Keeping the faith

I'm not going to lie. It is getting much harder to stay on track with this whole Ironman training thing I've gotten myself into. Not only are the training sessions getting longer and harder (which is to be expected) but the weather is getting colder and the hours of daylight are getting shorter. All this being said, I am spending more and more hours on my bike trainer - and I AM BORED. I do use this time to catch up on crappy TV shows my husband refuses to watch with me, such as Revenge and the one about the Playboy bunnies. They are mindless shows that help me pass the time. Sometimes I think up ways to raise more money for my charity (plug for American Lab Rescue!), or I just focus on how uncomfortable I am on my bike seat.

In the recent passing of Steve Jobs I have found myself pretty impressed with this man who, until fairly recently, I knew very little about. If you check out his graduation speech to Stanford (http://youtu.be/UF8uR6Z6KLc) in 2005 it is filled with endless quotes of not giving up, doing what you love, and keeping the faith when all else seems lost. Seriously, we had to lose a guy like this!? I would love to have a mini Steve Jobs sitting on my shoulder during the Ironman. I'm pretty sure he would come up with great things to tell me to 1) make me laugh and 2) get me to the finish line.

My favorite quote from Mr. Jobs I've heard so far is, "Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith." Obviously this proverbial "brick" can mean many things to many people. His brick was cancer (or Windows). At one point in his life his brick was being fired from his very own company that he started in a garage. My point is we all have our own bricks. And they hurt. And they are all different things to different people. Just because the bricks are not the same doesn't mean they hurt any less.

Today my brick is actually a brick (bike followed by an immediate run). It hurts and it's hard. Sometimes I feel like I want to throw up and other times I feel like I am going to crap my pants. Sometimes I think, "Is this all worth it?" - the endless miles, the pain? Then I imagine crossing the finish line and being able to look back at all the events that got me to this point - the hours of bad TV logged while riding my trainer, the limping around work on Monday morning because of an awesome 70.3 race the day before, the glorious massages I treat myself to because, dammit, I'm training for an Ironman! That finish line is my iPhone. I am in no way implying that my Ironman finish will revolutionize the world, but I do hope it will help support a great animal rescue group (second plug for American Lab Rescue - click on ChipIn link to the right to donate!!).

Look kids! Big Ben. Parliment.

My lady parts hate me, but I have officially been on my longest bike ride yet! Up until today my 56 mile ride as part of the 1/2 Ironman was the longest distance I had covered. Today I sat on that damn seat for 4 hours and 30 minutes for a total of 68 miles. Go me!

The course for Ironman Arizona consists of 3 loops to total 112 miles. Besides having to ride 112 miles, the second hardest part will be getting myself mentally ready for 3 loops. Can you imagine riding 37 miles and some change only to know that when you get back to the starting line you will have to do it all again, and then a third time? My husband has never been a fan of repeating himself. If he leaves something at home and remembers it at the end of our street he refuses to turn around to get it. If I ask him a question that he has already answered he will just look at me and walk away. (Then I chase after him and poke him in the shoulder until I wear him down.) I think some of his aversion to repetition has rubbed off on me, so now I have to train my brain to love repetition.

Since the start of my training plan I have been riding loops. The loops started out fairly short but have progressively increased in distance. The good thing about riding in loops is that eventually you learn the road. Today, the bump at Mile 10 was my enemy. My first time over the bump I didn't even realize it was there, and my lady parts yelled, "Owwww! Holy Hell! What was that?" On the second loop I was futzing with my water bottle and wasn't really paying attention when, thud, and my lady parts said, "Hey moron - still hurts the second time. For the love of God, stand up!" On the third loop I was able to prepare myself in advance of the bump in the road. I stood up and my lady parts applauded.

Riding in loops also tends to make me feel like I am in the movie European Vacation with Chevy Chase. You see the same thing again, and again, and again. I noticed that it took a family about 3 hours to remove a tree stump from their front yard. Between the miles of 15 and 16 it smells like a combination of dirty diaper and skunk - the stench lingers and never seems to go away until you ride out of it. I also noticed that as the day progressed the number of squirrel carcasses multiplied. The dead squirrels that were on the road during Loop 1 became more squished each time I rode past them.

But anyway, my loops are finished (for today). If anyone is interested in keeping me company on one or some of the loops let me know. I love training partners!

