Because I Tri

Caption Contest: Enter to Win!

2009-11-07T14:54:00.000-05:00

Here's one thing that can go wrong when running a marathon with 43,000 others:

Every time I look at this I crack up. Luckily, there were some good shots that I'll share later. But this one screamed for its own post.

It also screamed to be the subject of my first-ever blog contest!

Here's how it works:

1. Look at the picture.

2. Use your cleverness to come up with a witty caption that makes me laugh out loud.

3. Post the caption in a comment.

These are the criteria I will use for selecting the winner:

1. The caption's effectiveness in making me laugh out loud. (Extra points awarded if it makes me spit out my coffee.)

2. That's it actually. The winning caption will be selected solely on how hard it makes me laugh.

What you will win:

That's right. I will send you a 24-pack of PowerBar gel. Your choice of flavor: Double Latte, Raspberry Cream, or Tangerine. (I'd even consider a mixed case.) What more could an endurance athlete want?!

You can enter as many times as you like, but each caption must be submitted as a separate comment. If you think you're not creative enough... Oh please, that's no excuse! If you're having a creative block, call upon your friends, significant others, training partners, BFFs in the caption-writing business. I'm sure you can come up with something.

Contest ends Saturday, November 14 at midnight EST. Winner will be announced shortly thereafter.

Good luck and make me laugh!

An Open Letter to New York City

2009-11-02T13:33:00.004-05:00

Dear New York City,

Probably the most excruciating breath I ever took was on 77th Street and Lexington Avenue. It was my first breath on Earth, and my lungs must have wondered what the hell had hit them. Forty-three years later it seems fitting that I would come back to the city for another physical challenge to my lungs and body: my first marathon.

I have lots of memories of you starting from those early years on the Upper East Side. There were holiday visits and sleepovers with Grandma in Stuy Town; parties at the Leffs, the Gunthers, the Carpenters, and other families in various uptown neighborhoods; days spent in daddy's office at Columbia. Then there were the fits and starts of my early professional career when I lived in Brooklyn and Alphabet City, subsisting paycheck to paycheck. And of course today when I see you a couple of times a month for work.

If I'm being honest, you've always been a bit of a headache and a challenge I could never quite deal with. Back when I was just starting out, I couldn't tolerate your high prices, abrasive attitude, and your tendency to "never sleep." Which is why, 15 years ago, I ditched you for a less exhausting life in the country. And, frankly, I truly dread my NYC workdays now. They leave me depleted and empty.

But yesterday, when you challenged me more than ever before, you helped me find a part of myself I didn't know I had.

On the Verrazano Bridge I was overcome with emotion at having made it to the starting line. Surrounded by scores of runners from all over the world with the open waterway below and the iconic skyline in the distance, I felt like a part of something huge and meaningful. It literally brought tears to my eyes.

Running through Brooklyn, I was in a zone and sticking to my pace, so I forced a smile at the throngs of cheering spectators. I've never been one to smile during races, and even your generous Brooklynites couldn't get me to light up a genuine grin.

Your streets were in remarkably good condition and I greatly appreciated that, especially through Brooklyn where I was able to stay on pace and hit the halfway mark in good shape.

Then, ugh, the 59th Street Bridge. Long Island City is perhaps one of your most charmless neighborhoods, and it was no different yesterday. Nothing against the spectators who did their best in the streets leading up to the bridge, but that endless gradual incline in the eery quiet with the wind blowing up off the East River is where I started to unravel.

First Avenue didn't make it better. The screaming wall of people did nothing to energize me. I've never really liked the Upper East Side and it did little to lift my spirits yesterday. This is where I began to feel like perhaps a marathon is just too long a run to be considered a wise choice.

And sorry, Bronx, the route didn't reveal your best side. Again, no disrespect to the spectators who were a boon no matter what sidewalks they lined, but on the Willis Avenue Bridge I cursed the fact that I had no money and no Metrocard so I could duck out of this sufferfest and just go home to my less-exhausting life. I was pretty much stuck until the finish line. But I had no idea how I was going to make it there. With every step my feet, my quads, my knees threatened mutiny. Worse, however, was the pain that wracked my whole body, like fever pain when you lie shivering in bed waiting for the Tylenol to kick in.

And then. Harlem. You lifted me up at mile 22 with your gospel choir, your ska band, your salsa beat. I started to think maybe I could make it to the end. New York, here is where you started to shine and where I started to believe in myself. Your Harlem spectators literally reached out their hands and told me "Leah, you can do this" and "Leah, you have it in you" and "Leah, you look strong." They warmed me with their smiles when my body was wracked with chills. They let me pet their Bernese Mountain dog when all I wanted was to curl up in a ball on the sidewalk. They watched me cry tears that were a shizoid mixture of homesickness, accomplishment, suffering, and self-pity. And they saw me smile a genuine smile for the first time all day.

The high was short-lived, but that's OK. Marathons are not meant to be easy. I had no illusions that I would skip along Fifth Avenue with my arms in the air. But I was able to hold onto that smile, the one I picked up in Harlem, that was as real as I've ever smiled in a race. And I'm told I looked strong and determined and was even passing people along the park.

Central Park made my head spin. It was so close to the finish, yet it felt like endless circles. I wanted to walk here as never before, but more than that, I wanted to be done with you, New York. I wanted my quiet life back.

But you had other plans. You had thoroughly depleted me yet again (I now realize my little NY work trips are nothing compared to this). After I crossed the finish line at 4 hours 44 minutes (roughly 15 minutes slower than my hoped-for time), you sent me into the arms of a mom-like volunteer named Kate on whose shoulder I blubbered and drooled and snotted until she led me into a medical tent where I collapsed in a shivering heap, was caught by a dreadlocked medic named Ishmael with gentle eyes who covered me in woolen blankets and placed me next to a heater and fed me hot soup and salt and Gatorade until I could stand up again and hobble back to the hotel and my family and my simple, quiet life.

And though you raised the stakes in a big way New York, yesterday you made me that much more thankful for the chance to prove to myself that I can handle whatever comes my way. I never believed I could run this distance, that I could face down such a challenge, but now I have. And without you, New York, I might never have found that out.

With gratitude,

Leah
#39262

P.S. You might want to tell the NYC Marathon folks that, after running 26.2 miles, runners need water and a blanket ASAP. They do not want to be herded first into corrals so they can get souvenir pictures taken. I'm just sayin'.

Ryan Hall Slept In Yesterday

2009-10-31T13:41:00.003-04:00

I, however, did not. I boarded a 6:20 a.m. NYC-bound bus in the dark so I could get to Tavern on the Green by 8:30 for the final ASICS-sponsored event pre marathon. I figured one last opportunity for inspiration from Deena Kastor, Terrence Mahon, and my recent fave Ryan Hall wouldn't hurt. Marathon training has been an incredible journey and I wanted the full experience that the ASICS Editor Run team afforded me.

