"Stop Slouching!": Winged Scapula

Winged scapula is a common biomechanical deficiency which is caused by two things: short (tight) pectoralis minor and long (weak) serratus anterior/lower trapezius. In severe cases, it looks like a person's shoulder blades are poking up out his or her back. I saw one guy on the bike course at Lawrence 70.3 who made me cringe, his scapulae were so poky. But in a less severe case, the condition will show itself if you push hard against a wall with palms flat at waist level (not sure on the biomechanics of why this is the case, beyond the fact that this movement should use the serratus anterior and if they're weak it'll show up here). One of the other trainers at my gym did this once and completely grossed me out. He looked like a frickin' gargoyle.

So why should you care that your shoulder blades stick out like a pterodactyl's? First off, it destabilizes your shoulders. The shoulder is a pretty intricate area, and little things that might seem small (like an imbalance in the muscle that holds the shoulder blade against the ribs) can really FUBAR the joint in a dozen years or two. Injury is the first and primary concern with any imbalance I bring up.

But in a more immediate sense, it can also impede your performance; not like having no shoulders in twenty years isn't going to impede your performance (yeah, I have some athletes you might wanna ask about that . . .) The serratus anterior is a muscle you need for swimming, especially if you want to get that nice Serape Effect rotation going. Besides which, it's totally common for winging scapulae to go along with a protracted shoulder girdle, which probably means your rhomboids are weak too. And guess what other muscles operate in that Serape Effect thing. That's right . . .

What do you do about winging scapula? Here are some exercises and stretches that will probably help you (unless your problem arises from an impinged nerve in your neck/traps, but in that case you'd probably only have one wing).

Incline Shoulder Raise
Lie on your back at a slight incline. If you're at a gym you can use an incline bench. Otherwise, you can lean against a stability ball. Hold dumbbells (always start light!) in hands with arms extended. Your hands should be positioned directly above your shoulders. Now without bending your elbows, raise your hands; the movement should come from scapular protraction (pulling your shoulder blades apart). You can also add this exercise onto the end of a bench press--that is, protract your shoulder blades at the top of your bench press, using your serratus anterior to extend your range of motion. Although if you have winged scapula, you probably shouldn't be spending a lot of time on bench press; your pecs are too strong, remember?

Standing (Dumbbell) Scaption
Don't start with dumbbells. This is not an exercise that you use to pack meat onto your deltoids. This exercise is not intended to give you a good cut. It primarily strengthens the supraspinatus, which has got to be one of the most exposed and vulnerable muscles in your body. So do yourself a favor and take it easy when you begin this exercise.

Stand in a stable position, hands at your sides, thumbs facing forward (palms turned towards your body). Make sure your shoulders are back and down, your chest is lifted, and your back is in a neutral position. The movement is halfway between a front raise and a lateral raise. Raise both arms to the front and sides at about a 45 degree angle, simultaneously rotating your thumbs to face behind you (palms still rotated medially). Combination flexion, abduction, and external rotation! Whee!

Supine PNF Patterns on Ball
Lie with a stability ball under your shoulders and upper back, thumb of your right hand on your left thigh. Lift your arm up and over your head, rotating your thumb to face down. Similar to the above movement, except the movement is diagonal and you're reclining.

Isometric Wall Press
Stand about two feet from a fall. Raise your arms to roughly shoulder level and place them on the wall. Make sure shoulders are back and down, chest is lifted, back is neutral. Press into the wall by protracting the shoulders (not by leaning forward!) and hold. This is an isometric contraction for the serratus anterior.

Doorway Modified Chest Stretch
Stand next to a doorway or wall of some sort. Bend the shoulder and elbow and place the the forearm against the wall. Lean into the wall slightly and turn the body away from your arm. You should feel the stretch in your upper chest and arm. This is to stretch the pectoralis minor.

Cobra
During this yoga pose, focus on lifting yourself with your back extensors, rather than pushing yourself up with your arms. Keep the shoulders back and down, the shoulder blades retracted, and the chest broad and lifted. Stretch long through the spine and then try to pull the breastbone away from the hips. Yoga poses are really too complex for me to adequately explain in this manner; follow the link for a more complete set of directions. Or--even better--go to a yoga class and have an actual yoga instructor help you! You should be going to yoga anyway.

Downward Facing Dog
Same note as above; I can't adequately explain a yoga pose in this blog. Partly because it's too complex, but partly because I'm not qualified. I can tell you that one of the many, many benefits of this posture is that it causes a continuous eccentric contraction in the serratus anterior, as long as you remember to keep your shoulders broad and low. Follow the link (or your yoga instructor's instructions) for more help than I've given you!

I should mention at this point that my scapula wing. You can't tell just by looking (they're not that bad), but if I do the wall test, you can definitely see my wings ("Every time the dumbbells clank, a bodybuilder gets his wings!"). So these are exercises and stretches that I do on a regular basis. And Downard Facing Dog is very difficult for me in yoga class, because my serratus anterior doesn't much care to hold an eccentric contraction for very long.

I really hope that these exercises provide useful material for your weight training programs, and help prevent injury and enhance performance. If you have particular questions or suggestions for this series, sound off in the comments or send me an e-mail!

Note: Videos for the exercises can be found here.

"Stop Slouching!": New Series!

Weight training is what I do. I love biomechanics, muscles, tendons, and bones, corrective exercises, contraindications . . . and I love discussing all of it. I can't go to the grocery store without noting one shopper's pronation, another's internally-rotated shoulders, and a few swayed backs.

