30 posts tagged “faster pussycat”

Having optimistically signed up for the half marathon, I've been in physical therapy and today, I got taped.

The tape lasted all of about 4 hours in keeping my kneecap in place. My kneecap, which is apparently as stubborn as I, has undone itself from its taping. The PT is not there tomorrow, so I go for my regular run (flat) in hopes that I don't do something too painful to it. After all, I've been doing strength training for, um, five days now. I am armed with ibuprofen.

And I want my finisher's hoodie, dammit.

It was 6:04 when we rolled into Genesee park and had a look at the Transition area. In a triathlon, the transition area is where everything starts and stops --- you stash your bike there to go to after you swim, you stash your running gear for after you bike. It's crowded; a set of bars to rack your bike on and a little 18" wide space for your stuff.

The official race time was posted at 7:15 and Amy and I were in "Wave 13". The swims are done in waves, because you don't release 1300 women into a small section of water safely at once. We were the last wave, 13. We were called at 8:15. After freezing in our wetsuits in line we got ready in the water discovering, to our surprise, that the water was warmer than the air. A from-ten countdown, a quick high-five, and we were off.

Swimming in a lake with a wetsuit is decidedly different than swimming in a pool in a swimsuit. Sure, you're slightly more buoyant -- but that suit provides some drag, especially if you've lost some weight and it can take on a larger water gap between you and the suit. Halfway to the first buoy I had a panic-induced thought train that included swimming to the nearest kayak (they were stationed as swim aisle guides) and asking for a ride back to shore. My goggles were fogged, I couldn't see, and lake water tastes bad.

Sheer stubbornness kept me going, for the rest of the swim. I had come all this way, and I wasn't going to give it up because my nose had been invaded by lake water and my wetsuit fit oddly.

Running out of the water and through the funnel to the transition area was hampered by the attempt to simultaneously remove my wetsuit. My official triathlon-provided swim cap -- the one that designated me part of Wave 13 Yellow -- wasn't built for long hair and so it wasn't much to remove it. In the transition area I stripped out of the wetsuit and put on running capris, shoes, and socks (my swimsuit acting as tank top), grabbed my gloves and helmet and bike, and followed Amy. This sounds really fast but we probably lollygagged for 7 or more minutes, there was a bathroom break and a mutual decision that next year, we would ditch the wetsuits and do more open water training.

Off down the bike lane (holding our bikes until we hit the "mount" area) we went, shifting slightly down as the path crept slightly up. At the I-90 -- which they had closed the express lanes for us -- we were presented with a sharp hairpin onramp that I admittedly had to walk my bike up 3/4 of the way. I caught up to Amy though and we went clear to the East side of Mercer Island and back to the transition area. 12 miles of riding, about an hour; the ride was peppered with lots of sororital "you go girls".  As we came back along the last leg we saw the sweeper -- the last person in the race and the motorcycle pacing her from behind -- and I looked to my compatriot (an unidentified woman 20 pounds heaveir, 20 years older, and who was busy passing me) and I said, "you know what that means" and she called back "yeah -- bike faster!".

Back into the transition area and my legs felt like trees. Some less than charitable women had taken our bike rack spots so we equally uncharitably shoved their gear aside, stashed our bikes, and agreed if we had to walk parts of the run we would. And that's where my 2nd wind kicked in. 

Amy said I could take off if I wanted to, but I didn't. She had waited at me in transition, twice: once at the swim, for about 5 minutes, and once at the bike, for probably 10. I was not going to clip along at my normal pace and leave her for the sake of shaving a couple of minutes off of my total time. We jogged lightly along the path, discussing this new bug of ours -- we'd agreed in Transition One to do this once a summer -- and how we'd change things. I did run up the hill -- it wasn't that big -- and we ended up sprinting across the finish line, hand in hand.

We did it. We did it in 2 hours, 15 minutes including transitions.   The swim was 26:36, the bike was 57:41, the run was 37:45 (including 3 walk breaks). We spent 14 minutes in transition.

Next year I'm shaving 4 minuts off of the swim, 10 minutes off of the bike, and 7 minutes off of the run. 

Tomorrow morning Is It.

