Tag Archives: training

Do moms bromance? Is that a thing?

Posted on September 2, 2016 | 3 comments

Being an extroverted introvert makes some things difficult. One of those things that is tricky is busting in on a group of people that are already established. They have a rhythm and a routine. I am kind of a big personality (shut up, I know that is an understatement.) And finding my place in a group of personalities that already have a vibe is delicate. I don’t really know how to take a back seat.

But the back seat is exactly where you sit when you are the new kid that joins a group of people that regularly share a swim lane. Treading water next to the lane line while you wait for your spot to grab the wall and try to think of something clever to say in the ten seconds you have before the next swim set starts is exhausting. Never mind the swimming part. I always feel like a 12-year-old kid in the back seat of a car. I can kind of hear the conversation but the windows are down and the infinitely cooler teenage driver and their counterpart in the front seat are smiling and laughing and I am nodding along and treading water and trying to not look clueless.

5:30 a.m. Master’s swim practice is a strange animal. It’s not the retired folks from mid-morning or the work from home people from lunchtime. Both of those groups are happy to chat it up poolside. These people are getting in and out and getting on with their lives. They’re busy people or so it seems. And nobody is particularly chatty when it is still practically the middle of the night. So how do you get to know them? How do you find a rapport?

You keep showing up. Therein lies the problem. I can think of a zillion reasons not to get up before five in the morning. Add in a little social anxiety and I can convince myself to bail on practice. Easy peasy.

But on Wednesday there was this lady that made me laugh. Hard. She said “I’m going to make an art film called Sounds From the Pool” as we were all gasping for breath in the cold water. Later in the practice as the gasping had to turned to heavy breathing I said “If you started the film just with sounds – snapping of the swim cap, gasping and then creepy, heavy breathing – it would totally sound like a dirty movie. Condoms and then hot and heavy humping…” She didn’t miss a beat, guys. She immediately grabbed onto my ridiculousness. She was my people.

This morning I considered sleeping through practice. But I kinda sorta wanted to see her again. She was funny. At 5:30 in the morning. She’s a rare breed.

I make friends the way drunk girls in bathrooms make friends. I like to go from “Hi, my name is…” to “OHMYGODYOUAREMYBESTFRIENDEVER” in about four minutes. It doesn’t always work out well. I am trying to play it cool. I am.

But when I saw her this morning and she made me laugh again before I even had my goggles on – well, I was smitten. While swimming this morning I was thinking about how stressful it must have been to have been a swimmer in high school. Imagine sharing a lane with someone you are crushing on. You’d spend the 200 yards you were swimming thinking of something clever to say in the ten seconds you might share at the wall. And then when you said it there would be a 50% chance that it went unheard. So if nobody laughs did they not hear you? Do you try and say it again? Or would you then become that weird girl that repeats herself and thinks she is funny? (Again, shut up. I know that is self-referential.)

This morning as we were climbing out of the pool and laughing I decided to just go out on a limb and ask “do you stay home with your kids?” There’s a certain camaraderie among people who might not talk to anyone else all day that is not biologically related to them. Maybe it is a momentary “holyshitwebettermakethiscount” kind of feeling but whatever it is – she had it, I knew it.

We joked about how it is hard to MomFriend someone at swim practice when you only have ten seconds at a time to get your funny on. I mentioned that I write stand up routines in my head while I swim/bike/run and sadly the only people who ever hear them are my peeps at the grocery store.

“Do you do stand up?” she asked.

And it took everything in my power to not crumble to the floor at her feet on the pool deck. Only moments earlier she said something to the effect of “that’s a sleeper that will make me laugh again and again all day” and I could feel myself stand up a little taller. We’ve only just met. She thinks I am funny. That’s my in, y’all. (Granted, my ten second schpiel on how sprinting breaststroke is like fast walking was pretty damn funny.) I know I get myself into trouble when I dive in prematurely – but I think I am making a new friend.

So. Both kids will be back in school next week. I will once again have that “what do I do now?” feeling.

Maybe I will write some stand up, huh? Take this show on the road. And by on the road I mean to the Harris Teeter.

And it’s not like I need to find things to do. There’s new SnapChat filters on the daily, y’all.

3 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Family, Nonsense

Tagged bromance, masters swimming, mom friends, Swimming, training, triathlon

Raleigh 70.3 Race Recap: Still too tired for a clever title

Posted on June 3, 2015 | 9 comments

Where do you start a race recap that is made up of 70.3 miles and required months and months of training? When you’re still deliriously tired you just jump in and start at 3:30 in the morning the day of… or we would all be here all day.

I woke up the day of the Raleigh Half IronMan at 1:15. I had already had five hours of uninterrupted sleep and I was feeling pretty good. Nervous. But rested. I slept a little here and there between then and 3:30 am and I hopped out of bed at 3:30 ready to go. I drank three cups of coffee, braided my hair, tried (in vain) to get Lucy to go back to sleep, thanked Mike and Emily for their support (and for watching Care Bears with Lu in the middle of the night) and I headed out to meet my friend Tori, the only friend I have crazy enough to be doing this race (for her second time!)

