Because I Tri

Um, Where Was I?

2010-11-27T22:41:00.001-05:00

Oh, yeah.

It was early October. I had just posted about not posting (while promising myself the posting drought would end).

I had been diligently doing PT exercises hoping to heal a bum hip in time for some great fall riding and running.

I had just posted a picture of our super-adorable new housemate.

But that post in early October didn't tell the half of it. I'd been feeling lousy since early September. The kind of lousy defined by profound fatigue no matter how much I slept. The kind marked by a cloying sensation deep in my skull that made me addled and confused. The kind that made every bone and muscle in my body weak and sore. The kind that docs threw hard core antibiotics at (because the symptoms screamed sinus infection) until I couldn't tell what made me feel worse, the lousy or the medicine.

The leaves lit up the landscape and fell to the ground while I was curled up on the couch waiting for the malaise to pass. So much for a fun off-season.

Well, after two months of misery, it turns out I am allergic to everything. Every tree known to man. Grass, mold, mildew. Dogs, dust, dander. The new (furry--argh!) housemate pictured in the last post. How I missed this until now is beyond me. Anyway, thanks to the correct application of modern medications, I am beginning to feel like a functioning human being again.

Which is really terrific, because the kind of lousy I was feeling was making it impossible to imagine how I would function... at my new job!

Somehow during this same period of time a career opportunity came along that I am very excited about, a chance to combine two of my passions: making magazines and riding bikes. Starting in January, I will be leaving Women's Health to start a position as an executive editor at Bicycling magazine.

If I'm being honest, it's a little bittersweet. My five years at Women's Health have been some of the most rewarding of my professional life. I've learned a tremendous amount from the incredibly smart people I've had the good fortune to work with.

But I believe that growth comes out of change. And I'm looking forward to working with a new group of incredibly smart people. I'm a little nervous, too, though nothing some regular workouts can't cure.

And that's not the only reason to get my training on track. You might remember I signed up for a little event called Eagleman in June.

OK, body: Let's do this thing.

Out from Under?

2010-10-04T20:40:00.000-04:00

It's hard to write a post after such a long time without referencing said lack of posting.

Let that be it.

My off-season came early when I found out in August that I'd fractured my hipbone sometime during the spring.

What?!

Yes, I'd been racing with a broken hip for several months. Yes, the pain was apparent. No, I did not go to the doctor soon enough.

But the good news is, it's all healed now. I'm taking it easy and diligently doing my PT exercises.

Workouts have been super casual. Work has been super busy. And I'm slowly digging out from under the pile of sand that has been these last six weeks.

How it is October already?

A couple of random visual updates...

New housemate.

My girl.

Me, volunteering at a local tri back in July.

It's Always Something

2010-08-15T20:44:00.003-04:00

Today's high point: I come out of the water at the Beware of Barrcuda sprint triathlon and hear Craig say, "You're 4th overall woman right now. With a pretty big gap behind you."

At which point, a friend snaps this picture:

That's my "holy-crap-for-realz?" face.

All I can say is a strong swim completely changes the way the rest of the race feels. Instead of hunting down a good portion of the women's field on the bike, I feel like the prey.

And I hold all but one off on the hilly bike course in the pouring rain.

Until... I crash about five miles from T2. (That would be today's low point.)

Luckily there is no photo of the debacle, but to fuel your imagination: Picture me in my big ring on a steep rise trying to downshift (FAIL) and tipping over in slo-mo. I calmly jump back on the bike only to discover that my saddle has turned 90 degrees to the right. Give it a few hundred more yards and decide it's not rideable. The seatpost won't budge and every tool in my bag is the wrong size. I flip the bike on its side on the shoulder, grab the top tube with my left hand and shove the saddle with my right foot. It works well enough for me to sit on the bike, but by then four or five chicks have passed me.

Ah well. It was a thrill while it lasted. I was having a pretty solid ride, all things (hip injury) considered. And I really believe I could have held my position, or close to it.

The run was uneventful. A couple more women passed me, which is par for the course, including a chick in my AG. So I wound up with 2nd AG.

But it was a big win for me. One of these days maybe the stars will align and I'll nail all three legs. Until then, I'll savor yet another huge boost of confidence in what was once the most daunting part of racing.

Katie, me, and Erica after the finish.

I Hope It Never Gets Old

2010-08-10T22:15:00.002-04:00

What would I think about during mile two of the Beware of Barracuda Open Water race? Could I even stand my own company for that long of a swim? (I wondered this as I hung onto the dock waiting for the starting horn.)

The lake at Eagle Rock Resort in Hazleton, PA, the site of the Beware of Barracuda Open Water Swims this past Saturday.

Turns out, I spent most of it thinking about how my stomach hurt, that my goggles were pressing on my eye sockets, that my legs were cramping.

But I also took note of a Band-aid at the bottom of a shallow area and wondered briefly what it would feel like to swoop down and grab it. Probably not so great. The water must look less deep than it is.

And thought about how the first year I did the one-mile race here I somehow took in so much more of the scenery. Hadn't I thought the lakeside houses were really swank?

I wondered briefly if I had the whole lake to myself. Maybe you're last, I thought, because, well, where IS everyone else?

Cue negative self-talk.

I also thought about how horrible the 200-yard race had felt for the 3-plus minutes it lasted. How it felt like it would never end. And how much more delicious it was to be stretching out for yards and yards and yards. Enough yards to equal two miles.

I chuckled to myself (yes, underwater) about how I'd managed to arrive just five minutes before the race began, leaving no time to warm up or run back to the car for my wetsuit.

Oh, and hey, I thought, you are swimming two miles with no wetsuit when legally you could have, and... damn that's impressive. That's the real deal. When did you become a swimmer?

And, oh yeah, those swank houses were hard to miss when you had your head out of the water because you were in a total panic four years ago. No time for that this year. It's all about ticking off the buoys, hugging the turns, staying in a straight line.

True, it doesn't feel like you're making forward progress, but you have to trust that your body is strong and you are using all your muscles and you are moving buckets every time your arm sweeps through the water.

Ugh, but that extra little "add-on" jaunt to the green iceberg buoy and back, to make it a full two miles, is going to be a total bummer after two long loops around the lake.

Instead those extra yards fly by and you're swooping over the finish line. You're finishing a TWO MILE open water swim when just four years ago you were walking laps in the pool with your heart rate at full-on freak-out levels.

And, really? It took you just over an hour? Which was good enough for second in your age group (the biggest one in the race, thankyouverymuch)?

I gotta say, the feeling of accomplishing something that was once nearly paralyzing just never gets old.

I seriously hope it stays that way.

I Blame It on the Second Beer

2010-08-04T21:05:00.001-04:00

I had never even considered signing up for this race.

The swim venue is called the Choptank, for freak's sake. (And we all know how I feel about chop.) I remembered too late the tales of jellyfish I'd read in race reports.

The bike course is flat. But it's windy.

The run course is flat. With no shade.

Still, I found myself painstakingly typing in my Visa account number on the Tricolumbia site about 48 hours ago.

At which point, I sent a frantic text to my coaches along the lines of:

I may have had one beer too many tonight. I just signed up for Eagleman 2011. Uh-oh.

And they responded with shock and, dare I say, a bit of glee.

For let it be said that I have been floundering a bit this year with no major commitments. Sure I claimed I wanted to do my first half Ironman in September. But between my cranky hip and some unexpected schedule constraints, I couldn't fathom making time for the training.

So a commitment has been made, which will give me focus for the next 10 months and incentive to solve a litany of issues, including but not limited to, said cranky hip, multiple profound nutrition fails, TT bike discomfort (the lure of a new bike is tempting), wintertime lack of motivation, etc, etc.

It's time to take my newfound confidence in the water to the (potentially) jellyfish-infested, effin' Choptank and show it who has the upper hand.

And it's time to remember my strengths, including that I can ride hard and absorb training and maintain a solid effort over the course of a race and finish strong.

Remind me of this next June, OK?

Thanks.

When Did My Swim Become the Good Part?

2010-07-30T21:49:00.000-04:00

Here's what I tweeted last Sunday after completing the Patriot's Half Lite triathlon in Bath, PA:

Decent swim, crappy bike & run but got 2nd AG & this totally badass pic:

And that pretty much sums it up. Can you tell I'm all about the 140-character update these days?

Seriously though, very happy about my swim. Started near the front, had a minor "I don't belong with these fasties" panic near the first buoy, recovered, and came out of the water not horribly behind.

Which was a good thing because my bike was a disaster. My left hip decided that a race would be a good time to start screaming again after staying mum for the past month of training. Argh. On the second of three loops I lost any and all strength in that leg and could hardly tolerate sitting on the bike, much less pedaling. Wanted to quit, but kept telling myself I'd feel better on the run.

And I did, but I'd also flubbed my nutrition on the bike (relying on just a sports drink and no gels), so my legs were toast for the 7-mile hilly run and it was a mental battle to finish.

Bike and run were slower than last year (though very different conditions: torrential rain vs. hot and sunny). No comparison for the swim since it got turned in to a du last year.

But it's cause for celebration whenever I can describe my swim as "decent." And, hey, any time you get a good picture out of a race, it's all good.

(Note to self: Maybe don't lift your head out of the water quite so much every time you sight. Might be slightly more efficient. I'm just sayin'.)

A Wreck and Two Races

2010-07-15T21:39:00.000-04:00

Here's what you don't want to happen when you offer to give a bike tour of your favorite local roads to a fellow blogger you've never met and her husband who are in town for a race: Said blogger's husband wrecks in spectacular fashion on said (wet) roads. Oh, about 20 minutes into the ride.

Ugh. Not one of my better moments as a ride host.

However, Krista (of Commitment Is Liberating) and Sam got to avail themselves of a brand-new local Urgent Care Center for the better portion of an afternoon and spend a night in beautiful Hellertown, PA. Aren't they lucky?

Heh. Not really. But I suppose they were in a way. Sam was not severely injured (his bike is another story) though he hit the boulder-studded roadside hard and sustained some nasty road rash and contusions. Krista seems virtually unflappable, and they both have a hilarious sense of humor, so after the initial shock, there was plenty of laughter. Hopefully we can ride again someday with no incident!

The race they were in town for was the Steelman Open Water Swim that takes place at a lake so close to my house that I have no excuse not to take advantage of the opportunity. I signed up for the 1.5-mile distance; Krista and other badass swimmers did the 3-mile.

Despite a case of serious case of pre-race anxiety and a no-wetsuit rule, I made it through without any freak-outs. I didn't break any speed records, but the panic issues that have plagued me in the past didn't cause problems. And this is the longest distance I've ever done in open water. Not bad for someone who was walking laps in the pool just four summers ago. Yay for progress!

Krista and me in front of Lake Nockamixon after the swims.

I've been slow to line up at race starts this season. A cranky hip, family stuff, and work craziness has made my focus a little fuzzy and, even though I love it, I've been feeling apprehensive about racing. So this was a welcome confidence-builder. It's a relief to be able to finally say: Bring on the rest of the season!

Lucky for me, the rest of the season started three days later. Endurance Multisport has started a series of training races at a local ski resort. Wednesday was the first one. It's a short-but-tough (read: sick, sick hills) course, but a friendly low-key atmosphere and was a great way to meet other people in the Enmu club.

A couple of pictures from the race:

Funny to race in the evening as the sun is going down. Thanks for the pictures, Jan!

Riegelsville to Frenchtown

2010-07-06T21:06:00.002-04:00

The Riegelsville to Frenchtown ride winds through New Jersey farmland, dipping into cornfields, past grazing livestock and simple country churches.

I love this ride. I haven't done it in probably five years.

The route features a single-lane stretch with clay cliffs at arm's length on the left and the Delaware River on the right, a well-timed espresso at Maria's in Frenchtown, and a couple of screaming descents on the way back.

I love this ride, and I've been wondering lately if it's a coincidence that I haven't loved riding my bike since this ride fell off my regular rotation.

And so, with a day off from work on Friday and a long ride on the training schedule, I decide it's time to revisit it. I have little expectation besides long, slow distance. It won't take more than 45 minutes to get to Maria's, but maybe I'll travel further down Route 29 to make it 90 minutes out and back for a total of 3 hours.

I head south from Frenchtown after licking the last of the strong, sugary coffee from the corners of my mouth. Route 29 is flat. Its shoulders are wide. The air is crisp and the sun is shining.
"You're going at a good pace," says a voice coming up behind me.

"I'm just going along," I chuckle and glance to the left.

He is riding an old-model Fuji with Speedplay pedals, and wearing an orange Giro helmet circa 2000, a local team jersey, Northwave shoes, no socks. (Funny, the details you absorb in the space of a second.)

"No, you're really moving," he says.

I expect he'll blow by (because, really, I'm not moving that fast) but instead he stays about a foot to my left.

Conversation bubbles up, as though we're sitting next to each other on a plane. Are you training for something in particular? How do you have the afternoon off? What kind of work do you do? Do you have kids? Nice bike.

And incredibly we have a lot to talk about, including a list of injuries that make riding a little less fun than it once was.

The "Stockton 11" sign flashes by and I decide that's where I'll turn around and Bob can go on without me.

Except now we are really moving because he is picking up the pace while we chat about the World Cup, the Tour, our pre-teen daughters, the beach.

My head starts to float, eyes focusing straight ahead, my breath getting louder. I want to appear in control, at total ease, like I'm riding well below my threshold, but it becomes increasingly more difficult.

Bob isn't chatting any more. But he's not riding away. We are now on this ride together.

There's no way I can keep this up all the way to Stockton, I think. And if I do, the ride back to Riegelsville will be a long, slow slog.

The road passes quickly under our wheels, my heart is beating hard. I am close to blowing up. I'm breathless.

We talk velodrome racing, carbon frames, why you need to push yourself hard sometimes, how much better it is to ride with people.

My hands are loose on the hoods. My elbows bent slightly, relaxed. I'm smiling.

I lose track of the miles. Together we lean into the twisting turns that skirt Stockton. When Bob ducks into a school parking lot, I secretly hope that he's decided to drop me because I know I can't maintain this effort much longer.

But as he heads right back out, he says, "You coming?"

"I'm not sure I can hold this pace," I say. He nods imperceptibly and takes it down a notch.

For about a minute.

So I resolve to just stick to his wheel and dig in.

I catch quick glimpses of the river, now on our left. My breath is short, my nose is running, my adrenaline is flowing.

I am almost giddy.

This has become a bike ride. This is not a drill or a threshold interval, not another solo aerobic effort where the minutes drag by, not "training." This is a real ride.

When we get back to Frenchtown, Bob mentions casually that we've averaged about 20 mph for the last 25 miles. I am stunned and grateful. We both agree we'd never sustain that kind of pace alone.

"Well, thanks," I say after we take a quick water break."It was great riding with you." I want to gush about how much fun it's been and how grateful I am that he didn't drop me and wasn't patronizing. But he's a total stranger, really. So I hold back.

"Oh, I'll head up the road with you a bit," Bob says. And so we ride the remaining 11 or so miles to Riegelsville at a pace I wouldn't consider a cool down.

Along the way, he shows me a hidden riverside lane I've never ridden and tells me about a secret fresh water spring where cyclists can refill water bottles.

We go our separate ways at the R'ville bridge, email addresses exchanged, because we both agree that it's hard to find good riding company and, well, it was a great way to spend a beautiful Friday afternoon.

And for the rest of the day I can't stop thinking about how much I love riding my bike.

The bridge across the Delaware from Riegelsville, PA, to the Jersey side.

Inspired to Swim

2010-06-23T10:49:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I did something unheard of: I went swimming just because I felt like it. I had no practice on the schedule. I wasn't hanging out with Willa while she played. I'm even on vacation.

I simply felt the pull of the pool and didn't fight it.

Oh, and I'd already been swimming the day before. I'm not sure I've ever swam on back-to-back days.

I can't quite identify the reason for this unusual behavior. It does make me wonder about the power of connections though.

On Sunday I learned via Facebook about the passing of Wendy Buckner. Wendy was a passionate swimmer. She recorded on her workout blog every meter she swam (460,822 meters during a one-year stretch; 18,856 a weekly high total). She died Saturday shortly after completing an open water swim in the Cayman Islands.

I didn't know Wendy. We had never met. In all honesty, I hadn't read her blog until she sent me a friend request on Facebook. And as far as I knew, she didn't read mine. But I suppose she must have. I pieced together who she was and how we might be connected in the network of blogging/swimming/triathlon pursuits. And when I did check out her blog, I discovered her incredible story, and her love of life and water and words and nature.

When Wendy liked one of my FB updates, I was overjoyed because I knew she appreciated the beauty of words. (I was over the moon when she liked my #ontodaysride observation: "Sun-dappled roadway. Big smiles on little Mennonite girls. Billowing gnat clouds over new corn. Heckled by catbird.") Of late, she'd been posting lovely images of aquatic life she'd seen on her trip to the Cayman Islands. Her sense of thrill upon such close-up observations of nature was infectious.

She died shortly after doing what she loved: swimming in the sea.

I'm not going to presume there's anything mystical behind my drive to swim this week. But I do know that Wendy's love for the water and embrace of life inspires me.

Just keep swimming.

Where I've been swimming this week, in Wildwood Crest, NJ. Just a $5 drop-in fee and no membership required.

Today's Brush with Greatness

2010-05-26T21:01:00.001-04:00

I've been pinching myself a lot lately. Today I got to meet Olympian and IM 70.3 world champ Sam McGlone! She was visiting the magazine mothership with her sponsor, PowerBar, to talk about a new product debuting soon.

The rest of my day was not as happy, unfortunately. I'm not so into sharing life's downers here, but this is a story many of you supported last summer, so you should know... My uncle Hank died today of the cancer he was diagnosed with last summer. Last week he had elected to stop treatment, so it was only a matter of time. He was a good man, my only uncle, someone I loved dearly. I will miss him. Thanks to all of you who donated to my Livestrong ride last summer in his honor.