So when I went to the Lawrence Half Ironman and saw winging scapulae, hunched backs, and forward head posture, I was--to say the least--distressed.

And the things I've mentioned are only the superficial signs of internal weaknesses; just think of all the potential problems--inflexibilities, weaknesses, imbalances--that are invisible to the innocent (and some even to the informed) observer!

C'mon, people! We are the pinnacle of health and fitness! We are gods!

We are crazy.

But craziness aside, I am taking action regarding this problem in our community. I'm beginning a series on some problems (beginning with the ones I have) common to triathletes and endurance athletes. I'll show you a few ways to determine whether or not you might have a problem, then demonstrate exercises that will help to prevent or correct those problems. Not only will improving your biomechanics alter your posture (read: you will look sexier, both on the race course and off), it will also improve your performance (i.e better biomechanics = better form = less fatigue = more speed).

For this series, I need to add this disclaimer, however: I am a personal trainer. I am certified through the National Strength and Conditioning Association. I am NOT a physical therapist. I am not licensed to provide rehabilitative or corrective exercises. What I can do is help you improve your strength and flexibility, with the intention of bettering your physical appearance and athletic performance.

And I will begin the series next week with the problem that distressed me most at the Lawrence 70.3: the dread winged scapula!

Vitamin B Fact Sheet

This is something new I'm trying: writing and publishing articles through Triond, in addition to this blog. I chose to publish this particular article elsewhere because it's not entirely relevant to
endurance athletes (although it's probably helpful).

I enjoyed learning about the B complex vitamins and what they do. I had no idea that they were so relevant to me personally. I've always been kind of confused about all those various letters and numbers.

A quick disclaimer: I'm not a dietitian. I'm not even a nutritionist. I can't prescribe. I can't even really suggest, other than to say very basic things like fast food is bad for you. I'm professionally obligated (and rightly so) to make you aware of that fact. The stuff I'm writing about Vitamin B is mostly from online sources, which means that you are every bit as capable as I am of coming up with this information.

And now that I've adequately disclaimed, let me say this: B vitamins--particularly B6 and B12--are one of a handful of supplements that I would consider taking (calcium, iron, and protein are the others). This is because it's difficult for me to get B12 and B6, which are found most plentifully in animal protein, in my normal diet, and I don't want to risk a deficiency in these important nutrients. However, for the most part, I strongly dislike the idea of taking pills instead of eating healthy food. I know that for some people it's necessary (or at least habitual). Definitely not judging anyone for taking vitamins. But I prefer to get my nutrients from real food.

Anyway, enough about nutrition (since I'm not even qualified to give advice in this area). Here's the link to the collected facts (as I've interpreted them, anyway).

Race Report: Topeka Tinman

I could have won.

That's what I keep thinking, as I log my race in my workout logs and look again at the results. If I had only pushed harder, I could have won.

I left for the race on Friday evening. I had originally wanted to leave around noon, but the only local bike shop that could even get my bike in and out in a week couldn't have it done until Friday at 5:00. And then I forgot my cooler (with my beer!). So of course I had to go back to get that. I ended up getting out of Wichita at 6:00, which meant that I didn't get to Topeka until 8:00 (when packet pick-up was supposed to close). Fortunately, the packet pick-up stayed open a little late. But needless to stay, it was a stressful time.

Things did not go smoothly, as far as the trip went--or perhaps it would be better to say that they didn't go as planned, since it all turned out alright without being particularly stressful. I wanted to get to Shawnee Lake and set up my tent and take a look at the course before dinner (that is, while it was still light). But because of the way things worked out, it was 10:00 before I even got to the lake (fortunately the registration office was open until 11:00). So I set up my tent by the glow of my headlights, organized what I could with only a flashlight to guide me, and climbed into my sleeping bag at about 11:00.

The campsite was noisy, and I kept having strange dreams (which almost always happens the night before) about the next day's race. In one, I did the swim and bike, then woke up ready to run. I kept waking suddenly, sitting straight up with a gasp, thinking, "Oh no! I'm late!"

But of course I never was. And even with the minor stresses of travel, packet pick-up, setting the tent up in the frickin' dark, and restless sleep, I woke fresh and excited on Saturday morning at 5:00, ready to take on the world.

I collected myself as the sun was rising, and rode my bike to the staging area (a very short distance further around the lake from my campsite). I was one of the first 20 or so in transition, so I had my pick of spots. Got body marked, collected my timing chip, listened to my pre-game playlist, and generally enjoyed the fact that I was fortunate enough to have done this a dozen times before and so didn't have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off or posture insecurely about my (two races' worth of) previous triathlon experience. The music helps; it allows me to cut myself off from all that and get ready to run my own race. I took my time with a 20 minute bike warm up, 10 minute run warm up, and 20 minute wait for port-a-potties (which I unfortunately had to trade for a swim warm up).

The Swim: 1100 m, 18:08
I was in the third wave, the women's wave, which was fortunate, because I was still zipping into my wetsuit as the first wave departed. For the swim, I seeded myself toward the front, sort of in the second row. When the race director counted us a down, I dove hands first forward and attempted to sprint my way into the front pack. No dice. The swim wasn't crowded, by any means (probably less than 40 people), but for some reason I was getting dropped by everyone. I was completely confused. I normally do not get dropped in Kansas; I am a solid middle-of-the-pack swimmer. In California, I would understand it if I got dropped by everyone and their wetsuited granny. But . . . it's Kansas, you know? Land of adult swimmers!

