And did you see that post-season belly? Oh goodness. I am going on a diet. And by "diet" I mean that I will eat less and healthier food and work out more. You know; what "diet" is supposed to mean.
5. Smaller field. Especially for women. Still very competitive, and a little intimidating to be starting on the same line as experienced women. But nowhere near as scary as a mass swim start with 100+ other women.
4. Improves bike handling skills. In the same way that throwing a toddler into the deep end of the pool improves swimming skills. By the end of the race, I was fish-tailing--nearly wiping out--and thinking, "How the hell did I do that, and how can I learn to do it again?!"
3. Cross-training. Think about it: high-intensity, anaerobic cycling (one big, long interval). Running through sand (resisted running). Jumping barriers (plyometrics). Pedaling through grass, mud, and gravel (power intervals). Yeah, go ahead and tell me this sport won't do wonders for your race performance.
2. Builds power. Try sustaining your maximum wattage for 30 minutes and tell me what it does to your fitness. Oh yeah.
Pre-race Cyclocross is structured a little differently than most races. First off, the division of racers follows the same classification structure as road cycling. So where runners and triathletes have age groups, cyclists have "cats." Cat 1 is the highest; Cat 5 is the lowest. But in cyclocross, Cat 4 is the lowest. I assume that "cat" is short for category, but I didn't think to ask, and I don't really care that much. I am a Cat 4 woman. A beginner. A n00b.
The race course for cyclocross is a circuit, and at Chris Cross, parts of the 1.5 mile course were really, really narrow--some of it resembled single track mountain bike trails. So you can see where unleashing the n00bs and the serious competitors on a narrow, winding 1.5 mile circuit might be a bad idea. Oh my God. I would have been run over for sure! I would have tire tracks all over my face and body!
All of that to say that there were eight different races, ranging in length from 30 to 60 minutes. The first one was at 10:30. The last one began at 2:45. Guess whose race was at the very, very end.
My cyclocross yoda, Brett, was racing in the men's Cat 4 field, which began at 11:30. And since the race was up in Lawrence, we made the 2.5 hour trek up together. So I got to get up at 6 a.m., even though my race didn't begin until 2:45. But not complaining. Oh no.
Actually, I'm glad my race was the last of the day. It gave me a chance to watch what other people did, and get some idea of what the hell I was supposed to do.
That's the big difference at this race--I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Triathlons are old hat to me, now. I still get nervous at some races, but it's never that first-timer feeling of "Where do I go?! What do I do?! Someone please tell me that everything is going to be all right!" And although I'm not an experienced runner when it comes to the racing thing, it's so basic: arrive in gear, line up, run, leave. Not much of a learning curve there.
Cycling is like a whole different world, though, and I felt it from the moment we left the driveway. I do not know much about bikes, or biking, and I definitely do not know much about the nooks and crannies of what is already a pretty elitist sport. So I was freaked out. But in a way it was sort of exciting. I'd forgotten what that felt like, to be coming into something so new. I mean, I encourage people to do that all the time, getting them started as a coach and trainer in triathlon. But I long ago forgot what that feels like. To be reminded of how nervous-making that can be was actually a pretty cool aspect of doing something completely new.
I got the chance to ride the course a little bit before I had to race on it, which was a very good thing. Before any of the races started, Brett and I rode part of it before they shut it down for the first race. Then again, after the women's Cat 1/2/3 (not enough women to field a race for each) I got to ride the whole thing.
The Course Like I said, the course was a 1.5 mile loop through one of the campgrounds at Clinton Lake. For each race, the officials timed the first two laps, then from that time estimated how many loops the competitors could complete in the alotted time, and counted each racer down for that many loops. The race started on pavement, on the tarmac that ran around the camping area. From there it made a sharp right turn through some very loose, very sketchy gravel. It wound back through some trees, over some pretty awesome little rollers, and back onto the tarmac. It cut back into the gravel, down some single track goodness, over a dry creek bed (OH MY GOD THE ROCKS), and back onto the pavement. From there, it looped around into the grass, then to the first hazard--a sand pit. At the sand you're supposed to dismount, shoulder your bike, run through the sand pit, then mount and ride on again. The next major section was a long, downhill straightaway through more grass, back through some more trees (and frickin' gravel), up the same straightaway (UPHILL this time) to the second hazard: the barriers. Once again, dismount, shoulder the bike, jump the barriers, hop back on, and you're through the first lap.
Yeah.
I think I felt better about it before I rode the course.
The Race
When 2:45 finally rolled around, the Cat 4 women assembled behind the line (actually, behind the Cat 4 masters, who left a minute before us). All 15 of us. But last year there were 4, so this is some serious progress, apparently. The officials blew the whistle, and we were off. Brett told me not to hold back on the first lap, to find my rhythm on the second and third laps but hammer through the first. So when it seemed like the women were getting a slow start, I jumped right into the lead pack. I was in good position going into the first turn, when the leader totally wiped out. I kept right on going and stayed on my bike. I hammered hardcore, staying right on the tail of the first 3. It felt amazing. "I'm doing great!" I thought. "Maybe I really will be good at this!"
When we got to the sand pit, I dismounted like I knew what I was doing (Brett wiped out in the sand, so at least I knew what not to do). I ran my bike through, trying hard to hold back the other women. But when I got back on the bike, something was wrong. The back wheel was sticking, and I was getting this terrible, grinding, whirring sound. I hopped off and took a look at it. Adjusted the brakes. Hopped back on. Nope, still there. Hopped off again. "Run it to the pit!" one of the women who was passing me hollered. I wheeled my bike over to the pit (what kind of endurance sport requires it's own pit?!) as fast as I could, slammed my bike down on the ground (so everyone would know how frustrated I was), and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
It wasn't the brakes. It wasn't the hub. It wasn't the wheel out of true. Brett came over to help, but he couldn't touch or even step into the pit. Finally, after I'd taken the wheel off and put it back on, he told me to just ride on it, just get through it. So I did. And somehow, taking the wheel off and putting it back on must have done some good, because the whirring was gone.
