Lately, I have been feeling tired and, frankly, a bit lazy. This morning my training plan called for me to ride my bike for an hour, and my daily reminder email buzzed in to remind me of my commitment. But I didn't feel committed. I felt tired and lazy, and I didn't want to use my legs, which were tired from yesterday's workout. So I yawned, turned over and went back to sleep.
When I got to the office, I got an email about my friend Robin. Robin was diagnosed with bone cancer when she was eighteen, but she survived. She completed the Augusta Half Ironman with me last year, raising thousands of dollars through Team in Training for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. She is an oncology clinical social worker, so she works with cancer patients all the time. In April, Robin celebrated thirty years without cancer with a glass of bubbly.
But just last week, Robin was diagnosed with a secondary cancer, caused from the radiation treatments she had thirty years ago. In early August, she will have surgery. Either the surgeon will amputate her leg from the mid-thigh down, or he will internally amputate her femur and replace it with an artificial device, allowing her, essentially, to retain her leg. Either way, the surgery will be followed by six months of chemotherapy.
I am not feeling so lazy any more. I am thanking God for what he had given me and praying for Robin. This weekend I am racing an olympic length triathlon. I will be dedicating the race to Robin, so please wish me luck in using my legs. If you wish to donate to my website in Robin's honor, I know she would be pleased.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Red and Purple
What do you do when it's 102 degrees and over 90% humidity? Go ice skating? Eat ice cream? Take a nap? All three, in that order? A trifecta?
How about a triathlon? I got up at the crack of dawn and donned by red superman uniform, ready to take on the red hot day. I left my socks behind, determined to reduce my time in transition. I would shake talcum powder in my shoes to soak up the sweat. The sun was not up, but already it was ninety degrees.
The race began in the James River. You'd think a dip in the river would be refreshing given the air temperature, but the water temperature was 88 degrees. When you are swimming hard, that is hot! As planned, I no longer hung back, allowing others to take the lead, but instead started toward the front, so I could try to draft off another swimmer. I caught one swimmer and drafted, but soon decided she was too slow, and took off. From time to time, someone knocked my with an arm or a shoulder, but I am now used to the inevitable jostling of an open water swim, so I took it in stride.
The bike course would have been gorgeous on a sunny seventy degree day, but on Sunday it was a sweaty furnace. I had a fancy new water bottle attached to the front of my bike so I could suck liquids out of straw without any effort. A couple miles into the race, as I stood to "power over" a hill as my coach had suggested, the fancy water bottle fell to the ground with a thud. Water spewed all over the hot ground and appeared to boil. I hoped I would not receive a two minute penalty for "abandonment," but knew that retreiving the bottle would take more time than that, so I went on. My face shone with sweat, and my mouth was filled with cotton. Ahead, I could see the wet air rising off the black asphalt. It undulated and made me woozy. I reached down and took a swig of water in my reserve bottle. Then, I noticed that my heart rate monitor showed my heart rate at zero.
Was I dead? I looked around for evidence, expecting to see angels. Instead, I saw a sea of sweaty sportsmen, all wearing red uniforms matching my own. Winston Churchill once said, "when you're going through hell, keep going."
So I kept going. The bike course was an out an back course, with a huge hill at the turnaround point. It was so hot, my energy was zapped. I contemplated whether I should walk up the hill rather than grind up it. Just before I arrived at the hill, I passed a "cheer station" full of Purple Passion: supporters of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training, shouting encouraging words. They reminded me why I got into the sport of triathlon: my Dad was diagnosed with lymphoma before I trained for my first race, and my Grandmother died of leukemia. Team in Training helped me raise money to cure these diseases and to improve the lives of patients and their families.
I picked up speed and approached the hill. It was bigger than I recalled. Once again, I contemplated getting off and walking. But then I remembered that my friend Ed Stone was out there too, swimming and biking in this incredible inferno, huffing up the hill. Ed has competed in many triathlons, raising many thousands of dollars for Team in Training's Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. What made this particular race special for Ed is that it was the first race for him since he was diagnosed with yet another secondary cancer (having survived leukemia during college), this latest once a melanoma on his foot. His treatment included removal of two toes and a portion of the ball of his foot in March of this year. As soon as the doctors would let him, Ed began cycling on an indoor trainer, using just his good foot for a while, and then adding the other. It was incredible to me that just a few months after this surgery, he was out swimming and cycling in a race. And, he was doing it while undergoing treatments of interferon. I had no excuses. I pedalled to the top of the hill.
As I approached transition, I prepared to do something new. I reached down and removed the velcro from my shoes and took my feet out as I pedalled. As I came into transition, I jumped off Ariel, leaving my shoes with her. This way, I could run through transition in bare feet instead of cycling shoes (which have clips on the bottom and thus are not designed for running). I whipped in, took my helmet off and put my running hat on, stuck my feet in my running shoes with elastic laces (which don't have to be tied), and I was off. Pretty fast, compared to last year. It was but a baby step. Soon I will learn the full "Errol Flynn" swashbuckler mount and dismount, which involves actually flying onto and off your bike.
Thankfully, the run wound through the woods, mercifully shading me from the hot sun. There I encountered Coach Michael from Endorphin Fitness, who had finished his race long before. However, last year, he finished his 18 mile bike ride as I finished my swim. This year, at least, we were on the bike at the same time, at least for a bit. Michael encouraged me to keep going. Then I popped out of the woods into a neighborhood where I encoutered yet another Team in Training cheer station. Go Team!
Looking at all the purple, I resolved that, if I raise $5000 for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, then I will dye my hair purple for the Marine Corps Marathon. At $4000, I will add purple highlights. At $3000, I will dye one strand of my hair purple. And, if I reach any of these goals by August 9th, then I will PREVIEW THE PURPLE at a Party at Wyldology, owned by my teammate, Allyson Wyld. She's got the dye and she's dying to try it! You are cordially invited to turn me purple and to watch it happen.
I Love the Tavern Tri--6/25/10
Swim 14:42
T1 1:29
Bike 1:11:11
T2 1:19
Run 37:15
Total 2:05:54
Ranked 352/418
How about a triathlon? I got up at the crack of dawn and donned by red superman uniform, ready to take on the red hot day. I left my socks behind, determined to reduce my time in transition. I would shake talcum powder in my shoes to soak up the sweat. The sun was not up, but already it was ninety degrees.
The race began in the James River. You'd think a dip in the river would be refreshing given the air temperature, but the water temperature was 88 degrees. When you are swimming hard, that is hot! As planned, I no longer hung back, allowing others to take the lead, but instead started toward the front, so I could try to draft off another swimmer. I caught one swimmer and drafted, but soon decided she was too slow, and took off. From time to time, someone knocked my with an arm or a shoulder, but I am now used to the inevitable jostling of an open water swim, so I took it in stride.
The bike course would have been gorgeous on a sunny seventy degree day, but on Sunday it was a sweaty furnace. I had a fancy new water bottle attached to the front of my bike so I could suck liquids out of straw without any effort. A couple miles into the race, as I stood to "power over" a hill as my coach had suggested, the fancy water bottle fell to the ground with a thud. Water spewed all over the hot ground and appeared to boil. I hoped I would not receive a two minute penalty for "abandonment," but knew that retreiving the bottle would take more time than that, so I went on. My face shone with sweat, and my mouth was filled with cotton. Ahead, I could see the wet air rising off the black asphalt. It undulated and made me woozy. I reached down and took a swig of water in my reserve bottle. Then, I noticed that my heart rate monitor showed my heart rate at zero.
Was I dead? I looked around for evidence, expecting to see angels. Instead, I saw a sea of sweaty sportsmen, all wearing red uniforms matching my own. Winston Churchill once said, "when you're going through hell, keep going."
So I kept going. The bike course was an out an back course, with a huge hill at the turnaround point. It was so hot, my energy was zapped. I contemplated whether I should walk up the hill rather than grind up it. Just before I arrived at the hill, I passed a "cheer station" full of Purple Passion: supporters of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training, shouting encouraging words. They reminded me why I got into the sport of triathlon: my Dad was diagnosed with lymphoma before I trained for my first race, and my Grandmother died of leukemia. Team in Training helped me raise money to cure these diseases and to improve the lives of patients and their families.
I picked up speed and approached the hill. It was bigger than I recalled. Once again, I contemplated getting off and walking. But then I remembered that my friend Ed Stone was out there too, swimming and biking in this incredible inferno, huffing up the hill. Ed has competed in many triathlons, raising many thousands of dollars for Team in Training's Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. What made this particular race special for Ed is that it was the first race for him since he was diagnosed with yet another secondary cancer (having survived leukemia during college), this latest once a melanoma on his foot. His treatment included removal of two toes and a portion of the ball of his foot in March of this year. As soon as the doctors would let him, Ed began cycling on an indoor trainer, using just his good foot for a while, and then adding the other. It was incredible to me that just a few months after this surgery, he was out swimming and cycling in a race. And, he was doing it while undergoing treatments of interferon. I had no excuses. I pedalled to the top of the hill.
As I approached transition, I prepared to do something new. I reached down and removed the velcro from my shoes and took my feet out as I pedalled. As I came into transition, I jumped off Ariel, leaving my shoes with her. This way, I could run through transition in bare feet instead of cycling shoes (which have clips on the bottom and thus are not designed for running). I whipped in, took my helmet off and put my running hat on, stuck my feet in my running shoes with elastic laces (which don't have to be tied), and I was off. Pretty fast, compared to last year. It was but a baby step. Soon I will learn the full "Errol Flynn" swashbuckler mount and dismount, which involves actually flying onto and off your bike.
Thankfully, the run wound through the woods, mercifully shading me from the hot sun. There I encountered Coach Michael from Endorphin Fitness, who had finished his race long before. However, last year, he finished his 18 mile bike ride as I finished my swim. This year, at least, we were on the bike at the same time, at least for a bit. Michael encouraged me to keep going. Then I popped out of the woods into a neighborhood where I encoutered yet another Team in Training cheer station. Go Team!
Looking at all the purple, I resolved that, if I raise $5000 for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, then I will dye my hair purple for the Marine Corps Marathon. At $4000, I will add purple highlights. At $3000, I will dye one strand of my hair purple. And, if I reach any of these goals by August 9th, then I will PREVIEW THE PURPLE at a Party at Wyldology, owned by my teammate, Allyson Wyld. She's got the dye and she's dying to try it! You are cordially invited to turn me purple and to watch it happen.
I Love the Tavern Tri--6/25/10
Swim 14:42
T1 1:29
Bike 1:11:11
T2 1:19
Run 37:15
Total 2:05:54
Ranked 352/418
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Socks
So, for a while I thought I'd take it easy this season. Instead of doing long races, I would concentrate on "sprint" triathlons--these are the shortest triathlons there are. Only triathletes call something a "sprint" that takes nearly everyone more than an hour to complete. Still, you do not have to train as long to get ready for a sprint triathlon.
Overall, I was pleased with my race. It took me 1 hour 28 minutes and 44 seconds. I did the race last year in 1 hour 33 minutes and 11 seconds, so I shaved off 4 1/2 minutes. My swim was faster, my bike ride was faster and my run was faster. But one thing was WAY slower--my transition from swim to bike. It took me 70 seconds longer than it did last year.
Many triathletes skip putting on socks during triathlons, or at least short races. The clock continues to tick as you move from swim to bike and bike to run, so there is an art to transitions. The overall winner of this particular race was Coach Michael, who did T1 (transition from swim to bike) in under 1 minute. I did it in 3 minutes and 33 seconds.