Terrence and Deena were terrific, offering nutrition and motivational tips (Deena: bring trash bags to the race start to sit on while you wait; Terrence: don't overdo it on carbs the day before the race!).

Alas, Ryan, we were told, "wanted to stay off his feet." Perfectly understandable. I'd want to stay off my feet too if I had 26.2 miles to run on Sunday at a blistering pace. Heck. I wanted to stay off my feet regardless!

After the event, I ambled slowly through Central Park to my hotel a few blocks away. And who do I see running? None other than Ryan Hall and his adorable wife Sara!

Oh, I guess he's allowed. :) I heard later he also had a massage scheduled for that morning. In all seriousness, the guy has a lot of obligations. I later saw him at the expo amiably signing autographs.

On a different note. I am tempted to write a long post about my journey to this moment. But any time I start to, it feels over the top. Let me simply say that I am pretty much in awe of myself. I really never believed I had the physical wherewithal to train for such a distance. Just last year I was still babying my legs after the previous year's stress fracture. Running longer than 40 minutes was not possible.

And I am profoundly impressed that I have been able to get my head around the idea of running 26.2 miles. I cannot fully express how much I have learned about my ability to persevere.

I am insanely proud of how far I've come. Tomorrow is about enjoying the day as it unfolds.

For any of you who might be spectating, I will be immensely grateful if you cheer for me! I'll be wearing a red Women's Health short-sleeved shirt with my name on the front, bib #39262, and a white cap. If all goes well, I'll be running roughly 9:30- to 10:00-minute miles starting roughly at 10:15 a.m.

The Wrong Things

2009-10-27T21:43:00.001-04:00

I have a tendency to worry.

And when it comes to racing, I seem to worry about all the wrong things.

Case in point, the night before the Philly Distance Run, I called the coaches in a panic because I was worried about, er, what parking garage to park in. The 13.1 miles didn't phase me.

Turned out the garage wasn't an issue. I wound up not in the one I'd identified near the race start, but as luck would have it, one that charged an unheard-of $5 flat rate. Big excitement! And it was directly across the street from the Sheraton where I used the lobby bathroom before and after the race. Way better than stinky porta-potties!

Instead, just 15 minutes into the race, I lost my footing, hit the ground, and twisted my knee making the 13.1 miles more of a struggle than I expected.

This week, here are the two major things stressing me out:

Picking the right socks for race day
Whether I'll come down with swine flu before Sunday

The sock thing I know I can deal with. Blisters are a given and my feet will survive. It's that second one that freaks me out. My husband is sick. My dad is just getting over something nasty. My co-worker's two sons are sick with what looks like the swine.

I hope I'm worrying about the wrong thing. I'll be pretty disappointed if I'm stricken right before the race. That said, I hope what I should be concerned about isn't worse!

A Week to Go!

2009-10-25T21:44:00.004-04:00

I've been training all year in ASICS 3010s. They've been treating me well, especially since ASICS redesigned my favorite Kayano last year after which I found it profoundly uncomfortable to wear. But I've never been totally sure that these were the right shoes for my feet.

So last week when ASICS offered free foot and gait analysis at the grand opening of their first standalone store on 42nd Street near Bryant Park in NYC, I jumped at the opportunity. The end result would be a shoe recommendation based on actual data. (Though it did occur to me that I might discover I'd been training all year in the wrong shoe, a potentially vexing outcome!)

I've always assumed that I'm a major pronator. Both my arches fall a bit and my ankles seem to roll in. And since starting marathon training, I have a lovely blister/callous combo on my left big toe and my right, er, bunion area (what else to call it?). Obviously there is a discrepancy between feet. No surprise given my whole body is off kilter because of the scoliosis.

But after having my feet measured with a laser and my gait filmed and plotted on a graph, it turns out that my feet aren't that bad. Well, at least one of them. My left foot pronates just a teensy bit; my right one a whole lot more. A blister explanation, methinks. And the right shoe for me? Drum roll...

The 3010s! Or the newly designed Kayano 16, which goes back to its original roots.

Anyway, a few pictures courtesy of ASICS.

I'm getting excited about the marathon next weekend. As usual, I'm stressing about ridiculous things: what I'll wear, how gross I'll be afterward, how long the potty lines will be.

Oh right, I'm running 26.2 miles? I guess that's what I'm supposed to fret about!

What Not to Do Right Before Your Marathon Taper

2009-10-16T23:18:00.001-04:00

What do you not get from regular triathlon/marathon training? That's right: Lateral movement. I mean, nobody crosses the finish line by going sideways.

Ask me to lunge, squat, jump in any direction but forward and, well, something's bound to go wrong.

Cute picture, but I sure am paying for it!

This shot was taken during a press event last week during that trip to Vancouver. I could hardly walk for two days afterward.

My legs were still toast by the time last Sunday's long run (my last huge effort pre-NYC) appeared on the schedule. Plus, in a move obviously meant to induce pre-taper panic, my immune system decided to take a vacation and I came down with a vicious stomach plague.

So coach told me to take the day off. I crawled into bed at noon full of despair for marathon training down the drain, but helpless to my legs and belly.

Instead I found a double torture session on Wednesday: 45-minute run at lunch with speed drills and 1:15 after work at marathon pace. The noontime run went OK despite some lingering weakness from purging my stomach contents all weekend. But 20 minutes into the evening session, my left knee (yeah, the one that's bending in the picture) threatened to snap. Just like at the Philly Distance Run, I had to stop and stretch every five minutes or so. Finally, 55 minutes in I waved the white flag and ran to the gym where I stretched my IT band.

I was giving myself a virtual high-five for eking out almost an hour, when I realized I was lurching in the direction of the treadmill. I guess I really wanted to get those final miles in the bank no matter what my knee thought! Did the last 20 minutes at marathon pace and, thanks to the boost from the belt, the knee stayed quiet.

Still a little worried about these next two weeks. A very long run is on the docket for Sunday, so the taper will be unorthodox. And I'm hoping the endorphins on race day carry me blissfully along unaware of my achy joints.

And no more sideways movements until the race is over.

Running Scared

2009-10-11T12:06:00.001-04:00

The map of Stanley Park in Vancouver promised an urban oasis with totem poles, a 50-meter pool, beaches, and a breathtaking combo of alpine and maritime scenery. And a Runner's World friend had recommended the 10K loop around the park when she heard I was traveling to Vancouver on business this week.

With a 60-minute run on the schedule, it sounded ideal. After a long travel day on Tuesday, and a packed day of presentations, tours, and meetings on Wednesday, I had it all planned out for Wed night. Leave the hotel at 5:00, run an hour, be stretched/showered/dressed and on the bus to dinner by 7:00.

