The "Off" Season and David Foster Wallace

After St. George, I needed a vacation from myself. And I've spend the last few weeks generally absent. I'm still not sure what it will take to re-engage at this point, but I guess writing this blog is my attempt at a start.

In my absent time, I've been paying attention to things that might possess the ability to take my mind off the disappointing - or better, devastating - start to my tri season: reading, working, not logging into Facebook, reading, listening to music, working, reading, gardening, working... and mostly, just reading. For those of you I've not told, I've been reading ONE book. And I've been reading it for about two years. The same book. Did I mention it's been TWO years? I'm a slow reader.

The book is Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. I'm reading it because, time and again, THIS website analyzed my writing and said I write like David Foster Wallace.

Infinite Jest has almost one thousand pages and more than two hundred pages of footnotes.. oops, I mean "endnotes." The endnotes have footnotes. There are sentences that go on for six pages. Some go on for ten. Many chapters have the same title. Reading the physical book requires more than one bookmark. It barely fits in my carry-on luggage (in fact, ironically, it renders my carry-on luggage too heavy to carry on). For a while, I carried it around just to be able to say I was weight training.

Then I got the electronic version of the book. And I was able to finish almost 40 percent of it before the first year-and-a-half passed. Mostly because I didn't get lost or confused or tired from flipping back and forth.

I'm now on page 811. I have less than 200 pages to go and only two pages of footnotes - oops, I mean endnotes - left. And I fear that I'm beginning to know why David Foster Wallace "erased his own map" (so to speak). He was depressed. I can tell because he describes one of his character's depression better than any self-help book I've ever read (and I've read a lot of them). In Infinite Jest - ironically, a novel - D.F.W. nails the unexplainable better than non-fiction writers who try specifically to explain it. He clarifies the thing I find myself describing as: "something I can't explain, that you cannot possibly hope to understand unless you've been there."

Although that's not what the book is about.

Despite the fact that I'm enjoying Infinite Jest, part of my brain is worrying that this book has become a surrogate for all those things I've failed to finish. Like Ironman St. George. Is finishing this book the monumental task that I can use to prove to myself that I'm still tough? Still capable of suffering? (Did I mention it's already taken me two years?) The other part of my brain just wants a release from the suffering and beating myself up.

In the end, the one thing I'm sure of is that Infinite Jest is a book of irony. Not only within, the irony extends beyond its pages and spills out into my own realm. In fact, (spoiler alert) the book's title refers to a fictional film that renders the viewer catatonic with pleasure... which is, hilariously - and coincidentally, ironically - the exact reason why I've been reading it these past few weeks. To escape from myself. Infinite jest, indeed - because now the book, ironically, has brought me full circle - right back to what it feels like to be depressed.

Well played, D.F.W., well played.

Dominated by Disaster: Ironman St. George

On Saturday, I started and failed to finish Ironman St. George. It wasn't because of the weather. Although the weather was bad. And it may be a while before I can laugh about the whole experience but hopefully someday I can. On the way home, my husband Jim and I did find some humor (but little solace) in the amount of bad luck that befell me before and during this race. He summed it up as follows: "at least you got it all out of the way in one race."

If I were one who believed in omens, I never would have shown up at Sand Hollow Reservoir on race morning. I may not even have set foot in St. George. But I couldn't give up my dream of going back to Kona in 2012. That's what Ironman St. George was about.

It all started three weeks prior to race day, I found myself in my doctor's office with the worst sinus infection of my life (seriously, and I've had a LOT of them). Despite antibiotics and rest, it made its way to my lungs before it (seemingly) exited my system via two weeks of coughing. That was a Friday, eight days before race day. I felt slightly weaker, and I was several pounds lighter, but I was determined to stand on that starting line with no reservations.

Monday morning - three days later, and five days before race day - my cough came back with a vengeance. After a desperate (read: begging) phone call, my doctor prescribed another antibiotic, but I still ended up in bed with a fever of 101 degrees. Tuesday, after another desperate (read: frantic) phone call, my antibiotic was switched, but at that point, I could already see the curtain rising on the final act. I had to decide whether to board my plane to Las Vegas on Wednesday. Jim - who was now coming down with similar symptoms of illness - convinced me that we should go and make the final call on Saturday morning (reminding me that Chrissie Wellington waited until the last possible moment to drop out of the Ironman World Championship due to illness in 2010). His argument: "If you wake up Saturday morning and feel good, you will wish you were there."

Fair point.

Jim and I spent most of our free time in St. George in bed in our hotel room. The antibiotic wreaked havoc with my GI system, and Jim was feverish to say the least. But we both approached race morning with high hopes and a willingness to give it a go. If there was anything I was sure of, it's that in Ironman, anything can happen, and I wanted to at least say I tried.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other intentions. And not just for me.

I suspect many blogs will describe in great detail the horrific weather conditions that all St. George athletes had to endure on May 5 - mine won't be one of them. During the swim I had a vivid flashback to Utah Lake in 2002 at the inaugural Ironman Utah in Provo - my first Ironman and the race responsible for acquiring me the nickname "Disaster Magnet" (thanks to Mickey Rzymek). But this time, the waves were larger. I got through the swim by reminding myself that my former life was that of a fish (true story).