The play-by-play of a thirteen hour day would bore you to tears, I fear. Let me just make sure I give you the highlights….. did I poop before I left the hotel? Nope. Not pleased about that. But who wants to be a middle of the night pooper? (Unless you are a sophomore in college and you move in with your boyfriend and you pretend that you don’t really do that. Ahem.)

There was a mile stroll to catch the shuttle to Jordan Lake where I had left my bike the day before. I dropped off my running gear in transition in downtown Raleigh and marveled at the number of people that were milling about in the middle of the night. I tried to convince myself that it was actually very early in the morning but the drunk girl sleeping in the lobby of the hotel and the chain smoking, loud talking, laughing kids still lingering in front of recently closed closed bars told a different story.

The ride out to the lake was pretty chill. Lots of chatty, nervous athletes. When we arrived at T1 (the transition area between the swim and the bike) Tori said “Have a good race if I don’t see you again this morning!” and that is when it dawned on me that I would largely inside my own head for the rest of the day.

The moment we got off of the shuttle bus it was confirmed that the water temperature was above 76.1 and we would not be wearing wetsuits. The day before I had gotten in the water a bit and felt pretty good about skipping the wetsuit. I am a confident swimmer, if not a particularly fast swimmer, so I was happy to skip out on the added complications of getting in and out of my wetsuit.

I found my bike and was pleased to also find a bike pump to borrow in short order. Upon the recommendation of more seasoned triathletes I let the air out of my tires the day before. Evidently sitting on hot asphalt for 24 hours can cause your tires to pop from the heat if they are inflated. Bike was ready, water bottles were full.

Back to the portapotties. Watched the sun come up and enjoyed the fact that whomever was choosing the pre-race music had a soft spot for Def Leppard. Fruitless visit to the portapotty and some sweet text messages to Emily and it was time to drop off my morning bag of stuff. Without a phone, wearing only my trisuit, goggles around my neck, swim cap stuffed in my bra I returned to the portapotty line one last time. Had the good fortune of finding Tori again so I was able to skip out on the mindless, friendly pre-race chatter with a stranger that can take my head somewhere it doesn’t need to be.

Before I knew it the Pros were in the water and the swim waves were lining up. Fell into a good groove with some nice women in my swim wave. A delightfully nervous lady had me rolling with laughter before our feet were even wet. I took my place on the far left outside of the pack (all the better not to get the shit kicked out of you, my dear) and off we went.

swim The swim felt good. I hit a nice, mellow stroke, breathing and sighting and doing my thing for the first third. We turned at the first buoy and the water got a little colder and a little choppier and I let myself check my watch. I had an overall goal of finishing the race within the allotted eight hours and thirty minutes. My pie in the sky dream was to finish in under eight hours: one hour for the swim, four on the bike, three on the run. All of these were well within the realm of possibility barring any surprises. The first third of the swim was just under fourteen minutes so I was stoked! Either I moved ahead and into the pack of men swimming in the wave before mine as we rounded the buoy or the younger guys that started after me were catching up but the choppy water was suddenly the least of my concerns. I slid back out to the left hand side and stayed out of the way. In spite of the swim being my strongest sport I wasn’t trying to spend the rest of the day with a black eye. Reading other race reports indicates that the water was giving people a hard time but I didn’t find it too awful. As we rounded the second buoy I was at about thirty minutes and decided to try and give it another go in the middle of the pack. I got knocked around a bit but kept trucking.

I finished the swim in the top third of my age group (and that would be the last time I enjoyed that feeling!) With my swim time closer to 45 minutes I knew I would get out of transition and onto my bike in well under an hour so I took my time in transition. I ate a Honey Stinger waffle and got ready to ride. A generous slathering of sunscreen from a volunteer and I was off!

The bike course had a strange little out and back jog around Jordan Lake involving a turnaround on a tiny two line road. Everyone slowed way down and I successfully unclipped a foot in case I needed it! That tiny bit of confidence had me smiling within the first ten minutes of the bike. As we head out of Jordan Lake I spotted the Instagram famous Alan and I spent a few minutes thinking about how many people worked so hard to be here and how lucky I was to be among them.

My goal time of four hours on the bike was doable if I maintained a speed of 14 miles per hour. Not fast if you are a seasoned cyclist but not easy if you ride your brakes going downhill and planned to stop at each aid station. My big fear of the bike involves crashing into others. I was petrified that I would reach for a water bottle and wiggle just enough to bump into a man on a zillion dollar bike. I would be fine and he would have a shattered collarbone because I was going slow and he was whizzing along. I focused on staying my course, keeping to the left and listening for other cyclists. Women shout out “On your left!” almost always but many of the fast men seem to appear out of nowhere. I did manage to get an ear for these fellows, though, by the end of the day. You can actually hear expensive wheels and their fancy whirring sound if you listen for it. Just as I was starting to think that I might actually meet my 14/mph goals (averaging 15.2 mph in the first twentyish miles) a guy road up right next to me, slapped me on the bike and said “heeeyyyy, Kelly!” Instead of shitting my pants (thanks, Immodium!) I just said “Hello!” My bike tech and all around super cycling support system was out for a ride to see if he could catch up with anyone he knew. He rode with me for a few miles and I felt 800% better by the time he broke away. Just remembering that not everyone that was good at this was likely trying to kill me was a bonus.

