Race Report: Clearwater Summer Scorcher 1 mile and 5k

My preparation for this race was not optimal.

It involved abnormally large quantities of beer (which for me is anything more than two drinks) and not much sleep.

Yesterday, I also (for some reason) felt it was a good idea to swim (which I haven't done in a week and a half), do a hard 30-minute spinning session, and take two different group classes--a yoga and a Pilates. Do not ask me why I thought this made sense. I was feeling fat and lazy and trying to overcompensate for it all. And besides (I told myself, when the sensible part of my brain tried to politely suggest that I am an idiot) swimming, spinning, yoga, and Pilates are all different things! They're not running! I'll be fine.

Clearwater is my home town, by the way. I spent my middle school and high school years in a district that routinely took top honors at the state cross country meet. I, of course, wasn't a part of that; the only sport I ever played in high school was football (my coaches asked if I had asthma, because I ran so slow and breathed so hard). So even though this was my first year at this race, I expected a fairly significant field of young, fast runners.

It's been a while since I've run a straight-up 5k; in fact, I can't remember the last time I've done one (have I ever done one?). The last mile I did was the Jingle Bell Run last year, and I did 7:49 there. So I was hoping to set PRs for both races, but obviously wasn't taking that goal too seriously, or I would have behaved differently yesterday.


The 1 mile started at 7:00 a.m. I was not feeling my best. I wasn't hung over, but my stomach was rumbling and squishing and generally making me uncomfortable. And I knew that I hadn't prepared adequately to run my best. Late nights, booze, and hard training do not make for fast legs. Add to that the fact that I haven't really been training (as a runner), and a PR does not look likely.

At the gun, I tried to go out fast but not too fast, and immediately wished I were somewhere else. The first thoughts in my mind were "I don't want to do a 5k later; I don't even want to do this." Fortunately, a mile is not very far. And each stretch we ran was only a couple blocks; having the run so broken up was helpful. I remember coming around the last turn onto the main road through town. I checked my watch, and it was just ticking over 6:00. I thought, "Holy cow! I could still come in under 7:00, I bet!" But I felt like I was running through Jell-o, and the last three blocks were longer than they looked. I crossed the line in 7:27, feeling awful, but happy with my new PR. I also got first place in my age group! A new trophy for the shrine!

During the mile, I felt generally miserable, and really didn't want to run the 5k. If it had been just me, I would have DNSed it and gone home. But my dad was running (just) the 5k, and there was no way I was going to bail on him. At about that point, I did decide to scrap the PR plans, and just run at my dad's pace, try to help him do really well.

We settled into a comfortable pace, although every time I looked at my heart rate monitor, I was surprised by the numbers that I saw. 166? Really? At a 10-minute-mile pace? About halfway through the 5k, I realized that the humidity was probably taking its toll on our bodies, jacking my heart rate way up and making me regret wearing a shirt. 

The last mile or so, my dad really started slowing down. The 5k course ends with a long (for Kansas) uphill, a similar downhill, and then one more block to the finish. We toiled up that hill, and at the top I said, "Hey Dad, you see that guy with his shorts bunched up between his fat little thighs? Well do you think you can catch him?" And with that, I took off down the hill, trying to get my pop to use his momentum to carry him past the fat dude. We did catch the fat guy, but had nothing left for a kick. I think that was another effect of the humidity.

We finished the 5k in 30:20. Afterwards, I sort of regretted not running as hard as I could. But on this day, in these conditions, I guess it was understandable (if not exactly commendable). I don't know what I might have done had I actually tried. But there will be other 5ks, there will be other PRs, there will be other opportunities to break 24:00. I can wait.

Even with the new PR, this race didn't feel particularly successful. My legs were dead in a way I haven't felt in a while--maybe since after my last half marathon. It's not so much that they hurt. And they were working well; my form was fine--probably better than usual. But my legs just didn't have the power and force I wanted to demand from them today. And the humidity was palpable. Only 65% or so, with a heat index around 80*. But it felt much worse than that, and I know that made a difference.

Still, 7:27 is the best I've ever run, and I'm starting to see that sub-7:00 performance within reach. On a good day, with proper training and preparation, I think I could run sub-7:00 . . . well, not exactly easily, but without going beyond the red-lining zone. And I'm sure I'll have that opportunity soon.

Race Report: Wichita Specs Criterium

You know, one of these days I'm going to do a crit with more than a couple of women and see how I really stack up . . .

But today was not that day. Today, there were 4 women in the Cat 3/4 field: myself, two other Specs riders (Shannon and Alicia), and a local, unattached, wicked-strong woman (Beth).

Because this was a small race and it was 3-on-1 and Beth is wicked crazy strong and we're not men, so the egos involved are considerably smaller, this was definitively a training race. For everyone except Beth, that is, although I suppose you could consider it coach training. Because she was definitely coaching us.

During the warm-up, Shannon, Alicia, and I discussed race strategy. Or rather, Shannon related what Beth had suggested that we do. May I just say that riding with teammates is a blast. I enjoy the aspect of team strategy and having a few partners to rely on.

Our strategy was to keep trying to attack, constantly making her chase one of us down so she couldn't rest. Hopefully, we would be able to keep her reeled in, then lead each other out in a group sprint to the finish.

The course was fairly mild, with only one truly sharp corner. The rest of the corners were either more curved, or the roads were wide enough that it didn't make sense to make a sharp turn. There was a little wind on the back stretch, which gradually shifted to the home straightaway. That meant that there was only one really ideal place to attack--that first sharp corner, although there's always opportunity to attack.

And attack we did. The first lap, everyone took it easy, Beth instructing us all the way. The second lap, I tried to go off the front. Beth caught me easily. We worked on pace-lining, protecting our strongest rider, keeping Beth from edging into our pace-line, blocking the draft by guttering another rider . . . feel like I learned a lot in this race.

We tried to keep attacking, but couldn't make anything stick. Mostly, I think that Alicia and I weren't strong enough and couldn't recover fast enough to keep attacking with the pace and ferocity we would have needed to break Beth down. But it was never discouraging. I never had that moment of "Oh shit! I suck at this!" that came at the Omnium.

Because I'm stronger now than I was then. I've been putting some more time in on my road bike. I've been hitting my spinning classes a little harder. I've been working on my handling skills. I've started lifting weights again (I still hate it, BTW). I'm a better cyclist than I was in May.


