Mental Training for Triathletes

Would you, could you, swim two miles?
Would you, could you, do time trials?
Would you run in wind and heat?
Would you lose nails from your feet?

Would you, could you, live on gels?
Would you let your house go all to hell?
Would you, could you, pay too much cash
To buy a bike you just might crash?

Would you, could you, rise at dawn
After sleeping with your wetsuit on?
Would you, could you, read triathlete blogs
And keep your own top secret training logs?

Would you, could you, treat food as fuel?
Would you wear a TT helmet because you think it's cool?
Would you, could you, drink chlorine?
Would you, could you, love a girl in neoprene?

Would you, could you, say "Yes, I could and can?"
You might just be a future Ironman.

copyright The Juice 2008

Staying in My Own Race/How This Nut Rolls

I was signed up for the High Cliff half ironman distance race this Sunday. I didn't go. Now, I have a DNS to add to my illustrious triathlon career.

It wasn't an easy decision, nor one I'm easy with now. I am probably more exhausted from the rumination about going or not going than I would have been from travelling to and from the race and doing it. Factors ranged from a little medical issue that arose at the end of the week to feeling generally overwhelmed by the tasks-at-hand, to knowing that while I have now discovered I can swim a mile, I have no experience with pack swimming, to not knowing the course, to being tired from Horribly Hilly, to not knowing my new bike, to a deep cache of morbid fantasies about Things That Could Go Wrong Far Away From Home starring killer bees, massive blood loss, and keeping the race organizers in the park until midnight. I suspect, however, that all of this dramarama covered a simple truth: I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready, gentle reader, so I did not go. I was sad and frustrated that I was not ready, embarrassed to bail out on myself and on my loyal fan base, but it was the right decision, which I discovered when I held my own private 70.3 Sunday instead.

That's right: I swam a mile, biked 59, and ran 13.1 and some change. Why? Because I was ready for *that,* and someday soon, I'll be ready to do it in a crowd.

So: here's The Juice's 70.3 race report:

1 Mile Swim

Perfect weather and calm water greet me, a lone Athena, and a single age grouper when we assemble at Lake Wingra at 7:00 for a 7:20 wave start. I discover early in the race that my wetsuit is chafing me, so exit the swim course, apply body glide, and re-enter the course. Course marshalls are surprised by this maneuver, but couldn't find a USAT rule against it, so the event continued---my lead was such that it did not affect my relative ranking. At 8:20, the age grouper says she's had enough, so we declare the swim finished. My place: first Athena. Age grouper's place: 1st among all age groupers.

T1

After a certain amount of congratulatory chitchat among the racers, I go to my car, strategically placed in T1. Grab half a PB&J while unloading my bike; put wheels on bike; put helmet and gloves on ground; pump air into tires; put wetsuit on plastic cloth in trunk; lay out run clothes for T2. Discover running shoes are missing. Swear. Consider biking home, picking up running shoes, and biking back to T2, but reject this idea for various logistical reasons. Take wheel off of bike, put bike and wheel back in car, throw wetsuit in front seat, drive across town to house. Have a snack; rehydrate. Take a shower---hey, I'm home! Call Polly. Wanna ride? Yes! Put on bike clothes and shoes; lay out run clothes, including shoes and fuel belt; grab helmet and gloves; assemble bike; check e-mail one last time. Leave. Transition time: 1 hour 15 minutes. My place: first Athena.

59.5 Bike

Ride to Polly's. Greet Foz the dog and Ben the boy. Polly has picked a route and we get underway, playing Ironman trivia. Polly is very kind to me, knowing that I am in my own private 70.3. We ride around rural Wisconsin, practicing fueling and hydration. I am living on Pearson's Salted Nut Rolls left over from Horribly Hilly and Emergen-C that I am learning to drink without carbonation. At mile 30, I need to get more water on board. Polly's mother lives in the vicinity, in Stoughton. Polly asks me: "Mom's or Kwik Trip?" We go to Polly's Mom's house, visit with Peek-a-Boo and Heidi, the dogs, re-fill the water bottles, and talk about the last books we've read. Isn't this a nice aid station? These race organizers are great! We get back on the road and take a long way home so that I exceed my goal of 56.0 today. Hit home just as a thunderstorm breaks over us. Ride mileage: 59.5. Fuel: 1.5 salted nut rolls; Emergen-C; water. My place: first Athena. Polly's place: 1st among all other women and men.