I had a successful water bottle hand off at the first aid station and decided to pull over anyway just after the aid station to pop into the portapotty and apply some Hoo-Ha Glide! I wasn’t having any issue but hadn’t used any before the swim thinking that it would all wash away anyway. I hopped back on my bike all smiles! Shout out to the lady that said “You’re all smiles!” I replied “New Hoo-Ha Glide!” and she quickly said “Gotta love the menthol, sister!” before she took off.

Mile per hour average dropped to 14.1 including my stop but I figured I could make up some time. The rolling hills in the middle of the course were great. I learned a lot about my cycling skills on the ride. I LOVE to climb! I got passed by a handful of women on the flats but within a few miles I would find that I passed them on the climbs. My fear of riding on the road means that I do 80% of my riding on a trainer. I guess this means I am always pushing my butt and my legs so climbing is where I am comfortable. Who knew?!

I was prepared for the last third of the ride mentally. I knew that as we neared downtown Raleigh the roads would change and I would need to be more mindful of other riders. I was not prepared to stop while going uphill FOR A TRAIN! I had some laughs with the group of folks that were hanging out at the train tracks. I said “This is the Half IronMan version of a fishing story. I would have WON my age group but we waited at those train tracks for almost an HOUR!” It was nice to have some laughs before we hit the stretch of the ride I had been fearing.

At some point on the ride I was behind a woman with Team Hope on the back of her tri shorts. I spent a solid thirty minutes thinking about all of the things in my life that make me hopeful. I think I got a little weepy as I thought about all of the hours that had gone into making this one day happen and all of the people that had supported me.

My average mile per hour was sitting pretty at just above 14.5 so I was stoked! I tried to be fearless. When there was nobody near me I leaned into a few turns, I went aero on the downhills and repeatedly said out loud “God dammit, you can do this.” An unbelievably helpful woman that I met in a Facebook group, Mandy of Fierce & Focused Coaching, told me that I needed to find my own mantra. Nothing had come to me until midway through the bike when I realized that I muttered that to myself every time I got scared. I guess sometimes a personal mantra finds you, huh?

Coming into T2 (the transition area between the bike and the run) I noticed one thing – it was hot, Africa hot. I had a successful dismount (huzzah! I hate seeing people fall while getting unclipped at the Dismount line!) and found my rack. Got my bike racked and sat down on the curb. I had planned to apply some Body Glide and hadn’t counted on it being liquid after a full day in the sun. I slapped it all over me and swapped out my shoes. I paused and focused on the gratitude I had for the swim and the bike. I had no fear of the run, checked my watch and realized I had over 3:30 hours to do my 13.1. My goal, finishing within the eight and a half hours was totally possible. It was the first time in the day I got goosebumps.

I went out on my run feeling good. My pace was all over the place and way too fast but I was excited. I told myself I would give it one mile to level out and then if I didn’t slow down naturally I would walk for a minute and get a game plan together in my head. As I slowed to walk after my first mile I realized that in about 200 yards I would see my family. MQD and the kids were at a hotel on the run course and I would be able to see them three times on the run course as it was an out and back, assuming that they met me at the finish line. (Out and back – we ran down the street and then back again along the same street in a loop and did this twice.)

I always sweat like crazy when I slow down. I started to walk and looked at my watch. Goosebumps. Not excited, holy shit, I might actually finish this thing goosebumps, but I am freezing and nauseous goosebumps. I watched my pace getting slower and I never started sweating. I was cold. And possibly dehydrated. And definitely starting to cry. I had to pull my shit together. I had to be running when I saw my family. There was an aid station in front of our hotel. I could get cold water and see my kids. I was just excited and nervous, I told myself. I got hugs from the girls, big smiles and a thumbs up from my dad and a “You look hot!!!” from MQD. I tried to run out as I left the first aid station, I had to. The kids were watching.

I think I made it less than a quarter of a mile. Hills were coming up fast and I already had told myself I would walk uphill. I wasn’t tired, my legs felt good. But I felt bad, super bad. And weird. And…. tears.

In front of me was a woman about my size, she was in my Age Group or so said the back of her calf. I told myself I would just not lose sight of her. I passed her and she passed me for a couple of miles. Eventually after the first turn I settled into a decent pace on the long downhill and I just kept my eyes on her back. At some point I caught up to her and said (because the mid-race crazies had taken hold of me) “Not to sound like a total creep but…I think I could pick your ass out of a line up with my eyes closed at this point. I have been trying to catch you for the last three miles.”

Instead of giving me the “Get away from me” eyes, she laughed. You guys know that laughing just encourages my bad behavior. I don’t know that we ever decided to finish the next ten miles together. It just happened. One of us would start to feel good and say “We run to the next three stop lights and we walk through the aid station?” and off we would go. We talked triathlon and kids and labor and laughed and drank Gatorade and squeezed ice water on ourselves for the next two hours. She’d missed setting a new PR and decided not to kill herself. I was feeling dangerously dehydrated and just avoiding getting spotted by a medic so we made a good pair.

