once opening my eyes to find myself about to run right into the press vehicles accompanying third-place pro Rachel Joyce, who was running the opposite direction in the final miles her race. I was in a weird enough mental state to find that almost amusing, thinking I’d just come pretty close to getting myself an appearance on the NBC broadcast after taking out one of the top pros. <br />
<br />
Shortly thereafter, I swerved into a curb, and went down hard. <br />
<br />
That fall was the last one. I couldn’t get up. Spectators and volunteers tended to me, trying to get me to sit up, but they had to hold me in the sitting position….I was too weak. No one really knew what to do, and while I was somewhat conscious, I couldn’t find the energy to communicate. One person forced me to eat a gel. Another poured water into my mouth, until I managed to muster the strength to say I’d already had more than 20 bottles and hadn’t peed, at which point they promptly took the water away and wouldn’t let me have any more for the 30+ minutes (!!!) I laid on the ground while waiting for the ambulance. I curled into the fetal position, then switched to face down, falling in and out of sleep, my cheek resting on the hot Queen K highway. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtomW0hqtNvdjy7ifEn4SWze9W50ci3TNVJSmKQhWScSDKjsu7DcAQOCSA_fW6csmAk9tuAOl8yIvxCD8X14jFnTzWz7UNflwGgRxe7h1KwgpjhCz_wwA9UbQBn794_f2jbfvwvTB_pg/s1600/!!!!!Queen+K.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtomW0hqtNvdjy7ifEn4SWze9W50ci3TNVJSmKQhWScSDKjsu7DcAQOCSA_fW6csmAk9tuAOl8yIvxCD8X14jFnTzWz7UNflwGgRxe7h1KwgpjhCz_wwA9UbQBn794_f2jbfvwvTB_pg/s400/!!!!!Queen+K.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> My "nap" spot</td></tr>
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<br />
Medics<i> finally</i> arrived, and before they’d move me, they forced me to say, out-loud, and three separate times, that I “wanted” to quit the race. I suppose I understand the reasoning behind this rule, but the cruelness of that exercise….I can’t even begin to start. Of course I “wanted” to finish the race, but there was no way I could. By making me say it, by making me feel like DNFing was a <i>choice</i> when in reality it was anything but….that haunts me. <br />
<br />
From then it was to the med tent, for a long, long time. Once I’d stabilized and returned to a human feeling, I was released to my family, who hustled me out of there, got me home, and let me stay curled up in tears in bed for the rest of the evening. Over the next couple days, I managed to pull myself together enough to enjoy the rest of our trip in Hawaii. I took comfort in so many messages I received from friends and loved ones, people who are closest to me, people I knew in high school but haven’t seen since, even people I’ve never met in real life. The outpouring of positive energy held me up, and to each and every one of you who reached out to me over that time….I can’t begin to thank you enough.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jM-aUVXMrIWAFI76MMF_4HZKGGZqYjL8TSZ5NCf1Cd_4hYPjzBQljQIjQwE4WhMDRhJJYyfteMRjB7ZYlpZQaq2xiXq3FYUZY6mpXO6vzwukPVxQqTy-g3gfRbJ4t0-8ChQ6b-KqdiM/s1600/!!!!!!Kona+Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jM-aUVXMrIWAFI76MMF_4HZKGGZqYjL8TSZ5NCf1Cd_4hYPjzBQljQIjQwE4WhMDRhJJYyfteMRjB7ZYlpZQaq2xiXq3FYUZY6mpXO6vzwukPVxQqTy-g3gfRbJ4t0-8ChQ6b-KqdiM/s400/!!!!!!Kona+Sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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<br />
And I’d love to say that since I got home from Hawaii, I quietly moved on with my life and put it behind me. But that would be a lie. The disappointment, the anger, the frustration of having poured so much energy, thought, work, and desire into this race, only to fail….those emotions have overwhelmed me at times. They’ve made it hard to get out of bed on days, I confess. <br />
<br />
Some days, I’ve been great, going about trying to solve the mystery of what happened, consulting doctors and experts, reading anything I can get my hands on that will give me clues, gaining energy from my quest for answers. But other days, it’s been tougher. I’ve felt anger, swearing off Ironmans, calling myself a failure, and seriously contemplating selling all of my triathlon gear, closing this chapter, and moving on with my life. And, maybe more than anything, I’ve felt fear…the fear that comes from not really knowing what went wrong, and thus, not knowing how to avoid it happening again. <br />
<br />
These feelings are extra hard because I’ve never been fully comfortable with just how much triathlon means to me. I know, rationally, this is a hobby. I am not getting paid. I am an amateur, this is not something that should be this big in life….these are the things I tell myself daily. <i>Move on. It doesn’t REALLY matter.</i> It’s almost like I’m mad at myself for feeling. But to those of you who know me even just a little bit must realize, for me, it is more than just hobby. It’s so much more, and to me, it does matter. For better or for worse. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43RbKnQwG9y0sqw-4oqdqr3cN1T_Lo8dT8s3QWoZTRoWrlDBlY1Q41M-ujad_TZVsufUjavNgwgTHLIvgfCv0XewdhLnxW08nvjEIFGqqjHzzLvTUZNBKQj57gCGyjA5_7uEXwMVtz8U/s1600/!!!!!BlackSand.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43RbKnQwG9y0sqw-4oqdqr3cN1T_Lo8dT8s3QWoZTRoWrlDBlY1Q41M-ujad_TZVsufUjavNgwgTHLIvgfCv0XewdhLnxW08nvjEIFGqqjHzzLvTUZNBKQj57gCGyjA5_7uEXwMVtz8U/s400/!!!!!BlackSand.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><u>Black Sand Beach</u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I think I’m rambling a lot here, and this has probably come across as WAY melodramatic and silly. But, here’s the thing. It’s not all puppies and rainbows, and I think it’s important for me to go through this process of feeling (and to bring my loyal reader(s) along:)). I could come on here and say, <i>“Kona was a disappointment, but I was so happy to be there, and I still love Ironman, and you learn more from the tough days and this has just made me stronger and ready to kick some butt!”</i> but that's not me, that would be a big, fat lie and in the end, not dealing with it would make it worse. Instead, I’m letting myself feel. <br />
<br />
And at the same time, I’m moving forward. I didn’t jump right into a true off-season the way I did last year after Kona….I kind of feared that if I did, that off-season would never end. Instead, I’ve kept training, a bit. My season’s not quite over yet. Things haven’t been all that pretty, I’ve had my break downs, I’ve quit in the middle of workouts, I can’t say I’ve enjoyed every moment or even the majority of them….but I’ve kept moving because I have to. <br />
<br />
As a wise person reminded me recently: <i>“You can be a basket case, you can hate life, hate yourself, hate the process, hate failure, hate it all… but as long as you’re still moving forward, you still have a chance to succeed.” </i><br />
<br />
And that’s what I’m doing.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-jM-aUVXMrIWAFI76MMF_4HZKGGZqYjL8TSZ5NCf1Cd_4hYPjzBQljQIjQwE4WhMDRhJJYyfteMRjB7ZYlpZQaq2xiXq3FYUZY6mpXO6vzwukPVxQqTy-g3gfRbJ4t0-8ChQ6b-KqdiM/s1600/!!!!!!Kona+Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6n16BOTWuZFHRwd0eQzpJsphLJbKZSpM7v6W7l_1AqXaAJ2pMmR6l06qvF-OdDOq3zawKT3-xO5dh7pYohBM8aYBOY58NjjS1vDTHwDzPRpsZn-fpk9EkuWl3Z7YjzxSyNN6S-oukQs/s1600/DSC_7962.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6n16BOTWuZFHRwd0eQzpJsphLJbKZSpM7v6W7l_1AqXaAJ2pMmR6l06qvF-OdDOq3zawKT3-xO5dh7pYohBM8aYBOY58NjjS1vDTHwDzPRpsZn-fpk9EkuWl3Z7YjzxSyNN6S-oukQs/s400/DSC_7962.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInbhRFrzTHwmdjOhuW1bs9pqIWaC03-1CIFdkglhrzgQPtraaR3OBDOLXIRR7keNdLCEsLFYL5gTbsqPmhvuCMN3r8Q24w7wrvI20ugEu-0ZQVysU3SChJYuSiGFuTuzDH10dAliXfNY/s1600/DSC_8159.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInbhRFrzTHwmdjOhuW1bs9pqIWaC03-1CIFdkglhrzgQPtraaR3OBDOLXIRR7keNdLCEsLFYL5gTbsqPmhvuCMN3r8Q24w7wrvI20ugEu-0ZQVysU3SChJYuSiGFuTuzDH10dAliXfNY/s400/DSC_8159.JPG" width="265" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cUA-0GJYNjDFcKiwPrpQ2-HDACE9VUi4-2a6ftqo3tqtpV3iLi9TaJvWOYbmYKej4If0UuMFHXxjYjmLkAgdJh-YwTNs9FIMTSxM_krInP5VmiI2PBTb4uw1G0fBsTnnnLNOt_R4ts0/s1600/DSC_7947.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cUA-0GJYNjDFcKiwPrpQ2-HDACE9VUi4-2a6ftqo3tqtpV3iLi9TaJvWOYbmYKej4If0UuMFHXxjYjmLkAgdJh-YwTNs9FIMTSxM_krInP5VmiI2PBTb4uw1G0fBsTnnnLNOt_R4ts0/s400/DSC_7947.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh43RbKnQwG9y0sqw-4oqdqr3cN1T_Lo8dT8s3QWoZTRoWrlDBlY1Q41M-ujad_TZVsufUjavNgwgTHLIvgfCv0XewdhLnxW08nvjEIFGqqjHzzLvTUZNBKQj57gCGyjA5_7uEXwMVtz8U/s1600/!!!!!BlackSand.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcYQhNPJdc6jw_esf3sfzhZTf4o_SysbAD5f53ZYxdwkR2zrBo2eifV7tcJxxiNJDAjJ31QhFzLndrQrmfuFRjGCmwGQ3_1xqfaBIrD51ba98aQOEEgT3zolQIwjBT0OUUvk-iGQHioQ/s1600/!!!!!Capt+Cook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcYQhNPJdc6jw_esf3sfzhZTf4o_SysbAD5f53ZYxdwkR2zrBo2eifV7tcJxxiNJDAjJ31QhFzLndrQrmfuFRjGCmwGQ3_1xqfaBIrD51ba98aQOEEgT3zolQIwjBT0OUUvk-iGQHioQ/s400/!!!!!Capt+Cook.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7-qF3yuq6UHjjKlWVlEz0L0bwvnDPAwKeT8jEv-MUuCKu02emZZmdZSl8qMqFPxghkzCW-29kBzqDe8cXZMQvFwTetZyQWVX_eNKpYgh1wpkQIiu30ux-eT38O9FA9tw9MHkxKndhCA/s1600/!!!!Signs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7-qF3yuq6UHjjKlWVlEz0L0bwvnDPAwKeT8jEv-MUuCKu02emZZmdZSl8qMqFPxghkzCW-29kBzqDe8cXZMQvFwTetZyQWVX_eNKpYgh1wpkQIiu30ux-eT38O9FA9tw9MHkxKndhCA/s320/!!!!Signs.jpg" width="320" /></a>Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-52370923879812187992014-09-27T16:24:00.002-05:002014-09-27T17:00:07.252-05:00Ironman 70.3 World Championships- Mont-TremblantThis is going to sound terribly cliche, and for that I apologize, but
the night of the World Championship 70.3, as I was standing on stage
receiving my award for winning my age group, I had the very distinct
feeling that I was dreaming. Two women in black dresses and stilettos
walked towards me, and one took and held my trophy as the other one
started to put a blue and black jacket with the words "World Champion"
onto me, like the friggin' Masters' Tournament or something, and it just
felt surreal. I didn't know how to act or what to do, I'm not that
experienced on podiums, so I just looked out at my parents and shrugged
my shoulders in a giggly, dorky, and shocked sort of way. I have vivid
dreams from time to time, and I just kept thinking, <i>at some point I'm
going to hear an alarm, I'm going to wake up, it's going to be 4:00 AM
and it'll be time to get ready for the race, and I'll go downstairs, eat
my pre-race breakfast, and say to my friends, "I had the craziest dream
last night..."</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_nWQVRumhaPx5_25CBHjPIPshAyZZo4TcVDmZFUVY2KefmrgcLMySZYM3P84WT4F9n_FccFEREBMNglqoQ5kwj8iv4qML45r8_PyNkL1CaZrmWmxxTfGA_OLIvAS5hFxdPzBx-OwxQ0/s1600/podium11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_nWQVRumhaPx5_25CBHjPIPshAyZZo4TcVDmZFUVY2KefmrgcLMySZYM3P84WT4F9n_FccFEREBMNglqoQ5kwj8iv4qML45r8_PyNkL1CaZrmWmxxTfGA_OLIvAS5hFxdPzBx-OwxQ0/s1600/podium11.jpg" height="342" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this happening?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That
Sunday in Mont-Tremblant, it turns out, wasn't a dream. It was
reality. It was, however, one of those magical days, so few and far
between, that make all the struggles and sacrifices worth it.<br />
<br />
The whole week leading into the race felt, in so many ways, <i>different</i>, and magic in its own way<i>.</i>
I usually spend the week before big races tying myself up into a whole
big knot of anxiety and worry, flipping out if things don't go
perfectly, panicking at every little sign of injury or illness or
off-ness. Not so much this time. I didn't really do much of a taper--
Kona's still the priority-- and maybe that helped keep me sane. Leading
into the race, I just did my workouts, checked them off, and moved on,
pausing only to marvel occasionally at how much more <i>not horrible</i> I felt than usual before big races.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDuAiJLL61K1LXQAiIiwsVIX160ZThgVBS1m-IZb1K5ot7ws3gIoofHCS813AHyQLaFcFAYnOIO4yMWo0Ep7AgoSMCoXo7C9U_BhCiWl41dsIxi2m-eWHTT_kWRsNKC0V98lAAbogzAg/s1600/MTFun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDuAiJLL61K1LXQAiIiwsVIX160ZThgVBS1m-IZb1K5ot7ws3gIoofHCS813AHyQLaFcFAYnOIO4yMWo0Ep7AgoSMCoXo7C9U_BhCiWl41dsIxi2m-eWHTT_kWRsNKC0V98lAAbogzAg/s1600/MTFun.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></i></div>
Part
of the eery calmness, I think, was that my expectations for performance
weren't all that high. I've written here that I struggled quite a bit
this season, and while I
did believe I had turned things around in my training and was a lot
happier and healthier than I'd been for the first half of 2014, I
wasn't certain that the good training mojo I'd been enjoying would
translate to racing. I thought top 10 in my age group, about where I'd
finished last year, would be a great day, Top 5, a stretch.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4Krq3P8zR9FyWkFQUYFeVbzRkvkZ8QNO2XXtHDgNfUYDMTbxtV30rLuGZke8e-7MJm4SYhPiHVdY-WocAWzxm1akMT9x0-WRUN603Umj5OnOOSytSDUCw5BblNLRbp_ecXikKTixBMc/s1600/Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4Krq3P8zR9FyWkFQUYFeVbzRkvkZ8QNO2XXtHDgNfUYDMTbxtV30rLuGZke8e-7MJm4SYhPiHVdY-WocAWzxm1akMT9x0-WRUN603Umj5OnOOSytSDUCw5BblNLRbp_ecXikKTixBMc/s1600/Sunset.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from the Sweaty Friends House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But
honestly, whether I hit those places or not, I didn't really care. I
started out this season with some huge, lofty, possibly
overly-ambitious, and mostly secret goals. And by and large, I'd been
failing to meet them. It was maddening... I was having some decent
success but failing to appreciate it (and probably coming across as very
ungrateful), because to me , it wasn't what I'd hoped for. But at
some point during my two months of Operation Mojo Reacquisition, things
changed. I don't want to say I completely gave up on my goals, but
..... <i>I completely gave up on my goals</i>. I got myself to a point where I could say "<i>this
is going to be a "learning" year, I very well may end up being slower
than last year, and that is actually OK, because I'm finally enjoying
myself,"</i> and truly mean it. <br />
<br />
I realize that's not
the way it's supposed to go. People don't brag about throwing away
their dreams. Coaches don't post inspirational quotes about letting go
and being content with less than what you wanted. But for me, those
pie-in-the-sky goals were taking all the fun away, the "failure" was
wearing on me, and surrendering, if you will, was completely freeing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IAkRnaOQ68bNzfhB2mD4IWc8LTJsjlhsa35a3DGBEdU9IX238m3yPaIaUY8BhEGQr5y29GIafQvxPCfk42tjgXmmJhK-cn-33HCEkQJ_INp_HJbzRVuctjkakP6QjioU9CL_fL3u8q4/s1600/nodreams.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8IAkRnaOQ68bNzfhB2mD4IWc8LTJsjlhsa35a3DGBEdU9IX238m3yPaIaUY8BhEGQr5y29GIafQvxPCfk42tjgXmmJhK-cn-33HCEkQJ_INp_HJbzRVuctjkakP6QjioU9CL_fL3u8q4/s1600/nodreams.jpg" height="249" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You won't see coaches tweeting this one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Oddly enough, it's when I let go of the dreams that I actually started achieving them.<br />
<br />
Now, the race weekend:<br />
<br />
When
we got to Canada, I felt the magic as soon as we stepped off the plane
in Toronto for a layover Or maybe it was 5 minutes later, when I
realized that the airport provided <i>free</i> coffee, tea, water, soda,
snacks, comfy chairs, and wi-fi. What a weird, marvelous place.
Mont-Tremblant itself was almost fantasy-like-- a charming little ski
town reminiscent of Disney World, except in French and filled with hard
bodies and buzzing with pre-race excitement. There was a true
championship atmosphere at this race, much more Kona-like than Vegas was
last year. I am, perhaps, looking back at things through rose-colored
glasses, but for once, I thoroughly enjoyed that pre-race buzz and
didn't feel the slightest bit intimidated. I was happy to catch up with
friends from distant lands that I hadn't seen in way too long (<i>Hi Adam! Hi Pip! Hi <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Karin</a>!</i>) and was just generally excited.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-rURLl-F5iw1CkenxRM3HtP7jtxBLlvHNIPxjMfwfk8NGI85ur9_gM0jD4rbGjz0FjeMBl-pb-AI8jaOTiE0SdsPFw__PUsn6LRpXw1OygST3cBlh5hPL2lw-_fBjviZwq03S5A2nUk/s1600/finishline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf-rURLl-F5iw1CkenxRM3HtP7jtxBLlvHNIPxjMfwfk8NGI85ur9_gM0jD4rbGjz0FjeMBl-pb-AI8jaOTiE0SdsPFw__PUsn6LRpXw1OygST3cBlh5hPL2lw-_fBjviZwq03S5A2nUk/s1600/finishline.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Finish Line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The
day before the race had some wrinkles (would it be a day-before without
them?), most notably mechanical issues with my bike. In the course of a
30 minute ride, my chain spontaneously popped off about seven times.
This was not good. But my strangely-calm-and-happy self dealt with it
with far less stress than usual, dropping the bike off at the
French-speaking mechanic who may or may not have understood the problem,
crossing my fingers and hoping for the best, and then heading back to
my parent's hotel for the all-important pre-race pancake gorge and
subsequent nap. That afternoon, I got my gear and (hopefully repaired
but I wasn't sure) bike checked in at the very last minute, because I am
nothing if not a procrastinator, and then it was just time to eat and
sleep and still not get all that nervous<br />
<br />
Morning came
quickly, it was brisk and a little foggy, I set up my stuff, got in a
little pre-race jog and swim, exchanged high-fives with Karin & Co.
at the start line, and it was time to go.... <br />
<br />
<u><b>Swim</b></u><br />
(<b>27:35, 8th in Age Group</b>)<br />
<br />
This
swim was a beach start with a long-ish run-in through shallow water. I
hated this idea. I am not a huge fan of beach starts, especially in a
championship setting where <i>everyone</i> is charging hard off the
line, I am generally very, very leery of dolphin dives in lakes for
personal reasons, and mostly, I just knew it would be aggressive. We
were also starting towards the back of the race, meaning there were
several waves of racers already in the water that might require some
effort to weave through. With those things in mind, I made the
game-time decision to line up as far right as possible, and then swim
inside the buoys and hopefully away from the mess until the first
turn.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5bl4k5oaYQPd3RmUwlHg5HPTV7Bjf9BAu7eFyW5k2BK6eiEDFl2kvwk2noll0sDAnx9KH3jJpJcZLnRNULtCA6RAbhzjlKjevucmwxEPbbsCu1GMQOgpO7-FvZfaRz4sW4TFmlRg3ig/s1600/Swim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5bl4k5oaYQPd3RmUwlHg5HPTV7Bjf9BAu7eFyW5k2BK6eiEDFl2kvwk2noll0sDAnx9KH3jJpJcZLnRNULtCA6RAbhzjlKjevucmwxEPbbsCu1GMQOgpO7-FvZfaRz4sW4TFmlRg3ig/s1600/Swim.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob, I stole this picture and a few others from you, if you read this and object, email me and I'll take them down:)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My
strategy worked perfectly. The horn (and fireworks, awesome) went off,
I bolted in, ran through the water, head-down sprinted for
about the first 80 strokes before settling in, and then was very, very
surprised to find myself with almost entirely open water.<br />
<br />
The
swim felt great, the water perfectly clear and cool. I cruised along
at a very relaxed pace inside the buoys all the way to the first turn,
largely by myself and not really able to see a whole lot of other
people. I wasn't sure if this strategy was smart or totally dumb, but I
took comfort that there was at least one other girl near me that I
could see and another clearly enjoying the draft that I was providing,
as she hit my feet over, and over, and over, and over for the whole damn
swim (until she sprinted to get out of the water before me, <i>you go girl, seventh place is ALL yours</i>).
I could have tried to stay closer to the masses and maybe caught more
of a draft, hindsight is 20/20, but I was really enjoying the effortless
pace and open water. <br />
<br />
Coming back in to shore, we
turned into the sun and I couldn't see a damn thing and just generally
swam towards splashes ahead. I had a bad feeling that my line was bad
and I was tacking on unnecessary distance, but girl was behind me still <i>tap, tap, tap</i>ping on my feet, so at least we were all going down together. <br />
<br />
Out
of the water, I still had no idea where I was in relation to anyone
else in my age group, but I caught sight of the clock, did a little math
to subtract out the time between when the clock started and when our
wave started, and came up with 27-odd minutes. That's a PR, and not a
small one. You never can tell with swim times and I tend to ignore them
as they vary so much with conditions and measurements, etc. etc., but I
figured a 27 had to have done me decently well.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV2R3uhkO4k2Ve4t4n-9EA0Rya9n8jDRjM3gibcUtBmxGnW6bIY1EhDRLxDxUAyOq2k4sMz-qFN3aPZRyu81lvxOM7JI7Ulf1BgNuRuLQxH8WZuOZA6z8l5WAuYkUBdttj2-J0nSW1ug/s1600/Roka2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJV2R3uhkO4k2Ve4t4n-9EA0Rya9n8jDRjM3gibcUtBmxGnW6bIY1EhDRLxDxUAyOq2k4sMz-qFN3aPZRyu81lvxOM7JI7Ulf1BgNuRuLQxH8WZuOZA6z8l5WAuYkUBdttj2-J0nSW1ug/s1600/Roka2.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are out-of-water pictures ever good? But I do love my ROKA suit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<u><b>T1</b></u><br />
The first transition was <i>long</i>,
almost a half-mile, but my legs felt good. My brain, however, got lost
somewhere after the time I was able to do the math necessary to compute
my swim time and before I got to the tent where the equipment bags
were. I'd marked my bag all up with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle duct
tape in hopes of being able to spot it in the piles, but that wasn't
enough to keep me from running down the wrong aisle of bags and then,
much like I did at Eagleman, running around completely lost and
desperately begging volunteers for help in finding my gear. The
frustration grew (<i>why am I such an airhead??)</i> but once I'd found
my bag I turned up the pace, got my sunglasses and helmet on, stuffed
the wetsuit into the bag, and bolted to my bike.....which I ran right
past and then couldn't find. <br />
<br />
I'm thinking I lost
about a minute with that comedy of errors and I wasn't pleased with
myself, but I shook it off and focused on riding.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Bike</b></u><br />
<br />
<b>(2:33:38, 5th in Age Group, 2nd off the bike)</b><br />
<br />
Getting
going on the bike, I felt quite good and remarkably non-frantic, given
the T1 debacle. I hid the watts on my bike computer and rode fairly
easy for the first stretch, knowing that the tough part of the course
was in the last 12 miles and not wanting to overdo things early. The
first part of the bike course in Mont-Tremblant rolls, but not terribly,
and I spun up the hills and tried to get as aero as possible on the
downhills.<br />
<br />
The first several miles out on 117
really were enjoyable. Things weren't too crowded, I was enjoying
moving up in the field, the weather was great, the road super smooth and
scenic. Then, going up a hill, my chain spontaneously dropped, just
like it had the day before. I tried to maneuver it back on but failed,
and had to pull over and get off my bike and wrestle the chain back on.
I slowly started up again, on an uphill, and within 4 pedal strokes,
dropped the chain again. This time there were under-the-breath swear
words as I dismounted again, and I wrestled with the chain, drew blood,
and tried not to flip out as I heard dozens of riders <i>whoosh, whoosh, whoosh</i>ing
past me as I stood on the side of the road. At the time, I was pretty
sure my day was over, envisioning a long, long ride of constantly
getting off to fix my chain. I was sad....this was a long way to come
to have a race ruined by a mechanical. But I told myself to just see
how it went, I got back on, tried to put out of my mind the time I'd
just lost, and miraculously, with careful, careful shifting, I was able
to keep the chain on for the rest of the ride. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtmPV8GXV-20K_bp2kBx6lAykgxKu-QwviW3DcQVSDTj4n_sl-g055J_HhzPMihspMqLhh43_EGlMoHFAddu1nHlfTf-EeIESCI-mTUyPmkCPDWYL_C5UFebiQeCWwEAmdyb0fykH4qM/s1600/Bike1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRtmPV8GXV-20K_bp2kBx6lAykgxKu-QwviW3DcQVSDTj4n_sl-g055J_HhzPMihspMqLhh43_EGlMoHFAddu1nHlfTf-EeIESCI-mTUyPmkCPDWYL_C5UFebiQeCWwEAmdyb0fykH4qM/s1600/Bike1.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always feel weird smiling for the cameras</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After
that, the scene started to change. As we were getting going out on
117, the pros were coming back in, and it was cool to throw out a couple
cheers for my favorites. And then came the first waves of age
groupers, riding almost entirely in packs of 30-40 with a straggler here
or there. I think the drafting issues at this race have been talked to
death, and I don't have a whole lot of substance to add, except to say
that during the race (and after), I was glad I was in the age group that
I was in. We (35-39) took off late, towards the end of the race, and
well behind the young, fast male age groups where the packs tend to
form. By bringing up the rear, my age group was able to have a much
more fair race than some of the earlier-starting female age groups that
got mixed in the men, that's evident even in looking at the times, and
for that, I am very glad. <br />
<br />
Anyway, aside from being
appalled at the packs I saw across the road, I was cruising along well
and enjoying the day. Until maybe 10 to 15 miles in, when I was passed
by Amy Farrell (who seemed to be desperately trying to break away from a
few 25-29 year-old leeches that had attached themselves to her rear
wheel). Suddenly, things changed. I raced Amy earlier this year at
Eagleman. She beat me soundly, by four minutes or so, but didn't pass
me in that race until almost mile 5 of the <i>run</i>. That she was
passing me this early, or on the bike at all, did not bode well for me.
I started to question myself and thought maybe I was having a crap
race, even though I felt good. But that thought exited quickly, and
from somewhere deep inside of my <i>goals-out-the-window-this-is-just-a-learning-year </i>psyche came a competitor.<i> </i>I
threw out my race plan, I stopped looking at my power meter, and for
the first time possibly ever, I decided that the race was right here, on
the bike, and I could not let her go.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJiPmbOuov-z1D0DrNPX11wVcYGmdRi9HInb9J5Dal9XA5Z4wvmRbHfMJN4fU86lZCnhiJrDehJ-n8uFgkvxtKpD_Sf1x5POoT9aHnyB-oJdbVDzlfGdeNGS1dv4Syuj93a5QymbxBC8/s1600/BikeFunny.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJiPmbOuov-z1D0DrNPX11wVcYGmdRi9HInb9J5Dal9XA5Z4wvmRbHfMJN4fU86lZCnhiJrDehJ-n8uFgkvxtKpD_Sf1x5POoT9aHnyB-oJdbVDzlfGdeNGS1dv4Syuj93a5QymbxBC8/s1600/BikeFunny.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
For the rest of the bike, Amy and I (and an Aussie girl) <i>raced</i>
that bike (legally). I've never really had that opportunity, and it
was so much fun. She'd pass me, I'd fall back, I'd pass her, she'd
fall back. I'd go by her on the climbs, she'd zoom by me on the
descents, I'd think I'd dropped her and 5 minutes later, she'd fly right
on past me again. She was relentless. We never said a word to each
other through all those passes. Maybe she had no clue who I was, but I
knew her and I knew her capabilities and I just kept trying to
get.away.from.her. It didn't escape me that Amy had out-run me by 8
minutes at Eagleman and that worried me a bit, but I was in the moment.
And the moments flew by. The course got tougher in the last 12 miles.
I barely felt it. I was in such a zone.<br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
I
did pass Amy on the last big hill, but figured she was right behind me,
so I hustled a muscle in transition and booked on out to the run
course. I didn't know where we were in the overall standings or how
many were ahead of us, but for some reason, I was focused on <i>this</i>
particular match up. I found out later that Amy had actually fallen off
her bike (her words) at the very end there, and I probably got a
much-needed minute or so head start on account of that. <b> </b><br />
<br />
<u><b>Run</b></u><br />
<br />
<b>(1:29:06, 1st in AG)</b><br />
<br />
And then, the dream sequence started. <br />
<b> </b><br />
I
headed out and my legs felt great, a welcome surprise after the last 12
miles of punchy hills on the bike. The 2-loop run course is no joke,
and the hills were pretty much constant and substantial. Hills are <i>not</i>
my strength but each climb was met with a very nice downhill, and I
felt like I was moving well. I evaluated my effort, tried to stay at a
relatively easy pace for the
first 5K, and just kept waiting for the moment when Amy would pass me
(remember, outran me by 8 minutes earlier this year?) I made a
last-minute decision before the race to leave my Garmin behind and had
just a simple stopwatch that I forgot to start (nor would it have
done me much good as the course was measured in kilometers), so I was
going completely by feel. In hindsight, it's a good thing I had no idea
of my pace, because if I had, I most surely would have slowed down. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlezn9B9nu6QiySFGStdIGbshab25G3-xsHD6uEsBWCW2vBM3GwgRkxZJjDezlDO54ogT9Twm38GOi7C3vmiRMwj7e8pR1X9rJ-bzC3SNBanUCCbWnkRC9U2G8VtvFXBKiR1SxQc7W8E/s1600/BigHill.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlezn9B9nu6QiySFGStdIGbshab25G3-xsHD6uEsBWCW2vBM3GwgRkxZJjDezlDO54ogT9Twm38GOi7C3vmiRMwj7e8pR1X9rJ-bzC3SNBanUCCbWnkRC9U2G8VtvFXBKiR1SxQc7W8E/s1600/BigHill.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This hill was in the last half mile of each loop, and a bit intimidating</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As
we were approaching the turn-around for the first loop of the run, I
forgot to start looking ahead to see who was there to catch, but for sure once
I'd made the turn, I started scoping out the scene behind me. Amy was
charging hard and not far back. She seemed to be followed by a whole
line of familiar faces, girls who I knew to be excellent runners. <i>Oh boy, here they come.</i><br />
<br />
We
ran back towards town and I felt better and better but still expected
the passes to start. I mean, I've been run down in every long course
race I've done this summer. I'm not a runner. It seemed like a
foregone conclusion.<br />
<br />
As
we approach the Village for the turn-around to start the second loop,
my parents spotted me and subsequently won themselves the race-VIP
awards for the second time this summer. Confusingly, my dad yelled over
and over, "P-2, P-2, P2," his own secret code words for second place, a
code that he forgot to tell me. And my mom, bringing her A-game and
showing up to the race more than I did, yelled very clearly, "<i>you are
in second place. The girl in front of you is from Austria and is
wearing red. Her number is 1850. You have gained a minute on her at
every split." </i><br />
<br />
Yeah, Mom!<br />
<br />
Moms
are great, they really are, and my mom, who has watched me develop as
an athlete since I was seven years old, is the best. I wanted to turn
to her at that moment and say, "<i>OK, but what's going on behind me? How far back are the rest? When are they going to start passing?</i>"
That's my m.o. I look backwards in races. I have literally tripped on
curbs and fallen on my face in races because I was looking back for
whoever was chasing me. I generally assume I'm going to get passed, and
I run scared. So it was the race behind me that I was worried about.
But for some reason, I didn't ask that question, and when I told her
later that I'd wanted to, she said, <i>I knew that was the information you wanted. And that's exactly why I didn't tell you.</i><br />
<br />
There
was something in that exchange that changed my entire attitude as an
athlete. Suddenly, I stopped looking back and instead looked forward
and said, "I can <i>catch</i> that girl and I can win my age group."<i> </i>It was small, right there, that shift in thinking, that sudden belief in myself as a runner, but it was incredibly profound.<br />
<br />
I caught her within a half mile. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti1LVTUmyUme77E5VxaWclX-mdNVPWLHV84FcaPhrGErA7jVAvX2BDmBKEc6uIjPz4UnE3XHVCjONONKLjbmOdsR-wHSH-t9UjArhYaanSBKQ9pjtuYSDLcWl7wyqNh_jZEnzNyFByEA/s1600/RunHill.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjti1LVTUmyUme77E5VxaWclX-mdNVPWLHV84FcaPhrGErA7jVAvX2BDmBKEc6uIjPz4UnE3XHVCjONONKLjbmOdsR-wHSH-t9UjArhYaanSBKQ9pjtuYSDLcWl7wyqNh_jZEnzNyFByEA/s1600/RunHill.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of the hill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
From
there, I took off like a bat out of hell, on a mission, but just
floating. I know there were hills on that course.... I'd felt them in
the first loop. Remarkably, I didn't even notice them that second time
around. When I got to the final turnaround and saw I'd actually
extended my lead, I had a moment of shock. But the race isn't over
until it's over so I picked it up again, and was just tearing through
the crowds of people as fast as I could, breathing so, so incredibly
loud, just repeating to myself "<i>faster, faster, faster, you've got this, you can do this, go, go, go</i>."<br />
<br />
Triathletes
are so nice, and I think they could tell by my animal noises how hard I
was working. I got a ton of cheers from the competitors from other
waves as I passed, which was so motivating. About a mile and a half
from the finish, I saw my friend Karin heading out on the other side of
the street. "AAAMMMAAANNNDDDAAA, GOOOOOOOO," she screamed, sounding
more excited than even I felt, and to borrow a phrase from her lexicon, I
got a serious case of the feels. When I was a new triathlete
anonymously hanging out at Well-Fit, Karin was one of those fast girls I
looked up to so much, and she was also one of the ones who was nice to
me. In time she's become one of my best friends and biggest supporters,
and her honest and obvious happiness for me gave me chills.<br />
<br />
I
huffed and puffed my way back to the village where I saw my parents
again, a half mile from the finish (which includes a massive hill, so it
wasn't an insignificant last half mile), with my dad yelling "P-1, P-1,
P-1." This time, they clued me in on what was behind, telling me I had
more than two minutes ahead of second. I didn't slow down when I got
that news, but I relaxed mentally a bit, and let myself take it all in.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRafU8thnUQgxLFOKuqTy2nwYwZhZbyZK5MZ9MTAcfoFk6GoJXL6gRtCDJfef3Msgg71pnyvUIcCLXqh2mDIUG-QSCmvDTgvI8kSPRgKBU5eUTTL5xfmH3MA0deSq1NNhg3i-ogm-2DFE/s1600/Runhappy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRafU8thnUQgxLFOKuqTy2nwYwZhZbyZK5MZ9MTAcfoFk6GoJXL6gRtCDJfef3Msgg71pnyvUIcCLXqh2mDIUG-QSCmvDTgvI8kSPRgKBU5eUTTL5xfmH3MA0deSq1NNhg3i-ogm-2DFE/s1600/Runhappy.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
Coming
down the last steep hill into the finish, I totally lost it. Looking
at pictures, I look absolutely insane....mouth wide open, like a crazed
animal. I was doing some sort of combination of gasping from the
effort, while also crying.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbc5Rkn59cjP12jXS_lnVpyRAXCSLZJaqpJ5SOUdFTCMYuEVj4Nvzxd94XITbxCOT3KHCLHk5jO-Crc0-J2z7PpEHWKLKL0uZRAXsuzStkl2nC0HLNn-PAHgWrjX3gmfVpb3DmUDf4n8/s1600/BestRun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbc5Rkn59cjP12jXS_lnVpyRAXCSLZJaqpJ5SOUdFTCMYuEVj4Nvzxd94XITbxCOT3KHCLHk5jO-Crc0-J2z7PpEHWKLKL0uZRAXsuzStkl2nC0HLNn-PAHgWrjX3gmfVpb3DmUDf4n8/s1600/BestRun.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZ_NMqA_aY8T3WOUqNhPMDtaIJonUl5VJ7DkX-PHyBQdsw6uXU7BfvXsaYqODu4TeiletItb4X_l7_ri0o_07b_kT07XICS4C-vVkiXbNC7KzkLNqtEjMV8P7rzwzt8Tmjyu9S9iCWgI/s1600/FinishHappy2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZ_NMqA_aY8T3WOUqNhPMDtaIJonUl5VJ7DkX-PHyBQdsw6uXU7BfvXsaYqODu4TeiletItb4X_l7_ri0o_07b_kT07XICS4C-vVkiXbNC7KzkLNqtEjMV8P7rzwzt8Tmjyu9S9iCWgI/s1600/FinishHappy2.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
But
I was just so shocked. I never, ever imagined this result, I've never
considered myself in that league, and the enormity of it overwhelmed
me. I made a bit of a scene at the finish line with my happy tears,
and then again a few minutes later when I got the official results that
confirmed the place. And it wasn't even just the age group win that thrilled
me, it was the whole day-- the magic of it, the <i>effortlessness</i>, after a year that had been so full of <i>effort</i>.
And the run? I'm still a little stunned. My run has not been good
this year in races, and it's never been my strength. So to PR, straight
up, including open half marathons, on a course that cannot be
considered particularly fast, and to have the fastest run in my age
group -- you can see why it all feels a bit surreal.<br />
<br />
<u><b>TOTAL: 4:36:36, 1st in AG, 8th Amateur</b></u><br />
<br />
I
stayed on a high for a few days. Or really, a little longer that
that. Of course, Kona's still coming and has always been the primary
focus. I celebrated a bit but got back to work quickly, having a bit
more spring in my step and confidence in my ability, and that has shown
up in my training. Yes, I <i>know</i> Kona's a different and much
bigger ball game, my "job" there will be no easier after this, and I
have not suddenly changed my goals or expectations for that race (or
really, set them). But, I'm going in there putting even less pressure
on myself than I did before.<br />
<br />
I had my magic day. I had this moment. 2014 is a success, no matter what else happens..<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWBLK0fmxfYE3_-Eaob_7Ree1gz8PVQZUAGHZyGsANtqtxoPTGUtqUPOyQnwj8k5Q7g-D4mtYqIER70OuxfFWi_AX9faHX2yp343GsJyBwmh96DapFVmyDdbiymDUdWx2CdjnbjJrakc/s1600/TotalCelebration.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWBLK0fmxfYE3_-Eaob_7Ree1gz8PVQZUAGHZyGsANtqtxoPTGUtqUPOyQnwj8k5Q7g-D4mtYqIER70OuxfFWi_AX9faHX2yp343GsJyBwmh96DapFVmyDdbiymDUdWx2CdjnbjJrakc/s1600/TotalCelebration.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
Of
course, I cannot do this alone, and there are SO many people to thank
who have helped me along the way, and especially those who helped me to
pull out of my mid-season slump and get this train back on the track.
To my parents, thanks for being there in Canada, thanks for the updates,
thanks for all the love and support. <a href="http://multisportmastery.com/" target="_blank">Liz</a>,
my coach, thanks for being the mastermind, hanging with me all this
time, giving me the tough work (and the tough words at the right times),
and helping me learn to believe in myself. Thanks to Val, Criss, Pat,
and all the Sweaty Friends for welcoming me into your house for the
weekend. Taylor and Gina and A<a href="http://www.achieveortho.com/" target="_blank">chieve Ortho</a>, thanks for keeping me injury-free. <a href="http://nutritionwellnesssolutions.org/" target="_blank">Heather Fink</a> helped me with nutrition, and is so great at what she does. <a href="http://lifewithnolimitscoaching.com/" target="_blank">Gloria Petruzelli,</a>
who helped me with some mental skills training in July & August--
you never gave me the answers but instead helped me to find them on my
own-- thanks so much! Thanks to new-this-summer riding buddies <a href="http://kristy-juno.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kristy</a> and <a href="http://soccertotriathlete.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Nick</a>
who helped me to re-find the joy in training, and to so many friends
near and far who have provided so much support, you know who you are.