The wind that whipped up the surf was also a nightmare on the bike leg - for the first 45 miles, we had to fight 30-40 mph headwinds and crosswinds that were responsible for blowing the eventual winner, Ben Hoffman, off the road. I was fully determined to fight through the wind and the continuous bouts of coughing... right up until my right shifter cable broke between 70 and 80 miles and landed me in permanent high gear on the notoriously hilly course. Thanks to race support, a bike mechanic eventually made it to me and replaced my cable. He did it miraculously fast while telling me a story of how he was fixing my bike with the same wrench that his dad used to pull one of his baby teeth in 1959 (I am NOT making this up). The mishap cost me 30 minutes and the age-group lead.

My shredded enthusiasm for this race was now hanging by a thread, but I felt obligated to finish after that mechanic came all the way out to help me. And I wasn't going to let that Kona slot slip out of my hands so easily.

I started the run with sincere hope that it would get better. But in the first mile, I realized the effect of compromised lungs at an elevated heart rate as I had to keep stopping to cough and catch my breath. By mile 3, antibiotic-induced GI distress hit, and I found myself in a porta-john wondering if all my fluid intake had gone directly to my intestines. But I kept running (because if there was one thing I worked hard at this year, it was my running speed!) - and despite ALL of this, Jim informed me that I had actually begun making up time on the age-group leaders. Was it possible that I could overcome the odds and put together a last-gasp bid for a Kona slot?

By mile 16, I had my answer. It was: "keep dreaming, kid." My pace had slowed to a crawl, and I was sick of porta-johns and tired of having my body ravaged with coughing and not getting enough oxygen while trying to run. I've overcome adversity to finish Ironman races before. This was no longer about finishing. It was about minimizing the damage. I had to ask myself and honestly answer the following questions:

• [Seriously,] what would be the point of continuing?
• [And more importantly,] will the regret of not finishing be worse than the physical fallout of nine more miles in a compromised state?

The questions came while heading out for the third and final loop of the run. I saw Jim. I told him I really just wanted to call it a day. I sat down. He heard me try to breath and cough. There wasn't much discussion - physically, I spiraled downward and my race ended right there. An ambulance took me to the finish.

It didn't come without regret. It didn't come without feelings of wasted training time and money. And failure. And embarrassment. And sadness. And envy at seeing others' with their medals and finisher goodies. But perhaps the hardest thing of all - the thing that I've never, EVER, been very good at, is accepting that the decision I made was the right one. Without hating myself.

And now, hating myself, I have to rethink the rest of the year. Because Ironman St. George was never just about the finish.

Things are Proceeding... As Usual

I've been seriously neglecting this blog lately - mostly because I don't want to sound like a broken record every time I race.

It's the last week of my taper for Ironman St. George.

Two weeks ago, I went through the panic. I'm not ready. I didn't train enough. I didn't train HARD enough. I don't know if I did the right things in my training. I didn't do enough nutrition training. I didn't train for the hot weather. I didn't train for the cold water. I didn't eat well during training. I didn't get enough sleep...

That's what happens during a pre-race panic attack. Every. Single. Time. And, as usual, it happened after a few bad workouts during my last build period.

The sad truth is that I've trained harder this year than last year. I did strength training. I was more consistent than ever in the pool, and my workouts were both harder and longer. And yet, in the last three weeks, my intervals are slower than ever. I rode more long rides and harder short rides this winter than last. But the last time I did a long ride, my power and speed hit a training low. And the one thing I pride myself on, my running speed, which I painstakingly fostered weekly on the treadmill during this whole buildup, is anything but fast and my legs now feel like jello.

And to top it all off, last week I got slammed with an upper respiratory infection that knocked me for a loop.

So, yes, I panicked.

And now I am trying to stay calm. Because there's nothing I can do. I can't cram in anymore training. The weather forecast for next Saturday in St. George is close to 100 degrees F. And my bike is already on it's way to Utah. I have to trust that I've done all I can, that I will make good decisions nutritionally and pace-wise on race day, and the weather is something I can't control. And let the chips fall where they may.

Yes, More Data

I'm back to my old tricks - gathering shreds of comparison data for confidence-building before Ironman St. George. A month ago, I posted a blog comparing last year's CompuTrainer data to this year's data for the Ironman St. George real course video. I rode the simulated course several times last year to prepare for race day, and each time, I saw improvement. This year, I've done the same thing, but now that I've actually ridden the "real" course and know what to expect and what I'm capable of, I've been comparing this year's data to last year's data to get an even better idea of my preparedness.

Besides a slight increase in power over the course this year, what I've found after a few data comparisons is that I'm comfortably riding at a higher heart rate. I have yet to determine if this is a good thing or a bad thing. It's mostly just a confusing thing. Because I don't FEEL like I'm riding with an elevated heart rate. Yet, on the average, it's several beats-per-minute higher than my course rides last year. Is it possible for a person's max heart rate to increase (instead of decrease) with age?

What I DO know is that in my best races, I've gone on "feel" (perceived effort) and not on measurement. So unless I learn something new in the next few weeks, I'll be going with the only thing I know - my own perception.