Meanwhile, every single woman in the race had passed me. Even the fat one.
I hammered out of the pit, frustrated and pumping with adrenaline. Even though I'd just spent the last few minutes standing still, I felt like I had just sprinted a mile. My lungs burned. My quads screamed. I tasted blood. I hammered through the straightaway, pushing my wheels through the grass, grunting and swearing and screaming primal screams the likes of which I'd only uttered during some very grueling Tabata intervals.
When I came to the barriers, Brett was there (with the video camera) shouting at me to move, because "the big girl's not that far ahead of ya!"
Which meant that I could at least pass one girl, and not come in last place. But by this time my body was absolutely revolting. "No!" it screamed at me. "I don't wanna!"
"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed back. "This is my race, and you've still got at least three laps to go!"
I got through it. The second and third laps felt like murder. They felt like hell. I swore up a storm. I slowed to a virtual crawl, even dropping into my small chainring, when I knew no one could see me. I started getting lapped by the men (I held off the other women until lap 4). I even walked my bike through the sand pits. The race was interminable. It wasn't that it seemed like a long time; it was more like time was standing perfectly still.
At the end of the third lap, just as we were going over the barriers, I passed the big girl. I feel kind of guilty, in retrospect, for making my one main goal not to get beat by the fat girl (that and not to run into any trees), but whatever. That was my goal, and I accomplished it. Call me mean, if you like. It sort of fits with the whole cyclist attitude I copped.
And then going into that fourth lap . . . I don't know if it was the adrenaline rush from passing someone, or if I was finally starting to warm up into it, but I felt a second wind coming. I pounded through the first half of the loop. I leapt off my bike and absolutely sprinted through the sand, bike on my shoulder. I cornered like a pro through the gravel, almost losing it a couple times, but adjusting my body weight so that I didn't wipe out. I leapt over the barriers. I would have actually passed another chick at the end of that last loop, except that she remounted quicker than I did after the barriers, and at that point I didn't have time to catch her, even sprinting.
But sprint I did, guys. All the way to the finish. You know me. That's how I like to end.
The Aftermath I was in some serious pain, after that final kick. And the SPD-equipped shoes I had borrowed were too big and too narrow for my feet, so I had some blisters and soreness in the footsies. And somehow, in the course of a 30-minute ride, I managed to get ridiculously chafed. How that happened in 30 minutes, I have no idea. But I was miserable.
The race had been 30 minutes of pure hell, no doubt about it. Through most of the race, all I could think was "If Brett ever tries to get me to do something new again, I am going to kill him." And I would have thought of something much worse than death, if I had been able to spare the oxygen for it.
But after dismounting and taking my shoes off and walking barefoot for a bit, and after getting back to the car and changing into normal clothes beneath a towel like a surfer at Venice Beach, and after putting a few calories into my pie hole, I started thinking about the next race I would be able to do.
Because I got second-to-last place in this race. And it felt awful. But I started in fourth place, and there were two women, by the end, whom I would have passed, given another loop.
If I hadn't had mechanical trouble so early in the race, if I hadn't lost so much time, what might I have done?
And if I can learn to handle my bike a little better, to corner a little more confidently, and if I can practice my mounting and dismounting, and if I can get a little more familiar with SPD cleats, and if I can practice those graceful bounds over the barriers (not like this) that the men seem to effect so effortlessly, what might I do?
And that's what's got me thinking about the next several weekends, and when and where I can try this crazy sport again.
Video to come tomorrow, along with the top 5 reasons you should try cyclocross.
Photo credits go to Lantern Rouge Racing, not to me. I did not take pictures of myself while I was biking.
I'll keep this short, sweet, and to the point, because it's not the race report. I've got 15 minutes of video to look at and edit before I post the race report.
But I will say that this race is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Which is crazy, because the whole thing is over in 30 minutes. But it possibly hurt worse than anything else in the entire universe, with the possible exception of recovery from certain kinds of surgery. It absolutely drained me, and I felt like puking the whole time, and I was thinking as I rode, "Brett, if you try to talk me into doing anything new with you ever again, I will kill you."
It is at Clinton Lake which is (incidentally) the site of the Kansas 70.3 event. In June, I sat at my campsite at said lake and drank beer as many suffering people staggered by me. I have a feeling that this weekend is going to be slightly less relaxed.
This article is the first in a series meant to correct common mistakes I (and my fellow trainers) see at the gym. Stay tuned for the whole series so that you won't be the person that everyone loves to laugh at.
First off, go read the article on Lat Pull Down at Stumptuous.com, a weight training site for women. Not so much because the descriptions are excellent (although they are) as because they are hilarious. And we could all use a little more hilarity in our lives, yes?
So here's what a dumbass does (don't worry; I'm using super-light weight on this):
By the way, please ignore the hypermobility of my shoulder joints. The kinds of people who generally do this exercise (i.e. big musclehead wannabe bodybuilder types) don't have the kind of swimmeresque flexibility in their shoulders that I do. They look much more ridiculous using this form.
I think that most of you knew already that this is an improper way to do a lat pull down. But here's the run-down from a professional point of view: it's not "wrong," per se. Check out exrx.net's take on it; notice that there's a front pull down and a rear pull down. Different exercises. Different purposes (or that's what a dumbass at the gym will tell you).
The rear pull down is a high-risk movement, at least for most people; it takes the shoulders into hyperextension and forces you to use internal rotation of the shoulder under heavy load to complete the movement. And you should never ever do that--it's stoopid and makes everyone in the gym think you don't know what the hell you're doing.