As we closed in on the tenth mile we realized we had an hour to finish the last 3.1. On the last pass by the hotel I noted that Lucy was passed out in MQD’s arms (and later in a flower bed) and hollered to them to stay at the hotel and not come down to the finish line. I love that I had been able to see so much of them during the race and that they’d not had to hang out on the sidewalk all day.

As much as I wanted to get to the finish line – I also felt like a summer romance was coming to a close. This delightful human being that the Universe delivered was going to disappear at the finish line. Angie, I am glad I could find you on the Facebooks! We laughed as we talked about how one of us had to drop back and one of us had to hurry up so that we could get our own finisher’s pics. I told her to Go, go, go!

We started picking up speed as we made the turn towards the finisher’s chute. I fell about twenty paces behind her and figured I would just run in behind her. I had been fighting a gross feeling for almost three hours, what’s another hundred yards? And then I felt the urp feeling.

And then it was like the scene in Stand By Me only instead of a pie eating contest it was Gatorade and I was the only one competing. With one hand on my knee and one hand on a planter I let it rip. “Oh shit” gag, “oh shit.” I wiped my mouth and looked apologetically at a woman with two school aged kids “Oh man, sorry about the swearing… and well, the puking.”

“You’re almost there!” she said! I knew that. But I couldn’t stop hurling and I really wanted good race pics. I hadn’t lost all vanity in the preceding eight hours. I leaned into the puking and gave it everything I had. More than seventy miles of Gatorade and ice water came pouring out of me. A fantastic woman stopped next to me and said “better out than in and better now that at the finish line.” I smiled. She got me. “Do you want some salt?” she asked.

Licking crushed salt tabs from a stranger’s hand is not the weirdest thing I have ever done. I don’t think. But it certainly ranks up there. I felt better instantly.

Eyes on the prize. And before I knew it, it was over.

Finished in 8:01:27. Between the puking and the train, I am calling it a win. A medal and a hat and some pictures and some more smiling and some water and a Gatorade. I went down to pick up my morning bag and get my cell phone. I called MQD when I got to my bike. “I knew you could do it,” he said. “Stay where you are, I will send a Raleigh Rickshaw to get you.”

And the tears started and they wouldn’t stop. “I can’t just stand here, I can’t. I will just walk back now. I need to be where you are… I did it. Fuck. I did it….”

And I piled up three big plastic bags on my handlebars and I walked another mile. What’s one more in the greater scheme of things?

I am still riding high. I still can’t bend my fingers on my right hand all the way. Dehydration? Pinched nerve? It’s better today than yesterday. The rest of me feels great. After what felt like a three hour labor, I finally pooped. My 70.3 sticker is on my car. My eyes still well up when I try and talk about Sunday. I have all of my toenails. I have a new necklace that says Tri and an Ironman backpack. I am tired. And starving. And so very, very proud of myself.

What did I learn from this experience? More than I can adequately sum up just yet. But I can share with you two things today. One – make friends with the person that crosses the finish line before you. This way when you throw up they will tag you in their finishing chute picture because you can be seen emptying your stomach on the sidewalk in the background. Really, thank you. Words can not express how happy I am to have this picture. It kills me.

Two. If there is an option to check an occupation in a race registration – pick something hilarious. If you skip to about 5:46 in this video you can see me cross the finish line and hear the announcer say “Kelly Doherty, a homemaker.” WTF? I have never said that in my life and it cracks me up. I wish I had picked Astronaut. Or Fortune Teller. Ahh, next time.

This won’t be the last you hear about Sunday. It was a big day for me emotionally. We don’t do things that scare the shit out of us often enough as adults. And this was terrifying. And awesome.

Set goals. Big, crazy impossible goals. And go get ’em. Really. You’ll be glad that you did.

9 Comments

Posted in Exercise

Tagged half ironman, raleigh, training, triathlon

You know you are an “insert thing you might not really be” when…

Posted on April 14, 2015 | 1 comment

If you only stop by to hear me get weepy about my kids, skip ahead. But if you enjoy my triathlon related rambling with a dash of bodily fluids – this one’s for you!

Observations Pre Race:

The day before my first Olympic length triathlon I had a couple of goals – get on and off my bike a bazillion times and try not to panic about riding clipped in and get back in the water in my wetsuit and see if I hyperventilate. Note the trend – don’t freak out. I was dreaming big, guys.

I took Lucy into the kid room and managed to push my bike, hold her hand and hold my helmet and my shoes. I even successfully pushed my bike from the seat for a bit, which if you don’t know, totally makes you look like a Cyclist. It is the Grown Up equivalent of riding downhill with no hands. Not NO HANDS when you have your hands up over your head, but just the casual Big Kid in the Neighborhood hands hanging straight down and zipping down the hill with a slightly bored expression on your face kind of Cyclist.

