Paula's Iron Journey

It was the best of (bike) times. . .

2011-11-22T21:26:00.000-08:00

And it was the worst of (run) times. In other words, the IMAZ Race Report . . .

One year ago today, I signed up of Ironman Arizona. When you sign up for an event, you have so many goals, so many hopes, so many plans. And then, over the course of 365 days, you have so many opportunities to make them come true. When I started this journey, I hoped to 1) drop 3 minutes off my swim; 2) drop 30 minutes from my bike and 3) drop 30 minutes from my run from IM Louisville.

But then life got in the way. I agreed to be fundraising chair for my kids school-- responsible for raising over 112,000 in the months of September, October, and November; I agreed to coach not one, but 2 soccer teams with weekly practices and weekend games; I agreed to teach 6th grade religious education on Monday nights, and I agreed to help run Soccerfest again. Needless to say, life happens and sometimes gets in the way of your best made plans.

With that background, I found myself on an airplane, headed to Phoenix, Arizona for Ironman Arizona. Had I trained? Sure I had. I'd done a lot of medium length workouts. Bike rides of 80 miles. 2.5 mile swims. 22 mile runs. VERY FEW longer rides. Almost no combination workouts-- where I combined bikes and runs or swims and bikes. Was I worried? YES. I really was. I knew how hard it was to get to the finish line at Louisville. I knew how bad I'd felt. And, most importantly, I knew how much harder I'd trained. Multiple workouts of over 10 hours. Many, many over distance swims. Many combination workouts. I had no real race plan-- in fact, I didn't develop a race plan until Saturday Night before the race. I wasn't 100% certain of my nutrition plan. In fact, I was pretty certain it was going to be a long hard day and was under no delusions as to the likelihood of my finishing the race.

The folks in Tempe were amazing. I got to athlete registration and it took me about 37 minutes to pick up my number, my swim cap, my timing chip, my "swag" bag, my bike and my gear bag. I found myself back in my hotel room with some wondrous free time before the Welcome Dinner. At the welcome dinner, I got my first eyeball of the AMAZING Arizona skyline at dusk and marveled at the beautiful colors-- thinking to myself how much I was going to enjoy seeing those colors as I headed out onto the run--presuming I made it that far-- which I wasn't guaranteeing. By far the best part, however, of the welcome dinner was getting to see my IronTeam Mates from 2010. Susie, Mary, Phil, Nate, Michelle, Nick and some new Iron Team friends were all competing. Just being around them started to ease my nerves.

This is just one of the places the all Iron Family cheer
Team had written my name in chalk on the course.
I think all told, they chalk-fetti'ed about 1/2 the course
with inspiration!

Saturday Morning started with the practice swim. I'd heard so much about how cold the water was going to be in Tempe Town Lake, so with much trepidation, I wiggled into my wetsuit-- one of my least favorite things to do. Walking down the stairs (which would be our exit stairs on Sunday), I silently cursed Sandy Shepherd and Margaret Mackey for getting me into this nonsense! With one hand on my goggles, I took a deep breath and jumped in.

It was cold-- no San Francisco Bay Cold, but chilly non-the-less. The good news was it wasn't as cold as I thought it was going to be-- the bad news? I couldn't keep my goggles from fogging up AND I managed to get that super dizzy vertigo feeling that is associated with having your ears in cold water. .

Great-- after about 5 minutes I pulled my dizzy self out of the water, was so dizzy I tripped on the way to get out of my wetsuit, and started worrying that I wasn't even going to make it past the swim!

Sunday Morning came quickly. As I made sure my bike tires were pumped up and got my special needs bags to the right places, the sun started to rise over Tempe Town Lake. The yellow buoys marking out the course seemed to go on for ever-- from the starting line it was almost impossible to see the red turn around buoy.
Transition was like family time. Sedonia, Dana, Mike K, Kristie, Helen and so many others from IronTeam who had come out to cheer us on and volunteer to help out were everywhere. Mike K applied my number to my arms and my age to my calf and gave me a zip into my wetsuit. Sedonia stood in line at the port-a-potties we me. Kristie was there securing the starting line. It was amazing. There was no way to get too nervous-- everyone was there to calm me down. I borrowed a sharpie one last time, remembering at the last minute that I needed to bring my passengers with me: writing Jack on my right hand and Will on my left. Before I was ready, I was in the water.

I had been worried about the swim start. There were 2500 people pushed to one side of the lake. This is called a deep water start. And I wasn't sure I was going to like it. Sedonia had advised me to lie flat on my front (i.e. dead man's float) to take up more space. SO I did. But, one of the things that I noticed was that there was a lot more space in the water than I was anticipating. I looked over and saw that about 2/3 of the field had positioned themselves sitting on the wall on the right hand side of the lake. As my brain started to work, I realized that once that cannon went off, and all those people pushed in from the right hand side, it was not going to be much fun for anyone. So, I tried to move towards the center of the lake. And as I moved left, BANG-- the cannon went off. I changed direction and started moving forward.

My fear was realized when I saw the 1000 people converging from the right hand side. Holy Rugby match. I've got a dandy bruise on my right hand shoulder from someone's foot. I fought my way down to the turn around-- probably never taking more than 2 strokes at a time without getting some part of my body clawed (legs, back, feet-- some guy (or woman, hard to tell in the water) grabbed my breast as they clawed by). It was not a swim to get a rhythm going.

The way back was slightly better. I found some room to swim and the bridge that started far in the distance slowly got closer until it was time to exit.

Upon reaching the stairs, I pulled myself out of the water and climbed up. I pulled off my caps and goggles and pulled down the strap of my wetsuit-- I found the strippers, sat down, and they pulled my wetsuit off me and handed it to me. I was on my way to T1.

Off with the Bikini bottom; on with the bike shorts, socks and shoes. The little old lady who was helping me get dressed was befuddled by my toe socks. . . Helmet, Chin Strap and out the door-- stopping only to get a quick hug from Ironteamer Dana (who was applying sunscreen to participants as we exited transition). A volunteer brought me my bike and I was off to the races.

If there is one place I always struggle, it is on that damned carbon torture contraption. So, I dread this part of the race. I hopped on, and headed out, making sure to turn my Garmin on so that it would remind me to drink, let me know how far I'd gone, how fast I'd gone, and, most importantly, how long I had until the cut off time (after which, I'd be pulled from the course and not allowed to finish--given my lack of long rides, this was something I was VERY concerned about). About 5 minutes in, my front tire started to make a funny noise. . . thunk, thunk. thunk. . . and then BANG a gunshot went off-- or, more accurately, my front tire blew out. Over to the side of the road. Take off the water bottles (because otherwise when you turn your bike over the liquid spills out-- done that before). Pull out the spare tube, CO2, and tire levers.

As I sat there changing my tire, at least 200 people whizzed past me. About 100 of them uttered the following: "dude, that sucks" or some variation there of. I sang to myself as I changed the tire: "nice and slow, nice and slow, nice and slow is the way to go," reminding myself that haste makes waste and all that good stuff. About 8 minutes later (maybe 10-- I don't know how anyone changes a tire faster than than), I was off again.

I fought a headwind on the way out to the turnaround. On top of that, it was also slightly (very slightly if you are from the Bay Area) uphill. The MPH on my Garmin averaged about 12 MPH -- or, as I translated for myself-- not making the bike cut off. Not even coming close. But I felt OK, just grumpy about the flat and worried about the time. Finally, I saw the turn around. I turned, grabbed some water at the stop, used the port-a-loo and headed back towards town. Now I had a slight downhill AND a tailwind. Now my Garmin read 28 MPH. Yes, I'm serious. I averaged about 25 miles back into town. It was like an E ticket ride all the way back down. Needless to say, by the time I got back into town, I had the biggest smile on my face. Which only got bigger (and caused a few tears to roll down) when I saw the humongous cheering section set up calling my name.

Note the HUGE smile on my face!!!

I was anticipating a pretty major headwind heading back out on loop #2-- so you can only imagine my pleasure to find that I was averaging about 15 MPH. I hit the turn around, looking forward to making that turn again and getting back to the carnival. Well, the joke was on me. The wind had shifted-- it hit me in the face HARD. Smack. Felt like I was being blown backwards. It was also about here that I lost Garmin. She'd been threatening to die for the last few months, but she made a final beep and off she went-- so far not to be resurrected despite multiple attempts at resuscitation. Quick visit to special needs to pick up my new bottles and take a potty break and back into town, and back off on the last loop. Felt OK-- no real boost like I was hoping (since the wind had shifted right, that was the only reason it could have been hitting me in the face at that point?? so confused.) It turns out the wind had shifted again. Reaching the turn for the third and final time I was heading back--with my friend the tail wind. I took one more potty stop and found myself pulling into transition. The time on my watch was about 3:30. Or about 2 hours BEFORE the time cut off-- I'd made it with plenty of time to spare-- now all I needed was to run a marathon-- in 8 1/2 hours or so.

I was doing a full change in transition. So I grabbed my bag; pulled off my bike shorts, pulled on my run shorts and got myself out of my bike shoes and into my running ones. I pulled on my Worcester Academy Tank Top-- Veteran of I'm Not Sure How Many Campaigns. I grabbed my waist pack with my calorie source and I was off. 7 minutes in T2 (instead of 14 like last year). I was pretty surprised by

how good I felt. It was still daylight (which I hadn't been anticipating) and I felt good. I started out on the run-- knowing the first few miles would be rocky, and started my run/walk strategy. 4 minutes of running followed by 1 minute of running. I had no Garmin to tell me how fast (or how slow) I was going. But, I felt strong. Not FAST, but strong. My legs didn't feel wobbly (like they had at Louisville). My stomach felt a little wonky (which would continue throughout) but not terrible. I was ready to go. And off I was. Notice in the picture that I'm still smiling. I have a lot of time, and I am feeling good!!! How is that for 2/3 of an Ironman?!? (when I hadn't trained as much as I wanted to).

I kept going with my run/walk strategy but felt like I was getting stronger as I entered into lap 2. My friend Flick, on her way to a 10:41 finish patted my on the shoulder as she turned left to the finish line while I turned right to begin my second loop. The sky got darker, my pace probably slowed some (but who can tell with no Garmin) but I was still having fun. In the picture I'm telling Sedonia that I feel GREAT!!! (as we walked up the only hill around). Strong legs, Good Heart. Good deal!

Needless to say, it wasn't to last long. I started out on my third, and final loop and immediately my stomach started rebelling. I could not, could not take another sip of lemon-lime Infinite sports drink. REALLY I couldn't; wouldn't. I spent the rest of the run choosing coke and cookies (and dipping the cookies into the coke) to get my calories in without causing my stomach to rebel. Aside from some fairly unlady-like burps, this strategy at least worked!

The second rebellion came from my right shin and calf. Basically, an instant shin-splint. Felt like my calf muscle was separating from my shin bone.

Rebellion #3 came from my right baby toe. I've been wearing toe socks for 2 years-- no blisters no matter what I did to my feets. But, there formed, and popped the biggest blister I've even gotten.

I wasn't smiling any more. Oh-- and did I mention I was tired???

The good news was I had given myself enough time to walk the last 8 miles if I needed to and still make the midnight finish deadline.

About this time I heard, for the first time, the whine of an ambulance siren. I noticed it, mainly because it wasn't the constant drone of ambulances that I heard last year at Louisville. In fact, now that I think about it-- the one ambulance and EMT I saw on the bike course was sitting on a chair outside his ambulance looking bored. What a huge difference 30 degrees makes.

As I came up on the last .5 miles, I ran into my own cheering section AGAIN. As I finally made the left hand turn into the finisher's chute, I was smiling again.

Swim: 1:19

T1: 0:07

Bike: 7:02

T2: 0:06

Run: 6:48

Total time is 30 minutes faster than my Louisville Ironman time!

I'd done it-- I was an Iron Man again. I'm happy with my swim (faster that Louisville, slower than Vineman-- I've got some to learn about how to manage that funky swim start thing); MORE THAN HAPPY with my bike. I never thought I'd potty 3 times, get a flat and still beat my bike time by more than an HOUR!!! and increase my MPH from 13.6 to 15.9. Disappointed in the run. Knew I wasn't going fast, but wish I could have held on to the 14 MPH pace I held between miles 1 and 11. I slowed to 16.5 over the last 15 miles. BUT, given that when I started I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to finish; Given I was not as trained as I wanted to be (and had planned to be); Given I had been fundraising chair, Given I'd coached 2 soccer teams, Given I'd chaired SoccerFest, Given I'd taught religious education AND am mom to two amazing boys, I'm proud to call myself a 2 time Iron Mom!

Going Home To Falmouth

2011-09-13T11:19:00.000-07:00

A couple of friends of mine mentioned that they were actually reading this the other day. . . so I felt like I'd better update it !
SO SOMETIMES. . . YOU HAVE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR HOW BADLY YOU SCREWED UP A RACE.

And this is one of those times. As faithful readers know, I'm not fast. Never going to be fast. At this point, don't even really want to be fast. BUT, for some reason, Falmouth is the one race where I feel like I've got a yardstick for how much better at this I've gotten from where I started.

My earliest Falmouth times were REALLY pathetic.  1 hour 36 minutes to cover the 7.1 miles comes to mind. I also remember the one race where I had to walk before I reached the 1 mile mark. (those may have been the same race, I don't remember). The race where I saw the girl passed out on the side of the road around mile 2 and decided that walking was good enough for me at that point! Then, as I "got more serious" to the extent I'm ever serious, I watched my times slowly improve. From the 1:36 minute to the 1:28 minute to the 1:24 minute and finally, last year in 2010 to my best Falmouth time ever.

As we do every year, my "family" met up at the flagpole down by the school to board the buses to the start line. New friends, old friend, new friends that feel like old friends, cousins, my dad. . we all board the bus and head up to Woods Hole to wait for a few hours. This year was nothing new, other than new race management not realizing that adding 1200 runners and reducing the number of buses by 30 probably was not a good idea. . .

Long after we were ready (due to a 15 minute delay caused by the fact there were not enough buses), it was time to go. I had in my head I need to beat 1:17 minutes to improve on last year's time as my primary goal and as a secondary goal: to finally beat my dad !!    I headed out at a steady pace and was right on track as I climbed up the hill by the Nobska Lighthouse to the music from Rocky (I think that music has been on constant replay up that hill for the past 20 years).

Still feeling good, and on pace as we pulled out of the shade and down to the beach. Starting to get hot and sticky (it always does down there by the beach) but otherwise enjoying the music and the amazing amount of spectators who made it out this year. I enjoyed the "Worcester" cheers-- spoken in the proper accent for once-- as I hit the west end of the harbor.

At this point every year, I wish that this was a duathlon. You could have a choice-- run the additional 1.4 mile up and around the Harbor OR take a quick swim of about 200 yards across the mouth of the harbor and be less than a 1/2 mile from the finish line. Just saying. .. its an idea. . . (although those that go around the Harbor are often treated to Tedy Bruschi sightings-- which may just make it worth it).

Around the harbor-- no Tedy, but the ability to kiss a blow up copy of Lord Stanley's Cup and up the final hill to the finish. I'd taken no walk breaks and was feeling strong. My watch had me right on pace to cruise in just around 1:17.   All was right with the world.

I got to the top of the hill and there was the real reason I come home to run Falmouth every year-- my mom with the two boys. I've chronicled at length my trials and tribulations with getting my kids to my events, but at Falmouth, Grandma doesn't allow any other options. There they were-In their running shoes and ready to cruise across the finish line with mommy-- Down the hill we ran-- checking ourselves out in the great big jumbotron as we made our way under the giant American Flag.
I hit my watch and saw 1:17:04. Ohh-- it was going to be close-- did I make it?

Hours later-- after the family reunion party that follows every Falmouth-- I jumped online to see my results: 1:17:09-- Did I make it?? Well, my did ran a 1:22:03 so I beat him. I checked the Falmouth 2010 stats to see if I had run over 1:17:09 last year. . . and realized that I'd been wrong. I had run a 1:13 last year. I WAS 4 MINUTES OVER!!! and had no one to blame but myself. By letting myself think that I had to run a 1:17-- I paced myself to run a 1:17-- and ran a 1:17.
Could I have run the 1:13? Probably so if I'd been smart enough to realize I needed to. . . but there is always next year.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: Or I REALLY Hope There Is Something To The Old Adage About Mechanical Problems in Training,

2011-07-31T23:08:00.000-07:00

Amongst triathletes, there is an old adage passed around that goes something like this. . . "Its a good thing to have mechanical problems in training because that means you won't have them in your race." Well, after yesterday, I hope that that is the case.

THE GOOD:
Last year, while training with TNT for Ironman Kentucky, we had 3/4 to Iron Weekend. This year, since I wasn't able to be a member of the team, I didn't have one. So, I decided early on that I was going to do the Vineman Aquabike as a training race. The Aquabike is 2/3 of a triathlon. It is the full 2.4 mile open water swim followed by the full 112 mile bike ride.  It was supposed to be a training weekend. Really. A training weekend.

Until about a month ago, I was not remotely concerned about this weekend.   I kept thinking that it was "no big deal" and "just the aquabike" How hard could it be?? As last week wore on, I started to get more and more nervous. I started thinking about the year people last year on IronTeam who trained for 9 months in order to do the aquabike. . . Then, I started getting pretty nervous. I'd been "training" for months, but I'd just started with a new coach last month, she'd dropped my swimming yardage and I hadn't swim over 2 miles in the last month. I hadn't ridden over 84 miles yet this season (although I'd never ridden a hundred at 3/4 to iron weekend).

Thus, I was pretty nervous going in. I was also unprepared, but we will get to that later.

I picked up my packet on Friday and it was already like old home week. I ran in to Mary, Dana, and Susie from IronTeam last year. I ran into David Parks, a neighbor who was competing in the full Vineman. I ran into one of TNT's honoree's Laura Warren-- a truly amazing person. I heard that the water temperature was about 71 degrees-- well within USAT's guidelines for wearing a wetsuit but given that I don't love my wetsuit, really couldn't make a decision whether to wear my wetsuit or not.

Getting home; getting through the disappointment of John not wanting to bring the kids up to the race; getting to sleep was hard. Nothing like Louisville where I'd been in a hotel alone for 3 days before the race. I was EXHAUSTED when I got up at 255 am to get ready. I picked up David and we headed up to Gernsville. To say that Gernsville is a small town is an understatement. To say it is in the middle of no where is also an understatement. But there we were at 530 am in advance of David's 6:38 am start. Old home week continued as I saw Tony, Les, Jenn, Marina, Sandy and Nick from last year's team. Sedonia, swim coach extraordinaire, was there. Jeremy Schwab, absolute rock star coach from TNT's spring team was there; Mike Kyle, as always, was there with a big smile, a bike pump, and a wetsuit wedgie. Oh, by the way, I wore my wetsuit.

Finally it was time for the start. Another old friend, Jennifer Jay (JJ) and I entered into the water together. Wishing all the ladies around me a great race, the horn blew and we were off.
Anyway. I was 1:20 on the swim in Louisville. This number was in the back of my head as I started out pretty slow. Hard to get room to swim (a very congested course in the beginning) but the crowded course doesn't worry me. . . just slows me down. I was a little hyped up. Wondering if I was going to make it for the full 2.4 miles. Then, about 1/2 way down the first loop, the water got so shallow that my fingers were scraping the bottom of the river. NO, I'm not kidding.  Like many others, I stood up and walked until my fingers were no longer hitting the bottom.

Actually, this break gave me some perspective, I'd caught up to a lot of men, who had started more than 10 minutes before me, and I felt pretty good. After having to walk again at the turn around (same reason), and coming back down on lap 2, I noticed that I was not seeing a whole bunch of green swim caps like those that my wave was wearing, so I figured I was either a) flying or b) so slow it wasn't even funny.

As I rounded the turn around on the second loop, I was feeling really good. I went under the bridge and knew that the swim end was close. I was hoping to see 1:41 on the clock as I came out of the water here. . . That would mean that I had gone no slower than I had at Louisville. As I ran under the clock, I thought I saw a 1:31-- or 10 minutes faster than Louisville. . . Turns out (by race results, I swam a 1:13. . . still 7 minutes off my Louisville time. (I was hoping to take 2 minutes off the 1:20 for Arizona, so we may want to reevaluate that goal). I ran up the beach and found Mike Kyle standing there to strip off my wetsuit-- considering the number of wetsuits that he'd help me get in to over the years, it was just fitting. . . I had a decent T1-- 5:16-- that included packing up all my swim gear since T1 goes away after the last swimmer leaves the beach. Not professional level, but good enough and a four minute improvement over my Louisville transition.

One of the places I shaved time in transition was in the change. In Louisville, I'd changed out a bikini bottom for bike shorts. Here, since there was no changing tent and public nudity is a USAT penalty, I was headed out onto the bike course in nothing but a pair of triathlon shorts. You know, the one with the minimally cushioned liner. This would later, and still, prove to be a mistake.

THE BAD
Onto the bike. I was feeling pretty happy so far as I left T1. Then all hell broke loose. Seriously. NOT 5 FREAKING MINUTES INTO THE BIKE I GOT A REAR FLAT. Seriously, Garmin said 4:46. I stopped. Fixed the flat with my only spare tube, blew my CO2, packed back up, and got on my bike again as the 15 minute timer went off on my garmin saying "nutrition." There was 10 minutes gone.
Well, I must admit I was somewhat demoralized. But onward and upward. About 10 minutes after that I realized that anytime I coasted (wasn't pedaling) my chain would wobble left and right so violently that it would hit both my spokes and my bike shoe. I stopped. I messed about with the chain. I couldn't fix it. I wasted about 5 minutes. Made a decision to keep riding until it:
a) stopped;or
b) broke.
This did not do much for my mood. I felt like I couldn't stop pedaling.  Coming on every water stop, I thought about quitting. I really thought about quitting at mile 56 where the 1/2 ironman distance bikers turned into the finish line.  I was, however, pretty happy to get to the mile 56 water stop at slightly under 4 hours (14 minutes ahead of my 56 mile time at Wildflower, AND, remember I'd wasted about 15 minutes mucking with the bike). That knowledge gave me a first, second wind. I switched out my nutrition bottles, hit the potty and off I went.
THE UGLY:
My chain was still wonky, but I was doing OK. Then it hit me. . . no, not the wall (that comes later) or the second flat (that too came later) but the pavement. A chunk under my left eye. Still have a sexy bruise. At least this reminded me that I should put on my sun glasses (now that the sun had materialized).

Then came, at mile 72, the second flat. This time it was the front tire. Seriously. Now, here is where my lack of preparation (i.e. not taking this race seriously) comes in. Instead of having stocked my special needs bag with extra tubes, I was EMPTY. So, I hung on the side of the road for a bit until a passing cyclist took pity on me and threw me his tube. About 10 minutes here. . . maybe a few more. . . not sure. This is an easily fixed mistake and one that I won't be making again.

So then I was back on my way.  Coming down Canyon Road, my wonky chain finally bit me in the ass. OK-- really all it did was finally fall off my crankset causing me to pull over (AGAIN). This time, however, it turned out to be a blessing. One of the lovely course officials cruised up on his motorcycle to see if I was OK. I was, but I asked him if he knew anything about how to fix my chain. . . He not only diagnosed the problem. . . rear cassette was grabbing my chain and causing my wheel not to spin freely --- good to know I'd been fighting that for 75 some miles. We took my tire off and mucked about with it for a while and somehow he fixed it. I was on my way again. I'd like to say that knowing the bike was fixed really picked up my spirits but it didn't. I was
                                          D
                                             O
                                                W
                                                   N

Mentally. I was begging for a SAG wagon. I was seeing friends on the course (TnT folk) and they would make me cry. I was saying out loud how much I didn't really want to do this. . . that it was a training weekend. That it would be OK if I quit because I'd already gone farther that I had all season. I was mentally quitting. BIG TIME.

But, (and this is the good thing). I knew it was all in my mind. I knew that my body felt pretty good (other than tight shoulders and sore girl parts). The working parts of my body didn't feel bad at all. So, every time I would tell myself to quit, I'd then give myself a reason not to quit. At one point I listed the reasons: Will, Jack, bringing them home a medal (not that they care); I'd never not finished; I'd be embarrassed; David was going to finish; Flick was going to finish; Marlene was going to finish; I'd already gone 86 miles, how much farther is a 112 really? (OK wise ass, I know its 26).