T2

I finish off the second nut roll, discovering myself to be a bit hungry. Pop a couple of peanut-butter filled pretzel squares. Listen to the thunder, change clothes--hey, I'm so organized!--contemplate options: run outside; run on the treadmill at the Y, go to Sun Prairie Athletic and run on the track. Choose the track. Pack hydration belt and warm-up clothes for after this adventure. Talk with Polly, who has made it home; give her Garmin numbers; get her computer read-outs. Drive to Sun Prairie Athletic Club. Retrieve guest pass (that rocks!); and get directions to the track. T2 time? 1:10. My place: well, smokin', obviously.

13.1 run

So, the person on the phone had said that 9 times around the track a mile does make, so I had carefully done the math on my way to SPA. When I got onto the track, I saw a sign that said 9.5 times around equals a mile. No worries: I have plenty of time to do the math.

The track has three lanes: a walkers' lane, a runners' lane, and a passing lane in between them. The track surrounds a couple of basketball courts, but is fenced off from them, and is enclosed on the other side by an exterior building wall. So for 90 percent of the distance, the runner runs in a narrow tunnel--wall on one side, courts on the other; the three lanes are maybe 5 feet across--total. I threw my stuff down in a corner so that I could grab my water bottle every so often and dig snacks out of my fuel belt as needed. I'll let you calculate re: how many times around a 9/10 mile track makes a half marathon. Ironically, I turned in my best 13.1 time ever--honestly--and had no blisters, IT band issues, or other problems, save for the song lyrics, "You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy, But I Just Might Be the Lunatic You're Looking For" repeating themselves in my head. At some point, I begin to wonder whether the walking lane was 9.5 laps to the mile and the running lane was 9 laps to the mile, and begin to wonder whether I could go back to running 117 laps instead of 125. I recognize this inner mathematical saboteur for what she is, however, and am not going to let her steal my first 70.3 from me! 125 laps I go, on one Nectar Bar and one raspberry goo---jeez, let's just eat Hostess Fruit Pies! I did not use my ipod, lest a course marshall DQ me, though I amuse myself by counting the number of times I drop some guy wearing a "Grill Master" t-shirt and the number of youngsters who start their runs and then abandon them after only 5, 10, 15, 25, or 40 laps. I may be slow, but I can outlast them. I alternate run and walk laps.

13.1 run/walk time: 2:35. My place: first Athena.

Post race: stopped at the desk and asked for track distance clarification. "That's the first time anybody has asked," they say. Jeez, am I beginning to feel like a time-obsessed triathlete. Walk out into the rain and stretch. Drive home, shower, don't feel like eating, but eat soy yogurt with oats, blueberries, and almonds anyway. Check on Geek Girl at CDA, someone in a real race today; wonder about Waddler, someone with courage. Go to a party. Am amazed I can still walk, have no blisters, and feel pretty damned good. As I walk in, my friend says, "Here she is, just in from her first 70.3 race."

Kinda sorta. What's the difference between a 70.3 or 80.0 brick and a 70.3 race? Crowd support? A t-shirt? A medal at the end? What did I have today and what did I not have? Guts? Confidence? Four hours? Double my brick time and I'm in for a 24 hour IM.

Today I stayed in my own race. I also organized it, refereed it, handed out the penalties and awards, and organized most of the aid stations. It was a bit of a consolation prize for not having the juju for High Cliff. My body can go 70.3. It just has. I am still not quite ready to race it, but I learned some things today that brought me a few steps closer. It's coming.

So be it: that's the way this nut rolls.

If a Person Goes 70.3 Without a Timing Chip, Can She Still Put the Sticker on Her Car?

Stay tuned for my 70.3 brick report.

