Train-This Ironman Athletes Journal

Moved!

2009-02-08T16:05:00.000-08:00

I've moved my blog to http://kitboochronicles.blogspot.com/

Victories

2009-01-13T08:30:00.000-08:00

When I start to reminisce about the runner I used to be 20 years ago, Kevin will serenade me with his rendition of Springsteen's Glory Days. So now that that tune is stuck in your head let's turn back the hands of time to September 1990. It's my first year of medical school. I've just crossed the finish line at the Legs Against Arms 5K (sponsored by Physicians for Social Responsibility) as the first overall female. I had run in high school and college mostly to fit into my jeans. I didn't race much in college because I hated getting passed by all those people who ran cross country in high school (my high school didn't have track or cross country---but we did have 4 solid years of religion!). Here was my first taste of being a medium fish in a small pond.

For the next 4 years, my friend Chris and I would spend every weekend we could racing every 5K/10K within a 50 mile radius of Pittsburgh. Our original intention was to collect as many race t-shirts as possible. In the smaller races, we'd take home a trophy or a ribbon along with our coveted race shirts. After the first year, we set some race goals: I wanted to break 20 min at 5K and 42 min at 10K. For Chris: 17 min 5K and 35 min 10K. I came within 12 and 20 seconds of those goals, respectively. I'm quite sure Chris got his PR's, but what was most memorable was the race experience: the post-race beer trucks and Bavarian pretzels, Wheezing Dude who I just couldn't shake for 5 miles, seeing Utta Pippig and wondering if her feet actually touched the ground.

After 1994, I took a 10 year hiatus from races. Chris moved to San Francisco. I was buried alive in residency then busy with my first few years at a real job.

In 2004, running consistently again, I joined my friend Laura in 2 winter race series: Polarcats and Freezeroo. Unlike the Pittsburgh races, we'd see the same faces just about every weekend. One particular puss stoodout. I'll call her Karen. She's a few years older and in 2004, was about 5 minutes faster on the 5K than Laura and me. She didn't hesistate to let us know that in an aggressive, high and mighty way. For the next 2 years, I'd see her, get repeatedly reintroduced to her, and have my ass kicked by her at these races. She NEVER remembered who I was until I passed her on the bike at the Barker Duathlon in 2006 and almost beat her by 1 second (she friggin' passed me 200 yards from the finish line). She walked up to me after the race and demanded, "Who's coaching you?" Nice. Not Hey, nice ride or Boy what a race or Hello, I'm Karen...

5 months later at a Freezeroo in Feb 07, I beat her by 3 minutes. I called Laura from the finish line; and we sang Ding Dong the Witch is Dead. Feeling guilty of our Schadenfreude, we justified that we wouldn't be doing a gleeful victory dance if she wasn't so mean, so snobby, so rude. Well yeah, it's no fun beating a NICE nemesis.

I've seen Karen since that race and have finish well ahead of her at every race since. She's not any more polite or pleasant to me, but she does remember who I am now. Regardless of how much guilt I should/do feel, I am happy that I beat her. There--I said it. It's my victory against those who think they're better than me just because they have a higher Vdot, those who won't give me the time of day unless I'm on the podium. That's alot for Karen to carry! No wonder she slowed down under the weight of all my hang-ups.

For 2009, I would like to stop chasing down the Karens. To see that those hang-ups are all in my head and those people are now meaningless to me is the real victory. I set my intention this season to race like I did with Chris: for the experiences, the fun, and, of course, those awesome race T-shirts!

Truth

2008-12-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

As I'm the only doctor not on vacation this week at the Wound Clinic, I get to cover all the patients all week long. This means meeting new people which is quite fun and amusing for me. Don't let that statement change my crusty, jaded, and misanthropic image. ;)

Today, a well-dressed 57 year old gentleman wearing just a bit too much cologne told me that he used to go hunting with Tom Selleck.

"Oh, he's really a very nice man." he says.

I respond, "Tom Selleck seems like a nice guy on TV."

The patient goes on to tell me that his first wife was a Playboy bunny and that he knew Hugh Hefner. As I debrided the goo from his diabetic foot ulcer, I thought it would stand to reason that if one was married to a Playboy bunny, one might come to know Mr. Hefner. I must have looked interested because the patient went on to regale me with tales of travel to Thailand (he was a Vietnam vet), a 30 day cruise to South America from which he had just returned, an upcoming trip he was taking to Africa.

When I ask him where he'd been in Thailand, he answers, "I don't remember the names."

Fair enough, the Vietnam War was a long time ago.

Still interested in his travel stories (I love travel stories!) and planning my trip to Ecuador this spring, I ask him where his cruise in South America was.

He hesitates, "7 countries."

Hmm. I say, "I've been to Tanzania. Where are you going in Africa on your cruise?"

He stammers, "14 countries."

He's not making eye contact with me at all with these answers. I'm beginning to feel bad about making him so uncomfortable; and mercifully, I've finished dressing his wound.

I don't think he was trying to fool me. What could he possibly gain by convincing the female doctor in a Wound Clinic that he was married to a busty woman, knew Magnum P.I., and went on cruises? Besides, I didn't see any point in disturbing his fantasy world.

Whatever inside him that needed to feel worldly and important enough to tell me those things (which might be true, but does it matter?), I will never nor do I want to understand. How we perceive and process the world around us is our reality. I thought about how I quantified my own reality, my alleged truth. The measurable things are easy and concrete: the balance in my bank account, my shoe size, Vdot, my 5th grade math scores. The immeasurable truths: I like birds; I'm generous but want to take credit for the generosity; I often feel like I'll never be good enough; I really want to fit in---how accurate, how true are those? Ralph Waldo Emerson said: Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies.

I walked away from that patient thinking 2 things:

1. I wonder what it would be like to go hunting with Tom Selleck.

2. I hope that I truth I've created and believe about myself is accurate. If not, then I'll see you when I get back from my exotic trip with Steve McQueen--we're going on a cruise to 30 countries!

40-Year-Old Triathletes Gone Wild!

2008-12-26T05:58:00.000-08:00

A Facebook acquaintance challenged me to a quiz named "What's your real age?" or something mildly enticing/slightly annoying like that. Though I rolled my eyes and started ranting about how physiologic age could possibly be estimated in a survey really meant to advertise Oprah's Acai diet or Miss Hollywood Starlet's wonderous face cream, I took the quiz anyway. Most of the questions were about lifestyle and health choices such as smoking, drinking alcohol/carbonated beverages/caffeine, eating fast food, and exercising regularly. As I don't smoke, drink or eat any of the above substances, and train for Ironman, my age was determined to be 30 years old.

How ironic that when I really was 30 years old, I was a surgical resident: chronically and utterly sleep deprived since 26 years old, drinking alcohol to drunkeness on my days off, eating bacon just about every morning, and inhaling donuts whenever available at the nurses stations. The only exercise I had was walking to and from work and jacking up my heart rate during some trauma case in the OR. At 40 years old, I haven't been healthier.

So Kevin and I took our healthy and youthful selves on a date 2 nights ago---a Christmas play followed by a dinner at our favorite steak place. I had been absolutely consistent with my training for the last month---every workout done, every interval nailed. I had also done my bike test early that morning and increased my FTP by 12 watts. There wasn't an ounce of guilt in ordering raw Oysters, a 21 oz. Cowboy ribeye, and apple crisp to follow.

Being a foodie, I HAD to have a glass of dry, crisp white wine with my oysters---a lovely French pinot blanc. And who DOESN'T have a glass of monster cabernet with an unctuous rare ribeye? Not Boon! By the time the apple crisp showed up, my lips were numb and the room was spinning. I was certifiably drunk from 2 glasses of wine consumed over 2 1/2 hours. Sheesh.

The next morning I awoke cotton-mouthed, nauseous, and green about the gills. My head remained on the brink of exploding all day. At work, I medicated with near lethal doses of ibuprofen (didn't touch the pounding in my head) and hydrated until I urinated copious amounts of dilute urine (also didn't touch the pounding in my head). Lucky for me, most of my patients that day either had dementia or were heavily sedated and didn't notice what a sorry sack of stool their doctor looked like.

Kevin, a bit wiser than me, drank only one glass of red wine with dinner. He didn't feel so great either the next morning, but shook off his hangover by the end of the day. I, on the other hand, continued to feel leaden and lethargic for 2 days. YES, a 2 day hangover from 2 stinkin' glasses of wine.

So much for my alleged youth---scientifically proven by a quiz on Facebook! My intention was NOT to get drunk, but to enjoy a complete gastronomic experience that included some wine---just 2 glasses filled 1/3 up like it should be in a nice restaurant. It's obvious that regardless of my healthy habits, Vdot, FTP, blood pressure, cholesterol level, resting heart rate---Boon cannot hold her liquor. Kevin and I shall have to shun our wild, bacchanalian lifestyles and have a glass of milk with our dinners the next time.

RKE

2008-12-10T09:22:00.000-08:00

Monitoring devices: I love 'em. 8 years ago I trained with a heart rate monitor. I felt that it kept me honest with my level of exertion so that I don't go out too hard when I'm feeling frisky or really dog it when the couch is calling my butt. 3 years ago I acquired a powermeter for my bike--a measurement of my rate of work in real time! Last year I added a Garmin Forerunner to my armament and know my pace each second thanks to 12 satellites that orbit the planet. I've got numbers galore with which I can make bar grafts, pie charts, and plot jagged lines.

Being fatalistic, I wonder "What would I do without my gizmos? What would become of me if they all failed...a triathlon apocalypse?!"

Being compulsive, I practice predicting my heart rate, cadence, pace, watts during training. I'm very accurate with cadence, just okay with HR and watts, and completely off when it comes of running pace. Many successful athletes race and train soley with perceived exertion. To make my device-meltdown-contingency plan more complicated, I thought I'd dabble with the Borg Rating of Perceived Exertion.

The Borg RPE is a scale from 6 to 20 (because 1 to 14 would make less sense?). 6 = semi-comatose like watching late night tv. 20 = very cell in the body has been turned inside out from exertion. I am familiar with both states of being. However, what's the difference between 12 and 14? When I'm well-rested, I'm unable to discern "sort of working hard" from "kinda pushing it a little". After a 6 hour training ride, drinking from the water bottle is a herculean effort.

So last night as I pedalled away on the trainer, singing along with my workout tunes on the walkman (that's right:WALKMAN. Kevin calls it my MP1 player), it hits me. At less than 100 watts, HR under 110, I can sing along with anyone--including Maria Callas' rather shrill Un Bel Di. Between 101 and 130 watts, HR zone 3, I can still croon with Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston. That's right. Whitney Houston...specifically One Moment in Time. At FTP/zone 4 , I'm having a hard time hitting those high notes with Journey's Steve Perry or Rush's Geddy Lee. Above LT, my singing sounds more like Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots with an asthma attack.

I'm calling it Boon's Rate of Karoake Exertion (RKE).

Easy effort = able to sing all the words and hitting all the notes in the stratosphere of the treble clef.
Medium effort = singing most of the lyrics, but struggling to be higha than Mariah.
Harder effort = gasping every other word or line and/or singing only the back-up parts.
Hardest effort = sounding like your favorite baritone in need of a Heimlich manuever.

It seems that sopranos and tenors may work harder than altos and basses. I'd like to see what a vocal powermeter would look like.

You don't have to limit your playlist to tunes from the '80's (Reagan rock, baby!). You could even add volume to tonal scale to fine tune your perception of exertion. For instance, hitting that final high note in triple forte can only be done when the heart rate is in zone 1 and during recovery watts. When you can only gasp: Justa small town girl...midnight train...aneee where... of Don't Stop Believin', then you're probably in zone 4.

So if you happen to be hanging out in the middle of the day on August 31 next year around Richter Pass, BC and hear a lovely rendition of Boston's More Than a Feeling, you'll know that Kitima's riding at steady wattage in zone 2.

My Cave of Pain

2008-12-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

I've decided this season to do my run tests on the same flat course--the Lehigh Valley Trail--so that when I have to repeat my tests the only variables will be wind, temperature, and my ability to bugger it up. Last year I did run tests on a track, the 5K ish loop around my house, a hilly 5 mile Turkey Trot (which I used the last downhill 3 miles for my results). Of course, the results from a downhill run on asphalt elevated my Vdot. I declared myself Prefontaine incarnate and likely ran at paces to fast for my fitness.

Wednesday night I suited up with my headlamp and headed to the Phillips Road trailhead of the LVT. A few lonely headlights from cars on Phillips Road lit my path. I could barely see 5 feet in front of me. The trail is flat with fine cinder--no ruts, rocks, logs to trip over. Only two road crosses could potentially slow me down. After a 15 minute warmup, off I went into the engulfing darkness.

It's said that denning is a natural instinct in dogs. Then sometime in my past lives I must've been a dog (I drool like one during bike tests). On that night I found my running den: a small sphere of light created my headlamp, filled with the sound of my labored breathing, surrounded by near complete darkness. It reminded me of swimming open water in Seattle. Lake Washington was cold and murky. I would only see my bubbles and hear my exhalation in my dark swimming womb which I found strangely comforting and safe.

In my dark den, running 5K balls out, I was free from distractions. I couldn't even read my Garmin without shining the headlamp beam right on it. I was alone in my cave of pain. Ultimately, we are alone with our pain--especially the self-inflicted pain. To embrace it and run with it alone felt empowering and peaceful. I had always thought that I needed a race to do a run test, that I needed other runners to motivate me along (like my tendency to not let some girl wearing make-up pass me). That night I found I didn't need a race, mile markers, other painted competitors, or a finish line to spur me on.

I emerged from my den pleasantly surprised with a Vdot higher than I had anticipated. I can't wait to go back---next time I'll bring a chew toy and pig ears.

Biffing

2008-11-16T12:52:00.000-08:00

Outside the wind is howling and churning up snow that resembles tapioca pearls. Indeed, Friday afternoon was the last vestige of a balmy and sun-soaked Indian summer. I am full of self-satisfaction when I say that I spent that glorious afternoon on my mountain bike lapping up every scrap of it. Sherry and I had made plans to play in the dirt on 2 wheels, but she had to cancel at the last minute for grown up obligations. My plans for play were wedged between 2 grown up engagements as well: a staff meeting (snore!) and an appointment to speak with my billing people. The staff meeting went 20 minutes later than planned (don't they all?)--I almost cancelled the ride for fear of arriving late for my next appointment.

Fear, shmear---I'm riding! I pull into Dryer Road Park and changed into my bike clothes in the car with 9 guys riding around the parking lot unbeknowst of my lack of modesty. I don my Camelback and helmet (all dressed up and ready to party!), clip in, and motor up A-train. 4 years ago when this park opened I remember this and all the trails being more narrow. I'd like to think that my riding skills have improved so much that the trails seem easier to ride, but it's more likely a combination of that and the trails widening and flattening out over time.

I start of with the flat, twisty trails: Ziggy and Treebeard. Without someone in front or behind me, I ride my own speed and carefully pick my way around the turns. It was good to not ride rushed and get comfortable with balancing at slow speeds. Don't get me wrong---I love to ride mtb with others. It pushes me out of my comfort zone. However, riding alone helped me be more confident in that comfort zone.

I rode over the rock gardens on Ziggy without dabbing--a first! Ziggy is the only trail at Dryer with rock gardens and that's a strong word. They're more like rock flower beds. Because the trail is flat with tight turns, the trick for skipping over the rocks is to carry enough moment through the turns and have some speed. The old mtb mantra: Speed is your friend; Brakes are the enemy. Yes, but speed is scary. Brakes feel secure.

Which brings me to biffing. On the Bikespeak forum (I'm growing weary of the Slowtwitch forum and its Iron-douches), a newby mtb rider asked how often people biff per ride. A few experienced sounding riders said about 3-4 every year, spectacular crashes that leave them unable to ride the next day. That's one every 3-4 months! I've only had 2 crashes that have hobbled me in the last 5 years. I must not be riding hard enough.

Then I think: rarely have I had a mtb ride where I am not bruised, scratched, had the wind knocked out of me, or all three--baby biffs. I don't think I crash less than I did when I first started riding. I just don't think about biffing as much as I used to. My first mountain bike was a 1991 Trek Antelope. I remember being so scared of crashing and falling that when I did it hurt ALOT. Now I just assumed I'm gonna biff and check for the flesh wounds in the shower after the ride.

I turn down Owl's Maze, marked with the letter O. O is for Old friend. This trail is the longest in the park, with descents, climbs and tight twists off-camber and around trees. I love this trail and know every leaf and root on it. On Friday, I am alone with all my memories of chickenshit unclipping and baby biffs on this trail. On that day, I finally LISTEN to myself and stay clipped in, weight back and ahhhh...glide over the spots where my left foot would've unclipped for security and caused a spill. The tree where I had caught the left edge of my handlebar and went down hard loomed up the trail. I've been triumphant since that crash in leaning away and clearing that tree. But this time I catch my left handlebar again. The wheel turns almost perpendicular to the top tube. I calmy and quickly turned it back and kept riding, shiny side up. I expected to biff, but corrected in time. A small victory against old fears.

I go on to clean a short, rooty climb with a small ledge that I've always had to unclip halfway up. I rode Owl's Maze again just to do clean that climb twice and convince myself that the first time wasn't a fluke. The ride concludes with a spin down S trail, a lovely, swooping trail through maples and oaks. I fly down an off-camber descent; and my back wheel slides under some wet leaves. I panic and grab my back brake, further locking up my back wheel. DUH. The bike skids out from under me and the top tube slams into my right leg. The daily biff. Brakes really are the enemy. I would've been better off speeding up and unweighting my back wheel. Oh well, next ride.

So it seems that old fears/past pain can be conquered by a combination of accepting them and revisiting them and making new, more positive experiences. Mission to be accomplish with a brave, open heart and shin guards.

Wah! Wah! Wah!

2008-11-14T08:19:00.000-08:00

As you may recall, after I signed up for Penticton, I declared to dedicate a generous portion of my time and energy to swimming. My retirement from general surgery has given me the luxury of free time for rest, a predictable schedule to have a consistent basic training week, and more energy to build up strength in my noodle arms to move myself through the water. My plans included Masters twice a week with another 2 swims for "longer sets". I even found the best lane mate and personal swim coach--Janelle!--to further motivate me to swim and fine tune my stroke. I was gonna leave a flaming wake of fire behind me in Lake Okanagan with my Mike Phelps-like swim speed.

Sounds good, huh?

I didn't make it to one Master's class this week. No, my arms didn't fall off. No, I didn't catch rabies and have hydrophobia (remember that from "Old Yeller"?) My basic week has me swimming (in the evenings--that's due to Master's scheduling) on the day of my long ride and on my busiest day at work. Pretty lame excuses. I just didn't want to go to the pool: the water's cold, it's late, I'm pooped, wahwahwah! So I'm gonna drag myself to the pool this afternoon and swim---all by myself. No Janelle. Sniff.

Obviously, the petulant 5 year old Kitima got her way this week without even having to hold her breath during the tantrums. What is so damned horrible about swimming? My immediate answer is that no one truly enjoys doing something they're not good at doing. Yes, but I'm not very good at mountain bike yet I can't wait to get out on the dirt, knowing that I have at least a 90% chance of crashing/falling during each ride. At least swimming doesn't leave me scratched up and bruised.

Then Janelle reminded me: IM drills. GAWD! Do I hate IM drills. I propel myself backwards during the breast stroke; swim in place, bobbing up and down, during butterfly; and feel like I'm drowning during the backstroke. So wonder I suck at the drills---which is all the more reason I should be doing them.

So let me revise my answer to the above question: I don't truly enjoy swimming because I'm not good at it. However, I will and should persist if I feel that I'm improving---which is not just a faster 1000m free time trial, a faster IM swim at Penticton. I want that immeasurable feeling of being able to catch and pull without struggle, to slice through the water like a blue fin tuna, to swim with a rhythm that feels natural. No one was born with any of those things (except Charlie the Tuna). If I learned anything from surgery, it's that it takes alot of patience and practice to make something look effortless.

Back in the water I go--IM drills and all. If I can make laparoscopic gastric bypass look graceful, I can certainly learn to swim 200m IM without making the life guards nervous. The next time that whiny 5 year old who doesn't want to swim throws a tantrum and holds her breath, I'll just have to throw her into the water.

Going Home

2008-11-11T11:31:00.000-08:00

I'm back from a 3 day visit with my parents. Just Mom, Dad, and me: my childhood joys of being an only child fulfilled! Mom makes my favorite Thai dishes; and I feel so sated and at home. I helped Dad find some nursery rhymes and Christmas song CD's so he can sing those songs with my nephew. I confirmed with Mom that her cat, Rambo, is indeed utterly blind. With every homecoming, I find out a bit more about myself and my family's history.

After raking leaves from their yard, I find the shed to be tidy and organized just as I would have it. Yeah, that's where the neatnik started. My inability to throw ANYTHING away is mirrored in a cupboard full of old jars (neatly stacked) that have been reused the for the last 30 years for storing spices.

I truly enjoy my parents company. I've always thought that if they weren't my parents I'd still want to get to know and befriend them. The three of us hung out and talk about politics, the stock market, birds, food, and vacation plans for 2009. One of the best things about me finally growing up is getting to know my parents as adults.

I asked Dad about his childhood. He explained how he wound up with 3 different birth certificates and still no exact date of birth. Dad was born in his parents' home in a part of Bangkok where Chinese immigrants lived. Neither he nor his parents made a record of what day, month, or year he was born. He went to Chinese school to learn to read and write Chinese (of course) before he went to public school which made him a bit older than the rest of the kids in his public school class. The teacher asked for a birth certificate. When none could be had, that teacher drew one up estimating Dad's age and arbitrarily setting his birth date at Jan 1. The next year in school another teacher asked for proof of Dad's age (Mom says that's because he was the only kid in 5th grade with a 5 o'clock shadow). That teacher thought his birth certificate was inaccurate and issued another one with her estimation of his age. Couple of years later the Thai government had a census and asked Dad's parents for proof of their kids' ages. My grandparents told the census officer that they were quite sure Dad was born the year of the horse, during some waxing moon and other Chinese date keeping (the Chinese calendar is lunar). The census officer (who was Thai and had limited understanding and patience for Chinese lunar dates) said the birth certificate issued by the teachers was completely wrong and issued another one according to the Thai calendar (which is NOT like the Gregorian calendar that we have). When it came time to determine the birthday, the officer said, "How about Jan 21?" Sure thing, no problem! So we really have no idea exactly when is Dad's birthday or how old he is.

Dad went on to tell me how his family came from China to Thailand. My great grandfather lived in China with his parents and 5 brothers (we have no idea how many sisters as it was tradition to give away infant daughters to the families of their future husbands). During many years of drought and famine (they were rice farmers), my great grandfather and his brothers couldn't afford a water buffalo or ox to plow the fields. So they took turns as the ox, put on the yoke, and tried to push the plow. This plan failed miserably for obvious reasons. They determined that if they stayed in China they would surely die of starvation. They could leave and go to Thailand, face the unknown, possibly fail, and still meet their maker, but at least they'd die trying.

As it turned out, my grandfather came to Thailand (as Dad put it: "with only his sleeping mat and pillow"), worked hard, and became very successful as a merchant. After 30 years, he made enough money to go back to China, buy a home, and retire comfortably.

He packed all his earnings (in the form of gold bars) into an ox-drawn cart and sent his son (my dad's uncle) to Laos to exchange it for Chinese currency--apparently, the exchange rate was better there compared to Thailand. When his son returned with his Chinese cash, Mao Zedong took over China, closed the country off, and started the Communist revolution. My great grandfather's Chinese cash was now worth nothing. (Which really makes our current economic situation not seem so bad)

He and his son were crushed. However, my great grandfather continued with his profitable business, weathered the Japanese occupation of Thailand during World War II, and went on to retire in Thailand with plenty of gold bars to spare. My dad's uncle eventually went on to own most of the Toyota dealerships in Bangkok.

So I guess the moral of the story is:

Famine and drought can starve you and Communism can take away your life's savings, they still can't take away your tenacity, drive, and ability to be successful.
Never trust in paper money.
Knowing the exact day, month, and year of someone's birthday isn't that important as long as you remember to celebrate that person's existence in your life.

The Boobies will have to wait

2008-10-30T07:32:00.000-07:00

"You would travel half-way around the world just to see animals?" Kevin has asked me this question many times. My answer is always,"Abso-freaking-lutely!" followed by a gush of stories of amazing bird sightings in Tanzania, the innumerable wildebeest and Thompson's gazelles that surrounded my safari jeep in the Serengeti, clams the size of couches in the Gulf of Siam. So it should be no surprise that the Galapagos Islands are at the top of my Must-Go destinations. I want to see the giant tortoises, Darwin's finches, marine iguanas, and---of course, BOOBIES...the blue-footed ones especially!

There are 3 species of boobies in the Galapagos: blue-footed, red-footed, and masked. Each have their own niche in breeding sites, habitats where they forage. But I digress.

A few of my adventure pals are in the throes of planning a trip to the Galapagos in April 2009. The trip involves sailing around the islands (no human inhabitants on the Galapagos!) on a small ship with snorkeling, kayaking (what better way to see marine iguanas?), and hiking with a naturalist (fellow biology nut). I want to go so badly my guts ache. I justified to myself that those 2 weeks would be a great "mid-season break" from Ironman training, that I could take the money I was saving up for a cyclocross bike and go to Ecuador. Well, it turns out that this trip is gonna cost about 4 cyclocross bikes and a Cervelo P4.

Before I started cursing my decision to retire from general surgery with its resulting tremendous cut in income, I asked myself: If I could only chose between Penticton and the Galapagos, which one would it be? A tough decision but the winner is Penticton. Of course, a chance to do THE Ironman I've always wanted to do.

Tough decision...to a great question! If the worse thing I have to face today is deciding how to spend a vacation, well then my life is pretty darned awesome. Sure, I could whine about not having it all: Penticton, a cyclocross bike, and the Galapagos. But then what will I have to look forward to? Next week I shall start my Penticton training in earnest. I've wanted to be part of that race for long time and many things need to happen before I can get there. The Boobies will just have to wait.

A Well-deserved Victory

2008-10-28T09:11:00.000-07:00

2 years ago, somewhere between mile 12-13 of my Ironman Lake Placid run, I blew up spectacularly into a million pieces. My nutrition was okay (probably too much). I had no GI issues, no orthopadic problems (every joint in my body aching doesn't count), no dehydration or hyponatremia. Physically I was in pain, but fine to keep running the rest of the way. However, my head and my heart were a mess. I saw Kevin around mile 11 and had to choke back tears. I still don't completely understand the emotions I was having at that moment, but it was a swirl of "Holy crap, this hurts. I want to stop. I want my mommy!" that spiraled into "Boon, you big pussy. Stop blubbering. You CHOSE to do this. No one forced you to sign, up, train, and come this far in this Ironman." How about that? I made myself feel bad about feeling bad. How incredibly crazy and unhealthy.
What I shall never forget was how my dear friend, Sherry, was there. She ran (more like walk/shuffled) with me from mile 11 to 15. She could see I was having my darkest moment and stayed with me. First, she tried to distract me with our usual chatter (except she was the only one talking) that we'd have on our long runs. When I was out of sight of Kevin, I started to sob.
"I don't want to run another fucking 13 miles!" I cried.
Her arms were around my shoulders, holding me up as the tears and sobs shook me.
I finally wiped my face and hiccupped, "There's no crying in Ironman!" and started running again.
Sherry would have run the rest of the way with me, but she was recovering from an injury resulting from training for her first marathon.
Last Sunday, I took an opportunity to pay back a small part of her kindness and friendship. Sherry had taken 2 years to recover from that injury and was running her 2nd marathon at Niagra Falls. Her sister (and my swim pal), Janelle and I happily played support crew for her on race day.
The race started in Buffalo, NY at the Knox Art Museum. We got our race girl to the start line with plenty of time for the pre-race emptying of nervous bowel and bladder. The morning sun and blue skies warmed the chilly start. After she was on her way, Janelle and I raced across the Peace Bridge and were pleasantly surprised by a quick border crossing. We saw Sherry at mile 6 as she came off the Peace Bridge and headed into the one mile of headwind on this blessed course. At mile 8, Janelle took her wind breaker then we were off again, speeding down the QEW to see her at mile 12, 17, and 20. What an ideal marathon course this is! About 1000 marathon runners: enough people to keep you company, but not too many to get in your way. The first 4 miles of the course wound through Buffalo. A run across the Niagra River, over the Peace Bridge (how cool is that?!), and into Cananda for a run along the Niagra River with the finish line at Niagra Falls. The course is flat (except the bridge); and on Sherry's race day the winds were strong and at her back for all but one mile. For support crew, the course was so easy to access via the QEW and country roads leading the water's edge.
Sherry was nervous about this race and rightfully so: She had been so patient and consistent with her recovery and training. She didn't keep her race goals a secret: She wanted to qualify for the Boston Marathon. That would mean running faster than 3:45:59. She told us on the ride up to the start line that she was going to run her race, regardless of what the time would be. Janelle knew her better and said that there were many levels of goals that we set for ourselves for these races: the "If everything goes perfect" goal, the "I'd be pretty happy with this time" goal, the "If it all goes to crap, I'm okay with it" goal. I told Sherry that getting to the finish line without and injury was half the victory. We all agreed, but all of us wanted so very much for Sherry to qualify for Boston.
At mile 20, the last time Janelle and I would see our race sister before the finish line, Sherry looked strong and was running smoothly. We were convinced she'd finish in 3:30.
At the finish line, we became anxious as 3:30, then 3:40 passed without seeing Sherry. Janelle said that she wanted her sister to have this victory: Not just because she had worked so hard and recovered with patience. Indeed, Sherry deserved to be rewarded with a great race. But, Janelle said she wanted the victory for herself: to know that it could be done, that one could recover physically and mentally from an injury and a bad race to triumph again.
The race clock now read 3:42:58. Janelle is jumping out of her skin.
"There's Sherry!" She screams, "Should I go to her and tell her to hurry up?"
"Yes!" I say, "Tell her to HAUL ASS, HAUL ASS!!"
I'd never seen a pregnant woman move so fast (Janelle is 30 weeks pregnant). She's yelling to Sherry and both of them come charging toward me. We run after her to the finish line: 3:44:37.
The finish line announcer says, "Slow down Sherry Hecker from Brighton, NY. Your support team is chasing you!"
Sherry tells us that the last 7 miles was so incredibly hard. She had slowed to a 10 min/mile pace for a couple of miles from pain in her hips. As she saw her hopes of a 3:30 slip away, she told herself that she didn't come all this way to not qualify for Boston.
I am so happy and grateful for her victory. It is a victory of patience and consistent hard work. It is my favorite kind of hope: that of possibilities.

