Huh, how about that?

I have moments (as I'm sure we all do) when an infinite number of tasks must be completed in a finite amount of time and the unexpected fails to confound or fluster---and the only reaction to it is, "Huh, how about that?" I remember busy weekend nights on call on the trauma service; and teenager shows up with a pencil driven through his buttocks into his rectum. What other reaction is there but "Hmm, how about that?"

So today I squeezed my outdoor bike test into some downtime at work. I was determined to NOT be thwarted by paperwork or dictations or phone calls. I quickly finished my work and dressed for the ride. Before heading out for the ride, I spoke to Kevin who reported that it was snowing in Rochester. At my rural hospital 30 miles east of the city, skies were overcast and precipitation free.

About 15 minutes into my ride that snow caught up with me. I've ridden numerous times in the snow on my mountain bike, but never my tri bike. I turned the corner to do the test part and was greeted with a stout headwind. Yeah, whatever--gotta git'r done!

I ride balls out into the driving snow. The wind is howling so loudly that I can't hear cars coming from behind. My mouth hangs open gasping for air. My nose is a faucet from which half of my fluid losses pour out in the form of snot. I'm drooling too. Momentarily I wonder if I was a Newfoundland in my former life. I'm not looking at the powermeter at all---my senses are saturated with wind, snow, cold, snot, drool, and the road. I regard all of it with: "Huh, check that out...how about that?" and am truly immersed in the moment.

It was the most fun ride I've had this season. I wasn't at all pretty or graceful; and neither was the weather. However, I felt calm, happy, and very out of breath. Is this that elusive "riding from the heart" thingy Mary's been talking about? Dunno.

I do know that I thoroughly enjoyed it and look forward to riding like a Newfoundland on a bike again.

My best training decision this season

During my first year of residency, my fellow interns and I would say that having 10-12 patients one could actually have time to think about their disease processes and make academic, doctorly decisions about their care. Within 12-15 patients, we'd just be managing; 15-20 patients was damage control; and >20 patients we'd just be putting out fires.
For this last week of training, I was short on fire extinguishers. Being on call brought more than the usual middle of the night calls and emergency operations. I was also going away for the weekend to visit my family. A combination of poor planning, unexpected hours at work, my tremendous resentment of those hours spent at work and not at home with Kevin or training, and my too slowly recovering Cankle made for a training week of low volume and high disappointment. After feeling terrible about not making even HALF of my workouts for the week, I got on a plane to JFK and left it all behind.
I don't see my parents, my brother, sister-in-law, and nephews nearly enough. We were all gathering at my brother's home for my nephews' birthday party. Then my parents were leaving for Thailand for 6 weeks. A birthday party for 2 toddlers with a life sized Elmo (yep, my sister-in-law hired an woman who dressed as Elmo for the party) can be singularly repellant to those without children. Nonetheless, I had a wonderful time hanging out with my family and even did the hokey-pokey. I had planned on running while in Queens, but urban running is alot like playing Frogger with cars and other pedestrians. I managed to run 30 minutes while the babies were napping, but it was obvious that my planned 2 hour run should be at Central Park. Instead of taking a 50 min subway ride to Central Park to run on Sunday, I decided to spend time with my family. It was the best decision I've made about training this season.
One of the greatest joys I've had and continue to have since "growing up" is getting to know my parents, brother, and childhood friends as adults. I love them because they're family and long time friends, but if they weren't, I'd still want them in my life. For that I consider myself infinitely fortunate and blessed.
So I'm back home and back to my routine of work, train, sleep, repeat. I feel more connected to those I love and more grounded to the what is most important to me. Not much has changed here at the homestead; and I didn't find more fire extinguishers by going away. Instead, I think I've become more flame-resistant--not to put out fires, but to walk through them.

My Cankle and First DNF

The Muddy Sneaker: a 20K trail race through rock-filled, root-choked, mud-luscious Naples, NY---it's one of the most fun races in the spring. My goals for the race, in order of importance:

1. Finish without twisting my ankle or plummeting to my rocky death.

2. Commune with nature.

3. Improve on last year's time.

Well, I manage to achieve goal #2. Within the first mile I had rolled my ankle twice. I slowed down after the 2nd twist and figured I'd take it slow, scrap goal #3, and finish this run. By mile 2, I rolled the same ankle a third time. The pain stopped me in my tracks. The decision was obvious: walk back to the start line and ice the damn ankle. Eagleman is only 10 weeks away, a much bigger fish to fry.