One of the biggest reasons I kept going was Laura Warren. Laura is a Leukemia Survivor and TNT Honoree who's 1980's chemo gave her breast cancer,. I knew Laura was sitting at mile 99--3/4 of the way up Chalk Hill (the only big hill on the course-- it comes at mile 44 and 99) waiting for me to get there in her shirt that says "you think an Ironman is hard? Try Chemotherapy" and her IronTeam jacket. God Bless Laura Warren. I can tell you that had she not been there, I may really and truly have given up. As I rode by, I told her that having her there was going to make me cry today. Her response? "Pull it together Paula and get up the fucking hill." I credit her for the reappearance of my workout tourettes. And, I've got to admit that the workout tourettes actually helped.  Perhaps I should have tried it earlier, but at that point, I was at 100 miles and I was feeling great. I did get a second wind or maybe a third. I passed people who had passed me. One of them even mentioned "Oh-- you must have gotten a second wind!" I felt pretty good. I actually thought I might be able to equal my Louisville time (8:04) even though I'd had so many problems. I had just enough in my legs for a final push to the finish line.

I didn't, but I wasn't all that far off. . . I finished in 8:14. Not a great bike time by any stretch.

Sitting here now, I'm not sure how I feel about the day. I probably could have done a faster swim. I learned some lessons on the bike. I pushed though my longest ride of the year (by about 30 miles-- In contrast, I'd done about 6 100 milers before Louisville last year); I feel like I did a good job with my nutrition and I'm glad that I knew enough to realize that it was my MIND saying stop and not my BODY saying stop. All that being said, I'm disappointed with both my times. My swim only because I thought I'd done the 1:10. On my bike it is somewhat more complicated. If my bike split had been 7:54 (i.e without the conservative 20 minutes I've allocated for the flats and mechanical problems), I would have been thrilled. I recognize that I probably should be thrilled to have pulled together an 8:14 under those circumstances and with my head playing so many games on me, but I'm also disappointed. I wanted to do better. . . be better. . . even though this was a training weekend and I wasn't ready yet. Does it give me a good baseline for Arizona? yep, sure does. Do I have a lot of work to do? Yep. I sure do. Have I had my mechanical problems for the season? God I hope so.

On the Road Again. . .

2011-06-20T19:21:00.000-07:00

"Just can't wait to get on the road again. . . seeing places that I might never see again. . . I can't wait to get on the road again."

Saturday Morning, 4:45 AM. Shocking. Its 445 am and guess what I'm doing? Sleeping? NO. Of course not. Who needs sleep? I'm packing up my bike, getting the magic potions out of the refrigerator and hitting the road. The agenda for the day? Best of the Bay Century. I was headed to Orinda and would be retracing some (but not all) of the Tour of the East Bay Alps--you know, the ride where I cried almost the last 50 miles last year. You know, my favorite ride. There were 4 options: 83 miles, 99 miles, 106 miles, and 123 miles.

Why do I always have to make these choices? I got the Bart station and made my way over to the starting line. Now I admit, when I signed up for this thing, I was thinking about doing the 123 miles. I really was. . . and, I probably could have done all 123-- maybe. But, as I did more research on the ride and I factored in that my longest ride to date was 60--- I decided that maybe I shouldn't do the 123 miles. That left me with 3 options: 83, 99, and 106.

The 83 mile ride was a straight shot from Orinda t0 Fremont. The 99 was the straight shot from Orinda to Fremont and then added a loop that included a Category 1 climb up Sierra Road (I like to climb remember)? The 106 added a loop BEFORE the trek to Fremont-- the first loop visited Happy Valley Road and the 3 bears. The 99 and 106 milers both had the same elevation-- about 2000 feet more than the 83.

So what to do? I really couldn't make up my mind. I would feel like a wimp for the 83. I didn't know if I could do the 106. The 99 looked like a good distance but there was that CLIMB where you went up 2000 feet in 3 miles. . . .No idea what to do.

I decided I wasn't going to do the 106. I would have had to make my decision at mile 2 if I was going to do that and I wasn't ready to make the decision yet. So I took the route sheets for 83 and 99 and decided that I would make the decision at mile 66 whether to head for home or head up Sierra. . .

The route started off with a quick little flat through Orinda, but by mile 2 I was into the first climb of the day. Over the next 5 miles, I gained 1500 feet until I reached Inspiration Point. Now like most East Bay cycling, the views are unbelievable-- except for at 700 am. . . there was nothing but FOG as far as the eye can see. From there it was up to Grizzly Peak and onto Skyline Drive (both of these I was familiar with from TOEBA last year). I actually felt pretty good at this point as I rode along, imagining the vistas to my right-- the view is over the top of Oakland to San Francisco and is amazing-- if there is no fog. From the top of Grizzly it was down, down, down to the little town of Canyon and the cutest elementary school I've ever seen.

Let me say right now that these cyclists have got it figured out. Runners, we call our events races and our water stops serve. . . water and, if you are lucky, some version of Gatorade. Swimmers? Seriously, ever tried to eat while you are swimming? Didn't you mother tell you that you aren't supposed to swim after eating? Triathletes? Water stops on the bike; water stops on the run. Iron Distance-- admittedly there is a huge selection of food on the run. . .everything from cookies to fruit to Coke to chicken broth but for most of the day its been yucky carbohydrate drinks and, remember-- you are running a marathon after 112 miles on a bike and 2.4 miles in the water. . . There is always a start time, a start line, and you wear a chip to tell you your time.

A Century Ride-- note that its not called a race. The start time was anywhere between 6-8 am. There were no cut off times. The REST stops were amazing-- everything from deviled eggs to chocolate macaroons. THERE WAS A LUNCH STOP. The "ride' finished at a restaurant and your all you can eat buffet was included. Did I mention that these cyclists have got it figured out?

Unfortunately, I was using the ride as a prep for an Iron man. SO I ignored all that good food and stuck with my Infinite. . . (still not sure if I like it better than Carbo Pro by the way).

Rest stop #1 out of the way, it was time to climb again.

Now lets climb some rollers. I must admit-- I still don't know what rollers are. People use the term all the time-- little hills that come right after another? Here the "rollers" were twin gains of 500 feet. A wild turkey ran across my path causing me to hit the brakes hard. I didn't hit it-- which surprised me. . . seriously? A freaking wild turkey? Are you kidding me? For the next 10 miles or so I thought about all the funny things I was going to write about "hitting the wild turkey" but, lucky for you Gentle Reader, I don't remember any of them any more.

Came down into the second rest stop at mile 33 feeling pretty good and pretty strong. I also am happy to admit that I was able to pick up a dropped chain while rolling down hill!! I'd never don this before and I must give a big thank you to Mike Kyle for teaching me how to do it last year.

This was where the fun was to start-- I was about to venture off the course I'd done before and into new territory. So I no longer knew what to expect.

284 Feet Above Sea Level. . . to 1207 Feet Above Sea Level-Really, do I have to say much more than that? Well, maybe I do. At the second rest stop I picked up someone to ride with. She was prepping for the Death Ride and this 83 mile ride was to be her shortest ride of the season so far (did I mention that 83 would be 23 miles greater than my longest ride of the season so far?) She was afraid of riding on Hicks Valley Road at the end of Palomares by herself-- apparently a number of cyclists have been hit on Hick's Valley but what she thought I was going to do about it I DON'T KNOW. . maybe just having the extra rider out there with her decreased her chances of getting hit by 50%? Anyway, after my multiple warnings that I was really slow--can't people take a hint-- she and I pulled out together.
At mile 33.1 we were at 284 feet---by 38.8 we had reached the top of that climb. I was in front of her-- but I was struggling. I was breathing hard and my legs were getting tired. I was looking forward to getting to the lunch stop-- even if I wasn't eating.

The backside there was one of those long "bomber" hills and of course my riding "partner" blew by me on the downhill. She was, however, kind enough to wait for me at the stop sign before the left turn onto the scary road. And it was a pretty scary road. That being said, I probably would have felt better alone since my "friend" decided that that would be a good place to chit chat about life.

At the lunch stop, I lost my partner. And I've got to admit, I wasn't unhappy about it. She stopped to eat-- I didn't. I headed out down Caliverdes Road. I was 49 miles in and a little tired but generally feeling good. I still hadn't made my decision about whether to do the 99 or the 83. . .

Caliverdes Road was where the rubber hit the road-- OK, not literally, that came later. . . Essentially a 15 mile climb. I kept seeing signs saying "curvy road" 10 miles and thinking. . . at least 5 must be the down hill portion of that -- right?? WRONG-- so very wrong. A deer jumped out in front of me. Not surprisingly I got around him pretty easily since its like the 5th time that has happened this season. At the top of the first hill-- where I was REALLY 12 miles in and REALLY REALLY ready to start going down, the ride organizers had set up a bare bones water stop-- and god bless them for it. I pulled over, filled up, and chit chatted. A few people caught up to me up at point. I asked if were were headed down yet?? The response. . Yep-- but its a working descent. . .

WTF is a working descent? I don't know what a working descent is. . . I still don't know what a working descent it . . . BUT I do know that there was another what felt like hour of climbing and VERY LITTLE descent. . . As in, all I could think was that I WAS STILL GOING UP and UP and I was really, really ready to not be going up anymore. It was about here I started seriously realizing that I was NOT climbing Category 1 Sierra. My legs were tiring. I was hitting my mileage top for the season. I was ready to be home. I wasn't hurting... my breathing was OK. . .but mentally I was done. I convinced myself that I was better off only increasing my mileage by 23 miles. I told myself that I was a beginning cyclist and probably wasn't ready to get to the top of Sierra. . .I told myself that I probably could get to the top (and, frankly, I probably could have) but that, with such a long season to go, I didn't want to take a chance of getting injured. I was also getting mentally fatigued as well as the physical fatigue.

Zipping into the last rest stop at Mile 66, I was fairly confident in my decision to skip Sierra. As I was pulling in, some guy commented "you look good on that bike." I'm still not sure if he was kidding. . . but I will admit that it made me uncomfortable. It also made me feel like I was being lazy. That feeling was only increased with the same guy pulled out with me. He again commented on how strong and muscular my legs looked on the bike and asked me if I was "doing Sierra." Shamefacedly, I admitted that I was not "doing Sierra" and blamed my relative novice status on the bike, my lack of preparation this season, the blue moon, and everything else I could think of. . .
I turned right, he turned left and I was alone again on my way home.

AND THAT IS WHEN IT HAPPENED. CLANK, PFFFT, POP. OK-- I have a flat. I can't believe that I have a flat. Did I mention it was a rear flat? On my new bike? I was in a pretty good place so I pulled over to the side and started the procedure. I took off my water bottles (having ended up with empty bottles in the past after setting my bike on its side); I took out my bike tools. . . they were all there thank goodness. . .; I took off my tire. I am happy to report that I was able to get the tire off the rim in about 2 minutes. I was able to get the old tube out and the new tube in about 2 more minutes. Another 2 minutes to get the tire back into the rim, make sure that there was no pinch (thanks coach dave) and get the darn thing inflated. . . NOW I HAD TO PUT IT BACK ON. I've got to admit-- I've changed rear flats before. BUT on my new bike the brake is in a weird place and it took me about 9 minutes to get that think back on and settled. . . I could not believe it. But, 1) I've had my flat for the year 2) I've changed a flat on the new bike; and most importantly 3) every time you change a flat is good practice-- or so I tell myself. In any event, it is always empowering to change a flat all by yourself.

After that, the little hills were just adding insult to injury. I was ready to be done. I was ready to be home. I was ready to see the restaurant. . . and eventually I got there. 83 miles; 7783 feet of climbing. All in all a good day. . . Now all that was left was to BART back home, pick up the car, and head to home.

At Least One of the Seven Sisters is a Bitch

2011-05-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure which one. . . Actually, if the part of this ride that is called the "seven sisters" is the part that the other blogs say it is. . . its actually the easiest part of this stupid ride.

This really wasn't the ride I planned on doing this morning. I'd planned on doing the Marin Metric Century course that starts in San Rafael. It has some pretty big hills and is a fairly challenging 60 mile (ish) ride. I'd wanted to leave at 615-- or first light so that I could get home to the family before the kids spent the entire day playing video games, watching TV, and eating junk food. . . . But the more I thought about it, the more I started thinking that maybe a different ride. . one where I didn't have to drive to San Rafael and could leave right from home would be better. I decided to ride from Mill Valley to Ridgecrest to Fairfax-Bolinas Road to the Dam and then back to Mill Valley (detouring through Tiburon for a Paradise loop). Total anticipated mileage= 48. I mapped the route and knew, both on the map and in reality, that there was going to be a ridiculous amount of climbing on this ride. But I figured that it was all at the beginning and I'd be left with a pretty leisurely ride back home. . .

Well, best laid plans (or what was a hastily constructed thrown together hodge podge of last minute decisions) . . . I headed out at about 630. The first challenge occurred early in the ride. Montford to Molino. OH MY GOODNESS. I got about 1/2 way up the first stretch of that hill and had to turn around (thank god there were no cars coming). I got to the bottom, caught my breath, and headed back up again. This time I made it--but I will tell you. . . it wasn't easy. I was already chuffing like a freight train and I had about another 10 miles to climb before I found some somewhat level ground.

Grinding it out. One of the reasons people think I'm a good climber is that I'm generally able to get into a low gear and just grind it out. And grind it out I did. There wasn't a lot of traffic on the narrow, twisty road so I didn't have to worry about cars. There were also no other cyclists out there this morning. I was me, my bike and one really, really big hill.

My plan had been to pull into the Pan toll ranger station and take a little break. But when I got there I realized that I would have to make a left turn into the ranger station AND I was feeling pretty good. I was breathing hard but my freight train breath had subsided and I my legs were turning over fairly quickly. SO, I took the right hand turn and started up Pan Toll Road. This is another 1.3 mile hill. It isn't as steep as the Molino debacle but it is definitely a hill-- especially when you have been climbing for 9.2 miles (and 1500 feet). By mile 10.5 I'd gained another 500 feet. Here was the three way convergence of road that I'd been looking for. One way leads back down Pan Toll (effectively turning around); one road leads to the top of Mt. Tam; and the final road, Ridgecrest Boulevard, leads to my destination, Bolinas-Fairfax Road and the Alpine Dam.

I was feeling pretty good when what to my wandering eyes did appear but a great big orange barrier across Ridgecrest. SERIOUSLY?? I've climbed all the way up here-- done 10.5 miles and I'm going to have to turn around and be satisfied with a 22 mile bike ride??? How pathetic. I crept closer. . . hoping that I was mistaken. I wasn't-- BUT the sign said that Ridgecrest would open at 9:00 am.

Three Bad Choices:

I hit a few buttons on my Garmin and realized it was 8:06. I had 3 choices:

1) turn around and go home;

2) sit here and wait for 54 minutes until the road opened;

3) head on up to the top of Mt. Tam (3.2 miles away) and back. That should take about an hour. . .

And of course, guess which one I chose.

You guessed it-- I figured, "I'll just head out to the top of the mountain and back down. . . how bad can it be? I'm already almost there."

Yeah-- famous last words. At 11.8 miles I'd climbed to 2479 feet. By the time I reached the top (or in this case where the road ends and you must continue to the top on foot) I'd climbed and descended to 2341. I also had a long haired hare (ha ha) jump in front of my path. I love bunnies but the 2 ft tall version is a bit disturbing. This thing looked like what you'd envision the Easter Bunny looking like. I reached the parking lot and hopped off to use the port-a-potty. . .

In an only in Marin/only happens to those of us out at the crack of dawn moment, I caught a couple getting engaged as they walked down the mountain. AWWWWW. .

Enough sentimentality, I was back on my bike. And NOT feeling the love. This time it was up to 2500 feet before getting back to where I started. No cars, no more people, no more scary bunnies (I now know what Anya was talking about). I was thrilled to see that Ridgecrest was now open for business and I zipped on out to start riding the 7 sisters.

I've got to admit, I didn't really think that this part was all that bad today. Maybe because I was glad to be out of the mountain, maybe because I'd ridden this part before or maybe because I was delirious. . . your guess is as good as mine. Anyway, those 3.4 miles went pretty quickly and I was taking the right to head down Fairfax-Bolinas Road.

On the way down: Descending is not my thing. Never has been. Probably never will be. In fact, here I was passed by the only person who passed me all day long-- an Asian gentleman wearing a pink bike shirt and no helmet. On top of it all-- he passed my on the right. Some people. I arrived at the bottom (and the Dam) in one piece. I was glad to have made it down safely but I was not looking forward to the climb back out of the Dam. I was back down to 645 feet! But I had to climb back up to 1100 before I would be off the hills for good. I've got to admit-- I was over it. I was in that place where all I wanted to be was off my bike. But I was only about 26.4 miles in to the ride. ( you know, another 22 miles to go).

I made it to the top AND I survived the barking, charging dog as I finally entered the town of Fairfax. From there on it was all bike path all the time. Headed into town on the fairly flat, fast bike path was great-- except for all the stop signs. Trust me, when your legs feel like my did, the last thing you want to do is stop on put your foot down at the stop signs. BUT given that I was in Ross, Kentfield and Larkspur-- or, for those of you outside the Bay area, three communities where the cops have absolutely NOTHING better to do than ticket cyclists, stop and tap I did.

I had a decision to make. I'd planned on adding a Paradise Loop to the basic bike ride (about an extra 8 miles-- about 1.2 of them climbing miles). . . and I had plenty of time. . . so, I decided I'd head out that way. There was a bail out clause built in-- If I didn't think I'd make it, I could take Trestle Glen and head home effectively cutting out about 75% of the climbing. . . I hate to admit it, but I did. I'd been on the bike for 4 hours (which was about what I was planning on riding); my legs were tired and I was congratulating myself on getting to the top of Mt. Tam.

So was it a success?? Yes and no. I'm proud of the ride I did-- which ended up being 45 miles and 5900 feet of climbing (in my metric-- any time you climb more hundred feet than you rode in miles it is a pretty hard ride) I'm glad that I had a good ride and felt pretty strong but I'm also a little worried. I don't usually choose the bail out options. I also am worried that my longest (time not distance) ride of the season so far is only 4:45 (56 miles). I need to get back out on that bike soon and get a good ride in that will judge where I am. I've got to admit neither the 56 on the Wildflower course (into the wind and up those hills) nor the 45 today are good metrics.

Thanks for reading

What a Long Way

2011-05-06T19:53:00.000-07:00

I've come. I've just read back through some of my older posts on this blog and on facebook. The confidence that I've gained being a slow, not so skinny triathlete is amazing. It is amazing to remember what your body can do. . . and more amazing to think what my mind can trick my body into doing.

See you next week in training.

2X3000 yard swims;
50 mile bike ride
10 mile run
1x spin class
6 mile run.

THE CURSE ON THE OLD LADY: WILDFLOWER 2011 RACE REPORT

2011-05-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

Wildflower is known as a tough course. It's not for the faint of heart or for the faint of training. I know this. I've had 2 experiences there-- both of them, to say the least, difficult. But here I was going back for more. Not just more. . . but MORE.

This picture of the Long course doesn't really give the location credit. It shows the how long things look-- but it doesn't show the beauty of the area. . . it doesn't show the elevation of the hills. . . it doesn't show the chop on the water. It also doesn't show what I consider to be the most difficult part of a Tri-California Event-- the Wave Starts. Wave starts are a good thing. . . I believe that. Otherwise we have 2000 athletes crawling over each other in the water trying to get ahead. Tri-Cal (the producer of Wildflower) uses a gender based philosophy.

THE CURSE ON THE OLD LADY-- PART ONE: Women are slower than men. . . we just are. Yeah, I know that there are women who are faster than men. I know there are men who are slower than women but as a general statement-- men are faster-- there I said it. Its not politically correct-- get over it.

If you thought the last paragraph was not politically correct, wait until you read this one. Men are also more reckless than women. (there is a reason they pay more in car insurance). Now that I've pissed off BOTH the men and women readers, I'll approach my point. . . Given the previous assumptions, Tri-Cal starts all of the women's waves after they get done with the men's waves. SO, if you are. . . for example. . . an 18 year old boy, you start at 830 am. . . if you are a 38 year old woman (eh hum), you don't start until 940. Why does this matter? Well-- the time cut offs are the same. SO, if you are an strapping young buck of 18. . . you have 6 hours to complete the swim and the bike. . . if you are a slow, old lady. . . like someone writing this blog, you have about an hour less. AND BELIEVE ME-- this matters.

Needless to say, given that I was not feeling as well trained (due to my own insanity) as I was at this time last year. . . knowing that I had 8 hours and 30 minutes to finish. . . AND knowing that last year I'd finished in 8 hours and 38 minutes over the course (wasn't an official race so I still finished). . . well, let's just say I'd decided that I was OK with this becoming an aquabike. . .
Seriously, for 4 hours on the way down there I was making excuses for why I wasn't going to make the bike cut off. . . admonishing myself about how I was going to train harder next time. . .
trying to decide if I was going to go ahead and do the run after I got chipped-- gotta love the positive attitude here.

So. . Friday night came and went-- the TNT inspiration dinner was fine-- I ended up sitting near one of my coaches-- the one who had asked me the week before "you still racing?-- I'm surprised." (Gee Thanks, Samir). An early night and a good sleep in the Tahoe brought me quickly to race day morning.

I met my mentees (who were all doing the mountain bike sprint (300 yard swim, 11 mile mountain bike, and a 2 mile run)) and we headed down to transition. At Wildflower-- one of the most interesting things is who you find in transition. The girl to my right. . . trains with Mark Allen (a godfather of the sport). . . the girl to my left. . . has no idea who Mark Allen is. . . Got body marked and started running into old coaches. First it was Mike Kyle (from Iron Team), then Coach Dave (IronTeam), then Paul Kinney (First Ever Tri Team). . . then it was Jeremy S. A current team coach.

Jeremy had the best words of the morning.

Jeremy, "How you doing?"
Me, "Well, I've already made the decision-"
Jeremy, "to Fuck it?-- I thought you'd made that decision 3 months ago"
Me, "what I was going to say was that if it becomes an aquabike because of the time cut offs I'm OK with it."

On that exciting note-- we were off.

The Old Lady Wave got the gun and we were off. Now generally I try to get up towards the front of the swim start simply because I generally have a good swim time. This year, knowing that I'd only been in the water 5 times all season (my shoulder has been bothering me and, frankly, I just can't seem to get in the pool), I figured I'd hang back a little. I knew my past times on this course at this distance (40 minutes) and hoped to be within shouting distance (by 50 at least). As I swam on, I kept finding myself off position-- I definitely did not have a good sighting day-- probably over swam by at least 1/4 mile. . . but I digress. I reached the far turn buoy, found myself passing a few caps of different colors and then found myself headed for home.

Sounds easy right?? Yeah-- that is because I haven't mentioned the wind and chop yet. There had been considerable wind on the drive down (more on that later) so I was expecting it on the bike BUT what I wasn't expecting was the chop in the water-- seriously, I think I've done Alcatraz swims with less chop. I felt like I was standing still. I started to worry if I was going to make the SWIM CUT OFF (much less the bike or run cuts). I lengthened my stroke and tried to calm down. I was glad we were in lake water because every time I took a breath I swallowed a gallon.

As I approached home the water got rougher-- and WAY more congested. Tri-cal had started the mountain bike sprint while we were out there. SO, in addition to having less time to finish the course, I now had the pleasure of having to swim through a bunch of mountain bike sprinter newbie triathletes on my way back to the dock.

I was rewarded with the sight of my coach, Samir on the sidelines-- the look on his face when he said "Paula?!?!?!?!?" was worth the whole swim right there. I hit my watch and looked down expecting the worst (was he shocked I was so slow?). . . 39 minutes 17 seconds. (in other words, a great swim).

Got myself ready to go in transition and narrowly avoided being hit by the woman who fell over in my rack. She dropped her bike-- knocked at least a few more off the racks and fell down. I'd see her about a mile later actually as well-- walking her bike as it appears she damaged it on her way out of transition. Reminder to self-- slow is smooth; smooth is fast.

THE CURSE ON THE OLD LADY PART TWO
I headed out on the bike and found the second scourge visited upon us old people by the race organizers-- the mountain bikers. Yep, them again. This time, they were riding their mountain bikes at blazing speeds all over the course. Two crashed as they headed up the hill out of transition. One more couldn't get his feet in his clip less pedals on the mount line-- of course, he was ahead of me. Here were the crazy, aggressive males that they must of have been talking about-- but I was forced to fight my way through. At the mountain bike turn off (they go left-- we go right) a right leaning mountain biker had to cross 4 lanes of bike traffic to get on his path. This did not end well. . . well, at least for the 2 women he knocked off their bikes as they tried to start up beach hill. . . it may have ended well for him-- he made his turn.

