I am a couch potato. Unmotivated, uninspired...lazy. There are far too many other things I need to get done, but right now, I'm happy with my sofa and TV...and a Family Size bag of Ruffles.
Seriously.
For any of you who read my last post, you may be laughing your head off and saying, "Yeah, right! How does a couch potato finish a 3-race series, lasting over 100 miles?!?! Lazy? I don't think so." Others of you who know me very well also would be laughing your head off and saying, "Yes. Yes you are that thing...couch potato." Either way, you are laughing your head off.
Until I discovered triathlon racing, tried my best to stay "fit." I spent up to an hour almost every day doing a cardio/weight video combination. After several weeks of this, I'd get bored and take a day off...which turned into 2 weeks. So I'd start all over again. Although one could say I was healthy, I would not have called myself trim. I could perform the exercises in the videos extremely well. But that's all my fitness was good for. Rock climbing? Lousy. Hiking? Slow. Skiing...well, I actually got pretty good, but that's beside the point. I was a terrible runner, and the bike was merely a method of transportation.
Frankly, I don't know when my "Eureka" moment came, but I found that I am highly motivated by goals. If I have something for which to train, I will stay on task and not quit out of boredom. I'm not talking about slimming down for swimsuit season or a wedding. Rather a real, honest-to-goodness race. Regardless of distance or discipline, if there is a finish line involved, hand me a training plan and I will follow it to the letter (at least 85% of the time).
"But Heather, didn't you just sign up for 140.6? Don't you have a goal in place?" Well yes, but if I start training now, I can guarantee burnout by Christmas...possibly even by Halloween. No, I need an off season. Which is right now. This is a happy place, filled with basking in the glow of my recent finish, knowing I don't have to schedule in a workout, and discovering Nutella. I could bring my goggles to the pool, but why? Strap my shoes on for a quick jog, but I'd rather sleep in.
Right now, I'm at the tail end of a safe recovery period. I've run 30 minutes and done 30 minutes of core training since Boulder 70.3. I'm relatively pain-free, and I have regained a bit of energy. I've devolved into a slug...a slug who knows if she doesn't get off the couch soon, she will start losing 20 weeks worth of hard work. I am in a lull. Ironman Boulder is 50 weeks away (yes, I've already started counting), but I'm also looking for an intermediate goal...perhaps a full marathon.
Something's gotta happen soon. The lack of impending goal is messing with me. I am itching for a new plan. I have completely reorganized my entire house. I need a race by Christmas, or I will lose my mind.
I miss the runner's high, the burning sensation in my quads after I climb a hill, and the inability to lift my arms after a 3000 meter swim. Ab-busting core workouts leave me incapable of laughing without crying...hahaha ow haha ow. I'd complain about how much some training session stunk only to notice my clothes are looser.
Without a finish line, I am directionless in my fitness...adrift in a sea of possibilities, overwhelmed by options...so I think I'll park my hinder in a lawn chair. When I have a goal, I feel there is purpose in getting out of bed. Or at least purpose in passing the ice cream aisle at the grocery store without stopping.
I will have an off season training plan in place in the next few days, but for now, I'll rest, recover and look forward to the next finish line.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
FASTER AND FARTHER -- BOULDER TRI SERIES 2013
2013 by the numbers:
Weeks of race-specific training: 20
Race mileage: 119.24
Training mileage: 1105.22
Total swim miles: 59.49
Total Bike Miles: 885.61
Total Run Miles: 129.36
Total Training/Race hours: 142.68
On a cool, bright, January morning earlier this year, I was sitting at Starbucks, my laptop open, the atomic clock counting down. Soon the Boulder Tri Series would open its virtual doors for registration in this 3 race collection. My heart pounding with excitement, I was practically giddy like some pre-pubescent girl waiting to get One Direction tickets.
Then came my most intense race season yet, officially starting my training March 18th. Over the course of 20 weeks, I experienced so many phases of emotions. Excitement at the prospect of a new training regimen gave way to...boredom. The first two months wasn't so much working out harder as much as working out more -- building endurance through more hours. I spent so much time on the bike trainer catching up on shows like Alias, 24, Lost, and Heroes -- anything to distract myself from the sheer volume of hours. I can think of fewer things more boring than 90 minutes on a stationary bike...Just about the time I started running out of shows and movies to watch, the weather cleared up to get out on the road!