If it were easy everyone would do it

8 weeks to go until Ironman Arizona. Looking for motivation where ever I can find it. These finishers truely inspire me.

Pumpkinman 70.3 Race Report: No dumping

I am finally less limpy, less sore, and ready to recap the great Pumpkinman 70.3 race of 2011. Like I said before, this was my test race to make sure all is in order as I enter into the last 2 months of Ironman Arizona training...

At 4:45 AM on Sunday morning Kevin and I piled into the car to head out to the race. We stayed at his parent's house about 45 minutes away. Who can beat free food and a free place to stay? We arrived at the race site just before 6 AM. I headed into transition to set up all of my gear. Usually during this part of the day I get a horrible feeling of nerves in the pit of my stomach. But today I just felt calm. It was strange; it was nice. Once the gear was all in order (bike shoes open and ready to go, cliff bars partially opened because I can't do 2 things at once on my bike) I made my way to the port-o-potty line, did my business, had my Sherpa (Kevin) lather me in sunscreen (the 80 SPF kind), then made my way to the swim start. Then I waited...

And waited, and waited. The fog was so heavy that the start of the swim was delayed about 45 minutes. They wouldn't let us in the water until the far buoy was visible. Safety first, kids. That was fine because it gave me more time to stretch out and talk to my sister-in-law who came to watch! Wahoo - I had a cheering section, not just a cheering person! I was also happy someone was going to keep Kevin company in the beer tent.

Finally they gave the all clear to start the race. I was in the last wave - 17 minutes behind all the others. I stepped into the water and it was surprisingly not as cold as I imagined 68 degrees to feel. I was a bit nervous because I didn't rent a wetsuit but rather swam in a speed suit - no arms, short legs, and no real warming properties. I've seen YouTube clips were people wore suits like mine in 68 degree water and had to be taken to shore because they were too cold to continue. (I silently prayed that this would not be me). My wave took off. I stayed to the outside right of the swimmers. I figured I would rather swim a little more distance than be stuck in the middle of the "washing machine" of flailing arms and legs. I stuck my face in the water and got a face full of seaweed. Gross (at least it wasn't a foot to the jaw). I made my way out of the weeds and the race was on. I wanted to remain calm on the swim and not go out too hard. I found myself catching up to the wave in front of me and even some guys from the first few waves. I was out of the water at 34 minutes.

I tried to remain calm in transition so I would remember everything I needed to. Bike jersey, check. Gels and cliff bars stuffed in the pockets of my bike jersey, check. Sunglasses, check. And I was off. First thing I remembered about 500 yards from transition - I did not re-apply my sunscreen. CRAP! This is what got me into trouble at Timberman. Lucky for me the bike course was shady.

Out on the bike I took my time for the first few miles. I was working on "getting my biking legs" and trying not to expend all of my energy. I will say this, I am a slow-ass biker. People were flying my me. "On your left," was the phrase of the day. I was starting to wonder if the entire field had finally passed me. Then around mile 15 I started to approach a girl, her right calf told me she was 28. I finally got to say, "on your left," and boy did I say it with authority. I didn't want to make her feel like I was better than her (because there are athletes out there that can make you feel like that when they go whizzing by). I was just so excited to finally be passing someone. My time had come. Then she looked at me, and I knew that look all too well. That same look was plastered across my face during the entire race at Timberman. She asked, between breaths, what mile we were on. When I told her "mile 15" she made a groaning noise and put her head down. I looked at her feet. She was wearing sneakers and had the pedals with the straps. She will learn from this experience, because it will most likely be awful for her. I wanted to tell her to stay in the moment, it will get better, one day you will do another race, you will be mentally and physically prepared for it, and you will finish with a smile. But that's a lot to say when I myself was sucking wind. So maybe she will read this post.

I will say that the volunteers were fabulous. As I approached the turn for the last 1.3 miles there were 2 women flagging and cheering. As I got closer (and their cheering became louder) I started to yell, "Get me off this bike!" and she responded, "1 mile and your off!" And then out of the depths of my lungs I let out my warrior yell that said "Suck it 56 miles - I own you!" and in response the 2 women were frantically jumping and screaming and flag waving. They made me feel like I was in 1st place. Thanks ladies at the last turn.