I'd never been so happy to be heading uphill. The road had thinned. I was passing a few of the slower male bikers and I was good to go. Settling down and headed out for a long day in the saddle.

My training weekend time of 4:45 minutes for this course would not have me making the dreaded cut off. . . so I knew I had to move it a bit. I was worried. . . strong winds had buffeted the Chevy Tahoe as I drove down to the lake. . . If those were present on race day. . .

Which, of course, they were. The wind hit us in the face the entire ride down interlake (about 20 miles). It was slow going as we went up and down those hills. It was also pretty warm out there (a vast improvement over the freezing rain of training weekend). I was in no real hurry but began to take a quick inventory of the time as the miles went by. I was on pace to match my fastest time on this course from Iron Team training weekend.

Figured I'd better slow down; used the portapotty. Got to the turn onto Jolon road and the wind started hitting me from the side-- Love that. The bike went from side to side. Eventually I found myself coming up on an ambulance and a fire truck. I figured this was the crash of the day (there is always one on the long course). I later found out that one of the stronger male cyclists had been BLOWN OFF his bike by the strong wind. . . and broke his hip hitting the ground. . . and had to be airlifted off the course. (when I learned this, I then changed my wording from "there was a little wind" to "yeah, that headwind was INSANE.")

At Mile 40, AKA the bottom of Nasty Grade, I felt pretty good. I'd found another portapotty, conveniently placed right there at the bottom of nasty (nothing worse than climbing when you have gotta pee) and settled in for the long haul up the big hill.

About 1/2 way up (as I passed walkers) I saw Jeremy sitting on the side of the road-- he looked at me; looked at his watch; and said.
"you are so going to make it-- you are so going to have to run."

GRRRR

Powering through to the top of nasty, and surviving the 10 miles back into the park-- and getting passed by Jeremy as he road his bike back into the park from his perch on Nasty-- all I knew was that it was going to come down to a final long 1/2 marathon through the trails and hills of Lake San Antonio to determine whether I could finish this course in the time allowed.

THE CURSE ON THE OLD LADY: PART THREE
Four hours on a bike is a long time. A Super Duper Long Time. There are a million things to think about. There is nothing to think about. You can focus on the pain in your who who. You can focus on the twinges in your legs. You can focus on the people in front of you (Gotta Love the girl from Palm Beach Florida who had never seen this course before and had not trained on a single hill). You can focus on the people you pass on the uphills who pass you on the down hills. You can block all this out. What you don't want to do is start thinking about how long it is taking you OR how far you have to run.
I focused on making everyone else happy. I thank volunteers; I call encouragement to fellow cyclists; I look for cool wildlife (saw some Wild Turkey's this time).

I came down the final hill into transition and saw a line up of my current and former coaches and teammates standing there. Ray, Dave, Mike, Frances, Mark. I've always said that my TNT family is amazing and they were even more so today. I jumped off my bike; looked down at my watch and was amazed. 4 hours 14 minutes-- or probably my best time ever. I screamed "BEST BIKE EVER" at my adoring fans and did a happy dance as I ran by.

I jumped into my running shoes, laced up, put on my race belt, changed into my Worcester Academy Tank Top (from track season 1990) and headed out on the course. Before I got out of transition I realized that I'd forgotten my hat. . . but at that point I wasn't willing to turn around and go get it-- thus, I set off on the 13.1 mile trek into the sun.

The trouble with having done a full ironman (140.6 miles) is that a half (70.3 miles) seems totally reasonable. Even the 1/2 at Wildflower-- which is no ordinary 1/2. I'd definitely done some distance running in training 15 and 16 milers, but I had been neglecting my bike/run transition runs. Not that I think it would have made much of a difference. . .

So back to the curse. . . The longer the day goes on, the hotter it gets. So, us old, slow people on the course get to spend the hottest part of the day on the course. And what a course.
I must admit-- for the first 3 miles I did a good job sticking to my run/walk plan. But then up went the hills-- and down went my pace. . . I was a walkin'.

The good news, however, was that I was walking on the uphills. I ran the downs. . . I ran or walked the flats depending on how I felt. At least at first.

One thing that I noticed? The unfailing optimism of the Cal Poly students at the water stops. All of these kids college kids. 18-22? I'm so old that I don't even remember how young college students are. BUT I do remember college. There is NO WAY you could have had me standing outside all day handing out water to slow, fat people. AND THERE IS NO WAY-- NO WAY AT ALL I would have done it in such a positive, encouraging manner. Every time I thanked a volunteer I was given a "no-- thank you-- you are our inspiration" Seriously. These kids were amazing. I can only hope that my kids are willing to do things like this when they grow up.

I was watching my watch-- but I couldn't figure out how long I had. After my turn through the mountains, I turned into the park and headed through the campsites-- all of the tri teams -- my fellow TNT's included-- were sitting outside cheering us on. That was good for a lift in my step.

In addition, Coach Jeremy made another appearance-- he was on his bike and he rode along next to me for a while--it was nice and all-- he even offered me his shades-- but I finally made him go away-- the energy to be nice to him was more than I had at that point.
Conversation went something like this:
Me: "you can go on now."
Jeremy: "that's OK, I don't have anywhere else to be."
Me: "No really, leave. You being here makes me feel like I have to be nice to you and everything."
Jeremy: "OK" Riding off and flipping me the bird.

I also mentioned that right about now was when I was wishing that I'd trained a bit harder. . . the response? Yeah-- right about now that is how everyone feels-- so you aren't that far off.
I was also regretting the energy expended in my little celebration dance at the end of the bike.

Miles 9-11 are "affectionately" referred to as "The Pit" as in the pit of despair; the pit of doom; the pits. . . I've described this before. Basically it is a one mile run (or trot) down the hill-- a turn around and a walk right back up the hill. Coaches Samir and Tom were there on the side-- and Samir made a comment about my Worcester Tank Top. . .
On my way back up out of the Pit I learned that he was a WPI alumni. . . he'd spent some serious quality time in Woo-Town. I was missing my high school reunion to be at Wildflower-- and that tank has been through some serious racing with me. So I was so happy to be representing.

At the top of the Pit I had 2 miles left. I had 40 minutes according to coach Tom. I WAS GOING TO MAKE IT before the course closed. At least I thought I was going to . . . There was still 2 miles to go. . . mostly downhill. Down hill is generally good-- you know Gravity and all that. . . . . Speaking of which. . . I ran with a guy who was using Lamaze breathing for a while-- he actually said to me "I'm a Lamaze coach-- it makes a difference" going down the hill he passed me and said "like labor, gravity helps" I must admit--- at that point I pulled the 2 c-section card. . . but I digress. . .
I found the finish line and coming down the chute I found, yet again, Mike Kyle. Mike is an Iron Team coach (head coach this year). I can't begin to tell you how supportive he is. He is at every race. He is always encouraging. This is at least the 2nd time that he has been waiting for me at the finish line. Seeing him there at the end of the chute just made my day--
I was done. I had made the time cut off. I had 10 minutes to spare! It didn't matter that I'd run a 3:09 1/2 marathon (which actually wasn't so bad); it didn't matter that I was the last one of my TNT spring team mates to finish (the closest 2 were 10 minutes ahead of me). I was done; I had made the cut offs AND I had felt good.

This was a great wake up call for me. . . I have about 6 months to go before getting to IronMan Arizona. . . it is time to get serious. . .
I finished in 8 hours and 19 minutes. Not a stellar time. Not amazing. But I'm still pretty happy with the day. I overcame the fact that I didn't trust the training I'd done. I overcame the mental games I'd played with myself in convincing myself that I was only going to aquabike. I even managed to keep a pretty good pace on the run (14 minute miles-- sad I know but given the fact that I was walking and there were all uphill (or at least 10 of them were) I really can't complain.)
All in all it was a good day.

Thanks for reading.

Is a 50 mile ride ever embarassing?

2011-04-10T18:23:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure-- All I know is that I'm not particularly proud of today's ride but I'm not exactly sure why I'm not proud of it. . . To start at the beginning. . . its been a long week. Last Saturday we did a 7 sisters ride-- and let me tell you something-- 7 sisters is at least 1 too many. . . We started about 9 am; I was riding sweep so I had to be the last one out on the course; there were multiple (and I mean multiple) bike problems out there on the road that I needed to stop for -- from the girl who had somehow bent her fork and her wheel was rubbing at mile 1 to the girl who had managed to have her spare tire fall out of her saddle bag and lodge in her back tire at mile 10 to the girl who took a nasty spill on a flat about mile 29. All of that coupled with the 32 miles of riding and 3200 feet of climbing made for a really long day. . . so long, in fact, that when I got off the bike at 1:00 after 5 hours on the bike and headed out to sweep the 6 mile run I was a wreck. I couldn't believe that I'd been on that bike for 5 hours. . . 5 hours. I got to the water stop and headed out onto the trail. When the last participants passed me going down the hill I actually turned around. I was so late, given that the ride had taken 2 hours longer than I'd expected. I got back into town. Grabbed my recovery drink and headed home. Just about then was when I figured out that the ride hadn't taken me 5 hours. . . it had been 4 hours. Including the stopping time to try, unsuccessfully, to fix the fork. . . to remove the back wheel and gearing, successfully, and get that girl moving again. . . and to make sure that the face planter was OK and ready to ride. Suddenly my ride felt more respectable AND I wished I'd done the full 6 miles instead of the 4 that I did instead. After having to take Sunday off. . . I was back to it on Monday with my usual 5:45 am spin class and 9 am run. Not so bad as days go. Tuesday I was back in spin class. . . and Wednesday it was time for spin class (5:45 again) and then a trail run. I headed down to Tennessee Valley after dropping off the kids at school and headed out. A quick and easy trot down to the beach before I headed up on the hills. Up to the top of the Coastal Fire Road. . . over the hill to Muir Beach and back followed by the rest of the climb to the top of the Ridge and then back down the mountain. Total run distance is about 9 miles. Total climb-- about 2500 feet. Does anyone else treat the trail breaks like moguls? I tend to. . . there is something so amazing about coming back down off the ridge. I find myself jumping into the air trying to "clear" as much air as possible before coming back to earth. . . OK-- so I realize that this is probably not the smartest thing in the world-- and one of these days I'm going to lose an ankle-- but it is so much fun. Friday dawned with the prospect of a good hard swim. I've been blowing off swimming for the last 3 months-- I'm not sure why but I can't seem to get myself into the pool. I had a good swim at WF weekend but that is really about it. So, into the pool I went for as long as I could stand. I ended up doing pretty well. . . 500 yards warm up; 600 yards of drills; 400 yards swim; 5 sets of 50 hard 100 slow; 5 sets of 100 slow, 50 hard; and 200 yards cool down. By far the hardest swim of the year for me. . . And then we were on the weekend. Saturday's scheduled workout was a 13.1 mile run (also known as a half marathon). Because I wanted to go on Sunday's scheduled workout (and we didn't have CCD), I negotiated with John to run the 13.1 on my own. It was the first long run from the new house so I was a little curious where I was going to go. I headed out along Strawberry Hill and had my first surprise in my second mile-- I ran right by my friend Judith-- as I turned around to say Hi I felt guilty-- I don't usually recognize people when I run-- now that I live so close to all of my friends I will need to pay more attention. Out to Blackie's Pasture and along the water down into the Belevedere Peninsula. Here the road takes a sharp turn to the left and you start up the hill-- up about 400 feet in about .3 miles. At the top of this hill, however, lives "the other half." As in "oh. . . so this is how the other half lives." The houses are the most amazing things you will find in California-- they are huge. . . they have yards. . . they have views out into San Francisco Bay and of the Golden Gate Bridge. They also have some pretty big price tags. . . but they sure are fun to run by. Coming into Downtown Tiburon I was at mile 9 and I was feeling really really strong. The I-pod was in full force-- And if I may digress for a moment-- is anyone else embarrassed to tell people what is on their IPod? What I listen to when I run is just not anything I would want to acknowledge in front of an audience. By the time I got to mile 10 I was starting to get a bit tired. I had 3 to go and wasn't exactly sure if I had enough real estate left to get them. I had a choice-- either retrace my steps back around Strawberry Hill -- and probably hit 15 miles-- OR come up the huge hill on Ricardo and risk going slightly less than 13.1. . . I went with the hill-- but I did a lap around the rec center first-- this got me to 12.78 miles. Or. . . CLOSE ENOUGH-- I hope. Sunday's ride was going to be a 65 miler. Now, I've never been on a team where we've done "over distance" rides (or runs) before-- so I'm not sure whether this was part of my problem going into the ride or not. . . We met at the College of Marin Indian Valley Campus in Novato at 830-- and it was immediately into the pool. Because the workout wasn't written down, I'm not sure how far I went-- although I think it was about 2300 yards and it included a 10 minute time trial-- something I'd not done before. After the swim, which didn't feel so great, it was off on the bike. Or it should have been-- one of the things that has annoyed me all season this time is the amount of time that it takes to get moving. . . So 40 minutes later we were finally starting on the bike. Good grief. The first part of the ride was though Novato-- no really, downtown Novato. Must have stopped at 5 traffic lights AND 4 stop signs before finally reaching some open road. The clock was ticking. I had promised John that I would be home by 230 since 1) he'd let me run a 1/2 marathon the day before AND 2) he had to get some work done. It was already about 11 when I pulled up to the water stop and filled up my aero bottle. I've got to admit-- up to this point I was both feeling great and feeling terrible. There was a huge headwind, so I was taking serious advantage of my aero position. I was riding pretty strong-- not the last person out on the course and my legs felt pretty good too. Where then was the problem? I HAD TO PEE. Not just a little. . . A LOT! and let me tell you, there is no more uncomfortable position than the aero position when you have a full bladder. Each pedal stroke jostles your bladder. . . each bump-- excruciating. So, I was pretty uncomfortable. There was no where-- Sandy, not even you would have been able to find a place-- to pull over and squat. Even when I reached the water stop there was no where to find relief. I was so uncomfortable I started ignoring my "nutrition" bells on my Garmin. (probably not a good idea). So, when I finally found a somewhat secluded spot I basically dropped my bike and found sweet relief. . . . After that I was basically rocking and rolling. Legs felt good. . . body was starting to recover. . . I was starting to get rolling again. It was, however, getting late. I was getting worried that I wasn't going to make it home in time. Then I hit the bottom of the hill. Now, after 3 TNT season, countless triathlons, and the Tour of the East Bay Alps, I figured I'd seen them all-- but today they threw a new one at me. . . Marshall Wall-- yes, Wall. I had started up when I realized I had, yet another, problem. My right bar shifter was wobbly. It was turning left and right as I rode and, as it turned left and right, it stopped working until I could get it in line again. This made shifting up this hill a bit more complicated. Once I found granny (my favorite gear), I was good to go on the climb and started to make up some time on my teammates AND some nutrition. I was thinking about turning around at the top of the wall to make sure that I was home in time for my husband, and I bent down to grab a drink out of my bottle. There I met the factor that made up my mind for me. When I'd stopped to potty and unceremoniously dropped my bike on the ground, my entire water supply had spilled out as well. So, no water, no time, and a wonky shifter? I got to the top of Marshall Wall and turned myself around. I was 24 miles into the ride. The way home went pretty quickly. Feeling guilty for not doing the whole 65, I made myself stay in the big ring and hammer the hills. No GRANNY GEAR. My quads burned. My freight train breath made a reappearance but it was good. I hurt. I pushed hard. I felt really guilty. Cutting workouts short is not something I usually do. Was I making excuses? Could I have finished? (sure) Could I have finished in time to be home (or a reasonable closeness there to?) Was my bar shifter really that bad? (it rattled like crazy the entire way home. . . ) Am I a bad person for stopping early? Is ONLY riding 50 mile something to be ashamed of? The short answer is I don't know. I feel bad that I didn't do the whole 65. I am proud, however, that I hammered the final 25 and didn't take it easy. I'm not sure. Generally I'd say NO-- but it feels like I made a lot of excuses today for not finishing the workout and that really isn't like me. . . Anyone have any thoughts?

2011-03-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

Anyone else find this sign a bit disconcerting? Its located on the top of the Bridge-- or at mile 6 of a 15 mile run. Trust me-- at that point, it gets really disconcerting.

So hard to remember to write. OK-- not so hard to remember that I want to write, but hard to find the time to do it.

March has been a crazy month. We moved (from one side of Mill Valley to another); Will participated in the Science Fair; Will won the Pinewood Derby. . . and, the next day, I headed out for Wildflower training weekend. Add in some antibiotics for cellulitis. . . yep, its been crazy.

All in all, training has been going pretty well. I've got to admit, I'm not quite as "in shape" as I was last year at this time (see below write up of Wildflower weekend). I've been getting in some nice long runs (10-15 miles) and doing some pretty good biking (lots of spins, double spins and 40+ mile rides). What I've not been doing is swimming. As in, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've been swimming since the turn of the year.

So, two weeks ago, as my team headed out to Aquatic Park for its first open water swim, I was a bit nervous. I hadn't been in my wetsuit since August; I'd been swimming about 4 times since September; and then there was the water temperature. A lovely 52 degrees. BRRRR. It was not, shall we say, my best swim-- in fact, it was so not my best swim that I only made it in the water for 20 minutes. So headed into Wildflower training weekend where I was to do the full 1.2 mile open water swim followed by the full 56 mile bike ride-- I wasn't feeling all that confident.

Wildflower Training Weekend

Picture it-- Two weeks of rain. The yard of our new house is under 8 inches of water-- We've survived the move, the science fair and our Pinewood car has been weighed in and is ready to roll. I'm packing. Yes, Packing to Camp. The anticipated weather forecast? You guessed it-- RAIN. And not a little rain-- a great big crazy amount of rain-- buckets expected Friday and Saturday night. Here I am. . . Packing to Camp. I refused to admit it was going to rain-- a fact that irritated a number of my teammates.

Now, at this stage of my life, I basically consider Camping to mean staying anywhere other than the Four Seasons. So, you can use your imagination how thrilled I am to be packing to camp-- outside. But off I was going. Friday morning dawned with a glimpse of some round, yellow thing in the sky-- but as I started down 101 headed South the rain began with gusto.

Three hours later, as I took the right turn onto Interlake, the rain dried up. In fact-- there seemed to be moments where some yellow thing inhabited the sky. The clouds seemed to be receding. Maybe it was going to be OK.

As I drove down the road, I started to see the notorious yellow (and green) markings that mark the Wildflower bike course-- Oh look-- there is the Olympic turn around; I'm pretty sure that that is the hill I had to walk my bike up that first year. . . Oh yeah-- I love the turn out of the park. Oh my. . . I'd forgotten what a big long hill this was. . . .

I found our campsite and set up. Putting on my optimist hat, I decided NOT to set up my tent but to sleep in my car (John's Tahoe) instead. I put all my stuff in the front seats and started waiting for the rest of my mentor group to show up.

After dinner-- my first time ever grilling hamburgers--it was time for the team meeting--they separated us into the 3 distances and off I went with the "long course" folk. Coach Dave and Nate (from IT last year) talked us through the course. Since we were expecting rain. . . the talk centered around all the ways we could die on the course. One girl, who had never been on the course before, kept getting greener and greener as the talk went on-- watch out for the bridge over the stream-- there is a huge crosswind; watch out for the right hand turn-- the headwind gets terrible-- coming down the back side of Nasty Grade-- well-- make sure you go slow so "you don't get carried out of here in a helicopter" But have fun-- really.

After that , I was ready to turn around and go home--but I closed myself in the car and tried to get some sleep.

For those of you keeping score-- I'm now terrified about the fact that I've not been swimming for anything--and I've been told how horrible it was going to be to climb nasty grade. . . Oh boy-- I'm guessing I'm going to sleep well.

The Rain Held Off Friday night-- but as I woke up Saturday morning the raindrops started to fall. I had my breakfast and drove myself down to the lake to get ready for our 8:30 am mass start. I wiggled into my wetsuit and made the executive decision that I was not going to set up a transition area-- in fact-- I was going to leave everything in my car AND do a full body change between the swim and the bike-- since it was rainy and cold, I figured I'd rather be comfortable. . . as if that was possible.

Into the water-- nice and cold but certainly no aquatic park-- (as if anything is as cold as aquatic park)-- for the mass start-- I was a little bit afraid so I decided to hold back and not start up at the front like I usually do for team swims. It may have been a good decision. I started out and just eased into the swim-- nice and slow, nice and smooth. At one point, however, I noticed that everyone else was taking a hard right hand line-- I instead stayed straight, just to the right hand side of the buoys. . . I think this line enabled me to catch about 90% of the swimmers even though I wasn't trying that hard. I'd thought about bailing early on the swim, but ended up finishing the whole thing. I found myself pulling myself out of the water about number 10.

At that point it was time to slither up the muddy hill-- perform my deck change-- and saddle up.

The best advice I've ever gotten about the Wildflower Long Course bike course is to take it easy for the first 40 miles and see how you feel. . . (Thanks Captain Tony). This sounds great in theory. Out there on the course, however, it is easier said than done. Unlike the dreaded Olympic Course, (which starts by climbing up Lynch Hill-- about 10 feet after you get on your bike), the Half Course gives you about a mile of meandering through the park before you start your first climb.

Immediately my bike felt funky-- there was a freaky clicking sound. . . there was a freaking shifting feeling-- Great, I thought-- going to be a long ride. Then there was the teammate who didn't know how to get out of the park and convinced me I was going the wrong way-- causing me to climb off my bike and start walking it backwards. . . Oh boy-- going to be a long day.

The rain had abated a bit for this fiasco-- and my earlier feeling of-- Rain-- what rain? was coming back.

Up and out of the park and onto the rollers at the beginning of the course. The rain was holding off-- I'd stopped and fixed the incessant clicking from my wheels-- the gears seemed to be working correctly. . . did I mention that it wasn't raining? I got myself to the first water stop (and the portapotty (nothing worse than sitting in aero position while having to go potty)) before getting passed.

At this point, the wind was blowing pretty steadily-- from my back. . . but as I turned right at mile 19, that wind started hitting from the side. A steady blow from my right hand side blowing me into traffic. Yipee-- I grabbed onto my bars-- holding on for dear life. Oh yeah-- did I mention the rain? It had started again too-- blowing into the right hand side of my face. You know-- with the wind.

By the mile 30 water stop, I had caught up to Chris Li, one of my teammates. He'd run out of water, and really needed a potty break on top of it all. (so glad I stopped). M hands and shoulders hurt from gripping the bars so tight. I stopped-- topped off my water bottle and watched Chris head off in search of a place to use to potty. . . I was on my way again-- headed for Nasty Grade.

Frankly, the name Nasty Grade sounds worse than the hill actually is. Just being comfortable with the fact that I'm slow-- but I can climb slowly forever makes that hill not all that scary-- yes, its an 8% grade. Yes, its 2 miles long-- but still-- how bad is it??? It also helps knowing that I've seen the summit before. . . and that there is a water stop at the top. I'd been worried about Nasty for the last 20 miles-- but not for the ascent.

The worst part about Nasty?? Where it is in the course-- its about mile 42-44. This leaves you with 12 miles when you reach the top... 12 miles that are NOT FLAT. In fact, the 12 miles at the end of the course are the 12 to worry about. . . Seriously.

The second worst thing about Nasty?? The descent. Many people find this descent wonderful-- they approach speeds of up to 50 miles per hour. They fly. They have fun. I, on the other hand, crawl down this hill. . . hands clutching the brakes. . . tires squeaking as I try not to get much faster than 22 mph. I also get passed a lot-- all of those people that I've held off for the last 40+ miles seem to catch me on the down-- they fly past laughing at me for my panic. (OK, some of them then crash at the bottom-- and given the remote location, a good crash on Nasty requires a helicopter to get you out of there to the nearest hospital. . . ) Today's was especially scary-- the rain, the wind, the exhausted arms from fighting the headwind. . .

Did I mention that the headwind had picked up? Seriously picked up? And, of course, had changed from being a sidewind to a full on head wind. . . Oh yeah-- would this puppy ever end?

It did-- eventually-- about 4 hours and 45 minutes after it started-- not a record time, but I was assured by my coaches that NO ONE had a record time on that day. . .

Up next?? a brick in Fairfax to start off this weekend.

Top 10 things I learned taking my new bike out for its first ride of the season

2011-01-17T16:10:00.000-08:00

10. They moved the bottle cage on this bike from my last one-- I can't reach it. Why would they do this and how was I supposed to know when I bought the new one? Along those lines, they removed the cage holder from the seat tube. . . only 1 cage??? Not cool. Gotta figure out one of those butt pack ones now.