It also places unnecessary pressure on the anterior shoulder capsule, which is bound to cause problems later on, and unnecessarily stresses the muscles of the rotator cuff. If you stretch out the ligaments in the shoulder capsule, they're not going back to their original length. And if you tear the muscles of your rotator cuff, you're going to be at increased risk for subluxation and dislocation for a long, long time.
Furthermore, although I am not a good example of this, most people don't have the functional range of motion to even externally rotate/hyperextend their shoulders far enough to yank a bar behind their neck, so they end up excessively flexing the cervical or thoracic spine. And can you imagine if the cable on the machine broke and that pull down bar came crashing down on your excessively flexed neck? And even though I have the range of motion to pull the bar behind my neck, it's because my shoulders are hypermobile; it's generally a bad idea to overload a hypermobile joint. So like I said before: it's a high-risk movement.
But there are times when it's acceptable to complete a risky movement in training. For example, it can be risky to rotate and flex your spine simultaenously. But that's a movement that's worth training if you plan to use it functionally, like for a tennis serve. With high-risk movements, the main question is whether the benefit outweighs the risk.
And in this case, it doesn't. There's no reason I can think of that you would need to torque your shoulders in this way. If you're looking to increase the size of your back by including lat pull downs in your routine, you're barking up the wrong tree. The fibers of the latissimus dorsi run in such a way that a front lat pull down is going to be more effective in increasing their strength and size. And if you're wanting to specifically train the shoulders or biceps, there are many other more effective (not to mention less risky) exercises for accomplishing that.
So to conclude a rather long-winded post on why only a dumbass would conceivably execute a lat pull down in this way, here's how you should do your lat pull downs.
Got all that? Sit up straight with the shoulders broad and the chest lifted. Tighten the core so you don't hyperextend the back. Keeping the shoulders broad, grasp the bar at a width about 1.5 times as wide as your shoulders (in the video, I use a bar that allows me to pull with neutral rotation, which is a more natural movement for me and much kinder to my FUBAR shoulder). Initiate the movement with your lats by pulling your shoulder blades down your back. Then allow the arms to follow, coming into a "W" shape.
And this is just me and the other trainers goofing off (we see people, usually older people, doing things like this all the time):
And remember, like Stumptuous.com (and Men's Health too, gentlemen) says: your eventual goal in all this should be doing pull-ups. You wanna take yourself from dumbass to badass? Do pullups!
I'm happy to address any questions in the comments, and if there's another exercise you'd like me to snark at, don't be shy in suggesting!
I just ran 2.4 miles in 22:30. And considering that this is only my second week back to running, I am very, very happy.
Besides which, the weather could not possibly be any better. It's a balmy 55 degrees F--just warm enough not to need a sweater when jogging. The wind was gusting to 40 MPH earlier today, but it's settled down now. The evening is quiet and peaceful. Except for me, panting and grunting like I'm about to win a gold medal.
That picture isn't from tonight, by the way. There is no snow on the ground here. It's there because it's pretty, and accurately illustrates the way I feel at the moment--warm and satisfied.
I dropped a jeans size (or two, depending on where I shop).
I started making enough money to live on.
Even though it's been a tough season, a long road, with a difficult job and very little free time, I look back on this season and I'm happy with what I've done.
One Sweet Love (3:59) - Pre Working for the Weekend (3:25) - Warm up Supermoves (4:49) - Jumps Welcome to the Jungle (4:34) - Climb We're in Heaven (3:55) - TT w/ bursts of high cadence spinning Mustang Sally (3:59) - Standing TT Mama Told me not to Come (3:20) - Climb Paranoid (3:03) - Fast spin w/ standing sprints Time After Time (3:27) - Ride into wind w/ quick spinning in between I'm Outta Love (3:49) - Hard TT w/ standing intervals Under Pressure (4:04) - Hard Climb Come to Me (2:49) - Cool down The Story (3:58) - Stretch
Oh guys. Get ready for this one. This is one of those workouts where you think, "Am I going to make it all the way through this?" My cycling classes and I had a lot of fun doing this one together.
I recommend that you start with pretty high resistance on your trainer, enough that you can feel a little bit of push in your lowest gear. That should give you room to get enough resistance on the climbing tracks. And if you're on a stationary or spinning bike, you don't even have to worry about that!
Yes indeed, after 4-6 weeks of being, for all intents and purposes, unable to run, I'm back in the saddle.
Although I suppose that being on a horse wouldn't be very helpful for my SI joint. I haven't had any significant pain in the damn thing for a good week, now. I'm beginning (again) my build-up in volume for the Tulsa Route 66 Half Marathon. I've got 4 miles planned for tomorrow, which will be my longest run since my 15-miler almost two months ago. And we'll see how that goes.
But you know what? If getting back to running isn't legitimate cause for celebration, I don't know what is.
Speed Racer once commented that I should write a post about how to properly perform a lat pull-down so as not to simultaneously embarrass yourself and completely ruin your shoulders. And since the season is mostly over, and we're all thinking about transitioning from roads, lakes, and trails to spinning classes, treadmills, and weights, what better time to begin a new series?
A series that will teach you, in no uncertain terms, how not to be a dumbass at the gym
Seriously. Do you really want the personal trainers at the gym giggling as they walk past you, wondering WTF kind of move you're doing? Do you want to be the person who can clear the weights area out by their very presence?
No. You do not. So prepare to be snarked into appropriate gym etiquette and proper weight-lifting technique. We'll begin next time with our collective favorite: the lat pull-down.
This was the last race of my season, and it came not a moment too soon. I have been burnt out and dragging through for probably the last month. My best fitness is well behind me, and I was hoping just to close the season on a relatively high note. And, in short, I did; this race was a great experience, all-around, and made the past season totally worth it.