And of course, <a href="http://trisports.com/">TriSports.com</a>, thanks for the support, and it was so great to see so many teammates out on the course!<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading!<br />
<i> </i><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa3w5SyCRRCJf4X1hoF5Kw_RnZ8ZVLbgWVJkFwgEZ473REDgEWmUAWxC65ZHQGqUKnl-jTzpbmt0jvCC5vzbf-fMZk4TUS7Wd5IMgMps_jEo87_MXaL1LTt7rCmpTg07fTr17jNLUkJ8/s1600/award.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa3w5SyCRRCJf4X1hoF5Kw_RnZ8ZVLbgWVJkFwgEZ473REDgEWmUAWxC65ZHQGqUKnl-jTzpbmt0jvCC5vzbf-fMZk4TUS7Wd5IMgMps_jEo87_MXaL1LTt7rCmpTg07fTr17jNLUkJ8/s1600/award.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the jacket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqjtbtKQcD8gao86X5D9_rGUSV59W3g21P5d-TKs0SG4Gt1yoqEdMW3Nezsd_VJtqs7UvEmLa5mIBk7R0RFFrtCLqHGc5YSy2-tTCjJ2v3NUOkmHF-TnxWuAcrMb_e6Zi2ipRJVVJ0DI/s1600/EatingIt.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqjtbtKQcD8gao86X5D9_rGUSV59W3g21P5d-TKs0SG4Gt1yoqEdMW3Nezsd_VJtqs7UvEmLa5mIBk7R0RFFrtCLqHGc5YSy2-tTCjJ2v3NUOkmHF-TnxWuAcrMb_e6Zi2ipRJVVJ0DI/s1600/EatingIt.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For comic relief...the guy who finished right before me. I had nothing to do with this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-85266601830808660552014-09-03T19:39:00.001-05:002014-09-03T19:39:34.533-05:00How I Spent My Summer Non-VacationWell….summer happened. And I forgot to blog. <br />
<br />
When I last wrote here, about a million years ago, I was in a bit of a state when it came to triathlon. I was still dealing with my Coeur d’Alene meltdown/ DNF, still not sure how I felt about this sport and how much it’d taken over my life, full of self-doubt, just kinda lost. <br />
<br />
I spent the last two months working to get my triathlon mojo back. It was, without sugar coating, really hard. I won’t bore you with the details except to say there were a lot of changes that I made-- in my mindset, in my actions, in my general approach to this sport and my life as it is right now. But, spoiler alert—the mojo is back. <i>Mission successful. </i><br />
<br />
One of the things I did to help myself re-find the passion was to race frequently and in a totally new way. I’ve always approached my race schedule conservatively, doing fewer races with lots of time in between them to recover and regroup. This summer, post-CDA, was different. I raced a lot for me—three races in less than a month, including two half ironmans that were only two weeks apart. I mostly trained through these races, also something I’ve never done, and I approached them differently—with less concern about the results and more focus on the process<br />
<br />
I meant to write about each of these races separately, but I just kept on procrastinating and before I knew it, I was just a few days before the really big races start, so I had to get this one out! So, here goes:<br />
<br />
<u><b>Race #1- Muncie 70.3</b></u><br />
<br />
Within a couple days of the Coeur d’Alene DNF, I signed up for the Muncie 70.3, which was to take place two weeks later. The goal was to get back on the proverbial horse, to race completely by feel (no technology whatsoever), and mostly, to finish, ideally with a smile.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5isDwODwiWIDOUmehVae_NHcan18lbFuau5j4gdqJeKR9nctU4j8ZHMSghV2iZXEjtwKNEduU4bbkeP9HHK5Zd7oB3O8zaY_dTCuBYCS_odEpASCNrP9dQt5rmAdHicPesuiNEezovI/s1600/!!Crackerb.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5isDwODwiWIDOUmehVae_NHcan18lbFuau5j4gdqJeKR9nctU4j8ZHMSghV2iZXEjtwKNEduU4bbkeP9HHK5Zd7oB3O8zaY_dTCuBYCS_odEpASCNrP9dQt5rmAdHicPesuiNEezovI/s1600/!!Crackerb.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Traveling to glamo<span style="color: #0000ee;">rous places like Muncie al<span style="color: #0000ee;">lows one to dine at glamorous restuarants like the Cracker Barrel</span></span><u><br /></u></span></td></tr>
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<br />
I wanted so badly to go into the race completely calm and low key. Reality was, I couldn’t really pull that off. I faked it—going about my business the day before the race smiling and trying to act like I was relaxed and chill. But that was all a lie. I’m not sure I have ever been as nervous the day before, or morning of, a race as I was before Muncie. This felt like a very important turning point and a test as to whether I could get my season back on track.<br />
<br />
But lo and behold, nerves and fears aside, once the gun went off, I knew what to do. <br />
<br />
The swim was hot- wetsuit legal, but I declare shenanigans on that call – and within the first couple minutes I could tell I was overheating and pulled the effort way back and just cruised easily. There was a girl swimming at right about my pace and I jumped into her draft, sticking to her like glue and probably driving her completely insane as I kept (unintentionally) slapping her feet. In the end, I finished not that far off my usual time, which of course led me to the conclusion that effort in the swim is totally overrated.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80HFCqn2RA3BO0Fav1oE_tyzKFG6N8F8uktM0mNPn-j2BTaiTzPpr0aF6YYQB_IKPpl9CB1vSG8ssNk3LbEZA82P68A6E42VRh7QjhW9I3dLDIvBwY1p3d6HywpUkfcjpmh5fp7S58fo/s1600/!!!caps.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80HFCqn2RA3BO0Fav1oE_tyzKFG6N8F8uktM0mNPn-j2BTaiTzPpr0aF6YYQB_IKPpl9CB1vSG8ssNk3LbEZA82P68A6E42VRh7QjhW9I3dLDIvBwY1p3d6HywpUkfcjpmh5fp7S58fo/s1600/!!!caps.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;">Didn't bu<span style="color: #0000ee;">y pictures. But here's a picture of the many caps I was given <span style="color: #0000ee;">as I was leaving the race site!</span></span></span></td></tr>
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The bike was flat and fast, mostly on a completely closed highway (love that). My legs presented the welcome surprise of the day by actually showing up. I was comfortable on my bike, I was happy, felt speedy…couldn’t have been more different than CDA two weeks prior. In the first 10 miles, I played a little game of leapfrog with Mindy Nicolet, the winner of our age group last year at this race, and a friend of my friend Scott, who’d clued me in that she was the one to beat. After a while of that nonsense, I threw in a surge and it stuck. I thought I was in the lead, so I spent the rest of the race keeping an eye out for Mindy at the turn-arounds and chasing down girls who had started in the earlier waves. <br />
<br />
I got off the bike in 2:26, just seconds off my bike PR, feeling like it couldn’t have gone much better. Heading into T2 I was still fairly certain I was winning the age group. Then I saw a speedy looking girl in a Canadian national team suit with a 36 (her age) written on her leg leaving her transition spot just as I was arriving. Oh, snap. Turns out she’d been riding 30 seconds in front of me the entire bike. I’m not sure how I completely missed seeing her on three separate occasions, but apparently my reconnaissance needs work. Whoops.<br />
<br />
On a different day, at a different time, there’d have been no question that I’d have left transition on a mission to chase down that Canadian chick . Truth was, I didn’t have my mojo back at Muncie and I wasn’t at all confident in my run. So I made no effort to chase, and instead settled into a fairly pedestrian (but still painful) pace for 13.1 miles, dilly-dally-ing through aid stations, making a Port-o-Pot stop that probably wasn’t as essential as it seemed at the time, and just trying hold on to second place in the age group.<br />
<br />
My run wasn’t good at all, and yes, after the race, like the mature 34-year old that I am, I spent some time whining on the phone to my mom that I’d <i>completely forgotten how to run, tears, tears, melodrama</i>. But on that day, it was enough to hold on to second in the age group. I also ended up second overall amateur, left Muncie feeling relieved that I could still do this racing thing, but also knowing I had a ways to go. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOY1CI6FShBG_wJwdOb5L9sGoraUjAExNhL5wxql-GikZxW2HFJsqy7QSRI7KTRLU_ATVRUrIOy6WRCjGF1vdzeVA95N7FQfMGloo-0eAKYsWgccvWsXc06wfzyTbrr-iQzsVwdw2V_48/s1600/!!+Harrison.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOY1CI6FShBG_wJwdOb5L9sGoraUjAExNhL5wxql-GikZxW2HFJsqy7QSRI7KTRLU_ATVRUrIOy6WRCjGF1vdzeVA95N7FQfMGloo-0eAKYsWgccvWsXc06wfzyTbrr-iQzsVwdw2V_48/s1600/!!%2BHarrison.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another picture with Jen and her much bigger trophy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHFURPd8q9iidYNzV5dUoIHUOF3Gx244aOsLBKYbiE1qLpn-czJxVnbT3m2E7N8aT5OUGSYt7o7JMc4-0Elpg2stIUbwre_rV1_M2T8AhuG1nBbnBkX8niOgugSTbgcjE8xnWqK-lck8/s1600/!!!MunciePodium.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtHFURPd8q9iidYNzV5dUoIHUOF3Gx244aOsLBKYbiE1qLpn-czJxVnbT3m2E7N8aT5OUGSYt7o7JMc4-0Elpg2stIUbwre_rV1_M2T8AhuG1nBbnBkX8niOgugSTbgcjE8xnWqK-lck8/s1600/!!!MunciePodium.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not short, but apparently on this day I was</td></tr>
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<br />
<u><b>Race #2- Challenge New Albany</b></u><br />
<br />
A quick turn-around and two weeks later I headed to my hometown, Columbus, Ohio, for the inaugural Challenge New Albany (half ironman distance). When this race was announced, I was intrigued. When Trisports.com became a race sponsor, the decision was as good as made…. I couldn’t resist. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPJ5DewNqjQecWmzI30fSOjtE323eJlIw2WIlxiID1HxlcP2RRm6JI7K8WiYIrEk7KrnQ_wKaict4ubyuP7qgJ51aVd-km2g6ueF1YkUHKMa42FnLgeaYT8foOr1NvnpLKd1Z06l3ZcM/s1600/!!NewAl.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJPJ5DewNqjQecWmzI30fSOjtE323eJlIw2WIlxiID1HxlcP2RRm6JI7K8WiYIrEk7KrnQ_wKaict4ubyuP7qgJ51aVd-km2g6ueF1YkUHKMa42FnLgeaYT8foOr1NvnpLKd1Z06l3ZcM/s1600/!!NewAl.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Albany is fancy. That's a high school</td></tr>
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This race was special because it took me back to where it truly all started. I always say that I didn’t start triathlon until I was 30, but actually, I had a couple false starts with the sport years ago at the Wendy’s Sprint Triathlon in Columbus. I was 16 when I first did Wendy’s. I rode on a mountain bike, stopped in transition to put on both shorts and deodorant, vomited bile at the finish, and swore I’d never do a race that I hadn’t trained for again. Memories are short, though, so I did the race two more times in college, still just for fun and with no training or knowledge whatsoever. But, needless to say, other things took over my time during law school and triathlon became a distant memory.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoT9jrfrzTDw6GxSeqxvrDAeSaA95xGDBYSEOdiD6Q427ch7HLu45sYykQs9kdi6z5mdYAX4jBAnLHFUaVNVzIQCLTuwEJPHIzhb10XDq8kHDuoCnpfs-VT4EUMd_ktMFlq9zE59_0YU/s1600/Spinner+Cap.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoT9jrfrzTDw6GxSeqxvrDAeSaA95xGDBYSEOdiD6Q427ch7HLu45sYykQs9kdi6z5mdYAX4jBAnLHFUaVNVzIQCLTuwEJPHIzhb10XDq8kHDuoCnpfs-VT4EUMd_ktMFlq9zE59_0YU/s1600/Spinner+Cap.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">18 years ago, while riding a mountain bike and getting passed by the aero masses, I distinctly recall feeling like a small child with a propeller cap, pedaling along leisurely while eating an ice cream. This is the closest I could find.</td></tr>
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Challenge New Albany started in the exact body of water, Alum Creek, as Wendy’s did years ago. And race morning felt like a reunion of sorts with multiple childhood friends from my age group swimming days. My parents were there, just like they were a million years ago at this same place--- it was great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCY8bQBt8ZkvcJrssEvz4pGzEuhYYjEvMULXo1ZlSTFs-TckC16HXoD2nUehLzROVwoh_CGvUv7k164xnpkae818_nJVLvfWsI3RENY3RRHce-Mp5JuWOS8h3T7c1FcYFTzCmk8EO95mw/s1600/!!!miller.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCY8bQBt8ZkvcJrssEvz4pGzEuhYYjEvMULXo1ZlSTFs-TckC16HXoD2nUehLzROVwoh_CGvUv7k164xnpkae818_nJVLvfWsI3RENY3RRHce-Mp5JuWOS8h3T7c1FcYFTzCmk8EO95mw/s1600/!!!miller.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a childhood friend but a TriSports and Multisport Mastery teammate- Liz</td></tr>
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My race started about as poorly as a race could – I took the lead and then went immediately off course, aiming for the wrong turn buoy of a narrow-ish rectangle, and not realizing my mistake until I’d already reached the buoy. So I turned completely around and backtracked, sprinting to catch back up to the pack. Eventually, I retook the lead, but on the way back in continued my directionally-challenged ways, swimming outside of buoys that were supposed to be on the inside--- not illegal but needlessly adding a whole ton of distance. <br />
<br />
So that swim was no good.<br />
<br />
I got a lot of practice last year shaking off bad swims, however, so I had put it behind me by the time I even got out of the water. <br />
<br />
Then we set out on a 56 mile ride from Alum Creek to New Albany that was lovely, a bit rough, and very lonely. In the span of a little over 2 hours and 30 minutes, I saw three other riders, and that wasn’t until mile 40 (3 guys, drafting off each other, who blew by me in a little peloton).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizC3USHqvIJzU5vGx7zScXrG6WI0jCgrY4my-OCRkm5EXHEsX8dSf1yenFzWlMEKmYHs0vmtVqhFDnile0wqv0b7lzsXwj2F7zEjIDDokvyugsVg47y8B9o2bTw76-tSbMahTQsoiZMFI/s1600/!!!NABike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizC3USHqvIJzU5vGx7zScXrG6WI0jCgrY4my-OCRkm5EXHEsX8dSf1yenFzWlMEKmYHs0vmtVqhFDnile0wqv0b7lzsXwj2F7zEjIDDokvyugsVg47y8B9o2bTw76-tSbMahTQsoiZMFI/s1600/!!!NABike.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No one in sight</td></tr>
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But out there, I did see my parents. This was a point-to-point race, winding through (surprisingly hilly) suburbs east of Columbus on lightly traveled country roads, and somehow my parents managed to find a route and to time and execute it flawlessly so that I saw them FIVE different times in five different places. A truly amazing effort<span style="color: #0000ee;">.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYFF1AFrxStj7TgBp4y8TWYzR9F_bvFM9yWhpZ3Cf5hSfOHcSI1ofj6FcDrYGoKN-y4XMbcQaJ22YWIUzraWrEgyiaqZTxzBQ_TiY3FJ0O05gniFxSzxL9r8UQj-32a2-7Vpk-DJqREk/s1600/!!Dad.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihYFF1AFrxStj7TgBp4y8TWYzR9F_bvFM9yWhpZ3Cf5hSfOHcSI1ofj6FcDrYGoKN-y4XMbcQaJ22YWIUzraWrEgyiaqZTxzBQ_TiY3FJ0O05gniFxSzxL9r8UQj-32a2-7Vpk-DJqREk/s1600/!!Dad.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father spent hours carefully plotting a spectating course and had it worked out to the minute</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggiMQa9MInaP8yqd0m6Rt4eM1BjE-zJGHv_y7fROydj0DBvNXlRCuzIw7LzlbHCjFlsd3yqTfLoQfp4oIoHg-lZ4PjAc45mgQJaz0PJE5iErOGpSWqNQfKaBFLt7kckqxu_Zr2Um6Sk3I/s1600/!!!iphone.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggiMQa9MInaP8yqd0m6Rt4eM1BjE-zJGHv_y7fROydj0DBvNXlRCuzIw7LzlbHCjFlsd3yqTfLoQfp4oIoHg-lZ4PjAc45mgQJaz0PJE5iErOGpSWqNQfKaBFLt7kckqxu_Zr2Um6Sk3I/s1600/!!!iphone.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While my mother demonstrated her superior skills when it comes to taking action shots on an iPhone</td></tr>
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I was riding without looking at power, but I suspected that my bike was a little pokey. When I looked at the data afterwards that was confirmed, but I still had the amateur lead when I got off the bike and started running the two-loop course around lovely New Albany Country Club. That lead didn’t last. My running mojo and fitness was just starting to come back around at this race, but it wasn’t quite there. The first four miles felt great , but then I faded, and got run down about 7 miles in by a speedy girl from Idaho. <br />
<br />
From that point on it was a struggle and I had to start resorting to mental tricks to keep going. One thing I’ve been trying in runs lately is to break the distance down into small, manageable chunks. Even as small as—“ok, run to the mailbox. And then to the fire hydrant. And then that purple flower.” It seems to work for me. So that’s what I tried out there in New Albany, and one of my focal points became a mail truck. On Sunday. Which of course got me thinking of that Seinfeld episode when Jerry took over Newman’s mail route and delivered the mail on Sunday. That entertained me for a hot minute.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wg2HfrIYnwg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
Anyway, I hung on for second place with a run that, while still needing work, was better than Muncie. More importantly, I thoroughly enjoyed racing in my hometown among old and new friends and with the support of my parents. I walked away feeling far more enthused about racing than I had in a while. Baby steps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVq235iRJFLxMYxIN5NEq7ZT3dm6DPHx_G3C7ngyemZeafHESmtJBIFbd4iu9pup01E4TMfoLgJa4ySBOD2syo5-olLpOPADerOml-d7d54cW6L_YoxZ63wT_oWc8RotvsVw6IO-BB9g/s1600/!!!Runbad.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVq235iRJFLxMYxIN5NEq7ZT3dm6DPHx_G3C7ngyemZeafHESmtJBIFbd4iu9pup01E4TMfoLgJa4ySBOD2syo5-olLpOPADerOml-d7d54cW6L_YoxZ63wT_oWc8RotvsVw6IO-BB9g/s1600/!!!Runbad.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom on iPhone, again</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmdgvdLIy0YkCsCpIZYr4Kdd-pxVdyEsfns07guuKPQA1OKm5nnEwK4X0SYh8pIpymUklsTXZTwZ74Dp1uWzKKrkh08vR1-t8-z00J3U5OzgfPzzBks0SS0F4wawoG2v-sxrs-o-9Om4/s1600/!!NARun.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmdgvdLIy0YkCsCpIZYr4Kdd-pxVdyEsfns07guuKPQA1OKm5nnEwK4X0SYh8pIpymUklsTXZTwZ74Dp1uWzKKrkh08vR1-t8-z00J3U5OzgfPzzBks0SS0F4wawoG2v-sxrs-o-9Om4/s1600/!!NARun.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better!</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<u><b>Race #3- Naperville Sprint Triathlon</b></u><br />
<br />
The third race of the trifecta was a (new) hometown affair, the Naperville Sprint. <br />
<br />
I’ll admit, I cherry-picked this race. It usually has a very competitive field for a local race, but this year, the traditional female front-packers were either 1) pregnant; 2) up in Milwaukee, racing Nationals, which was going on at the same time (I have no good explanation for why I didn’t do Nationals this year other than I just didn’t feel like signing up); or 3) at the Steelhead 70.3, also going on at the same time. I knew if there was ever an opportunity for me to take the Queen of Naperville crown, this was it.<br />
<br />
I don’t have much to say about this race other than that it was short and it hurt. For some reason, I had it in my head that you couldn’t go too hard in the swim for a sprint distance race. Turns out, that’s not the case. I started way too hard in the 400 meter swim, coming out of the water with the lead guys, but I paid for it, barely being able to lift my legs when I stood up to run, and staggering my way, completely exhausted, through the first transition. <br />
<br />
My body was completely overtaken with lactic acid and the bike was among the weakest yet most painful half hours I’ve ever cycled. Twice, I puked on myself. <i> Hot.</i><br />
<br />
I pulled it together a little for the run, but knew by then that I had a very large lead, so I pushed but not that hard and won by something like 7 minutes. There was supposed to be a finish line tape for the winner to break, but there’d been some miscommunications so it wasn’t there when I crossed. They had me recreate the finish later, with the banner, but it didn’t look or feel real, so I didn’t bother buying the picture. I was also interviewed on camera, but I’m not sure it ever aired. Probably for the better, as the remnants of one of those two bike puke episodes was still on my chin, I noticed quite a while later, and no one told me. Thanks, guys.<br />
<br />
But, I’m now the reigning Queen of Naperville Triathlon. Liz promptly laid down the challenge, reminding me that the crown is only good for a year and she’ll be back by then. I guess I have something to motivate me through the long dark training days this winter!<br />
<br />
And that is the story of my three triathlons. <br />
<br />
<u><b>The Next Chapter</b></u><br />
<br />
Now, the season is really about to start…70.3 Worlds in Mt. Tremblant, Canada are this weekend, with Kona 5 weeks later. I’m excited—really. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFap3O1Ae1JJ0xjEBrTtHNLyI3U7xm0r9OdOQ8pDeBF8NPPJj98HEM7vwG7yoB4LqCqYzrR0_yCPZSR3ByD8eTqoUxBq3HmtBAtgTjDfPIj9ca-izxvlulVDlJhe8gzWc23J0XkuCN1k/s1600/!!!K25_MontTremblant-589x421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFap3O1Ae1JJ0xjEBrTtHNLyI3U7xm0r9OdOQ8pDeBF8NPPJj98HEM7vwG7yoB4LqCqYzrR0_yCPZSR3ByD8eTqoUxBq3HmtBAtgTjDfPIj9ca-izxvlulVDlJhe8gzWc23J0XkuCN1k/s1600/!!!K25_MontTremblant-589x421.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't wait to get to Mont Tremblant</td></tr>
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I used to feel fairly frantic about these races, even as recently as a month ago trying to explain by email to my coach how<i> incredibly important</i> it was that I finish within the Top XXX at each of these races, how much I <i>needed</i> successful outcomes.<br />
<br />
At some point, recently, that kind of thinking changed. I want to do well, to be sure, and I’ve put in the training to do my best and come race day I’ll be ready to execute. But I’ve also taken a step back and realized that even if I’m slower than last year, or place lower, or don’t have magical or even good days, it’s going to be OK and<i> I’m</i> going to be OK. I don’t <i>need</i> to finish in the Top XXX. I’d like to, sure. But if I don’t, I can still look at this year and be proud.<br />
<br />
From a high level, I think it's fair to say this season and year has been a struggle for me in a lot of regards -- personally, athletically, professionally-- very little of which I've chronicled here. And, in all those aspects, I’ve made many misteps along the way and, at times, felt like I was just spinning and spinning and making no forward progress. But at the same time, muddling through things has taught me countless lessons, and in the end, just in time, I'm finding myself healthy, calm, actually enjoying what I'm doing, and a lot<b> </b>more at peace with life in general. <br />
<br />
To be, at this point, lining up at these Championship races, feeling strong, confident, enthusiastic, and actually <i>excited</i> to race – that, right there, is a win, even if it doesn’t come with a trophy. Everything else is icing on the cake.Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-5875412113669705082014-07-19T20:26:00.000-05:002014-07-19T21:43:43.577-05:00For the Love (IM Coeur d'Alene "Race" Report)Welp, I am long overdue for a blog post. And this one, I've written, deleted, and re-written so many times. For a while I considered just not writing it, pretending like everything was great. But....I've always wanted to be honest (as much as I can in a public space), this blog serves much like a journal for me, and writing is cathartic, so this while this may seem self-indulgent and silly, it's me and it's my blog, so here goes....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2rZbBqP8HoROIhn-B6Y38Sk-ciRFySse0Fpn3yixy1GI3iz3m_qsVKb_RMj8HrT9ZnjIJa5J8OPQzR5ibrOPaYmMK0E5NqOPH22wFDS3W0kUGSOp1lb7bNdz4_EBo8OZHLcUe1edbiA/s1600/AAAALake.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2rZbBqP8HoROIhn-B6Y38Sk-ciRFySse0Fpn3yixy1GI3iz3m_qsVKb_RMj8HrT9ZnjIJa5J8OPQzR5ibrOPaYmMK0E5NqOPH22wFDS3W0kUGSOp1lb7bNdz4_EBo8OZHLcUe1edbiA/s1600/AAAALake.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coeur d'Alene</td></tr>
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I did an Ironman a few weeks ago in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. More accurately, I <i>started</i> an Ironman. I quit halfway(ish) through. And then I stayed totally silent about it, here, on Facebook, on Twitter, to some extent in real life, because I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to tell the truth, and I wasn't sure I even knew what the truth <i>was</i>. I didn't know what people would think and I feared being judged. It's fun and easy to write and post pictures when things are going great, when everything is effortless. It's a lot harder to talk about it when it's a struggle.<br />
<br />
It's also hard to talk about the Ironman because I still am not entirely sure what happened. I was fit and ready for this race. I wasn't injured. I wasn't overtrained. I wasn't any of those things.<br />
<br />
I had, however, completely lost the joy of the sport.<br />
<br />
In hindsight, my plan of doing Eagleman and Coeur d'Alene back-to-back, and treating both of them as "A" races, was perhaps overly ambitious. When I got that Kona slot at Eagleman, it was suggested to me that I re-consider Coeur d'Alene and instead, rest up, recover, re-build, and do some lower key races while getting ready for Kona. Ironmans take a huge mental and physical toll on anyone, and especially on me. The zombie-like state I've remained in for weeks after every Ironman I've done is remarkable. Some people can just do Ironman after Ironman after Ironman, barely feeling the effect. I am not one of those people.<br />
<br />
But I was stubborn and insisted on it, not wanting to "waste" all the training I'd done going into Eagleman (the hardest training block of my life). So I gave myself about two days to "celebrate" [read: eat pizza] after Eagleman, and then got right back at it. But, I was unmotivated, sluggish, and emotionally drained. We kept the training volume somewhat lower, doing a hybrid recovery/ taper, but I still was dragging myself through every workout. I blamed it on the recovery, then the taper, and then, when I still felt like crap, some remarkable medical condition that was a combination of iron deficiency, lupus, malaria, and Lyme disease. I was only sorta kidding.<br />
<br />
But after three weeks of feeling horrible and trying to figure out what was wrong with me (likely, nothing, except mental exhaustion), I arrived in Coeur d'Alene having lost all confidence, which of course, made everything feel worse physically. Truth-- I just didn't want to do that Ironman. I had come to agree that it wasn't the smartest idea in the big picture, and even once I got there, I couldn't get into the right mindset.<br />
<br />
All the pieces for a great race were there. Idaho/ Washington was absolutely beautiful. Lake Coeur d'Alene was pristine and the perfect temperature for me. I was staying with Adrienne, a crazy fast triathlete who recently re-located from Chicago to Spokane, her husband Michael, her two-month old daughter, and their cute little dog Lucy, and they were fantastic hosts and friends all weekend long. I had friends from Well-Fit there, the weather was shaping up to be to my advantage. But, I just couldn't get into it. I didn't appreciate the views. I didn't derive energy from the pre-race buzz. I was crabby, sad, and ultra-sensitive. I dreaded the pain of the race, mostly of the run. I just wanted to go home. I tried to put on a happy face, I tried to talk myself into it...but I couldn't.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wsq0h-FJAroif6EKPBJ32usnSykdkpOi8QEhCzmHuawo8VlucOnKGRB71ai2LxvfJhhyphenhyphenka8PRGrhTy9uA1WyuIfBYiEZhCvmccUHmap6uqWM5_B59iQv6P_7EQmLXFbS3kl77MdvZdQ/s1600/AAACDAGroup.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wsq0h-FJAroif6EKPBJ32usnSykdkpOi8QEhCzmHuawo8VlucOnKGRB71ai2LxvfJhhyphenhyphenka8PRGrhTy9uA1WyuIfBYiEZhCvmccUHmap6uqWM5_B59iQv6P_7EQmLXFbS3kl77MdvZdQ/s1600/AAACDAGroup.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica, Arieh & Jeff- Well-Fit buddies</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRsGlu19MRIxjv_NF7SF4ZfAN-CEVqBmtfaapyh_v5SQJWy2Pa76j1D0UJRf7hN2SmW4Umv0Ti9PGs0JJC-zL5l1iT0ffOms2q5RCUnrRmkMaMyPS8nlcB9KoJ7bHC7DHEy3ssF0GZKU/s1600/AAACDAJess.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRsGlu19MRIxjv_NF7SF4ZfAN-CEVqBmtfaapyh_v5SQJWy2Pa76j1D0UJRf7hN2SmW4Umv0Ti9PGs0JJC-zL5l1iT0ffOms2q5RCUnrRmkMaMyPS8nlcB9KoJ7bHC7DHEy3ssF0GZKU/s1600/AAACDAJess.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race with Jessica, who is Kona-bound!</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
It is not surprising, I guess, that with that mindset, my day ended the way it did. </div>
<br />
<br />
The swim...it went pretty well, actually! We had a windy day to deal with, so the water was quite choppy, but I considered that to my benefit and plowed through, coming out of the water at just seconds over an hour, a good swim for me for that day, first in my age group, and towards the front of the amateur field.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4cDXwphPT4kphyphenhyphen8QXJUXlygxsv-NSHkjGTy9WFzrZjb5lfzDw6eIz7lqklasmq6TdnNaRzelf2-3Hb62aVuHQFcpoqHSezdA-GIwIxU91sTJ3yn3hzKqydKT0-a7ydArLT14ie_AjbQ/s1600/AAAchop.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4cDXwphPT4kphyphenhyphen8QXJUXlygxsv-NSHkjGTy9WFzrZjb5lfzDw6eIz7lqklasmq6TdnNaRzelf2-3Hb62aVuHQFcpoqHSezdA-GIwIxU91sTJ3yn3hzKqydKT0-a7ydArLT14ie_AjbQ/s1600/AAAchop.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chop!</td></tr>
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But then I got onto the bike. I felt off, a little tired, a bit sluggish, uncomfortable. The first hour or so, an out-and-back along the lake, went alright, but I remember thinking that the hills felt harder than I'd anticipated. But I carried on.<br />
<br />
Then, we turned into a massive headwind on Highway 95, and stayed there for the next 20ish miles. I was miserable. My back started seizing up. It was nothing I couldn't deal with, but it made me uncomfortable enough that the negative thoughts that were bubbling right under the surface started taking center stage. I struggled up the hills, getting passed easily by lots of men -- par for the course for a relatively strong swimmer in a mass-start Ironman, but for some reason, it really bugged me this time. Thirty miles into the race, I started thinking "I just don't want to do this." But the lows of Ironman are familiar, so I ate more, drank more, and hoped it would pass.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0siT_ElYoPZ1Y_4Rwld5rihnBQkftJLS2ZFGxWaSGYpuYIab58Wnyg7feQYphPtWxIK1M2i2hS7OG79XApyUf5X0Xzl9QaY4RGFKyv1O8GcYhnV56RmYBl1CPCjGHxBNPD6cC1ZvWzc/s1600/AAAABike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0siT_ElYoPZ1Y_4Rwld5rihnBQkftJLS2ZFGxWaSGYpuYIab58Wnyg7feQYphPtWxIK1M2i2hS7OG79XApyUf5X0Xzl9QaY4RGFKyv1O8GcYhnV56RmYBl1CPCjGHxBNPD6cC1ZvWzc/s1600/AAAABike.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bike was ready to go. I was not.</td></tr>
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It didn't pass. My thinking just got more and more negative. I had no fight and was miserable. I knew by mile 40 that I wasn't going to finish. It just became a question of when I would stop. As strange as it sounds, I was terrified of DNFing-- scared of the repercussions, the mental damage. I knew it'd take a while to get over my decision, that I'd hate myself. I was afraid people would judge me, that they'd think I was weak, spoiled, lacking perspective, a head case, a quitter, all sorts of other labels I assigned to myself. I thought my family would be ashamed, that my coach would be mad. I felt that by quitting, I would let so many people down. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoazi1iC3U_5WFDmSVg7sohM-YKX4FtQu6MIHQNO-RGWBR2d4xiro9GLnECTdlGW8Y6ofVo91gVr5_WzGfLzOBN_vO7aKPmGbvFK53bujARXtXtDjNy7fC_AME4XgfyyZ7y6XSO3rcPeo/s1600/AAAAbikecourse.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoazi1iC3U_5WFDmSVg7sohM-YKX4FtQu6MIHQNO-RGWBR2d4xiro9GLnECTdlGW8Y6ofVo91gVr5_WzGfLzOBN_vO7aKPmGbvFK53bujARXtXtDjNy7fC_AME4XgfyyZ7y6XSO3rcPeo/s1600/AAAAbikecourse.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road was the bike course</td></tr>
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But none of those fears were enough to make me keep going--- that's how badly I wanted to stop. I tried three times....once at the Special Needs station at mile 60ish. I unclipped from my pedals and said, "I want to stop. I want to call it a day." The volunteers there talked me out of it. Then, 8 miles later, back in town, I stopped again. A random coach on the side of the road saw me. "What's going on?" he asked. I tried to explain, "my back hurts, my power sucks, I'm mentally not into this, I just don't want to do it." We talked for 4 minutes. "You're winning your age group," he reminded me. [I may have been first or second at that point, unclear due to the rolling swim start] "Eat more. DNFing....it's hard. This is going to be really hard for you if you do this. You're going to struggle with this for a long, long time." He was convincing enough that I tried again, but 10 miles later, at around mile 80, I stopped again, for the final time. I got to an aid station, took off my shoes, laid my bike on the ground, and that was my day.<br />
<br />
That afternoon, I didn't shed a tear. I was perhaps a little in shock. I calmly called my parents and my coach and explained what'd happened. I rationalized it in my own mind--- in the mental (and, in small part, physical) state I was in, trying to run a marathon, even slowly, would have forced me to dig so deep, to go to such dark places, that I'd be ruined and unable to really train for weeks. I convinced myself I'd made the right choice. I stuck around the town, bought myself a Hawaiian Ice, cheered loudly for Maggie, Jessica, and my friends from Well-Fit. I had a couple beers with Adrienne and Michael, used them as sounding boards as I talked everything through, and went to bed feeling alright. Late that night, I cried long and hard, so confused and scared by a mind that completely gave up on me, but by the next day, I was fine, went out for a run, and just buried myself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrGpfxxtFRLItcyEmR9Q8IaCd9AgO17PHPWmyOjFAkVnQCaufXQ48UIO5GFTcy9HuPMlgiTM-9ekNViSoviZ9iY3jABXRVzpf-GLzelEavYqRwDHETQZvXTqdoEzXvCwaOT-7RZDQp98/s1600/AAAFenceline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrGpfxxtFRLItcyEmR9Q8IaCd9AgO17PHPWmyOjFAkVnQCaufXQ48UIO5GFTcy9HuPMlgiTM-9ekNViSoviZ9iY3jABXRVzpf-GLzelEavYqRwDHETQZvXTqdoEzXvCwaOT-7RZDQp98/s1600/AAAFenceline.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ran from Washington to Idaho-- that fence was the state border</td></tr>
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The next week started well-- I was inspired, ready to get back on track, to buckle down and move forward. I signed up for a bonus race-- the Muncie 70.3, a short two weeks later. I got out the scale and started a quest to get to a Hawaii-sort of race weight. I booked myself a weekend in Madison, solo, planning to just destroy myself on the bike. I acknowledged that I had a lot of work to do on the mental side of this sport, and I started a search for a sports psychologist. I'd hit rock bottom and there was nowhere to go but up.<br />
<br />
But a couple days later, it hit me. That random coach on the side of the road who said I was going to struggle--- he was right. I struggled so hard. I was ashamed and embarrassed, afraid to show my face at Well-Fit or to explain to anyone what happened. I cried through my workouts and beat myself up...."<i>when did I become a quitter?"</i> Then I beat myself up for beating myself up: "<i>how did I get to a point that I've let this hobby become so important to me that I am letting it affect me this much?"</i> And, in anger-- "<i>get over it. This is not how a champion thinks."</i> <br />
<br />
What became clear to me is that somewhere along the way, I had lost the joy, the love of the sport. I buried myself so deep into the data and the noise-- the numbers, the hours, TSS, CTL, IF, the paces, the watts, my results, the results of people I considered "rivals", what those "rivals" were saying on Twitter -- that I completely lost sight of why I was doing this in the first place. I forgot that I just loved <i>competing</i>, and more to the point, swimming, biking, and running in their simplest forms. I started putting pressure on myself-- <i>huge</i> amounts of pressure, refusing to let myself celebrate A-minus sorts of performances because they weren't the A-plus outcomes that I wanted. I worried about other people, creating "rivalries" in my head that in reality, do not exist. It became less and less joyful until, finally, I found myself on the side of the road in Idaho, watching a race continue on without me, not even caring because I'd become so emotionally exhausted that I couldn't even think.<br />
<br />
So that's been my task since then-- to re-find the joy. It's not as easy as you might think-- I'd love to turn on a switch and say "now I'm joyful again," but it doesn't really work that way. I've had to actually work hard to strip things down, to fight old habits, and to <i>let go</i>. I went to Muncie-- I'll write about that soon -- I raced for fun, and it went alright. The biggest thing I've done, mostly at my coach's suggestion, was to get rid of all the technology. Lately, I haven't looked at watts or pace or anything like that. My workouts have been written so that I'm going purely on <i>feel</i>, and there's even flexibility built in so that I can go longer or shorter than the workout is written if I'm feeling good or bad. And, after training almost entirely solo this year, I've started to seek out training buddies and embraced the social aspect of the sport. It helps. <br />
<br />
While I can't say it's all rainbows and puppies now, I can say....the love is coming back. I knew it was there, just hidden under numbers and (self-imposed) pressure and expectations. I rode the other night, out in the cornfields I know so well, but where I've spent the last few months trying to hit power numbers and feeling anxious, inadequate, defeated, and bored. This time -- I was almost two hours into my ride. I had no idea what my power was, whether I was fast or slow, whether my ride thus far was a success or a failure or what....but suddenly, I looked up and actually <i>noticed</i> the clouds, the corn (it grew fast!), the blue sky, the red barns dotting the horizon. I felt the crisp and perfect temperature, and for the first time I had the thought that I haven't had in a long, long while --- <i>"I really just love this." </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIq1LAU85zEos4A06lfifjOP02uluFTKhKowKkpXe_nL9yOIEvm2DYacZieKv56WWI6hliKo_wQgQsKd9X_QWAXZJjmoTf6eqQfPIkoiFliUteLAhqZExnqzmJIbOX6NY_C-lhad7RTCg/s1600/AAAPlainfield.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIq1LAU85zEos4A06lfifjOP02uluFTKhKowKkpXe_nL9yOIEvm2DYacZieKv56WWI6hliKo_wQgQsKd9X_QWAXZJjmoTf6eqQfPIkoiFliUteLAhqZExnqzmJIbOX6NY_C-lhad7RTCg/s1600/AAAPlainfield.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love in the cornfields (taken months ago, pre-corn)</td></tr>
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<i> </i><br />
And that, really, is the truth. I do love this sport, and I'd love it even if I wasn't any good. I forget that sometimes, becoming distracted by all the noise. But now, just in time for a nice, big build for Kona, I'm remembering.Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-60166004112632662622014-06-13T08:22:00.001-05:002014-06-15T17:53:58.528-05:00Eagleman 70.3 Race ReportBefore I'd even started the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii last year, I knew I wanted to make the return trip in 2014. There was something about that place- a buzz, an energy- that drew me in. Then the race happened. I was generally happy but not completely satisfied with the outcome, and the desire became even stronger--- the desire to do whatever it took to qualify for the 2014 race, and to return to the Big Island wiser and stronger. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1mSRkSk2H_lK7jmLFSw8xZLyh8iBGhNEi27Wg4-616Az2DOJmiD8o8poeeg-vToNgotTgs6GowMrSAGWIuDE06ybjWQ6uhQpPxFalg5qcs0h-Flebk7kEM20_mYtwXiSRlAYveBvhyphenhyphenI/s1600/Delaware.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfksb4rgllu4ITVyhDZD_8J11IhXo2U-s1y9qtZ7nCdmlEKpIXa1vM9hTuZ9eQHPoRkC0JZZFsa5OBmm-SdAqLutk0_UYWERgx61sSlKyRCuy9fp_0KrAD3eYVN9pvZqNeGWeWaIM6MKU/s1600/Hawaii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfksb4rgllu4ITVyhDZD_8J11IhXo2U-s1y9qtZ7nCdmlEKpIXa1vM9hTuZ9eQHPoRkC0JZZFsa5OBmm-SdAqLutk0_UYWERgx61sSlKyRCuy9fp_0KrAD3eYVN9pvZqNeGWeWaIM6MKU/s1600/Hawaii.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory Hawaii Picture<u><br /></u></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Largely due to a fear of putting all my eggs in one basket, I set up the first part of my season so that I'd have two shots at a Kona slot. Attempt #1 was this past weekend's race- the Eagleman 70.3 in Cambridge, Maryland, one of only a few half Ironmans world-wide that qualify for Kona and the only one in the continental United States. Attempt #2 is Ironman Coeur d'Alene, a short (and perhaps foolish) three weeks later...possibly not my wisest decision, scheduling-wise, but I have a smart <a href="http://www.multisportmastery.com/index.html" target="_blank">coach</a> and she managed to figure out a way to train me for both an extremely competitive half-Ironman and an Ironman at the same time, and did it with a training plan that only reduced me to tears once or twice. <br />
<br />
Anyway. Eagleman.<br />
<br />
Cambridge, Maryland is sorta in the middle of nowhere, travel was anything but easy, and accommodations are sparse, but I tried to make the best of it by staying an extra night in Washington, D.C. and visiting with some law school friends, and then tackling the Chesapeake Bay Bridge early on Saturday morning so as to avoid ridiculous traffic and many, many hours of stress.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97qfCwFyR7Lw1Qi9phYDzHy7qx8wZaFY3HgwEnJer8vXrcsTnO9s7zyxJ0qFEp0bovBH3QYaL5pnz40H3Me3LmHNyAtfeUlOLdgFus6mfkNBINU0NSiDeY1c6c-06Trc8Q5H9xFmIcCw/s1600/chesapeake+bay+bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97qfCwFyR7Lw1Qi9phYDzHy7qx8wZaFY3HgwEnJer8vXrcsTnO9s7zyxJ0qFEp0bovBH3QYaL5pnz40H3Me3LmHNyAtfeUlOLdgFus6mfkNBINU0NSiDeY1c6c-06Trc8Q5H9xFmIcCw/s1600/chesapeake+bay+bridge.jpg" height="256" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That is a big bridge</td></tr>
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Once in Cambridge, I stayed in the most fun house in the area with a group of folks- Lindsey, <a href="http://jackiearendt.com/" target="_blank">Jackie</a>, and Ben - who I'd been connected to via my friend <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Karin</a>. Those three are some crazy fast and serious triathletes, but the mood in the house was fun and laid back and the decor was quirky enough to keep us entertained, so Saturday ended up being far more low-stress and enjoyable than I'd ever have guessed. Yay, new friends!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVOsI11AdWHtRoJC7YsdMW_NNTS2CYwU2pmqalxyZNeG3FIFcKEbVmh9Dy_hcsntzjpbDI6V3irv61pU937YPjxWO5clBsICc9PWW5ShyphenhyphensC-qA-DO7eYxG_cTeMpqcjty8ehou6pesEk/s1600/wally.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVOsI11AdWHtRoJC7YsdMW_NNTS2CYwU2pmqalxyZNeG3FIFcKEbVmh9Dy_hcsntzjpbDI6V3irv61pU937YPjxWO5clBsICc9PWW5ShyphenhyphensC-qA-DO7eYxG_cTeMpqcjty8ehou6pesEk/s1600/wally.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fifth roommate, Wally, who was unhappy that I stole his seat</td></tr>