9. Almost all the confidence I gained on my old bike did not transfer to my new bike-- took 18 miles (or so) to feel even close to comfortable on the new bike. Still not sure I like the new shifters either

8. My new bike needs a name. Problem is I liked the name of my old bike (see #6, below).

7. Double spin class (2hr) in the gym is nothing like 2 hours on the real bike. Nothing.

6. Who ever stole my old bike is really an asshole. And I'm not a big fan of whoever bought it and is riding it now either.

5. I still climb better than I descend. Why do I keep signing up for Ironman races with no climbing? IM St. George (Utah) still has spaces-- what am I waiting for?

4. I missed both of my better cycling halfs. . . Sandy and or Norma, we need to ride soon.

3, You can't tell from the first ride whether your aerobars are in the correct position (or at least I can't). . . Felt short for the first 18 or so, then started to be OK. . . think I need another good road ride to figure it out.

2. God bless my Adamo saddle.

1. Just because you rode 112 miles 4 months ago does not mean you can jump on a bike and ride 25 easily.

My Dance Card

2011-01-07T13:35:00.000-08:00

Who is on your dance card?
Knowing that I'm doing Iron Man Arizona on November 21, 2011 leaves me with a long long time to figure out what, exactly, I want to do between now and then. My first temptation, sitting on my butt and hoping that I can just show up and have a good race probably isn't all that realistic, so I've been designing a training plan/race plan for the year.

So here is my dance card (definite races in bold-- tentative races in italics)
Solvang Century Ride, March 9, 2011 (100 mile bike ride)
Oakland Marathon, March 27, 2011 (26.2 miles)
Wildflower Long Course Triathlon, April 30, 2011 (1.2 mile swim; 56 mile bike; 13.1 mile run)
100th Anniversary Bay to Breakers May 15, 2011 (7.4 miles across San Francisco)
Escape From Alcatraz June 5, 2011 (1.5 mile swim; 18 mile bike; 8.4 mile run)
Dipsea Footrace June 12, 2011 (8.4 mile trail run)
Peachtree Road Race July 4, 2011 (6.2 mile run)
Vineman Aquabike July 30, 2011 (2.4 mile swim; 112 mile bike)
Falmouth Road Race August 13, 2011 (7.1 mile run)
San Francisco Triathlon @ Alcatraz August 21, 2011 (1.5 mile swim; 24 mile bike; 7 mile run)
Nike Women's Marathon (or 1/2) October, 2011 (26.2 mile run)

Guess I gotta start training
So I've got the races picked out-- and it looks like a pretty full year to keep me motivated. Now, gotta actually start training for those races. I've started back pretty slowly-- I'd not been doing nothing for the last two months, but I've definitely not been doing 100 mile bike rides either. So, this week-- with plenty of time to get my act together-- I started my run focused training with some brick workouts (a bike ride followed by a run) and some longer runs.

Monday's spin class at 6:45 am was great-- then, after getting the kids ready for and to school it was off to Blackie's Pasture for my run. I did a six mile "lollipop" loop and felt great-- I even made it back in time to make it to Reader's Workshop in Will's class.

On Wednesday it was another 6:45 spin class followed by an 8 mile run (after getting the kids off to school). The out and back to was a good run. The way out was nice and toasty-- my gloves came off; my shirt sleeves got rolled up I stopped to take a picture of the seal floating in the bay. Then came the turn around. Yikes-- Holy Head Wind Batman. It took me an extra 5 minutes to make it home the wind was so strong. All in all, however, it was a pretty strong run for my first longer run since November.

It was even colder on Friday. The temperature dropped to 39, and while not particularly cold for most parts of the world, it is pretty chilly for here. This is partially my own fault since I've managed to not acquire a lot of really cold weather gear. That being said, gloves, ear warmers, full tights and long sleeves on-- I headed out.

I'd decided to run a Dipsea Loop. Not the Dipsea Trail, but a loop through Mill Valley that includes the famous dipsea steps (you can check out other editions of my blog or www.runnersworld.com for a discussion of the famous Dipsea Footrace.

Anyway, this is a really up hill course and includes all 671 steps. Yes, 671 steps. They are steep. They are uneven. They are really hard to run. So, I ran the first set. . .

Walked the second set. . .

And ran the third. To say that I was sucking wind is an understatement. By the time you get to the top of that third set it is a "freight train" breath moment. . .

Followed by a three mile run down hill back into town and to my house. All in all-- a good training day.

Paula

Week One-- Sort of

2011-01-06T12:37:00.000-08:00

Wow-- so last year, when I knew I was going to do an Iron man, I had the benefit of knowing that I was going to do it with Team in Training's IronTeam-- a group of folks dedicated to curing cancer AND training for distance events. I'd have coaches (three of them no less) to design workouts; team captains to provide routes, mentors and other captains to provide support on the courses. . . Basically, all was taken care of and I had nothing to worry about.

This year? I have nothing.

O.K. well, not completely nothing, I've got books with triathlon workouts in them; I've got 1/2- 3/4 of my season's materials from last year; I've got maps of good routes here in Marin county; I've got the Internet-- try a quick search for Iron man triathlon training. . . I'll wait right here. . .

See what happens? By my computer, there are almost 2.8 million articles, stories, plans, groups to train you, and coaches on the web. . . Yeah-- that helps. Not to mention that most of these coaches, plans etc cost money-- the one thing that (after having to pay the Foundation Fee to get my race entry) I'd rather not do.

Yep, you guessed it. I'm already feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of doing this all by myself.

That being said, I know that there are some things that I want to do this time.

If you've read my previous entries, you know that I was not happy with my run-- to the extent that you can call it a run. Throughout last year's season, I didn't feel like I was running enough-- never felt like I was going to be prepared for the run part of the course-- and I was right. Now, I think that the reasons for that are twofold-- first, we didn't run enough and second, no one (no matter how much they try) can fully mentally prepare you for the way you feel starting out on that marathon at 4 in the afternoon. So, one thing I want to do is improve my run (and my run time).

Most of you also know by now of my off again love affair with my bike. I've never been a biker. I'm generally terrified of my bike. BUT, at some point during last year's season, I developed a confidence on the bike. I was slow, but I was capable. I climbed some killer hills. I pedaled some killer distances. I was able to do this. By the time race day came around, I knew that I could complete the 112 miles on the bike. . . and I thought I could do it in the time limits.
I was hoping to do the distance between 7hours 45 minutes and 8 hours. Due to the heat (103 degrees on the bike) and some problems with water (the race not having any at a few water stops) I pushed the higher end of that envelope and finished in 8 hours and 4 minutes. This year, I'd like to do better.

Finally, or more appropriately, first off, the swim. I'm generally pretty strong here and put forth a confident swim time. That being said, I do think I could do it a little faster next time-- I know that while I was in the water I kept thinking about one of my coaches, our swim coach, who left too much of her energy in the swim during her first triathlon and had a rough afternoon because of it. So, I don't want to change too much here-- maybe shave off a minute or 2.

I know my goals:
Swim- 2 minutes off my time
Bike-30 minutes off my time (8 to 7h 30 min)
Run-30 minutes off my time (6 to 5h 30 min)

and now you do too. . . now we just have to figure out how to get there.

As an afterthought, the other think I'd like to do better is transitions. I spent about 5 minutes in the first transition (changed from bikini bottom to bike shorts, socks, and got shoes, bike helmet and sunglasses and bike)-- which was respectable. I spent 14 minutes or so in T2. Changed shorts, top, hat, socks, and got out the door. . . not sure what happened here. . . OK-- it had something to do with a 103 degree bike ride and a large (3 ft) fan in the changing tent . . . but I know I can do better here as well.

Saddling up to ride again

2010-12-17T17:24:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it-- I can't believe that I talked myself into it! OK, it actually wasn't that hard. I've signed up to do another one! This time in Arizona. Iron Man Arizona to be exact. The questions abound:

WHY? Seriously? One wasn't enough? Are you Crazy?

Perhaps. I think what surprises me the most is how short of a time went by before I was thinking about doing it again. . . Only 4 days. . . 4 days is all it took to forget the stress of training, the annoyance of having to fit in workouts around family obligations, to forget how much I hate swimming laps in the pool; to forget all of the people passing out on their bikes during the race; to forget how much it sucked to leave that fan in T2; to forget how long that marathon actually is.

So 4 days. . . and about 2 more months for me to not let myself talk me out of it. The clincher came watching a number of my friends cross the finish line at IM Arizona 2010. The kids and I watched for hours as people poured across the line. Finally, OkK 12 hours into it) Flick hobbled across the line-- she'd been running 7th in her age group through the second run split-- but then clearly something had happened. As she limped across the finish line, tears rolled down my face and my kids cheered. About 54 minutes later, Sedonia made it across the line. . . followed about 4 hours later by Jen and Mike. Total amount of time spent watching my friends get across the line? About 5 hours. . . It was then that I knew I was hooked and so the next morning I begged John for some money and signed up again. (now, John said that the jury is still out on whether I will actually be allowed to train for it-- but we will show him-- I've already even booked a hotel room. )

The first step-- replace my bike-- as some of you know, my old bike was stolen sometime at the end of September. My new bike is finally here . . . and is looking good after being built out and fit-- unfortunately, the weather is not going to help me out this weekend and I doubt she will get on the road. . . she also needs a name. . .

Thanks for reading-- I'll be getting back to writing, and training soon. Just wanted to keep you posted.

Paula

Chapter 4: Carnage

2010-09-08T21:05:00.000-07:00

T1: I started by running out of the water and grabbing my Bike bag from the volunteer. This took slightly longer than I expected. Then I found myself in the changing tent-- with a bag-- and no volunteer. For some strange reason, I couldn't get my fingers to open the strings on the bag. I pulled. I grabbed. I started to panic. Then it hit me (no, not the humidity-- that comes later), but the Big Idea-- I could simply rip into the plastic bag and pull my bike gear out! Pull and rip I did and out tumbled my bike shorts, socks, shoes, helmet and, the most important ingredient, Chamois butter. I pulled off my bikini bottom, remembering to put it in a separate plastic bag, and pulled on my bike shorts. I pulled on my shoes, snapped on my helmet, and applied vast quantities of chamois butter to the insides of my shorts.

At that point, I was ready to enter the sea of bikes in transition to find mine. As usual, about 80% of the bikes were in transition. Fortunately, they were racked by number and 446 was right where I'd left her-- ready for a ride. I walked to the mount line-got on my bike and headed out.

I was off. I reached down to start my Garmin--which I probably should have done earlier-- and was met with my first surprise--I'd forgotten to switch it out of run mode after the Falmouth Road Race. Duh-- So, with one hand, I started fiddling with it--trying to get it to 1) go into bike mode and 2) display my pace--i.e. I knew I had to average at least 15 mph, and I wanted Garmin to let me know how I was doing. Well, I did get it into bike mode but I never did get it to display my mph.

As I was fiddling with Garmin, I came across the remains of the first accident of the day. Somehow, someone's bike was lying in the ground in 3 pieces. Not sure how it happened, but the front wheel was in one place, the handlebars were in another and the remainder of the bike was in another. The cops were on the scene and the victim was no longer there so, taking my fingers off my Garmin, I kept rolling. No speed and more importantly, no every 15 minute reminder to take in nutrition.

Rolling. . . now that I mention it-- that is what the hills in Kentucky were supposed to be. Although, after training in San Francisco, I wasn't particularly impressed by the hills, many of my compatriots on the bike course were not agreeing with the description of the hills as "rollers." Maybe it was the heat? Many thought they were mountains.

I probably would have preferred mountains. It has always been hard for me to ride rollers-- I don't really like to go fast on the down slopes so I find myself with some creative shifting in order to make it back up the hill--- if I'd just let myself go faster on the downhill it probably wouldn' t be as much of an issue. . . That being said, I felt pretty good out there on the bike.

I'd set my watch for 1:00-- figuring that it would give me ample warning that I had an hour and 20 minutes to make it to the start of the second loop of the bike course. . . turns out-- I didn't need it. By the time the alarm went off, I was well past the beginning of the second loop of the bike course-- and well on my way to making the final bike cut off time. That being said, compared to many of my fellow competitors, I was standing still. The official statistics show that I was passed by 880 bikers during the time I was out there-- and it felt like more than that. Every time someone would pass me, however, I would think to myself (or say if it was a fellow TNT'r), "Why are you in such a hurry? We only get one day to actually be out here doing this. How lucky are we?" I was soon to find out what the hurry was all about.

That being said, all was not particularly well in Paula-city. I was getting hot. I was having a hard time choking down my "magic" potion of Cytomax and Carbo Pro. Warm, grape, sticky, sweet Carbo Pro and Cytomax is not something I'd wish on my worst enemy (you know who you are). I was waiting for the Special Needs station.

And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. For some reason, I thought that the special needs station was going to be right around the beginning of the second loop of the bike course. NOPE. In fact, it wasn't at the 1/2 way point of the bike. It was more like Mile 70. I finally got myself there (to replace my yucky bottles) and met my Special Needs Volunteer -- Wayne.

Wayne kindly held my bike (and chatted with me) while I switched out my water bottles (more yucky warm grape potion) and electrolytes. He watched me scarf down my Pringles-- high level Iron Man salt delivery system. He watched while I used my baby wipes to wipe the salt off my face and splashed water down the backs of my legs to rinse off the salt-- a little trick I learned after chafing at the triple brick behind my knees. He even managed NOT to tell me I looked like garbage OR that we were all crazy for being out here. Wayne, like many of the Special Needs volunteers were members of a Church that had cancelled Sunday services to come on out and support us aspiring Iron Men. I thanked him kindly, and, not having another reason to procrastinate, it was time to go on my way.

That was when I started noticing things. Like the heat (96 degrees) and the humidity (86%) and the heat index (103+). Not to mention the people sitting on the side of the road. The people lying on the side of the road. The people splayed out on the side of the road with their helmets thrown to the side. The folks who were lying in the hot sun-- to tired to drag their bodies to the nearest shade. The ambulances. Multiple ambulances. The sirens. The guy passing on ON HIS BIKE and, as he fell to the ground, knocking another participant (and his bike) to the ground.

It looked like the opening scenes of Saving Private Ryan. Bodies, Bikes, Helmets and other assorted equipment everywhere. No one looked good. No one was smiling anymore. Maybe this was why they had all been hurrying? They wanted to get done before the heat index really climbed up there. Funny thing though, even though I didn't really pass anyone on the bike-- I must have passed a good 200 people sitting on the side of the road.

Those rollers had turned into mountains for some and I passed people walking their bikes up the hill. When I recount this story-- people are shocked. Walking your bike? In an Ironman? I think I was too tired to really think about it. But yes. It was true. I, on the other hand, felt pretty good. I was excited that I was going to finish the bike portion of the race well ahead of the 630 pm cut off time. I was tired; but was still feeling pretty strong. I was even hoping (up until the last 5 miles or so) to break 8 hours-- which would have been a great ride for me given the heat and humidity (my best 100 mile ride was 7 hours 41 minutes in much cooler weather).

I didn't break 8 hours-- I pulled into transition in 8 hours and 4 minutes. Little did I know it, but it was time for the real Iron Man to begin.

Chapter 3A: The swim start

2010-09-08T08:04:00.000-07:00

Chapter 3: Row Row Row Your Body

2010-09-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

Waking (or not sleeping) bright and early, I headed down to check my bike in transition and get in line at the swim start. I was pretty nervous about getting there, pumping up my bike tires (since I hadn't brought a stand pump) and getting a good place in line-- since I knew that I'd need almost every minute of the day later on.

You see, unlike other triathlons, Ironman Louisville uses a time trial start where each person enters the water individually. That being said, however, the midnight countdown starts at 7:00 am regardless of what time you actually get in the water. SO, if you don't get in until 7:45 (the last athlete in), you still have 2 hours and 2o minutes to swim, but your bike and run cut offs will stay the same. Most importantly, you then only have 16 hours and 15 minutes to finish the entire event.

Thus, I wasn't so much nervous for the start of the race as I was getting a good spot in line so I could finish the race.

I walked down to transition as fast as I could (actually sharing sidewalk space with revelers from the bars the night before) and found someone to loan me their stand pump so I could pump up my tires-- no small feat when you think that we were all jockeying for starting positions in the scrum. (those that hadn't let the air out the day before were greeted by some unpleasant surprises when they found the heat had popped their tires). Four minutes later-- I was off-- half walking, half running to the line.

WOW was that a long line. Fortunately, I found Sandy, who had skipped transition (Maria was pumping her tires) and had been standing in line early. I jumped in with her-pretty happy with our position in the line. We hunkered down to wait for 2 hours.

About 20 minutes later, Coach Simon came by. Apparently, some of the LA team's spouses had come down to the line directly after the bars closed the night before. They had been in the line since about 230 am and and secured a spot about 30 people behind the pros (who, coincidentally, don't have to wait in line). Now we were cooking with gas. The 2 hours seemed to fly by and before I knew it we were standing down on the boat dock. Suddenly, like lemmings, we were following each other off the boat docks in 2 lines.

I hesitated briefly (you can actually see me if you look really closely at the end of the video-- I'm in a green top and a black and white striped bikini bottom -- the video wouldn't load, so I've added it as Chapter 3A) and then was in the water. The warmth again surprised me and I loved it. I started swimming out and around the island. I wasn't really getting jostled or kicked-- just enjoying my swim. I avoided the branches and the other low hanging things in the water and headed out past the island. Now, from looking at the course maps, one would think that the turn around was at the end of the island-- so as I sighted out, I was excited to see the end of the island not looking so far away. HOWEVER-- the actual turn around was about 2 buoys later. This little bit of the course seemed to take forever to navigate.

Coming back, I notice that the buoys all of a sudden went from yellow to orange? Was that the 1/2 way point already? I guess it was. I was feeling good and enjoying my swim. At one point I found a swimming buddy-- or someone that I kept bumping into repeatedly. . . over and over and over again. Nothing personal-- but we couldn't seem to stop bumping into each other. I'm not sure who got out of the water first, but I'm sure she was as happy to get away from me as I was to get away from her.

Around this time, I was swimming along and then found that I WASN'T MOVING! I swam 10 strokes and looked up for the buoys. I'm not sure what was going on but I didn't think I'd moved. So I swam 10 more strokes. . . same effect. What the heck was going on? The end of the swim was supposed to be DOWN RIVER (aka with the current), why was I not going anywhere? I was underneath the bridge to Indiana. This huge bridge (which we would run on later) apparently created its own current. It took about 30 really strong, hard, exhausting strokes to get myself out of its pull and get myself back on course.

The end of the swim came pretty quickly-- although my time was a little bit slower than I'd expected. I'd been "hoping" for an hour and 10 minutes or so-- but it came out to be an hour and 17 minutes (I'm blaming the chip mats, not my slow swimming)! I pulled myself out of the water-- Ironman has steps-- much easier than doing the fish flop on the dock-- and started out into T1.

Chapter 5: And Miles-- 26.2 miles actually--to Go Before I Sleep

2010-09-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

What I never, in 10 months of training, understood; despite many trying to explain it to me; (and you probably aren't going to understand it now); is that Nothing Matters In An Ironman Until You Get Off The Bike. And, hopefully, start to run.

I pulled into T2 feeling pretty good. I'd enjoyed my bike ride (except for the lack of water at one of the water stops) and was fairly proud of my time (even though I'd hoped to go under 8 hours on the bike). I disengaged myself from my pedals and dismounted. I offered the volunteer the opportunity to sell my bike for me (probably the 20th time he'd received that offer) and walked slowly towards my run gear bag. The concept of an aquabike (just the swim and the bike) was looking really, really good. . . No one was running to those bags-- there was simply no way I was going to risk running, in my bike shoes, after 8 hours on the bike. Just wasn't going to happen.

I got my run gear bag from the volunteer-- did I ever mention that there were 3000 volunteers that worked on Sunday to manage the 2500 racers-- and headed into the changing tent. Most of the seats were taken. Except for the seat right next to the giant 4X4 fan. OH MY GOODNESS. Sitting Down Next To That Fan Was Heaven. And a huge mistake. I sat down and ripped open my gear bag (no struggling with cords this time-- I went right to the chase). Spilling my run clothes onto the floor, I accepted a gatoraid from a volunteer and started to work.

First off-- the bike shoes-- Oh the sweet relief. 8 hours of spilling water down into my shoes as I tried to keep cool-- those dogs were happy to be peeled out of my socks. First on-- the new pair of toe socks. Way easier said than done.

Second off-- the bike shorts-- YUCK. White sweat encrusted nasty pants replaced with super cool blue running shorts.

Finally, it was time for the shirt change. I stripped off my soaking wet, sweat encrusted tri-top and put on my trusty Worcester Academy Tank Top. You know, the one I've had since 1990. It just celebrated its 20th year of racing. (Yes, I could probably use another one-- I wonder if I know anyone who works at Worcester Academy).

I sipped my Gatoraid-- I chugged down some electrolytes and some pretzels. I used the potty-- twice. And finally it was time to head back out of the tent and onto the run. It was about 4:15 pm; I'd been on the go since 7 and had 26.2 miles to go before the day was over.

(as an aside, as soon as my transition time was published on the website-- my next door neighbor, running partner, and friend extraordinaire came running up to my mother-- "14 minutes in T2," she said-- "that is PATHETIC"-- little did she know that there was a woman who spent 42 minutes in T2).

Getting started was the single hardest part of the entire experience. It was so hard to get moving. The course started with a brutal out and back over the bridge-- or, more specifically, 1/2 way across the bridge. I WAS NOT FEELING IT. I saw Merla-- our team manager there to cheer me on and I tried to get the run started. My run pace, at this point, however, was slower than my walking pace. I tried to run my 5 minutes-- so I could walk my 1 minute but found that it wasn't going to work. I couldn't make the first 5 minutes. So I made a deal with myself-- I said I'd try my best to make it through 2 walk cycles. If I made it through that-- I would be able to walk if I still wanted to. . . 12 minutes later-- I still wanted to walk so I did. I found myself walking pretty quickly (15 minute miles) but for some reason walking was what I was comfortable doing.

It was on the bridge that I met my friend the sponge. Water stops in an Iron Man marathon are like a small grocery store. There are (in this order): sponges---water---gatoraid---coke---chicken broth---pretzels---cookies---fruit---powergel products---gatoraid---water--sponges. At mile 2 (still carrying my own shot blocks for energy) I took 2 ice cold sponges and a water. Those sponges were heaven. They doused my body in cold water. Then they scrubbed the salty/sticky gunk from my face. To keep myself cool I shoved one under each strap of my tank top. HEAVEN ON EARTH. I made it over the bridge and back through town where I started the lonely out and back past the University of Louisville.

Lonely is the only word to describe it for me. It was long. It was, despite the multitude of people out there walking, running, and shuffling along with me, a very quiet experience. Unlike the stand alone marathons I've run, where us middle to back of the packers tend to chat and enjoy our camaraderie, here people had hunkered down into themselves. Those of us on the first loop weren't feeling like sharing-- and those on the second loop-- well, they were looped. Or so happy to be almost done that I didn't want to talk to them.

At some point, I found my energy and started to run again. I'm not even sure where on the course I was-- or what kind of magic moment I had, but I found myself able to run again. It was still slow-- and I was still using my 5/1 strategy, but at least I was running.

I finally hit the turn around and started back towards town-- grabbing sponges at every aid station. By this point, I'd given up on my shot blocks-- just the taste of them made me nauseous. Sips of water left me dry heaving. I was OVER THIS RUN-- but I wasn't done.

What has 2 legs, two arms, and doesn't move? Speed Bump Guy. He had passed out cold in the road--perpendicular to the flow of traffic. He was tall enough that he took up most of the road. The only accurate way to describe him is as a speed bump. Competitors were forced to either go around the foot wide space at his head, go around the foot wide space at his feet OR go over him. Not surprisingly, while medical aid personnel rushed to his side, I saw people do all 3.

After passing Speed Bump Guy, I saw my friend Sandy headed towards me. We waived as she went by and that gave me another momentary lift in my race. Soon after I got my special needs bag and unable to even contemplate anything contained in it-- promptly dumped it into the trash. At this point, I hadn't had anything to eat or drink for 6 miles.

Coming into the center of town was both bitter and sweet. The crowds were amazing. So many people, screaming, yelling, cheering, music blaring, Mike Reilly (the voice of Iron Man) calling out "Jane Smith, YOU ARE AN IRON MAN. Alas, none of this was for me. In a cruel twist of race planning, the course went right by the finish line as we turned to run the last 12 miles. (Although I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit I wondered what would have happened if I'd simply run down the wrong chute and finished after running a 1/2 marathon--surely that was far enough).