On with the data. The following charts are comparisons of my power, speed, heart rate, and cadence on the CompuTrainer IM St. George course. The red line is from March 31, the blue line is from March 3, and the gray dotted line is from April 3, 2011 (last year's last course ride). And the bottom plot is not my implosion, it's the IMSG course profile:

Ideally, I wanted the red line (the most recent ride) to have the highest average power and speed and lowest heart rate and cadence. Although it's not overly obvious on the plots, I succeeded on three out of four of those counts - when I checked the averages, my power and speed were about 4% higher.

I was somewhat surprised to see my cadence had an obvious drop on the most recent ride. I say "somewhat" because I've been working at this but I don't usually see such blatant effect in such a short time. The reason I was working at it is because I've learned my heart rate is more affected by cadence than any other variable. I've noticed on the trainer that I naturally gravitate toward a very high cadence - somewhere in the high 90s to just over 100 (I guess that means, in technical terms, I'm a spinner not a masher?). But this year I've been working to reduce it - to push a higher gear at a slightly lower cadence, say between 90-95 rpm. In combing the internet for information I saw the following quote and couldn't help but laugh: When asked if it was better technique to mash a big gear or spin a small gear, Eddy Merckx thought for a moment and said "Its better to spin a big gear." I guess THAT, in a nutshell, is my ultimate goal. (Isn't it everybody's?)

In the end, the only thing left to do is give credit where credit is due. My power increase has been, once again, the direct result of working my butt off on the CompuTrainer in a 12-week program devised by a fellow athlete named Mark Gorris. Mark created what's known in local circles as the "CompuTrainer Challenge." Starting in January, he generously and tirelessly sends out weekly workouts to a local email list. I noticed last year that the Challenge appeared to be a competition for bragging rights as the list engaged in some amusing smack talk. But as the newbie and not-so-secure-in-my-abilities cyclist, I sat on the sidelines and just did the work. And, well, the simple fact is this: if you do the workouts, you get stronger and faster. It worked last year before St. George, and I'm hoping the above charts indicate that it worked again this year.

What I do with this is information is now the most important thing. Along with the long distance stuff and the biking strength, this year I've also been working at my running speed, my swimming strength, and my nutrition strategy. And, as a self-coached triathlete, I've been reading a LOT about Ironman racing and race-day strategy. It's boils down to another very simple fact: if you race stupid on race day, all the work you put in beforehand is completely worthless.

I have four weeks left to ram home the this fact. Because, as the Disaster Magnet, I have always been aware that, along with natural disasters, nothing can derail my race quicker than stupid [mental] mistakes made on race day.

A Vacation From/For Work/Training

The view from our vacation

This month, I was "forced" to use a few days of work vacation carried over from last year. It's weird to actually get vacation time, and I wasn't aware I even HAD it until late December. At that point, it was too late to use it. Besides, I was ridiculously busy at work during the December holidays (isn't everyone?). Using vacation time has not always been easy for me, and because I only received three days per year for the past five years, the time I DID take off was either to race or get out of town for a couple days. Faced with three days of use-or-lose time, I had NO idea what to do with it - indecision was compounded by the fact I was in the last two months of Ironman training.

My husband Jim and I tossed around many ideas - London, San Francisco, Cape Cod, Arizona. We finally decided that where we went had to meet the following criteria: (1) somewhere warm, (2) close enough to drive to bring my bike, and (3) there had to be a place to swim. Despite my pleading to Jim that Cape Cod in March would be AMAZING (not based on my own experience but on my reading of Henry Beston's The Outermost House), we opted for a place we could both enjoy for the first time: the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Cape Cod or Outer Banks?

The Outer Banks would afford me my "Cape Cod fix" - they're both strips of land with the Atlantic Ocean on one side and a bay on the other, mostly covered with sand and dunes. It would afford my aeronautical engineer husband a visit to the birthplace of aviation - Kill Devil Hills - where the Wright Brothers changed the world. Jim could fly his stunt kites (after all, the WIND is THE reason the Wright Brothers chose the area), and I could bike, run AND swim. This time, we also chose to "take a [real] vacation" by traveling during one of my recovery weeks - eliminating my need to be up by 5:00 am every day or feel guilty about spending the whole time trying to fit my workouts in.

Soon to be shark bait

Thus, it seems, when I don't worry about my workouts, I actually enjoy them. Or maybe it was just the change of scenery. When we woke up on Friday, the first athletic thing I HAD to do (and an obligation as a fish in a former life) was swim in the Atlantic Ocean. After almost freaking myself out by Googling "Outer Banks" and "sharks," (don't do it), my love of the Atlantic still won out - and besides, I felt the need to test my ability to persevere on May 5 in the frigid waters of Sand Hollow Reservoir in St. George. I donned my wetsuit - AND neoprene cap AND neoprene socks - and jumped in the extremely cold water. This resulted in instant disaster: two failed attempts to keep my face in the icy water for more than a minute, and I gave up. It was painfully cold - achy cold. Jim took out his phone and looked up the water temperature online - I assumed he would tell me it was in the 40s.