It was a little after 5:00 when I headed out. As I jogged toward Coal Harbour I realized I'd brought only my cell phone and room key. No money, no ID, no map. But it was just an hour, I thought. A loop around the outer edge of the park. What could go wrong?

I started the first of two 15-minute tempo intervals as I passed the Vancouver Rowing Club. Breathing hard, I ran by the totem poles, ran under the lighthouse at Brockton Point, and took in the majesty of the snow-covered mountains across Burrard Inlet. I had the distinct feeling of running away from civilization. It still felt like a city park, with rollerbladers and cyclists whooshing by, but with each meter the land pushed into the sea, the farther I felt from safety. I'd been advised to stay along the seawall and eventually I'd get back to the park entrance. It was chilly with a wind blowing off the water. I'd elected not to wear my new lululemon arm warmers that I'd just purchased at the Robson Street store, wearing just knickers and a tank. As long as I was running, I was warm.

The first interval done, I jogged under Lion's Gate Bridge and around Prospect Point, noting that at high tide the waves would have splashed up around my ankles. Time to start the second interval. Pushing the pace, I ran hard by Siwash Rock, noting the manmade rock towers standing like ancient totems along the shore. I wondered if they got knocked over and reconstructed each day.

I was overjoyed to be finished with the second interval. I checked the map placard near Third Beach and saw that I was close to the end of the loop. Perfect, I thought. I passed by Second Beach Pool, envying Vancouver-ites such an awesome pool in a gorgeous location.

And then it began to unravel. I ran and ran along the seawall waiting for the familiar signs of where I had started the run. Instead the scenery became more and more urban. I recognized none of the skyline. By this time my hour was done. I walked a bit, looking for another map placard, but no luck. Finally I stopped a woman walking her dog. I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to ask, where I needed to go. I cursed myself for not bringing the map.

Ultimately, she waved me in the general direction (north), but warned me that I'd have to go up a big hill to get there. At this point it was 6:20 and I knew making the dinner bus would be close. I speedwalked over the hill but began to doubt the directions. Nothing looked familiar.

I waved down someone else, who told me I needed to go west then north. Aargh. I started to run. It was 6:30 now and I was heading back toward the park. Picturing the basic layout of the city in my head, I realized I needed to doubleback and go north again. I needed to get to the hotel, not the park. And if I was going to make it to dinner (and not freeze), I'd have to run the entire way.

I began to feel scared. It was rapidly getting darker and I had no idea how far I was from the hotel. It could take me 10 minutes or 30 minutes. And what about the neighborhoods? How safe were they? And I was pissed at myself. I had no money for a cab, my cell phone battery was low, and anyway I didn't have the number of the hotel or the trip organizer. I was cold, thirsty, and hungry. I couldn't believe my total lack of preparation. I thought through the option of stopping at a store and asking for help to call the hotel, a taxi, anything. But with the minutes ticking by, I knew that would take time and simply making forward progress on foot would get me back faster. That is, as long as I was going in the right direction.

Finally I hit Bute Street, a thoroughfare that I remembered was one of the cross streets near the hotel. I picked up my pace along Bute, crossing Nelson, Barclay, Haro, and (jackpot!) Robson Street. I was getting close, just two blocks from the hotel. With a hefty sigh of relief, I swung open the door of the hotel at 6:45, managed to shower and show up for the dinner bus with seconds to spare.

I was shaking and hungry, but very grateful for a long season of marathon training that gave me a big enough base to turn a 60-minute run with tempo intervals into 1:40 that I finished strong and safe.

Self portrait along the seawall on the north side of the park. I love the swervy effect. That's kind of how I felt by the end! You can see the mountains in the distance.

Kicking Butt with Ryan Hall

2009-09-27T20:01:00.001-04:00

One fantastic perk of being on the ASICS Editor Run Team for the NYC Marathon is the occasional shoulder-rubbing with greatness.

On Friday I got to do tempo drills, butt kicks, squats, and other fun warm-up exercises with none other than Ryan Hall, winner of last weekend's Philly Distance Run and the first American to clock a sub-1:00 half (in 2007). Ryan's coach Terrence Mahon led a group of editors through one of Ryan's typical warm-up sessions. I wish I had pictures of the 20 or so magazine types lined up with Ryan doing funny walks and drills across a patch of dirt in Central Park. It was comical. Maybe ASICS will provide. But for now I have this one:

He was telling us how he felt when he surged at mile 8 last Sunday ("not so good"). He later told us that he loves to eat Cinnabon after a race and cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery and in the off-season can pack 15 pounds on his 5'10" frame. During the season, though, he is careful about his diet, only eating foods that serve a purpose, plus lots of Cytomax shakes. And on race morning he has a bagel with nut butter and, ugh, a Cytomax gel ON TOP. Blech. He sure does *heart* his Cytomax!

When asked what he thinks about during races, he talked about his family/wife/dog (aw!), Christ on the cross, all the people praying for him, the other guys racing. Though I totally respect it, the religious stuff wouldn't work for me (plus that image is way too graphic when I'm already one poorly timed gel away from losing my breakfast). But he did say something that I've never really considered, which is to practice what you'll think about during a race. That way, he said, negative thoughts (which he struggles with as much as the next person) have harder time taking hold.

We practice everything else (nutrition, turnover, etc.), and since the mind is such a huge part of performance, it helps to have a handle on your thoughts. Thing is, how do you control where your mind goes?

I tested it out on my long run today and came to this conclusion: I have no idea how to practice thinking! My head was all over the place. At one point, closing in on 2.5 hours, I completely zoned out. You know that bizarre feeling when you're driving and suddenly you realize you don't remember getting from point A to point B? Yeah, that was me today, but running.

Now if I could do that for 4+ hours on November 1, I'd be happy. But I suppose I'd miss out on the whole spectacle that is NYC.

In Other News

2009-09-20T20:28:00.001-04:00

I ran the Philly Distance Run half marathon this morning. The course is supposed to be a flat PR gimme. So naturally, I not only wanted a PR, but I wanted sub-2:00.

I started out great, felt strong, got in a good rhythm. And then 14 minutes in, at the first water stop, got caught in a pothole and hit the asphalt.

It was one of those slow motion drops. Even as my left knee twisted and made contact with the ground, I couldn't believe it was happening. And I handled it with absolutely zero grace. The poor guy with the water cup got to hear a string of profanity that he didn't deserve to have blemish his sunny morning of volunteering.

Sigh.

(I will be a nicer person. I will be a nicer person. I will be a nicer person.)

Anyways.

I recovered like a cat after smashing into a glass slider.

That is to say, I pretended it didn't happen and rocketed off with just a quick glance down to make sure I wasn't bleeding.

Hit the 5K mark at a good pace and the 10K mark strong. But at mile 8 the effects of my mishap made themselves known in the form of searing pain on the side of my knee. At mile 9 I had to stop and stretch, and again at every mile thereafter.