I blame the socks. I usually wear pretty skimpy socks, but the night before this race I noticed some fabulous socks--with IRONMAN AUGUSTA on them. I earned those socks and decided to wear them. During transition, though, they did not want to go on. My feet were wet. I struggled mightily. I stopped and dried my feet. I tried again. I hopped. I considered sitting down. Coach Dave was nearby, and he said, "Amy, I love those socks! I am getting to see a lot of them because you have been here FOREVER putting them on."
I guess the solution is to do some longer races, so the time in transition doesn't seem so long in comparison! And maybe get some new socks.
Results
7:53 swim (300 meters)
3:33 T1
39:54 bike (12 miles)
1:31 T2
35:53 run (5K)
1:28:42 total
Overall, I was pleased with my race. It took me 1 hour 28 minutes and 44 seconds. I did the race last year in 1 hour 33 minutes and 11 seconds, so I shaved off 4 1/2 minutes. My swim was faster, my bike ride was faster and my run was faster. But one thing was WAY slower--my transition from swim to bike. It took me 70 seconds longer than it did last year.
Many triathletes skip putting on socks during triathlons, or at least short races. The clock continues to tick as you move from swim to bike and bike to run, so there is an art to transitions. The overall winner of this particular race was Coach Michael, who did T1 (transition from swim to bike) in under 1 minute. I did it in 3 minutes and 33 seconds.
I blame the socks. I usually wear pretty skimpy socks, but the night before this race I noticed some fabulous socks--with IRONMAN AUGUSTA on them. I earned those socks and decided to wear them. During transition, though, they did not want to go on. My feet were wet. I struggled mightily. I stopped and dried my feet. I tried again. I hopped. I considered sitting down. Coach Dave was nearby, and he said, "Amy, I love those socks! I am getting to see a lot of them because you have been here FOREVER putting them on."
I guess the solution is to do some longer races, so the time in transition doesn't seem so long in comparison! And maybe get some new socks.
Results
7:53 swim (300 meters)
3:33 T1
39:54 bike (12 miles)
1:31 T2
35:53 run (5K)
1:28:42 total
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
St. Anthony's Tri
Last weekend, I traveled to Florida to take part in St. Anthony's Triathlon. I was there as part of Team in Training--I didn't fund raise, but I helped others with their fundraising and trained along with them. (My father's lymphoma continues, happily, to be in remission). Now it was time for the actual event: the reward for all the hard work!
The challenge for this event would be the swim, which was to take place in Tampa Bay. This would be just the third time I had swum in open water this year. Tampa Bay is salt water, which would be new for all of us, but the bay is not an ocean. A bay does not have waves, but is calm salt water. Or so I thought.
The race was on Sunday, so on Saturday we donned our wetsuits for a practice swim in the bay. My Team in Training teammate, Amy S, and I swam together. Instead of the smooth water we expected, we faced something like I faced when swimming in the ocean as a little girl. Those childhood swims did not really involve swimming, but rather wading out far enough to ride the waves into shore on a raft (or "draft," as my sister famously said). Each morning and afternoon, we'd take to the waves, coming in during the heat of the day to avoid the sunburn that inevitably came anyway, despite the zinc oxide and T-shirts I wore as a precaution. As she saw the waves, Amy S stood still and I saw panic setting in. I told her of my childhood memories and announced, in my best six-year old voice, "this is fun!" Whee!!" And it was fun because we didn't have to go too far and because I was concentrating on making my friend feel better, which calmed me. But far out in the water I saw little specks of orange and yellow. They were the buoys set up for the race, showing how far we'd have to swim on race day. On the outside, I was exhuberant. On the inside, I was trembling.
Race morning, we set up our transition and made our way to the swim start, on a beautiful white beach called "Spa Beach." Spa Beach sounds like the place to sip blue drinks with little umbrellas in them while reading a lazy novel, but there were hundreds there donning black wetsuits, determined to go out in the water. As I awaited my turn, I put my wetsuit on and went in the water to take a few strokes to calm myself. The water was much calmer than it had been the day before. Have you ever heard the expression "calm before the storm"? TNT Coach Steve bucked us up. It is so much smoother than yesterday, he said. And, based on the current it appeared that the the 1st leg (of 3) would be hardest. Once you get past that first turn, the rest of your swim should be smooth sailing.
I went to the edge of the beach for the onshore start to the race. The announcer said something and a horn blasted. We were off! I ran out into the water and when it got deep enough, I began swimming. Several ladies around me were still wading, and I wondered if I'd started too soon. But I was able to swim, so I kept going. I was really pleased because the current wasn't too bad, and this was the hard part! I turned the corner to leg 2 and began surfing. The waves were HUGE and splashed over my head. I tried to lift my eyes out of the water like an alligator (this is how they teach you to look for the buoys). I couldn't see anything but waves! I was moving, but where was I going? I prayed that it was toward a buoy! Then I realized to lift the alligator eyes at the crest of a wave. This caused the entire head and neck of the alligator to rear up, but I could see a buoy! I was off course, out to sea, so I corrected course. The waves buffeted me about like a toy boat in a huge sea. I began to sight at each wave and correct course almost every time, sometimes left, sometimes right. The sea was so rough, and what was falling on my head? Was it raining?!? The drops were really hard. Was it hailing? Or is this just strong spray from the waves? In any event, I was wet and rain wouldn't make me any wetter, so I decided whatever it was could be tolerated. On each side of the swim course there were orange "sight" buoys, designed to help you stay on course, and yellow "turn" buoys, marking places you were to make a turn. I was expecting just one more orange buoy, and I saw yellow! I rounded the yellow buoy to begin the return to shore, and the fun started.
The waves were Waikiki waves! I tried breathing to my right (which feels wrong to me) and lost my rhythm and couldn't sight. But the waves were breaking left to right. I tried sighting and breathing left and realized it was fine, as long as I timed it right to breathe before the crash of the new wave. I was able to see the sight buoys. I recalled the Monty Python scene where the castle never gets closer. Unlike the Tavern race I did last year, where the river current was so strong I had to bear down and swim upstream without stopping for anything, for this swim, I had to lift my eyes enough to sight every cycle or every other cycle, and each time I had to correct course somewhat because of the unevent current and the waves. It required a good bit of thought. Finally, I passed the last sight buoy and spied the exit stairs. Someone had placed a bright pink marker on the stairs, which helped me sight to the exit. As I got closer to the stairs, I realized the pink marker was a pink swim cap, and inside it was a very tired woman, lying on the stairs, as flat as a flounder. There appeared to be very little room to get around the flounder. I swam to her left and a teen aged boy grabbed my arm and pulled me over the flounder. I stood up slowly to avoid dizzyness and began the jog back to transition.
Transition was a mess of sand, so I put on socks, shoes and sand, grabbed my helmet, and off I went with Ariel, my bike. The wind was relentless. Everywhere I turned it was a head wind so I had to stay aero, or strong cross winds blowing so hard I couldn't stay aero for fear of losing control. Just a week before the race, I had been riding with my friend Holly, who had announced at a red light: "Go really slow and the light will turn green and we can go on." I had gone so slow that eventually I stopped and, still clipped into my shoes, I had fallen over. I remembered that sensation as I struggled mightily to ensure some semblance of forward movement in spite of the wind. It was embarrasing enough to fall on a practice ride (and a man in a car was nice enough then to sit on his horn so I would realize that I wasn't supposed to fall over into the street), but I wanted to avoid falling in a race. Was the wind really so hard I would fall over? A couple times I looked at the speed on my garmin and I worried. I pedaled harder. I said, "Ariel, I'm sorry we're going so slow. I know you like to fly." She replied in her "Tickle Me Ariel" voice (think Tickle Me Elmo, only female): "I prefer tail winds myself, Amy! Or at least some big down hills! Florida sucks!" There were no hills, just relentless wind. A training buddy, Kelly, had told me that Ironman Florida, thought to be one of the "faster" Ironman races because of the flat bike course, was difficult, mentally, because of the relentless wind. I was having a hard enough time riding 24 miles in those conditions, so I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't attempting 112 miles! Finally, in the last 6 miles, conditions eased up. I couldn't feel the wind at my back, but my garmin showed I was riding 22 miles and hour, on flat ground, with little effort. Tail wind!
Back at T2, all the bikes in my area were racked except for Ariel. One of the bikes was in Ariel's spot with the wheel down on top of my running shoes, hat and water belt--in short all of the stuff I needed to run. I said to myself, but out loud, "someone's bike is on my stuff!" A voice from the ground on the other side of the rack said "oh, that's mine; don't worry about it." Don't worry about it? I convinced her that she had racked her bike backwards and would receive a penalty for getting this wrong, so she moved it, freeing my bike shoes, visor and running belt, though leaving much sand all over them. I changed as quickly as I could and headed out for the run. The run was hard, especially the first couple miles. The sand in the shoes didn't help, nor did the heat. I sipped the water in my water belt and wondered if anyone had an Earl Grey tea bag. It was SO hot, and I wondered if I should pour water on my head, but Coach Michael had warned recently that doing this could throw off your body's ability to regulate temperatures, causing you to slow down. I was going pretty slow already. Wasn't there a humidity exception, though? This is Florida, humidity capital of the US. I was thinking through this issue when someone I recognized as TNT's New York City coach advised me "Be sure to pour water on your head. It's hot out here!" I said thanks and continued to weigh this option when suddenly a volunteer poured ice cold water over my head and neck. Immediately, I went from boiling hot to shivering. "There you go!" After the initial shock wore off, the water bath appeared to help, so I believe there is a humidity exception.
I continued on and at about mile 2.5 I caught up with a younger woman who was struggling to keep going. I tried to encourage her, and thereby make both of us feel better. "Come on, we've got this!" She replied, "oh, this run is really hard! It is so hot. I am doing the relay; did you do the whole race?" I tried not to laugh. She said, "Also, did you do the whole long swim or did you start after they shortened it up?" HUH?????
As it turned out, just after my wave started to swim, the officials decided it was too dangerous to expect people to finish the whole 1500 meters. The people behind me were older folks, novices and a special wave for Team in Training (who often are doing their first triathlons). So, most of my training buddies doing the race were in the TNT group and ended up swimming 1000 meters.
As for me, I'm glad I did the full 1500 meters. It gives me an excuse for going so darned slow on the bike and run. I was tired!
But the truth is, as things go, I did pretty well. Most of the triathlons I've done were shorter, sprint tris. St. Anthony's actually was only the second time I've done an olympic length triathlon (1500 meter swim, 40K bike and 10K run). The first time was at Nations last fall. I had a great swim and bike there, but had a terrible run because of asthma. Here is a comparison of my times then and now:
Total time: St. Anthony's 3:48:01; Nations 4:05:01--a PR (personal record) by 17 minutes!
Swim time: St. Anthony's 45:35; Nations 46:05 -- a faster swim despite the oceanic conditions!
T1 (swim to bike transition): St. A's 5:45; Nations 5:46 -- one second faster! (Gotta work on transitions).
Bike: St. A's 1:34:23 (avg. speed 15.8 mph); Nations 1:40:07. Speedy Ariel despite the winds
T2: St. A's 3:24; Nations 3:53 (Improved despite sandy girl's crushing my run stuff with her bike).
Run: St. A's 1:18:55 (12:44 avg pace); Nations 1:29:55 (I need to work on a faster run at the end of a triathlon. This was faster only because asthma plagued me at Nations).
So, faster overall and faster on each element, despite the elements! And another step in helping to cure cancer through Team in Training.
The challenge for this event would be the swim, which was to take place in Tampa Bay. This would be just the third time I had swum in open water this year. Tampa Bay is salt water, which would be new for all of us, but the bay is not an ocean. A bay does not have waves, but is calm salt water. Or so I thought.
