My Divorce/Ironman Journey

P. F. Chang's Rock n' Roll Marathon Race Report

2012-01-19T13:45:00.000-08:00

I have a bad history with marathons. I tend to avoid them. They HURT. I haven’t done any races where I thought I was doing well. They turn into death marches where my legs and feet turn into sticks of burning pain. They make me want to cry. Two of the three that I have done have been in ironmans, after 2.4 miles of swimming and 112 miles of biking, so I had an excuse for mere survival. The first stand alone marathon I did was a debacle that took over six and a half hours. I wanted a different outcome.

I was determined to actually race P.F. Chang’s. Somehow, a great half marathon race in 2009 gave me the delusion that I could actually do this. I perfectly executed the half marathon, keeping the same fast pace for ten miles, then speeding up for the last 5k. It felt awesome. Marathons are a different matter. A marathon is a snarling beast, that is difficult to tame.

It’s nice to have a goal and to see what I am capable of. I thought I could do better than I had in the past and that I could have a personal best, since my best time was an ironman marathon. They are always slower than a stand alone marathon. It seemed like a crazy, stupid idea but doable. Maybe I could exceed all my expectations of what I could do.

Training wasn’t all that difficult. I did a lot of running in the summer training for an ironman and it wasn’t that big a stretch to do it again. But then, I reached the magic fourteen mile run mark. My feet do not like running more than fourteen miles at one time. They complained bitterly and I ended up in moving a crippled hobble at the end. Making my long runs faster just made matters worse.

Ironically, running a lot makes you lazier. I would go out of my way to get a close parking spot so that I didn’t have to walk an extra twenty five yards. Any activity where I had to stand a lot was avoided. It was a good excuse not to do yard work.. Grocery shopping sucked because I shop at a large store that requires a lot of walking and my feet would ache non stop.

P.F. Chang’s is a big marathon that tends to be a hassle. But it’s in the middle of January, which is prime time for a long race, because I won’t die of heat exhaustion. This year we had the option to ride the light rail to the start line. That worked out much better than the buses that they had used in the past. Those were crowded and ran late. Too bad it was pitch dark outside, so I couldn’t see the scenery. Riding a train in Phoenix is still a novelty. For a long time political leaders didn’t see the need for more mass transit for a city in a county of over 3.8 million people.

At the start of the race, people are placed in corrals according to their projected running time. The word “corrals” evokes the image of cattle in my mind. So many people are there that the start has to be done in stages. It’s a slow walk to the beginning of the slaughter. I was supposed to be in corral eight because I thought I could finish under five hours, but not four. Corral eight did not exist, only six. Was I supposed to start behind the police cars? I guess if you weren’t in corrals one through six, you went wherever you could.

The bad thing about running in the desert in winter is that it is cold in the morning. I couldn’t dress warmly because I would get hot when I am running and I didn’t want to carry extra clothes. A lot of people just discarded their extra clothes in the street, like gloves and shirts. That wasn’t a option for me because I am cheap and it seems wasteful. I could have worn a garbage bag like some people did, but that just wasn’t cool. The same light rail that was our friend and got us there also delayed the start for half an hour, because a lot of runners going over the tracks tends to slow down the trains. I looked for people putting out a lot of heat.

Finally we started. Miles one through nine were bearable. I wasn’t hurting or breathing hard. I passed the 4:45 hour pace group, which was the time I wanted to finish in. The bands provided temporary distraction, but most of them were uninspiring. Locals schools put out cheer leading squads, but the only one I liked had a disco theme with sparkly costumes. They could cheer all they wanted, but I went into a moody misery. The route passed through the older part of town, which actually has some character, with stores, older homes and a canal. It’s the part of Phoenix that looks more like the midwest with the large green lawns and big trees.

The 4:45 pace group caught up with me, which probably wasn’t a good thing. I was slowing down. I ran with them a while. The pacer held up a sign the entire way that says “4:45". People followed him on the theory that they will be able to stay with him the entire race. That is, until the porta-potty calls.

I had tried to resist this call and I was determined not to waste time in this manner. My intestines had other ideas. They hated running as much as my feet did. At mile twenty, they threatened to erupt and I had no other choice but to use the blue box. How the hell do they find toilet paper this thin? I had to roll out long sheets just to get amounts at the molecular level.

Up to this point, I had a decent run. The saying is that a marathon begins at mile twenty. What this really means is all the mistakes that I made in the past twenty miles came back to haunt me. I didn’t drink enough water and eat enough of the vile phlegmy gels that I use. This resulted in hills becoming mountains and every step was a burning pain. It took a lot more energy just to do the same thing that I had been doing for four hours.

The mind is more powerful than the body most of the time, but sometimes they get into arguments. The brain says to keep going when the body tells me to stop. At this point it was a full blown fight. My body was screaming “stop!”. My mind was saying “I am damned if I am going to have a five hour marathon!”. It was frustrating to work so hard for so little speed.

A string of runners stretched out in front of me down the undulating road . Who knew Van Buren had all these hills? It seemed cruel to make us run over hills at mile twenty three in a marathon. I wasn’t going to give up and walk, though. People around me groaned. I thought, what the hell is your excuse? I have twenty years on you. Some rotund belly dancers in long, sparkling skirts provided some comic relief. I admired them for their confidence to expose and shake that much Rubinesque flesh.

I finally got to the Mill Avenue bridge over Tempe Town Lake. I could see all the white herons perched on the walls. They were probably wondering what all these idiots were doing. I was pretty cranky at that point because my feet hurt so bad. Hapless pedestrians crossed through the runners. I was ready to scream at them if they got in my way. They could die for all I cared. I passed the restaurant Montis on Rio Salado about mile 25.5 and they were playing “The Dog Days Are Over”. I certainly hoped so. I loved this song and it gave me energy for a little while. I kept reminding myself that “pain is temporary, pride is forever”. Giving up and not doing my best stays with me a lot longer than any momentary discomfort. But my feet weren’t buying this idea.

I picked up at the last mile, or tried to and my heart rate was sky high. In a normal race, this would have resulted in faster speed. This time it resulted in more discomfort. A lot of people at the finish line cheered, which was kind of cool, except I hurt so bad that I didn’t care. They could have been mutant aliens and I wouldn’t have noticed. I had a time of 4:54:39. It wasn’t my goal time of 4:45, but it was my best time in a marathon.

I like to test my physical limits in running and to have the feeling of control. Things don’t always go as planned, however. I learned from this experience that it takes a lot of effort to run slow in a marathon and it takes a lot MORE effort to not run even slower the last 10k. Despite my best efforts, the last 10k in a marathon always SUCKS. I can train all I want, but my feet and legs are going to hurt badly whether I run for five hours or six and a half. Lastly, I will NOT be able to avoid the porta-potties.

At least I didn’t feel like crying, unlike my other marathons. That is, until I had to walk back to my car

Christmas Affect Disorder

2012-01-05T12:48:00.000-08:00

I can’t take the emotional baggage of Christmas. All the years of rituals and feelings of every Christmas I have ever had weigh me down. The expectations of joy and the inevitable let-downs hang around like ghosts, that come back year after year. I have whined about Christmas before in this blog, detailing my bad attitude about the holiday, my hatred of Christmas music and the illusion of happiness that mocks me. Last year, I got through it all relatively unscathed, but this year was different because my daughter Melissa wasn’t around.

Most of December was bearable. I had very little shopping to do, which meant no agonizing about what to get people, when I didn’t have a clue want they wanted. I didn’t put up a tree because no one else was around to see it; if it wasn’t put up, then it wouldn’t have to be taken down. The Christmas lights stayed in the box because it was too much effort to untangle them, get out a ladder, and string them up. I put up a wreath and decorated the mantel and that was it. I didn’t bake any cookies, just corn bread and tea bread for parties. I went to two great parties and felt good for a while.

I accepted the fact that I didn’t have family to visit, unlike most of the rest of the world. My parents and sister are all deceased and my daughter is in Washington, D.C. Families are over-rated anyway. Most of the time they are boring as hell and disrupt one’s routine. Sometimes a relative cracks and shoots everyone. Guns and Christmas are a bad combination. I briefly thought of visiting my sister-in-law in South Carolina, but the air fare was ridiculous and I hate traveling during the holidays.

I detest crowded airports and the weather is usually terrible between where you fly from and where you are going. I thought of taking a ski trip, but the lifts are crowded this time of the year. I would spent more time in line than skiing.

I should have avoided Facebook. All those people bragging about how wonderful their lives are, what a good time they are having, and all the family, friends and parties is depressing. All that damn cheeriness. My life doesn’t live up to this standard. Of course the people who are not having a great time aren’t posting about it. I could bitch about the holidays, but then I would be considered to be negative, which most people consider to be a major character flaw. If I can’t be positive all the time, then there must be something wrong with me. It’s not acceptable to hate Christmas.

I planned the hell out of December. I went to four parties, went to a movie on Christmas with a friend, volunteered at Desert Botanical Garden three times, trained for a marathon, saw a therapist, did a 30k race, and went to the Nutcracker Ballet. It wasn’t enough to stave off the holiday blues.

Maybe it’s the short days and I have Seasonal Affect Disorder. December should be called my Christmas Affect Disorder. Maybe it’s because I sleep an extra hour a day because it’s dark at seven o’clock and who the hell wants to get up anyway? It could be all the fat laden sugary treats that I can’t avoid because it’s there, it’s good and I am hungry. Every party has wine and I have to have at least one glass. Food that’s bad for me and booze is not good for my state of mind. At least not later on, when I get on the scale and find out I am wearing the extra calories.

I am glad that the holidays are over and I can get back to my regular depression. The Halls can get undecked, the Bells can stop jingling and the Chestnuts can stop roasting.

My Un-Anniversary

2012-01-02T14:47:00.000-08:00

Wedding photo with my ugly dress and my parents, now deceased

I don’t think much about my wedding anniversary anymore. It used to be fun to get gifts and go out to eat or even in 2001, go to Tahiti. No one gets me gifts anymore, at least not romantic ones. Some people have a hard time with anniversaries when they get divorced. I have a more difficulty with other events like Christmas, but I don’t long to remember being married to F. I didn’t want to get divorced, but the marriage was dead.

The twenty seventh of November used to be my wedding anniversary. I was married in 1976. I thought that my husband loved me. It was a long time to be married and I was comfortable with it. I was unmarried June 5, 2009. F decided in 2007 that he didn’t want to be married to me anymore. He had an affair with another woman. He didn’t get around to dumping me until August 2008. Communication wasn’t his strong suit.

I was young and deluded when I got married. Marrying F was supposed to make me happy and anything was better than being alone. The thought of trying to make myself happy didn’t occur to me. I thought the marriage was good and I was content. I didn’t deal much with any problems I had because it was easier for me to be complacent. I lacked confidence, but I was afraid to do things on my own. Life events didn’t force me out of my comfort zone.

Getting divorced burst my bubble of safety or what I thought was safety. My assumptions about my place in the world liquified and nothing seemed certain anymore. I didn’t know who I was or what my purpose was. I had to learn to do everything myself, and I didn’t feel up to the task. F wasn’t around anymore to take care of the pool or the car. It was difficult dealing with stuff that I had have no interest in, because I was in a cloud of pain. I resented being left with this crap. No one else was around to do the stupid chores.

I was left with myself and I had to learn to live with this person. My spouse didn’t like me anymore, so I had to unlearn the assumption that what he thought of me was what I was. If I had no value to him, then I had no value as a person. That assumption is unbearable to live with. F*** came into my thoughts and said that I am stupid. I eventually told him to shut up. This worked.

Un-Anniversary means unromantic. True love seems like bullshit. Real love takes work. I feel kind of jaded about the whole fairy tale wedding concept and maybe a little bitter. I see jewelry store ads hawking diamond rings with starry-eyed men proposing to simpering women. It’s almost funny. I watch reality shows were women buy $6,000 wedding dresses and I wonder how many of them will end up divorcing the man of their dreams. My seventies wedding dress was $200 and I still have to figure out how to get rid of it. I can’t throw it in the garbage, but I don’t want it. My daughter thinks it’s ugly.

Marriage is for other people. It’s not something I can even think about at this point. I am not in that safe, secure world where I can count on someone to support me emotionally. Everyone else seems to be in a different plane of existence with their perfect, happy lives and I am an oddball, somehow not fitting into this delusional world.

I can’t take companionship for granted because it’s hard to find. I have to make an effort to seek people out in order to socialize. I don’t have a built in friend at home to talk to and I spent a lot of time alone. I envy people with parents and siblings. Mine are gone; my sister and parents are deceased and all of my remaining relatives live far away. It’s a whole new world from being married.

The tendrils of an old life are persistent. As much as I enjoyed shredding my marriage certificate, when you are married thirty years to some person and all the connections aren’t very easily severed. Reminders of the past can be purged, but not all memories don’t go away. They sometimes arise unbidden and unwelcome. We have a child together. I still have to e-mail her father sometimes about her. Seeing him in person makes me want to leave immediately.

My mission was to get rid of part of my old life. I took down all of our family portraits from the walls. Occasionally an old photo crops up despite my best efforts to destroy them all. I have hundreds of photos before I had a digital camera and I went through every one of them and removed the ones of F. The less stuff I have, the lighter the burden. I was cleaning out old tax records that detailed the minutia of my distant past. I felt numb, and slightly sad looking at them.

I still get along with most of my ex-in-laws. I knew some of them when they were pre-teenagers, before I was even married. My daughter, Melissa, has a strong bond with her cousins. We still all get together once in a while, although it’s kind of awkward with F’s new wife. I don’t care that he’s remarried, but I just don’t want to be around them. My mother-in-law, Rosemary, has also been supportive. Her husband dumped her as well, so she understood what I went through. My mother has passed on, so she’s kind of a substitute.

I still have my married name, because I didn’t want to change it while my daughter was in school. Now I am too lazy to change the driver’s license, state bar license, passport, bank accounts and such. I feel like I should change it, but my maiden name doesn’t seem to fit me either because I am not that person any more. It doesn’t seem to matter much anyway.

My Un-anniversary also means Un-fettered. I don’t have to deal with another person’s preferences. I cook what I want, when I want. F liked certain foods, preferably meat, but now I don’t have it all the time. He didn’t drink because he was an recovering alcoholic, so now I drink wine or beer. It’s a strike for freedom. He would come home late, probably from spending time with his girlfriend, turn the bedroom light on to read and wake me up. He didn’t care. Now I don’t have anyone to disturb me. The bed seems empty and cold, but no one wakes me up.

If I make a mistake, I don’t have someone rolling their eyes in exasperation, like I am so stupid. I deal with the error however I can. No one judges me except myself. I have learned to accept my shortcomings. If I get lost going somewhere, I figure out where to go. If I use a weed wacker instead of a lawnmower to cut the weeds in the yard, it’s okay. I am doing the best that I can at the moment, and that’s good enough.

I still dance on the edge of fear all the time. Fear that I will never be truly independent; fear that a disaster is just around the corner; fear that I will never make peace with being alone. The car may break down or get wrecked, an appliance may quit, or I might get seriously ill with no one to help me. It is a gnawing fear. It’s like Michael Binkley’s Anxiety Closet in Bloom County. The monsters come out at night when you are trying to sleep and keep you awake. Fear is a lack of trust in oneself that a crisis can be handled. Earning that trust is a long, hard process. I am still working on it and probably will forever. I get through the bad stuff, but it’s a struggle.

My un-Anniversary means that holidays aren’t the same. I have to try and not compare myself to others or I get really depressed. I have to work at having a positive frame of mind and it doesn’t come naturally. Holidays always seem to be made for happy people with lots of family and friends and I don’t fit that mold anymore. Christmas and Thanksgiving are not what they used to be. I had to figure out how to make them work. No more large turkey, if it’s just me and my daughter. If I am lucky, I spend Thanksgiving with friends. With my daughter at school, no Christmas tree. I make no more Christmas cookies because I am the only one around to eat them and I gain weight if I do. It doesn’t get any easier the older you get. I don’t get a lot of presents, maybe one if I am lucky.

Trips aren’t the same. I feel like an incompetent tourist. I have to make all the arrangements myself. It seems it takes me hours to decide what flight to take and what hotel to stay in. I have to drive to the destination or airport myself. I eat alone in restaurants. I have to find my own way around an area and sometimes I am not good at doing this. I blunder around. I still don’t feel adventurous enough to do certain things on my own and I force myself to go places. I found camping by myself creepy; not that I like camping. Being in a foreign country by myself is stressful. Driving on a strange, busy highway is un-nerving. I still manage to enjoy myself, but it’s not the same as it used to be.

One of these days I am going to celebrate my Un-Anniversary, because overall, despite the emotional pain and trauma, it’s a good thing. It forced me out of my comfort zone, because staying the same is unbearable. If I was still married, I wouldn’t be forced to try new things.
I have an incentive to try new activities because it means I can get out of an empty house. Someone I know says that “pain is the vitamin of growth.” It’s just a really big pill to swallow.
Opportunity is out there, I just have to find it.

Ironman Arizona from a Volunteer Perspective

2011-12-04T20:23:00.000-08:00

I am an Arizona Ironman junkie. Ever since the race came to Tempe, Arizona in 2005, I have either raced or volunteered for every event except one. I can’t stay away. It’s a giant party and I just have to be there. I could merely spectate, but that wouldn’t be enough involvement for me. I have to be part of it somehow. This year it’s November 20th and the weather is perfect for a change.

The first thing I see as I am walking past the finish line on Rio Salado is the male winner coming in under eight hours. What a stud! This is the North American record for this distance. Ironically as it turns out, I will get the see the last official finisher as well.

I have a two mile walk to get to my first shift at run aid station #8, which is managed by the Phoenix Triathlon Club. Our aid station has mock jails, a courthouse and an effigy of one of our members being hung. Since it is a “cops and prisoner’s” theme, people dress in uniforms, which are sometimes scanty. It is warm enough that I can wear my “C.S.I.” mini-dress, something that I would normally never be caught dead in. Some guys are man enough to dress as women and some women dress kind of sluttily, with short skirts and knee high boots. The point is to make the runners smile and take their minds off of the pain of running a marathon after swimming 2.4 miles and biking 112 miles.

I have to cross Mill Avenue Bridge over Tempe Town Lake to get to the aid station. I see the stream of runners close to completing a lap. One of our local racers is dressed head to toe in a blue costume that looks like Blue Man. He looks hot and uncomfortable in his suit. He is known for racing in costumes, but this seems kind of crazy to do an entire ironman this way. He isn’t the only one dressed up. I later see an Elvis and a guy with a double mohawk and a leopard skin skirt.

At the aid station, I decide to hand out water. It’s less mess when they grab it and spill in on you. I am next to the sponge station, but I let someone else pick them up. It’s bad enough touching all these hands that have god knows what on them. A sponge that has been re-used, squeezed over someone’s face and body and put down inside a tri top is not something I want to touch.

Like last year, the racers in mid to late afternoon are in a hurry and actually look like they are running. They are focused and if I see someone I know and shout at them, they don’t hear me and don’t stop. Later on, the slower ones look exhausted and dazed and move more at a hobble. The course is three loops, so I see some people twice. All sorts of body types go by. Some are really buff and trim, some are overweight, some are young and some old. It is good to see them smile. All are probably suffering.

The music is blaring, and a D.J. harasses the racers. I see a friend and give her hug. She is worried about the time cut off. I encourage her just to keep moving.

I have to start my next shift at the finish line, so I leave to take the long walk back. I am tired from standing for four hours and my feet ache. It’s gotten dark by now and this stretch of the sidewalk along the lake seems bleak, with dimly lighted, dirty concrete walls and freeway culverts. People pass by me going the other way. I notice a man taking three steps and stopping, three steps and stopping. I found out later he finished the whole marathon this way.

In contrast to the north side of the lake, the finish line is brightly lit and music is blasting. As a finish line catcher, you grab the arm of the sweaty racer, put a thermal sheet on them, let them get a medal, make sure that they get their timing chip off, get them their hat and shirt and guide them to the photographer. Then you get back in line to do it again. It’s constant movement and it’s tiring. The show is really entertaining, though. Even the pros that were racing earlier in the day came back to watch. The second place women’s winner, Linsay Corbin, is handing out medals.

I help one man who said it was emotional for him because he had come back from a brain aneurism. One older man shrugs me off because he said he had done twenty nine ironmans. I am impressed. Another young guy says “oh man" and I say “it’s pretty awesome, huh?’ and he says “words can’t describe it.” Such joy is inspiring and I couldn’t help feeling it myself. Finishers cry and hug family members. Some drop to the ground and pray. Three people propose marriage to their racers. They would get on their knees and whip out a diamond ring.

I help a friend through the chute. This is her third Ironman Arizona and she had a personal best. She had overcome a lot of health issues over the year, including cancer, to race. My other friend, however, that was struggling on the run, I don’t see. I had left to get some water, so maybe I had missed her. I found out later she didn’t make the midnight cut off.

At eleven o’clock or sixteen hours into the race, the announcer, Mike Reilly, gets down from his perch and starts revving up the crowd in the stands, waving a shirt around and encouraging the last racers. This is when being at the finish line really gets fun. Everyone bangs the stands and dances to the music. As each person comes in, I wonder what their story is and what they had to do to get to this point. A group of three men come in and one of them hugs another man and cries for a long time. I have to go around them to catch another person. I later found out that two of these racers had spent one and a half hours helping an injured racer walk two miles to the finish line.

As midnight approaches, the last official finishers come in, one at the stroke of midnight with a little shove from the announcer. They all look exhausted, beaten and sad that they didn’t make it before the seventeen hour deadline.

To me, they are still ironmen. I love the spirit of this race. Some people breeze through, while a lot of others struggle at some point at the dark places of exhaustion. Everyone wants to go beyond themselves to achieve something that is difficult. Some racers have to overcome, injury, sickness, mechanical bike problems or even a lack of a limb. I saw one blind runner. They persist onward when it seems hopeless that they have any chance to finish. Not everyone does make it and they feel the crushing weight of failure. I know what they feel like.

Each year I volunteer, my perception are colored by what happened that year. In 2008, the event was held in April and November. I raced in April and did not finish due to heat and howling winds that caused me to miss the bike cut off time. I was crushed. My mother had died in March and my husband had left me in August. I worked as a finish line catcher, but I was envious of the racers for accomplishing what I hadn’t been able to do. I also felt sad that they had people waiting for them at the end, when I felt alone.

In 2010, I was in a better frame of mind because I had finished the race the year before. I didn’t do an ironman that year, but I could identify with what people had gone through to get to the finish line, since I had experienced myself. I still envied the racers who had loved ones waiting for them and maybe always will.

This year I had raced Ironman Canada, which still seems like a huge accomplishment to me due to its difficulty. Seeing athletes finish here was like re-living that experience myself. The end result of that achievement is compelling and joyous to me. I am tired and my legs and feet hurt, but I feel elated. I am infused with the atmosphere of happiness.

Trials of the Bus

2011-11-14T18:58:00.000-08:00

On a recent trip to Spain, I had an excruciating long bus ride from Madrid to Gijon, which is about a 250 mile journey to the central northern coast. I traveled with my fellow Team USA members who were racing in the World Duathlon Championships. I wanted to venture to an exotic venue to race, but I was apprehensive about the amount of travel time it would take. The organizers told us that the ride would be about five hours. Five hours in U.S. time is more like eight hours in Spain time.. The driver was not in a hurry.

I thought that taking a bus ride would be a good choice because traveling with a bike is a major pain. The airlines pretend that the bike is like a another passenger and think you should be charged as such. I had to pack it in a box and lug the bulky forty pound box around the airport. I dreaded the attempt to take it in a small European taxi to the train station, where they may or may not take it on the train. I couldn’t even imagine driving in Spain. I would get lost in god knows where because the roads are marked all well and I couldn’t read the signs. The bus would take us from the airport directly to our hotels. What I didn’t know is that it would be a torturously long ride averaging 31 miles per hour. The bus interior was fairly nice, with plush, comfortable seats, but we were crammed in together and there wasn’t much extra room for our bags.

The Madrid airport is spread out and it took the bus twenty minutes to get to another terminal to pick up other people. I was starting to wonder if Madrid had two airports. The bus that was supposed to leave about 7:30 a.m. finally started at 9:00 a.m. I felt excited to be in another country once we got out of the airport. The country side looked a little like Arizona with bare rocky hills and stunted trees. Unfortunately, that was the most interesting scenery for two hundred miles.

Once the route left the city, the area looked like desolate eastern Washington, in which I had gotten horribly lost this summer. It was vast stretches of parched wheat fields and dead sunflower plants, with the occasional ruined building. All the moisture seemed to have been sucked out of the earth, the people and animals had vanished and only the skeletons of crops remained. The sun blazed in a clear blue sky. The emptiness and lack of green was oppressive and tedious. I had a weird sense of warped time because it was midnight Phoenix time and mid morning here.

We passed the time chatting with one another trying to pass the time. It helped to be in a community of fellow travelers. It kept my anxiety at being in a foreign country at bay. Somehow nothing bad could happen as long as I was with a group of people in the same situation.

After two hours we stopped at Spain’s version of a truck stop. It seemed fairly clean and had a lunch counter with meat filled pastries. It looked good, but when I tried one I regretted it. I was hungry, but this pastry had a nasty sour greasy aftertaste like fatty meat. The store had an assortment of Spanish junk food. I couldn’t read the labels, but the plastic wrapped donuts, cookies and potato chips looked just as nutritious as the American versions. There was a large scary looking hunk of preserved, unwrapped pork with hoofed leg sticking out. It had an unreal grayish plastic appearance that didn’t look like real meat. Maybe it was a Spanish version of beef jerky? I was not so far impressed with Spanish cuisine.

We made our slow crawl onward. After another two hours we were forced to have a sit down lunch at a twenty four hour restaurant. Few of us could read the menus, so a passenger who could read Spanish translated for us. I thought chicken would be safe, but I was wrong. I wasn’t real hungry after the nasty pastry, but I didn’t know how long I would have until I got a real meal. The chicken was greasy dark meat. The person I was sitting with had a grisly version of beef. It looked horrible, but he claimed it was edible. It certainly didn’t look like it. Good food kept me going when I was tired, but I hadn’t managed to get any yet and it was depressing.

This ride was a test. A test to see how much continuous traveling I could do without losing my mind. Racing an ironman is difficult, but it was easy compared to this trip. I had already been traveling for fifteen hours. The journey took patience and endurance. It was like entering the Twilight Zone where I am forced be a passenger forever and never get anywhere.

The bus experience was out of my control, like many things. As a passenger, I was supposed to go to a certain place, but I couldn’t make the ride any faster. I had to stop at places where I didn’t want to be. Weird places with strange meat. Time was filled with monotony. All of us had succumbed to the tedious slow passage of time and no one spoke much. I wanted to be in Gijon lying on a soft hotel bed. I knew that I would get to the end of this trip eventually, but it seemed to take forever. It’s supposed to be about the journey, not the destination, but in this case, the destination was far preferable to the journey.

I knew I would survive this trial. After an eternity, the view changed to actual green hills . We were nearing the coast. Mist hung in layers in the air around the mountains, reminding me of California, where the searing blasted desert and arid grassy rolling land gives way to the greenery of the beach areas.

The bus wound through twisting roads through the hills. It seemed to lose even more speed. I cheered when I saw a sign for Gijon. At least it exists. I was beginning to wonder.

Ultimately, it turned out that Gijon was worth the trials of the twenty three hours to get there. It was a nice civilized town on a beautiful beach with restaurants, parks and interesting old buildings. I had the privilege of riding my bike on a pretty, winding picturesque road. I got to meet people from around the country and the world. It was a totally new fascinating environment. I felt ill at ease in a foreign country, but it was fun observing a different culture. But the process of getting there was awful.

That seems to be common in the human situation, with great experiences intermingled with horrible ones. You find the love of your life and they run off with someone else. You have a child, but your parents die. You travel to a nice place, but have the plane ride from hell. You can forge on anyway. After this trip I had more faith in myself to endure anxiety, tedium and exhaustion to get to where I wanted to go. Fear did not keep me in my comfort zone and away from adventure. Next time, though, I am going somewhere closer to a major airport.

Duathlon Worlds Race Report

2011-10-06T17:09:00.000-07:00

The Duathlon World Championships were in Gijon, Spain. Normally, I wouldn’t have any business doing a World Championship because in theory, you are supposed to be the best in the world. In my age bracket, though, competitors are fewer in number. The top eighteen were qualified to go to this race, but there were only eighteen in my age group. I am not competitive and just participate for the experience. The disparity in the number of competitors in a particular age group leads to a Duathlon World Championship either having racers that are either very fast or older. A group of sixty to eighty year olds race in the World Championships every year in different countries. They wear jackets with numerous patches collected for every race they do over the years. Everyone knows each other and are friendly and it’s a big social event. Some of them are even fast and could actually beat me.

Duathlon is the orphan child of multisport. Fewer people do them as opposed to triathlons. There aren’t as many races available and most are shunned by triathletes. . A duathlon is a run, bike, run, which is harder than a swim, bike, run. Duathlon has it adherents, however, which are people who are great at running and/or hate swimming. I run better than I swim, therefore I like it. I feel less inadequate not being sucked down by a slow swim time.

It was a difficult, grueling 6,000 mile, twenty-three hour trip to get there by plane, another plane and an interminable bus ride. I had to wheel a forty pound bike box around airports. I don’t speak Spanish and most of the citizens didn’t speak English. The customs were different, like eating dinner late at night when I normally wanted to go to bed. I was uncomfortable even walking into a restaurant. Eating out was an adventure because I wasn’t quite sure what I was ordering. I also found out that all the good restaurants are closed between four and eight o’clock. I felt like a fish out of water most of the time because I couldn’t communicate with people or read the signs.

I had been to Europe before, but with my father, who was fluent in the particular language of the country we were going to. Knowing the language is definitely an advantage. My father got into an disagreement with a hotel clerk and won the dispute because he could argue in Italian. He would sneer at people that went on tours and never ventured into local shops or restaurants. I now understood that herd mentality. It was frightening for me being alone in a strange country.

Initially I hesitated to go to Spain. I had never heard of Gijon and the only information I found on the internet about it was that it was an industrial town on the northern coast of Spain. This did not appeal to me much. Plus there was the expense of the trip, the fact that it was a month after an ironman and I would be traveling alone in a foreign country. Gijon was about 250 miles from Madrid and required either a long train or bus ride after ten hours of flying. However, some instinct in me made me take a chance and venture on the trip. It seemed a chance for a great experience.

My first glimpse of Spain from a bus window wasn’t all that impressive. From Madrid to the coast, the land was arid and desolate. It looked like eastern Washington state on steroids. Nothing but a few ruined buildings and dried up fields with dead crops. After seven hours on the bus to travel two hundred miles, the area changed into green hills shrouded in mist.

Gijon turned out to be a charming city. My hotel was across from a large beach named the Playa de San Lorenzo. I could watch the waves come in. A marine layer kept the air cool in the sixties and seventies, but once in a while, the sun broke through. The beach had a walkway that always had pedestrians strolling on it. You could look to the west and see a stretch of old buildings and a church. It had narrow streets with lots of shop, restaurants and bars. People were always out exercising-walking, surfing, rollerblading, running, or biking. I don’t think they spent hours in front of a computer. The town has a large park with an aviary and a playground. It has numerous museums like the Pueblo de Asturias, an aquarium, gardens(Atlantic Botanical) and some ancient ruins(Roman baths), none of which I got around to seeing.

I never really got used to the nine hour time difference between Spain and Phoenix. Other than the first night, when I was exhausted and slept for twelve hours, I didn’t sleep well. The sun doesn’t rise until after eight, which didn’t make early rising easy. I ended up walking a lot because the city is interesting to walk around in and because the race venue is two miles from my hotel.

The language barrier was difficult even for the race. Most of the people in Gijon did not know English, including the race volunteers. I almost got bodymarked in a different age group. I had to rely on asking racers who knew English if I had a question.

The difficulties of being in a foreign country were eased by having team mates to talk to. We were fellow comrades in a sense, sharing the difficulties of traveling and finding a decent restaurant. You get to know people when you are stuck on an eight hour bus ride. We have to chat just to keep our sanity. I also thought it interesting to casually talk to someone from Britain or South Africa. Standing in line, I noticed a Brit that was trying to soak up some sunshine. I told him we avoid it in Arizona because we have three hundred days of sunshine a year. He said he gets maybe one day.

Race day, we had to be in our corral twenty minutes before starting. The five kilometer run started on the stadium track. Prior to the start, people ran around in the small track area like rats in a cage to warm up. The course then winds through the streets and through a park over a small cobblestone section past a duck pond and back into the stadium for the second 2.5 kilometer lap. My group started and of course everyone got way ahead of me. All the racers hated the cobblestone section in the park. I was glad I didn’t have to do it six times, like the standard race. The run has a slight hill, but it wasn’t really noticeable in the sprint race. I finished in 28:57, which seemed unimpressive for me since most people ran a twenty minute five kilometers, but not too bad for me.

The transition flow from run to bike to run was kind of complex and confusing to most people even with a walk through. We ran down a track to some hedge opening, turned and ran north then down the racks and then through another hedge opening or south to the bike exit. It was a lot of U turns and involved a lot of running on dewy grass.