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On race day, I woke up in a pretty good mood, feeling confident and ready to go. While eating breakfast, I got a text from A.J., a friend from <a href="http://www.wellfitinc.com/home.aspx" target="_blank">Well-Fit</a>, letting me know that he was already at the race site, and the water had been measured as over 76 degrees, meaning a non-wetsuit swim was on tap. After considering, and dismissing, the possibility that he was messing with me (there had been some trash talk going on on Facebook), I did a little dance right there in the middle of the kitchen. My swim can still improve, but I consider it a relative strength, and a swim without wetsuits (which generally act as an equalizer) was most certainly to my benefit. Things were looking up.<br />
<br />
A long drive to a local middle school, a shuttle bus ride to the race site, a little time in transition setting everything up, and before I knew it, we were getting close to go time. Just like in Kona, I had a stroke of good fortune and ran into Jennifer Harrison a while before the race, and just like in Kona, she was a tremendously positive and calming presence, giving me some last minute tips and intel. I've decided that Jennifer is now my official pre-race good luck charm.<br />
<br />
Soon enough, it was 7:45, and I was standing (and shivering) in the Choptank River, ready to turn myself inside out. I'd scouted out my competitors like a good little triathlete stalker, and knew that if I wanted to have any shot at a Kona slot, I needed to put a good chunk of time into them during the swim.<br />
<br />
<b>Swim: </b><br />
The gun went off and I put my head down, sprinted for about 60 strokes, and then started to look around a bit. One girl took off and distanced herself right off the bat, but then I was in a nice little pack of 4 or 5, where I stayed for the whole swim, jumping from set of feet to set of feet and mostly just swimming as hard as I possibly could in murky, <i>brackish</i> water. (Fun fact: 'brackish' means part salty, part fresh water. It does not just mean 'gross,' which is what I thought, and why I was confused that the race directors kept using the word in their advertising). The effort was aggressive, much harder than I've ever swum in a half ironman, and boy, did I want to be done in those last 5-10 minutes, but I knew I had to take a risk and just hammer the swim.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ln02kbKotWvX3mN8u9n0y8ls0c-EOPVngCTWcTUcvjiyW2G1QI7msgoUry9ARUPxYlse60JciIBDz-32UQUn_zyzjRyCs32jlHY3K-Z6ZHYvKno1lcnNObuOMmQNANdOVdJFKb93L-M/s1600/choptank2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ln02kbKotWvX3mN8u9n0y8ls0c-EOPVngCTWcTUcvjiyW2G1QI7msgoUry9ARUPxYlse60JciIBDz-32UQUn_zyzjRyCs32jlHY3K-Z6ZHYvKno1lcnNObuOMmQNANdOVdJFKb93L-M/s1600/choptank2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Choptank River, the night before</td></tr>
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Perhaps I hammered a bit too had, because when it came time to stand up and run through the last few feet of shallow water, I could barely lift my legs and felt disoriented and exhausted.<br />
<br />
In the end, I was out of the water in 31 minutes, 5th in my age group (35-39, yes, I'm old, but I'm actually only 34....one of the cruel realities of Ironman rules), which was fine but not spectacular, particularly given the effort. Oh well, onward. <br />
<br />
<b>T1</b><br />
And then came the most frustrating 3 minutes of my life. Still oddly disoriented from the swim, I entered transition and made the rookiest of rookie moves-- I took a bad turn, ran to the wrong area of transition, and then spent the next 90 seconds completely and utterly lost, running up and down aisles, spinning around, totally disoriented and unable to find my bike. I yelled to a volunteer, "<i>PLEASE, help me find my bike." </i>He asked me my race number. I couldn't remember. "Sixteen something!" I kept running around like a chicken with my head cut off, crying, not thinking straight in any way, and getting more and more panicked. It felt like an eternity. Eventually that volunteer called out to me: "over here!" I ran to my row but <i>still</i> couldn't find my bike. Another competitor tried to help: "go to the other side. There. To your right." And finally I found it, threw on my helmet and sunglasses and headed out to ride, completely flustered and with frustrated tears running down my face.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHUFpVEiELpdPkDD6KlrEP9aklqgWZBb7_7yx2yuvGE20SeMTvDPqv7Hep4nbIfsreCIMpBnXmX8_t7_VO4yJqkKWY1WWzPvG526bpjsr61H3whmk4aXRCoRC4gqwzQrkMErLCYQxSo4/s1600/Eagleman--300x200.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHUFpVEiELpdPkDD6KlrEP9aklqgWZBb7_7yx2yuvGE20SeMTvDPqv7Hep4nbIfsreCIMpBnXmX8_t7_VO4yJqkKWY1WWzPvG526bpjsr61H3whmk4aXRCoRC4gqwzQrkMErLCYQxSo4/s1600/Eagleman--300x200.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally lost and trying to find my bike among the 2500 other ones</td></tr>
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<br />
Looking at results, I apparently lost between 90 seconds and 2 minutes running around transition like a moron. At the time, it felt like at least 5 minutes. I thought my race was over. I had no idea how many women had passed me and figured Kona was gone....all because of a stupid, stupid mistake.<br />
<br />
<b>Bike</b><br />
I listened to an awesome <a href="http://swimswam.com/olympic-champion-rebecca-soni-mental-aspects-peak-athletic-performance-part-1-2/" target="_blank">podcast</a> recently by Olympic swimmer Rebecca Soni, and she said something about how crazy it is that we'll say things to ourselves and about ourselves that we would <i>never</i>, <i>ever</i> say to our friends. "You wouldn't treat your friend like that," she said, "why treat yourself like that?" I don't have an answer to that question, but I can say, in the first ten minutes of that bike ride, I did exactly that. I mentally berated myself using words and names I'd never dream of directing towards even my worst enemy. I thought of all the training hours I'd put in, all the money I'd spent traveling to this race, all the effort I'd put into that swim, likely to the detriment the rest of my race, and I told myself I'd thrown it all away because I was too much of an airhead to not get lost in transition. Anger can be motivating, I know that. But when that anger is directed completely, 100% inward, it is anything but productive.<br />
<br />
Then, a girl from my age group passed me as I was pouting, and I snapped out of it. I forced myself to get over it, I passed her back, and I got going, on a mission to make up for my mishap.<br />
<br />
The ride in general was not terribly eventful. The roads were nice, but flat as a pancake. I'd started in Wave 13, which meant I was passing people the entire time, so staying alert and making safe and legal passes kept me engaged. I didn't feel great riding, at all, and the power I was putting out seemed low compared to the effort, but as with the swim, I knew I needed to take a risk, and I just kept pushing and pushing as hard as I (reasonably) could, telling my tired legs to suck it up and thinking back to the many, many workouts I've done lately where I didn't <i>feel</i> great, but got them done. <br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
I rode in to T2 with a sore back (56 miles in the aerobars is not, at all, comfortable) and a bit of a bored mind. After the T1 mishap, I'd rehearsed the bike to run transition in my heard about 30 times during the last several minutes of the bike, so it went flawlessly, and I took an extra second to scan the bike racks and was happy to see that I was leading the age group.<br />
<br />
<b>Run</b><br />
The Eagleman run is just as flat as the bike, but completely exposed and a little steamy. When we set out, my legs felt fine, but not terribly snappy or quick. No surprise, given the Ironman training I've been doing, but a bit of a bummer. I chugged along, a bit disappointed every time I checked my pace, but not really able to do anything about it. I just didn't have that next gear.<br />
<br />
A bit after mile 4, Amy Farrell flew by me on her way to the overall amateur win (no surprise, Amy is a tremendous competitor, and while I tried to tell myself before this race that anything can happen, I'll be honest and say that I knew that if Amy was healthy and didn't have any major mishaps, she was going to win our age group). I tried to increase my pace and go with her, but I couldn't make it happen, so instead I shook off the disappointment of losing the lead and focused on running strong in second place. In the past few years, there have been two Kona slots awarded to my age group at this race, so while there was no guarantee, I convinced myself that all was not lost, and just pressed on, hoping it would be enough.<br />
<br />
I struggled a lot during the last 5 miles or so, constantly having to talk myself back into the race, using mantras and mental games to stay in it. So many times, I got right to the point of giving up and backing down, but the memories of Hawaii kept pulling me back from the ledge.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5QDvbzMRCHX_FRMuUwTXjOyLgIq84Cuxuw0i_oJ_F9GwCQ5Lx9-gnecDuA_be52o0l2o9FmQ31wC24bo9mzIzV8_D0bpo_AuWY5HYO7hEaxiwrZGML_4bpM7uEO5Q-RpVEEU6OnDwPY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-11+at+11.08.14+AM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5QDvbzMRCHX_FRMuUwTXjOyLgIq84Cuxuw0i_oJ_F9GwCQ5Lx9-gnecDuA_be52o0l2o9FmQ31wC24bo9mzIzV8_D0bpo_AuWY5HYO7hEaxiwrZGML_4bpM7uEO5Q-RpVEEU6OnDwPY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-11+at+11.08.14+AM.png" height="400" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For comic relief-- the worst race photo ever. Everything about this picture is horrible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was told that the last mile of Eagleman is like a cruel joke, and I can go ahead and confirm that. You make a turn, and can see and hear the finish line for the entire last mile. It's so damn close, but so damn far away. Mean, mean, mean. <br />
<br />
But, despite that <i>I'm never gonna get there </i>feeling, I did in fact eventually reach the finish line, holding on to second place in my age group. I found some friends, parked myself under a tree, sucked down a bunch of Diet Cokes (yeah, I'm still fighting my diet soda addiction relapse), and braced myself for a long few hours until I'd find out if my day, which to me seemed decent but not spectacular, would be good enough. <br />
<br />
<b>The Wait </b><br />
<br />
After cleaning up, we got back to the park around 3:00 to see how the Kona slots had shaken out. For those that haven't had the good fortune to suffer through a roll-down ceremony, here's how it works: there were 30 total Kona slots for the entire race. One is allocated to each age group that has a starter, and then the remaining slots are allocated amongst the age groups based on the number of starters. What this meant this year was that no women's age group had more than one Kona slot allocated. When I got that news, I looked over at the registration table and saw Amy signing the form to take the lone slot from our age group. I tried not to cry.<br />
<br />
My phone was buzzing though, messages from Liz telling me not to give up and to stay until the very, very end of the roll-down ceremony. The kicker here-- there were three female age groups (70-74, 75-79, and 80+) that had only one or two starters. If no one from an age group claims the Kona slot, it gets reallocated to the women's age group with the most starters (which, by <i>one single person</i>, was my age group).<br />
<br />
And that's how, to be brutally honest, I found myself taking a HUGE karmic hit when I may or may not have found myself <i>maybe</i> <i>just a tiny, tiny bit</i> hoping that an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_Buder" target="_blank">83 year-old nun</a> might make the decision that Ironman racing is silly, and either decline her slot to Kona or walk this race in <i>just a few minutes </i>too late to make the cut-off. Yes, I know this makes me the worst person ever, and I probably ought to atone for my sins by working at a soup kitchen or something, but hey. It's my blog and I'm gonna tell it like it is.<br />
<br />
You have until 4:00 PM to claim your slot to Kona if you're an automatic qualifier, and I hovered around that table, eyeing every older looking woman that walked towards it. (I didn't actually know what Sister Madonna looked like). "Is that her?" I kept asking people whenever I spotted anyone remotely elderly looking. "<i>Amanda, that person has on a shirt that says IronSupporter and jeans, and can't be more than 60.</i> <i>That is just someone's mother. Relax.</i>"<br />
<br />
The clock was clicking, 3:57, 3:58, still no sign of Sister Madonna. But then, 3:59, there she was, practically carried by two gentleman from the finish line directly to the table so she could claim her spot at the very last minute. It's hard not to be inspired seeing someone having just done something so spectacular at that age, but....yeah. I was bummed.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJyL_IPoOuk9DPWlyZup1PZ0PT3jjOhBMv7CwHLZuwgqc4ertzwkvsMAdkbAJNDQNDWwySSAZSCd0ZBxnVe19SngfOHHUx1gY7u5kMKLAaTEpi0e1VrXI7OTmU4o6FIO91WNNmsKIHh8/s1600/EMan+awards.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJyL_IPoOuk9DPWlyZup1PZ0PT3jjOhBMv7CwHLZuwgqc4ertzwkvsMAdkbAJNDQNDWwySSAZSCd0ZBxnVe19SngfOHHUx1gY7u5kMKLAaTEpi0e1VrXI7OTmU4o6FIO91WNNmsKIHh8/s1600/EMan+awards.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">35-39 Podium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZMipyXmoAcCQkWEKWTqWIvnFKmaycQVNRmX31MRWSpxSnDBwnrzbrH0nR33YCjTd088n-uGyMV-YHpDCMf7m5ITesFac7Quk2kP6CfFOasw98fnznXSAVWhqH2gS-22Do1l1U4iGwm4/s1600/EMan+JPH.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZMipyXmoAcCQkWEKWTqWIvnFKmaycQVNRmX31MRWSpxSnDBwnrzbrH0nR33YCjTd088n-uGyMV-YHpDCMf7m5ITesFac7Quk2kP6CfFOasw98fnznXSAVWhqH2gS-22Do1l1U4iGwm4/s1600/EMan+JPH.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my good luck charm, Jennifer, who had a great race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
But, Coeur d'Alene is right around the corner, so I willed myself to stay positive, enjoyed the awards ceremony, and was only paying half attention when I heard the announcer say, "there was only one finisher in the women's 70-74 age group. It doesn't look like she's here to accept her award."<br />
<br />
That....was a good sign.<br />
<br />
A LONG 15 minutes later, the roll-down ceremony started, and when the announcer took the microphone and said "the Kona slot from the women's 70-74 age group has not been claimed and will be reallocated to 35-39," I'm pretty sure I let out a fairly obnoxious shriek and jumped in the air in celebration. Sure, not cool, but....c'mon. It's Hawaii. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1UcGM1yrjaYdqwHh_0zzlMWon1XZhSLcCruZx5-Re8alFeSJIDqNw9-S3ShidT-XWvJP_m7SOKlIBKScl8dCcU4mMtuzvrjwHAyY10I1X0bXBI69_nwUTI5oGi5FGc9gmkOlZYLGpYg/s1600/eman+CC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1UcGM1yrjaYdqwHh_0zzlMWon1XZhSLcCruZx5-Re8alFeSJIDqNw9-S3ShidT-XWvJP_m7SOKlIBKScl8dCcU4mMtuzvrjwHAyY10I1X0bXBI69_nwUTI5oGi5FGc9gmkOlZYLGpYg/s1600/eman+CC.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They didn't have the race information papers to pose with, so here's me and the credit card that got quite a workout on Sunday, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And that was that. The rest of the evening, I celebrated as best as one can celebrate in Cambridge, Maryland...gorging on greasy food, crab, beer, and ice cream, and then driving to Delaware just so that we could say we'd been to Delaware. Good times.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1mSRkSk2H_lK7jmLFSw8xZLyh8iBGhNEi27Wg4-616Az2DOJmiD8o8poeeg-vToNgotTgs6GowMrSAGWIuDE06ybjWQ6uhQpPxFalg5qcs0h-Flebk7kEM20_mYtwXiSRlAYveBvhyphenhyphenI/s1600/Delaware.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1mSRkSk2H_lK7jmLFSw8xZLyh8iBGhNEi27Wg4-616Az2DOJmiD8o8poeeg-vToNgotTgs6GowMrSAGWIuDE06ybjWQ6uhQpPxFalg5qcs0h-Flebk7kEM20_mYtwXiSRlAYveBvhyphenhyphenI/s1600/Delaware.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi. We're in .... Delaware.</td></tr>
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Now, I'm in a sort of weird recovery/ taper but not quite yet ambiguous state before I had on out to Idaho in just a couple weeks for Round Two of this crazy double- Ironman Coeur d'Alene. It's nice to have some of the pressure off for Ironman, and I did briefly contemplate not doing the race, but I've already done all the training and still have some lofty goals. Plus, this is my opportunity to check off two <i>new </i>states that I haven't visited before-- Idaho and Washington. Together with Delaware, that's three new states in just one month. Huge! <br />
<br />
The more and more I get into this sport, the more and more I realize that it takes a whole support team, and I couldn't be more grateful to all the people who have helped me out. As always, thanks to Liz for putting together an awesome plan that left absolutely no stone unturned and dealing with way, way more than her fair share of my crazy. Thanks also to Gina at Achieve Ortho for keeping me in one piece; Rick Wemple, my former college track coach, who has <i>also</i> taken on his fair share of my crazy lately and helped me get mentally prepped (more on that later); my friends and coaches at Well-Fit Training Center; TriSports.com for keeping me geared up; Lindsey, Jackie, and Ben for being great housemates; Jennifer for being a great good luck charm and keeping me calm during the roll-down; Chris for staying at the ceremony with me until the very, very end....and so many other friends and family. Thanks for reading- you're all the best! Now, who's coming to Hawaii????Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-18776428611589533722014-04-17T21:35:00.001-05:002014-04-17T22:40:16.808-05:00Ironman Puerto Rico 70.3- Never, Ever Give UpThis month's travel destination-- beautiful San Juan, Puerto Rico, for my first big triathlon of the season, the Ironman Puerto Rico 70.3 (that's secret code for half ironman).<br />
<br />
This wasn't my first time doing this race. In 2012, I opened up my triathlon season with what was then called the San Juan 70.3. Up to that point, I'd <i>participated</i> in triathlons, but not really raced. Come late 2011, I decided to take things a little more seriously, made the (amazing, awesome) decision to hire my (amazing, awesome) <a href="http://www.multisportmastery.com/" target="_blank">coach</a>, actually listened to her, and followed the training plan to a 't' (amazing, awesome coach is now thinking<i>, oh, what happened</i>?). The months before the 2012 race, somewhat in a test to see if I had what it took, I did a little experiment. Let's call it Operation Do Everything Right. I gave up gluten for months. I gave up alcohol. I gave up diet soda (perhaps the toughest one). For the last two weeks, I <i>gave up caffeine</i>. I heat trained, flawlessly, for 3 weeks. My thinking -- <i>let's go all in, just for a little while, and see what happens. </i><br />
<br />
What happened, back in 2012, was that I had a race that<i> </i>far, far exceeded my wildest expectations. Going in, I thought on a good day, I could crack the Top 5 in my age group. Instead, I ended up third overall, qualifying for my pro card (I had no idea until someone told me days later and did not, even for a moment, actually consider making the leap), and shocking myself to pieces. The best part? It felt effortless.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6so-MP6zFl5Otod6wN7-oTDRIOmRJeJbSUxzIC2EnqV2ZIvGwa7zvd51wsCzaEfhXjb0edjwnvlOfPmxcZBgBc6A92BcMv9ISjCDVXKEJNw3wamaj7MUSgxtBQNVPaqHeiVta-dtbEDo/s1600/Old+San+Juan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6so-MP6zFl5Otod6wN7-oTDRIOmRJeJbSUxzIC2EnqV2ZIvGwa7zvd51wsCzaEfhXjb0edjwnvlOfPmxcZBgBc6A92BcMv9ISjCDVXKEJNw3wamaj7MUSgxtBQNVPaqHeiVta-dtbEDo/s1600/Old+San+Juan.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flashback to 2012. Spoiler Alert: I did not look this happy after the 2014 race</td></tr>
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That race was the first time I really started to think that I might be able to do something cool with this sport. Looking back, I'd say it was a start to a whole lot of changes in my life and in my priorities. Whether that's good or bad is up for debate (I'd say that's it's good and has made for an ultimately happier person, others may disagree), but what's not debatable is that San Juan 2012 changed me. <br />
<br />
Fast forward two years, and I was back in San Juan, ready to race, and a totally different girl. But this time, I had expectations. This wasn't an "A" race for me, those are coming, but I did want to do well. This time, I had a little fear-- the fear that after two years of training and development, I may come back to the race that "started it all," and do no better than I did in 2012. And this time, I made <i>none</i> of the sacrifices I made in 2012. I didn't consider giving up caffeine for even a split second. I gave up gluten for all of a day, I may or may not have overindulged on alcohol on the Monday before the race, I skipped my heat training sessions, I set myself up to fail workouts and then panicked about those failures, and, perhaps most embarrassing, I was sucking down diet sodas like nobody's business.<br />
<br />
In other words: 2012- Operation Do Everything Right. 2014- Operation Do Everything Wrong. Let's go ahead and call it what it really is-- self-sabotage. <i>Honesty</i>. <br />
<br />
Not sure why I'm recounting all that other than because, looking back, it all seems so stupid and like such a waste of energy. My blog's a lot like my personal journal, and I need to leave a message for future Amanda--<i>don't do that anymore, dummy.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, fast forward to San Juan. I flew there on Friday. I traveled with Blaine, who was also racing. Blaine always has a tremendous calming effect on me, and it was so good to have him there. At some point, I can't really even pinpoint when, I made the conscious decision to stop the self-sabotage and the fear and put on my game face. I started to feel oddly confident, and by Sunday morning, I was ready to roll. A friend from home texted, "I know you'll do great." My response: "I don't know how I'll do. But what I do know is that I'm going to fight like hell." <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjftsk97ndpR6Zcq_8T2YRv7sX1S-cTercV_aHWu2yfSFyl1dgYdUVK05QRdCuTSbUM-8f4SGDCQqaALcyhwK5RLiEvWG7scz7bkHREOiLZsTEWCmy1K11bsU5u2oXWc47vPNjzhMKrE_8/s1600/coast.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjftsk97ndpR6Zcq_8T2YRv7sX1S-cTercV_aHWu2yfSFyl1dgYdUVK05QRdCuTSbUM-8f4SGDCQqaALcyhwK5RLiEvWG7scz7bkHREOiLZsTEWCmy1K11bsU5u2oXWc47vPNjzhMKrE_8/s1600/coast.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
And now, the race:<br />
<br />
<b>Pre-Race: </b><br />
There's so many cool things about the San Juan 70.3, not the least of which is the transition, which is set up right in the middle of a soccer stadium. Being the procrastinator I am, I signed up a little late for this race, and thus was assigned a transition spot that was not only way, way far away from where the other girls in my age group were racked, but also amidst the other procrastinators, who for whatever reason happened to be a whole bunch of incredibly fast-looking Latinas. <i>No one</i> around me spoke English, they all looked incredibly fit and tan, had racing kits with their names and countries and all sorts of sponsor logos. For some reason the rapid-fire Spanish that surrounded me felt intimidating. Game face or not, all it took was 5 or 6 minutes in transition for me to be fairly well convinced that I was going to get last in the race.<br />
<br />
So I set my stuff up, scooted on out of there, found Blaine, and went back to the hotel (right by the swim start) to chill out a little before heading down to the start, and got the game face back on.<br />
<br />
<b>Swim</b><br />
The swim at San Juan is just one of the best out there, as far as I'm concerned. Set in a protected lagoon that <i>allegedly</i> is also the home of several <i>alleged </i>manatees, the water is warm (no wetsuits) but not too warm, salty but not too salty--- just great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BLjWVr_s6WZFYiHMrB2rydWw1poxPQJ_VAc5FKMaka3UXFOSEmy2sJFDl6WLTKn4WXT8Sq6Ozf8Ax-k0BuAl_QzFgv_RTl7goiR60Ctv_wVhTlIw-LdPZZ3GGK7U1vc7LbjaF40Ha-I/s1600/swim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BLjWVr_s6WZFYiHMrB2rydWw1poxPQJ_VAc5FKMaka3UXFOSEmy2sJFDl6WLTKn4WXT8Sq6Ozf8Ax-k0BuAl_QzFgv_RTl7goiR60Ctv_wVhTlIw-LdPZZ3GGK7U1vc7LbjaF40Ha-I/s1600/swim.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty Swim</td></tr>
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2013, for me, was the year of many, many crappy swims. Somewhere along the way, what had once been my strength and my favorite part of the race became a weakness and something I dreaded. The mojo was gone.<br />
<br />
Well, happy to say, swim mojo is back. I went into this swim with an aggression and excitement that I completely lacked last year. When the gun fired, I sprinted off the line, drafted off another girl for maybe 400 meters until she started to veer way off course, and then I went at it alone, enjoying the open water, forcing the tempo, working hard (maybe too hard), and coming out of the water first in my age group. Actually, that's the first time that's happened for me in a long course race. Later, I realized I also had the fastest overall amateur swim. Score. 2014 swimming, game on.<br />
<br />
<b>T1</b><br />
Transition 1 might as well have been called Run 1- more than a third of a mile through streets over to the soccer stadium. Not the most fun, but I waved to the lady who runs the bodega where Blaine and I had bought many, many bottles of water as I passed by, and that kept me entertained.<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Bike</b><br />
I hopped on the bike, spent the first several minutes zig-zagging through town and trying not to crash (I had nowhere near enough outdoor time on my new bike and simply was not comfortable handling it), and realized within minutes that this was not going to be the effortless day I had in 2012. I felt stiff, a little tired, already hot, and <i>thirsty. </i>The few rolling hills there were heading out of town (mostly on-ramps), hills I don't really even remember noticing in 2012, felt tough. My perceived effort and power were not really matching up, I was working too hard for power numbers that should have been easy. But, just because a day's not effortless doesn't mean it can't be good, so I decided to disregard the power, focus on executing my fuel plan, and chill out. <br />
<br />
The course was fairly empty at this point and had the potential to be a little lonely, but I had a few good things to keep my mind occupied. First, the view-- gorgeous. I looked. Maybe a little too long.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIoj8zSaqfQfVtZL0IbQ5skOyxUPELswRdEAr-jYD0tY8tjUP5bQiJjnSWWH4QLSXeJNk7GjM7u8BBH7wD_jkHpaKQtHozND7bYC237Hsxfqkn8bLVcKb8dtBZPgL_3xn6OcZBdGUEzw/s1600/bikeroad.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIoj8zSaqfQfVtZL0IbQ5skOyxUPELswRdEAr-jYD0tY8tjUP5bQiJjnSWWH4QLSXeJNk7GjM7u8BBH7wD_jkHpaKQtHozND7bYC237Hsxfqkn8bLVcKb8dtBZPgL_3xn6OcZBdGUEzw/s1600/bikeroad.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
Second, trouble-shooting. I had a fuel plan all set up, and priority one for me, a heavy sweater with inadequate heat adaptation, was staying hydrated. I really needed to get a bottle of water, or maybe two, at the first aid station. But Butterfingers McGo-Through-The-Aid-Station-Too-Fast here apparently forgot how to properly execute a bottle hand-up, and I went through the aid station grabbing for, and completely missing/ dropping not 1, not 2, but FOUR water bottles. Commence panic.<br />
<br />
Third, my motorcycle friend. Maybe 10 miles into the race, a motorcycle started riding right next to, but a little back of, me. I assumed it was a course marshal, watching for drafting. But there was <i>no one</i> around me. I figured it'd be one of those "nothing to see here" situations and the motorcycle would move on up the field, looking for the next guy. But no, he stayed. And stayed, and stayed. I got paranoid. What could he be looking for? I ran through all the rules in my head. What possibly could I be doing wrong that he's watching me like a hawk?<br />
<br />
10 minutes later, it dawned on me. I had an escort. I'm still not sure why. I was the first amateur woman coming through, but since when does an amateur get a motorcycle escort? I was also the fifth overall woman (small pro field)-- maybe that was why? I still have no idea. At any rate, it was cool and once I figured out what was going on, I was pretty stoked and, related or not, I started to get more in a rhythm and my power went up. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2CIoFX_zh8sgBT6Om7Z9VRAWkRWjs_EZz4Ww8WQ928PZhSdWT_pzPuyyul8HtWJ5NvXhXXQVms-Ydu-4zhoAocLwqdQUVIUvV_09temnel8WBm3eLW8UXIz4U7pvyhOS_sjrcL9tC2U/s1600/Bike3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2CIoFX_zh8sgBT6Om7Z9VRAWkRWjs_EZz4Ww8WQ928PZhSdWT_pzPuyyul8HtWJ5NvXhXXQVms-Ydu-4zhoAocLwqdQUVIUvV_09temnel8WBm3eLW8UXIz4U7pvyhOS_sjrcL9tC2U/s1600/Bike3.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
The second loop got a lot more crowded and it became tougher to dodge the many potholes and rough spots in the road. And, I lost my escort (too crowded). I got a little cranky with all the people and more than a little sporadic riding around me, but then I ate and felt better. So far, so good.<br />
<br />
And then we got to the last hour, and things fell apart. First, I hit a very rough patch of road and launched my last (full) bottle of sports drink. I was already behind on fluids from the botched hand-off and (my only complaint about the race), the really crappy on-course water bottles with incredibly leaky nozzles, meaning for every bottle, probably 1/2 of the water went in my mouth, 1/2 spilled all over me. I couldn't afford another loss in the fluid department. Then, where I expected one last aid station, there was none. Great course reconnaissance on my part. So, for the last hour of the ride, I had about a half of a bottle of fluid. Not at all OK for me -- not ever, but especially not in the heat and humidity we were experiencing. <br />
<br />
I've never had a ride that ended so poorly, and the last half hour, I had switched to damage control. My power plummeted. I couldn't get the thought out of my head - <i>I am in big, big trouble</i>. I was so hot, dehydrated, parched, cranky. This was not good.<br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
I finally finished the bike, and knew as soon as I got dismounted that things were going to be rough. The run through transition was shaky. I had about a third of a water bottle sitting at my transition spot, and I slugged that down, taking my sweet time getting moving. <i>Don't give up</i>, I pep-talked myself. <i>Problem solve, do what you have to do, just don't give up.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Run</b><br />
I've truly never, ever felt so bad starting a run. And worse, from my 2012 experience at this race, I knew what was ahead of me. The run course in San Juan is no joke. Incredibly hilly. Completely exposed. Hot, stagnant, humid. As I staggered, truly staggered up the first hill,a big, big thought resonated -- <i>there is no way I'm going to finish this run</i>. <br />
<br />
That big thought, however, was followed by an even bigger one: <i>never, ever give up.</i> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu3mtp3xo_XU_ISttMLXxwu4_jGzoBhNNVmplYn1oTZcQ64zgyyKkDi1nwGxx4RlSHijciMaMm3OlwJRcY1P35lEIA3qAEY5ct38FpK8PIXrch5lJ9VyG4rwHmo6Oue5MutPWyBlmprE/s1600/Run5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu3mtp3xo_XU_ISttMLXxwu4_jGzoBhNNVmplYn1oTZcQ64zgyyKkDi1nwGxx4RlSHijciMaMm3OlwJRcY1P35lEIA3qAEY5ct38FpK8PIXrch5lJ9VyG4rwHmo6Oue5MutPWyBlmprE/s1600/Run5.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy bloat, Batman</td></tr>
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The crowd support in San Juan is truly amazing, and the cheering spectators pulled me through that first mile. At the first aid station, I completely stopped, drank several cups of water, grabbed ice, threw it down my top and my shorts. A volunteer gave me a bag of ice to hold (can't say enough about how well equipped these aid stations were). And then I trotted off, slightly renewed.<br />
<br />
The rest of the run was a lot like that. Every aid station was pretty much a complete stop, drinking, drinking, drinking, ice, ice, ice, and then trot on to the next one. I think once you get deep enough in a dehydration hole, it's next to impossible to get out. I can't explain why I got so dehydrated, even with my bike mishaps, but I've never suffered so much.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnCEYPswcSEVdrQHW5iv_IyG9p-QHzhwUYL5ZKvfwx05ww3BiV6yVmZe4qDqOFyADdSQ_BDV40ujJYoDJhZEPE-995LLXz_d9UacoCIIhWBxlVGuHjuM-Fk_MWRbJ3CHjdWxrQghLYis/s1600/Run3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnCEYPswcSEVdrQHW5iv_IyG9p-QHzhwUYL5ZKvfwx05ww3BiV6yVmZe4qDqOFyADdSQ_BDV40ujJYoDJhZEPE-995LLXz_d9UacoCIIhWBxlVGuHjuM-Fk_MWRbJ3CHjdWxrQghLYis/s1600/Run3.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At first, I tried to remember when it rained. No, there was a cooling hose here</td></tr>
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The course had some out-and-back sections, so I was able to see within the first 4 miles that I had a very sizable lead in my age group and, I was pretty sure, the overall amateur race. It was miserably hot, everyone was suffering, and no one seemed to be running fast. I knew as long as I didn't completely stop, I'd hold on to the lead. My mantra became, "you don't have to be fast, you just have to keep moving forward." <br />
<br />
So I did. I trudged on, I got through, and I won. This was not a fast run for me, at all. But in a way, it's among the runs I am the most proud of, because I fought far, far more than I ever have before. I suffered badly, but I didn't give up. That's actually progress for me.<br />
<br />
But in a way, it was sad to be suffering so much. My only other 70.3 overall win was in Racine last summer, and during that race, once I realized what was happening, I was giddy, smiling like a big dork, on a high. Here, I knew I was winning from mid-way through the bike. I don't take that for granted, ever... winning a race, any race, is a big deal! But I never really enjoyed it because I was hurting so bad. That sorta sucks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAeDpONwwVEXYRUeJzdkr0STD1ziBOv3MtJGf8pNfwSBnEVweHv5xoz8B1gGLgHe0NXtMBngW3uMf7-7vltEdewyG6GAJQPzMCeAl7UA4goBRVgfu6Pv9f7v23TaHo98BrbwmMgCFFwU/s1600/Run2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAeDpONwwVEXYRUeJzdkr0STD1ziBOv3MtJGf8pNfwSBnEVweHv5xoz8B1gGLgHe0NXtMBngW3uMf7-7vltEdewyG6GAJQPzMCeAl7UA4goBRVgfu6Pv9f7v23TaHo98BrbwmMgCFFwU/s1600/Run2.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much for the Perma-Grin</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>The End</b><br />
Finally, FINALLY, I crossed the finish line, and my legs promptly buckled under me. That's a first. Two kindly volunteers picked me up off the ground, essentially carried me straight into the med tent, and got the IV drip going before I had a chance to catch my breath. Another first. Gotta say, that med tent was ready to go and it was a full-service operation. One medic was pouring Gatorade in my mouth, one was packing ice packs around my body, while another was (without request) lancing my blisters. <b> </b> <br />
<br />
I laid there for a little while as the IV emptied, not sure how to feel. Actually, I know how I felt - very lonely. Blaine had started several waves behind me and was still on the course, and I was sad to not be at the line to greet him. I borrowed a phone from the wife of the athlete getting an IV next to me to check the results, and verified that I had, indeed, won. But there was no one there to celebrate with. I handed the phone back to her and said kind of sheepishly, "I won the thing." It felt like bragging or arrogant, why would these strangers care, but I just sort of needed to tell someone, to celebrate a little. Luckily, they were the nicest couple, and gladly shared in my happiness. That was nice. IV friends forever. <br />
<br />
Finally, I was released and hobbled out to find Blaine. We were both completely spent, but happy. I retrieved my phone, started answering texts from my family and friends, and then, finally, probably an hour after the race, there was the joy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYW2GcY1B8TlxbcO1nswQ7UGSdVpNacPK2YxJI8sXN1iIo-uXbNR_FX1A8bVOhF23AYdkPN7aKjaJkG5etNJ06QCOBHG2gy8k0AmBLV5YNPSfgx7zdsHpyfAgC-ZKcp-rJbA-vZncns2Y/s1600/award.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYW2GcY1B8TlxbcO1nswQ7UGSdVpNacPK2YxJI8sXN1iIo-uXbNR_FX1A8bVOhF23AYdkPN7aKjaJkG5etNJ06QCOBHG2gy8k0AmBLV5YNPSfgx7zdsHpyfAgC-ZKcp-rJbA-vZncns2Y/s1600/award.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't judge the swollen face. The IV went straight to my cheeks</td></tr>
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<br />
The rest of the trip flew by, and would have been a whole lot more fun if I hadn't felt like death for so long after the race. We went to the awards ceremony. After a little hemming and hawing, I took my slot for the 70.3 World Championships in Mt. Tremblant, Canada. We ate mofongo, we ate (multiple) proper brunches at Denny's, we drank fruity drinks (far fewer than I intended, that dehydration is a killer), we soaked up the sun, and we got badly sunburnt. It was a great trip, and a great return back to the place where it "all started". And fortunately, by the time we landed back in Chicago, almost all of the snow had melted. Enough with the winter, already!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOnY3sC0vL1KXS6DymAEFifSZ-CFliY4sX7qFIr7c-PvtmZA7mr_2vQLZ5zrdL9NjSlhNCusHMJxCFNCr2IsLEtIXph8CXsSeO9jPX_PL7s26l37TgLhWUiHdotLk4Dt_TUqiktsfrsm0/s1600/Dennys.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOnY3sC0vL1KXS6DymAEFifSZ-CFliY4sX7qFIr7c-PvtmZA7mr_2vQLZ5zrdL9NjSlhNCusHMJxCFNCr2IsLEtIXph8CXsSeO9jPX_PL7s26l37TgLhWUiHdotLk4Dt_TUqiktsfrsm0/s1600/Dennys.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denny's Eating Fools</td></tr>
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And now, on to the next! Thanks for reading, friends!<br />
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(The "next," in case you're wondering, is in Muncie, Indiana in a few weeks, and I tell you that ONLY so I can implant this amazing, awesome, favoritest YouTube video ever. You're welcome).<br />
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<br />Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-87652497887857316302014-03-16T13:17:00.000-05:002014-03-16T15:25:08.791-05:00Frozen Brain And just like that, more than a month has passed without me blogging. <br />
<br />
What has prompted my triumphant return to this space? Travel, of course. This time, a quick but eventful training trip to lovely Tallahassee, Florida.<br />
<br />
My trip to Tallahassee was random and last-minute, made possible in these extremely budget-conscious days by airline miles, a great bag that often lets me escape bike fees (knock on wood), and the seemingly endless generosity of coach/friend/training-buddy-but-not-right-now-because-she's-busy-growing-a-little-baby-girl Liz, who let me tag along with her while she attended a coaching certification course in Tallahassee, and have a place to stay.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6I3gEWk849tjy8rwkrK14evbkCO5G0yp0SVuXv5_1nDUB0VWMyS8mkUeNFfovYkOoHGWrbZyqH1zqX23Hh0Z6oE3hZ3jL3CDecrlmZNRNDQ0Lt7spgZvg6rxjzaMSmoFxbaHkp1O0Bs/s1600/IMG_4100.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6I3gEWk849tjy8rwkrK14evbkCO5G0yp0SVuXv5_1nDUB0VWMyS8mkUeNFfovYkOoHGWrbZyqH1zqX23Hh0Z6oE3hZ3jL3CDecrlmZNRNDQ0Lt7spgZvg6rxjzaMSmoFxbaHkp1O0Bs/s1600/IMG_4100.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike in the sun and walk on sand outside without a down coat? Sign me up.</td></tr>
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I had two goals for this trip, neither of which was to make it a "camp," thrash myself or pack in huge training hours-- Twitter suggests that that's the trendy thing to do right now, but I spent much of February trying to dig myself out of the hole I got in last time I tried it.<br />
<br />
Goal One: To get outside a little and get comfortable on my new-this-winter bike before I head down to San Juan for my first 70.3 of the year.<br />
<br />
Goal Two: To kick off my 2014 triathlon season. Yep, I secretly did a little tri - <a href="http://tritherez.com/" target="_blank">Tri the Rez</a>, the first race of a three-race series in Tallahassee that I would highly, highly recommend to anyone in the area. For someone who has dealt with far more nervousness before races, even low-key ones, than should <i>ever</i> be warranted, there was no better way to kick off the season than by doing a small Super Secret Sprint Tri in an area where no one knew me, and keeping my plans to do it a Super Secret from almost everyone I knew. No pressure. Perfect<br />
<br />
We arrived in Tallahassee on Friday afternoon, basked a little in the glory of temperatures in the low 40s (a little deja vu to the last time I traveled to Florida, but at least it wasn't raining), hit up the Whole Foods (because it wouldn't be a trip with Liz absent a trip to Whole Foods), and then she got busy learning things while I did some night swimming in one of the very nicest pools I've ever been in. Upon returning to the hotel, I haphazardly threw some race gear into a bag, stuffed my face with Puffins cereal, and fell right asleep, feeling not even the slightest bit nervous. I like this pre-race approach!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqbZo6YH3MRabQKdy3jol2Gbyp1B8gw5dRXQUrkgbPvTpfXyCv9f9O5iTfvWOgaliDgGYQxypPLB3O4uVFobJ4VG19FUm8FMteov6o_lX8LaJE4yGTlgmYO3rev5b52M5CX4ZCp-wwpo/s1600/IMG_4083.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDqbZo6YH3MRabQKdy3jol2Gbyp1B8gw5dRXQUrkgbPvTpfXyCv9f9O5iTfvWOgaliDgGYQxypPLB3O4uVFobJ4VG19FUm8FMteov6o_lX8LaJE4yGTlgmYO3rev5b52M5CX4ZCp-wwpo/s1600/IMG_4083.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A chilly night swim at FSU's amazing pool </td></tr>
