But I'm from Thailand, Dammit!

If history is doomed to be repeated, then Musselman is going hot and humid again. After my spiral into the depths of heat exhaustion at Eagleman, I am determined to not repeat that performance at Mussel. So I hatch a plan: run and ride during the hottest, muggiest, most oppressive time of the day to acclimatize. When it wasn't as hot, muggy, or nearly as oppressive I wore a long sleeve shirt just to increase my core body temp during my workout.

So summer finally rolls around to Upstate NY this weekend: highs in the 80's with lots of humidity is forecasted for this weekend. Hoot! I'm gonna be out there in the thick of it! So out there I went yesterday after sweating half of my fluid volume in Mary's yoga class (the room is heated to 85 degrees) that morning. I drank a 16 oz smoothie and a 24 oz bottle of Gatorade Endurance before my run. Within 23 minutes of the run, struggling to keep my E pace, I could hear the liquid sloshing around in my gut. I was working quite hard to maintain my easy pace. I could feel my heart rate was quite high; and I was sweating like Shaquille O'Neal. Is that all it takes to shut me down? 85 degrees and some humidity? But I'm from Thailand, dammit! Isn't there some genetic advantage from being born to an ethnicity that built an empire (in the 1500's albeit) in the equatorial jungles of Southeast Asia? Apparently not. Besides, I doubt that empire was forged from my ancestors' efforts to bike and run in the jungle heat.

Actually, my uncle and I are the only members of my family that engage in any kind of aerobic exercise. My uncle (who recently passed away from lung cancer) gave up years of smoking to take up and become quite successful at marathon running. Living in Thailand, he trained early in the morning or at dusk when the temps were relatively cooler: high 80's/low 90's and 85% humidity. He's run marathons in Thailand and The Great Wall of China marathon in conditions similar to Eagleman. So why can't I? Because I live in Upstate NY and spent most of my run training in frigid temps and howling winds? Phooey!

I've read that it takes 8-10 days to acclimatize to heat and humidity; and that a 25% reduction in pace is equivalent to running one's normal pace in cooler temps. So that means 12:15 min/miles for my heat E-pace...Ugh.

Today was day 2 of acclimatization...Not as heinous as yesterday, but not much prettier in execution. I slowed to a walk on the big uphill just to get my heart rate down and become less short of breath. It wasn't even that hot, but the humidity made it hard for me to cool down AND move forward effectively. The only enjoyable moment was seeing an enormous tom turkey fly out of a tree and land right about 10 feet in front of me. This is NOT fun training. Nonetheless, I'll be out there again this afternoon to ride and run again. I shall have no fear of the heat for Musselman. I'll think about my uncle during the run and remember how much he loved his new life as a runner, how the heat and humidity of Thailand can feel like the warm, safe place we call home, how running---whether in Upstate NY, Southeast Asia, or the Great Wall of China--can bring you to new and wonderful adventures.

Big Chain Ring Hero

As a rabid pro cycling fan, I've always wanted to do a bike race. In fact, my road bike is built to ride crits. Alas, neither the dear bicycle or its rider have ever participated due to fear of eating pavement. Now on the other side of 40, I'm feeling an urgency to confront my fears and spend a bit more time out of my comfort zone before I become a curmudgeon. So I signed up for my first bike race: a time trial. I figured it would be a nice way to ease into the world of bike racing. Afterall, isn't the bike part of triathlon a time trial of sorts?

The course was an straight out and back 35km with rolling hills---really no bike handling or cornerning skills required. It hopefully wouldn't last much longer than an hour and would double nicely as a bike test. Once again, Kevin is confident and has a definitive plan about his pacing and wattage output. I am fretting and scolding myself for being a chickenshit ninny: Should I carry a spare tubular? Should I bring a water bottle? a gel? You know, the road just south of Middlesex near the Bait Barn is riddled with potholes? Arrrg, Boon--just deal with it! What if I finish LAST? So what if you do? Who gives a flying rat's ass?

We arrive and find a parking lot full of very fit people on very aero bikes with trainers to warm up. Trainers?! Shouldn't they save their energy so they can finish? (I used to think that 22 years ago when I ran my first 5K and saw people running/warming up before the race) I found comfort by ducking way under anyone's radar by donning my aero helmet decorated with Finding Nemo stickers and eating swedish fish for my pre-race energy boost.

Kevin was the 6th cyclist to go. He looked like fire was going to trail in the wake of his wheels, like he was going to average a freaking 1200 watts, like Fabian Cancellara couldn't touch him in a prologue. Trois, deux, un...Allez! Off he went! His disc wheel roaring under him like a dragon.