And that was the day I learned my temperature sensors were in desperate need of recalibration. Just up the coast, at Kitty Hawk, the ocean was 56 degrees F. Realizing it was time to "face" the facts, I reluctantly turned around and forced myself back in the water. About five minutes of swimming in that water gave me some new information - the aching pain in my face DID, indeed, go away. It was replaced by numbness.

The most bothersome effect of the cold, though, was losing control over my fingers. Numbness in my hands resulted in the inability to keep them in a paddle shape after 30 minutes. I decided to call it a day. Based on this swim, I predict that I COULD survive in St. George if the water were 56 degrees on race day (a very real possibility). However, just in case, I have resorted to prayer - for a six-week heatwave to hit southern Utah.

My second athletic endeavor was to run on the beach - one of my all-time favorite things to do. The only thing I did wrong was forget to bring sunscreen. And not wear my hat. My forehead and shoulders were therefore burnt to a crisp, which was advantageous in the greater scheme of things because they now matched the colors on my neck from my wetsuit chafing (yeah, that's from also forgetting to bring Body Glide).

No explanation necessary

By Saturday, the only athletic thing left to do was ride my bike, and since it was my "easy" week, I had only planned a three-hour workout. I got up early to avoid greatly impacting our vacation, and by the time I finished, I figured it would be just about time for breakfast. Before I left, I looked at the forecast to note the wind was from the south - and since there are only two direction options in the Outer Banks - either north or south, I (obviously) chose "into the wind." It would give me an opportunity to see Cape Hatteras National Seashore in the early morning light and hopefully get a glimpse - and photo - of one of its famous lighthouses along the way. Our tourist guide noted that the ride is "good for riders of all abilities" because there was only one hill, and it was man-made - the bridge.

Bodie Island lighthouse

It seemed like a match made in heaven: me, my bike, and two of my favorite things - bridges and lighthouses. I set out that morning with the excitement of a kid on an adventure. Seriously, after many months of tedious ironman training, it surprised me that I was still able to get "up" for a ride. It must mean that deep down I enjoy it, right?

My first observation was this: you know you're in trouble when the plants and grasses along your route are so badly windswept that they have been permanently bent in the direction opposite to the one in which you're riding. With only one quarter of the ride finished, my nerves were almost completely fried from non-stop fighting with the wind. The ridiculously flat road was beckoning for speed - it was taunting me! But the wind had other plans. Reaching a decent speed on the bike (I managed to hit 21 mph, big whoop) meant I had to force myself to remain the aero position. Don't get me wrong, this was excellent aero training for Ironman. But not so good for sightseeing - and yes, I DO enjoy looking at sand dunes.

You should also realize that the wind will be a factor in a place where all the telephone poles have to be anchored with guy-wires. And yet, when I think back to it, the most annoying thing of all was that the wind, at 8-10 mph, wasn't even blowing that hard! I stopped a couple times to take photos, but for the most part, the first half of my ride was basically 30 miles into the wind averaging a dismal pace of less than 19 mph. I KNEW the ride back would have to be somewhat faster - ok, I HOPED it would be faster because I didn't want to spend the rest of my (our) day sulking in my slowness.

The one hill on route 12

I decided to turn around when I reached 30 miles, just before reaching the town of Rodanthe, about an hour and forty minutes after I started.

That's when everything changed. The next one hour and twenty minutes of my life served to eradicate the memories of all those agonizing battles with the wind when it changed direction with me on the Erie lakefront. I was no longer in the midwest and I was finally able to truly experience the exhilaration that is a direct tailwind. In just a few seconds after turning my bike around, I hit 25 mph. I rode that wind all the way back, comfortably in the aero position, averaging 22-23 mph with a max speed on the flat road of 28.5 mph. It was with very little effort at all. 

On my return, I mused about this ride - it was absolutely devoid of potholes and angry drivers. The biggest hazards for bikers (and drivers) along the Outer Banks is blatantly listed on road signs: "Caution Sand on Road," "Caution High Crosswinds [on the bridge]," and "Caution Coastal Flooding." What I wouldn't give to see two of those signs on a regular basis. You can guess which one I would happily do without.

The rest of our vacation was spent watching the Ohio State Buckeyes make it to the NCAA Basketball Final Four and enjoying local food and brews. All-in-all, it was not only a respite from work and working out hard, but it also renewed my faith that I still love my chosen sport(s). Now all I need to do is remind myself of that - on race day.

The Wright Brothers proved anything is possible.

The Dreaded Plateau

The Colorado plateau, near the edge of southern Utah.

When I was a kid, I loved the word "plateau." It was something huge, expansive, and awesome. It was something I dreamed of seeing someday - the great plateaus "out west." In fifth grade, I even chose to write a report about the state of Wyoming because it had cool things like buttes and plateaus (note: I still have never been there).

Then, at the age of 14, I became a competitive swimmer, and the word plateau took on a whole new meaning. My happy association of the word plateau with an awe-inspiring rock formation was lost forever. The plateau became the point at which I couldn't go any faster in the water, and I entered the seemingly-never-ending struggle to break through whatever was holding me back from reaching my goal times. The plateau was maddening. The harder I worked to get past it, the more frustrated I became. And then, like clockwork every year, our coach would taper us - and I wouldn't just break through the plateau, I would crush it by several seconds (in a 100-yard race, that was a monumental feat). And it was always perfectly planned so that it happened in the most important meet of the year.