Finding a Rhythm

M/T/R: Running class in the a.m.
T/R: Swim in the afternoon.


Pre-run schedule: get up, throw clothes in washer, eat, pack wetsuit, cap, goggles, body glide, towel after retrieving them from where they've been drying from the last round, into one bag. Pack swim suit into computer bag so that I can change into it before I leave work. Pack day's food in computer bag. Dress in running clothes; take hydration belt. Pack work clothes. Pack change for meters at stadium where class is held. Shoes? Oh, hell, running shoes at work is popular in the city, right? Pack transition bag--shampoo, etc. Eat? No? Might be snacks in car left over from yesterday.

Drive to running class; wonder about the irony of this.

Discover meter-free parking today. Score. Park, go to running class. Miss my computer science running buddy, but leap frog my way from the back of the pack to third or fourth from the front by the time we arrive at the stadium. What up with that? These poor kids: dropped by a chubby old professor type. Especially hard on the boys.

Go to car; drive to other campus gym near office; show ID; shower, dress for work. Hang towel from hook in back of car, hoping it will dry by swim class.

Repeat.

Today, my Ironman watch, purchased two summers ago, fell apart while I was doing "body boards" after running. Is it a sign?

Things My Body Did Today

Today, I ran with my running class, even though a run was not on my Plan, and I had a great time---especially because I stayed behind the pack, pacing with a new runner, a woman soccer player and graduate student from a country that doesn't allow girls to play sports; when the class got back to the facility where we started, I ran with a former colleague on the track and immediately fell in love with it (the track!). Both of these experiences reminded me of the benefits of being at the back of the pack---the chatting, the stories, the hanging together---even though I am often these days frustrated to be there...still. Did I mention I nearly flunked out of college because of a running class? Today, I could have run all day---albeit at my slow, steady paces.



Today, I swam my first open water mile. Less than a month ago, during my first OWS experience of the season, I totally freaked out--physically, emotionally, publicly. Today, I swam the distance in Lake Wingra. There was a certain amount of stopping to chit chat with my coach involved on the way out, into the current. Kinda like this:



Me: ten strokes, then "Blechhh. Dude, there are weeds."

Coach: "Yes, I know. The weeds are our friends."

Me: three strokes: "Hey, what about that guy who drowned because of the weeds?"

Coach: "Urban legends. I've got you covered."

Me: three strokes. "Hey, how is my stroke?"

Coach: "How about you let me see more of it?"

Me: twenty strokes. "We there yet?"

Coach: "250 yards."

Me: 100 strokes. "How's it going?"

Coach: "250 yards"

Me: 100 strokes. "We there yet?"

Coach: "Just keep following me. Almost there."

Me: 100 stokes. "Where are we?"

Coach: "250 yards."

Me: "Dude, I'm having trust issues."

Coach: "Oh, um, well, I have a bad sense of distance."

Me: "Oh. Remember when the water was 50 degrees and you said it was 65? Guess it's a

temperature thing, too."

Coach: "Keep swimming."

Me: 100 strokes. "Damn, we're here already?"

Coach: "Okay, on the way back, no talking."



Out: 33 minutes; back 22.



When we got back to the beach, I took a moment to really let it sink in. Did I mention I nearly flunked out of college because of a swimming class? Three months ago, I was out of breath at the end of 25 yards; a month ago, I lost it in the open water. Today, I got some of it back.



Then I went home, ate a salty nut roll, and got on my bike.



Today, I had it all: swim, bike, run, delight, and celebration. And, like always,there was also defeat, despair, and worry. I'm amazed at what I can do now---but it feels so far from being enough for Ironman. It feels like I am now almost fit enough to really *begin* training for Ironman---like for an Ironman in '09. But Ironman Wisconsin is my race, and it is this September, not next. Or maybe next year is my A race and this year is just a training event. Maybe in 09, I will be the long, lean, buff, built, athlete of my dreams--you know--the one who kicks some serious tail...the one who passes for a fit person? Maybe this year, I will finish in the chubby but surprisingly functional body I have now, chatting up some other woman in whose country or in whose biography girls weren't allowed to play sports, some person reclaiming his or her heritage to move as I am reclaiming mine. And that wouldn't be a bad way to finish...right?