Amy and I went to pick up our packets today and as we left (after getting "marked", collecting bibs/swag/shirts/etc.) we had to pass our "packet" over a scanner to be sure our chip scans. Well, it scanned. There it was, my full (LEGAL) name and verification that, at number 713, I was due for a triathlon.

I count at least 7 separate occasions on which I wanted to quit.

I had fantasies that went along the lines of broken legs, sprained ankles, horrific car accidents. Something, anything, to get me off the hook. I had to conquer a weird fear of drowning (it's weird because I'm a diver) yet *again* because surface swimming is a constant immersion of your face into water, vs diving where the goal is to just eventually get to the surface and float. I, who cannot for the life of me shift a manual car transmission with 5 - 6 speeds, had to learn how to shift a BIKE with 21. It has been daunting and humiliating and a lesson in pride.

Which has brought me here. As we left, it both hit us: this is very real, there is no backing out, tomorrow we are swimming, biking, and running.

I've spent the last 8 weeks toward this goal in terms of training and offsetting other things... I've put off crafts, any investigation in to what other things the gym has to offer, and spent a good deal of stress and worry over this thing as it is so new. I won't be the same way gearing up for the Seattle 1/2 Marathon this year -- after all I've done it before -- but this, this was my challenge for 2009.

I'm ready. And I'm bringing It.

With any luck, in ten days I will be swimming/riding/running in my first triathlon. It will likely not be my last, unless it kills me, because I have Bike Expense Guilt.

I am a little freaked out about the hills.

It's got to the point that I can swim the half mile, and running 3 miles is no problem -- and hasn't been since September of *last* year, thanks to Ladybugrock and Ali. The bike -- well, sure, I can bike 12 miles -- but in practical terms the ups and downs of that are a little more involved than one would think.

I would like to take the time to point out that level 7 hill mode on the bike at the gym bears absolutely no resemblance to any actual hill riding on an actual bike, ever.

I know this because I have been powering along at the gym doing 9 miles in 30 minutes on the hill cycle (hey -- that's a pun, get it?) and generally kicking ass. Then I got on my bike and attempted to do 8 and made it in like 55 minutes and discovered my own ass was kicked (despite it acquiring those elusive bike butt calluses, which it has. My ass is no longer sore. My thighs, on the other hand...)

What I'm getting to is that, when faced with the "hill" on the virtual bike, I don't have to worry about cars, weather, road conditions, bike conditions, rider conditions, etc. That bike at the gym is firmly planted in front of the ESPN or CNN channel and not anything, not even the sleazy mouth breather next to me, can get me to budge. When faced with a hill on the actual bike, a butterfly flapping its wings in Centralia seems to have an effect.  I can't discern just yet if the whooshing I hear as I careen downhill is from the wind as it runs by my ears or by a car coming up from behind. And speaking of wind, you know what sucks? Riding against it. You know what sucks more? Bikes act as sails.

I'm plenty apparent, as I bobble up and down hills in my neighborhood, as a novice biker. I have a screamingly pink helmet (unapologetically pink) (really unforgivably pink) (pepto bismol has nothing on it). I am usually not wearing the cool spandex outfit and instead have elected for the ubiquitous tank top and running capris. I don't have clip in(on?) shoes. I dive and veer and generally am spending most of my time on the bike trying NOT to kill myself or others.

But really, I'm totally going to do another triathlon when I'm done with this one.

Tomorrow I leave for Portland.

HAH! You say. YOU don't get to go to Portland, your son's stepmom has H1N1!

Um, actually not.

Apparently the panic was for naught but regular flu and a sinus infection; which she is blessedly (mostly, if not all) over. She was cleared by her doc for kiddos, so kiddos she has. Therefore, I get to go to Portland. Goody! I could use a vacation.

Also, my attorney count is back up to one again. As of the beginning of the year I had four: one for a speeding ticket (dismissed!), one for my will (done!), one for the IEP (done!) and one for dealings with X (um, thought that was done... but I guess not). Unfortunate, yes, but a practical reality. The fact of the matter is I now have attorney's fees in my budget, and I may as well spend it.

Speaking of exhausting but necessary, I have to go to swim practice now.