Anyway, I tried again to attack with something like 7 laps to go. Shannon countered after Beth pulled me back, and I couldn't keep up. Alicia and I fell off the back. We worked together brilliantly to pull back up (although they slowed down considerably to let us get back on, I think); Alicia did a lot of the work on that section, as I was still spent from giving it all in my last attack. By the time we were almost in contact with them, I had recovered sufficiently. I told Alicia that I was going to slingshot off her back wheel and try to attack again, try to surprise them. That attack didn't stick either, but it was my one truly tactical move. I'm actuallly pretty proud of it. Now if only I had the legs to back it up . . .


Beth accelerated with 5 laps to go and easily dropped us again. Shannon clung onto her back wheel and managed to stay with her 'til the final sprint. Alicia and I started working together to try to pull them back in, although by the time we were two laps from the finish, I was more concerned with not getting lapped. By the end, we were switching off beautifully--quick, 5-second pulls, getting lots of rest. On the last lap, we slowed our pace a little bit, and pulled up even. We discussed how we wanted to do the final sprint and decided to keep the short, even pulls (so we could both be as fresh as possible going into the last few 100 m) and then leave it to whoever had the stronger sprint. I felt like we were pretty evenly matched as far as strength, speed, and technique. I suspect that this kind of conversation never happens when men race. But I might be wrong.


About 200 m from the end, just a little before the last turn, I up-shifted and started turning my legs. I looked behind me when I first went, then just concentrated on putting my head down and giving it all I had. And I definitely gave it all I had! I came across the line feeling like I was going to puke. I don't know that I've ever hurt that bad from such a short interval, but I ended up beating Alicia by a little less than a bike length.



Looking back, I think I learned a lot about tactics. I didn't know about guttering, or really about blocking. I have no problem getting close and aggressive on a bike, but I don't know all the situations where I can use that to my advantage. I also thought a little bit about wind. If you try to attack into a headwind, the energy cost to you is much greater than if you attack in a crosswind, where a faster pace is going to hurt both cyclists equally. Of course, if you attack with a tailwind, you're unlikely even to get away. I still have a lot to learn.


But I did feel much stronger and much more capable in this race. I felt like I had more power (both in immediate bursts and in staying power) than I had in the last race. And I felt like I could contribute something to the team effort.


As far as how I stack up against other cyclists, I think this race gave a fair indication. My skill and power are both somewhere in the middle, maybe towards the lower 50%. Actually, just like when I started in triathlon. But I have no doubt that with a lot of hard work, I can work up to the top ten. Just like I did in triathlon.

Beginners' Guide: Race Day

 

Yep, that's me! Second-to-last person across the line.

At this point, many of you have already done your first race. It's well into the season, and if you haven't raced yet, you're running out of time! That said, there's always the next potential crazy coming up after us who needs to know "What do I do?!" with knees knocking and hands shaking. So here's a primer on things you should know before you confront the excitement and anxiety of your first race.

#1 What to Wear
A lot of the decisions you make in preparation for race day have to do with your primary target for race day--in this case, how do you want to feel? Many experienced triathletes will wear the same thing for the swim, bike, and run. They do this because it's time-consuming to change clothes in a transition area, and part of triathlon is to get in and out of transition zones as quickly as possible. If you want to participate in that part of the experience, plan on wearing one thing for the whole race. The most effective way to make that happen is to buy an outfit specifically designed for a race. You can expect to pay $50-$100 for a tri outfit. Alternatively, you can wear bike shorts and a skin-tight shirt.

If you're less concerned about a quick transition and would prefer to be comfortable, then you have a little more lee-way. Men, you can swim in nothing but bike shorts, but most races now require that you wear a shirt on the bike and run. Do not put a t-shirt (especially the race t-shirt) on for the bike and run! Choose a technical shirt that will breathe and wick away moisture. Women, wear bike shorts over your bathing suit, or wear bike shorts and a sports bra on top. Even if you wear just a bathing suit, put a sports bra under your suit unless you are very, very small-breasted. If you are not wearing at least a moderately supportive bra, you will regret it by the end of the run.

So men: bike shorts and a technical top. Women: bike shorts and bathing suit/sports bra.

#2 Equipment
This isn't really the place to discuss what equipment you need, or how much you should spend (or the bare minimum you can get away with). But you do need to know what to have at your first race. You can customize a checklist and print it off here, or you can just make your own checklist in the weeks leading up to your race. I have 4 sticky notes hanging on my wall by way of reminder: one for swim gear, one for run gear, one for bike gear, and one for everything else (i.e. things I need to bring if I'm traveling to a race). The basics are:

Swim: Goggles, swim cap (the one provided in your race packet, if applicable), swimsuit, wetsuit (if you're using one).
Bike: Bike and helmet; you're not racing without those. Bike shoes, if you have them. Tools, spare tube, and pump are all recommended. Socks and gloves are optional.
Run: Running shoes and your race number. Again, socks are optional. A hat or visor is a good idea.

# 3 Food
For this first race, don't go crazy in trying to fine-tune a carb-loading strategy; just focus on eating in a way that's worked for you leading up to big/long/key workouts in the past few months. Keep in mind that the things you eat for several days leading up to the race will impact the way you feel on race day. So be good the week before your race! And don't eat anything new or exciting the night before a race, especially if you've traveled to get there and are eating in an unfamiliar setting.

I had baked manicotti the night before my first race. You'd think that with all the cheese and spices and rich, heaviness of that dish, I would have had some kind of stomach problems that day. But that is close enough to what I eat normally that it didn't really affect me.

That said, everyone has different needs and will respond differently to foods. Some people are super sensitive to foods, and some people are walking, talking garbage bins. You need to figure that out before the day before your race, though. If it's too late for you to figure that out, just try not to do anything too unusual before you race tomorrow (and I know there will be at least a couple people who read this the day before their races).

So don't try anything new or fancy the day before your race!

#4 Day of
Know what time you need to be there! If your wave is the third or fifth (or twentieth) wave, you still need to be there at the beginning of the waves. Every race is a little different in how they handle staging. If you have questions about that, you should ask at the race meeting (if there is one) or ask a volunteer at packet pick-up.

Give yourself an hour or so to set up transition. There's no way you'll need a full hour to set up transition, but it'll make you feel better to have that padding of time. You can use the leftover time to go for a short jog to get warmed up and spend some time in the water to get used to it. If you see someone doing something new and you think, "Hey, maybe I should try that!" forget about it. Race day is not the time to experiment.