Shoes on. Helmet on. Onto my bike. Rode around about ten miles, switched gears, went up and down some hills. Came to a dead stop in an empty parking lot and decided it was do or die time. Picked a line in the parking lot and pretended that was the Mount/Dismount line. (In a triathlon there is a Transition Area where you switch from one activity to the next, you can’t ride your bike in there. Just outside of there is a line where you mount your bike on the way out and dismount on the way in. Side note: If you have the pleasure of knowing the delightful Laura M from high school then you know that I love this line on my way out. She is a bad mofo that supports my triathlon endeavors and I love seeing her name as I start out on the bike leg of a race!)

I told myself that I would ride to the line and dismount 25 times. That seemed like a reasonable number. I did it 21 times and thought “oh hell, I got this.” And then I decided that was lame to cut it short and did it 4 more times. And then I felt so damn good about riding clipped in that I stopped and took a picture of myself to send to my mom with the caption “Look, I might not die in my race this weekend!” And then I prepared to ride back to my car and rack my bike.

And I fell down. Of course I did. I should know better than to get cocky. Falling actually thrilled me, I no longer had to fear tipping over! Bloody knee? Check!

I hobbled into the pool.

Wetsuits are tricky. Getting in a wetsuit on a cool, crisp morning in the out of doors looks pretty silly but you’re doing it because you’d freeze if you just hopped in the water. Wriggling into a wetsuit poolside at an indoor community pool warrants weird looks from the pool joggers and the AquaBikers. And when you can get pool joggers to look at YOU funny… well, that’s a win. Swam 1000 yards before I was so warm I had to get out. Wetsuit Success.

Into the showers at the gym. Rumor has it chlorine is dreadful on a wetsuit so I just hopped in with it on to rinse off. As I pulled my neckline out from my throat to let the lukewarm water run down the length of my body I immediately set a new goal. I wanted to pee in my wetsuit. Not now in the shower, I save that for the summertime. But I wanted to pee in my wetsuit during the swim portion of the race. If lukewarm water from the gym shower felt this good some 98.6 degree pee would be glorious! (As I said above, I dream big.)

That just left packing up my tri bag and getting a good night’s sleep. Heh. Sleep eludes me on a good night.

But I did get packed. And I did get out the door at 0’dark thirty. Did I Swim 1500 meters, bike 27 Miles and run a 10K? Well, you will just have to stay tuned! I have to get to the gym because… well, because I am obsessed. Determined. Obstermined? Detessed? Your call.

1 Comment

Posted in Exercise

Tagged Exercise, Family, motherhood, sports, training, triathlon, trigirl

The Scene of the Crime

Posted on April 28, 2014 | 5 comments

I told a man yesterday that I consider him my unofficial Pusherman. Roughly a year ago it was him that said “And Go.” (Pool swim triathlons have a staggered swim. Each swimmer begins roughly ten seconds after the last swimmer. This is an effort to avoid a total pile up as you snake up and back through the lanes. It doesn’t always work. More on that later.)

Last spring I pushed off the wall and started the swim leg of my first triathlon. And an addict was born.

This weekend I returned to the scene of the crime, Girls Run the World Sprint Triathlon put on by FS Series. I was excited, eager to see my own improvement over the last year. It is hard to really compare race times to one another because the conditions are always different. This race was hilly, that race was congested. But I had a neat opportunity to compare the progress I have made in the last year by doing the exact same race again almost a year to the date.

So, how was the race? Well, they say a picture says a thousand words. I think this picture below says “Holy shit, guys, third place in my age group? So, it was a small race and there were only 26 people in my age group, but holy shit, guys!” Well, to be a thousand words it would say that 35 times.

If you are simply humoring my obsession or you have already asked me “So, how was the race?” and gotten my long-winded reply you can feel free to skip the rest of this post. My feelings won’t be hurt at all. Really. I filled up my wine glass trophy enough times last night that I barely have any feelings today.

Swim: The swim is my strong sport. It is the one that seems to come naturally to me and I have the advantage of having been a life-long swimmer. I knew as soon as we lined up that maybe it was going to be a rocky swim. “I am not a very good swimmer, I haven’t been in the pool since I don’t remember when!” Several women around me echoed similar thoughts. Umm. Maybe I should have entered a different swim time? We are lined up by our 100 yard swim times and I was conservative. Lesson learned. By the end of the first 100 yards there were four women ahead of me piled up on one another and it is impossible to pass that many people. I did a little breast stroke so I could see what was going on, passed a few folks when I had the chance and reminded myself of the truth I have heard numerous sprint triathletes utter – “Tris aren’t won or lost in the swim leg.” In the greater scheme of things being a fast swimmer gets you an early swim start and you waste less adrenalin waiting in line, but that’s it as far as it goes with respect to any kind of huge advantage.

The lap lane traffic jam was evidenced in my times. 5:47. Last year was better with 5:24 but there was a fair amount of traffic in that race, too. I am still too chicken to put in an ambitious pace time (sub 2 min/100 yard) for my swim for fear of getting in the way of the “real triathletes.” Someday.