Coach Mom

2008-10-24T07:08:00.000-07:00

My mom is perhaps the most pragmatic person I've ever known. Her advise and opinions (mostly unsolicited) are devoid of any sentiment or regard for potential hurt feelings. The few times she has expressed sympathy have surprised me and the rest of the my family. It's usually while watching an Animal Planet program about the plight of sharks having their fins cut off and left to drown for shark fin soup or geese being beaten for their underfeathers to stuff into parkas and blankets. We find Mom tranfixed in front of the TV, in tears, vowing to NEVER make shark fin soup or buy down comforters again. Other than those few rare moments, she's all business.
Mom is like a rhinoceros beetle: black-horned and prickly on the outside with a soft, squishy underbelly.
She's only recently taken any interest in my triathlon endeavors probably because her hope that I would give up this un-doctorlike and expensive hobby had faded. She asked if Kevin and I train together (adding,"If you played golf, you could play together!"). I told her no--that he rides much faster than I do.
"So he doesn't ride with you, then wait for you to catch up?"
"No, mom, he doesn't." I'm anticipating some sympathetic comment about how he should be nicer to me.
She thinks about this and concludes: "This is good for him. If I were him, I wouldn't ride with you either. It would be complete waste of time." She goes on to tell me that we should train within our own abilities and that I should work harder so I can rider faster and keep up with him. Gee thanks, Coach Mom.
I tell her (big mistake) that when we met 2 years ago I could keep up with him in the pool and even dropped him once on a bike ride.
"Oh, REALLY?" Now she's going in for the kill.
"So why is he so faster than you NOW?"
Here comes the litany of unanswerable questions: Why don't you train as hard as Kevin? Why don't you try harder to swim, bike, run faster? He did it--what's wrong that you cannot?
I feebly explain that perhaps he's on the steep part of his athletic progression and that perhaps I have plateaued. She'll have none of it.
"That's all you have? Pfffft!"
I am 10 years old again, standing in front of her with my math test. I've scored 98%. She tells me, "That's good, but you should score 100% next time."
"So did you and Kevin sign up for IMLP?"
Actually, she doesn't call it IMLP or Ironman--it's simply referred to as "that race that you finish in the dark."
I tell her no, that we did not. She looks at me for a few moments.
"I understand. If your hobby causes you too much stress, then it just becomes work."
Ahhh...an enlightened triathlon insight. Thanks, Coach Mom.

Good Posture

2008-10-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

I have the classic Boonvisudhi slouch: head and neck leans forward right where the neck sits on the torso. My dad, brother, aunts, and uncles all have it. So does this turkey vulture, but in a much exaggerated form.

I've been trying since high school to be more conscientious of it and stand up straight--it makes for better prom and senior pictures. I do pretty well--especially in front of cameras--but will slump back into my slouch when I'm tired.

At Masters last week, I subjected myself to a balls out set of 100's with barely 3 seconds of rest in between. At the end of the set, my friend Janelle looks at me sternly but sympathetically and says, "You need to keep your chin up. Your head position is really low in the water." Hmmm...I tell that it's a habit from a lesson taught long ago about "pushing the T". She then tells me that I should push the T from the top of my breastbone and NOT from my chin. Great point. Thanks, Janelle!

A few more 100's at zone 5 and I notice that my head position isn't about pushing T's but the return of my vulture slouch when I'm feeling fatigued. I straighten up, relax, and almost instantly swim faster with less effort.

I've been aware of this hanging my head posture while in aero on the tri bike. It sucks the energy out of my shoulders. I've made the straw on the aerodrink so high that if I slouch I get a straw stabbing in the face. This strategy has improved how I look in race photos (cuz that matters, doesn't it?), but I believe that it saves a few pennies of mental and physical energy for the run.

This weekend on a hilly trail run with Nathalie I noticed my hunching started when we'd reach the climbs. A small lift of the head---Voila! I was running more comfortably and efficiently.

Because my triathlon engine isn't a Ferrari and its horsepower is more accurately measured in how much energy a pony would generate nibbling on carrots, I'm all for being as efficient as possible. So my humble triathlon advise for today is to stand up straight.

True Love

2008-10-20T13:20:00.000-07:00

The day after Longhorn 70.3 we went for one last dip in Barton Springs before leaving Texas. The cool water helped soothe our aching muscles; and the easy swim helped flush out the lactic acid. I was blessed with yet another cool bird sighting.

A snowy egret was wading along the bank stirring up fish with its bright yellow feet. I quietly swam closer to get a better look and it quickly let me now the limits of its personal space by giving me the hairy eyeball. When it felt secure that I wouldn't get any closer, it went back to its frantic foot-stirring forage. What a joy to watch this amazing creature! Kevin joined me. For someone who isn't a Bird Nerd like me, he was entranced with my Animal Planet moment. I told him about a book called "The Big Year". It told the true story of 3 birders who were competing for the most North American species of birds seen in one year---1998, in fact, the year that El Nino blew a bunch of birds off of their migratory paths to unusual places. In the book, all 3 birders made trips to Attu Island, the westernmost part of America--the last island of the Aleutian Islands, to see seabirds blown in from Mongolia. The winner of the competition logged in over 300 species in that one year. He spent most of the year traveling all over North America just to see some rare bird. When he saw it, he quickly checked it off his list and moved on to the next species to be seen. I said to Kevin that he didn't take time to watch these birds in their habitat being birds, that the birding was just a means of winning some competition, that he really didn't love them the way that I loved watching my friend the snowy egret that afternoon.

It got me to thinking about triathlon. I knew alot of people that seemed dedicated to triathlon (or golf or surgery or financial planning), were very successful at it, but didn't convince me that they really loved it. It's obvious that we all want to keep doing what we think we're good or even one of the best at doing. Who doesn't want a place on a podium, a gold medal, or a first place ribbon? My question is: Do we do these things because we like winning or because we like the actual activity? Is winning enough?

So I asked myself: Why do I persist with swimming when I'm barely clinging to average in my abilities to move myself through water? Because I've continued to improve every year since I've been in triathlon--so I guess that's like winning a personal victory. I enjoy being in water. What kid doesn't? In the very least, it gets me closer to fish and birds that I really love!

Why ride bikes? Why NOT? What's not to love about a bike ride? My Big Wheel (circa 1972) could conquer any puddle in Brooklyn the same way my mountain bike can leap over any rock or root in Ontario county.

Why run? Why NOT? What's not to love about being outside and running around with friends? It's a happiness deeply rooted in playing tag, Red Rover with childhood pals.

So maybe the real question is: Why train to swim, bike, run faster? It's obvious I love riding and running for the sake of each activity. So why don't I just ride and run? Why to do I RACE?There are very few opportunities for disappointment in just riding a bike or going out for a run without any measurement of pace/speed, distance, or time. There are plenty of opportunities for disappointment, disillusionment, and frustration in a triathlon: bad weather, bad nutrition, bad race execution, better/faster/thinner competitors. Certainly winning despite all those factors makes for a greater sense of accomplishment than just going out for an untimed splash in the water, a bike ride, and a jog without competition. I've also heard that we should race within overselves, that triathlon is an individual sport, that crossing the finish line is victory enough...But is it, really?!

Looking back on my performance in Austin, I felt that I executed my race plan perfectly and did the best I could with the training I had (what little of it) and the conditions of the race (hot). While I feel like I finally learned from all the mistakes I'd made with following a race plan, I am still disappointed with my results. As I mentioned in my race report, that is a result of poor management of expectations. The part of me that loves to travel and see new places on 2 wheels and 2 very hot and tired feet loved that race. The part of me that likes to win did not.

So do I have true love for triathlon? Yes, I do. I love the opportunity to indulge in this time-consuming and expensive hobby that taps into my childhood sense of playing outside with my pals. Even when I am disappointed with myself in a race, I still am grateful to be part of it. Of course, I love it even more when I win.

Climb Every Mountain

2008-10-16T06:26:00.000-07:00

Two weeks into my off-season I'm happy to report that:

The dog has replaced the Garmin as my running companion.

I've rekindled the flames with my first velo love--my road bike (sans computer and powermeter).

I found an old friend and made some new friends in the pool--they ALL swim faster than me.

Neglected household projects are getting done.

I'm catching up on sleep. Coach Mary believes that fitness is bankable. I believe that sleep is bankable. Though I think I would have to be in a coma for a couple years to catch up on all the sleep I missed during residency!

My off-season and retirement from general surgery came within the same week (which almost makes up for my malpractice trial ending 3 days before my A race this year). I came home from Austin and found myself with more free time than I'd had since I was a kid on summer vacation. I truly feel like the most wealthy person in the world because I have the things that I value the most: my health, my family, a happy home, and free time.

It's amazing how a little sleep, alot less stress, and the luxury of not rushing from one task to the next has changed my mindset. In planning the 2009 season, I've scheduled a hilly, tough HIM in May as a tune-up for Penticton. I've scouted out some hilly, long ride routes for Nathalie and me that will take us into the lowest elevations in the Finger Lakes so we can have long climbs up and out of them. Hilly trails and road routes are on the menu for the run training. I'm seriously considering ending the season with American Zofingen. Looks like the theme for next season is elevation gain! Now if you rewind to 4 weeks ago and presented this plan to me, I would have given you the hairy eyeball and said, "No f@*&!king way! I'm taking up quilting."

Seems like a couple of afternoon naps these last few days has got me thinking that I'm some invincible mountain goat! It's not that I think I'm gonna "go sub-9 at Kona"--unless that means running at least one mile of the marathon under 9 minutes. In fact, none of my goals so far have anything to do with results. Of course, I would like to increase my FTP, Vdot, 1000m swim time but for now I'm enjoying thinking of possibilities...The possibility of finding new races/venues right in my back yard (and finally getting to the dream race on the other side of the continent!), the possibility that I can climb on my bike/on my feet they way I did 15 years ago, the possibility that somewhere in me is an invincible mountain goat.

Surprises

2008-10-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I've been there/done that, seen it all, yeah-whatever-ho-hum-yawn...something surprises me.

I've gone swimming in alot places: amazing blue waters of the Gulf of Siam, the Adaman Sea, and the Indian Ocean, the murky Monongahela River, countless waterways on my triathlon travels, and the dark, cold Puget Sound (which surprised me with bright purple starfishes). So as we pulled to the parking lot of Barton Springs in Austin, I was mildly curious but couldn't get too excited about what was advertised as "North America's largest natural swimming pool." This jaded traveler thought: How could a swimming pool in Texas compare to the coral reefs off the coast of Zanzibar?

The trees surrounding the pool are full of great-tailed grackles--large, irridescent blackbirds that sound like squeeky toys on amphetamines. In the Texas heat, I was happy to splash around in the cool water (68 degrees year around). The bottom of the "pool" is stone in large tiers with plant life. Kevin, Mary, Ken, and Kim are swimming in earnest as our race is only days away. I'm more or less looking at the aquatic life and fish spotting. Deep in the waters are pumpkinseeds, perch, and small bass avoiding the splashing of serious triathletes. I'm ready to sell my right arm for a snorkel! I float over a drop-off on the stone shelf where many of these fish are hiding. From my left side I see an avian denizen of the deep: a cormorant, head straight, wings tucked, webbed feet with a beautifully efficient breast stroke kick swims about 4 feet under me. He swims quickly across the bottom to my far right and disappears into the darker depths searching for a fishy lunch.

I'm stunned, unable to take my eyes off it and completely awash in wonderment. In all the exotic aquatic places I've ever been, I'd never had a BIRD swim under me! I came up for air and had to tell someone about it. Kevin was the first audience member of "Omigod! A cormorant just swam right under me!!" I felt like a kid who opened up the present on Christmas morning and found her first bike.

So blessed be Austin, TX where I saw one of the coolest things ever and continue to await more surprises.

Longhorn Race Report

2008-10-07T17:06:00.000-07:00

I had stated that my goal for this race was to run the hardest last 5K of my life. However, the weather forecast called for 89 degrees; and the night before the race I made my #1 race day priority to not get heat exhaustion/heat stroke. The difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke is (among other things) about an 80% mortality rate for the latter. I think I pushed heat exhaustion just about up to the heat stroke line at Eagleman by having mental status changes. Also, once you have heat stroke you are more susceptable to it in the future. I looked upon all these facts emotionlessly and came up with a plan to pour an entire water bottle on my head (no brain-baking aero helmet!) at every aid station and back off watts and pace by 25% if I began to feel overheated.

"Masters must be paying off!"
The water temp was 78 degrees--the same as the Nazareth pool where I swim. I planned on no wetsuit so as to not overheat. I also mentally prepared myself to have a slow swim without the wetsuit and not get completely locked into making up that time on the bike. The water was calm and lovely. I started on the outside and in the front, aiming straight for the first turn buoy. For just about most of the swim, I had someone to draft and happily settled into a rhythm that required me to exert slightly more than a casual pace. Upon exiting the water, I looked down at my watch and saw 34 minutes. No freaking way! I couldn't have missed a buoy because I was surrounded by my fellow age groupers. Did my entire swim wave miss a buoy?
No wetsuit means no wetsuit to wrestle off. How nice to not have to do reenact that WWF match of Hulk Hogan vs. Andre the Giant with my wetsuit in transition.

Triathletes on tri bikes = bad cornering
The bike course wound through the rolling hills of east Texas. The sky was mercifully overcast; and the pavement had only a few bumps thoughtfully marked in bright yellow by the race organizers. The first aid station had a lingerie theme as I almost rode my bike off course trying to grab a water bottle from a well-endowed volunteer in black lace negligee. I took it easy for the first 25 minutes and rode within my planned watts, feeling like I was holding back the entire ride. I took all my calories and salt on schedule, peed at mile 30, and waited for Kevin to pass me (his wave was 12 minutes behind mine). The aid stations themes were 70's aerobics class, cowboys, disco which made for great entertainment every 12 miles.
About every 20 minutes, a peloton of 20-40 guys in the 30-34, 35-40 age group would ride through either in a double pace line or 4 abreast. I take the whole drafting rule seriously even though I've never been in contention for a Kona spot or age group win---there's simply no victory in cheating. However, being surrounded by the packs of riders there was nowhere to go to avoid the drafting. Even slowing down to fall back was not an option as I was completely surrounded. The only way to not draft would have been to be riding my mountain bike off the pavement. At mile 40, my CO2 cartridge fell off and hit the magnet for my bike computer. With every revolution of my rear wheel, there was a ping! of the magnet hitting the sensor on the chainstay. I didn't want to stop and fix it with only 16 miles to go; and the annoying pingpingping! made the drafting packs ride faster away from me.
The course had a few sharp turns. I seemed to find myself going through most of them with nervous cyclists riding the brakes through the entire corner. The unnecessary loss of free speed was frustrating, but the potential for eating pavement seemed quite high. I was grateful for my mountain bike rides on twisty technical trails and cornering in loose dirt and gravel and vowed to do more of it during the off-season.
I finished my 700 Calories by mile 40 and felt hungry at mile 47. I grabbed a Gatorade Endurance at the last aid station thereby missing out on the water to pour over my head. There was a bit of a head wind for the last half of the ride and I was beginning to feel warm. However, I was holding my watts without a problem.

Focused suffering
For the first 4 miles of the run, my legs were leaden, my gut queasy, and my head swimming. I figured I would feel this way because it's been my routine for the last 4 HIM. I knew I would have to walk every aid station (quickly walk!) in order to pour cups of water, wring sponges and wet towels over my head, and drink. I accepted that it would slow me down, but was essential to ward off the heat stroke demons. There were 8 aid stations for each loop--16 total, each well stocked with wonderful volunteers. Keith Jordan really organized this race perfectly for the conditions.
Between the aid stations were bands: a rock band, a high school marching band that played "Ironman" with an off key trumpet and trombone section (I had never heard Black Sabbath in marching band form before!), a troupe of xylophonists, a man playing his guitar and harmonica at the same time. Following suit, the run course aid stations were themed as well. The most memorable one was the Superheroes at the bottom of the Quadzilla climb. Batman was in full black cape, tights, utility belt, and heavy black leather gloves.
Part of the run course went through uneven grassy trails with rolling hills and the infamous Quadzilla climb which was dotted with signs that read: Red meat isn't bad for you. Green, fuzzy meat is bad for you. The heat was constant on pavement and on trail--there really wasn't any shade at all. I basically clawed my way from aid station to aid station, clinging to the hope of cold, wet sponges. I felt really hungry twice on the run, took a gel with water each time, and felt bloated until the next aid station. I really wanted to eat something solid but knew I wasn't emptying my stomach because I was belching loudly--like Barney from the Simpsons--every 5-10 minutes. I think I was really at my physical limit to run, keep cool, and process calories. A few really fresh looking runners passed me and before I could curse my lack of acclimatization I realized that they were on relay teams. On the second climb of Quadzilla, one of those runners said to me, "Pain is weakness leaving your body." I let out the mother of all belches and said, "Burping is gas leaving my stomach."
At mile 10 I said,"Kitima, it's time to start hurting yourself." I stopped looking at my Garmin and pushed my effort until I could feel myself overheating. I knew I was going slow as I was on the grassy trail part and the last 0.6 miles was a cruel uphill to the finish line. I crossed the finish close to barfing and a bit dizzy, but conscious enough to ask for 2 race towels (I covet race towels).
Overall, I'm happy with my effort. My results are a bit disappointing but consistent with my inconsistent training this season--so it's really an issue of having realistic expectations. I have 4 weeks of off-season to process and learn from this season and make plans for the next. The race organization and the enthusiasm of the volunteers was one of the best I've ever experienced.

Tiny Particles

2008-09-22T11:25:00.000-07:00

5 days ago I woke up with worse than normal nasal congestion and a sore throat. I typically wake up with sniffles that resolve by 10am. I figured it was some kind of allergy, but wasn't going to see an allergist. Quoth the pig-headed surgeon,"Why see an allergist? What have they to offer me after a battery of horrible tests that involved needles under my skin? Antihistamines or shots...I don't want shots; and I didn't need to go to medical school to figure out how to take antihistamines!"

This summer the morning sniffles became an all day nose blowing fest sponsored by Kleenex and a few nights of complete nasal congestion had me running to Afrin for relief (and I HATE sticking anything up my nose). A few of my Wound Clinic patients have stopped asking me if I was sick and comment weekly,"Will you EVER stop having a runny nose, doctor? Maybe you should see an allergist..."

Long story getting longer: those symptoms 5 days ago have increased in a 1000-fold magnitude. I'd never been so congested in my life. The mouth breathing/ suffocating goldfish routine was relieved by just one thing: Afrin. I did the BIG NO-NO and used 4 doses in a row---now I had it: Rhinitis medicamentosa. Rebound nasal swelling from overuse of intranasal vasoconstrictive medications. I was a stinking Afrin addict. I'd seen patients with it during medical school and remember thinking, "How could you get addicted to something that required sticking it up your nose?! EEUUW!" Let me tell you how: When you feel like your head is going to explode from all the edema in your nasal passages, when you want to drive to the ER and call ahead for a tracheostomy tray, when you're contemplating being sedated and intubated until it all passes over...and the only thing that allows you to get enough oxygen so you can stop thinking those thoughts is that nasty little bottle of magical nasal mucosa shrinking elixir---that's how you become addicted.

For the last 3 days, I've ingested, inhaled, and snorted every antihistamine known to medical science. I broke down and used ONE drop of Afrin in only ONE nostril last night just so I could breathe enough to sleep. I'm planning on riding for one hour today. Kevin doesn't think I should ride outside because I've been so dopey on these drugs. My dad tells me to not operate or make ANY clinical decisions while on these drugs. Lovely.

It's maddening that some tiny particles: allergens? viruses? have completely shelled me. So what does this have to do with triathlon beside being a long-winded excuse for not training for the last 5 days? It has to do with being humble enough to be honest with oneself.

Growing up with a pediatrician dad and a pharmacist mom, I didn't take many sick days from school. First all, faking it was nearly impossible. Secondly, if I did take a sick day and stay at home, Mom would make me do housework (so it was actually better to just suck it up and go to school sick). Being sick and God forbid! taking a sick day meant being frail, weak, and bordering on lazy. As a surgery residents, we'd all get i.v. fluids when we were "sick" just so we could keep working. A sick day was "a sign of weakness"--that horrible wickedness no surgeon wanted to have.

So if I'd just faced the reality that I have seasonal allergies that require some consistent dosing of antihistamines or steroid inhalants, I may not have had to dig myself out of an Afrin addiction. Where's the weakness in taking a Claritin once a day? I hate taking pills and hate even more being sick (which means having to take pills). My body's reaction to the tiny particles is an immunological hiccup, not a character flaw or a moral depravity for crying out loud! So I have allergies...some people have cancer. Neither affliction is a sign of weakness. Get over yourself, Boon!

My dad assures me that in time my immune system will become desensitized to whatever allergen is giving me these symptoms. Good! Now I can skip that visit to the allergist!

My Inner Bitch

2008-09-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

Many people say that an Ironman or any endurance race will show you what you're made of and/or who you really are. Today, I ran the Rochester Half Marathon and unroofed a part of myself I was surprised to find.

I signed up for the race mostly because I was sick of doing my long runs with a Fuel Belt loaded down with Gatorade Endurance and water and carrying gels in my sports bra. I figured the $50 entry fee was worth paying just for the aid stations. Besides, I had not run an open 1/2M in 6 years and wondered how I'd do on relatively fresh legs. The plan was to take it easy for the first 15 minutes then try to keep M-pace for the rest of the run.

I showed up at the Start Line carrying only my car keys. I made the wrong assumption (and you know what happens when you assume!) that each aid station would be the sumptuous buffet present at all the Mdot races' aids stations. The first 5 aids stations had only water. The only aid station with gels was the one at Mile 6. The rest of them had only water and what tasted like diluted Powerade. Can you see I'm setting you up for a tale of calorie and more importantly, salt intake woes?

By the 2nd aid station (right around the time when I'd like to take a gel), I'm getting the idea that this may be a race free of nutritional support. I do the Richard Strauss OODA loop thing (Orient oneself to the problem, Observe, Decide, Act). I am to be an emotionless decision making machine. So I figure the run is just a couple of hours; I had a big breakfast and a gel before the start--I should be just fine. How's that for OODA? Maybe the D is for Denial in my case today.

Just as I start to increase to M-pace, a female runner in a blue shirt runs right behind my left shoulder. A quick glance over to her and I notice that she's wearing make-up. The emotionless decision making running machine immediately thinks,"I'm not gonna let some bimbo wearing make-up pass me in this race." So I pick up the pace and lose her on a slight uphill (the course was quite flat). At that moment, I decided I'd set a time goal of breaking 2 hours. "Yeah, that'll show that make-up wearing girl what's up!" I thought.

Now, I'm not sure why I found make-up at a 1/2 marathon so unconscionable. Maybe it's my deep-seated resentment of the stuck-up popular girls in high school--who invariably always wore make-up (even at a 1/2 marathon?). Who knows? It was completely illogical, but that painted woman would show up hovering around my left shoulder for the rest of the race pushing me to pay attention to maintaining my pace.

By mile 10, my plans to kick into tempo pace--"NO!" said my ego, "Your balls out 5K pace!"--had seized up like my left calf and muscles on the bottom of my left foot. I really needed some salt and the "A" of OODA was kicking my own Ass for not bringing salt tablets. The day turned out to be warm and humid. I sweat like Shaquille O'Neal in volume and like a salt lick in sodium content. Every left footfall brought on excruciating pain. I had slowed to my E-pace though I had plenty of cardiovascular reserve to run at least tempo pace.

About 500 yards from the finish line, a female runner passes me that I recognize. It's Kitty Cantwell! I've met her in and outside of work at least 8 times in the last 5 years, but everytime she sees me she acts like she has no idea who I am. In fact, she's just sometimes downright unfriendly. I say to myself, "I don't care if you cripple yourself. You are NOT going to let f@*king Kitty Cantwell beat you!" So I pick up the pace and run by her. The pain in my left leg, foot, and now my right hamstring is blinding. But I beat her. HAHA.

Aside from learning that I should bring my own salt tablets on a hot and humid run. I also learned that I've got a mean-spirited, catty side. It's not that I've considered myself utterly sweet and always thinking of others with compassion and love in a Dalai Lama sort of way. I just don't get to look at that side of myself in a full frontal way very often.

After the race, Make-up girl came up to me and congratulated me on finishing. She told me that this was her first 1/2 marathon and that having me run along side her really helped push her along. She was so nice---I felt bad for thinking unkind thoughts about her. Maybe she just wanted to look nice for her first 1/2 mary. Maybe Kitty Cantwell just has a memory block with asian female surgeons. I'm still glad I beat her though. MEOW!

A Swimming Milestone

2008-09-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

I dragged my sorry carcass to Masters last night with legs completely hosed. Wednesday night I had run my little tush off for my fastest run test to date. The next day consisted of a work day that ended later than anticipated, a hurried endurance ride on stiff quads, and eating dinner (a Kashi bar) in the car on the way to swimming.

My new habit for swimming is to not look at the entire workout before getting in pool, but go from one line of each set to the next. When I preview any workout, there's the inevitable "*Sigh* Pull sets, again!" or "Aw, man! Not IM. Ugh..." or "Pffftt! I'm not swimming more than 100 yards in a row."

I guess the only pool workout that wouldn't elicit that kind of reaction from me would go like this:

Warm-up: Cannonball of the 1m diving board x3, rest 2 min in between while eating a cupcake

Main set: 15 min game of Marco Polo

Underwater handstand x 5 in deep end, rest 2 min with cupcake

Doggy paddle 25 x 4, concentrate on emulating family canine pet

Cool down: 100 easy with foam noodle thingy

Splash water at Kevin liberally

Last night's workout looked nothing like the above. It went more like: drill, pull, kick, swim, swim hard, pull, kick, drill, repeat x 10,000. The finale was a timed 200 IM. By then, I was hungry enough to chew off my arm and figured the sooner I got this done the sooner I could start snacking on my fingers. Now to all you fishies out there, 200 IM may be a mere sneeze. However, to me, it's an anaerobic flail-n-looks-like-she's-drowning effort. In fact, until last night I'd never completed a 200 IM without having to stop either after aspirating half of the pool's water during backstroke or moving backwards doing the breaststroke or making the life guard nervous with my butterfly. I can't say I felt great when I finally made it to the freestyle part but I wasn't completely seized up with lactic acid in my usual fashion. I had done it: 200 IM without stopping or dying of hypoxia.

I was so proud of myself I added a couple of underwater flips to my warm down.

My Bestest Friend has come out to PLAY!

2008-09-11T10:39:00.000-07:00

My dearest pal and bestest buddy is coming to play with me in Penticton next August. That's right, the Wev is officially registered for Ironman Canada 08 and British Columbia bound. Since I was going to be near a computer (actually several of throughout the hospital), I had registration duty. Starting at 12:57, I kept hitting the refresh button for the website every 20 seconds. At 12:58:30, the active.com link came up--Score! I click on it...another page to confirm that it was indeed the Subaru Ironman Canada in Penticton, B.C. that I wanted...click "register now" and...
"Due to the high volume, you may experience a delay..." DELAY?! No F@*KING WAY! It was one thing to register for myself--I'm feeling some extra weight of responsibility to register for someone else. I go back to the IMC website, click the active.com link again, try a different register now link, try opening my own active.com account, new guest accounts...repeat, repeat, repeat. I'm opening more and more windows with the same stupid delay message. I will NOT be thwarted by some bitch-ass server moving at glacial speed. Finally, I get onto the registration page. Now calm and controlled typing of Kevin's info and...ahhh...he's officially registered at 10:04 PDT. It is a triumph of my manic compulsive behaviour!
I am so happy that he shall be joining me for this adventure. I feel like it has already started: the house has been swept clean of empty calories, training plans are being hatched, the hunt for lodging continues (Nathalie has been an ACE at it!), race nutrition is getting tweaked, and the overall excitement is barely containable.
This race will be our first Ironman done together. Team Kevtima goes to B.C. (of course, the Kev part will cross the finish line hours before the other half claws her way across). I can't imagine a more wonderful race with my dear friend and training pal, Nathalie and the Kevster. It's like we all made the same kick ball team...now it's time to play!

My Former Life

2008-09-08T17:36:00.000-07:00

My extended family lives in Thailand. My family was part of a large Thai community that was my surrogate extended family when we lived in Brooklyn and Long Island. When we moved from NY, we were still part of that family, but geographically separated. So I've always wanted to belong to a big family and have sisters (I have one brother). I figured in my former life I was probably a Madagascar fruit bat. They live in large family groups where the females are all related. They spend most of the day hanging out together in the family tree and eating fruit. I've always wanted to fly and I love tropical fruit. I'm hoping that in my next life I'll get to be a Malagasi fruit bat again. It's an obvious fit.
On a recent trainer ride, I watched my "Life of Mammals" DVD (yeah, big geek alert--I love those BBC/David Atenborough nature shows!). The featured mammal was an elephant shrew in east Africa. It's a small rodent that makes trails through the grasslands in order to have a pathway to hunt for insects. It's also incredibly fastidious about keeping those trails clean of debris as it must run very fast on those trails to escape from hawks and eagles. To demonstrate this extreme neatness, David Attenborough puts a camera right next to the trail and sprinkles some dried leaves in the middle of the trail. Within 45 minutes, the elephant shrew shows up. She sees the mess on her trail. If rodents can look pissed-off, this one surely did. In one swift fling with its tiny forefeet, it pitched the flotsam from its trail. Kevin says,"You were definitely an elephant shrew in your former life."