At mile 12 I knew I'd need to pick it up to go under 2 hours, and as soon as I did, my knee felt like it would snap. I had to keep it steady.

And it wasn't enough. I crossed the finish at 2:00:42.

After I posted about it on FB, Jenny said this, and I couldn't have put it better:

Really a few seconds one way or the other is immaterial, but to the human brain it is curiously important sometimes whether the total number starts with a 1 or a 2!

Next time, I suppose. But for now, I will take the PR, especially given my little spaz move. By the end my body (and mind) was done. It had been compensating for four miles and I was really starting to lose it mentally.

I'm going to need a serious pep talk to get me to NYC in 6 weeks! I can't fathom twice the distance.

In other news, my husband saw this at his golf tournament today:

The Peep mobile!

Don't See These Too Often Around Here

2009-09-19T20:37:00.000-04:00

What I saw on this morning's ride:

After I took the picture, the camel reached over the fence for the greener grass and pushed so hard a couple of nails popped out of the boards! That seemed like a good time to get back on the road.

(It was at a local animal rescue called Last Chance Ranch. I see dogs and horses there a lot, but this is the first time I've seen a camel!)

What's Wrong with This Picture?

2009-09-17T22:06:00.000-04:00

OK, so I look awesomely happy for someone who just threw up a little bit in her mouth.

I think I was just happy to be almost done with the bike, naively thinking my stomach woes would subside. Heh. And why was I wearing sunglasses? It was raining! No wonder I felt out of it. I couldn't see!

Lessons Learned from (Another) Rainy Race

2009-09-13T21:43:00.001-04:00

Well, only one of these lessons from the Quakerman "Mini" Triathlon (.6 swim/38.2-mi bike/10-K run; not so itty-bitty, but whatever) has anything to do with the rain, but I wanted to change up the race report format this time because, frankly, race reports can be a real snore.

Lesson #1: Pack your run stuff and your bike stuff in two separate plastic bags, then pack those in your race bag.

OK, so maybe everyone already does this, but I take a while to catch on to these things. When prepping for a soggy day, I knew plastic bags would be key for keeping my shoes and other gear dry. But I didn't count on how much they would keep my bag organized. No frantic fishing for goggles and gels in transition pre-race! Yay. I'm doing this from now on, rain or shine.

Lesson #2: I love it when a race is just a 10-minute drive from my house.

Nothing more to say here. The reasons are self-evident.

Lesson #3: I can swim.

The swim was my best portion of this race compared to the rest of the field. Out of 111 people, I had the 33rd fastest swim time. That is unheard of for me. But in my last race, the swim was also my best of the three events. Hm. That doesn't mean I'm real-deal swimmer fast (duh). But it does mean I can have lots more confidence when diving into the water, which is really how you want to start a race, y'know? And I wonder how much better it would be if I actually, um, practiced more? Heh.

Lesson #4: Don't eat a PB & honey sandwich and a gel within 45 minutes of race start.

Ugh. I won't get into the reasons I did this, but suffice it to say I tasted them both for the entire effing race. During the last third of the swim I started feeling queasy and had visions of throwing up in the water. I somehow talked myself out of it and was able to make it through the first loop of the 2-loop bike no problem. But on the second loop, just as I was about to kick it up, the entire contents of my stomach threatened mutiny. And simultaneously, my left leg began not to function.

I slowed to a crawl, tried unclipping and stretching my left quad while coasting. Didn't work. I tried sitting up straight. Didn't work. I tried standing. Nada. Then I remembered I had a Gas-X strip in my bike bag, took it and--hallelujah!--it worked, so I was able to salvage the last quarter of the bike. Which leads me to...

Lesson #5: Don't try to pass me when I'm on my way back from hell.

Early in the first bike loop a chick in a YMCA kit passed me. (This race didn't body-mark age groups, so I had no idea if she was in mine, but since the start waves were organized by age, there was a decent chance.) We played cat and mouse for a while until I finally dropped her on a climb and didn't see her again. Until my stomach started to rebel. Then she came zooming by and I watched her gradually become a speck in the distance. Damn. She isn't a faster rider than me and it was incredibly disheartening, but there was nothing I could do but stick to my belly-taming mission.

After the Gas-X kicked in and I regained strength, on the last hill of loop 2, out of nowhere I heard, "On your left!" from a chick behind me. What?! I seriously didn't think there was anyone that close to me at this point and I almost fell off my bike in disbelief. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to watch her pull up next to me. But then I heard, "On your left coming... really... slowly."

Which would have been amusing, had I not already been passed by YMCA chick. I thought, "Oh no you don't!" And I dug in and cranked it up the hill. As I pulled away, I heard her say, quietly, "OK, so maybe not." I laughed to myself and left her in the dust. Hehe.

Lesson #6: Races are more fun when a) you've accumulated a little experience and b) you have friends and acquaintances there.

Gone (at least for now) are the days when I'm so nervous the night before a race that I can't eat and can barely think straight enough to pack my race bag. And I had fun in transition chatting with the people around me. I found myself sharing tips and advice, stuff that seemed obvious to me like, "No, you don't want to wear that ginormous rain jacket that will billow like a spinnaker on the bike" but clearly was not. And sharing only-at-a-triathlon quips about lake detritus and playing the who-has-less-body-fat game. (Yeah, triathletes are hilarious.)

Anyways, despite the GI distress and the rain and, yes, the lake detritus (we all had black sludge on our faces after the swim--blech) it was a fun day. Fellow EnMu Club athlete Jan got third overall in the half IM distance and Chris won his age group. New club member Barbara won her AG and Lenny got third in his. I wound up with second AG in another close race. If not for my stomach, I likely could have won my age group. The chick who beat me (YMCA girl, I think) only did so by a few minutes, most of which I probably could have accounted for on the bike. Fuel for next year!

No pictures from the race to post yet, but here are a couple of Willa and me enjoying the glorious weather today kayaking at Lake Nockamixon and hanging out on the rocky shore:

LIVESTRONG Philly

2009-08-28T10:06:00.002-04:00

Whoa, it's Friday and I still haven't posted about the LIVESTRONG ride! (In my defense, I'm on vacation this week and trying to take a break from all things keyboard related.)

I hadn't planned to do this event, but at about the time my cousin died, my EnMu teammate Lori had posted on Facebook looking for others to join her on the 45-mile route. Since I haven't trained for super long distances, it sounded good to me. And with my late sign-up, I worried about raising the required $250, figuring I'd rustle up what I could and pay the balance myself.