On my way back out I passed my friend and teammate Sandy. She was about 6-7 miles behind me on the course and it was getting late. She screamed at me, "how far away is that turn around and how long do I have?" as she passed. I didn't have time to do the mental math as to how far the mileage was but I knew she had about 90 minutes to make it before the 9:45 cut off. I gave her that information and started hoping that she, and Maria, would make the turn before the cut off time. (as it turned out, BOTH made the turn around before the cut off and made it onto the second loop of the course).

I was headed out again-- ignoring everything at the aid stations except for those glorious sponges. At every aid station I saw volunteers raking those sponges up into piles and putting them in kiddy pools of ice water. At every aid station I pulled my sponges out of my running garb and grabbed at least 3 to cool my face and to put in various places in my running attire. At one point, I had doused myself so thoroughly with sponge water that my running shorts looked like I'd taken them out of the washer before the spin cycle. I ran with a guy who'd been knocked off his bike by a guy who fainted for a while. He believed he had a concussion and hadn't been able to keep down food or water since mile 80 on the bike.

Speed Bump Guy was gone; but I noticed a lot of people trying to take his place. The sides of the road were littered with people who simply couldn't go any farther. Many said they didn't need any help, but I often informed law enforcement officers on the course of a fallen comrade.

About a mile before the turnaround out came the dreaded glow-sticks. For you fast people, glow sticks are what us slow folk get so that we can be seen by motorists and others in the dark. From something Margaret had said, I'd secretly hoped that I wouldn't need one-- but that was most definitely not the case. Glow necklace wrapped around my neck, I soldiered on.

Next came the turn and the way home. At least I was on the way home. It was dark and while the course was still populated, people were dropping like flies. My legs were tired but my arms and back were exhausted. I made bets with myself and deals. Deals with the devil were not far off. Finally, knowing I had an hour to spare on the midnight timeline, I gave up. I set my watch timer for 4 minutes and sat down to stretch out my entire body. IT FELT WONDERFUL!!! I got up 2 minutes into my 4 minutes and started happily running again. Why hadn't I tried this sooner (oh yeah, I was afraid that if I'd sat down I wouldn't get up again).

I saw Sandy headed back out onto the course. We hugged and I told her she was rocking the house. She looked great! She looked Strong. I wish I looked as good as she did. As we hugged I apologized to her for not thinking I would be able to hang around the finish line to see her come in-- her response? "I wouldn't wait for you-- go to bed."

The rest of the run is a blur. I know I stopped for another 2 minute stretch break. I know I saw my friend Maria headed back out on the out and back and called encouragement out to her. I know I made it back into town. I don't really remember much about it. (Come to think of it, as I write this, I remember that I used to say that about stand-alone marathons as well-- that the first 10 miles are hell, the second 10 feel pretty good and the last 6 I don't remember-- I guess that is just my pattern).

The last .2 miles is also a blur. I was moving. I was running. I was coming down the finish chute. The music was playing. . . spectators were banging the boards and were holding out their hands for high fives. I remember trying to navigate over to give someone a high five and then deciding that it simply took too much energy to actually get there so I ignored the rest of the people with their hands outstretched.

I came across the finish line in 15:53:10. My finisher photo shows me looking wasted and tired but happy. At some point I'd moved my glow necklace to my head and was wearing it like a crown. I was done. I was Iron.

I was headed to the medical tent.

Chapter 2: Panic Time

2010-09-03T17:09:00.000-07:00

On Friday night, our coach made us watch a video that suggested skipping the practice swim and sleeping in as long as possible. . . and GOD did I want to (knowing that sleep would be hard to come by Saturday night) but I was back to my clothing issues. I hadn't had a chance to try and swim in my mens tri top and bikini bottom combination yet. . . and, I was afraid to simply "try it out" on race day. So, 7:45 saw me waiting for some of my mates down in the hotel lobby to "try it out". . . We walked, slowly the mile or so to the end of the swim course where Ironman was

allowing athletes with timing chips and wristbands to get in the water and preview the course.

Although this was what I'd been waiting for-- and that 85 degree water was AMAZING. I was nervous. I really hadn't done much swimming in a month. . . (shhh . . . don't tell Sedonia). I took a few minutes in the water to get used to the feel, taste, and warmth of the water and after about 10 minutes, I climbed back out of the water-- experimenting with how it was going to be to find the stair platform when I got out of the water at the real race. My race outfit felt good-- so I decided to stick with it.

We headed back to our rooms to finish organizing our bags and get ready for the pre-race Inspiration Lunch. At this luncheon, TNT teams celebrate the accomplishments that have gotten us this far and rededicate ourselves to our honorees and to those suffering from cancer. Here we talk about why it is that we, as people, do these events to cure cancer-- not just to accomplish a personal milestone. This one had an open mike-- and some teammates got up for the challenge. Although my honorees: Laura, Bonnie, Collin, Tyler, Peter, Richard, and so many others are never far from my thoughts, there was no way I was going near that open mike. . .

especially with less than 24 hours to go before race day.

After lunch it was crunch time: Time to deliver the bags and my bike to transition where I wouldn't see them until I opened them on race day. Saying a quick prayer, I handed my run, bike, and special needs bags to the volunteers and paused to take a picture of my name tag where I was to rack my bike. Without my bike and bags I felt both light and relaxed AND scared to death.

I headed back to my hotel room--alone-- the way I was to spend the night and most of the next day.

I'd love to say, as some of my teammates have, that I fell asleep quickly and had a restful night's sleep. But I'd be lying through my teeth. I started out watching Twilight: Eclipse. During the movie, a packet of cards came under my door from my teammates, friends, coaches and mentors. While each one offered encouragement-- each made me feel more isolated: each person seemed to say the same thing--signifying, to me, that I did not get to know my teammates nearly as much as I had hoped to during the course of the season. The cards started the waterworks, however, and they continued for the next few hours-- all I could think about was "I'm wasting water". . . hydration I would need the next day.

After Twilight, it was Forrest Gump-- then the local news. The forecast for Sunday was 96. Shouldn't be too bad. I couldn't sleep-- I wasn't hungry. I was downright scared. I was wide awake, laying in bed, watching the ceiling, when my alarm went to to remind me to take in a few hundred calories. Sometime after that however I fell into a fit full sleep.

Looking at this post-- I'm amazed at how short it is. This day felt interminable. I didn't think it was ever going to end. How is it that, written up, it is so short. . .

Ironman Louisville 8/29/10

2010-09-02T18:29:00.001-07:00

Prologue

Most of you remember, 9 months ago, when I signed up to do an Ironman triathlon in Louisville, Kentucky. Many of you have been reading along as I spent the last 9 months training, planning, hoping, worrying and dreaming about this one day: August 29, 2010. The actual day goes by so quickly, and so slowly at the the same time. The weekend surrounding it, however, turns the day into a much richer, fuller story. Accordingly, this "post" will be done in chapters (something one of my teammates did earlier) so that I don't lose you, the reader, as I chronicle the events.

Frankly, I think that it is as difficult to write about this experience as it is to actually have done it. There are so many things that went on that weekend, that, even now, having joined the club, seem insane-- and so many things that, no matter how well I could describe them to you, I doubt anyone who was not there could understand. But try I shall. . .

This is my story.

Chapter 1: Thursday and Friday: The Blind Leading the Blind

As previously mentioned, packing for an Ironman Triathlon is NOT an easy thing to do. This time it was even more complicated. We were allowed to send ONE bag. along with our bike, with Tri-Bike Transport. On August 1, when I left for the Cape, our bikes and the bag were due on August 23rd. While on Cape Cod, however, the date changed. My bike (which needed a new chain (and some truing of the wheels)) and my bag were due on August 18th. . . or the day I got back from the Cape. I begged my way into the bike store and got a tune up. It was a good thing I did-- it turned out my wheel was crooked and needed to be straightened out.

Then, what to pack? As usual, not much is easy-- I'd been sent a size medium women's tank top which fit me like a sports bra--stopping about an inch below my breasts, AND a men's extra large tank top-- which was baggy under the arms (and a few other places). I also really wanted to wear my bike shorts (with full pad) on the bike, but didn't really want to swim or run in the diaper. Then there was the issue of my Worcester Tank top. . . Can I run with out it???

I finally decided on the mens tank with a bikini bottom for the swim; I would do a full change in T1 into the mens tank with my full bike shorts for the bike; and then do a second full change into running shorts and my Worcester tank for the run. That decided, my gear, my nutrition, my shoes, and my bike headed out to Louisville. I still had a week to wait.

There were eight of us on the flight to Louisville: 7 of us who had never done an Ironman before (one of those of whom this was her FIRST TRI) and a Coach. We were all full of nervous energy as we tried hard not to talk about our goals, plans or fears for the weekend. We arrived and were immediately met by humidity and heat-- mild by Lousivillian standards, but significant enough to the residents of the Bay Area.

A good night's sleep brought us to registration day: or where things got interesting. We met in the lobby to head to registration. Small problem: no one knew where it was. All 7 of us walked along behind Coach Simon, frantically checking blackberries and iphones trying to find athlete registration. Given that I have gotten lost on EVERY SINGLE COURSE SO FAR-- this was either par for the course or not an ambitious start for the weekend.

We finally ended up at the Gault House and found that we were to stand in a long line. . . not so surprising, but the long line was for WEIGH IN!!! How did no one in 9 months ever tell me that you get weighed before doing an ironman; and to add insult to injury, we had to stand in line for the privilege? Lovely.

After weigh in it was time to grab out numbers-- or though I thought. First-- the medical forms: 2 of them. A waiver and a release, and a form to list any health issues, medications, and significant others. . . Hmmmm. . . why am I doing this again? (and why am I reminded, yet again, of giving birth?).

We received our blue wristbands-- to be worn all weekend, got our numbers, made a quick trip through the Ironman store and I headed down to pick up my bike.

The humidity had picked up quite a bit-- as had the heat. My green 2006 Peachtree Roadrace T-shirt began to look like I'd actually done Peachtree in it. I walked the mile or so to the Great Lawn and picked up my bike and gear bag. On the way, I stopped and oogled at the signs all over Louisville reading "Possibility City." It felt like the time was right. I also had my first glimpse of the Ohio River-- (aka, the reason I'd chosen this race). It sure was muddy; it sure was brown; and the turtles sitting on the logs floating on the water were at least a good sign that things could live in the water.

Then it was back to my room to unpack my gear bag and get ready for the Ironman Welcome Dinner. I also started to pack my gear bags: one for my bike clothes; one for my bike "special needs"; one for my run clothes; and one for my run "special needs." These bags were due on Saturday, so I needed to get them started. Somehow, however, just looking at all that gear and looking at my bike numbers, and my run numbers, and my bags -- made me scared. I was used to a transition situation where on race morning I got to lay out all my gear under my bike. . . what if I forgot something?????

Packed I was and off to the pre-welcome dinner team picture I went-- dressed in my bright, obnoxious flames. I got down to the lobby and found that none of my teammates had arrived. When they finally gathered, (the three of us that gathered), we were the only ones wearing flames. The others had left us hanging in our colors. . . We joined up at a table of non-TNT athletes-- two young (18 and 20) boys and their parents from Tennessee. Both were also doing their first Ironman-- and there was a friendly competition between the two of them as to who would be first.

As Mike Reilly, the voice of ironman, came on the stage, we learned that there were about 1300 people doing their first ironman. . . in a field of 2900, it just made sense that we felt like the blind leading the blind.

Two Weeks of Adversity Rides

2010-07-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

Well, I've always heard that if you didn't have problems in training, you will have problems during your race-- so, I'm hoping that with the past 2 weeks of rides out of the way, I will now have NO PROBLEMS on the bike-- I've had them all already.

LESSON #1
July 3rd was an OYO (on your own) 75 mile ride. SO, I set out to ride the Marin Metric Century course which starts around my house. I rose early to assemble my magic potions (Carbo Pro and Gatoraid mixes). Problem number one: there were no more Gatoraids. Not sure who drank them all (although I have a sneaking suspicion), but still. No Gatoraids. Given it was 430 in the morning, I certainly wasn't going out to buy any (moral of this part of the story? LESSON #1: check the night before) so I mixed up my Carbo Pro with Iced Tea. Halfway through my second Potion-- I ran out of Carbo Pro (see lesson #1, above).

I loaded up my bike, put my Chamois butter in the car and grabbed my phone. I was off. I reached the starting place and started to unload. You guessed it-- no magic potions. I'd left them sitting on the dining room table. OK. Now what? Well, I didn't want to go home-- the kids would have been up-- and there was a 24 pack of water in the back of the car, so I loaded up with water bottles and Gu and headed out anyway.

So far so good. It was a warm day and it was beautiful. I powered up Lucas Valley Road and to the top of Flat Rock Hill without even really feeling it. I was having fun and began the long descent into Nicasio. Feeling like a Rock Star, I got into the little town and immediately noticed something: THE PORTA POTTIES WERE GONE!

LESSON #2: When you are bent over in the aero position and have to go to the bathroom it is REALLY REALLY uncomfortable. Miserable actually. And, being a beautiful Saturday morning, there really was no good place to stop and just go. I thought about "practicing" going on my bike, as people tell me others do during the actual Ironman to avoid having to stop, but seriously? I just bought a new saddle. . I can't do that to my new saddle. Not to mention: GROSS.

A few miles down the road I found a good spot to pull over and solved that problem. Now it was back to the bike and I was headed out towards "the big one". This is a hill that humbled me (and Sandy) the last time we rode this course. Well, I clearly won round two. While I'd made it up the hill the last time we rode here; this time I ate that hill for lunch. ONE more nasty hill to go (and the return up flat rock) and I'd be done with this ride. . .

I was feeling really good. I was "flying" (a relative term in my book but still, I was going pretty fast for me-- over 20 mph on the flats of the course) when I turned into Petaluma.

LESSON #3 Don't forget your course map at home. Well, I had ridden the course once-- how bad could it be? I found my way through Petaluma with only 2 small detours. . . Then it was onto the last big hill of the day. Now this beast had beaten me into submission before. I had made it to the stop but had required a 10 minute recovery stop the last time I rode this one. NOT TODAY. Although it still sucked, and I'm sure I was super slow, I was doing fine.

I was also doing fine on water. Although I had no carbopro, I still wasn't feeling bonky. I was hydrating. I did miss my aerodrink bottle (the one that sits right in the middle of my handlebars so I can drink without really having to move), but otherwise it wasn't so bad. Amazing how athletes survived on just water for so long.

Well, then things got interesting. As I was whizzing down the backside of that last hill, I took a left on to what I thought was Nicasio road. Well, it wasn't Nicasio road. It was Novato Road (memorandum to self: learn how to read). Now, I didn't know this at the time. I was just happily oblivious as I rode on down the road. Until I saw the large body of water on my right hand side.
"Hmmm" I thought to myself, " I don't remember seeing that before. Well, it was early both times, maybe I missed it."
"Hmmm, I would have sworn that the town would have been here by now."
"Hmmm, Wow, I'm in downtown Novato-- HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN?"
See Lesson #3, above and add, Bring the Course Map and Pay Attention to Where You Are Going.

Fear not, avid reader, your erstwhile Iron Woman was not concerned. I was only 50 miles into the ride and feeling really good. So, I figured I'd simply follow the bike path signs to San Rafael from Novato. . . (those of you who live in the area know where this is going). . . Down the road I went, merrily unconcerned about getting home until I followed down the path and came across the big sign of doom in the middle of the road:

Freeway Entrance. Bikes Allowed.

Seriously? Are they kidding? NO. The bike path from Novato to San Rafael actually puts bikes on the HIGHWAY. For those of you not from the area? The same 101 that runs all the way down to LA! Good Idea? NO.
So, I pulled out my phone (which I usually don't ride with) and re-routed my self another way home. Well, just about then, some other folk came by and headed down the bike path. I hollered at them "can you go this way?" and they responded "yes." SO, I tried it again. But yet again, I was going to end up on the highway. NO THANKS. (not sure why I didn't believe myself the first time). LESSON #4: ALWAYS bring your phone on long rides. You never know when it may come in handy.

I found my way home AND managed to get all those miles in AND it took me 2 hours less than it had taken me the last time I did that ride. SO, all in all, it was a good, if not stressful day.

FAST FORWARD A WEEK to IronTeam's 100 mile Tour of the East Bay Alps. Saturday morning, July 10th dawned bright and early with a wake up time of 430 am. I double checked my potions (mixed the night before) and loaded them into the car 1st thing (along with my bike). Then it was time to wait for my babysitter to show up so I could leave the house. I'd allotted 1 hour to travel the 49 minutes to our start time. . . but, of course, my sitter was a few minutes late and I found myself with 53 minutes to get to Walnut Creek, unload myself, get ready, and GO.

Pulling in, I found that most of my teammates were ready. For those of you that know how much I HATE TO BE LATE, you can imagine how this felt. Especially when Coach Dave told someone that they would have to wait for me while everyone else got rolling. I ran through the bathroom-- pulled out the Chamois butter- and flew back to the pack. I got ready, got set and GO. I rolled with the group: Coach Dave even called out "way to rally, Paula" as I biked by. (Warning to the Reader: This is as good as the day gets. . . you may want to stop reading now).

Well, to say that I ignored LESSON # 3 would be an understatement. As a group ride, I knew that the ride would be marked. Coach had even spent 4 hours attaching markers to the route for us AND printed out pocket sized route sheet. SO, I hadn't even looked at the course. In fact, I hadn't even thought about the course.

If you can't wait, scroll down to the end now and see the course-- or, you can see it unfold as I did. . . in wonderful technicolor hell.

The first mile was out to the beginning of Mt. Diablo park. And then the climbing began. No, seriously, the first 10 miles were an uphill climb of Mt. Diablo. And a climb it was a total of 2200 feet (give or take) in elevation. And how beautiful it was. I was enjoying the slow climb; looking out over the valley; looking back towards the city; taking my time; getting my legs and lungs warmed up. At 10 miles in, however, we reached the junction and a number of teammates turned in for a rest. I kept going and found myself on the downhill side. Given that I'd rather go UP the hill than DOWN the hill at 30 mph; the mileage down the hill, riding the brakes, with huge drop offs on both sides of me were harrowing. One of my teammates, Katheryn, who had pulled off at the Junction raced by my, calling out "not a descender, eh?" as she flew by.

For some reason, I'd gotten into my head that that was the worst of the ride. So, as I headed out, I was having fun, feeling good and really enjoying myself. I had a blast chatting with Susie about Oakland politics as we headed back towards Oakland (and San Francisco). Pulling ahead of Susie after a while (and having long lost site of Katheryn), I though I was headed to the first water stop. Not surprisingly, I missed it-- no idea where that first water stop was-- still haven't seen it.

But, as I turned right onto Bollinger Canyon Road, I noticed that there were a number of bright green flames wearing folk not very far ahead of me. In fact, I started to "chase" them up that road. Now, chase is a relative term. The road had started to climb again AND we were headed into what felt like a 15 mph headwind. But kept them in my sights I did as I climbed, and climbed. It seems like I was getting closer until-- Poof-- they disappeared all together. Where the heck did they go? I kept riding, and riding, and riding but didn't see any turns in the road and didn't see my fellow flames wearers. Finally, I reached the end of the road. (and the top of the hill). There was nowhere left to go. Cursing, loudly, I grabbed my route sheet and turned around. Well, fortunately, the correct turn was only about a 1/2 mile down (meaning I'd only climbed a 1/2 mile more hill than necessary). and I was back on my way. I had, however, lost my brethren; and, given my cycling woes, I wasn't planning to catching them anytime soon.

Imagine my surprise as I pulled into the first (I guess second) water stop. Being out of water, I was very happy to see Roe waiting for me. Roe is one of the many spouses and significant others who help us out all the time by patiently waiting for us (sometimes for 9 hours) to get to these water stops. She, like all of these folk, is a hero. I could also see my flames brethren just pulling out of the water stop. But, I stopped, filled up, found the potty (see lesson #2, above) and pulled back on my way.

The first turn was onto Redwood. Well, apparently while I hurried through the bathroom back at the beginning of the morning, Coach had warned everyone that they would be on Redwood the longest of any road of the day. Having missed the warning, I had no idea what I was in for. Redwood started to climb almost immediately. It went up, and Up, and UP, and UUUPPP. I swear, I think that road went up for 23 miles. (looking at the elevation chart-- it pretty much did).
I am not kidding. It just kept going and going. There may have been a few downhill sections, but I didn't notice them. What I noticed was that every time I looked up, I was ascending again.

Finally there was a break. And a water stop. And conveniently, there was Coach Dave. Who I proceeded to chew out. Who I proceeded to tell that "there is not a single hill in Kentucky the size of this monster." Who very nicely pointed out that "at the top of the next hairpin turn by the science center" we'd get a flat section for about 45 minutes or so. Well, you may have heard this before, but COACH DAVE LIES. Needless to say, Katheryn, who I'd met up with at the water stop, and I took him at his word and headed off in search of the flat section. (Note to the reader: I'm still looking for the flat section).

Around this time I found some pretty ugly head space. I started to think about quitting. Who really wants to do an Iron Man anyway? Who really needs to climb these hills since there is no way the Louisville course is anything like this? How long would it take a SAG vehicle to find me? I kept calling out to Katheryn "you have got to be kidding me" every time I saw another freaking hill looming. My right knee started to hurt. My left knee started to hurt. My right hip started to hurt. My head started to hurt. My neck started to hurt. Well, I think you get the picture. I started to wonder if I should "save my body for my race?" None of this was made better by the AMAZING view over Skyline Drive in the Berkeley Hills towards Oakland, San Francisco and the Marin Headlands.

I knew we had Pig Farm looming. For those of you who have kept up with this since the beginning, you know what Pig Farm is. For those of you who haven't, well, it is the hill that I've fallen off my bike 2X on because it is so steep that I can't keep moving. I knew it was about mile 73 or so. . . I didn't want to go there.

But I kept on keeping on. I passed Katheryn on the uphills; she blew by me on the downs. We made it up and over Pappa Bear; up and over Mamma Bear; up and over Baby Bear and into the BEST WATER STOP EVER. As we pulled in we saw a cadre of the faster folk pulling out. They, apparently, had camped out for a while munching on Magic Bars, Chocolate Bars, Pretzels (my favorite) and other assorted goodies. Katheryn and I too took a few minutes to rest up, recover, and munch before heading out. I was disappointed to know that "baby bear" hill was NOT, as I'd hoped, Pig Farm and that I still had that demon to slay.

I wish I could say it was in epic battle between me and the hill. I wish I could say that something amazing and wondrous happened, but really, I just powered up that hill buoyed by Coach Simon's words that "when you get to the top of Pig Farm, you are done with the climbing." Well, folks, COACH SIMON LIES TOO.

I got to the top of that hill and started to POWER HOME. I felt good at this point I was not going up hill-- and, believing Coach Simon, I wasn't going to have to go uphill anymore. Until I saw the next hill. It was all freaking over at that point folks. The tears started to flow. From that point on, every time I started to climb, the waterworks started as well. It was not a pretty experience.
I also missed my second, and third turn marker. Making the course LONGER and even HILLIER than the one represented in the graphic. I have NEVER, EVER in my life wanted to quit anything as much as I wanted to quit this course. At the last water stop people were talking about some of my teammates who had been SAGGED forward and OH MY GOD did I want someone to ask me to SAG forward too. It had been 8 1/2 hours; surely I was so slow that they needed to move me ahead on the course-- PLEASE! ANYONE ? ASK ME TO SAG? CAN"T YOU SEE I"M DYING HERE?

Apparently my coaches had other ideas. After getting lost 3 times and completing a full 100 miles (which most people did 96), I was DONE. It was 445 in the afternoon. Now all I had to do was fight the East Bay traffic on the way home.

I can officially say that I came, I saw, I conquered. The coaches have admitted that this was their scheduled "mind-fuck" ride. . . and believe me, when it comes to me, IT WORKED. This was by far the closest I'd come all season to quitting, to giving in. I'm still amazed (3 days later) that I didn't give up. I'm not sure why I didn't other than fear-- the fear that maybe if I did give up I won't be able to finish Louisville. The fear that I'd let you all down. The fear that I'd let my self down. The fear that I'd let my babysitter (who'd been with my kids for 11 hours) down. I did it. I made it. And we are 7 weeks before the big event.

And now, for course map and the elevation profile:
http://www.mapmyride.com/view_route?r=826127896660444131

As always, without out you, the readers and donors, I'm not sure that I would have made it through this experience. There is still time to get on board and help out those suffering with Cancer. Click http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann

Training for an Iron Man is a lot like being Pregnant

2010-06-28T19:36:00.001-07:00

No Really-- bear with me for a minute.