Photo Album: Weekend in Napa and Black Bear Triathlon

2010-05-23T11:08:00.000-04:00

(Pre-post note: I have started Tweeting for Women's Health. I never thought I'd get sucked into the Twitter-verse but it's actually kind of fun. Help me build a following by following me at twitter.com/leahflickinger. Thanks!)

Anyway, onto some quite overdue long-form blogging... though short on words this time. Enjoy the photos!

Last weekend I traveled to Napa Valley, CA, for a weekend of fun and wine-tasting with the good people from Oakley for the launch of their Perform Beautifully campaign. We got to run a 5K organized by ASICS through the Trefethen Family Vineyards with Deena and Andy Kastor, went on a vineyard-to-vineyard bike tour organized by Trek Travel, and took in the valley from the basket of a hot-air balloon. A few pix:

Hanging with Oakley ambassadors Katrina Hodgson and Karena Dawn of Tone It Up! (Ahem, somebody needs self-tanner.)

Running the 5K with Deena and Andy was amazing. Meeting their dog, Aspen, afterward made it even better!

Posing with Deena and Andy during final night festivities.

Balloon fun.

With an old WH friend, Lara Rosenbaum.

Getting silly with Karena and Katrina at the final dinner.

Back to reality this weekend: First place relay at Black Bear sprint tri. Go Team Enmu!

Body-marking typos at Black Bear. Sheesh.

Guest Blogger!

2010-05-09T12:01:00.004-04:00

My swim coach and good friend Erica did a duathlon last weekend after a long, hard winter fighting a mysterious illness and struggling emotionally and physically with her identity as an athlete.

We were talking about her experience (it was a tough one) and thought it might be worth sharing.

She's a total badass no matter what kind of shape she's in, and has been the source of such inspiration and motivation for me over the years. Happy to debut her as my first "guest blogger." (Turns out she can write on top of all the other things she's so freakin' talented at: swimming, graphic design [her day job], coaching, etc.)

Enjoy!

"You Just Have to Keep Moving"

They're laughing at me, I think, as I walk my nice, light bike up the hill.

Then it happens.

The first-timer passes me.

On her mountain bike.

We'd had a nice chat during the beginning of the run; she'd mentioned this was her first race and her only goal was to finish. She'd asked if I'd done this before. I told her that I'm a swimmer by trade, but that I started doing multisport events a few years ago. I'd joked about how much I miss the water on the first leg of a duathlon. She'd asked about my uniform; I happily explained that I'm fortunate enough to be sponsored by TriSports.com, an amazing company and the best online retailer of all things swim/bike/run. She seemed impressed, then mentioned that she didn't want to hold me up. I wished her luck, told her to have fun, then felt slightly pressured to power on ahead.

"Awesome job! Way to get up that hill!" I shout to her as she's powering past with this great look of determination. I genuinely mean it, but part of my heart kinda sinks.

This is where you're at, I tell myself. You have to be ok with it. You have to accept it.

Good for a few moments, until I think, But they're still probably all chuckling at me in my fancy sponsored-athlete suit and my nice bike. I shouldn't have let Craig (my husband) talk me into using my race wheels.

I'm only at mile 7 of the bike. Nearing the top of a climb around the 5 mile mark, my right calf cramped so badly I nearly fell over. It would be natural to think I might've pushed too hard on that initial 5k run. But for me, the time was slow. I was able to shake the cramp out just enough to climb back on and coast down the other side of the hill. Soon after, another climb. Another cramp. I get off and start walking. It is at this point that the first-timer passes me.

You told her to have fun, I remind myself. You need to do the same. Make the most of it, because this is where you're at.

I can tell that there are a few people behind me walking. I find comfort in knowing I'm not alone, so I turn around to smile. The man is mentioning that this is the worst of it; after this climb it's all downhill back to transition.

"I'm gonna hold you to that!" I jokingly remark. He laughs. More importantly, I can tell he's laughing with me. We get to the top of the long, steep climb, hop back on our bikes, and finish the 14 mile journey back to our running shoes.

As I dismount, I shout a sarcastic remark about how I'm doing to Craig (who's already finished with the race). Sarcasm has always been my best way of dealing with failure or disappointment. He reminds me that it's "just a training race." I run in to rack my bike and switch my shoes. Another cramp. This time, I do actually fall over, luckily onto the grass instead of pavement. I yell to Craig, hoping he still has his emergency Cramp911 on his bike. No such luck. I feel paralyzed, and for a split second I give up hopes on finishing.

Then Craig tells me, "You just have to keep moving."

And I know he's right.

------------------------------------------------------

I started writing this post as a "guest-blogger" for Leah about how we view our competitors in a race. When I reviewed the events of the race with her, I had a lot to laugh about. But I also couldn't shake the thought of how other people perceived my effort at this event. I said to her, "They were probably all laughing at me, but I did what I could. They don't know what I've been going through. They don't know that I haven't been able to train for months. They don't know how much fitness I've lost. They don't know how many blood tests I've had done over the past few months. They don't know that a month ago I couldn't walk down stairs without having to focus on each individual step. They don't know that I had a brain scan for MS. They don't know how scary it's all been." We agreed that, in a sense, it's always easy to judge. However, you never know what someone's story might be. Because everyone has one. It might be short, it might be long; it might be about a walk in the park, or it might be about a mighty climb. But everyone has a story.

As I kept reminding myself throughout the race, this is where I'm at. Not too long ago, I was given a working diagnosis of hypothyroidism and fibromyalgia (a few lab results are still pending). Each day, I take a cocktail of vitamins and minerals to help help my body function better. I have good days and bad days, but at least I'm getting out there. I can't expect to pick up where I finished off last year. It doesn't matter that last July, I swam 10 miles. It doesn't matter that last September, I did the swim and bike legs of an iron-distance relay. It doesn't matter that I concluded the season with a 30k trail run. Winter was rough. I would get in the pool and struggle to make it over a half mile. I would be tapped out after a half hour on my bike. One day I felt ambitious enough to make the one-mile walk to work, and I had to rest halfway there. It didn't matter how mentally determined I was; winter was not kind.

So, this is where I'm at. I look back on the weekend and care less about what people thought, I care less about what I thought and expected of myself, and I now care more about the fact that I didn't give up. I'm proud that I crossed that finish line. It matters more that I made it through. It's a starting point. As I said to a friend not too long ago, it's like making a fresh start. Having a clean slate.

That clean slate is the start of a new chapter in my story: "You Just Have to Keep Moving."

So Close!

2010-04-25T21:43:00.000-04:00

Got a new half-marathon PR today at the Lehigh Valley Half. Yay me!

However, the sub-2:00 remains elusive. My time: 2:00:06.

The good news is I maintained a fairly steady pace throughout the entire 13.1 miles. My halfway split was 59:32. The last half had me calling upon every ounce of my physical and mental fortitude as I felt the 2:00 Garmin pace group breathing down my neck. About 25 yards from the finish line I saw I had 10 seconds to hit 1:59:59 and ran like a bank robber.

The bad news is... actually there is no bad news! I am tremendously proud of myself. I worked hard for this, both in training and on the course. I never gave up. I ran at my limit. I couldn't have given more today. It is a nearly 5-minute PR on this particular (challenging) course and a 50-second PR over my time at the crazy-flat Philly Distance Run this past September, and I had the same frustrating knee pain starting at around mile 5 as I did at PDR. This time I held it off and didn't let it slow me down.

I have never worked so hard in a race and it's incredibly gratifying to see results like this. Thank you coaches!

On Not Winning But Still Feeling Good

2010-04-21T08:27:00.000-04:00

Ryan Hall on his Boston experience.

I can't imagine being able to form thoughts at a 4:50 pace. OK, I can't imagine running a 4:50 even for a few seconds, but anyway... some really nice thoughts on running your own race and being satisfied with accomplishing your goals.

Rules and Regs

2010-04-20T20:47:00.000-04:00

Really good post from DC Rainmaker on multisport racing rules... from the other side of the course.

Might As Well Enjoy the Flowers

2010-04-12T08:13:00.001-04:00

I complain a lot (here, and also to myself) about how little I enjoy riding my bike now that it's become something I "train" on. I go on about wanting to look at the trees and the flowers, feel the wind on my face, etc. I have grown to actively dislike threshold intervals, heart rate zones, any sort of "drill."

So during the bike portion of Saturday's Doylestown Duathlon (the first du I've ever willingly signed up for) perhaps it was ironic that I found myself appreciating a stand of daffodils on the side of the road, their papery yellow petals facing traffic, almost spectator-like, and rippling in the wind.

It wasn't a good ride. I'd say probably my worst in a race. My handlebars came loose when I hit a deep road seam three minutes in and I was forced to ride in an exceptionally forward position, which somehow jacked my left hip flexor and glute. I simply could not get any power from that leg. And did I mention there was a headwind for the entire 30K loop?

So at the daffodil gallery I decided I might as well take this opportunity to enjoy the flowers.

I'm glad I did because they lifted my spirits despite the relentless wind and my increasing discomfort.

The good news: I ran two strong 5Ks and didn't fade exorbitantly.

And then yesterday, I enjoyed nearly two hours in the saddle along Pennsylvania farm-country roads. Mostly into the wind, with the occasional draft from a horse-drawn buggy, and an adrenalin-shot tailwind on the way back.

Lots of fields, cows, barns, and (yes) flowers to enjoy.

More, please.

Me in the foreground at the start of the bike, before the handlebar incident.

The Port Authority Climb

2010-03-28T23:15:00.003-04:00

My favorite way to gauge how fit I am isn't a heart rate monitor or a race performance. Day to day, the most satisfying measures are things like how long it takes to get to the turnaround of an out-and-back, say, or how hard (or easy) it feels to stay with the fast people in a pack.

Even occasionally, I get a sense of it when I'm not working out.

There's this hill I trudge up on my NYC days, two flights up from the crosstown 7 platform. It's part of the subterranean complex of tunnels that connects the NYC subway system to the Port Authority bus terminal.

On a good day I fly up it, weaving in and out of the throngs like a seasoned cabbie in Times Square.

On a not-so-good day, it leaves me breathless. Which is where it left me last Tuesday. Which is not how I should be feeling after a recovery week and eight weeks of solid training.

Just two days prior (last Sunday), I'd had one of the worst long runs of my life that brought back memories of my visit to the med tent after the NYC marathon. This time, I'm guessing it's the result of spring allergies brought on by the warm spell that swept the east coast last week.

* * *

Typically it doesn't take me a whole 90 minutes to warm up, and even as I finish the big loop that swings me close to the house, I tell myself that any second now my muscles will stop screaming. Last Sunday, despite a constant ache from the soles of my feet all the way up through my spine, despite being unable to get my heart rate out of zone 1 without my legs protesting violently, I keep hoping the misery fog will burn off. No matter how hard I try, I can't find my zone.

A motor rumbles behind me and slows to a near idle.

"Hey, you're almost home," I hear my husband's voice. Upbeat. He's smiling.

(He has no idea I still need another 45-minute out-and-back before I will be out of this hell.)

And then: "You're going 4 miles an hour!"

I want to sob.

It's worse than I realize. In my fog (yes, my brain is cloudy muck too) I imagine my hard effort is actually resulting in speed.

"Want a ride?" he jokes, clearly unaware that I am about to come undone. I mumble, perhaps chuckle, something about having to finish and slog on.

A few times I stop, turn around, rethink, keep moving forward, a ball of indecision. I will be disappointed if I quit. I will be miserable if I continue. I can't win. I keep going.

At home, later, I lie on my bedroom floor, my body reflexively curling into a fetal position.

* * *

I take the rest of the week easy, doing whatever workouts I have energy for. A swim, where my legs feel like cement; a spin, where my heart rate spikes within five minutes at a low speed; a tempo run that goes OK, but I am overjoyed just to have done it.

And today I stare down my long run with dread. My legs still ache. I resolve to try because I want to break out of this unbearable feeling, I want the allergy medicine to be working, I want my energy back.

I do my 20-minute warmup. My hamstrings are sore, but I feel a familiar bounce in my legs. My shoulders relax and my arms swing. My head is clear. Within 10 minutes I am in a zone.

I begin the first 30-minute hard interval. If all goes well, I will hit the turnaround at 45 minutes. I am breathing hard, holding back just a bit because there's another (harder) interval to follow.

And then I am passing the turnaround and only 42 minutes have passed. Which means I am going faster than usual. Which means I am likely hitting my paces (though I have left the GPS and HR monitor at home). Which means I am breaking through the malaise.

I turn back and hit the second interval strong, even increasing my pace over the last five minutes, breathing hard, my feet pushing off the pavement, not a trace of sluggishness. And then I tackle the speed drills with energy to spare, and I'm home.

Tonight my legs are cooked. In that used-up-but-feels-good sort of way. And I'm not going to dwell any more on the past week.

I'm already looking ahead. Because, hey, maybe I can shave some time off my next Port Authority climb.

Black Dogs and Yellow Lines

2010-02-27T23:33:00.002-05:00

The black dog died. The black dog that slept in the middle of the road. The road that winds through the woods up the hill from my house, the one I travel during 90 percent of my runs and rides.

The black dog lived 15 years, survived two long-ago run-ins with cars (the risk you take following the sun to the middle of the road), and over the years had become somewhat of a symbol of what I love about the winding, empty roads behind my house. Roads so free of traffic, they don't even have yellow lines.

The black dog was never much interested in me. I'd ride by, huffing up the false flat. He'd open an eye, spectacularly unimpressed by my efforts, then return to his lazy slumber, loose skin folds and jowls flopped on the blacktop.

* * *

Fifteen minutes into today's warm-up, I scan the snowy roadside, the driveway, the open garage for his shadowy shape. He's not there. Hasn't been, since... when? I can't recall.

The next two 20-minute intervals, at increasingly harder paces, loom large, making my chest tighten. I don't want to think about the four 30-second sprints that will conclude this run.

I focus on one long interval at a time, taking my line in the center of the road, the woods on each side a blur as I get into my zone. The sun is sinking behind some clouds. It's getting chilly. A pickup truck roars up behind me, I scoot to the left side of the road, and it passes.

There will be maybe another car, later. Never more than a few, even on a long run. On this road, I once ran behind a long-haired housecat, its belly swaying side to side, trotting home from somewhere. Yes, in the middle of the road.

Halfway through the second interval, heading back toward home, the energy gel I ate starts to make my stomach angry. I have to slow down, but it doesn't help.

By this time, my legs don't care. They want to keep turning over fast. So I obey my legs, not my stomach.

I'm almost at the black dog's house again as I finish the second interval. I know he won't be there. I think I know he's gone, even though I don't really know because I've never even seen the humans who live at this house, much less spoken to them.

If he's not in the road, then he must be gone. I do know that. He had to be old. Old enough to die.

I get ready for the pickups, slowing down for five minutes to recover. I can't wait to run fast.

(Really?)

An old man crosses the street. I ask, Do you still have that black dog?

Naw, he says. He died. Two months ago.

I'm sorry, I say. He was a good dog.

The old man nods and looks down. He was 15, he says. Been hit by a car twice, but died of old age.

He walks on.

I look at the road under my feet. The road that the black dog slept in the middle of. The black dog who will never again raise an eyebrow at me.

My legs just want to run fast, even though my stomach is screaming.

And so I do.

I will think of you, black dog, every time I run where the yellow lines should be.

Riding The Wire

2010-02-23T22:06:00.001-05:00

This winter I've spent record amounts of time on the trainer.

All thanks to the Christmas gift I got my husband. I gave him Season One of The Wire, HBO's ground-breaking inner-city Baltimore drama.

He's watched five episodes of Season One.

Thanks to a generous loan from a Baltimore-based friend, I've spun my way through four and half seasons of shootouts, drug busts, and jaw-dropping corruption.

I've gritted my teeth during threshold intervals and heart-breaking stories of innocent kids who can't escape the insidious culture of drugs and crime.

I don't love the trainer. But I do love The Wire.

Unfortunately, I am now on the final season.

Let's hope spring comes soon. The east coast is getting pummeled this year.

What's keeping you motivated until warmer weather comes?

What Makes Me Happy

2010-01-31T18:11:00.001-05:00

I was tagged by Beth a little while ago but didn't realize because (um, in case you hadn't noticed) I've been MIA from blogland for the last couple of weeks. (Thanks, mom, for pointing it out.) Lots of work, and workout, insanity going on.

Without further ado, 10 things that make me happy (in no particular order and probably influenced by my current mood).

1) My girl.

2) Coming home from work on a 15F night, opening the door and taking in the smell of the hearty beef stew husband had spontaneously decided to cook. Oh, and the kitchen was all cleaned up, too.

3) Teddy!!

4) Swimming. (This is going to make my coach very, very happy.)

Open water swimming usually makes me happy. But I have a love/hate relationship with the pool. Lately, however, I'm kinda liking it. At our club swims on Wednesday nights, Erica gives us fairly long practices with lots of built-in challenges. I'm loving the hypoxic sets that go something like this: 8x25 hypoxic (4-3-2-1)x2 with a nice long rest interval between each 25. The (4-3-2-1) refers to how many breaths you take during each 25. So 4 breaths, 3 breaths, etc. There are different ways to set up hypoxic sets; this version is very mellow. They can be completely hellish when the rest interval is short and some 25s call for zero breaths. Those don't make me as happy.

Hypoxic sets are supposed to help your body adapt to using less oxygen and handling more CO2. You learn to stay calm when in oxygen debt, a good skill to have come race day when you can get pummeled in the swim.

I enjoy them because they force me to relax and use less energy to get across the pool. My hands feel like giant paddles and I feel like I'm literally skimming the surface of the water.

5) Coffee.

People, this is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. I used to have a fancy Italian press-a-button-and-you-shall-receive espresso machine. It quit, so now I use a simple French press and the coffee is just as good. In fact, I think I'll have a cup right now.

