Swim/Team
Since shacking up in SoCal beginning in late March, I’ve been concentrating on swimming, partially because it’s GORGEOUS AND I GET TO SWIM OUTDOORS HERE!!! …. and mostly by default: running and biking haven’t happened since unraveling some old injuries. Tis a pity, seeing as I have a sweet new bike setup and brand new fit, but we’ll have to talk about that another day. For now I want to talk about a little swim meet I did and my experience doing the “aquabeer” at Wildflower.
You know I grew up swimming. That doesn’t mean that I love it, it certainly doesn’t mean I’m the fastest one in the pool, and I’m definitely not swimming 9x a week or anything (though I could, seeing as there are pools and practices EVERYWHERE here). I am putting in about twice as many yards as I ever did while training in Chicago. <rant> Gains in swimming are infinitesimal and don’t happen overnight, or even in one season. They aren’t even measured in seconds, sometimes, but in how you feel going into and coming out from the water: are you anxious? Do you have to soft pedal the opening miles of the bike? If you want to play at the pointy end of the race, you have to get in the water. A lot. A lot more than 2x a week, swimming behind the same people, never pushing or making it uncomfortable for yourself. </rant>
On April 27 I partook of my first swim meet since college. The Conejo Vally Multisport Masters (CVMM) group has been wonderful and welcoming, and I was happy to register for the 500 free to try to earn a few points for the team’s standings at this little regional champ meet. Coach Nancy Reno and her staff are legit swimmers who put together great workouts that really challenge me and help set benchmarks. I’ve identified exactly where I’m weakest (swimming 25s, 50s, and 100s –still can’t sprint!), and where I’m stronger (finding a pace and nailing it). I had formed a general idea how to swim the event: to take the first 100 for what it was (it would be fast given the dive and initial adrenaline rush), but manage the effort so as not to completely fall apart in the back half. Ideally my last 100 would be my fastest, but since I hadn’t swum the 500 in 19+ years I didn’t give myself enough credit to pull off a negative-split like that.
The 500 was the first event on Saturday morning, which allowed us to get in a good warm-up and do the event as a swim test, then move on with the rest of our day (Dusty had a ridiculous bike and run. I sat by the pool). I had thrown out my back TWICE in the previous week, though, so wasn’t sure if I was going to participate. We got there and I just felt like jumping in the (gorgeous, sparkling) water. I’m really glad I gave it a shot, since my back loosened up nicely during warm-up in my ol’ practice suit.
The hardest part of the day was squeezing in to my new Blue Seventy neroXII race suit before the event. Anyone remember paper suits? It’s like that, but with way less “accidental transparency” (plus it’s now available in blue and pink!). I had never used the suit before, and decided to go into the event “dry” (ie with no splashy-splashy before diving off the block). What a feeling! The FINA-approved suit is really incredible: via space-age voodoo, it basically repels water so you have that shark skin effect, and it compresses your bits so there’s no extra flop when you flip. Quite a rush.
Thankfully we had done some sets off the blocks at Saturday morning workouts, so I remembered how to keep my goggles on and didn’t mess up my depth too much. What’s eerie is as soon as I dove off the block, my mind went blank and all I did was swim. I didn’t over-think, and I wasn’t distracted so kept count myself (but big thanks to CVMM’s Addie for being my lap counter anyway!), and I even put together my walls and underwaters with both feet planted on my turns and tight butterfly-kickin’ streamlines. I guess it was like “going back to my roots” –back to summer league swim meets when all you had to do was GO –executing the race as your coach prescribed wasn’t even a *thing.* Really, though, I think it was the lack of pressure for tying something NEW(ish). I didn’t know how I’d do or what I was capable of, so let it all go and just swam. I really encourage everyone to join a masters team to make new friends, learn what “swimming like a swimmer” really means, and remember what it’s like to HAVE FUN on race day.
Anyway, I’m pretty happy with the results, and I like that you could play a game of “go fish” with my 50 splits.
On to Wildflower!
A few weeks ago, Dusty kindly skipped the Mulholland Challenge so as to allow me to preview the course at Wildflower. All I can say is… wow. After running a mere 5.4 miles of the course, I was totally OK when Coach Steve and I decided it was best if I didn’t push through 12.7 relatively untrained miles on race day. When Blair told me it would be best if I avoided using my hip flexors for a little while, not biking was kinda OK too. The Wildflower bike and run courses are really challenging, especially for a flatlander like me, and going into it crippled and out of shape wouldn’t have been too smart.
I would be “just swimming” the long course course on Saturday, and otherwise generally hanging out with the Wattie Ink crew there to support Heather Jackson as she defended her title from last year.
After a stop in Ventura for some MAT with Blair, and a quick lunch in oh-so-charming Solvang, Dusty and I arrived at Lake San Antonio on Thursday. We were greeted by Massi (who may or may not be associated with the now-famous Eurostar) and Mrs. Massi, Jeff “Pompadong” “Big Pompa” Mo, and Robert “Flabby” Flannigan, as well as Wattie, Heather “HJ” Jackson, Chris “ChiChi” Jackson (Heather’s dad, who races long course, as does her mom), the Leavitt family, and other assorted Inkers. It was great to meet people, and to be there early enough to enjoy a few beers before race nerves set in for everyone –or while Heather could still hide hers. =)
Wattie Ink and the Lucky Camper (our band name). L->R Dusters, Tina, Pompa, ChiChi, Flabby, Mrs. Massi (holding banner), moi (holding beer), THE HEATHER JACKSON, Peter (holding Baby Eurostar holding vomit), Eurostar, Aaron. Wattie behind camera.
Friday was fairly quiet, beginning with breakfast in the VIP tent –where I ran in to the Anderson brothers (hey Gavin, update your blog!) and Michellie Jones– then a brief 10 minute swim chasing Heather and Jackie Arendt (unbeknownst to them). Later, we received shipment of our much-awaited special-order Blue Seventy Helix wetsuits! I took mine out of the package to admire it and let it flatten out a bit before its maiden voyage the following day. I was thrilled to find a cap and timing chip strap, some RAD STICKERS (which I love), as well as a bright yellow cap and matching Vision goggles, both of which will get a test run at the Tower26 open water swim workouts I’m going to starting next week! Squee, new equipment!
I prettymuch sat around and drank beer while everyone set up their bikes and started getting more and more “in the zone.” We Watties gathered at the top of Lynch Hill for a group photo shoot with Dusty’s buddy, Tyler Olson, as well as the Reynold’s Cycling (wheels, yo) reps. The pics look pretty badass, but I can’t share them yet 
Then early to bed, early to rise, etc.
Saturday wasn’t that early for me, actually. The pro race at Wildflower begins at a very civilized 8am, and transition remains wide open, you just have to have bikes racked by 7:30. I didn’t have to worry about a bike, but I did want to watch the start and Sherpa for Dusty as he set up. Michellie Jones and Julie Moss were emceeing the event… which, between Michellie’s Aussie accent-cum-drawl-cum-question-mark-at-the-end-of-each-statement? and Moss’ penchant to shout into the mic, was comedy (and not in the Lucy/Ethyl sense). Dusty got settled in and we watched many many waves together before he went off at 8:30. After bidding him adieu for his start, I had plenty of time to watch the pros come in, then see Dusty transition and take off on the bike before my wave at 9:20 –or so I thought.
Among the highlights –beside seeing Thomas Gerlach (who I didn’t realize was here) run up the boat ramp wearing shoes (not “pro” but it gave him a slight advantage)– was watching Wattie take pics and spot for Heather. He positioned himself on the boat ramp and signaled that Heather was 3 minutes behind the leaders after her non-wetsuit swim.