As far as setting up transition, you just need to find something that works for you. There are all kinds of tricks and tips that are supposed to get you in and out of transition quicker, but your concern need not be so much for speed; instead, you should focus on comfort. So--again!--find something that works for you.

Triathletes are usually pretty friendly, so go ahead and talk to the people around you. They're probably about as nervous as you are, and can help set your mind at ease.

So find what works for you and stick to it, the day of the race. Be at the race site with plenty of time to spare. Warm up, chit chat, and do what you can to put yourself at ease.

#5 The swim
You're going to freak out. That's it. Get used to it now. At some point in this swim, you are going to freak out. You'll panic. You won't be able to breathe. You will become suddenly incapable of putting your head down and swimming like you've practiced for the past several months.

If (when) that happens, flip over on your back or onto your side. Do a back stroke or a side stroke until you can settle down a little bit. Then try again to get into your freestyle. Don't be afraid to side stroke the whole swim, if you need to; I did in my first two races.

So don't be afraid to slow down and side/backstroke; remember that this is only the first part of your race, and you don't want to be exhausted already!

#6 Transitions
Again, just try to stay relaxed, stay comfortable. Slow down and breathe. Sit down, if you need to. People will be zooming by you on either side. Just remember that your race goals are different from their race goals, and in order for you to be successful, you need to stay relaxed and comfortable.

So slow down, do what you need to do, and stay in your comfort zone.

#7 Bike/run
These should be pretty self-explanatory. Try to save a little bit of energy when you're biking, then start slow and get faster on the run. In your second transition, keep your legs turning over at a good clip. Walk if you need to. Stop and get water at every aid station.

At some point--maybe on the bike, maybe on the run, maybe both--you're going to start hurting. A triathlon is not an easy thing. It will feel like the hardest thing you've ever done in your whole life. You will ask yourself why you signed up for this torture. You will never want to exercise every again. You will hate yourself for thinking you could do such a crazy thing.

But you know what? You are doing it. And all you have to do is get through those last few miles. And you've done a few miles in training, right? You can do a few more miles now. No matter how your brain tries to trick you into thinking you're too slow or too fat or too stupid or too lazy or too ill-prepared to do this, you are doing it. You can do it. And you will finish, even if you collapse right after you cross the line.

So try to pace yourself well on and then off the bike; take it easy at first and then hammer it home at the end. Above all, trust yourself! You can do it!

#8 Finish!
You've done all the work, and you've finished! Whether you're first or last, you have achieved your goal. Enjoy it!

Runner's High: No Big Deal

I can remember when a 10-mile run was a huge undertaking. Hell, I can remember my first 10k, which at the time was the farthest I'd ever run. Oh, and it was in my first-ever Olympic distance race (stupid, stupid, stupid).

Last Saturday, I headed out to Derby with one of the athletes I coach for a moderately-paced 10-miler. Weather was perfect, if a little humid: minimal wind, overcast, and cool. There's a surprising amount of elevation change in Derby, so the course I planned was pretty challenging.

And know what? It was no big deal. It was a 10-mile run, and it was no big deal. Which, when you're looking at training for an Ironman (and I'm not, by any means, saying that I am or will be any time soon), should be expected. Because 10 miles is really not that far.

On the other hand, 10 miles is HUGE! That's more distance at once than most people--even most everyday runners--will ever consider doing! And when I consider the fact that two years ago I had never run more than 6 miles at a time . . . that's pretty cool.

Okay, now that I've written that out, it really seems like not a big deal. I feel a little silly.

Silly, but still awesome. 

Race Report: Mudwater '09

I consider this race to be vindication for last weekend's missed opportunities. Could not have asked for better weather, better atmosphere, or a better performance from myself.

Pre-race

Since my parents missed church last week, I was on my own for this week's festivities. I prepped everything (including breakfast) solo, the house dark. The advantage? I got out at exactly the time I wanted to leave.

Breakfast was peanut butter and toast, by the way.

I got to the lake while it was still mostly dark, just as it should be. There were only a couple dozen people there (not including volunteers), at that point, so I had my pick of parking. Early arrival was a great advantage because there were no assigned rack spaces, so I got my pick of bike racks, too. I chose a spot that was farthest from the swim out, with a straight shot to the bike out.

I went through the normal pre-race rituals--packet pick-up, setting up transition, easy warm-up jog--and by the time I'd gotten through all that, transition was filling up. Mudwater is a great race for locals. There are a few competitors who come from Oklahoma or Missouri, but most live in or around Wichita. This race is in its third year, the field has been limited to 250 participants, and it is really becoming our race. Which is an amazing thing to behold.

First-timers represented about 40% of the field, between the tri and du, and two of those first-timers were my clients! I also met a reader (first time that's ever happened) who was doing her first tri; good work, Stacy (and did I spell that right?)! I cannot put into words my pride at convincing people to do this crazy sport. Always amazes me.

My own feelings leading up to the starting gun (a shotgun, by the way) were of excitement. No nervousness. The brooding energy that I had stored up for a week due to the inclement weather at last week's event was finally harnessed, concentrated. I felt wound up like a slinky at the top of the stairs; just tip me over and away I go!

Swim: 750 m, 14:23 (1:55/100 m); 13/51 F overall
Last year: 15:36
Weather could not have been better. Water temperature was 84 degrees, which is a little warm. But I had no problems with overheating. Last year, we had a beach start; this year, we started in the water. At the shotgun, I dove right in (I'd made sure I was deep enough that I wouldn't have to run or dolphin dive before I started swimming). I tried to surge, tried to get myself out of the anticipated mass of humanity. But after taking several strokes and turning my head to breathe, and beheld (to my amazement) a whole crowd of women who were walking (not running!) through the water. What the hell?! Dive, ladies, dive!

Needless to say, I had clear water for the first part of the swim. I was, however, able to jump on the heels of a few women who were just enough faster than me to be of benefit. I lost them once we caught up to the few stragglers from the wave before us. I felt fast and strong throughout the swim. I gave just enough energy to maximize my time in the water without spending too much energy and suffering later. I dolphin dove to the shore (pretty sure I'm the only one at this race who does that; when I was coming out there were still people walking in to the shallows) and sprinted up the slight incline to transition. In my mind, I was a famous ITU athlete, tall and athletic and strong.