Bike: The bike is my weakest leg. I live in fear of my chain popping off. In spite of the great strides I have made in bicycle maintenance I am still nervous on a bike. I brake when I go downhill. That does not a competitive cyclist make. But it’s fucking scary, guys. Gone are the days when I would fly down a hill all “Look, no hands, Mom!” I rode my hybrid at this race last year so I knew I would shave some time off of last year’s pace just by virtue of being on a road bike. Who cares if it is a 30 year old lever shifted road bike (a sweet sparkly blue Sekai 1000, a Japanese bike circa 1980)? It’s mine and I didn’t need a second mortgage to buy it! I am still too scared to clip in but I didn’t brake on the down hills! Progress, folks! And my time reflects that! Shaved just about five minutes off my bike leg.

This picture says “I just changed my clothes in the parking lot because since I have had two babies I no longer believe in things like privacy” or something very similar.

Run: I came into the transition area to rack my bike a little winded. I pushed myself on the bike and I was a little nervous about the run. I forgot my Garmin and I have never run without something telling me my pace. I was terrified that I would burn out quickly or end up running super slowly in an attempt to make sure I could finish. I slugged some water and racked my bike and figured “Here I go. Fuck it, I am just gonna get behind someone that “looks faster” than me and go.” I exited transition and as I ran past the DJ I heard the best sound I could have imagined – shitty synth drums. I can’t figure out how to spell it out – but you know the drum lead… “Miss her, kiss her, love her…. That girl is POISON! Never trust a big butt and a smiiiile…” I was smiling alright. Two more miles and I was done.

This race is a pain in the ass, like most in and around Raleigh. The first mile has lots of downhills and lulls you into a false sense of security. Grabbed water at the turn around and wrapped my mind around the fact that I had to run back up all of those hills. My run was… okay. I should have pushed harder. Live and learn. And don’t run behind someone that “looks fast.” What does that even mean? And don’t forget your Garmin, asshole. You are technologically dependent, accept it and move on. Shaved just about a minute off of my run time. Not impressive for a year’s worth of training, but I will take it.

Summary: I shaved ten minutes off of my time. My swim was slower, my bike was a good bit faster and my run was a little faster. My transition times showed huge improvement because I didn’t stand there doing that thing that I do at the airport where I check my pockets compulsively 800 times. I just put my shoes on and I left. I did the whole race in my tri-suit. Last year the idea of riding my bike and running in what amounts to a bathing suit made me want to die. This year (after a year in a gym locker room and a year working hard to accept and nourish the body that I have) I decided to just go for it. And guess what – nobody gave a shit. Not a single person shouted “Go #48! Go, right back and put a shirt on over that mess!” Go figure.

I don’t usually talk numbers because I think the message gets lost in the details but if you really wanted to know you could see them on the internet and the idea of you creeping around the internet freaks me out. If you are dying to see the side by side comparison – here you go – 2013 and 2014.

Am I still riding high? No such luck. In case you were wondering I figured out the fastest way to knock a girl down a peg or two. I was standing around waiting for the awards ceremony (having figured out via the wonders of live tracking and smart phones that I had actually placed in my age group.) I’d eaten a bagel. I’d changed into dry clothes. I had called my mother. I had a little time to kill. I walked up to the DJ booth to thank the DJ I Could Have Given Birth To Without Having Been a Child Bride. “Thanks for Bel Biv Devoe, it was right on time!”

He smiled. It was a smile similar to the teenage checker at the grocery store. It was the “I am humoring you because I need this job and you seem nice enough” smile. And then he did this terribly confusing thing. He stuck his fist out. Slowly (thank goodness or I’d have thought he was going to punch me.) I stood there looking perplexed for what seemed like an eternity and then I realized he was, as the kids say, fist bumping with me. I swallowed a guffaw and stuck my fist out. And then I turned on my heel (not easy to do in flip-flops) and ran. Because I was in hysterics. Whatever level of cool is afforded to those that place in their age group at an all-womens popular with first-timer’s sprint triathlon is instantly stripped when a twenty something tries to fist bump you.

So, how was the race? It was awesome. Do I have any advice? Train hard. Have fun. Get there early and you will be the first person to use your chosen porta-potty. And stay the hell away from the DJ.

Cheers! What do you have planned for the summer? Fitness goals or otherwise?

And don’t even talk to me about the Diet Coke in the background. Change is hard. I don’t drink it as often as I used to. Lame excuse, I know. Just gaze in to my “I have had three glasses of wine” eyes and tell me how you plan to kick your own ass this summer. It feels so good. All the cool kids are doing it.

5 Comments

Posted in Exercise

Tagged bike, Exercise, FS Series, girls run the world, run, sprint triathlon, swim, training, triathlon

An Exercise in Letting Go

Posted on March 23, 2014 | 7 comments

I am a creature of habit. Wake up. Eat. Do stuff. Sweat. Do more stuff. Eat. Shower. Do more stuff. Eat. Repeat. Last week was tough on me. There was a lot of Eat and plenty of Do stuff but not enough Sweat. The plan was to taper my running back in order to feel fresh and strong for Saturday’s 25K. It didn’t work out exactly as I had planned.