The bike was the best part of the course. It started out flat and then climbed a narrow two lane road with a lot of twisting and turning through semi rural country side. It climbed for about five kilometers averaging a four percent grade, but some of it was about a much steeper eight percent for short sections. I could see the surrounding town on the hills sometimes. There were nice views of a building that looked like a French Chateau, a building that looked liked an English parliament structure and the surrounding city on the hills. The road was two lanes and narrow with blind turns.

By the time I got to the top and started the descent, everyone was ahead of me and I didn’t have to deal with too many riders. It was the one advantage of being slow. It was a blast going through all the turns at 24-30 mph without worrying about cars. The whole road was closed to traffic. After the hill descent, the route goes past the beach on the main city ocean side thoroughfare, then turns around back to go to transition. Having a city street mostly to myself on a bike was a novelty. I eased off the last two kilometers to save energy for the last run. I also didn’t want to bother to pass the heavyset Canadian guy in front of me. My bike speed was disappointing to me, but it wasn’t a fast course.

The last 2.5 kilometer run, which was the same as the first run laps was painful because I ran as hard as I could. The whole point of a short race for me is to push past my pain barrier to see how far my legs would take me. I was surprised that it took 13:19(8:35 minute miles) after that hard bike. I was happy that I could run that fast.

It was fun to race hard and short. Despite the difficulties of traveling and being in Spain, I was glad I resisted all the reasons for not going. Sometimes, I have to ignore the cautionary voices in my head that tell me that I shouldn’t do something and go with my gut instinct. This trip took me out of my comfort zone and into a different world. I didn’t fit into that world, but it was fascinating to observe.

Ironman Canada Race Report

2011-09-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

The journey to this race was as long as the god awful two lane roads that I drove to get here. Penticton, B.C. is a five hour drive from Spokane, Washington. Frequently, like the drive, I was not sure if I was following the right direction. From the time I signed up, I was worried about how to train, where to train, what to train with. I picked this race because I wanted to see if I could do the challenging bike route and because people said the bike wasn’t that bad. I was convinced that they were lying. I rode the hilliest bike course in training that I could, but I was always slow. I couldn’t train as hard as I thought I should because I biked and ran in intense heat. I would get up before dawn to catch the hour or two before the sun and the heat drained the life out of me. I climbed hills on the bike and wondered if I was going to succumb to heat exhaustion in the middle of no where. I doubted that I could make the bike cut off. The bike route has two huge climbs and I didn’t know if I could make up for the slowness of my ascents on the rest of the course.

But standing on the beach of Okanagan Lake at the starting line, a weird sense of calm invaded my brain. The water was a deep blue, surrounded by the rugged, rocky, tree strewn hills. I decided my mental strategy was to take everything as it was happening and not worry about what was going to happen. Otherwise, the whole event was overwhelming. I just couldn’t picture myself being able to do the swim and the bike. I was about to start a huge race, but I was not thinking about it.

I went over to the left part of the starting line, hoping that the swim would be less crowded. A lot a people decided to do the same thing. Supposedly, 2830 people started. I found a friend who was attempting his first ironman race. He was going to pace off of me. The blind leading the blind. The gun went off and the water churned with the masses ahead of me. I waded into the water. When it was clear, I started swimming. I only thought about getting from buoy to buoy and I tried to stay calm. I hate the ironman 2.4 mile length swim and I didn’t want to think about how long it would take. The water was 70 degrees, but it was choppy and had swells. It was worse the farther out you got. Oddly enough, some swimmers were as slow as I and I could draft off of them briefly. I am usually alone in the swim with everyone ahead of me. I had to avoid the hazards of the flailing arms and legs of backstrokers and breast strokers who were having trouble with the swim.

At the swim turn they didn’t have the traditional house boat, just a lame white Subaru buoy that was hard to see. A fair number of swimmers were still with me at this point. My calf kept cramping. I had to hang onto a kayak at one point to stretch it. It wasn’t bad, but it was unnerving. I never really got cold.

I finally got to the end, spotted a volunteer in the water and bee-lined for him so that I could use him to help me stand up. I promptly got another calf cramp. I walked over the rocks and sand and I finished in about 1:56, a record for me. What the hell? Somewhere in cyberspace people were noting my time online. I thought about that every time I went over a timing mat. Friends not here in person were out there in spirit. So far, this was going to be a good day.

I went through transition to gear up for the bike. My next 112 mile test was coming.

The bike actually felt good on the rolling hills. I went through the town past the vineyards and small towns and farms selling peaches, tomatoes and other fruit. I was actually happy and having fun. It was a joy to be riding a bike in a beautiful setting. I averaged about 16.8 mph. I was trying to conserve energy because I knew what was coming. The evil Richter pass. The 11k climb was hard and long and it started to get hot. The crest of the first section, you are greeted by an announcer, music and people cheering. It made me smile. The incline isn’t continuous, but has dips, so I was not sure where exactly the summit was. I pass by “Spotted Lake”, a weird lake with large circles of something on the surface. Then it was a steep climb to the summit. The surrounding views were spectacular with mountains sweeping past the road. After that there were a series of hills to climb. My legs were starting getting tired. I was hot and thirsty. I had to stop at almost every aid station for ice and water. I couldn’t seem to get enough salt tablets and water to avoid feeling dehydrated. I didn’t think it was going to be in the nineties here. Isn’t Canada supposed to be cool?

Some nasty soul had put tacks in the road, but I managed to avoid the them because the race people had found out about it and were steering people away. One of the fears that had dogged me was getting a flat. A flat tire could have meant that I didn’t finish the bike course because of the extra time to fix it.

I reached the start of an out and back in the course and promptly got a bad leg cramp just as I reached a photographer. I am sure that was going to be a great picture. I think I was O.K. on time at this point, but I didn’t want to fall behind. I know people who hate this section, but I just wanted to get the hell out of it. A volunteer yelled that I was running out of time, although I was still had enough. It make me nervous and I picked up speed a little. I got another cramp and grabbed my leg to relieve it. The heat continued to nag at me.

I started the long climb to Yellow Lake and I made the mistake of throwing my bottle away, thinking that this was an aid station with all the discarded bottles. It wasn’t and I had to climb the rest of the way without water. I kept telling myself that I will get through this section. Times like this in the race was where I was testing myself. I was desperately thirsty by the time I got to the next aid station. I enjoyed passing people with fancy race wheels. I didn’t have any and thought Really? You have fancy wheels and are twenty years younger than me and I am passing you?

After the summit, I expected it to get easier at about mile ninety two, but it seemed to take a long time to get a good descent. I heard that a head wind was making gaining speed more difficult. I had more leg cramps. Seven miles to go out of 112. I was still concerned about the bike cut off, but I thought I had enough time. I started thinking about running 26.2 miles and told my mind to shut up. One mile at a time. I got into transition a little after five. I quietly whooped in triumph. I had made it. I will finish. The 7:53 hour time was only ten minutes slower than Arizona Ironman on a much harder course. Another time probably noted somewhere by someone watching me.

I didn’t feel all that great, but I was functional. The volunteer thought I was disoriented, but I thought I was just tired and dehydrated. Sweat stung my eyes. I struggled to put on my socks and steel myself for the next leg.

It was still hot when I started the out and back run. I could see all the people in town having dinner and I envied them. Then again, they couldn’t call themselves ironmen. They wouldn’t have what I was about to have. I had a goal of doing at least fifteen minute miles so that I could at least finish. I was going to walk up the hills and then run down them. It was going to take longer to come back than to go out. I saw people coming in who were about to end their day. I saw bike riders going past that weren’t going to make the cut off. I felt bad for them.
I slogged along. The miles passed slowly. I ate Pepsi, soup, oranges, pretzels, gels and bananas. None of the food I ate gave me any energy that I could tell. The second wind never came. I didn’t have any digestive issues, but I got tired of the food after a while. I was just exhausted. Local citizens had put out sprinklers for us to run through to brave the heat. I liked how they sat on their lawn chairs and made a social event out of spectating. They brought an energy to the race. They kept us going.

I ran/walked the course. I gave up running up the hills. Each mile was an painful effort. At least it was less hot when the sun started going down. I almost cried with relief when I got to the turn around at 13.1 miles. It had the requisite ironman drunk race watchers. It was getting dark and I wondered how the road would be with no light.

It turned out to be pitch black. No streetlights and no moon provided illumination, so the road was very difficult to see. It would have been nice to have a headlight. Every time my eyes adjusted to the dark, a car would come along and blind me. It was irritating. It was strange being out in the woods with the tall pine trees, dark brilliantly starry sky and the light reflecting off the lake. I could see a surreal line of glow circles where people a head of me were trudging. I kept looking for mile markers to count down the miles.

It was a relief to get to where there were street lights. I just wanted to be done. A deserted back commercial stretch on with hotels and malls on Main Street was tedious because there weren’t many people and it went uphill. I was mostly walking by this point. My legs were toast. The last three miles seemed to take forever. The final stretch on Lakeshore Drive was better because I had people cheering me on. One pudgy guy was dressed in a bra and a grass skirt cheering for us. It made me smile. I smelled ice cream and said “ice cream” and a guy said “not yet”. I laughed. More than once I saw the sign “Pain is temporary, pride is forever.” Isn’t it the truth?

I tried to get motivated to at least run to the brightly lit finish line, the goal I had been chasing all day. I made sure to high five people. It seemed almost anticlimactic. Maybe it just takes a while for the accomplishment to sink in. I missed the accustomed United States announcer because he gets off of his podium, revs up the crowd and says “you ARE an ironman”. The Canadian announcer read your name off, but it was low key and kind of a snooze. At least it’s the end of the torture. Total run time was 6:15, which was sadly the fastest for any marathon I have done, even with all the walking.

I had my doubts about finishing this race. One of the reasons I signed up for this race was to see if I could do it. Training was difficult and the mental preparation was even worse because all of the fears of the unknowns of the terrain, the weather and the logistics. Even worse than the physical training was managing the prospect of failure. When I actually saw the course, I couldn’t picture finishing it. The undulating hills seemed to promise disaster. It looked impossible. I blocked out the fear, took a leap of faith and moved forward. The body will follow the mind and the mind is powerful.

Jordan Rapp, the men’s winner, said “ You do an Ironman because you want to reach the stars. And you want to do it the hard way, because that is what makes it special.” I don’t know about reaching the stars, but I was definitely flying.

Road Trip

2011-08-21T19:05:00.000-07:00

Four Corners

Eighteen years ago, in April, I, my three month old daughter Melissa and her father traveled by car from Illinois to Arizona to make a new home. Her father left Arizona two years ago, and she stayed with me. Recently, I drove with Melissa to Kansas City, Missouri, so that she could drive to Virginia with her father to attend college in Washington, D.C. He flew in to met her and I flew back to Phoenix by myself. It was like we had come full circle, but in a different way that I had anticipated.

I initially dreaded this trip. It was 1,400 miles. The S.U.V. had 100,000 miles on it and had been in two accidents. My daughter had wanted to do it in two days, but I refused. It made me tired just to think about it. I didn’t know how well she would drive or if I would end up driving mostly myself. I was in my heaviest volume of ironman training and I had to fit in a six hour bike ride the day before and a three hour run the day after. It was also hot everywhere, since the rest of the United States decided to imitate Phoenix and be ungodly unbearable in the summer.

The first day, I had planned to drive to Cortez, Colorado in the southwest part of the state. It was a good thing that we took a S.U.V., because Melissa decided to bring her clothes, anime costumes, wigs on wig heads, most of her books, DVD’s, a ratty comforter, a sewing machine and a sewing dress form. I could barely fit my one suitcase in. At least we could see out the back, at my insistence. We both had MP3 players that we could use in the car instead of the radio, so that we could drive each other crazy with the other’s music.

I had the first leg, driving up to Flagstaff. I was kind of cranky and found driving up and down mountains on I-17 really annoying. I wanted it to be flat and clear of traffic and it wasn’t. I had just done this drive last weekend and I was tired of it. Where the hell did all these slow trucks and campers come from anyway? Why were they in my way? We stopped in Flagstaff for some lunch. I futilely tried to find somewhere decent to eat near the highway, but gave up and ate fast food instead. The joys of road traveling.

We went north through Indian country. Melissa admired the beauty of the mesas and rock formations. The afternoon light cast shadows in various faint rainbow hues on the distant ancient land. We had driven through this area in the winter for ski trips, but she was usually sullen and not engaged in the trip. She liked looking at the cows. She liked looking at the ruined buildings that inexplicably had large Indian heads painted on them. She had seen all this before why was she just noticing it now? It was like she was seeing with new eyes. I pointed out a verdant canyon with sheep grazing in it. She was delighted. She marveled that people living out here would go many miles just to get basic supplies when she was too lazy to sometimes drive three blocks to go to the bank. When you live in a large urban area, you forget that driving away places you in large empty areas that people actually live in.

I had a different take on the scenery. Despite the beauty, the landscape was empty in an oppressive way. It stretched for miles with little human habitations to interrupt the horizon. If we broke down, help was long way off, if we even had cell reception. I felt a little anxious.

We stopped in Kayenta for gas. Kayenta seemed like it had seen better days, if it ever had better days. It is the place where there is a Code Talkers exhibit at a Burger King. Tourist stop there on their way to Monument Valley. It had a dusty, desolate air, but it had a McDonald’s where my daughter could get a Café Mocha.

My daughter took a turn driving and I got to listen to her strange music. Korean pop, which I hated, Finnish rock, which I didn’t understand and oddly music from the Broadway play The Book of Mormon. Shocking to me, she actually had a few songs that I had.

She wanted to stop at the Four Corners monument, so I let her. I think this tourist trap is lame. It where Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Utah meet, but it actually slightly off. It’s three dollars a pop, but at least it benefits the Indians. We took a few pictures, then continued on to Cortez. It was late afternoon and the light was orange on the mountains. The rocks reminded of ancient temples. It seemed unusual to see the Durango ski resort without snow.

We found our hotel and had food at a bad Mexican restaurant because we could walk to it. The first day of driving was done and we had survived. I had forgotten the rewards of road trips, which was seeing new places and getting away from my ordinary life. It seemed like a long time since a road trip wasn’t totally tedious. Traveling with my daughter was actually fun.

The next day’s trip was to Denver to stop at my niece’s house. Melissa wanted to stay south and head east, then head north. I assumed that the roads in southern Colorado were mostly flat. I was wrong. The road started weaving past rushing rivers and heading over mountains. River running must be a big industry here with all the river rapids. A section of the road went through Pagosa Springs. It looked like a touristy town with all the cutesy shops and people clogging the streets. I think there’s a brewery here. Too bad we didn’t have time to stop and explore the place. It looked interesting. Maybe road trips should be more leisurely once in a while.

With all the small towns, there was a surprising lack of gas stations and places to eat. The scenery was pretty with the forests and the mountains, but a pain to drive. Many campers got in my way. I was getting cranky wondering if there was any place to stop. The overloaded S.U.V. was sucking gas and moving like an overweight cow over the hills. Finally, we found a sandwich place and some overpriced gas.

Melissa took over driving. It was back to Korean pop. The drive was uneventful except for being forced off the freeway due to an accident. Luckily Denver is built on a grid and we could get back to where we wanted to go. We found my niece’s place after getting lost in a similarly named cul de sac. The streets circle around and you never seem to get where you want to go.

My niece is married and has a one year-old boy, a hyper dog and a neurotic cat. The boy likes to stack cans, then put them back again. He is mellow but changes mood instantly. I remember when Melissa was like that-changing moods, not stacking cans. We can’t understand his babble yet. He’s fun to watch, but I am glad I don’t have a small child anymore. They take all of your attention. I don’t have the energy anymore to deal with that.

The next day was six hundred miles, mostly in Kansas. We headed out of Denver, and it immediately looked like Kansas, even if it wasn’t. Maybe the Colorado border should have been at Denver so that Colorado could avoid all the monotony. The scenery was mostly empty rural land, with a slightly rolling fields. Few towns or even animals were to be seen on the highway. The first lunch stop was Limon at a McDonalds. Every little town seemed to have a McDonald’s. It’s was Sunday, so the little old ladies were dressed up like they just came from church. I tried to imagine life in a small rural town where your big social event was going to church, then McDonald’s. I can’t and I didn’t want to.

When we were leaving, my daughter told me that the church lady’s daughter made the most racist remark ever. A black man came into the place and church lady remarked that he had the blackest ever skin she had seen. Her daughter said “dark like a black monkey”. Melissa said she couldn’t believe that the lady would let her daughter talk like that. I wasn’t surprised, but the concept was new to her. I told her that my Kansas resident grandfather said when Martin Luther King was assassinated that “ the niggers were all going to rise up now”. That was over forty years ago, but prejudice still lingers in Limon, Colorado.

Why Black People May Seem Exotic in Limon

We hit Kansas. My cell phone magically lost another hour in the middle of no where. I have a bad attitude about Kansas. I don’t like flat and I don’t like wheat fields. My mother grew up in Kansas and she hated it, so I adopted some of that contempt. I think she found small town life boring and parochial. Usually I am traveling through Kansas to get to somewhere else. Maybe someday I will appreciate Kansas, but I doubt it.

Kansas was easy to drive in. One road , I-70, for 500 miles, with no turns. Clouds dogged us, but we didn’t get storms. Large expanses of green wheat fields were punctuated by the occasional group of trees and a house or two. Kansas seemed to think that Jesus needed to save us by the numerous signs stating so. I thought it was particularly funny that one was supplemented by “Pornography is evil” right next to what was probably the only adult store in Kansas. Also many signs proclaimed “Adoption, not Abortion”. Kansas seemed hard core conservative to me. Somehow my mother resisted this upbringing and became a fanatical Democrat to spite Kansas.

Kansas became more like Missouri after Topeka with rolling hills. Maybe this part of Kansas should be Missouri. I was hoping to see sunflowers fields, but I only saw the wild ones. I was getting really tired of feeding the S.U.V. gas, especially since it wasn’t my car. Melissa made the turn off for Kansas City and wondered if we were anywhere because it was just woods. We found the hotel, which was near the airport. The area had that airport air of desolation, where people spend the least amount of time to get somewhere else. The driving journey for me was done and I was happy. The cow had lumbered into town.

Unfortunately, I had to get up at 4:30, which was like 2:30 my time, to catch a flight back to Phoenix. Her father was going to meet her a little later. Getting up at an early time meant I couldn’t say goodbye to Melissa. I debated disturbing her, but figured I had better not since she likes sleeping and hates being woken up early. I felt a little guilty and sad. I wasn’t sure when I would see her again.

So while I was in the air going back to Phoenix, she was continuing the journey with her father to Virginia and her new life on the east coast. I don’t know if and when she will miss me. She starts college at the end of August. It’s inevitable that children will leave and forget about you. It just seems like a hole in my life with her gone.

Mountain Man Olympic Race Report

2011-08-21T16:20:00.000-07:00

This was my third time for this race. It was a tune up for Ironman Canada. Since racing in Phoenix in the summer is impossible and possibly suicidal when it is ninety degrees before dawn, I am forced to go elsewhere in the summer to race. Flagstaff, which is a two hour drive from home is cool in the summer, if a person doesn't mind not having enough air to breath due to the seven thousand plus altitude. Lack of oxygen means I go slower at the same amount of effort at normal elevation. Higher elevation also means pine trees instead of cactus, which is a nice change.

It also makes the swim tricky. I had a panic attack last year, so I had to hang onto a kayak gasping for air. The key is to keep the tight band around my chest from feeling like it's suffocating me. This means I have to start slow and maybe go faster if I don’t get into oxygen debt.

I stepped into the water to get warmed up. It felt a little chilly to me and dread crept into me. The water was a murky brown. The wind seemed to be picking up as I felt it on my face. The sunlight was soft and didn’t provide much warmth as yet.

My wave started last and everyone took off. Being relaxed staved off the panic. Most of the people got ahead of me, but I actually passed people who couldn’t handle the thin air. Getting to the first buoy is always the most difficult because it takes that long to get into a rhythm and feel at ease. The next buoy, which is far away, is the same green color as the swim caps ahead of me. Who was the genius who thought of that? The only way to distinguish it was by its lack of motion.

I felt chilled and the water was choppy, but the tight band constricting my chest was manageable. After swimming for two hours straight in training, swimming 15 kilometers was not a big deal. It wasn’t all that much fun, but it was bearable. I got out in about forty five minutes, which was slower than ninety percent of the swimmers, but I was not last. It’s actually better than the fifty three minutes I spent in the water last year, thrashing around and hanging onto kayaks.

I walked, not ran into transition to get my bike gear. Sometimes I can actually speed through transition, but today, I just didn’t feel like it. Walking up the ramp barefoot hurt my feet. The bike racks are of course empty, because everyone else finished swimming before me. I struggle out of my wetsuit, and put my shoes and helmet on and take off feeling a intense need to pee. The toilets are inconveniently located outside of transition, so I press on.

The blue sky had puffy clouds. The bike route followed the lakes, so I glimpsed the sparkling expanse of water as I passed by. Masses of yellow wildflowers line the road. The road went downhill, then started to climb. With all of the hill training I have been doing, the terrain seemed easier than it had in the past. Lack of oxygen is less problematic on the bike. After nine miles, a giant hill looms to crush anyone attempting to ride it. It’s fun to descend at thirty five miles per hour or more, but I had to pay for it.

I get near the turn off for the half iron people. I feel sorry for anyone fool hardy enough to attempt that distance at this altitude. There isn’t much in the way of aid stations for them on the bike. A person is basically on their own to stew in their own suffering.

I found my pre-mixed nutrition drink too diluted and not helping my energy. I had nothing else to eat and I started getting really tired. After the fun of screaming down the hill, the way back seem longer and longer. On the way back, I was delighted to see a turkey near the road. I contemplated how I am going to handle the pit stop and decided to crawl under the fence when I got into transition. I don’t want to wait until I was a mile on the run because it sucks to run with a full bladder. I finished in about an hour and a half, which was decent for me.

I rolled into transition, changed shoes and dove under the fence and ran into a porta potty. What a relief. I dove back under the fence and started on the run. I found a gel in my fanny pack and sucked the vile tasting thing down, that has the consistency of mucus. I felt pretty bad. After a mile the run goes up an eight percent grade. I started a run/walk...run until I felt terrible, then walk until I could run again. Then I found a chocolate gel in my pack. It was nirvana. My energy came back again. I reached the top of the hill and finally it was time to run down the hill. It turned out it took me as much time to run/walk up the hill as it did to run it in a previous race. Plus I had energy to pick up speed at the end. With one mile to go, I got my feet to move just a little faster. That mile seemed really long. The finish line was a relief. I felt like I had been hit by a bus when I stopped running.

I can’t say that this is the worse or the best that I have done in this race. Two weeks out from an ironman, I wasn’t going to go all out, but I didn’t slack off either. It’s a tough, unpredictable event. I put aside my expectations on results and just did it. I didn’t place in my age group and I was back of the pack. It was fun, scenic and it hurt. Me versus the terrain and altitude. That’s all that mattered.

Ironman Training Blues

2011-07-07T15:22:00.000-07:00

I am in the ass end of ironman training. It’s most volume of training, the most exhaustion, intensity, self-doubt and depression. It’s the howamIevergoingtodothis? stage. Top that off with the hottest, most energy-sapping heat to train in and hard, hilly(at least to me) terrain. It’s ninety degrees before dawn. Training is a matter of getting through it without heat exhaustion. Hills that would be no problem in cooler weather turn into mountains. I have to constantly monitor myself for signs of dizziness, headache or fatigue that can turn ugly. Fear creeps into my mind as I wonder how far I should go because it’s just that much longer to get home by myself if I am not feeling well.

My route takes me thirty three miles one way from home. It is suburban, but spread out and has stretches that do not have much in the way of water or ice if I get overheated. One section has nine miles of climbing without relief. It’s isn’t horribly steep, but it’s mentally challenging. Do I push myself and go a little harder? I usually err on the side of caution, which makes me wonder if I am training hard enough. Will I have enough speed to not DNF(do not finish) the race? How miserable should I make myself?

On a recent ride, I decided to start early at a pre-dawn five o’clock. I looked at the thermometer and it read ninety degrees. Really? Phoenix in June is dry, so in the early morning, it is actually cool or at least in the eighties. In July, the humidity rolls in and it never cools off at night. It’s utterly discouraging and makes me dream of a cool beach in California.

Riding pre-dawn is not too bad. The sun’s intensity is at bay and if I keep my sunglasses on, I can pretend that it’s still dark out. Not a lot of cars are out to annoy me. Rabbits run in front of me like they WANT to get hit. A family of quail with the little babies trailing behind the parents occasionally appears. This phase does not last long, however.

The rising ball of the sun gives me the evil eye. My route has hills because my ironman route does. Normally, in summer I would avoid them like the plague, but I need the training. I don’t see a lot of cyclists out. They are smarter than me. I start climbing upward and feel the heat stealing my strength. Having done the route before, I am accustomed to doing hills, but it seems more difficult now.

My route leaves town and I am out in a rural area. It’s treeless road. I suck down water, salt tablets, sports drink and sometimes pour water on myself. The air is pretty uncomfortable. I wonder if I should turn around rather than tackle the cruelty of Nine Mile Hill, which is exactly what it’s called, an unrelenting climb up. I push on, with the intention of ascending without getting heat exhaustion. It’s an intimidating prospect because there is very little out here besides a few houses.

I count off the street numbers from 178 to 114, at the blistering pace of ten miles per hour. I want to push harder, but it’s risky. I am hot and tired as it is. It’s probably 95 degrees by now. Other cyclists pass by me, but not too many. I wouldn’t be out here either, under other circumstances. My lack of speed torments me. If I can’t go fast here, how am I going to make the bike cut offs in the actual race? A decent bike rider wouldn’t have this problem, but I am slow. I signed up for this race to see if I could get through a hilly bike portion and I am still not convinced I can.

I finally crest the hill and now I am going downhill towards home. My plan is to re-stock with ice and cold water. The heat is pressing down now. I am still functioning. I wonder what people in their air-conditioned car think of a crazy bike rider out in the 100 degree heat. I just want to keep moving and not be stuck at intersections waiting for a light. It’s just that much hotter.

I make it home and get more ice and water to continue my ride. The sun is burning now. It’s a suffocating and oppressive blanket wanting to strangle me. I keep moving, but I am getting slower and slower. I survive. I endure.

Ironman training is hard, but this is ridiculous. Six hours biking on hilly terrain in 90-100 degrees. A mere 80 miles when the race will have 112. I am motivated by fear of not finishing and wanting to see what I am capable of. July’s hell will hopefully give way to triumph in August, but I have no illusions that it isn’t going to earned without a high price in pain, misery and every ounce of strength I have.

DEUCES WILD OLYMPIC TRIATHLON

2011-06-12T18:40:00.000-07:00

Some races are snarling beasts, throwing wind, heat, hills at whomever dares to engage it. Sometimes the beast is your body betraying you, with the stomach that revolts, the legs that fail or the mind that becomes weak. Sometimes, it’s benevolent and leaves your alone. I assumed that it would not be an easy race with the altitude and cold water and I was right.

This event is a triathlon festival in Show Low, Arizona, which is in the White Mountain area of the state at 6,300 feet altitude. It consists of an olympic triathlon, a half iron triathlon and an Xterra triathlon, all centered in the Fool Hollow Lake Recreation Area, a pine forested lake.. I was doing the olympic. Despite the altitude, the sun can be intensely hot. I have found that high altitude races can be a crap shoot. You can’t assume that you will go as fast as you would at lower levels, and the lack of oxygen presents special challenges.

I was nervous about the swim. At this altitude and with cold water, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Supposedly, some spots in the lake were 57 degrees, but it felt more like about low sixties to me. The air was warm, however, which helped the perception of comfort. I kept telling myself the water wasn’t that cold. If I said it to myself often enough, I might believe it. I was NOT cold. My wave went off and I swam slow to the first buoy, just as the wind picked up. It was coming from the south, so it was hitting me sideways. Great. I was concentrating on being calm. I thought or hoped it would be better swimming north and it was. I felt like I was flying on top of the water. It was an actual tail wind on a swim. I always seemed to be with swimmers that were struggling. I wanted this eternal swim to be over with. Going around the last turn buoy, I was fine, then the 16 m.p.h. wind with gusts of 25 m.p.h. hit head on. I was getting tired and cold and my brain decided that I should have a panic attack. I wanted a kayak to stop and rest , but they were occupied with other swimmers hanging on. I got it together and went on. I had to doggy paddle quite a bit to get my breath. The water was slapping me hard in the face, making breathing difficult without inhaling Fool Hollow Lake. Someone was side stroking near me and it seemed like a good idea, at least to breath without getting water in my mouth. Finally, I was relieved to make it to the dock. in 52:48. It was slow, but I didn’t care.

The bike was easy at first for the first ten miles because it was downhill. This break was not going to last and I was going to pay for it. The hills started coming and so did the wind. I was alone on the course and it felt like I was in the middle of nowhere, wondering if I had gotten lost in some obscure part of town. This race seemed epic with the windy conditions and the altitude and hills. It wasn’t a race, more than it was survival. The inclines were hell to climb. The beast was giving me a hard time. The scenery was nice with the tall green pine trees and the mountains. I could even see the forest fire smoke to the east. It would be a fun bike ride if I was with someone else, was going at a leisurely pace and if it wasn’t windy. In short, if it was another day.

I finally caught and passed people at the aid station. The wind had increased from 17-22 m.p.h. with gusts of 28 m.p.h. and I was going straight into it. I had a hard time eating and drinking on while riding. The last four miles, the cross winds were bad and I had to sit up to stabilize the bike. Total time was 1:46, which seemed like forever. Another mediocre split, but it was the best that I could do.

I came into T2 and tried to rack my bike on the bar, but the seat post came out. I stared at it befuddled for a second and someone came to help me. I dashed out to the run.

The run starts out on trails, then pavement, then an energy sucking uphill gravel road out and back in the middle of the run. I was totally exhausted at this point and had to walk in spots. I didn’t care about the run anymore. I was done and had resigned myself to the leisurely pace that results when I am totally wasted from the bike portion. I finally hit the turn around and speeded up going downhill. I stopped to use the restroom, not concerned about the lost time and continued on. Finally there was pavement again and another hill. I did a final dash to the finish line. Run was 1:15. Final result was a miserable 4:06.

I was surprised at how bad I felt afterwards physically. I didn’t hurt physically, but the wind and altitude sucked the life out of me. Fighting the conditions and not giving up seemed like an accomplishment to me. It’s great when everything goes right and I feel in control and I can go faster than I thought possible, but this day the beast was mean and made me work hard to earn the finish.

The Mastery of Fear

2011-06-12T15:14:00.000-07:00

Fear can paralyze you or spur you to action. You can battle it or hold it back in an uneasy truce. I am afraid of many things. Anxiety is the cold knot in the stomach, the sudden jolt awake in the middle of the night, the heart pounding, the breathless heaviness. I am afraid of change. I am afraid of moving to another place. I am afraid of traveling. I am afraid of life in general. I am definitely afraid of swimming in open water.

Some people were born to swim. They take to the water like fish and love it. They naturally move efficiently and quickly. I, on the other hand do not. It took me years to even get a decent form and I am still not fast or even half fast. I am utterly without swim talent. The whole world seems to swim faster than I.

It took me a long time to even be able to swim in open water without a panic attack. I failed to finish the first couple of open water triathlons I tried because I would start swimming and once I got a little distance from the shore, the fear of drowning would overcome me. I would start hyperventilating, thrash around and feel even more out of breath. Maybe it was the primordial fear of suffocation and drowning. In deep water, I don’t like not being able to touch the bottom with my feet. If I get tired, I can’t rest by standing up.

Once I became more physically proficient at swimming, my mind was the thing I had to worry about. Getting through a swim required focusing at the task at hand, not thinking about the scariness of a vast body of water to travel through. The negative thoughts had to be pushed back. They had to be corralled until the swim was done, otherwise they would take over and paralyze me. This is true of fear in general. You grit your teeth and try to get through it, otherwise you are left with the depression of inaction and with a sense of failure for not having the courage to overcome the dread.

If I do something scary often enough, it becomes less frightening. Confidence comes from facing my fears and controlling my reaction. However, I don't always have control over what a swim will throw at me.

A lake or the ocean, as opposed to a pool, is a whole different animal. Pools are clear and clean with set boundaries. It isn’t far from one end to the other if I am tired. The ocean has currents, undertow and crashing waves. Weird things inhabit the natural bodies of water, which might have plant life, boat fuel, fish, ducks and jelly fish. Massive patches of weeds seem to want to ensnare a swimmer if they have the misfortune to pass through their tentacles. Lurking sunken trees, algae blooms, toe biting fish bite are other hazards. Human hazards are boaters and jet skiers that aren’t paying attention to where they are going. The water itself may be hot enough to give you heat exhaustion or so cold that your face stings and your face, hands and feet turn numb. Hypothermia is a possibility. Sometimes I have ended up in a med tent shivering violently after a bout in cold water.