We are 30 weeks into my 42 week training season and I've got a few observations.
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of either training for an Iron Man or being pregnant, I will explain.

So, as some of you may not know, the human pregnancy period is 40 weeks (we all say 9 months, but when you're pregnant, it is more like 10 months because you have to wait 40 weeks). Many pregnancies go at least one, if not 2 weeks over the 40 weeks--- this leads us to the 42 weeks of Iron Man training.

At the beginning of both-- actually for the first few months; you are thinking, "This isn't so bad. I can handle this." If you've got morning sickness (or you are super sore from some workouts) you know that this too will pass and you will be rewarded for your efforts. Your body doesn't change much-- in fact, most people can't tell you are pregnant-- or training for an iron man.

Then, in the second trimester (the second 3 months); your body starts to change for good and for ill: you notice your growing round belly, your full shiny hair, your glowing face (pregnancy) and your new muscles, your lack of soreness, your endurance going up (iron man). Near the end, you start thinking about how this child is a lot easier to take care of now than it is going to be when it gets out. . . (or this ironman thing isn't so bad).
You start to prepare: You take classes (both), you visit the hospital (both for some people, like my teammates who've had falls); you do longer workouts and practice triathlons. You create a plan (a birth plan, which, in my years of med mal defense, my OB clients were quick to point out that the longer and more detailed the birth plan, the sooner everything went to hell during delivery or a nutrition plan (which I'm hoping doesn't create the same results)).

Finally you start to reach the third trimester: all bets are off. Your body is changing: "Wow! are those really my thighs that don't fit in my jeans anymore" (both); "Seriously? That is MY ass?" You start to get sick and darned tired of the whole thing. You are hungry all the time. You are TIRED. Your body feels heavy. You JUST WANT IT TO END. YOU count the days-- at least with pregnancy you have the hope that the baby could come early. You re-count the days. You are READY READY READY to be done with this whole thing. And then you realize:

No matter how much you've prepared, no matter how ready you are: it is still going to hurt.

Double Brick Weekend:
Sunday we headed out for our double/triple brick weekend. Those of us participating at Canada or Louisville were only to do a double brick while our friends competing in Vineman had a triple brick--their race is 4 weeks earlier-- those lucky bastards.

A brick, in triathlon language is not what it sounds like-- its not how you feel doing it; it is actually a bike workout followed by a run and is named for the guy who first started doing it.
Our bricks were to be 2 hour (30 mile) bike rides followed by 1 hour (5) mile runs. Doesn't sound so bad does it? A total of 60 miles on the bike and 10 miles of running (doesn't sound as good does it?).

I pulled up to Yountville in Napa County at 7:30 to be ready to ride by 8. I'd already discovered that I'd forgotten my Garmin (the one for my wrist) and would be computer-less on both the bike and the run. As usual, I was apprehensive-- I'd not been feeling the workouts lately-- been feeling slow and heavy-- I've been trying my best to get them all in, but with my kids out of school and my aunt here (and insert excuse here) I'd fallen off for a week or so. But here I was: ready as I was going to be.

After a quick trip to the potty to apply my Chamois Butter (use your imagination) it was time to get directions from the coaches. "Turn around a 1 hour on the bike a 30 minutes on the run. It is supposed to be hot hot hot out here today so be sure you are adjusting your nutrition plan accordingly." We were rolling. We were off. I started out riding with Liz: our honoree captain. She lost her brother to Leukemia years ago and has been a TNT member ever since. This was her second consecutive TNT season and is approaching exhaustion. That being said: she is always a pleasure to ride with. After the first 9 miles, I picked it up a bit and pulled forward. I'd borrowed a watch from one of my coaches and was surprised to see that I was at the hour mark and still hadn't it the turn around; but, since I was supposed to turn around (and was afraid not to) around I went.

Heading back into town was fun: we had all turned around at the one hour interval and we had the pleasure of following each other back into town. We rolled in with a pack of about 10--all decked out in our fancy "flames" (purple and lime green flames that say IRONTEAM on the back). As we rolled past one couple, the woman asked how far we were going. "90 mile bike and 15 mile run" responded Coach Mike. Seriously, the woman started to gag. (I actually felt guilty since I was only biking 60 and running 10.

Off on the first run. OK, so I admit I didn't pay enough attention when the coaches were giving instructions in the morning. In fact, I didn't pay any attention. This would come to bite me in the ass about 4 miles into this run. I headed out without any water, thinking there would be a water stop at 1.2 miles (there was) AND at 2.5 (the turn around). Arriving at the turn around-- there was NO WATER. Yikes. It was getting hot and while this Georgia Girl LOVES hot weather, its been a while since I've run in 90 degree temps. It was also about mile 2.4 that I realized something pretty important: I'd forgotten to change out of my bike shorts. (you know you're iron when it takes 2.4 miles of a run to realize that you haven't changed out of your bike shorts). Back at the only water stop on the course I guzzled a few cups and headed home. I was pretty happy with this run: I was supposed to hold my Iron Man Marathon Pace (11:39/mile) and held about 10:50's. It is just hard to run that slow on a normal run.

Sucking down some water and electrolytes and switching shoes, I was back on the bike. This time I rolled out with Susie and Coach Sedonia. We started a bit of the pregnancy analogy above and then settled in for a nice discussion of the season. There was a bit of discussion about motivation and how different people are motivated in different ways. As an offhand comment, I mentioned that I thought that Coach Dave didn't know what to do when he saw me crying after finishing the 100 miles at Clearlake (all 45 seconds of waterworks). Sedonia laughed and agreed with me. In fact, she mentioned that he must have told her about it 3 times and even said "that's the first emotion we've seen out of Paula all season." Completely amused, I mentioned that it just wasn't my style to emote-- bitch and complain-- yes, cry and emote-- no. Sedonia agreed with me and said it was actually one of the reasons why the coaches don't really worry about me: I may get the workout Turrets (pretty often) but I get the job done. It made me feel pretty good.

Sedonia turned off to help Rocky with a flat and I was on my own. I was hoping to get all the way to the turn around this time: I wanted to go faster and I wanted to get there. Apparently it was not to be. At the 1 hour mark I was exactly at the same spot I was the first time. Frustrating Yes; but also kind of heartening since I hadn't lost pace the second 30 miles.

Can't say the same for the run: This run was UGLY. I was smart, and brought water and I made the turn around and I stuck to my readily improvised 1 minute walk 1 minute run strategy so, it could have been worse: but pace wise? This time I did the 5 miles in 70 minutes (please don't calculate the pace per mile-- and if you do, don't tell me. I don't want to know.).

It was a great day. I sort of wish I'd tried the 3x brick (don't worry, I'll get my chance in a few weeks) but also realized that some salt tabs would be WONDERFUL to have if I need them (when the mercury hits 101 like it did yesterday some salt to go with all that water would have been great). Do I still think I can do this?
Of course, with all of you, my donors and loyal readers, to help.

Speaking of which-- I'm 500 dollars short of my fundraising minimum. 500 by JULY 1. If you can help (from small to large) please do: I need your help, those with cancer need your help.
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
Thanks so much for reading and donating.

Paula

3/4 Iron Weekend, Part 2

2010-06-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

So, what I didn't tell you in the last installment, and haven't really talked about enough, concerns the people of Iron Team. I may have mentioned in the last installment that the folk who own the compound up at Clear Lake are TNT alums from a while back who have chosen this way to show their commitment to the cause. But, I've probably not talked nearly enough about everyone else.

On the team there are the Coaches, Mentors and Captains. These people are working out with us and providing support-- they get volunteers to come out to the course; they mark the courses; they spend countless hours away from their families; they listen to us complain ("do I need to call the WAHmbulance?"); they make sure we have food and beverages out there and basically the team wouldn't be able to function without them.

There are our Honorees. These folks are living with blood cancer. They train with us; they staff water stations; they tell us about their struggles with the disease. Basically, they give us the inspiration to keep going when we want to stop.

There are the volunteers that come out for the heck of it to drive SAG on the bike course; to man water stations, to throw those water balloons down out back (see the last entry), to keep out spirits up and help us change our tires in an emergency.

Then there are our teammates. Given my family situation, I don't ever feel like I get to know all my teammates. However, the ones I've had the pleasure of getting to know well this season have been amazing. I just couldn't ask for more. BK who jumped behind the wheel of the Tahoe (he drives one as his primary vehicle) to back it down the 60 yard driveway; Shep-- who I've ridden with in the past (and now I think is too fast for me to keep up with) Iron Mel, M-dot Afan, these people struggle with me and keep me smiling and laughing when the pre, during, and post workout Turrets sets in.

Back to the weekend. After the 2 mile swim and 100 mile bike ride it was time for a BBQ. Dinner and stories about survivors and connections to the cause completed, it was time for BED. And I mean BED. We were pooped. That being said, there was still time for some laughs with my hotel mates Margaret and Mel. (think-- who would be on your "list"? And what does it say about us that we could come up with a woman on the list before we could come up with a man?) To bed we went.

At 2am the phone rang-- it was John. Will's ear was hurting and he needed advice. Advice given, I tried to get back to sleep. Tried being the operative word. About 2 hours later-- I was asleep.

The lack of sleep, however, was the least of my problems. 9 hours of Carbo-Pro followed by a turkey burger washed down with regular Coke was my problem. To say I was having trouble, eh hum, getting things moving, was an understatement. I just couldn't get my system going. That and I was tired. Dog tired. But not sore.

We woke up at 5 and packed up our room to head back to the compound for our 16 mile or 3 hour which ever comes first run. Reaching the compound (and parking in a spot it would be easy to get out of), it was time to run before I was ready. Off we went at 7am. It was already getting HOT out there. Now, I'm a girl who LOVES hot. That being said, after 2 years living in freezing cold Mill Valley, HOT was a surprise-- a not all together unwelcome surprise, but it definitely made it hard to get moving.

I started out the run feeling pretty strong. Simon, our run coach, had asked us to go out slow, super slow, at our IM marathon pace. So I was supposed to run the first 1 1/2 hours at 11:39 pace. I was also supposed to take walk breaks. Needless to say, I couldn't do it. While I was able to take the walk breaks, I wasn't able to hold the slow pace. I found myself drifting upwards towards 9:30 or 10:00 minute pace. But On I Went.

Passing the second water stop, I again wished I'd been able to use the potty. I started cramping in my belly. But On I Went. I think I started slowing down but it was hard to tell since Garmin (the one I wear on my wrist) went dead--effectively leaving me without a pacer and without a chime to tell me when to take my walk breaks.

I saw Coach Simon at the top of the hill-- he commented that we were about an hour and 10 minutes into the run and I should hit the water stop "about a 1/4 mile down the hill and turn around." Well, I have to tell you, Coach Simon LIES. That water stop was about 2 miles from where he was standing. I kept going, and going, and going, always saying that I'd stop when I hit that damn water stop but it never showed up. At this point I was crampy and THIRSTY so I knew I had to find it before I could turn around and head up the hill back towards home.

When I was finally approaching the water stop, I saw that our coaches had moved the motivational signs: they were now down there at the bottom of the hill leading into the water stop. I must admit, however, that this water stop was 1/4 mile away from the turn around spot on the course. . . and, despite Coach Sedonia's parents telling me that they'd let me continue on to the actual turn around, I turned around at that water stop. I just wasn't feeling it that day. And I figured that I could add the additional 1 mile that we biked yesterday for the 1/2 mile I didn't run today.

The way home was excruciating. It just was. I was crampy (still couldn't get things moving); I was tired; I was hot; and I just wanted to get back to the compound and get home (to fix Will's ear). At one point Coach Dave came by on his bike--- I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't even recognize him. . . in fact, as he said "how you doing" I thought "Jesus, just what I need right now, an annoying dude." Anyway, after he laughed at me for my "eh hum-- difficulties" he reminded me I was on the flats and on my way home.

I made it. Even passing a few of my teammates on the way back. I have no idea how long it took me to get back. It felt long but I think I was home in the allotted 3 hours. Then it was down to the lake to ice the legs (again). The nice thing was I was done with the weekend: 2 miles of swimming, 101 miles on the bike and 15.5 miles running. For those of you keeping score that is 118.5 miles-- or, in english, a really f-ing long way. What is even cooler about that: it leaves with 42 miles to add (.4 on the swim; 12 on the bike; and 10.7 on the run) to finish a full Iron Man. For the first time, I feel like I'm actually going to be able to do it!

Now for the drive home. Iron Mel (who had had a good run) and I were on our way home by 11. She had a fundraiser the next day and I needed to hurry home because Will's ear was still bothering him. I still needed to use the potty. We listened to the Garmin this time and, timewise, it was better. BUT we had to drive over this Mountain that twisted and turned and scared the crap out of me--ok, that was wishful thinking at that point-- as we went up and down the mountain. As we twisted, we kept up a constant pace eating our Pringles (read: salt delivery system) and washing them down with regular Coke. You know you are are Iron when the only pace you were able to hold all day was your post race Pringle consumption. We finally met up with Route 101 where we pulled into the gas station to use the potty and get gas.

We were followed into the one bathroom station by some of our teammates and, unfortunately, it was NOT the cleanest or nicest potty I've ever seen. That being said, both Mel and I had never been so happy to see a potty and I must admit, after my tribulations of that morning; that potty was worth its weight in gold.

On the road again, still hungry for lunch and making an appointment for a doctor's appointment for Will's ear, I caved into the pressure and stopped at In-n-Out Burger. Now, my teammates, including Iron Mel, rave about this place-- as do most Californians (or Westerners, not sure which it is). They say it has the best hamburgers and fries EVER. I've been here 2 years and still hadn't been (who needs fast food burgers anyway?) That being said, having finally eaten at an In-n-Out, and being famished when I was doing so, I don't have a clue what they are talking about. The burgers are no better than McDonald's, Burger King's or any other fast food burgers. Yet again, the Californians have no idea what they are talking about.

Finally we were home. I dropped of Mel and ran home to take Will to the doctor. He did have an ear infection and we were able to get him some antibiotics. Both he and I were feeling great by Monday-- I was surprised. All that mileage and I wasn't even sore. In fact, I felt great. For the first time, I felt like I was going to be Iron.

So what is (was) next? I had Dipsea coming up in 6 days. . . 7.4 miles of quad and hammy busting trial running from Mill Valley over Mt. Tamalpais to Stinson Beach. Did I make it? You will have to wait for the next installment.

In addition, I'm still fundraising: I need about 700 dollars to reach my goal. If you can help me out by helping out those who are suffering from blood cancer, please do so now. I only have 15 days to get the fundraising done.

http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann

2010-06-07T17:41:00.000-07:00

PACKING FOR A TRIATHLON is not anything like getting ready to do a marathon. Or a Swim. Or a Bike Ride. I imagine it as more like packing for an ascent on Mt. Everest. You've got your gear: Swim Gear (wetsuit, swim caps plural, goggles plural, baby shampoo--keeps your goggles from fogging up, body glide--keeps your neck and arms from chaffing, conditioner--helps get your wetsuit over your body, towel, oh, and yeah- your bathing suit); Bike Gear (bra, bike shorts, biking shirt, helmet, sunglasses, Garmin--to keep track of mileage and time, socks, bike shoes, bike); Run Gear (run shorts--some people don't change shorts, run top--same deal some people don't change, running shoes, socks, hat). Oh yeah- -and that part that they don't tell you about in the TV commercials-- NUTRITION GEAR (7 water bottles, 10 packages of GU-type substances, 6 Gatoraids, 3 power bars, 2 packages of Gu Chomps, and 1 big container of Carbo Pro). This time, however, the coaches were throwing the concept of our "special needs bag" at us. Your special needs bag is something that you will get during the middle miles of the bike ride. In it you are to put any "special needs" you may have. With such great advice from my coaches (Simon-- a pillow and a pizza), mentor (a Starbucks double expresso), and friends (beer, porn), I had no idea what to put in my special needs bag. I perused the grocery store and decided on: a coke (in case I got a headache), some NutterButters, Advil, and, at the encouragement of my teammates, Pringles. I also added replacement water bottles, with my carbo pro Gatoraid mixture, and some electrolite tablets.

AND WE'RE OFF (part 1)

Packing done, babysitter in place, I was off to pick up Iron Mel to head out to Clear Lake for our training weekend. We added her stuff to John's Tahoe and put her brand new bike on the bike rack behind Bayou (my bike). Iron Mel had had a rough day man wise and as we headed out of town, she started telling me the story. While I listened to her story, I started noticing that The Garmin (the one that tells us how to get places in the car) was telling us to go a different way. Per our directions, we were headed out over the Richmond Bridge, through the East Bay and up 80. Garmin kept trying to get us to go another way. Thinking she was crazy, Mel and I turned her down and kept going. . . and going. . . and going. . . for about 3 hours.

Finally, out side of Oakland, Garmin gave up and got with the program. The population got thinner and thinner (at least one town had a "population 56" sign marking the town limits) and the terrain got more and more beautiful. It also started to remind me more and more of home. The closer we got to the lake, the more and more it looked like Lake Oconee-- or at least our side of Lake Oconee).

We were a bit worried about what the hotel was going to be like. Mentor Margaret had described it as "a dive", and she had informed us that there was a carp fishing tournament going on and the parking lot was full of Budweiser drinking guys driving pick up trucks. We were there. It was time to get serious.

WHO REALLY WANTS TO BE IRON ANYWAY?

What were we up against? Well, the course was a 2 mile swim, followed by a 100 mile bike ride on Saturday. Then we were to eat, sleep and get up on Sunday for a 16 mile run. I'd been told the course was "challenging".

I was pretty nervous-- not about the swim but, as usual, about the bike. I'd never done a century ride before. In fact, I'd really never contemplated doing a century ride before. But the biggest demon I was facing was myself. I've been in a funk lately. Not really in the mood to train (although I have been), not really in the mood to race (although I have been), getting really sick of all this fundraising (although I have been), and really wondering why on earth this matters to me anyway. Who really wants to be Iron. As John says, isn't it enough to be fit and healthy without actually doing a 140.6 mile Iron Man? So, anyway, I've been down.

We got up EARLY and headed out to the Shaw Compound. The Shaws are TNT Alums who open their compound on Clear Lake up to Iron Team every year. So, about 60 of us descended upon them at 5:45 in the morning to set up our mini-transition areas and get our swim waves.

I was to be in the second swim wave-- and I was NOT happy about it. If you remember the Louis Tri, where, due to my swimming ability, I was held until the fastest group to start, and then, due to my terrible biking ability, I was one of the last people to cross the finish line. Not fun. Not confidence inspiring. NOT WHAT I NEEDED FROM THIS WEEKEND.

AND WE'RE OFF (part 2)

The first group went off and our second group entered the water. Pleasant surprise: it was fairly comfortable. Unpleasant surprise: it was filled with tree like vegetation rising up from the depths of the lake to tickle (and tangle) our arms and legs. I was in a group with Sandy, Mel, Margaret, myself, and some other folk. We were off.

It was a smooth swim through the water, but it was not an easy swim. I couldn't see. I couldn't see the course markers. I couldn't see the buoys. The sun was coming up and every time I breathed to my left, I was blinded by the light (cue Jackson Browne song now).

Reaching the final buoy and turning around, I was supposed to look for a dock. No Dock. So, I started swimming. Still no dock. One of the support kayaks said to swim for the trees sticking out into the water and when I got there, I'd see the dock. I got there. Still no dock in site. I caught a vague glimpse of another support kayak out there and headed that way. They were sitting close to the dock!!! I turned around and headed back for the stand of trees that marked the edge of the Shaw compound. At this point, I'd passed a couple of wave 1 swimmers and was headed for the (dreaded) bike.

How Long Would it Take to Ride 100 Miles in a Car? 2 hours? 2 1/2?

100 miles. Wow. What a long way. In anticipation of this ride, I'd packed actual bike shorts (something I usually don't do) and worn a bathing suit under my wetsuit so that I had to change before heading out. I usually just stay in tri shorts throughout the entire race. The difference between the 2? About 2 inches of padding between your butt and the bike seat. For once in triathlon, more IS more. I stripped down and pulled on my shorts and flames bike shirt. (For those of you who haven't seen our flames, lets just say that lime green and purple are VERY noticeable on a bike). After a quick stop at the potty and to apply some Chamois butter, I was off.

About 3 miles in, my arms started to hurt in the areo position. I was in a panic. A few weeks ago, after our 80 mile ride, I'd been to the bike fitter. Rand had adjusted the stem on my bike, we'd gotten a new saddle, we'd upgraded my crankset, and I was expecting (as advertised) a pain free ride. 3 miles in, my arms were in agony. OH MY GOD. How was I ever going to be able to stay on this torture contraption for 100 miles. There were pins and needles running down my arms as I passed Marvelous Mentor Margaret (and one of my teammates) changing a flat-- turned out to be her second flat of the day). Fortunately, by the time I got to the first water station, which I blew by, the pins and needles in my arms had stopped and I was getting comfortable.

What was amazing was my new crankset. OH MY GOD. I'd been riding on a standard and had just upgraded to a compact. This was supposed to give me more gears. Not sure whether it did or not, but I will say that I didn't really feel like my legs were working at all. Just smoothly turning round and round easily on the pedals. My new saddle was a bonus as well. On the old one, 15 miles in I'd already be feeling it-- here, I was comfortable.

So, I settled in for a long day in the saddle. I wasn't really sure how long this was going to take; but I figured it could take up to 10 hours. This was a really hilly course, with some 9 % grades on it, and it was LONG-- encircling Clear Lake-- AKA, the largest lake in California. To check out the bike course (it wouldn't

About mile 30 Margaret passed me again and I started to see some of my teammates. Some passed me, some I passed out there. I generally ride alone, since about 2/3 of my teammates are significantly faster than I am and 1/3 is significantly slower than I am. Thus, I find myself alone on the course a lot. BUT today, coach Dave's wife had joined us. She is training for her second Iron Man and, despite tackling a beast of a 70.3 the weekend before, was joining us on our training weekend. Norma and I rode together for about 60 miles. I must say, having someone to ride with was wonderful. We alternated breaking the headwind (no where but in Northern California is there is head wind in both directions), despite USAT's prohibition on drafting. We talked about the course, nutrition (every time my buzzer would go off to remind me to drink, Norma would shout "hydrate" from where ever she was), Iron Man training, sharing your spouse with TNT, and, basically, having Norma there made everything easier and more fun. Even that stretch of pavement where the road was covered in dirt and holes.

Speaking of holes-- I've never ridden a course with more holes and crappy pavement. At least 30 miles of the 100 were on bad roads. They were a mess. My food sources rattled, my arms rattled, my tires bounced. For some of the ride, it was like riding on 2 flat tires. . . for some of the ride it was like riding on 2 flat tires while pulling a couch. I almost met my maker during one stretch. I'd veered pretty far to the left of the road (think uphill almost dirt single lane) trying to find some decent pavement-- it was about mile 72, I was OVER being on the bike and OVER being on crappy pavement, what do you want? Well, around a bend I went and there was the green SUV. I pulled hard to the right and got on my side of the road, but it was a close call. Its hard to say who was more scared, me or the driver.

Anyway, life altering part of the course done, we proceeded up the final real hill of the ride. Sedonia, our swim coach, had placed signs with our names on them urging us to "Go" and "Ride" As usual, this show of love and support brought on the water works. . .. Memo to all TNT coaches and managers: making people cry while they are trying to ascent 5% grades is NOT HELPFUL. Its really nice. . . its just not helpful.

Finally we were headed back into town. We'd passed the 80 mile mark (my previous longest ever ride) and were headed back to the park when we saw our leading teammate. . . What? We had to do this freaking road again? What? We had to go over this same stretch of HORRIBLE pavement AGAIN? NO FREAKING WAY! The workout Turrets started pretty hard and serious at that point. We started singing. . . we started signing the Oompa Loompa song from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. . . Words like "what do you get when you spend 100 miles on a bike? A sore bottom and hatred for coach Mike (our lovable bike coach)."

Needless to say, when we got back into the park and saw coach Mike there. . . (and Marina told on us). . . we were not loving him. BUT we were wrong. I took back all my nasty lyrics when I found out that we were not to head back up the 2 flat tire couch stretch of the course. In fact, I jumped off my bike and hugged coach Mike when I realized that we didn't have to do it again.

12 miles left-- on the way home at last.