But first, this weekend: my first half ironman. I am more ready than I was a week ago, but I have some serious reservations. Half Ironman---that's kind of a long day. Wonder who I'll enjoy knowing at the back of the pack there?

Horribly Hilly Hundreds: Finally Freakin' Finished

And what a ride it was!

Horribly Hilly Hundreds provides riders with stunningly beautiful views, along with sometimes painfully challenging climbs, in the rolling terrain of Southern Wisconsin.

Despite the devastating weather of the last few weeks, today dawned clear and cool; temperatures climbed to over 80 by the afternoon, but the rain stayed away until after most riders had safely finished the route, it seemed. The roads on the course were intact and mostly dry, if a little gravely from recent rains, though I heard talk today of one rider who slid out on a slick spot early in the course.

My ride was shaped by false starts and wrong turns---we got underway at about 8:20 and then spent time being re-routed onto a gravel patch exiting town, thanks to my keen sense of direction (hmm, are these not features of my 50k race report, too?). After these early challenges, the rest of the ride went without incident--though I thought I might expire in a Porta-Jane that was parked in the sun and must have been 150 degrees...(what a way to go...literally and figuratively!). I expect my official speed to be about 8 mph, given the late start and early delays; there's no chip timing, so I suspect the clock just started at 7 a.m. and riders are "timed" at the finish. My actual pace was a bit faster than I thought, though slower than I hoped, even with my orientation toward this thing as a touring training ride...and the long marches that the adventure involved. We were out there more than five hours, with the total ride time being 3:49, according to Garmin. It's amazing how "paused time" can accumulate when you are lost, looking for maps, chatting up drivers, and visiting with the EMT and her little dog at the rest stops!


Some highlights:

1) Incredible scenery all the way
3) Excellent company of Ride Companion the whole trip
2) The chalked messages on the final climb really helped pull me forward--and up!
3) Friendly conversations with fellow riders
4) Finishing upright and uninjured
5) Hydration (camelbak..) and nutrition--if you can call Salted Nut Rolls that (2 for $1 at the gas station, people, and more protein than a gel)---seemed to work well.


Some observations:

1) This thing is *hard.*

2) I saw less carnage than I was brought to expect---however, I heard far more kvetching, whining, and complaining than I'd expected, too---and it wasn't all coming from me!

3) HHH was an interesting place to observe gender differences...Men having a hard time think the course sucks; women having a hard time think our riding sucks. This is a classic in social psychology---external v. internal locus of control, and how it breaks down along gender lines.

Also on this score: there was a guy who passed me riding up the next-to-last climb up Blue Mound; I happened to be walking at the time, I confess, who said "all the men are riding; all the walkers are women, and this is what insanity looks like." Everybody is a gender scholar! Anway, thought this was worth contemplating. BTW, it was not true of the day in general---I saw lots of guys today walking those bikes: the hills are the hills for men and women alike.

4) Despite the foregoing, it was a young, fit woman who expressed the sentiment at the last water stop that she would like to throw her bicycle and had never hated a ride like she was hating this one. I was surprised--I wasn't exactly hating my bike or the ride...though I wasn't too happy with my riding. One of the benefits for me of this sort of thing is to help me see that hard is hard sometimes---it's not always a result of my inadequacies.

5. I like the wind. Other people were hating it today, so I decided I was best served keeping that to myself.

6. When you have a ride-not-a-race mentality, it is easy to see the scenery and to be grateful. As hard as this was, I was grateful all day long that I am alive and well enough to be having this incredible experience. How many people whose homes are flooded, whose kids are starving, whose health is fragile would give a million bucks to have their biggest concern be whether to walk or ride the last mile up gorgeous Blue Mound? I am a fortunate person today, indeed.

Horribly Hilly (Part 1)

I am registered for the Horribly Hilly Hundreds. Tomorrow. O.My. Gawd.

An article in the paper yesterday said that 25% of people who start it don't finish. What are the stats at an Ironman?