Indeed, in spite of the many plateaus I have faced as an athlete, I had almost forgotten the true meaning of that word until yesterday. I was talking to my good friend and fellow athlete, Ron, about training for Ironman St. George. He mentioned that he was making progress at running, but he was having trouble getting any faster on the bike.

I couldn't help but smile to myself and think: "welcome to the plateau."

After years of celebrating only the finishing of endurance events (his endeavors hilariously-documented on his blog), Ron has recently discovered that he enjoys getting faster. Last year he clocked several PRs and has been thirsty for more in 2012. And now that he's been getting faster almost on a daily basis, it was inevitable that he must deal with the dreaded plateau.

Thus, I'm writing this blog in solidarity. To tell my friend that the plateau is not necessarily a bad thing. That there will eventually be a breakthrough. That even when the training appears to be "not making [him] any faster," there are gains being made. It will all become clear. Because that's really what the taper is all about. Muscles will adapt, and this particular plateau will become a memory left behind in the dust. New ones may rise in its place, but hopefully not.

And there are more than just athletic plateaus. There are things like weight-loss plateaus as well. My husband Jim is coincidentally experiencing one of his own. He has recently added strength training to his regular aerobic workouts, and his weight loss seems to have hit a plateau (much to his discouragement). All I have is those same words of wisdom: hang in there, the body just needs to (and will) adjust.

I'm sure there are all sorts of physiological explanations to clarify what a plateau really is. But I'm not a physiologist. I'm just a person who has worked hard and seen them fall, again and again. And believe me when I say that those moments are the sweetest of all. Because it seems like you didn't have to do anything. It seems like it just happens. And that makes all the hard work worth it.

In closing, I'd like to point out that St. George is, geographically, also surrounded by plateaus. And it's about time for a breakthrough.

The Road to St. George 2012 is Paved with Data

Time to put on my goggles and look at data.

It's that time again - time to go all "mad scientist."

Choosing to do an early-season Ironman when you live in the northern U.S. is a huge commitment. It means many weekends of indoor long rides and runs. Mostly alone. It means if you run outside, you spend most of your time running in the dark. Alone. It means frozen hair after every swim. It means very few opportunities to race before the Ironman (unless you have the budget). And it means difficulty in simulating race conditions during training. But if you tough it out, you stand at that starting line knowing that you have developed not only physical strength, but a new degree of mental strength because of the harsh training conditions.

Because I spent January through April training for Ironman St. George last year, I already knew I had the physical and mental fortitude to tough it out. What I didn't know was whether I WANTED to do it all again. But I made the commitment before thinking it through because Utah was good to (and for) me. Now there's no turning back and nine weeks separate me and my early-season Ironman.

The difference this year is that I know what to expect from the terrain and the weather in St. George. This can be a blessing or a curse. I know how to race St. George, but now I have expectations for my performance. And despite a decent performance, things did go wrong last year - there's that problematic nutrition thing hovering over my head like a storm cloud.

To give myself the best chance for a good race in St. George, I need to keep my anxieties in check. There are two things that will help me do that: I must define realistic goals and expectations about my race and I must formulate an intelligent race plan. Yesterday, I started digging for my realistic set of expectations.

Expectations should be simple and based in fact: I should know what I'm capable of from experience and by testing my limits in training. Despite this, emotion almost always gets in my way - and it goes BOTH ways: my expectations can become hopes (of good performance), or my expectations can become self-fulfilling prophecies (of poor performance). So I must go back to the egg, to the only way I know to remove the emotion from my racing - data! I needed something concrete - a one-to-one comparison. And I knew exactly how to get it.

On March 4, 2011, nine weeks before Ironman St. George 2011, I rode a loop of the Ironman St. George RacerMate Real Course Video. Saturday was March 3 - exactly nine weeks before Ironman St. George 2012. If I were to ride the Ironman St. George Real Course Video this past weekend, I would HAVE my one-to-one comparison. Same weekend, same course, in training for the same race - this would surely be excellent data to compare and draw conclusions from.

So that's what I did. On Saturday, without looking at last year's performance, I got on the CompuTrainer, warmed up, and pulled up the St. George course. To be totally fair, there were some differences:

• I rode earlier in the day than I did last year (yep, the stats file was date- and time-stamped).
• I was not using the same nutrition regimen as last year - I have switched to Gu Roctane drink, and I am still in the process of determining my electrolyte needs with this new fuel.
• And finally, I was watching different movies. This year, as TV scheduling would have it, I was treated to Goodfellas, and I can't say this didn't affect my ride intensity - although I don't know what I watched last year or even if it was a gangster movie (which, I argue, trumps all film genres for long trainer sessions).

Sunday morning, I plotted points - this year's ride vs. last year's. After Excel threatened to make the data analysis harder than the ride itself, I called in my husband Jim, the Excel-whisperer, to finish up, and here is the result - a set of comparison graphs of speed, power, heart rate, and cadence. The first plot (top) is the St. George bike course profile (the start plus one loop).