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It wasn't until Saturday morning, while on my second cup of coffee, that I realized that I should probably check the weather forecast. I logged on....and saw current temperatures in the 30s and expected temperatures during the race in the 40s. I quickly flashed back to the informational email the race director had sent the day before -- the water temperature was about 58 degrees. Having <i>once again</i> forgotten about the fact that Florida can, indeed, be cold in the winter, I failed to bring any cold weather gear. Somehow, it's worked out that I've never done a cold race, and I wasn't really sure how to handle this winter-like situation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnRTE3g6_r6UXdL4v6lfujaF-zY79OVDcduLJdNBAdOVgJ95PctcOCbXIdPLmFTGcN6e4dl_g1F7xehDfKmKTVVA3JoHbW5u0CTx143Go2EOa8p2L3hLEts4qFcd3G_xVdCVYt-CbzmI/s1600/IMG_4087.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnRTE3g6_r6UXdL4v6lfujaF-zY79OVDcduLJdNBAdOVgJ95PctcOCbXIdPLmFTGcN6e4dl_g1F7xehDfKmKTVVA3JoHbW5u0CTx143Go2EOa8p2L3hLEts4qFcd3G_xVdCVYt-CbzmI/s1600/IMG_4087.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No comment.</td></tr>
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Luckily I had easy access to the sage wisdom of my coach/ weekend roommate, who said something along the lines of "<i>yeah, that's going to be cold. Suck it up. Ride really hard and you won't even notice.</i>" Alrighty then. Game on.<br />
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<b>The Race</b><br />
<br />
I arrived at the race site early, racked my bike, observed that I was the ONLY person not wearing a proper winter hat, and hightailed it back to the warm rental car. A bit later, I begrudgingly took my bike out for a little spin/ make sure everything works/ "warm-up," and ended up almost crying because my fingers got so numb (I cannot handle the pain of frozen fingers). Upon arriving back, I frantically purchased gloves and arm warmers from the local bike shop guy, who had brought emergency equipment for the unprepared. It did not escape me that I was the only person at this race who spent the past several months surviving a <i>real</i> winter, yet I was also, seemingly, the only one being a complete wuss about the cold. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6doKyVjQXi3wlA5ec0RW5uDu1GN-AWfER7yI869kNdut1CiO7I3HnAmHYjrMEqi_W_YxgNPy21OOhx7UjYm8xQcKvqnEFSjr03JBlQrMcPLjuffyNYIQmcsTIx3e5xBIxlLMVXvFXOM4/s1600/IMG_4084.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6doKyVjQXi3wlA5ec0RW5uDu1GN-AWfER7yI869kNdut1CiO7I3HnAmHYjrMEqi_W_YxgNPy21OOhx7UjYm8xQcKvqnEFSjr03JBlQrMcPLjuffyNYIQmcsTIx3e5xBIxlLMVXvFXOM4/s1600/IMG_4084.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Appropriately dressed people milling around in the small transition spot</td></tr>
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Cold weather gear was not, incidentally, the only thing I forgot to bring to the race. Among other forgotten items: a visor, running shoes to wear for a warm up jog, my heart rate monitor, and perhaps most importantly, <i>my brain</i>. This day was a series of airhead moves and complete lack of thought. <br />
<br />
First, I almost missed the start. I spent a little too long chatting with the bike shop guy, and by the time I moseyed my way down to the lake, the national anthem was playing and we were T-minus six minutes to the start of my wave. <i>Crap</i>. I frantically pulled on my wetsuit, got a friendly spectator to zip me up, choked down a gel, and hightailed my way to the small beach on which we'd start. I never even had time to get nervous. <br />
<br />
Right before the start, the Race Director told us that the water was a balmy FIFTY-FIVE degrees. Ooof. Double ooof to the fact that that was <i>significantly </i>warmer than the air. <br />
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<b>Swim</b><br />
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The horn sounded, we ran into the water, dove in....and I don't remember much else. It was shockingly cold and took my breath away at first. I know for a while, I was swimming right next to another girl. She was wearing Swedish Goggles, thus a <i>real</i> swimmer (or something like that), so I was OK with that. Otherwise, I just felt very much like I was not thinking at all. It was a weird feeling. I was working, but not thinking. I'm fairly certain I was in this state because blood was diverted from my brain to keep other body parts (hands, feet, etc.) from freezing. Thus, a condition I call "Frozen Brain." I have absolutely no scientific basis for the belief that Frozen Brain is a thing, but it's my story and I'm sticking to it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8q4q5zLKMhJdZ8EvrXWVfxPk0wQ0ennWxkQs3vuoTqA-46tJcU5rVLSwMYhYbLcrU0f85GhszfonFdI-7y8MOwe3OnIt9aM4Bjyg5WrKBSYRJSSReCr5jVB342JQFjn4aRk1-EEzGbM/s1600/IMG_4089.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8q4q5zLKMhJdZ8EvrXWVfxPk0wQ0ennWxkQs3vuoTqA-46tJcU5rVLSwMYhYbLcrU0f85GhszfonFdI-7y8MOwe3OnIt9aM4Bjyg5WrKBSYRJSSReCr5jVB342JQFjn4aRk1-EEzGbM/s1600/IMG_4089.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Bradford</td></tr>
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Because I need some sort of story to explain the first transition. I reached the end of the swim as the first woman, with Swedish Goggle girl about 10 seconds back, raced to my spot, took what felt like 5 minutes to get my wetsuit off, put on my helmet, started to put on my new bike gloves but realized quickly that that was a difficult endeavor with wet and frozen hands, gave up, grabbed my bike, and headed on out.<br />
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I got to the mount line, started to hop on.....and realized I had <i>completely forgotten my bike shoes</i>. At this time of year, I'm not skilled enough to do the pro-like start with shoes on pedal thing, so I intended to put the bike shoes on in transition and run out in them. But, I totally forgot. Who does that?? Someone with Frozen Brain, that's who. It's a real thing, I'm sure of it.<br />
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Based on my power file and the race results, it turns out that by the time I'd uttered a couple choice words, handed my bike off to a very nice volunteer to hold for a minute, run <i>back</i> into transition against the flow of traffic (lots of confused looks on that one), grabbed my shoes, returned to the bike, put shoes on, and got going, I'd lost about 90 seconds. [Spoiler alert: relevant].<br />
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<b>Bike </b><br />
<br />
Once on the bike (<i>with</i> shoes), the Frozen Brain thing didn't resolve. I was still on auto-pilot and racing like a big, dumb animal. There was one thought, and one thought only: <i>must go faster</i>. (<i>a la </i>Jeff Goldblum in both Jurassic Park <i>and</i> Independence Day, a reference that likely no one other than my father will appreciate). <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7jdNTyA7QRM" width="480"></iframe><br />
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I hammered my way forward, just chasing each guy I saw in front of me, not feeling much, even the cold, but observing I had switched into my <i>two gasps in, two gasps out</i> breathing pattern that only happens when I'm really working hard. I had little regard for my power meter, but when I did glance down occasionally, I realized that I was putting down "blow up" watts. <i>Oh well. Must go faster.</i><br />
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That's how it went for 14 miles on mostly flat, beautifully paved roads near the Tallahassee airport. <i>Don't think, hammer, hammer, hammer, hammer, must go faster</i>, until it was over and I'd done the whole ride pretty much at my threshold. I know that's what you're technically supposed to do in sprint distance triathlons, but I've personally never been able to push myself to that extent, or even come close, while knowing there was a run ahead. With Frozen Brain, I didn't even think about the run while riding. Maybe I need Frozen Brain more often.<br />
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<b>Run</b><br />
<br />
After stumbling through a transition that was way too long due to the difficulty of shoving completely frozen solid feet into shoes, I took off, as with the bike, like a bat out of hell. While ordinarily 5Ks are a little intimidating to me and I have nothing but the utmost regard for the extended pain they can inflict, with Frozen Brain, I gave no thought to anything other than<i> running really hard right now.</i> As a result, I started out way too fast, and had quite an unpleasant time after the first mile as my body finally reminded me that it simply cannot just sprint a 5K, ever, much less after biking really, really hard.<br />
<br />
There was a bit of Brain Thaw in the second and third miles, with thoughts of "oh my God, this hurts, what kind of idiotic pacing was that?" sneaking in, but I was successfully able to push through and maintain pace pretty well, ending up with a 5K split that I was pretty proud of.<br />
<br />
In the end, I was pretty stoked to walk away with the overall female win, by a fairly sizable amount. I was also thrilled to kick off the 2014 season on a very positive note-- Frozen Brain and all, I raced a lot better than I anticipated for this early, especially coming off a month that, on whole, was focused a bit more on "get healthy" as opposed to "get fast" than it would have been if I hadn't been stupid and dug myself into a pretty sizable hole (maybe another blog post). And, I also ended up third overall, including the guys, finishing, oh, about 90 seconds behind the winner (there's the relevance of those 90 seconds lost to the shoe debacle). Thanks, Frozen Brain!<br />
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<b>The Rest </b><br />
<br />
After the race I took off for a nice long ride out to the Gulf of Mexico and back as the temperature climbed into the low 80s, and was absolutely impressed by the wonderful road quality and lack of traffic in Tallahassee. Little secret-- Tallahassee's actually a really great place to train! Great roads, some hills (so I hear, I stuck with a flat route), big trees, oodles of trails, ideal training weather for this time of year. My long run the next day was equally pleasant <i>and</i> equally schizophrenic when it came to weather, with the temperature rising almost 40 degrees during the course of my two hour run. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTs6tvSXFqSogJgoIxDFbBa4yv-QNbwLmb_NgzOPtGRkEF-4n5WPiacFtkHx8RFVCr0BA2-Ezj6r-Jslc-TInTd0JuOAG0zB3j6EABU80JFJP_rhQfkLl892WYDlzgYn3dWY34xj4Cbc/s1600/IMG_4090.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwTs6tvSXFqSogJgoIxDFbBa4yv-QNbwLmb_NgzOPtGRkEF-4n5WPiacFtkHx8RFVCr0BA2-Ezj6r-Jslc-TInTd0JuOAG0zB3j6EABU80JFJP_rhQfkLl892WYDlzgYn3dWY34xj4Cbc/s1600/IMG_4090.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My turn-around point, the Gulf</td></tr>
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During all this, Liz was off learning more about running, but we still had a little bit of time to explore the best of Tallahassee -- a hole-in-the-wall restaurant serving up huge and delicious slices of pizza, a walkable area around the Florida State House, which is beautiful and stately aside from some hideous window coverings that make it look a bit like a T.G.I.Friday's, a wildlife refuge right along the Gulf of Mexico. The scariest and most memorable moment was walking along a little trail near the coast, turning a corner, and spotting a huge, hungry looking alligator sunning itself not far away. I risked life and limb to get a picture. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr9OJaoXpX1njuIktyyAM3mgWDLhyphenhyphenxChcbHhxQYQUvxX0L5-VmmGzq5EaJLGam7pkVUtm3MMkv3pXFUfepGiTXMfshWuCXblcfr0WWjvmIAwrTffSaDJrCKjJw9ZBdsOTvHkeJf9mwko/s1600/florida-capitol-large2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr9OJaoXpX1njuIktyyAM3mgWDLhyphenhyphenxChcbHhxQYQUvxX0L5-VmmGzq5EaJLGam7pkVUtm3MMkv3pXFUfepGiTXMfshWuCXblcfr0WWjvmIAwrTffSaDJrCKjJw9ZBdsOTvHkeJf9mwko/s1600/florida-capitol-large2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those awnings are red and white striped and I wonder if they serve Bloomin' Onions at the State House?</td></tr>
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Overall, it was a fun little weekend with lots of laughs, as is always the case when I travel with Liz. I was pleasantly surprised by what a great training location Tallahassee
is, we got a taste of the spring that I'm sure we'll be getting in
Chicago <i>any day now</i>, and I got in enough riding to feel somewhat confident that I won't just fall right over in the first few miles of the ride in San Juan. Mission successful!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alligator lurking in the weeds</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxyJsyng9eZomN4rK0tyfkBX0hd_97e45plTVPegy9K144WHqLvfsFLvTXFx8CQ0WpVicq0Taj6icyuo9o3sd5O6gsARw8dvRzdL6jAnfmRqWUd8oqTZJ9XZvf3JPWkIFMxGBQDfgrUjA/s1600/IMG_4099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxyJsyng9eZomN4rK0tyfkBX0hd_97e45plTVPegy9K144WHqLvfsFLvTXFx8CQ0WpVicq0Taj6icyuo9o3sd5O6gsARw8dvRzdL6jAnfmRqWUd8oqTZJ9XZvf3JPWkIFMxGBQDfgrUjA/s1600/IMG_4099.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another alligator</td></tr>
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<br />Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-85408281002876682302014-02-05T20:03:00.000-06:002014-02-06T08:55:37.861-06:00Over the Edge<span style="font-family: inherit;">This weekend, I made a little escape from the brutal winter of Chicago and headed down to Florida, eager for a good dose of Vitamin D and a few days without snow or ice. <br /><br />My parents have a condo in Cape Canaveral and my mother has been staying down there for the past several weeks, so this trip doubled as family time and an opportunity to get in some quality training. I took my bike along with the intention of getting in a couple of days of good hard, outdoor riding topped off with a little half marathon on Sunday. My goal was to push myself physically right to the edge (but not over) and hopefully see some good fitness gains. <br /><br />Unfortunately, wherever that “edge” was, I went right on over it and then fell some more and I write this while sipping hot tea, emerging from a Nyquil-induced hangover, on my third consecutive day of no exercise. This was not the plan. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSqfzbGCMIwquKl2SNA-q_Xmh-wkoAVJfExJXKL43qSQ1Q4aHD9tMEOUeh6k8g5l5FDZfj4aG1kUT08E86BICkfBQs6SvyhV1pKO3qq3Tymn0RFlNI4aA_L5nUT8iG2YdZwf4fsoKmh8/s1600/wile-e-coyote.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSqfzbGCMIwquKl2SNA-q_Xmh-wkoAVJfExJXKL43qSQ1Q4aHD9tMEOUeh6k8g5l5FDZfj4aG1kUT08E86BICkfBQs6SvyhV1pKO3qq3Tymn0RFlNI4aA_L5nUT8iG2YdZwf4fsoKmh8/s1600/wile-e-coyote.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ran myself right on over the edge</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I should know from past experience that the weather in Florida in January is quite the crapshoot, but I remained blissfully ignorant until right before I left Chicago, when I checked the weather forecast, saw temperatures in the mid-50s with rain, and threw a couple pieces of cold-weather cycling gear into my bag. When you’ve been dealing with sub-zero temperatures for months, 50s and rain doesn’t sound so bad. <br /><br />What I forgot while hunkered down training inside for months…. riding your bike in the 50s and rain is actually pretty bad. And that’s what we got for the first two days I was in Florida—temperatures in the 50s and a constant, steady rain.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rBAp5hwDCynk-T28y1Hz3x8ugbfvqhQjkSmUia871up2dEWBqAc7W_BMUAp7opsTKCUfxGWTOajmjsgjbgqM6Py3W1_TIj_5WcGIP6H9k2Pd49IpROP5_jDwR90asR6zDbmdUAvoGko/s1600/clermonlake.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rBAp5hwDCynk-T28y1Hz3x8ugbfvqhQjkSmUia871up2dEWBqAc7W_BMUAp7opsTKCUfxGWTOajmjsgjbgqM6Py3W1_TIj_5WcGIP6H9k2Pd49IpROP5_jDwR90asR6zDbmdUAvoGko/s1600/clermonlake.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful day in Clermont</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I’m a stubborn sort, I came to ride, and I had no backup plan, so ride I did - about 160 miles over two days with a fair amount of intensity. Ride #1 was flat, on A1A along the coast, the highlight of which was flatting about a mile from my car just as it was getting dark and the temperature was plummeting. I opted to walk it back in instead of fumbling with a tire fix in the rain, but was shivering so hard by the time I got to the car that I was a little afraid my teeth would break from all the chattering. Ride #2 was in Clermont, a hilly little cycling mecca outside of Orlando, the highlights of which were not getting lost despite having a cue sheet two pages long and a couple climbs up Sugarloaf, Florida’s version of a mountain (they actually call it a mountain). In between these rides I did some swimming in the rain. Some running in the rain. And lots and lots and lots of shivering. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoUY4TkQxyu5ulZJclBr_cFaQcbl01Xq1d1oY_-5RZui_ap85SeVG1tGXWqyg0t3I5euPu6HrGtjW-5R7RxR4HAk8DPNBVPb_8wQKM9Crwdc-J-AQ7poXSDcuNGa7e1ExcgnEfIXO8QA/s1600/cocoapool.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGoUY4TkQxyu5ulZJclBr_cFaQcbl01Xq1d1oY_-5RZui_ap85SeVG1tGXWqyg0t3I5euPu6HrGtjW-5R7RxR4HAk8DPNBVPb_8wQKM9Crwdc-J-AQ7poXSDcuNGa7e1ExcgnEfIXO8QA/s1600/cocoapool.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I do love swimming in the rain</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_GxACXEm6LKqh_LonqVZHlaYyGGuRoQCBb6P5jwLXkHXX-7iB7LeHIDMiIBgnt-OGzR7bFMM2c1Jh4Q74MaxdFGdsfeZ5P9EKBs47ChMr0Dg-StsVxSP5DlHnUaQPvqNjENZ6JmpafY/s1600/Sugarloaf.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_GxACXEm6LKqh_LonqVZHlaYyGGuRoQCBb6P5jwLXkHXX-7iB7LeHIDMiIBgnt-OGzR7bFMM2c1Jh4Q74MaxdFGdsfeZ5P9EKBs47ChMr0Dg-StsVxSP5DlHnUaQPvqNjENZ6JmpafY/s1600/Sugarloaf.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What Floridians call a moutain</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Between the travel, the bigger volume of training, and mostly, being outside in that weather for so long, it really should have come as no surprise that I ended up sick. I woke up on Saturday feeling horrible, with my whole body aching. At first I chalked it up to fatigue, put on my compression gear, and did whatever I could to speed up my recovery in hopes of having some spring in my step for the half marathon the next day. As the day went on, my head stuffed up, the headaches became more than nagging, and the aching got worse. At around 8, I spiked a fever and (theme of the weekend) started shivering. I wrapped myself in many blankets, accepted that the race was almost certainly not going to happen, and went to bed, still setting my alarm for 4AM just in case I somehow miraculously woke up feeling human enough to run. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then in the middle of the night, my fever broke. I got up that morning and felt a little better. Not good, not at all....but better. I didn’t know if I was being a complete idiot for even considering racing that soon after having a fever, but for whatever reason, I decided to give it a go.<br /><br />We arrived at the race site, I set out to do a little warm-up, and I stopped after four minutes, feeling worn out and fatigued with my heart racing. I knew then that the race could get really ugly, so I decided to run with my phone. The race was billed as “earphone friendly” and there was an app that you could install on your phone that would act as a GPS tracker on the course. I didn’t want my family to worry if ended up stopping or came in way slower than expected. I was clearly really, really confident about this race. <br /><br />The race started, and almost immediately, my legs felt heavy and just not right. <i>Oh boy</i>, I thought, <i>this is not good</i>. I’ve certainly started triathlon runs feeling not great, but that’s a different animal. I’m not sure I’ve ever done a running race where I didn’t have at least a couple miles of feeling strong and easy. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbvuCfb-lI3JDvCJNSKW9XBEG7D6piVm0-pIRPWdpS16vXPqYzVxedK6-1vJQ50n-ojYN2_9bzBCFFMASdFsWDSOh4V3SXWU71J-8B5Lmr7quPj4lIltwrQ1C2EgRBMheduL5RPEqo4Q/s1600/fogrun.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbvuCfb-lI3JDvCJNSKW9XBEG7D6piVm0-pIRPWdpS16vXPqYzVxedK6-1vJQ50n-ojYN2_9bzBCFFMASdFsWDSOh4V3SXWU71J-8B5Lmr7quPj4lIltwrQ1C2EgRBMheduL5RPEqo4Q/s1600/fogrun.jpg" height="400" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faking it</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the next few miles, I had some short stretches of feeling OK and in a rhythm, but mostly felt a little worse with each mile. Oddly enough, despite the fatigued feeling, my pace wasn’t way off. I’d find myself feeling like I was just barely going to make it to the next mile mark, then I’d look at my watch, see the split, and say “hey moron, you’re not running that slow. Suck it up.” (It’s possible I need to be a bit nicer to myself during races). </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We hit a big bridge in the 6th mile of so, and from that point on, things got dark. I spent several miles pulling out every mental trick I could think of just to keep myself from walking or stopping altogether. I repeated positive phrases and mantras. I sang my go-to “disassociate” songs (50 Nifty United States and 99 Bottle of Beer on the Wall). I thought back to Kona and how disappointed I was in myself for giving in to the pain and walking at times, and I told myself the tough miles today would be the ones that gave me the mental strength to make sure what happened in Kona doesn’t happen again. I pretended I was at home doing a training run along the Lake, and I tried to relax. I got a little cheesy--- I remember at one point saying over and over, “this is where champions are made.” Even with all that, it was really, really hard to keep moving forward.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tzm0VJp-P4YvJPg2prhXtPedz3lnc21yIWb4fGQqiP49IpdPXKv-7ocf1RaV6xdBjR3nQYsNl8MwISDnjZy2bONVKqXfLLmXDY8zD59Xqtn7eJ-VSjjzPeHqG62qUDPtKC7vfriqktU/s1600/bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tzm0VJp-P4YvJPg2prhXtPedz3lnc21yIWb4fGQqiP49IpdPXKv-7ocf1RaV6xdBjR3nQYsNl8MwISDnjZy2bONVKqXfLLmXDY8zD59Xqtn7eJ-VSjjzPeHqG62qUDPtKC7vfriqktU/s1600/bridge.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof that the bridges we ran were no joke</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the 12th mile, there’s another huge bridge. I knew my family would be at the top, so I put my head down, put one foot in front of the other, and just trudged forward. I saw my family, I waved and handed off my phone, and as we crested the bridge, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that after a nice long downhill, we’d be to the last mile and my heart would pull me through. I opened up my stride, started picking it back up, and actually felt almost good. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tzR12224XpMDfe2OmzpKW1IYXET7srw2ErElTlAloexZsAmeg49fsG4fkwsTnXzQFlhPy3KWf_ZE0Hev2sYLWL297FPATRNwek-bmkqwODEb4FwVCRE3qPf96wGTETmVBaOvwqV73Yk/s1600/bridgerun.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tzR12224XpMDfe2OmzpKW1IYXET7srw2ErElTlAloexZsAmeg49fsG4fkwsTnXzQFlhPy3KWf_ZE0Hev2sYLWL297FPATRNwek-bmkqwODEb4FwVCRE3qPf96wGTETmVBaOvwqV73Yk/s1600/bridgerun.jpg" height="400" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, that funky foot turning thing</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’d gotten really foggy and I couldn’t see far in front of me, so I just kept chasing figures in the distance (there was a marathon going at the same time that had started a half hour before us, so I was passing marathoners a lot in the last few miles). I turned it over, looked at my watch and calculated that despite feeling horrible, I was on track to finish at 1:30 or a little under—right around my PR. That made me happy and gave me the boost to pick it up a little more.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, I saw the 13 mile mark. And, I neither saw nor heard anything remotely resembling a finish line. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized I had started on a second loop of the same course I’d already done. I ran up to the next woman ahead of me. “Are you doing the half?” “What? No!” she answered, “you missed the turn!”<br /><br /><i>Crap, crap, crap.</i> I immediately turned around and started hightailing it back. I was going against the course all salmon-like, and kept asking people, “where was the turn? How far back?” Most of them looked at me like I was weird, couldn’t understand what I was doing or asking. One guy got it. “Oh no, girl,” he said, “that turn was like a mile back.” </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaLbk5hINHjSecnOxUo0z_7qBdsqhPfol7FoMLejr-TI86LdpI0cAzJrzT9bjSK9OoihxV4tcjZI-AHazaz4osmHZXETKKN43Ph6G2b8L-NkNGKo8bvFMteivu8G_RUUiftPUIlNj3C0/s1600/salmon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaLbk5hINHjSecnOxUo0z_7qBdsqhPfol7FoMLejr-TI86LdpI0cAzJrzT9bjSK9OoihxV4tcjZI-AHazaz4osmHZXETKKN43Ph6G2b8L-NkNGKo8bvFMteivu8G_RUUiftPUIlNj3C0/s1600/salmon.jpg" height="296" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beauty of the internet. I googled "salmon running against crowd." And here you go.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not sure I could have been more disheartened. After I’d pushed myself so hard just to get through the race on a day I felt way off, now I’d gone and screwed it all up. I felt so dumb—I’d been lazy. I hadn’t studied the course map or previewed it because I wasn’t taking the race seriously and I’d figured I’d always be around others. I’d zoned out and stopped paying attention. Yeah, it was really foggy, yeah, the turn could have been marked better, yeah, the volunteers might have been a little louder, but I’m the only one who made the dumb mistake. <br /><br />I kept backtracking and backtracking, finally finding the damn turn. It had been at mile 12.4 or so. A bit delirious, and a lot exhausted, I hoped I’d make the turn and the finish line would be right there. No such luck. Another .7 miles or so. Crap. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTYArvZHc9Jp3ZST9T3n7jKHCp858-KMIITCsdJtrm46qJRMnR32PGbxr_Ppq4TbhoKZjnG1XY1cuHId0Et8E3JoMrRL-U-FO_3TKUQIpcz-2N4ihqGHKF7GyYeR29XI1HC3pf53krsw/s1600/finishouch.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTYArvZHc9Jp3ZST9T3n7jKHCp858-KMIITCsdJtrm46qJRMnR32PGbxr_Ppq4TbhoKZjnG1XY1cuHId0Et8E3JoMrRL-U-FO_3TKUQIpcz-2N4ihqGHKF7GyYeR29XI1HC3pf53krsw/s1600/finishouch.jpg" height="400" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So done.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Somehow, I staggered it in, with my Garmin showing that I’d run 14.8 miles total. It was disappointing, sure, especially when I’d been truly gutting it out on a rough day and was going to have a decent time (for me). I knew in the grand scheme of things, however, this race didn’t really matter and I laughed it off with a few “dumb blonde” jokes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The silver lining- I learned (or, re-learned) a couple good lessons – first, <i>know the course</i> (how many times have I heard my coach say that one?); second, and perhaps more valuable for the future – <i>you can do more than you think you can</i>. At mile 12, and at mile 13, I truly believed getting to the finish line was going to take everything out of me. Yet somehow, due to my mistake, I managed to race another 1.7 miles without slowing down too much. Proof that the mind’s what puts the brakes on first, not the body. Good to remember. <br /><br />Bonus silver lining? I somehow still managed to place second in my age group and collected the most unique award I have received to date: a bongo drum. Just a little random. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDv43DFt2XaRy_zGUb40M82n10d9DioeJO_wGittXYljYWVPzqebfKM6Piobozm0gJYWNNCdhlAlIrt7blRI82QQKbRuacXyoCKN-2JckyoYLy-_ryawG_alUchD0ROWiuhhCxm0qAj-g/s1600/bongo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDv43DFt2XaRy_zGUb40M82n10d9DioeJO_wGittXYljYWVPzqebfKM6Piobozm0gJYWNNCdhlAlIrt7blRI82QQKbRuacXyoCKN-2JckyoYLy-_ryawG_alUchD0ROWiuhhCxm0qAj-g/s1600/bongo.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And lesson number 3: <i>don’t be an idiot</i>. In hindsight, running that race while sick was not smart at all, or at least, running that race hard was not smart at all. (Possibly all the bike riding in the cold rain wasn’t terribly smart either but, I digress). I had to dig way too deep for something that was never intended to be more than a training day, and my body has let me know it was not at all happy with that. For about 45 minutes after the race, I sat in the 80+ degree direct sun, freezing cold and (once again) shivering uncontrollably. That’s post- Ironman stuff, not post- fun half marathon in February stuff! Super Bowl Sunday for me was not a pleasant experience, as my fever and headaches returned and I alternated between hot and cold over and over and over. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, when I got placed in Triathlon Time Out (the dreaded words: <i>“I want you to take the next few days completely off”</i>) I didn’t argue even a little. This break is my apology to my body for making it do something it never should have done in the first place. Plus, I don’t mind the extra nap time! But soon, hopefully, I’ll back to it….and definitely a little smarter this time around. </span>Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-89615356307318666662014-01-05T15:53:00.000-06:002014-01-05T16:02:43.908-06:00The Catch Up<span style="font-size: small;">Oh, where to start? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Yeah, I abandoned my blog a bit post-Kona, which is a shame because I actually do enjoy writing and need to make more time for it. My absence has nothing to do with a lack of material -- there's been a <i>lot</i> going on -- but to be honest, the <i>lot</i> left me slightly overwhelmed and blogging fell by the wayside. So here's a little catch up...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Triathlon-wise, after Hawaii I took my forced down time like a big girl, but I didn't like it one little bit. Maybe I'm alone in this (I can't think that I am, but it's possible), but I struggle with off-seasons. Sure, I don't mind catching up on my wine consumption, having the time to see friends, staying up a little later, all that stuff. But I also need the endorphins and the routine that triathlon training brings to feel like a properly functioning, bearable human being. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTcYutGssoZHFiksItR45-1ANjgo4wEwacRPGS4KyMA0UXZ3-pnNaMRNWbT_vBoqN8CpBmXCoh1GruujJ3hrb06-uzbKuja3D67V_xQF-rSECewcq8wnPKO7qCrtGuOrY0-vD9mlR51A/s1600/dranks.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTcYutGssoZHFiksItR45-1ANjgo4wEwacRPGS4KyMA0UXZ3-pnNaMRNWbT_vBoqN8CpBmXCoh1GruujJ3hrb06-uzbKuja3D67V_xQF-rSECewcq8wnPKO7qCrtGuOrY0-vD9mlR51A/s400/dranks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did/ do enjoy these kinds of nights, however, </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">Still, after pretty much an entire year of hitting the training hard, my body (and maaaybe mind) needed the rest, that was obvious, so I took a few weeks of doing very little, activity-wise, spent a little bit of time with my foot in a walking cast (all better now!), wined and dined and brunched and occasionally ate Skittles for lunch. I kept that up for a few weeks, growing grumpier and grumpier by the day, until it was time to get back on a schedule. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsiuB3vxI0A5ADdbQgREL3rUR42zTWjE43_TVxODhy7T0MgRCIqn7GfqmTzpBIWlOBNvEosGVkdKrGrJaPoOdZWrQzSt4YD1Q7fuOLJMhEX0B-HuC4ZVmg0Mle052uWy-PovekEcz-kY/s1600/ironmanatee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsiuB3vxI0A5ADdbQgREL3rUR42zTWjE43_TVxODhy7T0MgRCIqn7GfqmTzpBIWlOBNvEosGVkdKrGrJaPoOdZWrQzSt4YD1Q7fuOLJMhEX0B-HuC4ZVmg0Mle052uWy-PovekEcz-kY/s400/ironmanatee.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-Skittle Lunch sentiments. HT: Karin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">But on the plus side, I also used that down-time to work on some weaknesses. I moved back into my condo in May. Between May and October, the extent of my use of the appliances in my kitchen was fairly heavy microwave utilization, and a teeny-tiny bit of use of my stove, mostly for scrambling eggs. Here's my confession.....I eat (ate) horribly. I mostly eat (ate) out, especially when the training load picked up. Last summer, I think I kept the Chicagoland Chipotle restaurants in business. Let's not talk about Arby's. I don't (didn't) make the best choices with food selection and my training and recovery often suffered as a result. Jelly beans are not the fuel of champions! I'd try to clean things up, diet-wise, for the weeks before big races, and I was somewhat successful with that, but overall, food and eating was my big weakness last year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">So I took the last couple months to learn how to eat and how to cook. I consulted with a dietician. I bought a Vitamix that I became obsessed with. I began cooking big, healthy meals on Sunday evenings that lasted me through the week (and then some). I started eating vegetables and actually liking them. Who knew eggplant was so flippin' delicious??</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFPP5s6iSjKxonuTIl0FExCnmrvY-U0am7pw6m5gg6eOmnAinpTZiI3OuZvUWOq6oVgQivoYAExqsvlvgTKq5turNEa4JAwST6x5jLhB8P1Ho-amBpWO8crZalbJyb3Ar2qZUA69tH8o/s1600/BYZqcJ0CAAEqHbb.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFPP5s6iSjKxonuTIl0FExCnmrvY-U0am7pw6m5gg6eOmnAinpTZiI3OuZvUWOq6oVgQivoYAExqsvlvgTKq5turNEa4JAwST6x5jLhB8P1Ho-amBpWO8crZalbJyb3Ar2qZUA69tH8o/s400/BYZqcJ0CAAEqHbb.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Precious</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">And with the help of my Super Baker/ Cook/ <a href="http://flossysfuel.com/">Food Blogger</a>/ Kick Ass Cyclist friend Andrea, I baked a pretty ornate and delicious (if I do say so myself) apple pie for our office's Bake-Off. I did not win, and I'm not bitter, but I think it was rigged. Just sayin'. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgHOU9FPpVxPv0_v9tQMIZ0oq52U_b8XfSY5Nm-pME5fSJkjlU6L7F5_J3nKvr7FftMJleKuG1MxEZJIAR3Mr4Yw11GiN3kVWLo4MJ5fFXoUR8IbZy1k6wnE-CBKDzeu5Dbv2tgMrJ_g/s1600/bakewine.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgHOU9FPpVxPv0_v9tQMIZ0oq52U_b8XfSY5Nm-pME5fSJkjlU6L7F5_J3nKvr7FftMJleKuG1MxEZJIAR3Mr4Yw11GiN3kVWLo4MJ5fFXoUR8IbZy1k6wnE-CBKDzeu5Dbv2tgMrJ_g/s400/bakewine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baking AND wine = proper off-season</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6_vLJen8aLqj0YyFXW0owiCjs7ynRqSrKoA_FB2rbEIEoABgy4k8Y5bF6wrRnA3Ctw1aiQZryiCRpPT33tODPp6vTSnIT0U5WXtTNxwY3vMiMV4wPtBclH-ieZrnHD_915Fo9_39fME/s1600/bake.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6_vLJen8aLqj0YyFXW0owiCjs7ynRqSrKoA_FB2rbEIEoABgy4k8Y5bF6wrRnA3Ctw1aiQZryiCRpPT33tODPp6vTSnIT0U5WXtTNxwY3vMiMV4wPtBclH-ieZrnHD_915Fo9_39fME/s400/bake.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My apple pie and a ridiculous sweater vest I bought when I was taper crazy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">Aside from that, there's been a progressive increase in training. Once I got back at it, I spent a month feeling horrible and slow and weak, convincing myself that I was washed up, had no fitness at all and would never be fast again. I was quite the pain in the ass! </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5ibxJjkIPHS6oWo5ILh3wVsZP5mklHMsCpvvL1o-PVN7_7Buu7S21fYHthdfTWxsmVIv8LfGO412gWd4hJneUwpF4fuOZ80LCrfI5F8-WsXCHmL6H3zAcrQtE0US71mi5pdYSFgjDlM/s1600/i+tri.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR5ibxJjkIPHS6oWo5ILh3wVsZP5mklHMsCpvvL1o-PVN7_7Buu7S21fYHthdfTWxsmVIv8LfGO412gWd4hJneUwpF4fuOZ80LCrfI5F8-WsXCHmL6H3zAcrQtE0US71mi5pdYSFgjDlM/s400/i+tri.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great mug from my sister and pretty accurate representation of my enthusiasm for training that first month</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">But then, after about a month of getting back into a consistent schedule and building a base (and panicking) I did some baseline testing and surprised myself. First up... a 5K/ run test. I was supposed to race a Turkey Trot while I was home in Ohio, but </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">I slept through the race. <span style="font-size: small;">To atone for my sin, I signed up for a local 5K the next weekend. But then it got cold. Really cold. Like, 7 degrees, feels like -8 degrees cold. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I've spent winters running in Providence, Boston, and obviously Chicago, so while I can't remember actually doing so, I am <i>sure</i> I have run in colder weather at some point. I can guarantee, however, that I have never raced in such frigid temperatures. It hurt, so very badly. My fingers were numb. My nose felt like it was going to fall off. I was breathing incredibly loud, even for me, because the cold, dry air really bugged my lungs. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">But I ran as hard as I could (which, wow, really hurt after a month of <i>only</i> slow, aerobic jogging) and was pretty shocked to win the race in a time that was pretty darn good for me, and actually, as fast as I've run a 5K in eight years. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">When they asked me to spell my name at the end of the race, my frozen mouth had trouble forming the letters, but we got through that, they snapped this lovely picture (could I look any colder?) and I hustled inside to warm up. My sinuses felt like they were going to explode for the next 15 minutes. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGkXvCxETXaTLwXcoi76wNdssbUuIqrysg-Fr0mbp4zMbtCsJPz4kDsNDnah9G_TTn8ajjMNfWpriXVwsL-9RCY6wMaJso6JNIIQlEejLck2sD_rKzskX8w_wTbZmfCOXER-RnhzDPRo/s1600/reindeer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGkXvCxETXaTLwXcoi76wNdssbUuIqrysg-Fr0mbp4zMbtCsJPz4kDsNDnah9G_TTn8ajjMNfWpriXVwsL-9RCY6wMaJso6JNIIQlEejLck2sD_rKzskX8w_wTbZmfCOXER-RnhzDPRo/s400/reindeer.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">A few days later I did a bike test, which I was 100% fully convinced was going to be a disaster, but....it wasn't. In fact, it was pretty good (for me), so I chilled out a bit on the ole' <i>I'm totally out of shape</i> panic and trudged forward.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">That was all early December. Since then, life's been a bit....messy. I spent the holidays with my family, which was a wonderful respite and so very necessary, but aside from that, December's a month I'd be OK with forgetting. The one thing that's kept me sane-ish has been the swim/ bike/ run. I don't think it's necessarily good to use exercise to escape from <i>feelings</i>, blah blah blah, but I did a lot of that in December and it is what it is. On the plus side, there have been some awesome workouts (including an extra special swim I did today that I think is worth a blog entry of its own, not because I like blogging about my workouts but because it was a big deal to me). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJGxQfAWKUYg6wCWx-JigBApt7UJuSkJtztqlWHpyjYGjMUk0u4b_fAadUv0mRCwUB0A4Z0UjtXCJ5lUH6hhurMA5xH74laAByGiPfV9AA7SjRz9HWTypkataKPidYpa2Ov4fsGSAiqs/s1600/brother.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJGxQfAWKUYg6wCWx-JigBApt7UJuSkJtztqlWHpyjYGjMUk0u4b_fAadUv0mRCwUB0A4Z0UjtXCJ5lUH6hhurMA5xH74laAByGiPfV9AA7SjRz9HWTypkataKPidYpa2Ov4fsGSAiqs/s400/brother.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother / Family Time, trying to get a decent pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">And now it's 2014. I'm kind of excited about a new calendar year and new beginnings. 2013, on whole, was a pretty amazing year for me with a slight down-tick there at the end. I don't know how 2014 is going to take shape, but I know it's going to be way, way different. There are some big changes in store and that's invigorating in its own way. But for now, I'm just plugging along, trying to do the little things right and make each day count. And staying warm! Sorta. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAg7pCDolaVY49tmwYbNo5Uvld6cMMO2hToSaxxxKUWLu2TpCVCviPx-hEbN04w0FkfM9N0iAS-gKnti1IXkPppWUx1lievcKb3n1zXhJ2wLWX548N8e8nXoV_KjASW6eWZGKt9u6_LA/s1600/photo(21).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAg7pCDolaVY49tmwYbNo5Uvld6cMMO2hToSaxxxKUWLu2TpCVCviPx-hEbN04w0FkfM9N0iAS-gKnti1IXkPppWUx1lievcKb3n1zXhJ2wLWX548N8e8nXoV_KjASW6eWZGKt9u6_LA/s400/photo(21).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This nonsense has been going on for like 9 weeks now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k9wkPXrdRd6HKzxxOS1wSaPNh5JFYtw7ul6Vtvjh2-FV6HxsNTIBH8kFRd27rpiRgp72asxG4v4Jrx5YgoWky1oIcQjYh3jU1h8AxaPN58gUuSOa39yzyet_pTo8mN507cfa4yrz2Ac/s1600/photo(1).PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k9wkPXrdRd6HKzxxOS1wSaPNh5JFYtw7ul6Vtvjh2-FV6HxsNTIBH8kFRd27rpiRgp72asxG4v4Jrx5YgoWky1oIcQjYh3jU1h8AxaPN58gUuSOa39yzyet_pTo8mN507cfa4yrz2Ac/s400/photo(1).PNG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High of NEGATIVE 12? Wha, wha?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-18563634995043218752013-10-28T19:03:00.000-05:002013-11-09T19:33:59.604-06:00Kona 2013 Race Report<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh, yeah, Kona. Should
probably write a little something about that one, eh? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The race happened over two weeks ago
and I’m just now sitting down to write about it. I’m a master
procrastinator! But I got a bit overwhelmed with vacation and then work
and wine and…. well, I’ll talk more about it later. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve been back to work for a bit
over a week now, and I’ve been faced several times with the terribly open-ended
question: “well, how was it?” I tried a lot of answers: <i>Good,
but not perfect. Amazing, such a privilege just be there. It was
hard, but beautiful and inspiring. Decent. </i>But what I’ve
settled on, and I think is the right answer: <i>it was an amazing
experience. </i> That’s what it was. An experience. Not a perfect
one, not a horrible one -- somewhere in the middle. Just….an experience
that I’m not likely to forget. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here’s the story: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><u>Pre-Race</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><u></u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I woke up race morning feeling
excited, ready, and nowhere near as nervous as I’ve felt before other Ironmans.