I drove out to Blue Mounds again today to study the climb up Blue Mound and to buy some salty nut rolls from the corner grocery before heading to Mt. Horeb to pick up my number and my Biking Like a Viking jersey. As I approached packet pick-up, I heard someone call out to me. It was Angie, who passed me on a hill at Quadrupedal last year. On a tandem. With a seven-year-old in tow. "You riding tomorrow?" she asked. "Yep--and you going to drop me on a tandem again?" We laughed. "This will be fun," she said, and I think she is right...even though it's been called a "sufferfest."

I too easily allow myself to be intimidated by the macho bravado surrounding these things. For example, we could think of the Ironman bike course as the centerpiece of what has been called "the world's most gureling one-day athletic event" or we could think of it as a scenic Wisconsin ride from Verona to Mt. Horeb to Cross Plains. I may suffer from a Competitive Spirit Disorder....I would much rather think of Ironman as a nice long group swim in my hometown lake with 2000 other fine club members, followed by a nice scenic Wisconsin bike trip, followed by a nice long walk around my lovely town, during which I'll have a chance to catch up with some people I haven't seen in awhile (like since IM training began), than think about Ironman as the world's most grueling athletic event. Of course, my CSD may be just some compensation for my not actually being competitive (as in, what the heck am I doing out here with these fit people?), but still, it calms me down to reframe things...Horribly Hilly: "sufferfest" or a nice hilly training ride witha lot of other crazy happy cyclists trying to figure out the perfect food to fuel their ascent up Pinnacle, Barlow, and Blue Mound? Guess we'll know tomorrow.

And for someone non-competitive, I gotta say I am relieved the damn thing isn't chip timed. That will happen soon enough: as in High Cliff Half Iron race is next week, and I have yet to swim an open water mile.

Aquatic Talk

Some funny things have been happening lately:

1) I went to the Y the other day to swim and asked the front desk peeps when the Y closed. "At 7:00," they said. It was then almost 6:00. "Okay," I replied," I'll swim fast." "You've got a whole hour," they said, like this was a long time to swim, which I found funny. My, how one's perspective changes.

2) Tonight, went to OWS and because of recent rains, the lake was high. And choppy. Swim coach didn't think it was a good idea for him to take his kayak out, it was that choppy. We swam in that choppy water. I swam in the choppy water. And I LOVED IT. My, how a little education on how to work with the waves instead of trying to work against them makes the swim a happy place! I can't believe I actually liked swimming in the waves, but I really, really, really did. And I swam straight and didn't drink in half the lake. Of course, I was last, but I'm not worried about that right now...it's all about survival and comfort, baby, and after so long of having no comfort while swimming, this is pretty fine.

3) Yesterday, my throat/voice/speech/breathing therapist taught me how to breathe. WTF?! This turns out to be crucial in sports, as I had intuited from those times like last week, when I feel I cannot. She tried to get me to see the image of an umbrella re: my diaphragm, but I find this logistically too distracting. Instead, I'm calling it bullfrog breathing. She's teaching me to accelerate proper breaths with increased work...the idea being that you can get as much air while you're exerting as while you're at rest. Totally revolutionary to me! If I can master that, I'll soon be kicking my own ass.

4) Am reading a book on mental training for triathletes. Authors say there are internal focusers and external focusers...I am definitely the latter...which means I freak myself out when I'm too internally focused...much better to think..."hey, I'm swimming in a choppy lake and as I rotate to breathe, I can see the half moon rising over the lake" than "hey, I'm swimming in a choppy lake and running into weeds and people kill weeds and weeds kill people and this is gonna kill me..." ... I mean, "hey, look at the gorgeous moon..." Definitely gotta work with this...

Three Months and Counting

Intense storms, some with 70 mph winds, are moving through my part of the world tonight. After a humid day with intermittent rain, it's become a cool evening with torrential downpours and cloudbursts. It is three months to the day from IM WI. If I'd made it through the swim and off the bike, would I have the wherewithal to make it to that finish line? You bet your bike I would.