I was looking for notable differences. In the case of power and speed, I wanted the blue line (this year's ride) to be higher than the red line (last year's ride). And for heart rate and cadence, I wanted the opposite to be true. Although it wasn't overly notable, I was relatively successful in three of the statistics and horribly unsuccessful in one: heart rate.

The heart rate stat was confusing for more than one reason. While I was riding, my perceived exertion was relatively low but I noticed (and wondered why) my heart rate seemed high. I don't know if sustaining a higher heart rate (even with a lower perceived exertion) is something to worry about. I'm happy I could ride with my heart rate so high for so long and not be seriously affected by it, but I find myself wondering if it's a sign of overtraining - or something worse. What's more confusing is that usually my heart rate and cadence go hand in hand (pedal faster - heart rate goes up). This is the exact opposite of what happened in the two rides. I've also read that dehydration can raise your heart rate, so that's also an avenue to explore. I need to figure out what's going on with my heart rate before race day.

Another confusing stat was the lower average power output and higher speed over the last ten or so downhill miles of the course. Both Jim and I got hung up on that one. If you think about it, in the real world, coasting downhill is speed without power, right? But on the trainer, there must be power to make the wheel move at all and more power = more speed, right. I feel like an idiot here, but it's baffling me. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense - higher speed at same power (= higher gear?) = good, right? Ok, now that I wrote it down.. the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. If anyone has a clue, help me out. I was calibrating the CT every half-hour - so, unless it's broken (eek), that wasn't the problem.

The other thing I learned on this ride was more about my nutrition requirements (and, something that might back-up the theory of elevated heart rate due to dehydration). After the one IMSG loop was finished, I kept riding because I had a longer ride planned. I did no additional electrolyte supplementation because I needed a starting point for the Roctane. Near the end of the ride, I got really nauseous. I took two Thermolytes - it took a few minutes to recover, but I did recover, and then I felt much better. In my upcoming long rides, I will further refine these needs, and, perhaps, warm up the temperature in the room because, on race day in southern Utah, it could be 90 degrees or worse - and the heat seems to be where everything falls apart nutritionally for me.

Now.. about that swimming and running data...

Trying to Reason with Yesterday's Season

My 2011 season, in metallic form.

The post title was taken from my favorite Jimmy Buffett song (don't judge me, punk rockers): "Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season." But unlike the singer, I can't just stumble next door to the bar for a bloody mary and make the memory of my 2011 season go away. (Well, at least not long-term.)

But seriously, this morning, my race watch was staring at me. It hasn't been on my wrist since October, and it occurred to me that I still haven't looked at my splits from the marathon portion of last year's Ironman Kona. This is in total opposition to my obsessive-compulsive nature. I record my splits after ALL races - even the bad ones. In the case of the bad ones, I eventually review them with a clearer (read: less emotional) mind. And I usually do it right after the race in case I accidentally clear the watch - or worse, in case the watch battery dies.

But after Kona, I stopped wearing that particular watch. I couldn't even look at it - or those splits. Looking at the splits meant I had to relive the unraveling of my Kona marathon, and even now, it's still too much to bear. And so, like a broken record, I ask myself the question once more - why am I dwelling on the ONE race that went (horribly) wrong after so many went right?

Maybe it's BECAUSE so many went right - my expectations had finally risen. Maybe it's because I (mistakenly) viewed Kona as the most important race of the year, disregarding all other performances as "just warm-ups." You'd think I'd be used to it by now, being the Disaster Magnet an' all. But for me, disaster fallout, like speaking in front of a group when you have stage fright, never gets easier. Today, when I look in the mirror, I see someone who is always one step away from the the brass ring. I also see someone who is tired, and confused, and feeling her age - and trying really hard not to "be too hard on myself" and not to give up.

And if I eventually succeed with having that great race at the end of the year, will that be enough?

I suppose not, but it's not entirely out of the question. I HAVE reached goals in the past that allowed me to put things to rest. After running a sub-2:50 marathon, I realized I couldn't run much faster with my genetics and training time. Trying harder would have been a losing battle. I let it go to avoid more scars, more injuries, and more reasons to hate myself. I accomplished my running goal - I ran in the Olympic marathon trials. I was never delusional enough to think I could finish any better than almost last. I managed one more marathoning feat after that - I proved to myself that the sub-2:50 wasn't a fluke. Then I hung up my marathoning shoes (so to speak.. I still run marathons, but not with the zeal I had in the late 1990s).

I wish my trip back to Kona in 2011 was good enough. But I can't help but view it as another missed opportunity. I expected more out of myself, especially after a great year of learning how to race and how to approach racing. When I try to look back at a season of successes, I lapse into just reliving the mistakes and embarrassment of Kona. For crying out loud, I've become the embodiment of the the oft-spoken-in-jest expression: "you're only as good as your last race."

Then there's that growing-up-background-mental-programming thing. I was raised in a family of overachievers. The more my brothers and I accomplished as athletes and students, the happier my parents were. And when "winning" was down, the atmosphere hung heavy over my house. Whether it was us kids or our parents that took losses the hardest, it never really mattered in the long run. Winning was good. Not winning was bad. It was the same for grades. A's were good. B's (and lower) - bad.