Okay, so I am a bit of a neatnik, but I don't run very fast nor do I like to eat bugs. Which brings me to the point of this rambling: While we can have very clear ideas about what we want, we shouldn't lose sight of what we are.

I've been thinking about this point recently as I review how this triathlon season went and start making plans for next year. I had some specific time goals with my HIM season this year. None of them were met--not because of an unexpected injury or because the goals themselves were unrealistic for my abilities. What I didn't factor was just how much energy I would expend in stress over going to court for my first malpractice suit. I grossly underestimated how much life the whole process would suck from my soul. I just figured I'd train through it and still be able to peak for Eagleman 48 hours after the jury deliberated. Wrong! I really didn't take into account the other part of my life--the surgeon part, the part that takes up alot more time than the triathlon part. So my goal for Longhorn is not so much for redemption of those lost goals, but for a revisit to myself (the surgeon, the fiance, the elephant shrew that can't be excised from the triathlete) and ultimately a revision of those goals that fit all of it.

In 3 weeks, I shall have a great change in my career (that I chose). It will take some time to adjust to the changes, positive and negative. I won't set any goals for Penticton until I see how I adjust to those changes. For now, I'm just so dammed happy to be going that I haven't even thought about any of the splits. I just want to show up at the Start Line healthy and uninjured. Maybe that's enough of a goal...

Oh for crying out load! Who am I kidding? I was OCD statistician in the life before I was an elephant shrew. There'll be exact numbers for watts, pace, and splits.

*big sigh* I can only hope that in my next life that my small, fruit-fed bat brain can't count past 2.

Race Report:My First Xterra

2008-09-01T07:14:00.000-07:00

Recent news of Barbara Warren's bike accident reactivated my lingering fear of disability by bike accident. I'm not afraid to die while riding (in fact, that's how I'd like to go--clipped in, doing one of my favorite things). I just don't want to be mangled to the point where I couldn't ride at all. Having nabbed a spot at Penticton, I didn't want to break any bones or tear any ligaments that would prevent me from training and racing next year. Remembering how pro mountain biker, Tara Llanes, is a paraplegic from a mtb accident, I had some reservations about doing my first Xterra.

The race site is at a boys scout camp in the Catskills. The half-paved, half-dirt, free of paint to mark the shoulder (there were none) road to the camp reminded me of roads in Tanzania. Kevin and I arrived at the race site on Saturday afternoon for packet pick-up and to ride one loop of the bike course.

The course started with a steady climb on a gravel Jeep road before turning into the woods. The single-track portion (which was at least 50% of the course) is on a loamy surface--like riding on a 8 inch carpet of peat moss--with rock gardens. The other parts of the course is rutted Jeep roads with loose rocks the size of apples to shoeboxes. It had rained that day; and the trails were muddy, the rocks were slick. The last 2 big spills I took on my mtb were on wet logs. So what was supposed to be a casual recon ride turned out to be an anxiety-ridden, white-knuckle expedition for me. I thought,"I just got into Penticton. I don't want to break my leg or tear up ligaments!" Over an especially robust rock garden section I decided that I would NOT do this race tomorrow. I figured it wasn't worth risking the injury--not before Longhorn, not before Penticton. This course was a little bit beyond my mtb skills and way above my confidence in those skills.

When I tell Kevin, he's obviously disappointed. In an effort to be sympathetic, he says, "Poor Bunny, can't race tomorrow."

Wah?! Can't race? Of course, I CAN race. My legs haven't fallen off! I tell myself to get over it and that the only thing that's holding me back is fear. I would not be a pussy and wimp out on this one. I'm back in it.

So the entire night before I hatched a plan and perseverated over it instead of getting some sleep. There are some races you race, while others you simply tour. I would be a mere tourist for this one. No heroics on dirt--just get through without having to consult an orthopaedic surgeon after the race.

The swim was a 2 loops in a shallow, murky lake. Lake grass brushed my fingers with every pull for most of the swim. I felt strong and swam with moderately low effort, catching a draft for at least half of the time.

I cashed in alot of good triathlon karma because the bike course really dried out. Still some sections of mud that felt like riding through peanut butter, but no slick rocks at all! I rode alot more confident and relaxed. Many incredible mountain bike riders (who obviously swam worse than me) zipped by, passing me on the singletrack portions. Everyone was incredibly polite and had a positive word to say on that ride. I made it through the first loop shiny side up and utterly inspired by the skill of my fellow competitors on mtb.

The second loop was all about small victories. Every section of downhill or rock garden that I unclipped for the first loop, I muscled, pedaled, and bounced by way through on the second loop. I let out a gleeful,"Yay!" after each victory with only the woods to hear it. On the first loop climbs that I had to unclip because I felt unsteady on the loose rocks or just ran out of anaerobic capacity, I made it up just a little farther the second time around. I MUST learn to do a track stand. I must learn to keep myself upright on a bike with balance and not just speed. I could have really used that skill on those climbs just so I could catch my breath and not clip out.

The last downhill of each loop is a long straight descent with round wooden poles that crossed the trail, creating drop-offs 1-2 feet tall. Between the drop-offs are the ever-present rock gardens. For my last time down that hill, I stayed clipped in except for the biggest drop-off (around 3 feet). I finished that bike course a downright happy camper.

The run was a combination of scrabbling over boulders and logs with 2 steep climbs, one really steep descent onto a waterfall crossing that was littered with boulders. There was one log that blocked the trail that was so big and high that I had to stop, throw my leg over it, then straddled it like a horse with my feet dangling in the air. I definitely took the tourist approach for the run and went very slow so as to not twist my ankles.

I managed to place 3rd in my age group (mostly by just showing up). The race was well organized. The atmosphere was relaxed (the race started at 11am!), friendly, and collegial. Every bike in transition was caked in dirt and well-ridden. Every triathlete at the finish line was caked in dirt and happy. There was a Gatorade chugging contest before the awards ceremony.

Overall, the race was the most fun race this year. I'm so happy that I decided to do it. I was definitely out of my comfort zone for the bike portion, but made some great gains in my mtb skill and confidence. I wiped out only once on the bike, going over roots to avoid some rocks. I didn't carry enough speed/momentum through the loam (which is like riding on sponges) to skip over my obstacles. Falling on the trail was not like landing on sponges, however. So there's a moderate sized bruise and scrape over my right ass cheek. No problemo. Small price to pay for the amazing experience of my first (and definitely not last!) Xterra.

Penticton, Baby, Penticton!

2008-08-29T11:35:00.000-07:00

Seattle is where I started my triathlon love affair. Most people I met there were active, outdoorsy, and owned the toys (kayak, mountain bike, camping gear) to support that lifestyle. With a friendly and supportive triathlon community and gorgeous places to race locally, an 8 year relationship ensued.

The "local" Ironman for the PNW is Ironman Canada--or simply known as "Penticton". It (like any Iron-distance race) was the ultimate triathlon goal. Not just for being 140.6 miles long, but for the sheer natural beauty of the course, the incredible support of rabid fans, and the overall amazing race experience. From the very first time I'd even considered doing Penticton, I'd known that one must travel there the year before, volunteer, then sign up in person. (In fact, I never knew that you could sign up for an Ironman on-line until I moved to NY.)

So in 2003, after a few Oly's under my belt, I made it my goal race my first HIM at Troika (Spokane, WA) that summer then sign up for Penticton 04. Those plans were completely derailed with a chronic knee injury and a move back to NY that summer. I didn't know when I would ever return to my Shangri La of the PNW much less when I would ever race Penticton...

Until today! 400 slots opened up on-line at noon today; and I snagged one of them!

I had patients scheduled in the Wound Clinic up until noon. Against everything I believe about customer service and patient care, I told my nurse that regardless of what I was doing at 11:45am I was going to walk out of the exam room and go register for this race. Mercifully, the last patient cancelled and I was perched in front a computer with my credit card by 11:30. The link came up on the webpage and my hands shook as I hurriedly typed. One swift click of the mouse...Wah?! Wrong month on the credit card expiration date! Try again...HURRY!! "Your registration was successful." SCORE!!! My registration time was 9:01 PT. I quickly hit the link again and typed in Kevin's info--which took all of 45 seconds--but the registration was full. I felt really bad about it. If only I could type faster or wield that mouse more adeptly or not screw up the credit card expiration date...arg! (He really didn't feel bad about it at all--what a relief!)

What's icing on this joyous cupcake is that my dear friend, Nathalie, got in too!

It's funny how quickly things can change. Just yesterday I was devouring the last morsels of cookie dough immersed in an unshakable ennui about next year's season. Maybe I'd do HIM's again or maybe only Xterras or maybe only sprints or maybe get really serious about bird watching and do some yard work...Now with Penticton on the horizon, I've got plans...

1. Lose weight/Change body composition. That spare tire under my FuelBelt is not going to help increase my Vdot or help me maintain even E-pace during the marathon. I'm going to start keeping a food diary. I've counselled/lectured/nagged enough patients about weight loss--I know what I need to do.

2. Swim in earnest. No more *sigh* get in the pool and splash around for 3K meters in a half-hearted, half-assed effort. Starting Tues I'm swimming with Masters twice a week + once by myself for mental toughness. No wall hanging.

3. Strength train/yoga. I'm not 25 years old anymore. Enough said.

4. Train consistently. In a mere 6 weeks, I shall no longer be on call, work weekends, or be enslaved by the life of a general surgeon. So there should be NO EXCUSES for to not pry my ass out of bed or off the butt-groove in the couch to work out.

Getting a spot at Penticton next year is like a gift. No, more like getting something I've always wanted and never thought I could have. It's like getting a chance to schtoop the prom queen (I'd say the captain of the football team, but he was no prize). It's an Ironman I can get excited about. Time to lace up and hit the pavement!

Paradise Lost

2008-08-28T07:22:00.000-07:00

When I counseled my gastric bypass patients on weight loss, I would tell them to stop assigning moral labels to certain foods. "Broccoli is not ordained by God as 'good' while potato chips are declared 'evil'. Salad doesn't come from heaven anymore than cookies come from Satan." I would say. I wanted them to think of food as fuel and not as a reward/punishment, means of comfort, or mark of righteousness or moral failure. I wanted them to focus on their goal of weight loss and better health with food intake as a means of achieving that goal.

Well, I've found perhaps the most evil foodstuff EVER. It's from the depths of Hades, born from the wicked lord of the underworld...It's Nestle's Toll House Cookie Dough--the family size tub! Just scoop and bake. Bake?! That cookie dough isn't going to see an oven--it's going straight into my gullet!

I had a hankering for a brownie sundae but was too lazy to make the brownies. Kevin suggested some ready made cookie dough from the supermarket + ice cream + Hershey's Chocolate syrup = voila! A yumminess unparalleled. In the dairy section, nestled between the butter and the biscuit dough in the pop-open rolls, that magical plastic tub called to us with its siren song of chocolately goodness. I picked it up and it weighed about 4 metric tons.

Kevin and I proceed to eat the entire tub in 36 hours--some of the dough graced our oven and emerged as warm, gooey cookie platforms for scoops of ice cream while the majority of the tub contents were consumed raw. Yep, we have 4 metric tons of cookie dough that will sit in our colons for weeks.

I deemed it evil because its content and the volume consumed was completely incompatible with achieving race weight for Longhorn 70.3 in 6 weeks. Really there's nothing profoundly immoral about it at all--I just wanted to dramatically assign blame to a wonderful and convenient baking product instead of accepting my derailment of achieving a goal. I won't go on a 30 mile run to burn it all off. I'll just keep training like I have been and try again for nutritional excellence. So I ate some extra empty calories. BFD. The food Nazis aren't going to cook me in the gas chamber for it. The triathlon Gestapo won't torture me with extra swim workouts. So no point in me punishing myself for it, right? I can let go of the drama. That is, until tomorrow when another epic battle between good and evil shall be waged...;)

Threshold

2008-08-27T17:39:00.000-07:00

The past weekend of being on-call brought back memories of residency. I worked Friday night, sleeping less than 2 consecutive hours...awoke to a page from the Clifton Springs ICU Sat morning to get there STAT to put a central line in an obese and confused patient who was thrashing around...ran to the other hospital where I was on call for emergency surgery...engaged in a grand pissing contest with the covering internist Sat afternoon...spent Sat night in the OR from midnight to 4am...drove to Sodus Sunday morning to catch Kevy rolling into T2 for the triathlon...drove to work after the race for rounds.
The residency memory revisited was that feeling of surrender: letting go of being annoyed, irritated, or pissed off at the pager going off every 15 minutes, of one more task plopping in your lap when you're dog tired. There's a threshold that most every resident crosses where he/she just figures: "The endless work, sleep deprivation, unimaginable fatigue...This is my life." I crossed that threshold during the weekend and remembered that I thought that that was how I would deal with Ironman.
Before the big race, I said to myself: "Boon, you've worked for 42 hours in a row without sleep. You've stood for 27 hours in the OR during a liver transplant. You can do an Ironman." I thought I would deal with the fatigue and pain with the same kind of acceptance, knowing that it would end at a definite point in time like when I would be off call or when residency was over. I found out around mile 13 on the run that that was the wrong kind of doggedness to have. The obstacle to overcome was all about a distance to be covered in the shortest amount of time possible. Surrender was NOT the right frame of mind or body to have.
On my long run a few days ago, I dove head first in acclimatization and ran at 1pm in 87 degrees. I overestimated how fast I'd run so turned around a bit farther for my planned 1:45 run. After 60 min of E pace, I ran 30 min at M pace feeling surprisingly strong. With 15 min left, I was too accelerate to and hold tempo pace. My body's drive to cool itself overrode my drive to run tempo. I held M pace for 15 min and happily anticipated the last seconds left of my one hour and 45 minutes. When I stopped I was at least 1/2 mile from where I'd started. I caught up with Kim who convinced me to run the rest of the way. I was hot, thirsty, pooped, and completely without shame when I whined that I didn't wanna run to the end. She convinced me and we brought it home in our blazing E pace. While I'm happy with how I ran the 30 min Mpace section in the heat, I think the real triumph was the shift from time to distance. 70.3 and 140.6 are distances that must be covered despite our time expectations or number of hours we train.
So my homework for the next 6 weeks before Longhorn is to find a different mindset with which to face that fatigue and pain threshold during the race. I should think something like: "My aching feet, this life-sucking heat...the faster you go, Boon, the sooner you can stop! This is your race!"

Channeling Jeff Corwin

2008-08-15T05:58:00.000-07:00

Powerful electromagnetic forces from the couch were pulling on my butt last night. I could barely extract myself from my perfectly molded ass-groove of the sofa cushion. I felt flat, tired, sleepy. It seems that since I've made the decision to quit General Surgery, General Surgery has decided to be Douche Bag Deluxe and make the remaining 6 weeks until I leave it intolerable and hellish. On a good day, it confirms that I made the ride decision to get out. On a bad day, it continues to suck the life out of me. Yesterday, it nearly sucked all the life out of me--and I wasn't even on call!

With my last shred of energy, I put on my running clothes and stood moping at the bottom of the driveway. I set off on my run and within 100 feet a flash of brilliant blue flew in front of me and perched on the power lines. A Belted Kingfisher! I stopped and pointed it out to Kevin, "Did you see it? It's a Belted Kingfisher!!" I'd never seen one around the house or so up close before. Kevin said that I looked like I'd seen the Yeti.

A half mile down the road I swerve around a garter snake. If I leave him there, he'll surely be run over by a car. I know he's not poisonous, but I'm not sure how painful his bite may be. Unsuccessfully, I try to nudge him off the road with a twig. He's about 18 inches long and completely unwilling to be saved from his impending death by Michelin. I remember the last thing I watched on TV: Jeff Corwin in Nepal handling a cobra. He picked it up by its tail and kept his distance. Well for crying out loud, if Jeff can pick up a cobra then I can at least do the same with a garter snake!

So I did--I grabbed it's skinny tail which felt like holding a toothpick. With one gentle lift, I flung him into the safety of the tall grasses.

The rest of my run was uneventful as far as wildlife sitings and rescues go. I saw my usual avian friends on that route: tree swallows hanging out around the cows to eat flies, goldfinches diving in and out of thistle, starlings too numerous to count. I was reminded of how happy I am when I'm outside among my animal friends like Snow White or Saint Francis of Assisi.

It's corny, yes. But I'll keep this little nugget of motivation in my files when I'm feeling less than enthusiastic about getting out and training. Besides, I hear that Snow White has thrown down a sub-5 hour Half Ironman and Saint Francis has an FTP of 350 watts.

The Dabbing Left Foot

2008-08-06T07:17:00.000-07:00

"Let's go for a mountain bike ride and trail run brick on Monday," Kevins says. Despite my newfound skills and confidence in cornering and descending through rock gardens, I reluctantly agreed to go. What the hell are you afraid of? I grumbled to myself. Falling? No. I've eaten more dirt, used by bike as a landscaping tool, and sacrificed more blood to the mtb gods than most. Going anaerobic? Not really. I am scheduled for an hour ride with endurance wattage, but a couple of spikes to clean some hills won't hurt. (right, Coach M?)

I sucked it up, suited up, and showed up in pigtails at Dryer Road Park. Our friend Joel showed up so Kevin had a riding buddy that was more his speed. I wouldn't feel so pressured to keep up with Kevin. I could ride my slow, conservative pace and work on my bike handling skills.

We motor up the trail with me as the lantern rouge. I try to keep my eyes on the boys to practice siting, but soon they disappear around the turns and the trees swallow them up. I can hear them chatting like 2 biddies at a quilting bee and follow their voices. The top of the trail opens up to 2 wide fields with trails leading into the woods. With the copious rain this summer, the meadow was ablaze in purple, yellow, and white wildflowers. The Queen Anne's lace grew tall to shoulder height. Wild bergamot and knapweed carpeted the fields in violet and pale purple.

In the 3 years I've ridden this park, I have never seen it so beautiful. I rode an extra lap around the fields just to take it all in before I dove into the more technical trails.

I turn down Z trail (named Ziggy for it's twists around trees and over rocks, I guess). The woods are luxuriously green in color and in scent. After riding straight, downhill, rocky trails in Vermont, I negotiate Ziggy slowly practicing my cornering. Tucked in the lush undergrowth are amazing mushrooms: chestnut brown ones the size of dinner plates, smaller teacup sized ones the color of orange juice, tiny thimble caps that are bright red. I make a mental note to get a book on Mycology and/or Wild Mushrooms of NY.

The boys find me and I tell them about my plant and fungal sitings. Kevin says,"Really? Bright red mushrooms?! I haven't seen any." Yep, it's time for me to focus on riding and leave the amateur botanist for a later hike. I try to follow Kevin and Joel through Ziggy but become squirrelly with the speed around the turns. Automatically, my left foot unclips and dabs. I react that way when I'm scared even though I KNOW with my entire mountain biking heart and brain that I'm more in control and safer staying clipped in and balanced. I slow down and ride within my comfort zone. The boys have pulled ahead and I can't even hear them talking anymore.

I turn down another equally technical trail with descents and the dabbing left foot makes a few more appearances. It causes my weight to shift forward during dowhills, catches on roots, and nearly causes an endo. It is my crutch that is crippling me! What the hell are you afraid of? I ask myself again, exasperated.

I am afraid of getting injured.

I don't want to break any bones or tear ligaments or tendons before Longhorn 70.3.

There I said it. It is that fear of injury that makes me slow down when I feel a twinge, a niggle, a pain in my knee, ankle--you name it, I've injured it! I'm not afraid of the pain--I've raced with blisters the size of my head on the soles of my feet. I'm not scared of blisters--they can't cripple me. But my IT band, the ligaments in my chronically sprained ankle, the cartilage in my knees can. And not being able to train because of an injury physically and emotionally SUCKS. I've done it so many times, before so many races (first marathon--which never happened, first HIM, first IM, first Highlander century) that I don't want to do it again.

So then what? Hit the brakes, unclip, and stick out my left foot (which will likely cause an accident which leads to an injury!) everytime I think I'm going to hurt myself? Should I just accept that injury is part of playing--that no one ever leaves the swimming hole, the swing set, the bike without training wheels without a scrape or bruise or even a broken bone? Should I get over myself and realize that every injury I've ever had eventually healed and that the only debilitating scar is the one in my head? Looks like the answer is a resounding YEP! Stay clipped in, ride, and appreciate the flowers and mushrooms.

My Parents and My Bike Test

2008-08-03T12:19:00.000-07:00

My parents were here this weekend for a visit. Because of scheduling snafus, I planned to up get early Saturday morning and do my bike test. I told Mom & Dad about it as they would hear the whirring of the trainer and my heavy breathing at 6 am. They know that I participate in some hobby called triathlon (Mom still can't pronounce it), but since it has nothing to do with Medicine, the Stock Market, or the possibility of me having children they've not taken much interest in it. They found the whole affair of Ironman amusing and had some curious questions about it such as "What will you eat during the day? Can you stop and have soup noodles for energy? Why don't they start everyone at the swim lined up in a row so it's fair? (not such a bad idea, Dad!) How do you know which bike is yours?"
This visit is the first they've heard that there was testing in triathlon. For my entire upbringing, my parents have pushed me to excel academically--which means doing well on tests. They've always driven me to "score the highest/get a 100%". Their curiousity piqued, they ask about the bike test. Mom immediately jumps in," Is this that test that will rank you nationally?" I explain that it's not about qualifying for Half-Ironman Nationals (I neglected to tell them about my run-in with heat stroke at Eagleman. oops.) Then Dad wants to know,"How are you scored? Where will you take this test?" I explain to them the concept of training with watts, FTP, and long course pacing. Mom, apparently bored, interjects, "Yes, but will you PASS this test? Have you practiced enough to pass your test?" Sheepishly, I admit that I haven't really practiced much and she gives me that look---that tisk tisk look of you should've studied harder. Ugh.
Instead of scolding me (about not riding enough?!) the night before my big test, she distracts me by asking about the small collection of triathlon age group awards on my end table. She wants to know which are mine vs. Kevin's. Blessedly, we have 3 each. She looks at my age group "1st place" plaque from Finger Lakes Sprint Tri and remembers when they called me just before the awards ceremony. They had some question about surgery and I had to interrupt them to get my award. They paused and asked, "You got Number One? Wow!" I explained that it was an age group award and not overall first female, but they didn't hear a word. They were just so happy that I "got #1" in something.
So the next morning, I got up determined not to disappoint them with any low test scores. My dad sat with me until about half way through the 20 min time trial. He didn't cheer or have words of encouragement--he mostly talked to me about my surgery practice and some natural gas stocks. When I couldn't speak from the exertion, he got bored and left. I still rode my little heart out and nearly puked when I was done. *Sigh* 6 watts less than 6 weeks ago. I'm not too disappointed as I mentally and physically took an off-season after Eagleman that I went into undertrained. Actually, I'm surprised that it wasn't 10-15 watts less. When I was all done, my mom asked, "So did you pass your bike test?" I chuckled, "Yes, I did."

Triathlon Care Bear

2008-08-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

Two weeks before my first HIM (Musselman 06), the weather forecast predicted temps in the mid-90's and high humidity for race day. In Gone with the Wind/Scarlett stares down post-war Tara fashion, I said,"As God as my witness, I'll never complain about the heat on race day!"

So over the July 4th weekend I do my last long run with some tri-pals on the Mussel run course. We start at noon to run during the hottest part of the day. There was sunshine and temps in the 90's as we started our run. First miles of the course are flat and scenic; and the mood of the group is happy. When the hills start, the grumbling does as well. Then it started to rain. Thinking out loud, I say,"Well, at least this rain will cool us off for the climb." By mile 6, we begin to really climb on an exposed dirt road through a corn field. The rain stops. The sun beats down upon us; and a whopping head wind nearly blows us over at the top of the hill. My comment,"Well, the sun will help us dry off and the wind will keep us cool from the heat." As we roll back through town, a sun shower sprinkles us with more rain. I say,"Well, the sprinkles are good for keeping cool and the sunshine will cheer us up."

At that point (about 10 miles into the run), my friend Barb turns to me and asks," Are you planning on racing with that Care Bear on your shoulder?" Now I've done it: pushed a friend over the brink to sarcasm with my cheerfulness. But what's the point in complaining about something that you have no control over? "Yes," I answered," I plan on having a horde of Care Bears with me for this race."

So during the run of Musselman 2006, the weather was hot, hot, hot as predicted. I caught Barb at mile 10 through town. She told me later that she saw the sign on the bank indicating the temperature to be 96 degrees. I never saw this sign. She never mentioned it until after the race---must've been distracted by Care Bears ;)

Fast forward to yesterday's run test. I'm standing on the barren wasteland of the Canandaigua HS track in 87 degree heat and a stiff wind. My friend Laura is there to call out my 400m splits and cheer me on. I tell her, "Well, at least the wind will keep me cool." (Care Bear Alert!) She laughs, "I'm glad you have that attitude cuz I wouldn't want to be running in this."

At every split, I see her. Stop watch and clipboard in hand (she's recording the splits!), she's cheering me on,"Great job! Way to run steady! Good cadence!" It dawns on me by the 9th lap that I'm looking forward to running by her, not just to hear my splits but to be encouraged by her cheering. The voice I want to hear when it hurts so much that I can barely concentrate is one that encourages and reassures. Not HTFU (Frankly, that phrase has become hackneyed and banal)--I want to hear Care Bears!

Good thing to figure out...I shall start recruiting them from their netherworld of rainbows and sunshine for the Longhorn 70.3!

If Yer Gonna Play in Texas...

2008-07-27T17:12:00.000-07:00

The season in review so far has yielded:
1. A DNF with cooked brain cells at my A-race
2. A PW (personal worst) at Musselman

All time goals have not been met. So now that I've come home from running away to the hills with my mountain bike I've dusted myself off and found that I've got another half-Ironman race left in me. This cowgirl is off to Austin, Texas for Longhorn 70.3.
I've always wanted to visit Austin: it's supposed to green, hilly, and a pretty part of Texas. I've been to Houston twice too many times and found the sprawling concrete Generica stifling. Lance Armstrong's bike shop, Mellow Johnny's, is there as well as some yummy Texmex enchiladas. Also, a road trip with Kevin, Mary, and some TT pals is irresistable.
10 weeks from now until the race should be enough time for me to regain some fitness to feel confident at the start line. I have revisited my 2008 season goals and have a single goal for this race: To leave it ALL out on the course. Period. I want to cross that finish line having given everything I possibly could.
Yes, I shall have a pacing and nutrition plan. I'm not planning on going out as hard as possible until I blow up. Been there, done that lots of times. I shall continue to ride/run during the hottest, most humid and oppressive time of day to acclimatize (last year's Longhorn had a heat index of 107--deja vu Eagleman!). The shift is from a time goal to an effort goal. I want to see if I can take pride in the labors of the process instead of a numerical result.
The adventure starts tomorrow with a week of testing. Time to get back in the saddle. Giddy up!

An Easy Decision

2008-07-26T12:54:00.000-07:00

After 3 glorious, alpine days of playing in the woods with our bikes, Kevin and I headed to Lake Placid to volunteer, cheer on our fellow tri-pals, and eventually sign up for Ironman 2009. For the last 2 years we were at IMLP, we stayed outside of town in Saranac. We would get into town by 7am to swim in Mirror Lake, register, rack bikes, quickly run through the expo, and get the heck of there by 9am. I remember alot of nervous energy in town and wanted to limit my exposure to it before my first Ironman as did Kevin.

On Saturday, we arrived in Lake Placid midday, right in the middle of Ironman mania. Hordes of triathletes in their aerohelmets were riding their bikes in packs in the middle of traffic, seemingly oblivious to cars and pedestrians who apparently must step aside to their entitled Ironmanness. Even larger hordes of Ironman pedestrians paraded in their Mdot gear and finisher's shirts, posturing in overwhelming self-importance. I had packed my IMLP 07 finisher cap, but now didn't want to wear it. I didn't want to be part of some group of people who thought they were better than everyone else just because they did this race. Kevin felt the same and bemoaned that we should've never left Vermont. When did we become so negative about the whole Ironman scene that we were once part of? Did we mistaken all of this pretension for race enthusiasm for the last 2 years?
I tried to be equanimous (but not so much eloquent) and said,"In every group of people, there's always gonna be a few who are douche bags---that shouldn't take away our love of the activity" Take my profession: I know a tremendous number of conscientious, brilliant, caring surgeons who make me proud to be part of that vocation. I also know throngs of insecure, pompous, insufferable surgeons as well. I want to say to them,"Intimidating and belittling people now isn't going to make up for no one picking you for their dodgeball team in 2nd grade!" We tried to lighten our misanthropic mood by picking out the "Biggest Iron Douche" and got out of town as fast as we could.
Race day started with rain which reached a crescendo of monsoon-like downpour. We'd missed the swim start, but managed to catch a glimpse of some friends as they were finishing the first loop of the bike leg. Everyone was soaked and appeared to be ice-cold. Both of us volunteered in the medical tent from noon to 4pm. A few athletes trickled in with hypothermia. It seemed that anyone who crashed on the course was taken directly by ambulance to the hospital.
Then I saw the one person I hoped I'd never see during my shift at the medical tent. EMT's wheeled in Coach Mary on a gurney, wrapped in a blanket. I gasped when I saw her. She took one look at me and burst into tears. I started crying. She cried,"Kitima, I don't even remember your last name!" Her lips were blue and she was shivering uncontrollably. We quickly placed several bags of warmed saline around her. She recalls in detail how she received 3 hard blows to the head during the swim and where on the bike course she started having double vision. She remembered EXACTLY how many calories were in each of her bottles, the number of calories she had consumed, that each of her salt tablets contained 341 mg of sodium and that she had taken one precisely every 15 min. Not bad for someone who has a concussion! However, a few neurological hiccups in her exam made it obvious that there was no way she could or should continue with the race.
With my own DNF still fresh in my memory, I could feel the crushing disappointment of hers. While you can make mistakes in pacing, nutrition, salt intake, bike handling that will land you squarely in the medical tent, you can't predict or prevent getting kicked/elbowed in the head during the swim. But even something that was out of your control doesn't lessen the heartache of not finishing what you started and anticipated completing with outstanding results. I knew she'd get over it (if I could, she could!) in time, but for the immediate future Kevin and I stayed with her and tried to cheer her up with some pretty bad jokes.
The three of us eventually left the medical tent and made it to the Score-This! tent where we dropped off Mary with Rich Clark. Kevin and I cheered on the athletes running up the steep hill into town in the deluge. We knew what it was like to suffer through an Ironman, but to endure one in this horrific weather seemed a herculean effort. It was a truly inspiring sight. I thought that if my first Ironman last year had weather like today...of course, I'd do it. Rain was not about to spoil all that time, effort, money spent on training. However, 3 well-placed, perfectly timed blows to the head can. Up until my arrival in Lake Placid, I search for some nugget of enthusiasm to do this race again. I wanted the reason, the motivation for a second IMLP to be more than just go faster than last year. I thought I should have some excitement, some fire (even a whisp of a flame!) to want to do this Ironman again. I did not. Mary said (even in her brain scrambled state),"Unless you can't wait to sign up for Ironman today, don't do it tomorrow." The decision was easy and obvious. I wouldn't take a voucher tomorrow because I didn't feel utter committed or even remotely eager to do IMLP next year.
I know someday I'll be back. I truly do love the training and the race venue is like none other. When I do return, I'm sure I'll still want to go faster than my '07 time but I'll be at the start line with a passion for doing the race regardless of what that race day may bring.