T1: 47 sec; 3/51 F overall
Last year: 35 seconds

Bike: 25 km, 44:53 (20.8 MPH); 6/51 F overall
Last year: 20 km, 38:24 (19.4 MPH)
It wasn't until the beginning of last week that I realized the bike was 25k, not 20k, like I'd expected. But what difference does an extra 5 km make, right?

Coming out of the park was a blast; I sailed past a few of the men, scrambling to get my feet into my shoes. I took the sharp left-hand turn out of the park like a pro--butt to the side, low over the handle bars, upper body relaxed. Right out of the driveway, there's a slight hill (very slight; remember where we are, after all). I powered up it like it wasn't even there. About 5 km into the bike ride, another woman crept by me. As she passed me, I noticed the age on the back of her leg. 47. "No way!" I thought to myself. Not that I don't think a 47-year-old woman should be able to pass me; it's just that I wasn't going to let it happen on that day. I motored by her at the next downhill and spent the rest of the bike course keeping my foot on the figurative accelerator, just daring her to try to pass me again.

I wasn't passed by another woman the whole time.

Like I said before--the weather was perfect. On back side of the bike, we had a little bit of east wind, and I saw my speed drop significantly (no more average speeds in the mid-20s!). It was frustrating, and I was hurting a little bit. I definitely felt like I lost steam on the second half of the bike. I spent a lot of time worrying that I was putting too much into my second leg, and wouldn't have enough energy left to have the kind of run I knew I could put in this year. My calves and hamstrings were tight and cranky, and I've discovered that the bike is both my strength and my weakness--I can put a lot of time into the competition when on two wheels, but I sometimes push too hard and pay the price on the run.

Turning back into the park (a little less than a mile from T2), I dropped gears and started spinning my legs out. Got my feet out of my shoes and had some of the men pass me, but knew that I would re-gain that time in transition.

T2: 30 sec; 6/51 F overall
Last year: 49 sec
Nailed the flying dismount like a pro, but then had so much speed that I overshot my rack space by a few feet and had to run back towards it. Still, pretty damn fast, don't you think?

Run: 5 km, 26:24 (8:29/mile); 22/51 F overall
Last year: 31:05
This was the highlight of the race. Not because I'm super fast, mind you; this is my weakest leg, relative to the rest of the women's field. But because it's just so much better than last year. That's a minute and a half faster per mile than what I was doing last year. I am totally happy with and excited about the progress I've made this year in the run. My biking and swimming times are better, but not that much better than last year's. But my run? My run has improved in leaps and bounds.

My one point of contention with myself came in the last quarter mile or so. I was within sight of the finish line, and a big clydesdale came clomping past me. He works out at my gym; I see him around all the time. He was at IMKS. He was running just a little bit faster than me. I tucked in behind him, his huge frame in the foreground, the finish line behind. I stayed with him for maybe 50 yards, and then he started to pull away. And I decided that it hurt too bad, he was too fast, and I let him go.

I shouldn't have let him go. I could have kept that speed for another 300-400 m. I could do anything for another 300-400 m. It's only a few minutes in time. I can suffer for a few minutes in time. So looking back, that's my one disappointment. I should have followed him in to the finish instead of letting him go.

But other than that, I thought I was very willing and able to accept the pain that should come in a sprint tri. I determined early in the bike that I would go to that place of intensity and focus, and felt like I was actually able to do it this time.

The best part, as always, is the last few yards before the finish. I come closer and closer, the crowd getting nearer and the end within reach; I always think, "I'm not going to be able to do it, this time; I don't have enough left for a strong kick." And every time, usually in the last 20-40 meters, I find that I do have enough left. The exhaustion of all the miles leading up to that point falls away, and I find myself capable of anything.

I love that feeling.

Final: 1:26:58
Last year: 1:26:31 (with 5 km less on the bike)
Two years ago, I was looking at the results from Shawnee Mission and trying to decide how well I could realistically do, if I were able to achieve what I considered to be my potential. I looked at times from previous finishers. I looked at the overall. I looked at the age groups. And I decided that if I could swim at a 2:00/100 m pace (which I knew I could) and bike at 20 MPH (which I was sure I could) and work my way down to an 8:30/mile pace on the run (which I thought was possible) . . .

I could potentially work my way in to the top ten overall women.

Take a look at the times above, and then check it out.

2nd place F 20-24 (of 6, minus Bridget Ballard, the overall women's winner)
7th F overall (out of 51, not including the duathlon babes)

So there you have it. It didn't happen at Shawnee Mission (which, admittedly, is a much more competitive race than Wichita's favorite tri), but who's to say that I couldn't have done similarly well on that course on that day? I think I have it in me.

Of course I have my sights set lower, now. Because theoretically, I'm sure I could swim a 1:45/100. And bike 22 MPH. And run sub-8:00 . . .

Losing Momentum

I can't seem to get excited about this weekend's race.

I'm not excited about training or about getting gear together. There is no fire under my ass to beat last year's time, or to set a PR, or even to do well.

The Shawnee Mission race was supposed to be part of a very planned, very deliberate peak. And it didn't happen. And now my whole peak is messed up.

That's all, though; the race was canceled, sometimes that happens, and it's over. I'm not upset about it. I'm not too down about it. I just know, on some level, that my season is pretty much over because of it.

Oh, I've still got a couple races on the schedule. This weekend is Mudwater, our very own local race in the muddy, mutant-catfish-infested waters of Lake Afton. I'm planning to do the Derby Rock 'n' Route sprint in August, which will give me an end-of-season benchmark relative to Emporia (it's the same distance, although not the same course). And I'm registered for the Redman sprint, hoping to win some team points for USAT team nationals. And I'm wanting to do an Ultramax 50 in Paola with my tri partner in crime (Shawnee Mission was supposed to be our race!).

But the hardcore training that is specifically directed towards a racing peak is done, now. Main season is over. The races from here on out are just for fun. Which isn't to say that I won't try hard or do well or even place/win. But I'm not going to be focusing all of my training on it.

That said, I will still be training, but I'm shifting my focus. The cyclocross season is coming up quick, and I want to kick some serious ass this year! So I'm hoping to get in a lot more miles on the bike, go back to base-building, and work on getting the power in my legs that I didn't seem to have in my first attempt at bike racing. I'm relegating swimming and cycling to the realms of crosstraining (along with DDR--at which I'm a rock star--and tennis, which is a good way for me to completely humiliate myself in public). I'd like to do another half-marathon this fall, but I haven't really looked at any races seriously.