Wind is another hazard. In a lake it churns up the water in random waves, unlike the ocean. The waves slap me around and hit me in the face when I are trying to breath. Choking on water does not add to my sense of ease. Stroking harder and faster is required. In a recent race, I had to swim against a 17 m.p.h. head wind in a high altitude lake. I couldn’t get enough oxygen and had a panic attack. The only way to get enough air was to hold my head above water, which is more tiring than swimming with it down. Fear overtook my mind and it had to be fought off. I actually shouted “help”, but the kayaker was occupied with other swimmers freaking out, who were hanging on to his boat. I stopped, calmed down and continued on. Fear has its place in self-preservation, but it is also dangerous if it prevents you from doing what you need to do to keep yourself safe.

I don’t always hate swimming in a lake or ocean. Gliding through the water at a relaxed pace is kind of peaceful as opposed to having to swim a set distance and having someone is timing you. Being near a shore reassures me and I feel safe. I can be as slow as I want and not worry about being the last one out of the water.

Even if I have a bad swim, I have a feeling of accomplishment when I finish. I controlled the fear, not the other way around. It’s a simple terror, unlike the rest of life. One outcome is death by suffocation, the other is getting to a fixed point eventually, which happens 99.9% of the time. The journey from one point to the other may be fraught with hazards and difficulties, but if I keep going, I will get there. Life is less certain and takes more faith that things will work out. More possibilities present themselves, good or bad, imagined or real, unexpected or not. Outcomes aren’t always known. Spouses may leave you, loved ones will die, the economy may tank and the safe, happy life you had will blow up. Still, fear can’t predominate one’s existence, because this stuff is going to happen anyway. It has to be beaten off and subdued so that occasionally joy and peace can inhabit the mind instead.

Duathlon National Championship

2011-05-11T16:35:00.000-07:00

I usually whine in race reports about how much I hurt, how depressing the experience was or how badly my results sucked. Most people who don’t race don’t understand why I would do something so unpleasant to myself. This event was none of those things. It was freaking MAGIC.

The duathlon was set in Oro Valley, Arizona, north of Tucson. Just doing a race somewhere besides the Phoenix area attracted me. After ten years of multisport I am BORED with the same venues. I jumped at the chance to do something new. It’s also a national championship, which means good swag and really serious competition from around the country. It had a definite “cool” factor. Placing in the top eighteen in my age group meant I had the chance of competing in Spain with Team USA. That wasn’t my goal, but it was a possibility with only twenty one people registered in my age group.

I felt kind of tired and unenergetic race morning. I had felt “off” all week and I was nervous about racing and hadn’t slept well. Somehow speediness seemed a distant concept. My bike rack spot was near the “run in” and “bike in”, which seemed like a good thing because sometimes my brain goes fuzzy after strenuous activity and I can’t find where my stuff is in transition. It was interesting that women my age were here from places like Oklahoma, Virgina, California and Colorado. Old gals rule. Some are very fast. To hell with slowing down with age.

I warmed up by jogging and checked out the nasty four to six percent hill that preceded the finish of each run. It looked like it was going to hurt. After someone sang an out of tune national anthem, we were off. The older people went first, which suited me fine. It felt hot already.

Most people got ahead of me, but I was concentrating on keeping a steady pace. The first mile was a slight climb and took about 9:30. Then we went down a hill and up it again. Then down a hill to a turn around, then up again to the hill. That hill wasn’t too bad, but it was work. I finished in about 29 something which was decent. I thought it was going to be a grueling affair and I wanted save my energy.

I dashed through transition and on to the bike. The bike course was rolling hills, but they weren’t too bad. The steep climbs were short. It was out and back, which meant I got to fly down the hills that I had previously crawled up. My legs actually felt O.K. I was kind of surprised that I felt that good. I thought, I am beginning the bike leg, which is usually the point where I start to hurt in a duathlon. HUH?! WHAT THE HELL? It was a little surprising. I didn’t want to push too hard because the course was fairly hard. I was downing salt tablets. There was a cross wind, but it wasn’t too bad. The first loop was about 41 minutes and 16.3 mph. OH. MY. GOD. An actual decent bike split, for me at least. This could be an great bike ride. I was kind of shocked. I thought I would be slower due to the hills. The second loop was a little faster. I had a lot of 60-70 year olds and even an 80 year old passing me. A little irritating. It was still fairly cool with the breeze, which was nice.

I finished and ran into transition. Racking my bike was hard because the rack was so high. I struggled to lift the bike high enough. I ran out and my legs were stiff, but not too bad. The first mile was a slow10:34, but then it was downhill and I made up some time. The two mile mark was 19:03. Finally, I was going uphill to the finish. All I wanted to do was break ten minutes miles in the second run, so I pushed at the end. It was definitely harder running the second run the same pace as the first run. Someone had a sign “Spain or bust” referring to the world championship. I gave a thumbs up. Cruelly, the rest of the way to the finish line was gravel, so I pushed to speed up. I finished the second run in about the same time as the first one-29:49. I had done it, a sub ten minute mile run.

I was left dazed at how well this race had gone. Usually, I secretly hope that I will exceed what I thought I could do, but it usually doesn’t happen. Something came together this day. Maybe it was the painfest I had at my last involuntary half ironman duathlon. Maybe it was the god awful five hour bike ride I had done last weekend. Maybe it was because it was the third duathlon I had done this year, when I usually only do one a year. Whatever it was, I felt extraordinary. It’s unusual to get a flow state, where I am at the right pacing, strength, training and venue all at the same time. I had been transported out of my usual anxious, depressed state of mind into a state of euphoria. This was an unaccustomed and long ago emotion that I hadn’t seen in a while-happiness and joy. I was going to hold onto it as long as I could, before it slipped back again into the darkness.

I started out the day going in one direction and completely turned and went in another. This experience went from an ordinary it will probably suck and be painful to UNEXPECTED POSSIBILITIES. I think I might go to Spain.

Butterfly Pavillion

2011-05-05T14:57:00.000-07:00

Butterflies are fascinating creatures. They taste with their legs and navigate with their antenna. Besides their beauty, they are nonthreatening and gentle. Some insects sting, bite, spit or are downright ugly and repulsive. People of all ages seem fascinated by the butterflies.

I recently volunteered at the Desert Botanical Butterfly Pavilion. They had a variety of orange, white and black markings, like little flying jewels. One landed on a girl about eight years old and sat on her hand for ten minutes and she waited patiently until it flew away. My job was to answer questions and keep the butterflies from being stepped on when they perched on the ground. It’s a compact area with many butterflies, so they would not act as they would normally. Instead of avoiding people, they would land on them. At one point, I had eight on me. Their legs were kind of irritating on my bare skin and I had to resist the urge to brush them off. They seemed to like my white shirt and it was kind of intriguing to be a flower to them. It was soothing in a way to have them perched on me.

The butterflies makes me feel like I am part of the fabric of the natural world. Humans are part of the planet, but the connection gets lost sometimes when we construct artificial environments that separate us from the outside. We pave over ground, make ugly highways, build high rises, dams and otherwise alter the land, sometimes making it inhospitable and unlivable. Every time I go to the airport or have to drive the highway, I want to leave it as soon as possible. The thought of being stuck in such places is a nightmare. Their required functionality makes such soul sucking areas unfriendly and hideous to look at.

As an antidote to the pavement, people need gardens, parks and zoos. Flowers, plants, trees and butterflies have the form, color and softness that help us feel less alone and unconnected to each other. The world would otherwise be a bleak and uninteresting place. To hear and watch birds, to look at plants and observe animal behavior makes my petty worries disappear.

Butterflies are also amazing because they transform themselves. A caterpillar forms a pupa and the larvae inside dissolves and re-forms into the adult. It would be interesting to do this as a human. If I didn’t like my body, I could make a pupa and re-form it into something better. No dieting or exercise. The aching back could be gone. The flabby abdomen could disappear.

Even better, what if I could shed all my emotional baggage and start fresh. Old resentments, feelings of inadequacy, regrets and sadness could all go away. It would be a clean start. If only it was that easy. It would be nice to feel happy again.

Instead, I have to work on it bit by bit. I feel great one day and sink into depression the next. Telling myself positive statements takes repetition because it just doesn’t seem to sink in very quickly. I backslide, then have to move forward again. The old negative thoughts stick around. They don’t want to leave. They try to tell me that I’m not smart, that I can’t do things, that I will never amount to anything, that I am not talented. They keep me from going after what I want.

Patterns of behavior are even worse. I have to actually fight with them and they are resistant to change. One part of my mind wants to play it safe and the other part is miserable and wants to do something about it. I have to resist the urge to crawl into my hole and avoid the world, to try to connect with people despite my discomfort with exposing myself to rejection.

At least a caterpillar knows that it will turn into a butterfly. I don’t know if I will turn into what I want to be. The outcome is not guaranteed and it’s hard. The ideal career eludes me at the moment. Happiness with myself or with another person after being divorced is uncertain. Peace of mind and comfort with myself is not there.

I just have to bumble around from flower to flower, hoping that my antenna don’t fall off and that I get impossibly lost.

Marquee Triathlon Race Report

2011-04-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when I am in the middle of a race I wonder why the hell I am doing this. This race was an eight on a scale of one to ten for pain. Everything hurt, but at least the discomfort can be conquered. You grit your teeth and keep moving.
This race was an sprint, olympic and half iron. It was supposed to have a 1.2 mile swim, but it rained the day before and it was cancelled due to concerns about e coli. This seemed like it would be a good thing, but it was not. Not having a swim made the rest of the race all that more difficult. Swimming doesn’t require pavement pounding. For the half iron, another three miles prior to the bike was required, then a 56 mile bike and a half marathon. Sixteen miles of aching legs and tired feet.

The start was delayed due to a car accident on the highway. Then the inflatable start line arch deflated. This event seemed doomed. Finally, I got to start. This first run was fine, running around the lake. A great blue heron sitting on a wall watched the insane runners, probably wondering what was these fools were doing.

I ran back to transition, got through quickly since I didn’t have to deal with peeling off a wetsuit and rode out onto the bike course. Three miles into the course, my tire went flat. It was the first time ever in a race. What would be a half iron without something going wrong? The last one, I had hypothermia and camped out in the med tent for 38 minutes, the time before I had heat exhaustion and walked half of the 13.1 mile run. Of course it was the back wheel, so the deraillor, the thingy that changes gears on the bike was in the way. Glass was in a cut in the tire. It was the price of not checking the tire before the race. My extra time gained by not doing the swim was gone and now I had to worry about time cut offs. People whizzed by me.

I finally started out again and occasionally, I heard a thump, thump, thump from the rear tire. It wasn’t flat, but it felt wrong. It might be under inflated, but no one at the aid stations had a tire pump. Maybe it would not hold up the rest of the ride. I had no choice but to go on.

My legs ached badly by this time. I would straighten them to relieve the pain, but relief was only temporary. I ignored the thumping sound from the tire and had to hope for the best because I couldn’t do anything about it. The distant mountains had snow on them from the moisture yesterday, which was a nice, distracting sight. Being positive would be the only thing that would help at this point.

I finished the endless twenty eight mile lap and turned to start another one. The tire was still holding. The turnaround for the shorter races passed by as the route went on and on. The wind picked up and I had to fight that as well as my aching legs that wanted to stop. Passing by the sprint turn around meant about six miles to go. I was going to finish this thing. I WILL finish. Due to the tire change, it was going on four plus hours. On the way back, cars would suddenly swerve into the bike lane to turn around. Nice. I kept plugging.

Finally, the bike was done and it was time for the run. I had the best intentions to try and actually race, but the legs weren’t cooperating. I wanted to go hard, but it wasn’t going to happen. Birds hung out at the lake. Lots of swallows, coots, white egrets, oyster catchers, ducks and cormorants. It would have been nice to have wings so I wouldn’t have to use my complaining legs. It was thankfully cool and breezy to counter the misery.

Quitting wasn’t an option, but the pain was intense. Finishing is everything, no matter what because quitting hurts worse. Someone had a sign that said “think positive”. It was not so easy. I finished the first lap in an hour and fifteen minutes. If I could keep this up, my finishing time would be two and half hours, but my energy was flagging. Coke didn’t help much. I saw no one on the path until the last few miles. It wasn’t a good feeling knowing everyone else was done, a depressing sense of inadequacy. I ran by some girls smoking weed. That would have been nice to dull the pain. But up ahead, an aid station had beer. What the hell, a mile to go and my run was crap anyway. The beer was wonderful and ice cold. A first for me on a race course. It was probably the highlight of the race.

Looking at this race, in one way, if I compare my time to others, it’s a failure. It was a reality check of my limitations. If I look at it as doing the best I could under the circumstances, it was a success. It’s a matter of perspective. I changed a tire in the middle of a race, though not correctly or quickly. It’s external verses internal accomplishment. I have to keep reminding myself I am never going to win on the basis of external comparison

Fatigue makes me think negative thoughts. I didn’t really feel happy when I finished even though it was a tough race, because all I could think about is how slow I was and how much my body hurt. The hardest part of a race is to have a positive mental state, especially in the long, grueling ones. Thinking that I can do something makes it more likely that I will achieve the goal. It’s just much tougher than actually swimming, biking and running. My body I can control, but the mind is slippery and veers off on its own tangents.

Ironman Revisited Part III

2011-04-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

Part III

I started the run portion walking, and grabbed some food because I was ravenous. I finally got my legs to start running. The sun was an orange glow on the horizon. I had fantasized before the race about doing a great run, but the reality was that it was a slog. I didn’t think I had time to walk, so I ran slowly. The aid stations had lots of food, so I had soup, cookies, pretzels and coke. There were still a lot of souls out on the course in a death march as well. It was getting dark.

I didn’t think about how long I had to run because the thought was overwhelming. I was happy every time I passed a mile marker. I had until 10:15 to finish the second loop and until midnight to finish the whole thing. It was doable. Like the bike, the run had some desolate, soul searing, dark, deserted places. One area had signs up from family and friends to encourage the runners, but none of them were for me. It made me feel even more alone. The river bed in this area is dry and there is nothing to look at except some confused rabbits running around in the dark. The cement sidewalk is hard on the feet and my shins hurt. I didn’t want to think about the blisters forming on my feet. I ignored the despair trying to encircle my mind. I got through the bad spots by thinking about what the finish line was going to feel like.

It was a relief to get to the Mill Avenue bridge. At least I could see the lights on shore reflected in the water and the moving pink and blue lights on the bridge when the train went over the lake. I could hear the announcer saying “you are an ironman!” to the lucky people that had finished. I still had five hours or so to go. I went over the bridge and down to the lake path. People made it their mission to cheer us on and I thanked them, because it gave me energy. I didn’t care if I knew them because it provided a distraction from the pain. I didn’t know what was more painful-this race or a C-section. I think the C-section is, but not by much. I kept promising myself I would never do this again.
I ran over another bridge and down to the other end of the lake. A smell of sewage drifted by this unlit, dank area. I ran through Papago Park with a strange rock formation lit up by the generator light. I ran slowly up a hill past people wimping out and walking. I passed by an aid station with a pirate boat and another with a western theme. I liked the guys dressed as girls.

At this point I was running on mental power. Running at night when I was exhausted was surreal, like an altered state of mind. My body wanted to go home and go to sleep a long time ago. Surprisingly, I still felt coherent and functional. I finished the second loop before the 10:25 cut-off. The glimmer of hope of finishing grew stronger. At this point I could still finish the run even if I didn’t make the midnight cut-off, but I had at least a twenty minute leeway. I went by the turn off to the finish line. A lot of people had finished and I was still out there. The plodders were fewer and fewer.

I finally ran into my sherpa, which picked me up and made me smile. I had no family or friends to make sure that I at least got to my car after the race, but an old high school classmate volunteered for the job. He had made a sign for me, which cheered me up. It was nice to have someone stay out that late for me. Every friendly face out there was a boost.

Halfway through the last lap, I saw my coaches. They kept tabs on their athletes for the entire seventeen hour race. It was great to see some friendly faces. They told me to keep running. I picked up the pace a little. The goal of finishing was within reach, just a whisper away. The power was there. With a mile to go, I ran by someone I knew who told me “go be an ironman”. The feeling of elation was getting stronger. It was going to happen.

I finally made the left turn for the finishing chute. In contrast to the dark path I was running on, the lights were blinding. I had finally made it. Two years of heartbreak, self-doubt, pain and boredom had turned into triumph. Music was blaring, the rowdy crowd was cheering and banging the side of the bleachers. I had a blast high-fiving everyone I could, running to the finish line. It was time to celebrate. I thought I would be weepy when I finished, but I was too happy and tired to cry. I heard the announcer say “you are an ironman”. Now I know why I wanted this so much.

This was a high like no other. I had tested my limits, overcame them and accomplished something that I thought I couldn’t do. I had overcame doubts that I was physically capable of doing this distance because I was too slow or too old. I felt transformed into a different person after enduring the pain, frustration, boredom and exhaustion. It’s an incredible power to find in yourself that your mind drives you forward when your body is failing. I felt invincible.

Ironman Revisited Part II

2011-04-06T11:05:00.000-07:00

This is a revised version of a race report recounting my experiences racing Ironman Arizona in November, 2009.

Part II

Still cold, I tried to hurry through transition. The volunteers helped me get ready for the bike portion. I was unfocused on what I was doing and uncoordinated. I finally got out to the bike course, but I can’t seem to go very fast even though my heart is racing. Since I was dazed and not concentrating, my bike veered into orange cones on the road, the wheels flipped and I slammed down on my shoulder into the street. I scraped my knee and elbow and my shoulder hurt. With help, I continued on. I ignored the bloody wounds.
The bike route is mind numbing to go up and down it three times, past desolate empty land, the industrial buildings, ruined houses, and the garbage dump. It is fairly scenic near the top of the hill, where you can see desert vistas and rocky mountains. The road can capture the howling wind, making it hellish to ride a bike on. When I was bike training on it and going up and down numerous time, I have to shut off my mind from dwelling on the monotony and the distance that would otherwise make me feel like screaming. During the race, I had to concentrate on keeping myself fed and riding hard enough so that I didn’t miss the time cut-offs. Few spectators are out on the highway, so I didn’t even have that to keep my spirits up.
I distracted myself from the pain and monotony by watching the acrobatic maneuvers of a guy in front of me peeing while riding a bike. Somehow he must of managed to whip it out of his bike shorts, because pee was shooting off to the side. Normally people just let go and it streams all over the bike seat. I had never done this and never will. I try to stay well back of these people.
I finished the first loop at a speed of 13.6 mph, which was too slow. The first part of an ironman bike ride is supposed to feel good because fatigue hasn’t set in yet, but I felt miserable. This bike portion wasn’t going the way I had planned. If I didn’t make up time, I wouldn’t finish before the cut off. It felt like my first attempt in 2008, where the heavy weight of failure loomed. At least when you finish the lap at the Mill Avenue bridge, lots of people are cheering you on. It gave you energy to endure the highway again. If I could pick up speed, I had a fighting chance to beat the three and four o’clock cut-offs.
The second loop I picked up speed. It was like night versus day from the first loop. I felt much better and had an inkling of hope that I was going to finish the bike portion. I was pretty sure I was going to make the three o’clock cut-off at the bottom of the hill by the time I reached the top of the hill. A small victory.

I finished the second loop at 2:35 p.m. I was on new ground-an actual third loop, which I didn’t get to do the first race I tried, because I missed the three o’clock cut-off. I was excited. By this time, the shadows were getting long and the light was turning orange. The highway was getting more and more deserted. Most of the bike riders were done. This is mentally tough because I thought that the faster riders were better bike riders than me. I ignored the negative thoughts and just kept riding. I felt O.K, climbing the hill, but I was ready to be done. I beat the four o’clock deadline at the top of the hill by twenty minutes. As I was descending the hill, I saw people still desperately trying to beat the cut-off. One person was riding a hand cycle. I hoped that he made it.

As I was descending the hill, I was mentally preparing myself for the run. I passed the 109 mile mark. I was riding a bike farther than I had ever done before. The light was fading, but I was beating the sunset and the 5:30 cut-off for the bike. My shoulder hurt, my butt hurt and my quads hurt, but the memory of the pain was fading. I had broken barriers in myself and was on my way to being an ironman.
As I came into transition, I saw my coaches cheering me. We had been on a long journey together from my despair of not finishing a race, to the joy of finishing a goal I had been chasing for two years. I had learned that I couldn’t accomplish what seems like insurmountable goals by myself. I had to take baby steps on an impossibly long journey with the help of people along the way until one day I found that I was where I wanted to be. I had to overcome self-doubt and have a little faith that things will work out.
I dismounted my bike and hobbled to the change tent. My legs felt like blocks. The volunteers helped me to change and I struggled to put on my socks. I let someone bandage my elbow and knees, even if it didn’t matter at this point. I was tired and wanted to be babied, but I knew I had to get moving.

Ironman Arizona Revisted

2011-04-06T11:01:00.000-07:00

This is a revised version of a race report recounting my experiences racing Ironman Arizona in November, 2009. After being re-written and workshopped in a writer's group, I submitted this piece to a local writers' publication, but it was rejected. Maybe some people have no interest in Ironman races, but the experience had a profound impact on me and re-writing the piece was like re-living the event.

Part One:
I treaded the water of Tempe Town Lake waiting for the start of an epic day of racing. I had swam in the water two days before and had numb feet for hours afterwards, so I knew the water would be very cold, but it was still a shock when I jumped into the frigid water. It felt like needles on my face. People line the Mill Avenue bridge watching 2500 people bobbing below in the water. I swam to the north of the crowd in the lake so that I wouldn’t get pummeled when people start swimming. The faster swimmers will get kicked, pushed and sometimes have their goggles knocked off. The dawn was just breaking and an orange pinkish light touched the surface of the water and the glass buildings on the shore. It was pretty in a cruel way with the illusion of heat. A helicopter hovered overhead filming the start, adding to the anticipation. I tried to convince myself in my thoughts that I was not cold.
I decided to do an ironman because it seemed to me to be at least something in my life that I could control, which was myself and my reaction to tough conditions. I felt powerless, with my mother dying of Alzheimers, my husband of 32 years dumping me for someone else and the economy dropping like a crashing rocket. I think I wanted a feeling of invincibility from doing what I set out to do. I wanted to test my limits and to find out that I could meet a goal. I wanted redemption for not making the bike cut-off at Ironman Arizona in April 2008 due to windy, 98 degree conditions. I ended up the medical tent due to heat exhaustion and had felt like an utter failure.
An Ironman involves 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of bike riding and 26.2 miles of running, all within 17 hours. If you think about how far it actually is, you will lose your mind. I coped with the distance by thinking only about what I was doing at the moment, rather than the fact that I had to do an incomprehensible distance.
A race of this length requires you to face your limitations. Some people are gifted athletically and can finish the race in 10-14 hours. Pros can do it in eight and a half to nine hours. I am not gifted and had to worry about finishing it in the allotted time of seventeen hours. I figured the swim will take me two hours, the bike seven and a half to eight hours and the run about six an a half hours. I was one of the sloggers just trying to get through it.

A race of this length also crushes you if your training is half-assed. In a shorter race, you could get by with inconsistent or nonexistent training. I had to do three hour runs, six hour bike rides and two hour swims. I trained hard, but the thought always existed in my mind that it wasn’t enough. I had been essentially training for this race for two years. I had a lot emotional investment in an unsure outcome.

The airhorn blasted and the melee began. Being away from the crowd, I didn’t have problems with being hit, but I had problems with myself. I don’t tolerate cold water well and I hate swimming 2.4 miles in open water. I didn’t like the feeling of not being able to stand up and rest. I worried about swimming for two hours and wondered if I was going to be too tired to finish. I have had panic attacks in open water, where I would thrash around and feel like I was suffocating. Kayakers are out in the water to direct you and to keep you from drowning, but once you resort to hanging off of one, you know your swim is tanking and that you might not finish.

As I kept swimming from buoy to buoy to the turn around, I felt the cold seeping into my bones. It got worse and worse. It sapped my energy, but if I stopped to rest, I felt even colder. I kept moving even though I was exhausted. Doubts crept into my mind that I could actually finish this swim. If I didn’t finish the swim, I couldn’t do the rest of the race. I was damned if I was going to quit voluntarily. Two years of training, financial and emotional investment would be wasted. I had to keep going, but I wondered if my body was going to fail me.

As the buildings on the shore went slowly by, I got colder and colder. I could feel my legs shaking. It’s was battle between my body and my mind. I had never been this close to going over the edge of hypothermia and it was frightening. I finally hit the finish and struggled up the steps. My mind had won for now, but I was shaking violently and in a daze. I got my wetsuit stripped off and I was whisked into the med tent before I knew where I was going.
The medics warmed me up with warm saline bags and a heater. They stripped off my wet shirt. I warmed up, finally, but I had lost 10-15 minutes and I had to be out on the bike course by 9:30 or else I would be disqualified. I finally escaped the clutches of the med tent, with a thermal blanket to cover my lack of a top and ran into transition. I had just done the most difficult swim of my life and the day was just starting.

15k Race Report

2011-04-06T10:41:00.000-07:00

I have a love-hate relationship with running. Most of the time when I run, it feels bad at first, then gets better. Sometimes it feels bad at first and stays that way. Sometimes it starts out bad and gets worse. This race, I felt bad in the beginning, felt better in the middle, then felt like crap at the end. I thought that running 9.3 miles would be easier than 13.1, which is a half marathon. I also thought I could run a shorter distance at a faster pace. I was wrong.

Non-runners would probably wonder why someone would voluntarily hurt themselves by running. Running is simple. You run from point A to B. A run has a definite distance, a definite route and a beginning and end. I wish life was more like that. My life path is meandering and I have no idea where it is going. I don’t know where it starts or where it is going to end.

Running is uncomfortable, but the purpose of the pain is to see how fast I can run. Exceeding what I think I can do in spite of the ache is empowering and even fun. It’s a sickness common to runners.

I couldn’t warm up because this race was a point to point race, which entailed taking a bus to the starting point in McDowell Mountain Park. The efficiency of this transportation depends a lot on how many people need to take the bus, how far you have to go and how organized the race is. I got to the start line twenty minutes before the start so I had to choose between standing in a line to pee or warming up. I chose to pee because running with a full bladder sucks.

Usually the start of race is fun, a kind of a celebration strenuous physical activity. On this occasion, however, a moment of silence was observed for Sally Meyerhoff, an elite athlete who was killed in a car accident. Death is unexpected sometimes. Many runners were wearing dorky pink compression knee socks in her honor.

The lack of warm up didn’t make a great start to the race for me. My body does not like running, but it especially does not like suddenly running very hard. The first mile is uphill as well. My stomach was spewing acid into my esophagus and it felt like I had daggers in my chest in addition to breathing hard. I couldn’t convince my legs to move faster. They were waiting for the stomach acid to subside and were maybe hoping I would give them a break and walk.

I finally warmed up and was thankfully going downhill. This race goes from a higher to a lower elevation. It also means that you will climb because the area around Fountain Hills is known for its rolling, mean terrain.

The more uncomfortable I am, the faster I go. It doesn’t depend on anyone but me. If I am uncomfortable in normal situations, I don’t know if it has a point or if it’s going to get me anywhere. If I say “hi” to a stranger and it may mean everything or nothing. Racing is like a contest to see what I am capable of despite my physical or mental state. This game, however, wasn’t very easy to play.

It was getting hot. No trees were on the route to provide shade. The road was asphalt that collected heat and reflected it back on me. The temperature was in the sixties, but when I run, it feels twenty degrees hotter. I was pouring water on myself at the few aid stations that were out on the course. It would have been nice to have someone out there with a hose to spray me with water, but there wasn’t a handy source of water out here in the middle of the desert.

My acid reflux had settled down, but now my intestines were complaining. Running is a natural, unwelcome laxative. No porta-potties appeared in the desert, though I was fantasizing about it. The Sonoran Desert with it’s stunted creosote and wimpy trees doesn’t have much in the way of large, dense bushes to do your business behind.

I found the rolling landscape tough to run on. Most of the running races around here are flat, because most runners wouldn’t do them if they weren’t. It takes a different level of craziness to tackle hills. A person’s pain tolerance has to be higher. You have to like the suffering. This terrain was leaching the energy out of me.

By mile six, I was running at what I thought was a decent pace and then I hit the HILL. This sucker was nasty. It was over a mile ascent and it was evil. It was waiting to devour hapless runners, including me. After running hard for six miles, I was hot and hurting. My legs hurt and they didn’t want to climb. Other people were climbing it with grime determination, with some resorting to walking. Someone passed by me and said “who put this hill here?”. I was ready for this mountain not to exist anymore.

Finally, the torturous ascent ended and it was time to speed up again. My legs disagreed and told me to go to hell. Theoretically, a race is supposed to be run faster in the final miles. This theory would be fine if I hadn’t trashed my legs on the previous seven miles. All I could do was to press on.

The final miles were through Fountain Hills, which I am sure that drivers held up in traffic did not appreciate. I always secretly have a feeling of satisfaction making a car wait instead of me having to wait for them. Down the road I could finally see the finish line. I did an imitation of running faster. I finished in an hour, twenty nine minutes.

Every one of the 9.3 miles I had earned. This race was so hard I might be masochistic enough to do it again. I liked the feeling of accomplishment of running on the difficult terrain. I can’t explain the insanity. I just know it is there.

The Pool vs Me

2011-03-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

I detest my pool. I want it not to exist anymore. It is the bane of my existence, but it wasn’t always that way. It sucks electricity, chemicals and water. It sometimes becomes a death trap for baby quail who inadvertently fall in. It’s a symbol of what I am unhappy with in my life now, it’s old deteriorating outdated existence that I have no use for anymore. It sits there, a reminder of a life I used to have.

     When I first moved into the house I am in now, seventeen years ago, the pool was clean and blue. The tile trim was pretty and no algae fouled the walls. It had been recently re-plastered. It was an oasis on a hot day. It was something that I actually wanted to swim in. The pool fence was in good shape, a must for having a small child around.

     Having a pool with a young child was great. She wasn’t like some children who have a death wish and try to get into the pool by themselves and then drown. She loved the pool. She had friends over who also loved to swim, especially the neighbors who didn’t have one in their back yard.

     My ex-husband also loved the pool. He would sunbath naked when I wasn’t around to give him a hard time about it. He would go skinny dipping at night on hot summer nights. Sometimes he would keep his swim clothes on and my daughter would join him. I wouldn’t go in as often, but it was nice at night when it was still a 100 degrees at night.
     This love affair faded, however. My daughter stopped wanting to go into the pool when she was a teenager. My ex also stopped swimming and sunbathing. I swam elsewhere because the pool wasn’t big enough for serious swimming and it was more fun for me to swim with a group.
     Normally, my ex-husband would take care of the pool. It required regular chemicals, messy filter cleaning and other mysterious rituals. My husband lost interest in doing this after a while. Then he lost interest in me. The old relationship died slowly, little by little every year. I sensed that he was growing distant, but I was in denial that the marriage was dead. He spent most of the summer in California with business as an excuse, but I always assumed that he would come back.
     The pool had gotten older by this time. The tile cracked and algae would grow on the walls. The water tasted bad from the salt and the skimmer got sluggish. The filters needed cleaning and the motor was failing.
My ex-husband left me and I had no idea how to take care of the pool. To add to my stress of having my life fall apart, the water decided to turn green no matter how much chlorine I threw in it. I had to hire someone to drain it and to acid wash the plaster. I think my water bill that month to refill it was about $200. It looked good for a time. I hated having to repair something that I had no use for and I resented having the responsibility dumped on me.
     I was paralyzed with depression and I didn’t want to deal with my life, let alone the pool. It took me a long time to recover enough from being dumped to have the energy to do something about maintaining the pool’s annoying existence.
     To top it off, the metal fence is rotting with bubbling rust. I don’t know how it still stands up. It will wobble if you push it. Since I decided not to maintain a lawn by myself and didn’t water it, and I can’t get the lawn mower to work, the bushes by the pool decided to shed a lot of leaves. They would blow in the pool and I would fish them out and throw them by the fence. Then they would blow in the pool again. I was too lazy to rake them.
     With all these leaves blowing in the pool, the skimmer decided to stop working. It would move against the wall, lazily flicking it’s tail and not go anywhere. I recently had someone clean out the pool filter and it worked for about two weeks. The pool almost looked clean again. Then the motor developed a whining sound and it the skimmer stopped working. Now leaves and dirt are on the bottom again. The pool mocks me, letting me think I am the boss, when I am not.

     The pool is unloved. The only creatures who seem to enjoy the pool now are the boat-tailed grackles who perch on the floating chlorine tablet dispensers and drink water. It’s just a lot of work for me and I am looking forward to the day that it no longer is my responsibility.

     The pool is like my life. Certain things don’t work anymore and I need to get rid of them. Old habits, old possessions, old ways of thinking, old relationships that were great once have lost their usefulness. They are old and crumbling like the rotting pool fence. They made me happy once and now they just cause me pain and anxiety.

     I have to make my own tough life decisions and figure out how to implement them. Avoiding discomfort and anxiety won’t solve my problems. Thinking that I am just not good enough won’t give me strength to face the world, let alone have some semblance of happiness and peace. Falling down the rabbit hole of depression won’t let me move forward.