When you’re the defending champ and at the front of the race, you need this kind of help to inform your race tactics. Heather has always been a baller cyclist, but has sacrificed some of that speed in order to become a stellar runner (with a 1:14 open half-mary time). She has confidence in her run, and was able to run down ITU athlete Sarah Groff at the Olympic distance. Her race would require her to manage the competition and her effort on the bike to ensure a great run on in extremely challenging conditions (HJ’s ebullient race report here). I also got to see Dusty head out of transition onto the bike. He was being smart in the opening yards while the riff-raff around him were weaving all over the course.
So then I had aaaaaaaaall this time before my own wave, right? I meandered back into transition and put some things down in my spot, then started working in to my new wetsuit. Before I knew it, though, Michellie Jones was shouting “OKAAAY WEHMEN 35-39 WEETH THE BROITE GREEN KEPS? YOOAH NAEXT?” into the mic. FUCKBALLS! I yanked up my wetsuit and went barreling down the boat ramp (this “ramp” is like .2 miles long of sharp ouchy concrete, by the way), paused just long enough to get two other women to help me get my sleeves on and zip me up, then elbowed my way up to the front of the pack. The adrenaline was great, but so much for a good warm-up.
Before I knew it, Julie Moss was counting us down from 5, the airhorn blew, and we were off. I got a quick running (some would say “slightly illegal”) start and found myself a body length ahead. WOOO ADRENALINE! Before we got to the first buoy, however, I felt constant tapping on my feet. As we rounded the buoy, FOUR women surrounded me and quickly shot off into the distance. WTF? This is a new experience for me. Or, not since 2010 have I been so thoroughly trounced in the swim. I immediately started referring to (cursing) them as “the Cali girls,” and sure enough, when I reviewed the results later it turned out that all 4 were from California. The fastest of them went on to have a 25 minute swim split. Shitfire!
That guy behind me gets it.
The remaining mile of the swim was pretty unremarkable: after the Cali girls went by I didn’t see another BROITE GREEN KEP to pace with. Instead I saw a sea of bobbing purple ones: my wave went off third-to-last and after the Team in Training wave. So. I spent a ton of time and effort weaving between the Teamsters, attempting to sight into the sun, and regretting not having the opportunity to soak my brand new (tight) wetsuit the night before. The Helix is amazingly buoyant with the most flexible arms of any wetsuit I’ve ever used, but it didn’t save my lats from getting a little tight (lack of warm-up is to blame, really, not the suit). I completed the swim in 30:21, which is pretty good, but I wish I had arbitrarily broken 30. (Concensus is that the course was about 200 yards long, accounting for slow pro splits and making me think I could have gone 28ish in better circumstances. C’est la vie!)
I decided it would be HILARIOUS to run through T1 in my wetsuit and steal the fastest split from whoever looks at that kind of thing. I shuffled up the boat ramp and straight to the bike out. Hilarity (?). The boat ramp is looooong and I was slooooow and can’t run right now, certainly not uphill. My split there was 1:49.
And that was the end of my race day.
I spent the rest of the day managing the heat and waiting for people to finish. I just missed Jesse THOMAS (NOT “THOMPSON,” Michellie and Julie) win his third Wildflower, but did see the bulk of the pro men come in. There was a lot of build up for Heather’s finish: she had taken the lead at mile 4 on the run, having finally caught superstud cyclist and dark horse Kat Baker, and was putting in time. After grabbing the tape in triumph, she immediately clutched her side, suffering from a major side stitch brought on by the massive downhill on Lynch just before the finish. That was her second win at Wildflower, and her third major win this season.
I “get” why both Heather and Jesse came back to Wildflower: Ironman St. George 70.3, which took place the same weekend, offered triple the appearance fee, triple the primes, triple the prize money, but Wildflower is a true, grassroots race with high production value, and EVERYONE is treated really well there. Your attendance is rewarded with a great event and rockstar status. I can’t neglect to admit that my experience was made particularly amazing for being there with Dusty (race report pending COMPLETE!) and Wattie Ink: we had a great RV rental (I DON’T DO TENTS) set up in a little Wattie Ink enclave, right next to Wattie and Heather and everyone. We were hooked up with the VIP treatment, and got a ton of attention from the Tri California folks as well as grateful and generous Wattie Ink sponsors including PowerBar, Scott Bikes, Reynolds, and BlueSeventy (in absentia). The Wattie Ink Elite Team is twice as big as it was last year, which makes it an unruly but noisy bunch of promoters, but also means that we had people finishing across the board, all day; from OG and neo-pro Erin Green, to overall female winner (Sarah Barkley), through all the age groups, to second-to-last. Heather’s likeness, smile and tats and midriff and all, was engraved on the back of this year’s prize medals –even Jesse’s, which was funny. Here’s fellow Wattie Gerry Forman, the new owner of the 75-79 course record and all-around inspirational guy, with his.
GERRY, like a boss.
Saturday night was the awards ceremony (where we squatted with Wattie and Heather as well as Jesse THOMAS and his something-like-37-week-pregnant and arguably-the-best-athlete-in-attendance wife, Lauren Fleshman), and a huge party (made sweeter by being able to toast the champ, and made weirder when we merged with Triathlete Magazine’s party). Sunday was a major shift in weather and the Olympic distance race (featuring a major Collegiate competition). All in all, Wildflower was a great time, and I highly recommend making the trip to anyone who wants to feel close to both the roots and the stars of triathlon.
I Have a Toothache in My Leg.
So as I described, I’ve been attempting to “rebuild” my season… which officially starts ThIS CoMiNg wEEkEnD at Wildflower, followed by a number of races Dusty and I already planned out and arranged for.
Ummmm, little problem. I’ve obviously run out of time to get into shape for this weekend, and at the moment I can’t walk without pain, let alone run or… well, sleep.
“That sucks,” you may say. “Roll it out and ice it,” you would advise.
NOSSIR! That’s not how we’re treating this thing: weirdly, this new, indescribable pain shooting down my ENTIRE LEG is a good thing. It is a sign of progress. And I have to deal with it. Until it hurts somewhere else. Then I get to deal with that.
And this isn’t some twisted “no pain no gain” game, either. This is merely peeling the onion of physical issues I’ve had forlikeever. Remember 3 years ago when I was rolling around in pain in the grass at track practice, but I was running again 2 days later? November 2011 when I couldn’t walk one day, went to acupuncture the next, and ran a 10k the next? Or last April when I had just started running again after taking 4 months off because my calves were hard as rocks? Turns out all these ouchies are connected through the kinetic chain. All my overnight “comebacks” weren’t miracles; it was my body recruiting what little muscle groups still functioned properly and running them into the ground, too. Now I’m rewinding all this poop.
You seeeeeeee, while in California, I’ve been working with Blair Ferguson at Ventura Training & Athletics. He works in Muscle Activation Technique ((MAT) and Resistance Training, which I haven’t worked my way up to yet). Blair’s big *star* client is Jordan Rapp. Jordan doesn’t stretch. He doesn’t do yoga, he doesn’t foam roll, and he doesn’t take Advil. Jordan sees Blair, who doesn’t manage pain, he fixes weaknesses. And yes, Jordan was seeing Blair before and ever since the horrible bike accident that nearly took his life in 2010.
Blair says “HTFU” and “stop stealing photos from my website.”
MAT is beyond explanation without mixing metaphors grotesquely, so I’m just going tell you what’s going on with me.