6) My mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and niece. I am enormously thankful to have family I'm close to.

Mom and dad back in the day. Sister Suzy and her husband Jim. Their daughter Rebecca June.

7) Being home.

I never thought I'd say it, but this weird little corner of eastern PA is home now. It's a unique pocket of America. Close enough to two great cities; far enough away that it still feels remote. A place where the modern and traditional collide (buggy parking for the Amish, anyone?). Home to one of the best beer distributors on the east coast, a hidden gem of an airport, and one of just 23 velodromes in the country. Where it is not unusual to overhear a bunch of middle schoolers discussing the ins and outs of procuring their USA Cycling licenses instead of what time to meet at the mall.

Fun times at the Valley Preferred Cycling Center velodrome.

8) Leaving the Valley.

As much as I love home, getting out and seeing other places makes me very happy. Especially when my gateway is the local Lehigh Valley International Airport, where you can arrive for a 12:30 flight at noon and be at the gate by 12:05.

9) Words.

I am fortunate to get paid for messing around with words every single day. I also have particular words I love to hear and say, including the following: bubble, lurk, lobster, owl, pamplemousse (French for grapefruit), zanzara (Italian for mosquito).

10) Eating delicious food.

And cooking it. Oh, and wine. And beer. And dessert.

Anyway, leave it to me to ramble. But there you have it. Ten things that make me happy and that I'm grateful to have in my life.

I'm not going to tag anyone in particular. Instead, in your comments, please tell me one thing that makes you happy and why (and post 10 happy things on your blog if you're feeling it).

Good to Be Back

2010-01-17T22:02:00.001-05:00

I woke up Wednesday morning thinking just one thing: that the hangover section in the book I'm editing won't help anyone.

I can't give away the hangover secret from the book. I can say that my doubt was a symptom of a week of excess that had me declaring at its conclusion that I cannot, under any circumstances, go out socializing four weeknights in one week. Oh, and drink a bunch of wine on the one night I stay home.

(When I re-read the hangover section, I realized that it's absolutely fine. It's just that nothing sounds sensible when the bed is spinning.)

Really, I socialized only three nights. Tuesday was a solo assault on a (partial) bottle of Bordeaux. And Wednesday was a 40-minute on/off* treadmill run followed by my longest swim in months, which included a set of descending 100s and hypoxic 25s.

And coinciding with my unusual social excess, this week I finally found myself back in a regular workout groove. These days that means not blowing off scheduled workouts left and right. So it was one-legged trainer drills and spin-ups Tuesday. Wednesday, see above. Thursday was a recovery ride that turned into me chasing my friend Christine over the hills and gravel roads of the Lehigh Valley for an hour-fifteen. Friday, well OK I blew that off. Then yesterday was VO2-max intervals on the bike in the balmy 50-degree weather followed by locomotives in the pool.

And today when I asked Craig if I could do today's long run tomorrow because of an east coast deluge, he wrote back, "Sure, just do an easy spin on the bike today."

Oh. Was going to just sit around. But OK.

Seriously, though. It's good to be back. There's nothing better for falling into bed exhausted than consistent efforts that make me feel like I'm going to puke. And I'm not talking about girls night out.

*On/offs: Kill yourself for the 'on' periods. Run the 'off' periods as slow as necessary to allow you to run the 'on' repeats until you throw up.

Running Home

2010-01-10T20:32:00.002-05:00

Spent two days last week in a dehydration chamber (otherwise known as an airplane) for one workday in Vegas. Three days away from home. A migraine growling behind my forehead.

Had a 75-minute run on the Sin City training schedule. Was motivated to get it in by the 60-degree sunshine and the smoke-filled MGM Grand hotel/casino I wanted out of.

I've been to the southwest only a couple of times. But there's a special smell to the desert air. I can't quite peg it, probably because I'm an east coast girl and the southwest aromatic universe isn't in my scent lexicon.

As I headed out Tropicana Avenue past the airport, the scent crept its way into my nostrils and instantly I was back at the tri I did a couple of years ago about 10 miles outside downtown Vegas. Funny how scent memory works. If I closed my eyes, I was running into the barren desert with cacti and tumbleweed and mountain peaks the only distraction, a hilly 5K between me and a hard-earned finish. The desert air energized me that day: A smell that's sharp, tempered by sweet. Maybe it's floral. Or palm trees or baking sand. I don't know.

This time, running on Tropicana Avenue away from the Strip with chain link fences and shabby hotels on either side, cracked glass and torn escort ads underfoot, traffic hustling by, I couldn't get a grip on the smell. Like a slot player's quarter, it was there, then it was gone forever.

Every footfall was like stepping on spit-out gum. My whole body hurt with the effort of lifting each leg. I bagged it after 20 minutes and walked back to the hotel, agitated and disappointed.

So after spending Friday airborne and PA-bound, I spun out my legs on the trainer Saturday, and today tested my luck with an unstructured run in the frozen air.

No magical scent. Just the bitter wind and harsh sun of a frigid Pennsylvania winter noon. Barren trees and iced-over creeks on either side. A dusting of snow on the forest floor. Home.

I could have done tempo pace all day.

2010: Bring It!

2009-12-31T23:18:00.001-05:00

In my first post of 2009, I vowed to accomplish the following:

1) Spend less time in front of computer/at work/away from Willa.

2) Run the NYC Marathon.

3) Work on core.

4) Cook more.

When I looked at that post from this past January, I wondered momentarily if I would be disappointed with myself for not achieving them. I am not a fan of resolutions because I tend to not stick to them.

But this year I was not disappointed. Here's how it went down:

1) I found lots of ways to spend time with Willa that were more satisfying than I could have ever imagined. Most were the result of taking advantage of a moment. On a whim one crystal-clear late summer day, we headed to a local lake and rented kayaks and were amazed at how much fun we had. That same day I showed her a hidden waterfall I'd discovered on a training ride. We were both enchanted. Later in the fall, we headed back to the lake where we rode bikes and I taught her to skip rocks.

One moment that sums up the kind of fun Willa and I had in 2009.

There were a couple of missteps. I thought she'd love to try an open water swim race, but she freaked out at the start and had to DNF. But it was a learning experience. Another time I dragged her to Philadelphia when I needed to get my passport renewed in a hurry and she didn't appreciate walking all over Old City while we waited several hours for it to get printed. Though she still talks about how she selected the restaurant where we had lunch (because she liked the courtyard), which turned out to be the acclaimed Cuba Libre.

There were lots of other moments, and we still talk about most of them. My number of blog posts went down the more time I spent with her, but there's no contest as to which is more rewarding!

2) NYC Marathon: Hellz yeah!

3) and 4) My core definitely got more attention and I cooked a lot. Awesome. (Oh, plus I had a private goal of getting faster on the bike and I did, if only marginally.)

So what's on tap for 2010? I plan to challenge myself with these promises:

1) Create another remarkable year with Willa.

2) Ride more with friends. I can't tell you how tired I am of riding alone. Plan: Try to ride once a week at lunch with someone at work. Do one long ride on weekends with people in my tri club.

3) Complete a half Ironman. Likely the Endurasport Half in September.

4) Get back a little speed in my running. I ran the Christmas City Classic last year in 44:15, which felt absurdly slow. Yet the night before the same race this year, I seriously worried I wouldn't come close to it. I'd like to be able to go long without sacrificing so much speed. I will never be Kara Goucher. I'd still like to be less slow.

(And of course, keep working the core and cook lots of yummy food!)

So there it is. Here's to a year of challenges!

PS: I purposely haven't made a commitment to another marathon. Still kinda hard to imagine.

Better Than Nothing

2009-12-21T07:57:00.001-05:00

I am not so good at the quick missives just to get something up on the blog. So pardon my extended absence.

It's been a crazy month. I've been assigned an extra project at work (editing a book) and it's seriously eating away at all my free time.

That said, I'm enjoying it. I was a book editor before I switched to magazines, and I fell right back into the familiar rhythm without missing a beat. Plus it's a book about yoga with an author who is fantastic to work with. And it's making me think about how I approach my life. I'm becoming very conscious of my breathing, which is a good thing. Instead of the occasional Ambien at night, I'm meditating myself to sleep. It really works!

I did a 5-miler last weekend in the bitter cold and managed to miss last year's time by only about 15 seconds. Not bad considering the marathon training has slowed my pace considerably. Training has been inconsistent. A week of hitting all the workouts only to be followed by a week of absolutely nothing. Better to happen in the off-season!

Getting ready for the holidays is only adding to the craziness here, but last night Willa and I made cutout cookies (my first time ever!) and had a ton of fun decorating them. Our handiwork:

We can't bring ourselves to eat them.

The Thank-You Post

2009-11-24T17:30:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I got one of those Brightroom emails with the subject line, "Order your holiday gifts today!"

Ooh, maybe I should order a 'Look ma, no face!' mug? A engraved plaque, perhaps?

Even if I wanted to, it seems the Brightroom photo editors have been hard at work: When I opened the email and clicked on the link, the photo was mysteriously gone. Hm.

Here are some of the better shots. I'll spare you the tragic images of me pushing through the last mile trying to avoid utter collapse. I believe the middle one is on the 59th Street Bridge, just before the wheels came off. You can almost see it happening in my face.

You can't train for a marathon and be immune to the notion that the experience will change you. Or so it would seem. I'd watched Spirit of the Marathon, I'd talked to marathon-crazed friends whose eyes lit up knowingly when I spoke of my training and my fears and goals. But I didn't believe the hype. Even the motivational signage at the expo and during the race itself had me chuckling inside and shaking my head. I had no expectations beyond extreme suffering.

Apparently I underestimated the power of the marathon.

When I started training in July, I couldn't fathom the idea of the crazy-long Sunday runs I knew would show up on the schedule. Eventually, though, they became something I looked forward to. I secretly loved the completely used-up feeling afterward, and how I felt stronger in the days that followed. I loved seeing my legs grow more muscular, and my recovery time get shorter.

Before I knew it, the long runs were in the bank and I was posting Facebook updates along the lines of "20-plus miles on foot today." Holy crap! I really ran that far? Was it just one year ago that I still had residual stress fracture pain?

When marathon day did not go quite as planned, it threw me. From mile 16 on, I was convinced it was the stupidest thing I'd ever done in my life. These people are fools, I thought to myself. What kind of idiots to subject their bodies to this kind of trauma? I proclaimed (silently) that my first marathon would also be my last. (A half marathon, on the other hand, seemed like a fantastic idea.) In the medical tent, I was devastated because I felt like a race casualty, more evidence of poor judgement.

And then the post-race endorphins kicked in. Congratulatory messages flooded my inbox. I was overwhelmed by what I'd accomplished, especially because I'd felt so awful during the race. My race report flowed out of me, as if the story had a life of its own. I couldn't stop thinking about it, I couldn't sleep, I Googled anything and everything NYC marathon. My thinking became almost obsessive.

I've felt this way before: after my wedding, after my daughter was born, after I coached my sister through a difficult labor and witnessed the birth of her beautiful baby girl. These events transformed me in all the obvious ways. As the hours and days passed in that week post-NYC, I felt full of newfound confidence and pride. I had done something pretty damn spectacular, something that I never believed I could do. It shook my world.

Weeks have gone by now, and with each day it gets a little harder to remember that, but I try. It really does make a lot of other things seem inconsequential.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year. It's been a good one and the marathon made it extra special. In particular, I want to thank ASICS (Rachel and Heather especially) without whose support I might never have taken the marathon plunge and had this life-changing experience. Needless to say, I'm a big fan of their shoes, clothes, and most of all, ASICS Chafe-Free anti-friction lubricant. (I got just one blister on my foot. One! And no chafing, except where I didn't apply it.)

Many thanks to Endurance Multisport: Craig for the smart training plan, Erica for her endless encouragement, and all my fellow EnMu athletes. A shout out to my blog and Facebook friends for the virtual high fives. I am enormously grateful to Scott and Willa for putting up with my long absences on Sunday afternoons (and for the awesome foot massages). And huge thanks to my sister Suzy and brother-in-law Jim for coming out and cheering. I couldn't see you but I knew you were there and that meant the world to me.

And We Have a Winner!

2009-11-15T16:54:00.001-05:00

First of all, let me say thanks to all of you who entered the caption contest. I had no idea you guys were so funny. And I had no idea that some of you existed! I now declare my blog universe officially expanded.

I particularly liked the inside marathon humor from LA Badger raising what is fast becoming an age-old question, "Did Katie Holmes actually run the NYC Marathon two years ago?"

But the winning caption, the one that made me spit out my coffee, came from FatTrainer. Perfect in its simplicity:

Look Mom, NO FACE!

Because I'm indecisive (and a softie), I've also selected two runners up. The runners up will each receive half a 24-pack of PowerGel.

One runner up is... Renee from Tri Me a River:

What do you mean you don't recognize me? Those are totally my knees!

(I still snicker when I read it.)

And the other is... Karen from SCAG:

The techies are citing budget cuts again. Look, they won't even digitally blur this woman's face. They just got Susan from Accounting to stick her hand out.

I loved this one for its Gary Larson-esque-ness.

If you are the winner or a runner up, please leave your email address in a comment and I will contact you about where to ship, flavor choices, etc. (FatTrainer, I will also be sending you the repair bill for coffee in my MacBook keyboard.*)

*Kidding! :)

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

2009-11-02T13:33:00.006-05:00

Dear New York City,

Probably the most excruciating breath I've taken in my life 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.

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 schizoid 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.

Bells and Whistles

2009-05-27T22:14:00.002-04:00

I have one of these:

The Polar 625X.

And recently I got my hands on one of these to try:

The Garmin Forerunner 405. [Pardon the pint-sized image.]

Oh, and I'm also testing out these nifty-cool kicks:

Somnio's new Runaissance custom-built running shoe.

But none of these has made me run faster.

Which isn't really a problem, right? Because now I'm all chill about my pace.

(OK, but I'd still like to be a faster runner.)

Despite all the bells and whistles currently at my disposal, this afternoon I headed out in the Asics I've been wearing a while and my super-simple Nike cuff watch that features little more than time/date/chron.

My neck has been bothering me lately and today my lower back got into the act. I wasn't expecting much from the run, was dreading it in fact. It called for a warmup, followed by 10 minutes at tempo and then hill repeats.

It's funny how fast after the high of a race I can fall so low again. I felt like a real runner after the half marathon. This week, I feel like a wannabe. Sigh.

Anyways.

I head east from my office through a residential neighborhood that runs between two railroad tracks. I take the warmup nice and easy. When it's time to hit tempo pace I pick it up and feel good for the first minute. Another minute ticks by and, though I'm still feeling good, I find myself thinking, "How long can you really do this?"

And then: "You probably can't do this."

Followed by: "But you won't know unless you try."

And so I resolve to try because I want to know if I can do it. If I can push myself into a pain box for just 10 stinking minutes. Because why shouldn't I be able to do that?

But as quickly as my resolve tightens, I shove it aside: "Well, at least try to get to the next block, then you can turn around and reassess."

I hit the turnaround point and hear the throaty whistle of a train approaching. To my right I see the lumbering engine coming toward me with a couple of cars behind it. I turn around and begin running in the direction the train is traveling.

I notice the train is going slow, almost coasting along the tracks that bisect a jumble of backyards and alleys.

I don't consciously think about keeping pace with the lumbering train, but I do it anyway. And it means working hard. It means staying in the pain box. It means I'm a gazelle prancing alongside an elephant. It means I'm running neck-to-engine with the train, even for that quick moment.

The train bellows its whistle again and again and I throw my head back and look up at the gray sky. I imagine I'm racing the train, and the thought opens a smile on my face because that thought is ridiculous, I know. But it's fun and I'm loving it and I think: "You're trying and you're doing it."

And this time I listen and let myself keep going.

Then the train pulls away and the moment is over, but running with the train means I keep running hard until the watch clicks to 10 minutes. And it means I run easy for five then tackle the hill repeats with new confidence because I ran with the train. And during the cool down, it means my legs want to keep turning over fast because they actually feel pretty good so I have to force myself to slow down.

And it means that maybe the best bells and whistles are the ones that actually make me push myself.

Big Weekend

2009-05-18T18:41:00.001-04:00

I am sore.

Everywhere.

This weekend was Endurance Multisport triathlon camp at Bear Creek Mountain Resort in Macungie, PA, which involved 5 workouts in the space of 24 hours... along with a decent quantity of beer. Immediately followed by the Girls on Track cycling clinic at the Valley Preferred Cycling Center (the velodrome) on Sunday afternoon.

By around 3:00 on Sunday I was officially cooked. I tried to do some track drills with the clinic participants and could hardly move my legs.

But it was all totally worth it. As Katie said, "I wish we could have camp every weekend." And it was so fantastic to see all the women who came out for the clinic.

The Girls on Track group posing after the clinic.

There were road racers, moms, triathletes, chicks who didn't even own a bike, recreational cyclists, middle school kids. For a lot of them, riding on the track meant stepping way outside their comfort zone and I was really proud of them for pushing themselves and putting aside their fears. Riding a bike is scary enough for some, and riding on the track is that much more terrifying!

Getting used to the oval.

They practiced pacelines and sprints, lined up for races and got uber competitive. My favorite line after a scratch race was from Tracy who doesn't race much and has never ridden on the track: "I threw up a little bit." Nice! My favorite moment was when Ann, who rides all over town with her kid in tow, but isn't what you'd call hardcore, lined up for her first race on the track and won it!

Getting the lowdown.

It was really gratifying to hear so many of them afterward scheming about how they couldn't wait to sign up for the next clinic, or planned to scour Craigslist for a track bike and come from NYC every weekend for Saturday racing. They were FIRED UP! I don't know what it is about the track, but you feel like a rock star after you do it.

Me with my paceline group getting ready to head out.