On the night before the race, I wrote here that I’d pretty much thrown
out all of my place and time goals, knowing that the conditions in Hawaii make
all the difference and that I was racing in an extremely competitive age
group. What I wrote was true. But, I’d maintained some more
process-oriented goals in my mind. I wanted to handle the day with grace
and composure. I wanted to make good decisions, be smart, and enjoy the
day as much as I could. I wanted to run well, for the whole marathon,
something I’ve yet to do. If conditions cooperated, I would have been
thrilled with a personal record for the distance, and given my training, I
didn’t think that was too lofty a goal, at all. But taking the ambitious
time and place goals I’d once had off the table truly decreased the pressure I
felt. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I arrived down at transition not
long after it opened, a bit before 5 AM, and then hopped into line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was quite the ordeal in transition -- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tattoo’d, weighed, I pumped up my tires,
loaded my bike up with nutrition, checked my tires, turned on my bike computer,
checked my tires again, adjusted my bike shoes, triple checked my tires, and
then got the heck out of there, meeting my parents inside the King K
hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, I sat in a hallway,
listening to music and trying to stay calm. In a great turn of events, I
looked up at one point and saw <a href="http://jenharrison.com/">Jennifer Harrison</a> sitting nearby.
Jennifer’s been a great role model and very supportive of me over the past
couple years as I’ve tried to figure this triathlon thing out. Jennifer
kindly took me under her wing, allowed me to tag along with her to the swim
start, offered up advice and, just through her calm and relaxed demeanor,
helping me to stay loose in those last tense minutes before the
race. Having her there made the start of the day so much better.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZClhKNmhYOkk-CRb3OFXTTmepBift6ymZIuEMceNSWTxaj_KjKimWNb7-P-Aa-qNaVKo8eReoZhlyxEJfnfraIm_pUrCfPlIAIbueXSPDjrQPxCJeGO1YJkYfkWs4rSvhRvjVwPcsMqA/s1600/KonaJen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZClhKNmhYOkk-CRb3OFXTTmepBift6ymZIuEMceNSWTxaj_KjKimWNb7-P-Aa-qNaVKo8eReoZhlyxEJfnfraIm_pUrCfPlIAIbueXSPDjrQPxCJeGO1YJkYfkWs4rSvhRvjVwPcsMqA/s400/KonaJen.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-Race with Jen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><u>Swim</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At 6:20 or so, Jennifer and I headed
over to the start, entering the water as soon after the professionals start as
we could. I had a general sense that I wanted to start on the left side
of the crowd, having heard that this was the spot to be to avoid some of the
extreme contact that happens in this race. We found a spot that wasn’t
too packed, and importantly, had fewer aggressive looking men. As packs
of guys filtered in, I kept moving around, trying to find open water. I
wasn’t interested in pre-race jostling for the best start spot--- I wanted <i>space</i>.
That meant starting back a few more rows than I ordinarily would, but it was
worth it. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWJ8Vuz4w6OPdkMWir_wGeWHn1pzfaIo0e1q_rnvmEoEGWattHwrNmFFn4SviAcDyvt82rwGY0HE2f1v5fq2imRGeM0EYi97jU1mbQsJfaNt5WJDQDAzNv9JTSfSuD908NqDoHhXkeHE/s1600/KonaSwimFromTrans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWJ8Vuz4w6OPdkMWir_wGeWHn1pzfaIo0e1q_rnvmEoEGWattHwrNmFFn4SviAcDyvt82rwGY0HE2f1v5fq2imRGeM0EYi97jU1mbQsJfaNt5WJDQDAzNv9JTSfSuD908NqDoHhXkeHE/s400/KonaSwimFromTrans.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Swim Course from transition</td></tr>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The cannon fired, we took off, and I
braced for the worst. I’ve heard so many people talk over the last
several months about how rough the swim is at Kona—how you’re punched and
grabbed and dunked the entire time. I built the swim up in my head to be
a big, scary thing, and given my propensity for panic attacks in the water this
year, I was really, really nervous. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well, I declare shenanigans on all
those “scary swim” stories. My swim in Kona was amazingly
contact-free. At the beginning, there was a little bumping and
jostling, one guy <i>kinda</i> sorta grabbed my lower leg (it was easy enough
to kick him off), my goggles got slightly bumped by an errant hand, but it was
minor….and then, nothing. It was smooth sailing for me for almost the
entire swim. At one point, I even adjusted my line and swam <i>towards</i>
people because I was sailing solo and wanted a draft. Yes, I probably got
lucky, and if I’m fortunate enough to make a return trip to Hawaii at some
point, I’m sure my next swim will be extra horrible just to make up for this
easy-peasy one, but really, of all the races I did this summer, <i>this</i> was
the least brutal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Throughout the whole swim, I felt
strong, relaxed, and happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All week, I
thoroughly enjoyed my swims in the Pacific, and this race was no different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The salt water made me feel buoyant, the
water temperature was perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
felt so good and the time flew by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we
approached the shore and I started to be able to hear Mike Reilly’s voice over
the loudspeaker and the crowd cheering, I was almost a bit sad to have the swim
ending so quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all good things
must end, so on I went. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I climbed out of the water and was
pleasantly surprised to see 1:01 on my watch as I crossed the timing mat.
Based on a practice swim I’d done on Wednesday and general knowledge of swim
splits in Kona, I was shooting for somewhere around 1:05, so to come in ahead of
schedule gave me a nice confidence bump. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-ltBeDhkZgeZtRSg3RiYymjYr22Ema-JKXFN4sj0pdj-pe2wK7xUobKfjFXwTHpYwxvVAnYfS9Y-i5tyabK9hTcu3boVVSZQlg4Yn0c3_0KOPwnAYvZ4yJWUjJnWoYqKDQUZZZeDfuc/s1600/KonaSwim.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-ltBeDhkZgeZtRSg3RiYymjYr22Ema-JKXFN4sj0pdj-pe2wK7xUobKfjFXwTHpYwxvVAnYfS9Y-i5tyabK9hTcu3boVVSZQlg4Yn0c3_0KOPwnAYvZ4yJWUjJnWoYqKDQUZZZeDfuc/s400/KonaSwim.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stoked with the time and loving my new ROKA speedsuit (and wetsuit)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">T1</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After a long run around the entire
transition area and through showers, I grabbed my bag and ran into the changing
tent, which was fortunately fairly empty at that point, slathered on the
sunscreen (I am such a fan of the <a href="http://trustthebum.com/">Sun Bum</a> brand, which kept this
practically-albino girl from suffering <i>any</i> sunburn after a day of riding
and running through the lava fields, quite an accomplishment, indeed), pulled
on arm coolers (good call) and hustled on out, ready to ride. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bike</span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The bike starts with a quick little
10-mile-ish out-and-back on Kuakini Highway. I’d heard that this stretch
is notoriously quick, crowded, and impossible to ride legally. I decided
to take it really easy, using the <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/">Langer </a>“treat it like a parade”
approach. It was, as predicted, <i>extremely </i>crowded, with dudes
jockeying for position all around me. I had no problem staying legal --
everyone I encountered was passing me with authority-- so I just pedaled easily
along, didn’t look at power, and tried to stay out of the way. Chris
passed early on, seeming a bit surprised to see me (<i>“oh, hey Amanda,”</i>)
which was funny since, y’know, he <i>knew</i> I was going to be in the race and
all, but from the early timing of the pass, I knew he’d blown his swim time
goal out of the water, and that made me happy. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-sC_HeNC36yWacDRKZ69taPqQM9zRAV7PfCsPsdVNx-LhBlOLy3kOfLEFKO_d3HVY0Qb__xN6YlfJFjQ9FzGSJeiQ06ESyIVWuGYO9AKXpGLJgbOxBwGwa6wQDCtg3_U7k3FnJblA0U/s1600/KonaKuakini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-sC_HeNC36yWacDRKZ69taPqQM9zRAV7PfCsPsdVNx-LhBlOLy3kOfLEFKO_d3HVY0Qb__xN6YlfJFjQ9FzGSJeiQ06ESyIVWuGYO9AKXpGLJgbOxBwGwa6wQDCtg3_U7k3FnJblA0U/s400/KonaKuakini.jpg" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Non-aero, pulling a train</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once we’d climbed up Palani and
started the trip out to Hawi along the Queen K, things started to calm down and
I settled in for a long, quiet, easy (effort-wise) ride. Given my
inexperience with the course, the typical Hawaii winds, the hot, humid
conditions (summer in Chicago just never really happened) and the fact that
I’ve blown up fairly spectacularly in the two Ironmans I’d done before, the
goal today was to ride as conservatively as possible, especially in the first
half of the race. After a lot of analysis and weighing of opinions,
I had set some power ranges that I figured I’d use largely to reign myself
in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But, Ironman’s unpredictable, and it
turned out that on this day, there was no need for reigning in—my legs just did
not have any power. I had to really strain to hit watts that are <i>always</i>
easy in training, and I knew that straining, this early in an Ironman ride, was
a really, really bad idea, so I took it down a notch and acknowledged that
today, I was going to have to go by feel, no matter how weak the power
output. Mentally, I struggled with this a little, wondering if I was just
“off,” but I figured it did no good worrying about it, and tried to do
whatever I could to stay cool, calm, and collected. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The staying cool part meant grabbing
water at <i>every single </i>aid station (they come every 7 miles or so in
Hawaii), sometimes two bottles, one to drink and one to spray all over
myself. I never had an “oh my God, I’m so hot” feeling -- it really
didn’t feel that bad out there -- but I noticed that my face felt like it was
burning and every person who passed me seemed to have salt caked all over them,
so I knew I needed to keep managing the conditions even if they didn’t feel
bad. I drank and drank and drank (and, TMI, eventually peed and peed and
peed, including once almost all over my friend <a href="http://maggierusch.com/">Maggie</a>, <i>sorrrry</i>), popped
salt tabs twice an hour, and just kept on keeping on until we’d made the turn
to head up to Hawi. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpfwi7-06vnAHeclaJXjiax7MDTr8C5LpnkNGT_EUFN-pj28YAnfFn5tTxkhWJo62uwB4tYfK0MW4C2p3pVG81zff3bpKKm5E-c5sWlAk_sOcmQPoidf8dJGzb5WD7rFyWlp6x-dtVrE/s1600/KonaSmileBike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpfwi7-06vnAHeclaJXjiax7MDTr8C5LpnkNGT_EUFN-pj28YAnfFn5tTxkhWJo62uwB4tYfK0MW4C2p3pVG81zff3bpKKm5E-c5sWlAk_sOcmQPoidf8dJGzb5WD7rFyWlp6x-dtVrE/s400/KonaSmileBike.jpg" width="281" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The staying calm and collected part
was easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t recall having a
whole lot of emotion or, really, thought, during the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a lot of drafting going on around
me, I fully anticipated and expected that and did everything I could to stay
out of it, without getting emotionally charged up about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
have any epiphanies, I didn’t have any moments of utter joy or thrill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At times, I’d look out at the ocean, or the
lava fields, and think, “this is pretty cool, really,” but that was the extent
of my emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We got really lucky with the wind
this year, with a tailwind aiding us all the way out and, compared to what I’ve
heard is normally the case, hardly any crosswinds during the climb up to and
down from Hawi. In a way, I was a bit sad that I wasn’t getting to
experience the “epic” Kona winds….but I got over that pretty quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last couple hours of the ride were into a
fairly substantial headwind, I knew that was coming, but a summer of riding
out-and-backs in the windy cornfields outside Chicago prepared me pretty well
for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t have a whole lot more to say
about the bike ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without the worst
of the winds, I didn’t find the course that difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a couple low moments—those are
unavoidable in a race this long—but mostly I felt controlled and stronger as
the day went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ratcheted the effort
down in the last 12 miles to prepare for the run, rolled into town, and hopped
off my bike 5 hours and 18 minutes after I’d started—a split that I was very
happy with at the time, particularly given the mostly easy effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><u>T2</u></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A volunteer grabbed my bike as I hit
the dismount line and I stepped off, as always, a little nervous to find out
how those first few steps on land are going to feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, I got off, started jogging <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all the way</i> around the transition area
(oof), and my legs felt quite good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
never been the case in an Ironman for me, so I was optimistic about the little
marathon thing that was still ahead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I sat down on a chair in the
transition tent and was tended to by about three volunteers (such service!),
one spraying me with sunscreen, one helping me get my Garmin turned on and onto
my wrist, one clipping my race number belt around my waist as I wrestled my
feet into my running
shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed a quick, “thank you,”
as they hustled me on out of there, and it was back outside for a quick little
26.2 mile jaunt. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I was heading out, I glanced at
the watch I’d started at the beginning of the swim, which showed my overall time
for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that even with
an epic blowup during the run, I’d still be looking at a pretty substantial PR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was both a good feeling and a very
dangerous thought to be having at the beginning of your run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you’re not even a quarter mile into a
race and assessing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just how bad</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it can be</i> to still be happy with your
overall time, you may be looking at things a tad pessimistically, and (spoiler
alert), I think it became a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Run</span></u></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As they had in transition, my legs felt
fantastic in the first stretch of the run, and once my Garmin had latched on to
satellites, I realized quickly that, easy perceived effort aside, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was clipping along a little too quickly, so
I ratcheted down the effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first
ten miles, an out-and-back along Ali’i, are beautiful, packed with spectators,
and easy to overdo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really, really
tried to keep it easy and I soaked in the experience, waving at my family and
friends when I saw them, smiling a lot, high-fiving little kids.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jeqbYW3NIOi4amSIUlKOqsqxJLquKp4OWMPWA4byEW5xih5j_3pzYPppzH54QIXGAqGzVS_3Izk2HjS_mupXolR6g-s_DeoDCQ62pb8n3Br-x_P2gWbEq0sGhAPIXkJ25YHZhhm_T28/s1600/KonaChalk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jeqbYW3NIOi4amSIUlKOqsqxJLquKp4OWMPWA4byEW5xih5j_3pzYPppzH54QIXGAqGzVS_3Izk2HjS_mupXolR6g-s_DeoDCQ62pb8n3Br-x_P2gWbEq0sGhAPIXkJ25YHZhhm_T28/s400/KonaChalk.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This made me laugh at Mile 2.5</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My new strategy for this race was to take a 10
to 20 second walk break at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every</i> aid
station, starting with the first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d
done research into this strategy, talked to others who had used it, and tested
it in training, finding that the short breaks did not hurt my overall speed and
made taking down the substantial amount of water I needed a lot easier (I sweat
like a freakin’ pig). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This worked great
that first ten miles—I was being a great gatherer at those aid stations,
getting water, more water, ice, more ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wasn’t feeling hot, but knew it would hit me eventually, so I just kept
trying to keep the core cool.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOj-FohIfA0aYJE44TYDQdoDJTqDO8blBr8-StcaKxwwGmrwp6XC-mzoeZvIB1TfCj95c4bdBaQx85yg_76WT9Eatq0YIv4qaQ6mEQmbC1bU6XrENNGyHrxGNDRJnbNOpHmwanCAB-JY/s1600/KonaAlli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOj-FohIfA0aYJE44TYDQdoDJTqDO8blBr8-StcaKxwwGmrwp6XC-mzoeZvIB1TfCj95c4bdBaQx85yg_76WT9Eatq0YIv4qaQ6mEQmbC1bU6XrENNGyHrxGNDRJnbNOpHmwanCAB-JY/s400/KonaAlli.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still feeling great on Ali'i</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those first 10 miles or so really
flew by and I was on a high, feeling the magic of Kona and getting more and
more happy that I was having a good day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then came Mount Palani (not officially a mountain, but it might as well
be).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hill is steep and long enough
that lots of people walk up it, not out of necessity but instead in the
interest of not getting the heart rate up too high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making the turn to start up the climb, I
still wasn’t sure what tactic I was going to take. But then I saw <a href="http://multisportmastery.blogspot.com/">Liz</a> cheering
on the side of the road, and the last thing I was going to do was have my coach
see me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">walking</i> up the damn hill, so
the decision was made and I trudged on up, smiling a little even though that
hill is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing to smile about.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Running up a mountain
notwithstanding, I still was feeling quite good for the first few miles out on
the Queen K Highway, dealing with just two small issues—really sore feet (I
wore new-ish shoes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rookie move</i>, that
ended up being a size too small, and had some pretty nasty blood blisters
forming underneath my big toenails on both feet), and (long story that involves a big blonde moment) no salt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U5b1V0aVM08_Dv10OLlBua3Ci1sdPsk6W5ZjSSV81mvtSm9Bl43fzkfSHB32VLvyNmIa32Y-0stAHZFFRyh0piToqxdWL7wBnfMn8xnkfnU6CPB48OCDerA5dfBrPmhhS7Fk7DNufZA/s1600/KonaRun1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U5b1V0aVM08_Dv10OLlBua3Ci1sdPsk6W5ZjSSV81mvtSm9Bl43fzkfSHB32VLvyNmIa32Y-0stAHZFFRyh0piToqxdWL7wBnfMn8xnkfnU6CPB48OCDerA5dfBrPmhhS7Fk7DNufZA/s400/KonaRun1.JPG" width="382" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Looking back, it’s a bit hard to
pinpoint when, exactly, things went sour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all a bit blurry and hard to remember
(and it’s not my procrastination making it so, an hour after the race I could
not really describe what happened in the last 1.5 hours).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I hit halfway on pace for a marathon
in the low to mid 3:30s, which was a very reasonable pace given my training and
other races this year, and I felt fantastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The second half of the run was almost 20 minutes slower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ooof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somewhere, something went very wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What, I’m not sure. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know my
pace started slipping at mile 14, when I turned my Garmin off because I didn’t
like what it was showing me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I
struggled on the way down into the Energy Lab, walked a bit, and observed that
my stomach was sloshy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember taking
a lengthy break at Special Needs at Mile 18, downing a 5-hour Energy, Maalox, a
Gas-X -- basically everything I packed – but I was not able to find extra salt
in my bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> I packed it, but I just couldn’t find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I was moaning a lot at that point, so
much that the volunteers offered to call the medic (I declined).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlvR7LxZv2uQOjCOFmT78Uuih3EU06QDkq32jdpclEDSbN8DajwwyaBNZAA5YJBcMvbOUnRLh8AULZn4udTHx6Lq81fWiDZF1Ufv9lmkUx_aYtEB1H-jLUrmFZfdHvdugohtLXfeRfkM/s1600/KonaQueenKRun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlvR7LxZv2uQOjCOFmT78Uuih3EU06QDkq32jdpclEDSbN8DajwwyaBNZAA5YJBcMvbOUnRLh8AULZn4udTHx6Lq81fWiDZF1Ufv9lmkUx_aYtEB1H-jLUrmFZfdHvdugohtLXfeRfkM/s400/KonaQueenKRun.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Energy Lab OUCH</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I know I had good stretches, still
-- I remember feeling quite good climbing out of the Energy Lab and feeling
like I’d “saved” my day, a sentiment that didn’t last. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being extremely, extremely hungry,
fantasizing about pizza. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But mostly, I
remember getting slower and slower and slower, walking more and more and more,
and not caring even a lick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an
apathy that is very strange for me—I’ve melted down in races and in workouts
plenty of times, but my physical meltdowns have always been dwarfed by the
mental beating I was giving myself for not being able to hold it together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During other meltdowns, I’ve been dramatic….I’ve
yelled at myself, I’ve cried, I’ve stepped over to the side of the road and
stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kona was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Physically, I just couldn’t go anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have my theories<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">. </span> No matter the reason, it was the biggest race
of my life to date, and I was just watching it slip away and not reacting, not
sad, not pissed, not fighting….just nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It sounds melodramatic to call it an out-of-body experience, but it
almost was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And not in a good way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I struggled my way through those
last several miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I could say
once I hit that last mile I was able to pull it together and run it in, that my
heart took over, but that’d be a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
still walked a good chunk of that last mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember one lady spectating, a complete stranger, standing by herself
on the side of road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at me
walking in that last half mile, and said, sounding truly disappointed, “Walking?
Here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the homestretch?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at her, shrugged, said, “I know,
right?” and kept on walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the
one spectator comment I really remember because her apparent disappointment in
me echoed my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to be a
fighter but I just had nothing left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once I hit Ali’i, I did run it in….no
way was I walking on Ali’i.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to
say the crowd pushed me in, that I got the chills from the greatest finish line
in all of triathlon, all that stuff, but to be honest, I just wanted to be done
and I hardly noticed any cheering or noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was “eyes on the finish line,” all the way in, I’m not sure I even
smiled as I crossed the line, and then I just tried not to let my legs collapse under
me as my “catcher” supported my weight and chatted with me for the next several minutes
until he was sufficiently convinced that I was OK on my own. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoBOZz-7jaEGNu7UMW8j_kvDa-uIdTNiN28e0AfsDUbrVL1aLGioO77V_viXEcoZGojMFfWqd8vGs7toTIgkQTcPCWNUEcDgd7auYWs_L_MArB9VPk21uauXD7ciPHaSAGkfRYuTCN4FI/s1600/KonaFinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoBOZz-7jaEGNu7UMW8j_kvDa-uIdTNiN28e0AfsDUbrVL1aLGioO77V_viXEcoZGojMFfWqd8vGs7toTIgkQTcPCWNUEcDgd7auYWs_L_MArB9VPk21uauXD7ciPHaSAGkfRYuTCN4FI/s400/KonaFinish.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please, please, make it end</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I crossed at 10 hours and 16 minutes…a
personal record by almost a half-hour and faster than my best-case scenario for
the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Yes, it was a really fast day for a lot of people, but w</span>hen I finished, I was
content.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you not be happy with a
big personal record like that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hung
out in the finishers’ area for a while, finding my friend Todd and
commiserating about how both of us had great days until the run, gorging
(seriously, gorging!) on pizza and ice cream, assessing the damage
(substantial) to my feet, and then hobbled on out towards the King K hotel to
find my family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a
lot of smiles, a lot of hugs, much celebration that night….it was a good day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I acknowledged that I’d melted down a bit in
that last 10 miles, but at the time, I kept saying, “it was all physical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t be mad at myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just have to figure out what, nutrition or
what, went wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll fix it.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_otRJgNVV2j_t6_HBUdZXeawmfLRBROYy8dcgH1en_4r61CFVHJlxwzQ4TTIX4nWG77tv_sWQCrYpx94dVYM6S0vdVMhethXgAaVkFti5BczMmgUGEzXN3wC13nfA59fW4495RG_WGA/s1600/Kona+Family.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw_otRJgNVV2j_t6_HBUdZXeawmfLRBROYy8dcgH1en_4r61CFVHJlxwzQ4TTIX4nWG77tv_sWQCrYpx94dVYM6S0vdVMhethXgAaVkFti5BczMmgUGEzXN3wC13nfA59fW4495RG_WGA/s400/Kona+Family.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So thrilled to have my family there</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But as I let the race marinate, as
sometimes happens, I have to admit that I became less and less positive about the
outcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why I didn’t write this
report for a while—I struggled with how my disappointment would come across.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Realistically, I know I was so lucky to be
at Kona this year, that it was a privilege, that I’ve come a LONG way in a
short time as a triathlete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how</i> can I be upset by a half-hour PR in
Hawaii, which is not typically a “fast” course?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Place-wise—top 20 in a very competitive age group: that’s great!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But on the flip-side, I’ve been a little
disappointed because I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> I could
have done better and I’ve been at a bit of a loss trying to figure out what
went wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m now 0-for-3 when it
comes to Ironman runs, and for whatever reason -- maybe it’s because running is
my first love-- <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when the run doesn’t go well,
I take it a little harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I
could have fought harder—the apathy I experienced in the last 10 miles, while I’m
starting to see through reading and advice I’ve received, might have been just
as much a true, physical symptom of something that wasn’t quite right, felt a
little like just giving up or not caring….and that’s never been my style and it’s
not OK. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Since getting back home, I’ve given myself
some downtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I consumed several <s>bottles</s>
glasses of wine, I got away from triathlon for a bit, I reacquainted myself
with friends and a life outside of swim-bike-run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With time, the silver lining is becoming more
and more apparent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Racing in Hawaii was
so hard, and so emotional, and for my first time there, there was so much good
to take away from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had my family
there, I had some of my best friends there supporting me through a day when I
got to do all the things I loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
learned some lessons—about cooling, about pacing, about hydration and nutrition
and handling of emotions—that I’ll take forward for the next time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There WILL be a next time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finishing on a good but not perfect note
leaves me motivated for more, ready to tackle my weaknesses head-on and be a
stronger and more well-rounded athlete for next year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like I said before the race, it’s been a
hell of a journey, and I cannot discount that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are so many people to thank
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to my family, for being
there every step of the way and including on race day….that meant so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The friends—in Naperville, Chicago, in California and Washington and other states and even abroad, some of whom were there with me in Hawaii—you’ve been so
patient and supportive every step of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My law firm – for, first of all, taking me back in after I left to
travel the world; second, affording me great flexibility and giving me a day
off a week to go ride my bike through the cornfields; third, for so many
supportive words before and after this event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thanks to <a href="http://www.achieveortho.com/index.php">Gina Pongetti</a>, part physical therapist, part regular
therapist, who has kept me moving and injury-free and happy all summer…I drive
all the way out to flippin’ Burr Ridge to see this girl and she’s so worth it.
To <a href="http://nutritionwellnesssolutions.org/">Heather Fink</a>, for the nutrition counseling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And thanks to TriSports.com, the bestest triathlon store in all the biz—so
proud to be able to represent!</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUI1tVRVX0g5SXFSZpOxdCZVXapUGoSRAeWgKhX94IA2phHL3yJtR-go0JyPxWqc_Zg4TJ48bwpDZCawyho_vwPDoKe42CWjaXRBsS8oetonbEe6QxrB7DECz9ydLbIdECv5l5x5EKH4/s1600/Konafriends.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuUI1tVRVX0g5SXFSZpOxdCZVXapUGoSRAeWgKhX94IA2phHL3yJtR-go0JyPxWqc_Zg4TJ48bwpDZCawyho_vwPDoKe42CWjaXRBsS8oetonbEe6QxrB7DECz9ydLbIdECv5l5x5EKH4/s400/Konafriends.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Last but not least, thanks to<a href="http://elizabethfedofsky.blogspot.com/"> Liz</a>
for everything—I’m so glad you were there in Kona to share the experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve yammered on a lot on this blog about how
great Liz is and how she has been absolutely key in helping me make huge leaps
forward as an athlete and person, so I won’t repeat myself too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just
in case</i> there was any doubt as to how <i>special </i>she is, I present this video
(turn up your volume): </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/DXjAMMQTtbM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes, my coach donned a banana
costume, re-created the “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” song in the middle of a
Target, and sent me the video in an attempt to keep me calm during my pre-Kona
taper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It really doesn’t get much better
than that. </span><br />
<br />
Mahalo, and thanks for reading!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-24246296796176296542013-10-12T00:08:00.000-05:002013-10-12T00:08:02.238-05:00The Night BeforeAloha!<br />
<br />
Well, it's the night before the big day and I'm typing this as I eat an entirely over-salted yet bland dinner at the Early Bird time of 5:00 PM.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUFOih3clca-aCtH3lHxlQ2pj2YgNnx4Ipr0f9l2tyWiPUDfrrp3Q3hEF3TsIXRnjG_HVkrQobiVmSr1XlwMPTOFz0ragfGpFtrDcGUQXsVrjcjrRzXwvNn4jVgCnJbq-Xn32hkLnHhQ/s1600/10.11.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUFOih3clca-aCtH3lHxlQ2pj2YgNnx4Ipr0f9l2tyWiPUDfrrp3Q3hEF3TsIXRnjG_HVkrQobiVmSr1XlwMPTOFz0ragfGpFtrDcGUQXsVrjcjrRzXwvNn4jVgCnJbq-Xn32hkLnHhQ/s400/10.11.13.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;">Dig Me Beach</td></tr>
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<br />
I've been in Kona since Monday evening, staying with my family in a big ole house with a beautiful pool and a view of the ocean. This week has flown by<i> </i>and while I'm more than ready to just get the show on the road, in a way, I'm going to be sad that the pre-race festivities are over. I've grown to love my early morning swims in the ocean (practice swims that often feel more like snorkeling adventures than workouts), wandering around the town that is packed to the brim with triathletes, collecting free swag from all the industry reps, spotting, and in sometimes almost running into, the pros I've read all about. (No texting while walking in Kona, you just must narrowly miss a head-on collision with Chris McCormack). It's humid, it's hot, it's windy, it's beautiful. I'm just so happy to be here. Happier even more that I'm able to experience it with my family and some good friends.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hBFfrC7uz_65MpU65j38GJRN_3Up-5HdMF0YjezeIrVkgK9A-FS6BWTKCcXGgQVscmbyXL1nyCzUPXrIgFW3dynbNgGs7DR7IHbNSb1aIfeYyJFjbN7_wevhfkbiqYMVeCAOO8aFx-Q/s1600/10.11.13+grandma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hBFfrC7uz_65MpU65j38GJRN_3Up-5HdMF0YjezeIrVkgK9A-FS6BWTKCcXGgQVscmbyXL1nyCzUPXrIgFW3dynbNgGs7DR7IHbNSb1aIfeYyJFjbN7_wevhfkbiqYMVeCAOO8aFx-Q/s400/10.11.13+grandma.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So happy to have so much family here, including my grandma</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
As for the race itself, I'm excited! This is perhaps the least nervous I've been for an Ironman. Don't get me wrong, I <i>fully</i> understand and expect that this WILL be the toughest race of my life. But I'm ready. I've put in the work-- lots and lots of work. Have I done everything perfectly? No....but I've come a whole lot closer than I ever have before, about as close as I am able, and I am thoroughly satisfied with my prep. Mentally, I'm in a good place. This has been a season of growth and breakthroughs, and that self-sabotaging, super-anxious athlete of past is gone, replaced by someone who is excited, calm and ready to see what the day brings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWZgMmVNpBeZGPquf5tn_scJ4e6uHcE3t2nCE6H6SoqVq_qseltMDbHqvd_oRVxSphW3-Uw_G0tleHE27xXyY6RyqmTrlFwksjTSsYeu06FAq9rHulOzWJ_ciBZc6oYpp8_EBKkXO-Is/s1600/10.11.13+hawi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWZgMmVNpBeZGPquf5tn_scJ4e6uHcE3t2nCE6H6SoqVq_qseltMDbHqvd_oRVxSphW3-Uw_G0tleHE27xXyY6RyqmTrlFwksjTSsYeu06FAq9rHulOzWJ_ciBZc6oYpp8_EBKkXO-Is/s400/10.11.13+hawi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where the road ends after Hawi</td></tr>
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Most of all, I'm not putting a ton of pressure on myself here. I've always known that Kona is like no other Ironman. I've seen the NBC broadcasts....favorites collapsing within a quarter mile of the finish or crawling across the line, bikes being blown across the the road, all those scary moments. As such, I'm looking at this as a learning experience. I set rough goals for myself a long time ago and they helped motivate me through training, but I've pretty much thrown out any time/ place expectations, instead hoping just for a strong, smart and tough race that I can be proud of. I like it enough here that I <i>know</i> making a return trip will be a goal, so for this one, I just want to take it all in and enjoy it as much as possible.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3D_PHkqLmXH2gczCFxF6bYsTE4ouPUdKU5CTGJWulJVRhgS1jAGbpyCW1gN3al4DlIB-nEUynlmLtns2wlYIFI8qfPBGT0aJICZRJgTQf705ncDPM5AnKxd7JgLBqMebN9nWnEfN_NGM/s1600/10.11.13+parlee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3D_PHkqLmXH2gczCFxF6bYsTE4ouPUdKU5CTGJWulJVRhgS1jAGbpyCW1gN3al4DlIB-nEUynlmLtns2wlYIFI8qfPBGT0aJICZRJgTQf705ncDPM5AnKxd7JgLBqMebN9nWnEfN_NGM/s400/10.11.13+parlee.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Applejack the Magical Bike (new name)</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxx6OSfkFGxN7S07FJemwwSgGcBXuCB8VXwMu7XnWEGLm_HX0M5Ke90J5hFxZf-HjQlJoR_ApR7krZSxPLSss6Lkbcq_VzfBUfoaYB5_BAFxiMSdyBw3Agoy9tn-xde3-HTJ4pGNKTgrc/s1600/10.11.13+bikes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxx6OSfkFGxN7S07FJemwwSgGcBXuCB8VXwMu7XnWEGLm_HX0M5Ke90J5hFxZf-HjQlJoR_ApR7krZSxPLSss6Lkbcq_VzfBUfoaYB5_BAFxiMSdyBw3Agoy9tn-xde3-HTJ4pGNKTgrc/s400/10.11.13+bikes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes all racked and ready<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></td></tr>
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To everyone that has shown me so much support, I've been overwhelmed and I can't thank you enough. I cried a little at work when I arrived on the Friday before I departed to an office decorated with good luck signs, a card signed by the whole firm, and a hugely generous gift. Friends that surprised me with send-off parties, people that've sent message and well-wishes, those who are here and have been enormously helpful-- I can't tell you how much it means to me. To have so many people in my corner brings me so much strength and I know it will tomorrow. Whatever happens, I hope I handle the day in a way that makes you all proud.<br />
<br />
And with that, I am off to triple check my gear bags and hit the hay early. Tomorrow is a big day!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKj8Ehh_KiHjjTQ6y1Dl2a1R7gf4E4ibsPCWnJC4dbQZfpc-WtDmmBZ14nQmrG_aL3hBLch6E9ncwVfqTo38oJTMZ2YDpU5ZymmzuX3xUKUFIdQYhL7qH-iuiSHcidCVvzguVDKsIqyPY/s1600/10.11.13+parade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKj8Ehh_KiHjjTQ6y1Dl2a1R7gf4E4ibsPCWnJC4dbQZfpc-WtDmmBZ14nQmrG_aL3hBLch6E9ncwVfqTo38oJTMZ2YDpU5ZymmzuX3xUKUFIdQYhL7qH-iuiSHcidCVvzguVDKsIqyPY/s400/10.11.13+parade.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parade of Nations- Brazil had the most spirit</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiciyzC_3wFpUhS_JF0kvXhdNAdISfvfZiLW00fMcF6BLjcI8z-L-BntaDLZ2f1KfLz57RNXApX7_QmrBcwWPVMXCxYt6mtBaD_rtTIriwU020jxYcojSrojN1xEXbhvMiLUK-VwIjR1Q/s1600/10.11.13+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiciyzC_3wFpUhS_JF0kvXhdNAdISfvfZiLW00fMcF6BLjcI8z-L-BntaDLZ2f1KfLz57RNXApX7_QmrBcwWPVMXCxYt6mtBaD_rtTIriwU020jxYcojSrojN1xEXbhvMiLUK-VwIjR1Q/s400/10.11.13+poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My name on the banner of participants</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadVCrOgn9gE1u_iEZn0USju1CDM8EUWA6d74UAspbmtpy-muYSgIdLAtFyik6JjEVzUig9lwtsHcfFlkhZlxrTG4JyLOJ4g1zovJnZ8cJCfbpEfYIDCJvDNZGXwIvDoRiSsMfXpWp71g/s1600/10.11.13+queen+k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadVCrOgn9gE1u_iEZn0USju1CDM8EUWA6d74UAspbmtpy-muYSgIdLAtFyik6JjEVzUig9lwtsHcfFlkhZlxrTG4JyLOJ4g1zovJnZ8cJCfbpEfYIDCJvDNZGXwIvDoRiSsMfXpWp71g/s400/10.11.13+queen+k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scoping the bike course- Queen K</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGAwjSZTYLZJgqFYryGJQBSg3dY0j09dHBG5deJFUQrXiRh33qCKuNu-K2UdsetVry2QqevXFvZJJF79JShZCwnXLa9m91QdzZFou05M-pTLZKWDprJtf4pD2VPMBI5MzvsK-yurUQyg/s1600/10.11.13+slowtwitch2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGAwjSZTYLZJgqFYryGJQBSg3dY0j09dHBG5deJFUQrXiRh33qCKuNu-K2UdsetVry2QqevXFvZJJF79JShZCwnXLa9m91QdzZFou05M-pTLZKWDprJtf4pD2VPMBI5MzvsK-yurUQyg/s400/10.11.13+slowtwitch2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Erin, Taylor, Todd</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEROWdHJad1Rw-2s4b6hbQH6LBMhlYLJIRGPS9tuZ58THX_Buh3fJFJGt4XpmJnKY9IIkaT5zUJVRmBejR2oZBi-Rg9Rz9zIotKfmbefgP5DGh6TDDDgpgvTccD2EHczXFVAUuexHEAl0/s1600/10.11.13+slowtwitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEROWdHJad1Rw-2s4b6hbQH6LBMhlYLJIRGPS9tuZ58THX_Buh3fJFJGt4XpmJnKY9IIkaT5zUJVRmBejR2oZBi-Rg9Rz9zIotKfmbefgP5DGh6TDDDgpgvTccD2EHczXFVAUuexHEAl0/s400/10.11.13+slowtwitch.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOtycY5r2R21Z_DWyWGEIM_2-bY9HJwIBqaX3APCk_YAaJmR-11PbG4nzpxvzYJAB9VpABoCWEiEFXOWoUTyA9QdXpo15_WLRbEBPXj8KlCJAtwsqQtyeIE662g8A8b-JAfGls1TgZyE/s1600/checkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOtycY5r2R21Z_DWyWGEIM_2-bY9HJwIBqaX3APCk_YAaJmR-11PbG4nzpxvzYJAB9VpABoCWEiEFXOWoUTyA9QdXpo15_WLRbEBPXj8KlCJAtwsqQtyeIE662g8A8b-JAfGls1TgZyE/s400/checkin.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to check in</td></tr>
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Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-14054204141905653732013-09-27T22:30:00.000-05:002013-09-28T05:59:43.363-05:00The Journey<div class="MsoNormal">
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--></style>I’m doing the Ironman World Champs in
Hawaii in a couple weeks. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, as tends to
happen before big events in my life, and in that thinking, I figured I ought to
write a little bit about my triathlon journey, the pinnacle of which (so far)
will be in Kona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69tAuC_Thr1TttZm7YJa9BT2cPg1a7c3IRqgNC7MVuII2SaV0SboQrkJCs7Tz27FhIS2OTReK2oTUMBSCLklCZMWhYk-JVJRWftFl0CArVA5ynkHVdvqHJWTtG-NSmcqoOXdgb0ubE-k/s1600/Kona-swim-624x407.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69tAuC_Thr1TttZm7YJa9BT2cPg1a7c3IRqgNC7MVuII2SaV0SboQrkJCs7Tz27FhIS2OTReK2oTUMBSCLklCZMWhYk-JVJRWftFl0CArVA5ynkHVdvqHJWTtG-NSmcqoOXdgb0ubE-k/s400/Kona-swim-624x407.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Well. That looks fun.</span></td></tr>
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If there’s one things I’ve learned about myself as an
athlete over the years, it’s that assigning undue importance to any one race
doesn’t work for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know that scene
in the movie Rudy where Rudy says, “I’ve been ready for this moment all my
life?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inspiring, sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when I try that stuff, when I look at a
particular race as THE SINGLE DAY I’ve worked for for years, when I blast “Eye
of the Tiger”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or Van Halen’s “Right Now”
(I think I'm dating myself), when I pull the Rudy quotes ….that’s
when I get too nervous, when I tense up, when I choke and when I fail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It works for others, but not for me, and
really, It’s best for me to treat each race, even the super big ones, as just
another race.
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However, It’s not always easy to do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s be honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kona is NOT just another race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Qualifying has been my goal for a long, long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Once</span> I qualified, it became
my “A” race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s Kona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It IS a big deal. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But that makes me scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So here’s what I’m doing (and yes, this whole post is mostly an attempt
to write myself into a greater state of calmness)--- I’m going into Kona and
mentally treating it as the pinnacle of what’s been a really, really amazing
and transformative journey over the past three years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, it’s not just another race….it’s a much,
much bigger one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not because
<i>ohmygod
I NEED to perform amazingly or all the sacrifices will have been for naught and
my training will have been a waste and no one will love me and blah blah blah, </i>but because to me, it represents a celebration of a pretty rockin’ trip that’s
changed me as a person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if I do
well, or I do poorly, or I don’t finish, or I don’t even make it to the
line…..you cannot take away the journey and progression. </div>
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So....