When I missed a workout, I felt somehow I had to make it up somewhere...and sometimes I did. Missing several days because of a cold or other health issues brought me to overwhelming guilt. Then in May and June, I spent much of my time either tired or hungry...usually both! My understanding angel of a son would allow me to power nap for 20 minutes after lunch. I'd wake up by 5:30 every morning to get in a workout, and be in bed by 9:00 every night.
When my taper started in mid-July, I was ready for the 70.3. I had become tired -- not tired of training, but tired of swim/bike/run swim/bike/run swim/bike/run swim/bike/run. Even more so, I grew weary of the mental gymnastics it took to figure out when I would even get the training in. Every week, I would sit down with my training plan and my calendar and begin the mental juggling act that rivals Cirque du Soleil. "Okay, Soren is at school from 9 to 1, I have a dentist appointment at 9:30, so if I bring my running shoes, I could go 90 minutes and still make it to the store before I pick him up." This was a daily dialogue. I would look at my weekly training schedule and try to fit it in when my son was either at preschool or with his dad, and on a couple of occasions I would hire a sitter. Sometimes all this perfect planning to the minute would result in complete upheaval. I believe it was Sun Tzu that said, "no battle plan survives contact with the enemy." My battle plan was the training, the "enemy" was the rest of my life. If plans had to change because of something completely out of my control, I would tailspin into a stress bucket, then have to let that workout go. 18 weeks into my training, I was mentally exhausted by my schedule.
June and July brought the races themselves. The first, Boulder Sprint, was a well-supported training day. I nailed this course with my fastest sprint time ever, beating my previous record by 12 minutes. I realized that I enjoyed the Sprint distance because I can push my speed, I don't have to worry about eating during the race -- one GU packet and I'm good, and I have the rest of the day to...I don't know...mow my lawn, finish laundry, or work on a quilt. Not that I ever did any of these things on race day, but it's the thought that counts.
The second race was the Boulder Peak. Truth be told, I had more concerns about this race than the 70.3 that would finish out my training season. The 2006 Peak was my worst race day ever. Old Stage Road on the Bike course gains 600 feet in elevation over 2/3 of a mile. I have nothing nice to say about this, and if I can't say anything nice, then I won't say anything at all. This year's Peak was as much a hard training day as it was exorcising my 2006 demons. I trained harder, I am mentally tougher, and I was not going to let the Peak beat me this time. I came off that race 7 minutes faster than my previous Olympic distance record, and an hour and 6 minutes faster than the 2006 Peak. Every single mile of that race was a personal victory. Afterward, I can prove that there is such a thing as a runners high, because I signed up for Ironman Boulder.
While waiting three more weeks for the final race, I felt a bit of an anti-climax. I just finished my best race ever and registered for a huge race in 2014, and I still had another first-time event ahead of me.
Last but not least, the Ironman Boulder 70.3 -- a half-Ironman distance the first weekend in August.
So let's start with the Expo -- the pre-race event where all of the sponsors promote their products and stores in pop-up tents, and where the athletes go to pick up their race numbers/swag bag and get the race briefing. At the Sprint and the Peak, there were maybe a dozen tents at which I got some good stuff: huge deal on a new tri suit and a box of Stinger Waffles. A fun atmosphere, and nothing I hadn't seen at other races. At 70.3, I was greeted first by the Ironman Village inflatable arch. I hadn't even walked into the Expo yet, and my heart is beating faster! All around me there were people wearing finisher's gear from one IM event or another, and I started to feel like I did at my first triathlon in 2004 -- I was way out of my league...what on earth am I doing here?! I am surrounded by professional triathletes and seasoned veterans half my age...or older than me, and I knew they would smoke me on the course. It was at that point that my tummy began to revolt...to spare you details, that didn't stop until Tuesday after the race.
I picked up my race packet: race numbers, swim cap, timing chip, t-shirt, AWESOME swag bag, then unlike the other two races, walked directly into the "Ironman Official Merchandise Store." Heeheeheeheehee. Let's just say I got a lot of Christmas shopping done. I also bought a gray race t-shirt for myself, failing to see that it said "finisher" on the back. I didn't notice this until I got home, and hoped I didn't jinx myself.
After putting my gear together and making sure the laundry was done (I knew I wouldn't want to deal with it for days after the race), I tried to get to sleep. It wasn't happening.
3:00 am Wake up, packed up my gear and off to the race. I arrived at Boulder Reservoir so early that I got to park right next to the expo. Since I still had time before they even opened the transition zone, I stared up into a crystal clear starry pre-dawn sky. A dozen shooting stars flew overhead. It was going to be a good day.