I went to yoga. Twice. The first time I went I boogied out of there before savasana. The idea of just chilling, flat on my back for ten minutes was making me crazy. I had a routine to maintain. I wasn’t Sweating. And now I wasn’t evening Doing stuff. I ran a few miles and called that my savasana. Savasana is your Happy Place, right? Running is my happy place.

The second time I walked in to class hell-bent on staying. It is not uncommon to focus on an intention at the beginning of class. “Stay until the end…. Stay until the end….” I sat, cross-legged and eyes closed, and focused on what was surely the lamest intention for a yoga class ever. Don’t leave. Quiet the mind? Forget it. I just wanted to stay physically present in the room.

We were still in seated meditation when I noticed the clock was missing. Surely it had been hung up elsewhere in the room. I’d find it.

Standing. We were finishing a set of sun salutations and I had managed to inconspicuously look all over the room. There was no clock.

It is hard enough for me to unplug. My cell phone was on the other side of the room. And now there was no clock. I had no idea what time it was. This laid-back yoga class might just have me sweating yet.

We were in triangle pose when I started to freak the fuck out. How long had we been here? And I was freezing. The class before ours had turned the air conditioning on evidently because even our teacher finally remarked on how cold it was in there. She kicked the thermostat up and we carried on.

Through pigeon and into some seated twists. We had to be half-way through, right? An hour class, we’d have balance poses last in all likelihood and that would leave time for ten minutes in savasana. I was really struggling in this absence of Time. Was it tomorrow? Had we been here for an entire day? Was it yesterday? Oh my god, what in the fuck time is it? And now I was sweating. Like, really sweating. I took my jacket off and I could feel warm air all around me and I almost felt feverish.

In the moment that I was convinced I had eaten some kind of LSD with breakfast someone remarked that the air conditioning was definitely off but that it seemed the heat had turned on in its place. Ahh. I was not alone in this imaginary hot flash.

Up on our feet. Tree pose. Dancer’s pose. Half Moon. Warrior III. We were almost done. And down on the floor. Savasana, corpse pose, reflect on your intention for the class. I made it.

We were seated and smiling. Namaste.

I waited until our teacher had turned the lights on. People were talking. I opened my mouth and without any control of the words spilling out, I spoke. “So, the clock is gone. That was kind of crazy. It was like I was eating acid and I was all “Oh man, whoknowswhattimeitis, Ifeelsofree.” and five seconds later I was freaking out because “Holy moly, isittodayortomorroworyesterday!? Add in the whole Iamfreezing, no, waitnowIamsweating factor and wow. That was some yoga class.” It is common that following these bouts of verbal vomit there is a strange silence.

My teacher smiled. “Yeah. We are going to need a new clock.”

My desperate attempt to take a few days off paid off. The Merge Records 25K was a smashing success, finished strong, had fun and I am not crippled! Took a short run this morning and I feel super (thanks for asking!)

7 Comments

Posted in Exercise, Nonsense

Tagged 25K, acid trip, Crazy, endurance running, Exercise, merge records, training, Yoga

So, it’s been a while since I was totally disgusting.

Posted on January 12, 2014 | 37 comments

You don’t come here to listen to me talk about running. Or triathlon training. Here is not the place for me to do some deep thinking and journaling about how I am going to get enough swim workouts done and also get a new tattoo this winter. It just isn’t.

Writing. Write what you know. A million people smarter than me have told me that before. Blogging? It’s not much different. I suppose the only difference is that because you get live, human feedback you get to know your audience. And I don’t think you guys want to listen to me talk about running and endurance training and the relative merits of Shot Bloks vs G1, Gatorade’s energy chews.

You want me to show you pictures ofmy ass in mom jeans, my stretchmarks and my boob milk stains.

Guys. Today I need to talk about running. And there won’t be a picture.

I ran twelve miles today. Twelve. I have never run that far in my whole entire life. I have also never shit on the side of the road. And I did that, too. Oh. Did you miss that? Was I not clear? I pooped. Outside. In the middle of running. I ran about six and a half miles and realized I was not going to make it five and a half more. I wasn’t even going to make it the half mile to the coffee shop in town. I scanned the immediate area and I POOPED OUTSIDE. Two yards from the sidewalk. It was an emergency.

And then I kept running. And before you get all up on your “I have never, ever shit near a sidewalk” high horse let me tell you that I had baby wipes. Two of them. In a ziplock bag. Because (and here is where I consider if this is crossing a line to tell what my regular poop schedule looks like and realize there is no line, the line has been obliterated) I have not pooped in two days and I am an every other day pooper and I knew it could ugly and I thought being prepared would prevent it from happening. Wrong.

So, after doing my business and with two used baby wipes in a ziplock bag I ran off towards the closest trash can. Because while I will (apparently) poop in what is technically a person’s yard I will not litter.

I ran and ran. I changed musical playlists. I had this twelve mile run in the bag! Not unlike a dirty baby wipe. And I ate a few more energy chews and I ran some more and then…. then my stomach started to clench and I started to feel nauseous and I realized I had crossed in to new territory. I was now a person that shit on the side of the road. There was no reason to contemplate trying to run three, almost four, more miles with my ass cheeks clenched. AND I DID IT AGAIN. I made it in to the woods. Should that make me feel better?