Pre-Race
Driving into Stonebridge Ranch, which is near McKinney, TX, I could not stop rolling my eyes at shit like this and this and this. If you live in something like that, I apologize. I'm sure you're a very nice person. Now please skip the next paragraph.
I mean seriously? How much house do you need? How f*cking bourgeois can you be? Your house has tourets. How can you possibly take yourself seriously? And then as we were heading in to packet pick up, I kept seeing all these fake-boobed, orange-skinned, plastic barbie-doll wannabes and I thought, "Great. J-Lo's come to my race." And that atmosphere--the race was being held at the Stonebridge Ranch "Beach Club"--seriously pissed me off from the beginning. Because that upper-middle-class, WASPish thing is one of the things that really annoys me about this sport. And it's not true across the board; not all triathletes are pretentious upper-crusty white folk with the time and money to do the most expensive sport ever (short of stock car racing). But we all know that they're there, right?
So I came into this race with the mindset that the hoity toities of Stonebridge Ranch were NOT going to out-swim, out-bike, or out-run me, no matter how much they paid for their bikes, their running shoes, or their energy-eating houses.
Which was completely judgmental of me (and I was wrong, by the way), but I'll get to that later.
I went down to the race with a couple friends, one of whom was racing Olympic instead of sprint. Her swim wave left almost an hour before ours did, so it was an early morning for all of us. It was cool and dark when as we walked to transition, so I had very little opportunity to check out other athletes (both their bikes and their bodies). It took me all of ten minutes to set up my transition area, at which point I had about two hours to kill. So I walked around, checked out the area, tried to get a feel for the race. And you know what? It wasn't at all like I expected. Sure, there were the Cervelos and a couple Guru Cronos and various other ridiculously high-end bikes, but there were also mountain bikes and hybrid bikes and plenty of heavy-ass road frames. Besides which, the atmosphere was totally laid-back. There wasn't a lot of conversation about PR-ing or the more technical aspects of the sport; there was none of the posturing and wind-blowing that other athletes have reported; mostly, there was an air of friendliness and willingness to help all the first-timers. I was surprised and encouraged. Apparently, the hoity toities weren't all going to descend on our little race.
Anyway, the water temperature was 76 degrees and I had brought my wetsuit all the way from Kansas, so I figured I might as well. As the sun was rising, I dragged my wetsuit (I was not going to put that neoprene sauna on until the last possible minute) and my ass up the hill (yes up the hill) to watch my friend start with the women's olympic wave.
Swim: 750 m, 16:38
Oh man. The women's sprint wave was (of course) the biggest wave of the day. There must have been 150 women bunched together for the tread start. So I knew that it was going to be rough. I was ready for rough. I was fully prepared to get in a few good punches myself.
The race directors signaled the start with a siren which none of us could hear. We were all looking at each other, asking, "Was that the siren?" when someone finally just yelled "GO!" So we went. I tried to sprint all-out so that I could shake the pack, but I quickly gave up on that. First of all, it was taxing my body entirely too much. Second, it wasn't getting me anywhere; I was still right in the middle of this huge chunk of bodies. So I settled in and found my stroke. After a few minutes, I stopped feeling blows, and I thought, "Oh crap. I'm swimming off course." So I looked up to catch a view of the first buoy, and I was not off course. Everyone else, however, was swimming way off to the left. I was taking the most direct line to the first buoy, and I had open water. Huh. That's unusual. Rounding the first turn, same thing happened; I took the most direct line, and everyone else swam out to the side. I have to say, it made for a pretty relaxing swim.
The last turn is, I think, where I lost the most time. Because that last little bit of swimming took us due east, where the sun was just starting to rise over the trees. Which meant that I could not see a damn thing. And I suppose no one else could, either, because the swimming got pretty rough again. At one point, I felt my hand brushing something, looked up, and realized that I swam myself straight into another girl's crotch. So sorry, other girl; thank you for not kicking my head off, which is precisely what I would have done in that situation. And at another point, someone actually grabbed my shoulder and tried to pull me back. So I let her swim over me, then grabbed her knee and pulled as hard as I could. So sorry to you too; you're probably not really a total bitch.
Final swim time? Gag. 16:38? WTF? Whatever. Last race of the season, and pre-race I was debating whether or not to Tweet during my transitions. So I guess I shouldn't be too concerned with how slowly I swam.
T1: 2:34
I know, I know! Really slow again! Of course, the run to transition included a very steep uphill followed by a very steep downhill, which (according to my friend) took over a minute and a half to run. So substract 90 seconds from that T1 time and it doesn't look so bad, right? I have to admit, though, that I wasn't in any particular hurry, at this point. Also? I forget to unvelcro my shoes. So while I executed a nearly flawless flying mount onto my bike, it took me a while to get my feet into my shoes. Stoopid muv.
Bike: 20 km, 35:23 (20.3 MPH)
This is the fastest bike speed I've ever posted in a race. The course was fast and fun, and I love my new fit (even though I really should have ridden my bike with it at least once before I raced with it). The course required two loops (four for the Olympic distance), each of which included one big hill and two little ones. But the hills were short and steep, easy to power up those, and the rest of the course was mostly downhill. Which was super fun. There was one section where I really missed my aerobars. It was a little windy and a little bit downhill and I was probably going about 25-26 MPH (my computer isn't working, so who knows). I did my version of a mountain tuck, but I couldn't help but think that the aerobars would have given me a little bit more speed.
I passed and passed and passed on the bike. After the race, an older woman came up to me and said, "I tried to hang with you, but you were just gone!" Hell yes I was. I love my bike, I love being on the bike, and I loved this portion of the race.
