The Hammerheads

Meet my bike - she, and the shoes that came along with her are an impressive 22 years old. Yes, for those of you with the attention to detail, there is duct tape holding my shoes together. They started falling apart recently, and duct tape fixes everything. If you can't fix it, duct it.

In 1990, I bought this Concorde Europa - basically for the color.  She (and I have no idea why it's a she) got dragged through many hours of training and racing through my college years, and then I gave her a nice long rest.  I did not ask her opinion about coming out of retirement, after all, she's a bike.

My cycling group, the CyclePaths, affectionately call her "vintage". I understand they are just being nice.  And I would have bike envy for the carbon fiber beauties they ride if not for the sentimental attachment I have for my bike.  Plus, I figure if I train on a steel bike, then I will fly on a carbon one (which is probably one tenth the weight).

My coach changed my training schedule, based on my 5K time, and the fact that I kept insisting the workouts were easy.  I must admit, there is a part of me that thinks I should have kept my mouth shut. But nobody climbed Everest by staring at the mountain. Part of this change was to cycle with the more advanced members of the cycling group, the "Hammerheads". My coach assured me I would have no trouble keeping up. Red flags should have gone off, since he had also said the same about me running one practice with Ben, the ultra-marathoner (for more on that, see a few posts ago). 

I intend on telling him, "you keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means." ( I love the Princess Bride)

In the second half of the ride, I was at least a mile behind them. The slower group behind me, I could have finished the ride at an easier pace. Easier was not the goal, and I got stubborn so I made it my goal to catch up, no matter what. Legs screaming, nausea kicking in, sweat streaming.  It was fun. But finally, at mile 32, they were stopped at a red light, and I glided in behind them. They cheered for me, and then took off. I had hoped the light would stay red longer, but no such luck.

Fortunately for me, Mike took pity on me and guided me in on a draft. Tired as I was, his back tire became my sole focus.  For the last mile, he says to me cheerfully, "Let's sprint!  You can keep up!"  No thanks Mike, I'm going to pass out and die on the side of the road thank you very much, you go ahead.

Congratulations abound when I got into the parking lot.  My bike and I had made it, we had kept up (somewhat) and completed another baby step to the ultimate goal. It will be hard when it comes time to retire my bike for a new model - I'm not stupid or crazy enough to believe I could do an Ironman on a steel bike. Till then, these two vintage gals will keep plugging along to keep up with the Hammerheads, and try not to fall apart in the process.  If we do, there is always duct tape...

Breakfast with a Side of Jalapeno

The Jalapeno 100 this past weekend was my first 5k race. I had two goals for this race - run the whole thing, something I had never done before (even in my triathlon days) and to get a sub 30 min for the race. It was fairly chilly out, but feeling slightly nervous, I didn't really notice.

The starting line was packed as people jostled each other to get as close to the start as possible.  I was not quite as eager. Let them fight it out, I thought, I have no desire to be a ping pong ball. I started my little metronome app (my coach has me run at 180 bpm as an endurance base), and waited for the countdown. And...we're off!

Coach had told me that under NO circumstances was I to run the first mile under 9:40.  After that, if I felt good, I could increase my pace.  My Garmin became my new best friend.  Every ten to fifteen seconds, I would glance at it. The first few looks went something like this:

9:13....

10:04....

9:21...well, you get the idea.

Obviously, pacing was something I needed to work on. After the first half mile, I finally got it under control.

Shortly after the turn around point, I started passing more people. I waved as I passed my boss - he just laughed and waved me on. I had increased my pace for the second mile, and when I hit the third, I felt I could push it more.

Seeing that finish line, I began to feel a little giddy. I know that there are runners out there who go much farther than 5K in their warm up, but for me, in that moment, a victory was achieved.  I went from the girl who couldn't run a quarter mile six months ago, to the one who finished her first 5K.

My running group, iRun, was out in full force to run or support.  As I crossed the finish line, there were hugs and congratulations. It was then I realized that running is not a solitary sport.  Having the support of my group made the race that much sweeter.

Nora told me that I came in 12th for the women. Wow, I thought, 12th, and I had really held back that first mile. I had figured I would wind up in the middle of the pack. Had it not been totally inappropriate, I would have done my happy dance.

In the end, I went a minute faster than my coach had estimated I would go, and I got my sub 30 - 28:31. The Jalapeno 100 won't be my last race, but it will always be special - surrounded by the well wishes of my new friends, I made my first baby step to my ultimate goal.

If the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, then my Ironman journey began with a 5K on a cold Sunday morning.