The race was on Sunday, so on Saturday we donned our wetsuits for a practice swim in the bay. My Team in Training teammate, Amy S, and I swam together. Instead of the smooth water we expected, we faced something like I faced when swimming in the ocean as a little girl. Those childhood swims did not really involve swimming, but rather wading out far enough to ride the waves into shore on a raft (or "draft," as my sister famously said). Each morning and afternoon, we'd take to the waves, coming in during the heat of the day to avoid the sunburn that inevitably came anyway, despite the zinc oxide and T-shirts I wore as a precaution. As she saw the waves, Amy S stood still and I saw panic setting in. I told her of my childhood memories and announced, in my best six-year old voice, "this is fun!" Whee!!" And it was fun because we didn't have to go too far and because I was concentrating on making my friend feel better, which calmed me. But far out in the water I saw little specks of orange and yellow. They were the buoys set up for the race, showing how far we'd have to swim on race day. On the outside, I was exhuberant. On the inside, I was trembling.
Race morning, we set up our transition and made our way to the swim start, on a beautiful white beach called "Spa Beach." Spa Beach sounds like the place to sip blue drinks with little umbrellas in them while reading a lazy novel, but there were hundreds there donning black wetsuits, determined to go out in the water. As I awaited my turn, I put my wetsuit on and went in the water to take a few strokes to calm myself. The water was much calmer than it had been the day before. Have you ever heard the expression "calm before the storm"? TNT Coach Steve bucked us up. It is so much smoother than yesterday, he said. And, based on the current it appeared that the the 1st leg (of 3) would be hardest. Once you get past that first turn, the rest of your swim should be smooth sailing.
I went to the edge of the beach for the onshore start to the race. The announcer said something and a horn blasted. We were off! I ran out into the water and when it got deep enough, I began swimming. Several ladies around me were still wading, and I wondered if I'd started too soon. But I was able to swim, so I kept going. I was really pleased because the current wasn't too bad, and this was the hard part! I turned the corner to leg 2 and began surfing. The waves were HUGE and splashed over my head. I tried to lift my eyes out of the water like an alligator (this is how they teach you to look for the buoys). I couldn't see anything but waves! I was moving, but where was I going? I prayed that it was toward a buoy! Then I realized to lift the alligator eyes at the crest of a wave. This caused the entire head and neck of the alligator to rear up, but I could see a buoy! I was off course, out to sea, so I corrected course. The waves buffeted me about like a toy boat in a huge sea. I began to sight at each wave and correct course almost every time, sometimes left, sometimes right. The sea was so rough, and what was falling on my head? Was it raining?!? The drops were really hard. Was it hailing? Or is this just strong spray from the waves? In any event, I was wet and rain wouldn't make me any wetter, so I decided whatever it was could be tolerated. On each side of the swim course there were orange "sight" buoys, designed to help you stay on course, and yellow "turn" buoys, marking places you were to make a turn. I was expecting just one more orange buoy, and I saw yellow! I rounded the yellow buoy to begin the return to shore, and the fun started.
The waves were Waikiki waves! I tried breathing to my right (which feels wrong to me) and lost my rhythm and couldn't sight. But the waves were breaking left to right. I tried sighting and breathing left and realized it was fine, as long as I timed it right to breathe before the crash of the new wave. I was able to see the sight buoys. I recalled the Monty Python scene where the castle never gets closer. Unlike the Tavern race I did last year, where the river current was so strong I had to bear down and swim upstream without stopping for anything, for this swim, I had to lift my eyes enough to sight every cycle or every other cycle, and each time I had to correct course somewhat because of the unevent current and the waves. It required a good bit of thought. Finally, I passed the last sight buoy and spied the exit stairs. Someone had placed a bright pink marker on the stairs, which helped me sight to the exit. As I got closer to the stairs, I realized the pink marker was a pink swim cap, and inside it was a very tired woman, lying on the stairs, as flat as a flounder. There appeared to be very little room to get around the flounder. I swam to her left and a teen aged boy grabbed my arm and pulled me over the flounder. I stood up slowly to avoid dizzyness and began the jog back to transition.
Transition was a mess of sand, so I put on socks, shoes and sand, grabbed my helmet, and off I went with Ariel, my bike. The wind was relentless. Everywhere I turned it was a head wind so I had to stay aero, or strong cross winds blowing so hard I couldn't stay aero for fear of losing control. Just a week before the race, I had been riding with my friend Holly, who had announced at a red light: "Go really slow and the light will turn green and we can go on." I had gone so slow that eventually I stopped and, still clipped into my shoes, I had fallen over. I remembered that sensation as I struggled mightily to ensure some semblance of forward movement in spite of the wind. It was embarrasing enough to fall on a practice ride (and a man in a car was nice enough then to sit on his horn so I would realize that I wasn't supposed to fall over into the street), but I wanted to avoid falling in a race. Was the wind really so hard I would fall over? A couple times I looked at the speed on my garmin and I worried. I pedaled harder. I said, "Ariel, I'm sorry we're going so slow. I know you like to fly." She replied in her "Tickle Me Ariel" voice (think Tickle Me Elmo, only female): "I prefer tail winds myself, Amy! Or at least some big down hills! Florida sucks!" There were no hills, just relentless wind. A training buddy, Kelly, had told me that Ironman Florida, thought to be one of the "faster" Ironman races because of the flat bike course, was difficult, mentally, because of the relentless wind. I was having a hard enough time riding 24 miles in those conditions, so I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't attempting 112 miles! Finally, in the last 6 miles, conditions eased up. I couldn't feel the wind at my back, but my garmin showed I was riding 22 miles and hour, on flat ground, with little effort. Tail wind!
Back at T2, all the bikes in my area were racked except for Ariel. One of the bikes was in Ariel's spot with the wheel down on top of my running shoes, hat and water belt--in short all of the stuff I needed to run. I said to myself, but out loud, "someone's bike is on my stuff!" A voice from the ground on the other side of the rack said "oh, that's mine; don't worry about it." Don't worry about it? I convinced her that she had racked her bike backwards and would receive a penalty for getting this wrong, so she moved it, freeing my bike shoes, visor and running belt, though leaving much sand all over them. I changed as quickly as I could and headed out for the run. The run was hard, especially the first couple miles. The sand in the shoes didn't help, nor did the heat. I sipped the water in my water belt and wondered if anyone had an Earl Grey tea bag. It was SO hot, and I wondered if I should pour water on my head, but Coach Michael had warned recently that doing this could throw off your body's ability to regulate temperatures, causing you to slow down. I was going pretty slow already. Wasn't there a humidity exception, though? This is Florida, humidity capital of the US. I was thinking through this issue when someone I recognized as TNT's New York City coach advised me "Be sure to pour water on your head. It's hot out here!" I said thanks and continued to weigh this option when suddenly a volunteer poured ice cold water over my head and neck. Immediately, I went from boiling hot to shivering. "There you go!" After the initial shock wore off, the water bath appeared to help, so I believe there is a humidity exception.
I continued on and at about mile 2.5 I caught up with a younger woman who was struggling to keep going. I tried to encourage her, and thereby make both of us feel better. "Come on, we've got this!" She replied, "oh, this run is really hard! It is so hot. I am doing the relay; did you do the whole race?" I tried not to laugh. She said, "Also, did you do the whole long swim or did you start after they shortened it up?" HUH?????
As it turned out, just after my wave started to swim, the officials decided it was too dangerous to expect people to finish the whole 1500 meters. The people behind me were older folks, novices and a special wave for Team in Training (who often are doing their first triathlons). So, most of my training buddies doing the race were in the TNT group and ended up swimming 1000 meters.
As for me, I'm glad I did the full 1500 meters. It gives me an excuse for going so darned slow on the bike and run. I was tired!
But the truth is, as things go, I did pretty well. Most of the triathlons I've done were shorter, sprint tris. St. Anthony's actually was only the second time I've done an olympic length triathlon (1500 meter swim, 40K bike and 10K run). The first time was at Nations last fall. I had a great swim and bike there, but had a terrible run because of asthma. Here is a comparison of my times then and now:
Total time: St. Anthony's 3:48:01; Nations 4:05:01--a PR (personal record) by 17 minutes!
Swim time: St. Anthony's 45:35; Nations 46:05 -- a faster swim despite the oceanic conditions!
T1 (swim to bike transition): St. A's 5:45; Nations 5:46 -- one second faster! (Gotta work on transitions).
Bike: St. A's 1:34:23 (avg. speed 15.8 mph); Nations 1:40:07. Speedy Ariel despite the winds
T2: St. A's 3:24; Nations 3:53 (Improved despite sandy girl's crushing my run stuff with her bike).
Run: St. A's 1:18:55 (12:44 avg pace); Nations 1:29:55 (I need to work on a faster run at the end of a triathlon. This was faster only because asthma plagued me at Nations).
So, faster overall and faster on each element, despite the elements! And another step in helping to cure cancer through Team in Training.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sevens and Eights
I learned to swim as a child, and even joined the swim team for a couple summers, along with my little brother, Ben. Ben is a talented athlete and quickly got awarded "guppy of the week" and later "minnow of the week." I was skilled at blowing bubbles and patiently waited to win "whale of the week." Although that did not occur, I did win many ribbons in races--each a sixth place ribbon (there being six lanes of girls competing).
I took swimming up again over two years ago. Now I swim regularly with a group that is divided into eight swimming lanes, based upon speed. I have labored long in lane one, designated the "beginner" lane. I think the theory is that "beginner" sounds better than "slow," and this is true for a while. But a beginner at three years? Well, the good news is that I recently was upgraded to swimming in lane two. I no longer am a beginner! I am now a "novice." I am at the back of the novice pack, and I am determined to work hard so I am not demoted back to beginner.
I have daydreamed lately about what it must be like to swim in lanes seven or eight. Those in these lanes swim so fast, covering three or four times the distance I do in the same alloted time, but when they are finished, they do not look tired. Will I ever be promoted to lane seven or lane eight? I would be satisfied with seven, where the swimming is slippery, as though the swimmers are fish rather than human. If you are a scholar of the Bible, you know the importance of seven. Seven days of Passover, seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine, seven loaves and fishes. And of course, seven days to create the world, with the seventh day reserved for rest, or perhaps for some slippery swimming. Seven means completeness. Eight is a whole other dimension, another zone. Turn an 8 on its side and you have infinity. Those in lane eight are so fast that I question whether they really are human, or perhaps space aliens sent here with really good disguises. The water is no barrier for them; it is as though they swim through space.
This week, I arrived at swim practice a little early, and another class was still swimming. I noticed they were swimming in lanes seven and eight. Although they appeared human in some respects, they were somehow different. For one thing, they looked very fast. Suddenly, Coach Michael called my name, "Amy, come swim. We need another swimmer for this relay." I grabbed my swim cap and lined up, in lane seven. My daydream was coming true! For fifty yards, I was going to swim with the slippery sevens, trying to best the infinite eights.
I looked around at the space alien swimmers, like me in some ways, different in others, and recalled an episode of the Twighlight Zone called "To Serve Mankind." Do you remember this episode? Short beings with giant heads pilot to earth in a spaceship that looks like the Markel Building out near Willow Lawn. They appear benevolent and say they want to help humans. They even have written a book called "To Serve Mankind." A group of humans agree to visit the alien planet and begin to board the spaceship. As the door closes, a woman runs out and shouts, "Don't go! Don't go! 'To Serve Mankind' is a . . . cookbook!"
But it was too late; I was already in the water, in the boiling cauldron. Coach Michael shouted, "GO!" so I swam was fast as I could in lane seven. Down and back. When I hit the wall, I looked up to see whether I had beaten the female alien in lane eight. She was finished, relaxed. She looked like she'd had time to eat a peanut butter sandwich while she waited for me. Perhaps this was good--nobody appeared to be hungry, so I was allowed to leave gracefully, congratulating the winning team as I exited.