     So one day I will be in a better place in my life and the pool will be someone else’s problem. No more algae, no more leaves and dirt in the water, no more lazy skimmer. Good riddance.

Desert Duathlon Race Report

2011-02-25T21:00:00.001-08:00

I stand by the start line watching the pros getting ready to start. I like to look at the pros. The men are kind of pretty in their skin tight clothes with their perfect muscled bodies. The airhorn goes off and they dash away.

This race is fun in a hellish sort of way. It’s set in McDowell Mountain Park, which is lush Sonoran desert with a LOT of hills. The race site this year was at the competitive tracks, which are popular with trail runners and mountain bikers. The trails were specially designed to test your skills in these activities and they do. While not technically difficult, they are challenging and some spots scare the bejesus out of me if I am mountain biking. There are loop de loops, hairpin turns, steep drops off, rocks and LOTS of climbing. Running them isn’t a piece of cake, either.

The age groupers are next. In addition to pros, this race attracts athletically gifted age groupers. I am not in this category. The men go first so they supposedly won’t run down the women. Finally, I am off.

The first run goes up a hill on the road and then to a relentless series of hills. The day is cloudy and cool with a layer of white fog hugging the distant mountains. You are surrounded by desert populated with Palo Verde tree, teddy bear cholla cactus and various bushes. I struggle to run hard. The terrain demands a lot of my legs. The ground is sandy and rocky and the trail goes gradually uphill for the first half with constant ups and downs. Supposedly, the theory is that you don’t go all out on the first run of a duathlon, but it wasn’t working out that way. My heart rate was higher than I planned, but I wasn’t about to slow down.

As I was running, I was thinking about transition. I had to get through it without getting a lot of mud on my bike shoes. If I got too much mud on the cleat, I couldn’t clip into the pedal. This might be tricky. I had noticed the amount of mud surrounding my bike prior to starting the race. The mud has a sticky, greasy composition. Once it attaches itself to something, it clings like cement.

I finished the run and ran into transition. Most of the bikes were already gone, of course, so at least I had a little dry ground to work with. I usually end up riding mostly by myself towards the second half of the bike ride and also running by myself the second run. Everyone else finished early. I had a good half an hour after they are done to contemplate my athletic inadequacies while I was racing. I got on my bike shoes and negotiated the bumpy carpet to the road. I couldn’t clip in to my pedals at first, but I knocked mud off of my shoes until I could.

The road bike loop is a lot of hills, like the runs. The bike route descends to the park entrance, turns left onto a highway, then turns around and heads back to the park. It then ascends to the north end of the park and turns around again. The park road has a rough surface and sucks the energy out of you. The road entices you with false flats and climbs that seem like they should be easier, but they aren’t.

The first part of the bike course is not too bad. The rain was holding off and I was still warm. I got passed on a hill by someone who was 64. She must have been really fast, at least that’s what I told myself. All of the pros and the fast age groupers were gone. I turned around and headed back to the park.

The climb to the park entrance is where all the fun begins. It’s a long, slow slog up a hill. I didn’t mind it today as much as I had in the past. I went by mile marker twelve. Really? Is that all? This ride was not going very fast. By now the bike course was really deserted, with only a few stragglers. I was hoping that I wouldn’t be doing the last run by myself.

I finally got to the top of the hill and then went thankfully downhill. I hit the final turn around. Then the ride started to get ugly. I had to climb yet another hill. I wasn’t making much progress and this was turning into one of my slowest bikes I had ever done in this race. The wind started to pick up and it was raining. My thighs felt like someone was whacking them with an iron rod. It was definitely a low point in this race. Last year this point was at the beginning of the race and uncomfortable, but not as difficult as it felt now.

I finally got to the end and went into transition. There wasn’t enough room to re-rack my bike and I had to push one over to get mine racked. I almost fell over and banged my shin on the teeth of the bike gear. I changed shoes and hit the second run.

My legs felt like lead and it was hard to run. This trail was harder than the first, with steeper ups and downs. I passed someone I knew, then another. There weren’t many people on the course and everyone seemed to be struggling. I didn’t have much speed left in my legs. Then it started to rain again. Super. At least my multiple layers of clothing were keeping me warm.

I finally saw the finish line and tried to speed up, but couldn’t. My final time was 2:43. It was one of those races I thought I survived, but did not conquer. Trying my best and finishing it should have been enough, but it wasn’t. I liked the challenge of pitting myself against the terrain, but it was the king and not me. It was so pretty and so mean.

IT’S WAR OUT THERE: BIKE RIDING RANT

2011-02-09T20:31:00.000-08:00

I feel like every time I ride my bike on the streets, it’s a war between me and the cars. People either don’t want to yield to bikes or aren’t paying enough attention to bother to look if I am there. I have to always assume that a driver is going to act like an idiot, because if I don’t, I could get hurt.

WHAT DRIVES ME CRAZY:

1. The rolling stop. Are you going to run me over or not? Sometimes it’s a game of chicken to see who stops first. It pisses me off. I have learned to veer away from the car if I am not sure they are going to stop.

2. Failing to yield to me in a crosswalk when I have the "walk" sign. I have the right a way. Stop already. I know you have more important things to do than slow down for a mere bike rider, but I can sue your ass if you run over me.

3. Cutting me off. Drivers assume they can turn right in front of me without my body doing too much damage when it bounces off of their car, but it’s a dangerous gamble. I might get blood on your pretty clean car.

4. Honking and swearing at me for no apparent reason. If you are having a bad day, why don’t you go to a therapist or something. Don’t take it out on me.

5. Not giving me the legally required three feet of space. You don’t have to run me off the road. Really.

　
If I am not contending with idiot drivers, then I have to deal with bad street design. It’s obvious some intersections weren’t designed for anyone not in a car.

1. Intersections where I have to push the walk button in order to get across and the walk button is located in a weedy patch of gravel that I have to drag my bike over to get to. Some cities have the walk button right by the curb. Why can’t every city do that?

2. Intersections where you have to guess whether you have enough time to get through the intersection on a green light. Kudos to Phoenix for putting in countdown numbers for the light change. I wish this was everywhere.

3. Intersections that don’t have a right turn lane, but the drivers make an illegal one in the dirt on the side of the road. In one instance, I couldn’t even cross the road on the green light because cars wouldn’t yield to let me through.

4. Intersections where there is no crosswalk on the right side, so you either have to wait in the lane going straight and hope a car triggers the light or you have to cross the intersection in three places to get back to the right hand side of the road.

I don’t know if drivers are worse in big cities, but it seems like drivers in Phoenix have a need to go ten miles over the speed limit and have to be somewhere ten minutes ago. If I get a polite driver that lets me go through an four-way stop intersection, I get confused. I know some drivers hate cyclists. Some cyclists run through red lights, don’t stop at stop signs and generally act like traffic laws don’t apply to them. I think they are the exception and besides, they don’t kill anyone other than themselves if they make a mistake.

Sometimes I have a fantasy that all the cars are off the road and I can ride my bike without fearing for my life. Riding a quiet street is a relief because it restores my inner peace and I can relax. The war is over, at least for a little while. I try to ride on streets with low traffic, but you can’t totally avoid busy intersections. It helps to ride with people so that drivers are more likely to see you, but that isn’t always possible.

So, unless I want to ride on a trainer indoors all the time, which I don’t, I have to gird my loins and do battle with the metal enemies. Victory is getting home safely.

Turning Eighteen

2011-02-05T17:58:00.000-08:00

Eighteen is a crossroads. It’s a time to grow up, to fly or fail on your own and to become your own person. This age seems like a beginning because at eighteen your whole life is ahead of you. You have yet to experience a lot of the amazing highs and lows of life. You get discover who you are and learn new things about the world in a new environment. You get to discover first love, if you haven’t already. You might go to college and study new subjects, meet new people and learn exciting new ideas that expand your mind.

My daughter Melissa turned eighteen in January. I don’t think a teenager magically turns into an adult at eighteen because everyone is different, with different life experiences and some teenagers are more mature than others. Technically, my daughter is an adult and is able to vote, sign legal documents and make loans. I think Melissa is fairly mature and smart, but she doesn’t have a lot of life experiences because she hasn’t been out in the world on her own. Most teenagers don’t at that age. I was fairly immature at that age myself and it took me years to learn what I probably should have known at a lot earlier age.

So eighteen is also an end because even though I will always be a parent, I feel like however good or bad parent I was, most of my job is done. I will still provide guidance, but I can’t make decisions for her anymore. She has to make her own mistakes. I feel a sense of relief and also fear. I won’t be around to protect her. I will have no control over what might happen to her.

I was never one of those gung ho mothers. It took me a long time to decide to have a child and by then it was almost too late. I haven’t been exposed to babies when I was a child, since I was the youngest and I felt kind of lost as a new parent. I found out that babies are pretty amazing and that they soak up knowledge at an astounding rate. But it is a relief when they are potty trained. Taking care of a child can be pretty boring, but then it’s delightful when they first learn to walk or have other milestones. Even at an early age, they seem like extraordinarily complex creatures. Their moods change instantly and sometimes figuring out what they want is impossible.

But I am ready to have less responsibility in my life for other people. For a while I was a wife, a mother and my mother’s caretaker when she had Alzheimers. I am no longer a wife and my mother has passed away. Living without a husband, I have gotten used to doing whatever I felt like, except I still had to take care of my daughter. She is fairly low maintenance and keeps out of trouble, but I still feel a little constricted. My ex-husband got to move away and re-marry and do whatever he wanted and I want some of that freedom. I want to come and go as I please, cook whenever and whatever I want, and not have to clean up after anyone but myself. I am ready to let her go.

My daughter has always surprised me. Because of her I have had experiences I would not have had otherwise. For a while she was into pets and begged for a dog. I had no desire to have another child who wasn’t potty trained, so I didn’t give in. She tried fish, which all died. She managed to starve a goldfish to death, which is still shocking to me. Then she tried parakeets, which are hardy pets that like people. They have never been to a vet and are thriving after ten years. Of course they shed feathers like crazy and poop prodigiously. I would have never thought to have birds if she wasn’t around.

She also is a member of her speech and debate team in high school. This is an activity I wouldn’t have pursued in my wildest dreams. It would have terrified me and I would have avoided it like the plague. Most people don’t like the idea of getting up in front of people and performing a memorized speech, but she does it, is good at it and likes it. I have judged in some speech tournaments and I am amazed at what some of these kids can do in their creativity and acting skills. Participating in speech seems to give her self confidence and improves research and writing skills. I admire that she acquired such self confidence, since it is not an easy attribute to have.

Another world she inhabits is anime. I think it’s part of her creative side. The people that follow it are in their own world and are obsessed with it. I don’t understand it and I can’t explain it. In pursuing this interest, she sews costumes. I know nothing of using a sewing machine, so she learned it on her own. My mother hated sewing and so do I, so I don’t know where she picked up the interest and the aptitude for it. It must be a recessive gene. She goes to conventions with her friends and they dress up like characters in anime stories. I find it baffling. It’s another thing I wouldn’t have had contact with if she hadn’t been around. Still it is part of her life and she has a whole circle of weird people who enjoy it with her.

Being a teenager, my daughter had her "moods". She gets crabby for no apparent reason and sometimes tells me when I say something that "I DON"T CARE". Sometimes, she isn’t fun to be around and she takes me for granted, assuming I will always be around to help or do things for her. She thinks I am hopelessly out of date with technology. She wants desperately to get out of high school and go somewhere far away from Arizona. Teenagers like to distance themselves from their parents and she is no exception.

I am hoping her transition into adulthood isn’t too difficult, because it’s hard and I can’t do it for her. She seems fairly independent, and I have faith that she can do it. I think the whole college thing will be a piece of cake for her and maybe she will get a job someday, hopefully soon.

I am looking forward to being an empty nester with excitement and trepidation. Excitement because of what might be in store with me and her; and trepidation because I might worry about her and because I might not like living totally alone. I am sure I will miss her. Although I will never again experience a first love, like her, it’s also my chance to discover who I am and learn new things about the world in a new environment. I could even go to college and study new subjects, meet new people and learn exciting new ideas. You don’t have to be eighteen to do that.

Facebook Rant

2011-01-20T20:27:00.001-08:00

I love Facebook. Where else would you communicate with people you barely know, don’t know at all or haven’t seen in thirty years? I am finding out interesting stuff about these people. Sometimes you find out you have something in common. It’s like eavesdropping. How else would you know how inadequate your life is compared to everyone else by reading about how wonderful their life is? But certain things about Facebook really annoy me.

THE GAMES. I have no interest in playing games. I don’t like card games, board games, video games, nor computer games. I don’t answer game requests no matter how close you are to getting 10,000 points or if you lost your cow in Farmville. JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE. I waste enough of my time on Facebook as it is.

THE LIKES. I don’t mind "liking" a nonprofit or a local business that I really use, but seriously "liking" some corporate entity like stupid Sears or something? I am not doing free advertising for anyone.

"CUT AND PASTE AND REPOST IF YOU AGREE". I am not cutting and pasting and reposting anything even if I do agree. It’s too much work. And it’s stupid. Where does this CUT AND PASTE AND REPOST stuff come from anyway? It’s a little weird.

FRIEND REQUESTS from people that I have absolutely no connection with. I have to wonder about these. Do they really want to be friends or are they just fishing for my information?

Inadvertently getting STATUS UPDATES from people I never want to EVER see again like my ex-husband. Unfortunately he is a contact for people that I actually want contact from. How else would I have learned that he re-married. I immediately blocked that little gem, but the damage was done. For a while he was coming up as a friend suggestion before I learned to block it. Unbelievable.

The constant "improvements". Why the hell do I have to re-do my profile just because some Facebook geek decides that the format isn’t good enough?

Despite all this irritating attributes, I will still keep using it. I don’t really have anyone to talk to at home except my daughter who sometimes isn’t in the mood to hear my comments and tells me she "doesn’t care". I know some people assume that’s it’s a substitute for real interaction, but sometimes it’s all you have. It’s fun to make comments and have other people go off onto tangents. It’s fun to learn that the people you barely knew in high school have the same interests as you. It’s useful for setting up get- togethers, networking or for sharing knowledge. But I will still bitch about it. And ignore Farmville.

2010: BLECH! Or Maybe MEH.

2011-01-07T09:16:00.000-08:00

I can’t say that 2010 was a great year or a terrible year. It was kind of year where nothing major happened, good or bad. At least nothing really emotionally wrenching, like my divorce last year in 2009. The year was just a series of crappy little incidents. It was a re-building year for me, only I haven’t rebuilt much.

This was a year of large, expensive items breaking down. In January my dryer died. I hate it when appliances die. It’s like the universe is out of whack. Things are supposed to last forever. My car also had to have a starter and struts replaced. Who would have thought a nine year old car with 90,000 miles on it would wear out? The computer crashed twice and my kitchen faucet had to be replaced. My pool skimmer is not moving anymore, but I am ignoring that for now.

2010 was also the year I tried camping and racing. This was a mistake. I had an Xterra race in Show Low, which involves a swim, mountain bike, and run off road. Show Low is at 6,000 feet, so you would think that the weather would be cool. Instead, it was in the 90's during the day. Racing and camping do not mix well, especially if your camping neighbors decide that the camping experience includes drinking and talking loudly well into the night. Mountain biking is hard enough, especially since you went over and under logs, negotiate rocks, hoist the bike over a fence twice, all while trying to get enough oxygen at high altitude so that you don’t pass out. I was looking forward to going home after the race for a good night’s sleep, until I found out that I had no air conditioning.

The air conditioning dying in June was the worst malfunction of mechanical things.. Four nights and days of 90 degrees inside the house. I forgot to put a bag of chocolate chips in the refrigerator and they melted into a big lump. My daughter put up bolts of cloth on the windows to futilely try to block out the sun. I was exhausted, because at night, it was difficult trying to sleep in spite of the suffocating heat. Of course, you have to wait around in the hot house for someone to come and fix it.

To top if off the Tempe Town Lake dam burst and the races I had signed up for were canceled. At least I didn’t have to pay to have that fixed. I had been anticipating doing these races all year and my enthusiasm for racing and life in general went downstream like the contents of the Tempe Town Lake into the Salt River.

Then a rat decided to take residence right outside a bedroom window. I discovered this when it reached 114 degrees out. I guess his hidey hole was too hot, so he decided to take a nap right outside the window on the ledge. He laid down on the window sill like he owned it, and would peer at you unconcerned through the window. It was creepy seeing the rat face at night with the sharp, little rat teeth.

He was a roof rat, with an almost cute face and big ears, but the tail is monstrously long and he has powerful back legs for climbing up the walls so that he can chew through your electrical wires. Everyone said he was bad news and would re-produce prodigiously, so he had to go. I set a rat trap on the window sill and baited it with peanut butter and rat poison. He didn’t eat the rat poison, so I was stuck with dealing with a live rat. I had to let him die in an unpleasant, slow manner. I felt really guilty that I couldn’t kill him quickly.

Somehow, I muddled through all of this and I managed to retain my sanity. I guess I should be happy I have a roof over my head that is thankfully fairly new. I can deal with things breaking down, but I am still not used to doing it alone. Having a spouse around to handle things kind of insulated me from reality. I would rather not have to have things break down at all, but the universe doesn’t work that way. Everything goes to hell eventually and has to be replaced, sometimes at the worst possible time. At some point, I will have more confidence that I can handle mechanical problems by myself and life is certainly giving me enough chances to practice dealing with them.

So in 2011, I am going to be happy everyday that something doesn’t go wrong. Maybe, I can get to the point where I can just get something fixed without a lot of anxiety and dread. And if another rat shows up, I’ll dispatch him quickly by drowning him in the pool.

How Did I Get To Be This OLD?

2011-01-02T20:20:00.000-08:00

When I see older people who are hobbling around with a cane or in a wheelchair, I always swear that I will never get to that point. I would not like being unable to move around freely, in fact it would be like death to me. I wonder how they got in that condition. Was it disease, bad luck or that they just didn’t take care of themselves earlier in their life? Sometimes your health goes to hell despite all your best efforts. Sometimes you can limit the damage with good eating habits and exercise. You like to assume that you have some control over how you age so that you don’t end up looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering what the hell happened to me? It gives you a measure of sanity, even if it is an illusion.

Time snuck up on me when I was trying to ignore it. I am now fifty-six, which seems kind of old, but not real old. I assumed I would always be married, would never move again, would never get seriously ill and I would always be continent. The first two are wrong assumptions, but so far I am not sick nor wear diapers. My face and some body parts seem a little more saggy than they used to be.

I had a child late in life, but now she’s graduating high school in a semester, so babyhood is far behind me. I will be an empty nester soon. I have lived longer than my older sister and in about three years, I will have lived longer than my father. It kind of sucks to outlast your parents, which is natural and your sibling, which is not. I don’t have much other family, only have one aunt and uncle at opposite ends of the country. I envy people who still have their parents around.

I also envy the energy, optimism and prettiness of youth, but I wouldn’t want to go back there. I learned life lessons from painful experiences that I wouldn’t want to re-live. How to deal with an alcoholic, how to deal with a parent with Alzheimers, how to deal with a family member’s terminal cancer. These experiences that teaches you about yourself and others, but they are damned painful lessons. When you are young, you assume you and your family member will never die, nothing will ever go wrong, no one will betray you and nothing really bad will happen to you. Life has other ideas. With age, you learn how to deal with the bad stuff. You make peace with yourself, but you get a little sad and cynical.

I wouldn’t mind having a younger body. After I run a hard race or a triathlon, I am deeply exhausted and it takes me a long time to recover. Most people my age don’t bother to race hard or even to exercise, but I like getting painfully out of breath and making my muscles hurt. I feel like I am defying time. It’s kind of life affirming to move hard and fast, and I get a smug sense of satisfaction when I can run faster than someone in their twenties.

I can’t train as hard as a younger person. I probably am not as fast as I would have been even ten years ago, if I had been in the shape I am in now. I have to work harder just to be slower than someone younger than me, but I am still faster than I ever was in my life. Age doesn’t stop you from improving, if you work at it. It also doesn’t stop you from doing remarkable things. The recent broadcast of Ironman Hawaii had an eighty year old competitor who intended to keep at it until he could no longer do it, like say age 120. He wasn’t fast, but he was tough. I hope to be that physically tough when I am that age.

It takes more work to maintain the body when I am older. I need more medication, more yearly medical tests, more doctor visits. Colonoscopys are not fun. Neither are mamograms. I could never figure out why a round body part has to be squashed flat in order make a film of it. I can’t eat as much as when I was young, nor can I eat food like cheese without dire consequences. My digestive system starting going down hill in my thirties. My thyroid started going downhill in my forties. Who knows what this decade will bring. Besides menopause, that is, which is bad enough on its own. Who knew that the lack of hormones could make you lose sleep, make you mentally deficient and REALLY irritable? It’s like reverse adolescence, only I am going deteriorating, not growing up.

So I am hoping that my body will age slowly and my mind even slower. I don’t want to become rigid in my thinking and never take risks, anymore than I want to be in a wheel chair. Assuming that dementia doesn’t overtake me, I want to keep learning about the world and myself. I want to keep stepping into the uncomfortable areas of my mind. And I want to keep trying to outrun twenty year olds.

Does Pain Change Your Brain?

2010-12-24T17:40:00.000-08:00

Chronic stress can effect your brain. It affects the amygdala, which regulates fear and emotion. The cells actually grow larger. The opposite effect is in the hippocampus, which where the cells shrink. The hippocampus helps you remember where you were and what you were doing when something important happened. So with larger cells in the amygdala and smaller cells in the hippocampus, The result may be a generalized anxiety because you don’t have the hippocampus to help you connect it to where you were and what you were doing to make the fear specific. 1

But is pain is a catalyst for change? The human brain is adaptable. When a person is traumatized by an event in their life such as divorce, disease or death, it may move them to make a change in their life. In the face of overwhelming, paralyzing grief, the mind seeks to make something positive out of it in order to relieve the pain. Maybe it’s trying to correct the mismatch of brain cells.

I have found that I had to change the way I viewed the world in order to survive divorce. I was married for 32 years and I was complacent emotionally and financially. I assumed that my husband would be around forever and that he would never cheat or lie. I ignored the frequent trips, the credit card bills that mysteriously grew, and the growing distance between us. I wasn’t happy in my career, but I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t work on my friendships because I had a built in friend, or I thought I did. I had my own interests, but they never seemed to intersect with my husband’s interests.

When my husband dumped me, it was like the earth I was standing on crumbled. The brain cells were really mismatched. I was free-falling with no ground underneath me. I couldn’t eat, sleep or otherwise function. I gradually learned to function on my own, but I had to learn to think differently. Insidiously, through the years of marriage, I equated my spouse’s opinion that I was worthless into my opinion of myself. I couldn’t function thinking that I was worthless, so I had to discard that old notion and form a new opinion of myself.

In order to form a new opinion of myself, I had to do new things, talk or listen to new people and think different thoughts. It’s a long, fumbling process. I would get sucked into the blackness of despair and I would have to pull myself out again. I would feel great one moment, then a negative thought would creep into my mind and I would feel the heavy weight of depression that I would have to fight off again. I guess the brain cells don’t balance out very quickly.

Then there’s the ever present fear. Fear that I couldn’t make on my own, fear that I would will never be happy again, fear that my ex would give me grief, fear that I would never have another deep relationship. The fear can grind you down and make the simplest tasks seem like a big effort. I now have to do everything myself and I don’t always do it well. After a while I began to accept the fact that I just had to do the best I could, even if I sucked at it. I still have to fight my safe keeping side, that doesn’t want me to take any risks or try anything new.

In order to get through all the fear, depression and despair, I learned not to get through it alone. I took support from whomever and whatever I could, whether it was other people, a higher power or books. I now accept that some people lie and cheat and I try to avoid them. I had to toss the thoughts of my inadequacy out of my mind when they come sneaking in. When I thought about how my ex would have thought contemptuously about me, I told him to get out of my head. I have gradually made some peace with my life, even though I am not entirely happy with it. I try seek out opportunity to expand my world physically, mentally and spiritually because I am tired of having a narrow, closed life..
Through the process, my entire perspective has changed. The jolt out of complacency has changed my thought processes somehow. Ever a pessimist, I had to turn into an optimist to a certain extent, so that I wouldn’t lose my mind. Hope keeps you going, despair does not. Pain forced me to be a different person. I don’t know if my brain has different neural pathways now, but my thoughts had better behave themselves, or I will beat them into submission.
. 1. Stress Changes Your Brain, Karen Lurie, http://www.sciencentral.com/

Why I Hate Christmas

2010-12-13T20:02:00.000-08:00

I have a bad attitude about Christmas. I hate to shop for presents, I don't feel especially cheery and I decorate only with reluctance. It seems like an intolerable burden. Jingle Bells sounds like a fingernail on a chalk board. I want to run from the room when I hear it. I am not religious, so the spiritual aspect seems to be drowned in commericialism. Endless ads for jewelry and clothes and cars. Who the hell buys a car for Christmas?

It wasn't always this way for me. When I was a kid, it would seem like magic. Santa would land on the snowy roof of our house and come down the chimney and leave presents. Sometimes, I imagined that I could hear him in the frosty, cold night air, where the snowflakes would glisten in the moonlight. I grew up in the midwest, where the winter weather would actually be wintery.

But then adulthood sets in and Christmas loses its magic. You may not have enough money to buy presents. You rack your brain trying to figure out what your mother would want for a present, when she doesn't want anything from you. You feel enormous pressure to do a thousand things in a limited amount of time. You have cookies to bake, presents to buy and wrap, a tree to buy and decorate and cards to mail. On top of it all, you eat too much, don't exercise enough and the days are short. If you live in a crappy climate with daylight savings time, it gets dark at 4:30 and the sun doesn't shine for days.

The Norman Rockwell Christmas doesn't exist. I resent the illusion of happiness and perfection. Sometimes life gives you a wallop and it doesn't care if you were supposed to have the perfect holiday. My father got cancer one year. He lingered long enough to get through Christmas, but he was weak and getting weaker. He never got to wear the flannel shirt I got. He died three days after Christmas. It was sunny, snowy, cold day and the birds were singing. My relatives came, not to celebrate the holiday, but to attend his funeral. It was a shock to me. I knew he was seriously ill and likely to die, but the actual death was an emotional blow. He was a college professor and only 60 and looking forward to retirement. His death seemed wrong somehow.

Then, the joyous holiday family gatherings may not exist. Your family life may not be perfect. You may have a disfunctional family that hates each other's guts. You may have a husband who left you for someone else, making you wonder where your wonderful life went to. Everyone else seems to be happy and having fun but you. You are in a black hole of depression looking out at the world and wondering if the weight of sadness is ever going to go away.

Christmas isn't all bad. If you have a young child, it's like the magic is back again. It's fun to see their wonder at all the sparkley stuff. You watch them try to decorate the tree, but only hang ornaments two feet off the ground. Of course, you have to get your tired body up in the middle of the night to create the illusion of Santa delivering presents. Once they don't believe in Santa, however, the holiday seems more ordinary.

Yet somehow a vestige of the cheer remains. It's fun looking at other people's lights when you don't have to do the work putting them up or pay the electric bill. You get cards from people you haven't contacted all year. You get to go to parties and eat food that other people made. Sometimes you get a present of two. Your memories through the years give you a connection to long gone people that you celebrated the holiday with. When I was a child, I had some aunts visit at Christmas that were a time warp from the forties. I thought that they were eccentric, but now I would give anything to be able to see them again.

So this year I decided that for once, I am going to try not to get depressed about Christmas. I am not quite sure how I will do this, but so far I am doing O.K. You can control your response to a situation to a certain extent. I am not buying into the illusion of perfection anymore and I have accepted that no one is going to make me happy but me. I am alone except for my daughter, but that is my life now. I may or may not put lights up outside or bake cookies. I will not put up inflatable Christmas figures that collapse in the daytime and look like dead soldiers a battlefield.. I will not feel bad that my experience of Christmas is not living up to the hype.

Christmas will not defeat me.

Fiesta Bowl Half Marathon

2010-12-06T17:55:00.000-08:00

This half marathon was a test to see if could break a 2003 half marathon time of 2:19. That half marathon was my first. Since then subsequent half marathons I slogged through either because they were at the end of a 56 mile bike ride hurtfest in a half ironman or because I didn't have the mental or physical conditioning to go any faster. That was before I became friends with my old friend Pain.

I was pretty sure I could bet the 2:19 time, but I wasn't sure by how much. The plan was to run at a level three, which was I'm uncomfortable, but I can stand it. The question was how long I can stand it and if I can keep my pace at that level, which was about 9:30 minutes per mile for me. I had done it in training, but not for thirteen miles. It was new territory for me. I had never gone that fast for that long before.

My long runs in training had sucked for the most part. Long runs are supposed to be run slower, but I couldn't even make the minimum heart rate I was supposed to be at, which was 137. A two hour run in Phoenix in August just plain sucks. At this time of the year, I would have to get up at dawn, which was fivish, just to make it bearable. It was still 85-90 degrees out. I just don't run that well at dawn. My body just doesn't want to move. I am tired and hot. On one run, I saw bats flying around, which confirmed to me that I was up way too early.

As the fall wore on, the weather got better, but not the runs. Out of six two hour runs, only two were decent. One time I was sore from a race and it hurt to even move. Another time I was sick and had no stamina. Finally by November, I knew I had to push in order to get to the level that I wanted to be. I finally got up to the heart rate level I was supposed to be at, but the pace was only eleven minute miles for two hours.

So this race was a great unknown. The conditions were great. The course is flat and it was cool, but not cold. My plan was to run at level three, which was about a 146-153 heart rate for me.

First mile was 9:45. That was not great, but acceptable. My heart rate monitor read 207. Damn! It was obviously not accurate. I tried putting spit on the chest reader to fix it, but it didn't work very well.

Miles two-five were a 9:30 minute per mile pace. At this point, I could still do math in my head. There was mile markers for every mile, so I could figure out what pace I was going at. I don't have one of those fancy GPS watches, so I have to go low tech.

By the 10k mark, I was down to 9:34 minutes per mile. This was getting tedious. But it was going well and I was actually doing this. I was excited and bored. My body felt O.K. at this point. I was eating gels which taste like flavored phlegm to keep my energy up. I only use them when I am running, because it is hard to eat anything else.

By mile seven, my ability to multiple 9:30 minutes by seven was wavering. I was passing my the mile markers and thinking I was still losing time. It was more confusing because the time on the clocks was race time and not the actual time that I went over the start line. This must be the black hole of half marathons, like mile four of a 10k. You are far enough to feel crappy, but it isn't close enough to the finish that you feel encouraged.

By mile ten, I was at 1:35. That was easy to multiply. It was awesome because I had never run ten miles that fast. I braced myself mentally, because now it was time to speed up and meet my friend Pain. Of course my heart rate monitor was reading 88. I had to go on how bad I felt to gauge my effort. At least I was closer to the end.

It really hurt to speed up, but I was actually able to. If you pace a race right, you should be able to speed up at the end, but usually it takes a lot of focus and pain tolerance. I just wanted to be done at this point. The path went under a road, then up and did it again. These were the only real "hills" in the course, but I hated it. These last 3.1 miles were really seemed to go on forever. I passed people just for the distraction. It's fun to pick off people in a race.

My multiplication skills had failed at this point, so I just kept running hard. It wasn't 5k hard which is "I wish I was dead" heart rate zone, but my heart rate was in the 160's-170's, which is my "I just want to stop" heart rate zone.

I finally hit the finish line at 2:04:09. The last 3.1 miles I averaged 9:12 minute miles. I felt like I had been hit by a bus and couldn't breathe, but otherwise I felt wonderful. It wasn't even fast enough to place in my age group, but I didn't really care. I had done what I wasn't sure I would be able to do and it was an exhilarating high. I felt happy, something I haven't felt in a while. My life may be falling down a black hole, but for the moment I could forget about fear and doubt and depression and just bask in the moment. It's a high that probably a lot of racers seek, but you don't always get it with every race or even with more than a few races over your lifetime.

The high will probably be over in a few days and I will be sore as hell tomorrow, but right now I don't care. Everything went right for a change. I broke a barrier, and maybe someday I can do even better. I'll have bad training days and races that go miserably wrong. But it's still fun to chase the high.

Ironman Arizona as a Volunteer

2010-11-27T18:19:00.000-08:00

As a volunteer, I get to immerse myself in the spectacle and spirit of the race while foregoing most of the physical discomfort. Last year I raced and suffered hypothermia from the swim and a hurt shoulder from the bike crash. I was uncomfortable and somewhat miserable the whole race. It was a small price to pay for the sheer joy of crossing the finish line. This year any discomfort a racer would experience was multiplied by hail, wind and cold weather. I was thankful that I wasn't trying to brave such conditions as an athlete. The volunteer have to brave the same conditions, but at least we could take a break or leave when we wanted to.

My first shift was at the Phoenix Tri Club run aid station. I got there about three o'clock in the afternoon, in time to see Chrissie Wellington, the eventual women's winner dash by. I appointed myself the cookie distributor. At this hour, the faster people were out on the course and didn't seem interested in cookies. The scantily clad "police women" were at the head of the line of volunteers, and the volunteer captain, who looked like a dead ringer for one of our notorious local law enforcement hacks was shaking his night stick and admonishing hapless runners. The Club had built a "town" and had various police props. Hopefully, it was a welcome distraction for people struggling to get through the run.