Anyway, that's what I'm up to. The Shawnee Mission debacle siphoned my momentum, but I'm okay with it. Time for something new. What has everyone else been doing?

Race Report: Shawnee Mission '09

I experienced something at this race that I've never experienced before.

Cancelation.

Yes, Shawnee Mission was completely and decidedly rained out. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There was thunder and lightning that made me regret being outside, and this is coming from a Kansan who has experienced lightning and thunder and softball sized hail and tornado threats and snow gales the likes of which most coastal Americans will never see. And I'm not really interested in risking my life to do a race, even if it is one of the most highly-anticipated races on my schedule. The cancelation was a good call.

But it sure sucks.

And the worst part is that this is totally a momentum buster, season-wise. I was supposed to have two peak weekends, back to back. Now I only have one. Bummer.

Pre-Race: Shawnee Mission '09

I haven't been very good about updating lately, have I? My apologies. Haven't felt up to writing, I guess. Not that I'm too busy, really . . . just have nothing to say.

Coming up on my fourth running of the Shawnee Mission Triathlon. It was the first race I ever did (and finished next-to-last), and so it's a special time in my race schedule, every year. I don't have concrete goals for this race, except that I want to be faster than last year. I have expectations: I expect that I'll be able to beat my swim, bike, and run times from last year. I expect that I'll have a better sense of how much energy to reserve for the run; I expect that I'll move up in the rankings, this year.

But the most important expectation is that I will enjoy myself more. Last year, about this time, I was starting to get really, really burnt out. I've guarded myself pretty well against that this time, I think. I've learned lessons from the last few years that have made this season go so much smoother--I think the most important one was having a "big-deal" kind of race, then taking a little time off immediately after to mentally recharge and refocus. That time off after IM KS has really made a difference in my training, this past month. I feel like I've been able to sharpen myself, and have held onto that objective in almost every workout. It's enabled me to have more of a sense of purpose.

This time last year, I wrote time goals for myself. But for now I'll just write the previous times I posted on this course and tell you that this year I will be much, much faster.

Swim: 1000 m in 22:29 (2:14/100 m)

Bike: 18 mi in 1:00:14 (18 MPH)

Run: 4.5 mi in 46:44 (10:23/mi)

Total: 2:12:12 (28/58, 2nd F 20-24)

I'm excited; I think I can do well. I look forward to giving a good report.

Race Report: Derby Firecracker 4 Mile

For the first time ever, I placed at a running race.

The Derby Firecracker run is an old race; this year was its 28th iteration. The field is varied, with fewer than normal bigshots (prize money is only $25, and the food is better at some of the other local races this weekend), more than the normal amount of high school cross country runners, and a whole bunch of regular joes (and janes). Lining up around the start, I recognized very few people. You know how you get used to seeing certain regulars at every race? They weren't at this one. It was sort of disconcerting, like racing in a different city. Which I technically was, I suppose; Derby and Wichita are close, but they're definitely distinct entities (for now).

Morning dawned cool and cloudy, with the sun fighting to break through a bank of clouds rolling in from the south. Wichita was probably in the clear, but Derby is as far south as Clearwater, almost, so I figured we'd be dealing with some weather. It started sprinkling on us on the drive over, and by the time everyone was lined up for the start, we had a gentle downpour. But it was a soft, pleasant rain, and it was by far preferable to the 100* temperatures we've had the past two weeks.

The gun went off about 5 minutes late, and the field began its gentle surge forward. I was running with my iPod, but more as a stopwatch than for the music (I sent my Polar in yesterday to have it serviced, so I've been running without chrono or heart rate). But (silly me) I started the music playing without prepping the stopwatch. So I crossed the start line with iPod in hand, trying to start the timer function and looking (I'm sure) like an absolute tool. I hate it when I look like one of *those* runners--you know, the ones who can't do anything without headphones in their ears.

My dad was with me for this race (I bought him the entry as a Fathers' Day gift, because the race shirt was cool), and we started together. But it didn't take me long to jackrabbit away from him, dodging in and out of slower runners and looking for open ground. For some reason, I always seem to start races right in front of one big pack but right behind the other one. It's like I'm right in between two different levels of runners. Don't care much, if it means I get to run free from elbows and the clomping of other runners' feet.

The course carried us out of High Park (ground zero for the race), up and down a couple of short, gentle hills (in Kansas, these are mountains, you know), and out onto the main roads. The course had a surprising number of ups and downs, all of them long and gentle. At one point. the ground had been dug up in preparation for a driveway, but the race directors did tell us that the sidewalk was out before the race, so we were all expecting it. Shoes got a little bit muddy is all.

Hit the first mile marker in 7:56, according to my iPod, although I figure I can add about 15 seconds to that. My race plan was to hold back a little on the first mile, then open it up for the last three. Usually, in 4 mile races, I find myself wishing it were a 5k at around the 3 mile mark. Figured if I didn't really start racing until mile 1, maybe I could stave that off. When I looked at my split, I was a little wary. But I kicked it up another gear anyway. By this time, it had stopped raining, I had just turned out of the wind, and I was running on a slight uphill. I started to feel a little bit too warm.

At mile 2, there was water. I grabbed a cup without slowing down and sloshed as much of it as I could into my mouth. More of it went on my body than in my body, but I was already wet, so it didn't matter much. I was starting to pull back other runners, one by one, and feeling really good about the pace I set. Hit the 2 mile marker in 7:18, although I didn't check it at the time.

Mile 3 took forever. It wound through a couple of subdivisions, twisting and turning through streets and past cul-de-sacs. I kept turning corners, thinking I'd surely see the mile 3 marker around the next bend. I started to suspect that the course was mismeasured, and mile 3 was extra long. About this time, a big guy--tall and stacked--and I were trading places. I passed him, he passed me. I tucked in behind him to let him block the wind (we were actually running fast enough that I could tell a difference drafting off of him!), and he moved to the side to let me pass. We had a brief conversation about how he made a much better wind block than I did (poor guy was a good foot taller than me). He was hurting, and finally dropped back for good. About the same time, I ran up on a girl who's shirt said "Obsessed: a word lazy people use to describe the dedicated." She was running at a good clip, and it took quite a bit of effort to pass her, but I did. About that time, a good song ("Perfect Situation," by Weezer) came on, and I picked up my cadence a bit and dropped her. Finally passed the 3 mile marker in 9:37. Yeah, I really think the course was mismarked.