The basic idea is that we are bilaterally symmetrical beings and are designed to be equally neuro-muscularly strong on both sides of our body. Pain and injuries occur when weakness sidelines muscle groups, causing other muscle groups to pick up the slack. You’ve heard of “overuse” or “compensatory” injuries, right? You START “overusing” or “overcompensating” after some kind of trauma, be it whiplash or a broken bone, a contusion or a concussion.
So what was my trauma? Well, evolving from a swimmer to a land-sport mammal was certainly traumatic, particularly in my feet, which are pretty important and complex body parts. I can dorsiflex like a champ, but when it comes to plantar flexion, it’s a wonder I don’t fall over backwards when I try to stand. Yeah, STANDING isn’t possible for me without compensating somehow –namely pronating my feet, which stresses my knees, and throws my hips back, stressing my lower back. Imagine what happens when I run and train for an Ironman or two, two years in a row.
I was born with another “trauma;” I am a freak and have two extra bones. One is a tiny rib off my C7 vertebra, and one is an extra Lumbar vertebra (an L6) that didn’t fully fuse into my sacrum, but is fused into my ilium instead. I HAVE A TAIL! Kinda. I saw an X-Ray several years ago and don’t quite remember the details, but Figure A in this image stolen from the internet is almost the idea.
I’m special.
The sacralized vertebra in particular, we think, is another major culprit in my kinetic chain. It results in extra and/or inhibited movement in my lower back, creating muscle imbalances, and presenting almost like scoliosis when things get really bad.
So I already knew a lot of this, I just didn’t have a long term plan or a method to deal with it beyond yoga, ice, and compression socks. None of that is going to address a deformed spine or a foot that basically points the wrong way if I want to do anything other than lay on the couch.
The MAT protocol involves testing both sides of the body for weakness . When a weakness is identified (ie, you’re not able to resist a force as well on one side as the other), we start messing with of “turning on” the muscles that aren’t functioning properly. MAT is NOT massage or pain relief. I walk out of treatment drained and exhausted, not refreshed. In fact, last week my back spazzed out twice as we’ve worked to unravel my weaknesses. Blair didn’t once touch the muscles that were causing me pain, but worked on their counterparts –the theory being that muscles were spazzing for being overworked because the guys on the other side of my back. The muscles he palpated had never bothered me or caused me pain just weren’t doing their fair share.
Wake up, guys. I need you!
And of course, some of them hurt once he started poking at them.
Although I’m currently peeling the onion and rebuilding my house, I know that this is the tough part of the “getting worse before I get better” equation. I know that ultimately Blair and MAT are going to help me function better by getting some key players off the bench and in the game. (See what I did there? METAPHORS!)
We’re heading to Wildflower this weekend, where I will just be swimming, and to Boise 70.3 in another month, where I’m guessing I’ll aquabike as I try to get my run (ie back, ankles, calves, hips, and knees) back online. It kinda sucks, but I’ll have a longer career for sitting a few races out. Hopefully, although I’m missing out on building some fitness right now, I’ll be back at it and better than ever soon(ish).
Here’s a list of Blair’s favorite MAT practitioners in Chicagoland, for those who asked:
- Shawn True, Wheaton/Naperville, IL 630-291-2322 dstrue@earthlink.net Master MAT/Instructor
- Michelle Amore, Chicago, IL 312-550-9468 amoresfitness@gmail.com Master MAT
- Joel Reynolds, Wilmette, IL 847-530-5801 jreynoldscpt@aol.com Master MAT
- Johnny Cooke, Chicago, IL 312-305-4118 johnnycooke21@gmail.com
- Charlie Cates, Chicago, IL 608-469-1721 charlie@selfmadefitness.com
An “Experience Report” from Wildflower and my first swim meet as a grown-up will come next week.
Rebuilding
Happy New Year!
Say what? We’re 4 months into the new year? Whatever.
MUCH has happened since my last post. New apartment! New job! New neighborhood! New coach! New mug! New schedule! New training logistics!
And now, 14 15 weeks later, much of the above is new again. I attempted to make the new job and new training situation coexist, and ended up unable to whip myself into shape in either arena: long days and late nights made morning workouts that much harder for a decidedly un-morning person. My fab new apartment was coming together nicely, although I haven’t seen it in a few weeks: a new relationship has rescued me from the doldrums of wintery Chicago, whisked me away to Southern California, and made me ridiculously happy. It has brought a new sponsor and training partner, as well as daily inspiration to work as hard as he does… almost (and within reason for an “off”/non-Ironman year).
Running in SoCal. In April. In a t-shirt.
I also have my 2013 race schedule more-or-less set, and there’s nothing “old” about it. No traditional “favorite races” from years past, and no course/competition retributions.
Spectating Oceanside 70.3 (March 30).Spectating totally counts. This was my first time in a support role at a major event (my attendance at IMOO and IMKY don’t count), and it was a total blast. Aside from wishing Dusty luck and keeping our eyes peeled for the distinctive Wattie ‘W,’ Lindsay Zucco, Eurostar, a number of Watties and I just hung out on Oside’s “hot corner” and watched the pros and our friends kick ass. I learned a lot about tactics at the pointy end just by watching: watching Heather Jackson make her move on the run, watching Andy Potts not panic with 7+ guys hot on his heels, then making his move decisively late in the run, watching Jesse Thomas move up in that pack give everything but recognize why Potts won. It was awesome to party with HJ after her victory, BTW.
Lead pack at mile 1. Potts pushing the pace, Aviator in 4th.
- Surprise! Piru 20k TT (April 7). 32:0x, 1st Public Woman, 1st Overall Female. There were only 7 women there, but I’m told my time was good, and I executed well: negative split, higher power in second half…pretty good for just going out there in my regular training trim: the only thing aero about me was my position and my helmet.
Our prom photo for tri dorks.
- I’ll be swimming a 500 at Master’s meet in 2 weeks for Conejo Valley Multisport Masters. My first Masters meet, can you believe? First meet since… NCAA Division III MIAC Conference in 2000. Wow.
- Wildflower Long Course (May 4). I previewed the course last weekend. More on this below.
- Boise 70.3 (June 8).
- Spectating Vineman 70.3 (July 14. Sold out by the time I realized I’d be available on this date… so I’m going to watch and eat and drink, like ya do. We have rezzies at The French Laundry, la di da de.)
- Boulder 70.3 (August 4)
- Age Group Nationals – Olympic (August 10, Milwaukee)
- Vvvvvvegas for IM70.3WC?
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…then who knows, if anything. Leadman Bend or Austin 70.3 are on the radar if I’m still kicking in September/October.
Meanwhile, thanks to digging a hole for myself after Kona last October, then not being able to find my footing for a few months once I was ready to start training again, and overeating all along the way, this season is off to a slow start, ifyouknowhwatimean. I’m rewriting my expectations for this season as I go. I’m also catching up on all of the physical therapy I haven’t done in the last 2-5 years, which is more important than pushing through for another year… I guess. As a result of my current condition and conditioning, and after seeing the course and recognizing my weaknesses right now, Coach Steve and I have agreed that Wildflower will be an aquabike. We called it now, a few weeks early, just so I can wrap my head around having to surrender my timing chip after T2. Ouch.
We’ll see where I am another month hence at Boise. It could be another aquabike, a great training day, or maybe we’ll take the reins off. In any case, emphasis will be on Boulder in August and generally rebuilding for another Ironman year in 2014.