Sure I Can Do That (Not)

           My coach headed a group run once a week, and he encouraged me to come. The first practice a few weeks ago made me feel like a kindergartner enrolling at high school.  Everyone knew everyone, and I listened to them chat about races, training, and life and thought to myself, “you train alone, what are you doing here?”

            Coach came out and told me that for my first practice I was going to train with Ben.  Ben, an ultra marathoner, had a 100 mile race in a few days. One… Hundred… Miles. And I had been so proud of my little four to five mile runs. He was on taper week, so Coach thought I should have no trouble keeping up. Coach looked at me expectantly, and I dutifully said, “Sure, I can do that.”

            The warm up showed me how much trouble I was in.  Ben ran easily along, and I pushed myself to keep up with him.  As the actual workout began, it became incredibly clear that there was no way that this was going to happen. I began to see a defibrillator in my future.  I slowed down, and although he tried to be nice and encouraging, I knew I was dead weight to him.  I told him to go on without me.  He ran off, and my pride tried really, really hard not to keel over from the pain in my side.

            Part of me felt completely defeated. But this new feeling that was starting to take hold inside made me keep going, albeit at a much more tolerable pace. I finished the workout, went home and sat there for a long time, wondering if I had the determination to see this through. One hundred forty miles of pain, and I would have paid money to do it, sacrificed time and body parts. Then I thought, the ultra runners had to start somewhere, and if they were crazy enough to try 100 miles, well, I already knew I was crazy. I started looking forward to the next run.

            Old habits are like grooves in a road, it’s hard to not be attracted to them. They are comfortable, and they are what we know, even if they are no good for us and just hold us back.  Making the conscious decision to not allow myself to become mired in those thoughts is how I know that I will make it to, and complete my first Ironman.

            It may be a while before I can keep up with the ultra marathoners, but there will come a day when I will. And won’t that be something? 

Run Only When Chased

                You can take the girl out of the triathlon, but you can never take the triathlon out of the girl. In college, I discovered triathlons.  I had swum like a fish since I was four, lived out in the country so biking was a way of life, and running…well, let’s just say we tolerated each other. Triathlons seemed to be a natural progression, and for my four years at college, it was.

                Life tends to get in the way, and after college, I gave up racing to be more “responsible”.  Over the years, I toyed with the idea of going back, and kept myself relatively fit in the hopes that one day thoughts would become reality.

                Recently, I took stock. It was time to get back in the triathlon game, but I had bigger goals in mind this time round. Ironman triathlons are the Holy Grail for a triathlete, and so I set my sight on that goal. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t done a full triathlon in twenty years.  If we are going to dream, dream big.

                Swim? No problem. May be a bit rusty but I had spent my summers teaching swimming lessons. 

                Bike?  No problem, I loved to mountain bike and usually got a good ride in every weekend. 

                Run?  Houston, we have a problem. Running and I have always had a love/hate relationship. But for me to attain my goal, running and I were going to have to come to some sort of understanding.

                As luck would have it (not sure yet whether it was good or bad luck), I was taking a course on Health and Wellness, and the curriculum required me to run. Figuring this was as good a time as any to test out my attitude adjustment, I set feet to pavement.  That first night, the running got me.  I couldn’t even get a quarter mile. I firmly believed you should only run when chased, or if you stole something.

                Set back but undaunted, I kept at it. The breakthrough happened about two months in.  I ran a mile, and felt really good.  I decided to try for two, and then three.  At four miles, I stopped and raised my arms in my best Rocky imitation, bringing smiles to the faces of the drivers passing by.  For the first time, I thought,”I could really do this”.

                Right around that time, I met some people who invited me to join a running group.  Misery loves company I thought, not entirely sure if this breakthrough in my relationship with running would hold.  The first thing recommended to me was to get some real running shoes to become a real runner, so I went to Valley Running Company.  The staff was awesome and put me at ease.  They were also busy, giving me time to wander around the store. 

                Freeze!  Hold up, what was that?  A medal box…filled with medals.  Ironman medals. The owner of the store had completed eight Ironman races, eight! We sat down and had a great conversation, where German agreed to coach me to my first Ironman, and after much discussion we decided on Houston May 2014. There would be a lot of interim races, including a 70.3, but that would be my first full Ironman. 

                Of course, the first thing he said to me after watching me run was that he was going to change everything about the way I ran. Great – just as running and I were coming to an understanding, the rules were going to change.

                The funny thing is, after I got used to his method, I no longer felt like a clumsy, wannabe runner.  I began to fall in love with running, and saw the beauty in it. I no longer needed to be chased to be motivated to run.

                I know I have a long way to go before my first Ironman, and there will be days that running and I may not be on speaking terms, but I trust that as long as I keep putting on foot in front of the other, I will get to my goal.