Mile 4 hurt physically, but was a cinch in my head. I just told myself, "I can do anything for one more mile," and got 'er done. I passed two thirty-somethings in running skirts (the same kind of uber-fit-but-not-particularly-competitive women who frequent my cycling classes) and made it my goal not to let them pass me. Whenever I heard their footsteps (and chatter) coming up behind me, I picked up my pace.

The "Obsessed" girl re-passed me, but she was fading, and I saw that I could catch her if I wanted to. At this point, we were back in High Park and climbing the final hill; after cresting that ridge, it was a 200 m downhill to the finish line. I surged slightly and drew up even with her as we topped the slope. "C'mon," I said, "it's all downhill from here. You've got enough for one more surge, don't you?" And I started picking it up. She said, "I don't know. I'm spent!" but she kept pace with me, step for step. I pushed her a little more, and she responded. "I'm gonna puke!" she said. "No you're not!" I replied. "Not until you get across that line! You're a strong runner! Finish strong!" And with that we crossed the finish line, her right in front of me.

Coming through the bevy of volunteers at the finish line, I felt energized. I'd seen the clock at the finish line--33 minutes, it said. My goal for this race was 34 minutes (8:30 pace), and I'd done a step better. The "Obsessed" girl high-fived me and thanked me for the encouragement; that felt great. As I exited the finish area, I passed a table where a volunteer said, "All women, stop and see me!" She asked my age group. I said, "20 to 24." And she handed me a silver medal! My first ever medal (not including finishers' medals) at a running event!

I headed back up the road to watch for my dad coming over that final hill. About 5 minutes later, I saw him, and fell into step with him. "It's all downhill from here," I told him. "How about a little push to the end?" He started striding out, taking advantage of the downhill and matching my pace as I accelerated. He crossed in 42:21 (unofficial), feeling tired but having thoroughly enjoyed his Fathers' Day gift. We munched on watermelon, oranges, and cookies. The Derby Runners' Club makes great cookies; they're famous for them. That is apparently the highlight of the Derby Not for Wimps 10-miler.

This race was a ton of fun. Besides the fact that I placed (!), it has a friendly, local feel. There's not the super-competitive atmosphere that I've experienced at some other local races (Easter Sun Run), nor is it overly laid-back, with a bunch of children, walkers, and stroller-pushing parents (Wichita Turkey Trot). The field is good-sized without being too big. The course is interesting, challening, and unique for this area because of the moderate hilliness.

Oh, and did I mention that I got second place in my age group?!

Race Report: Ironman 70.3 Kansas

This was one of the best things I've ever done in my life. One of the coolest. One of the most rewarding. By far one of the greatest achievements. So here's what happened.

Pre-race
I had the awesome privilege of having my whole family at this race with me. My parents each took half a day off work to drive down on Friday night. My brother took a week off of playing bass for the church band to come watch. One of my athletes, Karlene, and her husband shared our campsite. We had a good group.

My family drove down on Friday afternoon, arrived at the camp site around 6:30, and set up our space. My dad is a camping ninja. He climbed a dead tree to find us some firewood. He cooked pork loin with potatoes and sweet potatoes in a dutch oven. We had a Greek salad with tomatoes and cucumber. Peach cobbler for dessert. And then we sat around the fire and talked until it was time for bed.

I slept horrendously on Friday night. The ground was hard and I couldn't get comfortable and there were four of us crammed into that tent and my dad snores and my mom is a chronic insomniac and there was just so much . . . human in there. I prefer not to be in the presence of a lot of human at once when I'm sleeping. It bothers me.

So I didn't get very good rest on Friday, and it sort of freaked me out, because I knew that I was going to have the same kind of sleeping conditions on Saturday night. And even though I know that you have to get good rest for a good week prior to an event in order to perform your best, there's still a need for good sleep the night immediately before.

Saturday saw pancakes for breakfast, the Rock Chalk (Jayhawk!) 5k/10k runners coming past our campsite, and the arrival of Karlene and her husband, Virgil, along with both of our bikes! We picked up our packets just in time to totally miss the rush (the line went from a 5 minute wait to an hour wait shortly after we got checked in). We browsed through the surprisingly full expo section. We got lunch at a great barbecue place in Lawrence. Karlene and I went for a little bike ride, a little run. We dropped our bikes off at T1 and got body-marked (which was totally useless, by the way, because I just ended up with black smudges all over my legs and arms).

The best part about the whole process was that there were other people around the whole time. I didn't have to do anything in isolation. Even gathering my gear for the next day's activities was done with Karlene, the two of us reminding each other not to forget anything. It feels a lot different to be getting ready for a race with another athlete. And because there were many athletes camping near us, we got a chance to get ready with a handful of wonderful people.

And with all that going on, the camping and the family time and the getting to know other athletes and the time spent with friends was every bit as significant to me as the race itself.

And I got an awesome night's sleep on Saturday.

Race day
We woke up at 4 a.m. to a dark, cloudy sky with lightning in the distance. Fortunately, all of the storms went north and east of us, and all we got was a little sprinkle (and the light show). My dad and Virgil both woke up to join us for oatmeal with raisins. I ran off to the bath house to change into my kit and apply generous amounts of sunscreen and chamois butter. I was expecting a crowd of people in the bathroom, but I only saw one other woman getting ready.

Karlene was a little jumpy, but I was totally mellow. I didn't have the butterflies, the nerves, the feeling of "What the hell am I getting myself into?" that I was expecting. I was just kicking back in a lawn chair and eating my oatmeal. At 5, I gathered my stuff, wrangled Karlene, and we headed to T2 to drop off our running supplies. From there, Virgil and my dad joined us in the mile-long walk down to T1.

It seemed like I had brought an inordinate amount of stuff into transition with me. Bike pump, spare tube, helmet, shoes, nutrition, water bottles, towel, wetsuit. It took me a good 15 minutes to get everything where I wanted it. I aired up my tires, grabbed my Body Glide, and went to join the line for the port-a-johns.

After a long wait, when there were only about 3 people left in front of me, a USAT guy started announcing that they were going to close down transition. Why are those guys always such dicks? Just once, I'd like to encounter a race official who doesn't act like an asshole when preparing to close transition. I asked Karlene to go grab my wetsuit for me, so I wouldn't have to go back to it after I finished my very necesary moment.