It was a great experience, swimming with the sevens and eights, if only for a brief moment. I got out and asked Coach Michael a bit more about the identity of these space aliens. It turns out there were no sevens there, only eights: Eight-year olds from Endorphin Fitness's youth group. Perhaps one day, if I work really hard, I will be as fast as they are. But I'll settle for seven.
I took swimming up again over two years ago. Now I swim regularly with a group that is divided into eight swimming lanes, based upon speed. I have labored long in lane one, designated the "beginner" lane. I think the theory is that "beginner" sounds better than "slow," and this is true for a while. But a beginner at three years? Well, the good news is that I recently was upgraded to swimming in lane two. I no longer am a beginner! I am now a "novice." I am at the back of the novice pack, and I am determined to work hard so I am not demoted back to beginner.
I have daydreamed lately about what it must be like to swim in lanes seven or eight. Those in these lanes swim so fast, covering three or four times the distance I do in the same alloted time, but when they are finished, they do not look tired. Will I ever be promoted to lane seven or lane eight? I would be satisfied with seven, where the swimming is slippery, as though the swimmers are fish rather than human. If you are a scholar of the Bible, you know the importance of seven. Seven days of Passover, seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine, seven loaves and fishes. And of course, seven days to create the world, with the seventh day reserved for rest, or perhaps for some slippery swimming. Seven means completeness. Eight is a whole other dimension, another zone. Turn an 8 on its side and you have infinity. Those in lane eight are so fast that I question whether they really are human, or perhaps space aliens sent here with really good disguises. The water is no barrier for them; it is as though they swim through space.
This week, I arrived at swim practice a little early, and another class was still swimming. I noticed they were swimming in lanes seven and eight. Although they appeared human in some respects, they were somehow different. For one thing, they looked very fast. Suddenly, Coach Michael called my name, "Amy, come swim. We need another swimmer for this relay." I grabbed my swim cap and lined up, in lane seven. My daydream was coming true! For fifty yards, I was going to swim with the slippery sevens, trying to best the infinite eights.
I looked around at the space alien swimmers, like me in some ways, different in others, and recalled an episode of the Twighlight Zone called "To Serve Mankind." Do you remember this episode? Short beings with giant heads pilot to earth in a spaceship that looks like the Markel Building out near Willow Lawn. They appear benevolent and say they want to help humans. They even have written a book called "To Serve Mankind." A group of humans agree to visit the alien planet and begin to board the spaceship. As the door closes, a woman runs out and shouts, "Don't go! Don't go! 'To Serve Mankind' is a . . . cookbook!"
But it was too late; I was already in the water, in the boiling cauldron. Coach Michael shouted, "GO!" so I swam was fast as I could in lane seven. Down and back. When I hit the wall, I looked up to see whether I had beaten the female alien in lane eight. She was finished, relaxed. She looked like she'd had time to eat a peanut butter sandwich while she waited for me. Perhaps this was good--nobody appeared to be hungry, so I was allowed to leave gracefully, congratulating the winning team as I exited.
It was a great experience, swimming with the sevens and eights, if only for a brief moment. I got out and asked Coach Michael a bit more about the identity of these space aliens. It turns out there were no sevens there, only eights: Eight-year olds from Endorphin Fitness's youth group. Perhaps one day, if I work really hard, I will be as fast as they are. But I'll settle for seven.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I am an Ironman!
After so many months of training for the Ironman Augusta 70.3, the day of reckoning quickly approached. My doctor had adjusted my asthma medicine a couple times, and my breathing seemed to be under control, but exerting myself for up to 8 hours would be a real test.
Allyson and I left Richmond after work on Thursday to drive halfway to Augusta. She and I both had been busy at work during the week, and she had thrown her bags in the car without a thorough check. Every hour, she announced another thing she had forgotten. The good news is that these were things she would like to have during the weekend when not racing, including her favorite hat for sleeping, rather than things like her bike helmet. We got to the Hampton Inn in Fayetteville and did a gear check. Both of us had everything we needed for the race.
I had everything, including my trusty Garmin, which I used to determine how fast I was going and how far I had been on the bike and run. Once we got to Augusta the next day, I plugged in my trusty Garmin to charge it up. Ordinarily the charger makes a sound as it boots up. I heard nothing. I took it off and pressed the power button to turn on the device. Nothing. Nada. I wandered into the hallway and ran into my partner Kim, who saw my sad face and suggested her husband take a look. After Chris examined in thoroughly and consulted the Garmin website (where technical support is available Monday to Friday), he concluded that my charger must have a short circuit somewhere. I emailed everyone I knew doing the race to ask if anyone had the same kind of Garmin and could lend me their charger.
I met Holly and Amanda and headed to the expo and to take our bikes to transition to check them in overnight. I saw Dr. Rob Green, chiropractor and crack triathlete, and he said he had a Garmin charger for me. We arranged to meet later in the day for him to lend it to me.
Before bike check in, Team in Training met for a brief bike ride, mainly to make sure our bikes were working. Good thing we did it--Amanda had put her wheel on backwards, so her bike computer said she was losing ground! I racked Ariel and took a deep breath. The moment of truth--or the eight hours of truth--would soon begin. I met Dr. Green outside my hotel and got his charger. "Mine's all charged up," he said, "so just bring that back to me in Richmond." Back in the hotel, I plugged my Garmin in an waited for the sound. Nothing. Nada. I would be racing without knowing my pace or mileage. I took a deep breath, and decided that was okay.
Overnight, a huge storm blew wind, rain and hail all over the place. I was glad I had covered Ariel with plastic garbage bags and hoped they remained in place. The next morning, with the first wave of swimmers set to start at 7:30, and my swim start at 8:38, we awoke at 3:30 and met in the hotel lobby at 4:15. We carpooled and found good spots near transition. In transition, I was pleased that the garbage bags remained in place on Ariel. I removed them and put my shoes and other gear next to her. I had an inhaler on Ariel and a separate one in my running belt. I took my bag with my goggles, swim cap and wetsuit, along with "second breakfast" and got on the shuttle to the swim start, which was 1.2 miles up the river.
At the swim start, I got my timing chip and put it on my ankle, and found one of the few chairs and sat down. It was 5:45. I had almost three hours till my race would begin. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and breathed deeply. Holly and Amanda soon joined me, and the time flew by. I saw Dr. Green, who asked if the charger worked on my Garmin. "Nope." He commiserated with me and said, "if it makes you feel better, I LOST my Garmin this morning. I had it on my wrist and it is gone." This didn't make me feel better, of course. "We're going on feel alone," I said, "and we're going to do great!" He, of course, was going to do great a lot faster than I would. I was planning to get my money's worth!
As professional athletes began their swim at 7:30, I finished my second breakfast (yogurt, cliff bar, banana) and put my glasses in my gear bag and checked it in a truck that would drive all the bags to the finish. I stood in the porta-potty line and periodically held my prescription goggles up to my face so I could survey the crowd. A few minutes later, I found a large group of my teammates, hanging out waiting for their swim starts. While I had been in line, they had met a good friend of a client of mine, who asked for me by name and lamented the fact that his goggles had broken. Fortunately my friends Dee and Emily have loud voices, and they had cried out to the crowd and found a spare set for him.
We put our wetsuits on an prepared for our start. My friends Pam and Robin were in my age group, so they were starting with me. We made our way toward the start where a large group of women in red swim caps awaited our turn. Down at the dock, we jumped in and hung onto the ropes at the dock. Some women let go and floated away beyond the start. A kayaker motioned them back. And suddenly, the gun went off. Right away, I noticed algea encircling my arms and legs. Within a couple hundred yards, I swam into something that felt like a bramble bush. My legs and arms were tangled and I could not shake the bush off me. It was like a science fiction movie! My strategy had been to stay close to shore, where I figured the water would be less crowded, although the current would not be as strong. I noticed that it was not crowded near me at all, probably due to the combination of being amongst a bunch of fast swimmers and being held up by the Loch Ness Monster. So I swam to my left, toward the center of the river, where the current picked up and the algea thinned out. And it was glorious! With the current helping me along, I lengthened my stroke and pulled hard. Soon, most red caps were ahead of me, and I began to see yellow capped ladies. We passed under two bridges and began the last leg of the swim toward the exit. Now a few fast men in flourescent green caps came upon me, quickly passing me. They would have started 6 minutes after me, so it did not bother me that the quick amongst them would beat me to the exit. I kicked a bit harder at the end of the swim to get the blood flowing. I realized the only danger in swimming amongst all these fast men was a greater chance of getting kicked in the narrowing exit. So I carefully navigated the finish chute. And then suddenly I was out. I pulled my wetsuit off my shoulders and around my waist as I ran up a hill from the water and turned toward the transition area. Coach Steve greeted me and said, "You are doing great!" I felt great. And I knew the next thing I'd see would be the strippers.
Now I know what you're thinking. Several men yelled at me "do you want a stripper?" and I said, "you bet!" "Then pull it below your hips!" they yelled, and I complied, removing my wetsuit just below my hips, making sure my tri shorts remained ABOVE my hips, and I lay on the dirty, muddy ground upon which thousands had laid before me. I stuck my legs up in the air, while two men grapped either side of my wetsuit and pulled it off me. That done, I stood up, grabbed the wetsuit, and made my way to Ariel.
I grabbed my helmet, changed my googles into sunglasses, put my socks and shoes on and walked Ariel to the bike exit. My watch said 9:16, which meant that my swim was much faster than the 45 to 55 minutes I had predicted! If I managed to ride the bike course in under 4 hours, I would be ahead of my goal of 8 hours and could relax a bit on the run.
Ariel and I took off, soon crossing the bridge into South Carolina. The first half hour or so was completely flat, which allowed me to catch my breath and get into a rhythm. Then some rolling hills began. A number of fast cyclists passed me, and I passed some people. All moods were upbeat. "What a great day!" It was overcast at this point, but it did not look like it would rain. Every 10 kilometers there would be a sign showing the distance covered. After about an hour I noticed that I was averaging over 18 miles per hour. To go 56 miles in four hours, which was what I predicted I'd do, I would need to average 14 miles per hour, so I was once again ahead of my time goal. Was I going too fast, I wondered? I was careful to follow my nutrition plan, which consisted of drinking gatorade every 15 minutes and eating some cliff bar every 30 minutes, or every 15 if I felt hungry. I approached the first of three "aid stations" and threw my almost empty bottle of gatorade in a large bin marked for this purpose. Volunteers held out gatorade bottles, and I slowed and pointed to a volunteer and took the bottle as I rode past him, placing it in my bottle cage. This would happen twice more on the course--I would drink four full bottles of gatorade and a bottle of water on the bike, and would eat two Cliff Bars and two energy gels while riding the 56 miles.
Then hills began to appear. Nothing any longer or steeper than I had experienced on training rides in Richmond, though. And then the head winds began, pushing me back and sometimes buffeting me about the road. These challenges slowed my pace, but did not dampen my spirit. I passed a man going up a hill and he said, "oh my, this hill is killing me." I said, "it would be too boring if it were all flat for all this time!" And I meant it, and he laughed and agreed. Ariel and I were having a BLAST!
A man passed me and said, "don't worry, it won't be too much longer till you can get off your bike." I shouted back, "I hope you're wrong because I'm having too much fun to stop!" He laughed and gave me a thumbs up. By now the sun was beaming down and in a way I was happy for the wind blowing in my face. As I climbed a hill, I heard a shot, like a rifle, a few feet away. "Is it hunting season in Georgia?" I asked. It was not a rifle, though, but a tire that blew out. A cyclist pulled over to change his tire.