Working backwards here, at tri camp on Saturday, we started the day with an open water swim. Thankfully, the water was about 63 degrees and felt downright spa-like compared to last week's ice-bath swim. An Orca rep was there and I tried out a new Sonar wetsuit. Sweet!
After lunch it was a couple of hours of pedaling the beautiful rolling hills of Berks County, followed by a muddy trail run in the woods. (I hope to get my hands on more pictures of tri camp; I didn't take enough!)

The trail was quiet and squelchy.

Next morning it was up at 6:30 for a quad-busting mountain bike ride up to the top of the "mountain" and then a quick open water swim before I headed over to the track.

All in all, a fun training weekend but exhausting!

And the laundry afterward was insane.

Not Recommended

2009-05-13T20:57:00.012-04:00

Scott was out hitting golf balls tonight and Willa was at a friend's house. That meant I was on my own for dinner.

I knew there was nothing of substance in the fridge (we'd finished all the weekend leftovers last night), so I ordered grilled shrimp tacos from Casa Toro, our favorite local Mexican place, which happens to be located exactly halfway between my office and my house.

I had worked late, and was pretty hungry by the time I got the food. Then I picked up Willa and rushed home to eat.

I put the tacos on a plate, grabbed a tub of yogurt out of the fridge (I usually sub plain yogurt for sour cream), and cracked open a beer.

I spooned the yogurt on top of all three tacos, salivating in anticipation of the spicy, tangy taste about to hit me.

Don't they look yummy?

And then I picked up a taco and took a big bite.

Hm. Tastes kinda weird, I thought. Sort of sweet, like maybe they used sugar instead of salt. I didn't remember that taste from the last time I ate them, but I figured maybe a different chef was on tonight. Or maybe it was just me and I'd get used to it.

Anyway, as I continued to eat, the sweetness began to get more cloying. Somehow I thought I'd stop noticing it, but it just got stronger and stronger. Definitely not the Mexican taste vibe I'd been drooling in anticipation of.

After I'd polished off an entire taco that seemed to grow sweeter with every bite, it occurred to me: I had used vanilla yogurt instead of plain.

Yep, not the plain!

And I had slathered all three tacos with it. Damn. This was not the dinner I had hoped for.

But we had no food in the house, and I was hungry. So I scraped it off, and replaced it with plain yogurt and all was well. Or at least not as sweet.

Yeah, I definitely don't recommend vanilla yogurt on shrimp tacos.

Ice Cream Headache

2009-05-10T22:20:00.003-04:00

Erica, Katie and I headed to the local quarry this morning for some open water swim practice.

I was expecting a good 40-minute swim around the buoys and into the craggy corners. We knew the water would be cold. After all, it's May 10th in the northeast. Not exactly the tropics.

We hemmed and hawed at the water's edge for a good 20 minutes before Katie proclaimed she wasn't hardcore and she didn't care.

At this point I was already up to my waist feeling the frigid water seeping through the zipper of my wetsuit. Erica was up to her ankles.

"We'll swim out to the first buoy and then come back," I said. I'd woken up early, paid my 10 bucks, and wanted to swim.

(Hadn't counted on suffering, though.)

"If I start out," I said to Erica. "You have to come too. You're my coach!" She laughed.

(I began to imagine a solo sprint to the buoy as she watched from shore.)

I dove in and started swimming.

Immediately my left calf began to cramp. My hands and neck tingled from the icy cold. And by the time I got to the buoy, I had the ice cream headache from hell.

Erica was right behind me and we treaded water for a minute before deciding we'd come this far, we might as well try for the second buoy. Problem was, I'd started at a fairly brisk pace to avoid an insta-freeze situation, and between that and a little first-open-water-swim-of-the-season anxiety, I couldn't get my heart rate to settle down.

Somehow made it to the second buoy (a lovely tailwind helped), turned around and began to swim toward shore into the wind and chop. But all I wanted was to get the hell out of the water. And so I ducked down and swam, and breathed, and sighted, and swam until we made it back to where Katie was waiting.

I was thoroughly depleted. Done. Ready for hot chocolate and a campfire.

Erica headed out for one more pass and then we dried off, ate some cookies, and drove home.

Turns out the water was in the 40s. Last year our first OW swim there was May 18 and the water was, and I quote myself, "53 heart-stopping degrees." I felt so badass last year. Ha.

I'm still cold.

Lehigh Valley Half Marathon Race Report

2009-05-03T18:40:00.002-04:00

When you're little, you tend to not celebrate your "firsts." Grownups basically do that for you: first words, first steps, first birthday, etc. And by the time you're a grownup, the firsts come far less frequently.

I really wanted my first half marathon to be worth celebrating. But over the last couple of weeks my long runs had been painful, and I had no clue what kind of pace I'd been doing. I didn't know how far I was running (I train by time and haven't had a chance to map out the distances); it felt like I was hovering between 10- and 11-minute miles. I know I'm faster than that and my apparent lack of speed on longer runs began to frustrate me. (Also, recent longer races, a 5-miler and a 10K, have been less than stellar, at least in my book.)

And so I have been lamenting my lack of talent. (Go ahead, laugh. It IS a bit ridiculous.) But when I found myself bemoaning this fact to my coaches at the race last weekend (a freakin' fundraiser for an incurable disease!), I finally came to my senses. I mean, really. I am healthy and able and extremely fortunate to do any of this at all.

And when I read what Bob said in a blog post last weekend: "...finding [Leah's] blog last fall was a big factor in getting me into regular training," I realized that what is most gratifying about training and racing is knowing that I can inspire even just one person. It's hokey but true; and after that I felt completely at peace with my pace.

At the half-marathon start I placed myself near the Garmin 2:10 pace group, where I wouldn't be in anyone's way and which would force me to not go out too fast. But a mile in, I found myself running with the 2:05 group and it felt manageable. I decided that my strategy would be to stick with them for as long possible.

I'll keep the rest brief. At four miles I began to feel giddy because I realized that if I could hang with the 2:05-ers, I might actually finish in that amount of time--WAY faster than I expected. I had figured 2:10 only if a miracle happened; between 2:20 or 2:30 was more likely.

The rest of the race just flew by. Between miles 6 and 10 the guy holding the Garmin sign began to disappear in the distance. But there was still plenty of race left and I stuck to my pace and tried not to worry about losing them. The hills came and went and I ran up them. At mile 10 I thought "Only a 5K left." Then suddenly I was at the 12-mile marker and I had energy enough to pick up the pace. Then it was up the hill to the stadium and around the track. I saw the clock and realized that if I wanted sub-2:05, I'd have to kick it and so I did, managing to cross in 2:04:56!

I am elated. I felt fantastic pretty much the whole time, my nutrition and pacing plan went smoothly, and my training paid off. After a lifetime of back issues and a recent history of injuries, I never thought I'd be able to run anything more than a 5K. To complete a half marathon is huge for me!

I am seriously proud of myself for not only finishing strong, but for enjoying it as much as I did. And for finally realizing that the most meaningful way to approach my athletic life is with a healthy dose of appreciation.

"Best Day Ever"

2009-04-26T21:42:00.001-04:00

If you live on the east coast, no doubt you spent some time outside this weekend. With temps over 90, it was hard not to.

Yesterday I did the Race for Adam 5K in Allentown, PA. The race is a fundraiser to find a cure for Niemann-Pick Disease, a progressive, degenerative and fatal condition that afflicts children. It's organized by a local family whose son, Adam, has the disease. Tons of people came out to support the family. It was very moving.

As for the race, at 27:30, it wasn't my fastest 5K ever. In fact, it was a full two minutes slower than last year same time at the Lehigh Valley 5K. I was disappointed, but not surprised. Since I've been training for a half, it makes sense that I might go a little slower at a 5K right now. Plus the surface was gravel, which naturally slows you down a little. Still I walked away feeling a bit sorry for myself, wishing I were a faster runner.

The highlight of the day was meeting blogger Bob D. I recognized him as soon as I saw him and it was a treat to meet a blogger in person. I love that his blog is called Sub 30 5K... and he ran this 5K in 24:xx! Um, hello!? Time to change your blog name! Sub 20 maybe? He's running the Lehigh Valley 5K next weekend and I'm fairly sure he'll kill it.

Post-race happy bloggers. :)

Today, however, was the highlight of the weekend. Willa and I headed up to Jim Thorpe, PA, to visit my friend Liz and ride a rail trail at the Lehigh Gorge State Park. Willa loves her bike, but doesn't get much quality time on it because there aren't that many places near our house for her to ride comfortably. (She's not so into hills and traffic.) And last time she rode her bike on our driveway she crashed and tore up the skin on her knee pretty bad.

And, truth be told, I do not get enough quality time with Willa. I work insane hours and train a lot on the weekends. She often comes to the pool with me, but how much quality time do we get as I barrel through locomotive sets while she cruises through her own workout? Getting some rides in with her, even if they're not at training intensity, is far more important than improving my mph on race day. And so the day was planned.

Of course, Willa wrecked about ten minutes in. Her knees were bleeding and caked with dirt, but she gutted it out and got back on after just a quick rinse with a water bottle. We kept riding for a while and then pulled off to the side and she soaked her legs in the river, where the freezing water helped numb her boo-boos.

Oblivious to the frigid waters.

After drying off, we headed back to the trailhead. Willa and Liz rode side-by-side and chatted, played Follow the Leader, and challenged each other to a few sprints (I had to chuckle at my 10-year-old duking it out with a world champion track sprinter).

Liz and Willa on the trail.

As we approached the parking lot, Willa mouthed the words "best day ever" and I nearly cried. All that grumbling yesterday about being slow? Please. Give me the perfect day with my girl, and I couldn't be happier.

Long Run Ramble

2009-04-19T18:55:00.006-04:00

Today's long run was 2:15 and the last long one before the Lehigh Valley Half Marathon on May 3.

Wait, what?! That is just two weeks away. Uh-oh. I'm in denial.

I feel slow and unfocused. And sore. Really, really sore. Everything hurts. I can't imagine doing this race and I really wish I were a faster runner. I'm secretly hoping that when I pick up my race packet they'll tell me I never registered!

Oh, and I wish my tank top hadn't ridden up the entire 135 minutes of today's run revealing a strip of pasty white belly flab poking out over the waist of my shorts. Grr. Got home and practiced running in front of a mirror to make sure it didn't actually bob up and down. (Here's where years of high school body image issues have come back to haunt me. You think you're over this stuff and then---bam!)

After the run I tried to take an ice bath. But, hey, turns out cold water will only come out of the tap when it's set to a trickle. Learned this after dumping ice in bath and hearing the telltale cracking as it melted in the lukewarm water. Another rookie mistake. I make every single one; why not add this to the list?

Good news though, I found out last week that I've been invited to join the Asics Editor Run Team to train for the ING New York City Marathon! I am very excited about this, though now that it's real, the prospect of actually doing the marathon is a little scary. Run through all five boroughs? All those miles? It's going to be a long slog.

Hopefully by then I'll have the ice bath recipe figured out.

Nutrition Obviousness

2009-04-14T20:31:00.008-04:00

It amazes me how stupid I can be. I am a fitness editor, for crissakes, why did I think I could run two hours without a drop of water, much less a gel or electrolyte-laced fluid?

I already talked about this in another post, but I mean, come ON! For the last six weeks my long runs have hurt. A lot. I struggled big time with mental demons. Science backs up the idea that when your body undertakes a hard physical effort, your brain does all it can to make sure you don't kill yourself. In other words, it sends signals to your nervous system to stop the madness. Which is why you find yourself fighting the urge to quit.

On these long runs I'd find myself coming to a complete stop. There was no mental dilemma; my legs would just stop running. I'd have to force myself to make them turn over again. Once I did get them going, I'd spend the rest of the run fighting the urge to walk.

This past Sunday, with 2:05 on the training plan, I knew I had to do something about fueling. [I should explain that the reason I didn't fuel properly on previous runs was twofold: 1) the time snuck up on me 2) the thought of doing multiple loops just so I could stop for a drink seemed like a mental challenge far worse than being a little thirsty.]

So Sunday pre-run, I ate an Espresso Love Gu (yum!) and did my WU up the hill from my house. At the top of the hill, near a tree stump, I planted a bottle of water and a bottle of Citrus Fruit nuun for electrolytes.

I started out at an easy pace on a loop I knew would take about 25 minutes. I swigged from the nuun bottle after the first time around and sucked down a gel and water after the second time. Then I headed out on a 60-minute out-and-back.

The difference was dramatic. The only time I needed to stop running was when I took a drink. And there were plenty of hills and a fierce headwind for a good portion of the run. Lesson learned: When the body is properly fueled, the brain doesn't launch into shutdown mode quite as fast and the body is capable of so much more that you ever thought possible.

Duh!

Girls on Track

2009-04-09T18:13:00.000-04:00

I'm helping out with something this spring that I'm really excited about.

My friend Liz, whose talents never cease to amaze me (she's a photographer, a writer, a graphic designer, a singer, and oh yeah, a 4-time elite national champion and 3-time masters world champion track cyclist) asked me to help host a clinic for women at our local velodrome, the Valley Preferred Cycling Center.

Check it out:
The pitch:

This unique women's-only clinic welcomes novices and road riders to a skills-oriented, fun-filled day of track cycling.

National and Masters World Champion Liz Reap Carlson will be your host along with Pat Marzi of Team Salamander, and me. You'll learn new skills, basic track etiquette, nutrition and training tips. Set a personal best in a time trial! Line up for your first race, if so inclined. Maximum fun is our primary goal!

Date: May 17, 2009; additional dates planned throughout the summer.

Register here. Seriously, it's going to be a lot of fun! Here's why you'll love it:
It's a great workout!
You get to meet Liz and Pat!
There are no cars to harass you!
You'll be able to say you rode a bike with no brakes!*

I'm lucky enough to live near a velodrome and have had the chance to ride there through a corporate challenge race program. But it's one of those things that few people ever get the opportunity to try. And I think that's a shame. It's an amazingly exhilarating experience. You walk away feeling totally badass (that's me on the track in the picture to the left at last year's corporate challenge).

If you live within a 100-mile radius of Trexlertown, PA (and I know some of you do!), you should consider coming out. It'll be so much fun--and it's a fantastic workout!

*A track bike doesn't have brakes and it has a fixed gear, so you essentially control your speed using just the pedals. The track is a 333-meter oval with steep banks on either side.

Thoughts on Fueling and Pacing

2009-04-04T20:37:00.005-04:00

It has occurred to me that the reason my long runs have sucked lately is because I haven't be fueling properly.

You'd think I would know this. But somehow the distance snuck up on me. I was still imagining that my long run was just an hour, when in reality it has grown to nearly two.

I sucked down a Gu Roctane prior to last Sunday's run and had a much better workout than I'd had in weeks. True I was inspired by my sister's childbirth ordeal, but the carb/caffeine bomb couldn't have hurt.

So now it's also occurring to me that long runs require planning. And equipment. One of the things I like about running is that it's blissfully simple. No tires to pump. No cap and goggles to don. Just lace up the running shoes and head out the door. Looks like I need to start toting a bottle with me, or plan a run that loops by the house or my car. It feels like a bit of a drag.

But I will somehow figure it out because it's becoming abundantly clear that building my running fitness makes a huge difference in the pool and on the bike. I'm no speed demon, but my swim fitness is far better than it was last year. I can plow through a practice without huffing between sets at the wall. I haven't gained speed, but I haven't lost any either. And that's on just one or two swims a week. Time to start working harder, methinks!

On the bike it's the same. I've not been able to get more than one ride in a week lately, but I still feel strong. That's relatively speaking, of course, but I don't feel completely out of shape. In fact, I feel pretty good.

One thing I need to work on is pacing. Craig gives me instructions like, "Run 45 minutes at a steady-state effort, which should be 15 on an RPE scale of 6-20." So, that's kind of like 10 on a scale of 1-15? Or 75% of an all-out effort? Hm. I don't exactly know what that feels like and I think I do it too fast.

Same thing happens on the bike. Today I rode with a strong friend. World champion level strong. But during our warmup she said, "Um, do you always warm up this fast?"

I had to laugh. I just go. I don't really think about my warmup pace! But I should probably start. And while we're on it, when Craig says to ride 45 minutes at that steady-state effort, it probably shouldn't feel like I'm racing, huh? Ugh. This is hard to wrap my head around.

But I think I know why I do this. When I started riding a bike, I rode with a crazy fast group. I was always struggling to keep them in my sights, which meant I would redline straight out of the gate. I got dropped a lot, but when I didn't, it was an all-out effort from beginning to end. That's how I learned to ride. It doesn't mean I'm fast, but it does mean I don't calibrate my workouts the right way. And if I did, maybe I'd get faster.

So now I'll be keeping a food diary, stocking up on gels, hitting up the local running stores for the perfect bottle carrying solution, and thinking hard about pacing.

Not sure it makes training more fun. But it will probably make it more effective.

The June Bug

2009-03-31T10:23:00.002-04:00

I just can't resist. Here's a picture of Rebecca June. She totally doesn't look like a preemie. I think she's the spitting image of my sister when she was a newborn.

Rebecca June

2009-03-29T21:16:00.006-04:00

My sister's baby arrived yesterday, nearly crashing her own baby shower planned for next Saturday. Rebecca June was born at 6:33 pm, weighing an itty-bitty 4 pounds 11 ounces. Which makes sense since her actual due date is May 2nd.

Suzy had developed pregnancy-induced high blood pressure, for which the only "cure" is delivering the baby. Unfortunately, despite the fact that her body was sick, it was not ready to let go of the baby and Suzy endured a torturous four-day delivery-induction process. To lower her blood pressure, she was put on intravenous magnesium (called "mag" by nurses; dubbed "megadeath" by my sister). It caused hallucinations. It made her throw up. It made her want to give up multiple times.