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>The Journey</u></div>
<u>
</u><br />
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<br /></div>
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I was going to say something about how my journey to Kona
began a little over a year ago, the day after Ironman Wisconsin, when
a solid but not amazing race left me fairly close-but-no-cigar to qualifying and motivated me to say <i>out loud</i>, for the first time ever, that Hawaii was
actually a goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But really, that’s not
honest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In reality, the journey secretly began in August of 2010,
late one nght when I was laying flat on my back on the living room floor, wide
awake at 3AM, strapped into a machine that I can only describe as a torture
device that slowly bent and unbent my newly surgically-repaired knee for 8
hours at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been to see my
orthopedic surgeon that day, my first post-operative visit, and he’d said words
that truly knocked the wind out of me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“you can’t run anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You cannot run on this
knee.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d let that marinate a bit and
I’d shed a tear or two, but late that night, my stubborn side prevailed, and I
had an epiphany of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It went
something like: <i>Eff that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will run
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to do triathlons, I’m
going to do everything I can to get good, and someday, I’m going to Hawaii.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time, that was not a realistic goal and certainly not
one that I’d ever speak out loud. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
wasn’t just that I was lying on the floor with a bum knee that made it so
far-fetched, but I had little experience in triathlon or indication that I could be any
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d dabbled in the sport a little
pre-surgery, having joined a group program at Well-Fit earlier that summer
(2010) to escape my sedentary, overworked life, and trained for the Steelhead
Half Ironman. While I enjoyed the training and racing, I didn’t take things all
that seriously and was participating largely for the social aspect. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNYyLUYEJXimXmFFwsw6xT2YM17LsZvuOC8yqUWhss8b0FPY5NOGclGc5-eQIdEmal5yB3_sx0eI92o7e8MRAtZK5NdJrNi6a5bqCLA3pf8BfWzeza0Gxejjvw1SDGg-lxTs8D6tXers/s1600/crutch.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNYyLUYEJXimXmFFwsw6xT2YM17LsZvuOC8yqUWhss8b0FPY5NOGclGc5-eQIdEmal5yB3_sx0eI92o7e8MRAtZK5NdJrNi6a5bqCLA3pf8BfWzeza0Gxejjvw1SDGg-lxTs8D6tXers/s400/crutch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Co-worker was sick of fetching me Diet Cokes, got me a <span style="font-family: Cambria;">drink helmet</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That late-night Hawaii thought became even less realistic as
months went by post-surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For 8
weeks, I remained on crutches, completely non-weight bearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took another several months before I could
walk, and then (hesitantly) jog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
mean time, I was in the midst of the craziest stretch of work I’ve had,
sleeping not much more than 3 to 4 hours a night for months on end, and filling
my waking hours with stress, stress, more stress, and FOOD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gained weight…. a ton of weight…and while I
could have been swimming and lightly cycling, even with the injury, I just
didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When spring came around and I
started feeling like I was healed enough to think about triathlon, it was no
longer just the knee that was holding me back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was months of inactivity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was truly starting from scratch in a sport that I hardly knew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I signed up for Steelhead again in 2011, as well as the
group training program at Well-Fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
be honest, that summer was hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
(relatively) slow, I was (relatively) heavy, my knee was still not strong, in
fact, my entire body lack strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
kept falling off my bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got dropped
in group rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often resorted to
walking when run training got hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
put my head down and I did the best I could, but it was humbling and
frustrating when I’d see other girls in our training group be pulled aside by
coaches and told they had great potential, or be asked to join the training
center’s “elite” team, while I remained somewhat of an anonymous participant
who didn’t really look the part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
every time I ended up riding by myself or walking when I should have been
running, I’d give myself a little pep talk: <i>just keep working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someday, I’m going to be good at this.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i> </i> </span>I might have been the only one who believed
that, but I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFHIt3wK3j8-aH0cyubsDDbynRF01EDX1epqSE5OYe063bS74sR9qKGKudxAXGyziGIZwADXhQ5_f4VMZptIHPNOSNzYNWcgrdKDvSFlPqoIHlJ4fSTbTmBCwBw-VJquUlgI1Ya7utQY/s1600/comparison+PP.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFHIt3wK3j8-aH0cyubsDDbynRF01EDX1epqSE5OYe063bS74sR9qKGKudxAXGyziGIZwADXhQ5_f4VMZptIHPNOSNzYNWcgrdKDvSFlPqoIHlJ4fSTbTmBCwBw-VJquUlgI1Ya7utQY/s400/comparison+PP.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not all about weight, BUT...Left- Pleasant Prairie 2013; Right- Pleasant Prairie 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By just trudging onwards, consistently albeit slowly, things
started to come together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the
weight came off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My knee started to feel
better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got fitter and stronger and I
started keeping up in workouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
entered races and got faster and faster—not<i> fast</i>, per se (after a summer of
building up, on a good day, I was THRILLED with 11th place in my age group at
Steelhead)—but faster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fij-H2go9BpcNNDq9Gh0cbaIpYmzl-oKABp1ENYYLo26NJLwNy1eNYb-Vf2dJ8UEBM2gDqhusm4Kpd1l538dMhZHZ32A-kGjeYsQVbkQycywzjbhjmoMfsRhkPy-w_97jpqekY78M74/s1600/photo(18).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fij-H2go9BpcNNDq9Gh0cbaIpYmzl-oKABp1ENYYLo26NJLwNy1eNYb-Vf2dJ8UEBM2gDqhusm4Kpd1l538dMhZHZ32A-kGjeYsQVbkQycywzjbhjmoMfsRhkPy-w_97jpqekY78M74/s400/photo(18).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steelhead with Anne, one of my first and bestest tri-friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
And that fall, I signed up for an Ironman for 2012 and hired
myself a fancy schmancy coach—<a href="http://multisportmastery.blogspot.com/">Liz Waterstraa</a>t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The journey to Kona really took off when I started working with Liz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was now on a structured, well-thought out
plan that took my strengths, weaknesses and background into account, and I
thrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those first several months,
it was like a joyride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was learning so
much about triathlon—how to eat, how to train, how to ride a bike, how to pace
– and I soaked it in like a sponge, getting faster and more excited every
week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz gave me constant feedback, I
listened, and I just kept improving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
tried new things:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my first swim meet in
15 years, a Monster Swim (100x100), a cycling time trial race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a good little soldier, I did what I was
told, I worked hard, and it paid off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BR01EN4zE5yoceDpkPxMaPiVi_SHCWx7bKrohzwByYA9GQA_LwvdpOj_dzfVsk6eLwwFBOax5NBTEPUdyJcIl7-Rc5g8Q3PgZhjUri4pL40S3x_1zSI9rGc1-REWHnT47OVulL6mCQM/s1600/TT.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BR01EN4zE5yoceDpkPxMaPiVi_SHCWx7bKrohzwByYA9GQA_LwvdpOj_dzfVsk6eLwwFBOax5NBTEPUdyJcIl7-Rc5g8Q3PgZhjUri4pL40S3x_1zSI9rGc1-REWHnT47OVulL6mCQM/s400/TT.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tri-Dorks at a TT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just for fun, I signed up for the San Juan 70.3 in March of
2012, I got to the race and followed the plan I’d put together with Liz’s help
to the ‘T,’ and then shocked the hell out of myself (and I think Liz, too) when
I emerged 2nd in my age group and 3rd overall amateur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, that little dream I’d had on my
living room floor didn’t seem so inconceivable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF_GCcYqJRi6fGu7SzZH8Srq6oesKalSwNg7meEmVpfvsMNst_PfL1BY9VXLU0EAOR89aU0FnOlsyY9HocLxK4dx99loSp997UtDYAdp-X7kGeyKKoEUIJHzCTkFlhNO2GOiYptaVdzc/s1600/SanJuan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJF_GCcYqJRi6fGu7SzZH8Srq6oesKalSwNg7meEmVpfvsMNst_PfL1BY9VXLU0EAOR89aU0FnOlsyY9HocLxK4dx99loSp997UtDYAdp-X7kGeyKKoEUIJHzCTkFlhNO2GOiYptaVdzc/s400/SanJuan.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Ever Podium at San Juan 70.3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what a hell of a journey it has been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a physical level, I’ve transformed myself
as an athlete, adding more and more work (smartly) and learning how to do the little
things (<strike>mostly </strike>sometimes) right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
paid off in results….consistency and a smart plan has it’s benefits! Here’s
just a couple little measures that may mean nothing to anyone other than the
tri-geeks: My FTP in March of 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>approximately 90 -100 watts lower than it is now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My pace in a 5K (3.1 mile) run in June of
2011: almost a minute and a half per mile slower than that pace I held for the
half marathon at the end of the Racine 70.3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve cut more than a half hour of my half-Ironman PR, I’ve gone from
shooting to finish in the Top 20 in my age group in bigger races to shooting to
win the whole thing,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve managed the
get onto the podium and Nationals and placed within the top 10 of my age group
at Worlds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say none of this to brag
(although it feels a lot like bragging to write it out like that) but just to
remind myself how far I’ve progressed from the sorta chubby girl who dreamt big
dreams even as she was soundly dropped on the bike.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But more importantly, on a personal level, triathlon’s given
me a passion in my life that was lacking when I was just a lawyer, billing
hours and returning home to mundanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve fallen in love with cycling, and I’ve literally seen some of the
most beautiful parts of the world on my bike—Spain, New Zealand, Colorado, San
Diego, IOWA. I’ve re-kindled my love of running, a passion when I was younger,
and I’ve learned to re-tolerate swimming, every once in a while finishing a
workout and saying, “hey, that wasn’t so bad.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I traveled and raced all over the county and abroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had breakthrough days and races; I’ve
learned that I’m tougher and more resilient than I ever thought; and I’ve seen
glimpses of greatness within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve made
so many great friends, starting with that very first class at Well-Fit in 2010,
who I never would have met but for this sport, but who at this point,
I can’t imagine not having in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Most of all, I’ve just had so damn much fun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94CQxoKnxO48N83ClqBiUyg1rLYoRL1Gr-5ztMHcg51-TtTG4q_N10P2CuNcDJkY1ukMLOSyzPc1aNVp7g1R5Xsk_yzjiJuarNjjKo0KZxxzYR-v63MiqY5IVvDEb2Ye8keQ7NvxvfzA/s1600/NZ.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94CQxoKnxO48N83ClqBiUyg1rLYoRL1Gr-5ztMHcg51-TtTG4q_N10P2CuNcDJkY1ukMLOSyzPc1aNVp7g1R5Xsk_yzjiJuarNjjKo0KZxxzYR-v63MiqY5IVvDEb2Ye8keQ7NvxvfzA/s400/NZ.jpg" width="400" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySLaR-Ar_yPjUet93XfGpQ_BQEn-eM7hhNDt1CWqqShyFOLoGJF04DhMBLKG2wjBgd0THUyUfVRYTfaW-lojbVru5PxqbYcVAe0UmOUUC5uZSfmaybI94aRgdALW0c4vD3EH_eN6WlnY/s1600/Photo+Nov+29,+2012+12_05+PM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySLaR-Ar_yPjUet93XfGpQ_BQEn-eM7hhNDt1CWqqShyFOLoGJF04DhMBLKG2wjBgd0THUyUfVRYTfaW-lojbVru5PxqbYcVAe0UmOUUC5uZSfmaybI94aRgdALW0c4vD3EH_eN6WlnY/s400/Photo+Nov+29,+2012+12_05+PM.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is not to say it’s all been ponies and rainbows and
happiness. It hasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve worked
really, really hard, and sometimes, it’s
hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While those first several months were like a
joyride with constant improvement and breakthrough, things got much tougher as
I continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were speedbumps and
backslides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve melted down many, many
times, in races and in training and in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve made many mistakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
missed my old life at times -- the freedom to stay out late and sleep in late
and put whatever horrible things into my body that I wanted. I’ve had to tackle
some serious demons, fears, and anxieties, and it’s been hard. At times, I’ve
been incredibly stubborn, I’ve been insecure about my abilities, I’ve lacked
trust and I’ve <i>really</i> tried patience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I’ve also surrounded myself with amazing people who have helped me
(sometimes with words and actions that were hard to swallow at the time) to
get myself back on track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To them, I am
so appreciative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscsiAnVTFy-C5Y1vqmXX5RxM_PTPrnbqRkcpVEYVusIHvAquc9KFKk-Kr0v5ZB4DNfPDfz1ctK3kA5aJ9k2rnlK0ZVo8HhUzhWR616MKhNzgmZcfHDPA8NpWfwq-bGvttSYBvuPqMO9E/s1600/cornfileds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscsiAnVTFy-C5Y1vqmXX5RxM_PTPrnbqRkcpVEYVusIHvAquc9KFKk-Kr0v5ZB4DNfPDfz1ctK3kA5aJ9k2rnlK0ZVo8HhUzhWR616MKhNzgmZcfHDPA8NpWfwq-bGvttSYBvuPqMO9E/s400/cornfileds.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't Forget the Cornfields of Plainifield</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The good times, the bad times, I wouldn’t change any of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were all part of the journey,
and they’ve all gotten me to where I am now—a girl who is, on whole, happier
and more confident than she’s been in her adult life, and who in two weeks,
will be lining up with the best triathletes in the world to spend a day in
paradise doing what she loves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
that’s pretty awesome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And honestly, the journey would have meant nothing without
all the people who’ve joined in it. While this sounds a little Oscar-speech-y—I
do have a ton of people to thank for getting me this far:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz, who has transformed me as an athlete,
taught me pretty much everything I know about triathlon, provided so much
guidance and support all along the way, truly invested herself in helping me to
find the greatness within, and, coach-hat aside, been an awesome training buddy
and friend….I can’t say enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
family has been so supportive of my silly little dreams, tolerating my long
trainer rides in the middle of the living room during the holiday season,
always offering perspective and love-- that they’ll be in Hawaii makes me so,
so happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to the friends who have
been there through good times and bad, offering encouragement and motivation
and advice and sometimes tough love, you know who you are and you’re all the
best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More time for playing when this
little race is over!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, I’m getting a little emotional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the taper, I think. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But come October 12, there’s going to be a lot of emotions
flowing and I’m going to be thinking of a lot of people and memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I’ll be focusing on my watts and my
hydration plan and my running form and all that good stuff too…but I’m also
going to look around, enjoy the view, and most of all, enjoy this latest
chapter in the journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to all of
you for making it so amazing!</div>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-24553477616445094332013-09-16T07:44:00.000-05:002013-11-09T19:14:24.148-06:00Vegas 70.3 World ChampionshipsThe latest in my tri-adventures took me to one of my favorite places on the planet: Las Vegas, Nevada for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipindyAR4jrbdzwveJ3ktOvO8bkWqoyOir4W5VhT1tFzapT5wPSgYO9SNwUfIthyeZfwJKxqqOSoZc9aqMpeK-PPh8SoIWaHIx_I0owT3eaY8eANV5wzsV5unMLW_LSk7m5YQZ2ENBOw0/s1600/old+vegas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipindyAR4jrbdzwveJ3ktOvO8bkWqoyOir4W5VhT1tFzapT5wPSgYO9SNwUfIthyeZfwJKxqqOSoZc9aqMpeK-PPh8SoIWaHIx_I0owT3eaY8eANV5wzsV5unMLW_LSk7m5YQZ2ENBOw0/s320/old+vegas.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For a laugh. This is me, 9 years ago. This is how I USED to do Vegas before I got all healthy and tri-obsessed. Don't judge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I’ve wanted to do the Vegas race for a while now. I actually qualified back in 2011, grabbing a slot that rolled way, way down to me at Steelhead, but then was injured and couldn’t compete. Last year, Vegas fell on the same day as Ironman Wisconsin, so that was out. This year, I qualified on the same day that I qualified for Kona, and I decided to put down the money for the big double because I knew that Vegas would provide a good preview of a lot of the things I would be facing at Kona – heat, hills, the pressure and excitement of a World Championship. <br />
<br />
Plus, there was the promise of craps. Little secret: I’m a type-A, semi-risk averse (that little 8 month trip around the world/ career suicide thing aside) lawyer who has always followed the straight-and-narrow path... and I love gambling. Don’t ask me how much money I’ve lost in Vegas. I’ll never tell. <br />
<br />
But I digress. <br />
<br />
I traveled to Vegas with Liz, our second race-traveling adventure after Nationals last month. I think I’ve found my good luck charm, and it’s Liz, cracking me up before races with things like her very bizarre love of kale (she told me about 32 times, before we even arrived in Vegas, about the Henderson, Nevada Whole Food that has <i>five different kale salads</i>), and her insistence that we purchase “magic budgies” [Max-speak for blankets] because the comforters in our room were “too loud.” It’s hard to get too nervous for a race when you’re laughing the whole time leading up. Don’t get me wrong, when it was time to get focused and serious, we got focused and serious, but the light-hearted nature of the weekend was very helpful for me. <br />
<br />
We arrived on Thursday afternoon, with the race on Sunday, and our pre-race days were busy but fun. The Vegas course has two transitions, about 20 miles apart, so it’s a bit of a logistical nightmare and we spent a lot of time driving around. Thursday, we got off the plane and hightailed it to the Whole Foods, where Liz stood in front of the counter containing <i>five kale salads</i> with her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Then, we stopped in at Dusty’s amazing vacation home to get some help building up our bikes and say ‘hi’ to our Chicago-turned-California friend <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/">Karin.</a> Friday, we worked out a little, previewed the bike course (which I loved), did a little tourist-y time at the Hoover Dam, and checked ourselves in for the race, squeezing in yet another trip to the Whole Foods (they got lots of kale salads, y’know). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyoGtkiLawTrVZJ1S1Qwsr-i5xzizVIUAfyVCTvKY5KqbssAhW7VrUJtLu414bLv5tNwzjsivFK3P1IoZa3SG84GBxOe1UNMJyghGuvev2c-RNruzr7KKUUbGLx4vhDwXbnxh86LGxL8I/s1600/desert.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyoGtkiLawTrVZJ1S1Qwsr-i5xzizVIUAfyVCTvKY5KqbssAhW7VrUJtLu414bLv5tNwzjsivFK3P1IoZa3SG84GBxOe1UNMJyghGuvev2c-RNruzr7KKUUbGLx4vhDwXbnxh86LGxL8I/s400/desert.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scoping out the bike course. Loved it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHew-IDqVUvOQhIM5gWnxWIVUHqs8Nv3aK3xegqnTaeMXADc6joha629KTU_9UukF7oev8f8q3HYWApgI9FSY-nynbjMjggmicVwkZ1g-M7QVU54qZFsMOXmRtaaRYDCOvE6RVMmjyDI/s1600/hoover+dam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHew-IDqVUvOQhIM5gWnxWIVUHqs8Nv3aK3xegqnTaeMXADc6joha629KTU_9UukF7oev8f8q3HYWApgI9FSY-nynbjMjggmicVwkZ1g-M7QVU54qZFsMOXmRtaaRYDCOvE6RVMmjyDI/s400/hoover+dam.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit o' tourism- Hoover Dam</td></tr>
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Saturday, we did a little practice swim in Lake Las Vegas, which takes the cake for the nastiest body of water I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in, and then dove into a massive proper brunch with such reckless abandon that a guy actually stopped by our table and commended Liz on being able eat as much food as she did, which was quite remarkable for “someone her size.” (Meanwhile, I sat there and tried to not be too offended that “my size” is such that having eaten just as much or more, no one felt inclined to give me a gold star for effort, but such is life. I’m doubling down on the eggs next time). Later, we drove around town dropping our gear off at the appropriate places, and then ate dinner at the positively geriatric hour of 5:00PM before hitting the hay early.<br />
<br />
Throughout all this hubbub and business, one thing that never happened: I never really got all that nervous. In fact, my own lack of nervousness actually <i>made</i> me nervous. Because <i>that’s</i> normal.<br />
<br />
<b>Race Day</b><br />
We woke up at some ungodly hour, shuffled around trying to get ourselves ready, and Liz opened the blinds and said, “it’s pouring.” <br />
<br />
I just laughed. Coming into Vegas, I’d obsessed over the weather prediction sites and prepared myself for many scenarios, but fully expected race day to reach the the high 90s or 100s. I’d trained accordingly. I sat in the sauna so long that I almost burnt out my phone. On a day when it reached 95, I rode my bike on the trainer on my balcony, without a fan, wearing arm warmers and a long-sleeve shirt. I’d adjusted my fuel plan to allow me to drink more water throughout the day. But never, not once, did I think I’d do the race in a downpour in the middle of the flipping desert. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhM2L2rA4xcGXfEqOpxjfeV5bOzTrkktRqN4wEkIG8faRmYUTQu7d21NYmVYWuIff0DExxKjiQJGNPOXSsxIPOA8msNoNnJYdDsYU4HZcR6bYfjnRD5COFJjjKevwZYybd0awDw7K7XM/s1600/phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhM2L2rA4xcGXfEqOpxjfeV5bOzTrkktRqN4wEkIG8faRmYUTQu7d21NYmVYWuIff0DExxKjiQJGNPOXSsxIPOA8msNoNnJYdDsYU4HZcR6bYfjnRD5COFJjjKevwZYybd0awDw7K7XM/s400/phone.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FYI, this is what happens when you try to heat train with your phone.</td></tr>
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But really, I knew this little change suited me well. I like to swim in the rain. I’m fine riding in the rain, although after two crashes in the last month, I’m a little more cautious than usual. And I love, love, love running in the rain (but it didn’t come to that). <br />
<br />
We walked the short distance from our hotel to the transition area, in the pouring rain, quickly set up our gear, and then hustled back to the warm, dry hotel room. That walk down from the hotel to transition, that’s when my nerves finally kicked in, and they kicked in hard. Being able to go back to the room, away from all the nervous energy, and just relax for a little was a huge plus. And when it was time to head back down to the start, I felt much, much calmer. <br />
<br />
<b>Swim</b><br />
<br />
I lined up along the shore of the lake with the rest of the girls in my age group, chatting for a while with Liz Miller, another one of Liz’s athletes and a TriSports teammate, and trying not to shiver too much until we were released into the warm (80 degree) water. <br />
<br />
I don’t have a whole lot to say about the swim. I did not enjoy it and I did not swim particularly well. The water was absolutely disgusting. I could not see my hand as it entered the water in front of me. The start wasn’t all that physical, but things got rougher when we started to catch the men in the wave that took off before us. Mostly, I mentally just was not into that swim. I didn’t feel strong, and I had a few thoughts of<i> I feel like crap. This is going to be a long, long day.</i> But, perhaps one benefit of a season of pretty mediocre swims is that I’ve learned that a bad swim does not necessarily equate into a bad day, so I tried to push the negative thoughts out, do my “count 100 strokes over and over” thing, and wished for the end to come. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGx1hCNoHPUesit-L9yHjjBeRDepo654wJgFuJBV_hPlCkJpsGHTNDx0IFugLqqqMeIxvSgzunuyoC_sYbFogQvrhQg2BGvIXwKkaWZwPo-Ja5eP5P4svI3CZJH7StFFznzIv1q9BurYs/s1600/swimstart2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGx1hCNoHPUesit-L9yHjjBeRDepo654wJgFuJBV_hPlCkJpsGHTNDx0IFugLqqqMeIxvSgzunuyoC_sYbFogQvrhQg2BGvIXwKkaWZwPo-Ja5eP5P4svI3CZJH7StFFznzIv1q9BurYs/s400/swimstart2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic stolen from Lava magazine</td></tr>
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Soon enough, it did, and I was out of the water 16th in my age group. Barf.<br />
<br />
<b>T1</b><br />
<br />
The first transition was long, around a lake, up and over a wet and grassy hill, and through soft sand. Fun. And then the exit from transition required up to run with our bikes up a couple switch-backs on a single lane of carpet. There was quite the little traffic jam, but really, what can you do?<br />
<br />
<b>Bike</b><br />
<br />
It was a nice steady rain when we started the bike, and the first few miles around Lake Las Vegas were slippery, narrow, and crowded, with lots of people jockeying for position. I spent those first few miles just trying to stay alert and not crash or be crashed into. <br />
<br />
Once we got through that first little loop and started to climb out of Lake Las Vegas, I started to work a little more, but my head still wasn’t in it and I lacked motivation. For whatever reason, I just did not feel like I was in a race. My power output was low but I didn’t have the drive to work harder, and when a girl in my age group passed me (with authority, I might add), my primary thought: <i>meh</i>. I had no fight. I tried to talk myself into it: <i>C’mon Wendorff, this is a World Championship, get your head in the game.</i> That didn’t really work. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9eT8oKWu2tny8t0ui_0uuLrkTb1df0CDNNnKMb6mbY3ZCV5xpOWx5uzUUkFAQqwQQiJeOsBnetC4ggmnmps8ZjDnRA8xC6S89uLd2eypX67g5m1LQ9-KZr9CoW9MP9m2bGp3ICo29io/s1600/vegas2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9eT8oKWu2tny8t0ui_0uuLrkTb1df0CDNNnKMb6mbY3ZCV5xpOWx5uzUUkFAQqwQQiJeOsBnetC4ggmnmps8ZjDnRA8xC6S89uLd2eypX67g5m1LQ9-KZr9CoW9MP9m2bGp3ICo29io/s400/vegas2.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So not into it at this point.</td></tr>
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Then I went to Plan B, and that was to turn off the power reading on my Garmin. I train with a power meter and have always raced with one as well, putting together pretty detailed race plans with power targets along the way. Liz had told me before this race that she was planning to race without power, and I was intrigued and considered following suit. The Vegas course is really hilly and the conditions were supposed to be challenging….I just wasn’t sure there was anything the power meter could tell me that would be of use at the time. I worried that lower power readings might cause me to work harder than I should in the conditions, or worse, to get all up in my head (not a good place to be). So I set up the computer so I had the option to flip to a screen that did not show power. <br />
<br />
Four miles in, I flipped the screen and stopped looking at power. I could tell I was starting to get to the “all up in the head” place, and I decided to take the risk and just trust my stuff. Not necessarily easy when you still feel as inexperienced as I do. <br />
<br />
But wouldn’t you know it… shortly thereafter, I started feeling great and I started to re-engage in the race. We headed into Lake Mead National Park, where it’s constant ups and down, and I just tore down the hills and was climbing great. I absolutely loved everything about that ride. It was my kind of course. The rain hid the scenery a bit, but it was still gorgeous (I’ve seen blogs where people call the course boring and I don’t know where those people usually ride but they should come visit me in the cornfields outside Chicago sometime if they want to see “boring”). Mostly, I just enjoyed riding free. <br />
<br />
Which is a good thing, because 11 miles in, my Garmin crapped out altogether, and I was left with a blank screen. No cadence reading, no distance, no speed, no time. It wasn’t a huge deal aside from the fact that I had to do some fancy math to figure out how to convert my fuel plan (based on minutes) to miles, but I did do pretty well on the math portion of the SAT,<i> not to brag or anything</i>, so I managed. I would have liked to have some of the data after my ride, but oh well. <br />
<br />
Coming out of the Park, we had about 15 miles or so back to Henderson, and this part was less scenic and more laborious. I lost some speed and mental focus in this area. I’d been warned about the draft packs but they still got to me mentally, especially when I saw a peloton of guys with two girls tucked right into the middle of the pack, but I used the times I got passed and had to fall back as opportunities to sit up and drink a little more. The rain had stopped and it was heating up. In the end, I rode well and moved up to 8th place.<br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
<br />
A volunteer grabbed my bike from me, which was awesome, and I ran into the changing tent (a nice touch for a half ironman) with wobbly and stiff legs. But I didn’t really give myself the opportunity to assess what that meant, and just headed on out. <br />
<br />
<b>Run</b><br />
<br />
I think I both loved and hated the Vegas run course. It’s a three-looper, where basically you do an out-and-back on one street, a little jaunt through a parking lot, then an out-and-back on another street, which essentially translates into one mile down, two miles up, one mile down, repeat, repeat. On the plus side, I do love loop courses and opportunities to mentally break up my run into bite-sized segments, and this one was perfect for that.<br />
<br />
On the down side, 2013 has not been a great year of hill running for me. Due to poorly-timed injuries and niggles, I’ve done the vast majority of my training on flat land in efforts to avoid putting extra stress first on the knee/ quad, then the Achilles, then the calf. Plus, living in Chicago, it takes real effort and driving to find real hills. So I was slightly lacking in hill running confidence, and I think it showed, as I had a decent but not remarkable run. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sFM1lUmRtZcdluP0vBZ8FPU-lxoB-I5yaTUb9vPqayYuakvCjpw0wwaXBOHXChafPG0YPVLOLFqmwssXHrDZF1ISP9Gzg6eegror5yP_UXMpmxMySx7A74jHkcEKEN_4OSMrClSesV0/s1600/runcourse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sFM1lUmRtZcdluP0vBZ8FPU-lxoB-I5yaTUb9vPqayYuakvCjpw0wwaXBOHXChafPG0YPVLOLFqmwssXHrDZF1ISP9Gzg6eegror5yP_UXMpmxMySx7A74jHkcEKEN_4OSMrClSesV0/s400/runcourse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A slightly overdramatic rendering of the course </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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Heading out, I saw Karin right off the bat, cheering, and she seemed to be laughing at me. Still not sure why, but perhaps it had something to do with the vast array of things (gels, salt containers, a small water bottle) I had stuffed down my top? I’ve newly discovered the sports bra-as-storage-space technique, and I can’t believe it took me this long. <br />
<br />
The first loop felt OK as I tried to keep my heart rate down on the climb and maintain form, and the nice downhill at miles 4-5 invigorated me more than I anticipated. Second loop was a bit harder, but I just put my head down, looked a couple feet ahead, and carried on. The third time up that 2-mile hill, ugh, it hurt a lot, but I just kept the thoughts positive and trudged onwards. And if you want to know just how hard I had to work to find positive things to tell myself? After going through an aid station and scoring a cup of water and a cup of ice without issue, I mentally congratulated myself:<i> “I’m a really, really good gatherer. I’m probably the best hunter and gatherer out here.”</i> Yeah, it was a stretch. <i>“And also, these pink sunglasses are SO cool.”</i><br />
<br />
Once I hit the top of that hill, there was one downhill mile left, and I leaned forward, turned over the legs, and just ran and ran as fast as I could. That mile hurt but it was kind of fun, too. <br />
<br />
When I crossed the finish line, I was physically spent, but I had no idea how I’d done. I didn’t look at my swim time, my Garmin had stopped working so I had no bike split, and I opted to leave my other Garmin behind on the run. The course was ridiculously crowded and I had no idea who from my age group was ahead. But I knew I’d worked hard and I felt like no matter the result, I had to be happy, as I really had put it all out there. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmtpy_v7Oph9xCVpzzaBaE7xvKuA8sGO-Sggmy0zulAQX-uUgpPbrUHXFkg-14nk4Vkix6IaIA5RJaHqcYJv8dOF4DpEhpcEZgcnojMb89-vzv2nJFY1f2J678ZdaCMhKAzwe1YHCCfw/s1600/vegas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmtpy_v7Oph9xCVpzzaBaE7xvKuA8sGO-Sggmy0zulAQX-uUgpPbrUHXFkg-14nk4Vkix6IaIA5RJaHqcYJv8dOF4DpEhpcEZgcnojMb89-vzv2nJFY1f2J678ZdaCMhKAzwe1YHCCfw/s400/vegas.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<br />
Turns out, I was 8th in my age group in a time of 4:56. Before the race, I’d set the goals of Top 10 in my age group and sub-5 hours (ambitious for this course), so I’m happy I met those. Would I have liked to have gotten onto the podium? Sure! But at the same time, I can’t get greedy. I have to remind myself sometimes that a lot of the women I’m racing have been doing this for so much longer than me and are much more experienced. I’m still learning and paying my dues. Plus, I found out later that the 30-34 age group was incredibly stacked (no surprise there), and while I was 8th in my age group, I was 12th Overall Amateur. That, I will take. <br />
<br />
Liz had started a couple waves back from me, so I waited at the finish line for her, and joined in the celebration when she learned that she was 5th in her age group and had reached the podium. That was truly awesome to see. Earlier this summer, Liz decided to make some big changes and take substantial risks in her training to get to a new level as an athlete. I remember riding with her one day in Madison, a few weeks after she'd done Eagleman, and as she tore up a hill, leaving me in the dust, and then sprinted the next hill, and then the next, I thought to myself, “wow, something has really lit a fire under her.” And that fire burned all the way onto the podium at the World Championships. Her determination, drive, and dedication has been really fun to see, and I’ve gotten a lot of my own motivation just from tagging along. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMs6Wil2JzzcEncseTE1HwbnZlNezgiUcTqHqvp_hU9K3olMBdGEPUZ6jTCOXOCKdhyApG4mc10wqjvUhDux4rE1wqdRQO4g1_Y9xiDxGCu4tAKXxnokQt-q8bJ5tj50oLWEVOGPTicJQ/s1600/bellagio.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMs6Wil2JzzcEncseTE1HwbnZlNezgiUcTqHqvp_hU9K3olMBdGEPUZ6jTCOXOCKdhyApG4mc10wqjvUhDux4rE1wqdRQO4g1_Y9xiDxGCu4tAKXxnokQt-q8bJ5tj50oLWEVOGPTicJQ/s400/bellagio.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
After that—we did Vegas the right way. We hightailed it over to the Bellagio buffet and gorged ourselves on everything bad, we met up with Scott, a friend from Well-Fit, and attended the awards ceremony, we stopped in at the Wattie Ink party, and then we went right on back to the Strip. There, I taught Liz and Scott how to play craps. And yes, I walked away a winner (up over $200) and Scott made a pretty penny, too (literally. He started with $100, cashed out at $106, and paid $5.99 in ATM fees). We watched the fountains at the Bellagio, we saw the flamingos at the Flamingo, and almost 22 hours after first arising that morning, we collapsed, exhausted and happy. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlALafl2GMMUz5Poer_3Icu_8MC1BnX8ylmLjj1Q5n8KlAzrJiIzmBOLxTITG9K-0RYIePC9j5apM3U1k_rJT3ldCWwlELcTUUtcmt0YF6saQwW8ThhB7osaauPJ94W0xcca3Jow10fw/s1600/outside+bellagio.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlALafl2GMMUz5Poer_3Icu_8MC1BnX8ylmLjj1Q5n8KlAzrJiIzmBOLxTITG9K-0RYIePC9j5apM3U1k_rJT3ldCWwlELcTUUtcmt0YF6saQwW8ThhB7osaauPJ94W0xcca3Jow10fw/s400/outside+bellagio.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Livin' it up on the Strip</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And now, I’m back in Chicago, and back to work. I gave myself a few days to recover and be slightly (highly) gluttonous, but now it’s nose to the grindstone as I make the final Ironman push. Next stop: Kona! </div>
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Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-46217192710016478512013-08-19T10:26:00.000-05:002013-08-19T10:42:59.869-05:00USAT Nationals- Gutting it OutAbout a week ago, I took a brief respite from my Ironman training to head north to Milwaukee, Wisconsin (let's just call this Amanda's Summer of Wisconsin) for the USA Triathlon Olympic Distance Nationals. <br />
<br />
I signed up for Nationals this year not because the Olympic distance is my specialty (ugh, it <i>hurts</i>) or even because I fit perfectly within my training schedule, but because, <i>well,</i> everyone else was doing it, and that's as good a reason as any, in my mind. When you have a top-level race within a 90 minute drive from home, it's kinda hard to pass it up. And I'm so glad I didn't. This was a fantastic experience.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_uBRtn76RmX_-BVY1Dz9SP1ucceF-wgY2DPEfugVYE7A11p1bimKO7rmKL3h0lvZ7dbHvwZLqd5hKnUvkLQmQQ6vK_VtWj85ew8UiSecoMbZBRIdFn3ItLNyy5kmhcAUZKc14azF5eM/s1600/USAT+transition.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP_uBRtn76RmX_-BVY1Dz9SP1ucceF-wgY2DPEfugVYE7A11p1bimKO7rmKL3h0lvZ7dbHvwZLqd5hKnUvkLQmQQ6vK_VtWj85ew8UiSecoMbZBRIdFn3ItLNyy5kmhcAUZKc14azF5eM/s640/USAT+transition.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Although I know this is going to end at some point, I still consider myself somewhat of a "rookie" at this triathlon nonsense. And I think when you're like me and you don't have that many races under your belt, each race is a little more valuable just because it teaches new, unique lessons. The lesson I have learned pretty well this summer: things before a race don't have to go perfectly in order to have a good day, so long as you can get your head screwed on relatively straight by the time you toe the line. This is now the second consecutive race I've had where I've encountered some serious speed bumps in the days preceding, but walked away pleased with the outcome of the race. I don't necessarily wish to repeat ANY of the tough pre-race experiences I've had, but in the end, I feel like a much more mentally tough athlete than I was even just a month ago. Progress.<br />
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This version of the crappy lead-in week (and I say this NOT at all to offer up excuses, I was <i>happy </i>with my race, but to remind myself when I look back that adversity isn't determinative): Tuesday: bike crash. In the grand scheme of bike crashes, it wasn't bad, but it left me bruised, sore, headache-y, and, as these things always go, a little shaken up. Wednesday: pretty severe asthma flare-up that had me feeling like I was breathing through a straw even when sitting still. Thursday: two extremely choppy-water and asthma-induced panic attacks in Lake Michigan that left me standing up, coughing, freaking out, and trying to believe my friend <a href="http://wattsupkarin.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Karin</a> when she stood with me and <strike>lied</strike> said, "don't worry, I stop 5 minutes into my open water swims <i>all the time</i>. Totally normal." Add to this the fact that I rested a <i>little </i>bit for this race, but mostly maintained Ironman training as usual up until a few days before the race, and still felt pretty well fatigued when we arrived in Milwaukee.<br />
<br />
In the past, any one of those occurrences would have taken me out of the game and essentially guaranteed a mediocre result, so I'm proud that this time, I remained calm and, I dare say, confident (who, me?) going into this race.<br />
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<u><b>Pre-Race</b></u><br />
I traveled up to Milwaukee on Friday with<a href="http://elizabethfedofsky.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"> Liz</a>. Liz and I have traveled together but never to a race but I think that might have been one of my best decisions of weekend. Liz is so experienced, calm, and confident, and just by following suit, I felt much the same. Going to Milwaukee felt more like taking a fun road trip than traveling to one of the biggest races in the country. I had all these little worries (bike crash, asthma, panic in the water) in the back of my mind, but instead of dwelling on them, I just chatted about random nonsense with Liz as she drove (<i>e.g.</i>, Justin Bieber's descent into punkhood) and (poorly) attempted to navigate us first to the race site for a little pre-race swim, then to the bike course for some recon (hillier than we expected), then the hotel, and finally Noodles for dinner. Pretty soon my little worries had melted away, replaced instead by the embarrassment of being an Ivy League-educated individual who, even with the help of Google Maps offering turn-by-turn instructions, lacks the attention span and sense of direction necessary to get us <i>anywhere</i> without a couple wrong turns. Once our Friday adventures in Milwaukee were over, we were all packed up for the race and settled in, I realized that I've truly never felt less nervous for a race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZfosQ2OwhZ-QSlvyI3Sox3Bzt81rVcGqPVIVjNolUMytTWPu4YsRonx1V4ISXShGEJEDE-n_a9cpNEF9dqCAY2YpfFZWLOqUZrUe96iNkISiypOz6FM2jWFw5HsFjYwoY6I9yiwUmFw/s1600/milwaukee+pretty.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZfosQ2OwhZ-QSlvyI3Sox3Bzt81rVcGqPVIVjNolUMytTWPu4YsRonx1V4ISXShGEJEDE-n_a9cpNEF9dqCAY2YpfFZWLOqUZrUe96iNkISiypOz6FM2jWFw5HsFjYwoY6I9yiwUmFw/s400/milwaukee+pretty.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Milwaukee's pretty.</td></tr>
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Saturday morning came quick, out the door at 5:30, and we zoomed on over to the race sight, parked closely and without issue, got our transitions all set up... and then waited. My wave wasn't until after 10:00 AM, Liz's was a little less than an hour earlier, so we had a good deal of time to kill. We spent some time chatting with two of Liz's athletes, <a href="http://muppetdogs.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Molly</a> and Robyn, who were so much fun to meet in person, watched some of the earlier swim waves to get a good read on the best lines to take, and mostly chilled out in the shade away from all the hubbub.<br />
<br />
When it was <i>finally</i> time to head on over to the swim start, I still felt really quite relaxed, almost to the point of apathetic. Honestly, after sitting around all morning, I just wanted to get the race over with and return to the elephant cookie I'd purchased as a post-race treat the day before at the local Speedway. A lot of the other girls in my age group seemed to feel the same. As we were all lined up in the water waiting for the gun, it was mostly friendly, calm chatter going on instead of the typical nervous stoicism I've seen in other races. We all groaned when the song "Gangnam Style" came over the loud speakers, knowing we were all in for 2+ hours of having that particular song stuck in our head, and when one girl said, "let's get this show on the road, I really just want to be done and get some lunch," a whole lot of us nodded in agreement.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That elephant cookie may or may not have gotten me through the race</td></tr>
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<u><b>Swim</b></u><br />
If there was any part of the race that I was a little nervous about, it was the swim, and that was mostly due to both the panic attacks during my Thursday morning swim that had left me a little shaken and my still-existing asthma issues. There were over 170 girls in my wave, and I knew the start would be pretty rough. I also knew that I struggle mightily if I get my heart rate up too high right off the bat...it's when I start to feel panicky in the water. I think those little fears added up to a swim that was, for me, really quite mediocre. The gun fired, we took off at a sprint, I was right in the thick of the rough, physical action....and I backed off. I didn't want the contact, I didn't want to be sprinting immediately, so I didn't. I veered away from everyone else, swung way inside in search of clear water, and did the swim almost entirely in my own little world, with no one to draft off. I really wimped out on that swim, and I paid for it with a pretty lousy split and coming out of the water outside of the top 10 in my age group. For someone with a swimming background, my lazy swim was pretty unacceptable, but I did what I felt like I needed to do on that day to get through it without issue. No use dwelling, so I put the swim out of my mind as soon as I got to the transition and grabbed my bike.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCnZbTguCAgYYxpdkBXk41O41dfm2maO2OQNXXmABaZoJikK-L5R_yCF-9Rfuj9aopPQDXAY_sgThcd6GQsNK7QlmkLwAt3l2YTjIpIEOrWwJ6p6OGn65eiO09WxKgVAvRsxBL8M1v-U/s1600/Nats+Swim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCnZbTguCAgYYxpdkBXk41O41dfm2maO2OQNXXmABaZoJikK-L5R_yCF-9Rfuj9aopPQDXAY_sgThcd6GQsNK7QlmkLwAt3l2YTjIpIEOrWwJ6p6OGn65eiO09WxKgVAvRsxBL8M1v-U/s400/Nats+Swim.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The swim took us under that bridge, twice</td></tr>
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<u><b>Bike</b></u><br />
My major process goal for this race was to make the bike <i>hurt, </i>to not hold back a bit, and to ignore the fact that I had a 10K run ahead of me. I started the bike in chase mode, knowing my swim had put me behind. As has been the case with every Olympic distance race I've done this year, my legs quickly let me know that they were not at all happy to be working so hard, but I ignored them and pressed on over the rolling and slightly rough bike course. Liz told me the day before that someone had pretty much dared her to try to <i>over-</i>ride on the bike, to see if she could blow up, and I promptly took it on as my own challenge.<br />
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I didn't feel even remotely good on that bike, not at all. My legs were screaming at me the whole time, I felt all the fatigue that remained from Ironman training, and I sounded like an asthmatic dying animal. On any other day I would have backed off in the interest of still being able to run well, but on this day, for whatever reason, I rode with reckless abandon. I passed a few girls from our age group early on, including a couple I recognized as being top contenders for the podium, and was passed towards the end by two more, one of whom I knew had won this race last year for our age group, so I figured I was in a pretty good position.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso82RtOIOtBSR0Yq73iKbkwlE6erJUvZ2BaF_7ku38uOUZyPF6sFrWJUc0FESgbk0mMqueIK1csEsXH_TB9rLnW7zUP-2AdD6TGzbtGtI_c46h1TThB_AyMrdRZNjidD0ydAE3cS4E0Q/s1600/Nats+Bike.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgso82RtOIOtBSR0Yq73iKbkwlE6erJUvZ2BaF_7ku38uOUZyPF6sFrWJUc0FESgbk0mMqueIK1csEsXH_TB9rLnW7zUP-2AdD6TGzbtGtI_c46h1TThB_AyMrdRZNjidD0ydAE3cS4E0Q/s400/Nats+Bike.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really need to stop the nerdy and non-aero thumb twiddling habit I've got going</td></tr>
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I finished the bike with a 1:03 split which is my best Olympic distance split by a fair bit, but not meeting what I thought was my potential. Based on my training lately, I think there was a <i>really </i>special ride in me that could have come out had I felt a little better, but you play the cards that are dealt to you, and I did the best I could for that day. It certainly wasn't easy, but it was a vast improvement over what I've been able to do in other short course races this year.<br />