There was 30 seconds between each rider. Before I knew it I was on deck. I felt like a velo princess having someone hold up my bike for me while I clipped in and all eyes on me for the countdown. I got so caught up in the excitement of the start that I was churning out 400+ watts for the first few minutes... then 3 gals in full team/sponsored kits or skinsuits on disc wheels went flying by me. They were very impressive in their speed, form (the immovable butt), and power to weight ratios. I made it my personal mission right then and there to lose some weight and work on getting my FTP over 200 watts.

I settled into a rhythm and figured out quickly that that was NOT the thing to do in a time trial. That "rhythm" was a steady aerobic pace that would set me up nicely for a run--no, no, NO! I had to constantly remind myself to push push push the watts. I notice that I really push going up hills. When I get to the top, I coast. It's that long course triathlon habit of backing off and coasting down the hill to get a drink/eat/pee. A cyclist once told me that the execution of a time trial was going as hard as possible, hitting the bottom, and scraping the bottom. I had planned on doing that but I never felt like I went balls out for the whole the ride. It takes alot of focus to push that hard for that long; and I had not been riding like that for years. Being anaerobic for that long simply felt too uncomfortable. So I definitely have room for improvement in that department.

Overall, I did manage to surprise myself by averaging 21.2 mph and increasing my FTP by 9 watts. I was also the fastest non-team woman of the day. So I guess I'm doing okay in my sandbox, but not quite ready to play with the big girls just yet.

About halfway through the race, I told myself to stop trying to spin pretty circles, save my energy for a run (run? what run?!), being afraid of blowing up.

In surgeon voice I told myself, "You will not stop pedalling until you cross the finish line. You will generate more watts than your current FTP until the very end." And so I did it. I rode like there was nothing left to do after the race. I gasped, panted, and drooled. I rode until my eyes would only focus on the asphalt just beyond my front tire. I even threw the bike like the sprinters do at the finish line. I became my very own Big Chain Ring Hero.

The Final Countdown

Musselman is less than a month away. What happened to all that time I thought I'd have after Eagleman to train for my "redemption race"?

Between recovery and taper, I guess it wasn't as much time as I'd thought there would be. Besides, what can I possibly do in 2 1/2 weeks to make huge leaps of progress in swim efficiency, bike endurance, or run speed? The best I can hope for is to keep my head on straight, not get silly and overtrain, and show up at the start line without an injury.

Around this time last year as I was training for my first Ironman, I would get my panties in a bunch over missing/cutting short a long ride or run. While being consistent is very important, one long ride or one hour cut off the long run a month from the race isn't going turn a sub-9 hour IM into a 17 hour death march. Looking back, the real foundation was laid in the winter: every day on the trainer, bundling up for E pace runs in the wind-whipped cold, meters upon monotonous meters in the pool...Not just this winter, but every winter for the last 3 years.

I'm not disputing the importance of those spring/early summer long rides and runs. They are the culmination of all the work done in the winter. We couldn't--SHOULDN'T--be doing 6-8 hour rides and 13-20 mile runs without all that training in the winter months leading up to it. Those long workouts in the sunshine are the joy and priviledge that results from all those hours spent indoors going so slow that I wasn't sure if I actually produced any endorphins during training. I remember last June wanting another month of weekends to ride 6 hours on Sat and run 3 hours on Sunday. No wonder! It was the best part of training!

So with a few days left of real training for taper, the excitment of the race is sprinkled with a bit sadness about the end of all the training. Of course, there's nothing stopping me from continuing to ride for 6 hours or run longer than 3 miles. But the bittersweetness is about the end of a process--a wondrous process that changed me physically and mentally, but in such a gradual way that the change became a part of me. There's not a whole lot more exciting than race day, but not much truly beats the rewards of training.

As for redemption, I've decided to throw that sentiment out the window. I've not sinned---well, missing a few workouts in April isn't going to be made up during a race in July by going out to hard and blowing up mid-run. No, I won't look to Musselman for salvation or forgiveness or punishment for what I did or didn't do in training. While it seems to be the raison d'etre of training, it is not the first, last, only race ever in the history of mankind or of Kitima. The sun will rise the next day; and the training will continue. That is blessing enough.