24 hours until I'm in Portland! W00t!

I am training for a triathlon, which means I am doing things like swimming and cycling, which my body is not at all familiar with. Yesterday's swim session went something like this "swim swim swim stand/breathe/gasp swim swim swim stand/breathe/futz with goggles swim swim swim chat with the gal next to me swim swim backstroke swim gasp breathe throw goggles swim swim".

I have discovered that I can swim fast. But I can't seem to slow down and build endurance. I'm like a firecracker or mid-20's male, I go fast and I am over with way too soon. Unfortunately, there are 8 more laps to go and my arms are saying, "um, no".

Today was my first Brick. A brick is where you pick a duathlon of events and do it as part of your training: either swim to bike, or bike to run. They are called "bricks" because your legs feel like them when you are done. I like to think of mine as those reddish smooth ones they use to make walkways that people don't really walk on because they're too pretty.

Today I did bike to run; 6 miles on the bike and a mile on the run. My intent was to do 1.5 miles on the run, because that would've been proportional. However, I was running on the treadmill (a result of having boychild in kids club, they frown if you just leave the premises).

There are at least 25 treadmills at the LA Fitness in Bellevue. Six were occupied.

So can someone tell me WHY, as I was huffing along at a reasonableish pace, sweaty from my bike time, there was a blonde choadly choad who insisted on taking the tread mill RIGHT NEXT TO ME? Like within sweat-droplet-distance? Dude, there are other treadmills. There are other treadmills closer to the fan, farther from the fan, with the same view of the soccer game. There are HOTTER GIRLS on those other treadmills. I am at least 6 years your senior and interested in working off the damage I intend to do at Red Robin. I am not interested in sharing ambient workout space with another human, which is why I picked the most remote treadmill well away from everyone.

This is like the guy who sits RIGHT NEXT TO YOU in an otherwise relatively empty movie theater, or stands RIGHT NEXT TO YOU in an empty elevator. You're invading my space and it makes me think fondly of how your nose will bleed if I shove my palm towards it. The fact that I'd never actually do that without provocation (or more of it, at any rate) doesn't mean I don't think about it.

I have come to realize that while I'm a social person within the clutch of my Circle of Friends (it's more of a rhombus, really) I don't do well with people outside of it. I don't want you to get close enough to see the stellar zit emerging from my forehead (ala Zeus' Athena) or to notice that it has, in fact, been a week since I waxed my upper lip. I don't want you to get close enough for me to accurately judge the duration of your shower or the quantity and quality of your aftershave (damn those Axe commercials) and, if we all follow the laws of physics, you should incline towards spreading out in the space.

Maybe I'll quit wearing deodorant.

Today I got on a bike, for the first time in 23 years.

I am not exaggerating. Twenty-three years ago I had just moved to Washington and had no friends, and the neighbor kids were out on their bikes. I grabbed mine and followed and after about 20 minutes was soundly rejected. The bike sat in the garage and collected dust while I ensconced myself firmly in the home (easy in this strangely cold, gray, and rainy place) and wallowed in my geekness.

However, I couldn't seem to get my mom to write a note for me to avoid the "bike" portion of the triathlon, so "bike" I did get and helmet I did get and there I found myself, on the east lake trail, with said bike.

The first five minutes were excessively wobbly -- it's a road bike, and I was riding on gravel. I discovered it wasn't all that easy to keep in a straight line, I kept overcorrecting. The faster I got the more nervous I got, until I realized that the brakes, while worn, work rather well.

The next five minutes were better, but I had to stop again: I discovered I needed sunglasses not only for the sun, which is that alien bright thing in the sky for us pugetsounders, but also for the random bugs, which do not do well when they try to affix themselves to your contact lenses. (You don't do well when they try to do this, either).

The remaining fifteen minutes were variations of me playing with speed, attempting to ride straight, discovering that I could coast, pondering whether or not I *should* coast, plotting about blogging about it, realizing I shouldn't do that because things got more wobbly when I did, and the realization that OMG MY PALMS HURT. The rest of me felt fine, I felt practically no exertion at all; but my palms? Sore!

7.5 weeks to go... 