I found out that I got rather cold just standing around. I was looking forward to my shift at the finish line, where I could at least move around. It was fairly decent as long as the sun was out, but as it set, I got colder. It made me feel even colder to watch the hot runners pouring water on themselves. I wished I was running just to warm up. Then it rained. It was annoying. I watched the parade of runners. As the evening wore on, there was less running and more walking. The runners took on a dazed look. I talked to people I knew in the race and gave one a hug. Some people I knew were going to walk most of the marathon. I have walked most of a half marathon in a nightmare half ironman and it isn't fun.

I was next to the people handing out gatoraid. A runner would take it and then throw it on the ground and we would sometimes get splashed by it. We would have to pick up the empty cups. In addition, occasionally someone would toss a used sponge that they had been stuffed down their top. These were disgusting to pick up. I found out later that they were being recycled by the volunteers, which is even more disgusting. Imagine squeezing water out of a used sponge on your head. It was a germ-a-phobe's nightmare. When you are racing many hours, personal hygiene isn't really a priority. Unclean hands picking up grapes or oranges in a common tray. I hope these racers had good immune systems. I wasn't going to eat this stuff, that's for sure.

Despite the discomfort, the hard work and the uncleanliness, it was fun. We had music going and it felt like a party. An ironman has an indescribable atmosphere. It's joy and pain and exhaustion and celebration all rolled into one. My feet hurt and my legs ached, but I was glad to be out there handing out cookies.

I left to walk to the finish line. Away from the aid station, the sidewalk in bathed artificial orange light and it seems bleak. I pass runners going the other way and I try to stay out of their way. I make my way across Mill Avenue bridge and it seems a lot warmer than by the marina. The buildings across the water reflect light in the water. It's quiet on the bridge, but I soon approach the chaos and noise of the finish line.

The finish line is a great place to observe the reaction of a racer. As finish line catchers, we line up and take turns holding a racer steady, so that they can get their timing chip off, get their medal and t-shirt, have their picture taken and be guided to the exit. As they cross the finish line, the announcer says "you are an ironman!". Sometimes the racers need medical help, sometimes they are perfectly lucid. Most are kind of dazed and distracted and want to see their family or friends. Some are overcome with emotion and can't move. Most can't find the exit. This year they had the bonus of Chrissie Wellington greeting them with a hug until midnight. I was impressed that a pro would come out after racing all day just to greet age groupers. I watched people's look of surprise when they realize she was there. It was priceless.

I had a twinge of envy when I saw happy people crossing the finish line, but only a small twinge. I had no desire to do an ironman this year and certainly didn't have the motivation to gut out the bad weather this year. I shuddered when I looked at the cold lake, remembering my miserable swim last year. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to endure the discomfort of an ironman and I didn't have it this year.

However, I did remember what it was like to cross the finish line. I remember what it was like to suddenly hit the brightly lit final chute and high five the spectators. I remember what it felt like to finally achieve something that I had been working for for years to achieve. This year, it was an indescribable joy and exhaustion that I was vicariously picking up from these racers. It permeates the air, from the racers, to the announcer, to the spectators to the volunteers. You don't have to have even ever raced the event to pick it up. You don't have to race fast to pick it up. The later the finish, the louder the crowd and the more enthusiastic the announcer.

I don't know if I will ever race Ironman Arizona again, but I will definitely volunteer again. Free happiness. What could be better?

Pre-Ironman Arizona

2010-11-20T12:33:00.000-08:00

I am anticipating having fun volunteering for Ironman Arizona. I don't know why I can't stay away. I have raced or volunteered every year it has been in existence, except one. I regretted skipping that one year even. I did a local bike ride instead and it wasn't nearly as fun. I have to admit it-I'm am Ironman Arizona junkie.

The first year I volunteered, I worked gear bags. The organizers make you put all the stuff you need for the bike in one bag and the run stuff in another bag. You grab it when you go through to the change tents. It was enough to drive you crazy trying to keep thousand of bags in order and try to find them quickly when people need them. But it was fun to help people go through transition and some people actually bothered to thank you. An added bonus was checking out the nice derrieres of the male pros that ran through.

Also fun was the women's change tent. It was exciting to help the eventual winner of the women's division. You saw all kinds of reactions from people depending upon the time of day. Some people were dazed from the swim or from fighting the strong winds on the bike course. You would dump their gear bags out and it took them a while to decide what they needed. Some people just breezed through. Some people needed medical attention. People who didn't make the bike cut-off would just sit down and cry. You could try to help them, but you really couldn't take away the pain of not finishing after all the emotional and financial investment in training for the race.

One of the most fun volunteer positions is finish line catcher. When a racer comes staggering over the line, two people support them by holding their arms. They give up medical gloves for this so that we don't have to actually touch these people. People are usually rather gross and sweaty after racing 140.6 miles. We guild them to get finisher shirt, medals and pictures and then hand them off to their friends or relatives. Some people are alert and don't need much help. Some people scream when they cross the line, some people cry, some are quiet, some are talkative and most are joyous. Some people are incoherent. Some people are so emotional that they don't move and we have to urge them along. Sometimes they take it out on the volunteers and hug us. It's fun to watch and rather moving. The people who are collapsing, I usually let someone else help them to the medical tent, because I can't hold them up.

As the night goes on, the flow of racers gets slower. The finishing chute goes by bleachers filled with people cheering. The crowd bangs on the bleachers and people high five the racer heading to the finish line. The announcer says "you are an ironman! as the racer goes to the finish line. Late in the evening, the announcer gets off his podium and works up the crowd. The music is loud, the crowd is noisy and it's a total party.

So this year, I am working a run aid station and the finish line again. I can't wait.

Empty bike racks awaiting bikes.

People enjoying the brisk 61 degree water in the pre-swim in Tempe

. Town Lake.

Swim stairs and Mill Avenue bridge looking east.

Amica Tri Race Report

2010-11-14T13:58:00.000-08:00

This was another start in the dark race at Lake Pleasant again. You get up in what seem the middle of the night, drive in the dark and set up in the dark. A flashlight was quite useful. This race was set up different than the Prospector race, however. For one thing you had to hike up a hill to use the restroom. Would it have hurt to put one port a potty near the transition area?

Once it got lighter, I could see the lake was choppy. ARGHH! There must be something about this end of the lake that sucks in all the wind. The triathlons I have done in other parts of the lake were never this choppy. I knew this swim was going to be a lot of work. I was regretting my decision to do the olympic, rather than the sprint race. I was recovering from being sick and I really didn't feel enthusiastic or energized for racing.

I got in the water and it was like a tree exploded in the water. A ring of wood bits lapped the dock and the debris even went out to where we had to tread water at the start. I had to sweep it away with my arm to get beyond it. I felt calm, but I didn't think I was going to enjoy this swim. The water was mercifully warm.

We started the swim. I had to spit wood bits out my mouth and finally got beyond the wood debris. The water wasn't as bad as my October swim. I breathed and swallowed water from the slapping waves, but I wasn't getting thrown around as violently. The swim seemed to take forever. I think the course was mis-measured, as it often is in olympic triathlons and that it was long. It took me 51 minutes and I was really glad to get out of the water because that swim was NOT enjoyable. I was tired. At least I finished before the sprint race started. I went up the ramp to transition and of course everyone was gone. It's a depressing feeling to know your swim was so slow that everyone finished before you.

I stumbled through transition and rode my bike out unto the empty bike course. The first part was a series of short steep hills. I was beginning to wonder if I was lost. I was on the turn around when the sprint pros rode past me. It's always a sight to see someone rides a bike well. I always wonder what it would be like to be able to ride fast. It wasn't happening for me on this bike course.

I ride to the main road and there were more riders on that part of the course. I was waiting to feel enthusiastic about bike course and the surge of energy and joy just wasn't there. I think I left it in the swim. If you have a tough swim it affects the rest of the race. The climbs and descents were longer than the first part of the course. I was doing alright but I wasn't inspired to ride REALLY hard. It was a lot of effort just to climb the hills. There weren't a lot of people to pass to so I could put in a surge of speed to get by them.

I finish the relatively short 2o mile ride intending to fly through transition. Instead I had a clusterf**k of massive proportion. I run down to the end of the rack and search frantically for my stuff. After about five minutes of this consternation, I figure out that I'm searching the wrong rack and finally get to the right rack. I couldn't believe that I had made this rookie mistake. Maybe all the blood had gone from my brain to my legs. I felt really stupid. One of my longest T2's ever. I was going to stop at the restroom, but I decided to gut it out instead to make up some time.

The run I decided I would fight for. I was aiming to try and finish it in 62 minutes, which wasn't great, but it would be faster than I have done in an olympic tri run all year. The initial part goes downhill for about two miles, so you can gain speed on that part. I had decent miles descending. I saw the pained look on people's faces going uphill. I would be soon joining their pain. Unlike the bike course, the run course had more people on it to pass. Some of them were walking, some limping.

I got to the turnaround and started the ascent at about 29 minutes. I had to push harder to keep the minute per mile time down and I was doing decent for a while. It was getting warm and I had abdominal cramps. My heart rate was fairly high. I finally got to the top of the hill and started descending. I was trying to pick up speed. I was hoping it was downhill to the finish line and I could make up some time lost climbing the hill. One cop said "it's all downhill from here". He was cruelly mistaken. I got to about mile 5.5 when my heart rate was climbing and my legs tired and there was a enormous hill. It wasn't really all the big, but any hill would have been huge at this point. I was finally reduced to walking in discouragement. This course was beating me up.

Finally, it was downhill after negotiating a short stretch of unwelcome rocky trail. Final run time 63:50, which was better than the previous Lake Pleasant triathlon. This course was actually tougher because it had more hills and it was one of the toughest 10k's I have done. I had a sense of satisfaction from gutting out a tough run. The whole triathlon took about 3:34 with the T2 fumbling. I was wasted with the energy it took. It felt like a 3.5 hour sprint race without the speed.

I ate the cold pizza. I wasn't terribly hungry because the race was so strenuous. Last year, they had pancakes, which was awesome. I missed those pancakes. I was the only one in my age group, but they didn't call me or any of the women in the 50-54 age group either, for an award. An age group award is meaningless anyway, if you are the only one, but it was a little annoying.
The race organizers just didn't seem to be trying as hard this year. It was an O.K. race, but I miss FLAT. I wanted to P.R.(personal record) in a half iron and it didn't happen this year because the Tempe Town Lake burst and there are very few half irons as "easy" as Soma. Lake Pleasant just doesn't cut it as a race venue for going your fastest. It's all you can do to survive the humbling hills and the choppy lake and it's slow going. The sensible stay away and you are left competing with really fast people, so you end up near the bottom of the standings. You feel like you are inadequate, when really it takes a lot of strength and stamina just to finish the race.

So I just decided to be happy about the run. The triathlon season is over for me. Next year awaits.

Last Triathlon of the Season

2010-11-06T16:01:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my last triathlon of the season. It will mark the 10th year I having been doing triathlons. My first one was the Desert Grande in Casa Grande in November of 2000, which was a pool sprint. I had no training plan, other than the one I made up, and the only bike I had was a mountain bike. I was totally clueless. I had no one to support me or to cheer me on. I felt kind of tired and loopy during the run. The feeling of accomplishment was a high, though, and after this race I was never the same.

My race tomorrow is at Lake Pleasant again, which is a tough venue. It is the same transition area as the Prospector race I just did, but the course is more spread out and it isn't endless loops. The run and the bike are still very hilly. I don't expect great times and I am adopting the same attitude I had at the Prospector race, which is go hard, have fun and don't worry about the crappy results.

I always have a feeling of dread and anticipation before a race. Will things go wrong? Will I race poorly? Will this be the best race ever? Until I actually start the race, my nerves wear on me and I can't stand it. There seems to be a thousand things to do and things to remember to bring. It doesn't help that I have to get up at god awful hour in the pitch dark when I am half asleep and drive somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There are always the long porta potty lines when you urgently need to go or worse yet no porta potty near by when I need to go NOW. You have to drag a mound of equipment from your car to transition. Sometimes you freeze waiting around for your wave to start. Yet somehow it is worth it when you finally get to start.

So I am hoping that this race is a fitting mark to the end of the season and my ten years of doing these crazy races. I am hoping that there will be food left by the time I finish. I am hoping I won't be dead last. I am hoping I won't get a flat tire. (Praise be to the tire gods). I will be sad and relieved that I am going to put my wetsuit away until next year in a lonely, dark corner of the closet. With it, I can also put away the unpredictable anxiety of swimming in open water that sometimes makes me panic. Until next year.

Prospector Triathlon Race Report

2010-10-10T15:05:00.000-07:00

I know if a race has Lake Pleasant as a venue, the race is going to be difficult. The landscape around the lake is hills, with some being rather steep. You can't get down to the lake without going down a slope. The lake level varies and the shore can be rather rocky.

The race had an Olympic or sprint distance option and I foolishly elected the Olympic(1500k swim, 24.8 mile bike, 10k run). Most people I knew who were doing the race were doing the sprint version, which was half the distance of the Olympic. They were long gone before I got done.

Since the lake is far from my house, I had to get there in the dark. It wasn't too cold, but it was breezy. Breezy is not good for a swim nor the bike. Breezy is bad. I could tell that the wind was whipping up the lake a little, but the transition was on a bluff overlooking the lake. The race was delayed because they were setting up the swim buoys. Originally, the Olympic distance swim was supposed to be one lap, but they changed it to two. I soon found out why.

I got in the water and it was warm. I had a wetsuit on anyway because I get cold easier and because I am a crappy swimmer and it helps me float. Anticipating the start is the worst part. You don't always know how the swim is going to go and sometimes to goes BAD. We started off. I started slow because I don't want to get all out of breath and panicky. Sometimes I do anyway. I started swimming and the water started getting choppy. REALLY choppy. By the time I got to the first buoy the chop was at least one foot waves. I was getting slapped in the face with water. This was not good. I stopped and treaded water and considered bailing on the race. It wasn't really an important race anyway. There weren't any kayaker near by, so I collected myself and kept going. Swimmers were going by me and making the water worse. I pondered the absurdity of the lake conditions. It was almost humorous. I was swimming merely for survival. Good swim technique was for pools.

I finished the first lap and thought "I have to do this again?!". I thought that this was going to end up being a really long swim. At least the water was a little less choppy by the boat ramp. I went around again. I had to resort to sighting less, keeping my head down and breathing out forcefully so that I didn't inhale water. I was very happy to get done with the swim. There were actually people getting out of the water with me. Usually I end up swimming alone because everyone else has already finished.

I thought that my time on the swim would be bad, but it was 35:43, a time that I never thought I would swim any Olympic distance swim in. My thought would be that the course was short. I was not complaining, though.

Going from the lake to transition involved going up a long climb on a rocky slope. There was carpet set down on the rocks, but it still was very bumpy and uneven. I decided to walk up it.

I fumbled through transition and hit the bike course. It was four laps of unrelenting rolling hills. I am glad I got my bike tuned up. My shifters were getting a work out. My pace was anaerobic. I would go eight miles per hour up the hills and descend at thirty. By the second lap I had ceased caring that my race time would really suck and just went with the terrain. I got the hang of using the downhill speed to help maximize the speed up the following ascent of the next hill. It took a lot of focus.

I finally rolled into transition to start the run. I had the requisite potty break because I can't pee in my wetsuit and lost two minutes. The run went down a 4-6 % grade hill and then went up it. Then you got to do it again. I tried to take advantage of the downhill to bring up my run speed, but it was hard to get my legs to turn over. There wasn't much life left in them. I hit the turn around and then started back up the hill. Some people were walking, but I didn't have to resort to that YET. I was kind of enjoying the suffering. I hit the turn around and went down the hill again. The downhill didn't seem all that helpful at this point. At least there were people behind me and I wasn't last. Usually I end up being by myself near the end of the run and wondering if I had vanished into some alternate universe where no one else exists.

I started the final climb and I was ready for this race to be over with. I had no illusions of having a great run time, but merely trying to limit the damage. I finally saw the dumpsters that were just before the turn at the top of the hill. People were still slogging down the hill, obviously in discomfort, but not giving up. I tried to pick up my pace, but there wasn't much life left in my legs.

I finally hit the finish line about 3:34 after I started the race. I wasn't thrilled about the time, but I refused to be depressed about it. I was happy just to get done with the race, since it was so difficult. I usually don't have a problem finishing a race, but doing it well, at least what I consider well, is another matter. Doing a race on difficult terrain takes away your control to a certain extent because you can't go as fast as you would on easy flat terrain. It seems purer racing in that way because you are in the moment, racing for racing's sake and not worrying about mere time. In the process, you have to redefine what is "doing well" even if it really sucks by other people's standards and you end up on the bottom of the race standings. At least, that is what I try to tell myself. The whole point of racing is testing yourself to see if you can pull something out of yourself that you didn't know you were capable of. Achieving a fast race time is icing on the cake and you don't always get the icing. At least I don't.

So I went to pack up my stuff in the transition area, where most of the bikes already gone, taken by their owners who had long gone home. At least there was still food left, which was being swarmed by numerous bees. I was sweaty, crusted in salt, had bike grease on my legs and I was feeling really groddy. But I still felt good. I went back home where the terrain was flat to collapse.

The Blahs

2010-10-07T19:37:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's overtraining, maybe it's depression, but I have lost my enthusiasm for training and racing triathlons. I have been doing triathlons for ten years and I am long past the stage where I want to do every race in town. I have done most every venue in town at least twice, with some like Tempe Town Lake 15 times. Having the Tempe Town Lake dam burst and let all the water out didn't help, because my "A" race, Soma when with it. I have gotten really picky about what race I do.

If a race involves a nonwetsuit swim, I won’t fly to do it unless it’s Ironman Hawaii. My swimming is so slow and I don't need the humiliation.

If a race involves a nonwetsuit swim, I won’t do anything longer than a sprint because the swim is takes as long as an Olympic anyway.

If a race involves hot weather, I won’t do anything longer than a sprint and the run will suck because heat exhaustion tends to slow you down.

If a race involves flying, I won’t do it unless it’s a national or world level race or an ironman or a really great half ironman. Airlines seem to think that bikes are people, so they have to charge as much or more for flying a bike as a person would be charged for flying first class.

If a race involves driving more than two hours, it had better be a primo race.
Three hours drive is too much for a so so race. I don't like driving and having a crappy race to top off a crappy drive.

If a race is a half iron or longer, it had better be well organized and supported because I am going to be out there for a LONG time.

If a race is an Xterra, it has to be a sprint race. I don’t have the energy to do long mountain bike rides in training because they are much harder than riding a road bike.

If a race is an Olympic or longer, it had better have food by the time I get done. Again, I am out there a long time.

If a race involves a pool for the swim, I am not interested. The fear of drowning makes the swim more interesting.

If a race involves swimming during the run, I’m in unless it’s cold outside.

If a race consistently has water in the swim below 62 degrees, I am not doing it. I nearly drowned doing Ironman Arizona when it was 62 degree water. Some people(mainly from cold climates) don't think that 62 degree water is cold, but I get cold easily and I swim slowly.

If a race has boring scenery, it had better be flat.

If a race involves southern California and an ocean, I’m there.

If a race involves altitude, it can’t be longer than an Olympic, has to be a decent race and my time will invariably suck. Lack of oxygen does not make for a good race.

If a race involves a cold water swim, I will invariably end up in the med tent with hypothermia.

If I train for months for a race, someone invariably will do much better than me on minimum training, usually a beginner.

Having said all that, I can hopefully summon some enthusiasm for my upcoming fourth Lake Pleasant race. There's is always the hope that a race will bring out the best in you, that you will fly through the race on a high and that you will feel a sense of acomplishment when you get done.

Saguaro Lake 2000m Open Water Swim

2010-10-02T19:35:00.000-07:00

There are several types of people that do these competitive open water swims. You may be a natural swimmer who is really good and thinks nothing of swimming vast distances without a wetsuit. You may be a newbie who couldn't swim straight to save your life and who panics at the thought of swimming more than 500 yards. Or you may be the type who grudgingly does the swims for training purposes, so that you can get through the swim to get to the good parts of a triathlon-the bike and the run. I am in the latter category. I don't mind leisurely open water swimming if I am in a wetsuit and have some assurance I am not going to drown. Swimming in a race or open water event is challenging at best for me and I have no illusions of doing well, since I typically am at the bottom as far as time goes.

I sometimes have illusions that this time I am going to do really well, but the illusions usually disappears when I actually get in the water and start swimming. It's one thing to do sprints in the pool, where you can hang off the wall if you get tired, another thing in the open water where there really is no where to rest unless you hang off a kayak. Once you start doing that, your race is done. You may finish the swim, but the time will really suck.

The swim had wetsuit and nonwetsuit divisions for 1000m, 2000m and 4000m. Some people swam all three. Some people swam 1000m and 4000m. I had a hard enough time just doing the 2000m with a wetsuit. It was 1000m loops which not only was boring, but psychologically difficult. At least when you are doing one loop, you can think about just swimming from buoy to buoy and not think that "I have to swim this loop AGAIN?" UGH! I am going to lose my mind!

So my division started and as usual, I watched everyone in front disappear. The water wasn't too bad, but the swimming didn't feel easy. My goggles were fogging up and it was hard to see. I had almost made the first turn around when lots a people passed me. I couldn't figure out where they all came from. Then I realized-THEY HAD LAPPED ME. Wonderful. All I could do was keep on moving. I turned into the sun and couldn't see any buoys. I had to sight off the kayakers because I didn't really know where to swim to. Lovely. I pondered why people actually like doing this. I really wasn't enjoying myself.

Finally I hit the first lap. Of course people were getting out because they had finished. It would be so tempting to quit, but I swam on. There were a lot less people now.

This swimming site has the misfortune to be near enough to a marina that any passing boat creates waves. The water was getting really choppy. It's not like the ocean where the waves are rhythmical. It slaps you around and is unpredictable. I have learned that if you stop to rest in such conditions and put your head up, you end up breathing water. The best thing to do is to keep your head down and keep going. It is really tiring because you have to stroke harder to fight the waves. I kept imaging someone on a waverunner gleefully dashing by just to see me suffer.

I turned into the sun again and blindly headed for the end. My goal was to finish before the 4000m wetsuit people started, but I didn't quite make it. I didn't envy them having to swim in this choppy water, but some of them will probably finish sooner than I am finishing my 2000m swim. I was getting slapped around pretty good by then. I finished before the 4000m nonwetsuit people, when was pretty decent for me.

It is sometimes pretty difficult to stand up after a long swim after being horizontal. You had to negotiate slimy rocks to get to the steps to get up the bank. I felt really unsteady and a little dizzy and really glad to be done with this swim.

It's always difficult for me mentally to do open water swims and finishing one is always a small triumph. I basically suck at swimming and I don't like being away from shore and not being able to stand up and rest. Getting through the discomfort and physical exertion make me feel like I have power over my environment. Excelling in the activity, I guess, is left up to other people.

I Did a Green Run 10k

2010-09-19T14:50:00.000-07:00

I wasn't really expecting much out of this race. Last year I did it in 58" and something. Most of it is on a flat dirt trail, which doesn't make for a lot a running speed. It's natural desert north of a canal. The 10k is a two loop trail, so you have to run by the finish line on your second lap.

I did a twenty minute warm up and felt really unenergetic. The temperature wasn't great for running-high seventies, but I had run in worse. It was going to be a lot of mental work to get psyched for running hard.

Both the 5k and the 10k started at the same time and there were of lot of kids in the race. I think it's great that kids are racing, but they tend to start out fast and then fade. I certainly didn't want them in my way. Apparently, the fastest runners didn't either, because the director made an announcement for the kids to step back so that they didn't get run over. Yeah, right, you five minute per milers just wanted them out of the way.

We started off. It was kind of crowded. I didn't have the adrenalin rush that I usually have and my heart rate was fairly slow. The first mile went by at 9:15, which wasn't too bad. I had to scoot by a few people and try not to get bogged down in the sand on the trail. The second mile went through a grove of trees, which kept the temperature down and I finished that one at the 18:12 mark. An improvement. Maybe this race won't suck as bad as I thought.

The halfway point went by the finish line and I think the race clock read 27:06. I felt really uncomfortable, but the pace was decent. I didn't have the stabbing pain I usually get in my right side chest. My heart rate wasn't as high as it usually is. It was starting to get warm and I was pouring water on myself at the aid stations. The fourth mile in a 10k is usually a dark hole of despair. You are having to maintain or pick up your pace and it's far enough from the end that you know you still have a while to suffer. I wasn't feeling the mental let down, but I had to focus on keeping steady. The fourth mile went by in about 36:12.

The fifth mile was less shady and the temperature was starting to rise. I picked off people to pass just to keep my mind off of my discomfort. I played jackrabbit with a kid before I finally dropped him. It's always satisfying to pass kids. By now my discomfort had increased and I just wanted the race to be done. I had increased my heart rate and tried to increase my pace for final push. Fifth mile was 45:09.

Finally the sixth mile! Only it was marked five. I knew it was wrong because I was back near the finish line, but it made my oxygen deprived brain think for a moment that I had another mile to go. This race seemed endless.

Final time was 56:09, which was the same exact time I had on a previous 10k elsewhere earlier this year. Freaky. I was happy about the time, considering that dirt slows you down. 10ks are a little more forgiving than 5ks. You have more time to make up for mistakes in pacing. You can't run as hard as in a 5k, so the pain is less intense even though it lasts longer. The older I get, the harder I have to work at to be "fast" and it doesn't always work out that way. This race I was happy just to be where I was.

I Pulled the Trigger

2010-09-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

I signed up for Ironman Canada on August 30, the day after the race. This race will bring challenges that Ironman Arizona doesn't have. It's out of the country, a five hour drive from Vancouver or Tacoma, the weather is unpredictable and the bike leg is much tougher. I am going alone, so I will have no support. I have to get my bike there, which is a pain in the butt. But the scenery is supposed to be beautiful and the crowd support is excellent. I will probably be fighting the cut-offs again and possibly hypothermia if it rains. It's expensive and getting a hotel room was immensely difficult since they all seem to have been booked up the day after the race.

But somehow it makes me happy. I have a race that I am excited about and a goal to work towards. The fear of not finishing will probably make me work harder in training and I might find strengths that I didn't know I had. That's the siren lure of Ironman, when you go beyond what you ever thought possible, against difficult odds, through sheer mental power. It takes away a lot, but it gives back more.

Getting Lost In Boston

2010-08-30T20:40:00.000-07:00

Boston is a really cool city, but it is the bad driving capital of the United States at least. There is probably some third world cities that are much more terrible to drive in. At least there aren't cattle and goats to dodge while driving and I can read the few street signs that there are. I had the good fortune to visit Boston on vacation on a trip up to Vermont. If I hadn't been driving further on, I probably would not have even rented a car.

Bostonians give the excuse that the roads were originally cow paths. This excuse doesn't cut it. They could straighten the damn streets out if they wanted to. And why do lanes suddenly disappear on the freeway without any warning? Why does a street name change three times in the space of a mile? And why do they not label their streets. You can go down a street for a mile through numerous intersections and not know what street you on because there are no signs.

The worst thing is the rotaries. You have a split second to pick which street to go down, and if you aren't sure, most likely you pick the wrong one and wander for hours trying to get back to where you were supposed to go. I attempted to go from my hotel to my cousins house, which was a ten minute drive of five miles and it took me half an hour, with a lot of directing from my cousin because I couldn't figure out where I was or what direction I needed to go.

This is like my life right now. I am not sure where I am going and I keep wandering down dead end streets and going the wrong way. I may have a map, but it doesn't help, because I don't know where I am. I have choices about what street to take, but I am not sure which one I should choose to get where I want to go. I rely on people to help me go down the right path, but I still have to do the work and it's hard and stressful.

Psychologists call this the "process". When your life falls apart like with a divorce or a death of a family member, you have to regroup emotionally and get through the pain to a new life. You have a bewildering amount of decisions to make and it's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. You struggle through the deepest despair and occasionally experience great joy. Pain forces you wade through the quagmire of anger, self-loathing and indecision to get to a new place. Sometimes you drive badly and in the wrong direction in a really difficult city to travel in.

Even though I in blundered through Boston, I somehow got to where I was supposed to be, with the right directions. I made it to my cousin's house and I made it home. I am hoping that I will find the right direction in my life eventually and not get lost in the cowpaths.

And may I never drive in Boston ever again.

Mountain Man Race Report

2010-08-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

I have done this race before, so I knew it would hurt. There's an Olympic distance and a half iron for the truly insane. The swim is a 1.5k in Lake Mary, which looks kind of like a mud hole, but the water is fairly warm(70's) for the 7,000 foot altitude. The 24.6 mile bike is an out and back and has a nasty hill before the turn around. The run has an even nastier hill that climbs for 1.5 miles on the 10k run. It makes you hate your very existence.

It had rained heavily the night before, so I had to drive through fog. This is not something I do very often in the desert and it was un-nerving. You have to get to the race site early because the only parking is on the side of the road and it has to be off the pavement. The side of the road being soft and muddy makes you wonder if you are going to need a tow truck to get your sedan out of the mud. I actually got a spot near transition, which I blundered into trying to see in the heavy fog.

There was fog on the lake, which made me wonder if I would have to swim through the stuff. Swimming at altitude is hard enough without dealing with that. Luckily it burned off, though it was still misty. The water was mercifully warm and smooth.

I jumped into the lake and when the wave started, I immediately went into oxygen deprivation. I have swum in high altitude races before and it isn't easy. You can breath at a certain rate in swimming and it isn't enough oxygen. If you settle in to a relaxed pace, you can get enough air to ease the crushing weight on your chest, but it isn't easy and it involves being uncomfortable. If you are not relaxed, it is a nightmare of hyperventilating, thrashing around and feeling panicky. I wasn't moving that much, but I couldn't get enough air. I had to resort to hanging off the kayaks of the people who are supposed to keep you from drowning. Usually if you have to resort to this, you know your swim is going to really suck. I would swim a little, then get tired and start panting. It was ugly. As the second wave of men came through, I caught a draft off of them and it was a little easier. I started swimming towards the distant buoy, which I couldn't see. It was frustrating because I didn't really know where the hell I was supposed to go. It would have been nice to have more than three buoys for a 15k swim. Without the buoys, you feel like you aren't making any progress. At least when you are swimming by them, you know that you are actually going in the right direction.

After an eternity, I finally reached to second buoy. I knew that that was most of the swim distance. I started swimming faster and felt O.K., because I really wanted to be done with the swim. Staggering out of the water, I realized I really need to pee.

I blundered through transition. After being horizontal for so long, my brain was foggy and it was hard to get my bike gear on. Of course, hardly any bike were left. I wanted to pee, but the porta-potties were outside of transition, inconveniently located behind the exit. I hoped for maybe something on the bike course.

The bike course starts out slightly downhill, then starts climbing, then REALLY climbs. You get to the Morman Lake turnoff and think you are almost done, but you have three more miles. The big hill I usually do at eight miles an hour going up and thirty seven miles an hour going down. I see all the people going the other direction that swam faster than I, but I do manage to pass a few people on mountain bikes. The scenery is wooded lakes and mountains with wild flowers on the side of the road. It takes my mind off my painful bladder. There is no where to pee unless I go off into the woods. I try not to think about it.

I reach the turn around in 53 minutes, which is slower than last year. This leg of the race is probably going to suck as well. There seemed to be a head wind, which didn't help. There are actually people behind me, but not many. At least I made up a little time from the swim.

Coming back is much easier and takes about 40 minutes. I could have used a few more of those 37 mile per hour hills. I actually manage a flying dismount, which involves taking off your shoes while you are riding and swinging your leg over the bike. I run into transition wondering where the hell I am going to pee.

I run out and the run is slightly downhill. I slog through a mile and finally see a porta-potty before the big hill. THANK GOD! It's hard running with a full bladder. I waste two minutes(yes, I timed it) and finally I feel lighter. I start the painful process of running up the hill.

As I go up the hill, I see a guy bent over. It turns out that he is urinating without bothering to hide it. I was envious. If this was one of those fancy ironman races, he would be penalized, but nobody seems to care because they are in their own world of pain. I thought it was funny. It was probably the highlight of the run.

I finally make it to the top and start running down the hill. It is good at first because it's not running UP the hill, but by the bottom of the hill it has become downright annoying. The last few miles are fairly flat, but my legs hurt and I had a bad side stitch by this time. I was really irritable and depressed. If anybody had gotten in my way, I would have probably yelled at them. I tried to speed up the last mile, but my legs were toast. I could speed up my cadence, but I had no power. I was used up. I was relieved to hit the finish line that seemed to never come.

This race put me in a cranky mood. It was twenty three minutes slower than last year. I was hoping to do as well or better than last year and it didn't work out. It was painful and hard. The suckage factor was pretty high. You always hope that you will do well, but reality doesn't always work that way. Things go wrong. Your energy fails. Your training isn't enough to overcome the obstacles. Next time I do a really hard race I am going to try to stay positive. I am also going to figure out where the hell I can pee.