So I was not mentally in shape to do well. I was discouraged by the fact that I was getting passed, and I didn't want to look behind me to see if there were any other yellow caps left back there. Besides which, I couldn't seem to find a good rhythm; I felt all discombobulated. Befuddled. Frickin' slow.

I think it was all simply because I didn't get a swim warm up, because between 5 and 10 minutes into the swim, I managed to find my groove. I drafted off of a few feet and started catching up to a few lady swimmers (or I think they were ladies, anyway; I honestly didn't bother to look). I recited to myself, "Slow is smooth. Smooth is good. Good is fast. Fast is slow."

And I ended up doing really well. I'm very happy with my swim time. So happy, in fact, that I half suspect that the swim course was measured a little bit short.

T1: 1:06
Yeah, you know I rocked this. It would have been under a minute, too, except I had to put stupid socks on.

The Bike: 19.76 mi, 1:04:29
I think I'm going to have to rethink my strengths in triathlon. Clearly, my transitions are still fairly strong, but my bike leg is starting to catch it up.

I am delighted with this bike split. 19 MPH. 19 MPH! That's pretty darn close to my goal of 20 MPH in a race. I passed several people (including some douche who tried to outsprint me and totally lost), and got into a little game of leap frog with another woman in my age group, whom I ended up finally passing about 3-4 miles from the end.

I felt so, so strong coming off the bike; I knew that I had done well, although I didn't know how well, and I unstrapped my shoes and dismounted my bike like a pro.

T2: 1:00
I could have done this much faster, but I didn't. I simply wasn't in a rush to get to the run.

The Run: 7.2 mi, 1:20:17
I am so embarassed about this time that I don't even want to talk about it. I can't believe I've actually gotten slower, even with a run this long. This is a 11:00 + minute mile, you realize that?

Anyway, I got out onto the run course and had my legs under me by the first half mile. My legs didn't feel good, by any means, but they were doing what they were supposed to do. I had a good, quick turnover and was feeling strong, if not exactly good.

The run was nothing short of pleasant, to be honest. I had fueled very well on the bike (a sip of water and a sip of Accelerade every 2 miles), so no bonking this time! My turnover was good, and I had my heart rate under control (kept it between 165-170 for the first 5 miles). I kept focusing on keeping a decent pace for the first 5 miles, then turning it way up for the last 2.2.

The whole time, I couldn't get over how pleasant the whole experience was. I've had runs that have gone well (and plenty that have gone terribly), but this one was actually pleasant. Like fun. It was a beautiful day, I was at a comfortable pace . . . this is by far one of the best runs I've ever had in a race.

But I cannot seem to get past the disappointment I feel in my performance. My first 2 miles were completed in 18:30. So I was actually setting a decent pace. How, then, did I manage to average 11-minute miles? I just don't understand it.

Final: 2:45:11
I met all my goals for this race. I rocked my nutrition. I rocked my bike. I rocked my swim. I rocked my transitions. I did what I wanted to do on the run, which was to keep my heart rate and pace under control and not bonk (i.e. not repeat Wildflower and Cal Poly). And I did all that.

But I came so close to victory! If I had only known enough to take myself into the red on the run, I could have won it. And I'm having trouble seeing past the run to all the stuff that I did right.

As I think about it now, I realize that a victory at Tinman wasn't really worth it for me, though. The run is disproportionately long. I know I'm not a strong runner, particularly at long distances (anything over a mile! no, just kidding). For me to have laid it all on the line for this race when I have Shawnee Mission coming up in a month . . .

Well, I would much rather do well at Shawnee Mission than at Topeka Tinman. That's my big goal for this year.

More on that later this week (assuming I ever get a long enough break from work that I'm able to post again)!

T Minus 2

Okay, now I am excited about Tinman.

I am going to kick some tail at that race, even with my 10-minute miles!

T minus 3

I race Topeka Tinman on Saturday.

And right now, I just don't care.

EDIT:: How 'bout that. Turns out all I needed was a little run!

Not Dead!

No, I'm not dead.

But I have been working some 16 hour days, which seriously impedes my ability to write and publish blog posts.

I have a few in the works, too: A playlist of pre-race music; a review of a research journal article about overtraining; and a financial post on exactly how much money it takes to begin triathlon.

However, I don't know when I'll finally have the time to refine these posts enough to publish them.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with these (previously written and published) love poems I wrote to (and about) triathlon.

Peloton

You see us in the mornings,
Lycra-clad and faces tight-clenched,
A brightly-feathered fleet of gazelles
Chasing down metallic bears
On the PCH.

You see our toned legs
Glowing with the hues
Of Santa Monica sunrises,
Strained in the pursuit
Of Mulholland Highway heights,
Legs thrusting in hypnotic circles
Like the movements of
A strange and sacred Hopi dance.

You see our honed bodies, our honed
Equipment, our honed technique;
You see our helmeted heads
And suppose that we are
Very experienced.

We see your rear fender
As you drift too close
And we eat tar
Like bulldozers
Scraping their buckets
Along a demolished road.

Dive

Gathered.
I feel calm as adrenaline swamps
my veins like its preparing them for
the coming onslaught of lactic acid.
Elites

Gather,
shaking out just-warmed arms
and legs, preparing themselves for
another chaotic mass swim start.
Goggles

prepared for entry, a dive into
this lake. Fucking cold
lake. No wetsuits--not that cold.
Holy shit. Look at those deltoids, toned
to pro levels. What am I
doing here?