I can't begin to tell you how amazing it is to spend 100 miles on a bike. There really are no words to describe it to you. It is long. It takes a really, really long time (7 hours 41 minutes including potty breaks and water stops). It is hard. It hurts your girl parts. That being said, it is amazing. I started to cry off and on as I approached the last 5 miles. I just couldn't believe that I was actually going to make it through a 100 miles. At mile 97, one of my teammates, Katherine, drove by and asked me if I wanted a water balloon down my back. OH MY GOD YES. She tried, and, given that I had no idea what I was doing, I flew by her and we didn't make it work. Then, around she drove again and tried again. Success. A purple balloon filled with ice cold water down the back of my shirt and "pop" a cold splash of water. You know you are Iron when. . . . .

Anyway, I finally pulled into the driveway to the compound to Coach Dave, Mel (who had done 80 miles on her new bike with new aerobars), and M3 (Marvelous Mentor Margaret). I completely lost it. I just couldn't believe I'd done it! I couldn't believe I'd actually ridden 100 miles. I couldn't believe I'd done it in under 10 hours (which I wasn't sure I was capable of). I just couldn't believe that I had gotten that far. . .

But we weren't done. . . . we still had Sunday. A 16 mile run.

To be continued. . . . .

Sorry to have gone away for a while

2010-06-07T17:27:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me the other day whether I'd stopped blogging (in the wake of some controversy over my previous post about Alcatraz). I thought about it for a while. I certainly had no intention of abandoning my blog (and am getting ready for a LONG entry about 3/4 iron weekend), but I'm sorry if anyone was feeling left in the dark.

I think I haven't posted for a while because I tend to write up only the "big" stuff-- and at this point, even the "big" stuff (until 3/4 weekend) has become pretty routine. 50 mile bike ride? No big deal. 4200 yard swim. Been there, done that. Double spin class (2 hours) followed by 4200 yard swim. Done it-- no biggie. It is sort of surprising, but none of it seems that out of the ordinary to me at this point. Guess that is why USAT calls it the multi-sport lifestyle.

Or maybe I've just not posted in a while because doing all that stuff takes time. Lots of time. Add to that coaching a soccer team, gearing up to throw soccerfest again this year (think 4000 person festival with beer and soccer), AND co-chairing Will's school's on-line auction, and being the room parent in Jack's room. . . and, and, and. . . Well, I've been pretty busy. ANY WAY on to the action. . . . 3/4 Iron Weekend. (will start working on this post after dinner-- it was a long weekend (2 days, 118.5 miles) so it may take a while. )

2010-05-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

This was my second shot at Escape From Alcatraz, having done the race last year (www.facebook.com/#!/note.php?note_id=91151859422) on Jack's 3rd birthday. Due to some infighting in the world of triathlon, the race was moved up 6 weeks this year so instead of being held mid-June, it was time to jump off the boat in early-May. Last year's race was tough for me. I was a novice; I'm not a biker and was riding my cheap, HEAVY bike, and I was worried about making it home for Jack's birthday party. With all this in mind, I had set pretty lofty goals for this race:
1) to take 10 minutes off my swim time
2) to take 10 minutes off my bike time
3) to take 10 minutes off my run time
4) no walking on the run and
5) finish in under 4 hours.

I'm going to issue a warning right now-- parts of this blog are going to be "whiny" (yes, worse than usual) but the point of this blog is to capture the highs and lows of training so I'm going to attempt to be truthful.

The Pre-Race Battle
Saturday was a beautiful day in the San Francisco area. For those of you that follow my facebook accounts, you know this is a rare statement from me. . . John, the kids, John's father Russell and I spent morning at one of the playgrounds in the city (I took an hour "escape" to get my race numbers), had a lovely lunch, and stopped by one of my favorite places-- the sports basement- to stock up on Body Glide and nutrition.

As usual, as the day wore on, John became more and more frustrated with the amount of time this was taking from our family. He repeatedly commented that he wasn't bringing the kids down to the race (although it is a short 30 minutes away) and mentioned repeatedly that he would do things like this "if it didn't take away so much family time."

One of the reasons that I do this is my family. I love my two baby boys more than anything I can imagine and I want them to grow up knowing that their mommy is strong; and that a beautiful woman is one who is sweaty and gross coming across a finish line. Accordingly, it is pretty important to me to have them there.

Well, of course, before I could go to bed for a restful evening, John and I had to have our "discussion" of whether he would be willing to bring the kids down. And, as usual, after being made to feel guilty for hours for wanting them to come, I gave in. Despite the fact that the race was 20 minutes from our house and the kids could play in the sand of crissy field (and still see the race), they weren't coming.

I was packed; I was ready; now all I had to do was get up.

Waking up at 3:00 am is crazy
Always. Everytime I do something like this I wonder why these things can't start at a more humane hour. Although I was not a first timer anymore (and didn't have to be on the 430 am bus to the boat), I didn't want to be late and risk losing my window seat on the boat to sit in the middle with people all around me. So, I compromised and left the house at 4 am after double checking to make sure I had all the necessities.

Packing for a triathlon is something like assembling gear for an Everest Trek and packing for Escape from Alcatraz is worse than most due to the multi spot start and the extra run leg. For the swim you need your wetsuit, booties, goggles, two swim caps, body glide (to keep your wetsuit from chaffing your neck) and conditioner to pull the suit on with. For the bike-- your bike, your helmet, your GPS, your bike shoes, sunglasses, your socks, oh, and I've gotten in the habit of changing my shirt between the swim and the bike. The run-- you got it-- another shirt, a hat your number, and of course, your running shoes (and an extra pair of socks just in case). Oh yeah-- there is also the nutrition (gu's, gatoraid bottles, carbo pro) and, in Alcatraz's case, the extra pair of running shoes for the run between the end of the swim and the transition area.

This year I was smart-- having set up my transition last year in the dark, I brought my camping headlamp with me so I could see what I was doing. After dropping my "mini-transition" bag off at the truck and setting up my stall, I boarded the bus for the 20 minute ride to the boat clutching the bag with my wetsuit, goggles, booties, a snack, a drink, my body glide and my conditioner. (Yes, I left the kitchen sink at home).

I picked up my chip and got in line for the boat where I was joined by Ironteam's Swim Coach Sedonia who was racing today as well. We boarded together and carved out some prime real estate up against the windows where we could see the Pro triathletes jump off the boat. About 20 minutes later, we saw someone else wearing IronTeam's Flames, and, expecting Captain Tony, we stood up, put our hands in the air and started jumping around. You guessed it-- it wasn't Tony. Fortunately the guy took pity on us and joined our little circle anyway-- he'd done IronTeam last year (Kentucky) and knew Sedonia anyway. Finally, about 10 minutes before the boat was to depart, Tony joined us and our little 4 some chatted merrily until the boat shoved off and we started the wetsuit wiggle.

I started to get nervous pretty early on this year. I'd had a bad swim here last year (according to my dad, I'd gotten faulty information and swam 2 1/2 miles instead of 1 1/2). I'd gone slow; I'd had trouble sighting, I'd gone way off course, AND I'd been dizzy throughout. SO, despite being a strong swimmer, I was definitely uncomfortable. Didn't help that I was on the boat with my swim coach who was hoping to finish the swim in 25 minutes or less. Then there was the marine wildlife. . . Most people who swim in San Francisco Bay are afraid of the sharks. Me, however, I don't like the sea lions. While they won't bite you. They are somewhat like puppies-- 2 ton puppies-- that like to play with swimmers. As the boat pulled into position, a sea lion looked up at us and waived. GREAT.

Before I knew it-- it was time to jump and off we went into the water. I was much more prepared this time-- following a totally different line of sight all the way in. The trick here is to swim straight across from the boat to the shore-- the current (4 million gallons of water heading under the golden gate bridge per second) will pull you from left to right. I swam towards aquatic park until I floated past it, I swam towards Fort Mason until I floated past that. I swam towards the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts until I was past that. I swam towards the orange roof of the San Francisco Yacht Club until I found myself on the beach-- still about 20 yards to the left of the "official" exit point! I ran (with many others) along the shore and up through the exit to mini-transition.

It's About Family, Damn It.
Up in mini-transition I shed my wetsuit and booties and donned my old crappy running shoes. Of course, I'd forgotten to unlace them so there went a few minutes unlacing running shoes with frozen fingers. I headed out to run the 1/2 mile to my bike awaiting me at the real transition area and I heard, "GO PAULA." I looked over and there was Kevin Owens and his wife. Kevin was a Team in Training ("TNT") teammate of mine last year on the Lavaman team and he recently completed his 2nd lavaman with TNT this year. I waived, smiled and headed to transition.

I changed my shirt, donned my bike shoes and helmet and headed off on the bike. What a difference a year makes. This year the bike course was PACKED. There were so many people out there and I was being passed (nothing different there) left and right. In addition, the wind had started picking up already and we were riding into a pretty strong headwind.
Coming up the first hill by the bridge, at about mile 3, Captain Tony passed me with a "looking good Paula" (that was the last I saw of Captain Tony). About 6 miles in another Ironteam mate passed me on her way up the big hill to the palace of fine arts.

Fast forward to coming back up from Golden Gate Park. For me, the toughest part of this course comes after golden gate park when you turn and come back up the hill by the Cliff House and then go up Seal Rock Hill to Clement Street Hill. Clement Street Hill on that side is a KILLER. I've walked up that hill many a time and saw about 4 people walking up that hill as I stood on my bike and muscled up that hill ! ! !( for only the second time). No rest for the wicked as we were then headed up back to the Palace of Fine Arts. Coming up the last hill, I started talking to the girl next to me. She was from Oklahoma, she loved the beauty of the course even though it was hard etc. We chatted the whole way up that hill and, as I passed her on the way down, she thanked me, telling me that I "got her over that last hill."

Screaming (for me) down the home stretch, I heard, "Go Paula" and then again about 4 minutes later "Go Paula." I had no idea who it was, but I had a cheering section. I was back in transition, and headed out on my run just as the announcer said, "we have our women's winner."

Transitioning from the bike to the run is always difficult-- your feet feel numb. Your legs are used to moving in other directions. Even your running shoes feel bulky next to the relative compactness of the bike shoes. As I took the right turn out of transition, Coach Mike and some other Iron teammates calling out my name and cheering me on. (Solved the first question). About a 1/2 mile later, I saw Merla our team manager and some others cheering me on by name as well (ah-ha, the second mystery supporters revealed). Turning right onto the path by Crissy Field-- it was Kevin and his wife again. . . cheering for me again.

About this time, I started to feel so lucky and so loved. I know it sounds silly, but since my family couldn't make it out, it was so amazing to have people there who knew me and were cheering for me. Other than Falmouth (where my family lives and my dad and I race every year) I generally do most of my racing alone. To have so many people there watching out for me and caring about me brought me to tears. This is my 3rd season of TNT now and I've got to say that my TNT friends have become my family away from family. I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate them.

I headed up the first set of stairs, after mile 2, with a smile in my heart-- it was a beautiful day and I was having a great race. This set of stairs is narrow, and, on race day, a two way street. Athletes flew down the stairs as I struggled up them. The reward for getting to the top? A sweeping vista of San Francisco Bay, out over the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin Headlands and the Pacific Ocean. The sailboats had come out and the bay positively glowed with the sun glinting off their white sails (no one has colored sails here-- I think it is part of the austerity and coldness of the area).

I saw one of my boat mates headed back down the course towards home and, about 10 minutes later saw Sedonia heading for home. I ran over the hill and down to the soft sand of Baker Beach. At this point I started running with a woman named Rachel who was finishing up the relay leg for her team. She was amazing. We talked about how the sport of triathlon is about learning who you are and about seizing the moment by enjoying the day you are having in the body you have. By the time I reached the top of the sand ladder (read 400 steps of sand going straight up the side of a hill), I was all smiles-- This may have been Rachel; this may also have been that from that point, the remaining course is downhill.

It may also have been because I had been paying attention to my watch, although I haven't mentioned it here. I didn't have a swim time but I did have a bike time, and I was pretty sure that it was at least 10 minutes faster than last years. I was watching my run time, and it looked like I was on pace to be at least 10 minutes shorter than last year. In addition, it looked like I was going to make it home before 12:00.

At the end of the run, you spend about 2 miles on the flat road by Crissy Field. It was covered with regular folk out for a Sunday stroll. I took a few seconds to slap the hands of a few little kids who were there and to thank a few dads who'd brought their kids out to watch their mom's do the triathlon. As I approached the finish line, I heard my name again. It was Kevin, his wife, and another familiar face from my TNT Lavaman team, Gary. This year, Gary has been through hell-- prostate cancer, chemo, surgery, radiation, and seeing him there at the finish line looking AMAZING was one of the highlights of the race for me.

As I hit the finish chute, I saw the clock-- I was looking good. I'd definitely made my 12 cut off-- in fact, I was looking like I was going to make a 11:49 ! I heard my name yet again and it was Coach Mike, Maria and a few other Iron Teammates cheering me to the finish! I was done.

3 hours and 49 minutes or (more impressively) 43 minutes faster than last year. 24 minutes on the swim and about 10 each on the bike and the run. I'd run the whole course (except for the sand ladder of course) and achieved all of my goals. I can't even believe that I had such a good day.

After the race ended and I was waiting to pick up my stuff from the boat and the mini transition, Kevin and his wife joined me. I don't even begin to know how to express my gratitude to them for cheering me on, keeping me company, holding my big plate of food for the kids (I was bringing them home brownies), and on top of it all volunteering to carry half of my stuff to my car for me (I couldn't let them-- they'd done so much for me already).

What is next on this Iron Journey? Well, first off, I still desperately need to raise some more funds. My next TNT fundraising deadling is May 13th. . . I am about 1500 short right now, so, if you can help-- now would be a great time to click on my fundraising website and donate what you can (even $5 helps to save a life and push me towards my goal). http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann
My next big training events: there are 3 that are worrying me
1) an 80 mile bike ride on 5/17
2) 3/4 iron weekend on 6/5 (2 mile swim, 100 mile bike, 20 mile run) and
3) Dipsea-- check this race out in this month's runner's world magazine.

As always, thank you for your love and support and for reading.

Paula

I know, I'll just go out an run a 1/2 marathon on Sunday for fun

2010-04-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

I MAY NEED A 12 STEP PROGRAM
Somedays I think that there needs to be a 12 step program for endurance race addiction. Today is one of them. Last weekend, my running partner (who didn't get into the Dipsea race while I did) suggested that we run the Marin County Half Marathon together this weekend. With nothing better to do, I said yes. Registered for Sunday's event on Thursday without previewing the course or, frankly, having a clue what I was getting myself into.

Fast forward to Saturday-- the day started out with a brisk 50 minute open water swim at Aquatic Park. Water was warmer than I thought it was going to be-- at least once I got over the initial shock of getting my face in the water and I had a nice, easy swim. I came out of the water; helped both of my kids change their wet, sandy clothes (they had played in the sand while I swam), and headed home.

My running partner (and neighbor) Michele was going to pick up my race packet for me. Or at least we thought. She got to McNear's beach and found that the race organizers would not let her pick up my number without my picture ID. So, after a brief lunch, the kids and I headed up to McNear's to pick up my number. Interestingly enough, no one asked for my ID at all when they gave me my number. . . . HMMMM. . .. Fortunately it was a nice day and the kids and I walked the fishing pier (Jack now wants to be a fisherman) and played down at the beach for a few hours before heading home.

Disaster struck early-- WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? For those of you that know my running (and racing) history. I have worn the same Worcester Academy (my high school) tank top in every race I've done since 1991. Seriously. . . over 20 marathons, countless 1/2 marathons, and more 10K's than I can remember. . . WHERE IS MY TANK TOP? I can't find it anywhere. . .

Sunday morning dawned early-- Grandpa Russell had spent the night to watch the kids in the morning (since Daddy is in Los Vegas playing poker) and I got myself dressed. . . Unhappily might I say since I STILL CAN'T FIND MY TANK TOP. I wore one of my Falmouth Road Race Tanks, but it just isn't the same as my 20 year old, turned grey from repeated washings, seams fraying tank top from 1990. Michele and I met up and we headed out to the beach. Arriving early, we debated what to wear for about 30 minutes before we finally left the car, and our cover-ups.

We were lead to the start line by a Scottish Bag Piper-- bringing back memories of both my college graduation and our early morning wake up call at 1/2 way to iron wildflower weekend. At the start line we waited and waited until finally the race could start-- what were we waiting for? The race organizers needed to plant a tree. Tree planted, we started at 8-- about 20 minutes later than we were supposed to start.

Michele took off like a start-- she doesn't participate in races often, and this was the longest distance she has done in a few years. . . I let her go. There was no way I was starting out 2 minutes faster than our usual pace--I've been around the rodeo a few times and know what happens to people who start out too fast to early. Out and back for a few miles on the road and then to some new territory.

HOW THE HELL LONG IS THIS RACE ANYWAY?
Heading up the hill into China Camp Park it was getting hot. . . we had a few miles of rolling hills before we were to transition onto trails. I was watching my Garmin pretty closely. I wanted to make sure I was on pace for the first 10K and then would see what happened. Well, at what my Garmin called the 6.2 mile split, I was right on track. Then we passed a volunteer who called out,
"Mile 5 right ahead--Looking Good." HUH? Mile 5? My GPS says 6.2 miles. OK.
Same thing happens at the 6 mile marker-- my watch reads 7 miles. Which one is right? Basically, I started to get stressed. . . OK, I got pretty stressed. How long is this race? Did I miss a turn? Why is my watch so far ahead? Are we going to run over 14 miles (instead of 13)? What is going on? I'd better slow down because I have no idea how long this race is going to be.

This panic stayed with me for the rest of the race. At the bottom of Hammer Hill (which was advertised to be at mile 11), the sign said mile 9. I hit the switchbacks on the trail, enjoyed the shade, and found myself enjoying the run. That being said, I had no idea how much longer I was going to be running. At the top of Hammer, we headed back out onto the roads. The volunteer standing there said that we had less than a 1/2 mile to go. At this point, however, I was afraid to believe her.

Turns out she was right. I was almost done. There probably wasn't more than a 1/2 mile to go. I made the turn into the beach and could see the finish line. At the end I saw my friend Michele-- she had finished 6 minutes ahead of me. . . and had hated every minute of it-- she was miserable-- hard run . . . wanted to stop at mile 6. I on the other hand had enjoyed my run. I hadn't gone very fast but I had finished and finished strong. I felt ready to take on the rest of the day and felt like I could probably have run another 10 miles easily (or at least run another 10 miles and still felt OK.)

So as stops on the road to Iron go, this run was good. I felt strong. I took my time and paced it out appropriately. I ran the entire run as a nice training run (even running the trail hills where there were long muddy stretches). My time wasn't stellar and since I can always find an excuse for that I mention the fact that I had no idea where in the race I was; we were on trails and going uphill through mud, oh, and I want to have enough energy to complete this week's workouts and my next race. That being said-- my time could have been a lot worse, and my first 10K was wonderful.

Next stop-- The Rock. Next Sunday is Escape From Alcatraz-- a race I did last year (and was terrified of before I did it). It is funny that I'm not scared of this race at all this year. . . At least I'm not scared of it yet-- maybe by next Sunday I will be afraid to jump off the boat, but right now I'm looking forward to it.

Thanks for reading, for donating, and for passing on your words of encouragement.

Paula
To learn more about TNT or to donate in my fight against Leukemia, Lymphoma, and other blood cancers click:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann

8 Transitions and 3 flats? You've got to be kidding me!

2010-04-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

Boot Camp weekend #2. As usual, I can't go both days; John is in Miami and I can't justify a babysitter for both days. So, after asking my coach which day would be better; I got a sitter and planned for Saturday. The weather was supposed to be great and the workout looked like fun. . . repeated sprint distance triathlons for 5 hours. I was pretty excited about this one-- Sprint distance triathlons are not too challenging at this point; I'd raced at this park before so was familiar with the course and area; and I had such a good bike ride at Wildflower that I was feeling invincible. I even convinced a few people to pledge 5 or 10 bucks per sprint triathlon I completed to the cause (http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann).

Found myself in Pleasanton, at Shadow Cliffs Regional Park at 7:45-- not leaving myself very much time to get my transition area set up and wiggle into my wetsuit before our alleged 8am start. I set up my transition stall-- taking extra care to make sure that I'd put my back brake on properly after having to replace my back tire on Thursday (See the 1/2 way to Iron report). Lathering up with my $1 Suave Coconut Conditioner, I pulled on the wetsuit and got zipped in. Along the way, Coach Mike even agreed to donate 10 dollars each as well. I was pumped and ready to go.

At the athletes meeting we learned of the first snafu: Our use permit had fallen through-- we had no lifeguards and couldn't go open water swimming. (were we not going to be swimming-- that would be terrible-- no cold water swim? Shucks. I would so miss the 55 degree water). But no, swimming we would be: There was a single-- 6 foot wide, 300 yard lane marked off in the water. Since there were 60 of us hitting the water-- we would go in starts-- 10 at a time. Swim the 40 yards out the the lane, duck under the rope, swim the 300 yard lane, swim back to shore, then RUN back to where we started and go again and again, and again-- for a total of 4 "laps". I hit the water with the second group. Not surprisingly, it was cold but out I went.

Before I had time to pee in my wetsuit, it was time to get out of the water and do the sand run back to the starting point. IN again. Cold again. No time to pee in the wetsuit again. And out again. Yes, I'll spare you the other two times, but I did this a total of 4 times. Although I probably could, I'm not counting these run breaks in my transition counts.

Transition #1: Meet the Flat Fairy
After climbing out of the water for the 4th time, I ran into transition where the 5 or so swimmers out ahead of me were moaning.
"You've got a flat" said Mentor Margaret.
"WHAT! Which tire?"
"Your rear one." says Margaret.
"You mean the one I changed YESTERDAY? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"NOPE-- the coaches went around and let the air out of all of our back tires-- you have to take out the tube, show it to the coach and put it back in."
"THOSE RAT BASTARDS."

Did I mention that I wasn't out of my wetsuit yet?
Pulling off the wetsuit and getting into my bike shirt and arm warmers, I mentally rehearsed the fun of changing a rear tire. I was really glad that I had done it the day before (for the first time) instead of paying the guys at the bike shop to do it for me-- (very temping). Get the wheel out; Move the derailleur and the chain; use your tire irons to get off the tire; pull out the tube, show to coach; put tube back in; put tire back on, pump up tire-- OK. I can do this.

And do it I did. While others struggled with getting the wheel off or getting their tire off-- I cruised. Jumped on the bike and took off. Oops-- helps if you put your chain back on after changing the tire. OK-- now up the hill and out on the course.

Click. Click. Click. Click. What the hell is that noise?? I have no idea; Margaret has no idea. No one has an idea. Oh well, its only 9 miles. click, click, click. Oh well, its only 8 miles. Wait a minute-- why does it feel like my legs don't want to work today. Oh well, its only 7 miles. Good Grief-- why am I so slow today. Oh well, its only 6 miles. Holy Moly, that 15 mile per hour headwind sucks. Oh well, its only 5 miles. ARE WE THERE YET? Eventually, I got there. This was not a good bike ride. Still not sure why? I need to check my bike cadence computer and see if this ride was as slow as it felt but part of me doesn't want to know. I thought I'd conquered the bike monster last month. Had Coach Dave taken the rocket boosters off my bike when he'd let the air out of my tires. Ahhhh.

Transition #2
Eventually I got myself back to transition. Yipee. Off on the run. Its a beautiful 3.5 mile run on trails around lakes and wildflowers. Some little rises. Most not. I passed a few teammates on the way out and pushed over the first rise. This felt wonderful-- nothing at all like my horrid run at Wildflower. Before I knew it I was back to transition and ready for

Transition #3
In between tri's, we were doing core: While not really a surprise, what was a surprise was I had to wait for about 5 people to finish and people to catch up so that we could have a group start together. Core exercises finished, it was time to move into

Transition #4
This was the biggie: Pulling on a wet, cold wetsuit. Anyone who has ever put on a wetsuit knows that it is difficult. Add to it the wetsuit being wet and you are in for a real treat. We used plastic grocery bags to cover our feet as we pushed them into the neoprene that had been hanging on a hanger (the better to get the full effect of the wind and, now, cold wet rain drops that had begun to fall from the sky). Wet neoprene is COLD. Cold and clammy. And basically, just yucky. off to the water.

At least this time we didn't have to swim, run, swim, run, swim, run, swim. We could just SWIM. 6 laps of the 300 yard line (1800 yards or so) plus the swim out to the land and back in. Pretty uneventful except for 2 things: my head to head meeting with our swim coach Sedonia (sight Paula-- Sight) and my very tactless smacking of one of my teammates from the South Bay in the back of her head ("wow, what a powerful stroke you have" "eh-- sorry about that"). I've got no defense for the smacking; but in my defense-- the lane line was inconsistent in that lane-- other swimmers agreed with me-- that is why I couldn't swim in a straight line.