So I was pretty stunned when I managed to far exceed my fundraising goal and was able to donate $1,075 to LIVESTRONG, thanks to many of you (including Krista, Kim, Dimity, BettyBetty, Bob, Jenny, Alison, mom & dad, Suzy & Jim, Stacie, Selene, KT, Ruth, Karen, Kris & Tom, Lisa, and Rachelle). HUGE thanks to all of you!!

Lori and I flying the EnMu colors.

Anyway, on to the ride. There's not a whole lot to say, except that it was tremendously awesome to ride side-by-side with thousands of survivors and supporters, and to hear cowbells and cheering from onlookers along the way. It was 45 miles of winding, hilly, bucolic eastern Pennsylvania farmland. Lori and I started way in the back of the pack because we had no interest in pushing to the front of the starting corral. Which meant we spent most of the ride passing people. Which naturally made us feel like rockstars, especially on the climbs. Hehe. :)

We just had to pass this guy. The Ronald McDonald paint job was too hard to look at.
(Yes, I know. Bad form to be snarky on a charity ride. But difficult to resist in this case, especially given the Kona jersey.)

I discovered once again that I feel better and better as longer rides progress, provided that I fuel properly. I also discovered that gels are about all I can deal with when it comes to calories. The crackers I ate midway through the ride gave me heartburn for the last 20 miles. Yoiks!

Lori proudly wore her survivor bib. She's so strong and such an inspiration.

I marked my legs with the initials HNWL and MFZL,
to honor my cousin, who recently lost her battle with cancer,
and my uncle, who is just beginning to fight his.

I plan to do this ride again next year, possibly the 70- or 100-mile route. Major gratitude to Lori, for opening my eyes to this experience and for helping me realize how good it feels to do something positive with my training for someone besides myself.

LIVESTRONG Philly This Sunday!

2009-08-19T16:26:00.005-04:00

LIVESTRONG Philly is Sunday. I'll be riding in memory of my cousin Frankie and in honor of my uncle Harry.

Yeah, you probably know this, but just thought I'd mention... The Lance Armstrong Foundation unites people to fight cancer, believing that unity is strength, knowledge is power, and attitude is everything. The dollars and awareness LAF raises inspires and empowers individuals, and makes life better for the millions of people across the globe fighting cancer today.

Please support me as I make a difference in the cancer fight through my participation in the LIVESTRONG Challenge.

I just need a few more dollars to reach my fundraising goal (and if I exceed it, all the better!). Click here. (Search "Leah Flickinger" if the link doesn't automatically connect to my personal page.)

Thanks in advance!

And a huge thank you to those who have already donated! I am continually amazed at the power of the blogosphere to unite like minds and link shared purpose.

Progress

2009-08-16T21:05:00.009-04:00

The green iceberg buoy looked far more than 375 yards away this morning as I stepped into the lake for a warmup swim before the Beware of Barracuda Triathlon.

But the water felt warm and comforting sloshing around my legs. I love swimming in this lake, I thought.

Another athlete asked me, "Are you a swimmer?"

I laughed and said, "Ha! No. I only just really learned a couple of years ago. The swim is always hard for me."

She smiled.

And I added, "But I've been doing better lately."

(Because it's true.)

"Isn't it great how far we've come?" she offered.

Yes! It sure as hell is.

I got to experience that revelation in all it's sparkling brilliance today after I dove into the no-wetsuit-allowed swim and just went for it. After I exited the water solidly in the first half of the pack and before the eventual first place overall female. As I ran onto the beach next to another woman in my AG and passed her. As she passed me on the bike and I stayed steady and dusted her on the first descent and never saw her on the bike course again. Even as she passed me on the run and I knew I'd been thisclose to winning my age group.

And for the sweet victory of coming a long way, I received my first-ever-in-my-life trophy. Second AG, in a close race.

A damn sweet victory indeed.

A prize with a fierce-looking fish on it!

Racing, PRs, and Parental Angst

2009-08-10T22:34:00.004-04:00

This past weekend was full of ups and downs. Friday night was the corporate challenge at the velodrome and, while Team Rodale beat last year's time, we didn't make the finals. (Last year we made the podium in third place.) That said, we were one of the only teams without a professional "ringer" and this year that put us at a distinct disadvantage, especially given that some of the teams seemed to have more than one. (The team that won featured "the most-decorated American track cyclist" and I swear one other pro type. I could be wrong...) But whatever. We were proud of what we did and we can live with ourselves.

Prerace at the Valley Preferred Cycling Center.

Saturday morning Willa and I woke up crazy early to head up to Hazleton, PA, for the Beware of Barracuda open water swim races. I've done the 1650-yard race for the last two years. Readers of my Women's Health blog will remember how hard it was for me the first time, and that I finished second to last with a time of 40:xx and still won my age group.

Last year I finished in 30:35, took second AG, and was thrilled beyond compare to not have a major freakout in the water.

This year, I'm pleased to report that I shaved another 3:05 off my time, didn't freak out at all, and was even able to "race." I had hoped to break 30:00 this year, and as soon as I started swimming, I knew I had a chance. I felt strong and sure in the water, and didn't allow any negative thoughts to jeopardize me.

I was able to swim in a pack without worrying about being kicked, I drafted, and I surged in the last 300 or so yards to pass two people before crossing the finish line. My time was 27:30 and I was cooked afterward. My arms and shoulders were screaming. Slightly embarrassing to admit, but I have never swam that hard in a race. I'm overjoyed with my performance and hope that it signifies a real breakthrough for me. Panic during the swim has been my major limiter in races and I'm so over it! (More on the swim races later in the post.)

Schwimmenflugel!
I'm always entertained by these buoys for some reason.
(This picture is especially amusing because they look like, well... Heh.)

And Sunday my friend Rachelle finished her very first triathlon, which was so exciting to watch. It was especially gratifying because I had done some training with her on the bike, including one rainy ride when I "strongly suggested" she soldier on because "what if it rains on race day?" It did rain on race day (shocking, I know) and I was happy to have helped her with what turned out to be a key workout.

Rachelle heading out of T1.
I wish I looked this happy during races!

But back to the Saturday swim races for a minute. Overall the weekend would have been fantastic had it not been for the 200-yard race on Saturday that Willa and I were both signed up for.

Last year the RD divided racers into two groups for the 200: under 14 and 14+. This year he did not. Which meant 10-year-old Willa and I (and numerous other adults along with kids as young as 6) lined up together on the starting line.

We got the "go" signal and, as with most swim starts, the melee began. I watched to make sure Willa was OK. She was swimming and sighting and making forward progress. For a moment I thought maybe I should hang with her and we could get the finish together. But the 200 is a mad dash, and I wanted to go, go, go!

In a split second, I considered Willa's performance in the triathlon last year, at the same lake, where she kicked butt in the swim. And that was the deciding factor. I took off. Roughly three minutes later, I hit the dock at the finish and whipped my head around to look for Willa. Kid after kid came in, but not Willa. I glanced out to the turnaround buoy, thinking maybe she was still making the turn. No, not there. And none of the kayakers seemed to be spotting a wayward swimmer. The last kid came in and it wasn't Willa.