The nerves never settled until I was standing a the water's edge awaiting my wave start. In the cool morning, my feet raced down the beach, I bounded several strides into the water, then plunged into the water to do what I do best. The swim is mine. It always has been. No matter how I feel about my life, I know I am a great swimmer, and that anything that is troubling me will melt away with every bubble I blow. I kept to the outside and swam my race. I was happy being in the water having started the race I had been training for the last 5 months. I swam until the water was shallow enough for my outstretched fingers to scrape the sandy bottom, then dashed up the hill to my bike.
In transition, I took my time before heading out for my 3+ hour ride. I was very confident with the course. I had ridden all of it at least twice, thanks to some very special friends. On those training rides, I thought a 17.5 mph average would get me through the 56 mile ride in under 3:15. I am feeling fantastic, however. I blew by an aid station with every intention of grabbing some GU, but instead, I almost took the poor volunteer's arm off. Sorry...Whoever you are! When I hit the halfway point, I looked down at my time. I had laid down 28 miles in 1 hour and 25 minutes. This. This was amazing, and it caused problems later. At that point, I started talking myself into a sub-3 hour ride -- I committed a cardinal sin in racing...I changed my race plan. I rode harder than I should have, with most of the remainder of the course ever so slightly uphill. By mile 40, everything started to hurt. Back. Hips. Feet. Neck. Ahem...bicycle seat area. All of it hurt, I still pushed for that 3 hour ride, and I almost made it, coming in at 3:01.
I took my time again in transition to finish a sandwich and do a once-over with spray sunscreen. But here is the most awesome thing I saw all day. The volunteers in transition, wearing latex gloves with handfuls of sunscreen ready to slather up the racers! I mean, how cool is this!!
Somewhere along the line, I forgot I had a half marathon to run. That push for sub-3 on the bike made for a lousy first 5k. My tummy had come back into open revolt. There was no consuming anything but water, ice, and GU. No Gatorade, no fruit or cookies...my gut just wouldn't have it. I walked up every hill and through every aid station, rejecting everything I had ever trained myself about running (don't stop to walk). The thing I found most odd was the seasoned veterans doing the same thing. That helped my mindset, because I felt like I wasn't the only one in pain. Lap 1, the first 6.5 miles was painful. I did not get my run legs until halfway through the first lap. With as crappy as I started feeling, I was moved by the volunteers and the other fans cheering. With my first name on my bib number, a cheering supporter would call me by name, "You look great, Heather! Keep it up!" A volunteer was walking the last mile and a half of the course, it was a quiet area right before the course descended into the finish line crowd. On the first lap, he said, "You've got this, Heather. This is your race. Your day." When I think about that moment, I am moved to tears. I couldn't afford to get emotional, because I had to run past the finish line to go out for my second lap. The hardest part of the day was running past the finish line, hearing the announcer call out names of the finishers while I just kept running right past it. I did nothing differently on the second lap. As I came up into the last 5k, I started thinking. This is it. I'm doing it. I looked down at my watch, the mileage read 68.9...I'm so close...don't cry yet...don't cry yet. Then my volunteer friend was still positioned in that unpopulated spot on the course. He held his hand up for a high five and said, "You're killing it, Heather." That's when I started crying...well, no tears because I was so dehydrated, but the pictures betray my grimace of pain and elation. Victory was mine. I crossed the finish line, barely believing I had done it. My brother, Chris, who was there at all three races, hugged me, and I think I pretty much collapsed. But I finished a half Ironman distance. My longest race ever. Now I can wear the t-shirt I bought myself.
The training, the juggling, the suffering, the exhaustion...all of it over the last 20 weeks was worth it. Not because I had any finish time of note. No, rather I achieved something I never had before.
So next year, same time, same place...double the distance.
Weeks of race-specific training: 20
Race mileage: 119.24
Training mileage: 1105.22
Total swim miles: 59.49
Total Bike Miles: 885.61
Total Run Miles: 129.36
Total Training/Race hours: 142.68
On a cool, bright, January morning earlier this year, I was sitting at Starbucks, my laptop open, the atomic clock counting down. Soon the Boulder Tri Series would open its virtual doors for registration in this 3 race collection. My heart pounding with excitement, I was practically giddy like some pre-pubescent girl waiting to get One Direction tickets.