5-second warning. Together
our whole bodies
tense--one monstrously muscular
athletic being.
At the buzzer we all

Gather
our limbs, hone our
extremities like water knives,
and leap. I fly
like a Power Bar-sponsored swan
and suspend myself
forever in the lens of some
sports photographer. And in
the last moments
before

I hit the water and
enter a painfully hazing world
of feet and elbows,

I float totally
Gathered.

A Jog

Sun-crisped words fall
To the rhythm of shoe-thumped pavement
Calloused hands that soften
Like the shining hairs that graze my arms and neck
Clench and tense, relax self-consciously
Percussive jolt of knees
Chased by laughing shivers
And the rushing pulse of deep-drawn breaths
The well-known beat of our bodies.

Tunes for Pre-Gaming

Spinning workouts are impractical, this time of year. Sure, you might hop on your trainer for a quick intervals workout, but in general you'd much rather be riding outside than listening to some dumb instructor tell you what to do as you stare at a blank wall.

With that in mind, spinning podcasts will take a break (because I haven't already been taking a break, right?) until late fall, when it gets cold enough that everyone will head back into the gym/house to ride on their stationary trainers.

You know what kind of audio we need, though?

Pre-game.

Why listen to music before a race? I have a few reasons, but I'll preface them by saying it's a pretty individual thing. I have two main reasons: The first is that it's easier to push myself farther than I want to go when in my head Eminem is screaming at me to "lose myself in the music." The other is that it's helpful for me to get an appropriate rhythm stuck in my head before I go out to race.

What's an appropriate song, though? Again, it's very individual. One of my athletes really enjoys the Tim McGraw song "How Bad Do You Want It?" I might listen to that song when I'm training or use it for a cycling workout, but not when I'm racing. It's too obvious for me (Melissa Etheridge's "Run for Life" is the same way; great for training, but too obvious for racing), intensity is too low, and I don't particularly enjoy country music. But if you really hate rock, rap, or ska, you might really hate my selection of pre-race songs.

So having said all that, I present to you my suggestions for pre-race music. These songs have a driving beat at an appropriate tempo for swimming, cycling, and running (some more appropriate than others); lyrics that encourage reaching beyond the present moment, or that force you to remember an object greater than the current challenge; and I like them. This is the music playing on my iPod the night before a race (or sometimes an important workout), driving to a race site, and setting up transition.

The Song: Quest
The Artist: Bryn Christopher
Why it's Here: These lyrics: "What I'm gonna live for / What I'm gonna die for / Who ya gonna fight for"

The Song: Way Away
The Artist: Yellowcard
Why it's Here: Driving beat and catchy lyrics will help you wake up at 4:34 in the a.m. Cause it's hard to be sleepy when you're singing along at the top of your lungs.

The Song: Saturday Morning
The Artist: Eels
Why it's Here: Even though most triathletes race on Sundays more often than Saturdays, the central idea of the song--"It's Saturday morning! Stop sleeping 'cause it's time to play!"--is totally appropriate. Let this song remind you that you're playing out there; you don't have to take yourself so seriously.

The Song: 'Cause You Can

The Artist: Birdmonster

Why it's Here: "Cause you can!"

The Song: Remember the Name
The Artist: Mike Shinoda (Linkin Park's DJ) Feat. Styles Of Beyond - Fort Minor
Why it's Here: This song is all about earning respect by working hard. This song is about entitlement; you've worked hard to compete at your event, so go out and give everyone a reason to remember who you are.

The Song: Breathing
The Artist: Yellowcard
Why it's Here: Same reason the other Yellowcard song is on here; it's catchy, it's high-energy, and it's fun to sing along to.

The Song: The Dirty Glass
The Artist: Dropkick Murphys
Why it's Here: This song is fun. And that is enough.

The Song: Overrated
The Artist: Less Than Jake
Why it's Here: The lyrics in this song speak to how boring everything is, how it's hard to find something worth doing. Before a race, I like to remind myself that the intensity of a triathlon is a step above the humdrum of normal life.

The Song: U + Ur Hand
The Artist: P!nk
Why it's Here: Just for this line: "You don't really wanna mess with me tonight."

The Song: Pressing On
The Artist: Relient K
Why it's Here: "I'm pressing on, pressing on / All my regrets are going, going gone / Pressing on, pressing on." Yeah, just try quitting with this song running through your head.

The Song: Lose Yourself
The Artist: Eminem
Why it's Here: "You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you want it / You better never let it go / You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow / This opportunity comes once in a lifetime." The hardest hills seem easy with this one; this one carries me through.

What are your suggestions for pre-game songs? Why do you listen to music before a big event, or, if you don't listen to music, why not? Sound off in the comments!

P.S. I also have a few other songs that I put on there, for no other reason than that I like them and they get me going, get me ready to race! You'll see those extra songs once iTunes decides to publish my iMix in their stupid store.

Profundity

There are a handful of things that regularly shock me by the deep level of satisfaction they afford me.

Writing a song or poem (or a blog post).

Actually getting through all the things that I have to do in a day.

And the feeling that wells up as the deep misery of a tough bike ride through high winds (15-25 MPH), rain, and muddy dirt roads fades away.

Holy Crap!

High wind advisory.

Tornado advisory.

Severe weather advisory.

Holy crap, Kansas! You finally figured out it's spring!

(Un)Reasonable Expectations

Breaking into sub-8:00-minute-mile territory has got me thinking.

Running that fast was really difficult. It hurt. I did not want to do it again.