Transition #5-- out of the wetsuit-- into the bike shoes-- and by now, the sun is COMPLETELY GONE. while I'd started my first bike loop in short sleeves and arm warmers, this time it was short sleeves with my full coat. The wind had picked up as well-- the headwind was expected to be stronger than the 15 miles per hour we'd experienced on the way out.
The clicking sound was gone-- turned out it was only the magnet from my cadence meter hitting my gear but my legs weren't any happier to be on the bike. Maybe they were cold? Nice excuse-- I may run with that one. . . oh wait-- speaking of running, if it was cold legs? Why did the run feel so strong? I don't get it.

Coming back in I saw one of my south bay teammates on the side of the road trying to change her flat. Aware of the great cosmic Karma rule of biking, I stopped to see if she needed anything. Turned out she was unable to get her tire off the rim. I borrowed one of her tire irons and couldn't get it off either. After trying for about 10 minutes to get her darned tire off-- I gave up-- transition was about 600 yards away-- I'd go get a coach and send him back. Attempted Tire Change #2-- incomplete.

Transition #6-- off the bike-- grabbed coach mike and sent him back to help the failed tire change (by the time he got there-- another good Samaritan (non TNT) had come by and gotten the tire off for her). Pulled on the running shoes. Heading out on the path I heard Coach Dave say: ONE HOUR AND 15 minutes left.

Is he kidding? Having raced on this course before, I know that it generally takes me about 1 hour and 30 minutes to complete the full sprint distance triathlon. That would mean that I should have been able to complete TWO full triathlons in 3 hours. Where did the time go? I still had at least a half hour before I could even say I finished 2? I was NEVER going to make my goal of 3. I was hoping to make at least 100 bucks for the cause-- I wasn't even going to come close. CRAP. Oh well, I was off on the run. Gonna at least finish 2 triathlons really, really strong. And, at least from a mental training philosophy, I was able to have another really strong run.

Transition #7-- Back into the wet wetsuit. Didn't get any warmer-- didn't get any easier. The swim didn't get any shorter or any longer. Out of the water. Trying to go as fast as I can-- want to finish another sprint distance triathlon before the coach won't let me race any more. . . gonna do it. . .

Transition #8-- Hey, no one said not to stop-- I'm heading out on this bike. Not sure how much time is left-- wind has picked up again. Its cold. I hate the freaking bike--- I'm going. Oh no-- there is one of my teammates on the side of the road. When I asked if she needed any help she asked if I knew how to use a CO2 gun. (I do actually). SO-- over I pulled for

Flat Tire #3
I'd never seen a CO2 dispenser like hers before so I pulled mine out and grabbed my cylinder. I put it down on her tube and pulled the trigger-- out came the CO2, but her tire didn't inflate. . . OK. . . I thought I knew how to use this thing. Let's try cylinder number 2. Same result. OK-- plan B. Maybe there is something wrong with the tube. Maybe we should start over.

Off with the wheel-- off with the tire-- out with the tube--Guess what-- the valve was broken and the tube had a big hole in it. Well, glad we figured that out-- wish we'd found that out before we'd wasted 2 CO2 containers on that faulty tube. New tube, replace the tire and now lets figure out how to use the other CO2 system. Oh SHOOT-- here comes Captain Tony. Time is UP. It is time to head home. I didn't finish my 3rd triathlon today.

Some stretching; putting my gear in the car. Admitting to Coach Mike that he only owes me 20 bucks was disappointing. Generally, I'm really frustrated by this day of training. I'm not sure why I could only do 2. Did we start late? Was the swim thing that much longer (most swims there are 400 yards)? Was my biking that much slower? I can't imagine that my run was bad but was it? How much time did I lose doing core? Was it unreasonable to assume I could do 3?

On the upside I felt as strong during the second triathlon as I did during the first. I felt as strong during the 3rd swim as I did during the first. I felt as crappy during the 3rd bike as I did during the first. So I figure I can take some good from that at least.

For those of you that pledged an amount of money per triathlon completed-- you owe me 2X what ever you pledged. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and I appreciate your donation:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann

A Wild-flower weekend becoming Half Iron

2010-03-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

For those of you unfamiliar with the sport of triathlon-- (or the high level version practiced here in California); the community has a saying "the One and Only Wildflower". The Wildflower Triathlon Festival is a yearly event; and, having visited there last year for the Olympic Distance Triathlon, I had a good idea what to expect. (See www.facebook.com/#!/note.php?note_id=77390889422) I also had a healthy dose of terror. This is NOT my favorite course. It is hilly, hard, hot and horrible-- at that was just the Olympic Course. I was headed out for the LONG COURSE-- 1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles of hill biking, and 13.1 miles of hill trails in the sun. Hence, it is known as the "One and Only Wildflower."

Wildflower weekend is located at Lake San Antonio, in Bradley, California-- about 100 miles from nowhere. Thus, packing for the weekend involves a tent, a sleeping bag, and a lantern in addition to your triathlon gear and nutrition. For those of you that know me, or at least have known me in the last few years, my idea of camping has morphed into staying anywhere other than the Four Seasons; so as you can imagine, I was thrilled to be borrowing a tent and sleeping bag and heading down for a night on the hard, cold ground. But pack up I did, my bike, my wetsuit, my running shoes, appropriate other parts of the uniform, nutrition, and my camping gear for the four hour drive to the lake.

Most of my team had elected to rent RV's and were set up on the other side of the road in "uptown"; those of us who were staying in down town were scurring around setting up our tents and getting ready to for the gear check being performed by our coaches.

Melissa and I got in line at Coach Dave's Bike Shop, where the music was bad and the smell was worse. One of the inhabitants of his RV had forgotten to pull the handle of the porta-potty back up after she had used it and, shall we say, that cup had runneth all over the ground. The chemical toilet smell made the NWA music (F- the Police) coming from the boom box good. I got to the front of the line, and told coach that my bike had been self shifting. He made a few minor adjustments and then found that my rear tire had a small gash in it-- he said not to worry too much-- there was only a 30-40% chance that it would blow during my ride and end my day. With something new to worry about (other than the hills coming up on the bike course and the time cut off), I headed back to the other side of the tracks to wait for our athlete's meeting.

There was a LOT of talk about the time cut offs and whether you were going to be able to make them. With my prior experience on this course (2 hours 20 minutes to go 24 miles), I knew that the 2:15 pm bike cut off was going to cause me some problems. While our coaches promised not to end our day if we didn't make a cut off (which is what will happen in the actual ironman), they promised to SAG us forward if we didn't make the cut off. So, I was worried about not getting to see "Nasty Grade" or "the Pit". In hindsight, why I cared whether I saw these features I don't really know.

Fast forwarding to the next day, we were awakened to the sound of Scottish Bag Pipes at 4:45 am. By 5:00 those bagpipes had morphed into the Imperial March from Star Wars and we were up. It was FREEZING. My hands turned to ice blocks and I packaged up my tent and I found myself holding them over Margaret's coffee pot as I tried to warm up.
After breakfast and a quick drive down to the lake and it was time to set up transition.

Using my camp lantern to see, I laid out my bike, my bike shoes, my running gear, and manuvered my nutrition into position: 2 bottles of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to each), 4 Gu's, and 6 Cliff Shot Blocks (gummy bears with extra calories), and a Cliff bar for the bike, 1 bottle of Gatoraide (with 300 calories of CarboPro added to it), and 3 Gu's for the run. I picked up my number: 747 and with the appropriate jokes about being a widebody, I got body marked. (to the volunteer who wrote 46 instead of 36 on my leg, thanks).

After that, there was nothing to do but start the wetsuit wiggle. Lathering up with conditioner, I started pulling on the suit-- this is akin to pulling pantyhose over your entire body-- but at least it was warm in there. Coach Mike came up and gave me one of his famous "wet suit wedgies" (a way of ensuring that you have enough suit to cover the motion of your shoulders) and I headed down to the lake.

I wasn't looking forward to diving into the lake for my 1.2 mile swim. It wasn't the swim I was dreading, it was the jump into the water which I figured would be freezing. With a sense of forboding, I jumped in. To my DELIGHT, it was warm; compared to the air outside and I was able to stop shivering and actually feel good about the start of the swim. Once in the water, however, we had to hold the start of the race-- the ambulance hadn't arrived yet.

On your mark, get set, go. . . and we were off-- five cigarette bouys down on the right-- turn around and the orange bouy and head back to the dock. The swim felt good-- I saw about 10 people ahead of me and just followed them down to the turn around point. I made a sharp turn and headed around towards home. The sun was coming up over the mountains at this point, making it hard to see. But I followed the other people until I could get a good view of the dock. That was when I started to get worried--how on earth was I going to pull myself back up onto the dock? While it was a floating dock like the one I grew up with, I didn't think I was going to be able to get up there coated in neoprene.

As I approached the dock, I found my answer-- coaches from the teams were pulling us up onto the dock by our arms. Two of the South Bay coaches grabbed my arms and pulled me onto the dock--where I landed like a combination between a fish and a seal. . . Barking for air and flopping for balance, I rose to all fours and headed out into transition.

My swim time was about 35 minutes.

As most of you know by now, the swim is, by far, my strongest event in the triathlon-- in fact, if I were designing the sport, the swim would be much longer-- what would be significantly shorter is that damn bike ride. So, as I head into transition after the swim, I'm generally pretty nervous-- when you add in the dizziness that comes from running after a swim AND the fact that I'm freezing from the water out here, it is one of my weakest mental points in the whole adventure. So there I was, stripping off my own wetsuit (I avoided the "stripper" who was there to help us), and pulling on my cycling jersey, arm warmers, bike shoes, helmet and sunglasses.

I was off-- here I recieved my second pleasant surprise of the race-- Instead of heading directly up Lynch Hill like the Olympic Course, the Long Course goes down by the lake for about a mile before you begin the long climb out of the park. This mile "warm up" made all the difference in the world-- where last year I'd ended up walking Lynch, I found myself powering up to the top of Beach Hill, passing one of my teammates on the way out.

From that point on I was on my own. Mile 5 went by, and no one had passed me. Mile 10 went by, no one had passed me. Mile 15 went by and I stopped to fix my helmet which, in the rush at transition, had gotten caught on my ponytail holder and was falling into my eyes whenever I got down into the aero position. After that short break, I was at mile 20, and still no one had passed me. Approaching mile 25, I started to get excited. I was on pace for my best bike ride ever, I was also a little scared-- I'd never felt like any bike ride was this easy. . . when was it going to get ugly?

The best (and most commonly uttered) advice about the Bike Long Course at Wildflower is "take it easy until mile 40 and then see how you feel." Why is this the best advice? Well, at mile 40, you take a left turn (your first), and start the ascent of "Nasty Grade." Yes, that is the name of the hill. It is a 5 mile long ascent that covers more than 1000 feet. It ends in "Heart Rate Hill" where the grade is approximately 7.5%. After "Nasty" you have another 10 miles or so of rolling hills before you get back to transition and start the run.

I pulled onto mile 40, and began the ascent. I still hadn't been passed by anyone and was still feeling pretty good. In fact, I had already decided that this was the best bike ride I'd ever had. I was blessing Coach Dave for the rocket boosters he must of installed on my bike at the Bad Tunes Bike Shop. As the hill got steeper, our team honorees had put signs thanking us for helping to find a cure along the side. As usual, these signs made me start to cry. Just so you know, crying while attempting to climb a 7% grade is NOT the best combination.

As my tears were drying up, the coaches took over. A few of the coaches had "volunteered" to ride up and down that Nasty Grade all day long and chat with us as we got ourselves to the top. They were amazing. One of the South Bay coaches picked me up and started chatting. I was so high on my good bike ride that I was telling him this was the best ride of my life and I didn't care if I had to walk the last 16 miles home I was going to be proud of myself when he asked me if I wanted to know where I was in the order of things. To my muddled brain, I thought he was asking me if I knew where I was. . . Yeah-- halfway up freaking Nasty Grade and 44 miles into a 56 mile bike ride. But no. He was telling me that I was the 11th person to make it to the top of Nasty Grade-- 11 th!!!!! WTF??? I swear-- rocket boosters on my bike today.

I stopped at the aide station at the top of Nasty to savor my accomplishment for a few minutes and was finally caught by one of my teammates. Rocky and Coach Doug got to the top of the hill and we all chatted for a few minutes before heading back out to finish the last part of the hill and "enjoy" the down hill. I kept up with them for the rest of the ascent, but, as we approached the downhill I told them to go on. Many cyclists approach 50 MPH down the backside of that hill and I knew there was NO WAY I was going to let that happen. In fact, I was passed by at least 3 cyclists as we went down Nasty. It didn't dampen my spirits, however, being passed around mile 55, instead of being passed at mile 3, was all right by me.

To say that people were surprised to see me down in transition in 4 hours and 8 minutes is an understatment. Although Coach Mike tried to cover his surprise, my excitement and idiotic rambling about the rocket boosters Coach Dave had put on my bike made everyone in transition laugh--probably at me.

Savoring that bike ride (by far the best of my life), I pulled on my running shoes, pulled off my cycling jersey (didn't want a farmer tan) and pulled on my hat. With a quick pit stop at the potty (it even was a flushing potty), I was off on the run.

And right then I knew I was in trouble.

I couldn't get my waist pack (carrying a water bottle and some Gu) to get comfortable-- my insides hurt (not my legs, but my insides)-- I wasn't feeling the usual LOVE of getting off the bike and onto the run (maybe because for once my bike didn't suck).

But I motored on. I set a 10 minute run, one minute walk schedule for myself hoping to get myself feeling like running after the first 10 minutes. . . Nope, 20 minutes. . . Nope. . . at three miles in I got to the first aide station. While I was still crowing about my bike (couldn't wait to tell Dana about how well I'd biked), I knew that this run was going to be LONG.

Having done a fair bit of intelligence before the race, I knew that this course was a monster-- it has a reputation for "eating uber-athletes for breakfast" and for "elite runners to have to walk." I wasn't expecting much out of the run in the first place. I figured that if I did the half marathon in 3 hours (instead of my usual 2-2:10) I'd be pretty happy. About mile 3, while still working on my 10 on 1 off plan, I knew that 3 hours would be great for how today was going to go. We were on trails and we were going uphill. . . consistantly uphill. In fact, I knew I was in real trouble when one of the South Bay team members passed me WALKING up the hill-- I was running (or so I thought). As she went by she mentioned that there was no shame in walking up these hills-- and, for better or worse, that little bit of advice was all I needed.

I started to walk-- promising myself that I would walk the uphills and run the downhills-- sounds like an excellent strategy, however, since the course is approximately 9.5 miles of uphills, it may not have been the best one. I walked, and walked and walked, passing wildflowers, the beautiful lake, and the wild pigs that make the lake their home--in one of my weaker moments I wondered if one of them could carry me home. I kept moving forward but found my running moments getting fewer and fewer as time went on.

Finally I was off the trails and onto the road. This would be great except that the arrival of the road meant the beginning of the descent into "the Pit." This area of the course starts with a mile descent. Then, you hit the bottom of the hill-- run another 20 yards and are confronted with a yellow arrow painted on the road-- the yellow arrow tells you to turn around and climb right back up the mile long hill you just descended. It is, to say the least, the pits.

I saw my fellow teammates struggling out of the Pit as I headed down into it. I was still heartened to realize that not too many (3 or 4) teammates had passed me even as slow as I was going on the run. I thought about turning around. Oh did I think about turning around. Only the aid station that we had set up down at the bottom of the Pit kept me moving forward at that point.

The concept of an aid station takes on a new meaning in the concept of Iron Man. In my marathoning "career" an aid station was a place to grab a cup of water as you ran by, maybe 2 if you were feeling frisky. It was a place to avoid the banana peels, orange rinds, donuts (for those of you familiar with Peachtree), and smashed cups that turn that area into a hazard zone. In the context of Iron Man (or Half Iron Man) the aid station is an oasis in the desert. There is food: pretzels, gummy bears, nutterbutters; there is water: gatoraide, poweraide, carbopro, electrolite tablets; THERE IS AN EXCUSE TO STOP!

As I got to the bottom of the hill, I noticed that they had set the aid station up 30 feet from the turn around arrow. I told the staff, including one of our honorees, who were working the aid station that there was NO WAY I was going to walk that extra 30 feet to get to that arrow. The response: "oh yes you are. There is NO WAY you aren't going to go that extra 30 feet at this point." No cheating. They even offerred, I assume jokingly, to carry me those 30 feet. Giving them the fish eye, I carried my tired ass the extra 30 feet and started to go back up the hill.

On the pavement someone had written (in flour for your enviro-nazi's out there) "I smell Iron" and, as often happens to me in these events, the tears started again. Never sure why I cry as I get close to the finish lines but I often do. . .

Finally I was coming down Lynch Hill (you may remember my description of Lynch from the first paragraph-- I won't bore you with it again). The mile descent was agony. There was the lake-- there were the cars-- where was the finish line? I couldn't find it. . . I weaved amongst the cars until I heard Captain Tony on the bull horn calling my name and telling me not to give up until I got there. I broke the (duct) tape and finished. My run time-- 3 hours and 30 minutes (SAD, SAD, SAD).

8 hours and 27 minutes and 70.3 miles. Wow. That is a long time and a long way. On my way home from the lake, I saw 2 signs-- the first said San Francisco 130 miles-- right about there I realized just how far the real iron man was going to be. Then, later on in the drive I saw the one that said Oakland 68 miles. . . HMMMM.

Post race started with the reciept of my "medal" a shot glass to be used at the team party that evening. Then it was a trip back down to the lake for the obligatory post-race ice bath-- there was no ice there but jumping into the 60 degree water after biking and running for 8 hours was the best I could do. Then it was time to drive home and see my baby boys.

Overall I can't tell you how excited I am about being Half-Iron. (the other half is currently lactic acid). I loved my swim. I loved my bike ride. I do realize that I sacrificed my run for the bike and need to work on that as the year progresses, but I couldn't be happier. For the first time I can see myself finishing an iron man-- and making all the time cut offs.

I'm also 1/2 way to Iron with my fundraising. I hit the 50% mark last weekend and am in need of help getting to my next milestone 6,500 by the middle of June. If you can help, I'd really appreciate it. To all of you who have already donated; your words of inspiration and confidence in me really do keep me going out there-- I can't imagine if I had to write a race update that said-- well, you all have supported me, but I decided not to run those extra 30 feet (or 3 miles) and didn't finish the race.

Thanks again to all: To donate or read shorter updates on my training click http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/louisir10/paula.hamann

Paula

100 KM Bike Ride-- Yes, that is 60 miles

2010-03-15T13:22:00.000-07:00

and this morning I am feeling almost everyone of them. What a great experience. Sort of. I woke up at o'Dark 30 on Sunday morning to meet my friend Sandy on the route. We were starting an Hour earlier than everyone else so that we could get done (and home, and back to the kids, and so that we were not the last ones to finish since I'm so freaking slow).

I was terrified. Not only was this the longest bike ride I'd ever done by about 30 miles, it was also advertised on the Marin Metric Century website (that was the course) as "not for beginners" GREAT-- no stress here. Then I started talking to people who had done the course. HA Lots of great big hills. Lotsa distance and few potties. . . sounds like a great combination.

After finding the start line, Sandy shared that she had been so nervous that she'd been throwing up all morning. . . at least we were feeling the same way about this upcoming ride. We started with a short potty stop at Safeway-- where, not surprisingly, the potties were broken and we had to explore the entire grocery store's backroom in order to find the employee backroom. You'd be shocked how your milk is stored before you get it.

Off we went. Headed out Lucas Valley Road (named after a little place you may have heard of called Skywalker Ranch. . . ) and up "Big Rock Hill" aptly named for the large white rock at the crown. It was the first climb of the day, and probably one of the toughest. I always seem to find the climbs harder when I'm cold. . . And BOY was I cold. The weather was supposed to heat up into the 60's, but it started out in the 30's. My fingers were frozen in my cycling gloves as we started up that hill. Although at the top, when Sandy stopped to give a facebook shout out to the team letting them know that we had conquered that first hill, I was feeling plenty warm.

The warmth was not to last however as we began the 11 mile decent into the town (my British Friends would call this a hamlet) of Nicasio. Down the hill we went, into the redwood forest and out past the reservoir. We stopped for a break after passing the reservoir and found that my Power Bar and Sandy's Camelback pack had frozen. Yummy.

After a short stop at the porta potty (the last porta potty to be seen for 40 miles) we were off. Here was was where Sandy had warned me about the first "big" hill just after the Cheese Factory. Yes, seriously, that was the description. I started climbing, waiting for the hill to get bigger and to get tired, but to both of our surprise, we were suddenly at the top of the hill-- no stress, no heavy breathing. We were beyond happy with ourselves as we took the turn onto Hick's Valley Road and headed out towards Wilson Hill. According to the MMC website, Wilson Hill is the killer-- it comes at about 25 miles into the ride and is very steep. So, with a great deal of trepidation, I began to climb.

And Climb. And Climb. I'd fallen behind Sandy on the flat, but I found myself catching up to her as we ascended Wilson. I looked up and noticed that she had dismounted and was walking her bike up the last 1/2 of the hill. Despite the temptation to join her, I kept going. God was it hard to keep going. It wasn't a physical pain, it was a mental pain. She was walking up that hill. She wasn't breathing like a freight train as she struggled to get up that monster. WHY was I too stupid to get off my bike and walk?

Pretty soon, I found myself at the top-- with a view of what seemed to be half of Marin County as my reward. I waited a few minutes for Sandy to catch up (and laugh at me because she'd been listening to me hooting and celebrating my "victory" for the last 1/4 of the hill). As we were regrouping, three guys came up the hill--our "victory" celebration was somewhat muted by their appearance-- they weren't even breathing hard.

Down we went, and off went Sandy-- by the end of the ride, we had come to the conclusion that together we made one complete biker-- she is faster than I am on the flats and the downhills, and I'm, in her words, a hill goddess. We wound through Petaluma--with a few rolling hills and one nice little detour--read, getting lost-- where we missed the porta-potties that were supposedly on the course. Finally, we were over 30 miles and on our way back home.

Heading home, we knew we had to face Flat Rock Hill again, and we knew we needed to go over the "killer" hill that we had handled with ease on our way out. . . what we didn't know, and soon realized, was that the "killer hill" was NOT the hill that Sandy had been anticipating. In Fact, we had to go over the REAL KILLER HILL before we got to that point.

Maybe it was because I wasn't expecting it; maybe it was because it was at mile 40+; maybe it really was that hard but that hill SUCKED. It went on forever. I caught up and passed Sandy about 1/2 way up that hill again. She started to walk, and again I had a mental battle with myself-- to walk or not to walk. I didn't and made it to the top where I stopped to wait again for my partner. She came up and was feeling pretty down because she had had to walk the two big hills. We had a bit of a tete-a-tete at this point.
Neither of us had every ridden over 30 miles before. . . Both of us have had trouble on our bikes since day one. Here we were-- almost 40 miles into this ride-- which is know to consist of "Mostly Rolling Hills and Steep Climbs" with 20 miles to go. We were going to make it. We were going to do it. There was nothing to feel bad about-- were we running or swimming, we wouldn't have even tried to increase our mileage this way-- we were going to do it.

Pep talk over-- we were off again-- some stops at the SAG stop and the porta-potty in Nicasio again (looked better than a 100,000 shopping spree at Tiffany's at this point), and we were on Flat Rock Hill again. We were up-- and we were down and it was only a quick 5 miles back to our cars.

Coming across the last stoplight, I'd pulled slightly ahead of Sandy again. . . We both waited together at the light and we were off-- crossing the last street, 400 yards from home, when BANG-- a noise like a gunshot went off causing me to actually scream and start shouting out Sandy's name. I jumped off my bike and turned around to see Sandy-- standing by her bike-- she called out that she was fine but that she'd blown a tire-- gotten a flat with 400 yards to go before we got home. I started to laugh like I've not laughed in a LONG time. It was unbelievable-- slightly over 60 miles and her tire blows NOW. Thank God. I can't imagine if we had had to change a tire while we were out there as well-- I know we could have done it-- but I think it would have been a morale killer.

We made it back to basecamp where our teammates were waiting. We must have looked a site-- me walking my bike next to Sandy carrying her bike-- both of us laughing our fool heads off.
We were done-- we had done it! 5 hours of riding time-- 60 miles and a lot of laughs. I'm so glad I did it-- and I'm so glad that I was able to ride with Sandy-- she made everything better and really gave me the motivation and confidence to finish that ride.