It was probably about mile 45 when I saw a woman on the side of the road next to her bike. Are you okay? She explained that she was having leg cramps and had to stop every so often to massage her calf. She got back on and passed me and said, "I can't wait to get off this bike." For the first time that day, I agreed with this sentiment.
I was tired and hot, and my rear end hurt like crazy from sitting on a bike seat for over three hours. And then the wind picked up, and I felt like Dorothy and wondered when the house would hit me in the head. I had only about 10 miles left to go, but could I do it? I recalled the inspirational speaker we'd heard the night before. He had been diagnosed with leukemia in 2007 and spent many months in chemo treatment. He told us about having to sign a waiver before getting a barium enema. "Just remember when you're out there tomorrow, and feeling low, these words: 'It's better than a barium enema!'" This survivor was out there doing the race along side of us. He promised to let us know which was worse, cancer or an Ironman. I was pretty sure cancer was much worse. And that kept me going. "Better than a barium enema!" Again, I was doing this for a purpose. To help cure cancer, to find better ways to treat the disease. I was doing it for my Dad, who is still, thankfully, in remission from lymphoma.
And as I approached transition, I got a second wind, and knew I'd done it. I was two-thirds through the day's challenge. Once again, Coach Steve greeted me at transition. "How do you feel? You look GREAT!" "I feel FABULOUS!" I said, and it was true.
Back at transition, I put Ariel back on the rack, changed my helmet to a visor and my bike shoes to running shoes, and donned my running belt, complete with water and the all important inhaler. It's always good to have insurance, and even better if you have it and don't need to use it. I breathed deeply and felt great.
The run course was completely flat, but the road was canted, so I had to run in the middle to avoid hip pain. There were to be 10 water stops, one every 1.2 miles. I got in a rhythm and ran to the first water stop in 15 minutes. I drank gatorade and poured water on my head and back. (Careful not to drink water and pour Gatorade on me). A quick calculation revealed that if I kept up this pace, I'd actually do a half marathon PR during this half ironman. But it was after 1pm, and 87 degrees and drippingly humid. I tried just to keep running to the next stop. I spied Holly ahead by 100 yards, but I could not surge to catch her. Instead, I kept up a steady run, and noticed my pace was a bit faster than hers. Eventually, I would catch up if I didn't walk. So I kept running. Finally, I caught her and we began to run together. The sun was hot, and by this time neither of us had much energy left. Somewhere along the course we contemplated walking before the water stop, and then we saw Holly's husband and along with Amanda's husband, cameras in hand, so we had to keep going. Holly's knee began to hurt, and I began just to fall apart with the heat. We walked some, and began a game of, "let's run till we get to that dappled shady spot over there, then we can walk." We spied Holly's mom and daughter Emma, who held up encouraging signs, and that gave us a boost. A few miles later, we saw Team in Training's Amber and Cate, who blasted horns and shook cow bells. I laughed at the cow bells. Holly had reported earlier that as she stood at the swim start, she felt like a cow in a field of race horses. Such an image! Amber told us a funny story that got us giggling, and we soldiered on.
I always say that I have an iron stomach--nothing bothers it. Apparently an Ironman bothers my iron stomach. With 5 miles left on the run, it began to cramp uncontrollably. It made me want to cry. Everyone said there'd be a low point in the race, and this was a low point. But then I remembered that it still had to be better than a barium enema and kept going. Holly and I limped along, running so it would be over faster, and walking because we could not keep going. Someone told me if it hurts to run and you want to walk, run faster and it will be better. I tried this, and it did ease the muscle cramps in the legs, but it didn't do anything for the formerly iron stomach. But eventually we hit the last water stop, and they said we had only 3/4 miles to go. We ran and walked, and then decided to run it on in. Toward the finish, we saw Coach Steve again, encouraging us, and I remembered again why we were doing this, and I felt a surge. As we came toward the finish line, we both began to sprint. We DID IT! WE WERE IRONMEN!
What a fabulous feeling! It was like nothing I have done before. Here are my results:
overall place: 2423 out of 2525
division place: 71 out of 79
gender place: 664 out of 715
time: 7:30:39
swim: 33:55
t1: 6:40
bike: 3:41:46
t2: 4:19
run: 3:04:02
Thanks, again, to everyone, for your support!
Allyson and I left Richmond after work on Thursday to drive halfway to Augusta. She and I both had been busy at work during the week, and she had thrown her bags in the car without a thorough check. Every hour, she announced another thing she had forgotten. The good news is that these were things she would like to have during the weekend when not racing, including her favorite hat for sleeping, rather than things like her bike helmet. We got to the Hampton Inn in Fayetteville and did a gear check. Both of us had everything we needed for the race.
I had everything, including my trusty Garmin, which I used to determine how fast I was going and how far I had been on the bike and run. Once we got to Augusta the next day, I plugged in my trusty Garmin to charge it up. Ordinarily the charger makes a sound as it boots up. I heard nothing. I took it off and pressed the power button to turn on the device. Nothing. Nada. I wandered into the hallway and ran into my partner Kim, who saw my sad face and suggested her husband take a look. After Chris examined in thoroughly and consulted the Garmin website (where technical support is available Monday to Friday), he concluded that my charger must have a short circuit somewhere. I emailed everyone I knew doing the race to ask if anyone had the same kind of Garmin and could lend me their charger.
I met Holly and Amanda and headed to the expo and to take our bikes to transition to check them in overnight. I saw Dr. Rob Green, chiropractor and crack triathlete, and he said he had a Garmin charger for me. We arranged to meet later in the day for him to lend it to me.
Before bike check in, Team in Training met for a brief bike ride, mainly to make sure our bikes were working. Good thing we did it--Amanda had put her wheel on backwards, so her bike computer said she was losing ground! I racked Ariel and took a deep breath. The moment of truth--or the eight hours of truth--would soon begin. I met Dr. Green outside my hotel and got his charger. "Mine's all charged up," he said, "so just bring that back to me in Richmond." Back in the hotel, I plugged my Garmin in an waited for the sound. Nothing. Nada. I would be racing without knowing my pace or mileage. I took a deep breath, and decided that was okay.
Overnight, a huge storm blew wind, rain and hail all over the place. I was glad I had covered Ariel with plastic garbage bags and hoped they remained in place. The next morning, with the first wave of swimmers set to start at 7:30, and my swim start at 8:38, we awoke at 3:30 and met in the hotel lobby at 4:15. We carpooled and found good spots near transition. In transition, I was pleased that the garbage bags remained in place on Ariel. I removed them and put my shoes and other gear next to her. I had an inhaler on Ariel and a separate one in my running belt. I took my bag with my goggles, swim cap and wetsuit, along with "second breakfast" and got on the shuttle to the swim start, which was 1.2 miles up the river.
At the swim start, I got my timing chip and put it on my ankle, and found one of the few chairs and sat down. It was 5:45. I had almost three hours till my race would begin. I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and breathed deeply. Holly and Amanda soon joined me, and the time flew by. I saw Dr. Green, who asked if the charger worked on my Garmin. "Nope." He commiserated with me and said, "if it makes you feel better, I LOST my Garmin this morning. I had it on my wrist and it is gone." This didn't make me feel better, of course. "We're going on feel alone," I said, "and we're going to do great!" He, of course, was going to do great a lot faster than I would. I was planning to get my money's worth!
As professional athletes began their swim at 7:30, I finished my second breakfast (yogurt, cliff bar, banana) and put my glasses in my gear bag and checked it in a truck that would drive all the bags to the finish. I stood in the porta-potty line and periodically held my prescription goggles up to my face so I could survey the crowd. A few minutes later, I found a large group of my teammates, hanging out waiting for their swim starts. While I had been in line, they had met a good friend of a client of mine, who asked for me by name and lamented the fact that his goggles had broken. Fortunately my friends Dee and Emily have loud voices, and they had cried out to the crowd and found a spare set for him.
We put our wetsuits on an prepared for our start. My friends Pam and Robin were in my age group, so they were starting with me. We made our way toward the start where a large group of women in red swim caps awaited our turn. Down at the dock, we jumped in and hung onto the ropes at the dock. Some women let go and floated away beyond the start. A kayaker motioned them back. And suddenly, the gun went off. Right away, I noticed algea encircling my arms and legs. Within a couple hundred yards, I swam into something that felt like a bramble bush. My legs and arms were tangled and I could not shake the bush off me. It was like a science fiction movie! My strategy had been to stay close to shore, where I figured the water would be less crowded, although the current would not be as strong. I noticed that it was not crowded near me at all, probably due to the combination of being amongst a bunch of fast swimmers and being held up by the Loch Ness Monster. So I swam to my left, toward the center of the river, where the current picked up and the algea thinned out. And it was glorious! With the current helping me along, I lengthened my stroke and pulled hard. Soon, most red caps were ahead of me, and I began to see yellow capped ladies. We passed under two bridges and began the last leg of the swim toward the exit. Now a few fast men in flourescent green caps came upon me, quickly passing me. They would have started 6 minutes after me, so it did not bother me that the quick amongst them would beat me to the exit. I kicked a bit harder at the end of the swim to get the blood flowing. I realized the only danger in swimming amongst all these fast men was a greater chance of getting kicked in the narrowing exit. So I carefully navigated the finish chute. And then suddenly I was out. I pulled my wetsuit off my shoulders and around my waist as I ran up a hill from the water and turned toward the transition area. Coach Steve greeted me and said, "You are doing great!" I felt great. And I knew the next thing I'd see would be the strippers.
Now I know what you're thinking. Several men yelled at me "do you want a stripper?" and I said, "you bet!" "Then pull it below your hips!" they yelled, and I complied, removing my wetsuit just below my hips, making sure my tri shorts remained ABOVE my hips, and I lay on the dirty, muddy ground upon which thousands had laid before me. I stuck my legs up in the air, while two men grapped either side of my wetsuit and pulled it off me. That done, I stood up, grabbed the wetsuit, and made my way to Ariel.
I grabbed my helmet, changed my googles into sunglasses, put my socks and shoes on and walked Ariel to the bike exit. My watch said 9:16, which meant that my swim was much faster than the 45 to 55 minutes I had predicted! If I managed to ride the bike course in under 4 hours, I would be ahead of my goal of 8 hours and could relax a bit on the run.
Ariel and I took off, soon crossing the bridge into South Carolina. The first half hour or so was completely flat, which allowed me to catch my breath and get into a rhythm. Then some rolling hills began. A number of fast cyclists passed me, and I passed some people. All moods were upbeat. "What a great day!" It was overcast at this point, but it did not look like it would rain. Every 10 kilometers there would be a sign showing the distance covered. After about an hour I noticed that I was averaging over 18 miles per hour. To go 56 miles in four hours, which was what I predicted I'd do, I would need to average 14 miles per hour, so I was once again ahead of my time goal. Was I going too fast, I wondered? I was careful to follow my nutrition plan, which consisted of drinking gatorade every 15 minutes and eating some cliff bar every 30 minutes, or every 15 if I felt hungry. I approached the first of three "aid stations" and threw my almost empty bottle of gatorade in a large bin marked for this purpose. Volunteers held out gatorade bottles, and I slowed and pointed to a volunteer and took the bottle as I rode past him, placing it in my bottle cage. This would happen twice more on the course--I would drink four full bottles of gatorade and a bottle of water on the bike, and would eat two Cliff Bars and two energy gels while riding the 56 miles.
Then hills began to appear. Nothing any longer or steeper than I had experienced on training rides in Richmond, though. And then the head winds began, pushing me back and sometimes buffeting me about the road. These challenges slowed my pace, but did not dampen my spirit. I passed a man going up a hill and he said, "oh my, this hill is killing me." I said, "it would be too boring if it were all flat for all this time!" And I meant it, and he laughed and agreed. Ariel and I were having a BLAST!