Paying Dues
Recently, an esteemed acquaintance said that I haven’t yet paid my dues to the sport of triathlon. He didn’t mean it in a jerktastic way –in fact he was saying it to comfort me— but it made me think. I trained for my first triathlon when I was staring down the barrel of my 30th birthday.* I turn 35 today (having spent this entire season as a F35-39) and am looking forward to 2013 as my 7th season, although I still haven’t figured out exactly what I’m doing with it. In an ongoing effort to calculate my next move, a few friends (including Ms. Kate Bongiovanni and her enormous compliment, as well as the “dues” comment), have inspired me to reflect on my little “journey”* so far. Join me as I gaze at my navel on the 35th anniversary of having my umbilical cord cut, won’t you?
*I didn’t know about the USAT age-up rule, so was completely pissed when body markers wrote “30” on my calf. And is “journey” not the most over-used word in triathlon human-interest stories?
On Perspective:
We’re no Boulder or San Diego, but amateur athlete-wise, Chicagoland has an embarrassment of riches: I’m surrounded by hyper-talented people who train hard but make winning look so, so easy. These people win their age group regularly and qualify for Nationals/Worlds/Boston/Kona repeatedly, and sometimes on their first try. If there’s some mythical socially acceptable rate of improvement, these people surely overstep it: they have many happy returns on their investment. Sure, they’re human and suffer occasional setbacks and injuries, but they navigate around them toward their goals.
I do not see myself as one of these freaks.
I’m also lucky enough to train and race with people who work their way toward better and better results. Their trajectory may be a slightly slower than some of the local superstars, but it’s thrilling to watch their names climb closer to the top of the results page. Some make their goals known publicly, and sure enough, they cross items off-season by season. They demonstrate their efforts, and though the rewards may be harder to come by, their pride and gratitude is that much greater.
As I’ve described, I’m embarrassingly un-type-A about a lot: I don’t really set goals, much to the dismay of, like, every coach I’ve ever had. I joke a lot about keeping the bar really, really low so that it’s that much easier for me to hop over. Then I get to go “TA DA!” from the other side no matter how narrowly I clear said bar. Yes, I train, I race, I’ve improved, and I’m grateful and proud, but I’m not self-directed when it comes to la vie sportif. I’ve always had coaches and teams to whom I was accountable. That part on my resume where I talk about being highly self-motivated? Total lie. Fear and pressure motivates me. Here’s my background:
…And memo to self: delete this post when conducting next job search.
On Precedent:
Swimming was my Thing, growing up. I remember being put in a floaty-O and learning how to eggbeat my legs so I spun in quick circles. After work one evening, my mom taught me to float on my back while standing on deck in her beshoulderpadded blazer. We joined an athletic club and the lifeguard/swim coach made me sign up for the diving team because I pointed my toes every time I jumped in the pool. That meant being on the swim team, too. I swam the 25 backstroke at my first meet and came in dead last and terribly confused: I accidentally ducked under the lane rope mid-length and disqualified myself. Watching the big kids, I learned how to approximate a butterfly stroke so swam that next.
Swimming was heretofore a summer sport, but in 3rd grade a swim mom told mine about a species of winter swimmers. These fish included Tommy Malchow, who I trained and traveled to a few meets with. You know Tom, the 200 butterfly gold medal winner from the 2000 summer Olympics? Yeah, before he beat pubescent Michael Phelps, he once loaned me his goggles. My mom took me to my first United States Swimming (USS) meet where I swam three events and was disqualified in two because I didn’t know the rules.
From 3rd through 11th grade I was on at least three teams a year (summer league, school, and USS). I swam a lot of individual medley and whatever stroke I happened to be good at that season (usually fly). Really, though, my coaches slotted me into the roster where ever they needed to fill it out: the smart ones made it sound like my idea or like it would be a fun experiment. “You like backstroke, don’t you? No? Sure you do, let’s put you in this relay. Learn how to do a start before the meet, OK?” This is also how I briefly became a distance freestyler in 7th grade (200 and 500 free). I choose to believe they valued my “versatility” versus taking advantage of how little I cared what race it was, as long as I got a ribbon at the end!
My best season was my sophomore year in high school: I had moved to Emmaus, Pennsylvania from Colorado just before 9th grade and was completely fuuuucking miserable (sorry, fellow Hornets). Everything had changed. Everything but my Thing, swimming. I was almost always the first one to throw myself in the pool and start warm-up, 9 times a week. Being on the swim team, staring at the record board every day, and hoping that if I got really fast I might make some friends became my purpose in high-school life. It was a coping mechanism. During that horribly awkward time, swimming was more natural and comfortable than walking the halls at school. There was a depth of talent on my team, so I never got to be the best at any event, but I did go to the State Championship and swim the butterfly leg of the medley relay (against a girl from our rival high school who went to the Olympic trials. I got my ass handed to me).
Then I moved back to Colorado. Everything changed again, including my body, and I lost my drive. As a surly senior, I quit.
I returned to swimming at Carleton College, though, and made great friends there. Every year I thought about quitting: dedicating two of three trimesters per year to such a time-consuming extracurricular along with the rigorous academics at Carleton was overwhelming. So was the thought of not having swimming, though. Not just the sport, but the people. Just by virtue of knowing the team, I knew 8% of Carleton’s student body (small school), and knew them well. We spent a LOT of time together. We were family, and still are. Facebook lights up every time we hear Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” (see 2012 Superbowl) or if there’s a remarkable development in our world.
Collectively, we loved this video so hard. If anyone had a camera at our winter training trip in Florida, we would have created something similar. Actually, the infamous “Men’s Team Entry” video is the late 90s VHS Bizarreoland equivalent. Why isn’t this on YouTube?
On Procrastination:
Cut to post-Varsity life and several years in my 20s of thinking about joining a swim team, or taking up jogging, or bike commuting… but finding excuses not to. I was pretty convinced I couldn’t do land sports: a lifetime of virtually zero impact on my joints (unless skiing counts? And I injured myself plenty doing that) made it seem out of the question. That meant triathlon was out too, although I was really attracted to the funny-looking bikes and cool running shoes.
Anyway, I spent a few years watching teevee as my 30th encroached. Then this episode of “Scrubs” came on.
Me on Denty with the Pink Ladies of Danskin.
I signed up for a training program that would get me to Danskin Sprint Triathlon for Ladies and gave it a shot. I procured a wetsuit, already had a road bike (“Denty” was about four sizes too big for me), and figured I could walk the run if I needed to. I tested out my joints during a few training runs wearing my very fashionable Pumas, which LOOKED vaguely like running shoes, but had no function other than being really blue.
Training was a lot of fun, even the running part –actual running shoes made a big difference. And hey, guess what? When you start out slowly and follow a training program, you can do just about anything. The Chicago Tri Club took me in and I got hooked fast, partially because after half a year of working alone at home, I found a social group. Moreover, after five years of living, studying, and working in an area dominated by gay men, I met some STRAIGHT BOYS! Yaaaay, triathlon FTW!
On Progress:
I once had no idea how anyone could move their legs fast enough to break a 9 minute mile. It seemed impossible to me… unless I was chasing the boys at the front of the local fun run. I would listen to them having easy conversations while I turned purple and doubled over at stop lights, wondering how they could talk and run at the same time. The “fun” part of the fun run lasted less than two miles before the boys started disappearing in the darkness between street lamps blocks and blocks ahead.
I spent my first several events calculating my results in various races and was triumphant if I was anywhere near the 75th percentile (or the 50th, in a road race). Thank you, Athlinks! I thought it must be cool to finish in the top 20, then 15, then 10 percent. I admit to stalking past results and a few competitors’ times to better understand what that might take at certain events, but I didn’t know what I could pull off myself.