I grew up thinking if I wasn't the best, I was a failure. No one remembers who came in second, right? Seriously, it's like a joke - like that line from Talledega Nights (yes, I AM going to quote Ricky Bobby): "If you're not first, you're last." I LIVED that. Every time I didn't win, it gave me one more reason to hate myself. And I assumed everyone else hated me too. I spent most of my formative years apologizing to my family, friends, and coaches for being a disappointment. Sometimes it seems like the only thing I know how to do.

But what really matters at this moment is if and how I can let go of last season so it doesn't continue to haunt me. I need to look it in the face and tell it to go away once and for all.

And along came a glimmer in the distance that might just be the shovel I need to bury 2011 once and for all. USA Triathlon announced their age group athletes of the year, and I somehow managed to garner an honorable mention in the master's category. I keep thinking it must be a fluke. Did they see how poorly I performed at Kona? Or at the USAT National Championship? Someone must have missed something in the details. Isn't it like the Oscars? Doesn't the end of the season matter more?

Maybe things are a little different in the real world - you know, the one outside my head.

And it may just be time to go write those splits down.

The Nemesis becomes the Savior

Cleveland roads in February

If you've been reading my blog, you know I've spent more time than most contemplating pre-race anxiety, mid-race splits, and post-race fallout inside the blue translucent walls of a porta-john. But on Saturday, during my longest bike ride since Kona, I found an unexpected advantage of what's inside those plastic walls - and it's likely I never would have finished my ride without it. And oddly enough, it had nothing to do with internal distress of any sort.. well, unless you count panic as internal distress.

I scheduled my first outdoor long ride of the year for last Saturday because it was the best weather day of the weekend. By "best," I mean the forecast high was 40 degrees with only a 20% chance of precipitation (in the form of snow). I had an underlying goal to get my first 100-miler in before the end of February. And after several mind-numbing 4- to 5-hour rides on the CompuTrainer, I knew the only way it would happen was if I could get outside. If the temperature hit at least 40, I would grit my teeth and bear it.

There was one major fault in my logic: I didn't consider the wind.

You may ask: how does a person in Cleveland (in winter) NOT consider the wind? I don't know. Seriously. Call it a momentary lapse or just general scatterbrainedness, but I completely disregarded the wind as a factor in my decision to ride on Saturday. I dressed for sub-30 degrees with windstopper mittens and jacket, and I started out with the wind and uphill - it all served to give me a false sense of security. I was already soaked with sweat by the time I headed north/west and into the wind - and I would learn the true meaning of mind over matter while fighting the wind, wet, and cold for the next three hours.

Being a stubborn masochist, I was determined to see this thing through (the usual recipe for disaster). The other option was to turn around early and finish on the trainer. I don't know about you, but getting a taste of outdoor riding then having to go back inside for many hours was even more horrifying to me than suffering in the cold.

So I gutted it out for three hours into the wind - disappointingly slow - while the feeling in my hands and feet came and went with intermittent sun and snow. I continued only with the knowledge of how wonderful it would feel the when I finally turned around to have wind at my back. All the while, I paid close attention to flags just in case the wind direction threatened to change (don't laugh, it HAS happened on more than one occasion).

First major Gu shipment

The only other thing I wanted to focus on was my nutrition. This ride was my first test of Gu's new Roctane Ultra Endurance drink. It wasn't the best day to practice race nutrition, but I did learn some things. Roctane it is the most palatable thing I've ever had on a long ride. The flavor is not too sweet or too strong for the amount of calories you get. And it gets into your system very quickly, saving me on this ride more than once. Suffering and struggling to keep my bike upright in strong wind and cold, the last thing I wanted to do was take my hand off the bars to grab a water bottle. I consumed very little in those first three hours, but thought about it only when I felt lightheaded and fatigued. Roctane brought me back from near oblivion in just a few minutes. It probably also helped that the lemon-lime flavor has caffeine in it. Whatever it was, it worked! I'm looking forward to using it properly on a ride - instead of the "drink-half-the-bottle-once-an-hour-so-you-don't-have-to-risk-losing-control-of-your-bike" method. The one thing I can't comment about yet is whether Roctane tastes as good warm because, for the first time EVER, I still had ice in my bottles when I finished the ride (no, I am NOT making this up).

At long last, after suffering for many miles along the lakeshore while marveling over the whitecaps (waves in Lake Erie?), I was finally heading back and riding with the wind. My expectation to "be going twice as fast once I turn around" was soon dashed to pieces upon realizing my legs and body were toast from the first three-hour ordeal. It was going to be a long day indeed - but the sun came out and I had some moments of warmth.

That is, right up until I got a flat tire. Only ten miles of cruising with the wind at my back and I was sidelined with a flat - just as the sun vanished behind a layer of dark clouds. I was at about the farthest point from home on a miserable cold windy day. There was only one redeeming thing - it happened at Huntington Beach. There might be shelter there. It didn't change the fact that I still had to take my gloves off... or that my hands were already numb. It didn't change the fact that I still had more than 2.5 hours of riding to do AFTER I stopped to change my tire. I walked my bike to the park hoping I could find shelter from the wind next to a building or something - or in the restroom. But the restrooms were boarded up. I called my husband Jim.