Then came my most intense race season yet, officially starting my training March 18th. Over the course of 20 weeks, I experienced so many phases of emotions. Excitement at the prospect of a new training regimen gave way to...boredom. The first two months wasn't so much working out harder as much as working out more -- building endurance through more hours. I spent so much time on the bike trainer catching up on shows like Alias, 24, Lost, and Heroes -- anything to distract myself from the sheer volume of hours. I can think of fewer things more boring than 90 minutes on a stationary bike...Just about the time I started running out of shows and movies to watch, the weather cleared up to get out on the road!
When I missed a workout, I felt somehow I had to make it up somewhere...and sometimes I did. Missing several days because of a cold or other health issues brought me to overwhelming guilt. Then in May and June, I spent much of my time either tired or hungry...usually both! My understanding angel of a son would allow me to power nap for 20 minutes after lunch. I'd wake up by 5:30 every morning to get in a workout, and be in bed by 9:00 every night.
When my taper started in mid-July, I was ready for the 70.3. I had become tired -- not tired of training, but tired of swim/bike/run swim/bike/run swim/bike/run swim/bike/run. Even more so, I grew weary of the mental gymnastics it took to figure out when I would even get the training in. Every week, I would sit down with my training plan and my calendar and begin the mental juggling act that rivals Cirque du Soleil. "Okay, Soren is at school from 9 to 1, I have a dentist appointment at 9:30, so if I bring my running shoes, I could go 90 minutes and still make it to the store before I pick him up." This was a daily dialogue. I would look at my weekly training schedule and try to fit it in when my son was either at preschool or with his dad, and on a couple of occasions I would hire a sitter. Sometimes all this perfect planning to the minute would result in complete upheaval. I believe it was Sun Tzu that said, "no battle plan survives contact with the enemy." My battle plan was the training, the "enemy" was the rest of my life. If plans had to change because of something completely out of my control, I would tailspin into a stress bucket, then have to let that workout go. 18 weeks into my training, I was mentally exhausted by my schedule.
June and July brought the races themselves. The first, Boulder Sprint, was a well-supported training day. I nailed this course with my fastest sprint time ever, beating my previous record by 12 minutes. I realized that I enjoyed the Sprint distance because I can push my speed, I don't have to worry about eating during the race -- one GU packet and I'm good, and I have the rest of the day to...I don't know...mow my lawn, finish laundry, or work on a quilt. Not that I ever did any of these things on race day, but it's the thought that counts.
The second race was the Boulder Peak. Truth be told, I had more concerns about this race than the 70.3 that would finish out my training season. The 2006 Peak was my worst race day ever. Old Stage Road on the Bike course gains 600 feet in elevation over 2/3 of a mile. I have nothing nice to say about this, and if I can't say anything nice, then I won't say anything at all. This year's Peak was as much a hard training day as it was exorcising my 2006 demons. I trained harder, I am mentally tougher, and I was not going to let the Peak beat me this time. I came off that race 7 minutes faster than my previous Olympic distance record, and an hour and 6 minutes faster than the 2006 Peak. Every single mile of that race was a personal victory. Afterward, I can prove that there is such a thing as a runners high, because I signed up for Ironman Boulder.
While waiting three more weeks for the final race, I felt a bit of an anti-climax. I just finished my best race ever and registered for a huge race in 2014, and I still had another first-time event ahead of me.
Last but not least, the Ironman Boulder 70.3 -- a half-Ironman distance the first weekend in August.
So let's start with the Expo -- the pre-race event where all of the sponsors promote their products and stores in pop-up tents, and where the athletes go to pick up their race numbers/swag bag and get the race briefing. At the Sprint and the Peak, there were maybe a dozen tents at which I got some good stuff: huge deal on a new tri suit and a box of Stinger Waffles. A fun atmosphere, and nothing I hadn't seen at other races. At 70.3, I was greeted first by the Ironman Village inflatable arch. I hadn't even walked into the Expo yet, and my heart is beating faster! All around me there were people wearing finisher's gear from one IM event or another, and I started to feel like I did at my first triathlon in 2004 -- I was way out of my league...what on earth am I doing here?! I am surrounded by professional triathletes and seasoned veterans half my age...or older than me, and I knew they would smoke me on the course. It was at that point that my tummy began to revolt...to spare you details, that didn't stop until Tuesday after the race.