And I know that improvement in sports (in most things, actually; I experienced this while I was still playing piano) ascends to a certain point and then begins to plateau; it operates on a long curve approaching a largely predetermined glass ceiling. And the improvement at the beginning comes a lot easier and more quickly than the improvement close to that limit. For example, I started really adding in speed work last January under the supervision of Coach Rad at USC Tri. And I saw my average pace drop from around 11:30/mile to around 9:20/mile in about four months. So that was pretty quick improvement. This season, I've seen 5k pace at 9:07 and 2-mile pace at 8:16 (but let's not talk about that 10k Wildflower time, okay?) . . . which is still some pretty significant speed gain.

As much as that 1600 hurt on Friday, I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting to the point where the improvements will come slowly, with a lot more hard work and suffering. Which gets me to thinking . . .

What are reasonable (or unreasonable) expectations? Is a 24:00 5k reasonable? What about a 45:00 10k? How about 24.5 MPH on the bike? Or cranking out 300+ watts on average (not that I can afford a frickin' Power Tap right now)? Should I shoot for a 25-minute 1500 M swim?

Here's my concern: Let's say I set my sights on a 24-minute 5k and accomplish that. Will my brain tell my body, "Hey! Good work! Unfortunately, that's pretty much your glass ceiling. That's as fast as you're ever going to run. Sorry legs, I'm just not going to give you enough oxygen to run any faster. Because that's the limit!"

What if, subconsciously, I set limits that don't exist? What if it's enough that they exist as realities in my mind?

This goes back to a post I wrote a while ago: "Believing in Belief." In it I shared accounts of athletes who did truly extraordinary things simply because they thought--no, scratch that, they knew that they could do it. They knew that they could do it. And they did it.

With that in mind, I'd rather have ridiculously unreasonable expectations than accidentally undershoot my full potential because I set my sights too low. And who knows what my body may be capable of?

Maybe there's a Vanessa Fernandez or an Emma Snowsill hanging out in this short, stumpy little body!

Note: I would also like to comment that Vanessa Fernandez is pulling a ridiculous face in that photo, proving once again that event photographers don't take good photos of anyone. Even world champions.

Feeling Good About Recovery

Today, while lifeguarding at the pool (because when no one else can guard, guess what the Aquatics Director gets to do), I was working on a forthcoming blog post about overtraining/under-recovering. I was reading a journal article that reviewed the current research on the topic of recovery, which prompted me to think about the unique situation of triathletes when it comes to recovery. Then one of the other lifeguards (my pacer from Friday night, actually) was generous enough to relieve me early (at 5:00 instead of 8:00), so I headed home for a 6-mile tempo run.

Which sucked.

I didn't want to do it. My legs were sore. I was thirsty and hungry. And all I really wanted was a nap.

Ironically enough, about 3/4 of the way through the first mile, I was listening to a podcast detailing the dangers of overtraining for triathletes.

And I took it as a sign. Instead of running 6 miles at tempo pace, I ran 2 miles easy. I figure that since I'm getting into the last main push of my training, and since I'm in the first week of a 3-week build phase, and since I ran my fastest-ever mile split on Friday, it might do me good to push a difficult workout back by one day.

Normally, I feel terrible about this kind of decision. Stupid and weak, insufficient, unable to complete the most basic and mundane training tasks. But today, with this decision, I feel really good; I feel like I made the right choice.

And now I'm really looking forward to tomorrow's tempo run.

New Heights

Thanks to my workout partner, I have a new fastest ever mile time.

7:48.

This is the first time I've ever run sub-8:00.

And it won't be the last.

The Evolution of Goals: Discuss

Since I wrote about how goals evolve in triathlon, I thought I'd share my own personal progression. Or rather what I can remember of it. Because being in the middle of the lifestyle, it's hard to recall what it was like when I couldn't run even 2 miles. I invite everyone to share their own evolution of goals as well; I'd love to read them in the comments, or on your blog.

So without further ado, having looked through old journals, blog entries, and conversations, here are the ambitions that have run through my head since I started this crazy journey (some of these are direct quotes, by the way).

September, 2006: Learn to swim
February, 2006: Finish Shawnee Mission Triathlon short course
April 10, 2006: Work out for 45 minutes straight/begin training program
May 31, 2006: "Swim .5 km under 15 minutes; Bike 20 km in 1 hour; Run 5km under 30 minutes; Short course triathlon in less than 2 hours"
June, 2006: Finish Shawnee Mission long course.
June, 2006: "My goal is to finish my race, but it would be really cool if I could swim 2:00/100, bike 16 MPH, and run 10:00/mile."
August 30, 2006: "I'm hoping to get my mile time under 30. Oh yeah, and hoping to be able to swim a mile :-)"
October, 2007: Commit long-term to triathlon.
March, 2007: Train harder.
April, 2007: Be competitive in my age group.
July, 2007: Finish in the top half of any race.
December, 2007: Run sub-9:00 5K pace; Swim 2 MPH; Bike avg 20 MPH; Improve mental toughness; Break 3 hours on an olympic-distance tri
April, 2008: Win. A lot.
May, 2008: Place in my age group at Shawnee Mission. Run a 24-minute 5k. Swim a 25-minute 1500. Average 20 MPH on the bike. Be a sponsored athlete.

And my #1 goal? Hook up with another triathlete after a race ;-)

How have your goals progressed over the years? Let's hear it in the comments!

The Evolution of Goals

Note: This post took me quite a while to write. It's been brewing in my head for a long time, and I'm glad to finally release it to you. Thanks for sharing in my journey.