After volunteering at Ironman Wisconsin (IMOO) in 2007, my friend Mike and I hatched a plan to do it together in 2009. The 2008 season would just be about ramping up ambitions: I’d do a few races, including a half iron and a marathon. I wanted to know I was structurally sound enough for the higher mileage of long course triathlon events. Mike, by the way, conveniently forgot about our pact. He was busy qualifying for Boston anyway.
Thanks to illness and travel, as well as general cluelessness, I didn’t train well in 2008. My first half at Racine went OK (I went sub 5:30 thanks to a REALLY short swim course), but I wasn’t fit enough to bounce back. I lost steam and basically didn’t train for the marathon. I did one long run a week and spent the rest of the week sore and afraid my knee was going to explode. I finished the Twin Cities Marathon in something like 4:07, then sat on the couch for the next two months.
“Training” outside of Lucca, Tuscany in 2008.
Well-Fit opened the Training Center in early 2009, and I joined immediately. I also lucked into winning a spot in Liz Waterstraat and Keith Klebacha’s Ironman training program. GOOD THING, since the Elite Team rejected my application that year. =P I also finally got a new bike with aerobars and everything, which was a significant improvement over Denty.
At home on Ziggy.
I really liked training for Ironman, especially with a group. I had my own agenda after hours (I mean I lived with another triathlete) so it took a while for me to warm up to the dynamic. Like my old swim team, however, I couldn’t imagine training without my little tri family. We were all fairly-to-brand-new to triathlon, but had some strong people in the group. I did a few more halves that year in the build-up to IMOO and had a pretty good day. Actually, it was the best day of my life to date. (Here’s my long race report on Facebook.)
I applied for the Well-Fit Elite team AGAIN and was accepted for the 2010 season! Hurrah. I spent most of that year feeling comparatively slow and self-conscious. I still couldn’t run, and my bike was only slightly improved thanks to many more miles in the saddle. Although I was a swimmer, I felt like I was drowning next to the fast lane’s wake. I think that year I just rode Stacey’s feet and hung on for dear life. I also didn’t have a very ambitious race plan for the season. I felt slightly burned out from Ironman, completely intimidated by the team, and generally meh about my lack of goals. Coach Hayes and I had signed up for the Branson 70.3 in mid-September as our ‘A’ race, but decided to ditch it, so it was a pretty anti-climactic year.
The good news is that after a few months of mental recovery and dieting, I was really ready to hit my off/out-season plan. We registered for the Cary Half Marathon, which kept me running during the cold and dark months. I did my long runs on Sundays just before heading to my girlfriends’ dinner parties to stuff my face. 1400 calories out, 1400 calories back in! Hayes had also become serious about coaching and was reading just about every book published on training. Doctors Skiba and Coggan were informing some seriously intense trainer rides at home. I don’t think I swam at all during this time, figuring it was better spent making my legs suffer.
Ironman Wisconsin gave me a driving force behind my season, which was just the fear of Ironman and hoping I could do better than my 2009 time. I knew I could shave off a few minutes thanks to experience and better decision-making in race execution, but who knows what the day could bring in terms of other obstacles. Weather, nutrition, mechanical disasters? After a few months of Elite Team workouts, though, people started asking me if I wanted to qualify for Kona. Ummm… sure, who doesn’t? But that’s not going to happen. I thought I MIGHT be able to squeak into the top 10 of my age group, and that’s all I really dared to hope for. It would take a lot more than that to qualify.
Sharone really started shoving Kona qualification down my throat. I choked on it. I told him I wanted no one to expect me to do anything of the sort. True, I was placing well in local events and on familiar courses throughout the season. Time-wise, however, I didn’t do anything too remarkable. Barely sub-2:20 at an Olympic here, survived a hot half-iron there. Big deal. Kona qualifiers finish well at big events, right? They podium at 70.3s with national draws (which I hadn’t done), and they run WAY faster than I do.
Well, I never wrote finished my race report from IMOO 2011, but suffice to say it went better than I expected. I have Sharone and others to thank for putting the idea in the back of my head, at least, which made me take my race preparation quite a bit more seriously than I would have otherwise. Still, I set that bar lower than I needed to, so was completely gobsmacked a spectator told me I was the 5th amateur off the bike and only two minutes down from Sarah, the leader of my age group (and eventual winner: I cashed myself catching up to, passing, and then getting passed back by her). I had friends on the side of the road who had their eyes bugging out of their head in disbelief and/or excitement. My teammates greeted me on State Street, then at the finish line with high-fives and congratulations. It was another amazing day at Ironman.
Sweaty. Happy.
The “journey of Ironman” is horribly cliché, so here’s my new metaphor:
The cocktail of endorphins, adrenaline, and achievement that is Ironman is the sweetest ambrosia I’ve ever tasted. I would get drunk on it every day and twice on Sundays if not for the hangover.
The aftermath of qualifying for Kona without really doing the mental preparation has brought unexpected consequences, though. By “mental preparation” I mean I didn’t have the confidence within myself to believe I could do it, so when I did, my perception turned upside-down. Being surrounded with freaks and diligent athletes hasn’t lent much perspective in terms of where I stand in the greater scheme of things. I spent time asking for validation: did that really happen? Who DIDN’T show up that allowed me to qualify? Dare I ask for help next season? Will PowerBar take me on? (Yes.) Timex? (FUCK. NO. Dream on.) I glossed over my 2012 season here.
2012 was a year where I lost everything from top down EXCEPT my races. No, I don’t think I’m the shit. Although I wasn’t able to train as hard as I would have liked, I did work on quite a few other things: barely eight months ago, someone told me it was pathetic how I can’t enjoy small victories (personal bests in workouts, for instance) any longer than two minutes before questioning whether or not I gave it everything. I’ve since tried to draw the connection between hard work and positive outcomes, which are always nice. Before this year I never really posted my race results, but a) sponsors want to see them (sorry), b) it’s not about self-promotion; it’s about thanking the teams I love, and c) I finally feel kinda proud of the races I’ve learned to put together. As much as my Minnesotan nature chafes at doing it, hello, I like racing, I like doing well, and I like telling my friends about it. It’s just nice to do something and to feel supported. Not everyone gets it, appreciates it, or understands that I’m still just gunning for the pretty ribbon at the end. It’s just positive outcomes, see?
So I set the bar low for Kona (to “just have a good time”) –I knew I wasn’t at my best anyway—so that helped take the pressure off. Predictably enough, I cleared it. Seriously, try not enjoying Kona. It’s impossible.
On Proof:
What’s funny and/or hypocritical is that I always harp on people who take our little hobby too seriously. I’ve told grown men “this is supposed to be fun, and you don’t have to be here, so quitcherbitchin’.” However, I’ve also told teammates to stop complaining and get the fucking workout done. =) OK I didn’t say that, but “quitcherbitchin’” is a softer version of that general sentiment. I’ve also told people “you’re your worst critic, you have nothing to prove to anyone, no one will judge you based on your results.” Well sure, except for YOURSELF, and that is a person who can be hard to answer to. I don’t want to let anyone down, including, like, ME. And as much as I say “we’re adults, no one is making you do this to look good on college applications,” a lot of this still feels like high school. I want to get fast so I can feel like I belong. I don’t need to prove ‘em wrong or anything, but I do have to remind myself that I have worked for it, like, since I was six and put on that swim team.
Maybe I should just quitmybitchin’.
It seems that I have brought up more questions than I’ve answered: can I suddenly become a self-directed, goal-setting, driven and disciplined triborg? Is that honestly something I have to do to continue progressing in the sport? Can I fully realize that there is no peer pressure to do this: it’s my choice and for my own benefit? There’s still work to be done here, both mental and physical.