My heart plummeted. Could she have gone under and not caught anyone's attention? Erica ran to the shore while I stood on the dock and scanned the water. Moments later (it felt like hours) Erica appeared with Willa. I grabbed my daughter, squeezed her hard and kissed the top of her head, breathing her in.

"I got scared and I had to get out of the water," she said. "I swam out as fast as I could. I cut my toe on the dock before the start and then I saw a cage under the water and it scared me. I couldn't catch my breath."

I quickly said, "You made the right choice and I'm proud of you for knowing what you needed to do, and for doing it."

Her disappointment was palpable, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn down, tears gathering in her eyes. My first thought was to salvage the day so she'd want to try this race again someday. She loves to swim, practically lives in the water. I wanted her to see how it was a success rather than a failure. And she amazed me when she said, "I think I want to do the triathlon next weekend [same one as last year, at the same venue]. I did better in that race." My girl, already trying to vindicate a disappointing performance.

She has since reconsidered the tri next weekend. (She doesn't want to do the run!) And I have since gone through major angst over my decision to swim away from her. Why didn't I just swim alongside her to the finish? Why did I swim off? Was a PR in a stupid local race really that important? No.

I've been feeling like a serious contender for Bad Mom of the Year. Ugh.

But during the last few days my thinking has evolved. If I've learned anything since becoming a mom, it's that kids need a chance to own their experiences. If I had swam with her, it wouldn't have been her race, her decision, her success or her failure. And she might not have had the opportunity to learn that she is strong and capable of making sound decisions.

So I'm at peace with what went down on Saturday. I did get a PR in a stupid local race, and she got a big lesson on taking care of herself.

My sweetie, focusing prerace. I'm so proud of her.

Racing in the Rain

2009-08-04T21:56:00.004-04:00

I'm not sure why I signed up for the Patriot's Half Lite Triathlon in Bath, PA. It wasn't on my list of must-do races. I waited until the day before to hand over my check. And with its 1300-meter swim, 38-mile bike, and 7-mile run it's out of my comfort zone.

But since the only other tri I signed up for this year got turned into a du, I've been wanting a chance to test out my swimming. Plus with half-marathon training under my belt I have a pretty good base for a longer distance race.

So Sunday morning I jumped out of bed as soon as my alarm went off at 4-freakin'-30. Actually, I got out of bed to look out the window and make sure that horrible sound I was hearing really was torrential rain and thunder.

Turns out, it was. But for some reason, I was on autopilot (or in major denial) and continued with my morning pre-race routine, loaded up the car, and headed out.

The rain seemed to clear a little as I got closer to the race venue. But as soon as I had my transition set up, the skies opened up again. More booming thunder. More lightning.

A few minutes before the sprint start, the race director announced the swim was to be replaced with a 2-mile run.

Ugh. I said I liked the duathlon in Philly, but not that much! Add to that some typical pre-race stomach issues and my mood really began to nosedive.

Between my upset stomach and rushing to get a warmup in, I didn't have a chance to eat my pre-race gel and then I nearly missed the start. (Nothing against Pirahna Sports, but last year I did a race of theirs and nearly missed the start too. I'm not a miss-the-start kinda gal, so I'm thinking it has something to do with the race organizers. I'm just sayin'...)

So, two miles. Shoulda been easy. I shoulda been fired up.

Nope. I had nothing. I had to book it to the starting line and in the very back when I heard the "Go!"

I don't think I passed anyone. Last? I was going to come in last to T1? I'm no speed demon, but I never come in last! More ugh. The run was mostly on a gravel road, which didn't help. And was pretty much uphill the entire way back.

Running into T1 I saw Erica and told her I wasn't having fun. She was saying, "The course is long. Everyone is saying that." And I'm laughing to myself thinking, "Huh? But I'm still almost last. It doesn't make a difference how long the damn run is!"

But anyway, as my feet literally sank into mud with every step, I told myself I would try one loop of the three-loop bike course and if I was miserable I could quit.

I got on my bike and immediately commenced with being miserable.

I tried to pass people, but it was hard. My legs had nothing. The course was hilly almost from the beginning and I was still fuming about the run.

Then I remembered my nutrition plan and sucked down a Double Latte Powergel. Mmm.

Yes!

I began to regain my focus and could feel the energy bubbling back through my bloodstream. This is how you're supposed to feel. And then I began picking people off. It was a slow process, but I did get by a good number of people, which made me feel a little better about things.

At the end of the first loop I passed by Craig, Erica, and Rachelle all bundled up in rain gear cheering their lungs out (totally badass cheerleaders on a less-than-perfect day for spectating--thank you guys!). I had truly expected to stop at that point and call it a day, but as I wizzed by them, I thought maybe I could try one more loop. I continued with the Double Latte gels and during the second loop my legs started to come back.

And then the rain gods totally let loose. The only way it would have been wetter was if they hadn't canceled the swim. It was raining so hard that it poured down the front of my helmet and into my eyes and mouth. For a while I was getting enough water in my mouth I think it counted as hydration. And in some ways, the rain did energize me. The experience became an adventure, the elements something to rally against. As I've said before, I have little fear on the bike and riding in the rain is a non-issue for me. I didn't take any huge risks, but I didn't let it slow me down either.

I will say this about Pirahna Sports, even though there was some confusion at the start, the bike course was extremely well marked and there were volunteers at every corner pointing the way. I began to look forward to seeing them during each loop. This is a small race to begin with, and a good many who signed up did not start. So there were times on this course that I felt totally isolated, to the point where I wondered if maybe they'd shut down the race and hadn't yet come out to find me. Anyway, so it was reassuring to see the volunteers at every checkpoint. It's hard enough to race in the rain, but to stand and point in a downpour for 3 hours takes a special kind of person.

By the end of the third loop the hills that hurt during loop 1 felt easy, and when I got to T2 I was thinking I could ride forever.

Once I had my running shoes on, I had to remind myself to keep moving. I could feel the rapid onset of "race brain" spaceout.

But my legs! They felt amazing! I couldn't believe it. I mean like super-fantastic. Not that I was churning out 7-minute miles or anything, but I had energy and they felt springy and I felt strong and happy. I was even smiling for a good portion of the run, with my arms out taking it all in. Some guy even told me to "keep smiling!"

The miles went by quickly and I had enough energy to really rocket through the finishing chute. At least that's what it felt like. I was probably hobbling at that point, but who cares. This was certainly the most satisfying finish I've ever had in a race. I ended up with third AG, but with only 27 women finishing, I think we all got a medal. And we damn well deserved it!

I'm thinking longer distances are the way to go for me. I've never felt progressively better throughout a race.