Fourth of July Four Miler Race Report or Freaking Fried on the Fourth

2010-07-11T13:06:00.000-07:00

This race would be classified under "it seemed like a good idea at the time." I wanted to keep up my running speed during the summer and short races are a good way to do that. I didn't do all that badly, but I underestimated the aftereffects. Normally, running at any level even early in the morning in the summer in Phoenix is challenging. In June, the temperature at dawn can be in the low seventies. Later in the summer, it can range from high eighties to low nineties, which is why the area in such a hell hole in summer and Phoenicians leave town in droves to escape the heat. The day of the race, the low at dawn was 82 degrees. I ran a 5k two years ago when it was 89, so I thought it wouldn't bother me. Much.

I got to the race site and did a twenty minute warm up run. I was hot already. I wasn't feeling all that great. My stomach was a little upset and it didn't like the fact that I was running. Maybe the gazpacho I ate yesterday wasn't friends with my digestive system. The race is at the Rio Vista park in Peoria, and the run follows the New River and Skunk Creek flood channels. "Creek" and "River" are only part time designations. Most of the time, these water systems are mere trickles, if that. The trail system is mostly flat with some up and down to connect with the streets. It wasn't too bad looking, with enough trees to make it look like a park, but not enough to provide much shade.

Since the pathway was fairly narrow at the start, they started us in waves, with the five minute/mile people being first. I couldn't believe the amount of five and six milers, but it turned out that there were quite a few fast people there. I started out with the nine milers. As I got going, I could feel the heat building up. It was like hitting a wall. My first mile time was 8:50, which was what I wanted to run. Strangely, my heart rate wasn't raising much. Usually, my 5k heart rate averages about 165 and the adrenaline of racing makes it rise quickly. I wasn't sure I could keep up this pace.

The second mile was about a 17:20. There were ramps to go up and down. I tried to keep my speed up going up and take advantage of the down ramps by going faster. I tried to pass the kids because they deserved to get dropped. I was fairly cranky by this point. My stomach was holding up, but I didn't feel great. Probably no personal records this race. I passed a boy about 10 years old, who passed me, who I passed again. I'm not sure if I beat him.

Mile three was about 27 minutes, so I had lost some time. Only one more mile to go. It felt like one mile too many. I poured water on myself to try to cool off. Usually, the last mile, I see my quicker run cadence paying off. I pass people with slower foot strikes who don't seem to be moving all that much faster. I try to pick off people to pass just to get my mind off my discomfort.

I push the last mile because I wanted to go faster and I know the discomfort will be ending soon. It is really hot by now, with no breeze and running feel awful. I see the bridge to cross to get to the finish line, but it seems to take forever to get there. I finally get my heart rate into the low 170's and try to think positive thoughts. The last mile was an 8:40 pace. Finally, I finish in 35:40, which at least is a sub nine minute mile pace. I was glad that the race was over. I was glad I had enough fitness to be able to push the last mile and run it faster than the previous three miles. I placed third in my age group. I have found that it becomes easier to be competitive in my age group once I hit 56. I don't know why. Do women give up running when they reach my age? Do they come to their senses and not race?

The race had a nice holiday vib. Some people had dressed up in flag fashion and one lady had decorated her walker in sparkly garlands and flags, which I thought was cute. The race organizers had grilled hot dogs and hamburger, which took me a little while to be able to stomach since it was still technically breakfast time and my stomach was still giving me problems. But it was "free" food and of course I had to eat it. One needs protein to recover from a race, after all.

The bad part of the race was the recovery. Racing in heat is much harder to recover from. The recovery from Xterra race I did in June took me almost two weeks to feel like I wasn't totally exhausted. This race, I was sore and tired until the following Friday. I was also burned out mentally and depressed. I like pushing my limits physically, but this was verging on not being worth it. I have to function in the real world after all, and I was dragging myself around with no energy or motivation to do anything. No energy to work, no energy to do the many annoying chores that I have to do, no energy to face the blast furnace that is July in Phoenix.

Next time I decide to run in the heat, shoot me. Or at least make a sacrifice to appease the gods of "Too Hot to Run Even Remotely Hard Without Feeling Like Crap for Days".

More Things I Learned on the Road to Divorce(or from It).

2010-06-29T20:19:00.000-07:00

It's been over a year since I was officially divorced on June 5, 2009. To commemorate the wonderful event, I looked back on what I journaled about last year. What I noticed:

1. The pain persists, but it loses intensity. You mourn what you think you lost, but you accept that it's gone. The expectations that you had for an easy, happy life are gone and you have to create your own happiness which is a lot of work. Without the delusion, you have to work on the reality of your relationships.

2. The anger persists, but it fades away. You don't excuse the bad behavior of your former spouse, but you accept that he or she is a douche and you are better off without that person. Some people are on their own path to douchiness and won't change. Anger takes energy and living in itself is exhausting.

3. You gradually gain some optimism that your life someday will be good, even if there is no sign that that is going to happen. You have to have faith in the process of healing, otherwise you don't have the courage to move on. I don't know if I will ever be happy, but I am working on it.

4. You gradually get back some self-esteem. It takes a lot of work, support from others and therapy, but you end up feeling better than when you were married. Whatever your spouse thought of you doesn't matter anymore. You expand your world, try new things and learn to trust yourself.

5. Doing everything around the house by yourself sucks, but you end up accepting your incompetence. My garbage disposal wasn't working until I read the manual to find out that their was a reset button on the bottom. Problem fixed. The pool pump hasn't been back washed in two years. Maybe I will pay someone to do that.

6. There is still the vast divide among you and people that seem to be happily married. I still marvel about the people in their own happy world with me on the outside looking in. It doesn't bother me as much as it used to because I know things aren't always what they seem to be.

7. The negative feelings persist, but you acquire tools to fight them. You step back from your emotions and ask yourself why you are feeling that way. The emotions may not go away, but at least you are looking at the cause and maybe thinking in a new, more positive way.

8. Healing takes time. Everyone heals at their own rate. I feel like I haven't come along fast enough, but then I had a bad day last week, which reminded me how paralyzing depression is. Sometimes depression is an unwelcome guest that pays you an unexpected visit. You have to come out of it in order to gather your energy to face the difficult things that you need to do.

9. The world is still scary, but you gradually gain a little more confidence in yourself to deal with it. Until last year I had never traveled much by myself outside of the state, but I gritted my teeth and got out there. It wasn't fun, but I did it. The world seems to be going to hell and the economy still sucks. I don't know if I will be able to take care of myself. I have to suck it up and try.

10. All the stuff you neglected while you were married come back to haunt you. Lack of friends, lack of investment in your career, lack of investment in yourself have to be dealt with. You have to go out in the world to re-build these things and it takes time and energy.

11. All the childhood issues that you have come out again-fear of abandonment, neediness, fear, rejection all rear their ugly heads. Your inner child is unhappy and needs to be dealt with. You have to grow up and it's painful.

At least I am in a better place than I was last year. That give me hope that the demons will go away, the inner child will shut up, and the pool pump will fix itself.

Deuces Wild Xterra Race Report

2010-06-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes races are difficult to the point that no matter how much you train, all you can do is get through the race. Xterra races usually fall into this category. The swim may be like any other triathlon, but the bike and the run require strength and technical skill. Riding and running up a steep hill are HARD. A lot of times these races are at locations with altitude, which adds another challenge. You are exerting yourself physically, but without enough oxygen.

Deuces Wild Triathlon is held in Show Low, Arizona with an altitude of about 6000 feet. It's actually an Olympic and half iron on Saturday, with the Xterra on Sunday. Some people are insane enough to race on Saturday AND Sunday. It's held at Fool Hollow Lake.

You would think that the weather at 6000 feet in June would be cool. You would be wrong. It was hellaciously hot in the afternoon. To make matters worse, I decided to try camping. I was hoping to camp at Fool Hollow Lake so that I wouldn't have to drive around a lot, but the campground filled up early. It is the nicest campground in the area. Instead I ended up camping at Show Low Lake. It turned out to be party central for a group of people. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep Friday night. The partiers fell asleep, then the birds started singing at 3:45. Normally, I like hearing birds, but I just wish they wouldn't start so damn early in the morning.

Saturday, I got up and had a hard time convincing myself to run. Altitude makes me feel crappy the first day. I felt better when I was running, but it was really beginning to get warm. I was planning on doing the bike pre-ride, but I was doubtful about doing the whole thing in the heat. I decided to jump in the Show Low Lake to cool off. It felt great and I was even shivering a little when I got out.

It turned out that the pre-ride was too hot. I lasted about 30 minutes, then turned around with some other people when I started getting heat stress. It turned out that the worst of the ride was what I missed. I ended up getting a lot of surprises on race day.

Race day night was even worse that Friday. Late partiers, dog barking, car alarm and what not contributed to another lousy night of sleeping. Hopefully, I disturbed the partiers when I got up at 4:30 a.m., but I doubt it. Loud partiers deserve a special place in hell.

Race day, the weather started cool, but rapidly got warmer. I was a little warm in my wetsuit. The water was fairly warm. I had on a full wetsuit anyway, since I thought the water would be too cool for a sleeveless.

Swimming in altitude requires a strategy on not starting out too hard. If you start too hard, then it's difficult to make up the oxygen deficiency because you can't pant when you swim, so you end up hyperventilating to try and make up the deficit. I started out slow and didn't go much faster. I was able to go at a steady rate without having to stop and pant. Others in the back of the pack with me weren't so fortunate from the amount of moaning and groaning I heard. I have been there. It isn't much fun panicking in the middle of the lake. I though the water was a little nasty. It was cloudy with algae and it had a boat fuel smell. I finished in 28 minutes.

I started out the bike leg by falling in the first mile. The trail goes under a highway underpass, which is a lot of loose dirt and rocks. Then you head into the woods. Riding in the woods is a new experience for me. The dirt and rocks seemed the same as the desert, but the trees cast shadows on the trail making it hard to see all the hazards. There was the usual rocks and dirt to try and manuever through.

The first obstacle is a four foot fence that you have to lift your bike over and then climb over. The trail gradually ascends to a water tower. You turn right and try to make a descent of a steep rutted drop. I went down this cautiously because there were some deep trenches to trip you up. You actually go on a paved road for a while, then into the dirt. The climb goes up gradually through burned out forest, then turns into the trail from hell. Climbing up a steep hill on a mountain bike is hard enough. Add some rocks and it is doublly difficult. They also threw in some giant logs to crawl over or under. I ran out of energy and oxygen before I could make it to the top. I ended up walking, which I hate. I think these races would be a lot more fun if the bike leg was shorter-by about seven miles.

You get to the top and then have the problem of getting down. The descent had areas that scared the hell out of me. Part of the difficulty of mountain biking is the fear factor. You see a steep descent and you have to decide if it's doeable or if you are risking bodily injury by attempting it. It's like skiing, where you get to the top of a steep descent and then freak out. I erred on the side of caution, maybe too much. But when you are tired, your skills levels go down. By this time I wanted to be in easier terrain and my knee was hurting. It seemed like the trail was going forever. Having not ridden the trail, I didn't know what was ahead.

I got to the only aid station, which was less than halfway through. I was getting worried because I had already ridden 80 minutes. They told me the way back was much easier and it was. The trail lets out on a forest road, which was downhill and a breeze to ride. Then you go back the same way you went out with a final push up to the water tower. I made the hill yesterday, but I was out of gas at that point and walked. There is a steep descent and I chickened out on that as well. It was probably rideable, but I was out of ride. You go through the woods and then have to climb over the fence again to get back to transition.

By the time I started the run, I was exhausted. I had hoped to actually race the run, but it wasn't to be. The first mile features a hill called the Eliminator. It lived up to it's name. The first mile took me fifteen minutes. I hoping it would get better. I was pouring water over myself and stuffing ice down my bra because it was really hot at this point. Faster people have no idea how bad it gets on the run in the heat when you are slow. I made up some time after the Eliminator and was going fairly well, then tripped. Wet shirt covered with dirt. Wonderful. How Xterra.

I got to wash the dirt off later on the trail. The scenery was pretty when you ran over the dam. There were cliffs to the left. You ran down to the water and then had to wade into the water for 25 feet. It was shallow, so I just waded. The water felt really good. You come to a second water crossing which is chest high. I ended up swimming the last 15 feet. Swimming in running shoes is awkward. They fill up with water and weigh down your legs. I got out the water and sloshed to the finish line. Total time was about 3:50. I was well down in the standings, but second in my age group because there were only two of us. We get credit for showing up.

I am glad I did this race for experience, but I am not sure if I will do it again. The races are well organized, but they are tough. Maybe too tough. Even though I did my best, I felt like the trail was conquering me rather than I conquering it. It's nice to have a challenge to see what you can accomplish even if you aren't quite up to doing it really well. If I always stayed in my comfort zone, I would be bored. Maybe I will try the road Olympic. When it isn't hotter than hell. And NO camping.

Tempe International Race Report

2010-05-19T19:20:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since I had done an "easy" triathlon race that I had forgotten how it was to race without numerous things going wrong. No hypothermia, heat exhaustion, numb feet, forgetting where your bike is racked in transition, no horrible swim, no bike mechanical problems. Even on a flat course, a sprint race isn't necessarily "easy" if you are pushing yourself hard. You can't catch your breath because you are working at a high intensity level. However, some sprint races are harder than others. Last year I did a sprint race at Lake Pleasant. There were hills, more hills and yet more hills. It wasn't a race where you went at a steady speed, because you had to fight the rolling hills. I wasn't really in sprint mode(hard and fast) because I was training for Ironman Arizona, which is more long and moderate speed training.

The swim was mercefully wetsuit legal and short. It was a 400 meter course. I was prepared to swim without a wetsuit, but I wasn't prepared to like it. I have had many miserable panic-striken swim in Tempe Town Lake. Without a wetsuit, I use a lot of energy trying to stay calm and I get tired. I hate the feeling of being tired and out in the middle of the water with no place to rest. The lake had these tall cement walls that make you feel like you are in a dank tunnel. Usually the races have you swiming straight into the sun, which is right over the horizon, so you can't see a damn thing except hapless people trying to swim straight. This particular race was west of a bridge, so there wasn't that problem.

Since the swim was so short, I decided to go at a moderate steady pace. It worked well. The wetsuit made me feel secure and the swim went fairly quickly. I was working hard, but I could still get enough air. I was done in 11:50, which isn't great for the rest of the world, but good for me. I actually get past some bodies. I struggled up the stairs. The volunteers in the race don't help you, unlike every other race I do in this lake. I ran into transition and actually got my wetsuit off fairly quickly. Usually, I am so cold that it takes forever. I get on my bike and take off.

The weather was still delightfully cool. Last year, I did the olympic course and it was very hot by the time I got on the course. I passed what look liked younger people who were in previous waves. A sprint tends to attract newbies, so at least I am faster than some of them. I kept up a moderately hard pace, but I didn't try to go too hard. This race seemed to be going entirely too smooth. I kept wondering what was going to go wrong. I caught myself in time not to veer into an orange cone. I did that last year and crashed and injured my shoulder. The bike course went up a few short hills, so it seemed a little slower than the races I have done where you just circled around the lake for a million times. The average speed was about 16.4 m.ph., which was kind of slow. I have been training on the mountain bike more and I think it has slowed me down a little. A small price to pay for variety.

I managed a flying dismount without incident and ran into transition. I actually knew where my stuff was, though it took me a second. I got into my running gear and took off.

I wanted to run hard and I did. The challenge of running after a swim and a bike is not slowing down. You get really tired sometimes, but I still had energy. You legs feel weird and it takes a while to get them going. I managed a 9:15 minute mile the first mile and a 8:57 the second mile. The last part of the 5k goes up a hill and some stairs so that you can go back over the bridge. I tried to pick off people to keep going. My chest felt like it had a crushing weight on it. The weather was still thankfully cool. Finally I hit the finish line in 29:12.

It was nice to actually do a race that FLOWED. Some races are such a struggle that it's all you can do to finish them. Everything will go wrong and you have to cope with it and move on. Sometimes you get lucky and everything works. All you are doing is fighting yourself. And having fun.

What Should I Do With the Rest of My Life?

2010-05-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was dumped by my now ex-husband and my world was turned up-side down, I have been re-assessing everything in my life. My possessions, my house, my finances, my emotional state and especially my career. I am an attorney, but my first career was in commercial art. In the 70's and 80's, that meant pasting type on a board to make an label, ad or brochure ready for printing. Since my original college degree was in fine arts, it seemed a logical progression to get a job in. But since I didn't have a degree in graphic design, most of the available work was the scut kind, which was the paste-up. It was REALLY boring. I wanted to do something more creative, but this was the work I could get. It wasn't very intellectually stimulating or creative. I took some graphic design classes, but it really wasn't enough to get a good portfolio. I free-lanced some, which was better than being in a dead-end job, but it wasn't a lot of money.

When my then husband decided to go to law school, changing careers from an industrial chemist, it seemed like a good idea for me as well. It should be easier to get a job in than commercial art I thought. The fact that I was introverted and didn't like speaking in front of people didn't faze me. I also didn't like dressing up at the time. I did, however, life to read, write and research. Law was interesting, but it was very competitive and rigorous. First year law classes were large and upon occasion the professor would call on you with some question that you couldn't answer about a case you didn't remember reading. It was brutal at times especially if the professor was sadistic. They taught with the Socratic method which meant you damn well better analyze various interpretation of the particular law and fact pattern.

Law school also had classes in interviewing clients, but the classes didn't prepare you for the real world. Clients sometimes lie to you and they omit facts. Sometimes they desperately want your services, but they don't want to pay you. They want your advice, but they don't aways value it. All this you have to learn on your own.

When I graduated, I learned that my assumption that it was easier to get a job in law than commercial art was wrong. The big firms that pay well want students that rank very high in their class. For that "good" pay, they expected you to work 80 hours a week and in general give up your life to the firm. The smaller firms also wanted higher ranking students. I was about average, so it didn't help much.

I went out on my own, but the work was haphazard. I had to learn legal procedures on my own. I didn't have a lot of confidence and I felt like I was playing a role that I wasn't suited for. I felt like people expected me to know everything and I didn't. I avoided going to court like the plague because I didn't know the procedures and it scared the hell out of me. Cook County courts were difficult to deal with sometimes.

When we moved to Arizona, I had to learn procedures all over again. I still tried to avoid going to court, but sometimes I got sucked into it. I stuck mostly to simpler stuff like drafting documents and filing bankruptcy petitions. The work tends to be mostly routine with some ringers thrown in once in a while to make things interesting and sometimes stressful. I like helping people, but sometimes I don't like dealing with unhappy people that I can't do anything for.

I still get the feeling I am meant to do something else. Figuring out what that is is the tough part. I like research and writing and I also like to be visually creative. I like to be outdoors and I love nature. I don't like doing the same thing all the time and I get bored easily. I am not really entrepreneurial, but I don't like being a slave to a firm. I seem to like things that don't have an easy way to make a living like fine arts, history, gardening and design. I did a career interest test and they came up with librarian, writer, human resource manager. The testing showed that I tended to be contemplative and that I had a low energy level. That much is true at least.

I am as confused as ever and I really need to figure my life out. I have been thrown out on my own and it's up to me to make decisions about my life. I feel lost and scared. I have to hope that I will move forward and away from the feeling of helplessness that I have. Small steps will eventually get you to achieve a huge goal. I don't believe that you can do anything that you want, but I do believe that if you want something badly enough, you can go farther than you thought you could.

Run for the Cheetah 5k Race Report

2010-04-27T21:28:00.000-07:00

This race was my last chance try to run as hard as I can before it gets too hot to run without getting heatstroke race. I hadn't done any road 5k's since last year because I frankly didn't feel like it. 5k's are a lot of effort for me and they are really painful. I did a trail run 5k in January, but running a trail is quite different from running on the road. Your leg muscles are trying to negotiate over uneven terrain and you can't put as much effort into speed and leg turnover.

By the time the race started, it was getting warm already. I like running when it is a little chilly out because I really get hot when I run. It always amazes me when people run in long sweats when it is in the 60's outside and I am in shorts and a sleeveless shirt and sweating profusely. I knew when I was warming up with short speed intervals that I was going to be in pain. My legs felt a little wooden and running faster made my acid reflux worse. The joys of running when you are older.

The run started and almost right away there was a hill to climb. The rest of the run was fairly flat, but when you are trying to get used to the pain of not having enough oxygen, it is hard. I ran the first mile in 8:50. I thought "no PR(personal record) for me today. I wasn't about to give up. The last 5k PR I got, I was chasing an eight year old because I was damned if she was going to beat me. I had no such luck today. I had to motivate myself. I picked up the pace. The run was along the canal, so you could run on pavement or the dirt path and I stuck to the pavement because I knew dirt would slow me down. I only chose dirt when the cement path curved because I knew I had to save every second I could.

The turn around was half way through. I reached it in 13:35, so I had made up a little time. I had the familiar right side chest pain from lack of oxygen and my heart rate was close to 169, so I knew I was running about as fast as I could go. It was pretty warm by now. I was propelling myself mostly on mental effort now. My legs were tired. This race seemed like it was going on forever.

I hit mile 2 about 17:30, so I had made up some time. Not enough to PR, but enough to get a decent time. By this time I really wanted to be done. 5k's are so short time wise, but they are incredibly painful. Pain is the price of speed. Most of my training speed work is at lower intensities, with only occasional forays into this kind of torture.

The last part of the race goes down the hill to the finish line. My last mile was at a 8:39 pace. I finished in 27:02.

I am not sure why I am addicted to doing this to myself. Running hard hurts a lot, but it is satisfying to push through the pain to see how fast you can go. One barrier goes down and you are curious to see if you can go through another one. So much of life is out of your control, but in running, at least you can control yourself mentally and physically. I didn't go through the 5k barrier in this race, but it felt like I came up to it. The fun is in the trying. The result is a bonus.

Loneliness is a State of Mind

2010-04-18T19:44:00.000-07:00

After being married for 32 years, I have had a hard time getting used to being alone again. I live with my teenage daughter, but it's not the same as having another adult around. It's been almost two years since I was essentially living without my ex. I have only been divorced since last June, but my ex was gone most of the summer in 2008 before he decided to tell me he didn't want to be married anymore. The shock of being alone is wearing off, but it still feels somewhat sad and strange.

My bed is empty at night, I don't have anyone to travel with, I have to do all the housework, yard work and general chores myself. It is strange not to have anyone but my ex to put down as "emergency contact". I don't really have anyone to call if I am in trouble. I take care of the car myself. I try to take care of the pool myself. There seems to be an endless amount of little chores to do when no one helps you.

I feel like I am on the precipice of a cliff. Anxiety stalks me and I just try to get through the day. I have always had this lurking insecurity, but without anyone to hang onto, it is full-blown. I try to deal with it and be optimistic, but it's a lot of work. Despair tries to creep in. I am in a uncomfortable place, and it seems like I am going to stay there for a while.

I have a career, but it really isn't working for me. I have to figure out what I want to do and what my purpose is and I feel like I am stuck in a quandary. There are almost limitless possibilities, but I don't know what they are yet. I feel lost.

Being alone does have some advantages. I don't have to deal with someone else's emotional issues other than my daughters. I am not kept awake at night by some one's snoring or reading in bed late at night. I would give anything to have someone to cuddle with, but I am not ready to deal with a relationship yet. I don't have someone to put me down, ignore me to be with someone else and to lie to me. Until I am sure I wouldn't let someone treat me badly just to not be alone, I won't date anyone.

Some religions theorize that you are not alone, but part of a spirit that is in everyone. There is not death, no past, no future, just the now and being. Some religions theorize that you are never alone if you believe in their god. I am not sure what I believe. If I am doing some activity that I get lost in, I don't feel lonely. I don't even think about it. I just enjoy being in the present, in just living.

If I am doing something unpleasant and anxiety provoking like paying bills, then I feel more alone. If I am reminded of what I have lost, like when I see apparently happy couples, then I feel more isolated and weird. I forget that apparent happiness isn't always so, that just because you are with someone doesn't mean you are happy or not alone. I thought I would never be unmarried, but everyone leaves your life eventually in some way.

It all comes down to your response to your situation. You can control your response, but not what other people do. I can choose not to feel lonely and to be happy, but it's a lot of work. The pain of a lost relationship lingers a long time and thoughts creep into your head that you don't want. Pain can be a incentive to change for the better, but change is really uncomfortable. Pain is carving new pathways in my brain. I will never be the same, but maybe that's a good thing.

Splash & Dash Race Report

2010-04-05T16:17:00.000-07:00

I signed up for this race because for some stupid reason, I wanted to swim in open water and try out my new wetsuit. The race is a 1000 meter swim in Tempe Town Lake and a 3k(1.86 mile) run. Usually I do these races when the water is warmer. Tempe Town Lake is at 62 degrees. Water from the Salt River is still flowing over the dam from the snow melt up north. Consequently there is a current in the "Lake".

I figured that 62 degrees would be no big deal. I swam 2.4 miles in that water temperature last fall. I got hypothermia and I nearly couldn't finish the swim, but what is 1000 meters? A piece of cake.

As it turned out, the swim wasn't that bad, but it wasn't enjoyable. I was recovering from a cold and my ribs still hurt from a fall three weeks ago. The cold water made it hard to breath and I felt like I had a band around my chest. It took me a few minutes to get my head in the water. I started in the back because my swimming is slow, but I still had to navigate around people back-stroking and having panic attacks. I had to stop and catch my breath a lot, but I didn't feel panicky. I was berating myself for starting so slow. One of these days I will feel like I am actually racing in open water, rather than just surviving.

I rounded the first buoy and I turned east. Swimming east, the sun is in your eyes and you can't see the buoys. I followed the other bodies hoping that they were swimming straight, then I relied on sighting a distant building. At this point, I was swimming against the current, although I kept telling myself that I was making forward progress. The middle buoy WAS getting closer. The water was also choppy. Maybe all the swimmers ahead of me stirring up the water. You had to watch it if you stopped to rest. Breathing hard and swallowing water is not a pleasant combination.

My mental state was not the best. I kept telling myself how much I hate swimming, how much I suck at swimming, how much I hate swimming in Tempe Town Lake, how much I hate swimming in cold water. I wondered how the hell I swam 2.4 miles in this cold of water. At least I wasn't at the state of mind where I didn't think I could make it and where was the damn kayak to rescue me anyway. Being in this crappy algae infested water was manageable even though I was kind of tired.

Finally, I hit the last buoy. It seemed much easier swimming downstream when you knew the unpleasantness is almost over. Usually, I perk up when I know I am almost done. (Except for Ironman Arizona where I WAS done before I was done. I got done in 31 minutes. This below average for most swimmers, but about normal for me.

I got on my feet and found out that they were numb. It hurt to run to transition, and I had to fumble to get my wetsuit off and my shoes on. The new wetsuit came off a lot easier than my old wetsuit. The breeze felt chilly on my wet arms.

I started running and my numb feet hurt. My brain was telling my legs to move, but my feet felt kind of out of sync. I wanted to run hard and I was trying to, but my heart rate wasn't going up much. Usually when I do the swim runs, the water is warm enough that when I get to the run, my legs magically go really fast, as if the swimming complements the running. Not so much today.

I hit the turn-around and pushed the pace more. My legs seemed to move faster even though my feet still hurt. I finished in about 16:34, which was about a 8:54 minute per mile pace. It's hardly enough time it even warm up. It certainly didn't warm my feet up much. By this time, almost everyone else had finished. The race is basically a training event anyway, so it didn't really matter. This race gets anyone from beginners to pros. It saves me the hassle of driving 45 minutes to go out to the outlying lakes, paying $6 and wondering how far I am REALLY swimming. The down side is that I get to look at the ugly concrete walls, relive past miserable swims in this lake and wonder how the hell I can be so slow. Twenty five swims in this lake, including four ironman swims and two half irons and counting. Maybe some day I will learn to like it and stop being so negative. Chances are I will keep swimming in it as long as there are races.

Mesquite Canyon Trail Run Race Report

2010-03-24T10:33:00.000-07:00

I think I have gotten into trail running because I got tired of grinding endless miles on the pavement for ironman training last year. The scenery is way better than road running. It's also way tougher and harder on your body.

I found that out when I tripped over a tree root, checking out the trail for the Mesquite Canyon Trail run. The run wasn't as bad as the elevation map shows:

However, I found out that (a) you can run as fast and as hard as you can and you will never be as fast as you would on pavement; and (b) you have to work harder for less speed. Not only that, you have to pay attention to where you are putting your feet so that you don't end up sprawled on the ground with a bloody knee or worse.

The first time I checked out this trail, I was blithely unaware of the danger those little rocks on the trail could inflict. I ran a seemingly easy 2 1/2 miles and turned around and tripped on a little pebble in the trail. I got up with a bloody knee. I recovered and ran down a wash that had a lot of soft dirt that had washed down from a rain storm. Sitting in the dirt, waiting to snarl me was an evil root. I caught my foot in it and slammed down hard on my chest. I had the breath knocked out of me and felt rather battered at this point. I finished the run. It turned out that I had bruised my ribs, which meant that everything I did that involved moving including running, coughing, lifting and generally existing really hurt. The pain didn't really abate until the morning of the race.

I decided to run the race hard, but to be relatively cautious, because I really didn't want to fall. Racing this trail seemed a lot harder than training on it. It seemed the faster you go, the harder it was to avoid the rocks. I got a fairly good pace going, but a lot of people were passing me. I got up to my racing heart rate, which usually makes the right side of my chest hurt. My ribs hurt on the left side, so I had bilateral pain. Fun. I stumbled a few times, but I stayed upright. I had to shorten my gait and pick up my knees. It felt like I was dancing on the rocks.

The turn around passed an aid station. Volunteers checked out your number when to came through to keep track of the bodies. I guess they didn't want to leave anybody out in the desert. The trail goes steeply up for a short while, then you come back down.

Coming back, I spotted the evil tree root that I had tripped over the week before. It looked like they had put some dirt over it. By this time my legs were really getting tired and heavy. The last mile and half, there seemed to be only one person in front of me. There weren't any mile markers, so I couldn't tell how much I sucked time-wise, but I was doing the best I could. I stumbled some more, but I stayed upright.

I hit the finish line in 51:56 for the five miles. I wasn't thrilled about the time, but I was about mid-pack and 3/5 in my age group. Trail running isn't about setting personal records anyway. It's about you against yourself and the terrain. It almost seems more like pure running. Instead of spacing out and running as fast as you can, you test yourself as you struggle against the rocks and the dirt and the hills. And when you are getting weak, you can look at the scenery to distract yourself and know that it will hopefully always be there.

Desert Classic Duathlon Race Report

2010-03-02T10:18:00.000-08:00

The Sonoran desert is green. There is a reason for that. It occasionally gets rain. Sometimes it gets a LOT of rain.

The Desert Classic Duathlon is a competitive, fairly difficult race. It attracts some really talented pros. The difficulty of the race is increased when you are cold and wet and the trails have turned to mush from the rain.

I incorrectly assumed that the rain would stop and that I would warm up on the runs. I was sadly mistaken. The first run is on a relatively easy trail that goes uphill, then downhill. Last year I managed about nine minutes miles for the 3.5 mile trail. I was in the third wave of runners.

I had a hard time getting up to speed. The first two miles were about 10 minute miles if the sign was correct. The trail had loose wet gravel, but wasn't too muddy. I tried to speed up. The wave of male runners behind me starting passing me. I stayed to the right, but I had to avoid the Cholla cactus, which has nasty needles with hooks that cling to your flesh if you try to pull them out. I managed to pull out an average of 9:31 miles for a total time of 33:18.

I fumbled through transition. Since it was raining, I had put my shoes in a plastic bag, which slowed me down. I was warm from the run, so I assumed I would be warm enough on the bike. This turned out to be a mistake.

Coming out of transition, there is a climb on the bike, before you go downhill. The bike is an out and back for a total of 21 miles. Last year, my legs really hurt starting out on the bike. This year they didn't hurt. Maybe because they were numb from the cold. I didn't feel too bad at this point. After you hit the park entrance, there are rolling hills to the turn around. My speed was about the same as last year, judging from the mile markers. My bike computer wasn't working because of the rain. I hit the turn-around in about 42 minutes. It was raining, but it was a light rain. As I hit some of the downhills, I kept telling myself that I wasn't cold. I really was.

About five miles from the end of the bike route, the rain started coming down. HARD. It was blowing in my face and it hurt. I was totally miserable at this point and I just wanted to be done with the bike. I wanted to get to the second run and warm up. I saw a fair amount of people on the side of the road with flats or who had just given up. I thought about quitting, but standing in the rain freezing waiting for sag to pick me up wasn't an attractive option. About three miles in I noticed that I wasn't focusing very well. I had to remind myself to pay attention and not run off the road. My mind was getting foggy from the cold. At this point, I couldn't feel my feet. I finally got into transition in a time of 1:25:26. This time kind of sucked, but it was only about a minute more than last year when it was sunny and dry.

I fumbled around again. I had a hard time getting my helmet off, because my finger wouldn't do what my brain was telling them to do. My old friend hypothermia had come to visit. I got my wet running shoes on and finally got my chin strap undone. Another slow transition.