3 Days of Dirt

2008-07-24T07:12:00.000-07:00

From the first time I saw a mountain bike (sometime in the late 1980's--some guy named Gary Fisher on a bike with knobby tires riding off pavement), I'd always wanted to ride down a hill, in the woods, over rocks and roots on a bike. I took my first mountain bike (Trek Antelope 6000, neon yellow with Biopace cranks, circa 1991) down a muddy park trail in Pittsburgh, heading straight into an enormous boulder. I thought I would "hop" over it, but ended up midair with the bike completely on its side then crashing down upon me. The seat stay and chain stay were bent, the rear derailleur mangled, and my right leg gouged from the big chain ring teeth. I was hooked.
17 years later I did something I've always wanted to do. Kevin and I left our mediocre triathlon performances behind and ran away to Vermont. I have discovered quite possibly the best vacation: downhill mountain biking at Killington, VT.
At 10am (no crack of dawn starts like triathlons!) the lift opens and we board the gondola with our bikes hanging on the ski racks. I thought we would rent downhill bikes with squishy, 2-feet-of-travel suspensions but decided our bikes and bike handling skills would more than suffice. Up, up, up to the very top of the mountain we went. Blue skies, sunshine, and alpine forests greeted us. We start on a fire road which in the winter would be a wide, gently sloping bunny trail. However, it's July and the road is full of loose gravel. No better time to test those skills at handling the back wheel sliding around (or even better--preventing the slide with some speed!). We take a detour into the woods and onto a single-track littered with rock gardens. Part of me is freaking out because the trails I ride at home are mostly dirt, roots, logs...maybe a stray rock the size of an apple. I haven't bounced over many rock gardens and the potential fall looks painful. However, the thrill of being on a mountain top, among trees and alpine air so overwhelms me. I'm simply too damned happy to be there to panic or be fearful. I pick my line and go. If I had any aprehensions about riding over rocks, I left them somewhere in the woods of southern Vermont. We rode for 5 hours that first day and only stopped because my hands hurt too much (must learn to relax that death grip).
On the second day, I took a 2 hour lesson. I was the only person in the "class" so I had the instructor, Jon, all to myself. He didn't teach me anything I didn't already know or had read, but having someone constantly reminding me how to lean the bike (and not myself) into a corner or how to look more than 6 feet in front of me was incredibly helpful. We practiced alot of cornering skills, especially through some sharp turns on loose gravel. On the road bike, I think of my Pro Tour heroes descending the Pyrenees or Alps and remember to keep the inside foot up. However, on the dirt bike keeping the inside foot up scares me--I'm afraid of the whole bike skidding out from under me. So Jon says "Outside foot down. Lean the bike, but counterbalance with your weight." Inexplicably, "outside foot down" is less scary than "inside foot up" and it works. I'm cornering like a champ.
Another basic we work on is my sighting. Jon tells me that I need to look 20 feet ahead. "Objects come at you faster if you're looking just 6 feet in front of your wheel,"he tells me. So we turn down a blue square (the trails are rated in likelihood of crashing--just like ski slopes) single track. He rides in front of me and in a commanding voice says,"Keep your eyes on me!" There is no time for me to wring my hands and fret that I'm riding a trail I think is beyond my skills. I'm hurling down the trails, eyes locked on him (riding about 20 feet in front of me--how does he do that?!), cleaning climbs, cornerning hairy, rocky, root clogged, hairpin descents that I would have never dared to ride alone. At one descent, I see him disappear over a ledge. Just as I'm about to unclip and call 911, Jon yells, "Stay to the right, it's kinda steep, keep your weight back." I do all those things and find myself triumphant, rubber side down at the bottom of a steep hill. I used to think that I rode better with Shari because her fearlessness gave me courage. While that may still be true, I realized that having her ride ahead of me gave me something to focus on that wasn't coming at me at warp speed 3 feet in front of my bike. When rocks, roots, turns are coming at you that fast, you can only react hastily to them in a right brain sort of way. When obstacles are seen at a distance and anticipated, one can smoothly flow over them in a left brain way. Is this a key to racing from the heart?
I was reminded to bend my elbows and not lock my arms, bend at the waist, and keep my feet level. "Instead of bracing yourself for the bumps, just absorb them."Jon said. My hands hurt alot less on that second day. Bending at the waist, I found that I could get my weight back and better balance on the bike. I also relearned that my tendency to unclip and dab with my left foot only gets me into trouble. I'm better off with both feet on the pedals. Another lesson revisited was that a lapse in focus, just one second of inattention will land me shiny side down.
My lesson comes too quickly to an end and I meet up with Kevin who has spent the morning on black diamond trails. We spend our lunch regalling each other with bike tales, punctuating our stories with hand gestures that don't do our descents or turns any justice.
The next day I awoke with a full blown chest cold and fever. After overmedicating myself with antihistamines, decongestants, and ibuprofen, I rallied for at least one last run. I must have been dehydrated because some of the single track looked like 2 trails. I aimed my bike for the middle and hoped that "line" wouldn't plummet me into a ravine. The 7 year old kid in me just didn't want to miss out on one last day to play with my pal, Kevin in the dirt.
I loathe to use mountain biking as an allegory for life like so many surfers or mountaineers do in pseudo-intellectual, quasi-zen publications. However, I will say that I did learn to/that:
1. Look ahead
2. Lean and counterbalance
3. Relax...it keeps you from getting beat up.
4. When the mind goes down, the ass goes to ground.

Musselman Race Report

2008-07-14T14:53:00.000-07:00

The week before the race presented a couple of road bumps. First, I got acute capsulitis of my left 2nd MTP joint--a nagging pain in the ball of my foot that felt like a fold in my sock that developed into a sharp pain upon any weight bearing. I took 3 days completely off, went to my podiatrist for the diagnosis, and was pain free on 4 days after the initial insult. I asked my podiatrist if I could run on it (answer: yes, if I'm not in pain) and if I was running on it during Mussel and it started to hurt, could I continue to run on it without causing some permanent foot deformity (answer: yes, again).
Second, I found a painful lump in my breast. I had a feeling it was a cyst and was going to deal with it after the race, but the damned thing hurt so bad I had my friend (and gynecologist) to stick a needle in it and drain it. She tried 3 times with no result. Ugh! Having this painful mass bouncing around in my sports bra for 13 miles was unacceptable. So I had another friend (and radiologist) drain it under ultrasound. There was one cyst (successfully drained!) and one adjacent funny mass that I had to proceed with right to mammogram for my pin cushion boob to be squished. I'd had enough of my own medical drama! I just hoped for no pain from either the breast or the foot during the race.
Thank goodness the Fosters, Marian & Rolando showed up at our house that night! I was really looking forward to their stay with us. Kevin, Mike, and I were racing. We all agreed that we were undertrained and hoped for the best.

"The sea was angry that day, my friend..."
While I'm not a great swimmer, I have been swimming open water/triathlons for 8 years. I have swum in murky, cold, rough waters of the Pacific NW so the chop in Seneca Lake didn't worry me at all. I started right up front hoping for pair of feet on which to draft. Within 300 yards, I felt like the collar of my wetsuit was choking me and unzipped my wetsuit half way down. At the first buoy there was a wad of seaweed the size of a couch that I swam right into it. When I later told Marian about it, she said I should've flipped on my back like an otter and started breaking clams with rocks on my belly. I wished I would've thought of that during the swim because it would've really helped me from not spiraling into lethal pissed-offed-ness. After the first turn, I swam to the wrong buoy. A guy on a jet ski pointed me to the right buoy that was about 10 miles away. I swam hard to catch up to my wave only to go off course AGAIN. WFT? Now, I'm swimming even harder to catch up. At one point I stood up (and cut my toe on a zebra mussel) and asked a volunteer on a kayak,"Where the hell am I supposed to go?" She pointed in nearly the opposite direction I had been swimming. I'd never been so pissed off in the water. By the time I got out of the water (20 min faster than my IMLP swim split!), I knew my extremely hopeful goal of breaking 5:40 was gone. If I really hammered for the bike and run, I might achieve my easy goal of breaking 6 hours.

The glaucoma test...
For the first part of the bike, I stuck to my plan of being on the lower end of my wattage range. There seemed to be a headwind, but I wasn't going to dwell upon it as I knew it wouldn't improve my already foul mood from the swim. The one good thing about being one of the last people to come out of the water is that no one passed me on the bike. Absolutely no one. I had a sour stomach for the first hour that didn't go away until mile 7 of the run. As a result, I didn't take in my planned amount of nutrition. By mile 40, the inconsistency of my training since April became very apparent. I was hurting quite a bit trying to put out the necessary watts. The thunderstorm had started; and the rainfall went from steady to quite heavy. A few stray raindrops hit my eyeballs and it felt like that air puff test for glaucoma that you get at an eye exam. I dropped my chain and about 8 people I had passed went zooming by me. I quickly passed them again, but by mile 50 I hoped that the run would be cancelled due to thunder and lightning. That easy goal of breaking 6 hours was gone and I shifted to the super easy goal of breaking my Mussel time in 2006. My Ergomo screen said "low battery" (and I charged that stupid thing!) so I had no idea how many watts I was putting out. I thought about the Tour de France riders in a breakway going under the 10K banner with the peloton bearing down upon them and rode with everything I had left.

Making lemonade...
As I entered T2, I asked Mary, "Are we really running in this lightning?" She answered through the bullhorn,"Yes, Boon you are running in this lightning unless you have metal in your shoes." I knew I wasn't even going to make my super easy goal and resigned myself to the run. At that point, my bad mood lifted. I figured that there wasn't any point in hurting myself on this run and that I may as well make some race friends. I gave salt tablets to a fellow runner who stopped from a leg cramp. A mile later he flew by me cramp free and looked to be running at least 7 min/miles. I drank coke and water at every aid station and thanked every volunteer I saw. At mile 7, the rain was torrential. I laughed with my fellow triathletes as we agreed that we wouldn't need to shower or wash our race clothes at this point. I ran the last 6 miles with a guy named Chris and a young girl (22 years old) who would utterly fly down hills then slow to a walk on the way up (which is were I'd catch up with her). We mugged for the photographers taking our race photos. Alot of race friends found me on the other side of the finish line and we exchanged many congratulatory hugs.

What I learned today...
1. That I don't need as many calories as I thought I did on the bike. 200 Cal/hour is enough. 330 Cal/hour is too much.
2. That while I may not have made tremendous advancements in my running pace, I did make an enormous improvement in my attitude about running >13 miles. It's just not the dreadful, daunting specter it used to be.
3. When time expectations and race goals are in the toilet, you can still have a wonderful time making race friends.

ID#

2008-07-03T06:22:00.000-07:00

Because of the culture of my family and ethnicity, I am no stranger to numbers that identify, rank, and assign one's place in some scheme of worthiness. In the work place and many social circles, I've been sized up by my GPA, SAT/MCAT scores, dress size, annual income, net worth, and square footage of my home. Triathlon is no different. In my group of tri pals and training friends, we all have some idea of each others running E-pace, T-time for the 100 yard swim, bike splits, FTP, and most recent Ironman results. For some of us, prestige and one-upmanship is assigned to these numbers. I'm not talking about some friendly competition at the local sprint or using a slightly faster training partner as a benchmark for progress. I'm talking about people who actually think they're better than someone else based solely on how high their Vdot is or how many watts they average on the bike.

As a MOP'er on a good day and BOP'er on an average day, I don't hang much of my self-worth or identity on these numbers. While I get alot of satisfaction from improvements that I make in my training, my frail ego can't be held up by my athletic statistics. Mind you, I'm far from swimming for the sheer and absolute joy of swimming. I do love running for the sake of running; and I can't think of a truly bad day on a bicycle (even spiraling into the depths of heat stroke at Eagleman). I truly enjoy tracking my training progress quantitatively. Bring on those numbers, graphs, and charts--I love them all! However, I am no more my FTP than I am the dollar amount of my bank account.

That being said, I have revisited my reason to do IMLP again. Since mile 18 on the run of my first IMLP, I vowed to return because I knew I would fall quite short of my time expectations. Even with No-friggin-way-I'm-doing-this-again sentiments swirling around my head at the finish line and the following 48 hours, I felt that I had to come back to Ironman to try and get a faster finish time. I felt that my finish time did not reflect my fitness, my ability, or my hard work. After a year of looking back, dissecting, and over analyzing, I know that my finish time IS a reflection of tactical errors including overeating on the bike, taking too much time during transition, and being unprepared mentally and emotionally to handle truly dark moments. I want to return to Ironman to "make it right."

Make it right?! As if it wasn't enough to toe the line at the start without an injury and finish without a visit to the medical tent? Apparently, not. I do not want to be identified by a 15:30:02 Ironman finish time. So everything I pontificated 2 paragraphs ago has gone out the window! Must be that I'm satisfied with my FTP, net worth, square footage of my home, even my lowly Vdot...but not with my IMLP time. Hrrhmph!

Is that reason enough to suffer through another Ironman? Perhaps, I'm asking the question in wrong way...In order to commit to the training that may or may not result in me moving myself forward for 140.6 miles in less than 15 and 1/2 hours, am I willing to do it just for a result, an arbitrary number upon which I have hinged my athletic self-worth? Or should I want to move myself forward for 140.6 miles on that glorious day, be grateful for the priviledge to do it, and enjoy the sweet and fleeting moments of peak fitness? Or do I want another chance to get my nutrition right, to pace the bike and run better, to overcome my own doubts and negative thoughts?
Those are all valid reasons. Depending on where my mind is during training or the race itself, I'll remind myself of each of those reasons. However, I think the 1# reason is that I like the training. To quote Gordo: Training is fun, racing is tough. For the most part, I found training for that first Ironman to be quite enjoyable. What wasn't fun was the anxiety surrounding the actual race. I was afraid to DNF my first Ironman. I remember thinking that I would like do second Ironman and train without the anxiety of finishing a first one. So why can't I just train: swim, bike, run just to do it? I'm quite sure that I wouldn't train if I didn't have a race. So triathlon for me isn't just about good health (training to the edge to injury, mental and physical fatigue far exceeds the requirements for health) or the love of running and cycling (and a slight tolerance to swimming). It's wrapped up in a finishing time, a ranking in an age group--numbers that I give weight to defining a part of my identity.
See you at the sign up line on Monday morning!

But I'm from Thailand, Dammit!

2008-06-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-23T16:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-20T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-18T05:56:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-13T09:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

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!

What I did for love

2008-05-29T06:10:00.000-07:00

Last week a very special patient came to see me. I'll call her Angela (all names are changed for obvious reasons). Angela is 33 years old and 36 weeks pregnant with her first baby--a boy that she's named Michael. Two weeks ago she discovered a lump in each of her breasts. As she's pregnant, no x-rays or mammograms were done to protect unborn Baby Michael from radiation. She did however have an ultrasound and a biopsy of these breast lumps and was found to have breast cancer in each breast. She showed up for her appointment with her distraught husband, sister, and parents. We talked for over an hour and a half about her breast cancer and her treatment options. She had already decided to have a double mastectomy given the size of the tumors. She would also need several CT scans and radiologic tests to see if the cancer had spread beyond her breasts. But first, Baby Michael would have to be delivered to avoid exposure to anesthesia or radiation. Angela was calm and decisive through the entire meeting, but her husband and family were clearly fretful and anxious. So before the appointment ended, I told them about my friend Laurel.

I met Laurel in my first year out of residency. I was a young surgeon eager to apply my technical skills in the OR. The long hours and years spent in residency is very much focused on management of surgical diseases and honing of surgical proficiency. Laurel showed up one afternoon during a busy clinic with a red rash on and a 20 cm mass in her right breast. Her family doctor had prescribed an antifungal cream for the rash that didn't make it go away. She had something far worse than fungal skin infection. I did a biopsy of the mass and of the skin on her breast with the rash and scheduled her to come back to see me in 2 days for a discussion of the biopsy results. I told her to bring her family with her to that appointment as I thought that the results might reveal a cancer. I'll never forget how I squirmed in my chair as I told her these things, how I stumbled over my own clumsy words, how I hoped she couldn't tell how badly I was sweating. She seemed like such a nice person; and I simply didn't want to ruin her day with the spectre of breast cancer. And when the hell during residency were we taught how to compassionately deliver bad news?

Two days later I sat with Laurel, her husband, and 22 year old daughter in my office. The breast biopsy indeed showed a breast cancer. The skin biopsy revealed breast cancer cells in dermal lymph channels. She had inflammatory breast cancer, a rare but extremely aggressive type of breast cancer. Compared to non-inflammatory breast cancers, the survival rates are quite lower--in fact, they are dismal. She would start chemotherapy and radiation first. If she survived and the cancer shrunk, she would proceed with mastectomy.

Laurel's daughter was the first to cry. She didn't hold back any of her sadness. Soon everyone in the room was in tears including me. I cried for their grief, fear, and anguish. I cried because I wanted so much to help them, take away her cancer with one swift and dexterous operation but I couldn't. Before they left, Laurel asked if she could give me a hug. I thought, "Who hugs a surgeon? Do I look that pathetic crying that I need a hug even though she's the one with cancer?" I said, "Of course." She hugged me with her whole heart.

Over the next few months as she was getting chemotherapy then radiation, Laurel would stop by my office to see me. She insisted that she give a hug at the start and end of every visit. She also insisted that we address each other by our first names. Against everything I was taught to believe about being a medical professional, I found that to be comfortable and comforting. She told me about a book, "Love, Medicine, and Miracles" by a surgeon, Bernie Siegel. I read it and have re-read it several times. She told me how she changed her job--quit listening to people complain all day. She told me how she would visualize her immune system attacking and defeating her cancer. Rubbing her breast mass, she would say, "Laurel's white cells, do your thing!"

When her chemotherapy and radiation was finished, she came to my office for an "official " appointment. Though our meeting was scheduled, we still started with a hug and greeted each other by our first names. On examination, her breast mass had shrunk to a quarter of its original size. At 5 cm, it was still large but small enough to make a mastectomy possible. We talked about the operation including the dissection of her lymph nodes in her armpit. I wanted so badly for her to do well, but didn't want give her false hope because the prognosis of inflammatory breast cancer was so poor. She hugged me before heading off to do her pre-operative testing.

Laurel's operation went perfectly. She recovered quickly without complications. 3 days later her pathology report came back: Lymph nodes clear of cancer---excellent! No cancer found in the 5 cm breast mass---Wah! It couldn't be!! I called up the pathologist and made him review my biopsy result and do more sections of the mass. How could he miss a cancer in a mass the size of a small orange? How can there once be cancer and now none? He did more sections THREE more times (because I pestered him incessantly about it)...there was NO CANCER to be found. When I finally told Laurel of her results, I knew I had witness a miracle. The chemo docs high fived each other and claimed victory with their drugs. The radiation folks patted themselves on the back and marveled at the power of their radiation. I believe with my whole heart and the entire fund of my medical knowledge that Laurel cured her own cancer.

That was 8 years ago. Laurel is alive, happy, and cancer-free today. We send each other Christmas cards every year with updates on our lives. She told me I could tell anyone who had cancer about her story. I think about her alot and am so thankful to have the priviledge and honor to know her and have her friendship. She taught me that the most important part of my job was to give people hope and empower them to take control of their health. She taught me that the best part about my job was how much I could love and care for my patients.

So with her story, I hope that I passed on Laurel's hope and courage to Angela and her family. She has so much to live for: a new marriage, a new family, Baby Michael.

In a few days, I will go to court as a defendant in my first malpractice trial. It seems like business as usual for the lawyers and an opportunity to collect on more money for the plaintiff. I'm the only one who is taking it all so personally. I could've settled and walked away, but I felt that I had to fight for myself. I did nothing wrong and would defend myself in an imperfect judiciary system with the distinct chance of losing. I've thought about what I'm fighting for: my innocence? Justice? I'm fighting for the doctor I became after I met Laurel. I didn't want to become embittered by law suits. I didn't want to continue to be a doctor and be devoid of hope, caring, and love because I was so paranoid and hateful from this litigious environment.

Perhaps I'm being naive or overly idealistic about it, but I don't want to lose the person I was before this suit. That person is worth fighting for.

Fight

2008-05-22T05:50:00.000-07:00

In 10 days I will be fighting for my life. Sheesh, that sounds a bit melodramatic! No, I don't have a terminal illness. Murderous barbarians are not hunting me down. The Fashion & Hygiene Nazi's don't have a warrant on me (why CAN'T I wear technical clothes all the time and not shower between workouts?!). No, I won't literally be fighting for my life, but I will have to be in that mindset for an upcoming ordeal where the outcome is someone wins and the other loses. I need to win and must fight to do so. And NO, it's not Eagleman! Natasha Badman's gonna win and I can't wait to marvel at her victory.

It's a Buddhist belief that within every person there is the capacity for great compassion and kindness as well as great self-preservation and aggression. Certain situations make for almost irresistable acts of generosity (who wouldn't help a cute abandoned puppy?) or cruelty (who didn't join in when the whole cafeteria was making fun of the nerdy, fat kid?). Other situations call for us to make decisions about our behavior where our morals, our nature, and our emotions are at odds.

I've figured out that it's not in my nature to fight. I'm certainly very competitive about all of things and relish in the thrill of victory--but scoring the highest on a test, making the best pot roast EVER, getting a PR at a race, or even winning my age group is not really about fighting. It's about doing the best that I can relative to others. It's not about throwing them under the bus or beating the crap out of them to win. I just don't think I could do harm someone else for the sake of winning. I would really suck at boxing, wouldn't I?

Then again, what kind of person would harm another for the sake of winning? Well, if we were at war that'd be a no brainer. If we grew up like male children in the Spartan culture and wanted to make it to puberty...there's another no brainer. [Spartan mothers would say to their sons as they went off to battle: "Return behind the shield or on it."] But for godsakes, I'm not presently in a combat situation; and DragonLady that my mom is, she would have kinder words than that to say to me.

I don't feel that I lack courage--I'm not afraid. I don't feel that I lack motivation--I want to win. I do feel that if it comes to figuratively delivering the victory blow I may hesitate. So somewhere in the depths of my zen-rific, "It's all good", Primum non nocere self I must find some fight and throw altruism out the window.

So what does this have to do with triathlon except that my trial is going to occur just before my "A" race? Alot of people talk about how triathlon, Ironman made them aware of something about/inside themselves that they didn't think they could do/know they had. I'm going to step completely outside of my comfort zone, act completely outside of my nature, and come out the other side muddy, bloody, and battered regardless if I win or lose--all before Eagleman. I'd be deceiving myself if I thought my performance at Eagleman won't be affected. What remains to be seen will be what that effect is.

Collective strength

2008-05-14T07:08:00.000-07:00

Good news: I'm not writing about death or drooling like a dog on a bike ride.

Today's blathering is about the great Kings of Thailand. In alot of Thai movies when the hero faces certain doom, he/she, in that time of desparation and grasping for hope, usually evokes the memory of King Naresuan who defeated the Burmese in 1591 and freed the Thai capital from their occupation. The protagonist (a kicker boxer trying to save his family from the Vietnamese mafia, an undercover policeman investigating the illegal endangered animal trade, a cartoon elephant in search of his father) has been beaten and bloodied. The bad guys are getting the better of him and begin a premature victory cheer. Our hero closes his eyes and the scene unravels... On a battlefield in western Thailand, the Thai and Burmese army clash in a fury of swords, arrows, gunfire, and cannons. While foot soldiers and horseman battle man to man on the ground level, another confrontation takes place 12 feet in the air on elephants. King Naresuan fights the Burmese king with lances. Their elephants brawl with tusks. The Thai army and king are outnumbered and appear to be losing. The King summons the courage of his father and all the great kings of Thailand, summons his own courage, and delivers a lethal blow to the Burmese king...

Our hero returns to the reality of his dire situation and gathers the strength from this memory, this collective courage that he is part of because he is Thai and defeats his enemy.

Okay, so it's obvious that I watch alot of predictable, formulaic movies (in English too!). My point is that during times when we need help, hope, courage, strength we can tap into not just our own reserves but into a collective one. We all come from some kind of greatness. In our histories, there are those who possessed and demonstrated extraordinary acts of bravery, fortitude, and perseverence. I think alot about my parents' incredible work ethic and drive to succeed. I think about my grandmother's determination to pull herself out of poverty (she was orphaned at 4 year old and though she was illiterate, she owned a successful business by the time she was in her 20's).

When I'm feeling "up against it--and the breaks are beating the boys", I draw upon the stength of my family, my ancestors, and yes, the great Kings of Thailand. I think,"Remember who you are..."

Gosh, I've always wanted to quote Knute Rockne All-American and Lion King.

Recycling

2008-05-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

Spring has hunkered down in grand fashion here in Upstate NY. We've been blessed with mild temps, only a few sprinkles, and breezes that won't knock over a bladed tri bike. Just about every ride has been outside for the last month; and the trainer butt sores have all but healed. I feel so damned happy to be outside riding my bike, pushing some big watts (for me), and having the sun warm my back. Then some SUV-- usually a monstrous Escalade or Navigator-- goes whooshing by me around 60 mph, it's side view mirror millimeters from my head. I ended last season with a healthy dose of fear for road riding. Local and national stories of cyclists vs. cars seemed so numerous and suddenly became personal. I fled to the trails with my mountain bike while my skinny-tired darlings gathered cobwebs in the garage.

This season I thought I'd try to get a new perspective on my lingering fear of death by a vehicle while on 2 wheels: Recycling. That's right...recycling in the form of organ donation. I figure if my brains are splattered within my pretty red helmet and the rest of me is okay I'd be very happy and proud to have someone reuse my healthy organs. With all this training my heart likely has very little or no coronary artery disease and a rocking stroke volume to boot. My kidneys are in great shape because I'm a hydration Nazi and don't take NSAID's. My liver has more than recovered from my college drinking days. Lastly, my cigarette-free lungs: I'd love for some person which cystic fibrosis to breathe easy with them.

I know it all sounds macabre (I think about death alot with my job), but I think it comforts me to know that all this training wouldn't go to waste, that all those swims, rides, and runs could help more than just me PR at some race.

I once saw a documentary about a village in the Himalayas where the people take their dead to a sacred place on a mountainside, have a memorial service, then the village "undertaker" takes the dead person, cuts them into portions for large vultures to take away. To the Western sensibility, it's gross and barbaric--but to me it's clean and practical. I like the idea of being taken away into the mountains by large birds when I die--it would be my one chance to really fly. I've floated this idea to my family and friends. They think the organ donation thing's the better way to go.

Huh, how about that?

2008-04-30T15:59:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-29T09:44:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-22T16:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-11T08:06:00.000-07:00

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!

The Impossible Dream

2008-03-28T08:11:00.000-07:00

I saw it coming the whole time: my first triathlon meltdown. The warning signs started about 6 weeks ago--every week of training seemed the same as the last; my enthusiasm for suiting up and running in 20 degrees and 20 mph wind was long gone; I hated my bike seat, bike shorts, the smell of the bar tape on my aerobars; I actively started to look into buying a new mountain bike to start racing Xterra tri's. In 7 seasons of triathlon, I have been derailed by a variety of injuries and work obligations but I'd never had a complete lack of motivation to train--until 2 weeks ago. I did the workouts only because I hate leaving things undone.

"You mad at triathlon." Kevin said to me.

I wouldn't believe him, but it was true. It had consumed our lives. We come home from work, scurry to get our swim/ride done, eat dinner as fast as we can to fuel our run, race to get the run in before the sunset, pass out on the couch, sleep, wake up, repeat. On days off, we wake up, eat, swim, eat, bike, eat, run, eat, pass out on couch. Somewhere in between, we manage to do laundry, buy groceries, and keep the squalor in the house at a manageable level. Kevin seems happy with this existence and his focus and gusto to train is boundless. I think it's because he feels that his goals for this season are very much within his reach. On the other hand, I was quite unhappy with our routine and my drive had dried up. I reassessed my goals for this season: Break 5:40 at Eagleman or Musselman. Frankly, I don't know where I'm going to shave 16 minutes off my HIM time. I could skip putting on socks at T1 and put Yanks on my running shoes to save time tying shoe laces--that would be a time savings of what? 2 minutes. I could ride 16 minutes faster, but would I end up blowing up on the run? From what corner of my ass am I going pull that much time off of last year's result?!

Then I tried to be philosophical about my goals. So what if I don't reach them? Our health is transient and there are many things on race day I can't control. Why should be my happiness be vested in such fleeting things? I should just be happy that I CAN train and exercise at this level--so many other people have it worse. Afterall, I'm not dying of cancer or have an incurable, crippling disease.

Then the HTFU voice kicked in: "Suck it up, buttercup! There's no crying in triathlon! Winners don't whine! Don't be a quitter!"