My ankle swelled to about twice normal size despite hourly icing, compression, NSAID's, and elevation. Kevin called it my Cankle.

As I am no stranger to running injuries--in fact, I'm quite sure I was the poster child for overtraining in the 1990's--I looked at my Cankle as an opportunity for working on "limiters" (aka the things I suck at but don't want to put in the work to improve).

So I took my Cankle on a long bike ride and practiced climbing hills seated. The Cankle protested with any out of saddle pedalling.

Then I took the Cankle for a swim. Flutter kicking with one foot in dorsiflexion really tested my ability to balance in the water. I made wide, crooked arcs pushing off the wall with one foot. So to give gimpy ankle a rest, I worked on my catch and pull. Ugh! I'm a noodle-armed roadie who likes to hammer up hills standing on my pedals.

Finally, today the Cankle turned into a purple, normal-sized ankle. I took it for a run. I was so relieved of the lack of pain that I forgot about my DNF, my last two races with bad results, the runner I used to be but no longer am. My Cankle reminded me how much I really love to run.

Thanks, Cankle--you freakin' pain in the ass result of lax joints!

Recovery vs. Ego

The race plan for Spring Forward last Sunday was to run the first 5 miles at marathon pace and the last 4.5 miles at tempo--even up the hills. Not a problem! The average pace would be the pace I would like to hold for Eagleman; and I was excited to try it out. I felt very confident about my ability to accomplish the task, but brought Shari along for insurance. She's a much stronger and faster runner than I am, but was willing to run any pace with me as Sunday was her day for a long run. I figured she can easily hold my tempo pace and regale me about her adventures in home waxing.


The spirit was willing, but the legs were leaden. "What the hell is up?" I thought and ran through my list of potential problems:


Calories? I had 500 Cal for breakfast, drank 200 Cal of OJ before the race, and ate 2 gels during.


Hydration? I drank a cup of water at every aid station.


Sodium? It's only a 9.3 mile run in 45 degree weather for crying out loud.


Lactic acid? Don't think so. I ran an easy 7 miles the day before and was 48 hours from an FTP ride.


IT-band acting up? Nope. It felt fine.


Kitima is a pansy-ass? Sheesh. I kept saying to myself "Push push push. Drive drive drive." I didn't feel defeated or negative or distracted (okay, maybe a few of the waxing stories made me blush).


So I crossed the finish line slower than last year's time and knew in my heart what I needed: a recovery week. I had been fighting off an indolent feeling of lethargy for 2 weeks. I'd wake up and feel like I could do an Ironman then by the time I came home from work could barely get myself out the door for a 45 min e pace run. The onset of the lethargy would get earlier in the day so that by 10 am I was ready for a nap. I blamed it all on work: it can drain all the fun from the air sometimes. It's easy for me to villify the things I dislike and harder to admit that sometimes the reason I struggle is because I need to slow down and take a breather.
So I did it. I asked Coach Mary for a recovery week minutes after I finished the race. What a feeling of relief--free of guilt and self-flagellation! Finally, my ego had been broken down by broken down legs.
With recovery weeks not being regularly scheduled every 4th week this season, a battle between my ego and my gentle voice of reason has been raging since the first day of training. I've surprised myself with how long I can go without a recovery week or day off, but I fear that I've ignored or minimized some obvious signs that I need rest. I rationalized,"Kevin went 8 weeks without a recovery--I should too...I'll just hang on with another week and see how I feel...I'm tired from work stress, doing my taxes, scooping cat litter---not training!"
I completely understand the importance of rest. I don't think that I'm super human and above it. Instead, I feel that asking for rest is a sign of weakness (common stigma scorned by surgeons). There's no stopping feelings. Repression just delays emotions that we don't allow ourselves to feel now. Well, weak or not, recovery week is pure luxury that feels rejuvenating and just what I need!