I clocked my bike at 3:45, 15 mph. Just as I had hoped. I told you I am a crappy biker. Off the bike, on to the run. A few high fives to my cheering section... 13.1 miles to go!

I felt awesome during the first few miles of the run. I passed a few more people. My toes were no longer numb. Things were looking up... until around mile 4. People had warned me about GI distress. Well let me tell you, it is absolutely no fun. Running with your ass cheeks clenched together is super difficult/uncomfortable. I had passed the last port-o-potty about a mile back. I had succumbed to walking because running just made matters worse. I had a choice: back track about 1 mile or dash into the woods. The woods was the most viable (and closest) option at the time. So I started staking out places I could hide. Finally, about another mile down the road I darted into the shrubs. Some lady yelled out to me, "It's OK honey, all the guys do it." Yeah, great, thanks for drawing more attention to me as I waddle into the trees. I felt MUCH better after that. As I came out of the woods I noticed a sign, "conservation land: no dumping". Oops.

For the rest of the run I took it all in - the people in agony because they neglected their nutrition, the 60 year olds flying by me shouting words of encouragement, the wonderful sunny but not-too-hot day. 13.1 miles actually flew by. I never thought I would say such a thing. I headed back home - the last mile was a whirlwind. I started thinking about all of my training, how this race is a stepping stone towards my ultimate goal, how 5 years ago I never thought something like this was possible for me. Then I started to get all choked up. My throat tightened and my eyes welled with tears. Then I told myself to stop being a pansy and save it for Arizona. I headed down the finishers shoot - high-fived the cheering section and posed for my finish line picture. 7:20, not too shabby.

Then I went to the beer tent.

I'm bringing Hell (and sunscreen) with me

I am currently on Week 14 of my 24 week training plan. I am 75 days away from Ironman Arizona. Seriously, where did the time go? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was sitting at work fighting with technical difficulties during registration?

I have a 70.3 race, the Pumpkinman 1/2 Iron-distance tri, this weekend. This race is my "test swim/bike/run", my gut check. This is where I learn if all this training is taking me where I want it to and if I need to step up my game in the final weeks. During this race I am going to make sure that my nutrition is working for me and that I work out all the kinks of transition. This is the race where I hope to finish and say, "man that felt awesome, I can't wait to double that distance in a few months," or "Kevin, you stay here. I feel so great that I will get my own crap out of transition." I know I have done the training up to this point. Hell, I even have a sweet new bike to make me look like I know what I am doing. But deep down I have this dark memory of my first ever 70.3...

2 years ago I competed at the Timberman 1/2 Ironman in New Hampshire. I signed up for the race after only doing 2 sprint tris and 1 Olympic distance (not much by racing standards). I had been swimming regularly with a group of older men at the local YMCA (I liked swimming with them because I felt fast, not because I like old men in speedos). I was confident for the swim. I had also been running on a fairly consistent basis. I had one 1/2 marathon under my belt and figured that made me a jogging queen. Plus, I figured I could always walk if I needed to. The bike, on the other hand, was drastically lacking. I think I rode my bike about 3 or 4 times all summer long before the race. My thought process, "How hard can biking be?".

WELLLLLL.... if you know New Hampshire at all, it is ALL hills. And not nice small rolling hills. They are gigantic, in your face climbers, that make you want to puke your guts out and cry for your mother all at the same time. Or maybe that's how I remember the bike portion because I was so under prepared? I drastically miscalculated my preparation for this race.

I should have known I was in for it when I was headed out of transition onto the bike course and one of the volunteers yelled at me, "Stay to the right because all the fast cyclists are right behind you." I had made good time in the swim and passed a majority of the men's field. But how did that volunteer know I wasn't a fast cyclist? I started examining all the people passing me - I was one of 2 people that did not have clipless pedals and rode with her running sneakers. I was also probably the only person who did not take advantage of the sunscreen volunteer and ended up with a nasty sunburn (yes, it lasted until my wedding in December... and beyond). I remember getting to the 1/2 way point on the bike - a volunteer yelled out "Congrats! Your half way!"and I cried like a baby. I sobbed so hard my shoulders shook and the road was blurry through my tears. I cried not because I was happy I was actually accomplishing this great feat but because I was only 1/2 way and felt like total crap on wheels.

Always remember sunscreen - lesson learned.