T2: 1:05
Not bad. Not as fast as Mudwater, but still pretty speedy!
Run: 5 km, 31:01 (9:56/mile)
Know what? If I were to race like I trained in this race, I wouldn't have done this part. The last real running I did was over a month ago, a 15-mile long run that was part of my build up to the Tulsa Route 66 Marathon. A week after that, I went on a roadtrip from Massachusetts to Arizona that lasted four days. And it was on the flight home from Phoenix (via Denver) that my ass started hurting. And it still hasn't stopped. For that reason, I hadn't run more than two miles in over a month when I did this race. I was ecstatic that I was able to hold a sub-10-minute pace for the whole thing, especially considering that the terrain was fairly rolling.
The most exciting part is that this split is slightly better than what I posted at Mudwater, which I did before all this SI joint distress started. I remember being absolutely miserable on the run at Mudwater. But for some reason, this race gave me the best run I've had all season. I felt strong. I felt confident. I actually felt pretty good, running. I was enjoying it. Which is, frankly, shocking in itself.
The best part was that I got passed within about 50 yards of the finish line. This tall, lanky girl came up behind me at a pretty good clip. And I didn't even think; I just reacted. I picked up my turnover, lengthened my stride, and straight up sprinted by her. I remember wondering whether or not I would have enough gas to take that speed all the way to the finish line, but then I rounded the corner and there it was. I heard the announcer admiring the "strong finish" and the crowd cheering and then I was across the line and a volunteer was taking my timing chip. I looked back to see the girl who didn't quite pass me cross the finish line. We high-fived and hugged and she was totally cool about it (not at all like the cranky bitch at the Mudwater finish line). I owe her a lot; she forced me to give my best when I wasn't expecting to.
Total: 1:26:44
Almost 15 seconds slower than Mudwater, but it felt a lot faster; it felt like a PR, and on a lot less training. Also? 2nd place in my age group (this same time didn't even get me to the podium at Mudwater). The important thing is that this race served its purpose better than I could ever have expected: it reminded me that I love this sport (bourgeoisie and all). I love racing. I love swimming, biking, and even (occasionally) running. I love training and I love traveling and I love winning (although the size of my Shrine to Myself is starting to creep me out; I'll post a picture sometime). I'm grateful for the off-season to have finally arrived, but I can't wait for the excitement that will inevitably creep back in. The dreaming. The goal-setting. The race picking. The prioritizing. And this year (for the first time) the conversations I will have with my coach.
In fact, reading all the race reports in Triathlete, Slow Twitch, and around the web, I can already feel the pull . . .
Note: Raceshots.net hasn't posted their pictures from this race, and I didn't have anyone else to take photos of me, so I will post photos when I get them.
Really, this dish could be chicken or tofu or beef or swordfish or human elk or any other meat protein you have lying around. As with most of my recipes, this one is simple to a fault, and probably something you could make right now (unless you're reading this at work, and if you are, way to stick it to The Man).
*Your protein here* Cacciatore 2 cans of stewed tomatoes (remember to check the ingredients for added sugars!) 1 green bell pepper About a cup of chopped mushrooms
About half a cup of onion About 3 cloves garlic (totally optional) About 2 tbsp olive oil
Oregano, pepper, salt, and tarragon to taste Your favorite pasta
Be sure to use a saucepan with a lid for this one. Saute onions and garlic, if you're using it, in some olive oil. Cook those until they're translucent (about 5 minutes), and don't let them burn! Add in the green bell pepper and mushrooms, and cook them for a couple minutes, until the mushrooms start to brown and soften. At this point, add in your protein. Whatever you're using, you can pretty much just throw it in there, as you're going to be letting this thing cook for a long frickin' time. When all the ingredients are having a nice little party in the pan, cover it, turn the heat down to a simmer, and let it sit for 45 minutes to an hour. The longer it sits, the better it tastes. Serve it over your favorite pasta; bowties work really well with this.
You can sneak in all kinds of veggies to this one. So far I've only tried green bell pepper and mushrooms, because that's what I had around at the time. But I think spinach would be good, maybe zucchinni and yellow squash, some carrots, maybe some potatoes . . . Have fun with it. Keep in mind, though, that not all flavors are going to mesh with the cacciatore theme. For example, cucumbers? No, I wouldn't go there, if I were you. Additionally, some veggies aren't going to work well together. I wouldn't do spinach, zucchinni, and carrots all at once. If in doubt (i.e. if you have no intuition for this kind of creative cooking), comment or e-mail me and we'll discuss harmonious veggie combinations. Or you can just try it and never do it again if it ends up tasting like ass. Also, this is a great dish for crockpot cooking. Saute the oil, garlic, and onions along with your protein to get the flavors going. Then dump everything into your slow-cooker/crockpot and let it sit there while you're at work (or on your long bike ride, maybe). When you get home, you'll be greated with delicious and nutricious smells, and the only thing you'll have still to do will be cook your pasta. And if you're like me, you probably have leftover somewhere in the refridgerator, anyway.
Try the food, guys. Let me know what you think. Brief and unrelated note: I've got a lot of stuff in the works, but everything's taking way too long to get up on the site. I'm currently working on a couple of installments of the "Stop Slouching" series, I have a new series coming up (tentatively titled "The Dumbass Chronicles"), I have a video installment of Runner's High which will (cross your fingers) be up tomorrow, and I'm working on a fresh spinning podcast. Thanks for sticking with me while I've suffered through burnout, guys. It means a ton to me.
This isn't how I wanted my season to end. Injured. Demoralized. Burnt out.
But I've missed the last two races I wanted to do because I waited to the last minute to sign up. I didn't want to commit and then decide to bail at the last second, so I planned (instead) to sign up at the last second. But triathlons are becoming more and more popular in this part of the country, I guess, and both of those races ended up sold out.