Or maybe I just need rain?

First bike loop. At least I got a decent picture out of it.

LIVESTRONG

2009-07-23T20:34:00.005-04:00

Last week I lost a cousin to cancer.

She was my cousin's wife actually. A mom of two. A special ed teacher who helped kids believe in themselves when so many others didn't. A generous spirit with a brilliant smile.

Oh, and my cousin's father was recently given a year to live. Cancer, too.

On August 23rd I'll be riding my bike in the Livestrong Challenge in Philly in memory of my cousin Frankie and in support of my uncle Harry. And I'll be riding with my friend and fellow EnMu athlete Lori, who is a cancer survivor.

In all my years of riding, I have never raised a penny for a cause. That ends now.

Please click here to support my ride. Even just a dollar goes a long way.

I very much appreciate it!

Marathon Minded

2009-07-19T20:43:00.003-04:00

It's officially 16 weeks until the ING New York City Marathon!

And this was the first weekend in a while that I've had a long run on the training plan. I wasn't looking forward to it. A couple of weeks ago I developed some kind of serious discomfort/numbness in my left foot. During the race last weekend, my foot felt like a stump. And during my shorter runs this week, it felt like it was on fire. In a bad way. I couldn't imagine a long run.

But I set out and found myself thinking about the marathon and how excited I am to be doing it. I can't wait to feel the energy of the crowds and travel through all the boroughs of NYC, with friends and family cheering me on. Every time I think about the marathon, I can literally feel the excitement. It's been a while since I've felt that way about a race/event, so let's please hope I make it to the starting line in one piece.

Anyway, today's run consisted of three loops. At the end of the first my legs felt great. Hills I have struggled up in the past flew under my feet. I felt so fantastic that I negative split the second loop. Then I sucked down a Double Latte Power Gel and the last loop just zoomed by.

Running last weekend at the Philadelphia Women's Tri-Turned-Du.

I came home, stretched well, then sat in an ice bath (ahhh!) where I contemplated the close of a satisfying training week that included a great open water swim and two fun bike rides with friends topped off by today's successful long run.

I'll probably do one or two more tris this summer, one open water swim race, and possibly the bike leg of a relay. But other than that, I'll be marathon minded until November 1.

In the meantime, I'll be scheduling more bike rides with friends, focusing on feeling good on my long runs, and stocking the freezer with bags of ice.

More Evidence...

2009-07-14T20:55:00.003-04:00

...that perhaps I should sign up for another duathlon:

I am actually smiling at the finish line.

(Actually, if you look real close, it looks like I'm about to cry. I guess it's more of a grimace. But I'll take it!)

I Didn't Sign Up for This

2009-07-13T21:13:00.007-04:00

Philadelphia Women's Triathlon Race Report

I've never understood the appeal of duathlons. If you're going to suffer through a multisport race, why not just go for the actual triathlon? Mix it up a little more, you know? And it's never occurred to me to sign up for one. I mean, why? They just seem silly.

But this Sunday, as I and roughly 1,000 women headed down to the site of the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon, we learned that even though we hadn't signed up for one, we'd be competing in a duathlon that morning. Heavy rains Saturday night caused the water levels to rise dangerously in the Schuylkill River, enough so that swimming would have been a bad idea.

I felt bad for the first-timers who'd trained for months and expected to walk away from this race with the right to call themselves triathletes. And I was disappointed. I had really hoped to conquer some of my swim demons here. Regular readers of this blog might remember my swim debacle from last year where I stopped just after the start and let everyone go by. Ugh.

So it was a bit surprising when I realized that the prospect of a duathlon gave me a bring-it-on feeling I haven't experienced in a race before. Open-water swimming is unpredictable and scary for me. I am not afraid of running and cycling. Period.

On to the race. The first 1.9-mile run went well. I pushed it maybe a little harder than I should have, but I was pumped up. I worked hard on the bike and passed everyone around me, except for some super-fast elite types. At the last big corner, I stood up to shoot past a group of slow-movers and my left aerobar nearly fell off the bike. Holy crap! I was forced to slow to make sure it wasn't going to completely fall off. Crazy!

When I hit T2, I discovered that my legs had not accompanied me off the bike. My hip flexors, glutes, and every other muscle/tendon/ligament in that general area had gone on strike. I gingerly stepped out of my bike shoes, attempted to don my running shoes, then literally limped out of transition.

When I started running, I found a semblance of my legs, a version that turned over but refused to do so with any sort of urgency. And then my lower back started grumbling. And my left foot, which has been giving me trouble lately, began to feel like a stump.

Oh, and then the lip balm that I had inexplicably decided to take with me on the run course flew out of my pocket and I stopped to pick it up. And then one by one, what felt like hoards of women I had passed on the bike in my age group, began to pass me by. Sigh.

This race was starting to go downhill. Fast.

But I remembered how sad I felt last year when I shuffled through that run because my knee and hip were injured. I am in a much better place this year in terms of what my body can handle. So I concentrated on my form and tried to pick up the pace and get out of my comfort zone.

I won't lie. It wasn't easy. And I did just an OK job of it. Still I beat last year's time on both the run and the bike, and shot up significantly in the overall and age group standings. It was a big eye-opener in terms of what happens when you take the swim out of my race equation. And I'm beyond pleased that I improved on the bike, given my recent throw-up training rides.

Hm. Maybe I'll try another one of these silly races.

Katie, Erica, me, Christie, and Lori after the race.

Fellow EnMu athlete, Lori, who always manages to look glam in race-day pics.

Me looking very un-glam. A pensive moment, but a decent shot of the bike.

What I Need

2009-07-06T18:23:00.006-04:00

In eastern PA this weekend we had the most glorious summer weather in a long time. Blue-sky days that make you want to twirl around in the grass like Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music." Yeah, that's a pretty corny image, but I can't help it. That kind of weather just makes me feel absurdly alive, especially given the weeks on end of rain we've had recently.

Naturally, I spent the last two mornings on the couch watching the Tour de France.

Anyways.

I've been working hard lately on my bike, prompting a frustrated posting on Facebook last week along the lines of "I need to start liking my bike again."

I was surprised at the number of responses I got. A few people suggested I needed to start riding with friends. Some others thought maybe I needed a new bike, a temptation I admit is hard to resist, but I am fully stocked in the bike department and hope it doesn't take a few thousand dollars to make me love riding again.

I got a couple of "I hear ya's" too. I guess it's that time in the season when training starts to really hurt. My rides lately have been all business. On several occasions I have felt the contents of my stomach rise into my throat and bubble into my mouth. Gross, I know. But I also take some satisfaction in the idea that my body is working so hard it shuts down other operations.

I don't get out of my comfort zone easily on the bike, the result of too many group rides where I was in over my head and felt defeated from the get-go, and the fact that I love lolling about on two wheels, taking in the scenery and feeling the breeze on my face.