Remember how it began?

"I wonder . . ." or "I bet . . ." or "With enough training . . ."

The goal was to get through it, wasn't it? You knew that if you could be sure that you could swim 525 yards (or 1050 or 1500), could bike 12.5 miles (or 41 km), could just run 3.2 miles (or 6.3 or whatever), you could definitely finish. If you could go the distance and then some, you would definitely cross the line.

And so you did. Then maybe you were two months out from the race when you started thinking, "I know I can finish, but I sure hope I don't finish last." Maybe you even started figuring paces from your workouts, comparing them to finish times from previous years' results. Finishing was no longer enough; you wanted to finish before someone else. Maybe you wanted to win.

Yeah, goals in triathlon are a funny thing. It's not like running or swimming, where most of the top competitors have been top competitors since they were young (and if you couldn't beat the top dogs in 8th grade cross country, what hope do you have now?) . . . Pretty much everyone who's been successful in triathlon is (relatively) new to the sport. Why? Because most of us didn't know this sport existed in high school.

Triathlon is very, as my group fitness director put it, "user friendly"; it's a sport that anyone can do. As my friend Jonathan in the Distance wrote last week, Ironman is everyman. It's every woman, too.

Racing in triathlon is a lot like second-wave immigrants coming to America. It was (still is) such a young country; what wasn't possible in a country like that? If you were hard-working and slightly savvy, the world was your oyster. And maybe not everyone would end up a Rockefeller, but everyone had a shot at comfort. That's what triathlon is like--it's fresh, it's big, and it provides plenty of room for spreading out. You may never be a Dave Scott or Michellie Jones, but you can live that same lifestyle of pushing yourself farther than what seems humanly possible.

All that to say that after a little bit of time in this sport, finishing event after event is no longer enough. You know you can do the distance, but the sport doesn't lose its appeal for that. It's odd, too, in that your new goal comes while you're still doing a race. Tell me, fellow athletes, that you've never spent at least part of a race thinking about how you'll train next time for a faster split. The goal could be anything; break 10 minutes for a 500 yard swim; average 17.5 MPH on your next bike split; run an 8:00-minute pace for a full 10km. Maybe you want to break 3 hours on your next Olympic; maybe you want to break 12 hours on your next Ironman.

The wonderful part about this sport (and about America, if you care to continue the earlier analogy) is that it presents an evolution of goals. And that evolution takes you from wondering what is possible to wondering what isn't.

Wildflower III

Chris Lieto has a cool Wildflower video up on his blog, The Green Athlete. Go check it out!

I've already written about 18 drafts of this post. Not in words, so much, but in thoughts and feelings, starting around mile .01 of the run and lasting all the way through the drive back to L.A., the flight back to Kansas, and my return to a normal schedule.

I thought that it would be easy to describe my Wildflower experience, at least the racing part of it. I only needed one word: dehydration. I was pretty sure of the ability of that one word to fully communicate exactly what happened up there in the mountains of the Central Coast.

But as I've sat with my experience over the past two days, I realize that this race was so much more than that one word, and cannot be written off only as an example of my ability to fail. Yeah, I knew better; I should have had more to drink on the bike. But there's more to it than my personal fear of being a coach who can't adequately apply knowledge when push comes to shove.

I won't be so cliche as to claim that Wildflower represents some kind of "journey" for me, but I will invite you to join me as I reflect on what exactly happened up there at Lake San Antonio.

Wildflower: The Experience
One of the best parts about Wildflower is that most of the time you're there, you're not racing. What are you doing rather than racing? Why watching other people race, of course, and getting totally stoked about your own race, which is the following day. Or that's what I did, anyway. USC Tri brought a grand total of 6 people to Wildflower, one doing long course (way to go, Susie!), three doing long course relay, two doing Olympic course.

I spent all day Saturday scampering around the main Wildflower area, sending off my (few) friends, hanging around transition long enough to watch the pros, and scoping out the vendor booths. I was standing inches away from Macca as he came speeding into T2 (although it took me a minute to realize that I had just seen him, 'cause he was frickin' flyin'), and could have reached out and touched Samantha McGlone as she crossed the finish line. I have to admit that I get pretty star-struck in the presence of triathlon greatness, which seems kind of weird, because it's such a strangely down-to-earth sport. The pros seem so approachable (although Hilary Biscay's the only one I've actually talked with), and so I'm torn between feeling ridiculous about approaching them for an autograph, but still secretly wanting to.













Saturday night was spent preparing a delicious meal of fire-baked sweet potatoes and vegetables roasted in individually-wrapped aluminum foil ovens. I made the fire, prepared the food, and I have to say, it's one of the better campfire meals I have ever cooked (much better than last weekend when I went camping with my dad and the temperature dropped to 40 degrees with 30-40 MPH winds and rain. No hot food that night).

On a slightly different note, we were camped right next to the Cal Poly team. So I heard the annual Naked Run start, but didn't get over in time to see it. By the time the team was back in sight, they were all clothed once again. Sadly, I had no first-hand experiences of nudity this weekend (unless you count being walked in on in a Port-a-John). But there's always next year!