Meanwhile, here’s to ageing up and paying my dues.
Cheers.
Make Some Noise!: Regarding Sponsorship
I am not a PR person, I do not have an MBA, I know nothing of “marketing” except that it is an often over-and-mis-used word, and it seems to me anyone can “market” these days. I have no idea what companies get out of sponsoring amateur athletes, or how amateur athletes demonstrate their value to said companies. I subscribe to the theory that the Internet is a series of tubes inhabited by lolcats, and the Google and its algorithm is an incantation of witches. I have hardly talked to anyone about any of what I am about to type, so keep all this in mind if you continue reading: the opinions expressed below are my own, are based on solely my experience, and the conclusions I’ve drawn are very likely wrong.
We are nearing the end of the year and triathlon season, and teams and sponsors will soon be putting together their rosters for 2013. The Wattie Ink. Elite Team application, for instance, will be available Tuesday, November 13, 2012. For Chicago athletes, the Well-Fit Elite Team is accepting applications through December 7. Last year I blindly sent out a number of applications and got positive feedback, and yes, plenty of rejections. A few people have asked me to advise and opine on amateur sponsorships. So, this is a little post about SPONSORSHIPS: how do you get them and is it worth it? A secondary aspect is “team” relationships: a lot of sponsors have teams, but what if you’re already on a team that has a sponsor? How do you merge the two? Follow me?
Well-Fit is sponsored by FRS.
OOOOHHHHH the irony of my writing on this topic, now. I know. Even aside from myself, I think a lot of sponsors and teams and people are trying to figure out this balance these days. There are misunderstandings and growing pains all over the place, but I’ll get to the politics of it all later (“conflicts of interest” section below).
First of all, let’s talk about WHAT “SPONSORSHIP” IS, really: from an AMATEUR athlete’s perspective, it’s access to STUFF for free or at a discount. That’s it. RARELY is an amateur going to participate in market research or provide feedback to a company, as Crowie does (interview here). From a company’s perspective, it is good ol’ fashioned word-of-mouth advertising, in a digital age. Almost everyone is on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram these days. These outlets are basically designed to disseminate photographs and links among your peers, and if a picture is worth 1,000 words, a picture popping up in everyone’s feed is worth like… a dollar? Depends on who your peers are, I guess.
GETTING SPONSORS
Step one is to get your ass on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram and start making noise. I am triathlete, here’s a picture of my pain cave! You know those friend-of-friend-of-friend tri people on your friend request list? Friend them, it’s free. Put yourself in the “room” of like-minded “strangers” and start a conversation. That said, no one cares about your recovery runs. If you feel the need to talk about your workout, it better be a performance breakthrough or particularly epic in some way.
I don’t personally care about online privacy issues –but then I don’t use Facebook as a journal or an outlet to get particularly editorial or emo on. Facebook is mostly for cheap jokes at the expense of yourself or public figures (like, who would win if Sara Palin and Paul Ryan entered a marathon together? Answer: the American People, because that would be fucking hilarious to watch them lie their way to sub-3 BQs). Beyond that, let’s face it, it’s a big advertisement for yourself and what you do, and sponsors want a piece of your time. If you take yourself or your online persona too seriously (i.e. post self-portraits or your inner-most thoughts about your relationships/feelings/family/religion/politics/wine habit/loneliness) this part of being a self-promoting product whore may not be for you OR your would-be sponsor.*
*Save this poop for your real friends. Also, “self-promoting product whore” is maybe a second definition of what it means to be sponsored. It isn’t a bad thing unless you let it be.
Fewer people have self-serving blogs (why, like this one!). I don’t read a lot of blogs, and I’ve only started regularly contributing to my own recently and now that I have a lot of free time. The only thing about a blog is it helps broaden your reach a little. Some sponsors require a blog. I don’t think any of mine do, but their contracts do say stuff about putting their logo on your homepage, which is a not-so-subtle suggestion to start one. I haven’t figured out how to logo myself up yet… hm.
Say blog again.
Anyway, step two-ish is to get your application material ready. It’s just like applying for college except a shit-ton easier. Like schools, different teams and companies have different personalities, but they all want to know some of the same things: what are your race results from prior years? What are your goals and planned events for next year? What is your experience with the product(s) in question?
I was really lucky to have qualified in 2011 for Kona 2012. In my applications, I talked about my qualifying race as proof of performance, and I obviously had a future goal at the epicenter of the triathlon industry as my big thing for the following season. I had a year to build a relationship and identity with my sponsors before arriving at the big show and they knew it. This year, notsomuch, so I have to figure out a new angle. That’s probably step three: figure out exactly what you bring to the table
Prepare by going to Athlinks.com, claiming your results, purchasing your best race photo of the year, and jotting down some thoughts. Google “your name + triathlete” and see what comes up. Oh, and if you’re applying for PowerBar, think of your favorite song. That one took me by surprise.
Todos somos teammates!
IS IT WORTH IT? It all depends on the sponsor and their product. Some have free race entries (WORTH IT), others have sick gear (WORTH IT), some let you be you and don’t care if you say FUCK a lot (WORTH IT). A lot of sponsors are a combination of the above.
The most common type of “sponsorship” for an amateur athlete is what I like to refer to as a “glorified discount.” You may get a few items for free –stickers, water bottles, visors, a kit, and maybe even a pair of shoes? After that, there’s a decent-to-significant markdown of your sponsor’s products, like 20-50%. You have to be the judge of whether it’s “worth it” or not. Do you have a big year coming up and you need a lot of new gear? Will you be training for Ironman and consuming 10,000 calories worth of your sponsor’s nutrition products per week? If yes, then sure, who doesn’t like a sale on the items they’ll use anyway?
Some sponsors require you to buy items you wouldn’t necessarily spend your money on. Like, “in order to get 20% off our product, you have to buy one of our kits.” Buuuut, what if you weren’t really in the market for one of their products, and they want you to purchase $150 of spandex? Probably not worth it. The lesson here is to judiciously choose who you send applications to based on YOUR needs and what brands YOU believe in and if you can comply with what they’re asking of you in return. You don’t want to feel obligated to make a major purchase just to fulfill a contract. (That said, don’t worry, no one is going to sue you unless you REALLY mess up the relationship.)
There are varying degrees of time commitment for this stuff too. Not all sponsors/teams just want your mentions on social media: you may be required to volunteer your time handing out product or working at expos. Some may STRONGLY URGE you to race at larger events for increased visibility, or to travel for a team race. Do you have the time and money? Because, like triathlon itself, no one is paying you to do this.
If you have a personal relationship with a retailer or brand, you can also just put yourself out there and ask for what you need. This also doesn’t cost anything, except maybe a little bit of pride. Some brands have ambassador programs set up where you get to know the product line, get a bunch of it, and share it with your friends one way or another (product reviews and the like). Local retailers are usually not that formal, but ASK ANYWAY. In my case I knew I had gotten to the point where I was limited by my budget and technology: my beloved bike was just not going to help me get any faster, but I couldn’t afford a new one. I spoke to my friends at Get a Grip Cycles who set me up for success with a beautiful new bike frame that happened to have their brand all over it. They made sure it would work for them, took a chance on me, and we all know I still owe them for their generosity. Win-win.