I was struggling into my wetsuit with about 10 minutes left to go. Met a very nice woman from England (via Junction City, KS) who I'd already remarked on several occasions that morning because she was adorable. About 10 years too old for me, probably, but adorable. We chatted as we walked down to the boat ramp, where my parents caught me and wished me luck one more time. Then it was time to muscle my way through the mass of humanity to the cluster of white caps that matched my own.

Swim: 1.2 miles, 39:34 (2:02/100 m)
This was one of the cleanest swim starts I've ever had. I started off to the right, wanting to avoid the inevitable pummeling that I've seemed to receive lately. I swear, I was faster than most of the field a year ago. Now I feel like I'm being left in the dust. My starting position did the trick, and I was blessed with plenty of personal space for the first 900 m or so. The biggest problem I had was that my goggles were fogging up, and I couldn't see the buoys. So I was just relying on the people around me to head in the right general direction. Then when I was about 50 m from a buoy, I would finally be able to see it. I went through probably 500 m like that, then took enough time to stop and clean my goggles. After that, I could see fine.

I was coming up on the first turn at about the time the wave right behind mine started to catch up. At that point, my time of peaceful swimming was over. It was okay at the beginning, as the athletes who could actually swim passed me on either side. Then I started to get elbows to the sides, kicks in the jaw, and all the unpleasantness characteristic of swimming in a pack of large, masculine triathletes whose only objective is to make it through the swim without drowning themselves. How, I ask you, is it possible that these men were passing me?!

I didn't know my swim time until much later (I figured I came in at around 45 minutes), but it makes me very happy. I swam right at the pace I should have swam at, and it was practically effortless. It set me up well for the rest of the race, and it was a great way to begin.

T1: 2:56
Needless to say, I wasn't really hurrying, although the amount of time I spent in transition definitely became significant to me later. I had my wetsuit half off and my swim cap and goggles in hand practically as soon as I was out of the water, and was running past all the Clydes who had ambushed me in the last quarter of the swim. But once I got to my bike, I got very slow and methodical. I normally don't carry CO2 or a pump or a tube at races, but this ride would be long enough that I wanted that security. So I stuffed all that into my two tiny jersey pockets, sat down to put on socks (I know!) and shoes, double-checked to make sure all my stuff was in my transition bag so that I would actually get it back, then started running. I was parked at the far end of transition, so I had a long run in bike shoes; it's like running in high heels, which is why most women I know are better at it than men. Oh, and I ran into a guy whose butt was sticking out into the aisle while he was trying to get his wet suit off. Knocked him right on his ass. Sorry, dude.

Bike: 56 miles, 2:56:32 (19 MPH)
I had heard things about this course. I'd heard it was tough, that there were a lot of hills, that the whole thing really took it out of you. That was not my experience. I mean, there were a lot of hills (for Kansas). But they weren't the brutal hills of Wildflower. And they weren't the relentless rollers of the Latham loop. They were just hills, interspersed here and there on the course.

And what a course. The Iron Cross, which is apparently a popular loop around Lawrence, is gorgeous. It was ton of fun to ride. I would definitely consider it the highlight of this race.

I managed to lose my nutrition out of my Bento Box before we even got out of the state park. The thing is that I don't have an actual Bento Box; my dad made one for me for Christmas a couple years ago. Yeah, it's not perfect, but tell me you aren't jealous. My dad rocks. Anyway, keeping the thing closed and out of the way of my knees when I'm pedaling takes some finnagling, and I apparently had not adequately finnagled. So I was going uphill and knocked my powerballs and two tubes of Shot Bloks onto the road. I thought about just leaving them and trying to survive on the gels and powerbars that would be at all the aid stations (or so I thought), but decided to go back for the food. If nothing else, maybe I saved myself a littering penalty.

I passed Chrissie Wellington, and we'll just leave it at that. There will be no mention of the respective directions in which each of us were traveling.

The best part of the bike was when I went into bike nazi mode. The course was really crowded for most of the ride, which is understandable. Put a couple thousand cyclists onto a single road and they're going to packed together in places. So incidental drafting is bound to happen. I understand that. And it was a windy day. I had moments when I thought, "You know, I could just stay about a bike length behind this guy for a little while, and no one would even notice." I have no problem admitting that there's a little bit of a cheat inside my head, especially when I'm looking at another 5 hour of racing.

But there was one guy who flew by about three inches off another cyclist's wheel, and in an area where the course was not at all crowded. At first I thought he was just waiting for the opportunity to pass the guy in front of him, but it soon became apparent that his intention was nothing other than blatant disregard for the draft zone. The other two or three cyclists on the road near me were grumbling to each other. So what did I do?

I chased the motherfucker down.

I have no idea how much I had to hammer to chase them. It felt effortless, but they had just blown by me, so I must have been going pretty fast. Anyway, I pulled up even with The Cheat, and yelled at him as I went by to "Get out of the draft zone!" and kept pedaling. As they faded away behind me, I started thinking, "Dude, that was really stupid. What if he chases me down now? What if we get into a shouting match or something crazy? What did I just start?" But it was nothing. A few minutes later, the same duo passed me again, this time with The Cheat a less-blatant bike length off the back of his domestique. So maybe I made some difference. At any rate, I felt like a total bad ass for doing it.

Towards the end of the bike, my neck got really stiff. I was expecting that, since it always happens on my long rides. My levator scapulae get so tight from holding my head up in aero position, and it affects my whole demeanor. My legs weren't exactly tired, and my ass wasn't even sore, but my neck and shoulders were killing me. And I was in need of another port-a-john. I was so happy to come to the bike finish and get on my feet again.

T2: 6:09
My slowest transition ever, I think, thanks to waiting in line for a toilet.

Run: 13.1 miles, 2:20:21 (10:43/mile)
This was, strange as it seems, the best part.

I was expecting it to hurt. I was expecting it to feel awful. I was expecting to come to that moment where I wonder why I do these crazy things, and vow never, ever to do another one. But that moment never came. And the running didn't hurt; it felt great!

The first mile ticked by slowly, but I heard my name called left and right. I had no idea there were going to be so many people I knew lining the course! This was a new experience for me, having my name shouted by people who weren't my family, who I didn't even recognize until after the fact. I felt like a super hero.