But Suzy is nothing if not tenacious, and she hung on and was finally able to deliver her beautiful daughter who cried and flailed just like she was supposed to.

I was in the delivery room along with her husband Jim, acting as labor coach, massage therapist, patient advocate, photographer, and cord cutter. I feel so lucky that my sister and I have the kind of relationship in which we welcome each other into the most important moments of our lives. She was in the delivery room when Willa was born 10 years ago.

I wasn't sure I'd be able to get my two-hour run in today. I've basically been in NYC since Thursday and not getting much sleep. But I didn't want to skip the run, so I headed out figuring I'd do as much as I could. Lately my long runs have pretty much sucked, so I wasn't too hopeful. But today it was better than ever.

I found myself thinking about how hard Suzy's last week had been and how much she had suffered and managed to accomplish something she didn't think she could do. The last two hours of her labor were intense. The epidural wasn't working, so she felt every inch of the pain. When the contractions came fast and furious, she found strength she didn't know she had and she coped.

Rebecca June is in the NICU probably for the next week, but the doctors are impressed with how she's doing. And Suzy is just fine, especially now that she's off the megadeath.

I am in love with the name Rebecca June. I can't stop saying it. It sounds like the title of a poem, or a song. Rebecca is also my middle name and the name of our maternal grandmother.

Mom and baby before she was hurried off to the NICU.

I Got Curves*

2009-03-07T20:41:00.005-05:00

*From the archives: I wrote this in 2007 when I was blogging for Women's Health and training for the Accenture Chicago Triathlon. Most of you probably never saw that blog, so I figure I might as well put these words to good use! Anyway, the point here is that it's all about the core, people. It is the key to performance and feeling good overall; it has really transformed me.

Unfortunately, the curves I'm talking about are not the Beyonce kind. They are the spinal kind. Some highlights of my back story:

Age 8: Diagnosed with mild scoliosis.

Age 12: Visit back specialist who recommends I wear hideous and very uncool-looking back brace. Fear I will become school outcast dressed in three-sizes-too-big duds that "hide" giant metal and plastic apparatus.

Age 12 (plus one month): Come down with flu and brace-fitting appointment is cancelled. In unprecedented move, Gods of Cool consider me for their team: Parents never reschedule appointment.

Age 12-21: Grow up thinking body is deformed. Although curvature is hardly noticeable to the naked eye, it's huge to me. I'm sure everyone can see that I'm going to turn into Quasimodo. (Obviously I won't, but that's hardly relevant to teenage me.)

Age 21: Turn to look at something while sitting at desk in first job out of college. Back and neck "go out." Forced to take week off from work. First of many chiropractors crack my back, apply electric and ultrasound waves, and give me lists of back and ab exercises I deem "optional."

Age 21-present: Chronic back pain becomes fact of my life. I'm hardly ever "pain-free." Acute phases are ridiculous: For weeks at a time standing up is uncomfortable (btw, so is sitting) and I literally walk bent over. Mornings are especially bad. I can hardly move when I get out of bed. If this is how I feel at 30, 35, 40, I think, 60 is really going to suck. I start riding a bike at some point "just for fun" and discover that the endorphins numb the pain, at least while I'm riding. I get really into cycling and buy crazy-expensive bike.

Now: I start training for this triathlon. Karen has me doing core and back exercises three times a week. Countless chiropractors have recommended this too, but I've poo-poo'd their advice as if they were my grandmother telling me to find a nice boy. Where's the fun in crunches and bird-dogs? I'd rather just ride my bike and look at the pretty flowers. So what if I can hardly walk after the ride? My quads look good. Isn't that enough?

Imagine my surprise when it turns out the ab exercises might actually work. Since I started training, I don't hurt. I can stand up straight when I walk and my back hasn't "gone out" since January 1, which I believe is a record for me. I'm still going to a chiropractor for mild aches and pains, but I recover within a day or two. Maybe now I'll be able to go faster on my bike, climb hills better, and put those quads to good use.

The Coroner Comes Calling

2009-03-01T19:01:00.004-05:00

The county coroner's son is in my daughter's fourth grade class. I know this because I spent the day in Harrisburg Wednesday with her class on a field trip and he was there. He is a very nice guy. Pulled some strings and got us onto the state senate floor and a special meeting with a senator. The kids loved it. So did the grownups. But the whole day, it was all I could do not to pester him with questions about his job. Not sure why I was so fascinated. I imagine a coroner more like a character straight out of a Ruth Rendell novel rather than a real person.

I forgot all about the coroner the next morning as I headed to NYC for work.

It was drizzling as I left the house and the temp hovered right around freezing. The car fishtailed down our hill and the raindrops froze on my windshield, making it hard to see.

I blasted the front window defroster, navigated slowly, and got to the bus stop a full 10 minutes before the bus was scheduled to arrive.

The bus was late. Multiple accidents had slowed traffic. And then we crawled all the way into Port Authority. More accidents.

The workday was insane. Filmed two video spots, met with the new editor-in-chief, had a lunch date, and dealt with various crises.

Rushed to make the 6:50 bus only to find it had broken down and we wouldn't be leaving until 7:30 at the earliest.

Once on the road I called Scott to tell him we'd be late. "OK," he said. "Oh, by the way," he added. "Willa and I had a little adventure this morning."

Seems that as he drove Willa down the hill to school, he lost control of the truck on a patch of black ice. The truck spun out, flipped on its side, and then righted itself before coming to rest in a ditch.

They were fine, he said. The truck? Totaled.

Questions immediately bubbled up (Did Willa cry? Were you wearing your seat belt?), my heart aching with the realization of what could have happened.

"And then the coroner drove down the hill and slid off the road, narrowly missing us," Scott continued. "And then the trash hauler's wife and another guy in a car. It was a mess. Amazing no one was hurt."

"Was Willa scared?"

"Nah. She was fine. The coroner drove her to school."

"The coroner drove her to school?" I asked. "The coroner? She survived a wreck in which the truck was totaled, and the coroner drove her to school?"

I started to giggle. The idea that the county death investigator essentially had plucked my daughter alive from twisted metal and set her back on the path to a normal day felt like such a bizarre irony that I began to shake and tremble with a sort of giddy relief.

If you're going to take a ride with the coroner, let it be just to school.

What Up?

2009-02-24T20:55:00.006-05:00

I have been thoroughly MIA from blogland. Between health issues and work insanity, I just haven't been able to carve out a minute to post, much less catch up on all your blogs. I feel out of touch!

Here's a brief (list-y) update of what's been going on:

1. I have survived a colonoscopy. Before you feel too sorry for me, let me say that getting knocked out and sleeping all day is complete bliss. The digestive tract evacuation however, is another story. But one day of eating nothing but chicken broth and green jello has jump-started a welcome side effect: I seem to have lost five pounds. So I'm not complaining. In truth, the pants were getting a little tight.

2) I have survived a mammogram scare. Once again, no pity necessary! Getting your boob squashed multiple times to within a quarter-inch of its life is nothing compared to the fear induced by an inconclusive reading.

3) I have possibly broken my toe during a 2:30 a.m. showering episode. Please don't ask why I chose to shower at 2:30 in the morning. But I will say that I had been sleeping for several hours prior and was rather groggy. Yes, I've climbed out of this particular shower every day for the last three years and never smashed my toe like a judge's gavel on the shower door frame. But in my nearly somnambulant state, I guess I shouldn't wonder why it happened this time. And of course, it made the next day's 90-minute run an impossibility. So Craig told me to suck it up and ride my bike. Which I did. (And he didn't actually say 'suck it up.')

4) I have inherited more work than I can manage yet I am somehow managing. I have been in a fog of big-picture, work-related stress for so long that having a mile-long to-do list doesn't seem that daunting. Get it done, cross it off.

5) I busted out of that fog today for some reason and managed to get in three workouts and cross off multiple TDL items.

6) I have become obsessed with the Sneak Peek feature at design*sponge, that hip decor blog that shows pictures of real (but uber-cool) people's homes. To the point where I frantically reorganized all my books by color last Monday night. With so much of my life feeling out of control (work, health, etc.), it's good to know I can make my books do whatever I want. Pardon the ginormous TV (husband's must-have) and the poor picture quality. You can sorta see the colors.

7) Tomorrow I am headed to the PA state capitol with 50 fourth graders. Wish me luck!

Not Feeling the Love

2009-02-11T20:17:00.005-05:00

Like many of us, I have plenty of days when I resist training. I get stuck in inertia molasses and moving forward (to set up the trainer, to pump the tires, to pile on the many layers) seems impossible.

But most of the time, once I complete said training, I feel great and I wonder why I resisted it so much. Today, however, was a different story.

I've been feeling pretty crappy these last few weeks. Stress is causing me to have extremely uncomfortable reflux that medication seems not to touch, to the point where last night I could not keep my dinner down. Nasty stuff. (If anyone has any reflux wisdom to share, please do! The thought of having this long-term is, um, hard to swallow. I can't bear the thought of giving up my wine, chocolate, and coffee, but I'm told they are triggers. Ugh.)

I've missed a lot of workouts and that makes me feel even worse. I did manage to get in a 90-minute run over the weekend, which did wonders for my mental state. It's the longest I've ever run and a huge accomplishment considering where I was a year ago.

So today was supposed to be a 40-minute run with speed drills. I still felt weak from last night's cookie-tossing episode, so Craig and I agreed that I should take it easy and try for just 20 minutes. If I felt good, I could keep going. I was really counting on this run to make me feel better. Plus, the weather was gorgeous, mid-60s, sunny. Shorts and tank top weather in February! A treat not to be passed up.

Except I felt like crap. I barely made it to 20 minutes and scrapped the core workout I had planned for afterward. Shortly after returning to my office, I got a migraine. Oh, and then some awesomely bad news.

All in all, a sucky day that not even endorphins could ameliorate. Boo.

Hoping tomorrow is better.

25 Things About Me

2009-01-31T09:49:00.003-05:00

I just posted this on Facebook and thought I'd put it here as well. On FB, you're supposed to tag 25 people, but I couldn't make that work for some reason! It would only let me tag 10 people. Anyway, if you want to do it, go ahead! It was fun to think about and other people's lists have been fun to read.

1. My life is nothing like I ever expected.
2. Almost as soon as I met my husband, I knew we’d get married.
3. It took us 8 years to finally say, “I do.”
4. I never expected to be a magazine editor, but looking back, the signs were always there. Now I can’t imagine being anything else. But I probably should!
5. I’ve worked at the same company for almost 13 years.
6. I used to think I couldn’t hold down a job for more than a year.
7. Some jobs I’ve had include bartender, baker, short-order cook, auction warehouse manager, sailboat cleaner, book editor.
8. Being a mom is the hardest job I’ve ever had.
9. Being a mom makes me feel capable of doing anything.
10. I learned to swim when I was three, but became pathologically afraid of the water after a neighbor/lifeguard drowned in a boating accident. I re-learned to swim two years ago and now compete in triathlons and open water swim races.
11. I love riding my bike and, despite multiple wrecks, I have no fear on two wheels.
12. My daughter swims like a fish and has already completed one triathlon. But she is afraid of anything with wheels.
13. I was born and raised in NY, but can’t imagine living anywhere but PA.
14. Except sometimes I imagine living in Italy.
15. In my head I am always planning a party, but I never actually have it because I’m afraid no one will come.
16. My car is always a mess; it drives me crazy. (Ha.)
17. I don’t like birds, but I think owls are pretty cool.
18. I wish I could have been a rock star.
19. I really want a pair of Frye boots.
20. I talk to my mom and dad almost every day.
21. My sister and I are extremely close and I feel so lucky to have her in my life.
22. I have a high tolerance for pain, except for the pain of wearing high heels.
23. I just bought my first grown-up couch.
24. When I was a kid, I had recurring dreams that I could fly. The closest feeling I’ve had to that as an adult is riding downhill on my bike.
25. I have items in shopping carts all over the Internet.

Glove Love

2009-01-25T19:29:00.007-05:00

OK, that title sounds a little dirty.

What I'm trying to say is that I have a new pair of running gloves that I heart: the Saucony Ulti-Mitt. My old gloves would be dripping by the end of a run, leaving me shivering if I had to spend even a few extra minutes in the elements. Or they wouldn't be warm enough and my fingertips would freeze. Not anymore! Check out these babies:

The mitten covering is made from a wind-stop fabric that keeps fingertips warm, and the glove fabric is uber-wicking leaving your hands dry. Fingers get too hot? Simply peel back the mitten cover and your digits enjoy instant relief.

And there's more! The tips of the thumb and forefinger of each hand fold back so you can fiddle with your Garmin or dig a rock out of your shoe without fumbling.

But wait, even more! The right glove features a little blinking light so if you run at night, cars can see you.

I like these gloves mostly for their superior powers of warmth and wicking. But you gotta love a multi-tasking glove. Now I just have to make sure to not lose them.

Had a great bike ride with Christine on Saturday. An hour ten minutes with 20 minutes of steady state effort. It was cold and windy, but I hardly noticed in the company of a good friend. It was even colder today for my 50-minute run with Erica on a peaceful, snow-covered path, but again, a workout buddy always takes the chill off. And afterwards we headed to the pool for my second swim in a week's time. I was pretty tired by then, but Erica had some good feedback about my stroke that I really can use. Now I have something specific to focus on in the pool. Good incentive to get there more often.

And dinner tonight topped off what turned out to be a satisfying training week: Pappardelle pasta with a red wine mushroom sauce, peas, and chicken garlic sausage. Raspberry Runner has inspired me with her delicious-looking food pix, so I snapped this before I dug in. A little out of focus, but seriously yummy.

Snow Run and Your Thoughts

2009-01-19T19:14:00.002-05:00

Hey look, I posted again only two days after my last one!

I'm crediting your comments on my last entry. Seriously, many, many thanks to all of you who left such thoughtful comments. (If you didn't have a chance, I'd still love to hear what you think. See last post.)

It's fascinating to know what different people take away from this blog. Certain themes emerge: personal victories, self-doubt, insights. I am honored to know some of you glean inspiration here. I hope you all know that whether you simply post your swim sets, a photo, or a 2,000-word race report, I get a ton of inspiration from your blogs. It's often an entry from one of you that motivates me to get to the gym or the pool or on my bike.

One thing really surprised me: the idea that I somehow balance training with the rest of my crazy life. I certainly don't feel like I do! But I try and that's what counts I suppose. Whatever I accomplish is better than if I didn't try at all. On the outside I may look like I'm getting it done; what's going on inside is a whole different matter. I NEVER feel like I have it together; honestly, every day I feel like I'm a breath away from coming unhinged. In the end I don't, and I guess that counts, too. We all do the best we can.

So, on to training... today was a 1:20-minute run. I've come to really look forward to these longer runs on Sundays (or holiday Mondays). I feel warmed up after about 30 minutes and then my legs turn over as if on autopilot. I've learned that little twinges of discomfort are not worth freaking out about, that they dissipate soon enough. Every breathe releases a little nugget of stress and by the end I feel completely cleansed of whatever nagging anxiety I might still be carrying from the week.

Today I headed out at around 3:15. A bit late for my taste at this time of year, but mom duties called all day and this was the only time I had. It had been flurrying all day, but about 20 minutes into my run it really started coming down. The roads were instantly blanketed. I'd put on sunglasses to keep the snow out of my eyes and, between the white carpet ahead of me, the flakes swirling in the air, and the fog on my glasses, I felt like I was running through a cloud. Each footfall on the fresh snow was like landing on velvet. At one point I heard a "thht, thht, thht" behind me and figured it was another runner. I looked around and realized it was my snow-covered hair thunking on my shoulders. Heh.

Here's what I looked like when I got home. My hair was completely frozen.

Will I Ever Post Again?

2009-01-17T09:55:00.007-05:00

I guess the answer is yes, since that's what I'm doing right now. It's kind of like what I've recently been thinking about the pool. Will I ever swim again? Once I stopped going back in November, it became harder and harder to imagine getting back there.

So why haven't I been posting more regularly and frequently? When I look back to when I started this blog, I was so enthusiastic. I posted 17 times in the month of April! These days I'm lucky if I post once a week. I've never been a "thought a day" blogger ("Today I swam 2400 yards and did speed drills on the bike!" "Today I cleaned out my gym bag!"). Instead I always feel like I need to share some kind of insight, what I've learned about myself through my experiences. I never really set out to do that; it's just how it evolved I guess.

But lately I don't have much insight to share. Life is busy. I need to not be so tied to my computer screen. My brain cells are occupied with the actual business of living life, not reflecting on it. So I ask you guys, what would you like to read about on this blog? What have you liked in the past? Why do you visit here? I'm hoping your answers will give me some focus and help me feel inspired to write.

Anyway, getting back to the pool. I finally went on Friday morning after sending in my entry for the Chesapeake 1-Mile Bay Challenge. I always forget how nice it is to swim. It was the coldest morning of the year, totally not the kind of weather that makes me want to put on a swimsuit and get in the water. But after a number of patient comments from the coaches (the subtext of which was basically "why the hell aren't you swimming?"), I was determined to get in this week. Signing up for an open-water race helped. As did the unbelievable images from the Hudson River on Thursday, reminding me of my respect for the water and how grateful I am that I can swim.

So I swam 1200 easy yards and it was over quickly and I was at work even earlier than usual. The whole thing was easier than I remembered and swimming in the warm water was the perfect way to start the coldest day of the year.

Cooking Up 2009

2009-01-04T17:33:00.001-05:00

I have come a very long way this year. One clueless moment from earlier in the season:

I'm waiting at the Vegas airport baggage carousel before my first triathlon of the season: Iron Girl Las Vegas. All my luggage has appeared, except for the bike box. I wait. And wait. Then I notice a chick with a bike box on the other side of the baggage claim. I walk over and ask if her box came off the belt or did she get it from the luggage office. She smiles and chirps in an Aussie accent, "It came off the belt." I notice she is tinier than my thigh and, sheesh, really lean and muscular. Instant intimidation. I want to go home.