The important part, though, is that my hesitance to commit to these races tells me that I probably don't even want to do them. And probably shouldn't do them. And should probably just close out the season already so that I can get excited about my life again (although I don't think my dismal attitude is entirely the fault of triathlon; I've got a lot of irons in the fire right now).
I have two more events: the Stonebridge Ranch Triathlon in Texas, which is mostly an excuse to roadtrip with a few friends, and the Tulsa Half-Marathon (which was going to be a marathon, but with this pain in my ass, there's no way I'm going to be able to build up to sufficient volume without doing some long-term damage). I might also throw in a little triathlon at Lake Afton for next week, just to see what I can do.
But honestly? I'm not planning to work too hard for any of these races. I'm well past my peak fitness. I'm well past my priority A events. I'm well past my patience for this sport. And it's time to back off, before I end up hating it.
Which means it's time to think cross-training. Which is actually very exciting.
First of all (believe it or not), I have actually been enjoying time on the elliptical trainer. I know. I know. It's insane. I've always hated the elliptical machine with a fiery passion that burns deep in my stomach. It's boring. You don't go anywhere. It's not running, biking, or swimming.
Come to think of it, that's probably why I enjoy it so much, right now. Plus, I can read a book while I'm on it.
I also got to go to the Kansas Cliff Club this weekend (on a date that was not a date . . . oh man, don't even get me started on that little escapade), and did a little bit of climbing. I forgot how much I enjoy climbing, what a great workout it is, and that I'm actually pretty good at it. So this triathlete is seriously considering sacrificing her plans of Masters Swimming for a membership to the Cliff Club, at least for the fall/winter.
Also? Yoga. Jamie loves yoga. Jamie would like to learn to teach yoga. It's quite appropriate to the laid-back (read: pot-smoking) side of her personality. So I'm loading up on the yoga classes and discussing with a friend the possibility of one-on-one yoga practice.
But it's hard to let go of the sport that I love and for which I've worked so hard, even for just a little while.
As you may remember, I've just finished reading this book, and have been thinking constantly about what it means to live as part of the world, rather than in opposition to and dominion over it. My conclusion? Big, big, big changes are required. Perhaps too big for me to handle. Perhaps too big for the world to handle.
In these kinds of circumstances, I find it's best to make changes that are small, personal, and immediate. Is the world worth saving? And can it even be done? Hmm . . . jury's still out on that one (at least for me). But I do know that I can live slightly closer to being part of the world, and so can you. Here are three ways how:
Biomechanics It came up in the pronation article. Whether you believe we evolved or were created, it's clear that our bodies were designed for a specific purpose. That purpose does not include wearing high heels or walking on concrete. Pavement and shoes separate us from the earth. Walking barefoot and working against the degeneration caused by not walking barefoot brings you that much closer to the original design. Pattern. Whatever. And that works in other parts of the body, as well. Strive for balance and stability in your body.
Appearance As I mentioned before, I think that when you start to see your body as the enemy, as something that needs to be slimmed down (which basically means you need to eliminate part of it), you're falling into a trap of conquering your body. And guess what! If you win the battle against your body, you also lose. But the same is true of bodies that are, how shall I say, facing the opposite problem. Your body was meant to be lean and muscular, to a certain extent, because that's what hunting and gathering does to you. So instead of focusing on weight loss or gain, perhaps we should be looking at overall health. Not "skinny"--healthy.
Eating Which brings me to the final point. Know something? Our bodies were not made to handle high fructose corn syrup. In fact, they weren't made to handle a lot of the things we put in them. So stop putting that shit in, already. Eat clean. I suppose you could argue that the way we're meant to eat is raw and vegetarian, but I disagree. The whole premise here is that we live and eat by the laws of nature, and one of those laws is to eat what you can find. You hunt. You gather. Sometimes there's slim hunting and you have to gather a little bit more to get fed. Sometimes there's slim gathering and you have to eat a lot of meat. Either way, my personal opinion is that we're designed to eat both, so I eat both. Besides, I was a raw vegan for a few weeks. Definitely wasn't working for me.
So that's the short version. If you believe that we have a responsibility to adjust the course of civilization, you now have three ideas of how to do it in your life. Small-scale. But these are just notions, right now. So over the next few weeks, I'll be digging more deeply into the practicals--how do we make these changes? What can be different in my life? And why does it matter?
Not sure, yet. I'm thinking about it. I'll let you know.
This has been a long time coming. About a month ago, Jamie asked me about stretches for the IT band. And since I've been having so much trouble with my SI joint, I thought that this would be a good time to introduce some stretches for the lumbo-pelvic region (lower back and hips). These stretches will help relive or prevent low back pain, knee problems, and the general discomfort that comes along with tight muscles.
Cross one leg over the other above the knee. Draw both knees toward the chest with the hands on the lower leg. You should feel the stretch along the side of the leg from the knee to the hip. To increase the intensity of the stretch, move the hands closer to the ankles. This will increase the torque in the knee, which will give you a deeper stretch, but which also might aggravate your knee. This stretch is great for the IT band, but also stretches the hip rotators, especially the piriformis and the quadratus femoris.
Cross the right ankle over the opposite knee. Bend the left knee at about 90 degrees and grab onto the back of the thigh, reaching through the figure four of your legs to do it. If you're too inflexible to grab on to the back of your thigh, hold onto the ends of a belt, yoga strap, or rolled up towel wrapped around the back of your thigh. To increase the intensity of the stretch, pull your legs in to a deeper tuck (closer to your chest) and push your right knee away from your body (deeper external rotation at the hip). You should feel the stretch on the outside of your thigh into your butt. If you feel it on the front of your hips or in your groin, stretch the hip flexors and adductors, then try this one again. This stretch is for the gluteus maximus and the deep hip rotators.