I was surprised at how quickly the first loop on the run went by, how much I enjoyed it, and how easy it all felt. I was even more surprised when I checked my watch and noticed that I was running sub-10-minute pace. It was the same feeling I had at UCSB, that first time I ran a sub-30-minute 5k. I didn't realize how in shape I was, and how ready I was for this race.

It was at mile 8 that things started to turn. I'd completed the initial out-and-back on the second loop, and was coming to the long, 400-meter downhill portion that took us to the lake front. Where I'd leaned into the downhill and flown before, I restricted my stride and kept my pace and heart rate down. I walked through the whole aid station. I walked the long uphill coming back. My quads were starting to cramp. I was starting to wonder if I needed more electrolytes, more water, more ice.

After the uphill, I knew the end was near. I was coming into the final out-and-back section of the run course, and passed the mile 10 marker. Soon I'd be running past my family's campsite and my most passionate cheering section. I managed to keep shuffling on, but it wasn't exactly pretty. The next 3 miles I only vaguely rememember through a haze of pain and increasing tightness in my quads and right hip flexors. My plan had been to start drinking Coke at about that point, but none of the aid stations had any left. I took sponges and Gatorade and water and forced myself to resume running after each one.

About that time, I started to try every mental tool I've ever used. I tried to get outside of my body. I tried to go deeper inside my body. I tried to focus. I tried to repeat my mantra ("Trust the work"). I sang "Closer to Fine." Nothing was loud enough to block out the pain.

I passed the marker at mile 12 and thought, "Okay! Only 1.1 miles left! I can endure anything for 1.1 miles!" But it was seriously the longest mile I've ever run. I had no idea a mile could drag on like that. I must have been absolutely creeping, by that point. I felt like one of those really, really old guys at marathons. You know the kind I'm talking about. Looks like he couldn't even walk, but he's still running marathons. I ran exactly like that guy.

As I neared the final turn, the live band was playing "Love Shack," then "Hey Mickey." I was in the midst of the throng, again. I came to the junction where you either go right to the finish or left to complete another loop, and I finally got to go right. I was in the blue corridor, 70.3 flags flying to either side of me. There were two other men nearing the finish with me. "Okay," I told them. "Home stretch, now. Time to run pretty! There will be cameras!" I got no response from them, but my own body rewarded me by straightening up, striding out, and forgetting all about any kind of cramping or pain. I blazed across the finish line, exactly the way I'd wanted it to play out.

Total: 70.3 miles, 6:05:32
I am so happy with my debut. I was expecting to finish in around 6:30. But if I would have just put the effort into my transitions that I normally do, I could have gone under six hours. I really could not be happier with my results.

And of course I want to do another one. Coming into this race, I was sure that I would do one half-iron race and go happily back to Olympic and sprint distance, content to have tested myself once and content to return to what I do best. But now (of course) I'm wondering how much faster I could have gone, how much better I could place, if I made a 70.3 race my A race for a season.

One of my favorite parts about this race, though, was the lack of pressure. I think the reason I never really got nervous about the race was that I knew that the pain would be on a different level. Sure, the last 3 miles hurt, but none of the miles before that were particularly hard. It's a completely different kind of suffering from the all-out effort of a sprint. And going into that, I knew that I wasn't going to need to test the limits of how much pain I could take like at the end of a 5k. And even though I did end up feeling like I tested the limits a little bit, it was in a completely different way.

Writing about this event brings such a sense of joy and elation to me, and every time I think about the experience, I grin a little. I did a half Ironman! What can't I do?

Did It.

6:05:32

Not bad for a first try.

Pre-Race: Ironman 70.3 Kansas

Well, Aunt Flow did decide to tag along for my weekend of camping and racing, but I don't mind. As Speedy reminded me, it could be worse. At least my saddle isn't white.

I'm ready to go, and there's nothing left to do now but do it. Thank you all for your comments of encouragement. I'm sure I can do this, but having half a dozen people to tell me, "Yes you can!" sure doesn't hurt. I feel so lucky to be part of a vibrant online community.


I'm hoping to get the little brother updating Facebook and Twitter for me, so you can chart my progress there. Haven't been able to figure out how to track athletes from the Ironman website.


I'll report back on Monday!

The Countdown

T minus 3!

Feeling 100% better. No worries on the hydration/nutrition front, although I have been a little more skittish about eating questionable food (i.e. steamed vegetables that have been in the fridge for a couple weeks and smell a little funny). You know, just in case.

Cranky, though. And inattentive. I would really prefer it if Aunt Flow would wait until after Sunday to visit.

You hear me, Auntie?

The Countdown

T minus 5 days.

Bad bad bad.

Short of broken bones, amputation, or major surgery, the worst possible thing has happened.

I got the flu.

Last night I went to the cadaver lab with a group of massage therapists to learn about muscles. I did fine with seeing dead bodies all cut open, but had a little trouble with the smell. After two hours in the lab, I was feeling a little queasy. On the way home, I rolled the windows down and breathed in some fresh air, but it didn't help much. I was afraid I was going to have to pull over on the highway and throw up.

Got home and just wished that I could bring up whatever was making me feel so sick. Around 10:30, I finally did. Then again, every couple hours or so, the whole night long. I couldn't lay on my sides without feeling sick. I got terrible muscle spasms in my back. I was painfully dehydrated. I started thinking about going to the hospital; I even thought, "What if I'm dying." Needless to say, I was not at my most rational.

I've been done with the vomiting since early this morning, but my muscles are still sore and tender to the touch. I'm running a slight fever. I feel about 50%, right now. I don't know if it was the field trip to the anatomy lab that made me sick, or if it was food poisoning. I went swimming on Sunday at Lake Afton and got a few mouthfuls of water; maybe it was that. My dad just thinks I got the flu.


Whatever the cause, this is terrible timing. I'm weak and dehydrated at a time when I should be building my reserves of strength. I just hope I have time to re-hydrate and rebuild all the energy I've lost before Sunday's race.

The Countdown

T-minus 6 days.

I've been freaked out. I've been worried. I've been stressed. I've been cranky. I've been lazy. I've been exhausted.

I've auditioned mantras. I've rehearsed transitions. I've paid my dues.

I've had stress dreams. I've had sudden bouts of chills. I've had lots and lots of ice cream.

I've trained. I've built. I've tapered.

I am so ready for this.