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The bike course itself? Nice. First a little out-and-back along the Lake Michigan we all know and love, followed by another out-and-back on a highway and through a couple neighborhoods. I found the course more challenging that I expected and the wind had picked up as the morning progressed, but I was very, very impressed with how little drafting I saw out there. It was a fair race, from what I can tell, and kudos to USAT for figuring out the logistics in such a way that allowed that.<br />
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<u><b>Run</b></u><br />
I was kind of making an educated guess as to my position based on who had passed me on the bike, but I thought (correctly) I was taking off in third place with 1st and 2nd both in sight. I left my Garmin behind in the interest of just running by intuition, but that may have been a mistake. I took off after Girls #1 and #2 probably a little too quickly, feeling fatigued and like my legs were quite heavy, but hoping they'd come around. Despite that, I had a decent rhythm and I was gaining on Girl #2 a bit and feeling optimistic...and then I got passed by Super-Tall Sunny just past the first mile, who blew by me as though I was standing still, and that took a bit of wind out of my sails. A mile later, I dropped a gel and turned around to get it (mistake), lost all rhythm and momentum, and I quickly turned on survival mode. <br />
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I played a lot of mental games the last few miles because I really didn't feel good, at all. I wasn't running terribly well and the asthma was still an issue, but I tried to ignore my own gasping. I kept trying to chase down people from previous waves and gain confidence with every pass, but mostly, I just wanted to hold on to 4th place and be done. I gritted my teeth, put my head down, and just ground it out. Some days, like Racine, I'm a little social butterfly on the course, waving and smiling at every person I recognize, even (this actually happened at Racine), spotting people I recognized in the crowd and calling out <i>their </i>names when they didn't see me (<i>oh hey, Jen, how's it going?</i>). Today....not so much. I had a lot of friends racing out there who called out to me on the run as we were doing multiple out-and-backs, but I didn't have a whole lot of energy to respond in kind....sorry for that! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That is not a smile, that is a grimace</td></tr>
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Soon enough, that damn run was finally over. My split wasn't horrible for me, but it wasn't all that good, particularly compared to the other girls in my division. I think I was only a couple seconds per mile faster than I ran for more than double the distance at Racine. But... I was tired and a little flat and to be able to put my head down and get it done in a still quite respectable time is progress, for me.<br />
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<u><b>Post-Race</b></u><br />
In the end, I was really quite pleased with my day. I ended up with a time of 2:12, a PR for the distance, <i>even if</i> you count Leon's (which I really don't think we should do, because let's be honest, Leon's is not an accurate course) and snuck onto the podium, finishing 4th in my age group. My goal for the day was Top 10, with Top 5 seeming a little over-ambitious given the strength and speed of all the short-course specialists I knew would show up. To be able to mix it up with those fast girls on a day that really, at no time, felt all that<i> </i>good, is quite the confidence builder. This was a mental toughness day, and given how tough the mental side has been for me in the past, I'm happy to have pulled through. <br />
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Plus, Milwaukee is a surprisingly beautiful town! I should have known, it <i>is</i> in Wisconsin and Wisconsin is just all kinds of awesome, but I was really quite pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the Milwaukee lake front. The awards ceremony wasn't until the evening, so Liz (who had a really great day despite being in the midst of a <i>really</i> heavy training load, I've witnessed some of it and the training she's done gives me sympathy leg pains) and I spent the afternoon enjoying quality time with Molly and Robyn, drinking craft beers and eating a Scotch Egg (look it up and thank me later). Yes, I broke their hotel room shower curtain in an act of pure klutziness, but when has that ever surprised anyone?<br />
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Several hours later (<i>longest </i>awards ceremony ever), it was back on the road to Chicago with a stop along the way for Blizzards (both of us) and fried cheese curds (just me, Liz is a responsible, clean-eating triathlete, aside from the Blizzards). Nationals was a very successful and fun weekend, and it was so good to see so many friends up there. I got back to Chicago feeling so enthused about the sport and ready to gear up again for another big pre-Ironman push. Which may or may not include multiple trips to Wisconsin, because, you know, I'm freakin' in <i>love </i>with this State. Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-45468225417941406262013-07-23T20:49:00.000-05:002013-07-23T20:49:03.759-05:00Racine 70.3: Anatomy of a Magical Day <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before I start my race report on the Racine 70.3 that I did this
weekend, I want to tell a little story about a completely different person,
competing in a completely different race, 15 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But hang with me:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this is
relevant</i>. </span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYNnxtBGdmO0ItE_lBhAuSy8poi5wGHaO0kyaY1Egc8Sr9DqjovlUeXwwAekg80AJuWmJAMEN073-ZQAEFx0yV1-4dNlT_FmHN1zz8x1pQUx0Fgbd9p6ZipKr_ktX4CboDaw1Ov131Gk/s1600/lake+michigan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYNnxtBGdmO0ItE_lBhAuSy8poi5wGHaO0kyaY1Egc8Sr9DqjovlUeXwwAekg80AJuWmJAMEN073-ZQAEFx0yV1-4dNlT_FmHN1zz8x1pQUx0Fgbd9p6ZipKr_ktX4CboDaw1Ov131Gk/s400/lake+michigan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">But first a pretty picture of the Lake</span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I ran track in high school
and competed several times against a girl from a neighboring school named
Lauren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lauren and I had similar PRs in
the mile…somewhere between 5:05 and 5:10.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Good for high school runners, but not amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1998, Lauren appeared to be having a somewhat
rough season. I’d heard she’d shown up to practices in March out-of-shape and
discouraged, was struggling to break 6 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As the season wore on, she improved, and managed to eek her way into the
State meet for the mile run, but just barely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a favorite.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Fast forward to that Saturday
in June when the milers lined up in Ohio Stadium for the State
Championship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gun fired, and Lauren,
who was not expected to even crack the top 10, bolted to the lead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came through the first quarter mile
several seconds ahead of the field, running way, way faster than any of her previous
racing should have indicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
sitting with my coach watching, and we turned to each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the heck is she doing?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We assumed she’d blow up, we thought she’d
end up crawling to the finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
another lap passed, her lead grew and she just kept running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of the racers had let her go, had
made no effort to go with her, they thought she was running like an idiot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But Lauren just ran and ran and ran, and when it was over, she had won
the State Championship by a huge margin in a time of 4:54- I believe something
like 15 seconds faster than she’d run even at her best in previous years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 15 second PR in a mile, at that level, is
HUGE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lauren crossed the line,
having just raced out of her mind, and immediately covered her face in
disbelief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could tell by her body
language that she was as stunned as anyone out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where
the hell did THAT come from</i>? You could see her sobbing, crying shocked
tears of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl who got second,
the defending State champ who knew Lauren very well and had raced her dozens of
times, was quoted in the paper saying something like, “I honestly didn’t give
Lauren credit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went out so fast, I
just didn’t think there was any way she’d be able to hang on, and then it was
too late.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve thought about that day
and about Lauren a lot in the 15 years since then because it was honestly one
of the most inspiring sporting moments I’ve ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve wondered a lot about that dream day and
how it happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did Lauren know she
could do that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did she sense the magic,
did she feel it coming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What switch
turned on that allowed her to find a greatness, a whole ‘nother level inside
herself that neither she nor anyone else knew was there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where
the hell did that come from</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve also dreamed of having
my own magical race day, and I wondered what it would feel like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagined that someday I’d show up to a
race, feeling amazing, just oozing with confidence, having trained perfectly,
just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knowing</i> today was my day, and
would feel on fire the whole time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s how I figured it had to go. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">On Sunday, I had my magical
race day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was nothing, NOTHING like
any of that, at all. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Results </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">To not bury the lead any
more…. I won on Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won my age
group, I won the overall amateur title (neither by small margins), I set a PR
of something like 17 minutes, and I vastly exceeded ANY of my own expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a Lauren moment when I crossed the
line….complete and utter disbelief followed by a whole lot of sobbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still a little emotional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found a greatness inside me that I truly
didn’t know was there, and it was meaningful and profound in ways that have
nothing to do with sports. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">And the crazy part….I almost
didn’t even line up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Lead-In</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Details aren’t important, but
on a personal level, I had an extremely difficult and stressful week leading
into this race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To say I was a wreck, emotionally,
is an understatement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I am
strong, but oftentimes I am weak when it comes to handling the tough times in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was already pretty well on the weak side
from various stressors when a few big hits came at me last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, I completely crumbled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pre-race workouts were mostly unstructured
and pretty horrible, when I was even able to complete them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Planning for the race….out the window, I was
just trying to hold myself together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
wasn’t much sleep, and there most definitely weren’t many smiles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some amazing and wonderful friends helped
prop me up and to them I am extremely grateful and I hope they know that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the number of times that I said,
absolutely, 100% seriously last week, “there is no way I’m going to be able to
race this weekend,”… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>well, I lost
count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Melodramatic, yeah, sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ve never claimed to be anything
otherwise.<span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">:)</span></span></span></span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I think it was Thursday when
I finally committed to racing, and it wasn’t until Friday, on my way up to
Wisconsin, that I actually started to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i>
about the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have a plan, I
didn’t have a schedule, and honestly, I no longer cared AT ALL about the
outcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d once had some quite
ambitious goals for the day but now, I pretty much just wanted to get through
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was NOT a magical day in the
making. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">But there was also a small
voice, way, way, way far in the back of my mind, telling me that greatness was
still there, that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i> that I was
going to have a great day, precisely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">because</i>
I had stopped caring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">So that’s the lead-in, and
because I’ve already blathered on long enough, I’ll spare you more words about
the pre-race stuff except to say that when I left my hotel room the morning of
the race, I checked my emotions at the door and just told myself:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for five hours out there, I’m going to allow
myself to be at peace, to relax, to stop thinking, and to enjoy the simple
process of swimming, biking, and running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And that’s all I need to do.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8hu70TsXE_e3mDHK1sZBTOtAofODHf5HQdqJWgX2mBBOWAZxvHa_WYkoxlnGG3vNufak5revRAeDE8aZyiTgghcaHa1r3Ij84tj_jtmxSmYdiHucJ4lPZ1RNxzTyK4P8FId4zpY0BbY/s1600/blaineprerace.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8hu70TsXE_e3mDHK1sZBTOtAofODHf5HQdqJWgX2mBBOWAZxvHa_WYkoxlnGG3vNufak5revRAeDE8aZyiTgghcaHa1r3Ij84tj_jtmxSmYdiHucJ4lPZ1RNxzTyK4P8FId4zpY0BbY/s400/blaineprerace.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blaine, Super Sherpa Extraordinaire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Race Day</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I think Racine is the largest
half Ironman I’ve done, and apparently the ladies my age are flocking to
triathlon, because there were so many entrants in my age group that they had to
split us into two waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the
second wave, starting 4 minutes back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Practically, this meant that it was going to be harder all day to really
know where I stood in my age group, but since I’d stopped really caring about
the outcome, it didn’t bother me too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That said, I had looked at the start list a few weeks ago and knew of
two girls, strong swimmers, who were in that first wave and with the head
start, would surely exit the water ahead of me. Let’s call them A & B
(because I don’t know them well enough to call them out on my blog).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured if I wanted to place well in my age
group, I’d need to chase them down on the bike. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Swim</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Oh, Lake Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crazy Lake Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so unpredictable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, not cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, on Sunday, mimicking an ocean, with
real waves and chop, chop, chop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
doing a beach start, dealing with sand bars and waves and all that jazz to get
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the start, I tried to practice
my entry, running in and dolphin diving into a wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was promptly thrown backwards, my goggles
ripped from my face by the crashing wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Great start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried again, was
more successful the second time, and then headed to the start, lining up right
next to my friend Taylor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmROD3V6pQJ5hDxcjunBazWAynpYgm4B_4L47O9q9GeLJkWtb7MHG6V2yEymBajKekoT2Jn81dWydAuMZedmLdN9MfOTJY4GMQIRxBsAMzlQnZfDe0uOq6QebWAIh9dOcyML8lT4bIkE/s1600/taylor.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmROD3V6pQJ5hDxcjunBazWAynpYgm4B_4L47O9q9GeLJkWtb7MHG6V2yEymBajKekoT2Jn81dWydAuMZedmLdN9MfOTJY4GMQIRxBsAMzlQnZfDe0uOq6QebWAIh9dOcyML8lT4bIkE/s320/taylor.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor the super swimmer </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">OK, I think Taylor is
probably sick of me talking about what a fantastic swim she had, but I’m not
about to shut up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taylor was doing her
first half Ironman on Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d
never know it from her swim:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she swam
like an absolute pro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a rough
swim, very rough, chop the whole time, but I think the trickiest part by far
was navigating through the waves of swimmers that had taken off before us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chop spread everyone out and there were
numerous floaters and bobbers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within
200 meters, Taylor swam next to me, and I decided to just settle in right
behind her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did ALL the work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She dodged floaters, she wove around, no joke,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hundreds</i> of swimmers, and she never
slowed down a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For 30 minutes, ALL I
thought about was trying to hang on Taylor’s feet, to just follow her every
move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I zoned out for a second,
she’d start pulling away, and I’d have to accelerate to catch her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She led me through that mess (at least until
the last couple minutes when I lost her) and she did an amazing job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taylor had the fastest swim of the amateurs,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in her first race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
came out 20 seconds behind, at just over 30 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the clock as we exited and was a little
disappointed….that’s a decent but not amazing time for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly not enough to have made much ground
on the girls in the first wave of our age group (at least I didn’t think so). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Certainly</i> not magical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Turns out, Taylor and I
actually swam great for that day and those conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was slow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unbeknownst to us, we caught and passed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all </i>the girls in that first wave of our
age group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still figured there were several ahead of
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to Taylor….drinks on me this
weekend, sorry again for making you do all the work, but you did it so well!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Bike</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">After a long run up the
beach, the typical frantic nature of transition, and a steep hill right out of
transition, I spent the first several minutes of the bike just riding really
easy and trying to bring my heart rate down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I always have power showing on my bike computer, but for quite some time,
I didn’t look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I wanted to do was ride and not think. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tired of thinking. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">So I rode nice and easy, just
chilling out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I looked down at the
power reading, finally, and was shocked at my average power thus far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was riding really easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That small thought entered my mind:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this
could be a good day</i>. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l10yge25mzXsQ0N4EUkvsnALD7JBLtZq1qIA6XQ5ypDWVS4uMyJ3rF5oJs1_gARplijboNd62iNJm6AsyKtrRVAIFKdjPACxpJZmdfYi1fKDbvlifk4zOLlC7qh9tBrFhLTCJ-gjMWo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-07-23+at+7.39.35+PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l10yge25mzXsQ0N4EUkvsnALD7JBLtZq1qIA6XQ5ypDWVS4uMyJ3rF5oJs1_gARplijboNd62iNJm6AsyKtrRVAIFKdjPACxpJZmdfYi1fKDbvlifk4zOLlC7qh9tBrFhLTCJ-gjMWo/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-07-23+at+7.39.35+PM.png" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just chillin', twiddling my thumbs like a dork.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I kept on going, staying at a
relatively easy effort but passing people with ease.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going fast, averaging 23 miles per
hour, I knew that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I knew nothing
about the course, figured it was really fast, figured everyone was speedy today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I was passing people and no one was
passing me, but I still hadn’t found those girls I knew started in the first
wave of our age group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still
chasing (or so I thought). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I wish I had much to say
about the bike, but honestly, I didn’t think about much and I don’t really
remember much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was kind of in a daze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have extreme highs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for the first time all week, I didn’t
really have any lows, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt
good on the bike, I felt strong, but I didn’t feel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">magical</i>, by any means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
drank a lot, I ate my food when I was supposed to, I sang silly songs in my
head, but that was about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one
point, I dropped my chain, and stood for 40 seconds struggling to get it back
on, but once I got going again, I got over the momentary panic almost
immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was, basically, the most even keel and
uneventful ride I’ve ever had in a race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Apathy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More likely….I’d finally stopped <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">caring</i> so damn much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just rode my bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just….was. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Soon enough, the end came, and
I had my fastest split ever, by a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a great ride for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did
not get passed, not once, but I figured I still had work to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blaine
saw me coming into transition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are
absolutely killing it,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t know what that actually meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
didn’t really care enough to ask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Run</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Heading out on the run my
legs felt OK, but I was still a bit robotic, mentally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was breathing a little harder than I
thought I should have been at that time, but I didn’t panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked myself, “does this feel like a pace
you could hold for 13.1 miles?” and I could honestly say yes, so I just carried
on</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Coming up on mile one, Liz
was by the side of the path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is
this???”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she yelled, seeming pretty
excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are the first [non-pro]
woman!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m not going to lie, I
thought she was messing with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still
hadn’t seen the girls I thought I was chasing from the first wave of my age
group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I’d passed a good number of
people on the bike, but there were three waves of women who’d started before
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely I hadn’t worked my way
through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There
was no way.</i></span> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiVMqLKL-hmwB_w_Fvs6hmjhNH45Foh4Y9Hleu3P4qq34qqtYzXPv7-R0VO6cpRLnZLe5EXja2gYveuauCyrYVBCRMJ54D9VGtKJkQIOYgOx_aEYjx4TXH8ALKHXv8YferS-VQcIccv8/s1600/racinerun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiVMqLKL-hmwB_w_Fvs6hmjhNH45Foh4Y9Hleu3P4qq34qqtYzXPv7-R0VO6cpRLnZLe5EXja2gYveuauCyrYVBCRMJ54D9VGtKJkQIOYgOx_aEYjx4TXH8ALKHXv8YferS-VQcIccv8/s400/racinerun.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Shortly thereafter, I saw
Anne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think you’re winning!” she
said, and I started to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a
few more people told me the same thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All I could think:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">there is no way.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Racine is a two-loop, out and
back course, and I spent the first 3+ miles to the turnaround trying to just
run easy and maintain form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
turned around and started heading back, I had the chance to start scoping out
who was chasing me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And honestly, it was
a long time before I saw another woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I looked at my watch and I was running fast (for me), and it felt good,
it felt sustainable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had that
momentary thought:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what if I blow up?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it
was momentary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I wouldn’t blow
up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Approaching the end of the
first loop, it was sinking in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THIS was
the magical day I’d dreamt of for 15 years since I first saw Lauren sobbing at
the finish line at the State meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THIS
was really happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started smiling,
and I just couldn’t stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz saw me
again and told me something like “you had an 8 minute lead off the bike.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this is yours to lose</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On
another day, I would have panicked:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oh my God, what if I lose this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Today:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>no flipping way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was my day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t going to lose this. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2L0QO1hEWSVHQMDshwS-Q4SkuC7M78Y_4zVl3Y_KVx-vHakEfFSwWHvuIN9Vx6nfP0XNJReR8F1qBzAKre_15dtjJyjYREi8c9nM9GSEQHe96Qh0T_SxpdojQ59kafSPT1Jpnp-7hK4/s1600/SuperSmile.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2L0QO1hEWSVHQMDshwS-Q4SkuC7M78Y_4zVl3Y_KVx-vHakEfFSwWHvuIN9Vx6nfP0XNJReR8F1qBzAKre_15dtjJyjYREi8c9nM9GSEQHe96Qh0T_SxpdojQ59kafSPT1Jpnp-7hK4/s400/SuperSmile.png" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my "oh my God, can you believe this is happening??" face<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">For the rest of the run, I
just sustained and tried to keep running hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were moments when it felt difficult, when my breathing felt
incredibly labored, but I’d look down at my watch, see I was still maintaining
a good pace, and I’d relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the
last turn around, I told myself:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>this is
your victory lap, enjoy this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I reveled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hurt, and I wanted
it to be over, but in a way, I didn’t want it to end. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the only time I had emotion all
race, and it was pure, unadulterated joy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVeXSMlUDmZhmIxyLD0LyArSKs_uRjaK9rkp5Qnk-U6QQT2Ouxrh25cFwYM6rua7W7wrxdrVSPKEcca5EEPHg6WfbVUzkQ2MFx4WOJrulR83YhbQm_LBdLx8r8KvJA4oVlT78ID09CeY/s1600/final+stretch2013-07-23+at+7.40.47+PM.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVeXSMlUDmZhmIxyLD0LyArSKs_uRjaK9rkp5Qnk-U6QQT2Ouxrh25cFwYM6rua7W7wrxdrVSPKEcca5EEPHg6WfbVUzkQ2MFx4WOJrulR83YhbQm_LBdLx8r8KvJA4oVlT78ID09CeY/s400/final+stretch2013-07-23+at+7.40.47+PM.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kicking it in<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I ended up running way faster
than I thought I could -- just over 1:30, a great, great split for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crossed the line in a state of shock, I
found Blaine, and I had my Lauren moment….I broke down and just cried and cried
and cried. I felt overly dramatic….this was Racine, it wasn’t the Olympics, it
wasn’t Kona, but for me, it meant so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After the week I’d had, when nothing felt magical or even all that good
in my life, when I almost hadn’t even started, I somehow managed to pull out
that truly magical day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all I could
think: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where the hell did that come from</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’m still a bit on a high,
I’m still a bit stunned, and I still haven’t fully processed my magical day,
but I will say, in a lot of ways, it felt transformative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Triathlon’s just a hobby, it’s just a sport,
but it teaches so many great lessons about life in general.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And from this I learned that magic and
greatness is there, it’s possible, and it may just appear when you least expect
it, and most of all, when you stop looking so hard for it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Final Results:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">4:33:40 (1<sup>st</sup> Age
Group; 1<sup>st</sup> Overall Amateur)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Swim: 30:11 (2<sup>nd</sup>
AG; 2<sup>nd</sup> OA Amateur)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Bike: 2:28:21 (1<sup>st</sup>
AG; 1<sup>st</sup> OA Amateur)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;">Run: 1:30:31 (1<sup>st</sup>
AG; 2<sup>nd</sup> OA Amateur)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjJeAm_NeY1yEIsCjGC-GRr3UfsSvnht8CoBnxMTbaa_n788tydUK5V3uN4psvNTBrpXZwm0GPKCmMxTW4tg1BZNO0C4-fq0ZOIRdPQ3xK8FGiCDENxH5OfeeG21xBhC9kG5TK1BWmOE/s1600/Awardsracine.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjJeAm_NeY1yEIsCjGC-GRr3UfsSvnht8CoBnxMTbaa_n788tydUK5V3uN4psvNTBrpXZwm0GPKCmMxTW4tg1BZNO0C4-fq0ZOIRdPQ3xK8FGiCDENxH5OfeeG21xBhC9kG5TK1BWmOE/s400/Awardsracine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Major highlight- hanging with Maggie (3rd overall, absolute stud!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnfO6YuUppDU_g0LzqyUOCzPuVzFtjKcuBEZgmg9PGZm0mqr8ykzXyMjfzlQ_IjTy7HRxZ8QJnyfP_rHVGc1MAAyqFpRtwfaWUQ5Vka3uxOfrnetUEit94FCNrowU5j0kbxGEduWAkk0/s1600/trisportsawards.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnfO6YuUppDU_g0LzqyUOCzPuVzFtjKcuBEZgmg9PGZm0mqr8ykzXyMjfzlQ_IjTy7HRxZ8QJnyfP_rHVGc1MAAyqFpRtwfaWUQ5Vka3uxOfrnetUEit94FCNrowU5j0kbxGEduWAkk0/s400/trisportsawards.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New friend Matt, Team TriSports.com sweeps the overall amateur titles!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60yVSyF3d51gG51Erp3qBTly9MhSHyx6Bw_H6rXncOUFfLXb6n0KIa3AEjicTepHkQwtgISGHpEEi1UU_ESv260FfOZwpyc52AugwM5w33YalVLBIaWrJREkrU4eWfgOlKCNJdP2-sd8/s1600/DQ.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60yVSyF3d51gG51Erp3qBTly9MhSHyx6Bw_H6rXncOUFfLXb6n0KIa3AEjicTepHkQwtgISGHpEEi1UU_ESv260FfOZwpyc52AugwM5w33YalVLBIaWrJREkrU4eWfgOlKCNJdP2-sd8/s400/DQ.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then this. Of course</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-8242462719027545742013-06-26T21:22:00.002-05:002013-06-26T21:26:26.525-05:00Pleasant Times at Pleasant Prairie (Race Report)In the spirit of hitting <i>all</i> the hottest spots in the Midwest, this weekend I headed north to lovely Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin (a suburb of Kenosha) for the Pleasant Prairie International Distance Triathlon. <br />
<br />
Pleasant Prairie is a great local triathlon that attracts a lot of speedy triathletes in the Illinois and Wisconsin region. I did the Sprint distance at this race a couple years ago when I was just coming back from my knee surgery. I was fat and slow (want proof? I found pictures last week and contemplated posting them here as a sort of "wow, look how far I've come" self-congratulatory sort of thing, but then I realized the pictures are <i>way </i>too embarrassing), but I loved the race, and knew I'd be back someday, in better form all around. <br />
<br />
My primary goal for this race, particularly after my little <a href="http://swimbikeruntheworld.blogspot.com/2013/06/getting-over-thyself.html" target="_blank">debacle at the Naperville Esprit de She</a> a couple weeks ago, was to finish happy and proud of my effort. I know that sounds cheesy, but really, I just wanted to get back on the horse again, shake off the demons, get through the swim unscathed, bike hard, run hard, and put myself back on a positive course for the rest of the season. Sure, ideally I'd be proud of the effort, happy, <i>and </i>fast, but I figured the fast part would follow the other, less tangible process goals. <br />
<br />
Pleasant Prairie's only about an hour from home, but race morning wake-up calls are already really, really rough for me (hey, I just spent 10 months not working....would <i>you</i> get up super early in the morning if you had all day to do your workouts?), so I opted to drive up on Saturday and get myself a cheap little hotel room a couple minutes from the course. Good choice. On race morning, 4 AM in a hotel room a couple miles from the race was rough. 3AM with an hour drive ahead might have made me cry, and the tears are supposed to come <i>after</i> the race, not before. (Just kidding, this has been a tear-free zone starting the day <i>after</i> the Naperville race.) <br />
<br />
Spoiler alert, or Clif's Notes version, or whatever you want to call it...the race went just fine. The swimming was fine, the cycling was below average but still fine, the run was pretty good. I saw friends, one of whom <i>meow'd</i> at me during the race just at a time when I was struggling enough that it didn't phase me one bit, I placed exactly where I wanted to, and I walked away with some cold hard cash. And most importantly, a smile. Winning all around.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m1hRRS8UEr0cdsBd9JQTJVtUFpNdwRuAq-vkkGmOkr_w9iWKZyi7eNyQpTCNlDnommtZuFBuGapiv66-mG6KHsg2QsJMkaYf6Fuu2W4twag78kq3M3xmHofpMtdFkKz_iH0IhgSCrnc/s1600/goofy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m1hRRS8UEr0cdsBd9JQTJVtUFpNdwRuAq-vkkGmOkr_w9iWKZyi7eNyQpTCNlDnommtZuFBuGapiv66-mG6KHsg2QsJMkaYf6Fuu2W4twag78kq3M3xmHofpMtdFkKz_iH0IhgSCrnc/s400/goofy.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post race smiles/ goofy faces with Nic, who meow'd at me during the run, claiming it was an "Eye of the Tiger" kind of thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And here are some deets:<br />
<br />
<u><b>Swim</b></u><br />
After last race's panic attack --> quit --> unquit disaster, the confidence I have always had in the swim was a little lacking. After Naperville, I'd proven to myself that I still knew <i>how </i>to swim when four days after the race, I had probably the best swim practice of my life that concluded with a <span style="font-size: large;">1000 IM<span style="font-size: small;">. That's not a typo. Crazy Coach Liz (just kidding, she's not crazy, except when it comes to her very bizarre love of butterfly, which is <i>without a doubt</i>, crazy) came up with that gem as a challenge after a practice that had already been pretty darn difficult. Despite the fact that since age 16, and possibly even before that, I have not done more than 4 lengths of the pool butterfly at any one time, I somehow managed to rise to the challenge and (slowly and ugly-ly) got through 10 lengths of butterfly, staying legal the whole time. So I knew, physically, I could still swim.</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTYg-MB3ml-hCZtGUnYyNC1XzwU16geSOMI-4YeWHsXYpNcAZo3vltiPSdJ-MnKmTZcmRljnha3vsEEJhxdhSVLG_r90PN9ai2lMvy-U1vbdzrKdMsM-pUNzxT8u4vIutW518RGtRBDM/s1600/tweet.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTYg-MB3ml-hCZtGUnYyNC1XzwU16geSOMI-4YeWHsXYpNcAZo3vltiPSdJ-MnKmTZcmRljnha3vsEEJhxdhSVLG_r90PN9ai2lMvy-U1vbdzrKdMsM-pUNzxT8u4vIutW518RGtRBDM/s400/tweet.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was how happy I felt about that 1000 IM malarkey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I still worried, however, about whether I could mentally handle the mass start. Rationally, I had nothing to be scared of. More realistically, I was afraid that panic would start to become part of my repertoire. I really didn't want that.<br />
<br />
This <i>particular </i>start was a little more nerve-wracking, too, because this year Pleasant Prairie added a co-ed Elite wave. That's a welcome addition to any tri, but it meant starting the swim in the midst of a bunch of fast, hard-charging dudes who always seem to play rougher than we civilized lady swimmers. Plus, Pleasant Prairie has this very odd (and in my view, totally dumb) first 100 meters, where everyone starts on a tiny little beach, and then we make a 90 degree turn probably no more than 15 yards after the start. Take a pack of aggressive, fast-starting swimmers, put them all together, and force them to change directions within the first 20 seconds of the race, and that's a recipe for disaster.<br />
<br />
The plus side: I knew it would be bad, so I spent the minutes pre-race just calming myself down, reminding myself to expect the worst, to prepare to be punched and grabbed and dunked, coming up with positive self-talk and mantras.<br />
<br />
And yes, I was punched and grabbed and dunked and punched some more. I started a bit behind the front line and purposely held back a little in the first 200 meters so as to stay a little calmer, but I still got the snot beat out of me. But I was ready for it, got through, and when clear water opened up, I was fine.<br />
<br />
My swim wasn't amazing, but it was fine. I wasn't looking for amazing, I wasn't willing on this day to take anything even remotely resembling a risk, I wasn't willing to redline, I just wanted to get out without incident, and I did. I think I was the 4th woman out of the water, with some super fish ahead of me, and that was just fine and dandy. Demon, exorcised. Now back to business as usual.<br />
<br />
<u><b>T1</b></u><br />
In an effort to look and act more like a <i>real</i> triathlete, I decided to try starting this race with my shoes already in the pedals. I practiced getting into and out of them several times the day before and thought I was good to go.<br />
<br />
Not so much. One shoe flipped down and dragged on the ground, acting like a sort of brake. I could not get started and there may have been a few choice words uttered (quietly). And then, when I was trying to slide my foot into one shoe, I managed to kick the velco strap out of the metal thingamabob that it loopy-de-loops through. I lack the writing skills and vocabulary to explain it better, but basically I could not fasten my shoe unless I reached down to re-thread the velcro strap through the thingamabob, all while moving. My bike handling skills are questionable at best without messing with my shoes, downright scary <i>with</i> shoe shenanigans, and I would not be surprised if I lost a minute or more during the bike coasting and trying to fix my stupid shoe. What a rookie.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Bike</b></u><br />
There's a mystery right now (well, it's a mystery to me and my coach) and that is....why can Amanda not put together a decent bike in an International distance race? I got on the bike, and immediately, my right hamstring and glute were sore, sore, sore, threatening to cramp, and basically making me very unhappy. This very same thing happened in Terre Haute<b>. </b>It doesn't usually happen in training. The current theory (or at least the theory I like)...I'm kicking too hard in the swim and jacking up my leg in the process. I'm a kicker when it comes to swimming (hey, my best race back in the swimming days was the 50, this is what I was taught!) and I think it's working against me. Any fishes out there who have experienced something similar? Drop me a line, if so, and tell me how you figured out how to NOT kick so much (just saying "don't kick" doesn't work, it's a rhythm thing).<br />
<br />
Anyway, my legs were not cooperating on the bike. My power was low, low, low, to the point that I stopped looking altogether because it was just frustrating me to be working really, really hard and only putting out the kind of power that is absolutely no problem at all during training. At one point, I said to my legs, "come on, legs, work with me." They didn't.<br />
<br />
I was frustrated with my slowness, and extra frustrated with another woman passed me at mile 18 and I tried to go with her, to take a risk, but I just <i>could not do it</i>. But I didn't let my mental state get too low and instead focused on doing the other stuff right-- hydrating sufficiently, taking in a couple gels, taking salt (actually I failed at that after dropping BOTH of the salt tabs that I'd taped to my bike in the span of 15 seconds).<br />
<br />
The bike course itself was nice enough. It's a new course, and from what I can tell, more challenging than before. There were some nasty headwinds to deal with, some false flats, some overpassess disguised as hills, and we rode right by the Jelly Belly factory twice. I'm newly in the midst of a month of no gluten, no sweets, no alcohol, no junk, and I love, love, love jelly beans almost as much as I love Arby's, so that was kind of a mean tease. At least the bike course didn't take us by an Arby's.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YTVkQzWHxCUxq7uL4WBdEXNL-HSCepZCRvOYrwGzh7qe2NV2rcY_JKB1ehKBT7SAxe5dLVZLCZx03p_A7hidfQlp3JShhYcsXOUlUotPBsYB-sUfww3FhwxlgvwRkpe7iVJCh3xzVgg/s1600/JellyBellyBeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YTVkQzWHxCUxq7uL4WBdEXNL-HSCepZCRvOYrwGzh7qe2NV2rcY_JKB1ehKBT7SAxe5dLVZLCZx03p_A7hidfQlp3JShhYcsXOUlUotPBsYB-sUfww3FhwxlgvwRkpe7iVJCh3xzVgg/s400/JellyBellyBeans.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love jelly beans. I miss jelly beans.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I came off the bike in 4th place, having given up huge chunks of time to the other girls in the race. Boo. <br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
It was getting really hot out there, and I'd dropped all my salt tabs on the bike, so I did some weighing of consequences in my head and decided that in the interest of not melting on the run, I'd sacrifice my transition. Here's a first. I got to transition, racked my bike, walked over to the backpack I'd brought all my stuff in (stashed a bit away from my transition area), found the bottle of salt tabs in the bag, opened the bottle, and shook out a pill. Which I promptly dropped on the ground as I was running out of transition and accidentally put my visor right over my eyes such that I was running blind for a couple seconds. You better believe I grabbed that salt pill right off the ground. Five second rule!<br />
<br />
<u><b>Run</b></u><br />
Continuing within the theme of klutziness and errors, I tried to start my Garmin when the run started, but actually managed to turn it off. I wasn't going to look at it anyway, it's becoming clear that I run better without data, but I would have liked to see my splits afterwards. Oh well.<br />
<br />
I got going on the run feeling not too shabby, but I had no idea of my position or whether there was anyone within striking distance. <a href="http://www.wellfitinc.com/coaching/ourcoaches/SharoneAharon.aspx" target="_blank">Sharone </a>was standing by the exit and said something to me about "two minutes" but I had no idea if that was to the <i>next</i> person, or the first person, or just a general Sharone-like non-sequiter, so I just ran and tried to turn over my legs.<br />
<br />
The run course at Pleasant Prairie basically goes out-and-back-and-out-and-out-on-a-path-and-back-on-same-path-and-around-the-lake. Got it? In other words, lots of places to scope out the competition and assess where you are. There was a turnaround at about 1.5 miles, and as I was approaching, I saw that I was gaining on a girl who I later figured out to be Mary B., a long-time top triathlete in the area whose name I knew from looking at results over the years. I tried to be all strategic-like, tucked in behind her for a little, and then surged so as to "pass with authority."<br />
<br />
But maybe surging wasn't such a good idea, because a quarter mile later, I was dead, totally toasted, and wondering if I was going to be able to finish without walking. There's really few more frightening feelings in triathlon than being in trouble at mile 2 of a 10K.<br />
<br />
The thing I love about racing is that no matter what happens, there are valuable lessons and experiences to be gained from each race. This race-- the valuable lesson was how I dealt with the low in mile 2. I've heard so many people say, especially when talking about Ironman racing, that you have to learn how to deal with ups and down all day long, and not get too stuck in the "downs" because often, they will pass. For me, they've never passed, and that has always been my struggle. If I'm feeling decent all day, great, I'll keep working. But when things spiral downhill, when I start feeling horrible, in the past I've always let my mind take over and remained entrenched in the "down" for the rest of the race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4i0fMgrURqCvyZ6kmAGhYjhpT4-bXnJyEVa2AIF7XZgAr22xkKOyRbnBcYpt_znV7fMN0V7BQO5zNG7Ed1QtQ8-n2_XlgYEmYqa5hEeFjswKQDdAKFsSZXfy7kMJxPrkJVI2jlt-2ds/s1600/ThisTooShallPass.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS4i0fMgrURqCvyZ6kmAGhYjhpT4-bXnJyEVa2AIF7XZgAr22xkKOyRbnBcYpt_znV7fMN0V7BQO5zNG7Ed1QtQ8-n2_XlgYEmYqa5hEeFjswKQDdAKFsSZXfy7kMJxPrkJVI2jlt-2ds/s400/ThisTooShallPass.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm just throwing in random pictures to break up the words, work with me.</td></tr>
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This race, I think, was the first time I've been able to successfully pull myself out of a really rough patch. Some of it was mental approach.... I told myself I was doing well, that I was in third, that third pays money, I thought back to some of my rougher workouts when I've felt completely and utterly toasted with miles to go but managed to hold it together (it's great to think of those awesome workouts but sometimes it's the rough ones that provide the most motivation when you're struggling....it was like, <i>I survived that day, I can survive this one</i>)<i>, </i>I tried to push out the negative chatter. A lot of it was just problem-solving. I started struggling and I set out to try and fix it. I doubled up on the water at the next aid station, took some salt, took a gel.<br />
<br />
And wouldn't you know it, by mile 3, I felt great again.<br />
<br />