Then my childhood voice of the kid picked last for kickball said,"You can't quit triathlon! Who will you play with? You won't have any friends cuz they'll be running and biking and swimming--and you'll be left behind!" WTF was THAT for crying out loud?!

Finally, I asked myself how much I wanted to achieve my goal, the seemingly impossible dream. The answer was: Alot, a big bunch...I really want to reach it. Even more importantly I want the opportunity to turn myself inside out trying to reach it. 5:40--it's just a number and not a very fast or tri-studly one for some, but it's my dream. I want the chance to achieve it, to arrive on race day and feel that I've done everything I can to prepare for it, to cross the finish line and say that I gave all that I could, that I didn't hold back from fear of blowing up or having it hurt too much.

So back on the saddle I go, lance in hand, tilting at windmills.

Riding from the heart

2008-03-22T07:34:00.000-07:00

Geek confession #7: I love keeping track of numbers. A couple of years ago I did a "Ride Along" with Kevin and the second best part of the day was keeping a record of all the tickets he wrote, alarms and 911 calls to which he responded, and arrests he made. (The best part of the day is a toss up between getting a police discount at the bagel store and me almost crapping my pants when Kevy pulled his gun out before entering a domestic violence situation.)

Up until 6 months ago I did every Computrainer ride with my dearest companion, the Spinscan. It allegedly measures your pedaling efficiency with a number calculated from the torque at 12 points around the left and right pedal. I worked very hard for 3 years riding the Computrainer and getting those numbers into the high 80's. It didn't increase my speed or power output, but I had a very pretty looking pedal stroke. So as per coach's orders, I said goodbye to the Spinscan and started chasing another number: watts.

I'm not a big person so I don't put out big watts. Because I find this disappointing, I've been clinging to another number that I'm "good at": rpm. Back in the 1999, I bought the whole riding at 100-120 rpm's like Lance Armstrong is better than grinding gears at 80 rpm's like Jan Ulrich. So like my efforts with the Spinscan I worked very hard for 10 years to average 98 rpm per ride. Now the challenge is to put out watts at cadence. When I'm fatigued, the first thing to go is cadence. I rode my bike test today and in order to maintain my watts I average about 85 rpm for the last 5 min---which felt utterly uncomfortable. So maybe 98 rpm is not the most efficient cadence for me. Hmmm...

Anyhoo, my instructions for today's bike test was to cover all the numbers of my powermeter except time elapsed and ride from the heart. I'm quite sure that in my heart of hearts I'm pretty lazy and cling to comfort. It may be because the voice in my head (my mom's voice) tells me that I'm never working has hard as I could be so I've fulfilled that prophesy. For a couple of minutes during my bike test, I covered my powermeter and rode from my heart. When I looked down, the watts were low and the cadence was high--my comfort zone. I've found that if I don't have a number to chase (watts) I'll settle into what's comfy. In order to perform my best, I need to be constantly pecked and pushed (for those of you with an Asian mother, you know what that's like)--not drill sargent yelling expletives and insults, but Mommycake's stern, supportive, quiet voice telling me to relax my shoulders, don't let the watts drift downward, push through the heaviness in my legs. The voice in my head that urges and motivates me to perform, to achieve my very highest goals is hers. It's the voice drives me to produces results, to chase numbers--a voice that has NEVER said, "That's enough. You did your best." For bike/run/swim tests and even races, it's the voice I need and want to hear. Post-race, post-test I'm trying to find another voice. I'm not sure what I want to hear yet.

2008-03-18T16:53:00.000-07:00

Back in college I would regularly chow down the following for lunch: 2 behemoth Reuben sandwiches loaded with Thousand Island dressing and grease, about 1 liter of Pepsi, and the frosting off 3 pieces of cake. Within 15-20 minutes I could go do a track workout with intervals followed by aerobics (I'm a child of the 80's) or ride 30-40 miles in the noonday heat followed by a game of basketball. My recovery snack would be a big mug of peanut butter and brown sugar or a whole can of frosting or both.

Those days are LONG GONE! *sniff, sniff* However, because 40 is just around the corner for me, I had a lapse of common sense or was clinging to the GI resilience of my youth. After this morning's moderately hard swim, I gorged at an Indian food buffet and ate more chocolate cream pie than Kevin. Outeating the Kevster in any food group is a monumental undertaking. Eating more DESSERT than an equally hungry Kevin today put made me an Olympic gold medal contender.

As triathletes we hear/read alot about pushing our limits, taking risks, embracing the pain. As a gastronomic idiot, I did all of those things. Until today, I didn't know just how much curried foods I could stuff down my piehole. I knew Kevin wouldn't want the leftovers stinking up the refrigerator so I took a risk and damn near cleaned my plate 1500 Cal after I was full. Then there was that pie. The beginnings of a belly ache were underway, but after all...it's PIE!

Yep, my recovery went like this: balled up on the bed, clutching a bottle of Pepto Bismol. My sweetspot ride and tempo run a quickly fading possibility for tonight's activities.

Well, live to fight another day...and eat less offensive quantities of food. Lesson of nutritional excellence learned. I'll be reminded for the next 24 hours as I burp up curry!

Sleepers, Awake!

2008-03-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Once during my 4rd year in residency, I worked for 12 weeks without one day--one 24 hour period--off. I don't remember much about those 12 weeks. I just know I that I did it. I remember the dread of the day before and the relief of the day after. For all the days in between, I must've been in a trance. I guess that's the thing to do--check out, go on auto-pilot--during those times. When I ask patients who have been in the ICU, on mechanical ventilation, one foot in the grave, if they remember any of that experience just about 100% can't recall a thing. Looking back on my years as a resident, it seems that it was one big blur where I remember some random moments (usually brought on by watching "Scrubs"). It was so easy to come out of residency and continue on that 90-100 hour work week. Turbo surgeon on auto-pilot. The amount and stress of work and endless hours of being available for work continued to validate my ego and define me as a surgeon.

Then I woke up. I wish I could tell some heart-warming Hallmark channel story about some sweet patient who changed a hardened surgeon or a Doctor, Heal thyself! tale. Not today. The stars aligned in such a way that I left my busy and successful practice in Seattle and found myself back in Upstate NY working part-time in a significantly less busy practice. I missed my wonderful life in Seattle: a rewarding practice with great colleagues and lots of elective surgery, an utterly gorgeous city with a friendly and active multisport community, a place where I felt that I finally belonged. While I completely HATED my new work and living situation at first, it did give me alot of time to get back into triathlon and figure out what was really important to me.
The price and process of self-awareness is that all those emotions, thoughts, behaviors hard-wired bubble to the surface. Each can bring about incredible joy, pain, both, and a more thorough understanding of oneself. Sounds very Dalai Lama and zen-like, huh? Well, let's just say it takes up alot of time and energy to process all of it. Time and energy that used to be dedicated to work. Well, for the last 10 days work has increased its volume and intensity to the point where I went back into auto-pilot---or at least I tried. It's Friday. I'm off call. The pager is turned off and I'm psychologically spent. I guess I was more awake for all that work than I thought. It's not the hours or unpredictability of the hours of work that are exhausting. It's worrying about people--sick, whiny, demanding people with unrealistic expectations, who take out their frustrations by being rude to you. I worry about them because that's what I do, it's my job, and I'm awake.
I hope that over time I'll be less exhausted, build up endurance and fitness in this arena the way I do with training. I remember when I couldn't run longer than 30 minutes without a walkman. I needed the distraction to just get through the workout. Now I can't stand to run with any music because I find it distracting. I want to completely tune into my cadence, pace, and how I'm feeling whether it's fresh and fast or hoping someone will jump out of the bushes, attack me, and end this misery (one of my thoughts around mile 14 of IMLP 07). Self-awareness sounds great for triathlon, but it seeped into other aspects of my life too. I have a finite amount of mental energy to expend and for the last 2 weeks the tank has been close to empty. Something's gotta go and I'm hoping that by this fall it's going to be work. Just in time for IMLP 2009 training!

Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!

2008-03-09T11:46:00.000-07:00

All winter the local news and meteorologists have been hysterical over every front with precipitation. Oh, this is the big one! Better stock up on canned goods and bottled water--a snowy apocalypse is upon us! Schools close. All of my patients over 65 years old cancel their appointments. We await the hell from above...only to have a mere dusting of flakes or some slush that melts by noon.

Yep, by March, I was quite jaundiced with winter storm warnings and thought very little of this one over the weekend. I grumbled to my patients on Friday,"What kind of snow advisory lasts for 40 hours? Enough is enough already!" We talked about the bluebirds I saw and the impending springtime.

Well it looks like those f---ers got it right this time. We got snowed up and snowed in. And what timing! The frozen Armageddon came at the peak of my absolute disgust with running outside in this cold and windy weather. I was in fulminant weather weeniedom. There's been a paucity of snow this winter and an abundance of wind which makes for no escaping to the trails with snowshoes--just HTFU and nature's dermabrasion out on the roads. Which brings me to the my vote for the HTFU award of the winter training season: Kevy Wevy. He's been consistently suiting up and running in this crap for weather all winter because we're too cheap to belong to a gym or buy a treadmill. God bless him for his dedication to his triathlon goals and what it takes to achieve them. If anyone deserves a PR, Clearwater/Half Max/Kona spot, or a place on the podium, it's my darling Kevin. If I blow up or choke somewhere on the Eagleman run, I know that part of it is due winter weather weeniedom.

They're back

2008-03-02T11:07:00.000-08:00

It's 32 degrees outside. The sky is blue and only a light breeze stirs the air. The snow that had blown onto the road yesterday has all melted. The red-tail hawks and the kestrel that hunt in the fields on my run route were out in force. Compared to the last 3 months, today's weather is a wonderful respite. I'm quite sure I even saw an Eastern Bluebird. Their color really stands out in the snow. It seemed that two of them flew across the road 10 yards in front of me. I picked it up from E-pace to interval pace to see if they were really bluebirds. It was only 2.4 miles into the run so I couldn't have been too delirious from dehydration, hypoglycemia, or fatigue. Yep, there they were: two very blue sparrow-sized birds with reddish brown chests. March is the earliest I've ever seen them return. (They migrate south for the winter--not too bird-brained, huh?)

Change is just around the corner. I can feel it--whether it's a change in the weather, in myself, in the world. It's coming...

3 Lions

2008-02-22T15:14:00.000-08:00

My job gives me the priviledge of seeing (and most times helping) people face daunting and seemingly impossible challenges such as losing over 100 pounds, fighting cancer, and seeing their spouses, parent, and children suffer. I have found that how people react and adapt to stress and hardship is relative to the hardest thing they've ever had to endure. I've seen a 19 year-old daddy's girl bring her family to their knees over her migraine. I've also seen a 79-year-old woman with enormous weeping ulcers on her legs tell me,"It's no big deal, honey. I raised 14 kids in a 2 bedroom apartment in Brooklyn."

Certainly, we can be born into our hardships or have them happen upon us like being born in a 3rd world country or with a disability. Those who overcome them become a source of inspiration and hope to us. But then there are hardships that we chose--that by enduring them the reward makes the suffering worthwhile or meanful--like finishing my general surgery residency or having and raising a child. Lastly, there are hardships that we create. I find these to be the most interesting because one would think that there was enough suffering in this world, in this life that more wouldn't need to be created. Why create a hardship?

I wonder sometimes if I chose to do Ironman and half-Ironman in order to create suffering that I can overcome. My mom and orthopedic surgery colleagues tell me that my triathlon obsession has surpassed any motivation to just "be healthy". They tell me that if I really wanted to "just be healthy" I would go to the gym 4 times a week and do aerobics or maybe just do a sprint triathlon "for fun". Trying to cover 140.6 or even 70.3 miles in one day isn't about health (some would say it isn't even healthy) but about proving something to yourself or to the world. I understand they are concerned about the health of my knees and the impact that running more than 3 miles will have on them. [ Mom says, "If you ruin your knees with Ironman, how will you be able to stand to operate? How will you be able to make money to have babies?" I think she should enlighten alot of people in this world about cash flow and their ability to have offspring.]

3 years ago I took at trip to Tanzania. While in Tarangere National Park, I had the fortune and privilege to talk to a Masai warrior. My tourist group was on a walking safari led by some pontificating Imperialist airbag that I couldn't stand to listen to. We were escorted/protected by Masai warriors armed with spears in case we were attacked by lions, leopards, or elephants. Armed with about 50 Swahili words and phrases, 20 Masai noun, and a penchant for charades, I had a lovely conversation with one of our protectors. He asked how cattle were raised in America (Masai wealth is measure in cattle) and how Americans dealt with the lion and leopard problem with their cattle. I explained that our cattle are raised on ranches with fences (translate: "cows on farms with walls") and that instead of lions and leopards killing our cattle we had wolves (translate:"big dogs in forest eat cows"). I noticed that my friend had a number of scars on his face. He told me that the 3 circular scars are brands that were made for each lion he had killed defending his cattle. He explained that the random scars around his scalp were from a leopard that attacked him in the night and had his head in its jaws. He gestured how he killed it with his spear.

Now this gentleman could not have been older than 23 years. I think about the hardest thing I ever had to endure at 23 years old. All I could come up with was studying for the MCAT's and having my wisdom teeth pulled. I wasn't feeling afluent American guilt--nope, I didn't feel bad about any of the things and opportunities I had. If anything, I was a bit envious of his experiences with fear, danger, death and his ability to overcome them. I'm sure that if I could talk to him now and offer him the opportunity to do an Ironman he probably wouldn't (unless there were 2000 heads of cattle waiting for him at the finish line). It's simply nothing that would be of value to him: the suffering, the experience, a 140.6 sticker...none of it. So I asked myself what is the value of doing an Ironman? Is it because I probably couldn't defend myself or any cattle against lions? Am I making up for likely not being able to extract my head from the jaws of a hungry leopard? Wasn't suffering through medical school, residency, and a divorce enough for this life? Obviously, the answer is no.

I'm very happy and proud that I've done an Ironman (though not terribly happy nor proud of my overall time--that's another fish kettle of crazy). Ironman didn't happen to me like a cancer or disability. There wasn't a degree or awesome earning potential at the finish line like medical school and residency. I willingly paid $450 a year in advance to suffer within a 17 hour time limit. It wasn't for the finishers shirt or hat--anyone could've bought those at the expo the morning after. It wasn't for the medal either. I did an Ironman to accomplish something that most people wouldn't/couldn't/can't/won't do. Does it sometimes make me feel like I'm better than the overweight, smoking guy who honks at me on my long ride? Of course. Is it to be healthy? That depends. To explore the limits of my physical and mental strength, to be able to better endure other hardships outside of training with grace and patience--if I gain those things from Ironman then yes, it's healthy. To make up for an emptiness in my life, a shortcoming in my character, to chase the impossible for certain failure in order to get attention---no one needs an Ironman for that. Therapy may ultimately be cheaper.

So why Ironman for me? It has brought me wealth in the form of mental strength, confidence in my ability to run greater than 3 miles, insight and awareness of myself. As long those rewards continue to exceed the suffering, I'll be there to sign up. It's my 2000 heads of cattle complete with lurking lions and leopards. Now if only they made carbon spears that were more aero...

Recovery Week Weenie

2008-02-18T10:19:00.000-08:00

While I've been doing triathlons for 7 years, I have only been really training in an organized fashion for 3 seasons. The first 4 seasons went something like this:"Hey, wanna brick today? Okay. How about a swim? Naw, I suck at it--let's ride instead." No training logs, just riding and running the local tri course as fast as possible. Periodization? What's that? I remember getting in just one last 20 mile hammerfest on the bike the day before an A race "just to get those bike miles in". I had pretty decent bike splits and even respectable 5K's on the back end of the local sprints, but when I moved up to the Olympic distance I had some spectacular bonking-crash-and-burn meltdowns with only 2K left on the run.

So when I thought I'd grown up enough to do my first HIM, I read Joe Friel's Triathlon Training Bible and found Coach Mary. 2K to the finish line was unpleasant, but staring down 13 miles or a marathon with no glycogen, mental toughness, or fitness left would be a death march. Base, build, peak, and taper--they all made sense, but recovery week? During my first base training for my first HIM, I remember thinking,"Ride in Zone 2, run embarrassingly slow/best alone...then RECOVER? From what? If I go any slower, I'll be catatonic!" No, no, no, no! I was not going to be a Recovery Week Weenie---one of those people who just can't chill out, must hammer all the time, suffer their insolence with injuries. I'm much more serene and sensible than that.

Fast forward to Build phase for IM training: Now I'm hanging on by my fingernails , clawing my way to those blessed recovery weeks. I think,"Yep, there's gotta be something to these cuz I'm crying out for recovery week and Momma..." For 2 seasons, I had a recovery week scheduled after 3 weeks of building on volume or intensity. You'd think I'd have learned something from 2 consecutive injury-free seasons punctuated with personal triathlon victories.

This season there are no scheduled recovery weeks. The serene and sensible part of me finds this to be a great opportunity to really tune into my body and figure out when it needs to rest and rebuild. The Recovery Week Weenie/Hammer-All-the-Time-Meathead part of me thinks,"Awesome! No recovery needed EVER! Show no weakness! If you use force and it isn't working, you're not using enough! Charcoal doesn't bleed!" and other macho neanderthal things that surgeons say.

So my first recovery week was around Christmas when I felt forced to slow down due to an upper respiratory infection. I cursed children with runny noses and the inefficacy of this year's flu vaccine. It's been 8 weeks since that recovery week and--you guessed it!--it's time for another one. This entire last week there's been a battle royale between the gravitational pull of the couch on my ass vs. the HTFU-Guilt monster in my head. I came home from work utterly drained of energy, but not sore in the muscles and feeling good within 20 minutes on the bike, run, or water. I was able to hit my watts on Sweet Spot rides, but noticed that I was on the slow side with E-pace and 100's on the swim. "No, no, no, no!" I said, "Do today what you won't so that someday I'll do what you can't...er, something like that. Anyone can workout when they feel great, but a champion works out when they don't...um, right?" So I would rally off the couch and Git'r done until yesterday when I woke up feeling like a truck hit me then backed up and park on top of my head. I did some laundry and cleaned the floors then it was GAME OVER. As it lay dying, the HTFU-Guilt monster cried, "You should've done your run and swim instead of housework if that's all the energy you had...."

So here I am: first day of recovery week. This week at work is blessedly light; and the only pressing To-do items are taxes and cleaning the bathrooms. Alright, I'll say it: It's nice to have time to chill out, rest, be serene and sensible. I'm getting in tune with myself, getting to know when I need a break. Recovery doesn't mean being a slacker. Yep, I mean those all things...mostly.

Pool Math and The Matrix

2008-02-13T07:33:00.000-08:00

6 years ago I started swimming with a Masters group and was introduced to pool math--counting strokes per 25 yard length and laps for sets of 100's, 150's, etc. Not a problem! I'm Asian. I should have some inherent math ability. Then came the long sets for Ironman training...why couldn't I consistently count laps for sets of 300-1000 yards? Somewhere in the middle of the set, my chlorine-saturated brain would think,"Was that 350 or 450?" I tried counting just 50's, then just 100's, and back to counting every 25 yards---that didn't work. I tried "alphabet soup"--each 50 yards a letter, A through T would be 1000 yards--piece of cake, right? Somewhere around M, I couldn't remember if I had done M, was gonna do M, or was now on N. Next I tried naming a bird for each letter, A through T [Alert! You are now entering the very depths of my neurosis.] . That was even more distracting and less effective when I realized that after "Scarlet Trongo" I didn't know if I was finished or had another 50 to swim.

Despite my lap counting handicap, I managed to survive the Ironman swim and live to train another season. I have realized this season that the flaw was not how I was counting my laps, but that I wasn't really thinking about swimming, I was just trying to get it over and done. Unlike running outdoors or riding my Computrainer, there aren't alot of distractions while swimming. Occasionally, at the Nazareth College pool, a couple of co-eds in bikinis with a full face of make-up and perms will take the lane next to me to "aqua-jog" in the shallow end so as to not submerge above neck level. (I call them the BTG's: Bouncing Tittie Girls because they soon realize the lack of support in a bikini top and hold their breasts while water jogging) Anyhoo, their entertainment level quickly wanes and I'm left with my long sets again. I was doing everything I could to distract myself to get through the swim--especially the bird-alphabet thing.

This season the long sets are back. I've resolved to truly focus on the task at hand: improve my swimming. I've stopped thinking about how many sets, laps, 50's, 100's are left. I say to myself,"Your left hand entry, the ache in the pull---this pull, this catch for this stroke right now!" It's not comfortable at all. But I've not miscounted one set so far. I've stopped perseverating and dreading about the swim and just started swimming.

Which brings me to The Matrix, a fine film of post-apocalyptic earth dominated by computers, another Hollywood anthem of our fear and dependence of technology...There is a scene where Neo (played by the ultimate man-bimbo--the himbo Keanu Reeves) is sparring with his mentor, the Yoda of the 21st century, Morpheus. Neo has not realized his potential and his doubt limits him. Morpheus says, "You're faster than this. Don't think you are, know you are."

Certainly, I will put that quote on a mental post-it and file it away for race day. However, even now during the dog-days of base building, that quote is pertinent. My ability to overthink training and racing is "professional grade". Coach tells me to race from the heart; and I admit I don't exactly know what that means. It sounds like I should have confidence in my training and abilities, but I'm finding that it may have more to do with faith. The difference between confidence and faith is subtle but distinct--the like difference between thinking and knowing. When my dad and I discuss medical issues, politics, or history, he likes to ask,"Do you think or do you know?" It makes me stop and think if I could back up my statement with facts or simply state it with unwavering conviction.

So I think about standing in the water on race day. "I'm gonna break 5:45 today. I'm gonna run strong off the bike." Will I merely think this and justify my thoughts by recalling all the hours I've trained, the watts from my last bike test, my Vdot? Or will I know it completely and with certainty?

My hope is that standing in the water before my swim in Feb or standing at the bottom of my driveway before my E-pace run, I just plunge in and start swimming, start running. I'll certainly think about not crossing the midline with my arm entry or keeping my cadence high and my feet light. I'll rehearse all these movements until they are part of my muscle memory. Then on race day, I won't have to think about it. I'll just know.

That Which Survives

2008-02-06T12:45:00.000-08:00

Last year's Ironman training hit an all-time high in volume from May through the beginning of taper (about the end of June). I remember being tired all the time. Physically, I barely had enough energy after work and training to do the minimal amount of housework to keep living conditions just above abject squalor. Mentally, my patience could barely withstand the everyday rudeness and negativity. So my survival strategy was to ask Kevin to pitch in with chores and avoid negative people/situations. Of course, the Kevster came through and put my inner June-Cleaver-Gone-Loonie-Tunes to rest. Also, I found that I lost touch with some "friends" because I didn't have the mental fortitude to tolerate their gloomy disposition. You know these people: On a good day, they suck about 90% of the fun from the atmosphere. On a bad day, they suck 90% of your will to live. I felt badly about avoiding these friends because they really had some good reasons for being so down: relationship problems, training injuries, money woes. I wanted to be there for them as a good and reliable friend. However, sometimes their coping strategies would be to remind me of my problems or prior mistakes to make themselves feel better. Like I said, on a good day it would just bounce off of me. But after working a busy week with weekends booked with long rides and runs, there was no bounce left.

It reminds me of the USS Enterprise--yes, from Star Trek. Yeah, I can hear it--the Geek Alert is on Red. Anyhoo, the deflector shields of Captain James T. Kirk and his crew's beloved ship can only take so many hits before Scotty starts wailing from the engine room. The USS Enterprise is a research vessel that's been retrofitted and armed like a warship. I don't think it flies around the galaxy with its shields up all the time--it just uses its weapons when it needs to defend itself. I'd like to think that I'm cruising through space checking out new places and people the same way. [Okay, maybe not like Capt. JTK who's always looking to schtoop every alien chick out there. ] I'd like to think I'm going through my day with an open heart that's not completely helpless. There's a line that needs to be drawn between helping those who ability to take seems limitless and self preservation. I think that line is defined by one's own vulnerability.

What does this have to do with triathlon? I don't know. I think I just wanted to write about Star Trek.

The Discomfort Zone

2008-02-03T12:04:00.000-08:00

I've been swimming 3 times a week (>9K/week) for the last month. Compared to the pro's, top AG'ers, and swimstuds it's hardly a sneeze. But for me, a card-carrying member of the Flail Stroke and Splashing Inefficiently Club, it's an all time high in yardage. I asked for it because my beginning of the season swim test was abhorrent. After IMLP in July, I took a 5 month swim vacation. I basically didn't want to swim because I suck at it. So no big surprise with the swim test, but disappointing nonetheless.

I spoke to someone with whom I used to swim Master's about it. I said that though I've been swimming more since training for Ironman than I did when I just swam Master's, I still really don't swim much faster on the 100. Her response was,"And yet you persist." Ouch!

So I asked for an extra swim each week. I really, really like that I'm swimming that much. However, I don't like DOING it. It's an extra hour a week that I spend doing something at which I'm not very good, fast, or even remotely graceful. I have very little upper body strength or mass--something my mom is very happy about because it makes me look "delicate and feminine." So my scrawny arms and shoulders scream with every catch and pull. More than 10 x 100 on T-time and my roadie noodle arms are gonna fall off---and then there are 5 more 100's to go! And pulling with paddles for longer than 200 yards? I'm ready to keel over. Alot of my swims are at the Nazareth College pool--an old, dark pool that is 25 METERS. It's really not much longer than a yard pool, but I'm gasping for my last breath at the wall between sets to make T-time.

By the end of the 3rd swim of the week, I'm exhausted from the waist up and utterly overjoyed with my effort. As I said, I like that I'm doing this. I just don't really like doing it. My 100's are the fastest in my meager swim history. I am reminded of muscles in the arms, shoulders, and back that I had forgotten about (I don't operate on those parts and probably missed that day in Anatomy;)).

I have a friend who says that you've got to get out of your comfort zone for at least one month a year to feel really alive. I think he meant climbing Mount Kilimanjaro or ice climbing--but I think I've found that zone in some heavily chlorinated water. I have no intention of leaving this discomfort zone anytime soon. In fact, I'm looking forward to the day when it becomes a comfort zone.

Know Thyself

2008-01-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

I have finally finished the 3rd season of Lost (just in time for the season premiere). I felt that my I.Q. hadn't dropped enough from watching so much TV that I decided to watch some more. I tuned into "American Idol"--auditions in high definition no less. Scores of people spoke with tremendous confidence and hope into the camera and announced to the world that they were going to Hollywood, they were the next American Idol only to completely bomb their audition. Most of them were tone deaf and made up for being out of tune or having a mediocre voice by singing loudly or singing multiple notes (all out of tune) accompanied by gesticulations. (Yes, deep in my heart I am much more Simon Cowell than Randy or the ever insipid Paula.)

I thought,"Can't these people hear themselves? Are they that deceived about their true ability or lack thereof to sing?"

Post-audition interviews: the ones who don't make to the next stage are not so much disappointed, but angry and incredulous that the judges couldn't see or hear how great their performances were. So even having 3 people in the music industry tell them that they're not cut out for stardom doesn't bring about much self-awareness.

It makes me wonder about Ironman, especially FIRST Ironman, expectations. I have spoken to alot of fellow triathletes about their first Ironmans since completing my first one last July. While the reasons why, the training methods, the finishing times were all different, the roller coaster ride of emotions that culminated in a finish line moment of happiness, relief, pride only to be followed by some disappointment with the overall time was the same. The superstudly triathletes who finished their first IM's around 10 hours were just as disappointed about not finishing 9:30 as BOP'ers were for not breaking 13 or 14 hours. I heard:

"I just ran out of gas on the run."

"I could've thrown down a sub 3-hour marathon if it weren't for those blisters."

"Everyone got a nice long look at my disc wheel cuz I was only averaging 19 mph on the bike"

I thought, "How could some of these people be disappointed?" In my dreams, I couldn't throw down a stand alone sub 3-hour marathon or hope to ride the IMLP bike course averaging 19 mph. It seems that our expectations are relative to our perception of our performances and ability. So then, if our performance falls very far off our expectations are we like those tone deaf people who audition for American Idol and can't believe they weren't picked to go to Hollywood? Seems that the accuracy of our expectations is directly proportionate to the how well we know our abilities and performance.

Though I was told ad nauseum that to set time expectations for my first Ironman was foolhardy, I still did it because I'm pig-headed and fiercely competitive. Like so many first timers, I multiplied my 1000m swim test time by 4, added it to my long ride time, then added that to a run time derived from my long run. Voila! I was gonna freakin' break 13 hours at Lake Placid and have enough energy to cartwheel across the finish line like Heather Golnick. As you can guess, my prediction was no where near the truth of what happened on July 22, 2007. I made up for my lack of speed by perseverating over my nutrition. Despite an unexpected mental meltdown halfway through the run, I kept going. It wasn't pretty and nowhere close to 13 hours.
So, was I that delusional freakshow that tries to sing a Mariah Carey song without the vocal cords to hit the high notes? Today, God I hope not! I don't think I am. On July 21, 2007? Yeah, probably.
Alot of Ironman race reports include some statement about how much you learn about yourself or what your made of during the race. I must say that on that day I learned that I could finish I what I started despite some pretty dark moments. In the days that have followed that race, I have a clearer picture of the true depth of my fitness and mental toughness and that there's alot of work to be done before I finish under 13 hours at IMLP. Yep, that first Ironman was a good, long look in the mirror of athletic truth--not just a flat picture, but a 3-D image that I'm still trying to figure out and more importantly, improve.