The Immovable Butt

Kevin and I signed up for an Xterra triathlon which will be in August. It will be the first off-road tri for both of us. As usual, Kevin is confident about our new adventure. "It's just a sprint." he says. I'm not worried about finishing it--just a bit concerned about how technical the bike course is going to be. While I'm proficient at staying rubber side down/shiny side up on technical mountain bike trails, I ride conservatively and slowly. I've never raced on a mountain bike and am unsure of my ability to stay upright and push myself to go fast. I can see myself being too stubborn to unclip during a climb because I want a good bike split then a log, a tangle of roots, rocks + me in Zone 5b = my mountain bike acting as logging equipment. My solution: I would do a cyclocross dismount and carry the bike up the climbs. Yeah, yeah...that's the ticket. Then Kevin reminded me of just how much that bike weighs. He said,"The next Strongman contest is going to have an event where Magnus VerMagnusen will have to lift your mountain bike over his head." *Big sigh*

So to help alleviate my concerns, we took an hour to ride our local mountain bike trails on Sunday. The goal was to ride continuously for at least an hour. The magnificent blue skies and sunshine almost made me forget that I hadn't been on my mountain bike (her name is Mandy) since November. Mandy is the only female bike I own--the rest of the fleet are boys. So I sensed that she's been pissed off at me for ignoring her all winter and spring to ride the road bike (Mr. Klein) and the tri bike (Dave--as in Zabriskie). I had a feeling she was planning an endo for me.

Once on the dirt, any bad feelings that Mandy had for me were gone. Her back wheel slid out on a couple of steep turns, but I mostly blame myself for riding on her rear brakes too much. First ride of the season skittishness.

One of the first things I noticed about my riding as a result of long hours on the tri bike was my utterly immovable butt. Riding a tri bike is all about planting your booty in the seat and riding in a straight line while moving only your legs. This riding style does NOT sit well on trails (bad pun, I know). Mountain biking is all about moving your weight around on the bike to negotiate around and over obstacles. I took the first few descending hairpin turns with my paralyzed ass firmly glued to my seat. I used my upper body to wrestle the bike through the turns--WWF meets mtb. Not pretty.

By the middle of the ride, Mandy and I stopped wrestling and started working together. The riding was sheer joy. The descents seemed less formidable, the logs not so high. My 27 watt increase in FTP since last year helped me clean alot of climbs that last year I would struggled to get half way up then have to unclip. I turned onto a trail that was a winding, long, steady climb that ended with the steepest section and a log to hop. I set my intention to stay clipped in no matter what--even if I bounced off that damned log and rolled down the hill attached to my 200 lb bike. The balancing act was keeping some weight on the rear wheel to keep it from spinning out while leaning forward and putting weight on the front wheel to keep it from lifting up off the dirt. All I could hear was my heart pounding behind my eardrums. At the top, I held onto a tree to stay upright, panting and drooling like an overheated dog. I couldn't have been more happy.

So the love affair has been rekindled between Mandy and my slightly more mobile behind. Looks like it's gonna be more than just a summer fling!

Lessons from The Bear

In 8th grade my English teacher assigned my class to read "The Bear" by William Faulkner. That's how my literary love affair with Faulkner started, only to end with "The Sound and the Fury". Anyhoo, what I remember from the book was a lesson the main character learned while hunting a bear: that it was okay it be scared, but one should never be afraid. The lesson was more just semantics, but distinguishing between apprehension from an anticipated fear or established phobia vs. that fight or flight feeling when in a dangerous situation. One is mental and can limit or even paralyze us. The latter is instinctual.

William Faulkner once said,"A writer must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid." I say: A triathlete must teach herself that the most limiting of all things is to be afraid.

So last year at IMLP, I waited 2 minutes after the cannon to start the swim because I was afraid of getting pummelled in the water. After getting pummelled in the water, losing 2 minutes, and missing out on drafting opportunities, I vowed that I would never do that again. Now I stand at the very front of all the swim starts. I'm no super swimmer, but at least I'm fearless of the swim start.
From now until Musselman, I'm going to find every opportunity to ride and run in the heat---the hotter, the better. Now that I know what heat exhaustion feels like, I don't want to start freaking out when my vision becomes blurred or I'm swerving on the road. I want to quickly figure it out and address the problem without drama.

Next week, I'll derive a triathlon lesson from a John Steinbeck novel...

Trial by Fire

I am happy to report that I won my trial by unaminous vote of the jury. The entire process was horrible--and that's putting it mildly.



The day after deliberations and the verdict Kevin and I drove to Cambridge, MD for Eagleman. I had done very little training in the last 6 weeks for obvious reasons. I had really underestimated how much this trial would impact me emotionally and mentally. I figured I'd be over-rested (vs. under-trained) going into the race. Even though Eagleman was my A race, I was gonna break 5:40, go to Half-Max and/or Clearwater, I was so numb and exhausted after the verdict that I really didn't have enough mental energy to be anxious or worried about it or my lack of training.



We rented a cottage in the middle of the most swampy, mosquito-infested, horse fly-ridden part of the Blackwater Wildlife Refuge. Swarms of blood-sucking insects plagued us anytime we were outdoors and moving slower than a jog. The cottage itself was comfortable and had air conditioning. Rolando, Marian, and Mike Foster arrived later that evening; Erika would join us the next day. It was wonderful to see them and catch up. Just as I predicted, we hurt ourselves laughing so hard the whole weekend.

