The Impossible Dream

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

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.

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!

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!

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

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...