I joined LA Fitness yesterday, a gym literally a block away from work. It met my criteria: close to work, pool, classes, within work's reimbursement program.

I walked in and spoke with the person they assigned to me, who turned out to be the General Manager (slow day for them, apparently). His name is James; he is a tall, deep-voiced crazy hot man who walked me around his gym and talked turkey (or waddle) with me. I was pretty up front: "Hi, I'm joining your gym because I already know you meet my criteria, so let's not waste time." Him "Okay! Let's walk around and get you signed up!". So far, so very awesome.

Until he introduced me to Zach. I thought his name was Kevin but apparently it's Zach, and Zach is a total tool. An incredible tool. Sears has a whole rack o'Zach, if you follow my drift.

James introduced me and stated he was going to give me 2 free coaching sessions, because I am training for a triathlon and he likes me because I am so very cool, just like him. Zach shakes my hand and proceeds to go into the hard sell:

Zach: "so, for week 1, this is how you're going to work out. And then we'll change it according to these 8 different things (number of sets, reps, tempo, weight, types of machines, order of muscles, etc.). But you'll need to meet with someone at least each week, because you couldn't possibly figure out how to do that yourself! Let's schedule the next 3 months out."

Me: "I'm a single working mother with a social life and a demanding job and an intricate custody schedule, and I picked your gym because it's right next to work so I don't have to plan it out to the last minute. I'd like to schedule maybe the first session and see how it goes."

Him (gist, served up as an increasingly quick-voiced and semi sarcastic rant): "Oh, ok, so you don't actually want to get fit, you just want to join a gym and maybe injure yourself on the machines."

Me (literally, to James): "Is it a requirement that I sign up for this as part of membership?" (with a look that clearly says, do I have to deal with this tool?) 

James (to me, but looking at Zach): "No, I just wanted to make sure Zach met you and knew we were setting you up with a couple of complimentary sessions".

Me: "Splendid".

Zach: "Well, it was really nice to meet you..." (leaves).

5 minutes of awkward silence.

Me: "James, can I possibly get some training without having to work with Zach, ever?"

James: "Yes. I will hook that up for you personally."

I'm going to like this gym, as long as I can avoid the Zach.

Very little has changed since last summer, when, having had a couple glasses of champagne I was conned into running a half marathon.

A couple of weeks ago at my dad's house Ms.Amy and I were talking (Ms.Amy is my brother's girlfriend, and she is cool) and I freely admit to having had a lil' red wine and Ms.Amy conned me into a triathalon at the end of September.

The running part I am not worried about: it requires no real special equipment and I've got myself to a solid 10 minute pace. However, tri-athalons mean there are two other things for me to do, and they include swimming and biking.

I haven't swam for speed in nearly 20 years, and I haven't been on a bike in as long. Plus, triathalons seem to be equipment-intense (you know... the bike? the special shorts? the nifty cap?) which has me eyeballing my budget (yet again!) and wondering what oh what have I done?

I have a bodybugg. It is a cute black armband that makes me feel like I'm doing something about my personal fitness and weight. Or rather, that is what it is supposed to do.

Mostly of late I'm disenchanted with it.

What it has done in its first three months was allow me to figure out just how much I can consume against what I expend on a given day, and how much I expend when I do things like run or garden or sleep. For the first three months, this was all very fascinating and I relished the metrics and graphs.

I'm relishing less now. It's becoming tedious to enter in every food product I consume; there are outages on a regular basis that require me to remember both quantity and quality and type and volume of foodstuffs consumed for sometimes up to two days; it does a good job of making me feel guilty during a period of my life where that is a given. Further, and perhaps more to the point, now that I know what I can "get away with", I've largely maintained my weight (actually lost and gained and lost 5lbs on it). None of those pounds was a surprise in either direction, you already know, for example, when you eat two bowls of tortilla soup and have a piece of apple pie and so forth that the next morning the scale is not going to befriend you.

My subscription is up mid-July and I will be selling my little bug; hopefully someone else can learn and grow and metricise their miscellaneous mastication. Just as I've stopped logging my runs on Map My Run, it doesn't mean I've stopped running: I ran five miles today.