It got hot out there, but I just chugged along. I could tell from all the turnarounds that I was pretty safely in third and barring a miracle, wasn't going to be able to move up any more places, so I just tried to keep working and running smart. When I saw Nic and he meow'd at me....that was special. At the next turnaround, I had enough energy to give him a high-five. That was special, too. When all was said and done, despite the heat and humidity (people were positively melting out there), I had my fastest 10K in an Olympic distance race, ever. I'll take it.<br />
<br />
In the end, I ended up in third place behind Lauren Jensen, an absolute stud who has been dominating short-course racing in this region for what, decades now?, and Kimberly Goodell, another Wisconsin stud. Those two have been first and second at Pleasant Prairie for the past four or more years, I think, and I knew going in it would take an extra special day to change that. Basically, I was thrilled to take third in such a stacked field, and happy with the day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoaXChao6GCWhWSi1ay6xRKTbOsWOZmNeCpjWm7O5G-L_jKZMACDof6ldyIX_dGC064dito0nIjhyF3DtrfBnXMOzW4jAZ5ksU9sfbVSS2eGD_dJxICKrUo7Y43CDE7jvPlLJT75vAjU/s1600/podium.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoaXChao6GCWhWSi1ay6xRKTbOsWOZmNeCpjWm7O5G-L_jKZMACDof6ldyIX_dGC064dito0nIjhyF3DtrfBnXMOzW4jAZ5ksU9sfbVSS2eGD_dJxICKrUo7Y43CDE7jvPlLJT75vAjU/s400/podium.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the podium with two Wisconsin rock stars</td></tr>
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The bonus? I got paid! This was my first payday in triathlon (not a ton of races offer money for amateurs and those that do tend to be pretty darn competitive), so I consider it pretty momentous. It wasn't enough money to retire on ($100, which I spent all of and more at Whole Foods just a few hours later) but it made me smile. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpJFmDLyKi4TXkay8D0hfnlW1RFNwTcT6Iw_kusE00KFWaEVGDuL35lQ2TRaJ4xFwlM22JSOxPCO21gtCXDdbeTwG-hQfdV0S2BR39iRrWzLf8JbShRb9_wVD2S8ZPpIhixE3N6sjXZE/s1600/check.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpJFmDLyKi4TXkay8D0hfnlW1RFNwTcT6Iw_kusE00KFWaEVGDuL35lQ2TRaJ4xFwlM22JSOxPCO21gtCXDdbeTwG-hQfdV0S2BR39iRrWzLf8JbShRb9_wVD2S8ZPpIhixE3N6sjXZE/s400/check.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing with my check like a big ole' dork. </td></tr>
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One of the things I really like about the Chicagoland area (and when I say Chicagoland area, I'm being a little big city-centric and including the states of Wisconsin, Indiana, and Michigan) is that there is no shortage of incredibly talented short-course racers, and as a necessarily corollary (oof, I'm talking like a lawyer again) lots of competitive short course races. We've got Galena, Leon's, Evergreen Lake, Elkhart Lake, etc. etc. I think Pleasant Prairie fits onto that list, particularly on the men's side. Let's just say, when USA Triathlon's <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/24/sports/olympics/lukas-verzbicas-19-year-old-us-triathlete-sets-sights-on-16-olympics.html?_r=0" target="_blank">Next Great Hope</a> shows up and does <i>not</i> win, well, that's a competitive race. <span style="font-size: x-small;"> (And as an aside, based on what I witnessed and heard, said Next Great Hope might want to brush up on the fundamental difference between draft-legal and non-draft-legal races, and maybe think twice next time before berating volunteers at a local triathlon for not being able to provide accurate splits during the race, <i>but I digress </i>(and I'll probably delete this within minutes<i>.</i></span>) I'm not a short course specialist, as is obvious by all the little mistakes I made, but it's fun and inspiring to throw it down with girls that are just FAST.<br />
<br />
So that's Pleasant Prairie. Great way to spend a Sunday, and now it's back to the (alcohol and junk-food free) grind!Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-13267765460316365672013-06-14T14:20:00.001-05:002013-06-14T14:20:42.241-05:00Getting Over ThyselfYou know what's fun? Writing race reports about races that go well, races with positive outcomes and general fun and merriment.<br />
<br />
You know what's quite a bit less fun? Writing race reports about races that do not go as planned. Re-living painful or straight up embarrassing moments. It's hard, it's procrastination-inducing (hence a race report going up on my blog almost a week after the race), but I think, for me, it's necessary. Because it's in the tough moments when the real lessons are learned.<br />
<br />
And with that lead in, I'm sure you can guess that I had a bad race last weekend. Here's the story.<br />
<br />
The scene of the crime was Naperville, a place where I've spent a<em> lot</em> of time in the past year or so, so much that the race felt a bit like a hometown affair. The race itself was intended to be low-key in the grand scheme of my race schedule: the Esprit de She Women's Sprint Triathlon. I knew it'd hurt, sprints always do, but I also knew the race environment is inspiring and a celebration of so much more than just triathlon. I was really looking forward to this race.<br />
<br />
<strong><u>The Lead-Up</u></strong><br />
<br />
Backing up a bit, however, to the weeks preceding. I've stayed a little quiet on my recent goings on, but it's been an eventful last few weeks. First, my condo was finally vacated, so I made the big move from the 'burbs back to the city. Then last Monday, I started back at work. Yes, I'm back at the law firm I left ten months ago. My position is a little different, I'm working a slightly-reduced schedule, and understandably, I lost my lake-facing office. But the firm was incredibly gracious in taking me back without making me grovel for it <em>too </em>much and working with me to devise a schedule that will allow me to train adequately for that big race I have in October, and for that I am thankful. <br />
<br />
Which is not to say the adjustment has been easy. It's been anything but. These past few weeks have worn on me far more than I anticipated (and I certainly did anticipate a rough adjustment). Moving's no fun. And, starting a new job is always exhausting, but I will say that returning to an old job after a substantial break, trying to get your feet back under you, and being keenly and acutely aware that it's really, really important to re-prove your commitment, loyalty, and ability is even more exhausting. <br />
<br />
All of which is a long way of saying that I arrived in Naperville on Saturday, the day before the race, completely and utterly worn down, far more fatigued than I've felt in a really, really long time. Friday and Saturday, I was struggling to walk up flights of stairs. My workouts all felt horrible, not withstanding the fact that I cut them all in half in an effort to try to find some energy. I wondered at times if I was getting the flu, but I knew I was just incredibly fatigued from <em>life stress</em>. It's hard to give credence to life stress (<em>what's so tough about work? I'm just sitting behind a desk</em>) but it's real and it hit me hard. But, I honestly wasn't worried about the race. <em>I'll get through it</em>, I told myself. <em>It's short, and it's going to hurt, but I'll be fine.</em><br />
<br />
<strong><u>Race Day</u></strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2Gd6o0CYrVtMZhneiGeiJBZe1M7M91lTZOe34xF1HyhGyNOuN0YIV6lQlVdD5_Ox_z0lNJRcjgPwAMFDEStHwNfYPeLssqEYRmEFz3dtPvIPrkDeRTuVv8XNN4yzT7F9-TfvXXzUFtU/s1600/preswim.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH2Gd6o0CYrVtMZhneiGeiJBZe1M7M91lTZOe34xF1HyhGyNOuN0YIV6lQlVdD5_Ox_z0lNJRcjgPwAMFDEStHwNfYPeLssqEYRmEFz3dtPvIPrkDeRTuVv8XNN4yzT7F9-TfvXXzUFtU/s400/preswim.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bree, me, Taylor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Race morning, I felt marginally better, got to the race site early, set my stuff up, and then chilled out for a while chatting with my friends Taylor and Bree, both of whom were racing in the Elite wave with me. Bree I've known for a couple years through Well-Fit...she's a phenomenal swimmer who competed for USC and used to regularly lap me in the pool (I'm sure she still would, we just haven't had a chance to swim together for a long, long time). Taylor's my newest most favorite swim buddy who I share a lane with when I go to Masters' practices in Naperville. We're similar paces in the pool and work well together, trading off the lead and always pushing each other to the next level. I was so excited to have both Taylor and Bree in the race and knew if I could stick with one or both of them in the swim, I'd be off to a good start. So that was my strategy for that first leg of the race.....just stick with Taylor and Bree. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The swim at the Naperville race is a funny little swim. It's in a quarry, which is essentially a big pool. To complete the 750 meter swim, you kinda snake back and forth, essentially completing three out-and-backs. A-like so: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OJCjy043uFNGE_-1qlosuLrPn45lXLbqjxjL6ut7ATh5c1stIu3DurG3SyxQIOLWnAmxuuVHZzdbGIhk-wiCKvaqQLN9-bLztZi6eoVBqFXu5Yo-HEiXvIXIsUhRm9e335JznS3BWSU/s1600/Naperville+Swim.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OJCjy043uFNGE_-1qlosuLrPn45lXLbqjxjL6ut7ATh5c1stIu3DurG3SyxQIOLWnAmxuuVHZzdbGIhk-wiCKvaqQLN9-bLztZi6eoVBqFXu5Yo-HEiXvIXIsUhRm9e335JznS3BWSU/s400/Naperville+Swim.png" width="400" /></a></div>
There are lane lines. It's so shallow at times that you can walk. I've swum in the quarry a bunch of times. It is so NOT a scary swim. <br />
<br />
Which is why I was and am completely bewildered and flummoxed about the fact that I had a panic attack in the middle of the swim, stopped, and quit the race after two out-and-backs. <br />
<br />
I've heard about people having panic attacks in the water, even pros, and even pros with swim backgrounds, but I guess I never thought it could happen to me. I <em>grew up</em> in the water. I was that pool rat that lifeguards hated, the little girl who just <em>always </em>wanted to be in the water, playing, swimming, doing flips off the board, didn't matter the weather, didn't matter the time, I was <em>always</em> at the pool. In triathlon, the swim leg has never, ever been something I've even remotely stressed about. I'm not scared of the swim. Ever. <br />
<br />
But something happened on Sunday and now it's a whole new game. <br />
<br />
After a pretty inspiring pre-race ceremony honoring the women starting in the second wave, all cancer survivors, and listening to the National Anthem being passionately sung by a young woman who had a cancer diagnosis so bad that she was told she may not speak again, much less sing, we walked into the water for the start. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4OFaWAycTjtViu8QYX29nWdJBSjT4t2oa9YSXgCaDW7_H-NofsrmWy-BU4hBC1fx55XSP2AJl0XlUV0lYKx4BKwpHOLawRQTJA9TMQiXVhU2dkEAnA8-Zkp7CuD5r-i2JgobHTYenWz4/s1600/swimstart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4OFaWAycTjtViu8QYX29nWdJBSjT4t2oa9YSXgCaDW7_H-NofsrmWy-BU4hBC1fx55XSP2AJl0XlUV0lYKx4BKwpHOLawRQTJA9TMQiXVhU2dkEAnA8-Zkp7CuD5r-i2JgobHTYenWz4/s400/swimstart.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm the one adjusting her goggles</td></tr>
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The gun fired, and we were off, sprinting that first 100 meters or so, as you have to do in a race as short as this one. I jockeyed for position, saw Bree swimming on one side of me and Taylor on the other, and figured I was in good shape. It hurt, A LOT, but that's how it goes. So far, so good. <br />
<br />
Just a couple minutes later, starting the second out-and-back, no longer so good. Suddenly, I was completely and totally overtaken with fatigue. I felt like a piano dropped on my back. Just <em>boom</em>, I went from feeling OK to being able to hardly get my arms out of the water. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I questioned whether I was going to be able to finish. Bree and Taylor quickly pulled away. Girls behind started passing me. I grew more and more panicked....<em>what is going on? Something is wrong. This isn't right.</em> I flipped on my back for a moment, tried to breath, then I slowed down the pace significantly, just trying to get a hold of myself. And when I got to the end of the second out-and-back, where it got nice and shallow, I put my feet down and I walked out of the water. I quit. <br />
<br />
At first the volunteers cheered me as I walked towards the swim exit, thinking I'd just blown away the field, until they saw me shaking my head and, yeah, crying a little. I sat down, trying to catch my breath, trying to figure out what'd just happened. The volunteers were concerned. "Do you need medical?" <em>No.</em> "Are you OK?" <em>Yes</em>. "Is this your first triathlon?" <em>Not exactly. </em>Blaine came running over, concerned something was truly wrong. "Was there contact? Did you get hit? Do you need your inhaler?" <em>No, no, no</em>. "What happened???"<em> </em> <em>I have no idea.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
I sat there for a bit, more stunned than anything. <em>I just dropped out of a womens' sprint triathlon five minutes in</em>. There were a ton of thoughts and emotions running through my head, and at the risk of sounding too melodramatic, the primary emotion: self-loathing. Triathlon's my hobby, it's fun, and I was competing in one of the most positive, celebratory events, full of first-time triathletes just trying to finish, cancer survivors proving to themselves and the world that they had triumphed over <em>life stresses </em>that I can't even begin to comprehend, and here I was, sitting by the side of the water, having dropped out of the race because I wasn't winning the elite wave, because it felt hard, because my inability to keep up freaked me out. How self-absorbed and lacking in perspective.<br />
<br />
A couple more minutes passed, and knowing that my anger at myself would only get worse if I walked away, that quitting once would only make quitting again that much easier, I made the very, very tough decision to get back in, to finish the race. I stripped off my wetsuit, I handed it to Blaine, and I headed back to the water to swim that last out-and-back, by myself. By this point<em>, every single woman</em> in my wave had finished and was on to the bike. I was in dead last place, having just spent at least five minutes (an eternity in a race this short) sitting out. My "race" was over, but in a way, it was just beginning. I think in that five minutes, I finally got over myself. It's been a while coming. <br />
<br />
I can't say the rest of the race was easy, it wasn't. To be that far behind was beyond humbling, and it took a lot of willpower to keep on pushing and to keep my emotions in check. But it also taught me a lot. I was embarrassed by what had happened, I was embarrassed to be so far back. Yet at one point, the volunteers cheered for me as I made a turn on the bike. "You're awesome, you're amazing!" My first thought<em>, I am so not awesome. Do you see me out here, miles behind</em>? But then I realized that was just my own judgment. They didn't know. They didn't care that I was having a bad race, they truly thought it was awesome that I was even out there. And you know what? It was. It really was. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mOGWLQeXM7eXQC04Kip4fJhXz5zRmpZW3Pei9G3B95L7iA5wyIVKDxhgSZxntB15FOgFlJZs_-CVj8NK6mN5s_jbs4hg2CjrBuNWrT7jGOAKLBJQRvXoSKKmygTiZmoCxK_2Zte-6T0/s1600/bike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mOGWLQeXM7eXQC04Kip4fJhXz5zRmpZW3Pei9G3B95L7iA5wyIVKDxhgSZxntB15FOgFlJZs_-CVj8NK6mN5s_jbs4hg2CjrBuNWrT7jGOAKLBJQRvXoSKKmygTiZmoCxK_2Zte-6T0/s400/bike.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This contrast sums up the spirit of this race. Yes, it's a race, but all sorts are out there, celebrating life and the ability to do this. (And that's me in the background being all aero-like)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Time-wise, my bike wasn't great. My legs and head weren't really into it. The run wasn't stellar either, but I hung in there, I kept on working, I even caught a few girls in my wave. <br />
<br />
And while the moments after this race were filled with confusion, anger, a little fear, I have to say that during that run, I was awfully proud. Proud to have turned it around and gotten over myself, proud to have gotten back out there and finished the race, proud to still be working hard even though the result was going to be bad. I didn't have a lot of strength during the race, physically, but actually, mentally, I found some strength and courage that I didn't know I had. It took, perhaps, falling to a low, low place to find it, but there it was. <br />
<br />
And now....onward to bigger and better days! Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-60715790556039755652013-05-23T10:12:00.000-05:002013-05-23T10:57:44.222-05:00Terre Haute "Thunder in the Valley"This weekend, I traveled to among the most glamorous places I've been so far: Terre Haute, Indiana. I made a very, VERY last minute decision this week to go ahead and jump into a triathlon and finally get this 2013: Phase II Season underway.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5uE2q6wSC_8jZesYNt6gAwGuh7rdjeyfkNu1yu8aCmc0U1_zKMqFghNSy9UxOjkyVcg-tRogo0gBxqsxztzkX1trumLXsKrjj4xpUqD5EL6lz7SLMGaobgBhgtdEI5GDcGN6hdRzisc/s1600/terre-haute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5uE2q6wSC_8jZesYNt6gAwGuh7rdjeyfkNu1yu8aCmc0U1_zKMqFghNSy9UxOjkyVcg-tRogo0gBxqsxztzkX1trumLXsKrjj4xpUqD5EL6lz7SLMGaobgBhgtdEI5GDcGN6hdRzisc/s400/terre-haute.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terre Haute (I stole this from the Internet. Work with me, my writing's not good enough to survive without some pictures)</td></tr>
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I had planned to race several weeks earlier, but I've had a bit of a rough go since Ironman New Zealand in early March. As I've recounted in varying amounts of detail here, I went into that race slightly injured, took two weeks completely off post-race to go on a bender in Australia and heal, then started to build back into things.<br />
<br />
Which went well for a couple weeks, until, <i>BAM</i>, achilles/calf pain. We cut back significantly on the running mileage for a while as I got treatment, but things just kept getting worse and worse while I no longer felt like I was <i>running</i> or even jogging, but instead was hobbling through my training. After a few weeks of that, I waved the white flag and stopped running altogether for 8 days or so. When it no longer hurt to walk around, I eased back into things. And I mean, seriously <i>eased</i>. As in... starting with 15 minutes of EASY running at a time. I've only been easing back in for about two weeks now.<br />
<br />
The time off was a good call. Once I got back into running, I finally felt like I was actually running, not just surviving. Last weekend, I did a 5ish mile run with Blaine (my "long" run, his taper run the weekend before Ironman Texas) and felt about as good as I had in months. <br />
<br />
So for some reason that still eludes me, once I got through that run feeling like I was actually <i>running</i> (finally!) I started trying to find a triathlon to do the following weekend, knowing that conditioning-wise the run could be ugly but trying to convince myself that I didn't care. Time to get back in the saddle again.<br />
<br />
The really competitive race in the area this weekend was Galena, a hilly, beast of a course that always attracts the top Chicago talent. Honestly, I wanted no part of it. I'm not afraid to admit that at this point, I wanted to dodge the competition as much as possible. With my still-healing leg, the hills weren't enticing, either. And then, of course, that race was sold out. Phew. <br />
<br />
Instead, I looked into the Terre Haute "Thunder in the Valley" Triathlon, a long-standing triathlon (this was it's 28th year!). Chris was heading to Terre Haute, as were a couple of other people I knew from Well-Fit, and it's always nice to see some friendly faces at a race.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday night (like as in 2.5 days before the race), after I'd gotten the medical OK from my physical therapist, I completed the online entry and quietly set about trying to get myself in the right frame of mind. Season kick-off races are always a little nerve-wracking. Season kick-off races when you've been injured and inconsistent and have no sense whatsoever as to whether you'll even be able to complete the run, much less in a speedy fashion....a lot nerve-wracking. <br />
<br />
Chris and I made the 4 hour drive to Terre Haute together, leaving on Friday afternoon for a Saturday race. We checked out the course (nice, in a state park), then headed out to dine at the best Italian restaurant we could find in Terre Haute -- the Olive Garden-- and then checked into our $60 dollar rooms at the Quality Inn, which hadn't been updated in seemingly decades and in which my "non-smoking" room smelled distinctly like an ash tray. Glamour, all the way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxdvfnfR7kSluRGgcKuzZ_xAy5WUmX7DR8F-ELLn4PGGIhw-47-Ynsn6LBPxKBBEOYqF5h4cq8O2PaMaSLlEIj8rVyKKb4Rwf176QhNAAJfxrR1FGrmTr65rpY1bjSBr9oLyImh8nwQc/s1600/photo(12).JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxdvfnfR7kSluRGgcKuzZ_xAy5WUmX7DR8F-ELLn4PGGIhw-47-Ynsn6LBPxKBBEOYqF5h4cq8O2PaMaSLlEIj8rVyKKb4Rwf176QhNAAJfxrR1FGrmTr65rpY1bjSBr9oLyImh8nwQc/s400/photo(12).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flash backs to high school, which is pretty much the last time I ate at the OG</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Race morning came quickly. Gotta say, it felt pretty awesome to suit up in my new <a href="http://www.trisports.com/" target="_blank">TriSports.com </a>kit (seriously, go buy your goods and use my code). We arrived at transition early, set up our gear in the free-for-all transition area (yay small races) and then just milled around a little, socializing and killing time before heading over to the lake to start.<br />
<br />
Terre Haute's a weird distance tri--- an abbreviated Olympic distance, or something like that. 800 meter swim, 40K (24.6 mile) bike, and then a 5 mile run. Here's the run down:<br />
<br />
<b>The Swim </b><br />
There was an elite wave of 25 people or so, based solely on projected swim time, with the rest of the field going off in the time trial fashion. I put myself in the elite wave and was only one of 2 or 3 girls to have opted to do so. Being surrounded by fast dudes, I knew the start would be rough and I'd probably get pummeled a little.<br />
<br />
And pummeled I was. It was a really rough start, and especially after not having done any open water swimming for a really, really long time, it startled me a bit. I'm rusty, and that initial 200 meter sprint-while-trying-not-to-get-too-beat-up really took a lot out of me and left me questioning, as always seems to happen at some point in a race, why exactly I do this sport. But I just chugged on forward, trying to keep a good effort, and got out of the water in a pretty good position-- second female behind a younger gal, who I think is a very recent college swimmer, and within 10-20 seconds of Chris, who'd I'd been chasing throughout the whole swim. The swim was either short or I've suddenly gotten really close to swimming at a sub-minute/ 100 meter pace. I'm going to go with a very, very short swim, as much as I'd like to tell myself I've suddenly become world-class.<br />
<br />
<b>T1</b><br />
We had a long and rocky run from the lake and my achilles hurt with every step. Bad sign. I tried to ignore it, figuring that being barefoot wasn't helping matters<b></b>, but it was in the back of my mind that I might not be able to run today. So I committed to having a strong bike and keeping my fingers crossed for the best. <br />
<br />
<b>Bike</b><br />
We set out on a 24.6 mile ride on country roads outside the State Park. I had chosen a power range for the bike that I wanted to try to hit, and I immediately started watching my power and trying to get it into that range. No dice. My legs just weren't there, and it was taking a effort that didn't seem sustainable to hit the range. So I backed off a bit, hoping the legs would come around. They never really did, which surprised me since I've really been cycling a lot recently and figured the bike would be my strongest leg today. Triathlon's unpredictable like that, I'm learning.<br />
<br />
The course was nice, albeit a bit lonely. There were some rollers, but nothing horrible, seemingly a head wind in both directions (but maybe that's just me). Mostly, the bike just felt hard. 24.6 miles is long, but not <i>that</i> long, so you gotta go hard, and the effort level required at the Olympic distance just straight up hurts. <br />
<br />
Anything fun to report? Not really. There were some pretty flowers along the side of the road. I puked a little in my mouth at one point. I got sort of stuck behind a car, which was stuck behind the rider in front of me, for a stretch. But other than that, not a lot to say. It hurt, and I was ready to be done.<br />
<br />
<b>T2</b><br />
OK, season kick-off lesson? Just because it's a last minute triathlon that you're trying not to get too worked up about...don't skip the small stuff! Like scoping out the transition area and figuring out where the run starts. I got into transition, which was pretty darn empty, did all the stuff you do between the bike and the run in a somewhat non-frantic fashion (see? <i>Rusty</i>), and then set out to run, but really, had no idea where to go. I spun around a little confused, looking for the exit, until a volunteer kindly pointed me in the right direction. It's not like this was a big or terribly confusing transition area, either. That little pre-race reconnaissance really matters. And spoiler alert...this wasn't the last time in this race that I had to ask for directions. What a rookie.<br />
<br />
<b>Run</b><br />
I was nervous about the run....kind of a lot nervous. The five miles we were to run was pretty much the longest I'd run since my downtime, and I hadn't done <i>any </i>fast running yet. I knew it could be ugly. I had a decent lead at that point, so I tried to really start the run gently in the interest of preventing a massive blow up, or worse, walking. The leg felt fine (<i>phew) </i>and actually, it felt pretty good to be out there running. This wasn't feeling anywhere near as horrible as I thought it would!<br />
<br />
I rolled through the first four miles, flat out-and-back on a bike path, trying to build the effort with each mile. Miles 1 and 2, I just sang to myself (not out loud, in my head, and the song was "Fifty Nifty United States" for those of you who are interested, which is pretty much my go-to <i>I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm doing something uncomfortable</i> song), ran smooth, waved and shouted to Chris, over a mile ahead of me, when I saw him on the out-and-back (no response or acknowledgment, <i>awkward, </i>but like most people, Chris seems better able to fully focus on the task at hand than I can), and stayed pretty well dissociated. At the turn around, I allowed myself to pick it up a bit and start chasing guys and when it got a little tougher, I started practicing my mental tricks, mantras, etc. It's going to be a long summer of practicing mental toughness, so best to get a start on it now.<br />
<br />
The last mile went a little XTerra-ish on us, with a run up a steep and unmowed grass hill followed by some real up-and-downs on a trail around the lake. I didn't want to do anything stupid that'd set back the leg healing, so with the hills and uneven surface, I took the effort down and just cruised in the last mile. Sometimes it's great and really important to finish a race feeling like you gave everything you had. But what I'm learning is that sometimes it's important to be smart, too, and in this case, holding back a bit and not attacking hills with a somewhat sore achilles made the most sense, so I did that, and certainly crossed the line feeling like there was a good amount left in the tank. That's OK. For now.<br />
<br />
I ended up as the first female in this race, which made me pretty darn happy. This was only my second overall win, I'm still getting used to the idea of going out there and actually racing for the win in the right circumstances, and it felt pretty sweet. I was riding back to Chicago with Chris (who was second overall in a stacked men's field), and he was pretty eager to hit the road as quickly as possible, even if it meant missing the awards ceremony. <i>No way</i>, <i>buddy</i>, I told him. I'm not skipping out on any awards ceremonies....this doesn't happen that often for me and I wanted to savor it!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eIziAmm4_umW5JlVCQVODRfg_mqkQRJyRwWmZcBMwtqzYN3TepvIpD8fiBTQHstpoTA1gjozdxWr71hKzJVq8p5fRTrmStI6ugrC5OeQrRLike3G6Aa-149auXbkBBUFwYzvRPwMlt4/s1600/Awards.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3eIziAmm4_umW5JlVCQVODRfg_mqkQRJyRwWmZcBMwtqzYN3TepvIpD8fiBTQHstpoTA1gjozdxWr71hKzJVq8p5fRTrmStI6ugrC5OeQrRLike3G6Aa-149auXbkBBUFwYzvRPwMlt4/s400/Awards.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damn right we stayed for awards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But aside from place, I ended up very happy to get out there and get back into the rhythm of racing. My run, which I worried so much about, actually ended up going well, much, much better than I anticipated. I wore a Garmin but didn't look at any of my splits until after the race, and was really pleasantly surprised to be running at a pace faster than I raced at last year, despite all the inconsistencies, set-backs, and limited run training lately. I've never been one to bounce back from injury downtime very quickly when it came to running. But I've also never spent injury downtime busting my ass on the bike and swim, and the fitness transferred over a lot better than I expected. Hooray for happy surprises. I truly think I'm back on track. Relief.<br />
<br />
Oh....the highlight of the day, without a doubt?<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3u1Ay61sRmoFIF5I65J3xDgK7W9uOzFDEKGPR-TConWr0VtNfeXKC9SpgTj4sGBpNyFDgT015q_ssThsCKZ4nGZWeHQGde34-nj0RZ1XzBnXzSpGMQyOJOqK7WfH1NkrzXm5isJcLLM/s1600/ARbys.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3u1Ay61sRmoFIF5I65J3xDgK7W9uOzFDEKGPR-TConWr0VtNfeXKC9SpgTj4sGBpNyFDgT015q_ssThsCKZ4nGZWeHQGde34-nj0RZ1XzBnXzSpGMQyOJOqK7WfH1NkrzXm5isJcLLM/s400/ARbys.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Yup. It's been WAY too long and that Roast Beef hit the spot. Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4021072258994848906.post-42858003605074429522013-05-12T11:42:00.001-05:002013-05-12T11:42:54.171-05:00California Dreaming
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I spent the last several months traveling around the world,
looking for that elusive “perfect” place, and lo and behold, it turns out that
the one of the best spots out there was just a quick Southwest flight across
the U.S. – San Diego.</div>
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I know that I live in Illinois, and I know that I pretty
well skipped the worst part of winter and hung out in New Zealand instead, thus
giving me really no right to complain about cold weather, but since my return
to the States in March, I’ve whined about the cold with the
best of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Another trainer
ride?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, COME on!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d moan, with a complete lack of
self-awareness about the fact that I’d been spared months of trainer riding
that my Midwestern friends had to endure. How annoying.</div>
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It was on one of those cold early (maybe even snowy) April days when
Liz suggested heading out to San Diego for a weekend of warm weather training. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hesitated about half a second before
agreeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed the sun! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Liz is my coach and has been for the roughly 1.5 years that
I’ve been taking triathlon seriously (that actually sounds like a really short
amount of time when I write that).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that time, she’s also become a friend,
role model, mentor, etc. etc., and, together with her husband and kid, have
really generously welcomed me into their home for a couple stints this year when I’ve found
myself back in Illinois, but lacking access to my own home, which is rented
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I train well with
Liz… she’s a speedy little booger, so I always need to up my game to stick with
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We definitely push each other but
don’t really get competitive in that catty way that can happen sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It works, and I think the training I’ve done
with Liz has made me a much better athlete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The San Diego weekend was no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b> </b></div>
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<b>Thursday </b> </div>
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<br /></div>
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We left Chicago at o’dark-thirty on Thursday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My plan for the trip was basically to ride my
ass off for four days, swim a little, and enjoy getting to know San Diego (and
its beers) between workouts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz and her
husband have been to San Diego for training vacations many times, she clearly
loves the place, and the excitement with which she talked about all of her
favorite spots (both riding and drinking) was infectious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz’s plan incorporated running, too, but
while I’m not going to use the dreaded “i” word here, I will say that I did not
run a step in San Diego, nor had I run for a few days prior (and it’s a stretch to
really call the hobbling around I was doing in the preceding weeks “running,”
either).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another blog entry, maybe
(probably not) but that's that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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Anyway, upon arrival, we made what we thought were respectable efforts at
assembling our bikes, with only a few fruitless searches for how-to videos on
YouTube, and then set out for a fairly easy ride along the coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holy bike lanes, Batman! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never seen a city so accommodating to
cyclists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was awesome.</div>
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Well over an hour into the ride, we stopped in at Nytro
Multisport to have our bike assembly double-checked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out, our efforts were maybe not so respectable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The skewer for
my back tire, for example…not adequately tightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meaning I was lucky that my back tire never
just fell right off and rolled into the ocean, and confirming that which I’ve
known for months—I should not be allowed to have nice things, and when it comes
to bikes, I’ve got just about no clue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
need a mechanic on staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b> </b></div>
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<b>Friday </b> </div>
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Since Friday was forecasted to be quite hot, we decided to
use that day to climb Palomar Mountain, which would be a bit cooler and more
shaded than the other routes on the agenda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now this whole mountain-climbing
thing is still pretty new to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> climb some mountains during my
little training trip in Spain last fall, and they pretty well killed me, but Palomar was
a bit longer and steeper than any of those climbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add to that that I wasn’t terribly confident
in my bike fitness or my ability to haul my
self up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hills</i>, much less mountains, with
any sort of speed, and I was more than a little nervous about that climb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz didn’t make it a whole lot better when
she started in on the trash talk, asserting her proven prowess over
Palomar Mountain and making it clear that I had “no idea what I was in
for.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksEGc9wGml3oRA79nxWzOvkqvtwYQG47SmAxQ1WjpeHVPRwbnMp2OHkwl5jrSmgOMcqu5Tb6O9CQXAgV8bHSdxB332Fu1XryyrZ9lohw4IWmZ1PJAV_hxO8WolWZAVsdCXn-wJmbO7HI/s1600/Palomar+Start.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksEGc9wGml3oRA79nxWzOvkqvtwYQG47SmAxQ1WjpeHVPRwbnMp2OHkwl5jrSmgOMcqu5Tb6O9CQXAgV8bHSdxB332Fu1XryyrZ9lohw4IWmZ1PJAV_hxO8WolWZAVsdCXn-wJmbO7HI/s400/Palomar+Start.jpg" width="400" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she was right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had no idea what I was in for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t
had a whole lot of breakthrough workouts lately as I’m still just trying to get
back into the swing of things and manage my aches and pains, but I’ll give this
Palomar ride the “breakthrough” title because for me, it started really, really
badly, but I managed to turn it around and have a very good day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if I wasn’t ready for the climbing or just a
little overheated or what, but once we got on Palomar Mountain and started
climbing the initial, very steep section, I was just about to throw in the
towel and head back to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were only 10 minutes into a climb that would take a bit less than 90 minutes, I was out
of gears, I was rapidly going through my water, and it was all I could do
not to start making dying animal noises as I gasped for air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea of continuing on like that for
another hour + seemed, well, impossible, and when we got stopped briefly by a
construction worker, I turned to Liz and said, completely seriously and a
little on the verge of tears, “I don’t think I can do this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mentally, I was done before we’d even
started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Liz is smart, blunt, and I think as a coach has learned how to deal with me and my way-too-frequent moments of self-doubt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>“Yes, you can do it,” she said simply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It doesn’t have to be fast, just get up the
mountain.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>End of discussion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped
thinking and just rode. I took in some salt, I sucked down a gel, I hydrated
myself, and I got back to work and accepted my fate for the next hour+.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty
soon I was in a rhythm (2 gasps in, 2 gasps out), climbing well and actually
enjoying myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road was steep but
the views were spectacular, I was hurting, <i>really, really</i> hurting, but I knew I was
having a good, confidence-boosting ride and that propelled me forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What seemed like a million switchbacks later (actually 21), I’d gotten to the summit, my legs feeling a little jello-like and the
hamstrings on both sides cramping up as soon as I got off the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sign of a good ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little more climbing to the Palomar Observatory, and then
it was a long, hot descent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed
every minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best part of climbing
a mountain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Descending back down that
mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YmDzCsNwqGQWhgDWSUno389_-6rFhYGBFy4SxZjGOhC9r7wZjl0XzngNiXmqg_8tD9vc1vwgIaT3pTMDjdyqii84p-uM_bLti3Ow5L6NBU6sG5fERT_S5DJLh_MQgR4jJLU_cS-TRHo/s1600/PalomarTop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8YmDzCsNwqGQWhgDWSUno389_-6rFhYGBFy4SxZjGOhC9r7wZjl0XzngNiXmqg_8tD9vc1vwgIaT3pTMDjdyqii84p-uM_bLti3Ow5L6NBU6sG5fERT_S5DJLh_MQgR4jJLU_cS-TRHo/s400/PalomarTop.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
From there, my day further descended downhill, in terms of
health & responsibility, with the “vices” piling up on my end while Liz
continued to do everything right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz
went running; I drank a beergarita in the shade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz was ready to head home; I coaxed her into
a casino, throwing down money at the craps table that I don’t really have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner, she spent the evening laying in
bed with her computer, working and recovering and preparing for the next day
like a good, responsible athlete and person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By contrast, I took at nap at 7 PM (who does that??) then went out and walked
all over La Jolla, checking out the ocean and the barking seals and then
treating myself to a massive frozen yogurt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I may not have recovered as well as I could have from the ride, but that frozen yogurt and those sunset views? Worth it. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPOiAxFdHMWm6qmST7pZZs5QjNC0LF2M4-qS6NBcg_C-REEbnTL2q3Uo1HY9UdUWRO_cGbHzXukxBanJ7Ikx50IM0vcoIn-EKbl8aspDeElFN9I-nhCsaXNvwpRsUdtb1vmurHYRxYFM/s1600/beergarita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPOiAxFdHMWm6qmST7pZZs5QjNC0LF2M4-qS6NBcg_C-REEbnTL2q3Uo1HY9UdUWRO_cGbHzXukxBanJ7Ikx50IM0vcoIn-EKbl8aspDeElFN9I-nhCsaXNvwpRsUdtb1vmurHYRxYFM/s400/beergarita.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I "recover" from hard rides</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Saturday </b> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
By Saturday, Liz had figured out two of my weaknesses -- 1.
breakfast food 2. ability to shift between my big and small chain rings without
dropping my chain -- and absolutely exploited them, first suggesting a “proper”
(read:huge) breakfast before leading me on a ride heading towards and through
the Elfin Forest with numerous short, steep climbs that required the skilled shifting that I lack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
the first hour+, when I’d already overextended myself a bit on the early climbs and cursed that big
breakfast about 27 times, we hit Elfin Forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Liz <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">owns</i> Elfin Forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sprinted onwards, taking me a little by
surprise, and started really attacking the hills, getting out of her saddle,
hammering each one and then taking the next one even harder, while I followed suit and just tried
to hang on, to keep her in reach, to make up time on the downhills where my size is
of benefit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, I wondered if Liz was trying to kill me; death by hill sprints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She might have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still not sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But it was an amazing workout, and I was pretty proud of myself for ignoring the rapidly accumulating lactic acid and powering through. Day 3 of California riding, down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZECZGjruEBtPf0AyCMXSQTDQX7eYuZJtYnXrESZ5hd3h-fAXkHkUBJcW48JiR3-BG7rsao9IRUv1frBjODe8p-vQGyQFhPW0vfL-m64yr77CdyuiBYTcODrH4nY69FojUFTmMHMm30-o/s1600/Sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZECZGjruEBtPf0AyCMXSQTDQX7eYuZJtYnXrESZ5hd3h-fAXkHkUBJcW48JiR3-BG7rsao9IRUv1frBjODe8p-vQGyQFhPW0vfL-m64yr77CdyuiBYTcODrH4nY69FojUFTmMHMm30-o/s400/Sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">La Jolla</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wziml6KjtrtVOGHT2ztgDo8NqSWPYhb7D0xKL8AWhld8IXe3uaBf9Bnu9HSA53L2a2XzUEndOZgeh53tB3ORn3wyFN0mqWDIjIhvqQuVmDw_f8EIsLHSa_T4-ArGOH5yDXhQaMmYRFM/s1600/beer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wziml6KjtrtVOGHT2ztgDo8NqSWPYhb7D0xKL8AWhld8IXe3uaBf9Bnu9HSA53L2a2XzUEndOZgeh53tB3ORn3wyFN0mqWDIjIhvqQuVmDw_f8EIsLHSa_T4-ArGOH5yDXhQaMmYRFM/s400/beer.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">And then there was this.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Sunday</b> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I squeezed in one more ride on Sunday, doing some repeats of
the famous Torrey Pines hill until I got to a point, about 90 minutes in, when
I was completely spent, just totally over the edge in terms of fatigue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled to get home, downing gels like
candy, willing my legs to keep turning over, and when I staggered back into the
hotel room, I knew my work was done. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Good Stuff</b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between all the riding was the really good stuff:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>4000+ yard swims in two different pools,
which for those of you playing along at home, brings my 2012-2013 World Travel
pool total to 39.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazing craft beers,
chosen from a menu that was completely overwhelming due to its sheer size, and
enjoyed while sitting outside around a fire pit at Stone Brewery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brunches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Coffee, lots of coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barking
seals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beach walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Carb-filled, but mostly healthy dinners. Outdoor seating. The aforementioned casino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good
conversations, lots of laughs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sunshine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically all of my
favorite things (well, except running, but we’re getting there) squeezed into
four days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fantastic.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaQjAvQNg9I9A5LYi0d_v57Mbx9J60qylwDPAKD-8zoXAZmlackp85iifT8OfJjMXtGcdRVPoB2Rull-rSNCvsaGFmjzUU8q4VFHnu5xWCuLxkUh5zM__IskfaHmQ_81DxjuQODLviDU/s1600/UCSD.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaQjAvQNg9I9A5LYi0d_v57Mbx9J60qylwDPAKD-8zoXAZmlackp85iifT8OfJjMXtGcdRVPoB2Rull-rSNCvsaGFmjzUU8q4VFHnu5xWCuLxkUh5zM__IskfaHmQ_81DxjuQODLviDU/s400/UCSD.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Masters at the UCSD pool</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do really love these little occasions to just get on my
bike, take risks, race up hills, go hard when I want to go hard,
then set the bike away and do it again the next day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve now had three of these little “bike”
vacations – (1) <a href="http://swimbikeruntheworld.blogspot.com/2012/07/ragbrai.html" target="_blank">RAGBRAI</a>, last July in Iowa, when I rode my bike with reckless
abandon from small Iowa town to small Iowa town, breaking up the rides with
beer and pork chops on sticks (hardly performance food) but still really
putting it all out there on the bike;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(2) my bike week with <a href="http://swimbikeruntheworld.blogspot.com/2012/11/adios-vamos.html" target="_blank">Vamos Cycling in</a> southern Spain last fall, when I
chased British roadie boys up and down mountains, breaking up the rides again
with junk food, this time in the form of sausages and fried fish; and (3) this
weekend’s San Diego trip, where the rides were most certainly NOT punctuated
with consumption of junk food, unless you count Power Bar Gels and salt tabs as
junk food, which I do not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We won’t
talk about that one orange soda I bought on the top of Palomar Mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That doesn’t count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every one of those little bike trips has been a good
opportunity for me to really test my limits as a cyclist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time, I’ve used my road bike (a cheap-o
that I bought on Craigslist), which has none of the bells and whistles of my
tri bike, meaning no access to power data, or really, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> data other than miles per hour, (a metric that means
approximately nothing to me when doing the sort of climbing we were
doing.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, I’ve thrown away
any sort of notions of pacing, and just gotten out there and worked hard,
hammered when I wanted to, risked blowing up early in rides, just had fun with
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And each time I’ve seen a pretty
nice bump to my bike fitness, which I’ve already
observed in the days that I’ve been back in Illinois.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Heading out to San Diego was just what the doctor ordered, and I arrived back in Illinois to warmer temperatures (didn't last long), feeling stronger and more motivated. Now, I just have to start figuring out the next adventure!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuMXl-UHv7_JVkjSjdO5a02hPx4Jath2VOq-uYN9DhBEkJ_opijcNcTCINLGSn7LUuVEkoso1W12stEPSCuc7EDzvACi8GrBLoRppiHJojE3bE3VqHkghYAcjczuegqARBCchrVvYMd1o/s1600/LaJolla1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRZ3cEFbuNWweW-wq_o4nQYWM9pLIgY3fvgnhageV0sc9k5w82SSdYrlpN6gyZOdu2uoK-K95lZNlFi6AFDUCpKCHPozUwsLTzV_U7-2g-nP1tHbKKzQoVjxX9W0HvfsWMYfJCWlF7iI/s1600/Seals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRZ3cEFbuNWweW-wq_o4nQYWM9pLIgY3fvgnhageV0sc9k5w82SSdYrlpN6gyZOdu2uoK-K95lZNlFi6AFDUCpKCHPozUwsLTzV_U7-2g-nP1tHbKKzQoVjxX9W0HvfsWMYfJCWlF7iI/s400/Seals.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Amanda http://www.blogger.com/profile/18406893791223311653noreply@blogger.com1