- Get a Grip’s gift to me: a Parlee TT, shown here resting in the grass after Kansas 70.3
CONFLICTS OF INTEREST
Some sponsors have rules, some don’t. Some rules are enforced, some aren’t. If you’re on multiple teams you’ll be required to disclose any conflicts of interest: like you’re on one with a nutrition sponsor, and then you get your own nutrition sponsor, and they’re different entities… I mean, all you can do is clarify if there IS a real conflict. In the example above, is one an on-course drink, one a recovery drink, or one just an energy beverage? These don’t necessarily compete. Gatorade v. PowerBar? That’s a conflict, as both are entire systems of performance nutrition. Blah blah blah.
Most teams want you to wear their kit in training and, preferably, in racing. Also, most teams don’t want you to alter your kit in any way, so don’t sew a patch for your individual sponsor onto your team kit. Some are lenient, some are not. Read your contracts and know that there are some ways to get around a conflict. Namely, be upfront and talk to your team director and see what you can work out. Wear a visor or a temporary tattoo. Some people do it NASCAR-style with a blank kit and iron-on logos. WHATEVER WORKS, homies, just talk it out. It isn’t hard.
Wanna know what’s hard? TEAM POLITICS, that’s hard. A real training team is a cohesive unit that spends a lot of time together, um, COMPETING. It is most commonly signified by the wearing of an identical uniform by its members. Even if your coach or director doesn’t enforce wearing the team kit, if you chose not to there could be consequences among your peers. By making too much noise on behalf of anyone else, your presence and loyalty may be questioned despite your participation, promotion, and results. If things get really bad, pretty much everything you do could be misinterpreted. Life crumbling apart, having a bad day, and accidentally cry? Quit pitching a fit, you cocky entitled princess! Dare to take pride in the one thing that’s going your way? You’ve clearly forgotten who you are. Simple misunderstanding? “Everyone” hates you! BEWARE.
I love that movie.
Anyway, I’ve blathered on and repeated the same word a few too many times. Questions? Ask. I can refer you to people who know far more than I do.
The upshot is the sponsor/sponsee relationship is kinda like adopting a dog: you do the research, but in the end, they pick you. Or so I’m told. I don’t have any pets. Anyway, look at your lifestyle and preferences. What products do you use and believe in? What team(s) mesh with your personality? How much time do you have to walk this thing, and can it thrive in a small apartment?
I look forward to establishing and continuing symbiotic relationships next year.
Galena Triathlon (Galena, IL), May 19, 2012
FIVE weeks and many many beers later, my memory and testimonial of the Galena Triathlon may not be too reliable. Luckily, this was my fifth time racing this event, it is near and dear to my heart, and it marks the kickoff of the tri season hereabouts. I have good institutional and emotional knowledge of Galena. It is a beautiful setting.
Setting (Geological): Galena is a sleepy, lush Mississippi-River-tributary town in the very northwestern corner of Illinois, that is carved out of the Driftless Region’s hills. Technically speaking, this area of the Mississippi River Valley is the hilliest shit we Midwesterners can hope for. The hills aren’t long, but they’re frequent and steep, and the race organizers do a pretty good job of finding some challenging roads for us to sweat on.
Setting (Sociological): Several Chicagoland triathlon clubs, including the Chicago Tri Club and Well-Fit, of course, use this race as their first major social/training/racing event of the year. Very large groups rent very large houses in the Galena Territory and Eagle Ridge, make a weekend of it, and turn the post-race party into a shit show (more on that later, maybe).
Setting (Political): I don’t know if it’s necessarily fitting that Galena is the home of U.S. Grant or not, but the Galena Triathlon has the power to divide houses. All things being equal – namely the reach of this race is hyper local, attracting mostly flatlanders who have little to no experience on hills this early in the Midwestern tri season – this race helps shake out “who’s fast/strong” among local athletes. It is surprisingly competitive, exceedingly difficult to get on the podium, and sets a baseline for the rest of the season. At least I’ve always seen it that way. In prior years, I had finished 7th AG, 6th AG, 4th AG, and (weirdly) 3rd OA, and basically had entire seasons to match those results.
Setting (Mental): Sparing some details here, a week and a half prior to this event, I snapped and left my life as I knew it. Training/sleeping/eating was pretty difficult (but had been for a while), but I got to move in to my friend Stacey’s spare office. Thank god for Stacey! Around this time, another major breakup involving a teammate and good friends took place, and my teammate Marc lost his father. The emotional milieu was NOT ideal, but (almost) everyone decided to make the best of it out of respect for the tradition of having insane amounts of fun at the race.
Setting (Physiological):
Let’s start a little before race day. Three weeks prior, a group of Well-Fitters rented a house and held a big bike weekend in the Galena Territory. I rode pretty well for 2 days, didn’t do much in terms of running (I mean it is so goddamn hilly, people) but dug a little hole for myself in the nutrition and sleep department. I didn’t rest or recover, or take in enough calories while training, and had a totally shitty bonk on our third day. I suppose it’s best to get that type of thing out of the way when training and hope you’re spared of the experience on race day.
Race weekend, we arrived in Galena laaaaaaate Thursday night in order to enjoy all of Friday doing “shake out” shit and race prep. This involved sleeping in, a group bike wash on the front porch, brief group ride in full race set-up mode, and a really fun swim. Unlike previous years (when organizers have kept a daily vigil by the thermometer, hoping that the lake temperature will come up enough to actually hold the swim and not force EVERYONE into a duathlon situation), there was no doubt the swim was on for race day. Friday, the water temp was comfortable enough that we left our wetsuits in the car. Thank you La Nina and global warming for the beautiful spring! Anyway, a group of us swam the entire course, with a king-of-the-mountain play break at the diving dock, obviously, and practiced a few beach starts.
Race day… I don’t even know what happened. I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep and have no recollection of what I ate (English muffin and peanut butter, banana, Starbucks Double Shots as is my tradition … maybe? Boring!). We set up T2 and trundled over to T1 in this point-to-point setup. I did a little 8 mile ride (nearly killing Henry when he took a fun left turn right in front of me as I was descending at 30 mph. Fucker), said howdy to a few people, but generally tried to keep calm and not freak that there were 3 former pros in attendance (my former coach, Liz Waterstraat, Jenny Parker Harrison, and Jennifer Garrison (two of whom are in my age group)).
Who am I kidding: I was TOTALLY freaking out.
Somewhat-unfortunately for me, I insisted I be put in the F35-39 wave for USAT accuracy (which the race organizers are a little soft on). That took me out of the wave with the F30-34ers, who would have been great to race against too. My new wave went second-to-last. More time to watch friends in previous waves and be proud of my teammates. In retrospect the lesson is, if you have a chance to be in an earlier wave (and against the presumed winner), take it.
Swim: my new roomie Stacey and former coach Liz and I all toed the line together, front and center. The two of them planned to stay on my feet…like as part of their race plans. I mean, talk about pressure! So basically I went balls out and tried to look for them over my shoulder at the first turn. They were a few yards behind me, but as I looked for them I ran into two big dudes from a previous wave and a kayak, all hiding on the other side of the buoy. I popped my head up and screamed “MOVE! MOVE!!!” Although I could bust between them myself, there were 30 pairs of arms and legs behind me, too. I swam hard but never found a good rythem thanks to having to swim over so many bodies stranded by their waves. I exited the water first in my wave with Stacey close behind. Thanks to a clumsy attempt at wetsuit-stripping efficiency on my part, Stacey entered T1 before me. I was on a different rack, though, so I never saw her again (apparently we passed again at the mount line).