Rolando, Mike, Kevin, and I rode for 10 min then ran another 10 min. We all felt great in the 90+ heat, but made mental notes to really keep on top of hydration and salt intake for the race. We jumped into the Choptank River for a lovely swim later that afternoon. Mike lamented that he was undertrained, but he still was the super swimmer we remembered. Later that night, he told us about how he raced the 100m IM at a college meet against Andy Potts. They finished within 0.01 sec of each other--something like 53.99 seconds. Marian and I looked at each other and thought,"Holy cow! I can swim 50m free just slightly faster than that!"



The race: I felt very calm the entire time. It seemed everyone in transition on race morning was very serious, completely anti-social, and some a bit on the douchey side. Oh well, I figured they were just jealous of my aero helmet resplendent in its fish stickers.

The swim felt absolutely fabulous. No waves, no current. I started right in the front--I'm not a strong swimmer at all, but I didn't want to miss a drafting opportunity. After IMLP, I would not have fear of swim starts again. I felt strong, sighted perfectly, and swam straight. When I got out of the water, I was disappointed to see that I was 3 min slower than last year. I didn't know at the time that the swim was slightly longer than last year and everyone's time was slower. Now I had it in my stubborn head that I had 3 min to make up on the bike.

The first hour of the bike I averaged over 20mph. I drank my 28 oz of nutrition and felt great--like I had alot of reserves to really put out more watts for the last 20 miles. Silly me! For the next 15 miles, I progressively felt bloated and nauseous. I couldn't stay in aero without wanting to puke. All I wanted to do was pour cold water on myself (which I did at every aid station). Around mile 30 I was getting ready to vomit when some guy rides up behind me and says,"Hey! You are really sexy! I'm gonna follow you around the whole race!" I swallowed my vomitus and managed to say,"Thanks." Vanity beats GI distress.
I muster some energy to pass the guy and don't see him again until mile 50. Now I'm really in bad shape. There isn't enough cold water in the world to pour over my head. I think,"You could be having a heat stroke. The symptoms include change in mental status and disorientation. No way! How can you be disoriented when you're thinking clinical thoughts?" The few shady spots that I ride by offer little relief. I really want to just stop and lie down--I wouldn't even have to unclip from the bike. Another of wave of nausea hits me and puke percolates from my bloated belly.
"Hey, sexy! Did you wait for me?"
It's that guy again. For crying out loud, does he have a Kitima Ralph-o-meter? The situation is so incredibly cheesy and sleazy that I should've puked, but I couldn't. Instead, I continued to pedal up to 130 watts (an easy spin for me), hold it for 2 minutes, then completely stop pedaling for lack of energy and coast for 2 min. At this point, I knew something was wrong but I refused to ride an ambulance 16 miles from the end of the bike course. Stubborness beats all forms of logic.
When I finally claw my way back to T2, a volunteer meets me at the end of the chute and says, "I'm going to take your bike."
I thought, "Awesome! This is like the bike valet at IMLP."
When another volunteer radioed for medical, I figured out that I must've looked as bad as I felt---sexy though! The volunteer asked me what my bid number was. I really had no idea despite having that number written in black ink all over my body. Then they asked me what my name was. Again, I really had no idea. I had spent all last week telling lawyers my name on the witness stand and I couldn't come up with it now. Sheesh. While I was searching my memory banks for my name, someone started taking off my chip and ordering me to the medical tent. I asked,"If I go to medical, can I run afterwards?" The answer was scowling from everyone gathered around me.
Off to medical tent I stumbled (I couldn't get there without someone holding me up) where I was packed in ice and had gallons of cold water pour on me. I stayed there for 40 minutes and drank what seemed like the entire volume of the Choptank River in cold bottled water before I could get up and walk out on my own. Part of me was disappointed not to finish the race, but another part of me was so happy not to be running in the oppressive heat. I learned later that it was 104 degrees that day.

So it's my first triathlon DNF. I feel like I should be more sad and disappointed but eh...who knew I'd get heat exhaustion? I think that I was so focused on making up time on the bike that I probably went out too hard, overheated, had gut shutdown, then eventually became dehydrated and had heat exhaustion. However, if I'd been instructed to take it really, really easy on the watts for the first hour of the ride I probably wouldn't have done it because I felt so strong. I guess some lessons you just have to learn yourself.

The upside of this is that I really feel like training again. That stupid law suit is finally over after 4 years (yes, it started 4 years ago). I feel like I can finally lay to rest all the sadness, anger, and anxiety that came with it. My next race is in 5 weeks; and I can't wait to do my long rides and runs in midday heat. Bring on the Tarzan hot for Musselman!