Cut to the Iron Girl finish line. Airport girl breaks the tape. Oh. She's Mirinda Carfrae, 70.3 World Champion. Heh.

Being able to identify triathlon superstars in the airport is not really what's important. But this kinda symbolizes how clueless I was when I started this year. Despite having done a couple of races, I knew nothing about triathlon. I had no idea how to get through a race, much less a season. I also took myself way too seriously. What is the point of being intimidated, I now wonder. I can't tell you what a joy it is to line up for a race and not feel like I'm going to collapse just from the nerves. You're supposed to collapse after the effort, not before it!

So, for my 2008 recap:

Actually, I'm going to skip it in favor of sending a huge shout-out to my coaches, Craig and Erica at Endurance Multisport who helped me learn how to have fun and to listen to my body, and whose encouragement and wisdom helped me realize that my body is capable of more than I expected despite its many limits.

As for 2009, nothing has changed since my last post about a new focus. 2009 is going to be the year of running. I'll probably do one or two triathlons, but will direct most of my focus on a half marathon in the spring and a fall marathon. I'll do a few open water swim races too. (And after much thought, I will not change the format of the blog. For now.)

I've been off from work these past two weeks and between sporadic workouts and lots of family get-togethers, I've been able to see a few things about my life that tend get lost in the everyday insanity. In no particular order:

1) My daughter needs more than she gets from me. 2009 plan: Spend less time in front of computer/at work/away from her.

Willa and I spent a few days last week in Washington DC. After checking out Sasha and Malia's new home, here we are waiting for the Metro.

2) Running is the most satisfying (to me) of the three sports. 2009 plan: See above.

At the Christmas City 5 Miler last month. I don't know why I look so happy: I'm running up a hill at mile 4.5.

3) Core is key. Why, why, why did I never want to work my midsection before? It's the key to full-body fitness and avoiding injury. Plus I have the beginnings of actual abs now. 2009 plan: Keep doing it!

4) I love to make food for friends and family. 2009 plan: Cook more.

Christmas in Pictures

2008-12-31T13:25:00.003-05:00

I have been in an exceptionally good mood this Christmas despite receiving a sleeveless Blue Seventy Helix in a men's size XS. Huh? And despite the holiday being filled with the kind of drama only a nine-year-old could pull off. Sample conversation:

W: This is the best Christmas ever!

L: Yay! I'm so happy it's been a great day.

Ten minutes later... after she nearly went broke in Monopoly:

W: Oh, why does everything bad happen to ME?! [Followed by stomping out of room and slamming door.]

Sigh. Only, what, 10 more years of this?

Anyway, I have little in the way of insight to share so I thought I'd post some pictures (taken mostly by W. with her new camera) of Christmas at my parents home in NY (see my mom's famous tabletop centerpiece above).

Because my family is part Jewish, we had a little Matzo Ball soup with Christmas dinner. My dad makes the best ever!

My sister Suzy and her husband had an ultrasound earlier in the day and found out they're having a baby girl!

Willa loves matzo ball soup. She's on her second bowl.

Teddy wanted to sit at the table too! (That's really a yawn, but he looks fierce, no?)

New Way to Suffer

2008-12-21T21:42:00.004-05:00

I'll admit to a bad habit: I ignore pain. Let me clarify. I will whine and carry on about it, but seek a professional opinion? No thanks.

Can't put weight on my right leg? Eh, it'll go away. Wait six weeks and then go to the orthopedist.

Searing pain in the upper left cheekbone? There's no way I need a root canal. Let me think about it for a year. Or two.

So if my stomach has been hurting since, oh, last January, why not wait 12 months to see if it will subside? And while I'm at it, if my daughter complains of a belly ache every single night, might as well file that away too.

Sheesh.

Took Willa to the doctor last week for a sinus infection that had been hanging around for a month or so (surprise) and thought I'd mention her stomach ache.

First question out of the doctor's mouth: "Willa, do you drink a lot of milk?"

I didn't wait for her to answer. "No, she hardly drinks milk at all."

But at the exact same moment Willa said, "Yeah, every day."

Huh?

"We have to buy milk at lunch. You need a note if you want to buy something else."

Long story short, doc writes said note, Willa stops drinking milk and, hey, no more tummy ache.

Oy. How bad of a mother am I?

(Before you think I belong to some rigid suck-it-up school of parenting, understand that plenty of kid gripes have nothing to do with actual illness. Often it's related to not wanting to clean a room, dreading the first Monday back from school vacation, or simply a cranky mood. Willa gets plenty of band-aids and kisses from me.)

As for ignoring my own aches and pains, they usually pass without drama: a tweaked muscle that heals on its own, belly trauma from pre-run Taco Bell. And honestly, I hate dealing with the doctor. I don't want hear I have to change my diet, keep a food journal, take a new medicine. I just want to be low-maintenance.

Sigh.

Well, I decided to try quitting the dairy myself. And as much as I hate to admit it, I think it might be working. I am already mourning the loss of my granola-with-yogurt breakfast, ice cream, milk and cookies. But if I can truly get rid of my gut gripes, that kind of suffering might be worth it.

Polar Express

2008-12-13T21:43:00.006-05:00

I've been grumpy this holiday season. Is Christmas really less than two weeks away? Can I somehow wave a wand and magically make everything done? To top it off, stress has found new ways to torture me with all sorts of unpleasant digestive problems. (Why does the body do this? Oh right, it's trying to stop the insanity!)

So this morning, the thought of waking up before the sun to run five miles in 20-degree weather made multiple snooze-button hits an appealing possibility.

But somehow I dragged myself out of bed to the Christmas City Classic. This local race winds through historic Bethlehem, PA, where candles twinkle in the windows of stately houses and evergreen garlands festoon every lamp post. (I have always wanted to use the word 'festoon' in a blog post. Very satisfying.) There are the standard age group and overall awards, but runners are also awarded in costume categories.

The route travels across a bridge alongside converted factories and rail yards to Bethlehem's grittier, more industrial south side, and follows the railroad tracks for about three miles.

As the group of 350 or so runners started making its way along the route, snow started to fall. Runners were decked in assorted holiday regalia: antlers, Santa suits, one had even crafted a giant gift box around her torso.

Despite the bitter cold, it felt good to be running. My legs and lungs were happy. As we crossed the bridge, bells worn by a pair of runners literally jingled behind me, snowflakes landed on my nose, and great clouds of flakes billowed over the train tracks.

As I took it in, I felt a sense of peace. It was a cheesy Hallmark moment, the magic of Christmas and all that. But I was enjoying this run in the middle of the pack with no plans to push the pace. It was simply a blissful 44 minutes of nothing but my even breathing, the ting-ting-ting of bells, and the whispering snow.

It felt a little bit like magic.

Post-race with Erica and Jan, another EnMu athlete.

With Craig and Jan.

The Hill

2008-12-07T19:57:00.004-05:00

Today I ran up the hill my leg snapped on last year.

Fortunately, this time it stayed in one piece.

When it happened on April Fool's Day 2007, I was visiting my parents and thought I'd do a route I used to run back when I lived at their house during the early nineties. The three-tiered hill comes about a third of the way in. I felt the snap on the second tier. I forced myself to finish the 45-minute run but had to stop multiple times to try to stretch it out, rub it out, rest it. (I had no idea it was broken even though it hurt like a mother.)

That was a miserable run.

Today it was bliss.

It's been more than a year and a half since that bad day. I've spent a good portion of this year freaking out about the possibility of another stress fracture. And today I kept waiting for the hill to beat me down. Only irrational thoughts made me imagine I'd sustain another injury on this run, but I never doubted I'd suffer on the hill. With each footfall, I wondered when the hard part would appear.

It never did.

Apparently the hill isn't that much of a hill. At least, not like I remember it.

When I think back to before the injury, to those days in the early nineties when I used to run, I have to laugh. My winter running outfit consisted of the following: random thin white "wicking" dress socks, thick wool socks, Duofold long underwear bottoms, black wind pants, a white cotton turtleneck, a dark green v-neck wool sweater, and an XL Northface purple anorak. Sartorial concerns aside, the outfit was not that uncomfortable, as bad as it sounds. But I suffered on almost every run, the drawbacks of training without a plan. That three-tiered hill was always a beast. And I wasn't even running that fast.

Cut to today. Thankfully nothing is broken right now (woot!) and I've steadily been building my running fitness.

I have a 5-mile race coming up this weekend. And now seems like a good time clarify last week's cryptic post: I signed up for the Lehigh Valley Half Marathon (my first half!) next spring and, drumroll please, have my sights set on a fall marathon.

I don't know exactly where this is coming from, but I'm going with it. Here's hoping my body holds up!

Pressure

2008-12-01T21:17:00.003-05:00

I've been feeling a lot of it lately.

Whirlwind trip to AZ and blissfully enjoyable Thanksgiving "break" aside, these last six months have been some of the most stressful of my life. I can't really go into the reasons here since they're mostly work-related, but I can say that most nights I feel like someone has piled 50 kettlebells on my chest.

I do recognize that living a life rich with challenges isn't the easy path. And this is what I've chosen, so I need to find ways to deal. Training helps, but when I wig out over workouts not done, well, it doesn't help.

And next year I cannot imagine how I'm going to fit workouts in along with everything else. Willa will turn ten in February (it doesn't seem possible!) and suddenly has a multitude of activities pulling her in every direction. We've been judicious each year with her schedule. She takes a dance class and is on a very low-key swim team. But this year she started playing the flute and is now talking about academic extracurriculars like Reading Olympics and Odyssey of the Mind and the spring operetta. I'm thrilled to have a kid who's curious and enthusiastic, but how the hell is this all going to get done? She is a normal 10-year-old who wants to come home from school, eat a snack, and crash on the couch. Scott and I clearly will need to be more involved than ever.

Anyway, this post is veering dangerously close to not making any point at all. Um, you get that I'm stressed, right? But tonight while I was having my muscles worked over by my massage therapist extraordinaire, I had an epiphany: There might be a way to balance training and work and family next year after all.

I'm not ready to share it here, but I can tell you that it involves swimming, biking and running, but not necessarily all during the same race. And it may involve a very slight blog refocus and possible new header (because also I have to admit I'm a little bit over the current puntastic title).

I need to mull it over some more so that's all I'm going to say for right now. But stay tuned for some changes with the new year...

Distraction: Found

2008-11-26T10:03:00.000-05:00

Was IMAZ just the inspiration I needed to embrace my off-season training with enthusiasm and gusto?

Um, not so much.

It's funny. I watched a friend do Lake Placid about five years ago. I'd never been to a triathlon before, much less an Ironman. I had no idea what was involved. I'd never seen so many shiny, expensive bikes in one place. Or that many beautiful, hard-bodied athletes. It poured rain from the moment the starting horn blew until the last finisher staggered across the line. Listening to Mike Reilly tell each finisher's story, watching moms cross the line with their little ones on either side and challenged athletes doing what seemed impossible enough for the average able-bodied person, I was hugely impressed and inspired.

Oddly, though, I was not inspired to do a triathlon. I remember telling myself with conviction, "I never need to do one of these." And I wasn't referring to just the Ironman. This was back when I figured I'd never be over my pathological fear of the water and my life felt complete enough without crossing that off a list.

In these past couple of years obviously I've been to numerous races both as a spectator and an athlete. Somehow I have accumulated a swanky bike collection of my own (my front hallway is my own personal T1), my own body is athletic and fit, and my fear of swimming is pretty much gone. In short, swim/bike/run doesn't have the mystique for me that it used to. Ironman feels like something possible.

I think that's why I didn't experience the kind of awe I did five years ago at Lake Placid. Did I come home and jump on the trainer? No. Am I running to the pool today? Probably not. As I said to Craig, "You can take a girl out of the off-season, but you can't take the off-season out of the girl." Watching the athletes from my volunteer post at mile 7 of the run, I was never more happy not to be training for something big.

That said, I had So. Much. Fun. Volunteering was a blast. I spent hours in the blazing sun pointing runners over a timing mat until my arms were sore and my throat hoarse. I watched Joanna Zeiger throw up. I watched Chris Lieto and Joseph Major and Leanda Cave prance. I saw runners who looked defeated on the first loop rejuvenated by the second. I saw others walk away from the race. Lots more were soaking it up, smiling as they came by my corner knowing they were on the last leg of their sufferfest and an Ironman finish was almost theirs.

After our stint at the Trisports station, we ran around trying to catch Craig at various points along the run and finally as he crossed the finish line. He didn't have the perfect race he wanted and that was disappointing to him. So many things can go wrong during an Ironman, and everything has to go right when you're aiming high.

But for me, the weekend wound up being a fantastic distraction from everything else in my life. I didn't think once about work, my messy house, the economy, the looming holidays. I had a great time hanging out with Craig and Erica and their families. It was a hoot surprising Craig. I went for a great run into the desert sunset.

I didn't know it when I left for Arizona Saturday morning, but that's what I needed more than inspiration. And for that reason, I am glad I went. (I was so distracted though, that I neglected to take many pictures! Here are a few.)

Mill Street Bridge at dawn as the 2000+ swimmers prepare to start their day.

Swimmers everywhere.

I ran into Jen Harrison after the swim start. Fun to meet bloggers and Facebook friends in person!

ISO: Inspiration

2008-11-22T23:07:00.003-05:00

Triathlete looking for off-season fun. Must involve 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling, and 26.2 miles of running... but not by me. Preferably in climate other than 16-degree eastern PA.
I am here in warm, sunny Tempe to cheer on Coach Craig in his 23rd iron distance race, as well as fellow EnMu athlete Jim. And also to soak up a vibe that will hopefully give me the incentive I seem to be lacking most days for doing my off-season work. No, I will not be signing up for IMAZ '09. But I decided earlier this week that a weekend of spectating and volunteering at an Ironman would be the perfect remedy for my training funk and relentless work stress.

Erica and I schemed it as a surprise for Craig. When I appeared outside bike check-in today, the expression on his face was priceless: a mixture of confusion and shock underscored by a happy grin. It's never easy to gather an entourage for out-of-town races, so the more familiar faces from home the better!

(I'll be volunteering at the Trisports run aid station from 11-3 tomorrow. If any of you are nearby, come say hi!)

Good luck, Craig and Jim and everyone else who's racing!

Over It

2008-11-20T18:42:00.004-05:00

I guess unloading my stress on this blog actually makes it go away... or I get sick of whining and just suck it up and deal.

A couple weeks ago when I wondered about my swimming issues, I posted about it and suddenly they went away.

Literally, the morning after I wrote about not wanting to ride, and how much I hated the trainer, I banged out a quick spin on said trainer.

And it made me feel great. (As the picture attests.)

I even did a longer trainer ride this morning with speed-up drills. Woo-hoo! And my legs are happy.

OK, so it seems my off-season hasn't completely hit the skids.

At least for now.

Thank you all for your words of encouragement on my last post. It really helped!

Motivation Hiccup

2008-11-18T21:00:00.004-05:00

Warning: rambling, unfunny post ahead.

I don't know what is up with me lately.

A couple of weeks ago, I couldn't stomach the thought of swimming. All I wanted was to ride and run.

Suddenly, I can't stand the idea of riding my bike. In these last weeks, I have used every single excuse I've ever come up with to avoid a ride. It's raining, my stomach hurts, that saddle is uncomfortable, this bike bothers my knee, I have a flat, I'll have to ride alone, I don't want to go up the stupid hill outside my door, it's effin' cold, I hate the trainer.

I am driving myself crazy!

The pool seems really inviting now. (Not that I'm making it there much either. Ugh.)

The truth is, my time is very limited suddenly, on top of which I haven't been feeling all that well. With no time and little energy, I'm having a hard time prioritizing my workouts. There's no pressure right now (is there really ever?), no races coming up. It's just a matter of not losing everything I've worked hard to build this year.

Today I went to "take your mom to school day" at Willa's school. At one point, her teacher said to me, "I wish I did all those triathlons like you. I really want to lose the weight."

I was flattered she seemed to admire what I do. But I brushed it off with this response: "Oh, I've been such a slug lately. I've been blowing off my workouts left and right."

She went on to tell me how she has a long commute, she can't get out during the day, she simply has no time.

And then I realized. I am not a slug. Even squeezing in just 2:55 a week is more than most people can do. I don't have lots of natural athletic talent, and I'm not speedy fast, but compared to a lot of people I might as well be an Olympian.

I need to figure out a way to adjust my expectations, enjoy the workouts and little races I can make time for, and find new inspiration. Because, let me tell you, this down phase is not helping my motivation.

Thoughts During a 7K

2008-11-16T15:46:00.007-05:00

I've been signing up for small, local running races this fall. Now that my legs have gotten with the program, it's been fun to line up on a Sunday morning in a group no bigger than a couple hundred at most, where the announcer simply says, "Go!" to start the pack moving, where I think about little besides putting one foot in front of the other--no bikes, no wetsuit, no major nutrition decisions.

Today it was the Fallen Leaves 7K at Bicentennial Park in Northampton County. My first race longer than a 5K.

Mile one into a strong headwind made for a hard-effort 8:37 pace.

Into the second mile I was huffing, but knew I could sustain it.

I could hear runners' breaths just behind me. A chick wearing mittens and a couple of guys kept a good pace up ahead about 25 feet.

I consciously unclenched my fingers and let my arms swing a little more freely, feeling my shoulders and upper back propel me forward. I sprang lightly off each footfall. I kept my gaze forward but let my eyes stay unfocused, my head floating above my shoulders.

Little by little the breaths behind me got quieter. I passed mitten girl. Then I heard her breaths getting softer. I trotted by Guy #1, then Guy #2.

Finally I had my own space. A woman in black shorts was too distant to catch. At the turnaround another girl passed me quietly and was gone.