I Heart NY

2008-01-17T17:49:00.000-08:00

The heat wave has come to an end here in Upstate NY. Snow covers the ground. The sky is the color of prison sheets; and the air bites back. It seems that every laundry load is 80% wicking, technical, wind-proof, or fleecy training clothes. Having spent most of my life on the East Coast, I enjoy this time of year: post-holiday winter. No lights, decorations, or carols to hide that fact that most living things in this weather have gone into a dormant state. I think most folks who live in northern climes and play in it this time of year do so because it's a sort of badge of honor or a thumbing of the nose to those who live in San Diego.
I spent 3 years living in Seattle and remember the first (and only) snowfall while I was there. The city came to a standstill from 3 inches of snow that melted by noon. Only 4 salt trucks for the entire city--and salt wasn't even used. Apparently, it's bad for the salmon. I was told that the city's snow strategy was to pull out all the "Street Closed" signs. We East Coast transplants scoffed at our West Coast brethren and told exagerrated stories of Nor'easters that buried us up to our eyeballs and how we dug out of snow clotted streets with mere kitchen utensils. They had their turn at scoffing when 4 months later I was huddled with my fellow New Englanders under a desk during an earthquake. I'd take a lifetime of snowy, frigid winters over one minute in an earthquake.
This time of year is about stripping down to basics. The air is bracingly clean and there's a slim strip of pavement or trail that isn't too icy to run or snowshoe. Training is base building: just getting in slow steady miles and meters. No fancy speedwork or testing out nutrition on long rides. I don't find this time of year boring at all. Sherry's mantra has always been,"We run in ANYTHING!" The rewards of extracting myself from a warm bed are crisp sunrises where the snow hangs in the air like magical dust and every woodpecker, chickadee, blue jay, red-tailed hawk, and kestrel makes themselves obvious with clear birdsongs against bare trees. 85 degree yoga studios feel best this time of year.
In no time we'll be outside doing our long rides at midday, trying to acclimatize to the heat and fine-tuning our sodium intake. Sunny and humid race days will be upon us. Until then I'm more than happy to don my mittens, tighten my snowshoe straps, and see just how windproof my running jacket is. I'm in no hurry.

The Currency of Credibility

2008-01-12T12:33:00.000-08:00

Because of the nature of my practice at the Wound Clinic, I spend alot of time chitchatting with my patients. We mostly talk about their health and families, but many of them (Bless their hearts!) really enjoy hearing about my training and racing. They're always surprised to hear that I have a coach. Alot of them are amused that I would spend that much time and money on a hobbie. Most of them are curious as to why I need someone to tell me how to workout and be healthy if I'm a doctor. I tell them,"Just because I'm a doctor doesn't mean I have clue or any meaningful experience in training and racing a triathlon successfully." They usually don't believe me at first, but are slowly convinced when I tell them that most doctors have at best incomplete knowledge and almost no experience with sports nutrition, exercise physiology, or the psychology of motivating people.

I really mean that!--especially the last item. I think my patients do what I tell them to (or lie about it) because I have M.D. after my name, a wall of diplomas to prove it, and wear a white coat. I'm not saying that they shouldn't (they really SHOULD). My education and experience certainly warrant credibility for general surgery issues. However, trust is a different issue.

That being said, I must say that I find my coach, Mary, utter credible; and I trust her. She has alot personal experience and knowledge of triathlon training and competion. She also knows the limits of her experience and knowledge, isn't afraid or embarrassed to point it out, and will seek out answers outside those limits. Before the eyerolling starts, this is not a shameless plug for Train-This! and I'm not getting a free month of training for this rant. I think we should all examine why it is that we have a coach, why it is that we find that coach credible, whether we trust this coach, and the real reasons for our compliance (or non-compliance) with training recommendations.

Obviously, someone who has more experience and knowledge about the pursuit of our goals is good resource to have. However, faster splits are not always the result of more experience or knowledge. No duh! you may say but I find that alot of athletes don't want to hear what you have to say unless or until you can run, bike, swim, or race faster than they can. I take Mary's advice not because she can hand me my ass in a triathlon. There are legions of fellow triathletes who consistantly show me what's up at the races. However, I suspect that a majority of them couldn't give me a reasonable and intelligent explanation for the way they train. I take Mary's advice because it's reasonable, intelligent, and makes sense to me. Because of that, I think I'm pretty compliant with the training plan that she lays out for me.
No matter how smart or experienced or fast a coach/mentor is if you don't trust them you won't stick to their plan. In medicine, I think that faith in treatment is essential for the success of treatment. In triathlon, I think you really must believe that what you are doing (training, nutrition, timing of races) is going to give you the results you want (within reason, of course). Faith and belief are not quantifiable (I could really use a faith-o-meter for my run!), which therefore puts it in the part of coaching that is art (vs. science).
Okay, end the attack of the paratheses.
For many reasons, I know I could never coach myself in triathlon. When I can't make a leap of logic for a certain training recommendation or when I can't think of a good reason but I just don't wanna! wahwahwah!, I do what Coach tells me anyway because I trust her. Her guidance has help me reach my triathlon goals for all 3 seasons I've been with her. Again, I'm not getting an extra recovery week for this!
I think it's a good idea to really understand why we don't want to do something and why we eventually do or don't do it. Is it because we all like to do what we're good at more than practice at something that makes us feel slow or awkward? Is it because coach sounds like mom/dad/drill sargent/my least favorite teacher in grade school and no one's gonna tell me what to do? Is it because coach sounds like mom/dad/my favorite teacher in grade school and I wanna be good kid? Or is it because yeah, it makes sense and we should HFTU and git'er done?

Okay, Mary...a complimentary pair of Train-this underwear would be great ;)

An Unexpected Mental Workout

2008-01-12T11:23:00.000-08:00

I've been fretting for the last 36 hours over my run test today. Academically, I never excelled at taking multiple choice (more like multiple guess to me) tests. I'd read the question and come up with an answer that wasn't exactly like any of the choices. My ego says that those tests really don't measure my true fund of knowledge. As a result, I have test anxiety.

So for the last 36 hours I ate more carbohydrates, slept 10 hours last night, had 9 gm of carbs/kg of my weight for breakfast and set out on my run test. The loop around my house is 3.31 miles and has the same elevation gain as the course I did my first run test. I didn't want to miss yoga this morning to run the local 5K and convinced myself that I could save $15 of the registration fee and run at home. Garmin on, I warmed up for 3 minutes, hit the lap button and took off.

I told myself that I would not overthink this run, not let the neurosis spiral me into negativity. I told myself that I would fearlessly face the pain, embrace it, eat it without chewing, and fart it out my ass. The first mile hurt, but I kept counting my footfalls: 3 steps per second, a rhythm I've trained almost to instinct. The second mile hurt a bit more, but mom's HTFU voice told me to lean forward at my ankles, relax my shoulders, and dig deep. At around the end of the second mile, I looked at the time elapsed on the Garmin. I realized that I would have to run faster than a 6 min/mile to make my first run test time. WTF?!

The floodgates opened and thoughts of defeat washed over me: "My god, Boon, YOU SUCK! You're gonna be 3 minutes slower than you were 6 weeks ago! Did I mention YOU SUCK? So much for your faith in the whole Vdot/E-pace thing! You are not the runner you used to be."

You get the point.

I made the last turn to the last mile and faced the steepest hill of the run. I knew happy, positive thoughts weren't going to cut it for me. I knew distracting myself by looking around for the kestrel (the bird, not the bike) that perches in the field on the right side of the road wouldn't work either. So I summoned the most calm and assertive voice I could, "So what if it's 3 minutes slower, FINISH IT. Finish it strong."

I charged up the hill and nearly puked at the top. So what if I ran slower, I could at least be proud of my effort up this hill, at least I will finish strong.

3.1 miles came quickly and I hit the lap button. 3 minutes slower? Nope, those were the 3 minutes from my warm-up--the time display is total time elapsed, not lap time! Geez! My oversight and stupidity is stunning and quite funny.

The real exercise this morning was not in my legs, but in my head. 2 years ago during IM Lake Placid 2006 I asked Kelly Berkiessel about her experiences in Ironman racing, particularly IMLP. I had never done an Ironman at that time and was excited about signing up the next morning.

I asked, "Kelly, when was your 'dark moment' during this race?"

She told me that it started at the bottom of the hill by the horse stables and continued up to the turn around at the end Lake Placid Drive.

She said,"It's basically one long uphill that doesn't seem to end. You really have to control your negative thoughts in a race like Ironman."

I didn't really grasp the truth of her statement until 6 months ago when I was running up that very hill during IMLP and was completely annihilated by my negative thoughts. At no point in my training did I think that I would be done in mentally. I had prepared for goggles being kicked off my head, flat tires and exploding bikes, blisters, hyponatremia, dehydration, and gastrointestinal shutdown. I never thought for a minute that thoughts and emotions churning between my ears would bring me to a standstill. I'm not a pessimist, a defeatist, an Eeyore in life--why would I be one at Ironman--the thing I've wanted to do since I saw Julie Moss claw her way across the finish line?

I've taken these last 6 months to figure out that question, to really face my emotions and thoughts about my athletic performance and ultimately myself without judgement. Yep, self-awareness is certainly enlightening, but getting there can be difficult and painful. I would like to stop the "You suck" voice in my head. However, until I do there's no point in feeling bad about it or hating that voice and feeling bad about that.

Today I hope I did what Kelly told me about in 2006. I hope I'm training myself to quiet the doubting voice, to control my negative thoughts. It was worth those 3 minutes of inaccurate slowness.

My First Sweetspot Ride

2008-01-09T08:26:00.000-08:00

This week I rode my first sweetspot ride. I made a course on the Computrainer named,"Utterly flat 21 miles". It is exactly that: straight and flat. I made the course that way because I don't have a good sense of wattage output on the bike. I sense my cadence to within 2 rpms and my heart rate to within 5 bmp as a result of 7 years of training with a bike computer and HRM. Watts...well, I know that 60 watts is a stroll in the park and 450 watts really hurts---in between is anyone's guess. So figured I'd start with a flat course on a trainer to eliminate variables such as wind, temperature, and grade. I just want my perceived exertion, watts, and cadence the only things on my radar and hopefully, some physical and cognitive connection will be made. Then I'll add grade and eventually while riding outdoors wind and temperature will be thrown into the equation.

Another change I've made for this season is to practice mental focus while training. It's easy to do with the harder workouts because you're a captive audience to your own pain. On the long easy sessions, I would think about grocery lists, do some birdwatching, and come up with names for roadkill. Not this year! On the runs, I've taken to counting my footfalls to keep a cadence of 90+ rpm. It's strangely mesmerizing and peaceful even while I'm running up hills. On the trainer, I've got numbers: watts, cadence, speed--and my mom's voice.

I am a graduate of Momma Boon's Culinary Boot Camp. My mother is an incredible cook, gardener, amateur botanist, and drill sargent. When we came to America in the early 70's, we lived in Brooklyn, just across the bridge from Chinatown. My father and brother are very picky eaters and only eat authentic Thai and Chinese food. Mom accomodates their gastronomic fussiness. As a result, I spent many hours of my childhood and teen years in her kitchen doing most of the cooking prep work. Because Thai and Chinese people don't eat with knives at the table, there's alot of cutting up of veggies and meat. Mom would stand over my shoulder as I was chopping/slicing, making shumai, washing veggies. She was constantly watching and coaching,"Too thick...too thin...that's cut unevenly...don't bruise the veggies!"

So I'm on the trainer, 300 miles from Mommycakes, and I hear,"Don't slouch on the aerobars...keep the pedal strokes even...that's a perfectly rolled eggroll!" Okay, she would never say any of those things. My point is that my internal discipline voice, the voice of HTFU is my mom's. It may sound nagging or mean to some, but to me--I'm hard-wired to have it motivate and encourage me. In reality, she would probably never stand over me while I rode my trainer and critique my cycling form. She's told me several times that all this cycling is going to give me huge calves like those people who ride rickshaw tricycles for a living. Well, I bet those rickshaw drivers could throw down some impressive bike splits!

I felt strong on the ride and the hour went by very quickly. I'm looking forward to the next one, but now it's time to go make some exquisite shumai and eggrolls.

A Beautiful Day

2008-01-02T07:46:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the best fiancee on earth I was able to more or less sleep for 36 hours this past weekend, getting up only to eat and go to the bathroom. I have dreamed to being born in the next life as a lioness in the Serengeti: a life of hanging out with my family, punctuated by quick bursts of energy, teamwork, and rewards of eating alot of red meat, and best of all 20 hours of sleep a day. Thank you again, Kevin--this weekend I was living the dream!
The rest launched me back into the land of living; and I'm feeling 90% back to completely healthy. I ran for the first time in 10 days on New Year's Eve, a 30 minute E-pace run in the crisp winter air that was glorious. I quickly found comfort in the rhythm of my cadence and lost myself in counting my footfalls. Most of my fluid losses was through my runny nose. I visualized the cold viruses draining out of my head.
Kevin worked the downtown fireworks detail that night so he didn't get home until 1:30 am. We had a candlelit champagne toast and dined on the most pungent French cheese I could find at Wegman's . Then only a few hours later we were in the snowy parking lot at Mendon Ponds Park for a New Year's Day run with our friends. The roads weren't plowed that early in the morning so we all ran in the snow-covered roads with white flakes falling quietly around us. I ran with Mary and Dana. We chatted about Ironman, Mount Everest, and Luc--and in a blink the run was done. When the boys returned, I showed them just how an Asian girl can throw snowballs--very poorly!
Later that evening, Kevin and I talked about our 2008 goals. He thought I could take 15 minutes off my run time from last year's Eagleman. It was hard for me to see that given my E-pace is 10:40 min/miles, but I was excited and energize by the possibilities. I am fully aware that I lead a charmed life; and everyday I try to have the utmost gratitude for my health, my family, and Kevin. Today I wanted to put my thoughts down in words. What a wonderful way to start the new year: A day filled with recovery, reunions, champagne, and possibilities!

Icky Sicky

2007-12-28T09:26:00.000-08:00

Six days ago I came down with a full-blown cold: sneezing, sniffling, coughing, stuffy nose, I-really-need-to-rest syndrome. I took off 3 days from training, feeling mostly guilt-free, convinced that my patience with illness would result in a quick recovery. Of course, Christmas and being on call overlaped my illness and despite taking days off from training and preaching to myself about rest, I still felt compelled to make a Christmas ham, scalloped potatoes, clean the kitchen floor, and do 5 loads of laundry--on top of going to work. Nonetheless, I felt well enought to do an easy 60 min on the trainer Christmas day and thought I'd be ready to run and ride the next day. Wrong-0!
I've taken that last 2 days off from training--now quite begrudingly. I figured I had enough energy to either do my work-outs or put in full day of work, but not both. My head has been in a fog of mucous. My brain function has been dulled by antihistamines, decongestants, and cough syrup. Kevin has basically been caring for a mentally impaired girl for the last 6 days.
6 days. I've lost all patience for this cold which has now become my first bout of sinusitis. I've taken a lethal dose of Ibuprofen to lessen the pick-axe in the middle of my forehead pain to a dull throbbing. I'm ready to beg my Head and Neck surgeon colleagues if there is such a thing as Liquid Draino for my head---oh yeah, it's called Afrin--but don't get hooked on it. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I've taken 5 whole days off from training and I should be better by now, ready to crank out watts, do my swim test, and just run at E-pace for 30 measly minutes dammit!
The truth of the matter is that I really didn't take 5 full days off--I couldn't. I had to work. Of course, I didn't have to make Christmas dinner or do laundry or clean, but I did. It's not easy being patient with myself when I'm sick. It's not easy for me to rest completely and guilt-free. The weekend is upon me and I'll make myself rest for the next two days. However, the cupboards are bare and laundry's piling up again...

What about the children?

2007-12-21T07:46:00.000-08:00

The Christmas cards have descended upon our house. Every year our friends send us pictures of their children in holiday attire and a one page insert that summarizes the year marked in vacations and snipets about the pictured children. My friends are particularly zealous about including every detail involving their kids so their one page season's greeting is in the smallest readable font and single-spaced. I've thought to include a synopsis of 2007 for Kevin and me. As we have no children except for my feline son, Pigg, and yellow lab step-son, Scooby, we would be the "kids". The pictures on the card would be Kevin speeding along on his new tri bike and aero helmet, looking so aerodynamic Dave Zabriskie would be envious; and my finish line picture at Eagleman, victorious in my HIM PR. Our rundown, printed on festive red and green paper, would read like this:
Merry Christmas! We hope Kevtima's holiday newsletter finds you all injury-free and ready to crank out watts after a restful off-season.
Little Kevy had a great season in his new age group this year with 2 podium finishes at the Sodus triathlon and Danforth duathlon--which was supposed to be a tri, but the swim was cancelled due to freezing temps in the Lake. Poor Kevy was ready to go on the shore with his swim floaties, but the plaque for 3rd place more than made up for his disappointment. He's in his second year of training with power and really loves his Powertap! He enjoys sweet spot rides, track work-outs, vanilla GU, and riding his mountain bike. No matter how hard we try, he still won't weight train or do running drills.
Kitima is a big girl now and did her first Ironman in Lake Placid this summer. At mile 12 on the run she had a bit of a meltdown/tantrum (Girls will be girls!), but her girlfriend, Shari, promised to get her a pony and she snapped out of it. She's into running in skirts, long rides with her friends Dana and Marian, and strawberry banana GU. In fact, she saved over 200 empty GU packets and got a free pair of GU socks from their Stash-Your-Trash program. After a long off-season, she's ready for the 2008 season and is enjoying her E-pace runs...really!
Kevtima took a trip to Maryland in June with Mary, Bill, Sharon, and Hannah. They camped and rescued Mary from being eaten by her tent in a wind storm. Bill, Kevin, and Kitima had PR's at Eagleman that weekend; and Mary had a triumphant HIM where pacing, nutrition, and complete abscence of barfing lead to a breakthrough performance. Also, while in the Chesapeake Bay area, Kitima wanted crabs and boy did she get them! Soft-shelled and fried in butter!
We're truly blessed to have such a wonderful life where we can swim, ride our bikes, and run races with each other and our friends. We have absolutely no plans in the future to grow up and retiring only means more time to play! We wish everyone a wonderful holiday. May the New Year bring all of us closer to race weight, out of pool for aqua-jogging, and a fulfilling tri season!

Monkeypox

2007-12-12T10:24:00.000-08:00

Today, a letter from the NY State Department of Health reminds me that I should promptly report communicable diseases and how it can make the difference between disease control and an outbreak. A list of these communicable diseases that require reporting came with the letter. It included the usual public panic-inducing infections such as SARS, anthrax, and tuberculosis along with maladies seen only in textbooks and third world countries such as cholera and plague. On the list was something I had never heard: Monkeypox.

"Is this a joke?" I thought. Do the symptoms include an overwhelming urge to eat bananas and fling one's feces? Has the CDC quarantined Magila Gorilla and the Grape Ape for this? It turns out that one does NOT catch monkeypox from monkeys but from African squirrels. It's only called monkeypox because it was first discovered in lab monkeys. Rats, mice, and rabbits can get monkeypox too. In 2003 several people in the U.S. got monkeypox from their infected pet prairie dogs. People who become infected with monkeypox face a 1-10% mortality rate.

So what's my point? A name is not always accurate or indicative of the thing it represents. It's barely a snapshot of a tiny corner of an enormous picture. I bring this up because it's that time of year for swim, bike, and run testing. I'm not debating the accuracy or necessity of testing during our training. I think that we should pay very close attention to the physiologic indicators of our athletic performance and health; and I really enjoy the anal-retentiveness of tracking data. What concerns me is that we have a picture of our triathlon selves in our minds ("I just did an Ironman. I should be Endurance goddess.") that may not match what our early season testing show ("Yes, you did just do an Ironman but a 100 year old giant tortoise could lap you in a 10K run today."). I hope that my bike test will tell me and Coach Mary of my anaerobic triumphs on the mountain bike. However, I'm quite sure that we'll both find out that I've been slacking in the Endurance arena--eventhough I did just do an Ironman this summer! I fantasize that my run test will have me hanging with Paula Radcliffe during my long runs and showing Ian Thorpe what's up in the pool...okay, okay...a girl can dream, can't she?
While my stand alone 5K run pace is wildly different from my Ironman marathon pace, that 5K pace does DICTATE what my training paces for Ironman will be. Also, I think true pace at maximum oxygen consumption to oxygen delivery (the definition of VO2 max) isn't really going to be the 5K pace for someone like me who can't run that far in less than 20 min. Most of us can sustain exertion at VO2 max for 10-12 minutes at best (Lance Armstrong probably 20 min). Nonetheless, I really shouldn't and don't worry about the absolute pace or value for my VO2 max because for long course racing I really won't need to have any sustained periods at that effort level.
What I hope for is that regardless of how terribly slow my stand alone 5K pace is (read: how crummy these first tests are going to pan out), I can sustain a somewhat respectable pace for the 13 miles or 26 miles at the end of a long day out of the water and off the bike. I would like to have a triumph of aerobic endurance and strength over anaerobic vigor and might. Until then I'll plug away with training. I suspect the picture I'll see after the testing will be similiar to my first impression of monkeypox: somewhat comical and perhaps disappointing in its lack of any apparent strength. Ah, but don't underestimate the monkeypox! ;)

Pitbull

2007-12-05T07:39:00.000-08:00

One of my patients with enormous ulcers on both legs from venostasis came to see me in clinic. Her ulcers are a result of incompetent valves of the veins in her legs which lead to profound leg swelling, skin breakdown, and eventually ulcers. The treatment is compression dressings to control the swelling and keeping her legs elevated. Her legs were healing nicely until right around Thanksgiving--the ulcers increased in size and were wet, weeping, and painful. She cries, "It's the dressings that making them worse!"--the same dressings we'd been using that made them better before Thanksgiving. I'm puzzled. We make small talk about the holidays and I find out that she stood for hours and hours making all the pies, turkey, and side dishes. I ask,"Did you ever think all that standing to cook caused your ulcers to get worse?" Nope, it's definitely the dressings, she insists.

The same week I see one of my gastric bypass patients who lost over 150 lbs as a result of alot hard work and her operation 3 years ago. Now she had gained back 50 pounds over 6 months. "It's my new boyfriend," she explains,"He doesn't exercise and likes to go out to eat."
I ask, "Does he FORCE you to eat unhealthy food and not exercise?"
"Oh, of course not! But you know..."

Yep, I know that it's easier and very convincing to blame something or someone else for our failings. I know how satisfying it can be to sink your teeth into a good excuse, a scape goat, or general misfortune and hang on like a pitbull. It almost absolves you.

Alot of my training friends have heard me lament about my running: how I'm not the runner I used to be 16 years ago, how overtraining and injury stopped me from reaching my running potential, how I constantly race against Kitima circa 1991 never able to beat her...wahwahwahwah. Get me a binky STAT! I've spent most of my tri career with this dead albatross of my former running self around my neck. I'm known to hammer on the bike then choke on the run. When my knee aches on a training, I think that I've blown my ACL or all the cartilage is gone from my joints and bone is rubbing on bone with each step.
I've been injury-free for 2 years. A blessed combination of proper increases in training load and intensity (THANK YOU, MARY!!), physical therapy, ART, and orthotics has brought me to the finishing line of 2 half-Ironmans and Ironman Lake Placid. My knees are not younger nor with more cartilage nor are the biomechanic discrepancies gone. However, I'm done racing with the runner I used to be. My past mistakes and fear have crippled my run more than the ligaments and bone spurs of my knees. It's trite, but I "gotta live in the now, man!"
This pitbull is letting go of a worn out excuse. The taste of old mistakes is still my mouth, but I'm chewing on a juicer steak called "Kitima's gonna nail the run at Eagleman 08".

All kinds of changes

2007-12-03T17:12:00.000-08:00

Gosh, this blog was quoted by Coach Mary last week; and now I feel like I should write something profound. However, there will no such thing for this entry...
It's the end of my first week back to training. None of the E pace runs hurt. None of the Active recovery/Endurance rides hurt either. After one ride on the Computrainer, my Spinscan numbers were back up to usual and "Trainer crotch" calloused up nicely. Even the swims felt fine as they are mostly drills and easy sets. I'm ravenously hungry every 2 hours and ready to go to bed by 9 pm again. Yep, it's like slipping back into a comfy routine.
My job has me very concerned and thinking alot of about bowel movements. Yes, poop. Every patient who has had an operation is encouraged to get out of bed and walk as soon as they can. This is to prevent blood clots in the legs, pneumonias, and fevers from parts of the lung collapsing. Mostly importantly to me is that a patient who has had bowel surgery and who walks post-operatively has a quicker return of bowel function. So, everyday (twice a day) I visit these patients and ask them if they have farted yet (I say, "Sir/Ma'am, have you passed flatus?"--it sounds more doctorly). It is a joyous day indeed with the passing of gas "out the bottom" for my post-op patients! Soooo, what does THIS have to do with triathlon?
With the start of the season comes more running, riding, and kicking in the water. The legs are connected to the colon---I know mine are! Welcome back regularity for Kitima! I hope not too many people are grossed out---after all, aren't we that part of society that urinate in our wetsuits and while riding the bike? I don't need remind all of you how many people on the run portion of Ironman were powered by methane, turbo released from the rear.
Something more profound next time...

Training Day Eve

2007-11-25T08:35:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow starts the training season for 2008. Today feels a bit like Christmas Eve (didn't I just disparage this holiday on my last blog?). The training wheels with old tires are on my tri bike which is freshly mounted on the Computrainer. The cupboards have been emptied of "garbage food" and filled with pretzels, oatmeal, peanut butter, and honey. Last night, Kevy and I finished off the last our Thanksgiving feast: a magnificently well-marbled (read: cholesterol-clogged, melt-in-your-mouth beef) prime rib roast and roasted garlic mashed potatoes (mashed with heavy cream and butter--yum!). The warm caramel brownie sundaes had been polished off on Friday night. I've dusted off my snowshoes, heart rate monitor, and winter running clothes. I've put my 2008 season goals into writing, talked them over with Mary, and we've come up with a plan.
I don't expect that my 30 min run at E pace and 60 min bike tomorrow is going to magically transform me (like that scene from Cinderella) into Princess Sub-9 at Kona, my tri shorts--too tight now will be hugging 2% body fat glutes after the glitter settles. Nope, I'm just hoping tomorrow's work-outs won't hurt too badly. I doubt they will---my V dot testing is done (Running balls out for 5K after an off-season of casual jogging--now THAT hurt!) and my E pace is embarrasingly slow. I've done a few E pace runs and can't imagine how anyone would get injured running that slow. While I may not feel physiologically challenged during those runs, they are a mental exercise in concentrating on:
1. Cadence: To achieve 90 rpm, I try to have 3 foot falls per second--kind of a fast waltz--and remember this rhythm. I've thought about buying a small electronic metronome, but I need another tri gizmo like I need a hole in my head and wallet.
2. Midfoot strike that's under my hips: In order for the the balls of my feet to land under my hips, I start pulling my leg back before my foot hits the ground. Easy to think about but hard to ingrain into muscle memory and habit after years of running with a loping, heel-striking gait.
3. Pace: When it's time to run slow, I wanna run faster. When the pace and effort pick up (such as during the run test), the whining starts and I wanna slow down. It's a battle of wits (or nitwits!): Logic vs. Habit. Suck it up and run slow/fast when I'm supposed to because this Vdot thing makes sense OR keep running the same kinda-fast-for-me pace that's sure to eventually lead to injury and never lead to a faster run.
Tomorrow starts my 8th season in triathlon, 3rd in long course. I've been doing triathlon long enough to be seasoned--not exactly a veteran, occasionally a curmudgeon, but still a student. Every year a new way to measure and monitor how to run, ride a bicycle, and swim faster with less energy is invented. While the gizmos, training plans, and charts are interesting, it's still just me who is doing the running, riding, and swimming. I take great comfort in that fact because it's the one thing I can control: where my hand enters the water with each stroke, how fast my feet turn over running uphill, what my shoulders are doing while I'm in aero, what and how I think about all of it. So I guess it's not the dress or glass slippers or carriage that used to be a pumpkin that makes one a princess--it's how she carries herself at the ball. Well, looks like fairy godmother and I have got our work cut out for us!

My favorite holiday and kindred spirits

2007-11-21T12:36:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is hands down my favorite holiday. I love its simplicity: family/friends, food, and football. No presents, no songs, no crazy giant blow-up decorations (I call them "lawn dirigibles"). Don't call me Scrooge yet--I don't have anything against Christmas. I just think that for some folks it's excessive--like an overly coifed girl with too much makeup--she'd be alot more attractive if she didn't try so hard. Also, Thanksgiving makes us think about all the great things we have instead of craving for what we don't have and hoping it's in a box under the tree.
That being said, I'm thankful for kindred spirits. I think that on some level all of us feel like we're outcasts and don't belong (hence the popularity of the Harry Potter books). So when we find another person that has the same interests, hobby, opinion, or tendency we can make a connection and feel like we belong. It probably has something to do with humans being pack animals some 18 ba-jillion years ago.
When I met Coach Mary 3 years ago, I didn't know she was THE MARY EGGERS. At the time she was my spinning class teacher; and I knew she was a nurse. I'll never forget the day she came to class, her hair quite a bit shorter, and announced,"My mom's been bugging me so I finally got my annual haircut." I gasped, "Can it be? Someone else-who's not a Sikh or lives in a 3rd world country-- besides me who gets their haircut only once a year ?" A lively conversation ensued about the ridiculousness of regular trips to a hair salon. We became instant friends.
Kevin tells me he knew I was the girl for him when I reluctantly told him that I only read books by dead authors. I cringed as I said it, expecting him to roll his eyes and think me a literary snob. Instead, I think I saw little pink hearts floating above his smiling face. I knew then we were cut from the same cloth.
Yesterday, I sought out the butcher at Wegman's meat counter. I said, "I need a 6 pound, 3-rib roast: a "top choice" roast cut from the small loin end, ribs 10 through 12. Could you please french the rib bones." I was expecting a blank stare or *Blink* *Blink* and a blank stare or audible eye rolling. Instead, he seemed tickled with the request and went on a rant about where the best cut of prime rib comes from. A fellow meat snob!
So what does any of this have to do with triathlon? Is it time to start training again? Have I filled my idle off-season hours reminscing and talking beef with the local butcher? Starting Monday Kevin and I are back "on-season". For me, it means rejoining old friends and comrades. While I've seen and run with alot of the tri folk in the off-season, that connection of working toward Ironman, half Ironman goals wasn't there. I really missed it--the structure, the focus, and--of course!--the kindred spirits!

TAG!