This stretch is similar to the one above, but will allow a deeper stretch for the external hip rotators. Also? You might wanna warm up before you try this one. Follow the link for full instructions (better than I can do). Instead, here are some reminders: bend the forward leg if you need to, but work towards keeping that lower leg perpendicular to your body. Be sure that your hips are level; the extended hip will be prone to dropping. If you're very tight, you might want to support your hips with a folded towel or two. If this pose isn't a possibility for you at all, do this instead: sit with one leg extended in front of you and cross the opposite ankle over the knee. To increase the intensity of Pigeon, lower your upper body closer to the ground (without letting your hip drop).
A variation of the above stretches. Works on balance while stretching those tight hip rotators. Ankle over the opposite knee, stick your butt back, and lean forward towards both legs. Try to keep the back flat (i.e. not hunched).
If you are a triathlete and you think you don't need to do this stretch, you are 100% wrong. Between running, biking, and swimming, your hip flexors will become very very tight if not stretched out regularly. And that can throw your hips into imbalance. Which will throw your back out of whack. Which will eventually hurt you. So do this stretch.
Take a big step forward. Make sure your foot is far enough ahead of you that your knee won't stick out past your toes. Drop the back knee almost to the ground and scoop the hips up and forward (posteriorly tilt the pelvis). It should feel lie you're stretching your hip flexor muscles over the front of your hip bone. This stretch can be done with your rear foot on a table or chair to deepen the stretch and involve the quad more. You can also drop the back knee if your legs get tired from the balancing and lunging.
There are five muscles that aid in hip flexion. Two of the attach at the spine and hips. The other three attach at the hips and knees. If they get tight, they can pull your back, hips, and knees out of alignment. You can see how that would be very very bad for the main running structures of the body, right? So stretch out the hip flexors!
Technically speaking, you can't stretch the IT band; it's fascia, which means in order to loosen it up, you have to use a foam roller or get a massage. But you can stretch the muscle at its head (the tensor fascia lata, a hip flexor), and that's what this stretch targets. The stretch also gets at the glute medius.
Standing, cross the right leg over the left so that the feet are directly next to each other. Drop the right (front leg) hip and bend the right knee. Stick the left (back leg) hip out to the side. Try to keep the hips squared to the front; that should give you the most effective stretch. If it doesn't, slowly rotate your pelvis until you find the best stretch.
And so that is all that I have for you. This is by no means an exhaustive guide to lumbo-pelvic stretches. All the muscles in your body are integrated--they work together. And for that reason, if I really wanted to create a comprehensive stretching routine for lumbo-pelvic health, I would incorporate the whole body. In particular, I would also include stretches for the abdominals, the quadratus lumborem, the hamstrings, the quadriceps, and the calves. All integrated, I tell you. So remember that while these stretches are important, they're only part of a well-balanced stretching routine. In other words, make sure you stretch your whole body.
On that note, I've said it before and I'll say it again: try yoga! Find a good beginning yoga class or use a yoga video. It will prevent injuries (um, when done properly, as with everything) and contribute to overall health. And if you're in the Wichita area, let me know. Because I have the perfect yoga class for you.
I have this almost uncontrollable urge to end this post like this
(R.I.P. Don LeFontaine). But I hope this time has not been a waste for either of us.
"And that's where it stands right now. We have to carry the conquest forward. And carrying it forward is either going to destroy the world or turn it into a paradise--into the paradise it was meant to be under human rule."
We are overcomers. Athletes, I mean. We overcome things. We overcome time and distance and genetics and exhaustion and the ever-present, niggling thought (which comes at us through voices both external and internal): "You can't do this."
We are overcomers.
Here's my question: At what point does overcoming switch to conquest?
The issue is that I've been reading this book. And having read this book, I've begun to look at my life in the context of conquest. Of reclamation. Of forced submission. Because the author argues (in this book) that the drive to conquer is a huge problem for the human race. Humans seem to have this need to force nature to submit. We take oil the earth. We move trees, grasses, animals, hell, even mountains out of the way to make room for our expansion. We spread out farther and farther, extending our reach into the wilds. And the mentality behind this--whether explicit or implicit--is that this world is a battlefield. The earth is trying to resist our expansion, this is our battlefield, and we have to win.
The problem is, if we win we also lose. Because this isn't our battlefield; it's our home. So if we end up conquering the world, we've destroyed our only means of survival.
Or so the author's argument goes. I leave it to you to decide (but I do suggest that you read this book).
What does this have to do with endurance?
Conquest, my friends; conquest. If I decide that I'm going to go on a 10-mile run and my body, at around mile 8, says, "Hell no! Leave me alone! Let's go have ice cream!" and I make it keep going, I've conquered my body, yes?
The problem is, I don't see most endurance athletes fitting into this paradigm. Sure there are a few assholes out there, but for the most part, the endurance athletes I know love life, love the earth, and are remarkably in tune with their bodies, their minds, their spirits, their communities, and their world.
So I'm hesitant to label our endurance training process as conquest; I think it's more a process of overcoming. In fact, I think the two are not at all the same. Because endurance training--difficult as it is--does not treat the body as a battlefield. It treats it as a home. It recognizes that this home is capable of some pretty remarkable things. It is extremely concerned with the health of this home. It is a constant pursuit of making this home better (rather than what we want it to be). It involves overcoming the obstacles, the imperfections, the problems that face the athlete in order to become more whole, more in tune with the body, more naturally healthy. It looks at strengths and weaknesses, uses the one for all its worth and shores up the other. It works in concert with the body, not against it.