I wanted the race to be over at about 2.5 miles. A familiar soreness arose on the outside of my left knee. Discomfort not pain, I repeated to myself like a mantra.

I thought about how nice it was of my coaches to get out of bed on a cold Sunday morning to cheer me on, and how happy I am that we've become good friends.

I smiled as I passed a dude wearing headphones, hoping he wouldn't shoot a snot rocket. When I realized I was going by black-shorts girl, I thought I might be having a solid race.

At the three-mile marker I pondered the fact that if this were a 5K, I'd be kicking it to the finish but that today I had another 1.35 miles to settle in and it felt like a luxury.

I dug in for the last mile, upped the pace a bit and kept it steady. On the tiny rise before the downhill finish a headwind made me feel like I was running through syrup.

In the end, a solid effort at 37:xx, for an 8:42 pace. Similar pace to last week's 5K, and pretty steady throughout. With the extra 1.35 miles, the headwind, and the cinder surface, I have lots to feel good about. Plus 2nd AG. :)

Next up, icing the knee, a chiro visit for ART, and signing up for another race. Maybe 5 miles this time?

Race!

2008-11-09T19:21:00.003-05:00

I crossed the finish line of the South Mountain 5K this morning and realized just how far I've come this year.

For starters, I had warmed up for 20 minutes. Prior to this year, the idea of a warmup before a race seemed absurd. Why use up all my energy before the race even started? (Oh, how I'm laughing at myself now.)

For another, I was pain-free. I haven't finished--or started!--a race with no leg pain since my first race of the season.

Next, I had run the entire race, steep hills and all. When Craig told me beforehand to "try to run the whole thing," I thought Why wouldn't I? Isn't that what you're supposed to do? But looking back on all my races this year, I walked during all but two. (I have to keep reminding myself that injuries kept the training light and there was no way I could have pushed any harder during most of this season.)

The fact is, my body seems to finally embrace running. My long runs are hitting the hour mark, my heart and legs feel strong, and my brain is loosening the reins. Hours of core work and PT exercises--along with meticulous run coaching from Craig--are finally paying off. I feel like I'm just finding out what I'm capable of.

Finally, as I toed the starting line (and even as I lay in bed the night before) my nerves were calm. I'm getting used to this racing thing! I will say that 26:xx minutes later I was a little disappointed that I hadn't gone faster. (I may have started out too fast: My first mile split was 7:40-ish.) Still, it was good enough for third AG, which made me smile.

Cross your fingers that I continue to stay healthy and can do the hard work needed to keep improving. Things are falling into place and I'm ready for next year to be a good one.

Pinch Me

2008-11-02T21:03:00.000-05:00

Nothing too exciting has been happening here. Met with the coaches to talk about plans for next year. I'd love to do an HIM. We'll see how the body holds up.

Have been getting to the pool about once a week. Given my foot-dragging when it comes to swimming these days, Erica even suggested we take swimming off the agenda for a couple of weeks. I hate the idea of that first breathless practice after time off, so I'm telling myself once a week for maintenance until I get my head back in the game.

Been having some bike issues. Would love to get back on my road bike, but the set-up seems to bother my sensitive left leg, so it's the tri bike or nothing for now. Problem is, the saddle on the tri bike is causing problems. So I'm meeting with Craig to see if we can adjust the set-up on the road bike. And I'm contemplating yet another saddle change on the Giant.

Oh, wait. I did do something exciting this week...

I went running with Ryan Hall and Deena Kastor!

Yes, you read that right. I ran Friday morning in Central Park shoulder-to-shoulder with U.S. Marathon Olympic Trials winner, Ryan Hall. I was with a group of magazine editors sponsored by Asics to run the ING New York City Marathon. (I was just along for the run; obviously I didn't do the marathon!) Deena Kastor, who had just received the green light to start running again after her broken foot at the Beijing Olympics, pedaled a bike alongside the group.

(Side note: Both were perhaps the skinniest, most elfin people I have ever met. Deena is about the size of my thigh. And my thighs aren't actually that big! And none of the throngs of runners in the park even batted an eyelash as they ran by these two marathon stars. Gotta love the anonymity NYC affords.)

I've never felt the pull of the marathon. Mostly because I can't imagine my body staying in one piece during the training for such a distance (never mind that I have triathlon aspirations well beyond just 26.2 miles). But after Friday, I might be inspired. At breakfast after the run, they each talked about how incredible a feeling it is to feed off the energy of the crowd during a marathon. It was fascinating to hear Deena talk about her injury; I even told her about my stress fracture. We agreed that the mental devastation of an injury is almost worse than the injury itself.

Um, yeah. He's a hottie.

With Deena.

The Way Back

2008-10-27T13:32:00.022-04:00

I was rifling through my basket of workout clothes yesterday looking for knickers and a long-sleeved jersey, trying to muster enthusiasm for a short ride and run.

Then I heard the ding-ding of a text message.

R u riding today? K and I are looking for a new, pretty route.

Friends! To ride with! I could hardly contain my excitement.

Yes!!! I texted back within seconds.

I fired off an email to Craig letting him know I was swapping my short ride and 40-minute run for a longer ride of unknown duration, the pace of which might be mellow, or hard, or a tantalizing combo of chat-friendly pedaling and heart-pumping hammering. With friends!

Christine and Keith arrived about an hour later and we took off up the hill into rolling woodland where a canopy of autumn leaves lights your way along roads so quiet dogs sleep where the double-yellow should be. Where houses peek through trees from the ends of winding dirt driveways. Where I have ridden solo so much this year that, now that it's the off-season, loneliness has overshadowed my enthusiasm for getting on my bike.

We chatted randomly, marveling at the sudden proliferation of McC/P placards in yards, the helicopter that hovered over the course at Keith's CX race the day before, the sheer number of farm animals we pedaled by (was that... a donkey?!).

As we hummed along making our lefts and rights onto the pristine streets, each more beautiful than the last, it began to feel like what happens when you pile a bunch of coworkers into your car and suddenly see what a mess you've been driving around in. Only I was seeing the sheer beauty of these roads as if for the first time.

Then we got to Route 563, the Lehigh Valley Steelman course, and the road I affectionately call "my least favorite stretch of roadway in PA." I warned them our perfect ride was about to end.

We made the left, swooping wide onto the 10-foot shoulder, safely removed from speeding traffic. I thought about the rides I'd done here this year: Aside from two or three pleasant rides with Erica, I spent hours training on this road alone, looking straight ahead, pedaling hard, all for about 1 hour and 20 minutes of racing.

As I apologized for breaking our reverie, I glanced around. The leaves on either side, though just past their peak, were a brilliant contrast to the cloudless sky. To the right, sailboats dotted the lake. And we were heading east, where the road rolls gently downhill and even when you think you're on an uphill rise, you still fly.

We ducked down and hammered and stopped talking. Snot and wind-triggered tears whooshed along my cheeks and I thought I'd never ridden on such a gorgeous stretch of roadway on a more perfect day. And I realized that, through the filter of friends, even an old and uninteresting route can lead me back to the reason it's worth getting on my bike: Because I love to ride.

It Worked

2008-10-19T20:16:00.003-04:00

Thanks for the good swimming vibes: I got in the pool on Friday and had a great workout! (Despite the pool being... 91 degrees! Holy crap. How are you supposed to work hard in that heat? I may need to find a new pool.)

But whatever new leaf I turned over, it flipped right back and I didn't get to the pool for today's workout. Ugh.

Loving the beautiful cool, crisp weather here on the east coast and the foliage at the height of its color. Which made running today a no-brainer. I felt like I could have gone for hours.

Stopped at the prescribed 55 minutes so as not to aggravate the sensitive legs and promptly napped for an hour afterward. I seem to be tired all the time, but when I work out, I'm OK. Must be residual from last week's illness.

Exhaustion aside, I'm pleased about how the running is progressing. I feel a race coming on.

Belly-Aching

2008-10-15T22:26:00.003-04:00

OK, so remember in my last post how I mentioned I couldn't sleep the night before an "exciting" workout? And how lousy I felt during said workout because of not sleeping?

Well, turns out I was sick. (Which may actually be why I couldn't sleep.)

I am finally feeling better today. But it's been fun-filled week of stomach-clutching, let me tell you.

The good news: I had a really good excuse to not swim.

The bad news: That makes two full weeks of no swimming.

Somehow, though, I managed to get in all my bike rides and runs. (Um, no pun intended.)

Which I think means I have an issue with swimming.

But I have vowed to get in the pool on Friday and put an end to this nonsense.

(Send positive swimming vibes my way! I need all the help I can get...)

Excuses: Good

2008-10-08T20:04:00.008-04:00

I love to train.

Let me amend that. I love being fit. I don't always like to work out. In fact, I find many creative excuses not to. I'll have to shower. I might get a flat. I did that route yesterday. I hate out-and-backs. There won't be any lunch left in the company cafeteria. Is that a cloud?

Fortunately, sense often overrules even my most elaborate excuses. But they're always parading through my mind.

So I acknowledge the irony in admitting to the sheer and utter delight that washed over me when I opened Training Peaks this week to discover I had a 50-minute run AND a run with speedwork on my schedule!

To most of you, after a long season, that doesn't sound like much. But to me it's huge. Ever since last year's stress fracture, I've had a hard time building distance and speed without some physical snafu. This year, sometime in the spring, I hit the 48-minute mark and, zzzt!, a sharp pain fired through my hip flexor.

Water runs began to appear on my training plan. N-o-o-o-o! The worst torture possible! I can only take so much chlorine.

Still, I managed to make it through a few races this season (yes, water-running helped), but it wasn't until September that I felt good during a run.

So anyway... to say I was excited this week is an understatement. Last night I actually COULD NOT SLEEP.

(Frankly, it was a bit ridiculous. Hello?! It is not a race! It's just a workout.)

Now, when it comes to sleep, I'm an eight-hour-or-bust girl. So naturally my fitful five-hour snooze meant today's 50-minute run didn't feel so great. Sigh.

Don't get me wrong, there was no actual pain. But I was dragging. Big time. Which sent me into a mild panic that I might be back on the road to injury.

So I've decided that maybe I make excuses to work out for good reason: Because at least I can sleep.

And if I'm looking forward to a workout so little that I might cancel it because, oh, my favorite shorts are in the wash... well, if that means a good night of shut-eye, I'll take it.

I have tomorrow off, but Friday I might just find an excuse to want to skip the pool. I mean, I'll have to shower afterward. SUCH a pain.

I Needed That

2008-10-05T21:24:00.005-04:00

Really needed this unplanned 10-day blogging hiatus.

Here's a rundown of what I've been up to:

Last Saturday morning: One-hour OW swim at the quarry with Kona-bound Selene. Swim the full hour after nearly tossing my breakfast when she shows me her newly detached toenail before dropping it in the water. Neither of us could muster enthusiasm for an hour plus in water. We both think it's possible she yanked her toenail off so I'd leave and she'd have to come with me (I was the driver). No, doesn't really make sense, but we were looking for any excuse.

Last Saturday afternoon: Two-and-a-half hour nap. Is it possible to bonk while sleeping? Wake up realizing I'd forgotten to eat after swimming. Cannot lift arms.

Last Saturday night: Take husband out for birthday dinner. Resist urge to order everything on menu and drink entire bottle of wine. Settle for seared tuna app, filet, and gooey dessert. (No recollection now what it was.)

Last Sunday: Ignore 2-3 hour ride and transition run. Have no idea what I do instead... definitely not a workout!

Monday: Two hours on bus to NYC. Eight hours at photo shoot. Six minutes demonstrating correct pushup position. Two hours on bus home. Priceless.*

Tuesday: Jury duty. Eight hours sitting in designated plastic chair. Five minutes walking to pick up lunch. Ongoing hours of pain from blister sustained while wearing "professional" shoes.

Wednesday: Short ride/short run. O. M. G. I suck.

Thursday: Skip regular weekly trip to NYC! Do one-hour ride and strength training with Erica followed by beer. Possible habit emerging. I'll take it.

Friday: Bag swim, BUT run for a blissful 45 minutes and feel fantastic. Can count only about 4 months out of last 20 when running hasn't made me feel broken.

Saturday: Skip another swim! Nasty pattern? Must fix this week. Two hours instead, um, roller-skating at birthday party for 10-year-old.

Today: Two hour ride. Ride first 35 minutes with Fred Richter, local recreational cyclist, who pedals up beside me as I start out and keeps me on toes until signing off at Harrisburg School Road. (Thanks, Fred!) Later, nearly break rear derailleur during dumb shifting snafu and almost catapult over handlebars. Manage to do 20-minute transition run and feel superb. (Legs are feeling decidedly not superb tonight.)

There you have it. Another exciting week-plus in the books.

I wasn't planning to not blog these past 10 days, but it made me realize I needed that break! I've spent way too many hours glued to my computer screen and not enough hours hanging with Willa... cleaning the house... sleeping.

Which reminds me, I need to start getting ready for bed. I am wiped.

(*I kid! I kid! Photo shoots typically involve lots of standing around and waiting. But if anyone from work is reading, I am exaggerating here for dramatic effect.)

Real Life

2008-09-25T21:36:00.005-04:00

I always like seeing pictures of athlete bloggers outside of training/racing.

I haven't been in either of those modes much this week. To give you an idea what my week has been like, here's a shot of me at the Women's Health national sales meeting dinner Tuesday night. I clean up OK. :)

WH features director, Nicole Beland; marketing director, Eric Johnson; and me.

Unless you count traipsing all over NYC in heels while carrying an overnight bag and a computer, training was a no-go on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

I did manage to get to the pool today before work and then hit the gym after work for core, physical therapy, and upper body. Lots of training to pack in to the next few days, but bad weather is coming to these parts so we'll see how it goes.

Making the Most of It

2008-09-21T20:53:00.007-04:00

Was supposed to meet a group at the quarry for open water practice yesterday.

But instead spent the day working. Literally from 8:00 am to 9:00 pm.

Yes, it was Saturday. Yes, I got cranky. Not only did I miss the swim, but a bike ride and a run too.

And today Scott played in a golf tournament all day, so I couldn't make it to the quarry again. Was ready to chalk the weekend up as a total loss, but before I had a chance to get cranky (and before Scott left), I squeezed in a run.

I was feeling a little sore as I left the house, but as soon as I started running, I felt light and fast and strong, like I could have run all day. Totally unexpected.

Got home and another surprising thing happened: Willa called a friend and arranged a playdate! I dropped her off and got to ride my bike for a blissful two hours and 15 minutes.

It was one of those rides when you just pedal and the bike goes and you feel good and you focus on the road ahead and the trees on either side and the blue sky above. And you feel the air on your skin and the power in your muscles. And each hill that rises in front of you passes swiftly underneath your wheels.

And you add another loop because you feel so good. And one more because you're still flying. And the climb that used to chew you up, now launches you forward over its peak and you pass a dude on that climb, literally fly by him, and you wave and realize you're not hurting, not the least little bit.

And when you finish, you know you could have gone for hours. Except you might have needed a sandwich.

So you go to pick up your daughter and you are handed a margarita and you drink it and find a sandwich and eat it and laugh and talk Kona and cyclocross and mountain bike racing with friends and it's all good.

And you're happy because you didn't let a missed workout day get to you. Because the opportunities are always there, and sometimes the things that aren't planned are the ones that are the most satisfying.

And then you realize you've been blogging in the second person and can't quite figure out how that happened. But you've had two beers (plus the margarita) and think you're just going to let it go because you're too tired to figure out how to edit it.

Let's Talk About J. Lo

2008-09-17T19:29:00.015-04:00

Why? Because my reaction to her first tri is not what I expected.

I wanted to be snarky. Really.

I greeted the news that she was blogging for Self magazine about her training with disdain. I mean, come on. Would she really do it? She knows you have to train, right? Doesn't she know you can't dilly-dally in transition putting makeup on? And it must be nice to have a staff of 50 taking care of every other annoying responsibility in your life just so you can go out and run.

Plus, it irked me a little. I blogged last year for Women's Health about MY triathlon training, but I'm not a celebrity. Nobody cared! (OK, a few people did.) But, hello?! Let's just say my blog didn't make headlines.

And how annoying was it that the very race she chose for her first tri, is also the one I did for my first triathlon? I entered the Nautica Malibu Triathlon two years ago because brother mag Men's Health is a sponsor. A few of my MH colleagues had signed up and convinced me it would be a good idea.

(Did I mention I had a pathological fear of water?)

Despite the slick vibe and the celeb spotting (yo, Amanda Beard!), it was a pretty miserable experience. Ocean swim in the Pacific!? What was I thinking? I am not kidding when I say I was nearly last out of the water. I was in the final wave, and, yes, there might have been two others behind me.

So, this year I secretly hoped that J. Lo's experience would be worse. That the ocean swim would make her DNF. That she would exit the water feeling like she was going to die and look as pathetic as I did.

(Why? I guess it makes me feel better when someone seemingly more privileged than I suffers more.)

Sadly, no.

The evidence here:

Me. Miserable.
(Note the paucity of swimmers still in the water.)

J. Lo. Happy!
(Not fair. She has stylist. Plus, she was in the first wave. Which explains the hordes of people behind her.)

BUT...

When I started reading about her experience, I found myself having the same reaction I do whenever I read a race report or hear about a first triathlon.

I was happy for her.

Here's why:

She's a mom (albeit with help... and more more money per appearance than I make in a year).

She had her kids less than a year ago.

She's 39.

She's

(wait for it)

a little bit like me.

(OK, not so much.)

But it's an admirable accomplishment.

And she probably inspired a lot of people.

And it might have made her feel good about herself in a way that collecting platinum albums, real estate, and haute couture might never be able to.

(Though I noted with pleasure that my time was better than hers.)

So, I'm here to publicly proclaim that I think it's pretty cool she did it. She looks happy crossing the finish line.

Unlike I did.

(Of course, I am not a professional actress...)