A friend told me a story about someone doing her first Century ride yesterday. When she was four miles short of the finish, a race official told her they were calling the event because of reported tornadoes. "Like hell you are," she apparently responded. There's a new Century rider in the world today. I need to remember that attitude.

Stray things I have learned this weekend:

1. It is not wise to wear yellow into state parks in Wisconsin in bee season. The two bees that stung me yesterday were my teachers on this point. The nice state park ranger who sprayed Windex on one of those bites taught me two lessons: 1) ammonia can help these things and 2) it helps to laugh in the face of these adversities. Oh, yeah, and it's stupid to leave your epi-pen in the car when you go into the wilderness. D'oh.

2. The quickest way to improve your speed on the bike is to have your computer checked. Holy crap: my average speed increased by 3mph after I had the batteries changed on Friday.

3. It pays to stay in your own zone. After the weather calmed at mid-day, I decided I could get in a short ride; others in my trusted inner circle advised against it, given more storms were on the way. I decided to trust my gut, and was able to get in a nice 40 miler before the next wave of storms. Because I was doing a loop, I also kind of found a zone I haven't before on the bike, even though this was suburban riding. My quads are tight tonight in a way I like; the zone found me sprinting up little climbs in new ways and at higher cadences, instead of simply coming out of the saddle to grind up a hill. It felt g-o-o-d.

4. I have been deep in bike lust for a few months now and am working hard at the moment to rationalize the purchase of the object of my affections. Current rationalization: If I buy a bike that costs enough to feed several villages in Niger for the next decade, one I probably shouldn't really buy, I will have to chop my own food budget to pay for it. So: through excessive spending, I can cut both excess body weight and excess bike weight. And if I become a charity rider for plumpy nut, which seems like lifesaving food for both starving infants and casual triathletes, it will be an investment in the world's welfare...right?

5. It became clear to me today that I have to think about this Ironman, at least this first Ironman of mine, as being a very different "race" from the Ironman other people might have....and plan accordingly. For example, I spent some time with a friend who will probably finish the thing in eight hours or so, and we talked about nutrition--his plan: Gatoraid and gels. I am skeptical about this stuff since it's only sugar or worse. It's true I can ride a long time on water alone (though I need a lot of it), I'm discovering, but I know I need to refuel. Still, the people who finish in eight hours will have showered, eaten a pizza, had dessert, and then have eaten another pizza by the time those of us who will finish at midnight are at the run turnaround, staring down the evening. I suspect that 17 hours of effort requires a different fueling strategy than 8 hours of effort; seventeen hours maybe even affords you a few minutes to eat a sandwich! I need to remember that there was no cutoff for the original race...the goal was to finish. So, if I stop at the Qdoba for some beans in hour 15, am I less an Ironman than the original competitors, who were eating Big Macs en route....Big Macs given them by their crews, no less? But I digress: Bottom line: I need to get this fueling thing figured out relatively soon, so that it can be practiced over the next twelve weeks.

6, Listening to the thunder tonight, I am making lists of what I would want to have in my special needs bag if we had this weather 9/07/08....Dry socks, a wicking towel, my wicking thermal run cap, and some of those stick-on foot warmers come to mind. Hey, how about an umbrella and a thermos of Mexican hot chocolate?

7. But I get ahead of myself. Ironman is three months away, and there are other races along the path. I have many miles to go and promises to keep, miles to go and promises to keep, before I sleep. Next up: Horribly Hilly Hundreds, o my!

My Miracle Mile/It's My Tri and I'll Cry If I Want To

After a strong training weekend last weekend, the week fell apart.

I took Monday as a rest day, though I had an open water swim lesson that went well; on Tuesday, I swam a short distance in the quarry, then transitioned to a 30 miler with my tri club, then did a three mile run. Sounds good...except from the moment I was on the bike, I felt as though I were breathing through two teeny tiny straws...sometimes fewer.

We started out on the same hill I'd started my good ride on Sunday, but unlike Sunday, I was struggling and immediately dropped by the group. This discomfort continued through the run. I'm glad I stayed with it through the run, but was so exhausted from the breathing issue by the end that I felt totally full of stress hormones...like crying was going to be the only way to get them out of my system. I didn't quite go there, but it was right under the surface, even though I thought I was being philosophical about the whole thing....if philosophical means accepting the truth that this is impossible, that is...