2007-11-18T12:34:00.000-08:00

Mary just tagged me. Here are 5 randoms things about me:

1. My mom named me Kitima in anticipation of being one of the first people to receive my college diploma in Thailand. In Thailand at graduation ceremonies, diplomas are handed out alphabetically according to your FIRST name. (Mom's name begins with the last letter of the Thai alphabet so she was one of the last people in her class to receive her diploma) Mom didn't really care what my name was as along as it began with "k", the first letter of the Thai alphabet.
2. I never went to college in Thailand. Instead, I graduated from Notre Dame. When I applied, I had never heard of the Gipper, Knute Rockne, or the Fighting Irish. I applied because our Thai family friends said there was a good pre-med program.
3. When I was 5 years old, I wanted to grow up and be a Lawrence Welk singer.
4. When I was 9 years old, I read the Bible from cover to cover and declared that I wanted to be a nun even though I have never been baptized (my parents--and now I--are Buddhists).
5. I love salty, fat-laden, cured pork products and foie gras.

Anticipation

2007-11-17T08:57:00.000-08:00

Today I rode down a drop-off and stayed shiny side up. It wasn't terribly long--no more than 1.5-2 feet--but the biggest drop-off I've ever gone down and stayed upright to date. It was part of a downhill that I had never been on. Kevy was way ahead and said nothing. I crested the hill, started the steepish descent, and was caught completely unaware. Before I could rationalize,"Put your weight and butt (yep, they are very equivalent) behind the bike, behind the seat." It just happened. I more or less did that and down I went. Is that what instinct is?
I was exhilarated and proud of my small victory. I was even more happy to avoid the whole rigmarole of seeing the obstacle, sensing fear of injury, berating myself for being a pussy, overcoming fear and self-flagellation, thinking about the technical steps of traversing the obstacle, and *big sigh* feeling my back wheel bounce over it.
By the time that drop off registered in my little neurotic brain, I didn't have time to anticipate any fear or that Carly Simon song. I believe the neurologic pathway was mostly subconscious and went like this: Drop off--> self-preservation-->lean back, hold on. And that's it. I'm going to hold on to today's experience in order to pull it out of my files during a race. Don't get me wrong--no one...and I mean it, NO ONE loves to belabor the details and the possible scenarios--good and bad of racing and training than me. However, after clearing that drop-off today (almost accidentally), I went on to bounce over the every log where I usually clip-out or dab. I had let go of anticipation today, skipped an entire well-rehearsed pathway of neurosis, and added a few pennies to the bank of bike handling skills.

A good teacher and Dodging a loaded question

2007-11-10T14:59:00.000-08:00

In my former life I was a gastric bypass surgeon. While the operation itself was fun, the most challenging and best part of that job was educating and motivating people to use their "new stomachs" as a tool for weight loss and ultimately, better health. I found that adult education is different from the education of children in that we adults bring to the classroom alot more prejudices, beliefs, and pre-conceived notions that may hinder our ability to learn something new or do something in a different way. I'm always impressed with people who take up a triathlon or snowboarding or painting in their 40's, 50's, and 60's.
I'm also still surprised with what motivates people. Most people respond positively with encouragement. Some respond very well to reward and punishment (myself included). A few seemingly incorrigible individuals respond to scolding (which make me very uneasy from the giving end). What motivates people (and myself) to change and learn will continue to be a ongoing process of discovery for me.
All that being said, I have found Kevin to be a good teacher on mountain biking. First, he never gives me more than 3 pieces of advice per ride. I can't handle more than that! Second, he seems to know when I'm being a wimp and need to hear,"Suck it up, buttercup, and RIDE," and when I'm really justified for fear and stops to explain how to traverse a slick log that's on an off-camber drop-off. Third, (I hate to admit this one) he knows when he's got to patronize me. Just up the trail I'll hear,"This is gonna look worse than it really is--it's just like a rollercoaster, honey!". I get to a series of small hills and valleys in close succession where I'd usually unclip or tense up, but instead I roll through it---just like a rollercoaster. I am rewarded with an "Atta girl!" and there's a huge grin on my face.
So post-ride, I'm feeling round in the edges and stuffed into my bike shorts. Stricken with guilt (but not enough guilt), I lay on Kevin the classic female loaded question,"Do you think I'm fat?" He takes one look at me and without hesitation he responds,"Don't lose weight for me. I think you look great. But if you want to break 5:30 at Eagleman, you'd better drop some pounds." My teacher---he's like freakin' Yoda!

A Fall

2007-11-07T08:50:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Kevin, Shari, and I rode our mountains in the cold and spitting rain. The trails were barely muddy (it's been so dry all season), but the wet leaves carpeted the trails and roots, rocks, and logs were slick. My back tire kept slipping and sliding over even the smallest obstacles. Shari fell for the first time on a slick downhill. Her bike slid out from under her to the left and she launched off the bike to the right, thankfully into a pile of soft leaves. She shook off the golden leaves and mud in her confident fashion, but I knew that she now made that connection of fear to pain. We rode on a bit more and at the crest of a hill her back wheel skidded irratically under a cluster of slippery roots. I could tell she was mentally done (only because I've been there about 100 times on the mtb). We cut the ride short as there was nothing to be gained in confidence or bike handling skills. She felt badly about it, but had my full empathy.
I'm confident that when we're back on those trails this weekend she'll bounce back and be my fearless riding partner again. Really, if I could get over all of my mtb mishaps ANYONE can! But there's nothing like a fall (or injury) to emphasize the vulnerability of our courage, strength, or skill. On the flip side, there's nothing like a setback to give us the opportunity to become more brave, strong, or skillful.
As athletes we all remember our most glorious achievements or feats of physical strength, coordination, or determination. We feel bullet-proof and invincible at those moments. When we think about athletes who are our heroes, we remember them in victory---Kona wins of Natasha Badmann, Paula Newby-Frasier, Dave Scott, Mark Allen, and Dick Hoyt and his son. They all seem so graceful and strong. It's difficult to pair these images with illness, age, injury, puking up Gatorade on the A race course but in doing so it gives a more whole picture. Our victories (and theirs) can be as transient or permanent as our falls.
It's true that scar tissue is less functional, has less tensile strength than the original tissue before injury. However, it's also true that we can be physiologically and psychologically adaptable and resilient. Yep, we'll be back on those trails again with our healing scrapes and bruises, memories of wiping out and the associated pain. Hopefully, we will clean steeper uphills and hop over bigger logs.

Off-season ponderings

2007-10-20T07:11:00.000-07:00

Kevin and I have returned from our 2 week trip to Paris. What a wonderful way to spend the off-season! For the first few weeks after Ironman, I spent my time reluctantly resting feeling guilty about letting my fitness go. Then, I rested with a vengeance. I thought, “I can eat this greasy pizza/sleep in until 10am/not even look at my running shoes because I did an Ironman and I earned it!” I felt rather petulant and indulgent at the time. Finally, overcome with guilt of letting my fitness go in such a petulant and indulgent manner, I tried to work out only to find myself in Zone 5 at the slightest exertion and mentally fried.
And then there was Paris…Kevin and I hanging out for 2 weeks with no real schedule, soaking up a lovely culture and a truly beautiful city. We saw a lot of historic art (after giving Mona Lisa at least 5 minutes of study, Kevy decided that she was quite overrated and agreed with me that DaVinci's Madonna of the Rocks was far more inspiring) and experienced some amazing art (Winged Victory, David’s Coronation, Venus de Milo, Caillebotte’s Floor Scrapers, pretty much the entire Rodin museum and Espace de Salvador Dali). We wandered through many neighborhoods marveling block after block at the architecture, ran laps around the Luxembourg Gardens (which were Maria de Medici’s “backyard”), and rode bikes along the Seine. We went to the bars and cafes where Sartre, Camus, Rousseau, and Hemingway hung out. We discovered how Paris is obviously the City of Light and that if one could assign gender to a city Paris is most definitely a woman. I practiced my floundering French on anyone who would listen (just about every Parisian we tried to communicate with was patient and friendly). I learned that it is easier to speak and be understood than to listen and understand. Kevin has been inspired to PAINT! His ideas and images are an amalgam of Picasso’s cubist style, Dali’s surrealism, and something completely his own.
This is what off-season is all about: discovering and rediscovering what inspires us and brings us joy, revisiting the other sides of our multi-faceted selves.
Here’s what the off-season is NOT about: 2-hour lunches, 3 ½ hour dinners, each starting with kir royal, appetizers (for me: foie gras—that unctuous and heavenly slab of animal fat!), entrees of duck confit (cooked in its fat) or steak with green peppercorn sauce or roasted guinea fowl, potatoes whipped in cheese curds and garlic, amazing red wine with dinner, cheese plate, dessert, after dinner liqueur, and finally café crème (yep, it’s half cream!). I think it’s perfectly fine to eat like that every once in a while. After all we were in Paris. But we did that for 2 WEEKS!! Like true addicts we knew it wasn’t right and that we should probably clean up as we dove head first into glorious, calorie-rich feast after feast. We managed to drag our bloated carcasses out for a couple of runs and rides but ended up “refueling” at the chocolate-covered waffle and crèpe stand. There’s nothing like a nutritional transgression to remind you of one of the great reasons to be into triathlon.
Now back at home, we’re settling back into our routines but with a wider, clearer view of the world that is so full of color, shapes, and symbols. We’re both hungry to get back to training—of course, with the taste of delicious French wine and pastries warm in our mouths.

Kitima-Lessons from 2 Wheels on Dirt

2007-10-02T18:44:00.000-07:00

About 2 years ago my friend Shari and I both had some major stresses in our lives resulting in changes in marital status among other things. It was about that time that we both took up mountain biking in earnest. While I won't make this blog entry a screenplay for a movie on the Lifetime or WE channel ("Mountain Biking Divorcees Take on the World and Dirt"), it's irresistable to make comparisons of fat-tire achievements to post-divorce life: overcoming fears of downhills, jumping over obstacles, and getting up after a fall.
Anyhoo, today Shari and I had one of the finest days on our bikes at Dryer Road Park. There's nothing like riding a narrow, twisting, and root-clogged single track to hone one's mental focus. You really must look only at the path that you want to go (and not at the object with which you don't want to collide)--there's not much time for anything else. That is, until I fall. I just need to fall hard a couple of times to become mentally paralyzed with the FEAR of falling, with the MEMORY of pain. I'm trying to practice some mental toughness to combat this fear, letting each subsequent log I clear, each climb I clean be a small victory to erase that fear. I also find that having Shari ride in front of me and seeing her bounce over those logs or descend over a ledge staying upright really helps me overcome my fear as well.
We're coming to a part of the trail with alot of climbs with logs. I usually unclip, hit the brakes, dab, get off and walk the bike here. Not today. Shari's absolute fearlessness inspires me over the first log. Just as I'm relieved to stay upright I hear her,"Another log right around the bend...pedal, pedal, pedal!!!" And then I'm over the second one. My first time clearing that section of trail ever.
When I ask her what she's thinking going over those bumps.
"I'm not. I know I can do it and I just go."
There's a lesson here for me. I think about Mary telling me to race more with my heart. I'm learning to concentrate without overthinking, act on instinct (which is trusting my abilities), and acknowledging fear without letting it dominate my emotions. My hope is that these lessons will carry over to training, racing, and living.
I thank her for riding first and inspiring me with her courage. She tells me that having me behind her drives her to ride harder up the hills because she doesn't want to slow me down. Ahh, mountain bike symbiosis...

Kitima-Feeling groovy

2007-09-28T05:52:00.000-07:00

Starting a triathlon blog in the throes of off-season is like starting a movie trilogy with the prequel. The main characters have yet to be seized with great ambition or unrelenting angst toward a seemingly unachievable goal. The villians and demons haven't hatched. The journey ahead is...well, what journey?
Yep, my first Ironman happened 8 weeks ago. I've taken that last 2 months to process what happened that day and all the days leading up to it and have set new goals for the 2008 season. I've also slowly and happily rejoined the rest of the world, tending to projects and bathrooms neglected from the training. One of those projects is reconnecting with dirt--as in mountain biking and trail running...maybe some yardwork (ahh, who am I kidding?). No HR monitors, powermeters, bike computers---just cleaning the steepest part of the climb and staying shiny side up while jumping over logs. Hearing chickadees and woodpeckers in the trees has been a lovely respite from concentrating on pedalling efficiency, cadence, and perceived exertion. Don't get me wrong...I do miss the regimented training and being in shape for Ironman. But for now, it's wonderful to be unstructured and feeling groovy.

Marian, July 24th, 2007

2007-07-24T14:35:00.000-07:00

Well, just got home from Lake Placid. What a surreal week this has been. It all started when we got there on Thursday afetrnoon. i was in a pretty bad mood as we got there at 4:15 an registration closed at 4. I would have to wait until the next morning. When we got to the cabin Hugh and Denise were already waiting inside and I got a phone call from my cousin that she was stuck in a storm outside of Albany and didn't know if she was going to make it up. We had dinner and I laed down to ice my left knee which had been quite sore. The next morning I met my ironpals Kitima and Dana and we swam at Mirror Lake. That was very relaxing and got my spirits up again. Finally at 10 am, I was able to register. Spent the rest of the day knitting and icing my knee.
Saturday morning was a repeat of Friday, swam at 7 am and the knitted and iced the knee. I packed all my bags rode down the bike and transition bags and went to bed around 8:30pm.
Sunday, I woke up around 4:00am and by 4:10, was ready to go. Got to transition around 4:50 and checked on my bike and added my nutrition and checked the bags. Walked down to the lake around 5:45 and sat ona bench talking to a guy who was there to see his buddy do the race. We talked until about 6:35. Walked to the lake and ran into Jeremy, Glen, Rich and I think Kevin and maybe Doug were there too. I started crying, which seemed to be the order of the day. Walked into the shute and saw Kara and Brock. Talked to them for a little while, then ran into Jay C. After I heard Kevin C. calling me from shore, he was pointing me to where Kitima and Dana were. I really needed to see them. We did a final "Buttscratcher" chant and then the cannon. I felt very calm. I immediatly found the bouy line and just pretended I was at Canandaigua. Very relaxing. The swim was over in 1:33.
T1 went well, wow, the volunteers are amazing, they really go all out
The bike started and the I felt good. My average on the first loop was 14.4. I was taking it very easy since I wanted to protect my knee. On the second loop I strted to feel a little off. It was very hot and my stomach was starting to act weird. I backed off the carbo pro and stated doing more gels and water. My pace had slowed down a lot. The bike almost over. As I pulled up behind the oval to leave my bike an older gentleman who I had seen on the course was also finishing. He told me he had done this race 5 times. He always finished the bike around 5:00pm and he had always finished the race. I must have looked pretty down since I was already convinced I was not going to finish. It was so late. He told me not to worry, relax and walk. As we parted ways, he just said: congratulations kid, tonight you will be an Ironman. That made me feel a little better and got me through into T2.
Then the run started, I was feeling ok and was running and walking the aid stations. I did that up the aid station #4. Then, the walks got longer. My stomach was not ok. I tried eating, it was bad. I tried gels, it got worse. I stopped consuming anything. I just walked. I was great to hear my name called out by people on the race, spectators and specially the TT people. I ran again. Then the second loop. It was really bad now. Tina's dad and mom saw me on the course and new I was in trouble. They ran with me down the hill and told me Tina was waiting at the bottom. I saw Tina nd she started to run along my side. She told me she would stay as long as I needed her. We would run and walk, then we saw Denise, she joined us and also ran along my side. It was night time now and the clock was ticking. Then the power went out on riverside road. It was now pitch black. We kept watching landmarks on the road. Then, I started to vomit. That actually made me feel a little better. I should have made myself vomit earlier. I could only keep coke down. All of a sudden, there was Glen and Jeremy. They joined our gruop. Then Tina's parents joined us and we all trtoed along. Then Rolando, and my sister Tita and my cousin Sandy joined us as we ran along. Coming up the hill I heard a voice say into a megaphone: "is that marian down there?" I sawMary and Rich at the top of the hill. Once we did the final mile it was over. Denise told me: "I don't care how you feel, you will run in the oval, now fix your hair and wipe the boogers of your face". And so I did. I could hear the people screaming and my name beign called out. And then, the uncontrolable crying. It was over.
16:34:33
As I sit here with my feet bandaged up and my sore muscles I feel so greatfull that I was able to share this whole year with teh entire TT team and my family and friends. Mary, you are the best coach ever. Kitima and Dana, I love guys, we will always be the Title 9 Tea Party. Tina, Glen, Jeremy, thanks for the push. Denise and Roalndo for taking care of me all weekend long and all the advice. The rest of TT, both on the course and on the sidelines. I really needed the words of encouragement. Tita, Sandy,a nd Joel, thanks for putting up with me, sorry I was so cranky and emotional.
Until next Ironman, thanks for reading,
~marian

Jackie D - RACE WEEK

2007-07-24T14:02:00.000-07:00

Week 44 - starting Monday 16 July 2007 - Race Week

Original Scheduled hours: 2hrs 55 mins

An easy bike on Monday, a short easy run on Tuesday, day off on Wednesday and then up to Lake Placid on Thursday.

I was supposed to bike the run course on Thursday but it was pouring with rain so I abandoned that - not too guilty as my bike needed to dry out from the trip up and I wasn’t going to gain or lose fitness now!

We stayed in the most fantastic place for families which we rented with coach Mary and her family. It was about a half hour drive into Placid but that was more than made up for by the cottage. It was on the edge of a pond which was clear and safe for swimming. The cottage had a dock, a campfire area, a raft on a pulley system to get out a bit further into the pond, paddle boat, kayak, canoe, sailing boat - it really was a kids paradise

I swam a loop of the course in Mirror Lake on Friday morning. I am glad I did as it is a little nervy/ strange swimming in a new open water place for the first time. It was quite murky which I guess was partly due to lots of swimmers and the tremendous rainfall the previous day. It got deep very quickly which was good because I don’t really like feeling weed around my legs as I swim. After breakfast it was back to the cottage and a day out with the family exploring chasms and forts and things.

On Saturday I was supposed to swim another loop of the swim course but I decided it would be just as good to swim in the pond on the doorstep. However, after my short run around the pond I decided the air temperature was too cool and a hundred other excuses and I just didn’t get around to it. It was bike and bag check in day so we headed in to Lake Placid and after checking stuff in we went out to the Olympic training centre to watch the ski jumpers practice by flying off the end of a training jump into a pool of water. Then headed back to the house to chill out. Mary and I had an early night whilst the rest of them had a campfire and toasted marshmallows. I’m told the only one that liked them was the dog that wandered over from a neighbouring property! Although I went to bed at about 8.30pm I didn’t fall asleep till after 11pm.

RACE DAY

OK this is deliberately going to be in fine detail for my memory purposes - I want to remember this forever.

I set my alarm for 2am with the intention of eating a bowl of cereal and then going back to sleep for a couple of hours. The alarm didn’t go off (no idea why, it worked the previous morning) but luckily I woke up at 2.40am anyway. So, I crept down the creaky stairs (sorry Tom and Hannah who were sleeping on the sofas - the stairs really were noisy), had my cereal and creaked back upstairs. Of course I didn’t get back to sleep after that, partly because I was worried about the alarm but I convinced myself I was resting. So, up finally at 4am to start drinking some Gatorade. I was still full from my earlier breakfast so I grabbed a banana and a power bar and we were off well before 4.15am. Tom kindly drove us in AND helped us carry our bags up the hill from where we parked.

We were not first! There was no queue for body marking (which was out on the street) so I did that and then they opened up transition shortly before 5am. No queue for the bathroom so made the most of that. Two hours has never flown by so fast. It was eerily calm and quiet despite the huge numbers of people around, just going about their own thing, preparing physically and mentally. It was dark but there were floodlights over the oval. By the time I had checked bike tyres, loaded it up with nutrition and got into my wetsuit it was time to head down to the start. One last (20 minute this time) queue for the bathroom and then into the water.

After paddling around the edge for a few minutes I took the plunge and swam out to one of the floating rafts and sat on that for a while to view the scene. The area gradually filled up and when the 5min to go announcement was made it was time to choose my place. I decided in the middle about half way across the starting line, half way back.

The Swim (1:07:22)

The horn went off and we were off. This swim was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. There were people everywhere thrashing about. I didn’t try and sight for at least 10 minutes because I was just concentrating on finding enough water to put my arms in to pull. If a little gap appeared in front I would aim for it - but so did half a dozen others so it soon filled up. The gentlemen don’t treat us ladies any different in this fight for space I can tell you. At one point (actually several times) I got so fed up with someone swimming on top of my legs persistently I just tried to kick him off. Arms were a flailing, whacking me on the head and it was just a big fight for space all the way around the first loop. Part of it I think was my own doing (not intentionally) because at one point when I looked up to get my bearings I found myself right next to a buoy so I was on the inside, busy track following the underwater line up the course. I’m a pretty confident swimmer so I knew I could hold my own but it wasn’t easy. It’s funny what thoughts go through your mind as you swim along. I was watching other peoples strokes and analysing them and looking for the divers (didn’t see any) which they had told us about (“don’t be startled by bubbles and divers in the water”). Also just telling myself to reach and pull, slowly and smoothly. According to my watch I did the first loop in about 32 minutes which is amazingly fast for me - I think I just got sucked around! The second loop was a bit clearer but still plenty of people around and bumping into each other. I just kept swimming and trying to find some feet to draft on which sometimes worked and sometimes I was on my own. My swim time was 1:07:22 which I was thrilled about and it hadn’t seemed like much of an effort at all.
My wetsuit was pulled from me and I started down the carpet to transition. I was surprised to find that the move from horizontal to vertical didn’t affect me - I felt great and was able to jog down and locate my transition bag.

T1 (12:41)

I purposely took my time here, just getting ready, drying myself, applying sunscreen and making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Minor blip number one was here - having loaded up my back pockets of my bike shirt with my nutrition I found that my race belt didn’t sit easily and on the way out to the bike it tore off so I had to stop and redo that with safety pins. I had to find my own bike (even though they were numbered I went down the wrong rack first- duh!) and then I had to run with it all the whole length of the transition area to the start line.

Bike (6:44:20 (splits 3:09:05, 3:35:14))

There were a lot of people heading out at the same time as me so it was quite hard to find a space to get bike over the mounting line and get on. Patience on a long day I guess. Took it easy - out of transition is downhill and 2 sharp corners. Then I was off. There really were so many people that it was impossible to stay 4 lengths behind anyone on the first climbs. I was told that you can’t really draft at the speeds we were going up the hill though so everyone just got on and did their own thing. By the time we got to the top of the hill it was all a bit more spread out and the USAT referees came along several times on the motorbikes to check no- one was drafting. The first downhill into Keene was awesome. I had to actually brake several times because people were in the way but generally it was good. I love downhills. The flat bit was good - I just kept telling myself it was important not to feel like I was “working” and that I was just out for a “Sunday afternoon pleasure ride“. I remember smiling constantly and thinking “I’m doing an Ironman and this is easy”. My first aid station attempt wasn’t so good. I dropped 2 water bottles before managing to hold onto one and made a mental note to slow down a bit more next time. Even my dreaded hill up to Wilmington wasn’t as bad as I thought - the encouragement of the spectators is truly magnificent. The out and back bit plus the climb back into town weren’t too bad either. I felt strong, happy and was having a great time. The hardest thing was finding a clear enough section on a downhill to pee! (sorry mum, hope you aren’t reading this bit).

The crowds on Papa Bear are amazing and I don’t remember that feeling hard at all. My first bike loop split was 3:09 and I didn’t feel fatigued at all. Round we went again.

My second loop bike split was much slower at 3:35. I didn’t actually think it was so much to do with fatigue because apart from needing to stand up to stretch and get my bum off the seat a couple of times I still felt good. However, the wind going down the big hill into Keene and all the way along the flat bit to Upper Jay was really noticeable against us and I think that was more of a factor. There was this one guy (Declan) who was around the same pace but I was faster on hills and him on flat so we kept passing each other. The reason I know this is that I named him Mr Snotty. I think he must have had a cold or something because he kept snot rocketing every 20 seconds or so with no thought to who was behind. After some minor sprays I tried to keep a bit ahead of him but alas, big groan when he came by me again. In fact I got so fed up with it that at one point when I went past him I said loudly “nice” in a sarcastic voice as he “sniffed” but I don’t think he got the hint!

Another minor blip of the day was when my race number tore off one of the pins and I had to stop and refasten it (again) before it completely flew off.
I felt I had to work a bit harder on the uphill last 11 miles but generally I felt pretty good all the way around. The only noticeable thing was a had a kind of side stitch practically all the way around the bike course which was made worse by eating solid food (my Jaffa cakes) so I stopped eating those and just survived on gel and Gatorade (and water). So, I knew I hadn’t taken in as many calories as ideal but I was still eating when I could and felt OK.

Back into town to the amazing crowds, over the line and just passed my bike to a volunteer and was pointed in the right direction to my next transition bag.

Other notes on the bike course were
(1) Despite what people say there are USAT officials on the narrow out and back course - I know - I saw them
(2) Although I didn’t see a great deal of it, I got really annoyed at a few people (all male) that were clearly drafting. Several times I had to give dirty looks over my shoulder to get some one off my wheel and several times I saw people in front of me blatantly drafting. I guess they have no conscience.

T2 (8:39)

This was a strange experience. I found my bag and waddled along to the changing tent. I just wanted to sit down for a couple of minutes to recharge but volunteers kept coming up to me and trying to help, tipping out my bag, asking me if I needed sunscreen etc. I was really grateful they were there but just needed a few minutes on my own. So, once I was ready they topped me up with sunscreen, I went to the portapotty then off on the run.

Run (5:26:06 (splits 2:21:27, 3:04:38))

Oh it was a good job the crowds were there to start. They were the incentive to get through the first difficult 10 minutes when my legs were fighting me as I was persuading them they could run. But going down a steep hill to start was tough. I knew it would all get better after the first mile or so and those crowds really helped. After that I settled into a rhythm and just walked aid stations to take in nutrition as planned. I could feel my legs were a bit sore so I pretty much knew I wouldn’t be going fast but I felt fine. I watched the clock and at 3 miles and 6 miles I knew my pace was well under 10 minutes (probably around 9:30). I took Gatorade or gel and water at each aid station as planned. Then it all started to fall apart. I started to feel nauseous and by mile 10-11 I was starting to feel dizzy too. I decided to walk more than I planned - I know the rules - slow down and sip water to try and settle nutrition problems. At each aid station I sipped water and then when that didn’t help I tried cola as I heard that can be a life saver. I managed to jog past my family and the crowds on the first bit of the second loop because I didn’t want my kids to see I was struggling so much but Fred had guessed because Dennis had gone into the short out and back behind me and came out way in front. He walked with me (Dennis) for a few minutes as he was on a revised plan too. In fact I think most people I saw in the team seemed to be having a few “challenges“. It was a hard day.

Off on the second loop I plodded. The course was actually strangely quiet considering how many people were out there. Apart from a few words of encouragement made to one another as you passed each other everyone seemed to be in their own world, focusing and trying to just keep going.
I went to a portapotty for a wee so I knew stuff was going through me but boy it was hard to get up. There was no way I wasn’t going to finish and I was scared if I pushed myself I would get worse and be hauled off. At one stage there were “things” floating on my retina and I had to make a concerted effort to walk a straightish line past an ambulance station! I had pretty much resigned myself to walking when at mile 19 Sarah came past me and we walked a while. She was sucking pretzels for the salt and gave me one to try. Sarah saved me! I am so grateful to her. I knew she was finding it tough too but she was there to help me and encourage me. I was salt deficient. I would never have guessed it. I had been drinking Gatorade and eating gels and never needed extra salt on my long runs but eating pretzels cured me. Literally. By mile 20 I started to jog again, and I jogged, sucking on pretzels, just walking any of the bigger hills and aid stations and I started to feel much better. I’m not saying it was easy but it was such a relief not to feel so sick still. After the last aid station before town I hadn’t started jogging again and a man called Tim who I had been playing leapfrog with (no not literally) passed me again and told me I could at least run to the bottom of the big hill - which most people walked up intentionally anyway. He was right, so I did. Thank you Tim. I was a little faster than him but he caught me when I walked and after the hill he passed me again and told me that surely I could run the last mile. He was right I could. Thank you Tim again (I did thank him lots then too- both times). So, I finished strong, with a smile on my face and needed no medical attention at all.

My family were apparently there, even at the finish but I only saw them once on the run. The Train-this support crowd were awesome as were all the strangers yelling my name and encouraging me.

Afterwards and hindsight

I felt OK immediately afterwards - guess that’s what a 7 mile walking break does for you! I grabbed a bit of pizza, sat and eat it and then went off to find people and my bags etc and cheer some people home.

I am elated that I have had this experience and finished and it means so much to have a “team” of supporters out there and that all of our competing team finished. I am so proud of all of us. I can’t say I am not disappointed with my run, but I wouldn’t have guessed a salt problem and at the end of the day what happens is what happens. The time doesn’t really matter because this was a one-off for me, always was, still is! I had no compulsion to join Mary in the sign up queue on Monday morning. I have enjoyed everything about the training and the race experience was awesome but I want to concentrate on a shorter distance now.

The next day I can see I have a couple of blisters on one foot (probably from wet shoes since I poured cold water over me a lot on the run) and my legs feel a bit sore but not too bad at all. I wouldn’t like to go for a jog but I could easily go for a swim. I won’t though, not for a couple of days anyway. I’ve got some chocolate eating to catch up on before my metabolism slows down from lack of ridiculous amounts of exercise.

All my race pictures show me smiling and although I think my natural bike face is a grimace that can be interpreted as a smile it was nice to have comments as I cycled along saying “Nice smile lady“. I think that summed up the day for me. It was fun!

Thanks for reading and I look forward to reading all my team mates race reports too.