Jim's take on this? "By the time I get to you, you'll already be a popsicle [his exact words]. You better at least attempt to change it.... but call me when you're done so I know you're on your way."

I looked up. There was one possibility for shelter from the wind.. in... you guessed it, a porta-john. No, this wasn't just any porta-john. It was one of those huge blue handicapped ones - big enough to have a party in. It was even big enough to... change a tire in. I opened the door and wheeled in my bike. Sure enough, it fit - with room to spare.

Those plastic walls didn't change the fact it was cold outside. They didn't change the fact that I blew out my back tire. And they didn't change the fact that my fingers were numb. But they did keep me out of the wind, and I was able to get the tire changed in about 10-15 minutes. I might even say the cold was a blessing in this case - my nasal passages were so plugged that I was oblivious to any unpleasant odors. My only regret is that I didn't at least take a picture of the whole scene. I just couldn't risk my compromised fingers dropping my iPhone in porta-john nether regions.

I had only 10 miles of hills to go at this point - I still
didn't make it before dark.

But then came the hard part. Shivering and stiff-legged, I still had to get home before going hypothermic. And there was one more thing I hadn't accounted for: the dark. I had begun my ride at midday - and after extremely slow going and now this, getting home before nightfall was no longer a given.

Once I was back on my bike, I rode extra hard to warm up. I even managed to get the feeling back in my fingers for a bit. But, alas, I couldn't outrun the dark. With about 13 miles left, I called Jim to tell him where I was - and ask him to come find me if it got too dark before I made it home. As usual, it did. I don't remember the sun ever going down that fast. But it was winter. In the northern hemisphere. This is what happens. And I was wearing sunglasses.

I took a slight shortcut home to avoid the dark backroads, and when I finally took the turn onto my my street, I stopped one final time to call Jim and let him know I was almost home. He had already left to find me but turned around and managed to get home just as I pulled in the driveway.

I looked down at my odometer. Devastatingly, it read 99 miles. But I was done. Once I saw the garage door opening, neither my body nor my mind could take another spin around the block. I only hope that what I gained in mental toughness (stupidity?) was worth the extra mile.

The Un-balance

Cleveland winters usually keep me training inside
(this was my front yard yesterday)

I've been struggling for weeks to write this blog - mainly because of a lackadaisical attitude towards training for many weeks. I've started my training for Ironman St. George, but I haven't been at all excited about it. Being stuck on the bike trainer for many months was easier - and much more fun - last year than this year, and even though I'm not skipping or skimping on workouts, I just haven't been really enthusiastic during most of them and I've been wracking my brain to figure out why. Here's what I came up with.

January was my month to be wholly unmotivated. I now believe that the reason for this was, simply, my job. I love my new job, and the time I've been putting into it (mentally) has taken me away (mentally) from my other great passion, training.

It's ironic that the reason for my return to racing in 2008 after a four-year hiatus, was also, simply, my job. That job (at the Zoo) had become a source of disappointment when I learned that hard work and dedication was irrelevant to my opportunities for advancement. I was "stuck." Eventually, I came to terms with it - because, fundamentally, I loved the work (and it's true, if you love what you do, it's not really work at all). But as always, I needed an outlet for the energetic and goal-oriented side of my personality and I already knew that racing could satisfy that urge. Recommitting myself to Ironman finally paid off three years later,  when I was able to make good on my nine-year-old promise from 2002 to one day return to Kona.

For the last three years, dedicating myself to training was easy because, like clockwork, something coincidentally disappointing at work would happen in January or February and reignite the passion to be a better athlete. But this year was different. This year there was no need to recommit because of work woes. This year I find myself in a very rewarding position at The Cleveland Museum of Art. I am surrounded by like-minded, energetic, and hard-working cohorts. Some of them are also athletes. And instead of fueling my passion for training and racing, my coworkers and supervisors have fueled my passion for my work. I am once again fully engaged in my job and spending more time at it than necessary - not because I "have" to, but because I "want" to.

And because I'm one of those people who can't do anything half-assed, this has once again become a curse as I desperately try to create balance among all the things I want and have to do. I just can't DO everything with maximum engagement. Upsetting the balance this year has actually created a new level of anxiety and stress that I'm currently having trouble coming to grips with.

Since the beginning of February, I've worked to put motivation back into my training but new stresses are revealing themselves. Now that the motivation is back, the gains do not seem to be coming. Or maybe it's too early to tell. I have always worried about a point at which my age becomes a major factor in the "hard work pays off" ethic, and I'm worried I may be reaching that point. In the past three weeks, I'm not seeing gains in power on the trainer despite working myself to exhaustion. The same is happening in the pool. The only place where my training seems to be paying off is on the treadmill where I've seen gains in speed over time by doing intervals. Based on the other two sports, I reason that my running had become very slow to begin with so it's no big deal that I got faster.

The question I keep asking myself is: how much longer can I keep it up if I don't see more positive results? In contrast to my worried assessment, my husband Jim (usually the voice of reason) keeps telling me I said the same thing last year. All I can say now is, I hope he's right.