A man passed me and said, "don't worry, it won't be too much longer till you can get off your bike." I shouted back, "I hope you're wrong because I'm having too much fun to stop!" He laughed and gave me a thumbs up. By now the sun was beaming down and in a way I was happy for the wind blowing in my face. As I climbed a hill, I heard a shot, like a rifle, a few feet away. "Is it hunting season in Georgia?" I asked. It was not a rifle, though, but a tire that blew out. A cyclist pulled over to change his tire.
It was probably about mile 45 when I saw a woman on the side of the road next to her bike. Are you okay? She explained that she was having leg cramps and had to stop every so often to massage her calf. She got back on and passed me and said, "I can't wait to get off this bike." For the first time that day, I agreed with this sentiment.
I was tired and hot, and my rear end hurt like crazy from sitting on a bike seat for over three hours. And then the wind picked up, and I felt like Dorothy and wondered when the house would hit me in the head. I had only about 10 miles left to go, but could I do it? I recalled the inspirational speaker we'd heard the night before. He had been diagnosed with leukemia in 2007 and spent many months in chemo treatment. He told us about having to sign a waiver before getting a barium enema. "Just remember when you're out there tomorrow, and feeling low, these words: 'It's better than a barium enema!'" This survivor was out there doing the race along side of us. He promised to let us know which was worse, cancer or an Ironman. I was pretty sure cancer was much worse. And that kept me going. "Better than a barium enema!" Again, I was doing this for a purpose. To help cure cancer, to find better ways to treat the disease. I was doing it for my Dad, who is still, thankfully, in remission from lymphoma.
And as I approached transition, I got a second wind, and knew I'd done it. I was two-thirds through the day's challenge. Once again, Coach Steve greeted me at transition. "How do you feel? You look GREAT!" "I feel FABULOUS!" I said, and it was true.
Back at transition, I put Ariel back on the rack, changed my helmet to a visor and my bike shoes to running shoes, and donned my running belt, complete with water and the all important inhaler. It's always good to have insurance, and even better if you have it and don't need to use it. I breathed deeply and felt great.
The run course was completely flat, but the road was canted, so I had to run in the middle to avoid hip pain. There were to be 10 water stops, one every 1.2 miles. I got in a rhythm and ran to the first water stop in 15 minutes. I drank gatorade and poured water on my head and back. (Careful not to drink water and pour Gatorade on me). A quick calculation revealed that if I kept up this pace, I'd actually do a half marathon PR during this half ironman. But it was after 1pm, and 87 degrees and drippingly humid. I tried just to keep running to the next stop. I spied Holly ahead by 100 yards, but I could not surge to catch her. Instead, I kept up a steady run, and noticed my pace was a bit faster than hers. Eventually, I would catch up if I didn't walk. So I kept running. Finally, I caught her and we began to run together. The sun was hot, and by this time neither of us had much energy left. Somewhere along the course we contemplated walking before the water stop, and then we saw Holly's husband and along with Amanda's husband, cameras in hand, so we had to keep going. Holly's knee began to hurt, and I began just to fall apart with the heat. We walked some, and began a game of, "let's run till we get to that dappled shady spot over there, then we can walk." We spied Holly's mom and daughter Emma, who held up encouraging signs, and that gave us a boost. A few miles later, we saw Team in Training's Amber and Cate, who blasted horns and shook cow bells. I laughed at the cow bells. Holly had reported earlier that as she stood at the swim start, she felt like a cow in a field of race horses. Such an image! Amber told us a funny story that got us giggling, and we soldiered on.
I always say that I have an iron stomach--nothing bothers it. Apparently an Ironman bothers my iron stomach. With 5 miles left on the run, it began to cramp uncontrollably. It made me want to cry. Everyone said there'd be a low point in the race, and this was a low point. But then I remembered that it still had to be better than a barium enema and kept going. Holly and I limped along, running so it would be over faster, and walking because we could not keep going. Someone told me if it hurts to run and you want to walk, run faster and it will be better. I tried this, and it did ease the muscle cramps in the legs, but it didn't do anything for the formerly iron stomach. But eventually we hit the last water stop, and they said we had only 3/4 miles to go. We ran and walked, and then decided to run it on in. Toward the finish, we saw Coach Steve again, encouraging us, and I remembered again why we were doing this, and I felt a surge. As we came toward the finish line, we both began to sprint. We DID IT! WE WERE IRONMEN!
What a fabulous feeling! It was like nothing I have done before. Here are my results:
overall place: 2423 out of 2525
division place: 71 out of 79
gender place: 664 out of 715
time: 7:30:39
swim: 33:55
t1: 6:40
bike: 3:41:46
t2: 4:19
run: 3:04:02
Thanks, again, to everyone, for your support!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
DC Leaves Me Breathless
For six months I have been training hard for the Augusta Ironman 70.3. And this coming Sunday, I'll be swimming, cycling and running, all to help find a cure for cancer.
Ten days ago, I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it. As a "tune up" for the big race, I participated in the Nations Triathlon in DC on September 13th. Several of us drove up the day before, and after getting our race packets, we drove down to the Tidal Basin, near the Lincoln Memorial, where the race would start the next morning. To minimize race morning traffic, we had to check our bikes into the transition area the day before. We learned quickly that there was no parking anywhere near the transition area--the closest parking was about a mile away. After racking our bikes, we got lost on the way back to the car. We ended up wandering through various monuments, including the FDR monument. So, the extra walking was inspirational, but perhaps not ideal for the day before a race.
The next morning, we all got up at 4:00 AM to make sure that we got the "close" parking--only a mile from transition. If we waited later, we feared we'd have to circle around forever looking for a spot to park. Amanda and I rode in Holly's car, and our friend Susan Ann followed Holly, who said, "I know how to get there." After two or three wrong turns, it became apparent that Holly did NOT know how to get there. We pulled to the side of the road, and Susan Ann jumped out of her car and came back to consult with us. As we chatted in the pitch dark, a police car pulled up on the other side of the road and the police officer said, "where are you ladies trying to go?" Susan Ann explained what we were doing, and the officer said, "Well, I tell you one thing, you need to get out of this neighborhood NOW!" Susan asked for directions, and the officer said, "Turn right at the next light, but the main thing I am telling you is to look around you. This is not a safe neighborhood. LEAVE NOW!" I looked around, and realized what the police officer meant. We held our breath as we left the neighborhood.
Soon, we found the "close" parking lot and gathered our things for the mile walk to transition. We walked along the shore of the Potomac River, looking at the Jefferson Memorial reflected in the moonlight, and saw the Washington Monument silhouetted against the sky as the sun rose. I breathed deeply as I contemplated swimming, cycling and running with this background.
I have never raced in a triathlon with this many athletes--there were about 5000 bicycles racked in a huge transition area, larger than a football field. We prepared our transition area so that when we finished the swim, all the things we needed for the bike ride and run would be available. As I prepared my space, I realized that I had left my running belt in the car. I carry water on the running belt because I drink a lot on a run. I also carry, just as insurance, my "rescue inhaler" in case I get asthma. I told Holly about leaving the belt behind, and she offered to give me her car key so I could go get it. That would mean walking two extra miles before the race started. Someone mentioned that there would be water stops every mile on the run--more than usual. And it was not terribly hot, so I decided to give my legs the break and rely on the water provided by the race. (I did have water bottles on my bike for the cycling part of the race, as well as water to drink before the race began.)
At 7am, the transition area closed, and they herded all athletes into a "swim pen." We were divided into "waves" based upon our age group. Ladies my age were actually not starting till 8:24, nearly one and a half hours after the first group. We watched as athletes in various brightly colored caps began their swim. It was chilly, so we put our wetsuits on as we awaited our turn. Soon enough, it was time for me to start swimming.
There were 291 ladies in my wave, so we gathered in the water and awaited the gun, and I realized it was crowded! The gun went off, and we began swimming upstream, toward a bridge. It was so crowded that I ran into people's legs, people ran into my legs, and people slapped me in the face with their arms. For the first 500 meters of the 1500 meter swim, the biggest challenge was to find a place to swim. Then the field spread out, and I was able to get into my own zone. At the turn around beyond the bridge, I looked right and saw the Lincoln Memorial and on my left I saw Arlington Cemetery. Breathtaking!
I rounded the turn buoy and headed downstream to the swim exit. By now I felt great. The water was choppy, so I had to lift my head out of the water more than usual to breathe. Ahead of me, the sun was shining in my eyes, so I could not see the buoys marking the exit, but I could see the Washington Monument beyond the exit, and I headed for it. Soon, I climbed out of the water, peeled the top part of my wetsuit off and ran through a special tent that sprayed disinfectant on me as I ran.
My bike was racked toward the end of the football-field sized transition area, so I had to run quite a bit to find Ariel. After a few in-town loops, Ariel and I headed out the Rock Creek Parkway toward Maryland. The first half of the bike course was a gradual uphill climb, so it was tough going. All along the way, thought, I saw dozens of athletes wearing Team in Training tops. The Nations Triathlon is entirely dedicated to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and many of those entered in the race were fundraising for LLS in conjuction with this race. In fact, they had raised $2.4 million toward the cause.
As Ariel and I continued the climb, I yelled, and heard others yell, "GO TEAM!"as we inspired one another to keep going. Finally, we turned around, and began the descent.
"WHEEEE!" said Ariel as we flew down one hill. I noticed that my speedometer showed 32 miles per hour, probably the fastest that my nerves could stand. And there were a few climbs up, and I felt strong.
I finished the bike ride and prepared for the run. As I left the transition area, I began to jog, and suddenly I was breathless. But unfortunately, this time it was not a monument, not a glimpse at our nation's history, that made me breathless. It was asthma, a condition that I have had since childhood, but that is usually well-controlled, that was taking my breath. My "rescue inhaler" was in the car a mile away, and of course I didn't have the key to the car in any event.
I tried to jog fairly slowly, and it felt as though an elephant was sitting on my chest. After 50 yards or so, I walked. I alternated running and walking for a bit, and realized I was becoming dizzy. This was going to be a long 6.2 miles. Should I give up? I slowed to a walk and realized that as long as I walked my chest did not hurt. So I walked. Because I was in a fairly late wave, there were a number of people on the run course at this point who had started far earlier than I did. Many of them were walking or jogging slowly with walk breaks. I met a woman from San Diego who was racing in honor of her nephew, who is 6 years old and in remission from leukemia. Another woman was racing in memory of her mother. As you know, I was racing in support of my Dad, who is gloriously still in remission from lymphoma. As we walked, the crowd cheered us on. At the finish, I decided to jog, and I spied a friend and teammate whom I know has asthma. I pointed at my chest and looked sad, and she ran to me and handed me her inhaler. I took it just before crossing the finish line, and inhaled deeply. Whew!
I don't know exactly what triggered my breathlessness at Nations Tri, but I struggled all week with the asthma. My doctor has adjusted my medicine, though, and I was able to have a great bike ride and run last weekend. I think my struggle was just a reminder of why I am doing this. Just a reminder of what patients suffering from cancer must go through just to survive. I am struggling along with them. And together, we will make it! Just five days to Augusta Ironman 70.3.
Ten days ago, I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it. As a "tune up" for the big race, I participated in the Nations Triathlon in DC on September 13th. Several of us drove up the day before, and after getting our race packets, we drove down to the Tidal Basin, near the Lincoln Memorial, where the race would start the next morning. To minimize race morning traffic, we had to check our bikes into the transition area the day before. We learned quickly that there was no parking anywhere near the transition area--the closest parking was about a mile away. After racking our bikes, we got lost on the way back to the car. We ended up wandering through various monuments, including the FDR monument. So, the extra walking was inspirational, but perhaps not ideal for the day before a race.