I started out the second run with numb feet. It was hard to know what they were doing. It seemed like I was turning over my legs, but it was hard to tell. At about mile two the quagmire started. The trail was three inch deep tracked up mud. Some people had bravely ran right down the middle. I chose to try and avoid the deepest mud, but it was impossible at times. I passed people struggling through it and finally hit the HILL. The HILL is a short steep hill about two miles from the start of the second run. Last year I managed to make it up the entire hill without walking, but last year was last year. I went up the hill in something resembling a run, but I had to walk a little when my legs decided they didn't want to run anymore. I made it to the top and then had to navigate a narrow muddy trail going steeply downhill. From there it was a fairly "easy" short run to the finish. Total time for the 2.7 mile run a disappointing 27:56. I don't know if anyone was lucky enough to run the trail before it turned into a quagmire, but if they did, they had a distinct advantage. Mud does not make for a fast run, at least for me.

Total time for the race was 2:32:20. I actually got first place in my age division because only one other person my age showed up. The faster people elected to stay home and be warm and dry. Wussies!

This race is kind of cool because USUALLY the weather is great, it's challenging, well run and people show up from all over the country and even Canada. It was a qualifier for the World Duathlon Championships in 2009. I will be back next year, hopefully, and maybe even not freeze my body parts off.

Lost Dutchman 10k Race Report

2010-02-16T20:16:00.000-08:00

This race is apparently too popular for it's own good. It's a lower cost alternative to some of the more expensive and over-hyped other marathons and half-marathons. I chose the 10k option, having no urge to race any longer. I tend to like low key events myself. It's much less hassle to park where you want, have plenty of time to get ready, and get your race number the same day you race. I started out two hours ahead of the time I was supposed to start racing and I got caught in a long line of cars trying to park. I had hoped I could get a parking spot near the starting line, but I was about half an hour too late. I had barely enough time to stand in line for the porta-potties and to get warmed up. As it was I didn't get much time to warm up. I like to warm up because if I am going to run as fast as I can, I like to ease into it a little.

At least you don't have any "corrals" to line up in. The polite thing to do in a race is to seed yourself according to your speed. You don't want to get run over by the faster runners, nor do you want to be stuck behind the slower ones. Here, it didn't matter because you had no idea what speed people would run.

The first mile was slightly downhill with a tail wind. I did it in 8:30", the fastest mile I would run. It got harder from then out. Most of the run was straight, but the terrain was rolling. I didn't have the crushing pain in my chest(not a heart attack, just lack of oxygen) I get when I run a 5k, but it was pretty uncomfortable. The rest of the miles were about 9:00/mile and I was counting down each one. My heart rate was climbing into the 170's, a place I usually don't like to be, but I ignored the high heart rate because it was tolerable. Usually the fourth mile is the black hole of a 10k, but none of them felt better or worse than the others except the last one. The last one you had to climb a hill. Not a big hill, but a painful one. You pass through a "wall" in honor of the marathoners I guess. It's actually is an archway made of blocks. Once you crest the hill, you turned into a strong headwind. It was annoying.

My final time was 56:09. It wasn't a personal best, but it was decent. Considering that I had been sick most of the week, had gained weight since the Ironman and had generally felt like my fitness had gone downhill, I was happy with it. I can still run very hard and generate some speed. I will probably pay for it later.

I was third in my age group, so I got two metals-one for finishing and one for being third in my age group. It's one of thoses things that you get in a race that you really don't need. More metals, more hats and more over-sized tee shirts that you never wear.

The race food was decent. The usual fruit, doritos and a burrito. I wish they had had pretzels. And cookies. While I was eating, there was a burro in a pen that kept complaining. He probably smelled the food and thought he should get some. He went with the man with a beard dressed as a miner-the "Lost Dutchman" who supposedly found gold that disappeared. The "Lost Dutchman" was supervising people playing darts. I thought this was odd, but kind of cute for a race. He looked more like an"Apache Junction" trailer park denizen than old miner to me. He reminded me of the "Mountain Man" dude who shows up riding a horse for the Mountain Man triathlon. I guess a race has to have it's mascot.

After waiting around for another metal that I didn't need, I drove the 40 miles home to take a nap. No yard work will get done today. All that hard running tires me out.

What I'm Missing

2010-02-05T18:33:00.000-08:00

When you have been married for 30 plus years, you get used to having a man around. You get used to having someone to talk to, someone to share the chores, someone to hug, someone warm to spoon against in bed. When you get dumped you lose all of that. Even when the relationship has gone bad, you still miss the dream of having it. You adjust to being alone, but you have lost what used to be your best friend and you long for someone to light up when you appear. I miss the "maleness".

That doesn't mean that I am going to rush out and get involved in a relationship right away. I am not dating and I don't want to date right now. I think I have trust issues and if someone ever wanted to date me, (a)I would question their motives; and (b) think that they have lost their mind because my self-esteem is such that I wouldn't feel like I would be relationship material.

The reality is that having a relationship with a guy is difficult. They may have emotional needs that are sometimes unmet no matter what you do, they sometimes have difficulty expressing their feelings and they hurt you even if they love you. They also may not pick up after themselves, fall down on personal hygiene habits and be overly in love with sports that you have no interest in.

The weird consequence to having no relationship in my life after 30 plus years of marriage that I find myself checking out good looking athletic guys in spandex. Especially good-looking guys that you can see that well--that they are guys. The photo of the cyclists in red shorts was probably photo-shopped for humor, but it is funny as hell. The top photo probably is not "re-touched", but I think it is funny anyway. Those ITU uniforms are tight and sometimes the body parts have no where to go.

I think it's funny because human body is humorous as well as elegant. Muscled legs and arms are beautiful, but there is also the soft, floppy stuff. If you wear skin-tight clothes with no underwear, something is bound to show. And no one who rides a bike wants to wear underwear with their shorts and get chaffed.

Of course not everyone in spandex looks good wearing it. Most of the non-athletic world probably wishes it didn't exist. Spandex is not kind to body imperfections. There is a huge "ICK" factor, especially when you see what you really don't want to see. But like a car accident, it is hard to look away. You don't want to look, but the horrible fascination draws you do so anyway.

So while I am still in my lonely state of mind, I will probably take a gander at the better male bodies in spandex, but not look too hard (unless it's a photo).

McDowell Mountain Trail Run Race Report

2010-01-24T17:33:00.000-08:00

Trail running is to road running like mountain biking is to road riding. Riding or running on the road can be hard, but riding or running on a trail is harder and slower. And sometimes much more fun. Instead of running in a straight line on an even surface, you have to dance around the rocks, the ruts and sometimes the puddles and constantly climb and descend hills.

The weather was the usual January early morning cold. It was about 44 degrees. It had rained the night before, so some of the ground was muddy. The organizers had thoughtfully provided heaters, of which people stood around and huddled near. There wasn't a huge crowd, so it was pretty low-key. There was also a 10 mile and 25k race option. You got your race number and hung around the heater or stayed in your car. I warmed up by jogging for 20 minutes with a few intervals thrown in in the hopes of being ready for strenuous running. I had run this trail at a moderate pace the week before and it had been an intense workout.

This trail ascends for a little bit. I dodged my first mud puddle and thought my lungs were collapsing. Kids were passing me, but I knew I would pass by them near the end. Kids have a lot of speed, but not much endurance. The trail gradually ascends the first half, but it's an up and down ascent. Then you hit a steep hill to descend. The first time I tried to do this on a mountain bike, I freaked and walked my bike. Now it's a matter of getting down a wet, muddy hill without breaking your neck. It required a lot of side stepping. Then you have to ascend again. At least my lungs were getting used to not having enough air at this point.

There were no mile markers, so I didn't know how fast I was going. I don't have a fancy GPS watch to tell me how fast I am going and I think the terrain would have confused the watch anyway. I knew there was an aid station at mile 1.7. More ups and downs through the watches. There was very little flat trail. I hit the aid station at over 17 minutes. Crap! Over 10 minute miles. Not exactly stellar for a 5k, but this terrain was a bitch. I hadn't done a race of this intensity in quite a while.

At this point the terrain supposedly went downhill, but it was hard to tell. You still had to go up and down hills. It helped to have a quick cadence. Now I was finally passing the kids.

About a mile from the end was the area called the "Clay Pits". The race organizers had warned us that there was mud there. I tried to avoid the mud, but when I hit a large mud patch that I couldn't go around, I missed the dry ground. The clumps of mud made friends with my shoes. I guess they didn't call it "Clay Pit" for nothing. It was like running with weights on my feet.

Getting to the finish line required running up a hill. By this time I had nothing in my legs. Especially with all that mud on my shoes. Usually I have the energy at the finish line to at least pretend that I had been running fast. The people that I had managed to stay ahead of for the last quarter mile passed me and I couldn't respond with any speed.

My final time was 31:58, which wasn't as fast as I wanted to be. I was still 28/57 overall and 9/32 female. The winner ran the course in about 22 minutes, which was amazing considering that he didn't break his neck doing it. Trail running is more about the physical challenge and the scenery, rather than the time anyway. I can run much faster on pavement, but sometimes it's fun to "dance" on the dirt. I stayed upright and maybe the mud on my shoes will eventually come off with a blowtorch.

Where I Came From, Where I Live

2010-01-17T14:46:00.000-08:00

Like many people born in the midwest, I have been attracted to places that are most unlike the midwest. I grew up in West Lafayette, Indiana, went to school in Bloomington, Indiana and resided in Illinois. The midwest has it charms if you look hard enough, I suppose, but I love mountains, scenic landscapes and sunny weather. Whenever I had the chance while living in the midwest, I would take long driving vacations with my now ex-husband. We would travel hundreds of miles to Colorado, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming and Montana to various national parks. The cornfields and flatlands would turn to the wheatfields of Kansas, then to the mountains of the Rockies. The midwest always seemed monotonously flat, green and closed in. The west looked wide-open with undulating land with a horizon that seemed to go on forever. I felt free and unfettered.

This attraction to the west and Arizona particularly started at an early age for me. My grandparents retired to Mesa, Arizona, like a lot of older folks and lived in a silver Airstream trailer. My uncle bought a lot in what was then the middle of nowhere around Scottsdale Road and Jomax Road and built his house himself brick by brick. My mother and visited him in 1968

in April when it was sunny and warm unlike the deary gray cold of spring of Indiana. We loved the unique plants and animals of Arizona in the desert-the quail, coyotes, roadrunner and javelinas that would come by his place. The turquoise in the ring that I got seemed like the sparkling blue skies of Arizona.

So when my then-husband and I got the chance to move to Arizona, we jumped on it. It meant dragging our three month baby across the country on a road trip and moving away from family, but it seemed worth it. At the time the local economy was booming, housing was cheap and the cost of living was a little less than in Illinois.

There were downsides. The summertime sucked. It was dreadfully hot and it didn't cool down at night in July and August. You get giant dust storms and violent storms in the summer. You have to drive everywhere because the city area is so spread out. More and more people moved here and the traffic got worse. Eventually the economy tanked and housing prices dropped drastically.

However, I developed an interest in astronomy and the skies are very clear if you drive 70 miles away from Phoenix. Being out in the desert at night looking at stars with the coyotes howling and occasional owls hooting is unbeatable. You can be outdoors most days or night of the year, though it may be uncomfortable in the summer. I can bike, swim or run outdoors almost any day. I have desert preserves to bike, hike and run in.

The winter to early spring days are superb. The days are warm without being too warm, it cools down at night and the sun doesn't burn your skin like it does the rest of the year. The humidity is low and it makes the sunlight seem crystal clear. Sometimes the smog clears and the mountains seem like they could be touched even though they are far away. Distant peaks sometimes have a covering of snow, a contrast to the blue grays of their rocky sides. When the sun is low, the mountains turn brilliant shades of purple and pink.

You get a weird assortment of creatures and plants. I have lizards and an occasional toad in my yard. Sometimes I nearly run over snakes on my bike. Quail run around my neighborhood and roost in my orange tree. Hawks are everywhere and hummingbirds come to my feeders. Sometimes I see coyotes and roadrunners. The cacti come in numerous and novel forms. The Saguaros seem like they have spirits with their giant size and their twisting arm shapes.

You learn to live with the searing summers. You always carry water, you seek shade wherever it is and if you exercise outdoors, you do it at ungodly early hours of the morning. You get so you can't tolerate cold and you don a sweater when it's under 80 degrees. You learn to be careful opening car doors and touching steering wheels when your car has been sitting in the sun. You only buy white cars because black cars get hotter in the sun. You sweat A LOT. If you exercise in the heat you learn how far you can push yourself before succumbing to heat exhaustion.

I guess you like whatever is different from where you grew up. Arizona seems very different from Indiana in some ways, the same in others. Indiana has cows and pigs. Arizona has dairy cows and cattle roaming on public lands, and pigs in the wild. Indiana has mostly conservative politicians, Arizona has mostly conservative politicians. People in Arizona like trucks(white of course) and guns. They also hate government and taxes. I don't remember hoosiers owning as many trucks, but then again maybe they don't have as many dirt roads to go down and animals to shoot. People in Indiana own horses, but I don't remember seeing them riding in the city streets.The big difference of course between Arizona and Indiana is that Indiana is flat and Arizona has mountains, desert and a big canyon.

I don't know if I will ever live anywhere else. Sometimes I miss bearable summers and having tall trees. But I am so dependent on sunshine that I go into a funk if I don't have it. I can't stand cold and I don't know how to drive on ice and snow anymore. The desert dirt has sunk its tentacles in me and I am stuck here.

2009: Hellos and Goodbyes

2010-01-01T18:10:00.000-08:00

As I thankfully put the Christmas decorations away that I don't want to see for another year, and ignore another New Year's Eve by being alone, 2009 draws to a close and I say hellos and goodbyes to the things that have happened in the past year.

Goodbye to legally being married as of June 6th after 32+ years of marriage. Maybe this year I will actually adjust to being single again.

Goodbye to divorce legal proceedings. It was an enormous waste of time and money and I am glad I don't have to worry about it anymore.

Goodbye to my cat. After 19 years he had too many painful ailments and I had to put him to sleep. He was cranky as hell and made both of us miserable.

Goodbye to some of the things I have been accumulating for the last 32 years. It's time to start fresh. I have trashed wedding stuff, gotten rid of my ex's stuff and general garbage that I should have thrown out years ago that didn't seem to have any actual purpose for existing, but isn't thrown out because it might be "useful".

Goodbye to hypothermia. Getting medically treated for hypothermia twice this year due to swimming in cold water is twice too much. This year I am not swimming in any water with a temperature below 65 degrees.

Hello to being an ironman. Acheiving a goal I had been chasing for two years was worth all the emotional and physical pain and was enormously satisfying and empowering.

Hello to Facebook and the friends I made including ones from my high school class of 1972. Who would have thought I would connect with these people after all of this time. Sometimes it's the only social contact I have in a day.

Hello to blogging. I am hoping someone actually reads this stuff and I connect with them at some point.

Hello to painting. It was surprisingly therapeutic when I am emotionally down. I hope to do some more. Immersing myself in the complexity of painting makes the depression and anxiety go away.

Hello to a 5k and 10k personal record. Who would have thought that in my fifties I would be the fastest runner I have ever been. Of course I was never fast, but the fact that I can still improve is age defying. I can still go beyond my physical limits even if I am older. I don't have to be feeble yet.

Hello to competing in a World Championship. I qualified due to luck and not great racing. I felt like a poser racing in the World Championships, but it was a good experience and it made me feel like "hot stuff" to say that I had raced at that level. I may take the stroke of luck even further and race in the Nationals because racing in the World Championship has automatically qualified me for the Nationals even though my race time sucked.

Hello to 2010.

*************************************************************************************

2009 Years Totals: Swimming, Biking, Running

182 hours swimming, 311,950 yards or 177 miles

267 hours biking, 3783 miles

160 hours running.

Total 608 hours

My Anti-Christmas Funk

2009-12-25T18:01:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas again and I am depressed. My parents are deceased and I have no living siblings. I have no significant other. Friends are busy with their families. Everybody else seems happy. I know that isn't true. Some families hate each other. Some families are poor and don't have enough to eat and can't afford presents. It just seems that the rest of the world is enjoying Christmas but me. So to counter this funk I am listing the things that I am grateful for:

1. A roof over my head. My decor desperately needs to be re-done and is stuck in the eighties, but it is functional.

2. A wonderful daughter. Since my ex doesn't seem to want to interact with her on a formal schedule, I have her all of the time living with me. She is easy to deal with most of the time, intelligent, level-headed and only has her "moods" occasionally.

3. My health is fairly good. I may have my aches and pains and enough health issues to have insurance companies always refuse to under-write my health insurance, but I am healthy enough to do extreme physical things like an ironman.

4. I live in a good climate most of the year. Arizona gets 300 days of sunshine a year and has gorgeous scenery. If you live in a crappy climate with continual gray days and ugly scenery like the midwest, you really appreciate sunshine and mountains. This is why everyone wants to come here to live.

5. The climate makes for good star-gazing. I can't imagine driving two hours to look at stars in a humid climate. There is nothing like getting out in the remote desert or forest to look at celestial objects.

6. I live in a great country. You only have to hear about what people go through in times of war, especially women, in third world countries to realize how good you have it. In America, you can do what you want, say what you want and be what you want.

7. I have people around me who seem to care about what happens to me. I may not have the deep relationships that I crave, but I can get help if I need it.

8. The legal proceedings in my divorce are over with and I don't have to worry about what is coming next. I can go on from here and move forward.

9. MP3 players. What a great invention. You can listen to whatever music you want, whenever you want. It takes the monotony out of housework, makes waiting for a plane more bearable, makes waiting for an ironman to start less nerve-wracking.

10. The internet. I can connect with people with whom I might not otherwise have done and I can blather in blogs like this.

11. Christmas is almost over. I can stop stressing over what presents to buy and how my money is quickly disappearing, stop slaving in the kitchen preparing dinner, and not worrying about putting up decorations for another year.

Bah Humbug!

2009-12-20T17:22:00.000-08:00

The thought of Christmas always puts me in a funk. It starts around Halloween or sometimes even earlier. You go into a store in October for some harmless little item and there it is staring you in the face. A Christmas decoration. The symbol of doom. I usually groan and ignore it.

Immediately after Halloween it starts. It may be 85 degrees outside, but in the store the full Christmas mode is going. The pressure to start buying even if you have no idea what anyone wants. The relentless obnoxious T.V. ads for stupid useless items start. The inane car ads. Who the hell buys a car for Christmas anyway?

Then there's the Christmas music. Some of the worst music ever written. I absolutely hate "Jingle Bells". Even if the music isn't poorly written, once you've heard it a million times, you hate it. It's like nails on a chalkboard. Please make it stop!

About two weeks before Christmas, I finally give into the pressure of the gaiety and send out cards, start decorating and buying presents. I keep my sanity by spending as little time as possible on these activities. If I can order a gift online and have it shipped, I do it. If I can decorate a tree by using fewer ornaments, I do.

There's always the pressure to buy a present for someone when you have no idea what they want. Parents are the worst the buy for. If you pick the wrong gift, you feel like a failure of a human being. Sometimes the person absolutely hates surprises, like my daughter and if you buy something she doesn't like, she lets you know it. Then you feel rejected. Sometimes the person doesn't like the gift, but fakes pleasure at receiving it anyway. You know they are faking it, but you pretend you don't.

Then there's the person who likes the present, but is embarrassed to get it, like they don't deserve it. Mothers often fall into this category. They act grateful, then they put the present away never to be used. You want to please them, but end up tearing out your hair in frustration.

The worst part of Christmas is the expectation that everything will be happy and joyous. It isn't a perfect world with perfect people. The myth is exploited anyway, in the media. When my divorce was going on last year, I saw all the other people with friends, family and spouses that seemed to be enjoying themselves and I felt all the more alone. I felt abandoned and depressed. I came to realize that people aren't always as happy as they appear and that I could create a different holiday for myself. I had to lower my expectations and be realistic about my life. If I had no one to buy a present for me, I could buy one myself.

Despite all things I hate about Christmas, I can still find aspects that are good about it. It's a holiday, which is an excuse to eat a lot of food and relax. People have parties. I may even get a present or two. People are more cheerful and generous. There's good old movies on T.V. that I have seen a dozen times like "It's a Wonderful Life." I am not particularly religious, but the holiday has a spirit of hope and redemption in it. If you peel away the layers of commercial crap, you can find a nice holiday.

The thing about a holiday, especially Christmas when you are older, is that the past is associated with it and the people you knew who are gone. When I was a child, I had aunts who used to come on the train from St. Louis every Christmas. They used to drive us crazy with their eccentricities, but now I would give anything to see them again. Those two were like a moment frozen in time. They would wear the same clothes for 30 years. They had hairstyles from the 1940's. They never bought anything new that they could buy used. They never threw anything out. But still, I miss them. Sometimes you don't realize how important people are to you until they are gone. These memories lay dormant in my mind, but sometimes pop out

Then there's the year that my father died two days after Christmas from cancer. That was over 20 years ago. The shirt I bought him never got worn. That was a dark year. The weather was cold and gray. Maybe that's why the short days of winter in December depress me. My mother joined him last year. I envy people who still have their parents around.

Children bring a different perspective to Christmas. It is more fun when you have little kids around that still believe in Santa. It reminds you of a time when you thought Christmas was magical and mysterious and when you still thought that Santa came through the chimney to deliver presents. They wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning and their eyes get big when they see the presents that have magically appeared under the tree. Everything seems possible to them. However, once they stop believing in Santa, it's like a light is extinguished and the holiday is ordinary again. As an adult, it takes a lot more effort to find the magic. You have to lower your expectations about what it supposed to happen. You have to find out what's out there for you to be positive about and what you can give to other people that's not necessarily at the mall.

So I will try to enjoy Christmas despite Christmas.

What Do Men Want

2009-12-13T18:43:00.000-08:00

Now that I am divorced, I look at men differently. I was married for so long that I never really thought much about how I interacted with men. Maybe I should have thought about it more. But if you are married long enough, you sort of go into automatic zone and you don't necessarily examine your relationships to see if anything is wrong or could be improved. You take your relationship for granted.

I am not ready to date, but it might be on the horizon someday. The whole thought of it scares me. But it would be nice to have a man again, but the right man. I don't want a relationship just to avoid being alone, but one that would enhance our lives together.

But right now men seem like alien creatures. I have been told that they are just people. Most of the time they seem normal. But since I have been hurt deeply by one, I have a hard time trusting men I don't know. Then there's always the creep factor as well. You don't know what their hidden agenda is or if they want to take advantage of you.

The psychologist Jay Carter has theorized that women have more power over men than they think. Boys try to please their mothers, and when they grow up and meet a life partner, the man's self-esteem is vulnerable to a woman's opinion of him. Men take criticism more literally and it wounds their self-esteem. They get defensive and disconnect emotionally. On the other hand, if you don't injure their ego, you can get them to do want you want because they want to please you. If you stroke their ego, you have power over them.

The idea of women having power over men is a novel one to me. To me, men seem to have an advantage in physical strength. They earn more money. They are bigger in size and height. But everyone has their vulnerability. Men can get just as hurt emotionally in divorce as women. They just may not show it as much.

I guess I should re-examine my assumptions about men, but right now I don't know what to believe about anything. The way I look at relationships has changed completely. I can't rely on anyone to make me happy, I have to do that myself. Nothing ever stays the same. The good relationship that you thought you had yesterday may be gone today.

Maybe men aren't so different than women. We all want to be loved. Women can be just as strange and nasty as men. My soul mate might be out there somewhere. I just have to figure out this dating thing someday.

What's Next?

2009-12-05T07:01:00.000-08:00

I suppose I should be more worried about my major life issues such as what the hell am I going to do with a career that isn't working for me. Instead I am thinking about the next triathlon season. I can't stomach the idea of doing another ironman right away or even a half ironman, so I am going to do mostly shorter races such as sprints and olympic distance triathlons and 5k and 10k run races.

Every race involves pain if you are pushing your limits, but each has a different kind of pain. For me, an ironman race has the kind of pain , where the muscles get tired from working at a medium intensity for a very long time. You aren't breathing as hard as in a shorter race. In shorter races, the pain is more intense, but it doesn't last a long time. You feel like there is a vise pressing down on your chest and you can't get enough air. You are going at the highest heart rate you can stand and it hurts. With the pain, however, comes speed.

One of the biggest mistakes I made in racing was assuming that I could have speed without pain. I would run hard, but not go over the line into where the real pain would start. I assumed that I shouldn't push that hard and that my lack of natural ability prevented me from doing better.

This assumption changed when I was training for my second attempt at an ironman. My coach recommended that I work on shorter races to improve my ironman speed and gave me some insane workouts. It took me a while to realize what I could do. Going as hard as I could was a new concept to me, but I found that it worked. I could break barriers that I thought I couldn't. Before I could only run 10 minute miles in a 5k. I found I could now run about 8:34 miles, something I could never do before.

I will never be very fast. But what is fun to me is in breaking those barriers and seeing how far I can go. I can't do this if I am slogging through long workouts necessary for half and full ironmans. I just get tired and can't work very fast. My speed plateaus and doesn't improve. I am happy with my past season this year, but once I got into training for my longer races, my fast speed stopped improving. My best 10k race was in March and after that, I never ran as fast. My bike speed improved over long distances, but my fastest speed stayed where it was after May. I want to see where I can go again.

Eventually, I will do longer races. I want to do a half marathon at the end of the year because I think I can break my old record in this. I may do an ironman in 2011. It took everything I had to finish Ironman Arizona a little before the midnight cut-off, but maybe with time maybe I could finish another ironman like St. George, which seems like it would be much harder than Arizona.

For now, though, I am recovering from this year and dreaming about the next. And wondering what the hell I am going to do with the rest of my life.

Ironman Arizona Race Report-Part III

2009-11-28T19:05:00.000-08:00

I dismounted my bike and hobbled to the change tent. Normally to do a fast transition, I would have ran or at least walked fast, but my legs felt like blocks. The volunteers helped me change and I struggled to put on my compression socks. I let someone bandage my elbow, though it didn't make much difference at this point. It was really hard to get moving. A slow 9:28 transition.

I started the run walking, grabbed some food and finally got my legs running. The sun was an orange glow on the horizon. I had fantasized before the race about the run being where I shine, but the reality was that it was a survivor slog. I could have done a run-walk combination, but I didn't think it would be fast enough. I walked a lot of the aid stations just because it was easier to eat that way. There was still a lot of runners out on the course just trying to get through the marathon. Most of them didn't seem like they doing much more than a jog.

I didn't really think much about how long I had to run. I wanted to make sure I hit the 10:15 p.m. cut-off and the midnight cut-off. If you hit the 10:15 cut-off, they let you finish the last loop even if you don't make the midnight cut-off. The run course is three loops. Each loop goes over the Priest bridge, the Mill Avenue bridge and the Rural Road bridge(twice). There are some difficult areas mentally to be running alone in the dark. Priest and the lake sidewalk from Priest to Mill is desolate and boring. There are signs put out there for some lucky people to encourage them, but I didn't have any. The river bed is dry is this area and there is nothing to look at, except maybe some rabbits running around in the dark. The cement sidewalk is hard on the feet. You see the Mill Avenue bridge in the distance and it is always a relief to reach it. You climb a small hill to get to the bridge.

At least on the bridge, you can see the lights reflected on the water. The train bridge has a nice display of pink and blue lights when the train goes over it. You can hear the announcer in the distance saying "you are an ironman" for the lucky people finishing up. I still have another five hours or so. I go over the bridge and run back to the lake path. There are people to cheer us on. I try to thank people who do. An ironman is a long time for a spectator to sit and watch. They do provide a distraction from the pain. I keep wondering which is more painful-this or the c-section I had. I think the c-section is, but not by much.

I run over the Rural Road bridge and run along the lake path again. The sections under the bridge smell slightly of sewage. I then go up the road to Papago Park. It's strange at night. The generator light shines on a strange rock formation. Then I have to climb Curry hill. This is tough. I usually run up it, but it slows me down. Other people are wimping out and walking. Then it's down to the lake path again and through the Marina. The aid stations pick me up. The one under the bridge has a pirate boat and music. The one by the marina by my tri club also has music and a western theme. It helps me to get through the dark sections further on. I go back over the Rural Road bridge to the lake path and start the second loop.

So far, I am doing O.K. I have no nutritional issues and my pace is slow, but steady enough to get through the course. I think I must have been operating on mental power. It's hard even now to imagine how I got through this run. I kept thinking about going fast enough to get in by midnight or sooner. I had about a 20 minutes cushion.

I finished the second loop. When you start a loop, there is a left turn-off for the finishing chute. It's tough mentally to go by this, especially later at night. You know most of the people are done and you are still out there alone in the dark. At least I had made the 10:15 cut-off by 25 minutes. Another small victory. I was pretty sure by this time that I was going to make it. I finally ran into my iron sherpa, and he had made me a sign. It picked me up a little and made me smile.

Going down the lake path from the Mill Avenue bridge, I saw my coaches(pictured below). They kept tabs on all their athletes for the entire seventeen hour race. I had about five miles to go at this point and an hour and a half to do it. They told me to run as much as possible. I picked up the pace a little. The goal is being an ironman was within my reach. I went around the dark path again and I finally had about a mile to go. I couldn't really sprint at this point because I had nothing left. Someone shouted to be "go be an ironman".

Finally I reached the turn-off for the finishing chute. In contrast to the dark run course, this is brightly lit. I had finally made it. Two years of training, heartbreak, and hope finally realized. I thought I would be weepy, but I was too overjoyed. The crowd in the stands gets rowdy this time of night and I had a blast high-fiving them. The announcer gets out of his box and riles them up. I heard my name and "you are an ironman". Now I know why I wanted this so much.

This is a high like no other. It's a place where you tested your limitations, overcame them and accomplished something that you thought you never could. Where you withstood you doubts and ventured into the terrifying unknown. Where you have endured boredom, pain, frustration and exhaustion to transform yourself into a different person. Where your mind drives you forward when your body is failing. It's an incredible power to find in yourself. It makes you feel invincible. It's a special race.

My coaches that some how got

me trained for this race despite

my limited athletic ability.

I look like crap, but who doesn't

after seventeen hour.

Ironman Arizona Race Report: Part II

2009-11-26T12:00:00.000-08:00

I escape the clutches of the med tent and I try to hurry through transition. It's a good thing I have volunteers to help me dress. I am fumbling around and not real clear-headed. I am still cold, but functional.

I get out on the bike course and find my heart rate is sky high, but I am not getting much speed. When I hit the false flats, I can't seem to go more than eleven m.p.h. It feel like shades of the first ironman race I attempted where the wind was howling and I wasn't getting any speed no matter how hard I tried. If I couldn't speed up, I would not be able to finish the race.

In my distraction, I veered over to a bunch of orange cones and promptly crashed. Someone was nice enough to stop and help me. My bike and I were O.K., but I had some road rash and I banged my shoulder pretty good. My shoulder would hurt the rest of the race. I finally got to the top of the turn around and I started pushing the pace going downhill. Luckily the winds were with me and I could make up some speed. There was a lot of illegal drafting and passing on the highway, but I was too slow to have that problem.

There weren't many bystanders on the highway other than at the aid stations, so the ride was kind of tedious a lot of the time. Once in a while I would see a guy peeing on the bike. One guy impressed me because he managed to whip it out and pee off to the side. I stayed well back of these people. I was utterly tired and miserable. Usually the first loop you are supposed to feel good, but I felt terrible. I was exerting a lot of energy, but not getting any power. As I was heading back into town, a guy with a microphone on a motorcycle asked me why I was doing the ironman. I couldn't really think of anything clever to say. Hopefully, I won't be on camera anywhere.

I got done with the first loop in about 13.6 m.p.h., which was too slow. I still had a fighting chance if I could go faster. It was nice to come into the Mill Avenue area because you knew that another loop was done and there were people to cheer you. It picked you up so you could endure the highway again.

I picked up the pace going out on the second loop and I was shocked that I had some actual speed. I figured that when I had a cold core, blood wasn't carrying enough oxygen to my muscles. It was a relief. It was like night and day from the first loop. I was pretty sure by the time I got to the top of the turn around that I would be able to make the three o'clock cut-off. A small victory.

I finished the second loop about 2:35 p.m. I was on new ground now-an actual third bike loop. Most people were coming into transition about this time. The highway was getting more and more deserted. I felt O.K. climbing again, but I was ready to get the bike over with. The shadows were growing longer and the light was turning orange. I beat the four o'clock cut-off by 20 minutes. As I was going downhill, I saw people still desperately going uphill trying to beat the cut-off, including one guy on a handcycle. I hope he made it.

The memory of the pain I felt is already fading. My quads hurt, my shoulder hurt and my butt hurt. I knew this race would be difficult, but I was giving all I had to make it. Normally you bike in an aerobic zone in order to have energy for the run, but I was going a little anaerobic to beat the cut-offs. It was taking a lot out of me.

As I passed a 109 mile marker, I realized that I was going to exceed the most distance I had ever done in one day on a bike. I was also going to beat the sun-set, and the 5:30 cut-off. I had broken barriers and was on my way to becoming an ironman.

