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.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
I Pulled the Trigger
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.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Getting Lost In Boston
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.
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.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Mountain Man Race Report
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.
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.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Fourth of July Four Miler Race Report or Freaking Fried on the Fourth
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".
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".
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
More Things I Learned on the Road to Divorce(or from It).
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.
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.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Deuces Wild Xterra Race Report
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.
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.
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