I discovered later that most of the riders in the group are fast, elite, experienced endurance athletes, so I felt a little better about totally being dropped, but it is frustrating to feel there's some sort of physiological impairment---this chest tightness/breathing issue---that keeps me from doing everything I know my legs are capable of. At any rate: Wednesday night, I did intervals in the arb; Thursday night, started a run, but discovered there was nothing in the tank. Took it easy Friday, though taking it easy was not on the schedule. Felt like taking it easy today, and worried over how easily *that* could be a habit. Two open water swims in two days were cancelled b/c of weather. My goal had been to swim my first open water mile this weekend, but inertia was setting in. I did go cheer friends on at the Capitol View Triathlon, and was totally intimidated by how far the Olympic swim seemed to be. Again I wondered what the heck I have been thinking.

Finally, I required myself to go to the Y and swim. Got in the water by 6:06; Y closes at 7. Comfortably swam 1800 continuous meters in the following 50 minutes---no hurry, worry, muss or fuss. I thought that was 1 mile and discovered later that it is actually a bit more, which is good, given that I should swim the mile faster. STILL: it is my first continuous mile w/o fins or a pull bouy (let alone a wetsuit), so tonight I feel like crying for different reasons---joy, relief, amazement at how far the swim has come in the last month. I could have kept going, save for the pool closing. It was actually almost relaxing, dare I say? It's still a long way to 2.4 in open water, and it's freakish short time between now and the weekend after next, when I'm scheduled to do a half ironman in two weeks---am I ready?---but it is a sign of progress.



Ironman Wisconsin is three months from today, by the numbers, 12 weeks from tomorrow by the day. As I write this at 10:48, I recognize that I could be coming in the final turn just about now. I suspect I might be crying then, too.

Things You Still Can Learn

Ironman training is teaching me lots of things:

1. Training actually makes a difference.
2. Experience makes a difference.
3. The hills are psychological, as well as alive with music.
4. Everybody has a theory about What to Eat, including a guy today who told me to eat a PDQ sticky bun and two strips of bacon for breakfast before IM.
5. I am way stronger than I realized.
6. If you run slowly, but ask somebody ---like your coach---what is up, you could go from running 12 minute mile to running 8 minute miles in like, nothing flat. Who knew?
7. Putting a 12-27 on the bike makes those hills a whole lot more friendly.


Today, I rode my first full 2008 circuit of the Ironman Loop. In 2006, I rode the loop once, at the end of my first biking summer, with someone preparing for IMWI 06. Walking was involved, although the ego prevented the crying. In 2007, I attempted the route three times and had issues each time. In 2008, I have taken it piece by piece--one trip from Verona to Mt. Horeb to Cross Plains a few weeks back, one out-and-back from Timber Lane up Old Sauk Pass and down Old Sauk and back, a night of hill repeats on Old Sauk, and a couple of car trips around the full loop. Today, I put it together---and had a great ride. The weather was great, the wind was good, and no walking was involved---these all were important factors. Still, I suspect the deciding one was totally excellent company---a group of riders enjoying the day, not worried about pace, and very sweet about and encouraging of my IM aspirations, despite my limitations. Being in such good company on such a fine day totally took my mind away from the usual worries and allowed me to just ride my ride...which resulted in my ironloop PR. Hills I walked two years ago, I now ride; places I've had probelms before, are just places I know. I am feeling very fortunate....and also hoping that IM day is no warmer than this---the aborted missions all happened in the heat. It's all about the attitude, the company, the weather, and the nutrition. Oh, yeah: and the training.

Today's ride followed a good run and a great swim (relatively speaking) yesterday (good god, pool swimming is easier now that I've been in the lake!!). IMWI is 3 months and 6 days away. There's a lot to do and learn, but this weekend gave me evidence that it is coming together. I am on the edge of having the confidence to ask people to put it on their calendars.