Swim: 1500 m, 29:40
I felt strong in the swim, like I was really able to race it. I actually don't have a lot of issues with open water swim starts. I know they're going to be rough, that's part of the deal, and frankly, I'm pretty good at the jabbing and clawing bit (a couple years of playing football on an all-male team will do that to a person). I'm not deliberately mean, but I don't go out of my way to avoid; from the first moment, I felt that I was able to swim my own race and not worry about what was going on around me. I was able to grab onto the feet of a slightly faster swimmer and cruise. Unfortunately, my generous drafter was not sighting as well as she probably should have been, and she led me significantly off-course, a fact which I didn't note until a be-kayaked lifeguard started shouting at me. Yes, I almost ran into a kayak. I was waaaay off-course. Probably lost 50 m on that one. Then at the very end, I sighted off of the first buoy (rather than the humongous, impossible-to-miss inflatable arch at the swim out) and swam at least another 100 m out of the way. Which is why I was so pleasantly surprised when I checked my results last night and saw that I cam out of the water sub-30. That's right on pace with what I've been doing in the pool, with an extra 150 m besides!

T1: 3:20
Not much to say about this. Because I got blisters on my last six-mile tempo run, I decided that I should take the extra time in transition to wear socks for this race. Glad I did, but 3:20 is a ridiculously slow transition time for me (of course, the run from the swim exit to transition is long and steep, so I guess my transition time includes that).

Bike: 40 km, 1:33:22, 16 MPH
Just shy of 16 MPH, but I had to stop at one point and kick my chain back onto the big chainring, so let's just call it 16 MPH. Wildflower, as you may know, is a challenging course. And as you may know, Kansas is not a challenging location for biking, at least not as far as hills go (but let me tell you about some wind . . .) So I was not at all optimistic about my bike split. And 16 MPH is much slower than I wanted, but considering I've been averaging 18 MPH on the really flat rides I've been doing here in Kansas, I'm pretty happy with the bike.

My big problem on the bike, as you may already have gathered, was hydration. I have a difficult time taking enough nutrition--both food and water--in on the bike. Since I tend to race more sprint courses (this was only my second Olympic), my nutrition generally consists of one bottle of sports drink (which I tend to drop about 2 miles into the bike) and one bottle of water. Honestly, that hasn't even been working very well for me; I'm pretty sure I bonked at Emporia.

The real problem I have, though, is when to drink. Don't want to do it on a climb, because I want to get the damn thing over with; don't want to do it on a descent, because I want to devote all my energy to maximizing my weight (both in body and bike) by descending well; don't want to do it in the flats, because that's when my powerful, compact body and tight aero (if not entirely biomechanically sound) aero position give me the greatest advantage.

Which leaves me with a decent bike split, but teetering on the precipice of dehydration on a very hot, very hilly (relative to where I've been training) course with six miles still left to run.

T2: 2:18

Run: 10 km, 1:08:14, 10:59/mile
Don't even look at it. I'm so embarrassed. When I got out of transition and started running, I don't think I realized how much trouble I was in. I was setting a fairly slow pace, but probably no slower than at Emporia (9:07/mile), which also felt horrible. Besides which, the first part of the run course is pleasantly shaded, for the most part, if uncomfortably rolling. So I didn't think the discomfort I was feeling was anything out of the ordinary.

But as the run progressed, I started walking more and more. The dozens of people I had passed on the bike started catching up, passing, falling back, re-passing . . . I think it was a tough day for pretty much all of us. The course passed out of the shaded beach road and meandered up some nasty hills out onto a long, exposed stretch of road. It wasn't until after passing a big sign marked "5" that I realized the signs were marking kilometers, not miles. And I think that's when I knew I was in trouble.

I kept going, kept bantering with volunteers and other competitors, but I never made a friend on the course; we all just wanted to get through it. It was around kilometer 6 that my stomach tightened up around my Clif Shot Bloks and Gatorade, and I realized that I had better get as much water into my body as humanly possible. That only made me more nauseous, because my body couldn't absorb it fast enough. My obliques cramped; my lats cramped; my biceps cramped; my quads cramped; my calves cramped; my hamstrings cramped. I knew then that I was dehydrated and bonking. I started thinking about how I would avoid the med tent post-race, and if I would need to be pulled off the course.

But it wasn't over, and I wasn't about to stop (although I did casually consider it every time I passed an aid station). Around kilometer 7, I was passed by a slow-moving chick with the number "23" magic-markered on her left calf. "That's my age," I thought. "She's moving slow. I can catch her." Somehow, through all the pain of cramping and dehydration and my body basically cutting me off ("No more for you!"), I managed to remember that I was racing. And I wanted to beat just that one girl. So I started running again. I didn't keep running the whole time, but I did pass her. And she stayed passed, dammit! I never saw her again.

The run course at Wildflower ends with Lynch Hill, a steep hill that goes on for a mile or so. Thank God you don't have to run up the mofo. Of course, some people say it's no better running down it.

I am not one of those people.

I crested that last little peak, leaned into the decline, and ran for all I was worth. I would really like to know how fast I was running (I know the split is out there somewhere, because you run over a timing pad before the last mile); I would guess right around 8:10, 8:20 per mile. It felt amazing; I don't remember any pain. All I remember is passing a lot of people and thinking, "I can do this because I lifted weights all winter."

After that downhill, I was able to keep running and maintain a decent pace, at least up until I ran into the corridor of screaming spectators, holding their hands out for high fives, waving, and cheering. As the cheers got louder and the crowd got thicker, I picked up the pace more and more, until, in the last 50 yards, I summoned everything I had left for one final sprint over the finish line.

And that was it.

T3: The Ride Home
Except of course it wasn't over. I still had to collect my things from transition, make the 45 minute trek UPHILL to our campsite (with the generous help of my teammates, who carried my bags), break camp, and then wait for an hour and a half to get out of the park because everyone wanted to leave at the same time.