The next morning, we all got up at 4:00 AM to make sure that we got the "close" parking--only a mile from transition. If we waited later, we feared we'd have to circle around forever looking for a spot to park. Amanda and I rode in Holly's car, and our friend Susan Ann followed Holly, who said, "I know how to get there." After two or three wrong turns, it became apparent that Holly did NOT know how to get there. We pulled to the side of the road, and Susan Ann jumped out of her car and came back to consult with us. As we chatted in the pitch dark, a police car pulled up on the other side of the road and the police officer said, "where are you ladies trying to go?" Susan Ann explained what we were doing, and the officer said, "Well, I tell you one thing, you need to get out of this neighborhood NOW!" Susan asked for directions, and the officer said, "Turn right at the next light, but the main thing I am telling you is to look around you. This is not a safe neighborhood. LEAVE NOW!" I looked around, and realized what the police officer meant. We held our breath as we left the neighborhood.
Soon, we found the "close" parking lot and gathered our things for the mile walk to transition. We walked along the shore of the Potomac River, looking at the Jefferson Memorial reflected in the moonlight, and saw the Washington Monument silhouetted against the sky as the sun rose. I breathed deeply as I contemplated swimming, cycling and running with this background.
I have never raced in a triathlon with this many athletes--there were about 5000 bicycles racked in a huge transition area, larger than a football field. We prepared our transition area so that when we finished the swim, all the things we needed for the bike ride and run would be available. As I prepared my space, I realized that I had left my running belt in the car. I carry water on the running belt because I drink a lot on a run. I also carry, just as insurance, my "rescue inhaler" in case I get asthma. I told Holly about leaving the belt behind, and she offered to give me her car key so I could go get it. That would mean walking two extra miles before the race started. Someone mentioned that there would be water stops every mile on the run--more than usual. And it was not terribly hot, so I decided to give my legs the break and rely on the water provided by the race. (I did have water bottles on my bike for the cycling part of the race, as well as water to drink before the race began.)
At 7am, the transition area closed, and they herded all athletes into a "swim pen." We were divided into "waves" based upon our age group. Ladies my age were actually not starting till 8:24, nearly one and a half hours after the first group. We watched as athletes in various brightly colored caps began their swim. It was chilly, so we put our wetsuits on as we awaited our turn. Soon enough, it was time for me to start swimming.
There were 291 ladies in my wave, so we gathered in the water and awaited the gun, and I realized it was crowded! The gun went off, and we began swimming upstream, toward a bridge. It was so crowded that I ran into people's legs, people ran into my legs, and people slapped me in the face with their arms. For the first 500 meters of the 1500 meter swim, the biggest challenge was to find a place to swim. Then the field spread out, and I was able to get into my own zone. At the turn around beyond the bridge, I looked right and saw the Lincoln Memorial and on my left I saw Arlington Cemetery. Breathtaking!
I rounded the turn buoy and headed downstream to the swim exit. By now I felt great. The water was choppy, so I had to lift my head out of the water more than usual to breathe. Ahead of me, the sun was shining in my eyes, so I could not see the buoys marking the exit, but I could see the Washington Monument beyond the exit, and I headed for it. Soon, I climbed out of the water, peeled the top part of my wetsuit off and ran through a special tent that sprayed disinfectant on me as I ran.
My bike was racked toward the end of the football-field sized transition area, so I had to run quite a bit to find Ariel. After a few in-town loops, Ariel and I headed out the Rock Creek Parkway toward Maryland. The first half of the bike course was a gradual uphill climb, so it was tough going. All along the way, thought, I saw dozens of athletes wearing Team in Training tops. The Nations Triathlon is entirely dedicated to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and many of those entered in the race were fundraising for LLS in conjuction with this race. In fact, they had raised $2.4 million toward the cause.
As Ariel and I continued the climb, I yelled, and heard others yell, "GO TEAM!"as we inspired one another to keep going. Finally, we turned around, and began the descent.
"WHEEEE!" said Ariel as we flew down one hill. I noticed that my speedometer showed 32 miles per hour, probably the fastest that my nerves could stand. And there were a few climbs up, and I felt strong.
I finished the bike ride and prepared for the run. As I left the transition area, I began to jog, and suddenly I was breathless. But unfortunately, this time it was not a monument, not a glimpse at our nation's history, that made me breathless. It was asthma, a condition that I have had since childhood, but that is usually well-controlled, that was taking my breath. My "rescue inhaler" was in the car a mile away, and of course I didn't have the key to the car in any event.
I tried to jog fairly slowly, and it felt as though an elephant was sitting on my chest. After 50 yards or so, I walked. I alternated running and walking for a bit, and realized I was becoming dizzy. This was going to be a long 6.2 miles. Should I give up? I slowed to a walk and realized that as long as I walked my chest did not hurt. So I walked. Because I was in a fairly late wave, there were a number of people on the run course at this point who had started far earlier than I did. Many of them were walking or jogging slowly with walk breaks. I met a woman from San Diego who was racing in honor of her nephew, who is 6 years old and in remission from leukemia. Another woman was racing in memory of her mother. As you know, I was racing in support of my Dad, who is gloriously still in remission from lymphoma. As we walked, the crowd cheered us on. At the finish, I decided to jog, and I spied a friend and teammate whom I know has asthma. I pointed at my chest and looked sad, and she ran to me and handed me her inhaler. I took it just before crossing the finish line, and inhaled deeply. Whew!
I don't know exactly what triggered my breathlessness at Nations Tri, but I struggled all week with the asthma. My doctor has adjusted my medicine, though, and I was able to have a great bike ride and run last weekend. I think my struggle was just a reminder of why I am doing this. Just a reminder of what patients suffering from cancer must go through just to survive. I am struggling along with them. And together, we will make it! Just five days to Augusta Ironman 70.3.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Pink Power
Last Sunday, I participated in the Pink Power Triathlon--a triathlon just for women. What a fabulous experience! Over 400 women registered for the race, and about half of them were doing their first triathlon. In this crowd, I was an old-timer.
Another old-timer there was my friend and teammate, Holly. She has a terrible cold and should have been in bed, but there she was, with a wad of tissues in her hand, trying to decide what to do about the undeniable fact that tissues get very wet when you go swimming.
Transition was right next to the outdoor pool where we were to swim. Our mission was to swim up and back each lane, for a total swim of 400 meters--longer than the other pool swims I have completed. We lined up in order of our estimated swim time. I was number 205, so half the women in the race started before I did. I realized at the last minute that I had calculated my swim time incorrectly, so unfortunately ladies 206 through 210 had to swim around me. I let them pass and soldiered on, trying to concentrate on my form. As I took my last lap, I heard a friend shout "GO AMY" and it made me smile. At the end of the lap I realized I would have to get out of the pool in very deep water. The volunteer at the end of the pool, looked at me and said, "You can use the ladder!" And I did. Did it cost me a few seconds? Or did it save me a couple minutes? Who can say. I ran to transition to get my bike. Another volunteer, sensing that I must be a first-timer, reminded me to take off my goggles, which you typically do on the way to your bike to save time. "I can't see without them!" I explained.
On the bike ride, there were so many newbies, and lots of heavy mountain bikes, so Ariel and I passed lots of people, especially in the first few miles when it was very hilly. I have never said "on your left" as many times as I did during this bike ride, particularly charging up hills. And at the top of each hill, I would look down, and Ariel would say in her pixie voice, "Don't slow down, Amy! Let's GO!: And off we would go: "WHEEEEEEE!" As I thought about the hills and the turns along the course, I realized how much stronger I feel on the bike than I did at the start of the summer.
Holly had begun her race ahead of me (because she is a faster swimmer) and I did not expect to see her till I crossed the finish line. The end of the bike course consisted of an out and back of about 2 miles. As I went out this road, I was dismayed to see Holly on the side of the road changing her front tire. "My race may be over!" she shouted. Unfortunately, when I came back by, she shouted, "My race is definitely over!" She told me later that as she changed her tire, a woman got off her bike and came up to her. "I can't change your tire, honey, but I can give you a hug!" Needless to say the woman was not worried about winning her age group! Holly did change her tire in about 15 minutes. Unfortunately it went flat again immediately. She walked it about a mile or so back to transition. Then she got on her running shoes and finished the race. Pure determination!
I have been having problems with my Achilles lately, but I think I have nipped it in the bud. Lately I have done more cycling, and less running, and I consulted Dr. Green, who told me I could run Pink Power, but to "take it easy" and "consider walking some." By the time I started running, it was about 95 degrees and 97 percent humidity. I was glad to have a doctor-ordered excuse to take a walk break from time to time. Halfway through the run I saw my friend Travis, wearing his volunteer shirt, which sported the statement, "Triathlete Chics are Hot!" I slowed to a walk and told Travis, "I'd be running at lightning speed, winning this race, but my doctor won't let me do it!" Travis replied, "I'm sure you would!"
So here's how it shook out, with comparisons to a similar race I did in late May:
Swim time: 10:33. This sounds dreadful compared to 8:19 from May, but this race was 400 meters, and the May race was 300 meters, so my pace was faster this time.
Bike time: 41:27. Better than 44:07 from May, and this bike course was harder--hillier and full of turns that slow you down and challenge your bike handling skills, albeit a little bit shorter than the May course (11.8 miles versus 12 miles).
Run time: 39:23. Okay, that's worse than 36:08 from May, but I can blame Doctor Green!
Total time: 1:35:24. Compared to 1:33:11 in May. So slower, but I am happy with it!
Another old-timer there was my friend and teammate, Holly. She has a terrible cold and should have been in bed, but there she was, with a wad of tissues in her hand, trying to decide what to do about the undeniable fact that tissues get very wet when you go swimming.
Transition was right next to the outdoor pool where we were to swim. Our mission was to swim up and back each lane, for a total swim of 400 meters--longer than the other pool swims I have completed. We lined up in order of our estimated swim time. I was number 205, so half the women in the race started before I did. I realized at the last minute that I had calculated my swim time incorrectly, so unfortunately ladies 206 through 210 had to swim around me. I let them pass and soldiered on, trying to concentrate on my form. As I took my last lap, I heard a friend shout "GO AMY" and it made me smile. At the end of the lap I realized I would have to get out of the pool in very deep water. The volunteer at the end of the pool, looked at me and said, "You can use the ladder!" And I did. Did it cost me a few seconds? Or did it save me a couple minutes? Who can say. I ran to transition to get my bike. Another volunteer, sensing that I must be a first-timer, reminded me to take off my goggles, which you typically do on the way to your bike to save time. "I can't see without them!" I explained.
On the bike ride, there were so many newbies, and lots of heavy mountain bikes, so Ariel and I passed lots of people, especially in the first few miles when it was very hilly. I have never said "on your left" as many times as I did during this bike ride, particularly charging up hills. And at the top of each hill, I would look down, and Ariel would say in her pixie voice, "Don't slow down, Amy! Let's GO!: And off we would go: "WHEEEEEEE!" As I thought about the hills and the turns along the course, I realized how much stronger I feel on the bike than I did at the start of the summer.
Holly had begun her race ahead of me (because she is a faster swimmer) and I did not expect to see her till I crossed the finish line. The end of the bike course consisted of an out and back of about 2 miles. As I went out this road, I was dismayed to see Holly on the side of the road changing her front tire. "My race may be over!" she shouted. Unfortunately, when I came back by, she shouted, "My race is definitely over!" She told me later that as she changed her tire, a woman got off her bike and came up to her. "I can't change your tire, honey, but I can give you a hug!" Needless to say the woman was not worried about winning her age group! Holly did change her tire in about 15 minutes. Unfortunately it went flat again immediately. She walked it about a mile or so back to transition. Then she got on her running shoes and finished the race. Pure determination!