And I kept running again.

I am not sure what the takeaway is here. I am a person that is just about ready to run a half-marathon. That’s exciting. I am also a person that pooped. On the run. I think that makes me a runner? It might even make me a long distance runner? Because this is a thing – other people have done this. Really. I’m not trying to go all Billy Madison on you and tell you that “it’s cool.” But I am not alone. And that’s comforting.

So. Yeah. I’ve been quiet. Because all I think about lately is training and which race should I sign up for and what am I going to do now that I own the last pair of hot pink New Balance 870v2 in a ladies size 10.5???

So, I told you a poop story so you wouldn’t leave me. But I really can’t figure out how to get the carbohydrates in without making the poop come out. Runners, can you help me? Will my body eventually be able to tolerate a long run without revolting against me? This morning I told MQD that maybe I need to try a different kind of “evacuation blocks.” He looked at me sideways. “I mean energy blocks, but yeah…” I can’t seem to not feel totally thrashed after about an hour and a half without a little something.

Trial and error is the answer, I suppose. And route my runs closer to a bathroom, huh? We live and learn in this life. And this morning I ran twelve miles, pooped outside twice, lost my car key and locked myself out of my house. That’s a whole lot of living.

I can’t do it. A post without a picture seems wrong. Here I am. In the bathroom at the gym. Why? Because Karen at Uncomfortably Honest and Honestly Uncomfortable takes adorable post-run pics in the bathroom at her gym and I wanted to test her theory about lighting. She also tells a mean poop story in case that’s your thing.

Happy Sunday, guys!

37 Comments

Posted in Exercise

Tagged Exercise, fitness, poop story, pooping, running, training, traithlon

How Athleticism in your 30’s is just like Getting Loaded in your 20’s

Posted on August 23, 2013 | 12 comments

In my early twenties I wasn’t much of an athlete. If I went for a jog after class it wasn’t unheard of for me to have a ziploc bag with a lighter and a couple of Marlboros stuffed in my sports bra. This way I could have a smoke after I left the cafeteria, a dinner full of botttomless bowls of cereal and pudding from the salad bar.

Now just because I wasn’t big on athletics didn’t mean that I wasn’t a competitor. “Shall we get another round?” Umm, yeah. And it better be pitchers not pints. “Can I get you a drink?” You bet. Jack neat with a Bud back. (For those among us that are not nor have they ever been a bit of a drinker, that is a Jack Daniels shot straight up with a Budweiser chaser.)

The order smacks of youth. Jack Daniels is the Crystal Light of whiskey. It’s almost water and sweet as candy. And Budweiser? No Bud Light for this girl with the metabolism of a 16-year-old boy, and nothing that tastes too much like beer.

But I was giving it my all. If one drink was good, two was better.

I was going for the gold. I frequently ignored that warm feeling that would rise in the back of my throat. You know that feeling. Eventually the warmth would travel up my spine and collide with my tonsils creating a burst of saliva. And then I knew. I was going to throw up. It was inevitable. I’d order a shot of Jaegermeister and head over to the bathroom. No big deal, hurl really quickly, knock back a cold shot of Jaeger and I was ready to Go, go, go!

Checking in, blissfully unaware of my fate.

What does this have to do with anything? You might have wondered how the sprint-triathlon turned out on Sunday. I went in with a little limp. TENS unit in the morning, lots of Advil. But I was determined that I wasn’t going to quit. The swim and and the bike would be fine, the run might be ugly. But I was going to finish strong.

The swim and the bike were uneventful. I got off my bike and took a few steps out of the transition area and as I started to run nowhere in my mind was I thinking of my early twenties and my penchant for boozing it up. But by the end of the first mile I could think of nothing else. My mouth was filled with spit. I wasn’t nauseous. Not really. But I was definitely going to puke, only I wasn’t ready to pay my tab.

At the second mile marker I was keeping pace with a gentleman that looked like he was hating it, too. “C’mon. One more mile. Let’s go, I might puke.” He laughed, but he steered clear of me. We traded off leading the way over the next ten minutes. I rounded the corner and could see the finish line and my mouth filled in that way where you know you have less than twenty seconds. Had I been 21 years old and in my favorite bar on the way to the bathroom I’d have been afraid I’d run in to someone that I knew. I had twenty seconds and max three words before I was going to let my Gatorade soaked puke fly freely.

I crossed the finish line. I wasn’t walking or limping. I was smiling and sweating. “I’m gonna puke,” I told the volunteer waiting to collect the time chips.

And puke I did.

With my hands on my knees I had three more words in my head. “Oh. Hell. Yes.” I did it. I finished. Injury, be damned. Who knew that the boozing of my twenties would have prepared me for this strange surge of athleticism in my thirties? As soon as the heaving stopped I thought “That wasn’t bad. Let’s run it back again!”

Tri season is over for me. Love the new physical therapist. And I will keep training through the winter. Maybe even do a little of that old-school training of my twenties just to keep things interesting.