It was like being hung over (except without the fun of getting drunk first). I knew that I had to eat, but every time I put something in my mouth I got nauseous. I knew that I need to drink as much as possible, but I didn't want to have to stop and pee every 15 minutes (I made it about once every 45, but there were some really close calls; I thought I was going to cry, I had to pee so bad!) on the way home. I have only felt that bad one other time. It was following a very, very stupid night, and I never let it happen again. And so here's hoping that I never let this particular very stupid thing happen again, either.

Total: 3:16:56
I was hoping to go sub-3:00. That was not meant to be. Not on this course, not on this day (although we'll sure as heck see at Topeka Tinman!). I did improve on my previous Olympic distance time (Cal Poly last year, another very difficult course) by about half an hour, so I'm pretty pleased with that. And I placed 21 out of 57 in my age group, 1331 out of about 2400 (male and female, only counting finishers) overall. That's a far cry from being in the bottom third of every race last year (at Cal Poly I was the fourth from the last to finish).

So I have come a long way, and I'm actually pretty pleased with my racing performance. But I still just feel so stupid! I know better than to let myself get dehydrated like that. I would never let any of my athletes get away with that, and I will not allow myself to make excuses. But neither will I endlessly berate myself, just because the run happened to be the worst thing, the last thing, and therefore the most easily remembered. I had a good swim! I had a decent bike! I know better now what to do for my third Olympic distance tri, which is in a month and a half and I can't hardly wait (although I was pretty sure at the end of Sunday's race that I would never do an Olympic distance race again, let alone Half Iron)!

And I will never ever ever again get so intoxicated with the spirit of triathlon that I get a tri hangover.

Wildflower II

This is not the race report. The race report will have significantly more paragraphs. Also it will have pictures.

This is to let everyone know that Wildflower is possibly the most interesting race experience I've ever had.

And tomorrow I'll tell you why.

Wildflower

Tomorrow I'm out to California to wonderful Wildflower! Oh, there will be hella antics.

Or at the very least an underwear run and topless aid station.

And of course beer.

Oh, and I'll also be racing. Or something like that.

Race Report: Emporia Spring Migration Tri

I'm positive that I thought of some clever way to intro this post, but I can't recollect what it was, at the moment. So let's just jump right in.

Swim: 400 m, 7:50
This was slower than I expected (slower than my seed time). The swim worked like this: we all lined up by swim seed and they sent us off on 30 second intervals. And there were about 170 people. Which means that the last person started more than an hour after the person. Crazy, huh? I was seeded number 50, and I felt pretty good about that; it was cool to head towards the front of the line. Unfortunately, most of the athletes I coach were seeded way farther back, which meant that I didn't get to see them swim.

How did the swim feel? Easy. I'm sure it didn't feel easy while I was doing it, but in retrospect it certainly was. At the Central YMCA triathlon, I felt like I was pushing the absolute limits of my pace for 400 meters. But this felt like a steady, aerobic pace. In short, I wasn't really racing. Am I happy with my time? Yeah, I feel okay about it. But the lackadaisical attitude--one that viewed this race more as training than racing (and there's nothing wrong with that)--during the swim was a theme for my day.

Bike: 12.4 mi, 41:27, 17.5 MPH
I'll get right to it: I kicked ass on the bike. 17.5 MPH isn't that fast, really, but I can say most definitely that I laid everything on the line on the bike. I kept a high cadence and a challenging gear through the whole thing, even into the 20 MPH headwinds we experienced after the turn-around. I felt like a frickin' bad-ass. And I suppose that's probably all I need to say about that.

I also nailed my transitions. Managed to start and end with the pedals on the bike, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who did that at this race.

Run: 3.1 mi, 28:17, 9:07/mile
This was the real challenge. The course was exceptionally hilly, and I do not do hills well. I'm not built for hills, and I don't have an opportunity to really train on hills (except for the sledding hill in Sedgwick County Park and the dam at Lake Afton). I rounded the corner off of the Emporia State campus and asked the police officer at the corner, "There are no more hills, right?" Ha!

Again, I felt like I wasn't really racing; even in the back of my head, I kept saying "It's just a tempo run." But it wasn't just a tempo run; it was a race. And I kept trying to break through the "race to train" mentality, but I don't think I ever really did; I just managed to find a slightly faster training pace.

But it was a pleasant surprise to get to the end and realize that what i thought was a 12-minute pace turned out to be 9:00! Imagine what I could have done if I had been trying!

Final: 1:17:36, 1st F 20-24, 7th F overall
I could not have been happier with these results. I could have been happier with my performance, for sure, but these results made me kind of forget about the fact that I didn't perform to my full potential. Because it was a little training race, the first of the season. And for me to do so well in the competition when I wasn't even peaking . . .

Well, let's just say I'm very optimistic about this season.

Pre-Race

I am so excited.

I suppose this should be obvious, but the prospect of the first real race (even though it's in an indoor pool) of the season has focused my workouts in a way I've never before experienced. I was so focused, the second half of this week (I was still in recovery mode until Wednesday) I sort of killed my cycling classes. Seriously, Thursday night, all I could think was, "Hard as you can; c'mon this is the last chance to get a really solid workout before Emporia." And by the end, I think some of the people in the Group Ride class were crying. We all had little puddles under my bike, anyway. At any rate, I think I made half the class wish I had a race every weekend, while the other half is probably hoping I never race again.

It's always an interesting experience, dragging a dozen people along mostly on your own energy. Empowering.

Talk to you after the race!