Bike: haaaard! My grand experiment for this race, as a swimmer/biker, was to blow myself out and try to hold on for the run. This is a biker’s course, but the run is, as always, important too. As is the way with hilly courses (especially after a hypoxic swim like I had), I never quite caught my breath during this ride. I don’t train or race with a heart rate monitor, and that’s probably a good thing or I may have psyched myself out. I stayed aero almost the whole ride (unless I was climbing at <11mph, or about to crash into someone who had crashed on the trickiest descent on the course). All power data from my Power Tap is long gone by now, unfortunately. It would have been fun to look at.
Run?: This didn’t go well. I started out feeling pretty strong, but soon the sun and unfamiliar heat got to me. I couldn’t feel my quads after that ride. Or more accurately ALL I COULD FEEL WAS MY QUADS SCREAMING AT ME. LIKE THIS!! AAAAAGH!!! About a hundred yards outside of transition, you have to run down a giant hill, then up another. I let my legs really spin for free speed on the downhills, but going up the other side they flipped me the bird. To keep this unpleasant portion of my race report brief: I melted. Down. Luckily there was some great stranger who was running slower than I, but who kept chugging along while I took little (walking, shh) breaks. He encouraged me every time he passed, urging me to stay strong, complimenting my pace, and saying “there ya go!” every time I passed him back. All I could muster was a “nice!” whenever he came around me.
Eventually I got over myself and wanting to die and realized Liz Waterstraat was a hard-charging runner and would be coming for me any second. Sure enough, on a switchback about a mile from the finish, I saw her coming. I dug deep and kept running, knowing a pass so close to the finish would be hard for her and heartbreaking for me.
Settling: The finish line is a little like the first day back at elementary school. There are not only bananas cut in half and wax paper cups filled with bright liquid, but a lot of familiar faces and people you’ve lost touch with during the off-season. Lots of asking about summer plans, lots of “how ya been, how’d ya do?” stuff. I rehydrated and took a little walk with some teammates, then ran back to the after party. The waiting game is intense, eased with more fun conversation (and, in my case, a little Frisbee, and a handstand competition with an 8 year old). There was a lot of speculation among the 30-34-35-39 women under the Well-Fit tent as to who did what. I was told by agents doing recon (“WHAT WAS YOUR TIME?”) that I most likely got 4th overall, winning my age group, at least. Cool, hand me another beer now, please.
By awards time I was pretty well ruddy with sunburn and drink, and I gave up caring about results. They finally got to my age group and rattled off Stacey’s name… which meant… something… I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Liz won the age group. My name wasn’t called. They probably fucked up my timing thanks to switching waves. I decided to go for a jump in the Bounce House instead of caring. I handed out a few high-5s to people heading up for their awards. Then they called my name.
Killing time and brain cells with Jessica Brannigan and Chase Baraczek.
3rd overall.
Swim (660 yards) 8:53
T1 1:11
Bike (16.8 miles) 48:02:00
T2 1:27
Run (4.3 miles) 32:20:00, pace 7:31
Total 1:31:51
This was 8 seconds behind 2nd (my teammate, Erin), and another stellar competitor, Adrienne Shields, who crushed us all with her run.
Hand me another beer.
Well-Fit Podium Girls: L->R Laura Ellison, Monika Neale (3rd AG F35-39), yours truly (being a jackass), the famous and aforementioned Stacey Izard (2nd AG F35-39), and Erin “Second Overall” Kersten
Chronicles of the Homeless Triathlete
It’s been INSANE, kids: the last 7 weeks or so have been full of heady madness… and the same could be said of the last 7 months (at least). Follow me here, in roughly chronological order:
- My personal and coaching relationship with Hayes came to an end.
- I became homeless, but for the kindness of good, generous friends and teammates
- 2 friends announced their pregnancy (waiting for a third announcement any day now, as things happen in threes).
- I raced 3 events in 4 weeks, none of which I took lightly or wanted to use as a “training day.” (Galena Triathlon, Leon’s World’s Fastest Triathlon, Ironman Kansas 70.3)
- Work has taken me to new places (literally), and thankfully delivered me into the arms of good friends in Austin, TX, Madison, WI (my home away from home), and Virginia.
- 2 friends’ parents passed away (NOT waiting for a third tragedy here, thank you, Universe).
- I’m homeless again.
- I’ll hopefully be “settled” in a new home sometime this week.
- Heading to San Diego this coming weekend for family time.
- Heading back to Madison and to New Orleans for the first time for work….
CAN I SIT DOWN, NOW?
So for the purposes of keeping this blargh somewhat on-topic, I’m going to concentrate on the 3 races, with all the other ancillary stuff (which is NOT SMALL STUFF, mind you) in the margins. Here we go!
Quitcherbitchin’
I have the very good fortune of being able to train with a group on a regular basis. I’m a member of Well-Fit Triathlon and Training, a coaching service and training facility here in Chicago. We have an Elite Team (who doesn’t these days? But Well-Fit’s was one of the first!), comprised of good-hearted but crazy local athletes who push themselves and each other to the limits of physical and mental well-being. If you know what I mean…
(…I *mostly* mean we push each other to perform, and sometimes we drive each other insane.)
ANYWAY, in addition to seven months of Elite Team workouts, Well-Fit offers group workouts for “everyday heroes” that run all year: something like two swims a week, a Computrainer ride or three at the Training Center, and informal groups usually organize around runs on the lakefront or outlying forest preserves.
Personally and inexplicably, I avoided these workouts this fall. Instead, I convalesced for a few months after Ironman Wisconsin, trying to recover well, to preserve my sanity for what will be a long 2012 season, to enjoy my down time, and to become a “real human girl” again. You know, a girl with manageable hair and soft IT bands. Unfortunately, without any structure or group activities, I’ve just ended up nursing what turned out to be a pretty serious case of the Post-Iron Blues.*
*I hope that by capitalizing this condition I can help codify it. It’s a real phenomenon, people, trust me.
January 1, 2012, was my deadline to get the fuck over it, though: IT’S TRI SEASON, BITCHES!
I mean, not really. It’s actually tri-OUT-season now, but I need the motivation. Months of feeling emotionally and physically worthless coupled with impending Chicago winter-induced cabin fever means time to buck the fuck up, be social, and get some endorphins flowing again.
Overall, it’s great to be back in the saddle again. –I’m spending a lot of time literally “in the saddle” because I’m nursing a calf boo-boo that hasn’t let me run much in the last month.– Before specific training starts and people split off for random races each weekend, getting together to get our sweat on has been just what the doctor ordered. At this point in the season, I don’t care what my training plan calls for or if the planned group workouts are properly periodized *for me.* If I need to modify something, I do. If I need to swap workouts between days to accommodate the group schedule, I have been. It’s worth it. I value my team, my coach(es), and my training partners. I love accomplishing something every day (even if it’s *just* recovery, yoga, or surviving Sharone’s “treatment” of my calf) and giving others who do the same high-fives.
My new normal is getting up before dawn, something unthinkable for me as recently as 2009.
2010 was my first year on the team. I spent a lot of that season felling slow and fat, comparatively. I didn’t go to a lot of the workouts because I was afraid I couldn’t rise to my teammates’ levels. I thought I would drag everyone down. I didn’t get that I was only hurting myself. My season and disposition suffered accordingly.
2011, I got over it (mostly).
2012, all I have to say –to myself and others who may feel the way I did– is QUITCHERBITCHIN’. Show up with a smile on your face and ready to work. I hope everyone at Well-Fit knows how lucky we are to have each other, and how much I’m looking forward to this season.
Kimber, Marc, Noelle, Heidi (behind camera), and Sharone (somewhere out of frame) cheering for me on State Street at Ironman Wisconsin. Wonderfulness.