I felt kinda defeated.

Bottom line: Good for J. Lo for getting it done at age 39 after having twins. Good for J. Lo for smiling as she crossed the finish line even though, let's face it, she only did OK. (I took myself so seriously that I couldn't be happy no matter how I tried to spin it.)

But here's what I think she should do now: Take her personal victory, combine it with her scads of money, and start building swimming pools in inner cities and setting up training programs for kids "from the block." She should do everything she can to provide access this lofty sport for people who have no resources. Triathlon is entirely for the privileged. She could make a difference.

Will she?

Inspiration Close to Home

2008-09-14T21:26:00.004-04:00

Check out this incredibly moving photo essay at Time.com about cancer survivors who participated in the recent Livestrong Challenge in Philadelphia.

A fellow Endurance Multisport athlete is featured. Lori raced her first triathlon this summer (the Philly Women's Tri) and to say she was stoked afterwards is an understatment. I don't know her well, but I got the feeling the experience gave her a well-deserved shot of confidence. Pretty awesome stuff. I am humbled by her drive to live life to the fullest while battling an incurable disease.

I had to post this one picture just because I think it's so beautiful and captures a real sense determination and survival. But read the whole essay. Every single image and story is moving and powerful. Lori is featured in the opener shot, and her story accompanies the second picture.

Delaware Diamondman Sprint Race Report

2008-09-10T16:22:00.004-04:00

An old high school friend who I found on Facebook recently commented that it's too bad my season is over. I should come to Florida, she said, where she lives and races. The season isn't ending there.

The season's not ending here either; it's just that I need a break! I need some weekends where I can just go to sleep at night without thinking about how my swim will go, or if I'll have legs on the bike, or whether my hip flexor will act up on the run.

But before that break, I did need to get one last race out of the way this past Sunday. Choosing this particular race was a bit of a letdown. Last year, after watching the Endurasport Quakerman triathlon at nearby Lake Nockamixon, I picked the Olympic distance as my "A" race for 2008. Held on the first weekend after Labor Day, it's a small, well-run event on roads I'm familiar with, just a few minutes from my house.

None of that mattered to my left leg and I spent most of the summer babying it with water runs, test efforts, and ice. By August it was pretty clear that a 10K wasn't in the cards for my immediate future.

So instead, I signed up for the Delaware Diamondman sprint triathlon held on the same day. It meant a 90-minute drive, but with its 2-mile run, it was obviously more doable. Plus other EnMu athletes would be there, including Erica, so there would be lots of whooping it up, too.

Decision made. Time to get stoked. I studied last year's results online, took note of who was racing, and realized that if I tried hard and all went well, there was a chance I could place in the top five AG. But it was hardly a given.

The night before, I was mentally as ready as I'd ever been for a race. I knew the times I needed to hit, what I had to do in the water, that I'd have to hammer on the bike, and run fast without giving up.

Race morning was a comedy of errors that included getting lost on the way to the race because it was still effin' dark out, a rear flat (thanks for that clutch tube change Craig!), and endless creeping lines for the porta-potties. All of which resulted in arriving at the swim start with seconds to spare and a heart rate approaching the roof.

But as I waded into the water, nervously adjusting my goggles and cap, Craig and Erica came up on either side of me and patted me on the back. "It's OK now. You're here. You're going to do great." Then E. and I dove in and swam 200 or so yards, reaching the starting line just as the whistle blew.

The swim unfolded the way it's supposed to. Meaning, I swam. I sighted. I passed people. I drafted. I didn't swim off course. I didn't let people go by. I didn't panic. And I strategized. About seven minutes in I realized that up ahead traffic would be merging from the half-iron distance race. I knew it would mean a sudden onslaught of breaststrokers. But I was ready, and while some people collided in the melee, I dodged from one open space to another. And then it was done. My watch said 17:xx minutes (well under the time I had expected).

I have no idea what possessed me to look so joyful here. I don't remember doing it! Guess I was glad to be out of the water, which may have been the yuckiest water I've swam in all year.

The scene from swim out to T1 was a bit of a debacle, involving early wetsuit removal, shoe-donning, and a ridiculously long uphill run. The minutes of which were added to the swim time. Bleh. Oh, and Craig was there watching the whole thing and taking pictures. I'm sure he was appalled at my lack of wetsuit removal skills.

Ugh, I even had to sit down. I think I was apologizing to Craig in this picture. I will never put on shoes for a long transition run again (unless it's on gravel).

The bike was uneventful. In good news, I passed a lot of people and kept them at bay. I won every cat-and-mouse game I played. I took advantage of corners to ricochet away from riders who elected to sit up and take them s-l-o-w. But for some reason---a headwind? a bloated belly from poorly timed nutrition?---I couldn't get my legs to hammer the way I wanted them to. I don't have a computer on my bike, but I knew I wasn't having the bike split I wanted.

When I got to T2, I was ready to be off the damn bike. Craig was running along the fence reminding me of the strategy we'd agreed on: build during the run, don't start out too fast, and maintain good form.

As I ran, I told myself that it was supposed to hurt. And that I would survive, that breathing hard for 20 minutes wouldn't kill me. Once I got going, I actually felt pretty spectacular and my leg didn't bother me at all. I stuck with my forward-leaning form and used my arms to propel me along.

At the one-mile mark I looked at my watch thinking, "Wow, that was the fastest 10 minutes ever." (Um, yeah. Low expectations since I haven't been able to run at a decent pace all summer.) But lo and behold, my watch said 8 minutes! Sure enough there was Craig at the turnaround asking if I was OK and telling my to use my arms more.

I kept up the pace as I headed back. Eight minutes later I was crossing the line, and there was Craig again, as if by magic, yelling at me to finish strong and smile for the camera. Watch said 16:xx minutes.

Best of all, my overall time was good enough for third in my AG (and, yes, there were more than three people in my AG!).

So even though it wasn't the race I had wanted to do (and the water was vile), it was a fun way to end the season. I didn't screw up the swim, the run went well, and I loved the camaraderie of having coaches and friends there. Every single Endurance Multisport athlete who competed in the sprint or the half stood on the podium. Nice work, everyone!

Podium surprise!

Blurred and Wavy

2008-09-04T22:09:00.003-04:00

I am ashamed to admit it, but I actually texted Erica the following message Tuesday night as I was preparing dinner:

Help! I want to drink wine instead of swim tonite!

To which she responded:

Bad day at work?

And I answered:

Not really. Just have to wait til 7:30 [for pool availability] and the temptation is too great.

Followed a few minutes later by:

Forget it. I am so pathetic. Will swim tonite and have wine ltr.

And she said:

Well, think of it this way: if u do that u wont have 2 get up as early so u can drink more wine :)

I'm pretty sure talking an athlete out of drinking is not in her job description.

(Sheesh. How much did I feel like a loser?)

The thing is, now that summer is over, the pool I'd been swimming at after work (the lavish 50-meter outdoor pool) has closed. Sigh. So I am now beholden to my regular pool, and if I swim after work, it has to be after 7:30.

But I must have food before then! And not some crumbly protein bar. I want real food after work. And with real food, I want my end-of-day glass of wine.

Still, you have reached a new low when you text your swim coach because you want to drink instead of swim. I realized that as soon as I hit send.

So I sucked it up, drank lemonade with my dinner, and got to the pool around 8:00 for a short, but hard-effort practice.

I never did wind up drinking wine that night. I was too wiped out.

Next morning I woke up at 6:00 for a bike/run/bike/run/bike brick. I strapped my running shoes to my back, pedaled up the hill to the roads behind my house, set up my stuff by a stop sign, and sweated profusely for an an hour plus.

This particular neck of the woods is whisper quiet. Few cars travel the roads, houses peek out from behind trees, and neighbors can't really see to the next property. Nonetheless, anyone who might have been watching my antics would have thought I'd lost my mind.

Here's my workout, written on my arm because it's too complicated to remember:

Here's my bike leaning against the stop sign at the corner of Winding Road and Mink:

And my stuff:

(I know, this is all quite fascinating.)

And here's how I felt by the end:

Note the blurred and wavy pavement. Probably how I would have felt Tuesday night had I chosen to drink that glass (or two) of wine.

But I wouldn't have felt nearly as virtuous as I did after putting those two workouts in the bank.

First Day of School

2008-09-02T21:07:00.007-04:00

I would love to have chronicled Willa's first day of 4th grade with the requisite pictures snapped as she walked out of the house with her brand-new lunchbox and backpack.

Or as she strode through the front doors at school, her sun-kissed blond ponytail swinging as she reached to embrace friends she hasn't seen in three months.

Or as she swaggered down the hall to her classroom with said friends, giggling in disbelief that they were walking to the "big kid" classrooms.

Or even as she took in with wide blue eyes her new desk topped with a tall stack of unused books, pencils, and crayons.

But alas, I didn't remember to! Until we got the classroom, that is, at which point I powered up my camera and it promptly died.

However, as I drove out of the school parking lot on my way to work, I soaked up the sensations: the crisp fall-like air, the sharp blue cloudless sky, the rumbling bright yellow buses. All the sensory reminders of a new beginning. This time of year always feels that way to me. Even though the leaves here on the east coast are about to turn brown and the roadside greenery is receding, the new school year feels fresh.

I have one more race planned for this season. This Sunday is the Delaware Diamondman Sprint, chosen expressly because of its skimpy 2-mile run. I'm still having lingering issues with my left leg, so no Oly 10K for me as originally planned.

And then, I don't know. It's strange to imagine workouts with no race looming. But it feels like a welcome break, too. Maybe some trail runs this fall? Perhaps some mountain biking? Definitely some relaxed quarry swims.

This afternoon my friend Dimity and I found ourselves hatching a plan to do a half Ironman together next year. Maybe Steelhead? Maybe Vineman? The idea of an ambitious goal far enough away to seem exciting yet not so distant that it's easy to forget is the perfect kind of motivation right now.

And hey, when you're thinking about new beginnings, you might as well think big. Or at least half big.

Just an Observation

2008-08-28T18:46:00.008-04:00

I saw this picture on nytimes.com this morning and the first thing that struck me was, um, when did powdered wigs come back into style?

I mean, hello!? Anyway, to bring this back to something marginally triathlon related, the book I mentioned in a previous post is now available at a bookseller near you. The book itself is a whimsy, but I do love the story of how it came about.

Week in Review

2008-08-26T22:25:00.001-04:00

This is going to be one of those posts with no unifying theme, except perhaps that I have had a bit too much wine with dinner.

I was going to write about how this past Sunday was the Chicago Triathlon. I had a whole bunch of stuff written in my head about how exactly one year ago I had a breakthrough swim there. Which, um, took me 39-some-odd minutes to complete (without the long run to T1). But for me, on that day, it was huge.

Me in Chicago last year, obviously thrilled beyond belief that I was out of the water.

I also was going to write about how far I've come this year. Mostly because I've been able to have a season. I've raced! More than once! And it's getting less stressful. But I'm going to hold off on that until after the season is actually over and I've had time to reflect.

I would love to write about how I'm really kicking ass in the triathlons I've done. But that's not exactly true. I still have quite a ways to go. (I kick ass only when no one else shows up in my age group!) But hey, I have made significant progress. And I have had FUN. So I am happy. Still, I would like to know, will I ever be able to move beyond the fast side of slow on the bike? It's the one thing I have no major issues with. I would really love to break 20 mph average speed in a race. Just sayin'.

Anyway, instead of serious deep thinking, I would like to share some highlights from this past week:

1. Yesterday, upon discovering that the company cafeteria had sold out of tater tots within 15 minutes of opening, I demanded to purchase the tates in the lunch plate display. The serving lady reluctantly agreed, despite her initial horror and abject disgust. Yes, it was totally worth it.

2. Joined Coach Craig on Sunday for an open water swim at the quarry during which I treaded water for several minutes while he tried to "catch" bubbles made by the scuba divers below. He is how old? :)

3. Considered turning around on a ride when faced with the possibility of having to pass two dudes wearing trucker hats and baggy jean shorts on a false flat in a headwind. Ultimately I did not turn around, opting instead to smoke them good.

4. Whined to Erica before my timed swim set tonight something along the lines of, "I'm supposed to swim PAST the other people in the race? I don't do that."

5. Purchased not one but FOUR bike helmets to replace the helmet that was stolen out of transition at the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon last month. I have already returned two, and will return the third on Friday. I will forever miss my perfect ice blue Giro Pneumo, circa 2005. However, I have now discovered the merits of the Specialized S-Works Helmet's internal cage system.Yes, it's the Milram colors. But whatever. Oh, and it has bright red straps that blinded Erica at first, but now she is "over" the color. Hey, it matches the EnMu kit. What more could you want?

And on that note, it's time for bed.

On Top of the World

2008-08-20T08:52:00.000-04:00

When Willa announced last year that she wanted to do a triathlon, it warmed my heart. I was so touched that she had enough admiration for what I do to want to try it herself, that the example I set had really sunk in.

Still, I was skeptical. She is a good little swimmer and enthusiastic about the pool. But open water? No data on that. She learned to ride a two-wheeler just last December, so let's just say the bike is a challenge for her. As for running? She doesn't much like it.

And more than whether she'd do well, I wasn't sure I wanted her to do it. What if she freaked out in the water like I've done so many times, or fell off her bike, or threw up while running? My instinct was to protect her from the stuff that could go wrong. (Funny that I focused far less on what could go right.)

And then there was "training." I thought that if she made a commitment to a race, she should do a little prep work. Nothing crazy, but enough so that when she lined up at the start, she'd know she had put in the time and she'd feel ready.

At first she was crazy enthusiastic. She wanted her schedule all typed out in a grid. We posted it in the kitchen and checked off each workout. But within a few days she started deeming workouts optional. If a friend called for a playdate or she wanted to watch Hannah Montana, she'd launch into all kinds of complicated bargaining and schedule manipulation.

During those weeks I seriously wondered about my parenting skills. Was I forcing her to do this? It WAS her idea, right? Had I become one of those hardcore sports moms? Tears were shed and bitter words exchanged. More than once I told her she didn't have to do the race if she didn't want to.

But she persevered. Ultimately, she got in most of her 15-minute bike rides. She struggled through some 10-minute run/walk sessions. She sailed through a number of 1000-yard swim workouts. And she nailed a transition practice with confidence.

Race morning my bubbly girl was quiet. "Mommy," she whispered. "What if I come in last?"

It broke my heart. Oh, how I understood her fear. I did my best to explain that for most people, triathlons are not about winning or getting awards. They're about the sense of accomplishment, that feeling of being on top of the world after you cross the finish line. I also told her that most 9-year-olds aren't out there doing triathlons, and just the fact that she's doing one makes her special.

We picked up her number (222, which delighted us both since my number the weekend before at Steelman had been 1111). Oh, and all racers received a duffel bag with Beware of Barracuda Triathlon written on it. For Willa, that alone was worth the early wakeup call and pre-race nerves.

After we set up her transition, she announced that she wanted to get body-marked all by herself.

She repeated, in case I had missed the proclamation, THAT SHE DID NOT WANT ME TO GO WITH HER.

I watched her walk away from me with her head high and determination in her step. She came back with '222' boldly drawn on each arm, a '9' on her right calf, and a huge smile on her face. "This is fun, mommy!" she said. "I'm so glad I decided to do the race."

We did some transition and course recon before the first racers started. She got to watch two full waves of younger kids complete the entire race before her wave was called to the start. (Can I just say, a 6-year-old in an itty-bitty swimsuit racking her training wheels and then making like Emma Snowsill out of T2 is one of the cutest things I've seen in a while.)

When it was time for her wave to start, she was all business. The horn went off and... there she was! My girl! Smack in the middle of the pack, drafting off of another 9-year-old, sighting like a pro, and heading straight for the swim exit buoys! Other kids began to drift off course, but Willa beelined from point A to point B.

These kids are serious. Willa is number 222 in the middle of the picture.

I ran to meet her as she exited the water. She tore off her cap and goggles like a seasoned veteran as she ran to T1.

Though she was one of the first out of the water, she struggled in T1 putting on socks and pulling up her shorts, and almost everyone passed her. At one point, as I tried to coach her through retying her shoe, she yelled, "Stop talking to me, mommy!" So I did.

T1.

Bike out.

And then she was riding away, focused on the road in front of her. By the time she came back from the bike, she was starting to fade, but she pressed on, one shoe untied, and disappeared onto the run course.

I waited at the finish line and cried when I saw her running down the road and into the chute.

Finishing with a smile!

"Mommy," she said, a torrent of words spilling from her mouth, "Last night I decided I wasn't going to do it, but I'm glad I did... I had to walk most of the run... You should have seen the HUGE hill we had to go up... I made a friend while I was running... Are you allowed to talk to people during a race? During the swim, I felt light, like I was floating on air... Whew, I am SO glad I don't have any more races coming up and I can take a break from training."

Then she was off to pack her brand new duffel bag. And I realized something: This was her day. Yes, in a way she was doing the race to be like me. But more than that, she was doing it to be independent. Every decision she made---from the workouts she wanted to do, to getting body-marked on her own, to doing the race at all---was hers. And from the swagger in her step as she walked away from me, I could tell that no matter what the outcome of this race, having made those decisions put her on top of the world. Even for just that moment.

Best. Picture. Ever.

2008-08-15T08:01:00.002-04:00

In most race pictures I look bizarre. I'm either emerging from the water looking ready to collapse, or on the bike with a seriously pained expression on my face, or my feet look glued to the pavement during the run. That is, when the photogs don't miss me altogether. (NO bike pictures from Las Vegas. Grrr.)

Admittedly, it's getting better this year. I quite liked the finish line picture from Philly.

But this from the Corporate Challenge at the velodrome. I look totally badass! (Though Scott says I look like I'm about to toss a loogie.) And I love how the you can see the team roaring up behind me as I pull off from my lead-out lap.