I picked up my race packet: race numbers, swim cap, timing chip, t-shirt, AWESOME swag bag, then unlike the other two races, walked directly into the "Ironman Official Merchandise Store." Heeheeheeheehee. Let's just say I got a lot of Christmas shopping done. I also bought a gray race t-shirt for myself, failing to see that it said "finisher" on the back. I didn't notice this until I got home, and hoped I didn't jinx myself.
After putting my gear together and making sure the laundry was done (I knew I wouldn't want to deal with it for days after the race), I tried to get to sleep. It wasn't happening.
3:00 am Wake up, packed up my gear and off to the race. I arrived at Boulder Reservoir so early that I got to park right next to the expo. Since I still had time before they even opened the transition zone, I stared up into a crystal clear starry pre-dawn sky. A dozen shooting stars flew overhead. It was going to be a good day.
The nerves never settled until I was standing a the water's edge awaiting my wave start. In the cool morning, my feet raced down the beach, I bounded several strides into the water, then plunged into the water to do what I do best. The swim is mine. It always has been. No matter how I feel about my life, I know I am a great swimmer, and that anything that is troubling me will melt away with every bubble I blow. I kept to the outside and swam my race. I was happy being in the water having started the race I had been training for the last 5 months. I swam until the water was shallow enough for my outstretched fingers to scrape the sandy bottom, then dashed up the hill to my bike.
In transition, I took my time before heading out for my 3+ hour ride. I was very confident with the course. I had ridden all of it at least twice, thanks to some very special friends. On those training rides, I thought a 17.5 mph average would get me through the 56 mile ride in under 3:15. I am feeling fantastic, however. I blew by an aid station with every intention of grabbing some GU, but instead, I almost took the poor volunteer's arm off. Sorry...Whoever you are! When I hit the halfway point, I looked down at my time. I had laid down 28 miles in 1 hour and 25 minutes. This. This was amazing, and it caused problems later. At that point, I started talking myself into a sub-3 hour ride -- I committed a cardinal sin in racing...I changed my race plan. I rode harder than I should have, with most of the remainder of the course ever so slightly uphill. By mile 40, everything started to hurt. Back. Hips. Feet. Neck. Ahem...bicycle seat area. All of it hurt, I still pushed for that 3 hour ride, and I almost made it, coming in at 3:01.
I took my time again in transition to finish a sandwich and do a once-over with spray sunscreen. But here is the most awesome thing I saw all day. The volunteers in transition, wearing latex gloves with handfuls of sunscreen ready to slather up the racers! I mean, how cool is this!!
Somewhere along the line, I forgot I had a half marathon to run. That push for sub-3 on the bike made for a lousy first 5k. My tummy had come back into open revolt. There was no consuming anything but water, ice, and GU. No Gatorade, no fruit or cookies...my gut just wouldn't have it. I walked up every hill and through every aid station, rejecting everything I had ever trained myself about running (don't stop to walk). The thing I found most odd was the seasoned veterans doing the same thing. That helped my mindset, because I felt like I wasn't the only one in pain. Lap 1, the first 6.5 miles was painful. I did not get my run legs until halfway through the first lap. With as crappy as I started feeling, I was moved by the volunteers and the other fans cheering. With my first name on my bib number, a cheering supporter would call me by name, "You look great, Heather! Keep it up!" A volunteer was walking the last mile and a half of the course, it was a quiet area right before the course descended into the finish line crowd. On the first lap, he said, "You've got this, Heather. This is your race. Your day." When I think about that moment, I am moved to tears. I couldn't afford to get emotional, because I had to run past the finish line to go out for my second lap. The hardest part of the day was running past the finish line, hearing the announcer call out names of the finishers while I just kept running right past it. I did nothing differently on the second lap. As I came up into the last 5k, I started thinking. This is it. I'm doing it. I looked down at my watch, the mileage read 68.9...I'm so close...don't cry yet...don't cry yet. Then my volunteer friend was still positioned in that unpopulated spot on the course. He held his hand up for a high five and said, "You're killing it, Heather." That's when I started crying...well, no tears because I was so dehydrated, but the pictures betray my grimace of pain and elation. Victory was mine. I crossed the finish line, barely believing I had done it. My brother, Chris, who was there at all three races, hugged me, and I think I pretty much collapsed. But I finished a half Ironman distance. My longest race ever. Now I can wear the t-shirt I bought myself.
The training, the juggling, the suffering, the exhaustion...all of it over the last 20 weeks was worth it. Not because I had any finish time of note. No, rather I achieved something I never had before.
So next year, same time, same place...double the distance.
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