But there is a fine line between the concepts I've introduced here, you understand. Can you see how easily the overcoming can turn into a conquest? When you begin to feel your body work against you. When you begin to push beyond the limits of health to eke out a few less seconds, a few more miles. When you feel your body deteriorating, but keep going anyway. When you look in the mirror, say, "This will not do," and vow to be more disciplined so that you may cut part of your body away. When you no longer see your body as a partner--as more than a partner, as a concrete part of yourself.
So far, the only long ride on which I have eaten these was in a car (but it was four days long, so it required its own kind of stamina). However, I imagine that they would be very effective for Bento boxing (as in brown bagging, not fighting Bentos). In addition, this recipe is simple enough that even the most recipe challenged (I'm looking at you, Speedy) should be able to make them. If you try the recipe and fail miserably, please share your experience in the comments so that I may make fun of you.
Power Balls
4 cups rolled oats 1 cup honey 1 cup sunflower seeds 1 cup chocolate chips 2/3 cup powdered milk 2-3 tbsp butter, softened 2 cups peanut butter (warmed for ease of mixing)
Heat oven to 350 degrees. Dump ingredients together and mix with hands. Roll into balls (size is up to you; mine are about a tablespoon, but I have a friend who makes them big enough to be a quarter cup). Bake for 5-6 minutes.
See how ridiculously simple that is? Also? Those ingredients are totally up for replacement. Try them with almond butter. Try them with nuts and dried fruit instead of chocolate chips. Mix another grain in there. Add some protein powder. The possibilities are practically endless.
By the way, if you're expecting pictures to come with these recipe posts, dream on. If I make anything good enough to share, there's no way there's ever going to be enough left over for a picture. Maybe I'll start taking pictures of empty, slightly-dirty plates. "See? This is where this delicious food used to be!"
My grit, I mean. It was hanging out in yesterday's (second) cycling class, just waiting for me to find it.
The morning class was big and exciting, and I worked my little ass off; I pushed way more resistance than I normally would. Probably because out of the three events I wanted to race this weekend, I did not do a single one. One was canceled. One was sold out. And the back-up to the back-up plan . . . well, let's just say that having my alarm set to go off at 6:00 p.m. was not terribly helpful.
And so there I was. Teaching my second set of cycling students on the day (all two of them). Halfway done. And I found myself looking down at the resistance knob, thinking about how easy it would be to turn it down before the truly hard part came. I had the perfect opportunity. No one would have known that I was taking it easy (except me). I had already killed myself in the 8:15 class. And really, isn't one hour of leg-crampingly difficult cycling enough for me?
But it was not enough. I turned the resistance up and murdered that mofo. I hit it hard, maybe right on the edge of too hard.
And I was pleased. I had found my grit. All was right with the world.
Then, on the very last track, my grit stood up, shook off some cobwebs, and frickin' asserted itself. "Don't bother looking for me," it said. "I am right here!" And so, with almost no conscious thought or decision making on my part, I found myself turning the resistance knob up. And up. And up. Until I felt I could barely move my legs. But I did move my legs. In fact, I turned them over about as fast as they could go.
Sometimes you finish too late. Sometimes you allow yourself to become burnt out in almost every aspect of your life. Sometimes your heart calls you far, far away with so loud and distracting a voice that you can't concentrate on anything around you.
Sometimes you get hurt. Injured. Taken out.
Sometimes life derails your plans, then pushes you down and takes your milk money for good measure.
Know what? Sometimes everything sucks. You don't finish races (or don't get to start them, because they're canceled or sold out). You can't work out because of some stupid, bullshit, recurring injury. You get confused about why you even bother. You wonder whether you really love swimming, biking, running, or any combination of physical activities. You think maybe it's just become habit (or it's your job). Sometimes the next step forward is too difficult to think about, too much to bear, too big to take.
I'm not sure I'm ready for inspiration, yet. Because sometimes you need to walk it out, go inside, figure out whether or not you really have the grit to finish a long run. A 5k. An Ironman. Whatever it may be.
The grit's in there, though. Just need to find it.
Quick updates: I just got back from driving from Boston to Phoenix in four days, and my SI joint is acting up. Hope (hope!) it's just tight muscles (again), not something stupid (like a bulging disc). But holy sacroiliac, Batman; my ass hurts.
There were supposed to be two races this weekend. One was cancelled; one is sold out. So I was planning to race twice this weekend. And instead I won't be racing at all. Not that my ass wants to, probably. Le sigh.
I'm starting to feel restless and burned out. Working 80 hours a week at a gym will do that. And driving across the country to help one of your best friends set out on a new adventure doesn't help. I'm starting to look around, think, "Hmm, wonder if I could live there?" So any suggestions for where I should be living next?
Look for the next "Runner's High" article later this weekend. We've got some catching up to do!
Thanks to a series of 15-hour workdays (as well as a handful of gym members who claim that they are leaving the gym because of something that I allegedly did or--in some cases--didn't do), I have had no time to write at work and no energy to write at home. Besides which, I am entirely too busy watching Olympians being awesome to complete the latest installment in my "Stop Slouching!" series (which will be about weak hamstrings, by the way).
Also, I am flying to Boston tomorrow to help my friend drive to Arizona, where she has a job teaching 4th graders. So I will be in a car and therefore unable to update for the next week.
In the meantime, I invite you to join me by splurging (bowl of ice cream, anyone?) and pulling up a seat in front of the TV to watch the following events:
Women's 10,000 m final - Friday at 9:45 a.m. (all times are Central Time)
Women's marathon - Saturday at 7:30 p.m.
Men's 10,000 m final - Sunday at 9:45 a.m.
Women's triathlon - Sunday at 9:00 p.m.
Men's triathlon - Monday at 9:00 p.m.
And I will be back to regale you with tales of weak hamstrings on Tuesday. Please try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone ;-).