I have been having problems with my Achilles lately, but I think I have nipped it in the bud. Lately I have done more cycling, and less running, and I consulted Dr. Green, who told me I could run Pink Power, but to "take it easy" and "consider walking some." By the time I started running, it was about 95 degrees and 97 percent humidity. I was glad to have a doctor-ordered excuse to take a walk break from time to time. Halfway through the run I saw my friend Travis, wearing his volunteer shirt, which sported the statement, "Triathlete Chics are Hot!" I slowed to a walk and told Travis, "I'd be running at lightning speed, winning this race, but my doctor won't let me do it!" Travis replied, "I'm sure you would!"
So here's how it shook out, with comparisons to a similar race I did in late May:
Swim time: 10:33. This sounds dreadful compared to 8:19 from May, but this race was 400 meters, and the May race was 300 meters, so my pace was faster this time.
Bike time: 41:27. Better than 44:07 from May, and this bike course was harder--hillier and full of turns that slow you down and challenge your bike handling skills, albeit a little bit shorter than the May course (11.8 miles versus 12 miles).
Run time: 39:23. Okay, that's worse than 36:08 from May, but I can blame Doctor Green!
Total time: 1:35:24. Compared to 1:33:11 in May. So slower, but I am happy with it!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Cable Swim
One thing that petrifies me about the Ironman 70.3 is the 1.2 mile swim in the Savannah River. To finish the overall race within the time limit, I need to complete the swim in less than an hour. After all this hard work training in my quest to help cure cancer, it would be humiliating to have my official Ironman 70.3 race result be "DNF," which stands for Did Not Finish. That sounds like shorthand for "After all this Work, She Quit," but it also can mean "She Did Not Finish in Time Because She's as Slow as Christmas!" I can swim 1.2 miles in a pool within the time limit, but this swim is in the river, where I might panic.
My TNT teammates Holly and Amanda were also worried about panic in the river, so we decided to sign up for a swimming race called a "cable swim." There were two options for the cable swim--one mile or two miles. I had never swum 2 miles all at once in my life. Neither had Holly or Amanda. So we signed up for the two-mile race.
We arrived at the lake the morning of the race and realized that we were triathletes--dabblers in swimming, cycling and running. Jacks of all trades, masters of none. And the others on that beach were Expert Swimmers. They swim for miles and miles every day and had spent years working as lifeguards. Everyone's legs were shaved, though half the crowd were men. Some wore what appeared to me to be wetsuits, but I was told they were fancy "speed swimsuits." You know, like they were in the Olympics.
We found my friend Elizabeth, who loves to swim, and I mentioned that I was nervous because I had never actually swum two miles. Holly and Amanda said they hadn't either.
"You mean in open water," she said. "You all certainly have swum two miles in a pool. That is just 144 laps."
"Last week I swam a mile continuously in a pool, and that is the longest swim I have done in my life," I replied.
"Oh," she said, quietly. And then, recovering her enthusiasm, brightly, "You will do fine! Good luck!"
About 96 people signed up for the two mile swim. The race director lined us up in accordance with our predicted swim times in groups of 10. The 10 speediest were in wave one. The next ten in wave two, and so on. Elizabeth was in the third or fourth wave, and somewhere in the middle was my friend Virginia, who had just finished the one-mile swim and was back for more fun. Holly, Amanda and I were in wave 10, along with a wrinkly man who appeared to be 95 years old and two women who remarked that they had failed to predict any time at all on their registration forms and thus were being punished by being placed at the end of the pack.
The swimmers started the race in the waves of ten, with ten seconds in between each wave. Someone had buried a 1/4 mile cable at the bottom of the lake, and a rope with floats on it was affixed. The race consisted of swimming down one side of the cable, back on the other side, to complete 1/2 mile, and then repeating that circle three more times, for two miles. After all the other waves were off, we started our race. I put my head down and concentrated on getting into a rhythm. The faster swimmers had already rounded the far end of the lake and were coming back on the other side of the cable. As I passed them, it felt like someone was going by on a jet ski--the once still lake kicked up a mighty wake. I made sure not to drink the spray created by the fast swimmers' kick. Before I rounded the end of the cable, those same speedy swimmers passed me! And then I felt like I was in Grand Central Station, and all of Manhattan was late for a train. Little groups of two and three swimmers would pass me, all in a knot, apparently vying amongst themselves for a coveted place in the race. After each knot passed, the waters would calm, and I could get back in my rhythm.
As I rounded the cable the second time, to complete the first mile, there was a loud cheer. Was this support for my effort so far? Then I realized that the winners were zooming past me to the finish! I had to chuckle as I started the second half of my race. Amanda had passed me somewhere along the way, and I could see her 100 yards or so ahead of me at each turn. Her cap had slipped up on her head and poofed above it, like a chef's cap. Holly was somewhere very close behind me. The other gals in our wave were long gone, and I couldn't spy Wrinkly Man anywhere.
As I began the last part of my third lap, I realized that my shoulders were very tired and were getting stiff. I decided I should slow my pace a little to shake out my shoulders. As I did so, my right calf cramped up. It was excruciating! I grabbed the rope atop the cable, and thankfully it held up. I hung onto it with my left hand as I used my right hand to massage my leg. The cramp subsided some, but not completely. Would I be able to finish the swim? I looked around and noticed a rescue boat. I was not in danger of drowning--if I wanted to do so I could flag down the boat and be dragged back to shore.
But I did not want a "DNF," especially one that meant "After all this Work, She Quit." So I began to swim again. I experimented with not kicking with my right leg versus kicking normally and kicking like an unbroken horse. Finally I found that if I kicked normally, but flexed my foot up toward my shin from time to time, I did fine. Not the most efficient kick, mind you, but at least I didn't have to stop. So I concentrated on pulling with my arms. And soon, I was finished with the third lap, and I decided to go for the final lap.
After rounding the far end of the cable for the final time, I noticed Holly, catching up to me. We swam side by side as we finished the last lap. At some point, I thought she was trying to draft off me and we collided. Finally, we came within 150 yards of the finish shoot, and simultaneously we began to sprint. I heard friends cheering as we crossed the finish line almost in tandem.
I did it. I finished in 1 hour and 35 minutes, as did Holly. Amanda finished in 1:29, and would have gone faster, but during her final sprint her chef's hat/swim cap fell off. Virginia beat all three of us, despite having swum three miles in total that day. And speedy Elizabeth finished in 55:41. I looked up Wrinkly Man and it turns out he's only 87 years old. He finished the swim in 1 hour and 19 minutes. Maybe if I keep swimming for another fourty years, I can beat his record! And at the end of September, swimming 1.2 miles in the Savannah River should be a piece of cake!
My TNT teammates Holly and Amanda were also worried about panic in the river, so we decided to sign up for a swimming race called a "cable swim." There were two options for the cable swim--one mile or two miles. I had never swum 2 miles all at once in my life. Neither had Holly or Amanda. So we signed up for the two-mile race.
We arrived at the lake the morning of the race and realized that we were triathletes--dabblers in swimming, cycling and running. Jacks of all trades, masters of none. And the others on that beach were Expert Swimmers. They swim for miles and miles every day and had spent years working as lifeguards. Everyone's legs were shaved, though half the crowd were men. Some wore what appeared to me to be wetsuits, but I was told they were fancy "speed swimsuits." You know, like they were in the Olympics.
We found my friend Elizabeth, who loves to swim, and I mentioned that I was nervous because I had never actually swum two miles. Holly and Amanda said they hadn't either.
"You mean in open water," she said. "You all certainly have swum two miles in a pool. That is just 144 laps."
"Last week I swam a mile continuously in a pool, and that is the longest swim I have done in my life," I replied.
"Oh," she said, quietly. And then, recovering her enthusiasm, brightly, "You will do fine! Good luck!"
About 96 people signed up for the two mile swim. The race director lined us up in accordance with our predicted swim times in groups of 10. The 10 speediest were in wave one. The next ten in wave two, and so on. Elizabeth was in the third or fourth wave, and somewhere in the middle was my friend Virginia, who had just finished the one-mile swim and was back for more fun. Holly, Amanda and I were in wave 10, along with a wrinkly man who appeared to be 95 years old and two women who remarked that they had failed to predict any time at all on their registration forms and thus were being punished by being placed at the end of the pack.
The swimmers started the race in the waves of ten, with ten seconds in between each wave. Someone had buried a 1/4 mile cable at the bottom of the lake, and a rope with floats on it was affixed. The race consisted of swimming down one side of the cable, back on the other side, to complete 1/2 mile, and then repeating that circle three more times, for two miles. After all the other waves were off, we started our race. I put my head down and concentrated on getting into a rhythm. The faster swimmers had already rounded the far end of the lake and were coming back on the other side of the cable. As I passed them, it felt like someone was going by on a jet ski--the once still lake kicked up a mighty wake. I made sure not to drink the spray created by the fast swimmers' kick. Before I rounded the end of the cable, those same speedy swimmers passed me! And then I felt like I was in Grand Central Station, and all of Manhattan was late for a train. Little groups of two and three swimmers would pass me, all in a knot, apparently vying amongst themselves for a coveted place in the race. After each knot passed, the waters would calm, and I could get back in my rhythm.
As I rounded the cable the second time, to complete the first mile, there was a loud cheer. Was this support for my effort so far? Then I realized that the winners were zooming past me to the finish! I had to chuckle as I started the second half of my race. Amanda had passed me somewhere along the way, and I could see her 100 yards or so ahead of me at each turn. Her cap had slipped up on her head and poofed above it, like a chef's cap. Holly was somewhere very close behind me. The other gals in our wave were long gone, and I couldn't spy Wrinkly Man anywhere.
As I began the last part of my third lap, I realized that my shoulders were very tired and were getting stiff. I decided I should slow my pace a little to shake out my shoulders. As I did so, my right calf cramped up. It was excruciating! I grabbed the rope atop the cable, and thankfully it held up. I hung onto it with my left hand as I used my right hand to massage my leg. The cramp subsided some, but not completely. Would I be able to finish the swim? I looked around and noticed a rescue boat. I was not in danger of drowning--if I wanted to do so I could flag down the boat and be dragged back to shore.
But I did not want a "DNF," especially one that meant "After all this Work, She Quit." So I began to swim again. I experimented with not kicking with my right leg versus kicking normally and kicking like an unbroken horse. Finally I found that if I kicked normally, but flexed my foot up toward my shin from time to time, I did fine. Not the most efficient kick, mind you, but at least I didn't have to stop. So I concentrated on pulling with my arms. And soon, I was finished with the third lap, and I decided to go for the final lap.
After rounding the far end of the cable for the final time, I noticed Holly, catching up to me. We swam side by side as we finished the last lap. At some point, I thought she was trying to draft off me and we collided. Finally, we came within 150 yards of the finish shoot, and simultaneously we began to sprint. I heard friends cheering as we crossed the finish line almost in tandem.
I did it. I finished in 1 hour and 35 minutes, as did Holly. Amanda finished in 1:29, and would have gone faster, but during her final sprint her chef's hat/swim cap fell off. Virginia beat all three of us, despite having swum three miles in total that day. And speedy Elizabeth finished in 55:41. I looked up Wrinkly Man and it turns out he's only 87 years old. He finished the swim in 1 hour and 19 minutes. Maybe if I keep swimming for another fourty years, I can beat his record! And at the end of September, swimming 1.2 miles in the Savannah River should be a piece of cake!
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