Long story short, I made the bike cut-off time (how? I don't know, but I did) and I finished the race (finish time is debatable on whether I truly finished in 8 hours because of my swim wave order). I limped to my family, wheezing. I should have gone to the medical tent but didn't know any better. I wanted to vomit when I ate the clam chowder, and I felt dizzy and cold the entire ride back home. We even made a pit stop at my in-laws house so I could dry heave over the toilet (I bet they don't know that one). I did make it to work the next day. Unfortunately my boss came up to ask me a question and smacked my back - I almost dropped to the floor in pain.

So you ask, why on Earth would I ever sign up for another race like this or a race double this distance if it was such a horrible experience the first time around? There are lots of motivational quotes about pain and fear, pride, and accomplishments. But I heard a pro triathlete make this remark, "There are no decisions on race day." I will not let the memory of pain and fear stop me from moving forward. I made mistakes (a lot of them) and I have learned from them. If I let one race dictate the rest of my life then shame on me.

On Sunday, I'm comin' and I'm bringin' hell with me, Pumpkinman (along with my GU packets, Ironman Perform mix, salt tabs, bike shoes, and SUNSCREEN).

Bad awesome vs. good awesome - Recap of the long weekend.

I love three day weekends. I love them because I have time to do the things I want to do and need to do. Plus, who doesn't love the feeling of not having to go to work on Monday? This weekend was the Great Camping Adventure in the White Mountains for me, Kevin, and the dog. I will admit I am not the world's greatest camper, but I gathered kindling like a champ and became accustomed to the lack of running water.

We arrived late Friday night. As we got out of the car we notice that our site is directly across from another site that had a family of at least 15 with at least 8 kids under the age of 12. Awesome. To make it better they were singing the words to "Dynamite" (or maybe it's "Dyn-o-mite", whatever, it's annoying) and some Justin Beiber song. More awesome. In the middle of the night (lets say 3 AM) the youngest started crying. This happened again at 6 AM when the kid woke up our dog (which meant we were up as well). First thing on the agenda for Saturday... change camp sites.

The nice park ranger gave us another site farther away from the Partridge Family. There was more space for Ellie to run and explore in the mud. And even more exciting was the quiet couple next to us who spent their day mountain biking. Kevin found a short trail not too far from the campground that was an easy hike. We had to find easy hikes because someone forgot her sneakers. (Who forgets sneakers when you go camping?)

Ellie enjoying the view from the campsite

Swim lessons at Dixville Notch.

I think some of my favorite things about camping are being able to sit around the fire, enjoying the view, and drinking beer.

Sunday we decided to see how Ellie would do in a canoe. Let's just say there is room for improvement. I did most of the paddling while Kevin spent most of the time trying to keep Ellie from jumping ship (and taking us with her in the process). New item for the Christmas list: life vest for the dog.

After lunch we went to check out The Balsalms. It is one of the few "grand resorts" left in New England. Driving up to it I am reminded of the movie The Shining. Despite the fact that I think the place is haunted they have some really fantastic walking and biking trails (all of which are dog-friendly!)

Whizzing by The Balsalms

Kevin and Ellie at The Balsalms.

On our way back to camp the skies opened up. Luckily we made it back to our site before the rain hit there. We decided that if we were going to spend the rest of the afternoon, evening, and night in the tent soaking wet we might as well head home a day early. Kevin would probably have liked the challenge of making a fire in the rain and would most likely have befriended the new campers next door (5 guys, 5 canoes, and a cooler of beer hanging out in the rain).

So you ask, "Jen, don't you have an Ironman you are training for?" Yes, yes I do. And no, I did not do anything productive towards my training while we were away. BUT, today I was able to break in my sweet new ride, The MJ Cruiser (that's right, I named my bike), on a 3 and 1/2 hour ride. The seat is awesome. The chain doesn't fall off when I shift - awesome. It has a spedometer to tell me when I need to pick up the pace - awesome. It has red handlebars - AWESOME!

I am gearing up for the Pumpkinman 1/2 Iron-distance triathlon next weekend. If you have any plans to be near South Berwick, Maine on Sept 11 stop on by and cheer me on. Kevin will love the company. Plus, Shipyard Brewing is hosting the beer tent!

Happy National Dog Day!

If you would like to help American Lab Rescue and support me on my journey to Ironman Arizona, please consider a donation.

Ellie and the rest of the pups say thanks!