As I came into transition, I saw my coaches cheering me. We have been on a long journey together, from the despair I had not finishing the last time to the joy of soon accomplishing a goal I had been chasing for two years. You don't complete an ironman on your own and they were some of the people that helped me along the way.

Ironman Arizona Race Report-Part I

2009-11-25T20:32:00.000-08:00

The day dawned cold. I dressed as warmly as possible, but I had to take off my outwear and put on my wetsuit at some point. I donned my wetsuit and jumped in the water. It was shockingly cold. It was 62 degrees, which was four degrees colder than the last 4000 meter swim I did in the lake. I made my way to the northern part of the field of bodies. I kept telling myself the water wasn't cold. The gun went off and the bodies surged forward.

I felt O.K. for a while. I kept telling myself that the water wasn't that cold. The sun was coming up and shining where I had to sight. I sighted off of the Rural Street bridge. I could see the orange light on the buildings on the bank when I turned my head to the side to breath. It was kind of pretty in a cruel way. The buildings seemed different than the last time I did an ironman swim. At least they didn't seem to go by so slowly as the last time I was in an ironman.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the growing cold of the water. It was sapping the energy out of me and I had to stop and rest frequently, more so than my other long swims. It seemed to take forever to get to the turnaround, but not as long as the first race I did. My swimming didn't feel easy, and it was an effort to keep my stroke long. I could see the buoys now and I just tried to get to each one. I was very uncomfortable.

At some point my legs started shaking. I had never been this cold in a swim before and it was scary. I was damned if I was going to quit the race at this point voluntarily, but it felt like it was getting out of my control. I kept moving even though I was exhausted. If I got tired and rested, I got even colder. At one point, I caught someone's draft for a minute. I could only see the bubbles, but it helped.

Finally, I saw the turnaround for the exit. Usually at this point I can put some speed on. I was incapable of that. I finally got out of the water in 2:05. It was better than my last ironman race swim, but worse time than my 4000 meter swims.

I got my wetsuit stripped off and I started walking to transition when a medic snagged me before I could get away. I was fairly coherent, I thought, but I probably looked like crap. Luckily they were much better than the California half ironman medics and I got warmed up fairly quickly. They put warm saline bags under my arms and neck and got my wet shirt off. I shivered violently for a while, but I felt better after a while. I still lost about 10-15 minutes, something that I didn't plan or want to do.

This was one of the most difficult open water swims I have ever done and the day was just starting.

Two Days, 22 Hours

2009-11-19T07:42:00.000-08:00

In two days, 22 hours I will at the start line or to be techical, hanging out near the Mill Avenue bridge in the cold water. Two years of training, races, expense and hope. Countless hours riding my bike to the edge of exhaustion and despair in the wind, heat and cold. Pushing myself to run into pain. Swimming countless boring laps in the pool. Somehow coming out better for it.

In contrast to my first ironman attempt, I can't wait to do this one. Instead of feeling like I have only half a chance of finishing, I feel like I have a good chance, barring unforeseen circumstances. I feel more rested, stronger and optimistic. Somehow my second attempt at the race also has more emotional meaning. The pain that I went through with my divorce needs to released and extinguished. The connections that I made with people as a result of that pain will carry me through each mile. I will occasionally travel to the dark places in my mind and my body will hurt. But my heart will feel lighter.

My bib number is 2846. Follow me on ironman.com.

Tempe Town Lake 4000 Meter Open Water Swim

2009-11-13T17:27:00.000-08:00

This swim was not what I would call a lot of fun. The first ironman type swim I did last year was exhilarating because I was scared to death and I conquered my fears and proved to myself that I could do it. The second ironman swim I did last year was actually in the race and was long and exhausting, topped out with a 15 m.p.h. headwind just when I was finishing and really tired. The third swim I did this year in October was a lot of work, but there was scenery and I had energy throughout the entire swim. This swim was in murky green 66 degree water and the only thing you really had to look at were bridges and cement walls. The swim was four 1000 meters laps, so you had the same ugly stuff to look at at least four times.

The first lap was crowded. Actually the first, second and third lap were crowded because the lap was a rectangle that was near the wall. I employed my strategy of not wasting energy trying to avoid people, but just letting them run into me. Still, people running into me made me cranky after a while. I would get into a rhythm and then someone would disrupt it by crashing into me. Of course by the second lap all the faster swimmers, which were everyone, was lapping me, so I would get passed more than once by the same person.

My energy level for the first two laps was good. I had done a fair amount of 2000 meter open water swims, so it was what I was used to. I hit a warm patch of water at the turnaround and it really felt good. Both laps took 30 minutes.

By the third lap, however, my energy was draining out of my body. I felt like I was in the fourth mile of a 10k where the race had been going on long enough that you are tired, but you still have what seems a long way to finish. I was getting cold and the six hour bike ride I did the day before had used up my energy. I hit the turnaround. Too bad-my patch of warm water was gone. My arms didn't seem to have a lot of strength, so I just tried to keep them relaxed. At least most of the people had finished so it was less crowded. I was concerned about slowing down, but I did the lap in about the same time as the first two. It just felt a lot worse. I thought that I really hated swimming this long. It wasn't a good attitude, but I really didn't want to be doing this anymore. I HATE swimming.

By the fourth lap I was really really tired. It's a little disconcerting to be that tired in a body of water. I knew I could finish, but my alertness was waning. I seemed to be out there alone and the water was smooth. Coming around the turnaround, there was one person ahead of me. Maybe I could draft off of this person. No, she was going too slow even for my infinitesimal speed. I actually passed one person.

Finally I got near the end. I couldn't figure out where the hell to go. My brain was shutting down. I swam to the guys waving and I had a hard time trying to make my legs work. Somewhere before the swim exit, I was rewarded algae mustache. Luckily, no fiends with cameras were lurking nearby to capture this special moment.

I was disoriented for a few moments when I got out. A touch of hypothermia-I had a hard time getting my body to listen to my brain. I tried to walk and staggered. I tried to talk and mumbled. Fun stuff. Final time was 2:02, which was about the same time that I did in the warmer, less tiring Lake Pleasant swim.

The swim served it's purpose as a training swim for Ironman Arizona. I should be happy that I swam the same time that I did in the previous month, even being tired. Still, it's frustrating when everyone else swims faster. I would love to swim the distance in even an hour and a half. Two hours is just too long to be in the water period. It's part of racing an Ironman, but it still sucks.

I always have the fantasy that onetime I will have a dream swim where I will exceed all my expectations. Most of the time they end in disappointment. I am past the stage where I just swim to get through the swim, but I never seem to swim fast no matter how hard I try. I long to be like the other swimmers that fly by me and who probably never had a swim lasting two hours. Slow swimmers know about endurance and going long. We just don't get much credit for it.

The Destination

2009-11-07T17:41:00.000-08:00

This week marks my last long training workouts. My last long run of almost three hours was Tuesday. I felt good for about 1 1/2 hours before I started feeling crappy. Today was my last long six hour bike ride. I felt decent for almost four hours before I started struggling. I still kept my speed up until near the end. Tomorrow is my last long swim of 4000 meters. I have evaded the deep feeling of exhaustion that I have gotten in previous weeks, but I know it is out there.

All these difficult workouts makes me wonder what the real thing is going to be like when they are all put together. If my long runs are miserable, what are they going to feel like after 112 miles of bike riding? What is a 112 mile bike ride going to feel like riding hard like I have been doing for it for 90 miles? I can only hope that the race atmosphere, the adrenalin of actually racing and the preparation I have been doing for the last two years with carry me through. Occasionally, I get a feeling of energy that seems to come out of nowhere and I feel powerful and fast. I also hit low spots where I feel my body aches and the energy seeps out of my muscles and I can barely keep going.

At this point the training is about done and time has run out to do much more. The mental demons have to be dealt with but I am ready otherwise.

Whatever happens at the race, the process of training has been amazing. The old cliche is that it's not about the destination, but the journey. It sounds trite, but it's true. In preparing for this race I have gotten P.R.s in 5k and 10k races, P.R.ed in olympic distance triathlons, qualified and raced in a world championship, gotten through some difficult races and in general have increased my run, bike and swim speed.

For a otherwise untalented athlete, it's empowering to do things that you never thought you could do. You learn to tolerate the pain of testing your limits in a race and learn to love it. You learn to endure the boredom of training when you don't want to. You resist the urge to quit when you are tired and hurting. You resist the depression that hits when everyone else has finished a race and you're still out there alone with an hour to go.

Journey aside, I still want the destination, which is the finish line. I want to test myself and find out that I was stubborn enough to tough it out through the pain until the end. I want the bright lights and cheering. Nobody cares about how slow or fast you did the race because every finisher is a winner. I want a reward for all the exhaustion, pain, exhilaration and boredom of ironman training. I have waited a long time for it and the time is now.

Amica Sprint Tri Race Report

2009-11-02T15:20:00.001-08:00

The first challenge of the day was trying to find my way through the freeway construction at five in the morning. I had my coffee, but my brain couldn't handle the complexities of figuring out alternate routes. Those construction signs fly by so fast. The ramp I wanted to take (west bound?) or did the sign say eastbound? was closed. I finally got on the freeway to get to the other freeway and the ramp to the other freeway was closed. This is too much at this ungodly hour of the morning. I hate driving to races when it's dark out and I'm half asleep.

I wasn't really nervous since I have raced here before and the race was relatively short. The charity newbies were however. I don't know why a charity would pick this place for a new triathete. The terrain at Lake Pleasant is very hilly and difficult for me, let alone a beginner. Just because the race distances are relatively short, it doesn't mean that they aren't difficult.

Amica was sponsoring this race, so of course the announcer plugged them as much as possible. My impression is that they really weren't familiar with the area. The host hotel was in Carefree, which is a long haul for any locals. They had bus service from the hotel, which I doubt had many riders. They had the expo up in Carefree, but an optional packet pickup in Scottsdale. I don't know why they think I would go all the way up to Carefree if I could go to Scottsdale. If I was an out of towner, I probably would have stayed at a cheaper place in Peoria, which is much closer. All in all, however, the race seemed fairly well organized.

The racers were a mixture of the charity newbies and some very competitive types. Although I only saw him running out of the water from the swim, Jarrod Shoemaker was there, a former Olympic triathlete. He came in fourth.

The swim seemed relatively short to me-750 meters. The water was a little chilly but not too bad. The first leg had us swimming directly into the sun, so it was difficult to see the first turn buoy. I tried to sight off of the mountains, but they all looked alike. I tried to push the pace, but I didn't really get going until halfway through the swim. This is the only sprint tri I am doing this year and it is hard to get up to speed in a short time. Total time was 24 minutes which is about average for me and slow for everyone else. Upon exiting the swim, you have to run up a steep ramp to get to transition. After being horizontal for 24 minutes, trying to run up this ramp about gave me a heart attack. I ran up most of it before I gave up and walked.

I fumbled through transition. With a wetsuit, I usually struggle to get it off. When the water is cold, I usually cannot seem to hurry enough to get my bike stuff together. Putting socks on wet feet is not easy.

I have not ridden this course in a race in a while and I forgot how mean the hills are. Big hills. They required a high effort just to get a piddlely 14-15 mph. They make you work for your low speed. At least I had newbies to pick off to pass by. I think I rode faster just for the fun of passing them. It didn't matter if they were riding mountain bikes and wearing sneakers. They had to be passed. This is where all the painful hill repeats and intervals that I have done all year have paid off. Suddenly you are channeling power through your legs that you didn't know you had. The feeling is exhilerating.

Getting into transition, I got confused and forgot where I was supposed to rack my bike. I think all the hills fried my brain. I was thinking about what I was doing at the moment and not anticipating what I had to do. The blood finally got to my brain and I got my run stuff on. I didn't lose that much time but I was aggravated with myself.

The run was as brutal as the bike. Coming out of transition, you had to run up a steep hill. I couldn't get any speed in my legs. The first mile was done in about 10:40. The second mile was worse-10:50. Everyone of course was on the way back. Not many people I could pass even if I had the energy. The turn around came at the bottom of a hill. I thought as I was running down it I have to run back up this thing. Damn! I ran up it( I wasn't going to walk for anything) and finally the downhill came. At last! Now I finally speeded up. Downhill is good. Downhill is fun. Run time was 31:16. I wanted to try and get below a ten mile per minute pace, but the hills demanded their price and I couldn't pay.

Total time with the botched transitions was 2:11. This race wasn't a priority race for me, just a warmup for the Ironman Arizona. I felt decent on the terrain and it was a fun challenge. On to Ironman!

Comments on Chuckie V's Post

2009-10-25T13:20:00.000-07:00

I liked the recent post of Chuckie V's blog(ChuckieV.blogspot.com) because I have found out the hard way that his comments on ironman training are true.

"Train for your worst possible day, the one you hope to have". My first ironman attempt was the worst possible day. I wasn't prepared for a twenty five m.p.h. head wind nor ninety plus degree heat. Usually I can do much better in racing than training, but ironman is an exception. My long bike sessions weren't fast enough in training to beat the bike cut-offs and my bike speed was worse in the race. You can't fake quality of training in an ironman race.
"Train to overcome self-doubt and to slay your inner demons." It takes a lot of faith to attempt an ironman-faith in yourself and confidence that events will work out. When you get to dark spots in your training or the race itself, the self-doubt creeps in and it tells you that you should quit, that the pain is too much or that you are not talented or trained enough to get through the race. If you mentally train yourself to resist the voice of self-doubt and weakness that you know will come in a race, you are better equiped to deal with it. You do what you mind tells you to.
"Train for adversity, as adversity is omnipresent on Ironman day". Things go wrong on race day that you can't predict. Your tire goes flat, you get sick to your stomach. You get a 20 m.p.h. headwind on the bike. You get dehydrated and overheated. If you keep your cool have the will and stubborness to go on, you will.
"Train to want to be done". Train to want to be done at the finish line, not in the middle of the bike or during the run. Resist the urge to quit.
"Train to suffer". In shorter races you know that the pain won't last too long, even if you are slow. An ironman race has or seems to have vast amounts of time that you linger in pain especially if you are thinking about how long the race is instead of what you need to do at the moment. You have to tell yourself that the pain is temporary and deliberately focus on the moment.
"Train for lock-up, as excessive eccentric loading is the name of the Ironman game". When your muscles seize up after racing for twelve hours, you have to know how to deal with it.
"Train to gut it out". Ironman isn't for pussies. Your mind has to be in it for the long haul. You have to really want it.
"Train the gut". You have to eat in training the way you will eat in the race or else you will get some unpleasant surprises. Even so a nutrition plan may fail anyway. You have a 30% chance of your nutrition going wrong. Not practicing nutrition will make that percentage higher.
"Train to resist fatigue". Fatigue is a given. Proper training can help, but if you don't have the mental grit to resist it, you quit.
"Train for pain". Pain is your friend. It teaches you to be strong. Pain is inevitable in a race. You get cold in the swim; your butt, legs and back hurt in the bike; your feet and legs hurt in the run; you get tired, thirsty and hungry.

I have become well acquainted with pain. In my two year journey to actually finish an ironman, the swim and the bike have been my obstacles. The swim is an obstacle because I am too slow and it doesn't leave enough cushion for my slow bike. The bike is a obstacle because it isn't fast enough to make up for the slow swim to beat the cut-offs. My coach's strategy to remedy this is training hard on the long bike sessions instead of staying in an aerobic zone most of the time, like most people. This strategy has resulted in me having some truly miserable bike training. Riding hard and "fast" is not my normal state on a bike. I have really fight to ride like this. My muscles do not like riding hard. They like moseying along. Hence pain has been my unwelcome companion. It appears on a god-forsaken barren ugly stretch of the Bee Line highway, which is the bike race route. It appears when I am fighting to maintain speed against a headwind. It appears in the fourth hour of a six hour bike ride. My legs scream to stop and my feet hurt and I can't find a bearable way to sit on the bike seat.

Yet I know this pain will be useful. The race may or may not as bad as the training. I remember the last race, where I fell behind on the bike time-wise and I knew that I wouldn't finish the race after the first of three laps. I remember the frustration of not having the power to maintain the speed that I needed to against the wind and the heat. If I train through the pain, at least I have a fighting chance against the elements and the time limits. I remember that frustration when pain comes to visit me. It gives me power or at least what I hope is power. Pain is temporary. Finishing is forever.

Lake Pleasant Open Water Swim

2009-10-18T15:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I did my first 4000 meter swim of the year. I haven't done any swim approaching this length in open water or the pool for eighteen months. There's a reason for that. I am slow. It takes me about two hours to do a swim of this length. It is tedious in a pool. Unless I am training for a ironman I have no motivation to swim this long. In open water unless you are trained for it, swimming this long can be an ordeal, because there is no faking an effort of this magnitude. Shorter swims you can get away with being undertrained, but if you are not comfortable in open water or if you lack good swim technique, getting tired in a long swim the middle of a body of water can be terrifying.

Last year I did a 2.4 mile swim, which is 200 yards shorter than 4000 meter, before Ironman Arizona and I hated every minute of it. I got tired, cold and it was pychologically totally uncomfortable for me. It was beneficial, however, because when it came time to do the ironman swim I was much more confident I could do it.

The swim this year, I was nervous, but once I started I felt in control. I kept up a steady effort and I didn't get the desperate tiredness that I did in the swims last year. The first two 1000 meter loops I did in about 30:30". At this point the swim was still enjoyable. The water was smooth and clearer than what I usually swim in. I could not only see my hands, but swimmers passing by me as well.

In the third loop, the wind was picking up. I saw a pack of swimmers bypassing the turn buoy. I thought to myself I guess I will be a dork and actually not cheat. The lake was getting choppy and I thought it was because of all of the cheating swimmers passing me, but it was like that in the fourth loop when everyone had finished and I was swimming mostly by myself. By this time, the swimming was just becoming a lot of work. I finished this loop in 33". I tried not to think about being the only swimmer out there when everyone else was finishing.

The fourth loop there were swells and chop. Who would have thought there would be swells in a lake cove? I was really tired of swimming by now, so I picked up my pace so I could get the swim over with. There were a few shadows darting by me, but not many. Finally I could see the end. You were supposed to swim up a small lane, but by now my brain was befuddled and I just went over the rope. It took me a minute to try to stand up because the bottom was rocky and my legs wouldn't work. This loop took 27". Total time 2:02". This is an improvement on my ironman swim time, because subtracting the time for the extra 200 yards, it would be a sub-two hour swim.

I thought I was last, but amazingly there were two people behind me. I get frustrated with swimming in general because I put a lot of time into improving technique, endurance and speed and I'm still slow. More efficiently slow, but still slow. People are by nature competitve and when you are always on the bottom you take it personally. I guess if I wasn't slow I wouldn't have as much motivation to improve. I have to be happy with cutting minutes off my time and no longer having the heebee jeebeeies everytime I am swimming in open water.

Birds Rule

2009-10-15T15:01:00.000-07:00

I have always loved birds ever since childhood. My neighbors had a birdfeeder and a birdbath(heated in winter), that our family could see outside our kitchen window. We saw cardinals, blue jays, chickadees, robins, nuthatches, tufted titmouse and plenty of squirrels.

When I got married and got a house, our backyard had an amazing variety of birds visit. The midwest is a major flyway for birds migrating north and south. I first got into birding when I happened to look at some birds in my trees and I was amazed to see that they were bright yellow warblers. I have been hooked ever since. I saw all kinds of strange birds in that yard. Onetime I had a Woodcock visit for a few days. This is a really peculiar looking bird with a long beak.

Arizona has its own version of unique birds-roadrunners, hummingbirds, quail, burrowing owls, peach-faced lovebirds and one of the largest wrens in the world-the cactus wren. One of my favorites is the vermillion flycatcher, which a small brilliant red bird. My yard always has resident mockingbirds, Gila woodpeckers, Abert's towees, Anna's hummingbirds, cactus wrens, doves, thrashers, verdins, quail, occasional Lesser goldfinches, kestrels, and white-crowned sparrows, so I have learned to recognize birds by sight and/or sound.

I love the challenge of seeing a new bird and trying to figure out what it is. They never look like the picture in the bird guides. It makes my day to discover a bird I haven't ever seen. If you go out with hardcore birders they will stare at a bird for twenty minutes trying to figure out what it is. The more drab the bird, the harder it is to identify. Some types of birds are nearly identical, so the only way to distinguish it is figuring out its behavior, range, tail shape or some obsure marking on its body.

Most people probably do not share my fascination with birds, but I think they are missing a lot by not noticing what is around them. They are part of being in the moment. When I am doing something boring like driving, watching hawks soaring in the sky takes me out of the mundane world. When I am riding my bike or running, they amuse me with their behavior or their vocalizations. They add immensely to the richness of the world. If you are somewhere with many birds, the singing makes the place feel more alive. They chirp, twitter, croak, buzz and warble. Some are ugly and obnoxious, others breath-takingly beautiful. They hop, run, creep and soar. Watching and listening to them brings me joy. I don't know why more people don't notice birds. Birds rule.

Dark Places

2009-10-11T21:10:00.000-07:00

There sometimes comes a moment in long endurance training where you feel like utter crap. Your body is telling you to quit, but you know you have to keep going. Usually it is deep in the session when you still have a long way to go and you are in pain and running out of energy.

I started out my 91 mile ride feeling good. I knew I had to ride hard for six hours, but I blocked that out of my mind. My plan was to ride the ironman route all the way up then do shorter loops so that I went up the hill three times. Again it was windy like last week, but the wind was more out of the east and a little lighter, so it wasn't as bad. It got worse as the day went on and I was still fighting it riding downhill.

By the time I hit mile 60, my feet hurt, my rear end hurt, my neck was still and my thighs were burning. I would stare down at the road in a trace trying not to think about how boring the road was, how tired I was or how many miles I had to go. My goal was to keep up a certain pace, but I was fighting to maintain it. By the time I was ascending the hill a third time, my mind was going to dark places. I told myself it's like a race-the good feelings and the bad feelings don't last long.

I recently was reading a book by Eckhart Tolle entitled "The Power of Now". He says that the "pain being" tries to assert itself over your spiritual side, which means that unhappy thoughts in your mind try to keep you from feeling at peace. Instead of living in the moment you are thinking negative thoughts. This "pain being" took over my mind because I was so physically uncomfortable. I felt like I had to resist it because it was going to visit again sometime in the race and I had to be ready for it.

As a defense, I finally told myself about mile 74 that I was going to fight the urge to slow down. I made a game of trying to maintain my average speed for every mile until I reached my goal. It distracted me somewhat and the fact that I was nearly home helped. I made my speed goal for the whole 91 miles.

I think getting through an ironman race is about pain tolerance through mental fortitude. The mental fortitude you get from yourself and from the people that support you. The mental fortitude you get from getting through a tough training session. The mental fortitude to keep going when you body is screaming for you to stop. Mind over matter so that you can defeat your demons.

Paying the Ironman Dues

2009-10-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

There comes a time when the ironman training starts getting really tough, when you confidence falters and when you just wish the training was over with and you had your life back.

This week I started I started with heavy volume again after tapering off for my Duathlon race. All I want to do besides train is eat and nap. The rest of life I am just going through the motions. Work barely gets done, the house is a mess and the yard has had a hard summer.

It's the price you pay for doing an extreme endeavor. At this point in training six hour bike rides, three hour runs, 4000 yard swims are the norm. It's only about four to six weeks of the whole training cycle, but it leaves you energy for little else. You get really cranky because you are so tired. If you are lucky, you don't get sick or injured.

Sunday I rode the Bee Line race route for five and a half hours and it was miserable. I hadn't done a long bike in a month and my legs hurt. My bike rides have been going fairly well, but this day the wind was howling from the south west, the same direction that the highway goes as it goes south. Riding uphill was deceptively easy. Going downhill, I found out why. The wind was blowing straight up the highway and it was more effort riding down than up. Usually you can fly going downhill. Riding southwest and west was a real effort. I told myself that at least I am getting the training even though I am going slower than hell. It's the kind of riding experience where you curse the wind and you just want it to be over with. I was really tired and I hurt.

Tuesday I did a two and a half hour run on the IMAZ run course. I also had not run long in a month and it was surprisingly tiring. Each lap of the run goes over three bridges(one twice) and there is also a significant hill to run up. It was a lot of cement to hurt my feet and some areas are utterly monotonous. I can see that this run would be challenging, even without a 2.4 mile swim and a 112 mile bike before it.

Even this misery has an end. I only have three more six hour bike rides and two more two plus hours of running along with the shorter workouts. I have maybe four 4000 yard swim workouts. Then it's a taper and hope that I did enough. Forty-five days and counting.

Duathlon Worlds Race Report

2009-09-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

This race was my first foray into "elite" racing and it turned out to be quite a different experience from the local races I have done before. My athletic ability is not "elite", but I got lucky and managed to qualify for this race. I have never raced a duathlon of this length, nor have I raced anywhere but Arizona and California. The race was held at Lowe's Motor Speedway in Concord, N.C., which had a huge area of land around it. This part of Concord is dominated by the Speedway, a huge mall and lots of chain restaurants. Southerners are a friendly breed. I

found that to be refreshing and helpful.

The race day started out drizzly. I didn't race until 3:35 and transition didn't open until 2:00, so I walked around the mall with my relatives. I went back to the hotel, stressed over my equipment and squeezed into my uniform. The pros were finishing up their bike section while the age groupers watched. We watched them through the fence.

The start line is on the racetrack. My wave (45+)was the third wave after paratriathlon and men 50+. When our wave started, I tried to keep up with the rest of the crowd, but I soon fell behind. My strategy for this race was not to use up all my energy on the first 10k, so I could do a decent job on the last 5k. My heart rate was supposed to be in the 160's, but it ended up mostly in the 170's.

The diagram below shows the complicated route. What it doesn't show is that the ramp to the outside of the track goes sharply down, then sharply up, the turn around to the top of the map goes downhill, then uphill, that the bridge going over the highway is steep going up and down.

This run was really crowded. The young guys

were in the last wave, so they could mow all us older people down. They would pass me with as little room as they could spare. I was mesmerized by some of the running style. One guy had almost no vertical motion whatsoever. It looked like his feet barely touched the ground.

I got done in 57:43. Not great, but O.K. Getting into transition, I found out that I wasn't supposed to check in my shoes and helmet. A stupid mistake. It isn't a race without something going wrong. When I got onto the bike course, it was crazy with people and the roads were wet. Riding fast on a technical course with lots of turns in the

rain is a new experience for me. I don't get to do it much in the desert. Again the map is deceptive in depicting the course. The ramps to the outside of the speedway are steep going up and down. As you approach the area near the tunnel under the highway there is a sharp turn. As you go under the highway, there is a 10-12 percent grade hill-just enough to really hurt. There is also a steep hill as you approach the dirt track. The section around the dirt track is mostly flat, but with a lot of turns. It was weird to go through the rain-soaked parking lot with no one there. The most treacherous part was coming back under the highway. You went down the 12 percent hill with a curve on the bottom going through the narrow tunnel. This scared me. You end up circling the track. The track surprisingly is not flat. You climb, then go downhill. The track has 45 degree embankments. I can't imagine racing a car and driving that embankment. I have to admire the skill of these race car drivers.

By the time I got to the second lap
of the bike, the rain was coming down steadily. My bike computer wasn't working at all, so I just went by my heart rate. I was cautious on the first lap because I was trying to avoid crashing and trying to stay out of the way of the riders going 25mph. Again they would pass with little room to spare. I was beginning to wish I was in a women's only race. The second lap it thinned out. By this time, it was the over 60 crowd and me. I had room to take the corners faster. I passed a 60 year old and then she passed me. These older racers are tough! I kind of found it annoying. Being by myself, I got the feeling I get sometimes when I am racing by myself-that I am lost and not going the right way. I figured most people would get done in two hours and I would be my myself. The curse of being slow. Finishing up inside the speedway, it was starting to get dark and the lights were on. The rain was driving into my eyes. I got done in 1:29:14.

The last 5k, the rain was coming down hard. My shoes were soaked and you couldn't avoid the rivers of water. My pace fell off and I was down to running ten minute miles with the older racers. I didn't really feel any pain in my legs, but I had no power. I had a hard time running up the ramps and bridges and at one point had to walk for a few seconds. When I was running over a bridge, I saw the paratriathlete wheeling her chair backwards over the bridge. I didn't feel so bad. I can't imagine what courage it would take to race a wheelchair in the rain. Finally I got inside the speedway to run to the finish line. Usually I don't smile when I finish a race, but I was so happy to see the finish, that I couldn't resist. I finished the run in 32:22. I felt a sense of accomplishment just finishing this race.

I usually learn something every race I do. This race I learned that you do the best with what you've got. If you are not an elite athlete, you race as hard as you can and hope for the best. I learned that local races are sometimes limited in complexity and competition. Local races are more fun in that people are more relaxed, but sometimes the course doesn't challenge you mentally and physically as in other places. This race I always had to be alert to what was coming instead of zoning out. It would have been nice to have more crowd support, but it was pouring rain. I also learned I could race my bike in the rain(though not as fast) and survive. I learned that a task that seems overwhelmingly difficult can be accomplished one small step at a time. Confidence is always a good thing. And so are bragging rights in doing a World Championship.

Duathlon Heebie Jeebees

2009-09-18T20:04:00.000-07:00

I am getting stressed about the Duathlon I am doing in North Carolina on the 26th. The WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP Duathlon. I guess being in a World Championship would imply that you are some kind of elite age group athlete. I did a qualifying race, but there were only eight in my age group and I placed fifth. Placement rolls down to six places. Two people declined to go, so I am going. I didn't run or bike all that fast and yet I am going to this Championship.

Planning the trip was a major exercise in logistics. Do I take the bike on the plane, do I ship it, do I try to re-assemble it myself when I get there, etc. Even the plane trip was a lot of planning because I couldn't get a decent fare unless I connect in Atlanta. Connecting trips from Phoenix range from six hours to almost nine. The race headquarters hotel was like $200 a night with a non-refundable deposit. The governing board for triathlon USAT, didn't seem to think that cost was an issue for the athletes. They are sponsoring a pasta dinner for $30 each. The uniforms were around $200. I either had to bring my bike on the plane for $175 one way or ship it for about the same price.

Despite all this hassle and cost, I think it will be ultimately worth it. I am not the sort to compete at higher levels and I lucked into this one. I was worried about being last, but not everyone there is going to be in perfect form. People have had injuries and other circumstances that happened to them that will challenge them when they try to race. I haven't been able to pull off a "dream" race in a while where I wildly exceed my expectations. All I can do is try as hard as I can even if it isn't up to other people's levels. It's the experience of racing at that level that I am after. Probably being around people that are excellent athletes and being in championship will motivate me to do better. Plus it's probably going to be like a big party like a lot of races. Some people are serious, but some people are just there to have a good time.

I hate the days just before a race. I get tense and irritable. There are a million things that go through your mind-what if I get lost on the course(a distinct possiblity on this course), what if I have a flat tire, what if my bike gets lost in shipment, what if I miss my connecting flight, what if I get lost on the way from the airport, what if I get sick. A lot of things you can't control and you just have to deal with them as they come. You have to have faith that things will be O.K. You especially have to have faith in yourself.

I WILL do this. I WILL have fun. I WILL KICK BUTT.

Green Run 10k race report

2009-09-13T13:02:00.000-07:00

With my duathlon two weeks away, I decided a 10k race would be a good way to prepare. I have to start out the duathlon with a 10k so it seemed like a good idea. The race is put on by the Arizona Road Racers in the Reach 11 Horse Lovers Park. It definitely smelled like horses. The 10k is a two loop run on a mostly flat dirt trail in the desert. It's rather low key with a mixture of a few hard core types and mostly recreational runners.

My reach goal was to beat my 10k personal record, 55:31. That quickly fell by the wayside when I ran the first mile in 9:15". Maybe the next mile will be better? Nope-9:15 also. I told myself maybe for the first loop, I could beat the last 5k time I had on this course. No-29:08 on the race clock as I ran by. At least I passed the guy running with the stroller. It was getting hot by this time. It was 84 degrees at dawn. I don't know what it was now. I tried to keep my cadence up since I wasn't getting much power out of my legs. I felt stronger than my last 5k, but my heart rate kept going up steadily and I wasn't running much faster than 9:15"/mile. I didn't have the stabbing pain in my ribs that I usually have when I am running fast, but I was pretty uncomfortable. By the fifth mile my heart rate was in the 170's and I usually train in the 150's for hard runs. Then my intestines started to rebel. I don't think my body likes to run this hard in the heat. I started getting bad cramps. I had to slow way down and blew most of the gains I had in the second lap. I was toasted by the time I hit the finish line and had no energy for a final push.

Final time: 58:47 with 53/108 female. My conclusion is that you are not going to be blazing fast on a dirt course in the heat, let alone P.R. I think when you are running on soft dirt, you lose some of the power of the foot pushing off, so you exert more energy trying to make up for it. That's my excuse anyway. Heat and dirt. I pushed it to the limit, but the speed wasn't there. The fun in racing, though, is trying. Once in a great while you do something extraordinary that you thought you could never do. You try to beat yourself and sometimes you do. Most of the time you don't, but I would rather take a so-so day of racing over staying home.