Marian, July 17th, 2007

2007-07-17T17:42:00.000-07:00

Well, Ironman is just a few days away. Who would have though, the time actually flew by. My left knee has been quite sore. I tried doing a 45 minute bike ride and had to stop at 20 minutes. I will get ART on it Thursday before i leave and hope it holds up for Sunday. I'll probably take some Advil on the bike with me.
I've been having the strange dreams of things going wrong like there is no more Gatorade left at Wegmans and I end up paying 7 dollars a bottle for Gatorade out of some back room in a dirty gas station. The other one was of getting to lake placid and realizing I forgot my helmet and camelback. Other dreams are of running through kids park, swingset and all. Don't know what that means.
I'm very nervous about my stomach not holding up all day. I'm in constant state of anxiety which is making things worse. I need Sunday to be here sooner.

Jackie D - Week 43

2007-07-16T10:33:00.001-07:00

Week 43 - starting Monday 9 July 2007

Original Scheduled hours: 5hrs 45 mins
Actual hours: 5hrs 40 mins

Week 2 of taper and finally towards the end of the week it actually started to feel easier. After the hard time I found it last weekend, coach changed my schedule and gave me a surprise day off on Monday. Other than that I had 2 shortish race simulation bricks, 2 open water swims and a short aerobic bike.

The first brick was hard. Partly I think because I did it in the heat of day (said 90F when I got back) and partly because I was skimping on nutrition a bit - trying not to overeat in these last weeks. Anyway, the bike felt good and I you don’t really feel the heat when you are pedalling along but it really hits when you stop. I had a 30 min transition run afterwards with last 15 minutes supposed to be harder. Well wow, my HR started way up and I don’t think ever went down (I didn’t actually wear my HRM but my breathing told the story). At about 25 minutes, going up a hill I just couldn’t catch my breath anymore and I had to stop and walk for a few minutes. After that I just jogged slowly for the remaining 5 minutes. Of course lots of doubts then start cropping up - if I can’t even run for 30minutes how on earth am I going to complete 26.2 miles?!

Luckily, later in the week the second brick went well. The run was again 30 minutes and at last a run where it felt I could have gone further. Phew!

Both swims this week were in quite wavy waters which is fun although not so good for practicing long smooth strokes. There were even white caps on some of the waves on Friday. Once when I rolled to the side to breathe the side the waves were coming in, they nearly flipped me onto my back. Ooh what fun! I do miss the ocean where I grew up.

I had my bike checked over one last time at my local bike shop. I am glad I did because I did have a bend in part of the rear gear mechanism.
Most people I know doing this event are changing over to race wheels but my bike is what it is and has one set of wheels! I had decided to buy new tyres in the hope of minimising flat tyres and I have become just that little bit more knowledgeable now. I now have a slightly smaller width tyre on (23 rather than my 25s) and I am going to call them my race tyres! They are bound to make me go fasterJ

I am still deliberating and changing my mind to and fro on what to take on the bike. My current debate (with myself of course) is whether to use the aero bottle or not. It’s not so much the weight (or the annoying rattle!) but whether I can refill it whilst moving or more to the point, since water and Gatorade are available at aid stations whether I really need to as I have 2 bottle cages. I have used the aero bottle on training rides because I have needed to take as much nutrition and hydration with me as possible. Decisions decisions. I am also coming closer to deciding what I will wear as well, although not set in stone yet and probably won’t be ‘til next week.

Next report will be race report. Yikes or Yippee! I’ll also try and write for a couple of weeks afterwards because I want to be able to remember what it feels like afterwards and how long my body takes to recover.

1 WEEK TO GO

Jackie D - Week 42

2007-07-08T07:42:00.001-07:00

Week 42 - starting Monday 2 July 2007

Original Scheduled hours: 10hrs 30 mins
Actual hours: 10hrs 30mins (I hope)

Well this was the first week of the taper but to be honest it didn’t really feel like it. Frequency of workouts was same and pretty much all same length as usual except long run and bike - these were scheduled for end of week so I didn’t really notice a difference in volume til the weekend. Of course that is my way of justifying that I can still eat the same amount as I am used to. I must watch that next week as the volume really drops.

Swimming was all in the lake this week but this time with more of a purpose. One swim was doing fast/slow intervals between the buoys and the other was steady aerobic pace with sighting practice so I stopped as little as necessary. I even managed to get up early for both of them. I got back home from one of my swims and found the bath had been run…….to digress for a second or two - there are 2 things that I take extreme, neurotic care about and won’t let my family touch - my bike and my wetsuit. Fred jokingly called my bike “Precious” once as I get so upset if anyone goes near where it is hanging in the garage (what can I say, I have 2 boys who think kicking a ball around a garage or shooting nerf guns is fun!). Well my bike is now “Precious 1” because it has been noticed how I soak and rinse my wetsuit, hang it carefully in shade etc etc etc - it is now “Precious 2”…..
So… when I come back from my swim and the bath is run and ready I say to Fred, “Oh thanks you have run a bath for Precious”. “NO! “ he says jumping in “This bath is for Precious 3!” So, there now seems to be a hierarchy in our house.
I think it may have backfired a bit though, ‘cos one of my sons has so far been banned from having dessert for 23 years for touching Precious 1 and 2.

The workouts have seemed hard this week. Even the “easy” stuff has seemed like more effort than I expected. It must be psychological. On Saturday I had a 3 hour bike which was nice (not least to have to worry about refuelling stops) but I also had a 90 minute BT run to do. Due to family stuff I planned to do it in the evening but it was a real effort to get started. It even felt like an effort whilst out there - and that was shown by the data which confirmed I have metamorphosed into a snail. I just hope I can metamorphosise back into something a bit faster in the next 2 weeks.

My last bike of the week was to be a hill repeat thing doing some standing sprints up a hill. I rarely stand on the bike and was worried that I might not be able to move for a week afterwards if I use “new” muscles so we have agreed to change it into an easy bike. But give me an inch and I take a mile. I am now planning (the bike is not yet done) to count a family bike ride on my mountain bike as my easy bike. Actually it should be OK to count because my youngest son will be out on a playdate and the other one can go at a good pace. If not, I will just go out again later.

We had our last Ironman meeting on Sunday morning. We practiced grabbing bottles whilst riding along on the bike and then went over the details of the race (the athletes guide is out). It was nice to see everyone again and we are all excited about what we will be doing in TWO WEEKS TIME.

2 WEEKS TO GO

Jackie D - Week 41

2007-07-02T11:43:00.000-07:00

Week 41 - starting Monday 25 June 2007

Original Scheduled hours: 15hrs 0 mins
Revised Scheduled hours : 14hrs 40 mins
Actual hours: 14hrs 51mins

Oh boy was I sore at the beginning of this week! Like sore that I haven’t been for months and months. Good sore though - must be getting stronger.
This week was supposed to be a repeat of last week but because kids are home I knew I had to do my long stuff at the weekend so I was left with more intense stuff for the weekdays. Having not got up early enough for a lake swim on Monday I then just didn’t know what to do because I didn’t think I should do another BT workout on a consecutive day. Help Mary! She came to the rescue. Apparently many of us are having our little “falling apart” times at the moment - and she just picks us up, dusts us off, turns us around and sets us on our way. We revised the first couple of days to a long continuous swim at the pool in the evening and some less intense stuff the following day.

Well, whether it was guilt of “messing up” my original schedule or what I don’t know but I decided I was going to swim the 2.4miles in the pool that night, so I did. I have never really done a long continuous swim in the pool before because it is so boring and I lose count of the lengths. But I prepared myself mentally and it was OK. And I felt as strong at the end as I did at the beginning of the 154 lengths of the 25m pool. Yahoo!

I got to do that horrid run, bike, run brick again this week though - so Mary wasn’t THAT nice to me as to take that away! It went OK and I felt less sore afterwards. All good stuff.

For someone who usually gets the long stuff done mid week it is a bit disconcerting to get to Friday night and know you have 9 hours of training left for the week.

This was my first long ride at a weekend and it was so much less stressful than usual. Usually I am worried that I won’t get back in time for the school bus, especially if I have a flat tyre and what do I do if I need rescuing for some reason blah blah blah. Saturday was free from all that. Fred took the boys on a boys day so I had all day to do my bike ride without worrying about times and knowing he was on the end of a phone with no work meetings etc if I needed him. It really was a pleasant change. I chose a hilly course on purpose - riding down to Naples via a back way and then back up - back up that long climb on the CR12 that Mary mentions in her log - think it was more than 10 mins for me though! But I did it, without standing up either.
Today was the day I tried my revised nutrition strategy properly of Powerbars and Gatorade. Oh dear! They sat very heavily on my stomach and I ended up making 3 major bathroom stops - luckily I had planned my route around gas stations to pick up more Gatorade and water. I was a bit surprised because I have been using Powerbars- just not in the quantity I need for proper nutrition. More thinking to do on that one.
I passed the memorial where 5 high school graduates had been killed in a car crash a couple of nights previously. I was so angry that they had been stupid enough to be driving when they shouldn’t have but it is so, so, so sad that I just couldn’t stop the tears falling.
I also tried a new sunscreen on this ride. The stuff I have been using (and the stuff I am told they have at LP) seems to wash off a bit with spills from my aero bottle and I end up with blotchy red legs every time. Well this time I tried kids, Huggies extra waterproof stuff under my usual stuff and success! I still had the weak left hand problem after about 3 hours though and had to use my palm of my hand to change the back chain ring. Weird. Perhaps three weeks rest will help.

The long run was the last workout of the week. I did it on Sunday evening but that was the plan after a day out with the family (fruit picking - yum!). This was a kind of nutritional breakthrough. It all started when a fellow triathlete who knows about my nutritional woes with gel was trying to give advice about the flavours he likes. And then he said it - the words just struck home - he said “I have such a sweet tooth I look forward to my next gel” Well! NO-ONE HAS MORE OF A SWEET TOOTH THAN ME! SERIOUSLY! So, I decided my woes must be psychological. I took gels and water and set off for my 3 hours. Every half hour on schedule I chose a flavour and linked it to something yummy - like cooking my grannies old recipe for vanilla fudge, or chocolate pudding or making flapjacks and then I tried to savour and imagine it as the gel. Well, it worked to a degree. I ate all the gels I planned - first time in ages. I think I am going to continue with this strategy and move it over to the bike too - then I will have my original working nutritional strategy working again!
Sometime after 2 hours (and after an expresso gel which maybe linked) I started bouncing. I just wanted to shout and jump in the air yelling Yippee. I was nearly there. Everything I have worked towards since last October and this was my last workout before taper.

I have done it. I have trained and I AM READY

BRING IT ON!

3 WEEKS TO GO

Marian, July 2nd, 2007

2007-07-02T06:43:00.000-07:00

Wow, first day of taper and I already don't know what to do with myself. This past weekend Kitima and I, joined by Barbara, biked around Canandaigua twice and the second loop was slightly emotional. Last time seeing the familiar faces that wave and say good morning as they pick up their newspapers in their pajamas or let the dogs out or sit on their porches drinking their morning coffee. I'll miss the people at he boat lunch, our regular potty stop, when they come over and ask how far are you going and seeing their jaws drop when we reply.
Then Sunday, our last long run. We agreed to commemorate it by going a little over 3 hours. We went 3;15. not that much over but just enough to say: "this is the longest I've ever gone and I feel great". After that, boy did I need a nap. I didn't nap though, I took my old brown dog to her physical therapy since I'm trying to spend as much with her as I can, she won't be around for very long. I will look for her and my other 2 doggies and the corner of papa bear.
Well, the countdown clock is at 19 days. Makes me think of going to rehab: 19 days until your free of the shivers and panic attacks, after beign on the training high for a year.

Jackie D - Week 40

2007-06-26T10:13:00.000-07:00

Week 40 - starting Monday 18 June 2007

Actual hours: 15hrs 04mins

Straight into it this week with long workouts and intense workouts and no easy stuff really at all. Except the swimming - twice out in the lake early in the morning again. I find swimming quite easy - not fast but I definitely have the endurance, especially floating around in a wetsuit.

Another 6 hour bike and 3 hour run this week. Only one more of each to go before taper time (eek!).

I had to make the most of the first half of the week for training time as the kids finished school for the summer on Wednesday. So, Monday was my long run. Wow- what a hot one! Could definitely put this one down to heat acclimatisation. I started at 10.30am and it just got hotter and hotter. I did a new route of 2 loops (refuelling stop after first loop) with the 10min run, 1 min walk strategy and I was glad of those walks towards the end. I chose a route with lots of hills as I know I need to work on those. I don’t think these will ever get easier so I just tell myself I am getting stronger.

Tuesday was time for long bike. I met a fellow trainee (actually fellowess!) at her house in Fairport and we headed out to Sodus and back and then some local roads. I can honestly say that I have never cycled or pushed so hard on a longer training ride. I am used to hilly terrain where I push, then recover and repeat. This was constantly pedal pedal pedal and my companion set a great pace. I could keep up for the most part but I definitely think I was working harder than her! At 4hrs 40mins a storm cell came over (not unexpected as we were watching for it) and we stopped to shelter at a fire station as the winds rose. Minutes later it was so windy we could hardly hold our bikes and then the rain just poured down. We were surrounded by thunder and lightning. The decision was to call in my friends husband to rescue us as he wasn’t far away which he did, thank you so much. It was so hard stopping though when we wanted to get our 6 hours in and only as another bolt of lightning flashed the way we would cycle did we reluctantly get in the car. I wasn’t sure what to do - help my key workout was incomplete! So, I drove home and finished it off on the indoor trainer (first time dragged out since the winter), hopping off a couple of times to wave at bus drivers as the kids came home. Phew, got it done.

Having chomped on powerbars and forced one gel down like nasty medicine on my long ride I have decided I need to revisit nutrition before it gets too late to experiment. I thought I had it nailed up to the Placid training weekend but I really haven’t wanted to eat a gel since then. Think I may have to opt for some protein (which I was going to avoid) and stick with powerbars (if I can find an easy enough one to chew) or try something completely different like carbopro.

I had three Breakthrough workouts this week. An interval running one which I did on Thursday and then the two others that I had to do on consecutive days at the weekend. First was a bike “attack” hills workout which was hard (but it was supposed to be) and I ended up with my highest average pace for a training ride of 18.5mph so the effort was worth it.

Sunday was a BT brick and I put it off and off- until 6pm - and as it was 2hrs long I had to go then or never before it got dark. It was a duathlon style brick and I hate duathlons so I decided this was part mental training too so I had to do it. The bike had a 10k Timetrial in it which is the first I have done - I averaged 20.6mph so I was very pleased.

This week seemed to have more intense stuff in than for ages and I am definitely expecting to feel sore at the beginning of next week.

I think all the early mornings are starting to catch up with me. I am just one of those people that need their sleep. I ended up going to bed at 6.30pm on Friday night and not waking til 8am Saturday. Hopefully that will stock me up for a while!

Next week is a repeat of this week although I will have to shuffle things around a lot now the kids are home.

4 WEEKS TO GO

Marian, June 25th, 2007

2007-06-25T08:00:00.000-07:00

I had a really bad weekend. On Thursday night I was feeling pretty tired and got home really late from work. We ended up having dinner around 10:30 at night. I must have looked pretty bad because Rolando looked at me and said: "you know last year I was skipping a lot of workouts at this point, right?" Well, the next morning I had a pretty bad stomach ache. I went to work, took some medicine and around 9 in the morning I was folded over a garbage can. I spent the rest of the day in bed and Saturday I was still unable to eat. I picked on bread and juice and had my first actual meal on Sunday night. This morning I was feeling pretty good so I did a one hour ride. I think my body was just too worn out and was determined to stop no matter what.
Hopefully this week goes on uneventfully and I can start taper. Looking forward to it. I'll be so happy after the long ride and long run are done this week.

Jackie D - Week 39

2007-06-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

Week 39 - starting Monday 11 June 2007

Actual hours: 8hrs 33mins

Recovery weeks don’t seem to get any easier. I have been mooching around like a lost soul this week and I feel sorry for my husband having to put up with me. It got so bad with me not having to do much that I ended up not wanting to do anything. In fact one day this week, I had an hour easy bike ride to do. Kids were at school and I just kept putting it off and off. It’s not that I don’t have other things to do (I am trying to landscape our garden) but I just didn’t want to do them. So at 2.15pm (first of kids gets back at 3.30pm) I decide I have to do this bike ride or I will regret it. But I become a bit of a rebel. I don’t change clothes into cycling shorts etc. I just put $5 in my pocket and hop on in my civvies aiming at Starbucks for a nice chilled drink to sip on my way round my easy bike ride. Of course once I get going I felt much better and just pedalled around….and I never did stop at Starbucks - although I did make myself a wonderful, healthy smoothie when I got home J

Since that point I have got out my book of Mental training and have been working my way through that again - after all they say Mental training is another of the aspects of Ironman.

However, there have been lots of positives this week. Many small, but they all add up. I managed to zip my own wetsuit up for the first time ever. I wore my new running skirt for the first time and it felt so comfortable and made me feel all girlie. I got a flat tyre on the way back from an easy ride and I successfully changed it in under 15 minutes (first time ever for success on this bike out on a ride). OK I checked the pressure when I got home and it was only 70psi but a vast improvement for me- and I managed to get the tyre on with my hands (must be my old bike that is just very difficult).

As an aside, I noticed towards the end of my long bike last week that my left hand got really weak and I had trouble using my fingers to change the gears - in fact I ended up having to push with the palm of my hand. I assumed it was just overuse (see Mary, changing gears lots, that’s good for Placid right?) and it would go away quickly. Well it’s taken the best part of a week to feel normal again. Have to see what happens next week.

The week ended on a big high note. Early Sunday morning, I met some people I have got to know from a triathlon website for my very first ride around Canandaigua Lake. I got introduced to some hills I have only heard about (and others pointed out to me) and it was a thoroughly enjoyable 2 and a half hours. Even though I was called a cissy for going into my granniest of granny gears pretty much at the bottom of Millers hill. I got up it - before anybody else - so it must have worked. Spin spin. They were just jealous they didn’t have a granny gear bike like me! It was all in good humour though- perfect weather, perfect scenery and great company. This was my first group ride as well so it allayed some of my fears about that. It was casual and one of the guys taught me a bit about drafting. I had a go but really don’t like being so close and not being able to see much in front of me. He told me I had pulled him up a hill though so at least I can say I took a turn at that. When I got home, this ride was followed by bike ride to a restaurant with the kids and hubby for lunch, orienteering in Webster park and then miniature golf - an excellent day!

Now I have to get my training head back on for the last 2 big training weeks before we go into the 3 week taper to race day.

5 WEEKS TO GO

Jackie D - Week 38

2007-06-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Week 38 - starting Monday 4 June 2007

Scheduled hours: 17hrs 30mins
Actual hours: 16hrs 57mins

Ooo look, naughty, naughty, I haven’t done my training time for this week! But the difference is just in my two swims. Instead of an hour plus each time at masters I went swimming in the lake again for both swims. AND they were done in the MORNING. I actually got up at 5.00am both times. Swims were only 40-45 minutes though because I had to get back to see to the kids. The second swim was in quite choppy water - it reminded me a bit of swimming in the ocean.

But not just 2 early mornings for me this week - but 3! Because of some school trip commitments I got up early to do a 2 hour brick before the kids woke up.

I can honestly say I HATE the moment the alarm clock goes off, but once up and going I LOVE it, and I LOVE the feeling of having accomplished so much before breakfast. I am going to keep reminding myself of this - and in fact once the kids break up from school in a couple of weeks I will probably have to do some early morning sessions just to fit things in.

My long run this week was fantastic! So, unlike last week when I felt I was just shuffling round trying to do the time required. I did the 10min run, 1min walk strategy and I ran the furthest I have ever run in my 3 hours - just over 20miles! In fact that is the furthest I have ever run, period! I was very pleased with that. I still couldn’t face as many gels as I should have had though but managed to force some down.

My long bike the next day was a different story. I kept it quite slow, so had a dreadful average pace but I did also purposely go looking for hills and purposely made sure I stayed seated on the hills so granny gears were used a lot. I went the route over from Honoeye to Bristol and was really wary of coming across the dog that had chased me last time. I couldn’t remember exactly where it was so each time I saw a grassy bank that looked familiar, I speeded up and if clear went right into the middle of the road. It was finally right at the crest of the hill I think, ‘cos I heard the tell tale barking but I sped away - he must have been in the back and not have had time to get round. Seems daft to me that someone wouldn’t make sure their dog stays in their yard anyway - what about the cars that whiz up that road?!

In fact this week seems to have been an “encounter with animals” (not least because of my fellow trainees having encounters with chipmunks and turtles!) because I was also chased briefly by a goose. I was just cutting along a section of path to our neighbourhood and there was mama, papa and their brood on one side. I kept as far away on the other side as I could but one of the parents decided that I was a threat and launched itself at me as I cycled by. There was an oncoming cyclist grinning at me as I went by him so I just wished him luck!

Recovery week next week - my last one. Eeeek!

6 WEEKS TO GO

Marian, June 11th, 2007

2007-06-11T06:57:00.000-07:00

What a great end to a bad week. Last week started pretty bad. I was very tired and after loading up on antihistamines was having a very hard time getting anything done. It was also a very stressful week at work and at home with the whole moving thing. I knew it was bad when I sat ont he deck steps at 9pm crying because I hardly got any workouts in, the posting of the house was not showing up online, my boss and one of my co workers got into an argument that day (when your part of a staff of three, it's a big deal), I was told I have to start going three times a week again to the chiropractor and for some reasons one of my new plants I planted out front is dying. Well that last one seemed to push me over the edge. Rolando suggested I just go sign up for Keuka and concentrate on that which would get my mind off of everything else. So, I did that. Went for run on Friday but sat in my swimsuit watching the weather report to decide I wasn't driving to Canandaigua with the storm coming. Did nothing on Sarturday, just sat outside watching the people of the community garage sale and talked to some neighbors I had never even met. Got up early on Sunday for Keuka. I picked up Jay at his house since he was riding back he needed a ride down. I felt really good afetr the swim which was a lot warmer than last year and Dana and I did the whole thing side by side, not on purpose, it just worked out that way. I felt good on the bike and started the run. Halfway on the run, I caught up to Chris and we ran the last three miles together. When I saw the clock at the finish line, I got very excited, I finished 11 minutes faster than last year. I think it was mostly on the bike but I haven't checked my splits yeat. I don't wear a watch at any race because I'll obsess over it and go to hard and burn out. So, I got home feeling pretty good about myself, had a beer and pizza and took a nap. Perfect Sunday afternoon.

Jackie D - Week 37

2007-06-03T18:06:00.000-07:00

Week 37 - starting Monday 28 May 2007

Scheduled hours: 15hrs 40mins
Actual hours: 15hrs 28mins

During the workouts in the first half of this week I felt a bit deflated. It was all from coming off the high of the weekend at Placid I know. After a complete day off on Monday it was time to do a brick. Following my thoughts on wanting to get stronger on hills I have decided that I am not going to use the flat canal path (which is so close and convenient for me for bikes or runs) unless it is recovery zone 1. So, I headed round some local roads just thinking of a hill near by and then riding it whilst thinking of the next bit of the route. My strategy was to push a bit up the hills and take as long as I needed to to recover on flats and downhills. Nothing majorly big but definitely not flat. I ran on the roads away from the house in a direction I don’t normally go. It had some rollers and I only went up side roads if I could see a slope! With this strategy I am going to end up doing extra exercise because I normally take the dog along the canal path but don’t think it is safe enough (or fun enough) for her on roads so there was extra dog walking for me this week.

I couldn’t quite believe that Wednesday had me doing another long run of 3 hours. Again, no flat for me anymore so I went down to Mendon Ponds park and did some loops around that terrain, running 10min and walking 1minute and looping back to my car to refill with water and Gatorade. I still didn’t really feel like gels so probably only took in about half the number I should have for that amount of time. Each one I did take I had to force down like a nasty medicine. I seemed to survive OK with extra Gatorade though.

Even more insanely, the next day had me doing another long bike ride of 6 hours in mid 80 degree temperatures. Actually whilst cycling you get a bit of a breeze so I was probably cooler than most! I couldn’t face gels at all so I loaded up with power bars and Gatorade instead. They seemed to go down well although I wasn’t really riding with any high intensity so will have to try again - just as I thought I had nutrition nailed I start changing it! I didn’t pee on the bike and I didn’t get the red chafing rash so think they must have been linked last weekend which makes for a bit of a dilemma. Oh, and about 4 hours in I noticed that my bike computer timer kept stopping for a few seconds at a time. So, I watched it a bit and it actually stopped for a few minutes at a time. Luckily I had noted the time on my wristwatch that I had set off and saw that I had done nearly 5 hours rather than 4! So, I just added 10minutes to the 6hours to allow for my water refill and pee stops and went by my wristwatch. I will have to look into that - probably a battery I guess. No problems with hitting the saltstick today though.

I swam at masters early on in the week and although I felt absolutely fine, however hard I tried, my times were really awful. Mary said she wasn’t surprised because I couldn’t have been recovered from the weekend but it was just weird (and frustrating) because I felt fine, just no power.

The second swim of the week was just plain FUN. I went in the lake for the first time this year. With my longsleeved wetsuit of course! They said the temperature was 67F and it felt absolutely fine. And I spotted a big fish - which I was reliably informed was a bass. It was SOOOO good to be swimming in a lake again and a great break from the pool - hope I can do both my swims in the lake next week.

An easy zone 1 recovery run made me start wondering whether my zones are correct. I ran an easy pace and breathing seemed fine but my HR stayed for much of the run in the late teens (over a hundred of course!). My zone 1 for running according to my chart doesn’t start til 124bpm. Hmm. At least I think I am confident enough now to train by feel I think.

The week finished with a sprint triathlon, the Pittsford triathlon. My first triathlon of the season. It was a beautiful day and a lot of fun. My husband and kids even got up early to come and cheer me on. I love sprint triathlons because of all the different types and ages and abilities of people all out there to achieve their personal goals and have some fun. This was the first triathlon I did last year (and the second one ever, the first having been done 5 years previously) and despite all the long, slow distance stuff I had been doing I was keen to try and beat my time from last year. I achieved that, knocking off a couple of minutes which was great and gave me 3rd female place. I have yet to see the splits for this but could summarise how I feel about them right now as:
- disappointingly slow swim (aaarghh - I know same old broken record)
- much smoother transitions
- good bike except (a) couldn’t get clipped in so had to stop to do so (b) my chain fell off for the first time ever on the first steepish hill and I had to get off to put it back © I had to slow down to tell a marshall about a boy off his bike a bit further back on the course that I had passed.
- run much stronger than last year (I hope) and I felt I finished strong (and I even got a clip of me finishing on local TV)

Next week is another high hours one. In less enthusiastic moments I look at my schedule saying 6hr bike or 3hr run and I think - why? I know I can do that, I know I can do it on the actual course so why do I have to do this again. At these times I wish the race was next week. It is hard to take up your whole day for a bike ride - I don’t know how people with families and full time jobs manage to do it. I am a very, very, very lucky girl to be able to do this whilst kids are at school so I don’t miss too much time with my family.

7 WEEKS TO GO

Marian, June 3rd, 2007

2007-06-03T12:16:00.001-07:00

What a great weekend. Yesterday, we biked twice around Canandaigua Lake: That's Miller Hill twice. The second time was very much a mental climb. I had to really dig deep and convince myself that I could go up. I concentrated on Dana's feet and tried to keep her cadence, because if I looked at the road ahead I would not have made it up. We finished the second loop 8 minutes faster than the first one. that felt good, specially since on the second loop, the air temp was 87 degrees. My knees were a little sore at the end of the ride so Mary said to ice them. It helped a lot.
This morning tha Title Nine Tea Party met up at Dana's house for a run. We were all running diffrent distances so I had Rolando drop me off and then ran home at the end. This run soon became an Animal Planet TV show when just a few minutes into the run a chipmunk was crossing the road and was hit by a car. It was still alive and had one eye popping out of it's head. We knew what we had to do. Kitima thankfully offered to end it's missery and stepped on it. Soon after, we saw a turtle crossing the road. We went to push it out the way but it was almost on the other side so it really did not need any help. Then we saw another snapping turtle crossing the road. This one was going right into the path of oncoming traffic. We sprinted as fast as we could, which was not very fast at this point, and a car was able to go around it. The turtle was getting quite aggresive. We knew the only way to move it would be to push it we a stick. We ran across the road, grabbed a small fallen branch. By this point it was really mad. Gently poking it was not doing the trick, it was not moving. So, Kitima reminded us of a saying from her orthopedic surgery lessons: "If you applied force and it didn't work, youd did not applied enough" (somethig like that)She tried to push it harder, the turtle turned around, bit the stick and almost broke it, it latched on and would not let go. That's how it got dragged back into the safety of the brush.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventfull. Can't wait until next week

Marian, May 29th, 2007

2007-05-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was the training weekend at Lake Placid. Got there pretty late on Friday night so no biking that night. The next morning we went on our 112 mile bike ride. The weather was nice, only aarm warmers needed, no jacket or long pants. I felt like I was on a roller coaster. trying to look at the end of each road to see if the downhill was coming. We would go up and up and the a small downhill, not it. Then another small hill and a little downhill, not it. Then all of a sudden, I saw the road sign with the picture of the truck going downhill that says shift down and i heard my husbands voice saying something to the effect of having talked to god today before going down this road. I don't know, my ears started ringing. Started going down, seemed pretty short, that's because it's not over. it levels off 3 times. I did not know this, I just thought it was one straight shot. Finally made it down, started to get feeling in my hands and feet again when I see the girl taht passed me at th etop of the hill laying on the ground just a few minutes after she got hit by a car. Well, that really scared me on the second loop and I may have gone down it a little slower if it wasn't for a very nice guy on an SUV who got right behind me and a little to the left and blocked all other cars from passing me. When I got to the bottom, he had around 6 cars behind him that were unable to pass. What a nice guy. My nutrition was spot on, felt great at the end of it and went for a 20 minute run afetr the bike.
The next morning, we did one loop of the run course. I shouldn't have gone out the night before and celebrated the bike ride. The beer, the macaroni and cheese, the nachos, and the leftover pizza and garlic knots were all having a field day in my stomach. I did not feel good and had to make a run in to the Stewarts restroom before the last out and back.
In general it was a very productive weekend. learned a lot about myself and my training buddies. Can't wait until July.