So it's been a breakthrough couple of weeks for me in terms of pushing it. But it's left me wondering what I really want out of my bike. During the off-season I told Craig I wanted to get faster. I do like the fitness and body benefits of triathlon training. And oddly, I actually like the hard workouts. But I also don't like them. I mean, it's great to be fast and all, but the faster you go, the faster the scenery flies by. Where's the fun in that?

So I've decided I need to do some rides that aren't about training. Today Willa and I packed up our bikes headed to the Lehigh Parkway in Allentown, a local cinder path that runs alongside the Little Lehigh River. As we pedaled side-by-side, I looked over at my daughter riding tall in her saddle, her two blond braids poking out from underneath her helmet and the river babbling behind her, and I thought, "This is exactly what I need."

Look for us there a couple times a week all summer. Our goal is to go twice around the loop by the end of August. No matter that it's only a few miles long. As long as we feel the air on our faces and don't get our heart rates up, I'll be happy.

In Which I Attempt to DNF...

2009-06-15T18:46:00.002-04:00

...but am thwarted.

Or "How I learned that lack of pre-race nerves may lead to lack of during-race enthusiasm."

Or "Why I'll never again say before a race, 'How could it possibly be worse than last year?'"

Sunday morning a few hundred swimmers lined up on the shore of the Chesapeake at the foot of the Bay Bridge for the Chesapeake Bay 1-Mile Swim. When we heard "GO!" we made our way in, some of us diving, some walking, some simply ducking under.

I didn't stay in the back because last year I got stuck behind slow swimmers. And this year I feel less slow, so I wanted to avoid a repeat debacle.

But I didn't count on the chop. The relentless chop that resembled boat wake and kept washing over me and making it damn hard to just freakin' swim.

A short time in, I decided I wanted out. Get me the hell out of this water that I can't swim in! I don't have the willpower to endure this today.

It was a strange feeling. One I've never encountered in a race before. I quickly ran through the scenarios of disappointment: I'd have to tell Erica; I'd be seen being lifted out of the water, a major race FAIL; I'd have to tell my friends.

I'd have to live with the shame.

Oh, who was I kidding? I didn't give a crap! I was two buoys into a row of five before the first turn and perceiving little progress. The chop was coming fast from the right and I couldn't get a feel for it. I was fighting every wave and getting tired.

[It should be noted, in my defense, that I'm recovering from a nasty sinus infection and contending with a course of antibiotics that is wreaking havoc on my stomach.]

Next thing I knew, my hand was up and I was making eye contact with a kayaker who motioned for me to swim over to her.

Oh, for crying out loud! She is going to make me swim across the course through other swimmers so that I can be pulled.

But the feeling of relief at getting the hell out was so great that I ducked down and started swimming in earnest. I really didn't care.

Not caring is an unusual state for me. I have often thought my life would feel easier if I could only care less. But at this moment, all care had evaporated.

I swam to the kayak, grabbed the front of it and hung on while the volunteer attempted to wave down a boat.

It soon became clear that she did not know how to effectively hail a boat. A number of minutes passed. Five? Maybe more.

Meanwhile, as I gazed out over the rippling water, I began to feel sad that I would be leaving it. It actually felt quite nice on my bare arms. And I had been counting on getting a swim in.

"I knew this was going to be a bad day as soon as I saw the water," said the volunteer.

I whipped my head around. "Really?" I answered. "You mean it's not just me?"

"Naw. This is some bad chop," she offered.

I am not a total wuss!

I looked around some more. Still, no boat. And once I began to assess the situation, I realized I likely would have to wait a while for one to swing my way.

I can probably swim out faster than it would take for a boat to come, I thought. So I asked the volunteer if I was disqualified for touching the kayak, she said no, and off I went. I could hear her saying, "Good for you, sticking with it!" I gave her a half-hearted thumbs up as I swam away.

And so it was that I swam to the final buoy and made the first turn and found my rhythm. There were not enough buoys after the first turn, which made sighting hard. But I just looked for the damn bridge and kept going.

This time the chop was hitting from the left side so I knew after I made the last turn to shore, it would make for an easier beeline to the finish. And it was, and of course I passed dozens of people in the final 500 yards or so. But it was too late to salvage anything and my time was worse than last year, which I didn't think was possible!

I'm laughing about it now. And am glad I stuck it out. It was a nice day for a swim despite the chop.

The day got exponentially better after we refueled with Blue Moon.

Erica won her age group in the 4.4-mile swim and was 11th female overall! Woo-hoo! She's my coach, people!

(Interesting fact: 102 people were pulled from the 4.4-mile swim, compared to 21 last year. The conditions really were tough.)

Lori (looking all glam) and Erica toasting their results.

Chesapeake Bound

2009-06-13T14:01:00.002-04:00

Been sick, been busy, been off the blog.

And this morning have been frantically packing to head down to Maryland for the Chesapeake Bay 1-Mile swim.

Last year I was crazy nervous for this event. I can hardly even call it a race, because for me it is so not about racing. I mostly was concerned about having one of my panic episodes in the water.

Thankfully, I did not. But my time was super slow (so was everyone else's, though, because of the current and possibly a long course).

This year I haven't even given the race much thought. I haven't been swimming as much as I should. First I had a neck/shoulder problem. Then I was sick. And of course, always busy.

I just haven't focused on the race.

Now it feels like I'm going on a road trip culminating in an open water swim with 400 people I have never met. (Minus Jan and Lori, and Erica who is doing the 4.4-mile swim.)

I wonder what will happen if I don't stress out about it? Maybe it's a good thing? Or do I need stress to get me focused?

I'll find out, I guess. But I do like not having race jitters.

Black Bear!

2009-06-02T21:16:00.000-04:00

Sunday was the Black Bear sprint and half iron triathlon at Beltzville State Park near Jim Thorpe, PA.

This was the second year that we put together an Endurance Multisport relay team for both races. Black Bear is a great local race in a beautiful location and it winds up being a really fun day out.

Both relay teams defended our wins from last year, which was quite satisfying considering the field was bigger this year and included teams made up of the fearless (and fast-swimming) 11- and 13-year-old kids of a local badass triathlete. And we beat them. Take that!

Last year I was injured and my run was super slow. I was faster this year, so that was good and, more importantly, I wasn't in pain!

The only downer of the day was on the way to the race I actually saw a dead bear(!) on the side of the highway. I have never seen that before and it felt really sad and strange to be heading to a race named after a bear. Heavy sigh.

Anyway. Here are some (happy) pictures from the day:

Me, after the run, very glad to be done.

Chris after her killer ride.

Chris demonstrating advanced recovery skillz.

Coach Craig demonstrating perfect form as he approaches the half iron finish.

Happy sprinters with our first place medals.